#and then he was suddenly an enlisted man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitten-fruit · 2 months

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price….. in a.. a.. cowboy hat

girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! ♡

18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words

John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.

Here’s part 2!

Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Price’s property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your father’s spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.

Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.

His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed – where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.

Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Don’t bother the man, daddy would tell you, he’s not our friend.

But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldn’t help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didn’t belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. You’d peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.

Sometimes you’d sneak into his stables. You’d coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.

But your most regular habit – one that had gotten you into trouble before – was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.

He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;

“Hey! I see you in there, missy!”

Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.

“There’ll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,” he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, “You hear me?”

It didn’t stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.

You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes you’d leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts – perfectly incriminating.

Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.

Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.

One, two, three, four…

At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.

There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crow’s-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.

With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, “What’d I tell you about catching you back here?”

Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.

“You said there’d be trouble,” you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.

“Mhm,” he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. “Get in.”

A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. “What for?”

“I’m takin’ you back to your daddy,” he barked, irate and impatient, “I’ve got some words for him, too.”

You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. “What words would those be?”

With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. “To keep a fuckin’ handle on his daughter.”

“Don’t think there’s anything you could tell him that he hasn’t already tried,” you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.

He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. “I believe that,” he scoffed, “c’mon. In. Don’t make me ask again.”

You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. “Or what?”

Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.

With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadn’t seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.

“You’ll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,” you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.

He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.

“Care to explain this?” He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.

But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.

Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.

As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.

Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.

“You’re a little thief,” he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. “Aren’t you.”

Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill – perhaps a touch of both. Because you didn’t know him. You couldn’t trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldn’t club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.

“No I’m not,” you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.

“And a liar?” He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists – lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. “You’re covered in evidence, missy.”

Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. “It’s not stealing if you don’t use it.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. “Now get in the goddamn truck.”

“I can walk home,” you grumbled, “you’re not the boss of me.”

Huffing in anger, he leaned forward – looming over you with a domineering lour. “While you’re trespassing on my property – yes I am.”

Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t go with you. Kidnap me?”

He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some rope in the truck,” he gruffly warned, “you gonna make me use it?”

Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.

He was daring you, wasn’t he? Goading you to challenge him.

So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat – plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.

“Hey!” He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you – but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. “Fuck’s sake.”

Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.

“God dammit, girl, you get back here!” He roared – already closing the distance. You hadn’t expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.

You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.

“If you get so much as a dent in that hat I’ll fuckin’–”

“You’ll what?” You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.

You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. “You’ll be in big fuckin’ trouble!”

Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property – this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. You’d perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.

He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.

Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. “Give me the hat,” he ordered, throaty and severely – no longer joking.

But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.

“I like it,” you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. “It probably looks better on me.”

“Even if it does,” he chided through teeth, out of breath, “it’s not yours.”

You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. “Maybe it should be.”

“Give it to me.” He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.

So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.

But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.

“C’mere,” he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.

You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. “Let go of me!” You squeaked, still giggling.

“No,” he snarled, “I’m taking my fuckin’ hat back, and then I’m taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.”

You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.

“It’s just a hat,” you whined, “you’ve probably got heaps of them.”

Your obstinance was aimless – no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.

“It was my father’s,” he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.

You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. “Well he won’t be needing it, will he?”

That was a step over the line.

You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.

And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.

He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.

“Ah!” You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.

A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly – you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.

He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.

You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.

“For what?” He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.

With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. “For taking your hat.”

Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasn’t there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.

And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm – lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.

“Yeah?” He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. “What else?”

#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate #john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price smut

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zyafics · 1 month

Text

play fake | part two

series play fake — ( masterlist )

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

summary when rafe cameron needs to secure a gf in order for his father to see him as a stable man, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

content 18+, eventual smut, angst, fake-dating, jealousy, people-pleasing and independent! female reader, ward cameron pinning rafe and sarah against each other, rafe being an asshole

zya's notes instead of studying for my chem final, i was writing this for u guys, hope u like it! <3

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

You didn't want to ask Rafe for help.

You never like doing it in general. The concept is foreign to you and it makes your skin crawl with a sense of dread, but you were desperate.

He hasn't come back to your bar in a while; probably off finding a new replacement for a fake girlfriend. Before, you hadn't given it much thought. You did decline. However, now, you wish he hadn't found one yet. Now, the offer sounds appetizing given the situation you're in.

You need to get in contact with him. You knew that showing up to the Tannyhill estate would raise questions but you didn't know where he would be. An idea suddenly popped up in your head and you decided to scroll through social media and find the nearest Kook party. You found one, just uploaded fifteen minutes ago, at Topper's house.

Parking in the street, you stare at the party in full swing. It has been a while since you've been to a party—too focused on working full-time at Sailor and taking care of your siblings—and the idea of going in unnerves you. You were still in uniform, well, it's something you try to wear everyday to get tips. A simple black crop top and a mini skirt. You find it ironic that you were at least dressed for the part.

Leveling some confidence, you push open the creaky door of your old car and head inside. It is absolutely crowded with people, with girls and guys drinking and dancing outside in the yard, near the pool, on the porch. Your eyes glaze over every single one of them, trying to find the one person you hope would be here.

You find Rafe near the back porch of the mansion. He's with a couple of his buddies, Topper being among them, and a girl on his arm as he holds a beer with the same hand. You weren't surprised in the slightest. This was his plan after all. You were just surprised by the feeling in your stomach.

The lick of jealousy you didn't understand where it came from.

You step up. His friends were the first to notice you, scanning over your body that you wish you had worn a jacket over yourself. When you are just in front of him, his gaze finally focuses and meets your gaze.

"Can we talk?" You ask, sparing no attention to the girl on him.

He scoffs, "fuck off."

Of course he's going to be an asshole. You didn't bother with entertaining his comment by grabbing his arm, pulling him up. You knew you didn't have the strength to take him completely so you were pleasantly surprised when he assisted and got up. He even pushed the girl to the side as you dragged him off to somewhere quiet.

Well, as quiet as the live party can be.

"What do you want?"

His words are sharp and harsh, but you expected nothing less. You figured something happened—that's why he entertains his vices, right?—and plus, you told him that you wanted nothing to do with him. If anything, he has a bit of justification to be pissed.

But that doesn't mean you would accept it.

"I was going to talk to you about your offer, but seeing as you're being too much of an ass, I guess I should come back another time," you snap, turning around to head out because fuck him. You weren't going to take it. You had other things to do. You would be forgiving, perhaps, if he actually talked to you about his problem but to be a dick off the bat? Not a chance in hell.

"Wait," he grabs your arm before you move far and this contrasts the strength you hold. One hand and a lazy attempt to hold you in place. "What do you want?"

He said that somewhat nicer.

You turn back with a glare, contemplating what to do, before remembering what's at stake. You're already here. Might as well get it over with.

"I'll do it." You say, your voice coming out smaller than you intended. It’s so embarrassing to ask for help. It feels even more so to backtrack into something you said you couldn't—wouldn't—do. "Be your fake girlfriend, I mean."

The corner of his lips quirks into an amused smile. Even in his drunk state, where his blond hair is darkened from the humidity of the space and his eyes glossed over, you can't help but admit how attractive he is. "Couldn't stay away, could you?"

"I'm not trying to be the next Mrs. Cameron," you snap, feeling the need to clarify. "But, I do need the payout."

His eyes narrow. "Thought you didn't want it?"

"I don't," you answer. "It's something else."

He tilts his head to the side, studying you. "What?"

Sighing, you wished you could talk somewhere more private. But, this truly is the best place you can get him. "When you get your father's company and start doing all the Kook bullshit of hosting charity events, galas, and dinners, I want you to use Sailor as your drink caterer."

It sounded like a good deal when you thought of it. You didn't want the money because you don't know how long this little facade is going to last. You needed something stable. You need something that would benefit you in the long-run. Since Sailor has been slipping off the profit margins and you've been dealing with some trouble regarding its ownership, you figured the business from all the catering would boost it up. It would give you status and credit. It would benefit you long after this engagement with Rafe ends.

His eyes look thoughtful of the idea. You wonder how he's calculating, how he's weighing the options about whether to accept your negotiation or to decline—telling you he already found a replacement. You hope it wasn't the latter. You needed this.

"No."

You clench your jaw. Of course. The one time you sought out help, instead of cleaning up the mess yourself, you got shut down. It's embarrassing.

"Fine." You say, ripping your arm out of his grasp and heading straight to the exit. You want to leave as soon as possible and use the time you should've spent going here to actually come up with a solution. It was a wasted effort on your end. You make a mental note of that.

Just a few steps short of the exit, some guy nearby grabs your arm and holds you in place. "Where you going, pretty?" He slurs his words, his eyes cascading down your body that you wished you pulled down the length of your skirt. "I didn't get the chance to talk to you."

You try to rip your arm off of his but his grip is firm. "Leave me alone."

"Come on, pretty," he gets closer, his intoxication reeking from his breath that you had to turn your head to avoid the smell. "I can make you feel real good."

Your hand clenched by your side while the other places a palm directly on his chest, trying to place some distance between you and the stranger before you commit to your next move. "If you don’t leave me alone—"

It happened in a flash. One minute he's holding you, the second he's getting knocked back with a punch delivered straight on the mouth.

You look up to see Rafe, his knuckles clenched and redden while the beer he was cradling had dropped on the ground into a million broken pieces. His breathing heavy while his eyes are a little distant, lagged out.

"Rafe," you call out, but before he gets the chance to face you, the drunk stranger comes staggering back with a punch in return. The crowd gasps and quickly moves out of the way as a circle forms, Rafe and the man trading swings.

No one is helping them. No one is attempting to. Rafe is significantly more drunk than the stranger, his footing is slightly off, and the drunkard is getting in more decks on Rafe's face.

When Rafe tries to duck from a delivery, the guy does directly to his stomach and it causes him to topple over with a grunt.

Having enough, you step forward and grab the stranger's shoulder. He turns around with a look of confusion—just in time for you to deck him as hard as your hand can swing, right in the face.

"Shit!" You swear under your breath, the blow rippling back and returning straight to your fist, aching.

The stranger staggers back, his back hitting the floor while you grab Rafe. You don't know where you're going, you don't know the layout of this house, but pushing through the crowd, you find an empty bedroom and slam the door close with a lock.

Thankfully, it had a bathroom attached to it. You set Rafe on the mattress as you flick the lights on and search for the cabinets for any aid. Rafe's bottom lip is busted, there's a cut on one of his brows, and bruising forming against his jawline. You don't even want to think about the mess on his knuckles.

Finding a first aid kit, you step back to see Rafe laid out against the mattress, his eyes closed. You rush to his side, afraid he has a concussion and he's falling asleep.

"Rafe!" You shout, hitting his cheeks with the back of your hand in light taps, causing his eyes to flutter open. "You can't do that."

Willing himself back to a sitting position with your assistance, you set the first aid kit to the side as you attempt to help him. Using your hands to cradle his face, you assess the damages.

"Where'd you learn to punch like that?" He asks, the heat of his gaze follows you as you remove your touch.

You shrug. "You need to learn two things growing up in The Cut," you hold up a finger, "how to deliver a good right hook,"

You pause for a moment.

Impatiently, he prompts. "And?"

You hold up his gold signet ring and his watch. "How to take advantage of a drunk."

He scoffs, snatching his things out of your grasp as you laugh, releasing some tension in your shoulders. "Pogue." He sneers.

"Kook." You retort, but there's a lightness in your tone.

Rafe says nothing as you return to your search through the aid kit. When you find what you were looking for, you start on his face, first cleaning the cut around his brow.

He hisses at the sting, but allows you to continue. It was an awkward position to be in, sitting beside him as you try to clean the damage, and he must've noticed how irritated you were getting with his constant shifts away from the pain. Without a word, he grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap with one swoop, both legs on either side of his waist as his hands settle on the small of your back.

"Better?" He questions, raising a brow.

You don't say anything, attempting to adjust your skirt rising up to your hips, before you nod.

Cleaning the wound, you tilt your head to examine what your next step should be. It's hard to figure out because the bruise is slowly forming and while the cut may be small right now, it's going to be nasty tomorrow.

To ease some tension of the silence, you prompt with a conversation. "You got into another fight with your dad?"

He stiffens under you, clenching his jaw. "What makes you say that?"

You feel his eyes trained on your face, but you refuse to acknowledge it. "Because you're out here getting drunk instead of getting wasted at my bar."

Rafe smirks. "Miss me?"

"No, it was good for business." You say, matter-of-fact, and the look on his face dies off. You feel guilty. Adding on, you rectify, "and, you would've had someone to talk to. I don't think the people around here are offering that."

He says nothing, watching you work. You exchanged the bloodied pads for some ointment.

"It's just about Sarah again." He mutters, almost like he didn't want you to hear but knowing you would. "Same shit. Same golden child."

You nod, finally flicking your gaze down to his. His blue eyes are so prominent now, so clear, you wonder if you could get lost in them.

Rafe doesn't disclose any details like he normally does. When he goes on long tangents about the problem. It must've been bad. So, you lower your hand and cup his face, tilting his face to meet yours. "Want to talk about it?"

He swallows hard. "I don't want to talk."

"What do you want to do?"

"Fuck." He answers without a thought, the ability to shift into a fuck-mode is easier than digesting his feelings. You laugh, inappropriately, dropping your hand from his cheeks. You're about to push yourself off his lap—having bandaged him up—and let him go find his next hookup, but his grip on your waist tightens.

He doesn't say anything with that move, and you tilt your head at him.

"I thought I was below your level?" You tease.

"Yet, you're sitting on my dick right now," he says, eyes following yours. "What do you think that means?"

While you're not directly on him, you can feel his hard-on swelling under his pants, lightly grazing against your core, and causing a small ache between your legs.

"That you're horny enough to go for a Pogue."

He scoffs, lowering his hands to your ass and palms the flesh. Your eyes flutter close at the moment. "Who knew you were hiding such a nice body behind that counter?"

"You just haven't been paying attention."

"I am now."

His hands lowering to your hips, slowly pulling you down his lap, realigning your cunt until it sits directly on top of his zipper. He leans forward, his hot mouth against your ear. "If I tell you to grind on me, would you do it?"

You place a hand on his chest, trying to ease some space between the two of you, but your attempt was weak. Some part of you didn't want to leave.

"You're pushing it."

"What if I told you it would make me feel better?" He whispers, his fingers trailing up your skirt, against your bare thighs, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "That you can consider it part of your deal."

Your breath hitch in surprise. "You're saying yes?"

"I was going to," he pulls back to meet your face, "but you ran away."

"You said no to me," you remind him.

"To rile you up," he says, like an asshole, and you scoff. "Didn't think you would just leave like that."

"Maybe you should give me clear answers then."

"Fine," his breath is right in front of yours. "I want you to ride me."

Your eyes trail his face, your hands finding his shoulders. You know you shouldn't. You know if this is supposed to be fake, why do you feel a deep, carnal urge for him. If this happens, it opens the door to other things. But, something in you softens. He did get a bruise for you. He did defend you. He's in pain and you're in need.

Maybe you could use each other.

Slowly, your hips roll against his. The look on his face hints at surprise that you took the bait and causes you to smirk, gripping his shoulders harder when you find the hard cock lined against your panties. You press down.

"Fuck," he groans raspily, "just like that."

The praise lights something in you. "Like that?" You repeat, pushing yourself against his jeans, rubbing up and down, that you can feel him grow harder and harder against the seams of his pants. He nods shakily. "Is it making you feel better, baby?"

He knows you're taunting him, using his words, but he fucking loves it. You're listening. For once, you're not actively trying to spite him and knock back—but willing, to him.

"That's right," he compliments, his gaze following your body as you are starting to find a rhythm against him. Your movements are getting sloppier. "Just what I need. A Pogue who listens to whatever I fucking say."

You nod vigorously, feeling your wetness growing against your panties, drenching the material enough to leak through and rub off against the front of his pants.

"God, look at you," he muses in your ear, glancing down, and a chuckle leaves his throat. "You made such a mess."

"Feel so good," you moan, you tip your head back as the friction of his jeans feels incredibly perfect against your swollen clit.

"Come on, sweetheart," his grip around your waist tightens, afraid with the way you're moving, you're going to fall off. "Ride me."

You follow his direction, quickening your pace as low groans and rasps leaves his lips at the sensation you're making him feel. The sound is like drugs to you, fueling you, because you want to desperately help him arrive at his own climax.

You wrap both your arms around his neck, grinding ruthlessly against his lap. Leaning forward, you dip your face into the crook of his neck. "Come on, Rafe," you whisper into his ear, closing into your own orgasm. "Come for me."

As you came with a moan, your movements didn't stop. Your legs ache, begging to stop, but you want him to get there too.

"Fuck, fuck," he moans at your aggression, at how hard you're pressed against him, moving against him, it's a mesmerizing sight. "I'm coming."

You feel it against your core. The subtle twitch of his dick under the jeans. The faint wetness under you, mixed with your own cum, produces a small smile against your lips.

You slow your grind, pulling back, just to meet his eyes clearing from their post-orgasmic haze, and his grip has weakened significantly around your body. When you stop completely, you push yourself off of him, finding your feet on solid ground with wobbly legs.

"Better?" You tease, to which he nods weakly through heavy-lids. With a satisfied smile, you turn around and head for the door.

"I'll see you on our first date."

— read part three —

i'm trying my best w this taglist istg tumblr tags hates me taglists: @quicksilversg1rl / @uraesthete / @maybankslover / @trshngyn / @irides-solstice / @kur0obaby / @groovycass / @emmalandry / @outlawedmando / @ditzyzombiesblog / @mattyskies / @sunshinepanic / @too-deviant / @rafesgiirl / @rivaiken / @ficluvr / @bunniii-98 / @vvvhack @babygoddam / @cami-is-reading / @peachesmilk / @whore4fictionalman / @artemiswinnick / @janediazwindsor / @pandora-rosier1 / @solanathascientst / @ditzyzombiesblog / @itshellie / @grace-sully / @loveyouok / @tayrcse / @mysteris-things / @ella131989 / @starrkissezz / @sanriobuny / @alyssax25 / @chopshopcheesecake

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lovifie · 2 months

Text

Back Home

To my lovely anon 🙊.

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x SisterFriend!Reader

When Johnny finally comes back home, only to find his sister's best friend living in his house.

Soap got injured on the last mission. A bullet too close, well, not close, through. And not a bullet, a knife to the shoulder which left him in a sling. And now he needed almost absolute rest for a month until he was re-evaluated to see how it was healing.

It was Price's idea to go back home, it's been years since he saw his family and when Price mentioned it, guilt started to pool in his stomach.

So he took the first plane home and flew back. Reaching land in the middle of the night, he picked up a cab and went home. The humidity and coldness of his beloved Scotland made his shoulder hurt more; he couldn't wait to get home.

Once there, he picked up the key from under the mat that he so often told his mum to put away and entered the house. Making a beeline to his room, silent so as to not wake up anyone. And as soon as he took off his shoes, he threw himself into his bed. And the bed talked back.

“Bitch, I told you to go to your bed, I don't want a fucking sleepover.” A girl's voice erupted from under the cover, a hand pushing him off the bed. Well, he stood up, there is no way you would move him with just a hand while half asleep.

“Excuse me?” Soap asks, more offended than surprised he was pushed off his bed. The man's voice woke you up fast, whipping your head around at it and turning on the bedside lamp to see anything in the dark.

It only takes you a second to recognise your best friend’s brother, the mohawk recognisable everywhere. “Johnny?” You asked.

He asked your name back just as surprised. “What are you doing here?” He asks

“It's… it's a long story actually, I-I’ll go to your sister's room.” You say standing up, leaving his bed for him. “What happened to your shoulder?”

He peels his eyes away from you, suddenly remembering the one thing outside of his family that he always thought about.

His sister is just a couple of years younger than him, and they always went to the same school, and later on, high school. His sister and you met in kindergarten, and ever since you were joined by the hip. Monkey 1 and Monkey 2, his mother would joke about how she didn't know she birthed twins.

When the three of you were younger, you were just another annoying brat like his little sister. But once he reached puberty, he started to look at you differently. You were still an annoying brat, but he started to like the way you annoyed him.

Johnny loved to be in his room, but whenever he knew you were coming he would insist on being in the living room; even if it was just to catch a glimpse as you walked up to your sister's room.

The thing he hated the most about you? Your boyfriend. The fucking stupid boyfriend that couldn't see how amazing you were, the fucking stupid boyfriend that you cried about so much, the fucking stupid boyfriend that he would fight with so much.

The last thing he knew about him before he enlisted, was that he had proposed to you and that you had said yes.

But know, until just a moment ago, you were sleeping on his bed, with an old sweatshirt of his on. He was smiling to himself, the “long story” suddenly short when he connected the dots.

He wanted to tell you to stay and sleep with him. But he was exhausted and cold, and his shoulder only hurt more and more. And if you hit it on your sleep, he wouldn't forgive you, no matter how much you were the love of his life.

You were still looking at him, waiting for his answer. Even pointing at his shoulder so he would remember. “Oh.” He said looking at his shoulder. “It's classified.”

You rolled your eyes at his answer and started to walk out of the room; and just when you were almost out you turned to look at him.

“I'm glad you are back, Johnny.”

And in that moment, he knew he had a chance.

The next morning he woke up incredibly late in comparison with his usual time to wake up. But to the rest of the mortals, it was still early. In fact, only his mom was awake when he walked into the kitchen.

Giving her a warm hug that the both of them so desperately needed after being away for so long. With a cup of coffee in between, they talked on the kitchen table until his sister woke up as well and after you told her he was back she flew downstairs hugging his brother in a crushing hug.

You went downstairs too after stretching out and when you saw the image you remained at the doorway, not wanting to intrude on their reunion.

“Say hi to Johnny, you cunt.” Your best friend lovely said.

“I already did last night.” You say, before thinking of the double meaning. Johnny catches immediately, a mischievous grin on his face. He wishes you had welcomed him that way. “I thought it was you, crying about wanting to sleep together again.”

“Whatever, who came to my bed last night at the end?” She answers, smiling proudly.

You scoff at her. “Well, I'm sorry that I let the wounded soldier that came home after three years to sleep on HIS bed.” You say chuckling, you turn to him. “You are allowed to make arrests, right? According to your sister, seems this is my fate.”

You put your hands together, extending them before you for him to put handcuffs around your wrists. He'll put them soon, he still needs to choose if he wants to tie you to the bed or to him.

His sister slaps your arm, calling you dramatic, before working on making breakfast with your help. Something about the way you fit in just right with the people he loves the most, still wearing his sweatshirt truly warms him inside.

“So… how's Adam?” Johnny asks, he needs to know if the coast is clear. But the way both his mom and sister look at him the moment he talks makes it regretted. And the way the knife you were using falls from your hand on the counter, lets him know everything he needs.

“He's fine.” You answer quietly, and Johnny can almost see the walls building around you. Shit, shit, shit.

You wipe your hands on the tablecloth, turning around. “I think we are out of milk, I'll go buy some.” You say, walking out of the kitchen. Johnny is quick on his feet walking behind you. “I'll go with you.”

You look up to him as you tie your shoes, nodding without saying anything more. He puts his boots on as well, trying to tie the laces with just a hand. “Let me do it.” You say, no room to argue and you tie his boots quickly.

Once on the street, you walk next to each other. The shop is not far, but you walk slowly. Johnny knows you want to talk but he doesn't push it. Leaving you to choose the moment. “I actually don't know how he is doing.” You admit, looking at him. “Adam, I mean. I haven't heard from him since the wedding.”

“You got married?” Johnny asks, frankly surprised. He didn't get the invite.

“No. Thank god, I didn't.” You answer quickly, disgust clear on your face. “Almost, but I didn't.”

“What happened?”

“He cheated. With one of my bridesmaid, during the rehearsal dinner.” You laugh, but without a bit of humour on it. “I was talking with his mom about what we would name the first grandkid, and he was getting another girl pregnant in the bathroom.”

As you talk, your voice breaks, tears flooding your eyes as you cover your face.

“Hey, hey, c’mere.” He motions, hugging you with his nice arm. Good thing he wasn't invited, or else you'll know perfectly fine where the asshole was. Buried six feet under.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” You say, but still burying your face on his chest. “I should get over it, I know. It's been months now, but…”

“No apologies, bonnie. That's a perfectly acceptable reaction.” He says, cupping your face to look at your face. Fuck, are breathtakingly stunning when crying. “Fuck him, all right? You were always too good for him anyway.”

He knows he is exposing himself like this, and that it is obviously not fair to you. But his eyes land on your parted lips, and fuck does he wants to bite. Something must click inside your head, because you suddenly turn around, walking again and wiping the tears from your face.

“Yeah, you are right, Johnny. Fuck him.” You say, smiling at him but sadness is still in your eyes.

It isn't until a couple of days later that he doesn't get to talk to you alone again. He is lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone before going to sleep. A knock on his door disrupts him.

“C’mon in.” He says, looking at the door waiting to see who is it. Happiness floods his senses when he sees it's you.

“Are you busy?” You ask, only your head poking in. Soap quickly shakes his head, patting the bed next to him. You walk inside the room and sit cross-legged next to him. “Is it okay if I sleep here tonight? Your sister is beating me up on his sleep. At least I hope she's asleep.”

He simply peels the covers back, letting you get inside. He lets his phone on the bedside table, focusing only on you, and lays on his side, grateful the wounded shoulder in on the left side.

“How's your shoulder?” You ask, grabbing a finger from the hand resting on his chest.

“It's better, glad it's not my right one. I wouldn't be able to do anything.” He says

You smile at him, your hand moving to play with the name tags on his chest. “Do you know that Adam was deadly jealous of you?”

“What? He had you, what could I have to make him jealous?” He asks, not even realising his declaration of love.

“My attention.” You answer, looking at his face. “He always said that he didn't know why I was marrying him if it was clear I was in love with you.”

He looks at your face, catching you looking at his lips. “Were you?”

“Hm?”

“In love with me, were you?”

“To the bone.”

And that's all he needs before he's crushing his lips on yours. He hates he can't move his arm, needing to push you closer. But lucky for him, you do it yourself. Moving your arms around his neck, getting as close as you can.

He rolls, moving you along to lay on top of him, finally moving the arm he was propping himself on to pull you closer. Butterflies on his stomach going nuts at his lifelong crush kissing him, taking the breath from his lungs.

You straddle his hips, leaning down to keep kissing him as his hand finds its way to the back of your head. “I love you, bonnie. I have loved you for years.” He whispers against your lips, making you whimper.

“Show it to me, Johnny. Show me how much.” You whisper against his lips, moaning when he grinds his hips around your clothed cunt.

His hand pulls his sweatshirt off of you, you help him take it off, and it leaves you bare from hips up. He groans at the sight, his hand moving to your arse to push you forward so he can kiss your boob.

You sit at his chest, his hand getting under your pants and underwear, him grunting when he feels your wetness on his fingertips. You arch your back when his finger easily slips inside because of how slick your entrance is, him moaning around your chest; sucking and licking at your nipple making you moan.

“Johnny.” You moan, him shushing you quickly.

“I ken, bonnie. But I need to get this tight pussy ready, right? Make you feel good.” He moans when he feels your hand palm his crotch. “Fuck, press it harder, love.”

A second finger enters your cunt, stretching you as he scissors them. You pull his pants and underwear down, enough for his dick to spring free. You marvel your eyes on the thick, veiny, heavy piece of meat between his legs, wondering about the taste of the oozing precum from his tip; a sharp pain on your nipple pulling you away when Soap bites down.

“Don't even think about it, bonnie. Not today.” He says, his fingers pulling out of you and tugging the pants down. “Take them off, love. And lay on your side.”

You quickly do as he says, hating that you need to stand away from him to do it. You lay next to him, his eyes glued on your body. He grunts, managing to keep his arm under you, pulling you against him.

This one is officially his most hated injury up to date, needing to push you closer. He latches at your neck, tasting, sucking and biting your skin. Wanting more, needing more.

“You need a hand, Johnny?” You ask, heavy breathing when you feel his hard dick probe around your pussy but not being able to enter you without a hand around it.

Johnny chuckles in your ear. “Bonnie, I'll rip my arm off to do it if you don't help me right now.”

You laugh back at him, lowering a hand between your legs parting them and fisting his dick making him moan as you align it with your entrance.

Your laugh turns into a moan when he slowly starts to sink in. When he finally bottoms out, he stays still for a minute, hugging you, pulling you close. You turn your head back and kiss him deeply, he starts to move his hips, catching with his mouth every moan that slips from yours.

It is such a chaotic situation, one of his arms is trapped inside of the sling, the other is trapped under your body, he is still wearing all his clothes, and you are having sex on his childhood bedroom with his mom and sister just on the other side of the hall.

Still, it's the best sex of your life. His dick is stretching you as no other dick has ever, he is reaching places inside of you that have never been touched before and that now will need to be touched forever, he keeps kissing you like you were an oxygen tank in the depths of the ocean and you wish you would stay like this forever.

But with the way his hips are thrusting into you and the hand under your body finds its way to your clit, you know there is not much left.

“I love you, bonnie. I fucking love you so much.” He says between moans. “I'm gonna marry you and I'm gonna love you forever. Gonna make a family with you, bonnie. I love you, I can't wait to fucking marry you. Marry me, please, bonnie.”

“Yes, fuck” you moan back, nails sinking into the skin of his ass when you grab him urging him to fuck you harder.

Johnny thinks is the longest couple of minutes until you finally cum, wanting to hold on just to feel you clench around him; milking him dry when you do with his name in your mouth.

The two of you stay panting, still in each other embrace. Johnny's dick still softening inside of you with no urge to get it out.

“Did you mean it?” You ask him.

“Did you?” He asks back, suddenly too aware of what he just said.

“I meant it if you did.” You say childishly, turning your head around.

“I did.” He says, looking at your eyes. “We should probably date before getting married, right?”

“Maybe not.” You say, still looking at his eyes.

You stay looking at each other eyes, looking for any kind of doubt in them. You speak first; “The courthouse opens at 9.”

“We can have breakfast after.” He says, as if that's the correct answer.

“I'd love to have breakfast with you tomorrow, Johnny.” You answer, because to you it is the right answer.

Hii, lovies!! 💗

Let me know if you liked it and if you'll like to write any of the other options of the ask 💗

Oh, and also, there is BIG little something starting today hehe so stay tunned my beloved ❤️❤️❤️

TagList: @whos-fran @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @kayden666 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @glocuseguardian3rd @darkangel4121 @risingofjupiter @spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @lunari0 @dukeofjjune @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind @cmbghost @dilara-del @multifandomheathenannie @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles

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froggibus · 7 months

Text

Give The People What They Want - Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

Pairing: Stu Macher x f! camgirl! reader (fem pronouns + has a pussy) x Billy Loomis

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: you enlist the help of Billy and Stu to give your followers what they want--you losing your virginity

CW: camgirl! reader, slight modern! AU, live porn, exhibitionism, slight dubcon, threesome, double penetration (in the pussy), fingering, cum play, lots of cum, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, riding, backshots, praise/degradation, rough sex

hi sorry this is late i procrastinated writing it all day. also i have no idea what onlyfans/other porn streaming sites look like so im so sorry this whole post looks like a twitch chat lmfao

Kinktober Masterlist

PapaSugar471 has gifted $25: ride something for us baby

Camfan97: yeah stretch out that little pussy

You look at the chat and pretend to act shocked. “I don’t know if I can take something other than my fingers…”

You dip a finger teasingly into your dripping hole, leaning back on your bed to show them just how tight you are. You arch your back and whine, slowly pumping it in and out.

“See how tight I am?” You whine and push another finger into your pussy, “anything else is too big.”

WesC1996 has gifted $100: i would give anything to watch that pussy get ruined

PapaSugar471: our girl needs a good fuck

“You guys really wanna see me get fucked, hm?” You roll over onto your hands and knees, arching your back to give the webcam an even better view of your entrance. “You wanna see my poor, virgin pussy get ruined?”

You start to work yourself open on your fingers, lewd wet sounds starting to fill the air. You can hear notifications coming from your chat room, but you’re so lost in the pleasure you don’t turn around to look.

“F-fuck,” you whine and slip another finger inside, your gummy walls stretching around your knuckles. “I need cock so bad!”

The pleasure builds inside of you, threatening to explode out. There’s a sound behind you, a sound not from your stream. It almost sounds like your door opening, but you ignore it and focus on the way your fingertips dig into your walls.

Camfan97: who is that

Y/nluvr: ummm what

PapaSugar471: turn around

Blaviusx89: mods who is this guy

You’re so close to cumming when hands suddenly grab your hips, shoving you face first into the bed. You squeal, turning around to come face to face with a tall man in a white mask.

You feign surprise, letting out a blood curdling scream at the knife brandishing man in front of you. You almost applaud yourself for how realistic your scream sounds.

Stu looms over you, his back to the camera but out of the way just enough that you can still be seen. He grabs your knees and folds them into your chest, holding your legs up. He presses a hand down over your mouth, clamping down so you can’t be heard.

Since your followers have been hounding you lately to get fucked on stream, you thought you’d at least make it fun. That’s how you ended up asking Stu and Billy for a little favour.

He dips a gloved finger into your aching pussy, that pressure returning. You were so close to cumming before he showed up and now all you want is more. He fingers you slowly, refusing to give you what you want so quickly. You try to thrust your hips into him and drive his finger deeper, but he moves away every time you do.

Finally, he slips a second finger inside of you and starts to thrust faster. The width of two of his fingers is more than the three you just had inside of you, and your pussy strains to take all of him. He pumps them in and out of you at a devastating pace, your juices starting to splash upwards. Loud splashing noises fill the room, Stu’s assault on your pussy not letting up.

The pressure in your stomach is almost painful. Your walls tremble around his hand and threaten to let loose the waves of pleasure building inside of you. You drown out the rush of notifications from your laptop, all of your focus on your impending orgasm.

Stu’s hand on your mouth slips down to your neck, squeezing as you cum. Your whole body convulses, juices running down your pussy, into your ass and onto your bed.

He leans in and releases the pressure from your neck. “Look at your chat,” he runs a finger across your puffy clit, “I think they like this.”

PapaSugar471: so hot. now fuck her

Pepega69: this has to be scripted LOL

CamFan97: show that pussy whos boss

Y/nluvr: lucky guy….wish that was me

Stu gets up from your bed, pulling out his cock through an opening in the black robe. His cock is much bigger than you expected—fairly long and not bad in girth, either. The pink tip looks almost swollen, precum rolling off of it.

He pushes the tip against your cheek, rubbing his length across your mouth. You stick out your tongue, looking up at him through your lashes as he smacks his tip onto your mouth.

“Gonna fuck your face,” he groans. He looks at the camera, speaking through the voice changer, “should I fuck her face?”

Another rush of notifications fills the chat, the sound making you dizzy. Stu takes that as a yes, slowly pushing his cock into your mouth. Even with his tip tickling the back of your throat, you’ve just barely got half of his length into your mouth. Stu tangles a hand in your hair, using it like a rein to pull you closer.

You open your throat to him, wrapping your lips around his cock and sucking. His precum leaks into your mouth and runs down your throat. Stu tugs hard on your hair, pushing his cock beyond your throat and making you gag. You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose as his cock fills your mouth completely. Your jaw aches from the stretch, but you force yourself to take it. You dig your nails into the meat of his thighs as black spots start to crowd your vision.

When he pulls out, you look up at the camera with teary eyes, pouting with your swollen lips. The chat looks blurry and foreign to you, your head spinning from the lack of oxygen.

Stu climbs on the bed behind you, grabbing your hips and shoving you forwards. Your face is only a foot or so away from the camera, everyone able to see the drool and precum around your mouth and the tears in your eyes.

Stu rubs his cock across your ass and through your folds, whining quietly so that only you can hear him. Your pussy leaks with every touch, running down your thighs and making them stick together. He lines his cock up at your entrance, slowly pushing the tip in.

You’ve never been fucked before, and the stretch is almost painful. It knocks the air out of your lungs, but Stu tightens his grip on your hips and keeps going until he bottoms out. You whimper. He’s so deep that you can feel him in your stomach, the tip of his cock brushing up against your insides.

“He’s too deep,” you whine into the camera.

Stu takes that as a sign to keep going, pulling out his cock until only the tip remains, and then thrusting back into you hard. You gasp involuntarily, losing your balance on your elbows and face planting into the bed. It takes a few more thrusts before the pain goes away completely, replaced with the delicious feeling of his cock spreading your walls apart.

You moan so loud you’re sure the whole neighborhood can hear it, your pussy squelching everytime he pulls his cock out. Stu’s thrusts are merciless, his hips colliding with your ass every single time. His fingertips dig into your sides, desperate for a grip to keep up his stamina.

That familiar pressure builds inside of you, tying your stomach into knots, but it’s stronger than you’ve ever felt before. You look up at the camera through your lashes, your flushed and feverish skin making you look almost animated. There’s a loud burst of notifications, drowned out by your combined moans and the sound of skin on skin.

It only takes a few more thrusts before your muscles are giving out, legs shaking as you collapse. Stu manages to keep you up just long enough for him to cum inside of you, hot bursts of cum mixing with your juices as they pour out of you. He gives a few more sloppy thrusts, milking his cock with your tight cunt, before pulling out and letting you go.

Stu pulls you against his chest, laying you on your back. He hooks his knees around yours, spreading your legs wide for the camera. “Look at that,” he groans, his cum leaking out of your pussy. “Such a whore.”

Stu rubs up your chest, squeezing your tits together. He spreads your pussy for the camera, using another finger to push his cum back inside of you. “You’re not done yet, though.”

As if on cue, the door opens and a shorter man dressed in an identical costume enters. Billy. You stare at him as he stalks towards you, black robes looking like smoke in the dim red light of your room.

As soon as Billy enters the frame, your chat goes wild once again. He sits in front of the bed, mask only inches away from your aching, puffy pussy. He inhales your scent, almost moaning at the smell of sex.

“Thanks for warming her up for me,” his voice changer sounds almost identical to Stu’s. “Look at that stretched out cunt.”

Billy dips two fingers into your pussy, sliding them in and out easily. He thrusts them in only a few times before pulling them out and sucking on them, savouring the mixture of Stu’s cum and your juices.

He climbs over top of the two of you, “ready for me to fuck you?”

You bite your lip and nod. He swipes his thumb across your lips, prodding at you until you open up. He slips his thumb into your mouth and you suck, the taste of leather and sex heavy on your tongue. He trades his thumb for his index and middle finger, pushing them back so that they graze your throat.

His other hand reaches in for his cock, stroking it to life against your thigh. You can feel his hard length and the precum dripping off of it, your pussy starting to tingle in anticipation.

“How do you wanna fuck her?” Stu’s voice startles you, you’d almost forgotten he was there.

Billy slaps your pussy. “I think she’s had it too easy tonight,” he looks at the camera, “I think she should ride me.”

You shiver at the thought. Your pussy is already aching, all of your muscles weak just from fucking Stu. You look up at Billy pleadingly, but he just chuckles.

He lays down flat on his back, stroking his cock in one hand. Stu pushes you off of his chest. Grabbing your hips to help guide you into Billy’s lap. You straddle his legs, your pussy dripping all over his robes and waiting cock.

You lean forwards, pressing your tits against his chest, and reach back to grab his cock. Stu helps you guide it inside of you, both you and Billy moaning when his tip pops inside of you. You sit up more straight, rolling your hips back and taking him inch by inch. Billy keeps a vice grip on your hips while you ride him, helping you bounce up and down his cock.

He’s not as long as Stu, but he’s thicker, stretching you out even more. Your walls open up around him, pussy straining to take his girth. You rock your hips forwards until just his tip is inside before slamming them back down, almost screaming from the pleasure of his cock digging into your g-spot.

Billy starts guiding you up and down his length, thrusting his hips up desperately to get as deep inside of you as possible. Your orgasm builds much quicker this time, with the overstimulation and all. Your legs shake pathetically, your arms threatening to give out, but you still fuck yourself on him.

Billy slaps your ass hard, digging his fingers into the flesh. You whine and let yourself collapse onto his chest, barely moving on his cock as that pressure bursts and floods your body. Billy can feel your pussy contracting around him and the juices staining his costume, and decides to take mercy on you.

He wraps his arms around your back to keep you still and thrusts into you hard, his cock pistoning in and out of you faster than you can keep track. You lay on his chest, moaning weakly as he pummels your aching hole. It’s not long before his thrusts go sloppy and you feel his cock twitching inside of you, his hot cum coating your walls in white.

You moan from the feeling, eyes practically rolling back at how good he feels. Billy doesn’t pull out, his still hard cock resting inside of you.

“You want another round?” He asks.

For a second, you think he’s asking you but as you raise your head, you see he’s asking Stu, who’s stroking his cock. You swallow hard at the idea of another orgasm, already sweaty and feverish from the last few.

“Are you?”

Both boys laugh. Billy grabs your hips and spins you around, your back pressed against his chest. He buries his cock as far as he can inside you, wrapping his arms behind your knees to pull them up. Stu admires your swollen and aching pussy, glistening from all the fluids its seen tonight before crawling on top of you.

“W-wait—” You cry out as Stu rubs the head of his cock on your clit, “both of you?”

“So cute,” Billy mumbles into your ear, “that you think you have a choice.”

Just as he says that, Stu starts forcing his cock inside of you. It’s a tight fit with Billy already in there, but he manages. You almost cry from the pressure, an insane mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming you.

As soon as Stu bottoms out, you’re making a mess on their cocks again. Your pussy gushes around them, only acting as more lube for the two cocks inside of you.

“Look at that,” Stu groans, “already cumming and we haven’t started fucking you yet.”

“I always knew you were a whore, y/n.”

Their degradation has no effect on you, your brain turning into mush from another consecutive orgasm. You’re so full that you worry you may burst, both cocks feeling impossibly big inside of you.

Stu starts to thrust at a steady pace, forced to take it slow with how tight it is inside of you. The three of you moan in tandem with every movement, their cocks rubbing your walls with every breath. Billy tightens his grip on your knees, drawing them up even more to give Stu better access.

Stu laughs, pressing a hand against your tummy. “I can see my cock inside of you.”

You look up through hooded lids and can just barely see the outline of his cock under his hand. He presses a little harder, thrusting faster as your pussy starts to loosen up. You’re barely aware of your own moans or the praise the men sing at you as they ruin your pussy.

They take turns thrusting, your juices drenching the three of you and your bedsheets. It feels like hours that they fuck you, cocks alternating pumping inside of you. Your stomach fills with knots, that familiar pressure coming back.

Stu cums first, cock twitching and shooting another massive load of cum inside of you. It sets off a chain reaction, with your orgasm coming next. You clench so tight around their cocks that it’s almost painful, all of your senses going numb. Black spots dance at your vision, threatening to send you spiraling into unconsciousness. Billy cums last, another load of cum packing your pussy impossibly tight. You’re so full it’s overwhelming.

Stu and Billy pull out, releasing you onto your soaked mattress. They move the laptop closer to you, Billy folding your legs up again so that the viewers can get a good look at your ruined pussy.

“She’s gushing cum,” Billy says into the voice changer. “So much for being a virgin….this one’s an absolute whore.”

They each hook a finger into your pussy, stretching it enough that the mixture of cum runs out of you. You weakly sit up, looking at yourself in the camera. Your pussy is open, filled with cum and swollen from the overstimulation. You hardly even recognize it.

Billy and Stu disappear off camera, probably headed off to get you water and a cold cloth, leaving you staring into the flashing red light of the camera.

#scream x reader #scream smut #scream #scream x you #ghostface x female reader #billy loomis ghostface #stu macher ghostface #stu macher x you #stu macher x female reader #stu macher x reader #billy loomis x stu macher x reader #Billy Loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #Billy Loomis smut #stu macher smut #Ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #Ghostface x You

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jinkiezzsstuff · 2 months

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Hello!!! i’m not sure if your doing requests or not. but i was wondering if you could do an Alastor x reader and everyone is doing movie night and i wanted to know his reaction to the said chosen movie Bambi, I’m currently whatching bambi and thought about this😅

Hiya! I thought this was such a cute little dabble in could do, so i got it out pretty quick! I never explicitly stated i do request but i do! Perhaps i’ll make a formal request post but for now i will take the ones that do come as they do. I really hope this is what you imagined i haven’t watched bambi in years! Xx

Movie night

PT 2

Words: 830

Alastor x gn reader

Warnings: Nada really, just bambi’s momma died rip disney love killing parents also could be read platonically or romantically

“C’mon please.” Charlie begged you, hands clasped in front of her as she gently bounced on her heels. She was in the middle of begging you to talk Alastor into watching Bambi for tonight’s movie night. An exercise thought up by Charlie to have all of the patrons sit quietly and enjoy something together as a group, no fighting, no judgement, just relaxation as a unit.

But of course Alastor wasn’t a fan of said “picture shows” so Charlie enlisted you to do the sweet talking. After some more begging on Charlie’s part you gave in, knocking on Alastor’s door. You could already hear him humming happily to himself on the other side, sound increasing as he got closer. When he opened the door to you he visibly perked, seemingly pleased to see you. “Hello dear, what can i do for you?” Standing out of the way he outstretched his arm towards the inside of his bedroom. Smiling you gladly stepped in, feeling fairly comfortable around the demon and his presence at this point.

“Well, Charlie wants to have a movie night, everyone voted for Bambi, thoughts?”

“Ha, no.” Alastor cackled promptly shutting you down, it rolled off your back though, you expected this kind of response. “Y’know Al, the TV was a staple of 1936, and Bambi came out in 42, that’s ten years tops away from your time. It’s a musical too so up your alley, technocolour and it’s about deer. This is your movie man!” You exclaim excitedly, Alastor watched you theatrically explain with a fond look.

Once Alastor sighed dramatically you knew you were in. “Alright dear i’ll watch this silly moving picture with you.” Smiling, you stood tall linking your arms to his. “That’s why they call it a movie, it’s moving. See Al, not so bad you already know the lingo.” Alastor said nothing as you dragged him along amused by what he presumed was your nonsensical ramblings.

Once in the room with all the lights dimmed, a large tarp pulled over a fireplace, since Angel professed that “Projecta’s are just betta” as the excuse to not use a TV. Alastor snapped his fingers, changing both his and your clothes to loungewear of the 1930’s which you decided not to argue against due to him being so receptive of the whole movie thing. Once settled down, you mushed against the arm of the couch and Alastor, beside Alastor Husk, who kept a great inch from Al. And ontop of Husk, Angel, who wouldn’t leave no matter what Husk, or Al said.

Nifty sat in a little rocking chair, compliments of Alastor, Pentious was curled up with the egg bois, on the floor, and Vaggie shared a large bean bag with Charlie cuddled in together. At first things were fine, Alastor’s radio would hum along occasionally with the tunes, and you watched his ears occasionally flick at certain sounds in the movie.

It wasn’t until Bambi’s mother died that things went astray. Something in Alastor ticked, and suddenly he was pin straight unmoving and it was concerning. By this point everyone was zoned into the plot or sleeping- it seemed like only you noticed his change in demeanour. Softly placing your hand on his arm you asked for him to accompany you to the kitchen for some water, Alastor of course agreed being the gentleman that he is.

Once away from others ears you gave him a pointed look, one that told him he’d better tell the honest truth. “Is everything alright Al?” You asked, watching as he leaned forward on the island looking toward you who stood on the other side. It looked as if he was searching for an excuse, but you weren’t letting up so easy. Walking toward him you met his eyes. “I can keep a secret.” You promise in a whisper. Sighing static Alastor seemed a little peeved about your pestering but nonetheless didn’t blame you. “I suppose it reminded me of my mother, i’ll never see her again. I’m a lonely orphan deer, hahaha,” Alastor chuckled dryly, cocking his head side to side as he laughed.

“Not to mention those hunters are buffoons, most of the prize lies within a buck and their antlers. No sense in hunting doe really.” Alastor finished explaining, he felt weak humanly so, but he always did with you, it was like your very presence was truth serum and he couldn't help but sing out the truth whenever you’d ask him for it. With a gently hand against his shoulder you gave him a tight squeeze. “Maybe one day you’ll be able to see her again, I hope you can.”

Alastor hummed not paying much attention to the sentence, but he was at least happy he did have you, after all he told you many things, and you did manage to keep it to yourself. Composing himself again Alastor stood tall. “Well let’s go finish this movie dear! I can’t just walk out now!”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fluff #alastor x reader fluff #hazbin hotel x you

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the-raindeer-king · 2 months

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The 141 and having kids with them :) This was fueled by a random thought I had at work, and it was written at like 3am. Pls be kind.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Due to his personal experiences, I think he probably would be against having kids in the beginning. Like he's seen and been through so much, and I think his main fear would be ending up like his dad. So he always just wrote it off as something he never wanted to experience

UNTIL YOU COME IN

And at some point, maybe after Johnny starts having kids, Simon sees you interacting with one of the babies. And something about seeing you with a baby on your hip flips a switch in his brain.

He wants a kid and he wants one now.

Anyway y'all definitely don't stop at just one kid. I like the idea of Simon with 3 kids, all girls of course. He just exudes girl dad energy.

He's a great dad too btw. Retires from field work after the second girl is born, and absolutely adores them. Encourages them to engage in extracurricular activities. Would coach their sports team if any of them join. Never misses a recital (totally doesn't try to get the other task force members to show up. 🙄 They just happened to be free lmao)

If any of the girls enlisted, he'd probably try to talk them out of it at first. War is brutal, and the idea of any of them going through what he did makes him sick with worry. But he comes around to the idea, and in the end, is so proud of them.

He's proud of them regardless. All three are firecrackers with big personalities, and he loves them so much.

John Price

I think, when he was younger, Price wanted kids. Liked the idea of a wife/husband, a house with a yard, and a couple kids. And it just… never happened. Life got in the way, and how could he bring a child into this world, with all the things he's seen? He made his peace with it, and moved on.

And then he meets YOU. And suddenly he finds himself hoping for these things again. Especially kids.

Give this man a baby, please! He exudes fatherly energy (in more ways than one ;p)

After y'all have the first kid, he retires from the military all together. He's paid his dues, and he's got something far more important now: you, and your sweet baby boy :)

I could see Price either only having one, or having a handful of kids. Probably no more than 3 (two boys and a girl)

A good dad. Maybe gets a little too invested in their sports games, probably ends up as a coach after correcting the old one too many times lmao

Would be so proud if any of your kids followed in his footsteps. If none of them do, I think he'd be quietly disappointed but proud of them nonetheless. The two of you raised some wonderful kids.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably never really gave it much thought. Like having kids would be cool. Not having them is fine too. Kyle definitely wasn't stressing it, he's got bigger things to worry about.

I mean that is until YOU come along. And now he's thinking about getting married and having babies.

Definitely talks with you about it in detail. He wants your opinion on it, what method to go about it, if you think you're ready for that. A very lengthy conversation that ends in a mutual agreement.

I think Kyle wouldn't want more than 2. Like you could convince him, if you want more. But he's fine with a small family.

2 boys. Twins. Absolutely a handful, and Kyle's there to help when he can. I don't think he'd leave the military until the boys are older, maybe 10/11. But he steps up when he is home, giving you a well deserved break from parenting.

Loves your boys. Play wrestles with them when they're little, brings them trinkets back from his deployments, takes note of their interests and different personalities.

Wouldn't mind either way if they enlisted or not. Kyle would be proud of them regardless. You've raised two fine boys, what's not to be proud of?

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Oh, Johnny boy here wants a big family. He's dead set on having kids. It absolutely is a deal breaker for him. His partner has to want kids too.

So when he meets you. And you want kids too, he's over the moon.

If you've got a uterus, the first kid definitely happens unintentionally. Y'all weren't actively trying, Johnny just can't keep it in his pants lmao.

If not, then it's all planned out and everything goes smoothly, whether that's surrogate or adoption.

Like I said, BIG family. I'm talking like 5 kids at the least. You cannot talk him out of it.

Also gives big girl dad energy. Probably ends up with 4 girls and 1 boy. And he's fine with it! Loves getting his nails painted and throwing tea parties, just as much as he loves playing soccer and wrestling

Like Kyle, Johnny doesn't immediately retire. Sometime after the girl 4 and the baby boy, he'd retire from field work. But he's always facetiming with the kids and bringing them stuff back. Being dad doesn't stop just because he's halfway across the world.

Would be so proud if any of them enlisted. Would probably cry unashamed. But he's equally as proud of them if they don't.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #captain john price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #i've never posted my own fanfic anywhere before so hopefully this does well #im actually quite proud of this one #task force 141

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rodolfoparras · 5 months

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Cw: 18+, single dad Price, top Male reader, one night stand, age gap, widower! Price

Summary: In which Price happens to hook up with his son’s boyfriend

Thinking about single dad Price who’s been single for many years but gets encouraged by his friends to try the dating scene. After finding no luck on dating apps, he tries going to a gay bar.

At first it's the same old story, men who just want him for the night, not much different from the men from the dating apps and he’s just about to give up when you show up.

He hadn’t planned to talk to you at first and you hadn't even tried to approach him but you had gotten your drinks mixed up and thus a conversation started up.

From the low light of the bar he could see that you were much younger than him, and for a second Price thought about cutting this conversation short because Price knew boys like you, boys who thought they could take on the world boys who didn’t even know what they really want.

But he didn’t want to cut the conversation short, and found himself intrigued by you. Besides you’re the only normal person that approached him tonight so why not?

The two of you spoke about anything and everything under the sun. He had even let it slip that he was a single dad who hasn’t been in the dating scene in a while but you didn’t seem to mind it at all, only giving him a soft smile in response as you continued to listen to him.

But every word exchanged, every time your gazes met, every accidental graze and touch Price had realized you were just his type.

And suddenly Price wanted you in a way he hasn’t wanted anyone since his late wife passed.

But you didn’t seem that much interested in having sex, instead you continued to sit with him at the bar, and talk to him.

Price thought it must’ve been because of his age, why would you want to hook up with an old man anyway?

But if Price has learned anything from the dating scene it’s that sometimes you have to take the first step and see where it leads you.

So he downed his drink, cleared his throat, and asked you if you’d like to come home with him.

You’d been surprised at first not expecting those words and Price almost took your hesitance for rejection but you quickly spoke up again, ending any doubts in his head, and only asking if he’s sure about it

Price felt heat creeping up his neck, ears and cheeks but nodded eagerly, pants growing tighter as the two of you walked to his apartment.

When he first stepped foot inside he thought you’d push him up against the wall rip his clothes off and crash your lips onto his, truth be told if you were to do that he wouldn’t mind it but instead you hung your jacket up and put your shoes to the side and looked around the apartment , with a curious look in your eyes.

Price tried to scramble his brain for something to say. It had been so long since he brought someone home, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say anymore but all of sudden his thoughts are cut off by the sound of your voice “Is that a picture of you in the army?”

“Hm? Oh yeah” Price nodded in response as you inspected one of the pictures hung on the wall.

It had been one he’d taken with the rest of tf141, a keepsake for when he went into retirement.

“You were a captain?” You said, voice full of wonder as you continued to inspect the picture.

“Been plenty of things kid, I spent many years in the army” Price shrugged in response and walked closer to you, so that your shoulders were brushing up against each other.

“I always wanted to enlist but never passed the physical test,”

"Yeah?" Well it’s not all what it’s cut up to be, I got a bad knee and ptsd from the years spent serving”

“I’m sorry” you said, and turned to meet his gaze.

“Don’t be,”

Your gaze dropped down to his lips, as your arms snuk around his waist

“Price,”

“John” he corrected and leaned further into your embrace.

“John, can I kiss you?” You said, hand cupping his cheek and stroking flushed skin.

“Please” before he knew of it you crashed your lips onto his and he lost himself in the feeling of finally being kissed, in the way you tasted, the way your sweet cologne engulfed his senses, the way you licked into his mouth as if trying to memorize every nook and cranny.

It didn’t take much before you were stumbling into his dark bedroom, but instead of ripping the clothes off of his body you were gentle as ever as you slipped pieces of clothing off of him, all while trailing kisses all over his skin.

But it didn’t end there because you were gentle as ever as you pushed him onto the bed, and ever so careful as you crawled up the mattress and pinned him down under your weight and Price couldn’t help the butterflies that swarmed his stomach.

You spent the night taking him apart with your hands and mouth, having him perched on your lap as he worked himself up and down on your cock, or having him sobbing into the sheets as you fucked him into the bed that his wife and him used to sleep in, even having him screaming -crying enough to make him worry that the neighbors’ would complain in the morning.

When he woke up the next day you weren’t with him in bed but you had left a sticky note saying you had to rush home for whatever reason.

Luckily you had left your number on it but Price didn’t have the courage to call.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and he’d forgotten about the young man that had given him the world in just one night until one day you showed up at his front door and introduced yourself as his son’s boyfriend.

#call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #dom male reader #top male reader #sub male character #bottom male character

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transformation4life · 6 months

Text

Army, Man

Juan was your average guy before his life was changed forever. Decent grades at his dream college, but no friends to speak of. So when he received a letter to join the US army in his assigned mailbox Juan was very confused. "The army? They must joking." Juan spoke as he looked at the recruitment flyer in his dorm room.

Juan and being enlisted in the army sounded like a twisted joke to him. He was scrawny and could barely do one pushup in gym class. Either way, Juan noticed a number at the bottom of the flyer in big bold letters and some voice in his head was nagging at him to call it.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll be fun! Who knows!" So Juan grabbed his phone and dialed the number.

Some rings later and it sounded like a guy picked a phone. "Hey there, Name's Gruff, I'm assuming you're calling cause of the flyer you got in the mail, yeah?" Gruff's was deep and masculine. Definitely Juan's type but I bet he was straight.

"Y-Yeah! I thought I'd give it a shot since it's not like I got anything better to do!"

"That's the spirit man! Our army count has been real low due to... events so even one guy joining is great! But first I just need to ask you a few questions..." "A-Alright. Go on ahead..." Juan had to wonder what they would ask. "First question! Are you sure you want to join the army?" Gruff's tone was dead serious on this one and it shook Juan up a bit. "U-Uh... Yeah!" Juan was too far in to quit now at least that was his reasoning.

"Wonderful! Next question. How muscular are you?"

Juan frowned. As mentioned before, he barely had muscle and never went to the gym. Still, he felt the need to answer honestly.

"N-Not really sir. Sorry." "Haha don't worry about it! Alright that's all see you soon!" Gruff hung up before Juan could even say bye.

Juan was a bit shaken but that wasn't too bad. Juan pondered the interaction and something hit him. "Wait... I didn't tell him my address and he said he'll see me soo-" A wave of pain immediately hit Juan and he fell to the floor.

It wasn't before long Juan's body began to grow and get more muscular. Juan's arms became much beefier as his biceps were the size of sports balls. Six perfect abs popped onto Juan's stomach as his nonexistent chest began to inflate and become thick poppable pecs as his back expanded to support his new musculature making his tshirt real tight. Soon after, Juan's neck got thicker as his adam's apple was now ever more prominent than before as he gained some facial hair around his mouth. Juan's legs were next to grow as his thighs became much larger and his legs more defined as feet increased some sizes. Luckily Juan wasn't wearing any shoes but Juan's socks definitely didn't survive the growth. Some more minor changes appeared like a bigger dick and Juan's body aging physically. It's a miracle none of Juan's clothes ripped apart but it's not like it mattered anyway as Juan's apparel began to change.

Juan's graphic tee became more tough material and more generic as it became a dark green. It was still tight around Juan's figure though. Next up was Juan's pants as it gained a camouflage pattern and became cargo pants. A belt magically appeared and looped around the belt holes of his news pants as well as an army hat wrapping around Juan's head. Juan's socks were stitched back together and went a dark black and suddenly army boots were now being worn by Juan. The last change was an army tag appearing around Juan's neck saying "Juan Graham". Juan was now the definition of a buff army man.

Once the pain subsided and Juan regained his bearings he readjusted his glasses and looked at the mirror nearby. "What the- WHAT THE FU- Oh god, my voice... my EVERYTHING!" Juan was amazed but also scared. He gained muscles in seconds but how?

And before Juan could question things further, Juan's phone rang once again. Juan saw that it was the army recruit number. He concluded they must be involved so he answered the call.

"Hey Juan, ready for your first day?" It was Gruff again "First day? You did this to me, didn't you?"

"Not sure what you mean, but you agreed to join the army and we need you now." "But I don't even know anything about how to do anythin-" One more sound of pain hit Juan as memories of years of military training and gym workouts filled his mind. Everything he could ever need to be in the army was now in his brain. Juan now much more confident started a new sentence. "Nevermind. When does the car get here?"

"That's our Juan! Should be there soon. You can walk out and wait already." "Perfect. See you soon." Juan hung up and left his dorm and old life behind. It was probably for the best anyway. He much preferred being a beefcake army man than some twink in college.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Apologies for not posting for a couple months. I got major writer's block but here's a story for you guys hope you like it!

#muscle tf #male tf #mind change #muscle transformation #military tf

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waterlilydrops · 17 days

Text

Gold Digger

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Logan Sargeant & Oscar Piastri & Zhou Guanyu & Yuki Tsunoda x family member!reader

summary: “...Didn’t she say she wasn’t serious?”

word count: 0.5k

warning: blurb, family AU(?)

note: I’m not sure if I used the warning tag correctly, please feel free to correct me

“Please, Y/N, tell me you’re not serious about this boyfriend either.” Logan nervously stared at the woman in front of him.

“Give it a rest, Logan. When have you ever seen me be serious?” You rolled your eyes in a less than elegant manner, admiring the manicure you had done today, looking quite pleased with yourself.

The four boys in front of you visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

After all, they had just cause a big mess.

You suddenly decided to do your nails today, enlisting the help of your new boyfriend to take care of the four children at home.

Oscar ushered them all onto your new boyfriend’s Maybach. The boys chattered excitedly as they headed to the city’s most expensive restaurant to give the man a run for his money - and, of course, to unintentionally cause a few other mishaps throughout the day.

Well, it seemed like the man had the sense not to come looking for you to complain.

Oscar, however, was blunt as ever: “Where did you find this easy touch this time?”

“At the hair salon, I was getting my hair done,” you gestured while running your fingers through your smooth hair, “Lewis happened to bring his date in for styling - let me tell you, that woman’s sense of aesthetics is seriously lacking, her eyes were too wide, and her nose was overly fake.”

“The point,” Oscar impatiently tapped the table.

“I said, ‘you are handsome and seem to have money, why not consider me?’ and he agreed,”you shrugged.

“And?”

“...He bought me a Birkin bag?”

“He seems alright to me, I like him,” Guanyu cut in bluntly, “If you're thinking of settling down, he’s a good choice from all aspects.”

The other three boys looked at Guanyu as if he were a traitor.

“I’m just stating a fact: you’re around the same age, you look good together. Plus, Logan needs money for college, Yuki wants to go to chef school, and Oscar’s karting expenses, they all need to be figure out.”

You were almost teary-eyed, “Guanyu, you always think about the family.”

“And he said he can offer me an internship at plus44,” Guanyu took a sip of his soda, “even though I'm not of legal age.”

“Oh—” “Damn it!” “Seriously?”

Yuki sighed, Logan rolled his eyes, and Oscar grabbed a handful of fries and tried to stuff them into Guanyu’s mouth.

“So, Oscar, what do you think?” Yuki looked at the youngest boy.

“I don’t know...” Oscar absentmindedly played with the ketchup with his fries, swinging his legs on the seat, “He seems alright, Logan intentionally spilled soda all over his car, and he didn’t say anything.”

“Hey!” Logan exclaimed, surprised that his little brother had blurted out what he had done.

“Probably because he has plenty of those luxury cars at home,” Yuki pointed out calmly, “It's not a big deal to him.”

“That‘s not true, I saw the veins on Mr. Hamilton’s arm when he clenched his fist,” Guanyu grinned mischievously, “And, Logan, need I remind you about the pleasant conversation you had with him about Roscoe?”

Logan angrily stuffed a piece of McNugget into his mouth, unusually silent.

Oscar remained impassive, as if stating a fact, “If even Logan can be deal with, then he must be pretty tough.”

Yuki looked incredulously at his seemingly indifferent brother, “So you‘ve also betrayed us, Osc?”

“You might not dislike him either, Yuki,” Oscar retorted, “I heard you praising his taste in food to Pierre.”

You listened to the whole “Hamilton’s Wonderful Day” with your chin resting on your hands, then cleared your throat, giving the four boys a warning glare, “Alright boys, don’t overdo it, I still want to spend a couple of days with him.”

Your words were met with a chorus of complaints and grumbles.

You smiled and shook your head, glanced at the time on the phone, and got up to leave.

“Hey Y/N, where are you going?”

“Lewis invited me to go for a drive tonight,” you smiled sweetly, then paused for two seconds before adding, “I might not be back tonight — Logan, take care of your brothers.”

With that, you slung your arm through your Louis Vuitton latest bag and walked out of the door with brisk steps, humming an unknown tune.

Leaving the four boys sitting there, looking at each other in confusion.

“...Didn’t she say she wasn’t serious?”

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 blurb #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #oscar piastri x reader #zhou guanyu x reader #yuki tsunoda x reader #logan sargeant x reader

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 7 months

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All Funk, No Punk - Still Hobart Brown

Gold chains instead of silver spikes. Gator shoes in place of thrifted boots. And an afro bigger than Hobie's -

Spider-Funk is Hobart Brown - Earth 831

Hobie Brown maybe Artie's chiller, rougher, and louder self - but somehow, they get on like a cop car on fire (or whatever the saying is).

And Artie Brown maybe Hobie's cockier, flirtier, and flashier self - but they just tell people they're twins.

Or at the very least - they call each other 'brotha' and 'bruv' all the time.

When people ask about the accent thing - you know, Artie being American, they say 'Ever seen The Parent Trap?'

[A LONG ASS post - Below is Artie's Origins, Fighting Style, Relationship to Hobie, and how he got recruited - All About the Brown Bros! Artie & Hobie, FunkPunk!]

It's Hobie 2 - Electric Bugaloo!

And just when Miguel thought he could only stomach one of them.

Though he calls himself the older brother, being born over a decade earlier, Artie is Hobie's less mature, more materialistic, but just as kind variant.

He's a pacifist instead of an anarchist - Full of Soul instead of bursting with Rock.

And he still hates cops.

Origins:

When Artie was drafted for the Vietnam War in 1969 - the first thing he did was burn his draft card. Then he joined the Black Liberation Army.

He wasn't the only one - Artie was part of the almost half a million draftees to do so.

And then President Osborn was elected.

To fill the gap in enlistment, Osborn came up with a solution.

V.E.N.O.M - A highly toxic, unfeelingly aggressive, and wildly bloodthirsty symbiote. A solution to the protests and draft dodgers.

Engineered by Oscorp - if you didn't induct yourself as a soldier, the V.E.N.O.M would make you one. And suddenly his friends were disappearing one by one.

A subtle but sudden-onset disease, the V.E.N.O.M variant was nearly undetectable, very persuasive, and incredibly effective.

More primal than animalistic, the symbiote's function didn't raise one's bloodlust, - instead it lowered, and at worse cancelled, your empathy. The symbiote subtly normalized dehumanization - attacking neurons in the cerebral cortex to destroy one's capability of empathy, compassion, and at times - recognizing faces. Able to follow commands without a second thought - the perfect soldier. Convincing the host of necessary order and their own biological superiority, over the course of 72 hours the host would lose their ability to recognize the people around them as anything other than sub-human. In 138, V.E.N.O.M turns you into an animal. In 831, V.E.N.O.M turns everyone around you into an animal.

It could make anyone into an unfeeling, unrelenting soldier - no guns needed.

The best of them got sent overseas to the War - and the rest, he turned on the people, hunting down all those who dared to dodge their call.

While on tour in DC, Artie was bitten by a radioactive spider, as he attempted to burn draft papers at a government facility.

He burned the papers. Plus he got some sick powers out of it. Plus Plus he gets to beat up The National Guard on a weekly basis. Ain't that a score.

And Hobie may hate the name Spider-Punk (or so he says), but Artie loves being Spider-Funk.

He calls them Funk & Punk. Hobie calls them that too, but like in a cool ironic way.

Artie & Hobie:

Personality:

Hobie knows that Artie is going through his 'Pavitr Phase', so he cuts him some slack. Artie's only been Funk for a year and some change.

He's got more Ws than Ls, so he's always one to be a bit cocky and reckless - though never at anyone's expense.

He's more talkative than Hobie - and WAY more flirty than Hobie, ready to wink at anyone willing to stare.

Like Hobie, Artie has his own groupies. And the pair on campus do get stares (and whispers. and giggles); Two 6'5 dudes with enough hair to cause an eclipse, walking around in loud ass boots, they're sure to draw attention.

Something Artie loves.

Artie considers himself a Ladies' Man. And a Man's Man. And what gender you have to offer really. (He's still a 'Hobie' - he doesn't discriminate)

He's got a waterbed in his boathouse, shag carpets, and wine at the ready. He loves sweet-talking people, and showering them in compliments. Whereas Hobie's love language is Physical Touch, Artie's is Words of Affirmation.

But all Hobie has to do is open his mouth and Be British and suddenly Artie's date is swooning and he's like 'Brotha, I'mma need you to shut the hell up for a second right quick.'

If you hang out with them, get ready for Hobie hanging off your shoulder, while Artie is in your ear complimenting your outfit.

Fighting:

Artie's fighting style is a lot more fluid than Hobie's with a lot of martial arts involved - similar to blaxploitation movies of the era.

Hobie thinks he looks bloody ridiculous meanwhile Artie is like 'if dem damn jeans weren't so tight maybe you could get like me and have some flair in your fight, my man.'

He also has an INCREDIBLY MEAN backhand.

Ideology:

The two of them are fairly close, hanging out with each other a lot. Though the two of them are fairly different. Artie is far more pacifist than Hobie, but that doesn't mean he's above violence.

He's just not one to talk about it, or threaten it. He's more of the 'let people talk - don't start none, won't be none'. Camp - and he'll almost never throw the first punch. Though he absolutely considers intimidation, selling hard drugs, and fucking with the general population 'starting some'.

Their ideology may clash heads everyone once in a while, but they hardly ever fight. At all. Instead, they have frequently heated, in-depth debates.

Artie may not be as radical or educated on things as Hobie, plus Hobie has ten years of extra history to pull from, but the two of them do it often, and it keeps them spry.

The only problem is, they get so into it, it SO HARD to understand what they're saying. Accents, slang, cutting each other off, roping other people into the conversation to back them up. It's WILD.

Artie is a lot more materialistic than Hobie. Not as critical of capitalism, Artie likes to game it rather than complain about it.

Unlike Hobie, Artie LOVES the finer things in life, and spoiling those around him. He likes gold over silver, and wears more rings than spikes.

He's a bit full of himself, and he carries a rag in his pocket to whip blood off his nice white boots. Something Hobie wouldn't be caught DEAD doing.

And Hobie clowns him for it everytime. Artie doesn't care. 'True playas never play sloppy.'

But how can he afford all of this? Well,

He's not as uhh,..honest as Hobie. But he has a heart of gold (get it?). And he never lies just to lie - if he's doing it, it's probably for work, or to Miguel, because he does not respect Miguel.

Artie be stealing. He's a master at sleight of hand. If it's a big corporation, it's free game. He never steals money - but to put it concisely: He's a smooth mfer.

He likes gold - he thinks it looks nice. But he knows for a fact that the worth of it is completely manufactured my human and capitalism, and that it's literally just a pretty metal.

He knows that paying hundreds for a chain or gold is exploitative, especially when it's stolen to begin with. So to him, it's justifiable, gimmie.

He also does it mostly for fun, a magic trick - in the same way Hobie makes stuff 'disappear' while talking to Miles, and doing hand tricks.

Artie does that, but more often, and more skillfully.

He doesn't do it all the time, but the first time he did it in front of Hobie - snatching Hobie's homemade watch of his wrist - Hobie was genuinely surprised.

Mostly he does it to make things disappear from your hand, parts he finds lying around, and playing pranks on people like Miguel. Generally, just being a lil shit.

He's a sweet-talker and a big steppa.

Unlike Hobie, Artie knows better than you force his way in. Artie slides in. He can talk them in to anywhere.

He'll pretend to be someone else, pretend to know someone else, steal passes and key cards to get in, and try to attack from the shadows when he can.

In battle, Spider-Punk is the louder, chattier, more immature one. And Spider-Funk is the chiller, sarcastic one.

Like twins, the two of them have their own in-jokes, and they hang at each other's places all the goddamn time. Though they live in different universes and decades, Artie & Hobie are kinda a package deal.

They may not always be together - they both got their own shit to do and they're not actually brothers - but if you hang with one, it's only a matter of time before you meet the other.

"Why is your brother American?" "Divorce." - "Adoption." ........ "Adoption." - "Divorce." "One of you or the both of you are lying."

Diane & Artie & Annie -

[This section is about my main OC Disco-Spider Diane, and her variant Annie P. Disco-Spider is Hobie's....something and they are happily....a something]

Every Hobart needs his Diane, and Artie is no different.

Artie & Diane:

And like usual, it all starts at the beginning.

Diane was the one to recruit Artie - because of course she was. And Lyla had told her two things: He was a guitarist, and his name was Artie. That's all she needed to know.

Lyla wanted it to be a surprise.

She snuck back stage to his show, brushed off the nearly palpable feeling of deja vu in the air, broke into his dressing room, and then tried to flirt him into joining the Society. Easy peasy.

Diane is a very oblivious woman. They spoke for nearly 10 minutes - and Artie decided to hear her out. He sat down on the couch in his dressing room, pulled back his hair and-

Diane goes -

"Hobie??? Is that you?! Oh my goodddd, you look so cute! Your hair!! Hobarrrrt - Why you ain't say nothing, had me standing here doing all this."

Speech completely forgotten. Mind you, she still hasn't explained anything. Diane is destined to freak out every Hobart she meets.

Artie is starting to think he should stop flirting with weird ass groupies that break into his dressing room.

Diane takes out her watch, the watch he doesn't know she has. She pulls up Lyla, the AI he doesn't know she has. And Diane asks her -

"Lyla! Does Artie stand for-" "It does!" "Oh my god!!! That makes this SO much easier! You're soo sweet, awww!!" "You know I saw the mission and thought of you-" "Am I on drugs right now?"

Needless to say - Diane's recruitment was successful.

Diane and Artie actually get on well, really well. Like weirdly well.

Artie and Diane are both extroverted, flirty, and a bit full of themselves. They're expressive, and more into their hair than they're willing to admit. They're perfect for each other - and people notice.

And Diane finds it a TAD BIT WEIRD

I mean, the differences between her and Hobie is what Diane loves about them - they're like sugar and spice, PB and J.

Sometimes Artie and Diane may accidentally finish each other's sentences - and Diane will be like 'Hey don't do that :)'. Other times, Artie will playfully be like 'Why are you standing so close to me, mama?' Just to piss her off.

Of course, Diane thinks he's 'cute'. But not Hobie Cute. And unfortunately, he 'speaks American'.

Besides, Hobie is the only Hobart for her.

Artie is definitely into Diane, but more in the 'she's a catch I would go for' kinda way. He did hit on her a couple times early on in their situation - but once she made it clear that she was 'seeing Hobie', he took the hint.

There's no jealously there - Hobarts are incapable of it. In fact, he's kinda proud the only other guy who could pull the hot girl is ..another him.

Now, Artie is a lot more like a big brother, kinda like the ones Diane grew up with in the Panther's house.

He's protective of her, in a 'Be mean to her and I'll deliver an ass whoppin on a plate' way. He thinks she's cute in the way a platonic sense, and finds her groupie mode to be as amusing as it is adorable.

It's ironic though that his ACTUAL girlfriend is - well, Diane's Opposite.

Artie & Annie:

[This section is shorter, and will be longer in Annie's post]

Diane Pastors is Annie P. is Mod-Spider.

Artie's girlfriend, Annie is the farthest thing from Diane while somehow still being just as big of a diva.

An avid feminism campaigner and modern woman, she would never be caught DEAD hanging off of Artie like that. And she can't stomach Diane all that much.

Hobie, Annie HATES. And not in a coy way. She thinks he's obnoxious - she calls him a poseur. She thinks he's a scrub.

Her & Artie are in a committed relationship - officially boyfriend and girlfriend. And instead of Annie, Artie is the one who wears her name on a chain.

Just like Diane and Hobie, Annie and Artie have a musical duo - called ModFunk.

We're almost done I PROMISE.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Random Details:

Artie's design is an inverted version of Hobie's, but it's also inspired heavily by Jimi Hendrix, mainly this photo on the left.

Right is an example of Artie's Style. His universe has a paint-marker aesthetic, a lot more colorful and soft than Hobie's, with dripping paint and splatters, but it tones down a lot - like Gwen's.

Artie plays Soul, Jazz, and Funk.

He has a band with his version of Daredevil, Felicia Hardy, and Captain Anarchy.

Artie has killed cops - and soldiers before. But he doesn't see it as a big deal. He hates cops, but he doesn't focus on it. He doesn't discriminate. Ass Whoopin's for everybody.

He DOES pull his hair back, his face isn't covered all the time. Maybe 80% of the time.

He can get around with Spidey Sense, so he doesn't care much - he loves his fro and is always picking it out.

He Pavitr are like best friends. Pavi and The Brown Twins get LOUD AS HELL when all together.

Gwen thinks he's an absolute goofball - So Artie tries his best to make her laugh. She seems like she needs it.

When not on stage and in battle, he prefers to play an acoustic guitar, which Hobie doesn't like playing. His acoustic is also blue.

Him and Hobie can play on each other's guitars, but it sounds very trippy, and VERY VERY weird, abnormally so.

If their heads are covered, or hair done like each other's, they can seamlessly pass as each other.

Hobie SUCKS at an American accent - but somehow, he can mimic Artie's perfectly.

It's the same for Artie - sucks at British, but can speak like Hobie.

He loves chocolate candy bars, Hobie likes fruity candy.

They do write songs together and go to each others shows, though they don't ever really perform together.

They wrestle A LOT

Artie is a genius as well, and they work on mechanics together, Artie is great at math specifically.

He and Hobie do each others hair care and help oil each other's scalps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So uh.....that's Artie :) The guy

If you made it this far THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ENTERTAINING ME - Artie platonically gives you a red rose.

ALSO TELL ME Why I tried to draw him like Jimi Hendrix But he looking like the Jackson 5 IM SO SORRY YALL

Here's OG Hobie as a thank you! Just imagine two Hobarts standing on either side of you both tall and with big hair and touchy and talkative as fuck Diane is living the DREAM let your OCs be happy

Bye.

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morallygreyyn · 5 months

Note

Hey! I recently saw your work with hcs of the hxh boys and loved it! Wanted to ask if you could do a Hanahaki disease short story with Kurapika except it's the other way around where the reader has the disease. Reader tries to hide it from him but he eventually finds out because of how close they are as friends, if you're comfortable with this request >~<

hanahaki disease with the hxh boys (pt. 2) (kurapika, hisoka, illumi headcanons)

authors note: hi hi! i decided to do this request for all the hxh boys and not just kurapika! i hope that's ok anon!

warnings: mentions of death

this is part two of my hanahaki disease headcanons! you can read part one here where the boys have the disease!

requests are open! please read my rules!

wow

the poor boy gets very distressed when you just suddenly disappear

you don't answer his calls

you don't answer the door

he doesn't see you anywhere

it's like you just vanished into thin air

little did he know, you're dying

and it's because of him

when the first petal fell from your lips, you knew immediately what it was...and who it was for

you weren't sad that kurapika didn't love you back, you knew he didn't

he was much too focused on his goals, and you didn't want to distract him from his purpose

it was what had kept him going for the longest time after all

and you were honoured to have helped him

but now you were dying and you didn't want kurapika to know

knowing kurapika like the back of your hand, you knew how to hide from him

and so, you holed yourself away in a rundown apartment, letting the hanahaki disease slowly claim your body

kurapika is frantic at this point

he has searched high and low for you to no avail

he even enlisted the help of leorio, killua, and gon to find you

with the dream team assembled, it was only a matter of time until they tracked you down

the boys allowed kurapika to see you alone, not wanting to intrude where they were not welcome

although they were delighted to know that you were still alive

but only just

kurapika knows just by the petal soaked floor what is happening, and he rushes to your side

"who is it?" he asks, dumbfounded that you were dying of unrequited love

who wouldn't love you?

you had stood steadfast by his side time and time again, even when he thought you wouldn't

never once did you walk away

never once did you think of him as a burden

you stood by him, had helped him

he couldn't lose you

not you

"what can I do?" he pleaded, clasping your hand in his own

"there is nothing." you whispered, voice scratchy and hoarse from coughing

"tell me who it is, I'll find them."

"you already have."

"Leorio?"

"no, you idiot, it's you." you teased playfully, knowing that kurapika was anything but stupid

"you're dying because of me?"

"it's okay." you managed to smile at him, happy that he would be with you in your final moments

"I don't understand, why are you dying?"

"you know the myth, you know why."

"I do know the myth, which is why I don't know." kurapika too a break, smoothing back your hair from your forehead. "because I love you too."

it was almost miraculous how quickly the disease cleared from your lungs

you could suddenly breathe again

"really?" you almost didn't dare to believe it

"of course I do." he confirmed, before pulling you into a long awaited embrace

ok so hisoka is a tough one

he would know about the hanahaki disease

so he would know the signs

why you fell in love with hisoka was an utter mystery to you

you don't even know how it had happened

you had been friends and partners in crime with the man for as long as you could remember

but love? that seemed farfetched

until it wasn't

it began as a small cough, a light tickle in the back of your throat that acted as a warning that the worst was yet to come

you brushed it off, nothing thinking much of it until a petal fell into your hand

your eyes widened once you saw it, you had heard of the myth before during your travels

you knew what was coming

at first you didn't realise that it was hisoka you loved

who was the poor idiot who had won your heart? who were you about to die for?

you were sure to give them hell before you left this world, perhaps even bring them with you to the afterlife

how dare they end your life

only, your coughing grew worse once you saw hisoka again

with his catlike eyes and twisted grin

ah, that was the poor idiot

you knew the likelihood of hisoka every having feelings for you was slim to none, and the fact that you had developed the hanahaki disease was proof of that

unfortunately for you, hisoka was rather astute and noticed that you seemed sick

"don't tell me my favourite person has come down with the sniffles?"

"of course not."

you would avoid him after that, you didn't want him to see you weak

and you certainly didn't want him to find out that you loved him

so you hid, hoping that your death would be swift

hisoka noticed your absence, and he found himself not liking it one bit

you were the one who he enjoyed teasing, and who teased him in return

you were, as much as he was shocked to realise, rather close to him

remembering that you had seemed unwell the last time he had saw you, hisoka began to wonder whether your illness was serious

given the fact that you had disappeared unannounced, he began to think that there was something you were hiding

there is nothing hisoka loves more than a game

and you had unintentionally presented him with a great one

he tracked you down to a quiet forest of all places, surrounded by a field of red petals

hey, if you're hisoka's friend, you're going to be quite dramatic like he is

"my, my, this is quite the scene." he grinned as he approached, before seeing how pale you looked, the blood around your mouth, and the fact that you weren't moving

looking closer at the petals, he could see that they were red because of the dried blood that had stained them

oh, you had the hanahaki disease

considering the fact that you had left him without a word, he came to the correct conclusion

he wasn't an idiot, you clearly loved him

and you were dying

usually, hisoka enjoyed the idea of death but seeing you before him, basically in the afterlife, his perception of it drastically changed

he approached your body, narrowed eyes closely observing the stunted rise and fall of your chest, hearing the shallowness of your breaths

bringing his lips to your ear, hisoka whispered, "you really are quite dramatic, y/n, this is almost too much."

his fingers danced over your chapped lips

"what would you have me do, hm?"

his touch lightly trailed over your closed eyelids

"how unnecessary, considering the fact that I also love you."

it took a little while for you to regain consciousness

when you did, you found hisoka grinning at you

you also found him holding your hand

oh, you were both idiots

ok so lets just feed into the delusion for a sec that illumi would have the emotional capacity to love someone and actually admit it out loud

i refuse to write sad shit ok

so you love illumi

you had felt the emotion grow the more time you spent with the stoic assassin

it was no surprise when you realised you had developed the hanahaki disease

in fact, you had almost suspected it

once you realised you had loved illumi, it was only a matter of time before you died from it

there was no way someone as emotionally stunted as the eldest Zoldyck sibling would ever feel something remotely close to love, especially in the romantic department, especially for you

you knew him too well, you had been working with him for the longest time

ever since you first laid eyes on him, he was stuck with you

you followed him around, not bothering him enough for him to kill you, but just enough to get to know him

or, more accurately, for him to know you

illumi had grown used to you stubbornly following him around

he had grown to expect your endless chatter that often filled the void of silence

he had grown used to your constant presence

you knew he didn't mind, he had never sent you away

perhaps he was lonely and you fixed that

however, now that you were dying because of him, you had a choice to make

either, you could leave and die in peace, or you could tell him and see whether that would kill you faster

if you chose to hide, it would take him a matter of seconds to track you down - it was his job after all

if you chose the latter, you would mention it briefly, just to see how he would react

either way, the conversation would be the same

"by the way, I'm not going to be around for much longer, so you'll have to do that without me."

"where are you going?"

"to the most mysterious land of all." you smiled, wanting to make a joke out of your upcoming demise. "I have a date with the grim reaper."

illumi was perhaps the most confused you had ever seen him before

you had gone mad - what on earth were you talking about?

"what?"

"I'm dying, illumi." as if on cue, a coughing fit quickly swept through you, and a whole flower fell into your hand. you presented him with the bloodied bloom. "see?'

illumi has never heard of the hanahaki disease before

looking closer at you, he was ever so slightly perturbed to realise that you certainly looked unwell

"you just coughed up a flower."

"well spotted."

"how are you dying?"

you sighed, realising you would have to spell it out for him. "it's called the hanahaki disease, and it is a curse everyone suffering from unrequited love dreads."

"you love someone?"

you laughed darkly, here goes nothing

"you."

if you thought illumi looked confused before, that was nothing compared to now

"me?'

"is that so hard to believe?"

illumi couldn't fathom what he was hearing

someone loved him?

you loved him?

it sounded utterly ridiculous

but there you were, dying before his very eyes

"I don't understand."

"what don't you understand?"

"why are you dying?"

"I just told you why."

he stared at you blankly, black eyes boring into yours. "then the myth is wrong."

"what are you...?" you trailed off, not daring to hope what he might be implying. "do you love me?"

illumi didn't respond, and you didn't know whether he had the capability of admitting the words aloud

despite this, that was good enough for the disease to immediately clear from your lungs

and you took a deep breath to fill them again

gone was the pain, the heaviness, the urge to cough

"you love me." you looked at him again, filled with more hope than ever before

it wasn't a question this time

you knew illumi loved you, in his own special way

you dared to kiss him, and illumi allowed it despite his utter shock

that’s how you knew he meant it

382 notes · View notes

zyafics · 2 days

Text

play fake | part eight

series play fake — ( masterlist )

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

summary when rafe cameron needs to secure a gf in order for his father to see him as a stable man, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

content 18+, eventual smut, angst, fake-dating, jealousy, people-pleasing and independent! female reader, ward cameron pinning rafe and sarah against each other, rafe being an asshole

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

Laid out on the edge of a heavenly bed, a rustling stirs you awake.

You blink through the thinly-streamed sunlight casting into the room and adjust your vision, trying to decipher where you are.

Rafe stands in front of his closet, shirtless, searching through to find something to wear. When you lift your head off the pillow, groggy sounds escaping your lips, he turns his head.

"Shit, did I wake you?" He asks, brows furrowed together.

"Are you going somewhere?" You respond, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. "Should I go home?"

Last night, after you accepted Rafe's invitation to stay over at Tannyhill, you didn't do anything other than shower, take a Plan B, and go to sleep. It was a long day and when Rafe shuffled into his sheets, you pulled yourself to the ledge of the mattress. It wasn't done out of separation, but because of an unusual habit you developed as the sole provider for your sisters. You always stay close enough to the edge that, if any problems arise in the middle of the night, you have the fastest exit.

Rafe shakes his head, rounding the bed to approach your side. He can't believe how pretty you are, even just waking up, fresh-faced with no makeup. His chest buzzes with an indescribable feeling.

"It's fine," he declares. "I'm about to head out to brunch with my dad. We have to talk through some things that happened last night."

You don't miss the grimace in his tone.

Frowning, you offer, "do you want me to come?"

Honestly, Rafe would love that. Having you by his side while he’s conversing with his father would ground him. Because he knows, if Ward Cameron sees him as incompetent and expandable, at least with you, he isn’t.

"You have nothing to wear."

You glance down at your sleepwear, a borrowed shirt from Rafe's closet that cuts mid-thigh, and realize he's right. It wasn't like you packed an overnight bag and your only options are to reuse the gown from last night or your bartender work attire.

There is Sarah's closet but after Rafe's whole conflict with his sister returning, you'd rather not put it on the table.

"Right." You drawl, pressing your lips together while you consider alternatives. "You could drop me off at my house. I can change."

He shakes his head, concealing a rising smile at your determination to attend. "Not enough time."

"What time is it?"

"A quarter after eleven. I have to meet him there by noon."

He's right. The drive to The Cut is going to take most of that time.

"I'll be fine." Rafe declares. "I've handled him for the past twenty-three years. I can handle a few hours."

You nod, saying nothing. What could you say? You're taking Rafe's words at face value and if he believes he can go into this meeting without having another destructive conversation, then you can only believe him.

"I should go then." You throw the comforter off your body, the coldness of the morning breeze sends a shiver down your spine. Your legs drape off the ledge. "Since you won't be here."

"No." Rafe asserts suddenly, causing you to stop in your tracks. "I'll be back. Just hang out here."

He doesn't want you to leave. Whatever conversation he'll have with his father, it would either settle on a concession or a bad ending. Rafe already mentally prepared the layout of his day and he knows he'll need you after. To talk. To comfort. To be here with him.

"Alone?" You confirm, the idea is scandalous to your ears. "In your mansion? Aren't you afraid I'm going to steal something of yours?"

You're playing into Pogue stereotypes, testing if Rafe trusts you enough.

"You wouldn't." He shakes his head with confidence and you still don't have your answer.

“You don’t know that.” You challenge with a tease. “I saw some things downstairs I would like to take home. If I just swipe them when you leave…” Your voice trails off when Rafe settles in front of you, both arms pressed on either side of your hips and he levels down his face to be inches away from yours.

"I could just buy them for you."

Your heart sputters. You stare back at him, admiring his freshly-clean look with a faint scent of aftershave. He looks handsome. His blue eyes set on you, captivating and waiting. For a brief moment, you could see yourself letting him in.

You expel an awkward laugh. ‘Yeah, right,” you hit his shoulders, trying to create some distance between the two of you, but it doesn’t work. The touch only further the buzz within you, stirring something from the pit of your stomach. “Like I would let you.”

"But you'd rather steal?"

You shrug, needing to look away, pretending to admire a thread you found on his sheets. "What did I tell you that day in Topper's house?"

He hazily recounts the details. The night when you came and propositioned him. Where he got into a fight with a stranger for harassing you. Where you patched him up.

"I only remember you on my lap."

You scoff, turning back to him. "Of course you would."

You make a move to stand, but Rafe lays a hand on your hips, keeping you in place.

"What?" You ask breathlessly, despite the limited movement.

“You promised you were going to ride me.” He recalls lowly, pushing the fabric of his tee up your thighs and creating goosebumps in its wake. “You don’t have makeup on.”

Shaky breaths leave you, trying to remain in control. But you know you’re losing it with every light caress Rafe is giving you, igniting the heat between your legs. “Are you always this horny in the morning?”

"Just for you, sweetheart."

Your mind is warping and you fumble for excuses.

"I have morning breath."

"We don't have to kiss."

"You have a meeting in less than an hour."

"We'll be quick."

With a huff, you retort. "Do you always have an answer for everything I say?"

He chuckles. "I know you now."

You're afraid he truly does.

Your lips part when his hand cups the underside of your jaw, tilting your gaze to meet his. His eyes scans over your features, reading how willing you are, and mumbles. "That's my girl."

Your skin buzzes with his praise, and Rafe goes to remove your shirt—his shirt that you’re wearing, the sight of which drives him insane—and exposing your bare tits and panties underneath. No matter how many times he sees you naked, it amazes him every time. That it’s him that gets to see you this way. That it’s him who gets to touch you.

"Fuck." He whispers, sinking to his knees as his hands spread your legs apart. He wants nothing more than to sink in you, but he wants to please you first. Lowering, Rafe kisses the base of your knee to your inner thighs. "You're so fucking gorgeous."

It's things like this that make your head spin. Not the mind-blowing sex—no, that's a plus—but his words. The little acts. You don't know whether to trust them because mostly, he only utters them when you're intimate. You know how different it can be afterwards.

His fingers go under the band of your underwear and take them off with your assistance.

"Such a pretty pussy." His thumb traces up and down your slit, collecting your arousal and causing you to buckle from his slow, teasing touch.

"Rafe." You warn. "The time."

He glances over his shoulders to the digital clock sitting on his dresser and turns back to you with a smirk. "How about you watch it and tell me how I'm doing?"

"You have a meeting soon."

"Baby, you really don't want to rush me." He declares, moving closer and pushing your legs onto his shoulders. His tongue lightly grazes your cunt, causing you to bite down on your bottom lip. "I wanna enjoy this."

Rafe flattens his tongue, performing languid strokes as your fingers threads through his hair. You arch into his face when he sucks on your clit, his fingers entering you in simultaneous thrusts. Your eyes flutter close from the sensation.

"You taste so good, baby, I could have you for breakfast every morning." He mumbles against your opening, the vibration of his rasps elevates the pleasure and aids you towards your climax.

When you come on his face, Rafe guides you through your release and when he pulls back, he checks the clock. "Not bad, huh?"

You shake your head softly, a dazed smile on your lips. "I bet I can do better."

"Yeah?"

You push yourself forward to remove his sweatpants, the outline of his bulge prominent, and while you tease him with light traces on his lower abdomen, the sound of a ringtone interrupts you.

Rafe moves over to the dresser where his phone sits and answers the call from his father. "Yeah?" He greets, listening to what Ward has to say. "You said twelve."

Another exchange is made before Rafe ends, and when he does, he rolls his eyes, agitation evident on his features. "I have to go. My dad is moving up the time."

You smother the aching disappointment and nod. "Okay," you say, picking up your panties from the floor and sliding them over your hips. You glance over to the door, contemplating your own exit. He notices.

"I'll be back, alright?" Rafe reaffirms, coming over to plant a gentle kiss on your temple and your body leans into his touch. "Just stay."

While you wait for Rafe to explain, you take a tour around the estate. Midway through your exploration of family portraits and expensive winery around the kitchen, you receive a phone call from the babysitter.

"Hello?" You answer, while the babysitter is scrambling to produce coherent words. "Wait, wait, slow down. What's going on?"

She doesn't explain much, informing you to get home immediately and hangs up. Your heart sputters by the sudden disconnect and you race to Rafe's bedroom to collect your things before ordering a rideshare. When you hop in, your leg restlessly taps on the floor of the car while you check the battery on your phone.

You're imagining the worst possible scenarios. Something happened to your sisters. They got injured. One of them is in the hospital. The other is missing. Or, somehow, the house caught on fire and now, you're homeless.

When you reached your destination, the car didn't halt to a full stop before you hopped out, running down the driveway to the familiar, unscathed house. That calms your mind for a moment.

Before you realize it's something much worse.

"Aaron." You murmur, shoulders tense as your eyes widen, recognizing the tall dark-haired man standing in front of your door, talking to the babysitter who's blocking the entryway. He turns his head at your arrival, eyes cascading down your body before meeting your gaze.

"Y'know, you've been a hard woman to find." He chuckles to himself, the sound making all the hair on your body stand up. Aaron pushes himself off the beam of your porch. "Where you been?"

Your heart is hammering in your chest. You glance over to the babysitter to signal her and she reenters the house and barricades the door. Inhaling a sharp breath, you try to calm yourself.

"What are you doing here?"

He tsk. "Wrong answer. I asked you first."

"I know I'm late—"

"I don't wanna hear excuses." He holds out his hand, flexing the various dark ink crawling up his forearms. "I just want an answer."

His voice is calm. Too calm. It's scaring you.

"I've been busy. Business been slow—"

"Is that not an excuse I'm hearing?" He says, stepping closer to you. You can see the outline of his gun tucked under the band of his pants and your breath shortens. "Where have you been?"

With your heartbeat in your throat, you don't know what answer you can give to satisfy him. So, you remain silent.

When Aaron realizes that, he tilts his gaze out into the driveway with a huff. "I heard you been running around with a Kook," he states, matter-of-fact, and you can smell the faint stench of nicotine wafting from his clothes. "Was that him?"

He's referring to your rideshare driver. You shake your head frantically. "No. But, I swear to you, I'll get you your money if I have more time."

He scoffs in disbelief, turning back and ignoring your pleas. His dark eyes find the pendant wrapped around your neck and he lets out a cold chuckle. "And he's been giving you some real nice gifts, too."

Fuck, this isn't a good look for you. Your panic is skyrocketing and you resist the strongest urge to hide the expensive jewelry behind your palm.

"Aaron." You begin again, your voice shifting to desperation. "I just need a little bit more time. This doesn't mean—"

He holds out another hand. "Look, I've been a nice guy. Wouldn't you say so?" He prompts, tilting his head, and when you don't answer, he adds. "I mean, what kind of person would lend you thirty grand? I consider that pretty generous, right?"

You swallow hard, your throat dry. "Right."

"And I've done nothin' yet to make you not trust me otherwise, right?"

You hesitate with a shaky breath, your knees buckling. "Right."

"So, all I'm asking is to return the gesture and give me back my money. I help you, you help me, that's how this relationship works, right?"

"Aaron, I—"

"If you interrupt me one more time, I'll cut out that fucking tongue."

You let out a small whimper, silencing yourself. Both hands tucked behind your back. He smiles at your submission, dark eyes gleaming in pride. "Good."

Aaron draws closer, stopping just in front of you. His grimy fingers trails down the length of your neck, following the chain of your necklace, before grabbing the pendant between his fingers and ripping it off. The clasp breaks and a gasp leaves your lips.

With his other hand, he seizes the back of your neck.

"Three days." He threatens, the grip piercing into your skin. "I'm givin' you three more days and if you can't pay me back by then, I won't be such a nice guy anymore."

He waves the dangling necklace in front of your face. "I'll keep this as collateral."

You're shaking under his touch and he notices, smiling crudely, before he does another sweep of your exposed body. "And y'know, there's other ways of paying me back."

Aaron finally releases you, and you stumble away from him with a few steps. The dark-haired man descends off your porch and disappears on his bike, leaving you trembling at the foot of your door.

You don't move for the next few minutes. Your mind is occupied with everything going on, that when you slip into your house, you run on autopilot.

You pay the babysitter, patting her back as a silent gratitude for her assistance and protection, and gather your sisters onto the couch, holding them close. Hugging them tight. Trying to use their heartbeats to calm yours.

The rest of the night is spent with them. They wanted to watch a movie and you pulled out an old disk of their favorite films. With that on, they quickly fall asleep on your shoulders and you carry them to their bedroom.

That's when the real work begins.

Spending the rest of your time on the kitchen island, devising a plan, you hear a knock at your door.

Afraid that the loan shark had returned to make a second visit, you hoped it would go away, only for the sound to grow more intense and adamant. Your fear spikes and you were afraid he was going to do something much worse if you didn't answer. When you approached the front door, you held your breath.

Only to find a blond.

"Where were you?" Rafe demands, his expression unreadable but his words are cold. It rubs you the wrong way, reminding you too closely of Aaron.

You can't handle it. You attempt to shut the door, only for Rafe to stick his foot between the crack and push back.

"What the fuck? What are you doing?" Rafe enters into your house, his eyes searching the place for anything out of the ordinary, anything you would hide from him, before his gaze lands on you.

You cross your arms protectively over your chest, thinking this is another one of his outbursts. "Rafe, I don't have time right now. Whatever you're pissed off about, you have to wait—"

"I came home and you were gone."

That quiets you.

"Your shit was gone. Even your mess from the bathroom was wiped clean." He recounts, struggling to conceal the vulnerability seeping through his words with each reveal. "You didn't even leave a note."

Your mind is muddled. You didn't realize it would affect him this much and something about the act endears you. You were so frantic, trying to figure out how to get home before your phone dies, that you forgot your own commitment to Rafe.

"Say something." He urges.

"What happened?" You ask softly, discovering your answer when his expression twists. Like he doesn't want to think about it. You don't want to think about your problems either. "I assumed you would go to a party."

You say that because, if Rafe didn't have you conveniently-located at his disposal, he would return to his own vices. It stings him that you still thought of him as his former image, but he couldn't completely fault you because he did—he went to one of the island's parties and came out still feeling empty.

Rafe's jaw locks as he stares at you, breathing heavily. Taking you in. How just the sight of you seems to soothe him. He doesn't know how to explain it, when the tides changed, but it did. The fact that he's here, in this rundown house in the middle of The Cut after a blowout with his father, all because he misses you says it all.

"I don't want to talk." He declares firmly, the resoluteness of his tone shocks you. "Not now. But I will, after, if that's what you want."

You draw your brows together. "What are you getting at, Rafe?"

Rafe swears under his breath. These words, these feelings are difficult to him. It's uncomfortable and unwanted and all it makes him want to do is resort back to his anger, something comfortable he can express himself in. But he can't. Not with you.

"I don't want that shit anymore. I just wanna fuck you."

Your lips part. "What?"

Unintentionally, the natural response came with a tone of hurt but you disguise it well. You recognize your own feelings in that precise moment. When you got into this relationship with Rafe, you knew nothing he does is out of the sincerity of his heart. It's a committed act. A performance of a perfect boyfriend.

Yet, it breaks your heart. How you manage to fall for him, despite knowing everything he does is fake. Even now, standing before you, he's admitting his clear intentions and you can't help but envision another meaning.

It can destroy you, this hope, only if you let it. You'd rather let the clear lines be drawn. If Rafe is telling you he wants to use you for sex, so be it. You won't ask for anything else.

When your silence becomes deafening, Rafe abandons his last shred of pride.

"Please."

You inhale sharply, evening your words. You can detach too. "Ask me."

His large hand tucks under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. "Can I use you?"

"Yes."

The confirmation was all he needed before his lips slams into yours. His hands lowers to capture your ass and as a signal, you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist. Rafe moves through the hallway and towards your bedroom, kick-opening the door, causing the doorknob to smash into your wall with a loud thump.

You pull back from the kiss. "Don't break my house."

"I'll pay for that."

Rafe drops you onto the bed and pulls off his shirt you took from Tannyhill. His movements are skilled and hurried, needing to see you, to taste you. He kisses down your neck, to the curve of your shoulders, before finding himself between the valley of your breasts. His mouth covers a nipple.

You tip your head back with a moan, reveling in the way his tongue twirls around the metal barbell, igniting your nerves. Rafe rocks against your spread legs and you feel his bulge teasing your core. "Rafe, please."

"What did I tell you about rushing me?" He murmurs against your skin. "I'm trying to enjoy this."

The challenge hangs in the air and when Rafe gives both of your tits equal attention, he pulls back to admire the sight of your hard nipples wet and glistening. Tilting his gaze up to you, he palms a breast in his hand.

"I'm going to be rough." He announces. "Tell me if it hurts."

Your heart swells from the gesture but you wish he would just do it without caution. It'll be easier to separate your feelings.

Leaning forward to capture a kiss, you breathe into his mouth. "You said use me, right? Then use me."

His eyes darken. "Don't say something you'll regret."

"Then make me regret it."

You're exactly what he needs.

Rafe wastes no more time and strips out of his clothes, his cock springing free from his boxer, all red and swollen. You can't help but feel a pang of pity, remembering how he had to leave this morning without release.

Reaching out to cup him, he snatches your wrists in one hand. "What do you think you're doing?"

You pout. "I'm helping you."

"Did I tell you to?" His words are commanding, shifting to a state that leaves no room for arguments. You swallow hard, feeling a thrill passing through you at his control. "Are you going to be a good girl tonight and do as you're told?"

You nod.

"I need words, sweetheart."

"Yes." You say desperately and Rafe releases you.

Pushing you back against the mattress, he pulls you to the ledge and removes your shorts and panties. When you're open and dripping for him, he thrusts into you without warning.

"Shit," you let out a cry. Rafe pushes the back of your thighs into a bend, your kneecaps beside your ears, and this new position gives him access to enter deeper.

"Fuck, I needed this." He moans, burying in ecstasy at the way you wrap perfectly around him. "Why would I ever want to go to another fucking party when I can have this every night?"

You can't answer him, too lost in the initial pain that quickly fades into your credence of pleasure. Moans escape you, elevating in volume with each pump. You had to slap both your hands over your mouth to muffle your sounds from waking your sisters.

Rafe recognizes that immediately. That's the only reason he isn't ripping them off right now—to let him hear how he makes you feel, to listen to what he's owed—because he knows where your priorities lie.

"Please don't stop," you whimper through your fingers, which are slowly loosening as you feel the familiar tension tightening in your gut.

"Sweetheart, God can't even pull me away from this pussy right now." Rafe grunts. Your walls flutter around him. "You're about to come, aren't you?"

You nod desperately and Rafe fastens his rhythm, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as you race towards your orgasm with a loud, uninhibited moan that echoes through the room. He had to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

Panting, you try to catch your breath but Rafe doesn't allow you to rest. Still hungry, still needing, he pulls out and flips you on your stomach, hauling your ass in the air.

Your legs burn from the way he folded you but you still get on your knees. Breathing heavily with your profile pressed against your sheets, you feel his hands flattening against the smooth curve of your cheeks, squeezing.

Rafe takes his time to admire you from behind. So willing, so wanting, he can see you dripping and making a mess on your covers. He chuckles. "Do you need me, baby?"

"I want you," you breathe, "inside, please."

"Inside where?" Rafe grips the base, tapping his tip on your wet folds. "Here?" He mocks, before shifting to the opening of your asshole. "Or here?"

Your breath hitches; the unfamiliar contact sends a shiver down your spine.

"Come on, sweetheart. I need an answer." Rafe taunts, rubbing his slick cock over your hole, anticipation pricking his skin as he sees you contract. "Would this be your first?"

You nod, too disoriented to form words.

He grins. "Are you going to let me fuck your asshole?"

The feeling of your slickness rubbing against your back entrance feels foreign but not unwelcome, sending hot desire to your core. While you struggle to produce an affirmative, Rafe leans forward to grab your throat, pulling you upright.

"Are you going to answer me, Pogue, or am I going to have to do it for you?"

You hate the term Pogue, especially when he uses it, but at this moment, with his hot breath fanning the crook of your neck, you're glad he is. It reminds you—to separate the sex and your heart.

"Whatever you want." You confess.

Rafe drops you back onto the mattress, spitting on your asshole and wets the area with the pad of his thumb. He didn't immediately enter, as you would have predicted, and instead pushed a thick digit through your hole.

You try to relax, shivering through unfamiliar contact.

"Oh, shit, you're so tight for me." He breathes out, sliding in two. "I know you're going to make me come in a second."

He thrusts in-and-out at a slow pace, prepping you, but the lack of friction is causing you to grow impatient and needy. All you want is him.

"Do it. I'm ready."

Rafe laughs. Not listening. "But this isn't about you, is it?"

He tests you out for a couple more minutes, getting you comfortable and relaxed, and it lures you into a false sense of security. When you find yourself gathering your breath, it shifts into a sudden emptiness of his removal, and before you know it—he pushes the head of his cock in, surprising you with a scream.

The pressure stings from the initial intrusion, and you wince, gripping onto the sheets and burying your face, but as Rafe gradually fills you, the pain fades into an unlikely pleasure, floating and amplified all over your body.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans. "Am I hurting you?"

You hesitate before nodding. "Yes..."

He stills. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head. "No."

Something ignites deep and carnal within Rafe. The way your body tightens, your legs shaking, and the submission in your voice as he has his way with you. The fact that you want to continue, despite the hurt, because he wants it, drives him insane.

"You're being such a good girl tonight."

The compliment drives your enthusiasm and you wiggle your ass against his cock, feeling him twitch inside of you. It flips his control. Rafe quickly grabs your hips, holding you in place.

He grits out. "Don't do that."

"Why not?" You whine, wanting to feel him deeper, more full. "I'm only trying to help."

A laugh can't help but escape him. At how cockdrunk you are—it carves something in his chest. "God, you really are my personal slut. Doing anything to make me feel good, won't you?"

You don't answer, the call-out warming your cheeks at your own recognition. You said it once during sex, a tease on him, but now you can't help but see how true it is. Now, it feels like an attack on the independent facade you crafted as part of your character.

Rafe wants to hear you. He grips your hips harder, leaving bruises. "Say it."

You shake your head. You don't want him to know how much you're willing to give him. It's too vulnerable.

The lack of silence isn't enough for him.

Rafe rails into you, bottoming out, and you let out a cry at the intensity of his size, at the pressure buried in you, and the pain-pleasure that pulsates through your body. You understand it's your own punishment, but your teeth sinks into your bottom lip, refusing to budge.

He goes again. And again. To the point that he's rage-fucking you, abandoning all restraints and channeling his aggression from his brunch and your disobedience. He wants to know you'll be willing to sacrifice your pride as much as he sacrifices his and he's pissed that you aren't.

A tit-for-tat.

One of your hands slips between your legs, rubbing your clit in simulation. The euphoria explodes all over, especially with how Rafe fills you from behind, and you moan wildly, causing him to discover the act and pin your wrists behind your back.

"No."

"Rafe." You beg, the ache between your legs is demanding and left without resolution. "Touch me."

He shakes his head with a tsk. "Bad girls don't deserve that."

You have a retort on your lips but it's forgotten the moment he thrusts into you, so deep, it hits a spot you didn't know existed and causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head.

"Fuck, you're loud." He grumbles, grabbing your panties from the side and bundling them into a tight ball, shoving it into your mouth. You choke on surprise.

"Rafe–"

"Shut. Up." He warns viciously, knowing the increment level of noises you're producing is going to wake your siblings. Another reason why you won't let him in. "And just take it like a good slut."

Something about his command exhilarates you. Bounded and gagged, Rafe is fucking your ass, and all you can think about is you're letting him. You want this. Even with his harsh words.

You had to give him something.

"Like yours." You admit, the muffling of your panties works wonders at stifling your words.

Despite that, he heard it. Rafe pauses for a moment. You aren't giving him everything, but he hears it in the confession.

His command is low. "Say that again."

"I'm yours." You whimper, desperate and submissive. "Please make me come."

His chest warms and his smile is smug. Rafe slides his hand from your hips to your needy cunt, rubbing your swollen nub with tight circles, causing you to buckle and heightening your rising peak.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp with a sharp breath, "oh, god, oh, god."

When you come, your orgasm hits in waves—intense and demanding—ripping out of you despite the gag, and searing in such an elevated state that you slump back onto the bed. Rafe has to abandon everything to grab your middle, holding you up.

He continues to penetrate you from behind until he fills you up, his hot cum leaking out of you. When he pulls out, he takes his fingers and pushes it back in, causing you to contract with a low, lazy moan.

You're out of it. You thought it would be the end but Rafe's appetite is insatiable. He settles back against the headboard of your bed, breathing heavily with a sheen of sweat covering his taut chest, and beckons you.

"Rafe," you groan weakly. "What?"

"Come here."

Despite the throbbing in your muscles, you crawl to him. Settling next to his pelvis, you glance down at his softening cock. "Get me hard again."

Your eyes widen at the instruction. "Are you not tired?"

"Never of you."

You roll your eyes before your fingers gingerly wrap around his shaft, slowly rubbing him out, feeling it harden underneath your touch in a matter of seconds. You gleam in a bit of pride at your ability. You turn back to him, drawn out and exhausted. "Now, what?"

"Ride me."

"What?"

"Come on, sweetheart." He teases, grabbing your waist and moving you to mount over him. Your entrance hovers over his tip, sensitive—so, so sensitive—that you let out a small whine. "You have a promise to keep."

You try. Lowering yourself to let the head in, you immediately pull back, hissing from your overestimation with a fervent shake of your head.

"Rafe." You pant, eyes searching his face. "I can't. I–I think I'm done."

"I'm not." And with that, he thrusts upwards and into you. You collapse onto his cock, sinking down with a cry as tears prick your line of vision from the overwhelming ache of pleasure.

You still move against him, trying to produce some friction, despite your words. Rafe sees how you're working, trying to please him, that he pulls you down to capture your mouth in a tender kiss, drawing out your pain with some pleasantry.

His hand cups the side of your face and you melt into his touch, the act removes all your inhibitions. When he retreats, he whispers against your lips. "Last one, okay, baby? I know you can hold out for me a little longer."

Determination courses through you.

You, with tear-stained cheeks, nods. You straighten your posture, closing your eyes and will yourself through the pain, bouncing on his cock and ignoring the burning sensation in the back of your thighs.

Rafe watches your tits bounce and uses the opportunity to capture the bar lined between your nipples, twisting and pulling them to produce pleasure for you. The additive of his touch pushes your body into overdrive and you feel yourself growing closer once again.

"Please, please, please." You beg, to anyone, anything with a higher power, to guide you through this climax. It's the hardest to peak, and you try to quicken your pace, but your legs give out and you fall flat. Rafe, knowing the familiar twitch of your walls around him, begins to assist and thrusts into you.

"I'm close, baby," he grunts, pumping forward with enough force that pushes both of you through your orgasm and riding out your highs together. You clench so tightly around him, in the aftermath, that he can barely move.

When you feel the familiar warm pool spilling inside of you, you let him empty it all out, and when you dismount, you fall into the space beside Rafe, leaking and complete fucked out.

Rafe knows your next move is to pull to the ledge, to separate some distance between the two of you, but he doesn't give you the chance before he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest. His breathing is heavy, his heart rate is fast, and he's worn out from the session.

You don't resist, letting yourself calm down with him. It isn't until he presses a soft kiss to the back of your shoulders and wipes away some of your tears that your stomach flips. "You okay?" He murmurs against your heated skin.

You want to cry. Not from the sensation but because of how gentle he's treating you after; how it's messing with your feelings and making you think of things you shouldn't.

"I'm fine." You lie, putting your hand over his arms and peeling them off of your body before pulling to the ledge. It feels like a safety tactic nowadays.

Rafe takes it as some kind of rejection and when you move into a sitting position, back pressed against the headboard, you turn to him with a raised brow.

"Do you want to talk about it now?" You ask, doing something, anything to stop this feeling from building inside of your chest and giving you hope. You remind yourself of the transactions; the falsehood of it all.

He doesn't, especially with the distance, but he does it anyway, out of respect for your terms.

"My dad is giving away the case to Sarah."

Your lips part. "What?"

"The one with the marsh and hotel? Yeah."

You pause, taking a few seconds to gather your words. "And you're upset because it's unfair?"

He doesn't answer you immediately. He's not upset about the case itself, there's hundreds of other opportunities for him to handle business like that. Especially now knowing he could. It was the fact that it was our case, because you helped him figure it out. You were his partner.

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I worked hard on it. She doesn't deserve all the credit."

You hum in understanding. "I'm sorry."

Rafe huffs. "I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity, it's compassion." You correct. "You're pissed and you're hurt by something your dad did to you. It's okay to feel that. I'm sorry you have to feel that."

Rafe says nothing, watching you.

His heart aches.

You’re so understanding. So perfect. He doesn’t know how to explain how every time he comes in with this need for you, for you to satisfy him physically, only to come out of it a different man. Someone better. Someone more in-tuned with himself. He never had someone like that in his life.

He looks at you like you’re a dream but he’s afraid he isn’t yours.

You decide to move the conversation elsewhere, not wanting to end the night in such a depressive state. "Are you staying the night?"

“Are you kicking me out?” Rafe asks tightly.

He wants to understand you, of where you’re ranking him at. He knows he’s going to absolutely lose it if he has to go back to Tannyhill tonight.

"No." You declare, grabbing the comforter and throwing it over your body. You should really take a shower and clean up, but you're so exhausted right now, all you want is to go to sleep and figure it out tomorrow.

"Does that mean..." He trails off, wanting to hear you say it, wanting you to ask him.

You don't.

"Whatever you want, Rafe." You yawn, rubbing your eyes. "If you stay, you stay. If you leave, just make sure to lock the door behind you."

And with that, you fell asleep.

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inyourgravehcs · 20 days

Text

♡ Him and his cat ♡

• Blade wasn't the type to be easily enthralled by a cute animal with big eyes and a fluffy coat... or was he?

• "Meet Sesame Cake." you show the man a picture on your phone of a cute kitty living in it's sweet skin. At the same moment, Blade's eyes open wide and seem to light up with a rare flame of genuine delight. In truth, the changes in his facial expression were almost too subtle, but as his lover, you learned to recognize them. Without a word, he turned in the opposite direction from you, and only by the corner of your eye could you catch the corners of his lips lifting in a slight smile.

• Well, apparently he had no idea what that was about at all. Oh, he had no idea for real.

• You had the opportunity to visit Herta Space Station at just the right time - there were too many critters being given away. So how could you leave without the cherished Sesame Cake, who so resembles your boyfriend?

• Upon your return home, Blade was in for a surprise. His bewilderment was indescribable — at least because it was as non-obvious as possible and there was nothing to describe — he immediately began to study the amazing creature, trying to find a way to approach it. The dawn of his eyes gazed into the abyss of the cat's eyes, both of them freezing in place, and you could have sworn that at least half an hour this tandem spent in dead silence, not moving or making a sound.

• After the successful introduction of these two, it was safe to say that they had found each other. Sesame Cake and Blade bond at an incredibly fast rate, from Sesame Cake sniffing Blade's hand every other day to constantly spending time together, a process that happens so quickly that it was impossible to notice the transition between these two points.

• Sesame often gets into all sorts of trouble, Quite like his owner. You can be sure that Blade is the first to come to the rescue, inspecting the kitty for any signs of injury and then carefully bandaging the cat's tail, which suffers in such situations more often than not.

• Since Blade needs something to cuddle in his sleep, he now often enlists Sesame's help if you're suddenly not around. On the busiest days, when you go to bed later than he does, a sleepy realm of sweet peace looms over the bedroom, with Blade's arms wrapped around Sesame's rounded form, cradling it closer to himself like a pillow. Surprisingly, the man would rather bring his pet to bed with him than his own dearest sword.

• The cat itself, while equally fond of snoozing on both you and Blade, prefers to fall asleep between both of his owners when given the opportunity.

• Sesame Cake will definitely give Blade more reason to be jealous... except that he'll be jealous of everyone indiscriminately. If you suddenly start petting the kitty, excluding Blade from the picture, he'll experience two layers of jealousy at once - both of you, because Sesame chose you over Blade, and of the cat, because you, as if nothing happened, take ignoring the man as a fact, trading your dear boyfriend for fluffy cat cheeks.

• In the end, Blade has come up with a whole scheme to avoid such situations - Stellaron Hunter will immediately come to lie down on your lap by himself as soon as you take your favorite spot on the couch. This way, Sesame Cake will have to lie on top of his owner, and you'll have the opportunity to use both of your hands: Blade will get unscheduled caresses, and Sesame will be loved from all sides with stroking and scratching on the top of his skin. Two birds with one stone!

♡ ── ✦ ──『♡』── ✦ ── ♡

Please note that english isn't my native language and can be awkward at times.

Please don't translate or repost my works without asking for my permission first!

#honkai star rail x reader #blade x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr drabbles #blade x y/n #blade x you #honkai star rail #hsr

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wingedjellyfishflight · 1 month

Text

Cafe Fare

You own a small café off base. Most of the time, you just see people hurrying through wanting a ready-made meal, a coffee, or energy drink. Then, a masked man stops in for lunch. Something fresh from the kitchen. He stops in the next day and the next. The fourth day, he drags along a flirtatious Scot who gets a head slap when the skull-faced man tires of him not ordering. They're gone the next few days, but then the skull man is back alone. The day after, the Scot, Soap, as he insists you call him, brings in another soldier. Gaz, he introduces himself as. All three men become regulars, typically dining apart when they have time. Then Gaz brings in The Captain. You never catch a name beyond that, but you quickly make another regular out of him.

It's only a few months later when a man nearly too big for the booths sits for lunch. A mask covers his face even more thoroughly than Ghost, the name you have finally wheedled out of your masked man. The others shoot glares at this new man, and he retreats behind a menu. When you take his order, you smile just as wide as you do for those regulars, and he seems to relax. Especially when you call him Sugar, Dear or Honey. Those remnants of your American upbringing always seem to disarm even your big tough SAS regulars, and the Austrian is no different.

The other men try to warn you off of König and you tell them this is a no conflict zone. You're a civilian, and this is a café, not the barracks. They bite back protests, agreeing to keep the peace for your sake. As a concession, you try to always seat them away from each other, preferably so they can't see the other table at all.

Time goes on, and the café gets busier and busier. You have to hire more people to keep up. It seems that your regulars have brought in a whole wave of soldiers who want to try the food that is better than any chow hall on base and always treats them with a little love. Civilians pour in, too, as you get consistent five-star reviews.

One day, you have two full tables and then some of KorTac and 141 men, as they seem to refer to their separate factions. The rest of the cafe is packed full as well, and yet again, a young officer is demanding that you serve him first instead of the enlisted men at other tables. He oozes self-importance, and it makes you want to gag. Putting on your customer service persona, you tell him that rank doesn't matter here. He will be served when his food is ready and not a moment sooner. He stands, towering over you and gets in your face, yelling about teaching you your place and obeying orders. You cock an eyebrow, ready to fire back when a wall, no two walls of flesh are suddenly between you and him. König and Ghost stand shoulder to shoulder glaring down at the man. They begin to argue over who should be allowed to deal with him.

"He's an officer in my military. He's mine," Ghost growls.

"But we are off base in the civilian world. That makes him mine." König's higher pitched voice sounds just as deadly scary. They go back and forth for a minute or two before you tap them both on the back.

"Luv?"

"Liebling?"

You hide a grin as they both use the same term of endearment. "Why not compromise and do both? König, you handle it now in public, and Ghost, you handle it on base after whatever complaints roll in as an officer. Because I bet there will be complaints." They think for just a moment before nodding at each other. Ghost wraps an arm around your waist and guides you over to the counter where food is waiting to be dropped off. Meanwhile, König is giving the ass chewing of a lifetime to the officer who has nearly pissed himself by this point. When König finishes, the officer runs out the door, and you can guess you will never see him again.

You give both men their meals on the house despite their protests.

"Next time, you can pay me then. It's not like that was the first, and it won't likely be the last time that happens." The men mull over your words, and you miss their exchanged look. You don't know it now, but you have fundamentally changed the dynamics on base. KorTac and the 141 cooperate on and off the field, realizing that working together is far more entertaining and satisfying than constantly arguing. The Captain gifts you a bottle of top shelf bourbon that Christmas in thanks.

Ghost and König are not best friends, but more often than not, the two teams now eat together, prompting you to reserve a table for them at lunch every day. The number fluctuates, but König and Ghost are there every chance they get. When one or both are down range, as they call it, you miss them fiercely. When they return, you always excitedly hug them to welcome them back home. At first, they had frozen under your hugs, but when you greeted them and only them with a hug, Ghost and König felt themselves hugging you back possessively. Soap and Gaz loved to complain about their lack of hugs, but you notice they never even try to initiate one, and a glare from Ghost has them shutting up.

It's been nearly three years since Ghost first tried your food, when you see them loitering around near close, looking nervous. You've never seen these men nervous, and it has you on edge. You hurriedly work through your closing duties, locking the doors and pulling the blinds shut before sitting heavily across from them.

"What's wrong?" Your question seems to surprise them. "You two are more nervous than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest." They break out in laughter, much of the tension bleeding away.

"Luv, what the 'ell kind of sayin is that?"

"A good one, now spill." They sober up, and you see them exchange a look.

"We.. fuckin Hell. How do I word this?" Ghost's nervousness is back already. You've never heard his voice waver before.

"We want to court you. Both of us, if you're interested. We have fallen for you." König reaches a hand out as he speaks, lacing his fingers with yours. You are too stunned to speak for a moment but squeeze his hand.

"Umm... I was not expecting... what I mean is... yes?" You clear your throat. "Yes, I would like that." They seem almost as surprised at your answer as you were at the implied question. You stand and walk around the table, resting a hand on each of their shoulders when they go to stand. "Can I kiss you? I've wanted to kiss you both for a ridiculously long time." You are blushing deeply but determined to push past it.

Ghost tugs you into his lap and tugs his mask up, kissing you deeply. You feel him smile against your lips when you moan quietly and wrap your arms around his neck. After a few moments, he pulls away and passes you over to König's lap. You smile up at him in a bit of a daze but reach up slowly to lift his mask above his lips. He leans down while lifting you up a bit. Kissing him is different, but just as satisfying. He nips at your lower lip, making you gasp into him. He plunges his tongue into your mouth, holding you tight against his chest and groping your ass. When you finally pull away, your eyes are lidded, and all you can think about is doing more. So you do. It's a few hours later, after more than a couple rounds with them, that you teasingly ask if this is how courting is supposed to work. They stumble over their words, but your cheeky grin has them promising revenge soon.

That Christmas, you attend the joint KorTac and 141 holiday party with your men fussing over your every step. When The Captain tries to give you another bottle of bourbon, you pass it over to Ghost politely. He huffs, complaining that the bottle he gets is never this good. You roll your eyes and pass the Captain a box. When he opens it, he freezes, just looking. Soap, the nosy bugger tries to see what it is, and The Captain slams the box shut. His eyes bore into you while you giggle at him. He grabs for the bottle, but Ghost pulls away, having anticipated the move.

"What is going on, Captain? You get a gag gift?" Gaz teases him, knowing that you would never give a bad enough gift to prompt such an action.

"No! I gave a bad gift! I need to exchange it!" He cautiously opens the box again, seemingly to confirm what he saw.

"Captain, just hold it up already." Ghost is a bit impatient to get this over with now, and you rub a hand down his back. The Captain pulls out a small piece of fabric and holds it up. A onesie, well two onesies, he realizes. They read "My Grandpa goes by Captain"

"Two onesies? Did ye gettae discount for buying an extra?" Soap's voice booms with laughter.

Ghost pauses a second, wanting to time it perfectly. "We bought two for the same reason they issue me and you separate uniforms, idiot." Soap chokes on his drink, coughing while trying to talk. The room is silent for a moment before cheering excitedly, congratulating all three of you. Your men don't stop smiling all night, not even when they carry your sleeping form to bed after falling asleep on the couch at the party, curled up like a cat in König's lap.

#konig x reader #könig x reader #call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price

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