bella ♡

it’s raining hard for an early evening in may, and rafe has been sat in his car for over an hour now. the windows have begun to steam up, so much so that he keeps having to wipe the condensation away to make sure that he can properly seen across the street to make sure you get home safe. you were supposed to arrive home an hour ago, as you do every day. he’s worried that something has happened to you. his leg bounces impatiently, rocking the car with it, as his eyes scan the parking lot. your audi still hasn’t parked in its usual spot (about ten feet from the front doors, if he remembers correctly).

a few more minutes pass, and rafe can’t handle not knowing where you are anymore. he grabs his phone and first opens instagram to see if you’ve added to your story or posted or even shared your location. nothing. next, he checks twitter. still nothing. his grip around is phone tightens, his knuckles whitening his skin and his jaw clenching as his stomach tightens uncomfortably. where the fuck are you?

he debates going inside and asking your neighbours whether or not they’ve heard anything, whether you’ve told them anything. the risk of you finding out a guy you don’t know is asking after your location puts him off, though. against his better judgement, he unlocks his car and pushes the door open, the rain falling in heavy sheets across his face. he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t not know. just as he’s about to make a beeline for the building’s front doors, a familiar car pulls into the parking lot and into its designated spot. he feels his shoulders relax in relief, but quickly remembers himself and slides back into his car.

he watches through hooded eyes as you get out of your car and retrieve your bags from the backseat, your hair pushed up out of your face and your cheeks flushed. he wonders whether something happened at work today. there’s a bounce in your step that’s not usually there, and your mouth is pulled up into a less-than-casual smile. jealously curls low and relentless in rafe’s chest; what if you’ve met someone?

he tries not to dwell on that thought for very long in favour of staring unabashedly at your ass as you walk into the apartment building, fingers absentmindedly playing with his bottom lip. he watches through the window as you step into the elevator, his leg finally stilling once the doors shut behind you. at least now he knows that you’re safe. but what if you really have met somebody? the thought makes him feel sick.

the idea of it seems to churn around in his mind, worsening the longer he sits there not doing anything, and after a few more minutes, he can’t stand the volume of it anymore. it’s a rash decision, a stupid one, but that certainly doesn’t stop him. he gets out of his car and starts after you, his pace controlled and stiff to try and appear normal. he feels anything but right now.

he takes the stairs, not wanting to use the elevator in case he runs into someone or even bumps into you. he knows not many people use the stairs here, anyway. when he’s actually stood in front of your door, he hesitates — he’s never been in your apartment while you’re there, too. he’s always thought it to be too risky. he knows he can’t stop himself, though.

he fishes the copy of your key that he’d made from the spare one you used to leave under the doormat from his pocket. that was until your neighbour warned you of the dangers of doing something so foolish. you’d told her that you’re forgetful, and often misplace your keys, to which she’d suggested keeping one for you, just in case. rafe had heard the whole conversation whilst sat in the stairwell and had silently cursed the old pensioner for being so smart. not that it mattered anyway, he’d had his own copy for a month before that already.

slowly, he inserts the key and unlocks the door, holding his breath as he does so. as carefully as he can manage, he pushes open the door a little and peeks inside to make sure that you’re not anywhere near it. thankfully, the hallway is empty and the only sound he can hear is from the tv playing in the living room. he slips inside, still holding his breath as if that will help him stay hidden, glancing around to try and figure out where you are.

that’s when he sees it. your bedroom door is slightly ajar, the lights are dimmed and your pants lay discarded in front of it. he swears he almost looses his mind then and there. making sure to avoid the creaky wooden floorboards that he has mapped out in his mind, he steps over to your bedroom, hiding behind the wall beside it and daring to sneak a glance through the gap.

you’re lay back on your bed like some sort of goddess, your panties thrown at the foot of the bed and your fingers buried between your spread legs. your other hand is covering your mouth to muffle any sounds that you make and he can just make out the furrow of your eyebrows. you look beautiful. he stands there, entranced for a moment, simply taking in the sight of you as you pleasure yourself. he allows himself to wonder what it’d be like if that were his hand, if you let him touch you like that.

he doesn’t even realise that he is palming himself through his jeans, too focused on not missing a single thing you do to care much what he himself is doing. he burns the image into his memory, half tempted to pull out his phone and snap a picture for later. he resists in favour of gingerly unzipping his fly and wrapping his hand around his cock. he’s already leaking precum, and he uses it as a lube to spread around his tip before giving himself an experimental stroke.

the pleasure runs through him like a bolt of electricity, from the tips of his toes to his head, and he can barely suppress the sound of satisfaction that threatens to pass through his lips. your legs shake and your hips grind up against your fingers, the sounds coming from where you lay sounding like music to his ears. rafe uses his free hand to hold himself up against the wall as his knees begin to buckle, his mind full of nothing but you.

he can feel himself getting close already, the way his balls tighten and his cock twitches being sure signs, but he can tell you’re not, so he removes his hand and forces himself to wait. he wants to fall over the edge with you. the hand on your mouth drops down to rub tight circles over your clit, and he mirrors your movements against his tip, the slight bit of stimulation causing his eyes to roll back. he quickly regains his focus, though, fixing back on the way your pussy squelches lewdly with every plunge of your fingers.

when your arm shoots out beside you to grip frantically at the bedsheets, trying to ground yourself, he returns his grip on his dick and pumps along with your rhythm, feeling himself begin to tilt over the edge. and when you moan without shame or reservation, your hips bucking one last time and your back arching up off your bed, he comes right along with you, his jaw slackened and his shoulders slumped forward against the wall.

you sigh and relax into the blankets beneath you, satisfied with yourself, whilst he is trying to regain his breath as quietly as possible, his body still shaking. “shit.” he curses beneath his breath, stuffing himself back into his pants and quickly slipping back over to the front door. the thrill of having been in your apartment at the same time as you, and watching you get yourself off in the private of your bedroom, is addicting, and he feels a little disappointed that he is leaving.

he remembers to lock the door behind him, returning the key back into his pocket and walking unsteadily over to the stairwell, taking them two at a time to get to the parking lot as quickly as possible. he sucks in a breath of the cold fresh air once he’s outside, getting back into his car and starting the engine. he can’t help but smile smugly to himself as he drives out onto the main road, fingers tapping along to the music playing from the radio. you’re his, whether you know it yet or not.

🏷️ ⦂ @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @livstarzz @camerxnlove

FOLLOWS YOU AROUND IN HIS TRUCK

you’re so oblivious most of the time, you don’t realize that the same black truck is always parked nearby wherever you go, the man inside never taking his eyes off of you. whether you’re walking around the cut with a basket full of cookies, or leaving the thrift store with some cute pieces, rafe knows all of your routes. he has your schedule figured out down to the smallest detail, it isn’t until he knows you’re sleeping soundly in your camper that he’ll go home and give his obsession with you a rest. rafe has fully convinced himself that what he’s doing is okay, especially since doing this is just the first step in his plan to make you his. it won’t be long before he pulls up outside your place, lights off, and decides to go in for the taking..

BREAKING AND ENTERING

when he’s not following you, he’s breaking into your camper when you’re not home so he could inspect your belongings. taking a pair of used panties from the floor and stuffing them in his pocket, smelling your pillows, running his fingers over the bristles of your hairbrush, he’s fantasizing about you the entire time he’s sitting at the edge of your bed. he’ll look through your drawers and even go into the bathroom to see what body wash is your favorite. rafe will take note of absolutely everything— which perfume you use, what foods you keep stocked in the fridge, your favorite flowers that you keep in a little vase on the table. it’s his own twisted way of getting to know you.

RUINING POTENTIAL RELATIONSHIPS (BOTH PLATONIC AND ROMANTIC)

☾

You didn’t actually think it would work and that was your first mistake.

Rafe Cameron was the first and only son of Ward Cameron. He was handsome and rich and way out of your league, and you knew that he would never look at you in a million years. That didn’t stop your gaze from landing on him though anytime he was in the vicinity, and there was a point when you felt ashamed of your little crush, but now it hardly mattered to you. It’s not like he would ever actually be interested in you, so you saw no harm in indulging in silly fantasies.

…but then you started to wonder what it would actually be like.

What it would be like to be looked at by him like he looked at so many other girls—skinnier girls, richer girls, prettier girls. What it would be like to hold his hand and even kiss him. It was harmless, yes, but it was happening often enough to distract you, and you felt yourself being pulled from your thoughts.

“We’re about to head back to John B.’s for the night,” JJ told you after tapping you on the shoulder.

You gave him a nod, reluctantly following after him, but not without a last glance over your shoulder. You looked back just in time to watch as Rafe followed some girl up the stairs, one hand holding hers and the other holding a drink. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched them disappear, and you only forced yourself to move when JJ called your name.

You knew that your friends would think there was something wrong with you if you voiced these thoughts. The only one that might try to understand would be Kie. She was a girl like you who wasn’t related to him, and so she might be able to sympathize with why you couldn't just see him as some asshole. 

And he was certainly an asshole.

There was never any wool over your eyes about that. You’d witnessed enough of his interactions with your friends to come to that conclusion yourself, and you were sure you too would've been on the receiving end of his ire if he ever took the time to actually notice you. As it were, you were practically invisible to the blond, and you still couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse, but that indecisiveness didn’t last much longer as you later came to the conclusion that it was indeed a curse.

A curse you could no longer live with.

“This is so stupid,” Sarah laughed one night, flipping through the book Kie had thrifted. “Look, look, this is one for how to get rich.”

“It’s not like you need that one,” the dark-haired girl teased, snatching it back.

“Neither do you,” you told her, reaching for it.

Kie laughed at you as you stood shoulder to shoulder, flipping through it. Her mocking gasp made you pause at the page y’all flipped to, and you didn’t join in right away as she laughed again.

“Look at this one,” she grinned, facing the pages towards Sarah. “A love spell!”

Sarah found it just as funny, taking the book and smiling at the page.

“Are you and John B. having any problems?” Kie joked.

“Are you and JJ having any problems?” she threw back, tone just as light. “...because now we know how to fix any.”

You were quiet as you took the book from the blonde, looking over it as Kie stood over your shoulder.

“Huh,” she commented. “It’s surprisingly simple. A little blood, their name on some paper, and a red candle and boom!”

“Sounds too easy to be true,” Sarah replied, taking the book back with a sigh. “You think they have one in here for a fat ass?”

You all laughed at that, but your mind was still stuck on that silly love spell. While Sarah found one for longer hair that she was willing to try, you kept thinking about Kie’s comment. You’d read it yourself, and it was surprisingly simple—easy to do—and it wasn’t like you’d be going completely out of your way to try it. It would take what? All of five minutes? Sarah was certainly having fun with it, currently brushing cinnamon through her hair, so why couldn’t you try some silly little love spell?

Worst case scenario, nothing came of it.

It’s not like that would be some devastating loss for you. Rafe already didn’t notice you, and it wouldn’t hurt you if he continued to not notice you. You’d learned to live with it for years, now, and it’s not as if you were expecting some miracle from some book Kie bought for laughs. You just wanted to try it, wanted to see what would happen.

“If my hair is down to my butt in two weeks, I owe you twenty dollars, Kie.”

Kie responded with something you couldn’t quite make out, your attention on your phone as you flipped through the book she’d left on the couch. They were none the wiser as you took a picture, telling yourself there was a chance you wouldn’t even do it, but wanting the option in case you changed your mind. Deep down though, you knew that you were lying to yourself.

Over the years, your harmless crush had morphed into something just a tad more desperate, and you couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of your mind whispering to you what if it did work. What if you could make Rafe see you? Talk to you? Pursue you like you often dreamt about? The possibility filled you with butterflies, and you ignored the silly spell in your phone for all of a week.

You told Sarah that you weren’t feeling too well when she invited you to stay over. She hoped you felt better and asked you if you needed anything, but beyond that, she didn’t find your sudden ailment suspicious. Only you knew that you would never pass up an opportunity to see Rafe, even in passing, health be damned.

You felt somewhat foolish as you sat on your bedroom floor, a red candle lit next to a bowl of water. Truthfully, you didn’t know why. It’s not like anyone was around to witness this, but you would be lying if you said your desperation didn’t make you feel just a tad pathetic. Either way, it’s not like it stopped you from writing his first and last name on that paper, hand shaking as you did.

You thought that the blood would be the hardest hurdle to jump through, but it turns out that little thing in your brain that made it hard to hurt yourself decided to take a break for the night. Or maybe your desperation was just stronger. It took nothing at all to press a safety pin into your finger, and moments later Rafe’s name was covered in both your blood and the red candle wax.

You only started to feel unsure when you picked up the slip of paper.

What if it did actually work? While you weren’t sure what you believed in exactly, you did believe in something. You believed that some higher power did indeed exist and played a part in everything that happened in this world…and what if that higher power made this work? What if you woke up tomorrow and Rafe was knocking on your door to take you out on a date? What would you do? Your desires were so beyond out of reach that it had never occurred to you what you would actually do should you get what you wanted.

Your train of thought made you chuckle, rolling your eyes in the quiet room. You believed in something, sure, but magic didn’t exist. You believed in energy and faith backed actions, but you didn’t think you believed in magic. Either way, telling yourself it was pure curiosity, you held the piece of paper over the flame.

“We’re looking for John B.,” Sarah told you with a sigh. “Pope drank too much, so we gotta call it a night.”

“I think he was in the kitchen,” you let her know. 

“Can you check the backyard just in case he had to pee or something? I’ll text you if I find him so we can go.”

You both went in opposite directions, and you squeezed your way through bodies as you made your way outside. Mostly everybody seemed to be inside though with the exception of a few people, so it wasn’t hard to see pretty quickly that he wasn’t in the backyard anywhere. Not wanting to push your way past bodies again, you made the decision to just make your way to the van.

Your trek was interrupted by a very familiar blond.

“Woah,” he drunkenly said, having almost run into you. “Someone’s on a mission.”

You were stumped.

Not once had Rafe Cameron ever spoken to you—not even a word—and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him in a mixture of shock and awe. You felt your lips part, and you knew that you were staring at him like some kind of idiot, but you were finding it really hard to fathom that Rafe Cameron was talking to you.

The guy in question frowned at you, eyes narrowing a bit as he snapped his fingers in your face.

“You good?”

Acknowledging that you needed to speak and that you probably looked all kinds of unwell, you blinked.

“I..I’m sorry, I… What?”

He thought you were funny, apparently, chuckling at you with this haughty drunken smile on his lips. He tilted his head at you, dirty blond strands falling onto his forehead.

“I said are you good,” he slowly repeated.

“Yeah,” you hurried to reply, not wanting to look any more foolish in front of him. “Sorry. My friend…he’s kind of not feeling good, and I’m just trying to round everybody up.”

You felt like you were standing on air, having a somewhat out of body experience. Were you actually holding a conversation with Rafe Cameron? Someone who had never acknowledged you a day in your life? It felt like a dream, and you could only stare at him as he softly laughed to himself. You only noticed the blunt in his hand when he brought it up to his lips.

“Sarah drink too much?”

You frowned at him, and you felt confused. You and Sarah were friends, but you didn’t know that he knew that. You didn’t even know that he knew you knew her. Your silence must have stretched on for too long because he was speaking again.

“You are one of her little friends, right?”

For the second time that night, you were stumped.

“Yeah…I am,” you slowly told him, hurrying to defend Sarah after you processed what he said. “...and no. We’re looking for someone else.”

Feeling completely out of your element, you started to walk past him, wondering if you were hallucinating. Rafe Cameron never talked to you, never even so much as looked at you, and in one night you’d had a whole conversation with him.

“You don’t seem like the partying type.”

Make that two.

“What?” you wondered, facing him again.

You watched smoke swirl between his lips for a while before he exhaled.

“You don’t seem like the partying type,” he repeated. “You seem like you’d rather have your head in a book somewhere.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that so you simply said:

“I can’t like both?”

Rafe’s only response was a slow smile, and something about it made your stomach twist—in both a good and bad way. Before he could say anything else thoguh—and before you could further embarrass yourself—you heard your name being called. It sounded like Sarah, and giving Rafe one last look, you ran off to find her.

It turns out she’d texted you that she found John B., and you’d been so distracted by Rafe that you hadn’t felt the vibration. You were distracted by him for the rest of the night in fact, even as you rubbed Pope’s back as he threw up in the toilet. Rafe Cameron had talked to you, and it still didn’t feel real. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you dreamt the whole thing up, but the goosebumps still on your skin said otherwise.

A brief thought of a red candle and some blood passed through your mind, and you shook your head. You actually scoffed out loud to yourself, telling yourself that Rafe was drunk and high out of his mind, and he just happened to run into you outside. Even if magic was real, it wouldn’t be in the form of some spell done by some silly nineteen year old girl. That’s what you told yourself anyway, but you were having second thoughts about that when Rafe Cameron stood at your door only a few days later.

“I just wanted to do the old fashioned and respectful thing…”

You stood in the living room with your lips parted, looking over your father’s shoulder as he faced the blond—the blond who had shown up at your doorstep with flowers and candy and a charming smile on his face asking your father for permission to take you out on a date. It was so outdated and so unlike him, and you could only avoid your mother’s gaze as she looked at you in confusion.

“Well, that’s…that’s very admirable of you, Rafe.”

When your father turned to you, you didn’t need to be a genius to see that Rafe’s chivalry had gotten to him. Normally so over protective, your father instead stepped out of the way for you, and you remembered that it was you Rafe was asking out. It was your response he needed, and you cleared your throat.

“We’ll be on the porch,” you softly said to the older man as you moved past him, quietly shutting the door behind you.

You took the flowers and the box of chocolates, but frowned when you did. The box felt weirdly light, but before you could comment on that, Rafe was speaking.

“It’s old school, I know, but…” he shrugged at you. “My ego can’t take not being liked by your parents.”

“Rafe, what are you doing?”

You jumped right to it, voicing your confusion and uncertainty and questioning his actions.

“Asking you out,” he said like it was obvious.

It was.

“Why?” you wondered, a deep frown between your brows.

“...because I want to take you out.”

Again, he said it like it was obvious.

“Why? We’ve had two conversations, including this one,” you reminded him.

“...and I can’t want to change that?” he wondered, voice dropping, and you hated the way your heart skipped a beat.

You looked down at the flowers in your hand, completely in shock.

This wasn’t like Rafe, at all, and you’d watched him enough to know. The entire thing was strange and unsettling, and you almost wanted to reject him but… Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hadn’t you watched Rafe for years just wishing that he would see you? Talk to you? Hadn’t you fantasized to have him look at you as he was currently looking at you?

Hadn’t you bled for that wish?

The thought that that silly little spell actually worked made your head spin, and even still, you didn’t want to believe it. There just had to be some other explanation, but nothing else made any sense. Didn’t this bring his consent in the matter into question? Wasn’t this beyond ethically bankrupt? Did you care?

It was wrong, so wrong, because deep down you knew where all of this was coming from. You’d wanted this for years, and here it was literally at your doorstep. Rafe Cameron was asking you out and wanting to pursue you and you were questioning it because of the ethics of witchcraft? Who were you to say no? It was so beyond selfish, but if Rafe could be selfish his whole life, why couldn’t you for five minutes?

You bit your lip and tightened your grip on the flowers.

“Okay,” you whispered, lifting your gaze. “I’ll go out with you.”

The look on Rafe’s face was one you’d wanted to see for ages, and any guilt that you felt was forgotten as he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek.

Rafe’s lips were harsh against yours as he kissed you on the bed of his truck. The cool night air was barely felt as he ran his hands over you, unable to keep them in one place and you were glad for it. The blond moaned into your mouth as he pressed himself against you, fitting comfortably between your legs. You felt like you were living in your wildest of dreams, and you couldn’t believe it.

Sarah had said something similar only days earlier.

“I don’t believe this,” she’d scoffed. “You and Rafe are going on a date?”

“He asked and I said yes. It happened so fast that I didn’t even consider how it might make you feel until after,” you’d honestly told her.

If all of this was really the result of some stupid book, you didn’t want to sell any more of your soul by being a bad friend too. You’d watched as the blonde ran her hands through her hair, seemingly in shock. She seemed like she had a lot she wanted to say, but she probably kept it to herself for your benefit.

“If this is what you want, what can I even say, you know? I didn’t even know you liked him like that,” she murmured to herself. “Although I suppose I can see why you never said anything.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”

“I don’t know if okay is the right word, but…” she shrugged. “I can’t tell you or him what to do.”

Your talk with the other blonde definitely made you feel better about answering the door when Rafe arrived at your house. The date went well enough, Rafe taking you to some restaurant you’d never be able to afford, and giving you his undivided attention the entire time. His heavy gaze kept your face warm the entire night, and you reminded yourself that this is what you wanted and you got it.

“I don’t want to take you home just yet,” he’d murmured outside of the restaurant, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

You hadn’t wanted to go home just yet either, not wanting this night to end.

“Okay.”

…and that was how you found yourselves parked in some abandoned field with Rafe on top of you in the back of his truck. A thick blanket was underneath you, and it was hard to remember how long you’d been kissing him. His tongue tasted the inside of your mouth and his hand was on your jaw. Every so often you’d lift your hips and he’d groan against your lips. Two weeks ago you had never said one word to him, and now here you were.

Rafe’s lips traveled to your neck, giving you a moment of reprieve, and you gasped for air. Your heart was racing in your chest, and you ran your fingers through his dirty blond strands, head thrown back. Every open mouthed kiss he left on your throat made your heart flutter, and you once again couldn’t believe that this was your life.

When his hand reached for the top of your dress, however, you reminded yourself that not only was this the first date, but that your mother was no doubt waiting up to make sure you made it home safe. As much as you wanted all of Rafe, the speed at which this had all progressed was definitely making your head spin.

“It’s getting late…”

Your words didn’t affect Rafe none, and you gasped when he nipped at the top of your chest.

“Rafe,” you said, reaching for him.

Only then did he pause, looking up at you from his position, and it took everything in you to keep your head on straight. The blond looked like he wanted to eat you alive, and that made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t used to.

“I think I should head home, now.”

He stared at you for too long to be comfortable, but he eventually moved.

“You want to go home?” he asked you, running his hand through his hair.

At your nod, it was like something in him shifted, and he became a lot more relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and he looked between your eyes, and Rafe appeared a lot more docile in the span of a second. It was crazy to witness the sudden shift, and in that moment you accepted that you had done this. There was nothing natural at all about any of this, and you swallowed, hating that you didn’t care.

Rafe was the perfect gentleman as he righted your dress and helped you down. The ride home was silent yet comfortable, his hand on your thigh the entire way, and every so often you felt his eyes on you. On the occasion you met his gaze, he always returned it with a smile. Rafe seemed happy to be here, so how awful could this really be?

You glanced down at the diamond bracelet on your wrist, recalling the shock you’d felt to find it inside the box of chocolates instead of candy. Rafe had said something about wanting to impress you when you brought it to the date, unable to find it in yourself to stop him when he took the box back before putting the jewelry on you himself.

You’d looked at him in a mixture of awe and worry. You should’ve accepted then that nothing about this was natural, but you were still in denial. After all, if what you did was actually real and all of this was the result of that, what did that make you? How far were you willing to take this?

Those questions were still on your mind when he walked you to your door, and again, Rafe was the perfect gentleman as he placed a kiss at the corner of your mouth. You stared after him as he walked back to his truck, tugging his jacket closer. You liked to think that you weren’t some horrible person, and you told yourself that you’d enjoy this for a little while longer before finding a way to undo what you’d done.

Rafe Cameron was your boyfriend, and you liked it.

You didn’t just like that he was your boyfriend, but you liked what that meant for you. You liked the privilege that came with the relationship. You liked walking into doors you would’ve never been able to walk through otherwise. You liked when he spent money on you and bought you the kinds of things you could only dream about owning.

…and the girls.

You liked the way they looked at you.

It didn’t take long for Rafe’s exclusiveness to become noticeable, for it to become apparent that the once ladies’ man and heavy partier had done a 180. Girls he used to spend every weekend with no longer got so much as a glance from him. Phone calls and texts went ignored before those numbers were eventually blocked altogether, and when you were out and about, it was clear that you were to blame.

Rafe was absolutely obsessed with you, and you relished in the way some of his former lovers looked at you.

You, who had never so much as had a single boyfriend, was now on the receiving end of the most envious looks you’d ever seen in your life. You knew that if any of those girls had access to the kind of magic you had, you would’ve been dead a long time ago. You were always overlooked by boys and barely even seen as a woman in their eyes, and now you were with Rafe Cameron and he looked at you like you hung the moon.

“I won’t lie…I definitely expected this to crash and burn,” Sarah admitted. “Through no fault of yours, of course.”

Kie snorted at that, and you took a sip of your drink.

“I’m serious,” she said, “He’s like a completely different person. Part of me wants to ask what you did, but another part of me is scared of the answer.”

Her and Kie thought that was funny, and you could only hold back your smile.

“He literally worships the ground you walk on,” Kie commented, slightly disgusted. “...and that’s the only reason the guys are even respectful about any of this.”

It was true.

Rafe gave into your every whim and he answered your every beck and call. Sometimes he felt more like a servant than a boyfriend, asking you what you needed and running you hot baths and kneading his fingers into your shoulders after you had a long day. With that kind of behavior, how could you deny him for much longer?

You hadn’t planned on sleeping with him, telling yourself it was a line you just couldn’t cross considering the circumstances, but it happened so seamlessly. One moment he was kissing your face and telling you how beautiful you were, and the next his fingers were inside of you and massaging your walls so good that it had you clinging to him.

Rafe was a man starved.

“I’ve never…” you had trailed off, somewhat embarrassed to admit to him your lack of experience.

Rafe had only grinned at you before kissing you.

“I feel honored,” he’d whispered against your lips. “To be your first and your last.”

His words had given you pause, but then he was pushing his cock into you, and your nails were digging into his skin, and they were forgotten.

You’d anticipated the pain, and that surely didn’t disappoint, but you hadn’t anticipated just how good it could feel. That honestly could've just been Rafe though. It’s not like he didn’t have a reputation, and you quickly realized that it was not without reason. His lips stayed on you the entire time you had sex, and it was just enough to not be overstimulating.

Every curve of his hips into yours had you gasping, and you were so happy that your parents wouldn’t be home for hours. Having him inside of you felt nothing like your fingers or his. It was a different experience entirely, and Rafe was ravenous as he fucked you and tasted you. One of his hands was behind your neck as he repeatedly pressed his lips to yours while the other was tight on your waist.

“Do you like that?” he whispered, and you could barely get a word out.

You could only nod, and that seemed to satisfy his curiosity, and you swore that you heard a low growl escape his throat as he stretched you around his cock. He looked down between you where you connected, his hair hanging onto his forehead, and you couldn’t hold in your moans. You’d been dating for months, but it was finally setting in.

Rafe Cameron was yours.

You’d daydreamt about it for years—harmless and silly fantasies—but now it was your reality. Rafe held your hand and kissed you and paraded you around town for all to see, making you the envy of just about every girl who’d ever so much as looked at him. He doted on you and called you beautiful and said all of the things and looked at you in a way you wanted him to for years.

…and now he was in your bed and making love to you and giving you your first experience.

You were on cloud 9, and you allowed yourself to bask in it. You threw your head back as he bit at your neck, and your chest arched up into his as he thrust into you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him closer, and Rafe moaned at the action. It seemed like he wanted to be as close to you as possible too, and he slid his knees underneath your thighs.

“Rafe,” you sighed, breath hitching as he filled you to the hilt.

Every time he pulled his hips back, only the tip of him remained, and when he surged forward he filled you up again. It was driving you crazy in the best way, and your nails scraped down his back and arms. The blond hissed at the action, and his teeth grew rougher on your skin. You came around him once, but that wasn’t enough for him, and you swore that when you came around him for the third and final time, he told you he loved you.

Rafe was obsessed with you.

It was like once he had you, it was never enough. The first night you slept together blended into one long night. You came around him too many times to count, small naps in between, and he only left a few minutes before your parents came home, but you were sneaking him back in a few hours later as soon as they were asleep. He wouldn’t stop kissing you the moment he climbed through your window.

“Are you going to chew it for her too?” Sarah wondered one day when Rafe cut up your omelet for you.

Her tone was teasing, and you threw her an equally teasing glare, but Rafe hadn’t responded outside of a scathing look towards his sister. His behavior was glaringly obvious for all to see, and you couldn’t say you hated it. Your life had become a fairytale overnight, and you’d happily ate your food while he sat next to you, his seat so close to yours that his arm rested over your shoulder as he watched you eat.

“Honey, I’m just worried,” your mother had said another day. “It just seems like you spend all of your time with him these days and you hardly see your friends.”

Her concern was understandable, but you assured her that you were fine.

“I do see them,” you’d told her. “Rafe has just never gotten along with them too well, and it’s not like that’s changed now that we’re together.”

It wasn’t a complete lie.

Your friends were cordial with Rafe, now, and you appreciated that, but Rafe loved having you to himself. Any time you convinced him to be around your friends, it never lasted long before he was convincing you to sneak off with him somewhere, and the blond could be very persuasive. 

“Five more minutes,” he said to you in the middle of the night.

His head was between your legs and your thighs were aching from being bent so long and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. Rafe’s fingers were pressed into you as he held you in place, and you shuddered when his breath blew along your folds. You’d never been this wet in your life, and you were scared to look at the time and see just how long he’d had his mouth and tongue against your cunt.

You were exhausted and out of breath and Rafe refused to let you go.

You told yourself that it was fine, that it was just what came with that honeymoon phase of every new relationship. Granted, it’s not like you would know, but you figured that things would calm down between you the longer you were together. A time would come where you were more normal about each other and he didn’t want to spend every waking moment on you or in you.

You thought that, at least, but you were woken up in the middle of the night a month later. The knocking on the door was incessant, and you’d thought that something was wrong, that some kind of emergency was happening. Your parents beat you to the door, and no one was more shocked or horrified than you to see that it was Rafe on the other side.

Your father glanced at you with the kind of anger you’d never been on the receiving end of, and your mother looked between you with a disturbed frown.

“Rafe?” you wondered in shock. “What…?”

“I had to see you,” was his only excuse, and you shrank under your father’s withering gaze.

“Dad, I… I don’t know what’s…”

Your words died in the air, unable to understand what was happening. However, despite how much he’d grown to like Rafe, you could see your father’s patience thinning. You hurried to deescalate something before it began, profusely apologizing to your parents as you told them you’d handle this.

“Something could be wrong,” you hurried to say to him. “Five minutes and then I’m inside.”

Your father didn’t say a word, but the way his mustache twitched told you enough. Your mother was the only one to linger a bit before eventually leaving too.

“Five minutes,” were her soft parting words.

Rafe’s hand was tight on yours as you forced him off of the porch, wide eyes on him.

“I wanted to see you,” he said, and you blinked.

“Is something wrong? Is it Sarah?” you worriedly asked him.

His scoff made your frown deepen.

“No, Sarah’s…fine,” he waved that off. “I was thinking about you and…I just had to see you.”

You stared at him for a long time, mouth falling open when you processed his words.

“You were thinking about me and you just had to see me? Rafe, it’s three in the morning. You woke up my parents—they have jobs they have to go to tomorrow,” you told him, voice rising in pitch.

“I wanted to see you,” he repeated. 

“I get that, but…this isn’t okay. You have to go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Technically you’d see him later on today, but that didn’t need to be pointed out.

“...but I don’t want to go home,” Rafe said with a frown, and you blinked at him.

“Rafe…”

“I’m not going home.”

His tone was strong with conviction, and you swallowed. You looked over your shoulder before glancing behind him. You didn’t see his truck, so you guessed that he’d parked it somewhere before sneaking over here. His hand was still tight on yours, and when you looked at him again, he hadn’t looked away from you once.

“I’ll meet you at my window…okay…?”

That was the right thing to say, and Rafe gave you a crooked smile before kissing you. You pulled away before it could become heated, and you hurried inside, sure that your five minutes was up. Your mother was in the hall as you locked the door, and you apologized to her several times before wishing her a good night.

Like you agreed on, Rafe was at your window when you shut your room door, and he didn’t hesitate to climb inside the moment you opened it.

“Rafe, my parents are home, okay? Do you understand what that means?”

The way you were talking to him felt strange.

“Of course,” he said with a nod and a small smirk. “I just wanted to see you.”

He kissed you again, arms wrapped around you, and you kissed him back after a while. His hold on you was tight, and when he broke the kiss, he briefly kissed your cheek.

“Just want to sleep next to you, tonight…”

His words made you less tense, and you felt your face soften as you separated. You helped him get undressed, only his boxers remaining, and you watched him slide into your bed after you. He didn’t give you any time before reaching for you and pulling you closer, and Rafe only seemed to relax when your head was comfortably on his chest.

You traced patterns into his skin, and you bit your lip as you told yourself this was nothing.

“Rafe,” you warned, but he didn’t hear you.

Or chose not to, it was hard to tell these days.

One of his hands was curved around your throat while the other held your wrists against the small of your back. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the kitchen, and you squeezed your eyes shut from both the pleasure he was giving you and the nervousness that filled you. Rafe was getting harder and harder to say no to, and he didn’t seem keen on listening to your concerns when he started kissing you in his kitchen.

“No one’s home,” he’d said.

“...but they could walk through that door,” was your response.

“...but I need to be inside of you,” he replied.

The blond loudly groaned behind you as he filled you up, slowly pushing his cock into you as he held you down against the counter top. Every dip of his cock past your folds had you gasping, but despite how good it felt, you couldn’t stop worrying about someone walking through that door. Everyone was out, now, but it wouldn’t be the first time Rafe was inside of you in a not so private place when someone came home.

You’d never been caught yet, but you never liked to chance it.

He pulled you back until his chest was against you, and the strain in your arms made you wince. Rafe hummed, leaning over and pressing his lips to yours. You were dripping around him and the sound it made every time he pushed his cock into you was loud in the otherwise quiet room. You whimpered when he tightened his hold on your throat, and you both knew that he was the only thing keeping you upright.

This was the fifth time you’d had sex today.

You were worn out—and even a little sore—and it seemed that it was never enough for Rafe. He liked to get his hands on you at every opportunity, and what you thought was a honeymoon phase turned out to be something beyond that. Every day several times a day was the new normal for you, and when Rafe couldn’t be in you, he had to be with you and touching you in some way.

…and he was the only one allowed to.

You still thought about the boy whose arm he broke only last month for pulling out your chair. It was a terrifying and embarrassing debacle, one that was solved with a little bit of money from Rafe. You’d stared at him in horror, and he’d acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Or when he’d rammed his truck into Topper’s jeep, citing it as a drunken accident, but you knew better. You’d seen the look on his face when Topper gave you a hug goodbye.

Rafe was equally possessive as he was obsessive, and the more it escalated, the closer you were pushed to facing the truth.

Nothing about his behavior was normal or explainable, but you didn’t want to accept that this was your fault. When he snuck into your room in the early hours of the morning or when he picked out your clothes and put them on you or when he cut the brakes on some guy’s car who’d looked at you for too long for his liking.

You didn’t want to accept responsibility for any of this.

…but when you woke up in the middle of the night to find him staring at you in the darkness for the umpteenth time…you knew. You knew that this was all your fault, and you stared back at him with a sinking feeling in your heart. You’d played God, and you’d had your fun, but now you had to find a way to undo this.

“Kie…what happened to that book you bought a while back?” you asked her the next day when you finally had some time to yourself.

The other girl frowned at you, and you elaborated.

“You know, the one with the love spells and stuff.”

Her face evened out as she remembered.

“Oh, that thing? I tossed it,” she waved off.

You stared at her, stomach dropping.

“You what?”

Your tone must have given her pause because she looked at you.

“It was bullshit,” she shrugged. “Something somebody made when they were bored, because it’s not like it worked. Sarah’s hair is shorter now than it was then. I keep telling her she needs to just cut those split ends…”

The rest of Kie’s words were lost to you as you looked away, mind going a mile a minute as you thought about what you were going to do. You had long accepted that you did this to Rafe, and you’d told yourself you were only going to take it so far, but you’d loved being Rafe’s girlfriend and loved having him all to yourself as you’d always wanted. Now, you had him all to yourself, and you were terrified out of your mind.

“I was only at Kie’s for an hour,” you told the man in question later in the day.

His arms were wrapped around you from behind and his face was pressed into the crook of your neck.

“I know…but I missed you. I always miss you,” he murmured, kissing your skin.

“Do you ever think about why you miss me so much?”

“Because I love you,” he said to you as if you were silly for asking.

With difficulty, you pulled away from him, facing him. You looked into Rafe’s eyes with worry, and you noted that they were completely dilated. You pulled your lip between your teeth, at war with yourself.

“...but why do you love me? Do you ever think about that, Rafe—why you love me so much? Don't you think it came out of nowhere?”

The blond seemed to think on it for a minute.

“No,” he answered, and you frowned. “I woke up one day…and you were just there.”

You swallowed as he touched your cheek.

“...and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I had to have you and I did.”

You blinked at him.

“I always get what I want.”

He didn’t take his eyes off of you as he said that, and he grabbed your arm before you could take a step back. He threaded his fingers through yours, and he brought the back of your hand up to his lips. Rafe’s eyes held yours the entire time, the blue of them hardly visible, and the gravity of what you did finally settled on your shoulders.

“...and I’ll never not want you.”

You stared after your friends through the crowd, Rafe’s arm feeling like a weighted belt around you. There was hardly a difference between his arms and chains these days, and you forced yourself to look away from their fun. You hadn’t hung out with them in what felt like ages, and while Kie and Sarah assured you there was no hard feelings—seeing firsthand how needy Rafe could be—you still felt like shit in more ways than one.

“You okay? Are you cold?”

Rafe didn’t give you a chance to say no, already slipping out of his jacket. You accepted it with a small smile, and he returned it before giving you a heated kiss. His friends were used to his public displays of affection by now, but considering your relationship at the moment, you were beyond uncomfortable.

You needed to break up with Rafe…and you were terrified to do so.

Kie had thrown out that book, and everything you looked into that didn’t seem like some cheesy gimmick all basically said the same thing—you had to let it run its course. What did that even mean? Did it mean he’d eventually get tired of you? How long would that be? Did it mean you had to tell him the truth? Get him to break up with you? Break up with him?

In the beginning of all of this, you felt so…powerful. You’d snagged the Rafe Cameron, and you’d had him eating out of the palm of your hand and hanging onto your every word. You’d had other girls green with envy, and you'd been basking in all that came with being his girlfriend. Now, though?

Now, you were frazzled and drained. Rafe was fucking you and kissing you more often than he was not. You spent more nights at his house than your own despite what you wanted because he was going to get what he wanted regardless if your parents were home or not, and the Camerons were much more relaxed about certain things than your parents. He stuck to you like a shadow, even leaning against the door and talking to you when you had to go to the bathroom.

You never thought you’d long for the day when you could cut up your own food and dress yourself and speak for yourself. He was doting and sweet yes, but Rafe was also insatiable and violent and suffocating. It was driving you to your breaking point, and you were silent the entire ride home.

When you asked him to take you to your house, he obliged, but you should’ve known that he expected to come inside with you.

“Rafe, I…I think I want to be alone tonight.”

It was like he didn’t process your words, at all, staring at you with a blank look, and you sighed.

“My parents are going to be home in like an hour…”

Again…nothing.

You glanced away, feeling completely unnerved, before taking his hand. The corner of his lips curved upwards into a small smirk, and he walked you inside. Your thoughts seemed so loud in the quiet house as you considered what you had to do. There was no hesitation in Rafe as he walked towards your room, and you eventually followed him.

You pulled your lip between your teeth as you took off his jacket.

“Rafe…I don’t think that we should see each other anymore.”

It was the nicest way you could say it, and Rafe still looked at you like you’d told him the craziest thing. The snort that left him made your jaw clench, and you took a deep breath.

“I’m serious,” you said, voice shaking. “You’re not in love with me.”

“Of course, I am,” he fired back.

“No, you’re not. Rafe…”

You felt like you were going to be sick, and you were acutely aware of his heavy stare.

“I did something to make you love me.”

“I know you did,” he said with a smile, reaching for you.

“No!” you moved away from him. “I did something wrong, okay? I made you love me. I had a candle and I had some blood, and I made you feel how you feel about me…”

Rafe was frowning at you, now, and you hoped that he was getting it.

“Before this, you never even looked at me, Rafe. Remember? I was invisible to you—I was nothing! Nothing, and then you suddenly can’t stop thinking about me? I’m the only girl you want to be with? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

The room was silent as you just stared at him, gaze pleading as you hoped and prayed you got through to him. Rafe slowly blinked at you, and in a matter of seconds, you watched his expression shift. It was hard to place, but you knew that it made you uncomfortable, and a shiver crawled up your spine.

“What’s odd is you coming up with this nonsense—this bullshit—to try and leave me.”

You let out a sigh of defeat, pressing your hand to your forehead.

“Rafe, please hear what I’m saying–.”

“I hear you.”

“No, Rafe, no. This isn’t natural. I…I messed up,” you tearfully said. “I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it, but part of me didn’t think it would work and another part of me hoped it would, but now… I don’t know how to undo it.”

He was moving towards you, and you stumbled back.

“You’re not leaving me,” he quietly told you.

“Rafe, please hear what I’m saying. Please, fight it because I don’t…I don’t know how to make it stop,” you cried. “...but you’re so you, and you have to still be in there. You have to be!”

You felt like you were talking to a wall, and you pushed at his hands as he reached for you.

“Rafe, please,” you begged.

When his hand pulled at your shirt, tearing it, it was sinking in. 

There was no leaving him, no getting away, and you brought your knee up. You didn’t stay to see if he was okay, stumbling into the hall and running for the door. Your name was loud in the air as he shouted it, and it made you flinch. You were running past his truck when you heard the door bounce off of the wall, and tears blurred your vision as you ran across the yard.

You’d never run so fast in your life, but Rafe’s legs were longer—or he was simply more determined, fueled by something other to catch you—and he caught up with you sooner than you would have liked. You both fell to the ground, a grunt leaving you as he tightly held onto you. Your hands pulled at the grass to get away, ripping out a few blades as Rafe pulled you back.

You kicked at him, crying and screaming, and Rafe yanked you back so hard that it hurt your hands. One of his hands was tight in your hair, pulling your head back before slamming it back down. The action made you see stars, damn near knocking you out, and you groaned in pain. The sound of that seemed to trigger something in Rafe, and he let you go.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you heard him whisper, turning you over.

Your vision was spinning, and you could just barely make him out as he leaned over you.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly said to you, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. “...but you can’t leave me.”

His hands were all over you, now, and you felt him press kisses to your chest, your shirt tearing some more to make room for them.

“I love you,” he breathed, kissing you. “...and you love me.”

You weakly pushed at his chest.

“Why would I let you leave me? Why would you want to?”

“Rafe…I’m sorry,” you mumbled, trying to sit up.

The blond shoved you back down, and your struggle continued.

“I forgive you,” he hummed, nipping at your skin and settling in between your legs.

“No, no….”

He thought you were apologizing for something else, and you couldn’t stop crying. You shoved at his face and tried to back away, but he gripped your wrists, moving his mouth against yours. The breeze from the water cooled your skin, and the clouds hid what little light there would’ve been from the moon. The sound of tearing fabric made your heart race, and you cried harder, unable to get him off of you.

Rafe moaned like a man starved when he finally managed to sheath himself inside of you, holding himself there with parted lips before pulling his hips back. One of his hands held your wrist to your stomach, and the other slid behind your head as he pulled you in for another kiss. The kiss was salty from your tears, but Rafe didn’t mind it.

He fucked you against the grass, unconcerned about where you were. If you didn’t know any better, he was more hungry for you now than he was the first night you slept together. His grunts and moans were loud in your ear, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“What were you thinking, baby? Hmm?”

He slammed his hips against yours, letting your wrists go to reach underneath your thigh.

“Rafe,” you gasped, trying one last time to undo what you did. “This isn’t you.”

He only pushed your leg back, hungrily kissing at your jaw and neck and chest.

“Please, listen to me,” you sobbed.

Your words went ignored, and more tears fell as he thrust into you, losing himself in the feeling. His hand behind your head slid to your neck, and it tightened around your throat as he lifted his head to look at you. His blue eyes did not look away from yours once.

“If you try to leave me again,” Rafe quietly started, blond strands kissing your forehead. “I might have to lock you away until you come to your senses.”

He said it with a laugh, but you knew he was entirely serious, and you blinked back tears as he kissed you again.

You quickly shoved a scarf in your bag just in case it would be cold later.

Then your eyes caught on your naked fingers, considering grabbing some gloves as well, but you chose against it. You were already late, and you would have to run up the stairs to your bedroom to get them from your wardrobe. So no gloves it was. Besides, it wouldn't take you more than five minutes to walk the short way over to Joel's house.

A minute later, you locked your door from outside and set yourself in motion. There was a fresh breeze wafting around, messing up your strands, which was why you moved quickly in order not to be exposed to the cold for too long and perhaps get sick. Winter was lurking around the corner, and in the recent days you had felt it in every bone.

Back then before the outbreak, you had enjoyed that time of the year and all the perks it brought, like sitting on the couch all day with a hot cup of tea warming your palms, but nowadays winter meant worrying about what food to put on the table the following day.

Well, right now that wasn't any of your concern. Right now, you just didn't want to be late to your guitar lessons, which was why you hurried up even more and were out of breath when you finally reached the thick wooden door of Joel's home. You had always found that the rough, uneven surface fit his person well, even though you couldn't explain why.

Joel opened the door after a few seconds, which made you nervously chew on your bottom lip. Did that mean he had been waiting for you by the door? Were you that late?

"Hey," you smiled the second his face was in your view. He looked exactly like always, which had something comforting and beautifully consistent about it.

His hair was slicked back, the little strands curling in the back, his brown eyes were warm, and his body was clad in jeans, a checked button-up and slippers. Joel didn't like to wear outside shoes around the house and usually also told his guests to take off their boots when they entered his living room.

"Mornin'," Joel scoffed, drawing his eyebrows together at your rapid panting. "Are you okay? Come in."

Stepping aside, you rushed inside, glad to finally be within the warming walls of his house rather than the icy wind outside.

"I'm sorry for being late, Joel," you said without answering his question.

"Is that why you're so out of breath?"

"Yes… I swear to god, I was on time and just about to leave the house, but then I remembered that I haven't watered the plants in my bedroom for days, and I knew that if I was gonna leave now, I wouldn't be able to focus on playing the guitar."

Joel chuckled deeply, gesturing for you to step into the living room after you had toed off your shoes.

"Well, I'm glad that you did it then. Besides, I was a bit late today too."

"Oh really?" you grinned mischievously, lowering yourself onto one of the chairs around the living room table and glancing at him with suspicious eyes. Joel was never late for anything, and sometimes it was downright obnoxious. He was probably one of the most responsible and reliable human beings you had ever met, which was why you couldn't believe that he had broken through his neat schedule today.

"Yep. My water tap didn't work."

You burst into laughter immediately, your body hunching over while some low wheezing spilled from his lips.

"Did I say somethin' funny, darlin'?"

"No, just – it's just kind of funny to me that the one time you're late for something it's because of something so dramatic. I thought it would be – I don't know, not hearing the alarm or spending too much time doing your crossword puzzles."

A broad grin tugged at his lips as Joel grabbed the guitar that was leaning against a wall nearby.

"Well, I did do my crosswords of course. But yeah… that wasn't why I was late."

"What I'm trying to say is that you're excused. I think having water coming out of the tap is a priority compared to guitar lessons. I would understand if you had cancelled the lesson today."

Joel determinedly shook his head and handed you the guitar. You carefully took it, cautious not to bump the edge against the wooden table.

"No, no. The tap's fine now. Besides, these lessons are always a top priority." He cleared his throat, eyes scurrying over the floor as if he was fidgety and nervous all of a sudden. "You're gettin' real good, I mean. S'why we gotta keep goin' right now. You're a fast learner."

"Thank you," you blissfully whispered, corners of your mouth lifted and a warm liquid pooling in your stomach.

"You want somethin' to drink before we start? I can offer you… water, tea and coffee."

"A glass of water would be nice."

"Are you sure? It's no problem, I can heat up some coffee – " He always did that, and it made you grin every single time.

"It's okay. Really."

As Joel headed to the kitchen to get you that glass of water, you wondered what he was thinking right now. Maybe he was asking himself whether there would ever be the day when you wouldn't ask for water but something else. You just hoped that he didn't hold a grudge against you for being late, but at the same time, you found that Joel was in quite a good mood today. Which was remarkable since his goddamn water tap had broken in the morning. God… you wondered what you would have done. Probably have a crying attack on the bathroom tiles. And then live with your friend for the next few weeks.

"Here we go," Joel uttered and placed the glass in front of you.

"Thanks. I love those flowers, by the way." You pointed to the vase on the cupboard in the corner of the room, eyes settling on him as he gave a faint nod.

"Oh yeah. Yeah, they're nice."

"Did someone get them for you?" You knew that it was none of your business who was gifting Joel a flower bouquet, but goddamnit, you were curious.

"No, no. No, they… I got them yesterday. You… You don't know how long flowers survive by any chance?"

He looked nervous, anxious almost in the way his big eyes roamed your face, resembling a puppy or a frightened deer.

"Ehm… I don't know. A few days, I think."

He bought them for someone? For whom? He wasn't seeing anyone, was he? And why did the idea have such a firm grip on you? Why did you care so much?

"You think they'll last until Saturday?"

"Did you pick them yourself?"

"Yes," Joel answered, which made your stomach flutter.

Shit. Whoever this mysterious lady was, she was a lucky lady. Joel Miller leaving the walls of Jackson to personally collect flowers which even fit the orange-purple color scheme of the bouquet. She must be special. And at the same time, you had to admit to yourself that it bothered you the slightest bit. Not the idea of Joel making such an effort to please a person that he clearly had an interest in of course but the thought that there was someone in his life.

He was just your teacher, sure, so you most certainly played only a small role in his life, but you really liked him and had grown close to him in the recent months. Why couldn't he just stay single? You would never ask him to go on a date with you since you were much too shy and scared of rejection, so it was a little hypocritical and ridiculous of you to be upset by him dating someone, but what did it matter?

You wouldn't say it out loud, obviously. You just wanted things to stay like they had been before. Seeing Joel every week for your lessons plus sometimes in town and knowing that the both of you were relatively happy as singles. That way, you could relish the time you spent with him, occasionally sink into one or two daydreams and not be stressed about such things as reading your opposite's behavior to figure out whether they liked you as more than friends. Or whatever the two of you were to each other. But with Joel dating someone, all of this felt different.

Suddenly, you felt guilty about the times you had laid in your bed at night when you couldn't sleep, your thoughts drifting off to your teacher. He made it easy, goddamnit. Something about him was so incredibly domestic and gentle, that imagining yourself on the couch next to him, one of his arms draped around your shoulders while he read a book was the easiest task you could ever take on. Everything about him screamed a quiet, peaceful life which was filled with a lot of soft kisses, hot steaming tea and lying in bed on a Saturday morning. You could be wrong about it, but you believed that Joel Miller was the type of person who woke up a little earlier than his partner in order to sneak downstairs, make coffee and bring two cups up that they would sip in bed. Well, perhaps you could ask his girlfriend about all of this and find out whether you were right about your guesses.

"You know, it's… I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but… whatever." He took his bottom lip between his teeth, face muscles working as he seemed to wrestle with himself. "Just don't tell anyone. The flowers are for… for Maria. She… she had her child."

Oh. The realization hit you like a cold shower, even though a split second later, you felt relieved.

Your silly brain had woven quite the tale there while the truth was so logical and easy.

Of course. His sister in law had given birth and he wanted to surprise her with a flower bouquet. Shit, you really were overdramatic and a little dumb sometimes.

"Oh, congratulations!" you exclaimed, smiling widely.

"Yeah, ehm… I mean, say that to her. No, I – Don't say that to her. Say it to her when you hear about it from someone else instead of me."

"Why doesn't she want to tell anyone?"

Joel leaned back in his chair and for the moment, the guitar in your lap remained unimportant.

"Well, you know 'er and Tommy. They got so much on their plate, they're involved in everything, and if people knew it, they'd probably flood the hospital to come and congratulate 'em. They just want a little peace. Some time for them alone before the storm."

"I understand…" you muttered, staring into space before scoffing quietly. "Wow… Little Benji has a sister now. I can't believe it. I remember when Maria had him. It feels like yesterday."

"It does, doesn't it?" Joel snorted, then finally gestured to the guitar. "See, I don't mind talkin' 'bout the past and my brother's kid, but I assume you're here for the lesson. And I don't wanna waste your time with all that."

Although your heart urged you to tell him how you were truthfully feeling and that you couldn't imagine something nicer than spending your morning talking with him about all sorts of things from Tommy's family, both your arrivals in Jackson and the past years, you just nodded and adjusted the instrument on your legs. If only you weren't such a coward.

"Okay. Shoot, Mr. I'm all ears." Your opposite slowly shook his head though his face was drawn with amusement.

"Alright… Did you practice at home?"

"Of course, I did. But I honestly can't hear that song anymore."

Joel planted his flat palms on the surface and raised his eyebrows. "Can you play it one more time for me?"

"Okay. But only because it's you."

You quickly averted your gaze to avoid seeing his reaction and perhaps shiver in embarrassment at whatever expression he was holding in that moment. Sometimes you just couldn't stop yourself from making comments like that since Joel really made it inviting. But witnessing how his face responded to them was too much even for you. Instead, you dropped your eyes to the strings.

"Is it already tuned?" you asked without looking at him.

"Yep."

"Oh so you had time for that? Your water tap broke, you told me you were late but you had time to tune guitar… sure. You know what I think? I think you just told me that story of being late so that I feel better about being late every second time – "

"Play the song," Joel interrupted you, his body vibrating with low, barely audible chuckles.

"Right, sorry."

You bit down on your lip, suppressing your own laughter and bringing your fingertips to the bridge. Middle finger to the E-string. Third fret.

"Are you ready?"

"I'm ready."

Then you started to play. It was Blackbird by the Beatles, a song that you loved as a child and specifically requested to learn how to play. The only disadvantage was that now, four weeks later, it was stuck in your head every day and you were beginning to grow tired of it. Which was why you hoped that if you proved Joel that you had mastered the tune, he would allow you to start a new song.

When the last note swung in the air, you slowly raised your head, thinking that you had done a rather good job. You had accidentally played the fourth fret when you had been supposed to play the fifth at one point during the song, but fortunately, you had quickly found your way back in, which was why you hoped that Joel had barely noticed it.

"Well, very good," Joel cleared his throat and ran his eyes across the bridge of the guitar.

"Thanks. As I said, I practiced."

"Yeah, you did… The chorus was much smoother than last week. I heard that one mistake, though."

"Yes, I know… I'm just always scared that I can't do the change and play the sixth fret instead of the fifth, which is why I sometimes reach too far down."

Joel nodded in understanding and drummed his fingers on the table. "Just don't be scared of the jump. If you're scared, you're gonna hesitate and always panic right before that part. I promise you, if you face it bravely, it's gonna work. In that case, it ain't about technique or what you can or can't do, because you can do it. You just gotta believe in yourself."

His speech had sounded very important and significant, and considering the fact that he was speaking about playing the guitar you couldn't help but widen your eyes in surprise. You even felt the hair at the back of your neck stir, but you ignored it.

"Yeah… Okay. I'm gonna try it," you answered and rubbed the pads of your fingers together.

"Are they hurtin'?" Joel immediately picked up on it and stretched his arm in your direction. "Lemme see."

"No, they're fine, I…" you began, but your voice trailed off as he grabbed your wrist and turned it to take a look at your fingers. "They're okay."

You cleared your throat, feeling heat creep up in your cheeks.

"They're a 'lil raw."

"Yes, but they're okay. I promise."

"Don't overdo it with the practicing. It's good that you're so motivated but I don't want ya hurtin'."

Nodding determinedly, you peered at his face which was lowered as he was scrutinizing your hands like he still hadn't found what he was looking for.

"A callus is formin'… which is good. But I'm gonna give ya a salve that you can apply after each session. S'gonna soothe the skin."

"Alright… Thanks." You shuddered at the physical contact, wondering how a person's skin could feel so calloused and rough, yet so warm and soft at the same time. Your hands were still a bit cold from the early morning walk, but Joel's… They instantly made it all a lot better, and you could swear there were little sparks flying between your fingers and his. At least your body felt like it with the electric waves rippling through your limbs.

When he released your hand, you almost felt a little disappointed, even though you knew that the two of you had reached a point where ongoing physical contact would have become awkward. To distract from your flustered state, you brought the topic back to the question of whether you were ready to play a new song or if you would be stuck with Blackbird for another week.

"What do you think? Can we start something new? Because I would really like to, Joel."

"You got somethin' specific in mind?"

You pursed your lips and tilted your head to the side. "Maybe…"

"Okay, what is it?"

"Is that important…?" you carefully asked. You presumed that Joel might not love your suggestion and if the decision of whether you would start a new song depended on whether he liked your idea, you were not so sure you would succeed.

"Yeah. Tell me what it is, and maybe I'm gonna say yes."

"Well… I was thinking Shape of my heart?" You made it sound like a question on purpose to signal him that he was still in charge of choosing the songs for you. After all, he was the expert and knew if a piece was too difficult or wouldn't sound good on your old, worn guitar.

"Shape of my heart by Sting…" Joel groaned and scratched the side of his head. "Jesus."

"I really don't understand what you have against him. It's a beautiful song. And the guitar is so nice. Do you think it's too hard for me? I would just like to try, you know?"

"The song is okay. I just don't love his solo projects. He was much better with the Police. So if you told me you wanted to learn Every Breath You Take or Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic…"

You rolled your eyes and jutted your chin forward. "Please. I've always wanted to learn it."

You sounded almost pleading, which caused Joel to scoff gently.

"Alright. Can't refuse you any wish anyway, mhm?"

As your skin prickled joyfully, head spinning a little and throat drying, you couldn't tell if your happiness was based on the fact that you would finally get to learn one of your favorite songs or on that last remark. Can't refuse you any wish anyway. Was that the truth or had he just said that without any meaning behind it? Did he actually find it hard to say no to you? It would be a good thing, wouldn't it? It would mean that there were times when his demeanor softened and he questioned his principles, and you were the reason for it.

"Thank you," you grinned and rubbed your hands together. "Can we start right away?"

"Damnit… If you hold up that motivation, I might not regret this. I gotta listen to it too for an hour. Don't make me regret it."

"You won't regret it," you quickly assured and glanced down at your hands, waiting for the first instructions.

"Give me the guitar for a moment, darlin'."

You nodded and lifted the instrument in the air for Joel to take it.

"Okay… So, I actually learned this myself back when I had lessons as a kid. Just let me try to remember it."

He started playing, his quick, nimble fingers scurrying across the bridge. You were always amazed by his talent, utterly bewildered by how easy and effortless it looked whenever he did it. And god knows, you really had learned that it took a lot of practice and patience to get relatively good at it.

On top of it all, he was playing the song you so desperately had longed to learn for the past weeks, which resulted in quite the magical moment for you. The sight of Joel, his beautiful brown eyes transfixed on the strings, the deft movements of his fingers and the beautiful music filling your ears. It was over far too soon, and somehow you didn't feel ready to interrupt the silence just yet. Joel seemed to, though.

"Yeah, I think you're gonna be able to learn that."

"How do you still know it? I thought you haven't played it in so long," you whispered, still in awe of the music his hands were able to produce so smoothly.

"I'm not sure… Might've played it a few times since then and just forgot about it. Or it just stuck with me."

He was looking at you directly now, which made you feel caught doing something forbidden.

"Your turn, lady," Joel then uttered and handed you the instrument again. This time, he didn't remain seated and walked over to you, standing next to your chair and putting his hands on his hips. "There're a lot of chord changes, so I think it's gonna be best if I help you a little with that instead of always guiding you from there."

Making a vague gesture to his empty seat, Joel adjusted the guitar on your lap, seemingly unaware of what he was doing to you by standing so close to you. Just his presence alone, his aftershave, the heat his body radiated was something you were so incredibly aware of while Joel spoke to you. Kindly… and warmly.

"Okay, put your index finger on the B-string. Tenth fret. And then your ring finger on G. Sixth fret."

"Tenth and sixth?" you repeated, peeking over your shoulder to ensure that he was certain. "Yeah. You're gonna have to stretch your fingers quite a bit. But don't worry, you're gonna manage it."

"I'm glad one of us believes in that…" you murmured but complied with his request and tried to place your fingers across the guitar neck according to his instructions.

"Good. Now – " He gently took your ring finger and guided it to the A-string, ninth fret. It didn't make it more uncomfortable, yet the chord grip demanded a great portion of focus and strain from you, which made you doubt whether you had made the wrong choice wanting to play that song.

"You can do it," Joel claimed, sensing your motivation decreasing.

"I don't know if I can," you spoke, your fingers trembling, which led Joel to help you maintain the hold by tilting your wrist. Even though your hands hurt a little, your expression drawn with exhaustion, you couldn't stop thinking about how goddamn close he was. How his finger pads applied such gentle, sweet force on your hand, how his lips couldn't be far away from your ear right now.

"That's it. You got it. I promise, it's gonna get better with every time you practice it. I know that it's not easy, but we're gonna make it work. It's your favorite song, right? It's gonna be worth it."

You found it incredibly kind and nice of Joel to try and motivate you to try harder even though he hadn't made it a secret that he didn't quite like the song the way you did. He could have just given up at once, stating that if you were already struggling, the two of you should rather scrap the project before you would only feel more disappointed. No, he was doing this for you, because he knew how important it was to you even if your shock over how hard it was was overshadowing that importance as of now.

"You can hold it a little longer?" Joel asked, still touching your wrist, though he scarcely used any force now. He just… had his hand there, that was all. As if to tell you I'm gonna catch your hand in case you can't uphold it any longer and it drops.

"Yes," you responded and carefully glanced over your shoulder to meet his gaze.

"Now you play the B-string, then the A-string and the G-string."

It took you some time to get some order into your fingers and hit the right notes, but in the end, you repeated the memorable melody multiple times while grinning delightfully.

"Very good," Joel praised you, still standing behind you though he wasn't anywhere near your hand any longer. You wouldn't have minded if he still were.

"It won't sound very smooth in the beginning, but just give it some time. You wanna move to the next chord progression?"

"Yes… But would you mind writing them down later? I don't know if I'm gonna be able to remember."

That was another thing that hadn't changed and perhaps just would never change in his lessons with you. You asked that question every single time, and Joel nodded in agreement every time, accompanied by a friendly smile. "Of course I will. Don't worry about it."

Then, he lifted his hand again, placing it on top of yours with a quiet "Is that okay?"

You just nodded, but since it was a light gesture that he could have mistaken for a mere sway of your head, Joel waited for you to speak.

"Yes."

"Alright…" He adjusted your fingers, and you had to admit that it probably was a lot easier like that instead of instructing the position of every single finger. If it just wouldn't throw you off course so badly… How were you supposed to focus on flexing your hands just right and hit the correct notes while his soft skin was connected to yours? While he felt so warm, so mellow against you. While his head was hovering right next to yours, or at least that was how you pictured it in your mind. You were too scared to turn your neck since his close proximity might distract you even more than his hands alone already did.

He led you like this for a while longer, his touch conducting you to play the right notes and his velvety voice both instructing and complimenting you. You knew that he must be acting nice on purpose because you simply couldn't believe that you were doing a good job. Sweat was pooling on your brow, your pupils were frantically flicking between the veins on his wrist and what you were actually supposed to focus on – the strings – and your breath caught in your throat every once in a while. You were a mess.

Did Joel not notice it? Or was he just being polite by ignoring your fidgety demeanor? Gosh… usually you were better at concentrating, even though you had to admit to yourself that this wasn't the first time Joel standing next to you had sent you in a bit of a spiral.

"I'm sorry," you whispered after messing up the same part for the third time and even allowed yourself to glance behind you, stomach coiling at his slightly puckered lips.

"Don't worry 'bout it, s'fine. You're bein' too hard on yourself."

"No, I think you're being too nice," you contradicted, a shy smile playing around your mouth.

"Me? Too nice?"

You had to exhale through your nose, some of the tension falling off you. He was right, Joel surely was someone who was rarely considered too nice by any of the people in Jackson. He had a reputation of being grumpy, very brusque and avoidant of huge social gatherings. But that version that you knew and had grown to like so much wasn't at all grumpy or cold. Maybe he appeared that way to people that didn't know him well, but you couldn't think of anyone more patient and kind-hearted than this extraordinary man.

"You are nice," you insisted, still not looking away even though your nervous system began to go feral.

"Thank you. But I think you just depend on me liking you so that you get your guitar lessons. And can play songs like that."

"Do you? Like me?" Your heart skipped a beat as you waited for his answer. The moment stretched to what felt like minutes or even hours, though Joel hesitated for just a split second.

"Yes."

Your throat was so dry, a desert was nothing compared to it. Why was it so quiet all of a sudden? Should you hit a note just so that your heartbeat wasn't the only noise inside his living room? And had he been so close to you the entire time? Shit, you could even see the little age spots across his nose and cheeks. Hopefully, you smelled as good as he did.

"Joel…" you mouthed, even though you didn't know what you wanted him to do.

Continue the lesson? No. Act like nothing happened and this was just a normal side conversation to the guitar lesson? Most definitely not.

He didn't reply, nor did a muscle in his face move. His hand did, though. He ran his fingers along your knuckles, tracing each one like he wanted to make sure not even your thumb felt neglected. Your breath caught in your throat again, and this time it almost sounded like a gasp.

Then, his hand was on the inside of your wrist where he brushed over your thin skin light as a feather. All of a sudden, you felt feverish, your head cloudy with the need to discover what he was going to do next. He wouldn't just stop at your hand, would he? Should you tell him that you liked it or would that come across as weird? You felt a hand at your chin and only then realized that he had let go of your wrist.

"Y/n?" he whispered, tilting your head just right so that you could stare directly into his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

All you could do was nod and straighten up even more to make it easier for him to press his lips to yours.

The kiss was gentle and careful, which was exactly what you craved at that moment. You wanted to savour the moment to the fullest without being rushed. His mouth parted a little, pecking at your bottom lip with so much tender care, you felt a rush of joy flooding your veins. There was adrenaline, yes… But also something much more subtle and light that made you feel like Joel and you were levitating a few inches above the floor.

"That good?" he muttered against your lips after a time that was impossible to estimate. You wouldn't have been surprised if the two of you had been kissing for hours, but there was a good chance that it had been a matter of minutes as well.

"Yes," you smiled, his lips ghosting over yours before he trailed them along your mouth again. Meanwhile, his hand was on your chin again to caress your skin while his other rested on your shoulder. It almost seemed as though he was fighting with himself, trying to decide if he should touch the side of your head with it but was yet too shy to actually do it.

You weren't though. After the first wave of nervousness had abated and you could fully give all your soul and passion into the kiss, you had brought your right hand to his head, occasionally tugging at his locks and combing through them. Your other hand lay on his arm, mainly still and just to feel him, but every now and then, you rubbed it lovingly.

"Joel?" you mumbled a little later even though it had taken all your strength to pull back enough for him to hear your murmuring.

"Yeah?"

"I don't wanna stop." You really hoped that he understood what you were implying with that.

"Oh yeah…? You don't wanna stop?"

"No."

Joel withdrew an inch to get a better look at your expression. "Yeah, I… I don't wanna stop either."

He stopped talking, but something about the way a tendon next to his eye pulled made you think that he wasn't done yet.

"I… I just haven't done this in – in a while, you know?"

You nodded in understanding, brushing back a loose strand of hair that you had messed up quite a bit with your playing.

"That's okay. What are you comfortable with?"

He scoffed gently, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I… I just want it to be nice for you, you know?"

"Okay… That's what you want?" you chuckled and felt your heart flutter as Joel placed his hand on top of yours that was still resting on the side of his head.

"Yeah. I wanna make ya feel good, darlin'. If you'll let me."

"Yes," you said immediately, thinking that you might have answered a bit too early to not sound like a horny teenager. Even though you still didn't know what exactly Joel had in mind, you figured that you would love to find out on your own and therefore just followed him to the couch after he had taken the guitar from you and leaned it against the wall. Then, he sat sideways on the couch, his back against the armrest and his legs spread.

"You wanna come here?" Giving him a short nod and licking your lips in anticipation, you complied with his wish and lowered yourself on the cushions.

"No, I was… I was thinkin' you sit between my legs. With your back against my chest. If you… want that."

Yeah, that made a lot more sense, you had to admit. You quickly crawled between his legs, suppressing a giggle when you felt his strong chest behind you. It was unfamiliar to be so close to him, but at the same time, it was as though you had meant to be here all along. Or like you had sat against him like that a million times before. He felt right. Like the curves of your bodies fit perfectly.

"You are very pretty," Joel whispered in your ear, making you shudder and wriggle in his lap as you couldn't hold back that energy within you any longer. You needed him. And you felt like Joel wasn't even mildly aware of the effect he had on you by saying such things.

"Thank you. You're… you're handsome too."

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes," you panted, feeling how he moved your hair aside so that he could kiss your nape.

"Where?"

Excitement flared in your tummy, but at the same time you felt as though the longer he kept teasing you, the more you lost your ability to speak.

"Everywhere, Joel."

Suddenly, a hand landed on your lower stomach, fingers stretched out to capture as much of your flesh as possible.

"I would really like to open 'em," Joel murmured, finding the button of your jeans.

"Yeah," you breathed and threw your head back, which was now leaning against his shoulder with its entire weight. You could feel Joel's nervousness in how he failed to pull the button through the hole at the first try. It was no surprise considering he hadn't been in such an intimate setting in a long time – how long, he had maintained a secret – but for you, it didn't kill the moment at all. If anything, it made it even more special.

Despite his avoidance of touching someone after all that time, he chose to do it with you. He let you in, broke down his wall to sit on the couch with you and do something that he perhaps had already decided never to do again in his life. There hadn't been anyone else. All the stories your brain had come up with, they were false. For now, he was yours alone.

After helping him tug down your jeans by hauling up your hips, you eagerly placed your hands on your own thighs, waiting for what he was going to do next. You could only imagine how good his fingers would feel between your thighs, how amazingly he would fill you with his thick digits.

"Can I?" he asked politely, drawing quick circles over your hipbone.

"Yes. Please, Joel."

"Alright…" Joel growled, kissing your neck and roaming your inner thighs with his palm. "You're gonna have to talk to me… Is that okay? I just – I wanna make it good and I – I don't know if I – if I'm gonna make it so good on my own. Without your help."

"It's okay, Joel…" you breathed, sincerely unable to believe that he wasn't aware of the fact that he could quite literally do anything to you, touch you at your damn kneecaps and you would be satisfied.

"I'm gonna help you. But don't worry. You – I'm good. So good. And it's already good. Doesn't even have to be better than it already is."

A low grunt that somewhat resembled laughter gushed from his chest, making your skin vibrate.

"Well, I wanna make it better for you."

With that, Joel trailed two of his fingers through your clothed slit, starting at your hole and making their way up to your clit, which was already pulsating like it normally only did right before you orgasmed.

"Joel…" you howled, toes curling as he paused right at your bundle of nerves that surely poked him in his fingertips given how stiff it was.

He didn't say a lot, perhaps he was too focused on touching you, but the noises he involuntarily made were very much to your liking. His breath quickened at once, and there was a grunt or a snarl spilling from his throat occasionally. In no time, your panties were soaked even though Joel really took his time giving you more gradually. The pace with which he touched you indicated that he was still a little anxious about messing up, but at the same time, he moved so precisely and accurately that you genuinely had no advice for him.

"S'good, Joel… So good. Really – good," you panted, arching your back. But then you had the opportunity to catch your breath for a moment as Joel finally took off your underwear as well. Thus far, he had hardly given any attention to your sopping hole, but now that the garment was removed, he dipped his fingertips into your pussy, shoving them inside until his pads were coated in your juices, then pulling them out.

"Joel," you whimpered, missing his touch on your clit, but he seemed too mesmerized by your level of wetness to actually bother.

"So beautiful, darlin'… I can't believe it."

You chuckled and returned to the present for a moment, grabbing his thighs for stability as you turned in his grasp.

"Can't believe what?"

"That you let an old man like me touch you."

Both surprise and outrage flooded your mind, your brow furrowing. "Are you kidding me? I wouldn't want anyone else touching me."

"Is that true?" Joel hummed, pressing his lips against your cheek as he rocked his palm against your throbbing clit. "You could have anyone in this town… And you end up with your grumpy guitar teacher. Why."

"Oh, Joel…" you whispered. It felt a little off to talk about how much he meant to you and how much you liked him while he was fingering you, but there was no way you would tell him to pause. "I don't want anyone. I want you. And I've been wanting you for quite a while…"

"Really?" he uttered, voice a little hollower than it normally was.

"Yeah… When we… when I saw the flowers earlier. I was really jealous, you know? Because I thought you made them for another woman. I was really – mad at myself. For feeling that way, but I… I couldn't help it."

"I had no idea…"

"I'm sorry. For not saying something earlier. But please stop talking about yourself like that. You… you are amazing, Joel. Kind and warm and – and funny. Respectful. And sweet."

He chuckled, probably wondering how you were coming up with such terms that no one had ever called him before. He was to you, though.

"And talented," you then added, wriggling your hips to show him that you were referring to his hand on your pussy.

"Yeah?" he scoffed and pushed his fingers inside you deeper, almost to his middle joint. You sharply hissed through your clenched teeth, feeling a faint burn spread in your core. Even though you probably hadn't remained obstinate for as long as Joel had, you hadn't been with anyone for a few months now either. And when you masturbated, you usually didn't use your fingers inside you.

"You feel so good, sweetheart… You need a minute?" Joel rumbled, snaking his free arm around your waist to settle his hand on top of your stomach.

"Just – Just a second. It's good. Really good, just – just a moment." You panted like you were on the run, your cheeks flushed and your lip probably bloody from constantly driving your teeth in it.

"Okay… Whatever you need." He drew a few soothing circles into your clit, which made your muscles loosen at once and your thoughts wandering off. You barely perceived the sting and instead could only lose your mind over how well he grazed his thumb over your clit, stimulating it exactly where it pulsed and ached the most.

"Joel…" you sighed and ran your hands up his forearms, softly whimpering at every single bulging vein you felt beneath your fingertips.

He was handsome. Screw his talk about being old and aged. You were incredibly weak for the delicious mixture of masculinity and softness that he possessed. Joel was the kind of man you would feel safe with in any scenario and simultaneously would never be scared of. You had rarely met men who had both. His nature was gentle and loving, his hands and voice radiating heat and ardor, but despite his keenness, he made sure he had your permission for every step he took with you. God, the combination truly was intoxicating.

Not long after that, you asked him to push his fingers deeper inside your hole, your stomach fluttering as he fed you another inch. Now, it didn't sting anymore at all. Sure, your walls had to stretch to fit his digits inside, but it was the most delightful and thrilling kind of stretch. There was just enough sensation to sense the thickness of his fingers without it being uncomfortable or even painful.

"Joel, it feels so… feels good."

"Yeah?" he purred, slowly thrusting his fingers in you.

"Yeah. Really good." Your knees felt terribly weak, blood rushing to your head and your core without a pause, but how you looked right now – probably like a tomato – didn't matter. There were too many things to focus on.

"Please," you muttered, eyes closed, legs buckled to press your heels into the cushions.

"What, sweetheart? What do you need?" Applying some light pressure on your belly, Joel dragged you closer against him, his chest and torso firm like a wall behind you.

"Just… you."

"You think you're gonna be able to cum like this, darling?" He kissed along your neck once more, stretching his neck to suck at your pulse point, which made you whine out pathetically.

"Yes. Yes, I – I want to."

Joel now simultaneously stimulated your insides and clit, delivering slow but intense thrusts inside you. Sometimes, he circled his fingers snug between your walls, which you had never experienced before, but instantly made you grip his thighs tightly, nearly choking on your own spit. His thumb moved a little faster around your clit, occasionally tapping on it and bringing some of the natural fluids your vagina was producing to the bundle of nerves to touch it more smoothly. At this point, you were seeing stars and your body only heated up more with every second that Joel didn't stop. He wouldn't stop, that much you knew.

As you rolled your hips a little, meeting his rapid rubbing, you felt his hard cock pressed between your bodies. You would have liked to palm him through his pants, giving him at least something while he was so incredibly generous with you, but that would have required you to halt his motions and shift your position. And goddamnit, but everything was too good to stop it.

"You need me to go faster, honey?" Joel snarled, voice laced with lust and longing.

"No. Like this, Joel, just like this, oh fuck."

Head dropping forward to your chest, you tightened your clutch around Joel's leg, nails grazing the tightly woven fabric of his jeans.

"I want you to cum, sweetheart. I want you to cum on my fingers… You're doin' so well. And you look soooo pretty for me right now. Lettin' me touch you like that."

Frankly, you were surprised by Joel's words since he had been rather quiet before, which you had thought was due to his concerns about his own set of skills. But hearing him talk like that you felt relieved about him loosening up more. Gosh… How would you ever be able to sit through another hour of practicing the guitar with him when each complimentary phrase of his would remind you of this.

"I… Joel, I don't – " you began, though you had no idea what exactly was running through your mind right now.

"What, darlin'… What is it, mhm?" He wrapped his left arm more firmly around you, keeping you trapped against him while stuffing you full with his fingers, only fluttering with the tips to hit your g-spot.

"Don't – I don't wanna cum, Joel."

"You don't wanna cum?" he repeated, taken aback by your unexpected wish.

"No…"

"Why, baby? Why don't you wanna cum for me?"

"Because…" you started, rifling through your brain to search for a reason for your claim. "'Cause then it will be over…"

He gave a throaty laugh, kissing the tip of your nose before gently turning your head again so that he could devour your nape once more.

"No, sweetheart… You're gonna cum. It's okay… You cummin' for me doesn't mean it won't happen again, does it?"

Your heart jumped in your chest, pulse racing behind your temples. So it wasn't clearly a one-time thing as you had already secretly feared in your mind. This might happen again. He wanted it to happen again.

"Yes, Joel… I want it to happen again," you mewled, tilting your head to the side, features drawn with effort. You were so close, it felt like your body was about to explode. All your muscles were pulled taut, ready to snap if Joel gave you that final little something.

"I got ya. God, baby, look at you. Ride my hand like that, yeah… It's gonna feel so good. You're so good to me, sweetheart… I don't deserve ya, sweetheart… So fuckin' pretty, goddamnit."

He squeezed you even closer against his front so that you were completely swallowed by his large frame.

"Ah," you choked, nails creating a burning sting where they dug into the flesh of his forearms.

"That's it… That's it, baby." Joel pressed quick, uncontrollable kisses along your scalp, which made you think that he was almost more excited for you climaxing than you were. Well, he probably hadn't witnessed such a sight for years, so it was no surprise, right?

When you finally reached your high, Joel held you close to him, murmuring the phrase "I got you, baby, yes…" in your ear over and over while you squealed and whimpered. Your legs were trembling, feet kicking an invisible creature at the end of the couch and the muscles in your lower stomach frantically twitching.

"Fuck. Joel…" You wanted to turn in his grasp to see more of him, but he just held you there, leaving you no room to move but telling you what a good and beautiful girl you were for him.

"You did so well. Oh god, darling… You're much too sweet for me. What did I do to deserve ya, mhm?"

When you tried to shift again, he let you, relaxing his arms slightly so that you could move around to straddle his thighs.

"I'm not too sweet for you, Joel," you smiled and briefly gasped as your swollen pussy settled on his thigh. "You're amazing. You just… you made me feel so good."

Joel snorted through his nose, avoiding your eyes as you planted your hands on his shoulders.

"It's nothin'… I'm just glad I didn't forget all about it the past years."

"You were really good," you grinned, gently rocking your hips forward to tease his crotch. Joel ground his teeth at the friction, his hips jolting while you felt your lips curl.

"Sweetheart…" he hissed, placing his hands on your waist to have some control over your movements.

"Do you want me to take care of it?"

He looked conflicted, eyes flicking across your face, the glint in your pupils. His expression dampened your excitement, so you paused your movement and instead questioningly tilted your head.

"We don't have to. Of course not. I was just thinking that you… that you might want some relief too. And you were so nice to me – "

"You don't owe me anything," Joel uttered, making a dismissive hand gesture.

"I know," you whispered and affectionately caressed his cheek. "But I want you to know that if you want it… I would love to make you feel good."

Joel's throat moved as he swallowed hard, eyes still hooded and blown with lust, but first and foremost, he looked undecided.

"I – I… I do want it." He chuckled. "I mean, how could I not. There's a goddamn goddess sittin' in my lap." Sighing out, he shook his head a few times like he couldn't believe this wasn't a dream.

"You want it?" you asked.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I just… As I said, I – I haven't… done it in a while. And I thought – I thought that touchin' you will be a lot easier 'cause there's less I can mess up."

It was clear that it wasn't easy for Joel to be so truthful and vulnerable with you, so you tried to react as sensitively as possible and gently kissed him on his cheek. But before you could answer, he continued.

"I mean I would like to – feel ya, darlin'. There's nothin' I want more. Just… I wanna make it good for ya. S'just… a lot, you know? To keep in mind, to focus on, to remember. You felt so – tight, 'n' I don't wanna hurt ya. And then I wanna make ya feel good, but I don't know if I still know how to do that 'n' I'm thinkin' that I would be so stressed that – that it might not work, you know?"

He briefly glanced down at his center as if to assess if his manhood would play along tonight.

"Joel…" you hummed, taking his face into both hands and kissing him tenderly. "What if – I got an idea."

"And what's that, baby?"

"Let me ride you." You shifted a little closer, your core hovering above his crotch.

"You wanna ride me?"

"Yeah. You can relax… Shut your brain off. You're not gonna have to think about messing something up or… or making it fit. I'm gonna do all of it. I mean, otherwise I could also suck you off. If you preferred that."

Joel's teeth scraped his bottom lip, his brain working as he regarded you curiously. Then, he swallowed and leaned back, giving you his permission to continue as you desired.

"Fine. Yeah… why not?"

"Why not?" you giggled, pulling at a strand of his salt-and-pepper hair. "That's what you have to say? Why not?"

His face drew with amusement. "Alright, I'm gonna correct myself. I feel very blessed."

"You should be…" you muttered lowly, your hot breath tingling at his ear.

With that, a switch within you had flipped. Your hands flew to his belt, unclasping it, but right before you were about to undo his button, you stopped and seductively bit down on your lip. He hadn't even seen anything of you so far. Except for your pussy, of course. Without giving him any word of explanation, you pulled your shirt over your head and dropped it onto the floor next to the couch. You were beyond content with his reaction, which consisted of a deep sigh, a pair of agape lips and a dark flash in his eyes.

"Jesus… Take that off too?"

"As you wish," you smirked wryly, unhooking your bra and carelessly tossing it over your shoulder.

"Fuck. You're gorgeous, baby." You were almost ready to berate him once more, expecting him to tell you that he wasn't worthy of you, but this time, there was no need for it. Joel just stared at your bare chest, fully mesmerized and bewitched by the sight. He ran a hand over your waist, cautiously travelling an inch or two upward, but stopping at your rib cage like he was scared to go any further.

"You can touch me, Joel," you breathed, breathless already even though nothing had really happened yet.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirmed, chewing on your already swollen and dry lips while waiting for him to take action.

At last, he did. First, he traced the curve of your breast, his feather-light brush trailing along the gap between your tits. After that, he lowered his head to kiss the swell of your right breast, his hand roaming your left in the meantime. Joel moved inch by inch, taking his time exploring every part of you until your nipples were the cherry on top. He licked his lips beforehand, threw you one last glance, then took your nipple in his mouth.

Just like the kiss the two of you had shared earlier, he was soft and careful, moving around the little bud as if you had just told him that they were sore. You didn't mind it in the least. You had been with guys before who had simply taken and demanded more, touched you the way they had required to reach their orgasm as fast as possible without paying any mind to your desires. Joel, he… he must be from another world. Or be another species.

"Baby, you're gorgeous," he moaned after a while, not bothering to pull back more than a mere inch to spit the words out. Your face was gleaming, cheeks coated in a bright pink as you received his compliments that sounded so genuine, so in awe of you.

"Thank you, Joel," you answered, straightening up a little more to offer him your naked chest. He had one arm snaked around your back, shoving you closer against him every time you slouched while his other comfortably rested on top of the breast that his mouth wasn't occupied with right now.

As time passed, he became a little greedier, his previous gentleness turning into something feral and more primal. Low grunts escaped his throat, his touch became firmer and even his lips now gently sucked on your nipple rather than drawing circles around it. And with his hunger, your lust increased as well.

"Joel," you panted, pulling at his roots and swaying your hips on top of him.

"What is it, darlin'?" he snarled, moving up to your collarbone with his mouth gently nibbling at your skin. You wanted to laugh as you hadn't expected him to be so bold, but the sound caught in your throat.

"Just… Need you."

"You need me?" He smirked, clearly enjoying you voicing your longing for him.

"Yes. Can I – "

"Yes. You can."

Joel let go of your nipple with a plop though his gaze remained on your curves for a beat longer while you adjusted on top of him. You hadn't been on top many times before, which was why you were a little nervous as well. At the same time, though, you assumed that if the both of you weren't completely certain in your talents, it would be fine.

You quickly unzipped his jeans, halting for a split second when you saw the curvature of his dick. He looked huge. Bigger than anyone you had ever had. Goddamnit, perhaps he should have warned you. You were not only supposed to take the reins but also imbibe a cock that fucking large? Well, maybe you should forge an opinion once you had actually seen his length without his underwear on.

With that thought in mind, you pulled at the waistband of his boxers and yanked them down with the help of Joel. He didn't care to strip them off his legs but just let them dangle around his mid-thighs, digging his hands into your waist. His cock was already rock hard, slapping against his abdomen.

Jesus… You unconsciously clenched your hands into fists, lips twitching as you regarded a drop of precum streaming down his enormous length. It really was enormous, and there was no other word to describe it. The tip was swollen and pink, looking so inviting and painful that you wished to put your lips around it and suck on it. But since Joel and you hadn't agreed on it, you settled with examining it a couple of seconds longer, your pulse quickening at every single plump vein intertwining along his fat shaft.

"Somethin' wrong?" Joel whispered at once, causing you to shift your attention to him. "We don't have to, you know that, right?"

"No," you immediately protested, lips curling upward and hands reaching for his chest that was still covered by his shirt. "Of course I want it. Just… It's big, Joel."

"You want me to prepare ya a 'lil longer?" Joel teasingly rubbed along the curve of your hip, wandering toward your center until you shook your head.

"No. It's okay, really. It's gonna work." You clasped your hand around his girth, savoring the softness of his skin that you just knew would feel breathtaking inside you. After giving him a few pumps, which led Joel to throw his head back and his lids to slacken, you jutted your hips forward, lining yourself up with the head of his cock.

"It's really beautiful, Joel." Carefully, you nudged the tip against your opening, consciously relaxing your muscles to accommodate him.

"Oh baby," Joel groaned as you took in the first inch of his length, which was causing you light pain that was quickly overshadowed by Joel's gentle swipes over your clit.

"Is that good, angel? Does that help?"

You couldn't help but smile at the nickname and cautiously allowed Joel to feed you more of his dick, softly hissing at the big stretch.

"Yeah, s-s'good, Joel."

God, he really was huge. Once you had taken in roughly half of his shaft, your eyes were in the back of your head, all your intelligent thoughts swept off your brain. You could only pant like a dog, lips agape and tears welling in your eyes at the intrusion or his divine touch on your pussy, you weren't sure.

"Baby," Joel murmured at once, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter and tugging you flush against his chest. "Baby, are you okay? We can stop at any time. Just talk to me. Don't want ya to be in pain."

"No…" you whimpered, legs twitching while you worked more and more of him inside you. "No, I don't wanna stop."

"Can I make it better somehow?" Joel asked with his airy, hoarse voice, his warm puppy eyes boring a hole into your cheek, but as of now, you weren't able to keep your lids open.

"Just – Just hold me. Fuck… Fuck, you're so – so big, Joel. Oh my god."

It couldn't be more than an inch left. Part of you knew that it probably would have been wiser to stop Joel and master this process more gracefully by letting him scissor you open more extensively or waiting longer for your pussy to adjust to him, but right now, you just wanted it this way. You wanted to feel him, and you wanted to do it as fast as possible. The pain was still endurable, and you knew that from this point forward, it would only get better. With one last low squeal, you were finally full of him, your cunt tickled by the hair around his base.

"Sweetheart…" Joel grunted, his head dropping forward to rest on your shoulder, which gave you the opportunity to mess with his hair and watch his soft strands give way to your fingers.

"Joel," you whined, knees turning to jelly at the way he clutched your waist in his large, calloused hands. Everything about him was so… huge and strong. It made you want to feel him with every part of your body, but at the same time this man was so unbelievably adorable that you wanted to hug him like the kind bear that he was.

"You made it, angel, Jesus… Fuck… You feel perfect, baby, like a fucking dream. Shit…" Joel gritted his teeth, a few more breathy cusses falling from his lips before he raised his eyebrows at your chuckling.

"What is it, honey?"

By now, you were rolling your hips slowly, though you were yet to bounce on him. Besides, he felt much too good to let him slip out of you.

"Is it how you imagined it? After all those years?" you breathed and kissed along the wrinkles upon his brow.

"S'better."

"Better?" you grinned, content with his answer.

"Yeah… Much better. Holy shit… I'm not gonna last long, sweetpea, m'sorry. I'm sorry, I just – I haven't – done this in so long, I – I'm sorry."

You tenderly yanked at his roots, making him peer up at you.

"S'okay. It's okay, Joel."

His next words made you freeze. "But not inside, right?"

Your hands wandered down to his shoulders, your teeth taking your bottom lip between them while your empty head somehow tried to process his words.

"No, we – no, we shouldn't." You paused, slowly finding your steady rhythm as your hips moved in more generous circles above his core. "Doesn't mean I don't still want it."

Joel exhaled heavily, his left hand groping your breast while his other soothingly stroked up and down your spine.

"Jesus, baby, we can't… You know that we can't. Unless you want some mini version of me running around Jackson."

You had to giggle at the pictures the idea created in your brain.

"I bet it would be cute," you murmured, even though you knew that he was speaking with reason. "I want you to cum on my face."

This time, it seemed as though Joel was the one to freeze, his brow creasing and his eyes glimmering darkly. "Christ… You want me to cum on your face?"

"Yes," you confirmed and gasped as he started to mirror your motions, thrusting out his hips every time you rocked your pelvis back and forth.

"Are you sure? You sure you want me to ruin your pretty face? That pretty skin."

"Please," you squeaked, brow touching his as you began to gradually lose your composure. This was also what you had been afraid of. Losing control until you wouldn't be able to uphold your body's movement and ask Joel to take over. No, you wanted to finish what you had started. You just had to get a grip on yourself, keep a relatively clear head and continue to shift your hips on top of him. How convenient that he was close already, you thought with the hint of a smile appearing on your face.

"Oh baby… You don't know what you're doin' to me, do you?"

You don't know what you're doing to me, Joel Miller, was what you wanted to answer, but all that spilled from your throat was a garbled groan.

"Is it good like that?" you whimpered, slowly bouncing on top of him now as you felt it was time to give him a bit more.

"S'perfect, darlin'. I know you could make me cum just from lookin' so goddamn gorgeous on top of me."

Although you highly doubted that, you smirked proudly at his compliment and picked up the pace a little more. Joel supported you by keeping a firm grip around your hip and guiding you whenever your rhythm faltered.

"Oh christ… Give me a kiss, sweetheart, c'mon."

You quickly leaned in and smashed your mouth against his, tongues dancing in a way that didn't resemble your earlier interaction when it had been you sitting in the chair by the table at all. This was sloppy and messy, feral and wild like two animals exploring each other.

"M'gonna cum, baby. I'm sorry. I'm sorry… fuck."

Joel pulled away only to slap his palm on his forehead, panting heavily while you dropped to your knees in front of him.

"Oh gosh…" he sighed, rubbing his eye sockets, his cock uncontrollably quivering and pulsing in your hand. You stroked him up and down quickly, occasionally dripping your saliva onto the tip to use it as lubrication. After not more than five pumps, Joel's hand flew to his manhood, and he took care of it himself, complying with your demand for him to cum on your face.

He squeezed his shaft a few times, his barely opened eyes on you and his lips parted as one shaky breath after the other left his throat. Then, with a deep snarl, Joel's hips jolted forward, his hand grabbed a fistful of your strands and the next thing you knew ropes of his seed spurted on your face. You closed your lids just in time to avoid feeling the sting of his salty spend burning in your eyes. Most of it landed on your cheeks and chin anyway, but you never could be sure.

"Goddamnit…" Joel breathed and pumped his length a few more times, making sure his balls were completely emptied. Meanwhile, you waited motionlessly, lips a little parted and your hands flat on the floor beside you. When you felt a hand cup your face, you opened your eyes again only to stare back into Joel's misty, brown irises.

"Baby, you – you're perfect. I can't believe you – jesus."

He scratched the back of his head, almost looking like a young boy who was scared of getting caught after he had done something stupid.

"You taste good," you just grinned and temptingly licked over your lips, tasting a trace of his cum on your tongue.

"My god…" His breath still coming out raggedly, Joel dragged you forward by your bicep, making you straighten up in front of him and reaching for a tissue on the coffee table.

"Look at me," he commanded and then wiped off his milky seed gently, being particularly careful around your eyes. "I gotta admit, you look pretty like that. Makes me… makes me think really horrible things."

"I can't believe they're that horrible," you smiled mischievously and waited patiently until Joel had cleaned your face. Then, you allowed him to haul you up again. You sat down next to him on the couch, your back leaning against his side while he snaked a tight arm around your torso.

Both of you exhaled in unison, which made you laugh loudly, your heart still racing behind your chest even though you hadn't even cum a second time with him.

"I… I didn't expect that," Joel muttered after a while, smelling the scent of your hair.

"What exactly?"

"Well… this. When you came to my house this morning. I thought – I mean, I thought it would be a normal guitar lesson. Like every other week."

You nodded slowly, dreamily gazing at the wall across from you.

"Mhm… yeah. So did I."

"Y/n?"

You were briefly caught off guard by him using your name rather than one of the pretty nicknames he had come up with for you. Did that mean whatever had just happened between the two of you had come to an end? Was this him trying to get back to normal and showing you that from this moment forward you would become what you had been to him before that… incident?

"What?"

"I… I was wonderin' if you… I would like to see you next week for the guitar lesson of course. Like always. I just… I thought maybe you'd like to see me before that."

Your brain worked slowly, your blissful, drowsy state doing nothing for your ability to listen to him. Joel's stammering didn't help either. But then, you finally understood and felt your heart doing somersaults.

"I… Yeah. Yes, I think – Yes." You most definitely weren't any better at articulating yourself most clearly.

"Great. I… I was thinkin' maybe you'd like to meet in the café. Just 'cause… you know, it might be cold, so we should meet inside. But I was thinkin' that you might also be tired of my place and that boring old living room."

"It's not boring," you protested. "I think café sounds great. So yes. But I also like it here."

You really hoped that he got your implication and that the aftermath of his orgasm didn't cloud his brain like it tended to do yours.

"Yeah?" he grinned and ran his hand up your side.

"Yeah…"

"So you wouldn't mind comin' here a 'lil more often? Outside of… of the guitar lessons?"

"No. Not at all, Joel."

Feeling more relieved than ever, your muscles slackened. Joy and bliss swamped your veins, making you feel like your head was surrounded by a cloud or halo or something like that. You couldn't think of anything that could make you feel even happier at that moment. If only you knew what was running through Joel's mind right now…

His thoughts were with the flower bouquet on the cupboard. What if he left Jackson later in the afternoon, found the meadow again with all those winterproof flowers and collected the most gorgeous ones for you…

You would certainly like that.

He would sort them in the most beautiful way and hand the bouquet to you when he saw you next.

His jeans strain across his thighs, and there—right fucking there—that thick swell of him, rock hard already, pressing against the denim, swollen in need. Above it, that soft pudge of his belly, that little curve you've pressed your face into a hundred times only when he lets you. Only when he's feeling generous. 

Your eyes drift to that spot you love so much, picturing his cock already leaking for you. 

He tsks sharply, the sound cutting through the tense air like a whip. 

Your gaze snaps back up, but it's already too late. His eyes have gone dark, narrowed down at you with something sharp and cold. Annoyance. Disdain.

"Too god damn desperate," he growls, his voice low and gravelly. "For your own good."

You can't help but nod frantically, your mouth already watering at the thought of him, saliva pooling under your tongue. "Please," you whisper, your voice trembling with raw need. "I need it. In my mouth."

You lean forwards then, nuzzling against the rigid outline of his erection, inhaling the musky scent of him through the denim, your desperation making your hands twitch at your sides, itching to touch but knowing better than to try.

His hand moves fast.

He grabs a fistful of your hair at the scalp and yanks, wrenching your head back so hard your neck cracks. Your gasp cuts through the quiet.

Then his palm comes against your face.

A slap lands across your cheek with a sharp crack, the sting blooming hot and immediate, leaving your skin tingling and your breath catching in your throat. 

You freeze, eyes wide and pleading, the slap only fueling the fire of your need rather than dousing it. Your cheek burns, but you don't pull away; instead, you stay perfectly still, gazing up at him with utter submission, your body trembling with how badly you crave more.

He holds your gaze for a long, heavy moment. 

A small "pathetic" leaves his lips. 

And then, something flickers in his expression—not softening, never that. But a decision. 

"Alright," he says, calm. "You want it that bad? Open the zipper. With your mouth. Only your mouth."

You don't hesitate.

You lean in, your lips brushing against the cold metal tab of his jeans zipper. Your tongue darts out, fumbling, clumsy, desperate to please. You catch the tab between your teeth and tug. The teeth of the zipper part slowly, and you work your way down, your jaw aching, drool already starting to slip from the corner of your lips.

Inch by inch, the fabric parts, and then his cock springs free through the open slit in his boxers—thick and heavy, veins bulging along the shaft, the swollen head already glistening with a bead of pre-cum that drools from the tip. It bobs right in front of your face, so close you can feel the heat radiating off it, the salty scent filling your senses.

You drool again; a fat string of saliva that drips from your lower lip and lands on your own thigh. You don't even notice. All you see is him.

"Jesus Christ," Joel mutters, but there's no tenderness in it. Just exasperation. "Look at you. Droolin' like a bitch in heat."

You don't care. You can't care. You're already leaning forward, lips parting—

His hand clamps onto your hair again, stopping you. The pull hurts on your scalp already. 

"I ain't done talkin'."

You freeze, a whimper leaving your lips.

"I'm gonna fuck your throat," he says, each word deliberate. "Deep. Slow. And you're not gonna gag. Ya hear me?"

You nod as much as his grip allows, a jerky, desperate motion.

"No gaggin'," he repeats, making sure you understand. "Not a sound. You take it. That's what you're made for."

He doesn't wait for an answer.

He guides the head of his cock right between your lips, and you open for him—greedy, hungry, your tongue already stretching out to taste him. He pushes past your lips, past your tongue, and keeps going. 

He's thick. So thick that your jaw aches instantly. You taste every vein, every inch stretched wide around him. He fills your mouth completely, and he keeps pushing, deeper, until his tip nudges the back of your throat. 

You feel your body already rebel—a reflexive clench, a spasm from the back of your throat. But you force yourself to relax, to open, to take.

And then he's past the barrier, sliding into your throat in one smooth, burning slide.

Your eyes start to water. 

Tears spill over, falling one by one down your cheeks. Your nose is pressed against the hair at his groin, and the world has narrowed to the taste of him, the stretch of him, the smell and the sound of his breathing.

He holds there. Just for a moment. Just to let you feel it.

"Good girl," he says, and the praise is so unexpected, so incongruous with everything else, that a sob of relief catches in your chest. But he doesn't let you savor it. "Now we're gonna move. Slow. And you're gonna keep that mouth open."

He pulls back, almost all the way out, leaving just the tip resting on your tongue. 

Then he pushes in again. 

Slow. 

All the way in until his fat head drags against your palate, your tongue and then lands against the back of your throat. 

He sets a rhythm with slow, agonising thrusts that bury him deep, hold for a heartbeat, then retreat. Every time he sinks in, your throat convulses around him, trying to accommodate, and every time he pulls back, you drool—a mess of spit and pre-cum that strings from his cock to your lips. 

You try to breathe through your nose, keep your jaw unclenched and throat relaxed while tears still spill from your eyes. 

Joel watches. His eyes are half-lidded, focused entirely on where he disappears into your mouth, and on your tears. His free hand then comes up, and you feel his rough fingers on your throat—right over the place where his cock is sliding in and out.

He presses down lightly, rubbing the skin.

"You can feel it, can't you?" His voice is a low murmur, almost lazy. "Feel me right here, movin' in you."

You can. The sensation is foreign and intimate, his fingers tracing the bulge of his own cock moving inside your throat. It makes you moan, a muffled sound that vibrates around him.

"Quiet," he says, calm, there's no heat in it. Just a reminder.

He keeps going. Slow, Relentless. Making your throat memorise the veins of his cock. 

Your jaw aches. Your throat burns. Tears and drool mix together, soaking your chin, your neck, the collar of your shirt. 

But you don't care. You'd stay like this forever, if he'd let you.

He thrusts a little deeper, then. Turning a little harder. His rhythm suddenly changes, becoming more urgent, his hips rocking forward with a rougher snap. You can feel his cock throbbing inside your throat while his breathing thickens, the grip on your hair tightening to the point of pain.

"Fuck," he grunts. "That's what you're only good for. Gonna fill that throat of yours. Gonna pump you so full."

Your eyes roll up, meeting his for a brief moment. He's watching you; gaze dark, possessive, hungry.

Then he groans, a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest and his cock swells against your tongue. He thrusts deep one last time, burying himself to the root, and you feel the hot pulse of his release hitting the back of your throat.

There's a lot. Wave after wave, thick and bitter, flooding your mouth. You swallow instinctively, your throat working around him as he keeps twitching, keeps coming.

He holds you there, pressed against him, until he's empty. 

Then he pulls out slowly, his cock sliding wet and spent across your tongue, slowly softening. 

You're a mess. 

Sobbing and sniffling quietly. Spit and cum and tears all over your face. But you keep your mouth closed, holding everything down.

Joel takes a step back. His hands drop to his sides again. He looks down at you, breathing hard.

"Open," he says.

You do. You part your lips, tilt your head back, showing him the inside of your mouth. Clean. Empty. You swallowed every drop like a Good girl. 

He looks at you for a long moment. His expression doesn't soften. 

But he nods. Once.

And that for you, is everything.

Guess who is ovulating again lmao

“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?”

“I’m sorry I called you, I just… How are you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m fine. You wanna talk?”

“No. I mean, yes. Oh, I… Rafe, I’m sorry. You’re probably busy.”

“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?

The clock hit 10pm, and you finally clocked out, ready to leave the damn place for the night. After grabbing your belongings, you lock up the shop and make your way home. Walking alone at this hour was never the smartest idea, but having no car and no bus here meant you didn’t have a choice. You pray to whatever is up there to keep a watchful eye over you. 

The sound of a truck slowing down beside you snaps you out of your thoughts, and you turn to see what the hell is up. There he was, Joel Miller. What was he doing here? He stops beside you and rolls his window down. 

“You need a ride home, darlin? It's not safe for you this late alone.” He has a point, but a part of you feels like you should decline and walk. Ultimately you decide to accept the offer and give him your address. The car ride is spent in comfortable silence, the car radio plays a random song, and you relax. 

After 15 minutes you start to get a bit anxious, usually the cat ride to your place would only be 10 minutes, but it’s been longer than that. Maybe he forgot the address? No, it can’t be. This isn’t even the way to your place, it’s a gravel road leading out of the city. Shit.

“J-Joel? Where are we going?” You try to stay as calm as you can, not wanting to think of anything too bad yet. Maybe he forgot you were in the car with him? He doesn’t answer and just keeps on driving. You slowly reach over to the car handle just to realize there is nothing there. Shit, shit, no, no. 

"Joel, stop the car! Please stop!” He does stop the car, and you feel relieved, but it doesn’t last long. You barely have time to process what he has before you feel a sting in your neck and everything starts to go black. The last thing you hear is Joel’s voice. 

“Finally got you, doll.”

When you were younger, stranger danger was drilled into your head. That man who’s looking for his “dog” isn’t actually, and if he were, he wouldn’t be asking an 8-year-old girl. Never accept anything from a stranger, never accept candy from them. Never ever get into an enclosed space with one. You truly felt like the dumbest person ever, but technically Joel wasn’t a stranger, right? 

You groan as the bright fluorescent lights hit your eyes, your head is heavy and neck hurts so fucking bad. Taking a look at your surroundings, it’s very obvious that you are not at work or at home, but in a basement. It had white walls and was furnished with a small bed in the corner, a dresser, a night lamp, and a chair in the corner. 

As you stand up to find a way out, you feel a heavy, cold weight on your ankle, looking down, you discover it’s a shackle attached to a chain that is bolted into the ground. You assume that the chain is not long enough to reach the stairs and the door out. Fuck, this is the worst thing that could’ve happened to you. 

“HELLO!? HELP ME PLEASE!?” With no other options, you scream for help, after a couple of minutes the door opens and he walks down the stairs. Joel fucking Miller, you look at him in nothing but disgust and betrayal. You trusted him and treated him with kindness just for him to do this to you? He stands a good 6 feet away from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I see you’re awake now.” The statement pisses you off further, you feel more anger than fear in this situation. There is nothing more you want to do right now than punch his fuckass face. 

"Wow, good thing your fucking eyes still work.”

“Watch your tone, little girl.” His gaze darkens, and it felt as if the room had gotten colder. What the hell is his issue? His boots drag on the ground as he steps closer to you, which causes you to take a step back and him to step closer. This goes on until your back hits the wall and Joel cages you in with his arms. You raise your knee wanting to hit him where the sun doesn’t shine, but he’s quicker than you and catches your knee, pushing it down harshly.

“Now you listen here, doll. There’s a very strict set of rules you will have no choice but to follow, there will be a punishment and reward system. The more good points mean that you get to leave this basement and live with me up there, the more punishments mean that you stay here longer. Your choice.” His eyes are dark, staring into your soul.

“W-what no? This is insane, Joel. Just let me go. I swear I won’t tell anyone or go to the cops I—“ You don’t register what just happened, but your cheek is stinging and feels hot, he just slapped you. Joel slapped you.

“Starting today you will obey me no matter what, and do not think of escaping because I swear I will punish you so bad you’d wish you were dead. There are cameras everywhere. Understood?” Joel’s hand was squeezing your cheeks, causing your lips to form a pout, you nod. He was scaring you badly, you just wanted to curl up and cry. Letting go of your face, he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, it disgusts you so bad. 

“Good girl. All your belongings are in that dresser. I got them all before getting you, and the chain is only long enough to walk around in here, not on the stairs. Now you go and get some sleep, baby.” With that, he walks away, leaving you alone and scared. Getting in bed under the covers, you think about how much you hated Joel Miller. 

The next month goes by terribly, you keep fighting Joel on literally everything. The punishments he gives are humiliating as hell, making you kneel on beads in the corner for hours, or spanking you so hard that you feel it for days. As you sit on the bed you realize that you have to gain Joel's trust somehow and get out of this basement to make your escape plan, and so with a clear goal in mind you slowly start to change up your behavior around him,playing into the good little girl persona he had wanted you to be in. 

You sat in Joel's lap, a deep hatred burning inside of you. He's reading a book while you think about how you'd make sure his ass got life in jail for the fucked-up shit he's done to you. The stupid chain on your ankle stares back at you, mocking you for being so fucking stupid for ever trusting Joel. He closes his book and puts his glasses away before looking down at you. 

“You know I was thinking it's finally time for you to start living upstairs with me. What do you think, baby?” 

Finally! Yes! "You've been working towards this for a while now, and it's finally happening," you squeal in his lap. 

“Yes, Daddy! You try not to cringe as you say that word, 'daddy.' He'd told you to call him that, and you refused to, fighting him on it every day, but you needed to gain his trust, so you reluctantly used it. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss his cheek, this is the best news ever.

“Alright baby, let's get this chain off and then we can head up.” Sliding off his lap, you stand in front of him waiting. He pulls a key out of his pocket and lifts your leg onto his thigh, where he finally takes the damn thing off. 

After it's off, you practically drag Joel upstairs with you. He just chuckles and follows you up and unlocks the door and you finally see his home. His living room is just as you expected, shades of brown everywhere, cozy couch by a fireplace. There's a guitar in the corner, you remember he said that he plays sometimes. Then you see the front door, of course there's 3 locks on it to prevent any escapes.

Under different circumstances you'd love his home. It was cozy and sweet, but this is not a good circumstance whatsoever.

You feel his arm snake around your waist, “is it to your liking sweet girl?” his breath fans your neck, once again reminded of the man who took you away from everything. 

“I love it, Daddy, it's so you!” He gives you a tour of the kitchen and then takes you upstairs, where he shows you his room. A big comfy bed, with a chair in the corner. You hate to admit it, but it's so cozy.

Taking a seat on his big chair, you try to get comfortable, but his gaze is on you, too intense, like he knows something. 

“So what's your plan now, little girl?” Fuck what? Does he know? How you never let anything slip. 

“W-what are you talking about, Daddy?" 

“Cut the shit. You think I haven't noticed? How did you just change up completely? How did you become obedient? I knew what this was about, so now you're really going to get it. You want to escape, I'll give you just that.” What? What does he mean by that? Is he finally letting you go?

"Here's the deal: you find a way off of my property without me catching you, and I'll let you go, but if I catch you, it's going to get ugly, and you stay with me. Deal?” 

Without hesitation you nod, "Deal."

You stood outside for the first time in 2 months, it felt amazing, the fresh air and the wind on your skin. The weather was gloomy, clouds covering the sky. Joel stood beside you, he failed to mention that it would be a hunt and that he would use his actual rifle, his fucking rifle. 

“Alright doll, I'm counting to 50, and then you better pray you can get away from me." 

“Okay.” He starts counting down and you bolt into the forest, you were scared. Joel knew these woods better than you, obviously, and that’s what made you more nervous. You run until you can’t feel your legs anymore. You have to find a way out, you’re terrified of what Joel will do if he gets you. 

There’s a small clearing in the distance. You head in that direction, hopefully trespassers have left an escape there. You're very aware of your surroundings, everything gets too quiet, though, as you reach the end of the clearing. That’s when you hear his voice in the distance, not far away. Shit! You decide to run from that place and find another way; as you run, you don’t look back once, needing to focus on what’s in front of you.

All of a sudden an arm hooks around your waist and a rifle is pressed against your back. You try your hardest to get out of his grip, but he’s way stronger than you. His arm moves up to your neck, where he now has you in a chokehold. Your arms try to pull him off, but again it’s useless. 

"Gotcha, bunny. You’re mine now, and we are going to have so much fun now.” Tears run down your face, no this can’t be happening now. You were supposed to go home, you wanted to be back home in your shitty apartment eating shitty fast food and watching a stupid romcom. He throws you over his shoulder and heads back to his house, you feel hopeless, everything just hitting you at once.

Once inside, he locks all the doors once again and brings you up to the bedroom, where he throws you on the bed. You don’t react, feeling numb and hopeless. You think of life and all the things you didn’t do because you prioritized other pointless things, wishing you’d done them. You don’t have family and no friends, so no one knows where you are. Work is probably going to assume you quit and hire someone new, and your landlord probably thinks you moved out. No one knew you were missing. No one was coming to save you. 

“Take your pants and panties off and bend over my knee.” Joel sits in his chair watching as you take off your pants and panties, with wobbly legs, you bend over his knee. You can’t bring yourself to care about anything. 

“35 spanks with my belt. You will count and say thank you after each one. You are to call me sir or daddy. Understood?”

“I understand, sir.” 

With a satisfied hum, his belt lands the first hit on your ass, you hiss and quickly remember to count. 

“One. Thank you, sir.” 

Another one lands, and it hurts more now. A tear slips from your eye.

“T-two. Thank you, sir.” 

You feel disgusted, hurt, hopeless, and numb. Would you ever escape Joel? Or is it better to just accept this? Him? The hits keep coming as Joel keeps taunting and mocking you. How naive could you be? Why would an old man want to be friends with someone in their 20s? You don’t know how much time has passed, but by the time you hit 30 spanks, you were a mess, tears and snot running down your face. Your ass was probably bruised as hell and cut in places, and you knew sitting would be torturous. 

“S-sir p— please I c-can’t.” You’re sobbing at this point, hoping that Joel would have some mercy and stop, but this is Joel, a mean old man who is probably enjoying this more than he should. 

“Mhm no doll, ya got 5 more. You can take it” the next hot comes down and you feel that will to fight for your freedom leave you. This was humiliating, degrading, maybe giving into Joel was the easier choice. By the last spank you were done for, needing comfort needing to be held. 

“T-thirty f-five. Thank you daddy! Please M’sorry m’sorry no more- please!” Joel’s hand rubs your ass in a soothing way, he picks you up and lays you down on tummy and you sob harder into the covers. After a couple of minutes he comes back and sits down by you. 

“It’s all over babygirl, you did so well for daddy. Shush now. I’m going to apply this cream on your bum now it’ll sting but it’s gonna soothe it, Kay?” You can only nod and he puts the lotion onto his hands rubbing it so it’s not too cold and starts massaging your bottom. It stings like hell but he was right it got better after that. You’re in a floaty headspace, like everything is so hazy and Joel is the only one you want and can even think of. 

After he’s done with taking care of you, he takes his shirt off getting into bed and leaning against the headboard. Then he carefully brings you into his lap making sure to avoid putting too much pressure on your ass, and tucks your head into his chest. You immediately put your head into his neck. Joel smiles knowing he’s finally got you where he wanted. 

“Daddy’s so proud of you for taking that babydoll, so proud.” He’s kissing your head as you whimper into his neck. 

“Daddy… daddy M’sorry didn’t mean to run” maybe a part of you wanted this, that’s why you didn’t fight it. Even thinking about leaving him felt too difficult. 

“I know baby I know. Just needed your daddy to remind you where you belong.” You belong with him, here in the middle of nowhere where you can do whatever together. Joel looks down and you and presses his lips to yours, you kiss him right back, it gets messy and heated fast. Shuffling in his lap until both your legs are straddling his waist, your hands on his chest. his wrapped around your waist. 

Pulling away from the kiss with a String saliva that is connected to your lips, Joel wastes no time taking your shirt off leaving you exposed in front of him. Your nipples harden as the cold air hits them and Joel takes one into his mouth. Arching your back and tangling your hand into his hair. “Shit daddy please.” His other hand plays with the other nipple. He stops sucking on it and moves back up to kiss you, switching your position so you are now under him. 

“You’re perfect doll, so perfect for daddy.” 

You lay bare in front of him, Joel takes his pants off leaving him in black boxers where you can see the obvious print of his dick. Fuck he’s thick. His fingers trail down to your wet slit and he pushes a thick finger in. You let out a little gasp arching your back, fuck his finger is so thick. 

“Shit baby you’re so tight, need to stretch this pretty pussy out before I can put my cock in her.” His words were filthy, but it got you wetter and wetter. He continues to work his magic, thrusting in and out of your tight hole. After a minute he adds a second finger and then a third, you’re moaning like a bitch I heat and grasping the sheets as he continues to split you open, his thumb connects with your clit and he starts to rub, shit You feel a heat pool in your tummy. You’re close and Joel can feel it as well. 

“Gonna cum all over my fingers baby? Yeah gonn cum all over daddy? Come on, be a good girl and let go.” That’s all it took for you to spill all over him, you’re panting as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. He stops and sucks his fingers clean. 

“Taste amazing doll.” He takes of his boxers and his dick hits his tummy, fuck he’s big. “Is that even gonna fit daddy?” 

“Don’t worry doll I’ll make it fit.” With that he lines himself up with your hole and pushes in slowly, you wince at the stretch, Joel knows you’re a virgin so he wants to take it slow. “Halfway in baby. You’re doing so well for me.” He kisses the tears off your face and pushes himself in fully, you let out a little scream and he kisses your lips letting you adjust.

After a minute you feel so full and you need him to move, “sir please move” 

That’s all it takes for him to start thrusting in and out of you, he’s big and you can feel him stretching you out so good. You swear you can feel his dick in your throat, he’s panting and groaning into your ear like a dog.

“Pussy so good for sir and it’s all fucking mine, you belong to me doll.” All you can do is let out a breathless moan, all you can think of is Joel.

“So fucked out you can’t talk baby? S’okay daddy’ll do all the thinking for ya. You just be my pretty little fuck doll.” Whining you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss, his beard tickles your cheek but you don’t care, wrapping your legs around his waist needing him deeper in your guts. One of his hands comes down on your clit rubbing in circles, your back arches off the bed a you feel his cock hit your cervix.

“Daddy!! Please please!” 

“Please what baby? Huh? Gonna cum for your dad?” You feel yourself clench at that, fuck you’re fucking filthy for liking this.

“P-please dad need to cum!” 

“Yeah gonna cum all over this cock baby? Shit I’m close too. Gonna fill you up with my seed, give you a baby. You’ll be mine forever that way.” Shit that pushes you over the edge and you feel yourself cumming all over his cock, you feel Joel painting your insides a couple seconds after.

He fucked you through it and pulls out watching his cum drip out of you, scooping it up and fucking it back into your hole.

“Need to make sure it sticks, baby.” Domestic life with Joel sounded so good, being his good little housewife. Making sure the house was clean, and that dinner was on the table. Him fucking you and getting you pregnant. You wanted to be that for him. 

“Gonna make such a pretty housewife for daddy, doll.”

And you wouldn’t have it any other way, old life already forgotten.

It passes swiftly, faster than you ever could have imagined after the world fell into calamitous despair. It festers and drips away like the sweep of hay in a hurricane, and yet, still; peace follows, light and gentle.

You and Joel have been together for nearly nine years now. He proposed six ago, dropping down to one knee that wasn’t as creaky as it is now by the front porch of your house. It was in the bloom of Spring, unprompted, when you were both still living in Jackson.

Eventually, you both moved outside the gates, towards open land. Despite being vast, it’s still patrolled regularly by the both of you and occasionally Dina and Ellie when they find the time to ship off from young JJ. Sometimes, Tommy assists Joel whilst you and Maria chatter mindlessly, exchanging stories of how quickly Benji seems to be growing, and how the rest of the town seems to be expanding just as rapidly. And in return, you bake Tommy and Maria a pie with fresh, handpicked blueberries from the bush that sits delicately in your front yard, or you’ll clean the guns they keep on their person, or Joel will mend some sheep wool onto their jackets to keep them warm and solemn for the upcoming winters.

You and Joel regularly patrol your land together.

He had taught you to ride upon your arrival to Jackson ten years ago now.

Both atop your horse, perfecting how to settle on the saddle and direct the reins, and also in his bed, large hands curled over your waist, aiding you in the desperate rock of your hips as you bounce up and down in his lap.

Back in Jackson, everyone always asks you what’s so great about living away from those you love. What could be so great in having to travel a far distance to even just trade with your peers?

And the answer is exactly that. You’re far away from everyone, except for the only one who truly matters. With just the two of you, it’s so quiet. Which means that there’s no one to disturb you, and no one for you to disturb.

“Tha’s it, darling. Keep ridin’ my cock.. just like that,” Joel rumbles from beneath you, his head tilted back in bliss, jaw slackened, mouth open with ragged pants.

His fingers dig deep into the soft flesh of your hips, enough that bruises in the shape of your large, towering husband will remain painted across your skin by morning. He’s getting older; his skin growing rougher, the crows feet by his eyes forming in deeper crevices, the lines on his face growing weary. He would never admit it, but you know he’s conscious about it, no matter how many times you assure him that you adore the new signs of his aging; it tells you that he’s living. Life and freedom carving out roadmaps along his body that you like to trace with your fingers and tongue.

Besides, you’re also getting up in age. Your stamina isn’t the same as it used to be, and sometimes your knee pops when you’re dismounting the saddle of your horse.

Joel always complains and snarks back that his back aches constantly, which often leads you to opting to ride him, so all he has to do is sit there, legs splayed, grip tight on your hips and pupils dilated as he watches his wife rise up and down over the thickness of his slickened cock.

“Shit.. so good, baby,” he groans, his brows pinching together, unable to shield the extent of the pleasure you always provide him willingly and eagerly. His fingers are still smeared with grime from the day, his temple and chest cast over with a thin layer of sweat after his day out in the fields, caring for the crops and your flock of sheep.

He huffs, jaw flexing, “Always know exactly what I need, don’t’cha?”

You whimper softly, gyrating your hips just right, circling them, grinding down so your needy, puffy clit rubs against his pelvis, the coarse, greying hairs of his pubes brushing along your own delicate curls. Your sweaty chest drags against his, your hardened, sensitive nipples pressed to his collarbone, drawing ragged gasps out of your kiss-swollen lips.

“So pretty like this,” he praises dutifully, his blown-out pupils travelling over you swiftly, like he doesn’t know where to look first, where to settle his gaze, determined to swallow down all of you.

He’s raptured, and you’re stuck aside him in the same tide. You have been for years, since you met him on the trail to Jackson; what started as a vicious meeting of pointed weapons divulging into a careful, gentle introduction to something softer. Something neither of you were particularly experienced in, but longed for.

It became a devotion that neither of you ever recovered from. And you never wish to.

You drop your head down towards his shoulder, heavy breaths cast over his slick skin, his own warm pants swimming over your neck. You whine, rutting your hips down into him with increasing desperation, that knot in your pelvis pulling tighter, tighter, until it’s almost unbearable, your thighs tensing and releasing in anticipation.

“Fuck.. can feel you tightenin’ around me, honey,” Joel growls, his large hand sliding beneath your hair and cupping you over the nape of your neck. You part your mouth against his shoulder, needing a distraction against your blurry mind, your tongue lathering over his sun-kissed skin, preening into his body. You feel his hips jerk beneath you, a groan tearing from his throat like he just can’t control his noises anymore with you.

“Okay, a’right, sweetheart,” he sighs in a coo, almost to himself, his other hand splaying comfortably over your lower spine. Then with a grunt of effort, he’s lifting you from his lap, his soaked cock slipping from you with a wet sound, followed by your reluctant whimper.

“Shh.. it’s okay. Let me,” he assures, maneuvering you around onto your back, pawing your thighs open again, his calloused fingers so gentle on your tender skin. He leans down, his lips ghosting over your flushed cheek, his voice a low hum, “Been doin’ all the work for me, baby. Know you’re tired- let me.”

You yield instantaneously, your body slackening for his hold as he lifts your legs to delicately wrap them around his waist, his body bending down towards yours until his soft belly presses to yours. You love the weight of him on you- firm, a solace you can only find in him. A comforting warmth washes through you, settling into your veins, soothing your sore limbs.

Perhaps this is redemption. Relief and succour in the form of this hulking, gruff man, who has never been anything but consoling- carving your body to his, linking the thump of your heartbeats from that first patrol he led you on out of Jackson.

You had felt naive then. Younger, disheartened by the world. Joel helped in ensuring that small, miniscule glimmer of hope that still remained was highlighted for not just you to witness, but for everyone to make a spectacle of.

Surprising, everyone said; for a man of his stature, to bring out such a light.

His breath comes in short pants now as he curls his large hand around the base of his cock, guiding himself back towards her eager, weeping entrance. You both sound a simultaneous noise of bliss as he sinks back inside your soaked cunt, wrapping around him like the band of silver and diamond around your ring finger.

He watches as your head tilts back towards the fluffy pillows lining the arm of the couch, before he’s reeling his hips back, and slamming back into you. No matter how many times you take him- he still splits your body in half each time, especially in such a position where it feels as though he’s engraving his name- your shared name- into your cervix with each thrust.

“Fuck, Joel-” you gasp out, rounded eyes snapping down again to watch where his pelvis rocks towards yours, his stomach rubbing over you, his cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy. He hums in concurrence, but cuts off your shaky moan by dipping himself down and capturing your lips in a fervent, messy kiss. Ragged pants mingling as your tongues tangle and your teeth bump, his hands pawing at your sides, grinding you up into his length.

“I know, baby. So good- doin’ so good for me,” he purrs, his teeth catching at your bottom lip before he chases his tongue with yours again, his groan reverberating through you in a pulsing echo of need and arousal.

“You gonna let me fill you up, baby?” he asks in a pant, one thick arm sliding down until his hand splays over your pelvis, applying pressure there. He can feel the indent of his hard, pulsing cock through the flesh there, rounded with the size of him. He huffs in effort, a bead of sweat drooling from his temple, his hips rocking faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin budding through your living room space.

“Gonna- gonna let me drip out of you?” he continues in a haphazard ramble, his jaw loose, his eyes glazed over with lust. You gasp, your chest arching up towards him as his cock stabs at somewhere particularly deep inside you, hands lifting to curl tightly over his shoulders.

“Or maybe I should stay inside. Keep.. shit- keep you plugged up,” he suggests next, his thrusts stuttering briefly at the thought, his fingers curling into the soft flesh of your pelvis, palm hot and heavy against your flushed skin.

Your lips part in a pleasured ‘O’ at the idea, and he’s quick to notice the way your eyes glaze over, the way your cunt flutters and hugs his cock like you never want him to leave. And God, he’d satisfy that wish.

“Yeah? You want that, sweetheart? Wanna be full of me, let it stick?” he tutters, his brows pinching with ecstasy, his thrusts turning into deep, firm grinds, his cock nudging up against your sensitive, gummy walls. His calloused hand brushes down over your stomach, “Get your belly all rounded with me. With my baby.”

You and Joel have discussed the idea of becoming parents before, but there had never been the right time to commit to it. For years, you had been running from haunted memories and the threatening jaws of the dangers that lurk in your worlds- but now, out here, it’s different. Each year, those memories break away from their chains, drowned out by the slow, but steady rise of peace. Contentment.

Your eyes roll their way back into your skull, your pussy clamping down around him as a shiver strikes up along the base of your spine. He moans haggardly, cock twitching against your g-spot, his grinds accompanied by the wet squelches of your needy, hungry pussy.

“She likes that… the idea of being full a’me,” Joel comments with a heady, dark chuckle, his gaze planted on the gorgeous way your cunt wraps around his cock, the skin glistening with your arousal each time he tilts his waist back. “Can feel her tightening around me, thinkin’ about being fucked full of my come.”

“Gonna make you all mine.. make sure every part of you belongs to only me,” he promises, leaning down, his warm chest pressing flush to yours, his breath disappearing in hot waves against your flushed neck. His mouth drags over your clambering pulse, climbing higher with the forceful hammering of his thrusts.

“Yes-” you moan out raggedly, head nodding haphazardly.

“Come on, baby. Gonna be both Mrs. Miller and a mother,” he groans by your ear, his cock twitching violently inside you. His hand raises, lifting your shoulder up to pin your hand against the arm of the couch. His left hand ties with yours, the shimmering evidence of your binding affection wrapped around both of your ring fingers, the silver bumping together.

His other arm hooks down and underneath your ass, heaving you up. You yelp softly at the change in angle, his cock lodging impossibly deeper inside your belly. He can’t seem to help himself, grinding himself down into you, his pelvis rubbing over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Sorry, honey,” he huffs under his breath, but he doesn’t seem very apologetic as he reels his hips back again to slam forcefully into your cunt which squelches and welcomes him in like you’re starving for it. He squeezes at your hand clasped with his, bottom lip pursed in concentration as he winds both of you closer and closer to that promising edge of bliss.

He kisses down and over your jaw, wet and loving, his stubble scratching deliciously over your pliable flesh. The living room filled with the cacophony of your shared noises and the wet sound of skin smacking, existing in just this quiet little ranch between the both of you.

“Fuck, m’close,” he warns, lips mouthing over your pulse. You whine, your hips bucking up to haphazardly meet his thrusts, which turn increasingly frantic, chasing his pleasure whilst simultaneously driving you towards yours.

“Gonna fill you up… fuck you full of my baby,” he gruffs out, forehead wrinkled downwards with determination, ignoring the aching twinge in his back, sweat plastering his hair to his skin. “Let everyone know you’re mine- fuck, honey-”

He lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours, heady breaths mingling in the space between you. You’re delirious on bliss, your head foggy, unable to voice anything tangible, so you stick with just moaning along to the symphony of his promises whisking through your blurry, lust-fueled mind.

“Gonna make me a husband and a daddy, huh?” He purrs, the question settling like a rock on your pelvis, churning around that knot that has pulled itself tight in your belly. It’s this final sentiment that sends it crumbling, ecstasy pulsing through your stomach.

Your chest arches upwards with a choked gasp, cunt fluttering violently around his cock through ragged cries, your juices following in a gush. His balls become soaked with your essence swiftly, smacking against your ass as he groans like he’s in pain, rutting into your quivering pussy.

“Shit, shit- that’s it, baby. Come all over my cock- feels so fucking good. Gonna pump you full of me, gonna give you a baby- I promise, gonna make it stick-” Joel rambles out, lost in a haze of pleasure and a primal, raw need to consume you entirely.

A beat later, he follows you over the edge, plummeting into the depths of his own rapture. His shoulder blades roll as his head drops down into the crook of your neck again, breathing you in with shaky gasps and moans as his cock pulses streams of thick, warm come inside you. You can feel it gushing through your sensitive, gummy walls, your belly bulging gently with the heft of his seed settling inside you.

The comedown is a shared combination of exhaustion and tenderness; slow, amorous kisses passing through you in the syncing movement of swollen, needy lips. Chasing after each other to litter the other with kisses over their skin.

Joel mutters careful, sensitive praises against your cheek that fall hushed on your blurry mind, still floating somewhere above yourself. He pulls his softening cock out of you, and you can hear the faint, disapproving tutter of his tongue as dribbles of his come follow him from your fluttering pussy.

A pitched whine slips from your lips as he uses two thick fingers to collect the smooth whiteness and push it back inside your throbbing cunt. Easing it back inside, curling his come against your hypersensitive walls.

“Shh, baby, I know. I know, but we need to keep it all in there, yeah?” Joel croons, hovering over you, placing reassuring kisses over your chest, along your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts.

“Gotta make sure it sticks,” he adds as he pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you. Your vision spins around you, lips parted with gentle mewls and whines, which he muffles by swallowing them with his own mouth. His tongue chasing after yours, soothing you until your eyes are being coaxed to shut, the shadows of your lashes dispersing.

Coerced into a succoured state by your husband, who continues easing his come-slick fingers in and out of your used, puffy pussy.

The wood crackles under the forceful, swinging weight of the axe, crackling into splintered pieces.

Joel’s chest heaves with a breath of exertion, a droplet of sweat rolling its way down his temple. His red flannel is bunched up to his elbows, his jeans hanging low on his hips, accompanied by the hefty buckle of his belt, a light blue teatowel hitched into the loops that he can use to wipe away the condensation painted across his forehead.

A stray, dark curl hoops and sticks to his skin, his forearms flexing as he throws the wood pieces into the evergrowing pile of firewood. He sways the axe’s blade down into the edge of the uprooted log, etching it there to rest, whilst his attention lifts to you.

Sitting on the porch chair, on the seat he had carved and structured himself. You have a warm mug of tea cupped in your palms, your fingers flexing carefully around the rim as you watch him. You aren’t discreet about it- dilated eyes ogling him from a distance, watching the way his back arches and his neck strains each time he stretches to slice another piece of wood down the middle.

He’s so effective, your husband. In all ways possible. So competent, in a way that makes your thighs squeeze together, knowing the slick gathering between them isn’t just sweat from friction and the heated summer sun beating down against your tender flesh.

His warm, mahogany eyes meet yours, and you can physically see the way he softens. Like despite his exhaustion, all of it peels away with just a glance at your radiating company. His shoulders sag like an anvil has been lifted from them, his boots crunching heavily through the mixture of dirt and grass as he sludges towards you.

Footfalls landing promptly over the wood of the porch stairs that he climbs to you, pausing by your side. You tilt your head, squinting against the peeking sun that slides past his towering silhouette. From here, he could almost be considered threatening.

But then he leans down, his lips ghosting over your cheek, and he’s placing a chaste kiss against the flushed skin.

“Hey, baby,” he mutters, voice a low whisk of warmth. His hand shifts downwards, brushing down over your belly- which is rounded, large and plump. Occasionally twitching with the beats of life the baby gleefully kicks, as though they can sense their father hovering nearby. You can hear the gentle chuckle tsking off Joel’s talented tongue.

“Eager today, huh?” He teases, a grin stuck to his tone. You grin lopsidedly, leaning into his touch, the tea in your mug sloshing lightly. “Bet she knows her daddy is near.”

You hum softly, your eyelashes fluttering as you draw out your own soft, content laugh. Joel is convinced that your baby will be a girl- a gut instinct, he says. But he also says he’ll be pleased no matter what; this is your creation, a burning life formed into a bundle of vigorous light only you both get to hold in your palms.

“Nothing will change that,” he mutters to you each night.

“Here. You stay here, finish your tea. I’ll go start dinner,” he assures before you can inflict protest on your sore limbs. He presses another quick kiss to your head, before he’s straightening with a stifled groan, and padding back inside.

The screen door closes gently behind him, before the sounds of the nearing afternoon settle into the air. Crisp, simple, a harmonious buzz of insects and chirp of distant birds, a light translucent fog covering the distant flow of winding valleys. And if you listen close enough, you can still hear Joel’s voice, mumbling away inside the house, drifting through your mind.

You can always hear him- the soothing roll of his voice swimming in your veins constantly, overflowing you with affection. A tenderness that beats to the crashing of waves, because with him; you are a sea of affection, unyielding and powerful, refusing to crash.

And soon, that tide will whisk over not just the two of you, but an additional third. And you’ll then have your own ocean of love.

“But I have seen the best of you and the worst of you, and I choose both." - Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye, "An Origin Story"

Ever since they were little, Rafe has been weird about everyone in their strange family, but sometimes it makes her feel gross when he barges into her room while she’s changing— not even bothering to cover his eyes as he sits down on her mattress and starts ranting about something completely irrelevant.

It makes her feel disgusting when she notices the subtle smirk tugging at his mouth as his gaze narrows down onto whatever bare sliver of skin she’s hurriedly trying to hide from his borderline hungry eyes.   

And she doesn’t particularly enjoy when he gets wasted or high off of whatever he’s snorted at some stupid party and insists that he just has to sleep next to her because he’s not feeling good. And despite her drowsy complaints, he’s always snuggling too close for comfort with his hands all over her; pulling her flush against him and letting the cushion of his lips graze the skin of her neck.

He keeps telling her that it’s nothing out of the ordinary when he gives her details about the girls he’s slept with and what his favorite positions are, even if she’s told him multiple times that she doesn’t want to know. And whenever they’re home alone, he even goes as far as bringing girls to his room— making sure their loud moans echo right into her bedroom when he knows she’s trying to study.   

And whenever he’s tagging along during her little shopping trips (he doesn’t let her go alone because what if something happens?), he always demands on joining her in the fitting rooms— even squeezing himself into the crammed space when she’s trying on lingerie, claiming that she absolutely needs his opinion.   

“Rafe, that’s weird,” she tries to get him to wait outside but of course he merely rolls his eyes.  

“S’not weird, know how indecisive you can be, jus’ wanna help,” he says, seemingly genuine while he’s already fiddling with the clip of her bra.   

And she feels her cheeks burning when the cashier mentions how sweet it is that her boyfriend is paying for her clothes— to which Rafe merely chuckles while she can’t find the words to correct the poor woman because she’d probably faint if she learned the truth about their relationship.

More often than not, he tends to be borderline territorial. One time, she’s simply talking to a guy at some party, when all of a sudden, she feels an all too familiar presence behind her.

“Who’s this, hm?” he slurs, slinging a heavy arm over her shoulder.   

“Oh, it’s…um, no one,” she peeps out because she knows how he is. However, her attempts at calming him down prove to be fruitless because he’s already approaching the guy with a scoff.   

“You, uh, you do know that this is m’sister, right? Mine. So, why don’t you, uh, go ‘n try to impress some other bitch, yeah?” he offers him a sickly-sweet smile, voice harsh before telling her they’re leaving— strong hands on her waist already dragging her towards his truck.

“I was having fun,” she complains when he’s putting the seatbelt on her— his breath smelling of beer when he drawls out a reply. “You can have all the fun you want with me when we get home, yeah?”   

“But I wanted to spend time with my friends,” she pouts.   

“That’s just too bad then, isn’t it?” he murmurs while starting the engine— resting a warm palm on her thigh soon after, ignoring her efforts of shrugging it off.  

- - - - - - - - - - -

When he learns that she hasn’t had her first kiss yet (because why would anyone even think about touching her when they know Rafe is a complete psycho), he mocks her to the point of her eyes growing glossy as she tries to blink away the soggy droplets.

“S’okay, you wanna get it over with, hm? I’ll help you,” he so kindly offers with faux concern glimmering in the moonstones of his eyes.   

“Rafe, that’s gross,” she frowns, to which he merely furrows his brows before scoffing— as if she’s the one being weird.   

“So, uh, so you tellin’ me you want some…some stranger at a party who only wants to get in your pants to do it instead?” he narrows his eyes as if that’s the only alternative.  

“N— no,” her answer is hesitant.  

“Listen, m’just…m’just, tryna be a good brother ‘n help my little sister out, but if you don’t want m’help then don’t come cryin’ to me when you embarrass yourself cause you don’t even know how to kiss,” he lifts his hands up in surrender before shrugging, suggesting that he’d merely be doing her a favor.   

And before her brain has the time to process what’s happening, he’s already dragging her into his lap. And it feels wrong when their mouths are suddenly slotting together— when he’s letting out a shallow groan and slipping his tongue past her teeth without so much as a warning.

“Rafe! You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that,” she squeaks out, pulling away with her face all crumpled up, feeling disconcerted.   

“Shut up, you’re gonna wake up everyone, thought you wanted to learn?” he mutters out before he’s smearing his mouth on hers once more— this time with a tight grip on her jaw that forces her to stay put as the the kiss turns into something sloppy; wet.

And afterwards, he makes her promise that she won’t tell anyone because ‘you don’t want dad to get mad at you, do you?’ and even if she feels guilt eat away at her, she keeps it to herself because the last thing she wants is to upset anyone. 

- - - - - - - - - - - -

“Rafe guess what? I have a date tomorrow,” she gives him a giddy smile while stepping into his room a few weeks later.  

“With who?” he eyes her while slouching on his bed, seemingly in the midst of texting someone.

“This guy I met on the beach today,” she sits down on the edge of the mattress when he places his phone on his nightstand.

“Yeah? What’s his name?” he asks, shifting closer.  

“Um, Ethan.” 

“Last name?”  

“I— I don’t know, didn’t ask…why does it matter? Was just wondering if you could drive me there?” she says, surprised by his sudden interest. 

“Where?” his tone sounds almost exasperated now, as if she’s done something bad.

“Um, we’re just gonna hang out at his house,” she chews on her bottom lip, suddenly nervous.

“You havin’ a date at his house? You finally gonna lose that virginity, huh?” he asks as patronizing laughter bubbles from his chest.

“What? No! S’not like that,” she mumbles, her skin already boiling. 

“No? You do know when guys say they wanna hang out, it means they wanna fuck, right? You’re not that stupid, are you?” his gaze is borderline condescending when he raises his brows.

“Well, he’s not like that, he seems nice,” she tries to defend herself, feeling small all of a sudden.

“Sweetheart, every guy’s like that, especially the ones that seem nice, you’re so fuckin’ naive,” he scoffs while running a hand through his hair.

“You know what? Forget about it, I’ll just walk there,” she huffs out, standing up to leave, however, she doesn’t get far before he’s grabbing at her arm.

“Listen, m’just tryna look out for you, okay? Don’t feel like dealin’ with your shit ‘bout how he broke your heart. I mean, if you’re not gonna let him hit, he’s gonna be expectin’ somethin’ else, you know that, right?”

She swallows.

“I— are you sure? But…but I don’t even know how to—” 

“Poor baby, what would you do without your big brother, hm? Don’t worry, I’ll teach you, yeah?” he coos before pinky promising he’ll be gentle.

And that’s how she ends up on her knees in front of him. 

“Ray, this doesn’t feel…right,” she mumbles out, eyes focused on the ruddy tip he’s thumbing over while he stares at her.

“Shh, can be our little secret, yeah? Jus’ wanna make sure my little sister doesn’t embarrass herself,” he lets out a grunt when she blinks up at him with uncertain eyes.

“Open your mouth, tongue out,” he instructs while moving closer to her tentative form, biting his lip when she gingerly does what he tells her to. Then, he’s thudding the drippy head on the flat of her tongue— one, two, three times, which makes her let out a noise; something that only seems to spur him on.

He tastes salty and it makes it all the more real, all the more wrong because she doesn’t necessarily mind the taste, which makes her feel entirely too gross about the situation altogether— the words ‘I don’t wanna do this anymore’ turning into a tangled muddle when he’s already pushing past her lips, making her gag around the sudden intrusion.

“Shit, tha’s good, jus’ take it, yeah?” he rumbles out; a big hand holding the back of her head as he stuffs himself deeper down her throat— cock twitching in response to her whines and attempts at drawing away for air.

It overwhelms her to no end when he’s so rough, abrasive, but despite his broken promise, she’s unable to prevent her thighs from pressing together when throaty moans keep escaping him; his respiration turning labored by each lazy rut of his hips while her head begins to spin.

Only when his sticky cum gushes onto her tongue— the white substance dribbling past the seam of her lips and covering her chin in the process, does he grant her a moment to catch her breath.

“Guys like it when you swallow,” his voice is like gravel when he pushes at her jaw, heady gaze glued to the way her throat bobs when she does just that, the aftertaste of what they’ve done making her feel stained; dirty.

“You know, s’cute you thought I’d let some, some shithead fuck my sister,” he sounds almost humored as he pats at the flushed skin of her cheek— making her eyes turn watery when he swipes a thumb under her wobbly bottom lip to clean up the remaining mess.

But the sexual tension between you both was just boiling over at this point. You could feel his heated gaze on you the entire time as you walked through the house. Giving him a cocky smirk before next thing you know you felt a rough hand grab you, and drag you upstairs and shove you in his closet.

“Yet you’re letting me fuck this tight, wet and juicy cunt while my wife’s downstairs.” He mocked you and all you could do was whimper at his word choice. “Such a greedy whore.”

His words hitting you right between the legs as you clenched tightly him making him groan. He knew right then and there his words held the complete truth. You were wanting him, as shameful as it was to admit, he was married and you couldn’t stand him, but yet the thought of him being touching you or being inside you had you aching between your legs.

“I know you’ve been wanting this for so long.” He cooed in a teasing tone, and you tried not to roll your eyes, but he was telling the truth.

You had spent so many nights awake thinking about him, touching yourself to thoughts of what he could do to you, and then feeling absolute guilt that morning, like you had done something wrong. It was wrong. He’s a married man and here you were imagining him fucking you on the bed, but now he’s fucking you in a closet.

“Oh, you’re gonna be such a good girl for me aren’t ya?” He said more to himself than you, but regardless hearing him say it as if he didn’t want this to be the last time he was inside you. “You’ll do anything for me.”

A cry left your lips as he hit that sweet spongey spot, and a hand closed around your mouth. “Shhh darlin’, don’t want my wife to hear us fuckin’.”

“Just shut up and fuck me harder.” You spit at him through his hand, and all he did was grin mischievously, and turn around and cleared some stuff off a bench and placed your back on it. He remained inside you the whole time, not once losing his grip or letting you slip.

“Oh I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you darlin’. Don’t you worry about that.” Grabbing your legs and placing them on his shoulders, as he started plunging in a different angle, and hitting even deeper and harder, you could hear the bench creaking beneath you as you quickly gripped the edges. The plush cushion felt soft against your skin like you were lying on a cloud.

Trying not to focus on the laughter that you could hear downstairs, but the handsome and devilish face that was staring down at you. Grunting each time he thrusted into you, and hands running up and down your thighs like he couldn’t get enough of touching your skin. You could already feel your release knocking at the door, and you didn’t know how much longer you were going to last.

“Joel, I’m gonna—“ you started to whine, and Joel knew by the look on your face you were close.

“Fuck let me hear you.” Sneering through his teeth as the sounds of his skin smacking against yours echoed around the room bouncing off the walls. Little whimpers and moans slipping out of your mouth like a faucet that was leaking.

Reaching a hand down to between where you two were connected. His thumb rubbing rapid circles on your puffy and swollen clit like he was scratching off a lottery ticket. He was desperate to get you there so he could feel his release as well. He had been holding it for a minute now, and was waiting for you to come first.

“Come for me darlin’, wanna feel the sweet cunt squeeze my cock.” He encouraged you and you bite down on your arm as you felt your legs shaking, and the unbelievable pressure in your lower stomach.

Joel wasn’t far behind as you could feel him squirting his warm and sticky load inside of you. Cock twitching as he panted heavily into your neck kissing the skin like a secret lover. The air in the room was foggy and moist, and smelled like scandalous sex. You couldn’t believe what had just taken place, and let alone in a closet while a party was going on downstairs.

“Fuckin Christ.” Joel grumbled as he ran a hand through his sweaty hair, and kept his other hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles like he’s done it before and it felt comforting to him.

“Joel. Baby.” A soft voice called outside of the closet door. Both you and Joel looking over and then to each other, your eyes wide in panic but he looked cool as a cucumber. “Are you coming back down to the party?”

“Yeah babe, I’ll be right down.” He responded his voice steady, as he looked at you and grinned placing a quick kiss on your lips waiting for her to walk away.

You searched through the mess, fingers numb where the cold slipped through your thin gloves, trying to bring some order to it.

Across the tent, weapons laid scattered in a mockery of readiness—a rifle slumped against a stack of boxes, knives strewn like fallen leaves over the workbench, a pistol halfly buried under belts, its grip worn smooth from fear‑tightened hands. 

The supplies tent was a tangled symphony of neglect that you inherited by your own choice. 

You, were the one to volunteer for this job, the endless counting, packing, arranging and preparing that no one else dared to even touch. 

And all because it kept you hidden, buried in the grit and grime, far from the piercing gaze of the man who had become your unwilling anchor. 

Joel, the leader of this ragged group of survivors, was the one who had stumbled upon you in the frozen wasteland, your body curled in a fragile knot against the merciless cold, breath shallow as a whisper on the wind. He had pulled you from death's numb embrace, wrapped you in his coat that smelled of earth, and carried you back to this fragile resemblance of life. From that moment on, he treated you like the daughter fate had stolen from him, his rough hands gentle in their guidance, his voice a low rumble that insisted purpose where despair already has taken root. 

But purpose came laced with something deeper, rumours that twisted in your chest like vines overtaking a crumbling wall, and so you fled into the shadows of this tent, avoiding the warmth of his presence that both soothed and cared.

The canned goods were cluttered in the lower shelves, their labels peeling, revealing dents and bulges that spoke about expiration dates long past. You lifted one after another, the weight heavy in your palms, peering at the faded ink that marked them as relics of a world that no longer existed. 

A voice sliced through the quiet like a blade through fog then.

"This place is a disaster," he snarled, "No wonder we can't find anything. Look at this—half the ammo's scattered like fuckin' confetti, and these cans? Christ, they're older than the damn outbreak."

It belonged to Leon, one of the newer men of the group, his face weathered by the apocalypse but twisted now with frustration as he stormed into your space, boots kicking aside a stray boot in his haste. 

You opened your mouth, but only a stutter escaped—a soft, halting: "I-I'm... trying to—" before it died on your lips. 

Defense was a foreign language to you, vulnerability had been your shield and your curse, for a long, long time.  

You shrank back, eyes dropping to the floor as if dirt could swallow you whole.

And he didn't stop, his anger swelling on. "Only reason you're still here is 'cause Joel dragged you in like some stray," he growled, the words dripping with disdain, painting you as a burden. "Half frozen mutt he pitied. Without him, you'd be buzzard food by now. So maybe stop fuckin' up and earn your keep." 

The insult hit you deep, twisting the knife of your insecurities, and you just stood there, silent and small, your throat tight with the unshed tears and the weight of his judgment. 

But Leon didn't notice the shift in the air, the subtle thickening as a presence entered the room. He didn't see Joel standing by the tent flap, entered silently, drawn by some instinct that always seemed to pull him towards you, his girl. 

He watched, his jaw set and tight, eyes narrowing as the man's tirade unfolded, each word fuelling the quiet storm brewing within him.

When Leon turned around, his confidence evaporated like mist under the sun. There was no mistaking the aura that radiated from Joel: stern, unyielding, a force that filled the tent like smoke from a fire. 

He was the leader, the authority etched into every survivor's bone in this group; the man whose word was law in this godforsaken lawless world.

Cross him, especially on his girl, and you were cast out into the wilds, where mercy was nonexistent.

 Joel's gaze pinned Leon in place, dark and unblinking, the lines of his face carved deeper by the weight of command and the raw possessiveness that surged for you.

"What the hell do'ya think you doin'?" Joels voice was low at first, that gradually became a loud roar. "You don't talk to her like that. Not ever. She's worth ten of you and if you forget that again, you're gone—out there with the infected and the dead."

The yell was possessive, a statement that echoed his claim on you, the daughter he had taken from ice and hopelessness, the one whose every stutter, every tremble, multiplied his protective fury. His chest heaved quickly, veins standing out on his neck, the air crackling with the intensity of a father defending his own—or something dangerously close to even more?

Joel turned to you then, his expression softening just for a tiny moment: "Go on to your tent, honey'," he said. 

You nodded quickly, legs unsteady as you gathered your coat, slipping past him with a brush of shoulders that sent a forbidden spark through you, his scent drifting into your awareness before you can stop it.

As you vanished, Joel came closer to Leon, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "If you even dare to raise your voice against her again, it'll be the last damn time you ever speak."

He nodded jerkily, face pale as snow, and backed out of the tent without another word, the flap swinging shut behind him loudly.

Alone now, Joel exhaled a long, deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He never wanted to raise his voice like that, ever. Not with you nearby, not when every yell took away this fragile peace he tried to build just for you, his girl, the new-found light he had pulled from the frozen dark. 

But that's who Joel was...for you, he would roar down the heavens if it kept the shadows at bay.

The rain already eased into a small drizzles as Joel stepped out of the supplies tent, his camp sprawled before him: a cluster of weathered tents, wet by the rain and surrounded by leafless trees. Smoke curled lazily from a central fire pit, where a few survivors stirred a pot of thin stew, their faces marked by the things they had endured. 

Joel's boots sank into the mud with each stride, the cold seeping through the leather, but he paid it no mind; the chill in his bones was nothing compared to the one gnawing at his heart.

"Tim!" he barked, his voice cutting through the murmur of the camp. "Patrol's leavin' in ten. You, Leon, and Livia—check the perimeter east of the ridge. Infected tracks reported last night; don't get sloppy." 

The younger scavenger poked his head out from behind a stack of firewood, his hair damp and clinging to his neck. 

Leon, still pale from the earlier confrontation, nodded mutely, avoiding Joel's gaze as he slunk towards the armory tent to gear up. Joel watched him go, a flicker of satisfaction run through him—no one touched his girl, not with words, not with anything else. 

Turning to the others, Joel continued his demands, calloused hands resting on his hips. 

"Billy, you reinforce the watchtower—those boards are rotted through. And Clint, you and the kid handle the traps; reset 'em along the water. We need fresh meat if this rain don't let up."

His hands moved with practiced efficiency—clapping a shoulder here, pointing emphatically there—his presence a stronghold against the spreading despair that threatened to swallow them all once. The group responded to him instinctively, their movements quickening under his check, the camp starting to awake again. 

Yet beneath it all, in the shadowed place of his mind, you lingered like a faint melody, pulling at him with an ache that no amount of barked commands could drown.

His girl. 

The thought of you wrapped around him, warm but tormenting, as he walked towards the map tent to plot the next supply raid. He had sent you to your tent like some kind of mutt, dismissed with a gruff exterior that masked the tenderness he yearned to unleash. 'Honey', he called you, the word slipping out like a confession, but you slipped away just as quickly, your eyes downcast, body tense with that avoidance that you wore like your armor. 

If you weren't dodging him at every turn, at every god damned path, he would have followed you right then—pushed aside the flap of your shelter, knelt besides you, and pulled you into his arms until the world's cruelties melted away. 

But you were a ghost to him now, haunting the edges of his vision, and the distance you enforced carved deeper than any infected could bite.

The memory tugged at him then, pulling him back through the veil of time to that frozen eve when he'd first claimed you from winters ruthless grips.  

It was a night etched in ice and desperation, the world blanketed in snow, muffling the distant howls of the infected nearby.

Joel had been scavenging alone, his back-pack light, but his rifle heavy across his back, when he spotted you—a huddled form against the base of a snow-laden cliff, your body curled into itself like a wild fawn seeking safety and shelter. 

Half-frozen to death; your lips blue tinted, breath a faint mist that barely stirred in the air, clothes ragged and already crusted with frost. You were a vision of fragility in this unforgiving realm, and in that moment something primal stirred in Joels chest—a fierce, paternal urge to shield what the apocalypse had nearly shattered.

He dropped to his knees besides you, gloved hands gentle as they brushed snow from your face, the touch coaxing a shiver from your chilled frame. 

"Hey, hey now," he murmured, his voice sweet and coaxing like honey laced with gravel. "Ain't leavin' you out here to freeze. C'mon, let's get you all warm."

With effortless strength, he scooped you up, arms strong, protected around you and carried you to a sheltered hollow where he quickly set up a small, but efficient camp—a trap strung between trees, a fire pit in the middle, and something soft to sleep on. 

The flames he coaxed to life danced shadows across your almost colourless skin as he stripped away your sodden layers with careful hands, wrapping you in his own coat, thick and smelling of pine smoke and his warmth. You trembled in his arms, teeth chattering and Joel drew you close, his body a furnace against yours, you cuddled into the curve of his chest until the shivers turned into quiet breaths. 

One hand stroked your hair in rhythmic passes, the other rubbed slow circles on your back.

"That's it," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, calming as a lullaby in the storm. "I've got you. Just breathe, sweetheart. Where you come from? Lost out here all alone, hm?'"

Your voice was a fragile thread when it once came, stuttering and faint, spilling the fragments of a shattered past, settling the last pieces of hope you have on this gruff stranger.

You talked, and talked. A family torn by the outbreak, days of wandering through blizzards alone and at one point the days blurred in line between living and surrender. 

Joel listened without judgment, his nods steady, eyes full of empathy that held your gaze without flinching. And when hunger clawed at you, he didn't hand you the rations; instead, he broke off pieces of jerky with his fingers, feeding you gently from his hand, one by one, the salt melting on your lips. 

"Open up," he coaxed, his thumb brushing your chin, the intimacy of the act weaving an invisible bond. 

Then water followed from his old bottle, tilted carefully so you could sip without spilling, his free hand supporting your head, murmuring encouragements until color returned to your cheeks.

Winter days started to blur into an each one another of shared survival and comfort. The two of you holed up in that makeshift haven as snow piled high outside. Joel hunted in the mean time, strengthened the shelter around you, and tended to you with a devotion that surprised even him...a man only hollowed by loss, now filling the void with your quiet, genlte presence. 

He watched you closely, noting in his head the way overwhelm shadowed in your eyes when the wind howled too fiercely, how viulnerability clung to you. You were a delicate bloom in this hopeless wasteland, oh how easily you were  crushed by the weight of existence. It steered something deep in Joel, a need to be your shelter; your steady hand. 

One evening, as the sun set, you sat by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, and admitted something: "I can't do this by myself. Everything's just too big, too much. I need...I need someone to look after me." And "Like the cold out there, it grabbed me and wouldn't let go, and now even this warmth feels overwhelming, like I might melt away or something...I need...I need someone to look after me. Someone to tell me it's okay when my head spins and I can't breathe right. What if I freeze again? Or what if the noises outside get louder? I just...I don't know how to make it stop being so much."

The words hung between you that day, raw and revealing, and when you looked up at him, eyes wide with unspoken plea, you whispered, 'Dad.' The title landed like match on dry grass, but catching Joels attention more than ever. 

He couldn't resist; pulling you into his lap, he cradled you close, his chin resting on your head, promising silently to be that for you—the father fate had denied him once over, your guardian against the dark.

But the nights deepened the bond into something more tangled, more forbidden. 

One such evening, in the closeness of the small tent, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and the chill, you turned to him in the shared bedroll. 

Bodies pressed together for warmth, your form molding to his like clay on the potter's wheel, and in that quiet intimacy, you kissed him—a small brush of lips that slowly but surely  bloomed into hunger. 

"Daddy," you breathed against his mouth, the word a velvet plea, followed by 'Dad' laced with sweet longing. 

Joel's restraint fractured like thin ice; his hands roamed your curves with hunger, he hadn't felt for years—peeling away layers until skin met skin, his cock hardening against your thigh as desire overrode the lines of propriety.

He entered you slowly, inch by deliberate inch, his thick, girthy length stretching your warmth with a gentleness that calmed the storm within you. 

"Shh, baby girl," he cooed, voice husky and commanding, hips rocking in a measured rhythm that built slowly over time. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, moans spilling as he fucked you deep and thorough, each thrust an erasure of the shadows haunting your mind: the infected, the losses, the loneliness and the cold.

His pace quickened, possessive and unrelenting, pounding into your sticky pussy until your cries echoed his name in variations of devotion, cum flooding you in hot pulses as ecstasy shattered every bad thought. 

In that night, Joel learned your truths: you needed a steady hand to guide you, someone to call 'Dad' that anchored your soul, a cock to fuck you senseless until the world faded to irrelevance, leaving only the pulse of shared release. 

Days turned into a haze, tents pitched in hidden groves where he'd take you against cold walls, caring for you with meals fed from his fingers and nights blurred by sweat-slicked skin and cum filled cunt. 

And when you two finally returned into his small camp after endless miles of this intimate journey—your body marked by his touch, heart entwined with his—he envisioned a life where you did no labor, simply waited in his tent, legs spread in welcome, his to protect and possess. 

"Stay with me, darlin'," he murmured, tracing patterns on your thigh. "Let me handle it all."

But rumours started to spread like wildfire 

on dry bushes, untrue whispers that poisoned this fragile relationship that you have built. 

Someone overheard your breathy 'Dad' in a moment of overwhelm, twisting it into a scandal. 

Another caught the sounds of your shared tent, moans misconstrued as depravity. Whispers evolved: "She's got him wrapped around her finger, that stray he dragged in."

The words reached to you, burrowing like thorns, making you feel small, misunderstood—a weirdo in a world that already judged harshly. 

So...the ache in your heart swelled until it bursted: you ended it, pulling away with tear-streaked face, declaring it over to spare him the shame.

Joel was absolutely heartbroken, the pain in his chest an ache that echoed with your absence, but he didn't let you go. He checked on you regularly—slipping rations to your tent, watching you from afar as you navigated the camp, ensuring your safety with a stubbornness that bordered on obsession. 

Yet he couldn't bear it longer: your avoidance, the careful dance of distance, the sidelong glances from the group, their murmurs like knives, your belief that you are weird, tainted, when to him you were this salvation incarnate.

As his thoughts faded, Joel found himself adrift in the present, his orders trailing off as he stared at the map spread before him. The camp still buzzed around him, patrols forming, tasks underway, but his mind was a whirlwind of you—vulnerable, evasive, his girl who needed him more than she knew. 

He couldn't take the separation anymore; tonight, he'll connect the gap, pull you back into the fold where you belonged, forbidden pull be damned, rumors silenced by the strength of his claim.

-

As the sun dipped low beneath the horizon, painting the camp in bruised purples and fading golds, Joel felt the weight of the day slowly settle into his bones. 

He couldn't bear the silence any longer, the way you'd retreated into your shell after the supplies tent moment, your avoidance a blade twisting deeper and deeper with every passing hour. 

His feet carried him unerringly through the mud slicked paths, past the murmurs of the group settling in for the night, until he stood before your tent—larger than the cramped quarters of the men, a sanctuary he'd insisted on crafting for you, and only you, alone.

He poured his callused hands into making it a haven, didn't he? 

The frame reinforced with scavenged wood, the canvas walls doubled for insulation against the relentless chill. Inside, he built the bed himself—a sturdy frame of rough wood, topped with a mattress stuffed with whatever soft fibers he could forage, layered with blankets pilfered from forgotten homes. 

Cushions and pillows, sewn from scraps of fabric, scattered for your comfort. A small table he made from a fallen log, wobbly but earnest. Shelves cobbled together for your few treasure—an old book, a carved wooden fawn he shaped in quiet moments—all of it born from his desire to wrap you in coziness, to shield your fragile spirit from the world's jagged edges. 

Oh, how grateful you've been once, your eyes lighting with a warmth that melted the ice in his chest. 

Now, as evening deepened, Joel hesitated at the flap, his broad fist hovering, a rare feeling of fear coiling in his gut. 

What if you turned him away? 

What if the chasm you'd carved between you had grown too wide to bridge? 

He was Joel Miller, the unbreakable leader of this ragged band, yet here he was, scared like a little boy before confession. 

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he knocked three times on the wooden part, soft enough not to startle, firm enough to announce his presence.

"Darlin'?" he called out, voice threaded with caution. "It's me. Joel."

The flap parted after a long moment, and there you stood, framed in the warm lantern light that spilled from within, your brows furrowed in a frown that tugged at his heartstrings.

Your eyes—those sweet, doe eyes that had first drawn him in—were rimmed red, lashes clumped with the remains of tears. The sight hit him like a gut punch; rage surged hot and immediate, a visceral urge to hunt down Leon and drive his fist into that sneering face until the man tasted the blood of his own regret. 

How dare anyone reduce you to this—his girl, curled in on herself, wounded by words sharper than any blade in this merciless world?

"Can I come in?" Joel asked, his tone gentle, eyes searching yours with a plea he couldn't voice. 

You nodded, a small, reluctant dip of your chin, stepping aside to let him pass. 

The tent was a cocoon of warmth, cozy and sweet, mirroring the tender heart you hid away from everyone. The lantern light bathed the space in a golden haze, softening the edges of the handmade furniture, the pillows plump and inviting on the bed where you so often curled like a fawn seeking shelter. 

Joel knew your habits intimately—how you drew your knees to your chest, burrowing into the nest of blankets, your form small and vulnerable, evoking those pet names he'd whispered in quieter times: Little Fawn, Bambi, fragments that captured your innocence amid the brutality. 

"You didn't need to defend me there," you said. "I could've just done it myself."

Even as the words left your lips, you knew they were hollow; Leons yelling had left you stammering, small and exposed. 

He turned to you, his dark eyes steady, holding yours with an intensity that peeled away your defenses layer by layer.

"I know," he replied. "But ain't gonna leave you alone like that. Not ever." 

You scoffed, the whispers of the camp echoing in your mind again, their side glances branding you as the weird one, the stray with the leader wrapped around her finger. 

Crossing your arms, you sank onto the bed, curling your frame, knees tucked close, gaze fixated on a spot in the corner. Tears started to well anew, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room as vulnerability crashed over you like a relentless wave.

"Oh, little fawn..." Joel murmured, the petname that was meant to soothe the hurt he saw etched in every line of your body.

"Don't," you whispered, voice cracking, turning your face away as the first tears traced down your cheeks. "Don't call me that." 

The plea was raw, laced with the ache of the loss for the intimacy those words once evoked, now tainted by the misunderstanding, by the fear that you were too weird, too needy in a world that devoured the weak.

Undeterred, Joel lowered himself besides you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, while his presence was a grounding force amid your unraveling. You curled up tighter, a defensive coil, but he didn't press...instead, he sat close enough that the heat of him radiated through the space between, a silent promise of shelter.

"You remember the first time you called me Dad?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur. 

You flinched at the word, an involuntary shiver rippling through you, the title stirring a hollow ache in your chest—an echo of warmth now soured by shame.

"I didn't think much of it," Joel continued softly, his hand rising with slowness to stroke your hair, fingers threading through the strands. Each pass was measured, calming, tracing the curve of your scalp as if it was to unravel the knots of your turmoil. "But I knew that your little heart calmed down after you called me that. Like the world's weight lifted, just a tiny bit." 

His touch was poetry in motion, rough palms gentle by intent, evoking memories of winter nights when his care had been your lifeline.

You sniffled, the sound small, peeking at him through your wet eyelashes. His eyes held no judgment, only a deep, unwavering understanding—of how you needed to be taken care of, how the chaos overwhelmed you until you felt little, drifting into a headspace where distractions pulled you like a dream. 

He saw that now in your hazy gaze, the faraway drift, your mind retreating to that vulnerable place where the world's edges softened into safety.

"I didn't find it weird," he pressed on, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "God—that's the least forsaken thing in this damned world I would find weird. In a place where the dead's walk and trust is a luxury we can't afford anymore, y'callin' me Dad? That's just...you needin' what we all crave deep down. Someone that holsd the pieces together."

"Are you sure?" you whispered, the question fragile as breath itself, seeking absolution in his gaze, your tears slowing to a quiet trickle as his words pierced the fog of self doubt.

"Course, baby," Joel nodded, his affirmation steady. "Nothing weird about wanting to be taken care of. Hell, we've all got our fractures; yours just call for a steady hand, that's all."

He paused, his hand stilling in your hair, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. 

"You think I wouldn't have cared for you if I didn't? I wouldn't have built this bed, poured sweat into these cushions and shelves, made you all these things, hm? Every nail, every stitch—it was for you, darlin'. To give you a corner of peace in this madness."

You shrugged, a small, uncertain lift of your shoulders, the gesture speaking volumes of the doubt that lingered and lingered, but Joel leaned in then, closing the distance with a tenderness. His lips pressed to your forehead, warm, a kiss like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, sealing his words with an unspoken promise.  

"My little fawn," he breathed against your skin, the endearment a balm, wrapping around your heart.

Something in you yielded at last, the walls crumbling under the weight of his care. You snuggled into him, your body unfolding from its curl to press against his chest, burying your head into the crook of his neck where the scent of him enveloped you like a homecoming. A soft sigh escaped you, tears soaking into his flannel as the tension disappeared, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat.

"That's right," Joel cooed, his arms encircling you fully now, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles along your back. "Come to Dad. I've got you, little one. Always will." 

His voice was like a lullaby in the dark, where the world's cruelties faded to whispers, leaving only the profound poetry of two souls intertwining once more.

You nestled even deeper into him, the tears slowly drying, but a deeper ache stirred within, a  pull towards that hazy headspace that tugged you into the depths where only his touch could anchor you. 

With a soft, instinctive motion, you reached for one of his hands—those rough, capable hands of his that built your world—and guided it towards your lips, your mouth parting to draw his thumb inside, sucking gently at first, the salt of his skin a familiar comfort blooming on your tongue.

Joel's breath hitched at that, followed by a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he watched you, his dark eyes softening with a mix of adoration and understanding. 

Without hesitation, he shifted his hand, cupping your cheek with his palm, angling his thumb deeper into the wet warmth of your mouth so you could nurse on it more fully, the pad pressing against the soft roof as your lips sealed around it. He leaned down, his lips brushing the crown of your head in a feather-light kiss. 

"There you go, baby," he murmured, his southern drawl a soothing balm, thick and warm like honey drizzled over wounds. "Suck a little deeper if it feels right...yeah, just like that."

His words were a gentle coo, laced with that paternal sweetness that made your heart flutter and your core clench in equal measure, his free arm tightening around your waist to rock you slowly from side to side, a rhythmic sway that mimicked the lullabies of forgotten cradles.

You whimpered around his thumb, the sound muffled and needy, your tongue swirling lazily and lazily as the subspace slowly deepened, pulling you further into that floaty haze where thoughts dissolved like mist under sun. The rocking motion lulled you, his body a cozy cocoon of flannel and muscle, but the whimpers grew insistent, threading with a whine that Joel knew all too well: you were craving the grounding force only he could provide. 

His cock stirred in his jeans, thickening against your thigh, but he focused on you, sensing the urgency in your escalating sounds, the way your hips shifted restlessly. 

He knew this dance like the back of his hand; your subspace made you far gone, adrift in a sea of need, and only the deep, claiming thrust of his cock—followed by the shattering release of orgasms—could reel you back, tethering you to the present with waves of pleasure that washed away the darkness.

"Oh, sweet thing," Joel whispered, his voice a velvet rumble as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing the soft curve of your belly before finding the swell of your breasts. 

He cupped one gently, thumb and forefinger rolling over your nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak with slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks down your spine. The touch was feather light at first, then firmer, pinching just enough to draw a gasp from you, your mouth releasing his thumb with a wet pop, a glistening string of saliva connecting your lips to his skin like a fragile bridge of intimacy. 

"Shh, babygirl, Daddy's just gonna touch you here...nice and easy." He murmured at your whines. 

You whimpered louder at that, the sound raw and pleading, your hazy eyes locking onto his. 

"Take care of me, Daddy. Please," you breathed out, your voice small and fractured, laced with the desperate ache of your subspace.

Joel's heart swelled at the plea, his little fawn so needy, so beautifully lost in that vulnerable space he cherished and protected. 

He wouldn't dream of denying you—never. 

This was his purpose, to soothe and claim, to fill every hollow part of you with his devotion. 

"Oh, I know, honey," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his beard scraping softly against your skin as he eased you back onto the bed, the pillows cradling your head like a nest woven for you alone. 

The mattress dipped under your weight, the blankets rumpling invitingly as he positioned you, his body hovering protectively above you. 

With tender care, he tucked his finger back into your mouth—this time his index finger, sliding it past your lips so you could suckle greedily, your tongue laving the length as if it were sustenance for your soul. 

"There, suck on that for Dad, yea? Keeps you nice and calm while I take care of the rest."

His other hand trailed downwards, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to find the slick heat of your cunt. You were already so soaked, your folds swollen and parting eagerly under his touch, the sticky evidence of your need coating his fingers as he traced your slit. 

"God, look at you, Bambi...all wet and achin' for me," he cooed, his voice dripping with praise. "This for daddy, huh, honey? Dripping, achy pussy."

He pressed two fingers inside you without warning, stuffing your pussy full in one smooth glide, the stretch burning sweetly as your walls clenched around the intrusion, spasming with desperate hunger. You whined against his finger in your mouth, the vibration humming through him, your hips bucking instinctively to take him deeper.

"Biiig stretch, baby, yea?" his tone coaxing and babying, like an old man spinning tales to his most cherished kin. 

"Big stretch..." you repeated messily around his finger. 

Satisfied with your answer, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot with expert precision, his thumb circling your clit in lazy loops that made your thighs tremble. 

The wet sounds of his movements filled the tent: slick, obscene squelches that mingled with your muffled whimpers whike the air started growing thick with the musky scent of your arousal, sticky and intimate. 

"Y'gonna rub your nipples for me? Pinch 'em, for Dad? Show me how good you can be while I finger this pretty little cunt, c'mon." His words were filthy yet laced with such profound sweetness.

Obediently, lost in the haze, you released his finger just enough to slide your hands under your shirt, fingers finding your nipples and pinching them hard, rolling the peaks between your thumbs and forefingers until they throbbed in time with the thrusts of his hand. 

The dual sensation overwhelmed you—mouth full, pussy stuffed, breasts aching under your own touch—your mind traveling further into that blissful subspace. 

Joel watched, absolutely mesmerised, his eyes full of love. 

"That's it, Bambi." He murmurs. "Pinch a little more if it helps, yeah? make 'em ache like your cunny does for me."

The pace build as your juices start to leak down his knuckles, coating his palm in your sticky essence. 

Overstimulated and lost in the velvet haze of your headspace, Joel's relentless fingers curled inside your gushing pussy one more time; stroking that swollen spot until pressure build like a storm in your core, your cries of "Dad, too much—m'gonna...oh..." fracturing into a needy sob as a sudden, tiny squirt escaped, warm fluid arcing in a delicate spray across his wrist and your quivering belly forming a filthy little puddle.

"Easy now, darlin', let it all out for Dad—juuuust like that, baby." he cooed.

Your mouth stilled around his finger, lips parting in a silent cry as your cunt pulsed wildly around his digits, gushing more slick that soaked the bed beneath you. Your hands fell from your nipples, trembling, as waves of ecstasy rippled through you, pulling a choked sob from your throat. 

Joel slowed his movements then, drawing out the aftershocks with gentle strokes, his gaze drinking in the sight of you splayed out before him—cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening, eyes glazed in that beautiful, vulnerable haze. 

Beautiful. Sweet. His little fawn, trembling and spent yet still yearning.

"Please," you whined, voice breathy and broken, rocking your hips against the hard bulge straining his jeans, the friction drawing a deep groan from his chest. "Your cock, Dad. Need it inside me." 

"S'alright, honey," Joel soothed, his voice a tender rumble as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then from your pussy, leaving you clenching around emptiness. 

He shifted, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock— thick and veined, the head already beaded with pre-cum, curving upward in rigid need. 

"Daddy's gonna give you what you need. Spread those pretty legs for me, darlin'."

You complied, thighs parting wide, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air, the sticky mess of your release gleaming in the lantern light. 

He knelt between them, gripping his shaft and nudging the blunt tip against your entrance, teasing with shallow dips—in just the head, then out, coating himself in your slick—each withdrawal pulling a breathless whine from you. 

"Dad... please," you begged, hips going up, chasing the fullness.

He played a moment longer, savoring your desperation, the way your pussy fluttered against him, before sinking in fully with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing unchecked through the tent flaps, uncaring of the camp beyond—let them hear; you were his, and this was your healing.

Joel groaned low, his forehead pressing to yours, breath sharp as he bottomed out, your walls stretching around his girth, the icky squelch of your combined wetness filling the space.

"Fuck, baby girl...so tight."

He built a comfortable rhythm just for you then—slow, deep rolls of his hips that ground against your clit with every thrust, designed to unravel your thoughts, to flood your mind with nothing but sensation.

"Thaaat's it, honey, feel me stretchin' this sweet pussy," he whispered praises against your ear, "Dad's got you, gonna fuck all those bad thoughts away."

You whined 'Dad' and 'Daddy' endlessly, lips swollen from biting them, eyes rolling back as the pleasure built, your pussy gushing around him in sticky waves, the lewd slap of skin on skin growing wetter, messier with every drive.

"Did you miss me? Hm, baby?" He asked, softly pinching your chin between his fingers. "You're my everything, you know that? Gonna coax another cum outta this pretty hole, make you forget every damn whisper out there."

He babied you through it all, one hand stroking your hair, the other pinning your hip gently, his thrusts never faltering—filthy in their depth, yet so profoundly sweet in intent.

"Daddy...Dad, it's too much." You bucked your hips against him.

"Shh, I know, I know. My sweet little girl." he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple, breathing in your scent.

The pressure coiled tight, and when you shattered again, your cunt clamping down in rhythmic pulses, milking him relentlessly, Joel followed with a guttural groan, burying deep as he came inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in a creamy creampie that overflowed, leaking out around his base in thick, icky trails.

"Yea, there we fuckin' go," he panted, still rocking shallowly to prolong the bliss, his voice husky with satisfaction. "All the thoughts fucked away now, huh? Look at you."

You nodded weakly, mind blissfully blank, body limp in the afterglow.

Joel eased his cock out with care, watching as his cum leaked from your well fucked pussy, pearly white mixing with your slick in a messy puddle on the sheets.

The sight stirred him anew, and before you could protest the sensitivity, he plunged two fingers back inside, stirring the creaminess, drawing a sharp whine from your oversensitive walls.

"Shh, hey. Easy now, easy. Just one more, honey," he hushed softly, his tone pure indulgence as he brought the other cum smeared fingers to your mouth. "Suck on 'em for Daddy, c'mon—taste how good we are together, focus on dad."

You latched on in instinctively, tongue swirling around the salty sweet tang of his release mixed with yours, the act so intimately, so cozy in its rawness. His fingers in your pussy worked gently, curling to hit that spot again, thumb rubbing your clit building you towards one final peak until you came with a muffled cry, your body shuddering as fresh slick coated his hand.

Satisfied at that, Joel withdrew his fingers, trailing sweet kisses across your body—forehead, cheeks, the curve of your neck, down to your breasts where he lingered, suckling on your nipple briefly before murmuring against your skin. 

"You're my everything, darlin'. My whole world in this godforsaken place."

He then gathered you close, pulling the blankets over you both, his arms wrapping securely as he rocked you side to side once more, the motion lulling you into peace. 

"I'm gonna take care of you, no matter what they say out there." He whispered. "Sleep now, little fawn. Dad's right here."

And as your eyes drifted shut, the tent a cocoon of sticky warmth and whispered devotion, you slipped into slumber, anchored fully in his love again.

Finally. 

I don’t know if I like this or not… I tried a new writing style, making it a tad bit ‘poetic,’ but I think I failed at a few moments. A lot of paragraphs are translated from German because I didn’t know how else to write them, and I’m sorry if some of it feels a bit weird.

Anyways, I hope it met some expectations, and I’m really excited to see what y’all say. <3

But then you started sleeping in his bed. Nightmares used to plague your rest, causing you to wake up with sweat drenching your hairline and tears staining your cheeks. You didn’t find peace again until his arms held you tight against his chest, his soft mutters reaching your ears. 

I’ll take care of you, kiddo. Don’t you worry. Go back to sleep, I got you. 

And he took care of you. Kept you fed, clothed, and safe. Made sure you were happy, eager, and bright-eyed. 

You were no fool either. A smart girl, more than willing to learn. He taught you to shoot, even though it made his heart race when he saw you holding a shotgun for the first time. The longer you stayed with him, the more he realized that you were far from helpless. While you hesitated to even point your gun at a deer, you were more than capable of shooting an infected from a good fifty yards away. 

The more sunrises you saw together, the more Joel grew to think of you as an equal. He didn’t keep you like a miniature housewife, destined to press his shirts and keep his shoes by the fire—no, you were every bit as tough as he was. 

Still, seeing you sitting in the sun reminds him of your innocence and how much he hates that you had to sacrifice it at times for your survival.  He would do anything to keep the light in your eyes lit for as long as possible. Even treat you like a kid from time to time when you’re so much more.

By the time the moon had taken the sun’s spot, Joel had been left with his own thoughts for too long.  You’re sitting opposite him at the dinner table, picking up four peas with your fork, one on each prong, and telling him about the ladybugs you found today.

“They were much more orange than red,” you recall eagerly, “And I don’t think they were the seven-spot kind—I counted at least nine.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles some kind of acknowledgement while his eyes find the ribbon in your hair again. 

“Like, I mean, of course they were still ladybugs,” you go on, oblivious to his feeble attention, “But, like, they looked real different than the ones we had last summer.”

He’s noticed before that his way of speaking has bled into your vocabulary. You never used to say those kinds of things back when the walls of Jackson still surrounded you. It makes his teeth hurt to see the influence he has over you. 

“They were pretty, right?” he grumbles. 

You roll your eyes, a half-grin tugging at your mouth corners.

“’Course they were,” you reply.

“Then it don’t matter, kiddo.”

Dismay turns your face sour, and you huff softly. “Guess it don’t.”

“Doesn’t,” he corrects. 

“You just said ‘don’t!” 

He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but he does anyway. “Yeah, well, I’m grown, I can say whatever I want.” 

Your eyebrows furrow angrily. “What’s with you today?” you mutter. 

His eyes snap to yours. “Nothin’,” he replies gruffly, “Now, eat your peas. And quit playin’ with ‘em.”

You stare at him for a few seconds before you grab your fork and go back to piercing your peas one by one.

“Christ,” he mumbles to himself, then rubs a hand across his face. The dinner continues in silence, lingering uncomfortably thick. When he’s in a bad mood, you can usually cheer him up, but once you start sulking, the day might as well be over.  He knows it’s his fault—he approached the whole thing wrong. 

It takes you forever to finish your plate—you’re too busy frowning—so Joel is half tempted to send you to bed to sleep it off. Knowing that it would only make things worse, and frankly, it’s not his place, he holds off on that. 

Your chair squeaks loudly as you push it back, empty plate in hand, and make your way to the sink. Your footsteps fall heavily when you walk to your room without saying goodnight. 

Joel knows you want him to follow you—you’re waiting for an apology, one that you deserve but won’t get. Instead of indulging you, he starts rinsing the dishes, then wipes the counters clean. He hears the sink in the bathroom run, then two doors shut within seconds of each other. At least, you’re not slamming them. He takes that as a good sign. 

Once there’s nothing left for him to clean, he sighs to himself, then leaves the kitchen. He stands in front of your door longer than he likes. You painted it a couple of weeks ago, colorful flowers and berries decorating the frame. He had worked his ass off to find you paint that was still somewhat usable, then even managed to find some thinner so that the acrylic wouldn’t be so thick. 

He traces one of the flowers for a few seconds, following the delicate line that you had drawn, before he rolls his hand into a fist and knocks.  There’s a soft shuffle behind the door, then your voice follows. “What?”

Sometimes, Joel has to admit to himself that he misses the shy you. The one that didn’t talk back. 

“It’s me,” he calls out. 

“Yeah, I figured.” You and your sass. 

He rubs his eye once, twice, then sighs.  “Can I come in?”

Silence stretches for a few moments, and his heart drops. You couldn’t be that mad. Could you? But then your reply echoes through the oak wood. “Yeah.”

His fingers press against the door handle, and it swings open with ease. You’re sitting on your bed, bedsheets pulled up to your navel. The shirt you’re sporting belongs to him—old and worn, but soft to the touch. Its neckline is so stretched that he catches a glimpse of your collarbones. It’s a comfort to him that you’re at least still wearing that, despite the disgruntled expression etched into your face as you look at him.  The red piece of silk is still tied in your hair, sitting there like a warning sign. He ignores it. 

Joel flicks his hand, signaling you to scoot over, and you do. When he sinks down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaks softly.  It’s quiet as neither one of you speaks for a moment. Then Joel clears his throat.

“So…” he mumbles, “Ladybugs, hm?”

He can tell that you don’t want to smile, but the corners of your mouth twitch. 

“Tell me ‘bout ‘em,” he encourages quietly. 

“Thought it don’t—doesn’t matter,” you argue. The disappointment in your voice makes his old heart ache. 

“It does,” he murmurs. His hand rests on your knee, the blanket disconnecting you. “If it matters to you, it matters to me.” He tilts his head to catch your eyes and sees them softening in real time. 

“A whole bunch of ‘em were down by the creek,” you say, “On that one tree stump, you know?” 

He nods. You continue.

“Do ladybugs have families?”

The question is so tender—so you—he has to close his eyes for a few seconds.

“Mhm,” he muses, “Dunno much about bugs, but I figure they do. They all gotta come from somewhere, and where you come from, that’s your family, right?”

You shrug softly.  “Then I guess I don’t have one,” you say blankly.  Joel shakes his head instantly. 

“That ain’t true, darlin’,” he disagrees, then rubs his jaw.

“Guess I didn’t explain that one right,” he mutters to himself, then goes on, “There ain’t just one type of family. Sometimes, it’s the place and people where ya come from, and then other times, it’s the people who wish ya came from the same place as them, you know? The ones who wish they had known ya all your life.”

“So you wish you’d known me all my life?” you ask tentatively.

He winces.

“Sometimes,” he replies cautiously, “But it’s good that I didn’t.”

“Why?”

He should’ve expected this. This is why he never explained the heavy stuff. 

“You know, sweetpea, it’s real late, don’t you think?” he states, looking out the window. His joints groan as he stands up, but he doesn’t get far. Your hand finds his biceps and holds him back. 

“Wait,” you plead, “You can’t just… please, what do you mean? Why only sometimes?”

Joel feels himself growing grayer by the second. As the words get stuck in his throat, he gestures vaguely between him and you. 

“This whole thing… it’d be—it’d be bad if I’d known ya since you were a little girl.”

“Because…?” you prompt quietly. 

“’Cause I’d be—people would think…,” he drifts off, muttering under his breath, “Goddammit.” 

Joel struggles to meet your eyes; he grabs your hands, both of them, and slowly brings them up to his lips. The kiss on your knuckles is soft as a feather, like a butterfly’s wings.  He doesn’t look up as he continues, “Knowin’ you back then would mean I wouldn’t be allowed to like ya the way I do now.”

The sweet look of confusion on your face makes space for realization. 

“Oh,” you say softly. 

He nods, still not reciprocating your gaze.  “Yeah.”

“Well, then I’m glad you didn’t know me then. ‘Cause I like that you like me that way now.”

Finally, he drags his eyes up to meet yours. Honesty twists your expression into one he’d love to bottle up and keep for bad days—tenderness.

“What am I doin’ here?” Joel asks quietly, then brushes his knuckles across your cheek. You can’t help but melt into his touch, lashes fluttering shut.  It’s always like this. One of you pushes, the other pulls away, then you find your way back into the shadows of that grey area neither one of you wants to leave. No one’s done anything wrong yet. 

Joel’s hand moves to smooth down your headband.

“Shouldn’t be wearin’ that when ya go to sleep,” he mumbles, “Don’t want ya chokin’ on it if it slips down.”

“I’d wake up before that,” you reason.  He disagrees quietly, then undoes the bow and knot until it slips from your hair. The flimsy material stands out against his sun-kissed hands—his skin freckled and wrinkled, the silk smooth.

“You don’t know anything,” he says. It’s not intended as critique, so you don’t take it that way.

“I know enough.”

Joel wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until you understand just how wrong you are. Instead, he lets the piece of fabric dance around his fingers, wrapping and unravelling it consistently. 

“You should be runnin’ for the hills,” he remarks, “And I should be cuttin’ my hands off for thinkin’ ‘bout the things I wanna do to ya with ‘em.”

There it is—your breath hitches, and Joel is left to wonder whether that was one step too far, the one that just secured his place in hell. But you’re moving before he has time to take it back. You push away your blanket, exposing the smooth skin of your thighs, before you sit back on your heels in front of him. He forces himself to look you in the eye.

“Is it that bad that I want you to do whatever you’re imagining?” you ask. 

“Yes.” His voice trembles with restraint. He knows he should leave before he does something he can’t undo. But he stays—frozen in place, your knee almost touching his. 

Your bottom lip quivers.   “Then I don’t care about being good,” you reply. 

Joel has been holding back the flood for months now—and you just cracked the dam with one sentence. The ribbon slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. 

His hands cup your face and pull you in before his lips crash against yours. The soft give of your lips beneath his own draws him in deeper, chasing your tongue with his own. He tastes the remnants of toothpaste on your teeth, then something that is just you.  The guilt lingers deep in his chest as he kisses you, but something about the way your breath changes drowns out his doubts long enough. 

He’s the one to pull away first. With his chest heaving and his pupils blown, his gaze finds yours. He expects to see regret, or worse, disgust on your face. Instead, he sees pure, quiet, unfiltered adoration. 

“Goddammit,” he grumbles. 

A flustered grin lights up your face. 

“Again?” you whisper.

“God, no,” he mutters, “You kiss me like that again, and I ain’t stoppin’.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to stop.”

Before he knows it, your mouth finds his again. The vibration of your giggle against his lips sends shivers down his spine, and he should know better—but he doesn’t—when his hands come to rest on your waist. 

It starts with the slip of his fingers—brushing against your knee, then higher. Joel curses himself for continuing until you rock your hips, just a couple of inches, but it’s enough to snap away the last of his restraint. 

He leans forward, slowly guiding you back until your head hits the pillows, without your lips ever leaving his.  Situated between your thighs, he peppers soft pecks down your neck, then drops his forehead against your collarbone. 

“Tell me to stop,” he pleads, “Now.”

You shake your head. “I want to keep going.”

A sliver of awareness spreads across Joel’s face. “Sweetheart,” he starts, “This is a big thing. Like… a really big thing. And we’re—I’m already doin’ enough damage just by kissin’ ya.”

Joel has spent more than enough time thinking about it: you undressed in his sheets, him kneeling between your thighs—the slow ruin of the thing either one of you called familiarity.  Everything feels as wrong as it feels right.

“I want this, Joel,” you insist quietly. His frown lines deepen. 

“You shouldn’t—”

“But I do.”

Joel wonders if this is a test from God Himself—he hadn’t paid that much attention to the man in the sky in the last few years. 

“You don’t understand how hard you’re making it f’me, darlin’.”

You sit up slightly, then reach for him. Your fingers interlock on the back of his neck, your grip tight and determined. 

“Do you want me?” you ask.

“You know that’s not the issue,” he responds. 

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you want me.”

He takes a deep breath, then nods. “You know I do.”

“Then trust me when I say you can have me.”

“You’ll be the death of me.” Joel curses himself before he kisses you again. This time, he lets his hands dip under your shirt. His calloused fingers trace your smooth skin until they reach your ribcage, settling there. The kiss is clumsy; you grin as your teeth hit his, wild fervor evaporating from your every pore. 

Goosebumps spread across your body when Joel pulls away to meet your eyes. 

“I’ll do it right,” he declares, “I promise.”

Then his fingers find the hem of your shirt and pull it off of you. He discards the piece of clothing carelessly, too hypnotized by the sight in front of him. You hold your breath as his eyes wander, taking in every inch of skin laid bare. 

“Got the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen beggin’ for some old man right in front of me,” he murmurs. The nerves in your chest ease a little, and you shake your head at him. 

“Not just some old man,” you correct, then cup his cheek. His weathered skin is rough against your touch. 

He doesn’t reply, and you know he disagrees; instead, he presses his lips to your forehead before they wander further down. As he trails kisses from your breasts down to your belly button, his fingers find your nipples. He tugs and twists gently, eliciting gasps from you as warmth spreads through your body. 

You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle the noises, embarrassment flushing your cheeks. Joel notices and kisses your stiffened bud, then looks up at you. 

“Don’t hide those sounds, sweet girl,” he rumbles, “Wanna hear ya. If ya want me to fuck you, ya gotta meet my demands. First one is: You don’t get to hide.”

“What are the others?” Your voice grows more breathless as Joel’s fingers dig into the waistband of your panties. 

“Second one,” he begins, simultaneously tugging at the fabric that covers your core, “You tell me what you want me to do. And that’s all I’ll do.”

As soon as your panties meet the floor, he sits back on his heels. His eyes wander, taking in every bit of you. You look away, trying to escape his stare.

“And the third one,” he says, then catches your chin to tilt your face upwards, “Your eyes stay on me.”

With that, he settles between your legs, breathing in the scent of your arousal. His lips brush against your inner thigh, slowly inching towards where you want him.  You grip the sheets like your life depends on it and force yourself to watch. When he kisses the space where your thigh meets your hips, it makes you shiver. 

Your hands find their way into his curls, just tugging softly, hoping that it will lead him right where you want him. But Joel takes his time—his tongue drags over your sensitive skin, kissing one lip, then the other. He looks up at you and nods in approval when he finds your gaze already on him. 

“Don’t look away,” he reminds you before he spreads your legs even further and licks a broad stripe across your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens as pleasure sparks throughout your body. 

He is gentle at first, spending time exploring your body. Joel listens to the kind of movements that make your breath hitch, watches for the ones that make your thighs shake. When his lips encircle your clit, sucking slightly, and your entire body jerks, he chuckles in satisfaction. The vibration travels up your spine, causing you to tilt your hips.  Joel’s hands rest on your hips, encouraging you to lock him in between your legs.

Soft gasps tumble from you, growing more and more desperate as he laps at your core, his spit and your slick mixing.  You feel your chest heaving as his tongue draws figure eights on your throbbing clit. 

Lost in pleasure and the promise of him, you dip your head back into the pillows, moaning freely. You pull a little harder on his hair until he groans into your cunt. 

You feel yourself stumbling closer to the edge, a second heartbeat coming to life between your legs. Warmth pools in your lower belly, and you almost taste the sweetness of relief until Joel pulls away suddenly. 

“Hey—” his voice echoes through the room, “Where are those eyes, darlin’?”

You almost complain—your entire body is on fire when you force your gaze to snap back to him. The corners of his mouth twitch, and his tongue parts your folds again. 

“Joel,” you moan, so close to tasting the letters that make up his name. His grip on your hips tighten, firm enough that it’ll surely leave you a reminder in the morning. 

“I got you, baby,” he whispers before he goes back to circling your clit with the tip of his tongue. The sounds that filled the room were downright sacrilegious—his deep growls and your breathless whines mixing. 

Stars explode behind your eyes as you come on his lips, your arousal slickening his chin. He laps relentlessly, working you through your release until he’s drawn out every aftershock he can get. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he praises softly, “Lookin’ so pretty f’me when you cum.” Every part of you still pulses, oxytocin traveling through your bloodstream, as Joel pulls away. 

His hands travel up to your stomach, holding you down gently before he leans in to kiss you. You taste yourself on his lips, the sweetly tangy flavor blooming across your tongue. 

Joel lets you catch your breath and tenderly kneads the flesh on your hip as you come down. Seeing you rendered speechless, Joel prompts, “How’re ya feelin’, sweetpea?”

You look for words to describe the cocktail of emotions coursing through your mind and end up with the weak recollection, “Great.”

He chuckles, rather smug about himself. “Yeah?”

You nod, then blink through the heavy haze of release still clouding your mind. “Yeah,” you reply.

“Good,” he mumbles.

The mattress squeaks underneath you as he shifts his weight, and this time around, it’s your turn to stare. The bulge in Joel’s pants causes the saliva to collect in your mouth.  You reach blindly, fingers finding the edge of his jeans, but he stops you before you can pop the button. 

“Hey, easy does it,” he says, “We don’t gotta do any more today if you don’t want to.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t be trying to get your pants off if I didn’t want to keep going, would I?”

“Smartass.”

“Rule number two, I tell you what I want, and you do it, right?” you tease, looking up at him hopefully. 

“Well, I haven’t heard you say what you want yet,” he counters. 

You bite your bottom lip. 

“I… I want you,” you stammer. 

Joel raises his eyebrows, then cups your face between his rough hands. “You got me, don’t you?”

You glance at him pleadingly, but he shakes his head.  “Words, sweetpea. If you can’t say it, you don’t want it enough.”

You swallow your embarrassment and sit up. Slowly, your eyes find his before you say, “I want you to- to fuck me.”

He chuckles self-contentedly, then nods. “There you go, darlin’. If that’s what you truly want, I’ll do it.”

Then he starts to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one. You feel the nerves prickling in your stomach, and you grow more restless with every sliver of skin he exposes. His jeans follow his shirt to the floor. Your mouth goes dry when his boxers drop—Joel is more than well-endowed. 

He feels your stare and meets your eyes, the cockiness on his face making space for a much gentler expression. “You’ll be fine,” he promises, “We’ll go slow.”

When your back hits the mattress, and you spread your legs to make space for Joel, he doesn’t immediately follow. Instead, his eyes drift to the cherry-colored ribbon on the floor. A mischievous sparkle in his eyes, so unlike Joel, makes the butterflies in your stomach jump. 

He reaches for it, then holds it up for you to see.

“You got any idea how pretty this looked in your hair today?” he asks. “Drove me damn near insane.”

A bashful smile steals itself onto your face. “I found it in the sewing kit.”

“You don’t say,” he mutters. His eyes dart between you and the ribbon until his face grows almost apologetic. “Would ya wanna wear it? Now? It’s been like a damn light signal, calling me in all day. Might as well have it with ya at the finish line.”

You nod slowly. As you lean forward, you expect Joel to fasten it at your hairline, but instead, he threads the headband under the lengths of your hair and then ties it around your neck. Not too tight—you can breathe easily. You almost feel like a present wrapped to be unpacked. 

Joel nods approvingly, his fingers resting at your collarbone, while he admires his handiwork. “Real pretty,” he murmurs. 

With light pressure, he guides you back into the pillows, then chases your lips with his own. The kiss steals the breath right from your lungs, and you barely even notice it when his palm finds its place on your upper thigh. With his other hand, he fists his aching cock and guides himself through your soft folds, collecting your arousal. The pressure makes you squeal slightly, but Joel swallows any sound instantly, his lips never leaving yours. Then his bulbous tip nudges against your hole. 

“Deep breath,” he instructs, right against your mouth, “And big stretch.”

You feel as if you’re being impaled—in a good way. The unfamiliar sensation of him splitting you open has your eyes rolling back, your fingers snapping up to wrap around his biceps tightly. Joel feels your breath ghost over his face as you gasp. 

“Easy, kid,” he mumbles, “That’s it. You’re okay. Want me to rip off the band-aid?”

You shake your head instantaneously and say, “You said we’d go slow. You said—” 

“Mhm, yeah, I know, darlin’, I know.” 

His jaw ticks with restraint as he rolls his hips just a little, advancing further into your warmth. You feel every vein decorating his cock; you’re sure he’ll mold your walls to his exact shape in no time. The burn aches and stings, but the pressure underneath makes you want more. Your eyes find Joel’s—yours pleading and needy, his cool and collected. A certain degree of smugness etches itself into his face as the hunger surfaces in your expression. 

“Ya ready?” he asks. 

“Yes, yes, please, I—”

The first real thrust knocks the air out of your chest. Your fingernails dig into his arms, leaving red, half-moon-shaped marks on his skin as you feel the coarse hairs at Joel’s base meet your pelvis. You’ve never felt so full, stretched, and fed at the same time. 

When he pulls back, his cock drags along the gummy spot on your ceiling, making you gasp as pleasure sparks and runs up your spine. 

“How’s that, pretty girl?”  Joel holds your chin with his free hand, forcing your eyes to meet his own. 

You can only nod, feeling the faint pain dissipate and turn into desire as he pushes back into you.  He chuckles and eases his grip on your chin. 

“How ‘bout some words, sweetheart?” he asks. 

“It’s good, Joel, it’s… it’s so good. Please, I need more,” you answer, almost frantic in your desperation. Your hips buck up all on their own, pushing to meet his. 

“So you don’t want it slow no longer?” he teases, still keeping still even as you writhe and pout. 

“Joel,” you whine, “C’mon, please.”

He snorts softly, then nods. “We’ll work on those manners, darlin’. But for now, you’re gettin’ off easy.”

While Joel finds his rhythm, listening for the spots that make your breath catch and your eyebrows knit together in pleasure, you feel the warmth begin to collect in your lower tummy. Even with your lips clamped together, you can’t help the sounds that make their way out of you—soft moans turn wilder, more eager, more uninhibited.

“That’s it,” Joel praises, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, “Wanna hear you, pretty girl. Don’t you dare hide any of those sweet sounds.”

He fucks you deeper, the wet sounds of your cunt echoing sinfully through the room. Joel’s entire body is tight, running on pure adrenaline and need as his cock kisses your cervix. His deep grunts fill your ears, growing darker and more animalistic with every thrust. 

He drags his fingers through your folds and finds your clit. The first circle he draws feels like pure energy, pulsing throughout your entire body from your core to your toes. His other hand surprises you. At first, you think he means to cup the back of your neck with his big palm, but instead, he threads his fingers between the red ribbon and your skin. The added pressure on your throat makes your head swim. 

“That okay?” he rasps, his eyes searching yours. 

You nod almost instantly, feeling your walls flutter around him as the room grows quieter from the lack of oxygen. Joel’s eyes are glued to you—he makes sure not to overdo it. He takes in every micro-expression as his fingers adjust the pressure on the satin—a little more, then a little less. He decides when you breathe and how much. And you love it. 

 You’re not sure what pushes you over the edge at the end: maybe it’s the constant pressure on your clit, or the way his cock fills you up until you feel him in your guts. Or maybe it’s the delightful sensation of your airway being controlled by him. Or maybe it’s the praise.

“Look so sweet, baby, lettin’ me ruin you like this,” he groans, “God ain’t forgivin’ me for this, but I bet ya will.”

Joel was out at work , and there were just some days you felt he was just gone for too long,  today was one of them. So you got to baking, you searched through the cabinets to spot if you’re missing anything that limits you from baking anything . You were missing cocoa , so you couldn’t make brownies, and you didn’t have any milk, so you thought of making sugar cookies, one of your favourite sugary sweets. 

 You progressively made your cookies, firstly making the batter, skillfully adding all the ingredients, expertly doing it all not even needing the recipe from how many times you made these cookies. You then placed the dough in the fridge to cool it, and after about an hour you finally put the individually balled up batter on the cooking tray and then in the oven. 

 As the cookies were baking, you started to work on the frosting, you added all the ingredients and you added a drop of red food colouring, the already white coloured frosting mixing with the small drop of red making the softest pink colour, which you always think adds a nice touch to the delicious sweet. And as you mix in the food colouring you hear the front door open, and you excitedly turn around from the counter, already knowing who it is.  

“Hey, Angel,” he greets and heads to the kitchen, and walks towards you.  

“Hi..” you smile and rush to hug him and see him. 

His hands slid down to your waist holding you tightly, and then he rests his head on top of your own head, inhaling your sweet scent. 

 “You been baking, baby?” he breaks his hold , and walks over to the counters and hovers above the counter where you were making the frosting at. 

 “Yeah..got bored..” you say and chuckle and observe him as he grabs a bit of frosting with his finger and licks it , the action sending sparks up your spine causing you to feel a slight wet feeling between your thighs , making you blush a bit as he nods approvingly about the frosting. 

“Best damn baker in the whole town, aren’t you, angel,?”  he chuckles and turns towards you , his eyebrow arching , puzzled as to why you froze in place. 

You stand still right there at the kitchen door, the air between you two feeling thick .You can’t help but let your mind start to picture suggestive thoughts thinking of what you want Joel to do to you. 

“What’s wrong, baby..?” he discloses lowly and plants his hands around your waist again as he leans his lower torso or back on the counter  

“Mmmm..” you mumble and he slowly starts to comprehend what you truly meant and want, 

“Daddy licked the frosting you made and that got you wet, baby?” He states and scoffs. 

“Sweet girl..” he asserts lowly and chuckles, he holds your chin and tugs your face closer and kisses you. You reciprocate and shift closer to him and let him kiss you earnestly. He starts peppering your jawline with kisses till your neck leaving small bruises along his path , marking his territory as he does every night. 

“Guess since daddy trying your frosting got you all wet, means i should eat more, huh?” He mumbles close to your ear, 

“Wha-?” you say unsure of what was going to happen, and unexpectedly Joel turns both of you around, your back now facing the counter, and he lifts you up and positions you on top of the counter and sets his lower torso between your legs , next to the bowl of frosting. 

He strips you out of your top ,no room for discussion, and he takes a moment to stare at your hardened nipples. His chest rising and falling faster with every time his gaze falls on your chest, he pauses for a moment, the idea in his mind still being processing, and in a beat, grabs a dollop of frosting with his finger from the bowl placed next to you. 

 You watch him with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, he gently smears the frosting on your tits applying it neatly, you let out a small gasp and can’t stop gaping at him as the cooling sensation hits you causing you to quiver, making the wetness between your thighs rapidly growing. 

“Now, ain’t this the sweetest dessert for daddy?” He says with a small chuckle, licking clean the frosting from his finger, debating whether to just bury his face in your frosting-covered nipples or to roughly squeeze them until you come for him or to take his time to enjoy you, and drag on your release wanting to tease you, ultimately choosing that option. He lowers himself, and he swirls his tongue on your left nipples making you loudly gasp and moan. He licks off the frosting from your breast in a slow manner, taking his time to taste the frosting and sucking your nipple.  

“Daddyy” you whimper, and press your legs together ,the wet spot on your underwear  slowly increasing. Joel snickers from all your small responses and moves on to your right nipple, both nipples already hardened from the pleasure. 

As you continuously moan and whimper  ,Joel finishes off licking all the frosting and can’t help but look up at you and grin at you.  
  

“Gonna let daddy have some more, baby?” He asks you lowly, not being able to deny him in the slightest, knowing you need this as badly as he does and nod affirmatively. 

“My sweet girl, always wanting to please me, huh?” He asserts and chuckles. He gently lifts your hips up, to help you out of your shorts you’ve been wearing letting it drop on to the floor, he then yanks off your wet underwear letting it all drop on the floor. Joel jerks open your legs , your bare pussy exposed to him, your juices glistening dripping all down. Joel hungrily stares at your exposed cunt,and letting the corners of his mouth jolt into a smile . And in no time he repeats his previous action with the frosting, this time on your pussy.  

Joel overspreads your pussy with the use of his fingers again, this time not with just a dab but with more than a spoonful of frosting. Covering your cunt fully, making it fully hidden. The cooling sensation hitting you even harder this time, making your pussy throb and overflow with juices, mixing in with the frosting.  

“Fucckk, look at her, sweet girl..” He watches in awe and licks clean his fingers from the frosting,  
“So embarrassing...” you mutter feeling vulnerable 

“S’not embarrassing, angel..” he grumbles, he lets his fingers settle on your chin, holding your face in place, he leans his face closer to yours , 
“Ain’t ever seen a prettier thing than you, or her.” he murmurs for only you to hear. 

He then lowers himself and crouches in front of you, just in front of your concealed pussy between your trembling open thighs, he yanks you forward to the edge of the counter and plants his hands on each of your leg to keep them open , he then starts slowly licking your cunt, simultaneously devouring the frosting. 

“S’Delicious, angel,” he mumbles, licking your folds the mixture of the sweet frosting mixing with your cunts juices,. He takes his time sucking and teasing your clit and licking clean your sweet pussy, you let out various moans and almost shouting, “Fucck”, “Daddyyy” letting them slip out your mouth, closing your eyes from all the pleasure. 

You continue letting out your sweet moans and whimpers as Joel takes his sweet time eating you out ,your heartbeat rapidly increasing. He thrusts his tongue into you, curling and shoving in and out your firm hole. 
“I cant-: You whimper and tremble, 
“I can’t hold it” You groan 

“Let go for me, baby.” he commands as he ultimately pulls away from you and sucks on your clit instead, making you freeze in place , coming hard, forcing you to loudly moan  and gasp, your pussy pulsing on his tongue , and savouring every drop of your slick, making him groan against your cunt. He looks up at you and the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. 
“Taste so good, baby..” He discloses and snickers as he gazes into you .As your chest rises and fall even faster now, continuing to maintain eye contact with him. 

And just as soon as he straightens himself and settle his lower torso between your legs again to take care of you after your release , the timer for the cookies rings. Joel snorts and smiles,