Stargrltara - ᴛᴀʀᴀ

‘Who Really Cares..?‘

MINI SERIES BLURB

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warnings | This series will contain:

toxic enemies with benefits, mentions of dub con + light smut, physical and mental abuse, manipulation, dark themes, fluff + angst, (will add more warnings if needed)

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It started at a party. You met Rafe, he was charming as per usual. He is a kook prince, so it wasn’t really surprising. After a few drinks, before you knew it, you were in his mansion, in his bedroom hooking up.

It was unintentional. You didn’t think that one hook up would lead to you two being friends with benefits.

But who really cares..?

Could you even call it friends? I mean. He was a total complete douche.

For example, after you guys fucked he would get up like nothing happened and put his clothes back on. Usually he would hop in the shower for a long 20 minutes and expect you to be gone.

On other occasions, he would fall asleep; even when you fell asleep with him, he didn’t really mind it as he knew you’d be gone in the morning anyways.

Sometimes he would call you over just to rant. His rants usually consisted of his father and/or random girls he was with which he had broken up with in the span of weeks or even says. Then that rant would lead to heavy sex which would only be for his benefit.

Whenever you wanted him over, you’d always pick out your favourite lace sets to show off to him.

It’s not like you liked him like that, it’s just that it’s sometimes comforting to have a males opinion on your lingerie and how sexy you look on a scale from 1-10.

Your parents were semi-rich. Your mum was a kook and your dad was a pogue. Even though you lived on figure eight, you sometimes enjoyed going down to the cut to go and hang out with your other friends. (Who Rafe didn’t like) but who really cares..?

Your most favourite thing to do was to go to parties with your friends from both tribes, Kooks and Pogues. And when you did, it was fucking fantastic.

Yeah, you loved to have an excuse to get ready and look hot as shit but you also loved getting wasted at parties.

Though, this particular party kinda didn’t go to plan.

You didn’t know Rafe would be there.

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NOTE: this is my first mini series !! sorry if it’s bad i’m open to any constructive criticism. pls pls pls like and tell me if i should carry this on. i’m so excited to write the rest!! <33

TAGS:

: ̗̀➛ dating rafe cameron .

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flipping love this

GOT WHAT YOU WANTED

summary: you're rafe's best friend—kelce and top's too, but there's always been something more between the two of you. neither of you will do anything about it. clearly, the solution is to become friends with benefits.

now spinning: too many nights by metro & future

word count: 11.5k

warning/tags: kook trio reader, using jj to make rafe jealous, mentions of drugs/partying, jealous/possessive rafe and reader, smut !, rafe deals coke. tysm to @zyafics for beta’ing & helping me so muchh & @inimamea for being so lovely and supportive. tysm to all the lovely anons who have been supporting and loving this concept from the start, i hope u all love this ♡ (but sorry in advance if u don’t)

truth be told, you didn’t like making rafe angry. 

it wasn’t fun for you, like other things were—watching your boys play golf while you lounged in the cart with the cold drinks, picking out a pretty outfit for the day, crashing on the couch at tannyhill with your head in rafe’s lap and feet over kelce’s legs. 

those were fun things. what you were doing now, with jj, was something borne of necessity. you’re not a mean girl. you find it tough to be mean to anyone except rafe, actually, and only because he dishes it back and you know his feelings aren’t really hurt, but right now you were being mean.

to jj that is. 

you smile at the blond boy seated next to you, the golden glow of the bonfire casting its warmth onto both of you. you laugh at another joke he makes, but only half-hearted, taking another sip of the beer he’d gotten you from the keg.

jj’s funny, he’s sweet too. it’s not his fault you wish you were seated next to your best friend instead of him, drinking a strawberry seltzer from the case that rafe keeps in the back of his truck specially for you. 

“so?” jj asks, and you turn from staring at your shoes to look up at him. he’s looking at you with a smile, a very charming smile that you could have a lot of fun with, except you’re starting to feel bad about toying with him like this. 

“so?” you repeat back, softly. he leans in a little to hear you. you feel a little warm at the action, but it could just as easily be from the fire. 

jj’s nice—and you’ve always liked nice, preferred it to almost anything. every boy you had ever introduced to your trio had been nice, though rafe hadn’t ever cared. he’d hated them from the moment he’d laid eyes on them. you wonder now when you let him seep into your mind like this, with every other thought about rafe rafe rafe. somewhere in between accepting jj’s invitation to come to the bonfire with him and getting jealous over the fact that rafe was seeing some random girl.

“you didn’t tell your other boy about this, did’ya?” you look up at jj with eyebrows knitted, puzzled.

“other.. boy?”

“cameron.” now you really flush—you certainly don’t want jj to think rafe is your other anything.

“no, no. we’re not dating. we’re just friends.”

“right, okay. you tell him about tonight?”

“no. it didn’t come up.”

“ah. got it.”

“why?” you ask, and before you can look around, jj stares into the distance, gesturing with his eyes to a blurry figure.

“nothin’. he’s just been starin’ at us since we sat down, so i figured, but-” you stand up, looking into the distance where rafe was. you can feel yourself turning green with envy, red with rage, watching him stand next to the same girl he’s been with, her looking at rafe while rafe looks at you.

you sit back down on the log, wrapping a hand around jj’s arm and pulling him down to sit beside you. from this angle, rafe can’t make out anything but your backs, and maybe the lack of any real distance between you and jj.

“sorry,” you say, sweetly, almost having regained your wrath the second you saw the two of them standing together. “he’s crazy.”

“s’okay. not news to me, princess.” jj takes a pause, and you chew your cheek, trying to decide how far you were willing to take this. “you okay?”

“yes. why wouldn’t i be?”

“well, uh, it doesn’t take a genius. even though, y’know, i am one, to know somethin’s up.” “no, jj, i promise, we’re ju-” “just friends, yeah, i got it. i mean, i don’t know what type of friends exactly, but uh, i like you. and i’ll like you even if he has a problem with it. so up to you, really.” you glance up at jj, who is being nicer to you right now than you deserve. 

and you hate it, hate every second of it. you hate how rafe makes you feel, how angry and jealous you get, the fact that you even started talking to jj when in the back of your mind you knew it was because rafe would get upset over it.

but you also hate what rafe’s doing, the girl he’s with and the way he’s with her, the fact that he brought her here and still won’t stop shooting daggers into jj’s head. in short, you hate all of it. 

you lean in, resting your head against jj’s shoulder. 

“i’m sorry. i don’t know what’s going on with him. but, he’s here with a girl.”

“and you’re here with me.” jj wraps an arm around you. 

“yes, but not because-well, i don’t know.” it feels stupid coming out, but if jj thinks that, he doesn’t show any signs of it.

“s’okay. don’t always have to know.” you keep your head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth he brings. “by the way, he’s still watching.” you smile, though you can’t tell which boy elicited it. “i mean, not gonna complain if i get to be your boy toy for a little but, nice to know you care-” you giggle, pulling away to put your drink on the sandy ground.

“you’re telling me you don’t want a sugar mama?” he laughs at your words and you relish in it. 

it could be picture perfect—waves crashing in the back, the fire flickering in front of you, stars sparkling above. jj keeps his hand on your cheek and leans in for a kiss, and you find yourself leaning too, when the voice of your best friend breaks the silence. you pull away from jj to look up at rafe standing behind you.

“hey. we’re goin’. c’mon.”

“rafe-” you start, but you get interrupted. jj stands, facing rafe.

“hey buddy, we’re a little busy. but uh, i’ll make sure she gets home safe-”

“guys-”

“wasn’t fuckin’ talkin’ to you, pogue-”

“tuck her into bed, and everything. don’t worry your little head ‘bout it-”

“m’gonna knock your little head out if you don’t get the fuck away from-” having heard enough, you drag rafe away by his arm, your pretty nails digging in harshly.

“what the fuck was that, rafe?” you ask, though you feel the bitterness coursing through your veins. how’s that fair—that he parades his girlfriend around you, at the club and here at the bonfire, but you can’t so much as spend a moment alone with jj. 

whatever reservations you had just held about using jj to make rafe jealous seem to have gone far away. instead you’re just angry—he wants his own girlfriend and he wants you without a boyfriend too. you turn to look back at the boy you left behind at the fire. jj gives you a thumbs up.

“how many times do i have to fuckin’ tell you to-to stay away from that pogue-”

“he has a name,” you counter, so defensive because jj was being nice to you even when he didn’t have to be, helping you even with no gain for himself. “and you can’t order me around, okay? you brought a girl here but i can’t talk to jayj? how does that make any sense?”

“stop yellin’,” he barks, grabbing you by the arm now, and guiding you away.

“why? afraid someone might hear us? like your little girlfriend? where’d she go, by the way, i bet she’s missing you right about now-”

“shut up. shut it.” you don’t realize how far rafe’s dragged you until you shake out of his tight grip, standing next to his truck on the street.

“i’m sick of this rafe.” it comes out quieter than you intend, tears prickling up. you hate crying, especially infront of the boys but even more so infront of rafe. “i’m not stopping my life and boys that i wanna see, and relationships i want to have because you’re not okay with it. not when you have your own girlfriend. it’s not fair.” 

“i don’t. i don’t have a girlfriend.” you roll your eyes, he watches it happen with a tight fist, jaw clenching.

“yes, you do.”

“no, i don’t.”

“you don’t?” you question, unbelieving. “you just.. walk around with the same girl for weeks. take her everywhere. but she’s not your girlfriend?” you’re snarky like always—you still don’t know if he likes it or not.

“no, she’s not.” 

“bullshit. at least get your fucking story straight, rafe. that girl’s probably half in love with you-” “m’not dating her. and if it bothered you so much how come you didn’t say something, huh? you pull this shit with fuckin’ maybank instead?”

“i’m not pulling anything with jj.” you lie through your teeth, hoping rafe bites. “i-i like him.”

“no you fuckin’ don’t.”

“who are you to tell me-”

“you don’t like him. what you like is makin’ me fuckin’ angry. well, it worked. stay the fuck away from him. and get in the goddamn truck.”

you groan loudly, the noise almost a scream and filling the quiet street. but you comply, getting into the passenger seat and letting rafe drive you home—to your house, not tannyhill like every other night. when he pulls up to your house, you resist the urge to get out without saying anything at all.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” you sigh, looking back up at rafe.

“that’s it? you’ll see me tomorrow?”

“what else do you want me to say, huh?”

“are you just gonna ignore all of that? what the hell was that?”

“m’not ignoring anything-”

“so, i can’t see jj anymore. are you still seeing her? who am i allowed to date then? kelce? top? do you have a pre-approved list for me?”

“shut up.”

“rafe,” you sound serious, as serious as he’s ever heard you, shifting in your seat to look right at him. he looks back, his knuckles white on the steering wheel at the mention of you dating kelce or top or anyone. “i’m not gonna stay single forever. i know your alpha-male tendencies don’t agree with it, but girls have needs too. i want-”

“what? what do you want?”

“the possibility of getting laid without you screaming at every boy i talk to would be nice.”

“don’t talk like that.”

“rafe.” 

exasperated, you unlock the door and climb out, not turning back to say goodnight. the last twelve hours seem like a blur, between texting jj and actually seeing him and rafe’s reaction to it. you’re not sure what kind of reaction you really wanted out of him, but you’re not happy with the one you got. you don’t know what, if anything, would have pleased you. 

that night, you go to bed angry and wake up sad. jj texted you something but you can’t find the heart to look at his message yet. 

you’re sure the boys have something planned for today, like they always do, but the idea of opening the groupchat to look at what they decided on makes you feel sick. so you stay home instead, showering off yesterday’s anger and wondering why rafe thinks you don’t deserve to have a boy in your life to fool around with, to date, to do anything with. 

the answer, sharp and painful like the jagged end of a piece of glass, hovers in your mind. you try to push it away.

rafe’s wrong—like always. you really don’t like making him angry, like it even less that your routine is disrupted and that for the first time in a long time, you don’t want to see your best friends today. brushing your hair, the sound of your bedroom door opening snaps you out of your thoughts.

“c’mon kid. get dressed. top’s got tee time at two and we booked lunch before.” you turn to look at rafe but don’t budge. he takes a look at you—dressed in one of his old frat shirts and plaid shorts that barely peak out. 

you look pretty all the time but it feels the worst, the hardest to deal with, when it’s just the two of you alone like this, none of the shit that you do for other people, for outside the house—the makeup, the hair, the nice clothes. when you’re pretty like this it’s just for him, since no one else gets to see you, no one but him. you probably didn’t even notice you were wearing one of his shirts—something that leaves him feeling more pleased than he should be. but like always, he’s not gonna tell you any of that.

“are you adding deaf to stupid?” he asks, and you roll your eyes, letting out an irritated huff.

“i’m not coming. go away.” you turn around on your vanity chair to face your mirror, continuing brushing your hair. rafe walks up behind you, staring at you in the mirror.

“c’mon. lunch is at the place you like. i’ll even talk to you when kelce and top are up.”

“is that your way of apologizing?”

“it’s not an apology.”

“of course it’s not. why would you say sorry? you probably don’t think you did anything wrong.”

“i didn’t.”

“mm-hm. when does rafe cameron ever do anything wrong?” you keep brushing your hair, staring at yourself in the mirror instead of at him. “psycho.”

rafe yanks the brush from your hand, spinning your chair around to face him. he boxes you in, his hands resting on the armrests. he’s too close to you, it makes his head spin. you wish he’d stop, you know he’s not going to. you watch with bated breath, wondering what’s coming next.

“i… didn’t mean to make you upset.” you keep staring up at rafe, blinking fast. “and i didn’t see it from your side. so, m’sorry. about that part. nothin’ else.” you can’t help the slow smile that grows on your face—rafe, apologizing, and to you of all people. you thought you’d never see the day.

“thanks rafe.”

“alright. get ready. truck’s still runnin’.” he pulls himself upright, freeing you of the restraint. you can hear the bass of the music in his car, the future song audible from your open window. 

“that’s bad for the environment. and i didn’t say i forgave you.” snatching the hairbrush back, you resume your motions. you hear rafe groan and it’s hard to hold back the smile. maybe you did like making him angry.

“kid.” 

“what? i heard your apology, and i don’t accept it. hope you girls have fun at golf-” rafe leans back in, holding your jaw shut between his fingers.

“do you ever shut up?” you shake your head from your position, though you can’t really move. “what’s it gonna take, huh? you want my permission to fuck ‘round? sleep with some, some fuckin’ nobody? some pogue? tough shit. you’re not gettin’ it.” he lets you go, and you rub your jaw tenderly.

“but you get to do it?” 

“that’s different-”

“no it’s not! you’re just a dick. and sexist. who am i supposed to sleep with, then?” you shoot back.

“i don’t fuckin’ know, kid. me, i guess. at this point-”

“ha-ha funny. you’re an-” when you finally get up and look at him, he’s staring at you. “what?”

“yeah. that’s fine.” he shrugs, like he’s just decided something trivial, like what to order at lunch or which iron to use. “you can sleep with me.”

“excuse me?”

“yeah. yeah, it’s a good solution. that way you can stay the fuck away from maybank and any other asshole.”

“rafe. shut up.”

“think about it,” he says, and you fall silent to listen, though this is the worst idea  you’ve ever heard in your life. “you get what you want. i get what i want. it works out.”

“how is being your pity-fuck remotely close to what i want?”

“sheesh, kid m’tryna help you right now. offerin’ you a solution-”

“rafe?” “yeah?”

“get out.” you walk over the door, swining it open and waiting for him to step out.

“just think ‘bout it,” rafe says, standing by the door but not leaving just yet. “alright?”

“goodbye, rafe.” 

you listen to the sounds—him walking down the staircase, the front door closing, his truck taking off. after you’re sure he’s gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding inside.

sleeping with rafe had been nothing more than a drunken thought that occasionally slipped into your mind when he’d be nice to you after some party. curling up next to him at tannyhill every other night certainly didn’t help, but that’s all it was—a thought, not reality. 

then you wonder if it’s really such a bad idea. maybe if you just got out all of this pent up energy with rafe, and then worked on finding someone he actually approved of, it would be easier for both of you. 

key word: maybe.

the idea that he’s still seeing that girl, the one he keeps denying is his girlfriend, makes you want to puke. he’d have to stop that, that would be part of your agreement. 

maybe rafe’s right, maybe you both get what you want out of this, as messed up as it seems. it can’t be the worst idea in the world—kelce and top always joke the two of you are half a couple already.

you go to your closet to pick out an outfit for golf, hoping you weren’t about to ruin your friendship with your best friend.

.☘︎ ݁˖

rafe’s leaning against the bar at the club when you find him. you think he’s got a weird sixth sense, he always knows when you’re around, and he looks up before you’re even near him. 

“i knew you wouldn’t pass on lunch. top owes me five bucks.”

“yeah. sure.” you put a hand on the counter to steady yourself—this is harder than you thought it would be. rafe takes a sip of his drink. you want to chastise him, tell him it’s only twelve-thirty and too early for drinking, but nothing comes out. your mouth feels dry and you almost want to chug the rest of his scotch. surprisingly, you refrain.

“what?” rafe asks, and you glance up at him, eyes locked.

“i thought about what you said this morning. what you offered.”

“and?” the bastard looks so smug. you should the slap the smirk off his face but you know what he’s thinking—proud of coming up with the idea himself, thinking he’s doing such a service.

“and.. better the devil you know and all that.” you wait for the other shoe to drop for a moment, for rafe to admit it was all a big prank and you fell for it, and now the boys owe him money or something.

“good. i agree. so should we get outta here, or what?”

“right now?” you question, eyes widening. “what about tee time?”

“you’re the only who’s so horny you’re on the verge of jumping pogues. m’just tryna help you-”

“shut up!”your face heats, looking around to make sure no one heard him. “by the way, between the two of us you’re the only one jumping pogues.”

“yeah, yeah. so not now, then?”

“a gentlemen as always, rafe. no, really, thank you, for showing me chivalry’s not dead.” you roll your eyes again, staring ahead at the bottles behind the bar. you don’t want to turn and look at rafe again, but you do.

“at this rate m’gonna have to show you what friends with benefits means too.”

“shut up.” it comes out like a hiss this time, narrowed eyes focusing in on your best friend and apparently, new fuck buddy.

“yeah, yeah. they’re at the table near the window.” 

“thanks.” you walk in that direction, catching a glimpse of top and kelce, but your feet pause for a moment. you stay still, but glance back at rafe.

he’s not leaning against the bar anymore—he’s facing you, staring at you. blue eyes rake over your skin top to bottom, focusing on the pretty sandals and polished white toes, smooth lotioned skin, your short white skirt and tight golf shirt, with one too many buttons popped. 

when you’re talking without ever shutting up, it’s hard for him to focus on anything but your glossy lips or long eyelashes fluttering when you roll your eyes. but now he’s taking it in—how easily you agreed to this little idea, how you talk a big game but you don’t seem as hesitant or upset as you were this morning. 

you turn back and keep walking towards the table—rafe can tell you’re flushed. he’s fine with it, prefers it this way. anything’s better than you going on dates with strangers, showing them looks and emotions and other things that belong to him.

if you’re horny, all you had to do was tell him. downing the rest of his drink, he goes back to the table and like always, sits next to you. 

kelce and top talk about the same old shit, until they focus their attention on you. you’re being quiet, not nearly as talkative or snippy as usual, and you haven’t said a word to rafe the whole time.

“and where’d you two go off to last night?” kelce asks, pointedly looking at rafe while he asks you the question.

“you guys know you left us stranded, right? we all came together. i mean i’m not saying self-absorbed but-” topper adds, but you cut him off.

“you’re really not one to talk about self-absorbed, are you top?” you shoot back, and kelce chokes on his water. 

“easy,” rafe says, and normally you’d fire away something at him too, but this time you don’t. “we had somethin’ to take care of. but you got home didn’t you?”

“yes, but-” topper says, but rafe cuts him off again. you hold back a laugh.

“then shut up ‘bout it.”

“kelce’s mom had to pick us up. it was humiliating.” you snort into your lemonade, all four of you bursting into laughter. you turn to ask kelce a follow up question, and rafe’s staring at you while you laugh. something low in your stomach twists, like a butterfly trying to fly out and away.

when kelce and rafe start talking about the course today, topper leans in to say something to you.

“you’re getting mean. y’know that means you’re spending too much time with him.” you transfer your gaze from top to rafe, staring at the boy next to you. 

the idea of what you would normally say floats through your head—something funny and earnest but still making top feel better, not saying sorry but making him laugh instead. nothing comes to mind.

“yeah. i guess i am.”

you sit through golf, reading your book in the cart while the boys play nine holes. your phone rings with a call from your parents about an hour in, and when you step away to take it, rafe follows you. the boys protest from the distance—it must have been his turn.

“you goin’ home?” rafe questions, and you jolt at the sound, not realizing he was right behind you.

“god. you scared me.” he doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring down at you. “yes, uh, mom wants me home for something.”

“you need a ride?”

“no, i drove here, remember?” 

“oh. yeah. am i gonna see you tonight?” the words make you flush—stupidly, no matter how hard you try to fight it, knowing that they shouldn’t. the two of you are going to be terrible at this. “kid?”

“careful, rafe. you’re starting to sound like a boyfriend.” “yeah. and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” 

sucking in a breath, tearing your gaze away with pretty blue eyes that are looking at you like maybe that wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world, you’re at a loss for words again. before all of this drama, you could count the amount of times you had been rendered speechless by rafe with no hands—since it had never happened. still with nothing to say, you turn around and start to walk away. foot steps follow you.

“hey, hey. m’joking, it’s just.. a joke. how about i come over later? and we’ll talk about it.” you spin on your heels to face him.

“talk about it? talk about what?”

“our.. arrangement. y’know talk about it..” he tilts his head stupidly and you can’t decide if you want to slap him or kiss him. “..fuck about it.”

“okay! that’s it. bye, rafe.” storming away, you almost wish you hadn’t heard what he called out after you.

“bye, kid. i’ll see you later.”

.☘︎ ݁˖

at ten pm that night, freshly showered and somehow in another one of rafe’s shirts, you were back to where you were this morning—brushing your hair. rafe doesn’t knock on your door, just barges in.

“oh my god-”

“hello to you too.” he steps in, shutting the door behind him and taking a seat on your bed. you spin on your chair to face him.

“how the hell do you keep getting in here?”

“what? your mom let me in.”

“you didn’t even text-”

“i told you at the club. you have selective memory, kid.” he looks you over again. “nice shirt.”

“oh shut up.” you turn away for a moment, setting the hairbrush down, biting your cheek. “so?”

“so?” he repeats. he’s smiling, you can just tell.

“aren’t we gonna talk about our arrangement? that’s what you told me at the club-” you finish in a mocking voice.

“what else is there to talk about? you wanna get laid, i don’t wanna see you with random guys.”

“i still don’t understand what’s wrong with the guys that i-” rafe cuts you off, and he sounds angry.

“of course you don’t understand. you don’t have’t think about this shit, because i think about it for you. what’d you gonna do when some guy starts sleepin’ with you ‘cause me and top pissed him off once? or one of those pogues, huh? to get back at us? take some video of you and send it to everyone? brag and show it off to everyone?”

“oh.”

“exactly. so m’lookin’ out for you. this is better, trust me.” the thing rafe’s saying are making sense. you were on board anyways, but you feel better that there’s a real reason behind it.

“but what about that girl-” you ask, though you don’t know what kind of answer you’re expecting. rafe sighs.

“what about that girl?”

“are-are you gonna sleep with other people too?”

“no. m’too busy anyways. works out for both of us.”

“oh. okay. promise?”

“when have i ever lied to you?” you sigh, about to protest, when he finishes his sentence. “promise.” you feel strangely reassured, like this is a good idea.

“okay. thanks.” you dodge his gaze, playing with your manicured nails, pink this time.

“alright. get on the bed.”

“rafe-”

“what? i just said-”

“you’re not even gonna, like, take me out for dinner first?”

“who the hell d’you think paid for your lunch?”

“i don’t know.. kelce? he got lunch last week. should i go sleep with him next?”

“ha-ha. get on the bed.”

“ugh. you’re so crass. i don’t even know how you get any girls-”

“yeah, yeah. are you gonna shut up now or what?”

you can’t think of anything to say, so you finally follow his instructions, crawling into your bed and sitting up against your pillows to look at rafe. 

you’ve see him naked before. he’s seen you naked before. with all the time you spent together on the druthers or at the beach, you should be used to seeing him like this. he yanks off his shirt, pulling it off with a fist in the back over his head. 

the first sign that this idea wasn’t going to go as planned should have been now—feeling your breath catch in your throat at the sight in front of you. your best friend shirtless, getting closer to your bed. your eyes rake over tan, muscled skin and the silver chain glimmering around his neck. you don’t realize you moved, body sliding down and back flat against your mattress while rafe starts to lean across the bed, his hand planted next to your head.

rafe’s hovering over you. your breathing shakes for a moment, wondering if it would be this easy for him to do this with any other girl. you dismiss the thought when rafe leans in to kiss you, but it almost seems too wrong to let it happen.

“wait-” you move your head a little so your lips are away from rafe’s. “are you sure? you don’t think it’s gonna be weird?”

“stop bugging out, kid.” he says it low and quiet, and your entire body quivers from the sound.

“answer the question, asshole.” rafe laughs, his hot breath fanning across your cheek. you can’t help it, you laugh too, turning to look at him. you think he’ll be grinning like something’s funny, but your smile dies the second you lock eyes.

he’s not smiling, he looks as serious as you’ve ever seen him. he licks his lips, moving his eyes over your body, his shirt and your bare legs.

“you wearin’ anything under this?” 

he moves one of his hands from your knee to your thigh, stroking the soft skin. you curl your leg automatically, head lifting to watch his hands and your entire body trembling under his touch—it’s hot and electric, making your heart beat faster and the hairs on your arm stand up. he looks up from your legs to your face, watches you shake your head to answer no. 

“good girl.” 

your head falls back onto the pillow when the words leave his mouth. a chuckle leaves his mouth, but still he’s not smiling, it’s more just a noise of pleasure than anything else. rafe sits up between your legs, hands grabbing onto both of your legs and stroking again. he makes his way all the way to your hips, fingers dancing over the waistband of your panties. 

you think he’ll stop, maybe at least answer your earlier question, though you can’t remember what you had even asked him. he doesn’t, fingers swiftly hooking around the fabric and pulling them down your legs. you suck in another breath, angling your foot so they fall onto the bed while you keep your eyes locked on him.

“y’ready?” he asks, and you nod, though you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to. his hands go back to your thighs, pushing his t-shirt up to expose more skin. you tense up, but he keeps a palm on your knee. “relax.”

before you can anticipate anything else, he strokes your pussy, which is shamefully wet already, with two fingers, prodding the sensitive skin and gathering wetness. he does that laugh again, like he can’t believe what he’s looking at, and you try to shut your trembling thighs in embarassment, but rafe holds them open.

“rafe-” but before you can finish your sentence, two thick fingers plunge inside you, “oh my god—!” 

“hah. good.” when he pushes his fingers out, just to slam them back in, your eyes roll all the way back, another loud moan emitting from your mouth, sounds he’s thought about a hundred times before but still can’t compare to the real thing. but of course, you don’t need to know any of that. “don’t get too loud. y’folks are downstairs, remember?”

you don’t seem to remember. when he picks up the pace, really just wanting to test you and see how much you could take, you start moaning even louder, sweet breathy sounds filling the room. they’re just for him, and normally he’d want you screaming, but he can’t arouse too much suspicious, or your parents won’t ever let him back in the house. his other hand, the one holding your legs open, moves to your mouth, clamping his palm over your lips to keep your noises quiet.

you must like it, you clench around his fingers and your walls flutter when he locks eyes with you, almost hunched over you to keep you quiet while still fucking his fingers—now three, though he didn’t realize when he’d added another—into you. 

rafe’s hard, and he can’t remember the last time he was patient enough to wait to get his dick wet, but he likes you like this, not just shutting up for once, but eyes shut and face twisted with pleasure, whimpering into his hand, legs shaking in his grip while you’re wet around his fingers. 

“rafe-” you mumble, the sound all muffled. “m’gonna, ohh-” he picks up the pace, shushing you while battering into your pussy, listening to the gasps and whimpers through his palm while you cum all over his hand. 

limbs like jelly and throat dry, you lay there, catching your breath. your skin’s hot and flushed, and you stare at rafe while he stares at you.

“what?” you question, and it comes out quiet, soft, like you’ve done something you shouldn’t have. he’s thinking a couple of things, some of which have no business being in his head at all. do you always get this wet? who else has seen you like this? who’s gonna get to hear you moan the way you just did for him some day?

“nothin’.” 

“oh. okay.” you sit up against your headboard, pulling your—his—shirt down to cover up a little. “well, thank you.”

“yeah. no problem.” for a second he hestiates—briefly concerned you want him to leave now. “well? come on.” you’re trying to sound like you always do, a little irritated at him, a little snarky. he can see through it this time.

“what?” 

“get the condom. you’re the one who said we’re doing it today.” rafe watches for a second, wondering if he should laugh or yell at you, when you pull off his shirt. he stares at you, not moving, wondering why he thought this would be a good idea. 

he’s seen you naked before, changing in the same room or when you two lost all boundaries and started walking into bathrooms while the other’s showering, but this seems different. propped against your headboard naked, with your cum on his fingers, asking him to get a condom. now that he’s seen you like this, he has a new life mission of making sure no one else ever gets to. 

“god, you’re such a boy.”

“shut up.” 

“you shut up. you talked such a big game and now you’re just staring at my boobs-” he moves quickly, fingers on your jaw, actually shutting you up.

“lie down.” biting your lip, you comply, sliding down so rafe was on top of you. “spread your legs.” you move to do so, but rafe uses his hands on your thighs to pull them apart before you can. you can’t look at his face, it almost feels too weird, so you decide to stare at his dick instead, watching him roll the condom on with a puzzled face.

“what?” he’s been looking at your face the whole time.

“nothing. if i had known you were this big i would’ve asked a while ago-” rafe starts laughing, a real one this time, and you burst into giggles too.

“stop-” and he gets closer to you, lining himself up with your wet cunt, “-making me laugh. shut up.”

“you’ve said shut up like thirty times but you won’t stop talking eithe-oh!” he pushes in all at once, and all the breath leaves your lungs. you gasp instead, toes curling, feeling incredibly full, the disbelief that you’re full of rafe quickly fading away. 

you should have known he’d be good at this, good enough to actually get you to shut up. he starts a slow pace, thrusting in and out and you look up to see your best friend’s face contorted with pleasure, heavy breaths in your ears and the scent of his cologne overwhelming everything. his chain dangles on your neck, tickling you, and you try to permanently engrain the feeling into your memory.

you attempt to stay quiet, though the slam of the headboard against the wall is a dead giveaway. rafe pushes all the way out and then all the way back in with another slam, and there’s nothing you can do but take it, clamping your hand over your mouth now.

he manhandles your legs into place, pressing them to your chest while he continues the exhausting pace. you can’t discern anything but rafe’s quiet groans and heavy breaths. you’ve just cum but it doesn’t take long for that hot feeling to wind up again in your stomach, toes curling and eyes getting watery. your moans are still muffled, but the way rafe’s looking at you is only making them get louder. 

your bottom lip must be bleeding from the way your teeth have been abusing it. rafe moves your hand out of the way and leans in for a hot kiss, his tongue in your mouth and swallowing all of your noises.

with a final oh god, oh god, oh god, moaned into rafe’s mouth, you cum hard around his dick, eyes pressing shut and stray tears falling down, rafe’s lips not leaving yours. 

you don’t know why—but you wrap your arms around his neck, keeping the kiss going. rafe pulls away for a moment to breathe and you open your eyes, staring up at him through wet lashes, licking your swollen lips, while he looks back down at you.

he leans in for a final kiss, groaning into your mouth while he spills into the condom, still thrusting in and out of your sore pussy. 

rafe rolls off of you, resting on your sheets beside you. you try to catch your breath.

“you didn’t last very long.” 

“and how long did it take ya to cum all over my fingers?”

“oh, whatever. where’s my shirt?”

“it’s my shirt,” rafe says back, finding the discarded clothing on the ground and tossing it on your chest. you sit up, sliding his shirt back on. rafe’s standing, pulling on his shorts.

“are you leaving?” you ask, and you regret it the second it comes out, quiet and soft like you want him to stay. 

you do want him to stay, but you don’t want him to know that you do. it all feels very complicated and your thighs are aching, your throat dry. 

“no.” he sits back down next to you, swinging an arm over your shoulder like he always does. you lean into his chest. 

“you kissed me,” you say quietly. you’re glad your face is pressed into his side, you don’t think you could handle looking at his face right now. “and you were quiet. i didn’t expect that.”

“your parents are downstairs, remember?”

“oh. i forgot.” you realize after that you don’t want him to know he fucked you so hard you forgot where you were and who was home.

“is kissing off limits?” rafe asks, and you almost choke processing the sentence. things you never thought rafe would say to you.”

“no.. it was nice.” you pause, listening to the silence of the room and the thud of rafe’s chest in your ear. you’re no expert—though you fear you’re about to become one—but it seems faster than normal. “you want ice cream? or cookies? i made some yesterday.”

“no, kid. it’s fine.” you chew your cheek nervously. you want rafe to want to stay, not just because you asked.

“you can go.. if you need to.” you look up at him and then look back down when he meets your eyes. 

“why? got nowhere else to be.”

“oh. okay.”

“turn the tv on. we’ll watch your stupid movie”

“really?” your face lights up, grabbing the remote on your nightstand. you open up the blanket at the foot of the bed, covering both of you while you try to find you’ve got mail. you go back to your position and lean against rafe’s warm body, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. it’s not unusual, he’s done it before, but you don’t miss the fact that he’s decided to do it now. you try to push away the warm feeling blooming in your chest.

“don’t ever make a joke about sleeping with kelce or top again.”

.☘︎ ݁˖

your tired muscles wake up to the sun pouring into your bedroom. the light shines on rafe’s still-asleep figure, but you knew it wouldn’t wake him up, nothing ever does. you don’t remember falling asleep, barely remember anything after rafe showing up.

and the part where you slept with your best friend.

a guilt-trip dangles on the edge, about to take over, when you push it away and focus on the text messages on your phone instead.

top: rafe can’t believe u bailed on cod. u better be dead in a ditch somewhere

kelce: maybe princess finally killed him

top: stop hanging out without us

kelce: top lets just pull up next time

you laugh, and rafe stirs at the sound. you give his arm a shove.

“you ditched playing video games for me? i’m so flattered, rafey.” 

“shut up.” he grumbles. “go back to bed. s’too early for this shit.”

“it’s nine in the morning. and i have pilates in an hour.”

rafe turns over, and you can’t deny it’s nice to have him in your bed for once—it seems like you’re always sleeping at tannyhill.

“didn’t get enough exercise last night? you need more?”

you fake a yawn, covering your mouth.

“exercise? what exercise? i don’t remember that. you mean the boring sex?”

rafe sits up, facing you. you choke back a laugh.

“you wanna say that again?”

“uhh-”

“in fact, why don’t you try and get up? ten bucks says you can’t even walk to the door.”

“i can’t believe the two of us even fit on this bed with your gigantic ego-”

“don’t see you walking. m’waiting.” you toss one of your throw pillows at him.

“get out!”

“alright. i’ll say good morning to your parents on my way-”

“okay! wait, stay.”

“s’what i thought.”

“some way to say good morning,” you mumble, scrolling through your other messages—a text from your other friends about a party tomorrow and a reminder for your pilates class.

“you woke me up.” 

“oh whatever. i was just surprised you skipped a video game for this. but i guess most boys would.”

“there’s not much i wouldn’t skip for you.” you smile at rafe, misunderstanding him.

“that’s so nice. are you saying i’m a great lay?” he rolls his eyes.

“i’m trying to- shut up. what’d they say?” he picks up his phone. 

about twenty minutes later, after checking the hallway (and that too on wobbly legs, just like the smug idiot had predicted) rafe leaves. like always, he says he’ll see you later.

you fall on your bed and dwell on the fact that rafe kissed you last night. it’s hard to focus on anything else, and with every passing second, you think this whole thing was a worse and worse idea.

but he doesn’t seem to think that way. he seemed fine. he’s better at the no-strings-attached thing than you, and you don’t think he would have suggested it if he didn’t think you could handle it. 

with that thought lingering, you get dressed for pilates and hope it’s easier to walk before you see the boys again. you find out that it’s really not. 

after your class, you check your phone, finding messages from top and kelce. game night and pizza at kelce’s house. you’re invited, of course, but you shoot them a message saying you’re staying home with your parents instead. 

the second you press send, rafe’s contact photo lights up your screen.

“rafe?” you answer it without even waiting.

“what, not comin’ tonight? you always come.”

“oh, um-” you pace around your room, trying to think of a lie on your feet. “mom and dad wanted to stay in. you know. game night.” the words feel stupid, though you hope he’ll believe it.

“okay. you gonna swing ‘round after?”

“no, probably not. um, i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow. have fun, kid.”

“you too. tell them i say hi.”

the rest of your day flies by and it’s not long before you’re curling up in bed with a tub of ice cream. your parents went out to dinner with some friends, while you contemplated what the hell you were doing with your own friends.

you four always had a standing date on saturday mornings in the summer—snacks and a spin on the boat. if you don’t go, it’s going to be incredibly obvious something was going on with you. 

you call topper while you pack your boat bag—grabbing the necessities the boys always completely forget about; spray sunscreen, an extra baseball cap, a book for you when you inevitably get bored of listening to them talk.

“what’s up?” top says, and you’ve made your way into the kitchen, pulling out fruit to wash and cut.

“what time are we going on the boat? and i’m bringing strawberries and mangoes, is that fine?” topper is the pickiest when it comes to the fruit—kelce and rafe will eat whatever you bring.

“uh, i think noon. call rafe, we’re taking the druthers today.” crap. that’s what you were trying to avoid. it feels crazy the second you think it—trying to avoid rafe. you need to get it together. acting like some love sick girl over your best friend feels like the stupidest thing you’ve ever tried to do. he must bring it out in you. “do you have any of those oranges? the little ones?”

“i’ll bring ‘em. listen, i need to get ready, do you know the time? i’ll just meet you there.” your self-realization is going to have to wait for another day.

“noon, yeah. i’ll text it.”

“thanks top.” 

you start an internal monologue on repeat—stop being weird about it. he’s still your best friend. be normal. he is not your boyfriend. you repeat it, but still pick out the prettiest bikini you own, yellow gingham and held together entirely by straps you’ve tied into pretty bows. you throw on one of the boys’ button-ups that’s ended up in your closet somehow on top. 

walking onto the pier, you hesitate in front of the druthers. you don’t hear any of the boys, and though nothing’s stopped you from getting on and making yourself comfortable, you wait for a second.

it’s like he knows. rafe steps out from the bridge, and takes one look at you, eyes flicking up and down your body and taking in the yellow fabric that’s barely covering anything, before offering you his hand to get on. 

“hey.”

“hey.” you look around. “nice weather.”

“yeah.”

“kelce and top running late? he told me noon.”

“those two are always late.” he’s staring at you, and this time it becomes clear, that he’s looking at you the way a boy who has been inside of you looks at you.

“i packed mangoes. you liked them last time.”

“yeah, i did.”

“i just hope they’re sweet.”

“yeah. they probably are. sweet.” rafe keeps looking, and you turn around to set your bag down. “listen, kid-”

“it’s a great day. good weather.” 

“you already said that.”

“oh.”

“would you stop and look at me?”

“no, um,” you start, emptying out your bag onto one of the seats. “sorry, i’m busy.” you feel rafe grab your shoulder, turning you around. he’s not as rough as he could be, like he usually is.

“you okay?” he asks, and you feel stupid.

“i’m fine.. are you okay?”

“yeah. but you’re actin’ weird.”

“well yeah, rafe. we slept together. it’s weird.”

“you were on board-”

“i was. i am,” you clarify. surprising even to yourself, you think you still are. “doesn’t make it not weird. imagine if you and kelce slept together. wouldn’t it be weird?” rafe’s face twists into a mixture of disgust and concern. “okay. bad example. sorry.”

“yeah. m’just saying, i wanna make sure you’re okay. but i don’t regret it if that’s what you’re afraid of. and nothin’ has to change.” hearing him say it makes you feel better. you repeat the words, tasting the feel of it on your tongue.

“right. nothing’s changed. you’re still rafe. i’m still me.”

“it doesn’t have to happen again, if you don’t want it to.” you stare up at him with crossed arms.

“why are you being so nice about it?”

“jeez, kid. what, you-you want me to be a dick ‘bout it? sounds like you’d prefer that.”

“no, just. it’s weird when you’re nice.” you look at him for a second before the two of you start laughing. “y’know what i mean.”

“alright. i’ll stop being nice.”

“thank you. now where are these two? i wanna read my book.”

“probably still sleepin’. played until-” rafe keeps talking, but you realize you’re only half paying attention. he takes his shirt off, and at the very sight of his chain sparkling in the sun, you realize you’re no better than the girls who chase after him. “what?”

“hm?” a little dazed, you look up from his abs to his face.

“you’re starin’.”

“oh. you think we have enough time before they show up?”

“time for what?” rafe stares at you while you stare at him. “oh.”

turns out he thought you did have enough time. you end up with your cheek pressed against the tan sofa in the cabin, body folded with your head down and ass up. rafe’s slamming into you from behind, and though it’s only the second time with him, you think there’s no pleasure in the world comparable.

from this angle he feels even bigger than yesterday. you feel tighter, or maybe it’s just the way your cunt is sucking him in, he thinks, thrusting in and out with his hands grabbing the fat of your ass, watching it bounce with every one of his motions. he has an urge to untie your bikini top, just so he can look at the expanse of the bare skin of your back, but he knows you’ll fuss if he does. he settles for shoving the thin yellow fabric of your bottoms to the side, yanking it so hard that you’re scared it’ll rip.

“be—oh—careful,” you get out in between moans, louder than the first time and louder still than he thought you’d be. he likes it more than he should. you already came once, but he wants to see if he can get another out of you.

“shut up,” rafe groans, eyes fixated on your perky ass, the one he’s stared at in hundreds of short dresses and tiny skirts, bikinis that he shouldn’t let you wear and panties he gets an eyeful of when you’re asleep in his bed. “jus’ take it-”

you keep moaning against the couch, head shoved in to muffle what you can, but it’s when you look back at him, turning your head to watch rafe slam into you with wet, lustful eyes, tired from how hard he had just made you cum, that he really can’t take it, finishing hard and fast while you let out pretty mewls that are still ringing in his ear. 

he pulls out, adjusting your bikini bottoms to cover you up, though there’s visible wetness staining them. your inner thighs are shiny where your juices glisten. rafe has to tear his eyes away, you keep your legs clamped shut.

“you okay?” he asks, trying to catch his breath. you don’t speak, just nod. “c’mon.” rafe offers you a hand, again, and you accept, following him outside and into the sun, even though you’re so tired you could fall asleep where you were.

“thanks.” you say, wiping your neck of the sweat that has collected there. he watches you do it. “sorry, i don’t have a tip or anything. how about some fruit instead? call it even?” “shut up, kid. m’not a hooker, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

“no, of course not,” you gasp, like you’d never suggest such a thing. “the correct term is escort, rafe. it’s all very american gigolo.”

“you watch too many movies.” but you still hear him laugh when the two of you step onto the deck. 

“what’s so funny?” you hear top’s voice, freezing up. you catch rafe’s eye, before looking away

“nothin’, man-” rafe starts, but you start talking over him.

“just debatin’ how long it would take you idiots to get ready. got enough gel there, top?” rafe and kelce laugh while topper narrows his eyes at you.

your days are on the boat are always fun—the boys steer while you enjoy the breeze and the sun. you pass the fruit around and read your book—another romance beach read, of course. this one’s about two best friends falling in love. you can’t find the will to keep reading.

you tune in a conversation about a party tonight.

“are we going?” you ask, looking expectantly at the three boys in front of you.

“yeah. why wouldn’t we?” kelce says. you shift your gaze to rafe, who gestures to your thighs with his eyes. you clamp your legs shut, flushing.

“fun. what time?”

.☘︎ ݁˖

finding a little hard to walk straight after your little tryst on the boat, you switch your heeled sandals for a pair of sneakers for tonight. you smooth out your pretty blue dress in the back of top’s jeep. him and kelce are in the front, you and rafe in the back, pulling up to whichever family that was off-island’s mansion for the evening. the music was blaring, audible from even down the street, with two boys carring a keg into the house while top parked.

“are they celebrating something?” you question, staring at the crowds of people inside.

“yeah. the fact that it’s saturday night,” kelce answers, and you shove the back of his head from the backseat. 

you hear rafe and top talking about something, though you can’t make it out. yesterday you thought, dreading when the boys swung by your house to get you, that it would be awkward to sit next to rafe and act like nothing had happened. surprisingly after the conversation this morning, you find that it’s not. he leaned over to open the door for you to get in, asked you how your class was, did the things he always did.

topper’s an idiot for boosting his wheels, and you’d told him as much when he showed you guys for the first time. getting down is a nightmare, even more in your sore state (which you are attributing to the pilates and not the boy sitting next to you right now). 

you turn to look at rafe again but he’s not there, and instead you see him in your window, opening the door and offering you a hand to get down. rafe’s probably helped you down a dozen times. this feels different, you admit to yourself, holding onto his hand to get down and keenly aware of his other hand hovering around your waist.

inside, the party is in full swing, one corner by the windows with billows of smoke and a group of boys in another corner mixing drinks. 

the four of you end up like always—divided into half on opposite ends of a painted pong table from someone’s old frat house. some girl top’s been talking to makes her way over, hanging off his arm before long. rafe watches you toss the white ball, your nose scrunching up in concentration. you cheer when it goes in, turning to hug kelce. you’ve only had two cups but you’re getting tipsy already, he can tell.

“top. top!” rafe shouts over the music, but he’s too busy talking to the girl to notice.

“man, he’s clearly busy,” kelce says with a laugh.

“i agree. looks like that one’s for you, rafe.” you look at him with a giddy smile, leaning forward on the table, palms pressed flat. he wishes you wouldn’t—he can see down the front of your dress from this angle. you cheer when rafe chugs the cup of cheap beer.

he should make the next one just to get back at you, but he doesn’t want you to get too drunk. instead he misses, the ball falling right into kelce’s hands. 

if you were sober, you’d roll your eyes—you’d recognize that rafe missed on purpose. he’s better at this than all of you combined.

“give me five,” rafe says to top, casting one more glance back at you and kelce before walking towards a group of people on the couches and fishing something out of his pocket.

he’s gone, at most, ten minutes, and returns to find kelce missing. his place is taken by some brunette boy, who is currently trying to show you the best way to toss the ball. he’s standing awful close, a hand on your shoulder, his gaze on your exposed skin while you stare at the red cups.

“who the fuck is this?” rafe barks, though with the music blasting, only topper can hear him.

“i dunno, kelce ran off with that chick he’s been hooking up with-” the white ping pong ball lands in the red cup closest to rafe. he hopes he doesn’t look up to see something that’s gonna piss him off, but it’s dashed in seconds—you hugging the stranger in glee that you made another shot. 

he swings around the table, shooting a glare at the boy while putting himself in between the two of you. he faces the boy first.

“get lost.” the boy tries to say something, but rafe interrupts before he can get a word out. “get. lost.” you watch him scramble away, rafe turning to face you.

“c’mon. we’re done with pong.”

“but i made the last one!”

“i said we’re done. y’lucky i don’t take your ass home.”

“we just got here. why would you take me home?” you question.

for all the big talk, all the jokes and banter and emotions you’re trying to bury, you still don’t understand the simple truth known to everyone that’s ever met you and rafe—he’s never going to be happy seeing you with any boy besides himself.

“what’s wrong?” you question softly, looking up at him with big, confused, drunk eyes, not snarky like he thought you might be.

“no. just.. stop talkin’ to strangers, s’all.”

“but he was nice!” you yell over the music, picking up another cup from the table and taking a sip. you hate beer, but they took top’s jeep and not rafe’s truck, so there’s no spiked seltzer here for you. 

“no he wasn’t.” he takes the cup from your hand, pouring half the beer out into another cup before shoving it back in your hand.

“yeah he was! don’t you want that? the sooner i find a nice guy we can stop all of this, right?” you look at him earnestly, before chugging the rest of your beer. 

“alright, you’re cut off.”

the rest of the night goes by the same as all the others—kelce and top into a competition to see who can get more drunk, you tipsy enough to talk loudly about anything that comes to mind and rafe scaring away any guy who stares at you for too long. you stare at rafe’s back when he goes to sell, watching a pretty girl touch his arm when he’s counting the cash she’s handed him. 

you look away since you feel the beer coming back up, anger bubbling. you focus on topper, trying to follow along with his nonsensical conversation about his ex-girlfriend.

“don’t worry,” kelce says, and you turn your gaze on him, confused. “he didn’t even look at her.”

“what?” but his eyes aren’t on you, glancing behind you. you turn, though you shouldn’t, looking at rafe, two girls laughing at something while he opens the little white packet for them. glancing at kelce, and then at top, who is keeled over on the sofa, nursing a half-empty bottle of tequila just by himself, you walk over to where rafe is.

“wait, don’t-” kelce calls out after you, but you don’t listen.

“rafe, i think top’s ready to go. are you?” you interrupt his conversation with the two girls, and though you despise the fact that you’re doing this, you realize kelce was right. he wasn’t even looking at them. you gesture at your two other best friends on the couch, kelce trying to yank the bottle from top’s grip.

“yeah, kid. c’mon, this place is dead anyways.” you smile, though you shouldn’t let rafe see it. no, your smile is for the girls. you feel an unparalled joy when rafe swings his arm around you, guiding you back to the couch. 

you shouldn’t look back, but you do. the girls look mad and you feel happy.

this is fucked—the very thought sobers you. you shouldn’t be happy that those girls think there’s something between you and rafe, but you are. 

rafe manhandles topper into standing up, while kelce turns to talk to you. he’s drunk, and it comes out like a laugh. you smile, thinking he’s going to make some joke about top and tequila.

“you’re just as toxic as he is. hah. and i thought rafe was bad-”

“what?” you ask, but rafe cuts you off before you can figure out what kelce means.

“kelce, it’s your job to make sure he doesn’t puke in the back.”

“man, why am i always on top watch-”

in the car, you pick the music while rafe drives. you notice he keeps an eye out in the backseat, with top’s head half out the window and kelce texting on his phone.

“did you sell a lot?” you ask. you’ve never really mentioned it before, so rafe didn’t expect it tonight.

kelce’s words linger in your head. if you weren’t sober before he said that, you certainly are now. 

“enough. why?”

“just wondering. i saw you before we left, that’s all.” you look at the road ahead, listening to the quiet tune of the bryson tiller song you’d put on.

“you saw me?”

“with the pretty girl throwing herself at you? hard not to see.” you regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth—you sound bitter and angry, two things you truly are, but you don’t want rafe to know already.

“what, you jealous, kid?”

“why would i be jealous? you’re not my boyfriend.” it comes out louder than you expected, trying to talk over top and kelce’s voices in the backseat.

“no, m’not.” 

you bite your cheek and stare out the window. 

“not to interrupt, or anything, but i think top’s gonna puke-” you jolt when rafe slams on the brakes.

tannyhill is fifteen minutes from where the party was, but it takes fifty minutes to get back. rafe pulled over twice to let topper puke on the side of the road, so it’s three am before the four of you get back.

you want to go home—the alcohol in your system and unfinished conversation with rafe have left you feeling queasy too, but it’s three in the morning. top and kelce are too drunk to drive you, and you don’t want to ask rafe.

you decide that you don’t want to be alone with rafe either, changing into one of the shirts you’d brought from home and stupidly looking down realizing it’s one of rafe’s. did you own a single t-shirt that wasn’t from his closet? where had all of your clothes gone?

grumpy that you’re in his clothes, upset that he had pretty much admitted he wasn’t your boyfriend, and riddled with the assumption that he meant he would never be your boyfriend, you collect a pillow and one of the blankets from his bed, walking out the door when you hear rafe’s voice saying your name.

“where the hell are you goin’?” facing him, you stare at your feet.

“the couch.”

“when have you ever slept on the couch here?”

“i’m starting something new.”

“get in bed before i drag you there.” you groan, thumping both feet on the ground before stalking into the room. rafe exhales loudly, loud enough that you hear it, before muttering something under his breath and following you inside, closing the door.

you sit on the bed, but before you can think about what you’ve done, you bunch up a pillow in your hand.

“you-” you throw the pillow at rafe, which misses him completely. “suck!” the second thuds against his chest, before falling on the ground. you huff from your position on the bed.

rafe picks up both pillows, dropping them on the bed.

“what the hell was that?”

“this whole thing was a mistake.”

“it’s been two days.”

“well i’m an emotional fuck!”

“yeah, i can tell.” you pick up the pillow again, whacking rafe’s side with it.

“ugh! you can’t just-” your hands falter, dropping next to you while you look up at rafe through wet eyes. “-just say that us sleeping together is a good idea because you don’t want me with any other guys. what the fuck am i supposed to do with that?” 

“i don’t know! you’re the fuckin’ clueless one. what’d you think that means?”

“stop! just tell me! stop making me think, i’m so drunk and everything is mental gymastics with you-”

“well stop throwin’ my own pillows at me!”

“you suck, rafe. all of this and you can’t just tell me whether you like me or not?” 

in hindsight, you don’t know where the question came from. maybe a small part of you that wasn’t willfully ignorant suspected a long time ago that the way rafe acts towards you is more than just overprotective friendship. you had buried the thought the second it emerged—rafe cameron doesn’t have girlfriends, doesn’t do relationships. the rafe that’s been your best friend was your best friend for that very reason, because you weren’t in love with him.

or at least you thought you weren’t in love with him. and at least, he thought you weren’t in love with him.

the truth, you’re beginning to realize, watching rafe grab the pillow you’re about to hit him with out of your hands and set it down, is that rafe only acts the way he does with you, and no one else. the drinks you like in the back of his car, his shirts in your closet, the bed you share and all the time you two spend alone. you thought it was a great friendship, and maybe it was. but all along there’s been something bubbling underneath the surface, the feeling in the pit of your stomach when he started talking to that girl, how angry you get when you see him with any girl that’s not you. 

you thought rafe’s a dick for giving you such a hard time about any boy you try to talk to. he is a dick, but you’re the bitch that can’t stand seeing him with another girl.

and as the thoughts rush through your head, rafe looks at you in his bed, in his shirt, and realizes the answer to your question is that there’s no one in the world he likes more than you.

“you should have told me ‘bout the emotional fuck part.”

“you should have just confessed.”

“nah, not really my thing.” he sits down on the bed next to you, and you stare up at blue eyes that are looking at you, a smile on his lips. “this whole thing was a bad idea.”

“it’s been two days,” you mock.

“yeah, well, we tried it.”

“do you regret it?” you hold your breath for the moment of truth.

“c’mon kid. yeah, i do. ‘cause i’m not letting you out of my sight after this. you’re dating me or no one at all.”

“so if we break up-”

“straight to the convent for you. don’t worry, i’ll send you a care package. strawberry seltzer and those porno books-”

“shut up.”

“you shut up. and get the fuck into bed. it’s late.”

“you don’t want one last emotional fuck? on your last day as a single man?” you tease, crawling under the sheets. “learn how to read a clock. it’s past midnight.”

“oh. whatever, you know what i mean.”

“i guess i can be convinced-” he leans in for a kiss, and you hold your breath waiting for it, when there’s a sharp knock on the door.

“guys. sorry to interrupt whatever the hell this is, but i think top needs to get his stomach pumped.”

oh my god.

Would you write for AK Jason? I like him mean. Like him and you are arguing and he gets all pissed off and makes you cry but it ends in angry sex.

say it back (18+, ak jason todd x fem reader) wc 5.5k

⭓ this post contains sexually explicit content and dark themes. it is not suitable for minors. please consider the tags and consume at your own discretion. not an example of a healthy relationship. jason might be kinda ooc here, but hey. it's fanfiction.

"You need to drop your fucking attitude." Jason hisses at you.

"Me? My attitude? I'm just trying to have a conversation, Jason, you're the one acting like-"

"Like what? Hm?" He stalks closer to you, and you take a step back reflexively.

"You're angry." You state simply, staring up at him with sadness in your eyes. "You're angry with me. Still. Aren't you?"

Jason's eyes pierce into your own, searching them for something as he takes a deep breath to calm himself. It takes several tense moments before he finally mutters, "Maybe I am."

"What more do you want from me, Jason? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that I didn't come looking for you. I didn't know. Bruce told me you were-" Jason growls, and corners you against the wall until your back is pressed up against it.

"Don't fucking talk about him! Don't say his name, I'm sick of thinking about him!"

"Then what do you want me to do? I mourned you, Jason, I grieved for you. I didn't just forget about you. I could never." Tears begin to well up in your eyes. The guilt you feel for what your boyfriend went through is crushing. It haunts you every day. Every time you look at him and see that 'J' carved into his cheek, your self-hatred grows even deeper.

"There's nothing you can do now. What's done is done." His warm breath fans over your face. His eyes are narrowed, staring you down like you're the one who locked him up and tortured him.

"Why am I here, huh? Why do you keep me around if you refuse to forgive me?" You ask him, your voice quivering from grief and exasperation.

"Would you shut the fuck up?" He groans and slams his fist against the brick wall, just inches from your head. Your eyes widen when he does, a jolt of fear running through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Jason's never hit you, but ever since he came back, you don't know what to expect from his behavior. He's erratic. Hurting. But at the same time, even more focused and calculating than ever. Its a terrifying combination, honestly.

He looks so much different now. Even though you're both still young, his features are harsher, his face hardened and scarred. You still see traces of the boy you fell in love with. It isn't always obvious, but you catch brief glimpses of the old him here and there. Its enough to keep you around, to remind yourself of how much you love him. Seeing him hurt like this and isolating himself is devastating.

"I don't know if I'm capable of forgiving you." He says between labored breaths. His eyes are dark, filled with a pain he refuses to share. "You left me in there to rot. The things he did to me, the things he made me do-"

"Jay." Your voice breaks, warm tears trailing down your cheeks. "Please, baby, I'm sorry. I failed you. I know I did." You reach out tentatively to caress his cheek, avoiding the scar. "I want to be here for you. I want to help you. But I feel like me being here is making things worse.”

Maybe you’re imagining it, but you catch a flicker of something in his expression. A crack in the hard mask he’s been wearing. “What are you saying?”

“If you hate me so much, maybe I should leave.” You struggle to get the words out. You hate yourself for even suggesting it. But the past few weeks with Jason have been tumultuous at best, and you’re not sure that your presence is actually helping him. If anything, you feel like you trigger him just by existing.

“Leave?” He asks, his face contorting in pain and anger. “You’re going to leave me? Really?”

“Only if that’s- I mean, I don’t know, Jason! I don’t know!” Unable to hold it in anymore, a heavy sob shakes your body, and you look away in shame. He’s still got you pinned against the wall, his arms caging you in and keeping you from turning away. “I just want you to be happy. I don’t think I’m capable of giving you happiness anymore. You won’t talk to me. All you do is yell. I want to be here for you, more than anything. But you won’t let me in. Maybe you’ll be better off without me.” Your voice is hushed and thick with emotion. You don’t want to leave him, now that he’s finally back. You were over the moon when you realized who was behind the Arkham knights mask.

Your best friend. Your lover, back from the dead.

But he hasn’t been the same. And you can’t blame him. He doesn’t go into detail about what happened, but you can see the evidence of his torture on his body. Not that he’s let you get too close.

He referred to you as ‘his girl’ in front of his militia. And now, after Gotham has recovered from the events surrounding his return, his hired men know that you’re to be protected at all costs. But other than a brief kiss upon your initial reunion, Jason hasn’t touched you. Yet he’s kept you close, physically, insisting you stay with him in his hideout. You quit your job, moved out of your apartment, left behind your old life as a law-abiding citizen to devote yourself to him and his cause. But your loyalty has been rewarded with him being emotionally closed-off and bitter towards you. It has you questioning where the two of you stand, and if he even wants you here.

“You’re wrong.” His voice is still harsh as he lowers his head to try and meet your eyes. He's close enough that you're able to smell his scent, a mix between his body wash and his natural musk. It draws you in, but you don't dare lean into him, in fear of fueling his annoyance towards you.

"Then why are you so mean to me?" You hate how weak you sound. You wish you were stronger, but being Jason's emotional punching bag has taken it's toll on you.

"I..." Some of his anger seems to fade, but his eyes are still swimming with turmoil. "I can be nicer."

"That isn't an answer."

Jason swallows hard, and removes his forearms from the wall so he's no longer caging you in. His jaw is clenched as he keeps staring at you and thinking about how to respond.

"I don't know." He finally says. "All I know is that I don't want you to go."

You slip to the side so you're no longer sandwiched between him and the wall, and take a step backwards to distance yourself. "I can't handle much more of this, Jason. It's too much. I can't stand fighting like this. It hurts me."

The look on your face has Jason's pulse quickening. "I'll be nicer." He says again.

"Jas-"

"I mean it." He reaches for your hand, and you need to consciously keep yourself from flinching away. "Just please, don't go."

Your heart aches at his plea. You don't want to leave, of course you'd rather be here. But you're not quite naïve enough to believe him when he say's he'll be nicer. You look down at where your hands are entwined, eyeing the thin silvery scars that litter his hand and wrist. Your mind briefly wanders, wondering what nightmare gave him those. Too thin to be from rope burn. Maybe zip ties. A few more tears pool in your eyes and blur your vision at the mental image of him being restrained in such an inhuman way.

"If you really want me, I'll stay." You whisper,

His eyes light up, but the relief doesn't touch the frown that's seemingly permanently etched onto his strong features. "Come here."

You don't fight the gentle tug on your hand. You let Jason hug you close to him, his heart still beating fast in his chest. You feel the steady rhythm against your cheek when he pulls you close and holds you against him. He's still angry, you can sense it radiating off of him in waves. But he's making a pointed effort to stay calm, which is an improvement.

"I don’t hate you. I love you. You know that, right?" He asks. You get a odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach. Not the same as the feeling you got the first time he told you he loved you. It’s a weird, perverted ghost of the feeling, one that makes the ache in your chest even worse.

You don't want to answer him. What would you even say? That you love him too? He already knows that, surely. And he laughed at you last time you told him. In front of several of his men. It was humiliating, and you've avoided saying it ever since.

"Hm? You know that, right?" He tightens his hold on you, his strong arms encouraging you to answer.

"Yeah. I know." You mumble back.

Jason looks down at you, and pulls away far enough to look you in the eyes again. What you would give to know what's going on in his head. It’s like a whirlwind of emotions are playing across his face.

You don't expect him to lean in and capture your lips in a sudden kiss. You freeze for a beat before you kiss him back, not quite relaxing against him, but letting yourself move with him. Still, it feels off. Almost like you're kissing a stranger. He isn't familiar anymore, which only encourages the tears to keep falling hot and slow down your cheeks.

As your tongues dance together, Jason begins to explore your body, warm hands running up and down your back. You wouldn't describe his touch as gentle, but he moves slowly and deliberately, finally resting on your ass and kneading your fat with his strong hands.

Is this his idea of 'being nicer'? You wonder to yourself. But you don't stop him. He's the only man you've ever loved, and when you thought he was dead, you missed his touch more than anything. Craved it. And you still do, even though you're more wary of him now. If you were thinking clearly, you'd probably stop his hand from sneaking down the front of your pants, and tell him that you should both take a breather and calm down. But he's left you so desperate for any speck of affection that you can't bring yourself to turn him away.

His hands are warm against your skin, but goosebumps still prickle your skin from the contact. He slips his hand in your underwear, not bothering to take his time. The sudden feeling of his rough fingers against your labia has you whimpering into his mouth. Jason rubs firm circles over your neglected clit as he breaks the kiss. "Yeah, you know?" He says back in a mocking tone. "Your body knows. She missed me, didn't she?"

The way he calls your cunt 'she' leaves a weird taste in your mouth. You pretend not to notice. "Of course I missed you." You say back to him. You grip his forearm gently and caress his skin with your thumb, feeling his muscles move and flex as he pleasures you, while your other arm grips his shoulder to steady your body. It's hard to relax with all the pent up tension you have inside. But you focus on his fingers, and how good it feels to be touched by your boyfriend again after so long.

"How quick did you move on. Hm?" His deep voice almost sounds like it's rumbling as asks. "How many people have you fucked since I disappeared?"

His question feels like a daggar to your heart. Maybe he really doesn't know, doesn't understand how hard his 'death' hit you. You haven't spoken about it much to him, since he obviously suffered much worse than you did while you were apart. It would feel insensitive to open up about the deep depression you fell into, one that your friends and even Dick tried and failed to help you out of. It was all you could do to even finish high school and get a job. You didn't see anyone else. You barely hung out with anyone. All you did was work and sleep. It was like the joy was sucked from your life the day you lost him.

But Jason doesn't know this. He mistakes your silence for shame, and he uses his other hand to cup your chin and force you to look at him as his fingers slowly warm you up. "What's wrong? Lost count?" The bitterness and mistrust are second nature to him now, after enduring Jokers sick mind games.

"No one... I promise." You lip trembles as the pleasurable sensations build between your legs. You grow wetter under his touch, even though your heart is heavy with grief.

"S'that right?" Jason lets out a dark chuckle and removes his hands from you abruptly. "Take your clothes off."

You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. You hesitate, looking from him to his bed along the opposite wall. Jason brings his fingers to his mouth, and to your horror, he sucks them clean, tasting your arousal without breaking eye contact.

"Do you want this?" He asks, growing annoyed at how you're freezing up.

"Do I want, what?" You say back a little too quickly.

Jason's nostrils flare as he lets out an irritated sigh. "Me. Do you want me to fuck you?"

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you stammer out a hurried "Yes."

“You sure about that? Doll?” He cocks his head at you and studies your face carefully. The old nickname brings back memories, memories you’re sure are far too sweet in comparison to what’s about to happen.

But it doesn’t stop you from nodding at him all the same. You want him, there’s no denying that. Even if he isn’t the same boy you fell in love with, he’s still Jason. Your Jason.

Breathing heavily, Jason leans down to you so you're face to face once again. "Then take. Your fucking. Clothes. Off. Before I rip them off of you."

You glare at him through teary eyes, not appreciating the threat. But you’re not going to pass up the opportunity for intimacy. Hardening your gaze to match his, you hurridly remove your clothing piece by piece, folding the garments and setting them down neatly on the table beside you.

Jason surprisingly keeps his eyes on yours. Even as you reveal more of your body to him, his focus is on your face, not faltering.

When you step out of your underwear and set them on top of the pile, you finally say “You next.”

A dark chuckle departs Jason’s scarred lips before he replies, “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Confused, you give him a quizzical look as he stomps over to his bed and kicks off his boots. They land beside him with a thud, making you jump a little.

“Get the fuck over here.”

Jason’s voice echoes across the studio apartment ominously. It’s pissing you off, how he’s still being so brash after just promising to be nicer to you. You shiver and run your hand up and down your arm while you walk over to join him, the cool air against your bare skin making you feel even more vulnerable. It’s clear to you that he’s enjoying this. Sitting on the edge of his bed, still almost fully clothed, finally letting himself drink in the sight of your naked body as you approach him.

“You’ve changed.” He comments after a few moments of tense silence. And he isn’t wrong. You’ve matured in the time he was gone, you’re a bit taller, your hair is longer, looking less like a teenager and more like a woman. But the changes in your body are subtle compared to his. Jason is at least 6 inches taller than what you remember. He’s put on a lot of muscle, and his features are sharper. Harsher, even. His face is different. Even ignoring the scars, there’s a new depth to him that’s hard to pinpoint.

You wonder how much of his transformation is due to just growing up, like you, and how much of it is from the trauma he experienced. Surely, being malnourished and tortured as a teenager would stunt a persons growth. But the man in front of you is anything but stunted. He’s massive. Again, your mind wonders about the details of his absence, about how long he took to recover from his torture before returning as the Arkham Knight.

“You just gunna stand there and gawk at me, or are you going to help me out?”

“Sorry.” You mutter hastily, embarrassed to be caught zoning out. You focus on him again, and realize he has his pants unzipped and his cock in his hand, stroking it with lust-clouded eyes. It takes a good deal of effort to hide the shock on your face from the sight as heat rushes between your legs. Your cheeks turn red, and you place your hand on his knee to steady yourself before you kneel in front of him. “You’ve changed too.”

Jasons pupils dilate when you place your hand over his own, taking over for him and stroking him lightly. He is already hard as a rock, his veins bulging under your touch.

“Way to state the obvious.” He leans back casually and uses his hands to prop himself up against the bed. Using both of your hands now, you jerk him off carefully, hoping he doesn’t notice the trembling in your fingers. “That’s it… shiiit, spit on it, baby, can you do that for me?”

With nervous excitement you obey his request, gathering some saliva with your tongue and letting it drip from your mouth down onto his shaft. His cock is feverish to the touch. The groan that rumbles in his chest as you spread your spit over him triggers emotions you haven't felt in a long time.

“Fuck yes, nice and sloppy for me, shit.”

You want to tug his pants down his legs to give yourself better access, but your instincts are telling you it’s a bad idea. Even as you became more aroused from his reactions, you still maintain a strong sense of unease, like he could snap at you without a moments notice.

When you peer up at his face, his eyes are closed, and some of the anger and tension he was holding onto is less apparent now. It gives you a spark of excitement, pride, even, that you’re finally able to provide him some peace.

His expression gives you enough confidence to lean your head down and take him in your mouth. You start with a soft kiss against his tip, then you swirl your tongue around it slowly, trying to gauge his reaction.

“M’not in the mood for teasing, doll.” Jason groans. “Better take a deep breath.”

That is all the warning he gives you before his hand grips the back of your head and pushes your mouth down onto him. You gag a little at the sudden intrusion before you remember to relax your throat to allow him fully in.

Another deep moan fills your ears when Jason feels you gag around him. Your eyes water as your nose brushes against the dark hair at the base of his cock. He’s definitely bigger than the last time you two did this. Or perhaps you’re just out of practice. Whatever the reason, you struggle to suck him off properly. After a few seconds of deep-throating him, pull your mouth away to cough and catch your breath.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” He growls. "That felt good."

“You’re being a jerk.” You sputter out between coughs. “You said you’d be nicer to me.”

“This is me being nice.” He argues, bringing his hand to his cock to stroke himself again now that you've abandoned your effort. “You don’t want to suck me off? Fine. Get on the bed.”

“It’s not that I-“

“Get on the fucking bed.”

He stands up, and you’re momentarily scared he’s going to drag you. But his grip on your arm isn’t harsh, just a firm guide as he helps you onto the cheap mattress. You lay on your back and settle against the bedding, but Jason promptly flips you over, helping you onto your hands and knees.

You the mattress creek as he positions himself behind you. A quick look over your shoulder results in him gripping your hair and pushing your face into his pillows. "Stay just like that." He warns.

"Seriously? What, y-you're not going to let me look at you? Or kiss you?"

"Do you want me to fuck you or not?" The irritation returning to his gravely voice.

You close your eyes and try to stop your tears. You exhale a deep, steadying breath before you reply, "Yes, Jay, of course I do."

"Then quit complaining." The mattress shifts again as Jason moves behind you, his still clothed legs pressed against your rear. His left hand rests firmly on your waist, and a second later you feel him rub the tip of his cock against your clit. He drags himself up to the entrance of your cunt slowly, them back down again. He languidly repeats this back and fourth several times while he mutters under his breath "Shit... look at you, doll, touched your pussy for 5 seconds and you're already soaked for me." Jason smacks his shaft against your cunt a few times, your body visibly tensing when you feel the tip press against your asshole. "Relax," Jason scoffs, "I know you don't like that shit. You couldn't handle me in there before, there's no way you could take me there now."

Jason's weight shifts forward, pressing his hips into you. It only takes a moment for him to find the give and sheath the tip of his engorged length inside of your cunt. Green eyes stare in awe as he watches himself slowly disappear inside of you, pausing halfway, savoring how warm and wet you feel. He curses when your inner muscles clench and relax in little spasms as you try and accommodate him. "So fucking tight, goddammit, doll, shit, shiiit... feels so good when you do that."

Your eyes roll back at how badly you've missed the feeling him inside of you. This part, this feels familiar. This doesn't feel like a stranger. Your heart fills with relief, a sense of comfort washing over you and helping you to relax.

Jason pushes even further inside when your inner walls lax around his girth. A soft hiss escapes your teeth when his crown kisses your cervix. It's too bad that you miss the grin on his face as he takes in your reaction.

"You really haven't been with anyone else, have you? Tssk." Jason slaps your ass and watches the slight recoil in awe. "I can tell. You held out. You know what that tells me?" His large hands plant themselves on either side of you against the bed. Jason leans down, shifting his weight onto you and forcing you down into the mattress, prone-bone, fully bottoming out inside your tight cunt.

A whimper falls from your throat at the sting of how he stretches you. It creates an ache deep inside of you, deep enough that only he could reach.

"Tells me you knew I was still around. You're a liar."

"W-what?" That sense of ease and comfort is gone just as quick as it came.

Jason says your name in disapproval, "We both know you're loyal to a fault. That's why you're here. That's why you put up with my shit." His clothed chest presses against the soft skin of your back as his hips begin a slow rolling motion, thrusting into you while he brings his lips to your ear, brushing against your earring. "Me dying is the only way you could ever move on from me. But I did die. And you didn't move on. Which means you knew. You knew I was alive. Which is why you didn't betray me, even when Dick was practically throwing himself at you."

His pace increases as he speaks. His words are tainted with an bitter smugness, which makes your stomach churn.

"Jason, Jay, baby, that doesn't make any sense. I really t-thought you were gone-hmmpht!" Jason gives a sharper thrust which interrupts your explanation.

"Then why didn't you move on?" He's asks in a tense whisper.

"I couldn't!" You cry out in exasperation.

"Exactly".

His hips are rolling faster against you now, only pulling out an inch or so before thrusting back in, too greedy to pull out any further. He stays deep and buries himself as far as possible inside your neglected cunt. The friction feels divine, even if the rough cotton of his t-shirt is rubbing against your back instead of his bare chest. You long for skin to skin. The closeness is something you crave, but Jason, for whatever reason, decides to deprive you of it, even though he's balls deep in your guts.

"Fuck off!" You spit out between your shallow pants and moans. "You're being a jerk!"

"Yeah?" His voice strains as his pace picks up even more. The mattress is squeaking softly and bumping up against the wall with each rut of his hips. "I'm a jerk? You think I'm a jerk?"

You moan in frustration and pound your fist against the mattress. It's difficult for you to find the right words to say when his cock is hitting all the right spots inside you. You've dreamt of this, being forced to live with the longing inside of you for a partner you thought you'd never see again. It's everything you've been craving, to be one with him again. But he's souring the intimacy with his smartass mouth.

"I don't wanna fight, Jay." You mutter in response to him. Jason's hand cradles the back of your head and pushes it further into the pillows. You're almost ashamed at how it turns you on, being crushed and handled roughly by him like this.

"Ha, don't believe that for a second." A warm hand snakes down the side of your body and slips around your hips so he has access to your clit. He's still pistoning deep into you, now nipping and biting at your neck as his fingers work your sensitive nub, sandwiched between your body and the mattress. The added stimulation makes you squeeze your thighs together. "C'mon, too late to be shy, doll. Open up f’me." His voice is a gruff rumble in you ear. It sends a chill down you spine and makes your toes curl, clenching around him to alleviate the pool of tension building in your core.

You should have better self control. You should rise above, be better than his antics. But your mind is reeling and trying to reconcile how good he’s making you feel with how irritated you are. So without much thought, you quip back, “Says the man who won't even take his shirt off when he fucks."

“The fuck did you just say?” Jason pinches your clit between his fingers, earning a sharp yelp from you that’s muffled against his pillows. His pace doesn’t falter, but his body tenses as the anger finds him again.

The sting lingers, and you push your thighs together even more, effectively squeezing him out of you somewhat unintentionally.

“No, none of that now, you’re going to let me in.”

A deep inhale blesses your lungs when Jason pushes himself up off of you, leaning back and grabbing your hips to force you on your hands and knees once more. You grip the sheets and steady yourself, unprepared for the harsh smack that stings your ass cheek.

“Ouch!” You whimper, taking a chance to look back at him again. Your lips part to voice your protest, but Jason chooses this moment to impale your body back onto him and fill up your dripping cunt in a single jolt. You swallow the cry that threatens to leave your lips. You feel so full, your eyes flutter when he starts his pace up again, the sound of wet skin smacking against wet skin filling the apartment. He’s going faster now, his fingers almost painful on your hips as the uses your body for release.

“Look at how wet you are, doll, shit.” Jason’s eyes are heavy with desire as the line between lust and anger starts to dissolve. “You know what I think?” He asks through gritted teeth.

You’re hardly in a state to answer him. The friction of his arousal pounding in and out of you, the weight of his heavy balls slapping against your clit, the sound of him straining and losing control, its making it difficult to focus on much else. As your arousal builds, your brain slows down, unable to comprehend anything other than your boyfriends cock filling you to the brim.

“I think you like when I’m mean. Look at how soaked you are right now, dripping onto my bed like a greedy slut.”

A low, depraved moan vibrates in your throat, only further proving his point.

“Ha, that’s right. Fucking… fucking knew it, god- fuck, taking me so good, so fucking good.” Jason moans your name, repeating it as he senses his release getting closer. His fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your hips, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow.

“Fucking love this, I… I… dammit, I love you, doll. I love you so much.” Jason's filter is gone. He’s lost in the feeling of your soft pussy squeezing him, the wet sounds of your sex bringing him to the brink.

Each hard thrust of his hips has your body recoiling. Your chest falls down to the bed, hands gripping the pillow for dear life as the vigilante relentlessly pounds into you.

“I said... I love you, bitch.” His voice actually wavers slightly at the repeated admission, his emotions peaking and threatening to spill out.

You try to respond to him, you really do. But Jason fucks the air right out of your lungs, moving at a bruising pace, ramming himself so deep in your body that your vision is blurry and nothing even close to a real word has a chance at leaving your lips. You're breathless and cock drunk as he abuses that soft spot inside of you, building up your pleasure to an unbearable level. You're close. And so is he. You tremble and pant as your orgasm hits you hard, a warm fuzzy sensation radiating between your legs where your bodies meet, more of your slick splattering Jason's thighs in droplets from how hard he's fucking you. The sensation of your pussy convulsing around his hard length is the final push he needs.

You attempt to muffle the fragmented scream that falls from your mouth at his last few brutal thrusts. Jason curses, his breath catching as his balls tighten and release his load into you, mixing with your own fluids to create a sticky mess that oozes out around his cock. His hips finally slow, giving a few more gentle pumps as he rides his high. His labored breathing is accompanied by more curses and soft groans. You stay still, reeling from your own release, your mind still fuzzy and not thinking clearly.

Jason leans forward, putting his weight one hand while the other reaches for your flushed face, reaching around to grip your chin firmly. Following his lead, you let him turn your head to finally look back at him. The anger is still there. You're not sure if it will ever go away. But there is a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn't there before. He's still inside of you, hunched over your body, flushed face only inches from yours.

"Say it back."

Your eyes widen at how broken he sounds. It takes a few seconds before you can get your mouth to move, but as soon as you've gathered yourself you respond, you say "I love you, Jason" with as much tenderness as you can muster.

He nods, eyes narrowing, before finally sitting up and removing himself from you. "Good." He mumbles, moving until he's sitting on the edge of the bed and sighing. "Remember that next time you threaten to leave."

"It... it wasn't a threat." You explain, but you're so breathless and fucked-out that you're not sure if he hears you. Relaxing onto the bed, you lay on your side to look at him with worry. The emotions inside of you are tumultuous, confusing you even further as you try and decide if this was progress or not.

"I keep you around because you belong here. With me." Jason stands up, avoiding your anxious gaze and keeping his back to you. "Don't fucking forget it." His feat thud against the floor as he walks over to the bathroom, disappearing and closing the door behind him with a slam.

⭓ masterlist ⭓

please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

Her eyeshadow was blue just like her soul ✧.*

guys i love it

let go (18+, ak jason todd x fem reader) wc 8.2k and its all angst

⭓ this post contains explicit sexual content and dark themes, including dubcon, blood and injury, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional anguish, mental illness, brief discussion of self harm, hurt/no comfort, and you know what... just don't read it. you will not feel good after reading this. you have been warned. not suitable for minors or anyone who wants to have a good day. continuation of say it back. consume at your own risk. dead dove: do not eat.

"What happened?"

You aren't sure why you ask. Its obvious from the blood soaking through his compression shirt that he was injured somehow. Stabbed? Shot, even? Jason keeps his hand pressed against the wound on his shoulder as best he can. If he's in pain, he isn't showing it.

"I'm fine. I'll be fine!" He all but snarls at you, storming through the door to the apartment. One of Jason's men, a paramedic, tries to follow, nervously fumbling with his medic bag.

"You ain't fine, boss, you got a bullet in you. Let me get it out and stitch you up, it will only take a few minutes-"

Jason, stops abruptly, and turns to glare at his underling. "I swear to fuck, if you take another step inside my private space I will shoot you where you stand. Fuck off! I don't need help!" He roars, reminding you of a wounded animal protecting its den.

"Look, it's not that serious, but if you don't let me clean you up, it could be!"

Your head swivels back and fourth between them as they argue, still shocked at how damp and sticky Jason's shirt is from the amount of blood that's left his body. You're impressed by the medic's insistence, given how violent Jason can be. Or perhaps he's desensitized to Jason's tantrums by now.

"It shouldn't have even fucking happened!" Jason snaps back in a daze. He staggers slightly where he stands, the blood loss finally catching up with him. He braces himself against the back of the old couch in the middle of the room, his breathing becoming slightly labored.

"Jason?" You say his name with caution, brow furrowing in concern.

He looks to you, hardening his gaze for a beat before he looks to his henchman again. "Leave your kit. She'll help me. I don't want you in here."

An odd, churning sensation in your stomach causes you to tense as you hear Jason's deep voice vibrate in your ears.

The medic, who can clearly tell you have little experience by the panicked look on your face, motions for you to come closer to him. He might be brave enough to talk back, but Jason told him not to take another step, and he isn't taking any chances. Not when Jason still has multiple guns still strapped to his body.

You shuffle your feel until you're close enough to take the bag. The course nylon feels harsh against your skin as you grip the handles, nodding at the instructions he is giving you as they go directly in one ear and out the other. You forget what he says as soon as it leaves his lips, still trying to snap out of the nervousness that's clouding your mind.

"Did 'ya get all that?" He asks with a grimace.

"Uhh... I, I dunno, I'm sorry, could you start over?" Your voice wavers as you speak, and Jason lets out an annoyed groan from across the room.

"Fucking forget it. I'll take care of it myself."

He stumbles towards the bathroom, passing over the threshold and closing the door behind him with a slam that makes both you and the poor medic flinch.

You look to each other, his tired eyes meeting your fearful ones. You swallow hard before asking, "One more time, tell me what to do?"

He repeats his instructions a few more times before leaving you alone to tend to his boss. Jason is being eerily quiet. Not a peep can be heard from the cramped bathroom of the apartment you two share. But you don’t waste any time coming to assist him, save for the brief hesitation when you ponder whether or not to knock before entering. You decide not to, but you let the doorknob jiggle for a moment before you open the door so he has some sort of forewarning.

“Said I don’t need help.” He grumbles. You open the door wide, not prepared for the sight before you. Jason tugged off his shirt, and is standing in front of the mirror with a set of tweezers, digging around in his shoulder to retrieve the bullet. Blood drips warm and heavy down his chest onto the counter. Your stomach churns again in nausea, but not from the blood.

This is the first time you’ve seen Jason shirtless since his return. Your heart shatters when you realize the scars that litter his arms and neck continue and fill out the rest of his skin as well. Some are faded and grey, others, like a particularly nasty scar over his ribcage, is pink and painful looking, like it didn’t have the chance to heal right.

“I know you don’t need help.” You reply after your shock subsides, with as much confidence as you’re able, “But you don’t have to do it all alone, you know. Not anymore.”

His face is stoic, again, not showing any indication that he’s in pain, even as he pulls the bullet out of his body and drops it in the sink with a sharp clink. He drops the tweezers too, and rinses the blood off of the bullet before holding it up to his face to get a better look.

“Fine. Go ahead and stitch me up. S’not like you can fuck me up worse than I am already.”

You glance over his body again while he studies the bullet. He isn’t wrong. even if you mess up and leave him with an awful scar, it would just blend right in with the others.

“I’ll do my best.”

Your promise is returned with an irritated huff. His body looms over the sink, swaying just a bit before you guide him to sit down on the toilet seat. Your touch is feather light, nerves on fire, terrified of touching him the wrong way or setting him off.

Jason keeps his expression neutral while he fiddles with the bullet in his hand. You silently recite the instructions given to you earlier, grateful that you don't have to fish around inside of him to retrieve the foreign object. He studies you while you rummage around for the supplies to clean his bullet wound. His large frame takes up way too much volume in the small space, you have to practically straddle his thigh to reach his shoulder. You will yourself to be brave, and not grimace at the sight of his wound.

Your will isn't very strong today.

“You’ve always been a bit squeamish, haven’t you.”

Your face feels warm. The air seems stuffy as you inhale it. You glance over your shoulder, wondering if you should turn the fan on to get some better air flow.

“Hey." He jerks his knee, the one you're straddling, to bump against your thigh, which startles you enough that you whip your head around to look at him again. "Eyes on the hole. Don’t get distracted.”

“M’sorry. Just… tell me if I’m doing it wrong, okay?”

You cringe at your mumbled response, hating how meek you sound. You weren’t always like this.

Neither was he.

You quickly and carefully clean the bullet wound, which proves difficult since its still oozing fresh blood. But you’re able to swallow back the nausea and get the job done, even as the metallic smell of blood fills your nostrils and tests the strength of your stomach.

Jason’s eyes are fixated on you as you work. He watches you prepare the sutures, noting how worked up you seem to be. You wonder, vaguely, if he finds this entertaining, seeing you upset. The old Jason would hate to see you anxious like this. But this new, crueler version of your boyfriend is still somewhat of a mystery to you.

He’s still as a rock when you finally begin to close up the wound. The med kit has instructions, and you glance to the thin paper unfolded next to you on the sink between each stich to make sure you’re doing it right. Jason doesn’t wince, doesn’t blink, giving no indication that he can even feel what you’re doing. It makes you feel uneasy.

This exchange, this act of care, this intimate moment between you as you patch him up feels notably void of warmth. Even as your fingers brush against him, wiping up the blood that’s trickled down his chest, you feel like a stranger. Unwanted in his personal bubble that he used to welcome you into with open, loving arms.

“Don’t bother.” He finally says, grabbing your wrist before you can retrieve a wash rag to clean the rest of the blood off of his chest. “I need to shower.”

“You should wait. Standing in the hot water after losing so much blood isn’t a good idea. You might pass out. You should rest first.”

“What, you expect me to lay in our bed all dirty and full of blood?” He stands up, his thigh rubbing up between your legs as you stumble back and catch yourself against the wall. He doesn’t sound happy, but the anger that usually permeates his tone is absent.

“It’s your bed, Jason, not ours.” You remind him, avoiding eye contact. He’s insisted on having you stay with him, but sharing a bed is a luxury you’ve been without, being forced to sleep on the couch every night instead. It’s surprisingly comfy, but good rest is still hard to come by, given the frequent, violent nightmares that plague your boyfriend’s mind and make him cry out in his sleep. “If you decide to lay down, I’ll wash your bedding for you when you wake up.”

The harshness returns to his eyes, but you don’t catch it. You tug your hand out of his grip so you can go back to the sink and wash up.

“You’re not my maid.”

“I’m not your medic, either. I’m not sure what I am to you. But you won’t let anyone else get close enough to offer you help.” You make a point to keep your tone as even as possible, but it doesn't help his reaction.

His stoic demeanor finally breaks with a groan, “Don’t fucking start with this again. I thought I make myself very clear before.”

“Clear about what?” You ask, fighting back the urge to scoff.

”That you belong here with me.”

His states his response like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You turn off the faucet, drying your hands before you finally look at him again, eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I belong to you, you mean.”

“Is that so bad? You used to want that, you know. Used to want me.” There’s a shadow of emotion in his voice, barely noticeable, enough that you second guess yourself if the flicker of vulnerability was just your imagination.

It’s a struggle to keep your voice even. His constant doubting of your loyalty has left you exasperated and downright depressed. You’ve devoted your entire life to him since he’s gotten back. And yet he still implies that you don’t really want to be here. “Jay, what do you mean ‘used to?’ I still want you, I think I’ve more than proven that by now.”

”Have you?” He takes the bloody hand towel from you, tossing it aside and sandwiching you between him and the sink, your back facing the mirror.

The air between you is heavy with tension. You look at him, eyes on fire with anger, sadness, and an unhealthy obsession to earn his trust again, no matter the cost.

”Haven’t I?”

You can see the doubt in his eyes plain as day. His silent answer. A familiar ache throbs in your chest, and your eyes sting with the threat of tears.

”I’ll do whatever it takes to prove myself to you, Jason. I love you.”

“Do it, then. Prove it.” He growls, lowering his head to leaning in closer.

“How?” You ask, voice weak with defeat. “I’ve done everything you asked of me, Jason. Everything.”

Silence stretches on between the two of you in the small space. His eyes stay locked onto yours while the gears in his head turn, thinking of all the things he could make you do to prove yourself. You do your best to maintain this intense staring contest between the two of you, but you falter, unable to stop yourself from looking at his bare chest which he’s kept hidden up until today. You observe more of his scars, wondering what horrors he experienced to receive such gnarly marks.

“You like my scars?”

His sudden breaking of the silence makes you flinch in surprise. Your wandering eyes dart back up to his unsettling face, your lips parted as you try to think of the right answer.

“Do I… what? What kind of question is that?”

“Do you like them?” He repeats calmly, keeping his jaw clenched and planting his hands on either side of you atop the counter, forcing you to lean back even more to keep your eyes on him. Your heart beats hard and painful up in your throat. You aren’t sure where he’s going with this, but you’re sure it’s nothing good.

“I don’t like what you had to go through to get them. But… they’re a part of you. So yes. I do. You…” You hesitate before finishing the thought, “you’re still handsome, to me. I love you.”

Jason's reaction is delayed, driving your nerves crazy. You begin to second guess your response.

Did I say the right thing? Was the compliment too much?

Without breaking eye contact, Jason reaches over for the med bag, and retrieves a small instrument that you recognize as a scalpel.

Your eyes go wide in terror, looking quickly between him and what he’s holding in his hand.

“Jason?” Your voice comes out an octave higher than normal, “Jason, what are you doing?”

”I have an idea. A way for you to prove yourself.”

“Jason, p-please, don't cut me!” You frantically try and untangle yourself from him, claustrophobia feeding your panic as you try and shy away from the shiny tool in his hand.

Jason quickly grips your jaw with his other hand, forcing you still, holding up the sharp metal to your face so you can see it clearly.

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you just say I looked handsome? Hm?” He teases, the cruelty so out of place on his once kind features. The sick grin he gives you makes you feel more sick than the blood did. “Tell me where you want it. Your arm? Your back? On your pretty face, to match mine?”

You still yourself, keeping your mouth shut, unsure if the question is rhetorical or if he’s truly asking you where you want to be mutilated. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you take shallow, panicked breaths through your nose. Somewhere buried under the panic you feel, your sadness deepens, horrified that your former lover would ever put you in a position like this.

This isn’t Jason. This isn’t him. It’s his trauma. He just needs to… he needs…

Tears gather in your eyes as you struggle to justify his abusive behavior. But you fight to keep them from spilling over, blinking them away and making a pointed effort to sooth your panic.

“I’m waiting, doll, don’t you wanna be all handsome like me?” His eerie smile chills you to your core. Your throat feels itchy and dry as you finally form your response, jaw aching from his tight grip.

This is where your better judgement battles with the love and sympathy you have for him. You never thought you’d be in this position, dancing around the line between supporting and reassuring him, and enabling his destructive behaviors. You don’t want to believe he’ll really do it, but the look in his eyes gives you a gut feeling that he’s triggered right now, and will follow through with his offer if you don’t play this right.

Who am I kidding. I crossed that line a long time ago.

“If I let you do this, will you believe me when I tell you I’m on your side?”

Jason’s brash smile morphs into a grimace. Thick fingers dig into the fat of your cheek, squeezing you harder to ensure you stay still.

“Dunno.” He hisses, “One way to find out.”

You squeeze your eyes shut in apprehension. “Do what you need to do.” You whisper, hoping you sound braver than you feel.

You hold you breath, waiting for the sting of the sharp blade. Several torturous seconds tick by, his grip on you firm as ever, but the pain doesn’t come.

“Jay?” You slowly open one of your eyes, confused to see him not looking at you, but staring straight ahead at himself in the mirror. The scalpel is barely a centimeter away from the apple of your cheek. His eyes are blown wide, in confusion? Fear? It’s hard to tell.

Blinking away your tears, you take a shallow breath. “Jason-“

He flinches, head snapping back down to look at you. His normally steady hands are trembling, and he drops the scalpel into the sink, shaking his head in confusion.

“Fuck!” He curses, releasing you and backing up until his boots hit the edge of the tub. He’s staring at you in horror, reaching up to grip his hair while his breathing becomes increasingly erratic.

"H-hey, it's okay." You sniffle, trying to stay calm and ignoring the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You take a step towards him, but pause when you feel a sharp stinging sensation on your cheek. Your hand darts up to feel for the source, and you wince when your fingers brush over a small cut. A stray tear must have fell down your cheek and irritated the fresh wound. You eye your fingertips in confusion, not expecting to see blood.

Jason not-so-gracefully sinks down onto the ground, horrified expression still on his face as a dry sob wracks his body.

You quickly turn to look at yourself in the mirror, grabbing a stray gauze pad from the med kit to dab away at the blood and reveal a small cut on your left cheek. Its about an inch long, you see a drop of blood start to gather along the thin red line of the wound as Jason curses behind you.

"Jay, baby, it’s okay." Turning around, you slowly kneel next to him on the hard tile floor and soften your voice before continuing. "That blade was so sharp I didn't feel it. It’s tiny, it will heal. It doesn't hurt."

He shakes his head and closes his eyes, his hardened features scrunching together, struggling with an anguish he's refused to share no matter how much you've begged him to. "Liar!" He exclaims through gritted teeth. "Its always hurts. It always fucking hurts."

"I'm not mad." You assure him frantically "It's okay, I promise, it was an accident."

The words slip from your panicked lips before you can think. But the broken man in front of you is quick to correct your mistake.

"No it wasn't."

Your mouth hangs open for a brief moment as you think of what to do, what to say to try and help. "But you stopped. You stopped yourself."

His eyes blink open, but you can tell his mind is somewhere far away from here. "I cut you."

"Do you regret it?" You dare to ask.

Another dry sob shakes him, and you wonder if he's even able to produce tears anymore. "Yes."

"Then I forgive you."

His labored breathing slows, eyes still distant and unfocused. You want to comfort him. The urge to reach out and hold him is so strong, to love on him enough until his heart feels a little less empty. You're scared to push the limits of his physical boundaries, but your brief exchange just now was the most he's opened up to you in weeks. It's enough to fuel your confidence, and you reach out to hold his hand. You move slowly, but with purpose, making sure he has the time to stop you.

He does.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Your freeze just as your fingertips brush against his. Your heart sinks in your chest, unable to keep up on this roller coaster of emotions Jason is putting you through. Warm tears slide down your cheek, reminding you of the cut that's becoming more painful as you weep for him. "Please, let me hug you, let me comfort you, Jay, you don't have to suffer alone."

"Get out." He pants in frustration, getting himself worked up again. "Leave me the fuck alone, get out of here!" He violently shrugs himself away, his hand bracing against the floor to lean away from you.

Seeing him in distress like this breaks your heart. Leaving him alone in such a state is the last thing you want to do. But you've been here before. He accidentally lets himself feel an emotion too deeply, and he gets defensive. You learned the hard way that staying near him when he's like this only makes things worse, which is why you even dared to question him wanting you here in the first place. But you've also learned that when he tells you to leave, he doesn't mean to actually leave him. Leaving his safehouse or removing yourself from the situation completely resulted every time in him hunting you down and cursing you out until you broke down in tears.

"I'll be right outside if you need me." You stand up, unable to mask the defeat in your tone.

You reach for the door handle, Jason's labored breathing faltering as he responds. "Need you?"

The heavy metal handle is loose from the last few times he slammed the door in anger. The brass has lost it's shine, and has several scratches along the side. You jiggle it gently until it catches, before turning it and pushing the door open.

"Were were you when I really needed you, huh? Where the fuck were you?!"

Where was I?

You carefully close the door behind you, leaning your back against the wall and slowly sliding down until you're seated on the battered hard wood floors.

You were alone.

While he was being tortured, you were grieving him. You got your own apartment after you graduated, isolating yourself from your family. Your friends were there for you, at first, but they eventually stopped checking in once they were sure you weren't suicidal. You never tried to hurt yourself, but you became a shell of a person, doing your best to move on but failing miserably. Working a shit job, keeping to yourself, ignoring Dick's many attempts to reach out and check on you. You told yourself that time would help you heal, but the depression was ever-present, hanging over you much like the dense smog that permeates the skies of this miserable city.

Jason's anguished shouts and cries, muffled by the closed door separating you, feel like knives to the heart, trumping the soft stinging pain you feel on your cheek from where he cut you. Eyes closed, breathing slowly, you wait outside the bathroom door for him, hoping in vain that he will ask for your comfort.

-------------------//------------------

Jason exhales a tired groan as he exits the bathroom, looking down at your sleeping frame leaning against the wall. He kept himself in there for hours, waiting until he felt calm again before daring to be around you.

Your chest rises and falls slowly, your head is leaning in a way that's sure to make you sore when you wake up.

He stands there, taking a moment to observe you, eyeing the cut on your cheek. You look as exhausted as he feels, with shadows under your eyes. You look thinner than you were when you first found him, too. He hasn't noticed until now.

The guilt he feels at the state of you is quickly pushed down, hidden away deep with his other traumas and fears that constantly plague him and threaten the iron grip he has on his emotions. Your presence makes it harder to stay in control. And yet, he can't stand the idea of you leaving.

You stir when strong arms lift your sleeping body from the cold floor. Jason can be gentle, when he wants to be. When it's useful. Trained by batman himself, the Arkham Knight can be as quiet as a mouse, despite his size and strength. He uses that now, staying as silent as possible as he carries you to his bed. You're still half asleep, not aware enough to realize what's happening.

Jason pulls back the blanket and sheets before laying you down softly, making sure your head is supported by his pillow. His face is neutral, eyes looking you over before he turns towards his dresser to retrieve a fresh change of clothes.

His conflicted mind is hard at work as he pulls a clean shirt over his head. Stormy eyes flicker to the couch, then back to you. Briefly, his mind thinks back to happier times, treasured memories of you that he clung to during his torture and isolation. When you and him were young and in love, practically inseparable. He remembers how it used to be. How you used to hold him, kiss him, massage his aching muscles whenever Bruce's training left him tired and sore. They two of you could talk for hours about anything, or absolutely nothing at all. The sound of your laughter used to be a drug to him, the angelic noise making his heart feel full, knowing he was able to make you so happy. But the echo of your sweet giggles in his head quickly morph into a perverted, depraved laughter that haunts his mind from far more sinister memories.

With a harsh shake of his head, Jason once again pushes down what his mind is trying to show him, refusing to dwell on it again after just having such an intense breakdown. He's had enough anguish for one day. He wants to rest. He needs it.

With his mind made up, Jason sulks over to the other side of his bed, and settles himself under the covers next to you. The shifting of the mattress is enough to rouse you the rest of the way from your light slumber.

"Jay?"

Your voice is hoarse from sleep. Jason doesn't respond to you, but under the safety of the covers, reaches out and pulls your body snugly against his, your back up against his chest.

His rare initiation of physical affection has you wide awake now, vaguely remembering him carrying you over here. He's holding you. You're in his bed with him, no harsh words or insults being thrown at you, no manipulative whispers filling your ears. You stay as still as you can, processing this development as his arm wraps around your waist to make sure you stay close.

His arms used to be where you felt the safest. Before the joker took him, a hug from Jason could fix practically any issue you were dealing with. All it took was his warm embrace and whispered reassurance to ease your mind and calm your soul. The memory of that comfort helps you relax, but it's not the same anymore. Still, you take this moment for the blessing it is. Jason buries his face against the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as he slows his breathing down to try and fall asleep. You do the same, understanding that there's no use for words right now, and close your eyes again, staying as still as possible as to not upset him.

Jason's deep exhales fan over your neck and ear, warming your skin and tempting you to drift off with him. But you can't relax fully. You want to. But no matter how hard you try and clear your mind and revel in his embrace, a lingering fear keeps you from letting your guard down all the way.

What if he wakes up and decides he's mad at me again? What if he has a nightmare, and forgets it me next to him?

A minute passes. Then another. His leg twitches, and your body goes rigid in response.

"Relax." He whispers. "You're tense. It's making me anxious."

"Can you blame me?" You reply, so quietly you're not sure if he hears you at first.

A deep breath in. A long exhale.

"I can help you relax."

His arm, still heavy across your waist, adjusts so his hand is resting over your lower stomach. Your mind instantly thinks of the last time you slept together, and a tantalizing rush of heat pools between your legs.

"I remember how you like it." He mutters, lifting his head so he has a better angle to nuzzle your neck. "You want me to touch you? Hm?"

You part your lips, unsure how to answer. You want to encourage and reciprocate any affection he gives you, to make sure he feels loved. But you're almost positive he won't be able to get you there right now, and you don't want him to get frustrated with himself.

"Yes, but... what if, I mean, maybe I could touch you too?" You ask, the uncertainty in your whispered suggestion making you cringe at yourself.

"No." His hand travels lower, slipping under the waistband of your pants and over your underwear.

"Why not?" Your breath hitches when his fingers brush over the thin cotton covering your pussy, and your hand finds his forearm, gripping it with just the slightest hint of pressure.

The position you're in keeps you from seeing his face. You wonder if it's a coincidence or if its intentional, this avoidance of eye contact when he initiates intimacy. Either way, you miss the brief flash of guilt that haunts his features when he answers you.

"I don't want you to."

The warmth that was building between your legs seems to dissipate when he says this in your ear, even as his fingers continue to tease you. You feel yourself deflate, sinking into the mattress and against him a little further, the ache in your heart making your body feel heavy.

Fair enough. You think to yourself, frowning at his honesty. Its hard for you to think of something to say to that. It hurts. But you don't let yourself tear up over it. The skin around your eyes is chapped already from your crying earlier. You're sick of crying. So you take a deep breath, and focus on his fingers rubbing small circles over the dampened cotton between your legs. You try to relax, to let the sensations build up again. To forget his coldness, and pretend it's the old Jay touching you now, just like he used to.

He does remember how you like it. And the attention has your heart beating faster, his lips brushing against the side of your neck where he can feel your pulse point. You hear the sound of police sirens in the distance, and a stray dog barking in response. Your eyes dart to the window, turning your head in an attempt to hear better.

"S'fine." He tells you, sounding annoyed. "Just focus on me. Relax already."

You're one to talk. You roll your eyes, wondering where he get's off telling you to relax after his stunt earlier.

Be patient, he's hurting. Just let him say what he wants.

Jason shifts behind you, freeing his other arm to slip under you and wrap around your chest, crossing between your breasts so his hand rests against your neck. At the same time, his fingers push your underwear to the side, dipping into your wet heat. A soft groan escapes his lips, making you shudder. Your grip on his forearm tightens, thankful he's allowing you to touch him there at least.

His hand on your neck makes you nervous. His hold on you is firm. Possessive, even. But he isn't putting enough pressure there to restrict you in any way. Not yet.

He works the tips of two fingers into you, collecting some of your slick before grazing over your clit, being surprisingly gentle at first, pressure increasing steadily. He makes small, tight circles over your bud, adjusting his angle until he hears a low whimper from you.

"Heh. There she is." He observes, talking more to himself than to you. Warm lips press against your neck. You swallow hard, still nervous about his erratic behavior but not able to deny how good this feels, how good he's making you feel.

Jason's index finger pushes harder against you, making you squirm from the increased sensation as you bite your lip. You clench around nothing and squeeze your thighs together in vain to alleviate the throbbing ache.

"Let me in." He mumbles with a growl, your fingers slipping across his forearm as he reaches further down your pants, slipping his fingers inside you again, deeper than before. He slides them in and out of you, letting his rough palm slide against your clit, keeping some friction there while he fingers you, the blankets muffling the lewd squelching noise he's making as he works your pussy open.

"J-Jason, I- mmmmm, shit." Your eyelids close, shoulders finally relaxing, hips softly jerking against his hand.

Jason hums your name in approval. He nudges his nose against the back of your ear, adjusting his grip on your neck, applying more pressure to the sides as his conviction grows. "Good girl. Relax for me."

The second he whispers those words into your ear, your eyes open again, surprised by how much his praise makes your core throb around his fingers. Praise from him is rare, anymore. And you are embarrassed by how much it affects you. You moan softly, still trying to hold back from reacting too much for fear of setting him off. Jason's attention continues like this for several minutes, working you patiently until his hand is soaked in your fluids and your breathing is coming out in shallow pants.

"You close?" He asks, deep voice thick with desire, keeping his rhythm steady.

It feels amazing, and he's got you undeniably aroused. But you know any sort of climax is still far away, whether its from some sort of mental block or just not enough stimulation, you're unsure.

You choke out a moan, bucking against his hand in frustration. "More? Please?"

"Fuck." He moans, the sound of you begging for him giving him a sick jolt of pleasure. "Again."

"Please." You repeat, a bit louder this time. "I'm not close, I need more."

Jason's hand stills, and he uses his leg to kick the blanket off the two of you, giving him more room to work. "You want more?"

Your mouth gapes open when he squeezes the sides of your neck, keeping you still while he wrestles your shorts and underwear down your legs. You try and help him, but when he feels you writhe next to him he huffs at you. "Hold still, dammit."

"Please!" Your cry is weakened from the lightheaded feeling coming over you, a throbbing pressure building in your neck as he continues to restrict blood flow.

He strips the clothes off of your lower half and throws them to the floor, like the cotton somehow personally offended him. His greedy hand grabs your thigh, hiking it up so he can pin your leg against him with his elbow, and return his hand to your pussy with a slap. You hiss, twitching in shock, the sting lingering longer than you feel like it should.

Jasons eyes flutter closed at the sound of your pained whimper. He groans, relaxing his grip on your neck as he returns two fingers to your heat, teasing you open again before continuing his assault on your g-spot with a much better angle.

He fingers you and teases you like this, holding you against him with his hand around your neck, your moans and whimpers getting more frequent and needier with each passing minute. Jason is surprisingly patient, but after some time, he finally lets out a growl of impatience, bringing his mouth to your ear once again.

“Cum for me, doll. I know you want to. Come on, just let go, you’re getting close. I can tell.”

His fingers caress your sore clit, swollen and warm from his attention. The frustration you feel over not being able to finish is starting to weigh on you.

“I can’t, Jay. It’s no use, I’m not getting there. Not right now. Maybe we should just stop.” You whisper, a hint of shame in your quiet tone.

Jason stills at your words, giving his sore hand and wrist a much-needed break. You finally have a minute to catch your breath now. He keeps you in his arms, his hand still on your neck, finger resting over your pulse point, the sound of his breathing flooding your ear.

He doesn’t speak until your heart rate is finally back to normal. He presses his finger into your neck a little deeper, and mumbles into your ear, “Are you scared of me?”

Yes.

“No.” You state with as much confidence as you can muster.

"You’re lying." He says back coolly. "You're scared. And you aren't gunna cum until you embrace it."

His body shifts behind you, sitting up and grabbing your waist to guide you onto your back. You look up at him in confusion, body still sensitive from his attention.

“Embrace what?”

He ignores you again, focused how on freeing his aching hard-on that’s been poking into your back for the last 20 minutes. Your eyes go wide when he slips his sweatpants down, taking in the sight of him, pussy throbbing at the visual proof of his arousal.

“Like what you see?” He teases, a cruel grin tugging at his scarred lips.

You lean up off the bed, reaching for him, fingertips skimming the hem of his shirt. His grin quickly morphs into a frown, and he catches your wrist before you can do much else.

“I asked you a question.”

“I do.” You quickly reply. “I think you’re hot, Jay, you know that. You had your shirt off earlier, in the bathroom. Why can’t-“

"Don’t ask me again." He warns, grabbing your other wrist to pin them both above your head. He’s leaning over you now, narrowed eyes boring into yours. “Are you going to relax and let me get you off? Or are you going to keep wasting my time?”

That familiar sinking feeling returns to your chest. The harshness in his eyes reminds you of the reality of your situation.

“I’ll relax.” You promise, “I’m sorry.”

The hand that isn’t pinning you down reaches between his own legs to line himself up with your entrance. He doesn’t waste any time teasing, pressing the tip of his cock against your slick skin until it disappears inside you. A choked, broken sound escapes your throat, your body hyper-sensitive from how worked up he got you with his fingers. Every movement leaves your needy walls tingling with sensation, whimpering as he fills you up, bucking up against him in an attempt to create more friction as he slides in and out of you slowly, letting you feel every inch of him.

Your legs wrap around his waist, desperate to feel him closer. Deeper.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He mocks, as if he isn’t just as worked up as you are. Jason keeps your wrists pinned above you, but leans down so he’s on top of you fully, chest flush against yours, face buried in your neck once again. You try to tug your arms free before you can stop yourself. The urge to touch him, to hold him close to you, it’s difficult to fight. You want to feel his skin against yours, run your fingers through his hair, hug him close enough that he’ll never doubt your love for him ever again.

“If you don’t stop struggling m'gunna go sleep on the couch.” He warns, voice low and dangerous in your ear.

You’re tempted to call him on his bluff. Surely he’s just as desperate for affection as you are, right? But you decide it’s not worth the risk, and you make a pointed effort to stay still.

“Good girl.” He purrs, pressing his lips to your neck with a greedy kiss. “That’s it.”

He moves his hips against yours, not in and out, but in slow circles, already bottomed out, feeling you clench around him as he revels in the feel of you. The sensations are overwhelming, your mind going fuzzy from how his teasing sends little jolts of pleasure down your legs. His cock stretches you in a way his fingers couldn’t. It’s what you were missing, and you feel your arousal building again in anticipation for what’s next.

“Please.” You beg again. “Please, more?”

You’re answered with a grunt and a curse. Jason rolls his hips into yours, giving you want you need. He slides himelf halfway out of you before rutting into your pulsing heat again, over and over, and a slow but consistent pace that has your toes curling and your lips trembling in pleasure.

“Like that? Hm? Is that how you like it?” He goads, “Greedy slut can’t cum on my fingers, so you need my cock now, too?”

“Jay…” You whine his name, unable to articulate your displeasure at his name-calling.

“Relax, bitch.” He ruts into you harder, bottoming out before continuing his pace. “Just turn your damn brain off and let yourself cum already.”

Tears prickle in your eyes at how he’s talking to you. The old Jason never would have called you names like this. But instead of dwelling on the hurt, you try and dissociate, hoping it will help you cum faster and get this over with.

Your eyes glaze over, tuning out his rude mumbles and insults, focusing on the feel of his heavy cock filling you up, his warm lips on your neck, and a particular memory that you’ve re-lived more times than you can count.

------------------------------//------------------------------

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He asks, smiling out at the view before you. A sunset is rarely this visible within the Gotham city limits. But sometimes the weather cooperates, and gives Gothamites a peek at the sun saying her goodnight.

“It is.” You agree, eyeing the edge of the rooftop warily. “But why did we have to come all the way up here to see it?”

Jason chuckles, and pulls you close to him, his arm around your waist. “You’re not scared of heights, are you?” His bright eyes flicker with a mischievous warmth that makes your heart flutter.

“You know what I’m scared of.” You chide back. “You brought me up here knowing very well I'd be scared and want to cling to you.”

“I would never.” He casually leans in for a kiss, eager and loving, pulling away after a few seconds to flash you his charming smile. “I do have a question for you, though. It’s why I brought you up here actually.”

“Is that right?” You cup his face with your hand, smiling at him as your thumb grazes his cheek. “What can I do for my favorite vigilante?”

You see his demeanor shift to one of confidence to nervousness, and your smile falters, brow furrowing softly in worry. “Everything okay? Jason?”

“Yes!” He says, a little too quickly, clearing his throat and placing his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. “More than okay. In fact, I think things have been going great lately, don’t you?"

"Jason... 4 people died yesterday. In that explosion? Remember?" You look at him suspiciously, "Things have not been going well around here."

"Huh? No, yeah. That was awful. Shit's fucked, really. But I was talking about like, between you and me."

“Yes.” You say back, relieved at his clarification. “I really enjoy spending time with you.”

“Me too.”

Jason guides your hand away from his face, holding it in front of him now, eyeing your fingernails like they’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“Idon’twantyouseeinganyoneelse.” He blurts out too quickly.

You chuckle softly, trying to catch his eye, “Wanna try that again?”

“I dunno… I think it would be pretty cool if we were, like, exclusive.” The tips of his ears turn red, adding to his adorable shyness.

“Hmm…. depends.” You reply, pretending to mull it over. “Is it Robin asking? Or Jason Todd?”

Jason’s eyes finally find yours, a confused look on his handsome face. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Robin is somewhat of a celebrity, isn’t he? I’m sure he’s got all sorts of girlfriends, side pieces-“

“Would you cut it out? I’m being serious here, doll.” His face contorts in annoyance, releasing your hand.

“I’m teasing!” You explain. “Look, I haven’t been interested in anyone else since I met you. You’re the only one I wanna be with.” Your reassurance quickly erases the troubled look on his face. He releases your hand, smiling before grabbing your waist again and pulling you against him so you’re nose to nose.

“The only one, huh?” His grin is infectious, his confidence returning full-force. “So you’re cool with me calling you my girl?”

“I’ve been yours for a while now, Jay. It’s about time you got with the program.”

The kiss that follows is one you thought about almost every day following his ‘death’, until the pain of it became too much to bear. But you’re thinking about it now. How happy you were. How he planned it all out, waiting for a clear day so you could have the beautiful sunset view when he finally asked you to be his. You remember how electrifying the kiss was, how much love he poured into it, into you.

The bittersweet memory is what it takes to get you there. Your body seizes, the tension that’s coiled in your lower abdomen releases, more of your natural lubrication seeping out around his shaft while Jason ruts himself into you over and over, cursing and groaning at you.

“Thats it, doll. Fuck, that’s it. Cum for me. Let go.” He growls in your ear.

Your body shudders, muscles tensing and releasing while he fucks you through it. You’re too caught up in the moment to be embarrassed about the noises you’re making, whimpering and crying as the pleasure radiates down your legs. You try to squeeze your thighs together reflexively, but Jason’s so close, using almost all his body weight to keep you still.

“Don’t push me out.” He hisses. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You struggle against his grip on your wrists, not caring if you give yourself bruises. Your brain is muddied with pleasure and his warning is long forgotten. The urge to embrace him and keep him close is stronger now, and is rewarded with a cruel nip to your neck.

“Fucking stop, I’m almost there.” He mumbles into your feverish skin, thrusts getting faster.

Your body shakes with a sob, your choked cry filled with pathetic desperation. “P-please, Jay, please… let me…”

Your begging is drowned out by his moans as he reaches his own peak. His hip movement become sporatic, rhythm long forgotten, emptying himself deep inside of your overstimulated cunt with his lip between his teeth.

Your thighs are damp with sweat and cum, body trembling under his while he recovers. Breathing still uneven, he removes his head from your neck, shifting himself so he’s able to be face-to-face with you.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You turn your head, dazed and weeping, to look at him. His cold eyes feel like a strangers. You shiver again, waiting for him to say something.

“The fuck are you crying for?” He asks you breathlessly in exasperation.

You shake your head, parting your lips to speak even though you can’t bring yourself to answer. How could you begin to explain? How could he not already know? As if what just happened wasn’t a sick, perverted version of the love you used to share?

Your inability to respond to him gives him pause. Finally releasing your wrists, Jason gently pulls out and sits up, turning to the side with a long exhale so he’s laying on his back next to you. You start massaging your wrists reflexively, rubbing away the soreness from his grip and sniffling back tears.

Jason stares at the ceiling while you whimper and cry quietly. His face quickly turns blank, not giving away any indication of what he’s thinking about in his post-sex daze.

You don’t have the capacity for wondering about what he’s thinking, anyways. You’re busy trying to soothe yourself and regulate the intense emotions you’re feeling. You know you should get up and clean yourself up. You can already feel his cum dripping out of you, soiling his faded sheets. But you feel frozen in place, the grief in your heart weighing you down like a ton on bricks.

You jump in surprise when Jason finally moves, shuffling around a bit before reaching for the edge of the blanket and pulling it up over the two of you. He brings the plush quilt up to your chest, making sure you’re covered before turning his back to you and getting comfortable.

You supposed it worked, after all. You’re still tense, sure, but the exhaustion you feel now is enough to trump your unease. So you hug the pillow to your face and close your eyes, the chapped skin around them stinging from the tears that have yet to run dry.

please don’t steal my work. don't upload it to another site, use it to train ai, or claim it as your own.

⭓ part 1 ⭓ masterlist ⭓