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sceletaflores · 17 days ago

Text

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent.

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts.

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning.

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more.

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you.

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved.

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure.

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure.

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist.

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain.

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer.

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours.

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow.

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest.

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt.

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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whimsyfinny · 3 months ago

Text

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat.

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away.

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine.

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker.

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour.

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor.

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision.

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him.

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria.

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #supernatural reader insert #supernatural one shot #dean winchester one shot #dean smut #supernatural smut #smut

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rinasauruss · 6 days ago

Text

closer than quiet

summary: Rafe is so tall he has to lean down to hear you better. that's it.

warnings: none, me thinks. just a suggestive line at the end ;P

word count: 590

A/N: I couldn't help myself, so I wrote this blurb! this is my first time writing Rafe, let me know what you think! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors. feedback is appreciated!

The soft hum of the waves was a steady background to the crackling of the bonfire, the flames dancing as the heat mixed with the cool bite of the night breeze. You stood near the fire, feeling the warmth spread through you, but the presence behind you was what made your skin tingle the most.

Rafe was close, an arm wrapped around your waist with a casual ease that made you feel both safe and exposed at the same time. His thumb traced slow, absent circles over your stomach, his other hand holding a beer with the same relaxed grip he used when he wasn’t thinking about much at all. Topper and Kelce were deep in conversation, their voices more distant than usual, as if the world around you had faded into something quieter. Rafe barely added to the chatter, content to stay in his own head—or maybe it was you who had his full attention. You weren’t sure, but it felt like you did.

You turned your head, looking up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You good?" You asked it quietly, as though you already knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it anyway.

Rafe didn’t immediately respond, the sound of the ocean filling the silence. Instead, he leaned down, tilting his head as if to catch the softest whisper, even though you’d only spoken in your normal tone. His presence grew even more intense with the movement, his height hovering over you, his face drawing closer in that effortless, unspoken way that made you feel smaller and more drawn in with each inch.

"Hm?" His voice was low, just above a murmur, the sound of it vibrating through your chest.

You flushed at the gesture, a subtle warmth rising in your cheeks. His closeness, his height, the way he made the space around you feel like it shrank to just the two of you—it was disarming in the best way. His breath fanned over your skin, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine, and you could almost feel the heartbeat beneath his chest as he leaned in further.

You swallowed, your voice a little shakier this time. "You doing good?" You repeated, hoping your tone sounded steady, but there was no hiding the way he affected you.

Rafe’s grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he felt the slight hitch in your breath, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer. It was as though he knew exactly how much he was making you feel.

"Yeah, m'good, baby," he hummed, his voice deepening in that way it did when he was in his element. "Just thinking."

"About?" you asked, a whisper now, almost afraid to ask but too curious to hold back.

He tilted his head again, moving in just a little further, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. The closeness, the heat of his breath, was enough to send a shiver all the way down your spine, leaving you breathless.

The moment stretched between you, charged with unspoken words and everything that lay beneath the surface. The bonfire crackled, the night air was cool, but Rafe’s presence was all you could feel now, the pull of him drawing you in further than you’d ever planned to go.

His voice was soft, smooth, laced with that teasing edge that always made your heart skip a beat. "Just thinking about how much fun I’m gonna have taking this little dress off you later."

(support banner by @cafekitsune )

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron x you #rafe obx #obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fluff

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tgcg · 6 months ago

Text

an open fly walking

i didnt like this one but i thought id finally air it out since its been sat in my folders for months now

TG: hey karkat

CG: YEAH?

===

TG: you ever noticed you like

TG: walk weird

CG: WOW, OKAY.

CG: HAVE *YOU* EVER NOTICED THAT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT?

TG: pff

===

TG: no listen because i got my ears scoping that shit im like a scouter for dude activity

TG: ok maybe me mentioning it to you is gonna fuck up your ecosystem or something but

TG: you have the heaviest feet of the century man

CG: I DO???

TG: just thrust them straight down into the ground like youre trying to homebrew a san andreas fault

TG: viciously tamping on tectonic plates hoping for top score on the richter scale

TG: waging war against solid particles and the basic flow of gravity

TG: i could ID those footfalls out of a million i mean it

CG: SERIOUSLY?

===

TG: i mean theres nothing wrong with it but

TG: yeah

CG: I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU'RE FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW.

TG: im not fucking with you striders honor

TG: when have i ever lied to anybody about anything

CG: NOT UNPACKING THAT QUESTION WITH YOU TODAY.

CG: BUT SHIT, HOLD ON. LET ME SEE.

TG: yeah take the umbrella go over there and just walk to me

CG: ON IT.

===

TG: see you just kinda slam em straight down dude

CG: THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY RIOTOUS FUCKING JOKE OF A LIFE.

TG: dont your feet ache

===

CG: MOOT POINT. THIS MIGHT SOUND INSANE BUT I'VE ACTUALLY HAD MY STRUT PODS FOR A WHILE. ANY KIND OF PAIN THIS WOULD'VE BEEN CAUSING WOULD BE TOTALLY FILTERED OUT OF MY SPONGE BY NOW AS BACKGROUND NOISE.

TG: damn i didnt think that through

TG: my shades

CG: ALRIGHT, GET BACK UNDER THE SHITTING UMBRELLA AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME.

TG: look ive fucked myself over here too i dont have shit to clean these with

TG: ugh

===

TG: guess its karma

CG: HOLY FUCK. HOW DID I NEVER NOTICE THIS BEFORE?

TG: i dunno but im gonna assume having a dad thats a literal crab monster is probably a contributing factor

TG: im guessing thats not a great role model for this kinda thing

TG: just conjecture i mean

CG: YOUR ENVY IS OVERWHELMINGLY OBVIOUS DAVE. AS A DISCLAIMER, HE WOULD'VE ABSOLUTELY KICKED YOUR ASS.

TG: yeah probably

CG: THAT'S PRETTY MUCH ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER.

===

TG: but see bro had me stringent on feather feets

TG: i bet i could slip across a bike horn warehouse with nary a fucking toot

CG: HAHA. ASSUMING YOU DON'T MAKE A TOTAL ASS OF YOURSELF, AS PER USUAL.

CG: IF YOU WEREN'T CONSTANTLY RUNNING YOUR GASH ABOUT EVERYTHING AND BEING AN INIMITABLE CLOWN I SERIOUSLY THINK YOU COULD BE ON PAR WITH YOUR CUSTODIAN.

CG: THAT IS A MONUMENTAL "IF".

TG: well look at it this way

TG: im basically doing you all a favor by being a dumbass

TG: never gonna get caught off guard by the bozo patrol

CG: WOW. GOOD POINT.

===

TG: also screw this can i use your shirt

TG: this stupid hoodie is just smudging my lenses up

TG: i cant see dick

CG: UH

CG: SURE, I GUESS.

TG: cool

===

TG: so yeah i could be prowling around like a goddamn verbal assassin sniping convos left and right

TG: but no ive got the decency to go bunp in the night

CG: YEAH.

CG: IT'S DEFINITELY COMPOUNDED BY THE CONSTANT INANE RAMBLINGS.

CG: BUT

CG: IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY RELAXING, Y'KNOW? IT HAS ITS OWN RHYTHM.

TG: see yeah i sound it off and

===

TG: wait really?

CG: YEAH

CG: I DON'T KNOW

CG: FUCK. HOW DO I EXPLAIN THIS WITHOUT WANTING TO CRAM MY FROND DOWN MY PROTEIN CHUTE.

===

CG: IT'S LIKE

CG: A SALVE FOR MY AGGRAVATION SPONGE.

CG: YOUR VOICE IS THE HUMAN EQUIVALENT OF ASPIRIN.

TG: uh damn karkat hold your hoofbeasts i was talking about the rhythm thing

CG: ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT. I'M TAKING US BOTH THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE REACHED THE BAD END OF THIS CONVERSATION.

TG: you think thatd be heroic or just

CG: IF I WAS STILL GHOSTING AROUND THE RUINS OF SGRUB'S ARCANE FRIGGIN GAME SYSTEMS, THE COMPLETE LACK OF SHIT AFOOT NOWADAYS WOULD BORE ME TO DEATH.

CG: LIKE. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME OUR THERMAL HULL LEVELLED UP, DAVE?

TG: hah

===

TG: but uh

TG: i mean we had aspirin on earth

CG: NO, NUMBNUBS.

CG: I'M SAYING YOU ARE MY ASPIRIN.

TG: oh

CG: YEAH, TAKE THAT TO THE BANK AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR 20-KARAT ASS.

===

TG: heh

TG: well get this

TG: i will literally talk at you forever for free

TG: you got lifetime priority seating for the davealogues

TG: never gotta go to the drugstore again you can just get doped up on my dulcet tones for the rest of time

TG: take that and some of this

TG: im packin punches

CG: OW, FUCK! NO! MY MIGRAINES!

CG: SWEEPS OF VEINCLOTTING AND NERVEFRAYING DOWN THE FUCKING GAPER. BECAUSE OF YOU.

CG: YOU ASSHOLE, THIS IS THE WORST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.

CG: AND YOU'RE LAUGHING.

TG: chuckle up it only gets worse from here

===

CG: BE HONEST WITH ME. DID FONDLING MY SHIRT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET EVEN DO ANYTHING?

TG: barely but yknow sometimes you just gotta deal the cards youre given

TG: ill just be astigmatic for a while its cool

CG: PFF… OKAY MAN.

#davekat #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #comix #an open fly walking

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wysteria-bloom · 9 months ago

Text

⚝ "oh shit you're crying okay"

Hazbin Hotel boys react to you crying at a party

Warnings : mentions of val. hate that motherfucker.

Genre : angst, comfort, fluff

A/n : bro I jump between fandom obsessions too much I need help. Why am I simping for THE DEVIL from THE BIBLE and A TV-HEAD MAN 😭😭 actually devastated with myself. Anyways Vox and Alastor's may be a bit longer because... yeah. Angel-Dust's is a friend relationship but you can interpret it differently if you are a dude lol

Characters : angel-dust, husk, alastor, vox, lucifer

▢ angel dust 𔘓

When he walked into the bathroom, he was shocked at first at the sight of you, feeling fear grip his heart.

Had Val got his hands on you when he was distracted? He would never forgive himself if he had-

"Toots, ya can't jus' go an' disappear on me like that," He began softly as he closed the bathroom door, locking it for privacy," had me tearin' out my hair."

You sniffed as you look up at him, eyebrows furrowed, cheeks swollen from tears," s-sorry..." you whimpered out, curling in on yourself a little more.

He grimaced at the dirty floor you were sitting on before maneuvering around you sit next to you, one of his arms pulling you into his side-embrace comfortingly.

"This party's fuckin' shitty, ain't it? Sorry for bringin' ya here, doll." He sighed out, hand caressing your side softly.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from sobbing as you shook your head vehemently," i-it's not that, Angel... you were only trying to cheer me up..." you furiously wiped at your eyes to stop more tears from falling," I just-... Fucking hate everything down here..."

He hummed, head leaning on top of yours," cheers to that." He droned out with a frown.

You looked up at him, his heart squeezing at the innocent look on your face. You weren't supposed to be down in a place like this, there was no way.

"Can we just... go get ice cream or something?" You then gulped, waving a hand," b-but if you're having fun-"

"Nah. I'd rather do one of Charlie's trust exercises than be in this shit-hole." He stood up smoothly and pulled you with him, keeping you close to him as he grinned toothily," I would kill for an ice cream right now."

▢ alastor ⍋

He didn't willingly want to be here, in fact he stayed for a total of 15 minutes to please Charlie before escaping outside to leave.

But the sight of you sitting on the steps outside sniffling to yourself made him pause in his long strides.

You had your head hung low, a red plastic cup sitting at your side alone.

You were prime for manipulation.

But... Alastor found himself being sympathetic. He breathed out a sigh before walking over to you," my, what do we have here? My dear, being out in the open in such a vulnerable state is a bold choice!" He exclaimed, grinning down at you, but it wasn't as sharp as it usually was.

You jumped at his sudden presence," Jesus-!" You looked up.

"Not quite!"

You seemed to relax at the sight of the red-haired demon and sighed in relief," Alastor..." you gave him a weak smile, wiping away at your tears," Wh-what brings you out here, huh? Needed fresh air?"

He sat down on the steps with you," As a matter of fact, I was planning my great escape from this wretched event!" He tilted his head at you, hair falling along with him as he regarded you with a knowing glint in his eyes," I believe you're well acquainted with the feeling, hmm?"

Your smile fell as you huffed, deciding it was useless to keep up a happy persona around Alastor when he was so good at reading right through you," You could say that."

"What bothers you so, my dear?" He gave you a closed-eyed smile, tugging at your cheek like an annoying auntie would do," perhaps your favourite radio demon can be of service to you."

He earned a giggle from you as you waved his hand away amusedly, making his expression soften at the sound.

"You're the only radio demon I know." You raised a brow at him in amusement.

He nodded with an exageratted shrug," I wouldn't have it any other way, dear."

You smiled genuinely at him, feeling your worries already disappearing," parties suck." You answered his previous question.

"Aha!" His smile looked like a grimace and his fluffy ears flattened as if an unpleasant memory was reminded to him," agreed."

"They're gross."

"Tell me about it!"

"And the people in it make me want to kill myself. Again."

He snapped his fingers at you," I knew we had something in common! Well-said, cher, very well-said~!" He pressed a hand to his heart - as if he had one.

As you laughed, your tears dried up and you leaned back a little," as for you being of service?..." You trailed off, referring back to his earlier inquiry. A soft smile made its way to your lips," I think you've helped enough already, Al."

The red demon's posture seemed to stiffen but relax, his grin curving gently which was his way of softening it," Wonderful to hear, my dear."

He gave you a gentle pat to the shoulder and you had never felt so comforted in that moment.

▢ husk ꩜

Before even attending the party, he knew something was up with you. You weren't smiling as much on the way there, and you were jumpy at his comforting touches.

Even so, you insited that you wanted to spend time with everyone at the party despite his assurances that you could stay home.

When he found you crying in the bathroom, he froze in his spot before grumbling to himself and closing the door behind him, not before giving a growl and a deadly glare at the demon that was whining about needing a piss.

He led you gently from the ground to a standing position before settling you on the toilet seat.

The silence between you both was soft and comforting, hanging in the air like a gentle caress of wind.

He got down on his knees in front of you and began to wipe away at your tears, a deep frown settled on his face.

You only stared into his eyes with your glassy ones, bottom lip trembling," my makeup probably looks so fucking gross..." you sobbed.

Husk snorted," should be the least of your worries, doll." When you finally stopped crying he huffed and flicked your forehead," you have some serious FOMO." He grumbled out, an amused smirk on his fluffy face.

You sniffled and nodded, choking back more tears," I know."

"And you need to know when to stop if you're uncomfortable."

You nodded again," I know.."

His brows furrowed," and you still look pretty with your makeup running down your face." His reassurance was sweet and charming despite the disgruntled expression on his face.

A watery smile broke onto your lips,"... Thank you." You breathed out softly.

"Wanna get the fuck outta here? There's a nice bar I know a few blocks away we could drink at. Just the two of us."

You hummed," Sounds awesome."

▢ vox ᯤ

When he agreed to go to this stupid party for Val, he wasn't expecting to run into something like this.

His greatest enemy, you, was sat outside with your head in your hands as you sobbed and cursed to yourself.

To be honest he was torn between making fun of you or just taking advantage of the situation and killing you.

But there was that little voice in the back of his coding that screamed to comfort you.

He groaned and ran his hands down his face," fuck my life fuck my life fuck my life..." He muttered to himself as he walked over to you.

He stood behind you and watched as you paused to look up at him, face puffy and pathetic.

He grinned wryly at the sight," Holy shit you're an ugly crier." He stated without thinking.

Your wide eyes turned half-lidded as you turned your attention away from him," Go fuck yourself, Vox. I'm not in the mood for your whiny baby shit." You grumbled out.

"Hey, hey. Whiny baby is too far, sweetheart. Take the insults down a few notches, yeah?" He then sat down next to you," treating me like this when about to comfort you. The fuckin' nerve of you."

You gave him a deadly glare, growling," Vox, leave. I told you I'm not in the fucking m-" you were interrupted by being pulled into a sudden embrace, making you shut up immediately.

There was a long awkward silence as you were pulled into Vox's side in a side-hug.

Then you spoke with a small voice,"... what is this." Was more of a demand than a question.

"Comfort." Vox replied casually when he was fucking sweating buckets.

"........ huh...." you bit your lip as you felt tears sting at your eyes,"... alright."

You leaned into him unknowingly, making him gush a little to himself. Why the fuck was he being soft right now? He didn't know.

"You looked hot tonight. All dolled up." He gritted out.

"Yeah? Looked? Past-tense?"

He nodded," you look like a wet-rag now."

You snorted," fuck you, man." You grumbled, and leaned your head onto his shoulder," fuck, I'm pathetic..."

"Yeah. But it's okay." He replied as comfortingly as he could but it just came out awkwardly," y'know parties are supposed to be fun? Why are you crying?"

"I hate my life? Or lack thereof?"

He hummed with a nod," Fair enough." Then he smiled widely," guess we have one thing in common, huh?"

You looked up at him before you sent him a slightly amused smirk," do we?"

He cleared his throat at your expression and looked away quickly, blush on his screen,"I-I mean.. yeah. Fucking sucks down here. Literal shit hole." Then he shrugged, trying to brush off the stutter of his heart," but... but at least you're not like... alone or whatever the fuck."

You stared for a moment, eyes softening as you nodded in agreement,"... Yeah. At least there's that, huh?"

You leaned back into his embrace with less tension in your body as Vox began to relax alongside you.

▢ lucifer morningstar ⚝

He came to this party just to make a brief appearance for his daughter's celebration of the hotel being rebuilt to be honest.

But he took quick note of how you had left very suddenly, mumbling to him about needing to take a breather outside. He was worried, of course, but he just left you in your lonesome until he got worried when you didn't return for 20 minutes.

When he walked outside onto the balcony of the hotel his eyes widened in horror at the sigh of you sobbing to yourself.

"Oh shit you're crying okay ummm," He walked over to you quickly, playing with his fingers awkwardly," Honey is everything okay? Do...do you need a hug?"

"Shit... sorry..." you mumbled looking up at him ashamedly from the floor, smiling pathetically as tears trailed down your cheeks," I.. I'm sorry you have to see me like this..."

He frowned deeply, his nervousness subsiding as he crouched down in front of you," Don't apologise for something so silly." He mumbled, grabbing on your hand and gently squeezing," what's wrong? Is it something I can help with?"

His concern was incredibly sweet and touching, not something you would expect from the King of Hell.

But here he was comforting you like you were the most precious treasure to him. And you were... aside from Charlie, for obvious reasons.

You sniffled and felt your tears gathering again at his concern, you bottom lip trembling. At the sight, he frowned," Oh, love... oh honey..." He brought you into a hug, arms wrapping securely around you as he let his wings embrace you as well," I'm here now... always will be..."

You nodded against him as you just cried your heart out.

#lucifer x reader #lucifer hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #husk x reader #vox x reader #angel dust x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #vox x you #vox x y/n #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #angel dust x you #angel dust x y/n #husk x you #husk x y/n

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solxamber · 1 month ago

Text

One Date and a Lifetime: Leona Kingscholar x reader

You have chosen Leona! ; aka the times Leona-i-don't-care Kingscholar puts in effort for you;

1k masterlist ; Prologue

You never thought Leona would actually take this date seriously. Honestly, when you first call him, you half expect him to suggest, "Let's just take a nap or something." Instead, his voice is low and smug, almost purring through the phone.

“Sure. I’ll pick you up later. Be ready.”

And just like that, he hangs up before you can ask for specifics. Typical. You're prepared for some half-hearted effort involving him dragging you to a secluded spot to nap under the stars or something like that. But then, a knock sounds at the door of Ramshackle, and there stands Ruggie with a bouquet.

“These are from Leona,” Ruggie says with a grin that’s two parts mischievous, one part disbelief. “He told me to get the ‘good ones,’ whatever that means. I charged him double, by the way.”

You take the flowers, cheeks warming, trying not to feel too charmed by the fact that the laziest lion you know thought to send you flowers. “Compensation good?”

“Let’s just say I’m eating like royalty tonight.” Ruggie winks before scampering off, probably with plans to milk his housewarden’s generosity for the rest of the week.

When Leona finally arrives at your doorstep, you're stunned into silence. He’s dressed to kill, sharp black slacks, a sleek button-up rolled at the sleeves. Effortlessly regal.

"You..." You blink. "You’re somehow even prettier than usual. How is that fair?"

He grumbles, averting his gaze, but you catch the way his chest puffs out just a little. “Tch. Cut it out.”

“Admit it—you love the compliments,” you tease, looping your arm around his as you step outside.

Leona scoffs but doesn’t pull away. “You gonna keep flattering me all night, or are we leaving?”

And so begins the wildest date you could have imagined: Leona, the notorious nap king, escorting you to a local festival, of all things.

You glance up at him as you stroll through the brightly lit stalls. “I thought you hated crowds.”

“I do,” he replies, but then adds in a gruff mutter, “It’s fine if it’s with you.”

Your heart skips a beat. You're lucky he looks so good because you might’ve fainted on the spot otherwise.

At one of the stalls, you spot a mountain of cotton candy, pastel pink and blue fluff that looks like it’ll melt if you so much as breathe on it. You buy a stick and tear off a piece, holding it up to Leona.

“C’mon, try it.”

He eyes the sugary fluff suspiciously. “That’s just sugar and air.”

“Exactly. Now open up.”

With an exaggerated groan, Leona leans down, and you pop the piece into his mouth. His brow furrows as he chews. “Way too sweet.”

But the next time you hold up another piece, he still eats it, grumbling under his breath about “sugar addicts.” You don’t miss the tiny, fond smile that sneaks onto his face, though.

As you continue through the festival, you spot a prize stall lined with plushies, including a little dragon that immediately catches your eye.

“I need that,” you say, determination sparking.

You try... and fail. Repeatedly. Leona watches your attempts with a smirk, arms crossed like he’s enjoying the show.

When you lose for the fifth time, he sighs dramatically. “Move.”

He steps up to the game and, with one smooth flick of his wrist, nails it on the first try. But instead of the dragon plush, he gives the attendant a lazy grin. “The lion.”

When he hands you the lion plush, you stare at it, confused. “What happened to the dragon?”

“Lions are better,” Leona says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No debate.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help but smile. It’s ridiculous, but it’s him, and somehow that makes it perfect.

Later, when he takes you to an absurdly expensive restaurant, you raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this? It’s... kind of pricey.”

He gives you a flat look. “Order whatever you want. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

So, naturally, you do. And the food is fantastic. Leona leans back in his chair, watching you with a lazy smirk as you happily dig into your meal.

When the date winds down and Leona walks you back to Ramshackle, the night air is cool, and you instinctively rub your arms. Without a word, Leona shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

You clutch onto his arm with a grin, snuggling into the warmth. “Thanks, Leona.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Of course you do.” You laugh, leaning against him. “Oh! Did I tell you what Ace and Deuce did earlier today? You won’t believe it.”

He humors you as you chatter away, recounting the latest shenanigans. “So, Grim decided to ‘supervise,’ which really just meant eating half the snacks while Ace accidentally set off the fire alarm—again.”

Leona snorts softly. “Idiots.”

“Yeah, but they’re my idiots.”

When you finally reach Ramshackle’s doorstep, you turn to face him, a little reluctant for the night to end. On a whim, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Leona freezes for half a second, and when you pull away, his expression is somewhere between surprised and utterly smitten.

“Goodnight, Leona,” you say softly, watching as he blinks down at you like you just shattered every lazy expectation he had about this date.

He clears his throat, looking away, but you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah... night.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but feel like you’ve just unlocked a whole new side of him—and you kind of love it.

You’ve been talking about this video game figure for weeks. Every time you hang out with Leona, he hears about it. Well, "hang out" is a generous term—he naps on your lap or leans against you, and you yap his ear off about how amazing the game is and how this figure is the holy grail of limited merch.

“I’ve been doing everything,” you rant one day, lying next to him in the botanical garden. “Crowley made me do ten extra assignments this week. I even agreed to clean Grim’s litter box without arguments—twice! But it’s worth it. If I get that figure, my life will be complete.”

Leona, who’s half-asleep with his head resting on your shoulder, cracks an eye open. “That good, huh?”

“Yes, that good. There are only ten in the world, Leona. Ten.”

He grunts, shifting a little to get more comfortable. “Better hope your luck’s good, herbivore. Sounds like a lotta effort for a toy.”

“It’s not a toy,” you huff dramatically. “It’s a collectible figure, and it’s the coolest thing in existence. Just wait—when it drops tomorrow, I’m getting it.”

And yet, the universe doesn’t care about your efforts.

You stare at your phone screen in disbelief the next day. The site crashes, the countdown ends, and the figure sells out in 0.2 seconds flat. You refresh. Then refresh again. But it’s gone—snatched from your grasp like a mirage in the desert.

“No... no, no, no.” You sit there, devastated, as the weight of your failure sinks in. After all the work, all the chores, and all the emotional speeches to Leona, you’ve been denied. The limited-edition figure remains forever out of reach.

By the time you see Leona later, your mood is somewhere between tragic despair and begrudging acceptance. You find him lounging in the garden again, his favorite napping spot.

“Didn’t get it, huh?” he asks, his voice carrying that lazy drawl as you flop down beside him.

“Nope,” you sigh, resting your forehead on your knees. “All that work, all that hope... and nothing.”

Without another word, Leona pulls something from behind him and chucks it onto your lap.

You blink. Then blink again.

It’s the figure. The figure. THE limited-edition figure you’ve been pining after for weeks.

“Leona???” you squawk, holding it up like it might vanish into thin air if you let go. “What—how—why—?”

He just shrugs. “Still the second prince, y’know.”

“You—" Your jaw drops. “Did you use royalty status to get me this figure?!”

“Yeah.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he just asked the palace cook to make toast instead of pulling strings for a rare collector’s item.

You gape at him, torn between disbelief and giddiness. “Leona... that’s cheating.”

“So?” He leans back with a satisfied smirk, clearly amused by your reaction. “You wanted it, didn’t you?”

You can’t help it—you burst into laughter, clutching the figure like it’s the greatest treasure ever gifted to you. “You’re impossible.”

Leona tugs you down beside him, trapping you in his arms. “Yeah, yeah. Now quit yappin’ and let me nap.”

Still grinning like a fool, you curl into him, giggling into his hair. “You’re way too good to me, you know that?”

He huffs, but there’s no hiding the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hand rests lazily against your back, warm and grounding. “Hmph. Lucky I like you.”

And just like that, he drifts off into sleep, his arms snug around you. And you? You lie there, feeling like the happiest person alive, hugging your figure close while Leona naps against you, his soft breaths the perfect lullaby.

The first sign something is wrong comes when Grim tries waking you up for your usual chaos-filled day.

“Hey, get up, henchhuman! We’ve got things to do!” he says, poking your cheek with one of his fluffy paws. “It’s already late! If Crowley gets mad, I ain’t takin' the fall!”

Normally, you’d groan and roll out of bed—or at least threaten Grim with chores—but today? All you can manage is a weak grunt before you flop back onto your pillow like a defeated pancake.

“Henchhuman?” Grim nudges you again, this time with more urgency. You crack one eye open just long enough to see his ears flatten in concern. “Oi, don’t ignore me—what’s wrong?”

Your head is heavy, and it feels like your bones have melted into jelly. You try to say I think I’m dying, but all that comes out is a sad, congested whimper.

Grim’s eyes widen, and suddenly, he’s a blur of blue fur and panic. “You’re dying!” he yells, as if confirming the worst-case scenario. “Don’t go toward the light, henchhuman! I’ll be right back—stay alive!!”

Before you can reassure him—or at least remind him that people don’t die from mild fevers—Grim is already out the door, paws skidding against the floor like a tiny tornado.

Somewhere across campus, Leona is enjoying a particularly satisfying mid-morning nap in the botanical gardens when an absolute menace of a furball barrels into him.

“HEY, YOU! Lion guy!” Grim shouts, climbing onto Leona's chest. “Get up! Henchhuman’s dying!”

Leona cracks open one bleary eye. “Dying?” he repeats with a skeptical grunt, already half-expecting Grim to be overreacting. “Probably just overslept.”

“I know the difference between sleeping and dying!” Grim shrieks, paws batting at Leona’s face. “They're burning up, can’t even sit up! You gotta do something!”

Leona grumbles under his breath, but he’s on his feet before Grim can push him again. The usual lazy slouch is gone, replaced by swift, purposeful movements.

By the time he strides into your room, Leona has already called his personal doctor, much to Ruggie’s dismay (“Do you know what time it is?! Do I get paid overtime for this??”). Leona doesn’t care. He’s moving fast—like a lion with a mission.

It’s a blur after that. You vaguely register a cool hand against your burning forehead, Leona’s voice a low rumble beside you. The doctor checks your pulse, takes your temperature, and declares it’s just a fever with some exhaustion thrown in. Nothing dangerous, but definitely enough to flatten you.

“Hah.” Leona lets out a short sigh of relief, slumping in the chair beside your bed. “Told ya Grim, not dead.”

“Yeah, well…” Grim’s still pacing at the edge of your bed, tail twitching in frustration. “They looked dead, okay?! How was I supposed to know?”

“You weren’t. That’s why I’m here,” Leona says flatly, though his tone is less irritated than usual.

The next few hours pass in a fog of sleep, soft voices, and the occasional pressure of something cool against your skin. Ruggie swings by every now and then to drop off food, grinning as he deposits soup and medicine like it’s some kind of delivery service.

“Man, if I knew babysitting was part of my job description, I’d have charged extra,” Ruggie teases, setting down a tray.

Leona just rolls his eyes. “Get lost, hyena.”

Despite his usual snark, Leona is surprisingly attentive. He makes sure you drink water, feeds you spoonfuls of soup even when you mumble protests, and keeps an arm draped lazily around you when you shiver. If anyone asks, he’ll say it’s just because you’re annoying and need constant supervision.

When you finally come to, it’s because something warm and heavy is curled against you. You blink a few times, head still foggy, and realize it’s Leona—completely sprawled across the chair next to your bed, but with one hand tightly clasping yours.

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of him. Carefully, you nudge closer, nestling against his arm. The movement stirs him awake, his golden eyes blinking down at you groggily.

“You awake now?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“Barely,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

Leona grunts, but the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles is answer enough.

Just as you’re about to fully enjoy the peace, a loud, dramatic voice cuts through the moment.

“Finally!” Grim bursts into the room, leaping onto your bed. “Took you long enough to wake up! I thought I’d have to hire a priest or somethin’!”

You chuckle softly, the sound a little scratchy. “Didn’t know you cared that much.”

“Pfft! As if.” Grim crosses his arms, looking away with a huff. “I just didn’t wanna be stuck with Crowley as my only companion. He’s useless.”

But despite his words, Grim scrambles onto your lap anyway, curling up against your chest with a grumble. “Don’t get sick again, okay? It’s a pain.”

You pet his fur, grinning as you feel him relax. “Okay, okay. No more dying.”

Leona shifts beside you, rolling his eyes. “What, am I invisible?”

“Shh,” you murmur, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Just let me enjoy my two favorite cats for a minute.”

Leona huffs, but there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I'm not a cat. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

You grin back at him, and for once, you don’t need words to say thank you. He knows.

You like to think of yourself as a strong person. Someone who can hold their own in this chaotic, magic-ridden school where everything from magical accidents to actual ghost attacks is a typical Tuesday. You’ve handled your fair share of weird situations and even gotten through them without embarrassing yourself too badly. But… you are still a magicless human. And that’s a fact you can’t change.

So when three tall, muscle-bound Savanaclaw students corner you in a dimly-lit corridor on your way to visit Leona, your heart sinks.

"Where ya headin', little herbivore?" The biggest one grins, flashing sharp teeth that remind you just how much worse your day could get.

“Leona’s been hanging out with you a lot, huh?” another one sneers, blocking your path. “Think that makes you special or something?”

"Maybe they've got some kind of deal with him," the third one suggests, his voice dripping with mockery. "How about you tell us what’s really going on between you two?"

Your stomach twists, but you keep your face neutral. No way are you going to let them see how nervous you are. "How about you back off before you embarrass yourselves?" you say, proud of how steady your voice sounds.

The tallest one leans in, his grin widening. “Look at you, acting all tough. Too bad there’s no magic in that mouth of yours.”

You force yourself to hold your ground, though your fingers twitch toward your pocket. You really don’t want to bother Leona, but… well, desperate times. With a quick, discreet motion, you send a single SOS text.

You: Cornered. Help.

The three of them are still jeering at you when you hear footsteps approaching from behind. Slow, measured, and heavy with the kind of weight that makes everyone in the hallway tense.

"Oi," a familiar, low growl cuts through the noise like a hot knife through butter.

All three of them freeze. You glance over your shoulder—and there he is. Leona Kingscholar.

He stands at the end of the corridor, his usual lazy posture replaced by something much sharper, much more dangerous. His emerald eyes gleam with a warning, and a sly, predatory smile spreads across his face.

"Seems like I showed up just in time." His voice is deceptively calm, almost bored. “What do you think you're doin'?”

The boys shift uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances.

"Just… chatting," one of them stammers, the earlier bravado leaking out of him like air from a punctured balloon.

Leona steps forward, leisurely, as if he’s in no hurry—but there’s something about the way he carries himself that makes the air heavy with tension. His presence fills the space, demanding attention and submission.

"You must be real stupid," Leona drawls, "if you think you can mess with what’s mine."

The tallest boy blanches. “W-We didn’t mean—”

Leona’s grin sharpens, all teeth. "Didn’t mean to what? Annoy me? Make me waste my time on some sad, third-string rejects?"

They flinch, shrinking under the weight of his words. Leona isn’t yelling. He doesn’t have to. His authority is clear—absolute.

One of them mumbles an apology, and the others nod hurriedly, ready to slink away. But Leona’s not done.

“You ever try this again,” he says, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr, “I won’t just kick you out of Savanaclaw. I’ll bury you so deep, nobody’ll even remember your names.”

The boys scatter without another word, practically tripping over each other to escape.

Leona watches them go with a snort, then turns his gaze to you. His sharp expression softens just a fraction, the predatory edge giving way to something lazier—something almost… fond.

“You good?” he asks, as if he didn’t just verbally annihilate three guys on your behalf.

Your heart is racing, but not from fear. No, this is something else entirely. Something far more dangerous. You’re not sure when it happened, but you are completely, utterly smitten.

“Yeah,” you say, trying—and failing—not to sound starstruck.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Like you’re impressed.”

“Oh, but I am.”

He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, but you notice the faintest hint of color creeping up his ears. “Tch. Idiot.”

You laugh softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks for showing up, though.”

Leona shrugs like it’s nothing. "I told ya—just call me when you need me."

That does it. You feel yourself practically glowing at the simple promise, the quiet reassurance beneath his words.

You lean toward him, your grin widening. “What if I need you right now?”

He smirks, draping a lazy arm over your shoulders. “Then I guess I’m stuck with you.”

You let yourself melt into his side, the earlier tension gone like a bad dream. The two of you walk off together, his arm comfortably slung over you like it belongs there.

And, in that moment, you’re pretty sure it does.

The assignment in front of you is a nightmare.

You’ve been staring at the same page for what feels like hours, your head throbbing with frustration. You chew the end of your pen, tapping your foot anxiously against the floor. Why did you leave this for the last minute? Why does it feel like every word on the page is written in an ancient, cursed script meant specifically to drain your soul?

Meanwhile, Leona is draped over you like a weighted blanket, his head resting comfortably on your shoulder. You know he’s napping because of the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing. This man has zero care in the world.

He’s been napping while you’ve been spiraling. Because of course he is.

You mutter curses under your breath, willing the assignment to finish itself. But the numbers swim in front of your eyes, and your breaths grow shorter, more unsteady. Panic claws at the edges of your mind.

Leona stirs. He shifts just slightly, cracking open one eye to glance at you. “Oi,” he grumbles. “Stop breathin’ like you’re about to pass out.”

You ignore him and grip the pen tighter, heart pounding, trying to push through the stress. That’s the worst part about this assignment—if you don’t finish it, your grades will nosedive, and Crowley will never let you hear the end of it.

Suddenly, Leona's hand slips out from around you and snatches the pen from your grip. "Gimme that."

You blink as he pulls the paper closer.

"Leona, what are you—"

"Shh." He flips through the pages like they personally offended him. His eyes scan the questions with the kind of effortless ease that makes you want to scream in frustration. Without so much as a sigh, he picks up the pen and starts writing.

You can only sit there, dumbfounded, as his neat, surprisingly elegant handwriting fills in the answers you’ve been struggling with for hours.

"Wait—are you actually doing my homework?" you ask, staring at him in disbelief.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Told ya. I'm a senior. This stuff’s easy."

"Easy for you, maybe."

“Then why didn’t you ask me earlier?” he drawls, finishing the last answer without breaking a sweat.

You blink at the completed assignment like it might disappear if you look away. "I… didn’t think to."

Leona rolls his eyes and tosses the pen onto the desk with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Next time, just ask. I ain't gonna let you stress yourself out over dumb stuff.”

And that’s it. Just like that, all your anxiety evaporates.

You turn to look at him, utterly smitten once again. "You're ridiculous."

He leans back, resting his head against your shoulder again with a satisfied sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”

You let yourself melt into him, the earlier panic now a distant memory. His warmth, his steady breathing, the way his arms rest loosely around you—it all feels so easy. So right.

For a moment, you just sit there in silence, the peaceful kind that feels rare and precious. The assignment is finished. The world isn't ending. You don’t have to do everything alone.

You tilt your head to rest against his, your smile soft. "Thanks, Leona."

"Mm," he hums, already halfway back to sleep. But his hand gives yours a lazy squeeze, a quiet reassurance that makes your heart skip a beat.

The day passes in a haze of warmth and peace, your stress long gone. And you realize something: being with Leona feels like this—like having someone who makes the hard days bearable, without needing you to say a word.

And yeah, you could definitely get used to this.

You've thought about asking him for weeks. Maybe even months. But every time the words start forming, you chicken out. You’re this close to accepting that you’ll just live in relationship limbo forever.

It’s safer. No awkward conversations, no heartbreak. Just… endless naps together, weird dates that may or may not be dates, and him doing sweet things without ever calling them what they are.

But tonight, as you sit curled up in his arms, watching the stars from a balcony in the botanical gardens, it feels like the moment. Leona is lounging beside you, one arm slung lazily around your shoulders, the other resting on your leg like it's the most natural thing in the world. His warmth is comforting, grounding, and for once, you let yourself think: Maybe, just maybe, this is real.

You take a breath, steeling yourself. If he laughs or acts indifferent, fine. If it ruins everything—okay, not fine, but you'll survive.

“Hey, Leona?”

He hums, eyes still half-lidded. He’s relaxed, probably thinking about nothing except how long it’ll take for him to drag you back to bed.

You clear your throat. “What are we?”

Leona cracks one eye open, giving you a lazy look. “Huh?”

You shift nervously under his gaze. “Like… What is this? Are we—” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “—a thing? Or… I mean, are you—do you even like me like that? Or—?”

He stares at you for a second, blinking slowly, like a cat woken from a nap it didn’t want to leave. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You feel your courage start to wither, but you force the words out. “I mean, I thought… We never really said anything official. And I don’t know if this is, you know—” You wave a hand. “Something? Or if you’re just putting up with me or—”

Leona makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, like you just asked him the dumbest question imaginable.

“You really thought I’d let you hang around me this much if I didn’t want you?” he says, giving you a flat, incredulous look.

You blink at him. “So… we’ve been dating this whole time?”

He just stares at you. “...What else did you think we were doing?”

“Oh my god—” You slap a hand over your face, torn between relief and secondhand embarrassment. “I thought you were just vibing.”

Leona snorts. “Yeah. Vibing with you. Idiot.”

Despite yourself, you laugh—a little breathless, a little giddy. It’s so absurd. All this time, you’d been worried about asking him where you stood, and he just… assumed you knew.

Leona rolls his eyes but shifts slightly, turning to face you. His gaze is softer now, and the usual laziness in it is replaced by something raw and unguarded. His hand, rough and warm, cups your cheek.

“Listen,” he mutters, voice low and a little rough around the edges. “I’m not good at sayin’ stuff like this, so don’t make me repeat it, okay?”

You nod, holding your breath.

“I love you.” The words slip out easily, like they’ve been waiting there all along. “Don’t care what anyone says, don’t care what they think—I'm not good at a lotta things, but I know I want you.”

Your heart stumbles. For a moment, the world feels too quiet, too small. You reach up to cover his hand with yours, warmth spreading through your chest.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, like it's the easiest thing you've ever said.

Leona's lips twitch upward into a faint, self-satisfied smirk, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze lingers on you, like he’s not used to getting what he wants.

“So,” you say softly, “are you my boyfriend now?”

He gives you the look—that deadpan, long-suffering stare, like you’ve just asked him the dumbest question of the century.

“Then what the hell else would I be?” he grumbles.

You can’t help it. You laugh—bright, free, and maybe a little too giddy. And before you can stop yourself, you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips.

The kiss is soft, warm, and it lingers just long enough to make your heart race. He tastes like mint and the faintest hint of something earthy, something that feels like home. His hand slides down to rest at the small of your back, holding you close like he has no intention of letting you go.

When you finally pull away, you grin at him, still breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, well.” He smirks, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” you whisper, and this time, it’s him who leans in.

And just like that, the world slips away, leaving only the two of you—wrapped in warmth, in laughter, in everything you never knew you needed.

Leona saunters into your room, hands in his pockets, tail flicking lazily behind him. “Hey, Falena and his family are visiting today,” he says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You blink at him from your bed, mid-scroll on your phone. “You mean the King and Queen of the Sunset Savanna are visiting.”

Leona shrugs. “Yeah. Same thing.”

You sit bolt upright. “Leona, that’s not the same thing! Those are literal royals!"

He raises an eyebrow, already amused. “I’m royalty too, you know?”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “But you’re my boyfriend!”

Leona’s smirk grows as smug as the desert sun. “Exactly.”

Oh no. He’s loving this way too much.

Despite your protests, you're soon standing next to Leona at the main entrance, sweating bullets as Falena, his wife, and Cheka step through the doors. They’re all gorgeous and elegant, the epitome of royal perfection. You’re about to pass out from nerves, but Leona? He looks like he’s two seconds away from falling asleep on his feet.

Cheka spots you first. “UNCLE LEONA!” he shrieks, barreling straight for his favorite uncle—and by extension, you. Before you can brace for impact, the little lion cub is already latched onto your legs.

“You must be the one Leona told us about!” Falena grins warmly, stepping up beside his wife, who’s equally radiant. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You gawk at him. “Wait... Leona talks about me?”

Falena’s wife smiles knowingly. “Quite a bit, actually.”

You shoot Leona a look, but he just rolls his eyes. “Don’t get weird about it.”

Meanwhile, Cheka, still latched to your leg like a koala, looks up with big, bright eyes. “You’re my favorite person now!” he declares, squeezing your leg tighter. “After Uncle Leona. But you’re mine after him, okay?”

Leona huffs out a laugh, amused by the possessive cub. “Tch. Good luck, kid.”

“I’ll fight for you!” Cheka promises dramatically, like you’re a prize to be won at a carnival. He even makes little fists, shadow-boxing an invisible opponent. “I’ll become a strong lion and beat all the bad guys!”

You try (and fail) to hold back a laugh. “Well, I look forward to it.”

Falena claps his hands together, his grin brighter than the savanna sun. “Since we’re all here, how about a walk around the grounds? It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“Nope.” Leona’s arm is suddenly wrapped around your waist, dragging you closer to him. “We’re good right here.”

Falena and his wife exchange that look—the kind that says they’ve been married long enough to know exactly what’s going on.

“We’ll leave you two alone, then,” Falena says with a chuckle, patting Leona on the shoulder. “We’re happy for you, Leona.”

His wife nods, her eyes twinkling. “Very happy.”

You open your mouth to protest—Wait, this isn’t what it looks like! We’re just standing here! I’m not even sure what’s happening!—but the words don’t come. You just sputter and blush as Leona tugs you closer, looking far too pleased with himself.

“See?” Leona murmurs smugly, lips quirking into a grin as you bury your face in your hands. “Told you it wasn’t a big deal.”

You groan into your palms. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His grip tightens just a bit, his voice low and lazy as ever. “C’mon. Admit it—you like having a royal boyfriend.”

You peek through your fingers, cheeks burning. “Leona...”

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Say it.”

You glare up at him, flustered beyond belief but unable to hide the smile creeping onto your face. “...Okay, maybe I do.”

He hums in satisfaction, practically purring. “Thought so.”

And just like that, he pulls you into a lazy, one-armed hug, as if holding you is the easiest thing in the world—and honestly? It kind of is.

The moment the news breaks that you’re dating Leona, you know it’s going to be a thing. A very loud thing. Ace and Deuce are the first to get wind of it, and honestly, you almost regret ever telling them.

“Leona Kingscholar?!” Ace yells, gaping like you just told him you were moving to Mars.

“Why??” Deuce adds, equally stunned. “Are you okay? Blink twice if you're in danger.”

“Isn’t he the guy who naps literally everywhere?” Ace squawks. “Like, you’re really dating a guy who falls asleep during fights?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Ace. I am.”

“Not to mention he’s scary,” Deuce mutters. “What if he, I don’t know, kicks you out of the relationship because it’s too much work?”

“He’s not going to ‘kick me out,’ Deuce.”

Ace leans in conspiratorially, wiggling his eyebrows. “Have you thought about what happens when Riddle finds out?”

Deuce pales. “Oh man, I’m not telling him.”

“You’re definitely telling him.”

“No, you tell him!”

“Do I look like I have a death wish?” Ace scoffs. “I can already hear him screaming something about ‘poor romantic judgment!’”

Meanwhile, Jack is sitting with his arms crossed, brow furrowed. “I don’t know why you’re all acting like this. Housewarden Leona’s actually cool if you get to know him.”

Ace stares at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “Jack, the man once threatened to ‘accidentally’ kick me into a bush because I sneezed near him.”

“Yeah, because you sneezed on him.”

“It was allergy season!”

“Uh-huh.” Jack shrugs. “Still deserved it.”

Before you can jump in, Grim waddles in, arms crossed like the world’s smallest mafia boss. “I don’t care who you date as long as you’re still my henchhuman. Priorities, ya know?”

“Gee, thanks, Grim.”

Then, from across the room, Epel starts cackling like a madman.

“Oh, Vil is gonna lose his mind when he hears about this!” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “Leona’s the exact opposite of Vil’s whole life philosophy. This is beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Ace adds, smirking. “It’s like watching two completely different wildlife documentaries crash into each other.”

Before you can stop him, Sebek jumps in, indignant. “I cannot believe you would choose that lazy lout over the Young Master!” He practically growls the words.

“Sebek, Leona is—” you try to reason, but Sebek steamrolls right over you.

“He sleeps through his classes! He’s rude! And worst of all, he doesn’t respect Master Malleus!”

You sigh. “Sebek, you can’t date someone based on their respect levels for Malleus.”

“You should!” Sebek declares, crossing his arms dramatically like a lawyer who just delivered the winning argument.

Before things spiral further, Jack mutters, “Leona’s not rude. He’s just… efficient with his energy.”

“Efficient? He calls that one freshman ‘footstool,’ Jack,” Ace deadpans.

“Maybe it’s a term of endearment,” Jack grumbles defensively.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. The whole scene is chaotic—Ace flailing, Epel wheezing, Sebek looking personally offended, Deuce still white-knuckling through the idea of telling Riddle—and somehow, it’s perfect.

Because deep down, you know something they don’t.

Even though Leona doesn’t show it, even though he hates doing anything that even smells like effort, he cares. He really does. Whether it’s texting you to remind you to eat, draping his jacket over you when you forget yours, or waking you up from an accidental nap with your favorite snack—he makes sure you know.

You just smile quietly to yourself, heart warm. And when Ace notices and nudges you, asking what’s got you looking so smug, you just shrug.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, already counting down the minutes until you can see Leona again.

Because even though the man drives you up the wall and naps like a professional, he’s yours. And that makes all the teasing worth it.

1k masterlist ; Main Masterlist

i know lions don't purr but in my delusions, leona does. work with me here

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #leona x you #twst leona #leona kingscholar x you #leona #twst leona x you #1k event

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