#Just. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cairavende · 1 year ago

Text

Worm Arc 15 interludes thoughts

Carol interlude:

Holy shit you really were just a fucking TERRIBLE mother!

Like I get it, you had lots of horrible childhood trauma. And you didn't want to adopt Amy and let yourself get bullied into it by your sister. But that doesn't give you an excuse for how you treated both your kids.

Got to see another trigger event!! Fuck yes. Give me more. I want to see more details on those higher dimensional beings.

Fucking hell seeing Marquis's powers in play is pretty crazy. Dangerous boy.

Carol was just going to full blown stab right through that closet door without even looking inside! She almost killed a child! God damn.

“No. He’s just my daddy. Reads me bedtime stories, makes me dinner, and tells me jokes. I love him more than anything else in the world. You can’t take him away from me. You can’t!” Fucking ooof that's a line.

No seriously though this can't be the first time there has been a young child of a cape that needed to be adopted because their parent was arrested or killed. Is there really no system in place for this? Cause Amy should not be going with Carol.

Just the way through most of the present sections of the interlude that Carol thinks about her daughter and Amy. Not her daughters. And this was before she knew anything about what Amy had done. Terrible mother.

HOLY SHIT AMY OH MY GOD YOU MADE IT EVEN WORSE! And I thought flesh coffin Victoria was bad! FUCK!

Vic is going to need lots of therapy.

Fucking Carol basically deciding Amy is her daughter now only because she doesn't want to think about Victoria being her daughter. Damn. Bad mother.

And Amy is in the birdcage (Hellfire playing in my head the entire damn time I'm reading this part). I'd be rather terrified to see what she becomes except no one ever gets out of the birdcage so obviously there is no worries. She is never going to be an issues. (I shouldn't need the /s but just to be safe.)

Brian interlude:

Not much to say here, most of my thoughts on this relationship was said in my last post.

I do always love seeing Taylor from the PoV of someone else. Just shows how fucking badass she is. And kinda terrifying.

"She conveyed an eerie kind of confidence that he knew she didn’t have at her core." This is just incorrect bud. When she isn't thinking about how she is portraying herself she conveys the confidence she does have at her core. The stuff she hides from herself.

Alexandria interlude:

DATES! DATA! LORE! AHHHHHHH!!!!

Date of first Endbringer attack!!!!! Strong estimation of the number of capes in August 1986! Knowledge that Cauldron was working in 1986! Their "success" rate at the time that I can compare to now! (Success in quotes cause I don't personally think tentacles is a failure. I want to meet tentacle lady.)

Obviously I'm not a big fan of any of the Cauldron people on the surface. But I think I like Contessa within those boundaries. I technically have no idea what she can do but I'm almost positive she is some type of precog. And I kind of ship her and Alexandria.

Behemoth is fucking scary. Just light people on fire from the inside, shoot lightning. Full energy manipulation. Damn.

Alexandria is the head of the PRT! Damn! (I assume at least.)

I want to know more about the Terminus project!

And Coil is a product of Cauldron! But he doesn't know it (supposedly). Damn. They list him as an alternate to the Protectorate which is very interesting. I'm super curious what Cauldron's goal with the Protectorate was and how Coil can do the same.

Fucking Alexandria just going and grabbing people to be experimented on and it's "ok" cause they were dying. Holy shit! She even manages to make the comparison to her chemo treatment and still does it! Fuck lady. You can justify anything.

Triumph interlude:

See? Triumph is fine! So Skitter didn't do anything wrong.

Triumph is Cauldron created too. Cause he was only good enough at baseball for the minor league but not the majors. God damn fucking privileged ass rich white boy. And he describes it as a traumatic thing! God. At least later he does kinda call out that he got stuff from having a rich dad with connections.

Assault seems to be doing great! Sure was a good idea to let him join the Protectorate just cause he wanted to be a creep to this one girl. Turns out when that girl is gone he doesn't have any motivations to be a "good guy". Great decision Legend.

Robot daughter! Good to see you again! And you built yourself a bio body! Or a head at least. Still, fun!

AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Defiant.

Definitely isn't Polearm McGee! Nope! Absolutely a different person. That also likes really long pointy sticks.

I am glad Frank Miller's Armsmaster was able to remove the restrictions on robot daughters code. She deserves freedom. Pretty much served his purpose now and she basically just keeps him around to humor him. "Oh yes I need Defiant to help me, even though I built his suit and could just control it directly myself."

Seven Dragon suits in Brockton Bay huh? I'm sure that won't result in anything next arc. What with Dragon specifically on the lookout for Taylor and Taylor planning on going with her dad to the town hall on the election.

Triumph gives in to the weight of not speaking up about Defiant being Armsmaster but then he gets mad at Prism for not speaking up! My dude! You didn't speak up, you can't be mad at her for the same thing!

Fucking LOVED the ending of this interlude, and thus this arc, though. Absolutely perfect. Just with the inherent comparison of Defiant to Mannequin, especially considering Colin called Mannequin a "monster" in his interlude and said "I'm nothing like you!" And then Triumph thinking how he could see the reason for every step Colin made and could see himself justifying each one. And the previous chapter had Taylor dealing with how far she had let herself go. All that and then ending this chapter with Triumph staring at the bodies of Crawler and Mannequin (finally confirmed dead) and the line "Maybe it was to find some clue, some sign he could watch out for, that would let him identify the monsters from the men."

Just fucking. So good. I think it's my favorite quotable arc ending so far. I might like Arc 11's ending more (it's close) but not in quotable way. "All lies" at the end of Arc 14 is a close second, but I like this one more.

#Worm #Worm Web Serial #Parahumans #Cairavende reads Worm #Carol Dallon #Creepy Crawlies #Alexandria #Cauldron #Triumph #Dragon #Frank Miller's Armsmaster #For real though I kinda want to write up an essay on the “identify monsters from the men” bit. There is just so many layers of stuff!#At a minimum it goes all the way back to 3.6 when Tattletale is talking about her “cops vs robbers” analogy.#And she says “And then there's the monsters.” Referencing SH9 and Nilbog (want to know more about) and Skitter brings up the Endbringers.#And the whole constant theme of the heroes not necessarily being the “good guys” and labels mattering more than actions.#And just the idea that there is 3 things. Heroes. Villains. And Monsters.#Monster in many ways being just as made up of a label as hero or villain but it lets people justify their actions better.#Just. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#Worm is good.#Girlfriend thank you tag! Thanks for pestering me (affectionately) to read Worm.#My life (and the life of everyone who likes reading my thoughts on it) is better for it! Love you!!!

55 notes · View notes

rafeyscurtainbangs · 2 days ago

Text

Do whatever you fucking want to me, just let me fucking come!” Tears form in his eyes again.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh dom reader for the win!!!!!!! 💕🩷🤭😋

6 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔 🎄 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒏

𝙳𝚊𝚢 1 - 𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 - 𝚂𝚞𝚋!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎. 𝙸𝚗 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚌𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚞𝚋 𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Rafe leaned against his kitchen counter, scrolling idly on his phone, when a firm knock echoed through his apartment. Curious, he swung the door open—and froze.

There you stood, framed in the doorway, a vision in a sleek, velvet Santa corset that hugged your figure, paired with thigh-high boots that clicked confidently against the floor as you stepped inside. A playful smirk curled your lips, and over your shoulder, you carried a crimson sack adorned with jingling bells.

“Well, well,” you said, your voice dripping with amusement. “Rafe Cameron. You’ve been very bad this year.”

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a grin. “Bad? Me? You must have the wrong guy.”

“Nice try.” You pulled a scroll from the sack and unrolled it dramatically. “Let’s see here—late-night pranks, stealing the last slice of cake, and oh, this one’s my favorite: orchestrating the mistletoe ambush. Sound familiar?”

His grin widened. “So, what happens now? You write a strongly worded letter to Santa?”

“No.” You took a deliberate step closer, pulling a pair of fuzzy red handcuffs from the sack. “I’m here to make sure you get what you deserve.”

Before he could protest, you snapped the cuffs around his wrists, tugging them gently behind his back. Rafe let out a low laugh, the sound reverberating in the quiet room.

“This is adorable,” he teased. “You think you’re in charge now?”

“Oh, I know I am.” Reaching into the sack again, you retrieved a peppermint-scented whip. The faint aroma filled the air as you traced the leather lightly over his chest, your gaze locking with his.

His smirk faltered, just for a moment, before returning. “And what’s next? You interrogate me with Christmas carols?”

You leaned in, your voice a sultry whisper. “Only if you don’t behave.”

The tension crackled between you like the fire burning in the hearth behind him. The soft pop and hiss of the flames provided the perfect soundtrack to your game. The cool peppermint oil you dabbed onto your fingertips sent shivers through him as you traced it along his collarbone, the sharp scent mingling with the warm notes of pine and cinnamon from the room.

“Explain your misdeeds, Rafe,” you said, your lips brushing against his ear. “And maybe, just maybe, I’ll go easy on you.”

His voice was low, filled with challenge. “What if I have no regrets?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you leaned in closer. “Then I guess we’ll have to keep going until you do.”

Before he could respond, you captured his lips in a searing kiss. His hands flexed against the cuffs, testing the restraints, but they held firm. When the kiss broke, his gaze was darker, his smirk more dangerous.

“This is cute,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But let’s see how long you can hold the upper hand.”

“Oh, Rafe,” you replied, brushing the whip lightly across his shoulder. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

Rafe leaned harder against the counter, his blue eyes narrowing as a slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The glint of challenge in his gaze told you he wasn’t about to let you win that easily, even with his hands restrained.

“You’ve got my attention,” he said, voice smooth and teasing as he leaned his weight back, testing the cuffs just enough to make the chain jingle softly. “But you’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence as you traced the handle of the peppermint-scented whip up the center of his chest, watching his shoulders tense beneath his thin t-shirt. “Dangerous? I thought I was just spreading some Christmas cheer,” you replied, your voice syrupy and sweet.

“That’s what we’re calling this now?” Rafe shot back, his cocky grin still firmly in place, though his breathing had deepened just slightly under your careful ministrations. “You breaking into my apartment in a—” his eyes swept over your velvet corset and thigh-high boots, lingering longer than necessary, “—festive little number and slapping cuffs on me? Santa would not approve.”

“Santa doesn’t need to know what I do, I’m here to make sure those on the naughty list are punished” you murmured, leaning in close until your lips hovered just a breath away from his. The scent of peppermint oil still lingered in the air, sharp and intoxicating, and you could practically feel the heat radiating from him. “Besides,” you continued, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper, “Santa‘a not in charge of this particular bad boy. I am.”

Rafe exhaled a soft laugh, though his voice was lower now, tinged with something heavier. “That right? I’d be careful if I were you. Bad boys bite back.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

The whip trailed lower, grazing just above the waistband of his jeans. Rafe shifted, his muscles flexing beneath the taut fabric of his shirt as he regarded you with a look that was equal parts playful and dark. There was something addicting about the way he stared at you—challenging you to keep going, daring you to see just how far you’d push him.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he muttered, but the amused edge in his voice betrayed him.

“Maybe I am,” you purred, brushing your lips along his jawline before pulling back with a playful grin. “But that’s not your concern, is it? You’re supposed to be reflecting on all those things I listed.”

Rafe cocked a brow, lips curling into a devilish smirk as he tilted his head slightly. “Let’s see… the cake was worth it, the pranks were legendary, and the mistletoe ambush? You didn’t seem to mind that one.”

Your laugh rang out as you gave him a teasing swat with the whip across his thigh—just enough to make him tense but not enough to wipe the grin from his face. “Careful, Cameron. You’re not exactly pleading your case here.”

He rolled his shoulders, pushing off the counter slightly despite the restraints. “Maybe I don’t want to plead. Maybe I’m more interested in what happens next.”

You stared him down for a beat, the heat in the room thickening like the glow of the fire crackling in the hearth in the living room. It was a dance—the way he pushed, the way you pulled back just enough to keep him guessing. Slowly, you unhooked the whip from where it hung on your fingers, letting it drop to the floor with a faint thud.

“Then I guess we skip the misdeeds, for now,” you murmured, stepping closer until you were chest to chest, your fingers sliding under the edge of his shirt to trace the firm lines of his stomach. Rafe inhaled sharply, his gaze flickering to yours, darker now. “But if you don’t behave,” you added softly, tugging on the cuff chain just enough to remind him of his position, “I’ll have to find another way to punish you.”

His smile widened, though there was a hint of challenge in his tone as he replied, “You really think you can handle me?”

“Oh, I know I can.” You leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back with a smirk of your own. “Now be a good boy, Rafe.”

For the first time, Rafe didn’t have a comeback. His eyes followed you as you stepped back with a slow, deliberate confidence, the bells on your crimson sack jingling softly with every movement. The air between you buzzed like a live wire, a tension thick enough to taste.

“Game on,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you, as you disappeared around the corner.

Rafe tilted his head back, letting out a low chuckle that echoed in the otherwise quiet kitchen, his pulse still racing. If you thought you’d won this round, you were in for a surprise—Rafe Cameron didn’t go down without a fight.

You stride back into the kitchen, the soft jingle of bells you untied from the sack now around your boots the only sound in the room. Rafe's gaze snaps to you, and his expression shifts from smug confidence to stunned silence. His mouth parts slightly as his eyes rake over you, taking in every inch of your bare form save for the thigh-high boots that click against the floor. You hold his stare, the whip dangling loosely from your fingers, having picked it back up, exuding power with every deliberate step.

You move him from the counter, taking his place. Without breaking eye contact, you lift the whip, running the tassels slowly, seductively, down your body. The teasing motion makes his breath hitch, his jaw tightening as he fights to maintain composure. When the whip trails lower, the tip grazing over your clit, your soft moans echo in the silence, sending him over the edge. Rafe instinctively moves closer, his desire unrestrained.

“Uh-uh,” you chide, your voice sharp yet laced with amusement. The crack of the whip against his thigh is quick, precise, and commanding, earning a low grunt from him. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

He retreats slightly, his defiance flickering as he clenches his fists, but you’re not about to let him off that easily. In one fluid motion, you grab his arm, pulling him toward you with force that surprises him, motioning him to his knees before you.

“Simon says,” you purr, tilting his chin upward with the handle of the whip, your smirk wicked and daring. “Tongue out.”

His compliance is immediate, his lips parting as his tongue slips out in obedient surrender, his gaze locked on yours, blazing with a mix of challenge and submission. The tension crackles between you, and you savor the control, knowing you’ve completely unraveled him. Rafe's breathing grows heavier as he kneels before you, his gaze locked on yours, dark and smoldering. The tension in the air is palpable.

"Good boy," you purr, running the whip’s tassels across his face, letting them linger just long enough to tease. His eyes are still on you, blazing with a mixture of defiance and submission, a combination that only fuels the fire building in your core.

You lean forward slightly, still perched on the counter, your movements slow and deliberate as you trace his jawline with the tip of your finger. “See? You can behave when you want to,” you murmur, a wicked grin tugging at your lips.

Rafe’s hands flex behind his back, his muscles straining against the temptation to reach for you. He’s teetering on the edge of control, and you can see it in the way his chest rises and falls, in the way his tongue stays perfectly still, waiting for your command.

“You like being told what to do, don’t you?” you ask, tilting your head as you slide the whip’s handle under his chin, lifting his face slightly. His response is a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Words, Rafe,” you chide, your voice dripping with authority.

His tongue retracts just enough to let him speak. “Only when it’s you,” he rasps, his voice thick with desire.

The admission makes your heart race, but you keep your composure, leaning back against the counter with an air of confidence. “Smart answer,” you reply, your tone light but edged with satisfaction. “Maybe you deserve a reward.”

Rafe’s eyes flicker with hope, his body tensing in anticipation, but you’re not about to make it that easy for him. You lean forward, your voice a sultry whisper as you say, “Simon says… don’t move a muscle.”

He stays perfectly still, sticking his tongue back out. His obedience is both surprising and intoxicating. You trace the whip’s tassels down his chest, letting them skim over his abdomen before pulling them back up with a sharp flick. The motion draws a low growl from him, his restraint beginning to crack under your control.

“Sweet boy,” you praise again, watching the way his pupils dilate at the words. You lean down until your lips are just inches from his ear and add, “But don’t think for a second you’re in charge tonight.”

Rafe’s response is a slow, deliberate grin, his eyes dark with unspoken promises that send a shiver down your spine. Without hesitation, you step closer, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging firmly, guiding his head toward you. His lips part, his breath warm against your skin as you lower yourself onto his face, and in an instant, you lay your pussy on his flattened tongue, feeling it as it explores every inch of you.

The initial contact makes your body jolt, your movements instinctively faltering as a rush of pleasure courses through you. You feel the curve of a smile form on his face, the subtle vibration of his amusement only heightening the sensation.

“You enjoying this as much as I am?” you ask breathlessly, your gaze meeting his smoldering eyes. He nods slightly in response, the motion teasing you further as he doubles down on his efforts.

Your rhythm builds, each grind of your hips sending waves of heat through you. “Flick your tongue, baby,” you command, your voice cracking with need. The instant he complies, the tip of his tongue swirling at your entrance, a loud moan escapes your lips. You feel the wetness dripping down, slickening his cheeks and chin as he moans into you, the vibrations pushing you closer to the edge.

You brace yourself against the counter, your knuckles turning white as you struggle to maintain control. But Rafe knows exactly what he’s doing—each flick, swirl, and shift of his tongue driving you higher, faster. The fire in your stomach burns fiercely, igniting with an intensity you can’t suppress. Slowing your movements, you try to hold on a moment longer, grinding against him in a desperate attempt to draw out the pleasure. You’re supposed to be in control. You can't give in that easily.

Then, he shifts his head just slightly, hitting the perfect spot and his nose rocking against your clit, your resolve crumbles. A shudder wracks through you as your pace quickens involuntarily, your climax crashing over you with devastating force. You cry out, gripping the counter to steady yourself as waves of pleasure leave you trembling in his grasp.

As the aftershocks ripple through you, you try to lift yourself away, but the hunger in his eyes stops you. You move back down slightly, his mouth resuming its work as he laps up every last trace of your release. You melt under his touch, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the unrelenting focus in his gaze. He knows how to get you even when you don’t want him too.

You help him up to his feet, moving to the living room and unlocking the cuffs. “Get naked, baby.”

He complies without hesitation, his hands moving swiftly to shed his clothing until every barrier between you is gone. His body is a masterpiece in the soft glow of the dimly lit room, each line and curve illuminated like a work of art. Yet his focus remains entirely on you, his piercing gaze locked with yours, a mix of obedience and raw anticipation evident in his posture as he stands still, awaiting your command.

With a smirk, you step toward him, the clink of the cuffs in your hand drawing his attention. “Hands,” you instruct, your voice soft but firm. He raises them obediently, and you secure the cuffs around his wrists, this time in front of him. His lips twitch upward in subtle recognition of the shift—knowing you’re granting him just enough freedom for what you have planned.

You guide him to the couch, pushing him gently until he sinks down onto the cushions, the plush fabric contrasting with the tension in his body. He looks up at you, eyes dark with want, but he doesn’t move, his cuffed hands resting in his lap, waiting for permission.

“Good boy,” you murmur, straddling his waist, your thighs framing his hips as you settle into his lap. His sharp intake of breath at the contact sends a thrill through you, his skin warm against yours. He goes to brush his fingers along your stomach.

You push his hands down and lean in close, brushing your lips over his ear as you whisper, “I’m in control, Rafe, remember? You don’t touch unless I say. Understood?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice low and husky, the word almost a growl.

Satisfied, you trail your hands down his chest, your nails grazing lightly against his skin, earning a sharp inhale from him. His restrained hands twitch, but he doesn’t lift them, his compliance making you grin. You grind your hips slowly up and down his length, teasing him as your bodies connect, the friction igniting a fire between you.

“You’re doing so well,” you purr, placing your hands on his shoulders for balance as you continue to move. His jaw tightens, his head tipping back slightly, exposing the curve of his throat as he fights the urge to take control.

Leaning back, you meet his gaze, your movements deliberate and tantalizingly slow. “Tell me what you want, Rafe,” you tease, your voice laced with mock innocence.

“You,” he rasps, his voice strained. “I want all of you.”

You smile wickedly, leaning in so close that your breath mingles with his, the tension crackling between you. His eyes dart to your lips just before you nip at his bottom lip, eliciting a low growl from deep in his chest. You pull back just enough to meet his darkened gaze, a teasing smirk playing on your lips.

“Then you’re going to have to earn it,” you purr, your voice dripping with challenge, each word deliberate and tantalizing.

Rafe’s jaw tightens, his lips parting slightly as if to respond, but you cut him off with a finger pressed lightly against his mouth. “No talking. Just listening,” you command softly, your eyes glinting with authority.

He nods, his compliance stirring something primal in you. Moving with purpose, you take his cuffed wrists in your hands, guiding them up to rest on the back of the couch. His muscles flex under your touch, but he holds steady, his breaths coming heavier as you climb onto his lap, straddling his waist.

“Good boy,” you murmur, leaning forward to trail your lips along the sharp edge of his jawline. He shudders beneath you, his body instinctively leaning into yours.

You reach out, running your hands down his chest, feeling every taut line of his torso. “You want to touch me, don’t you?” you ask, your voice a teasing whisper against his ear.

“Yes,” he replies, his voice rough, barely above a growl.

You sit up, breaking contact with him, scratching your nails lightly on his neck, watching the way his body responds, the way he moves into your touch, the way his hips shift beneath you trying to feel you again. “Not yet,” you say firmly, smirking at the soft groan of frustration he lets out.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy torturing me,” he says, his voice low and filled with a mix of amusement and desperation.

You laugh softly, your hands sliding down his arms until your fingers meet his cuffed wrists. “It’s not torture,” you reply, leaning closer so your lips are just a breath away from his. “It’s discipline.”

Before he can reply, you press your lips to his, your body pressing firmly against his. His hands flex in the cuffs, desperate to touch you, but you keep him in place, controlling every movement, every sensation.

You lean into him, lips ghosting over his cheek and then trailing a path down his neck. His scent, musky and intoxicating, fills your senses as your fingers continue their feigned innocence, brushing “accidentally” over his length. Each fleeting touch makes him flinch, his body tensing beneath you. His breathing is ragged now, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to maintain control.

“Do you want it, baby?” you whisper into his ear, your voice smooth and dripping with seduction.

“Yes,” Rafe replies immediately, the desperation in his voice making you smile.

“How bad?” you purr, pulling back just enough to see his flushed face.

“Bad,” he groans, his voice thick and raw with need.

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “Hm, you’ve got to convince me, sweet boy.”

He breaks. “I need you so fucking bad,” he blurts out, his voice cracking as tears well in his eyes. “I need you to sit on my cock and fuck the shit out of me already. It hurts—I fucking need you.” The words tumble out of him, uninhibited, his desperation painted clearly on his face as a single tear escapes and slides down his cheek.

Your heart clenches at the sight, and you soften for just a moment, cupping his face in your hands. Gently, you wipe away his tears with your thumbs, your gaze locking with his. “Okay, okay,” you soothe, your voice a mix of teasing and genuine affection. “I’ll give you what you need.”

His eyes burn with gratitude and unrestrained hunger as you move back closer to him, your boots jingling softly with every move. The sound only heightens the tension, each chime a reminder of the game you’ve played all night. You pull him to sit back up, your body pressing against his in all the right ways.

Without wasting another second, you position yourself, taking hold of his length and guiding him to your entrance. Slowly, deliberately, you sink down onto him, a gasp escaping your lips as he fills you completely. Rafe throws his head back, a guttural groan escaping his throat as his hands, still cuffed, flex uselessly in front of him.

You pause for a moment, adjusting, letting the sensation of him inside you consume you. His eyes find yours, a mix of awe and raw need etched across his face. Then, with a wicked grin, you lift yourself and slam back down, earning a deep moan from him that reverberates through the room.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls, his voice rough with pleasure.

You don’t respond, too focused on your movements. Rising and falling, you set a relentless rhythm, the bells on your boots creating a hypnotic jingle with each bounce. Your hands grip his shoulders for balance, and when that’s not enough, you reach for his neck, steadying yourself as you ride him harder, faster.

Rafe’s hips buck beneath you, trying to meet your movements, but the cuffs keep him from taking control. “You’re killing me, baby,” he groans, his voice strained.

“You’re mine tonight,” you breathe, leaning forward so your lips are just a whisper away from his. “And you don’t do anything unless I let you.”

The tension between you builds, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your nails dig into his neck as you throw your head back, moaning his name. The sounds of your passion fill the room, blending with the soft chime of the bells and the steady rhythm of your bodies moving together.

Rafe’s eyes never leave you, his gaze full of adoration and desperation. “Please, baby,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “Let me—”

“Not yet,” you cut him off, your movements only growing more determined. “You’ll take it until I say you’ve had enough.”

You feel the fire in your core intensifying, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. The look in Rafe’s eyes—pure, unadulterated lust mixed with helpless devotion—only adds fuel to the fire. His chest heaves beneath you, his muscles taut as he strains against the cuffs, desperate to touch you, to take control, but completely at your mercy.

“Fuck, you’re so big baby,” you gasp, your voice shaky as the pleasure overtakes you. Your hands grip his neck tighter for balance as your rhythm grows erratic, each bounce sending shockwaves through your body.

Rafe groans deeply, his head falling back against the couch as his hips try to meet your movements. “You’re gonna kill me, baby,” he growls, his voice thick with need. “Let me touch you—please, I can’t—”

“No,” you pant, cutting him off as you lean forward, your lips brushing against his ear. “This is about me and you trying to get yourself on my nice list.”

The heat in your body reaches its peak, your movements becoming frenzied as you chase the release building within you. But it’s not enough—you need more. You slow just slightly and meet Rafe’s eyes, your breath hitching as you command, “Rub my clit, Rafe. Now.”

His eyes widen, and a flicker of relief crosses his face as you guide his cuffed hands to your center. The moment his fingers connect with you, you shiver, his touch electric against your sensitive skin. He moves in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure perfect, and your body responds instantly.

“Just like that,” you moan, your head falling back as your hips grind against his hand. The combined sensation of his cock inside you and his fingers expertly working your clit pushes you dangerously close to the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, your voice trembling as the fire in your stomach ignites into a full-blown inferno. Your walls clench around him, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your moans fill the room, loud and unabashed, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ride out the high.

Rafe watches you, completely mesmerized, his own control hanging by a thread. The way your body moves, the way your face twists in pleasure—it’s enough to drive him insane.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groans, his voice low and raw. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You slow down your movements, still riding out your high but preventing him from his. One last form of dominance as you drag out his pleasure. Grinding down onto him is painful movements.

“I need you to move,” he pleads.

“Tell me why you deserve a reward?” You giggle, mocking him slightly.

“Fuck- I’ll be so good to you. You can have all the pieces of cake. No more scaring you before bed. Do whatever you fucking want to me, just let me fucking come!” Tears form in his eyes again.

As you come down from your high, your body still shaking slightly, you glance down at him with a wicked grin. “You’ve convinced me, you’ve been so good, baby,” you murmur, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Now it’s your turn.”

His eyes darken with hunger, and he lets out a relieved moan as you start moving again. This time, it’s for him, your hips rolling in a way that has him trembling beneath you.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he groans, his voice breaking as his hips jerk uncontrollably.

“Come for me, Rafe,” you whisper, your voice soft but commanding. “I want to feel you lose control.”

That’s all it takes. His head falls back, his mouth opening in a silent cry as he reaches his peak. His body tenses, his hips bucking up into you as he spills inside you, the cuffs clinking faintly as his hands flex uselessly.

You slow your movements again, guiding him through his release, your hands moving to cup his face. His eyes flutter open, meeting yours with a look of pure adoration and exhaustion.

“Fuck,” he breathes, a shaky laugh escaping his lips. “You’re unreal.”

You smile softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. “I told you, Rafe. You don’t get anything unless I say so.”

“Then remind me to never get on your bad side,” he chuckles, his voice still thick with satisfaction.

“I think you liked it though,” you reply through a smirk.

You press a gentle kiss to his lips, the intensity of the moment giving way to something softer. You unlock the cuffs for a final time and you both savor the quiet aftermath, your bodies tangled together on the couch, the only light coming from his small Christmas tree in the corner of his living room.

Tags- @maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505 @dayyzlol @calaryssia @eg-dr3amer3 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rafestar @writtenbyhollywood @leilanizcals @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @percysley @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @slut4you @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @whytheylosttheirminds @starkeysprincess @rafeyscurtainbangs @cameronsprincess @itneverendshere @zya8tracks @httpsdrewstarkey @angelicameron @littlelamy @kieeslove @snowtargaryen @nemesyaaa @etheraltides @starkeysprincess @cooper8224 @hockeybabe87 @rafeyscurtainbangs @rafescokewhore @drewsephrry @rafeswif3

#Reccs 💕#rafe cameron #rafe obx #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks

131 notes · View notes