#daddy's country gold | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

violetpixiedust · 14 days ago

Text

14-02-21

dad!rafe cameron x mom!reader

description: you were somewhat content living in kildare with your beautiful twin girls, collecting child support cheques, and staying out of the kook limelight. that was until your ex and baby daddy rafe cameron got clean. the now head of cameron development finally realized that he needed to step up, and be the father he always promised he would be for your children. not to mention the man you had practically begged for before that devastating night you left him. but will you give him the chance?

warnings: afab reader. no description of appearance. featuring ex!rafe cameron x ex!reader. dad!rafe cameron x mom!reader. girl dad!rafe cameron. toxic!rafe. businessman!rafe. pogue to kook!reader. sweet!reader. florist!reader. angst. not teen pregnancy, but not adult either. co-parenting. mentions of drugs. mentions of domestic violence. 18+. mdni.

a/n: a new series i’m working on! let me know if you’d like to read more?

1. 𓍼

it was awkward to say the least.

that brand new car smell of rafe’s porche made you queasy, holding your breath to the best of your ability despite your twin daughters babbling in the backseat. they were enraptured with the brand new jelly-cats rafe- or perhaps- rafe’s assistant had purchased for them.

it hadn’t always been this way. there had been a time when you believed you knew rafe, the real one behind the glitz and glamour of being outer banks royalty. behind each stinging line and dime bag of coke, cigar smoke, and tightly wound up bills that came with capitalizing on people’s addictions. rafe was top dog, barry his right hand man, running their drug operation past the cut and then some under the guise of cameron development- which had been newly inherited.

amidst the fancy cars, motorbikes, top shelf whisky, tannyhill, designer clothes and 18k gold jewelry, you were rafe’s most prized possession. a sweet little bar cart girl from the country club turned co-ruler of the rambunctious beach side town. you were a pogue turned kook long before rafe had noticed you, but you still managed to catch his eye whilst being decorated in vintage prada and blumarine, skipping in the ocean coast at the boneyard.

your romance grew hot, blooming faster than anybody could fathom. within a week you were the angel bar cart girl turned rafe’s lover. you wanted to believe he loved you, did believe him for longer than you should have. even when his saltwater eyes would be rimmed with scarlet, pupils dilated despite the fact that he promised he would stop dipping into his own supply. even when his once gentle hold would leave an ache beneath your tender skin, his gold signet ring often threatening to leave a brand. even when his booming voice would vibrate off the decorative wallpaper, blowing your hair back with the sheer force of his anger in your face.

and especially when you sat alone at the country club, rafe’s empty seat mocking you from where you picked at your cooling dinner, numb to the local’s pitiful and amused stares.

that had been rafe up until your period was two weeks late, two vibrant lines on four home pregnancy tests snapping him into gear. it wasn’t a discussion. you would be having the child- children- two twin girls, and he would be the father he never had. he would stop the coke, the dealing, the parties. be the man you always wanted. the man you knew when it was just the two of you between your silk sheets. in the early hours of the peaceful and serene morning, staring at his sober expression that was filled with love rather than turmoil.

that had been rafe for longer than you thought he could be.

“you sick or something?” despite your ex’s harsh tone, you knew he wasn’t angry. annoyed most likely- given that this was the first time you had agreed to an outing with him and both of your children since the separation. the children lived in a gorgeous house with you a few blocks from tannyhill since before they had turned one- their fourth birthday now a mere few months away much to your disbelief. rafe had ensured his children would still have a spectacular view of the ocean that he had grown up having. he was good at that. making sure the three of you were taken care of. throwing however much money you needed for necessities, toys for the girls, furniture and decor for the home, and then some for your own pleasure.

your oldest daughter by five minutes- valentine, spoke up. “is mommy sick?”

you quickly turned in your place from the passenger seat, ignoring rafe’s piercing cobalt eyes only to meet valentine’s that matched them almost identically. your mustered up smile quickly turned genuine at the sight of your sweet babies in their car seats, stuffed animals flopped in their laps. “‘m fine, val-“

your younger daughter- rosette- or rosy for short, appeared as a mirror of your younger self- with her doe eyes so similar to yours staring back at you. “pwomise?” her sweet voice was quiet, hiding behind her new scarlet bunny jellycat. your expression softened immensely, holding out your chipped manicured pinky. instantly, both of your daughter’s latched on with theirs, the trio of you giggling for no apparent reason, missing rafe’s uncomfortable expression from behind the wheel.

your twins were aware of their father, which was a miracle given that rafe had always struggled to keep his word about being the dad he never had. a continued presence in their lives despite your separation. as the breadwinner however, he couldn’t be there all the time- and living separately only made things harder. the heir of cameron development visited at least once a week for coffee at your home. the two of you would watch your daughters play with the new toys rafe purchased for them weekly, helping them when they occasionally got stuck. it would be tense between you two at the beginning of every visit. rafe keeping to a strict routine of asking if everything was working properly, that the girls were healthy, that you had enough. you would assure him every time that you did, but held your tongue when describing your week. he had been in the bahamas on business when you had given birth, but had never missed a birthday since. he had been out at the country club with topper when valentine had said her first word- cat, which caused him to spiral when he heard he had missed it. he’d been absent when they learned how to walk, when they were potty training, learned how to talk, learned how to read small words, write small words. still, he couldn’t abandon his legacy for his children that he had spent under a hundred hours with during the year. as long as they had enough.

rafe’s porche eventually pulled up outside of a bakery he had never been to- let alone heard of teetering on the edge of the cut. the blonde held his tongue when you initially offered the location of the establishment you had the liberty of choosing, mentioning that they had a kids menu the girls would enjoy. he wondered if you regularly brought his children to places near or on the poorer side of the island, knowing how firmly against he was on the subject.

it had always been a point of contention between you two that you could never fully assimilate to kook culture. despite your mother becoming a successful name in the real estate business through pure dedication and hard work in your freshman year, you never wanted to take full advantage of it. rafe couldn’t forget your old car, one that was still parked outside of your mother’s house the last time he checked. a violet 1965 chevrolet impala that had been passed down from your grandmother after she died. the doors were squeaky, handles slightly sticky, the silver bumper rusted some, and the paint was chipped, but you refused to get rid of it. it was only until rafe threatened to have the piece of junk towed if you ever thought about driving his children around in that metal death trap that you folded. instead, you picked a sensible audi as your new car when he took you to the dealership a few weeks before your separation. a model so unlike either of you much to his chagrin.

speaking of, your vintage handbag that was speckled with age and decorated with cutesy keychains no doubt picked out by your daughters, jingled in the summer breeze when you stepped out of his car. despite how much your stubbornness and individuality got on his nerves, rafe couldn’t deny that you still held his heart after all these years. you stuck by him till the end of the line. endured his mood swings, his violent tendencies, his addiction, all because you loved him. he couldn’t fault you for leaving when it got to its worst, especially since it was for the sake of your girls. your tearful voice still echoed in his ears as if it were yesterday. i can’t have them growing up in this house thinking that this is what love should feel like, rafe. i can’t. you can’t seriously want someone like you as their example for marriage.

that had kept rafe up at night for months after you moved out.

before he could pull rosy out of her car seat, the blonde heard your soft melodic voice singing from the other side of the vehicle. the short haired man straightened up slowly, as if disbelieving of the sound.

you were cast in a beacon of sunlight. the early summer morning glowing against your stunning complexion that your daughters’ shared. he hadn’t said anything about your darling mini dress when you had opened your front door only a half hour ago, just stared for a moment too long before stepping past you inside. rafe wasn’t sure how to verbalize that every time he saw you, you reminded him that nobody else could ever hold a candle to how gorgeous you were.

the eldest cameron inevitably grew up since you discovered you were pregnant. having shaved off his juvenile curtain bangs, swapping his colourful polos and graphic tees with button down dress shirts and neutral designer short sleeves. wearing the family ring on his finger with pride, along with a watch that cost more than the house you grew up in on his wrist. replacing his dirt bike with a number of luxury cars, each more expensive than the last. despite that, he couldn’t deny that it seemed like not a second had passed since the first time he saw you in that bar cart, all those reinventions of himself ago.

you were still the sweetest girl in the outer banks apparently. only with him, now, you were more reserved. speaking when spoken to and keeping details concise- just in case he had to fly out the door that next minute to tend to a number of other responsibilities a man like him had. wheezie kept him updated. you still smiled at everyone you came across, kook or pogue- your daughters’ following in suit, sharing your sweetness. the residents of outer banks only had nice things to say about his family. rafe regularly heard about you picking some flowers for the elderly woman who lived down the road from your home, as her son was one of his business partners’.

a few weeks ago, you had donated some of the twins’ old toys that they explicitly said they didn’t play with to unprivileged children on the cut. after he heard about that one- he immediately drove to your house to confront you- the gifts for his daughters’ meaning more to him than you had initially realized. even still, you were under the impression that his assistant had been picking them out. sensing he felt as if you were donating his affection.

you were perfect in every sense of the word, and rafe couldn’t help the feeling of your small hand squeezing around his heart- unable to look away from where you and your eldest daughter were singing a song he didn’t recognize. the grip her little hands had on your shoulders tightened after you lifted her up, swinging her around as best you could- much to her delight.

rafe jumped when he felt a tiny hand pull on his left fingers, absent from a wedding band. you two hadn’t gotten that far before everything went to shit. the sun kissed man looked down, your doe eyes staring back up at him from where your youngest daughter was still sat in her car seat. his adams apple bobbed with a harsh swallow, quickly unbuckling the little girl before plopping her on his hip. the scent of the baby shampoo you still used on rosy’s hair wafted up to rafe’s nose after the toddler quietly rested her head in the crook of his neck. a dull ache pulsed behind his cobalt eyes when he remembered his little girl as a baby. the chub in her cheeks had softened since then, and rafe knew her features would only keep growing in every day he wasn’t there.

the exterior of the bakery was painted a deep green shade, and valentine had excitedly commented on how it was the same colour as your neighbour’s new ‘boyfriend’ (engagement) ring. inferiority wormed it’s way into rafe’s chest, a feeling that seemed to make itself known when he was faced with the topic of marriage and companionship. you were raised by a single mother yourself. your father having skipped out on the two of you before you learned how to walk. rafe knew you appreciated everything he did for you, but he wasn’t blind when faced with that bittersweet look in your eyes every time your daughters would mention something rafe had no knowledge of. wether it be a show, something funny that had happened earlier that week, or something you had done.

the four of you walked through the open glass door, with rafe managing to hide his surprise at the charm of the small hole in the wall bakery. the bottom half of the walls were painted a warm butter yellow, the tops cream with matching engraved trimmings, paired with deep grey tiled floors, and a small strip of patterned green carpet that ran beneath the petite tables on the right hand side of the establishment. each small circular table was decorated with a clear vase of stemmed flowers, coinciding with the decorative floral piece that hung from the middle of the ceiling. a leather booth seat ran down the entire right hand wall of the seating area, turning the corner with a window that faced the lot. the left hand side showcased a matching window, displaying freshly baked bread, along with a glass case of sweet and savoury baked treats. behind the long counter and barista machines was a wooden board displaying the menu, which admittedly looked delicious to rafe.

before he could even speak, a short haired woman walked out from behind the serving counter. “hey, you!” rafe watched intently at the way your expression instantly brightened at the sight of the mystery woman. her quirky mushroom crocheted earrings bobbed when she gave you a hug as best she could with valentine between you. jesus, rafe rolled his eyes. it was as if he wasn’t even in the room when the employee started speaking. “i’m so glad you’re here! i was going to text you! architectural digest is doing a segment on flowers in public spaces, and they came in this morning to take photos of your display.”

rafe could’ve dropped rosy at that statement, his pink lips falling agape. architectural digest? your floral display? you made-?

“what?” your normally soothing voice was a mix between incredulous and excitement, teary with emotion. valentine’s cobalt gaze finally tore away from the treats, her eyebrows furrowing in concern at the crystals balancing along her mother’s waterline.

“you- you made that?” rafe asked dumbly, mildly embarrassed at the way his question came out. the employee seemed to register rafe then, her fading smile bleeding with recognition. the cameron man hardened his expression to mask his various feelings at that look, tightening his tense lips before sending a poisonous glare in the short haired woman’s direction. she answered before you did, her initially friendly tone now clipped.

“she did. she’s been making them for us since we opened last year.” guilt immediately flooded the man’s rigid body. last year? how had you- the mother of his children- been making floral displays for the last year, and architectural digest knew before he did? rafe turned to look at you, but you stayed silent, choosing to bounce valentine in your arms to avoid his intense glare. frustration began to seep into rafe’s veins, filtering out the guilt in the only way he knew how.

“she’s always been quite humble, hasn’t she?” it would have been a sweet sentiment, had rafe’s bass toned voice not been coated with distain. why hadn’t you told him this was something you were interested in? something you wanted to pursue? how did you even have the time to do this? who was watching his children when you were doing this?

the short haired woman turned to look at you, her hardened expression softening at the weak smile of embarrassment you sent her unbeknownst to rafe. “well, i bought a hundred copies. along with two extras for you and your mom.”

you gasped, unable to do anything but protest. “sandra, you didn’t-“

sandra, only laughed as if it had been the easiest decision in the world. “of course i did, and to say thank you for bringing ad to the bakery, lunch is on me today. anything you and the kids want.” valentine laughed when sandra tickled her tummy with her pointer finger, causing you to finally smile brightly once again. the two of you hugged tightly once more before sandra left your family to their own devices, another kind looking employee standing on deck behind the counter for when you four made your decision.

“we’re not done talkin’ about this.” rafe harshly broke the silence between your little family. you didn’t respond, only leading the way to a corner table that would allow you two the most room in the albeit empty bakery. there were only two other people enjoying what was assumed to be a coffee date on the other end of the establishment. rafe bitterly couldn’t help but wonder how sandra made any money if her bakery was this empty on a friday morning.

your twins were silent, meeting each others eyes with seemingly twin telepathy. you and rafe didn’t notice when you both sat down on either side of the corner booth, too engrossed in your own thoughts with valentine and rosy in your laps respectively. “mommy, can we have treats later?” valentine peaked up at you unsurely, foreign to the somber energy you were radiating.

tears threatened to drip down your throat. you were so unsure of how a man who had given you the two greatest and sweetest things in your life could be so mean when he wanted to be. “of course, baby. mommy wants some too. we just need to eat some real food first.”

“what d’you girls want?” rafe asked your daughters, addressing them for seemingly the first time today besides his initial hugs and hellos. you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, bouncing valentine on your lap much to her delight while you scanned the kids menu.

“they have pancake cereal.” you managed to put on a grin for your children, valentine and rosy gasping with excitement once they realized what you had said. rafe furrowed his eyebrows, reading over what that was.

mini pancake cereal

fluffy, house made, mini buttermilk and vanilla pancakes with fresh strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries.

comes with your choice of whip cream, maple syrup, or mixed berry compote

“can we please get it, mommy!” rosy exclaimed, one of her tiny fists balling rafe’s black polo in it’s grasp, her other arm clutching her new bunny stuffie to her chest. rafe’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, never having heard his youngest speak so loud unless she was playing tag with her sister. she was usually so shy in her father’s mind. you laughed sweetly, as if you were expecting it.

as if it were a regular occurrence.

“of course we can, lovie.” your ex felt his heart swell and break simultaneously while watching you with the twins. you were such an amazing mother. it was so clear you adored them, and in turn they adored you. rafe swallowed dryly when the kids began to babble nonsense about this supposed pancake cereal, letting himself look at you properly. his cobalt eyes raked across the serene slopes of your face, catching sight of the sparkly eyeshadow and rosy lipgloss that decorated your angelic features. it was like you to put in the extra effort on your appearance when going anywhere, something rafe admired heavily about you when you first started dating, but he couldn’t help but wonder if you had put in a little extra effort for him this time. it had been years since the pair of you went out like this, only now you had two children who emulated your beauty to a tee.

“what’re you getting?” you seemed shocked that he was speaking to you, figuring you would get the silent treatment. rafe sighed through his nose, knowing if he wanted this to be a regular occurrence, he couldn’t let his anger get the better of him. you didn’t deserve that- no matter how much he made you feel like you did. you watched carefully when his large hand began stroking rosy’s back- as if he had been doing it her whole life. rafe gritted his teeth momentarily, looking away before catching sight of the floral display that hung from the ceiling.

it’s textures were dazzling. a tilted silhouette made up of beiges, hints of yellows, pinks, and whites. vines, cotton ball flowers, feathered plants, and dried flowers were among the many plants it contained. it was masterfully chaotic, and acted as a skillful conduit for the outside to match the in. “it’s beautiful- your- uh, your installation, i mean.” rafe caught himself. “i wish that i-“ he bit his lip, chuckling humourlessly at the fact that he could speak to a whole conference room composed of the most powerful businessmen in the country, but couldn’t tell you the truth. “i-i wish that i knew that part of you.”

he avoided your eyes, unknowing to the way they softened at his quiet admission. you knew that took a lot for him to admit, to be vulnerable after everything that’s happened. it wasn’t even a fraction of enough to get you back to the highest of highs in your relationship, but it was the strongest start in a long time. “thank you, rafe.” rafe looked at you then, ignoring the goosebumps that travelled up his arms at the way you said his name. you were blissfully unaware that he just narrowly avoided asking all the questions that balanced on the tip of his tongue. “do you know what you’re getting?”

“i’ll do the same.” rafe decided quickly, your eyebrows furrowing when you realized you hadn’t told him what you wanted yet. his eyes widened a moment later in realization, clearing his throat to the side before mumbling quietly. “you- uh, you always used to get the vegetarian hash at the country club for brunch. jus’ thought you would do the same here.”

a sharp gasp left your glossy lips. you couldn’t believe he remembered that. thankfully, valentine spoke up before you could internalize what that meant. “mommy, could i get orange juice? rosy wants apple.”

rafe held rosy in his strong arms, cradling the little girl to his chest much to your rapidly melting facade. it was completely different watching him interact with them in public. only having seen him somewhat cautiously playing with your daughters’ on your living room rug under your watchful eyes, or scooping them up for a quick hug when he came through the front door at the beginning and end of his visits. “‘course, baby.” rafe answered for you. valentine spared her father a look before turning back towards you for the final verdict. your doe eyes flitted towards your ex, immediately noticing how enamoured he was with rosy on his lap, gazing at her relaxed form with pure adoration. your heart raced at the little grin that spread across his pink lips, rosy staring back at her father with the same agape lips that rafe was often known for supporting.

you spoke up after ensuring both juices were on the menu. “of course, val’s, but you don’t have to ask only me. you can ask daddy too.” rafe inhaled a sharp breath, in utter disbelief that you had just acknowledged him like that. a genuine smile directed towards him spread across your lips for the first time that morning. “coffee. black. no sugar?”

there was something in rafe’s cerulean eyes that gleamed, glittering with cautious hope before he whispered. “yeah. only if you get an oat chai.”

once the food had been brought out, and your girls’ fruit juices had been poured into their travel sippy cups, the four of you began to eat. sandra had gotten the chef to make the pancakes extra mini, allowing the girls’ to use their hands and chew their breakfast safely. still, rafe and yourself stood by in case they needed help.

“s’it good, baby?” rafe whispered to rosy, smiling softly at her nod before pressing a gentle kiss to the chub of her soft cheek. unable to help himself, his calloused fingers pinched valentine’s identical chubby cheek, chuckling at her little grin.

it was clear to both of you that valentine was a leader, taking after rafe in that way. she always looked out for rosy. asking her questions that she could answer yes or no to, letting her parents know what her shy little sister wanted in case she didn’t want to speak. she was fiercely protective and intuitive, which is why you found that she often assessed your reactions with rafe. she loved her father, but you could tell she was having a harder time completely warming up to the man in front of her. meanwhile, rosy was more than happy to fulfill her role as a daddy’s girl. though it made you nervous for when rafe inevitably had to leave. you tried not to think about it, quickly putting on a smile. “what do you say to daddy, lovies?”

“tank you.”

“tank you, dada.”

rafe felt his breath catch in his throat for the twentieth time that morning. it meant more to him than he realized having them acknowledge something so little like breakfast. it was different than toys, a gift. this was time spent with their father, and they were thanking him. the blonde blinked, a wide smile eventually spreading across his pink lips. “you’re welcome. thanks for comin’ out with me today.” despite him looking at your daughters’, you knew the last part was directed towards you. quietly, you reached your left hand out, rafe finally noticing the promise ring he had given you at the height of his addiction adorning your ring finger. it was a smaller gemstone than he would’ve liked, but he knew you wouldn’t have appreciated something so flashy. he hadn’t seen it since your separation. your birthstone stared back at rafe, and immediately his right hand caught yours before you could change your mind.

the pair of you tensed up at the feeling of your hands meeting, before eventually relaxing once the initial sparks subsided. rafe gently ran his thumb over the back of your hand, travelling down to the ring he had given you in the bed of his old truck, parked at the beach all those years ago. it had been a final resort to keep you from leaving him, knowing he couldn’t do the right thing and let you go despite his addiction taking control of his life. rafe could feel the guilt beginning to swirl in his stomach, parting his lips before valentine giggled mischievously.

“mommy and daddy sittin’ in a tree-“ rafe froze, multiple scoldings halted at the hint of shyness that cloaked your giddy expression. you could believe how cheeky your daughters were being in public, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the fire engine red shade that burned atop your ex’s now bare ears.

rosy joined with a delighted laugh. “k-i-s-s-r-o-t.“ you both laughed at the misspelling, letting go of each others hands almost reluctantly. rafe chuckled again before kissing rosy’s head who giggled. your manicured fingers tickled valentine’s tummy playfully, the little girl squirming in delight at the feeling. the sight of your little family together like this had you wishing that it could feel like this all the time. like rafe had been there everyday since the twins came into this world. that he didn’t have to pull several strings to get a day off for the first time in months. you blinked back your approaching tears, hiding your bittersweet smile from behind your lukewarm oat chai.

after cleaning the girls’ up, and rafe admittedly buying too many treats for just the four of you to go- which you promised the girls as dessert that night despite their pleading- you were driving back to your house. it was a gorgeous day out. the sun not even at it’s peak yet despite the heat already making itself more than known to the residents of outer banks. your manicured nails flicked together in contemplation, the feelings of finality weighing heavily in the luxury car. you knew rafe wouldn’t push for more time today. it was a mutual understanding that he was on thin ice, and this visit would be on your terms, but would it be so wrong that you wanted him to stay?

“lovies, do you wanna have a pool day today?” the girls’ cheered before you could take it back. despite the underground pool that took over most of your backyard, you were terrified at the thought of the girls starting to learn how to swim. they were still so little in your mind. so you conceded, buying them a larger than normal pink kiddy pool in the shape of a heart for pool days. you figured this was something you should speak to rafe about, along with a number of things the quicker your girls’ seemed to grow up. while the toddlers talked amongst themselves, you hesitantly rested your hand on rafe’s shoulder at a red light, feeling the muscle tense before relaxing beneath your palm. “you can join too.” the blonde man turned to look at you then, flickering his eyes over your soft expression before nodding in agreement.

rafe stored the treats in your refrigerator while you got the girls’ dressed in their swimsuits. he had a pair of black swim shorts in the trunk of his car, leftover from when topper or kelce had decided they wanted to spontaneously go to the beach a few weeks ago. you had asked him to fill the pool up after he got dressed, which confused him at first, but now he could see the heart shaped kiddy pool about fifteen paces away from the actual pool. the man couldn’t help but chuckle, rolling his eyes half heartedly before he got to work.

once the pool was about halfway filled with lukewarm water- he’d be damned if his babies were cold- he heard the patio door slide open. rafe looked up, spotting the twins dressed in their matching frilly bathing suits with protective hairstyles. valentine’s was a pale teal colour, and rosy’s a vibrant magenta. rafe was ashamed to say he still got the twins mixed up until a few months ago, remedied after he had gifted them little gold necklaces with a ‘v’ and ‘r’ respectively. you had smiled softly at his admission, letting him know that the only way you were able to tell them apart at first was because wheezie had painted one of each of their toenails a different colour. rafe ignored the pang in his chest when you told him that. wishing he could’ve seen it. wishing that he could’ve looked up from his own reflection long enough to help you out more.

their little feet padded up to rafe, standing on either side of his knelt down form as he continued to hold the hose into the pool. rosy’s short fingers reached out to touch the stream of water, flinching away while hissing out a giggle at the funny feeling. rafe grinned, chuckling when valentine cutely dipped her spread out toes into the shallow water, her little hands keeping herself steady on rafe’s shoulder. suddenly, he heard the clacking of heeled sandals, whipping his head up towards the sound before his jaw dropped.

it wasn’t as if rafe hadn’t looked at you romantically since your separation. it was no question that you were the most sought after girl in the outer banks- before and after- the eldest cameron had finally managed to lock you down. he hadn’t slept with you- or anyone else believe it or not- since the breakup. the father of your children had only caught pg 13 moments of you when he was lucky. like a stray bra strap showing when the shoulder of your loose sweaters would fall, or the lace of your panties that had peaked out from beneath your mini skirts on more than one occasion. it had him fucking his fist as soon as he crossed the threshold of his home in a way he hadn’t since he first started puberty, but fuck. rafe really didn’t think you could get any more gorgeous, especially after having his twins. he was wrong. so, so wrong.

a stringy bikini left little to the imagination, revealing your rich complexion that glittered with some sort of oil. the bottom strings were tied high on your hips in bows, while the top was tied behind your neck and between your shoulder blades. you didn’t look exactly the same as you did before of course, but god you looked so much better to rafe. your tits were heavier for lack of a better term, and your bottom had filled out, more perky, rounder. the blonde wasn’t aware of what he was doing until valentine squealed, the hose water spraying her chubby legs rather than filling the pool. he swore softly under his breath, cursing to himself silently afterwards when he remembered he wasn’t supposed to do that in front of the girls. rafe gently pulled valentine further into the sun, giving her nose little butterfly kisses in apology before allowing her to hold the hose for him. rosy glued herself to rafe’s other side, her chubby arms wrapping behind his neck with her warm cheek pressing against his. the elder man smiled widely, wrapping his other arm around his youngest daughter before placing a kiss along her cheek.

unbeknownst to rafe, you weren’t fairing any better either. he had somehow filled out even more since the two of you had broken up. his skin was just as golden as it always had been, prompting his shaved blonde hair, strong bone structure dotted with golden stubble, and blue eyes to stand out that much more. his biceps bulged while he hugged your daughters, their little hands pressed against the defined muscles of his shoulders and back. you bit your bottom lip, sitting down on a stray poolside chair before calling out. “sweethearts. sunscreen time.”

“but mommy-“ valentine whined softly, her feet already dipped in the now filled up pool from where she stood inside of it. rafe stroked the little girl’s back, chiding her softly.

“c’mon now, listen to mommy.” your heart swelled. “we’ll make it quick.” your eldest grumbled half heartedly, her little humph morphing into an excited squeal when rafe playfully lifted her up with an exaggerated groan. both little girls on his hips cheered with delight, held six feet up in the air as if they weighed nothing.

oh god, you were done for.

“can you do mine, dada?” rosy asked sweetly, gently playing with his rope chain necklace from where she laid in the crook of his neck. rafe couldn’t stop his heart from melting, unable to deny his girls anything- unless you said so, of course. maybe.

“‘course i can, baby.” valentine reached out for you, rafe handing her off before sitting on the grassy ground in front of you. the other pool chair too far from you and val for his comfort. you bit your glossy bottom lip, giggling at the way your eldest squirmed at the cool feeling of the sunscreen. practically lifting all of her limbs at you like a spider monkey to somehow make the process go faster.

a few minutes later, rafe had gotten your youngest daughter pretty much covered besides her face, which he took his sweet time with. you furrowed your eyebrows at the way he applied the sun cream with his fingertips, rosy turned away from you. it wasn’t until he turned your youngest daughter around to reveal a little white nose and slightly messy kitten whiskers made from sunscreen, that you laughed louder than expected. valentine gasped, giggling along with you much to rosy’s confusion. quickly, you pulled out your phone, snapping a few too many pictures of your oblivious daughter and an amused rafe behind her. “i want one too!” valentine hopped off your lap, running to her father before presenting her already sun screened face.

you showed the pictures to a curious rosy while rafe got to work, giggling at her little gasp and toothy grin at the artwork on her face. after snapping “a few” more pictures of your little kittens, they ran off into the pool, toys of their choosing scattered throughout the water. you smiled at the way rafe didn’t take his eyes off of them, turning your chair horizontally much to his confusion. “c’mon, we can share it.” the blonde got up after a beat, sitting down while you stood above him. “d’you want a beer?”

a careful eyebrow raised itself on his handsome face. “you tryna’ get me drunk?” rafe naturally smirked when you rolled your eyes sexily, dragging his cerulean gaze up and down your perfect form while you walked back inside the house to get said beer.

soon, you returned with two small coolers filled with ice. the one you placed next to rafe had a few imported beers from mexico, and some drinks for yourself. the ones for your daughters next to their kitty pool held sippy cups of watered down juice, and little bottles of water.

handing an open beer to rafe, you sat next to him beneath the large umbrella above the pool chair. he thanked you, clinking your drinks for good luck before taking a sip. the pair of you sat quietly for a few moments, basking in the heat while watching your daughters play in their pool a few feet away. rafe scrunched his nose suddenly, stroking the back of his neck before leaning forwards- elbows to knees. “so uh.. tell me about your flower installations.”

you smiled softly, shrugging. “i don’t really know what to say. i..” rafe turned to look at you, admiring the way your expression softened when thinking about something that clearly brought you joy. you looked hopeful. such a contrast from the stoicism and defeat you exhibited when you were with him. “you remember topper’s ex girlfriend? ruthie?”

your ex scoffed out a laugh at that, sipping his beer before nodding. “yeah. i remember her.” amused giggles left your lips, reminiscing about how tumultuous their relationship had been when you were only teenagers.

“well, she invited me to her wedding two years ago-“

“no.” rafe laughed incredulously. “you went to that?” you hid your face in your left hand to mask your laughter, birthstone catching his eyes again. before he could overthink it, he nudged your thigh with his playfully. “kay. so after you watched her uncle kiss her cousin, what happened-?”

“oh god. i wasn’t there long enough for that. the girls were at my mom’s and rosy caught a cold somehow-“

“what?” rafe’s relaxed demeanour went rigid. you turned your focus to him, a sad smile painting your lips when you took in his reaction. “why didn’t you call me-?”

“i tried. your phone kept going to voicemail, so i called your assistant and they said you were on business, and that they would let you know i called.” rafe’s mouth fell agape, sighing irritatedly before pinching the bridge of his nose to will away his oncoming tension headache. he hadn’t been away for business. he had taken topper to his bahamas vacation house to drink away his sorrows like a sorority girl. he couldn’t believe- “but she was fine the next morning. the paediatrician told us it was only a twenty-four hour cold. so when you called back, i didn’t want to worry you-“

rafe grabbed your hand before he could stop himself, immediately softening his hold when you flinched out of habit. the elder man swallowed then, eyes filled with anguish before gradually tilting his head forwards to show you he meant no harm. “you don’t ever worry about worrying me, or bothering me. not when- not when it comes to the girls.. and- and especially not when it comes to you, a-a’ight-?“ he cut himself off while he was ahead, unsure of how to continue without ruining more than he already had. you set down your drink, pulling your smaller hand out of his grip softly much to his disappointment. shockingly though, your palms enveloped the sides of his face. rafe spared a look at you, afraid to even breathe at the risk of breaking the moment. as if it were the easiest decision of your life, you stroked the soft pad of your thumb over the approaching wrinkles along his forehead, softening the tension in his face as best you could. gently, you placed a feather soft kiss to the same area, eyes watering at the sound of the shaky breath that left the man who still held your heart after everything.

“i promise.”

the sound of ice pouring into water caught both of your attentions, snapping your heads towards the kitty pool that was now bobbing with ice cubes. valentine gently dropped the empty cooler on the grass, bottles fallen beside it. she placed her sunglasses over her eyes with a sigh before laying in the pool next to her sister- who looked equally as relaxed. your jaw dropped at the way their little arms rested behind their heads, unable to hold back your laughter after rafe commented incredulously. “there’s no way that just happened.”

you attempted to cover your mouth, but just couldn’t stop laughing. “in case you were unsure that val was yours-“

“that has you written all over it! are you kidding?” you knew rafe wasn’t mad despite his indignant tone, his smile threatening to take over his entire face. you giggled, even while standing up to reach for a beach umbrella behind you. “what’re you doing?”

“i’m just gonna go set this up by their little pool. they must be so hot-“ before you could even blink, rafe took the umbrella from your hands. you couldn’t help but stand there dumbly, your ex flicking his head back in the direction of the pool chair.

“relax. i got it, mama.” a red hot desire burst through your veins at how easily those words left his mouth, forgetting how slick it could be. as if that weren’t enough, rafe tucked his head down to place a chapped kiss along your cheekbone, already on his way to your daughters before you could register what had happened.

you could still feel rafe’s kiss on your cheek and his warm face beneath your palms even after he returned to your side. he sat closer to you this time, and you couldn’t believe how giddy you felt. especially after everything that had happened between you two since your first meeting at the country club as teenagers. you birthed his children for gods sake, but it felt as if you had just held hands on the playground for all your classmates to see. “i think they should start learning how to swim. what uh, what d’you think?”

you blinked, watching your girls who were as cool as cucumbers relaxing in their kiddy pool. “i’m afraid i’ve turned them into pool loungers and they wouldn’t like it.” rafe laughed at that, sipping his beer with a warm smile. the kids had lifted up their sunglasses momentarily at his arrival, pretending to be nonchalant but giggling madly when he attacked them with kisses after setting up their umbrella. “but we can try. maybe we could teach them next weekend in the big pool. the shallow end is only three feet.”

“yeah, yeah i can do that.” rafe nodded to himself. “i have a few meetings on friday, but i’ll clear my schedule for the weekend. that work for you?”

“you’d be able to get the whole weekend off?” you didn’t mean to sound disbelieving, but you also needed to make sure that rafe wasn’t making promises to your girls’ that he couldn’t keep. you had been down that road before, and they didn’t deserve that.

the eldest cameron sighed through his nose, quite literally shrugging off your concerns. “it’s my company. i should get the weekend off. simple as that.” you immediately raised a manicured brow at that. where was simple as that when you were deciding baby names? nursery colours? having cravings, morning sickness, giving birth, changing diapers, staying up for hours into the early morning when the twins wouldn’t stop crying? where was simple as that when he missed watching their first steps, hearing their first words, potty training? times two? but yes, the mountain of toys falling off their playroom shelves was enough consolation. two hours a week at most with their father was apparently enough. all the money in the world and he couldn’t tell them apart unless he was able to see the initials strung around their necks. “what?” rafe seemed genuinely confused at the way you shut down, and that was the worst of all. he genuinely couldn’t fathom how much of your life you had given to your children.

you were still so young when you had gotten pregnant. it happened during your year off after high school graduation, you hadn’t even been with rafe for a year, hadn’t even been legal enough to drink. still, ward- albeit geriatric- insisted, stating an abortion would be preposterous, and rafe listened to him. it was no question that you loved your children more than anything else in the world. you would never regret having them for a second. except you couldn’t believe that rafe had promised you he would be there for you, that he loved you, but still left you alone during the most difficult time of your life. all for ward. rafe was able to grow up. rafe was able to reinvent himself. rafe was able to leave when things got hard, and rafe was able to come back anytime he wanted because you let him.

“mommy? i need a towel. gotta go potty.” rosy tugged at your hand, lifting you out of your stupor. you snapped into action, picking up the fluffy pink towel behind you and drying your daughter off as quickly as you could.

“do you need me to come with you?”

rosy shook her head, already running into the house as fast as her legs could carry her. “no. i gotta pee!”

rafe chuckled from behind his beer, but you didn’t see anything funny about the possibility of your daughter having an accident. “where’re you going? she said she’s fine-“

“she could’ve had an accident, and i’m not making her walk out here to tell me. i need you to watch val.” you both turned to catch the girl quickly looking away from your conversation, resuming playing with her toys. “i think you can manage that much.”

“hey-“ rafe’s larger hand just managed to grab your wrist, but you pulled it away twice as rough, moving back a few steps. the man opposite to you immediately stood up, his once intimidating height appearing smaller and smaller the more you let yourself think about the past few years. confusion bled into his hurt expression, his hushed irritation only adding to your turmoil. “c’mon. what’s going on-?”

“you-“ you lowered your voice suddenly to keep val from hearing you. cursing yourself for how it wobbled with tears, teetering on the edge of a sob. rafe could only watch helplessly. that’s all he’s ever been able to do. “you choose when you come and go. you get to break promis-es.” a wet hiccup left your lips, quickly cut off by your shaking left hand. your ‘promise ring’ felt more like a shackle with everyday you spent apart from the man in front of you. rafe’s mouth fell agape, taken aback at how quickly everything had shifted. a watery smile drew itself over your trembling lips, doe eyes staring up at the man in front of you with an eerie sense of glee that withered away the longer they did. “but time is a thief, and he’s robbing you blind, rafe.” rafe swallowed dryly, twisting his face and shifting on his feet before his fail safe expression made an appearance. every feature of his, especially the ones your daughters’ shared, became devoid of any kind of emotion. you sniffled pitifully, wanting to curse yourself for being so stupid. for believing that he loved you despite his first reaction being aloof condescension at the discovery of your achievements. for believing that he abandoned you and the children he forced you to bring into this world because he had no other choice. for believing him about anything. “no amount of money in this world will ever be able to change that.”

with that, you dashed into the house after rosy, missing the way rafe’s stoic expression crumbled behind you.

#i’m really proud of this one tee hee #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x reader angst #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #dad!rafe au #girl dad!rafe #dad!rafe cameron #rafe cameron obx #obx fanfiction #14-02-21 #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

2K notes · View notes

bloodibambiidoll · 2 months ago

Text

Nasty Girl ⟡˖ Older!Rafe Cameron x Perv!Reader ⟡˖

✰ Rafe is an arrogant dick, over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss, you shouldn’t want anything to do with him. So why can’t you stay away? ✰

۶♡ৎ This is a request from my angel @babygorewhore I love you sm, this one’s for you pookie ۶♡ৎ

✰ Age gap (Rafe is early 40s reader is mid 20s), Obsessive behaviors, perverted acts involving panties, gagging, choking, spit kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, pillow humping, pussy eating, cum eating, size kink 18+MNDI ✰

You can’t stand Rafe Cameron. And the fact that you’re so obsessed with him only makes you hate him more. No matter how much you hated the way he walked around like he owned the world, or the rotating door of women he brings around, you can’t shake this irresistible pull he has on you. You shouldn’t feel this way, not only is Rafe a huge dick he’s also over a decade older than you and your dad’s boss. It started off small, stealing glances at him every time you visited your dad at work, dressing in your most revealing dresses and skirts to his work events, making off handed comments and brushing past him when there was clearly room to go around. It wasn’t until you caught him in a bathroom with some lanky blonde bent over the counter while noises that resembled a crow left her body that you finally lost it.

You decided to leave the company charity event early, making sure to pass Rafe’s car and leave your tiny pink thong on his side-view mirror. He wouldn’t know they were yours, but he would know that they didn’t belong to the girl he was currently balls deep inside of because you saw her coral thong pushed to the side. After that it was like you couldn’t stop. You started leaving your panties anywhere you’d think Rafe would find them. In his office on his desk or the chair, his car became a favorite, you even managed to loop one around his drink while he wasn’t looking at the country club once. After the first few pairs you started leaving dirty photos of yourself along with them. Not showing your face, of course. Just shots of your ass and tits, always matching the underwear you planned to leave. You thought about maybe just texting or even emailing them to him but your dad gave him both of those things “in case of emergency”. So you decided to do it old school and take photos on your Polaroid. It was sexier that way, anyway.

But you haven’t done anything like what you’re about to do. You’re upstairs with the sound of loud voices all drowned together barely making it through the thick, high floors beneath you. It didn’t take you long to find Rafe’s room. A double door at the end of the long hall with gold ornate knobs was very clearly the master. You also weren’t surprised he had a keypad lock on his door, especially throwing a party like this. Your dad and his coworkers are everyday businessmen to the sivlian eye but behind closed doors they’re into some pretty deep criminal shit. Luckily you already managed to break into his laptop. It was almost too easy, he navigates technology like a grandpa even though he’s only forty. You had a passing thought about teaching him a more efficient way to organize his work laptop but you quickly shut it down. You’re supposed to hate him. Even if you him to fuck you until you can hardly breathe. He had a whole entire document of passwords and key combinations and you may have written all of them down. So you easily slipped inside after entering the numbers on the keypad.

You spent some time looking around and it was about what you expected. Sleek, expensive furniture, no decorations, the white walls bare aside from a random picture of a boat near the window. It's so clean it almost seems like no one lives here but you assume that’s probably due to the cleaners. You go through his drawers, nothing of interest really, unless you count all the clothes you could potentially steal. His bathroom is just as clean as his room and you can’t help but smirk when you notice a full skin care routine sitting on his counter. So vain. But, you can’t deny a man who is invested in his hygiene is extremely sexy. You smell his expensive colognes, his body wash, even his fucking shampoo. You inhale every single one like it’s your drug of choice. Though, you’re sure they smell a million times better on his skin, mixed with his musk.

After spending some time snooping, your focus turns back to the real reason you came in here. You walk into his large walk-in closet and flick on the light. There’s a glass jewelry case in the middle, filled with designer watches, rings, chains, and sunglasses. You approach it and try to pull open the top drawer when you’re met with resistance, you notice another combination lock. But a lightbulb goes off in your head, remembering the key code marked “jewelry case” before pulling out your phone, finding the numbers and unlocking the drawer with a click. The first drawer is, as expected, more jewelry that matches the items in the display case above. The second drawer though, that’s a different story. When you slide it open instead of expensive designer, it’s filled with lace and silk.

Every single pair of your panties you’ve left for him are in this drawer, along with the Polaroids stacked neatly. Upon closer inspection you notice that they’re covered not just in your cum, but his too. It has your pussy nearly dripping, you were already wet from the minute you saw him earlier tonight but now you can feel your slick dripping down your inner thighs, causing them to stick together under your micro dress. You have to practically drag yourself away from the sight of your underwear under lock and key, almost like they’re treasure, covered in a mixture of Rafe's cum and your own.

You look around the rest of the space and the entire span of the closet is lined with his clothes hanging on wracks. One side is clearly business attire and the other is more casual. Though there isn’t a huge difference, you’ve never seen Rafe in jeans and a t-shirt. You can’t decide if the thought is more sexy or comical. It’s hard to imagine him being well, relaxed. You grab a black button up before exiting the closet, undoing the buttons as you go. A thousand dirty fantasies run through your mind as your eyes roam over the king sized bed. But there’s one you can make a reality right now. The whole reason you came in here. You grab one of his silk pillows and wrap his shirt around it before placing it in the middle of the bed. You turn around to grab your Polaroid out of your bag and then crawl onto the mattress, mounting the pillow. You don’t bother taking your fuzzy platform heels off either, he can sleep on the grime from the bottom of your shoes along with the juices from your pussy for all you care.

You start off slow, running your hands along your body, groping your tits through the faux leather of your dress, imagining that they’re Rafe’s much larger hands. It doesn’t take you long to get worked up, your juices starting to make the cloth underneath you slick. You're so wet that when you start to jerk your hips back and forth on the pillow that you practically glide. The lace of your thong gets pulled tighter, adding extra pressure to your puffy clit. Your dress rides up your hips, revealing your ass and the plush of your thighs as your hips start to speed up. Once you start to really get into it you pull your panties to the side and yank the zipper that goes all the way down the front of your dress down your chest so your tits can spill out. You switch up the movement of your hips every few moments, rotating between using the pillow for leverage and running your hands down your body.

You start to get so lost in the throes of pleasure you almost forget where you are entirely until your white sock covered shin smacks against your pink polaroid camera. You smirk to yourself in remembrance as you pluck it from the bed and turn it on. You hold it above yourself while you press your tits together and spread your legs far enough to show your mound on top of his shirt and snap a photo. You take more than one this time, using almost the entire roll taking pictures of your body from various angles. You shove your fingers in your mouth. Take photos of your tiny thong string nestled between your ass. You even take one with his shirt held up between your teeth. That ends up being the last photo because the smell of his cologne hits your nostrils and it has you inhaling deeply while your hips start to subconsciously grind down again.

Rafe practically felt like a madman as he tried for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes to get out of this conversation with your father and their business partner. Every single time he tried to slip away he was pulled back in somehow. But that didn’t stop his eyes from traveling to the tantalizing view on his phone screen every ten seconds. He felt like a cat who caught a mouse it’s been chasing for months. All without even trying. You lead yourself into a trap he didn’t even set and it couldn’t be more fucking perfect. The fact that you had no idea that his entire house was bugged with cameras that he could see directly in the palm of his hand made his cock twitch. Rafe checked his phone the minute he got the notification that someone was unlocking his bedroom door, ready to send security up there to grab a thief. But he was oh so pleasantly surprised when he saw it was you. You weren’t like any of the other girls he’s ever seen in all his time living on this island. Your platform shoes and dark make-up were utterly enticing to him and your bratty attitude made him want to bend you over his knee until you cried. He also knew you were a naughty girl, with a dirty little secret only he knew. Rafe’s obsession for you only grew by the day and now it was at an all time high.

He decided to let it play out for a bit. He watched as you surveyed his blank walls and rummaged through his drawers. Then you made your way into the bathroom and he watched as you greedily inhaled his colognes and body washes. You went into his closet and somehow unlocked his jewelry case. He’d have to figure out how you managed to learn his key codes later. His heartbeat sped up when you reached for the second drawer but the way you looked down at the trophies you had ever so graciously gifted him with elation only made his appetite for you nearly unbearable. What really sent him over the edge though was how you were currently strandling his pillow as you bucked your hips with his shirt held to your nose.

The entire scene had him losing his mind with lust and you just kept taking it further. He watched you pull your tits out, the way you took all those slutty pictures for him and he wished more than anything in the world he could turn his phone up to full volume so he could hear the pretty little moans leaving your lips. He could tell from the avid speed of your hips and the way your eyes are rolled back that you’re close to your end and he’ll be damned if he isn’t there to see it. He finally excuses himself under the guise of having to go to the bathroom and slips up the large staircase with ease.

You're so close. The pace of your hips is so quick that the entire bed shakes underneath you as delicious euphoria is seconds away. You have the corner of Rafe’s shirt grasped tightly in your fist as you hold it up to your nose. The cloth is pulled taunt against your clit just right, drool drips down your chin onto the black material as you take in Rafe’s scent. Heat washes over you and you moan with reckless abandon, too lost in your tidal wave of an orgasm to care if anyone can hear you.

“I knew you were a dirty girl, but this is even better than anything my mind ever could’a dreamed up…” The sound of Rafe’s voice makes you practically scream and you clutch his shirt over your chest on instinct. Your entire body heats as you take in his large form leaning against the closed bedroom door. His arms are crossed and he has probably the most smug smirk you’ve ever seen in your life painted on his face as he looks over at you through hooded eyes.

“Rafe! I - aren’t you supposed to be hosting a party?” You scoff and roll your eyes, clearly trying to change the subject when you’re the one who broke into his room.

“Well… you see…” Rafe stalks over to you like a predator that caught his prey and stops at the end of the bed. He places his large hands on the mattress so he can lean down only inches from your face, his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes travel down your body before connecting with your own. “This little unassuming mouse wandered into my den without even considering that I have eyes on every inch of this house.”

“How - how long have you been watching?” You clutch onto the shirt tighter, hiding your boobs and bare pussy even though he’s already seen both on multiple occasions. Something about him knowing it was you was making you suddenly nervous.

“Oh, sweetheart, I get a notification when someone opens that door… I saw everything. What do we have here?” His eyes are blue fire as they land on the Polaroids and he picks one up with delight before picking up another and another until he’s seen every single one. He sets them aside in a neat stack before abruptly gripping onto the shirt covering you and ripping it down your body with a growl. You gasp in surprise and use your arms to cover your nipples while slamming your legs shut. “Oh, no, none of that. Don’t get all shy on me now, I’ve already seen it all.” Rafe grabs the pillow and pulls it from underneath you causing you to fall backwards on the bed onto your ass. “Would you look at that…” He looks down at the pillow with hungry fascination as a low groan rumbles through his chest. You watch as he runs the pad of his finger through the creamy wetness before bringing it to his mouth and holding eye contact with you as he sucks it between his lips. His eyes immediately roll back when your taste hits his tongue. “Fuckin’ delicious. But I’m always tastin’ you secondhand.. I can’t wait to taste that sweet pussy directly from the source.”

You’re utterly stunned for a moment. You look up at him with your jaw hanging open while you do your best to cover your most intimate parts when all you want to do is throw your legs open and fully submit to him. You always told yourself if he ever caught you that you would make him work for it. But with the way he’s looking at you now? You can already feel yourself slipping and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Who - who said I was going to let you taste me? And what do you mean secondhand?” You tried to say it in a biting tone but your voice squeaks and betrays your facade immediately.

“Oh, little mouse… this little back and forth we’ve been playing has been fun and all. But now you’ve wandered right into my bed and I’m done playing games.” Rafe abruptly grabs onto your ankles, pulling you down to the edge of the bed until your feet are dangling off and you try to pull your knees together again but he grips onto them and pulls them back open. “Quit hiding from me.”

His hands grip tightly onto the meat of your thighs, the gold rings on his fingers pinching your skin in a way that has you holding back a moan. The look in Rafe’s eyes is nearly animalistic as he stares down at your puffy, wet pussy. Your little black thong pushed to the side, covered in creamy, white juices. His fingertips travel down your legs gripping hard enough to bruise with every inch. He brings his thumbs to the crevices of your thighs and presses his fingers hard on either side of your folds, pushing your pussy lips together. You can’t hold in the tiny mewl that leaves the back of your throat. He punches your slick cunt together roughly a few times before pulling you apart. Your pussy clicks for him from your wetness as he pulls you open.

“Been waiting for this moment, ya know?” Rafe runs his thumb along your slit, gathering your wetness before bringing his thumbs to rub along the sides of your lips, teasing you. “I knew it was you. I had my suspicions from the beginning. Ever since you walked in on me in the bathroom…”

“How?” Your voice is a broken whisper, any thoughts of fighting back slipping further and further from your mind. Embarrassingly enough, you feel like you could come from just this.

“Well, I was almost positive after that cute little cherry thong…” Rafe grazes over your clit for just a moment before going back to teasing you. “Earlier that day you were wearing these sexy little jeans and when you bent over I got a view of that same thong. Then, to my surprise, the very same pair ended up in my office later that day.” He presses hard on your clit, giving it a few strokes and you think his teasing has finally come to an end but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. And he goes back to teasing your pussy tantalizingly. “But then, about a week later I saw you sneaking out of my office and I decided to let you get away with it.”

“You decided?” You push yourself up on your elbows and scoff with your eyebrow raised, your irritation with him returning. Rafe just smirks before shoving his thumb knuckle deep in your pussy and curving it against your walls. It makes your eyes roll back while you wriggle underneath him.

“Yes, princess, I decided.” His other thumb presses on your clit hard but doesn’t move. “Once I was positive it was you, I wasn’t ready for it to stop. Especially once you started leaving those little pictures for me. Who knew you were such a dirty slut.” He pulls his fingers from you before landing a harsh smack on your clit causing you to yelp.

“So you knew it was me and didn’t say anything? And then proceeded to keep them in a treasure box and jerk off all over them? Pervert.” Rafe slaps your pussy again, three times in succession.

“Stop being a fuckin’ brat. If I’m a pervert, what does that make you, huh?” He slaps your pussy even harder and then brings both of his hands down on your inner thighs with a loud smack. “Leaving me your panties, takin’ dirty photos for me, I saw you inhaling my cologne like it was a line of coke. And now I caught you in my bed, coming all over my pillow. You’re a nasty. Little. Girl.” He punctuates each word with a slap to your cunt and you can’t help but moan loudly for him.

“Yeah? Well you’re a nasty old man.” Your chest heaves but you still manage to paint a cheshire smirk on your face, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you use the last of your resolve against him.

“You know what? I’m sick of your bratty fuckin’ mouth.” Rafe grips onto the thin strings of your panties and pulls them down your legs before balling them up and shoving them in your mouth. The sudden intrusion makes you gag, but it’s not unwelcome. The act of dominance and the taste of yourself on your tongue has any and all attitude in you evaporating from your body. He grabs your chin and roughly shakes your head side to side. “That’s better. You gonna be a good girl and let me taste that perfect cunt now or do I need to beat the attitude out of you?”

You moan around the lace in your mouth and drop your knees to the sides, offering yourself to him. Rafe looks at you devilishly as he lays on his stomach on the mattress and throws your legs over his shoulders. He runs his nose along your inner thigh as he takes in your sweet scent before hovering over your pussy and inhaling deeply.

“Smell so fuckin’ sweet, bet you taste even sweeter.” The flat Rafe’s runs through your folds up to your clit before circling it a few times. He nips it with his teeth and shoves his tongue as far as it can go inside of you causing you to cry out and arch your back off the mattress.

“Quit wiggling.” Rafe growls into your pussy, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His large hand splay on your hip, holding you down as he eats you like a man starved. He circles two fingers at your entrance before pressing them knuckle deep inside of you. He caresses your sweet spot while sucking your clit into his mouth and it has an explosion of pleasure washing over your body as your orgasm consumes you.

Rafe pulls off of you when you come down from your high and brings the fingers that were just inside you to his chin dripping with your juices. He smears it around before sucking his fingers clean, groaning like he just ate the best meal of his life. He leans forward and plucks the panties from your mouth before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss is dominating and he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth, swirling it around and coating your taste buds with your own cum. He leans back to admire you and he feels like his cock is going to burst. Your hair is a mess, your dark lipstick is smudged and slick, and the zipper on that tight little dress is barely hanging on. Your tits are on full display as you lay like a perverted little angel with your legs spread beneath him.

“God damn. I’ve gotta fuck that pussy, baby.” Rafe pulls the zipper of your dress the rest of the way down before leaning up on his knees and reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “Take that shit off. Leave the socks and shoes though.”

He licks his lips as he continues to unbutton his shirt while his eyes practically swallow you whole. You quickly rid yourself of your dress and push yourself up onto your knees to watch him undress. You have to stop yourself from jumping him when he gets his shirt all the way off, his perfectly toned body towering over you. When he gets his pants down enough to get his cock out you can’t even hold in your gasp. He’s huge. So thick you aren’t sure you could wrap a single hand around him and so long that you aren’t sure if you could take him all down your throat.

“Fuck. I don’t know if that’s going to fit…” Your eyes are the sizes of saucers as you stare at his cock with your jaw slack. Those words make Rafe feel like he’s going to go insane and his hand flies to your hair, grasping onto it at the nape of your neck and yanking your head back.

“Oh, it’ll fit.” His tongue slides over his teeth and he takes his shaft in his hand so he can rub his precum along your lips, adding to the mess. Rafe uses his grip on your head to manhandle you onto your back before throwing your legs over his shoulders. He smirks down at you while he pumps himself in his hand. “You want it?”

“Yes, fuck. I want it so bad.” You tilt your hips towards him searching for any kind of friction but his hand presses down on your hip, stilling your movements.

“Oh, come on, baby doll. You can do better than that. How bad do you want it?” He taps the head of his cock against your clit a few times before running it through your folds. You try to angle your hips to push him further inside of you and he just tuts at you like you did something naughty before pulling his cock away entirely. “Let me hear it, beg.”

“Please, daddy, I want it so bad.” Rafe breathes out heavily through his nostrils and grips onto your throat, leaning down so his face is inches from yours.

“Oh, little mouse.. you’re just full of surprises, huh? I don’t think you know what you’ve done.” Rafe chuckles darkly and leans back up onto his knees, positioning his cock at your entrance. He presses his head into you and he’s so thick you already feel so full by the time he’s only a few inches in.

“Oh, god. I don’t - I really don’t know if it’s all going to fit.” The air is nearly taken out of your lungs when he thrusts his hips forward and you’re sure he’s all the way inside of you now but he pulls almost all the way out before slamming his cock into you to the hilt with his hips flush against yours. “Holy shit, oh my god.”

“I thought you wanted it so bad, now you’re whining that it won’t fit? I’m gonna fuckin’ make it fit and you’re gonna take it like the dirty little slut you are.” Rafe rams his hips into yours at a brutal pace as he grips onto your throat again and squeezes tightly. His free hand comes to rub circles on your clit and it makes your vision blur. “Yeah fuckin, take it. You gonna come for me? I can feel your pussy squeezing me. You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

“Yes, fuck daddy, please make me cum.” Your voice is a broken sob as your makeup smears messily down your face. “I’m so fucking full.”

“Yeah, that’s right, sweet thing. Give me your cum.” That’s all it takes to have an all consuming orgasm washing over you. Your walls convulse around Rafe’s thick length and he picks up his thrusts, chasing his own high. He uses his grip on your throat to press you down into the mattress and your legs fall down onto his hips. You lace them around him and this new angle has him hitting so deep you swear you’re going to feel him for days. The hand not on your throat hooks onto your bottom teeth, pulling your jaw open so he can spit on your tongue. You swallow without asking and then suck his fingers into your mouth greedily.

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, ya know that? Letting your dad’s boss fuck you till you cry while he’s right down stairs. Leaving me your little fuckin’ panties. This perfect god damn pussy.” Rafe is babbling like a man possessed as he pumps into you hard and deep until his cock starts to twitch inside you. He growls as he fills you with ropes of his cum. When he pulls out you feel nearly hollow and then he shoves his fingers knuckle deep inside of you, collecting some of his cum on his fingers. You pull his hand back to your mouth and lick his fingers, moaning at your combined tastes.

“Oh, I’m gonna have so much fun with you, little mouse.” Rafe stares down at you with a hunger that’s laced with obsession and you don’t even care because you’re just as obsessed as he is. “You’re mine now.”

Taglist: @nemesyaaa @strawberrydolly333 @sturnioloshacker @loserboysandlithium @gri959 @rafeinterlude @xoxohoneymoongirl @tacymbcm @bunnies-p1tst0p @starkeysprincess

Dividers by @anitalenia

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #older!rafe cameron #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x you #Dolly writes #perv!reader #tw daddy kink #tw age gap #tw size kink

1K notes · View notes

harryspet · 8 months ago

Text

bambi eyes (6) r.cameron

[Warnings] soft!dark!rafe cameron x reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader older!rafe, crimeboss!rafe, DUBCON, dd/lg, sugar daddy rafe, spoiling kink, unprotected sex, forced? age regression. little editing, barry doing barry things 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: Enjoy!

word count: 4.5k

In which your Daddy finally takes you to the country club.

masterlist

You were reading—slowly but surely. You took each sentence of the chapter book word by word, sounding out each syllable until it made sense to you. With a pink highlighter, you marked over every word you didn’t know the meaning of. You’d ask Rafe about those later or spend some time flipping through the dictionary. You flipped around in the cloud of linens you called a bed, attempting to find another comfortable position. You were reading about a girl with cat-like superpowers and the adventures she went on with her pet cats.

Lana had told you about all the stray cats she feeds out by her house and how a lot of them will let her pet them once they’ve been around her long enough. You’ve been doing your absolute best to stay on Rafe’s good side, knowing the next thing you’d ask him was if he’d let you get a cat. You knew there were plenty out there that needed good homes, just like you did at one point.

You didn’t ask him to take you anywhere unless he invited you. And after that lady had that outburst at the grocery store with him, his invites became less frequent. Every week, he took you to ballet practice and straight home. You reminded yourself to be grateful even for that experience since it kept your boredom at bay. When your Daddy called, you came straight away. When he told you to stay in your room, you stayed. When he held your wrist so hard that they bruised, you kept tears from escaping your eyes. When he brought you a present, you thanked him with your words and happily with your mouth.

A knock at your door caused you to sit up straight. You didn’t ever need to respond with “come in,” as the knock was just a warning that he was coming in, not a request. Rafe eyed you, the crinkles in his eyes letting you know he needed sleep before he looked down at his expensive gold watch. “If I’m not mistaken, I was invited to a one-o’clock tea party and lunch, and my host has yet to retrieve me.”

You palmed your face, your cheeks heating up. “I lost track of time, sorry.” You closed your book, stood, and straightened out your short gingham dress, “Everything should be ready though. Bunny is dressed. I just need help carrying all the guests.”

Before you could leave your book on the bed, Rafe said, “Bring it. I want you to read me somethin’.”

You agreed although the idea made you nervous. You grabbed Bunny, who was dressed in a matching gingham outfit, and then directed Rafe over to your mountain of stuffed animals. Impressively, he grabbed the six stuffed animals in one fell swoop, “Got ‘em, let’s go.”

Now that it was starting to get nicer outside, Lana suggested turning your tea parties into picnics on the front lawn. She’d laid out a floral linen sheet and placed a beautiful flower centerpiece in the middle, along with a wicker basket. You took your stuffed animals one by one from Rafe’s hand, placing them perfectly along the edge of the sheet, “And you sit here, Daddy,” You directed him and waited for him to get comfortable, “I’ll go get the sweet tea and finger sandwiches!”

“Don’t run!” Rafe shouted after you as you hurried back into Tannyhill. As soon as you were out of his line of sight, you picked up your speed, looking to find Lana.

You found Lana in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the array of desserts, “These look beautiful, Lana!” You exclaimed as she finished piping pink icing onto the cupcakes. You opened the fridge to grab the pitcher of sweet tea. “Did you make sure to add extra lemons? He really likes extra lemons-“

“Yes, I did, I know,” Lana responded, “Don’t be so worried, it’s just Rafe.”

You set the pitcher on the counter, taking a deep breath, “He wants to hear me read my book, Lana.”

“So? You’ve been doing so well in our lessons! You sound great to me when you’re reading and you’re only going to get better. The long, fancy words will come later,” She lifted the tray of sandwiches and desserts and you took it into your hands, “You’re a smart girl.”

“I am?” Lana smiled warmly, making sure you were carefully holding both the pitcher and tray.

“Yes, you are,” She assured you, “Go enjoy your lunch. Afterward, you’ll help me with the laundry, right?”

You beamed back at her, “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

When you made your way back to the front lawn, Rafe was where you left him but his phone was pressed to his ear. As soon as he saw you, he said, “---Everyone has dirt. Everyone has a weakness. Find it. I gotta go, I really don’t want to hear about this shit again.” You carefully set down the tray and pitcher, Rafe having intense conversations over the phone having become very natural to you.

Rafe let out an annoyed breath, setting his phone down, “Doesn’t it look delicious, Daddy?” You asked, cutting through the tension.

Rafe nodded, “It does. This is the highlight of my day,” He admitted, “You’re the highlight of my day, Bambi.”

Your nervousness slowly turned into eagerness as Rafe looked at you. He always looked at you like you were something precious, even if you felt the opposite, and you found that you could easily be yourself around him. Although it seemed you were figuring out who you were every day that you were at Tannyhill.

You poured Rafe’s drink into an antique-looking glass, one that Lana had entrusted you with taking care of, “Made just how you like it,” You handed it to him and promptly began to hand out the rest of the dishware, making sure Bunny and your stuffed animals had tiny replicas of them. With small tongs, you carefully placed sandwiches on your and Rafe’s plates, “I like pickles now. They aren’t so bad.”

“Oh, thank God,” Rafe responded with his mouth full, already halfway through his first sandwich, “I was really worried there for a second.”

You giggled, “You were worried?”

“I was as soon as you tried one and said you didn’t like it,” Rafe said, which made you laugh more, “This just confirms you’re perfect. And open-minded. And beautiful.”

“Me liking pickles means that I’m beautiful.” You were trying to follow his logic, your cheeks heated in embarrassment, but he interrupted you with a messy kiss.

As you finished up lunch, you found yourself entangled with Rafe, your legs over his lap and leaning against his chest as you opened up your book. You hoped starting with chapter one would make it easier, knowing you’d read it at least five times this morning. Luckily, you now had someone who could tell you the meaning of the words you had the most trouble with. Rafe used the strategy of not only defining the word but using it in an example sentence.

“Ill-u-min-ate.”

“Every time you walk into a room, you illuminate it with your beauty.”

“Haz-ar-dous.”

“It would be very hazardous to get between me and my Bambi.”

“Fuh-ruh-strat-ed.”

“Seeing you naked gets me extremely frustrated.”

“I thought you said it meant to angry,” You countered, and you could feel him grinning.

“Words can mean different things,” He spoke cryptically, “Hey, you know, I’m really impressed with your reading, Bambi.”

You straightened up and turned to look at him, “You mean it?”

“I’m really proud of you,” he nodded. “I wasn’t sure if Lana could help you all on her own, but I think you’re making good progress.”

You wrapped your arms around him, immediately needing to physically express your satisfaction, your weight effectively toppling the two of you over. Pride was a new feeling that you were getting used to. “Does this mean I could go to a real school? Like in the movies? Maybe law school? Like Elle Woods?” You straddled Rafe, his hands gently exploring the backs of your thighs.

“Are you talking about Legally Blonde?” Rafe’s eyebrows raised, his eyes undoubtedly flashing to a past memory, probably related to his sisters, “Did Lana show you that?”

“It was really good,” You nodded, “How far away is Stanford?”

“Far,” Rafe stated, and you got the feeling he wasn’t explaining as much as he could, “Let’s not — uh, let’s focus on just reading a chapter book. Once you’re reading like Shakespeare and shit, we can talk about college.”

“Okay,” You agreed, pressing your nose to his, “How many books do I have to read before we get a kitty cat, Daddy?”

“I see what you did there,” Rafe stared you down. You gave him a mischievous look as you pressed your lower half closer to his. “I think Daddy’s going to need a lot of convincing on that idea as well.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt Rafe’s fingers trailing over your panties, “What can I do to convince you, Rafey?”

You saw the lust in his eyes. That was one nickname he seemed to like even more than Daddy. “Slide those panties to the side and take Daddy’s cock out.”

“But the guards–” You rushed out, and Rafe’s grip tightened on your thighs.

“You didn’t seem to mind when you climbed on top of me,” Rafe countered, “C’mon, you have to finish what you started, little girl.”

After those words, you tried to ignore the idea of one of Rafe’s men catching a glimpse of what the two of you were doing. You did as Rafe said but as timidly and covertly as possible, sliding your panties to the side and then undoing his zipper. Like Rafe had taught you before, you spit into your hand, rubbing the liquid against your hole and using the rest to lubricate his tip.

You looked Rafe in the eyes before he could command you to, and Rafe gave you the same proud look that he had on his face when he complimented your reading skills. Rafe sat up on his hands, and as you placed him against your entrance, you made sure the skirt of your gingham dress was fully covering your ass. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you slowly enveloped every inch of him.

You whimpered into his ear, already feeling overwhelmed. Your thighs burned as you tried to move up and down his length, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were doing it wrong. You and Rafe didn’t often have sex in this position, and if you did, Rafe would just end up pinning your hips in place and thrusting up into you. In this position, you were almost in complete control, and it made each sensation feel even more heightened.

“Grind into me,” Rafe spoke huskily, “It’ll feel better that way.”

You started to roll your hips against him, and instantly you felt something building within you. With that motion, you could feel your clit rubbing against him. As you controlled the speed and how deep he was inside of you, you adjusted it entirely to your liking, and it surprised you how good you made yourself feel, “You gonna make yourself cum on my cock, Bambi?”

You gave him a shaky nod, “Y-Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Cum for me.”

You whimpered into his ear, suddenly burning up even though you were directly under the sun. “Thank you, thank you,” you muttered breathlessly. “Thank you, Rafey.”

“Look at you,” Rafe said, “My grateful little girl is squeezing me so good. Keep going, baby.”

Rafe squeezed you tightly in his arms like he was hugging you as you felt him fill your insides. “Fuck,” Rafe grunted in your ear, “Didn’t know you were so good at that.”

Rafe was doing something he promised himself he’d never do.

Maybe this would’ve been an option at the beginning of their relationship when he wasn’t so attached. The idea of doing this now … every fiber of his being was telling him that this was wrong. “Everybody has a weakness. You told me that, right? I did some digging. Some super fucking deep digging,” Barry had started.

Atlantic Crest Properties is one of Cameron Development’s biggest rivals both on the island and the mainland. Nathaniel Sterling, the CEO, was one of Ward’s closest friends, but since his death, Rafe had struggled to maintain Nathan’s favor. In fact, he disliked Rafe so much that he was purposely starting to poach Cameron Development’s construction laborers and spreading misinformation about the company’s financial status.

Rafe had worked hard to dig the company out of debt, and Sterling was preventing future investors from giving the company a chance, “There’s this high-end bar on the mainland that he always visits, placed called the Platinum Parlor. This guy is there every weekend, at least. One of my boys tells me that the place is basically a front for a swingers club. They won’t let you in unless you’re a member, and there’s like secret codes you use to, you know, get access to what you’re looking for.”

“Get to the point, please.”

“Basically, he’s a freak. He always asks for a girl named Venus. My boy was telling me this, and I realized I knew that girl; she used to buy from me. I rode over there looking for her before her shift started, and I offered her some powder for some information. She couldn’t tell me everything, but he’s shown her videos of him doing some stuff, and he always asks that she wear pigtails, a plaid skirt, glasses, the whole school-girl look …” Rafe listened as Barry delved further into all the debauchery he’d heard.

“...what are you implying, Barry?”

“I’m trying to say you have the perfect tool to solve yo’ problem. This is the only thing the dude gets off on, and I know his wife ain’t home dressing up for him. You have the most innocent girl in the world, and she actually likes wearing her hair in pigtails.”

“I know you’re not telling me I should let him fuck her–”

“No, no, Rafe! I’m saying that you can let him think that he can for as long as you need him to. That’s your in.”

“Fuck, I don’t wanna do that.”

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve ever done, country club.”

Barry was right about that.

You liked the way the Kooks dressed, and they all seemed to exude happiness. They matched and coordinated every piece of their outfits, and even the ones playing sports had at least one piece of expensive-looking jewelry on.

Rafe’s black polo and khaki shorts were nicely pressed, and he looked every bit like a seasoned golfer. He also gripped the golf cart’s wheel in one hand, carefully and quickly navigating the expansive green course.

After you made your first stop, Rafe started by showing you the basics of acting as his caddy. He pointed at the clubs he would most likely be using and made you practice grabbing them. He also placed you in charge of keeping up the scorecard, slowly explaining all the numbers you were meant to help keep track of. You quickly learned this was a more complicated game than you imagined, and you weren’t sure how much fun it would actually be to play it.

Still, you were overjoyed that Rafe had even invited you out of the house to the country club, of all places. You spent a total of two hours deciding what to wear that morning until Rafe ultimately made the decision for you, choosing a short-sleeve, collared white dress. He also helped you tame your hair into two high ponytails wrapped in pink bows. As soon as you saw how cute you looked, you made sure to ask Rafe if they made golf dresses in Bunny’s size.

You watched intently as Rafe stepped up to the first tee, positioning his feet and adjusting his grip on the club with practiced ease. With a smooth swing, he sent the ball soaring through the air, landing neatly on the fairway with a satisfying thud.

“Wow,” Your mouth hung open as you watched, “That was amazing, Rafey!”

“You wanna try it?”

Hands behind your back, you nervously stepped closer, “Relax,” Rafe said, “I’m gonna help you.”

The actual golf club was much heavier than you were expecting and probably too tall for you, but Rafe adjusted your position accordingly. You felt him pressed against your back, his strong arms enveloping your frame and his hands wrapped around yours. “You’re always going to start with a tight grip, and then it’s all about your stance.” Rafe placed his leg between yours, kicking your feet apart until they were about shoulder-lengths apart, “Bend your knees for me, sweet girl.”

“This feels … hazardous,” You tried and you felt Rafe’s chest vibrate as he chuckled.

He stepped back from you, “Try bizarre,” You nodded, mouthing the word quietly, but kept your stance, “But you look great. Now, for the backswing. When you swing, you’re going to keep your arms straight and shoulders relaxed, and I want you to turn your upper half until the club is all the way back.”

You tried to follow his list of instructions, but Rafe ended up grabbing ahold of you again to demonstrate the motion, “You’re going to let the club flow naturally through the ball,” He guided you until you were ready to entirely give it a go, “You got this, Bambi.”

You obeyed Rafe’s final instruction and were surprised that you actually hit the ball, although it landed about five feet in front of you. “Look!” you jumped from excitement.

“You did it,” Rafe grinned, “Wanna try again?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your voice trailed off as another golf cart approached. Instinctively, you closed the gap between you and Rafe.

“Mr. Cameron!” An older gray-haired man, maybe in his 50s, approached, grin hidden partially by a thick mustache, “So lovely of you to grace this fine club with your presence after so many years.”

His deep and commanding voice soon matched his stature as he climbed out of the cart. A shorter, younger man was riding in the passenger side. A gold name tag was pinned to the left side of his chest. “Mr. Sterling,” Rafe greeted back, and you looked up to see a tight, slightly painful grin on his lips. “From what I’ve heard, you frequent this place a little too much. Do they have a reserved parking spot for you yet?”

Mr. Sterling let out a pinched laugh.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

It was then that the tall man made deep, soul-searching eye contact with you, “Bambi, this is Nathaniel Sterling. He owns Atlantic Crest Properties, which operates here on the island. Nathaniel, this is my girlfriend, Bambi.”

Nathaniel reached out a hand, and you officially felt you’d been thrown into the spotlight. You hadn’t interacted with anyone outside of Tannyhill or your ballet class. Rafe nodded slightly, signaling that it was okay to accept his hand. The man’s grip was strong and calloused.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bambi,” He greeted you.

“Hi,” You spoke softly, “You do work like Rafe does?”

“Oh, yes, and much better, sweetheart,” You smiled, believing he was trying to make a joke, “I saw your swing on the way up. With some more practice, I can see you becoming a pretty good player.”

“Really?” Your eyes widened.

“Rafe’s gonna have to get you your own set of clubs,” Nathaniel smirked. “Or maybe you can have my daughter’s since she only uses them sparingly anymore.”

“That would be–” The words came out faster than you could stop them, “That’s a really kind offer, Mr. Sterling.”

You looked up at Rafe, excited by the offer, “I’m sure I can afford a new set,” Rafe stated.

“Anyways,” Mr. Sterling coughed to clear the tension, “If the two of you aren’t too exhausted after your game, you should join me at the Steakhouse for an early dinner. Why waste the opportunity for us to catch up.”

You got a similar feeling to when you were around Barry and Rafe, like the two of them were having a conversation with their eyes. Mr. Sterling seemed intimidating, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted to see more of this place.

“Sound good,” Rafe agreed, which you were grateful for, “We’ll see you there.”

After playing a few more holes and Rafe finishing your crash course on golf, he started showing you around. There were two Olympic-sized pools, a spa, daycare, and gym, and they even offered horse rides along the beach on special occasions. The two of you explored a women’s boutique—well, you explored it while Rafe had a conversation over the phone with Barry. You noticed Mr. Sterling’s name come up a few times but became distracted when you saw the perfect dress.

Although you thought Rafe might say it was too fancy for dinner, Rafe immediately called the attendant over so you could try it on. It was princess style, with short sleeves tied with cream-colored ribbons and a skirt flowing out in three tiers. The attendant helped you into the corset, and you were practically locked in by the time you showed Rafe.

He was already leaning against the payment counter, black card in hand. “We’ll take it; she’s going to wear it out,” he said as you twirled around. “You want anything else?”

“No,” You spoke breathlessly. “This is perfect. Thank you, Rafe!”

Rafe entwined his fingers with yours and held your hand throughout the entire walk to the restaurant. You found Mr. Sterling waiting for you at a table in the corner of the restaurant, with large windows on either side of him that looked out onto the beach. As he waved you over, Rafe leaned down to whisper to you, “You don’t have to say anything or answer any question you don't want to.”

“Okay,” You said softly, knowing he was just looking out for you.

“Rafe, Bambi,” He said as the two of you approached. You took the seat closest to the window after Rafe pulled it open for you, “How was the rest of your game?”

Despite the words he just told you, Rafe looked at you first as if he wanted you to answer, “It was really good,” You replied, trying to maintain a certain level of confidence, “I learned a lot and, uhm, the weather was just really perfect today.”

“I agree, it’s a beautiful day, and let me also say how beautiful you look in your dress, Bambi,” You had to glance away, a reflexive gesture to hide the embarrassed gesture that reached your face. You smiled despite the fact that your face was trembling, “It’s new?”

“Y-Yes, thank you. That’s—" You remembered the menu sitting on the table in front of you, and then you realized you were far too nervous at that moment to try to read it. “Do they have ice cream here?” you blurted out.

Rafe’s lips parted, but Nathaniel interrupted, “I think you’ll be quite happy with the dessert selection. Order whatever you like,” You felt Rafe’s hands suddenly on your thigh. He was trying to hide how tense was, but it wasn’t working.

When the waiter approached, Rafe ordered for you, which you were grateful for: chicken fingers, mac and cheese, and apple juice. He then went ahead and ordered you a dessert called strawberry crunch ice cream cake.

Rafe and Nathaniel bantered for a while about business and things related to Kildare that you didn’t fully understand. For the most part, you focused on enjoying your food and addressing Nathaniel whenever he addressed you. Some of your nervousness washed away because the man seemed to smile and laugh in reaction to every word that you said as if you were the most amusing thing in the world.

Halfway through the dinner, you leaned over to whisper in Rafe’s ear.

“I need to go potty.”

Rafe nodded before pointing across the restaurant where he knew the bathroom was, “It’s over there. Go straight there and come back, please,” Rafe felt you squeeze his hand before you got up from your seat.

Usually, he’d love to watch you walk away, but his eyes were entirely fixed on Nathaniel, who was watching you intently.

“She’s quite … cute,” the man said sincerely, as if he were thinking deeply. “She’s so pure … hard to believe she was a whore when you found her.”

Rafe squinted, nodding his head, “She was never a whore, Nathaniel.”

“She knows how to fuck, doesn’t she?”

“She comes from unfortunate circumstances, yes, but I’d appreciate it – greatly – if you didn’t call her that,” Rafe tone was sharp as he leaned closer, elbows on the table, “I really want to work something out with you, Nathaniel, but you’re not going to treat me like I’m just Ward’s son. I want something from you, and you want something from me. I’ll respect you if you treat me the same.”

“You’ve grown attached,” Nathaniel seemed to brush off Rafe’s intensity, “I apologize. Really, I’ve spent a short time with her, and I’m already quite enamored. I admire you, Rafe. You’ve trained her quite nicely.”

“She’s a good girl,” Rafe tried to set his emotions aside, and the feelings he had about you that seemed to make him go crazy. He needed to be cold. He needed to be the Rafe who’s able to pull a trigger and not feel any remorse, “She’s under tight lock and key. She’s under my watch, and I know exactly where she is 24/7.”

“Cameras?” Nathaniel’s interest peaked.

“In her playroom,” Rafe shrugged.

“Huh,” The man’s jaw clicked, “I want pictures and videos, at the very least.”

This is what Rafe wanted but he couldn’t help but feel pause. The man in front of him was desperate. He could own Nathaniel with the knowledge he was giving up and the secrets that you could probably draw from in. It was dangerous involving you, but what Barry said was true, you were going to open doors for him.

“At the very least?”

“Yeah, everything after that we can negotiate.”

Rafe could only think for a minute because you were happily skipping back towards the table. Your hands were cradled together, open towards him and holding peppermints, “Look, Rafe, they had a whole bowl of free mints in the bathroom,” You chirped, “I’m going to save some of these for Lana if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s fine.” Rafe smiled at you. “I was just telling Nathaniel about the amazing tea parties you like to throw.”

As you plopped down in your seat, your princess-style dress puffing up and then deflating like a balloon, your eyes widened. “It’s really fun!” you added. “Next time, I want to paint tea-cup handles. You should come, Mr. Sterling. Is that okay?”

The two men exchanged glances before Nathaniel narrowed his eyes back on you, running a hand over his face to smooth down his mustache, “That sounds delightful, sweetheart.”

reblog with a comment letting me know what you think to be added to my tag list!

#dark fic #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron #outer banks smut #barry outer banks #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

Text

Down Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller.

Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as.

You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down.

You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen.

You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual.

Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space.

As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer.

A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant.

You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames.

The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal.

“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.”

He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.”

“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble.

He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead.

The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell.

“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?”

The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...”

“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.”

“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer.

“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron.

“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.”

They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job.

“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun.

“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.”

“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks.

“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around.

You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals.

You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you.

“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask.

“Black’s fine,” he assures.

“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.”

“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?”

“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?”

“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?”

He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you.

“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.”

“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.”

“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner.

“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.”

“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.”

He gives a gentle smile.

“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.”

“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.”

You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV.

“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly.

“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.”

“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases.

“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.”

You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.”

“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts.

“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?”

“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.”

“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders.

“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug.

“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.”

You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.”

“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you.

“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself.

“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly.

“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.”

“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.”

“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles.

“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?”

Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.”

You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?”

“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks.

“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?”

“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.”

“Alright,” you back away and turn back.

Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter.

As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself.

The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor.

You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there.

“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him.

“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?”

“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.”

“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.”

“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?”

“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.”

He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own.

“Do you sing?” He asks.

“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter.

“Ah,” Steve nods.

“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.”

“I’ve had worse,” Steve says.

You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place.

“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #mcu #captain america #down home #winter soldier #avengers

427 notes · View notes

upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year ago

Text

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [14K] PART ONE OF TWO old money steve, an infatuated waitress, no labels, a disaster waiting to happen. some smut, some jealousy and too many mentions of monaco. 18+

And, baby, for you I would fall from grace

He came into the dining room of the club one Saturday afternoon. Sunkissed, tall, broad, stubble on his jaw and a gold chain glinting from the collar of his white shirt. He had a navy sweater draped over his shoulders, expensive sunglasses in his shirt's front pocket, an unassuming looking leather strapped watch on his wrist - but you’d learned well before then how to tell the difference between new money and old money.

And Steve Harrington was old, old money.

The watch cost more than your car and a year's rent on your apartment. Fuck, it cost more than you’d probably ever make working behind the bar of Hawkins’ country club. It cost more than the short black dress you were made to wear, the one that cinched you in at the waist and flared out over your thighs. It shone more than the gold plated name badge that was pinned on your chest, making your plunging neckline even more obvious. It cost more than the black heels that were part of your uniform, more than the five dollar balm that made your lips glossy and peach coloured.

But still, Steve Harrington and his old, old money noticed you.

—————

The restaurant was full, the bar even busier, the smoking lounge that sat through the double doors stuffed with leather chairs, studded couches, velvet footstools and table lined with cigars in wooden boxes. The full place smelled like bourbon and smoke, expensive cologne, perfume that cost even more.

The Lake House country club was Hawkins’ finest institute, an old Manor House that was built on the shore of Lovers Lake, across the water from where teens liked to lurk in their cars and between tree trunks. The Lake House was where the town's elite came to dine, to drink, to lounge and talk. There were brunches with champagne and whisky, afternoon tea with ladies who wore diamonds and pearls, dinners with wine from 1802 and business meetings on the golfing green. Money poured from the club and filled the cracks in the old bricks, men with their daddy’s money bringing in their daughters, their sons, their wives. And when the family drove home in their Bentley, girlfriend’s arrived in red bottomed shoes, perching on laps in the smoking lounge like it was their jobs.

Maybe it was. You weren’t supposed to ask.

Your job was to stay behind the bar, a huge mahogany thing that took up most of the back wall. Everything was dark wood and lined with green velvet, the bar stools suede and gold studded, the bottles of alcohol on the glass shelves nothing less than a month's paycheck each. Martini glasses glittered, whisky was in the air like car fumes and the lime you were cutting into wheels was making the cut on your finger pulse.

He walked in then, into the busy room like he owned it. The Harringtons were certainly wealthy enough to do so, but Michael Harrington and his wife simply liked to dine at the club on Sundays, take up on the tennis courts midweek and finish the day at the spa with a massage each.

Six hundred dollars a session to hire out the court, four hundred dollar scotch, three hundred dollar steaks (eighty dollars more for the potato dauphinoise), five hundred dollars for a couples massage. Oh, and a one hundred dollar tip for the fucker unfortunate enough to have to deal with them.

In cash, of course.

But their son? Steve Harrington moved out of Hawkins long before anyone could work out if he’d grow up to be as cold as his father. Away from small towns, rumour had it he went to New York, an apartment in Manhattan, a job on Wall Street where he started at the bottom and worked his way up on luck, expensive vodka and daddy’s money. But then again, others said he spent his summers in Europe, talks of Italian villas, vineyards in Tuscany, selling yachts to the elite in Cannes, spending his time trading money through casinos, long months in Monaco during the spring.

Seeing him back in Hawkins was unusual, uncommon, a goddamn rarity - but there he was, letting himself drop into the barstool in front of you like a Greek god etched from marble so expensive that you could barely afford to look at it. He sat with a friend, another twenty something that looked more man than boy because of their tailored trousers, crisp shirts, linen and cashmere and gold on their wrists, round their necks, family rings on their hands.

Steve Harrington didn’t click his fingers at you like other members of the club did when they demanded to be served, but he did rap two knuckles against the bar top, a gold band on his middle finger hitting the wood. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up, careful and cuffed just below his elbows, the top three buttons undone to show off tanned skin and a smattering of chest hair. More gold, a thin chain settling in the dip of his throat, stubble along his jaw that looked like it was there deliberately, not because he’d forgotten to shave.

You held your breath when you approached. You’d never served the youngest Harrington before - fuck, you’d never seen him here - but you knew who he was and the reputation dripped from him.

Old money, older estates, acres of land, shares in companies that were so ridiculously rich you didn’t know what they were for. Fast cars, scandals in Europe, yachts with his name on it.

Stomach in knots, you straightened up, smoothed down then front of your dress and put on the same smile you used for all the club members. “Gentlemen,” you greeted, “what can I get you both?”

Steve looked at you but his friend didn’t, his back to you as he surveyed the room, mumbling comments about the lack of skirt that showed up this early in the afternoon. You recognised him, a regular in the later evenings, Jonathan Byers, a fiend for a good cigar, an even bigger fan of the girls that held the poker events on weekends.

“Two Macallans,” Steve told you, already fishing out a money clip from his trouser pocket. The clip was gold, engraved with his initials: SMH. “Twenty year reserve, no ice.”

He really looked at you then, thumbing through one hundred dollar bills, eyes raking up and down your frame as you stood and listened diligently. Even when you turned to pull the bottle of scotch off the top shelf, you could feel him watching, one eyebrow quirked, full lips parted just a little, the top of his tongue peeking from between. Steve looked interested, intrigued. Maybe just a little less bored than before.

You kept your head down, polishing the tumblers before you poured, a three finger amount of the dark amber liquid and the smell of fire and smoke filled your nose. You’d watched enough men sit around the bar and swirl their drinks under the nostrils, waffling about notes of chocolate and spice before they sipped. It all smelled the same, no matter what price was on the label, like car fuel and burning. Steve downed the drink in one when you handed it to him, like he wasn’t swallowing liquid fire that cost him more than you’d make in a week.

You watched as his throat bobbed, his lips coming away from the rim of the glass a little glossy, how he licked over his bottom one to catch any alcohol that lingered. Then he grinned, all perfect teeth and charm before he passed you six hundred dollars in notes.

You nodded your thanks and went to the cash register, smiling what you hoped was politely as you tried to hand him back his change. Ninety dollars, pressed neatly in a pile of twenties and tens. The boy waved you off, still paying a lot of attention to the bare skin along your neckline, gaze running up the column of your throat. His eyes found yours when he finally spoke and god, they were the same colour as the scotch he just shotted.

“Keep the change, honey.” Steve smiled again, a smug thing that made you aware of how warm your cheeks were. Then he slid on a pair of sunglasses he took from his shirt pocket and pushed his hair back with a hand, nudging his friend to drink up before they both slid off the stools. “Just make sure it goes in your own pocket, okay?”

You gaped at him. The Lake House’s policy when it came to tips - no matter how generous - was for them to be placed in a jar in the back office, ready to be split between staff, however hard individuals had worked, or not worked, that shift.

The money burnt your fingers. “Um, that’s very generous but I can’t—”

Steve lifted a navy sweater he’d draped on the back of his chair, crushing the soft fabric with one hand. He used the other to reach out, plucking the bills from your fingers so he could fold them all together. His gaze met yours when he leaned back over the bar, unblinking, knuckles grazing the bare skin above your chest when he tucked the money into the neckline of your dress. It stayed there, hidden and you had to snap your jaw shut when Steve grinned at you before he pulled away.

He raised a finger to his lips, like you were sharing a secret and not a sackable offence and his friend snorted, like he’d seen it all before. Maybe he had.

“See you next time, honey,” Steve drawled, fishing keys out of his pocket. The silver logo of BMW glinted in the low lighting. “Thanks for the drinks.”

That was the first time you met Steve Harrington.

Just to touch your face

The next time, he was with a group of people in the smoking lounge, all of them loud, most of them dirty rich and he had a girl on his lap. A waifish thing, pretty and delicate with a ruby pendant that settled in the dip of her chest. She held a martini glass aloft, one that you had to refill and you cursed The Lake House and its rules as your heels taptaptapped across the marble tiles. The hem of your dress swished across your thighs, your hand held a gold tray and the fresh martini swirled in its glass atop it, a well practised movement that made sure none of it spilled. The olive inside tumbled around gin and vermouth.

Inside of the lounge, smoke billowed. Cigars and cigarettes poised between fingertips, hanging from lips that couldn’t help but spill secrets about their dirty businesses, the people they slept with before, the people they’d bed tonight. Nobody moved out of your way as you squeezed past tables and between the low sofas, leather and velvet brushing the backs of your thighs until you were able to present Steve Harrington’s lap warmer with her new drink.

She took it from your tray, replaced it with her empty glass and said nothing. It was her hand on Steve’s chest that caused him to look away from the men he was talking with, a hushed sounding discussion about money in Monaco, about the company and its takings for that summer. He frowned at the girl and her pawing until he caught sight of you, his lips lifting in a smile that seemed more dangerous than welcoming.

You smiled back, polite to a fault, throat going dry when you watched Steve’s gaze drop to that bare expanse of skin above your neckline. It wasn’t obscene, it wasn’t even suggestive. In fact, there was barely any amount of cleavage on show at all per the clubs rules but Steve was fixated on a freckle below your collarbone and the feel of his eyes on you made you fidget.

You tucked the tray under one arm and tried not to shuffle on the spot. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

There was something in Steve’s reaction to your question. Maybe it was the ‘sir,’ the way you tipped your head towards him when you said it, soft and gentle and pretty. He knew you had to call all the members of the club such niceties but Steve’s eyes flashed and his lips parted, the hand he had on the arm of the sofa curling around the leather a little tighter.

“A Macallan,” he asked, just like the first time. “No—”

“No ice,” you finished for him, nodding. “I’ll bring that right over.”

You blew out a breath when you turned, heels clicking on the marble as you made your way back to the bar. The lights were dimmed throughout the club in the evening, wall sconces letting out a warm glow, the huge fireplace in the main lounge roaring, popping and cracking with wooden logs. The whole place smelled like pine, like cedar and smoke and expensive leather. Women laughed softly, hanging off their husbands arms, dripping in pearls, in jewels, in false pretences. You smiled nicely at passing club members as you poured Steve’s drink, hands a little shaky from you out down to missing your lunch break, not excitement.

Definitely not nerves.

You placed the chilled glass back on the tray, amber liquid shining inside the crystal, and made your way to the smoking lounge. Steve was alone when you returned, his lap empty, the girl gone. Not just from his lap, but from the room entirely. You scanned the lounge, expecting to see her on her way back, maybe with a complaint about the drink you made her, just to make you feel small but no - she’d been removed. Your heart skipped, an awful stuttering feeling that you didn’t want to feel. Lowering the tray, you offered Steve his drink, gaze cast down as you felt his on you the entire time. Steve leaned up, too close, taking his drink and smiling at you.

You were just about to leave when:

“Why don’t you join me?”

The rest of the room was as loud as it was before, music under voices, laughter mixed with a saxophone record, conversations in the smoke. But Steve’s voice rang out almost too clearly from amongst it all. Still, you blinked at him, lips parting in surprise. “Sorry?”

Steve nodded at the seat next to him as he sank back into the couch, an arm thrown over the back of it as he took a sip of his scotch. The watch on his wrist caught the low light as he ripped the glass against his lips, cheeks flushed from the log burner.

He was dressed in what you assumed he’d deem a little more casual than the last time you saw him. A black silk shirt, short sleeved and with the top few buttons undone again. No visible label, no ostentatious brand name on the chest but you knew well enough by then to know that just meant it was even more expensive. Black trousers, tailored for him and a pair of black boots with a sharp toe. His hair was less styled, maybe from the way his lost friend had been running her fingers through it earlier. Strands of it fell into his eyes and you swallowed hard when you realised you were staring.

“Take a seat,” Steve asked again, lips curling up in amusement at your flustered expression.

You blinked at him before you remembered to stand back up straight, tucking the tray back under your arm and hoping that none of the club's managerial staff were lingering nearby. You’d already spent too long away from the bar. “I, um, I can’t. I’m sorry,” you pressed your lips together and tried not to look too regretful. “I'm working.”

Steve snorted, a sound that should’ve been more unattractive than it was but it only made you want to hear what he had to say. He took another pull of his drink, barely wincing when the burn of it trickled down his throat. You did the maths in your head, wondering how it felt to be swallowing seventy dollar sips. He raised his brows and shrugged, looking around theatrically.

“And?” The boy smiled, equal parts pretty and smug.

You were a little flustered, both at how nice he looked when he smiled and how bold he was being. You opened and closed your lips before parting them again, another polite smile there. “I need to get back to the bar,” you explained. “I’ll get into tr—”

“Trouble?” Steve finished. He shook his head and grinned, a megawatt thing that made you understand that, yes, all the rumours were true. That the famed Harrington Charm was very much a thing. But fuck, his father didn’t smile at you like that. In fact, he didn’t smile at all. “Oh, honey. No one gets in trouble unless I say so. Worried Frederick is gonna fire you?”

Steve dropped the name of your manager like they were friends. They probably were. He looked at you expectantly over the rim of his glass as he took another sip, licking the liquid from his lips. You wondered if he tasted as expensive as his liquor choices.

You nodded, shrugging, grasping for a reason to say no to this boy - this man. The line at the bar was growing, annoyed looking men clicking their fingers at a flustered looking new girl who was trying to pour champagne into a wine glass. Guilt gnawed at your stomach.

“He won’t fire you,” Steve assured. He patted the leather next to him, gold ring glinting in the warm light. “C’mon. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

You couldn’t help yourself.

“Do you always get what you want?” You said it quietly, watching Steve’s lips curl into a grin when he heard.

Another smile, mega watt, just for you. He tipped his head back and laughed, a pretty sounding thing that made the muscles down his neck stand out, chin tilted up to the gold leafed ceiling.

“Yeah,” he told you, eyes dancing, cheeks flushed from the fire, the lights, the scotch. “I do.”

You shouldn’t have done it. You weren’t allowed. There were strict rules about staff mingling with club members - fuck, it was written in red ink on your contract. You were too used to some of the clientele pushing the limits, trying to soften your boundaries with wads of cash, talks of a private plane to some European city where their wife didn’t like to visit. Older men, rich men, business men, family men. All looking for someone young and easily led and agreeable to have fun with between meetings and luncheons, someone to light their cigar and top up their drink for them. They liked to look at you like something to eat up, to chew up, to spit out when they were done and Frederick inevitably hired someone new and younger and prettier.

You’d seen it happen before. Girls sucked into the lifestyle they could never have, coming into work with new shoes, red bottomed heels with their uniform dress, a Chanel lipstick in their purse, a Porsche waiting outside for them after their shift finished and in the end, a scorned wife in the dining room ready to throw a drink over them.

You’d seen it all.

But Steve Harrington was looking at you with so much intrigue. A pretty smile behind his tiny glass of three hundred dollar scotch, messy hair, bright eyes, that black silk shirt that looked easy to slip your fingers into. He was younger, more subtle with it all but the easy confidence in which he spoke to you had you squeezing your thighs together and wondering if your chest would stop feeling as tight.

It didn’t.

You sat down.

Steve grinned, victorious and he moved against the leather sofa so he was sitting back against the arm, turned to face you fully. He brought one foot up to rest on his other knee, hand curling around his leg, and from there you could see the tiny brand on his loafers, a little gold insignia. Yves Saint Laurent. You wanted to laugh. His shoes cost more than you made in three months.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked.

You wore the same gold plated pin that every other staff member wore. The Lake House engraved on it along with the logo, a stupidly elaborate key. Underneath, your name was printed in bold letters, but Steve wasn’t looking at it. He was watching your face, brows raised expectantly. He wanted to hear you speak.

Pressing the tray to your lap, you lingered on the edge of the couch, eyes darting around for your boss, or worse, the girl this man was last seen with. Was it his girlfriend? Did he have a wife? You weren’t sure how old Steve was, but you didn’t see a ring on his wedding finger, not that that meant much in a place like The Lake House. Wedding bands frequented coat pockets more than fingers here.

You swallowed and told him your name, your voice cracking with nerves that you tried to laugh at but that came out wobbly too. Your shyness made Steve grin a little wider, his wide hands curling around his ankle as he lounged back against the cushions and appraised you with a look that shouldn’t have been proper for public.

He repeated your name back to you and it sounded so much sweeter on his lips. He said it slowly, a low murmur that made your tummy clench, like he was tasting it out, tasting it on his tongue. “That’s a pretty name,” he said. “I’m Steve Harr—”

You laughed, sharp and surprised. “I know who you are, Mr Harrington.”

If Steve was shocked by his news, he didn’t show it. It was your job to know the members, after all. Their names, their families, the work they were in. Their favourite table, their favourite drink, the time they liked to dine, their preferred slot for playing a round of golf. So instead he smiled and nodded before holding out a hand.

You took it and he squeezed gently, shaking it politely as he said, “well then, please call me Steve.”

You nodded, wondering if that was allowed. None of this was allowed. Fuck, you glanced around again, eyes a little wide, wondering if Frederick was in his office, god forbid, watching you through the cameras. Steve must’ve noticed this, because he swallowed down the last of his scotch and set the empty glass on the table. You’d have to move it soon.

“Relax.” His arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, tanned and corded with lithe muscles. His fingers tapped a beat on the leather, close to your shoulder. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

You laughed, a shaky, ironic sounding thing. You forgot who you were talking to, just for a second, your heart pumping. “That’s easy for you to say.” You swore then, a pained noise, because Frederick was marching out of his office, three piece suit right across his shoulders and his pocket watch swinging.

He was coming over.

You made a noise similar to a squeak, drinks tray clutched to your chest and you made to jump up but Steve’s hand stopped you. Warm and wide, it took up most of your knee and you blinked at it in surprise. He didn’t move it when you stared at him and he still didn’t move it when Frederick approached, red faced and nostrils flaring.

“Mr Harrington, sir, it’s so good to see you back at The Lake House,” your manager began, his voice a well practised purr. There was a slight British tinge to his voice, one you knew was fake. “Please take my sincerest apologies for you being bothered. I’ll be asking my staff to join me in the office for a much required conversation about professional boundaries. Please excu—”

“Fred,” Steve greeted warmly, his smile much more forced than the one he’d been giving you. Frederick twitched. “Nice to see you.” Steve’s hand still covered your lower thigh and squeezed slightly, in what you thought was supposed to be reassuring but his thumb on the inside of your knee made you too warm. “No need for anything like that, actually.” Steve said your name, wrapped it around his tongue and licked over his lip like he was savouring it before he continued. “—was invited to sit with me.”

The clubhouse manager hardened, a flash of annoyance going over his features and his neck grew more red in anger. He smiled through it, a tight lipped thing that Steve grinned at and you had to duck your head, panic ripping through your body. You couldn’t lose this job.

“How nice,” Frederick finally ground out. He clasped his hands in front of him and glared at you from the sides of his eyes before he smiled at Steve again. “I hope my staff is doing her utmost to keep you pleased, Mr Harrington. Do not hesitate to ask for anything.”

You hated the way he said it, like any club member could get anything they wanted from you, just because they had enough money to be here. It made you square off your shoulders and lift your head, emboldened. Steve was watching you, that look of intrigue on his face once more. He nodded at Frederick and then gestured to his empty glass.

“Actually, Freddie, could you be a pal and fetch me another?” His tone was too polite, bordering on patronising. Frederick’s tight smile grew tighter, a thin line that stretched across his ruddy face until you feared it might split. “A Macallan, no ice. Anything for the lady?” Steve turned to you and winked, a subtle thing that let you know everything was under control.

But you knew better than to rock the boat, better than that, you knew not to drink on the job. Especially from the club’s bar. The only thing you could afford from behind the mahogany counter was the one thing Steve always refused. Ice.

“No, thank you,” you murmured.

Your manager had no choice but to walk away, his back rigid, proverbial steam coming out from his ears. You watched him snap Steve’s order at a poor, unsuspecting barman who then brought it back over on another shiny tray. He raised his brows at you when Steve thanked him for it and you shrugged, not knowing what was going on either.

When he left, Steve turned back to you, leaning back into the sofa. He looked more tanned that the last time you’d seen him. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the warm glow from the sconces along the walls, the amber coloured shade on the lamp beside him. Maybe he’d just been back to Italy.

Monaco. France. Spain.

He took a sip, eyes dancing over you and when he brought the drink back down to rest on his knee, he spoke. “Have you worked here long?”

It took you a second to realise he was speaking to you again, his voice lower and softer than it had been with your boss. You noticed Steve has a habit of direct eye contact, always looking right into your own eyes as he spoke. It was a little jarring, the confidence, that bold type of charm that must come with always getting what you want.

“Uh, yeah,” you scrunched your nose, trying to remember months and years. “Three years now, or close enough.”

“I should’ve come back sooner,” Steve quipped back, his smile easy, his eyes roaming over you. His ring tapped against his glass of scotch and you didn’t know what to do. Was he flirting with you? “Do you live in town?”

“Couple miles out, smaller place near Sugar Creek.” You weren’t sure why you were telling him this.

“Yeah, I know it,” Steve replied. “Makes sense, why I hadn’t seen you around before. Did you go to school ‘round here?”

You felt like you were being interviewed. A handsome, rich man asking the questions, sitting easy in his throne and you had an awful, awful urge to please him with your answers. To do good. To be praised.

“I went to St. Mary’s High in Green Bay,” you swallowed, your tongue feeling too big for you mouth. Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Then I was supposed to move to California— Berkeley.” You winced, remembering.

Steve looked surprised, eyebrows raised, nodding. “What was your major?”

“Social law.”

Steve hummed. “Smart girl.” There it was. That praise. You tingled with it. “What happened?”

You heard the words he didn’t say, the unasked question. ‘Why aren’t you there? Why are you here? Wearing that silly little dress and heels that hurt your feet and that fake, fake smile that makes your cheeks hurt so much you want to scream into your pillow when you get home every night?’

You pondered over what to say. How truthful to be. How blunt, how ugly and honest. Shit, you could’ve said. Family, parents, money, bad luck, worse circumstances. Housing, a broken down car, an apartment that fell through at the last minute, a scholarship that didn’t happen, an aunt that got sick, a mom who didn’t like to let go.

Instead you smiled politely and said: “life.”

Steve gave you a wry smile in return, one that told you he could see through it all and he knew exactly what you wanted to say. Like he knew you weren’t allowed to and you were playing by the rules. Frederick was at the bar, staring at your back until you felt your bones crunch with the weight of it.

Steve finished his drink, slid his glass onto the table and ran a hand through his hair. “It was nice to talk to you,” he said simply. He took your hand, not to shake it like last time, no. Instead he held it for a beat or two, and when he took his away, neatly folded bills were left between your fingers. They burned.

“For the table service,” he said as a way of explaining. You didn’t know if he meant the drink or you. “I’ll see you next time, honey.”

And then he left. You watched him saunter through the bar, nodding and smiling at people who greeted him, taking his jacket from someone at the door and then he was gone.

That was the second time you met Steve Harrington.

If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

A week later you were clocking into work with the intention of heading to the staff locker rooms, ready to wrestle yourself into that black dress the club called a uniform. It was early afternoon on a Wednesday and The Lake House was quiet, a few greying women you knew to be part of the book club were sat having tea by a window, a group of men leaving the gym, sweat barely there, but the towels over their shoulders had designer logos stitched in the corners.

Frederick found you with your heels in your hand, a look of disgust on your face as you kicked off your sneakers. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the girls locker room, but he shook his head at you and took the stilettos from your hand.

“No,” he looked irritated, as if you should’ve known better. “You’re on the green today.”

You screwed up your nose at him. You were never on the green and you told him as such. “The schedule has me in the bar all day.”

Frederick huffed as if such questions were an inconvenience to him. He ducked, rooting around in your locker as his shoulder bumped your knee and he came back with the uniform you hardly had to wear. A white tennis skirt, bordering on too short with pleats that made the men tip well, even as their wives glared. A forest green sweater to match, the same colour as the club logo, white sneakers that were brand new from never being used.

“Special request,” your boss told you in lieu of a real explanation. “Get dressed, they’re waiting. Hurry.”

You gaped at him as he bundled the clothes into your arms. “Who’s waiting?” You called after him. “What hole?”

“Any of them,” Frederick yelled back as he walked out of the locker room and down the hall. His voice echoed back to you, a daunting thing. “He booked out the whole course.”

Driving the beer cart over the green was always a nerve wracking experience. The drinks rattled noisily and the breeze kept catching at your skirt, threatening to flip it up over your thighs as you tried to manoeuvre the buggy around the man made dunes and valleys. You weren’t sure where you were driving to, or who you were going to meet, but you kept an eye out at each hole for someone, anyone.

It could only really be one of two people, you guessed. Mr Donaldson was harmless enough, but he had a decade or three on your own age. Divorced and the owner of a film company in Atlanta, the man liked to frequent the clubhouse during the summers he spent back in Hawkins, pretending he was visiting his young daughter when he really preferred to lounge at the bar during your shift, trying to convince you that you just needed to see his condo in Georgia.

The only other person you could think of that would request you and you alone, was someone you haven't seen since the week before. You’d looked for him, watched the cars coming into the lot to be dropped off for the valet’s to park but you hadn’t seen any BMW’s. Steve didn’t visit the bar, didn’t spend any afternoons in the smoking lounge - you didn’t even see him with Jonathan Byers at the poker night on Tuesday.

You thought he might’ve left town again. Back to whatever European city he’d decided on for the week, for the month. Maybe he’d gone back to New York, maybe he had meetings. Maybe he had a girlfriend, one for each country.

Mr Donaldson was the harmless option. Annoying, sure. But bearable. Safe. Mr Harrington… he wasn’t harmless at all. You knew which one you wanted to see.

Sure enough, you turned the corner to hole eight to see a group of young men talking and laughing around their own golf cart. You saw some familiar faces, all known for being young, handsome and rich.

Billy Hargrove of Hargrove’s Vintage Motors. Crude, sharp witted, too flirtatious, he was the next in line to take over his father’s company and fortune, selling refurbished vehicles for prices that made your eyes water.

Jonathan Byers was there too, a young mogul who was up and coming in the art world. Once a critic, his photography had shot to fame after some black and white nudes of his then girlfriend were ‘leaked’ to the paper he once worked for. His family paid it all off as some sort of art nouveau exhibition, a look into scandal and sex in 30mm film. He lost his girlfriend but landed a gallery in the downtown neighbourhood of San Francisco.

Eddie Munson, someone you actually knew from high school. A decent guy, there because he worked for it, illegally, sure - but didn’t they all? One way or another? Selling weed and who knows what else to the majority of the population of Hawkins made for a popular man, but Eddie brought in bank when he started selling to the elite, the rich kids of Hawkins High who preferred powder at their parties. He got into The Lake House with cold, hard cash instead of his family name and he stayed in the background of it, usually.

A few other men lingered, clutching at clubs and practising their swings, Wall Street leeches that were stuck at the bottom of the totem pole but still decided they had enough money in their daddies bank to be able to click their fingers at you and smack your ass as their Rolex’s jingled.

Amongst them all, in black slacks and a white polo, was Steve Harrington. Sunglasses over his eyes, leather golfing gloves on his hands, he was smirking at something Eddie said before his head snapped to you. In fact, everyone was staring at you.

You tried to keep your head high and your expression neutral, turning off the engine to the golf cart and doing your best to swing your legs out without flashing anything you weren’t supposed to. You kept your hands on your skirt, smoothing it down, hoping that you could get through this shift without any embar—

A long whistle, salacious and eager, coming from Billy Hargrove. A few of the boy’s laughed and Billy grinned, sharklike, letting his eyes crawl from your toes to your tits. “Damn, Harrington. You paid for one of the good ones, huh? C’mere, Sugar, daddy needs a drink—”

You were frozen, standing awkwardly by the back of the buggy where the drinks were kept in a cooler, a thousand dollar pick ‘n’ mix of whisky, scotch and gin for the men to choose from. There wasn’t any Bud Light at The Lake House, not even on the green.

But Billy didn’t get much further into his catcalls, stopped by a hand on his elbow that tugged him away from you and the other men. The snickering stopped, a heavy silence falling over the group as Steve took Billy aside with nothing more than a touch to his arm. You watched as Steve slid his sunglasses off, his hard gaze on the other boy as he whispered something too low for you to hear. But Billy listened, albeit with a glare in his eyes, but he nodded, sharp and just once. His jaw flexed.

You didn’t know what was happening. You didn’t know what to do. You found Eddie’s gaze, saw his soft smile, knowing. He winked at you, twirling a club in his hand as he waited for the game to continue. And it did, once Steve seemingly dismissed Hargrove. The other men started talking again, easy and light like nothing had happened, requesting different drinks from you that you pulled out of the cooler, ice making your hands wet and numb.

And all the while Steve lingered at the back of them, sitting in the driver's side of the other golf cart, waiting with his eyes on you. He didn’t approach once Jonathan left with his glass of Glenfiddich, in fact, he didn’t make out like he wanted a drink at all. So you stood by the cart like you were supposed to and watched the men take turns at swinging a stick at a ball, yelling profanities when they missed, yelling more profanities when they didn’t.

You couldn’t help let your gaze wander to Steve, the picture of luxury as he leaned back in the leather seat, one leg out of the cart and stretched across neatly clipped grass. He was lighting a cigarette, held between his lips as he lowered his gaze to his cupped hands, gold zippo flickering with an amber flame. He looked up as he blew out the smoke, eyes finding yours, grinning when you startled.

Steve took another drag and asked, “you not comin’ to say hi?”

Three years of ingrained obedience made your feet move forward, doing as you were told at the words of another rich man. You felt unsure, walking across the green empty handed, but Steve hadn’t asked for a drink, so you stopped just shy of where his leg was stretched out of the cart. If you moved any closer, you would’ve been between his spread knees. You clasped your hands in front of you, pressed against your little, white skirt. It lifted a little with the breeze, a sharper wind than the day before that told the town fall was coming.

Steve watched the hem catch and fall back against your thighs, brown eyes tracking the movement to see what little new skin he could watch but apart from that, he didn’t make any of the lewd comments his friend had.

“Mr Harrington,” you said as a greeting. “Good afternoon, can I get you anything to drink?” You were polite to a fault, well trained, good mannered, an expert in making yourself small and only seen when spoken to.

Steve ignored your question. He inhaled his cigarette again, cheeks hollowing out, lips pursing, jaw sharpening. He smiled at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, the wind taking it away from your face. “I told you to call me Steve,” he said and his voice was quiet, a low thing that made your face heat up. You tried to apologise, but he kept talking. “How are you?”

You blinked, surprised at his question. You didn’t think you’d ever been asked that while at work. “Uh, I’m fine, thank you. How’re you?”

Steve nodded and flicked ash onto the grass, letting it sink into the course. “I’m great, thank you. Better now you’re here.” He grinned when you fidgeted, lips parting, hands unsure what to do. You twisted your fingers together a little tighter. “You okay being out here?” Steve let the cigarette balance between his lips and you watched it move as he spoke around it. “I can let you go back inside, if you’d like.”

Normally such words would be used as a trick, a trap, a warning. A subtle threat from an unhappy customer that would ensure you did as they wanted, even if it meant staying later than you were being paid for, adding extra time to their spa passes, even if it risked your own employment. But Steve looked and sounded genuine, his eyes watching you as you worked up the courage to tell him the truth.

“It’s okay,” you finally said, voice betraying how shy you felt. You sounded confident, in control. You felt nothing of the sort, especially when the boy grinned again, wider this time and god, he looked like he owned the world and everything in it.

“Excellent.” Steve flicked the stub of his cigarette away and pushed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He tilted his head at the empty seat beside him and said: “jump in.”

You stuttered over an excuse, an explanation, eyes a little wide as you looked back over to the rest of the group, the drinks cart you were supposed to man all day. “I— I can’t? I’ve to stay with the cart all day, if I leave it I’ll get into—”

Steve cut you off with a tsk and a shake of his head. His voice turned to liquid gold as he spoke, rich and sweet and awfully condescending. It made you drip. “What did I tell you last time, huh, honey? No one’s gonna tell you off unless it’s me. Now c’mon, you don’t wanna spend some time with me?”

You could’ve stayed. You were sure Steve wouldn’t have been mad. You should’ve stayed. You were breaking rules. All of them. But Steve was grinning at you from the front seat of the golf cart, tanned arms flexed as his leather gloves gripped the wheel and all of his friends played pretend, like they couldn’t hear what was going on behind them as they took another swing.

You should’ve stayed. Maybe went back into the clubhouse, took off your sweater and skirt and played nice behind the bar in your usual attire, serving clients old enough to be your grandfather as they slipped fifty dollar bills into your hand just so you’d lean over for them again.

You got in the cart.

Steve positively beamed, a hot smirk that stretched across his pretty face and you barely heard the whistles and yowls of his friends as he sped away as fast as the buggy would allow. He went off course, cruising alongside the green and heading towards the path between the woods that took you to lovers lake.

“Feeling bad today, Berkeley?” The nickname caused your heart to jump, confirmation that he’d been listening the last time you both spoke, that he’d remembered.

But still guilt and worry gnawed at your chest and you looked around at the empty course, half expecting to see Frederick chasing after you both in the drinks cart you’d abandoned so carelessly. What did it matter, really? The price of everything in the cart was included in whatever it had cost for Steve to book out the entire fucking course for the day. A stolen scotch or two didn’t matter. Not really.

You didn’t know how to reply, so you didn’t say anything at all, just sitting by Steve’s side like a baby deer caught in headlights, like a good little girl that wanted to know if it really was true, if Steve really could keep you out of the trouble he was leading you into. The boy must’ve seen your bleak expression ‘cause he laughed, pushing back the hair that the wind blew across his forehead.

“Honey, it’s fine,” Steve glanced over at you as he turned down the dirt path to the lake. You could see his eyes shining at you through his shades, amusement making them glitter. “I promise.”

So you nodded and tried to smile, doing your best to relax into the seat and when the cart bumped over a fallen branch that Steve didn’t bother to avoid, the jostle of it made your thigh bump into his. He grasped at your knee as an apology of sort, murmuring something you couldn’t hear over the wind, but his palm engulfed your bare knee once more and fuck, fuck, you couldn’t think of anything else. His gold ring looked pretty against your skin, his tanned hand complimenting the dough of your thigh nicely and you tried to remember how to talk.

“Is there something you needed my help with at the lake, Mr Harrington?” You didn’t think Steve needed any help on how to work speed boats or jet skis, but still, you weren’t sure what else to say.

Steve laughed again, a pretty sound that made your toes curl and he slowed the cart to a stop at a shaded area along the shore, far enough away from the sandy embankment that the men on the lake in their fishing boats wouldn’t be able to see you. “C’mon now, I thought you were a smart thing,” Steve pouted at you as he turned off the cart's engine. His hand left your leg and you mourned the loss of it, heart jumping again when his hand curled around the back of your seat instead. “What did I tell you to call me?”

Your chest warmed like you were back in middle school, getting scolded by a teacher who you didn’t want to disappoint. It bloomed across your neck and face, only getting hotter as the entire sensation of it made you squeeze your clasped hands between your thighs. Steve’s gaze dropped to your lap, a quick glance down that made the corners of his lips curve up.

“Steve,” you said quietly, sounding shy, reserved. Your body was giving away too much, you couldn’t let your voice join in.

Steve nodded and the hand that was resting against your seat moved a little, brushing against your sweater until he could rub a thumb against your shoulder blade. “See, she’s a smart girl after all, isn’t she?”

You could only nod. What the fuck was going on? Hidden by the trees, on the edge of the water that was across from where you usually spent weekday afternoons. You could see The Lake House from here, could practically feel Frederick’s gaze out of the bay windows, boring a hole into the middle of your forehead as you sat with one of the most affluent clients on the rolodex. Steve Harrington had his arm around your back, his eyes on your bare thighs, his other hand ghosting along the hem of your skirt. He pulled at it, bringing it down the mere centimetre it had ridden up, knuckles skimming your too hot skin.

He didn’t look away from it when he asked you: “And if you are a clever, little thing, d’you know why I brought you here?”

If it had been dark, if it had been closer to night, if the grounds had been empty and the lake was still, maybe you would’ve felt more scared than you were. If it had been anyone else, maybe you would have been sitting there in the shadow of the trees and cursing yourself out for being so stupid. Going with this boy - this man - letting him take you off alone and away from prying eyes, letting him touch your leg and get too close. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Despite what Steve said, this wasn’t smart, was it?

But you found that you didn’t care. You really didn’t fucking care. Not one bit.

You shrugged, cheeks warm, too wary to say anything out of turn, too cautious to say anything too bold for fear of losing your job. Or worse, being rejected.

Steve pouted. “No?” He tutted and sighed, a dramatic sounding thing and he let his hand fell back onto your leg, higher this time. You held your breath as he skimmed his palm upupup until his fingertips disappeared under the hem of your skirt that he’d just pulled down for you. “Well, I wanted to personally invite you the poker game with me tomorrow night. You know the one, don’t you? It’s in the lounge, nine o’clock.”

You tried to steady your breathing, exhaling sharply from your nose as Steve’s fingers wandered, never going higher, going slow and soft enough that you could slap his hand away if you wanted to. You didn’t. “I’m working that shift,” you whispered.

His eyes met yours, his grin blinding. “Good, you’ll be there then.”

“Working,” you reminded him, the last syllable of the word hitching in your mouth as his fingers passed over your leg once more. You felt the cool metal of his gold band on the inside of your thigh. “I’ll be there to work.”

Steve nodded, like he understood, like he wasn’t planning to monopolise every minute of your shift, wondering how long he could keep you by his side at the poker table before you got too worried and scrambled back to the bar. “Of course.” He pulled back a little, his nose too close to brushing yours as you couldn’t help but lean in too, head tilted up to his like you did it all the time. “And then after that,” he took his hand from your thigh and you tried not to cry about it, ‘cause he used the back of his hand to push your hair away from your face instead. “You could come back to mine?”

Oh, fuck. You couldn’t help the smile that fluttered across your face, the giddy, shy laugh that followed. You were flustered and it showed, and as much as it made Steve smile back, it made him hard as a fucking rock.

“Shit, uh, god, sorry,” you shook your head, as if to clear it. You felt fuzzy, hazy, under Steve’s spell as he kept smiling at you, clearly entertained by your flushed face, your dazed expression. “I’m really not supposed to do that.”

You didn’t say no, Steve noted. You didn’t say that you didn’t want to. In fact, from the way your eyes dropped to his lips over and over again, Steve was pretty sure he could seal this deal with you faster than his last visit meeting with that winery in Sorrento.

That wasn’t to say you were easy, no. Just real fucking cute. He had a forty percent share in that vineyard and soon enough, he’d have you too.

“What?” He played dumb, all syrupy sweet smiles and his voice all soft. He traced a circle around your knee. “You can’t see me out of work? Surely Fredrick isn’t that much of a tyrant, honey.”

You squirmed under his gaze, the one that made you feel like he was undressing you. You were too warm and his innocent fingertips on your knee were making you wanna drag his hand back up your thigh and underneath the hem of your skirt. “We’re not supposed to involve ourselves with club members.” Your words felt dull in your mouth, heavy and cotton like.

Pointless.

Steve pouted, lips pursing like he was trying to get you to kiss him. He tutted; his warm, wide palm curling around your thigh again. He squeezed gently and your mouth fell open, panting, an invitation. “What if I want to be involved with you, hm? What then, honey?”

You let your head fall back a little, lips wet and parted, eyes closing briefly, because Steve let his fingers slide up a little further, the tips of his middle and pointer finger brushing, just fucking barely, across the cotton of your underwear. You knew you were wet and you knew that he did too. How could he not? The damp fabric dragged across his digits and you saw the realisation in his eyes, that flash of heat, that curl of his lips that made his smile a smirk.

“Remember what I told you?” He let his lips fall into ‘o’ at your small noise, an almost whine that sounded blissed out. God, he could have fun with you. “Do you? C’mon smart girl, what do I always get?”

You blinked at him, sucking in a breath as you fought the urge to grind down on his hand. Steve took his fingers away, the damp tips of them trailing back down the inside of your thigh as he waited for an answer.

“You told me,” you took another breath, looking around quickly, burning at the sight of the boats on the lake, the blurry people across the water by the clubhouse, sitting outside for afternoon tea. “You told me you always get what you want.”

That was the third time you met Steve Harrington.

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

The night after, you’d spent too long getting ready for your shift. Too long in the shower, letting the steam fill the tiny room, honey and peach scented body wash running in rivers down your bare skin, your razor chasing after it as you did your best to make every crevice of your body silky smooth.

You told yourself you weren’t going home with Steve Harrington. You told yourself you couldn’t, that you weren’t allowed to.

But you took the time to layer mascara on your lashes, fixing any smudges before finishing your makeup with a layer of gloss on your lips, tinted a rosy pink and drawing more attention to them than you’d usually want. Black dress, clubhouse mandated stockings and heels, freshly polished. You left for work with your heart in the back of your throat.

The Lake House was quieter than usual on poker nights, mostly because each guest had to buy their way in. All players had to place a ten thousand dollar deal in with the croupier, pockets emptied and jackets checked at the door. It made the smoking lounge feel bigger, men seated around a large poker table, the dealer in the middle, chips stacked high and cigar smoke lingering in the air. It smelled like tobacco, leather, expensive cologne and money, and god, the tips were good.

There were familiar faces around the table, Billy, Jonathan, Mr Donaldson, a few other men from the club that liked to order expensive drinks and call you things like ‘sweet cheeks’ and ‘sugar.’ The room was dimly lit, a soft amber glow that was kept in the room with closed drapes, velvet lined chairs, and bar staff that were trained not to speak unless spoken to. Everything was hushed and whispered, men talking money over glasses of liquor, cigars in one hand, their dealt hand in the other.

Then there was Steve, coming into the room a little late with another suit on, sharp and with a matching black shirt underneath, looking like he didn’t give a shit. He didn’t look at you as he took his seat, smirking at something Jonathan said and sliding a wad of stacked bills towards the dealer. He got his chips, he got his cards and the game began.

It took a whole twenty minutes before he raised his hand, a two finger salute that let you know he wanted a drink. You beat the other waitress to it, slipping in front of the new start - Vickie something - and your heels clicked as you made your way over to Steve. You already had a drink on your tray, poured the minute you saw his hand go up, his eyes still on his hand.

A Macallan, no ice.

You placed the tumbler on the table in front of him, knees bending slightly to make sure it didn’t spill. Without warning, Steve’s hand snuck along the back of your thigh as you placed your tray under your arm, ready to walk away. Fingertips traced over the crease of your knee, ghosting over your stocking. You watched his gaze flicker to the drink he didn’t have to ask for, a slight curve to the corners of his lips as he smiled his approval. He leaned back, head tipped up to you so you had to bend down slightly to meet him. His hand was slipping up the back of your thigh the whole time, hidden from the rest of the room, from the other players, your boss in the corner.

You bent at the waist, feeling your skirt rise up, feeling Steve’s hand do the same. His thumb ran along the crease below your ass, over the sliver of bare skin between your underwear and stockings.

“Smart girl,” he whispered in the shell of your ear, making you burn. His voice was low and a little rough from hardly talking, only communicating with nods to the croupier, dead face glances at his opponents. His chips were stacked high for his efforts. “You look pretty. How ‘bout you just stay beside me, yeah?”

You weren’t supposed to. But you did. You watched as your boss frowned, as Vickie looked surprised. Beside Steve, Jonathan snickered quietly and across the table, Billy narrowed his eyes.

“Breakin’ some rules?” He mouthed to Steve.

Steve ignored him.

The night came to an end close to one o��clock, once the bar was almost dry and Steve had most of the money. He accepted the passive remarks about his poker face, his ability to lie through his damn teeth, how he didn’t need all that money anyways. Then there were the handshakes and slaps on the back, good natured talks and invites to lunches, chats about business opportunities and stocks. And all the while you tidied, putting away empty bottles of thousand dollar whisky, pouring hundred dollar glasses of Malbec down the drain. Cigar ash on the table, white powder tipped dollar notes that everyone pretended to not notice. Heavy tips on the table top, damp from spilled drinks, pushed into your apron pocket while the men around you tried to get a peek up your skirt.

And then Steve was leaning over the bar top and still ignoring Billy. He was watching you clean, eyes tracking the way your hands slid the cloth over the mahogany, and while your cheeks warmed at his attention, you let him. You were off the clock, your shift over. Bar closed.

Home time. Maybe.

“—you even listenin’ to me, Harrington?” Billy sounded annoyed, words twisting on his tongue, whisky making them come out a little slower than he wanted them to.

“No.” Steve’s reply was short and bored sounding.

“I said, you fucker, that I need a ride. S’posed to be on a goddamn flight at five o’clock and this fuckin’ tequila is makin’ me piss like a fuckin’ racehor—”

Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you as he took his wallet from inside of his suit jacket pocket. Using two fingers, he offered Billy a fifty, holding the bill in front of the other man’s face. “Take a cab.”

Billy looked offended at the suggestion. Disgusted, actually. “A cab? What do I look like to you, huh? Huh? A fuckin’ peasant?”

Steve just shrugged and slapped the bill on the counter anyway. “I’m having company,” he told him. Then he drained the rest of the one drink he’d ordered from you all night and met your gaze straight on. “You ready?”

Not, ‘would you like to join me?’ Not, ‘would you like to come back to mine?’ No. Just a simple question. ‘Are you ready to go?’

You nodded. Yes, you were ready.

Billy laughed, a sharp and mean thing as he looked between you and Steve. Then his gaze turned salacious, drunk and lazy as he took in your short dress, your shiny lips. He nudged Steve and nodded towards you. “You not sharing this time, Harrington?” He tutted. “What a shame.”

You didn’t know what to say. If you’d been at a bar in town, standing on either side of it, you’d have listened to the twitch in your hand and lifted it, letting your palm meet Billy Hargrove’s right cheek, regardless of how much money was in his wallet. But Frederick was by the door talking to Mr Donaldson about summers in the Bahamas and you couldn’t do shit.

So you turned your back, polished another wine glass and slid it back onto its shelf.

“You know,” you heard Steve murmur. His voice was low, controlled. Dangerous sounding. “You keep letting your mouth run like that, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a reason to get that five am flight. One call and there won’t be no fucking meeting in L.A, do you understand?”

You didn’t hear Billy’s reply. In fact, you weren’t sure there was one. Instead, Steve walked to the side of the bar and brushed some invisible lint off of his jacket as he waited for you to untie your apron. You hesitated, watching as Fredrick disappeared into his office and then, and only then, did you step out from behind the bar to join Steve, letting him place his hand on the small of your back and guide you out of the clubhouse.

He made it too easy to break the biggest rule in the book.

—————

Steve drove you to a townhouse on the edge of town, the opposite direction from your own home. He took you there in his BMW, a shiny maroon car that looked brand new, with leather seats and shiny detailing on the dash. He didn’t touch you in the car, he just opened the door for you to get in and get out, only offering a hand that you took as you stood on his driveway.

His house was lit up by lights on either side of the huge garage, another by the double doors. Three floors, a water feature in the front yard, a security system at the entrance. Steve pressed some buttons before something buzzed and clicked, and he opened the door with no grand flourish, extending an arm for you to enter first.

Everything was sleek and polished, not quite the bachelor pad you expected, but luxurious all the same. Wooden floors and a large fireplace in the living room, the leather and suede of the clubhouse swapped out for a huge sectional, covered in cushions and throws. There was art on the walls, scenes of Greek tragedies, half naked women with dreamy looks on their faces, full curves and thick thighs. A shiny kitchen that looked barely used, bottles of scotch and whisky and gin on a golden bar cart in the corner, a full wall of books surrounding the biggest television you’d seen. The house smelled like Steve, like his cologne, like new leather and oak.

His footsteps echoed across the room as he strolled into the kitchen, an open plan thing that let you watch him from where you stood by the front door. Steve held up a bottle of wine. Red, a label you recognised from work, something that Frederick charged far too much money for. In your opinion.

“Drink?” Steve asked.

You nodded, stepping into the room a little more. There were a few lamps on, a warm flow from each that cast shadows over the floor, up the walls. The curtains were closed, heavy drapes that kept out the night, kept in the secrets. Like you.

Steve appeared at your side, passing you a glass filled with a little ruby coloured wine. He grinned at your quiet thanks and offered his own for a toast. The glasses clinked and you took a sip, dark cherries and bitter chocolate swirling your senses, or at least, you were sure they would’ve if you hadn’t decided to gulp it down. Steve laughed softly and took your empty glass, setting it on the coffee table with his own. There was a stack of big books in the middle of it, something about American architecture and cars of the sixties, a candle that had never been lit and a cigar box with his initials engraved on the lid.

“Here, sit,” Steve suggested and you sank into the sofa with him. The boy immediately lounged back into the cushions, arms stretched out over the back of it as he appraised you, head tilted to his side. “You don’t do this often, huh?”

You turned to him, puzzled, your hands sliding nervously up and down your bare legs. Your dress suddenly felt shorter than ever and with the way Steve was looking at you - hungry, predatory, bold - you weren’t sure if you wanted to tug the hem down to your knees or take the full thing off and drop it at his feet.

“Do what?”

Steve gestured to himself, to the huge living room you felt a little bit lost in. He smirked, “go home with guys you barely know.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if it would seem rude if you reached out and stole the rest of his wine. If you’d feel braver and bolder if you were to gulp down more Malbec, if the price tag on the bottle would feel better on your tongue. “Not usually,” you said. You left out the part about how you’d be fired on the spot if your boss found out who you were going home with.

Steve smiled, eyes shining at you like he thought you were cute. He patted the space on the couch beside him. It felt like a million miles away from you. “Come over here,” he said softly. You noticed how he didn’t ask, or suggest. It was an order, as gentle as it was. “I won’t bite.”

You scoffed a little, enjoying the irony of his words despite how he’d looked at you all night, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you, like he wanted to just eat you up. “You won’t?” You asked him, doubtful, even as you slid closer, your thigh brushing his.

Steve dropped his hand to your knee, fingertips barely brushing your skin as she skimmed up and down, up and down. Each pass got him closer to the hem of your dress and you thought back to yesterday, in that stupid golf cart by the edge of the lake. How easy you made it for him, head thrown back, chest heaving, legs spread. You wanted that again, the feeling of his teasing fingers brushing up against the front of your underwear, lace this time, and already damp.

Steve flashed a grin, all teeth, more bite than a smile and you resisted the urge to clamp your thighs together, trapping his hand between. You’d never been this hot for a guy, never been this easy to fold. You felt delicate with Steve, ready to crumple, ready to fold.

“Not on the first date, no,” he assured you.

Your brows rose into your hairline. “This is a date?”

Steve flattened his palm against your thigh and squeezed, leaning into you, nose brushing your cheek until you ripped your head for him and it skimmed the line of your jaw. Your breathing changed too quickly, stuttering to a hitch until it picked up, your eyes closing as you felt Steve’s lips brush against you in the briefest of touches. It wasn’t even a kiss.

“What did you think it was?” Steve whispered, his words hot against your neck. You could smell his cologne, rich and peppery, could feel the slight stubble on his jaw scrape against your throat and you were desperate now, you needed him to kiss you. “What did you think I invited you here for, honey?”

His hand was higher now, fingers under the hem of your dress and you wanted to fall into him, you wanted to crawl into his lap and spread your legs, get properly dirty for him and pull your dress up around your hips and show him how you liked to be touched. Although, you had a feeling he wouldn’t need much help. “I, I don’t know—” you interrupted yourself with a gasp, Steve’s fingertips running along the lace edge of your underwear, teasing the crease of your thigh. “A one night stand, maybe.”

The boy laughed, a soft noise that was buried in the crook of your neck and he finally, finally, put his mouth on you. He kissed sweetly at the spot under your ear, grinned against it when you squirmed at the feel of him and then dragged his parted lips down the column of your neck. You felt the tip of his tongue, a tiny touch, teasing, warm and wet.

“Just one night?” Steve tutted, letting his fingers slip underneath the edge of your underwear. You were an elastic band now, pulled too right, fraught with unspent energy, ready to snap at the tension. “What if I wanted to keep you, hm?” His fingers ghosted over your folds, already slick and wet for him. If he was affected by it, he didn’t show it. He pulled at you gently, spreading you for him, a single digit touching your needy clit as he kept you open. It was filthy. “You’re too pretty for one night, aren’t you?”

You didn’t know what you were agreeing to, but you nodded anyway. You were sure you already looked wrecked, head slack and leaning against Steve’s shoulder, his lips now dotting over your hairline. Legs open, underwear pushed up and to the side by Steve’s hand, his one finger sliding up and down the seam of your cunt. The rubber band was getting tighter.

Steve hummed, a deep, warm noise that rumbled in his chest. “Look at me, honey,” he ordered and you did as were told, eyes heavy and haze unfocused as you turned your head to face him. He was so close, the only evidence he was as turned on as you were, were his blown out pupils, his heavy eyelids. “There she is, oh sweetheart, you’re gone, huh?” he cooed.

You thought he might kiss you then, you thought he might kiss you, finally. But he nuzzled his nose against yours - a surprisingly sweet thing - before he murmured, “take your clothes off for me.”

It was embarrassing, the way your lips parted and your cheeks went hot. You wondered if Steve felt it, the warmth that exploded from your skin at his words, the way your empty cunt clenched around nothing at his words. He gave you clit one more passing nudge before he moved his hands from you completely and sank back into the couch. One arm over the back of it, legs crossed, the other hand brought to his mouth so he could rub the finger he’d dipped along your pussy against his bottom lip.

It was obscene.

He nodded to the space between the sofa and the coffee table and licked his lips. “C’mon, honey, strip.”

You should’ve pulled down your dress and thrown what was left of his wine in his face before you slammed the door on your way out. This man, this rich boy with his big house and shiny car, was ordering you around like you were still at the clubhouse. Like he could flash his members only card and get what he wanted. He hadn’t even kissed you. He didn’t know your last name, and shit, the only reason you knew his, was because him and his family were at the top of the client list at the place you worked.

You could lose your job over this. Worse, you could get your heart broken.

Steve must’ve sensed your hesitation because he reached back over to brush your hair from your eyes, where it had fallen in a mess when you hid your face in the dip of his shoulder as he tapped at your clit again and again and again. He pouted, tsked in a way that sounded sympathetic. “Oh honey, are you shy?” Condescension dripped from him, words liquid gold, sticky sweet and trapping you. He ran the back of his knuckles down your cheek, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. It was as close to a kiss as you would get. “It’s okay, hm? Am I not playing nice? Am I being rude?”

You didn’t know what to say. You were being sucked in by this man’s charm, his caramel coated words, the way his brown eyes turned soft as he took your hand and led you to stand up in the middle of his living room. “I’m sorry, honey,” Steve whispered. “How awful of me. Lemme try again, huh?” He kissed your cheek, a soft, lingering thing before he left you standing, sitting back in front of you once more.

Steve pushed back his hair and let his eyes appraise you before he rolled his shirt sleeves up and leant back into the cushions. A king on his throne. And the entertainment for tonight?

You.

“Take your clothes off for me, honey,” he tried again, his voice softer this time, lower, dirtier. And then he smiled at you and added: “please.”

With shaking hands and a held breath that made your chest burn, you pulled the material down your shoulders, reaching around your back to tug at the zip. And when it fell open, exposing your skin to the warm air, it was too easy to let the entire dress fall down over your hips. It pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, heels still on, legs covered in the sheer black stockings that the clubhouse made mandatory for poker nights.

Steve’s lips made a little ‘o’ shape, an appreciative thing that made you pulse with need. You saw then how his dress trousers were tented at the front, an impressive bulge that twitched when you smoothed your hands over your upper thighs, a nervous reaction to being so exposed.

“Oh,” Steve exhaled as he let his eyes rake over you. Soft skin between black lace, thigh highs pulled taught against your curves, tits pressed up in a bra you’d chosen as you thought him. You hoped he wouldn’t embarrass you, you hoped he wouldn’t ask you to do something like spin for him, show off for him. Because you would’ve. “Aren’t you a pretty fucking picture.”

He didn’t need to talk after that. He just lifted his chin towards your chest and you were pulling off your bra for him. You hated how the control of it all made you wetter, the space between your legs fucking throbbing as you waited for your next instruction. “Unless you want those ripped,” Steve was gazing at your underwear, eyes seeking out every dip and line he could make our in the wet lace. “I’d take them off too.” He didn’t let them hit the floor with the rest of your clothes, instead, extending one hand and crooking his fingers.

A silent, ‘give them to me.’

And you did, watching as he slipped them into his trouser pockets, keeping his eyes on you, trailing them over your thighs that were slick with how wet he’d got you. He’d hardly touched you, you scolded yourself, not even a kiss. It was embarrassing, mortifying. It was the hottest thing that had happened to you.

“Keep those on,” Steve murmured, talking about your heels and stockings. “And come sit back down for me, honey, yeah?”

The fabric of the couch felt soft under your bare skin and you hesitated before you let yourself relax into it. There surely would be a wet spot underneath you, evidence of how turned on you were, but Steve didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly. “Get comfy, hm? Such an agreeable, little thing aren’t you?” Steve was sliding off the couch as he spoke, one palm pressed to his crotch as if to stave off some of his own need. He knelt in front of you, mouth parting in a sigh as he dropped to eye level with your cunt. “Think you can spread those legs for me? Let me see you, honey, there’s a girl—”

He cut himself off with a low groan as you brought your feet up, heels on the edge of the couch as you spread your knees, sticky thighs parting. He could see all of you, fuck, he could probably smell you. The low light made every part of you glisten, the heavy rise and fall of your chest cast in an amber glow.

“Oh she’s real fuckin’ pretty, isn’t she?” Steve asked you, eyes tearing away from your pussy to look up at you. “Spread ‘em wider for me, baby, can you do that?” Another moan from the boy as you let your knees fall apart, almost touching the couch. Steve smoothed his hands up your tights, bracketing your cunt before he did the same as before and pulled your folds even further apart. “Look at that,” he whispered.

You couldn’t. You let your head fall back onto the cushion, eyes squeezed shut as you let your own hands fall onto your knees. You dug in your nails, crescent moon marks on your skin as your tried to keep a grip on reality. You were almost certain you’d come with just one touch.

“Want my mouth?” Steve asked you and his voice was back to that sugar sweet drip, it was thick with an affection, like he was being so nice for taking care of you. You already wanted to thank him. “Want my tongue?”

His thumbs rubbed up and down your folds, keeping them spread apart, a dirty massage that made your clit pulse with each tiny movement. You nodded, letting out a uneven breath and Steve tutted.

“You gotta look at me then, c’mon, Berkeley.” He nipped at your thigh, teeth biting at the skin and it made you cry out. “Look at me and tell me you want me to eat you out.”

Dirty, filthy, obscene, sinful.

You were under no illusion that giving Steve an order made you the one in charge. He played you like a puppet, a boneless girl that wanted nothing more than to come all over this rich strangers sofa. You had a one track mind, no shame left, not when Steve was pressing his mouth over you folds, not licking into you, not yet. Just kissing. You wanted to cry.

“Eat me out,” you begged, eyes glassy as you tried to lift your hips but Steve pulled away. He grinned at you, waiting. “Eat me out, please, Steve. Fuck, want your mouth yeah, please?”

“Where?” He asked, dragging it out. His voice was unholy. “Where do you want my mouth?” His thumbs were still moving, up and down and up and down. “Tell me.”

“My pussy, Jesus Christ,” you whined. You couldn’t ever remember being this pent up. “Please.”

“Oh,” Steve cooed, “she’s so polite.” And then he gave you no other warning, dipping his head so he could lick a stripe through your folds, the hot, wet contact of his tongue making you cry out.

You were unraveling too fast. His thumbs had you taught for him, every part of you feeling his tongue, his lips. Steve groaned into you, a happy, pleased hum that told you whatever game this was, he’d won. He kept his tongue flat, slow, broad strokes of it going from your entrance to your clit until you were curling over him and clutching his hair, doing your best to not suffocate him. But Steve moaned louder and moved his hands to your hips, sliding down until they cupped under your ass and he encouraged you to grind against his face. Tongue still out, kept flat for you to rock yourself on. It was pornographic.

Then Steve was mumbling into you, voice a rasp. “Good girl, honey, that’s it. Keep going, make yourself come on my tongue, yeah?”

So you did, obedient as ever, letting out a gasping cry as your legs shook, cunt still clenching around nothing ‘cause Steve had broken you with just his mouth. It was dirty hot, the way he dragged himself from your sensitive slit, tongue running over your folds even as you whined, licking over the crease of your thighs to get everything you’d spilled for him. You watched as he appeared between your knees, hair tousled, lips and chin shining in the low light, his cheeks flushed. It was ironic, how he looked more boyish after he made you come, expensive black shirt creased from where your legs had pressed against him, his own gaze a little fucked out.

Logic would suggest that perhaps you’d get a kiss then, something soft and sweet to soothe you down before he fucked you senseless, before you got to wrap your own fingers or lips around him. Steve looked big, if the solid press of him against his trousers was anything to go by. Thick and still rock hard, an easy eight inches trapped taught against his thigh, just as impressive as his wealth and status. Your mouth watered.

He kissed the inside of your knee instead, his heavy lidded gaze on yours before he offered you his hands to help you sit up and then said, “I better get you home.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Home,” Steve repeated. He passed you back your bra, your dress. Not your underwear though, no. They were still in his pocket. “I gotta be at the airport in—” he checked his watch, the picture of blasé. “—an hour.”

You pulled on your dress, a little speechless. This boy had just made you come harder than you’d ever managed yourself and now he was busying himself with lighting a cigarette he pulled from the packet in his pocket. Your eyes wandered, he was still hard.

“What about,” you licked your lips, suddenly shy. You nodded towards his crotch, the absolute monster he packed in his slacks. “What about you?”

Steve grinned, bending down to peck your cheek as you wriggled into your uniform, trying to pull yourself back together. “I’ll live,” he told you, blowing out smoke as he spoke. “We’ll call it an IOU, huh? But my plane leaves soon, honey. I’ll cash that favour when I’m back.”

“When?” You blurted out. It sounded like something a girlfriend would demand to know and you cringed, but Steve kept smirking. He helped you slip on your heels, cigarette hanging from his lips that definitely tasted like you.

“Unsure,” he told you casually, “there’s things I need to wrap up in Monaco before I can go to Tuscany for a few weeks. There’s problems at the vineyard and there’s a new plot I want to look at in Alassio too.”

All you heard was money money money. So you nodded and gave him a small smile, legs still a little wobbly from his touch, his mouth, his tongue. And when Steve dropped you off at the door of your too small apartment, he took your chin between his finger and thumb and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your jaw, just below your ear.

The kiss goodnight to your lips didn’t come. You felt confused, a little stilted. But you got out the BMW and waved goodbye, wondering what you were supposed to do at three in the morning after Steve Harrington had tumbled your world upside down.

PART TWO

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot

2K notes · View notes

henneseyhoe · 1 year ago

Text

SMILE FOR ME, DADDY.

Chiron x BLACK!FEM!reader

WARNINGS:18+, pussy is being licked like ice cream on a hot country summer day!, no relation between reader and Chiron, y’all just bein nasty, Short.

SUMMARY:reader likes Chiron’s grillz and he shows her they look good on her too..*wink wink*

(Pt2)

✮✮✮✮

It all started with you askin’ him about those damn grillz.

“Pretty boy!”

“Smile for me, daddy!” You and your friends playfully yelled at the men across the parking lot, their attention landing on your entire group regardless of all the other people around them hooting and hollering about how nice their cars was.

They smiled nicely like it wasn’t nothing, the grillz in question gleaming in the streetlights. All grillz had different designs and colors. One was silver with diamonds riddling the top and bottom, one was gold with crosses engraved on it, one was in the shape of an AK on the man’s top row with the bottom slugged out with silver, and one just had simple gold, but that was all you had to see to make that kitty pur.

You all went silent, giggling amongst each other as the opposite group detached themselves from the hoods of their drop top rides, striding over to y’all. You got nervous with every step, your hands starting to shake. Each and every one of them picked a girl out for themselves to talk to, and you were last, the most intimidating one of them all approaching you. He was tall, nice beard, skin looked like glazed dark chocolate in all these lights, and his golden pendants and grillz only made all that pop. You could have fainted right then and there with how he was looking at you. Like he wanted to take a bite with those same golds.

“You said you want me to do what, ma?” He asked, licking his lips. You got a peak of the bright jewels in his mouth, your eyes twinkling with every sight of it.

“I- I said…I wanted to see them grillz”

✮✮✮✮

“FUCK! Ouuu, fuck!” You moaned, your hand gripping onto the velvet seats of the car that belonged to this man whose name you still didn’t know. How you went from asking to see his grillz to him sticking his entire tongue inside of you with no remorse for his seats? You had no idea, but you were damn sure gonna enjoy a handsome face being in your lap.

He wasn’t just kissing or sucking, he was making love to that pussy, like he actually loved the pussy. His tongue knew no limits, licking up and down from your throbbing clit all the way down to your ass. That’s how you knew he was a real freak, y’all only talked for about an hour. Your legs was lifted up so high you were sure a plane would think you were telling them to land right on top of y’all. Not to mention the top on the car was still down and y’all were still in the parking lot where the car meet took place. Thankfully, everyone had left, hearing about a street racing event that was happening downtown. You were too busy getting your soul sucked out through your clit to care about it.

He spread your lips with his thumbs and spat down onto your clit, watching it drip down to your entrance and spill on his seat. Sticking his tongue out, he only uses the tip to play with your bundle of nerves, flicking it back and forth as your stomach started to flip and cave in from the powerful orgasm you were about to have. Once again you caught a glimpse of those beautiful golds in his mouth, just shining at you, not to mention the feeling of the warm material sitting against your pussy every time he decides to put his entire mouth on you, collecting the juices that had attempted to fall.

“OH MY GOD!” You squealed, your pussy clenching and unclenching uncontrollably. Suddenly he closes his lips around your clit and begins to suck while sliding two of his fingers inside you, the sound of macaroni being stirred filling the car as he began thrusting his fingers at an angle inside of you while sucking. He felt your pussy contract around him, clamping down until you sprayed your juices all over him like a broken water pipe. “OH SHIT!” Was all you could say as you watched in awe, the force being so strong that you actually slammed your head back against the cars door. You continued to squirt through your surprise and confusion, wetting up his seats, beard, and white tee. And get this, the night still wasn’t over.

✮✮✮✮

Me and my grillz kink back at it again???

#henneseyhoe #black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #black!reader #masterlist #black actors #black reader #black!fem!reader #black!oc #smut masterlist #trevante rhodes fanfiction #trevante rhodes imagines #trevante rhodes x reader #trevante rhodes smut #trevante rhodes fanfic #actor smut #smutty fanfiction #smutty smut smut

1K notes · View notes

just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 11 months ago

Text

Ready to roll?

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 9

Prompt: No Upside Down AU

Rated: T

CW: one mention of masturbation bc Eddie is a horny little shit

Tags: Future fic; Flirting; Record label owner!Eddie; Waiter!Steve; Steve in rollerblades

Notes: Another collab with the amazingly talented and creative @house-of-the-moving-image - check out their art!

"What?" Eddie says eloquently, tearing his eyes from the laminated menu.

The waiter is hovering next to his booth, pen tapping against the notepad in his hand. He looks annoyed. Probably pissed at Eddie for interrupting his quiet night shift. Well, tough luck, pretty boy.

"I said …" the waiter pauses, heaves a brief but heartfelt sigh. "Are you ready to roll?"

Eddie blinks.

"Listen, dude!" The waiter says flatly, but there's a blush blossoming on his neck. "I'd ask if I may take your order, but I'm, like, contractually obfuscated to say … this instead. Goes with the theme, y’know?"

He gestures at the entirety of himself. The cheerfully colored shirt and tiny shorts. The little apron around his waist. The knee-high socks disappearing into a pair of chunky, red-and-white rollerblades, and … oh, right.

"Well?"

Eddie snaps his eyes back up and shit, for how long has he been staring at those legs like a creep?

The waiter is scowling at him. He really is pretty. Exactly Eddie’s type. Gold-flecked eyes, stupidly voluminous hair, pink lips twisted into a bitchy little scowl. Eddie imagines pushing him up against the wall on those stupid wheels of his, sucking and biting that scowl right off.

"Hm," he makes instead. "The guys at the label said I'd enjoy the cake, but I'm starting to think they weren't talking about the menu."

The scowl deepens.

"Cheeseburger and fries," Eddie says. "And a strawberry milkshake."

One elegant eyebrow arches.

"... Please?"

Waiter boy smirks at him, a brief flash of perfectly white teeth. Eddie wants to lick them.

"Coming right up." He jots the order down, shoves pen and notepad into his apron pocket. As he does, Eddie catches a glimpse of the name tag attached to his uniform shirt. (Which has nothing to do with him ogling the way the fabric stretches over that toned chest, because he wasn't doing that, thank you.)

It says "Hi, I'm Steve. :-)"

Wait, what?

The whirr of rollerblades on the floor tiles jerks him out of his stupor. He's glad he didn't take off his sunglasses, because holy fuck, he must be gawking like an idiot right now.

Because he knows a guy named Steve. Or knew.

A guy named Steve with perfect, caramel hair, tan skin littered in moles and an irritatingly pretty, aloof smile. Not that Eddie was ever at the receiving end of that smile. The closest Eddie ever got to him was back in eighty-six, when he was dealing drugs out of his van. In the driveway of that palace in Loch Nora, while the King and his court partied inside.

Eddie watches how waiter boy comes gliding out of the kitchen, wipes down tables and refills napkin holders.

It can't be.

Steve Harrington is back in the hellhole that is Hawkins, Indiana - or maybe at some college halfway across the country, preparing to take over daddy's business. He's most certainly not wearing rollerblades and a pair of stupidly short shorts, waiting tables in a cheap twenty-four hour diner in Seattle.

Then again, back in eighty-six, who would've thought that Eddie Munson would be owning his own record label one day?

When waiter boy arrives with his order and leans in to put it down on the table, Eddie peers over his sunglasses to cast an inconspicuous look at his profile.

There's a pair of moles on his neck, near identical in size, spaced apart like a perfect little vampire bite.

Well, slap his ass and call him Sally.

Eddie knows these moles, has spent entire nights jerking off to the thought of sinking his teeth into them.

"Staring costs extra," Steve mutters at the milkshake.

Before Eddie can say anything, the phone on the counter rings and Steve rolls over to answer it. Eddie chews on his too-salty fries and can't help the grin that tugs at his lips as he watches the boy twirl the cord around his fingers while taking the order.

The night just officially got interesting.

Steve looks over, catches him staring and gives him the flattest, most unimpressed look Eddie has ever seen on a person who just realized they were being checked out. The blush has reached his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Eddie winks and Steve rolls his eyes before he turns his back on him. Eddie doesn’t complain. That ass does look fantastic in the shorts.

He takes his time with the meal. The burger is nothing to write home about, but the view more than makes up for it.

When he is done, he saunters over to the counter, pulling out his wallet. Steve is busy counting mayonnaise packages and muttering under his breath. He blinks in confusion when Eddie slaps down a fifty, starts digging for change in his apron.

"Nah," Eddie says. "Just keep it."

Steve frowns at him. "That's way too much."

"Don't sell yourself short. I thought staring was extra?"

Steve opens his mouth. Hesitates. Closes it. Pockets the money.

"Thanks," he murmurs, eyes trained at some point behind Eddie's shoulder. "Roll by again."

Eddie just barely manages to turn the incoming snort into a grin.

"Sure will,” he mutters, leaning across the counter and into the boy’s space. “Maybe I'll try that cake next time."

"Oh, please," Steve huffs. "As if you could afford me, Munson."

Eddie feels his jaw drop. "Wait, you knew who-"

The doorbell chimes.

"Hi there!" Steve chirps at the guy in the door. "You called, right? I'll check if your order is ready."

And then he's gone and Eddie is staring at the still swinging kitchen door like an idiot.

It isn't until he's back out in the dark street that his confusion morphs into something else. His majesty wants to play coy? Well, Eddie can indulge him, can't he?

He makes his way home with a new spring in his step. Looks like he's found his new favorite dinner spot.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles #upside diner AU

1K notes · View notes

hotyanderedaddies · 9 months ago

Note

Hello mate

Would you ever be interested in writing something for a yandere Pirate x (navy) Admiral male reader?

Yandere Pirate Boards Your Ship for His Treasure

[Yandere! Pirate x GN! Admiral! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

You're an admiral on one of the Navy's most prestigious ships, and you were on a mission to deliver some precious cargo back to your country. Said cargo was traded goods, including gold and precious gemstones.

Word had gotten out regarding what your ship would be transporting, hence, your crew was on high alert for any pirates that might try to come and take it.

You were at the wheel of the ship when the bell from the lookout post started to ring. "Pirates!" the lookout shouted, altering you to the potential danger.

You grabbed your binoculars and tried to look out over the water for a sign of any pirate ship, but the thick fog helped to shield the lingering threat. Unfortunately, once the fog cleared enough for you to see, it was too late.

The pirate ship was dangerously close, enough for the pirate crew to start tossing ropes on board to your ship, some of them hopping on board to start attacking.

But that wasn't what made your heart drop.

You vaguely recognized the name on the side of the pirate ship: The Blackheart.

It was the ship belonging to one of the most infamous pirates on the Seven Seas, a dangerous pirate who went by the moniker "Daddy", and who was always successful when it came to taking whatever he wanted.

"Fuck," you spat under your breath.

The commotion happened so quickly that you didn't even have time to grab your weapon and help defend your ship, until the door to the steering room was kicked open and in walked Daddy.

The tall pirate had a joyful expression on his face, and he smiled widely as he looked over at you.

"Well, well," he said with a chuckle, "if it isn't Admiral Y/N. You know, I've been following your ship quite a while now, and I wasn't sure I'd get the chance to board. But as fate would have it, here I am."

"Yeah, here you are," you spat, "now leave!"

You tried to grab your sword, but Daddy was a lot faster than you, and he snatched it out from your reach.

"Not so fast, Darling," he laughed. "You see, I'm not goin' nowhere without my treasure." He crossed his strong arms in front of himself and waited, expectantly

From the opened door, you could see Daddy's crew rallying yours on the deck, having easily defeated them. They were starting to tie them up and you began to fear the worst.

Of course you had a mission, but you believed that your true duty was ensure your crew members' safety as opposed to some gold coins and shiny rocks.

"Fine," you relented, your shoulders falling. "Just let my crew go."

Daddy puffed out his chest with pride and stalked closer to you, completely towering over you with his intimidating bulk. "Oh?" he teased. "Are you givin' up already, Admiral?"

You scowled, avoiding his eyes.

"Just take your treasure and go," you muttered, clenching your fists angrily.

"Gladly," Daddy exclaimed.

Daddy stalked even closer to you and quickly tossed you over his broad shoulder as if you weighed nothing.

"W-wait!" you cried out, confused. "What?"

"Don't act so surprised, my treasure," Daddy chuckled as he carried you out of the steering room and over to the edge of your ship. With one mighty leap, he brought you onto his ship, and stalked over to the room on the deck that was without a doubt the captain's quarters.

Daddy kicked this door open too, revealing a tiny room with a double-sized bed. There was a singular nightstand beside the bed and on it was... a small picture frame with a picture of you in it.

You looked up at the pirate with confusion written all over your face.

Daddy only chuckled in response, closing the door shut behind you two.

"Oh, Darling," Daddy said in his deep voice, "I've been following you across the seas for a long time now. I've been so desperate to get my treasure, and now that I finally have it, I'm never letting it go..."

#yandere boyfriend #yandere boy #yandere daddy #yandere x reader #yandere x you #obsessive love #possessive boyfriend #asks #pirate #yandere pirate #pirate x you #pirate x reader #yandere pirate x reader #admiral reader

668 notes · View notes

doyoulikethissong-poll · 9 months ago

Text

Snow - Informer 1992

"Informer" is a song by Canadian reggae musician Snow, released in December 1992 as the first single from his debut album, 12 Inches of Snow (1993). "Informer" was a chart-topping hit, spending seven consecutive weeks at number one on the US Billboard Hot 100. It peaked at number one on the singles chart in Denmark, Finland, Germany, Ireland, Norway, Sweden and Switzerland, as well as on the Eurochart Hot 100. It entered the top 10 in Austria, France, Greece, Iceland, Italy, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, and the UK, where the single peaked at number two during its third week at the UK Singles Chart. Outside Europe, it reached number one in Australia, New Zealand, Zimbabwe, and on the US Billboard Hot 100. In Snow's native Canada, "Informer" topped The Record's singles chart and was a top-10 radio hit, peaking at number nine on the RPM 100 Hit Tracks chart. "Informer" was awarded with a gold record in Austria and the Netherlands, a silver record in the UK, and a platinum record in Germany, New Zealand and the US. In Australia, it received a double-platinum record.

As he was growing up in Toronto, Canada, Snow had a strong interest in rock music, but in 1983 there was an influx of Jamaican immigrants to the neighbourhood and his interest turned to reggae music and he became adept at the use of the Jamaican dialect, or Jamaican Patois. He developed his own style of music, by blending dancehall and reggae with rock and pop music.

Snow served an eight-month sentence in Toronto for assault when "Informer" began getting radio and MuchMusic airplay. The song is based on a separate 1989 incident when Snow was charged with two counts of attempted murder. At the time, he was detained for a year in Toronto before the charges were reduced to aggravated assault, and he was eventually acquitted and freed.

"Informer" won a Juno Award for Best Reggae Recording in 1994. It has been recorded twice in the Guinness Book of World Records as the best-selling reggae single in US history, as well as the highest charting reggae single in history. In Japan, Snow received the Recording Industry Association of Japan's 1994 Japan Gold Disc Award for New Artist of the Year.

In 2019, Puerto Rican singer, songwriter, and rapper Daddy Yankee released a new version of "Informer" as "Con Calma" together with Snow, who recorded new parts. The Spanish-language remake topped the charts of 20 countries and reached the top 10 of 10 others. In 2020, Snow won four awards Song of the Year with Daddy Yankee for "Con Calma" at Premio Lo Nuestro Awards, the Pop Music Award from SOCAN, and they won the Top Latin Song of the Year at the 2020 Billboard Music Awards. "Con Calma" won big at the Latin Billboard Music Awards 2020, taking home six awards.

"Informer" received a total of 68,5% yes votes!

youtube

#finished #high votes #high yes #90s #snow

753 notes · View notes

violetpixiedust · 23 days ago

Text

thinking about angry stepdad!rafey who needs someone to keep him in line wether he likes it or not. ;_;

18+. afab reader. no description of appearance. smut. stepcest. stepdad!rafe. sub!rafe. kind of mean!reader. rafe cameron has a foot kink. foot!job. hints of pet play?? like very low key. kook!reader, but kind of early 2000’s core. rafe is early 40s. reader is 18.

the small pink radio on your bedside table played your favourite station, sat beneath one of your two hot pink lampshades. it was nearing 7:00pm, and you were getting ready to meet your friends at the boneyard for a party. the approaching summer heat filtered in through the open windows, your tulle curtains occasionally swaying with a fresh spring breeze that reminded you of approaching summer vacations of the past. now, you were trying your best to think of anything but graduation.

puckering your pouty lips, you swiped on your favourite lipgloss, admiring your done up reflection in your little hand mirror- before catching sight of your stepfather in the doorway behind you. a sharp gasp left your lips, snapping your compact closed before whipping your head in the smirking man’s direction. “aren’t you a little too young to already be showing signs of dementia?”

a wicked smirk glinted across your sticky mouth at the way rafe’s cobalt eyes rolled bitterly. his pink, slightly chapped lips formed themselves into a firm line before enveloping the rim of his glass, downing the bronze liquid without breaking eye-contact. you raised a careful brow. “just because the door is open, doesn’t mean you need to come in. free will works both ways you know.” reopening your compact, you began double checking for any imperfections. as usual, you found none.

a scoff echoed alongside you, not swaying you in the slightest. even when rafe’s tone held more than it’s usual distain. “you know why i’m drinking this shitty whisky?”

“don’t care.”

“hey.” your stepfather slammed his crystal glass atop your bookshelf with a sharp thud, storming up to your four post bed in record speed before trapping your wrists within his large hands. your compact fell atop your pink sheets, bouncing away from you two as rafe wrestled you to lay back along your bed. you didn’t even fight it, only challenging him with a nasty glare that rivalled his own. god, it was like you weren’t even your mother’s daughter, rafe thought. his wife was far too meek to ever be able to discipline you, let alone deal with the monster she had created in neglecting to do so. “cut the attitude. i’m-i’m drinkin’ this dog shit whisky because someone replaced my expensive stuff with it, thinkin’ i wouldn’t notice.”

a humourless chuckle left your lips, your sultry smile only widening when rafe’s grip tightened. his gold signet ring threatening to leave a brand. “think you’ve had too many bumps of blow, daddy.” the bulging vein in the blonde’s neck jumped in surprise. his angry expression faltering for just a second before hardening once more. you still caught the twitch in his brow, the purse of his lips, the widening of his pupils. you weren’t supposed to know about the coke. you also weren’t supposed to be going through his office when he and your mother were at the country club- and you sure as hell weren’t supposed to be drinking the last of his expensive whisky. one that was now in a silver flask, hidden within the fluff of your teddy bear that was sat on top of the chair in the corner of your room. “y’know how coke dick can make men act. forgetful and neglectful.” you shrugged your bare shoulders, the soft mounds of your breasts pushing themselves up in your thin tank top with how rafe dug your manicured hands further into your own chest.

the man opposite to you threw you back against your bed carelessly before he let you go, cobalt blue beaming down on you from where he stood. he panted as if he had just run a marathon, eyes wild and unsure of where to look next. meanwhile, you laid back along your elbows, cool and collected as the hem of your matching pyjama shorts fluttered upwards in his eye-line teasingly. rafe breathed in through his nose angrily, stating lowly. “you tell your mother anything, and i’ll-“

“but we don’t have to do that. do we, daddy?” rafe could feel every last bit of dignity in his brain melting away at that fucking name that left your lips. spoken in that saccharine tone of voice you reserved for him and him only. daddy, i need a ride. daddy, tell mom to stop being so mean to me. can i have a hug goodnight, daddy? daddy, there’s this new purse i want- no matter how much you made him want to pull his own teeth out, he could never say no to you, and you knew that. “noo. i don’t think so.” a soft giggle left your glossy lips at the way your stepfather’s mouth fell agape, his anger quickly fizzling into arousal.

you knew how pent up he was, he practically wore it on his sleeve. it was a wonder your mother had even bagged a man like rafe. successful, gorgeous, rich, tasteful. you figured it was because of how spineless she was. obeying to his every whim. following him around the outer banks like a lapdog. gushing to anyone who would listen that ‘the rafe cameron’ was hers. she allowed him to act like the man of the house- all while he stomped around with his jaw clenched like a child. the elder woman followed every one of his orders. making him a plate every night even if most nights it went cold. pouring him a glass of whisky, even before she left to converse with the real housewives of outer banks at the country club. a glass of whisky she wasn’t aware was worth less than $50.00 and had been stolen from a bar on the cut. the only thing she wouldn’t give him is what he really wanted. a challenge. not to mention the right touch. wrapped in a pretty little bow that would be both the cause and relief of all his stress and troubles. a sense of relief more medicinal than any line of the purest coke. “it doesn’t look like you dipped into that supply tonight, ray.”

your manicured toes that were decorated with a sultry shade of red trailed up the inner hem of rafe’s designer trousers. the blonde man’s eyes fluttered shut, hips twitching forwards unconsciously when the tips of your toes grazed his inner thigh. a choked gasp left the elder man when the ball of your foot pressed against his erection, his hands just catching your ankle before you promptly pulled it away. rafe’s eyes shot open, about to speak before you pointed your foot down towards your hardwood floor. “knees.”

rafe struggled with himself for a moment, physically at odds. he could cuss you out and leave. maybe go to the country club for some proper whisky, and blow off some steam with topper..

his knees bent at their own will, cracking before allowing the man to settle on his calves in front of you. a smile drew itself onto your lips, a sweet one that outweighed the corruption within your expression. the cameron man felt his blood turn gelatinous, rushing like syrup to the head of his cock that pressed painfully against the italian zipper of his pants. “that’s it.” you cooed at his submission. a shaky breath left rafe’s bitten lips, leaving his mouth agape when the ball of your left foot stroked his manhood up and down at a gentle pace. a deep groan left the blonde, throwing his head back as his hips moved in tandem with your strokes. “d’you like that, baby?”

rafe choked out another moan, realizing he liked being called ‘baby’ almost as much as he liked being called ‘daddy’. “y-yes. holy shit.” you could feel yourself dripping within your panties at the sight of the most powerful man in the outer banks humping your foot like a bitch in heat.

“unbutton your shirt for me, puppy. you’re all rosy.” rafe swallowed heavily at your patronizing tone, heart pounding in his ears while he practically ripped off the buttons on his dress shirt, leaving him in an ivory wife beater. the deft tips of his fingers raced down to the closure of his pants next, but you stopped him instantly. “uh-uh. what did i say?”

rafe groaned in frustration, unable to ignore the feeling of the beads of sweat at his temples, the crook of his neck, beneath the thick material of his pants. he was so overstimulated, so hot. he just wanted to come. that’s all he’s wanted to do for the past two weeks. every time he was either interrupted by your mother, an associate, or so on. this was the first time you were helping him out, instead of making him jerk off in front of you like you had two weeks ago during his morning shower. his obsession with you had worsened tenfold since that day. he needed you like he needed air to breathe. “please.” rafe buried his head into your bare thighs, placing open mouthed kisses along the smooth and vanilla scented skin, leaving streaks of drool behind. he didn’t care how pathetic he looked. he couldn’t. the only thing on his mind being sweet release. “please. i-i- i need to feel you s’bad, please.”

you watched in fascination at the scene unfolding in front of you. the tight knots of your stepfather unravelling with every hit of pleasure you gave him. he was so pathetic it made your heart race. not to mention your pussy throb.

god, he was so beautiful like this.

“shhh, you’re okay.” full body shudders prompted rafe’s back to twitch, each prominent muscle leaping beneath the taught wife beater he wore. you let your matching manicured nails rake over his shaved head, the once dominant man resting his forehead back on your lap obediently. he felt fuzzy with pleasure, so unbelievably turned on that he couldn’t think straight. he hadn’t felt like this in years. rafe wound his strong arms around your calf at the feeling of your toes pulling down his pants zipper, his own heavy breathing being the only thing he could focus on. the eldest cameron choked, lifting his cloudy gaze up towards you as your pointed toes dipped into his pants, only the layer of his thin underwear separating your skin. you could feel the warm pre-cum that seeped through the material onto your foot, sticky and wet. you let your soft hand cup his clammy stubble, thumb grazing his cheekbone as he leant into your touch. “thrust.”

you didn’t have to tell rafe twice. the man snapped into action, abusing the ball of your foot with the sheer greed of his thrusts. his eyes were nearly black, pupils taking over the now dusky blue of his irises. you hummed in contentment from your place on top of your sheets, catching his attention immediately with the way your soft hand left his head to dip into the waistband of your dainty shorts.

rafe’s entire body felt like it was on fire, desperately chasing his orgasm as best he could despite the sharp ache in his knees. only that didn’t matter, the once strict business man was too focused on his stepdaughter’s fingers that were suddenly shiny with her tangy slick. “open up, handsome.” your sweetness bursting along his tastebuds was the final push rafe needed, groaning around your fingers as thick ropes of hot sticky cum filled the front of his boxers. his brain whited out, eyes rolling to the back of his head while his muscular body convulsed, shakily riding out the last of his orgasm.

you gently pulled your foot out of his trousers once you were sure he was finished, relishing in the soft whine that emitted from him after you scratched behind his ears soothingly. “that’s a good boy, hm?”

rafe’s hips tiredly nudged against your foot once more at that, making you laugh.

#this is my first time writing for rafey sorry if its ooc #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x reader smut #rafe cameron smut #step dad!rafe #sub!rafe #daddy!rafe cameron #kook!reader #older!rafe #older!rafe cameron #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

203 notes · View notes

phoward89 · 8 months ago

Text

Based on this ask

Warning ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is his own warning, child gets hurt (nothing major), unruly mobs, poison, hanging tree

“Daddy!” Cassian Xanthos excitedly exclaimed, running over to Coriolanus as you followed behind him, your belly just starting to swell with your second child so you're still able to keep up with your little blonde rugrat.

“Did Mommy bring you here to help me run the country, Cass?” Your husband asked your son, who was his spitting image at 4 years old. The little boy had the same light platinum blonde curls, the same baby blue eyes, the same prominent nose, long legs, and toothy grin.

A grin that was missing something.

“I finally lost my tooth!” Cassian proudly announced, climbing up onto your husband's lap as he sat at his desk in his presidential office.

“Yeah? Let me see it.” Coriolanus beamed, giving your son a proud smile.

You couldn't help, but to melt at the interaction you were watching unfold before your very eyes. Coriolanus, despite being a cold, callous, stern, calculated, iron-fisted leader, was a very loving husband and father. Around you and your son, he was a different man. A man that let his guard down, let himself have emotions.

Coriolanus presented himself to the public as a hard man and rarely talked about his family. The only ones that knew how much his family meant to him was the presidential mansion staff. And they knew better than to cross their boss. The staff knew that if they wanted to keep breathing and assure that their families didn't wind up banished to the districts that it's best to ignore how soft the cold hearted President Snow was with his family.

“Cass, put your tooth under your pillow tonight and the tooth fairy will collect your tooth; give you a reward.” Your husband told your son, making the little boy smile and giggle in excitement.

Coriolanus made sure to incorporate all of those little traditions he grew up with. The ones Grandma’am had shared with him when he was a little orphan boy, growing up alone and afraid during a war.

“Last time I lost a tooth, the tooth fairy gived me a gold coin.” Cassian. Xandros chirped.

Coriolanus cringed at hearing his son's improper grammar. Looking down at his boy, your husband corrected him with, “It's the tooth fairy gave me a gold coin, not gived.”

“Okay.” Cassian simply smiled.

Looking away from the little boy in his lap and over to you, Coriolanus asked, “Have the maids finished packing our bags for our trip to 12?”

Your husband, being the President, had to take trips to the districts to deal with things. It was mostly meetings with PK commanders and mayors, sometimes a few other things such as productivity at a factory or a mine. But he never went into full details with you about it. You usually just had to deal with him bitching about the incompetent people he had to meet with.

You also got stuck attending dinners with the PK commanders, mayors, and their families. Coryo always brought his family along on his business trips for that very reason. So that his family could smooze with the family of whoever he was stuck meeting with. Your husband was all about networking.

“Yes.” You nodded, leaning against the edge of his desk and resting your hand on your barely there baby bump. “Paloma, placed the bags in the foyer of the living quarters; I think the chauffeur's loading them into the car soon.

“As soon as I'm done with my paperwork we'll head out.” Coriolanus informed you, picking up his pen and resuming his paperwork while letting his son sit on his lap.

“Okay, but why do we have to go to 12? We both hate it there, can't you just send one of your staff to handle whatever mine dispute is going on?”

“Darling, I can't send an assistant. I need to handle this myself because, apparently, the last time I sent an assistant nothing got done.”

“Daddy, why you and Mommy hate 12?” Your son innocently asked your husband.

You narrowed your eyes at Coryo, silently warning him that the story of you two’s past in 12 wasn't fitting for the ears of a 4 year old little boy.

Yea… Telling your son that Coriolanus and you met each other when he was a Peacekeeper (and that he was supposed to be Lucy Gray’s beau), that he paid for an apartment you shared (he was supposed to live in the barracks, but he always seemed to sneak in and out before wakeup call), and brought you back to the Capitol with him wasn't a good idea. He was too young; wouldn't understand.

Hell, you're hoping that Cassian never learns the truth about how you and Coryo got together. It's just too complicated. Maybe even somewhat embarrassing in a way.

Your husband gave your son his old puppy plushie from his childhood. It was a plushie that your son slept with. He had to take it with him during trips, or else he'd be up all night crying without it. Cassian Xandros couldn't sleep without his plushie, Puppers.

And Puppers couldn't be packed in the suitcase. No, your son has to carry that plushie with him when going somewhere. Sticking it in the luggage gives him panic attacks.

And dealing with a 4 year old having a panic attack’s no easy feat. Especially when that child's the carbon copy of Coriolanus Snow. Oh boy…the panic attacks that Cassian would have over thinking his Puppers was lost were on a whole different level.

Like the end of the world, the 2nd apocalypse, and WW4 type of level. The little boy was unconsolable while having one. You would always hold your son and assure him that everything was fine. You'd whisper reassuring words to him and comfort him while your husband would find the puppy plushie and shove it into your son's hands.

Safe to say, it was easier to just let Cassian carry Puppers the puppy plushie onto the train with him then to pack it up.

“Daddy, did you bring Puppers on trips when you was little?” Cassian Xandros asked his father while sitting on his lap, looking out the window of the Presidential train car your family had just boarded half an hour earlier.

“It's when you were little, Cass.” Coriolanus corrected your son’s grammar, like he always did.

You just smiled from your spot on the sofa, eating some fruit while watching your favorite boys. They're two peas in a pod. You know that Cassian Xandros is most likely going to follow in his father's political footsteps when he's older. You can see it already.

“No.” Coryo shook his head. A faraway look appeared in your husband's icy blue eyes as he looked out the window over your son's head of platinum curls. Looking down at the little boy in his lap, a thin line of a smile appeared on his face as he explained, “I didn't go on trips as a little boy because things were scary back then. Panem wasn't safe like it is now.”

Looking at his dad, who was his hero, Cassian asked, “And you make it safe, right daddy? Cause you's President?”

“Yes, your daddy makes the country very safe because he's the president.” You answered Cassian before Coriolanus had the chance to correct his grammar.

And it's true, your husband had put many laws, rules, and regulations in effect when it came to the law and order of the country; to keep Panem safe. To keep the country running smoothly. Your husband had seen many horrors in his short life, more than you and that's something considering that you grew up in the districts. Your husband had an obsessive need for control and order; it showed in his political policies.

You never got into it. As First Lady your job was to just smile, go to charity events, host tea parties, etc. Oh, you also collected gossip for your husband, that he used to make decisions about who he should and shouldn't eliminate. But, as First Lady, your role wasn't as a ruler- that was your husband's job. Coriolanus was the President, he oversaw the country and you’re just his sidekick.

“You're mommy’s right.” Coryo smiled, only to ruffle his son's light blonde curls and correct his grammar, once again, with, “And it's because you're President, not cause you’s President, Cass.”

The trip from Capitol City, Panem to District 12, Panem was a very long and boring journey. Traveling from the Rockies to Appalachia was always a soul sucking experience. You and your husband avoid traveling to District 12 like the plague, but unfortunately it couldn't be avoided. It seems that the route was long and full of nothing to look at, but a few old crumbling ruins of ancient Pre-Panem cities.

Cassian Xandros, being a little boy, was excited when the train passed by the remnants of the ancient places. “Mommy, Daddy, what District that?”

Never looking up from his reports, Coriolanus told your son, “It's not a district son, it's the ancient city of Pittsburgh.”

“What happened?” The little boy, who inherited both his father's looks and thirst for knowledge, asked.

“Don't worry about it, buddy. You'll learn about it when you're older in school.”

“But daddy-” Cassian Xandros began, only for the president to sternly cut him off with, “I told you not to worry about it, Cassian.”

Seeing the dejected look on your son's face paired with his low lip quivering made you decide that your husband needed a talking to. That you're going to straighten him out. So, giving your son a soft smile, you suggested in a sweet and motherly tone, “Why don't you go to the dining car and ask an Avox for some ice cream? Hmm?”

‘Okay, mommy.” Cassian nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips, before taking off to go get his ice cream. A treat that you knew would make him feel better; would also get him out of the suite long enough for you to tell off your husband.

As soon as the door to the train car closed, you gave your husband a disgruntled look and told him, ‘Coriolanus, I understand that you're tense because we're almost at 12, but that doesn't give you the right to snap at Cassian. He's just curious about why there's ancient ruins outside of the Districts along the train tracks.”

“I need to prepare for my upcoming meetings, darling. I don't have time to conduct history lessons with a 4 year old right now.” Coryo said dismissively, as if everything you just told him wasn't important. As if his goddamn paperwork was more important.

Well it wasn't and you're going to let him know that.

“You're not the only one that's on edge about this visit to 12, Coryo.” Your said, causing your husband to look at you. Shaking your head, you admitted, “I haven't seen my brother Rein since he disowned me; called me a sellout and a whore when I became your girl. Going back there, not knowing how my family's going to react seeing me as your pregnant First Lady; the mother of your son, terrifies me.”

And your estranged family's opinion of you, after all of these years, did have you worried. You didn't part with Rein and his girlfriend, Ashlie, on the best of terms. They made you choose between them and a Capitol born and bred peacekeeper, Private Snow. You, in the end, picked Coryo. The man that took care of you while you lived in 12, who took you with him when he got discharged and sent back to the Capitol. The man who married you despite the way his Grandma’am turned her nose down at you.

The last time you saw your brother it was when you were on stage with your husband while he was giving a speech during a presidential campaign tour. Although district citizens can't vote, Capitol citizens and those serving the Capitol in the Peacekeepers can. So, Coryo decided to do a district tour to boost morale and votes of the Peacekeepers. He even made sure to use his background as one along with the fact that his father was General Crassus Snow during the election too.

But that was around the time you discovered you were pregnant, so…

“But I'm not taking it out on Cass; I won't sit back and watch you do that, Coryo.” You told your husband, needing him to know that your son couldn't be an emotional punching bag.

Setting his paperwork aside, Coryo stood up and sighed, “You're brother, Rein, and that ratty whore of his are idiots.” Going over to the sofa and taking a seat next to you, your husband snaked an arm around you, bringing you to lean your head against his chest. “I'm sorry that being with me caused such a rift between you and your family; you should've told me you've been feeling apprehensive about this trip.”

“Coryo, you know that I get over emotional from pregnancy hormones. I didn't want to bother you with my feelings about this trip.” You told Coriolanus, feeling like you're ready to burst into tears at any second.

At that very moment, your son walked back into the train car with an ice cream cone in his hand. Seeing you so sad and his daddy trying to make you feel better, Cassian Xandros went over to Coriolanus, only to hold his ice cream out and say, “Daddy, mommy’s sad. Give her my ice cream; then she'll be happy.”

“No, you eat it, sweetie.” You told your son while holding your husband's hand; preventing him from taking the ice cream.

You knew that Coryo would take the ice cream under the guise of giving it to you, but would eat it himself once you turned the treat down. Your husband has an odd relationship with free food…

“Do you want Puppers instead? He always makes me feel better.” Cassian asked, licking his chocolate ice cream cone that had every single once covered by chocolate sprinkles. That was definitely something your son got from his Snow genes. The love of chocolate.

“Oh, I'm fine, Cassian. Your baby sister's just making me a little dramatic.”

“But I thought Auntie Tigris said that daddy the drama queen in the family.”

“Looks like visits with Auntie Tigris are coming to an end.” Coriolanus coldly muttered under his breath.

“President Snow, Sir, we’ve arrived.” A Peacekeeper announced, walking into the presidential train car once the train has stopped.

“Thank you.” Your husband nodded, only to stand up and look towards you and your son. “It's time to go meet the mayor.”

“Is it still Mayor Lipp?” You wondered, standing up with your son and going over to Coriolanus.

You haven't set foot in 12 since Coriolanus did a presidential campaign tour years ago, before you had Cassian, so you had no idea what was going on politically in the district. Honestly, you didn't care either. But, you did need to know who the mayor was since that's who was housing your family for your visit.

“Yes, that wretched fool’s still the mayor.”

“Mister President, Sir.” The Peacekeeper acknowledged your husband, only to turn to you and say, “First Lady, Ma’am.”, before stating, “A Peacekeeper, says his name's Smiley, is here to escort you to the barracks.”

A puzzled look appeared on your face. “The barracks? But we're staying with the mayor.”

“According to this Smiley, Ma’am, the Commander here in 12 has made new arrangements for the Presidential family.”

“Smiley’ll tell us what's going on, darling. Don't worry, we'll be fine.” Coriolanus assured you, since he didn't want you to get yourself in a tizzy while in your delicate condition. He was always so protective of you when you're carrying his child.

But there was a need to worry. Unknown to Coriolanus and you, the miners were striking and protesting. And not just a few of them, but all of them. Apparently they were tired of working long hours underground in dangerous circumstances without being properly compensated.

The protests started at the mines, but by the time your train arrived at the depot, the station was swarming with District 12 miners demanding to be treated like human beings instead of slave labor. Peacekeepers were lined up, keeping them at bay with rifles drawn and threats to shoot. It was so bad that the Commander was afraid for the safety of Coriolanus and his family. Honestly, none of you should be there, but it was too late to cancel the meeting between the President, the mining bosses, the mayor, and the Commander of District 12.

So, the Commander sent Smiley to greet President Coriolanus Snow and to inform him of what's going on. To act as a makeshift bodyguard because the two men are friends.

Well, your husband only used his old bunkmate as a contact to keep tabs on District 12, but friend sounded much better.

“Coryo…” You trailed off, looking up at your husband. You were tucked into his side as he had an arm protectively wrapped around you, hand on your round belly. His other arm was holding your son against his chest in a vice tighter than that of a boa constrictor.

Cassian Xandros had his head buried in his father's chest, clutching tightly to his puppy plushie. The loud noise of the crowd of miners and protesters was clearly frightening him. To be honest, it frightened you too.

These people crowding around you were out for blood. You could sense that if the Peacekeepers weren't keeping them at bay, then the crowd would rush you and your family; tear you apart limb by limb- because they're angry at how they're living compared to how your family's living.

“We'll be at the van soon; then we'll go to the base and won't have to deal with the protestors anymore.” Coryo assured you, keeping a stern look on his face as he led the way towards the van as angry miners and their families shouted profanities. Smiley was up ahead, clearing the way, while the personal guards (peacekeepers) that came on the trip from the Presidential Palace flanked you.

It felt so unsettling, this short walk from the depot to the van that'll take your family to the base. To safety.

It should've been easy to get to the van, considering all the presence of the peacekeepers, but it wasn't. Because nothing in your life, in Coriolanus' life, can be easy.

No….

Because right before you reached the Peacekeepers’ van, the unthinkable happened.

“Should’ve stayed in the Capitol, sellout whore!” You heard your older brother's voice yell before feeling spit land on your cheek.

President Coriolanus Snow should've keep walking, guiding his family thru the crowd to the nearby van, but hearing his brother-in-law call his First Lady a sellout whore made him see red. Made him furious.

Motioning to one of the presidential Peacekeeper guards, Coriolanus ordered, “Arrest that man for assaulting my wife, First Lady Y/N Snow.”

The peacekeeper nodded, only to grab your brother (who put up a good struggle) and cuff him. Your brother was cussing up a storm while the crowd was screaming to let him go, that Rein didn't do anything. The protesters screamed that Rein was innocent; was being falsely arrested by the cruel, dictator President Snow.

But you know what Rein did to cause his arrest. He insulted you and spit in your face. In Coryo's eyes was that assault; something unforgivable.

But the crowd of miners and protesters (some of which were rebels and their sympathizers) didn't see it that way. All they saw was an ‘innocent’ man being carted away.

You don't know how it started, but suddenly people broke thru the lines and tried to swarm you, your husband, and your son. Smiley and your Capitol Peacekeeper guards were beating back the crowd so that your husband could whisk his family to the Peacekeepers van.

And you would've made it to the van unscathed to, if it wasn't for the moltov cocktail that somebody threw at your husband as he ushered you towards the van.

You heard the crash of the bottle and smelted the chemicals before your son's cries of pain sounded out. Turning around, as one of the Peacekeepers by the van shoved you into it, you saw flames licking at your son's back and at your husband's arm. A piece of glass from the broken moltov bottle was embedded in your husband's jaw as blood flowed freely from it.

A pair of Peacekeepers rushed over to your husband, patting the flames out of both his arm and your son's back.

“Daddy, it hurts.” Your son cried, referring to his boiled flesh.

‘Radio the hospital on base, I want the best treatment for my son.” President Snow ordered the peacekeeper that was pushing him towards the van, where you were sitting anxiously.

“Mister President, Sir, we'll get him to the hospital on base right away.” The peacekeeper assured your husband as he joined you in the van.

Coriolanus just nodded at the peacekeeper, causing the man to hop into the back of the van. You and Coriolanus tried your best to soothe your son as the peacekeeper sitting next to your husband barked for the driver to get to base; to radio the on base hospital to let them know that President Snow's son is suffering a burn on his back from the mob’s attack.

Of course, the peacekeeper driving to the base did as he was told. So, when your family arrived at PK Base D12 a stretcher with a medic and a doctor was waiting for your son.

Coryo was holding Cassian’s puppy plushie so hard, you thought the thing’s head was going to pop off and the stuffing would fly out, as the two of you were escorted into your son's hospital room by his attending nurse. His burns weren't bad enough for surgery, but they were bad enough that they needed cleaned, treated with ointment, and bandaged. The nurse explained that Cassian Xandros was asleep due to a dose of morphling he was given for the pain.

Despite him being asleep and on pain meds, you and Coryo just had to see him. Had to sit with him. Your baby boy was hurt, you both needed to be by his side.

Coriolanus might've been a lot of things, but he was a very loving and devoted husband; father. Seeing his son hurt because people didn't like him made him furious. He didn't care if somebody went after him, but going after his family was an entirely different thing.

And those District dogs that wanted prime rib instead of the scraps they got for mining coal all damn day are going to pay. They were going to pay dearly for hurting his son.

Because nobody hurts what's his and gets away with it.

Coriolanus canceled his meetings concerning the mine production, only to have the mine bosses rounded up in the middle of the night and thrown into jail. The reason? Well, they allowed their workers to turn into a violent mob; they didn't keep them in line.

The President ordered the mine bosses to be executed at the hanging tree for being an accessory to the crimes of their mining employees.

Talk about executions…

President Snow had 100 miners rounded up and sent to the gallows as punishment for what happened to your son. It didn't matter that those people weren't the ones that threw the moltov cocktail. They were disgruntled district 12 citizens. They protested and pushed back; causing a rebellion.

They're rebels.

Rebels!

So they had to hang to serve as an example; a lesson on what happens when one goes against the Capitol. Dares to bite the hand that feeds it.

And your older brother, Rein.

Well…

Your husband's currently having a meeting with him in his jail cell.

“Heard you hung 100 innocent people.” Rein told Coriolanus as the imposing platinum blonde devil took set a thermos down on the table your brother was chained too.

“Those scum were not innocent. Their little rebellious outburst hurt my son and scared my pregnant wife.” Coriolanus told his brother-in-law, who he hasn't seen in a good 5 years, while taking a seat across from him. “I don't play around when it comes to the safety of my family, Mr. Halvir.” The president told the dark haired man, who had broad shoulders due to years of work in the coal mines, while reaching for the thermos.

Rein narrowed his Seam grey eyes at President Snow. A man he hates for turning you against your kind, against the district that you were born and raised in. Oh, how your brother hates your husband for being your keeper, for turning you into a Capitol puppet.

Unscrewing the thermos’ lid, Coriolanus made the condescending remark of, “You should know that first hand, considering how I moved Y/N out of your shithole hovel in the Seam once she became mine.”

“You made her choose between you and us when she was too young to even understand the damning consequences of that choice. I hope your kid brings home somebody you hate; somebody that drives a wedge in your perfectly fucked up Presidential First Family.” Rein snarled at Coriolanus while the platinum blonde man poured some of the hot tea from the thermos into a plastic cup- that also served as a topper for the thermos.

“Mmm…” Your husband hummed, tasting the tea. “Still hot.” He remarked, setting the tea down in front of your older brother. Gesturing to the plastic cup, Coriolanus simply said, “For you.”

Rein looked between the cup and Coriolanus, only to nod and take it. His chains were long enough to make it possible for him to pick up the cup and bring it to his lips, but short enough to ensure that he couldn't lunge across the table to do the president any harm.

“How's your boy?” Rein asked, sipping on the tea.

“Why do you care? He's just the product of a Capitol snake and a sellout whore, isn't he?” Coriolanus seethed, hate dripping from every word like venom. Leaning forward, eyes watching the miner intently as he sipped on the tea, he asked, “Do you have any little bastards running around?”

“No.” Rein shook his head. Setting down his cup, he said, “Me and Ashlie decided not to have kids. That it's not worth it, with the risk of reapings and all.”

Coriolanus’ lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Then the Halvir name dies with you.”

Rein's Seam grey eyes flashed with confusion, only for realization to shine in them as he began to feel his throat close up. Clawing at his neck, in a desperate, but useless attempt for air, your brother realized that your husband had poisoned him. He began to feel his blood boil on his body, feel it bubble up from his stomach and travel up his throat. Shaking, he used the last bit of his strength to muster out the word, “Why?”

Coriolanus pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, only to use it to stifle a small, bloody cough. A small side effect of drinking poison, but at least he had taken the antidote prior. He smiled wickedly, a thin layer of crimson staining his teeth, as he told Rein, “Your little stunt caused that crowd to attack me; to hurt my son. Anyone that hurts my family will pay with their lives.”

Watching the light dim in your brother's eyes as blood pooled uncontrollably from his mouth and nose, your husband leaned over him and whispered, “Snow lands on top.”

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @twinkletwinklenotastar @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @shellybellysstuff @zombicupcake3

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas fanfiction #coryo snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus fanfiction #coryo snow x reader #young president snow #president snow #tbosas fic #thg fanfiction #coriolanus snow x you #coryo x reader

389 notes · View notes

y-rhywbeth2 · 1 year ago

Text

Gods and Clergy: Bhaal (OBSOLETE)

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

I did an updated and much longer version here; this one is significantly less detailed and lacking.

I'm in a Durge and Orin mood, so we're getting the full details on Bhaal and his priesthood now. Fun fact, did you know the Dark Urge couldn't even die without Daddy's permission?

Featuring:

Intro: Do you realise this cult is basically a crime syndicate supported by the rich and powerful?

Priests: Hierarchy. Responsibilities. Murder. I rather like the ceremonial regalia, personally.

Deathstalkers: Teleporting! Killing people with your mind! Unlimited ressurections courtesy of Bhaal!! And yet more crazy shit!

Bhaal: Kitten thinks of nothing but murder all day. Also mortal backstory and the Slayer is absolutely nothing like the games depict it

Right then, "Bhaal awaits thee," and blah.

"Make all folk fear Bhaal. Let your killings be especially elegant, or grisly, or seem easy so that those observing them are awed or terrified. Tell folk that gold proffered to the church can make the Lord of Murder overlook them for today." - Bhaal's Dogma

Unsurprisingly for an ex-assassin, Bhaal is the patron god of assassins. Assassins, mercenaries, bounty hunters who aren't bringing their quarry in alive and, presumably, executioners all tend to send a prayer to Bhaal for success. Faithful were called Bhaalyn in the East and Bhaalists in the West. As BG3 takes place in Western Faerûn we'll use the latter.

Amongst these assassin worshippers we find the oh-so healthy individuals for whom killing is more than a job. These killers who regard their murders as a "pastime and a duty" join the clergy.

That said, Bhaalists do not murder indiscriminately. The taking of another life is a holy act, a lot of thought and planning goes into both the kill itself as well as what impact the death may have upon the world. Once the target is slain, they are to smear the victim's blood over their hands and draw Bhaal's symbol by the body with it. If Bhaal is pleased then the blood will vanish.

Bhaal supports and encourages his followers attaining wealth and comfort (it's a good hook to draw them in, and it makes him look good if his followers are successful, and more importantly: money is power, provides a shield against repercussions when caught, and opens doors), and in exchange for their worship his priest-assassins receive the priest spells and administer to the lay worshippers, who benefit second-hand. The assassins have an easier time killing people and getting rich and Bhaal profits from more prayer and death. A win for everyone (who didn't die in the process).

Bhaalist temples historically have spent their time founding and sponsoring guilds of assassins and thieves, including infamous organisations such as the Shadow Thieves of Amn. These guilds survived their patron's death, and while they were mostly businesses throughout the years of Bhaal's death many still paid homage (although there was some confusion involving his replacement, Cyric) and have presumably resumed worship. There's a massive old temple still functioning over in Thay; the Tower of Swift Death, and the assassins work closely with the Red Wizards who rule the country.

Bhaalists have no tolerance for rival guilds and organisations not following Bhaal (which would make them independent of their control) and will eliminate them. They will also root out anybody in the area that will attempt to oppose or otherwise interfere in their business and ensure they have freedom to go about their jobs/worship.

Their other job is to ensure the church has a steady income. They terrorise the commoners into paying tithes in exchange for safety from being sacrificed this tenday (a protection racket, basically) while leaving "economically and socially important individuals live unharmed." I mean, the peasantry have far less enemies to assassinate and gold to spend, so. Plus the rich and powerful are brilliant at turning a blind eye to crime when it benefits them, as well as making sure the evidence never sees the light of day - know which side your bread is buttered on, and all. Baldur's Gate has no law against the worship of Bhaal. Why do you think the original temple exists, after all? Bhaalists actively seek out and sway such potential patrons who would be... amenable to sponsoring and protecting their technically-legal church and its not so-legal activities in exchange for their services.

Urban temples of Bhaal are usually dark, subterranean affairs built under the city streets, containing countless branching tombs that are home to the bodies of the clergy's victims - said victims are usually wandering around down there as restless undead.

Bhaal's clergy can be recognised as Bhaalists by their ceremonial robes - full body robes of black or deep purple with a deep cowl. The robes will be randomly and violently streaked with flashes of violet. Their entire face is fully obscured by a black veil, to both hide their identity and make it appear as though the hood is empty for the intimidation factor.

The leader of the church - and thus all of the temples - in a region is the High Primate/Primistress, who can be identified by a red belt/sash they wear over their robes and the fancy curved ceremonial dagger that marks them as a high ranking priest and a specialty priest known as a Deathstalker - more about them in a moment.

High Primates spent much of their time planning the proper strategies of manipulating nearby rulers, inhabitants, and organizations into the deeds and behaviour that the Bhaalyn desired.

The head of a single temple is a Primate or Primistress. The Primate is directly served by the First Deaths, who in turn can call upon a council of the nine most senior clergy; the Cowled Deaths. Below them were the regular priests, who were known collectively as the Deathdealers and are referred to by the title Slaying Hand. A Bhaalist rises in the ranks by hunting and ritually killing a target with nothing but their bare hands, which they will then report to a higher ranking priest who will confirm that they are being truthful. If they are then there's a party, and a ritual sacrifice is held to celebrate.

When on a job they dress in black - in the form that suits whatever their preferred method of killing in. Leather armour, mage robes, whatever.

Bhaalists pray to their god before sleep. In the temple the entire congregation comes together to pray in a formal ceremony called "Day's Farewell"). Bhaalists are also to pray before setting out on a murder.

Bhaalists only observe one holy day. It's the Feast of the Moon, a continent-wide holiday for honouring the dead and honouring one's ancestors. Bhaalists have their own spin on it where they remember dead Bhaalists and celebrate with stories of murder to honour them.

All Bhaalists are to commit a murder every tenday at midnight, should they be unable to fulfil this duty then they are to kill two people in place of the one who should've died that day. Before the victim dies, the murderer is to ensure that they know their killer and that they died as a sacrifice to the God of Death; "Bhaal awaits thee, Bhaal embraces thee, none escape Bhaal."

The specialty priests of Bhaal, those who dedicate their devotion and worship no god other than him, are the Deathstalkers.

One does not have to be a cleric to join the ranks, though the majority are. Rogues, rangers, barbarians and fighters are the most common, but all classes make an appearance (and most are multiclassed clerics)

To become a Deathstalker one must have murdered sixteen sapient creatures in sixteen different methods with sixteen different weapons. This presumably is also the rite of passage to becoming a member of the Brethren of the Keen Strike - an order of Bhaalist assassins to which all Deathstalkers belong.

Distressingly for people who aren't Bhaalist, Bhaal's Deathstalkers regained their Bhaalist abilities around 1372 DR, following the end of the Bhaalspawn Crisis, and resumed their duties, spreading death and terror in his name as they worked to bring him back to full power. The most popular argument for how the priests of a dead deity were getting their spells is that another god - likely Cyric, was granting them spells disguised as Bhaal. However, in the wake of the Bhaalspawn Crisis and the wave of fear felt towards Bhaal that resulted (which counts as prayer), the rumour mill became very fond of the idea that, despite how the crisis ended, Bhaal had still managed to resurrect at least some scrap of himself through that fear and the God of Murder was haunting the Realms once more.

The various abilities Bhaal gifts to his Deathstalkers include the following:

[From 3.5e] The ability to identify key weaknesses in a target by studying them for only a few moments, killing them in a single strike. They are also supernaturally good at stabbing people with their ceremonial daggers.

[3.5e] The ability to tap into the hatred of a person, stoking it into homicidal rage and direct it at another person who they will kill in a mindless bloody rage (also called the Urge to Slay, an ability Bhaal himself has)

[3.5e] Bhaal's own inability to just fucking stay dead - a Deathstalker Bhaal doesn't want dead will come back to life an hour after it is killed, with a single hit point left. During the time prior to resurrection they are an actual corpse.

[2e] They can point at a person, sending necrotic energy coursing through them and causing them significant damage, agony and possibly death.

[2e] They can inflict severe wounds on a person just by thinking it.

[2e] They can teleport! A Deathstalker can teleport themselves (and other people, if they're powerful enough) to the Throne of Blood and from there they can teleport to anywhere on Toril that isn't protected by warding magic. Bhaal won't do anything to protect Deathstalkers while they're in the Lower Planes - if you're strong enough to get yourself here, you're strong enough to get yourself out.

[2e] They can affect the emotions of those around them, reversing whatever emotions an individual is feeling towards them into its polar opposite.

[2e] They can accelerate the entropic aging process of objects.

Bhaal himself is "violent, cruel and hateful at all times." Being in the presence of the living fills him with an overwhelming urge to kill and destroy. He presents himself as either on the verge of a violent rampage or cold and ruthlessly calculating depending on which suits the occasion best. A Lawful Evil deity, his domain is the Throne of Blood in the first layer of the Lower Plane of Gehenna (Khalas), part of Bane's domain (Banehold). Hilariously, not a single Baldurs Gate game has got this right. BG2:SoA claimed it was the Hells, BG2:ToB changed to the Abyss and, for some reason, BG3 has put it in the Grey Wastes.

Bhaal served Bane, and was in turn served by Loviatar (goddess of pain) and Talona (goddess of disease).

His holy symbol is the Circle of Tears; clue in the name, it's a skull surrounded by teardrops of blood forming a circle.

Bhaal rarely manifested in avatar form. When he did, his main avatar in urban areas was the Slayer, which was not a four armed scaly monster:

"The Slayer look[s] like a corpse with a feral face, [bloodless] skin, and deep lacerations that endlessly [weep] black ichor that vanish[es] before it strikes anything."

It makes no noise at all when it moves. it can talk (its softly spoken and sounds creepy). It can levitate at will and summon floating daggers made of bone, that appeared and disappeared at will. They would cause any living flesh they hit to wither and die. Creatures slain this way would rise again as zombies under its control - or have its skeleton shattered into more bone daggers. Enough of these daggers form an area-of-effect; a wall made of a flurry of sharp shards of bone that would trap the soul of anyone they killed. Oh, yeah, and the Slayer can also inflict the overwhelming urge to murder everyone around you on the people around it.

Bhaal's other avatar was the Ravager, which was mostly an angry 30-foot tall giant with horns.

While in either avatar form, Bhaal also had the ability to create any form of undead loyal to him by touching a corpse (greater undead like vampires would be free once they'd completed whatever task he'd assigned them). He could also immediately destroy any undead, turning them to dust at a touch. Bhaal cannot be harmed by the undead.

Rather than using his avatars, Bhaal usually just manifested as a pair of flying undead hands that can shoot bone daggers at people. Or a laughing human skull trailing teardrops. Both these manifestations are capable of speech, casting darkness and driving everybody into a mindless bloodthirsty rampage - you might have noticed he really loves this trick.

He also invented his own undead monsters, the Harrla of Hate. Harrla are invisible creatures, which if you use magic to see them appear like human shaped wavering impressions. Guess what they do?? If you guessed "fill people with a sense of overpowering hatred and drive people into committing homicide" get yourself a fucking cookie!! (This isn't said anywhere in canon, but Bhaal has less imagination than a chunk of rock, I swear to god...)

According to one version of the story; in life Bhaal was a Netherese mortal wizard named Tharlagaunt Bale. He was one of a few hand picked by Jergal to bear a fragment of the god's divinity and raised from a young age to serve him (a Chosen, basically). Hilariously, one of the others was Karsus. These Chosen were promised godhood for their service as they set about performing a ritual to increase Jergal's waning power and make him one of the most powerful deities. Karsus chose to try and make himself a god instead and blew up the Weave, destroying Netheril and the plan and killing all of his coworkers except Bale.

Bale got a job as an assassin, changed the spelling to Bhaal and dropped his first name, teamed up with a bitter ex-slave with no name except the title "Bane of the Ancients" and a necromancer prince called Myrkul Bey al-Kursi.

His other backstory features him as Arabhal; the spymaster and chief assassin of the Netherese City of Rdiuz, and an ally of Bane. The two became unwitting paws of Jergal, who directed them through nightmares to do his bidding and slay various primordial divinities who threatened his plans.

Regardless of backstory, they all grabbed more divinity by killing an ancient god (also Bane's ex-master) and then he went knocking on his old boss' door for that godhood he was promised (Jergal at this point had embraced depression and just went "yeah, whatever, have it. Idgaf, I'm retiring." Or was manipulating them into becoming his divine pawns. There's more than one take on this story.) and Bhaal walked off the god of murder.

He learned of a prophecy predicting he would die when his stupid ex-travelling companions would decide to piss of Ao who would then kick all the gods out and make them mortal, and Bhaal then decided to sleep with what seems to be at least 25% of Faerûn to produce kids who would hold fragments of himself so that they could all fight to the death and he could resurrect himself afterwards. He was killed by the soon-to-be-god Cyric not far from Baldur's Gate during the Time of Troubles. Cyric proceeded to take his job, and there was a huge fight between Bhaalists who converted and those who didn't and the converts killed all the holdouts.

The rest of the backstory is basically just the original Baldur's Gate games.

#Durge is basically a crime boss #Also; Bhaal please have more than one fucking idea for once in your fucking miserable life I AM BEGGING YOU #long post

595 notes · View notes

harryspet · 10 months ago

Text

bambi eyes (5) r. cameron

[Warnings] soft!dark!rafe cameron x reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader older!rafe, crimeboss!rafe, rafe takes advantage of traumatized reader, DUBCON, dd/lg, sex trafficking, sexual slavery, sugar daddy rafe, stockholm syndrome, spoiling kink, unprotected sex, forced? age regression, obx special guest appearances, little editing, 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: Will tag people later, for now I must sleep :) Enjoy!

word count: 3.9k

In which Rafe loosens his leash, but actions come with consequences.

Rafe told you to get dressed and to wait at the front of the house. Truthfully, you liked it better when Rafe picked out your outfits. That way, you knew exactly what looked good on you and that you wouldn’t make some kind of fashion faux pas. You decided on a pink fitted top, a matching skirt, and an adorable pair of brown boots Rafe bought you for Christmas. You completed your look with a bow at the top of your hair and an array of colorful bracelets you put on each arm.

You spent a while watching men in dark clothes walk the perimeter of the yard and through the forest on the sides of the property. At first, you were quite scared to see them, but Rafe explained that they worked for him. This led you to ask even more questions. Weren’t they cold out there? We should offer them some snacks? Could I make them cookies? Rafe shut down your curiosity quickly, emphasizing that you were not to say a word to any of them.

When the door to the enclosed porch opened, you expected to see Rafe. You closed your drawing book and turned your head to greet him. Instead, Rafe’s friend Barry greeted you. You’d heard them going back and forth all morning, usually, their conversations were tense, but you assumed they must’ve come to some type of agreement. At the sight of you, he smiled, flashing his gold tooth.

“Country Club’s little princess,” He sang, “How are you, baby?”

You smiled nervously, still not super used to being around others. It had been a few months now since Rafe brought you to Tannyhill and almost all of your social interaction had been with Rafe and Lana.

“I’m good, I . . . how are you?”

He walked in front of you, his hands behind his back as he looked you over, “Oh I’m just peachy. Whatchu got there?”

You glanced back towards the door, wondering if Rafe was far behind him. Looking back down at your lap, you said, “I was just drawing a little bit. Rafe told me to wait here–”

“Drawing, huh? You an artist?” Your eyes tilted back up to him.

“Not an artist,” You said quickly, “I just like to . . .”

“What kind of stuff do you draw?” He asked, and you sensed sincerity in his tone, “You know, I used to draw a lot when I was in school. Nothing serious, but I couldn’t help it; my mind would just wander, and then my paper would have a bunch of doodles on it.”

He kneeled down in front of you, and you hesitated for a moment before you opened the book. You showed him your page of doodles. You drew a lot of what you saw, including doodles of Rafe, and things you saw around Tannyhill, “That’s Lana, ain’t it?” You nodded, “Impressive. Most people ain’t good at drawing faces. Not you though.”

“Thank you,” You said, “You don’t draw anymore?”

He shook his head, “Not very often. I should.”

You agreed, “You should. Sometimes, Rafe will draw with me. Well, mainly we’ll color together. He likes it when there’s already a picture, so he doesn’t have to come up with it himself.”

“He’s pretty bad at it, anyways, ain’t he?” Unexpectedly, a giggle left your lips, and you raised your book to cover the bottom of your face.

“I should go look for him–” You made a move to escape, but Barry placed both his hands on the arms of your chair, effectively trapping you.

Barry hadn’t touched you, but you felt you might get in trouble just for laughing at his joke, “You don’t like my company or something?” You shook your head immediately.

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant . . .”

“You’re sweet; I can see why he likes you,” Barry held his eyes on you and you felt the skin on your face heat up with embarrassment, “You know, you ever get tired of him, or he pisses you off – which he will, then you can call me. We can run away together.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t have a phone.”

Barry smirked at that, “Ask anyone on this island who Barry is, and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

Running away with Barry was the last thing you wanted to do. Rafe had his bad days but you hadn’t considered trying to leave. Barry also barely knew you but you decided to think positively. Afterall, Rafe trusted Barry. You assumed his intentions must be good, “Okay,” You agreed, “When you come back next, maybe you can show me some of your drawings.”

“You want to see them. Really?”

“Yes,” You said, “It’s only fair.”

Barry nodded, “You make a good point. I gotta come back soon and try more of your desserts. That cake you made … I ain’t tasted nothing better.”

“You have to,” You rushed out excitedly, “Rafe and Lana say everything I make is great, I can’t tell if they’re honest.”

“I’m as honest as they come, sweetheart,” You grinned at that, “A good friend is honest.”

“You want to be my friend?”

“I mean, only if you want me to.”

“I do.”

“Don’t tell Rafe though–”

Your conversation was interrupted when the poor door opened, and Rafe appeared, “Don’t tell Rafe what?” His gaze was sharp, and luckily, it was mostly directed at Barry. You watched as Barry stood and stepped back from you.

“Nothing man, we were just talking about about Kildare. You’re going to let me help show her around, right?”

Rafe’s brooding look turned to amusement, “She’s not gonna step foot on your side of the island. Thanks for the offer though.”

There was an awkward silence, and you felt some tension building until Barry finally said, “Alright, I’ll see you soon, Bambi,” You waved as he turned on his heel, “Rafe.”

Rafe watched as Barry walked out the front door before he held out his hand, summoning you. You hurried from your chair, moving in closer before you grabbed ahold of his hand. It was his cue to you that he would be leading you somewhere, and you were expected to follow.

“He touch you?” Rafe asked, leading you out the same door. You watched as Barry pulled around the horseshoe driveway in his sports car. He walked you to his large truck, opening the passenger door, “Bambi.”

“Uh …no,” You stared.

Suddenly, you were the furthest from Tannyhill’s front door than you’d ever been.

“Good, get in, Bambi.”

“I’m leaving . . . you’re leaving with me in the car? Your car? Right now? Today?”

“Yeah,” He said, unsure of himself, “Get in; I’m already starting to change my mind.”

You jumped in excitement, “Really? Where are we going?” Rafe helped you as you started to climb in. He leaned over you, fastening your seatbelt for you, “You aren’t taking me back, right?”

“No, sweet girl,” Rafe assured you, “As far as where we’re going, it’s a surprise.”

You couldn’t contain your excitement as you settled into your seat. As you pulled past the gates at the end of the long driveway and onto the road, you couldn’t help but feel like all your faith in Rafe had paid off.

“Who’s that, Daddy?” You asked, noticing a black car that had also pulled out of Tannyhill and was following closely behind.

“No one, Bambi,” He brushed your question off, “So, uh, what were you two talking about? You and Barry?”

Your eyes were focused on the huge trees that hung over the road, beautifully dripping green moss from it’s branches. Between the trees, you saw huge mansions with big gates and long drives just like Tannyhill.

“Drawing,” You said briefly, “He said he would show me some of his work.”

“He’s full of shit.”

You turned to Rafe who was gripping the wheel with one hand, “Daddy … I don’t like it when you curse.”

“Bambi, I–” He held his tongue, sighing before he reached over to place his other hand on your thigh, “I’m sorry, sometimes work makes me lose focus. What I mean is that Barry is my friend but … he likes to mess with me, you know? So he might say something to you knowing that it would bother me.”

“He seemed like he meant it,” You said, “Would it bother you if we were friends?”

“Guys and girls can’t really be friends,” Rafe explained, “Especially not with little girls like you, okay?”

“But why–”

“Because I’m telling you right now. I appreciate that you are kind to Barry but he wouldn’t be a good friend to you. If I’m going to protect you, and as your Daddy, I should have a say in who your friends are.”

You opened your mouth to argue but quickly shut it. It didn’t make much sense to you why men and women couldn’t be friends. Why would Barry offer to be your friend if it wasn’t appropriate? You supposed that you never had any male friends before, and most men you’d been around wanted a similar thing from you, “Maybe you’re right, Daddy.”

You drove over bridges with water on both sides of the road and through more neighborhoods with huge houses. Fifteen minutes into your drive, you arrived at an area with a grocery store and lots of stores that you assumed were also for shopping.

Rafe pulled his truck in front of one of the storefronts. You unbuckled your seatbelt, sitting up further in your seat so you could read the sign, “Fig . . uuure eight …ball …it.”

“Ballet,” Rafe corrected you, “Figure eight Ballet Company.”

Confusion spread over your features, “I looked into it; they have adult classes for beginners. I thought it might be something fun for you to do once a week.”

“Me?” You pointed to your chest, “Dance classes?”

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay,” Rafe rushed out, “It’s good exercise, and you can also do it at home. And it’s a chance to meet friends, friends that are girls, preferably.”

“Oh,” When you looked at Rafe, it seemed like he was desperately trying to read your expression, “I’d be so nervous. And I wouldn’t be good at it.”

“I think people just do it for fun and to learn something new. And I wouldn’t just leave; I would walk you in and pick you up. Not today; I just wanted to take you by and see what you thought.”

“... It could be really fun …”

“And you’d make quite the adorable ballerina.”

“Maybe I could try one class . . . and if I liked it, you would take me every week?”

“Every week, as long as you continue to be a good girl,” Your nervousness started to melt away into excitement the longer you thought about it, “And while we’re out, I thought we could do some shopping. My research has informed me you’re going to need shoes, tights, a leotard, and a skirt.”

You practically leaped over the center console to hug him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!”

Rafe pulled you in close, “Anything for you, sweet girl.”

Rafe didn’t need to get his hands dirty anymore; he could hire people to protect him or kill for him. As he settled into his new life with you, he started to miss some of the adventures he experienced in his early 20s and late teens. There were no more brawls or treasures to steal. He hadn’t realized he needed an outlet for the negative energy that seemed to boil up inside of him sometimes. Now, what he knew is that he needed to keep that side of him as far away from you as possible.

Killing JJ would’ve satisfied that part of him that has been begging to come out of him for years. He would’ve felt a rush like no other, power and control that he hadn’t felt in so long. He hadn’t brought himself to do it yet, teetering on that line between sanity and insanity. The Pogue was always a good competitor, and Rafe wasn’t surprised that he was still fighting. Rafe liked that about JJ.

Still, Rafe wanted to see him break, and he was patient enough to wait for it.

“What would you do to see her again?” Rafe asked as he kneeled over JJ’s bruised and battered body.

The pogue coughed, and blood-spattered on the boat cabin’s floor.

The silent treatment followed, but Rafe was used to talking to himself, “I know she’s not over you, but how long do you think she’ll wait before she moves on? Six months? A year? I mean, she’s a wild one; I’m sure she won’t want to stick around this place for much longer.”

“Fuck you, Rafe,” JJ’s favorite words.

“Maybe you just don’t love her like I thought you did,” Rafe taunted, “I mean if you did, you’d be groveling at my feet, right?”

JJ’s eyes pinched tight as Rafe’s words sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

The silent treatment followed again, and Rafe considered what his next steps might be. Removing limbs? That could be fun for a while, but if he hadn’t surrendered at this point, what would make him crack?

“Fine,” Rafe looked down at his bloody knuckles, “I won’t bother you anymore today, but I do have something I want you to contemplate in your hours of silence. Consider the idea that I let you go, and you see Kie again instead of bleeding out here and your body being chopped into pieces. I want you to think, and I mean really think, about what you might do to make that happen. And don’t think of it as sacrificing your morals or making a deal with the devil … think of it as securing your future, okay?”

Rafe tapped his hand against JJ’s sore cheek before he stood and left. He heard no quippy comeback from the Pogue. At least Rafe had successfully beat that out of him.

Rafe’s eyes snapped open and was awakened from his sleep when he felt a soft finger poking at his cheek, “Wha…” Groggily, he reached to turn on his bedside lamp and found you, dressed in a onesie that made you look like a brown bear, standing beside his bed, a sniffling mess, “Hey, w-what’s wrong?”

Immediately, Rafe reached out to grab you, and you proceeded to climb onto his large bed, “I-I had a scary dream,” You hiccuped, “Y-You sent me away a-and I was alone again and Master he was so mad at me b-because I-I didn’t make you h-happy–”

Rafe shushed you, pulling you into him, “It wasn’t real, okay? Look, you’re here with me right now.”

“It felt real,” You whimpered, and Rafe’s lips pulled into a thin line of frustration. He wanted you happy, and he wanted to give you much more than you ever had, and it pained him that you thought he might hurt you in that way.

“I . . . I wouldn’t ever do that, Bambi,” He brushed tears from your cheeks and caressed your face, “I’d fu- … I’d rather die than let you go. And I’d kill anyone that tried to take you from me. Anyone, okay?”

“You’ve hurt people before,” It wasn’t a question; Rafe could see it was an observation she’d made.

“Yes,” He admitted, “But I haven’t hurt you, have I?”

“You saved me.”

Rafe nodded, “That’s right, sweet girl. I saved you. I’ve hurt people, yes, but I-I’m not a cruel person. I wouldn’t do something like that. And you make me so happy.”

Rafe watched as you blinked away your tears and tried to stop yourself from frowning, “What if I don’t always make you happy?”

“You make me happy by breathing,” Rafe tried to assure you, “You’re smart and beautiful, and you deserve nice things. I never had anyone in my life that made me feel like I deserved anything. I never even felt like I deserved to be loved. I don’t want you to ever feel like that.”

“I love you, Rafe,” You were trying to reassure him now, and Rafe was grateful. He loved those words on your lips, and he felt in his heart that you meant them, “And . . . I like being loved by you. So much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Rafe felt you press your forehead against his before you pressed your lips softly against his, “Thank you . . . for everything. Uhm, did I scare you?”

“No, no,” Rafe’s mind was mostly on the thought of your lips, “I like being woken up by cute bears.”

Rafe pulled you in again for a kiss. Softly, your lips moved together, and Rafe explored your mouth with his tongue, slowly deepening the kiss. Rafe was already growing hard, and he cursed in his mind, frustrated by how easily you got him going.

“You still sore from earlier?” He asked.

“A little bit,” You spoke shyly, “You were kinda rough…”

Rafe thought back to you, bent over the arm of the couch, taking you deep, but that just made his cock ache even more.

“But I’ve trained that little hole well, haven’t I?” Rafe asked, pressing the length protruding from his boxers, against your stomach, “You can take more, okay?”

You nodded, although Rafe’s question was rhetorical. Rafe didn’t like you sad, but he certainly like seeing your teary face. Your pajamas were the cherry on top, including the convenient little flap on the back that allowed for easy access, “Turn around on your side, little girl,” Rafe commanded gruffly, “This will help you sleep.”

“Daddy…” You whined as you did exactly as Rafe ordered.

“Right here, not going anywhere,” Rafe pushed his crotch into your ass, bringing his lips close to your ear. He ground against you as he carefully pulled down the front zipper of your onesie. He needed to feel your nipples between his fingers, your breasts in his large hands. He also needed your pussy dripping for him, knowing he couldn’t fuck you when you were already sore without any lubrication. He reached into your onesie, finding your mound easily, and began to rub circles over your sensitive area, “Daddy needs you so badly.”

You squirmed, but you were tightly pressed against him. He teased you, moving back and forth from your clit to your breasts. He’d rub your breast until you were aching below, and when you started to feel close, he’d go back to teasing your nipples.

He got you to a point where you were so stimulated that you were already orgasming with three slow and deep strokes inside of you. You were convulsing around him, unable to contain your moans, but Rafe wrapped his hand around your mouth and continued to pump inside of you. It certainly wasn’t as rough as earlier, but Rafe could feel you squeezing him tighter, “You feel how happy you make me, Bambi?” Rafe grunted, “Daddy wouldn’t want to cum in any other pussy than yours — Jesus.”

Rafe finished inside of you. He hadn’t lost all of his energy, though, moving his hands back to your clit, as he filled you up. He didn’t stop until your legs were shaking and you were cumming again.

“Thank me.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” You spoke breathlessly.

Now that your Daddy was allowing you out of the house, there were new rules for you to learn. Of course, you weren’t allowed to talk to strangers unless they were girls you met at dance class. You had to go by Y/N, Y/L/N, and Rafe had given you an ID to carry around when you couldn’t be together. If anyone asked who you were to Rafe, you could just say that you were his girlfriend and you’d moved in with him a few months ago. That wasn’t far from the truth, so you didn’t imagine that would feel like lying.

A few days after he showed you the ballet company, he let you tag along to run errands with him. For most of the time you sat in the car, watching him pump gas, stop at different businesses, and shake hands with men who seemed amused by every word Rafe said. You noticed people tended to stare at him, especially as the two of you walked through the grocery store together.

“Did people always stare at you like this?”

“They used to stare at my Dad; he used to be the King of this place,” You nodded, twirling the ribbon in your hair as Rafe pushed the cart along, “I don’t think people expected me to come back.”

“Well, since you’re Dad is gone. I guess you’re the King now,” You flashed him a smile.

“Maybe so,” Rafe conceded.

“Oooh, look!” You pointed at something in the refrigerated section that caught your eye, and your feet were already moving towards it. As soon as you pulled open the glass door, you felt Rafe’s strong hands around your bicep, stopping you. You whipped back to see eyes narrowed at you and his serious face.

“You can’t just run away from me like that,” He snapped, “Jesus . . . don’t do that, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” You squeaked, “I just saw . . . they have so many types of iced coffee. They have peppermint, and caramel and mocha-”

“Coffee isn’t good for you.”

“You let me eat sweets all the time, and those aren’t good for me,” The words came out before you could stop them. You couldn’t help but feel frustrated. Rafe offered you the world, but at the same time, he controlled so many aspects of it.

You’d pissed him off; you could immediately see it in his face. His hand still on your arm, Rafe leaned closer to you, “You’re going to stand right next to the cart for the rest of the time we’re in here, and you’re not going to say another word, okay? I don’t want to hear it.”

You let the door go just as Rafe let your arm go. You crossed your arms, knowing you had no other choice than to keep your mouth closed. Rafe didn’t have much to say after that, and you let him brood on his own.

You were standing near the fresh produce; Rafe was picking out the vegetables that Lana had written on the grocery list when you saw a woman approaching your cart. She had caramel skin and pretty curls that were tamed by a messy bun on top of her head. She was holding a small shopping basket, but she didn’t seem to have any care for any of the items inside as she stomped closer to the two of you, red in her eyes.

“Rafe Cameron!” She didn’t seem even to perceive you as she stared Rafe down. You watched his reaction closely and how his contempt quickly switched from you to her.

“Kie, long time no see,” He didn’t express much emotion other than through his eyes, making him appear stoic.

The woman, Kie, didn’t hide any of her emotions, “I know what you did.”

“What’s that?” Rafe tilted his head.

“You know what exactly I’m talking about,” She pointed a finger at him, tears in her eyes, “Your day is coming–”

He proceeded to talk over her, “Hey, let your Mom and pops know Cameron Development is still interested in working with them. I have the perfect property for their next restaurant. I mean, an absolutely gorgeous spot.”

“Fuck you, Rafe,” You covered your mouth in shock.

“It was nice catching up with you too, Kie,” He winked as the woman walked away.

You watched as Rafe’s hands squeezed into a fist and then how tightly they wrapped around the cart’s handle.

“Daddy-”

“Let’s go, Bambi.”

“Rafe-”

“I didn’t want to hear it before; I definitely don’t want to hear your mouth now. Let’s go.”

You bit your tongue and fell back into step with him. You supposed a king couldn't be loved by all his subjects.

PART 6

Please reblog if you enjoyed and let me know what you think/predictions for the future!

#dark fic #rafe x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron #outer banks smut #barry outer banks #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #jj maybank #kiara carrera

2K notes · View notes