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btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
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
Me popping into the Rafe Cameron tag for the first time in months and I see youuuu as the first post 😍!!!!! We are squealing and hugging right now like two girlie pops reuniting 💖💗
Since I left the evansbby-origin-story fandom I have missed your incredible, sexy, heartbreaking fics so to see you have written a fic for the motherfucking Rafe Cameron, aaahhhhh I’m so excited!!!! This fic hits 🙌!!! It doesn’t merely slap, it hits hard 🙌!!! Like this is your delicious trademark of toxic fucked up men setting their sights on sweet, innocent, impressionable, pliant women 😍
Aaaahhh let’s yap about this 🥰
Your characterisation of Rafe is exquisite 🙌!!! You captured his volatile tendencies and violent outbursts of thoughts and actions so excellently. I love that you wrote in his POV because I feel you displayed his entitled and privileged mindset so perfectly, like if OBX ran character inner monologues his would sound so much like your writing of his thoughts on his friends and Pogues
You got me hard in the feelz during the parts that basically humanised Rafe such as when he was thinking about how he does so much for his family and father yet his efforts go unrecognised, and I felt my heart break at the part where he’s forced himself to shut off the memories of his mother to the extent he struggles to even remember her anymore. Those moments showed he’s not just privilege, power, money, drugs and sex but he’s been through real shit that he feels deep within himself and that he carries with such a heavy weight.
I adore reader so much omgggg!!! Such a sweet hardworking soul, I want to be her best friend 🥺 Her whole family are really sweet - her mother wanting to protect her after she almost died at sea, her brothers working so hard to provide as much of a comfortable life as they can for their sister and mother 🥺 They all deserve the world 🥺
I felt so bad for her when all she wants is to make new friends and explore new experiences but the other girls keep her at a distance because they’re bonding over their previous experiences such as middle school and parties and boys but of course she can’t relate to that so it’s that much harder for her to connect with them
Because she’s so isolated from everyone I can totally see why she would push away what the other girls have told her about Rafe, after all he was the only one who actually bothered to speak with her and spend time with her and ask her questions about herself - poor gal, she really is the ideal target for Rafe
Omfg I love that she just has to exist for him to lose his damn mind heehee. Legiterally he sees her and he’s hard akwoqnajaiabq!!! That’s just so hot - a man so obsessed, infatuated and consumed by his girl that it’s straining ✨on sight✨😍
I actually laughed out loud when he was about to throw his phone because she wasn’t picking up 🤣 This boy crashing out because lord forbid she has other priorities than answering his call within 10 seconds, oh he’s down baaaad mwahaha
Oooooo when she went to his house for the first time and was on his lap and he just couldn’t stop kissing up on her - please, he is so smitten like boy you can’t stop feeling her and admiring how cute she is and you can’t keep your lips off her, yeah he’s got it baaad 😋
Drooling at Rafe manhandling her 😍 Just picking her up and putting her places he wants her like in his passenger seat, his kitchen chair, on his lap, and guiding her with a strong huge hand on her delicate back…. looooove me a size difference and a man who just can’t keep his hands off the woman he’s desperately feral for 😍💗
The scene in her room during the storm 🥺I feel so bad for her because she has no one else to call so she has to depend on Rafe as some source of comfort, all alone during a scary storm where her family are away and can’t be there with her during such an uncertain time 🥺
The smut was hot as fuck oh my god 🔥!!! Her grinding against Rafe’s face because he’s making her feel so good and feel things she’s never experienced before, woooow!!! Rafe being driven insane by how much she turns him on with the way she feels so good and says all the things he’s wants to hear and sounds so sweet - I love it when the man can’t help but lose his mind over how hot he finds his woman 🔥
I can’t help but squeal at the moments where he basically can’t stop kissing her and stares down at her thinking about how good and sweet she looks - like when he’s admiring her lips and eyes and how tiny she is and how soft she feels, aaahhh yes the soft sweet sprinkles of intimacy in the midst of big bad Rafe Cameron trying to win his bet
I also loved the insights into how she makes him feel like when she tells him he makes her feel safe, when she grabs into him every time the storm gets loud, and falls asleep in his arms showing she trusts him to look after her when she is unaware of her surroundings - she makes him feel so brave and powerful, like he’s her god and of course that further fuels his ego whilst also making him feel bonded to her in some way because she makes him feel like he’s all the things he wants to be - a protector, a provider, the only man she ever needs
Also the parts where he doesn’t feel his friendships are genuine, that they’re just superficial built from running in the same inner circles with no true connections but he feels his only genuine interactions are with her because she didn’t fear him, she actually likes spending time with him talking to him - oh the irony, he started out wanting to win a bet thinking he’d fake a connection with her so that he can fuck her then forget her only for him to feel like he’s actually bonded with her
The last scene oh my god I’m heartbroken for her 😢 Oh I feel so bad for her 😢 She thought she had one friend, only for him to outright lie saying he fucked her and to speak about her so degradingly 💔 I can’t imagine how she must be feeling knowing that he was constantly telling her not to listen to what other people had told her about him, and that she trusted him yet he proved those other people right in the end. She let her guard down and opened herself up emotionally, mentally and physically to him in a way she has never ever with anyone else and he goes and says all of that about her, oh god. It’s also that he called her a Pogue as a way to degrade her really targeting who she is, oh she must be feeling so violated, heartbroken and shocked that he could turn around and say all of these things
Now the Qs
1
Yes I think he totally does are for her, and he knows he does but he just doesn’t want to admit it to himself let alone anyone else.
He drove through a storm and I know he saw it as an opportunity to win the bet because she’s alone and scared so she would be easy to manipulate. But he could’ve waited 12 hours for the storm to pass where he wouldn’t need to put himself in serious risk of harm or fucking death. To me that shows he wasn’t just thinking about winning the bet, he definitely wanted to protect her, part because he thrives on being the hero that a woman looks up at with adoring eyes but also because he genuinely doesn’t want her to be scared.
Also the moments in her room, kissing her head, brushing the hair away from her eyes, covering her up with her duvet to make sure she’s warm and doesn’t wake up feeling used - those can’t be actions he would do if he had no regard for her emotions 🥺 On top of that he didn’t actually go through with fucking her, he stopped when she was pleading him to and I feel that has to be because her comfort and her feeling safe with him is more important to him than winning some bet
I know he took a picture of her and said those things in the final paragraphs but those soft moments in her room make me think he does care for her.
I feel he definitely isn’t ready to admit that he cares about her to himself and to others for two main reasons. He’s Rafe Cameron, he’s supposed to fuck women not talk to them let alone develop feelings. It’s also the optics. He feels it’s written for him since his birth that he seems himself ending up with a kook barbie who wears Chanel on her lips, Hermes on her arm, smelling of Parfums de Marley and prancing around figure eight on his arm in her Louboutins. I think it scares him that he’s developing these feelings for her because it goes against the version of his life he’s always envisioned he’d live.
I also think the part towards the end where he can’t even bring himself to convince himself that it matters she’s a Pogue now showed he cares about her because he sees through her upbringing and sees who she is as a person, the person he’s come to care about
2
For the mo, no. I don’t think she should forgive him because he outright lied to preserve his ego and image, talked so degradingly about her and took a picture of her without her knowing. I hope she doesn’t forgive him so easily and quickly and makes that it work for forgiveness
3
My fave part - this:
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.
Girl what, that just hits, like holy shit 🥺
And him reassuring her he’s not mad at her
And this:
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.
Basically my fave ever is the trope where he’s tough as nails to the whole world but soft for her only and it had me crumbling when he just wanted to hold her and make her feel okay again 🤧
Aaahhh I’m so excited for part 2!!!
Part of me feels he’s going to try to gaslight her to say what he said wasn’t that bad and that it wasn’t about her, and the he was talking about girls from his past. I’m so curious to see if he’s going to deny his feelings for her, try to maintain his persona whilst also trying to manipulate her or if he’s going to grovel to her and own up to himself and to his friends how he really feels. I know he’s confused about his feelings but he can’t deny she means more to him than any other girl he’s met.
I would love to see her stand up for herself, not fall for whatever excuses he’s surely going to make. I’d love to see her develop connections and friendships with other girls, talk to and maybe even flirt with some other boys - just experiencing things she’s been wanting to, exploring a world that isn’t only Rafe as the only one outside her family that she talks to
Also you should take over as writer and director of Outer Banks because quite frankly the girlies don’t wanna see a bunch of teenagers running around hunting treasure - we wanna see Rafe Cameron fuck!! Seriously I would have loved it if OBX showed us this side of him - He’s hot, rich, popular, I wanna see him making out with and hooking up with half of figure eight, I wanna see him at parties getting drunk and high, I wanna see him on his yacht bitching around with his friends. I’m honestly not that into OBX, if I weren’t insanely attracted to Rafe I wouldn’t watch it at all. For real they have such a hot cast with a bunch of meaty family, relationship, friendship and classism drama that they could’ve explored so much deeper and all set on a dreamy island - the show would be soooooo iconic if it followed the style of shows like 90210 and One Tree Hill, not this treasure adventure stuff. Sister I need you on the OBX board to redirect the focus from whatever fuck ass adventure they have planned for season 5 to Rafe Cameron fucking, partying, getting into screaming matches with Rose and Sarah, being a good big brother to Wheezie, being done with Topper’s shit - all the juicy stuff we actually want to seeeee
Okay bestie, whatta fic like I’ve rambled about my feels on it but I can’t begin to explain who amaaaaaazing it was and how incredibly you characterised Rafe!!! Thank you so so sooooo much for this fic, what a gift and treat for us Rafe Cameron girlies omg 🥹😍❤️!!!
Oh my GOD @pomarildreams I really can’t believe it! I thought my eyes were deceiving me!! I’m so happy to hear from you again. I can’t begin to explain how much seeing your name made me smile. And I’m so happy you read my story and that you enjoyed it so much to leave this incredible essay-esque review for which I appreciate you so so much, you have no ideas! 🥹🥹🫶🏼
There’s so much to say in response to your review but my phone is glitching and getting all slow lmao. I will say that I’ve missed you so much. I still remember the day you announced that you were leaving the evansbby-origin-fandom (lmao love that name btw) and I was sooo sad. I also remember wayyy back in the day when you used to send these anon asks that were so incredible and descriptive that I started to call you descriptive anon 🥹🥹🩷🩷 can’t believe it’s been so long and here we are, back again. Talking about fanfiction and stories and men all over again 🥲🩷
Anyways my phone is glitching like crazy now but I loved reading your whole review, in fact I read it multiple times. The fact you took the time out to pull out your favourite quotes??? Oh bestie you’re literally an author’s dream reader! Although even if you’d left a “omg this is gr8” feedback, I would’ve still been so happy bc well it’s YOU! 🩷 anyways reading the quotes you pulled out? Even I was like “damn I wrote that??? Really?? Wow” hahahah
I wanna respond to every single thing you said but I think my phone may explode. Butttt: yes I love how you noticed how he KEPT kissing and touching her 🥹 like yes he is smitten and he doesn’t even realise the extent of it! It’s almost innocent in a way… except it’s not… but kinda lmao. And yep, rafe definitely could’ve waited until after the storm was over to go see her, but he went then and there. Some could argue he was desperate to make sure he’d win the bet. Orrrr he just wanted to make sure she was okay too 🥹 who knows!
And yes oh my god YES! What you said at the end about outer banks being such a perfect backdrop for a dramatic young adult show that focuses on RELATIONSHIPS over their stupid fuckass irrelevant treasure hunting!!! Like? The aesthetic of obx is perfect and I am the same as you, I only watched it bc rafe is hot. Otherwise I wouldn’t have cared about it. And Rafe especially in seasons 1 and 2 should’ve been out here FUCKING like pls 😭 so much content we missed out on!!! To the point where he had scenes with rose his stepmother and I was like “damn so are they gonna kiss orrr” LIKE IDK OK I FELT DEPRIVED AS FUCK OF WHAT COULDVE BEEN A GREAT SHOW 😂
Anyways lemme stop here. Thank you so so much bestie for leaving this incredible review. I literally adore and appreciate you so much and I want you to know that! Also another thing lmao thank you for finding the comedic value in rafe crashing out bc reader took longer than 10 seconds to answer his phone call. Expect more of that in part 2 😂 ANYWAYS. Thank you so much bestie. You made my whole day week and month 🩷 and after reading this review it did inspire me to open my laptop and work even more on part 2 so thank you 🩷
[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, rafe is HUGE, pain with sex, fingering, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+
In which you're not sure you truly have what it takes to "accommodate" your new fiancé.
word count: 4.2k
rough hands, soft chains masterlist
“Why do you insist on stealing my fiance?”
Wheezie looked up at her brother from her place on the carpet. You were placing the last hair roller around her freshly curled hair, pinning it place. The two of you had spent the last two hours giving each other spa treatments, evidenced by the face mask on Wheezie’s face, and the under eye patches on yours. It seemed obvious to you what you were up to but Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion, maybe even annoyance, at the sight before him.
“We’re having a girls night!” Wheezie protested, “Get out!”
You blinked, glancing between the two siblings, trying to gauge whether this was actual tension or just their usual back-and-forth. Navigating the Cameron family dynamic was a constant puzzle, and you hated feeling caught in the middle of it. You genuinely liked all of them in different ways.
Well, almost all of them.
You weren’t sure what it was that you felt for Rafe. He seemed to force all the feelings out of you, prying his way into your brain and into your heart.
“You can’t hold her hostage, Wheeze,” Her brother raised his voice back, “I need to talk to her, you know, about adult things. Shit you wouldn’t get.”
“Adult things, gross,” You could practically hear Wheezie’s smirk, “I’m sure Y/N would rather hang out with me than do adult things with you.”
The meaning initially passed over your head. You looked at Rafe innocently, “Y/N?” His shift in focus to you made you panic for a moment.
“Oh, well … we were going to do some meditation before bed too.”
Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile that couldn’t possibly be genuine, “Fine, just come get me when you’re done.”
The way he slammed Wheezie’s door shut also gave you the impression that he wasn’t happy.
“Ignore him,” Wheezie said quickly. You admired her defiance sometimes. Rafe didn’t ever to seem to really rattle her the way he did to you.
Over the past few weeks, she had become your guide to surviving life in this house. Out of everyone, she understood Rafe best. Sarah barely came around, and when she did, the way she looked at you—pitying, almost regretful—made you uncomfortable. You hated it. You’d rather spend time with Rose, who had taken you wedding dress shopping just the day before, only to scold you for picking something too “revealing.” She’d given you a long-winded speech about modesty and the importance of upholding the Cameron image. You were marrying into an exceptionally wealthy family, after all. You had to act like it.
But Wheezie? Wheezie was simply happy to have you there, to welcome you into her world. And slowly, you were beginning to imagine this as your new life. The thought didn’t seem so terrible when you pictured Wheezie as your sister.
It all came crashing down on you a few days after the incident with Rafe in the barn. You weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed until you were officially married, Rose’s rule, but that didn’t keep Rafe from your bedroom in the middle of the night.
And when you woke, sore and spent, the weight of something unfamiliar pressed against your left hand.
A diamond.
Wheezie was fast asleep when you finally slipped out of her bedroom. In pink, fuzzy socks, you padded across the hallway towards Rafe’s room. You only knocked once before the door was opened and you were stepping inside.
In contrast to yours, Rafe’s room was dark and brooding with darker woods and deep navy walls. A sturdy mahogony desk perched in the corner next to a leather armchair. There were no dainty florals or soft touches. His bed, much larger than yours, had the sheets strewn about, a possible indication of sleepless nights or …other activities. A few forgotten whiskey glasses sat on in nightstand. The only source of light in the room was from the soft, yellow glow of his desk lamp.
It always felt intimate being in Rafe’s room, like you were completely in his world. Your gaze lifted, drawn to him as if by instinct. Shirtless, his toned chest and broad shoulders were carved in the dim light, his presence overwhelming in a way that sent a shiver through you.
“Turn around, darlin’.”
Innocently, you obeyed his command. You were only confused for a moment. You yelped, feeling the cool air against the back of your legs as Rafe slipped down your long, silk pajamas.
You should’ve known Rafe didn’t actually need to talk to you.
Lifting you by your waist, Rafe carried you over to the bed swiftly, leaving your bottoms behind. He always laid you down gently but the firmness of his grip left no room for discussion. He knew exactly where he wanted your body, what position he desired to have you in. You were starting to get used to his routine. He undressed you, placed you where he wanted, and it wasn’t long before he was inside of you.
Tonight, he wanted you on your stomach, your head resting at the edge of the bed. You didn’t dare look back at him, it always unsettled you more when you caught a glimpse of just how imposing he was. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, fixated on the shadows and darkness in the window. You felt the weight of his legs straddling yours, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your bottom before delivering a few sharp, deliberate slaps. A shiver ran through you as his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them aside with ease, exposing you to him entirely.
He spit into his hand and you jumped again when you felt his fingers teasing your warm center. For an excruciatinly long time, he placed a strong hand on your upper back, keeping you pinned as he sunk his fingers inside of you. He had called it 'warming you up' the last time. His pace was slow, deliberate. You were biting down onto the comforter by the time his third digit pushed inside. Now, you could happily take two of his fingers. You’d like sex with Rafe much more if it simply involved two of his fingers pushing in an out of you. When he added that circling motion on your sensitive bud, you could reach that beautiful peak quickly. But the third finger was the closest thing he could use to prepare you for his size.
“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet firm, a response to your soft whimpers, “Relax. You make it worse when you’re so tense.”
“Sorry,” You rushed out before you bit down on your lip hard, “Rafe, um, can you…”
He pushed deeper and you reached out to grab the wooden bed frame in front of you, “Can I what, darlin’?”
“T-Touch me?” You asked, unsure, wincing as the feeling of being stretched, “Please.”
In response, he adjusted your hips, pulling them up from the bed, still three fingers deep inside of you, before he started to circle your clit with the thumb of his other hand. You took in rapid breaths as you adjusted to the sensation, the pleasure now beginning to mix in with the discomfort.
“Think you can come like this, baby?”
“Uh,” You pressed your face into the mattress, your words failing you, and soon all that was left were sobs.
“Try, baby,” You heard him say, “Squeeze my fingers.”
You had never considered that "down there" was a muscle—until Rafe. Obeying his command, you imagined yourself squeezing his fingers, and the response was immediate. Your body reacted instinctively, heightening your pleasure and pushing you toward release. It was overwhelming. Almost painful. But an orgasm nonetheless. Your first one with Rafe had taken you so much by surprise that Rafe had to cover your face with a pillow to keep you from waking up the entire house.
Tonight, you muffled your own screaming, pressing your face further into the blankets. He left you no time to recover. As soon as your body was more … accepting, he started to push himself inside of you. Panicked, you reached back to push at his hip, an attempt at requesting for him to slow his pace. He felt even larger in this position, and it didn’t take long to realize he was pressing against a barrier deep inside you.
You had to accommodate him. He was your future husband and you had be able to lie with him. He deserved pleasure too and how else would you be able to have kids one day? You wanted a family again, right?
One day, it would get easier. Rafe would make sure of it. He would help you, guide you, until your body learned to take him without resistance.
By the time Rafe reached his climax, you were a sweaty, tear-streaked mess. He had promised it would get easier, yet once again, you were left aching and sore. When he finally lifted his weight off you, your body remained frozen in place.
“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting to the other end of the bed. You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled in, his head hitting the pillow.
“Y/N?”
“Y-Yes?” you replied, your voice shaky.
“Go pee,” he ordered, his tone firm yet drowsy.
“Why?”
“Just go,” he repeated, exhaling sharply. “I’m fucking tired.”
It took every ounce of strength, but you pushed yourself up from the bed. You felt his eyes on you as you waddled to his bathroom door, still able to feel him inside of you, white stuff dripping down your thighs.
Inside, you flipped on the bathroom light, squinting as your eyes attempted to adjust. Your legs trembled as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You heard Rafe shifting in bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable. He was already drifting off, unbothered, while you sat there, trying to collect yourself.
After a moment, you reached for some toilet paper, dabbing at the mess between your thighs. Your body still felt raw, stretched beyond what you thought possible. Flushing the toilet, you moved to the sink, cupping cold water in your hands and splashing it on your face.
You turned off the light and stepped back into the bedroom. Still glistening with a layer of sweat, he laid down with an arm over his face as he breathed steadily and quietly. You found your pajama bottoms sitting by the door and carefully put them back over your legs.
“Y/N?” You were reaching for the handle of his bedroom door and paused.
“Yeah?”
“Stay in here with me.”
“We’re not supposed to–”
“I’m a grown man and you’re my fucking fiance.”
He always spoke so sharply and in a way that left no room for arguing. Sometimes, that anger and frustration wasn’t directed at you but that didn’t make you immune from feeling it. The last thing you wanted was to cause any problem’s with his parents. They’d made it very clear that they expected the two of you to sleep separately until the wedding.
Slowly, you turned to face him. He was still sprawled across the bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling.
“Stay,” he repeated, softer this time, the demand still there.
Silently, you padded over to his bed again. He lifted the sheets and carefully, you climbed into the bed, beside him.
“There you go, darlin’” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he tucked you beneath him, his weight pinning you into place. “Right where you belong.”
Seeing how much happier Juliet was at the Cameron ranch made you question why you didn’t feel the same as her.
Late afternoon sun bathed the Cameron state in warm gold as you rode beside Sarah Cameron. Juliet moved beneath you with ease, but every step sent a dull ache through your thighs. You winced, shifting slightly in the saddle in an attempt to ease the soreness.
Sarah, riding beside you on her white mare, caught it immediately, “You good?” She asked, concern on her face.
You nodded quickly, “Oh, I’m fine. I just haven’t rode in awhile.”
It hurt to even slide on your tight jeans that morning thanks to the bruising on your inner thighs and the soreness in your middle. You turned your head, watching as the barn got farther from your view. You and Sarah had left John B. and Rafe hunched over a work bench, repairing worn bridles and saddles.
Rafe had let you tag along for the day, surprising you both when you found Sarah already there with John B., leaning against a stall with her arms crossed. The moment she saw you, she swung effortlessly onto her horse, flashing you a grin. “Come on. Juliet is yours, right?,” she urged, nudging her mare forward. “Let’s leave the boys to their busy work."
You looked to Rafe for permission, of course, and took his rolled eyes and quick dismissal as a yes.
Now, she caught your quick glances back towards the barn, “My brother isn’t hurting you, is he?”
Her words took you by complete surprise. Your fingers tensed on Juliet’s reins, pulling too sharply, and for a moment, the mare tossed her head in protest, “Sorry, Julie,” You said, “Uhm, what? N-no. Why … why would you think that?”
She gave you a look that was hard to read and your horses continued alongside each other, “I’m sure you’ve gotten to know what he’s like,” She said, “Do you … think he’s a nice guy?”
“He’s…” You rushed to answer, wanting to reassure her, but the words got tangled in your head. “He’s nice to me,” you finally said, nodding like that would make it more true. “Sometimes he, like, talks really directly? In a way that… I don’t know, kinda hurts my feelings? But I know he doesn’t mean to be mean.”
“Huh,” Sarah took in your words, and you smiled, trying to ease the tension in the conversation, “He’s a lot for most people. To be honest, I don’t know if you’re what I pictured for the girl he’d finally settle down with.”
“Oh,” You said, trying to not to let the way your heart panged with hurt show on your face, “Yeah, maybe. I guess I’m not very strong… or the smartest person.”
Sarah’s eyes softened, her expression shifting from the guarded look she’d worn before. “Hey, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, pulling her horse a little closer to yours. “I just... I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I know how confusing and lonely it is. And it might make you feel better to get wrapped up with Rafe but it’s also good to have your own life. Maybe your own friends?”
She searched your gaze and you felt your throat tighten and tears threatening to escape, “Wheezie’s my friend, at least.”
“Wheezie’s great,” Sarah said which made you smile sadly, “I have some friends. John B and I do. They live on the otherside of Kildare but I always try to meet up with them. They’re cool and they’re actually our age. I’d love to introduce you to them.”
Your heart gave a small, hesitant flutter. “That would be fun,” you said quietly, and for the first time in a while, you entertained the thought of something else, something new.
“Do you drink?” She asked after a moment of just enjoying the breeze and watching the tall, swaying grass.
“I have before,” You said feeling a little sheepish, “Just not enough to say I like it, I guess. Why?”
“When I go over there, we usually drink, watch a movie, play games, that kind of thing. It’s really fun. You don’t have to drink but I think you’ll like it.”
“Does Rafe know your friends?”
Sarah snorted, “Uh, yeah. He wouldn’t want to come with us. Don’t mention it to him yet, though, okay?”
“Oh, okay,” You agreed, “Sarah, do you think you could come next time I go dress shopping? Rose is a little…”
“Uptight,” She finished, “Yeah, sure. That would be fun.”
Your opinion of Sarah Cameron had shifted quickly and for the better.
“Like I said before, you’re moving too fast with her, Rafe.”
Rafe should’ve known that his father didn’t invite him to breakfast at the diner in town for father-son bonding time. Nor was it a business meeting. He would’ve preferred either over a lecture. He was stuck, unable to really raise his voice, due to the public setting which Ward knew undoubtedly. The diner was a small place, the kind of spot where everyone knew each other’s names and half the town seemed to gather before heading off to the fields or pastures.
It was when they got back into Ward’s SUV that Rafe could finally say what he felt. “This is micromanagement. You’re fucking micromanaging me, Dad! I did what you wanted and you’re upset because I’m not doing it exactly the way you want.”
Ward’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight Rafe thought it might break. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that you don’t know everything, Rafe.”
“This is just Rose and her bullshit–”
“It’s disrespectful and you know that. We’re being woken up at all times of the night. Not to mention the girl is walking around with hickies and bruising. What’s that gonna look like to people in town? We took in that girl! People will think we’re using her. It’s not a good look.”
Ward started up the car and pulled away quickly, the tires kicking up dust as they left the quiet, small-town streets behind. Kildare was a ranching community, where everyone’s business was their business. Rafe couldn’t do anything without people noticing.
“None of this will matter after the wedding. I don’t know, Dad, I guess I just don’t give a shit anymore what other people think.”
“You won’t take over the business if that’s how you see things.”
“Dad–”
“And you won’t get the Ironwood house. We’ve talked about this endlessly,” Rafe’s fist hit the paneling of the car door and he squeezed his eyes tightly as the anger passed through him, radiating through him, warming his skin, “You get the house under the conditions that Rose and I set.”
“That house is mine. You know that Mom wanted it that way,” Rafe argued with clenched fists, “You don’t get to control that, Dad.” Rafe’s voice was sharp, raw, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. The Ironwood house had been promised to him, but Ward had always been the one to hold the strings, dangling that future in front of him like a carrot on a stick. “I earned that house. I’ve worked for it. You can’t just take it away.”
About twenty miles from the Cameron estate, nestled along a winding dirt road that cut through the sprawling countryside, sat the Ironwood house. The house wasn’t as grand as the Cameron estate it had a quiet but rugged charm. It had once belonged to a competitor before the Cameron family had purchased the land after his passing.
Ward’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pale in the dim light. “I’m not taking anything from you, Rafe. But if you want to go off and make mistakes, you know, like getting that girl pregnant just a few weeks after you met her or embarrassing our family, then there will be consequences.”
Rafe nodded his head though inside he was seething, “I got it, Dad,” Rafe rubbed his face in his hands, his jaw clenched tightly, “You win.”
You fucking win, Rafe thought, for now.
Oh, you were perfect for him. Rafe kept quiet throughout dinner that night but that was because he was intently watching you. The way you confidently wore that pink, gingham dress that was cut way too low, to the point that your breasts were practically spilling from it. When you caught Rafe glancing at you, you’d flash him a shy smile. Lips shining with gloss and sparkles, Rafe imagined smudging all your makeup.
He’d been working on training your hole to take him, he hadn’t considered training your mouth yet. You seemed more comfortable, making conversation with both Wheezie and Sarah. The way you carried yourself, effortlessly making them laugh, was different, more natural.
It would be good if you liked this family but Rafe couldn’t help that his mind wandered to the family he would make. His father's attempts to control him, especially in the bedroom, only made things worse. It triggered something deep within him. It was his god-given right as a man to fuck you in all the ways he wanted, with or without protection. You were his. That had been true ever since he put a ring on your left hand.
After dinner, Rafe pulled you upstairs into Ward’s office. It was reckless, he knew that, but he was clinging onto that sense of control.
“What are we doing in here?”
“I’m going to fuck you,” Rafe replied, his eyes tracking the shift in your expression as the realization hit. The fear in your face made him harder than he already was, and he had to undo his belt. “Go sit on the desk,” he instructed, gesturing to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.
“But that’s your dad’s desk,” you hesitated, a frown tugging at your lips. “Isn’t that, like, weird?”
Rafe shot you a warning look, and without another word, you scrambled across the room toward his desk. He followed closely, closing the distance between you. “It’s your fault,” he muttered, his voice rough as he crossed the room too. “Look at what you're wearing. You’re practically begging to get fucked.”
“I wasn’t—” you started to protest.
“You were,” Rafe cut you off, his tone final. “You wore that dress for me, didn’t you? Or were you looking for attention from someone else?”
“I wasn’t—”
“You weren’t what?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
Rafe loved the panic he saw in your eyes, the way the few thoughts you could hold in your head seemed to swirl, struggling to make sense of what was happening.
“I …I didn’t wear it for anyone else.”
“You wore it for me, then.”
“It was for you,” You spoke in a hesitant whisper. Your head tilted, and Rafe could see the uncertainty in your eyes. Still, the words sent a rush of heat through him. Rafe lifted you up by your hips, placing you on the desk, right on top of manila folders and Ward’s important paperwork.
"Good girl, baby," he murmured, his hand finding the hem of your dress, lifting it. "Now, don’t act like you don’t want this."
“Rafe, I’m still sore,” You said as Rafe slid your panties down your thigh.
“I’ll be quick,” Rafe assured you, “I’ve been halfway there since you walked in the dining room earlier.”
It wasn’t that Rafe didn’t understand the toll that he took on your body. He cared, he certainly didn’t want to break you, but he also knew that you could handle more than you could wrap your mind around. Maybe, he was a bit selfish and enjoyed the sight of him slowly fucking you, his huge girth sliding in and out of you, stretching you to the point of sobbing.
He wanted you to feel empty without him. He wanted you to become so used to him that another man or even your own tiny fingers couldn’t satisfy your needs.
“Relax,” Rafe said, watching the ways your eyes darted between his blue ones and then back down to his length, “You’re okay, darlin’.”
Rafe pushed your shoulders down until your elbows were propped up against the desk before he grabbed your legs, tilting your hips up. He spit directly against your hole before spitting into his palm, coating his hard length with his own saliva.
He watched the way your face scrunched in pain as he started to push inside of you. Like he taught you before, you started to take deep breaths in and out, “Good girl, just like I taught you. You’re okay,” Rafe cooed as you squeezed him tight.
Those deep breaths quickly became shallow ones as he stretched you. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s too big–” You spoke suddenly, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, please. Please, Rafe.”
“Baby, it’s okay-”
“Please, please, please. Please. Please. Not okay. Not okay. I can’t, I can’t.”
Rafe surprised even himself when he paused. The look on your face reminded him of the time in the car, the first day you met. It was hard to watch. He’d pushed you too far, you were starting to have a panic attack. His chest tightened as he pulled back, his mind scrambling. He tucked himself back into his briefs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Slowly, he reached for your shoulder, lifting it carefully to help you sit up.
“Shit, we can stop, okay?” Rafe said in a voice he didn’t recognize, “Fuck, you need to breathe, Y/N.”
He pulled you closer, letting your head rest on his chest, as you tried to control your hiccups and heavy breathing. Listening to it made his own breath feel tight in his lungs. Stroking your back, he tried to quell the storm inside of you. Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as he held you close, the guilt gnawing at him, “Jesus …I’m sorry, baby.”
reblog WITH a comment about the chapter to be added to the taglist :)
you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.
read the intro first
warning: actor!bucky x actress!reader, mature themes, fake dating, enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn.
Bucky Barnes supports from the sidelines while girlfriend Y/N meets with fans.
user1 > stop wait i wasn't sure about them together but... the way he watches over her dhidkkxmxx
user2 > MOST UNEXPECTED COUPLE EVER WHAT
user3 > I thought she was only into married men? Lmao
user4 > why didn't anyone want a picture with Bucky :( my poor baby
user5 > THE WAY HE SUBTLY GRABS HER WAIST AT THE END OH HES IN LOVE LOVE
<>
"I hate her," Bucky utters as he leans back in his chair. "I'm not kidding. Not being dramatic. I fucking hate her, Carol."
With a cigarette between her lips, Carol digs her toes into the warm sand and lets out a content sigh. "I'm proud of you, Buck. You've gotten through the first month smoothly. The public are buying into it - you trended on Twitter for the first time in a year last week," She tells him as she basks in the sun. "This relationship is already doing wonders for your image."
He lets out a huff. Part of him wishes it wasn't going well so that they could call the whole thing off and he'd never have to speak to you again.
"She's a gorgeous girl. Much prettier in person," Carol comments. "Any straight guy would kill to be in your shoes."
"Not once they spend more than five minutes talking to her," He grumbles, looking out to the sea. Granted, he could be in much worse places than the Bahamas, but the fact that he's only here to be seen with you has soured his mood.
"You know, most PR relationships I've ever worked on usually end up being real," Carol tells him. "In fact, they're more like introduced relationships. Like an arranged marriage. Who knows? If you spend enough time with her, maybe-"
"Are you being serious?" Bucky cuts her off coldly. "That girl is about as two-dimensional as a piece of paper. Her only hobbies are partying and Googling her own name. Trust me, Carol, as soon as these six months are up, I'm out."
Just then, you walk onto the small, private beach, straightening your sunhat as you approach the pair sitting on sunbeds. "Afternoon!" You greet them, smiling as you pass Bucky with a brief squeeze of his shoulder. "Hi, baby. Carol, you mind giving my beloved boyfriend and I a minute to talk?"
Carol snorts at the look on Bucky's face and happily complies, giving you a nod as she gets up to her feet. "The reservation's for 8pm; there'll be a car sent to the villa to pick you up at 7:30," She informs you both. "Have fun!"
Bucky lets out an irritated sigh as he slumps down on the deck chair. "What do you want?" He asks while you take Carol's seat.
"Pepper sent me. I need to put you on my Instagram story," You tell him as you pull out your phone. "It's been three days since I've posted about you."
With a roll of his eyes, he stays where he is, hoping you aren't about to tell him to hug or kiss you for the photo.
"Here; wear this," You say before tossing him your yellow sunhat. It lands on his bare chest and he gives it a bitter look before huffing and doing as you say. "Now," You continue, sitting up and aiming your camera at him. "Smile like you love me."
Though he despises you, he's damn good at acting like he adores you. You post the photo to your story with the caption, 'he's always stealing my things', and tag him in it.
"There we go," You say with a content sigh. "Now I can leave you to moping around again."
"I do not mope around," He argues sternly. "I'm laying in the sun."
"Mhm," You reply, before deciding to stay and annoy him a little longer. "I finally watched The Greenhouse for the first time last night. Really surprised you didn't end up winning the Oscar."
He doesn't say a word, his sunglasses shielding his eyes as he lays back down.
"Oh, well. Maybe next year, eh?" You continue. "Who knows? Maybe I'll even be up for an Oscar next year."
That earns a snort from him.
"I'm being serious - I could be up for Supporting Actress for The Sixth Night," You tell him as you refresh your notifications, watching as the likes and chat replies from your story come streaming in. "Speaking of, I think you're down to be my plus-one at the premier next month."
"I highly doubt a scream flick is gonna be nominated for any Oscar," He replies with a mutter.
"It's a serious film - it deals with all the same emotional themes your pretentious works do," You claim while reading through a few of your dms. "Someone said I've been glowing since getting with you. How sweet."
Bucky lets out what can only be described as a grunt in return.
Curious about why he's so bitter about this deal when he's definitely benefiting more than you, you lay down on the sunbed and turn to face him. "So, how come you're single?" You ask him. "Pretty young thing like yourself, I'd have thought you would be locked down."
"Long term relationships aren't compatible with my lifestyle," He answers you. "I'm barely ever home."
With an eye roll, you scoff. "Oh, please. Date a fellow actress, then. Or a director. Or even a pop star. Someone who has a similar lifestyle."
"Maybe I'm fine being single," He says with a slightly defensive tone.
"So, you like sleeping around?" You wonder.
He finally turns to face you, looking up at you over his sunglasses. "We're not all sex-addicted whores in this industry, you know."
"Ouch!" You exclaim, reaching out to lightly swat his arm. "Kitty's got claws. No need to be so mean to me. I'm not the one who forced you into this."
"No, but you're a self-obsessed narcissist with no real reason to be so arrogant - I mean, let's face it, it isn't that hard to scream and run around and spew the badly-written scripts you for some reason keep signing on to, so I don't understand why the fuck anyone thought I could ever need you to further my career," He rants, his cheeks flushing pink.
With your nerve successfully struck, you get up onto your feet with a huff. "I'm the narcissist? You are so fucking pretentious and up your own ass - your films aren't curing any diseases, guy. At least I'm actually relevant and I don't only go viral when I'm rude to interviewers- without me, your career is a sinking ship, so you should be fucking grateful that I agreed to do this bullshit for you, 'cause God knows I could get more publicity in a night than you'll give me in six months," You hit back.
"Yeah, for fucking a married football player," Bucky mutters under his breath.
"Fuck you!" You spit harshly as you begin to walk off. "And give me back my fucking hat!"
He rips it off and throws it at you, shouting, "Fucking take your stupid hat back!"
It's harder than you expected to storm away in sand, but you do your best, flicking up sand with every stomp.
Dinner is awkward, to say the least. The starters are brought out before you and Bucky exchange a single word. You're not sure if you expect him to apologize for what he said on the beach, but you sure would appreciate it.
"The cameras are here," He says while pretending to take a sip of wine, his eyes on the window to your right. "Action."
You hold back an eye roll as you catch a few flashes in your peripheral vision, and instead focus on spreading butter onto a piece of bread.
"Still not talking to me?" Bucky utters with a quirked brow. "Your sour attitude is noticeable, you know. Especially to your devoted fans who like to closely watch your every move."
Putting down your fork, you let out a musical laugh, as though he just made a great joke- something you strongly doubt he's capable of. "You suck and I hate you," You say quietly so the other diners around you don't hear.
"There are some great lip readers out there these days," He says while subtly rubbing his beard so as to hide his mouth.
With a sigh, you keep your eyes on him. "I can't wait for you to take me home and fuck me," You say instead, shooting him a wink as his face falls for a split second.
"You are unbelievable," He mutters, keeping a pleasant look on his face.
"What? So I can't say I hate you, or that I wanna fuck you? What do you want from me?" You ask, keeping your tone light and your face happy. If anyone was listening in, you'd sound insane.
"Is that all the range you're capable of?" He asks you, holding your hand. "There's nuance to emotion. And a heck of a lot more than just hate and horny."
You grit your teeth together. This man does not respect you one bit. Does he genuinely think you're talentless? That you're a bad actress? Though you understand that he might dislike the genre of film you're typecast for, surely he can't deny that you're at somewhat of a good actress.
Then you realize - there's an ignorance to his hatred. He hasn't ever referred to a specific one of your roles or movies in particular that he thinks lowly of. That fucker.
"You bastard," You begin, your smile only slightly faltering. "You haven't watched a single one of my films, have you?"
He says nothing in response.
With a dry laugh, you shake your head. "You sit there on your high horse, preaching about how my work is below what you do, about my work being a collection of shitty little scream flicks - and you have the audacity to say all that having never seen a single fucking one?"
He lets out a sigh. "I don't need to see-"
"Fuck you," You utter, pulling your hand out of his, picking up the napkin on your lap and tossing it on the table as you stand up. Still aware of the flashes outside the window, you give Bucky a kiss on the forehead before walking away, as much as it pains you to do so. Prick.
"Did you find that the two of you had any similar rituals or processes, or do you work very differently?" Porter, your twenty-third and final interviewer of the day, asks you.
You let Tony answer, giving your voice a break. Press junkets are one of your least favourite parts of the job, with back-to-back interviews taking place in one long, long day. At first, you did enjoy getting to hear all the British accents, but you're ready to get on your private jet and fly home. As much as you love The Sixth Night and think it's probably the best film you've been a part of, you are sick to death of talking about it.
"And that worked perfectly for me, because our characters are only meeting for the first time at the beginning of the film, so each of our interactions on-screen involve us learning and getting to know one another, which is exactly what was going on off camera, too," Tony finishes, giving you a gentle nudge. "So I guess our processes are different, but compatible."
There's a twinkle in Porter's eye when he speaks again. "Speaking of compatibility, it seems love is in the air for yourself, Y/N- and with none other than Tony's Fugitives co-star, Bucky Barnes. Was it Tony that introduced you to each other?"
"Actually, Bucky and I met at a Golden Globes afterparty earlier this year," You lie, using the story Pepper and Carol fleshed out. "No wing-manning needed from Tony."
"Right," Porter says with a laugh. "Well, fans around the world are loving the two of you together- did you have any hesitation in going public?"
"It's always a little nerve-racking when you're in the public eye, knowing that there are so many opinions out there being formed about you, but Bucky is a true gentleman and couldn't do more to make me feel secure," You say, hoping you're coming across as sincere rather than over-rehearsed.
"That's lovely," Porter remarks with a smile, before his attention is stolen away by someone off camera. "And I think that's all I've got time for today- thank you both so much for your answers, you've been wonderful."
"You've been great, too," You reply with a smile, knowing your fans love when you're nice to interviewers.
"I'm so excited for this movie!" He says with a grin.
"And we're excited for you to see it," Tony replies before you get the signal that the cameras are off.
Someone comes over to help you take your mic off while Tony quickly raises his brows at you. Once your mics are off and the press have trickled out, he chuckles.
"So, you and Barnes," Tony begins, folding his arms across his chest. "A match made in heaven."
"Shut up," You reply with a dry laugh. "You know how it goes."
"Mhm," He replies just as his agent calls him over. "Well, this was fun. See you at the premier - bringing your boyfriend?"
"Maybe," You say with a shrug. "If the overlords want me too."
"Y'know, it's a shame," He says, taking a step closer to you. "I was kinda hoping we'd have a sexy scandal of our own."
With a smirk, you tilt your head. "And all it takes is a little boyfriend to stop you from trying?" You ask him teasingly.
Tony places a hand on your waist which he squeezes briefly. "I'll see you at the premier, honey," He says before shooting you a wink and walking away.
And, perhaps if you weren't so exhausted, you'd have noticed the look on one of the lingering journalist's face on the other side of the room as they watched your interaction with Tony.
definitely gonna be a slow burn, this one. although it's taking all my will power not to make them immediately fall in love !!! hope you liked <3
buy me a kofi <3
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you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.
series warning: actor!bucky x f!actress!reader, mature themes, fake dating, enemies to lovers, bucky is an asshole, angst, smut, slow burn (or at least my attempt at a slow burn).
The bright lights are dimmed through your Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses, but they do little to mute the sound of a hundred cameras flashing. Numerous voices yell out questions to you, some innocent, some daring, and some downright nasty. Six years ago, you would've been seconds away from an anxiety attack in this situation, but the years of stardom have chipped away at your nerves, and what once overwhelmed you is now just another Tuesday.
You're pushed through the crowd by your less-than-gentle bodyguard into the restaurant. As the doors shut behind you, the raucous sound of the paparazzi thankfully dies down, and the host knows better than to ask your name before he leads you into the dining area and to a small table towards the back of the room.
Pepper has that look you hate on her face as you sit down opposite her; the look that means she's angry at you. She waits until the host has finished his welcome shtick before she leans forwards and speaks to you. "Did you even try to be good last night?" She asks with pure disappointment in her tone. "I mean, seriously? Do you do this to me on purpose?"
As much as you know it'll only piss her off even further, you roll your eyes and let out a nonchalant sigh. "I don't do anything to you, Pepper. I'm just living my life," You claim casually. "It's not my fault there's people filming my every move."
"It might not be your fault, but you can control what they see," She reminds you sternly. "You were gonna present an Oscar before your antics last night!"
"All I did was get a little drunk, is that a crime?" You ask her before pushing your sunglasses up onto your head when you realize what she said. "What do you mean, were?"
A soft scoff leaves her mouth. She's not happy about it, but she does get some satisfaction from being right. "Yeah. They don't want you to present Best Supporting Actor anymore. In fact, they don't want you at the Oscars at all," She tells you curtly. "Same probably goes for the Globes."
"They can't do that!" You exclaim, getting the attention of some of the diners but not caring. "I'm an actress; they can't uninvite me from the Oscars!"
"Well, they did," She hisses lowly, leaning in closer. "You're on thin ice, Y/N. This industry is all about reputation. No-one cares how talented you are when you're taking body shots off Thor Odinson - I mean, seriously? Out of all the athletes you could be associated with, you go for the barely-divorced basketballer known for cheating on every wife he's had?"
You sit back, not taking her seriously. Too many times Pepper has scolded you only to swiftly move on the next day with news of an audition she booked for you, so her cold anger has begun to lose its impact. She can tell you aren't intimidated by her, and that pisses her off even further.
"I've had enough of you throwing your career away," She says with a glare. "I'm not letting you cause your own downfall. You gained momentum from Bryn Sinclair, you've got fans, you're mostly likeable when you're not fucking married men. I've seen it a hundred times before; girl from a small town gets some attention, books a few good gigs, makes some money, hits her peak, and then blows it all on a coke-fueled bender and a stint in jail."
Offended, you frown at her. "I haven't even begun to peak, Potts," You claim firmly. "Losing isn't an option. And going out for a drink with a disgraced basketballer isn't going to ruin my career - all publicity is good publicity, right?"
Pepper lets out a long sigh. Neither of you say anything until the waiter brings over a bottle of wine and some bruschetta, compliments of the chef. You keep your eyes on her, waiting for her to say something. She doesn't say a word until she's halfway through her bruschetta.
"Speaking of publicity, Bruce had an idea," She begins, her eyes on the tomato she just stabbed with her fork. "Not sure you'll like it."
"Idea for what?" You ask her, half-expecting her to tell you her boss has finally finished the script for his sci-fi musical.
Her lips curl upwards and she shakes her head. "Tale as old as time," She says cryptically. "It's nothing original. Everyone does it."
You narrow your eyes, still confused. "Plastic surgery?" You guess. "I'll get lip filler, but I refuse to do that buccal fat thing."
"No. We're keeping your face natural in case you're cast in a period piece; you know that. I'm talking about a PR romance," She finally spills as her eyes light up. "We match you up with someone at your level or slightly above it, you pretend to date them, the public eats it up, both of you gain popularity. And then, six months later, there's a break-up. We keep the reason vague so there's no blame either way. Neither of you are the bad guy, and we all benefit."
After working with her for five years, you know her too well for her to be able to fool you. You can tell by the way she's speaking that she's already made her mind up - you're doing this PR romance, and you wouldn't be surprised if she's already found you a match who's being told the exact same thing as you by their own manager right now.
You've learned that saying no is usually a bad idea when it comes to these things. Not only are you contractually obliged to agree with your management's decisions, Pepper usually knows what's best. And though the thought of fake dating someone for six months sounds like the most awkward, uncomfortable experience of your life, you're an actress. What good would you be if you couldn't put it in for the cameras?
"Alright," You say with a shrug. "But whoever it is, they better be hot."
"No. No, absolutely not. Are you fucking kidding me? This is a joke, right?"
Carol sighs, sitting back in her chair. "I know this isn't what you expected-"
"What I expected? Carol, this is insanity!" Bucky exclaims with pink cheeks. "Of all the women you could've paired me with, her? Some C-List scream queen who wouldn't know what good acting is if it hit her in the face?" His cheeks are slightly pink as his nostrils flare.
"That's mean," Carol says sternly, standing up and resting her arms on her desk. "Y/N is extremely talented in her avenue."
"Oh, please. Anyone can gasp and scream bloody-murder; what she does is not acting," He counters with an eye roll. "I can't be associated with her, Carol. She's on the front page of E! News with her tongue down a different athlete's throat every other week, and I'm about to be nominated for an Oscar. Did you even try to find someone on my level? What about Natasha?"
Carol shakes her head. "Natasha's got enough going on this year. Besides, it'd be better to save her for a rainy day - milk the will they, won't they? storyline for as long as possible," She explains, before walking around her desk and closing the distance between them. "I know it's hard to agree with me, but this is for the best. Y/N has a very strong fanbase and anyone would kill for her social media interactions. As great an actor as you are, in this day and age, you need the Internet on your side, and Y/N is your ticket to getting that."
Bucky lets out a scoff before pulling out a carton of cigarettes from his back pocket. "I don't need 12-year-olds making fucking TikToks about me in order to succeed," He states bitterly, making his way to the door.
"I beg to differ, Buck," Carol says with a shrug. "Trust me. When have I ever steered you wrong? This will do wonders for your career." When he says nothing in return, she lets out a sigh. "Six months. Half a year. That's all I'm asking for."
He places a cigarette between his lips and lets out a defeated grunt before swinging open the door and leaving. Carol smiles to herself, knowing she's won him over.
The first planned interaction between you and Bucky is at Steve Rogers' Fourth of July party. It's one of the biggest celebrity events of the year, always resulting in plenty of rumor and scandal. There's a few paparazzi in smaller boats floating around, aiming their cameras like weapons.
You're wearing a red two-piece bathing suit with a white sarong loosely tied around your hips. You look in a compact mirror and touch up your makeup while sitting by one of the coolers, waiting patiently for your faux beau to join you.
Bucky's in a chiffon blue shirt, the open buttons revealing his bare chest as he speaks to Steve at the other end of the yacht. Admittedly, you've had a crush on him since you were thirteen and watching him in Sunset Lake; a six-season teen drama on which he made his acting debut and was labeled America's heartthrob. He quickly moved onto more mature projects in his early 20s, with multiple Emmys and Golden Globes lining his shelves to show for it.
You wonder what he thinks of you. You're popular with young people and horror fans, but other people in the industry don't seem to respect your craft. That, and they see you as a typical party animal, which might not be so far from the truth. It's likely he sees you in that same way. You've never met him, and you only hope he's a decent person.
Spotting you, Bucky inwardly sighs. He knows he should make his way over to you so the press that Carol hired can take their pictures, but he's dreading it. This marks the official beginning of his relationship with you, fake or not, and though Carol's sure it'll boost his popularity, he's afraid he'll lose the respect of his fans and peers if he's linked to you in any way, let alone seen to be dating you. But, what Carol says goes, and it's only a six month stint. In that time, he'll likely only have to see you a couple of times a month in order to keep the facade up. Twelve public interactions. That's all. He's been through worse for a role before.
Determined to get this over with, Bucky makes his way over to you. You've told your posse to leave you alone for a little bit so they don't interfere with this meeting. When you see Bucky walking over, you sit up, unable to deny how incredibly attractive he is in person. Your heart flutters a little and you know that the teenaged version of you is screaming at the idea of dating Bucky Barnes, fake or not.
He stands a foot away from you and pushes his sunglasses up onto his head. "Hey," Is his short greeting.
"Hi, there," You reply, looking up at him.
A second passes and you notice him glancing down at your legs before looking back at your face. "Get up," He orders lowly, keeping his face blank.
You raise a brow. Is this how he thinks this is gonna go? Instead, you take your sunglasses off and narrow your eyes at him. "Excuse me?"
It's clear he's irritated but he's doing his best to hide it. They don't give out Golden Globes for nothing. "Stand up and come closer," He says lowly. "Let the rats take their pictures, and we go our separate ways again."
Ah. So he hates this situation and, likely, hates you just as much. Usually, you'd be the first to want to get a job like this over with, but something about the way his jaw clenches when he looks at you gives you a little rush. It must be because he's a pretentious prick. He thinks he's better than you because he's in dramas while you're in the screams, and that pisses you off. If he thinks you're going to make this easy for him when he looks down on you, he's got another thing coming.
When you still don't move an inch, Bucky realizes what he's in for. Not only are you an unpredictable liability, you're also an idiot. He lets out a huff through his nose before reaching out, taking your hand, and pulling you to your feet. Surprised, you almost fall into him, but you don't want it look like he's being rough with you, which he is, so you remain calm and keep a smile on your face. Cameras are too good nowadays for you to let the mask slip for even a second.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Bucky Barnes," He says flatly.
"And you know who I am," You reply snarkily. "So, six months of this, huh?"
His hand is still on yours and he can feel the heat from your body radiating onto his. "If you have any sense at all, you'll wanna get this over and done with," Bucky utters. "I don't have time to fuck around."
"Ooh, golden boy's got an edge," You say teasingly, moving closer to him. "What if I don't have any sense? What if I'm just a stupid girl with no talent, who's gonna ruin your perfect image?"
He rolls his eyes.
"Cameras would've caught that," You tell him with a smirk. "You better do something to make up for it."
Bucky smiles, and you almost think it's genuine until you remember that he's an actor. He lets go of your hand and places his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. "Another two minutes and we're done here," He says coldly, though from afar it would look like he's whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
"Aw, this was nice," You coo coyly, resting a hand on his chest. "You know we've gotta seal the deal before you leave me, though. And make it look real, yeah?"
He clenches his jaw again and his hands tighten on your hips. Looking down at you, Bucky pushes your sunglasses up onto your head before leaning down and giving you a movie star kiss. To your surprise, he's heavy handed with the tongue, but you're not complaining. Your childhood celebrity crush is making out with you, whether it's a genuine kiss or not, which is one thing you can tick off your bucket list.
When he pulls away, he keeps his lips close to yours. "That real enough for you?" He asks bitterly.
You smile up at him and shrug. "Decent. Don't worry; by the end of these six months, I'll have trained you to be much better," You say, knowing it's hurting his ego.
He closes his eyes, probably to hide him rolling them, before pulling away. "Nice meeting you," Bucky says flatly.
Putting your sunglasses back on, you nod. "You, too."
happy valentine's day.
been soooo long since i started a series. is anyone still here?? let's try for weekly updates :)
bucky masterlist
buy me a kofi <3
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pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x single mother!reader
chapter content: MINORS DNI, written in dual POV/first person POV, no description/name given to reader, reader is a single mother, age gap (twenty-ish years), descriptions of blood/stitches, grief, talks of dead bodies, panic attack, unproofread bc i’m lazy
word count: 2.8k
series masterlist | previous chapter
JOEL
“Everybody good?” It’s a question meant for one person in particular—the woman that just got the air kicked out of her—but with what the kids just saw, there’s no harm in asking them, too.
“Good,” Ellie says, although her voice is quiet. Even if I didn’t know her, I’d be able to tell that she’s lost in her head. After what she did, I’d be lost, too.
“I need…” My attention lands on our host—Red, I think I’ll call her, to match the fire in her eyes. She’s resting one arm against the kitchen counter, the other cradling her ribs. “I don’t know.”
I’m walking over to her before I even realize I’m doing it, my hands reaching out to steady her as she sways a bit and goes clammy. “Y’need to lay down.”
“Need to wash…the blood…” I look down, scanning her body to find a clean slice up her arm dripping blood onto the wooden planks beneath us.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath. Guiding her over to one of the chairs at the dining table, I have to glower at her to get her to sit. “Y’got a med kit?”
She nods, weakly pointing to the cabinet above the sink.
“Ellie, can you boil some water?” I glance at her as I reach to grab the med kit, finding her still in that state of shock.
She needs to get up, to find ways to busy her mind and hands so that she’s not replaying the events from earlier. I know it better than anybody.
“Ellie,” I call again, this time breaking through to her. “Need some help, kid.”
“Right,” she says, her voice still softer than I’d like. “Water, you said?”
“Yeah,” I manage, keeping one eye on her and one on the woman in front of me half-ready to faint. “Quickly as you can manage.”
“Got it.”
Focusing back on Red, I pull up a chair in front of her. “Gonna need to stitch you up.”
“I can…take care of…myself.”
“You can’t even talk,” I grunt, shaking my head at her as I lay out the contents of the kit in front of us. Needles, thread, an antiseptic that I hope still works.
“You even know…what you’re doing?” Even bleeding out and winded, she’s still coming at me.
I have no fuckin’ clue as to why I like it so much.
“Ain’t my first time stitchin’ up an awnry woman, if that’s what you mean.” I don’t want to think about the last woman I tended to like this. If I do, I’ll just get angry all over again. Angry and hurt. “Might leave a scar, though.”
“Mama,” Colt comes up to her, sticking to her side like glue. “What’s gonna happen to you?”
She softens, forcing a smile onto her clammy face. “Well, Joel here…is gonna…stitch me up. Y’know…how I like to…sew?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well…Joel’s just gonna…sew my cut up,” she says, raising her free hand up to his face. “It sounds scarier…than it is.”
“Okay,” he says, blowing out a breath of air. “I’ll hold your hand, just in case it hurts.”
I might be a cold-hearted bastard, but damn it if the sight of Colt and Red together doesn’t warm my soul just a little bit.
“Water’s boiling,” Ellie announces, joining us at the table.
“Alright, soon as it reaches a boil, I need you t’take it off the heat and let it cool a little bit before bringing me a bowl full,” I instruct. “As for you, Red, I’m gonna need you t’sit right here and not bleed out in the meantime.”
“Got nothing better to do,” she says, one corner of her mouth twitching just the slightest bit.
Ignoring the strange feeling stirring in my chest—one I’m sure is a result of the adrenaline high I’m coming off of—I head over to the bathroom and rinse the blood off my hands with the leftover water sitting in a bucket inside the empty bathtub. It’s not the most sanitary of set-ups, but it’s better than nothing.
“Hey,” Ellie pokes her head in the bathroom, locking eyes with me in the vanity mirror. “What, uh, what are we doing about the dead dudes?”
“Don’t know,” I say as I scrub my hands with soap. “Don’t deserve a burial, in my humble opinion.”
“I just mean…like…are we good here?”
I contemplate her question for a few seconds. Truthfully, I’ve got no fuckin’ idea if it’s safe to be here. Those fucks outside could be apart of a larger group and just got dealt the shit end of the recon stick for all I know. So, I settle on the truth. “I don’t know, Ellie. Regardless, no one’s gonna be comin’ out this way in the storm. Once it passes, we’ll be on our way like we planned to.”
“And them?” she asks, her brows lacing together. “We’re just going to leave them behind?”
Rinsing my hands off and grabbing a cloth to wipe them dry, I turn to face her with an exasperated look. It’s been a hell of a fucking afternoon. My body is drained. My mind is all over the place. I’m not in the position to stretch myself any thinner than I already have.
“Ellie, this is their home,” I whisper, gesturing towards where Colt and Red sit just on the other side of the wall. “She can decide what she wants to do. All I’m worried about is us.”
“There’s not an ounce of sympathy left in that cold heart of yours?” She’s getting pissed now, just another part of her dealing with what she did out there in the woods.
“Sympathy won’t keep us alive,” I say, moving past her.
READER
Joel’s hands are warm. Rough, yes, but so fucking warm. And surprisingly gentle.
He’s got one hand resting beneath my forearm as it lays on the table, squeezing both sides of my wound together as he stitches it closed. He just finished washing it clean, his fingers gentle as he dragged the damp cloth along the slice until it was no longer caked in dark blood. He’s by no means a surgeon, but damn it if he’s not completely focused and careful with me.
It’s painfully attractive. Even if the guy still pisses me off with all of his grunts and scowling.
Then again, I always did find competency sexy. It was the main reason Kit ever made it out of the friend zone back in QZ.
A man who can take care of shit is an entirely different level of desirable.
“You have done this before, haven’t you?” I don’t know why I’m making conversation, other than the fact that for the first time in the last hour, I can speak without feeling like I’m going to pass out.
Between the chest kick that knocked the wind out of me and the slice across my arm, I’m surprised I made it this long without fainting.
“Yep,” he says, sighing a little bit.
“Surprising,” is all I reply. He glances up from his work and pins me with dark eyes, but I’m quick to look away. Instead, I turn to look at Ellie and Colt in the middle of the living room, sitting side by side on the floor as they color in companionable silence. They’re both handling this better than I would, especially Ellie.
“Why?” Joel’s soft, deep voice brings my eyes back to him, but thankfully, he’s not looking at me this time.
“Just don’t seem like the caretaking type is all.”
“Right,” he murmurs. “Because travelin’ around the country with a teenager doesn’t involve any caretakin’.”
“Ellie seems pretty self-sufficient, that’s all I mean.”
“Still a kid,” he says, stabbing the needle through my flesh quickly enough that I barely register the pain. “Still someone to take care of.”
“She yours?” I’ve been meaning to ask ever since they arrived, but between our little arguments and then staying out in the shed, there hasn’t been much of an opportunity to pry.
“No,” he replies, pursing his lips.
“How long have you been watching over her, then?”
“Since summer,” he says. “Promised someone I’d take her across the country. It’s taken us this long to get here.”
I nod, not wanting to ask for anything more than he’s given me. Lord knows I certainly haven’t been all that giving in terms of my history.
“What about you?” he asks, sticking me with the needle again. “I’m assumin’ he’s yours.”
“Yeah,” I smile softly, my eyes wandering to Colt. “He’s mine.”
“And the father?”
I suck in a deep breath and let my eyes fall to my lap. “He died before Colt was born.”
Joel’s eyes flicker up to meet mine. “You gave birth by yourself?”
I nod, chuckling a bit at the memory. “And I’ll never do it again.”
Joel’s lips threaten to curl upwards. “Can’t say I blame you.”
It’s odd making conversation that doesn’t end with me calling him a dick or him judging my parental skills, but what’s even more strange is that I’m starting to think he’s not a dick at all.
Or maybe he is, but only when he wants to be. Maybe he’s a dick because it’s the safer option out here. I sure as hell haven’t been the most friendly person in the world.
“So…about what happened out there,” I say, my free hand tracing the hole in my jeans at my knee in order to distract myself from what I know is inevitable. “We’re not safe out here, are we?”
Joel’s jaw clenches a bit as he works the final swipe of his needle through me. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, hoping Colt’s keen ears don’t pick up on it.
“You’re safe out here at least until the storm passes through,” Joel says as consolation, his fingers working quickly to tie the thread into a knot before he’s wrapping my arm up in a bandage.
“It could be over with by tomorrow,” I say, lifting my eyes to meet his. “I don’t…I don’t know if I can make it out there on my own, not with Colt. I’m not like you, and he’s not like Ellie. We’re…too soft.”
Joel’s eyes grow stern, his hand still holding my arm even though he’s finished with sewing me up. “Trust me, Red, you’re anything but soft.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “You don’t know me. I might pretend to be brave, but…deep down, I’m just scared.”
“Y’don’t think I’m scared every goddamn day out there?” His voice is low, hushed to the point that I have to lean in to hear him. “It’s alright to be scared shitless. What’s not alright is to give up. You stay out here, y’all are just sittin’ ducks waitin’ for someone to come by and take everything from you. Now, I don’t know you well enough to trust you, but I trust that you’ll do anything to save that boy of yours. You’ll find a way to be brave.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat and give him a nod. It’s all I can do not to cry.
I wish Kit were here.
I wish I didn’t have to go through this alone and make these decisions.
Most of all, I wish Colt never had to live in this dangerous, uncertain world.
“Listen, I gotta talk this through with Ellie, but…” He rubs the scruff on his chin, appearing at war with himself for what he’s about to say. “Maybe y’all can tag along with us, least until you find someplace to settle.”
I give him a wary, almost skeptical look. “We don’t trust each other.”
“No, we don’t,” he agrees, shrugging one shoulder as he lets his hands finally slip away from my arm. “But we’ve both had plenty of chances to kill each other and haven’t yet. I figure as long as we continue like that, we’ll be alright.”
“I’ll keep my end of the bargain if you do, too,” I say, holding my free hand out for him to shake on. Joel eyes it for a moment before grasping it in his warm grasp.
Still so rough.
Still so gentle.
JOEL
“Jesus, is it like this every winter out here?” Ellie asks, sitting beside me at the table while we eat the dinner Red whipped up for us.
I’d offered to help—actually, I’d offered to do it myself—but ever the stubborn asshole, she refused to let me do so much as boil water. Tess always told me I was the most stubborn person on the planet, but I think she’d change her mind if she ever met Red.
”It ebbs and flows,” Red says, wiping her mouth with a cloth. “Some winters it’s calm, barely snows more than a few inches. Some winters—like this one—are brutal.”
My eyes flicker to the boy sitting beside her, his chair scooted up so close to hers he might as well have been sitting in her lap. He’s clutching his spoon hard enough to bend it, and his eyes—eyes that don’t match his mother’s—look wild. Red catches me staring, watching her son like he’s a wolf bronco that might buck at me any minute.
“Colt and I always get a little jittery when a storm like this rolls through,” she says, reaching her hand over to rub her son's shoulder. “But it’s nothing we haven’t faced before, right?”
“Mmhm,” he manages, clearly trying to put on a brave face for his mom.
I hate how much it reminds me of Sarah.
I hate being forced to revisit old wounds I haven’t touched in decades.
Most of all, I hate hating the memory of my daughter. She deserves to be remembered without all these extra emotions that come along with it.
Regret.
Anger.
Shame.
Letting my spoon drop into my bowl with a clank, I push my chair back and stand up abruptly, drawing all eyes. “‘Scuse me. I need…uh, need some air.”
I turn to walk towards the door to the cabin, hearing Red call out behind me. “Wait—out there?”
I don’t stop. I can’t.
My ears are ringing, my hands are numb, and all I can think to do is get up and go. I need to be alone. I need to not break down in front of Ellie. In front of Red and her boy.
The icy wind hits me as soon as I step out of the cabin, flecks of snow whirring in front of me and cutting into the warmth of my skin, but it’s a welcome sensation. I’d rather feel something than nothing, and if putting my body into shock is what I need to snap out of it, I’ll gladly sit out here in this blizzard for hours.
“Joel, come back inside!” I expect the person to come chasing after me to be the awnry fourteen-year-old in my care, but it’s not. With a voice full of irritation, and even a little concern, Red is calling my name and shouting orders like she has any right to.
“I’m—“ The words aren’t coming out smoothly, not with the way I can’t seem to catch my breath. “Fine.”
“You’re walking into a blizzard!” she shouts.
“Just…go on back,” I manage, though it’s hard to register if I’m actually getting the words out or just thinking them. All I know is the haggard in and out of my breathing, the pounding in my chest, the empty feeling in my stomach.
Until she rests her hand on my shoulder.
Until I know her touch.
Her warmth.
The gentle squeeze of her hand as she brings me back to myself.
“Come back inside,” she says, her voice softer than it’s ever been towards me. When my eyes settle, the haze turning to clarity, I find her expression just as soft. Just as gentle. “You can freak out in the bathroom if you want. It’s too fucking cold out here and Ellie said if I didn’t get you to come back inside, she’d come out here next.”
I let out a chuckle, or what’s meant to be a chuckle, and nod my head slowly. “Alright, Red.”
And just like that, I’ve gone and done the most dangerous thing a person can do out here.
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pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x single mother!reader
chapter content: MINORS DNI, written in dual POV/first person POV, no description/name given to reader, reader is a single mother, age gap (twenty-ish years), gun talk/threats, violence, threats of SA (not from joel or reader), descriptions of blood, death (no main characters)
word count: 3.4k
series masterlist | previous chapter
READER
I wake to the sound of a dull thump outside and a colder bed than I’m used to. My eyes bolt open as I reach for my son beside me, only for my hand to land against the mattress. I waste no time in getting to my feet, my boots stomping across the rickety floor until I’m opening the bathroom door, but he’s not there either.
Shit.
At the sound of laughter coming from outside the cabin, I whip the front door open and take in the sight of Colt and Ellie tossing snowballs at one another from their respective snow forts on either side of the lawn. I want to feel relieved, want to feel happy that he’s having fun and being a kid in a way he doesn’t always get to be, but I’m too protective and paranoid to feel anything but anger.
“Colt!” I shout, not violently but loud enough for him to know I mean business. Never in his life has he left the cabin without me. I don’t know what’s come over him.
I watch as Colt attempts to hide behind the mound of snow in front of him, as if we hadn’t just made eye contact from across the yard.
“Colt, I’m giving you to the count of three. One...two...thr—”
“Fine!” he shouts, popping his head over the mound as he stands and stomps his way across the snow to the edge of the porch.
“What do you think you’re doing out here?” I scold, scanning the yard for any sign of Joel. Not that I trust the guy to watch over my kid. I find him on the side of the cabin, chopping wood with the rusty old axe I’ve been neglecting this winter.
“We were just playing,” Colt pouts, kicking his boots into the snow. “I heard Ellie outside when I was sleeping and wanted to come out and see what they were doing. I knew you’d say no if I woke you up, so I just—”
“Decided you’d give yourself permission?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. He looks so damn adorable and innocent peering up at me with his father’s eyes that I can’t help but soften a bit. Reaching a hand out, I cup his cheek and give it a gentle brush of my thumb. “Babe, that’s not how this works. I don’t say no just to be mean. I want you safe, so when I tell you you can’t do something, trust that it’s for a good reason.”
His only response is a mumbled, “Okay.”
“And FYI, I wouldn’t have said no,” I add with a half-smile. “I might’ve been grumpy about having to get up and come out here with you, but I wouldn’t have said no.”
“So…I can keep playing?” he asks, his eyes brightening along with the smile that stretches across his face.
“Yes,” I sigh, folding my hand back against my chest. “I have to speak with Joel, anyways.”
Colt doesn’t seem to give much of a shit about what’s on my to-do list this morning as he bolts back to his fort and shouts that the fight is back on to Ellie.
Stomping my way down the porch, snow crunches beneath my boots as I make my way to where Joel’s standing, chopping wood. “I’d appreciate if you made sure Colt had my permission before letting him come out here.”
Joel pauses what he’s doing and turns to stare at me with furrowed brows and a blank look in his eyes. “It’s not my job to watch over your kid.”
“No, but any decent human being would double check that a kid’s parent knows where they’re at,” I counter, staring back at him just as gruffly.
“He said you knew. Not my fault he lied.”
“You’re a dick, you know that?”
“Been told a few times,” he says, turning back to the log in front of him and raising his axe in the air to strike at it. I don’t flinch when the wood splits in two, even if he hit it a bit more forcefully than was necessary. “We done here?”
“You’re—” Rude. Callous. Arrogant. Unfortunately good looking. A nightmare cocktail of traits. I settle on keeping it simple, though. “An asshole.”
“And you’re fuckin’ naive if you think that kid’s going to be safe out here forever,” he counters, loading up another log without missing a beat. “Ever heard the story of Rupunzel? Keepin’ him locked away in your cabin isn’t gonna teach him a thing about survival.”
“Oh, I guess I should be putting a gun in his hands and taking him out for target practice, then?” I step closer, fueled by the wild desire to yank that axe out of his grasp and chop him down with it. For civility’s sake, I restrain myself from doing just that. “You have no idea what it’s like to be a kid and have to do the kinds of things it takes to survive out here—how it fucks up the mind. I do. And as long as I have a shot at preserving his youth, protecting his innocence, I’m going to do all that I can to keep him away from all the shit that’s turned people like you into cold, unfeeling assholes.”
Joel’s only response is a scoff, a humorless smirk, and a strike of the axe through the log in front of him. When it becomes clear that he has no interest in continuing our argument—I'm clueless as to why I wish he did—I turn on my feet and head back to the porch to stew and watch over my apparently hopeless son. He’s still playing with Ellie, but instead of throwing snowballs at each other, they’ve moved on to building a snowman. Colt’s giggling and smiling like I’ve never seen before, and the sound is healing.
I don’t give a shit what Joel has to say about my parenting. Colt is happy and safe, and at six years old, that’s all he needs to be.
JOEL
I’m not used to feeling remorse. It’s been years since I’ve been forced to tap into these sickly kinds of feelings—dangerous feelings. But that kid is turning me soft.
It’s the only explanation for why I’m standing here scolding myself for being such an ass to our host. I hadn’t meant to attack her parenting skills. I remember how it felt to be judged and scrutinized for the way I chose to raise Sarah by myself rather than make it work with her mother. I remember how hard it was to do it alone, how every decision I made felt like it would end up changing her life.
So, why the fuck was I coming at her like that?
Maybe it’s the way she’s so unflinching in approaching me. Even with an axe in my hand—a stranger’s hand—she strolled right up to me and let me have it. Her fearlessness made me feel a little defensive, as if subconsciously I knew who would come out as the victor if we were to go at it. I might know how to fight, might have hands made for survival, but she’s got something I’ve lost long ago.
She’s got something to fight for.
Ellie’s the closest thing I’ve come to that in a long fucking time. But it’s not the same when I know she’s capable of fighting, too.
That little boy out in the yard hasn’t seen a fight in his life, and it needs to stay that way.
“Still taking your old man frustrations out on these logs?” Ellie’s voice is a welcomed interruption from my thoughts. She’s covered in snow from head to toe, but she hasn’t looked more like I kid in all the time I’ve known her.
“Somethin’ like that,” I reply, swinging the axe into the stump and lodging it there before turning to face her. “Probably got until this evenin’ to get settled before the storm rolls in. Just tryin’ to make sure everybody’s got enough wood.”
“Thoughtful,” Ellie says, though judging by the look she shoots towards the yard where Colt and his mother are making snow angels, she wants to say more.
“Out with it,” I sigh, propping a hand on my hip.
“Do you have to be such a dick? I mean, I don’t expect you to be Mr. Friendly all of a sudden, but she is kind of going out of her way so that we don’t freeze to death out here.”
“I’m not doin’ it on purpose,” I admit with a shrug and a shake of my head. “Just not used to actin’ any different.”
“Well get used to it, please. Or at least learn how to act like you’re civilized. We’re only here for a couple more days. I’d really appreciate if we—”
Silencing herself, Ellie whips her head over to the tree line behind the shed, her eyebrows narrowed. I turn that way, too, even if whatever she heard went completely missed by my shitty hearing.
“What?” I manage, keeping my voice a whisper. Slowly, she inches towards the shed, opening the door and grabbing the pistol out of her backpack before tipping her head towards the cabin in a silent demand that I follow her.
Grabbing the axe out of the tree stump, I make my way over to the porch and wait for her to fill me in on what kind of threat we’re dealing with this time. Our host and her son seem to be aware of the noise as well, the two of them joining us in eerie silence.
“You wanna tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on?” I whisper to Ellie, keeping my voice deadly silent.
“You can’t hear?” Our host asks, her face scrunched up like she was disgusted by something.
“Old guy’s a little hard of hearing,” Ellie says dismissively. “It’s a group of dudes. Just beyond the trees.”
“There’s a clearing thirty or so yards that way. They’re probably waiting there,” our host says, her gaze lingering on mine for a beat before falling to her son. “Listen to me, baby. I need you to go inside, lock yourself in the bathroom, and don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay. Do you understand?”
“What’s going on, mama?” Long gone is the happy kid that was playing in the snow with Ellie. Now, he’s just a ball of fear.
“We’ve just gotta go check something out, okay?”
“No,” he whines, latching onto her leg as she tries to usher him into the cabin. “I don’t want to be alone.”
I look over at Ellie, catching her frowning at the boy. I know she likes to be involved in the chaos, but right now, I think there’s a better job for her. “Stay with the kid.”
“What?” Ellie whips her eyes to mine. “But I—”
“You’ve got a gun,” I whisper. “If anything happens to us, you’ll be able to protect the two of you.”
She only looks like she’s about to argue for a second before Colt’s hands find her arm. Ellie melts a little as he clings to her the way he was clinging to his mother just seconds before, and with a sigh, she gives me a solitary nod. “Be careful. Both of you.”
READER
With weapons in hand—a shotgun in mine, an axe in Joel’s—we make our way through the snow as silently as we can. There’s no telling if this group means us any harm, but with them this close to discovering my safe haven, I can’t take any chances.
It’s one of the uglier truths that come along with this new world, but only one side is walking away from this fight today. Joel and I, however at odds, have to protect ours. At whatever cost.
As we’re nearing the clearing, the voices Ellie and I had heard earlier grow louder, causing Joel and I to glance at each other. He tips his chin towards the large pine tree beside me, a silent request that I hide myself behind it, and moves over to one nearer to him.
“It’s a whole little family they’ve got over there,” a man says, his accent distinctly southern. It’s not like Joel’s subtle drawl; this guy sounds like he’s straight out of Deliverance. “Should be easy enough, once we get rid of the dad.”
I glance at Joel, finding his jaw ticking and fingers gripping his axe tighter. I haven’t been particularly afraid of him in the twenty-four hours I’ve known him, but now I can see why he’s lasted so long out here. Take the kid away, give him a weapon, make a threat, and he turns into murder incarnate right in front of your eyes. It’s as terrifying as it is attractive.
Maybe that says more about me than I realize.
“I say we kill the dad, then the kids, then we have some fun with the mom before takin’ her out too,” the same man continues, and my stomach sinks. Not just because of what they plan on doing to me, but the thought of them coming anywhere near Colt and Ellie.
Not on my fucking watch.
Joel’s eyes meet mine and he gives me a subtle shake if his head. A silent promise that I can’t help but believe he’ll keep.
“We gotta be smart, now,” another, older voice chimes in, sounding like the crackling of a fire. Clearly, this one’s the leader of the bunch. “We don’t know if they got guns. All we got is our knives. We need to wait until it’s dark out and they’re asleep to do anythin’.”
Fucking cowards. And idiots. Now that I know I’m walking into a knife fight with a twelve-gauge, that sick feeling from before is long gone.
Joel catches my attention, mouthing, “How many?”
I peek around the tree and squint, spotting three men huddled around a small fire. There’s the oldest one, and then there are two identical looking men, save for the hundred pound difference in one of them. In another world, they’d look like a father and his twin sons on a camping retreat. In this world, though, they’re just three sick fucks looking to kill and pillage.
I turn back to Joel and hold up three fingers, earning a solitary nod.
“You got a clean shot?” he mouths, and I line up my scope to check it out.
The eldest is up and pacing around now, stroking his beard while the twins sit there and watch. I can’t get a clean shot on him, but the younger ones are doable from the ten or so yards separating us.
But the second I pull the trigger, they ones I don’t hit are going to be up and running.
I give Joel a nod, keeping my gun lifted just like Kit taught me all those years ago. A skill I never wanted to be taught, but one I’m thankful thankful to have now that he’s gone. Joel raises his hand, counting down from five with his fingers before giving me the go ahead to shoot.
And the minute I do, shit turns to chaos.
JOEL
I hardly have the chance to breathe before I’m being grabbed from behind, an arm handed around my throat threatening to suffocate me.
There must’ve been another member of their group that we hadn’t seen, one waiting in the trees just in case. But judging by the shouts and slurs being hurled out into the air, I’m guessing that my new companion—or whatever the hell she is—has decent aim. Hell, she might’ve even taken him out in one shot.
“Joel,” she gasps, her attention torn between the men we were watching and the one trying to wrestle me to the ground. But I don’t want her focus, not when she’s still got two men to handle. I’ll be able to fight this one off myself.
“Shoot,” I choke out, kicking my boot backwards into the shin of my attacker.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his grip loosening just enough for me to shove out of his hold. Facing him, I raise my axe and swipe at his legs, slicing the back of his knee. He shouts as he goes down onto one knee, calling out for his friends. “Fuck! Brady! Two out here!”
A shot sounds, the bullet whizzing through the air.
Then another.
And another.
Still, there are two voices hurling promises of pain and misery.
She’s getting nervous now, her aim sloppy. I’m not looking at her, not as I strike clean through the man in front of me’s neck, cutting his head off in one harsh blow.
It’s sickening—the sight, the blood, the feeling of tearing through flesh. But it’s either kill or be killed. And they plan to do a hell of a lot worse than kill my new companion.
“Joel!” This time, her voice isn’t laced with concern for me. No, she’s scared for herself. And as I whip around to see why, I feel my stomach drop with dread.
A man at least three times her size is rushing at her like a linebacker, ready to take her out.
To take her away from her son.
From me.
Fuck that.
I charge at him like a bull, hitting him from the side right before he runs right through her. She drops her gun in the process of scrambling back, her eyes wide as she watches me straddle him, my fists pounding his face into the snow until he no longer looks human.
“Get the fucking gun!” I shout, still fighting off the hands trying to clasp around my neck. I hear her scramble to the gun, but not before the final intruder—the oldest one—stomps his foot into the barrel. Right as I deliver the final blow to his friend’s skull.
“Y’all thought it was okay to kill my boys?” His voice is pure evil, pure grit. If I were a bit more hillbilly, it might’ve sounded like me. “You got any idea what I’m gonna do to y’all to pay you back? Startin’ with you, sugar.”
I’m panting and sore, my knuckles bloodied and teeth bared as I watch him kick her chest with enough force to break a rib. She lands against the soft snow and coughs up some blood, but her eyes don’t flicker with pain. No, they’re alight with fire. Promises of sweet vengeance.
“I’ll leave him alive long enough for him to watch what I’m about to do to you,” the old man says, lifting the gun and slinging the strap over his shoulder before turning to me. “You think you’ll like that? Watchin’ me play with your toy?”
“You lay a hand on her and I’ll take my sweet time in killin’ you,” I promise, spitting out a mouthful of blood, the crimson staining the pure snow.
“How you plannin’ on doin’ that when you’re dead?” he chuckles, turning back to her. “That’s a real gentleman you got there. Too bad he can’t save you.”
“No, but I fucking can.”
Ellie.
Fuck me, she shouldn’t be out here.
And neither should the six year old at her side, holding a kitchen knife.
Just as the old man opens his mouth to speak, Ellie shuts him up by putting a bullet through his forehead. Just like I taught her.
“Shit.” Ellie’s shaking, her eyes fixed on the man she just killed as he falls the the ground, along side two of his dead companions, the other somewhere in the clearing alone. “Shit. Joel.”
“I know,” I blurt out, rushing over to her and blocking both her and Colt’s view of the bodies. His mom gets onto her feet, stumbling and gripping her chest as she reaches her son.
“Mama,” he cries, dropping the knife in the snow as he clings to her.
And fuck me if the sight doesn’t make my chest ache.
“C’mon,” I say, scanning the woods around us to make sure there aren’t any more surprises in store. “Into the cabin. Let’s go.”
pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x single mother!reader
chapter content: MINORS DNI, written in dual POV/first person POV, no description/name given to reader, reader is a single mother, age gap (twenty-ish years), grief, gun talk/threats
word count: 3.9k
series masterlist | previous chapter
JOEL
“Easy, now. Don’t shoot,” I say, raising my hands slowly with my palms facing the woman currently aiming the barrel of a shotgun at my face.
“Fuck you,” she spits, tightening her grip on her gun. “Go or I’ll shoot your head right the fuck off.”
“The hell you will!” Ellie’s voice sounds from the stranger’s other side, causing me to let out a low curse. When I chance a glance at her, she’s holding her pistol like I taught her, aiming it at the woman’s head.
“Ellie—“
“Who the fuck is she? Your ward?” the stranger asks, her brows furrowing as she adjusts her position to be able to watch us both.
“I’m the one aiming a gun at your head, dipshit,” Ellie returns.
“Hey,” I hiss, snapping my hand at her while remaining as still as possible. “Language.”
“She’s trying to shoot you,” Ellie replies, as if I’m the senseless one here. She’s still young enough to enjoy the thrill of a fight. Me, on the other hand, I’m just trying to get out of this without a gunshot wound.
“Haven’t tried yet,” the stranger corrects. “Just threatened to.”
“And I’d appreciate it if it stayed that way,” I say, focusing back on the woman a few yards away from me. “We’re just passin’ through. Didn’t know anybody was out here. That’s all.”
“Then you can continue passing,” she says, jutting her chin towards the treeline behind us.
“Alright,” I say, backing away slowly. “Ellie, c’mon.”
“What the fuck, Joel?” Ellie groans. “She has a fucking fireplace.”
“And a gun pointed right at me,” I remind. “We can find someplace else—“
“Mama,” a tiny voice interrupts me, and I watch as a kid half Ellie’s age steps out of the cabin and onto the porch.
“Baby, get back inside,” the woman—the child’s mother—commands, softening her voice for him.
I watch as she struggles to pick who to focus her attention on—her son, or Ellie and I. In the end, it’s her son that wins as she lowers her gun and guides the boy to hide behind her leg, his skinny hands clinging to her worn and weathered sweater.
“Shit,” Ellie says, lowering her gun as she shoots me a glance before turning back to the woman. “I didn’t realize you had a kid. Just so you know, I wasn’t going to shoot unless you shot first.”
The woman lets out what I think is meant to be a chuckle, but sounds more like a scoff. “You do realize you’re a kid, too?”
“Eh,” is Ellie’s only response, along with a casual shrug of her shoulders.
“Listen,” I butt in, slowly making my way over to Ellie. “Clearly, you know what it’s like to have a kid out here in all this mess. We ain’t lookin’ to make any trouble for you and yours, long as you don’t make any for us.”
“I’m sensing there’s more to this speech than just stating the obvious,” she says, her free hand still firmly grasping the hilt of her shotgun.
“We’ve been out here in the cold for weeks now,” I say. Calmly. Hesitantly. If I wasn’t feeling as bone tired as this, as desperate for just a bit of warmth, I would never even consider bunking up with two strangers, especially with Ellie in tow. But even though it might not look like it, I know my limits. I know that if we keep on out here in this weather, there’s a chance we won’t make it another twenty miles, let alone the hundreds between here and Salt Lake.
“Absolutely not,” she says, shaking her head adamantly as she backs her and her son up a step towards her front door. “You two could be infected for all I know. As good of a person I’d like to think I am, there’s no way I’m letting you in here with my son.”
“We’re not infected,” I say, though I know those words have been spoken by plenty who hadn’t meant them. Or hadn’t realized yet. But all I’ve got is my word and the hope that she’ll trust it. “I know I can’t prove it, but I’m askin’ you to trust that I’d never put a kid in harm's way.”
“You allow yours to carry around a pistol,” she says, pointing towards Ellie. “You bring her to break into random cabins in the middle of the woods. Your word doesn’t mean shit to me.”
I know a losing battle when I see one. I can sit here and beg all I want, but she’s never going to cave. I can’t say I’d do any different if I were in her position. Hell, I actually kind of respect her more for it.
“Alright,” I concede, even though it hurts to. Just a night in a warm, dry place would’ve been enough for me to regain some of the energy and fight I desperately need out here. But I ain’t about to stand here and grovel, strip myself down and prove to her that there aren’t any bites marring my skin, just scars and proof of the hard life I’ve lived. Besides, if she got even one look at Ellie’s wrist, we’d both be dead. It’s better this way. Safer. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.
“Dude,” Ellie scolds—or whines, rather. I shoot her a warning look that does little to wipe the outrage off her face.
“C’mon,” I order, stepping backwards towards the tree line. I might not have a gun pointed at me right now, but no way in hell am I going to turn my back on that murderous looking woman.
Not when I know exactly what I’d do if I were in her position.
READER
Empathy’s a fucking bitch sometimes.
I don’t want to let these two strangers onto my property. I don’t want to risk the chance that they’ll endanger Colt and I. But fuck, it’s cold outside, and the storm clouds brewing above us prove it’s only going to get colder.
If it had just been the guy, I would’ve had no issue telling him to fuck right off. I would’ve had no issue shooting him dead if he refused to do so. But that kid with him fucked my hard exterior all the way up—even if she doesn’t talk or act much like a kid at all. She can’t be older than thirteen or fourteen, just a few years older than I was when the virus spread and changed the world for good. I remember what it felt like to be that young, dealing with things no generation before me had ever dealt with. I remember how scared I was, how hopeless I felt. And that was in the relatively new and safe confinements of the QZ. I couldn’t imagine being out here in the open that young. And fuck, I can’t imagine how anxious her dad, or whatever the fuck the guy was to her, must be, having no shelter or safety to run to if shit was to go down out here.
And so, humanity coming out on top, I open my mouth and seal my son and I’s fate.
“Wait,” I call out, just as the two of them reach the tree line. The girl—Ellie, I think her name is—stops first, spinning around like she’d been expecting this all along. The guy is next to turn, giving me a skeptical quirk of his brow as if he expected hadn’t expected this at all. “Even if I wanted to let the two of you into the cabin, there’s no room.”
I see the light die a bit more in both of their eyes. The man purses his lips before giving me a solitary nod. “Alright.”
“But there’s a shed right over there,” I say, pointing behind me to the small, wooden building on the other side of the cabin. “It’s not much, but there’s a furnace and firewood. I can heat up some water and let the two of you use the bathroom inside the cabin to clean up. Maybe see if I can spare some food.”
“Oh, fuck yeah.” Ellie beams, already making her way across the snow. The man she’s with looks hesitant to follow, but he looks more hesitant to let her carry on without him, and so he joins her.
“Thank you,” he mutters as he passes the porch, locking eyes with me as if he’s just as suspicious over my good will as I am about him and the girl’s intentions. I only nod in response and pull Colt tighter to me. He’ll no doubt have a million and one questions about our guests, seeing as we’ve never had any before.
In fact, these two are the only people he’s ever seen, aside from me. He never even got to see his own father, and now I’m bringing two strangers into his life.
Strangers that could kill us. Strangers that could infect us.
All because of my stupid, empathetic, hopeful heart that’s telling me that there’s something different about these two.
Something safe.
JOEL
“This is...” Ellie trails off as she scans the shed that’s hardly large enough to fit a twin sized bed—if we had the luxury of having a twin sized bed, that is.
“It’s better than bein’ out in the cold,” I say, not giving her a chance to shit on the small space. It’s a miracle that woman didn’t shoot us dead, let alone that she let us stay on her property.
I move over to the old furnace in the corner of the space and squat to check it out. The thing looks ancient, even to my old eyes, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The older the appliance, the less likely it is to need things we don’t have access to, like gas or electricity. And this old beast looks like it runs strictly off of good old-fashioned burning logs.
“Alright, you stay put,” I order with a grunt as I stand upright. “I’m goin’ t’grab some logs. Maybe see about some hot water.”
“What the fuck do I do, then?” she asks, lifting her hands before letting them fall to her sides. “Just sit here and freeze?”
“Could make yourself useful and clean the old ashes out of the furnace,” I say with a shrug as I shove open the rickety wooden door. “Or you can sit there. Either way, you’re stayin’ put.”
She grumbles something that I don’t manage to catch as I walk back out into the cold, but what’s new. Always a smart-assed remark from her loaded up and ready to go. Her and Bill would’ve had a hell of a time going back and forth.
As I trudge through the snow, I try not to think about my now deceased friend and instead fix my attention onto the pile of logs I remember seeing on the other side of the cabin. Only when I reach the porch do I hear the sound of two voices—one feminine and soft and one tiny and energetic—going back and forth.
“So they’re going to be living with us?” the boy asks, and from where I’m standing just around the corner, I can see him following his mother back and forth from the river to the back porch of the cabin as she fills buckets up with ice-cold water from the creek behind the cabin.
“Not permanently,” she says with a sigh. “Just until the storm passes.”
“Can I go play with the girl, then? Until the storm passes?”
“No, baby,” she says, and another, deeper sigh slips free as she prepares for the inevitable follow-up question kids his age always have ready to go.
“Why?” he whines, stomping his boot to emphasize his point.
“Because,” she says, stopping in place to look down at him. “We don’t know them. We don’t know if they’re safe.”
“She didn’t look infected,” he says softly, looking down at his shoes with a frown. “I just wanted to play.”
Suddenly, I’m hyper aware that I’ve been standing here eavesdropping on an intimate moment between the two of them. Clearing my throat, I continue on toward them—toward the logs that sit in a pile a few feet from them. Instinctively, the woman reaches for her son and pulls him close. I don’t blame her or take offense. She doesn’t know me. It’s the same reason I told Ellie to stay put.
“Just grabbin’ some logs,” I say as a way of greeting.
“I’m about to start heating up some water for you two,” she says, gesturing at the buckets that sit full on the back porch.
“Thank you,” I reply as I scoop up a few logs and tuck them under my arm, ready to go my own way and leave the two of them be.
“Wait—” Her voice stops me, and I turn to face her with furrowed brows. “What was your name?”
Right. Hadn’t had time to do the whole introductions thing with guns pointed at each other.
“Joel,” I say, before tilting my head towards the shed. “And her name’s Ellie.”
She tells me her name and then her son’s, Colt. When I lock eyes with the boy, he gives me a friendly smile and a timid wave.
Poor kid. Being sheltered like this hasn’t taught him a thing about being friendly to strangers.
But he’s not my problem.
Neither of them are.
READER
It’s an hour after exchanging names that I invite Ellie into the cabin to use the bathroom. There’s no running water out here, just buckets of water collected from the creek out back that I’ve boiled on the wood-burning stove. Whoever owned this cabin in the days of old made a wise choice at keeping all the appliances ancient and manual. It was one of the many reasons Kit and I settled here to begin with. That and the cold weather that keeps stragglers from venturing this far north during the autumn and winter months.
Her guardian—Joel—has chosen to remain close by as she uses the bathroom, lingering on the porch in the cold rather than sit in the old shed. I get it. He doesn’t trust me, and even though I’d never harm that kid without a good reason to, it’s a smart move on his part.
Trust is a fragile thing these days. It’s something I’ve only ever given to one person. Something I’ve only ever received from two.
“You hungry?” I ask, stepping out onto the porch with a bowl of steaming stew in hand. It’s not anything to write home about in terms of flavor and quality of ingredients, but it’s hot and it’s enough to fill a stomach. These days, that’s about as much as anyone can ask for.
Joel tilts his head towards me, his brows furrowed as his eyes drift from mine to the bowl in my hand. There’s flecks of snow laying gently on top of his brown and grey curls, at the tips of his eyelashes. Clearly, he doesn’t want to accept the food, but with him out here turning into Jack Frost, there’s no way I’m backing down. “Listen, you don’t have to eat it, but I’m going to leave it out here with you in case you change your mind. When Ellie comes out, there’s food waiting for her, too.”
“You put anything in it?” he asks, hesitating before lifting his hand to take the bowl from mine.
“Running low on poison these days,” I say dryly, earning another one of those unreadable, unamused looks of his. I can’t say my face tells any different of a story. “Look, believe me or not, I didn’t poison the damn food. Just trying to do the decent thing here.”
He sets the bowl down beside him and turns to face me a bit more, his jaw ticking as he studies me like an opponent. “I appreciate all that you’re doin’, lettin’ us stay here and all, but let’s not get this twisted. We’ve both got people to protect. I’m not takin’ any chances with mine, and I trust you’re not takin’ any with yours. Let’s just agree to take care of our own and leave all this other shit out of it.”
Okay, asshole.
“It was a bowl of soup, not my fucking hand in marriage,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “But you don’t want decency, that’s fine. I’m still going to offer what I can to Ellie because she’s a kid and deserves to be shown some decency.”
“She’s fine.“
“She’s capable of telling me to fuck off just like you have,” I counter as I lean down and scoop the bowl off the porch. “Hope that pride keeps you warm and full tonight. Dick.”
JOEL
I might’ve been a little harsh earlier, but something about the way she was looking at me set me off. It looked too much like pity, maybe even judgement. She probably thinks I’m some reckless, negligent guardian who can’t take care of a kid. To be fair, I might be. But I’ll be damned if I let this woman I don’t know judge me and treat me like some charity case when Ellie and I are perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves.
It’s just this fucking storm rolling in that had us out here seeking shelter. The minute this blizzard rolls through and skies clear up a bit, we’re gone. And the less of a debt we owe, the better.
Though I turned my nose up at the hot stew I was offered—a decision my stomach is angry at me for—I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to take a warm bath. Even if it was creek water. Even if the water only made it up to my hips. Warmth is warmth, and my aching bones have needed it more than I realized.
Dragging a wash cloth over my arms, I marvel at the amount of dirt and grime I’ve been wearing for however long it’s been. Twenty years ago, I’d be disgusted. These days, I’m surprised it’s not worse. Even in the QZ, people just got used to being dirty all the damn time. You washed the important bits—the bits you planned on giving others access to—but the rest often went neglected. After all, what’s the sense in scrubbing yourself clean every day when you’re just going to get caked in blood and sweat and mud and ash the next day?
I was surprised to see that our host had a decent stockpile of bar soaps underneath the sink. The smuggler I used to be would’ve swiped a good chunk of it for myself, but those days are long in the past now. Besides, she’s got that kid of hers to worry about keeping clean. No sense in letting all that soap go to waste on a man who doesn’t even have access to clean water most of the time.
Using the already used bar that sits on the ledge, I lather my body up and take in the scent of Irish Spring—something clean and artificial and nostalgic all at the same time. It makes me feel a bit more human. A bit less like an animal trained for survival.
Surviving is all I’ve done, even when it was the last thing I meant to do.
I find myself wondering about Tommy, about his survival. I wonder if he’s somewhere with Irish Spring and warm meals or if he’s gotten himself into trouble. I wonder if he’s even alive.
God, I hope he is.
A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts.
“Dude, did you pass out in there? The kid needs to use the bathroom!” Ellie shouts, clearly disobeying my command to head back to the shed and wait for me. I sigh, using the last bit of water in the bucket to rinse myself off before pulling the plug out of the drain.
It only take me a minute to dry off and get dressed into the spare set of clothes I have tucked into my pack. They’re not much cleaner, but it’s better than what I’ve been wearing for weeks now. Eventually, I’ll have to break down and wash them in some creek when the weather gets warmer, but we’re a long ways away from that.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I step out of the bathroom, finding Ellie sitting on an old armchair in the tiny living room that doubles as the bedroom. In the corner, on an old queen mattress, sits our host and her son, but only Colt looks my way.
“Have a nice bath?” he asks, friendly and surprisingly well articulated for his age.
I grunt in response before turning to Ellie. “I told you to wait in the shed.”
“I was offered food,” she says, feigning manners I know she doesn’t possess. “It would be rude to turn it down.”
“You’d think,” our host mutters under her breath, just loud enough for my shitting hearing to catch it.
“C’mon,” I say, snapping my fingers at Ellie.
“Thank you for the bath and the food,” Ellie says, earning a polite nod and a small smile from our host. “Colt, it was nice talking dinosaurs with you.”
“You too,” he says with a giggle, kicking his feet off the edge of the bed. “Bye Ellie. Bye Joel.”
Once again, I don’t reply.
“You could be a little nicer,” Ellie says, rolling her eyes as we walk through the snow to the shed. “She told me how you turned her food down. Big mistake, by the way. Shit was gooooood.”
“Got food of my own,” I grumble.
“Ah, yes. Cold, canned beans. So much better than hot stew.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, and it’s true. I’ve had less and worse to eat in the last twenty years.
“Just saying,” she says as we nestle ourselves into the small shed. I’m quick to get the furnace reignited, my hair too wet to be out in this cold for much longer. “She’s nice, Colt’s cool. Maybe you play your cards right and you’ll have a girlfriend and a stepson to come back to after we’re done in Salt Lake.”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously! She’s hot in like a mom sort of way. Why not?”
“I’m good,” I say, shaking my head as I sit down against the wall and bask in the warmth of the fire. “Not on the market.”
“But if you were—“
“She’d still be twenty some odd years younger than me.”
“Boring,” Ellie yawns, curling up on the floor with her backpack as a pillow. “Whatever. Just trying to set your depressed ass up for some happiness.”
“Can you act like a normal kid for one second?” I ask, my voice groggy with sleep. “Set yourself up for some sleep.”
summary | Javier's a creature of habit, a man of opportunity, and you were unlucky enough to find him when he's at his most desperate.
author's note | written for @almostfoxglove angst challenge, i really hope i did this moodboard justice ghjfkd. thank you @amanitacowboy for reassuring me while writing this behemoth + translations are at the end.
content warning | 18+ MDNI, informant!reader, set through beginning of season 3 narcos to end, angst, smut, involvement with the cali cartel, paying for info and sex, javier's a gentleman i swear, gratuitous smut, jealous!javi, protected/unprotected piv, creampies, oral (f receiving), some vague violence toward the end, happy ending
word count — 10k
The new influx of customers has been an adjustment, used to the elder regulars with orders that never changed and people who were grabbing a bite after a late night shift, it left you flustered as you reached for the pen and paper shoved into your apron, smoothing out the cloth as you approach the group of men, carrying on their conversation without a care.
“El envío llega el domingo,” It was Friday, which meant whatever was coming in would be here in a couple days—they never said what, but it was always something.
And their eyes always eat you up, hair pulled back loosely as you greet them with a smile, taking down their order as they keep their sights locked on you and commenting on the swing of your hips and the curve of your ass as you depart.
Like rabid dogs, feral and hungry.
You’ve learned to catalog their conversation, catching onto a regular pattern of when things were coming in and out, knowing that whatever nefarious business they are involved in couldn’t be good—but they tipped well and that wasn’t lost on you.
It was almost a month of daily interaction when a new customer pops in, nearing midnight as he settles into his booth quietly, thin button-up stretching over his shoulders as he removed his jacket and tossed it into the space beside him, yellow tinted sunglasses tucked into his shirt, catching the ashtray with a single finger and lighting the cigarette already settled between his lips.
You attempt to greet him, lips parting before he interrupts you, barely acknowledging your presence as he spits out the order for a coffee, black. Dickhead, you think. The pen and paper is shoved away in your pocket and you swing your hips around the counter to fulfill his order with a side of spitefulness.
When you approached again, it was with a nauseatingly sweet smile.
“Can I get you anything else?” You ask, catching his eyes briefly as they flicker up before he shakes his head, a roar of laughter and slaps coming from the booth a few feet away, perking your eyes up at the subtle information they were sharing, scooting out of the both as they slapped a bill on the table, passing by with a vicious smirk that had your blood running cold, the graze of fingertips brushing against your ass that had you biting down on the inside of your cheek to steady yourself, nearly falling into the table as they pushed by.
The stranger perks up at that, his eyes trailing over your body with the same robotic motion as them, but with an air of curiosity, like he was examining you and your reaction.
“No—no, just the coffee,” He assures you, both of you watch as the group of men climb into their shared truck, “those your regulars?”
“Unfortunately,” You let slip without thinking, “I’m sure their boss would hate to hear how loud they talk about all transfers and shipments—can’t imagine it’s anything good.”
His eyes drag to your breasts, more pointedly toward the nametag pinned in your shirt.
He speaks your name before introducing himself, “Javier,” He addresses, turning to dig into his jacket before he pulls out a leather wallet, opening it to flash off his credentials, “DEA.”
“Oh–I’m…I’m not…involved with them, if that’s what you think…” You don’t know why the revelation has your nerves shot, but the fingers that wrap around your wrist ground you.
Javier has spent weeks—not a single lead or piece of evidence to follow. You were his saving grace, a goddamn miracle. He tugs lightly, pulling your attention to him.
“How often do they come in here?”
“Uh,” You blink rapidly, trying to think, “Um—three or four times a week, usually every other day.”
He speaks your name gently, his demeanor changing as he releases his hold on your wrist before he motions for you to sit, looking around briefly to assess how busy the restaurant was.
At this hour, it was only you and him.
You slide into the booth and place your palms against the table, fiddling nervously with your fingers, watching as he puffed at the cigarette a few times before placing it in the ashtray, followed by a generous sip of his coffee.
“Everything they’ve told you,” Javier begins, pointing his finger vaguely in your direction before he points down, fingertip pressing against the table, “tell me—not a detail spared.”
You swallow the lump in your throat as your mouth opens, tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you try to access the memory stored in the back of your brain before you remember the small, mostly indecipherable notes you had been taking.
You rip the wrinkled paper from your notepad and pass it over, his brow furrowing as he attempts to decipher the information and to your surprise, he does.
Unknowingly, you had captured a loose schedule they seemed to follow when they shipped things in and out, the day trading off as weeks passed, constantly changing to throw off suspicion, but eventually things overlapped and repeated.
Quietly, Javier pulls his wallet from his pocket and tosses over a wad of bills in your direction.
You stare at it blankly, eyes dragging up to his face as he nods toward the money.
“Should cover the coffee—and a tip.”
You reach for the money, pulling it apart to count, suspicious of the amount.
Prying the bills apart you count, eyes widening as the number rises.
“Sir—uh, Javier. This is…too much.”
“Not for the information,” He clarifies, peering cautiously over his shoulder, “If I come back every week can you promise more?”
You scoff lightly, pocketing the money regardless, “I can’t promise anything—besides, it’s always the same stuff. Just when things are coming and going, nothing more.”
“Can you get more?” Javier asks curiously, an eyebrow raising as he taps the ash off the cigarette and brings it to his lips, “Like, names—anything?”
“I can try, but—”
“I’ll pay.”
Unfortunately, waitressing was a shitty job.
And you were more than willing to allow Javier to turn you into his little informant.
You nod quietly.
-
His order changes depending on his mood.
He never orders food, usually coffee or whiskey.
Nothing less, nothing more.
And you do dig deeper, giving in to the absurd attempts at flirting and playing it up, allowing the occasional touches that make your skin crawl, returning them with fervor. Luckily, you had a strong stomach and handled it with ease, catching the names of the four that frequented the restaurant often, curiously asking about work and life, giving them vague or fake answers for your own when they pried.
“Three are single,” You tell Javier as you slide him a glass of whiskey neat, “desperately.”
Surprisingly, he chuckles at that. You’ve never heard it before.
It’s a nice sound.
“One is married, two kids.”
You pass him a piece of paper with names and information, trading off for the cash he transfers in return, pocketing it inconspicuously. He’s never there at the same time as them, so the weight on your shoulders is lifted, but the creeping feeling of being watched stays put.
“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”
“They like it down,” You retort with a forced smile as a customer passes by with a nod, “so—up it is.”
Conversation was always easy with Javier, his charisma oozes out without even trying. It was natural for him, casually taking your hand into his during a slow shift, examining the lack of jewelry.
“Could get you a fake one, if it would help,” Javier suggests.
Unless you already had one, of course. His eyes flick up in a silent question.
“I don’t think it would matter,” You admit, “If they want something, they’re going to get it.”
The routine continues like this for a while, until eventually, it doesn’t.
A new group of men come in one Friday, the other, and another, throwing you off kilter.
They started rotating them, keeping you on edge as the information is becoming harder to obtain despite your attempts to dig and frustrations arise in Javier, but never with you.
Sometimes they don’t even speak at all, hushed tones at the table unless you’re needed—but, occasionally they get messy. It’s usually the younger guys, inexperienced, fresh-faced, eager to please the big boss but riding on an uncapped power high.
One of the men gets particularly ostentatious, always coming in on a drunken stupor and slurred words, eyeing you like a piece of meat that he was eager to sink his teeth into. He slips you his number more than once, ignores your polite attempts at a subject change when the rest of the men are hyping him up, and rarely takes your refusal into consideration.
Eventually the fear that has built in you overflows, suspicion arising when you leave work a night after Javier had long departed, a night of very little information exchange outside of casual talk—and even that was forced, understanding how frustrated Javier had become.
One of the men had stuck around, only a brief crossover as Javier had stepped into the restaurant, his eyes tracking you the entire way out before you’re pulled in by Javier’s voice ordering his drink of the night, squeezing his shoulder gently in response.
You should have known better, you should have spoken up.
Javier would’ve done something then, but instead, you convince yourself to forget about that uncomfortable feeling that crept in. You knew what would help, biding your time until Javier left for the night, ignoring how he seemed to eye you too, but with a glazed over expression of worry.
There was a car you barely noticed, swallowed up by shadows and turning on as you drove down the road when you finally clocked out, the minutes dragging before you pulled into the parking lot of the chapel you had sped towards with a weight on your chest and a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.
You couldn’t recall that last time you had visited, but you were desperate now more than ever.
You needed solace.
Prayer comes naturally, dedicated to begging for protection over yourself, allowing the silence of the space to consume you as soft footsteps of other patrons walked by, just raising your chin as a hand clasps over your shoulder, nearly falling to your ass as you turn to connect the owner of the hand to a body.
“Javier?” You ask quizzically, “Did you follow me?”
“No?” He looks confused, answering with full honesty.
That twisting feeling in your gut sinks further, looking around briefly.
“I can provide protection,” Javier tells you, “if you need it.”
You stay quiet, chewing gently at your bottom lip, scanning the room for familiar faces.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it, back at the diner.”
There was only Javier, still mostly a stranger.
“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”
“I spent a long time trying to take down Escobar, I find that kind of insulting, chiquita.”
He’s met with silence, understanding your need for reassurance.
“Yes, I am,” He tells you, his gaze unwavering, “I should’ve offered a protection detail to you from the jump, but I figured me being around often enough would work—did someone follow you here?”
“I don’t know, I kinda lost sight of them.”
You fall silent, staring at a crease in the denim of his jeans as you speak.
“Should I be worried?” You ask quietly, turning your body toward him, “Like—are they going to kill me?”
“They’re getting uneasy,” Javier responds vaguely, before assuring, “Not because of you.”
“I should…I should tell you,” You take a breath, “One of them invited me to a party, I have his number. I told him I would have to work some things out, but I never…”
“Was it this weekend?” Javier asks suddenly, the lines in his forehead creasing at the mention.
“Yeah—yeah, why—”
“Say yes,” Javier urges, “I’ll keep you safe.”
It was a big promise, but Javier’s pleading eyes worked like a spell.
“This is gonna cost, Javier.”
“Name your price, hermosa.”
–
Javier’s touch is white-hot, cigarette tucked between his lips as he brushes your hair behind your ear and presses the in-ear monitor inside, hiding it behind the gaudy jewelry attached to your ear and adjusts your hair back over, stepping back and raking his eyes over your frame casually, pinching the cigarette from his lips with his thumb and pointer finger as he blows the smoke out.
“It’s small enough they won’t notice but try and keep it covered,” He tells you, his free hand shoved into his front pocket as his presence fills your apartment, moving around sheepishly under his gaze, “I’ll be a few minutes away, if anything goes south I’ll get you out.”
You stumble slightly slipping on your heels, caught by his tight grip as he steadies you.
“Sorry—I’m freaking out,” You admit, looking away nervously as his grip loosens but doesn’t leave, firm around your bicep as you sleep your other foot inside the hell, “Th—thank you.”
“You smoke?” Javier asks causally as you stand.
“Not really,” You respond, “Occasionally, I guess. It’s probably more social, if I’m being honest.”
He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and offers it to you, placing it between your lips as you take a small puff without thinking or being told, an effective way to calm your nerves as you focused on the action as he points toward the cigarette, “Don’t drink or smoke anything they give you tonight,” Javier warns, “communication works both ways, I need you coherent.”
He pulls the cigarette away and places it between his own lips again.
The nicotine stings your throat and chest, giving you a noticeable distraction that calms your mind. “How do I look?” You force a tight smile, twirling on your feet as the dress clung to your curves, a soft, velvet red, “Fuckable, I hope. Otherwise I’m not getting anything out of them.”
Javier snorts at that, brow creasing at your crudeness.
“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys.
“Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”
“Yeah, sure,” He mumbles around the cigarette between his lips, “fuckable.”
The way the word rolls of his tongue is visceral, ignoring the pulse between your legs at the vibrato in his voice and the chuckle that follows—regardless, it helped ease your nerves.
–
It’s loud, sweaty, and overwhelming.
You thought they would choose something less…obvious.
But, it was becoming more and more clear how much of the town was under the Cali Cartel’s payroll, learning more and more information as Javier shared it with you in bits and pieces, your curiosity getting the better of you.
The idea was to mingle, drifting far enough away from your date that you might happen upon one of Javier’s more meaningful targets, not going as far as to infiltrate the heads, but someone damaging if you sunk your teeth in.
You quickly come upon the realization that most of the men are confusing you with entertainment, rather than being a guest, quickly side-stepping the hands that reach for you as you squeeze your way toward the bar, sliding into an empty seat with a breath of relief.
“They are animals,” The voice beside you speaks—belonging to a man who was scientifically handsome; oddly perfect, hair perfectly coiffed and mused into place, a perfect set of teeth hidden behind plush lips and piercing green eyes—you had memorized the face in the picture Javier had shown you, “¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?”
You almost forget he’s talking to you for a moment, staring up at him distractedly before Javier’s voice speaks softly in your ear, “Answer him, chiquita. He’ll get suspicious.”
“Oh, yes,” You answer quickly, moving in closer to converse over the roar of music and the heavy buzz of strobe lights flashing overhead, “I seem to have lost my date, though.”
“Don’t worry,” He smirks, “I will keep you company.”
It does take a few drinks and you nursing your own, but you play into the act of being a mere accessory on the mysterious man’s arm, allowing him to drag you around the club with no real path to follow, eventually ending up with a smaller group of men huddled away in a corner, standing dutiful and quiet as the men talk amongst themselves in obscure words, almost like a code.
“I can’t—I can’t hear them,” Javier’s speech is garbled, drown out by the music as you squint at the pain of the feedback in your ear, “can’t—hurry—”
Eventually, you find an opening to excuse yourself.
“Hermosa,” The voice freezes you in place, but the touch is gentle, surprisingly, “I would like to see you again, outside of here—”
You quickly ramble off the name of the diner, attempting to pull away, but not before a kiss is pressed against the front of your hand, feeling the heat burn through your skin like a brand before you’re slipping through the crowd, unable to take a deep breath until you’re outside.
You walk the distance to where Javier had parked originally, finding him buried deep in a conversation with someone who had pulled up in another car, hands curled around the driver’s side window, his head turning as he heard the distinct click of your heels.
“Fuck,” He curses, approaching you with his hands hovering around you—not touch or prodding, almost hesitant to cross that boundary unless it was absolutely needed, “are you alright?”
“Yeah,” You answer confused, nose scrunching up as you peered around him at the unknown agent, his window rolling up before he drove off, “what’s that about?”
“We think someone might have jammed the comms—there’s no way to know, it could have been the club itself, one of the agents is going to look into it—”
“Can you drive me home?” You interrupt suddenly, rubbing at the spot on your hand that the man had kissed, feeling dirty, “I’m full up on being felt up tonight and I want to change.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Javier replies after a moment of hesitation, “let’s go.”
You rip the device from your ear the moment the passenger door closes.
–
Javier places your heels against the floor as you walk barefoot into your apartment, a simple but kind gesture as your belongings scattered against your kitchen counter, fingers dragging through the front of your hair and back as you smeared your makeup in the process.
“Oh, the uh—the code,” You remember suddenly, “something about a bridge, as the sun rises…something with water. The guy, the picture you showed me. He approached the four you told me were important. I don’t think they liked me being there, but I also think they assumed I was too ignorant to remember a few words.”
Javier pauses, hands digging into his hips as he paces near your door.
“Do you want a beer?” You ask curiously, the furrow in his brow sinking deep as he attempts to decipher the code, he nods silently.
You figured with the information bestowed he would leave, but instead he stays, sipping at his beer for over an hour as you watch him move, his brain working things out in real time.
He’s beside you know, hands pressed into the counter as he pushed his body away, staring down at his feet as he repeated the words aloud, but quietly, like a murmur.
“Are you sure they aren’t distributing right under your nose?”
Javier’s head tilts to the side as he looks at you, confused by your analogy.
You stare out your window for a moment, curtains pushed open, the gray luminescence of the moon illuminating the inky night sky, “I mean, they’re obviously paying people off, always partying at clubs—wait, the bridge and water,” A thought pops into your head, grabbing Javier by the hand before you’re pulling him to your apartment window, “what if they’re meeting on boats? I mean, not to say that’s how it’s getting it in, but—”
“That…makes sense,” Javier says, void of any distinct emotion as he takes a long chug of his beer before placing it on the ledge of the window, rubbing at the shoulder of his opposite arm.
“Annoyed you didn’t think about it first?” You tease, turning to tilt your head at him like he had earlier.
“Hadn’t gotten that far yet, we’re still trying to put the pieces together,” He grimaces at the tightened muscles, rolling his neck as his hands settle back against his hips, “that’ll help, though.”
“Sit down,” You urge him, pointing toward your couch and Javier looks at you with dull amusement before you’re urging him again with your insistent finger, eventually he relents.
Immediately, you round the back of the couch and allow your fingers to dig into his shoulder, working out the soreness with deft fingers, “Shit—you don’t have to,” Javier begins to protest before your hand is curling around the back of his head and pushing it forward, molding him to how you needed him positioned as your fingers dig in deep, “that’s, fuck, that’s…shit, right there.”
His voice is pure erotica, but it makes your lips curl in amusement. It was that pathetic desperation you heard so often from the men you served daily—that slight pitch to their tone as they tried to grab your attention, but with Javier, he’s completely detached.
His hands were tucked between his legs, head resting forward as you dug in with a strong, pointed touch, his groan reverberating down his spine.
“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”
“Oh, come on,” You tease, “I was just getting started.”
Javier shakes his head and stifles the laughter in his chest, resting against your couch as his hands circle the beer in his grasp, looking up at your face, tilted down toward his own as your fingers curl around the back of the couch, straps slipping down your shoulders in your relaxed state.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Javier checks, given you’ve had a proper amount of time to wind down from the adrenaline of being inside the club surrounded by dealers and potential kingpins.
He’s worried. He barely knows you and he’s still worried.
“It’s a rush,” You admit candidly, “But, I’m pretty resilient, Javier. Work is work. I’ve dealt with worse assholes on the job, I’m good at putting on a face when I need to.”
“What about now?” Javier asks curiously, eyes exploring your morphing expression of amusement to bashfulness, the way he’s staring at you outright, words unspoken.
“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”
He doesn’t like the way this job winds him up, the tension taught in his spine and unrelenting, staring up at you with a tinge of a buzz from the alcohol and the sight of your sloping breasts spilling out of your dress.
He’s used to driving miles and miles for peace of mind and a nice body to sink into, but you’re here, you’re smiling at him and he’d be damned to refuse the opportunity you’re presenting to him, leaning down as his hand comes up without thinking, twisting in your hair as his head turns to meet yours at the same angle, placing his beer down in the same instance.
“The fucking worst,” He echoes, his hands crawling up the edge of your dress as you climb over the couch with his guidance, speaking through rushed exchanges of lips, his hot, beer-tainted breath against your skin as he situates the dress up at your hips, straddling him without a second thought, “you were right about the dress—”
“Fuckable,” You both agree in unison, sighing audibly at the kiss he places to your chin, neck, shoving his face between the valley of your breasts as you work silently at his jeans, the clang of his buckle, metal against metal as you loosen it enough to free his straining cock, his breath catching as you wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his shaft.
“M-My wallet,” He chokes out, muffled as your tongue dips into his mouth, stop briefly to savor the touch as his hands cups your face, eventually drifting into your hair in a similar manner to earlier but then he’s tugging, “got—got a condom.”
“Of course you do,” You snort in merriment, “is that—is that what we’re doing?”
Javier nods eagerly, never separating more than a millimeter from your lips as you stare at him, his eyes staring right back, searching your expression for any minute twitch of deception.
When Javier fits himself inside of you it is with a broken grunt, a curse under his breath, and a hand squeezing tight at your hip, fingers digging into the bunched up cloth as he wraps his opposite arm around your back, pulling you toward him with a sharp snap of his hips.
You gasp, falling over the back of the couch as your hands grasped at the surface in desperation, the start of a quick but all consuming pace of his hips, his lips mouthing at your skin; arms, fingers, even over your ribs, biting gently through the velvety fabric of your dress, stifling his shaky moans, attempting to avoid the glaringly obvious fact that he hasn’t been able to release his stress like this in weeks.
A willing participant, a body, convenience.
Deep down, you know.
But, you found yourself in the same mix of issues.
Regardless, you both ignore it.
–
Javier is gone by morning—or, what is left of it.
The exhaustion of the night and the sex catching up to you, coming undone on his cock as he gripped your ass, feeling the bruises he’d left in the process and remembering the soft, filthy words of encouragement he had whispered against your skin as you came.
He even locked your apartment and slipped the key under the crack in the door, stumbling toward the glinting gold piece on the ground and the folded up note on the ground, eyebrow creasing at the sight as you kneel to the ground, adjusting your dress hastily. You squint to read the hastily written note.
Got a lead. Money is for last night.
You peel the paper open and spot the money inside, eyes widening as you slowly realize that this was far more than he’s given you before, nearly double the first time, slowly you fold the paper back over and check the back, inspecting the item as a whole before you notice the writing on the back.
We should do it again sometime, chiquita.
You look up at the door slowly, at the cash, before peering over your shoulder at the couch, still indented with sleep and a blanket strewn carelessly over the cushions.
He paid you for sex. He’d made it transactional.
There’s a brief moment where you’re stricken with offense, half the mind to track him down and chew him out, but you remember how your exchange started and ultimately how it would end.
Plus, it was half your rent paid for from the result of the type of sex you haven’t allowed yourself to have in far too long, disconnected from feeling and fully freeing.
Besides, it must be a regular thing for Javier and you couldn’t even blame him.
He was only doing his job.
–
A protection detail does work for a brief time, at least, it eases some of your worry.
It was a younger agent, Javier had told you, little to no responsibility outside of keeping his eyes on you and reporting back when necessary. As some of the leads start to blossom, Javier appears less and less, but still follows through on his payments when you have information to exchange, even if it’s only a name or time of day for something.
You do find the boldness to ask him about the money he’d forked over for sex, flowing lightly into conversation as he gives you a recount of his time with Escobar after a night of curiosity and lacking customers drags you into the booth beside him.
Always taking careful note of any personal tidbits he would offer. You knew he wasn’t married or that, at the very least, he was an expert at hiding it. No kids, no spouse, no baggage.
“Is it hush money?” You ask bravely, counting through your tips for the night as he sips gingerly at the glass half full of whiskey, “Because if so, I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyways.”
His brow creases, confused for a brief second before you mouth the words.
My couch, the sex.
“Didn’t want things getting confusing,” Javier admits, “If it’s any consolation, the sex was good.”
“You’re too complicated for me anyways,” You snort softly, separating the bills accordingly as you glance over at him briefly, a soft hum in his throat as his lips wrap around the edge of his glass as he downs the rest of the liquor, “Was it a one time thing?”
“Doesn’t have to be,” Javier admits, “figured I should draw the line early—you aren’t offended are you? Because if you need me to remind you how good it—”
As you finish, dragging the money into one pile, you shrug, “I’m off in thirty.”
The sway of your hips as you exit the booth and head toward the back of the restaurant is enough to have Javier suffering half-hard in his jeans, legs widening as he inconspicuously rubs his palm over the denim to adjust himself, awaiting the small nod of your head around the corner that comes half an hour later.
–
Javier is efficient, you learn.
What first starts off as a casual trade turns into pure, unrestrained stress relief.
It bleeds into work for both of you, finding time to drag him off into the back office when you knew it was available, fucking over the desk with any empty kitchen and diner as the hours waned into the early morning and everyone was either on break or asleep.
You never offer up much about yourself, very little about your life before moving to Colombia or why you’ve stuck around for so long—but he does know you’re disconnected from your family almost entirely, completely alone.
He has a huge family back in Laredo, people that clearly care about him, catching him on the phone with his father one night as they bickered lightheartedly, something about Javier needing to find time to vacation sooner rather than later.
When you have sex at your apartment, he always smokes afterwards, whether in your bed or by the open window in your living room, always careful about the barrier of clothing that remains, never entirely naked in front of one another.
He doesn’t look at you either, won’t kiss you further than something quick—a wet, sloppy exchange of tongues as he fucks into you from behind, pulled back tight to his chest as his hand strains and squeezes around your neck to turn your head toward him.
And he never stays, doesn’t stay hung up on goodbyes.
He waits until you’re asleep, places the money at your bedside, and leaves.
But, there is a moment when you hear the tone in his voice switch, almost offended.
You’re both naked from the waist down and he’s thrusting into you lazily as his lips latch onto the section where your neck meets your shoulder, recounting the details that you’ve learned today, easily killing two birds with one stone.
He mentioned something earlier that night about a bust gone wrong, chewing frustratedly at his bottom lip as he spoke more with his eyes than his words before you had dragged him toward the back.
“Benny offered to take me on a date,” You address lightly, voice hitched as Javier used his palm against the inside of your thigh to spread it wider before it curls around the back of your knee and pulls up high over his lip, “he bought me an outfit and everything.”
He racks through the catalog of names in his brain.
Benny. Benny…Benito?
He wasn’t aware he’d spoked the name out loud until you’re responding with a soft acknowledgement as the desk bangs against the wall, your hand flattening out behind you for support, “Yes—same thing. I’m sure it’s for the—”
“The gala, yeah.”
He had spent the past few weeks trying to approach a way to get inside, knowing that this would be an opportunity to track the ever-expanding tree of sellers and suppliers, a front for the obvious drug trade that was happening, as you phrased it, right under his nose.
The boat lead had only gotten them so far, knowing that there was much more nefarious shit going on that he was grasping at straws to collect off of, using you as his main source of information.
He knows it’s dangerous, but damn were you good at it.
“When did that c—come up?” Javier asks, grunting into your neck as his orgasm creeped in, his fingers drifting expertly over your clit as they had a dozen times before.
“Couple weeks ago,” You reply casually, both you falling into your eventual orgasms and only hearing him speak as he’s already disposed of his condom and was buttoning his jeans up.
“When were you gonna tell me that?”
It feels like a heavy weight on your chest, the clear betrayal in his voice coming from absolutely nowhere, immediately forcing you into defense mode as you sneer at him, adjusting your top back into your jeans as you tie your apron around your waist.
“I’m telling you now,” You retort, “I wasn’t even sure he dropped the clothes off here yesterday.”
It couldn’t have been that crucial of a detail, given that the gala wasn’t happening for another week according to the information that had been figured out.
Javier looks stiff suddenly, shoving his wallet into his back pocket before your hand is twisting around his bicep and shoving him back until he faces you.
“Is there something you need to say?” Your eyebrows raise slightly, expectant of the harsh words that were bound to be slung your way.
“I’m paying for information—honesty, too.”
“Yeah, well, you’re also paying to have sex with me.”
Javier isn’t sure why he feels it—it isn’t jealousy, necessarily. Just betrayal, that over the last few months you didn’t feel comfortable enough to share the information with him immediately, weary of the temptations of the cartel and the idea that they could pull you in, flip you against him.
He worries for your safety and well-being, knowing that he would be the one living with that guilt if anything happened to you. You were a friend at the very least, something few and far between for Javier after Steve had left. If he wasn’t at work or his own apartment, he was with you.
Javier forces a breath through his nose and huffs, eyes flicking toward you intensely.
“It’s important to know this shit, so we can prepare.”
“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, alright? It’s not like I’m keeping secrets. I’m sure you could do your research on me if you wanted, if you haven’t already. I have nothing to hide and nothing to gain, Javier.”
His shoulders relax slightly, widening as he puffs his chest out and takes a breath, “Yeah, but they have plenty to gain from you—we have to stay ahead.”
Always one step ahead.
–
The gala comes and goes without much preamble—and you know you’re serving as mostly arm candy, dressed scantily as you hand on the arm of a man you barely know, paraded around as a prize he’s won and showing off to his friends, but he’s surprisingly respectful.
Or, biding his time. You couldn’t tell.
You don’t force off his small advances, a gentle touch or something too close for comfort as he lips pressing against the shell of your ear, whispering something you don’t pay much attention to as you survey the event, spotting a flurry of faces familiar and unfamiliar, picking up on names and information as it arises.
Javier could still hear everything on his end with the small, nearly invisible communication device shoved into your ear, hidden underneath your hair similar to last time, careful of which side you allowed Benny on.
“My boss is sending us on vacation soon,” You didn’t pay much attention, but Javier was, “could be fun, if you wanted to go—I could talk to him, he’d like you.”
Perfect. Useful. You can already hear the words that would float around if the opportunity arises. You prayed it would never get that far.
“Change the subject,” Javier says tensely, knowing you were traversing into dangerous territory.
“I’m sure your boss won’t mind, I’ll talk to him, too,” You can feel the smirk over your shoulder before you turn, wondering if he had ever met the owner of the diner or he was purely assuming, regardless, you laugh it off quietly.
“I have to stick around and keep things going, they wouldn’t survive without me,” You switch gears easily, “I don’t see you often, just your friends—why don’t you come around more?”
He’s only appeared a couple times and both were brief, first to ask you to the gala and then to give you the dress, almost like he’d rather avoid the place entirely. You were careful of giving him any personal information outside of where you worked, knowing that it wasn’t already accessible information.
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t think it’s about what I want, is it?” You retort playfully, a smirk growing on his face as his thumb slides over your chin, careful how deep of a jab you make, “It’s up to you.”
Benito’s hand rubs over the back of your dress and down, fingers modeling against the loose wrinkles in the fabric as he moves over the curve of your ass and squeezes, a small squeak escaping your lips as you bite down at the inside of your cheek, ignoring the knee-jerk reaction to elbow him in the stomach.
“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately.
The next hour drags painstakingly slowly, but eventually Benito drops you off at the diner at your insistent request, despite his pressuring you to invite him back to your apartment.
When you step into the threshold of your living room, Javier is already opening up the dinner had ordered at your subtle request earlier that evening, a smug smile on his face as you shake your head in exhaustion, sleeping over you hills in and instant and half-way stripping out of your dress before you even make it to your bedroom.
Javier grins in amusement as you thrust the device that you rip out of your ear into his chest, quietly tucking it away on the table as he prepares the food.
You’re dressed for comfort when you return, a shirt reaching beyond your thighs as you settle the bare skin against the barstool, underwear peeking out as you sit, immediately shoveling the food into your mouth.
You ramble out the names you caught onto, watching as Javier scribbled them down, rubbing at your temples to soothe the growing headache as you finish up your food and shove it aside, eventually slumping against the counter as you groan weakly.
You can feel Javier’s hand graze your knee, squeezing gently at your thigh, a silent invitation.
“I’m so tired, Javi,” You admit, “You can keep your cash, don’t worry. The whole thing was a bust, anyways.”
The chair creaks as Javier leans toward you, whispering against your ear, “Ven aqui,” He beckons as he pulls at your arm, guiding you silently to your room, half-expecting him to tuck you into bed and leave, but then he’s guiding you backwards toward the mattress and spreading out between your legs on the duvet as he removes your underwear, your lips forming into a subtle pout until he’s splitting you open with his tongue, a gasp escaping at the sudden sensation, fingers twisting into his hair roughly.
“Javi, what are you doing?” You inquire—it was new, a careful line drawn between you both earlier on that it was strictly sex, disconnection, but now he was trying to leave the impression of his tongue against your cunt as he devoured you all at once, squeezing at your thighs to spread them open further, a sated expression on his face that had to be a mix of his own exhaustion, delirious with want.
“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently.
“There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,” You squeeze down tightly as your eyes fall shut, his mouth sucking over your clit as your back arches off the bed.
You come faster than you expect and had you known his mouth was so talented, you would have suggested this earlier, but through the waning of your orgasm you feel his tongue drifting over your skin in the wake of his previous touches, lapping at the salty skin before his tongue eventually finds the way toward your breast, swirling around the sensitive skin as your nipple hardens against his mouth, innately curious of his actions but not voicing them.
There was never any predicting with Javier, figuring that maybe he needed a little more distraction tonight, but as your orgasm dissipates and the hand in his hair stays, he never moves, only a low rumble to his breathing as you attempt to catch your own breath before you’re slowly leaning up and realizing his eyes were shut and he had fallen asleep.
Whatever was ailing him had finally taken hold, able to squirm away through his heavy sleep before you’re draping a blanket over his frame, still dressed from the day.
You can’t find the courage inside yourself to disturb him as he took up half of your bed, opting for the couch in the off-chance he woke up in the middle of the night to you beside him, stirring up another list of issues you didn’t feel like dealing with.
–
Surprisingly, you wake before him. The sky barely fading out of night as you stir, rising from the couch as the bulky phone on the counter—it was Javier’s, you knew that.
But still, you answer it. It couldn’t hurt, just tell them to leave a message.
Instead, as you hear the familiar voice on the other end, you find yourself pulled into an unsuspecting conversation with his father that drags into the morning hours as the sun rises, meandering over breakfast before you here him stirring in the other room, trying to ignore how pleasant but telling the conversation with Javier’s father was as you place the phone down on the counter and begin cooking breakfast, silently, still half-dressed in the clothes from the night prior, minus your underwear strewn somewhere on your bedroom floor.
He’d asked how Javier was doing when you told him your name, surprised that he was familiar with you, learning that Javier had spoken about you to him, though briefly.
Probably in passing, maybe. You try not to dwell on it.
“He seems fine,” You told him, “Busy, though.”
He’s always busy, he tells you. Cuidar a mi hijo.
He was worried, rightfully so. But, Javier was an adult, his own person.
He wasn’t your responsibility and you weren’t his.
And you try to ignore the strange sensation in your chest at the immediate elation from his father hearing your name, like an old family friend hearing from you for the first time in years, even though you knew very little of his father.
You’ve learned enough about Javier, at least. His likes and dislikes, vague interests that he commented on, the grimace in his face that would grow deeper the harder he got stuck on something, a thought or idea.
Javier clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, avoiding your gaze as you slide the meat and eggs onto two separate plates before passing it to him.
“You could have woke me up,” He said, looking up at you briefly with mused hair, his shirt wrinkled from sleep.
“Your father called,” You ignored his comment, “you should call him back.”
“You talked to him?” Javier asks blankly, no distinct emotion shining through.
“For, like, half a second,” You lie, “I just told him you were asleep.”
He didn’t need to know his father’s worry or how much he’d given away about what he knew of you, secrets that were obviously meant to be kept between them, but as Javier chews with thought, eager to break the lingering silence, he asks.
“He mentioned it, didn’t he?”
You shrug your shoulders cluelessly, “I think you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“That I’ve talked about you, or at least, he knows who you are.”
“It’s none of my business, really.”
“He hears you, at the diner—he’s nosey. I’ve mentioned you in passing. I just…I know how he gets, I don’t want you thinking anything is going on,”
“I’m not paid to think, Javier,” You tell him.
It’s disparaging, his nose scrunching up slightly at your words and the emptiness with which you throw them. This is where he always seemed to fuck up, distinguishing work from his life but somehow maintaining the balance of peace and humanity.
Do you want to explain last night? You mind screamed, but instead you offer him his coffee, the usual black with minimal or no sugar, giving him the option as you slide the mug and container in his direction. He fishes blindly for his wallet but your hand stops him.
You sigh, “That’s not—I wasn’t implying you need to now. I—I just think we should maybe reframe what we’re doing, given that things have…progressed,” The word lingers on your tongue while you bite at your bottom lip. “I’m worried they might find out where I live or about you—or the fact that I’m literally helping the DEA catch them and praying can only do so much and I’m here alone—”
“Hermosa, slow down,” Javier urges, shoving his wallet back into his pocket at your guidance and avoiding the obvious domesticity of having slept overnight in your apartment and ate the breakfast you cooked him.
It was in his nature to care, to a degree. It was his downfall sometimes, to a devastating fault. He striked while you were vulnerable and roped you into his own mess, now paying for it with guilt that had seeped into his personal life, spending the entire night prior picturing how Benito was handling you, how he could step in—how it could have been him instead.
“She doesn’t sound like work,” His father had told him a week ago, returning a flirtatious quip as you had passed him his usual coffee and offered him a light for his cigarette after his hadn’t worked, that sort of boyish tone in his voice that his father picked up on in a second.
The lines had blurred with Helena after a while, a similar circumstance that he continued to find himself in—paying for info, paying for sex, attempting to make it impersonal. But, here you were, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he didn’t know how to fix the mess he had made.
He couldn’t see you hurt or send you into danger like he had with Helena, the helpness he’d felt as he discovered her near lifeless body, covered in blood and bruises after she had been beaten and traded around—it couldn’t happen, it wouldn’t.
–
Javier returns with a phone later that day, similar to his with his number attached to a piece of paper he shoves into your hand as he directs you to pack a bag in the case of an actual emergency, something quick to grab that you wouldn’t have to second guess about.
“You’re making it seem like I should be leaving now,” You tell him, taking the items he passes into your hand as you fold a stack of clothes and toiletries into the bag.
Javier shakes his head, “It’s better be safe,” He explains, “I…doubt—I don’t think they would be. We have someone listening around the clock, people on the inside, there haven't been any red flags.”
“What if something does? What if I can’t reach you?”
“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” He tells you simply, your face contorting in confusion. “It’s a code—a phrase only you and I know. If you use that, it means danger. Through a note, or that phone. I just have to hear it.”
You zip the bag up in silence, feeling the weight of the web you had tangled yourself in finally settling, curious if you would be back at square one, fleeing to a different country to escape your problems.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”
You nod, a subtle motion but Javier sees it.
“Javier, we should talk,” You echo once more, though with different meaning, “about last night.”
“I’ll still pay, hermosa—that isn’t a problem.”
You could handle the way it was eating at you.
“No, I mean—I mean why did last night happen? Why is your dad telling me to keep you safe?”
His face hardens at the mention of his father.
It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely.
Tell me where he touched you.
“You started this, you know?” You remind him, “You made this transactional.”
Was he scared of you?
Eerily silent he remains, you speak for him.
“I’m not a whore either, so if that is how you view me—I really don’t want your help at all.”
The keys in hand are gripped tight as you chance a glance toward the floor, his body entirely unmoving, his eyes downturned and staring in a similar direction, almost like he couldn’t find the words.
I”m not asking you to give a shit about me, but—”
His answer is a kiss, searing and intense, keys tossed to your bed as his fingers dive into your hair, curling around your head as you make a sound of surprise, steadying yourself as you grip his biceps and stumble backwards, tripping over the dress you had stripped yourself of last night.
You still hadn’t dressed from earlier, his hands flattening against your hips as he molds the soft flesh under his grip, his teething biting into your bottom lip as he murmurs, “Belt, get my belt,” without question, your fingers go to work, ripping the leather away in a practiced motion as you continue to unbutton his jeans, “—think I don’t give a shit, are you fucking insane?”
“A little,” You jest, “I mean—I’m helping you, aren’t I?”
This felt strangely vulnerable, his fingers pulling at your shirt with a deliberate endgame.
Naked in the natural lighting of your room, his fingers reaching for his own shirt as you work his jeans down his hips, appreciating his tanned skin as it shines with a thin layer of sweat. Despite the sticky heat that permeated throughout your apartment, his touch is cooling, comforting even.
“Another freebie?” You tease him further, hearing him snort as he reaches for his wallet and crowded you on the mattress, opening the tight leather before he grabs a wad of cash and shoves it into the sheets before tossing his wallet aside and diving between your breasts.
“Making me a poor man,” Javier retorts, peeking up through your tits as he squeezed them in his grip, mouthing delicately along the skin, “shit—but this, s’fuckin’ priceless.”
“I’m—fuck, I’m kidding, Javier. I don’t want your money. Never wanted it.”
It had always been about convenience, never expecting things to end up like this.
It was a mess, both of you were.
He’s seeing all of you, for once, and you him.
And you know he needs, wants, without saying.
He fucks you slow, legs hitched around his hips as buries his head into the space beside yours, only rising as your noises grow with intensity, the bluntness of your nails digging into his skin.
“Inside,” You beg, “inside of me, Javi.”
He moans pathetically, lips squished against your cheek as his hips falter.
“Yeah?” He grunts, “Can I?”
You giggle airly at his question, nodding fervently.
“Mierda,” He curses brokenly, groaning softly into your skin as he pumps himself inside of you, the warmth of his cum filling you to the brim, oozing out as his hips slow, his hands kneading into your skin as he rests, breathing rapidly against your chest.
“We should—should talk, Javier.” You tell him again, after a moment of silence. “Like, really talk—you know?”
Javier hums in acknowledgment, “Tonight—give me until tonight, okay?”
Tonight was good enough, for now.
–
The first thing you feel when you rouse from sleep is pain.
White-hot and persistent, restrained by your hand as they’re tucked behind your back. You feel more hands, the sound of stiff leather and the smell, overwhelming as it invades your senses.
“I see why he keeps you around,” The voice comes from behind, eyes bleary as you blink before the hand in your hair grips tight, only catching the fist coming at you from your peripheral before your world goes dark.
When you wake again, you’re upright and in a chair, head slung back uncomfortable as you attempt to stretch, feeling heavy and groggy as you move, remembering the moment from earlier you become alert within seconds, eyes searching around frantically as you spot two men.
They were strangers, faces covered, but obviously sent here for a reason.
“Benny thought he could get it out of you,” The man says dismissively, “you foreigners—stupid, messy, predictable.” He grabs the fabric of your dress and plucks the small, miniscule device from the fabric that you missed, squinting to see it before the man breaks it between two fingers and tosses the dirtied fabric aside.
“We got her to ourselves, plenty of time to—”
“No,” The other man replies sternly to the obvious subservient man, “her boss—that’s what we came here for.”
“My boss?” You croak eventually, “At the diner? What do you want with—”
The gun he pulls from his back silences you in an instant. He reaches for the phone on the counter, the yellow sticky note still attached, “That him?”
“It’s mine,” You reply with ease, “I’m forgetful and—”
Your throat swells as he ignores you, dialing the number.
You hadn’t let the reality of the situation settle until you heard Javier’s voice on the other end, careful to not give anything away as his voice comes across more energetic than usual. They didn’t seem upset at the lie, but the finger on the trigger squeezed slightly as his voice came through, a silent order to play along.
“Hola, chiquita,” Javier greets smoothly, “¿Todo bien?”
You laugh softly, “Yes—yeah.”
You know what they want, what they need.
“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” You beg, voice unwavering as you stare the two men down, both of them seeming satisfied by your ploy to get Javier to the apartment without much argument.
The line falls dead without a response, the phone tosses aside to the floor as it shatters into pieces.
Unfortunately, they weren’t going to get it easily.
–
You wished you could warn him.
One wrong move and the blade at your throat, the gun to your head—they would be your undoing.
You stared blankly at the broken lock and hinge of your door, footsteps approaching as you whimpered, the sharpness of the knife pressing against your skin as Javier whips around the corner and into the apartment.
The white-hot pain returns as you’re met with the butt of the gun, slumping from the chair as chaos whirls around you, curled up on the floor and crawling desperately away from danger as someone screams, gargling as it sounds, probably on their own blood.
You couldn’t look back, breathing panickedly as you hid behind the couch and huddled in on yourself, a gun going off unexpectedly as your ears ring, gasping as you hear the sound of a blade puncturing skin once, twice, before it clamers to the floor.
You wait a moment, although it feels like eternity, expecting the cold press of a gun against the back of your skull, but instead it was a hand and eventually another, the faint smell of a familiar cologne that brought you comfort and warmth.
“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”
Out?
You look up, his eyes wild but lacking any indicators of violence.
“It isn’t safe here.” He reiterates, “Can you walk?”
You nod weakly, feeling his hand wrap around your waist as he assists you in rising to your feet, still discombobulated and wobbly, he sticks by your side as you grab your things, silent as he eventually, alongside the crowd of presumably agents and police that pass by, invading your apartment, Javier is a guiding light of reassurance before you’re barricaded in the safety of his car.
“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”
You blink, feeling the sting of tears as you look up at Javier.
“Things are getting worse. It isn’t safe for you here, not anymore.”
“Here? What—what do you mean?”
–
Here meant Colombia.
Which is how you ended up in Texas two weeks later. Laredo to be specific.
Javier had a place close to home. His family.
And you had talked extensively, it was the only thing that kept the panic from consuming you that night as he drove you to the embassy, tying up some loose ends before he drove you to the airport without any explanation until he was shoving the ticket into your hand.
His father had been waiting for you, as somber in expression as his son.
They were so similar it made your heart swell, an unfamiliar feeling.
Javier couldn’t explain what he was feeling for you and you could accept that, but he was careful and adamant in the idea that you would spend your time at his home, already setting you up with a similar job in town, a seamless transition that felt strange, but oddly easy to settle into.
“What if I just left?” You tease him one night, hearing his desk creek as he head slumps into his unoccupied hand, “Would that be easier for you?”
“No,” Javier says sternly, “I’m—this…I think I might be done. Feels like I’m fighting a battle that I’ll never win, feelings fucking pointless.”
It had been months now, curled up on his couch as you stared out the window and toward the empty road, wondering if the chill of fall was creeping in as the cool breeze hit your skin, “No more waitresses to help you out down there, huh?”
Javier snickers at that, though it was quiet.
“Stop that,” He chastises, “It’s not funny.”
You giggle in return, “I know, I know—just remember who’s keeping your bed warm every night, yeah? Oh—and your dad, he keeps asking when you’re gonna call.”
You hear him huff at that, clearing his throat awkwardly as he mumbles an apology to someone on the other end, the faint hum of the office around him feeding through the receiver.
“I hope you’re okay, please come home.”
It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special.
A code, a message. A lifeline.
Javier was barely surviving amongst the cartel as tensions had pulled taut and drug trade seemed at an all-time high, nearly unstoppable anymore.
It was beyond him, out of his control.
And for the first time in a long time, he has a reason, a want, to come home.
“Soon, chiquita. Soon.”
You could hear the exhaustion in his voice and it worried you immensely.
“Don’t let it consume you, Javi. You’ve done enough.”
On the other end, his brow furrows. Disgruntled and annoyed at how right you were, echoing the similar sentiment his dad had told him a thousand times.
He was done, he wanted out.
-
"El envío llega el domingo." / The shipment arrives on Sunday.
"¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?” / How are you doing? Are you having a good time?
Summary:Javier Peña is injured during a mission, and you’re forced to take care of him while stuck in a small, one-bedroom cabin.
Warnings: 18+, mdni, injury (bullet wound), one bed, close proximity. Pedro Pascal
Wc: 1,340
The mission had gone south quickly.
It had started like any other operation—precision, stealth, and quick thinking. But things escalated when Javier was shot. It wasn’t a serious wound, thank God, just a graze across his side that was bleeding more than it should, and that’s how you found yourself in the remote cabin, tending to his injury in the middle of nowhere.
I'm fine,” he muttered, slumping against the wall as you wiped away the blood with a disinfectant soaked cloth. His eyes never left the floor, and his jaw clenched in that stubborn way you knew all too well.
You shot him a skeptical look. “If you're fine, then why do you look like you're about to pass out?” He didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t. Javier Peña was a man who hated showing vulnerability, even if he was the one who’d just been shot. His pride always came before everything else, including the reality of his injuries.
The tension in the room was suffocating, the kind that came from two people who knew each other too well and not well enough all at once.
His eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable. “I said I’m fine. You don’t need to—”.
“Don’t,” you cut him off, sitting back on your heels and glaring at him. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re invincible. It’s not working.”
The room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the storm rattling the windowpane. His dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your heart skip.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice softer now but still edged with that irritating stubbornness.
You froze for a split second, your hand hovering over his side. The heat of his skin beneath your fingers burned like a warning, but you ignored it. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?” The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.
Your fingers tightened around the cloth, and you tore your gaze away from his, focusing instead on the blood staining your hands. “Because you’d do the same for me,” you said, your voice low but firm.
Javier’s silence was deafening, and it made the air between you feel heavier.
When you finally looked up, his face was inches from yours, his expression unreadable but undeniably vulnerable. The proximity sent a jolt through your body, but you couldn’t afford to get distracted—not now.
“Lift your arm,” you said, your voice trembling just slightly.
He hesitated, his eyes never leaving yours, and for a moment you thought he might argue. But then he exhaled sharply and did as you asked, wincing as the motion pulled at the torn skin. You didn’t miss the way his hand brushed against your side, whether accidental or deliberate, and it sent a wave of heat straight to your chest.
You worked in silence, your hands steady despite the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Every time your fingers grazed his skin, you felt him tense beneath your touch. The closeness was unbearable, every movement drawing you closer to an invisible line neither of you seemed ready to cross.
“Doesn’t hurt,” he said gruffly, breaking the silence.
“Liar,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.
A low chuckle escaped him, though it was tinged with pain. “You always this bossy?”
You glared at him, your temper flaring. “Only when my partner gets himself shot and refuses to take it seriously.”
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You finished cleaning the wound, your hands lingering on his side longer than necessary. When you finally looked up, the raw emotion in his gaze made your breath hitch.
Finally, you broke eye contact, your voice shaky as you muttered, “You should lie down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I’m fine,” he said, the gruffness in his tone not enough to mask the exhaustion bleeding through.
“You’re not fine, Javier,” you snapped, standing up abruptly and pacing to the other side of the small room. The tension in your chest was unbearable, a knot that refused to unravel. You gestured to the single bed pushed against the wall, your frustration bubbling over. “Just take the bed before you pass out.”
He shot you a look, one brow raised, the kind that usually made people stop arguing. But you weren’t most people.
“You’ve lost blood, and you’re hurt,” you added before he could argue. “You need it more than I do.”
“You’re exhausted,” he countered, his voice rough but firm. “You think I don’t notice how you’ve been running on fumes?”
You ignored him, grabbing the blanket you’d pulled off the bed and laying it down on the floorboards. The room was small, cold, and lit only by the flickering yellow glow of the bedside lamp. But you didn’t care. Anything was better than sharing that bed and having to endure the unbearable tension lingering in the air between you.
“I’m not arguing with you about this,” you said, lying down on your makeshift bed. You turned your back to him, pulling your coat over yourself for extra warmth.
He let out a frustrated sigh, but he didn’t say anything else. The sound of him settling onto the bed filled the silence, followed by the creak of the old mattress.
You tried to sleep, but the floor was unforgivingly hard, and the chill seeped into your bones despite your coat and the thin blanket. Every time you shifted, the bruises and tension from the day’s events flared to life, keeping sleep just out of reach.
Eventually, though, exhaustion won out, and you drifted off.
Javier lay awake on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was quiet except for your soft, uneven breathing, a clear sign that you weren’t resting peacefully.
He sighed, running a hand over his face. Stubborn. That’s what you were. Stubborn and self-sacrificing, always putting him first even when you didn’t need to. It made his chest ache, though he’d never admit it out loud.
When your breathing finally evened out, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a groan, standing up carefully to avoid pulling at the stitches in his side. The sight of you curled up on the floor made him frown. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and the thought of you spending the night like that stirred something deep inside him.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.
He crouched down beside you, moving slowly to avoid waking you. His hands hovered for a moment, hesitant, before slipping beneath you—one under your knees and the other supporting your back. You stirred slightly, letting out a soft murmur, but didn’t wake as he lifted you effortlessly.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered softly, more to himself than to you, as he carried you to the bed.
The mattress creaked as he laid you down gently, pulling the blanket up over you. He hesitated for a moment, his hand lingering on the edge of the blanket as he looked at your face, now peaceful in sleep.
Shaking his head, he moved to sit back on the floor, resigned to a sleepless night. But before he could settle, your hand reached out, catching his wrist.
“Stay,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.
He froze, his breath hitching as he looked down at you. Your eyes were barely open, your grip on his wrist loose, but the vulnerability in your voice was enough to shatter the walls he’d so carefully built.
After a long moment, he exhaled and climbed into the bed beside you, careful to keep some distance. The mattress was small, and the proximity was impossible to ignore, but he stayed still, watching as your breathing evened out again.
“Stubborn,” he whispered one last time, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
And for the first time in a long time, Javier Peña allowed himself to relax, the weight of the day melting away as the quiet rhythm of your presence lulled him to sleep.
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Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is Bucky Barnes' best friend and business parter in crime. He has decided to get out of the life with Bucky because it's the right thing to do. When Steve meets you at one of his businesses and lies to you about a myriad of things, It becomes a sticky situation, especially since the attraction you feel for one another is so sweet.
Pairing: Bartender/ Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)
A/N: I love these two and there is so much to say. More parts to come.This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and occurs up to the events in the Bucky Barnes fic You've Got me Thinking. I'm so done for with Steve and Peach. The next part will be published next week! ☺️
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angsty angst! Steve is called ‘Steve’ and ‘Grant’ alternately, depending on POV. Mutual pining, masturbation, financial difficulties, mild stalking/surveillance, Steve lying, Steve using an alias, exotic dance life; wild thoughts, flirting, hand holding, intense sexual tension, kissing, making out, feeling each other up, third base, dirty talk, voice kink, praise kink, fingering, finger f ucking, betryal. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.
I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
-----
November
“Peach…”
Steve whispered it like a prayer, or a spell, trying to conjure you to appear next to him in the king sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets at the Four Seasons. His voice was a gravelly groan and he tried to keep his hands off himself despite the lurid thoughts playing behind his eyelids.
He couldn’t stop thinking of you and he couldn’t calm down.
And it was all your fault.
Steve felt as if he had a hangover although he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. His mind was clouded with dreams of you all night. Your eyes, your voice, and your wit were drawing him to you.
The image of your body and that pole, the sway of your generous hips, the swell of your breasts made him breathless and made his cock thicken under the covers. It rose and pounded to the beat of his heart when he thought of those eyes.
The fantasy of those eyes blown with lust as you opened your mouth wide to deep throat him impelled his hand to his thick staff and tight balls.
“Fuck!”
He wasn’t going to do this.
Steve flung the sheets away as he stood up to pull on some basketball shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing his key card as he left his room on the way down to the hotel gym. He only nodded politely at the hot brunette who smiled at him as she got on and stood too close. Steve shifted away and stared up at the floor indicator panel as he thought of you.
There was no one else in the world as he floated to the treadmill on a cloud of thoughts of you. As he increased his speed, he replayed all of the different colors in your eyes as you talked to him yesterday. He ran toward an impossible dream of you and him together.
Yeah. Steve Rogers, known to you as Grant Stevens, was screwed.
—--
You woke up with a gasp as your body convulsed from your wanton dreams. You sat up in bed and tried to capture the wisp of your vivid imagination that had gotten you there. You were so wet for a certain new bartender at your night job.
The only thing you could remember from the dream was the image of Grant’s lips and the sensation of his fingers on your hand from the day before. You ran your hands down your body and tried to imagine what his touch and those lips would feel like everywhere you wanted them to be.
Your fingers found your clit and your tight nipples, squeezing, pinching and rubbing in time with your desperation for Grant. You came quickly as you imagined those lips replacing your digits and his deep voice in your ear.
After, you lay in bed a moment longer, satisfied for the moment, yet yearning for the real thing. It had been too long since you’d had human romantic contact.
But you barely knew the man. You shook your head as you padded to the shower to start the water and then to the coffee maker to turn it on.
Your real-life daily routine had no time for Grant Stevens.
Sorry to that man.
—
Steve sat in the coffee shop at the corner of Peachtree and West Peachtree street at 10:30 am. He grumbled to himself thinking of all the streets similarly named in Atlanta which also reminded him of you.
But the streets weren't making him stalk you at your day job. He was there to research his investment.
That was it.
He looked down at his laptop, open to the file that his tech guy, Miles, was able to send over to him in just under two hours. Thanks to the information therein, Steve knew that you would be in at any moment to get the typical online pick up order for your morning break. He also knew that you’d been at work since 8:30, which was amazing considering you got home at 3:45 am.
Steve learned that you worked as the Adult Dance Coordinator at the Atlanta Ballet, which seemed like a high end job, but when he saw your salary, 40K a year, he realized that was just a little over $700 a week. Your bank balance was at zero and your student loans were astronomical.
He understood why you worked your second job.
Your degree was in Dance Performance and Choreography from Spelman, and based on the look on your face when you went into Regine the day before, the way you were immersed in the music when you warmed up, and the way your body moved, he knew that you were good at it.
Steve looked back at his laptop to see that you also had your own fledgling dance school, Peach Preserves. The photos on the website made him smile. He could feel your energy with the kids through the screen. It warmed his heart to know that you were trying to make your dream work.
He happened to look up at the moment that you entered the cafe. He almost ducked under the table, but you didn’t see him, just went to the counter, picked up your drink and chatted briefly to the barista. Then you headed out of the door, in the opposite direction of Atlanta Ballet headquarters.
Five minutes later, Steve was tailing you on a walk around the huge Atlanta city block as you sipped your coffee and smiled at almost everyone.
You were such a cutie, from your sickeningly cute, sensible heels, to the fucking cute pencil skirt that conformed to your curves and caused more than one person to crane their necks as you passed them, to the damn cute cashmere sweater that wasn’t tight, but still molded to the body that Steve itched to feel for himself.
As you went back into your place of employment, Steve felt a loss at you being out of his sight. He felt like a 14 year old kid watching his crush go to class.
But this was not that, he thought. He had to know what type of employees Regine had, and you were the sample. He was just handling business.
That was all.
—-
Steve was busy the next couple of days straightening out the finances and employees at Regine, especially Sully, who had taken a sudden leave of absence in the middle of the night and would not be missed.
Steve decided to keep the club, and that would be far more work than getting rid of it. Bucky was annoyed, but he wasn’t anyone’s boss. Rebirth and its holdings was a group project.
Despite all that he had to do, Steve could not stop thinking about you. There were numerous times that he caught himself daydreaming about being with you, but he did not allow himself to believe it could really happen.
It was an impossibility.
When he came in to Regine on Friday, you were sitting at the bar with your head in your hands. It was 2 pm and you were about an hour and a half early for work.
He was instantly concerned. He was about to crash out, knowing that he would never rest knowing that someone out there might have hurt you, or made you sad. He would either kill them or fix it.
But instead he took a deep breath.
“You okay, Peach?”
You looked up at him, those gorgeous eyes watery. You gave him a weak smile, and he just wanted to take you into his arms. He didn’t know you wanted the exact same thing.
“Yeah, Grant. I’m just great.”
You shook your head and then laid it down on the bar on your crossed arms.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He slid into the barstool next to you.
“Well, a lot of shit has happened in the last couple of days, but long story short, I left my work bag all the way in Kirkwood, and I’ll never get there and back on the bus in time. It will take all night.”
Steve was confused. He looked down at the bag on your lap.
“Is that not your bag? Why are you going on the bus?”
He had so many questions.
You took the bag in your hands and huffed, frustrated.
“Yes, this is my bag, but it’s my dance class bag with my day job clothes in it. I usually leave it in my car when I come in here. But my car is… in the shop…”
You started crying in earnest and jumped slightly when Grant put his hand on yours then relaxed. His touch distracted you, but you were still upset.
“How long will it take in a car? I can give you a ride.”
You looked up hopefully, then your face closed, wary.
“About 45 minutes, but I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. As a comrade.”
You looked up into his eyes again and sniffled.Grant was a nice guy. And you felt that you could trust him.
“I’d owe you big time.”
Steve smiled, making you feel warm inside.
“Give me five and we’ll be ready to go.”
He left to go talk to the other bartender and was back by your side in moments.
“Car is out here.”
Stepping into the cool November Atlanta night let you take a deep breath and clear your head, but now your nerves were ramping up for another reason as you walked next to Grant until you came to a red Audi RS7.
You peered up at him as he held the door open for you.
“Nice car for a bartender.”
Why did your voice come out all breathy like that?
Grant smiled down at you, making your stomach do that little flippy thing it had been doing the past few days when you thought of him.
“It’s a loaner. My car is in the shop, too.”
You nodded slowly and settled into the leather and wood interior thinking about your story. You looked over at him as he drove, the afternoon light from the road playing over the planes of his face, and marveled at his profile.
Those eyes, the cheekbones, the lips. He glanced over and caught you ogling him. Your cheeks heated and you smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just… can I tell you something?”
—--
Steve had been driving, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands on the steering wheel in order to get you to where you were going safely. Your scent in such close proximity was making his mouth water and his dick hard.
Thoughts of pulling over and dragging you over onto his lap were driving him crazy. He was lost in thought until the hair stood up on the back of his neck.
Glancing over, he saw you staring at him. Your flush and shy smile made him even harder.
Were you checking him out?
Did you want him too?
He raised his eyebrow at you, his heart beating double time at the thought.
But then you asked the question.
Can I tell you something?
You were basically asking if you could trust him. Shit.
You sighed, your breasts rising and falling with the filling of your lungs. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, but it was hard. He was hard.
“What do you need to tell me?”
“My car is not in the shop. It was repossessed.”
There. You said it. The truth was so freeing. You felt as if you could be yourself with Grant, not put up the thug front that you did with everyone else.
He looked over at you, switching quickly between you and the road until you hit a red light, his jaw ticked tight with some mysterious emotion.
Your stomach flipped when the heat of his full attention was on you.
“What?”
“Yeah. Happened the other day. Woke up and my car was gone. My neighbor said they saw it towed about 2 am.”
Steve's mind whirled, thinking of the financial information in your file.
“But I thought you—”
He stopped short, not wanting to give himself away. He did want to pull over so that he could see your face, but he knew that you were anxious to get back to the club.
“I mean… you seem to have it all together. Are you okay?”
His sentiment had you in your feelings.
“Yeah. I’m used to hustling. I’ve been juggling finances ever since I graduated college. Spelman is a great school, but it’s hella expensive. 30K a year after my scholarship. I owe close to 100K on student loans, and then there’s rent on the studio.”
You looked over at him, barreling ahead despite knowing that you were word vomiting all over him.
“I’m trying to start a dance school. It’s my dream. But it costs money. So I took out a title loan on my car, even though it was paid off.”
“Wow.”
Steve cleared his throat. Those predatory title loan places often didn’t legally record the loans, just charge outrageous interest and repossess at the first missed payment. That’s why it wasn’t in your file.
“What about your folks?”
“My parents died in a car accident my sophomore year at Spelman. No insurance. My family is aunts and uncles and cousins, and they help when I ask and if they can but…”
Your eyes glazed over as the car pulled to a stop light.
“I’m pretty much my own family.”
Steve looked into your eyes and wanted to belong to you. He looked down and took your hand. You took a shuddering breath as your stomach flipped.
“Grant…”
He frowned as you called his name.
“I’m not telling you this to ask for money. I just need a ride. Just wanted to be honest with you.”
Steve felt like a jerk. He wanted to tell you the truth.
“Peach…”
“I’m serious. If I have another night like I did Tuesday, I got it. I need three stacks to get the car back..”
The wheels were turning in Steve’s mind.
“Okay. You should easily earn what you need tonight.”
He’d make sure of it.
You relaxed and smiled at him, noticing that he still had your hand in his. He rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand and you shivered.
“Thank you for telling me, Peach.”
“Thank you for listening, Grant. And for not trying to rescue me. I really appreciate it. Not that you could. You probably don’t have over a hundred K just lying around…”
He threw you a look while driving, his expression unreadable.
“Anytime, Peach.”
His voice came out gruff. He cleared his throat.
“I do know of a private endowment in New York that might be able to help. It’s called the Rebirth Foundation. It’s an Arts organization. They have awards up to a million dollars a year. You could apply…”
“Hmmmm. How do you know about this endowment?”
“I’m from Brooklyn. It’s a thing up there.”
You smirked.
“I knew you had a funny accent, Been trying to place it.”
“I have a funny accent?”
“Asshole!”
You hit him on the shoulder. He chuckled.
“Anyway, I know a couple of people who’ve benefited from the endowment. Worth a shot.”
You were skeptical, but he was just trying to help.
“Okay, send me the information.”
“I’ll send it to you when we stop. Just put your number in my phone and I will text it to you.”
Grant handed his phone to you.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was an elaborate scheme to get my digits.”
Steve laughed. He already had your number, but now he’d have an excuse.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Fuck you, Grant Stevens.”
He cleared his throat, thinking he’d allow you to fuck him. You riding him in the back of a town car as you drove around New York City was in his top three.
“Cool. You know, you don’t have to pretend to be angry. You can just ask to use my body...”
You scoffed.
“You know what? I think I hate you.”
“I think it’s the opposite, but you have a wall up.”
He was right. You didn’t hate him, you just hated how he read you right then.
“Grant–”
“Okay, we’re here...”
You stared at him until he raised his eyebrow at you. Then you lowered your eyes and chewed your bottom lip. Next thing you knew, his hand was on your chin pulling your lip from between your teeth, rubbing his thumb over your mouth. Your eyes went wide as saucers as you gasped for breath.
Steve dropped his hand rather than push his thumb into your mouth like he wanted to. He nodded at the studio.
“Do you want me to get your bag?”
His voice was gravelly with desire and you struggled with the ability to speak. You wanted this man.
Badly.
You were doomed, was the companion thought.
“No… no. Tameka is holding it for me. I’ll be right back…”
“Okay.”
Steve was holding the wheel in death grip and staring out of the window. He watched you go into the studio and thought of all the reasons why what he was happening was a bad idea. Women were a means to an end for him, occasional companionship, physical satisfaction.
No strings. Ever.
The ones he dealt with knew that very well.
Unfortunately, you had him tied up in all kinds of strings with knots at the moment.
—--
By the time you got back to the club, Steve sent you a fake website that Miles had constructed in 30 minutes. As soon as the application hit, more money than you needed would be headed your way.
He just needed you to actually apply.
The night went by painfully slowly. Grant insisted that he give you a ride home after work and you agreed, causing some weird anticipation anxiety thing that was, for you, only alleviated on the stage. You zoned out and earned the most tips you ever had, partly because he was your inspiration.
Customers were making it rain. You felt Grant’s eyes on you all night and the more you danced for him, the more money came your way. The tension between you was only building, and you both knew that him driving you home would be the climax. In more ways than one.
After work, at three am Saturday morning, with over $2K in your bag, Steve drove you to your place. This time, both of you were silent, and both your eyes were on the road. It was like time and all coherent thought were suspended.
When the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you turned to him.
“Want to come in?”
It was a simple question, and one that would make Steve’s life infinitely more complicated if he took you up on it.
Yet he didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
—
As soon as he stepped behind you at your door, the raw animal in Steve was activated. He crowded you, standing much closer than necessary, breathing on your neck and making you shiver as you unlocked the door. But you didn’t mind. No. Not at all.
He was overwhelming this close, but in a good way. His scent, his warmth, his power. You wanted all of that. All over you.
When you got inside, you turned around in the entryway and he.
Was. Right. There.
You looked up at him under your eyelashes as he stared at you, nostrils flaring and jaw ticking with restraint.
Damn him, it should be illegal for him to look that fucking good.
“I’m just itching to kiss you Peach. Can I? Want to so bad.”
His blue eyes roamed your face, then down your body in a possessive glare.
God, it made your nipples tight and panties wet.
“Please…”
The way he begged for you broke any resolve that you may have had. You reached for him, grabbed the white tee shirt that was underneath his flannel and pulled him close to you.
His jaw relaxed as his mouth slanted in a side smile as your arms reached up and wound around his neck, fingers tangling in the long, thick hair spilling over his collar and pulled him down as your lips connected.
The kiss was tentative: slow sweeps of lips over lips, and shy reaches of tongue to tongue. Then, the urgency increased with nips and licks and sucks of thick lips on lips with tongue and teeth. Moans and gasps and whimpers spilled out between you.
Grant raised both hands to palm your head as he tenderly pulled himself away from your lips and rested his forehead on yours.
“That was…”
His thumb swept the moisture from your lips and this time you captured it between them, sucking it while looking him in the eye. Steve’s cock throbbed even harder.
“Fuck. I want you…”
Your eyes looked down to see the bulge in his jeans, up to the clench in his jaw and that goddamn pretty face of his, and you bit your lip, causing him to groan.
You reached down and palmed his hard on as he pumped his thumb in and out of your mouth. He pulled his finger out, groaning as he watched your lips and you whimpered, causing him to silence you with another kiss.
His hand drifted down your body, exploring until his long fingers reached inside your sweats to find your panties drenched and sticking to the wet folds of your pussy.
“Fucking soaked, Peach. I-I need this. Need to feel this. N-need to eat this…”
Grant’s raspy baritone and the stutter made your head fall back against the wall as your pussy clenched. His brilliant blue eyes found yours when he felt it. He kissed the side of your mouth and you chased his lips, a fiend for him.
His tongue invaded your mouth again just as his thick fingers pulled your panties to the side and parted you, the calluses on his fingertips feeling just a little like heaven against your wet, sensitive skin.
He leaned down and whispered in your ear.
“You’re so wet, and soft, Peach. See? I can slide through these fat pussy lips so easy.”
He was skating, rubbing between your folds along your slit, teasing your entrance and your clit.
Your hands were yanking his shirt free of his jeans so your hands could feel his thick, hard abs, and your nails could scratch his skin. Grant shuddered under your touch.
Steve felt like it was his first time touching a girl, the way his heart was fluttering in his chest. As he felt your perfect little body, he realized that he was aiding in the ruin of himself for anyone else.
He collected your wetness and proceeded to pull his fingers out and push them into his mouth, making you watch as he suckled them, his eyes rolling back in his head. He concentrated to regain thought as he slipped his fingers back in and pinched your clit, then plunged up and down the split of you, finally breaching your entrance.
Your legs were shaking and your thighs clamped around his hand. You held on to his shoulders as you rolled your hips into the thrusts of his fingers. He was full-out fucking you now, kissing you in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers.
Your body bowed into him at his filthy words and he watched your face with rapt attention. You’d given him the key to you. His words.
His fingers pushed deeper inside you and curled, making you moan and quiver.
“That’s right, Peach. Take my fingers like a good little girl.”
He whispered it calmly against your ear, not betraying how feral he was on the inside.
You pressed your lips together as you clenched down at his words.
“You’re so sweet. So cute. So desperate.”
His fingers reached that bundle of nerves, causing your brain to short circuit.
“Needy.”
Grant licked your neck as he dragged his long fingers in and out of your sodden, dripping cunt. You tried to stifle another moan as he curled his fingers inside you.
“What I need is to hear you, Peach. Been dreaming of you screaming for me for the past three nights.”
“Please!”
You were practically sobbing now, a result of the skill with which Grant was playing your body. His neck was craned as he marked your neck, and he was searching your skin underneath your shirt with his free hand.
“You're so beautiful Peach, and wet for me. So warm and snug.”
He leaned over again to suckle on your pulse point and then whisper into your ear.
“But you’re gonna struggle to take my long thick cock in this tight little cunt.”
“Fuckkkkkk!”
You erupted into a mind-blowing orgasm, shuddering between Grant and the wall, holding on to him for dear life as your knees gave out. He held you up, gingerly removing his fingers from around you and hugging you to him, his heart gone from his body and now in your possession.
He never wanted to let you go.
But then you spoke again.
“No one has ever…”
You giggled and looked up into his impossible blue eyes. He smiled down at you. For a split second, you were the happiest you’d ever been.
“No one had ever done that to me as effectively as you, Grant Stevens.”
Steve’s smile fell.
He felt the power of his betrayal in advance of you finding out who he really was.
Not only had he lied to you, he wasn’t good enough to be around you, let alone touch you.
He looked down to see that you were steady on your feet now, and straightened your clothes for you. He felt terrible, knowing what you expected to happen next, if nothing more than intimacy with someone who was honest with you.
He kissed your forehead, then your lips again, chaste this time.
“I’m so sorry, Peach. We can’t do this.”
“What?”
He kissed your forehead again and left your apartment, leaving you standing there wondering what just happened.
—-
When you went to work that night, they said Grant quit. The number you had for him was disconnected. He’d vanished into thin air.
You were a thug, so you powered through the night but you spent all day Sunday in bed wondering what you did wrong. And what he was really about.
By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, you were grateful to go to Hilton Head and get away with your family. You heard about your cousin’s big adventures in the City with her Mr. Big and crew.
You teased her relentlessly for being a simp, and continued to swear that you were a thug. You were a complete comedian, putting on a show for your family until the moment the man you knew as Grant Stevens stepped into your Aunt and Uncle’s home.
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