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wildwestdean · 3 months

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impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park.

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you.

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait.

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach.

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together.

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like.

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.”

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets.

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be.

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo.

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun.

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.”

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.”

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building.

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock.

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?”

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.”

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold.

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you.

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?”

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.”

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.”

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance.

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs.

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker.

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall.

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way.

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles.

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you.

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere.

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun.

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!”

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision.

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you.

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!”

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her.

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.”

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent.

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on.

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.”

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up.

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood.

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him.

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.”

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down.

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand.

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?”

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.”

“What?” Dean asked gruffly.

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?”

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.”

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?”

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket.

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks.

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you.

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat.

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously.

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?”

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink.

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker.

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand.

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall.

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say.

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?”

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion.

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.”

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.”

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink.

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam.

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically.

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer.

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean.

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away.

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table.

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.”

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth.

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you.

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter.

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar.

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away.

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you.

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded.

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?”

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car.

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you.

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats.

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?”

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?”

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff.

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.”

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!”

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.”

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets.

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance.

“What, why?” you asked in confusion.

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.”

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off.

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned.

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.”

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy.

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders.

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done.

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom.

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand.

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran.

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t save you.

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart.

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him.

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind.

“Dean.”

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came.

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above.

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut.

“God dammit, Dean!”

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer.

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt.

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.”

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice.

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him.

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out.

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current.

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.”

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone.

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name.

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere.

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order.

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink.

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him.

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake.

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang.

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.”

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?”

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle.

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?”

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.”

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice.

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not.

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself.

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration.

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.”

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation.

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.”

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?”

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!”

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly.

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed.

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief.

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?”

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!”

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.”

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?”

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!”

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?”

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.”

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!”

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?”

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?”

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff.

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-”

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?”

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!”

“Right,” Sam said sceptically. “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised.

“What?”

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared.

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively.

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.”

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.”

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued.

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.”

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on.

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin.

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction.

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen.

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully.

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge.

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen.

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway.

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly.

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child.

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do.

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything.

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.”

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!”

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him.

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion.

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife.

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?”

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?”

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes.

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call.

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more.

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered. So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do.

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.”

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late.

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.”

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.”

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.”

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation.

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.”

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner.

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water.

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water.

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself.

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding.

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant.

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.”

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him.

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.”

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered.

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.”

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you.

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly.

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.”

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again.

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.”

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest.

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him.

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.”

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?”

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.”

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.”

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door.

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out.

“It’s not gonna kill me!”

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?”

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?”

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.”

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign.

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.”

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!”

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.”

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.”

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.”

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what,” you scolded.

“This is so fucking ridiculous.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly.

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.”

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him.

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.”

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head.

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.”

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed.

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully.

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.”

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.”

“I do,” you agreed quietly.

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.”

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?”

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.”

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly.

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].”

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly.

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle.

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently.

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.”

“Right,” you agreed.

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly.

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.”

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously.

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.”

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off.

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.”

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say.

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.”

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.”

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while.

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.”

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build.

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.”

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.”

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question.

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat.

“Okay,” he said with a huff.

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly.

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you.

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened.

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked.

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.”

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more.

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly.

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?”

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?”

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” you said honestly.

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed.

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly.

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more.

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things.

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest.

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares.

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest.

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

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ickadori · 10 months

Text

++ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈/𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

[summary] during a playful fight between you and yuji, sukuna decides to make an appearance and air out yuji’s dirty secrets.

[cws] fem reader. dubcon. lewd use of sukuna’s tummy mouth. exhibitionism -> you’re in public but no one is around. one mention of a misogynist comment from sukuna. yuji thinks about you a lot. unedited.

“Do you …hah, do you give up yet?” Yuji pants as he has you pinned underneath him, sweat dripping off the ends of his hair and landing on your forehead.

You’d cringe and shrink away if you weren’t so determined to win this mock fight (never mind that you were drenched in your own sweat, as well).

“Absolutely not.” You grit out, hips futilely bucking up to try and get him off you. He barely budges, even having the nerve to laugh as he watches you struggle. You can hear Nobara booing quite enthusiastically, while Megumi grumbles about being late for class and having to hear ‘Gojo’s annoying mouth’.

“Ya know you’re not gonna win, so just give up already and agree to hosting movie night in my dorm this time!”

“Never! No one wants to stare at pin-up posters all night, plus your tv is too small, and your bed always smells like Doritos, and—”

“Geez, just say you hate me, why don’t you.” He rolls his eyes, going to sit back on his haunches as he stays straddling your waist. You kiss at your teeth, trying once more to buck him up while simultaneously bringing your hands up and shoving at his stomach. “And my bed does not smell like Doritos! Does it?” He snaps his head over to look at Nobara and Megumi.

“The cool ranch ones.” Nobara says, and Megumi nods in agreement. “Aka, the nastiest flavor.” Yuji gasps dramatically.

“That’s the best flavor! How dare you…” As he bickers back and forth with Nobara, you focus a little cursed energy into your hands. “…says the girl who eats pickles with whipped cream like she’s pregnant or someth—!”

In the blink of an eye you’ve got Yuji on his back as you straddle his stomach, a triumphant grin on your face as you keep your hands on his shoulders to keep him pinned flat against the ground. “Aha!”

“That’s cheating!” Yuji frowns up at you.

“No, it isn’t! It’s called strategizing.”

“Cheating!”

“I’m going to class.” Megumi begins to walk off, hands stuffed in his pockets, and you shout after him.

“Movie night is in my dorm!”

“Hey!” Yuji interrupts.

“Bring good snacks only!” You finish, and then Nobara is the next to go, jogging to catch up with Megumi as she flashes the both of you an amused grin.

“Cheater.” Yuji grumbles once it’s just you two, and you snicker as you let go of his shoulders and sit up, not bothering to stand up just yet. “Using cursed energy against your friend… you should be ashamed.”

“You literally threw a spear at me yesterday and it almost killed me.”

“That’s different! We were training, and I didn’t mean to throw it that hard.” His expression turned sheepish as he avoided your eyes, and you pursed your lips as you tapped his nose with the pad of your index finger. He wriggled it in response, and you softly laughed as you did it again.

“It’s fine, just know that you had it coming when I try to kill you in the future, mkay?” He blinks up at you.

“You’re creepy, you know that?”

“Says the boy with a third eyeball on his cheek.” This time you do cringe, watching as the red eye blinks open before settling on you.

“Wha—Sukuna!” Yuji snaps, hand moving to slap over the eye and cover it. “You should probably go now before he fully wakes up … you know how he is.” A pink hue bleeds into Yuji’s cheeks as he averts his eyes, and you feel your own face warm as you nod.

“Yeah,” you agree. Sukuna had always been insufferable from the moment you befriended Yuji, always piping up with mean, critiquing comments that bordered on being cruel. The comments had started with him bashing your fighting skills during your trainings with Yuji, quips of ‘you’re so slow - it’s a wonder you aren’t dead yet’, or ‘women on the battlefield is a bad fucking joke - hasn’t anyone ever taught you your place’, or ones that had left you teary-eyed and which you refuse to repeat.

Yeah, Sukuna was an asshole, which wasn’t a surprise to anyone, and you’d rather not have your day ruined before you even made it to your first class.

“I’ll see you tonight, Yuji.” You place your hands on his chest, about to use him to push yourself up to your feet, but a low, raspy voice has you stopping in your tracks.

“You’re sitting on my mouth.” Sukuna abruptly says, and you blink in confusion, your eyes flitting between Yuji’s and where you’re sitting.

“What?”

“Y-You should go now,” Yuji tries, but Sukuna is talking again and drowning him out.

“Your pussy, that hot thing between your legs, it’s on my mouth. See?” Something moves underneath you, and you flinch at the sound of fabric tearing before a yelp is leaving your mouth when something thick, damp and warm is pushing up between your legs and pressing against your clothed cunt. “You should be careful where you put that thing, y’know.”

He talks through the mouth on Yuji’s hand, and your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as Sukuna swipes his tongue against you again, his saliva wetting the fabric of your underwear.

“Sukuna, st—”

“Sit back and shut up.” Yuji falls silent in an instant, and a wave of panic washes over you when you see his eyes gloss over and his head fall back against the grass, black markings etching their way onto his face. A grin stretches across his face, and hands move to lock around your hips, fingers pushing into your flesh as he makes sure you can’t go anywhere. “That’s better.”

“Y-Yuji?” You sound breathless, and you gasp when his tongue worms its way past your panties to swipe in-between your folds. “Yuji!”

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, “the brat is still here. Watching and listening, he’s not gonna miss a thing, don’t you worry.” You don’t know if that’s worse or better—Yuji being aware of what’s happening, being able to see your face contort each time that tongue flicks at your clit, being able to hear the noises you try and fail to subdue.

“Stop,” your voice sounds weak to your own ears, and Sukuna guffaws, tongue forcing its way up into your cunt, the action eliciting a lewd squelch as he rubs against your walls.

“Stop.” He parrots back at you, hands tightening around your hips, and you duck your head down when his tongue leaves your hole to instead focus its attention back on your clit. “I don’t know what the brat gets all worked up about—yeah, you’ve got a sweet pussy and a nice pair of tits, but you’re a real fuckin’ tease. Rolling around with a boy in that flimsy little skirt and grinding your cunt up against him. Tch.”

“I wasn—Sukuna!” You jump when his teeth graze against your folds, the thought of him possibly biting you making a shiver of fear run up your spine.

“He wants to fuck you.” He couples the reveal with a harsh suck. “Fuck this cunt that I’m tonguing down - the pervert can’t go five minutes in a room with you without thinking about it.” Your ears burn as a fresh wave of slick rushes out of you, thighs trembling where they rest around his thick waist. “He’s too worried about scaring you off to do anything about it, though… but I don’t think he has anything to worry about, does he? Look at you.”

A whimper leaves your mouth, and you quickly sink your teeth into your bottom lip, not succeeding in blocking out the slurping, tacky sounds coming from between your legs. You want to stand up, get his mouth away from you so you can think straight, because your mind is all jumbled and fuzzy and screwy, and his words, his crude words that always made your skin hot and your stomach churn, is making it churn for another reason now.

“Won’t you give him a show, hm?” You barely register his words, and you yelp when his hand makes contact with your ass, fingers kneading at the doughy flesh as he repeats his earlier words. “Take your tits out.”

“No,” you warble, your hands weakly pushing at his wrists, a poor attempt to get him to stop moving your hips back and forth, forcing your cunt to side back and forth over his flattened tongue. “Sukuna, please.”

“Take ‘em out yourself, or I’ll do it for you and leave you to walk back to your dorm with nothing on.” You hesitate, eyes wet as you nervously lick at your lips, and when he makes a move for your shirt, you quickly begin to undo the buttons, fingers clumsy as they fumble repeatedly. “Good pet.”

Your blouse falls open as you undo the last button, revealing the pink bra you have on underneath, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you pull the cups of your bras down, fully exposing yourself Sukuna’s eyes .. and Yuji’s, too oh God.

The reminder that Yuji can see everything that’s happening sends a fleet of butterflies to your stomach, and you kick yourself mentally when you find yourself jutting out your chest just a bit. Does he like them, the thoughts zips through your mind, and you don’t have time to question where the hell it came from before hands are roughly squeezing at them, calloused fingers pinching and twisting at your nipples.

“Are they as good as you imagined, kid? Cause you imagine them a lot.” Sukuna smirks, and then he’s snapping his eyes up to yours. “You wanna know what he thinks about doing to them?” His tongue lazily laps at your folds, occasionally parting them to venture down to your clenching hole and take a dip inside before repeating the process.

Sukuna doesn’t wait for your answer.

“He thinks about putting his cock between them, pushing them together so it’s nice and tight and fucking them.” He demonstrates, hands pushing your breasts together, and you can’t help but watch his hands as they grope and fondle you. “Thinks about how they’d bounce when he’s got you riding his cock.” His hands leave your breasts to instead grip your hips, and you gasp when easily lifts you, just to drop you back down onto his tongue, the appendage sliding into your cunt and reaching deep.

“Sukuna!”

He continues to lift you up and down, forcing you to ride his tongue, and his eyes stay locked on your bouncing breasts, lips still fixed in that same smirk. “You gonna come?” You feel as if his words are directed at more than just you. He moves you faster, nails biting into your skin, and your face contorts into one of bliss as you hold onto his wrists as tight as you can, eyes fluttering shut as your pussy clamps down.

He pulls you down for the final time, mouth latched onto your cunt as you come, greedy gulps and sucks sounding as he swallows down your slick, his hands moving from your hips to your back. He roughly pulls you towards his face, and a whimper-y moan forces itself out of you as his lips wrap around a stiff nipple, teeth sinking in before he’s soothing the sting away with his tongue.

You sag against him, ragged breaths disturbing tufts of pink hair, and the aggressive sucking on your breast morphs into softer, gentler sucks, the nails that had been scratching at your back replaced with gentle caresses, and the tongue and mouth that had been abusing your now puffy and sore cunt is gone.

“Yuji.” You sigh, and he hums around you before his whole body goes stiff, tongue pausing its gentle swipe against your nipple, and hands slowly moving away from you. The heat against your chest is sweltering, and you push yourself up on shaky arms, tiredly blinking down at his red face.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know he would do that or say those things! I-I don’t even know why he said all those things, I don’t think about you like that, I swear!” He goes off into a tangent, eyes darting between your face and your breasts, and you sigh again before leaning back down to push your lips against his.

The kiss is chaste and quick, and when you pull back your face is as hot as his, and you become acutely aware of your state of dress, hands fumbling to fix your bra and redo your shirt as you avert your gaze.

“What was that for?”

“You… you wouldn’t stop talking.” You defend as you fix the last button, and then you’re struggling to your feet before Yuji finally frees himself from his stupor and helps you. He pulls away from you and takes a few steps back, the both of you staring at each other in silence for a bit, and your eyes widen when you see his shirt has been ripped away around the stomach, the skin there wet from you and his happy trail glistening with your juices.

“I-”

“You-”

“Sorry, you go.” You both interrupt each other again.

“He-”

“We-”

You heave out a breath as he groans, and when he goes to say something else to wave your hands back and forth, stopping him short. “Let’s never talk about this again.”

“Oh… okay! Yeah! Okay! Lips are sealed.” He motions to lock his lips and throw away the key, and you can’t help but smile just a bit.

“Okay.” You nod, hands twisting together, and there’s another uncomfortable silence before he speaks up again.

“I can, um, walk you to class?”

“Oka—oh, your shirt.” You gesture to his ruined uniform, and he looks down as his eyebrows raise.

“How’d that happen—oh, yeah.” He looks at you, and you roll your lips into your mouth. “I guess I should change then.” You nod. “I’ll see you tonight then, right? For movie night?” Could you really sit through a movie with him after what Sukuna just did, after what he told you? An ache starts as you recall what he had revealed to you, and your eyes meet Yuji’s as you nod again.

“Yeah. Tonight.”

#yuji x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujitsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut

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thephantomsdream · 4 months

Text

Let's be real for a second.

Ghost likes you a lil mean. Just enough. To him, to his mates, to everyone. He can fight. He will fuck anyone up who dares to react aggressively to you, so it doesn't matter if you're sassy, snarky, plainly put a little shit. He won't stop you, he's not gonna "tame" you, he's definitely gonna fucking eat it up and tease you, loving your remarks, clever, funny or straight up mean. The man will be smirking behind his mask (or straight up giving you heart-eyes at home). Don't be unnecessarily mean though, it's not a good look on anyone. Oh, god, and if your humor is dark? You got the man snorting and fucking giggling*(1), shoulders shaking and him trying to hold it in as you're plain roasting someone.

Be mean to him. He tests the waters, dropping one of his incredible and fantastic jokes for you to roll your eyes at him and tell him to rather wear a clown mask, since he's such a joke, and I swear he folds. Wants to pin you down and fuck you raw until you're a sobbing mess that knows nothing else but his name? Of course, and know he'd be mocking you, because where's that snarky mouth of yours, hmm? Oh, ya, busy sucking on his fingers. But until then, he's lowkey following you around dropping stupid joke after stupid joke until you're actually angry and amused. He got you smiling somehow? Gets him feeling like a young boy with a crush, silly butterflies and all.

Give him a bitch-face. Raised brow and unimpressed face at anyone and he's just eyes on you. Fucking hell, he's creepy too. Ghost is fucking intimidating as he is but if he just fixates on something, big brown eyes locked onto you and (big, awkward because let's be fucking for real, boy's actually fucking awkward) body frozen. Just 🧍‍♂️. (I'm fucking wheezing, he just 🧍‍♂️👁👁 and you know it!)

"Fuck are you looking at, weirdo?" That's bloody foken lovely!

And!

AND! He just (again, awkwardly) hovers and makes shit jokes but is so helpful to you in any way he can because in reality he's garbage with words but with actions he's much better. Regardless of where you met, he'll find a way in your life because you bring him joy and he just can't seem to let go. Simon tries to convince himself too that it ain't a good idea, that you're better off. Aha. Yeah, then you just look at him in a way when someone else says something absolutely fucking stupid and he just... Yeah, he's yours.

Be mean to him, then let him shove his face in your tits. Pull his hair a little but wrap your arms around him. Bite him and call him an idiot if you want, as long as you call him your idiot. That's Simon to you.

(But when you're nice to only him, he feels special. Make this man feel special, yeah? He needs it.)

(1): I actually imagined him in his barracks, him kicking his feet while he wears a pink robe, writing in his pink diary (with a pink pen with one of those fluffy balls at the end) "Dear diary, my lovie called me an asshole today. My heart is still racing. We shall mary in spring." and drawing hearts around his and your initials together.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #not proofread #who needs proofreading lol bye

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mywritersmind · 19 days

Text

THE BOOTH - LN4

summary : The booth. A notorious club in the heart of london, where y/n and lando met again after two years of silence.

listen up : fewtrell!reader. She sits in his lap. no smut, just hot and suggestive. creepy guy in the beginning! Prob my fav short i’ve written omg

word count : 1732

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“No.” I giggle out of uncomfortableness at the man getting closer to me.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink.” the man reeks of alcohol and has fucked up teeth. I’ve seen enough. I pull down the bottom of my mini dress as I stand.

“No.” I repeat, pushing past him. The club is crowded and sticky, I see my friends but a hand around my wrist pulls me back.

“Really? Too good for me?” He scoffs in my face but the next thing I know he’s being pushed away from me.

“She is.” The voice comes from the man in front of me, the guy who pushed this dickhead away. “Piss off. She’s with me.”

The guy seems intimidated enough because he gives me a dirty look and leaves. “Thank y-” I pause when the man turns around.

I pause because the man is my childhood crush, brothers best friend, and fucking formula one driver.

“Lando?” I’m genuinely shocked that the britt I haven’t seen in two years is standing in front of me.

“Y/n!?” He looks me up and down, his mouth open, “Fuck… You look good.” I could say the same for him, in a navy button down, jeans, and his jewelry adorning his hands. He’s ridiculously hot.

I laugh, “Careful Lan, my brother could be lurking.” I switch my weight onto one leg as he smirks.

Max loves Lando. Max loves me.

Therefore, Max HATED the thought of us even speaking. We were all friends in childhood but our teens hit and suddenly I was completely off limits. I’m pretty sure he noticed how much I asked about Lando and swore that he would kill both of us if anything happened.

Someone walks behind him, causing him to get closer, his hand brushing against my hip, “Don’t scare me, yeah?”

I bite my lip at the thought, we start walking across the room, Lando’s hand firmly on me now as he ‘guides’ me. “Don’t worry. Idiots in Monaco… which means we have free rein.”

I see his jaw clench, his drink slide onto his lips again, “I’d like to keep my friendship.”

“I’d like to lose my panties.” I’m quick to reply, messing with Lando used to be my favorite thing.

You see, Lando is Max’s best friend. He feels bad lying and this would definitely be considered a betrayal of trust.

But for me… Max is my brother. I can lie and do whatever I want with no remorse. Lando is something I could do easily and as much as it would make me happy to piss off my brother, Norris has always been that one guy in the back of my mind.

“Christ Y/n. Missed your remarks.” We make it to the wall, it’s a bit quieter over here.

“You mean you missed my flirting?” I look up at him, he just bites his lip, hiding his smile.

“I missed you.” He surprises me with this.

“I missed you too.” I push my hand through my hair, “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Really good.” He smiles big and I know it’s because of his racing.

“Watched your win in Zandvoort.” I sigh, “Simply lovely was brutal.” He rolls his eyes, laughing and leaning his head back on the wall.

“Not you too!”

“It was hilarious! I liked it!” I hit his arm and the way he looks at me… it’s like every emotion that I've tucked away and only opened up in the darkness of my bedroom after midnight, comes out then. “I like this too.”

My hand goes to the back of his neck, playing with his curls that shape his baby mullet.

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, his eyes cut into me, his voice weak.

“What?” I say innocently.

“You always do this.”

“Do what, Norris?” Lando never was that much taller than me, but something about the two passed years has changed that.

His tongue runs over his teeth, he’s about to say something but two guys appear next to us, “Mate! We’ve been looking for you!” Another British man speaks, Alex Albon to be exact.

“Found a friend?” Carlos sainz eyes me, dressed in all black.

I smile at the drivers, Lando eyes Carlos. “Max’s sister. Y/n.” They both nod and look much too interested in how Lando says it, “Y/n… this is Alex and Carlos.”

“Pleasure.” I smile wide. I am an F1 fan, it’s a bit weird seeing Lando on the grid but I’ll sit and watch with Max almost every weekend that we’re together.

“Pleasures all ours! I’ve always wanted to meet Lando’s childhood crush!” Lando hits Carlos, making him grab his stomach, “Worth it!” The Spanish man chokes out.

Lando scratches the back of his neck, not looking at me. “Are you here with anyone?” Alex asks me, I knew he would be nice.

“Yeah! I’m not sure where they are but…”

“That’s okay. You have us now!” Alex and I end up getting a drink, Lando stays back with Carlos who’s definitely teasing him.

I get a vodka lemonade and four shots. Alex and I are already best friends and laughing so hard that Carlos and Lando won’t stop asking us what’s so funny.

They don’t know that I showed Alex a photo of Lando and I as smurfs when we were five.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

LANDO NORRIS

Describing Y/n is something i’ve done many times. To friends, for context in stories, but if i’d really describe her… I don’t think I would have an ending point.

She’s got long blonde hair. She cut it all off when she was fifteen and I almost fainted when I didn’t recognize her. She loved it.

She’s confident, you can see it in her walk. Her hips sway and the click of her heels is something I'll never forget.

When she talks to you, all attention is on you, her eyes are hazel, appearing brown in the dark but if you get close enough… you’ll see the green.

She never quite had an awkward stage, always been beautiful, probably always will be. I haven’t seen her in years yet she acts like I talked to her yesterday.

Y/n sucks on a lime after her shot, smiling and clapping her hands together, “God, I feel like i’m in highschool!”

I obviously didn’t go to school with her. She’s a year younger and Max would non stop complain about her. She was more popular than him, going out, and was basically friends with everyone.

I remind myself again that Max is the reason why my arm is around the couch and not her waist.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

Y/N

“Norris!” I stand, holding out my hand, “Picture time.” I smile as he stands with me.

“What?” Carlos asks.

“Called the booth for a reason, Sainz!” I grin at the boys, gripping Lando’s hand tight and maneuvering us through the crowd.

There’s one photo booth in the back corner of the club. It’s notorious for famous photos and making everyone look good.

I look back at the boys who all look confused. All except Lando.

We came to the booth when Lando was in town from F2, we were 17 and 18. Max had gone off with some girl and we found ourselves in this exact booth.

We swore never to talk about it.

But I’m all for repeating history.

“Fewtrell…” He warns in my ear as we walk to the starred booth.

I glance back, dragging out his name, “Norris.”

He gets in first, unlike us as teens, only one person can fit. I smile and watch Lando’s face drop, I sit down on his lap, “Playing with fire here, love.” he says in my ear.

“I don’t mind getting burned.” He slips two coins in, his hand moving to my waist and holding me steady.

We smile first.

SNAP

I move a bit and give him bunny ears.

SNAP

Lando clears his throat, gripping my skin tighter as he looks at me. I move again, my skirt riding up a bit. “Trying to kill me?”

I smile and kiss his cheek, feeling something hard against me.

SNAP

“Of course.” I look at him, “The memories in here… You remember?”

“I’d be an idiot to forget.”

His hand moves down my hip, closer to my thigh. I look at him again as the photo booth starts up for the second time, “I shouldn’t.” He whispers, my face centimeters from his. I hear the whistles outside.

I shift once more, turning more to him. He groans, his head falling backwards and his eyes closing, “Give me a good reason.”

SNAP

He opens his eyes, meeting mine. I know I've got him. My hand rests on his neck, my rings pressing against his skin. He mumbles something but it’s too loud, “Speak up, Norris.”

“Never spoken.” His eyes flick to my lips, trying to get me to promise this is a secret.

“Never ever.” He leans in closer.

SNAP

“Come on rule breaker… I believe in you.” I whisper in his ear and it breaks him. I’m pulling his head closer to me, his lips on mine, a relief like no other.

He grabs ass, pulling me closer in the tiny space. I slip my tongue in his mouth, whimpering a bit. He bites my lip. I’m melting into him. It’s hot and needy but so much more than I could have ever wanted.

SNAP

Kissing Lando at Seventeen was scandalous and drunken. Kissing Lando at Twenty Three flat out sexy.

“Need you…” He whispers into the kiss which makes me almost come undone right then and there.

Someone bangs on the booth, “Alright Lovebirds!” Lando laughs but I'm the one to pull away.

“I can’t leave this booth.” He says quickly, his face red and sweaty.

“You’ll be fine-” I understand what he’s talking about when I go to leave and something brushes against my leg, “Oh.”

He looks away from me, blushing.

I smile, proud of myself for the boner and his pink cheeks, “Aw come on! I’ll cover you.” I wink and he rolls his eyes, He walks out behind me, his arms firmly on my waist again.

The two drivers grin at us, “You covering a boner?” Carlos starts but gets punched for the second time tonight by Lando. He holds his stomach again, “Still worth it!”

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #lando imagine #lando norris smut

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aemondsbabe · 7 months

Text

Give Me an O!

summary: billy walks in on you in a bit of a compromising situation, and you finally go after what you want

pairing: billy hargrove x cheerleader!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, reader is very flexible, minor injury it's fine, piv sex, unprotected sex oopsy daisy, public sex technically, hand over mouth, fingering, breast/nipple play if you blink, dirty talk, reader's hair is long enough that she can have a ponytail but no other physical descriptors are used, billy is a himbo, steve harrington cameo

word count: 5k

a/n: finally getting around to a request from @sweetshifter! thank you for the idea bby & i hope ya enjoy! also, my first time writing for stranger things! yay! images in the header are for aesthetic purposes only!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @unwanted-animal

🖤 my masterlist

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“You sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” Your best friend asks as she slings her gym bag over her shoulder, “I don’t mind staying a couple minutes.”

“Nah,” you shrug, still panting a little from practice as you lean to the side with a little sigh, stretching down toward your leg, “You go on, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

“Alright, cool,” she chirps, glossy lips flicking up into that sincere, beaming smile that had become her signature, “Bye!” She calls over her shoulder as she turns, white tennis shoes thumping against the shiny wooden floor as your name echoes around the gym.

“Bye, Chrissy!” You reply with a smile, glancing up as the heavy metal doors at the side of the room click closed, leaving you alone for the time being.

With a tired huff, you check your watch, one that matched Chrissy’s exactly – gold with a baby pink face. You’d gotten them at the mall last summer, a joint birthday present.

4:34pm.

A sigh leaves your lips as you lunge forward, hands planted firmly on your hips as you try to ignore the slight burn in your thigh. So, that’s… like, forty-five minutes until basketball practice starts, you think, eyes pointed up at the white metal ceiling as you do mental math, trying to figure out exactly how long you’ll have to work on your stretches.

Deciding to give yourself a few more minutes before calling it a day, you breathe out steadily through your pursed lips as you switch sides and lunge forward again, savoring the light burn in your calf. After a fifteen second count, you move onto your hands and knees, needing to stretch out your back.

You hum softly under your breath, one hand planted firmly against the blue tumbling mat beneath you as the other reaches back and grabs onto one of your ankles, your limbs forming a graceful arch above you. A small grunt leaves you as you pull your leg up as high as you can, before dropping it down and reaching back with your other hand to do the other side. Mid-pose, you swear you hear one of the gym doors click open, the one out to the hallway with the locker rooms and various storage closets judging by the direction, but you’re so focused on holding your pose, you honestly can’t be sure.

Huffing, you decide to just ignore it – Probably just the janitor or something, you think, keeping your eyes focused, once again, on the white metal ceiling as you roll over onto your back.

Breathing steadily, you let your eyes slip closed as you press both legs together before slowly lifting them up, using your hands and elbows to support your back as you lift onto your shoulders. Wincing slightly at the twinge of pain from your left one, you work through it, trying to keep your breath steady. As your green and gold cheer skirt pools at your waist, you silently pray that if it is a janitor, that it’s at least not the creepy one.

Slowly but surely, you work both legs up and over your head until the tips of your white sneakers press into the mat, your arms planted firmly onto the floor for support.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, you count silently, breathing a little shakily as you focus on balancing… and on ignoring your shoulder.

Suddenly, a loud wolf-whistle cuts through the silence of the gym, punctuated by a few slow claps and the heavy footsteps of someone walking across the wooden gym floor.

“Aah!” You squeak as you topple to the side, concentration thoroughly broken. Huffing, you prop yourself up on one elbow as your head snaps up, eyes already narrowed into an irritated glare. Upon seeing who it is, you can’t help but sneer.

“Can I help you, Hargrove?” You sigh, exasperated, rolling your eyes as you angle both legs out in a side split, determined to get through your stretches even with the added annoyance of Billy’s presence.

“Just admiring the view, princess,” he drawls, blue eyes trailing up the length of each of your spread legs in a way that makes your cheeks flush, “You’re real good at that, aren’t you?” He questions, plump lips quirked up into that signature, flirtatious smirk.

“Good at what?” You ask, brows furrowing as you bend over to the left, easily grasping the toe of your tennis shoe as the muscles in your legs stretch into a taut, familiar ache.

He chuckles at that, hands on his hips as he studies you, the spicy, woodsy smell of his cologne filling the space around you. He cocks his head to the side, pearly white teeth flashing every few seconds as he chews a piece of gum.

“Stretching,” he all but purrs, golden curls blowing slightly from the large fans that hum loudly on the ceiling. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he ogles at you, watching carefully as you bend to the right, “I bet it’d be really easy to just fold you up like a pretzel, huh, sweets?”

With a sigh, you finally let yourself relax for a moment and tilt your head up to look at the boy as you lean back on your hands, your ponytail swishing across your shoulder blades as you do.

“In your dreams, Billy,” you murmur, trying to keep the expression on your face plaid, wholly uninterested, which is easier said than done.

You don’t like Billy, and you’re very quick to correct anyone who says you do, even if it is just friendly teasing. But, well, there’s something about him that just draws people into his orbit – charisma combined with a certain mystique. You knew from talking to the girls in the locker room that he was a lady’s man, and a player, but from how they all talked about him, there appeared to be something more there, some hidden layer that no one had been able to crack yet. He’s different from the other boys in Hawkins, no small town charm to hide behind.

Plus, come on, he’s gorgeous. You might not be Billy’s biggest fan but you have eyes.

“Damn right, in my dreams,” he murmurs, pulling you from your thoughts as he draws out every syllable of your name in a low, husky tone, familiar smirk playing at his lips like always.

Cocking your head, you narrow your eyes as you peer up at him, “Aren’t you going out with Amber now?”

“Wouldn’t exactly call it going out…,” he answers as he bends down on one knee to retie the laces of his shoe, shooting you a little wink as he does so.

“Does Amber know that?”

He pauses at that, a little huff of laughter bubbling up from his chest as he fixes you with a grin that is much too self-satisfied for your liking. “Now, princess,” he starts slowly, blue eyes narrowing at you playfully as he rests a forearm across his knee, “Why do you care so much about what I’m doing with Amber?”

“She’s my friend, Billy,” you say, sitting up a little more, the chill from the AC units making the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end.

“So, it’s definitely not because you’re, I dunno, jealous or anything?”

“No!” You cringe inwardly as you say it, too quick and too defensive and just what the blue eyed boy had been hoping for, judging by the smug grin plastered on his face.

This is how it’s been between the two of you for months now, ever since his stupid Camaro had rumbled into the school’s parking lot way back in August. Since then, it’s been a whirlwind of teasing jokes, sitting through History class after History class as you feel those blue eyes practically boring a hole in the back of your head, and somehow mustering up the willpower to dodge his advances.

In the nearly three months since his arrival, Billy had managed to charm his way through at least a handful of girls, maybe more depending on which rumors you listen to, but you are determined not to fall for it, not to be just another notch on his bedpost.

Which would be a lot easier if he’d leave you the hell alone.

Flustered, you pull your knees up, tucking your chin over top of them as your arms wrap around your calves, silently rolling your eyes as Billy drops to the blue tumbling mat, rolling onto his back with a satisfied sigh, making it clear to you that he was here to stay.

“Why’re you here so early, anyway?” You question, glancing at your watch once more, “Basketball practice isn’t for, like, another half hour.”

“Had to drop my stupid step-sister off at some trash arcade,” he grunts, annoyed, “Didn’t wanna waste the gas to go all the way home, plus…,” he pauses, tilting his head to the side to slyly grin at you once more, “I figured I might get here early enough to catch the end of cheer practice.”

“Creep,” you scoff, much more playfully than you’d intended to.

The two of you fall into a, surprisingly, comfortable beat of silence. You let your eyes trail over Billy as his own droop shut, one arm propped behind his head as he lazes on the gym mat, jaw clenching every so often as he works the gum in his mouth. You start at his feet, taking in the faded black canvas material of his Converse before you let your eyes roam up his long, tanned, muscular legs. Finally, you reach the familiar dark green shade of his school-branded shorts and your eyes wander up the expanse of his stomach and chest, covered by the grey t-shirt he wears, the familiar eyes of Hawkins High’s tiger mascot staring blankly into your own.

You nearly gasp as your eyes trail up to his face again, only to find his steely eyes already looking at you, a knowing smirk etched into his face as you feel the apples of your cheeks flush.

“It’s rude to stare, princess,” Billy drawls, catching you red handed.

“And it’s not rude to perv on me stretching?”

“Never said it wasn’t,” he shrugs with a little chuckle, sitting up and resting one forearm on a bent knee. You merely roll your eyes as he studies you for a second, the blush on your cheeks deepening enough that you can feel the slight tingle of blood rushing under the surface.

“Whatever,” you sigh, shaking your head as you stretch your legs out in front of you again. You stretch forward again, letting out a breath as you grab at your ankles and try to ignore the way Billy sits up, propping his forearm up on a bent knee.

“Could you, like, put your legs behind your head and all that?”

“Probably,” you say with a little eye roll.

“Will you?”

“Not for you!”

The two of you carry on like that for a moment longer — you working through various stretches and familiar yoga poses as Billy seems overly curious about each one, questioning if you can twist into all kinds of poses.

“Can you do a handstand and do the splits?” He questions, grinning when you groan in frustration, eyes trailing up your long legs to the bottom of your short cheer skirt.

With a huff, you stand with one hand on your hip, the other pinching at the bridge of your nose as Billy’s incessant questions throw you off the silent count in your head again.

“Did you want something or are you just trying fuck me over?”

“Mmm, close, princess,” the blond teases, earning another glare from you. Playfully, he holds his hands up in surrender, “You’re single, aren’t you?” He asks, smirking triumphantly at the way you balk.

“I’m not talking about this with you, Hargrove.”

His smirk widens when you don’t deny it, blue eyes darkening as they travel over the length of your body once more. “Look, all I’m saying is that the guys talk in the locker room and… well, I can’t help but notice that your pretty name just doesn’t come up.”

“Maybe I have better things to do than put out for you assholes,” you smirk, quickly stretching out your problem shoulder before kneeling back on the tumbling mat, meaning to finish up with a couple quick pushups.

Undeterred, Billy merely matches your smirk with one of his own, watching as you kneel next to him. “Just come with me to Harrington’s Halloween party next weekend, sweetness,” he offers, his voice a low rumble, “Come on, a couple hours, some drinks. Hell, I’ll even dress up with you, whatever you want.”

“Hmm,” you hum, taking a second to tighten your ponytail as you shoot him a playful little smile, “Whatever I want, huh?”

“Name it,” he says lowly, watching appreciatively as you get on all fours.

“Okay, how about…,” you stall, drawing out your words as you extend your legs behind you, grunting softly as your shoulder zings with pain once more, “Willie and Indiana Jo– Ah!” You cut yourself off, exclaiming in pain as you land with a small thud on the mat, wincing.

“Whoa, hey,” Billy says softly, scrambling onto his knees, brows furrowed as he gingerly helps you roll over onto your back, “You okay?”

You nod, glancing away with a little embarrassed huff as you rub at your shoulder. “Yeah, it’s nothing. I just probably sprained it earlier during practice or something.”

“Lemme take a look at it,” he says, offering a hand to help you up.

Not expecting such chivalrous behavior from Hargrove of all people, you only nod dumbly and let him pull you up off the mat, chest heaving.

“Here,” he murmurs, gently nudging at your arm until you turn your back to him. You can hear the tumbling mat crinkle as he steps closer to you, the warmth from his chest practically radiating through his t-shirt as the spicy musk of his cologne seems to envelope you once again.

“You better not be using this as an excuse to feel me up,” you warn, albeit playfully, pulling your ponytail over the opposite shoulder.

“In your dreams,” he teases, goosebumps peppering your skin from the low way he says your name and from the gentle brush of his fingers over the back of your arm as they trail their way up to your shoulder.

He’s silent for a moment, carefully pressing warm, slightly rough fingers against your skin, watching until you wince just slightly when he pokes at your shoulder blade. “That’s where it hurts?”

“Mhm,” you nod, lips parting ever so slightly as he kneads around the area. You can practically feel him smirking when you sigh a moment later, his fingers working perfectly over the sore muscle as his other hand anchors itself at your hip, “You’re… actually, like, really good at this,” you murmur with a little laugh, needing to find some way to break the silence.

“My mom is – was, she was a masseuse, back when we lived in Cali,” Billy explains, leaning in closer, his lips all but brushing against your ear as he speaks softly, like he’s telling you some deep, dark secret, “I might’ve looked at one or two of her books.”

“Really?” You ask, brows furrowing as you turn your head to look at him over your shoulder.

“Sue me, I was thirteen and they had nudes in ‘em,” he chuckles, biting into his bottom lip when your breathy laugh morphs into a moan when he presses just right against your shoulder. The fingers of his other hand tighten on your hip as he pulls you back against him, his lips just barely grazing over the crook of your neck, “But I still picked up a thing or two.”

“Clearly,” you breathe, brows tugging together as you tilt your head to the side, an open invitation. The blond doesn’t need any more convincing and you let your eyes flutter shut as his lips descend upon your neck, pressing hot kisses against the sensitive skin.

The rise and fall of your chest grows shallow as the two of you seem to lose yourselves; you gasp as the hand on your hip trails down over your thigh, until Billy can drag the tips of his fingers beneath the white and gold hem of your pleated skirt just as the hand on your shoulder begins slowly moving around your ribs, to your front. Despite the AC units humming away, you can’t help but feel flush as he presses himself against you, already half-hard against the small of your back.

With a gasp, you jerk away from him at the sound of a door opening and closing in the hallway, muffled voices and laughter filtering in through the closed doors of the gym.

“Dammit,” Billy mumbles behind you as he quickly glances at the clock hanging above one of the exits, sighing disappointedly when he sees the time – fifteen minutes until practice.

Deciding to finally give in to the wants you’ve been harboring for months, you grab one of his hands and playfully bite your lip, nodding to one of the sets of gym doors, “Follow me.”

Smirking, he follows behind you as you quickly make your way to the doors, both of you pausing for a second to make sure the coast is clear before you bolt down the hallway. A second later, you’re pushing Billy through a door into a random classroom.

“This is the old Health room,” you explain, gasping as he turns and presses you against the old door, the metal of it cool against your back as you quickly scan over the empty room, dim other than the early evening light spilling in through the thin slats of the blinds, “No one ever comes in here.”

“Uh huh, fascinating,” he nods, turning his head to spit his gum into a small trash can by the door, before eagerly pressing his lips to yours. He smirks into the kiss as you mewl, his lips parting to quickly swallow the sweet sounds you make.

Always one to give as good as you get, your lips move against his just as fervently, both of your hands trailing up underneath his t-shirt as you rub over his stomach, muscles taut under your touch. His tongue slips into your mouth in the same second he presses against you, his thin gym shorts doing nothing to conceal the hardness of his length as it presses against your lower stomach.

You arch into his touch as his hands cup your breasts through your uniform, a low growl rumbling through his chest as you rake your nails over his chest and down his stomach. Boldly, you reach down and palm at his cock, savoring the surprised grunt he lets out before you quickly nudge your hand down the front of his shorts and into his boxers.

“Shit,” he breathes, one hand still kneading at your breast as the other skates back up your thigh, his forehead resting against yours. Biting your lip, you watch through hooded eyes as you experimentally stroke over his cock, marveling at how hard he already is, like velvet over steel.

Just as you feel him twitch in your grasp, the blond pulls away from you with a teasing grin and presses one last kiss against your lips before tapping the back of your thighs, urging you to jump.

“Fuck, there you go,” Billy rasps, fingers digging into the curve of your ass as you clamber up into his arms, your shoulder only barely smarting as you wrap your arms around his neck. “I gotcha,” his muscular biceps flex as he quickly walks a few feet from the door and deposits on you on top of the, thankfully barren, teacher’s desk pushed haphazardly into the corner.

“Billy,” you sigh, the sound being practically pushed from your lungs as he presses himself back between your thighs, cheer skirt rumbled around your waist as he all but folds you in half – your hands cling to his shirt desperately, one leg wrapped securely around his hip as the other ends up slung nearly over his shoulder.

“Yeah, princess?” He taunts with a wolfish grin, smirking at the way the muscles of your thigh twitch as his fingers move toward your pussy, hardly hidden beneath your boyshorts. You all but levitate off the desk as two of his fingers swipe over your slit, the apples of your cheeks flushing when he chuckles triumphantly, the thin cotton doing nothing to hide how wet you are. “Finally gonna give me what I want?”

You can feel your ponytail bobbing wildly at the crown of your head when you nod, a whiny moan blooming from your lips when he moves his fingers in tight circles against your clit, the flimsy material of your underwear quickly dampening against his touch.

“Yeah, yeah, Billy,” your hands tremble as you pull at his t-shirt, desperate for what you’ve been wanting for so long, “C’mon, please!”

“Easy, tiger,” he laughs, tongue running over his bottom lip as he easily tugs his shirt over his head, your own hands scrambling to push down your boyshorts. Taking mercy on you yet again, he helps you, eagerly tugging the white cotton down your legs. He damn near tears them in two as he pushes your underwear over one sneaker, letting them dangle from your ankle.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, crowding against you again as you lean back on the desk, propped up on your elbows. You stare up at him, lips parted, as he all but folds you in half, warm hands pressing against the backs of your thighs, “Fucking leaking and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Oh!” You hiss, trying your hardest to keep your voice down, head thudding back against the desk as Billy quickly tugs his shorts down, just enough to get his cock out, and teasingly runs it through your folds, “Billy, oh my God, just do it!” You all but beg, teeth biting into your bottom lip at the wet sounds of him moving against you, deafeningly loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Were you anywhere else, Billy would have absolutely no qualms about teasing you to within an inch of your life – payback for playing cat and mouse with him for almost three months straight. Lucky for you, he’s just as nervous at the thought of getting caught with his pants down as you are, shuddering to think what Neil would do if he got expelled over this.

With a barely contained growl, he pushes into you, his cock sliding easily to the hilt with how wet you are. Your back arches off the desk as he slides home, stretching you beautifully as he fills you completely.

“Oh – oh my God,” you breathe as he stills, giving you a few seconds to adjust. Your hands scramble over the smooth top of the desk before you grab onto his wrists as his hands hook behind your knees.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans – the way he grumbles your name makes your walls clench around his length, punching another grunt from his chest as he starts shallowly thrusting against you, grinding his hips against yours.

The two of you dissolve into a flurry of breathy mewls and sighs, each of you desperately trying to keep quiet as the muffled sounds of skin against skin and the dull creaking of the desk fill the room. Your eyelids flutter as you watch Billy above you, golden curls bouncing with each of his thrusts as a light sheen of sweat covers his tanned chest.

Grunting lowly, he presses harder against the backs of your thighs, practically pressing your kneecaps against the desk below you, blue eyes sparkling as you easily follow his movements. With the small change in angles, the head of his cock thrusts perfectly against that sensitive spot within you, and he grins triumphantly as you tremble beneath him.

“That the spot, princess?” He questions, smirking when you nod your head with a little broken squeak, “Fuck, I can’t wait to get you in a bed – bet you can bend in all kinds of pretty ways, huh?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, Billy,” you agree, willing to agree to just about anything as long as he keeps moving. You can hardly contain the moans spilling from your lips as he works you higher and higher, the adrenaline from the possibility of getting caught as well as the rush of finally having him making you rush toward your end faster than you normally would.

Breathing heavily as your pussy clenches at his cock, he lets go of one of your thighs and shoves your shirt up, unceremoniously taking your bra with it. You bite at the back of one hand as he teases at your breasts, using one hand to pinch and pull at one nipple before moving to the other as he stares down at you with half-lidded eyes, brows furrowed in concentration.

“O-Oh, my – fuck, I’m –” You moan brokenly, squirming beneath him as you feel yourself nearing the edge, teeth biting desperately into your bottom lip as you claw at his forearm and waist.

Cockily licking over his lips, Billy leans forward as he grinds against you, his hips putting pressure on your clit as he covers your mouth with one hand, propping himself up against the desk with an elbow as his other still grasps at the back of your knee.

You squeeze him tightly as the tail end of his happy trail rubs deliciously over you, giving you just enough stimulation to throw you over the edge.

“Yeah, princess,” he encourages, grunting with nearly every thrust into you as he feels you clenching around him, pushing him further and further toward his own edge as he clenches his jaw, determined to hang on as long as possible.

After only a few more thrusts, he quickly pulls out with a small groan. “Fuck, fuck,” he pants, chest heaving as he strokes his cock, painting your lower belly with stripes of his release.

Both of you still for a moment, breathing heavily as you each come down. Half expecting Billy to simply get dressed again and leave, you’re surprised when he softly kisses you, more relaxed this time, as his warm breath fans over your cheek. Dazedly, you kiss him back, your lips moving together unhurriedly as you card your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck.

After a moment, you part and your lips quirk up into a shy smile as he moves back half a step, giving you enough room to sit up.

“Oh, uh,” you breathe, looking down when you feel his cum cooling against your skin. Glancing around the room, you pout a little when you don’t see any tissues or paper towels, “There’s paper towels in the locker room?” You offer, looking over at Billy, watching as he quickly tugs his shorts back into place.

“I got it,” he says with a small smirk and before you have time to question what he means, he quickly tugs your underwear off your ankle and uses them to wipe at your skin, grinning meanly when you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Jackass!” You exclaim, laughing softly despite yourself, “That’s the only pair I have with me!”

“Nothing wrong with going commando, sweetness,” he says with a wink, chuckling when you wrinkle your nose at the thought while you pull your bra and shirt back into place, “Come back to my place and I’ll was ‘em for you, my parents don’t get back until late, anyway.”

“You just want a round two,” you laugh, hopping off the desk and straightening out your skirt the best you can before running your hands over your hair, trying to smooth out your ponytail.

“Told you I was gonna fold you up all pretty,” Billy smirks, crowding against you yet again once he tugs his shirt back on and lightly grasping at your jaw, “Something tells me you won’t have a problem with that either.”

“That’s presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Sure, yeah, I dunno what that means, princess,” he says, grinning when you laugh, your hands pressed against his chest as he quickly tucks your boyshorts into the waistband of his shorts, “Just come back to my place, hm?”

“What about basketball practice? Jason hates when people ditch.”

“You really think I give a shit about what Carver wants?” Billy laughs, taking one of your hands in his as he makes his way toward the door.

“Okay, okay, fine,” you finally agree, rolling your eyes playfully as you let him pull you out into the hall.

“And come with me to the Halloween party?”

“You have quite a list of demands, Hargrove.”

“Hey,” he says with a little shrug, glancing at you as you walk side by side toward the locker rooms, “That’s what you get for teasing me.”

You merely giggle as the two of you round a corner, nearly freezing and nervously glancing over at Billy when you come across Steve, chest heaving as he leans over a water fountain.

Standing straight, he wipes at his lips with the back of his hand, narrowing his eyes at Billy, watching as he quickly scoops up his duffle bag from where he’d tossed it down earlier in the hallway. “Dude, why’re you leaving? You’re almost, like, half an hour late for practice.”

“Yeah, well, tell Carver something came up,” the blond boy huffs dismissively before taking your hand once more. You shoot a bashful smile at Steve, blushing as you and Billy walk toward the doors out to the parking lot.

Behind you, Steve takes a minute to connect the dots, brows furrowing as he plants his hands on his hips. After a second, his eyes widen and he shakes his head.

“Come on, at school?” He calls down the hallway, shaking his head as you and Billy laugh, “Fucking animals, man.”

gen tags: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild @cruelworldlana @mheraxes @eternallyvenus @chaotic-fangirl-blog @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino

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#my writing #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #dacre montgomery #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #smut

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seasons-of-death · 2 months

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brother's best friend

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

genre: smutsmutsmut, minors DNI!!!

synopsis: your brother's best friend has never been too interested in you, but when he sees you after you spent the summer away, he sees you in a new light.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: i've been weirdly into blonde men lately. i might be mentally ill idk. anyway, this is my first time publishing smut so if this sucks i give everyone permission to throw tomatoes at me. and yes i finished writing this at 4am.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

You had known Rafe Cameron for as long as you could remember, and even some of your earliest memories featured him - you simply couldn't remember a time when you didn't know him.

Or, a time when you weren't crushing on him like crazy.

Sometimes, when you were unable to sleep, rolling around in your bed late at night, you couldn't help but cringe at the memories of being a little girl in pigtails and trying to get him to play kissing tag with you, or always bothering him and your brother when he was over, sticking to him like a burdock, or a barnacle. The memories always made you scream into your pillow.

He had always just seen you as his best friend's annoying little sister, some little girl who'd always stuck her nose into things that were none of her business, even though you were only a few years younger than they were. And even as you both got older, things stayed the same. You were nothing but his best friend's little sister.

Until one summer.

It was August, only one week until summer vacation would be over. You'd spent all of your summer at your grandparents' lakehouse five hours away from the rest of your family. And during that summer, a lot changed about you. You got hot.

Or, at least that was the only thing Rafe could think about when he saw you leaning against your kitchen counter, lazily scrolling on your phone while a small, heart-shaped lollipop was between your lips. You were wearing a flimsy black top and frayed denim shorts, and he could see a bit of the tan lines from your bikini from the thin straps of the top.

He had come by to meet up with your brother, but you had simply shrugged and said that he was out, and you didn't know when he'd be back, but that Rafe was welcome to wait for him. And that's how he ended up in your kitchen, unable to keep his eyes off of you, while you simply ignored him. It was unlike any time else; you'd usually be chatting his ear off about something, always wanting his attention. And he did find it adorable sometimes, but he had never really found you that enticing, until now, when you were almost acting like he wasn't even there, standing there, wearing barely anything.

You let out a sigh, rubbing your shoulder absentmindedly, causing your top to cling to your body even more, and his eyes widened when he realized that you weren't wearing a bra. But then, he realized how creepy it must be for him to stare at you, so he cleared his throat, trying his best to look away, while there was an obvious flush on his face.

"So, uh, how was summer?" He asked, trying to come up with something to talk about, and it seemed to work, as you put your phone away and shrugged.

"Pretty uneventful. I pretty much just did what I do here." You said, pulling the lollipop away from your lips with a pop, and he couldn't help but think about how your pretty, plump lips would look wrapped around his co- "How about yours?"

"Yeah, same here..." He said with a hoarse voice, painfully aware of the semi in his cargo shorts.

"Aw, come on." You said, walking over to the dining table he was sitting at, leaning to place your arms on it, basically bending over, allowing him a generous view into your cleavage as you placed the lollipop back in your mouth. "There has to have been something interesting. There's always something here."

"Nope." He muttered, almost unable to tear his eyes away from your cleavage, your nipples hard against the fabric of your flimsy top as you looked at him with raised brows, the semi in his shorts having turned into a proper tent. "Just the same old Outer Banks."

"Lame." You let out a dramatic sigh, pulling the lollipop away from your lips, the lollipop giving them a slight red tint. As you bit down on your lip, the only thing on Rafe's mind was how much he desperately wanted them against his lips.

"Can I ask you something?" He said suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he inspected you.

"Shoot."

"Are you trying to get me to fuck you?"

To say that his sudden and blunt question caught you off guard would be an understatement, your eyes widening and almost causing you to choke on your own spit as you looked at him.

"Cause if that's what you want I can just bend you over the counter right now."

He could see that some of your bravado had crumbled away, a flush that had nothing to do with the temperature creeping onto your cheeks as you cleared your throat and tried to straighten your back, acting nonchalant, but the slight tremor in your voice, as you spoke, was telling him everything he wanted to know. "Oh, yeah?"

He stood up with a grin, and he could see your eyes immediately shoot to the obvious hardness in his shorts, your breath hitching slightly before your eyes flicked back up to his, his hands creeping onto your hips, a part of his calloused hands meeting the slip of bare skin between your top and your shorts.

"You have no idea how much I wanna do that. Ever since I saw you in that top, I've just been wanting to take it off," Rafe slipped one of the spaghetti straps off your shoulders, "and get my hands on those pretty tits."

His hand brushed against the fabric covering your nipple, causing you to shiver and let out a small gasp as you leaned into his touch, clearly wanting more. He leaned closer to your ear, whispering in a husky tone.

"So, how is it? You want it?"

The words caused a wave of heat and desire to shoot to your core, as you nodded slowly.

"Say it. Say it, baby."

The commanding tone in his voice almost caused you to moan, as you looked at him in the eye, speaking with a shaky, trembling voice. "Yeah..."

With that, he had lifted you into the air, his strong hands around your thighs as he held you up, the veins in his arms pronounced as he carried you toward your bedroom.

The moment your back hit the bed, it was like something had taken over him. His body was immediately pressed against yours, his lips attached to yours as if by magnetic force, rough, sloppy kisses that neither of you could get enough of, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he kneaded your breast through the flimsy top.

You pulled at the hem of his shirt as he kissed you, and he pulled away slightly with a satisfied grin on his face as he pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it to the floor, your eyes immediately shooting to his abs.

"What? You like what you see?" He said with a cocky, shit-eating grin that might as well have been tattooed onto his face, and you ran your hands over his muscled, causing him to tense up as he let out a small groan.

His body was back on yours, as Rafe started pressing kisses down your neck, the little bites he'd occasionally sprinkle on your soft skin causing you to let out a small hiss until he ran his tongue over them as if soothing you. His hands were fumbling with the button and the zipper of your denim shorts while his lips were sucking marks into the skin of your neck, until he detached himself from you again, this time to pull your shorts off

He looked down at you, rubbing his chin slightly as he chuckled softly, looking down at you on your bed. Your black panties matched your top, and your lips were plumped even more by the kisses you two had shared, your hair messily thrown around.

"Fuck, you look gorgeous."

His hoarse words caused a flush to run through your body and you covered your face with your hands, before he leaned over you once again, pulling your hands away from your face, and gently pinned them to the mattress. "Don't you dare cover your face... I wanna see how pretty you look when I make you cum on my cock."

"Rafe..." You breathed out his name, making him grin as his hands released your wrists, and his hand slid under your top and up to your breast, kneading it roughly as you arched into his touch, your breathing now completely erratic.

He pulled your top over your head, his pretty lips immediately attaching themselves to your sensitive nipple, sucking it into his mouth in a way that caused you to let out lewd moans while his other hand kneaded your other breast, your hands now gripping your sheets tightly, trying to bite down on your lip.

You felt slightly relieved when his lips pulled away from your nipple, the stimulation driving you crazy with need and desire, only for him to attach his mouth to your other nipple, his hand now going to knead the breast that he just had in his mouth.

After a while, his lips started traveling lower, leaving little kisses and bites all over your abdomen, each of them feeling as if they were lighting up every single vein in your body. When his lips arrived at the waistband of your panties, he simply grinned up at you wolfishly, as he started pressing teasing kisses over your panties.

When he arrived at your clothed core, you let out a small whine, and he looked up at you, licking his lips. "Fuck, you're soaked... Ruined your pretty little panties, all because of me..." He said with a small groan.

"Rafe, please..."

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want."

His commanding tone only added to your need to feel him in you, and if he was making you plead, then so be it. You weren't above begging for it, not when he had you like this.

"I want you... I need you, please..."

He let out a chuckle as he pulled away, going to unbutton his shorts, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them and throwing them away.

"Well, if you insist."

His fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, throwing them to the floor and looking down at you filled with desire, the fabric of his boxers was starting to feel suffocating against his erection.

He took off his boxers, letting his dick free, and you look at him with slightly wide eyes. Based on his reputation, you would've guessed he was big, but not... big.

"What's wrong baby...?" He said, his body against yours once again, his cock so close to where you wanted, needed him the most. "Worried you won't be able to take me, huh?"

"Mmhm..." You hum with an uncertain nod, making him chuckle against your skin. "Don't laugh!" You say, feeling your face starting to warm up.

"It's okay, baby..." He brought his hand to your face, cupping your cheek, "I'll be gentle, just for you..."

His hand went to stroke the base of his cock, already leaking some precum as he looked down at your naked form, laying there all pretty and needy for him.

Rafe positioned himself at your entrance, looking up at you, pushing away some strands of hair that were messily strewn across your face. "You ready for me?" He asked, and as he rubbed his tip against your entrance, you couldn't help but let out a whimper that was just pure want. "Is that a yes?"

"Yeah... I'm ready..." You said softly, and you let out a high-pitched gasp when you felt him enter you slowly, feeling like he was filling you up even though all of him wasn't even in you yet.

"Fuck, you're tight..." He breathed out as he pushed more of himself into you, giving you time to get used to his size before he thrust all of him into you, causing you to let out a moan.

He started slowly moving inside of you, every bit of movement causing you to moan, arching into him, his name the only thing that managed to slip past your lips, your hands tightly clenching the sheets as you started to get used to the way he was stretching you out, your eyes pressed closed.

"You look so gorgeous like this, baby... God, I could watch your face forever..." He groaned, his hand traveling down to your aching cunt, his thumb starting to draw circles on your clit as he slightly picked up his pace, leaving you trembling underneath him with pleasure.

"Oh god, Rafe..." You moan under him, the way he was filling you causing your brain to start to short-circuit, his cock hitting that spot inside of you that made you feel so good, your legs wrapped around his torso, trying to pull him even closer to him, making him groan your name.

His ringed thumb was starting to pick up its pace on your clit, while he was thrusting himself into you harder and faster, making everything disappear from your mind, your eyes pressed closed. You could tell that you had lost all concept of volume control, but you didn't care; he was making you feel so good it was as if everything else in the world disappeared.

You felt the familiar feeling brewing up in your abdomen, and you clenched the sheets even harder, your moans turning breathier. "Fuck, Rafe, I'm so close..."

"Open your eyes for me, baby..." He said softly, "Want you to look at me while you cum on my cock like a good girl..."

I forced my eyes open, and as I looked at him on top of me, I couldn't help but let out a loud moan of his name, his thumb circling my clit, his cock hitting the right spot at the right pace.

"Come for me, baby... Let me see you come..."

The coil inside of your abdomen was building up, every vein in your body feeling like he had lit them on fire with his simple touch as you looked into his blue eyes as he thrust into you.

And then it just... snapped.

You felt yourself come undone, moaning his name as you climax, your cunt clenching around him so tightly it was making him groan as he tried to hold back his own release, determined to let you ride through your orgasm. You arched into him, tightening the hold your legs had around his waist.

But as you did so, it was the last straw for him. He felt himself spill into you with a groan while you were mid-orgasm, clenching around him as if trying to drain all of his cum out of him and into you, your moans mixing with his groans.

Heavy breaths filled the room as you both were getting down from your respective orgasms and when he pulled out of you and saw some of his cum leak out of you, he could swear he was starting to get hard again.

He collapsed onto the bed next to you, letting out a soft chuckle as he looked at you, both of you completely blissed out of your minds. He turned to his side, looking at you with a grin as he ran a hand over your bare chest.

"Has anyone told you how beautiful you look when you come?"

You could feel your cheeks warm up, causing you to chuckle as you turned to your side, hiding your head in his chest as he pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

Suddenly, you could hear the front door open and close, and you looked up at Rafe with a small chuckle.

"I guess my brother's back."

"Aw, I was having much more fun waiting for him." He said with that familiar grin, pulling you into a soft kiss.

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x you #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #drew starkey

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imaginedisish · 1 month

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Hungry Like the Wolf (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Loved this request. Thank you so much anon! Here is the *jealous sex* with Logan. Inspired by "Hungry Like the Wolf" by Duran Duran. Enjoy!

Summary: You're cornered by a scum-bag frat-boy while on a mission in a club, and Logan gets possessive, deciding he needs to remind everyone who you're really with.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), rough/jealous sex, jealous!Logan, softdom!Logan, implied!age gap, creepy unnamed OC who doesn't fuck off, Logan gets a little (very) possessive, breeding kink?(if you squint), mention of alcohol, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,513

This has to be the most ridiculous mission Charles has ever sent the team on.

Music pulses through your body, the bass of the song shaking the dance floor and the walls of the club. Everything feels blurred, unstable, just out of your grasp. Colored lights flash rapidly, and you look around hoping to find Logan out of the corner of your eye. Naturally, he’s nowhere to be seen, and neither is the rest of the team.

“A club? You’re sending us to get information from a club?” Logan spat, furrowing his brows.

Charles tilted his head to the side, taking a deep breath. “I assure you all, this is well thought out. The information on the sentinels will be placed by the informant on a napkin underneath a martini at the bar at promptly 12:45 AM.”

Logan shook his head, and Scott scoffed. “What is it, big guy? Afraid to have a little fun for once?” “Shut the fuck up, four eyes,” Logan said back. You couldn’t help but laugh at his gruffness, at the way he put Scott in his place.

“Enough,” Charles commanded. “The club is called Nightmoves. Be there by 12:20 AM, no later. Is that understood?” Charles looked to you, Scott, Jean, Logan, and Jubilee individually, and waited for each of you to nod.

“Fine,” Logan huffed.

But now you’re here, alone, somehow separated from the team. You look at the watch on your wrist: 12:44 AM. Shit, you think to yourself, glancing at the bar. You see a hooded figure alone on the far-left side, and you start to make your way over. The person picks up a martini glass, places a new napkin underneath, and walks away. You look back down at your watch: 12:45 AM.

You rush over to the bar, pick up the martini glass, and grab the napkin. The white, thick paper has small numbers scrawled on the back of it in neat, black ink—a set of coordinates. You smile, folding the napkin carefully, and stuffing it into the front pocket of your leather pants.

“Hi there,” an unfamiliar, male voice calls from behind you. You turn around to find a young, 20-something-year-old frat boy ogling you, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. Would’ve remembered.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and smile politely instead. “First time here,” you shout over the music. “And probably my last. I’m heading out, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Let me buy you a drink,” he cuts you off, stepping closer to you.

You take a step back, bumping into the counter of the bar. “I’m alright. Really, I’m not staying—”

“Aw come on, I don’t bite,” he persists. “Unless that’s what you’re into.”

You scoff, disgusted. “Listen, and fucking trust me when I say this, I am not into you. Got it?”

“Hard to get, I like that.” You audibly groan at his ridiculous, disgusting comment, trying to step towards the edge of the bar to make your escape. But he reaches his arm out, his knuckles brushing against your bare shoulder. “You know you want me, baby. Don’t try to—”

The man stops short, his jaw dropping. You take another step to the side, bumping into someone unmistakably warm and familiar. “I think she’s made herself clear, bub,” Logan says from behind you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you in closer.

“A-and who are you?” The man rolls his eyes. “Her father or something?”

“Fuck off, bub,” Logan growls, backing you away from the man. “You’re a disrespectful piece of shit. She told you no, and yet you kept badgering my girl.”

The man swallows harshly, wracking his brain for something to say, for some excuse. “W-well maybe she wanted it!”

“Wanted it?” You groan, rolling your eyes. “Fucking prick.” Logan tugs you away, flipping the guy off with his claw. The frat boy responds by yelling Fucking freaks! shrilly over the synth-pop blasting through the speakers.

“You okay?” Logan asks, his lips at the shell of your ear as he guides you through the club. “Did he hurt you? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, really,” you assure. “Just a fucking weirdo.” But Logan isn’t letting up. His arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you close while guiding you through the crowded club. “I-I got the napkin,” you say, but Logan doesn’t answer. Just when you think he’s heading out the door, he takes a sharp left towards a dimly lit hallway.

He lets go of his grip on your waist, reaching for your hand instead, his fingers intertwining with yours. He doesn’t say a word as he walks past a set of doors—the bathrooms, the coat room, and an office. He looks behind him before trying the knob of a closed door. The knob twists and Logan pushes the door open, pulling you inside with him.

“Logan, what are you—”

He shoves you against the door as the room envelops you in darkness, his hands fumbling on either side of your head for a light switch. There’s a click, and the light switches on, revealing a spacious broom closet. Logan cages you in, his chest heaving, his forehead pressing against yours.

You bring your hands up to his neck, but he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. “Lo,” you whisper, his lips just inches from yours. You can see the jealousy in his eyes, the possessiveness, the protectiveness. He knows you can handle yourself—knows that you’re even more powerful than he is. And Logan isn’t normally the jealous type—he trusts you endlessly. But something set him off tonight—he’s almost feral. He works his jaw, looking down at you under dark, lust-filled eyes. He grips your wrists tightly.

“Need you now, pretty girl,” he growls. “Nobody touches you but me.” His lips capture yours, hungry, needy, desperate. He’s swallowing you whole. “My girl.” His teeth graze your bottom lip. Everything is rushed and hazy, rough and impatient. “Fucking mine.”

“Yours,” you mumble against his lips. “Only yours.”

One of his hands releases its hold on your wrists and slides down your body, toying with the straps of your tank top. “Gonna fuck you, pretty girl,” Logan husks, his fingertips trailing across your collarbone, teasingly tugging at the neckline of your top. “You want that?” “Y-yes,” you stutter, your knees buckling as he palms your breasts, massaging gently, brushing over your nipples. “Please.”

His hand glides down to the hem at the bottom of your top, slipping underneath. His fingers trail over your bare skin, across your stomach, and up to your breasts. He smirks darkly at the realization that you aren’t wearing a bra. He hums, pulling your shirt up the rest of the way, revealing your chest to him.

“So fucking beautiful,” he praises, teasing your nipples with one hand while the other still pins your wrists tightly against the door. “Want everyone to know who you belong to,” he husks, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and then repeating on the other side.

“Y-you,” you moan, rocking your hips against Logan’s, searching for friction, for some kind of relief. “Always want you.” You grind down on his thigh impatiently.

“Need me that bad, huh?” Logan teases, pushing his hips against yours. You can feel his erection straining through the denim of his jeans. “Don’t think I’m too old for you?” He asks, half serious. “Don’t think that guy can fuck you better than me?”

“N-no,” you stammer, your chest heaving against his. “Th-that guy was an idiot,” you breathe, struggling to find your words as Logan’s hand slips down your body, suddenly palming your heat. “I just want you, Logan.”

His fingers brush over your all too-clothed cunt, toying with you. “I know, darlin’,” he soothes. His hand reaches up to the waistband of your pants, working at your button and zipper. He lets go of his grasp around your wrist as he drops to his knees. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leather pants, pulling them and your panties down with one fluid motion. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands as he settles between your thighs.

“Lo,” you whine, his face so close to your cunt that you can feel his every breath. A shiver runs down your spine, anticipation and heat growing in your already aching core. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, always need—”

And then he’s lapping at your clit, burying his face inside your cunt. His tongue laves through your folds, savoring you, exploring you. “Tastes so good, beautiful,” Logan mumbles against you. “Always so sweet, so perfect.”

You curse under your breath, holding back your moans as Logan’s hand trails up your inner thigh, climbing towards your folds. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud between his lips and sucks roughly. His fingertips nudge your slit open, spreading your slick.

“Wanted to fuck you on that bar,” Logan husks. He finally thrusts two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. “Wanted everyone to know who you’re with, who makes you feel good.” He slides all the way out only to shove his fingers back in.

“F-fuck,” you whimper as Logan pumps in and out. “Logan.”

“That’s right, pretty girl,” Logan grunts against you, his tongue drawing tight circles around your clit. “Wanna hear you say my name again.”

“L-Logan,” you pant, his thrusts growing faster, his fingers dragging along your inner walls, hitting that sweet spot deep inside every time. He takes your clit back into his mouth, sucking roughly again. You bite your lip, holding back your moans.

But Logan notices. His tongue slows to a stop, his fingers suddenly still inside you. He looks up at you, squirming against him, searching for relief, and he smirks. “No holding back, princess,” he demands, watching your hips rock against his fingers. “Wanna hear you. Want everyone to hear how good I make you feel.”

You nod, swallowing harshly as his fingers pull out, adding a third finger as he slams back into you. “Fuck!” You groan. Logan’s tongue laps at your clit again, flicking the bud mercilessly. His name falls from your lips like a chant, a prayer, a hymn.

“Doing so good for me,” Logan praises, the vibrations of his voice rocking against your core. “Such a good fucking girl.” Your walls flutter around his fingers as he sinks deeper, still working you open with every thrust.

“L-Lo, I’m so close,” you groan. His teeth graze your clit as he smiles against you, taking the bud between his lips and sucking again—longer this time, and harder. You can feel yourself slipping, falling apart under his touch. “Please, I wanna come, Lo.”

“Yeah?” He mumbles, his gaze finding yours. You can see the starvation in his eyes, that possessiveness from before. “Wanna feel you come on my fingers, pretty girl.” Your muscles contract at his words, your knees buckling as pleasure courses through your veins. “Wanna taste it.” He pumps in and out, harder, deeper, his tongue still drawing those delicious, tight circles around your clit.

His voice darkens. “Wanna be the only one who ever gets to do this to you.”

And then your orgasm crashes into you, wave after wave, destroying you and building you back up. It’s overwhelming—your legs trembling as Logan continues to lap at you, to consume you, to commit your taste to memory. You cry out his name as you come, melting into the door as he works you through it.

Logan’s pumps slow until his fingers are still inside you. He gently pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. His tongue licks long stripes through your folds and up to your clit, savoring every last drop of you.

“Lo,” you whine, bringing your hands down to his head. You tangle your fingers into his hair, and he hums against you. “Lo,” you call again, and he finally looks up, his face pulling away from your cunt. “Need you now.”

Logan smirks, standing up and unbuckling his belt. “Need you too, beautiful,” he huffs, letting the belt fall to the floor as he works at his button and zipper. “Always fucking need you.” He tugs his jeans and his boxers down his legs. He drags his beater up and over his head, casting it to the ground.

He suddenly hoists you up, leaning you against the door, his hand gripping your ass, the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance. “Please,” you beg, trying to sink down onto him, but he holds you back, pushing your hips into the door.

“So fucking impatient,” Logan teases, suddenly thrusting into you, bottoming out, splitting you open.

Your arms wrap around his back, and he presses his forehead to yours. He’s deep inside you, unmoving. “Lo,” you whine. “P-please, m-move.”

“Wanna feel you first,” he grunts, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “So fucking tight,” he murmurs, his lips meeting yours again. “So warm, fuck.” He finally pulls out and thrusts all the way back in, somehow deeper this time.

“Logan,” you moan, digging your nails into his back. “Fuck me, please.”

He slides out, his cock dragging along your walls, and slams back in. “Like that?” He grunts, filling you up. “Want me to fuck you into this door?” You hum a soft yes, and Logan rams into you, his hips snapping roughly.

“It feels so good,” you whimper, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing along the walls of the closet. “Only want you, Lo.”

“I know, pretty girl,” Logan soothes, his free hand slipping between your bodies and finding your clit. He begins to draw tight, rapid circles around the bud. “F-fuck, you’re mine. This is my fucking pussy, isn’t it?” “Yes,” you whisper as he fucks into you. “All yours. Always.”

Logan groans as he thrusts deeper, harder. His pace is insatiable, unrelenting, frantic. His thumb strokes your clit, adding more pressure with every swipe. You know he’d do anything to get you there, to have you falling apart in his arms. You know he wants to make you come again and again—to prove to you that he’s all you need—to make you feel good. No, better than good. Whole. Perfect. Satisfied.

Your walls flutter around him as he flicks your overstimulated clit. “A-already close,” you whine as Logan plunges into you, his hips snapping against yours.

“I know, beautiful,” he coos, pinching your clit. “Can feel you squeezing me.” He thrusts in and out, pushing you closer to that edge. Your walls flutter again, and Logan bites your pulse point, licking soothingly once he’s finished. “Let go for me, pretty girl.” It’s a demand, not a request. “Wanna feel you come.”

It’s all liquid heat and warm thick honey, the tension snapping as you come undone again. But you know Logan isn’t finished with you yet. You know there’s more to come. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you moan a string of curses and Logan’s name.

“That’s it,” Logan says softly, pressing a kiss to that spot just underneath your ear. “Taking me so well, letting me make you feel good.” His thumb is still on your clit, drawing those tight little circles while his hips pound into you. “I know you’ve got one more in you, princess. Know you can take it.”

“It’s s-so much,” you choke, the tension already building back up at the bottom of your belly. “I-I…” You trail off, fucked out beyond belief. He’s still splitting you open with every thrust, filling you to the brim.

“It’s okay, princess,” Logan whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. The intimacy sends a pulse of pleasure to your core. “I’ve got you, just wanna make you feel good.” You curse under your breath as he ruts into you, working at your clit.

You know you can’t last much longer. Not with the way his eyes watch every moan escape from your lips, or the way his hips roll against yours, searching for more, always finding a way to sink deeper. He wants all of you, always. And you’re more than happy to give yourself to him time and time again.

“You feel so good,” you whine, your muscles contracting and releasing as his cock pumps in and out. “Only you, Lo.”

“F-fuck,” Logan moans, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering. He flicks your clit, edging you along. You know he’s close, his cock throbbing inside you, twitching as your walls squeeze him. “Wanna fill you up,” he husks, shoving himself deeper. “Wanna make you mine.”

“I’m all yours,” you whimper. Logan pinches your clit, circling roughly, and the current drags you under. It’s more intense this time, stars flooding your vision as you let go. Your orgasm wracks through your body, leaving you a quivering mess as Logan finishes inside you, painting your walls.

You share one breath, your chests heaving together as Logan’s cock stalls inside you. He strokes your clit as he fills you up, riding out your orgasm, easing you down from your high. His fingertips slip away from your bud and trail up your body, his arm wrapping around your back. He pulls you into his chest, holding you close, his cock still half-hard inside you.

“I love you,” he whispers into the crook of your neck, his possessiveness and jealousy are replaced by the softness he reserves just for you. “So fucking much.”

“I love you too, Lo,” you whisper back. You can hear the bass of the music pouring through the club, and you suddenly remember the mission at hand. “We should go. The others are probably worried.”

“Don’t care about the others,” Logan mumbles, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Just care about you.”

You smirk, shaking your head, trying to wiggle yourself free from Logan’s iron grip. “Really, Lo. We need to leave. I have the napkin in my pocket. It’s the coordinates to—”

He cuts you off, pressing a kiss to your lips as he settles you back down. He pulls up his jeans and boxers, starting the process of putting everything back in its proper place.

“Relax,” he mutters, sinking down to the ground. He grabs a roll of paper towels from a nearby rack and rips off a sheet, cleaning your inner thighs. He throws the sheet into the garbage and pulls your pants and panties back up your legs.

Logan tugs your tank top down over your breasts and swipes your hands away as you reach to button and zipper your pants back up. He takes over the task for you, bringing his hands to your face once he’s done. His thumbs gently brush underneath your eyes, likely clearing away whatever mascara or eyeliner smeared while he was fucking you.

“You okay?” He asks once he’s done, his arms wrapping around your back and pulling you into his chest.

“Yeah,” you mumble, letting him hold you for a second before slipping your hand into your front pocket to make sure the napkin is still there. You let out a sigh of relief when you brush your fingertips against the coarse paper. “Never better.”

“Good,” Logan whispers, letting you go and grabbing his belt and beater from off the floor. He pulls the beater up and over his head, and then slides the belt through the loops of his jeans, securing the buckle. He grabs your hand, his eyes looking deeply into yours. “Ready?” He asks, and you nod. Logan twists the knob of the door and pushes it open, the pulsing music and lights of the club flooding your senses.

You walk towards the entrance, and find Scott, Jubilee, and Jean surveying the club, likely looking for you and Logan.

“Let’s go,” Logan shouts over the music, getting the team’s attention. Scott steps towards Logan. “Where did you go?” He yells. “We were getting worried.”

Logan reaches into your front pocket, and you can feel the heat rising to your chest as he squeezes your thigh and pulls the paper out. “She got the napkin. That’s all that matters.”

You know Scott is rolling his eyes underneath those glasses. Jean smirks and shakes her head, and Jubilee laughs. You make your way to the exit, pushing through the doors and into the quiet of the parking lot.

“You know, Logan,” Scott chides as you walk to the car. “I heard some guy talking about a freak flipping him off with a silver claw. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” He asks, condescension and sarcasm heavy in his voice.

You look at Logan and he smirks. “Had to put an asshole in his place,” he says nonchalantly, his arm wrapping around your waist. He presses a kiss to your temple. “My girl,” he whispers against the shell of your ear so only you can hear.

His.

Nobody else’s.

tags: @galacticglitterglue @buck-angel31 @alsoprettyinpink @annabelldoesstuffz @starrdustss @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @ilysmdovie12 @prettyseaveins @silversprings-mp3 @fanfic-writing-barbie @movhoney @wittyjasontodd @theasiaabattoir @manipulatour @pedrohoe04 @derbygracie @honeyfewr @evasmlp @rammakela @cosmiccandydreamer (if I forgot to add you I'm so sorry)

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lovelyghst · 8 months

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craving consensual somno with (slightly intoxicated) simon riley and his (extremely heavy sleeper) girl. take this as ur warnings.

just him coming home late at night as usual, the bourbon in his system keeping him loosened up and tranquil, yet ever so cognizant as he enters your shared bedroom. those familiar creepy-crawlies invading his stomach with boyish excitement to see you, and quickly turning towards his dick when he lays eyes on your pretty body.

it’s nearly a routine at this point; you purposely fall asleep in these skimpy, two-piece pajamas, usually some sort of small berries, cherries, or flowers adorning the thin, white fabric that leaves little to the imagination, knowing it’ll get him all worked up. the curtains are left pulled and the door cracked open, you kick the covers off and lay with a pillow hugged tightly in your arms beneath you to give him the best view; infinite signs telling him you want it just as bad as he does. it is routine, but it gets so him riled up, each and every time.

he trudges over, as quietly as the tipsy man can manage to the end of your bed, and with tunnel-vision on your exposed thighs. even his jaw fallen slack just a bit in hunger. desperate to get his hands on you after being apart for so long, and wanting to soothe that ache in his cock he hadn’t even realized he was palming through his jeans.

you barely stir when he kneels on the foot of the bed, and neither when he crawls above you and places a kiss right behind your ear.

he presses a cold palm to your shoulder, attempting to urge you onto your back to give him a visual of your features. to let him see your curves in the raw moonlight, how the dainty material of your pajamas becomes a tad bit see-through around your tits and incidentally rides up past your bellybutton, endless thoughts running through his dazed mind as he eventually manages to flip you over successfully.

though, your sleepy hum suddenly alerts him to a standstill, his worst nightmare being to wake you from your serene rest. not now, anyway.

“shhh, sweetheart,” he gently coaxes you, and he can’t help the grin spanning his lips when you mumble the first syllable of his name in that questioning, dreamy tone. he clears fallen hair from your face, slipping his pillow from your grasp as he mutters, “yeah, dovie, s’only me. you’re okay, you’re safe… jus’ go back to sleep for me, now.”

your unconscious mind obeys like clockwork, the smallest of smiles curling your lip corners in contentment, and it’s only a matter of seconds before he’s returning to his endeavors.

kissing all across your exposed collarbone, thoughtlessly slipping a finger or two beneath the strap of your little pajama shirt and carefully allowing it to glide down your shoulder as he repeats the process on the other side. peppering kisses to your soft skin, before rolling the fabric upward from the bottom so he can properly pay attention to the rest of your chest and tummy.

lips grazing your sternum with short, controlled breaths fanning your sensitive parts; aware of how easily ticklish you are and attempting not to light that fuse, equally straining himself in not turning too feverish as he takes your hardened nipple in his mouth and paws at the other in his hand.

he works his way down slowly but surely, until he’s pulling your shorts off with tender hands and unveiling your bare, soaked pussy, and he can’t even think to suppress the low groan pushed from his lungs at the sight in front of him. he inches forward with nearly crossed eyes, taking incisive ministrations in lifting your legs up and over his back.

your breathing hitches a bit in your slumber when he licks an almost reluctant yet long stripe from your hole to your clit, unable to give himself a moment to savor it before he’s diving back in for more.

“missed this pretty, little cunt on my tongue, baby… christ,” he chuckles lightly to himself, “good girl’s gonna be the death o’ me.”

he sloppily makes-out with your pussy, any and all devotions of rhythm and precision thrown far from his intentions. he only gets to be selfish when he has you like this, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity as it’s laid out on his bed. moaning at your wetness and taste, how your pussy drools for more and coats his chin with a slick he devours like a madman deprived.

the small whines you make in your sleep are nothing but precious to simon, burning them into his brain like any other occasion he’s pulled them from your lips. saving them for the later times like when he’s a thousand miles away, locked away in some office, and can’t possibly bring himself to bother you with a pestering, horny phone call.

you turn your head to the side with a hum, empty hands reaching for any semblance of comfort on your abdomen, which rather concerns him for a moment until he realizes just what you want.

he gives you one of his hands and you blindly accept it, wrapping your smaller fingers around his wrist and thumb to pull the appendage closer. resting just below your ribcage, satisfied and holding it close like you would a teddy bear.

“sweet thing… always loved this perfect pussy,” he mumbles right up against your warmth, quiet as to not disrupt your blissful obliviousness in your sleep. he’s utterly drunk on you and your taste, and the alcohol he had beforehand certainly contributes to his filthy, forward language.

“how easy y’get on my mouth, ‘nd yet how tight you are around my cock… fuckin’ hell—”

he watches intently as the tips of his fingers delve between your folds, gradually disappearing whilst your chest begins to heave a little heavier; a faint, broken noise of pleasure omitting straight from your throat. tightening around his digits as he pushes them further in, just as you do wrapped around his cock when you’re conscious.

he’s not thinking straight; he’s merely experimenting with you as he curls his fingers upward, prodding at that gummy spot in your cunt and greedily sucking on your clit to push you over. toying with you, rather, because the face you make when you’re first emerged from your slumber with a mind-shattering orgasm is truly priceless.

your eyes snap open as you come around his digits, squeezing his hands tight with your vision going blank. the high is strong but you don’t allow it to last very long when the dots in your brain are connecting, turning you all excited for the implications of it all.

erratically catching your breath with a huge grin on your face, matching his as he comes up to greet you. he’s stupid, shamelessly drunk on your taste, and it radiates from his expression as if he just witnessed a star being born right before his muddy eyes.

you haven’t a clue what just happened, but you fucking loved every sober second of it.

and before you know it, he’s coming back up to meet your lips with his own, which you graciously accept, taste of slick and alcohol and all. humming as he slips his greedy hands upward and behind your back, giggling when he impatiently flips over on his back and hauls you with him. til you’re curled up by his side, halfway on his chest whilst one leg slips between both of his bulky ones.

“i‘m glad you’re home…” nearly a pout, “really missed you, si.”

you’re the first one to speak, quietly, sincere as ever as you examine his pretty face. the faint bags beneath his lids, the wetness that sticks to his dirty-blond stubble. his rough and gruff exterior that hides behind it a boy who’s absolutely and utterly whipped for you.

“that right?” he taunts, eyes remaining shut. “and my tongue, i bet?”

you shy away with a laugh. he won’t remember these words in the morning, but you’ve always loved how cocky and brazen he gets with a couple of drinks running through his blood.

“i missed all of you...”

his eyes barely have to open for him to effectively, and lovingly, judge you with a mere glance. it’s one of his talents.

“some parts more than others, clearly.”

“that’s not true,” you contest, but the humorous hesitancy and sheepishness in your voice tells him otherwise.

“sure, baby, sure.” he takes a moment to breathe, overtly proud of himself. “y’missed my mouth, n’ my hands. even with how rough they are with ya sometimes, yeah?” you hide your flushed face in his neck with a groan, praying this embarrassment is short-lived though preparing for the worst as you feel his lips inch closer to your ear.

“prob’ly missed me fuckin’ my cock into that tight, little cunt—”

“okay, fine!” you finally admit and pull away defensively, slapping his chest but only earning a laugh from him. “but i definitely don’t miss that dirty brain of yours, you big dog.”

“you love me anyway,” he states, matter-of-factly.

you give a big smooch to his forehead, then the bridge of his nose, and then down to his lips, which he returns.

“i do. a lot,” you add and he hums, feeling fulfilled.

and, oh, he’s so fulfilled with you. you take care of him by allowing him to take care of you, and it’s a two-way street. you ground each other whilst never forcing one to tether themself to earth.

you sit up to fix your top, smoothing over the fabric and shrugging the straps back into place. shimmying back into your shorts when you catch a glimpse of the large man’s dark jeans contrasting your light sheets, belt buckle glimmering in the corner of your eye.

“simon, honey, you need to change before you—”

you look over and are suddenly forced to stifle a giggle when you discover that the poor man has fallen asleep, a droopy smile still ornamenting his slick-covered face. taking your hand and swiping the apple of his cheek with your thumb, you’re pleased when he doesn’t budge one bit. dragging it downwards past his muscled chest and abdomen, landing just beneath his leather belt.

your fingertips trace his hard-on over the jeans, knowing you can’t just leave him like this, all aching and pent up and too exhausted to do anything about it himself.

maybe you could do him a favor and return the sweet gesture? <3

#i got carried away #cod mw #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut

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plutolovesyou · 3 months

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pathetic/nerdy/loser/perverted ellie ramble AJAKSOJSOJS. LOTS OF SMUT!! quick and really crass, just needed to get this outta my system LMFAO. want some more? click here for the continuation!!

she'd be pining for you so hard, just consumed entirely by the limerence, so impossibly down bad for everything about you, it ate her up inside. she needed you in every way possible, needed to smell you, to taste you, to feel you clench around her fingers and tongue, she wanted you to crush her head —glasses and all—with your thighs, she needed it all.

and yeah, she did feel creepy about it—staring at your tits from afar, maybe sitting in the park someday after her class, thank god for transitional lenses. she felt her face go tomato-red from the shame, what in the world was she doing, ogling her sort of-friend like that, but fuck did it fuel her fantasies.

in the dark of the night, you were the only thing occupying her poor, horny mind, as she stuffed two, no, three digits in her soaking pussy, using every morsel of her imagination to materialize the sight of you being the one to make her see stars. she'd imagine covering you in marks and hickeys, watching your wrist flex while you were knuckle deep inside of her.

her eyes brimming with tears, knuckles dripping in pearly cum forming a fucking puddle beneath her, pounding in and out of her quivering walls over and over and over again until she felt light-headed, she found it the only way to cope.

“ugh- fuck baby, yeah that's it..mmf." whines and just the utmost pathetic pleas tumbled from her swollen, rosy lips, her clit near aching from the abuse she thrusted on it nightly. chanting your name in the night akin to a prayer— ironic. this was anything but holy—imagining the way your tits would bounce, the way you'd cry her name out and drench her in your fluids, she'd even imagine herself on her knees, being the one staring up at you between your legs as you run your nails through her hair, hold her chin.

“please, wanna cum again, c'mon baby. fuck, fuck, fuck- yeah, hnn-!!” tears fully streaming down her freckled cheeks at this point, her whole body tensing as she came for what seemed like the thousandth time this night, she continued until it was causing her a great deal of pain. until she was completely wrung dry. “...what am i doing. fuckin’ hell.”

breathing heavily, the shame really sets in now. what was she doing? rolling over in her damp bed, she'd groan while the embarrassment made her cheeks burn hotter than the deepest pits of hell—where she's convinced she's gonna enjoy the hospitality of if she keeps this up—she'd bury her face in her pillow and pass out into a slumber, only until the cycle repeats itself the next night.

but little did she know, her experience was being mirrored, almost with creepy accuracy, wherever you were. pining just as hard for the lanky loser you were mere acquaintances with. teasing her on purpose, just to watch the dark flush spread across her features, to watch her shift uncomfortably and avoid your taunting stare with everything she's got, squeeze her thighs together to soothe the ache you knew she was going to take care of later as soon as you part ways. it drove you nuts too. if only she knew. if only!

WHY DID THIS EAT LMAOOO but oop went a little overboard my bad um ok enjoy bye can u tell im in a mood lately pls give me notes even tho its 2am ik everyones dead but oh well luv u

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supercutszns · 9 months

Note

Hi!! Just had to drop in and say I LOVED your Luke fic and I can’t wait for more. I would love protective Luke with hurt/comfort, if that sounds interesting at all. Thanks for sharing your writing!!! 🌸

fighting chance; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 4.2k, luke castellan x daughter of ares! reader

synopsis: when an enemy takes advantage of your kindness during capture the flag, luke intervenes with a sword in hand.

warnings: a creepy boy👎, threats/harm to reader, she’s going through it, blood/injuries (nothing major), angry ANGRY luke, violence, lots of fluff/reassurance at the end<3

notes: thank you SO much for your kind words & your request!! hurt/comfort is my bread and butter my favourite fic genre of all time i think. & protective luke is just a bonus bc he’s already crazy so it can go as far as i want🤭 i’m not exactly sure what this turned into but if i fix it any more i'm going to go insane so hope you like it!

You’re not much of a fighter.

That alone is a normal thing to admit—plenty of people don’t like violence, the frisson of a challenge, the bruises that come with them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Unless you’re a child of Ares.

People at camp often ridicule your gentle nature when they see you with your half-siblings. They’re all gritted teeth and sharp edges, born warriors that take up all the space they can get. You, on the other hand, are lousy with weapons and even lousier with your fists. You’re quiet, attentive. While your siblings charge into battle without second thought you stay back, flitting around to adjust armour, change out weapons, oversee the terrain. Planning isn’t Ares’ style so you’re pretty much useless but nobody wants to admit it. You’re usually mistaken as a child of Hephaestus or Athena.

Unfortunately, you are a child of Ares, through and through—just in none of the ways that matter.

There are rare times your father’s influence peeks through. Not with bursts of rage or fists flying, but with thoughts. And sometimes those thoughts turn into words. Well, not sometimes. One time. This one.

The evening before the camp’s Capture the Flag game, every cabin gathered around the bonfire past dinner. To burn offerings, to chat, or in Luke Castellan’s case, to admire.

He watches you laugh with Clarisse from a distance. The Ares cabin leader always had a certain fondness for you. When Luke first started dating you he had to ask Clarisse for her blessing beforehand just to be sure she wouldn’t kill him. He’d do it a million times over just for the moment you look back, your face warming when you catch his stare. He rolls his eyes at you to lessen his smile, but he’s not sure it works. You giggle and turn back to your friend.

He’s always loved your softness; your capacity to defend and not attack. Your body rejects any skill you could possibly develop for violence. Believe him, he’s tried to teach you sword fighting, but the last time he gave you a lesson you nearly impaled yourself thirty seconds in. He loves your wit and your tenderness, your proficiency at preventing conflict, your refusal to argue. But a selfish part of him loves the fact that he’s your protector even more.

The night wears on with the flickers of fire and friendly banter. One of the times Luke looks back at you, his brows wrinkle. There’s a guy talking to you. A group of them, actually, but there’s one clearly leading the pack. Some Aphrodite kid. Luke’s jaw twitches.

“Hey, princess,” the voice makes you pull away from your talk with Clarisse, but you’re confused. Luke is the only one that calls you that.

“Um, me?” You ask when you see the boy in front of you. He’s tall, chest puffed out. It’s not an endearing silhouette. “What’s up?”

“You wanna be on my team for Capture the Flag tomorrow?” He asks nonchalantly.

You laugh politely, “Sorry, but I don’t think we’re allied with Aphrodite tomorrow. That’s your cabin, isn’t it?” You feel bad that you can’t remember—his face is so … plain.

He chuckles back, but it’s a lot less nice. “No, doll, that’s not what I mean.” He steps a little too close, and even though you know Clarisse is behind you it feels like she’s a thousand miles away. “Well,” he drawls, a smirk drawn out, “you meet me in the forest after we start, and then we can … you know. Confer.”

“Confer?”

“Yeah. You get what I mean, pretty girl, don’t play dumb.”

A revulsion coats your gut. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that,” you say as firmly as you can.

“What, pretty or dumb? Why not both?”

It’s demeaning, the way he says it, and it stirs a temper in your stomach you know you inherited from your father. You’re not big on confrontation. Or embarrassment. But this weirdo is talking to you out in the open and people are starting to stare. He wouldn’t dish it out if he can’t take it, right?

“I’ll pass on your offer. I have a boyfriend and I’m actually on his team tomorrow, so I’d rather confer with him, sorry.” Your hands wring together but you do your best to quell them, imagining it’s the string of Luke’s camp necklace, threaded between your fingers. You try to look for him out of the corner of your eye.

He snickers, even though it’s common knowledge you and Luke have been together for months now. “So you are dumb, huh?” He tries to smirk and you assume is supposed to be sexy, but it’s just gross. His hand tries to slide around your waist.

“Don’t touch me, please,” you hit his hand away. Your skin is crawling and the knot inside you tightens.“Just leave me alone. People are looking, you know.”

“We could go somewhere where nobody looks,” he sneers, and the grin on his face is so sleazy that you just can’t stand it anymore.

You pray to your father for strength. And to yourself for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, are you stupid or something? I told you, no.” You snap. “Maybe you’re the pretty dumb one, but for a child of Aphrodite it’s shocking how little the first one applies.”

His eyes are wide, and the posse he’d assembled behind him has attracted quite the view. You almost feel like crying, all these eyes on you, but you’re so sick of people thinking they can walk all over you just because you’re not like your siblings.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m just trying to be nice—” He grabs your wrist as you leave but you yank it hard.

“Don’t. Touch me.” People are staring at you now, but the only one you care about is Luke, who looks equally ticked and equally proud, and all you want to do is kiss him. “Hope the only time we confer tomorrow is if somebody’s sword is at your throat.”

It’s the last thing you say to him. He starts to go after you but Luke is already at your heels. “Back off, man.” You can spot how all his muscles are already rearing themselves for a fight. You wrap a hand around his wrist, and he meets your eyes. Not now.

The altercation is lost the second the two of you leave the bonfire. Nothing matters when Luke has you in his arms, kissing you outside of your cabin, telling you how damn beautiful you looked.

You’re fixing a new Ares boy’s armour when Luke finds you. “Hey, angel,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. He relishes in the way your face heats up. “You ready for battle?”

You smile, “Always.” You pat the kid on the cheek and send him on his way. He gnashes his teeth and roars, joining his siblings at the front. Luke catches the longing in your expression.

“All good?” He asks gently.

It takes you a second for your eyes to meet his. “Mmhm,” you swallow. “Just hope his armour doesn’t fall off.”

Luke sighs for a moment, then wraps his arms around you. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Be safe, okay? Stay close.” He kisses your temple, rubbing circles on the nape of your neck.

“Yes sir,” you reply against his chest. His insides flutter.

He pulls your face up to his and kisses you, tender and wanting. “Let’s show these hooligans who’s boss,” he quips.

“You’ll show them. I’ll hide in the woods until some idiot comes along and tries to ambush you.”

Your dulcet tone has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. “You’ve always got my back,” he croons, kissing your brow.

“And you’ve always got our flag.”

You kiss him again and he lets you slip out of his arms no matter how badly he wants to keep you there forever. He watches you vanish into the trees, and his heart goes with you.

He gears up with his team and the horn sounds. Game on.

There’s yelling, sweat, adrenaline, and Luke embraces it all like a man starved. This is his chance to be ruthless, to let all his untapped rage cycle through him. This is why he’s unstoppable. This is why he’s the best.

Clarisse is unusually cooperative today, but competent as always, and whenever someone’s weapon breaks or they lose their team she just barks at them to go find you. You, the smartest person in Ares, who can mend a weapon with nothing but blades of grass and determination. Luke is pretty sure your cabin would be lost without you. He wonders if you know.

The groove of the game has fully enthralled him. He’s alert, his wrist nimble, his sword a living, breathing part of him. There’s almost nothing that can take him out of his victory path until he hears one of the younger campers tell Clarisse he can’t find you anymore.

Whatever nincompoop he’s dealing with is left groaning on the floor. “What?” He barks, hand flexing around his sword. “Where is she?”

“Probably just moved,” Clarisse grunts as she kicks back an opposing camper. “She knows where everything is. Maybe she’s—oof—safer.”

“But how am I supposed to fix my spear?” The kid frowns.

Luke runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, dry and laden with salt. He told you to stay close. Where would you go? “I’ll find her,” he decides, already sheathing his sword to walk towards the trees.

“Luke—”

“I’ll find her!”

He barely pays attention to the calamity going on around him. With a flick of his wrist he knows he can take out any person he wants. The second he gets to the trees, where the air is cooler, it’s startling how much quieter it is. No wonder this is your preferred hiding spot.

He thanks the quiet a thousand times over because if it had been any louder he wouldn’t have heard you scream.

It’s so short it’s almost indiscernible, but he knows it’s you based on how his body movies before his brain does. It snaps something in him, the adrenaline transformed into something acerbic, determined.

“Don’t fucking scream again.” A cluster of boys are stationed around you. You’re leaning back in the dirt. You barely feel the earth sticking to your skin. Just your heart jostling madly, your fingertips shaking in the ground beside you. “Okay, I won’t, just put the sword down—”

The snarling Aphrodite boy from last night takes a swing at you, and you scramble back just enough to avoid it. “No can do, doll.” His face is twisted with rage. The lackeys he had when you told him off are there too, cornering you against a cluster of trees like you’re some caged animal. There’s a dagger clenched in one of your dirt-ridden fists but you know it won’t do you any good. You can’t fight; you don’t have it in you. But these boys do. And they’re angry.

“Tell me where the flag is,” he orders. The tip of his blade comes under your chin, fogging up with the labours of your breath, your head pressed against the trunk of a tree.

You stutter, “You’re not—You’re not supposed to threaten like this—”

“You embarrassed me in front of all those people yesterday,” he cuts you off. “Thinking you’re so fucking smart. I didn’t even say anything that big a deal but you run your mouth to the entire camp and make me look like the idiot. I thought you were nice.”

The words are laced with poison. You know from the wild look in his eyes that this isn’t about the flag at all.

Tears sting your eyes and the sword grazes your throat. Of course this is happening to you. The one time you feel your father’s rage, when you exemplify the thing you’re told to be, you are punished.

You are never going to be the right kind of daughter.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you try to say it evenly, but your breath is so ragged it’s barely audible. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.” You mean it, but they won’t care.

The boy’s face looks pleased at your tears. It makes you inexorably ashamed. “Some fucking Ares kid,” he snorts. “Can’t even fight, can you? Can’t even pretend to.” His sword leaves your throat and travels up to your quivering jaw. You’re wordless, white-knuckling the dagger at your side, praying that Luke is somewhere nearby.

“No wonder they stash you back here. You’re useless.” His eyes scan every part of you, and the idea of him knowing what you look like forever is so revolting it makes you want to vanish. “Too bad you’re alone, though. Nobody’s gonna know I was here because nobody’s gonna hear you.”

Your eyes get wide, and something in your mind rumbles through you like an engine. An urge buried in your blood.

Your dagger tears into his leg just as his sword dashes your arm. The pain is sharp, stinging, but the boy winces and you know you hurt him too. It gives you just enough time to roll out of the way as he lurches forward. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He swears.

Blood drips onto your shorts, splotched with tears. You know you can’t go anywhere because his friends are here and you’re almost certain you’ll be maimed, but you tried. At least you tried.

The Aphrodite boy picks his sword back up, stalks towards you, and then freezes.

Because Luke has just spotted you. And he’s spotted the boy that has you on the ground.

And he’s the best fucking swordsman Camp Half-Blood has seen in three hundred years.

“If you don’t get away from her right now I’m putting this through your skull.” He emerges from the foliage, his sword raised, sweat dripping down his face. You have never seen anyone look angrier. He has never felt angrier.

The boy blanches, and Luke sees how easily his lapdog friends shrink in his presence. Good.

“Woah, easy,” the boy holds his hands up in mock surrender and tries to flash a smile but it’s just fucking pathetic. His arms are shaking and his throat bobs about a million times. “We’re just playing the game.”

“Like hell you are,” Luke spits. “You gang up on my girlfriend and you expect me to believe this is fair play? Want me to tie you all together and push one of you off a cliff to keep the spirit going?”

“Didn’t know she was yours,” the boy tries to shrug but again, it’s a miserable attempt that only makes Luke feel stronger.

“Not that it matters but yes, you do,” Luke chuckles thickly. “I beat your ass in sword training last week. You know exactly who I am. And I’m sure you know who you are, so it’s obvious you’re playing out of your league here.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you still cowering, blood dribbling down your arm. He wants to tear the world apart. “Apologize and maybe I don’t send you to the infirmary.”

“We just want the flag, man,” the boy swallows.

“And I want your head on a stick. Want to see who gets what first?”

It’s too provocative an insult for a moron like this to ignore, so soon Luke has the pleasure of disarming five bitter boys that have clearly never been good at a single thing in their life. He tears through them like sheets of paper, knocking them to the dirt, ripping their clothes. He thinks of you, just you, your honest heart and patient hands, and it’s enough to fuel him for a millennia.

The last boy, the leader, is at Luke’s mercy, and he has none to give. The flat of Luke’s blade is pressed horizontally against the boy’s neck, an angering similarity to the position he had you in earlier. “If you ever do this again, I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re—fucking—crazy—” The boy wheezes, the length of the blade squeezing his throat against a tree trunk. “I’ll—I‘ll tell Chiron.”

Luke has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep him from doing something he regrets. “Oh yeah? You want me to tell Chiron how you harassed and terrorised a girl in the middle of the forest all in the name of play? Want me to tell him what you said to her last night at the campfire? Because I’m sure it won’t take much for him to get rid of your ugly face as it is, and I’m a camp counsellor.”

He knows it’s not the most morally correct use of his title. He knows he might be stepping over the line. But he also knows you’re always being ignored or trampled over and he’s tired of pretending like he doesn’t give a damn. He’s tired of people trying to force you into something you’re not. Of you crying in his bed at night because they’re trying to drag a violence out of you that isn’t there. Always in the name of fucking play.

Luke takes the sword off the boy’s neck and shoves him backwards. His calf is bleeding, not a deep wound, but a wound nonetheless, and Luke is full of pride when he realizes you did that. The boy’s bad leg makes him wobble and fall at the force of the push. Luke enjoys watching the scramble. “I—I was just trying to be nice, it’s not my fault she took it the wrong way!” The boy flails his hands in the air, rising to his feet again, and Luke shoves him down twice as hard. A piece of his shirt tears off in Luke’s hand.

“You’ve gotta stop talking or I really am going to kill you,” he seethes. “Don’t touch her ever again. Go.”

Luke is sure he looks homicidal right now because the guy finally tumbles his way down the hill. His body fades into the distance, swallowed up by shrubbery and sweat.

The second he’s gone Luke tosses his sword and armour and gets back to you. “Shit,” he mutters, kneeling down. You’re still shaking, your head in your arms, and all his hatred morphs into a love so desperate it terrifies him. “Angel, come here. Let me see.” He lifts your face with his hands and scans you rapidly. “Did he hurt you anywhere else? Anywhere?”

“Just my arm,” you whimper. “My arm.”

He knows it’s not the cut that’s hurting you; it’s long, but thin, and it’s not bleeding too thickly. He takes the cloth from the Aphrodite boy’s shirt and wraps it around your arm, knotting it at the end. “All right, that should be better.”

You look at him with watery eyes, and he knows all you need is for him to hold you. He folds you in his arms and leans against a stump. You can’t get close to him fast enough. The tip of your nose buries itself in his neck and he feels the dampness of your cheeks on his skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Guilt swaths over him for a brief moment; he wonders if he shouldn’t have done all that, if he should’ve been more sensible. Then your lips form a ‘thank you’ against his skin and all is forgotten.

You feel so small. The shock is still running its course, so all you can do is cry it out. Your hands still shake when you thread your fingers through Luke’s necklace to steady them. He soothes you the best he can, running his hand along your spine, all the sharpness of his voice softened just for you. “You’re all right, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stay like that for a while. The sounds of the forest return to you; leaves in the wind, birds chirping, Luke’s breath tickling your hair. You crane your head up to nuzzle your nose against the faint stubble of his jaw. “My hero,” you murmur, and feel his skin shift as he smiles.

“Couldn’t have done it without you. Saw the cut you gave him on his leg.” He kisses your temple. “I hope it gets infected.”

You giggle weakly no matter how you try smothering it in his chest. “Gods, you’re awful.”

“He deserves it! I probably should have killed him!”

“You came pretty close, didn’t you?” You mumble. Luke’s expression is wary, but you smile to yourself and it dispels everything. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Good. Serves them right, messing with you like that. Fucking idiots.” He kisses your face again for good measure, “You sure they didn’t get you anywhere else, princess?”

You nod but you know you look wounded. You nudge into the crook of Luke’s neck again. “They … you know, it’s just … the usual stuff.” Every word weighs a pound as it comes out. Your heart feels sore.

Luke tenses again instantly. “What usual stuff?”

“Um, just—” The shame gets caught in your throat. “They all think I’m useless, Luke. Why can’t I do this right?”

You start to cry again, but he just holds you closer. Sometimes it surprises you how much patience he has. He prides himself as the harsher one between the two of you, but you don’t know who he’s fooling with the way he always knows how to comfort people.

“I don’t know what to do,” you continue, blinking back tears, “I’m not—I’m just not good at this, I don’t know why I’m in Ares, I don’t know why I can’t … be that. Why is he my father? I’m no good at being angry. I want to be angry.”

Luke’s quiet for a moment. Nothing changes except his hand rubbing circles on the nape of your neck again. Then he sighs deeply and says, “You don’t owe your father a damn thing. You don’t owe anyone anything.” He’s resolute, firm, a sharp contrast to his gentle kiss on your hairline. “You’re the smartest, most generous person I know. You need those people in battle. You’ll lose if you don’t.”

The warmth of his skin prompts you to look up at him. He looks different so often, the way he can shift between so tough and so gentle. Sometimes, like now, he’s caught in the middle, the remains of a furious sweat hardening his face, but his eyes are nothing but tender. You think it’s how you like him best.

“Besides, we’re not our parents, right? Who cares about Ares anyway?” Luke shrugs.

“Luke! Don’t say that!” your tears turn into a giggle. “The Gods might punish you!”

“I’ll handle it. There’s enough fight in me for the both of us.”

“Okay, tough guy,” you mutter with a weak smile.

You’re still sniffling. He runs his thumbs across your cheeks, and his gaze softens. “You’re an Ares kid because you are a fighter, angel. You just fight a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. Best one I know. Well, other than me.”

It makes you smile. “So second-best?”

“Tied for first.”

He kisses you with that stupid roguish smile. It’s salty with tears and sweat, but it mends your heart anyway. There is nowhere in the world you’d feel safer.

“I love you,” he says against your cheek. “Be as sweet as you want. If anyone has anything to say about it I’ll mess ‘em up good.” Your face warms as his voice drops to your ear, “And I know you’re an Ares kid because you’ll encourage it every time. You might not have a violent bone in your body, but you sure don’t have a problem with me using mine.”

“Diplomatically, Luke. Diplomatically.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want.”

You can’t help but kiss him again. You’re not entirely sure why he loves you so much, why you love him so much, but you never feel quite as secure as when you’re with him.

Cheers boom from the other side of camp. Luke’s head perks up like a dog, and you turn back to search for spots of red or blue. “Did we win?” You ask, craning your head to get a better view.

“Don’t care,” Luke says.

You look back at him. His anxious face says it all. “Yes, you do.”

“Okay yes, I do, and I need to see if those douches found our flag so I can choke them out with it.”

You laugh, standing so Luke can jog off to see the state of your team. But before he goes, he picks you up and smothers you in kisses, holding you like you’re his prize.

You are not a fighter, but your boyfriend sure is. And you’re perfectly okay with that.

#perrie’s fics #perrie’s requests #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo #pjo x reader #charlie bushnell #luke castellan comfort #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fluff #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fic #i kind of hate this i think I’M SORRY #but some parts of it are interesting so oh well #luke castellan you are fucking crazy.

4K notes · View notes

kyletogaz · 2 months

Text

title: not your usual [redacted] story pairing: johnny x plus-sized fem!reader summary: there’s a reason why he won’t leave. cw: smut with feelings, johnny being a menace to society words: 3k+

you really shouldn't be surprised to see your neighbor johnny chilling on your couch when you walk through the door, but you are.

you could have sworn you told him you wanted to be alone today.

that man has a habit of loitering in your apartment whenever you’re out. you’d be so irritated whenever you came home to see him lounging on your couch, as if he was the one paying the damn bills around here. you've told him to fuck off plenty of times, but he refuses. and it’s not like you can have him physically removed either.

try it if ye wan’ to, hen.

you’ve filed multiple complaints with your landlord, but he just looks at you like you’re crazy, before asking you if you’re unwell. because you weren’t sure what he meant by that, you stopped coming to him. maybe he was the crazy one.

fed up, you threatened to call the cops on johnny’s ass. your threats did nothing to keep him away though, it only made him worse. walking around your apartment with his stupid boots on, even though you’ve asked him a thousand times to take them off. rearranging things on your coffee table, opening your mail, stealing your underwear, and snooping through your personal items. hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in your bed whenever you were away.

you think johnny’s favorite thing to do, just to further the torment, is to throw away your toys. and it’s even worse when he makes slick comments about you needing a real cock in your pussy. at the time, you were so stunned, your words had failed you when you tried to tell him off.

and then there’s his mouth. johnny’s a yapper. he never stops talking, whether it’s about the military, his family, or his friends. any information you didn’t ask for, he’ll tell you all about it anyway. sometimes you find his incessant talking endearing. it made you feel less lonely in your apartment. other times, you really wish you could glue his mouth shut for a few hours, just to have some quiet time.

you think the most off putting thing about johnny is the creepy shit he does, things that make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. it always has you thinking he’s not entirely human. the unnerving staring, when he's lying down and his body is perfectly still, too still for it to be considered normal. or when johnny doesn't blink at all, and you’ve convinced yourself that there’s something terribly wrong with him. and he’s always looming when he’s close to you. it scares the shit out of you, but you never bring it up.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d say johnny mactavish was haunting you.

when johnny gives you a lazy wave, you don’t bother getting yourself worked up, as you breeze past him to get to your bedroom. all you do is offer him two words, “get out."

johnny follows you like a damn puppy of course. "bunny, ye dinnae mean that,” he whines, a pout already forming on his lips while he’s leaning against your doorframe.

you fix him with a glare when you hear the nickname he’s given you. “how many times do i have to tell you to stop calling me that? and i meant every word, johnny. go home.” you’re exhausted and you just want some peace and quiet. you want him to leave.

but johnny doesn’t leave. he’s told you time and time again he doesn’t answer to you.

asshole, you think to yourself, before rolling your eyes at him.

your peace lasts for all of five minutes, before johnny starts touching your shit. you’re rummaging through your closet, when you hear your dresser drawers being slammed shut. when you turn your head, your eyes narrow in suspicion at the sight of johnny feigning innocence, as if he didn’t just have his hands on a pair of your panties.

“do i come to your house and meddle in your shit? stay out of my dresser, johnny!” you can feel a scream trying to work its way out of your mouth, but you suppress it. you really wish he would go terrorize someone else.

yeah right, as if that’ll ever happen.

your eye actually twitches when he flings himself onto your bed and gets comfortable. you’re obviously staring at him longer than you should be, because your breath hitches a little when his shirt rides up, giving you a lovely view of muscles and body hair. your not so subtle staring turns into full blown gawking when johnny slips a hand into the waistband of his sweatpants, making your mouth go dry the same time slick starts to gather in your panties.

shit.

you snap out of it when you realize that this is johnny you’re ogling. “get out of my bed, mactavish.” your words come out colder than intended. you try not to shrink away when piercing blue eyes meet your gaze.

“what’s wi’ that attitude of yers, bunny?” johnny asks coolly. there’s an edge to his tone and a tick in his jaw. “need me tae fuck it out of ye?” he snorts at the scandalized look you give him.

“as if i would ever let you touch me!”

that was over 24 hours ago when you made that statement, and now here you were on your back, pussy wet, and full of want while johnny took his sweet time exploring your soft body.

"why are you so damn cold?" you hiss when two large hands cups your tits, a whine leaving your throat when the hands are suddenly replaced by johnny’s hot, wet mouth.

he ignores your question, hoping you won’t ask again. it’s not like you can anyway, with the way he’s distracting you with his mouth. he licks and sucks your nipples until they’re covered in his saliva. a soft laugh slips past his lips when your fingers sink into his overgrown mohawk, as you drag him up for a kiss.

johnny puts everything into the kiss. he’s nipping at your bottom lip and doing his best to shove his tongue down your throat. you pull away to gasp softly when his thick fingers slip between your slick folds, letting out a pitiful sound of disappointment when he removes them almost immediately. and then he’s pressing those glistening fingers to your lips and telling you to open up. when you don’t move fast enough, he pries your mouth open then slips his fingers in.

“taste yerself, bun.” you do as you’re told, sucking your own pussy juice off johnny’s fingers. you ignore the way your heart flutters when he coos at you and calls you his good girl and tells that he would have done this sooner if it would have kept you from hissing and spitting at him like a damn cat. he’s got you right where he wants you, in bed and eager to take his cock.

johnny loves the way you whine and spread your legs wider for him when he drags his cock up and down your sticky folds, smearing precum all over your pussy. you have to stop yourself from begging, when he teases your hole with the tip of his cock. he does it repeatedly, until you’re blinking away tears of frustration.

you sniffle when he cups your jaw and says in a sickeningly sweet tone, “poor bunny, thought ye hated me. now look at ye beggin’ for mah cock.” the laugh he lets out is mean and it hurts your feelings.

“please,” you whimper, voice cracking and eyes full of tears. “i don’t hate you, johnny.” you may be telling the truth, but he looks a bit skeptical.

you open your mouth to speak again, but johnny’s already feeding his cock into your pussy, inch by inch, and groaning because of how wet and tight you are. the way your spongy walls clench around him when he’s fully engulfed, is enough to make his head spin.

“fuck, bunny. ye feel so good stretched out aroun’ mah cock,” johnny moans in your ear. “feels like this cunt was made f’me.”

the first thrust knocks the air out of your lungs and has you shrieking and clawing at the skin on johnny’s back. “do that again,” you beg breathlessly, not caring if you sound desperate. you want him to ruin you.

like the obedient mutt he is, johnny obeys, and does it again and again and again, until you’re wailing and creaming around his cock. you’re a bit shocked at how fast your orgasm crept up on you. not offering you any respite, johnny demands for you to give him one more, and you almost tell him that you’ll give him anything, as long as he keeps fucking you like this. he’s fucking you like it’s his last night on earth, his fingers intertwined with yours, while he moans and pants in your ear. johnny’s fat cock pistoning in and out of your fat pussy while he hits your g-spot repeatedly is almost too much for you to handle.

all you can do you is cry and writhe up under johnny while he gives you the best dick of your life. your pussy nearly strangles him to death when he chants mine mine mine with every snap of his hips. you're not his. you can't be, you refuse. and yet, when johnny asks whose pussy is this? you sob and tell him, it’s yours, johnny.

“what about ye?” he asks through gritted teeth, “yer mine, yeah?”

there’s no hesitation in your voice when you answer with a breathy, “yes, i’m yours.”

deep down, you feel like you’ve bonded yourself to him with those three words.

“thas’ right, bunny. mine. gonna keep ye forever,” johnny snarls, before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of your throat and giving a powerful thrust that has you howling his name and digging your nails into his back.

he’s marking you as his.

you’ll panic later when you’re not getting fucked stupid and johnny’s thick fingers aren’t toying with your puffy clit. he doesn’t stop rubbing your sensitive bud until your back is arching and your thighs are shaking, as your orgasm hits you like a freight train.

“ye okay, bunny?” johnny asks once you can breathe again. his brow is furrowed in concentration and his forehead is slick with sweat while he continues to grind into your pussy, groaning at the filthy squelching sounds coming from between your thighs.

you answer with a garbled moan. how are you supposed to give him a coherent response when his cock is making you see stars and driving you insane.

johnny lets out a huff of laughter, before he rolls off of you and pulls you on top of him, using one hand to guide his length back into your slick pussy. “c’mon bunny, be nice for once and fuck me.”

soft cries spill from your lips when you start to grind your overstimulated pussy on johnny’s cock. with your head tossed back, you can’t see the way he stares up at you in complete and utter adoration. he’s enjoying the way your tits and belly bounce while you ride his leaking cock, and the way you cry out his name and claw at his chest. johnny’s so enamored with you and you don’t even know it.

he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you his secret, something he should have told you before you let him touch you. he’s been wanting to for weeks, but he’s never found the right time to do so. it’s getting harder for him to keep a lid on it. simon keeps telling him to end it. she’ll go running for the hills when she finds out what you are. he told johnny to stop coming by your place, to leave you alone and let you live your life. but johnny’s selfish. he’ll never leave let you go, especially now that he’s finally got you split open on his cock.

“fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” johnny moans, his grip on the your hips almost painful.

you cum before he does, pussy spasming and choking his cock while you moan his name, “johnny!”

the way you say his name unlocks something in him. johnny holds you close to his chest, murmuring soft words against your lips that you don’t even think are being spoken in english, thrusts becoming more frenzied as he fucks up into your worn out pussy. he doesn’t stop until up his thrusts become sloppy and his hips stutter. the drawn out moan that leaves his throat when he fills you to the brim with his cum is like music to your ears.

when johnny comes down, he strokes his hands up and down your back. he asks you if you’re okay, and all you can do is whimper. you’re a little surprised at how sweet he is with aftercare, bathing you and helping you get dressed before he puts you to bed. and the last thing you feel before you fall asleep, is a pair of cool lips on your forehead.

“you sure you gave me the correct name? there are no tenants in the building who goes by the name johnny. i've checked the records several times for previous tenants as well."

what?

"i don't understand," you blurt out, sounding as confused as you probably look. "this isn't making sense. what about the name john? have you tried that?”

"i did that as well,” your landlord says. he gives you a look of concern when you let out a groan. “are you sure this johnny person isn’t a squatter?”

he can’t be. johnny knows too much about the people and their business in this building. he wasn’t a squatter.

you shook your heard at the old man, “that’s not possible.”

your landlord just simply shrugs and says, “well if he isn’t a squatter, then he probably lives with one of the residents in this building.“

“well, that’s just perfect,” you mutter, voice dripping with sarcasm and a hint of annoyance.

how the hell are you even supposed to find the person johnny could possibly be living with? you don’t know half of the people in your building. they’ll probably think you’re insane if you knock on their door to ask them if they’re harboring a scot with an overgrown mohawk.

before your annoyance can settle in, you ask the man if any of your neighbors are in the military. it’s the best place to start if you’re going to track johnny down. and luckily for you, there is one person who goes by the name of simon riley.

you stare at the computer screen in surprise when you spot simon’s apartment number. “he lives on my floor,” you utter in disbelief.

“yes,” the bespectacled man confirms. “across the hall and just a few doors down. he’s retired from the military. think he’s a butcher now.”

you’re already out of the door and thanking him before he can blink. you make your way up to your floor with johnny on the brain. you haven’t seen him in almost a week, and it feels like he’s avoiding you. it takes every ounce of strength you’ve got in you, to keep from having a breakdown. after he’d fucked you six ways to sunday, you woke up thinking johnny would still be curled around you, but he wasn’t. he’d left, and you’d never felt so alone. much to your dismay, your eyes start to sting as the urge to cry presents itself.

johnny owed you an explanation for his actions, and you were going to get one.

you’re not sure how long you stand in front of simon’s door, just staring at the silver number plates, before you work up the nerve to knock. you bite your lip nervously when you hear the someone unlocking the door. you almost took a step back when the door swung open to reveal a hulking figure. it was definitely simon. he was so fucking big and pretty.

“you must be johnny’s bird,” he says gruffly, lips quirking up into a small smile. “was wonderin’ when you would show up.”

you stare up at simon in surprise, before murmuring a soft greeting. “is he inside?”

simon offers you a silent nod, before stepping aside to let you in. when you walk through the foyer and into the living room, you swear you him mutter something about you not being the only person johnny haunts. but then he’s speaking again, louder this time. “show yourself, mactavish,” he barks, before taking a seat on the sofa.

and leave it up to johnny to make an appearance that almost scares you half to death. he walks right through the wall to your right, making you flinch away from him with a terrified shriek.

johnny froze, and so did you. somewhere in the background you can hear rumbling laughter. you must be losing your mind, because there was absolutely no fucking way johnny just walked through simon’s wall. a wall that’s supposed to be solid, a wall that a human shouldn’t even be able to phase through.

and then it all comes rushing back to you at once. johnny popping up whenever he wanted, even when you asked him to relinquish the key you thought he stole from your landlord. never hearing your door shut when you finally managed to convince him that you needed your alone time. you thought about how johnny knew certain things you thought no one should know. the creepy comments he would make about death. when he never tasted any of the food you offered. he’d spent most of his time lying through his teeth about having a special diet.

you know what he is now, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. you’ll probably scream if you do.

“bunny?! fuck, ye wasn’t supposed tae see that. christ, simon why would ye let her—”

“johnny….what?” your voice sounds faint to your own ears and you’re not feeling too great.

“bunny? shit, bunny?!”

johnny’s hands are on your arms, but you’re not really feeling him or hearing his words.

the last thing you see before your world tilts on its axis, is a pair of worried blue eyes.

a/n: what is he? and at want point in the fic did you realize it? maybe i’ll do a 2nd part.

masterlist

#not your usual ghost story #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish x you #soap mactavish #kyletogazwrites

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