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doctorbitchcrxft · 15 days

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Provenance | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, j e a l o u s y

Word Count: 6703

A/N: Taglist will be closing at the start of season 2! if you aren't currently tagged, and you'd like to join, please please let me know within the next two posts!!

Series Rewrite Masterlist

You gripped your beer tightly watching Dean getting a girl’s number across the bar from you.

“(Y/N), if you hold that thing any tighter, you’re gonna break it,” Sam snorted. “What’s your deal?”

You looked back at Sam but were unable to pull your eyes from Dean and his new “friend” for longer than a few seconds. “Nothing.” You took a swig of your drink.

“Are you sure you don’t know how you feel about Dean?” the brunet taunted.

You shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

He snickered in response and returned to looking over the papers in front of him.

You waved Dean over, who held a hand up behind the woman’s back to get you to wait. You gestured again and his smile dropped. He said something to her quickly before making his way back over to you.

“I think we got something,” Sam told his brother.

Dean grinned over his shoulder. “Oh, yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave; just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one.”

You rolled your eyes. “So, what are we today, Dean? Rock stars, army rangers?”

“Reality TV scouts,” he grinned at you, ignoring the bite in your voice. “Looking for people with special skills. I mean hey, it's not that far off right?”

“If by ‘not far off’ you mean ‘completely off the mark,’ then you’re spot on,” you deadpanned.

Dean shot you a look while he turned to his brother. “By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think?”

“Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates,” Sam responded to his question.

“Yeah, you can, but you don't.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. What you got?”

“Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all—” He trailed off as his brother looked back at the women at the bar.

“Dean!” you snapped your fingers at him.

He turned back. “Huh, what?”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside,” Sam continued.

“Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department,” Dean answered.

“No. Dad says different.”

“What do you mean?” Dean’s interest was piqued at the mention of his dad.

You pointed at the map. “John noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second, right here in 1945, and the third in 1970. Same M.O. as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside; the whole nine. Now, so much time passed that nobody checked the pattern. Except for your dad. It’s frustrating how much better he is at this than me sometimes,” you muttered at the end of your sentence.

“Alright, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up ‘til first thing though right?” Dean asked, trying to contain his excitement.

“Yeah,” Sam answered.

“Good.” Before you could stop him, Dean was off to the two women again.

You were fuming; staring daggers at him and downing the rest of your drink.

Sam snickered at you. “Let’s get you out of here before you end up killing one of those girls.”

“Nah, I’d kill your brother. They didn’t do anything wrong,” you responded, helping Sam pick up the papers scattered about the table. “How ‘bout the Telescas’ house?” you asked.

***

You and Sam headed back to the motel you were staying in to research the history of the Telescas’ home. You sprawled out across Dean’s bed with your laptop, and Sam sat on his bed with his laptop.

“Finding anything?” you asked him.

“Nope. You?”

You shook your head. “Nada.”

He shut his laptop. “So? You wanna talk about it?”

You shut yours, too. “About what?”

“Dean?”

“Oh, hell no,” you snorted.

“You two are made for each other,” he deadpanned at your boxed-up emotions.

“Fuck off, Sam,” you retorted. “What about you? Still not ready to jump back into the dating pool?” You snuggled into the blankets on Dean’s bed, reveling in his scent emanating off them.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What was she like?” you asked after a moment.

“Who?”

“Jessica. You never told me much about her.”

He sighed. “She was just… the best, man. You two would’ve gotten along great, honestly. She was—” he grinned sadly at the thought of her, “—so smart. So beautiful. Quick, witty, and…” he shook his head. “I was looking for wedding rings. Few weeks before she...”

You smiled sadly at him. “She sounds amazing.”

“She was,” he responded. A quiet settled over the room.

“Don’t you think she would’ve wanted you to be… I don’t know, happy? Do you think she’d want you to move on? It’s been almost a year,” you said. “Jesus, I’ve known you guys for almost a year now," you realized.

He chuckled before going quiet again momentarily. “I think she would. But Jess… I don’t know if I’ll ever be fully over her. She was my best friend, y’know?”

You nodded. “I get it. I’m glad you had that with her, though. Sounds like you really loved each other.”

“We did.”

You and Sam went silent once more, and you succumbed to the tiredness of your limbs and mind. You were so comforted by the scent of worn leather, Dean’s cologne, and whiskey, that you slept better than you had in years.

***

When you woke up the next morning, Sam was standing over you, shaking you gently. You popped up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it and putting a hand to his throat. “Hey, hey,” he tried to calm you down, “Dean’s back.”

You released him immediately. “Sorry, dude. Uh… reflexes,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It’s okay. Dean does that, too.”

The man in question stumbled into the room tiredly. “Move your asses. Let’s go.”

***

You and Sam had just swept the Telescas’ house for EMF while Dean slept in the car trying to get over his hangover. When you returned to the car, you beeped the horn. Dean shot up a foot in the air and groaned.

“Man, that is so not cool.” He adjusted his sunglasses and leaned back against the car door. You and Sam climbed into your seats and began to explain what you had been up to.

“We just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were, well, out—” Sam trailed off.

Dean’s smirk made your stomach drop. “Good times.”

“—we checked the history of the house.”

“Nothing strange about the Telescas, either,” you said, swallowing your feelings.

“Alright,” Dean’s gravelly voice came, “so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something.”

“The house is clean,” you said.

“Yeah I know, you said that.”

“No, no, it’s empty. No furniture, nothing,” you explained.

Dean turned back to you. “Where's all their stuff?”

***

You felt so out of place in the swanky auction house the Telescas’ belongings had been brought to. Even the Impala looked like an outcast in the parking lot full of McLarens and Corvettes.

You and the brothers wandered around the auction house, and you wrapped your jacket tightly around yourself.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me,” Dean commented. He took some food from a tray table as a man came up behind you.

“Can I help you?” the man questioned.

You wheeled around to face him.

“I'd like some champagne please,” Dean said in a mock posh voice.

You could’ve killed him. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at you, and you held out your hand to the man. “I’m (Y/N) Dewitt. This is Sam and Dean Connors. We’re with Connors Limited. We’re art dealers.”

The man didn’t give you the courtesy of a handshake. You fought the urge to make an inappropriate comment.

“You. Are… art dealers,” the man said, clearly having difficulty grasping that concept. “I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list.”

“We're there, Chuckles, you just need to take another look.” Dean, of course, talked through a mouth full of food.

You shot a sharp look at Dean as he took a glass of champagne off the tray. He turned and walked off, and you followed him.

“Can you chill out?” you asked him.

“What?” he asked through a mouthful of champagne.

You rolled your eyes. “You know what I’m talking about. I don’t like this crowd either, but relax.” You noticed a painting just beyond where you and Dean were talking. It was of a family in an American Gothic style; presumably from the early 1900s. The family contained three young girls in frilly dresses, a man with a gaunt and creepy face, and a woman you assumed was the mother seated in a chair.

“A fine example of American Primitive wouldn't you say?” a woman’s voice called from behind you.

You turned to the place the voice came from to find an extremely good looking woman in a sleek black dress with glossed lips descending the staircase. You noticed Dean beginning to ogle her as Sam answered her. “Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.”

The woman smiled as she approached you. “Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake.”

“I’m Sam,” he said. “This is my… brother, Dean.” Dean was still stuffing his face with food from passing trays. “And our friend, (Y/N).”

“Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?” Sarah questioned.

You snorted. You liked her.

“I'm good, thanks,” he smiled through a full mouth.

“So, can I help you with something?” she asked Sam. You knew she liked him; she was giving him the same look you often gave Dean.

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?” Sam asked her.

She grimaced. “The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

The man from earlier came up behind you. “I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, dropping your polite disposition. “Don’t have to tell us twice.”

“Apparently, I do,” he said.

“C’mon, Dean,” you said, dragging his arm out.

***

You and the brothers found a decently priced motel and approached the rooms you had been assigned.

“Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?” Dean scoffed at his brother.

“Art history course. It's good for meeting girls,” Sam replied simply.

Dean unlocked the door to his room and chuckled. “It's like I don't even know you.”

You walked a little further down to the room next to theirs and unlocked it only to find a gaudily outfitted room full of obnoxious disco decor. The "do not disturb" hanger was even of John Travolta’s silhouette from Saturday Night Fever.

“Huh.” You dropped your bag off and headed back to the boys’ room.

“What was… providence?” Dean was asking as you entered the room.

“Provenance,” you corrected. “It’s like a biography for a painting. You use ‘em to check the history of the pieces; in this case, to see if they have a freaky past.”

“Alright, professor,” Dean taunted you. “Well, we're not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” he smirked at his brother.

“Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin,” Sam smirked back.

“Not me,” Dean laughed.

You shot a look at Sam, too.

He seemed only mildly horrified. “No, no, no, pickups are your thing, Dean.”

“It wasn't my butt she was checking out,” Dean snorted.

You giggled despite yourself.

“In other words, you want me to use her to get information,” Sam deadpanned.

“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her,” Dean instructed his brother.

Sam rolled his eyes, but took out his phone. You weren’t sure when he had gotten her number, but he left about an hour later to take her out to dinner.

You and Dean sat in awkward silence for a bit.

“So…”

You went silent again.

“What’s goin’ on with us, (Y/N)? You’ve barely spoken a word to me this whole trip.”

You huffed. “Nothing.”

“Obviously, it’s not nothing.” Dean held your challenging stare.

“Seriously, drop it, please,” you said.

“Fine. You wanna go get some food?”

You smiled despite yourself. “You know I do.”

You and Dean found a crappy diner with deliciously greasy burgers to stuff your faces with.

“So, how ‘bout you, sweetheart? Why don’t you ever go out?” Dean asked.

“On dates, you mean?”

He nodded.

You nibbled on a fry. “I’m just not one for hookups. I can’t take ‘em,” you admitted. “You, though, are king of the unattached drifters.”

He chuckled. “What’s wrong with hookups?

“I get too attached, which kind of defeats the whole purpose,” you replied. “The idea of being intimate with somebody I don’t even know makes me want to throw up.”

“Why? You’re gorgeous. Anybody would kill to get with you," he said casually.

You ignored the way your heart swelled in your chest. “It’s not that, it’s just…” you sighed. “I’m, like, allergic to vulnerability.”

“I get it,” Dean chuckled. “You know by now I’m not exactly the best with it, either.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re worse than me,” you quipped. “You look like you’re gonna throw up any time you have to tell me you’re sorry or something like that.”

“Maybe it’s just your face,” he retorted.

“Hey!” you giggled. “You can’t call me gorgeous one minute then tell me looking at me makes you sick the next.”

He chuckled. “I just did, so…”

“Whatever, Winchester. What is it about hookups you enjoy so much, anyway?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his burger. “Sex is just fun, I guess. Always helps me blow off steam.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure it does.”

“I’m serious! Helps me take a break from… all this.” He gestured around him.

“That’s why you have hobbies, Dean. Sex is not a hobby.”

“It can be! You draw, Sam reads, I fuck."

“Well, get a better one,” you scoffed.

“What would you suggest I do? Knitting?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, just… something a little more wholesome, maybe. You said it yourself, it doesn’t always make you feel great.”

“Never should’ve told you that,” he responded.

“Well, ya did, so.”

He snorted at you. “It’s frustrating how well you know me sometimes.”

“Oh, look at that, another crumb of vulnerability from Mr. Closed Book.”

“That’s the best diss you could come up with?”

“Hey, it’s not easy being effortlessly funny all the time,” you retorted. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

***

When you and Dean returned to the motel room, you pulled out your whetstone to sharpen your knives.

“Who you plannin’ on carvin’ up, sweetheart?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” you answered.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he remarked.

“You do literally all the time,” you quipped. “You’re lucky you’re still in one piece. If you give me yours, I’ll sharpen ‘em, too.”

“Thanks,” he said. He handed his knives over to you.

Sam burst through the door at that moment holding a stack of papers. “Got ‘em.”

“So she just handed the providences over to you?” Dean questioned.

“Provenances,” you corrected.

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers—”

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly. “And?”

“And nothing. That's it. I left.”

“You didn't have to con her or do any… special favors or anything like that?” Dean questioned.

“Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?” the younger brother scoffed.

“You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a little bit,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that.”

Sam ignored his brother. “Hey, I think I've got something here.”

You headed over to Sam’s seated position at the desk and looked over his shoulder at the papers. “ ‘Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910’,” you read off.

“Now, compare the names of the owners with my dad's journal,” Sam said.

Dean pulled it out. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it,” Sam continued.

“So what do you think? It's haunted? Or cursed?” you asked.

“Either way, it's toast,” said Dean, getting up from his bed.

***

Under the cover of night, you and the brothers broke into the auction house. You were consistently impressed with and sexually frustrated by how easy scaling tall fences and gates were for Dean.

“Come on!” Dean urged you.

You disarmed the security alarm, wearing gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. “Go ahead,” you whispered.

Dean picked the lock at your cue. You shone your flashlight ahead of you searching for the painting. When you found it, you and the boys were in and out within minutes. You and the boys had clearly been breaking and entering for years. You found it comical almost how good you were. You brought the painting out to a field behind the arthouse and set it alight.

Dean dusted off his hands. “Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor.”

***

Dean banged on your door the next morning. “We got a problem. I can't find my wallet.”

You opened it. “How the hell do you lose your wallet?”

“I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

“Fuck, dude, that’s bad.” You started pulling on your boots as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, I know. It's got my prints, my ID— well, my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on.”

You and the brothers hurried around the auction house searching for the wallet. Sam was clearly frustrated with his brother until he caught sight of Sarah.

“Hey guys!” she smiled.

You wheeled around at the sound of her voice and attempted to act cool.

“Sarah! Hey,” Sam breathed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Ahh, we.... we are leaving town and, you know, we came to say goodbye,” Sam responded.

“What are you talking about Sam, we're sticking around for at least another day or two,” Dean grinned as he strolled up to the two. He took his wallet out of his pocket and shot a look at Sam. “By the way, I'm gonna go ahead and give you that $20 I owe you.” He turned to Sarah. “I always forget, you know.” Dean chuckled and you grinned as he held out the cash to his brother. Sam took it and glared at him. “Well, we’ll leave you two crazy kids alone, I gotta go do something… somewhere.”

“Smooth, Dean,” you told him as you walked away from Sarah and Sam. The two of you headed back out to the Impala and sat in it waiting for Sam. When he returned, he was frantically saying the painting was back in the auction house.

“I don't understand. We burned the damn thing,” Sam rushed out.

“Yeah, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean remarked.

“Alright, we just need to figure out another way to get rid of it. Any ideas?” you chimed in.

“Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted paintings it's always the painting's subject that haunts 'em,” Sam began.

“Yeah. So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family and that creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?”

“Merchant,” you answered. “I say we find us a bookstore.”

***

And so, that was where you headed. You found a proprietor whose personality was interesting, to say the least. You found his quirk had a bit of charm to it.

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family right?” he asked you.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sam said.

You and Dean were flicking through a book with pictures of guns in it. The proprietor laid a book of newspaper clippings on the table in front of you. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So, are you folks crime buffs?”

“Kinda. Yeah. Why do you ask?” you responded.

He held up the newspaper article before him. It talked about the sinking of the Titanic, and just next to it, read “Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.”

“Yes. Yeah, that sounds about right,” Dean replied.

“The whole family was killed?” You tilted your head.

“It seems this Isaiah, he slits his kids' throats, then his wife, then himself. Now, he was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor,” the proprietor explained.

“Why'd he do it?” Sam questioned.

“Let's look. Ahh... ‘People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter…’ “ he skimmed on. “Yeah, yeah, yeah… ‘There were whispers that the wife was gonna take the kids and leave.’ Which of course you know in that day and age, um, so instead, old man Isaiah, well, he gave them all a shave.” He drew his hand across his throat and made a noise to go along with it. You and Dean joined in laughing with the proprietor.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” asked Dean.

The proprietor shook his head. “Just that they were all cremated.”

“Anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah. Actually, I found a picture of the family. It's right here. Somewhere. Right— here it is.”

It was a picture of the painting, but something seemed off to you.

“Hey, could we get a copy of this please?” Sam asked the man.

He nodded, and returned a few minutes later with it.

***

You and the boys sat at a table in the motel room and looked over the copy of the picture.

“I’m telling you,” you started, “The picture at the auction house, Dad’s looking down. Here, dad’s looking out. The painting changed.”

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean questioned.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it. But if his bones are already dusted, then how are we gonna stop him?” Sam asked.

“Maybe other things changed in the painting, too. Maybe it could give us some clues,” you answered.

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam asked.

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

Dean looked down at you, confused. “I’m lost. Still waiting for the movie on that one. Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” He walked over to his bed and laid back, crossing his arms. “Which is a good thing ‘cause you can get some more time to crush on your girlfriend.”

Sam huffed. “Dude, enough already.”

“What?” he responded.

“What? Ever since we got here, you been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, all right?” he said defensively.

“Sam, relax,” you told him.

“Well, you like her don't you?” Dean pushed.

Sam threw his arms up and looked to the ceiling.

“Alright, you like her, she likes you, you’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off with a smile.

“What's the point, Dean? We'll just leave. We always leave,” came Sam’s frustrated response.

“Well, I'm not talking about marriage, Sam.”

Sam snarled angrily. “You know, I don't get it. What do you care if I hook up?”

“ ‘Cause then maybe you wouldn't be so cranky all the time,” Dean answered calmly.

Sam stared at him and huffed before looking away.

“Look, I’m not crazy about hookups either, but maybe it would be helpful,” you suggested.

“And this isn't about just hooking up, okay?” Dean continued. “I mean, I think that this Sarah girl could be good for you. And... I don't mean any disrespect, but I'm sure this is about Jessica, right? Now I don't know what it's like to lose somebody like that, but... I would think that she would want you to be happy.” Sam’s eyes welled with tears as his brother continued to talk. “God forbid, have fun once in a while. Wouldn't she?”

“Yeah, I know she would,” Sam responded softly. “Yeah, you're right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” you asked.

He wouldn’t answer you.

“Well, we still gotta see that painting, which means you still gotta call Sarah, so…” Dean trailed off.

Sam picked up his phone and cleared his throat. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, settling back on his bed.

“Sarah, hey, it's Sam… Hey, hi… Good. Good, yeah. Umm. What about you?... Yeah good, good, really good.”

Dean opened one eye and looked at his brother. “Smooth.”

You suppressed a laugh.

“So, ah, so listen,” Sam continued. “Me and my brother were, uh, thinking that maybe we'd like to come back in and look at the painting again. I- I think maybe we are interested in buying it… What?!”

At Sam’s tone, you and Dean snapped to attention.

“Who'd you sell it to?” Sam stood up.

Dean rose and came to stand next to you.

“Sarah, I need an address right now,” Sam urged her.

Once she’d given it to you, you and the boys sped away in the Impala to an upscale neighborhood. You and the boys were surprised to see another car parked right outside the building: Sarah’s.

“Sam, what's happening?” she asked as you and the boys ran up the front steps of the house.

“I told you, you shouldn't have come,” he responded.

“Hello, anyone home?” Dean banged on the heavy front door.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger; what sort of danger?” Sarah asked Sam frantically.

“I can't knock this sucker down. I gotta pick it.” Dean crouched down in front of you and you moved over to the windows, banging on them with all your might.

“What are you guys, burglars?” Sarah yelped.

“I wish it was that simple. Look, you really should wait in the car. It's for your own good,” Sam told her.

Dean got the door open and you followed him inside quickly.

“The hell I will. Evelyn's a friend,” she said, trailing behind you and the boys. “Evelyn?” She moved over to the elderly woman sitting half-turned away from you. Something was wrong and you knew it; the woman’s gaze seemed completely empty. “Evelyn? It's Sarah Blake. Are you alright?” She touched her shoulder gently.

“Sarah, don't. Sarah!” Sam told her.

Evelyn’s head tipped back, exposing her slashed throat.

Sarah jumped back in horror and screamed. Sam put his arm around her and led her out of the room. You and Dean stared up at the painting before following the younger brother out of the house.

***

Back in the motel room, you and Dean clacked away at the keys on your laptops while Sam paced in front of you. A knock on the door stirred all of you from your thoughts. Sarah stormed into the room and brushed past Sam.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked her.

“No, actually, I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn's— alone— and found her like that,” she answered, wheeling around.

“Thank you,” Sam nodded.

“Don't thank me. I'm about to call them right back if you don't tell me what the hell's going on. Who's killing these people?”

Sam looked back at you and Dean, and you shrugged.

“What,” he told her.

“What?”

“It's not 'who'. It's 'what' is killing those people,” he explained.

Sarah was still looking at Sam like he was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move,” he sighed.

The woman began to pace. “No, no. I was— I was seeing things. It's impossible.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Dean grinned.

“Sarah, I know this sounds crazy, but we think that that painting is haunted.”

Sarah laughed humorlessly but had tears in her eyes. “You’re joking.” She looked between you and the Winchesters. “You're not joking. God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, think about it. Evelyn, the Telescas, they both had the painting. And there have been others before that. Wherever this thing goes, people die. And we're just trying to stop it. And that's the truth,” the brunet told her.

“Then I guess you'd better show me. I'm coming with you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What? No. Sarah no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous and… and I don't want you to get hurt,” he admitted.

“Look, you guys are probably crazy, but if you're right about this? Well, me and my Dad sold that painting that might have gotten these people killed. Look, I'm not saying I'm not scared, because I am scared as hell, but I'm not going to run and hide either.” Sarah strutted over to the door. “So are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean said. “Marry that girl.”

***

You and the boys returned to Evelyn’s house to scope out the crime scene a little further. Sam picked the lock to let you, his brother, and Sarah inside.

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah protested.

Dean smirked. “You've already lied to the cops. What's another infraction?”

Once inside, you and Sam got the painting down from off the wall to examine it.

“Aren't you worried that it's gonna kill us?” Sarah asked.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we're alright in the daylight.”

You took the copy of the painting out of your pocket. “Sam, check it out. The razor: it's closed in this one, but it's open in that one.”

“What are you guys looking for?” she asked.

“Well, if the spirit's changing aspects of the painting, then it's doing so for a reason,” Dean explained.

“And look, the painting in the painting,” you pointed out. “Looks like a crypt, or a mausoleum or something.”

Dean grabbed a thick glass ashtray and used it as a magnifying glass. You ignored how your body came alight as he wound his arm around you to reach the painting. “Merchant,” he read out.

***

Your next stop was a graveyard. Several, in fact. You stepped over gravestones carefully to avoid disrespecting the dead even further.

“What, are you superstitious?” Dean asked.

“A little, actually. I think I’m in such deep shit with the spirits already; I don’t wanna make it worse,” you laughed.

“You are somethin’ else, woman,” he smirked. “This is the third boneyard we've checked,” Dean addressed your group. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

Sam and Sarah talked amongst themselves behind you and you and Dean walked a bit ahead.

“Over there,” you said, pointing to a mausoleum. The group followed you into the mausoleum where you found four urns in front of little glass-fronted boxes on one wall. On the opposite, there were five brass nameplates.

Sarah looked at one of the boxes containing a little porcelain doll with brown hair. “Okay, that right there is the creepiest thing I've ever seen.”

“It was a sort of tradition at the time,” Sam told her. “Whenever a child died, sometimes they'd preserve the kid's favorite toy in a glass case; put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Wind blew in the mausoleum, sending a chill down your spine.

“Notice anything strange here?” Dean asked.

“Ah, where do I start?” remarked Sarah.

Sam snickered.

“No, that's not what I mean. Look at the urns,” said Dean.

“Yeah. There’s only four. Where’s the dad?” you questioned.

***

You and Dean discovered that Isaiah’s body had been buried in that same cemetery away from the rest of his family. You returned there that night with Sarah in tow.

You stood watch with Sarah while the boys dug the hole down to Isaiah’s corpse.

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this,” she said.

Sam climbed out of the hole laboriously. “Well, ah, this isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?”

You giggled when Dean’s shovel tapped something hard. “Think I've got something.” He cracked the coffin open to reveal Isaiah’s rotten bones. You helped him out of the ground and began pouring salt and kerosene over the body.

“You've been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah. Good riddance.” Dean tossed the match he’d struck down on top of the body.

“God, I will never get used to that smell,” you commented.

“What? Burning flesh?” the older Winchester turned his head to you.

You made a face and scrunched up your nose to which Dean just smirked at you and chuckled.

***

You returned to Evelyn’s house soon after to make sure the job was complete and bury the painting. You and Dean remained outside and told Sam to go in with Sarah. You and Dean smiled at each other before turning the radio up. A love ballad played loudly through the speakers, and Sam turned to the two of you. You both snickered at the “what the fuck” gesture he was giving you. Sam motioned for the two of you to cut the music. You sighed and turned it off.

Before you and Dean could say a word to each other, the door slammed shut behind Sam and Sarah. You and Dean jumped out of the car and ran across the lawn, trying your best to unlock it.

“Guys! Hey! Is that you?” Sam called from inside.

“Sammy, you alright?” the older brother asked. Moments later, you got a call from Sam.

“Tell me you slammed the front door,” you said after you answered.

“Nope, it wasn't me. I think it was the little girl,” he told you.

“The little girl? What girl?”

“What’s he saying?” Dean interjected, leaning close to your ear and the phone.

“Yeah, she's out of the painting. I think it might've been her all along,” Sam said.

You snorted humorlessly. “The dad was trying to warn us all along. He was looking down at her the whole time.”

“Hey, hey, hey, let's recap later all right? Just get us out of here," the younger brother rushed out.

“Well, Dean’s trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well, knock it down!”

“Okay, smartass, just let me get my battering ram,” you remarked.

“(Y/N), the damn thing is coming!”

“I know, I know, just hold it off til we figure something out. Get some salt or iron or something,” you responded. “Stay on the phone with me!”

Moments later, you heard Sam say to himself, “What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.” Another minute or so went by before he spoke back into the phone. “Uh, (Y/N), give me a sec, don't go anywhere.”

You and Dean began to walk around the outside looking for an alternative entrance. A bit of yelling and crashing was heard on the other end of the phone. “You okay, dude?”

“Yeah, for now,” he responded.

“How’re we gonna waste her?” you asked.

“I don't know, she was already cremated. There's nothing left to burn.”

Dean got close to the phone again.

“Then how's she still around?” you challenged.

“There must be something else!” Sam went silent on the other end, but you could faintly hear Sarah’s voice.

“(Y/N), Sarah said the doll might have the kid's real hair. Human remains; same as bones.”

“The mausoleum,” you and Dean said in unison.

“Hang tight, Sam,” you said, snapping your phone shut. You and Dean sprinted back to the car, and Dean drove as fast and as wildly as he possibly could.

“One of these days, your driving’s gonna fucking kill us all,” you said, gripping the leather of the seat next to you and the door.

“Not now, (Y/N),” he responded evenly, driving even faster. He plowed straight through the fence of the cemetery and drove right up to the mausoleum. You and Dean jumped out of the car and hurried into the building.

Dean pounded the door of the glass box containing the doll with the butt of his gun, and then went to walk out of the mausoleum. “Come on, Dean,” he grimaced. “Cover your eyes!” He told you. He shot at the box, and you shielded your face as he did so. You leapt back into action and knocked away more of the glass with your hands, cutting them as you did so. You ignored the burning in your palms and took the doll out of its case.

You held the doll’s hair over the lighter, which Dean was having trouble lighting. “Come on, come on!” he said. Thankfully, the lighter caught the hairs of the doll and sent it up in flames. You dropped it on the floor between you and Dean and watched the rest of the doll burn.

Dean pulled out his phone moments later to call his brother. “Sam, you good?” He breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone.

You looked down at your bloodied hands. Dean followed your gaze. “(Y/N), you maniac, what were you doin’ pawin' at that glass with your bare hands, huh?”

“It seemed like a good idea in the moment,” you mumbled.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” He guided you back to the car. He held your wrists and sat you down in the front seat of his car. He went to his trunk and returned a few moments later. He sat next to you and gingerly began wiping down your hands. You hissed and grabbed his hand at the pain. He looked back up to you and paused momentarily.

“Sorry,” you said.

“All good,” he responded and went back to work. He gently cleaned your wounds with an alcohol-soaked rag and began to wrap up your left hand. You watched as he worked, heart swelling at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” you said.

“You’d do the same for me,” he muttered.

“I would,” you affirmed, smiling.

He picked a piece of glass out of your right hand. You hissed again.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “This one’s probably gonna need stitches.” He handed you his flask. “Drink this.”

You did as told and took a sip, swallowing sharply as you felt the first prick of the needle in your palm. “I’m not trying to be a little bitch. I’m really not when it comes to pain,” you said. “I can finish stitchin’ me up on my own if you wanna get back to Sam—”

“No. Let me,” he responded authoritatively. He looked up through his eyelashes at you before returning his attention to your fingers. He ran his along yours and gingerly cleaned the cuts, giving special attention to the deeper ones before bandaging the exterior of your hands. You flexed them painfully.

“Thank you. Seriously,” you said softly.

“Any time,” he responded.

***

“This was archived in the county records. The Merchant's adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption? 'Cause her real family was murdered in their beds," Dean explained to you. “Who'd suspect her? Sweet little girl. So then she kills Isaiah and his family. The old man takes the blame. His spirit's been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Huh,” you said. “Psycho bitch.”

He scoffed. “You know you’re talking about a kid, right?”

“Yeah. Psycho bitch all the same.”

You and Dean were waiting outside of the auction house for Sam to finish talking to Sarah. You and he leaned against the car, watching Sarah and Sam talking at the door. Sam turned away from her before turning back moments later. He grabbed Sarah’s waist and pulled him to her, kissing her deeply.

“That's my boy,” Dean smiled.

“Alright, perv,” you remarked. You shoved him down into the car.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h

quite a few tags are broken; so sorry, my loves!! make sure you have my blog notifs on so you don't miss a chapter, and please let me know if ive misspelled your blog name!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #spn #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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luvv4j4ybe11 · 1 month

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✧𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚~ 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇😉

✧𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔~ 𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒗, 𝑭𝑾𝑩, 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒏 𝒘/𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒕 (𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂) , 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒅𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒂, 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌, 𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒙(𝒅𝒖𝒉!), 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒊𝒕. 𝑳𝒎𝒌 𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑬𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚<3

✧ 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏(𝒔)~𝑻𝒊̀𝒚𝒂𝒘𝒏- 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

“Yeah? Deeper?” He coos at you before grabbing you by the folds of your arms and using that as leverage to slam directly into your tender cervix

Your mouth falls open in an “O” shape, all your moans and whimpers getting stuck in your throat from the pleasure. “Lo’- lo’..I-“ you ramble, not even really remembering what you were talking about as he stars to rub your clit raw.

“Hm? You what, mama?” He taunts, leaning down to place more bites on your shoulder and neck. He knew that you couldn’t respond to him, I mean, how could you? With the way he was digging in your guts it was hard to think of anything except of how deep he was inside of you.

Without warning you convulse around him, body going limp for a second as your cunt milks him for all he’s worth, erupting a deep growl from him.

“Goddamn, mama-“ he groans as he wraps one arm around your waist to support you, the other wrapping around your neck-forcing you to look in the mirror that was infront of his bed. He chuckles at the way your eyes flash with slight embarrassment from the raunchiness of the image infront of you; you, face and hair a mess from makeup,sweat, and tears, body all marked up, claimed, and completely contorted under lo’aks stronger, bigger one.

“Yeah, see how much of a messy little whore you are for me? This little head just gets fucked empty as soon as my cock stuffs you full, huh?” If you could be embarrassed by the louder your pussy got the more he talked, you would be. But you couldn’t help it with the way he was plowing into you and softly tightening his grip on your throat, it had you seeing stars.

You squirm slightly, needing to get away from the intense pressure in your core that has your eyes watering even more. “Fuck- you and your cryin’- you can take it, tìyawn. I promise, need you to cum for me one more time, okay?” He reassured, placing chaste kisses on the side of your face as he did. His soft words mixed with his deep, rough thrusts had that pressure going away in a matter of seconds; covering the both of you guys in your juice’s shamelessly as you moan uncontrollably.

Sweet praises of “that’s it, baby” and “good girllll..such a good girl f’me..” can be heard from lo’ak as you come down from your high, whining at the feeling of his cock still rutting into your sensitive cunt ruthlessly. “I know, tìyawn, need you to keep your eyes on the mirror ok? If you do maybe I’ll stuff this little pussy full of my babies..want that, tìyawn?-fuck, you’d make such an amazing mama, lemme breed you just to show you....please?” You didn’t even know what he was rambling about, but just the look of desperation on his face as he rammed into you was enough for you to agree to whatever the hell he was saying, earning you a quiet mumble of “thank you, baby” as he grabbed your biceps to press into you deeper, taking his right hand off of your arm to bend your neck backwards- placing a passionate kiss on your lips as he pressed into you somehow deeper.

You felt like you were losing your breath the longer he filled up your greedy womb with his sticky, warm seed-of course making your cunt flutter and pulse around him. And all his soft breaths and not so quiet whimpers made you even more delirious.

Once you both calm down though, he gave you a few more meaningful thrust before pulling out of you, placing you flat on the bed and planting a few sweet kisses on your body and face before he left to go start the bath for the both of you.

𝑨/𝑵~ 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕, 𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊 𝒅𝒊𝒅- 𝑰 𝑫𝑰𝑫𝑵𝑻!! 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚! 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝒊 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏. 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒂𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒅𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒔 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒘!

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕~ @jakesullyfatjuicypeen , @pandoraslxna , @destiel-1967-sammy , @neteyamsikran , @tragicrouge , @rivatar , @bambithewriter , @hotdsworld , @skxawngdragon , @m3sml

(If you’d like to be added or removed from my avatar taglist, lmk by going here or sending me a dm, and if your tag isn’t working please check your settings💕)

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bakugoushotwife · 8 months

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kinktober day nineteen: hate sex

>>> i’m really taking some liberties with this prompt LMFAOOOOO listen. y’all should just be thanking me this wasn’t a gojo kinktober. leave me be. also this is the first piece since my laptop kicked the bucket so PLEASE ignore the UGLY formatting i will fix it as soon as i get a new laptop.

>>> starring: satoru gojo x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: ghostie gojo jdjdfkgk, bestie nanami, uhh spankings, choking, doggy, prone bone, cream pie, pet names (sweetheart) and mean names (dickhead, asshole) >>> wc: 4.5k >>> event masterlist

everything was perfect. he was a great partner despite all the people that warned you that the special grade sorcerer was incapable of it. he was wonderful and sweet and considerate, even. he brought you lunch at work and took you on wonderfully lavish dates. he texted you constantly and showered you with gifts. you had only been together for a few months, though almost a year of history had led you here. you were happy, proving everyone who doubted your relationship wrong. until you realized that they were only trying to keep you from this reality.

“i love you, you know.” you told him, swinging your intertwined hands between you as he walked you home. this was a truth you’ve known since the relationship was too fresh to say such things, but a truth nonetheless. he hid it well in the moment, but that was the death sentence to a man like satoru gojo. he knew it was only a matter of time—yet his heart stopped in his chest, turning to steel before falling out of his ass. but he made sure his smile never faltered.

“oh yeah? i’ll add you to the list.” he chuckled, poking your side to make you laugh at the stupid taunt. it worked well enough, you didn’t seem to catch on to his avoidance. you didn’t chastise him for not saying it back, at least.

he walked you to your front door like normal. he gave you a goodbye and goodnight kiss like normal, he even smiled so genuinely and told you he’d call you in the morning—just like normal.

but when morning came, his call didn’t. no big deal, you thought, he’s a very busy man. once he gets some free time, he’ll call. but hours pass, and you don’t get so much as a text to apologize or let you know he was going to be late. you keep staring at his contact, debating whether or not you should bother or not for an hour or so. but a text couldn’t be too distracting, so you type something up.

‘good morning! or afternoon now, lol–i missed ur call, i hope ur having a good day!! call me when you can xx’

it doesn’t deliver. you furrow your brows and try it again, but it still doesn’t go through. you move to a different area of your house, thinking it was spotty reception in your bedroom. you try to send the text again—but it still doesn’t send. you try to call, your heart now pounding in your ears. something must have malfunctioned, right? after all your years as friends and these brief months exploring more—he wouldn’t just block you, right?

the phone call doesn’t ring, just an automated voice telling you that that the call couldn’t be completed as dialed. he blocked you. without so much as a hint to why. everything was perfect last night, he was all smiles and laughter, what could have changed? you want to call the only mutual connection you have—ieiri shoko—but decide it’s best not to involve her in the matter between two of her friends. it’s not tasteful and if there’s any chance of this being a misunderstanding, then taking it to your friends is the last thing you want to do. you could maybe ask nanami for advice at work in the morning—you wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends, but he’s how you met the strongest man alive. so he has to have some tips! yes, you’ll talk to nanami about it first thing tomorrow.

talk his ear off about it is more apt if you ask the grade one who merely dabbles in business work. he tried to be polite and listen to the tale—but your first mistake was in dealing with gojo in the first place. there was no advice in the world to fix that amount of stupid, especially if you were looking to get him back. but nanami catches the issue as soon as you recount the tale of your last conversation with the special grade.

“you told him that you love him?” he clarified with a raised brow. based on the judgment that flashes in his eyes, you know that was the wrong move. you huff in frustration.

“you introduced me to him—why would you set me up like this nanakun??” you pout, angrily folding your arms over one another. it’s a shitty attempt to take the heat off yourself, and nanami can appreciate it.

“hardly. he shoved his way in my office and you happened to be in there already.” he rolls his eyes. trust him, he did not want to see more of gojo—and dating his workplace’s secretary only meant that the annoying presence followed him even here. “i strongly advised against it. i knew we would end up here.”

you shoot him a glance, but his unamused face remains unchanging. you ignored everyone’s warnings, choosing the results he was giving you as reason enough for them to be wrong. did he enjoy leading you on and wasting his time? what was the game in all this?

“you shouldn’t have gone after him at all. but you definitely shouldn’t have told him you love him first.” nanami nearly seemed horrified. or what you imagined he would look like when horrified, eyes slightly widened and jaw dropped partially.

you bite the inside of your cheek. you didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. maybe it’s because you knew how you felt for so long. maybe it was just because satoru put you at ease—none of the reasons matter now.

“it’s hard for him to do serious. love is as serious as it gets.” nanami sighs wistfully. you were a nice girl who didn’t deserve to be another name on the list of hearts broken by satoru gojo. for your own good, you should forget all about him and sorcerers as a whole. you would be much better off. but something about that look on your face paired with the fact that he knows satoru has never been happier in his miserable existence makes nanami sigh. “he’s just afraid of committing. the only person he ever loved just up and left him one day. so just…try to let him go. let him come back if he wants—if you want. maybe then he’ll be ready.”

your heart warms at your friend’s words. it was clear he couldn’t care less if things worked out or not, but he wanted you to feel better. you smile softly at his words, “thank you nanakun, i’ll try to…let him go.”

you think you did a pretty good job of that. as time went on, you think you even managed to convince yourself you didn’t want him back at all. if he could just flake out on you—look you in the face and lie—you didn’t want him. no matter how sexy and sweet and strong he was, trust is the most important thing. you keep your head down and work hard, catching up with nanami and learning any updates on your sorcerer that way.

apparently he was casually dating around, but nothing nearly as serious as you. he made sure of that. he hadn’t heard an ‘i love you’ in years, and while he may have thought it at different times throughout the past couple of dates you’ve been on, he hadn’t said it. even thinking it was bad enough. that meant you held an unimaginable and concerning amount of power over him. that meant you could crush his soul into a million pieces. that meant you could ruin him—and he can’t go through that again. the possibility of handing himself over to deep and passionate love was beautiful in theory but terrifying in practice, and the thought of giving in just to lose a second time were odds he just wasn’t willing to gamble with.

so he did it first. if he broke your heart you couldn’t break his.

so why does he feel so bad? so empty? every pretty girl he carted around after that was a weak competitor. they were nice enough, but so shallow and boring—they treated him like everyone else. you were special. you treated him like a person. someone with feelings and dreams and regrets. you asked him questions. real questions that made him think about real answers, nothing surface level like his favorite color or movie. you wanted to know him. and he let you learn just some of his darkest days and you told him you love him anyway. and he ran away from you. goddamn. he’s his own worst enemy.

he shows up with flowers one day, six weeks after you’ve broken up—or he dumped you. it was a normal day until then, but it certainly wouldn’t be after. it was laughably large bouquet, it almost looked like he was struggling to hold it all. your eyes must look like two full moons based off of his amused yet apologetic smile. you have to make yourself stop your smile before it spreads.

“hi…” he said nervously, shifting his weight foot to foot. he messed up—how could he make up for it? “i was wondering—“

“leave.” your shaky voice manages to croak out, quickly looking down at your paperwork. you had to avoid his stare, surely he would figure you all out if he looked deep enough. nanami said to make him work for it.

“flowers aren’t your thing, huh?” he seems undeterred—in fact, he seems emboldened by your reaction. “that’s fine. i’ll leave them here…” he styles them on your desk, sweeping your stapler and pencil sharpener and organizers to the side to accommodate the large vase. you watch him carelessly move things about, forcing you to accept his gift.

“you’re annoying.” you groan, though the flowers are gorgeous. they’re the same kinds you pointed to when you went on a nature walk one time—something he swore he was going to hate but ended up being one of his favorite outings with you. you seemed to have that effect on him.

“i know! one of my better qualities, i think.” he hums happily, chlorinated pools of crystal blue stare at you over the lenses of his casual sunglasses. he traded in the blindfold in hopes of winning you back—he wasn’t above playing dirty, even if he was the reason he had to play at all.

“as opposed to? ghosting?” you raise your brow. he sighs. he doesn’t know what he expected. he knew you wouldn’t fall right back into his arms, but that biting look in your eye makes him wonder if he’s messed things up beyond repair. either way, he won’t go down without a fight.

“yes—that’s one of the bad ones.” he scrunches his nose in distaste. he bends at the waist to lean his elbows on your desk, propping his face up in his hands. “look sweetheart—“

you scoff, leaning back in your office chair with something akin to amusement. you fold your arms over your chest and arch your brow, and even though you are absolutely pissed, you still manage to make his heart skip a beat. “don’t call me that, you fucked me up. or does that it make you happier?”

“you think i’m bringing you flowers for my health or something? i’m trying to apologize!” he whines, tugging a lone flower out of the bouquet and extending it toward you. “i’m an asshole, i know, and i don’t deserve to call you sweetheart—“

“i don’t accept.” you tilt your nose in the air. he swears he can see the hint of a smirk on your lips, and he sighs. you hold the power yet again, but this time he’s going to allow it.

“what can i do to make it up to you? it was a mistake..i see that now.” he frowns, looking down at the pale pink petals brushing against his fingers.

“mm, yeah? i’m sure fucking a bunch of other women helped clear that up.” you look at the flower in his hand too, examining the brightness, the absolute perfection of the petals. it almost withers with the man holding it.

“wh-what?” he blinked rapidly. he hadn’t had sex with anyone—god no, he can’t do fleeting connections, and in his heart of hearts he knew that none of them would fill the void you left behind. but your jealousy…now that he could use. “aw, baby, just say you missed me. i could clear up some things for you too.”

you snarl at the insinuation, even more annoyed that he didn’t deny romping around with other women after dropping you like it was nothing.

“i’m sure you wish you could, baby, but i’m not sloppy seconds.” you take the flower and snap the stem, tossing it on your desk without second thought. he pouts at the gesture, deciding that words were no use on you, he hums. he knows how to handle this.

“no, but you are more delicious the second time.” he sings, and you get up from your desk in frustration. he was so irritating. did he think that he could just disappear on you like that and you’d just forgive him like nothing? you huff up at him, gathering all your stuff and shoving it into your office bag. nanami watches from the stairs—and he’s proud that you’re making gojo work for it, at least.

you stomp out of the office building with all the theatrics at your disposal, and it only makes satoru smirk as he walks after you. god you want him so bad, he thinks. he catches the office door before you can slam it closed behind you, sliding his palm across the wooden panels with a suave coolness. it’s like he has the situation completely under control, strolling leisurely after the little lady stomping and yelling at him over her shoulder. he knows he fucked up, and if you wanted to blast him through the city on your route home, then he’d smile and walk dumbly after you.

your heart was racing. he was still following you—and you knew if he cornered you alone, there would be no denying him. your brain was fighting hard enough to deny him back in the office already. your blood is boiling. why do you want him back so bad? he left you—is sleeping with other women, even, and you're letting him tail you to your house. you shut the door on him, but he just teleports into your living room anyways. you give him a look—not sure what else to say. ordering him out would be futile—as you didn’t want him to and he clearly wouldn’t obey.

he’s smug, sitting on your couch with one long leg crossed over the other one, his arm stretched across the back of the couch like he’s just waiting to put it around you. he stares at you knowingly, but that smirk is driving you insane.

“stop looking at me like that—and get out of my house.” you try meekly, at least you could say you could. your eyes narrow at his unmoving form and he can’t help but chuckle a little bit.

“you’re trying so hard to be mad at me, sweetheart.” he hums, arching a brow in amusement. he bats those long white eyelashes at you like he’s just ready for you to admit the truth and come crumble in his lap.

“i’m pissed, not trying that hard at all.” you scoff and shake your head, tossing your bag on the floor so that you may properly cross your arms at him. “you lied to my face, ghosted me, and now you’re acting like i’m being ridiculous for not accepting your flowers and taking you back?”

he shakes his head, a little nonchalant frown on his face. “you aren’t ridiculous for that—“ he stands and makes his way to you, not even bothering to hide the way he eyes you up and down. “you’re ridiculous for pretending you don’t want to. i could make this allll better if you’d just let me, sweetheart.”

his breath is as icy as his eyes when he leans down, brow arched like he’s asking a question. he is, you realize, he wants to know if you’ll let him.

“i never really slept with anyone, sweetheart. promise. was just trying to get you off my mind. didn’t work—made everything worse, actually. i got what i deserved.” he sighs softly, noting the hesitation on your face but the want in your eyes. he reaches a tentative hand to your face, giving you a soft smile when you let him touch you. “i’m sorry…you’re all i can think about. i just got nervous—i’m so stupid. beyond stupid—“

you smash your lips onto his to keep him from yapping. all he had to do was apologize. really apologize and mean it—but you would still punish him for walking away. you would make sure he could never do it again, lest he’ll never be able to get you out of his head even in death.

his hands grab at your dress, pulling you against his body in one fluid motion. the kiss changes moods entirely. the room feels like it’s buzzing now, his passion felt through the way he moves. he slides over your ass, kneading and fisting the fat with a groan into your mouth. you step into him, backing him to the couch. he grins against your lips like always—his kiss was warm and apologetic, lips hurriedly slotting over yours in an effort to make up for his transgressions.

he falls into a seat, pulling you into his lap with him. he sees your plan, and won’t go down without a fight. he promised to straighten you out after all. but letting you think you’re in charge was adorable, so he didn’t mind to indulge in it. you push his chest back with your own, grabbing his chin in your hand roughly. his back hits the couch and he can’t hold back his little giggle as his hands follow the paths of your body, though a satisfied hum follows at the feeling.

“you are sorry—a sorry piece of shit.” you huff, repeatedly kissing him over and over with all the anger you’ve been pinning up for the past few weeks without him. he grunts lowly, opening his mouth to invite you deeper. you take his willingness as a gift, plunging your tongue in his mouth and making sure yours stays in control. he tastes like honey and cinnamon, and it was a taste you missed more than you let yourself believe.

“pieces of shit must be your type though.” he sasses, standing up with you on his lap. he knows where your room is based on his extensive stays over, it’s nearly muscle memory for him to kick your door open with the point of his shoe, smiling up at you like no time had passed —like no bad blood had resulted from it. he throws you down like you weigh nothing, though he takes a seat on the side. upon hearing you gasp at his words, he scoffs and shakes his head. “don’t even think about it. i’ll fuck it out of you anyway.”

you can’t deny the way your body tingles and warms at his command. he’s usually soft and sweet, just rough enough to satisfy any cravings of yours—but he never struck obedience into your soul. your mouth closes, and he chuckles a little bit at your change. “that’s better. now if you wanna keep poppin’ off with attitude, i’ll get nasty instead of the sweet apology i planned for you.”

you roll your eyes, he was testing it. “don’t tempt me—“ you huff, a little annoyed at how easily your body gives up. you didn’t want to give him the ego boost of obedience, so you give him the attitude requested. “you messed up—i’ll talk to you however I want—“

he sighs and tugs at you, pulling your body at will. he splays you across his lap—long legs hanging over the edge of your bed. your dress is shoved up over your ass, and the tiny string of your thong is drawn back and snapped against the flesh. it makes you squeal a little in surprise, but you would be lying to say you didn’t want more.

“oh i’m a piece of shit, who are these for, nyeh?” he flicks your panties again, the sensation a small pleasurable sting.

“you dumped me—they’re for whoever i want.” you huff at him, even if his jealousy makes your heart warm. he slaps the fat of your ass lightly, humming at the way you jolt.

“yeah?” he smacks your other side, “i didn’t fuck anybody though. knew i needed you.” he spanks the same spot, the sting intensifies so wonderfully and makes your head spin. you can’t help the little moans that leave you with every slap.

“didn’t fuck anybody either, dickhead.” you pant, tossing him a glare over your shoulder. his free hand comes to grab your throat, sinewy warm and soft fingers wrap around your column with a tight grip—though not enough to restrict any airflow, of course. his cock stabs into your side at the sight. he grins brightly, almost sadistic in nature.

“you’re silly.” he hums, squeezing your throat until your eyes cross a little. he hums at you, the vision enough to make him painfully hard, but he always knows when to let up. he slaps your ass in conjunction with his little squeeze. he knows how to keep your eyes on him— repeatedly shaking his head, like he disapproves of you. “so pretty though. but mouthy.” he tsks, giving you a punishing spank to your tender skin. he hums pleasantly at the way your skin breaks a little, his red handprints making their way to the surface. “can’t even accept an apology. what do you want me to do, sweetheart?”

you can’t deny the wetness pooling in that skimpy thong. the stinging through your ass only makes your brain fog worsen, need was the only thing on your mind. he was so strong and sexy, and he was trying to make it up to you. you suppose you could…hear him out. that didn’t mean you were back together.

“fuck me—i’ll make my decision based on your performance.” you purr in his lap, wiggling your branded ass. he groans, you’re going to tease when you look like this? he woulda proposed if you asked him to if it meant you were all his again. commitment didn’t scare him so much anymore. you were as angry as ever and you still smiled when you saw him. you still let him follow you back home to plead his case. even if you didn’t have much a choice, you hardly even put up a fight. and he knew what that meant: you weren’t nearly as angry as you were trying to be.

“oh i’ll fuck you, sweetheart. let’s see if you can take it.” he hums so innocently, scooting you off his lap and onto all fours. he slides your thong to the side, laughing giddily at the sight of your soaking cunt. you definitely weren’t as mad as you were trying to be. “god look at this ocean—i almost feel bad for ya. trying to be such a meanie t’me when i’m the only one that can make it better.”

he wrestles with his pants, pushing them to his knees with haste. precious time was ticking, and stripping completely was a waste of it. he nearly sighs in relief when he frees himself, pumping his length fluidly. you whine at the time it’s taking him to fuck you, wiggling your cute rear and huffing.

“takin’ too long—“ you can’t finish your sentence before you cry out, his cock splitting you open just as you asked for. your walls felt like coming home, and every squeeze you give him was like a warm hug. he can’t believe he denied himself this for weeks just because you said something he’d been dying to hear from someone who meant it his entire life.

“better?” he asks, using your plush hips as his handlebars. this was why you would never be able to move on from him no matter the advice and warnings and every sign in the world telling you ‘no satoru gojo!’ he was just too good, he knew you all too well and your body craved and needed him like water. he fit in your cunt like he was built to, every pump of his cock left you gripping the sheets in an effort to hold yourself up, which you can only do for a few more seconds. “what, too hard? i thought you wanted to be fucked, little one?”

you’re stuck in a silent scream, unable to answer him. you feel like you can feel him in your lungs, his hips absolutely bullying yours. he admires your deep arch even though you’ve fallen forward, your ass rippling into his pubic hair so perfectly he had to reward you with some grunts and groans of his own. he lays over your back, cooing his praises in your ear.

“there she goes, now she’s taking good dick. can’t believe you almost wasted a thong like this— good thing i stay around, yeah?” he shoves your forward just a bit, off his cock and face first into your pillows. you whine at the loss, but he flattens your legs and sits on top of them—squeezing his cock between your thighs and ass, guiding his dick back in. you mewl at the new sensation. how could he possibly be deeper? “awww, that’s a good girl. letting me fuck ya like i hate ya when i’m just trying to prove that i love you too.”

you clench when he says it, moans intensifying as he uses you in this new position. he smirks, you’re adorable. laying there screaming for him with a gorgeously painted ass and a perfect body taking all the force behind his thrusts. “you still love me, sweetheart?”

you nod eagerly, your moans borderline animalistic. “yes—fuck, yes i do, i love you satoru!” you feel him so deeply in your stomach that you can’t keep holding back. it felt like a rubber band snapped as you squeeze around him and cover him with your essence. he keeps going, eyes trained on your recoil and the white ring you left at the base of his cock. your confirmation only drives him crazier, your limp body beneath him taking his increased pace like a champ—little overstimulated moans the only sound he can hear.

“gonna cum in this pretty pussy to show you how much i love you.” he groans, picking your body up in one strong arm to hold you down on his cock. you feel the rush of heat and shudder, the fact he was willing to deal with the consequences of cumming inside alone made you want more of him—until he couldn’t cum anymore. he holds you up, luckily enough— you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself—and places soft kisses to your neck. he hums, enjoying the taste of your skin slightly sweaty and warm from his love. he stays inside you, he can’t bring himself to move just yet, but he sighs in content.

“so…we back together?”

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #kyleewritesjjk #Kylee’s kinktober event #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut

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alemi-i · 10 months

Text

stars in your eyes :

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

# lmh x afab : reader ! ( fluff + smut )

cw : smut , exhibitionism , nonidol!au , degradation ( f rec. ) , slight overstim , creampie , brat reader , minho is a brat tamer though , face slapping ( 2 ) , namecalling : slut , whore , baby , brat . unprotected sex ( don’t try this at home ) !!

a/n ; hehe 🤗 im not very confideng witb my smut writing skills so JUST KEEP THAT IN MIND BEFORE READING….

wc : 1,726 ?!

an arm encased your body, resting around your waist. camping with minho and his members felt extremely therapeutic to you.

the sun had already fallen, and you all had watched as it sunk into the ground. what you were truly waiting for was the shining stars that would litter across the sky.

you first discovered your passion for stargazing when your sweet boyfriend took you out during midnight, so you both could admire the glitter in the sky; you weren’t sure whether to look at the stars that strayed across the sky, or the star that beamed just by your side.

admiring the sparkles, you hear shuffling beside your and minho’s bodies, your head cocks up to see seungmin and jeongin heading towards their tent.

“i’m off to bed!” seungmin declared, lips forming a light grin as he sees jeongin trail after him. everybody exchanges a goodnight to the two youngest boys, and your eyes meet with one particular star.

“d’you wanna head back to the tent too?” minho asked, voice hushed and honey-like. you simply nod, grinning the same way he does. “me and minho are off too!” you announce, both of you are quick on your feet, hands and fingers interlocking.

“goodnight!” he exclaims, waving everyone goodbye as they greet you both goodnight.

he drags you into your shared tent and you both lay down on the blanket that pillowed your sides.

minho spoons you whilst gently running his hands through your hair. you feel your eyelids flutter, on the verge of closing shut– until you feel a tug at your scalp.

you whimper, your teeth digging into your bottom lip to stifle any other sounds that could escape. your hips grind against his, feeling the suppressed bulge in his pants push against your ass.

“what’s wrong baby? you’re grinding all over me.” he teases, whispering into your ear. “m-min..” you try to find the words, but your tongue falls short, instead releasing a breathy whine as he grinds into your back rougher.

“cat got your tongue?” he taunts, halting his movements to let you breathe.

“yeah, you.” you spat, panting heavily from the stimulation. your head turns to face minho, who has now sat up. you turn to lay on your back.

he raises a brow, eyes narrowed and dark. he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “don’t be a brat,” he growled. “you and i both know it’s only me who could make you feel good.”

he was right, but no way were you going to admit that. “yeah right, you wish.” you retort, ignoring the wetness that dampened your cotton panties.

his hand wraps around your neck, the other coming down to smack you across the face. you wince, mouth agape and cunt throbbing. he pulls you up, fingers tight around your neck, restricting your airflow.

his gaze is heavy on you, making you feel smaller than you already are. his tongue pokes at his cheek. your vision is blurry from the lack of air– his fingers finally leave your neck to grip your jaw.

“you think you’re better than me, hm?” he questions, your eyes locking with his.

“you know i am.” you mutter, a grin forming on your lips. you weren’t sure where you were getting this confidence, but it felt good to finally put minho in his place for once.

he chuckles, releasing you from his hold. “then show me.”

your eyes are wide, and he cocks a brow. “what? y’want me to repeat myself?” he mocks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip.

“shut up– i know what you said.” you hiss, shoving the waistband of your shorts between your fingertips and pushing it down.

he sucks in a breath, staring at the way your pussy has absolutely drenched your panties. he looks at you expectantly, and you quickly succumb to his gaze; your panties are off in not more than a second, and you whimper at the way your hot cunt is exposed to the cool air.

“what are you waiting for?” he sighs, feigning disappointment. “won’t you show me how good you make yourself feel?” his voice is thick and taunting you.

“s-shut up.” you mutter, yet your hands travel down your body anyway, shivering at your own touch.

your fingers find your clit, rubbing soft circles around it. your whines pierce through the silence.

minho shoves two fingers into your mouth. you instinctively begin sucking. “stop being so loud would you? the other members are trying to sleep.” your mind backtracks, had he cast a spell on you? how did his words alone erase such significant memory.

“or, is if that you want them to hear?” he whispers, and you’re quick to shake your head ‘no’. your free hand spread the folds of your cunt apart, your whines muffled by the fingers in your mouth.

you quickly shove two fingers inside, fucking yourself on them. you quickly realize the stimulation just isn’t enough– but your dignity is on the line here. you push in a third finger, moaning at the stretch.

“does it feel good, hm?” his eyes glancing at your wet, finger-filled cunt. you hum, signaling yes. “better than this?” his fingers exit your mouth, producing a pop sound.

your eyes travel to his hands, that are quickly unhooking his belt buckle. he tugs down at his pants, revealing the black boxers you watched him put on earlier that day. you continue thrusting your fingers in and out, eyes locked on his bulge.

his cock is throbbing beneath the cloth, and your pussy becomes wetter. you bite your lip watching his boxers being pulled down, releasing his hard cock. you suppress a moan, eyes lingering on the dick you know too far and well.

his tip is angry; flushing red and leaking precum. you observe the way it twitches whenever your fingers sink knuckles deep into your cunt.

“y-yeah. way better than that.” you lie through your teeth, hand rubbing quicker circles on your clit. it felt good– however you couldn’t help but desire his fingers inside you instead.

“lying slut.” he lowly grunts, a sharp sting spreading across your cheek. your whimpers increase in volume, before they’re suddenly turning into begging and babbles.

“fuck.. min– ‘m sorry! need your cock, please–“ “i-i lied, please fill me up!” you continue to beg, tears dripping down your face. he pulls your fingers away from your cunt; you’re whining at every single touch that’s his. his fingers, his hands, just his.

“you think you deserve my cock after being such a brat?” he spat, voice hushed to prevent waking someone up.

all you could respond with are rambled apologies, praises, begging.

“so dumb and i’ve barely even touched you.” you can hear the smirk in his voice, but you can’t bring yourself to snap back.

“‘m so s-sorry, min!” you cried, before you’re suddenly moaning loudly, whining at the sudden stretch in your cunt. “s-shut up, dumb whore.” he pants, sharply thrusting into you, walls slippery and tight.

your hand covers your mouth as you spew muffled moans into it. though, you quickly notice that the stimulation didn’t feel fulfilling.

he deliberately thrusted into you, just missing your sweet spot. each thrust getting louder, faster– but not exactly deeper.

“what’s wrong baby?” he taunts, his voice is breathy and rough. your hand leaves your mouth, still biting back moans that threaten to spill.

“min.. min, deeper!” you sob, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. your eyes roll back.

thankfully, he doesn’t resist, allowing his tip to kiss and poke at your sweet spot; your walls closing in tighter around his dick and your eyes squeeze shut. he groans, pounding into you with little mercy. your walls are squeezing him, while his fingers grip and bruise your hips.

“stupid slut, i thought you didn’t need my cock, huh?“ he hissed, hips stilling as he’s deep inside you.

you whine, grinding against him. “‘m sorry, can’t live w-without your.. c-cock.” you whimper, your eyes flutter open to see his gorgeous face.

he scoffs, thrusting into you again– harder. “that’s right, can’t live without my cock, hm?” your cunt clenches around him, and you feel him pulsate against your walls.

“oh shit.. so good baby, feel so good around me.” he praises, and you moan in content. “f-fuck min! g-gonna cum!” you sob, squeezing him tighter. “shit,” he drags, head thrown back. “d-d’you really deserve to cum, hm? after being such a brat?” he groans, hips stuttering slightly.

“g-gonna be good, i promise! p-please, wanna cum..” your whines grow louder, as you’re inching towards your orgasm.

“then cum.” he commands, your body subconsciously obeying. you see stars flickering over your vision. your juices drip down onto his cock, but he doesn’t stop his thrusts.

“you’re finished when i am.” he whispers, although it’s obvious he won’t last long.

he drags his cock against your fluttering walls, he’s throbbing inside you making you clench around him. you moan loudly, overstimulated and unbothered about the fact your friends are just next door.

“shit– gonna cum. you’re gonna take it, okay? take my cum like a good fucking slut.” he curses, voice thick and gruff.

you babble multiple “yes”s, repeatedly squeezing around him to milk his cock. “want your cum!” you sob, squeezing him one more time before he’s dumping his hot seed in you. you whimper, wincing as he’s thrusting his load deeper into you.

once he pulls out, you whine at the feeling of emptiness.

“you okay?” his touch is now gentle on you: pushing the uninvited strand away from your face, wiping the droplets of sweat off of your forehead, and gently pressing a kiss to your lips.

you nod, slightly shaking from the ‘workout’. smiling when minho’s arms embrace you as you doze off to sleep.

you’re awoken to the sound of giggling and yelling coming from outside the tent. you look around and minho isn’t by your side. you pout, before sitting up and unzipping the flimsy entrance.

before exiting, you notice you’re dressed in minho’s shirt. it hangs upon your body loosely, but you feel so warm in it.

you struggle to get out, legs slightly wobbling. the sun flashes your eyes, and as soon as your presence is noticed, everyone bursts into shouts and laughter.

“minho!” the seven boys teasingly yell, all in synchronization.

once your eyes adjust to the light, you see your boyfriend’s face hiding in his hands, and ears flushed a deep red.

so they heard.

#skz x reader #skz fluff #skz smut #lee know x reader #lee minho smut #lee know smut #skz imagines #lemi’s fics !! 😽

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andreafmn · 11 months

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Speak | Chapter 10

Word Count: 3.5K Story Description: Bella Swan was a disaster when Edward had left. Deciding she needed a little help, Charlie Swan receives with open arms his younger daughter (Y/N) Swan. She helps Bella during her depression and becomes inseparable from her long-lost friend Jacob. What she didn’t expect was falling for a hotheaded short-tempered silver wolf. Chapter: 10/? Warnings: emotional and mental abuse A/N: can't believe I finished this on schedule! the story everyone is obsessed with for some reason just got updated😂🤍 My content will always be free, but if you’re feeling particularly generous, you can leave a tip on any of my posts to support me and my love of writing or buy me a coffee TikTok • Instagram • Business | MASTERLIST If you’d like to be tagged in this or any other story: click here Make sure you have my notifications on so you know every time I post! Taglists for Twilight get filled quick and Tumblr only lets me tag up to a certain point. Notifications are your best bet.

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Chapter 10

"Do you want to stay over tonight?" Jacob suddenly asked as the pair made their way to his truck. "It's already so late and I don't wanna make the drive back to Forks right now."

"Uh, sure, that sounds great," she said, trying to contain her excitement. A surge of happiness took over her as she witnessed Jake trying. He was trying to keep them together, at least that's what it looked like to her. "I'll just let dad know."

"Yeah, sure."

After she had settled on the center of the seat, Jacob helped his father into the truck, stepping out to say goodbye to his friends.

"I'll let you know that there won't be any funny business under my roof, (Y/N)," Billy smiled teasingly. "Though I am glad that Jacob is seemingly trying to turn over a new leaf this new year."

"I promise we'll do nothing but sleep, Billy," she chuckled. "And I also hope this is a new start for Jake and me. That everything that happened stays in the past and we can just give it our all in this relationship."

"If it is meant to be, (Y/N), the universe will find a way," he said as mystically as he always spoke. "You deserve happiness, my child."

"People keep saying that," she responded, her eyes growing far more interested in the skin of her fingers. "Does no one think that Jake can make me happy?"

"That's not what I'm saying, (Y/N)," he smiled, his hand falling on top of the one she was picking. "All I am saying is that if the love and happiness that you deserve is with Jacob, then the universe will allow it."

"And if not?"

"Then, your paths will always align."

"Then let's hope that what's written on the stars is in our favor." And as she said that she didn't know if she was wishing that to convince him or to convince herself.

The three of them rode back to the Black residence in a comfortable silence. The sounds of the woods and the whistling of the wind filled their quiet. She wondered what they said. If they whispered words of encouragement or if they taunted her downfall. She wanted to believe it was the former, because the latter would wreck her.

"Well, you two. I trust that you will behave yourselves since you're under my roof," Billy told them, eyeing the teenagers suspiciously. "And don't start getting used to these sleepovers. This is only because it's already two in the morning and we are all tired."

"Dad," Jacob grumbled. "Just go to bed already."

"Ooh, never thought I'd be shooed away in my own home," the man chuckled. "But I will leave you two. Not because you told me so, but because I am tired. Good night, kids."

"Night, dad."

"Good night, Billy."

Billy rolled away to his bedroom, turning in for the night. He left the couple standing in the living room, a heavy and tense air blowing between them. They had yet to acknowledge everything that had happened between them, much less finally putting it to rest.

"Uh, I'll get you some clothes and you can shower first if you want," Jacob mumbled as he walked into his room before coming out with a folded t-shirt and some sweatpants. "Might be a bit big on you, but it's better than nothing. There're extra towels under the sink."

"Sure," she smiled. "Thanks."

There was still remnant awkwardness between them as they tried to waltz around unspoken words. She locked herself in the bathroom, finally allowing herself to breathe. Fresh start is what she told herself. Over and over again she told herself that they were having a fresh start. As she showered and cleaned away Paul's touch and the thought of him, she had to believe it.

Jacob was who she had always wanted. The boy she had grown up with, the one she had never forgotten. Still, her mind wondered what would have happened if Paul had been the one she had met first. If he had been the boy that was in her mind for the almost sixteen years she had been alive. Maybe she would have been standing in his bathroom instead of Jake's. Maybe she would have been wearing his oversized t-shirt.

"Hey," Jacob called softly from the living room as she opened the bathroom door. "Come here."

(Y/N) walked down the hallway to where he was, a smile stretching on her face as she was met with what Jake had done while she showered.

He had pushed aside the wooden coffee table that lived between the sofas and placed in its stead plush blankets and pillows, a pair of hot chocolate mugs in front of the fireplace. His long, wet hair was plaited back, and he had changed into pajamas. And he was waiting for her.

"What's all this?" (Y/N) smiled.

"I think it's about time we put things to rest already, (Y/N)," he said, patting the pace in front of him. "I don't like fighting with you."

"I don't like it either," she sighed contentedly as she sank into the warmth of his body, his arms wrapping around her. "I like things when they're like this. When we're together and happy."

"I know, and I want it to be like this all the time. But it can't be when I hear you're running around with Paul," he reminded her. His tone was soft, but his words were as snipping as a snake's bite. "I just can't stand the guy and it's embarrassing when it happens in front of the town."

"Jake, I..."

"Don't worry, baby, that's all in the past. As long as you promise not to see him again, (Y/N). I don't want you to fall into his trap."

(Y/N) couldn't remain quiet for long. She knew it would only work to anger him. But how could she promise something she didn't want to do? Something that her gut told her was wrong. "Of course," she lied. "I promise. Paul is a thing from the past."

"That's what I like to hear," he smiled before he turned her head to kiss her. "We need to focus more on us. Focus on our relationship."

"I would love that," she beamed. "I want this to work, Jake. I want us to work."

"Then let's," he smirked.

Jake attached his mouth to her neck, nipping at a spot that took her breath away. His hand held her head back, gripping her jaw. He took in her scent, the warmth of her skin, the sounds from her mouth. All as he imagined...

"Stop, Jake," she said, her voice treading between a moan and a chuckle. "Your dad is literally down the hall."

"He's a heavy sleeper," he chuckled against her skin. "He'll never know."

"No, Jake." She separated from him; a playful grin splayed on her mouth as she turned to face him. "Not here. Not now."

"Ugh, fine," he groaned, falling on his back. "Then, I guess we'll just sleep."

"Yes," she mused, crawling over his body and planting a soft kiss on his lips. "But together."

Jacob wrapped his arms around her and chuckled, positioning both of them comfortably on a blanket and draping another over them. Her body curled into his, his arms wrapped around her waist as he spooned her.

"We'll have to talk about taking things to the next level," he said against her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "I think it might cement everything between us."

"And I think you need to take a breather, Jacob," she chuckled. "We just got to a good place. Let's take things as they go."

"Ugh, fine," he muttered jokingly. "Then, let's just go to sleep."

"Alright, Jake. Good night."

"Night, (Y/N)."

If every night after was like this one, maybe it was the universe's way of telling her that Jake was the one. Laying there, wrapped in his arms, she could let herself believe that the tides were changing. That at the end of the day, Jacob would choose her. Maybe, just maybe.

***

"I can't believe she went home with him," Paul groaned, punching a nearby tree. The way the bark splintered helped ease his anger for a second, but the burning pain inside his chest remained. "I don't know what else I can do to make her understand what a shitty guy he is."

"You know there is," Jared teased. "You could always tell her how you feel and why."

Paul's stoic stare was clear even in the darkness of the night. He knew Jared was right. The more he pursued her without telling her the reason why, the harder it would be to explain his behavior. "You know I can't, dude," he grumbled. "I don't wanna put her in the middle of all of this bull."

"It's not that bad, man," the boy offered. "Look at me and Kim. She knows and nothing has happened to her."

"Yeah, she also liked you before you were a shapeshifting freak," he joked. "And look at Emily. She's forever scarred because didn't have a grasp on what was happening."

"Come on, you know that was an exception, Paul. What happened to her was a very unfortunate accident. But an accident, nonetheless. There's really no reason for you to be running from (Y/N)."

"Look how much shit happened to Bella in so little time, Jared. And it all started when she found out the truth about the Cullens," Paul said. "I don't know what I would do if I made (Y/N) go through any of that because of what I am."

"So you're gonna continue brooding and make our lives miserable? Just tell her, man. Maybe she'll fall in love with you and turn that frown upside down."

Paul picked up a stick and threw it at Jared's head, laughing as the other boy tried to duck but failed to; the piece of wood bouncing off his forehead. "You'll have to put up with me for a lot longer then," he laughed, swallowing the sadness that threatened to overtake him. "I just don't think I have it in me to do that to her. She deserves to be safe and happy."

"Even if it's with Jacob?"

"Unfortunately, that decision is hers to make," he sighed. "I just wish she didn't have to get hurt in the process."

Jared remained quiet for a second. He stared as his pack brother paced before him, his mind too quiet aside for the sporadic image of (Y/N). But even if he didn't say it, he could feel Paul's sadness. He could feel the tug in his chest that called him to go to her. He had felt it too. Every time Kim had to go to a family dinner or visit family out of state, he felt like someone had taken his heart off his chest and sent it away.

But (Y/N) was so close. All he had to do was have one tough conversation and he could soften the grasp of the claws that covered his heart. "What are you so afraid of, Paul?" Jared finally said. "I know you say you don't want to hurt her and all that, but there's something else. Isn't there?"

Paul stared at his friend, wondering if he was that transparent. "I've never been a, uh, a relationship guy. Haven't had the best role models," he confessed. "I guess I think that if I let myself get close to her, I won't be able to handle when she inevitably goes. Because at the end of the day, everyone leaves."

"Not everyone, Paul. We're still here."

"Because you have to be," he shrugged. "If you had the chance to go, you would take it. And don't try denying it."

"Come on, man. You're my friend. More than that, you're my brother," Jared reassured. "But, sure, if I had the chance to leave the rez one day, I would take it. But that doesn't mean I would leave my friends behind. Much less, family."

"Jared, we wouldn't have even spoken to each other had it not been because of the shift. I'm not that delusional to think otherwise."

"Regardless of how or why it happened, life brought us together, Paul. And whether you like it or not, you're my brother now," the boy smiled, draping his arm over Paul's shoulders. "Now, you need to let that girl prove that she would stick by you as well. And it starts by having that difficult conversation you're so scared to have. She's desperate for a reason, dude. All you have to do is tell her."

"She's going to think I'm crazy, J. That I'm making up stories to get her away from Jake," Paul whined. "Why would she believe that there are shapeshifting wolves roaming around the reservation protecting humans from threats? And what if she goes to her sister with the story? Then Bella will know about vampires and shapeshifters, and it'll just add more shit on top of the mess we're dealing with."

"How about you stop overthinking yourself into the ground and finally grow some balls?" Jared teased. "Don't think of what might happen and live in the moment. I know last year's Paul would've had the courage to ask her out. Jacob or no Jacob."

"I technically already asked her out once, and it ended up with me, by myself, in the diner," he reminded his friend, red flooding his cheeks as he recalled the embarrassing moment. "This is not just about inviting the prettiest girl in school to the prom. This is about telling someone that everything they had believed is not real. It's telling her that it doesn't matter what she might have wanted, that something out in the universe decided that we are bonded for life. It's telling a girl like her that she's stuck with a guy like me."

"Man, I can't keep trying to convince you that you are a good guy," Jared sighed. "I'm not saying you're the gods' gift to mankind. Certainly not the you from a year ago. But you're not that guy anymore. You're not even the same guy from six months ago. So, it's time to pick yourself up and do what you have to do. Stop moping about this and do something."

***

(Y/N) woke up with warm arms wrapped around her and a pang in her chest she didn't understand. She was supposed to feel happy. She was supposed to wake up that New Year's Day with an overwhelming amount of joy and the sense that things were finally on the right path. Instead, there was an aching void in her heart that was trying to eat at her insides.

It was the same void that had started festering since that fateful night at the bonfire. The one that seemed to calm whenever the fluke was around. The one that called out his name and she had let go on deaf ears.

That pang filled her with guilt. As she lay in Jacob's arms, she felt guilty that her head was thinking of another guy. And it was a guy she barely knew. A boy that she had no business thinking about, much less dreaming about.

But she couldn't help it. She couldn't forget the softness of his hands against her skin, the brightness of his smile as he looked at her, the glimmer in his eyes when he listened to her. She couldn't get him out of her head.

And as if by divine intervention, the very constant thought appeared in Jacob's window. He knocked softly, motioning for her to go outside. (Y/N) couldn't believe he was there, much less that Jacob had yet to wake up. But what was harder to fathom was the fact that she was tiptoeing to the front door dragging a blanket with her.

"What are you doing here, Paul?" (Y/N) said as she closed the door behind her, wrapping the fabric tighter around her body. "If Jacob sees you here, he'll kill you."

"I thought I was supposed to be playing nice with him," he grinned teasingly. "What if I was here to extend a truce?"

"It wouldn't have mattered because he made me promise him that I wouldn't see you again," she whispered. "So, imagine what he will do if he sees you here right now."

"And did you?"

"What? Did I what?"

"Did you promise him, (Y/N)?" Paul asked sadly. "Is this your way of telling me that you're cutting ties with me?"

"No, of course not," she quickly replied. "I mean, I did promise him. But I never intended to keep it. I would just find a way to keep you two separate."

"So, what? I'd just be your dirty little secret?" he replied, anger clear in his tone. "Yeah, no, thanks. I'd rather take my chances with other friendships."

"What did you want me to say, Paul? Did you want me to tell my jealous boyfriend that I wanted to maintain a friendship with the one guy he seems to despise more than anything?" (Y/N) spoke through gritted teeth. "Would you have wanted me to tell Jake that I wanted to spend time with a guy he was close to dragging into the middle of town and beating the living daylights out of him? Sure, that would have ended great for me."

"Why would you wanna be with a guy like that, (Y/N)? If you're that afraid of his reaction over something as small as a friendship, what do you think will happen if something bigger happens?"

"He only reacts that way with you, and I don't get why," she sighed. "And I wanna be with him because I... because... because I..."

"Why, (Y/N)? Tell me!"

"Because I love him, Paul," she cried, shame cracking her voice. "I've been waiting for this chance for the better part of my life. I've been in love with him for as long as I've known what it was. And he wants me back, Paul. He wants me. And I'm not giving up at the first sign of hardship. So, if you really want to be my friend then you're gonna have to live with that."

"What if I don't?" Paul grumbled, his voice low and hurt. He got closer to her. So close she could feel how warm his body was, even through the blanket. "What if I can't stand around and watch as he mistreats you? Someone that loves you would never treat you like that."

"Don't make this harder than it already is, Paul," she whispered, warm tears falling down her cheeks. "For some reason I want you in my life. But I won't screw up what I just started with Jacob for a friend."

"I just don't wanna see you like this," he said, wiping away the tears with the pad of his thumbs. "You deserve to be happy, but not when it has rules and regulations like this. You should be allowed to still be yourself when you're in a relationship."

"Paul..."

"Listen, (Y/N)," he sighed. "I can't tell you what to do, nor would I want to. But I can't just watch in the sidelines as he treats you like shit when you deserve someone that will worship the ground you walk on."

"What are you saying, Paul?" (Y/N) croaked. "Are you saying you won't be my friend if I stay with Jacob?"

"(Y/N), I'm saying that I won't keep quiet if he keeps mistreating you."

"He doesn't," she said, but she knew it wasn't convincing. She didn't even believe it herself. "He just... he's just passionate, I guess."

"Then can you promise me something?" Paul sighed, his eyes glossing with tears. "If he ever –and I mean ever—gets physical with you, even as much as lifts his hand at you, you will tell me. The second it happens, you call me."

"I don't think it'll come to that," she forced a smile. "He would never put his hands on me."

"Just, please, (Y/N). Promise me and don't lie to me."

"Alright," she said, looking straight into the brown of his eyes. "I promise, Paul."

"I'll make sure you're always safe," he promised. His hand had not fallen from her face, his thumb caressing over her cheekbone. "No one is going to hurt you, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) had no idea why, but she believed every word he said. So, she promised. And, unlike with Jacob, she intended to keep it.

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inthedoghousern · 5 months

Text

just this once

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!driver!reader

summary: you and oscar are what people would describe as rivals. but a night in monaco, a club, an elevator, and confessions can change everything.

contains: 18+, suggestive content, swearing probably idk, drinking + alcohol, events leading up to sex (?) but nothing too graphic, kinda fluff and angst

5.5k words

a/n: this is too long and there's very little characterization but enjoy i suppose... part II: okay part III: 11:45

You were smiling as you chatted with a guy at the party. The music was blasting around you and the lights were colorful. You were in Monaco, celebrating your first Grand Prix here. Despite being a rookie, you had placed second in the race, an impressive and historic performance, especially since you were the first woman to do it.

It felt like the whole weekend had been revolving around you. At the track, there was a sea of fans, journalists, and even employees from other teams coming up to congratulate and talk to you. Now here at the club, it was the same, with stranger after stranger wanting a slice of your attention.

"So how long are you in Monaco?" He asked leaning against the high-top table, with a sly smile on his lips. “We should see each other again.” Before you could answer, you heard a voice behind you.

"She's cant, we've got more racing to do. It's the job." You rolled your eyes, the familiar voice belonged to no other than Oscar Piastri.

You and Oscar’s friendship, if you could even call it that, was complicated. What started as kinship during karting years turned into resentment as you made your way up the motorsport ranks together. F4 British Championship, the Renault Eurocup, F3, F2, the two of you were always close competitors, but Oscar always had an edge. You’d be runner-up to his championships, watched as he got a seat in Formula One while all you could do was keep racing in lower divisions and hope you could prove to any team that you would be a valuable driver.

But now you’ve made it, it’s your rookie season and you’ve finally started to beat Oscar, and it helps when you’re in a Red Bull. Podium after podium after podium, you’ve already blown Oscar’s impressive rookie stats out of the water. As a result, the rivalry between you has only grown bigger.

“Oh Oscar you actually weren’t involved in this conversation,” you say giving him a fake sweet smile. He claims he can’t stand you, but here he is going out of his way to make your night difficult. Typical.

You turn back to the guy in front of you. His name was Alex… William…? You honestly didn’t remember and had no interest in finding out, but it was amusing to see him throw himself at you. Amusing that Oscar came over and has to witness it. "I'm actually here for a few more days," you tell him. You pull your phone out of your bag and slide it towards the unnamed guy. “Put your number in. We can set something up later.” The guy smiles, and you fight back a laugh as Oscar still stands at the table with you two. You had no intention of ever texting or speaking to this man again.

The night goes by in a blur. You’ve lost the guy you were talking to earlier and make your way to the bar to order another drink. Your life feels like some sick joke when Oscar slides up next to you and orders himself another round too. “That guy looked like a prick,” he says.

You chuckle and nod your head in agreement. “Yeah, he did look like a prick."

The media and fans had characterized Oscar as this nice, young, shy guy. But the Oscar you knew was deathly competitive with a bit of a mean streak.

“Why do you care though?” I ask turning to him, cocking my head to the side. “Care what guys I talk to at parties? I mean, if that dude was Zak Brown, sure, I’d see why you’d stop me from stealing your seat, but….” I taunt.

"Alright watch it," he said while shaking his head. You roll your eyes, you know that he can’t do anything in retaliation to your teasing. You were the star now, you were his rival [who’s winning] and you were untouchable.

You finish your drink and turn to the dance floor, “see ya Oscar,” you say flashing him a smile. You can feel his eyes burning your back as you walk away.

This club felt like a time warp. As you danced and talked and drank, you saw gridmates and girlfriends walk past, at one point Lando was up at the DJ booth. Your head is fuzzy and you don’t know what time it is. You push through sweaty bodies to the tables surrounding the room, shuffling around to find your things. Finally, you’re able to find your bag, and luckily your phone is still inside, so you make your way out of the club. You need some quiet and fresh air as you sort out transportation back to the hotel. You were throwing in the towel for the night.

Outside the music was still spilling from the doors, filling your ears with the sounds from the club. You checked your phone, trying to get it to work. Your vision was slightly blurred from all the alcohol, you were probably drunk.

“Hey,” you hear, it’s him, again. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard Oscar's voice coming from behind you. You couldn't help but feel some nerves running through your body. You had just spent the night ignoring him and now he was here. You didn't turn around to look at him, you weren't sure what would happen if you did.

With your phone finally unlocked, you call an Uber. With that task finished, you turn, feeling wobbly, and when you look at Oscar he looks just as drunk as you. “Hey.”

“I’m leaving,” you tell him.

"I'll leave with you," Oscar responds immediately, sounding annoyed. "Why do you have to leave so soon?" He asked.

“Leave so soon? We've been here for hours,” you reply. You don’t address his first statement, but your mind is circling the fact he just decided he was coming with you. He didn’t even ask if he could, if you wanted him to, he just announced it.

"Doesn't mean it's time to go," Oscar said as he stepped closer. He put his hands on your shoulders, his breath smelling like alcohol. "Why don't we go back inside?" He asked. What was he thinking? You didn't pull away, it was the alcohol. You couldn't stop your mind from being hazy, you couldn't help the sensations of his hand on your shoulder. You put your hands on his biceps in response and look at him in the eyes. “No Oscar, I’m leaving.”

For a moment, everything felt as if it was going in slow motion. Oscar stood there, his hands on your shoulders, as you looked directly at the most beautiful most infuriating guy you had ever known. You spoke firmly, but it was clear that you were struggling. Oscar was drunk and stubborn as always, he wasn't letting this go easily.

“Hmmm?” I muse. My brain is so fuzzy I almost don’t notice his grip on my shoulders tightening. “I’m leaving Oscar. You can share my Uber back to the hotel, go back inside, or do something else. But I’m going.” Oscar said nothing. He was breathing heavily against you, his grip tightening even more. For some reason, his grip felt good.

"I'll go with you," he said, finally, his voice was low. “Alright,” you respond. You stand, he's still holding your shoulders, your hands still on his biceps. You don't know how long passes, but the Uber pulls up to the curb and you both let go of each other. You climb into the back seat and Oscar sits next to you, his body barely a foot away from yours.

The journey to the hotel is mostly silent, but you catch Oscar stealing glances at you.

“Looks like you partied a little hard for P9, no?” You tease. "Shut up," Oscar grumbled, you were pushing him right to his limits. You knew that he was angry, but you couldn't help but poke fun at him. You felt good when you could get one over on him for once. For the rest of the ride to the hotel, Oscar is silent. Every time you look at him, he quickly looks away. It was a side of him that you had rarely seen, the way he looked so unsure and uncomfortable.

You both step out of the Uber and walk into the hotel. It's late at night and the lobby is almost empty. Oscar follows you into the elevator, you can feel the heat from his body radiating against you. The elevator doors close and you are in your own little world. He presses the button to his floor: 6, and you press the button to yours: 9. You both stand side by side as the elevator slowly moves up.

The elevator rises, and just like the car journey, Oscar is quiet. A quiet that feels so much more intimate in this small space with the two of you pressed up against each other. Neither of you speaks, you are lost in the moment. It's almost as if the elevator is going too slow, or too fast? You don't want this moment to end.

The bright lights of the elevator and the presence of Oscar sober you up a little bit, just a little bit. You’re hyperaware of the floor numbers changing, getting closer to floor 6, where you and Oscar will have to separate. Oscar's body felt warm against you. You wanted to grab him and hold him close to you, but it would be wrong. You knew that he would most likely pull away from you.

This has to be goodbye.

“Why didn’t you want me to leave the party?” you ask. Oscar didn't expect that question. You could see it in the way his eyes widened before they narrowed back to the previous stoic state. "I didn't want you to leave because..." He said before pausing. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I wanted you to stay, with me." He said, his voice quiet. You don’t respond. What Oscar says makes your heart jump into your throat. You weren’t supposed to be having these conversations, you certainly weren’t supposed to be having them with Oscar, someone who you can’t stand. Someone who can’t stand you. It’s the alcohol you tell yourself.

Ding.

You’re on floor 6.

The elevator doors open, and Oscar doesn't move, instead, he looks at you.

You look back, your mind is racing a mile a minute. He is just staring at you, waiting for you to speak. You felt the heat of his body, the smell of his breath, and the beat of his heart. The air felt so heavy between you both. “You’re supposed to hate me,” you say quietly. Seconds are passing and Oscar is still in the elevator with you. If he doesn’t get out soon the doors are going to shut and you’re both going to keep going up to your floor. Oscar still wasn't getting off, he seemed lost in a trance. It felt like the world had stopped as you looked at him. He didn't respond to your words, his breath was so close to your face.

“Do you hate me?” you say just above a whisper. You are staring at each other now. The elevator doors close and continue up to your floor, and Oscar’s still in here with you.

"I used to hate you," Oscar said, his voice was soft, and you could hear no anger in his tone. "But..." he paused, and the elevator continued to rise. The both of you were standing inches apart. "But not anymore." He finished.

You wanted to grab him. Hold his face. Kiss him. Let him do whatever he wanted. No stop. This has to be the alcohol. It has to be. What would everyone say if they found out you were thinking these things about one of your gridmates? Your competition. Your rival.

What would happen if you just went for it? Just one kiss. You know you’d both regret it, but just one kiss couldn't hurt...could it?

Ding. The doors open. You quickly step back from Oscar, regaining your senses. You exit the elevator and don’t care to check if he’s following you. You hope he’s not.

You walk to your room, still not looking back at the elevator. You get to the door and fumble for the hotel keycard in your purse. You can feel the heat rising on the back of your neck as you think about what just happened between you and Oscar. Your hands were slightly shaking, your heart was beating wildly and you felt lightheaded. You finally get the door open and quickly shut it behind you. You stand in the entryway for a beat before throwing your purse down, taking your shoes off, and lying down on the bed staring at the ceiling.

Was he going to say anything to you in the morning? Would he act like it never happened? What if we both act like this never happened? Was he going to knock on your door?

You lay there in bed, your mind racing. The alcohol was slowly fading away from your system, but the memories were still clear in your mind. You were still feeling the heat of his body against yours and the smell of his cologne. You were so conflicted, you should be upset and mad. You shouldn't be enjoying the thought of him coming to your door and saying more. That was Oscar, you hated Oscar, you weren't supposed to want him.

You sit up. You need to go to sleep and just clear your head of this. You wash your face and change, all the while thoughts of Oscar run through your mind. You look at yourself in the mirror, is that what Oscar saw when he looked at you?

You crawl into bed, you are still on a high after the party and the adrenaline from Oscar. You close your eyes, trying to distract yourself. But as soon as you closed your eyes, you could only picture him. You could picture his lips when he spoke, his jawline. You could picture the look in his eyes when he looked at you. Your mind was so focused on his body, what it would feel like, what it would taste like to kiss him. Fuck.

Your heart stops when you hear a knock at your door. You don't know what time it is or how long you've been lying in bed fighting sleep.

The knock came again; louder this time. You get out of bed, your heart beating quicker with every step you take. Was it even Oscar out there? You reached the hotel door. Your breath was shaky, it felt like your entire body was trembling. This was it. Now you were truly in this. You put your hand on the handle, the knocking continued again, more persistent this time.

As you threw the door open, you came face to face with Oscar. He was standing there, in the same outfit as he had been at the party. He was staring directly at you, his breath was warm as he exhaled. You could swear he didn't even blink at this moment, his eyes were just glued to yours.

“Yes?” I ask. "Can I come in?" Oscar says, sounding a little bit nervous, and more sober than earlier. You’re at a loss for words. A few hours (?) ago the only words you exchanged were about hating each other [or rather, not hating each other], and now he was asking to come into your room.

Oscar was still holding his gaze, eyes locked straight on yours. You could see it on his face, there was something he wanted from you, something that he hadn't been able to communicate until now. "Please?" Oscar said, his voice was low. You had never in the 8 years you had known Oscar seen him like this.

“Okay.” You move to the side, motioning him inside your hotel room. Oscar walks in and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a certain level of nervousness in the way he was moving. He didn't make any attempt to get close to you initially, it was like he was waiting for your permission. “What do you want Oscar?” I ask folding my arms across my chest. “Please tell me what you’re thinking, I can’t do this guessing game thing anymore.”

Oscar didn't respond right away, he was trying to decide what he should say. You could see as he processed through every thought, looking at you as if he was holding something back. After a few seconds, the words came spewing out, he didn't want to waste any more time.

"I want you to kiss me. I want to kiss you. I want you. That’s what I want." Oscar finally admitted.

Your arms fall to your sides and your heart skips a beat. Oh my god. Oscar stands in front of you and your body is heating up, your brain is getting fuzzy, this time it isn’t the alcohol. “Oscar I-“ you don’t know what to say.

It was like time had stopped for the both of you. Your breaths were shaky, the silence was deafening. You wanted to wrap yourself around him. It was all just adrenaline now, just one kiss, that's what you wanted.

You stand looking at each other. You don’t know how long passes. You want him too. You really want him. You need him. But the rational part of your brain is screaming for you to stop. You can’t be with him, as a female F1 driver what would the world say if you got with another driver? What would your reputation be? They would call you a slut. But as Oscar stands in front of you, those thoughts, those warnings are fading away…

He takes a step closer. You don’t move away. He’s close now, too close, but you don’t care. You could feel the heat radiating from his body to yours. There were just inches between you two now. You didn't care about anything else, everything in your body was telling you yes. It was either now or never, your reputation would be the last thing on your mind in this moment.

He brings one of his hands to the side of your face and leans to kiss you. But your lips don’t meet and he hovers just above. Waiting. He wanted something from you, some signal that it was okay to go for it. You could taste his breath as he hovered above you, how many times had you wanted to taste him? You hadn't realized until now how strong this pull between the both of you was. Even if it was just alcohol, it didn't matter, your heart felt as if it would explode with this excitement.

“Oscar” you whisper. You’re looking at his lips, then his eyelashes, his eyes.

“Just this once.”

The words left your mouth in a hoarse whisper like it felt too surreal to speak out loud. One kiss wouldn't hurt, you could tell him that was the only kiss you were going to let him have. He let out a small breath, and then the gap between your lips disappeared. He brought his face down, his lips touching yours. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close as your lips met his. As Oscar's hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, it was just you and him. Nothing else mattered. Just the heat, the desire and the love that had been building deep inside of both of you.

He breaks the kiss and kisses your collarbone, then up your neck, and then he’s right next to your ear. “Yeah, just this once” he whispers. You let out a shaky breath, his voice sent shivers down your spine. What was happening? Every minute seemed to take so long in the moment. The way Oscar's voice whispered in your ear, it felt like a sweet melody. If this was wrong, you would never know. The only thing you knew for sure right now was how much Oscar wanted you, how much you wanted him.

His mouth was warm, you could feel the moisture of his lips press against yours. You grab the hem of his shirt and he puts his arms up as you pull it off of him. When you drop the shirt aside you can’t help but stare at his body. His chest, his abs, his arms. You had seen him shirtless before, it was inevitable with the years of training you two had done together. But seeing him tonight like this, just the two of you, it was different.

As you stared at him, he was just staring back, his hair was messy from the way you had pulled his shirt off. It felt like this was the only moment in the world.

His kisses were gentle like he was still trying to get a feel for the moment. You were in each other's grip as if you were locked together. The heat was building up, and you could feel your body burning up. Oscar's hand moved to your top now, pulling it over your head slowly, letting you feel every sensation as it fell to the floor. The way he looked at you as it fell to the ground...it was as if his eyes were going to burn a hole into you.

You’re usually quick with comebacks. Confident. But as you stand in front of him, you’re not insecure, but you have nothing to say. No words to taunt him with, it felt like your usual self was far removed from what was happening right now.

You had never stood in front of Oscar so vulnerable before, his hands running up your body, his mouth kissing your neck. He was treating you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, the way he looked at you it was like he was seeing you for the first time. Oscar lies you down on the hotel bed. Hovering over you, one of his hands on your hip, the other pressed beside your head, holding him up. One of your hands is resting on your stomach, and you reach the other up and run it through his hair. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry for being so horrible to you. I’ve acted…” you trail off. Why are you saying this? Why right now? It was the alcohol, it had to be.

As he leaned over you, his breath was warm on your skin as he listened to everything you were saying. Your heart was beating so rapidly, you couldn't stop the words coming out of your mouth, but for once, you felt vulnerable in the right way.

"Don't-" Oscar said, pulling away from you slightly. "You don't need to apologize. We’ve both been… I don’t know…Everything has just been building for years, it got out of control, us. Whatever us was- is. I think I’ve always wanted ‘us’ to be this though."

His words make your head spin. "Us". "Out of control". "Always".

Always makes you laugh though, as you think back to when you first met Oscar.

“You wanted this during our Arden days? At 14?” You know shouldn’t joke right now, but everything is happening so fast, and you grasp for some sort of control over what you're feeling.

He smiled back at you, he couldn't help smiling. One thing about the way you and Oscar's relationship worked, was it was always full of constant bantering and jabs at each other. It felt right to joke now.

"I didn't say that," Oscar said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But sure, you were attractive back then, even if you were a brat. Yeah, I did look at you during those days."

A grin spreads across your face. What would 14-year-old you say if she knew you had Oscar Piastri on top of you in a hotel room after you podium in Monaco? She would be horrified. The realization was almost enough to pull you out of the moment. It truly was insane. The way Oscar was looking down at you, touching your body, it definitely did feel surreal, as if this was a dream.

"You remember those days?" Oscar asked, his voice soft and low as he shifted down to rest on his elbow, bringing his face down closer to yours. “Of course.” You say, looking at his face. He’s so beautiful. “You wouldn’t let me win a goddamn race.”

He let out a laugh, he couldn't help it, the humor of the situation had gotten to him.

"Damn right I didn't... are you still bitter about it?" He said mockingly, he was back to his usual self. “Nope,” you say with a smile, “because who just got second in Monaco? My first time driving that track in Formula One by the way.” Even in this uniquely intimate moment between the two of you, you are bickering. But it’s perfect.

"Yeah yeah..." Oscar rolled his eyes. "You got lucky that's for sure, this race was a mess." He was back to being himself, the cocky, arrogant version that you were always arguing with. But you felt a different type of chemistry with him right now compared to the racetrack, this time it felt deeper than your usual bickering. You laugh and your hands are on his face again. Now that you have him like this, above you, relaxed, yours; you never want it to end.

You smile and start tracing the freckles and moles on his face with your finger. Just this once. That was the deal. You want to savor every minute of this moment. A moment that after tonight, can never happen again.

Oscar's eyes drifted down and he watched as you traced his face. It felt a little too perfect, the way you traced around everything...the way his breath felt on your skin...the way he was looking down at you with intent, his attention was just on you.

"I like this," Oscar finally said and his voice was hushed.

So do I. Is what you want to say. But if those words come out of your mouth everything becomes too real, and you’re not sure if you could ever stop what was already snowballing between the two of you. You simply hum in acknowledgment and continue to trace his freckles down to his arms, down to his wrists. You even traced your fingers along the top of his fingers.

It was like nothing else existed at this moment, it was just the two of you, your bodies, and the heat. The heat was all that mattered. You wanted to see all of him. Commit. Go all the way. But even now you were mesmerized: his bare chest, back, stomach. You want to run your fingers through him.

Oscar could feel your breath trailing on his neck, the feeling of your fingers trailing down his body, along his chest, and down his stomach. He felt as if any more of him was exposed to your touch, he would fall apart. He was like a hot glass ready to shatter, a moment away from cracking. He was at a loss, he couldn't even think of the next thing to say. All he knew was that he needed more.

Oscar looked at you, his eyes seemed to be filled with pure desire. He was leaning closer to you now, he was only inches away, his breath was touching your lips. His hand brushed past the clip of your bra, teasing every little part of you. Your back, your arms...he was taking his time with this. “It’s okay, you can…” you trail off. Yet again, you’re too embarrassed to say it. You can take the bra off. You hope he gets the hint.

The smile on his face was almost cruel as he looked down at you. Was he really going to take this all so slowly and deliberately? He paused for a moment and then he slowly undid one of the clips. He did it so slowly and so precise, he was taking this at such a methodical pace, he wanted you to feel every. single. moment. A part of you wants to complain. How slow he was being. Both of your lives were filled with speed, in the cars, outside the cars. But most of you doesn't really care that he's taking his time. Tonight was the only night you’re allowing yourself to be with Oscar like this, might as well drag it out.

He did the same thing with the next clip, and then slowly pulled down one of the straps. You did wonder how long he was going to take, it felt like your bra was not supposed to be an obstacle, but Oscar was making it one, on purpose. He had turned even such a simple task into something that felt so intimate.

The moment your bra finally came off a whole new feeling of powerlessness washed over you. You felt even more exposed than before. Your skin felt more sensitive, and everything felt more real. Each movement from him felt like it had double its usual meaning. Your breath caught as he pulled your body closer to him. The pressure of his body against yours was making your head spin. You felt so close to him, the warmth between the two of you was palpable. With each of his kisses, you could feel yourself growing even more desperate for him.

You could feel his finger tracing the outline of your shorts, slowly moving towards the waistband, finger hooking around the elastic. It was happening gradually, so it hit harder when he finally pulled down your shorts. Your underwear was the last barrier, and if it came off, this would officially be something that could never happen again. You were lying under just a layer of clothing. He was staring down at you with his intent gaze. You could feel every move of his, every muscle shifting, his breath hot on your body.

“You too, yeah?” You say with a nervous, breathy laugh. Your hands travel to his pants. And he sits up and leans back a bit, you sit up as well, and start unbuttoning them. It was almost comical, how slow you were both going in this moment. But it was also incredibly intimate. The two of you were both teasing each other in a game of cat and mouse. He was taking it in steps, he wanted to tease, to play, to show you how much he wanted you.

Your hands began unbuttoning his pants, inch by inch, you were both working in unison in the slow teasing. When you finish and start to pull the zipper down, Oscar quickly stands up to take the pants completely off. He wastes no time in getting back on top of you. You smile and hold back a laugh.

His hands are on either side of your head and he’s looking down at you again, you two start laughing. If it was like this one night, how would it have been with you two together all the time? Would you have always been like this? A playful, teasing relationship, where you both were always just messing around, playing jokes on each other.

The two of you are so close, his boxers and your underwear are the only barrier between you now. You are one step away from the edge, one step away from doing something you can never take back. But you also wanted to take that step. It felt so close to happening. It was like your bodies were talking to one another, they craved to touch, to be pressed against each other. Each breath, each movement it felt as though you wanted to become one with each other.

The way the two of you were looking into each other's eyes, you could tell it was just a moment away. Oscar leaned in close to you, close enough to breathe on your neck, “Are you sure?” He asks. You nod and don’t say anything.

He chuckles as you nod. "You're so sure?" You smile and roll your eyes. He’s such an asshole. “Yes, I’m so sure.” Even with your response dripping in sarcasm, it’s set your feelings in stone. You want Oscar Piastri.

Was it the alcohol in your system, was it the buildup of years of tension between the two of you, a mixture of both? It didn't matter, the only thing that mattered now was this very moment, this very moment with you and Oscar on this hotel bed. It was like the rest of the world would cease to exist, all that was important at this moment was the heat between the two of you, it filled you with such a warm, almost calming feeling. You both knew that this was it, there was no going back. But just this once you could let it happen.

part II- okay part III- 11:45

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #op81

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josibunn · 6 months

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thinkin about how jack would do you like this and wonder why you’re so crazy over him lol. nsfw below the cut (link goes to twitter if you catch my vibe)

jack didn’t know why you were so possessive over him. I mean, he loved it, he thought it was cute. but it always threw him in a loop when you’d hold his hand tightly in public, when you moved his hand to cup your thigh, or when you purposely perched your ass against his crotch in public somewhere, like in line or at a produce market.

he thought of himself to be a pretty average and average looking guy. if anything, he should be the possessive one, you turn heads like no one else. but it wasn’t so much about looks to you.

you always told him “I just want you all to myself” “gotta let everyone know you’re mine,” because, well it was true. but god..if you found out anyone else was getting the treatment he gave you in bed..you’d go crazy. he made you crazy.

it was sickening, he had you absolutely whipped. delusional, even. the sheer thought of his hands on someone else had you heated, you just couldn’t let it happen.

he had you at the end of your shared bed, him standing off it. you held your legs in the air as he pounds into you mercilessly, toying with your clit at a brutal pace, the pressure of his thumb making you see stars, galaxies.

you’re spasming and twitching with each deep stroke and run of your clit, you’ve been at it for hours. he’d flipped you in all sorts of positions, missionary, doggy, then backshots, and back to missionary again. you were lying in a pile of yours and his own fluids, the wallpaper could crumble at how rank the room was with your scent of sex, it was stuffy, and intoxicating, you couldn’t get enough.

you gasped and hiccuped, cheeks hot and stained with tears, each drag of his thick, long cock knocking the wind out of your body. you didn’t know what sparked in him, he just..came home in a giving mood, and god, has he been giving it to you.

“is it good baby? huh?” hes taunting you at this point, he knows it’s good. hes having to raise his voice because you’re just babbling on. “listen to me mama, listen,” he pulls your head up by the bun balancing loosely atop of your hair, making you look up at him with your wet eyes as your chest heaves. “is it fucking good? this dick doing you good baby?” he’s slamming into you and using your own hair to keep you in place, and it has your eyes rolling back as you moan weakly, body starting to shake again as you get louder and louder.

“look at this pussy, you heard me,” he takes his hand off your clit and holds your cheek, slapping you once before forcing you to look at his cock disappear in you, your pussy clenching around him and sucking him in more and more with each long stroke of his cock. “tell me it’s good, tell me this cock is fucking good,” he goes back to pounding inside you, and your moaning out lifer and more frequently, eyes squeezed shut as you feel another orgasm coming.

“oh baby it’s good, it’s fucking good! fuck, nng-jack!” you moan high, he’s pounding into your sweet spot, and you’re turning into goo under him, your ankles now over his shoulders as you slide off your elbow, his hand still wrapped around your hair as you arch your back off the bed.

“fuckin know it is baby, look at you, you’re fuckin shaking,” he shakes his head, and he’s right, you’re cursing as you squirt on his cock once more, it has him groaning loudly, cursing as his head tips back, god, your neighbors hate you guys. “gonna make you a fuckin momma, nobody’s gonna have this pussy, got it? this gonna be my pussy forever, yeah?” he lets go of your hair and grabs your neck, making you squeak.

“yes baby, cum in me please cum in me, need it baby please,” you whimper, even though he’s came in you so much tonight there no way you weren’t getting pregnant. “yeah beg for it, gonna milk this pussy,” he’s so nasty, drooling on your stomach as he cuts in your for the last time tonight, letting go of your beck and grabbing your face for a kiss, he’s tired, the kiss is tired, you’re tired.

“love you so much baby,” your voice is small and shaky as he pulls out and pulls you atop of his chest, rubbing your back as he gets under the covers, ignoring the fat stain. “I love you more mama. love you so fucking much, you’re perfect.” he kissed your forehead a bunch as he wraps his arms tighter around your shaky body, and you don’t ask him what got him so worked up, but if you did, he’d literally tell you he “wanted a good last run before he properly gets you knocked up” lol. oh yeah he has a breeding kink, that’s not up for debate. mwah

tl: @vanlisbon @sugarinte @monkeyfart @444rockstargf @bambi-horror @auggiethecreator @wonkinoo @auryyz @brithedemonspawn

#clearing out some drafts lol #rory culkin #rory culkin smut #rory culkin x reader #x black reader #jack goes home smut #jack thurlow #jack thurlow smut #jack goes home #jack thurlow prompt

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tallulah477 · 8 months

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The Mighty Handyman

Kinktober Day 7: Blowjob

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Oral (male receiving), Deepthroating, Cum swallowing, Slight nipple play, Slight dirty talk

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I've missed 2 prompts so far . . . but at least this one's on time!

Summary: Things have just kept going wrong for you during the last week. Luckily, Neteyam is always around and always willing to help you out. If only you knew how to properly thank him for all his hard work.

Translations:

Tewng - Loincloth

Tanhi - star, bioluminescent freckle

Yawne - Beloved

Paskalin - Sweet berry (term of endearment)

The week starts out like shit.

You’re hunting a yerik, a large buck that’s going to feed a respectable amount of people at the night’s communal dinner. It’s in your sights, head bent low as it nibbles on a golden flower just to the left in the small clearing. The bow in your hand is steady, pulled taunt and ready to fire. With a deep breath, you release the string, but the arrow never reaches the yerik. Instead, the upper limb of your bow snaps in half just as you release it, the arrow flying way to the right and falling short of the animal. The yerik’s head snaps up at the cracking sound and you curse as it quickly turns to run only to be stopped in its tracks by another arrow cutting through the air and piercing its chest with expert precision.

Your gaze flies to where the arrow came from and from the cover of vast foliage appears none other than Neteyam Sully. Beautiful, smart, capable, your crush since forever, Neteyam Sully. His steps are quick as he approaches the dying animal and you can’t help how your mouth and eyes are stuck wide open in shock as he kneels next to the yerik, reciting a prayer to Eywa.

He turns to you as you walk towards him, a small smile on his face as he greets you with the respectful ‘I see you’ hand gesture.

“I heard your bow snap,” he says, eyes sliding down to the broken weapon still held in your hand. “You worked hard to track this buck and I didn’t want you to lose your hunt. I hope you’re not angry with me for taking your kill.”

Your heart races at his words and the way his amber eyes shine in the sunlight of the clearing. Eywa, he looks so fucking good just standing there in his hunter’s clothes, cummerbund wrapped proudly around his lean torso and arm and leg guards covering his strong forearms and calves.

Your eyes flick back to his and you clear my throat, face heating up at being caught staring. “Oh, yeah, no. I’m-I’m glad you got it.”

“It’s a good kill,” he says, attaching his bow to his back and crouching down to grab onto the animal. “It will feed many of the People tonight. You should be proud. I’ll help you bring it back to the village, yes?”

Your brows furrow, feet shuffling awkwardly against the soft grass. “Why are you acting as though it’s my kill?”

“It is yours,” Neteyam says. He hauls the large animal over his shoulder, grunting with effort. “It was not my intention to take your kill. You tracked it and it would have been your arrow that pierced it had your bow not broken. You deserve it.”

“It wouldn’t feel right,” You say, voice tight. “You killed it, you deserve the recognition.”

A quiet hum sounds from the back of his throat, gaze fixed on you as he adjusts the animal into a more comfortable position. Your heart just about leaps out of your chest when he leans forward and nudges your shoulder with his.

“A combined effort then,” he relents, beginning to walk towards the village. He shoots a goofy and devastatingly handsome grin at you over his shoulder. “Our kill. Together,”

Oh, Eywa. Have mercy.

There are moments when you think Neteyam might like you back. Things he does that make it seem like the idea is possible: like when he seems to reserve little secret smiles during group hunts just for you, or the way your name rolls off his tongue, voice soft and low like syrup, like he takes great care in saying it.

Or moments like this when he says out of the box shit like “Our kill. Together,” like he’s purposefully trying to give you heart palpitations.

“It is a shame about your bow,” he continues, as if he has no idea he’s just rendered you completely stupid thinking about every other thing you’ve already imagined doing with (or to) him. “I can help you carve a new one, if you’d like?”

Mercy! Please, Great Mother, mercy!

He does help you carve a new bow, deft hands working diligently as they manipulate the wood into the shape he wants. His voice is low and soothing, caressing your eardrums as he describes what he’s doing, fingers pausing from where they’re pressing his blade up to the wood to point to the upper limb, the long digits dragging gently up and down the wood there.

And honestly? You have no idea what he’s even been saying. If he wants you to listen, he should put his damn hands away.

“Carving it this way instead of the normal way makes for stronger limbs, you see?”

“Mhm,”

His fingers wrap around the top of the bow and stay there. It’s only when they don’t move for a while that you snap out of your daze and find his gorgeous face smirking at you.

“Y/n, are you listening to me?”

“Fuck, oops! Sorry, yes. I mean yes. I mean—uh, no?”

He chuckles, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. “Shame on you,”

You let out a shaky laugh, thankful that he’s not angry for you basically wasting his time when he was trying to teach you something useful.

“Sorry,” You say again, carefully taking the bow from his hands. “I’m just tired. Thank you for the bow, Neteyam. It’s really beautiful.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m always happy to help you, y/n,”

And fuck, if that isn’t the most earnest thing you’ve ever heard. You know he means it, and you try to remind yourself that he would say it to anyone - he is the future Olo’eyktan after all. But he’s looking at you when he says it, not anyone else, and the blush that creeps on your cheeks can’t be helped. And neither can the small smile that plays on your lips as you squeak out a tiny, high pitched ‘thanks’.

The rest of the week is more of the same. Problem after problem that are just minor inconveniences more than anything, but they still send you into fits of exasperation all the same.

Especially since Neteyam is there for them all.

When you trip over a hidden root on your way to the communal dinner with a basket of fruit in your hands sending all the cleaned fruit, basket, and yourself flying to the ground; Neteyam is there, wide eyes filled with concern as he pulls you up and makes sure you’re okay before helping you regather the fruit with a teasing “You know, if you didn’t want to carry the basket to dinner, all you had to do was tell me and I would have carried it for you. You didn’t have to throw it.”

And when you stumble into Mo’at’s tent, knee bleeding and scraped up from a game of tag with your younger sister gone wrong; Neteyam is already there, mid conversation with his grandmother. He respectfully waves off his grandmother when she goes to put down the stone bowl she's using to crush herbs and grabs the premade ointment from off a shelf.

“I can tend to her, Grandmother,” he says, moving to sit in front of you.

His fingers are gentle as they apply the healing paste to your wound. The cuts aren’t deep, just the usual scrapes and bruises one gets when falling to the ground. But the ointment stings, and you can’t help but flinch despite his considerate touch. You try to distract yourself by listening to the deep timbre of his voice as he coos at you and tells you that you’re doing such a good job.

And then yesterday, you just about died from embarrassment.

You had been working on a new beaded top for a while now. A new intricate design you were trying out but couldn’t seem to figure out how to properly tie it off to secure it. But it was beautiful and as much as you wanted to save it for a special occasion, you were dying to wear it. So when you finished it, you immediately threw it on, intending on just walking around the village to see how it felt and if anything needed to be adjusted.

The end of your top came in the form of your best friend, Yena. She’s admiring the beading, looking with her fingers because she’s incapable of just examining something with her eyes, when Neteyam shows up. He’s in the process of taking off his cummerbund when he spots you two, a smile curling on his lips in greeting. Yena goes to pull her hand back to wave at him, but her bracelet gets caught on the beads of your top and snaps the whole thing apart when she yanks her hand away too fast.

The beads go flying and the whole top unravels around you and falls to the ground. With a horrified squeal, you wrap your arms around your chest tightly, panicked eyes darting between Yena and Neteyam’s wide, shocked eyes as they stare back at you, frozen.

Neteyam is the first to move. He steps behind you and wraps his cummerbund around your front, tying it tightly in the back so that it covers your chest. It’s not perfect, the makeshift top is not enough to fully cover your breasts, but it's enough that you don’t have to worry about a nip slip on your way home.

You can’t look at him, embarrassment rushing through every fiber of your being, and you run, hightailing it home with your tail between your legs and Neteyam’s battle band pressed tightly against your tits.

All of this leads you here, to the current problem at hand: the broken support post in your hut.

The storm last night had been brutal and, despite the cover of the canopy above, many huts in the village still took damage. Yours included.

It’s not all bad though, you think, your eyes glued to the way Neteyam’s back muscles contract and shift under his cobalt skin as he lifts the partial beam replacement in place. You bite your lip as your eyes trail down the smooth canvas of his back. His shoulders are broad and strong and you just know that he could toss you around like a ragdoll if he wanted to. Your eyes trail down lower, over the line his very lickable spine, and falling to his tapered waist. His tail swishes slightly as he works, back and forth, and you follow the movement, almost hypnotized, and thoughts of Neteyam wrapping that tail around your thigh as he fucks into you invade your mind without permission.

“Okay,” Neteyam says suddenly, pulling you out of your trance. He pats the temporary beam a few times, admiring his work. “That should do it for now. At least until the new beam is crafted for you,”

He turns to you and you plaster a quick smile on your face, trying to not be too obvious about the fact that you were just checking him out and having fantasies of him railing you through the floor.

“Great! Thanks so much, Neteyam. You don’t know how much I appreciate this,”

“Of course,” he says. “I’m always here to help you, y/n.”

“Yeah,” You say, softly. “I’ve noticed.”

“So,” Neteyam says, eyes darting around the rest of your hut, seemingly looking for something. “Anything else I can help you with? Anything else broken? I mean, if you’re going to drop anything or get scrapped up again, now is the time.”

You laugh, pushing at his shoulder. “Stoooop! Don’t make fun of me,”

He chuckles, returning your shove good-naturedly with one of his own. “It’s easy with all that’s happened to you this past week,”

And he looks so gorgeous just standing there, eyes alight with mirth, lips twisting into a playful smile, fangs poking slightly into his bottom lip. You want your own fangs to take their place, you want to capture his lip between your own and suck on the plump flesh until he’s moaning in your mouth. You want to feel him hard against you, hips pressing into yours with the clear evidence of his desire for you. And in that moment, the air is suddenly too thick - the heat of his hand still on your shoulder feels like fire as it soaks into your skin and spreads through your entire body.

Neteyam’s smile is gone now, eyes intense as they stare back into your own, and it's almost impossible to believe that he isn’t feeling the same insane pull towards you too. For a crazy moment, you're sure he’s going to kiss you, but then he drops his hand from your shoulder and steps back.

“Well, if there’s anything else I can help you with, you know where to find me, yes?”

You watch, feeling sick, as he gives you a friendly nod and makes his way towards the front of your tent. The word erupts from your throat before you can even think about what you’re doing, desperate sounding and louder than you would have ever wanted.

“WAIT!”

Neteyam freezes, hand reached out for the entrance flap, and he turns to look back at you, confused.

“S-sorry,” You stutter. You step closer to him, heart in your throat. “I just-- I just wanted to thank you. For all you’ve done for me, you know?”

Neteyam’s eyes soften. “Oh, no problem, y/n,”

“So will you let me?”

His brows furrow. “Let you what?”

You step closer still, so close until you are nose to nose, and his eyes widen, the yellow of his irises rapidly disappearing as they get swallowed up by his pupils as he stares back.

Your lips just barely brush against his. “Let me thank you,”

Neteyam lets out a harsh breath as you drop to your knees. Eywa does not pick favorites, you’ve heard it said many times before. She holds all her children in her heart equally. But it's clear as you look up at Neteyam’s visage, that everyone else has lied to you. The Great Mother does indeed have favorites, and Neteyam is her most prized creation. And this is where you belong: on your knees before him and worshiping him.

Your hands creep up the outside of his thighs, caressing the toned muscles and feeling how they flex and tense under your gentle touch. Neteyam’s stomach is taut, dipping slightly as his breathing shudders above you. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They stay clenched at his sides, twitching occasionally as if they want to move but don’t know where. And he’s looking down on you, clearly nervous but also in awe, as if you yourself are one of Eywa’s favorites and he’s currently the one being blessed.

You grin deviously, confidence flooding through you at the confirmation that you had been right - he does like you. Wants you.

Your fingers play at the band of his tewng as you look up at him through your lashes, mouth inches from his growing bulge, so close he can feel your hot breath on it as you speak. “Can I, Teyam?”

“Oh, Great Mother,” he breathes, punched out like the words hurt him. “Please. Please, y/n,”

You press a gentle kiss to his abdomen and untie the strings holding up his tewng. It’s like unwrapping the best present ever as it falls to the ground, revealing his gorgeous cock - long and hard as it slaps against his belly.

Your mouth waters at the sight and you don’t hesitate to press your lips to his frenulum, kissing the hard length reverently and smiling at the way Neteyam gasps. Your hands find their place on Neteyam’s hips again, holding him steady as you nuzzle your face against his cock and feel how it twitches against your cheek.

“It’s so big,” You hear yourself saying. “You carry this around all day long?”

Neteyam lets out an aborted sound at your joke that turns into a whine as you run your soft lips up and down his length, teasing him with just the softest of touches. You press another kiss to the underside of his cock and one of his hands finds its way to the back of your head, cradling it gently.

“Please, y/n,” he whispers. “Please put your mouth on me.”

Obviously, you have no choice but to oblige him. Your head dips down and your tongue runs a wet stripe up the entire length of his cock. Your moan echoes his and you can feel how wet you’re getting in your own tewng at the feel of his hard, hot skin on your tongue. Your tongue traces along the darker stripes decorating his length, lavishing attention on each one, not wanting to leave any unexplored, and your lips press devotedly to each and every tanhi you pass. In the back of your mind, you're a little sad this isn’t happening outside in the forest, under the glow of the moonlight where the little bioluminescent freckles can shine brightly against your tongue.

Neteyam’s hand curls in your braids and holds you still, keeping you from your exploration, while the other hand guides his cock down so the head brushes against your lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You giggle, tasting the drops of precum that smeared against your lips. “Was I not going fast enough for you?”

“You’re such a tease,” he says, eyes wild.

His cock slips between your lips and your eyes slip shut as his long, hot length invades your waiting mouth. It starts out sweet as Neteyam slides his cock inside, inch by glorious inch, dragging it against your tongue. He makes it about half way before he pulls out to the tip, letting you suckle on the mushroom head for a moment, the taste of his precum exploding on your tongue, before pushing back in.

He guides your head in the rhythm he likes, a gentle back and forth along his length, occasionally slipping in another inch until you feel his cock hitting the back of your throat with each pass. You hum around him at the feeling and look up at him, desperately asking with your eyes for more.

“Hah-fuck,” he curses, rapturous expression on his face as he stares down at you. “Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

His confession unleashes a warmth in your chest and your brows furrow in concentration, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder around his cock. He groans louder, hand tightening into a fist in your hair and you moan around his length at the pleasurable sting.

“T-take off your top,” he begs. “Take it off. Please, y/n. Please take it off.”

You bob your head faster as you reach behind you for the string of your top. With a few practiced movements, the top is loosened and you let it fall to the floor, revealing your breasts to Neteyam for the second time that week.

“Oh, Eywa,” he moans, eyes locked on your perky breasts. You cup them in your palms and press them together, looking up at him through hooded lids. You squeeze your nipples between your thumbs and pointer fingers, imagining that your fingers are his. You’ve thought about it so many times, how his hands would feel on you. His hands are so beautiful, long fingers that you know would just play with you perfectly, teasing and tormenting the hard buds until you were a puddle of tears and arousal under him.

He presses his cock deeper into your mouth and you gag, loud and wet around him, loving the way he whimpers as though he’s dying just from the sound alone. You try to take more of him in, pressing against him harder and trying to open your throat, wanting to feel your nose press against his soft skin.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, breathless. “So perfect for me, yawne. Shit!”

Your nose hits its desired mark, pressing snuggly against the warm skin of his pelvis. His cock is buried in your throat now and you can’t breathe, can’t do anything except gaze up at him through your tears and see what you're sure is a literal god in front of you.

“Loved seeing your tits yesterday,” he tells you, voice gravelly. “They’re so beautiful. Hated having to help cover them up.”

You try to groan at his words, the sound cut off by the large intrusion in your throat. You pull back, needing air, but your lips stay connected to his cock by a thick strand of saliva. He whines at the loss, but you make it up to him by dragging your tongue up the soaked underside of his cock before taking him back in your mouth, sucking greedily on the hard flesh like the world’s best tasting lollipop.

“You’re so perfect,” he breathes again. “Feels so good, yawne. So much better than I ever could have imagined,” His cock throbs against your tongue. “The Great Mother is blessing me for my good deeds.”

You nod quickly, hands reaching up to grip his thighs as you take him back in your throat. He moans loudly, thighs shaking under your hold, both hands fisting in your hair to keep you still, hips finally moving on their own to fuck your face.

You gag again, choking on his cock, saliva dribbling down your chin and his balls, and you're dying - dying the most perfect death in existence and there’s no other way you would rather go out than by choking on Neteyam’s perfect cock.

And then he’s gone again, cock dripping and twitching as he gasps for breath. “Gonna cum, y/n. Where...?”

“Cum for me, Teyam,” You pant, chest heaving. Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking firmly. Your tongue lulls out of your mouth just in front of the tip, a clear invitation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” he moans. He cums explosively, thick white ropes shooting out from the purple tip and landing on your tongue, coating your tastebuds. Your eyes roll back into your head as you swallow it up, relishing in his taste and leaning in to run your tongue along the sensitive head just to get every single last drop.

He falls to his knees in front of you, panting and shaking as the aftershocks rock through him. He cradles your face, his blissed out eyes meeting your teary ones before he pulls you into a kiss.

Your lips dance together like they’ve been doing it forever, like they know each other, a sensual press of give and take that leaves you both breathless. He lowers you to the ground gently and hovers over you.

“So,” he starts, voice low and husky. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What else can I help you with? Tell me, paskalin. Put me to work.”

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

#lunaskinktober2023 #neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x female reader #taliewrites

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historiaxvanserra · 9 months

Note

2 and 5 with feyre x rhys x reader please :)

ask and you shall receive, my love!

it's just fluff with some sexual overtones. might do a part 2 of the smut? its also totally unedited so be kind to me.

synopsis: When Feyre and Rhysand invite you to Starfall you bring an unexpected date. When he doesn't get the warm welcome you had hoped for you find that the High Lord and Lady had something else in mind for you.

The sky is saturated in the colors of dusk, streaks of lavender, amethyst and rose that melt into the darkness of the rapidly approaching night. Silver starlight lines the dark horizon like unshed tears and the night sky glitters in response-- it seems almost sentient as the first stars begin to fall.

The music from the party drifts down into the lower levels of the house, casting it in a lyrical calm that feels almost hypnotizing as you continue your ascent to the roof.

In the mirror you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection and for a moment you feel as though you are seeing outside yourself. The woman staring back at you looks strange, somehow unlike yourself. Long gone are the simple black dresses you usually wear. In their place, an exquisite sapphire gown that looks like liquid sky; indigo tulle that melts into the sheer overskirt, embroidered with pearls and diamonds that frame the silk bodice.

“You look lovely,” A voice says, cutting through the silence and you meet steely eyes in the reflection.

“Thank you, Edric.” you say pleasantly, making a considerable effort to smile at him as his eyes meet yours again.

It’s not that Edric was unpleasant by any means-- he’s kind enough and rather keen. But the whole thing is rather complicated.

“There you are, love,” Rhysand’s voice is like velvet night as he approaches.

And therein lies the complication.

He’s dressed in a midnight black suit, -- you imagine his suit jacket had since been shed as he comes into full view-- and a silk shirt, half unbuttoned baring his muscled chest to the balmy air.

You send him a shy smile as you begin your ascent up the stairs with Edric trailing behind you dutifully.

Rhysand’s lean figure looms like a taunt at the top of the staircase as his violet gaze falls on you again, before acknowledging the male behind you.

“And I see you brought company,” he says tersely.

Edric pushes past you lightly to offer his outstretched hand to The High Lord but Rhysand simply turns on his heel and retreats to the rooftop.

You smile reassuringly at Edric who stands stunned and crestfallen on the landing. You place a comforting hand on his shoulder muttering your apology before following Rhysand out into the open air.

The rooftop of The House of Wind is adorned and decorated beautifully for the occasion. String lights hung with care and garlands of moonflowers and jasmine shading the air with their delicate fragrance.

As you approach the group you introduce your date to your friends.

“Lovely to meet you.” Mor says pleasantly casting a glance over her shoulder to the High Lord and Lady who are loitering by the balcony.

Edric mutters his greetings in returns and takes a swig of his wine.

“Yeah, it’s about time this one got some action.” Cassian jests affectionately, pulling you into a sidelong hug and you turn away embarrassed.

You’re about to apologize to Edric for Cassian’s behavior when something draws you attention.

The High-Lady smells like lilacs and pears as she approaches you. She doesn’t hesitate as she wraps you in her embrace, pacing a chaste kiss to your temple in greeting.

Feyre is dressed in a lavender silk gown adorned with crystals; she looks like the embodiment of the sky at dusk as she steps back from you. Framed by the dark horizon and the falling stars.

“You look beautiful.” You say softly to her and the crease in her forehead smooths and her face softens again.

All the air is taken from you then when she retreats into her Mates arms, her cool gaze still on you. There is something dark and promising in her stormy eyes as she moves from you to the stranger drinking with Cassian.

“Who is that?,” She asks, turning to Rhys for a moment in silent conversation.

Your tongue feels foreign in your mouth and for some reason the words are sticky on your tongue. Before you can embarrass yourself further Edric’s voice cuts through the silence.

“I’m Edric, High Lady,” He says enthusiastically, holding out a trembling hand for her to take.

Feyre eyes him momentarily and takes his hand firmly offering one tense shake before dropping it again and tearing her gaze from him.

“Feyre darling, It appears love has a date.” Rhysand muses lightly, pulling Feyre tighter into his embrace.

“A date.” Feyre repeats firmly and you nod lightly as she regards you again. Her face once soft and youthful hardens and her eyes darken.

A strange feeling of anxiety and shame washes over you as Rhysand and Feyre resume their silent conversation and you swear you feel the ground tremble beneath you as a wave of power ripples through the air.

Cassian’s voice pulls you back to reality when he shouts “It’s starting.!”

The sky glitters and shimmers a brilliant mosaic of technicolor light as the stars bleed across the sky in droves-- a silver celestial army.

All the tension in the air dissolves into joy as the silver streaks paint the sky. You notice how the group seems to spilt off into pairs as the romantic and celebratory atmosphere takes hold as the hours draw on and the sky grows darkner.

Cassian and Nesta are both pressed against the railings, his large hand on the small of her back and her head on his shoulder as they sink into their own world. Mor, Amren and Varian are gathered round the firepit sharing a bottle of wine as the starlight rains down on them. You notice how Amren seems at home in the silvery light of the moon.

The weight of Edric shifts as he approaches and you feel his cautious hand holding yours. You turn to him and find him looking at you already. His face is painted in awe and before you can protest he presses his lips to yours.

The kiss itself is not entirely unwelcome. Though nor is it something you embrace.

It’s aloof, apathetic almost as your lips move over his.

Perhaps it is cruel to use him like this-- knowing that he is only a means to an end. A distraction to tear your mind from the true objects of your desire.

Edric kisses you with a carefully attentiveness and as his tongue moves over yours you find you mind drifting somewhere far away.

You abandon yourself to the thought of you High-Lady and her Mate-- how her lips would feel against your own, how his hands feel in the cradle of your hips-- and how she would taste.

Edric pulls and smiles lightly, wrapping you loosely in his arms and you find yourself retreating back into your daydream as his hand falls to your hip.

It’s wrong; that much you understand.

How woefully and terribly wrong it is. To have fallen so irrevocably for a mated pair. Your High Lord and Lady-- to make matters more unbearably sordid.

Shame creeps up on you like hunger and settles in your bones.

Your cheeks are warm and rosy. Shaded the colour of a spring bloom as your eyes find them in the crowd.

What you find is a storm of violet and gray.

They’re both already looking at you so intently that you think you might break apart in Edric’s arms and like the stars themselves become nought but dust and light.

Rhysand looks between you and his beautiful mate with a calculated ease and offers you a curt nod and a false smile, which you return easily-- though more genuine than anything he offers you.

Feyre, however, can’t seem to bring herself to offer you any sort of pleasantry as she visibly grimaces before turning her back on you.

Disappointment blooms in you followed by anger. What could cause them to be so hot and cold with you tonight? You think perhaps jealousy but the thought itself is comical and you brush it off.

Perhaps they fear they might be losing you to Edric. You’d never invited any of your previous bedfellows to family gatherings. Maybe that is why Edric received such a frosty welcome.

You sigh to yourself, leaning into Edric’s touch. Searching for some semblance of comfort.

Though you find none when you turn to see that Rhysand and Feyre have fled to their private rooms and you are left cold and alone.

The rest of the night passes in a misty haze as the drink takes hold of you, offering you what no one else can. Solace in your solitude.

The morning comes swiftly and you awake as you had slept, cold and alone. The vacancy of your bed is like a ghost that haunts your waking moments-- a tangible reminder of your true loneliness.

The sounds of your friends beyond your door are loud enough to rouse you to wake as they all gather in the dining room for breakfast.

You’re still wearing last night’s make-up when you emerge from the darkness of your room and into the pale morning light. You’re dressed in a stolen sweater and simple pants as you pad barefoot into the room where everyone is already gathered around the long table.

“Morning,” You say groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you take your seat between Feyre and Azriel.

Azriel offers you a quiet greeting though Feyre appears deep in thought and hardly acknowledges you as you sit down to eat.

Despite the hangover breakfast is pleasant and everyone falls into easy conversation. Though Feyre hardly seems to engage with you outside of polite conversation despite trying to lighten her dour mood.

You cast Rhysand a questioning glace to which he speaks gently into your mind.

She’s okay, love. Only a little sour. Rhysand’s voice is smooth and honeyed as he tries to make light of his mate’s foul mood. Though you note the concern in his eyes as he regards her again.

Breakfast comes and goes and Feyre excuses herself to the kitchen while everyone else goes about their business.

Her silence doesn’t sit well with you and there’s this feeling-- a dull agony in your chest when you think of the possible cause of her pain.

You debate following Azriel to the library and leaving Feyre to Rhys-- he is her mate after all. But the thought of her face, brow furrowed, the deep sulk of her lip and the milky glaze in her eyes has you marching into the kitchen after her.

You find her gazing out of the window with a dirty dish in hand as she half-heartedly scrubs it.

“Fey, is everything alright?” you ask gently, approaching her and offering a comforting hand on her strong shoulder.

Feyre turns to you quickly and her eyes once dark often a little before she stands straighter as you approach her.

“I’m fine,” She says slowly, trying her hardest to smile through gritted teeth.

You cast her a dubious look. Not entirely convinced. Even when she pushes away from the counter top to meet you at the kitchen island.

“Fey-- you’re obviously not fine at all.” You say softly, taking her hand in yours. When she doesn’t pull away you take it as a good sign.

“I am fine.” Feyre laughs bitterly.

She’s obviously not fine. Rhysand speaks into your mind, mildly amused as you recoil in surprise when you find him slumped lazily against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket.

“You’re mad.” You turn to Feyre, knitting your brows together in confusion as realization begins to hit you. “Why are you mad?” you plead with her.

Feyre is silent and you turn to Rhys for some gentle coaxing but all he does is smirk and leave you to fend for yourself.

“I’m not mad,” Feyre says emphatically, her eyes a blue storm as they bore into your own.

She is so beautiful when she’s mad.

“Please, Feyre,” You implore her, taking her hands once again in yours, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles as you feel your bottom lip begin to wobble with anxiety, “tell me what I did.”

“I’m not mad,” Her face softens immediately and her eyes clear to a classy cobalt as she brings your hand to her lips now and kisses featherlight. “I just-”

The words die in her throat.

You feel Rhysand’s magnetic presence behind you and he approaches with caution as his mate looks at you again. Her eyes are full of hope and something akin to reverence.

“You just what, Feyre darling?” Rhys asks coaxingly giving her a soft encouraging smile and a comforting hand on her hip.

“I just think you can choose better people to kiss.”

Any breath that might have had is long gone as the words leave her mouth and you can’t help but smile at the realization that blooms in your chest. She was jealous.

A ripple of dark power, light shaded night, rises and swells like a wave on the Sidra as Rhysand kisses the side of her face and smiles.

They both were.

You gather your wits and regard the pair as they turn their gaze upon you again waiting for your reply.

“And who is better?” You muse lightly, head still spinning as you let your rapidly beating heart flutter to a plateau.

“Me.”

It’s all she says before breaking free from her mate's tender embrace and striding over to you. Her body collides with yours with such passion and fervor that it feels almost fated-- all most cataclysmic.

And when her lips meet yours in a spell-binding, earth-shattering kiss you all but whine into her mouth. “Oh, fuck. Do that again.” It’s Rhysand who speaks, voice hoarse and low as you feel his hand carding through your hair at the base of your skull as you expose your throat to his High Lady.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #feyre x rhysand #feyre x reader #rhysand x feyre #rhysand x reader #feysand fic #feysand x reader #poly!feysand x reader

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lovelettersforthedamned · 6 months

Note

Can I request fluff 11 & smut 11 with Poe?

Riding Till Morning

--genre: fluff & SMUT

--pairing: poe dameron x afab!reader

--word count: 1.0k

--warnings: kissing, (star wars) foul language, thigh riding, mutual masturbation, sassy!poe (this is honestly canon), dirty talk, groping, clothed touching.

POE PLEASE JUST ONE CHANCE

The air inside the cantina was hot, but nobody cared. When you’re in a time of war, spending time with those you love is a privilege, and if that means sitting in a crowded and muggy space. So be it. And how could you complain when you were sitting next to the love of your life?

With Poe’s arm wrapped around your waist, his touch became extremely apparent. Turning your body to fully face him, you reach your hand up to squeeze his cheeks together, giggling and placing a kiss on his now-puckered lips. “Should we call it a night? I know you have to be up early tomorrow,” you move your hand to caress his cheek.

Poe lowers his hand towards the supple flesh of your butt, giving it a firm squeeze, “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night, let’s go.”

He’s already on his feet, his line of sight heading straight towards the door. You tug on his hand, stopping him in his tracks, “Shouldn’t we say bye first?”

He turns his head back around to respond and reaches for your hand, but you can see this look in his eyes, a look of lust and need, “They’ll see us tomorrow, c’mon.”

You giggle as you take his hand, walking out of the cantina and to your shared room. The distance between the two worked in Poe’s favor. You swore he would have ripped your arm off if he walked any faster. You couldn’t help but smirk the entire walk back, the people you passed glanced at the two of you for a second longer than they should have.

Making your way to your room, Poe is quick to kiss you. You just barely closed the door before you felt him press you into the cold surface. His lips envelop yours, the warmth of his mouth making your head spin. You can feel his hands roaming your body, eventually stopping at the nape of your neck. Poe pulls away from you to connect your foreheads, “Your heart is beating so fast right now.”

“Well besides the fact that you practically dragged me through the base, another smirk rises to your face, “I just really need you to touch me right now.”

Poe’s smirk quickly matched yours as he led you to the couch, pulling you onto his thigh. Your arms wrap around his neck, looking down at him to give him another deep kiss. The kiss only made you more desperate for his touch, you needed more. Breaking the kiss, you voice your need, “Please baby–kriff–I need you so bad.”

Poe looks up at you with his half-lidded eyes, “The only way you’re getting off is on my thigh, baby. Can you do that for me?”

You nod quickly, taking whatever Poe gave you. With his hands still at your hips, you begin to rock your hips back and forth, the friction pulling a soft moan out of you. Even though you were both fully clothed, the movement was still able to give you the touch you’d been craving.

Poe sighs as he tilts his head up towards you, basking in the sight of you on top of him, “Do you know how good you look like this? How good you look riding my thigh, baby? Stars, you look kriffing perfect.”

His praise sent pleasure straight to your core, a wet spot forming on your pants. Looking down, you can see Poe’s cock hardening in his pants. You reach down to grab his cock, a grunt is heard from him when you begin to stroke him.

The pre cum seeping out of his tip starts to show through his pants, just like yours. And maybe you’re basking in the fact that he’s right where you are, but you’ll never admit it, you just bite your lip and try to keep this memory of him locked in your mind.

Focusing on anything but the pleasure he’s giving is hard, your pace suddenly getting slower and sloppier. The wet spot now transferred onto his pants. Seeing this, he taunts you, “You’re gonna cum, baby? Yeah? Gonna cum on my thigh?”

“Kriff–yes baby,” you pant out, your eyes squeezing shut.

Poe releases one of his hands from your hip and brings it up to hold your cheek, his voice breathy “Then cum for me baby, cum for me.”

With the tone of his words, you cum. You can’t help but grab onto one of his shoulders for stability as you feel your core pulse on his thigh, your other still holding onto his cock. Too dazed in the state you’re in, you hear a loud moan come from Poe, the grip on your hip sure to leave a bruise.

It took you a second to come back to your senses, looking back down at Poe. He’s in a similar state as you. Wait, did he cu–oh. His pants were ruined, the wet spot very evident. His eyes are closed as his head leans against the back of the couch. Leaning down, you plant a firm kiss on his forehead, “We made a mess.”

Opening his eyes, Poe looks down, one of his legs stained with you, and another stain from him. He releases a breathy laugh before looking back up at you, “Yeah, we sure did.” He then looks over to the clock, mentally cursing at the time, “So much for trying to rest before morning.”

You fully lean into him, your body all of a sudden hit with a wave of exhaustion, “It’s alright, as long as we actually get up, we’ll be fine.”

Poe wraps his arms around you and sighs, “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t ask me for ‘just five more minutes’, because we both know what’ll happen after that.”

You laugh, “Shhh…Let’s just relax for right now, that's tomorrow's problem.”

“Baby,” he pauses to check the time again, “that’s today's problem.”

--author's note: oh this is so good. i need poe so bad it's not even funny anymore tbh. NONNIE THANK YOU FOR THIS MAGICAL ASK. don't forget to like, comment, and reblog my work if you love it!! ok, ily bye<33333

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron smut #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron #fluff #smut #star wars #LLFTD 200 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION #poe dameron blurb

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cheralith · 11 months

Text

so tonight that i might see | hobie brown

synopsis: you can't sleep and hobie has just the trick to help you do so.

word count: 1.0k

a/n: mentioned song is based on into dust - mazzy star :)

hobie brown, despite his rowdiness and love for noise, often plays the gentlest of songs during the stars' awakening hours.

he's obviously infamously called spider-punk for a good reason, there's no doubt about that. there's something just so thrilling about drilling out the most intense of power chords amidst gritty and taunting vocals that he savors himself in—but there's also that sweet and honeyed balance of slower songs that will slow his nerves down better than any sedative.

often people think that his acoustic guitar has a hefty layer of dust after not being touched for so long, but what they don't know is that his acoustic is kept tucked away in the shadows all safe and sound. it's his first guitar after all, why would he throw away such a valuable thing like that? but because of its importance to him, hobie is always mindful of who gets to see it because despite the jokes about it being his kryptonite, it might as well be considering its value.

which is why you can't help but feel a blossom of pride embed itself in your chest whenever hobie grants you the silent permission of seeing his acoustic—his only acoustic, at that. you just say the word to him, and he's never one to back down from your song requests because he adores you and would do anything to keep you content (he'll never tell you that, though. hobie brown is not one such foolishness like love confessions.)

you're spending the night in his canal boat per usual, feeling the water gently rock you back and forth like a cradle. it has to be what? around 1am at this point? he lays quietly next to you all sound asleep with occasional snores in the small-ish twin mattress, his body warmth heating the left side of your body while your right succumbs to the soft chill of the night. it's a strange unevenness.

another layer of guilt washes over you when you turn over again to get comfortable before you huff out of frustration at your eyelids' refusal to grow heavy like the rest of your body. unfortunately, it's loud enough to wake your companion resting beside you, and you murmur out an apology when hobie props himself awake as he rubs his eyes.

"you alright, love?" he asks groggily.

you nod despite your certain circumstances. "yeah, yeah... don't mind me. did i wake you? i'm sorry."

"'s alright," hobie mutters, his neck crackling like fireworks as he stretches his muscles. "guessin' ya can't sleep."

a melancholic sigh whispers itself from your lips when you nod almost bashfully. "i don't know why, though. you'd think after today's events, i'd be absolutely drained."

"mmh, could also just be one of those nights, ye?" hobie says with a tired brow.

"you should go back to sleep," you reply soft, your hand going to tuck a bit of the shared blanket over some of his lower bare torso again; he insists on sleeping shirtless—"the heat at night gets a lil dodgy, y'know?"

hobie shakes his head, "can't really sleep if you can't."

crickets chirp softly from the distance with the murmur of the lake just breezing by. what a perfect ambience to dream to, you think, but alas, the sandman has chosen to spare his sand against you tonight. you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin between them, obviously exhausted—yet not tired.

"want me to play you that song y've fond of?" hobie suggests. he doesn't even wait for you to answer or elaborate further because he's already out of the shared bed and walking towards his closet to pluck out the fabric casing of his acoustic guitar. it's such a grand contrast to his many collections of its electric counterparts as it lacked the mayhem and destructions some of them had.

its somehow still in pristine condition; its body still amber and sleek with the fingerboards solid and sturdy. hobie settles back down on the side of the bed again with the guitar tucked safely on his lap and you blearily watch him tune it correctly.

"lay back down, darling," he instructs to you, his words not even doing much work before you fall into his command so steadily. his fingers go to softly strum a few chords at first before he asks you, "was that the one?"

"mmh hm," shaking your head you hum out a quiet and familiar tune, one that hobie was testing out a few weeks ago as a prototype that managed to catch your ear. "it was the one that was like... do duh do duh... do duh do duh..." your finger wags in the air up and down, up and down, mimicking the melody of the song.

despite your lyrical nonsense, hobie understands which song you're talking about right away. his plucking goes to match your absurd singing before he turns to you for affirmation.

"yeah, that one," you mutter and tuck yourself under the sheets again to let the song hopefully lull you to slumber.

hobie's usual singing is rather rough and a little jagged, giving his own flair to the traditional punk rock style of singing while still keeping its homage, but he's chosen to hum a wordless harmony rather than sing anything at all. it's a nice blend, you think as your eyelids grow heavier, his voice almost mirroring a cello of sorts.

the guitar riff is repeated ten times over, yet something about it seems to finally let your muscles relax for once. hobie finishes the song with a strayed sort of melodic rhythm; one that seals the knot of the song to indicate its finale. when he looks back, his fingers still a little stinged from the metal strings, the quiet pain of them is subsided when he sees your dozing face cuddled into the pillow.

too unbothered to set his guitar aside properly, hobie settles it on the ground before settling himself back into bed. this time, he oh so carefully tucks an arm under your neck while the other slings to your back to cradle you into him tenderly. to seal the night off, there's the whisper of a kiss given to your forehead by him, the gesture making you unconsciously grin in your sleep.

and suddenly—there's a balance of warmth everywhere on your body, the cold of the night forgotten with good riddance.

#we are going to ignore the fact that mazzy star is from the nineties while hobie is from the seventies btw much love :3 #spider man: across the spider verse #atsv #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown oneshot #atsv fic #hobie fluff #miles morales #gwen stacy #miguel o'hara

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indouloureux · 2 years

Note

NO NO NO BUT BEING REALLY DAMN CLINGY WITH STEVE! Like you can’t get ENOUGH OF HIM UGHHH, god do I love that man

CLINGY STEVE CLINGY STEVE CLINGY STEVE I-

steve voices his disdain through a low groan of protest when you sadly break away from the comfort of his loving embrace. he frowns deeply, like he'd been berated for accidentally hurling a ball at your grandmother's urn.

(oddly specific, he thinks. he so did not do that when he was eight. and he so did not accidentally inhale the ashes of his beloved grandma and choked on them and thought that she now lived inside him.)

"babe," he pouts. "wher' you goin'?"

his speech is almost of a drunken slur when he reaches up and makes grabby hands at you. you laugh lightly, pulling down at your shirt. "i'm gonna pee, stevie,"

"can i come?"

"what, why?"

"don't wanna let you go," he rolls to his front and drops his hand on your space that's suddenly cold. "and i miss you already. wanna be with you in the bathroom and watch you pee,"

it's your turn to frown, though much more in slight disgust than dismay. "sweets, i'm not letting you watch me pee."

the look on his face makes it seem like he's about to cry if you didn't say yes. oh, steve harrington always gets what he wants– whether it be the ways of his handsome charm or his puppy eyes with disheveled hair and a small, almost bratty pout.

steve doesn't ever want to let you out of his eyesight, lest of you suddenly disappearing into thin air like his nightmares had taunted him. he knows his clinginess was starting to become suffocating, but he couldn't blame himself, could he?

but you don't mind his nightly throes and his doting clinginess. you understand where he's coming from and steve loves you for that — you love him and his frantic screams and untamed chest hair and wide heart.

"ugh, fine," you agree to avoid a (playful) breakdown, moreso for the reason of you also wanting him to be wherever you go. steve beams like the star on a christmas tree and hops of his king-sized bed (the irony). "but you're looking away, alright? 's weird enough you have to hear the broken sounds of my piss."

"yay," he wraps his arms around you from behind, waddling your way to the toilet with his chin on top of your head. "baby's gotta pee. gotta give her the toilet paper. i'm the paper man,"

"steve."

"yeah?"

"please don't say that again."

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington

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star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

My Heart Never Knows

Jake Sully x Neytiri x Reader

—-

a/n: only a few more chapters left 😭 i hope you all enjoy!!

again, thank you so much to @eywas-heir for beta reading this 🫶🫶🫶

warnings: violence, death, mentions of blood, mentions of head trauma, injury, not very graphic though, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Twenty- To Fly

—-

“Jake…” the man says, Lo’ak’s piece in his ear and the speaker around his neck. His voice is a taunt, like he’s itching for him to come forward.

Jake and Neytiri told you about Quaritch. They told you about the battle- when Neytiri killed his human form, where they were going to destroy the tree of souls.

But you never imagined he would be as cruel as this.

The four of you are a lot calmer now, with the Metkayina in your sights, with Jake there.

You can see him now- just barely, hair pulled back, you think, a human machine in his hands. A gun, he had explained when you found it once, softly moving around you and hiding it somewhere else.

You preferred not to think about it, but now you have never been more grateful for it.

You have never been more grateful to see him.

He and Neytiri protected you from Ayeoe- helped you when you and Ronal were fighting, let you into their lives and their children’s lives.

“You want your kids back? You come out alone.”

You watch, rapt, as he bends slightly, taking a gun out from his waistband and holding it high in the air.

“You know better than to test my resolve.”

Then, he places the gun to the back of Lo’ak’s head, like it is not a person in front of him, like it is not a young boy who lives and breathes and loves.

“No!” you scream, tearing it out from your throat, looking between the gun and the rail, hair flying ledt and right.

Tuk and Tsireya scream as well- but it all fades when Quaritch turns to you with a sick smile, before it drops so fast.

“The fuck?” he whispers, putting the gun in his other hand, taking one step toward you.

“Stop!” Lo’ak screams, even though he was silent when the cold metal was upon his head.

But he doesn’t press the gun to your head. Instead, he grabs you by your braid, tugging and pulling back, exposing your neck.

“Oh,” he says, staring at your necklace, at Neytiri’s feather. “Oh.” His face breaks into a wide smile, but it looks almost unnatural on his face. He presses the intercom again. “Such a lovely girl. She’s pretty, huh? Yeah… I like that necklace too. That feather.”

The line is silent on the other end, and Quaritch simply stares into your eyes- biting his lip and tugging, pressing the earpiece to your lips when you let out a squeal.

“I know who’s feather that is, Jake. I know… who this pretty girl belongs too.”

Quaritch’s lip curls inward, pure disgust on his face, but he looks out towards the horizon, towards Jake, with a vengeance.

“I took you under my wing,” he hisses. “And you betrayed your own kind. You killed your own kind- good men, good women. I will not hesitate to execute your kids and your girl.”

Silence for a moment-

“Just wait one,” he pleads, and even his voice makes you so calm that you can’t help but let your shoulders sag.

And then you realize he will come. He will cross the sea, cross the mountains, cross the stars to get back to his family- what is a few yards?

But he is just a man, and he is outnumbered.

Words are about to spill from your lips, but you realize you have no idea what you would say. What could you even say? This man in front of you is beyond reason- beyond sanity. He sees nothing but death and the satisfaction he thinks he will get.

“Check your fire. I’m coming out,” the voice says, his voice, resigned and broken, but you hear that something in it.

You can just faintly see him out his gun down out of the corner of your eye, make the slow crossing, make the journey to what must be death.

You know death, you know suffering and pain- but you have never felt it like this before, you have watched it happen in front of you and not been able to do anything, but it has never made you want to rip out your heart- anything to stop feeling like this.

Lo’ak let’s out a growl, bringing you back into focus, and you try to crane your neck to look at Tuk and Tsireya, to try and comfort them, even though when all you want is to be comforted yourself. But Quaritch keeps a tight grip on your braid, taunting Jake, taunting everyone in your clan.

He is playing with water, water that contains darkness- water that will drown him.

Quaritch keeps his other hand on his gun, finger on the trigger, trained on Lo’ak. He holds the power. He holds everything in his hands- and he is crushing it, inch by inch, so slowly you could barely even feel it.

“Easy shot,” one of the Avatars muses. You can barely bite your tongue. Quaritch looks over to him, a silent order, and the man lowers his gun.

“If you hit him now,” he advises, “they attack. Wait until he’s on board.”

Lo’ak hisses again, like his anger is spilling out of him, like he can barely control it.

“It’s alright,” you manage to whisper, eyes pointed to the sky, the only direction you really can look. His eyes keep drifting to your neck, to the feather.

Why is he so entranced?

Quaritch let’s out another laugh, tugging again-

“Don’t hurt her!” Lo’ak hisses, furiously trying to rip his restraints, but Quaritch only rolls his eyes and presses the gun closer to his head.

So he can feel the ring of metal, the coolness, know it is the last thing he would ever feel if Quaritch pulled the trigger.

“Lo’ak…” but you have nothing to say.

You have nothing to say when the sea splits apart, something shooting up and out, seawater slamming into your face, a hand leaving your braid- when you blink the water away- it is a tulkun.

Emerging from the water like something from Eywa herself, arcing in the air like the curve of a bow.

“Payakan!” Tuk shouts, and you almost thought it was Ay’a for a moment. For a split second, until you remembered what they did to her, what they will do to him.

Payakan slams onto the deck of the boat, crushing shoulders beneath him, screams dying as quickly as they were born.

That is what it is, what the humans do. They live so quick- futile, taking and taking, never giving, always struggling- they live painfully, and then it is over in just a flash.

The four of you sway from side to side as the ship recovers from the force of Payakan’s fall.

It is simply chaos for a few moments- the humans opening fire on him, and the bullets simply bouncing off. With a quick move of Payakan’s fin, another man is dead. Then another.

“Brother!” Lo’ak shouts, kicking a human covered in grey metal so the human is crushed with a grunt.

You cannot find it in yourself to feel bad. All humans have done is take from you- why should they not suffer like you have?

Payakan’s tail slams around, knocking over spires of winding grey metal, killing and killing, taking and taking. He is not a tulkun in this moment. No- he is something else.

The sound of bullets is deafening, but soon Payakan is slipping into the sea after another explosion rocks the ship, and you hear the war cries. Closer, closer.

“Are you alright?” you ask each of them, “are you alright?!”

They all nod slowly- but they aren’t paying attention to you. They are paying attention to the Metkayina warriors approaching the ship and you cannot blame them.

You spot Ronal and Tonowari, Jake at the front.

The bullets come for them- but they simply dive into the water, their tsurak’s gliding in easily.

“Sully’s inbound! I want eyes on him!” Quaritch shouts, loading his gun while the other Avatars climb onto their ikran. They take off with a screech, and soon the sound of more bullets rent the air.

This time, they come from the sky, not quite a helicopter, but still flying. But before it can cause anymore destruction- Neytiri emerges from the clouds on her ikran, arrow pulled taut, smashing right through the glass.

Then, the Metkayina are shouting out of the water with their spears and sharp tsurak teeth, killing and taking and it is a beautiful sight, you say.

There is so much happening, too much too look at, it is almost like the day you mated them. Overwhelmed, the entire world happening in front of you- and yet your eyes are drawn to Jake until he disappears behind the ship.

“The… the ship…” Tsireya suddenly says, looking to the grey floor. Then you feel it too. See it. “The ship is moving!”

Panic runs in your veins like vines of a plant- how will you be rescued if Jake and Neytiri don’t know where you are?

“It’s alright!” you shout- the ship is moving too fast, there is something wrong-

“Spider…” Lo’ak whispers. “It’s Spider!”

Then the four of you are flying.

It is nothing like when Jake and Neytiri took you flying, because Jake’s arms aren’t around you, his voice isn’t in your ear.

Neytiri isn’t there to shout reassurances, to fly upside down above you while laughing, making you smile just because she is. Jake tells you the stories of the stars in the sky, the shapes they make. There must be one of them, you’re sure.

You fly, and you land, the only sound you can hear being screams and shouts.

“My head…” you mumble, trying to get to your knees through the haziness.

“Are you alright? Are you okay?” Lo’ak asks, tugging at his restraints, Tuk and Tsireya following, movements fast and frantic.

“Mama?” Tuk asks, although it is more of a screech, a plea for you to answer.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, even as you feel the blood drip down your temple.

—-

“You won’t let me fall, right?”

You know he won’t. But before Bob takes off, before you are flying and free, you want to hear him say it.

He squeezes the arm wrapped around your waist.

“Nah, baby. I won’t let you. Besides, we would catch you.”

—-

taglist:

@sully-stick-together @corrupt-cadaver420 @jadynchronicle @imthefunniestpersonalive @fangil101 @mashiromochi @rey26 @soothinghummerz @myheartfollower @pwallettes @melodykisses @ghoulfiendz @fanboyluvr @itsyaspwr @khaleesihavilliard @capbrie @nothingfuninthislife @faceaeter @thetrashindrakensroom @makeup-stuff-and-such @my-dearest-agent @miyamuraaaa @xoxovienna @arschbohrer @amazingaries @ssc7514 @milf-lover-23 @w3ird11 @littlexscarletxwitch @tiajk @kuldren @blackgirlwriting @tojigirl @trulyrogers @aeslenya @3okutos-3ig-toe @peterparkeeperer @ambria @homeispandora @hxgemxscles @ripnevillestrevor @amiets2 @reallysparklychaos @ok-boke @dumb-fawkin-bitch @nerd-squad-headquarters @abaker74 @ara-a-bird @queenzeemelanin092201-blog @marvelsimps @marydragneell @lola-bunn1 @erenjaegerwifee @blackgaladriel

#jake sully x neytiri #jake sully x reader #neytiri x reader

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