A Man With A Plan.3
prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7
Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU
CW: Remus being a d-bag, I'm sorry. Drinking and drunkenness. Mention of smoking. Mention of sexual encounters/hooking up.
Remus was good at quite a few things. Two of those things happened to be thinking and planning. So, he could think this through, and make a plan.
First, here was what he knows:
He was a werewolf
As a werewolf, he turned into The Wolf once a month
As a werewolf, he had a particularly strong magical ability
Apparently, The Wolf had a soulmate
It sounded kind of grim, he couldn’t lie. So where did he go from here?
He really didn’t think pursuing anything with you was a good idea. What if it was only the Moony part of him who liked you? He felt like the choice of any future partner (which he never planned to have thank you very much) had been taken from him; this fate and destiny bullshit was taking away his free will.
He hated that.
And how selfish would it be to allow himself this because... what? Because it would comfort The Wolf? Because there’s a small chance you could bring comfort to him? Because Moony wanted you?
He felt disgustingly primitive: a wolf picking a mate - this was the closest Remus ever truly felt to a beast.
And how could he do that to you? How could he look you in the eye and ask you to put aside any potential fear and prejudice to allow him to keep you to himself? How could he damn you to a life of full-moons and prejudice and hard times? What kind of man would that make him?
A selfish one. A cruel one.
He couldn’t, he wouldn’t.
Unfortunately for him, this also meant he couldn’t tell his friends. Namely, he couldn’t tell James.
James was a hopeless romantic – obviously, who else would hopelessly pine over the same bird for seven years if they weren’t? Not only that, but he also had this unrelenting need to make sure everyone was as happy as humanly possible at any given moment. James sometimes looked at Remus like he hung the moon – pun intended – and felt Remus was harder on himself than he ought to be. But James didn’t understand; it was dangerous to be close to Remus. Remus was dangerous.
And he wouldn’t understand Remus’ decision in not pursuing anything with you.
He couldn’t keep something like this from only one of his friends, which meant he wouldn’t be able to tell Sirius or Peter either. Which was probably just as well, seeing as Sirius would relentlessly torment him for it and Peter worried enough about the lot of them.
So, his new plan was: keep this from his friends, and get the hell over you. Simple, right?
Wrong.
Remus had already tried avoidance (as seen last week) which was obviously a complete bust. So, he planned to try exposure therapy – he would spend time around you hoping to desensitize himself (or Moony) to your proximity.
Exposure therapy was bliss and torture.
It was as if Remus’ senses were hyper focused on you. When you were around, he couldn’t pay attention to anything other than you. When Sirius was telling a grandiose story about the last quidditch game, he couldn’t help but notice you shift in your seat. Why did you shift? Were you uncomfortable? Were you cold? Was your leg falling asleep? Were you – god forbid – moving closer to Sirius?
Sod off, you git.
If you so much as interjected in a conversation, Remus wanted to chase your words and beg you for more. Did your father really own a quidditch ball set from the 1600’s? Where did he get the set? Were you with him when he bought it? Is your father kind to you?
He also spent each conversation you were part of hyper focused on the people around you as well. Were they paying attention to you when you spoke? Were they being kind to you? Were they standing too close?
Fuckin’ hell.
So, Remus needed to make a new plan.
Find a distraction.
Said distraction came in the form of one Amelia Bones. She was a nice enough girl and not a bad lay – she and Remus had fooled around in the past before, but he ended their arrangement when she started to get a little too interested in Remus for his liking. He had a plan, dammit - rules: sex was fine, feelings were not!
But Remus Lupin was a desperate man, and desperate times called for desperate measures.
Desperation, it appeared, was not a good look for Remus.
Sirius Black was a bastard. He knew this, his friends knew this, everyone in Hogwarts knew this. He wasn’t necessarily proud of the title, but everyone needed to be known for something, right?
And it’s not like he wasn’t honest about his bastardness and debauchery – he never pretended to be anything but himself.
What he couldn’t understand was where Remus was pulling his bastardly behaviour from, because Remus certainly wasn’t a bastard himself.
And Sirius would know...because of previously mentioned bastardness.
Takes one to know one.
Sirius knew who the other bastards at Hogwarts were – McLaggen was a bastard, Lockhart was a bastard, Prewett was a bastard (Fabian, not Gideon), and Marlene was a bastard before Meadows set her straight (well, not straight but...you get the point).
The point is that Remus is not a bastard.
So, what the fuck was his problem!?
Sirius, who (very selflessly, if you asked him) agreed to be the sober marauder for the night, was sat in an armchair watching a very drunk James challenge an adequately tipsy Peter to a game of muggle poker. Sirius didn’t know all of the rules, but he could tell by James’ over-the-top confidence that he was going to lose.
What was guaranteed to be a good show at James’ inevitable loss was interrupted when Sirius couldn't help but notice Remus leaning against the wall with one Amelia Bones caged between his arms.
Remus didn’t usually get drunk enough to make bad choices – but he had clearly been out of sorts for the past week or two, so Sirius supposed stranger things have happened.
Sirius may be a bastard, but he was a good friend.
“Hiya Moony, Amelia, pleasant evening?” He drawled as he swaggered his way over to save his friend from himself.
Amelia smiled shyly at him, but Remus shot him a glare.
“Don’t call me that.” He muttered.
Sirius fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Sorry Rem. Have you had any water yet tonight?”
“I’m fine, Sirius.”
Sirius smiled awkwardly as he looked between his ‘fine’ friend and the bad choice he was making. “You look it mate, just wanted to remind you to stay hydrated.”
“Got it. Thanks.” Remus responded shortly.
“I’ll look after him, Sirius.” Amelia cooed as she ran a finger up the length of Remus’ forearm. Sirius watched Remus’ face, and it looked to him as if Remus was having to focus a little too hard on enjoying his present company.
“Rem, can I borrow you for a second?” Sirius asked as he took the lycanthrope’s arm and dragged him to the stairwell of the boy’s dormitories without waiting for a response.
“Pads, sod off.” Remus slurred slightly as he tried to pull his arm away from Sirius. Sirius was well aware that Remus was more than strong enough to pull out of Sirius’ grasp, so he wasn’t completely unwilling to listen to his mate.
“What are you doing?” Sirius asked quietly.
“Trying to get laid, obviously?” Remus muttered as he looked anywhere other than at Sirius.
“With Bones? Really? Took you months to shake her off, you swore you were done with her. What’s this really about?”
“Sirius, it’s really none of your business.” Remus spoke sharply.
Sirius felt his eyebrows furrow as he took in his friend. “What has gotten into you lately?”
“Just back off, okay?” Remus said with finality as he stalked back off the way they came. Sirius blew a frustrated breath and checked on Peter and James before heading to the astronomy tower for a smoke.
Most of the party goers had left and Sirius had the unenviable task of trying to usher James Potter and Peter Pettigrew up to bed.
“She’s just so pretty, Pads.” James sighed as he leaned heavily against the railing so Sirius could pull Peter up the couple of steps he had managed to get James up so far.
“Sure is, Prongs.” He groaned as he sat Peter down and helped James up a few more steps before washing, rinsing, and repeating his actions.
“And have you smelt her?” He continued.
“I actually have, she smells quite – quite nice.” Peter commented with a hiccup.
“Oi, don’t go around smelling my missus there, Worms.” James slurred from his spot on the banister.
“It was on-on accident Prongs. She was teaching me and Dorcas how to play hangman.” He emphasized.
“Hangman?” James guffawed.
“Right? It’s like, it’s like supposed to be a ki-kid’s game. But you slowly watch a man ha-hang himself if the other person can’t – if they can’t read your mind!” Peter screeched.
“Pipe down, Wormy.” Sirius grumbled. “You’re gonna wake the whole tower.”
“Well, that is not a game suitable for children.” James said solemnly. Peter agreed with emphatic head nods which threw him completely off balance and onto his ass.
“Salazar’s saggy balls, Wormy.” Sirius groaned as he hoisted the boy and all but threw him into their dorm room.
Sirius wasn’t surprised but extremely perturbed to find Remus’ bed curtain already pulled shut. He put (wrestled) James into bed and had to threaten casting an incarcerous jinx at him if he didn’t stay tucked in before he could help Peter into his own bed.
As Sirius got ready for bed, he leaned over to press his ear against Remus’ curtains – nothing – the bastard had cast a silencing charm. Sirius groaned as he pulled on his pyjamas and crawled into bed.
“Prongs, for fucks sake, what are you doing?” He said when his head hit the pillow which brought him face-to-face with James Potter.
“I missed you.” James said.
“If you were asleep in your bed, you wouldn’t have time to miss me.” Sirius grumbled.
James seemed to consider that for a moment. “I just think I’ll fall asleep easier here.”
Sirius found he was far too exhausted for this.
“Fine, but if you throw up in my bed, I’m telling Evans about the time you shit yourself during a half marathon.”
Sirius nearly put his hand over James’ mouth to muffle his gasp/screech.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
“I told you that in confidence.”
“And I’m confident it’ll be good blackmail should I need it.”
The two stared each other down before James relented and muttered a petulant ‘fine’.
“Did you really shit yourself?” Peter whispered from across the room.
“Go to sleep, Wormy.”
“Okay.”
Remus was in denial. He was sure of it. Though, was it really denial if he was aware he was denying the truth?
It was too early for this.
Amelia (finally) seemed to stir, and Remus tried not to grimace at the feeling of her naked skin pulling away from his own.
“Mm, good morning handsome.” She moaned in what Remus was sure she thought was alluring but all it did was make him eager to get to breakfast.
“Thanks for last night.” Remus said as he moved to sit up.
“Maybe we can catch up later?” Amelia asked as she stretched.
Remus winced at her hopeful tone. “Yeah, maybe.”
She seemed satisfied with his non-answer and kissed his cheek before she dressed and exited the dorm. Remus dressed as well before stepping out of his bed curtains.
“What in the buggering fuck was that?” James demanded.
“Jesus Christ. Didn’t you drink enough to take out a hippogriff last night? You should be comatose.” Remus muttered as he squinted at his friend.
“What was Amelia Bones doing leaving our dorm room, Moony?” James demanded again.
“Prongs, don’t.”
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, or why you won’t talk to any of us about it, but you’re clearly crying out for help, so spill.”
“I am not crying out for help, James. But I have been asking you to mind your fucking business!” Remus bellowed.
Peter was sat in his bed with his blankets pulled up looking like a child watching his parents’ fight.
“Fine.” James said quietly and he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Remus closed his eyes and brought his hand to his hair before pulling roughly.
“Pete why don’t you-” Sirius started, but he didn’t need to finish before Peter was agreeing with a quick ‘yup, I’ll go see where he went!’ and vacating the dorm room.
The silence was near deafening when Sirius finally turned his fiery gaze to Remus.
“Remus.”
“Sirius, please don’t st-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Sirius shouted. His rumpled hair and the fact that he was still sitting under his covers did nothing to take away from the anger that permeated his being. “You’ve done enough talking, you listen now.”
Sirius moved to stand in the middle of the dorm room facing Remus like they were in a bad western stand-off.
“You have friends here who love you, regardless of whether you think you deserve it or not. Now, if you ask me, you’re not acting like someone who deserves it, but here we are.
“Now, I’m an arsehole, so if you wanna take out whatever prepubescent hormonal bullshit you’re going through right now on someone, I can take it. But you will not speak to James like that; got it?”
Remus’ head was beyond throbbing at this point. He huffed a sigh and returned his gaze to Sirius.
“I’m sorry.” He admitted quietly.
“I’m not the one you owe an apology.”
Remus nodded his head and pulled the book out from his trunk at the end of his bed before handing it to Sirius.
“Page thirty-seven.” He said simply.
Sirius spared Remus a confused glance before taking the book and flipping it open to the dog-eared page.
Remus sat on his trunk with his head in his hands while Sirius read.
“Soulmate.” Sirius breathed out disbelievingly.
Remus groaned in response.
“But... you have - who? Amelia!?”
“No, not Amelia.” Remus groaned. “Sirius, I’m not joking, you cannot tell Prongs.”
Sirius’ face paled as his mouth dropped open. “Evans!?” He whispered in shock.
“What? No, for fucking, fuck, no!” He wanted to be swallowed up at this point. “It’s L/N.”
“L/N? The Ravenclaw? James’ new best friend? The odd little bird? Y/N?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Her. You can stop saying her name now.”
“Why? Does it hurt?”
“Sirius!”
Sirius raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”
Sirius continued to flip through the pages as Remus' blood pressure returned to normal.
“What are you going to do?”
Remus cut his friend a glare. “I’ve tried avoidance, I’ve tried exposure therapy, and now I’m trying distraction.”
Sirius’ eyebrows met in a grimace. “You’re using Bones to bone in an attempt to distract yourself from your soulmate?”
Remus roughly scrubbed his hands across his face.
“I know, I know. But it’s the lesser of two evils.”
Sirius scoffed. “Sure, whatever you need to tell yourself.”
“Pads...”
“No! I don’t understand how ignoring the fact that you have a magical connection to someone and using someone else who we know would love to call you hers to do so can be considered a lesser evil; it's gross, Remus. Even I’m not that slimy, and I’m a Black.”
“It’s not a magical connection, Pads.” Remus muttered. “It’s Moony’s obsession.”
Sirius shook his head. “No. It’s long thought extinct magic at play. Did you ever think about the fact that while you’re denying this of yourself, you’re also denying this of her?”
Remus shook his head sadly as he hung it low. “She doesn’t deserve this, Sirius.”
“Oh, come on,” Sirius groaned dramatically. “Not this martyr shit again.”
“Sirius, look,” Remus started as he stood from his place. “I come from nothing, we’re poor; and the opportunities for me after I leave this castle are slim to none in both the magical and muggle world. She comes from a pureblood family, and while they may not share all of the same values, you know how wizarding-kind view werewolves. Okay? I can’t offer her anything that she can’t find somewhere else. In fact, she’d probably be way better off with anyone other than me.”
Sirius looked like he wanted to argue, but he seemed to decide against it.
“It’s for the best.” Remus stressed.
Sirius didn’t seem to agree; neither did Moony.
Continue to chapter four here.
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Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 2
Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader
Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.
PART 1 is here if you haven't read it
Warnings: 18+ Smut. Darkish!Rafe. Virgin!Reader. Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering. Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.
Word Count: 8.3k words (Rafe has released the writing beast in me)
Author Note: Hello lovelies! So happy you enjoyed the first part. Here's the second. I thought it would just be just a second part but the more I wrote the story just kept unfolding and I really want to do it justice. (I think part 1 and 2 together is the longest I've written for any fic character) So in order to really get into the angst and it not be too long its going to have to be 3 perhaps 4 parts (not sure yet) Anyway I'm currently writing part 3 so it won't be too long before posting. One thing - there's only one piece of music with this part and I would suggest playing it and leaving it running while you read the rest of the chapter.
Thank you for reading and sticking with the story and if you enjoyed it please reblog. It helps to spread the love. Much love and take care. ❤️
Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.
The soft glow of your phone, quietly vibrating beside you, nudged you out of your peaceful slumber. Still shrouded in a groggy haze, you instinctively turned away from it. Without even a glance, you knew who the messenger was, and the mere thought that he had sent another text caused a weary sigh to escape your lips.
Rafe's persistent attempts to connect since that unforgettable night had been unrelenting. Ignoring his calls was relatively easy (you had silenced his number), but his text messages proved more difficult to dismiss. Simple words like "Hey," "Hi," and "Talk to me" consistently lit up your phone at all hours, serving as a gentle yet persistent plea for your response—a response you couldn't bring yourself to give, yet somehow couldn't bring yourself to block him outright either. Ultimately, you opted for what seemed the only rational strategy, although in hindsight, it may not have been the wisest: complete avoidance.
But, in truth, none of that mattered. Not when your waking thoughts and dreams were dominated by memories of Rafe, endlessly replaying the night you shared. The feeling of being completely overwhelmed that night, your pleading words that it was all too much, that you needed to stop, were still fresh in your mind. How Rafe merely smiled in response and declared it was only the beginning, sealing his promise with a kiss.
And as he kissed you slow and deep, Rafe was true to his word. His middle finger wormed its way back between your legs. He found your sensitive clit already swollen and slippery with your slick and rubbed the nub in gentle circles in sync with his languid kiss. Slow and steady, minutes ticked by as Rafe dragged out your pleasure, watching you patiently, drawing back his finger whenever he felt you were close, his tongue lazily circling yours, as you both breathed as one. Until finally, finally, he allowed you to cum.
Your body exploded for him, blinding white pleasure saturated your senses leaving you crying and shaking while Rafe whispered soothingly against the shell of your ear "That's a good girl. That's a good girl."
Your unforgettable night with Rafe was unparalleled, surpassing all previous experiences, including those with your first and only boyfriend, Jake. Granted, you had not given Jake the same liberties, but even with the awkward kisses and over-the-clothes groping that marked your brief relationship, Jake had never elicited emotions remotely comparable to what Rafe managed in just one evening. What Rafe stirred effortlessly within you was a different beast entirely — something desperate, needy, and vulnerable. The sensation was so powerful that even three weeks later, it remained, smoldering like a steadfast ember, ready to reignite under the right conditions.
This realization filled you with absolute dread. The sudden understanding that it was Rafe- Rafe Cameron that held the power to shape your desires, ignite unknown cravings, and provoke illicit responses from your body that you couldn't control, was utterly terrifying.
You had often heard tales of girls falling for the proverbial 'bad boy,' forsaking their better judgment for some reckless charmer, and had always scoffed at such narratives. The thought of you succumbing to such feelings or desires was, until recently, beyond the realm of your wildest dreams. It seemed, however, that you were not as immune as you had once believed. All it took was the right—or perhaps, in this case, the wrong—person to stir those latent desires to the surface.
The sheets felt like an unwelcome weighted blanket on your body, pressing you down as you twisted and turned, desperately trying for sleep to come. But it remained stubbornly out of reach. Instead, you found yourself overwhelmed by a flood of polarising emotions.
Chief among them was a sharp sting of shame from that night with Rafe—a shame born from the startling responsiveness of your own body to his, and a gnawing guilt that it was Rafe, of all people, who had elicited such a reaction.
Yet, beneath the layers of guilt and shame, another emotion stirred, one you fervently sought to squash: a thrill of excitement at how utterly alive you felt being dominated by him and the confusing, even more, inescapable undeniable truth—you had loved every single intoxicating minute of it.
In a small town of no more than 7000 souls, you had turned avoiding Rafe into something of an art form. It wasn't difficult, really. Your comfort zones were galaxies away from the crowded, noisy spots that seemed to magnetize him. Bars, clubs, and bonfires weren't your scene anyway. Your day-to-day orbit included exam prep and college applications, mostly done at the library for a change of scenery, relentless babysitting shifts, and quiet trips to the edges of the out sticks with your cousin to catch crawfish —far from the exclusive circles of Figure 8.
Life was, if not exactly smooth sailing, at least predictably turbulent. Everything seemed under control, except for one tiny, nagging detail: Rafe. And your near-pathological commitment to avoid him.
On an average day that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rest, you were navigating your way through a series of errands for your dad. The North Carolina sun was blazing overhead casting sharp shadows. As you rounded a corner bathed in this bright, unforgiving light, a figure suddenly materialized. At first, it seemed like a trick of the heat, an illusion stirred up by the sweltering atmosphere. But as your eyes adjusted, recognition dawned. It was Rafe, but he looked... different.
Your gaze drank in the details, lingering over the notable changes—the buzzcut that gave him an even more dangerous edge, the way he stood taller, seeming to tower over the world, the newfound confidence that rolled off him in waves, a palpable energy that dared anyone to challenge him. But the transformation wasn't just physical. An undercurrent of danger clung to him like a second skin. He looked like he had seen things. Done bad things.
Reality came rushing back, slamming into you like a tidal wave, you tried to reverse course, turning on your heels to disappear from his line of sight. Yet, your reaction came a second too late. Rafe had spotted you, and maybe if you hadn't just blown most of your cash on groceries, you would've dropped them and run.
Rafe's speed was unrivaled. With just a few long strides, he effortlessly caught up to you. Firmly grasping your arm, he swiftly spun you around to face him, and there, you saw your own reflection in his Ray-Bans. He slid the sunglasses onto his head, revealing his piercing blue eyes. He made no attempt to hide the whirlpool of emotions swirling within them.
"That's not very neighborly of you," he said. His words were clipped and tinged with anger, yet something in his expression softened slightly as he gazed at you. Was it relief? Disappointment? It was difficult to determine, but one thing was clear—his emotions were just as tumultuous as yours.
"I forgot something—"
"Oh, you forgot something?" His grip tightened, decreasing the space between you.
"Yes, from the supermarket—"
"What, the one over there?" he asked, casually gesturing over his shoulder in the opposite direction.
"A different store."
"Right, right. Well, I'll walk you there."
"No! I've changed my mind," you protested, shaking your head. Your feet instinctively shuffled backward as you attempted to free yourself from his grip. His laughter was low and dry, his hold on you tightening.
"I need to go, Rafe. Let me go. I have to get home," you pleaded, desperation edging your voice.
"You heard her, country club. She said 'Let go'." The forceful tug-of-war between you and Rafe abruptly seized as both of you turned to see Barry approaching. You'd never directly interacted with Barry, but tales of his local thuggery and drug dealing were well-known to you. He greeted Rafe with a familiarity that, given Rafe's reputation, was not surprising.
"This doesn't concern you, man. Keep moving," Rafe commanded, his gaze fixed on Barry.
"Well, I did hear her say 'let her go'," Barry remarked, positioning himself beside you.
"Yeah well, she doesn’t know what she wants," Rafe retorted, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he pulled you closer, positioning himself between you and Barry.
"Just let her go, man—"
"Fuck off," Rafe spat.
Unfazed, Barry squinted and leaned in closer. "You realize how this looks, right? Out here in broad daylight?" he warned.
“Keep walking,” Rafe's jaw clenched as he squared off against Barry.
"Do you not realize what you are doing, bro?"
"I said keep walking," Rafe said icily, maintaining eye contact.
An unspoken exchange passed between the two men, concluding with Barry retreating, hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “Alright then,” he conceded. “You do you, country club. You do you. But don't come crying to me when this shit backfires. I warned your J.Crew lookin' ass.”
After Barry's departure, Rafe scanned the surroundings before returning his focus to you.
"Where's your car?" His question hung heavily in the air as you looked up at him, fear evident in your eyes.
“Hey, I asked you a question,” Rafe's voice softened, his hand gently shaking your arm. “Where's your car?”
"It's...it's not working,” you whispered.
“You walked here?”
You nodded, swallowing hard.
A smirk crept across his lips. "Well, aren't you in luck? I'll give you a ride."
"No, that's... I can walk. I planned to walk—"
"Don't. Don't do that. Don’t act dumb, alright? It's nearly a hundred degrees out. What- you planning on collapsing on the side of the road?" His tone was surprisingly gentle, even as he grabbed the grocery bag from your hands. "Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill, yeah? Barry's already acting like a fool. We don't need a full circus," he stated, heading towards his truck and leaving you with no choice but to trail after him.
Rafe held the door open for you, assisting you as you climbed onto the plush leather seat. After handing you the grocery bag, he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. In a subtle move to put some distance between the two of you, you placed the grocery bag in the middle.
Rafe started the truck, rolled up the windows, and activated the air conditioning. The truck pulled out of the parking lot, beginning a mostly silent ride.
Apart from the occasional glances Rafe threw your way, the journey remained relatively quiet. He made no attempt to hide his attention, his thumb rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, and you felt like you were suffocating despite the AC. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.
"You look good..." Rafe stated, punctuating his words with an approving nod. The compliment stirred a flurry of emotions within you, leaving you feeling disoriented. As your heart pounded like a war drum, the silence seemed to morph, becoming dense and strangling.
"Thank you," you muttered trying to fill it. Your gaze firmly on the road ahead.
"How's your dad?" He asked, initiating a light conversation about your dad's well-being. You answered his questions with measured caution, unsure of his intentions. You informed him that your dad was coming home tonight and you intended to cook him a meal since he practically survived on sandwiches during the week in Burnsville. Rafe's thoughtful nods suggested he was listening, but there was an undercurrent of ambiguity that left you uneasy.
"What are you planning on making for him?" he asked with a semblance of innocence.
Your voice wavered as you listed the dishes, each word revealing your growing vulnerability. Anticipating his next move or comment, your heart raced and you braced yourself for what felt like an inevitable confrontation. You kept thinking he'd ask about the unanswered calls, about his ignored messages.
"Wow, you’re a real cook, not just a 'barely-can-boil-water' cook."
“I manage,” you replied.
Rafe hummed in agreement, his thumb still tapping the steering wheel albeit slower; more measured. “You know, Wheeze misses you.”
“I miss her too. How is she?”
“Good. She’s got exams coming up, so she’s been focusing on that. She's also got herself a little girlfriend."
"You seem to approve. Let me guess, Kook?" you asked absentmindedly.
"Nah, Pogue," he corrected, emphasizing the 'P'. "I guess we like what we like, huh?" he said, eyes raking over you.
Silence followed as Rafe steered away from the main road, venturing down an isolated street lined with beech trees. Decaying houses dotted the landscape, separated by wild stretches of tall bluestems and switchgrass.
"You should, you know… come by the house. See her sometime. I know she’d like that."
“Oh- I.. I would but I can't," you stammered, shaking your head "I have college applications to finish. Maybe sometime after."
“Right, right… college... applications... where are you applying?”
"Um… Kildare Community, Piedmont, Sun Valley, Crystal Coast Community--"
"What about Juilliard or Berklee? You applying to any of those?”
His question caught you off guard, and you turned your gaze towards him. Under the sunlight, his handsome profile seemed almost otherworldly.
"I hadn't really given it much thought," you confessed, your voice tinged with uncertainty.
His eyes fixed on yours, curiosity flickering in them. "Why not?"
Your answer was simple, albeit hard to articulate. "I can't afford it," you said with a shrug. Your eyes back on the unfolding road ahead when his gaze became too much.
"Don't they offer scholarships?"
"Yeah, they do. But the competition among applicants would be intense-"
"So? You're talented. Apply." he said matter of factly. "There are folks on the cut dreaming of an escape, with squat to show for it. You? You have options..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "Don't squander it. Not here and definitely not at some shitty community college."
Taken aback, you struggled to find a response, and it didn't help that you could feel his eyes on you, evaluating your reaction. The remaining ride passed in silence, and by the time he pulled up outside your house, you were more than relieved.
"Thank you, Rafe," you said, quickly reaching for your grocery bag, but Rafe stopped you.
"So, that's it? Just 'thank you, Rafe?'" he asked, his jaw shifting restlessly from side to side, as though words were on the edge of his tongue, fighting to break free.
"Oh— I'm sorry, I should've offered to cover the gas. I don't have much on me, but I can--" Your words were cut short by Rafe shaking his head.
"I don't want your money."
Fear prickled your skin, "Then what—what do you want?" Swallowing nervously, you awaited his response.
Rafe's gaze flitted to your lips then back to your eyes "A kiss." he said.
Your head jerked back, unsure you'd heard him correctly.
"A kiss?" you echoed, attempting to digest his sudden proposal.
"Yeah, just a kiss," he replied. His voice was so steady, so devoid of emotion, it was as if he was merely commenting on the weather or asking if you had the time.
Your query rang out once more, uncertainty creeping into your voice, "A kiss?"
"Just one. One kiss and we call it even." Rafe's lean-in was deliberate, his index finger lightly grazing your jaw, igniting a trail of warmth along your skin and unsubconsciously you leaned into it.
"A kiss," you whispered back, your eyes locked onto his. Perhaps you didn't want things to escalate into a fight, but maybe, just maybe, a part of you wanted to kiss him. Taking a breath to steel yourself, you leaned in, brushing a swift kiss against his cheek. Almost instinctively, his lips followed, seeking yours.
"That's, that's not a kiss," Rafe breathed, his eyes growing progressively darker with each word he spoke.
Gently, Rafe curled his fingers around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. His attention was solely focused on your lips. As if under a spell, you relented, delivering a brief, innocent kiss onto his lips. But just as you began to pull away, Rafe halted you, his fingers remaining intertwined at the nape of your neck.
"Nah, that doesn't count."
"I kissed you, Rafe—" you began, your voice trembling.
"No, no. You owe me a real kiss for all the unanswered texts and the missed calls..." His words triggered a surge of panic within you and you tried to pull away, but Rafe held you firm, his gaze burning into your own. "I was worried about you. Did you know that?" he asked, his eyebrows creasing in confusion.
"We had fun. I made you feel good and then you just...." He paused, collecting his thoughts, his eyes darting between your lips and your startled expression. "I thought something had happened to you. But then, I woke the fuck up and realised you were safe - you just ghosted me. You know, I even contemplated driving over to your house? But I knew your dad wouldn't appreciate that. I thought I might never see you again, and then...there you were."
Rafe's words gushed forth like a sudden revelation. "There you were, shopping for groceries to cook for your dad, playing the dutiful daughter, blissfully content in your little world, while mine was hell." He spat out the words with venom, his fingers tensing at the nape of your neck, pulling you so close that his lips were mere millimeters from yours. His eyes, swirling with turmoil, locked intensely onto your eyes, which were now brimming with unshed tears.
"So, while I'm relieved you're okay," he started, his lips curving into a slight pout as he painstakingly enunciated each word, "You owe me. You owe me for thinking about you. You owe me for worrying about you. Now, open your mouth."
"Rafe," you whispered, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks.
"I said, open. Your. Mouth." His voice hardened, his command leaving no room for doubt.
Your broken sob was all it took for Rafe to swoop in, kissing you passionately. His tongue probed the depths of your mouth, and you willingly complied, feeling the unmistakable force in his movements - raw, desperate, determined.
With each passing moment, Rafe deepened the kiss, leaning into you even further. He poured in his passion, demanding that you returned it with equal intensity, leaving your head spinning and your heart aching. The sheer intensity of the moment left you gasping for breath, and as Rafe's lips left yours to press desperate, kisses against your cheek and down the column of your throat you felt like you couldn't breathe at all.
"Please, I have to go, I have to," you managed to muster, pulling his fingers away and pushing him back. With a surge of determination, you grabbed your grocery bag and yanked on the passenger door, only for Rafe to swiftly reach over and slam it shut.
You turned to face him, struggling to catch your breath and see him through your teary haze. Rafe's face portrayed a picture of calm, cold calculation, with only the harsh puffs of air escaping his lips marring that composure. "You're making this difficult," he uttered, his voice echoing the icy chill of his demeanor. "It doesn't have to be."
Rafe relinquished his hold on the door, and you seized the opportunity, yanking it open. You nearly lost your balance in the process but managed to catch yourself just in time. Without daring to look back, you bolted towards your porch. Only when you heard the grating sound of his truck pulling away and tires screeching against the gravel did you risk a glance back.
The rhythmic splash of water against the wooden planks of the dinghy was the only sound as you and your cousin worked in tandem, freeing the crawfish from their nets and emptying them into plastic buckets filled with fresh water.
The usual serene ambiance of your shared task was disrupted by the thickening tension in the air, both from the approaching storm and from the heavy silence your cousin seemed eager to shatter.
"You know," she began, her voice deliberately casual, "Konnie's been running her mouth again."
You looked up from the net you were shaking above the bucket of cold water, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah? What crazy story has she cooked up this time?"
She hesitated, then said with faux nonchalance, "Something about seeing Rafe with a girl yesterday. Says she looked a lot like you."
"What?" You froze mid-shake, a flicker of surprise crossing your face.
"Wild, right?”
Forcing a laugh, you attempted to balance surprise with casual dismissal. "Konnie's always been good at making stuff up."
She glanced sharply at you, her gaze assessing. "It's not ‘making stuff up’ if Barry was there to corroborate it."
The weight of the revelation pulled at your focus.
“This sounds like something out of a K-drama," you whispered, your focus back on your trap.
"Isn't it just? Our Kook King looking down on half the town like we're nothing but shit beneath his shoes, is with a Pogue. An actual born and bred Pogue. I don’t know if that’s rich in irony or if it makes him a hypocrite?" She laughed bitterly.
"Both, probably, if it were true. But it’s not.”
She nodded slowly. "Right well, Konnie said Barry tried to stop Rafe from making a scene. Why would Rafe be making a scene?” she asked, her eyes locked onto you.
Your fingers tightened around the net, your heart beating in your throat. "I don't know. It's the outer banks. People talk. They get things wrong and--"
She sighed, leaning closer. "Is there something going on between you and Rafe?”
“No, there isn't—"
“Because if there is, I need to know. Like, are you sleeping with him-“
“No!”
“Then are you dating him?”
“No- it’s not like that." You said shaking your head profusely.
"Then what's it like?"
"I babysit his sister you know that—" you faltered under your cousin's intense gaze. "He just happened to be in town when I was grocery shopping and he gave me a ride home. Nothing happened.”
Your cousin gave out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "A minute ago you were acting like it was some baseless rumour—”
"Because you were freaking me out! What else was I supposed to say? You just came at me with a bunch of questions like I did something wrong" You said, your face hot.
You couldn’t help but notice your cousin’s frustrated sigh.
“Look, I’ve got your back, regardless of whatever is going on here. And I can’t tell you how to live your life, that's for you to decide. But, Rafe-- Rafe is not the type of guy you want to be involved with in any capacity. I thought you knew that.” The distant growl of thunder underscored the urgency of her words.
“I do, and I’m not,” you said, licking your lips.
“Good. Because Rafe would never risk being seen in public with a Pogue, let alone put his reputation on the line for one. If you get involved with him, you'll be the one who ends up getting hurt."
"I know," you murmured in agreement.
She nodded and looked up at the darkening sky. "Good. Just making sure we're on the same page is all."
"We are," You nodded, barely able to meet her eyes. "We should hurry," you said quietly. "A storm's coming."
During the subsequent week, Rafe had surfaced in your life more times than in the previous three weeks of no contact. Initially, you brushed it off as mere coincidence. You saw him at the market, then again at the docks, immersed in intense conversation with his friends, and once again at the wreck when you went to pick up food. Each encounter was brief, like an encounter with a spectre and each time you slipped away, thankfully, unseen.
With your heart hammering in your chest, you assured yourself that he wasn't intentionally seeking you out. You dismissed these run-ins as sheer coincidence. That's what you convinced yourself, at least.
Until the Library.
Your heart stuttered as you spotted him through the double doors just as you were about to exit. There he was, nonchalantly leaning against his truck, eyes concealed behind Ray-Bans and his arms folded.
Despite the casual stance, his presence radiated terrifying, intimidating energy. His posture, his unwavering gaze, his patient vigil - it all pointed towards one intention. It felt like you had been doused with cold water when realization struck-
Rafe was waiting.
For you.
Two choices lay before you. Either you could escape through the back door or find a window to climb out of. But deep down, you knew these would only delay the inevitable. It was time to confront the situation. Harnessing every ounce of courage, you resolved to put an end to this.
Usually, you'd carry only a handful of books, but today you had filled your tote. The thought of smacking Rafe in the head with it seemed like a good option. Adjusting the strap on your shoulder and gripping the bag firmly, you pulled the brass handle, flung open the door, and strode down the library’s stone steps, your chin lifted high.
A grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat split Rafe's face, his teeth flashing with amusement as he watched you. But you didn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence. You breezed past him, leaving him behind in your determined stride.
Not long after, Rafe slipped into his truck and drove alongside you, his arm hanging out of the window, eyes flicking between you and the road.
"It's gonna rain, you know." he said. His voice, smooth as silk, echoed around you. You kept walking, acting as if his words had fallen on deaf ears, yet they hung ominously in the air.
"It's gonna rain, you know," Rafe repeated, amusement tingeing his tone.
"I heard you the first time," you snapped, your voice sharper than you had intended.
Rafe whistled in surprise. His grin only widened, “Come on, don't be like that. Get in. I'll give you a ride."
You faltered for a moment at his offer, but quickly regained your stride. "I don't need anything from you, Rafe."
"Sure about that?" He drawled, his truck moving at the same steady pace as you.
The thrum of your heartbeat in your ears underscored your steely resolve, refusing to meet his gaze. The truck's engine growled ominously at your side.
"You know, a ride with me wouldn't be so bad. In fact, you might enjoy it”
"I'd rather get hit by lightning," you fired back, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead.
Rafe removed his sunglasses and lightly tossed them on the dash. His silence was heavy, bearing witness to your defiance before his voice returned, a touch of impatience coating his words. "So how much longer are you planning to keep this up?"
“What do you mean? Keeping what up?”
“Running...pretending like you don’t give a shit—”
"Who said anything about running? I'm walking away. There's a difference."
"Oh, is that what this is? Right. Right." He drawled, the truck maintaining its constant presence by your side. "Well, it looks more like running to me."
"You can think whatever you want, Rafe. I really don’t care" Your words were as icy as a protective shield, distancing you from his unnerving scrutiny.
"You know," he spoke after another pause, his voice melting into a softer, intimate cadence, "You'd think I'd be bored by now but nah, I like these little interactions of ours. I look forward to them, actually…”
"Don't," you managed to whisper.
"Don't what?" He questioned, feigned innocence in his tone. You could hear the smirk in his voice, a symbol of triumph despite your rebuffs.
"Just leave me alone, Rafe."
"You know I can't do that," he declared with unshakeable certainty.
"Why not?" You shot back, halting to confront him and Rafe hit the brakes. As you turned to face him, the first drops of rain began to fall, soaking your skin and hair. You surrendered to the sensation, letting the rain blur your surroundings into an indistinct haze. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
A fleeting wave of vulnerability crossed Rafe's face, causing his confident smile to momentarily falter. "You know why..." He began, licking his lips, as if the weight of his next words were a challenge to articulate.
"No, I don’t. Aren't there plenty of Kooks you should be chasing after? Isn't that supposed to be your speed, anyway?" Your voice was laced with a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity.
He exhaled slowly, his eyes unwavering, locked onto yours. "Okay, you want me to spell it out? Fine." Leaning in just slightly, ensuring every word landed with intent, he said, "I like you, yeah? Not some Kook or a Touron. You." And then, softer, almost a whisper against the backdrop of the rain, "You know I do." The quiet intensity of his affirmation sent shivers down your spine. It was a truth both of you had danced around, a truth as terrifying as it was undeniable. Time seemed to stretch in that moment, punctuated only by the drumming rain and the frantic pace of your heart.
You swallowed hard, battling the storm of emotions threatening to spill out. "Well, you have a peculiar way of showing it," you managed to say, your voice quivering with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. His unexpected honesty had pulled the rug out from under your feet, leaving you reeling. "You've been stalking me, trying to intimidate me, forcing me to do things I don't want to--"
"Forcing you?" Rafe’s gaze hardened as he studied your face. "Forcing you? I’m forcing you?”
“Yes, Rafe. Forcing me,” you protested, the words tinged with desperation, a last-ditch attempt to create distance between you two.
Rafe chuckled under his breath as he shook his head. “I'm forcing you, but you came harder than you've ever done in your entire life just from my fingers. I'm forcing you, but you came so many times you could barely remember your own name--"
"I never wanted any of that! I didn't ask for any of that—" You tried to reason only for Rafe to silence you with a frustrated roar, his hand banging on the steering wheel.
"Get in the fucking truck!!"
"No!" you laughed shakily “No. in fact, I'm perfectly fine. Right. Here." you declared defiantly, tilting your head back to let the rain wash over you. A temporary respite came with your eyes squeezed shut. When you dared to open them again, Rafe was still there, an unwavering, persistent figure.
With another heavy sigh, Rafe surrendered. "Alright." he nodded bitterly "Alright, You're really gonna make me do this, huh?"
"Do what?" you retorted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
Before you could decipher his next move, Rafe abruptly killed the engine, flung open the door and stepped out into the torrential downpour. The heavens seemed intent on soaking him through. Droplets of rain lashed down, darkening his shirt until it clung to his chiseled torso, revealing the muscular contours beneath.
"What the fuck," you whispered under your breath, your heart racing from his unexpected action. There he stood, defiant against the torrential rain, every drop sliding down his chiseled features, his piercing eyes never wavering from yours.
Time seemed to stand still until, driven by some invisible force, Rafe lunged forward pulling you into his embrace, his lips fiercely meeting yours.
His lips was soft. Not demanding and you found yourself responding instinctively. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as your hands moved to grip the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. You could taste the rain on his lips, mingled with the hint of sweetness from the soda he had been drinking earlier. The world disappeared.
There was only him.
The kiss deepened, Rafe's hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your rain-soaked hair, while his other arm snaked around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. His touch sent a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, setting your nerves alight. The rain beating down on you both seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of your heart.
His lips moved with a fervor that left you breathless, each stroke of his tongue against yours an echo of the underlying passion and yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface. Every sensation, every emotion was amplified tenfold in the shared intimacy of the kiss. You surrendered completely to the moment, losing yourself in the touch of his skin, the strength of his hold, and the intoxicating taste of his lips.
Eventually, the kiss slowed, the initial fervor simmering into something softer, sweeter. Rafe broke away, his breath shaky. His eyes held yours captive, and a flush crept onto his face. His fingers traced a path down your cheek, before he finally stepped back.
"We can do this two ways," Rafe murmured over the steady patter of rain on the truck's roof. Pure mischief danced in his eyes as he stated, "I can drag you kicking and screaming and trust me, I’ll enjoy every minute of it, or you can walk and get in on your own. But either way - you're getting in the truck. Your call."
Wordlessly, you pivoted and moved towards the truck, your boots crunching against the rain-dampened gravel.
"That's what I thought," Rafe replied, a victorious grin splitting his rain-speckled face as he caught your fleeting glare. Unruffled, he stretched out his hand, popping open the weather-beaten door with a familiar creak lost in the drumming rain. His hand was warm and steady as he helped you up into the seat, the fabric of your clothes already beginning to stick to the leather.
In one fluid movement, Rafe navigated around the truck, momentarily swallowed by the spray of the falling rain before reappearing on the driver's side. With a clunk, the door closed behind him, sealing out the chill and sound of the heavy rain. His wrist flicked, the ignition turning over and the engine’s steady rumble intertwining with the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the roof.
Leaning over the seat, Rafe's momentarily searched around the back. When he reappeared, he held a well-used, grey fleece jacket, its fabric softened by countless washes.
"Here," he offered, his voice barely louder than the muted patter of the rain against the windows. He extended it towards you, his fingers brushing against yours in exchange.
"Thank you," you replied, accepting the jacket. The fleece was surprisingly warm, a welcome contrast to the chill spreading through your rain-soaked clothes.
Rafe maneuvered the truck through the storm your house barely discernible in the relentless deluge. He parked close to your porch, an unspoken gesture to spare you from the worst of the rain. When he switched off the engine, the absence of its rumble made the cab feel suddenly small. The silence that enveloped you both was thick, charged with unsaid words and emotions neither of you didn't know how to share.
Rafe turned to face you, the dim glow from the dashboard lights casting a soft luminescence on his features. Rain droplets traced shimmering paths down his face, catching on his eyelashes and hanging at the tips. His gaze held yours, searching, longing, a question lingering in his eyes.
Swallowing hard, you broke the silence. "Want to come in?" The words hung in the air, tender and tentative. "Maybe dry off a little before hitting the road?"
"Make yourself at home" you said.
With a click, you turned on the side lamp, illuminating the cozy sitting room in a warm glow. You excused yourself, leaving Rafe momentarily to fetch some things for him. From the hallway closet, you grabbed a clean towel, and after a brief rummage through your dad's wardrobe, you found a red plaid shirt that might fit him. Deciding to change yourself, you quickly slipped into a comfortable, loose faded shirt and denim shorts.
Upon your return, you found Rafe intently examining the family photos that adorned your walls. The captured moments were a mix of joyful events and everyday life: you proudly holding up your first caught fish, a close-up with you and a school friend age seven with your front teeth missing, an affectionate snapshot of your parents in a tender embrace, and a cherished image of baby you, seated on your dad's lap at the piano. Each photo was a silent testament to days that were simpler, happier.
Rafe, towering in your small living room, shifted his gaze to the old piano settled in one corner. The instrument, though aged, held a simple grace.
“It’s not as grand as the one at your place,” you remarked gently, catching his attention. As his gaze shifted to you, there was a perceptible pause as his eyes traveled down to your legs and then resettled on your face.
"But it still has its charm, right?"
“I guess,” you shrugged, closing the distance between you two and handing him the towel and shirt.
Your fingers brushed with the exchange, sending a thrill through you. With a grateful nod, Rafe dried his head and face. He began to unbutton his shirt, pulling the wet fabric from his slacks, peeling it off his body. As he revealed inch after inch of lean muscle and beautifully tanned, unmarked skin, you couldn't help but admire the flawless appearance—a testament to his privileged Kook life.
“Can't take your eyes off, can you? Want a guided tour?” He teased.
“Dream on, Cameron,” you shot back, attempting to sound casual, but the playful glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. The sound of his confident chuckle filled the room with warmth.
“How long have you had it?” he inquired, head tilting towards the piano.
“You mean Betsy?”
Rafe smiled “It has a name?”
“Of course. We've had her as long as I can remember. My dad got her before I was born. She’s older than I am,” you confessed with a fond smile.
"Go on, play for me," Rafe murmured, the timbre of his voice making it feel less like a request and more like an intimate invite.
The memory of the last time you played for him, and what had ensued, made you take a deep breath. But you shook off the feeling, reminding yourself that your bench was, luckily, a one-seater. "I'll play," you said with a small smile, "but you've got to promise to behave."
Rafe chuckled, leaning back on the couch, wearing your dad's shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. His smirk was wicked and teasing, the very embodiment of temptation itself. "No promises."
Rolling your eyes. You took a seat on the bench and began to play, allowing the music to flow through your fingers. Each note resonated with the room, reflecting the myriad emotions swirling within you. The gentle glow of the room's lighting seemed to dance in tune with the melody, casting warm and shifting shadows. The scent of the rain outside mingled with the familiar smells of your home, creating an atmosphere of nostalgia and present moments intertwining. As the final note lingered in the air, caressing the silence that followed, you turned to find Rafe's gaze fixed intently on you. His eyes, laden with intensity and yearning.
“Come here,” he said softly, his voice filled with something deeper, something unspoken. He leaned back against the sofa, extending his hand to you.
With a deep breath, and a flutter in your chest, you walked towards him, finally straddling him, feeling the warmth and strength of him beneath you, knowing that this moment was a milestone, a turning point in whatever it was that was unfolding between you two.
Rafe's fingers delicately trailed along your thighs, taking in every curve and contour. He lingered for a moment on a mole on your left leg, brushing his thumb over its slightly elevated surface. Every touch ignited a fire on your skin, an intimate dance of warmth and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, they ascended up your sides and Rafe sat up.
Suddenly his hands wrapped around your neck, tipping your head back with a possessiveness that made you gasp. The raw strength in his grip was undeniable; he held the power to hurt you. But somewhere deep down, amidst the swirling mix of emotions, you felt an unwavering trust that he wouldn't.
With your head tilted back, you found yourself drowning in Rafe's gaze. He examined your features, delicately turning your face this way and that, softly illuminated by the nearby lamp. Every aspect of your countenance seemed to fascinate him, but it was his own features — the small scar above his right eyebrow, the striking high cheekbones, thick lashes, and those mesmerizing blue eyes — that captivated you in return. When those very eyes briefly lingered on your lips, and his thumb gently brushed against them a sharp inhale caught in your throat.
"So fuckin' pretty," Rafe breathed, the weight of his words heavy in the brief silence that followed. Then, with an urgency that stole your breath away, he captured your lips with his. His kiss was both tender and powerful, a dance of tongues and unspoken passion.
His hands moved from your neck, sliding beneath your shirt finally touching bare skin to wrap around you. The world seemed to tilt as he expertly turned, positioning you beneath him without breaking the kiss.
Rafe's fingers found the buttons of your shirt. Each one he undid was like unwrapping a gift, each sliver of exposed skin driving him further into a fervor kissing you deeper until he pulled away from your lips altogether to look down and savour your breasts.
“I knew it…” he whispered “You’re gorgeous...” and wasted no time in swirling his tongue around your pert nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His other hand kneading the tender flesh of your other breast oh so softly.
Rafe's touch sent waves of electricity coursing through your body, each sensation igniting the desire between your thighs. With every gentle tug, every teasing bite, you surrendered to your longing, your moans a symphony of need. While dampness formed at your core, evidence of your escalating arousal.
Leaving your nipple, his lips sought your cheek, his fingers deftly finding the button of your shorts, effortlessly undoing it. "I couldn't stop thinking about the way you squirted for me." he smiled, his voice a soft murmur in your ear.
"Ugh- Rafe, don't-" You couldn't help but groan, your hands instinctively covering your face in a mix of bashfulness and embarrassment.
"Come on, babe don't hide from me now," he urged, gently moving your hands away from your face. His unwavering gaze bore into you, with a magnetic intensity that held you captive. "It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen," he continued, his words wrapping around you like a sensual embrace. You responded with a mix of eye-rolling and a self-conscious laugh, but Rafe's touch on your jaw stilled your reaction.
"I'm serious," he insisted, his eyes locked onto yours. "Watching you moan for me all desperate and sweet. Feeling your pretty little pussy swallow my fingers... and then knowing I made you feel so fucking good you couldn't help but squirt…” Rafe groaned “Baby, I jerked off to the thought so many times I'm surprised my dick hasn't fallen off." he chuckled. "All I could think about these last few weeks was watching you cum. I wanna watch you cum." Rafe's words were a soft murmur, his unwavering gaze locked onto yours.
Adjusting his position slightly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans shorts, a deliberate slowness in his movements as he eased them down your body. His breath quickened, his eyes devouring the sight of you in your white panties, damp with the evidence of your arousal.
Moistening his lips, he carefully tugged down your panties, guiding your legs free from their confines. He stared at your pussy taking his fill.
"Pretty as a picture," he whispered. Settling in beside you, he rested his head on his palm, his gaze fixed upon you. "I want to watch you cum, but this time..." Rafe tenderly parted your legs, cradling your knees and exposing you fully to the room's golden light. "This time, I want to see everything," he murmured.
His fingers traced the contours of your mound, the subtle hills and valleys of your skin. A light dusting of pubic hair added to the texture he was exploring. There, at your slit, a glistening collection of your arousal had formed. With a gentle touch, he collected a bead of it on his fingertip, his eyes locked onto your face. Bringing his finger to his lips, he sensually tasted you, an intense hunger gleaming in his gaze.
"I’ll need to eat this pussy too..." he murmured, nodding as if confirming an important task on his list of things to do. "But let's take it one step at a time, yeah? Don't want you running away from me anytime soon." His words held a trace of humor, a playful acknowledgment of the strained heated desires between you two. You were about to chastise him but his lips captured yours in a hungry kiss. While your mouths entwined, Rafe's finger moved back to your clit, his gentle movements coaxing a moan from your lips.
Just as you were sinking into his heavenly touch, Rafe broke the kiss and gently pulled his finger away from your clit. The absence of his touch almost prompted a whine from you, but Rafe quickly quieted you with a gentle shush. With a practiced finesse that revealed a glimpse of his dexterity, he employed his teeth to deftly remove the signet ring that encircled his finger. The ring glided off smoothly, lingering briefly within his mouth before finding its place in his pants pocket. His voice, laced with desire, broke the silence in a husky murmur, "Can’t go deep with a ring in the way, can we?” With deliberate intent, he returned his two fingers between your folds and wormed them inside you.
"Oh god, oh shit-" The fabric of Rafe's (or rather, your dad’s) shirt twisted beneath the force of your grip, your fingers curling and clenching as a flood of both pleasure and pain surged through your core. He was not lying when he said he was going to go deep.
Admitting comfort at this moment wouldn't be honest, not with the way his fingers were delving inside you, pushing against your tight channel. The fine line between discomfort and pleasure was being treaded, a line that teased just on the cusp of crossing into one or the other. Strangely, there was an undeniable allure in feeling so exquisitely full and it dawned on you that even with the mingling pain you liked being full.
With a mix of awe and submission, you embraced the realization that this was indeed what your body was designed for—an intricate dance of taking and being taken. The recognition of your body's innate capacity to accept him, to welcome him so completely, was a mesmerizing revelation that you couldn't help but marvel at.
As your gaze drifted downward, you couldn't help but raise an intrigued eyebrow at the sight that greeted you. His long, skillful fingers moved sinfully, withdrawing and reentering, each motion leaving them glistening with the evidence of your arousal. The sight and sound was hypnotic, and as a drawn-out moan escaped your lips, you couldn't help but notice Rafe's gaze following suit, his own reaction mirrored in the form of a needy groan.
"God, look at you. Taking it all the way to my palm... making a pretty mess." he quipped, his voice trembling with desire as a shaky chuckle escaped him. "Does it hurt?"
You gasped in response, the honesty ringing true in your voice, "A little."
A low, almost guttural groan escaped Rafe's lips, his tongue darting out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. "Yeah, but you like it, don't you? That slight twinge of pain. Hurts good, doesn't it?"
A slow, almost reverent nod escaped you as your eyes rolled backward, caught in the riptide of sensation. Your hand joined Rafe's at his wrist, a desperate yearning to connect more deeply with the source of your pleasure and the exquisite ache that accompanied it. You craved the sensation of his every stroke, each movement a testament to his mastery over your desire. Your hips began to sway, an instinctual response, seeking more friction, a little extra pressure to tip the scale just a bit further into pleasure. When you started to pluck and gently pull on your nipple you had finally reached it.
"Shit. That's it. Take what you need, baby.” He whispered. His tongue made its way back to your other nipple sucking on the tender flesh while he stared up at you. His gentle tongue swirling and firm hard fingers relentlessly drilling and your own hand gently plucking had you seeing stars and then some. You could feel his cock, thick and stiff brushing against your side as he rutted slowly against you seeking friction and for the first time you began to whine in sheer desperation, wishing he had fucked you with his cock instead.
"Use your words, baby," Rafe's voice held an almost teasing quality. "I want to know how good it feels—for next time when you accuse me of forcing you..."
You should have been mad, outraged even, by his audacity. But there was a magnetic pull in his words, a spell that rendered your protests powerless against the tide of pleasure that had you firmly in its grasp. The chorus of moans that spilled from your lips was a testament to your surrender "Don't stop- feels so good. Oh god, ‘m close. So close. Please Rafe-- please.. please... please.." Your words quivered with a mixture of urgency and need, punctuated by the ragged rhythm of your breath as your body shook.
As if on cue, Rafe applied a cork-screw motion, his fingers expertly stroking your G-spot with fervor. Your orgasm surged forth, violent and all-consuming. Waves of ecstacy coursed through your body, compelling your abdomen to convulse, and your leg to kick, a response to Rafe speeding up his efforts, fingers plunging deep while his thumb orchestrated rapid blissful circles on your clit.
"OH, FUCK-- OH RAFE!!!" Your voice filled the room as you were swept away in the throes of your orgasm. You couldn’t help but soak his fingers, and like a breached dam, overflowing and cascading, so too did your juices overflow as it trickled down to the cleft of your ass.
"Fuck—" Rafe hissed, his voice strained. "Ah, shit!" he sneered through clenched teeth. Overwhelmed at the sight, feel and sound of you screaming his name, his hips involuntarily jerked as he came. An untouched release that left him gasping for breath. His moans blended with yours, a beautiful song of shared pleasure that only ended when he leaned in for a messy kiss.
His gaze never wavered; it feasted on every second of your reaction and revelled in the glorious aftermath. You were glowing, skin flushed and alive from the intensity of your climax. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat glistening off of your exposed breasts. Legs still spread, revealing the slippery mess with his fingers buried deep in you.
If you weren't so strung out from your orgasm, the opportunity to catch a glimpse of something more in his expression might have presented itself. A fleeting flicker of his unwavering fixation taking root, a mere hint of the deeper obsession he harbored for you. But instead your eyes closed, your lips forming a satisfied, lopsided grin. You couldn’t think. In fact, you couldn't care about anything at all.
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UPDATES - PART 3 / MASTERLIST
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