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tonycries · 13 days ago

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KNOTTY GIRL!

Synopsis. Your boyfriend’s in his rút? No worries! Of course, you’re there to help.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, omégaverse AU, alpha!JJK men, RÚTS, knóts, bréeding, ínnappropriate use of jujutsu techniques, jealousy (Toji’s side), slight fóodplay (Nanami), making Sukuna BREAK, cúmplay, spítting, PÚSSYDRUNK JJK MEN, mentions of kids, true form Sukuna, dp, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Last day of k!nktober, this month was lovely and so were y’all.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Mine, doll.

Truthfully, you shouldn’t even be here - you shouldn’t have dared to step through Toji’s firmly shut door for a reason.

Because he’d already warned you he wasn’t going to be himself once his rut hit, already musing that your cute lil’ self won’t be able to keep up with him this day. This week.

Yet, here you were - folded into such a mean mating press.

“Toji.” you’re hiccuping when he furiously fists the thickened base of his cock, giving one, two tight squeezes before drooling out in stringy wads of cum from the reddish divot on his fat head, smearing your puffy folds in a sweltering white, white gloss. “D-don’t be such a hngh- tease-”

And he can only grin, “Shoulda thought of that before ya came up hah- begging for my cock, doll.” Tapping the hot curve of his still-hard tip in a sopping wet thwack! thwack! thwack! on your puffed-up clit. You’re watching with glassy eyes as his thick thumb smears over the milky dredges of cum. Popping it shamelessly into his mouth, “Because this pretty pussy is mine now, ma.”

Just the thought has him wrenching out an animalistic groan. Using his inhuman strength to haul you even further down the sinfully soaked silken sheets, he throws your trembly legs over two broad, sculpted shoulders.

You moan and Toji can’t help but snicker. Can’t help but throw his head back with a sleazy grin, “I t-told ya not to catch me like this, needy girl.” Eyes glowing, dragging that pert scar of his smugly down the side of your ankle, before plugging you full- “Now, jus’ sit back n’ let me make a pretty momma outta ya.”

He grunts once your velvety walls close in around his heavy girth, massaging down the sensitive divots of his rock-hard shaft. Shit, he was going to spend every waking minute of this week making you memorize it.

Viciously he snaps his hips down, bulging knot kissing your swollen folds with a wet thwack! thwack! thwack!

“D-didn’t think you’d be so mean.” you’re puckering your glossed lips into a pout. Gliding your fingers across his rippling abs, it makes his hulking body just shiver, hips stuttering sloppily.

“D-d-d-didn’t think this cunt of yours would be so slutty.” he’s mocking in his baritone rumble, big beefy arms caging you in to split you apart with every swollen inch of his massive cock. Fucking out those utterly bratty words on your tongue.

Toji’s thick digits curl firmly around your throat, running a fat thumb down the side of your still-unmarked scent gland. He positively titters at the way you jolt, “So would ya ah- c-care to explain why my girl s’suddenly smellin’ like fuckass Shiu?”

Fuck - you’d forgotten. Being too caught up with Toji to remember how you’d run to the other alpha to understand how to help your dear boyfriend, still wafting with his smokey sweet scent.

Your inner omega whines, clawing to prove him wrong. “N-No–” The words are barely falling from your stupidly drunken mouth before your voice just hitches, strangling out the remnants of a syrupy moan that makes him twitch. “P-promise I jus’ met him to h-help-”

But oh, Toji was more animal than man right now.

A thundering growl cracks at the very back of his throat, rummaging at the very bottom of your pussy with no mercy. And no apologies, either. “Is that so?” His teeth nip on your lips, “Heheh, sure tha’s right. But when I’m done with you-” And something oozing from his tone told you that Toji didn’t mean it to be “done” for a long, long time. “-every other fucker’s gonna look at you n’ know you’re mine.”

The bed creaks riotously when he’s bucking his toned hips into you so hard that you see Toji’s creamy skin redden.

And Toji was always massive - but in rut he couldn’t stop all the blood pumping twofold into his expansive girth, nudging past every bruised sweet spot and even more.

“My pretty girl- fuck- even prettier full w’me-” he’s spitting wetly into your pathetically slack lips. Peppering eager kisses down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, lolling his tongue out to suck on your tits.

His eyes were drooping shut, mouth babbling out drunken purrs of your name. “Fuck- fuck when m’gonna ngh- have these girls all swollen f’me.” One of his hands attach thoroughly at your breasts, circling his fingers over where your nipples were the most sensitive. And he’s smashing into you so rawly, sneaking his fingers all glistening with cum into your already snugly stuffed cunt. Plugging more in and in. “Fill you up so much yer gonna ngh- gonna feel me for months-”

“Yes yes yes-” you’re sobbing out, being fucked utterly stupid on his cock. “Wan’ ah- wan’ it so bad, Toji.”

He chuckles out smugly when your teary sweet lips glide across his in a messy kiss, tightening the fingers around your throat to crane your pretty neck upwards. Into a proper kiss, pinkish lips wrapped around your tongue - he sucks.

“You don’t just ‘want’ it, ma.” His pants grow harsh, shuddering, stars bursting behind his dewy, dark eyes every time your spongy cervix makes his slams recoil backwards. “Yer gonna need it.”

Your spine curves so deliciously upwards into his front when the two long digits sunken into your entrance spread just enough for your sloppy hole to be fed Toji’s achy knot. Pinning you down with his pressurized weight to stop your squirmy wrangling.

“Gonna need me in ya, so hah- much that this sweet lil’ pussy’s gonna be twice her size, heh-” Those obscenities in his voice make you gasp. “All round n’ gorgeous- they’ll hngh know what I’ve done. Every single fucking one s’gonna look at you and see me me me-” He sinks his teeth into your scent gland, hard.Bonding. “Cos’ you’re mine, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - More, more, more

“K-Ken, s’everything alright?” Your voice trembles with the tiniest whimper when you’re whirling your glassy eyes over your shoulder, meeting your husband’s darkened ones locked on you.

“Of course, my love.” Comes Nanami’s answer - but, shit, you already knew better. “J-just keep doing what you’re doing.”

There’s such a sodden drag of clothes on clothes resounding throughout your cozy kitchen, and your fingers shake where you were whisking a batch of sweet, sweet frosting.

Because you could already catch the way his words broke into a gruff moan, the slight shiver in his Adam’s apple as his hot, thickened cockhead twitches ferally. Hips buck up against you desperately.

He’d come home to you in rut.

He was needy, bothered. Barely even changed out of his work clothes before he’s clutching roughly onto the fabric of your apron.

You’re whining, “Ken– we needa get you-”

“Shhh my pretty wife, m’alright, m’alright. Don’t- ngh! Worry about me, darling. Just-” He gulps before loosening his favorite yellow tie - the room too hot. Scent glands puffing out another heatwave of his expensive pine smell, his massive hands trace down the curve of your hips. Mindlessly. Kneading.

SMACK!

Shit, he didn’t even mean to do that.

But oh how you gasp so prettily at Nanami’s unusually harsh treatment, the barely-there sound being instantly picked up by his sharpened senses. Restless. Mouth watering.

God, he could cum just like this. He was ruined for you.

“M’alright jus’ a rut- keep doing- hngh-” he gasps, a feverish puff against your ear as your bodies glissade across one another. “Jus’- ahh- fuck- jus’ need a bit more, my love.” Free hand dancing down your forearm to help you stir your bowl, the other ravenously leading a hot trailway to the hem of your cotton shorts. Pulling - tearing.

Your shorts are left nothing but tatters on the floor, and Nanami’s throwing his head back with a drunken grin. Eyes falling half-shut at the absolute mess your cunt has made, dribbling a glossy sheen down your inner thighs.

Yeah, shit, this was what he’d left work early for.

And you could tell he was still staring, still gleaming a translucent coating with just a single roll of his thumb over your throbbing clit. Dragging the very edge of his fingernail down, down, down the crevice of your pretty pussy lips.

And he’d do it all over again.

You moan - and as soon as you do, you’re finding yourself shoved onto the cool tile of the kitchen counter as Nanami doubles over. “M-more?”

His teeth grit, canines bared, grunts of your name spilling over and over when he hovers them over your racing pulse. Sweat-slicked strands of blond tickle your nose when he’s heaving out, “Yes, darling- j-jus’ a bit more. Just a bit.” One hand of his curls around your throat, wrangling you into such a sweet, sweet french kiss. “-I need it- fuck- need it- s’alright, is it?”

Yes yes yes, your inner omega was keening out to him. Your own shaky fingers tugging lightly on his hair in a way that makes him nip at your mating mark.

But Nanami didn’t even need that to already know your answer by the way your hip squirm back in wet, swiveling gyrations. Again. And again and again. Honeyed little movements that make him gasp.

“Shit- ohhh, smell so good- need you so badly-” his gentle baritone voice breaks with something primal. You flinch at the echoing clatter of his belt onto the hardwood floors, and the feeling of something steaming hot pressing into your skin. “Need- you- fuck, didn’t think I’d even make it this hah- long. Been thinkin’ about breeding this sweet cunt all day.”

Then he’s kissing down the very edge of your drooling pussy with a sweeping swipe! of his fat head. Peaking in just the very beginnings of that sinful curve, meshing your sopping folds with his prominent veins that thump thump thump away against your cunt.

Enough to have him panting - crying out. Pound after pound.

“Stuffin’ ya full- Oh god, y-you have no idea what you do to me-” Nanami’s strict brows furrow into the tightest knit, and his words take on a ragged tone that makes you clench. An obscene little action that he feels against the very tip of his achy cock, gushing out a sticky slosh of precum that sticks to you like a second skin. “No- hah- wait- no no no no- keep ‘er open f’me, my love.”

Those toying fingers on your clit give a sudden pull at the very peak of the sensitive nub - leaving your body wracking with shudders long enough to have Nanami splitting you apart.

The bowl is knocked over now, and Nanami takes the opportunity to lace his fingers with yours into the most innocent little hold. Dragging your intertwined hands up for him to press a flurry of pecks onto, sucking up that sugary sweet mess on your digits.

Something you barely even register with how deliciously he was stretching out your snug insides, fucking out each and every thought in your hazy mind with quick, shallow grinds just to fit inside. “Spit.” he’s gritting his teeth at the feeble resistance, and he can feel the way your cunt gapes all around him. “Spit in m’mouth-”

You do, Nanami groaning appreciatively, gaze flurrying shut. Your puffed-out folds bulging around his hefty cock, snapping deeply into you. Again and again.

All the way until-

“Hah- shit- jus’ a bit more-” Nanami’s groaning, eyes narrowing over his now-disarrayed glasses when he’s greedily thumbing apart your slick-glossed folds. Eyeing himself all stuffed and overspilling inside you, your sloppy hole trying desperately to milk his fattened knot. Clenching around the very tip of the bulge. “Fuck back into me now, darling- ah- fuck back into me n’ lemme make you a pretty momma- jus’ a bit more.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Tongue-twister

Just a taste. Just one.

Two.

Four.

Over and over. Whenever Geto Suguru was on his rut, he couldn’t think of a better heaven than where he was right now - locked in-between those pretty thighs of yours. With you splayed out on the tatami mats of his firmly shut bedroom, your legs on his muscled shoulders, drenched panties pulled just enough to the side to stuff your puffed-up clit in his drunken mouth.

“S-Suguru–”

You feel a sudden - barely-there - nip at the very peak of your sodden sensitive bud. Not enough to hurt, but enough to have your entire body jolting with electricity, Geto snickering against your swollen folds.

“Fine- hngh Sugu–” you’re crying out, fingers interlacing in his long, soft strands in a pathetically useless attempt to drag him from making out with your poor overworked pussy. “I don’ know- ah if I can cum a-again.”

That has him quirking up a dark brow in question, parting with your drippingly wet cunt with a gasping grunt of disappointment. You can only watch when his overly-glossed bottom lip wobbles, “Don’t want you to cum again, gorgeous.” He’s pouting, delicate strings of slick snapping with every peck after peck planted on your clit. “I want you to squirt–”

Oh, god, he was hypnotized.

Barely being able to get out the words before reattaching his sly lips down to your own, meshing them in a sopping wet french kiss. It leaves you bucking, and he distantly wonders whether he’d see the imprint of the tatami on your back tomorrow. “Y-you’re so addicted, Sugu-”

“No m’not.” Geto’s pulling out a sudden squelch as he spits a sudden wad of thick, silvery spit down onto the very middle of your puffy pussy lips. Smearing a thumb down between them up and down up and down- before swirling those slender digits easily past your sloppy hole. “S’not my fault you’re so hngh- irresistible- s’yours.”

Shit, to be honest, Geto couldn’t even register what he was saying right now. Couldn’t think of anything but the way you tasted so sweet on his tongue - as syrupy as that scent of yours was puffing out. He wanted- needed more more more-

He’s grinding his painfully aching cock down like some animal, slithering down his free hand to knead over the bulging shaft in quick, solid slides.

Matching the pace of those two fingers massaging your gummy walls. So hot inside it’s like you were melting, milking his fingers so plianty with every languid push and pull into your g-spot.

“Jus’ one more taste– hah- hold up my hair, can’t see- yeahhh jus’ like that.” Geto’s whining once your trembly fingers wrap tight to collect his stray locks, giving you the perfect view of his high cheeks hollowing. Rosy pink lips wrap around your clit to suck once more. And if his voice cracked ever-so-slightly at the end, well, he was only grateful that his beautiful girl was too fucked-out to notice right now. “S’not addicted if I only want one more- is it? C’mon, honey- please, honey, for me?”

Every groan has such lewd shockwaves sprinting through all your veins, and the sheer overstimulation makes big fat tears well up behind your eyes. God, it was too much.

Noticing, he’s letting out such calming pheromones of sandalwood - enough to make you dizzily babble out, “Think I’m- ahh- think m’close- Sugu–” To bring you close. Something was pulling taut, knotting in your stomach almost painfully.

Suddenly, the heady room resounds with a wet gasp - and only later do you realize that it came from Geto himself.

Because oh, are you cumming - and it’s pulled out from all of Geto’s filthiest wet dreams. Because not only do you cum, you’re squirting all down the lower half of his pretty face. Your thighs squeezing tighter and tighter around his head with each crashing wave of pleasure.

“Shit- ngh-” you’re sobbing out, cheeks wet with all the big, bulbous tears that your high brings. “Oh fuck- Sugu m’cumming m’cumming n’ s’all your fault- ah-”

“M’not addicted.” Is all he can spit out into your convulsing pussy, over and over like his own personal mantra. And it’s only when your orgasm bates into mere tingles, when your eyes roll back down from the back of your head, head just slightly clearer that he can manage to rip himself away.

Still, groaning gutturally at the loss of your sweet, sweet cunt - he looked so pretty this way.

Dark hair untamed, curtaining his glassy, pussydrunken eyes. Practically glowing in the dim lighting, devouring you just as much as his mouth had. Glossy, it drip! drip! drips down onto your shaky thighs with every bead of your juices he’d lapped up. Leaving a syrupy aftertaste on his tongue and shit, was he hooked.

In a split-second, Geto’s smoothly towering his body over yours, placing a sodden kiss right on your lips to let you taste all the honeyed sweetness yourself.

But just as you were distracted by how rudely he was claiming your tongue, you’re feeling the sharp smack! of something hard and swelteringly hot on your shamelessly spread pussy. His knot.

And then the squelch of ribbon after ribbon of Geto’s hot cum spurting out. Over and over.

His body half-collapses onto yours, every gushing wave of sticky seed so violent that his head throws back, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Shit, orgasms during a rut always did crash headfirst. Always did have his furiously weepy head dripping out in overly voluminous dredges of thick cum.

“Jus’ ohhh- one more t-taste before I hngh- breed this cute cunt.” Geto hiccups, wet lashes batting up at you in a lazy way from in-between your legs. Long tongue dragging over the mess, smearing across the sheen of white. Every single pearlescent wisp - only to spit it back out onto your cunt. “For now.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Please…”

You’re snapping your head down at Choso teary plea, pecking at the corner of his wobbly lips. All pinkened and kissed raw, wobbling when he begs, “F-for my first knot can I oh- cum inside, baby?”

Shit, your poor boyfriend was so pretty looking up at you with his twinkling, dewy eyes like this. His creamy skin flushed, twitchy fingers craning upwards to grab at the headboard to keep some sense of his sanity when you glide your dripping wet cunt down his cock.

His mouth gasps open in a feverish puff of your name over and over when your gooey walls in turn just squeeze around his sweltering hot girth. Velvety walls sucking up every thrumming vein down his length.

“Please— ah-” Choso’s breath hitches upwards in both volume and pitch when your hips slam down in a particularly harsh squelch! Mouth lolling open at both the filthy way you were riding him and your teasing silence. “Baby- oh, baby please say- s-something-”

You can’t stop your syrupy giggle from escaping your lips, “Awww, m’sorry Cho, What did you say you wanted again?”

And Choso has always been the type to be so greedy when he has you in bed - but you’ve never seen him like this. His first ever rut - a late bloomer - and oh, did that make him extra sensitive.

Mouth slacking open into a broken cry, frustrated droplets of sweat beading down his forehead, his slender hips just rut upwards in a pressurized thrust that has your sloppy pussy dragging down every one of his swollen inches.

Spearheading so deliriously deep, his length swirls around to easily massage your tenderized sweet spots.

So needy.

“Want to- want to cum inside–” he whines, thick lashes fluttering at the heavenly feeling inside you. You feel two of his soft palms attach themselves to your hips, bleary gazing tilting downwards to watch himself grind up, up, up trying desperately to squeeze his achingly fat knot into your tight pussy. “Wanna make ya a momma. T-to breed my pretty omega, please- S’calling to me- it hurts ah-”

“My poor baby–” you’re humming, with that honeyed tone of yours that makes the very end of his furiously leaky cock twitch. Leaning down to kiss away his big, pearlescent tears, “You sure you want to-”

“Yes!” he’s cutting you off with a long, dragged-out groan. Head throwing back over and over into the plush pillows when he’s feeling your snug, swollen pussy lips spread over the bulging curve of his knot. Bit by bit. “Yes yes yes- please more- hngh- t-take it all– needa-” One of his thumbs caresses right over where he knew your womb to be, feeling for the nudge of his thick, bulbous head swipe a wet glide across your walls. “-need to make you mine here, too.”

Just as he’s pressing the thick curve of his thumb down hard, both of your ravenous bodies glide together in a harsh ram.

And shit - you already knew by the way that Choso’s dilated eyes roll to the back of his head, the way his biceps flex with a wracking shudder, the sudden cracking moan of your name - that he’d plugged you full of his knot.

With a gasp your heady senses catch up around the staggeringly wide stretch. The way this was all it took for your elastic walls to constrict around him, being pushed to your very limits. Pulled taut.

Then and only then do the both of you realize that both of you are cumming.

Your toes curling, moaning out a shrill, “Shit- shit shit shit- I’m–” Before the zaps of white-hot pleasure take over your mind, being fucked pathetically stupid on Choso’s raging cock.

His feet plant flat on the silken sheets to buck up in meeting your sloppy staccato, his hipbones smack into yours in hard kisses to drag out your pleasure.

“Yes- oh god.” It’s just about all that he can whimper out right now, and he’s boring his eyes up at you like you were one. Strong arms wrap around your still-shivering waist, until Choso was whispering in hot puffs against your ear, “Gonna fill this ah fuck- t-tight pussy.” Nodding you through every thick wad of seed knocking at your womb, drool dripping down each side of his lips. It overspills - from both lips. “Y-you’ll take it right? Every drop? Gonna hngh- make me a fuck- daddy, right, baby–?”

Fuck, right now all you can do is squeal.

Let yourself be easily manhandled by all of Choso’s strength when he flips the two of you over, kneeing apart your thighs to fold you in half for him. A thorough mating press, “Yeah- yeah you are-” he breathes into your lips. “She’s gonna have my eyes- n’ your p-pretty smile ah- n’ she’ll call ya ‘momma’ and ohh-”

Just then, for how badly Choso wanted you all full of his knot, he finds himself bawling at the way his stuttering hips can no longer thrust into you back and forth. Locked in place.

“Still gotta-” he’s gasping out through wet licks up the tears streaming down your face. And there’s something so darkly primal in Choso’s tone - something there to send shivers down your spine, to remind you exactly what he is in a rut. “-gotta fill ya up more, ngh- m’still so hard- still cumming, baby.” Furiously, he’s grinding his hips in needy gyrations, weepy cock surging further and further to knock up against your g-spot. “Still need to- breed- you-”

One of Choso’s palms comes pressing down hard onto where his cum was sloshing around your inner walls, and with the dredges of creamy white that spill out - so does his slightly-softened knot.

Enough for him to grin such a dangerous grin.

Drunken, humorless. Whispering, “Please, baby- c-can my second knot be inside, t-too?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - NO CONTROL!

“Fuck-” you’re hearing Sukuna’s ragged grunt against your ear, low and dark in a way that only his deep baritone could be. “Fuck.”

Oh how you wanted to ask him what was wrong - you wanted to raise your bleary eyes from the silken pillows spread across his royal bed.

But Sukuna was plummeting his hefty cock into you so deeply, pound after pound that has you scrambling to catch your breath desperately. His thick head was branding circular bruises at the very end of your spongy cervix, girthy shaft stretching you from the inside out.

And this was only his human form.

He curses at the clingy grip of your gooey walls, unable to tear his devilishly red eyes away from how well your sodden folds were puffed up around him. Milking his staggering size so well.

It has his kiss-bitten lips a little looser than he’d have liked, “Fuck, this filthy pussy of yours mighta jus’ th-thrown me into a rut, brat.”

“What?” you’re gasping, all the air tucked away in your lungs being fucked with another shuddering slam into you. Your limbs tremble where you’re bounced against his hard front on all fours, barely managing to choke out, “Y-you’re in a rut, Kuna?”

“Heh, yes.”

Sukuna can’t help but bark out a rumbling bout of laughter at the way your pretty mouth falls slack. Drool dripping down the side of your lips in a way that he really can’t help but crane over his hulking body to lick. A long, languid drag of his tastebuds.

“Yeahhh- really did kickstart my hah- rut. You naughty girl- now I hafta breed this cute cunt.” Five of his thick fingers kiss the very curve of your ass in a sudden swat, and the sting makes your cunt drool down his inches. Gliding down in a greedy trail to curl around the urgent swelling at his already-thick hilt, he swipes at the syrupy translucent beads of your slick pooling at the very top. “Yet, how come you’re more hngh- affected than me, huh, silly girl?”

Laughably, the only things that your blabbing mouth could get out right now were a few cockdrunken whines and whimpers.

Music to Sukuna’s ears. That is, until-

“Hah! Sukuna!”

That makes him snap his scrunched eyes open - shit, when did he even close them? Sculpted, broad chest heaving with shuddering inhales for air, and a sudden wave of fatigue mixed with the saccharine sweet high of being sunken into your drooling pussy hits him.

It has him handling two of his hands into a bruising grip on the small of your waist, and the other two-

Other two?

“Y-you–” you’re mewling, each one of your throaty moans spilling and slurring together at how utterly full you felt. Double the sinful stretch of just mere moments before. “-you shifted into your ngh- true form!”

Indeed, the notorious king of curses was so hypnotized by your pussy that he hadn’t even realized when he’d slid back into his true form. Beefy biceps flexing as his inhuman hold on your body roughens, twin cocks spearheading into you maddeningly.

His pheromones are so overpowering right now, the slight tinge of spice and metal makes the omega in you already purr in satisfaction.

“Y-yeah?” He’s gritting out through clenched teeth, and those sharpened canines make you clench. Makes him use every shred of willpower to pretend that he wasn’t as fucking out of control as he was right now. “N-n’ what about it, brat? Don’t hear ya ah- complainin’.”

Yeah, he’s letting his head throw back, totally on purpose, right?

Twice the stretch had your teeth sinking down into the pillows. Matchingly throbbing girths drawing matching glides down all your sweet spots, you feel him jostle and bump into each of his cocks. Kissing dripping wet kisses to your cervix and your g-spot your cervix and your g-spot- Gurgling out only little pleas-

“Wha’s this-” you’re hearing Sukuna seethe from above you, voice a few octaves higher than usual. One of his towering palms easily wraps around both your wrists. Hoisting you upwards, “-started my rut n’ now you’re not letting me hear it?”

You’re now fully supported in midair by him - his absolute favorite position.

Because of the perfect angle to spy the way your cunt was swallowing every one of his powerfully pressurized thrusts.

To have his seeping hot cum trickle out of your surely overspilling cunt - down to his achingly tight balls. Where he’d scold you for wasting his precious seed, and then fuck it back into you all over again.

Because with this, Sukuna’s dancing up one hand about halfway up your stomach, pressing down brandingly where he can feel the bulge of his two thick cocks. “Guess tha’s hah- twice the amount m’gonna fill ya up-” Pressing down with all five digits splayed out. Hard. Your body erupts with tremors when his second hand toys deftly with little circles around your puffed-up clit. “-twice my chances of g-gettin’ an heir-”

You’re bouncing uncontrollably back and forth into Sukuna’s riotous hips, making him gulp at the few strings of wispy white spurting out of his furiously weepy divots.

Half-deliriously, he wonders whether you’d be able to take two knots.

Shit, his fattening knots leave wet thwacks at your pussy lips, those ringing squelches only growing louder and louder in your ear as soon as his third hand scissors open your messy entrance even further. Vision spinning when your honeyed scent has him shooting blanks already, stickily soaked balls clenching painfully.

Again. And again and again-

You were putty in his hands, surely at his mercy. “So the o-only question now is–” Or, at least, that’s what Sukuna was making it seem. Grunting, when he knows he’s on the very tipping point of cumming in such thick, voluminous wads already. “-are ya gonna be a good queen n’ gimme all that?”

He was no match for you.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Like an animal

“Sweetheart- oh, sweetheart—” Gojo’s leering after a hefty gulp of saliva, his breathing comes out in pants. Heaves. Fanning your face in an utterly feverish way, “Sweetheart, we’re not making it outta this alive.”

And this was the fifth time he was echoing this mantra tonight - the fifth time since breaking down your apartment door into the tiniest of splinters. The floor rattling as the strongest strode his way to take you right then and there on your living room table, already in the throes of his rut.

Ready to ruin.

Looking like he was about to kill.

“Toru- Toru someone could walk by-” you’re gasping, barely able to catch your breath with the sheer, staggering amounts of punishing thrust he was planting on your cunt. Shoveling all thickened inches into you with no mercy or regret. “They’re g-gonna see, Toru–”

Not to mention, the sudden crack! of mahogany wood as the cool surface of the table sags down on one side. Already broken.

And the first thing you’re being given in response is the powerful slap! of his swollen knot against your puffy pussy lips, leaving a stinging kiss that has you keening.

The second is your back hitting the soft bounce of your plush mattress - all the way in your bedroom. Teleported in nothing but a split-second.

“S-s’this ah okay, then?” Gojo tongue half-lolls out with his broken moans, and your glassy eyes peer through your lashes at those bolts of purple jujutsu at the very edges of his half-lidded eyes. “Can’t complain now- h-huh- can’t ah– jus’ let me fill ya up now.”

God, he’s fucking himself pathetically stupid on your gummy cunt, every slobbering drag down your velvety walls having his lids drooping closer together, minty scent puffing out mindlessly, words tinging with a primal sort of hoarseness.

You’re squealing at the wet thwacks! when he’s pounding you into your fresh silken sheets. “Y-you’re so infuriating-”

And just as your mouth opens in a sloppy whine, Gojo’s taking the lewd opportunity to spit a wad of syrupy sweet saliva onto your tongue. Grinning at the breathless way you’re taking it all - on instinct. By nature.

“And yet your o-omega loves me as ah- much as ever, huh?” he whispers down at your pretty self, words honeyed with the sort of smugness that only Gojo Satoru could have.

As if to prove his little point, he’s crushing you even harder with his weight. Strong arms jostling your limply falling legs to lock around his neck so easily, and shit- he could feel the way the very end of his fat, rotund head poke into the bullseye of your g-spot. Sensitive slit swiping back and forth on your heavenly cunt-

But it still wasn’t enough.

CRACK!

Just as soon as the creaking protest of the bed rings across your dazed mind, Gojo’s hauling the two of you into a sitting position. Your cunt sat prettily down his long cock, being bounced up and down with the help of his jittery hands clenched roughly around your waist.

“Wh-what-” you mewl, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. Nails digging red hot marks down the plane of his milky shoulders, “What even b-brought this on–”

“Some fucking curse-” he’s rolling his eyes, with a mindless swat of the slender, rounded tips of his fingers on your clit. Bringing them up, up, up to be popped into his mouth - making him moan. “Heh- can’t help but think about how much sweeter you’d be when I finally breed this pretty cunt.”

And you didn’t realize just how badly Gojo Satoru was ruined because that tiny smack has bands of electricity spiking through your entire body. Arching your spine into a delicious bow that makes his mouth water.

“Y-your powers-”

“And?”

Electricity sparks at your lips when Gojo’s crashing his own against yours - literally.

“Please-” he weeps out. And it’s enough to make you sob, your dripping walls being coated in another fresh wave of his precum. “Lemme make a m-momma outta ya- fuck this hngh- cunt till she c-can’t anymore-” His hefty balls shifting underneath your ass with each clench, each twitch. “Wanna ahh- breed you so bad- think I might just die, sweetheart.”

He was losing it.

He was cumming - and so were you.

Spurting out wave after wave of sweltering hot cum that invades your insides, there’s so much of it. Sloshing around your snug channel sloppily, it’s coating your cervix in a sticky gloss. And you swear you could feel the thick dredges of his seed ooze down your gooey walls.

Your teeth gnaw at Gojo’s flushed skin on the crook of his neck - and his on yours. Breaking skin, tasting the metallic tinge of red.

The very taste is enough to have him dumping out another great load of his cum, overstuffing your poor cunt until you could feel yourself swell. It’s enough to drive you mad.

And enough to have Gojo stuffing his bulging know past your swollen folds with a drawn-out moan of your name. Pretty lower lip quivering, dewy eyes firmly drooping shut as he’s bulling into the feeble ring of muscle.

Tight.

“Take it- sweetheart- take it all–” he’s whimpering into your ear, powerful legs jittering upwards to have his cum splurge into every nook and cranny of your cunt. Fingers thrumming jujutsu down your spine, “Sweetheart, sweetheart ah- fuck-” You can only bare your widened eyes at him as he looks over your shoulder, grinning. “The bed’s broken.”

Before you know it, you’re being splayed out on the floor - teleported.

You’re wincing at the slow, swiveling grind of Gojo’s hips on your own. Too impatient to even let his knot go down before trying to fuck you through your high, teasing out slow pushes and pulls against your cum-coated sweet spots. “Y-you did that on p-purpose, Toru.”

“Y’know what e-else I did on purpose, sweetheart–” his slurring words are accompanied with another smack! to your cunt. And an even filthier press on your stomach to watch his cum dribble out, which Gojo gladly smears along his fingers - pressing into your mouth to let you taste the candied mess.

“Wh-what?”

Whispering in your ear, “Hah- getting hit by the curse.”

A/N. Of COURSEEE I had to end it off with a guilty pleasure of mine mwahaha

Plagiarism not authorized.

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splish--splash--avertedeyes · 4 months ago

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Can someone send me asks pls I'm bored

#making some progress for the next fic for when things dont go to plan #and also thinking about what i'm gonna do for bottom scar week #but i wanna focus on someone else. pls send asks #can be about my fics or anything really

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creeperfun · 5 months ago

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rpf will fr have you googling best wheelchair sex positions

#i wanna take part on bottom scar week....#also no idea how to tag this type of stuff #oops?

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bottom-scar-week · 7 months ago

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cursingtoji · 1 year ago

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listening to ghost and soap infamous “are you ugly?” conversation and not being able to stop thinking about what ghost meant by “quite the opposite”

you’re used to having him wearing his mask even whenever you two escape to blow off some steam, but since that day you’ve been building up some courage to ask the same thing soap tried to.

“take it off” you murmur with your lips inches away from his mask while setting a pace riding him.

Ghost, who was spread out on the couch raised his head, “y’r gettin’ spoiled, brat. last week was a kiss now you want my whole face?” he gives your ass a mean slap.

“’s not fair” you pout, whilst you are completely naked every time, simon only removes his shirt when you beg, maybe lowers his pants down to his ankles instead of just enough to let out his cock, but that’s it.

“Aight, want me to lose the mask?” he takes your black shirt, folding it sloppily until it’s narrow then he puts around your eyes tying on the back of your head.

“simon! no!” you raise your hands to undo it, he’s faster though, taking both your wrists and holding in the air. you hear some fumbling and suddenly your palms are being tickled by a stubble, you gasp realizing under your hands is ghost’s uncovered face.

“keep ridin’” he demands, adjusting his body to lay lower and thrusting you from bellow as a reminder he’s still inside.

you bite your lips, needing to put a hand on his chest as support, your other hand explores his face trying to paint a mental image of him.

his jawline is sharp, a few uneven parts along his skin, probably scars, there’s more hair on his chin than the rest of his jaw and to imagine simon with a blond goatee make you clench.

“shit” he curses tightening the grip on your hips, “what’re you so excited ‘bout, private? huh?” he pinches your nipple. you run your fingertips on his bottom lip, it’s thin and he could use some lip balm, but the excitement about touching him in such a intimate way gives you hope to one day convince him to let you apply lip balm on his lips, “behave” he growls.

“‘m behaving, sir” you smile sheepishly forgetting he can actually see your face. ghost takes your hand, making you close it and leaving just your index up. under the improvised blindfold you frown, next his lips are wrapping around your finger and his tongue is under your digit.

your clit throbs, not expecting this from your lieutenant.

“fuck, Lt.” you arch your back, approaching your orgasm.

“faster” both his hands are gripping your ass, he groans and you feel the vibration on your finger. you obey as one does, slapping your ass on his mighty thighs, as he sucks your finger, even letting some saliva run down your palm.

“si-mon ‘m close” you lose yourself on the sensation, seeing nothing makes you more aware of the stretch his cock gives you, not to mention the sounds your lieutenant is trying to hold. with one last suck he removes your finger, moving it to your own clit, where he presses it on your bud.

“cum then” you’re so close, but that’s one thing you still want.

“can i kiss you?” you edge yourself waiting for his answer, he sighs and you take it as a negative response, but his other hand leaves your ass as he guides your face to his where his lips awaited yours, he immediately pushes his tongue in, that’s merely your second kiss and you’re already coming.

“louder, i think the terrorists haven’t heard ya” he teases when you moan a high pitched note.

“fuck you, sir” you’re still riding him intensely, knowing he’s close too. he bites your lip, forcing your hips up and down faster and groaning as he fills your insides.

by the time you remove the blindfold, his mask is back on and you sigh in defeat, moving away from his lap and getting one last spank.

“goatee” you whisper in soap’s ear as he is about to eat his morning scrambled eggs.

“wut?” he turns to you.

“he has a goatee” you wink and leave to get your own breakfast. poor johnny is still processing what was said when ghost enters the room, later than usual.

soap drops his fork.

#cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod x you #cod x reader #cod smut #simon riley smut

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saszor · 6 months ago

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Happy Face Equality Week :-D

(short ID in alt text, longer below)

I really wanted to draw some happy people with facial differences for this week so:)

if you tag this as "tw scars" or some other "body horror" I'm killing u btw:D!!!

[Image description: digital drawing of 7 character with facial differences against a patterned background. The left side shows a gay couple sitting and hugging; one from them has a large bump on his forehead and widespread eyes, while the other has paralysis on one side of his face. In the middle is a teen girl cuddling with a cat, both of which are missing their left eye. Below her is a nonbinary person smoking a cigarette with heart-shaped smoke surrounding them; they have facial atrophy on one side of their face. The right side is split into three small panels; top one shows a Black girl with a cystic hygroma on her jaw on a pastel pink background, middle shows an Indian man with Crouzon syndrome from the side smiling, bottom is a zoom on the side of the head of a person with microtia; they're wearing a bone-anchored hearing aid and have a buzz cut with stars patterned in it. At the bottom, "Happy Face Equality Week" is written. End image description.]

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suguann · 9 months ago

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an. part two of this | masterlist

You tell him you broke up with your boyfriend while he’s away for work, bunked up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere with shit reception, hearing your words as clear as day as if they weren’t the chopped-up version coming through his burner phone.

“It just…didn’t work out.”

It didn’t work out.

He pretends his stomach doesn’t pleasantly twist because he’d expected it to happen eventually. He’s not happy about it—although it does make the desert heat more bearable in his heavy tactical gear—and tells Soap to fuck off when he comments on it.

It was a one-time fuck because Simon doesn’t date. He’s tried in the past before he met you—the flowers, the late-night dinners—but with him being gone almost every other month (sometimes longer, shorter if he’s lucky), it never works out in the end. Sleeping with you twice would fall under that category, the quasi-relationship kind, and make everything messier than it needs to be.

Just some fun, no strings, those are the words he promised.

If only he believed them.

He does, for all of two weeks until he’s home again, and it’s summer, so you’re wearing a flowy dress that shows off the long expanse of your legs.

(He’s a goner—not even sure why he tried to think otherwise.)

That one time he’d promised turns into a second, both of you stumbling into your apartment after a night out. The music from the pub still thumping loudly underneath your floor as he pushes you against the front door, hands in your hair—on your waist, underneath your skirt, down your thigh to hitch it over his waist—teasing your mouth open with a swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You make this delighted little noise in the back of your throat, arching into him, and his hand spans down your stomach, beneath your underwear, to nudge your messy clit with his knuckle, wanting to hear all the sounds you make now that he has you alone.

A whiny cry of his name rewards him—jeans tightening around his waist at the sound—when his fingers go down, down until they press against your tight little hole, one finger pressing inside slowly. "If I make you cum, I get to fuck you here.”

You smile prettily, and it disarms him. “If you make me cum, you can fuck me however you want.”

Neither of you makes it to the bed, falling asleep on the living room floor instead, the blanket from the couch draped haphazardly over both of you with his arm curled over your waist.

That night had been a slip of judgment, a product of wanting something warm and soft after several months of only having his hand for company.

It happens again and again, and he keeps letting it happen until there’s no more hiding under the guise of just fun because it somehow turns into a lot more than that.

Simon can’t explain how it happens—maybe becoming something he can touch and hold and think about often—but he finds himself in an exclusive relationship with you that isn’t exactly a relationship because he’s unsure of the ins and outs that they entail.

(Always has been.)

His father was a shit role model, and it was always easier finding someone new who didn’t know his name or care about his scars and only wanted a nice fuck. There had never been any point in shooting for something serious when it was always out of the question for him, until now, that is.

He takes you to that over-rated restaurant overlooking the Thames Marcus never brought you to. A picture of you and him with the sunset in the background—your smile almost blinding in the photo—becomes his home screen, and he finds he doesn’t care when Soap has something to say about it.

He lets you do nonsensical shit, like buying small plants for his house that are surely going to die from him being gone before he comes up with the great idea to give you a key. It’s just a key.

(It’s more than just a key.)

Simon finds himself asking if he can come over more often throughout the week, which slowly moulds and shifts into nights filled with things other than sex—sleeping after a long day of work, cuddling on the couch, cooking together, going to the movies—he doesn’t try to make a big deal out of it because you used to hang out all the time without sex.

(Somewhere, there’s a but in there.)

There’s still no label to whatever this is, and he wonders if you want him to be the first to say the thing you’ve both been dancing around for a little over…he can’t remember, but he knows it’s been long enough for your things to mix in with his at his house.

Be with me because I’m yours, and you’re mine, that’s what he’s trying to say, and it’s never the right time. Men like him—a little broken, rough, and jagged around the edges sharp enough to cut—aren’t good with words like that.

(That’s what he thought.)

If he hadn’t seen you talking to a guy at the pub, eyes crinkling in that same sweet way whenever Simon makes you laugh, he wonders if he would’ve been the first to break from the start. He knows it’s your job as a bartender to be nice, but his jaw clicks at the sight of the guy leaning over the bar and into your space, almost too close.

The feeling doesn’t go away until he has you spread out on your mattress under him—clothes haphazardly peeled out of the way for him to put his mouth on you—your lips pursed tight around two of his fingers to give you something to focus on as his other hand works between your thighs, pressing down on your tongue when gurgled little sounds slip out.

He teases you with a small, pink vibrator he found inside your bedside table, your legs kicking out and toes curling into his calves.

“Mine. This is mine, love,” he groans, pressing you further into the bed with his weight. “Do you understand?”

You nod, tears pearling and leaking from the corner of your eyes.

“Lemme cum,” you whine, words muffled. “Simon, I want to cum. Please.”

He won’t lie that he’s close after jerking into his fist to the sight of you writhing on the sheets—swears he can feel his heartbeat throbbing against the back of his fingers—takes in your surprised expression when he pushes forward, impaling you on the first few inches of his cock.

His stomach twists from the squeal that escapes your throat, and fuck, your cunt, so hot and tight with little pulses that drive him crazy, only growing tighter when he turns up the speed on the vibrator.

“‘Mm, gonna cum. I’m—”

He grits his teeth as you start to flutter around his cock once he’s rooted inside you. “Go on—fuck—go on, love. Let me feel it.”

You look so perfect like this, like a dream: lips parted into an enticing little O with his name tumbling out in breathy mewls, tits hanging out from the bra he shoved to the side, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“So fucking pretty.” He kisses your throat, panting into your sweat-slick skin, and it’s not long before he’s falling over the edge with you.

Next time, he’ll have the courage to tell you: that you’re not someone he calls for a meaningless fuck on the weekend, that Simon misses you when he’s gone and can’t wait to come home, that he wants to try with you—except not when he’s balls deep and trembling inside your heavenly cunt.

But the smile he feels against his shoulder makes him think that maybe…

Maybe you already know.

#simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod smut #cod imagine #cod x reader #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost smut #.things i write

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nikkento-writes · 4 months ago

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It was bound to happen eventually. You just didn’t think you’d get caught literally with your pants off, staring at your roommate Toji like a deer in fucking headlights and a vibrator between your legs.

The silence between you is staggering, except for the buzz of the toy still active in your hand. You’re in such utter shock that it takes you a few seconds to finally turn it off, blood pounding in your ears, completely mortified of getting caught in the act.

You’re not close to your roommate; in fact, you actively try to avoid him. Part of this is because the two of you come from totally different worlds. He’s nearly a decade older than you, a divorced dad who barely sees his son. His current means of income are betting on horse races and more nefarious tasks he typically performs at night, though you can’t confirm exactly what those nefarious tasks are. Meanwhile, you’re a struggling grad student, forced to share a small apartment with a potential hitman, pimp, and/or yakuza member. Like you said, you’re still not sure, but based on his looks and demeanor, those are your best guesses.

But it’s not as if you’re complaining.

While you are a tad bit scared of him, he’s definitely easy on the eyes. Tall, statuesque with those chiseled muscles, that alluring scar across his lips. He leaves you alone just as much as you do for him, so no matter how sketchy he comes across, you have no reason to be wary of him.

Though, tonight might change that.

You just finished writing a paper that you’ve been working on for weeks now. Toji is out, as usual, and you need some major stress relief. So, you shut your door closed, not bothering to lock it, strip off your bottoms, and plop yourself onto the bed, reaching for your vibrator inside your drawer. You browse through your spicy audio app and select one of your favorites, knowing it will certainly get you off. Again, you’re negligent when it comes to discretion because you play it out loud, no headphones and at the highest volume. Maybe the tiniest part of you wants to get caught with how careless you’re being.

That’s proven the second he walks in on you, eyes wide at the lewd sight before him, black t-shirt clinging deliciously to his body, erection growing in his grey sweats. You’ve been at it for a few minutes by now, already one orgasm in, and you’re well aware how wet you are, how shiny and enticing it looks with your legs spread wide, on full display for him.

The silence is broken when he walks towards you, long strides to get to you quickly. He grabs hold of your knees, spreading you even wider, and you don’t resist. You yield to him, like putty in his hands, ready for whatever he’s willing to give you. He licks his lips, tongue grazing over that fucking scar you like so much. “Finally,” he mutters, bowing down to spread his tongue on your clit, slobbering all over you as if he’s been waiting for this moment, as if you’ve been teasing him all this time.

Yeah, you definitely wanted to get caught tonight.

#I finally subscribed to quinn last night and yeah #I wrote this with my pussy sorry #should I make this into a full fic?#toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #jjk smut

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2kiran · 3 months ago

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Hi‼️ lurker here‼️ just wanna say that your works are awesome‼️‼️ and that your dash always looks so cool and pretty every time I come around to check up on you‼️ your works are so good and you’re such a talented writer‼️

also… can I…can I ask for a tired reader being surrounded by a very demanding and needy 141? Like I’m not all that creative like the other anons but like I just really like the reader satisfying the 141s in any way his tired form can‼️ whether it’s by letting them ride his dick until they’re satisfied or having them being cock warmed as reader falls asleep‼️

sorry for this‼️ just thoughts and brain worms are weird rn and I thought that you would carry these out well… back to lurking now‼️

p.s. the ‼️ are just here to show excitement not to be scary or anything I’m sorry

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: bottom 141, top male reader, consensual somnophilia, cowgirl position, cockwarming, fingering, dividers

The weight of the missions and daily tasks being distributed made your limbs slack, eyes droopy, body boneless and desperate to pass out for even a week. You’re dozing off the second you sit down or rest against a wall, jerking awake when shaken by your mate. It isn’t your fault that you’re hardworking when needed, and everything was becoming a necessity to put your full attention on.

You need a break.

On the other hand, your team doesn’t seem to agree.

They’re clingy, more than usual. When you’re in a room with them, it seems as though their presence is the only thing that matters. Unabashedly acting like animals in heat, they’d sometimes even gently rut against your thigh.

Their excuse? You’ve been neglecting them, rarely glancing or facing towards their direction. Sometimes, you’d fail to acknowledge them in passing which evidently piles up their frustration and need to turn the source into the outlet.

And you’ll let them. They know you will.

Soap is the first one to snap. The man’s too needy for his own good. He can’t stop thinking about you, your hands wandering along his body, allowing him to take a sniff of pleasure before you’re shoving him away. But now? Now you’re doing it unintentionally.

He’s concerned, knowing damn well that he shouldn’t bother you. And yet, he can’t keep it within his pants. You’ll be good for him, right?

“Shit, tha’s it, love...” Soap groans, face contorting with blissful relief. He rolls his hips, desperate to feel every inch of your cock - the one that had him dreaming about it, waking up with his boxers damp, and hole twitching from being so empty - “Y’can get some shut-eye, ‘s alrigh’.”

You’re hanging onto your consciousness by a mere thread, the promise of slumber darkening the edges of your view while simultaneously heightening the sensation of slick, twitching warmth wrapped around your length. Small moans left him, thick brows knitted together in concentration.

Soap cannot remain still for the life of him. He sinks further down, enveloping you in his tight heat and squeezes you with it. His jaw hung open, mouth agape, and his thighs are quivering in a poor attempt not to fuck back against your cock with his desperate hole.

The second is Price. He may be a responsible and patient captain, but he’s still a man with lustful requirements. He needs to let off stream, you know?

“Hhang... that’s a good man.” He ruts his hips against yours, the plushy thickness of his scarred thighs rippling with each bounce. If you’re comfortable with it, he’ll take a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke slip through his teeth as a breathy moan rasps from his throat.

God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feel of you. Your tip meeting the spot that has him high with squelchy smacks, the scratchy stubble spread on his chin making the firm muscle of your shoulder raw whenever he angled himself forward to make you pound into him deeper.

Such a good soldier, you are. “Stay still, m‘fuckin’ close.” He huffs. Your cock twitches in response, and his lips curves in a self-satisfied grin. It has him riding you harder, rim taut, his pace fast and it makes the both of you dependent on chasing that point.

The Captain isn’t afraid to milk you for all you’re worth, either. It’s your own fault for making him needy. – “C’mon, you’ve got more in you, don’t you?”

Gaz is the next one. He heard your ‘interaction’ with the other men, smelled how Soap and Price practically reeked of well-deserved sex. It has arousal pool in his lower belly, dick twitching to life at the possibility of finally being satiated by you.

He’ll praise you for it; “Good boy, letting me use you like this.”, “Th-thank you, my love. Fuckin’ me so well.” and “Shh, I know. Go rest. I’ll just suck your pretty dick off, yeah?”

You think he’ll prep himself because you’re melting into the sheets to nap? No, you’re terribly wrong. He’d grip your wrist firmly, lubing your fingers up, and gently make them breach his tight hole. He gasps, immediately clenching from how intense it felt.

Gaz smiles fondly at how you seem to battle sleep, nodding mindlessly. When you do succumb to the urge, he’s biting his lip to contain his pathetic noises. You look so peaceful, and here he is fucking himself on your fingers. He’s holding onto your forearm, guiding you back and out. The murmurs of slick ringing through the room as he throws his head back.

“Fuckkk...” He’d mutter, fisting his own cock with rough jerks. Leaning down, he peppers kisses all across your jaw. He’s unbelievably turned on, rocking his hips to take in your digits completely. He’s getting desperate, but he will wait for you to wake up before he shoves your cock down his throat.

Ghost corners you. Sure, he’s got better self-control than the rest of the men. But hey, he’s still a human with very human needs.

Doesn’t matter if you’ve got a broader and hulking figure or a shorter stature, he’s guiding you with his frame until your knees hit the edge of a bed or a threadbare seat and your aching back is laying down. His mouth twitching in a mock snarl to have you submit. All with your consent, of course.

One of his favorite things to do to tease you? He loves to keep on asking you “This okay, luv?” and “Hmm? Y’want me to touch ya here?” until you’re begging him to finally fuck himself on your leaky dick that he’s been either playing with his roughened digits or warming with his inviting heat the entire time.

Rides you so slowly, hips rocking ever so slightly, and his soft walls pulse as they give way to your length. And it’s all to keep you awake, tightening up when you’re about to fall asleep on him. He wants you to be completely aware when he’s in the heights of arousal and he has you balls deep inside of him.

“Wake up, swee’art. Fuck– eyes on me, yeah, there we go.” / “Oh, you like tha’? Uh-huh? Good boy, you do.”

–

Or you have Price behind you, one of his arms slung around your waist as he thumbs at your slit until it’s coated in your pre. Soap’s tugging at your shaft, his fist enclosed and tight, consistent and oh so whiny like you’re inside of him. “Ye can fuck me harder, (rank), jus’ like this.”

Gaz on his knees, his tongue flicking at your sensitive veins. They’ll be toying with your cock as you lean back against the captain, letting sleep overtake you until you feel someone familiar climb into your lap. The other men supporting Ghost’s weight as he takes your dick in his skull-gloved hand, guiding the head to meet his rim and he sinks down with a low groan.

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too-deviant · 9 months ago

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The three weeks it took for Luke Castellan’s wounds to heal.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke comes back from his quest defeated and angry, and refuses to let anyone see him. But he still needs tending to. You are the lucky sucker who gets to do so.

Content: post-quest angsty luke, reader is awkward, i use the word under’t at one point because i think im shakespeare or some shit

Word Count: 7.6k

Notes: Pushing the agenda that lukes scar is gnarrly like it’s nasty !! not just some faint lil line. the boy was attacked by an actual dragon, like pls. also this hasn’t been proofread so sorry if it doesn’t make sense

part two

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

The spring that Luke Castellan spent on his quest was a strange one for the residents of Camp Half-Blood.

For years, campers knew who to go to whenever they needed advice. When they needed help. They knew who to direct the new campers to when they stumbled over the boundary line — and knew they were in good hands. Luke’s hands. He was the big brother the whole camp needed, and not just because he was older than most of them. He just had that aura — and he was undoubtedly kind to everyone he came across. Not to mention the guy was insane with a sword, and had this boyish charm that anyone would fall for. Most campers, if not all of them, looked up to Luke Castellan.

So when he left, nobody knew what to do.

It was pretty tame at first, mostly just awkward. Especially in the Hermes cabin, with Chris Rodriguez in charge in his brother's absence. A Hephaestus kid had taken over the sword fighting classes Luke usually ran, which proved to do more harm than good because he wasn’t all that great at using a sword than he was at forging them, and most of Luke’s students were already better than him.

But nothing went wrong — at least for the first week.

But after the initial awkwardness wore off, chaos ensued.

Chris couldn’t keep the Hermes kids in check — once they realised he wasn’t as authoritative as Luke, they began to use it to their advantage. Everyone got pranked, the camp store was raided three times before Chiron decided to close it down for the meantime and dishwashing duty every night was not slowing them down.

You hadn’t realised just how much the camp relied on Luke until he wasn’t there to keep things under control. Fights broke out with nobody to step in between them, and more and more kids were showing up to the infirmary with injuries that they could take care of themselves — something Luke would’ve told them to do instead of bothering you and your siblings. It was actually unbelievable how much a group of about a hundred half-gods relied on the steady hand of one seventeen year old boy.

You couldn’t wait until he got back so you could finally get some peace and quiet.

Luke didn’t return to camp for two and a half weeks, and as the days went by, campers began to get uneasy. Nobody knew what his quest had entailed, or where he had to go, so the longer they went without news the more antsy people got. You didn’t speak to Luke much — maybe a few shared sentences to be polite — but you knew what he was capable of. You tried your best to reassure the campers, as did your brother Lee and the rest of the Cabin Counsellors.

You knew Luke would come back. You knew he would stumble down that hill with his head held high and meet the group of campers waiting for him at the bottom. You knew there would be a celebration, a party, and a lot of kids out past curfew. But you knew Chiron would let it off, because Luke Castellan was back.

Except that’s not what happened. At all.

It was a warm day, and you were helping some of your younger siblings make friendship bracelets by the lake. Your camp shirt clung to the sweat on your back and you peeled it off with a grimace whenever you stood, straightening out your shorts and checking on the next kid. They seemed happy enough to be in the sun — really, you should’ve been too. Child of Apollo and all. But apparently your father wasn’t feeling the love for you today, because while the rest of your siblings were thriving, you were seconds away from jumping into the lake just to cool down — even if it pissed off the Naiads.

Thankfully, when you stood up once more and looked over the horizon, you saw your brother Aden jogging towards you. You took the opportunity to hide under the shade of the trees by meeting him halfway, and greeted him with a breathless, “Hey.”

He spoke your name with a nod and a smile, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, “Chiron needs you in the Big House. Looked serious. I’ll take over here.”

“Oh, Okay.” You nodded, turning to the kids and telling them you’d be back as soon as you could, before marching your worn converse through the grass and up to where the house sat on the edge of the hill.

Chiron was in the doorway when you reached the porch, sat in wheelchair form and wearing a grim look. You paused, worried. He nodded at you, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Usually I wouldn’t do this, but…desperate times. Follow me.”

You followed as he led you down the hall, brows furrowing, “What's going on? Is everything okay?”

He looked at you with a serious expression, saying your name lowly, “I need you to ensure that what I am about to tell you will never leave the walls of this house. Nobody needs to know about this until we have deemed it appropriate.”

“Of course.” You said immediately, folding your arms. You weren’t so warm anymore. “What happened?”

He straightened up, and stared, “Luke Castellan is back from his quest.”

That was not what you expected him to say. Dropping your arms to your side and stepping forward slightly, “What? Since when?”

“Ten minutes ago, give or take.” He replied, brows in a concerned furrow, “Mr D has taken him upstairs. He is injured.”

“Right.” You nodded, “I’ll go and—“

“Wait, child.” You stopped, one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, looking back at him, “You must know something.”

Chiron took in a deep breath, eyes glossed over like whatever he was about to say weighed heavily on him, “He is…not in good condition. On top of his injuries, Luke is unfortunately…not in a good state of mind. His quest has affected him, and he requested quite adamantly that nobody should see him until he is ready to see them. I will respect his wishes, of course, but he will still need someone to tend to his wounds. That will be you.”

“Me?” You’d never shared a full conversation with the guy. Maybe some small talk, a polite smile here and there, but you were hardly acquainted, let alone friendly. You told him this.

“Exactly my point.” Was his reply, head held high, “Luke does not want to talk to anyone at the moment, and I’m sure if any of his friends were to be up there, they would simply coddle him. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m a stranger.” You nodded, “Of course. Right. I get that. So, you just want me to patch him up, act like it never happened? I can do that.”

“Not exactly, my child.”

You raised a brow.

“Luke’s injuries are quite extensive. He will need around the clock care until he is healed enough. He will also need someone to bring him food, clean clothes.”

“Oh, so you want me to nanny him.”

He chuckled, but it faded just as quickly as it came, “Unfortunately, he needs it.”

You pursed your lips. It didn’t seem all that hard — it was just like having any other camper in the infirmary. Only this one, everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for, and you weren’t allowed to tell anyone he was a mere fifty feet away from them, curled up in a bed in the Big House.

No biggie.

i. WEEK ONE

Chiron had ushered you up the steps as soon as your conversation was over, and given you directions to the room Luke was in. Your steps were slow and unsure — you’d never been this far into the Big House before, but Mr D stood idly outside one of the doors lining the second floor hallway, arms crossed and face taut. The floorboards creaked under the weight of your foot when you reached the landing, and he looked up at you.

“He’s in there.” He pointed to the door in front of him, “Careful, he’s a short fuse right now. All the medical thingamabobs you need are in there already. Keep your mouth shut about this.”

Then he slid past you and down the stairs without another word, and you were left alone in the empty hall. Blinking hard to clear your head, you stood a few measly steps toward the door, stopping just outside of it and leaning your ear against the wood.

Nothing tangible. Mostly just the scraping of wood against the skin of your ear, and once you had stopped moving, there was nothing. No mutters, no bed creaks, not even a sniffle. It unnerves you, but you wrapped a hand around the cold metal of the handle and turned it anyway.

Maybe it was because he had been gone for a while, or maybe it was because you never saw him that much when he was around, but you had to blink away the shock at Luke’s appearance. Minus the obvious injuries, he just looked different. His skin was tanned and rough, his jaw taut and his hair hanging messily over his forehead, longer bits curling around his ears after going uncut for so long.

He was sitting on the edge of a bed that had been tucked into the corner of the room. There was a window just above it, but a thin curtain had been pulled over it and blocked out the sunlight that was begging to shine on you. The room was dark, but light enough that you could see what you were doing when you walked over to the desk in the other corner and started shuffling through the medical supplies Chiron had left there for you. Not much, but enough for now. You could always get more later.

Turning, you finally made your way over to where Luke was hunched over, staring at nothing. When you entered his line of vision, his dark eyes slid up to yours, and he blinked. Then he sighed, straightened his back and gave you a look that said do what you have to do and then get out.

But you didn’t move, not for at least ten seconds. Because while Chiron had told you he was injured extensively, he didn’t mention the five inch long scar that ran down the side of his face, cutting through his eye. It was jagged and gnarly, sharp edges carving a path through his skin. It was red all around, and just from looking at it you could tell it needed work. It was fairly new, but he had left it long enough for it to heal over — a thin layer of skin stopping it from bleeding.

He raised his eyebrows at you impatiently, and you nodded, scooting back to the desk and grabbing what you needed before going back to where he sat.

“I, uh…I need to get closer.” You were afraid to speak, to break the silence of the room, but you did need to get closer to his face. You waited for him to turn slightly to his left, hitch a leg up on the mattress and face his scar in your direction. Instead, he just slid his legs apart, inviting you to step between them.

And so you did, albeit a little shakily. You didn’t know Luke well enough to consider him a friend, but you’d seen enough of him to know that he never acted like this. He was never this quiet — all eyes, slow movements. He was charming, always grinning, always offering a hand. His battle instincts and ADHD made him fidgety like the rest of them, but from where you stood between his thighs, he was as still as a picture. It unnerved you more than the scar on his face did. You’d seen nasty injuries before, you’d never seen this.

You picked up a gauze, doused it in rubbing alcohol, and started wiping the area. You started on the outskirts, but when you pressed over the edge of the injury, his brows twitched and you let out a weak apology before lessening the grip. You kept your breaths thin and your eyes on your hand, but he wasn’t looking at you anyway. He had drifted off again, staring at nothing, and you were scared to break him out of his stupor again.

“He’s a short fuse.” Mr D had said. But he didn’t seem that way right now, sitting back silently and letting you do your work on his face. He wasn’t much of anything, if you had to make an assessment. You really wanted to know what happened on his quest, and why he was gone for so long, but you also didn’t want to test Mr D’s words by asking.

“What happened?” He didn’t say anything, again. You pressed on, “I sort of need to know before I reopen it…just in case something—“

“A dragon.” He murmured at once. His voice was rough, like he’d just been screaming. Maybe he had been, and that’s why Mr D had warned you. But it seemed all his anger had dissipated in the time it took for Chiron to get you and explain the situation. Maybe. “Ladon. Poisonous bites.”

So he had been to the Garden of the Hesperides. Presumably to collect some Golden Apples. What for, you didn’t know. You weren’t going to ask. You just grabbed a scalpel, muttered a quiet, “This is going to hurt.”, and started cutting down the scar, following its path across his cheek.

Luke hissed hard, not expecting you to dive in so suddenly, and his hand reached out for something to grab. That ended up being your camp shirt, bunching at your waist from where he gripped it between his knuckles. You didn’t mind it, but when you put the scalpel down and started to clean the inside of his wound, he adjusted his hand so he was holding the side of your waist instead, eyes clamped shut and feet tapping the wooden floor. You paused momentarily, but you couldn’t let him breathe or else it would just hurt more when you went back to work, so you brushed it off and continued your rampage down his face until the whole wound was free of the dirt and grime he had let accumulate inside it while he travelled back to Long Island.

“Sorry.” You finally built up the courage to say.

“S’Okay.” He breathed, “My fault.”

You wiped it over one last time before taping a bandage over the top. You cut it into two bits so he could still see out of his left eye, before stepping back from between his legs and assessing your work. Once you had deemed it good enough, you picked up your supplies and headed back to the desk, feeling Luke’s hand fall from your side.

“Uh—“ You really wanted to leave the room now, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but how long did you leave—“

“Three days.” He answered quickly. Chiron had probably already asked him that, and you felt stupid for making him repeat it.

You turned to leave, but then remembered what Chiron had said to you before sending you up to Luke’s room. You looked at him.

“Do you need anything from your cabin?” You asked, “It’s, uh, kind of my job to get that, if you do.” You turned to face him fully, “Oh, and are you hungry? Because I have to—“

“Just some clean clothes, thanks.” He quipped. It wasn’t looking like he wanted you around for much longer.

You were quick to leave.

It was hard coming up with an excuse as to why you were stealing clothes from Luke Castellan’s bunk, but you just told them there was a new camper in the Big House and Chiron had run out of spares that morning. They brushed it off, and you ran back up to Luke with the clothes bunched in your arms, and were breathless by the time you dropped them on the bed beside him.

“Did anyone see you?” He asked just as you were about to give him the privacy he needed to change.

You were facing the door when he asked, and turned to answer, but he was already pulling off the marred camp shirt he’d arrived in, revealing his very toned torso. You paused, eyes drifting, but quickly snapped them back up to his awaiting gaze. He didn’t seem to care that he was shirtless in front of you, but neither did most boys.

“No.” You weren’t sure how he would react if you’d told him the truth, even though it was harmless. He nodded and started to unbutton his cargos, and you were quick to turn back to the door and yank it open, “Okay, I’ll…uh, probably be back at…later. Bye.”

The rest of your week was rough to say the least. You had a lot on your plate, and it didn’t help when your siblings kept wondering why you were at the Big House three times a day and why you always made a second plate of food at mealtimes. Eventually, it got around that a new camper had arrived, and you were taking care of them. That's when the rumour mill started running.

“I heard they were older, like twenty or something. Apparently they’re super embarrassed.”

“Well, I heard they were injured super badly on their way into camp, and that’s why nobody’s seen them yet.”

“I heard they got violent when Chiron explained the demigod thing and now they have him locked away in the basement!”

So yeah, lots on your plate. You did little to dispel the rumours, not wanting to allude to the truth accidentally, but when you were the only one who knew the truth, it was difficult to hide from those who wanted it too.

But after a few days, you had developed a routine. Wake up, get breakfast, take food to Luke. Check his dressings while he ate and restock your med supplies if needed. Go to whatever task you were running that day, ignore anyone who asked about the new camper, go for lunch. Take lunch to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Go to dinner. Take dinner to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Lead the campfire sing-along. Check on Luke one more time. Go to bed.

It was a lot, to say the least. But you didn’t complain — if you did this top secret doctor work right, Chiron might make you cabin counsellor when your older sister Alina leaves after this summer.

And just as you had, Luke eased into the routine too. Every time you entered his room, with a polite knock, he would be perched on the side of his bed, legs open and inviting.

You wondered if he actually did this for you, or if he just never moved from that position.

Sunday morning was slightly different — as camp activities were more relaxed and you had more time on your hands. You strolled slowly to the Big House after breakfast — rather than your usual sprint so you weren’t late to Archery — and knocked politely on the door before cracking it open and heading for the desk. With a plate of food in one hand and a fresh bandage in the other, you made your way over to where Luke sat, readying yourself for another quiet twenty minutes of work. It was quite peaceful, now that you’d gotten used to it. More comfortable, less awkward.

“Hi.”

You blinked, almost dropping what you held, but Luke was there to grab the bandage from your hand as your grip loosened in your shock. He attempted a smile, but winced when it pulled at his scar, and chose to nod at you instead.

“Uh…” You put the plate down into the bedside table, straightening your shirt, “Hi.”

He’d never said hi before.

He didn’t say anything else after that, just let you do what you did, but your mind remained a whirlwind. He said hi. That’s a completely normal thing for him to do, and yet you were reeling from it.

Once you had changed his dressings, you headed for the door and allowed him to eat his breakfast. Your hand wrapped around the metal of the handle and turned it, pulling open the wooden door and stepping one foot into the hall before the voice sounded again.

“Bye.”

You chuckled this time, not looking back, “Bye.”

ii. WEEK TWO

It was an average morning, the blistering sun from last week finally fading and allowing you to walk comfortably outside. You never knew what your dad’s problem with you was last week, but you suspected that it had something to do with the cabin counsellor who slept on the second floor of the Big House with a bandage across his eye.

Like usual, you were heading up the stairs, breakfast plate in hand, ready to give your first checkup of the day. If Luke was healing like he should’ve been, you wouldn’t have to change his dressing at lunch, and you were crossing your fingers that he was.

Pushing the door open with your back, you walked in slowly and headed towards the desk like usual. You grabbed the bandage, made your way over to Luke and put the plate down next to his small lamp. Then you straightened up and put the new bandage under your arm, holding it in place while you moved to unwrap his eye.

Before you could, however, Luke was pulling the bandage from where it was trapped against your ribcage and held it in his own hands. You looked at him, and he gave you a weak smile, “Thought it’d be easier if I held it for you.”

You murmured out a thanks and smiled at him, keeping it there even as you peeled back the old dressings and revealed his still healing scar. Usually, it wouldn’t take this long for a demigod wound to heal itself, but because Luke had gone so long without nectar or ambrosia — or any form of medical help, that is — it was in worse condition. You had to scrape out the infected skin from it a few days back, and it left Luke blinking hard to try and hide the tears.

Nowadays he seemed to be better — not as broody as he seemed last week. But you always caught him drifting off, staring at nothing. You wondered if he was reliving it, asking himself what would’ve changed had he done it differently. Your guess? Not much — you’d read up on Ladon the dragon after finding out it was he who caused Luke’s pain, just in case there was something you needed to know before starting the healing process. He was vicious, not even Hercules could get past him. And while Luke was the best swordsman camp had seen in three centuries, even he would struggle going at Ladon alone.

Once you had redressed his face, you stepped back like you always did, your footfalls sounding out the same metronome as they did three times a day. You wondered if you would wear a mark into the floor from your constant repeating path — door to the desk, desk to the bed, bed to the door. You briefly thought that wouldn’t be possible, something like that would take years to indent, but then you looked back at Luke — his forlorn expression, the bandage across his eye and the bags under’t — and wondered how long it would be before he could build the courage to stand up from the bed, return to a camp that relied so heavily on his skill set, and take the weight of his failure with him.

He pulled the plate onto his lap and you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone look so sad while stuffing their face with bacon.

“Hey, uh —“ You started, hand on the doorframe in an attempt to look casual. You couldn’t just leave him like that, right? “Do you…know — uh, know where the spare practising swords are kept?” A measly excuse, but it had him looking at you again.

He swallowed his food before speaking, “The wooden ones are in these old boxes in the back of weapon storage, but I think the celestial bronze ones are kept in the Hephaestus cabin now.”

You nodded, tapping your hand against the wood. That didn’t work in the way you wanted it to, but you weren’t going to force it. So you turned, went to open the door and leave —

“Why?”

Nevermind!

You whirled around — not too eagerly! You didn’t want to scare him off, now — “Oh! Uh, some Ares kid snapped one in half the other day, we needed a replacement.”

Luke nodded. Shit, say something else. Get him talking!

“Odd weather we’ve been having.”

What?

His lips parted, and he had the gall to look amused, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, yeah.” You breathed, humiliated. You pressed your lips together, ready to give up, until a thought came to you, “Hey, you haven’t been outside in, like, a week.”

Luke nodded, shadows falling across his face like the mere mention of the fact that he hadn’t been outside was a painful reminder of his circumstances, “Yeah, I, uh, don’t think I want anyone to know that I’m back yet. Not until I’m healed, y’know?”

You knew. You also knew that probably wasn’t the only reason he refused to let anyone know he was safe in the Big House, but you didn’t say that.

“Right, but —“ A breathy chuckle, “You need, like, sunlight. Fresh air.”

“I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Ok.” And that was that. You said goodbye, left him to his own devices, and didn’t mention the sun thing again for two days.

It was on Wednesday that you finally gave in. Now that you’d put the thought in your own head, you kept noticing the effects that being cooped indoors was having on Luke. His skin, once tanned and glistening under the sun, was paling by the hour. He winced whenever he had to straighten his back, and even though his scar was healing nicely, he seemed to be more sensitive to the pain of it than he was a week earlier.

So on Tuesday night you formed a plan, and on Wednesday morning at breakfast you put it into action. It started with asking Lee — ever so casually, of course — what the activities schedule was looking like. He started yapping about their cabin, and you waited patiently for him to bring up the Amphitheatre. Then, when he said the Apollo kids were training at two, you said —

“I thought we trained at twelve on Wednesdays?”

“No, that’s Ares and Hephaestus.”

“Oh, but don’t they train at four?”

“No, Hermes and Athena train at four.”

“Then who trains at ten?”

“Nobody.”

Bingo.

Luke was halfway through pulling on a pair of shorts when you burst into the room. He jumped, yanking them up the rest of the way before turning to look at you — his face was a mix of shock and unbridled anger until he realised it was you, then it softened into something calmer. But you saw him, even for just a split second, and the animosity in his gaze made you take a quiet step back. It was fearful almost — you’d seen him annoyed, irritated. You’d even bore witness to the Carden Cross Hot Cross Bun Incident of 2002,

(Carden Cross was this fifteen year old Ares kid. He threw one too many hot cross buns at the Aphrodite table and a then-sixteen-year-old Luke had wrung him out in front of everyone.

Nobody had ever heard Luke raise his voice like that, and Carden avoided everyone for a week straight).

but you had never seen such indignation in his gaze. It was gone in a flash, and you could’ve told yourself it was never there, but it was. You were hit with the humbling realisation that whatever Luke had gone through on his quest was more damaging than you could ever imagine, and no amount of fresh air would change him back to who he was before.

That saddened you, but then you realised he was shirtless again and all morbid thoughts went straight out the window. You grinned at him, “Sorry. But we don’t have a lot of time.”

He stared at you, then at your hands that were empty of breakfast food or bandages, and asked, “Time for what?”

“For some fresh air!” You sang, throwing in some jazz hands as if they would wipe the hesitant frown that had graced his features, “Put some shoes on, let’s go!”

He said your name softly, “I can’t go outside.”

You straightened up from where you had leaned dramatically into the room and sent him a blank look, eyes still sparkling, “You can. I checked the schedule, the Amphitheatre is free from ten till twelve and it is currently…nine forty-five. If we hurry, we’ll miss the post-breakfast rush.”

Luke looked a little more at ease now, but he made no move to put his shoes on. His body twitched like he was thinking about it, but when he couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to get out of it, he sighed and nodded, “Alright. Doctors orders, I guess.”

“Awesome.” You smiled, “I’ll let you get ready.”

It took some convincing, even after you’d gotten him to follow you down the stairs, to get him out the door. But a few firm words (and a couple of threats) and he was basking in the morning sunlight just as you’d planned.

Well — more like squinting painfully. Turns out, after a week and a half in a dark room, it takes a minute to get used to the sunlight again. You ensured nobody was around and took the long way to the Ampitheatre, letting out a content sigh when you knew you were away from prying eyes. Luke seemed more relaxed already, and you could practically see his muscles getting looser.

“Damn.” He muttered, hand over his eyes, “I needed this.”

“Yeah.” You spoke over an unattractive snort, “I’m an Apollo kid, I know a Vitamin D deficiency when I’m looking at one.”

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes at you, amused, and moved towards the steps. He climbed up two before turning and sitting, leaning back on his elbows and blinking at the sky, “Think your dad made it extra sunny just for me?”

“Probably.” You smiled, standing in front of him — but still making sure you weren’t blocking the sun from his face. “After some convincing from your dad.”

Luke’s smile faded. His eyes remained closed but his hands tightened into loose fists, “I don’t think so.”

Now you were desperate to change the subject. Your eyes darted to the wall, and the rack of swords sitting in its usual spot, “Hey, wanna swing some bronze?”

“Gods.” He let out a rough laugh, and you grinned in satisfaction, “Swinging Bronze. Haven’t heard that in a while.”

You nodded, glad he was back to being somewhat happy, “We thought we were so cool.”

“We thought it’d catch on.”

You shared a laugh, and Luke peeked an eye open, looking at you, “How come we were never friends back then?”

A meek shrug, “We weren’t really friends until a couple of days ago. That's if you even count us as that now.”

He just kept looking at you, and his gaze burned into your skin. You stepped back, closer to the middle of the arena space, “We never really spoke.”

He looked at you as if he was thinking hard about what you said, and what he was gonna say next. Apparently he came up short, because seconds later he was clicking his tongue and pushing himself up, joining you in the middle of the arena, “Alright. Let’s swing some bronze.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. This was going well. He was outside, he was laughing, he was about to pick up a sword for the first time since he’d angrily thrown his own at the porch of the Big House when he got back a week and a half ago.

He handed you a wooden practice sword, and you raised a brow. Usually the wooden ones were for first-timers, or younger kids. He shrugged, you let it go.

Despite the fact that you and Luke had been at camp together for five years, you’d never actually gone one-on-one in a sword fight with him. It was rare that Apollo and Hermes were paired together for activities, since they were the two highest populated cabins, but even when Luke was running the practice he always picked the people he knew the best for demonstrations. You lingered at the back, watching.

So you were slightly nervous, but you also didn’t want to show it. Sure, on any normal day Luke would reassure you with kind eyes and that Luke Castellan Smile, but he wasn’t exactly himself right now. You swallowed down your nerves, matched his stance, and swung.

Best Sword Fighter in Three Hundred Years — not an exaggeration. His moves were swift, calculated, and he stayed calm the entire time. It was as if he knew everything you were going to do before you did it, and had three counterattacks on the back burner for when you would strike. Your swords clashed every time you made a move and suddenly you realised why he wanted you to use wooden swords — the clang of wood was a lot quieter than the clang of bronze, it was less likely anyone would hear you fighting. It made sense, but you couldn’t focus on that when he was practically parrying your thoughts with sweat dripping down his temple.

You held your own, though. You were quite impressed with yourself when you blocked his swipes and sidestepped his jabs. It was making him groan in frustration, and the edges of your mouth perked up. You didn’t realise how good you were at this.

Then Luke stumbled. He grunted, righted himself, and swung again. You blocked it, and he steadied his shoulders. You slowed, focusing on the way he heaved for breath, taking in gulps of air, while you were hardly breaking a sweat. The way he kept readjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword, and how his fingers shook on his free hand. He went for you again and you sidestepped him, making him trip up. He didn’t fall, but he did let out a long angry groan at his mistake, throwing the sword to the ground in frustration.

You flinched, “Luke.”

“This was a bad idea.” He snapped. He wasn’t looking at you, pacing up and down with his hands in his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re still recovering —“ You tried to reason, but he wasn’t listening to you.

“I’m the best damn swordsman this camp has ever seen. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I do this? Why —“

“Luke.” You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He looked at you, “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He gritted through his teeth, “I fail one quest and suddenly I can’t do anything anymore? Yeah, that’s typical.”

You shook your head, “You just need time to get better.”

“I was better! Better than everyone else here, I —“ He paused, a faraway look in his eyes that unnerved you for a second before he was looking at you again, “I can hear people.”

You perked your ears up. He was right, you could hear the chatter of camp if you listened carefully enough — but it wasn’t anything to worry about. They were all doing their own tasks, far away from where they were. If someone was coming, it would be more clear. You told him that, but he shook his head.

“I need to go back. This was a bad idea.”

“Hey, it’s okay, we can go —“

“No, not we. Me.” He said firmly, a hard look in his gaze that he didn’t have before, “I’m going back. You’re staying here. And I’m never going anywhere with you again.”

iii. WEEK THREE

You hadn’t seen him in five days.

Chiron had pulled you out of Archery to ask about Luke — and why he had seen him storm angrily back into his room and lock the door. You just told him you thought it was best for him to find someone else to take care of him for the time being. You didn’t think Luke would want to see you again, ever.

All you wanted was for him to be his old self again. The guy you always saw helping out someone else with a smile on his face, the one who made others laugh and laughed with them. The one who waved at anyone who waved at him. The one who was completely oblivious to the flirting and just thought they were being friendly. The Luke Castellan who everyone gushed about, who everyone loved.

That man up there, with the scar on his face and the look in his eye, wasn't Luke Castellan. And maybe he never would be again, not completely. But he could come close — he could still smile, he could still laugh.

But you’d fucked all that up just by bringing him outside.

You didn’t know who Chiron had asked to replace you, because you never saw anyone else get up after breakfast with an extra plate. You didn’t see anyone sneaking out of the Hermes cabin with a pile of clothes. You stood in the fields for hours a day, watching those thin curtains stand stiff at the window, never to open. You thought you’d seen a shadow, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

The weekend came and went, and you spent the whole time worrying about Luke. Did this new person know that he preferred fatty bacon? Did they know that he liked keeping the curtains closed? Or would they just bring him a plate of pancakes? Ask him too many questions about his quest? Your mind whirred — would they make him worse?

No. That’s not what you were scared of.

Would they make him better?

Would they understand him more than you did? Would they coerce more words out of him? Would they even need to coerce him, or would he be comfortable holding a conversation with them no problem? What if he was better now than he ever had been with you?

You flinched when your name was called. Looking up from the bracelet you were crafting with some younger kids and meeting the eyes of Dionysus, “Sir.”

“Our, uh, special guest is requesting your presence.” He said with a stupid look on his face, “So get off your ass and get up there, I can’t stand his whining any longer.”

You did as asked with a slight roll of your eyes that made the six year old who was next to you giggle into their hands. It brought a grin to your otherwise down expression, unsure of what Luke wanted to say to you.

The room was dark when you cracked the door open — there was no response after you knocked, but you could hear him shuffling inside, so you went ahead and opened it an inch. It was a lot darker than it used to be — or maybe you too had gotten used to the shade after spending so much time there.

You pushed it open more, and there he was, in his usual spot on the edge of the bed. Head down, hands fiddling with something by his eye. He was muttering in frustration, and you stepped into the room in concern. The floor creaked, he looked up, and you gasped.

The side of his face where his scar sat was red with blood — you almost missed the bandage he was attempting to tie around it because it had been stained pink. His fingers were shaking and he pursed his trembling lips at you, “I can’t do it.”

You surged forward, immediately taking the fabric from his hands. He let them drop into his lap as you peeled it back and looked at the damage. You winced — not as bad as the blood had made it seem, but bad enough. The wound had reopened at the top, and the blood was dripping into his eye and along the curve of his jaw.

It took a few panicky minutes, but eventually the bleeding had stopped, Luke’s face was clean of blood, and you were staring at him in shock, your own fingers still red from the damage. He was avoiding your eyes, the only other thing he’d said to you being a strained thank you when you had stepped back.

“What —“ You were at a loss.

“I tried to change them myself.” He shrugged, picking at his fingernails, still not looking at you. “I’d watched you do it so many times, I figured I had it handled. Apparently I didn’t, because I woke up and it was freakin’ bleeding everywhere.”

“Oh, Luke.” You breathed, “Why didn’t you wait for someone to help you?”

“You never came back.” He said like it was obvious.

“What — so you’ve been doing this yourself for five days?” You asked, a shocked exclamation, “Chiron never sent someone else to help you?”

“He asked me who I wanted,” He shrugged, “I said you. You weren’t an option, so I did it myself.”

“You said —“

“I know what I said, alright?” He stressed, head in his hands now, “It was stupid. I was angry, hurt, whatever. It was at myself, but I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I don’t — “ His voice cracked, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Luke.” You murmured. You took a step closer, kneeled before him, and gently pried his hands away from his eyes so he would look at you. His expression was so…sad. So distraught. “What happened on your quest?”

And he told you everything.

iv. THE AFTER

Luke was ashamed to admit it — but he had no idea what your name was when you started looking after him.

Sure, he’d seen you around. You were one of the Apollo kids who spent more time in the infirmary than on the archery fields, but he was too good at his job to get injured. Hence why he didn’t know your name. He knew your face, he smiled at you and you would smile back. He was friendly with your brother, Lee. But that was about it.

That’s what made it so perfect.

You wouldn’t ask him about his quest. You wouldn’t try your hardest to get him to open up. You would do your job, and leave him to mope. That was all he wanted.

Until he learned your name.

And just from glancing at your smile — all awkward and nervous as you introduced yourself — he knew he wanted to be near you. He knew you were the type of person he could sit in silence with and walk away from it with a happy memory.

He thought he knew enough about you to determine who you were to him (a stranger). But he didn’t know your name, your voice, he didn’t know your touch or your smile — the real one you give when someone truly makes you laugh. Not the one he thought he knew.

He stood stiffly on the porch of the Big House — three weeks was all it took before Mr D was kicking him out, telling him to get a grip and face the music. Luke was ready; physically. His scar was nothing but that — a memory, faded into his skin forever. There was no other reason for him to keep himself hidden other than the fact that he wanted to. If it was up to him, nobody would ever bear the burden of seeing him ever again.

For weeks he told himself that his quest was pointless. He screamed it at the gods, at Chiron, at you. He cursed his dad every night for sending him on a path to failure and not even acknowledging it. He cursed himself for ruining the first chance he had at gaining his fathers pride in seventeen years — he sat in the dark, fists clenched, and asked himself what it was all for.

The five years on the run, the endless monster attacks, the relentless training, the offerings, the prayers. Would his life be any better had he just let that first monster kill him?

No. Because he wouldn’t have met Thalia, or Annabeth. He wouldn’t have seen the brighter side of being a halfblood — he wouldn’t have met his siblings, he wouldn’t have found his calling. He wouldn’t have experienced the joy of helping a new camper, of being the guiding hand he never got to hold.

But what of his quest? His mission for his father brought nothing but pain — a pointless trip, a humiliating failure, a deep jagged scar. For weeks he asked himself why he was given the quest in the first place, and for years to come he will question himself each and every day.

But each and every day he asks himself what the gods had ever given him, he would be reminded of the day he learnt your name. And he would tell himself had he not taken that trip, had he not fallen to Ladon, he never would have felt the searing touch of your fingertips on his skin.

So maybe it was worth it after all.

He stepped off the porch.

#the title is a play on words #cos it wasn’t just the physical wounds #get it?#i’ll shut up #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackson

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moondirti · 7 months ago

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(first time doing a ask bare with me)

pretty please a continue of the house distribution thing. the fic where she does military housing to afford rent. just a continuation please 🙏🏽

feel free to skip if your mind is just blank with ideas for it x

simon riley / afab! reader • part one cw: dubcon, intoxication, spanking, wedgies, degradation, dacryphilia, very mild puppy play (mostly just pet names)

"Well, aren' you a sight."

Much like the lamplight, his voice is low. Mocking, almost. You'd think he were amused if it weren't for the dangerous way his eyes assess your sorry state, raking the lines of your bare legs to the way your dress wraps tight around your chest. It almost escapes you that he's maskless at first, so entranced by the glint of his pupils, the shadowed irises that pinch a deep, very primal nerve in you.

His lips curl into an uneven sneer, scar dissecting the bottom and running down to his chin. You wipe your nose with the heel of your hand, giving your best attempt at an apathetic shrug.

"I had fun."

"Did'ya now?" He laughs humourlessly. "Mus' have different ideas of fun, me and you. Can' see the fun in getting pissed out'f my mind, worryin' the people in your life by stayin' out s'late."

Spite flares, fear slinking back your throat to make room for the petulance that froths on your tongue like venom. It completely poisons his admission to the fact that he'd been worried, turns it into something pathetic and hypocritical. You storm closer. Wild. Angry.

"That's fucking rich coming from you. What is your idea of fun, then, Lieutenant? Tormenting women who open up their home to you? Walking in on them in the bathroom, pissing all over the fucking seat? Does it grant you satisfaction to make people so uncomfortable that they'd rather be anywhere but with you?"

His jaw tenses, a "careful, pet." grunted under his breath, but he makes no move to stop you. Just continues sitting on your couch, legs spread, simmering. Waiting for you to tire out.

"Shut the fuck up. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can hardly be at bloody peace in my own house anymore! You're- You're... A fucking nightmare, Riley! So excuse me if I went out and enjoyed myself when I haven't been able to do so in weeks!"

By the end of your little tirade, you're an even worse mess than you had been before. Flyaways stick to your sweaty temple, mascara rims your blown eyes. Your panting does nothing to calm the frantic race of your heart, which beats at your ribcage like doldrums to war. You can feel the effects of it everywhere; your pulse, hot and quick, at your eyebrow, your wrists, the arch of your foot.

Riley stands. Your lip trembles.

You're so close now that your gaze is level with his chest. Tall. You'd forgotten how tall he was. Or how wide. Or dangerous. His biceps – bare given his tight-fitted t-shirt, tree-trunk large and enough to crush watermelons – tense, and all-too-suddenly, you find your jaw clutched in a bruising grip. He jerks your head up so your eyes meet his.

"Simon." He mutters. "But you don't get to call me tha', or anything at all but Sir."

"Letmegomff–" You're rendered mute when his thumb and forefinger press your cheeks together, but that certainly doesn't stop you from whining.

"Y'wanna know my idea of a good time?" Purely rhetorical, of course. Aside from not being able to answer him, it doesn't matter what you want. There's a clear direction this seems to be heading towards – someplace where the hand pawing your ass continues lower, or where the length in his pants fits down your throat. Someplace not unwelcome by you, despite the way you thrash and cry in his arms. "It's putting foul things like you in their place."

He shucks your dress over your ass, the fabric bunching around your waist, and hooks a fist in the waistline of your soaked panties. Your mind is so foggy, influenced by shitty tequila and the subspace Simon bullies you into embracing, that you don't process the cause of your pain immediately. Don't correlate it to the way he pulls upward, your underwear bunching into a tight line that cleaves between your ass-cheeks and rubs abrasively against your poor clit. Don't– can't confront it until the force literally picks you up off the floor, toes barely touching the ground, held up by a wedgie and the grip around your jaw alone.

Tears spring to your lash line, tracing miserable treks down your cheeks. His thumb swipes what it can away, pushing the salty water into your mouth, and stays there while you lap at his calloused fingertips.

"There we go. Look at you, brainless mutt. Jus' need something on your cunt and something in your mouth to keep you quiet, hm? Happy to hang li'e this for hours, I bet."

Your muffled yell is met with another laugh, thumb pushing deeper into your mouth to shut you up.

"Shh, I know. Still need'ta be taught a lesson. I haven' forgotten." The stitches on your panties begin to tear, the rips loud and relieving, especially when you start to sag back down to the floor. Simon doesn't take it with any kind of urgency, though he cocks his head at the way you blink up at him, lashes fanning in rapid succession. An unspoken, desperate plea. "Was gonna hold out, get you sobered up for your punishment. But you're practically itchin' for it, aren' you?"

He puppets your head into an enthusiastic nod, which he meets with a faux huff.

"Course you are." The forbearing quality of his tone is promptly betrayed by the way you're manhandled over his lap. Pivoting one hand opposite to the other, he's able to sit on the couch and get you thrown over his thighs in a mere matter of seconds. "Normally I'd make y'count, but I figure you're too far gone for that. Jus' try to keep your wailing quiet."

Your underwear gives in with a final tug, ripping from the soaked gusset to become nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric around your hips. Simon swipes the tattered remains off your raised bottom, taking longer than necessary to smooth over the area. It's all the indication you need to what's coming – his rough palm teases the nerve endings below your softer skin, bringing them to frenzied life. Preparing them to hurt.

When he breaks away, you hold your breath.

The air behind you whistles as his hand comes down.

A sharp, resounding crack fractures the baited silence of the room. Your mouth flies open. Searing pain roars across your backside like wildfire, worsening every second it's exposed to open elements. Your scream is belated, thunder to the lightening, tearing from your throat only after the initial shock subsides.

A series of lighter blows land on alternating cheeks, two fingers returning to gag you through the onslaught. Unlike his thumb, these reach the very back of your tonsils, prompting wet gags as they fondle with your throat. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, slicking your chin with lipstick-tinted fluid.

"Fuckin' beautiful when you're not givin' an attitude, puppy. All stupid and submissive, cunt droolin' on my lap."

You groan, choke, then cry some more when his spanks grow incrementally harsher again. Gratefully, they're never in the same place twice. He beats the top of your thighs, your lower back, the sides of your hips. Your cheeks especially, which start to emit a steady kind of heat the longer he keeps it up.

Eventually, as a matter of coping, your brain starts to consider the cruel sting as pleasurable instead, sending little bolts of pleasure directly to your clit every time his hand comes down on your ass. It swells, fattening up with blood, pressing tighter against the steady mass of his thigh. Inadvertently, you start rutting against it to find more of the same relief, humping his leg like the dog he's making you out to be.

It doesn't escape his notice, of course.

His foot pushes one of your flailing ankles outward so that your legs are spread, pussy made vulnerable to his scrutiny. The next slap is thus aimed straight at your fluttering hole, slick doing nothing to affect his deadly precision. When it lands, it lands exactly where he meant for it to, and introduces you to a whole other degree of pain that has you seeing stars. You're openly bawling around his fingers now, vision so cloudy you can't tell light from dark.

"Didn' like tha', did you?"

"Nngh– nmmph!"

"There's more where it came from, pup. Best listen to everythin' I say from now on, then, 'less you wan' your little hole beat black 'n' blue."

Simon stresses his point by tracing the seam of your cunt, collecting the lubrication there to smear across the hotspot at the top. Presses into it. Grants you a little gratification, as if to say: and here's what you can have if you behave.

"You gonna be a good pet?"

This time, he withdraws his fingers from your maw. Expects a response, even though it takes you ages to recover from the lack of oxygen. You swallow the saliva pooling behind your teeth, inhaling ragged gasps that make your lungs ache.

He pinches your clit when you take too long. Lightly, but it's enough.

"Yes! Yes, s-sir. I'll be good."

[next]

#please no one mention this degenerate piece of writing to me ever again #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #tw dubcon #༄dee answers #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #ghost #x afab reader #call of duty #cod

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