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youaremyhome · 1 year ago

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The Antimatter of You

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, blackmail, manipulation, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk!

Notes: 4.4k!! I did it!!! I promise now that it’s summer (and getting fired from my job) I’ll have more time to write/update. Hope it lives up to the hype lol let a girl know ok love ya ❤️

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou @malfoytargaryen @RAFECAMERONSBADUSSY @takin-care-of-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @magnificantmermaid @mk15x @abbybarnesstuff @lavenderhue @dirtytomatoedwrites

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (And I’m sorry if I missed you, I love you)

The scent of flowers is nauseating but with a knock on your door, Rafe ignores it as best as he can.

It’s been several days since he’s seen you, the longest he’s gone without any physical contact. His texts were met with one worded replies or none at all. Having done a stellar job of avoiding him. Taking new routes to your lectures, roommates answering the door saying you weren’t home, skipping your Ethics class, the seat glaringly empty beside him.

Rafe knew to give you some space – if only for this once. The incident with you, him and Topper had shaken you greatly, no one had ever seen such an argument between the two of you. His best friend had given him a thorough tongue-lashing that morning after your exit. A reminder from Rafe about Topper’s general creepiness towards his sister had him shutting up instantly.

Before, Rafe had believed you were slowly - but surely - getting used to him being a fixture in your life. He wasn’t stupid enough to think you were fully submitting, of course, but he knew you would be able to get there. With time.

He’s let you have your little tantrum of silence. It was a mistake to treat you so harshly, even if you had wasted a hundred dollars worth of good product.

You’re home alone today. He’s made sure of it. Camped outside your townhome for the past two hours. All your roommates had gone out for various things, filing out one by one. The only one left was the most annoying: Daniella.

While Louise and Andi gave knowing smirks whenever the group was together, Daniella always had a strained smile. As if she struggled to let him anywhere near you.

To ensure her absence, he had recruited the help of Carson. Telling him to lure his girlfriend out so Rafe could talk to his.

He rasps on the door again, calling out your name.

“Open the door. I know you’re home.” When there’s no response, Rafe fist hits harder. “Open the damn door.”

He repeats your name multiple times as he jingles the doorknob. After a few more tries, he sighs and gives up. It didn’t have to go this way.

The click of the door is quiet, Rafe soundlessly closing it as he pockets his copy of the key. Slyly walking through the foyer, the back of your head appears when he comes into the open living room. The crinkle of plastic as his hands squeeze the stems makes your head almost fall off from how fast you look behind.

“What in the actual hell, Rafe?” Pushing off the couch, you cross your arms. A faint line creased between your eyebrows and Rafe can’t help but notice you aren’t wearing a bra. “How’d you get in here?”

“Spare.” Rafe simply says. “Y’know, just in case of an emergency.”

“Or to sneak in here like a fucking creep.”

“No…for when my girl is ignoring me.”

Rafe lifts the bouquet up, savoring how you take in the view of your favorite flowers in white and faint pink. Taking a step toward you, a minute flinch ticks at your shoulders. Rafe stops.

“Well, you can throw them in the garbage on your way out.” Your ponytail swishes when you twirl back to plant yourself on the couch. “Go away.”

“Aw c’mon baby,” Groaning, he rolls his head back. He rounds the couch, standing in front of the TV. Extending his arm out, he presents the flowers again. “How about you find a nice vase for these, and I’ll make it up to you.”

The stupid comment grants him exactly what he wants, your attention on him. Eyes like needlepoints hoping to puncture him.

“You can do so by leaving.” You turn the volume up, and you focus back on the TV.

It’s the dismissal that has Rafe’s ire prickling his skin, his patience splintering.

“Alright, that’s enough. I gave you plenty a time to pout.”

Your lips puff with your incredulous. “Pout? Pout?” You swat at the bouquet. “I’m not pouting. I’m fucking pissed and tired of you.”

'Pissed off' he could deal with. The pouting is cute. Your tears are an intoxicating aphrodisiac. But to be tired of him?

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

Rafe squats down, supporting his forearms on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes. Staring at the upwards angle of your face, he doesn’t have to wait long for your eyes to nervously meet his. Containing his anger has never been his forte. You simultaneously ignite his fire to a roaring inferno and wash it down until there’s only embers left. At the moment, he was between the two.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He blows out a breath. “I, I should’ve never gotten like that with you. Forgive me, angel?”

Leaning the flowers forward, the petals tap once against your bare knees. A deadlock between wills of opposing nature. Your facial expressions switch like the flipping of pages, the language of you becoming easier to understand the more time he spends with you.

“Apology unaccepted.”

Snatching the bouquet out of his grip, you stand and beeline for the kitchen. Rafe rights himself up, following you lazily. Playing his own game of shadow with each step and turn you make. Your slamming cabinets left and right until you find one beneath the sink, almost cracking the glass of a long vase with your force.

His gaze skims over the flimsy material of your sleep shorts, and the way your breasts slope beneath your tank top. Your hands busy themselves with arranging the stems and such, actively ignoring his presence. Hands in his pockets, Rafe takes measured strides until he’s a hairs length away from your back.

“…I never got my hello kiss.”

Your glare radiates so potently that Rafe doesn’t have to look to know it's there. Placing his hands on your hips, he walks the tips of his fingers inward and smirks when a quiver to your lower belly ripples across. Lips kiss at the tension in your shoulders, thumbs molding like dough into your sides.

“I’ve missed you…” His tongue peaks out, tasting the skin there. A hand travels down to play with the waistband of your shorts. “Missed this cunt, too.”

“Rafe – wait,” The hitching of your breath is so sweet he cups you in his wide hand in a fluid downslide. The pinching pain of your nails into his wrists has him stilling, lingering. Your neck stretches as you look back as your features pinch in. “I’m…I’m on my…y’know, period.”

He wants to believe you – truly he does – but lies spill from those pretty lips all the time so…

Frustrated whimpers break loose between your bitten lip while Rafe continues down, your head leaning on his shoulder in defeat. Swirling the tip of his middle finger closer to your hole, the touch of roped cotton has him pausing. A string.

Damn it.

Rafe sighs and trails up your slit to lightly stroke your clit once more before he’s slipping his hand out, keeping it low on your warm pelvis. It rises a rumbled chuckle from him, peering down at your weak glare. This close to your face, he can see all the small imperfections that add to the mosaic of your beauty. Gliding his other hand up, he passes a ghost of a touch to your chest before it lands with a curl around your throat. The addition of it pushes you fully into perfection.

Humming and eyes hooded, Rafe draws out a peck to your lips. The warm, soft contact is barely a kiss, just a need to feel you closer that has Rafe relaxing a fraction. “C’mon then.”

Leading you back to the couch, you resume your previous seat that looks more like a nest with a bundle of blankets, a heating pad, and candy there. Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline when he lays the warmed pad on your lower abdomen, wrapping a fuzzy throw around you then tucking you under his arm, situated to lean against him. Propping his feet on the ottoman, Rafe focuses on the TV which plays some sort of reality show.

Your suspicion rises like steam, muscles strained with preparation for flight. It isn’t until halfway through the show does Rafe feel your body incrementally slacken and by the third, you’ve fallen asleep.

So, if the show happens to stay on there’s no one around to judge.

Rafe likes it when you’re asleep. Can freely stare at you without an icy sneer or bitchy remark to ruin the moment. Just a doll nuzzled deep into the side of him resonating a humming of snores.

His peace is ruined by the vibrating of his phone. He checks the screen.

Ward

With care, Rafe eases up from the couch and repositions your head so it’s against a pillow then heads into the kitchen.

Ward hardly calls him. The proportion of Rafe’s outgoing calls to him weighs heavily unanswered. Taking a deep breath, he picks up.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” There’s an eager edge to his question and Rafe hates it.

“Rafe, checking in to see how you doin’?” Ward’s deep timbre carries easily through the speaker.

“Good. I’m good.” Rafe looks at the back of the couch, smiling. “Yeah, I’m actually at my girl –”

“Listen, bud,” His father starts. “You got any plans for spring break? Wantcha come down so you can help me start up this new project. It’s a big one.”

Rafe pumps his fist into the air silently, excitement coloring his voice. “No, yeah, totally! I can do that. I’m up for it.”

“You sure? This is legit business and I need you to have a clear head. That means no…partying when you’re here, ‘ight? No funny stuff while we do this. Can you handle that, Rafe?”

It isn’t the serious tone of his father’s gruff voice that has his excitement evaporating. It’s the impending disappointment there like Rafe has already fucked up. Ward giving him a chance and still expecting failure in the end. A flash of hurt burns through but Rafe shakes it off, tells himself that he deserves it considering his track record.

“You can count on me, sir. I swear.”

A pause. Rafe thinks Ward might give encouraging words. A squeeze of a hand for support, words he’s heard him tell Sarah.

Only it’s: “See you soon.” And that’s that.

The dual beep from the phone lets Rafe know Ward’s hung up, just as a ‘love you’ was balancing off his tongue. He must be busy today.

“Who was that?”

Your voice rises from the couch before your head pops up, hair all fluffy and ruffled. Eyes are a bit puffy from sleep as you blink them open. The late afternoon sun creates a soft yellow hue through the windows, catching onto strands of your hair, soaking into your skin. Rafe is momentarily blinded by the view that it takes him a second to respond.

“My dad.” Carding his fingers through his hair, Rafe smiles as the thrill returns. “He wants me to assist with a new job. This is huge for me!”

Yawning, you stretch and get up from the couch. Rafe keeps his body angled to yours, head nodding along to his babbling as you fill a glass of water.

“If he could see that I’m ready – that I’m ready to get serious, I’ll finally be a part of the Cameron legacy. My legacy. It’s about time he’s bought me into the loop…sure I’ve been tagging along since I could remember but this time, he wants my input. I’ll be able to share my ideas and he’ll have to listen.” He sighs, winded. “It’s too bad I’ll be gone for spring break –”

“Really?”

You’re at the edge of the peninsula, hip leaning against the counter as you take another sip. Your eyes shift from his to elsewhere, fingers drumming an uneven beat. Adjacent to you and with his hands braced on the counter, Rafe slides closer. Spreading his fingers apart to reach out a pinky to stroke your own.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

Scoffing, you swipe your hand away. “As if.” Your face softens a little into curiosity. “What does your dad do again?”

Shock rocks at his heart and it's damn hard to keep it in. He can count on one hand the number of times you’ve shown genuine interest in conversation with him.

“He owns a development company. Operates daily with the construction of buildings and those type of things.”

“Oh.” Your eyes are open and inviting, the slightest tilt in his direction.

Rafe steams on ahead, wanting to keep your attention. “Yeah, he started it all on his own. Born on the other side of the island. Actually made something of himself… unlike those dirty pogues down there now.”

It’s automatic to sneer out the slur. He can’t help the disgust he feels just thinking about that side of town.

One of your eyebrows raises. “Aren’t you, like, fourth generation to attend UNC?” Your chin juts out. “Wouldn’t that mean your family has had, like enough money to go for so long?”

Rafe could crack a tooth from the grinding of his teeth. You’re not the first to connect the dots but you certainly are one of the few to vocalize it.

“Third.” Rafe sucks his teeth in. “The Camerons may have started out on the Cut, but they grew to be more middle class. Only the truly elite are on Figure Eight.”

It infuriates him to no end of that simple fact. That just before he was born Ward was making his way through the Cut and into Figure Eight, the right side of the island. Where he – they always belonged.

Your eyes roll with a tilt of your head. “So, not really a pogue, not really a kook. Just an ordinary man like the rest of the world. Y’know, stepping on that island is like being in a fucked up alternate universe.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I am not!” The stomping of your foot says otherwise. “It’s the worst place I’ve ever been.”

“It’s the best place.”

It’s amusing to watch your cheeks puff in frustration. “Only because of the little notoriety your family has there.”

A slow smirk spreads out like elastic, leaning into you. “Well, of course, sweetheart.”

With anyone else, Rafe would be squashing them beneath his shoe like a bug for a comment like that. With you, however…he finds he wants to know all your thoughts regarding him, the good and the bad. Suck in all the information he can, leach off every emotion you hold for him. The anger, the disgust, the begrudging pleasure.

At the same time, Rafe doesn’t have to hide behind a polite smile or use his charm to peruse you. He’s his real self. The most based form of a soul he struggles to hold onto. Wants to lay the shreds of his soul at your feet like a sacrifice, irrevocably intertwined together.

A peculiar look morphs on your face. Like when you’re working through a difficult assignment. Unmoving, focused but this time on him, which is extremely rare. Usually, you shield yourself away in a layer of ice that solidifies you.

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back, lashes blinking rapidly to break your connected gazes.

“What are you thinking about?” He angles his head low to follow your eyes.

Rafe half expects the typical retort of: ‘You don’t need to know all my waking thoughts.’

“Just…Doesn’t everyone on the island think he was a true pouge?”

So, you have listened to his rants before.

“People remember and think what they want to. Ward doesn’t have to answer to any of them.” His eyes narrow. “Why?”

Your fingers begin to fiddle with themselves. Twisting fingers in knots, squeezing the tips in a random pattern.

Again, he asks. “Why’re you so interested?”

“What? Now you’re gonna be mad I’m talking to you?”

Sass is a defense mechanism you use often; one Rafe finds the most annoying but just as addictive to combat with. It continues in his silent stare.

“I guess… I’m just confused why you would want to work with him so badly?” Your tone goes from curious to condescending within a blink of an eye. “If my dad treated me like that, I’d want to be as far away from him as possible.”

The straightening of his spine is immediate. “You don’t know shit about my dad.”

“Just that he treats you like shit –”

“Shut up –”

“Bet he’d love to know his only son is a psychotic rapist!”

His eyes bulge. A moment of stillness that enraptures the both of you. The bickering was reeving him up to ravish you across the countertop. Now, his mind whirls from the total 180 you’ve pulled on him. Never has he heard you utter those condemning words before. Rafe didn’t think you’d succumb to that dark truth, let alone say it out loud.

A scoff hiccups deep from his chest. “What fucking proof you got of that, sweetheart?” Shifting closer, your face pinches in as Rafe leers, “Your wet cunt cumming each time I force it in?”

It’s a low blow you take with stride, a flinch before you're sneering. “What about that little coke problem of yours?”

There.

There it is.

The real reason you’ve gone down this path of conversation. Nosing your way into things pretty girls like you shouldn’t concern yourself with. Much less with the intention set in your shoulders.

“You trying to blackmail me?” The chuckle comes low, barely a sound of amusement. “Oh, honey,” Rafe mocks. “You didn’t know he already knows?”

The façade of your bravado crumbles, a half step taken back with weary eyes. He tsks and cocks his head back, disappointed. With a sudden swing of his arm, the back of his hand knocks your glass of water to the other side of the room. The shattering of glass and your shriek harmonize, creating the perfect symphony to his sudden charging to you, arms an unknown mix until he shoves you against the wall.

Both hands hold your throat. Nails pierce his skin and scratch along the length trying to find a better leverage. The squeezing doesn’t stop until your eyes are pleading and swimming in the dark waters of fear.

“I may be a fuck up but I’m still his son.” Jerkily releasing you, your head wobbles on your neck. Hands barricading you in, Rafe lowers his head until your noses touch. Your panting breaths feed his next ones in.

“Don’t threaten me if you can’t back. It. Up!” His final warning is yelled, vibrating against your lips as his palms smack beside your head with each pointed word.

Your tears have gone unnoticed until you curl to the side and his lips taste the salty moisture upon your skin. Normally, the sight of them would soften his anger and harden his cock, leading the situation to hot make-up sex.

It isn’t enough. Not today.

Not when his future is within his grasp, his for the taking. Not with the knowledge of you trying to get rid of him, the idea as pointless as it is terrifying. Going to desperate measures when you should be desperate for him.

With a practiced move, Rafe retches your hair between tightened knuckles and pulls until your neck is a long arch and facing him. He ignores the pain-filled yelp and weak hands patting his chest.

“You want me to force you? Is that it, baby, huh?” Rafe hisses.

He hauls you down until your knees fold beneath you. A sick delight like seasickness rolls down to his groin as he growls. Weak defiance lives in your eyes, frowning with his name on your tongue. It's a tug of war between Rafe’s hand and your struggle to rise, keeping your hair taunt. It’s the sight of him unzipping his fly that has you hitting his thighs with a renewed alarm.

“Rafe! Stop it –”

“Keep fightin’ and you’re only gonna make it worse f’yourself.” Rafe warns another yank just to hear you shriek.

Fisting the base of his cock, he pulls it out through the opening. He aims for your mouth, but you cringe making the tip smear on your chin. Rafe tuts, guiding your head right where he wants, and flexes his arm, sure to hold you in place.

“C’mon n’ open up,” he drawls. “Take your punishment.”

Stroking up to the tip, his thumb sweeps along the ridge and tilts his hips forward, hovering just above those plush lips. Tapping the red flesh on your closed mouth, Rafe splays his hand on your chin and squeezes on the delicate bones until your jaw unhinges with a wail to relieve the pain.

Like a serpent striking, he’s pushing in before you can react. Bumping against the roof of your mouth, the rigids of your hard palate make him jerk with sensitivity and envelop the next few inches. The hot, wet rush has sparks crackling up his spine. All that heat and anger spirals down to his cock, the need to claim brooding in his balls. Grunting your name with each gag you give, his thumb caresses the corner of your lip as he watches enthralled.

A part of him wants to take his time. Use gentle strokes to coax your mouth open, train you with patience to swallow his cock just right.

Instead with a mean smirk, Rafe plunges half his cock in. The clenching of your throat makes it hard to go in deeper, the constriction of your resistance inflames his pleasure. The underside of his dick feels the rippling of your tongue like a wave, chasing after it eagerly. Your high-pitched whines are muffled by the weight of him, gargles of air getting blocked as he teases the opening of your throat.

“Can’t believe I’ve gone this long without fucking that mouth of yours.”

Saliva accumulates, thick and slippery as his cock triggers your gag reflex, spit dribbling down your jaw. Your drool coats him to create a smooth glide, lower abdomen tensing, and stuffing further in. Such a pretty sight seeing you like this, gurgling and coughing between the space of your cheeks and his cock. Eyelashes clumped, a darkening hue on your cheeks, small fistfuls of his jeans. Your gagging clinches your throat, locking him in tight before it flutters open.

Rafe allows you to pull back far enough to catch a breath. Coughing out into shaky inhales, lips puffy from abuse and slicked with combined spit and precum. Standing above you like this gives him the most delicious view of your stretched neck. From the tip of your chin to the swell of your cleavage in an expanse of skin that should be carved into marble.

Words tangle as you stutter and gasp, Rafe hushing you with faux tenderness. “I’m going to fuck ya throat now…”

Weaving his fingers once more into your hair, Rafe pushes back into your avoiding mouth. Your fighting ignites a primal urge of take, take, take within him. A bloating want fills his void. Sticky and black as tar that he wants to pour onto you, anoint you with his devoted desecration.

There is little mercy with the pistoling of his hips, ass clenching in pointed thrusts. Mummering encouragements of that’s it, such a good girl and various pitches of your name, Rafe feeds you his length with a fevered urgency. The squelching of his dick opening your throat layers with his low moans, watching as each inch disappears until your lips are kissing his pelvis.

His hips jerk involuntarily as a tickling of pleasure jolts him, your wet bottom lip moving on the sensitive spot just below his base and above his heavy balls. It feels so good and you’re not even actively sucking on him. Just a soft wet home for him to press in farther, another place he has laid claim to.

Fringes of hair droop between his eyes, almost hunched over as he pulls his hips to ram back in. Wet spots glisten on your chest, staining your tank top. A relentless pace fueled by rage and an ache.

“Fuck – ah – I’m gonna cum.” Rafe says hoarsely and tilts his head back if only to starve off his orgasm by looking away. “My good lil’ slut…swallow my cum.”

Angling your head up, Rafe slides his cock down all the way to the root. Grip tightening on your head, he rocks side to side to wiggle in as much as he can. You're choking helplessly as he fucks so deep, it feels like he might reach your heart. One hand skates down to your neck and palms the bulge, holding it there to experience the swell of it. Minuscule thrusts nudge the back wall of your esophagus, his thumb rubs up and down where the head sits.

The scrunching of your eyes and difficult breaths boosts his ego but he needs to see you. Needs you to see him.

“Look at me.” His fingers press in painfully. Eyes flickering half open, the devastation set in your irises kindles his breaking point. “Ugh,” he grunts your name like gravel between his teeth.

Stilling in the depths of you, Rafe cums.

Your muscles intuitively constrict and swallow, suctioning him with hot, white pleasure. The wet of your cheeks is like velvet as you drink his cum.

Seconds or minutes pass before he loosens his hold. Loud choking fits break between your breathing once you're free from his cock, covered in a layer of drool and residual cum. Rafe pets your hair, trying to smooth out the knots he’s made.

You’re still crying as he calms down from his high, face nuzzling into his hip to hide. God, he’s going to get hard again with you looking so pathetic.

“Did you learn your lesson, pretty angel?” Dragging rough fingers through your hair, he bunches a handful and barely pulls, your neck like a snapped cord as your head flops back. An index finger tenderly traces down your cheek to your swollen lips.

“Any more empty threats and I’ll rape your mouth until you pass out.”

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