Neighbour! Clark Kent X New Girl! Reader
neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader
SYNOPSIS: with a new problem in smallville ridding people of their inhibitions and exacerbating urges, clark finds himself confronted with a dilemma as his neighbour arrives in his loft, afflicted by the same epidemic
WARNINGS: where to start?, slight dubcon (purely because reader's emotions are being exaggerated by an outside force (not a person though, it's unspecified)) but consent is verbalised later between both parties, clark is kind of pathetic (what did you expect from me?), kissing, palming(?), he's a sensitive guy, clark reacts to seeing reader's bare skin like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle, kind of dirty talk, clark in that white t-shirt (i KNOW you know what i mean), blowjob, handjob, clark compares every sexual experience to ascending to a new plane of existence and finding paradise, he's a loud boy, couch sex, semi-public sex? (in the loft in the barn, but literally no one is around and they're alone for hours), fingering, clark using his super speed for illicit activities, cowgirl, missionary, it's not said whether or not clark is a virgin, but he's definitely inexperienced, clark being scared of his strength being a danger to reader, praise kink (neither of them react to the praise in any particular way, it's just that there's a lot of praise so if anything i'm just showing off my praise kink), mention of sex against a wall, creampie
this is inspired by the episode of smallville in season one where there's that flower that makes people make poor decisions and behave rashly, and also by this scene that i saw on tiktok with clark and lana (if anyone finds this i need them to send me the link... for research purposes) (EDIT: someone found it so here's the link) where he just folds the moment she kisses his neck. i also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from my clark jacking off headcanons.
also for someone who rarely spells the word rhythm right first try, i use it a lot in this. fair warning there may be accidental tense changes and pronoun changes but i've tried to go through and eliminate that.
this will probably be the last instalment of the neighbour clark series, although i'll probably return to this idea eventually to add thoughts, but they won't be tied directly to this series, just to neighbour clark as an au. thank you to everyone who has enjoyed and supported this series and been so patient with me (i had no idea it had been over a month since part four).
part one! part two! part three! part four! part five!
Clark can’t seem to escape you over the next week, not that he really minds much. But it’s become almost impossible to make it through an encounter with you where he doesn’t feel like he’s at risk of coming undone.
You’re always hanging out with Lana and Chloe in school and out of it, you’re at the Torch whenever he is, same with the Talon. He’s even come home to find you baking with his mother! What divine power hates him so much that you have to be everywhere he turns?
Sometimes you’re not even doing anything particularly scandalous. The only remotely salacious thing you did while baking was licking the batter off your fingers, and that definitely did send Clark through the loop. Your pure existence anywhere nearby just threw him off.
~~~
You have one thought and one thought only as you walk towards the barn that contains Clark’s little hideaway. The farm is empty besides him - Mr and Mrs Kent are in town at the market, so they’ll be gone for a while. You’ll have plenty of alone time with Clark.
“Clark?” You call as you enter the barn.
“Hey!” He greets, voice a little breathy.
“Can I come up?”
“Yeah, no problem.” You make your way upstairs, finding Clark reading through some book when you reach the top. “Hey, what’s-”
He turns, and the sight he’s met with has him pausing. You’re in a pair of teeny denim shorts, a black cropped tank top with thin straps, and an open button-up. It’s a warm summer’s day and your skin is practically glowing in the light that filters through into the barn. The cute little brown cowboy boots on your feet really tie it together. There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about your outfit, but something about it feels different. It feels… he can’t place it. Although maybe it’s just to do with the air you have about you as you stand there.
“What are- what are you doing here?” He asks.
You shrug. “Well, it’s just been such a long, hard day, and I missed you. Kept thinking about you. Thought we could hang out. We haven’t hung out together in ages, you know? Just the two of us.” You’re moving towards him as you speak. Well, it looks like you’re just moving further into the space - pacing, perhaps - but he’s sort of backing away the entire time, keeping equal distance, and you’re turning to match his direction the entire time. “It’s been so long, Clark.”
Your hand grazes over the telescope, but you don’t move it, don’t look in it (which he’s more than thankful for, because it’s currently aimed towards your house).
“Y-yeah, we can hang out.”
“What have you been doing?” You ask, looking around, then at him.
You take off the shirt, and it feels like he’s watching it in slow motion. The way your head turns, the way the material just gently, slowly glides down your smooth skin, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair. You stretch, arms reaching into the air above your head and showing off more bare skin. And as you reach the peak of your stretch, fighting the tension in your muscles and bones, you let out a purposeful moan.
Clark is going to die.
“Uh, just homework,” he says, swallowing to combat the dryness in his mouth as you turn towards him and begin to approach him.
You smile a little. “So smart. You’re so good, Clark.” Well, you and he both know exactly where that comment’s going.
“Uh- hm. Not- I’m not…” He’s backing away from you to keep some distance as you keep walking towards him. His foot hits a metal bucket, a loud clang! ringing around the barn as he stumbles a little.
“Not what, Clark? Not smart? Not good?” Clark glances behind him to make sure that he’s not going to trip over something else or fall down the stairs, and when he turns his head back to face you, he’s shocked to find you directly in front of him.
Your fingers hook onto his belt loops, tugging him closer to you by his hips. His eyes go wide as he looks down, then at you, multiple times in very quick succession, his face the epitome of bewilderment.
“We both know that’s not true, Clark. You’re good. And smart. And strong. You’re amazing.”
“Wh-what are you doing?” He manages.
“Come on, Clark, I know.”
“What?”
“I know how you feel. I get it now. I’ve been totally blind to it because you’re too polite to look. But I want you to. I want you to look. I want you to touch-” His eyes turn wider still, and he’s still looking confused beyond anything. “I want you to taste. I want you to do whatever you want.”
He sees then how dilated your pupils are, how heat radiates off you. You’re not yourself. Whatever’s been going around and getting to people the past few days has reached you. This isn’t you.
But everything he knows points to this thing, whatever it is, exacerbating existing feelings, not creating new ones. So maybe you do really want him. It doesn’t make it any better, though. It’s still taking advantage.
“Y-you’re sick,” he tells you as you lean in and begin to mouth at his neck.
His eyelids flutter and a smile begins to pull at the corners of his lips. No. No, he needs to be responsible. He can’t do this now. Even though you’re handing yourself to him on a silver platter, telling him you want him to. Even though his heightened senses are letting him know the way your heart begins to beat a little faster, the way your breath turns shallow and gaspy, the way you smell as arousal begins to form a little patch in your underwear.
“This isn’t really you. You’re sick.”
“Oh, trust me, Clark, I’ve wanted this for a while.”
“N-no, you’re not yourself. You can’t - ah!” He’s cut off by his own high whine when one hand releases his belt loop and instead directly palms him. His hips buck into your touch involuntarily. “Oh my God.” You apply the slightest bit of pressure, and watch proudly as his eyes roll back momentarily. Oh, he’s pent up. “N-no, no you- you’re sick. This is wrong.”
“Don’t you want me?” You ask.
“Baby, I’ve never wanted anything more than this, but-”
“Then take me!” You whine. “Fuck me!”
“Please,” he tries, although with your hand still on his clothed cock and his neck still tingling with the lasting effect of your kisses, it comes out more like a whine.
You lean up, kissing at his jaw. “What if it makes me feel better? What if it cures me?”
“I-I don’t think-”
“Don’t think, Clark. Please. Just- just let go. Just be with me.”
His eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck,” he breathes out as he reaches his verdict. He turns his head, meeting your lips. It’s a messy clash of tongues, desperate for one another.
You back him towards a desk that’s been set up against a wall, and push at his shoulders to make him sit down. He looks up at you with those angel eyes, pupils blown and eyebrows raised a little, lips pouting and all coming together to create a look that just begs you to ravish him.
You meet his lips with yours again, hands reaching blindly to find the hem of his sweater. You find it, pulling it up and over his head with as much speed as possible, finding that tight white t-shirt underneath.
“Fuckin’ love this shirt,” you mumble, kissing him again. “But I need it gone.”
Clark nods, eagerly reaching to pull the t-shirt over his head. His desperation means it gets stuck a little on the way up, and you have to help him get it off, but you don’t mind. You’re quick to get your hands on him, as he begins to kiss down your neck, you trail your hands over every muscled inch of him.
He sucks a mark into the skin of your neck, kissing over it when he’s done, like a finishing touch. “Oh, Clark,” you breathe out, nails lightly scratching over his stomach. He shivers a little, breath shaking.
Your fingers find his chin, tilting his face up to give him another kiss, before you’re getting to your knees in front of him. He watches with wide, adoring eyes as you begin to undo his jeans, kissing down his stomach as you do.
You make quick work of his jeans, bringing them halfway down his thighs, then pulling his boxers down far enough to free his cock. He looks painfully hard. Clark knows that this is his body’s standard reaction to you. You don’t. You’re also not aware of the way Clark’s thoughts run wild when he fists his cock to the image of you at night. Granted none of his fantasies have ever played out quite like today has, but he’s going to be thinking of this for a very long time.
Your hand wraps around his thick base, and he lets out a precious little gasp. You smile up at him, and from this angle, you look like a fucking enchantress. He swears you’ve got him under some kind of spell.
You move your hand. Clark is ascending to a new plane.
And then, with your hand still pumping him, and as Clark watches, you lean your head closer to his tip. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
You lick over his slit, and his head tilts back against his wishes. He doesn’t want to look away. Doesn’t want to miss a single moment. He wants to bask in the glory of this image forever.
And then your lips wrap around his tip, a sensation like no other, and you press forward, taking him as far as you can. “Oh, baby, please-” he moans, wrangling the urge to flex his hips forward. “Y-yeah, that’s it, honey.”
His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as your hand pumps what you can’t fit in your mouth. You watch him through your lashes, waiting for him to look back at you. But he doesn’t.
So you pull off.
Clark just about suppresses the whine that threatens to escape at the loss of the wet heat of your mouth, and instead a rather disappointed sigh leaves him. The world outside your mouth feels cold and lonely.
But you fix it by leaning forwards and beginning to kiss around his pelvis, smirking a little against his skin as he shudders. Your hand is still moving to a steady rhythm, and even though Clark misses the feeling of your mouth, the combined sensation of your slick hand and your kisses on his hips is too good. “Clark, honey,” you mumble, nipping at the skin over his hip bone. He gasps. “Would you look at me?”
“C-can’t,” he denies, shaking his head.
“Why not?”
“Because - oh, God-” You suck his skin just a couple of inches away from his base, disappointed to find no mark when you pull away. “Because if I look at you, I think I might cum.”
You give him a sympathetic look. “What would be so bad about that?”
“I can’t. Not yet. Have to - have to last.”
“Oh, Clark,” you hum with a pout. “It’s okay if you cum. I want you to. We’ll go as long as you can. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” You reach a hand up, smoothing it over the planes of his chest. “Look at me? Please?” Clark nods, looking down and meeting your eyes. “There’re those pretty eyes.”
You plant a final kiss on his hip before taking him in your mouth again. “Oh, please,” he whimpers, his hips twitching.
His hands rest against the desk beneath him, but not gripping it, instead clenching his fists until his knuckles turn white. You reach for one of his hands, guiding it towards you, but Clark shakes his head and pulls it back, placing it firmly on the desk again.
“Keep going, baby, please. I’m almost there.”
You pull away to breathe, jerking him off with newfound speed, and Clark’s breaths turn into panting moans. This time, when he feels the urge to throw his head back, he fights it. He holds the eye contact you’re giving him, just like you’d asked.
“Let go for me, Clark. Wanna see it. Wanna taste it.” Your tongue meets his tip as you wrap your mouth around the blushing tip of his cock, and you drag along his slit.
“Yeah. Right there. Yes, yes, fuck!”
Clark crumbles as he cums, shooting spurts onto your tongue and moaning through it, your hand and mouth working him through the pleasure and milking him for all he’s worth.
You grin up at him, kissing the head of his cock, and standing. He lifts a hand, cupping your face and shifting some fallen hair, smiling at you, blissed-out and awe-struck.
He leans forwards, catching your lips in a sweet kiss. “Couch?” You mumble, and he nods, taking your hands in his as he walks towards the couch. He sits down on it, an old and worn piece of furniture - but it’ll do. It looks sturdy enough.
You sink into his lap, knees either side of his hips, kissing him. You blindly find his hands, pulling them to the button of your shorts. The way his fingers move to get you out of those shorts is nothing short of eager, quick and fumbling in his desperation to become impossibly closer to you.
He finally gets the button undone and the zipper down, and you clamber off him, pushing the shorts down till they hit the floor, and you step out of them. Clark sits forward, pretty green eyes gazing up at you, flickering down to the hem of your tank top.
His nose nudges at the skin revealed beneath the bottom, and he takes a long breath in, eyes closed, as though he’s savouring a sweet smell. Through all this, though, his hands remain balled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t grip the couch cushions like you’d expect, doesn’t dare touch you, for whatever reason.
You toy with the hem of your tank top for a moment, Clark watching with hopeful eyes, and then you pull it up and over your head. You hook a finger into the band of your underwear - another light blue set Clark remembers fantasising about, silk and lace and matching the bra - and pause. “You wanna help me take these off, Clark?” He nods, lifting his hands and hooking his fingers into the material on your hips, tugging them down gently.
“Oh-” he breathes out. You push him back softly with a hand on his chest, straddling him again. His eyes trail down from yours, landing on your clothed chest.
You laugh a little. “Touch me, Clark. Then I’ll take it off and you can get a look.”
“Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay.”
You smile, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your core, fingers gently stroking over your folds. One finger slips through, and Clark almost gasps.
He’s slow with it at first, tentative, until you kiss him and whisper, “Clark, please.”
He adds a finger, finds a rhythm, faster, but still so gentle, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. He curls his fingers just right, prompting a moan from you.
“Oh, God,” he whispers to himself at the feel of how wet you are. Because of him.
You reach a hand between you, middle and index finger on your clit, and you begin to rub tight circles, gasping at the spike in pleasure.
Clark is watching every response to every bit of stimulation, and he looks down at your moving fingers. “Does it- does it feel good when you do that?” He asks. You nod. He meets your eyes, innocent as can be for someone who’s got two fingers buried inside you. “I want- can I?” He asks.
“Uh-huh.” Clark replaces your fingers with the thumb of his free hand. His hands are huge. You’ve thought about it before, plenty, about Clark’s large hands on you, on your chest or cupping your ass, but now that you’re actually with him in this setting, the thought turns you on even more. If only he didn’t seem scared to touch you.
“Am I-” Clark begins, looking up at you with hopeful eyes.
“You’re doing so good Clark,” you praise. “So good. Please.”
He leans forwards, kissing your neck, collarbone, down until he finds the tops of your breasts. He kisses you there too, while his fingers below speed up in their rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge.
“Clark- Clark, oh, please.”
“Good?” He questions.
“Yes. Yes. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, breathless.
Your hips begin to move with the rhythm of his fingers, and Clark watches in awe as you do, adding pressure to your clit and practically doubling his speed. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, intense but so, so good. He’s so fast, you think it’s inhuman. In fact you’re pretty sure it has to be.
“Hhhmmmm, Clark, how are - fuck, oh, God - how are you doing that?”
Clark doesn’t respond, and you don’t get the chance to ask again because all of a sudden, your orgasm crashes over you in a heavy wave that feels like it’ll never end.
You collapse onto him, legs trembling and chest heaving. You bite into his shoulder, hard enough to break skin possibly, which you feel bad for, but he doesn’t seem hurt by it.
“Oh my God, Clark. That was incredible.” You lean back, cupping Clark’s jaw and tilting his head so he meets your eyes.
“Can I- can you, uh…?” His gaze lowers to your chest momentarily, and you smile. Your hands reach for his wrists, lifting them up, pushing his fingers towards his mouth. He knows what you want, and he complies wordlessly, sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean of your slick.
“That’s it,” you hum, guiding his hands to your back, to the clasp of the bra.
He unhooks it, dragging the straps down your arms, and discards it to the side. He stares at your bare chest in complete awe, green eyes shining.
You reach down, pumping his cock to get him good and ready, and Clark still struggles to shift his gaze. “You ready?” You ask, and he nods.
You push yourself up on your knees, and Clark’s eyes widen a little suddenly. “Wait, wait, what about protection?”
“I’m on the pill,” you say. “And I’m clean. Are you?”
“Yeah.”
“And do you still want to do this?”
“More than anything.”
“Good.” You line him up with your entrance, and sink down onto him.
If Clark thought anything before was good, this was a whole new level of ecstasy. “Fuck, oh my God,” he gasps.
His hands clench into fists at his sides again. You ignore it for now, even though you want nothing more than to feel his hands on you.
You begin to move, starting with a slow rhythm to ease Clark into it, and hooking your arms around his neck, kissing him. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “You’re tight, and wet, and warm.” He kisses you softly. “Baby, please.”
“I know.” You pick up your pace, bouncing on his lap, smiling at the way he moans. Your ass meets his thighs with a rhythmic plap! plap! plap! sound, your hands clinging to his shoulders for some stability, because he’s still not touching you, and more than confused, you’re starting to feel even a little insulted.
You kiss his pulse point, just beneath his jaw, and bite at his earlobe. Your hands slide up to his hair, giving a tug, and he moans. You notice his hands twitch, but he doesn’t touch you.
“Why won’t you touch me, Clark?” You ask, leaning back and slowing your hips.
He meets your eyes, guilt flashing through. “I-I just… I’m really strong.”
“I know,” you say, one hand squeezing at his bicep.
“N-no. I mean… like, really strong. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m not fragile, Clark.”
“I know, but - I’m inhumanly strong. And if something goes wrong…”
“I don’t care. It’s a minor risk. You know what I do care about? The fact that I have an insanely hot guy under me who refuses to touch me. And my legs feel like they’re gonna give out. So unless you want this to stop right now, you’re gonna have to take the risk.”
He nods. “Are you sure? I don’t want-”
“You won’t hurt me, Clark. I trust you.”
He nods again, hands finally finding your hips, and with the aforementioned inhuman strength lifts you up and lays you down on the couch, crawling on top of you.
“There we go,” you say, grinning and looping your arms behind his neck.
Clark slips back into you, beginning to thrust slowly. “You look so pretty under me,” he muses.
“Clark, you can’t just say that to a girl,” you giggle. He laughs a little, kissing you softly. He’s still keeping a slow pace, which you presume comes from the fear of hurting you accidentally by using too much force, but you’re impatient. “Clark, can you go faster?”
“Y-yeah. Yeah.” He speeds up, and props himself up with one arm above your head, while the other heads south, fingers finding your clit and beginning to rub circles onto it, just like before.
“That’s good. That’s good.”
He nods, and more sounds begin to flood from his mouth, matching your moans. “Oh, God, baby. You feel so good. You’re so good. So pretty.”
“You’re doing so well Clark,” you tell him. You wonder about his strength, about what he means by inhuman. Certainly, there was something inhuman about his speed earlier as he worked your clit. “Do I get to see this inhuman strength later?”
“Uh- I probably-”
“Please?” You clench around him for a moment.
He falters, hips stuttering a little as a whimper escapes him. “If you do that, I think I’d give you anything you wanted.”
“So I can see?”
“Yeah, you can see. I’ll show you. Promise, baby.”
Clark lets out a breathy moan, head falling into the crook of your neck as his hips gain speed, and he adjusts his thrusts to match it. “Are you close, Clark?”
He nods. He hardly trusts his voice. “Just need a moment.”
“It’s okay. You can cum.”
He shakes his head. “Not before you.” God, you’d think his invulnerability would give him some advantage in holding out, but poor Clark’s so sensitive that every stroke feels like absolute heaven and it feels like he’s barrelling full-force to what will no doubt be the most incredible finish of his life.
And then his fingers are moving against your clit just as fast as before, if not faster, desperate to get you to finish before he does. “Oh my God, Clark, what the fuck? How are you doing that?” A loud moan escapes you. “Fuck-”
“You like that?” He asks.
“Fuck, yes. What other inhuman abilities are you hiding from me?”
“I’ll tell you later?”
“You better.”
He leans down, kisses everywhere he can reach, your jaw, your neck, your chest, your lips, even drags your earlobe between his teeth and gives it a gentle bite. You really don’t care about Clark hurting you, because it doesn’t exist as a thought in your mind that he could. He wouldn’t ever lay a hand on you, and you know that. In fact, at this point you’d willingly let him throw you against a wall and take you there.
“Clark, I - I’m close. Please.”
“I’ve got you. It’s okay, baby.” He adjusts himself to grab your hand, holding it by your head and intertwining his fingers with yours.
You lift your head, searching for his lips, and he’s more than happy to gift you a kiss, soft in comparison to the speed and desperation of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as you reach your climax, body twitching as Clark carries you through it, your walls clenching around him like a vice, drawing a particularly loud moan from him.
“That’s it,” he hums as you come down from your high. “You okay?”
You nod, a blissed smile on your face. “So okay.”
You card your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, and Clark moans. “I’m close, baby. Please, I need it. Need it so bad. Can I - where do you want me to-”
“Inside,” you say. “Want to feel it.”
“Okay.”
His eyes meet yours properly, finding your dilated pupils, hazy eyes, and the utter joy in them, and that’s all it takes for him to be thrown headfirst into his own climax. He presses his forehead to yours, gasping your name as he spills his load inside of you. “God, you feel so good. Oh, fuck.”
“There you go. That’s so good, Clark,” you praise, kissing him and swallowing his whimper. “You’re so good, honey.”
Clark pants as he slows to a stop, giving you a soft kiss before he pulls out. He watches in awe at the way his cum drips out of you and onto the couch beneath you.
“You were amazing, Clark.”
“You were incredible,” he says, smiling at you.
You pull him onto you and wrap your arms around him, smiling when he does the same to you.
Needless to say, when Clark later demonstrates his inhuman strength by lifting a literal tractor above his head (not forgetting the joke you made when you met him about him benching a tractor), you’re quick to drag him up to his room before he can show you all the other superpowers he possesses. Although he does a damn good job of showing you that super strength.
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More Posts from Ijustwannareblogstuff and Others
no. 1 smut with argyle 🤭
1: “do you think of me when you touch yourself?”
Girl im so sorry but im just, dom reader for sure here. I just I'm sorry but it's necessary bc we all know argyles a simp, best friends to lovers YUH. This one is honestly more sweet, not a ton of smut but its cause i too am a simp and i havent written much for argyle so yk i gotta get the simp shit out first before i unleash the whore kraken
WARNINGS: mentions of male, hand job/blow job, eye contact, def dom!reader vibes, sub!argyle vibes (hes just down bad and a simp), wet dreams tee hee
Join the Sleepover
Tonight was no different from any other night that Argyle crashed at Y/n's. The two had been best friends since the fourth grade-they'd practically grown up together. But lately things have felt a little different-at least for Argyle-and by lately that meant the past six months when with the help of Jonathan he realized that he was actually really into Y/n.
Apparently it wasn't normal to talk about how sweet, pretty, and interesting your best friend is every single day, nor is it normal to constantly call the guys she dated "annoying douchebags that wear knockoffs" or "fake skater surfer boys".
So he knew the truth, he was into her, sure that changed things for him, when they smoked-regardless of where-his eyes would focus on her lips for long periods of time and anytime she touched him it was like a jolt of electricity sent through his entire figure. Not to mention the way he found himself checking her out-eyes glued to her curves anytime she asked him how she looked, and the most recent shameful development.
The dreams. He'd dream about being with her, about fucking into her as she laid below him, his hair brushing against one of her shoulders while she looked up at him with parted lips and hooded eyes. The way she'd moan and whimper his name as her nails scratched along his arms and back, or the way she'd look on top, biting her bottom lip the same way she did when she rolled, all the while she massaged her own tits, eyes held on his. The worst dreams though-were the ones where she was on her knees, staring up at him as her tongue trailed along his cock.
She always looked so pretty like that, mascara stained cheeks as she looked at him through her lashes.
The only thing that made tonight different was when Y/n woke up at two in the morning and went to grab some water, as she crawled back into her bed she heard it-the first low whimper from his sleeping figure, then it happened again, this one a little louder-more of a groan and she had no idea what to do-her eyes wide as she stared.
Then he moaned her name-it wasn't loud but it was coherent and clear-he was having a wet dream about her and it turned her on, her body engulfed in a white heat as she stared, her lips parted now. She opted to wake him up, gently shaking his shoulder "Argyle, argyle get up" her harsh whispers were the first thing he heard as he stirred away-her face a few inches from his.
"Wha-what happened?" she raised a brow "you tell me, sounds like your dream was interesting" she was teasing him, her sultry tone had his eyes widening and brows raising-a look of shock and embarrassment on his face "y/n-hey man it's not what it sounds like okay-i just-you-we-shit okay you caught me" she giggled and shushed him.
"I have a question do you think of me when you touch yourself?” he didn't know how to answer that, blinking several times in shock, still processing that this was real and not just his dream "yeah-obviously" then he placed a hand on her cheek, gently caressing it before sliding along her throat then her shoulder, her brows knit together "what're you doing?" she couldn't help her giggle. "making sure you're real"
"I'm definitely real" he nodded his head "yeah-your skins really soft" she rolled her eyes, a smile on her face as she glanced at the evident tent under her sheets, his thin shorts doing nothing to restrain him. "can i help you with that?" he nodded his head "please-oh shit" he groaned as her hand slid down his bare chest, then below the sheets and the waistband of his shorts.
His head lulled back as she palmed him, biting his bottom lip while he shut his eyes "look at me baby" her dominance was evident, he immediately opened his eyes, looking at her face, holding eye contact as she grasped the base of his thick cock, then she started slowly pumping her hand along his shaft-thumb running over the tip over and over again, small whimpers and groans leaving his lips.
Then she moved from her spot, sliding the sheets down-pulling him out of his shorts, repositioning herself between his thighs, laying flat on her stomach, her legs kicked up in the air as she stared at him. The moonlight shining through her blinds reflecting against her figure-and he swore he had to be dreaming.
She ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, then she swirled it around his tip, gliding against the slit-gathering every drop of precum and his mind was officially fuzzy while he watched her. Then she took him into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, opting to take him further and further-until he was hitting the back of her throat.
He bit into his fist to stop his loud moans from coming out, his hooded eyes focused on her while she stared up at him-a few tears leaving her eyes as she took him down her throat-gagging around him. She let him go, then brought him back down her throat again-keeping the same rhythm up until she felt his cock twitching, then she took him out of her mouth, opting to wrap her hand around him-jerking him off while she stared at him.
Then she took him into her mouth again, sucking on the tip, his groans getting harder to hold back "y/n-baby-I'm gonna cum and fuck I don't know if you want me to in your mouth-like i don't wanna be rude or anything dude" she pulled him out of her mouth, biting her bottom lip and raising a brow "i want it down my throat"
He rubbed a hand over his face "oh god man-you really can't talk to me like that when you're this close to my dick" she giggled, rolling her eyes playfully before taking him back down her throat-he only lasted a few seconds after that.
Then once she swallowed and finished running her tongue along his cock-cleaning him up, she tucked him back into his shorts and laid back down, this time opting to rest her head against his chest.
"You wanna go on a date or somethin?" she giggled "yeah-i'd like that"
the background does not suit her but she's still so gorgeous.
hair - @jino-sims
piercing - @pralinesims
shirt - @b0t0xbrat
skirt - @backtrack-cc
shoes - @jius-sims
belt - @pyxalicious
arm nets - @atomiclight
leg warmers - @trillyke
(couldn't find who made the headphones, braclets, leg nets, and nails)
pairing ➵ luke castellan x fem reader
wordcount ➵ 755
content warnings ➵ angst, hurt no comfort (does this count as hurt no comfort?) implication of intercourse, makeouts w luke!!!
luke’s pov!! 💝
LIFE AT CAMP HALF-BLOOD WAS MISERABLE to say the least.
Luke watched as young teenage boys and girls, almost always younger than him, journeyed on quests their pathetic excuses of parents couldn’t be bothered with on their own.
He watched as they came back, eyes shadowed over with grief. Bodies weighed down by a fortnight of constant battle and little to no sleep.
He watched as sometimes they didn’t.
Solemn news raced across the camp as the words of a fallen friend made its way back home.
Life at Camp Half-Blood was miserable.
Well, until he met you.
It was a typical sunny morning, the scorching heat of the sun tanning the skins of the youths.
He was spilling his water bottle over his head onto his bright tufts and down his shimmering, golden skin for relief.
When he shook the water from his hair he glanced across the camp, and somehow, as if by fate, his eyes found you.
He hadn’t seen you before today. He was sure he’d remember the way your beauty seemingly rendered him speechless. You sat laughing with a few Aphrodite kids—perhaps your siblings? Silena was sitting closest to you on your right, and Drew was on your other side. He surveyed as you all giggled, eyes mischievously filled with gossip.
How had you flown under his radar? Your laugh ringing in the wind, cheeks puffed out from the action. Your orange camp shirt was tied up in a makeshift crop top, pink beaded bracelets tied onto your arms. He didn’t know whether you had makeup on, or if Aphrodite kids were just that naturally beautiful.
When you get up with Silena and Drew (he assumes are your sisters) he takes in the rest of your outfit. A tight jean skirt adorned your hips. The fabric accessorized with jewels. It was short—a little too short.
He let his pink clouded gaze memorize your figure. The soft skin of your legs taking up his eyes. He was hooked on the way your hips swayed side to side, a bit sensually for a teenage girl to be honest, but he didn’t mind.
Luke’s a great deal of embarrassed and practically feels the definition of creep when he stares back up to your face and makes eye contact with three, cabin ten girls that have their mouths slack open from his not so well disguised eye fucking.
He sees you close in on yourself, expression guarded when he tries to reclaim control of this awkward situation by sending you one of his Luke Castellan, the most popular camper, smiles.
Silena squeals, and punches your shoulder. Sending him a flirty wave with flicks of her fingers. Drew does the same and they bump your hip to follow suit. Undoubtedly doing what Aphrodite kids do best—matchmaking.
The next time he sees you, he detects you don’t actually need your sisters pushes to do something. Your long, manicured nails drag down his forearm and you slide your soft hand into his. Pulling him along to the quiet, deserted woods of the night.
He lets you shove him into a tree, momentarily stunting him from the aggressiveness of it all.
Damn, Aphrodite kids sure are freaks.
He loses himself in your kisses, your touches. Soft moans taking space in the night sky.
After that? Luke and you are inseparable.
Well, at least in the night. During camp hours you guys usually avoid having to encounter one another. It’s not like he’s ashamed of you, and vice versa. He loves what you two have. And he wants to keep the sweetness of it all to himself for just a little longer.
Especially when he has you beneath him, backside covered in the dirt from nature’s floor. You’re writhing under him, asking him to do anything and everything to you.
He likes the way your hand touches his scar, hesitantly moving up to kiss it sugarly.
“You’ll always be everything to me.” You had panted, lips rosy colored and raw.
So why is that now, as you're staring him down in a clash of bronze swords and armour.
You look at him like he’s nothing to you.
He didn’t understand why you chose Camp Half-Blood over him. Over your Luke Castellan. The Gods were irresponsible and immature. Luke couldn’t keep pondering over all his sparks of anger in rants of the camp, and Olympus—did it really not clue you in on his nasty resentment to the olympians?
Life away from Camp Half-Blood is miserable.
Even more so away from you.
© kisscastellan | all rights reserved
I also love your kook group x reader! Can you do one where rafe x reader start secretly dating and topper and kelce find out?
more than friends | rc
| pairing: (non canon) rafe cameron x reader, platonic topper thornton x reader, platonic kelce x reader
| genre: fluff, college au, kook friend group
| warnings: language, mentions of food
| word count: 1,286
You weren’t even sure when the feelings had started. You and Rafe had always been a little flirty with each other. You used to blame it on the fact that he was the newest addition to your friend group, not already used to the sibling-like dynamic that you shared with Topper and Kelce.
Nothing actually happened for years, other than the casual flirting that never went unnoticed by the other boys. It was one night, when the four of you were back home for the summer. You all attended the same university on the mainland, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t spend every waking second with each other over the summer. Topper was out to dinner with his parents, and Kelce was stuck babysitting his little sister. Rafe had invited all of you over to watch movies in his basement, the massive flat screen and reclining chairs making it the perfect spot for your movie nights.
The tension between the two of you was so heavy you could feel it crackling in the air. You spent a painful thirty minutes watching Jaws, retaining absolutely nothing because all you could focus on was the boy sitting next to you.
And suddenly, movie forgotten, your lips were on Rafe’s as you were climbing over the armrest to straddle his lap.
The two of you had agreed on two things: One—that it wasn’t just a one-time thing and two—that you couldn’t tell Kelce and Topper. You honestly didn’t think they would have a problem with it, but you weren’t ready to face the constant teasing that would surely ensue once you tell them.
Fast forward, you and Rafe had been keeping your relationship a secret for a few months now, a little easier now that you were back on campus and had more spots you could meet and not run into your friends.
Kelce and Topper weren’t stupid though. They had an inkling that something might be going on between the two of you, but they couldn’t prove it. Lingering touches, and gazes when you thought no one was paying attention, had helped to guide them in their suspicions.
“Your door’s locked right?” You whisper, cuddling against your boyfriend.
He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Rafe, Topper, and Kelce shared an apartment, and the boys often barged into each other’s rooms without a second thought, so a locked door was crucial to your not getting caught.
Almost as if you predicted it, a fist bangs on the door, less than a moment later, a loud shout of Rafe’s name reverberating in the room.
“Fuck do you want Top?” Rafe calls, sending you an apologetic smile.
“Kelce and I are bored. I think we’re gonna go to that bar down the street. You wanna come?”
Normally Rafe can never turn down an offer to go to a bar or party, and drink with his friends. But right now, you’re in his bed and he cares way more about that.
“Not tonight man, I think I’m gonna nap, I’m not feeling great.”
“Okay.” Topper responds, heading into the kitchen where Kelce is. “Let’s see what ____’s up to.”
“I already texted her.” Kelce pipes up. “She said she’s busy.”
Topper sighs. “Alright guess it’s just us then.”
Rafe wants to tell Topper and Kelce about your relationship. From day one, he was fine with it being out in the open. He claims that they like you too and they need to know you’re taken, but you don’t want to ruin your friend group dynamics.
“They’re gonna make fun of us!” You whine against his chest, pulling his duvet over your head.
“They already do!” He chuckles, chest rumbling under your head. “And baby, you’re the meanest out of all of us. They’re gonna be too scared to make fun of you.”
“No, I’m not.” You pout, poking his chin.
“Hm, you kinda are.” He hums, straining his neck to kiss the tip of your nose. “Remember when you made Topper cry during basketball?”
“I was twelve, Rafe,” You groan. “And he didn’t catch the ball.”
“And you yelled at him at recess, I know, I remember all of it.” He can’t stop the laughter that tumbles from his lips. “I wouldn’t mess with you mamas.”
“Shut the fuck up,” You pout, shoving at his shoulder.
bro
can we get ice cream when ur done w class
i’ll buy
rafael (affectionate): bro
rafael (affectionate): yes we can
rafael (affectionate): ur not buying tho
fuck u
yes i am
As soon as Rafe is done with class, he texts you, and the two of you meet at your favorite spot for ice cream. Rafe grabs the corner booth while you go up to order both of your favorites. He’d shoved his wallet in your hand before letting you go up, but it’s at the bottom of your purse now—your card already in your hand.
Once you have both ice cream orders, you walk to the table, a smug smile on your face. Instead of taking the seat across from him, you slide into the booth he’s in, nuzzling up against his side.
“Thank you.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before starting on his ice cream. You rest your head on his shoulder while he tells you something that happened in his chem lab that day.
Eventually, the bell above the door dings, catching your attention. Save for you and Rafe, it’s been empty, and you’re a little curious.
Familiar voices fill your ears and you’re putting it together, the wide-eyed look on Rafe’s face being the final piece of the puzzle.
Kelce and Topper. Fuck.
“What the fuck?” Kelce mumbles, meeting your gaze.
“Hey guys,” You cough out, waving awkwardly.
“Y’all were hanging out without us?” Topper asks sadly.
“No Top, ya fucking idiot.” Kelce sighs, running his hand over his face. “They’re together. Like dating.”
“Well, I—” You pipe up, in attempt to cover yourself.
Kelce raises an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”
You drop your head. “No.”
Kelce sighs, dropping into the booth.
“Are you mad?” Rafe wonders.
“No.” Kelce shakes his head. “Y’all are my best friends and I want you to be happy.” He looks at Topper who nods in agreement. “However, I have a couple of ground rules.”
“Rules? Kelce you’re not my dad, you can’t—”
“Hush,” He scolds. “As I was saying, no sex while we’re in the house—”
“Uhh,” Rafe chokes out, cheeks blooming bright red.
“Shut up.” You hiss, elbowing his side lightly.
“Ew, what the fuck?” Topper complains.
“And if Rafe hurts ____, we’re kicking his ass.”
“What?” Rafe exclaims. “You really think I’ll hurt her? We’ve all been friends forever, I’m not gonna—”
“Rafe.” This time it’s Topper who cuts him off. “I don’t give a literal shit that we’re all friends, if you break her heart, we’ll drop you so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
“Jesus.” You mutter under your breath.
“Understand?” Kelce asks.
“Yes.” Rafe answers.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes sir.”
A bout of laughter spills from your lips before you can stop it. “Come on Kelce, that’s enough. Now both of you, get the fuck out of here.”
Topper grins sheepishly, sliding out of the booth, Kelce right behind him.
“Remember what we said.” Kelce says, smiling, despite his serious words. He grabs your cup of ice cream, scooping some into his mouth before he and Topper exit the store.
“Fucking idiots.” You groan, leaning your head back against the seat.
“Hey, at least I don’t have to do this in secret anymore.”
“Do what?”
“C’mere.” And then his lips are on yours.
twin beads | luke castellan
wc + pairing: 6.7k, luke x daughter of poseidon! reader
synopsis: you’ve been unclaimed for five years. you’ve loved your best friend even longer. the sea used to be your greatest solace, but after percy jackson comes to camp, it’s your cruelest reminder. (based on this ask!)
warnings: best friends to lovers <3, percy/reader sibling dynamic, fluff and angst then fluff again, hurt/comfort, shameless making out. sorry this one is so long but besties to lovers is my lifeblood!!! i get so attached!! designated song is true blue by boygenius:)
i. you said you wanted to feel alive, so we went to the beach
“Ahoy, sailor!”
The familiar voice ricochets across the lake. You turn, leaving glimmers of sun behind you as you stare back at the docks of Camp Half-Blood. An orange blob with a curly mop of hair is beckoning you. You laugh, wave back at him, and plunge into the water. It cools your face after staying above the surface for so long—you just love watching the light reflected off the waves. But the second you’re under the water, the soreness in your muscles, the heat on your face, the exhaustion from treading for so long, are washed away from you. You swim with precision and vigor, relishing the feel of the river cupping your limbs to spur you forward. Not to sound lame, but you fucking love swimming.
But maybe not as much as you love your best friend.
He laughs when your head pops out of the water at the edge of the dock. “Wow, that took you longer than usual,” he teases, brown eyes glinting in the dawn. “You getting sloppy?”
You huff, splashing some water up at him but it barely touches him. “I’m tired, you moron. I’ve been out there for an hour.”
Luke leans down at the edge of the dock, offering you a hand. His face is bemused when you latch onto him, and with a good flex of his bicep he pulls you up. “All right, c’mon,” he grunts.
All your energy evaporates the second your body’s out of the water. You’re far too lazy to be graceful, so you sprawl out onto the dock like a dying fish, letting the sun kiss every inch of you. “Eww,” Luke giggles overtop you, prodding your side with the tip of his shoe. “Get up, you mermaid.”
“Make me, you mailman.”
Your arm drapes over your eyes, and you sigh. There really is nothing better than these moments; droplets of water soaking into your skin after an early morning swim, your best friend right beside you.
He keeps nudging you with your shoe, over and over until your ribs start to hurt. You groan, swatting him away and stretching out your limbs with a groan, letting them pop and relax, until you blearily make your way to your feet.
“You forgot your towel again,” Luke condones, but like always, he’s brought one for you.
He goes through a practiced routine of drying you off, wrapping the towel around your shoulders and down your arms, across your back, scrunching the water out of your hair. It doesn’t matter how cold the water gets—this part always makes you warm.
“Thanks,” you smile as he hands the towel off to you. “Anything interesting happen this morning, O Captain, my captain?”
“Not yet, sailor, sir,” he replies in a stuffy, gruff voice the two of you have joked around with since you were kids. “Just grabbing you for breakfast.”
You giggle, following him past the docks and to the shore. Once you’ve grabbed all your stuff, you both fall in stride and head towards your cabin, your twin five-beaded necklaces hanging over your shirts.
Five years ago, when you got to Camp for the first time, you were as big a loser as any. You were bad at everything—everything—and had no real friends until you accidentally whacked some other friendless loser in the head with an oar when you were about to go canoeing. Luke got mad at you, but his little sister Annabeth was even more furious. He offered to be your partner for the day anyway. You’ve been partners ever since.
Over the years the two of you have grown in status at the camp, more so Luke than you. He’s an excellent cabin leader and by far the greatest swordsman in camp. You, still unclaimed, have found solace in giving younger campers swimming lessons and wading out there on your own till you get sunstroke. (It’s happened a few times. Luke is never pleased, but also refuses to let the Apollo campers take care of you. He nurses you back to health with ice cream and horrible gossip.)
But every night you return to the Hermes cabin with a hollowness in your chest. One bunk emptied, then immediately filled. You’ve had the same one for five years, and the only condolence is that it’s right next to Luke’s, and sometimes you spend hours at night making faces at each other till your laughter endangers other people’s sleep.
Yes, you love the water at Camp Half-Blood, but you love Luke most.
Rumours of a new kid are rustling at camp. You haven’t seen him, but you’re just dying to get in on the gossip. Apparently he slayed a minotaur. Apparently Annabeth has seen him. And apparently he’s unclaimed. You hate to admit it, but this is the most exciting news you’ve heard in weeks!
Your afternoon is spent giving some swimming lessons and taking some Demeter campers canoeing. (Some of them freak out on the water. so it’s a nice challenge to untangle the sea plants they get hooked around their boat.) It feels like you’ve been here forever. A break is in desperate demand right now.
You have no idea what kind of God heard your prayers, but your fellow counsellor has an unimpressed look on her face when she taps you on the shoulder and goes, “Your friend’s calling you.”
The way she says it is almost degrading. You turn to look back at the shore to see the dark curly hair you’d spot a mile away. Next to him is a much shorter orange blob, shuffling awkwardly as Luke attempts to flag you down. Score!
You shoot an apologetic look at her. “Uh … I’ll be right back.” You wince, already disposing of your baggy orange shirt (it’s Luke’s) with your bathing suit underneath.
“No you won’t,” she says dryly. “Just go.”
You flash a smile you hope is loaded with charm, and you’re off into water. As you swim, the only thing on your mind is I really really hope that’s the new kid, and I wonder what Luke’s face looks like right now. (He’s probably grinning, eyes crinkled at the sides as he tries to follow your figure beneath the waves. Maybe he’s doing that cute thing where his head tilts to the side as he watches.)
When you’re close enough to the shore, you come out of the water, wringing your hair. “Hey, guys!” It’s Luke, Chris, and some blonde kid you’re sure is the new one. “What’s up?”
Luke is about to say something, then he frowns. “Where’s my shirt?”
“Left it in the canoe, I’ll go back for it later,” you reply, limply gesturing behind you.
“And where’s your towel?”
“Okay, I did bring one this time!” You counter. “I just gave it to a little Ares kid ‘cause she forgot hers.”
Luke clicks his tongue, shakes his head at you, but of course he’s got one in his hands so what’s the worry? He’s endearingly amused when you take the cloth and dry yourself off, and the new boy, having watched this all raptly, widens his eyes and drawls, “Ohhhh, so you’re his gi—”
“This is Camp’s resident mermaid, Percy.” Chris butts in, adding your name almost as an afterthought.
After you fasten your towel around you, you’re put off by Percy’s scrutinizing stare. “Look, it’s been a pretty weird day so I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.”
“I’m not a mermaid,” you snipe, throwing Chris a dirty look. “People just call me that because I give swimming lessons here.” You stick your hand out to the blonde boy. “Nice to meet you, Percy.”
He gives a polite nod, a little awkward. “Right back at ya.” The two of you study each other as you shake. He’s young, probably about twelve, a smatter of freckles across his face. His eyes look like the lake. Something itches in the back of your brain. There’s a moment where the shake is suspended, neither of you have let go but are no longer actively holding on, and you see it in his face that he’s studying you, too. Huh.
The conversation continues as normal, but you almost start to feel queasy for a second. “We’re trying to find something Percy’s good at,” Luke says with a pat on Percy’s shoulder. “You got any ideas?”
“Yes, please, because I really would like to have a word with my father,” Percy clips. “Is Glory, like, purely a skill thing or can I get some if I tie someone else’s shoes or something?”
“I don’t have shoes,” you add unhelpfully.
“It’s okay, dude,” Luke squeezes Percy’s shoulder. “Camp is great, no matter where you end up.”
Even if you’re like her, he means without saying. Even if you don’t end up anywhere.
You meet Luke’s eyes. This is a kid that wants so badly to meet his father, to ease the ache inside him. You are the absolute worst person for this. One of the longest current unclaimed streaks and your ache remains. To Percy, you’re the biggest example of a failure there is, and Luke is only just now realizing it.
“Maybe try the infirmary?” You pipe, shuffling back and forth on the sand. “You might have a knack for medicine.”
“Doubt it,” Percy swallows. “But yeah, okay. Who’s your parent, again?”
Percy can’t see it, but Luke and Chris send you a shifty look and all you can do is widen your eyes to be like, Help! Don’t make me crush his dreams! I don’t want another kid to hate me!
You swallow. No matter how fast you think, you cannot come to a logical sentence. “I, uh—”
Just then, in another stroke of luck (wow, that’s two more than usual) an Athena counsellor that looks insanely disgruntled is running towards you. “Stolls put spiders in our cabin again,” he heaves once at a stop. “Please get rid of them.”
“Can’t you just squash ‘em?” Percy asks.
“Not the spiders, the twins.”
Chris is already nodding, but Luke looks to you first. He’s anxious, disappointed. You wish you could smooth out the creases in his brow with your thumb. “Don’t worry,” you stretch out a smile. “I’ll chill with Percy. It won’t take you guys too long.”
He’s still hesitant. You’re not sure this is a good call either. But he reaches out, quickly squeezes your shoulder and mutters, “Thank you.” Your skin feels gooey when he touches it.
His signature roguish smile returns as he looks back to Percy. The side of his face is shadowed by the sun so well it makes you jealous. “Don’t give her a hard time, eh?” He reprimands playfully.
Percy smiles a little. “I’ll try not to.”
You are once again reminded just how easy it is to love Luke. How effortlessly he moves into your heart. It happened to you after you slapped him with an oar. It’s already happening to Percy.
You’re sure he won’t like you nearly half as much.
After Luke and Chris leave, Percy resigns to staring out at the campers canoeing on the lake. Maybe now is a good time to admit you’re not good with kids. Luke has tried many times to make you his welcome partner, but you can’t take to the role nearly as well. You’re perpetually antsy. And sweaty.
“So, what cabin are you a part of that lets you do this all day?” Percy asks, squinting against the sun.
Your heart gets heavy. With a sigh, you sit yourself down, and Percy soon follows. “Hermes, actually,” you say as casually as you can.
Percy goes pale as a sheet. “Uh, what?”
“I’m unclaimed,” you clarify. “I don’t … I don’t have a parent.”
There’s always a pitiful pause whenever a camper figures that out. This one is somehow … clunkier. “Oh,” Percy says. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense. For a second I thought—phew.” Then his eyes trail down to the thread hooked around your fingers, the five beads you run your thumb over. “How long have you been here?”
“Five long, blissful years,” you hum dryly.
Water ripples over pebbles on the shore. Every new camper’s ambition is eroded by the truth you represent. Percy’s no different. His brows furrow and his face falls. “And you’ve never been claimed?” He asks, and you can feel the noxious mix of pity, confusion and despair laced beneath it.
You shake your head, watching some Demeter kids splashing each other’s canoes with their oars. “Nope. But it’s not so bad. I like my cabin, you know? I like my life. Doesn’t really matter who your parents are anyway, I think. You do the same activities as everyone else, just on different teams.”
“But doesn’t it make you mad?”
“It used to,” you shrug, “But not anymore. It’s just …” You sigh, rolling a bead against your thumb. “If I’m unclaimed, I’m unclaimed. That’s the way it is. You can’t force the Gods to do anything.”
“That’s what Luke said,” Percy remarks, almost bitterly.
“I’m a rare case though, Percy,” you half-lie to him, nudging him a bit with your shoulder. “You’ll get claimed. It’s your first day. And until then you’re kind of free to be whatever. You don’t have to fit into anything, which is kinda nice, and you can screw around as much as you want and nobody can really get mad at you ‘cause you’re new.” A smile rises on your face. “And I heard you killed a minotaur, so you’ve already got some cool points.”
His face screws up in a grimace, and it makes you laugh. “Oh joy, cool points. Can’t live without those.”
Okay, maybe you’re not bad with kids. Maybe you’re just bad with boring kids. Because this is going decent, right?
“What if I don’t get claimed, though?” Percy asks after a moment, a vulnerable note eclipsing him. It resonates inside your chest. You pause for a moment, heaving a loaded breath.
“Do you fart a lot in your sleep?”
His melancholy pauses. He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Uh … what? No? I think?”
“Then you can take the bunk above mine if you want. It’s empty now,” you say. “And if you’re never claimed you can come swimming with me, and we can find seashells to put under Luke’s pillow every night until he starts thinking they’ve always been there.”
Percy blinks. “Do you have any friends?”
“Yes, and I’m going to torture him until I die. Cabin eleven is oodles of fun, Percy, you’ll see!”
He looks a little horrified. “Luke said I was going to like you,” he mutters. “I … am not sure if he’s right.”
Oh, well. You’ll take it.
ii. you can't help but become the sun
You can’t sleep, and Luke knows it. His eyes burn into the side of your face as you stare up at your bunk. You sneak him a look. He smiles ruefully. Sweeping his arm up from beneath his covers, a makeshift tent is formed next to him. He nods to you. Before you know it, you’ve abandoned your own bed, taking a single step until you skirt into the pocket of his mattress Luke has carved for you. He lets the sheets fall, cocooning you with him the way he always does.
You’ve been sharing beds on occasion for years. One of you gets cold, has a nightmare, or wants to talk until your mind fades out, the only solution is a place next to each other. Whispers against cheeks, giggles muffled into pillows, necklaces knocking together. You used to be further apart. Now you can’t remember the last time Luke hasn’t latched onto you the second you’re within reach. It warms you a little more each time.
When your head hits his pillow, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment, lips pursed in amusement. His face is so wildly nostalgic to you—five years seems like too short a time to have known him. His eyes are pitch-dark and soft with exhaustion, but you can still pick out the trademark Hermes mirth glimmering through. You sometimes forget his scar, probably because you know he wants you to forget it. He’d kill you for thinking this, but you kind of like the way it hugs the curve of his cheek, bunches up when his dimple appears. It makes you sad. It makes you happy. It makes you love him.
“Percy likes you,” he whispers, opening himself up so your chin brushes his shoulder. “That’s a first.”
He’s only wearing a tank top to sleep, so his warmth seeps through his skin when you tap him on the chest. “Shut up!” You hiss back, tapering into a giggle. “Has he picked up on anything yet?”
Luke bites the inside of his cheek, regretfully shaking his head. “Nope. But all that skill stuff is kinda arbitrary anyways. He’s still hung up on kleos, though, so … that’ll come in handy for Capture the Flag.”
“Ah, yes. Using a child’s misguided need for fulfilment as a weapon. A camp classic.”
“Well someone’s gotta be useful for Capture the Flag in this cabin and it sure as hell isn’t you, mermaid,” he barbs back.
Your jaw drops in mock offense and you squeeze a hand around his shoulder to shake him. “I will put you in a headlock right now, Luke, I’ll break your arm—”
“Be quiet!” He giggles as you attempt to wrangle yourself on top of him. “I’ll be nice to you, I’ll be nice, stop!” You get absolutely nowhere before the bed creaks and Luke shoves you back down. Your pulse rattles through your mouth as you laugh silently. “You’re the worst,” he mutters in your ear, raising the hairs on your neck.
“Well Percy likes me, so,” you turn your nose to the sky like a haughty old lady.
“Percy’s a funnier, less annoying version of you,” he pokes your side. “That’s how I knew you’d get along, you weirdo.”
The momentary adrenaline this conversation has brought you is mellowing. “Hey, I’m very—very funny,” you mumble through a yawn.
Luke laughs quietly. “Sure you are.”
He pulls you back to him, arm slung around the dip of your waist. When you make no protest, he seals you against his shoulder again. It’s started to feel a little different, him holding you like this. There’s an uncertainty your body faces about how to respond. His thumb runs over your spine and you decide to relax into him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Your chin knocks against his collarbone and you have the urge to curl yourself against his chest, just to feel him breathe.
“Get some sleep, sailor,” he murmurs, fingers brushing through the roots of your hair. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. Your cheeks warm, and you bury yourself even further into the space against his shoulder and his pillow. Gods, there’s something wrong with you, isn’t there?
“Will do, soldier.” The campy voice you do is half hearted at best as you find yourself absorbed in the closest thing to a full home you’ll ever get. In this sleepy hollow with bedsheets and a boy, there is acceptance.
Well, mostly. You think you dream about Luke brushing a kiss along your hairline in your last bit of consciousness. You think you wish it was real. You think you want him to do it again.
iii. when you don't know who you are, you fuck around and find out
The last time your cabin lost a game of Capture the Flag, you’d still been taller than Luke. That’s how long your winning streak has felt. There’s no reason you foresee that changing today. Even when Annabeth drags Percy along with her on whatever surely precarious quest to victory she’s created. It’s unlike her, to bring a newbie along. It’s concerning.
“He’s fine,” Luke drawls to you when your face has been tense for twenty minutes. “Annabeth’s got a plan.” He’s a little winded after clearing out some Ares kids with Chris. You aren’t much use when it comes to weapons—your friends take the lead as you wait from a distance, ready for backup. Thank the Gods they didn’t need it this time. You’re content to just watch, but whenever Luke grins after getting another kid to surrender, veins in his arms raised like rivers on a map, you get a little distracted and you’re not sure why.
You just huff back at him, totally normal when he wipes a sheen of sweat off his jaw. “Annabeth’s gonna use him as cannon fodder,” you mutter back, and Luke hits your arm with an appalled grin.
Annabeth did, in fact, have a plan. So you won. Obviously.
You’re still doubtful Percy wasn’t cannon fodder, though, with how beat up he looks on the shoreline when the rest of your team flocks to the stolen flag to claim victory. He’s slumped down on the rocky shore, a few equally beaten Ares kids straggling away from him.
“So I was right, huh?” Luke hums in your ear, pulling your eyes to him.
He’s revelling in newfound glory, and damn it, you get confused when you look at him when he’s like this. You’re not sure when it happened but you want to tear your heart out of its chest because of how sick it makes you. Some of his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat, his hair suffering a serious case of helmet-head. But it’s the pride oozing off him, the infectious happiness laced through his smile, that makes you fond of him in a way you’re not sure you should be. He’s beloved for a reason—he looks almost prophetic after winning a match, and he knows it. A glaring difference between the gangly boy you met all those summers ago. If you weren’t his best friend, you’d probably be one of his many admirers, watching his teammates fawn over his talent and wishing you were beside him.
But you are beside him. And you’re his friend. Not an admirer. So everything’s fine.
“You wouldn’t be saying that if we lost,” you retort, knocking your chestplate against his. It’s meant to be a friendly nudge, but Luke leans into it until you swear you feel his heart beating through the metal.
He’s grown into his smile, less boyish and more wry. “You know I never lose, sailor.”
You want to reply, but his eyes are startlingly pretty in the sunlight. That’s normal. Whatever. A heat rises in the apples of your cheeks so you scoff lightly and turn away as soon as possible. You feel Luke’s gaze following as you turn attention elsewhere. Your sternum feels fluttery.
Percy catches your attention again. Gods, he looks beat. He’s talking to Annabeth as she helps him up, and you see the gnarly scrape marring his cheek. You should probably check on him, right?
You’re halfway to the kids when Annabeth shoves Percy backwards into the water. Like, shoves.
“Annabeth!” You’re scowling at her the same way she scowled at you when you first hit Luke with that oar, rushing over to help Percy.
“What is wrong with you?” Percy sputters out lying in the lake, but you’re ankles-deep in the water before you know it. He’s glaring daggers at Annabeth, but she looks relatively unimpressed. What happened during this game?
“Thanks,” Percy mutters as you help him up.
You say something to shrug it off but you can’t remember what, because your eyes are drawn to the scrape on his cheek. You have to blink a few times to get it, but you’re pretty sure it’s dissolving. Vanishing off his skin. “What the hell?”
Everyone on the shore is watching him now, trying to memorize his injuries before they wash away. Percy’s staring down at himself like he’s just been body-swapped. “I don’t understand.”
You’ve never seen anything like this before. The strangest feeling fuels you—your bones feel firmer somehow, like the blood inside your body has weight to it. Like something is happening. A fear pierces your gut.
Annabeth’s eyes have raised, and so have Percy’s. Your mouth goes dry. Right above him is the symbol of a trident, radiating so blue it washes out the sky itself.
The claiming symbol of Poseidon.
“Your dad’s calling,” Annabeth says, a smile itching the corners of her mouth.
Percy looks like he’s going to pass out. You probably do too. “Told you you’d get claimed,” you manage to squeeze the words through the knot in your chest.
You’re smiling until Percy looks at you, then looks up. His face goes white as a sheet. Or, as white as it can bathed in a pale blue glow. “Uh…” He blinks slowly, and your stomach twists. “I think she was talking to you.”
When you look up and see an identical trident looming over your head, you know something’s wrong. It’s made worse when Chiron rings out your and Percy’s name, branding you as children of Poseidon.
Poseidon.
You have a father. And he’s known you all this time. Your ears hollow out like a rush of water in a cavern.
Luke is the first to kneel. The rest of the camp follows. You watch as the entire camp basks in the glory of newcomer Percy Jackson, so quickly claimed by one of the most powerful Gods of Olympus. And you, who has waited five years to earn even a shred of his favour.
This thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly the greatest insult in the world. Your best friend can’t even meet your eyes.
iv. i remember who i am when i'm with you
You stare at Percy as he unpacks his things. Waiting to see traces of yourself in his face, traces of your father. Anything that could give you an inkling of what he looks like. Of what you look like. Of how this happened in the first place.
It’s a futile search. Percy’s blue eyes, his freckles, the bridge of his nose, they’re all … nothing. Half of you is half of him, but there’s no indication of which parts. The cabin is cold. You’re not going to sleep well without Luke nearby. You’re not going to sleep well ever again.
You feel nothing but strife, your throat closing in every time you take even a second to think. You don’t want Percy to see you cry. So you do what you always do.
This has to be in the running for most overwhelming day of all time ever. Even when submerged in your favourite place on earth, you can’t get away from your dad. Your dumb stupid dad that has made the things you love and has ruined your life.
You swim hard, and you loathe how good it feels. At least you know why now, but that doesn’t do much to ease you. When you pop up again, the sun has started to sink into the sea. And Gods, you have to give your dad credit. The landscape is so gorgeous you almost forget how long he’s ignored you.
You wonder if this is the last time you’ll find solace in the lake. If eventually, it’ll be nothing but an extension of your father’s neglect.
The water ripples around you. You frown, barely having noticed it when someone taps your shoulder. You turn. “Luke?” You swallow, but why are you surprised?
He’s panting, cheeks splotched with sun as he treads water, droplets worming down his face from his soaking curls. “Been looking for you,” he puffs, “Percy’s worried. Called you from the—from the thingie but don’t think you heard me.”
You assume he means the docks, but you don’t say anything as he takes a deep, grounding breath. “You’ve been out here for hours. Hours. For a second I thought you drowned.”
“Now we know that can’t fucking happen,” you mutter a touch too bitterly, staring down at your legs warped beneath the water.
Luke’s silent as he watches you. “…Have you been crying?”
When you don’t reply, Luke tugs on your wrist. “C’mon, sailor, let’s go.”
“Not tired,” you say, frozen by the hot tears brimming on your lashes.
“I’m not leaving you out here. Come on.” He frowns when you yank your hand away as he tries pulling you again. “You’re gonna get heatstroke.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
He reaches for you again and you try to reject it for a moment, but he’s stronger than you, and he loves you better than even the water could. The second he has you close your resolve falters. He holds you against his shoulder, knees knocking against yours as you tread.
“It’s okay,” he croons when you involuntarily start to cry. For a Poseidon kid, you can’t seem to control your waterworks. “It’s okay, I know.”
His hand cards through your scalp and you relish in the warmth of his bare skin on your cheek. He smells like comfort. You cling to it with all you have, until your nails start to dig into his skin and your eyesight blurs.
“Come back with me and I’ll dry you off, okay?” He kisses the top of your head, the way you dreamed it last night. “I’ll take care of it.”
You’re not sure which it he’s referring to, because it could honestly apply to anything. When you both set off for shore, you’re so distracted by your own misery that Luke’s actually able to keep up with you. He’s up on the dock before you so he can pull you out.
The second you’re out of the water you feel like you’ve been gutted with a lead pipe. All the energy it gave you leaves, and you realize just how right Luke was about spending too much time out there. You can’t feel your legs.
You buckle over almost instantly, but Luke holds you before you can even think of falling. “I’ve got you,” he assures, guiding you down to sit on the dock. Your eyes are too weak to even admire the sunset. Luke drapes a towel over your shoulders, rubbing it over your arms, a welcome familiarity. He takes his time, wringing your hair and drying your back as you gaze blankly ahead. There’s a tenderness to it now. Luke’s ruthless when it comes to a lot of things. When it comes to how he loves, too. But there’s nothing demanding here. He lets your tears fall in silence, undisturbed, the touch of his hands through the cloth a silent promise.
When you’re fairly dry, he fetches something then quickly comes back. “Here.”
It’s his shirt. You only notice you’ve been shivering as he pulls it over your head, lets you fill in the sleeves, gently gathers your hair back. “Thanks,” you say. His fingertips brush your neck as he hooks them around your necklace to rest it over the shirt. You think he does it to remind you you’re still the same. You’ve had five years together. It doesn’t have to end now.
“Why did it take him so long?” You struggle to say, eyes glossed like sea glass. “Why—why now? What did I do?”
Luke puts an arm around you. “I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly.
You sink into his warmth like a wave meets the shore. “Five years, Luke. He ignored me for five years. And he takes Percy right—right away.” It’s hard not to choke between every word. “I just thought I’d never get claimed, and I was fine with that, and now I’m … this!”
Its hard to tell if the dampness of your cheeks are the remnants of saltwater or your tears. “I don’t want this,” you sniffle. “I waited so long … and I just don’t want it.”
Luke rubs your shoulder, lips pursed against your head. He murmurs into your hair, “I know, sailor. It’ll be okay. Promise.”
His voice is reserved. You look up at him. His jaw is resolute, his eyes red-rimmed in a way you hadn’t noticed before. “You’re upset too,” you comment quietly.
He laughs listlessly. “Yeah, of course I am. I’m losing my favourite cabin mate.”
You sniff and try to smile. “Percy?”
He rolls his eyes fondly, and it feels like all you want. He squeezes your shoulders tight and you long desperately to be closer. “I just don’t know what I did wrong,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into him. “Why didn’t he see me until he saw Percy? Am I just … unremarkable or something?”
“No, no. Absolutely not—c’mere.” Luke loops an arm around your waist and manoeuvres you into his arms, cradled on his lap so you can bury your face in his neck. You can’t stop fucking crying, but his patience for you is infinite. “You are by far the most remarkable person I know.” He seals you against his chest, scratching your scalp the way he knows you like. “None of this is you, okay? Your dad’s an idiot. You are—you’re everything. They’re all mindless up there, they don’t know how to love you. They don’t deserve to.”
An edge seeps into his timbre that gives you pause. You feel weak, discarded. It sounds like he’s talking about a different person. But he’s right. He has to be, because he knows you better than you know yourself.
Luke keeps going. You peek at his face when he speaks. Stubborn as ever. “He doesn’t have any fucking right to you. If he wanted that he should’ve claimed you when you got here. You have a life. You … you had a home. And now just because he’s got another kid he kills two birds with one stone? He pretends like this is some Godly intervention? Like he didn’t ignore you the whole time you’ve been here because he couldn’t stand how much you didn’t need him? How much better you are? You’re my …” He struggles, brows furrowed, the sun melting in his eyes. “You’re my best friend, and we’re supposed to be together. He’s not allowed to take that from you.”
Your heart stirs. “Sounds like you’re jealous,” you try to tease.
Luke heaves a sigh, his muscles rippling against your chest. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that he’s got no shirt on. And that he’s pressed against you in a way that makes you question if you should be this close. Beads of water cling to the divots in his skin, and you linger a little too long on one nestled in his collarbone. You swear you think this every time he goes swimming with you: when did he get so … hot? And every time you think it, you want to gouge your heart out with a spoon.
“Can you blame me?” A melancholy smile plays on his face. “I liked having you all to myself.”
Tears spring to your eyes all over again. “I liked that too.”
It’s a whisper that sends you forward, Luke bringing his forehead to your own, and you want to live in the warmth that coils through you. His nose catches against yours when he laughs, but he doesn’t move. You take a moment to savour it. You think he does too.
He wipes a tear off your face as you say, “I’m still yours.”
“Yeah?” Luke hums a bit, his hand sliding up your waist in a most unfriendly manner. “How?”
You catch the glimmer in his eyes, that plucky smile he’s had since fourteen. Something shifts.
“What are you asking me, Luke?” You can’t fight the smile.
“What do you want me to ask you?”
“I dunno, what do you want me to want you to ask you—”
“My Gods, you’re a pain in the ass.”
He groans, throws his head back, and kisses you like you aren’t the most annoying person in the world.
It’s so cliché, but for a brief moment your strife is well worth it. You yank him closer before he pulls away. It’s a little unsure, the two of you so used to toeing the line, but soon you’ve given in and your hands are in his hair, mouths parting, and it’s messy and wanting and everything you need.
Luke slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, palms flattening against your sun-beaten skin. It feels so good, better because the shirt is already his, a whine scratching your throat as he moves up so his thumbs graze the skin beneath the tie in your bathing suit.
“Oh, sailor,” he coos against your mouth. You want to retaliate but it’s lost when he squeezes your thighs, warming you in all the right places. It’s hard to understand this is even happening—it feels like you’re underwater, a blissful fuzziness growing in your head entirely at his mercy.
He razes kisses down your still-damp neck, catching pearls of water on his tongue. You cling to his shoulders, raking your hands down his back just so you can feel more of him. Luke’s dropped down to your collarbone at this point, tugging the neck of your shirt down as his teeth graze the bone. “You’re my best friend,” he mutters over your skin. “Still mine. Always mine.”
“Mmhm,” is all you can say back, the husk in his voice making your eyes screw shut. He teases a spot so sensitive you groan and laugh at the same time. The regret is immediate, but you feel a chuckle pass his lips, too. “Luke,” you purse a smile. He dots kisses back up your neck until you start returning the favour.
You kiss his jaw, a few spots on his neck, feeling the flex of his muscle all around you as he squeezes the fat of your hips. You finally sweep up the water in the hollow of his collarbones, and his grunt of your name makes you, frankly, delirious.
He brings your mouth back to his, skin sticking to each other. It’s harder to kiss as fervently when you’re both giggling against each other’s tongues, running fingers along the planes of each other’s bodies trying to see which places feel new and which are known from memory. It’s a fifty-fifty split, and you love it.
Somewhere along the way he peeled off your shirt because it was clinging in places you knew he wanted, but now you’re panting and giggling into his hair, his nose pressed into your neck, both of you melded together with salt and sun. “You really know how to cheer a girl up, mailman,” you grin.
His lips fix to your skin. “Really? You’re still gonna call me that right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Like it better when you call me captain,” he murmurs, nose grazing along your pulse.
You swallow, “That doesn’t work unless we’re doing the whole sailor-ship bit.”
“We’re always doing the sailor-ship bit.”
“I seriously can’t believe I’m in love with you.”
He sighs warmly at the words. “You have no idea how much I’ve been dying for you to say that. Even though I knew you would.”
You roll your eyes as he presses his forehead to yours, and you’re more glad than ever that his face is the one you love so much. It’s a pretty great face.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he says tenderly. “You’re too incredible for Poseidon. You’re worth more than that.”
He still looks gorgeous blurred by your tears. You listen to the beat of his heart and the waves rolling. “More than any water anywhere?”
“More than the fucking Styx, sailor. I’ll promise you that.”
That night, Luke stays with you and Percy in your cold chapel of a cabin. You exchange stories until Percy falls asleep in his bed, curled up like a sea otter. “He’s a drooler,” Luke notes fondly, eyes flicking to yours. “Like you.”
You shove his chest playfully until he wraps his arms around you and anchors you to sleep, like every night before. This time, as you drift off, he kisses your forehead again. Once because he loves you, and twice to make sure you know it’s real.
luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant
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૮(ˊ ᵔ ˋ)ა ... i’d follow you anywhere .ᐟ
ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x avatar! reader
ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature
ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in which the reader uses her new avatar body to finally show neteyam just how much she loves him… + based off of this thirst!
ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), minimal angst (?), lots of fluff and banter lol
ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, dacryphilia (v tame), corruption
ᥫ᭡ word count :: 2.5k
ᥫ᭡ note :: guys this is what happens when i ask for thirsts!!! i get carried away and never know when to stop ;(( anyway, here, have this while i work on my annual dick analysis for jake & quaritch.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Shh, you’ll see, kitty boy,” you giggled, tightening your grip on his wrist.
Neteyam shakes his head, tongue in cheek. He could never say no to you—not that he wanted to…he always wanted to play with you. He’d follow you into the depths of hell, or whatever the na’vi equivalent of hell was. Yeah, he’d follow you there, he thinks—definitely.
Keep reading
Awaken Me | Tobias Eaton
pairings — four/reader | divergent au! |
summary : four seems to pick on you especially—and you figure out why. it’s because you both share the same secret.
warnings : none i think?
authors note : i forgot about this and decided to upload it even tho it’s unfinished…
© elliotsblunt 2022. do not repost, modify, or translate.
Your eyes burned slightly as you blinked away tears, confused as to why you couldn't find that certain...
Anger.
Wren, a curly haired blonde that belonged in Amity—somehow landed in Dauntless. But during combat, her frail arms would summon the strength of twice the muscle capacity she contains. If you hadn't seen her flip a man twice her size over her figure—
You wouldn't have believed it.
Anyways, Wren had told you that she had reached that certain level of fighting simply by thinking of what angered her most. The the thing was, nothing horrible had happened to you.
You were born and raised in Amity, where the crime rate remained a negative 0–if that were possible, it would be rated just that.
Your ma and pa sheltered you, as you were their only child. You were also extremely close with them, but after getting your screen test back—it was time to begin a new chapter in your life. One that would drag and smash you to the ground like a bug.
Which is what happened now—basically.
Gritting your teeth, you rolled over to dodge one of your opponents lashes. Fortunately, the girl wasn't a merciless bitch, and let you stand up whilst getting back into position. With shaky fists, you gulped, muttering a quick curse before her own swung towards your chin.
But—
The beating never came. The throbbing rush of warm blood thrashing in your veins never crashed. Your jaw was in tact, and you weren't flopped on the ground like a beaten animal.
Your eyes snapped open, flashing over to the strong hand wrapped around Turner's wrist. Turner, the girl you were fighting, gulped as she stood back from Four. His chest radiated of a warm essence that burnt your cheeks—especially with the smirk dripping off his face.
"Turner," he released her grip, not glancing at you, "It appears the Mary Poppins hasn't improved. Isn't fair to you, is it?"
Your throat went dry, remembering how much of a total prick he was. At first, you thought he was hot, so you deemed him to maybe be a good person. But after you figured one of his life goals was to torment and embarrass you—you checked your values and common sense.
His eyes were dark, but still weren't ever fluttered onto your figure—almost as if he didn't even want to look at you. It damaged your confidence more, knowing you were probably going to be factionless if you didn't shape up soon.
Turner only shrugged, dropping her arm back to her side before placing both hands on her hips. She raised a brow at you as you let out a sharp breath, wiping the imaginary dust off your palms before looking down at the ground and stepping off the fighting podium.
Your ears ring as her blows caused you some damage. Chewing on your bottom lip, you held back your defeated thoughts as Wren threw an arm around your shoulder,
"It's okay. I got a few beat downs my first year here. It gets better," she attempted to cheer you up. You merely hummed as she continued, "Anger, _ _. That's what powers you. You need—“
“I know,” you snapped, stopping your feet before rolling your eyes at her, “I know. But I’m not an angry person, and I’m shit at fighting.”
Her eyes narrowed, “Pity isn’t what makes you a Dauntless, _ _,” she stepped towards you, poking a nimble finger into your heart, “So instead of whining, kid, maybe you should just stop thinking and fight.”
Slowly nodding, you stood there as she headed over to the cafeteria for lunch. You noticed that the boxing bag area was empty—and it clicked in your head what Wren said.
Fight.
Bringing your fists up, you got into a fighting stance and threw your first punch. With gritted teeth, you felt the material bruise up your knuckles—but you wanted to feel it. Feel the pain. If you couldn’t feel the pain, then pity would just Pool around in your chest instead.
And you hated pity.
Hissing as you retracted your first, you did it again. Then repeated on the other fist. Every time the cool leather collided with your knuckles, it sent a sharp pain up your hand. But you stood through it, until the next time you swung, you didn’t realize the bag had made its own hit towards you—swinging and hitting your body with a harsh force.
Letting out a grunt, your body slammed into the cold cement of the training sector. Your ribs ached as you didn’t twitch to get up, instead accepting that you were going to be factionless if you didn’t get back up.
Get back up, _ _. You have to.
Sweat dribbled down your forehead as you landed another punch to the bag. You made it a mission to skip lunch so you could train, because you'd rather starve than be factionless. Breathing harshly through your teeth, you felt the muscles slightly tense in your arms.
"Mary poppins hasn't improved, has she?"
You felt your lip curl as you delivered another brutal hit, finally taking victory in the bag. You released a grunt as your fists kept colliding with it.
You were going to show that stuck up son of a—
"You're supposed to eat in order to gain muscle. Didn't teach you that back in Amity, huh?" You heard a voice quip, a deep and gravelly voice.
Jumping from surprise, your head snapped over to see Four leaning against one of the bags. His eyes were focused on you, smoky and stormy. You looked away from him instantly, but kept your focus on him, "Skipping lunch won't make you a Dauntles—"
"If someone tells me one more time what does or doesn't make me a Dauntless, I might just fucking shoot myself," you raised your voice, feeling the patience that usually you held snapped like a tree branch. Four's eyes stayed narrowed as he now crossed his arms, the muscles protruding from that caramel, ink covered skin of his.
You gulped, "I meant—"
He stood up straight, a smirk creeping into his plump, pink lips as he stepped towards you, "You're nothing but a farmer. You cannot train remotely enough to become one of us," he hissed, venom laced in his words. Something swirled in his eyes, making your jaw lock,
"You don't have anger. You have self pity, and Dauntless don't pity themselves. They fight, and are willing to give up their life for people. How can you fight others when you're fighting yourself already?"
You blinked, feeling anger begin to rise within you. It was a foreign feeling—but you didn't hate it. If anything, your veins welcomed the poisonous rage, but you bit your tongue.
Four laughed darkly, "You can't even speak up for yourself. Surely, you should go back to those farmers," he continued, making your fists balled up at your sides. As he continued to degrade you and your home, well— people who used to be your home, it rose.
The anger rose. It felt as the ground begun to shake, sudden flashes of all the combat you had witnessed before your eyes playing like a rapid slideshow in your mind. The cracks of the bones whenever someone would slip their foot beneath someone—breaking their balance.
Your eyes flickered up to his. He paused right before you, the scent of cologne filling your nose as your chest heaved deeply. Every sense of angst within you was on fire as he tilted his head.
"You don't belong here. But I doubt you'll be able to go home, since your parents disow—"
Your foot slipped under him, trapping him to the ground with a grunt from him. Your teeth clenched as you aimed to punch him, but he immediately snapped his eyes into yours. With furrowed brows, he grabbed your wrist and striked your leg with a harsh kick.
Your knee buckled, a bullet of pain shooting through your muscles. The cold concrete pavement of the training sector burned the flesh on your cheek, ears ringing as a dull ache formed in your back from the landing.
“C’mon, _ _,” Four chuckled, more so in a tiresome way than a tormenting tone. His chest heaved as I blinked, “Get up. Don’t give up now.”
It clicked. Was he…training you?
A boost if adrenaline shot through you. He believed in you. That was the push you needed to balance your wobbling arms off the ground, barely being able to push your body—but you did. Your fists balked at your sides as you gulped, accidentally melting into his cold eyes.
They weren’t as cold, though. As if the ice had slightly melted—but there was still another thick layer.
“Fighting is a dance,” he murmured firmly, grabbing your arm and spinning you around. You let out a harsh breathe as he held your back against his chest, before roughly pushing you away. You hit one of the punching backs, grunting as he smirked, “Until it’s not.”
“Can’t imagine dancing with you,” your eyes narrowed—only making his smirk grow.
But you didn’t hear a response, instead your eyes noticed he was about to take a step forward. Then, you watched his arm twitch—ducking before delivering a jab to his side. He flinched, which broke the barrier, and you didn’t wait to kick him down to the ground.
With a loud thud, you watched as his braid figure slammed against the ground. Picking up your feet, you darted towards him. Every single insult he’d ever thrown at you replayed in your head. He was trying to anger you.
Did he perhaps…care?
Sliding your knee across the ground, you grabbed both of his hands and held him down. Your hair fell over your face, panting deeply, as you used the rest of your strength to fight off his. His hues twitched to yours, something flashing in his eyes as they met yours.
Your throat became dry. Butterflies erupted in your tummy, a warm feeling hugging your heart.
Feeling the cheeks in your face burn—you felt the world slowly silence around you as your eyes melted onto his. You didn’t know if it was your imagination, or the adrenaline pumping in your veins—but you swore you felt his long fingers slowly graze your thigh.
Wait—
How did they get fre—
And in an instant, you were flipped into the ground. His strong hands held you down, gripping your wrist, as his muscular chest held down yours. Bodies pressed against one another, his grunts filling your ears…it was truly a sight.
A musky scent flooded your senses as you felt like you were high, wanting to reach out and touch that sculpted jaw of his. The stubble poking from his skin is probably scratchy against your palm, but his flesh still looked smooth and supple.
Despite his appearance coming off ragged and rough.
“That’s how you fight like a Dauntless,” He taunted darkly, making your brows raise in shock, “You’ll do just fine in ranks if you uh—“
His eyes fluttered to your lips, before he gulped and squeezed his eyes shut. He pushed himself off the floor, away from you, before dusting off his pants, “You should do just fine, _ _.”
Before you could say anything, he cleared his throat and made his exit.
red lipstick | rc
| pairing: (non canon) rafe cameron x female reader
| genre: fluff, college rafe, halloween fic
| content warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol/drinking, mentions of food, a few tears
| précis: you get your boyfriend to dress up with you.
| word count: 1,512
You could barely believe it yourself when your boyfriend agreed to coordinate costumes with you.
Well, scratch that—you could believe it, but it was the particular costume you’d chosen that he agreed to—that shocked you.
Keep reading
❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― pjo/hoo boys !
— 💬 a/n: It's 3:12 a.m., I haven't slept and I have thoughts. Like ACTUAL thoughts. DELULU thoughts.
— 𝒫ercy 𝒥ackson ;; his pull out game is so-so but it's not really a game to him. it's a tragedy. he can pull out, he really can—but the second you clench around him and moan his name all breathy and wrecked? gone. he’s staying inside and apologizing for it while still twitching. “fuck, sorry, you just felt too good.” no self-control. man is one tight hug away from giving you triplets.
rating: 4/10
— 𝒥ason 𝒢race ;; textbook perfect. clinically correct. he’s the honor student of nut control. always pulls out with time to spare, wipes you down with a warm towel, kisses your forehead, and asks how you’re feeling. BUT—if you beg him not to? if you whimper a little and say “please”? he folds like a lawn chair.
rating: 9/10 when in control, 2/10 if you say “inside” in a pretty voice
— ℒeo 𝒱aldez ;; boy has ZERO pull out game. he doesn’t even pretend to try. he’ll be balls deep and babbling about how tight and warm you are, then let out a choked moan and cum inside you without warning. immediately follows up with a “fuckfuckfuck I was supposed to pull out” and then blames you for “being too sexy.”
rating: -3/10. negative.
— ℱrank 𝒵hang ;; he pulls out with sweet, apologetic gentleness. murmurs “almost there” and actually means it. doesn’t even thrust through the orgasm—he shudders and then paints your stomach like a gentleman. but the moment you say “it’s okay, baby, I’m on the pill”? oh. he’s finishing inside with a shaky moan and saying “you’re sure? really sure?” as he fills you up.
rating: 8/10 unless you give him permission—then all bets are off
— ℒuke 𝒞astellan ;; can pull out. just doesn’t. he’ll be like “what’s the point?” while holding your hips down and staying in deep, whispering “take it. you can take it.” he moans like it’s a religious experience and you’re lucky if you get a warning before he fills you up and says “mine.”
rating: 1/10. he’s breeding on purpose
Stormy's asks games ! :: I think we can safely say that a new section of "Stormy's asks games" is opening. Basically, You can send me "Games" either nsfw or sfw to the inbox and we can be delulu together 👭
example: this post
Reqs closed, asks games always open.
+ I saw it on Twitter and had to make it a pjo version, I lost the post, but credits for that one <3
worlds collide | dominic fike
pairings — dominic/reader | fan girl!au |
word count : 4.6k
summary : after dominic finds out you had a smut blog dedicated to him from your teenage years, he reacts in a different way than you expected.
warnings : smut, angst, fingering in car, fucking in public, oral (f) receiving, voyeurism, daddy!kink, degrading, blowjob, choking, reader passes out, not proof read lolz
authors note : yeah, this entire fic is a manifestation.
elliot masterlist dominic fike masterlist
When you were eighteen years old, you had the biggest crush on Dominic Fike.
No, you didn’t have posters littered upon your wall; or always talk about how godly he looked to your friends. You kept those emotions bottled within you—and decided to do something a bit more..personal.
You loved his music, you really did, and always found the way he carried himself to be so fucking attractive. Every single feature on his face was perfectly symmetrical to the other; and you had never felt so infatuated with a celebrity before.
His music would always be blaring in your ears, whether it was on the way to school or plugged into a small set of earphones while you did your homework.
You remember opening your laptop one night, searching up fanfiction about him, chewing on one of those sour candies that were always in between your teeth.
Dominic Fike x Reader | daddykink!
Furrowing your brows at the words, you were confused as to what a daddy kink was. So then you clicked on the link, and an entire new world was flashed before your eyes.
You didn’t even know what a kink was, but by the end of the night, your eyes burned by the dimly lit screen as you read numerous fics about him, living through different universes where he was your brothers’ best friend, friends with benefits, and alternate reality fics.
It was like your secret obsession, going on your computer right after school and reading a bunch of new stories. But then, eventually, you ran out of new works to read—
And decided to make your own.
Sitting criss crossed on your bed, your tongue poked out the corner of your lips, your fingers ached as you wrote thousands and thousands of words of pure erotica. At first, you were shy, blushing as you typed the first few sentences; but then it began to flow through your figure as you published your first fic.
After a day, you didn’t get any likes, so debated on deleting it. But then you got a notification a few hours later, signaling that someone had reblogged your post.
fikesfuturegf : love it! can’t wait for the next part !
Smiling down at your phone, you knew that you couldn’t stop now.
In a matter of two months, you had two thousand followers, always waiting for your next posts. It was about to become summer, so you kept up with the tumblr blog for a year, before getting accepted into UCLA, and was too busy moving to update anymore. After getting busy with school and working a two part time jobs to pay the rent for your studio; you just didn’t have anymore time to write.
In two years, you had completely forgotten about the blog. But still put your writing skills to use, looking for jobs online as a music writer; and published a few samples of your work. What you didn’t expect, was for a specific artist to email you—
Which is the entire reason you are now dating the man you wrote countless smut about.
The adrenaline and shock that slapped you in the face when you saw his manager’s email knocked the wind out of your figure. You were on break from your coffee shop job, checking your notifactions, and saw the small text besides the gmail emoticon app.
Hi!
This is Dominic Fike’s Manager, Eloise Harmen.
We’ve reviewed your work and are interested in working with you, and would love if you replied within the next few days!
Hopefully you agree, thank you.
Your thumbs moved so fast to reply, agreeing on a time and date. It didn’t feel real until you walked to the address they had given you, wearing your most professional outfit, eyes bulging when his studio door swung open by Dominic himself.
His hair was in blonde curls, with dark roots, looking fluffy and bouncy. Tan skin looking smooth and honey like, his red lips were glossy and soft looking, a grey pullover and red puffy vest matched with a pair of black skinny jeans behind his outfit.
Holy fuck. You came right there.
His eyes flickered when they met yours, swiping up and down your figure, before stretching his hand towards you with a charming smile, “You must be Y/N! I’m Dominic.”
Oh yeah, you knew.
Your mouth became dry, standing frozen in place, as the man that you’ve imagined fucking you inside a public bathroom, in his car, in a fucking magical rain forest, was standing right in front of your face. Your chest rose as his brows furrowed at your lack of words, worry swirling in his eyes.
“Are you—okay? You look a little pale.”
Slapping a hand against your forehead, you nodded, sending him a tight smile, “Uh, yeah. Fine.”
His smile faltered as he stepped aside, letting you in, “Okay, cool. Shall we?”
You didn’t say anything, awkwardly following him to the couch, and made a big distance between you two by sitting at the edge. You don’t notice the confused look that crossed his features, as he let out a small chuckle.
He rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t bite, y’know.”
Too caught up in the shock of it all, and how much better looking he was in person; you didn’t laugh, blinking at him as his beautiful voice sunk into your mind. He was so fucking good looking, making your breathing turn shallow as you realized you had been staring too long; and averted your gaze to the notebook in your hands, “I uh, I have a few samples for you.”
He nodded, clapping his hands together, afterwards sipping on the coffee from the table, “Alright, dope. Oh—did you want anything?” He offered, your heart fluttering as you looked up at him. You kept falling in love over and over again with his eyes, and how deep and brown they were; like the richest chocolate you’ve ever seen, “Coffee? Water? Weed?” He joked at the end.
You blinked, trying to not to get lost in those eyes, and shook your head before looking back down.
“No thank you.”
And for the next two hours, your tone had been clipped, reviewing which general idea of the samples he liked and what to bounce off of. The nerves didn’t fade at all, growing when you worried he thought you were weird, and somehow could read your mind and find out about all the things you’ve written about him. By the end of it, you were really sweaty, just wanting to leave so you could fan girl about it later in your room.
As soon as the session finished, you stood up, and Dominic sent you a crooked smile, “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow right?”
Your eyes rounded, “Tomorrow?”
He frowned.
“I don’t know if El told you, but we’re working on an album. I’m gonna need at least ten samples in a month—and we need to work together everyday until then.”
Oh shit.
His eyes grew in size, “Is that…okay?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, freaking out on the inside, grabbing your notebook before rushing to the exit,
“See you.”
And for the past two weeks, sometimes in the late hours of the night, you would work amongst Dominic as you reviewed music samples that consisted of the audios he created and the lyrics you wrote.
He would always try to crack jokes, which were pretty funny, but you would forget to laugh; being to distracted by how enchanting his eyes were. You would barley look at him, not wanting to creep him out, and staid quiet and professional for the most part.
Then, one day, after you were packing up to leave—your figure was heading towards the door, but paused when he called your name, “Y/N—can I ask you something?”
You turned around, blinking at him, as you nodded stiffly, “Um, sure.”
Fuck. He found out about the blog.
That had to be it.
You were dead. He was going to sue you for being a fucking pervert.
Biting your bottom lip in anticipation, waiting for him to laugh in your face about how weird and gross you were, shock once again flooded you as he drew his brows together, “What’s your problem with me? Have I offended you in any way?”
You tilted your head, not expecting those words.
“My problem?”
He gulped, rubbing the back of his neck before mustering up a shy smile. Your heart melted.
“You barley speak, and act like you’re too disgusted to be near me. I just thought you had some beef with me,” he explained, stepping towards you. His tone was glum, “Which upsets me because—I’m into you. Like, really into you.”
This had to be a fucking joke.
You did not believe this.
The boy you’ve been literally fantasizing over for years just told you he had feelings for you, and thought you didn’t like him. It was humorous actually, making a laugh of disbelief fall from your lips, his cheeks turning pink as he figured you were laughing at his admission, “I’m guessing you don’t feel the same.”
You gulped, “No…no. I just—I like you too.”
His brows rose in surprise, “Word?”
Lips quirking into a smile, you nodded.
“Word.”
Sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip, he shoved his hands into his pockets, shrugging, “Well then—can I take you out sometime? Like, on a date?”
You couldn’t agree fast enough.
Giggling like kids, your sock covered feet rubbed against your boyfriend of two years, Dom, as you laid on the couch. You wrapped your arms around his chest, not wanting him to leave for the studio, his scent of marijuana and manly cologne hitting your senses, “No! I don’t wanna share you, Dom.”
He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, leaving your cheeks pink before lightly pushing you off and standing up.
“I’ll be back soon,” he grabbed his keys from the table, smiling cutely at you, “Only for a few hours. Then we can watch Love Island and get stoned, hm?”
You pouted, but nodded, him kissing the top of your head before leaving the shared apartment you both lived in.
Letting out a sigh of content, you got a gmail notification, the ding! being heard from the table. Grabbing it from the surface, your eyes popped open at the text.
It was from your gmail, a robot animated message from tumblr, celebrating your six year anniversary since you’ve first posted on it. You had forgotten all about it. Clicking on the link, you were brought back to your old account, followers wondering where you had been and why you disappeared.
Reading your old works, biting on your thumbnail, you found to crazy that you were now with the person you used to write about. And you just say—the real thing was way better.
You didn’t notice how long you had been going through your works, not hearing the front door slamming shut, flinching when a pair of lips pressed against your neck, “Hey baby—what you reading?”
“Nothing—Dominic!”
He pulled the phone from your hands, a smile on his lips at first, not expecting for what he was about to get himself into. You felt like you were going to cry, hand flying to your mouth, as his brows furrowed as he scrolled downwards. His eyes flew to yours as you stared at him, horrified, hoping he didn’t break up with you and kick you out of the place.
It was embarrassing. You wanted to die.
He blinked, processing most likely, before his voice rasped, “Did you…write this?”
It was like word vomit. It kept spilling out and getting more worse.
“It was before I met you, and I forget about it—but when we met, I remembered and that’s why I was so cold, and I got this stupid text from tumblr that was celebrating my anniversary, and you weren’t supposed to—“
“Y/N,” he cut you off, placing the phone onto the table, “It’s okay. I don’t—think differently of you. It’s just…a little weird, not gonna lie.”
Twisting your mouth to the side, you nodded, “I know. If you want to break up with me—“
“Of course I don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head. But his eyes did flicker, “I just—didn’t expect it. It’s so….graphic.”
You gulped, “Do you think I’m a creep?”
He paused, his jaw tightening, and it sent you off. Standing up onto your feet, which padded against the wooden floor, you let out a cry, “Oh my god, you do!”
“Wait—Y/N..”
Slamming the door to the bathroom shut, tears rolled down your cheeks, covering a hand over your mouth as you quietly sobbed. Dom kept knocking on the door, repeating your name, and asked you to open the door. But you didn’t, hugging your knees, as you felt like your boyfriend didn’t love you anymore. I mean, could you blame him?
He must’ve thought you were such a pervert.
You regretted writing that stupid blog. You regretted even meeting him, because you had fallen so hard for him, and now he was going to leave you. It was all your fault; and you had no one to blame but yourself.
Time went by, and your boyfriend returned, knocking on the door once again, “Y/N—open the door, please.”
Sniffling, you had no choice but to do what he said, bracing yourself for him breaking up with you. He was a kind person, so he would do his best to do it gently, which hurt even more. Wiping at your eyes, you took a deep breath, and swung open the door.
One of his hands leaning above the door frame, his eyes rounded, brows raising; not expecting for you to finally open it. You stared at him with pink cheeks and nose, eyes puffy from crying, as you hugged yourself.
Your chest hurt as he looked at you, worry glossing over his eyes, “Are you okay?”
You shook your head.
“No, but I’ll pack my things. I understand—“
He took a step forward, knitting his brows, “I’m not breaking up with you. Some silly blog that you wrote when you were a kid doesn’t erase the two years we’ve had together,” he told you, pinching your chin with a small smile, “I mean, yeah, it’s a bit odd—but we don’t ever have to bring it up again. I’ll act like it never existed.”
You wiped your nose, sniffling, “I don’t know..”
His hand flew to your jaw, making you look up at him, and the sincerity in his eyes. He rubbed his jaw on the outline of your cheekbone, “I promise I don’t care. I really don’t. I love you.”
You nodded, still looking ashamed, and he tapped your cheek,
“What? You don’t love me anymore?” He teased, smirking down at you.
You laughed softly, him pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around your figure as you smelled his warm scent against your cheek. Fluttering your eyes shut, his fingers rubbed your scalp, still doubting yourself as you sighed against him.
“I love you too.”
A few weeks went by, and the incident wasn’t on your mind as much, doing your best to push it away from your mind. Dom’s like felt heavy in yours as he rubbed your cheekbone, the limo driver focusing on the road, as his fingertips trailed down to the waistband of your dress.
You had just attended an event together, and were on your way back home, and didn’t expect for things to take such a turn. You gasped into the kiss when his nimble fingers delved beneath the fabric of your underwear, his other hand moving to your thigh, as you felt him smirk against you, “Gotta be quiet, okay?”
Adrenaline shot through you as his thumb began to circle your clit, letting out a soft moan which he swallowed; your wetness sticky against his skin, “So fucking wet,” he muttered, sinking a finger into your pulsing heat, “You’re such a fucking slut for daddy, aren’t you? Getting finger fucked in the back of the car where anyone can see.”
Your lust duplicated as your hips rose to meet the thrusts of his fingers, cool medal ring burning the inside of your walls. Hand flying to his wrist, other one on his shoulder, you panted in his ear as he moved to suck the flesh of your neck, “Feels—so good. Holy shit, Dom.”
“Hm, does it?” He purred, adding a second finger, embarking a hiss from you as he quickened his pace.
You nodded, spreading your thighs further apart, pulling away to glance at the driver; who must’ve known what was going on. There’s no way he didn’t, not with how loud your heavy pants were or the slightly slick sounds of your pussy.
Dom didn’t like that your attention wasn’t on him, growling, “Look at me,” while his fingers gripped your chin, the other sliding in and out of your slit while your eyes hooded in pleasure. His thumb quickened its circles on your pearl, his teeth gritting as he forced you to look into his eyes, “Don’t look at him. He’s not making you cum, is he? It’s me. So fucking cream my fingers for me.”
Your lips fell open as your brows furrowed, the knot in your belly growing as his hot breath fanned your lips, “I’m gonna—“
“Then do it,” he snapped, making your eyes round before letting go all over his hand, “Good fucking girl. There we go.”
Your fist balled up the fabric of his button up, figure shuddering as his fingers slid from your soaking folds, rubbing your swollen nub as your orgasm shot through you. Sucking in a harsh breath, you bit your bottom lip, almost drawing blood as you tried your best to remain silent. Dissolving into pleasure, he didn’t break eye contact, watching with a faint smug smirk as you released onto him.
When you were coming down, the car parked in the familiar driveway of you apartment, the driver announcing your were home.
“Thanks, bro,” Dom called out, sucking on his fingers, before sending you a wink and hopping out the car.
Your legs shook as you followed after him.
You were pretty sure that was the hardest you ever came in your entire life.
Scrolling through your phone, you heard the door to Dom’s dressing room slam shut—causing your eyes to flicker up into his stormy ones. Your brows rose as his drew together, like bruised and swollen from probably biting on them; something he did when he was stressed. You sat up in your seat as he stalked over to you, veins protruding from his neck, as he cursed harshly, “I can’t hit the fucking notes. El keeps getting on my ass about it.”
You sympathized for him, standing up and walking over to him, “Hey, you got this,” you mumbled, hand falling on his shoulder,
“You have a show in twenty min—“
His hand flew to your wrist, pupils turning darker, his tone bitter, “You think I don’t know that? Hence why I’m fucking pissed,” he spat, shoving you against the wall. Your eyes rounded as he ripped the tank top you had on into two, breasts spilling out, hands flying to cup them before smashing his lips against yours, “I’m gonna take it out on you, and you’re going to fucking take it.”
Well—you weren’t one to deny that.
His fingers flew to the zipper of your shorts, leading you to kick them down your legs, his teeth clashing against yours as your chest pressed against his, “Suck my cock,” he ordered, and you dropped to your knees, looking up at him with big eyes. His eyes narrowed, “Is it gonna take itself out or what? Hurry the fuck up.”
Your heat clenched at his words, mean words, thighs pressing together as you got to work. Small hands flying to his zipper, the sound of it being opened ringing in the room, along with his heavy pants as he watched you intently with a cold look. Gulping, you spotted the hard dent in his boxers, mouth watering as you pulled those down as well.
His cock sprang upwards, head leaking with his cum pre-cum and beet red; his hand flying to wrap his long fingers around his shaft, “Stick out your tongue,” he barked, and when you did, he smirked lazily before tapping the tip onto your pink muscle, “Such a fucking cockslut f’me. Just a toy for me to fuck when I want, isn’t that right?”
You were about to respond, hazy in lust, but he slid his cock inside your mouth before rocking his hips. His hand made a makeshift ponytail with your hair, his chest sinking and rising quickly as he used your wet, warm mouth to get himself off, “God—so fucking tight. Feels so good—s-shit.”
His salty and tangy taste coated your tongue, thick shaft filling your throat as you gagged around it. Your eyes burned as they watered, making him snicker.
Your other hand began to pump his length, thinking he wanted to cum, but he pulled out with a pop—before bending down onto his knees and shooting his hand to your throat. Your eyes bulged as he guided you back to your feet, a furious look covering his features as his nostrils flared.
“Did I say you could do that, you fucking whore?” He spat in your face, and when you shook your head, his eyes turned darker, “Use your words.”
“No,” you whimpered, “No, daddy.”
He huffed, before ripping off your panties, hearing them tear as you cringed at the sound. This was so fucking hot. He rubbed his cock against your throbbing clit, looking into your eyes as he released his joke from your throat, “You want Daddy to fuck you, Y/N?”
You nodded, eyes brimmed with tears, as you almost sobbed, “Yes—please. I need Daddy’s cock in me!”
“Fuck,” he mumbled, his head sinking into your awaiting pussy, a long moan falling from your lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist, lifting yourself up and down as he fucked you at a harsh pace, “That’s right. Bounce on Daddy’s cock and make yourself cum.”
His manager banged on the door, “Dominic—you’re on in ten! Open up.”
He slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling your cries, as he tried his best to keep an even voice.
“I’ll be there, I’m busy right now.”
You heard her sigh, “Doing what?”
Panic filled your eyes, worried that she was going to hear you cum, or walk in on the two of you—but your boyfriend didn’t seem to really care, continuing his thrusts as he fucked into you, eyes glued to your worried ones.
“For fucks sake,” he shouted, rolling his eyes before delivering a harsh thrust, “I’m fucking busy. I’ll be there in a second.”
“Whatever.”
The sound of footsteps receded.
Your bottom lip quivered as his big cock kept poking at your cervix, arms wrapping around his neck as his pace was relentless. Your tits jiggled as he didn’t even bother to take off his hoodie, his scent flying up your nose, as you let out scream after scream as he took you against the wall.
“I’m gonna cum,” you wailed, head tipping back against the wall, “Daddy, I’m gonna—“
His hand returned to your throat, blocking your airways, “You gonna cum? Can you cum without breathing?” He taunted, making your brows furrow, before he pinched two fingers over your nostrils. Your eyes doubled in size as he chuckled wickedly, his pelvic bone rubbing against your clit, “Go ahead. Let’s see.”
You gasped as the lack of oxygen began to turn painful, which set you over the edge, clawing at his back as you tried to escape his grasp. The hot heat that overtook you was so fucking strong, you couldn’t handle it, not being able to breathe as you came hard.
He finally let go, which heightened your orgasm, leading you to black out from the intensity of it. The last thing you remembered was his thrusts stuttering, probably about to cum, and then everything faded.
Eyes jolting open, you woke up to Dom fully dressed again, towering over your slumped figure on the couch. His eyes were wide with worry, hand rubbing your cheek, as his face was significantly paler than usual.
“I went too far,” he apologized, his voice cracking, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You passed out because I choked you—“
Your brows furrowed, shaking your head, “No I didn’t. It was because it felt—so good,” you muttered, blinking up at him with hooded eyes and a tired smile, “That was the best sex I’ve ever had, Dom.”
His eyes still skeptical, his face flickered, “Are you sure—“
“I promise,” you assured, pulling his face down to kiss his sweet lips, “You can be rough with me. I won’t break, baby.”
He sighed in relief as you pulled away, pecking your forehead, “Whatever you want. As long as you’re comfortable,” he mumbled, “I gotta go. See you after?”
You nodded, “I’ll be here.”
Sitting on your chair, you were live on Instagram from Dom’s phone, since he had asked you to entertain his followers while he went to retrieve something. Reading the comments with a small smile, you thanked some which called you pretty, while others were asking if Dom was going to be releasing anymore albums this year.
But when you spotted your boyfriend under the desk, not noticing he was there when you first came to sit, a scream left your lips as he poked his curls between your thighs, “Holy shit!”
He chuckled quietly, holding a finger to his lips, before spreading them. You watched with furrowed brows before eyes rounding, him pulling aside your panties, feeling his warm muscle lick a stripe up your slit while looking up at you with those puppy dog eyes of his.
There was no way he was doing this right now. What the fuck.
Looking up at the comments, you tried to appear non-chalant, apologizing for your outburst and saying there was a random bug that had flown in from the window.
Biting down on your finger, sniffling a moan, your eyes squinted from pleasure; pretending to read the comments as your boyfriend fucked you with his tongue below the desk.
He shoved two fingers inside your pussy, before pumping them in and out quickly, wrapping his thick lips around your pulsating clit and sucking harshly. You worried they could hear him slurping crudely, hold jolting, as you tried your best to remain stone faced, “I do love dogs, actually. More—More than dog—cats.”
You felt your boyfriend snicker against your clit at the mistake, which vibrated against your core, making you shiver as the pleasure began to take over your mind. Your fingers tugged at his strands, trying to lift him away from you, but his mouth stuck to your pussy like glue as he tried to pull an orgasm from you.
Beginning to panic, feeling yourself teeter over the edge, your hands flew to the phone that was propped against a candle, “One sec guys, I’m gonna change,” you announced before muting yourself, and turning off the camera, and fell back onto the chair. Your feet planted onto his shoulders as your eyes crossed, “Fuck fuck fuck—I’m cumming!”
He hummed, as your pussy squirted into his mouth, your high washing over you. You threw your head back as you rolled your hips onto him, before slowly coming back down, watching as he wiped his mouth before standing up onto his feet once again.
You panted, looking up at him, “What has gotten into you, Dom? You’re doing all this risky, crazy shit.”
He smirked, sparkles dancing in his eyes, as he snickered.
“You know that blog you had?”
Your face dropped, realization hitting you. He was recreating the fics you wrote.
Laughing at the mortified look on your face, he threw his head back, “Thought you’d never catch on.”
Well—you weren’t expecting that.
taglist ☻ @visiondaddy @vintagebitc @withlovealwaysxx @ncllywrites @din0-plan3 @alinycarey @spencerreidsm0mmy @demiesexual @sublimecatgalaxy @ruesrealwife @alascaxq @elliotsslut @icedcold @theliterarybeldam @write-from-the-heart @spliffprincess69 @janieisamarauder @glizzymcguirex @loversjoy
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