#MORE LIKE THE DEVIL ON SHIT STRING | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aerialmirrorss · 7 months ago

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𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞 by sza 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! a kickback on the beach involving both kooks and pogues turns ugly after rafe sees jj maybank talking sweetly in your ear..

paring: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: friends? with benefits , angst , mentions of underage drinking , violence (fist fighting) , toxic!rafe , sexual content + rough unprotected car sex! , choking , fingering , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 6.7k

notes: thinking about making this into a series but it just depends on how we all like it so lmk!

chapter two: 𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 �� ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

“you’re a fucking idiot,” kie says through a burst of laughter, watching jj attempt to shotgun two beers at once. instead of drinking, most of the beer spills straight onto the sand, leaving him grinning like it was all part of the plan.

a soft giggle slips past your lips as jj smashes the crushed cans together dramatically, then thumps his chest like he just pulled off something incredible—even though he couldn’t have failed more miserably.

you shake your head, pointing at the two crushed cans lying in the sand. “don’t give him any more if he’s gonna pull shit like that!” you say, half-serious, half-amused.

jj’s grin fades into a mock frown, his brows furrowing as he throws his hands up dramatically. “what? i was just getting started!” he protests, though the beer-soaked sand beneath him says otherwise.

you roll your eyes, ready to fire back at jj, when the vibration of your phone in your hand distracts you. the name on the screen makes your stomach flip, and you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting to keep a smile from slipping out where your friends could see.

kook devil: wya?

you: beach kickback on the cut

kook devil: omw

this time, the smile wins. you glance down at the screen, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite yourself. it wasn’t the first time rafe cameron had texted you late at night, asking where you were. but no one else knew that. and you weren’t about to admit it to anyone—especially not to your friends.

friends who hated kooks with a passion. and everything, and everyone, that came with them.

“what are you smiling at?” sarah asks, her voice light but laced with curiosity, as she and john b stroll over, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. her amused grin only makes you more nervous.

you lock your phone instantly, still smiling but scrambling for an excuse. “my package just got delivered,” you say quickly, trying to sound nonchalant.

sarah hums in response, the suspicion in her tone subtle but enough to make your stomach tighten. you don’t notice, too busy avoiding eye contact and silently thanking the chaos that erupts when jj and pope start arguing about something ridiculous, as usual.

you knew what you were doing was wrong. so wrong, especially to sarah. if she ever found out you and rafe were hooking up behind everyone’s backs, she’d lose it. they all would. and not just because he’s a kook.

it’s because he’s rafe fucking cameron.

it was kind of a blur how it all started with rafe. you remember being at a party—not sure if it was here on the beach or in figure 8—but of course, he was there, lingering in the crowd. all night, his eyes kept finding yours, holding your gaze just a little too long.

a couple of tequila shots later, you found yourself in his truck, attempting to ride him as he fucked you senseless, leaving you a trembling mess of moans and breathless curses.

ever since that night, you’d fallen into a rhythm—friends with benefits, if you could even call it that. except you weren’t friends. not even close.

you and rafe both knew the deal—just sex, no strings attached. it was made clear the second time you hooked up. after somehow getting your number, rafe texted you at 1 a.m. asking to meet. if it had been anyone else, you would’ve said no without a second thought. but rafe cameron always gets what he wants.

afterward, it was rafe who spelled it out: just sex, nothing more. and you agreed, even though the words stung more than you cared to admit. you told yourself you were fine with it, hoping that maybe, just maybe, if you played along long enough, he’d change his mind.

except he hasn’t.

and what really reeled you in was just the other day, you spotted him on the golf course with stacy thornton, topper’s cousin of all people. and of course he knew you’d see him—you work the country club as a bev girl. how could you not?

still, you swallowed the lump in your throat, pretending not to care even as your chest tightened. you quietly asked a coworker to handle his table, murmuring something about being swamped, and then buried yourself in busywork to avoid the sting of watching him laugh with her.

since that day, he hasn’t called or texted. not a word. until tonight.

because surely, stacy was busy.

“yo, y/n! come shotgun a beer with us!” kie and sarah call out, snapping you out of your thoughts. you force a small smile, pushing everything about rafe to the back of your mind as you stand up from the driftwood branch you’d been perched on. joining your girls, you grab a beer and do your best to play along.

as the night rolls on, the beach fills up with more people—kooks, pogues, and everyone in between. the music gets louder, and the air becomes a chaotic mix of laughter, shouting, and waves crashing in the background. drunk teenagers stagger through the sand, passing bottles and shots around, but so far, there haven’t been any issues. yet.

but you know how these nights go. when kooks and pogues show up to the same party, trouble is inevitable. it’s only a matter of time before someone says or does something to spark it. like clockwork.

bright headlights pierce through the darkness, momentarily blinding you as a familiar truck pulls onto the beach. your stomach tightens at the sight, but you force yourself to stay calm, laughing along with your friends as if you hadn’t noticed. even as the kooks around you start murmuring and shouting, announcing rafe’s arrival, you keep your eyes anywhere but on him.

your gaze flicks to sarah, catching the way her jaw tightens when she sees her older brother greeting her old friends with effortless charm. the tension is palpable. it’s no secret that sarah and rafe are far from good terms, and the thought of what she’d do if she ever found out about you and him is enough to make your chest ache. she’d hate you—no question about it.

and you didn’t want that. not now, not ever. so tonight, with enough liquid courage coursing through your veins, you’d finally do it. you’d end whatever this thing was with rafe. it was time. it had to be.

“hey, sweetheart,” jj slurs, suddenly draping an arm over your shoulders, his familiar, lopsided grin plastered across his face. the smell of alcohol lingers on his breath, and you can’t help but laugh. drunk jj was always clingy and affectionate, a far cry from his usual chaotic self.

“how are you? you good?” he asks, his voice softer than usual, his blue eyes lazily scanning your face for any hint of something wrong.

you nod, patting his knee where it rests against yours. “i’m fine, jay. what about you? having fun?”

he grins wider, squeezing your shoulder as if to reassure you. “always. especially now that you’re here.” his words are lighthearted, but his presence, warm and grounding, makes the knot in your stomach ease just a little.

“don’t start something you can’t finish, maybank,” you tease, your tone playful, something that’s always been a part of your dynamic with jj. it was harmless, never anything more than friendly banter. jj was like a brother to you, and you both knew it.

his smirk widens, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “oh, i always finish what i start,” he shoots back, his voice dripping with mock confidence. the comment makes heat rise to your cheeks despite yourself, and you nudge his side with a laugh.

“relax, jj,” you say, still grinning, but he just laughs along with you, clearly enjoying your reaction.

then his tone drops, more conspiratorial now, as he leans in closer. “can i tell you a secret?” he slurs, his voice low and exaggeratedly serious.

you play along, tilting your head toward him as he cups a hand over his mouth like he’s sharing classified information. “i’m so drunk right now,” he whispers dramatically.

a laugh bursts out of you, louder than you intended, as you push him off of you. “no shit, jay,” you say through your giggles, watching him sway slightly before laughing along with you. moments like these made everything feel lighter, even with the weight of everything else hanging in the air.

suddenly, the laughter dies in your throat as a familiar voice cuts through the noise, instantly tightening the tension in your shoulders. “i wanna laugh too,” rafe drawls, his tone sharp and laced with something dangerous.

your head snaps up, and sure enough, there he is, standing a few feet away with his hands casually stuffed into his pockets. but his stare is locked on you, unwavering, intense. your stomach churns as you quickly look away, pretending not to notice.

“what are you doing here, rafe?” sarah asks, her voice cold as ice, glaring at her brother like she wanted him gone before he could stir up trouble.

he shrugs nonchalantly, though the slight clench in his jaw betrays his calm demeanor. “well, last time i checked, you don’t own the beach, sarah,” he retorts, his tone sharp enough to cut. the sunset casts a fiery glow on his face, highlighting the tension in his features. he’s angry—at what, you don’t know, but it’s obvious.

sarah opens her mouth to snap back, but before she can, jj suddenly stands to his feet, his drunken bravado kicking in full force. “what’s your problem, man?” he slurs, his voice rising as he steps forward, shoulders squared like he’s ready to fight.

your heart pounds in your chest as the energy shifts sharply, the tension coiling tighter with every second. it’s like the whole beach can feel it, the calm before the inevitable storm. you glance around nervously, noticing the kooks starting to make their way over, drawn by the brewing conflict like moths to a flame.

what had been your comfortable little corner with your friends now feels suffocating as more and more people gather, the divide between kooks and pogues growing thicker with every step they take. rafe doesn’t move, his stance unbothered but his eyes flickering with something unreadable as they dart between jj and you.

you can hear your friends muttering behind you, tension spreading like wildfire. this wasn’t going to end well—you could feel it in your bones.

john b, ever the peacekeeper, steps in with a steady hand on jj’s shoulder, giving it a calming squeeze. “hey, bro, take a walk,” he says softly, his tone measured, trying to de-escalate before things spiral further.

but jj shakes his head, his expression twisting with frustration. “nah, nah, nah,” he says, shrugging john b’s hand off. his voice is louder now, sharp and angry, fueled by alcohol and pent-up resentment. “i’m so tired of these fuck-ass kooks ruining our fun. everything was fine before they got here.”

he turns to rafe, his eyes blazing with defiance. “so answer the damn question, rafe. what the fuck is your problem?”

the words hang in the air, cutting through the murmur of onlookers as more kooks and pogues close in around you, their postures rigid and ready for whatever’s about to unfold. the tension is suffocating, thick enough to choke on. your stomach twists as you glance between jj, who’s practically vibrating with anger, and rafe, whose jaw is locked, his eyes dark and unreadable.

rafe suddenly lets out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he swipes a finger under his nose, his signature tell that trouble is coming. before anyone can react, he steps forward and throws a punch, his fist connecting squarely with jj’s jaw.

the sound of the hit echoes over the beach, silencing the chatter and gasps from the growing crowd. jj stumbles back, catching himself before falling, his hand flying up to his face as he spits blood into the sand.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” john b mutters, stepping between them instinctively, trying to keep jj from lunging forward. but jj’s already shaking with rage, shoving john b aside as the crowd erupts around you.

the once calm beach party turns chaotic, the tension finally snapping into chaos, and you’re frozen in the middle of it all, unsure of what to do as your heart pounds in your chest.

mayhem erupts around you as everyone starts shouting, the noise almost deafening. jj and rafe are swinging at each other, fists flying with raw anger. john b and topper try to break it up, but their own simmering tensions (sarah cameron) boil over, and soon enough, they’re throwing punches at each other too.

“alright! alright!” you, sarah, and kie yell, your voices cutting through the chaos as you rush in, desperately trying to pull the four boys apart. it’s a mess of flailing arms, insults, and drunken fury, but with the help of the other pogues and even a few kooks who seem equally tired of the drama, you finally manage to separate them.

jj stands a few feet away now, chest heaving as he wipes blood from his lip, glaring daggers at rafe. rafe, meanwhile, is being restrained by two kooks, his jaw tight and his eyes locked on jj like he’s ready to go again at any second. john b and topper aren’t much better, breathing heavily and throwing venomous insults back and forth as they’re held apart.

you step back, your heart still racing as the crowd buzzes with murmurs and tension, the air thick and electric. this was far from over, and you could feel it.

“yeah, stay the fuck off our side of the island!” jj yells, his voice sharp and unwavering as the kooks start retreating. rafe lingers, of course, making direct eye contact with you. his gaze burns, but you glare right back, your frustration simmering beneath the surface. whatever you needed to say to him was definitely happening tonight after the shit he just pulled.

“take jj to the chateau. i think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” john b instructs kie and pope, his tone calm but firm. they nod, each grabbing one of jj’s arms to help guide him away. jj, still riled up, mutters under his breath about how much of a pussy rafe is, his words slurring slightly from the drinks and adrenaline.

sarah walks over to you, concern etched across her face. “hey, you okay?” she asks gently. her voice is soft, but the sincerity in her eyes almost undoes you. you nod quickly, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over.

“yeah, i’m fine. just anxious,” you respond, your voice steady enough to sound convincing. it’s not entirely a lie, but it’s far from the whole truth. sarah offers you a small, understanding smile, her hand rubbing your arm soothingly.

“coming?” she asks, gesturing toward john b, who’s waiting for her a few feet away.

“i think i’m just gonna head home,” you say, your voice a little rushed. “my mom texted—she got off work early, so…” you let the excuse hang in the air, hoping it’s enough.

sarah nods slowly, her eyes flickering with a mix of understanding and suspicion. “john b and i can walk you,” she offers.

“no, it’s okay. i kinda need a moment,” you reply quickly, your voice firmer this time. you hold your breath as her gaze lingers on you, studying you for a beat too long. but thankfully, she doesn’t press it.

“okay, babe,” she says finally, her concern softening into a warm smile. “let me know when you get home, yeah?”

you nod, watching as she walks back toward john b, the two of them eventually disappearing into the growing shadows. only when they’re far enough away do you exhale, the weight of the night pressing heavy on your chest.

with one last glance at the party starting to settle back down, you turn and walk in the opposite direction, knowing exactly where you’re going—and who you’re going to face.

you make your way over to the truck, its headlights dim now but still parked exactly where he left it. crossing your arms over your chest, you lean against the back door of the truck, waiting. it’s quiet here, tucked away from the rest of the beach where no one can see you.

the sound of approaching footsteps pulls your attention, and there he is. rafe cameron, calm and collected as ever, despite the chaos he caused. he’s holding a red solo cup against his cheekbone, the faintest shadow of a bruise forming. but even so, you have to admit—he doesn’t look nearly as bad as jj does. of course he doesn’t.

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. the tension between you is thicker than ever, the air heavy with unspoken words. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what you came here to do.

“i can’t see you anymore, rafe,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice is firm, but you can feel the ache behind the words, threatening to betray you.

rafe doesn’t move. instead, a small, almost smug smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “get in the truck,” he says, his tone low and even, like it’s not up for debate.

your brows knit together, your frustration bubbling up. did he not hear you? or worse, did he just not care? “no, rafe,” you snap, shaking your head. “what you did today—” you pause, letting out a sharp sigh as the memories replay in your mind. your gaze shifts over his shoulder to the road, watching cars pass by, their headlights a welcome distraction. “you hurt my friends,” you continue, your voice quieter now but still steady. “i care a lot about my friends. and that shit you pulled back there?” you point toward the spot on the beach where the chaos unfolded, the tension still lingering in the air. “wasn’t cool.”

rafe follows your gesture with a glance, his expression unreadable. but when his eyes flick back to you, there’s something in them—something dangerous, something unshaken. he doesn’t respond, just waits, like he knows you’re not finished yet.

“why would you do that?” your voice cracks despite your best effort to keep it steady. the words hang heavy in the air, and you curse softly under your breath, furious with yourself for letting your emotions bubble over. you promised you wouldn’t let him see you like this—wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. but now, the tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill.

rafe’s face doesn’t change, his jaw tight but his expression otherwise calm, almost detached. it’s like he’s weighing his words, deciding what to say—or if he’ll even bother answering at all. the silence feels suffocating, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on your chest.

“are you fucking him?” rafe finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but the accusation behind the words hits you like a slap. you stare at him, wide-eyed, like he’s just grown three heads.

a laugh of disbelief escapes you as you shake your head, running a hand through your hair to keep yourself from losing it. “are you serious right now?” you ask, your voice teetering between anger and shock.

“are you?” he presses, his tone sharper this time, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting.

“oh my god,” you mutter, another laugh bubbling out, this one laced with frustration. “is that why you did that? you think i’ve been fucking one of my best friends? are you shitting me, rafe?” you shake your head again, the absurdity of the accusation almost too much to handle.

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, his gaze still burning into yours like he’s waiting for you to crack. but you don’t—at least, not yet.

“well, since we’re just accusing each other of shit now,” you say, your voice sharp as a knife, “how’s stacy doing?” your eyes flicker between his, and just like you predicted, his confidence falters. there’s a moment—a flicker—where his gaze drops, and you pounce. “i assume she was busy tonight, right? that why you texted me?”

“what the fuck are you talking about?” rafe snaps, his chest rising and falling heavily as he steps closer, his frustration spilling over.

“oh, don’t give me that shit, rafe,” you fire back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. your eyes dart away from his, landing anywhere but on him. “i saw you at the country club,” you continue, your voice cold, the memory still fresh.

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, and the silence only fuels your anger. “and even then,” you add, spinning back to face him, your words cutting like glass, “what if i am fucking jj? what is it to you? you’re the one who said no strings attached, right?”

you see the way his nostrils flare, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might snap. his eyes darken, and you know exactly what he’s thinking—the thought of jj seeing you the way rafe has, touching you, hearing the sounds you make. it’s killing him. but he won’t say it. not out loud.

“you’re mad, rafe,” you say, your voice quieter now but still firm. “but you don’t get to be. not after the rules you set.”

you push past him, deciding you were done—done with the accusations, the games, all of it. but, of course, you don’t get far. rafe’s hand closes firmly around your wrist, yanking you back toward him with enough force that you stumble. before you can steady yourself, you collide with his chest, the hard press of muscle against you taking your breath away.

his lips crash against yours without warning, rough and demanding, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips. the intensity of it sends a jolt through you, but it’s not enough to freeze you in place. your fists fly up, pushing hard against his chest, trying to shove him off.

“rafe,” you manage, your voice muffled against his lips, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you. instead, your resistance only seems to fuel him, his free hand sliding up to wrap around your neck, not too tight, but firm enough to hold you there.

his lips move hungrily against yours, his breath hot, his grip unwavering. you can feel the frustration, the anger, and something else tangled in the way he kisses you—something you can’t name, something overwhelming. your heart races, torn between wanting to fight and the way your body reacts instinctively to his touch.

you hated it. hated how easily your body betrayed you, handing itself over to him without a second thought. and the worst part? rafe knew it too. he always did.

he used it to his advantage every time, just like now. the second your resistance began to falter, the tension in your fists loosening as your body instinctively softened against his, that familiar smug smile tugged at the corners of his lips. he could feel it—the way your resolve was slipping, the way the pull between you was overtaking every logical thought in your mind.

the familiarity of him started to seep through, clouding the anger that had burned so brightly just moments ago. rafe’s grip on your neck relaxed slightly, his fingers brushing your skin like he had all the time in the world, as if he wasn’t the reason you’d wanted to end this in the first place.

and god, you hated him for it. but you hated yourself even more. no matter how much you told yourself to walk away, to end it, your body always seemed to betray you the moment his hands were on you.

before you even realized what was happening, you were in the back seat of rafe’s truck, straddling his lap. his hands gripped your hips with bruising force, guiding your movements as you instinctively rolled against him. the friction of his hardened, clothed cock pressing against you sent shivers up your spine, a traitorous whimper slipping past your lips.

his breath was hot against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he let out a low groan of satisfaction. you hated how easily he got to you, how the anger you felt just moments ago melted into something entirely different. but no matter how much you wanted to stop, your body moved on its own, craving the familiarity of him, the intensity only he could give you.

his hands move from gripping your hips to trailing up your back, his fingers deftly finding the string of your bikini top. with a quick tug, the knot unravels, and the fabric falls between you, exposing your chest to the cool night air. the intimate sound of your breathing mixes with the muffled noise of the distant beach party, but all you can focus on is him.

rafe wastes no time, leaning in to pepper kisses across your chest. each press of his lips ignites a trail of goosebumps on your skin, the sensation making you arch closer to him. his mouth finds one of your hardened nipples, pulling it into his mouth as his hand cups the other, his fingers teasing and rolling with practiced precision.

a moan slips from your lips, filling the still air around you. rafe hums in satisfaction, his hot breath fanning against your sensitive skin. his grip on you tightens as he continues, clearly intent on drawing every reaction out of you that he can.

“fuck, i missed you,” he breathes, his voice low and ragged as he pulls back just enough to let the words slip past his lips. before you can even process them, his mouth is back on you, his lips and tongue working their way across your skin, pulling a broken whimper from your throat.

you shake your head weakly, your fingers gripping his shoulders, trying to ground yourself. “no, you didn’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the words more of a desperate plea than an accusation.

rafe pauses, his lips hovering over your collarbone. his hands tighten their hold on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he meets your gaze, his blue eyes blown out. “yes, i did,” he mutters, his tone firm, almost defensive, before dipping his head back down to kiss you again, as if he could erase the doubt you so clearly feel.

with one hand, he makes quick work of the button on your shorts, pulling them down just enough to give himself better access. his hand slips past the waistband of your bikini bottoms, his fingers brushing against your heated skin. the low groan that escapes his lips when he feels how soaked you are sends a jolt of heat straight through you.

“not surprising,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with smug satisfaction.

you gasp, your head falling back slightly as his fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before starting slow, deliberate circles against your clit. the sensation sparks through you, making your hips instinctively rock against his hand, chasing the friction.

rafe’s smirk deepens as he watches you, his free hand gripping your waist tighter to keep you steady. “that’s it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with control. “just like that.”

a moan escapes your lips when his fingers pick up their pace, his breathing becoming heavier against your neck. “think that pogue could get you to cum like i can, huh?” he taunts, his words cutting through the haze of pleasure. before you can respond, his fingers dip into your entrance, filling you to where you feel the cold metal ring wrapped around his finger, while his thumb presses firmly against your clit. the double stimulation sends a shockwave through you, your hands fisting his shirt as you struggle to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

you bite down hard on your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction he craves, but it’s so hard—he knows your body too well.

“i know he can,” you finally manage to retort, your voice breathless but defiant. the second the words leave your mouth, you see it—the flicker of rage that darkens his eyes. his movements grow rougher, more deliberate, as if he’s determined to make you eat your words.

you sob out a moan, your body trembling as his pace remains relentless, refusing to give you even a second to catch your breath. “the fuck he can,” he growls, his voice low and feral, watching with a smug satisfaction as you struggle to keep yourself upright. his smirk deepens as he leans in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation, swallowing your broken cries.

your hands cling to his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash through you, your body arching into his touch. his fingers work you expertly, his movements precise and unyielding as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

“c’mon, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough and dripping with desperation. “let me hear you.” his words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel yourself teetering on the brink, unable to hold back any longer.

you feel yourself start to convulse around his fingers, your body trembling as a broken cry tears from your lips. the waves of your orgasm crash over you, leaving you breathless and weak. rafe keeps going, his fingers guiding you through every pulse of pleasure, not stopping until your body begins to twitch with hints of overstimulation. but there’s no tenderness in it—not that you deserved any, not after what you said.

your earlier comment still burned in his mind, fueling a fire in his chest, the thought of you with jj maybank making him see red. it wasn’t about trust—it was about possession, and rafe couldn’t stand the idea of someone else touching what he considered his.

without warning, he grabs your waist and flips you around, pressing your head against the leather seat, your ass in the air. your shorts and bikini bottoms are gone in one swift motion, leaving you completely exposed. you barely have time to react before you hear the sound of his zipper, his own clothes hitting the floor of the truck in a mess.

“you wanna talk about jj?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with frustration as he positions himself at your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you. “let’s see if you’re still thinking about him when I’m done with you.”

before you can process his words, he thrusts into you without warning, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, punishing motion. the stretch is overwhelming, a cry slipping from your lips, quickly muffled as you press your face into the seat.

rafe doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, setting a relentless, eye-rolling pace that has your body jolting with every thrust. his hands grip your waist tightly, pulling you back to meet each snap of his hips, his frustration evident in the way he moves.

“you feel that?” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he leans over you, his chest grazing your back. “that’s all me. no one else, you hear me?” his words mix with the sound of skin against skin, every syllable driving him deeper, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

you nod dumbly, unable to form words as your body reacts to his every movement. a gasp tears from your lips when his arm snakes around your neck, pulling you upright slightly and holding you firmly in place. the pressure makes your head spin, amplifying every sensation coursing through your body.

the truck fills with the obscene sounds of wet slaps and desperate moans, each one louder than the last. your cries mix with rafe’s rough groans, the intensity between you reaching a fever pitch. you briefly thank your lucky stars that his truck has fully blacked-out windows, shielding this mess of tangled limbs and raw need from prying eyes.

rafe moans in your ear, his voice thick with possession, his breath hot against your skin. “all mine. no one else gets to have you like this.” his pace never falters, every thrust pushing you closer to the edge again, leaving you gasping and trembling under his control.

just when you think the pleasure is close to consuming you whole, rafe’s fingers snake down between your thighs, finding your clit with infuriating precision. he rubs quick, tight circles, the added sensation pulling a choked cry from your lips as your body jerks in response.

your arm flings back instinctively, your hand finding the back of his neck, clutching onto him desperately as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. his breath is hot against your ear, ragged and uneven, matching the force of his thrusts.

“fuck, baby,” he groans softly, his voice laced with satisfaction as he feels you trembling against him. “you’re gonna cum, aren’t you?”

“rafe—“ you moan, your grip on his neck tightening as the overwhelming mix of sensations sends you spiraling, your body teetering on the brink. every snap of his hips, every movement of his fingers, pushes you closer, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you fight to keep from collapsing back into the seat.

your body trembles uncontrollably as the wave of pleasure crashes over you, your walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip. rafe grunts, his breath ragged and uneven as he feels you squeezing him, the sensation tipping him over the edge.

“shit,” he moans, his voice low and strained, giving one last stuttered thrust before he stills, his release spilling into you. the warmth of him floods your core, the weight of his body pressing against yours as he rides out his high, panting heavily into the crook of your neck.

the air in the truck is thick, the only sounds now the mingling of your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the world outside—so distant it feels like it doesn’t even exist. rafe’s hand loosens its hold on your hip along with the arm around your neck, his thumb lazily brushing your skin as he finally starts to come down.

rafe’s forehead, damp with sweat, rests against your shoulder for a moment as he catches his breath. Slowly, he pulls out of you, leaving you trembling and weak-kneed. Sensing it, he carefully guides you to sit on the seat, his touch surprisingly gentle now, as if trying not to shatter the fragile silence between you.

but it doesn’t last long. the haze starts to lift, post-sex clarity hitting you like a wave. your heart pounds—not from pleasure anymore, but from the weight of everything that just happened. you don’t look at him, don’t say a word. instead, you scramble off the seat, your eyes scanning the floor of the truck as you rush to gather your clothes. the humid air clings to your skin, suffocating you, making it feel like the walls of the truck are closing in.

“y/n,” rafe starts, his voice softer now, but you don’t respond, just shake your head. You tug your shorts on with shaky hands, your bikini top still tangled in your grasp as you turn your back to him, your only thought being how fast you can get out of this damn truck.

as soon as you adjust your bikini top, you’re scrambling for the door handle, slipping out of the truck as quickly as you can. the door slams shut behind you with a loud thud, cutting off the heavy silence inside. rafe’s voice calls after you, his tone somewhere between frustration and confusion, but you don’t look back. you don’t even slow down.

his words echo faintly in the humid night air as you trudge across the sand, but you block them out, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

you hated yourself in this moment—really hated yourself. how could you be so weak? jj was probably back at the chateau right now, an ice pack pressed to his bruised face, joking it off like he always did. meanwhile, you were here, tangled up with the very person responsible for putting him there.

it made your stomach twist. you felt pathetic.

the guilt gnawed at you, making every step away from that truck feel heavier, like you were sinking further into something you didn’t know how to escape. you wrap your arms around yourself, the night air cold against your skin, and silently vow—never again.

as you step into your home, the soft glow of the television catches your eye. your mom is asleep on the couch, the faint sound of some late-night show playing in the background. you pause, the sight of her peaceful face tugging at something inside you. quietly, you grab the nearest blanket and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her frame before turning off the TV.

you make your way to your room, your body heavy with exhaustion. pulling out your phone, the screen lights up with countless missed calls and texts—all from him. rafe’s name stares back at you, the words call me back and where did you go? flashing among the messages. with a sigh, you open the contact and quickly silence his notifications. blocking him would feel too final, too harsh, and you know it wouldn’t stop him anyway. rafe knew where to find you—where you lived, where you spent your time, even your favorite food spot. blocking him would only provoke him further.

you drop your phone on the bed and head straight for the bathroom, turning the shower dial as cold as it would go. the icy water hits your skin like needles, but you welcome it, hoping it’ll wash away everything—his touch, his words, the feeling of his hands on your body.

but no matter how long you stand there, no matter how hard you scrub, the memories resurface, unrelenting. the way he looked at you. the sound of his voice. the pull he always had on you. you press your forehead against the cool tile, biting back the emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

how did it get this far?

the muffled vibration of your phone stirs you from sleep, the name sarah 🐚 lighting up the screen. groaning, you fumble for the phone and press it to your ear, voice still thick with sleep. “hell—”

“is it true?” sarah’s voice crackles through the static, sharp and tense, jolting you fully awake. your eyes shoot open, the confusion and dread hitting you all at once.

“sarah, what—” you begin, but she doesn’t let you finish.

“got it,” she says curtly, and before you can protest, the line goes dead.

you pull the phone away from your ear, staring at the dark screen as if it could offer you answers. confusion twists in your chest, but then you see it—a new message notification from her.

your hands tremble slightly as you unlock your phone and click the message. the screen shifts to a video file, sent from an anonymous number. you hesitate, the dread creeping up your spine like ice, but you press play.

the blood drains from your face as the video begins. it’s you—you and rafe. the footage is grainy, but it’s unmistakable. you see yourself pressed against the back door of his truck, his hands gripping you as you melt into the heated kiss. the angle shifts slightly, shaky and invasive, capturing the moment he pushes you inside the truck. and then—cut.

the video ends abruptly, leaving you staring at the black screen, your heart racing so hard you can feel it in your throat. you drop the phone onto your bed, your blood running cold as the weight of it crashes over you.

someone had seen. someone knew. and now sarah did too.

#⋆ ˚𝐚𝐫𝐢𝜗𝜚writes #drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #drew starkey smut #drew starkey imagine

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rawjutsu · 2 days ago

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pairing: gojo satoru x chubby!fem reader

thinking about chubby!reader in a skimpy bikini that satoru picked out for her <33 she’s all shy and tugging the bottoms out of her ass but it’s no use

you’d wanted to wear a modest one-piece. something safe, something that wouldn’t cling to the softness of your belly or wedge between your cheeks the second you sat down. and satoru would’ve been more than fine with that—if that’s what you actually wanted.

but he saw the way your eyes lingered on the pretty two-pieces displayed on the mannequins, the way your lips pressed into a pout, fingers twitching like you almost reached for one. how your whole face fell with a quiet little sigh when you walked past them and headed for the plain section instead.

he didn’t say anything then. just slipped one of the skimpiest bikinis off a mannequin, paid for it while you were distracted, and tucked it in the beach bag without a word.

you only find out about his little scheme the next day—right as you're changing. you’re reaching for the swimsuit you packed when satoru stops you, grinning like he’s up to no good, and hands you the tiny thing he picked out.

a triangle top and a bottom that’s mostly string. minimal fabric. barely legal.

you blink down at it. “absolutely not.”

“you’ll look so hot, babe, trust me,” he says, already kissing away your protests and grabbing your ass like it’s his full-time job.

and now here you are. standing in the hot sand, cheeks burning, ass practically on full display, the fat of your tits spilling out of the top and your nipples barely staying covered. the waistband of the bikini bottom hugs your tummy, sinking into your softest spots.

and satoru?

he’s drooling. literally.

“shit,” he mutters, shifting on his towel and readjusting his trunks to hide the tent he’s pitching. “maybe you shouldn’t have worn that. i’m gonna fucking die.”

later, when you’re both lying under the umbrella and you ask him to rub sunscreen on your back, he hums sweetly like the perfect boyfriend—until his hand slides under your bikini top and grabs a handful of tit.

“satoru!” you hiss, glancing around.

“what?” he says innocently. “gotta make sure your front’s protected too.”

you swat at his hand, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment, but he just smirks and leans in close, lips brushing your ear.

“you keep squirming like that and i’m gonna take you back to the car and fuck you with the windows down,” he whispers, voice low and thick with heat. “let everyone get a good look at how pretty you look when you cry on my cock.”

your breath catches. your thighs clench.

“’toru,” you whisper, scandalized.

he grins, all white teeth and devil’s charm. “just saying… this bikini’s gonna look real good hanging from the rearview mirror.”

suffice to say you keep the bikini.

#small treats 🍪 ˚ෆ.ᐟ #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk drabbles #jjk fanfic #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #chubby reader

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mihii-i · 4 months ago

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a demon couldn’t love, only deceive.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, mildly angsty because yes, misogynistic society, mizu initially referred to as a male, blood, mild violence, fingering, praise, crying, a sprinkle of cunnilingus but not really, sentle gex yay, tit sucking, kind of vanilla tbh but lowkey poetic so, girls kissing oh no, mmm bottom mizu rubs hands tg like an evil fly, mizu being her own biggest hater, i <3 mizu guys I love my gf i feel like my husband went to war while i wait for 2026, not proofread.

A/N: now playing — under the influence by chris brown. omg I’ve been waiting to write more bottom mizu because holy shit also she’s canonically a bottom?? Like I get my girl gives off bde but pleaseeee Someone needs to make my sweetheart feel good don’t hog all the pleasure for yourselves. @fairexy78 🕯️

Screeching of Mizu’s katana abruptly skipping along the large rock in deep scrapes shot through your eardrums as a piercing wail, humming in tune with the whistles of cool winter air bristling across the horizon blanketed in thick sheets of snow. The sudden drag of steel pressed against the sharp stone snapped you out of the mindless daze that occupied your head in the midst of going along with the motions of trailing behind the samurai, your eyes gravitating to align with his own through the hood of his kasa shrouding his face.

“(Name). Get comfortable, we’re going to rest here for the day.” Mizu asserted, glancing over at you without questioning the meek nod you had delivered him.

—

All you could recall as you trailed behind him for endless hours was the repeat of his first meeting with you over and over, broken on repeat like the faulty string of a shamisen bellowing in an endless ring. Every detail remained crystal clear among the events playing out within your thoughts to sear into your irises, pupils dilating with each flash of a detail as minute as the crunch of a singular footstep planted behind Mizu’s from when you had first begun to tail him in the midst of her quest.

The shivers thundering along your frame, stiff from the harsh cold of winter as you stumbled over the unmovable skip in your swift steps with your body tumbling forward to sink into the snow, was something that would never stray away from you as long as you lived. Lingering on the fear stirred in your chest as you could only stare up at the crooks circled around you, clicks of the foreign guns squeezed in their hand over the trigger with their sadistic smiles burning into your skull like the last thing you’d ever see.

It was in the blink of an eye when you caught the splatter of blood tainting the pale white in trickling drops, seeping down to lap at your ankles as you instinctively shrank away. You noticed a man through the blur of your vision, practically strangling the crooks that circled around you, the dry ocean blue of his cloak spreading slightly to give way to his elbows curled against a crook’s chest to squeeze at the fabric draped over their chest. Merely to impale them clean across without answer as scarlet drops specked along the beautiful waves patterned along his blade.

Your eyes raked along his tall stature carefully, from the baggy ends of his harem pants trailing to the dark blue kimono tight against his chest—too short and tight to be considered one even. It simply looked like he took a child’s kimono as a makeshift article of clothing that wouldn’t get in his way. However, you were barely able to retain the sudden gasp that was about to peep out of you as your gaze landed onto the beastly azure of his irises. A half blooded child. You were sure that’s what he was.

Repeated strings of “stop following me.” Or “you will not find what you seek at my side.” Kept smoothing out like a path to heaven leading you on, his dismissal of your presence being met with your fascination with the devil man enticing you further into tracing his path. His disgusted expression staring daggers into you over his shoulder hadn’t pushed you away in the slightest, instead drawing you deeper into the thrashing sea of his plight he so desperately pleaded to mask.

Eventually, the swordsmen couldn’t help but soften in the presence of the beautiful woman following his every move, her enthusiasm and bright energy burning as a lantern of hope that rendered his ice cold heart into a tender mush with every action of yours barely quirking up a smile along his frown. A rare gleam of joy that sparked up within Mizu at your bounding smile drawn over his shoulder in curiosity, head turning away from the warmth of your touch to avoid himself from falling too deep in the comfort you enveloped him in.

His nights were now filled with the newfound content sense bestowed upon him in the wake of you caring for him, finding solace in the fact alone that you didn’t care for his little actions being ruthless or cruel. Simply an aspect of what was needed to survive in the grueling inequality elevated into the confines of society within an isolated Japan. Your little gestures of compassion were enough to make the stern swordsman shift tender in the gentle grasp of your palm tracing along his.

You didn’t see him as a monster. Something he had never heard, even the most intimate, who had even remotely come close to loving him through his half blooded taboo.

Could it be he was falling for you?

He shouldn’t bother. Your kindness was likely out of fear. It was clear someone as filthy as him couldn’t be loved.

Yet, the premise of his earlier beliefs warped into a puddle of worthless irrelevance, previous judgements crumpled into a purely nonexistent state as he felt your lips collide with his suddenly, hand resting on his shoulder as your kiss froze over time itself in that moment. Mizu of course, couldn’t help but kiss you back—albeit a bit hesitantly, lips hugging against your own tenderly in a heated embrace locking the plush muscle together as his hand craned over to thread through your scalp almost desperately in a gesture to pull you in deeper.

Despite your bond carving a deep mark into every bone in his body, Mizu was of course hesitant, if not more guilty as to have been shrouding you in the lies piling up atop your unwary bliss. The curse of his inhibitions gnawing away at him—or rather, her. Regarding the lie of leading you into believing you had fell for a man when in reality, she had been born as a woman in the unfortunate circumstances this world had in fact cursed upon her. Navigating under the guise of a man for the sake of her safety.

Not only had you seen past her demonizing appearance, the shame of her birth and origin evident in her eyes meaning nothing to you, despite being an outcast all over the country. But you had treated her as she had always wanted to be treated, cradling her in a sort of cushion of love that reached for her hand in the depths of hatred she had drowned in all her life.

And how had she repaid you? By allowing someone as benevolent as yourself fall into the deceit of her wretched lies, just as an onryō would cast destruction upon anything in its path.

—

The sound of Mizu clearing his throat caught your attention momentarily, chin tilting up to size him up as he stood upright from the rock. He gently nudged his sword off to the side to lay flat against the small slivers of snow still scattered around the thawed clearing to which you two had set a fire, making sure it was aligned well before stepping away to a tunneling pit of shadows gated between the lines of bleak trees.

You cocked your head to the side in confusion, seeking for the samurai to elaborate on his sudden relocation elsewhere. Mizu sighed, clarifying as to not worry you too much.

“I..need to bathe. There’s a nearby lake past the trees, and it’s not too far off. Call my name if you’re in danger.”

“Ah, alright Mizu. Just be careful alright?”

He swiftly nodded, sliding out the orange glasses from the inner lapel of his kimono as he neatly folded the two pieces over the other in a high click, before gently positioning it on top of the rock so it wouldn’t fall. Noticing your eyes fixed on him, Mizu huffed out as he fought back the urge to roll his eyes, since he knew full well you only looked at him like that when he was forgetting something.

“Ugh, what is it?”

“You’re forgetting something, my sweet samurai.”

Mizu fought back the groan threatening to push past his lips, yet suppressing the smile that clashed against it as well in his overriding internal conflict between annoyance and adoration. How could he possibly deny the woman he loved a gesture of affection? He leaned down, pecking his lips against your temple in a quick, chaste kiss as he stood back up, pursing his lips at your satisfied expression.

“Happy?”

“Very much so, enjoy your bath. But don’t be out for too long. Heard that you’ll wrinkle up if you do.”

As Mizu headed off, you were left alone with your thoughts once more in the gentle pit of silence, nothing but nature’s whistles humming along the sunset brightening the distant snow leaving you at peace with your own mind as a sanctuary in Mizu’s absence. Of course, the first question that had came to your mind was one that would be widely questioned had anyone known of your relationship with him. Why hadn’t he made a move in you or engaged in any intimate acts upon you professing your love to the samurai?

You knew that a man was only so strong, that he couldn’t fight back his urges for so long especially in the presence of a woman whom he loved. So Mizu’s abstinence came as quite the surprise. Was he embarrassed? Inexperienced? Or perhaps he simply had no interest in sex. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. By now, many would have made love when mentioning the prospect of a kiss alone, so his behavior was fairly strange to you.

Yet you couldn’t judge him for it, you did love him after all. But part of you did desire that level of intimacy with him, even if it wasn’t sex, seeing him bare or holding him with no clothing separating your bodies interrwining would be nice at the very least.

You adored every part of the seemingly ruthless man you had grown attached to, his low voice softening every time he spoke to you, his thin, yet well built frame wrapped around yours when you slept. And of course you wouldn’t dare leave out the part anyone else would’ve deemed impure, even Mizu himself.

The violent maelstrom of crashing tides that eased to a calm shore upon softening, a beautiful storm of bright blue that stabbed into the cruel world with hatred, yet protected you in their touch as their own personal home.

His eyes were the most beautiful part of him, despite the hatred that arose at the hands of his impurity evident on sight.

What you presumed to be several minutes passed in slow accordance with the breeze batting your cheek, worry bubbling up within you, thoughts cluttered in an unending rush of potential scenarios that could’ve unfortunately doomed your lover during his time alone, as he had been gone for quite some time. Well over how long it would usually take to bathe.

Taking a deep breath to push back your initial fear of what you might see, you rose up to your feet in moments, slowly treading through the pathway between the array of thick branches of wood as every crunch of your footsteps rang out in a noise that seemed to slow down with each step forward. You peeked into the area, hearing the swishing streams of the waterfall spilling into the lake in a hushed white noise that calmed you.

Unable to see Mizu anywhere in your swift search, the overwrought panic took over your instincts in the heat of a moment in which you thought you would slam into the face of danger, darting in as you skidded to a halt as the sharp point of a long branch barely poked inches away from your jugular.

Quickly, that panic made way for a series of perplexed emotions overtaking you in seconds, questioning if you were hallucinating at the sight of a nude woman before you, glistening in drops of water dribbling down her body as her chest heaved up and down, likely equally as panicked as you. Not only that, her face resembled that of Mizu’s in an eerily similar fashion, everything down to the thick eyebrows crowning her blue irises matching the man you were with.

It didn’t take you long to notice. At all. Your lover was a woman under the impression of a man, tucking away her identity from the world in fear of ending up dead or worse. Especially with her goals being made easier, even with the factor of her mixed heritage under a more masculine demeanor. Oddly enough, you could empathize with her on a level of what she had been put through. Of course, you were a woman yourself, so you knew what it was like in this patriarchal society.

Mizu only froze up in shame, her breaths shallow in anxious fear as she backed away from you. She had never wanted you to see her like this, she didn’t want you to see even more of her shame, what she had hidden from you for so long. Her lies that could have done away with your relationship by now, as you had been wallowing in the falsehood that was your relationship. A demon couldn’t love, only deceive. That’s what she had been taught about herself, that’s all she knew.

“I’m..sorry..” was all she could muster the courage to choke out, her bottom lip dragging between her teeth to hide away her cracking voice to keep up the emotionless front.

However you didn’t find yourself straying away from the attraction toward Mizu…the strange sensations built up only growing stronger in a desire to hem her in yout grasp. Was it because you understood the struggles of being a woman? Or rather you truly were able to line your eyes along the beauty of her sharp features in a more feminine sense instead.

Whatever it was, you truly didn’t mind. In fact, you felt yourself far more infatuated with your lover than before, chest locking up at the sight of her enchanting form alone, as she was ethereal—out of the question for someone as beautiful as her to be in this world.

You were unable to tear your eyes away from Mizu in the fostered tension of her heavy breaths, quivering with the ache of unshed tears. Her body slowly shrinking back from you if you had done so much as lift a finger closer to her, the life practically draining from her face right before your eyes.

Shallow exhales racked the palpable silence hanging in the darkening sky, the gentle pale glow of the moon caressing her face making Mizu seem all the more unreal to you, like the spirit of a woman described in legends in a trance of captivating beauty. The way gleams of moonlight accentuated her features in a light shine brightening slivers of her thin, muscular body, capturing her as an almost ethereal being who didn’t belong on land, but rather in a sort of heaven that encompassed her beauty.

To put it simply, you were more enthralled by the fact that she was a woman instead of a man, drawn in further by not only her appearance, but the acknowledgment of her struggles as a searing wound in the vile society the two of you resided in. Perhaps everyone saw such a woman as a demon, for they couldn’t fathom her gorgeous features, that clearly proved too much for mortal eyes to behold.

Before Mizu could even open her mouth to justify her actions, scrambling together to apologize for her lies in the presence of her demonic nature that she had the misfortune of existing in—you quickly shoved your index finger against her darkened lips, soaked from the wash of the waterfall continuing to cascade down into the lake in quick rushes. Your eyelids lowered to take in her complexion as you leaned in nose to nose with her, the droplets of water brushing over you like a gift from her body to yours, while Mizu’s expression remained stunned with the way you held yourself up to her willingly. Not disgusted, nor disappointed by her lie, yet rather further reeled into the temptation of love itself.

“Mizu..”

“(Name)..?”

Your breath against her remained as cool as the harsh winds of winter, yet tranquil enough to ease her into relaxing herself under your touch. Carefully trailing your fingers up her arms in little skips along her wet skin, you somehow eased the swordsman into your touch as her body loosened into your arms like the sap of a tree. Melting into your touch in a deep lean with your skin to her nearing that of a sedative, which she could fall asleep safely to.

Every moment you spent drawing the patterns of your hands over her arms like a painting she never wanted to wash off, you silently flickered your gaze over to her lips, eyes flitting to meet hers in the warmth of cerulean softened in the comfort of your touch on her body. Lips drawing closer and closer each time, a surge of elation sparked through you once Mizu leaned in, in time with your own lips. Signaling to you in silence that you are in fact what she wanted, internally grateful in an overwhelming spill of emotions filled within her at the fact that you could accept her for who she is.

The sensation of her your lips hugged to hers ignited the heat of trust linking her heart with another, the desire to remain close to you flaring up once more, as that feeling had been left untouched for so long in the frozen over ridges of her affection and trusted, gated away for so long in a thick barrier of ice. Which now, your love had thawed away, allowing you—no, giving a piece of herself to you to which she could finally be vulnerable.

The waterfall spread to the land skirted around it was frozen over entirely, everything down to the earth covered in snow on the side icy to the touch. Yet despite the often avoided conditions the two of you had found yourself in, the warmth of your bodies fit together was strangely enough to keep you not only hot, yet alive. Flaring with the flames of passion roaring within you as it wasn’t long before you hovered above your lover flat against a slanted, smooth rock buried within the snow, Mizu’s back flush to the cold stone.

“Fuck..”

Her blue eyes buried themselves into your brain from the way she looked up at you, heavy lidded and lips parted in short breaths as you withdrew yourself from the kiss. The look in her eyes alone, that same deep storm in her eyes would for sure be a sight you would commit to memory, grasp dug into your nape as her stoic demeanor was long gone from your touch roaming along her skin, squeezing at her bare hips to which she hummed through her sealed lips.

For certain, this was the woman whom you loved. It would take an army of soldiers to pry you out of her arms and rip you to shreds if it meant being away from her. The sight of her sprawled out bare for you—exposed to your touch, practically waiting for your hands caress her all over affectionately in a plea to the gods that there truly was someone that loved her in this world. Your breath hitched at her foot nudging up against the back of your knee, her eyes still beholding that same glint that made her seem utterly intoxicated from the way you ran your hands over her.

“Can I? Please, Mizu?” You pleaded, hands resting on the inside of her thighs to gentle roll apart the minimal fat on her bones to expose her cunt glistening between her legs.

Her eyes fixed on you intently with each move you had made along her body, surprised at your touches carefully brushing every part of her body as if it was a sacred temple you served to worship. Handling even your kisses along her stomach with the utmost care, occasionally looking up at her for an affirmation of sorts. Catching her breath hitched in her throat from the unfamiliar sensation of this extent of adoration, Mizu quickly rested a hand on the back of your head, delivering you a nod of affirmation to your delight.

Sweet fans of air grazed along her heat as your eyes remained focused on the dampened folds of her cunt spread for you, tracing your middle finger up her slit as a trial as Mizu lulled her head back along the cool flat of the rock in compliance, surrendering over the most intimate parts of herself a promise while she bit back the noises crawling up her throat upon feeling your finger slip past her folds into the moistened velvet caging your fingers.

She was soaked, likely from the buildup of her arousal alongside the aftermath of her bath from earlier. As if her washing herself off was futile by now, the anticipation nervously pooling within her coated her body in a thin layer of sweat with each experimental touch of yours, sheathing your finger into her pussy with caution as you glanced up at Mizu’s face, twisted in pleasure for any signs of discomfort.

Although it wasn’t the first time she had done this, the way you continued to check on her through the overwhelming bliss of your digit curling into her spongy walls sure felt like it was. Mizu only struggled to contain the gasps that fell from her swollen lips as she felt the unexpected drag of your tongue pressed against the velvet of her clit as she writhed beneath you, close-mouthed low moans buzzing against her throat as you latched onto the bundle of nerves between her thighs with each curl of your fingers.

Her cunt left you drunk at her mercy as you lapped away hungrily at the taste seeping onto your tongue, accompanying the gradual increase in volume of her moans while her hips bucked up driving you further into the depths of a haze that caught even Mizu in the whirlwind of your touch. Your fingers continued to stutter their movements in the flurry of your onslaught against her pussy, the taste of her slick smeared across your lips growing far too intoxicating for you to multitask in the blur of you own arousal, Mizu’s gasps pitched to outright lewd moans as you eased your ring finger past her folds as well.

The samurai squirmed in the overwhelming sensations coursing through every vein in her body, her fibers tinged with the feel of your fingers lodged inside her as her walls clamped around your digits like a vice keeping you inside her. Her sharp breaths squeaked out of her alongside the endless stream of whimpers that fell from her lips, quivering against your thrusts as your lips pressed up her torso in a trail of fire. Nose tickling along her let down hair, you smiled as you took the time to brush any strands off her body, lips wrapping around any skin you could land your mouth on across her.

Mizu’s eyes rolled to the back of her head in the strangled chorus of her moans, squeezing them shut as her throat began to run dry from the pressure you exerted onto her chest, free hand palming her right breast while your lips wrapped around the other. Her heart rapidly thumped against her chest in heavy beats as both your fingers sheathing in an out of her, as well as your added stimulation to her chest drove her insane. She had never once been able to bask in the comfort of anyone loving her this much, willing to hang on for dear life even if it was the last thing they did.

Both of you were so deeply coiled up within one another, entwined to the point where seperating you both would be out of the question, the raw passion of the moment embedding a deep crest of each other, worn on both of your hearts with pride. Echos of what you invoked within each other, the enticing fervor of a love so deep it could span across the realm of the god, sever any blade that tried to cut through it whether it was a well trained samurai or the shogun himself.

“You’re so beautiful..do you know that?” You murmured against her tit, tenderly sinking your fingers back in to barely graze along the cavern of her g-spot.

Mizu’s nails dug deep crescents into your bare shoulders, her whines now knowing no end as they drawled out of her like an infinite melody, her hips rolling against your hips quicker to keep up with the pace you set when you pushed them into her while gradually speeding up. Her moans caught up in her throat as small slips of tears streamed down her cheeks, her words coming out as messy sobs that cracked with your thrusts stuffing her full.

“Fuck, I- ah-! (Name)..I love- haah-! Love you so much..” she sobbed, not bothering to speak any more besides those words as her moans did enough in expressing it all.

You smacked your lips away from her glistening breast as your feverish lips pressed to her cheek in assurance, knowing that she was vocal during sex as you could see now, yet not one to talk to convey her feelings. Your lips continued to work along her exposed throat, feeling her whimpers and whines vibrate against your lips with each kiss you planted to her neck.

“I love you too..”

Almost in the blink of an eye, it wasn’t long before her hips jerked in the burn of your fingers stretching her open, stuttering against you inside her. The steady pace of your fingers slowly subsided to a stop as her juices spilled to decorate your fingers, heavy drawn out breaths ringing in your ears as Mizu clung to you for dear life upon reaching her climax.

Wordlessly, she dragged you on top of her as she held you tight to her chest, the same guarded embrace which she always fell asleep to you with as her eyes grew heavy from the exhaustion of your intense experience.

You gently brushed her hair out of her face at the sight of the feared samurai laying below you, open and willing to welcome you into her arms as a rare sight. About to nearly fall asleep in your arms, you recalled how greatful you were to have her in your life, embracing her with all your heart. Whatever she wanted, whatever you wanted in your life amidst the darkness and ache stabbed into this world, the thick aftermath lingering in the air proved that all you needed was each other.

Truly, you believed that the gods were in your favor, as Mizu was a blessing you couldn’t forsake.

A/N: OKAY I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST YESTERDAY BUT IT GOT LATE AND I FELL ASLEEO BEFORE I COULD WRITE THE SECOND HALF HOLY SHIT anywayyyy I like how this one turned out yippee

@fairexy78 eat now dinner’s ready

Yippee I might post again later today or double post Saturday and Sunday if I’m up to it because I planned to post this yesterday and another fic today omg

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lost-st4rs · 2 months ago

Text

Posting this here as well in case any of you don’t have an ao3 account :) NOT BETA READ BTW so try to ignore any mistakes I might’ve missed!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64942672

Bendystraw Debt Collector AU

4,620 words

Cuphead jumps forward, rolling low to the sleek wooden ground of the stage, then ducks as a thin razor-sharp blade swooshes above his head, slightly grazing his straw. He jumps up onto a floating cloud platform just as his opponent — a nutcracker — charges forward with a thin sword.

He is so close this time to actually getting their contract. This nutcracker isn’t even the main boss, he’s just one of the goons of the actual debtor, which is an annoying porcelain ballerina. Cuphead rolls his eyes at the thought of her. But he can’t take his focus off of the fight right now, not when he’s so close to the last phase. Cuphead fires at the nutcracker, ever slowly chipping away at his sturdy wood.

Just as the nutcracker falls to the ground in defeat, strings come down from the roof and attach and tie themselves onto Cuphead’s arms tightly. The red cup groans in discomfort. This is the part he’s having trouble with… These strings limit his movement and sometimes he isn’t even in control, letting the ballerina get a few good hits in.

“OHOHOHOHOHO!” Cuphead grimaces as a shiny porcelain ballerina gracefully descends from above the roof, a devilish smile adorning her sleek white face. She lands on the floor but doesn’t give the cup teen a moment to prepare for her attack. Here we go again…

…

Cuphead tsks painfully while dabbing a damp cloth on his bruised arm. Rina really didn’t hold back this time around… He hates that ballerina so much. He’ll try to get her contact some other time, he can’t handle her cruel taunting today, or ever. Cuphead finishes up by wrapping a bandage around his already severely cracked arm. That’ll hold the pieces together until they fully heal.

Cuphead stands to his feet from the log he was sitting on and treks into the forest. This is one of the more peaceful areas on this island, where Cuphead could finally catch a break and bandage up from a fight. He’d been going at it all day ever since he got here two days ago. Cuphead reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out two slightly torn contracts. So far though, he’s been unsuccessful in collecting these new debtors' contracts, only racking up two out of the twenty-eight he needs to collect before the month ends.

The teen puts the contracts back into his pocket and kicks a rock on the small dirt trail while grumbling frustrated to himself.

The Devil might’ve warned the debtors that he was coming. That bastard. Oh well. He’ll defeat them all the same, just like he did a few years ago back in Inkwell Isles.

Cuphead grimaces at the mention of his home, stopping in his tracks momentarily. He shoves his hands into his pockets and continues on the dirt trail, glaring at the ground.

The trees and bushes open up into a clearing where a little village is. This is where Cuphead would stock up on supplies and get some well deserved sleep occasionally (if he had any money to spare for a night at the motel). Cuphead approaches the quaint village, walking straight to Porkrind’s Emporium. Seriously though, Cuphead thinks to himself, it’s like this guy’s shop is everywhere. How does he do it?

“Damn, ya look like shit, Cup.” Cuphead shoots the pig a glare, but the older isn’t at all intimidated by the teen. “Healing potions again?” Cuphead nods. “Yer’ quiet today, bad fight?” The pig turns his back to grab two healing potions, he then turns back to the counter and places them on it, opening his hand for the coins. Cuphead doesn't give Porkrind an answer as he hands the pig four gold coins. The red cup gives the older a nod before promptly leaving. “Tch, teenagers.”

It’s not like he hates Porkrind, it’s just that it’s none of his business. Also, since when did that guy care? Cuphead scoffs to himself.

Since he just purchased two healing potions for the price of four coins, Cuphead can’t exactly afford a room at the motel. Dammit… But surviving is better than comfortability so he definitely made the right decision. But, if only he had Mugm-… No, actually, he’d rather not finish that thought. He can handle himself. He doesn’t need someone else to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. Not anymore. He’s sixteen now and that means he’s mature and serious.

But anyway, the game plan for finding a place to sleep — he has no idea. Actually, he does have one but it doesn’t sound too fun… Cuphead thinks back on to last night when he camped out in the forest. He’d been abruptly woken up to bugs in his head, crawling in there for a midnight drink. Eugh… He shivers just thinking of it. But does he really have a choice? Cuphead sighs, but just as he’s about to go back into the forest…

“Hey, you brat, if ya needed a place to stay ya could’a just asked.” Cuphead turns to see Porkrind leaning at the door of his shop with his arms crossed. The teen thinks to himself for a moment, thinking it over. “Get over here before I change my mind.” Cuphead quickly nods and rushes to the shop, following the pig inside. “I’ve got some sleeping bags in the back, don’t get ‘em dirty.” The teen nods and heads toward the back of the shop.

“… Thanks, Porkrind.” Cuphead disappears into the back of the shop before the older can grumble out a ‘you’re welcome’.

Cuphead takes out a sleeping bag and lays it down onto the floorboards. It is surprisingly cushiony, which is a plus. The teen lets out a small grin, sliding in the sleeping bag he closes his eyes and rests his head against the soft pillow. Maybe Porkrind does care after all. The red cup drifts off to sleep fairly quickly, giving into exhaustion from today’s battles.

—

Cuphead is up and early in the morning, he doesn’t wanna burden Porkrind any further than he already has so he leaves before the pig notices and goes on to battle the next debtor.

Cuphead stops at the gate of a big mansion, looking down at his map to make sure that this was the right place. He looks back up and stuffs the map into his pocket then enters.

…

Surprisingly, that fight with the spooky ghosts was easier than Cuphead had originally anticipated. It was just like when he freed Ms. Chalice at the Mausoleums all those years back, he just had to perry them. And now he’s got three contracts! Not bad.

Cuphead travels to the next one, which is a four group of hedgehog thieves. Eh, ‘should be easy ‘nuff.

… Is what an IDIOT would think.

Cuphead plucks out a big quill from his hip, his eyes watering as he did so. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and heaves in a breath to prepare himself to pluck out another quill from his arm. Thankfully, he found most of the pieces from his porcelain, so these wounds will heal in no time.

Those hedgehogs do not go down easily…

He was so close to defeating them, though! Once he heals up he’ll get right back into battle and get those damn hedgehog’s contracts. It’s personal now. Cuphead downs his healing potion, his wounds instantly healing up and his body feeling like brand new. The teen stands up and walks back into the den in the ground.

“Hey, guys! The little teacup wants some more of our fury!” The blue hedgehog says and the others laugh along with him. Cuphead’s eye twitches at the stupid nickname.

“Let’s show him that we won’t go down so easy!” The pink one adds.

“C’mon, fight us!” The white one says after her.

“I hate you guys.” The black one says.

They all corner Cuphead, quills in hand. But this time Cuphead knows their dirty tricks and goes for the white hedgehog, tackling him to the ground harshly. The pink hedgehog immediately goes to help but Cuphead uses the white one as a shield.

“H-Hey! Let me go! That’s no fair!” Cuphead smirks and throws him at the pink hedgehog. Knocking them both out cold on impact.

The blue hedgehog charges at Cuphead while rolled up in a ball, knocking Cuphead into the wall. But he knows better than to sit around for too long. Cuphead ducks down when he sees the black one charge at him with a quill like a sword, but the quill gets stuck in the wall. Cuphead kicks the black one in the stomach as hard as he can while they’re distracted and they fall to their knees clutching their stomach tightly. Cuphead grabs him by the scuff and twirls around and around and around, picking up speed like a mini tornado he throws the black hedgehog to the pile with the white and pink hedgehogs.

Cuphead huffs, trying to catch his breath before finishing off the leader of their small group, said leader is the blue hedgehog that is currently cowering in fear before the red cup. Cuphead heaves in a few ragged breaths then goes into a fighting stance, his eyes filled with determination.

“You-!!” The blue hedgehog charges at Cuphead with his special move that he calls a ‘spin dash’ but Cuphead stays in place and catches the speedy blue spiked ball heading his way. It burns, it hurts, but this is the only way to defeat this last one. Cuphead groans, the dash pushing him back but he stays grounded, digging his feet in the soil he pushes back. Push back. Cuphead‘s hands start to bleed through the yellow fabric of his gloves. Don’t stop. His knees feel weak. But he’s stronger. Cuphead tightens his grip on the spiked ball and he pushes it down into the soil. It digs into the ground and when the hedgehog stops spinning, he’s stuck.

Why isn’t Cuphead shooting at them? Oh, well, he learned the hard way that his gun doesn’t work on them because of their armour (quills), so now he’s resorted to dirty tricks.

Cuphead backs away and stares at his bloody hands. He just sucks in a sharp breath and gulps. He lets his hand out in front of the hedgehog stuck in the dirt. The blue one just growls, but he knows he’s lost this fight so he just gives in.

“Just take it!” Cuphead smirks and reaches into the hedgehog’s quills carefully so as to not scratch up his hands even more than they already are. He takes the contract and stuffs it into his pants pocket.

“This teacup-“ Cuphead huffs, “can fight like a *%#$@“ He huffs again, “jerk.” Cuphead walks away, leaving the blue hedgehog in the ground as payback for calling him a teacup and ruining his hands.

—

“Geez, kid. Ya’ really ruined yer’ damn hands fer’ a couple of petty thieves?” Cuphead glares at Porkrind as he finishes drinking a healing potion.

“They had contracts. They weren’t just any petty thieves.”

“Still, they should’a been nothin’ to ya’ with those weird powers of yers.” Porkrind crosses his arms, giving what Cuphead would only recognize as a look of disappointment mixed with worry. Cuphead waved him off.

“Eh, I ain’t too worried ‘bout it. ‘Sides, it didn’t even work on ‘em. Their stupid dumb quills protected ‘em from the blasts.” Cuphead grumbled as he bandaged up his hands.

“You really have no self preservation…”

“It keeps me alive.” Cuphead says and Porkrind’s face contorts into one of worry. Cuphead rolls his eyes, tightening the bandages on his palms to keep himself distracted from the older man’s concerned look in his eyes.

“It’ll be the thing to get you dead.” Cuphead pauses and he looks up, but the pig has his back turned, washing some bottles in a bucket. Cuphead looks off to the side. No, it won’t, Cuphead thinks to himself and his brows furrow. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “Well, get goin’ to another debtor.” Porkrind sighs, “I’ve got healin’ potions galore fer’ you here when ya get back.” Cuphead nods even though the other can’t see him and he hops off of the bar stool and exits the tiny shop.

It went on like that for the whole day and then the days after that. Cuphead collecting more contracts one by one. Some of the bosses were more difficult than others, and then the next is easier than the rest. He’s still having trouble with Rina Balleta… She plays dirty, okay? More so than Cuphead himself when he’s in a tough spot.

But he’s been able to successfully rack up a total of seven whole contracts in that time! He’s going to clear this island’s debtors in no time. And then he’ll finally be able to fix everything.

However… there’s one thing that just wasn’t adding up… Some of the debtors he didn’t even beat up were already defeated. Which was… odd. To say the least. Cuphead is supposed to be the only debt collector here from what he knows. Did the Devil send out another? Why would he do that when he knows Cuphead needs all twenty-eight to get his end of their deal?

It’s almost the end of the day, and the sun is already starting to set. Every debtor he comes across has already been defeated. This crab better not have gotten a visit from that damn thief.

Cuphead walks up to a defeated gigantic crab stuck on his side in the sand with his little crab goons laying down beside him. Cuphead clenches his fist tightly, his cup fuming until he finally bursts into a rageful fit of anger. He kicks a seashell into the ocean then picks up a tiny crab and throws it into the water as well. But then immediately regretting it because that poor crab didn’t deserve that. He slumps down to the sand with his elbows on his knees and his hand cupping his face.

“Are you angry that you didn’t get my contract first?” Cuphead doesn’t answer, he just stays glaring at the sand with his head steaming. “That demon boy took it if you’re wondering. We debtors hadn’t anticipated another debt collector coming to help you.” Cuphead snapped his head up at that.

“Help me? No, it’s the opposite! I need all those contracts! All twenty-eight! And he’s stealing them!” Cuphead stands up while shouting at the gigantic crab. But the crab doesn’t react which only makes Cuphead fume even more. “Say something!” The crab just stares at the teen silently. Cuphead grits his teeth and he just gives up and starts walking away from the crab.

“You’d better be careful when facing that demon, he’s a sneaky one.” Cuphead continues to walk away without as much as a second glance at the giant creature.

He’ll keep searching, even if it’s the last thing he’ll do. Porkrind won’t be too happy that Cuphead is going yet another night without rest, but that pig isn’t his dad. Cuphead doesn’t have anyone, he can do what he wants.

—

Cuphead approaches a flower field where The Tulip Trio was supposed to be, but there they lay on the grass, defeated, heaving and huffing with their petals scorched and burned. Hm. The teen approaches the flowers to which they flinch and cower beneath him when they see the angry scowl on his face upon seeing them.

“We don’t have it!”

“Yeah! We really don’t!”

“The other guy already took it!”

Cuphead furrows his brows. “The other guy?” He asks, stomping on one of the triplet’s leaves and they shriek under his intimidating glare.

“The demon boy!”

“The one who fights with blue flames!”

“The Ink Demon!”

Cuphead lifts his foot off of their leaf, the beaten tulips sighing in relief when he does so. The Ink Demon… Cuphead puts a hand to his mouth as he thinks to himself. He doesn’t know if he wants to face this guy who’s stealing his contracts. No matter how mad he may be. He doesn’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to demons.

“Thank you.” He says finally then he departs into the forest from where he came from.

“You’re most welcome!”

“You’d better show that no-good demon what’s what!”

“You have to! Oh, you just have to!”

Cuphead rolls his eyes. They don’t have to tell him twice. He’ll find that bastard stealing his contracts.

But, for right now, he so desperately needs to rest. Walking all day around the whole island without sleeping for days is really taking its toll on his body, and he’s not sure about how long he can stay awake. The cup walks through the forest, fighting to stay awake, his eyes fluttering close every second or so but he wills them to stay open for a little longer.

Ah, hell. Whatever. He’ll just take a nap right here. No one is around. Cuphead lowers his body down to the lush grass and rests his back against a tree, his legs finally giving out to exhaustion. The teen lets out a laboured sigh and his shoulders release their tension. A little nap wouldn’t hurt… Just for… for… a few… minutes… Cuphead’s eyes flutter close and in a second he’s off in dreamland.

—

A demon with a sharp tail and horns emerges from some thick bushes, stepping over them carefully. He looks back from where he had come from and his expression sours. He looks down at the contract in his hand and his gaze softens. The demon clenches the contract tightly in his fist, stuffing it into his vest and going on his merry way, probably to deal with another debtor.

Another one down, only a dozen many more to go. He'd honestly lost count at this point.

It was strange though, some of the debtors had already been dealt with. No one but him should be the only contract collector on this island. The demon hummed in thought. Or perhaps someone else — another debt collector like him — was here unbeknownst to him.

As the demon walked along, he observes the lavish green forestry all around him. Tree’s shading him from the warm sun rays from above, it's comforting light seeping through the tree’s leaves. The grass and moss like a soft carpet with each step he took. It’s peaceful, calming. Quiet with the exception of the birds chirping and regular forest noises. This type of scenery never gets old.

The demon passes by a thick tree, looking to his left, he sees someone laying down beside a tree. He keeps walking- WAIT… He stops dead in his tracks. Then he slowly walks backwards to take another look. The demon hides himself behind the thick tree and peeks an eye out, his tail swishing lightly behind him with keen interest.

A cup boy who looks to be about his age is sitting down leaning his back against a tree while resting peacefully. He looks… exhausted. And pretty beaten up, If his rugged clothes and bruised up face were anything to go by. They’re stained with mud and grum, tethered with small rips and holes in his baggy black sweater and red shorts.

The demon cocks his head to the side, curious of this strange yet intriguing cup boy. Their guard is down, and they could easily get jumped by a debtor in the area if he wasn’t careful.

The demon emerges from his hiding spot and quietly approaches the cup, being careful at watching where he steps. He kneels down to take a closer look at him. Now that was a view to behold, he thought to himself. The boy was pretty attractive, one might even say cute or handsome. The demon watches their steady breathing, chest rising up and down in a slow and steady motion. Now taking a closer look he can see visible dark circles under the other’s eyes.

Is he staring too much and for too long?

…

This is probably really weird to see in an outsider perspective. But the demon can’t really find it in himself to care.

The boy grumbles, furrowing his eyebrows, he yawns, putting a hand to his mouth and slowly blinking as he stirs awake.

Oh no, this isn’t good.

He could run away right now… but this boy has piqued his interest in a way no one has before in a long while. So, he decides to stay still as the other wakes up. The red cup rubs the tiredness from his eyes and sits up straight, then he freezes, tensing right up as soon as he sees the demon in front of him and waaay too close for comfort. The demon grins.

“Mornin’.” The boy backs up into the tree as if the other was going to attack him. Ah, it’s because he’s a demon, right? Made sense, that’s usually the response the demon got whenever someone saw him. Or that reaction was because he is uncomfortably close. That too. Perchance.

The boy stays completely still, not daring to move even an inch. He shifts a bit and the demon notices some familiar looking yellowed paper peeking out from their pants pockets. Contracts. Ohh… It’s all so clear now. This is that Cuphead kid the Devil warned the demon about before he arrived on this island.

“Wh-who’re you?” Cuphead aimed his finger like a gun at the demon. A vibrant blue energy radiating from his fingertip. The demon’s pie-cut eyes widen a bit at that. Things just got even more interesting! The demon grins widely and the red cup glares at him.

“Ya’ don’t know me? Now, that’s interestin’. I’m pretty well known ‘round these parts.” The demon responded casually, resting his hand against the side of his face, taking no mind at the gun currently being pointed at his face.

“Answer the question.” The other teen’s serious gaze sharpens and the blue glow from his fingertip shines even brighter, the raw energy crackling quietly almost like thunder. Fascinating!

“Now, now. Don’t get so feisty, sunshine. I'll tell ya, alright? I’m Bendy. The Ink Demon as some like to call me.” The demon toon offered his hand out for a handshake, Cuphead tenses up, staying in place like a statue. “Tough crowd, huh?” Bendy retracts his hand back.

Then, Cuphead’s eyes widens at the title ‘The Ink Demon’. This is the guy who’s been stealing his contracts! The one who the tulips and crab were talking about! But suddenly any emotion is quickly swept away from his face as he processes what the demon had just called him.

“…Sunshine??” Cuphead gives the intruder a puzzled and unamused look, and if you really looked close enough, you could see that he is slightly blushing. Aw, how cute, Bendy thinks to himself, grinning.

Bendy hums. “Yep! ‘Cause yer just an absolute ray of sunshine.” Cuphead gives a ‘really?’ look at the other. However, the demon’s grin just gets wider at that. This is more entertaining than it probably should be. Bendy giggles and Cuphead seems like he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the teasing joke.

“Why are you… here?? No, wait, lemme rephrase that. Why were you watchin’ me sleep?” Bendy stands up to his feet and Cuphead tenses up again, the energy from his finger going ablaze once more.

“Relax, toots. I’m not gonna hurt cha’.” Cuphead doesn’t ease up. He doesn’t trust him. “I only needed this. Nothing more, nothing less.” Bendy lifts his arm with a contract in hand. Cuphead stares for a second confused, then his face contorts into one of shock and he frantically searches his pockets. Empty… He looks back up and basically gives the demon toon a death glare.

“If looks could kill, haha!” Bendy jokes playfully. Cuphead stays silent.

“Give that back.” He cautiously stands up, still aiming his finger at the offending demon. Bendy puts his hands up, but doesn’t look at all threatened by the other teen.

“I don’t think I will, thank you.” He puts the contract in his vest pocket then melts into a puddle of ink into the forest floor. Cuphead stands there while staring bewildered at the ink puddle before him.

“Over here!” Cuphead snaps his head around, spotting the ink demon sitting on a branch from the tree he was resting against earlier. His gaze hardens and he fires at the demon, but the toon sinks into a puddle of ink again. Cuphead tsks, whipping his head around to try to figure out the other’s next move. He feels a tap on his shoulder from behind and spins around to see Bendy way too uncomfortably close for his liking. Again. Seriously what is with this guy?! Cuphead’s face grows warm and Bendy to barks out a laugh at that.

“Just wanted ta’ say goodbye before I go! It was nice meeting ya, Cuphead. I’m sure we’ll be seein’ each other again very soon.” Bendy gently takes hold of the red cup’s hand and KISSES it. That did it for the hotheaded cup and now his head is boiling over with little bubbles dripping down his head, too flustered to even utter a word as he stares at the Ink Demon baffled. Bendy just grins a big toothy smile then sinks into the ground for the last time. Disappearing in a second.

Cuphead stands there completely still. His head dizzy and swirling by how hot it was now.

The red cup holds the hand Bendy kissed and stares at it. His face getting redder and redder by the second as he replays the scene in his head over and over again. He glares at his hand and huffs. Stupid emotions… They made him lose a damn contract! Ugh, this is so stupid… HE is so stupid! How could he let that even happen in the first place??!

Cuphead shakes his head, trying to cool it off and trying to also push away any embarrassing thought that invades his brain. He wasn’t thinking straight. Okay, he’s definitely going to kill that guy. He doesn’t care if that douchbag isn’t on the list, when Cups gets his hands on him…

Cuphead grumbles, checking the contracts to see which one that damn Ink Demon had stolen from him.

“That debtor isn’t even a top grade… So why…?” He stands there puzzled. Cuphead could only wonder what that strange demon’s motives are.

Yeah, he’s definitely not sleeping outside again. He’s learned his lesson.

—

“Ya look a li’l out of it, Cup. What’s wrong?” Porkrind asks as he cleans a glass beer cup with a rag. Cuphead blinks and looks up at the pig when he’s taken out of his troubling thoughts. The pig raises an eyebrow as if asking his question again. Cuphead’s mind wanders to the… encounter.. he had with a certain demon a few hours ago. His face flushes a bright red and he swivels the bar stool around to hide his blushing face.

“N-nothing. It’s none of yer’ business.” Cuphead folds his arms across his chest. Porkrind gives the cup a skeptical look, but he doesn’t press the issue any further. He then mutters something under his breath about teenagers and how they’re complicated and then walks to the back of the shop.

…

Bendy walks towards the three tulips, his face emotionless and unmoving, so very different from his usual whimsical and teasing personality. He harshly stomps on one of the triplet’s petals and they shriek in pain and begin to cry.

“So…” He starts, a grin growing on his face as he glares down at the flowers, “Tell me more about this ‘Cuphead’ guy.”

————

Chapter 1 (You’re here!), Chapter 2,

#fanfic #fanfiction #my writings #my art #bendystraw #cendy #bendy x cuphead #cuphead x bendy #cuphead #bendy batim #Debt Collector AU

329 notes · View notes

lovings4turn · 1 month ago

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pairing: best friend!luke hughes x reader [1.6k]

becca's notes... and so the first chapter of 'the five signs that you're falling in love with your best friend!' is here ! this truly is the fic that's gotten me back into writing , and so i hope you like it just as much as i do <33

📰 series masterlist masterlist ⋆˚࿔ likes + rbs appreciated

‘A GOOD LISTENER’ is not exactly the first skill that luke would ascribe to himself if ever asked to do so. no, he’d probably produce something hockey related, thanks to all of the media training he’s received over the past year or so. a humble comment about his speed on the ice, or his ability to weave through opposing players like it’s nothing, mere child’s play.

and yet, luke always seems to hang on to your every word, absorbing each syllable and remembering even the smallest details that few others do.

not like it’s hard, he’d joked once, when you brought it up offhandedly. you never stop talking. it’s impossible not to pick things up when i’ve got a constant flow of your yapping in my ear. he’d earned a swat to the arm and a chastising tut for that comment, but it was more than worth it to see the faux pissed-off look that contorted your features for a couple of seconds.

still, for all of his joking, your comment still stands. luke does listen, he supposes. when it counts. or, really, when it’s you. he knows your favourite snack, for one, and the hundreds of fragments of gossip from your daily life that he insists you feed to him stick in his head like they’re pinned to a corkboard, red string mapping out every convoluted timeline that he manages to keep straight.

once, you’d brought up how you couldn’t stand the sound of obnoxious whistling. it was a passing comment, really, but luke’s ability to remember the mundane had come in handy when you’d accompanied luke to an outing with some other devils’ players a few weeks back.

the whole thing was nothing fancy, just a few casual drinks in a bar that was a little nicer than you were used to. the place was quiet enough that conversation could be had without shouting into one another’s ear and repeating ‘what?’ ten times over before resorting to smiling, nodding and hoping for the best.

you’re still not sure who exactly it was.

all you know is that someone on the new jersey devils has the god awful habit of whistling a tune to fill a break in conversation. you’d felt terrible at the time, recognising the way that your skin prickled with goosebumps at the ever so slightly shrill tone, because you knew that it wasn’t a conscious thing. no one was actively trying to piss you off, and so your anger felt unwarranted.

luke was all too familiar with your pet peeve, though, and noted how your finger had taken to circling the rim of your glass as you tried to block out the noise and immerse yourself into your conversation with dawson.

“knock it off, man,” luke had groaned, part in jest but tone firm enough for the culprit to know he was serious . “you’re gonna give me a headache. don’t even think you’re hitting the right tune.”

the whistler promptly stopped, and a subtle kick to your foot had confirmed what you already knew to be true. luke couldn’t have given a shit about the whistling, probably hadn’t even really noticed it, but he knew that you would be far too polite to voice that it was driving you up the wall.

he was graciously dubbed your knight in a baseball cap for three whole days after that.

funnily enough, it’s not even a conscious thing that he does. his brain just seems to process your voice more than others, like you’re a radio station he’s programmed to tune into by default. plus, it’s not his fault that you just so happen to make a good point every once in a while.

it’s approaching the warmer months, and luke can feel the way that his curls tickle the nape of his neck. the strands lay uncomfortably on his skin when they get even slightly damp, and sweat-soaked hair clinging to his skin isn’t exactly the most appealing sensation in the world.

in all honesty, luke can’t remember the last time he’d actually gotten a haircut. it has to have been a few months ago, at least, though he’s likely gone far longer without having someone take a pair of scissors to the mop of hair on his head. far more important things have been on his mind, sue him.

in a battle between his hockey career and the aesthetic status of his current hairstyle, luke knows what will top his list of priorities every single time. life is busy. he can live with overgrown curls for a few months, even if he is on the receiving end of pointed stares from you.

that’s not to say he won’t complain about it the entire time, though.

the aircon in your shitty little apartment isn’t the greatest. you know it, luke knows it, every single person who unfortunately visits your place in the summer knows it. repairs and maintenance are expensive, and as far as you’re concerned, there are way better things you can be spending your money on. really, what can air conditioning do that a couple of shitty, twenty dollar fans can’t?

a lot, luke realises, as he sits sprawled out on your sofa, limbs every which way, tortured by the way his hair feels the need to make its presence known against his warm skin. if he listened close enough, he’s sure he’d be able to hear the curls mocking him.

“i need to get my hair cut.”

there’s no question about it. it’s not like he’s asking for an opinion, or contemplating it. it’s a statement, something luke decides to speak out into the world as though merely saying the words aloud will arrange the appointment for him, chop the hair from his head themselves.

the way that you sharply turn your head away from the tv to face him catches him off guard. he would have made some snide comment about the lasting effects of whiplash if you weren’t already speaking.

luke presumes you’re going to scold him for talking, interrupting your precious showing of ‘13 going on 30’ despite the fact you’ve both watched this film together nearly twenty times over. what he doesn’t expect is to be met with a question.

“what? why?” you ask with a slight whine, something that’s likely a result of you growing tired, though you’ll never admit it. you never do.

your hand stretches out to toy with one of the longer strands of hair furling at his nape. considering the three in one you know he’s prone to using, despite your countless offers for him to please borrow your leave-in conditioner at least once, it’s surprisingly soft. the tawny strands curl around your finger like a ring custom made for your index.

luke doesn’t even question your touch. instead, he snorts in amusement.

you’re acting as though his desire to cut his hair, his hair, mind you, not yours, is a personal affront to you and everything that you stand for.

“why?” he echoes, raising a brow. “cause it’s annoying. i can feel it on my neck all the time. it’s itchy. i don’t want to be itchy when i’m trying to chill out.”

“it’s itchy,” you mock, face contorted and voice a few octaves too high to even remotely resemble that of luke’s. “christ, lukey, get a grip. barely even to your neck and you’re acting like there’s a whole fucking mane there. grow up.”

blunt honesty has always been your thing, so luke doesn’t even bat an eye at your lack of sympathy. he merely scoffs, his brows ticking upwards in a way that silently communicates ‘message received’.

“sorry, jeez. didn’t realise bitching about nothing was only okay when you do it,” he returns, voice dripping with sarcasm as he holds his hands up in mock surrender. “it’s just bothering me, that’s all i’m saying. ‘m way overdue to get it cut.”

you frown and tug lightly on his hair, payback for his teasing jab, before finally removing your hand from his scalp. luke almost whines at the loss, the sensation somewhat comforting to him.

“i like it long,” you observe casually, like luke’s heart doesn’t give a small stutter at your words. “think you suit it. don’t cut it.”

for playful emphasis, you pout out your lips, eyes softening into a look that’s part puppy dog and part sickening. luke doesn’t know how to react, forcing out a laugh.

“gross. don’t make that face at me,” he chides, reaching out to gently push your head backwards. it’s not rough, could never be. it’s as though his body can sense when you’re around, and loses it’s ability to be coarse and violent. “i’m gonna go bald just to spite you.”

“do it,” you laugh, poking at him with your toe. “i’d love to see the meltdown it’d cause all over twitter. you’d break hearts.”

the conversation spirals after that, but your words linger in luke’s mind. luke never does get around to booking that haircut. it’s definitely because the menial task keeps slipping his mind. your opinion holds no weight in the matter, no sir.

so, yeah. luke guesses he can be a good listener when he wants. and unfortunately for him, it’s the first sign he’s in too fucking deep.

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s writing #˙⋆✮ the 'five signs' series #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #lh43 x reader #lh43 x you #lh43 x y/n #lh43 fluff #lh43 fic #nhl x reader #nhl x you

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 5 months ago

Text

Beware the Wolf || Loki

A/n: I'm not entirely happy with the smut on this, but I pushed through somehow. One thing to remember while reading is that during the Goldberg scene, I used the way the manga depicts his lisp. Please enjoy.

Warning(s): arranged marriage au, gender-neutral reader, Charlotte Reader, Devil Fruit, family drama, sins of the mother, angst, distrust, teasing, dirty talk, understanding, size kink, losing control of ability, oral, rough sex. Words: 5,985.

Tag list: @marsilis @hoo-hoo @jj-ma26 @guillotine-enjoyer @whateverthought

No Minors Allowed!!

I should have known.

The attention is a dead giveaway, shoved down your throat like the island's best confectionery; so saccharine that it rots your common sense and infects your mind. Mama’s attention is a delicacy all her children crave. Including you. So when the truth comes out, you are irritated. Blaming yourself certainly will not soothe the pain, so you spare yourself the pity.

“Don't give me that sour look,” Big Mom orders. She leans forward in her candy-themed throne; the eyes of her Homies watch in silent glee as she chastises you. “Make yourself bigger. It's easier to talk to you that way.”

You suppress a sigh. Activating your Devil Fruit, you grow in height to an appropriate size for her, replacing your expression with a look of aloofness. While it is a useful power, you hate to use it like this. Height is no easy property to master, especially for something so mundane as preventing Mama from putting stress on her back.

“Are you certain it's me you want to do this?” You ask. “I'm not being ungrateful but there are far more suitable replacements.”

The Homies retort to spite you, uttering obscenities.

“Ungrateful shit.”

“Asshole.”

You could be both; you honestly want to be. The temptation to bare your teeth at the woman who controls your life like a puppet on a string is almost too hard to ignore. You are mad; you deserve to express yourself. But in the end, you opt to tuck tail. Disobedience will cost your soul. You slide your hand behind your back, clenching it into a fist. Hopefully, Mama will reconsider, but her mind is set.

“There certainly are, but none I care to expend,” she simply states.

You tighten your jaw. Of course. Expendable; that's an appropriate word for what you are.

“I understand,” you lie. Your Haki gives away your annoyance, however.

Big Mom raises a curious brow, then leans forward in her seat again. The air in the room suddenly feels heavy as her menacing presence swallows you like quicksand. It is almost hard to breathe.

“You do understand the importance of this union, don't you? I won't settle for another setback, not after the amount of groveling I had to do to that stubborn king.”

You understand. But why must you be the one to suffer? You have an island to tend to, a responsibility as a Minister. No, you do not wish marriage on any of your siblings, especially a loveless arranged marriage, but such is the fate of Mama's less-liked children.

Besides, as desperate as Big Mom is to have the power of the Giants beneath her finger, choosing you to bear the weight of a political union is ill-advised. You simply are not spouse material. She could offer better. Thinking badly of yourself puts a bitter taste in your mouth, but it's true. The Giants are going to see how lightly she is taking the union; they are not dumb, and again, she will suffer their scrutiny.

There is another reason, however, that you are against marriage to King Harald's youngest son.

“I do, but–”

“But what?” Big Mom interjects in annoyance.

Her Haki is so suffocating that you shrink back down to your normal height to show her that you mean no disrespect. Even the Homies cease their insufferable chattering. Would she understand your reasoning?

I'm not Lola.

Loki of Elbaph will not accept you. He had turned down Chiffon. You are certain he will do the same to you.

The irritated expression on Big Mom's face urges you to swallow your worries, however.

“Nothing, Mama. I'll leave for Elbaph in the morning.”

Big Mom smiles widely. Her Haki vanishes, a weight off your shoulders that makes you feel much better.

“Good, child. When you return in a week, a grand tea party will await you. Ma Ma Ma!”

You force a smile. A week. That is a lifetime in Hell for someone like you. But what does she care if you suffer for her? You are expendable after all.

–

It's comforting to know, during this stage of the trip, sailing east toward Elbaph, that you are not entirely alone. Mama, to ensure your safety, had sent two of your siblings with you.

The first, standing with you on the deck of the ship near the bow, you almost wish had just remained home. He will not leave you alone, even when it is clear that you are not entirely listening to him.

“You lickity better start listening to me if you don't want to disappoint Mama,” Persospero argues.

He gently thumps you over the head with his cane for the third time. You are tempted to roll your eyes, but to avoid being thumped again, you nod.

“I am listening, Brother Peros. You said to be as sweet as possible. Mind my Ps and Qs in front of the royal family. I plan to.”

He groans as though he is suspicious of you, but does not give a response. Lifting his cane, he gives it a taste. You curl your nose in response; germs must not be a word he is familiar with.

“And?”

You hum. And what? The clueless expression on your face makes him narrow his brown eyes.

“I knew you weren't lickity listening.”

He raises his sticky cane to thump you again, but a calm, yet serious voice interrupts him.

“Refrain from teasing our sibling too much. We're here.”

Katakuri ambles onto the deck from the bowels of the ship, joining you and Perospero near the bow. You give him a grateful nod, then turn to the eldest brother, sticking out your tongue as if to goad him. He simply glares and ignores you for the moment.

“I contacted the king in Warland. He will send an escort to meet us at the docks,” Katakuri mentions. “As instructed, we will remain here on the ship for the time being.”

You frown. There is the kicker. Neither of your brothers are allowed on the island. You will be alone, though, to an extent, you are sure. Katakuri would never let you go completely alone. You glance at him.

“Will I be able to contact you?”

“As if we'd trust you to behave yourself. Kukuku,” Perospero answers teasingly.

He removes a baby transponder snail from his coat and tosses it to you.

“If you need us, you can call us,” Katakuri adds.

You smile at him. It feels better to know that Katakuri will have your back, should you need him. Perospero not so much, but you are grateful to have him along for the trip regardless.

Moments later, the ship docks in Elbaph. What you see both shocks and awes you. It's something you will never forget. A colossal tree rests in the center of the island, growing high into the clouds; so high you can not see where it ends. At its base, near the center is a frozen forest, leading to a grassy plain that ends at the coast. You can make out a mountaintop castle in the forest, but not much else.

A dreadful silence fills the air, and then suddenly the heavy sound of footsteps meets your ears. You stiffen as a Giant emerges from the frozen forest, a woman with long blonde hair. She reaches the coast quickly and stands before the ship, gauging you and your brothers with a sharp expression. It almost feels like a showdown. The air is tense and it's obvious why.

You step forward, offering her your name and your hand. There is an obvious size difference, but it would be rude not to show her some respect. The woman stares at you a moment, as though she is unsure, then leans down and lifts out her finger. It's an awkward shake, but you are glad she recuperated.

“My name is Gerd. We should head on to the castle. My King requested to meet you.”

You understand. Turning to your brothers, you nod to show that you are ready. Katakuri says nothing, but the comforting look in his crimson eyes indicates that he believes in you. Perospero, on the other hand, appears less than enthusiastic.

“This is important. Don't you lickity mess it up.”

You consider flipping him the bird, but to give off a good impression in front of Gerd, you simply nod. There are no goodbyes exchanged, no loving words. The children of Big Mom do not express their care openly, but for once, you kind of wish both of them would have told you how much they appreciate you for not running when you could have. You certainly thought about it.

Departing from the ship down the gangplank, you join Gerd on the shore. She rests her hand on the ground and for a moment, you stare at her in uncertainty. Does she want you to–

“It will be faster for me to carry you to Warland. The bridges connecting the two regions are not suited for those smaller than the people of Elbaph,” Gerd explains.

You hum in understanding, but you still don't like it. Would it be appropriate to use your Devil Fruit instead? You can not directly match the height of a Giant, but she would not have to carry you. It would probably be best to ask the king first. In reluctance, you step up onto her hand, sitting down so that you don't make an ass out of yourself and fall.

Gerd slowly stands and begins to walk toward the tree. You can hear her footsteps as she enters the forest. The frozen air nips at your body, not yet accustomed to the weather, but she shields you with her hand in an attempt to keep the wind from reaching you.

“Thanks,” you say in appreciation.

She seems hesitant to speak to you. A deep uneasy sigh leaves her mouth, jostling your hair, but in the end, she gives in. Her sharp light blue eyes fall on you.

“This union most likely will not happen. After everything Linlin has done, I do not see my people welcoming you with open arms, least of all Prince Loki.”

At least she is honest. You understand, though. Years of bad blood can not easily be ignored. You do not know what made the Giants turn on Big Mom, but you know she is not as innocent as she claims.

“It's no problem if you don't,” you state. “Mama should let this one go, but she is desperate to create a utopia for all races to live in peace together. I'm not sure why it's so important to her, but as her child, I have to at least try.”

Gerd's expression softens.

“I'm sorry you have to go through this.”

“Don't be,” you retort. “It should be me who is sorry. Your people should not have to cater to her or me.”

The conversation soon dies off as Gerd takes you across a wooden rope bridge into the upper region of Elbaph. She, to your relief, unshields you, allowing you the chance to glimpse upon the primary village. It's impressive, an entirely different environment than that of Totto Land. The buildings, for one, are massive; houses and watchtowers made of sturdy wood as opposed to candy and chocolate.

The Giants roaming around look a bit on edge, but their smiles hold no secrets; they do not hide the fear of their souls being taken, not like the people back home. It's comforting and it makes you wish that they had turned you away immediately. You have no idea what Mama wants with this union, but something in the pit of your stomach fills you with dread.

It's fine. So long as Loki turns me down.

At the entrance of a fortified castle, Gerd kneels. You take it as the journey is over, so you stand and leap to the ground, pleased to be on your feet again.

“Stay here. I'll be back to get you once the king is ready,” Gerd orders.

You reply with a brief nod, watching as she opens the door to the castle, sinking into the darkness within. The door closes behind her. In the meantime, you sit on the upper step with your feet dangling off the edge as you stare out at the village. A few Giants spare you a look, but none of them approach you. It's better this way, you reckon.

A short amount of time passes, then the door opens again. Before you can glance back, the shadow of a hand dwarfs you. It's so unexpected that you do not move in time before a Giant grabs you by the back of the shirt, lifting you in the air.

“H-hey. Put me down.”

A deep chuckle is the only reply you get. Whoever they are, leads you into the castle like a mother cat carrying her kitten. You have no idea where they are taking you, more focused on keeping your shirt from choking you to death, but thankfully, the trip does not take long. Behind another door, you see Gerd and another Giant resting on an enormous throne; King Herald, you are certain. The former stares at you with wide shocked eyes.

“Look what someone left on our doorstep,” the Giant carrying you says with a chuckle.

“Loki,” Herald chides.

You hear him hum in disappointment, then he unceremoniously lets you go. You shout in fear, but thankfully Loki catches you in his other hand. A clever ruse. On your back, trembling, you stare up in shock and irritation at him, but he simply sticks out his tongue to mock you. This is him? Prince Loki.

She wants me to marry him?

He is extremely handsome, yes, with long light hair and muscular tattooed arms, but his people skills need work. You understand that you are the child of Elbaph's nightmare, but treating you like a toy is uncalled for. Standing on your feet, albeit unsteadily, you straighten out your clothes, then square your shoulders. Loki tilts his head.

“Oh.”

“That was–”

No. No, no.

Behave. You had promised Perospero that you would be sweet. As much as you want to cuss him for scaring the hell out of you, doing so would only exacerbate the situation. You take a deep breath, relaxing your shoulders.

“Thanks for catching me.” Despite your appreciation, your tone has a bite to it.

Loki hums. He gives you a look of disappointment, but like the flip of a coin, his expression changes.

“I'm undecided.”

“Undecided,” Herald repeats.

What does he mean? You stare at him in disbelief, waiting for an explanation, but Loki gives none. He rudely lifts you again by your shirt, then ambles over to Gerd, handing you off to her. You are never going to get used to this.

“But Loki…” Herald tapers off, then sighs. “A week, son.”

Whether he heard him or not, Loki walks out of the room without a word.

You are in shock. This is not at all what you had expected.

He was supposed to say no.

Why didn't he?

–

It takes three days, three long and infuriating days for you to come up with an answer to an existing question of yours. Why didn't Loki say no?

At first, you had thought that he might have warmed up to the idea of marrying you, but based on the past, and the blatant display of displeasure he seemed to show when you met his gaze, you quickly dismissed it. Then, you had thought that maybe he just needed some time alone and away from you, but somehow, no matter where you had escaped to he always seemed to be. In this time, he went to any length to annoy or fluster you, either by humiliating you or making comments that boiled your blood.

The reason for his answer is simple, you come to realize.

He's torturing me.

With a sigh of annoyance, you flop down on your bed, a frame made of blocks with a foam mattress that Road reluctantly put together for you. Gerd leans down, giving you a look of pity.

“Are you OK?” She asks.

No, you certainly are not. The memory of the last confrontation with Loki is still fresh in your mind. Your face feels heated.

“Did I set myself up for that one?” You ask.

Gerd snorts. “You sort of did.”

Wonderful.

“I should have just kept my mouth shut.”

You could not help it, though. Loki had been itching for a confrontation. You had been down at the river when it happened.

A bright pink salmon several times bigger than you leaps upstream and then disappears within the water’s depth. It's truly unbelievable just how massive everything on Elbaph is. You can hardly contain your curiosity as you rest on Goldberg's shoulder as he prepares a fish net - Gerd claims that he's an amazing cook.

“Do the salmon get bigger than that?” You ask him.

It's been like this most of the day. You ask questions and either Gerd or Goldberg answers you, seemingly unphased by your curiosity. There is still an air of uncertainty around them whenever they meet your eyes, but at least they are kind enough to talk to you. Some of the Giants turn up their noses and ignore you - Prince Hajrudin for one - but you do not hold it against them.

“Shome do. If they shurvive the Underworld below, they will shpawn and leap back up the waterfall,” Goldberg lisps.

You imagine fish as big as ships in the Underworld. It makes you feel a little uneasy with your brothers docked below, but you know they can take care of themselves if the need should arise.

The sound of heavy footsteps nearby catches your attention, but immediately you come to dread looking as you meet eyes with Loki. Even resting on Goldberg's shoulder, amongst the folds of his gray cape, you know he sees you. His tongue slips from his mouth, wetting his upper lip, and then, much to your dismay, he approaches.

Strands of the cook's dark orange hair brushes you as he, too, takes notice.

“Prince Loki.”

“That won't do,” Loki opines. He looms over you, staring into the water with a thoughtful look, then hums. “I know. The best way to catch a fish is bait.”

Bait. You gasp in shock as he suddenly lifts you, dangling you threateningly over the water. The fucker. He's getting off on how much power he has over you; it's annoying. Regardless, you bite back and insult, yanking aside the neckline of the shirt that Road had made for you.

“Put me down, please. This isn't fun for me.”

“That's a shame,” Loki teases. “I'm enjoying it.”

Of course, he is. You tighten your jaw.

“I'm sure you can satisfy your entertainment with something else aside from teasing me.”

“I'm sure I can, but right now, you're the only thing I want to play with,” Loki retorts.

For some reason, your mind goes straight to the gutter. It's his tone; the way his tongue peeks out from behind his teeth as though he might at any second taste you. Swallowing hard, you feel a tad bit warm under his playful gaze. It is not your intention to speak without thinking, but the words like vomit seem to pour out.

“Go play with yourself. You have two hands, don't you?”

The grin on his face falters a moment, then Loki guffaws. You feel like a ball hanging from a string, rocking unsteadily back and forth until his sudden bout of laughter stops. Not even Goldberg knows what to say, staring in confusion at the interaction in front of him. His gaze changes, becoming predatory. Like a lone wolf about to take a bite.

“You wouldn't match up to my size anyway. But it might be fun to see how far I can take you before you break.”

You aren't quite sure if he had said anything after that, but you are certain he left you with an unexpected size kink. By the time you had returned to the library - your temporary room - it felt like your body had been left out in the sun too long.

You are exhausted; this entire situation is exhausting. With a groan, you sit up and face Gerd. The same question has been plaguing you since the day you met the youngest prince.

“Why do you think Loki hasn't made up his mind yet?”

It's an honest question, one that Gerd does not seem to know. She hums with uncertainty.

“That's something you would have to ask him.”

Of course. You sigh. Maybe tomorrow, but certainly not today. You don't think you can ask him with a straight face so soon after the interaction, not while you are drunk on the memory of a spiteful quip.

Unfortunately for you, the question is left unanswered. You start to see less and less of Loki throughout the week until you are six days in. At breakfast, you see him briefly. He wanders by when you are seated between Gerd and Goldberg, telling the former to bring her pet Piper, a giant owl with light and dark alternating feathers, with her during the morning hunt. You consider asking him to come see you when he is done, but in the end, you decide against it. With one day left, despite wanting to know, you figure it does not matter as much as it had on day one.

The question, at the time, slips from your mind and so too does the Prince of the Giants. Until that night.

You are sitting on the sill of the library window, staring out at the vast landscape of Elbaph when the door creaks open. It's not unusual for someone in the castle to wander in during the night when sleep is far from their minds, but normally they knock first. You don't care to peek, expecting a thrall, but when the glass reflects the muscular, yet thin frame of the youngest prince, you quickly glance over your shoulder at him. What is he doing here?

Swallowing hard, you ignore his sudden presence, turning back toward the window. You watch him in anticipation as he rests, legs spread in a wooden stargazer chair. A tense awkward moment passes, and though you had expected him to speak, his question makes you tense up.

“You have a Devil Fruit, no?”

You take an uneasy breath.

“Yeah.”

It's not like it's a big secret. While considered rare, a great many notable people have eaten them. Though oddly, you have not seen anyone on Elbaph with a Devil Fruit power.

“Show me,” Loki demands.

“I can't,” you admit. “I made a promise to your father, the king, that I would not use my power while I'm here.”

Loki whistles, impressed.

“You must be something special then.”

An air of sadness washes over you. No, not really. The reality of the situation is a bit of a letdown.

“It's not impressive. I can increase and decrease the size of whomever or whatever I touch,” you explain. “Including myself.”

Which would come in handy on an island like Elbaph, but promises are promises, something Loki does not seem to care about.

“Show me.”

You tighten your jaw.

“I already told you, I–”

“Do you always do as you're told? Things would be so much easier if you lived how you wanted to,” Loki interrupts. You watch him tilt his head back, as though he is lost in a memory.

He has a point.

But you can't.

“Only those with power can live how they want,” you utter.

Loki snorts.

“So we can agree on something.”

How ironic. You stand with a grunt, turning toward him. He rests his head against the backboard of the chair, lazily watching you as you do so. It's hard to deny, but he looks tempting, so tempting, you feel a bit overwhelmed.

“Did you really come here to ask me about my Devil Fruit power?” You ask while tilting your head.

“Maybe,” Loki answers. His grin widens. “I'll tell you if you show me.”

He's persistent. You sigh in annoyance. Does it honestly matter though? Aside from your curiosity, it satisfies nothing.

“I'm not that interested.”

His humor fades and though his expression becomes aloof, he straightens in the chair.

“Oh. Then I guess you won't be interested to know I am in favor of the marriage proposal.”

What. Why? You knit your brows.

“You can't be serious.”

“You'll never know,” Loki states.

The nerve of him. With an irritated grunt, you climb down the sill, then use your power to increase your size. It's a known fact the Giants of Elbaph are around 20 meters tall, and though you can grow much taller than Big Mom, you still pale in comparison, which you soon learn, as Loki stands to gauge you.

“Is that all?” He asked tauntingly.

“I don't have awakened powers yet. 13.50 meters is as tall as I can get,” you admit.

Mid chest is as far as you can reach.

“We made a deal. Please answer the question,” you state.

“Did we?” Loki asks. He hums as if to say ‘I don't recall ever doing that’.

Closing the gap in a heated rush, you place the palm of your hand against his chest.

“I told you how my power works. Unless you want to be the one looking up at me, then I suggest you tell me why.”

Loki brings up his hands in defense. He seems more humored than scared, to your annoyance.

“Hey now. I was only joking.” His abs flex, and though you are flustered by this action, you keep your hand where it is as if to warn him. It gets worse when his tone changes, becoming lax. “As far as I can tell, you don't actually want to go through with the arrangement.”

“That's…not true,” you attempt to lie. “I do want to marry you.”

Snorting, Loki takes hold of your wrist, lifting it above your head.

“Is that right? Because the entire time, you've been here, you've done your best to avoid me, and I know better than to believe that you were just giving me space,” he explains. “As desperate as your mamma is, she would have you try a lot harder.”

He's right. She would. Wooing him is what she would want. Or to turn yourself out to him. You tighten your jaw.

“I didn't because it wouldn't matter. I'm…not Lola. You never would have said yes to me.”

At the mention of Lola's name, he frowns. You wonder if he still thinks about her from time to time, about how she rejected him. In a way, you are a bit envious of her. She wanted to live her life freely and marry who she wanted to. You aren't sure you could ever disobey Mama like that.

Why couldn't I?

The woman clearly did not care about you. She had the right idea, to unite the races of the world, but her dream had become more of an obsession. Her gluttony and greed knew no bounds.

“You're a bargaining chip,” Loki states.

Hearing it out loud from the mouth of someone else just feels…heart-rending. You tighten your jaw. Regardless, it's true.

“Don't you think I know that?”

Loki bends to your ear. You aren't sure why, but his tone sounds almost wicked.

“What if I said you don't have to be? Agree to marry me, and you can live as freely as you like.”

You don't understand. He should not want to marry you, a child of Big Mom.

“Why?”

Loki grins. His tongue mischievously slips from his mouth.

“Because I don't like to see that woman get her way, and something tells me you don't either.”

The entire kingdom will be at war if you flee the wedding, but perhaps that is what Loki wants. But why? Because of Shanks, the Yanko who protects the island. Or because Loki knows he can beat her. Either way, it's a terrible idea. The consequences are too great, but there is something about the promise of freedom that hangs over you.

Under Big Mom, it's not possible.

“I want to live my own life.”

As free as Lola.

As if your words of rebellion light a fire in him, Loki releases you and runs his fingers down the length of your spine. It tickles, prompting you to arch your back, but more so, it feels good, too gentle for someone like him. Your heart races as you come to realize maybe you like how warm and defiant you are around him.

“You have a silver tongue, you know.” And muscles I'd love to bite, you opt not to mention.

“Oh,” Loki coos. “Trying to flatter me, are you?”

“No. Just hung up on what you said at the riverside,” you breathe.

To be honest, you haven't been able to think of much else aside from just how he would break you.

“It might be fun,” you echo back at him.

Loki snorts.

“Is that the aspiration of your mamma?”

He is going to kill the mood if he keeps spouting off about Mama. It's her aspiration to bring the Giants into her country. You don't have to sleep with Loki to achieve this, but you have a feeling he already knows. It's as you told Gerd; he loves to torture you.

“You talk too much.”

Loki fakes a pout.

“Do you wish for me to shut my mouth that badly?”

At this point, it doesn't matter if he does or doesn't, but to tease him, you answer.

“I honestly don't think you can.”

Pulling you closer, to your shock, his lips touch yours for a brief moment. When he leans back, he pokes his tongue out between his lips as if to say ‘Be careful what you wish for’. As it happens, this is exactly what you want.

“That's a start,” you state.

It's at this point, you realize you had bit off more than you could chew. Everything after that progressed so fast. It had started with a rough kiss, then moved into a sloppy make-out that sent shivers down your spine.

In a warm haze, you remove your clothes, losing yourself to salacious thoughts the moment Loki slides his pants off, revealing his cock to you. Unfortunately, you do not get to take in the moment. He presses you against the nearest bookshelf; the musty, lightly sweet scent of old books fills your nostrils.

With another brief, wet kiss, Loki hooks your legs over his shoulders and stands. The shelf to your back erases the fear of falling, but still, you bury your fingers in his hair to keep yourself steady. You have a feeling, however, that your attempt will soon be in vain. A pregnant silence looms in the air as you wait, anxious and in need of his attention. The moment it comes, you sigh in relief.

Loki gently tastes your sensitive skin as though he's testing your limits. It's when your back arches and your thighs tighten around him that he devours you. In an instant, your worries fade; you can hardly concentrate on anything but him, the lewd wet noises coming from between your thighs, and the way that he makes you feel.

Desperately, you want this pleasure to never end, but you are a fool for hoping. His calloused fingers tease your hole, one easing inside, then another to prepare you. The way you stretch to take him drives you feral. The first coherent thought that comes to mind sends you spiraling over the edge. You tighten your jaw, trying not to make a noise but your attempt is in vain; your body feels electrified. If oral feels this good, how will he feel inside you? Will his cock ruin you?

With a whine, you push against his head, pleased when he parts from you. While it is not terrible, the overstimulation is a bit too much.

“You did well, my betrothed,” he coos.

“Stop talking,” you utter, narrowing your eyes.

Loki chuckles. He sets you back on your feet, wobbly at first, then leaves you by the bookcase to rest on the stargazer chair, knees wide apart, giving you a teasing glimpse at his cock. Even at a height that will make this easy, you can tell that it will still be intense. Your heart races as he motions with two fingers for you to join him, the two fingers you are certain were inside you moments ago.

Breathe. I can take him.

You stride in confidence toward the chair, straddling the Giant's waist. Comfortable, you lean against his chest, capturing his lips a third time as he readies you, an action you are thankful for, especially when the head of his cock catches at your entrance, threatening to penetrate you.

It happens slowly, to your relief. Your body tenses as Loki raises his hips, easing as much of himself into you as he can. It's a tight fit, but one that is not too unbearable. You take a deep breath, remaining as still as possible. To you, it feels like losing your virginity all over again; the careful steps, the nervous anticipation. It's comical.

Once you are ready, you set the pace, rocking your hips deliberately slow. The muscles beneath you tense, eager but at your mercy. You offer Loki some relief, bouncing your hips, but then spitefully like a selfish god, you take it away, returning to the same slow and torturous pace as before.

It isn't all fun for you either, to be honest. You want to be fucked hard, left numb and satisfied, but the desperate look on his face tempts you to continue. Another round of inconsistent teasing passes before all the power you have over Loki gets torn away. You should not have tempted the wolf.

Warm calloused hands seize your hips. Loki eases you down, filling you, then bounces you on his cock, raising his hips to intercept each thrust. You can hardly keep up with him. After a few seconds of trying, you give up, allowing him to use you however he wishes. The most you can do is stimulate your sex; the combined pleasure makes you melt. Wave after wave courses through your body, growing stronger. A thin sheen of sweat covers you as you desperately hang on. Whatever sanity you have left vanishes the moment you lose control of your ability.

Your size wanes, a head or two shorter than before. Honestly, you are not sure. All you can tell is that the cock inside you feels thicker. The lewd sounds of flesh on flesh filling the room and the image of your hole stretched to its limit are enough to push you over the edge. Arching your back, you come hard, lost in pleasure, body trembling. For a moment, you swear you lose all sense of where you are.

When reality sets in, your thighs and stomach are coated in release, from both you and Loki. The man beneath you grins, leaning your breathless form against him. Your walls feel bare and worn, throbbing in protest. You hum.

“That could have been bad,” you utter, referring to your slip-up.

“You'll have plenty of chances to get used to me,” Loki retorts.

If anything, he's humorous. Sitting up, you give him a serious look.

“I don't know what you’ll be getting out of this marriage, aside from the thrill of angering Mama, but I agreed only because you promised me freedom.”

Loki grins. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Have a little trust in me.”

If only you had known how much trouble in the future those words would get you. Perhaps you would have declined. Perhaps not.

#one piece loki #gender neutral reader #loki x reader #one piece fan fiction #one piece fandom #Spotify #one piece smut #elbaf loki #op loki x reader #op loki

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sinning-23 · 1 month ago

Text

In The Dead Of Night (Remmick x Modern!Black!Reader) Pt.2

I hope yall liked the first part! I know there was a lot more plot than prn but I’m making it up to you in this chapter! Enjoy!

PT 1 FOUND HERE

Ps: guys this needed up being REALLY long so I apologize in advance lol. I needed a liiiitle more plot before it got nasty bear with me yall!

Warnings: cunnilingus, fingering, pinv, unprotected sex, reader has sort of a wet dream?, again remmick is nasty(canonically so), spit as lube, very very slight humiliation if you squint? multiple orgasm(reader receiving), slightly desperate remmick, new meaning to ‘can’t come in without an invitation’, feedin while fuckin, it lowkey gets like…intimate? Reader has wear resolve but shit me too when I come to this man-

honestly this work is kinda just freaknasty so uhhhh 18+ if that wasn’t obvious.

taglist: @lunaleah @riellarielle25 @hellokitty-girl666 @avidreader73 @abriefnirvana @arilostie @hexqueensupreme @bearbell0 @therealmamarat

You freeze, your heart pounding in your ears as the door creaks open. Your hand has not even turned the lights on yet. A cold sweat breaks out across your forehead, and your breath is heavy with anticipation.

What the fuck did he mean by that??? He couldn’t come in without permission? R-Right?!

Each step you take is slow, calculated, and desperate to get to a safe room. At first, you don’t see anyone there—not a shadow, not a person, nothing….

And then two bright crimson eyes, peering into your very soul. A gasp leaves your throat, and in an attempt to escape, you manage to run to the nearest silver-protected room. You lock the handle, sliding shakily the wall beside it, clutching the mojo bag around your neck.

There’s silence, nothing for hours. But you’d be damned if you left this fucki bathroom to play tag with a Vampire. Fighting to stay awake, your eyelids droop further and further down. They stay closed for longer and longer, and finally, you take a minute to rest.

Head engulfs your body, the hazy, lightweight feeling of a dream seeping into your chest as your eyes flutter open, greeted by darkness.

—

The images around you are blurry, but still recognizable. Around your neck was a simple string of pearls. Adorning your body was a silk dress, the loose fit somehow accentuating your curves.

The sound of a piano and a guitar fills your ears, your body hidden behind crates and barrels. And then the world becomes clear, and your heart sinks.

From the corner, you can see the door, and stirring in from was a heavier-set man with a straw hat. And just beside you was a counter with two women at work. One of fairer skin, asian, and the other….you’d only ever seen in photos.

She’s got her hair done up nice, her hands working away to fix drinks and plates, her dark brown skin aglow under the juke joint lighting.

‘It’s just a dream.’ You think to yourself, approaching her.

Patrons pass you by as if you don’t even exist. And then she looks up, her eyes looking directly into yours.

“What can I get you?” She asks, her voice gentle but firm.

You can’t help but freeze, opening your mouth to speak, but someone else answers. Despite it being a ‘dream’, and everyone else not paying you any mind….Annie did.

She didn’t look through you; she looked at you. Like a warning your momma would give after you’d been misbehaving or were plannin to.

“Two whiskeys please.”

Another fair-skinned lady stands behind you, the interaction almost surreal as you walk away. Sliding past dancing couples, you shuffle over to the open door where the straw hat man from earlier sat.

And suddenly, the warm night air turned and chilled your bones.

It’s still. Not a breeze, not the sound of crickets, nothing. Just the crunch of dirt under your flats and-

“There she is.”

The voice is familiar, fear sliding into the pit of your stomach as your head turns slowly to face it. What do you say to the devil? When he’s been looking for you for so long and had wedged his way into your mind?

“You…you have no power here… this is my dream.” You breathe out, seeing those same crimson dots move toward you.

“Aw, now who you think brought you here, peach?” He speaks, stepping into the faint light provided by the juke joint.

Strapped to his back was a banjo, and suspenders clung to his neatly tucked button down. His hair had a faint curl, eyes low as he approached. The gold chain hanging from his neck dangled perfectly below his clavicle, exposed from the three buttons popped open.

Nana was right

The devil could be beautiful

He grins, standing just before you as your fists clench and open as your sides nervously. And his teeth make your heart stutter in your chest. He grins wider, like he knows what you’d been thinking.

What do you say to the devil?

“What happens here tonight…is your fault. Isn’t it?” You breathe, taking a step back, only for him to follow.

“Your Nana told you that? Lookin for someone to blame?” He questions, that buttery southern drawl making your throat clench, knees weak.

All you can do is nod.

“I won’t be mad if you don’t wanna fight no more baby.” He mocks, flashing those razor sharp fangs again in a twisted laugh.

“You stay away from her!” You warn, pointing your fingers at him with defiance.

It’s sudden, that flash behind his eyes. And it’s even faster when his clawed fingers wrap around your wrist. His grip is bruising, possessive, and eager.

“Now, I’d mind my manners if I was you. I’m right outside your door, remember?” He warns, and an echo of the knocks resounds as if more of a warning than a threat.

“And since this is a ‘dream’, and you’re prone to talkin in your sleep…” He hums, dragging his thumb down your wrist.

Your chest heaves with wildly deep breaths. He’d been watching you…trying to reach you for the better part of your life. And he was winning.

His touch was icy, but leaving a trail of fire where his fingertips dragged down your delicate brown skin. The light in his eyes only darkens the longer he looks at you, lingering over the curve of your chest.

And the fear turns hot.

His fingers move across your clavicle and toward the slope of your breast. The pearls snap, each dropping heavily into the dirt with a ‘plink’.

He holds one, rolling it between his fingers with a grin, and god can you feel it. Like the pads of his fingertips are pressed against your panties, teasing, applying just enough pressure to make you come undone.

It’s shameless, the whine that falls from your lips. Like no one had touched you like that in a damn long time. And he was the only one who could.

“You feel that?” He asks, trailing from your forearm and up your shoulder.

Fighting the answer was far more difficult than you’d like to admit, your head nodding involuntarily.

He drops the pearl, still grinning. And you whine again, this time from the loss of pleasure.

Sharpened nails moved down towards your lower stomach, pressing against where your uterus would be.

“Yeah, I know you do, honey. You want more? Cause I can give it to you real easy?” He offers, your mind playing tricks on you, feeling as though his palm was against your bare flesh, despite it not being there.

“All you have to do is let me in”

“let you in?”

You whisper to him, your sentences blending into one. He’d already won, your resolve melting with his touch, his icy warmth surrounding you, and the dreamlike consciousness feels as though it’s fading

“Say it honey, all the way. And I’ll make you feel so good. Let me make you feel good.” He pries, tearing down the neckline of the silk gown.

“W-What’s your name?” You slurred, a sudden exhaustion overtaking you, your surroundings becoming more and more familiar the longer your spoke.

You were waking up.

“Remmick.”

“This…this is a dream?” You confirm, reaching out to touch him, even for just a moment in this fleeting fantasy.

He’s ice cold under your palm, but he leans into your warmth nonetheless, kissing the underside of your wrist. His eyes flash red, the idea of your veins just beneath his lips sending him into a frenzy. He could take it if he wanted to, like he’d always done, but no.

He wanted to earn this

“So what if I let you in Remmick? It’s not real, you’re not real.” You test, a disbelieving smirk painted over your plush lips.

His dark chuckle echoes around you, wrapping you up and suffocating. You blink, his frame long disappeared as you swivel around as if to try and find the phantom that was simply not there.

And all that remained along your wrist and the slope of your neck was the biting heat of an open-mouth kiss.

—

A gasp shakes you awake, the bathroom door wide open as the natural lighting from the sun creeps down the hallway. Leaned against the bathroom wall, your body feels weak, weighted down by some invisible force.

The mojo bag lay destroyed at your feet, and a dull ache remains in your neck and wrist.

“Fuck…fuck! No no no no!” You sigh, running your fingers through your braids, gripping them tight in distress.

Your nightshirt had been torn straight down the middle, revealing just what he’d done to you.

He’d tasted

Even if it was just the warmth of your skin.

A trail of what you could only assume was saliva slid clear as day from your jugular to the middle of your chest.

Right over your heart.

You stand, your reflection in the mirror catching your eye as you swallow hard. A feeling of pure euphoria washes over you head to toe. As if simply gazing upon it was enough to show that he had you right where he wanted.

And he did.

———

The remainder of the evening, you did what you could to salvage the destroyed protection gifted to you by your nana. Your body ached and burned, each thought somehow coming back to that dark-eyed man who’d wedged his way into your home.

You’d lit incense, letting the smoke cascade around the apartment and into each room, the smell of sage and rosemary lingering in your hair.

Being afraid would do you no good now, but that didn’t mean you’d have to sit helplessly and accept whatever fate he had awaiting you at nightfall.

Could evil be reasoned with? And was it really evil if it felt soooo good?

The sun was setting, dousing your home in hues of heated orange and red. The lower it retreated behind the mountains, the darker it had gotten. Taking a breath of courage, you shuffle to your room, closing the door and waiting.

Soon, the bedroom is drenched in night, the only light entering being from the full, yellow moon glowing bright beyond your window. You’d checked the time, 12am exactly.

*Tap tap tap*

Your lip curls into a sneer. The audacity of him to try and knock as if he hadn’t already been inside.

“Still call yourself trying to ‘be polite’?” You scoff, your fists clenching and unclenching at your sides.

He doesn’t respond, just chuckles, humming at the obvious attitude in your tone.

“You rather I just take what I came for, or be nice t’ you, peach?” He asks, like he could be a lot meaner with his approach if he wanted, as if this was just a courtesy for your sake.

“M’ not your fuckin peach.” You scoff, feigning fortitude.

“Awe, but you taste just as sweet as one.” He taunts, a low rumble in his throat, like he couldn’t wait to have it again…your skin on the tip of his tongue.

He drags his index finger down his lip.

“Now, you gon’ let me in?” He chuckles, like he knew something you didn’t.

Your brows furrow, knees buckling as you shake your head.

“No.” It’s sharp and clear, but he chuckles, only turning the doorknob.

The crackle of burning flesh gets louder when your door creaks open eerily. His silhouette is bathed in moonlight, the reddened glare of his eyes amplified in the darkness. He grins, watching you back away, falling onto your bed and scooting as far as you could.

“See, you already gave me permission, in your lil dream?”

You shake your head again, in disbelief more than anything. He only mocks you, the same look poorly replicated onto his face in an attempt to embarrass you for being soooo reckless. That couldn’t be possible-

“So what if I let you in Remmick,-“

You had, you had done exactly what he said you would. Like he willed it, and you foolishly doubted his power.

“Listen, countryboy, that don’t count!” You yelp, eyes wide, as you find yourself pointing at him again.

His neck jerks, as if he’s actually insulted, like he’s trying to figure out who exactly you’re talking to. And then he grins something wicked, and it shoots shamefully to your core.

You were pretty sure you were about to be killed, and here you were, fighting against your ovaries for some semblance of control. Your eyes are wide, watching his every move

“Ian no boy, peach. You know that jus’ as much as I do.” He smirks, taking his time coming to you, standing at side of the bed, just watching.

He tugs the banjo off his back, rolling his shoulders before looking you up and down, eyes all aglow in the moonlight. He drinks in you, his tongue sliding over his teeth.

His fingers loosely crawl their way atop your bedsheet and over to you. Gently, your thighs are pulled apart, all while crawling his fingers up to your cunt.

“Your body won’t even fight peach, you’re soakin wet.” He hisses, and that’s what snaps you out of it.

You've already told yourself you wouldn’t accept the crooked fair that awaited you. If you were meant to face death, you’d fight tooth and nail. Your arm cranks back, fist balled, but when you go to strike, he catches you, a harsh growl leaving his lips, and he holds your wrists together above your head.

“If you’re gonna kill me, get it over with.” You spit, body still heated with every touch he grants.

“Oh, that would be better for you than the shame and embarrassment of having let me inside you?” He taunts, the pads of his fingers cool against your cunt, sliding between the lips to gather up your wetness.

“You ain’t in me yet-“ You gasp, head lolling forward as a moan works if way out of your throat.

“Got a smart fuckin mouth, I got sum for that.” Remmick scoffs.

It’s more of a promise and less of a threat as he pushes two thick fingers in and out of you.

The squelching of your own arousal only drives him further into you. A soft moan leaves your lips when he curls his fingers up, pressing deliberately against that nice, soft, spongy spot inside.

You can hear him give a slight, breathy chuckle. Saliva leaks from the corner of his mouth when you finally look up at him.

“No one’s ever touched you like this before, huh? You been starvin’ haven’t you, peach?” He breathes out.

His fangs are bared in a smile, simply watching you coat his finger the more he pushes them inside you. His grip on your wrist loosens, and before you can protest he’s sinking to his knees.

“W-Wait I’ve never- what if- h-hold on, you can’t just- f-fuckkkk.” You whimper, fingers shooting to your covers.

“I know, I know. Taste even sweeter than I thought you would.” He mumbles against your folds, lips attaching to your clit, fingers still working you.

“All that work tryna deny me. Keep me away. Honey I can taste just how bad you wanted…nah, needed this.” He hums, tongue sliding around you.

He pulls way for a moment, looking you dead in your face before letting a thick, glossy string of saliva land against your clit, and god can you feel it slide down. The heat of it quickly turns cold and you tilt your head back in a wanton moan.

Your stomach tightens, and he can feel you squeezing down on his fingers damn near pushing them out. He doesn’t speed up, doesn’t slow down. Just focuses on getting you to make all the right faces.

It’s when he finally lays you back again the mattress, and oh so gently lifts one of your legs over his shoulder that you come undone.

He doesn’t speak, only chuckles, dark and proud. His fingers and mouth leave you, not without one last hard suck that makes you jerk.

Weakly, you sit up in your forearms, only to see him watching you pulse and drip onto the sheets. Still slick, walls fluttering around nothing. It takes all the courage you have to push the shame away and finally ask-

“M-More. Please.” You whine, moving your legs from the edge of the bed. You feet are planted evenly apart, pussy on display, just for him.

He only watches, shaking his head in disbelief.

“More? Just a greedy lil thing you are.”

You shake your head, looking away in embarrassment. Your fingers can let seem to find something to do so your simply pick at the bedsheets.

He was right though.

How did he know how to touch you? How your body would reach to the hard curve of his knuckles? You’d wanted to fight it, not give in to the temptation he presented.

But damn, did the promise of having someone who knew you and your body like the back of their hand….you don’t get that offer too often.

Especially now.

“I-I’m not greedy I-“

“Wasn’t talkin about you. Was talkin about her.” He explains eyes dipping from yours, down to the wet mess between your legs.

“And uh, I do remember you saying I couldn’t come in.” He reminds, grabbing hold of your ankles to pull you toward the edge of the bed, your pussy alighted just at the buckle of his belt.

“So I’ll ask again,”

You can feel his thumb massage circles onto your ankle, while his other hand works away his belt buckle. Sitting up, your fingers crawl up his paled forearms, reaching to tug down the suspenders over his shoulders. He lets out a breath, looking down at you as you begin to pop the buttons of his striped dress shirt.

“You gonna let me in you, peach?” He begs, just about as desperate as you are.

You don’t answer right away, dragging your hands down his cool, broad chest, and down just below his belt. Remmick’s hands are traveling from your ankles, all the way up the back of your calf’s and resting at the curve of your thighs. Just below the soft flash of your ass.

“That’s just rude, ignoring the question. I thought you had better manners.” He hums roughly, one hand jerking upward to grip your jaw, forcing eye contact.

“Answer me.” It’s sharp, more impatient that anything.

The whimper that leaves your throat isn’t enough for him, no no. So he pulls you against him, the strained denim fabric against your wetness.

“Y-Yes.” You whine, eyes blown wide with lust as he simply grins at you, burying his face into your neck.

He scoots you forward, just enough for all thick 7 inches to rest against the top of your slick. The air still when he slides the tip between your folds, the head just barely kissing your clit before he slips into you.

You're quick to grip his white undershirt, his hips already setting a pace as you tremble with each thrust.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d make you feel good?” He asks, jerking your head up, his cold, dead eyes somehow breathing life into your own.

You nod, each thrust making your body jerk. The bed creaks and groans, thudding against the wall. And suddenly it didn’t matter if your neighbours were being disturbed.

“Awe c’mon peach, what happened to that slick mouth?” He asks, pressed wet, harsh, kisses to your neck, sucking hard on your jugular.

“Can feel you squeezin me, you gonna cum already?” He taunts, looking down at you, giving you a bruising, sloppy, wet kiss.

“Y-Y-You talk too mu-much.” You stutter out, the feeling of being unbelievably full almost overwhelming. That and his thrust were forcing the air from your lungs.

“Thereeee she hah- is, lay back honey.” He huffs, swearing under his breath.

You do, your legs wrapping around him, securing him as he leans over you. The gold of his chain shines for a moment, but his eyes shine brighter, lips glossy with saliva as a question hangs over his tongue.

“I was just gon take it without asking-, fuck you’re squeezin.” He groans, using his palm to press down on your lower stomach, the pressure making you squirm.

“Lemme taste you. Won’t hurt nun, just wanna have some peach, lemme have some?”

Remmick's fangs are protruding signature t he flesh of your neck, thrusts beginning to slow and stutter. He was just as close to falling apart as you were, and you were almost 100% sure that if you gave him what he wanted, he’d come undone.

But the cost would be nothing short of binding yourself to him. An unspoken permission to do this for as long as he wanted, whenever he needed….just how you liked it.

No, he wouldn’t turn you. He knows the burden of everlasting life. The toll it takes on one’s soul, the longer it’s trapped. What he did want was somewhere warm to lay his head, your chest just perfect for that whenever he needed.

“A-Am I gonna die?” You ask wearily, and he shakes his head against your neck, slow, deliberate strokes feeling far more intimate than it should have.

“No, peach. I wouldn’t dare.” He hums, the southern drawl slipping into something so unapologetically him it makes you cling tighter.

“Take it. It’s...I’m yours.”

And just as your permission was granted, you melt against him, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. He’s quick to wipe them away, swallowing you up with each thrust.

“Don’t stop. Right there, don’t you fucking stop.” You demand, short of breath but feeling euphoric nonetheless.

And he doesn’t, shuffling against you. his free hand comes to rub tiny, encouraging circles over you clit and you can help but let your eyes roll back, heat shooting yo your spine. His hips falter, a heavy, broken groan, a sob almost leaves his mouth when he detaches from your neck.

His lips are stained red, the moon painting him so pretty your gaze softens. Shirt loose on his sweaty frame, chest heavin just slightly as his hips finally come to a stop. Your hands crawl up it, pressed just below his collar, and he pushes a little of his weight onto you.

“Got what you wanted? You just gon' keep coming in here when you want and need huh?” You ask, disappointed in yourself yes…but somewhat of relieved this wouldn’t be the last time you’d be fucked within and inch of your life.

He chuckles, eyes closed as he simply takes it all in. He nods slowly, large palms set at your sides, massaging small circles where he gripped moments prior.

“Aren’t you smart?” He hums, a softer kiss hitting your lips as your eyes flutter shut.

Yes he’d leave now. And you’d draw into yourself, the door left wide open as your body works to replace the blood you’d lost. You’d be conscious enough to whine at the loss of him, feeling emptier than before somehow.

But it would be long before you were bathed in candlelight, and the infamous yet comforting

*Tap, tap, tap*

At your window, would bring more anticipation than fear.

#x reader #reader is black #i don't care he's hot #headcannons #hes so hot #smut #sinners #remmick #remmick x reader #sinners remmick #sinners remmick x reader #remmick x black!reader #sinners x reader #sinners x black reader

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boneblushed · 2 months ago

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hi sweet girl. PLEASE one day for me bring back cruel summer rafe. i think about him so often 😩💛

Omg my BAEEE I do too !!!

—

Wreck my plans

synopsis: the more than you say, the less Rafe knows. Wherever you stray, he follows

a/n: 🤭🤭🤭 did someone say Cruel Summer?!

The glass of the sliding door distorts your figure, rendering your bare skin a smooth portrait of smudges. Too much bare skin.

He can’t fault you for wearing a singlet and shorts in this weather, can’t fault the exposed waif of skin between them. The South Carolina humidity is punishing as ever, the setting sun still shedding waves of heat with ardour. He wants to anyway.

You stick out like a sore thumb at this party, all bright and new and touron-y, and he really really wants to anyway.

Because people talk.

Not the way that you’re talking with Kelce, throwing your head back to laugh at whatever silly joke he’s made. No — people in the Outer Banks are more snide, almost petulant.

Especially when you look like fresh bait and sound like the death of the Rafe Cameron.

He closes the distance between the pair of you, daunted by the thought of sharing you with them.

As he nears, the want to touch you grows exponentially. You laugh again, lean in a little, place your hand on Kelce’s strong shoulder for balance. Rafe’s brow furrows.

He realises then that there’s a difference between being protective and being possessive, this small, terribly inconsequential difference that isn’t as inconsequential as he once thought.

Not with you. He’s feeling the former for the first time and he doesn’t think he should.

No strings, he scolds internally. The cruel spaghetti straps of your singlet top—he was sliding them off you just this morning—beg to differ.

Through the sliding door now, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you against him. The hard ridges of abdomen exert a warm pressure on your back, and his rough fingers slip under your singlet to feel your skin.

He’s like an anchor. You glance up at him with raised eyebrows to find he’s already looking down at you. “Huh. Speak of the devil.”

He lifts his own in tandem. “I’m important enough to talk about now?”

“Apparently you’re the most important person at this party.” You pause, your pretty eyes glinting with mirth. “Or used to be at least. Record holder for most parties thrown in one year or something?”

Rafe makes a face before looking over at Kelce, disapproving. “Whatever Smith’s told you about our Academy days, he’s lying.”

“Hey, hey,” Kelce says, raising his arms in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger Cam. Just thought she oughta know exactly what she’s getting into.”

Rafe’s eyes drops to you again, and he gives your waist an absentminded squeeze. His splayed hand moves higher, hidden by the thin fabric of your singlet, until his thumb grazes the underwire of your bikini top. Your pulse stutters.

“Yeah?” He murmurs. “And what are you getting into Polaris?”

You hold his gaze, steady. “Nothing.” Everything.

“Nothing?” Kelce echoes, breaking the pair of you out of your reverie. “Fuck, maybe you should tell them that.”

He points the rim of his beer bottle towards the kitchen as he says it, alerting you to a group of girls nearby staring daggers.

Rafe looks over too, resisting the urge to grimace.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, sounding amused. “Tell me Cameron, exactly how many girls have you scorned?”

“Chill Shakespeare, I haven’t fucking ‘scorned’ anyone,” Rafe defends, just say Kelce says, “way too many.”

You let out a laugh, and it vibrates through Rafe’s ribcage. He feels momentarily debilitated. A laugh like that has to be illegal.

“Truth time,” you declare, pulling out of Rafe’s arms and turning around so you’re face to face. “You’ve been with all of them, haven’t you?”

Rafe’s hands ache. It’s hard to conjure up a witty reply when all his energy’s being used resisting the urge to pull you back in.

“Not all,” he replies. “Some.”

“Most,” Kelce pipes up.

“Not seriously, or anything,” he adds without meaning to. He isn’t sure why he’s defending his actions to you — this thing between the two of you is similarly unserious.

Right?

“Like us, then,” you say, raising your eyebrows.

“Worse,” he returns. “Those chics didn’t know we had a time limit.”

Or that he wanted to adhere to it, all things considered. Unlike with you. It’s kind of pathetic.

You let out a gasp, faux-scandalised. “Surprise surprise, the most eligible bachelor on this island is a fuck boy.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kelce snorts. “He’s also rich as hell and they know it.”

And unavailable, Rafe wants to add, but he knows that this is unfair. Summer’s half way through, this no strings thing at its mid-point, and he knows that in another month or two he’ll have to learn to forget the sweet taste of your lips.

He doesn’t want to, bad. He’s never felt this ache for the other girls he’s been with and he hates how much it terrifies him.

When did this silly fling become more than a game to him?

“They’re kooks,” you say then, almost unsure. “Yeah?”

Rafe grins then, mostly because the word sounds sweeter coming out of your mouth. “You learn quick.” He pulls at the bill of his backwards cap. “You know, for a touron.”

“You say it like it’s a slur.”

“It may as well be,” he jibes. “Least you’re not a pogue though, huh?”

He swipes your beer bottle then, taking a pull of the amber liquid. Your fingers warm where they’ve grazed his, the poor pulse in your arm thrumming.

“And if I was?” You ask.

“Those girls would’ve already eaten you alive.”

You raise your eyebrows, mirthful. “Sounds intriguing.”

“Yeah?” Rafe returns, passing the beer back to you.

You push it back into his chest, shaking your head as you do so. “Finish it,” you say. “Think I’m gonna grab a refill.”

He knows what you’re doing. He uses his other hand to clasp your wrist in place, his rough palm pressing heat into your skin. Stay close, he wants to plead, they’re going to eat you alive before I do.

“Polaris,” he murmurs, an admonishment.

“Cameron,” you return, challenging him. You pull out of his grasp with ease, turning and sending Kelce a wave. “See you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kelce agrees, amused. “Sure hope so, Polaris.”

You make a face just as Rafe warns, “say that shit again and I’ll give you a shiner.”

As you walk away, you think you hear Kelce say, “fuck you’re touchy about her, aren’t you Cameron?”

He sounds surprised by this revelation. You aren’t sure whether this is a good or bad thing. As you re-enter the living room and make your way to the kitchen, the heavy bass grows louder, drowning out their conversation.

Behind them, the horizon is ochre and rust, setting sun meets dusk. Deep orange light creates halos around their figures, making them harder to discern, you more painfully obvious.

Your skin is sliding door smudged again, achingly far away.

So you don’t hear Rafe’s response to his friend’s loaded question, don’t register the fact that their gaze remains on you.

“Whatever you’re insinuating,” Rafe mutters. “Drop it.”

“Chill, Rafe,” Kelce replies, raising his eyebrows. “I’m only fucking with you.”

“It’s nothing,” Rafe feels the need to add, overcompensating. “She’s only here for the summer.”

“Right.” Kelce pauses. “Sounds like a pretty good distraction.”

Rafe lets out a tired breath, taking another gulp of his—your—beer. “It is man… shit. Barry’s been driving me fucking crazy.”

“That dealer from the Cut?” Kelce asks, frowning bemusedly. “Bro. I thought you were done with that shit.”

“No—it’s not—I’m not dealing anymore, alright?” Rafe balks. “It’s… don’t worry about it, it’s not important. All you need to know is that I’m handling it.”

“Alright,” Kelce concedes, and then he pauses, wondering how far he can push it. “So… what? That’s where you’ve been all summer? ‘Handling’ this shit that you’ve got with Barry?”

“Uh.” Rafe’s eyes pulls to your figure again, watches you pull open the fridge to grab another Heineken from the bottom shelf. “Not quite.”

Kelce follows his gaze, glimpsing you in tandem. “Oh right. And here I thought you guys were just fucking.”

Rafe grimaces. It sounds so fucking blasé when he says it. Like it’s nothing, like you’re nothing, like it isn’t obvious that you’re the exact opposite.

He clenches his teeth without meaning to, clearly irritated. “We are.”

“Then why is it such a big deal when I say it?”

“I don’t fucking know, alright?” Because you’re everything. “I’m done talking about this.”

“They aren’t, though,” Kelce says then, nodding toward the group of girls in the kitchen. The prettiest of the lot, Rafe’s family friend Blake, is tapping you on the shoulder to start a conversation.

Just like you knew she would. You might be fresh bait, but she’s the one that’s predictable.

“Here,” she offers sweetly, just as the girl next to her offers you a bottle opener. “You’ll need this.”

You accept it graciously, giving her a smile. “Thank you. Had to get Kelce to open my last one on the side of the deck table.”

“Oh my god, hopefully that didn’t leave a mark!” She exclaims, slightly affronted. “Rose was telling my mom about how she just bought some new outdoor furniture from William Sonoma.”

You raise your eyebrows, slightly amused. “Oh. Um, I’m sure it didn’t.”

“Of course, you’ll know all about that, won’t you?” She adds, faux-nonchalant. “She’ll talk to anyone who will listen about her love for interior design.”

“I’m sorry. Rose?”

The pretty girl balks, but you know she’s pleased by your bemusement. “Um… Rafe’s stepmom? Sorry—I thought you and Rafe were…”

“…were?” You prompt. You want her to say it. You know that you’ll have to say no when she does, but the promise of something more taunts the Rafe-sized chamber in your ribcage.

“Never mind,” she dismisses, smiling that saccharine sweet smile again. “You’re not from here, are you?”

You shake your head. “I’m a ‘touron’ apparently.”

“Better that than a pogue,” she returns, and her friends murmur in agreement.

“Funny,” you say then, “Rafe said the same thing.”

“He did?” The pretty girl brightens a little, sparing a glance at Rafe’s figure in the distance. “I’m Blake, by the way. Me and him go way back.”

“We all do,” pipes up the girl to her left, equally gorgeous with an endearing Southern twang. “Hard not to when we all grew up in the Eight.”

It sounds an innocent statement at first, but you know what she’s insinuating — unlike you. You don’t belong here and you know it.

“Seems a pretty sweet place to grow up,” you say. “And you all went to the Academy together?”

“Same friend group and everything,” Blake confirms. “We get each other, you know? Better than outsiders would.” She pauses then, waiting for the words to register. “No offence or anything. We love having tourons over the summer.”

Over the summer. The time limit makes your limbs ache, Rafe’s jagged touch the antidote.

“Love being here,” you return, trying for a smile. Why did you come over here again? This silly game you’re playing isn’t so fun anymore.

“You do?” Asks a deep voice then, it’s rough timbre pressing over you in waves. “Damn. That’s new.”

Rafe throws his arm around your waist, giving its curve a firm squeeze. Blake deflates slightly.

“Rafe!” She exclaims, forcing a smile. Her gaze balks at your proximity before pulling back to his features. “Your girl is adorable. Where’d you find her?”

Your girl. The words make your pulse stutter. You know she’s only saying it as a taunt, not as truth, but your poor heart struggles to heed the difference with Rafe so proximal.

“Hm,” Rafe returns, looking down at you. He makes a face, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “She’s okay. Wouldn’t go as far as adorable.”

Blake raises her eyebrows. “Oh. So you guys are…?”

You meet her gaze. “Are?”

“D’you wanna go down to the beach?” Rafe asks then, ignoring Blake. “Sun’s about to set.”

The questions pulls you back to him, a moth to a flame. Your surroundings blur. “Yeah. Sounds adorable.”

Blake falters again, looking abashed now. She doesn’t bother defending herself as the pair of you turn and walk away from them.

Once safely in the hallway and heading for the verandah, you lean in close and murmur, “that wasn’t too mean, was it?”

“No way,” Rafe responds, grinning roguishly. He’s open about the fact that he’s marvelling in your closeness. “It was adorable.”

His hand slides up and under your singlet again, pressing heat into your ribcage. “New for you,” he adds. “Being adorable, that is.”

“Rude,” you bristle, teasing. “I’m always adorable.”

His hand moves higher, thumb ghosting over the space between your breasts. “Hm. Don’t know if that’s the first adjective I’d use to describe you.”

Your heart stutters again. Pathetic. You try your best to maintain your composure. “Oh yeah? And what would you use instead?”

“Dangerous.”

“Think those girls feel the same way.”

“Fuck what Blake and those other kooks think. They’re only obsessed with me cause I’m a Cameron.”

You breathe out of a laugh, glancing over your shoulder to ensure you’re out of earshot. “Careful. You wouldn’t want them hearing you denounce your own kind.”

“And why the fuck not?” Rafe asks, faux-incensed. “I’m the most important person at this party, apparently. Surely I can denounce whoever the fuck I want?”

He guides you through the front entrance and down the porch steps, orange dusk softening the stained oak of Tannyhill’s double doors.

“But you wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings would you?” You ask, raising your eyebrows playfully. “Especially because all of you go ‘way back’ or whatever.”

“Blake said that?” He return, making a face. He veers you to the left, a walkway to the beach emerging from the foliage. “Technically we do. Not that I had any choice in the matter.”

“Aw, poor little rich boy,” you tease. “Must be the hardest job ever, being the Eight’s most eligible bachelor.”

As you walk toward the beach, sand replaces the grass beneath your feet, soft and warm and yielding. Like you — putty in Rafe’s hands and he knows it.

“Harder being you,” he replies, his rough hand sliding down to give your ass an absentminded squeeze. “The mystery touron that’s somehow got all his attention.”

“Temporarily.” Forever.

“They don’t know that.”

“Mm.” You pause, glancing up at him then. “Especially not when they call me his girl and he doesn’t deny it.”

Rafe balks. You turn in his arms and wrap your own around his neck, allowing his calloused palms to find the exposed skin of your waist again. Firm pressure, grounding. “Who cares what they think?”

“Not me,” you reply quietly. “I care what you think, Cameron.”

“Like I said,” Rafe murmurs back, ducking down to sponge a kiss to your neck, “I think you’re fucking dangerous, Polaris.” Another kiss right below it, more teeth-scraping, more arduous. “I think you’re going to be the death of me, and I think I’m going to let you.”

You sigh, tugging off his cap to muss his dirty-blonde locks. “Sounds awful.”

“The worst,” Rafe agrees.

He straightens to meet your gaze, pupils slightly blown as they flit down to your soft lips. There’s a slight, agonising pause before captures them in a searing kiss, tasting of warm beer and bad intentions, a rough hand splayed over the curve of your ass as he does it.

When you pull away, the ghost of his lips making you feel abashed, you murmur, “this whole thing is self destructive, apparently.”

Rafe wants to kiss you again, bad. “How so?”

“You’re going to be the death of me too, Cameron.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe x you #rafe cameron imagine

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dailydoseoffanfics · 3 months ago

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HEHEHEHHHE I'M GLAD TO SERVE :3

(warning: uhhh pretty angsty, i guess) (but i suck at writing angst soo uhh..bare with me.) (also another possible ooc)

Okay so, if you were controlling the killers before they trusted you, then you just gave a good reason as to why they shouldn't trust you. I mean, from their perspective, they gotta go through rounds where they're being chased by killers, so imagine their reaction when they found you're controlling the people that is killing them. I think they gonna start a rebellion against you at this point 💀

HOWEVER, if all of them had a mutual agreement to trust you and they found out? Oh, I feel like all of the survivors are gonna go through a rollercoaster of emotions. They're gonna feel any emotions except anything that's positive. Shock, sadness, angriness, disbelief, you name it. But y'know what they all have in common? All of the survivors will feel betrayed.

(How did the survivors figured it out? Well guess what. When you're controlling the killers, they also have VISIBLE, WHITE STRINGS ON THEM !!!11 OH NOES!!!)

Noob just. automatically goes back into being scared of you. All the trust they had for you vanishes. (Especially if you killed them) And now they're putting more efforts into getting out of your strings. They looked up to you. They thought they could trust. But now, they feel like an idiot for trusting you. Why would you do this? WHY?

Now, for Two Time, it depends. If they found out before the obsession, their view on you becomes more negative, and now they think you're some kind of devil. They gonna think you see all of their teammates merely as toys, including them, which puts a bad taste on Two Time. So, expect to see them heavily glaring at your screen, and on rare occasions, even try to cut a string with their dagger.

But during the obsession?

....Well. They definitely saw it for sure, but they choose to ignore it. You see, when Two Time is obsessing over admiring you, they think you're a pure deity that could do no wrong. They totally didn't witness you killing Chance as Chance drops dead on the floor. So uh, Two Time in their delusional era.

Speaking of Chance, he's a....pretty special case. Because instead of immediately losing trust, he initially smirks. Crunky! You're the big bad killer now? Well, if it's a challenge, then he accepts. Chance likes challenges, and you being a killer excites them more. I mean, makes the experience more thrilling, i guess?

However, Chance is NOT blind. They saw how you controlling one of the killers has affected the survivors, and the survivors AREN'T happy. (Except for Two Time he guesses...) It's not like he doesn't give a shit about how their friends are feeling, so basically, Chance has mixed feelings about you, especially as he's thinking more about you being the reason as to why he's stuck in this time-looping game.

Chance won't try to break out of your strings, but you will notice how Chance has a blank face throughout the rounds....

Elliot on the other hand, completely loses his shit, in a bad way. I'm talking like CRASHING THE FUCK OUT type of way. So ALL this time, he thought he could trust you, that you just had good intentions and meant no harm, that you just wanted to help him and his friends. He trusted you, he TRULY did. But then YOU turn around and control those.....those PEOPLE THAT LOVE TO TARGET AND KILL HIM EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. ROUND.

He's saying all of this internally, but trust me when I say that this man is TWEAKING. Like....you can see his eye twitch once in a while and he KNOWS he can't get out of your control, so he just resorts into saying passive-aggressive stuff towards you. He's definitely going to make his hatred towards you LOUD AND CLEAR.

He's mostly pissed off, but another part of him just feels. Crushed. Sad. He genuinely feels so stupid for trusting you. He just..... wants everything to be quiet. And be left alone.

(elliot's reaction summarized):

Shedletsky, Builderman and Guest 1337 are gonna feel the MOST betrayed about this. I mean, at this point, almost ALL of the survivors are gonna be pissed about it, ESPECIALLY THESE 3. Great, absolutely wonderful, they totally asked for this already hellhole game to make their lives worse by having you betray their trust. They're totally jumping up and down from joy.

Even then, they can't get out of your grasp, it's almost as if the world is mocking their lives and purely just sees all 3 of their sufferings as entertainment. It almost feels hopeless. Keyword: almost.

Yeahhh, Shed's gonna rebel by just. Randomly stopping regardless if they're in a chase or not. Oh and he's gonna purposely miss his slash no matter how correct and close the position is (bro's gonna step back). Builderman's the MOST BLUNT. Bro's gonna start dissing you, telling you that you're just like the killers: seeing their fear and deaths merely as entertainment. Guest 1337 won't do much, but he WILL give you disapproving looks and sometimes snears at you.

(I just know Shed will be MORE pissed off if you're playing as 1x1x1x1. Like...dude. C'mon, REALLY? YOU'RE CONTROLLING HIS LITERAL EMBODIMENT OF HATRED??? Ohhh, Shed is SEETHING, meanwhile, 1x1x1x1's pride and ego is secretly rising, and he's got a cocky grin on his face.)

007n7....has nothing to say, initially. It's just.... This is just too much for him. First he has to deal with his son being a killer, and now he has to deal with you? Yeahhhh... bro will be the first person to accept his fate. And when you're playing as him again, 007n7 will avoid eye contact with you as MUCH as possible. He needs someone to talk to :broken_heart:

In conclusion? You better have the option of being a killer disabled. Or have a 700-word essay with REASONABLE and GOOD explanations as to why you've played as a killer.

#⭐️ self aware forsaken au #forsaken x reader #noob x reader #two time x reader #chance x reader #elliot x reader #shedletsky x reader #builderman x reader #guest 1337 x reader #007n7 x reader #FORGOT TO MENTION #ik azure isn't out (yet) but imagine Two Time's reaction if you played as Azure???!?!#Two Time will be HEARTBROKENNNNN #heavenly-wounded

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studioeisa · 5 months ago

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hitting the brakes.

★ footnotes: fan fiction of fan fiction? likelier than you think (2). nobody perceive this because it is entirely for @diamonddaze01, in retaliation for invisible string and gratitude for her pedal to the metal series, which has been the gift that keeps on giving. word count: 1.3k

You’re seething. Fuming so hard that you’re convinced you’ll see red.

Ferrari red, your husband might even tease you, but that’s beside the point. Right now, your attention is fully on the smirking McLaren driver sitting opposite you.

Kim Mingyu is a vision to behold in his nylon orange race suit. He doesn’t look like somebody that just got an earful over the radio, which was already the talk of the media briefing room. Mingyu has done it again, the journalists had whispered to one another. Pissed off his race engineer to the point that she threatened to quit.

If there’s anything you know about Mingyu, though, it’s that he’s always had a bit of a devil-may-care attitude. Why else would he make such a death-defying overtake in the final lap?

It’d been the kind of move that could have cost someone their car, their career, their life. And yet Mingyu persisted, lunging into a gap that barely existed after Jeonghan had taken the racing line into the penultimate turn.

McLaren dove up the inside. Jeonghan slammed on the brake to avoid contact. You swear your heart stopped in your chest when the Ferrari wobbled, kissing the rumble strip as Mingyu shot past. Half a second more, half a centimeter closer, and it would have been a disaster.

Mingyu had snatched a podium finish from Jeonghan against the advice of his engineer, and now you had to grill him on it.

You weren’t mad that Jeonghan finished P4. This was the name of the game, after all. If anything, you were pissed that Mingyu— your friend since childhood— had done something so utterly stupid.

But you’re not here to tell him off, no matter how much you want to. No, you’ve got a job to do, and you’re reminded of it as you hold the Sky Sports microphone out for Mingyu.

“The overtake on the final lap,” you say, jumping right into business, “it was aggressive, risky. Some might even call it reckless.”

Mingyu doesn’t flinch. “It won me the race.”

You don’t let him off easy. You never have, and you’re not about to start today. “It could have ended badly,” you insist.

There’s a flicker of something— a preemptive apology, you realize later— on Mingyu’s expression. It belays the casualness of his next words, the fact he speaks without missing a beat.

“I knew he would hit the brakes because he has a wife at home.”

Kim Mingyu is damn lucky the cameras are rolling. If he tried to pull that shit with you at any other time, you would have jumped out of your seat and socked him in the face.

Your fingers flex around your microphone. The light catches on the golden wedding band, adding salt to the wound that Mingyu has so mercilessly cut into you.

One might think it to be a little cruel. Just last week, Mingyu was among those who raised a toast to you and Jeonghan. He got so wine drunk that his coat ended up in the pool— a story for another time— and he tearfully told the two of you how happy he was, to see his close friend and ‘one of the best drivers he knew’ finally, finally married.

And so it may look like a bit of a cheap shot— this reminder that Jeonghan now had a reason for restraint. That you were the wife waiting at home.

As much as it is a low blow, you also know that Mingyu is just stating a fact. You’re torn between defending Jeonghan and disparaging Mingyu, but neither of those demons win. You have a job to do, you repeatedly tell yourself, as you clear your throat and shove the microphone just a little more into Mingyu’s personal space.

“Next question,” you go on, just a hint of flint now sparking in your tone.

“‘I knew he would hit the brakes because he has a wife at home’? Are you kidding me? Do you hear yourself when you talk, or does the sound of your own engine drown out common sense?”

“Jesus Christ—”

“You could’ve taken him out. You could’ve taken yourself out. But no, you had to pull that reckless, brainless, ‘McLaren-puts-all-their-budget-into-social-media’ move and pray to whatever racing gods you believe in that it worked.”

A sharp laugh. This time, from Jeonghan.

“And then, you sit there in that press room, all smug like you just orchestrated the greatest masterstroke in F1 history, when really, you just proved you’ve got the survival instincts of a fruit fly and the decision-making skills of McLaren’s pit wall.”

“A lot to say about my team, huh?”

“Shh,” says Jeonghan. “She’s still not done.”

“You don’t get to say things like that, Mingyu. Not to me. Not about him. Not when you’re out there driving like you’ve got nine lives and an unlimited spare parts budget.”

“We do, though,” notes Mingyu.

“Oh, shut up and listen.”

“If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I hope you enjoy the sight of Ferrari’s rear wing, because that’s all you’ll be seeing for the rest of the season.” You pause. “Drive safe, dumbass.”

The scathing voicemail ends. Mingyu vaguely feels like he got physically beat up, but you’ve always had that effect on him, anyway— a unique ability to drag him through the mud. Still, it’s a small grace that you’ve ended on a somewhat caring note. It goes to show that you’re not entirely out to wring his neck just yet.

Your husband doesn’t seem to think he deserves the same courtesy.

“She should’ve ended at the ‘Ferrari rear wing’ jab,” Jeonghan quips as he absentmindedly twirls the remnants of alcohol at the bottom of his glass. “I would’ve also shit on you for thinking being a ‘calculated risk’ is a personality trait.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. You and Jeonghan were such menaces to deal with.

Years of being on the same grid has at least somewhat steeled Jeonghan to Mingyu’s impetuousness. It’s the only reason the two drivers are able to still grab a drink with each other in good faith, the race that happened earlier in the afternoon now an added bullet point to their years worth of rivalry.

Mingyu moves to order another beer, but Jeonghan shakes his head.

“What?” Mingyu whines. “It’s only—” He spares a quick glance at his wristwatch. “Half past ten.”

There’s an easy grin on Jeonghan’s face as he gets to his feet. Somehow, Mingyu already knows the answer before it comes.

“Right,” the Ferrari driver drawls. “But, as you so kindly pointed out— I’ve got a wife to go home to.”

A low groan crawls its way out of Mingyu’s throat. “You’re no fun,” he grumbles.

Jeonghan gives a wordless pat to his pocket. Mingyu doesn’t even have to know what he’s referring to. Everybody is aware of the polaroid picture wedged safely in Jeonghan’s wallet, the one featuring you and him at Baku’s Old City.

Left to his own devices, Mingyu resists the urge to fish for his phone. He has a race engineer to apologize to— or maybe an apology is generous. He could tease her, hit her with something like Did you see that? I pulled it off, didn’t I? after her advice to not drive within an inch of his life.

There’s a weight pressing on Mingyu’s chest, one he wants to deem guilt for what he said to you. Hell, he’ll even dub it crash-out from his maneuver.

He’ll call it everything but what it really is.

That pang of knowing no one is praying for his safety, the same way all the other devoted girlfriends and wives might be.

That gnaw of finding comfort in his race engineer’s fury— because at least that means someone cares for him, even in some roundabout way.

That ache of loneliness. Plain and simple.

Mingyu raises his hand and asks for the bill.

#mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu drabble #honestly. no proper tags because this is just self gratifying and for Tara #(🥡) notebook #(💎) page: svt #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios

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amourtoken · 4 months ago

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So I've slept like shit for days and in my exhausted state all I can think abt is this fucking image unfortunately so YALL SUFFER WITH ME also god this is so unedited and uncoordinated but forgive me I am psychotically sleep deprived

(tw in case anyone's bothered by mentions of partaking in the devils lettuce btw)

Can't see it without thinking of being squished between the two of them on the already too small couch at the lake house. Jack invited you over, promising to get you high and offer up plenty of snacks afterwards. Not that you'd ever need an excuse to spend time with him, but how could you ever turn that down?

When you arrived you didn't expect Quinn to be there but by no means were you complaining. You feel like you rarely see him nowadays so of course your best friends oldest brother is a welcomed sight. You'd dropped everything at the door and Jack all but drags you down onto the couch, his hands lingering on your hips a little longer than what could be considered normal. Again, you can't complain.

It takes no time to get you just as high as they were, a handful of hits had a comforting warmth spread through your body until you felt like you were melting into the cushions with a contented sigh. Your face was pressed against Jack's shoulder and you could feel Quinn's thigh pressed up against yours, if you weren't leaning into Jack then he'd probably be even closer.

When was the last time you really looked at your best friend? Like really looked? You swear you don't remember him being so...pretty. He's always been pretty but not like this. Right?

Your eyes traveled down his arm, watching him roll a few extra for later. The way his fingers moved made your insides heat up and the way his eyebrows knit together when he's focused has become insanely endearing. He feels so warm against you you can't help but nuzzle your face further against his arm, tucking your face against his neck when he finishes up and finally leans back. Jack's arm instinctively tightens around your shoulders to keep you close, his head tilts back against the couch cushions and you can visibly watch the tension in his body ease away. The mix of his cologne and the smell of smoke lingering has your thighs squeezing together, fuck.

Jack's hand squeezes your shoulder gently before sliding down to your waist to sit more comfortably. You thought you would've been more shocked to feel Quinn's hand tracing little shapes on your thigh but nothing could bother you right now. You feel weightless, it's been ages since you've had the chance to smoke maybe that's why it's hitting you so hard? Quinn's hand on your thigh snakes down to your knee, hooking under it and dragging it to sit over his own so your legs were spread wide.

"You doin' okay, pretty girl? All you gotta do is say the word and we'll stop okay?"

Jack's free hand tilted your face up to meet his, making sure you were paying attention. The eye contact made you feel small, and it felt like your heartbeat fell from your chest to settle between your legs. You would've squeezed them together again if Quinn hadn't kept them forced open, his hand kneading at the soft skin of your inner thigh. Everywhere his fingers trailed felt hot, like he was transferring an electric current through your skin. Are you sure this is real? This seems a little too coordinated.

Just as Jack leaned in for a kiss, Quinn's fingers slid under the hem of your shorts, brushing your clit through the fabric and making your hips jerk involuntarily. The kiss muffled the sound of your whines, not that it really mattered since no one was home yet. Quinn worked your shorts down your legs while you were occupied with Jack, tapping your thigh to get you to lift your hips for him enough to slide them off. You're so attentive, doing so good for him. Without the pesky fabric in the way he could really do whatever he wanted now, thankfully.

Much to your displeasure Jack pulled away from the kiss, short strings of saliva connecting the two of you before breaking off as he got too far away. His hands slid down your torso to drag your shirt up and off your body, leaving you totally stripped for them. You felt extra exposed since they were totally dressed but it only added to the buzzing in your skull from earlier.

Theres barely enough room on the couch as is but they'd make it work. Jack shifted to turn sideways, dragging you into his lap so you were both facing Quinn at the other end. Your brain was so fuzzy you happily let them maneuver you however they needed, leaning back against Jack's chest like it's second nature. His body heat felt like it was melting you from the inside out and you knew you really weren't in your right mind but if this were actually a dream you'd be upset to wake up from it.

Quinn's hands immediately worked their way back between your thighs, Jack's legs keeping yours spread conveniently for his brother.

"Fuck, pussy's so pretty- bet you taste so fuckin' good-"

Quinn's voice sounded strained, he didn't wanna make this all about him but he needed to feel you one way or another. His fingers barely brushed your slit and came back drenched in your slick, you're really enjoying yourself, huh? You thought you'd pass out seeing Quinn bringing his fingers up to lick you off of them but you scrambled to hang onto whatever was left of your mind by tiny threads.

It took no effort to sink two of his fingers deep into you, laughing to himself at the way your back arched so harshly when he scissored them inside you. The wet sound of Quinn's fingers fucking into you made your face heat up, you tried to hide it by burying your face against Jack's neck but it was pointless. As Quinn stretched you out, Jack's hands roamed your body like it was his job to map out every inch and commit you to memory. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples just to hear you whine his name, you could feel his cock twitch in his sweats from behind you every time his name rolled off your tongue. Its never sounded sweeter than when it's falling from your lips, he's sure.

Quinn's fingers curved just right inside you to hit spots that made your eyes roll back, you're sure you couldn't replicate his efforts if you tried and in the back of your mind you dread the day you'll have to. Jack left one of his hands to knead at your tits while the other trailed down your body to help unravel you just a little bit faster, circling your clit while Quinn focused on filling you up. You've never felt the coil in your stomach twist up so fast in your life, it felt like you could barely catch your breath and your thighs were shaking terribly. You'd think you've done this a hundred times the way they seemingly know just how to please you.

"Gonna cum for us, pretty girl? I know you're close, it's okay. We want you to feel good, baby"

Jack pressed a kiss to your temple to reassure you, the pet name making you clench around Quinn's fingers. Everything felt so out of control, your nails sunk into Jack's forearm for some leverage before you tipped over the edge of your orgasm with a pathetic yelp. Quinn worked another finger into you to work you through it, the feel of you pulsing around them made his cock strain against his pants so hard it hurt. Black spots flooded your vision heavily and you held onto Jack like he was the only thing keeping you glued to earth in this moment. As far as you're concerned, it's the truth.

"That's it, fuck- you're doing so good for us, angel. Good girl."

"I got you baby, don't worry. Just wanna make you feel good."

It took ages for your vision to clear up but your legs never stopped shaking, there's no way you'd be standing anytime soon. Jack's arms tightened around your waist to keep you steady and you could feel him grinding against your ass from behind before you even opened your eyes again. God he felt big but the feel of Quinn's slapping his tip against your clit jerked you out of your haze quickly.

"Think you can handle another round, baby?"

#Jack #Quinn #Jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #Quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes x reader

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