— cherie´-

warningᝰ.ᐟ — MDNI. stepbro!rafe, stepcest, coercion & manipulation.

it starts off small — noticing the way your eyes linger on him whenever he speaks, your eye contact never broken the entire conversation, like you were a school girl with a crush, completely smitten and overwhelmed with your own delusion. your mind drives you crazy — was he watching the way you suckled on your cherry red popsicle on purpose, or was it just your pretty little head playing tricks on you? so desperate for your own stepbrother that you were imagining him feeling the same way you did for him?

stepbro!rafe loves watching the shade of red that flushes your pretty face everytime he gives you the simplest of compliments. you get so flustered from a single crumb of his attention, it has his cock straining against the material of his khakis. it was like your entire world revolved around him, and knowing the attention he clearly lacked from his parental, this new found obsession of yours was only fuelling him to need you too.

he’s so possessive, too. if you wear a skirt that’s too short, or a shirt that shows too much, he’s instantly on your case about it — “change out of that shit, now.” except it’s his own jealously issues fuelling the control, unable to fathom other men would be looking at you wearing the shit you did. “m’jus looking out for you, kid. what kind of big brother would i be if i didn’t?”

stepbro!rafe who’s able to manipulate your stupid little brain into thinking rubbing against each other was okay… it’s just dry humping, it’s not like you’re seeing each other nude, right? the whimpers you let out are so delicious as you needily rub your aching pussy against his thick clothed cock, feeling that familiar wet patch build against the fabric when he cums in his khakis from the friction alone.

stepbro!rafe who gradually eases you into worse things — running his hands over your soft torso and waist while you desperately grind against him, feeling his rough fingers dig into the fat of your breasts. soon enough, he’s rubbing his cock against the wet fabric of your panties that cling to your swollen pussy lips, his creamy cum mixed so perfectly with your own arousal that it’s hard to tell where his begins and yours ends.

stepbro!rafe who has you convincing him to ‘just stick the tip in.’ you had grown tired of the aching friction in your poor cunt, pussy clenching at the mere idea of being stretched open and fucked into. he’s smugly muttering about how dirty you are, how this was so disgusting and gross of you, whole time this was his plan all along. telling you he’s ‘proud of ya’ after you both finish for finally growing a back bone and going after what you want. he has to stop himself from cumming as his thick tip breaches your warm tight entrance for the first time, like he was some stupid teenage boy having sex for the first time.

bonus — he’s definitely pressing a hard kiss against your temple, calloused large hand squeezing your ass cheek while he subtly encourages & shames you, saying he knew you were just as sick and gross as he was for enjoying this shit, he’s your brother by marriage, after all.

absolutely has pictures of you in his hidden folder — hand tangled in your hair as he guided your pretty little mouth on his heavy cock while mascara ran down your face, too cock-drunk to notice the flash of his phone. definitely uses it as blackmail, but you secretly love it, the thrill of your friends and family finding out you were such a needy slut for your own stepbrother had your panties soaked and legs weak.

stepbro!rafe who has your legs spread wide open, tongue lapping at your heat while you cover your own mouth, the sound of his father pacing around the hallway right outside your door has your heart fluttering against your chest. the muffled whimpers you let out are pathetic really, but it’s not to make noise when his tongue worked so well against your soaked folds, mixing his own saliva with your arousal until you’re squirming against his tongue as you cum.

stepbro!rafe who has you leaking his cum onto your panties the whole night, ego high just thinking about how he has his precious sperm oozing out of your tight, warm cunt while your entire family goes out to eat at a fancy restaurant. the things your parents would say if they found out… omg. (,,> ᴗ <,,)

✮⋆˙ stepbro!rafe pries your thighs open just to touch you.

warnings — stepcest. stepbro!rafe x stepsis!reader. toxic dynamics. slight dub-con.

cherie's note — i just know wearing a skirt around rafe will have you bent over somewhere like nine times out of ten. sign me up!

"cute skirt."

the voice cuts through the quiet of tannyhill like a blade — low, amused, familiar. it startles you at first, pulling your attention away from whatever show you weren't really watching, until you glance over your shoulder and see him standing there. rafe.

your stepbrother.

he's just gotten in, probably from whatever bullshit he spends his nights doing — joyriding with his lowlife friends, some half-hearted party, or straggling home still half coked-out despite your mother's stern lectures and ward's tight-lipped disappointment.

he drapes himself over the back of the plush couch, elbows planted on the cusshions, looming, with that stupid fucking grin spread across his face, the brim of his snapback flipped up, letting messy blond hair curl around his forehead. he adjusts the hat lazily, pushing it back with one hand like he owns the room — like he owns you.

smug. spoiled. dangerous.

he's close — too close — and you catch the familiar scent of the cologne that clings faintly to his polo-shirt; something clean, like bergamot, with a warmer undertone of cedar. it smells expensive — it smells like him.

"what d'you have under it, huh?" his voice is silk over gravel, dipping low and lazy, each syllable drawn out like honey. his eyes are already dragging slow over the length of your bare legs, unapologetic and hungry. the question rolls off his tongue like he already knows the answer.

and you find yourself tugging down the hem of your skirt, suddenly feeling exposed in the room, like an invisible spotlight had been casted directly on you, highlighting the shame and the guilt that ate the inside of your stomach. it was a stupid idea, wearing this skirt — or the poor excuse of one, anyway.

"rafe," you hiss, barely above a whisper, voice catching in your throat as you shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze. "not now — mom and dad just left the room."

he hums, a low sound from deep in his chest, and leans in closer — past the boundaries, crossing the line — his lips brushing just beneath the shell of your ear, breath warm and deliberate, "c'mon," he purrs, the edge of a smirk still playing at his mouth. "be a good girl for your big brother... show me, yeah?"

you barely have time to flinch before his hands are on you — rough and firm and greedy — sliding over your thighs, fingers digging into the soft skin as he pries them apart like he has every right to do so, like this was normal. a soft squeal escapes you, high and startled, as you try to push back, to twist away, but it's useless. his grip is unrelenting. his strength swallows yours whole.

he pulls you forward on the couch, dragging you closer against his chest, until your back is nearly arched and your thighs are wide and trembling beneath his palms. and then — fuck — you feel it.

the unmistakable press of his fingers, right where you need him most.

he doesn't rush. he doesn't need to. he has you right where he wants you, and there's no coming back from it now. he just eases the heel of his hand down over the thin fabric of your panties, letting it settle heavy and perfect over your clit. the lace does little to dull the pressure. if anything, it makes it worse — the texture catching against you just enough to make your hips twitch, for the ache.

"there she is," he breathes, almost too soft to hear, like it's some kind of secret between you. his fingers move with precision, rubbing tight, purposeful circles over the dampening fabric, every motion sends sparks ricocheting down your spine. "wasn't so hard, was it?"

you swallow hard, but it doesn't help. the whimper within claws at your chest, trembling just beneath the surface. and when he leans in again, breath warm against your neck, lips barely brushing the sensitive skin, the goosebumps follow instantly, racing down your arms.

he laughs — low and cruel — like it's all some kind of joke. like your family wasn't only a few thin walls away, while you grasped for his wrist pathetically and bucked into his palm in desperation, his voice squeaking out, "fucking pathetic how fast you fold."