#little man got a damn drone
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Where is she going
#crab#beautiful#angelic#crustaceans#i mean holy fuck look at them go#little man got a damn drone#love this little guy
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Our Song and Dance¹
Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader
Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end.
Warnings: super-duper-duper long, exploitation of minors, forced prostitution, unrequited love, complicated relationships, violence, death, mental health issues, canadian spelling lol, and i make up some names (lmk if i missed smth)
Words: 19.7K
Masterlist | Part 2
a/n: i alr have this finished, but it was way too long to post in one part (as you can see) so i split it up into three parts. this one goes from pre-hunger games to right before the quell. had this idea in my head as soon as i finished thg, so i hope u enjoy!
Y/N Y/L/N, victor of the 67th Hunger Games. You were from district 4, one of the youngest victors that not only your district has ever had, but also all of Panem. Of course, you weren’t the youngest; that title belonged to none other than Finnick Odair.
A man you hated with a passion and, frankly, a man who didn’t like you very much either.
You could still remember the night you met.
Snow was droning on and on, giving a speech about something you couldn’t care less about. It was all lies, anyway, and you were only gonna end up in some rich man’s bed tonight, so you’d prefer to go through that interaction as drunk as you could be. With that thought, you downed the rest of your flute.
“Ah, careful, Princess.” Before you even saw the person, you knew it was him. His voice was so easily recognizable, even though you had never met, not even after living in the same district, then the Victors’ Village, or even at these little Capitol parties.
Finnick.
You turned, a faux smile on your face that he fully reciprocated. “Snow wouldn’t want the Capitol’s pride and joy to be under the influence,” he said, teasing but with an undertone that put you off.
You didn’t give a damn what Snow thought, but you weren’t gonna say that, especially not in his own home. Instead, you gave him the smile you gave the rest of Panem and directed the topic of conversation away from the President. “I won my Games, Finnick. Trust me, I’m not a lightweight.” Oh, but you wish you were. You wish you could get so drunk that you’d forget who you were entirely.
A part of you felt bad: twenty-three other people died while you walked out of the arena, and yet you wanted nothing more than for your life to end. A part of you wondered if the great Finnick Odair ever felt this way, either, but it wouldn’t be good small talk to ask.
Finnick’s grin only widened. “Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”
Your eyes just so imperceptibly narrowed. “Likewise.”
He started to walk away, but he suddenly paused like he forgot something, leaning closer to you. Your breath got caught in your throat when you felt his on your neck. Your eyes locked, and all of a sudden, you wondered how it was possible that you never noticed how beautiful his eyes were.
“May the odds be ever in your favour, darling,” he whispered, and then he walked away without giving you another glance.
That night, Finnick didn’t leave your mind. It wasn’t until there was a resident of the Capitol lying on top of you that you stopped thinking about him. When you were in that position, you stopped thinking about everything, really.
When you walked out of your hotel room, done with your little job, Finnick was brought back to the forefront of your mind as your eyes met his. He looked like he was in the same state as you, also having been leaving a room. He looked surprised to see you.
You stared at him for a moment, but then you let yourself disappear down the hallway before he could say anything.
You knew what that meant; you knew it wasn’t his own room that he was leaving. When you got to your own room, you realized you were much more alike than you thought. You supposed that you couldn’t be surprised; Finnick was desirable, so of course Snow would put him up for sale.
You were in the exact same boat.
Since that night, you saw him in a different light.
You two didn’t talk when you got back home, no, but at your next Capitol event, you decided that you’d refuse to leave him alone, to leave someone who was going through the same thing as you to their own devices. That’s what you told yourself, but deep down, you just didn’t want to suffer in silence, either.
So you went and found him after a night with another Capitol pig. Standing outside, hands in his pockets, he looked so calm, but you saw a storm brewing in his eyes that only few could ever decipher.
You went and stood next to him, even though it was freezing cold out. He glanced over at you, and then his face became surprised, not surprise at you being there, but at you being there with him. Neither of you said anything; it was either that you were too afraid of a jabberjay overhearing or of yourselves. You just stood there in a comfortable silence.
You’d learn that, with Finnick, sometimes doing nothing could mean everything.
The two of you went on to do this every time you were there until, slowly, you graduated from just silence to holding each other. Oh, Finnick Odair was a cocky asshole, but when you were in the Capitol, he wasn’t him and you weren’t you. You were just two people that needed comfort, and that was enough.
You still didn’t talk, though, and when you were at home, you didn’t communicate at all. That was why you were surprised when you answered your door to see him standing on the other side.
Finnick went back to being Finnick, striding into your home without so much as an invitation. This caused you to roll your eyes, but they suddenly widened at his words. “Caesar Flickerman is on TV, saying that we’re dating.”
If you were drinking something, you would’ve spit it out. “What?” An incredulous look was painted onto your face.
Finnick, on the other hand, was a little more stoic, not exactly the charmer he was on television or in Capitol balls, but you could easily guess why—and if you hadn’t, then he was gonna tell you, anyways. “You know what this means.” He looked you in the eye, jaw clenched. “Two of Snow’s best—the Prince and Princess of Panem—dating? It’s the last thing he wants.”
“Finnick-”
“No, he won’t be able to sell us if we’re together, and if he can’t sell us, then he’ll start killing the people we love.” This was the first time either of you were even acknowledging the situation you were in.
You felt stung for some reason, even though you didn’t love Finnick—and he didn’t love you. But, deep down, no matter how much you tried to repress it, you knew there was something between you, so hearing him speak to you this way, like you were just nothing, hurt.
However, you got over your feelings quickly, the same way you always had. You moved your thoughts away from your heart and started thinking with your head. You were quiet for a second until you let out a soft gasp, like a light bulb went off in your head.
This time, you made eye contact with Finnick effortlessly. “What if this is exactly what we need?” You asked, a glint in your eye that he hadn’t seen before.
The blond scoffed. “I don’t see how our families dying is exactly what we need, Y/N.”
“No- no, Finnick, you already said it.” You grabbed onto his shoulders. “The Capitol- hell, everyone already thinks we’re the Prince and Princess of Panem. If we give them what they want, then- then we’d be unstoppable.” You paused to let him weigh in, but he only stared heavily at you, not a trace of what he was thinking on display, so you continued, “Snow and all of those Capitol motherfuckers will eat this shit up, Finnick. And then we’ll be free.”
You were trying not to show any emotion, either, but you couldn’t help it. At the mere thought of freedom, something you never thought was possible, you felt so many different things at once. While you were holding your feelings on your sleeve, Finnick was less easy to read.
But, in seconds, you knew exactly how he felt.
“We will never be free, Y/N.”
He walked out after that, leaving you alone in your living room. He’d never know it, but you stayed in that same spot for three hours, staring at where he once stood. His words had awakened something in you, the part of yourself that’d been thrown into the Hunger Games at only fifteen-years-old.
At the time, you thought you were going to die. You were hopeless, but after you won, you realized there was hope after all. You could still make it. Even as Snow allowed your body to be violated, your mind to deteriorate, you still had hope. But Finnick’s words brought back that frightened little girl in you that you thought died.
You’d later realize just how lucky you were that he buried her again. He came back and told you that he’d do it, and as easily as he brought that little girl back to life, he drowned her.
It wasn’t easy at first, pretending to be in love. You didn’t know the first thing about it, but Finnick helped you as if he’d been doing it all his life.
“C’mon, Y/N, it’s gonna be fine-”
“No, it’s not gonna be fine. Caesar’s gonna call us out immediately- and if he doesn’t, then Snow will-”
“Y/N.” Finnick cut off your nervous ramblings with a stern calling of your name. Even him saying your name was still weird to you. You weren’t used to so much conversation with the victor, but now you were gonna have to pretend to love him. “We’re gonna be fine.”
You weren’t convinced, and he saw that with the twitching of your fingers. You knew Finnick was a great actor, and normally you were, too, but this situation was unlike any other that you’d ever been in. It was foreign territory for you.
“Look,” he grabbed onto your hand, “whenever you get nervous up there, you just hold my hand, alright? You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.”
If you didn’t know any better, you’d say your heart skipped a beat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d even say you felt a spark when his skin met yours.
For a second, you pretended that you weren’t pretending. You pretended that you were holding hands because you were two kids in love, not because you had to survive. You pretended you were never in The Games, that you never killed so ruthlessly just to live without truly living. You pretended that you weren’t you, and Finnick wasn’t Finnick, and you were holding hands just because, not because you were about to go on TV and lie.
But that second ended far too quickly as you pulled your hand out of his grasp, nodding. “Okay,” you took a deep breath, repeating his words to yourself, “we’re gonna be okay.”
“Of course, we are. Now tell me again how we met.”
When the time came for the actual interview, you never let Finnick’s hand go.
The experience became more familiar to you as you went on. It was the same as any other show you’d put on for the Capitol. When you were younger, you dreamed of being a storyteller.
Now, you told stories of a life of yours that’d never existed.
Finnick and you were thrusted into the public eye, reciting the same stories day after day. It almost felt like it was actually real, and sometimes, you wished it was.
He’d look at you with a look of love in his eyes in front of all of the cameras, touching you tenderly. Oh, he was a wonderful liar. He even made you believe it for a second, too. But you knew that no such thing would ever happen.
Finnick Odair would never fall for a girl like you. Even if you were slowly falling for him.
During nights alone, you’d marvel at the turn of events. Finnick was once a man that you hated, but now look at you. You didn’t even know if you were faking it anymore. But it is fake, you’d remind yourself. He doesn’t love you, and you won’t love him.
You weren’t gonna let yourself love him. Truth be told, you were never gonna let yourself love anybody in the first place. Loving someone only made a new liability, a new weakness for the Capitol to exploit, but you could not love Finnick.
You’d been through a lot; your heart had taken many blows and survived, but you knew loving Finnick would only one day break it into a million little pieces. Still, it’s not like he made it easy.
You were lying in your bed- your shared bed with Finnick. Since announcing that you were dating, you moved in with him. You both decided it’d be easier to hide it all that way, easier for the public to believe, too. Sharing a bed was his idea—“just in case,” he’d said.
You wanted to object, but what would you even tell him? That you were afraid of falling in love with him? You would never even put the mere idea into his head. So you went along with it.
It was funny, though: you never went to bed alone, but that’s still how it felt. Being next to him, under the covers… it didn’t make you as warm as you hoped it would.
He didn’t live with anyone else. From what you gathered, Mags, your shared mentor, was his only family. His parents died of sickness early on; Mags took him in and kept him alive, all the way up until he was sent to The Games. Finnick didn’t get sappy with you often, but you knew that he couldn’t lose her.
What he was doing for Snow, he was doing for Mags. You thought Mags was the only person he cared about, but you learned that this wasn’t true. There was one other person who he was close to, who he’d do anything to keep safe. That person was Annie Cresta.
You met her once. She was beautiful and sweet, so you understood immediately why Finnick was in love with her. He never talked to you about her, but you could tell just from how he looked at her that she was the light of his life, even if she herself wasn’t aware of that.
Annie was good, the perfect girl for Finnick. She didn’t come with all the baggage you had, she wasn’t as rude, and she always knew what to say. You would’ve wanted them together, too, if it weren’t for the fact that Finnick was becoming your Annie. He was becoming your person, and so it killed you to know that not only was he in love with another girl, but he was also unhappy.
He’d never be happy with you. While you wished you could spare him the torment and just let him be with her, you had people you cared about, too, and he was now also on that list. So your job was to keep you all alive, not happy.
The door to your bedroom opened, interrupting your train of thought. You faced away from the entrance, but you knew it was Finnick. He had perfected soundless footsteps, even though you weren’t in an arena anymore. But you supposed you were still fighting for your lives, anyway.
He climbed into bed, letting out a big exhale when his back hit the mattress. You didn’t greet him, nor did he greet you, even though he knew you were awake. You’d gone through this whole song and dance already. You had to pretend in front of the cameras; you weren’t gonna do that in here, too.
The two of you were silent. This wasn’t a silence like before when you stood together in the Capitol after those horrible nights. This was a silence that was suffocating.
Things were never the same after you decided to go through with this charade. Maybe you were almost friends before, but now you were allies at most, just there to help the other survive. Oh, you wished you could be friends, but life was never so kind.
As if he could hear you begging for companionship, he whispered, “Y/N?”
Your breath hitched. “Yes?”
There was a beat of silence before his response. You wondered what his face looked like, but you wouldn’t dare turn around. “Can we- can we just be together tonight?”
Out of all the things he could’ve said, that didn’t even make your list. You sharply inhaled. Finnick didn’t sound like Finnick at all. He sounded small, and vulnerable, and scared, all states that he’d never let you see him in. But he was.
“What do you mean?” You didn’t turn around. “We are together.”
So unlike Finnick, he stammered, “No, I mean- can I- I want to hold you.”
If this were the dance you compared it to in your head, then you’d be stumbling over your own feet. He’d never asked about anything like that before. In fact, Finnick never even seemed to like you or this predicament much. Sure, you interested him, and maybe you were friends, but you knew that if he could’ve pick anyone else to dance this dance with, he would’ve.
You wondered what brought him to this point. Maybe it had something to do with Annie, but at that moment, you couldn’t bother thinking about it. He’d never know it, but you could never say no to him.
So you turned around and let him wrap his arm around you. But little did he know, you obliged not just to comfort him, but also yourself.
You’d fall asleep in Finnick’s arms every night after that.
You’d always been so independent, so alone, that you forgot what it felt like to lean on someone, even if it was just for a little while in the dead of night. But when Finnick held you, sleep came easier and nightmares came less.
He had no idea that he became your knight in shining armour; he never meant to, but he did. Soon after you started “dating,” Snow left you alone. You still attended Capitol parties, still mentored kids every year, but you no longer found yourself in bed with members of Snow’s cabinet, and neither did Finnick.
It was easier once it stopped, but you still had to grapple with the pain of what had already happened to you; all of this didn’t even take into account The Games. Sure, you were done, but you still had to come back once a year and prepare a kid to kill or be killed. Nothing dredged up old memories like that did.
Doing it with him was what got you through it. When you lost a kid, Finnick was there to hold you and reassure you and himself that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have done much more to stop it. At times like those especially, you had to reel yourself in and remind yourself that, yes, he cared for you, but he wasn’t in love with you.
There were times that every bone in your body told you the exact opposite, that Finnick’s actions told you the exact opposite. Sometimes, he’d kiss you for the cameras and made you fall for it, too.
God, you were a team, such a great team. Would it be so horrible of you to assume you could be more?
You’d later realize that, yes, it was.
Because at the reaping for the 70th Hunger Games, Annie Cresta’s name was called and your little fantasy of a relationship with Finnick was shattered to pieces.
His usually calm demeanour was broken as he ran toward her as soon as you both got on the train, engulfing her in a hug and soothing her while she sobbed. You just watched from the sidelines, a frown on your face. You wished you were frowning because your dear friend Annie was just chosen to be in a fight to the death, but you were frowning because Finnick had never hugged you like that.
There were no cameras here; this wasn’t for show. He never looked at you like that when there weren’t any cameras around.
You felt like you were intruding on a private moment, even though you were just standing there, even though you were supposed to be his girlfriend, not Annie. A girlfriend would’ve probably cleared her throat, interrupted the interaction, but you couldn’t find the courage to do that.
Instead, you waited for the moment to end and walked over to her yourself when Finnick stepped away, giving her a tight hug as if she hadn’t just brought you to the brink of tears. But that didn’t matter. Annie could possibly die, so your little feelings for Finnick were pretty insignificant at the moment.
You tossed those very feelings to the side, directing all your attention to preparing your tribute. Finnick was trying to explain everything, but he was too worried, so you took over for him, pushing forth all your efforts while he focused on the boy that’d been reaped from your district.
You always tried your best with the tributes, always, but this wasn’t just any tribute. This was Annie Cresta, your friend and the love of Finnick’s life. You needed her to make it out of this alive—Finnick wouldn’t survive without her.
You gave her every piece of advice you could think of during that trip, digging through your memory for things you might’ve even forgotten. You wished you could help the boy in the same way, but there could only be one victor in these Games, and it had to be her.
Remember that these are games, Annie. Don’t worry about the killing once you’re in the arena; you need to treat it like a game, like the other tributes are just pieces that need to be knocked off the board, you told her. You hated every word that came out of your mouth, but she needed to hear it. She needed to overcome the shock now so she didn’t get choked up during the actual Games like you did.
When the time finally came for you to send the tributes off into the arena, you hugged yourself, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. You imagined that it was Finnick’s arms that were around you, but you weren’t gonna ask him to comfort you. He was the one that needed comforting, but you knew he wouldn’t accept it, so you didn’t offer.
Instead, you worked your ass off to get Annie sponsors, to get people to like her as if they didn’t already. You didn’t sleep for days, and neither did Finnick until he accidentally fell asleep for a few hours one day.
You both watched as she took the tips you’d given her, using them in her own way. She was small, but she was smart and she picked up on how to play the game quickly.
Only when the last tribute was dead did a sigh of relief finally leave you. Your shoulders slumped as you sat in front of the TV. Finnick’s muttering fell upon deaf ears as static filled your brain. She made it, you thought. She’s okay.
But that didn’t make life any more okay.
After all, nobody ever really won The Games.
“Annie- Annie, it’s alright-”
“No, it’s not!” You heard something break, like it had thrown it to the ground. When you walked further into your house, your guess was proven right. Finnick and Annie stood in your living room, the former worried and the latter frantic, pieces of a broken vase all over the ground.
“Nothing is okay, Finn! Nothing! Do you hear me- nothing is okay!” The redhead was pacing around with your so called boyfriend trying to stop and calm her down. They were both so panicked that neither of them noticed you, and you didn’t announce your presence, either.
You only stood from the side, just like on that Capitol train. The Annie that went into that arena was innocent. She was eighteen, but she was still more of a child than either of you ever got the chance to be. Now that she won, she didn’t look so innocent anymore.
She wore a look that was so familiar to you. She was alive, but Annie had never looked more like a ghost of herself.
“Annie, please-” Finnick’s voice cracked mid-sentence. He kept trying to get close to her, but she moved away every time. The tears in his eyes made yours watery, too. You had never seen him look so broken, not even as you stood in the Capitol together those cold nights after being used.
If you weren’t sure of how much Finnick loved Annie, you were now.
“No, no, nothing is okay!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. She suddenly stopped, letting out a sob before collapsing onto the ground. Finnick ran to her right away, pulling her close and rocking her as she repeated the same thing over and over.
You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until you felt the tear falling onto your cheek, wiping at it immediately and turning around to walk away as quietly as you possibly could. You weren’t gonna just stand by and do nothing while Annie fell apart and Finnick cut himself trying to put the pieces back together. You couldn’t.
You found yourself in the kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove to distract yourself. Your eyes zeroed in on it as you tried to block out the sound of Annie’s crying, trying not to cry yourself. At one point, you succeeded, because you couldn’t hear anything anymore.
You don’t know how long you stood there, but you were eventually broken out of your trance by a hand reaching out in front of you to turn off the stove, moving the kettle. It was only now that you realized how loudly it was whistling.
You turned to see the hand belonged to Finnick who now poured the hot water into your expensive tea cups. They were a gift given to you by a patron of the Capitol, an old man with kids and a wife. He was somewhat of a regular of yours, and so he gave you that tea set to try and make himself feel better for what he was doing, along with many other gifts.
You never told Finnick any of this. You wondered if he would so readily pull them out if he knew where they came from.
He wordlessly put the tea bags into the cups, sliding one over on the island to where you stood. Then he brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip of the scalding liquid like it was nothing. You ignored your disbelief and the rational part of your brain, picking the cup to do the same thing.
When the tea met your tongue, it burned, even as it went down your throat, but you still went back in for a second sip, anyway. This pain was able to distract you from all the thoughts bouncing around in your head, and so that made it feel like it was worth it. You wondered if this was Finnick’s logic, too.
You didn’t say anything for a long while, didn’t ask about Annie or where she went. You knew he must’ve known that you heard what happened, but he didn’t mention it, either. You assumed that she fell asleep.
You wished you could fall asleep so easily, too.
Your song kept playing as you both danced around the same topics, standing together silently as your world crumbled. You danced, and danced, and danced, until your tea cups were empty, but the song was still playing.
Finnick’s voice cut through the silence of your music effortlessly, even though he was still so quiet.
“Sometimes, I think she would’ve been better off if she died.” You slowly brought your head up to meet his eyes, but they were aimed at the cup in his hand. He looked nothing like the Prince of Panem, the charming man who always had something witty to say. No, he looked beaten down, just as lifeless as Annie. Maybe you looked as lifeless as you felt, too; maybe you were all so unaware of how broken you seemed.
You didn’t know what to say to his confession. So you didn’t say anything at all.
You’d never know where that conversation would’ve went, because in seconds, Finnick collected your cups, put them in the sink, and then he left you standing there.
His words from before echoed through your head. We will never be free, Y/N.
And maybe he was right.
Annie was back home, but she never really came back from that arena—none of you did. Hell, you were thrusted into a life you never wanted, a victor’s life, as soon as you were out. You thanked God that Annie wasn’t gonna have to go through what you did; the way she was spinning out made her undesirable. At least a good thing came out of her losing it.
Oh, you were starting to find a silver-lining with everything. You had to—otherwise, you’d lose it, just like Annie. You had to find some sort of good in this situation because, otherwise, what was the point?
Time supposedly healed all wounds, but you felt like you were still bleeding. You just learned to conceal it better than others.
Before The Games, you had friends. Now you really only talked to Finnick, and you two didn’t talk much, either. Every now and then, you’d see Annie and Mags, but they weren’t your people. And your family… well, how close could you be with them after what happened? You weren’t the same girl your mother raised.
She could barely even look at you anymore.
But you couldn’t think about any of this. If you did, you’d fall apart, and you couldn’t do that. You had a role to play, an image to protect—for your safety, for your family’s safety, for his safety.
You couldn’t afford to break down like that in your living room and throw things. You wanted to, so badly, but you didn’t have that luxury.
So your song kept playing, and you danced along with it.
Finnick’s walls went back up, too. His charisma was like a light bulb that briefly flickered, but it was back now. He was dancing, too. But, without even realizing it, you both held each other tighter at night, as if you were trying not to lose the other to the tornado that was your life.
However, when you woke up, you both pretended the tornado didn’t even exist.
Annie wasn’t one for pretending. Oh, she got wrapped up into the tornado the second she was declared a victor and there was no saving her anymore. Yes, she would’ve been better off dead, maybe you all would’ve been, but if you thought about this for too long, if you let the song stop, then you’d get caught in the cyclone, too.
You pretended for a year, attending Capitol galas with a smile on your face, getting interviewed right next to Finnick with his hand in yours, acting like you were the picture perfect couple. He spoke about you like he knew you like the back of his hand, but truth be told, he didn’t know you at all; he barely ever tried to. You didn’t blame him, though; it was hard to try to talk to someone when the music was so loud.
Then came the 71st Hunger Games, and you were mentors again. Meeting the tributes, it was almost like the music stopped- almost. The girl was quiet but angry, and she reminded you so much of yourself. The boy kept cracking jokes that she didn’t laugh at, jokes that were probably inappropriate for a time like this, but you knew he wasn’t doing it to be an ass. This was his way of coping.
He reminded you of Finnick.
Looking at these kids was like looking into a mirror. On the last day of training, he finally got a reaction out of her, made her smile with a faint blush on her cheeks. Oh, these kids should’ve been laughing together in the diner back home, not on their way to die.
They were too young and too innocent. It makes you wonder if things would’ve been different if you and Finnick had met before The Games. Would that have made soothed the heartbreak?
You didn’t know. But when you saw that boy crying as he held her in that arena, blood pouring onto him from her stab-wound, you knew that heartbreak was what he felt.
Too young. They were too young.
The boy died too. He didn’t even put up a fight.
These kids were just kids, and they died young.
Just like you and Finnick did.
You sat in your room at the Capitol, swirling your scotch around in your glass. It was a crystal glass so beautiful you knew it could’ve only been crafted by hand, but you didn’t want to admire it; you wanted to throw it at the wall.
Their names were Delta and Aalto. Aalto was the more talkative one; he said he dreamed of opening his own bakery one day, right in the middle of the district with food that everyone could afford and enjoy.
He’d never get to do that now.
And Delta- she didn’t know what she wanted out of life yet. She never got the chance to figure it out.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.
The door to the room opened, making you look up from the liquor in your hand to see Finnick walking into the room. He looked defeated. Of course, he was better at hiding it than you were, but you knew how to read him better now, after all these years.
The bed dipped as he sat down next to you. You held your glass out, almost like a peace offering, and he took it without much thought, downing it in one go.
You sat there together the same way you had many times before, not saying a word. But this time felt different. It felt like there was something you were supposed to say. So you turned to look at Finnick, trying to see if he felt the same weight, only to see that he was already looking at you.
You could tell just by his eyes that he felt it, too. He opened his mouth, then closed it like he’d lost his train of thought. When you met him, you never thought you’d see the day when Finnick was speechless.
Look at how wrong you were.
You opened your mouth after a few seconds, wanting to articulate your feelings in some way, but Finnick’s lips slammed against yours before you get anything out. Without thinking, you kissed back; it felt like second-nature to you.
This wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but he had never kissed you like this, so passionately, not a camera in sight. He was kissing you like you were air and he’d been holding his breath for so long, like you were the treasure he’d been searching for and he didn’t want to let go.
It felt like nothing you’d ever experienced.
When you eventually pulled away for air and opened your eyes, you were brought back to the real world. There was something you were supposed to say. But you quickly disregarded it, pulling him back in for another kiss before he could notice the way you were looking at him.
Yes, there was something you were supposed to say. But you couldn’t put it into words.
So you hoped that this kiss said everything that you couldn’t.
You were both grieving, and you were both there. And you knew that Finnick didn’t like you like that, so you weren’t gonna get your hopes up. This meant nothing, even if it felt like everything for you when it was happening.
He was the only person you’d ever done anything like this with before. You did things with those people Snow set you up with, but that didn’t count. You were doing this because you wanted to. You didn’t know if this was his first time or not, but you weren’t gonna ask. You did everything but talk for the rest of the night.
When you woke up, it was still dark out and Finnick was still asleep. You stared at him for a few seconds, his fluffy blond hair that you messed up, his swollen lips. He looked so peaceful like this; you couldn’t bear to wake him up and ruin that, bring him back to this nightmare.
So you got up as quietly as you could, wrapping yourself in a robe and closing the door to the bedroom, walking into the living room. The rooms the Capitol provided the victors were beautiful, but never beautiful enough to make you forget about the ugly reason that you were here.
You sat on the couch, exhaling and leaning back. You were gonna sit there in silence, but your song kept playing, and the record was skipping, and you were starting to get a headache, so you turned on the TV.
Without having to change the channel at all, you were immediately met with the news, Caesar Flickerman’s face on the flat screen. It wasn’t long before you realized why he was so excited: the Hunger Games were over. Someone won.
Caesar’s attitude made your mood go sour. He was behaving like twenty-three children weren’t just killed. It didn’t matter if they died of starvation, dehydration, an animal, or actually another tribute—it was all murder, and the Capitol was the perpetrator. It disgusted you that there were people who found enjoyment in watching these Games, Caesar Flickerman included. They’d pretend to be sympathetic, but at the end of the day, you were all just circus animals to them.
The victor’s face came onto the TV, and you immediately recognized her from the rankings. Johanna Mason. Caesar kept talking, explaining how Johanna had managed to cause so many people to be enamoured of her, and you suddenly felt sick.
Snow was gonna jump at this opportunity. He was gonna use her, too.
You turned off the TV, going back to your room and getting back into bed like you’d never left. Your song came back on, and you went back to preferring to listen to it instead of your own thoughts. You weren’t gonna think about Johanna much longer; there wasn’t any point.
There was nothing you could do.
The next time you woke up and it was actually morning, you were surprised to see that Finnick was still there. While you were sleeping, he managed to snake his arms around you.
You didn’t get up, even though there were Capitol duties to attend to.
You stayed in bed and pretended that you were a normal couple, that maybe Finnick actually felt something for you, that you weren’t in the Capitol right now, that the world wasn’t so fucked up, that you weren’t so fucked up. But you didn’t pretend for long, eventually getting up and facing the world that you didn’t want to be apart of but had been sucked into.
He didn’t tell you this, but he was pretending, too.
You both went to the gatherings you had to go to, talked to the people you had to talk to, kept smiles on your faces, and shook Snow’s hand, even though it made you want to puke. You endured it all—you both did. The Prince and Princess of Panem…
You realized it was true what they said, heavy is the head that wears the crown. This figurative crown was weighing you down; you wondered if it’d be so coveted if people got the chance to feel how you felt.
Then you went back home, even if it didn’t really feel like a home to you. It was still all you had. But Finnick kept surprising you.
Your dance suddenly changed. The song was still playing, but the dance was different, almost like that night you’d spent together had actually meant something.
You started having dinner together every night. Before, you often forgot to eat, but now how could you? You were beginning to look forward to your daily dinners; there wasn’t much more to look forward to in the life you led.
He made it hard for you not to fall even more in love with him.
You two still didn’t talk during dinner, but it almost did feel normal, like you were a family- like you could be a family.
And then the dance changed again, and that dream felt even more real.
You pulled your chair out at your dinner table, sitting down across from Finnick. You were both dressed “down” in more comfortable clothes, but you knew there was some people in the district that still couldn’t afford them. That bothered you, but when you had dinner, most of your worries were pushed to the back of your mind.
When you two had dinner, you just enjoyed the dance.
You were a few minutes into dinner when you noticed that Finnick wasn’t eating but he was staring at you. He hadn’t stared at you like that since when you first met, so curiously, like you were a secret he wanted to be let in on.
You couldn’t ignore his stare, even if you tried. However, you tried to act nonchalant. “Is there something you want to say?” You quizzed, twirling another bite of pasta like you were unaffected by his gaze.
Finnick responded in the same beat, so much like the Finnick that was charismatic and lively, not the quiet one you normally lived with. “Something I want to ask you, actually.”
“Oh,” you said, immediately kicking yourself at how stupid you sounded. “Well, ask away.” He didn’t need to be told twice.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
You were caught off guard by his question, blinking like you were trying to figure out if you just imagined him saying him that or if he really did. He blinked back at you but never faltered.
“What?”
He repeated himself, slower this time. “What is your favourite colour?” You blinked again when you realized he was being totally serious. “You know, colours, like a rainbow-”
“I know what colours are, Finnick.”
“Ohhhh.” His eyes got big as if he thought you actually didn’t know what a rainbow was. “Sorry, you were just looking at me like I had said the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. So what’s your favourite colour?”
You couldn’t stop the corners of your lips going up as his grin just got wider. God, you hadn’t seen him smile like that in so long. It actually looked real.
You thought about it for a second, looking right into his eyes when you came up with an answer. “It’s blue, not really dark or light either. Sort of green- it’s close to grey, too.”
He looked at you for a few seconds before blurting, “Y/N, that sounds like the least vibrant shade of blue I’ve ever heard of.”
You laughed. “It’s vibrant to me!” He laughed, too, shaking his head like you were crazy. That shade of blue that you described was more vibrant than any other blue you’d ever seen. You could never tired of looking at it whenever you looked into Finnick’s eyes.
When the laughter died down, you asked him the same question. “Okay, now what’s your favourite colour?”
He shrugged. “Don’t have one.”
You scoffed, “Oh, come. on. You have to have a favourite colour; you can’t be that boring.”
“That boring? I’m not boring at all,” he argued, a look of faux offence on his face.
You snorted. “I beg to differ.”
“I can make you beg a lot more if you don’t take that back.” Your eyes immediately went wide and, against your will, a faint redness spread on your cheeks.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said, crossing his arms. He looked pleased at the reaction he got out of you. “Take it back.”
You scoffed again, but you weren’t sure if it was because of your stubbornness or because you wanted to see how far you could push him. “I’m not taking anything back.”
He just stared at you for a few seconds before flashing that famous smirk of his, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Really?”
You crossed your arms, too, nodding. “Mhm.”
He chuckled. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning.”
And then he spent the rest of the night showing you just how boring he wasn’t.
The day after, you didn’t wake up dejected but instead with a smile on your face. You didn’t get out of bed at all, staying in Finnick’s arms. You felt giddy, like a school girl. There were no thoughts of his lack of feelings for you, Annie, or The Games. You just laid there and enjoyed the moment.
It didn’t even feel like you were pretending.
When Finnick woke up, you did it all over again. You ended up staying in bed all day together, cancelling your plans.
And when the time came to get out of bed, to go back to the real world, the music didn’t go back to normal. It was more upbeat now. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the beat to drop, but it didn’t.
Finnick didn’t pretend like you two sleeping together never happened. In fact, you two kept doing it almost every day. You actually had conversations during dinner. You learned basic things about him that you hadn’t known in all of the time you were living together.
He made you laugh often. You stopped crying so much.
Is this what happiness feels like? you wondered. If it was, you never wanted anything different. Whatever Finnick felt for you, it didn’t matter. As long as he kept making you happy, it didn’t matter.
You were so in love with him that it stopped mattering if he reciprocated your feelings. You didn’t want anything to ruin this, what you had. Your relationship was the most special thing you’d ever had, even if you didn’t know what to call it, so you were gonna do your damn best to hold onto it.
The things he’d say in front of the cameras felt real, then the things he did when you were alone made you believe it even more. Whatever this was between you, it felt real.
So real.
You were stirring something on the stove when two arms snaked around your waist, tickling you, making a squeal fly from your lips. “Finnick!” You screeched, trying to suppress your giggles as you turned around. The culprit (who was shirtless) didn’t look guilty at all, a shit-eating grin on his face. You shoved his shoulder. “I am trying to cook us breakfast.”
He snorted. “Yeah, trying and failing.” You shoved him again, causing him to laugh. “I’m sorry, you can’t cook!”
You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “I’ll have you know, I can cook very well, actually.”
He wrapped his arms around you again. “You know, you’re cute when you pout.”
“I’m not pouting!” You exclaimed, but a blush still arose on your cheeks that Finnick noticed right away. It was almost like he was always watching for those types of things, always trying to say or do something to get you red.
“You’re even cuter when you blush.”
Your blush worsened, but you weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction of your defeat. “I’m not blushing. We’re in a kitchen, and it’s hot.”
He pulled you closer to him, grin widening. “Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart, about your blushing or your cooking.” He glanced behind you. “Oh, look, burnt food.”
Your eyes went wide, immediately turning around. You groaned when you saw the brown eggs and the trail of smoke coming from them. “It’s all your fault, Finn, you distracted me.”
He gave your head a kiss, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “Sure, darling, whatever you say.” Luckily, you were turned away from him so he couldn’t see how your cheeks reddened. You still weren’t used to the pet names, even though Finnick seemed to adore them. “Let’s leave the cooking to me from now on.”
You lightly scoffed, “Whatever.” He kissed your cheek before you started walking away, planning to sit on the couch while you waited for him to cook the food. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was probably smug.
“Who messes up eggs?” he muttered under his breath once you were a few feet away.
“I heard that, Finnick!” you shouted, but he only let out a loud laugh.
You shook your head at him, plopping down onto the couch in the adjoining living room and turning the TV on, but it was really just background noise. You found it much more enticing to watch Finnick cook. The way he moved so swiftly looked effortless; he knew what he was doing, that was sure. And it didn’t help that he was shirtless.
You discreetly stared at him for a while—or, you thought you were being discreet. Without looking up from what he was doing, he teased, “You know that I can feel you ogling at me, right?”
You went red as a tomato. “Shut up, Finnick!” you shrieked, turning back to the TV as if you even knew what was playing. His laugh boomed and you turned up the volume to tune it out, only causing him to laugh even louder.
Even though you were thoroughly embarrassed that he’d caught you staring at him, a smile still found its way onto your face. Around Finnick, it was hard not find a reason to smile.
You’d be content if you didn’t do anything for the rest of your life but wake up to him every day.
You spent many more mornings like that together, and lunches, and dinners, and everything in between. You exchanged jokes and playful banter constantly. Finnick really did make your cheeks hurt.
But he knew when to be serious.
There were still nights when you’d wake up from nightmares, and he’d comfort you back to sleep every time. When you caught him in a nightmare, you’d try your best to repay the favour, even though that didn’t happen often. He rarely wanted you to see him like that, so he hid his nightmares, but you did everything you could to keep him happy while he was awake to make up for it.
When you went to the Capitol, all of the darkness crept back in, squeezing in through the cracks of the walls that you’d built—for both of you. But you kept each other grounded. You weren’t alone.
Once, he had to talk you back from the edge as you had a panic attack in the bathroom. He locked the door and stayed there with you until you calmed down. You told him that you saw someone you hadn’t seen up close in a while, an old patron, and that just opened the floodgates. You saw his hands ball up into fists; he tried to hide the anger on his face, but you saw it and you understood it.
He was angry at the Capitol, and so were you. He’d been through the same things you had, and that made it so much easier to cope, to have someone that understood. He understood for you and you understood for him, and so when things were bad, they at least became more okay. As long as you were there for each other, things were okay.
Meeting Johanna Mason at a later event nearly brought you right back to the brink. Her family was dead, she’d told you. And you wished you hadn’t understood so fast. You wished that none of you ever had to understand these things, that you could’ve stayed kids for longer before childhood was ripped away from you.
It’s not fair, you cried to Finnick. He killed her family. She said no, and he killed her family.
He let you cry on his shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down your back as he whispered, I know. It’s not fair, I know. But it was the world you lived in, and, unfortunately, neither of you had the power to do anything about it, even though you were the so called Prince and Princess of Panem.
So you did what you could. You were there for Johanna like how you were there for Finnick when you still didn’t know him. Both of you were there for her, teaching her the moves to your dance so she could dance with you while you were all at the Capitol together.
She was brutally honest, maybe even rude to the average onlooker, but it was what The Games did to her. Finnick and you understood that, and that led to you both forming a friendship with her. Coping with other people, people who understood, was the best painkiller that not even money could provide.
The Games were the hardest, but you went through that together, too. You trained those tributes with everything you had. You tried your best, but sometimes, not even that was enough to keep them alive. Finnick and you would grieve together. At times, he was more rational than you, reminding you that it wasn’t your fault, that these were games made to kill.
Whatever you went through, you went through it together. The good days, the bad days, the laughs, the tears—you were together every step of the way.
Things went like this for years. You really were a team, and nothing could convince you otherwise this time. You loved him more and more each day, but you never told him that; you didn’t need to, and you didn’t need him to love you, either. Being there, being together was good enough.
Your song never got old. You were so in sync as you danced. Oh, you never would’ve thought that Finnick Odair of all people would not only make your life bearable, but also joyful.
You were fake boyfriend and girlfriend, and yeah those lines started to blur, but you also became best friends over time.
Finnick and you lied together in bed, the TV going on in the background. Your head was on his chest as he pet your hair. It was your seventh time doing this mentor thing, but it never seemed to get easier.
Your tributes were promising, but they still died early on, even though you both got them as many sponsors as you could. Mentors were usually down in the lobby, talking to sponsors and watching The Games with everyone else, but after your tributes died, there was no point.
So you went upstairs, and you both just lied there. It was one of those times where neither of you had to say anything. You were together, alive together, and that was enough.
Listening to Finnick’s heartbeat could calm you down in any situation. You must’ve been doing something to help him, too, because his heartbeat was steady. You stayed like that for a bit until he moved a bit, murmuring under his breath, “What?”
He sat up, making you sit up, too, while he grabbed the remote, turning the volume up. You glanced at it and the scene immediately caught your attention. You heard the last bits of what the announcer was saying, that a rule about two victors was being annulled. Your brows furrowed; you must not have seen the part where any such thing was declared.
You recognized the tributes who you quickly realized were the last people left standing. They were the kids from district 12, the Girl on Fire and the boy in love with her.
You scoffed. “Of course, they want the star-crossed lovers to battle to the death.” You were about to turn away, refusing to indulge in the Capitol’s bullshit, but Finnick grabbed onto your arm.
“Wait.”
You stopped, turning back. The girl, Katniss, had a bow and arrow in her hands. Peeta was a few steps away from her. They were both staring at each other, Katniss looking like she didn’t know what do, but Peeta looked like he already accepted that he was going to die.
You didn’t want to watch this, watch two people fall apart on television, but for some reason, this had captured Finnick’s attention.
One of us should go home, he said. One of us has to die; they have to have their victor. Katniss was already shaking her head.
No. She dropped her arrow to the ground, walking forward. They don’t.
You tilted your head, but you understood what was happening when she pulled a handful of berries from her pocket. “Holy shit.”
Peeta grabbed her hand, rejecting the idea immediately, but she whispered, Trust me. He must’ve really been in love with her, because he did. She poured some berries into the palm of his hand, making you lean closer.
“You don’t think they’re gonna…” you trailed off, puzzled. There were people that’d killed themselves in past games, but this had never happened. There was always a victor.
Peeta hesitated, but looked sure when he looked back into Katniss’ eyes. Together? he mumbled.
She repeated his words. Together. She looked up for a second, and then you suddenly recognized the look on her face. This was a bluff.
They counted down from three, and just as they were gonna bring the berries to their mouths, the announcer frantically cut in, Stop- stop! He cleared his throat. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners… of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.
Relief flooded into Katniss’ eyes as she embraced Peeta in a hug. Shock flowed through you, and Finnick’s expression was no different.
Once you had processed the information, you couldn’t help the grin that grew on your face, disbelief and pride filling you at the same time. “They just screwed the Capitol.”
You turned to see him smirking. “Hell yeah, they did.”
And this made your Hunger Games experience just a little bit better.
Neither of you were surprised that Seneca Crane was found dead days later. He made a grave mistake, letting two victors win. Snow wouldn’t have that, and you could guess why.
What Katniss and Peeta did was causing chatter, sparking hope. People in district 4 were more hush-hush about it, but outlying districts, like 11, had gone into revolts. The Capitol must’ve been stressed, and knowing that brought you some sick form of comfort.
Katniss and Peeta were spinning their actions, making them out to be this act of love, like they couldn’t bear to live without each other, but you and Finnick saw right through it. After all, if there was anyone who could spot a fake relationship, it was you two.
However, the two love-birds flew from your mind when you got home. You were brought back to your little world, living life alongside Finnick. The urge grew to ask him what you were, if you were still in a fake relationship just like Katniss and Peeta or if this was real, as real as you felt it was, but you didn’t wanna mess up the one good thing you had going.
The truth was, you don’t know how long you would’ve made it without him.
Finnick was your lifeline, and he had no idea.
The next time you were at the Capitol, you were in the Presidential Palace for the so called biggest party of the year. It was always hosted right before the Hunger Games, so being there gave you many things to be anxious about.
But, like always, you concealed it, smiling and shaking hands with the people you came across, even as you were disgusted. Some of these people, the very people who paid for your body at sixteen, were there with their families. You wondered how they could have children and still do what they did.
You were a child, too.
Normally, Finnick would be there to calm you down, but he snuck off somewhere without telling you.
You were wandering around, trying to find him when a head of brown hair streaked with red came into your view. “Hey, Princess.”
A sigh left your lips, both out of relief that you found someone you knew and discontent at the nickname. “Hey, Jo.” You would usually make conversation with her, but you were pretty distracted, glancing around behind her. “Have you seen Finnick anywhere? I’ve been looking for him for a while now.”
When you looked back to her, a look you couldn’t decipher flashed across her face, but it was gone in an instant. “No, can’t say I have.”
For some reason, you got a weird feeling from her. It was almost like she knew something that you didn’t.
“Hey, why don’t we go grab a bite while we wait for him?” She suggested, gesturing to the buffet. “I’m starving.”
You shook your head, dazed. “I’ll catch up with you- I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”
She perked up. “I’ll go with you.”
You were quick to decline. “No, that’s fine; go eat. I’ll be back in a sec.” She was hesitant for reasons you couldn’t fathom, but she eventually nodded, agreeing to meet you later.
You walked through the halls, passing the bathrooms and not even sparing them a glance. You didn’t really know why you lied about where you were going, but in that moment, it felt like instinct. You trusted Johanna, but you were catching the same weird vibe from countless other people. All you wanted was to find Finnick and have him tell you everything was alright.
You didn’t have to look long before you found him, outside along with many other partygoers. But he wasn’t alone. Standing next to him was a man you’d just recently seen on TV. You just couldn’t remember his name.
You made your way over to them. They cut themselves off as soon as they saw you, not letting you overhear a single detail of whatever they were talking about. You stifled the reappearance of that weird feeling that was starting to feel a lot like suspicion. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen.”
Finnick waved you off, “No, it’s fine, sweetheart.” He pulled you into his side, kissing your temple. “This is Plutarch Heavensbee.” A lightbulb went off in your head as you looked to the man.
He was Seneca Crane’s replacement.
What the hell was Finnick doing talking to him?
“It’s an honour and a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted, holding his hand out. There was something about him that was throwing you off, not just your revelation of who he was, but you still shook his hand.
“Pleasure’s mine, Mr. Heavensbee,” you replied, smiling your umpteenth fake smile of the night. But you had an inkling that no one in the Capitol was as genuine as they seemed.
Plutarch didn’t try to stay and make small talk like the rest of the people you encountered at the Capitol, bidding you both farewell and wishing you a good night. Something told you his departure had something to do with your arrival.
Once he was out of earshot, you turned in Finnick’s arms. “Was that the new head Gamemaker?” He nodded, but didn’t offer any explanation. You furrowed your brows. “What were you talking about?”
Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, but for some reason, he seemed tense. “He wanted to meet the youngest victor of The Games.”
You found that hard to believe, holding back a scoff. “Well, he didn’t seem too interested in meeting me.”
A smile arose on his face as he wrapped his arms back around your waist. “That is because you, darling, are not the youngest person to ever win.”
This time, you did scoff, but the tense atmosphere dissipated. “You’re a dick.”
“You love me.” Your heart nearly stopped, but you kept your composure. You did love him, more than he’d ever know.
You shook your head, acting unaffected. “C’mon, Johanna’s waiting for us by the buffet.” You tried walking away, but your faux façade of annoyance was broken by Finnick latching onto your hand and walking forward with you, chuckling.
And then the entire matter of everyone’s weird behaviour was pushed to the back of your mind.
Returning home from the Capitol was always peaceful, like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, but this time was unlike any of those other times. When you got home, the so called peace that the Capitol so delicately crafted was ripping at the seams.
The chatter from before, from when Katniss and Peeta defied the Capitol, was louder than ever. They had just gone on their victor’s tour, right before you left for the Presidential Palace, and they had apparently sparked a reaction in just about every district they visited, yours included.
You found out that district 4 had been in a revolt since Everdeen and Mellark came and gave their speech. The people were outraged. The news talked about seafood shortages due to bad weather, but the Capitol just didn’t want to let Panem know what was going on, that people were refusing work, that Peacekeepers were murdering innocent people left and right for the smallest of incidents.
When you were all caught up with what had happened, you were furious, too. You wanted to march out onto the streets and give the Capitol the finger, but Finnick pulled you back.
“What are you gonna do, Y/N?” he questioned, not even giving you the time to answer. “You don’t even know.”
Your voice was vicious as you responded, a tone you’d never given him. You were angry, and you both knew you weren’t thinking clearly; you just didn’t care. “I don’t know right now, but I’m gonna do something, Finnick.” You tried pulling your arm away, but he was much stronger than you.
“I’m not gonna let you go out there and get yourself killed.” You could tell by his demeanour that he was angry, but not for the same reasons that you were.
You shook your head. “You of all people should understand where I’m coming from.”
His eyes went hard. “You must not know me well if you think I’d let my girlfriend kill herself.” That shut you up.
His girlfriend.
He called you his girlfriend.
You got over the shock and, suddenly, you were even more angry than before. While you could pretend all you wanted to that you lived in candy-land, the cruel reality was still there. Finnick didn’t love you. He was only playing with your emotions.
Tears built up in your eyes: sad tears, angry tears—they were everything tears. You felt everything. “I’m your girlfriend now?”
He scoffed, “Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t be serious right now.”
“I am so serious right now.”
At your deadpan, he finally let go of your arm, running a hand through his hair. A part of you felt bad that he was so stressed, but you were stressed, too. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say when he looked back up at you. His voice was no longer harsh, but small. “Y/N, please.”
You swallowed.
“I’m just asking you to trust me.” He grabbed onto your hands. “Please just trust me.” He was begging you.
“Trust you to do what?”
“I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please.” He held your hands tighter. “Trust me.”
Oh, it didn’t matter how angry you were, if your thoughts were set in stone. Finnick would still be able to mold you like clay. Every time.
“I trust you.”
There was something different about him, but you were too distracted to try and figure it out.
There were so many things going on.
You were with Annie when it happened. Oh, that must have been some cruel joke from the universe. You were walking through the town square, on your way to Victors’ Village with pastries from the bakery in your hands. You were slowed down by the all of the people congregating together, watching the screen.
President Snow was announcing the third Quarter Quell, and they were eating it up. You weren’t gonna do that, entertain his lunacy. You’d go the Capitol and play your role, but you weren’t gonna watch these broadcasts anymore. You weren’t gonna play along.
Finnick could explain it to you later so you’d be able to prep your tributes. The Quells were always made out to be the hallmark of The Games; they were always harder. You felt for whatever kids would have to go through them.
You felt a lot more once you realized who these tributes were gonna be.
You weren’t listening to what Snow was was saying, but his words cut through any sort of mental block you had. “On this, the third Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are… to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.”
Your stopped walking as if you’d hit a wall, the stuff in your hands falling the ground, but it was almost like you didn’t hear it. You stopped hearing anything, not Snow explaining the condition or everyone’s gasps. Your ears rang. Everything was muffled like you were underwater.
You were done. You were supposed to be done. You went through those Games, you won, and now you were supposed to be done.
He was gonna make you go through it all over again.
You were so shocked that you pinched yourself, like you were a child and this was some nightmare, and even though you didn’t wake up, even though you knew you were awake, you were still caught in a nightmare that you’d have to die to escape from.
Your senses came back to you and you spun around, pulling Annie into a tight hug the second you saw the tears streaming down her face. She muttered the same thing over and over into your shoulder.
“This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.”
She couldn’t go through this again. The Games broke her beyond repair. She couldn’t mentor because of it; she could barely ever attend any of the Capitol parties you and Finnick frequented. She would die in that arena, either mentally or physically.
You couldn’t let that happen.
Your song played on a loop in your mind, making the decision for you. You were reminded that, even though your dance may have changed, Finnick didn’t love you. He loved Annie, and he would be destroyed if she died.
You couldn’t let that happen.
You couldn’t let Mags go back into the arena, either. He needed her. These were the only people he cared about; you couldn’t let them go through this.
Then and there, you decided your fate.
You were gonna be the one to go back into the arena, and no one was gonna stop you.
When you and Annie had made it to your house, ignoring all of the looks of pity thrown your way, Finnick looked just as beaten down as you, but not surprised. You didn’t have time to analyze that.
He hugged Annie first, shooting you an apologetic look, but you didn’t understand what it was for. You knew what Annie meant to him.
You weren’t so deluded that you’d believe you came before her. Besides, she needed to be consoled more than you did. You were calm. Annie was lost right now, but you knew exactly where you were headed.
That night, once Annie left, your clothes came off, and you and Finnick had the softest sex you ever had. It was gentle, and you let yourself feel loved one last time. You let yourself be selfish and have this one thing, just one last time.
You knew that the odds of coming out of that arena were slim, so you kissed Finnick like you were gonna die the very next day. I just might, you thought. And then as you fell asleep in his arms, you pretended that everything was alright. You pretended that your dance wasn’t gonna end so soon, that you weren’t gonna sign your life away when you woke up, that Finnick really loved you, that he loved you just as much as you loved him. You pretended one last time.
The next day, you and all of the other victors walked to the Hall of Justice, escorted by a dozen Peacekeepers. There were so many male tributes. As terrible as it sounded, you were praying that it’d be one of them that was chosen, not Finnick. If he was, then you would throw away any chance you had of winning.
If he went in with you, then he’d be the one walking out.
Cassia Locke stood in the middle of the stage, in between the male and female victors. You found it funny, almost: you were victors, but now the Capitol was gonna rip that refuge away after they’d already taken everything from you.
Cassia was just another mutt in your eyes. She was district 4’s Capitol escort; she was meant to be an advisor, but she didn’t do that well, not for you or the other tributes you mentored. But you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised. Her job was to make spectacles, not survivors.
However, she almost looked human for a moment, glancing at the women sympathetically before she pulled out a folded paper from the bowl. You stood on edge; there were only three of you. Unbeknownst to you, Finnick also stood straighter in trepidation.
She cleared her throat, announcing, “The female tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games and third Quarter Quell is… Annie Cresta.”
Annie’s face fell, but you quickly stepped forward. “I volunteer as tribute.”
“Y/N, what are you doing?” Annie whispered, putting a hand on your shoulder, but you brushed her off and ignored her.
Cassia nodded. “Very well, then.” She moved back to the bowl. “Now for the males.”
You glanced over to see that Finnick was already looking at you, an unknown emotion written all over his face, though you realized what it was quickly. Betrayal.
You were confused why. If anything, he should’ve been relieved.
“The male tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games will be…” she unfolded the paper, “Finnick Odair.”
Your heart dropped. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
The universe must’ve hated you.
Finnick’s mask was back on. Any trace of emotion on his face was erased and replaced with the cocky, charming façade that he’d perfected. He smirked as if he wasn’t just chosen for the most brutal “game” there ever was, like there was nothing to be worried about.
He was so good at pretending. Maybe even better than you.
You both walked toward the centre of the stage simultaneously, routinely. You’ve danced this dance before.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Hunger Games.”
Right after that, Peacekeepers came from the side, trying to grab at your arms, but you shook them off. “We know where to go,” you said. You don’t know if it was the your tone of voice or the look on your face, but they actually listened.
You were escorted into an inactive chamber, the same one you were brought to for your first Games. Memories flashed through your mind before you shook them away. You couldn’t get PTSD right before you went into this.
Finnick was stoic as he stared you, but before either of you could say anything, Mags and Annie came rushing into the room. Annie took you by surprise, immediately engulfing you tightly.
She was still crying, but manage to blubber out through her tears, “Why- why would you do that?”
You rubbed her back. “Annie-”
“Why would you do that for me? It was supposed to be me. Supposed to be me, supposed to be me.” She kept repeating herself over and over, shaking in your arms.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Finnick and Mags watching you. “It’s gonna be okay, Annie,” you told her, but you knew it was a lie. “I’m gonna be fine.” You weren’t.
As if she knew this, she only cried harder. You didn’t know what else to say, so you just kept rubbing her back, hoping that she’d calm down. Eventually, she stopped shaking, but tears kept flowing from her eyes like a waterfall. She tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming.
She sniffled, going over to hug Finnick, then hugging you one last time before she left. “Take care of each other- please,” she asked, and you weren’t thinking of doing anything but.
You nodded, assuring her that you would do just that. Mags hugged you, saying the words she couldn’t express through her gaze. You could tell that neither of them wanted to leave, but they had to.
Only one of you was gonna come back, and that was gonna be hard to come to terms with.
They left, and then it was just you and Finnick. The music kept playing, and playing, and playing, and you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. You didn’t want to hear this song ever again if it could be your last time listening.
If you could have it your way, you’d dance together until the end of time. But forever was never promised, not in the world you lived in.
The silence, however, felt like it lasted a forever in the moment, so you broke it. “Can you say something?” Finnick just kept staring at you in a way he had never looked at you before. The music got louder. Tears came to your eyes. “Please.”
Maybe he took pity on you, because he did say something. You just weren’t sure if it was any better than the silence. “Why would you do that?” His voice was cold.
You felt cold.
You swallowed. “Finn-”
“Why would you volunteer?” He stepped closer to you, so much venom seeping through his tone that you thought you were gonna be sick. “Annie was going to go-”
You cut him off, throwing your hands up. “You saw her, Finnick. She’s a mess.”
“She was going to be fine-”
“She can’t go through The Games again!” You shouted, losing it. Why was he berating you as if you didn’t just save the love of his life? “It would kill whatever part of her is left.”
“She would’ve been fine. You would’ve been fine-”
“God, why do you care about what happens to me? Annie’s gonna be okay—you’re gonna be able to come home to her and build the family you’ve always wanted-”
He snapped. “You’re my family!” You recoiled like he just hit you with his words. It was like you’d been doused in cold water. Finnick sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was a beat where neither of you said anything, letting his revelation soak in.
But you didn’t know what that meant.
When he spoke up again, his voice was quieter. He didn’t look like the Finnick that smirked up on that stage; he looked defeated, not triumphant. “You’re my family, Y/N. Don’t you get that?” He looked back up at you. “I could’ve protected Annie in that arena, and you would’ve been safe, here—not there with me.”
You shook your head. “There is no protecting someone in an arena- you and I know that best.” You let a tear fall, smiling sadly. “You’re gonna come home, Finnick-”
“Stop.”
“You’re gonna come home and you’re gonna live a long life with Annie-”
“Stop it.”
“You have people to take care of. I don’t.”
“Y/N, stop it.”
Another tear. “You deserve this-”
“Stop it.” Finnick grabbed onto your shoulders. You didn’t even know he got so close. “I’m not gonna let you die in there. Do you hear me? You’re not dying.”
“Only one of us is coming back, Finn. It’s gonna be you.”
You don’t know if your eyes were just really that blurry or if there were actually tears in his eyes, too. “No, you are coming home-”
“Finni-”
He grabbed you tighter. “We are both coming home.” The dam in your eyes broke, and all of the tears you were trying to hold came flooding down your cheeks.
Why was he saying these things? He knew it was impossible.
“We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear,” he promised, but these were promises he couldn’t keep. These were things he couldn’t control. Why was he lying to you- why was he lying to himself?
You wanted to say all these things, to scream, to tell him that it wasn’t true, that you were going to die. But then you remembered every other time you lied in bed together, every time you kissed and held each other. You’ve been lying to yourself all along, pretending you could have a future together when, deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case.
So you held everything in, pulling Finnick to you and hugging him with everything you had. You were gonna let him pretend, just this last time.
You were gonna dance together one last time.
You spent the entire train ride in each other’s arms, only getting up to eat and go to the bathroom before getting back in bed. You didn’t have mentors—you were the mentors. You’d been here before already, and that was surreal in and of itself.
You thought you already won. But nobody ever won, did they?
Those games killed everyone, victors included.
The press was insane, but just as you expected it. You were the Prince and Princess of Panem; they didn’t want to watch you die. Turns out, people in the Capitol did have hearts; clearly, they weren’t all too functional.
This visit, in more ways than one, was completely different from any other time you’d been in the city. Instead of the graceful show you normally put on, waving and smiling, you were much more mute. You were gonna die, anyway, so what was the point of continuing to be a puppet?
Finnick was still his usual self, smirky and arrogant, but even his anger snuck through the cracks of his act. All of you were angry, all of the victors. You could tell just by the mere glances you’d gotten of them, by the news coverage. Nobody wanted to go into an arena and kill people, not even the Careers (who you’d admit were pretty crazy).
However, this was all still a show to the Capitol, with you as the unlucky cast. And the show had to go on.
You and Finnick were separated to be prepped by the “glam teams.” The first time around, you remember being scared, but now you were just bored.
You were sitting idly in the dressing room, waiting for your designer when a man walked in, making you raise a brow.
This was a designer, but not your designer.
“Wait, I know you.” You tilted your head as his face became more familiar to you. “You’re Cinna- you designed those outfits with the fire.”
Cinna nodded in a way that you perceived as both humble and prideful at the same time. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Princess.”
This elicited a bitter chuckle from you. “Please, call me Y/N.” You then stood up to shake his hand when your curiosity sparked. “Aren’t you Katniss’ designer?”
“Yes, but I’m also going to be designing your outfits, as well,” he replied. “The head Gamemaker requested it. You are the Princess, after all.”
The corners of your lips went up. Most people you met at the Capitol would beat around the bush, but this guy didn’t seem shy. It was refreshing. You teased, “Ah, and since I’m a princess, I get Panem’s best to dress me?”
Cinna chuckled a bit under his breath, but didn’t confirm or deny your comment. He dived straight into his plans, explaining what he wanted to for you with a twinkle in his eye that you noticed most artists had when speaking about their work. “I want to stay true to the district 4 theme, but I want to make a statement.”
“Yeah, I had a feeling.”
He smiled. “We’re gonna show the Capitol that they can’t control you.”
And then your little smile turned into a grin.
Cinna did not disappoint. You were in a golden, long-sleeve, grid shirt with holes where the squares were supposed to be; your velvet skirt was a dark blueish-green, skin-tight; and atop your head was a golden crown, decorated with blue jewels.
Of course, it wasn’t a normal outfit, but you were gonna save the theatrics for the parade.
Finnick was around somewhere, likely causing trouble while you were walking around, looking for Johanna. However, you ended up running into someone else.
“Peeta,” you called, and he turned around. He immediately reminded you of Finnick, a mask of charm hiding him. Although Peeta had only been at this for a year, he already knew how to play the game, unlike Katniss who was rather unapproachable.
“Y/N,” he greeted. He scrambled for something to say for a few seconds. “I heard about how you volunteered for that girl. It was really brave.”
You hummed, almost sarcastically. “You don’t have to suck up to me—it’s not like I bite.”
He got red, making you stifle a laugh. “That’s, uh- that’s not what I meant-”
“It’s fine, I get it,” you waved it off. “It’s probably intimidating to be here around all of us, just a year after you won.” He didn’t say anything, just awkwardly smiled. “You know, you don’t have to be scared. You have a lot of power ‘round here; you just need to learn how to wield it.”
He gave you a confused look, so you elaborated, “There’s power in the masses, Peeta. The people here love you.” You paused. “Use that.”
A look of realization crossed his face, and so you decided that you said all you needed to say. He thanked you, but his mind looked to be elsewhere. You nodded, then walked off to find your carriage.
Sure, the Capitol could try and treat you all like pieces on a chess board, but if you got rid of the board altogether, then there would be no game to play. You spoke to Peeta to help him realize that. It didn’t matter if you were all meant to be on different sides; until you got into that arena, you were all one team, and you were gonna try your hardest to stop The Games before they began.
If that didn’t work, then you would just have to concede. One way or another, you would make sure that Finnick made it out of that arena alive. Peeta reminded you an awful lot of him, and while you would otherwise be rooting for him, you would choose Finnick if it came down to it.
You met Finnick at the chariot not long after leaving Peeta. He was shirtless, wearing a skirt similar to your top, rope around his wrists like bracelets. If you weren’t about to go into this stupid parade, you would’ve probably been making out already, but you were far too worried to think about that.
You had Cinna to thank for calming your nerves, giving you something to look forward to. Once the parade had started and you were coming through, you pressed the button of the device he had given you and then your top went up in flames, disintegrating until you were just in a black bralette, revealing the swirls of blue they painted on your arms, resembling waves. The rope around Finnick’s wrists caught fire, too, burning up until there was nothing there.
The crowd cheered, chanting your names. The faintest of smirks grew on your lips, but you really had to stifle your enjoyment when you saw Snow staring your carriage down.
What you did symbolized freeing yourself of the shackles of the Capitol, of these stupid Games. They could try, but they wouldn’t control you.
You would’ve usually felt some sort of fear- hell, you were never so defiant just in fear of what they would do to you. But what more could they do to you? They were already going to kill you. You didn’t care anymore.
After the parade, you ran into Johanna who gave you a good laugh as she told you how she stripped in the elevator. You would’ve paid good money to see it, that was for sure. You also talked to a few other victors on your way back to your suite.
You’d been friends with many of these people for years and now the Capitol was just gonna try and pit you against each other. None of you were looking forward to that—you were friends. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t make any allies.
Alliances didn’t last forever in the arena, but they lasted long enough. Considering your status, almost everyone wanted you and your “boyfriend” as allies; they certainly didn’t want you as enemies.
The next day was spent at the training centre, a brand new one made specially for the Quarter Quell. The thought made you roll your eyes. The Capitol would spend their money on things like this and yet there were still kids out there starving. What kind of world was that? One that you were okay with leaving, so long as Finnick would remain in it.
On your way in, you passed Cashmere and Gloss throwing knives at holograms. They were good, you noted, but not better at it than you. Johanna was off practicing by herself—though you were sure that she was doing it more so to release her pent-up aggression. Wiress and Beetee, Nuts and Volts as Jo called them, were by themselves, much less violent than everyone else here and much more strategic. Finnick was tying knots, looking more bored than anything. And you… you weren’t doing anything.
You leaned back on a wall, watching the other tributes instead of joining them. You didn’t care about the rankings or making yourself look dangerous. You didn’t have anything to prove; you did that already, and you really didn’t need to “practice,” either.
You’ve danced this dance before.
However, not everyone was so aware of just how well you danced last time.
“Not practicing?” You turned your head, seeing the newest victor walking up to you, donning her famous hairstyle. The corners of your lips quirked up in amusement.
She must have been told to make friends. You couldn’t imagine it was working out so well if she was coming to you.
“Don’t need to, Everdeen,” you replied, shrugging. “I don’t need the spotlight; got enough of that.”
She lightly snorted. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.” And you didn’t doubt that. Katniss had definitely captured the attention of Panem with her actions, and she certainly acquired the attention of the Capitol. Snow couldn’t have been her biggest fan.
In another life, you could picture you and her being friends, but you knew it wasn’t gonna happen in this one.
“You’re lucky, you know,” you said. You knew she didn’t see that way, and maybe it was a little bitter of you to say that, but it was true. At least she hadn’t been under the spotlight long enough for it to burn her like it’d burned you.
She scoffed, “How so?” The girl had restraint, you’d give her that. She clearly wanted to say a lot more than that, but she was smart. She knew better.
You shrugged again. “You just are.” And you left it there. If she wanted all the dirty details about you, she could try her luck with one of the other victors, but you doubted she sensed the real meaning of your words. She hadn’t been dancing long enough to even hear the song yet.
A dramatic sigh then escaped your lips. “Ah, though I suppose even your luck can only run so far, Girl on Fire. So sorry about your wedding.” The sarcasm in your voice was toned down just enough that it wasn’t so evident but evident enough to make your point.
She gave you a tense smile, although you weren’t sure if any of Katniss’ smiles ever weren’t tense. “Thanks,” she responded with zero sincerity in her tone. “I’m sorry you and Finnick never had one, either. Would’ve been a real royal occasion.”
You hummed, smiling your royal smile back at her. The Kat has claws, you thought. But you didn’t really feel like standing here and trading subliminals with her all day; you’d have enough of that with everyone else, anyway.
You left it at that, going to walk away before pausing as if you’d forgotten something. “Tell Haymitch I said hi.” You gave her a once over. “He’s done a good job.” And then you walked away.
Finnick’s voice rang through your head: May the odds be ever in your favour, darling. You almost felt like recycling that line and repeating it to Katniss, but you had already messed with her enough.
Your demeanour was in stark contrast of how you normally behaved. You may have been more agreeable or kind at home, sweet on cameras, but in this territory, you had an entirely different reputation. Sharp, cunning, unpredictable—ruthless. That’s the way it needed to be if you wanted to survive, or at least survive long enough to do what you needed to do.
So, you supposed that you had a mask, too.
You all did.
When you got back to your suite later in the evening, Finnick informed you of Katniss’ display with her bow and arrow, how she had renowned victors quaking in their boots, but people were even more scared of you, and you hadn’t even done anything at training.
You basically had the entire pool of tributes to choose from for an alliance. You were choosing Johanna, of course, and Finnick already had his mind made up on his pick.
Making his way over to you, he tossed you something that you swiftly caught before sitting down on the armchair across from the sofa you were sitting on. You looked down, opening your hand to see a golden pendant, a medallion with a rose in the middle.
You raised a brow. This wasn’t a present. “A rose?”
“They’re a Capitol favourite.” Precisely why you hated them.
“Alright, and why are you giving it to me?”
Finnick brought his wrist up, showing you a golden bracelet made of vines while wiggling his fingers. “They’re gifts,” he told you, “from Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy.”
You were familiar with both people. Effie Trinket was crazy, but that wasn’t the dominant thought on your mind. “Gifts for what?”
He answered, “They’ve brokered an alliance with us on behalf of Katniss and Peeta.” At that, you groaned, but Finnick readily cut you off. “This will be good for us, Y/N.”
“They’re brand new to this,” you countered. Sure, you liked the spark that the Girl on Fire had, and Peeta was quite the catch, but they only won a year ago. The Careers would be a better pick, even though you didn’t exactly like them, either.
“Yes, but they’re good; you’ve seen them. And the Capitol’s gonna love it, the two pairs of lovers together. C’mon, you know all this.” You did. You knew that this was one of the best avenues to take, but something in you was against it.
Maybe it was just that Peeta reminded you of the man you were in love with, and Katniss reminded you of yourself. But right now, you had to remind yourself to think with your head, not your heart. You needed to disregard your feelings and do whatever it took to win this.
To you, winning didn’t mean surviving this. Winning meant that Finnick did.
So, with a sigh, you surrendered, agreeing to this little deal. “So, these accessories are, what? Bargaining chips?”
He smirked. “No, they’re symbols. Katniss and Peeta have theirs, too.”
You chuckled, shaking your head and mocking, “So we’re in a little golden alliance, then?”
“It appears so, darling.”
After a little more conversation, Finnick and you headed off to bed, even though neither of you could really sleep. You held each other, though, and so the insomnia was bearable. He told you to stow the necklace away, that you were saving the objects for The Games. Apparently, Katniss and Peeta still needed a little persuasion for this, especially the former.
She was smart not to trust you, but she was equally as naive for the same reason. If you wanted to, you could be judgemental all day, but you didn’t have the time for it, so your mind didn’t linger on the subject.
When you were waiting to be assessed the next day with the rest of the tributes, your mind didn’t really linger on anything. You felt numb: not pleased, not sad, just numb. If you could pin-point an emotion, it had to be anger, but that feeling hadn’t left you since your first Games.
Finnick, on the other hand, looked no different, maybe even a little amused by the tension in the room, too amused for somebody who had to go back to the arena. But Finnick was always one to look a challenge into the eye and, instead of looking away, give it a wink. That was his persona while you were here, in the Capitol, so you’d let him indulge in it if that’s what made him feel better.
You’d do anything for him, even if he didn’t love you back.
He went into the room first. You didn’t know exactly what he was gonna do, but you knew that you were all basically doing the same thing. Plutarch Heavensbee may have been new, but even he knew who you all were. You’ve all shown your skills already, been here already, danced this dance already.
The song was getting old.
You were all giving your own personal fuck you to the Capitol.
When Finnick walked out, he flashed you a smirk that almost made you laugh. You stifled a smile as you walked into the room yourself, but it was quickly wiped off your face as memories played in your head like a movie.
You remembered the first time you did this, coming in and saying your name, scared out of your mind but ready to win, ready to impress the sponsors.
Now, you didn’t have to say your name. You caught their attention as soon as you walked in. You were the Princess. You needed no introduction.
It was funny, though, how that imaginary crown couldn’t save you from this.
The thought of your inevitable death was what fuelled you. You were known for your abilities with a sword, but that wasn’t what you reached for. You reached for the jug of gasoline and a lighter, immediately opening it and pouring in a circle in the middle of the room before stepping into it.
Then you looked right up at all of them and their confused faces, and threw the open lighter to the liquid in front of you, igniting a circle of fire around you.
You stared right at the head Gamemaker as you did it, expressionless. His expression told you that he got the message, or at least your hostility.
You would burn this place to the ground if you had to, even if you got burned while doing it.
When the flames got smaller, you turned and stepped over them, walking out of the room without another glance or word to the Capitol mutts. As far as you were concerned, they weren’t worth your time—you were running out of that, anyways.
Once the assessments were over, all any of you had time to do was get ready for the show. Caesar wasn’t exactly a face you wanted to see right now. Maybe he saw his enthusiasm as a way of “calming the tributes down,” but it was really just his lack of empathy. You didn’t need him cheering and practically gossiping about your death before it happened.
As much as the people in the Capitol liked to think of these Games as games, they weren’t. They were your lives. But you really could spend days obsessing over it, days that you didn’t have.
It was time to dance, and there was nothing you did better.
You were backstage, standing with Finnick and Johanna, waiting your turns. Cinna had made you very pretty. He was good at what he did.
You were wearing a dark blue dress with wide straps tied into blue bows at your shoulders and a sweetheart neckline. The bottom half was pretty fitted, but it was covered by a sparkly, golden, A-line, hoop petticoat made of the same material as your top from the parade, gridded with holes like before. And of course, your crown sat atop your head—Cinna insisted.
He really wanted to nail the whole Princess thing, milk it for all it was worth. And you let him, because his designs were great. Part of you wished you could’ve gotten more into fashion; now you’d never get the chance to.
You couldn’t blame Katniss for being so stand-offish. You’d be intimidated, too, if you were new to the club, watching from the sidelines. You, Finnick, and Johanna didn’t really seem all too approachable right now, either, even the ever so charming Odair. They were exchanging jokes and laughing at the interviews, mocking them, while you were rather stoic, observing the interviews watchfully.
Cashmere and Gloss went first, of course. They did theirs together since they were brother and sister. It was odd to you, how two siblings managed to get reaped together out of all the victors district 1 had, but you were paying more attention to the act they were putting on.
Casmere was sobbing. She’s a much better killer than she is an actor, you thought, but the people in the audience clearly bought it. You’d give her credit, though; you were all trying your best to get this thing cancelled, even if that was highly unlikely.
Next came the two crazy Careers who made Gloss’ acting look world class. Then Beetee went on stage, using logic as a tactic rather than emotion. Smart, but logic wouldn’t sway President Snow’s wishes. The Capitol sent innocent kids off to die every year in a televised event to pay for something that happened years before any of them were born—logic was obviously not their strong suit.
Wiress went next, and that’s basically when you tuned out. She was pretty out of it, not really saying much. Finnick was going after her. That’s what occupied your thoughts.
“Hey, you alright?” Your were snapped out of your daze by the very man you were thinking about, as if he was reading your mind. Those blue eyes that you loved so much stared down at you, concern swimming through them.
Those ocean eyes. You could drown in them.
You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “Yeah, I’m good.” He continued to stare down at you like he was completely unconvinced, but before he could say anything, they were calling his name.
He cursed under his breath then placed a soft kiss on your temple before having to walk out on stage, that famous smirk on his face. He was so good at that, at going from hard to soft so easily, cursing to kissing you.
He was good. He was real good, and he was a much better actor than any other tribute here. He was so good that he could make even you believe his performance.
You watched them from the TV backstage. “Finnick,” Caesar started. “As I recall, the last time we spoke, it was with your other half, who is here today.” The crowd cheered.
Finn nodded, smiling tensely, which you were sure he did on purpose. “That’s right.”
“You and the Princess have so graciously shared your love with us, and we have fallen in love with you both, perhaps as much as you love each other.” You and Johanna simultaneously rolled your eyes. Finnick, though, smiled to the cheering audience, mouthing thank you’s that no doubt made them swoon. “None of us know how to deal with the fact that you are both going into The Games- I certainly haven’t come to terms with it. Tell us, how are you dealing with this?”
You scoffed. If there was something the people of the Capitol liked to do, it was pretending that your tragedy was their own. They didn’t know even half of your pain, any of yours.
Caesar practically shoved the microphone in Finnick’s face. He looked down, like he was thinking, but you knew he probably had this bit down pat already. “If I’m being honest, neither Y/N nor I have come to terms with it, either.” He now looked right to the camera. “What I do know is that I will do whatever it takes to protect the woman I love.” The crowd cooed as you looked straight at the TV, as if Finnick was staring into your eyes. “And if I… if I die in that arena, then my last thought will be of her lips… and how lucky I was to have met her and have had the opportunity to give her my heart.”
The crowd went wild and Caesar said something in response, but you couldn’t hear it. You were stuck staring into Finnick’s eyes, the eyes you fell in love with. Oh, he was so good. He could dance the dance so much better than you. Because everything he said, he almost made you believe that he meant it.
You blinked the tears in your eyes away when Johanna shook you, telling you they were about to announce your name. You put the mask back on, and it was your love for Finnick that made you do it. You were doing this for him.
An exhale left your lips as you waited for your cue. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, as our Prince exits, I have the honour of welcoming his counterpart to the stage. The winner of the 67th Hunger Games. The Princess of Panem. Y/N Y/L/N!”
The doors you stood behind opened and you walked onto the stage, a stellar smile on your face as you waved to the roaring crowd. You just had to play the role, and everything would be fine.
When the cheers died down, Caesar gave you a sympathetic look, or at least a look that he thought was sympathetic. “Now, Y/N, it is lovely to see you. You look stunning.”
“Thank you, Caesar. It’s always wonderful to see you. I just wish it was under different circumstances.” You glanced to the crowd, catching their pity. For once, that was the exact emotion you wished to inspire.
“Yes, I think I speak for us all when I say that this is not easy.” You tightly smiled, even though you really just wanted to flip him off. “We just spoke to Finnick, he has been quite expressive these past few days in the Capitol, but you, Y/N, you have not been as revealing. Please, we’d like to know what’s been on your mind.”
If Caesar really heard what was on your mind, then he’d be appalled. That wasn’t your goal, even though you’d greatly enjoy that. Instead, you had a different play.
The audience was very quiet in anticipation of your response. You sighed, keeping the tired smile. “I, um… I’ve had a lot on my mind, really. Finnick and I, we thought we had more time, time to get married and even have kids, but now it’s like that time has just been… stolen from us.” Collective awes resounded throughout the crowd as Caesar brought his other hand to his chest, like your words moved him. “It’s- it’s just not fair, simple as that. But I love him, and that love will survive, even if I don’t.”
The audience let their dismay be known while Caesar shook his head. “Oh, my dear, I have seen your love- we all have, and I know that it will never die.” You nodded in agreement, listening to everyone else agree with you.
The acting was easier than you thought it’d be. Maybe that was because it wasn’t all acting, not for you. You knew your role, and you knew it well, but your love for Finnick was not something you had to fake. It was perhaps one of the only real things you had left.
“Now, we are all in for an emotional night, so I’d just like to lighten the mood a little- is that alright?” You nodded again, though you wondered how he would’ve reacted if you didn’t. “Okay, now we all saw your display at the parade- isn’t that right, everyone?” He paused, letting them applaud. “Yes, it was magnificent. Would I be right in assuming that you have something similar planned tonight?”
“Oh, you’d be correct,” you responded, flashing a grin at the whooping crowd.
“Please, please.” He stepped back. “Go right ahead.”
You glanced at Cinna sitting front row before pressing the button of the device he gave you. The golden petticoat then went up in flames, seemingly “ejecting” the skirt of your dress, sending it from above your knees to your ankles as it went from skin-tight to flowy. The very bottom faded into a teal colour, like the sea.
The crowd’s cheers got louder than you thought possible. Caesar wowed, then raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Princess of Panem!” You gave the crowd one last wave before making your way up the stairs to stand with the rest of the victors.
You were standing next to Finnick by the time the next tribute was called out and the attention was on them. To your surprise, he grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. But what really surprised you was the slight tremble you felt.
You looked up at him to see him already staring down at you. His mask fell a little, and instead of the at-ease Finnick you just saw, you were looking at a much more serious, stern version. You were confused by what could’ve brought this on, but then he leant down slightly, whispering in your ear, “I told you. I’m not letting you die.” When he pulled away, he didn’t look any less serious.
Oh, what a great liar he could be. There he was, making you believe in things that couldn’t possibly be true. You were going to die. You knew that, and you’d accepted it already. But Finnick hadn’t accepted it at all. He looked like he was believing his own lie.
You don’t know why this had shaken him so badly. Maybe he felt obligated to you, maybe he felt bad for you, but whatever it was, you weren’t gonna make it worse.
You could be a good actor, too.
For him.
You nodded, whispering back, “I know.” This looked to have calmed him down a little. He kissed the side of your head, and then the mask was back up. He kept his tight hold on your hand, and you let him.
You never know when it’d be the last time you held hands, and so you were gonna enjoy this while it lasted.
Even though this was an “emotional night,” as Caesar had dubbed it, you still got satisfaction out of everything the victors were pulling. When Johanna came on stage, she had a totally different approach than all of your sad acts and Beetee’s logic: she said what you all really wanted to say, giving the Capitol a loud fuck you.
You and Finnick had to stop yourselves from laughing amidst your shock. Caesar definitely wasn’t expecting that. You knew Snow definitely wasn’t expecting that, either. You hoped he was watching this right now, and you hoped that all of Panem could feel your outrage.
But if you were surprised by anything, it was the so called star-crossed lovers from district 12. Katniss’ wedding dress was a nice touch; she could’ve convinced even you that they were in love, if you didn’t know any better.
You weren’t the only one with a message to send to the Capitol with your attire. She spun around and her white dress was engulfed in flames, transforming into a midnight blue dress similar to yours. And when she lifted her arms, wings were revealed, and the smile on your lips widened.
“It’s a bird,” Caesar stammered in awe. “It’s like, a- it’s got feathers- it’s a bird- like a-”
You murmured at the same time as Katniss spoke up, “Like a Mockingjay.” You looked up to Finnick, seeing him already smirking. Everdeen was a lot ballsier than you thought.
“Your stylist certainly has outdone himself this time, hasn’t he? Bestowing not one, but two just astonishing looks upon us! What theatricality.” The attention was drawn to your designer. “Cinna! Take a bow.”
You were growing to like this man more and more, knowing that the Capitol must have hated him.
When the cheers died down and Katniss came and joined you all, the event was almost over with just Peeta left. You remembered the advice you gave him; you had high hopes for him, and he did not disappoint.
He claimed he and Katniss had a secret wedding, reeled them all in, and then he added the cherry on top. “You know, Katniss and I, we’ve been luckier than most. And I wouldn’t have any regrets at all…” he paused, choking up, “i-if, if it weren’t… if…”
“If it weren’t for what? What, Peeta?”
“If it weren’t for the baby.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
The audience clamoured. You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide the upturn of your lips, feigning horror. Finnick was in the same boat, stifling a laugh.
Golden boy was smarter than he got credit for.
People in the audience stood up, shouting while Caesar tried to calm them down. They were calling for The Games to be stopped, exactly what you’d been trying to achieve all night. Caesar whispered something to Peeta away from the microphone, and he walked up the stairs to the rest of you, hugging his apparent wife.
Then suddenly, you were nudged by the person next to you, looking down to see their hand outstretched. You quickly realized what was going on and grabbed it. And then amidst all the fury, you brought your hands up together. Yes, they wanted you to kill each other, but you were all united in the same fight first.
It became obvious that Caesar couldn’t contain the crowd’s indignation any longer, so the anthem played, increasing in volume to try and drown them out, but your actions were still so much louder than words.
That’s when the lights cut out.
But it would be a lot harder for the Capitol to snuff out the spark you all lit.
While you all did your best, your efforts appeared to be futile. Snow wasn’t against killing children, so you supposed that you all should’ve known better than to think that he’d cancel The Games for Everdeen’s baby.
However, it wasn’t completely useless. You had the public’s support. Sponsors wouldn’t be hard to get, so at least that was something. But all in all, The Games were still happening. One winner. Twenty-three of you would be dead, and you were going to be one of them.
Your last Games, you were relentless, selling your soul to stay alive. And you were gonna do it all over again, but this time, your objective wasn’t staying alive at all. It was making sure Finnick could make it home to Annie.
Lying there in Finnick’s arms that night for what could possibly be the last time, you realized that you would die without ever having been loved by someone. You were with Finnick, and you loved him, but he didn’t love you back.
These last few days, you had been consumed by fire, knowing that you would burn everything down if it meant your lover would be safe, but it was like it was just hitting you that you’d been warming yourself up with a flame that wasn’t ever really yours.
You knew without a doubt that Finnick Odair was your soulmate.
But you weren’t his.
Tears pooled into your eyes at the thought, and so you quickly buried your head into his chest before a panic attack could came on. You calmed down to the sound of his heartbeat, the heartbeat that you personally would make sure didn’t stop until he was old and his hair was grey.
The next day was a blur between the hovercraft, having the trackers injected into you, and then being separated from Finnick. The only thing you really could remember was how he kissed your cheek before he left.
And then you were in the tube, rising up into the arena. You couldn’t get a good look at it. Every time you blinked, your Games flashed before your eyes. Sun, cold, dirt, blood, screaming, murder.
You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes as the announcer counted down. Pull yourself together, Y/N, you thought.
And then The Games begun.
Taglist: @honestlycasualarcade
#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair#i love finnick odair#the hunger games#thg#thg fandom#thg fanfiction#catching fire#angsty imagine#angst#the hunger games trilogy#mockingjay#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#katniss everdeen#johanna mason#peeta mellark#katniss and peeta#everlark#the golden alliance#effie trinket#haymitch x effie#haymitch abernathy#coriolanus snow#cinna#caesar flickerman#finnick and annie#annie cresta#odesta#finnick imagine#thg finnick
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konig and the reader are roommates; best friends with a slight attraction to each other. reader decides to go out clubbing with some girlfriends, showing off her tight dress to konig before leaving— which ultimately arouses him hardly ;))
konig let’s his dick get the best of him and goes through the readers pantie drawer (#pantiekink) and goes back to his room, jerking himself off to the reader’s panties.. and boom reader comes back early and catches him.
(show your post about writers block, though you could execute this idea perfectly)
So sorry this took so long to write. This ask was sent back in November. I got a little carried away while writing this. Love this prompt so much! Thank you for sending it in and hope you enjoy :) (not proofread) PART 2
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After a long week of writing essays, listening while your professors drone on and on and spending every waking second studying or working your part time job. Simply to say you were beat and exhausted. Wanting nothing more than to stay in, catch up on some z's and possible a few episodes of your new favourite show.
But atlas you received a last minute text from your BFF.
I'm picking you up at 8, better look cute.
Throwing yourself back on your bed, letting out a loud huff. Knowing damn well you won't be able to say no to her. A soft knock against the frame of the door brought your attention back to reality.
He was tall, brooding and all to yummy, as your friends say. Your roommate König stood in the doorway, taking up all the space. His head reaching right to the top of the frame.
"Hey, didn't here you come in." you said sitting up. You kicked your shoes off and began typing back your response.
"Got plans?" he inquired. Leaning into the frame, crossing his over his chest. Making every muscle tighten and bulge just how you like it.
"Hmm, Kate's dragging me to some bar most likely." you replied to him. "I better get ready now, knowing her she'll show up early." it wasn't a surprise that your friend group loved to show up at your place. They all loved to sit around and ogle your roommate.
After answering an ad in the university student paper, you found yourself being shown around a decently sized 2 bedroom apartment only a block away from campus. It was too good to be true and too good to pass up. The landlord explaining that the first room was already rented out. You didn't mind sharing with a male, he seemed more than tidy. And you needed away from the awful university dorm rooms.
First meeting König, that was one for the books. After hauling your belongings up the 3 flights of stairs. Of course the elevator would break the day your were moving in. Struggling to get the key in the door, only to be greeted by a 6'7 and 270 lbs man standing bare cheated in the kitchen. You damn nearly fell over. Needing a moment to catch your breath.
Kate went on and on for weeks about him. Telling you if you didn't make a move she will. You had to remind her she had a long term boyfriend and you were seeing someone at the time, which soon fizzled out.
"I don't understand why you never say no to her." he tried to rationalize. You pushed passed him on your way to the shared bathroom.
"It's better today yes than listen to her complain." you told him back. Shutting the door before he could say anymore.
You took a quick shower, making sure to shave every nook and cranny. Layering yourself in body butter and making sure to spritz extra perfume. You choose to leave your hair straight, and simple makeup.
Tapping your foot against the aged wood floor, having a hard time decided between a short tight black dress or to go more casual in shorts and a cute top.
"Go with the dress." König voice reached you from your door. Startling you out of your thought, causing you to drop the dress onto the floor. König walked right in, bending down to the floor and retrieving the skimpy black dress. Still on his knees he held it up for you to grab, his head was so close to your core which was now pulsing with desire. You cheeks were flushed as you snatched it out of his grasp.
"Thanks.." you said hesitantly, turning away from him. He left you in silence, closing the door on his way out. You pulled out matching pair of lace lingerie, the ones you buried deep in your dresser. A gift from Kate, you've never worn them so todays that day you do.
You took a deep breath before stepping out into the shared common area, König's attention was on the football (American soccer) game. The click of your heels drawing his attention away. You stood their, twirling your fingers around. Shrinking under his lustful gaze. König cleared his throat, adjusting himself in his pants.
"How do I look?" you asked bashfully, the heat of your blush rising up from chest and across your face. "You look...." he was lost for words, the way the dress hugged every curve. "You look beautiful." he stood from his seat, the fabric over his crotch pulling tight against his throbbing cock. He knew he shouldn't be having these thoughts about you.
But he couldn't help himself. From the moment he set eyes on you, he was entranced.
"Give me a little spin." he commanded. Taking two long strides, taking your hand into his and giving you a little twirl. The giggle that came out of your mouth went straight to his cock.
Bzzz BZZZZZZ
The apartment buzzer rang through the space, pulling yourself away you rushed to the com system. "I'll be right down." you yelled through it. Hearing a mixture of garble coming from the other end.
"I'll probably be home late, if not I might crash at Kate's. I'll try not to wake you." the words rushed out of you as you ran around grabbing the last minute items before shuffling out the door.
König didn't get a goodbye in, or a have fun. The pit of jealously boiling up in his stomach stopped him. He watched from the livingroom as you bundled into Kate's car, watching the tail lights disappear down the street. He turned his attention back to his football game. But he couldn't focus, the ache of his cock kept plaguing his thoughts.
Usually he reserved himself to either his or the shower. But he couldn't help himself, pulling out his throbbing cock. It was already hard as a rock, the tip angry and leaking just a bit. The first few strokes had him holding his breath. He needed more, abandoning his spot on the couch, dick exposed to the air. He found himself in your room. It was smaller than his, everything was messily thrown around. He made his way right to your panties drawer, digging in the back to find the black lace panties you hid.
He came back empty handed, the thought of you wearing them under the dress had his cock leaking down the front of his pants, making a mess. He settled on a satin pair, purple in color with a small rose in the front.
Seating himself back on the couch, panties wrapped tight around his member. Stroking himself with you panties, using his knuckles to muffle out his wonton moans. He was too focused on the duty at hand. He didn't hear the door unlocking and the soft click of your heals.
You walked down the hall towards the shared living area, seeing König still on the couch. Pulling the straps of your heels off you let the loudly clank to the floor. You were a little iratated but also thankful that the night didn't go as planned.
König's head shot around, eyes wide in horror to seeing you standing behind him. If you didn't know better, it was like you caught him in the middle of something. The closer you got, you understood why.
Konig had your favourite pair of panties in his fist. His leaking tip poking out the top, as fast as it happened he through a pillow over his lap to block your view.
Stumbling backwards you rushed out some apologies. Babbling on about giving him some space.
König didn't want space at all, he wanted you. His hungry eyes watching has the hem of your dress rose up your thighs, just about exposing you ass. He stood quickly, following you into your room.
"I'm so sorry." you kept repeating. The heat of the embrassment flushed on your face. König stood there, cock out as he tried to get you to look at him.
"OMG!" you screamed, quickly averting your eyes. "Doll look at me." he tried to get you to face him but you couldn't. "Can you please put it away at least." he found your question amusing. "Why? Does it scare you?" he asked back. You scoffed at him, but deep down it did just a little.
Yes you've seen a handful of cocks before but none of them compared to König's.
"No." you said quietly.
"Why don't you touch it a bit, it won't bite." he took a small step towards you. Your stained panties still in his hand.
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LMFAO ok he got a little pervy at the end. I kinda want to make a part two now.
#cod mw2#könig#konig#könig mw2#konig mw2#konig cod#könig cod#konig x reader#konig x you#könig x reader#cod konig#cod könig#könig call of duty#könig x you
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Don’t Blame Me - Part 1
Summary : You had it bad. You had it so damn bad for a man that was not your boyfriend. And when you arrive in Brazil and find out all the drivers were staying in the same hotel…what happens when it’s suddenly all out there to you, on a plate? Rating : 18+ Pairing : Daniel Ricciardo x Reader Word Count : Multi-part imagine Trigger Warnings : 18+, NSFW, adult language, no strong warnings but it’s not intended for minors. And I know Max isn’t everyone’s thing so Max Verstappen warning too Images : curated from Pintrest
Brazil ‘23
“This is a bit…odd.” Your boyfriend grumbled beside you as he pressed the button for floor 9 upon entering the elevator. “What is?” You replied sheepishly. You hadn’t really been paying much attention for the last ten minutes. Your brain switched off the moment you checked you had everything from the back of the chauffeur driven car. Truth be told you were still feeling the effects of the sleeping tablet you had taken the night prior. All you wanted to do was delve straight into the big hotel bed and nap, not listen to your boyfriend drone on and on about something he found out of sorts. “We’re all in the same hotel. All of us. All the drivers.” His bottom lip jutted out a little as you glanced at him. It was odd, Max was right. You had accompanied him on several weekends (at his heartfelt insistence) and you had never known the teams to put their drivers in the same hotels - well, ok, maybe one or two teams did but not the whole grid.
After the initial thought of it being a bit strange wore off the first thing you couldn’t help but think of was how this meant Daniel was staying here too, in the same hotel. He would be sleeping somewhere in one of the many rooms of the same hotel as you were. Sleeping, Daniel, hotel plus you.
Christ, calm yourself! You thought. This whole crush you had developed on Daniel was getting ridiculous and completely out of hand. You didn’t even know the man existed at the start of the year and now suddenly you were borderline obsessed with him. This was the type of thing a shrink would have a field day with. There was probably something weirdly wrong with your psyche at fancying your boyfriends best friend and ex-teammate. But then again, look at him?! Ugh! You scolded yourself again when you thought about how fucking hot he was. And right then, right as you were thinking of Daniel’s full perfect pouty lips crashing down on yours your boyfriend nudged into you and broke you out of your daydream. “Sorry, I’m still tired.” You pouted in an attempt to cover up what you were thinking about. There wasn’t a time when you didn’t make a miraculous goal saving recovery when thinking (or fantasising) about Daniel. You had become a master at it. An expert. Max smiled sympathetically. “We can have a nap when we get in.” He ran his hand down the back of your head, his fingers momentarily getting lost in your tresses. You smiled genuinely because Max was so sweet and gentle with you. He had a loving, nurturing side that not many people got to experience. He was a gentleman at heart.
As soon as you got into the hotel room you were spending the next six nights you practically ran toward the bed. Hotel rooms all began to look the same when you were in them as often as you had started being. Max wanted you at as many races as possible. He claimed he drove better with you there and he got a better nights sleep with you in his arms. But there was a small little part of you that thought he simply enjoyed showing you off. He liked gloating that you were his girlfriend and making other men jealous. As you sat down on the big fluffy duvet covered bed you moaned in satisfaction. Hotel beds and bedding were always a hit or a miss and this one, well, it was perfection. You felt Max’s intense stare as you kicked off your shoes and arose from your position to take off your jeans. As the dark material pooled at your feet you swore you heard Max try to hide a groan. He was a lingerie man and just the sight of you in a thin scrap of black lace fabric got him going. But sex with your boyfriend was the last thing on your mind. You just needed to nap, rest and try forget that somewhere in the hotel Daniel was probably doing the same (or showering….stop thinking about him naked! Your inner monologue scolded you). With the thought of him swirling around your head you held your hand out toward your boyfriend as you peeled back the covers of the bed. “Join me.” Max’s face lit up “Not like that” you let out a short, amused laugh “come snuggle.” Max pouted, his bottom lip jutting out momentarily before shrugging and ridding himself of his zip up and his own jeans.
Max’s arms engulfed you as you lay with your back to his front, hard up against him. With the faint whisper of a smirk you pretended not to feel his semi graze against your butt several times. Max was possibly the most libidinous man you had ever met. He was always ready to go, anytime, anywhere. He was like a horny teenager. It rather amused you how hot for you he was. But as you nodded off you weren’t dreaming of all of the ways Max could make you moan. You weren’t dreaming of him above you or between your thighs. No. As your eyes closed and breathing laboured your regular scheduled fantasy showed up right on time. The feeling of his big, veiny hands slowly winding around your little waist made your breath catch in your throat. You could practically feel the stubble burn of his beard against your soft thigh as he inched closer and closer to where you needed him the most. A small, stifled huff fled passed your parted lips as the desire to be left with a stinging reminder of him upon your flesh gripped hold of you. Even asleep you could feel the twisting, grappling, burning way down deep in the pit of your stomach for him. Daniel. You could envision him staring up as you, taunting you from between the apex of your thighs. Smugness written all over his face. Blood rushed between your legs at the thought of it and even in slumber you couldn’t hold back your soft moan. The thought of his perfect dreamy lips, his silky wet tongue, his hot breath against the most intimate part of you sent a shudder all across your body. Another moan followed and you felt a pair of lips caress your naked shoulder. You so desperately wanted your dream to have turned into reality that you were startled by the voice that came from the lips still attached to your skin.
“Having a dirty dream about me?” Max (sounding delighted in the possibility) purred lowly. He ripped you from your own imagination. Pulled you back from having hallucinations of Daniel’s tongue against your slick folds. You didn’t want to expose yourself that you were thinking carnal thoughts about another man - one that he was such close friends with - and you sure as hell didn’t want to have sex with him after you were pulled out of a sleep induced, orgasm hunt. So when you felt his hand run across the skinny elastic of your panties you grabbed hold of it and flipped on to your back to look at him. “Chris Evans, actually.” And Max laughed. “That’s not fair. I can’t compete with him.” You smirked knowing how well you had played it and that you had covered your filthy little fantasy about Daniel well enough your boyfriend bought your rouse.
But the incredible image of Daniel looking up at you with hungry, devilish eyes - and an even hungrier, waiting mouth - never left your mind.
Find Part 2 Here
#Daniel Ricciardo#daniel ricciardo fanfiction#Daniel Ricciardo fanfic#Daniel Ricciardo fic#Daniel Ricciardo imagine#Daniel Ricciardo imagines#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo x you#daniel ricciardo x y/n#f1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 imagines#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 smut#don’t blame me paddock bunny
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How about a spicy prompt?? Terzo realizing the reader really likes his hands (tends to stare at them a little too long as he does random tasks, things like that). Take this in whatever direction you see fit. Thanks!
Oh you did it anon! You finally got me to write something about THE GLOVES!!! They make me crazy insane and I probably think about them far more than what is normal but there we go 🙃
Terzo x GN Reader | NSFW | 1200 words
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
You twitch every time a sharp nail comes in contact with the desk. It’s not even the noise that is driving you to distraction. It is those damn gloves. And, well the hands that are wearing them. And by default the infuriating man to whom they belong.
Why it was decided he needed to wear his full vestments for this particular meeting you do not know but in your mind at least you violently curse the person who insisted on it. It would be a lie to say that you didn't find him distracting on the best of days being so well acquainted with the capabilities of his dexterous fingers but there really is something about those particular gloves that melts your brain among other less appropriate parts of your anatomy.
Usually it is manageable. Rarely does he wear them and even then you are only cursed with a glimpse from a distance, barely catching the sharp glint of nails and certainly not able to hear the quiet creak of the leather every time he gestures. Which damn his dramatic Italian ass is everytime he speaks.
At Mass you fight to keep your thoughts on his words as much as you can. Rituals are so full of spectacle and performance it's easy to break your fixation. And official events are usually so stressful you don't have a thought to spare.
But today you are not so lucky. To call this meeting tedious would be under selling the situation greatly. You can't even remember what is about now, which is especially bad for you considering you are supposed to be note-taking. The visiting Cardinals had insisted on meeting with all the Higher Clergy to tell them something they deemed very important but that was proving very dull for almost everyone else.
Sister Imperator has the appearance of listening attentively but you can see the glaze over her eyes, probably thinking of all the other actually important things she could be doing with this time. To her right Cardinal Copia sits in a similar position to you, notebook and pen in hand, yet every minute or so his grip loosens as his eyelids droop and it's only the dropping of his chin or the pen about to fall from his hand that jolts him back to wakefulness. To her left, Papa Nihil has given up all pretence of paying attention, slouching back in his chair and snoring quietly.
And then there was Papa. Your Papa. Initially he had tried to engage the visitors with his usual charm but even he had not proved a match for their dreary topics of conversation. So he had taken to torturing you instead. Ever the attentive man he had cottoned on quickly to the way your gaze was drawn to his hands with every flick of his wrist and now seemed to be doing his damnedest to keep them centre of your attention. Which was hardly a challenge.
Every time he flexes his fingers you watch the leather strain to accommodate the movement of his impatient tapping. They are so tight they fit like, well, a glove, but more indecent somehow. The skin tight leather and the glinting pointed tips elongating his fingers perversely until all you can think about is the way they would feel against your skin. The cool sharp scratch followed by the soothing soft warmth. He likes to tease, to push you to your limits and then further still until all you can think about is him so you can easily imagine how he would start. Seemingly innocuous touches as he slowly peeled away your clothes only to reveal how much the barest touches of his gloved fingers had ruined you.
Suddenly he flattens his hands on his desk in irritation, interrupting the drone of a Cardinal with an angry interjection but after a moment's shock you drown out their bickering taking the opportunity to admire the gloves openly displayed as they are. Careful lines of stitches fan from his wrist, the deliberate placement helping achieve the perfectly tight fit. You had watched him pull them on once, easing them over his hands and struggling to slide down the zip which follows the curve of his thumb and keeps them in place. Clearly still incensed by whatever they are discussing he gestures towards one of them palms up so you can follow the seam across his palm allowing for the movement of his thumbs.
As precisely as it is sewn you can only imagine how it might catch your pebbled nipple if he were to palm at the curve of your chest as he explored you. Your skin could be left a criss cross of scratch marks as his large hands covered the planes of your body varying the pressure as a threat of something more, the possibility of him breaking your skin ever present. Perhaps they aren’t so sharp as that but a part of you wishes they were as you allow yourself to think about them sliding between your legs.
His finger tips would trace you meticulously, one wrong move and he could damage you severely, but isn’t that a large part of the reason you find yourself so drawn to them. The anticipation tinged with dread of the sharp sting of his claws only building the warm pleasure you feel. And for him, hopefully the power you would allow him to hold over you would only make him want you more, making the necessity of his slow, precise movements even more frustrating for the two of you.
You realise somewhat detachedly that your pleasure would likely ruin his beautiful gloves. They are such an important part of his image, his costume that marks him as the dark and powerful leader but even then you think you would have no regrets. Not when you would feel the metallic nails grow warm against you or the leather slipping smooth with barely there friction due to your arousal. Perhaps they would survive, stained with the evidence of their effect on you, the scent of you lingering on his fingertips as a reminder of your sweet lustful sin.
Sister Imperator stands, and everyone else follows her lead, signalling the end of this meeting and breaking your reverie. You risk a glance at Papa, daring to catch his eyes and he knows, he always knows when your thoughts have strayed to the sinful. It is impossible to look away from his smug expression even as his gaze drops down your body knowingly. Slowly, deliberately returning his eyes to yours he beckons you towards him. One long finger curling deliberately pulling you towards him, as inevitable as gravity. Until Cardinal Copia interrupts your line of sight and prevents you from stepping into his orbit. You are needed, urgently for some other pointless duty, the realisation that your fantasy is no longer about to come to fruition dousing your lust as if cold water was cascading down your body.
Papa’s displeasure flits over his face before his expression shutters and he is back to business even as you are steered out of the room by the Cardinal. You spare him one last look and you can only hope the flash in his eyes and the quirk of his lips are a promise that if not now you will be his again as soon as he can get his hands on you.
#papa emeritus iii#terzo#terzo x reader#papa emeritus iii x reader#the band ghost fic#asks#my writing
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Do simon and bones ever get that night where they don’t have to be quiet?? And maybe simon loses himself and goes completely feral trying to pull as many noises from her as possible that make his brain melt?? 🥺
Ohhh anon. Yes, yes they do.
Love Is a Sin (Part One)
Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”
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Word Count: 12.2k
Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)
Smoking, mention of war and military lifestyle, use of weaponry, dirty talk, mask kink, size kink, tiny praise kink, cockwarming (kinda?), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, fluffies and vulnerability, secrecy, protective Ghost (I yearn). Lmk if I missed anything!
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A/N: Enjoy part one my babies! Part two gets a little darker... I'm so excited.
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It’s not often that you find yourself here, this is actually your first genuine invitation. Any other reason was to simply grab materials for a craft or files from a desk. And whenever you did that, it was by yourself. Because when the boys were in here, those doors were locked tight, their voices a muted drone in the halls. No one was allowed access into the debriefing room unless given specific clearance from Price.
“Grab a seat.” The man of the hour speaks, motioning toward the table.
They’re already gathered around the captain’s spread of plans, all three of them. And when Price speaks to you, each and every one of their heads turn, eyes and brows moving with bewilderment. None of them knew you were attending this meeting, not even Ghost.
His eyes, above anyone else’s, widen. No one moves for a moment, not until Simon stands. Rising to his feet, he towers over every man, brows narrowing before he turns, grabbing one of the folding chairs leaning against the wall. With a quick jerk of his hand, the chair unfolds into its natural position. And then, he’s setting it down beside his own seat, lowering himself once again.
Johnny cocks an eye at his somewhat gentlemanly act, and although it’s done with sweet intention, you can practically feel Simon’s aversion to your presence. You knew this would upset him.
“Uncharted territory.” Price declares, a single, thick finger slamming down onto the map. “And that’s why we need her.” That finger is then directed at you. And as each man turns their head, you don’t feel intimidation, but pride, swelling within you.
But your partner, on the other hand, finds his insides rotting with disapproval. They knew where they’d be going, they knew what they’d be risking, but they had no idea they’d have to bring you. But aside from Simon, everyone there seemed thrilled.
“Finally get to see what yer all about.” Soap grins, giving you a rather rough pat on the back.
Gaz smiles, leaning onto the table with his forearms. “She knows what she’s doing.”
“Damn right.” And when you look up, Price is beaming with pride. He brought you to the base for a reason; he always knew you’d be a reliable member. “She’s the best we’ve got, and we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”
All this talk and Simon’s head hasn’t turned once, his eyes fixed completely on you. His stare is almost blank, lost, void of emotion as he begins to dissociate from this. Before you, only his family had gotten so close to him. And even now, you’re more important to him than they ever were. He’s never let himself get so wrapped up in this type of thing, an actual relationship. And now he’s going to be bringing you with him? He’s never even so much as trained with you. You’re not ready for this, and neither is he. But your unpreparedness is clearly developing in different ways.
“Ghost.”
Snapping his gaze toward the captain, he jostles his head. “Yeah?”
“We’re gonna need your head in the game for this one.”
“Always.”
And just like that, you’re running through the plans. No man’s land, disputed ground between your team and the enemy. Many squadrons have been deployed and just as many have died. With the team specializing in infiltration, counter-terrorism and covert assignment, they were the next group to be tasked with the mission. This wasn’t going to be a simple assignment.
But honestly, you’re not here for any of that. You don’t specialize in any type of infiltration or counter-terrosim techniques. Right now, you’re a medic, and with the zone they’re invading, Price wants you on deck in case anyone gets hurt. They have a better chance of making it through if they have someone that can quickly wrap up a wound. It also helps that you have experience in the field, but both physically and mentally. Before becoming a medic, and now lead medic at the base, you specialize in close quarter combat and weapons tactics, traits Price found just as valuable. He knows you won’t hold them back.
Simon knows all of this, he knows better than anyone just how good you are at this. But you’ve never experienced this kind of warfare, and he doesn’t want you to witness it. He also doesn't want you to witness the kind of man he is during it.
“We’re due to set off tomorrow evening. We’ll use the cover of night to be dropped in over the mountains, where we’ll then hike. It’s about a twenty kilometer trek from there to the safe house. There, we’ll get our rest, reconvene and set out for the building.”
Sliding his finger to one portion of the map, he displays the safe house’s location. Continuing to move, he then shows just how close the targeted building is.
Price’s voice dips dangerously low when he explains, “Only eight kilometers away.”
“How is it a safe house if it’s that close to enemy lines?” Soap asks, twisting his face in confusion.
“The enemy has yet to infiltrate that forest, they know nothing of its ground or the layout. They wouldn’t risk crossing uncharted territory just to explore a piece of land they aren’t interested in. Besides, the house is surrounded by landmines and snares, something we’ll need to pay attention to and avoid.”
With emphasis on his last word, those deep baby blues then drift to Gaz, who’s trying to duck away like some embarrassed tortoise. “I know, I know.” The team remembers Gaz’s mistake far too well, tossing a rock to test the space before nearly blowing himself to bits.
“Any other questions?”
About a million, though he doesn’t say it. They all revolve around you, anyway.
“Right.” Slapping a hand against the table, he then stands. “We’re clear to move out tomorrow evening, eighteen hundred hours. Am I clear?”
“Clear.” The three men proclaim in unison, prompting you to jump slightly in your seat. And Ghost chuckles.
“C-Clear.” You repeat, feeling foolish doing so by yourself.
Price grins, giving you a cheeky wink. He knows you’ll fit in given the right amount of time. “Night lads.” Your captain then states, giving you a nod. “And lass.”
*
*
*
Everything feels thick and heavy - your clothes, the air, the shaft invading your most intimate space. His sighs are full of spearmint and tobacco, hints of his cologne floating up to your nose. Every sense feels invigorated, the emotions of embarrassment and exposure melting away just from being in his presence. Simon calms you, he grounds you.
“Christ,” His breaths come out in humid puffs, seeping out through the top crack of the window. It intermingles with the nighttime air, the darkening atmosphere as it fades to dusk. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
Bulky arms wrap around your midsection, one hand dipping down to fist your ass. It’s then that you feel him pulse against your walls, prompting a delighted sigh from your throat.
“I think I know.” Your sultry voice responds, hips moving gracefully over his pelvis. But your breaths are still heavy, enjoying the cool breeze that occasionally drifts in. And those heavy wafts of air soak into his neck when you lean in, running your lips over his ear. “I think I know exactly what I do to you.”
Those sweetly sinful words give the allusion of rough and quick sex, all teeth and tongue and torn clothes. But that’s not what this is about, not right now, not at all. It’s passionate, sensual, but slow and needy, too. Your motions are relaxed, Simon’s hands encouraging the gradual roll of your hips. And when you’re not speaking to him, or him to you, you’re lifting yourself up to his mouth. Here, the tips of your tongues touch, just barely dancing together as you tease one another, before inevitably falling back down to mouth tenderly at his neck.
“You’re so fucking good,” He praises, thick fingers pressing into your backside as he pants briefly. “Give me more, oh, god… more.”
Rocking his hips upward, he meets your sensual rolls, finding unison with you. From the moment you crawled onto his lap in the backseat of his Jeep, his eyes were on you, on your pretty face and every expression you make. Even now, he reaches out, cupping your cheek and bringing you down to him with a gentle force that screams Simon.
His mouth consumes your own, his entire tongue sliding inside while his moan vibrates down your throat. It’s then that he twitches against your delicate channel, gasping into your mouth, breathing in your air. Holding you down on his lap, he forces you to still, now choosing to thrust up.
“Simon,”
“God,” He groans, shoving himself up into your center over and over again. And at this point, it’s a familiar feeling, the sensation of being overly full, stretched to your limit and still wanting more. “Love it when you say my name.”
Leaning backward against the seat, he urges you to put your weight on his chest, planting his feet on the floor of the car to gain better leverage. Here, he punches himself into your sex, reveling in the way it squeezes hotly around him.
“Fucking C-Christ.”
The Jeep rocks from the force of it, your collective moans spilling out into the nighttime air. But neither of you are worried. You’d found this spot to be particularly secluded, even from the constant patrols. Parked amongst the trees with the car off, at nearly midnight, seemed to be your new routine. It was the closest you could get to feeling free.
“Take it off.” Your Lieutenant then requests, one hand lifting to your chest.
He palms you roughly, slowing the action down as he then decides on a tender rub; he wants to show you how gentle he can be. So, while considering both his actions and words, he moves carefully, speaks gently. “Can I see?”
“Mhm,” With a wide grin, you nod, glancing down to undo the front of your quarter zip. The easiest way to give him access is to guide your sports bra up and over the tops of your breasts, exposing yourself to him.
“Oh,” Ghost groans, ducking his head into the crook of your neck. “Lovely.” He says it as his hand returns, doing his best to not let the material of his glove scratch you too rough.
Your lover’s touch has grown quite accustomed to your feminine features, your smooth skin, your most delicate places. Instead of running over it with quick motions, his thumb touches your nipple gently, just barely rubbing tiny circles into it. And he listens to your breath, too. The lungs give everything away.
“Baby, please…”
“What d’you want, love?” Mumbling into your neck, he kisses it, loosening his grip and allowing you to move again. And instantly, you do, wrapping your arms around his neck and bouncing down onto him.
“Oh, fuck me.”
Now that your shirt is open, it leaves you vulnerable to the roughness of his tac vest. And it scratches you harshly, zippers and velcro scraping across your sensitive skin. But in truth, you like it. It’s almost like another mark he can give.
“Fuck, those whimpers… that’s gonna make me bust right inside.”
Regardless of your place in the woods, you still have to keep yourself quiet. You and Simon have yet to have a night where you can fully be yourselves, where you can fully indulge in each other. This has been the closest thing to it.
“S-Simon,” Your voice is light, airy and shaky. And you’re clinging to him for dear fucking life, because not only has he matched your fervent pace, he’s exceeded it. “Baby.”
“Take it,” He nearly growls, “Take it in your tight cunt.”
The muscles lining your insides flutter from his words, from his brute force. Sex with Simon was always so passionate, so intimate; it was a different type of experience. And you’ve fully leaned into it since the first night you got to experience him.
“Fucking hell, princess, I can feel it. You’re gonna cum on me.” And he really can; your velvety center pulsing around him, around the thick intrusion repeatedly splitting you open.
But the way he says it almost embarasses you, and he chuckles when you duck down to hide your face from him. Smooshing your cheeks against his neck, your quiet grunts come with his every thrust.
“C’mon, baby.” He coos with a grin, encouraging you. And something about Simon using the word baby makes you absolutely swoon. “Like it when you cum on me… you know that.”
It’s then that you finally give in, a sense of pleasure bursting from your lower pelvis and reaching into every limb. The entire sensation is a true release, mentally and physically. Both of his hands find your backside as he rides you through it, squeezing harshly while your pelvis ruts over him, your entire body trembling.
“That’s it…” Eyes rolling back, he drops his head against the seat’s headrest. But his hold on you hasn’t given up just yet.
His own euphoria shoots from his insides when your fingernails find him, digging into his skin. Your slender digits scratch at his neck, at the tendons between his throat and shoulder, and it just fucking sends him.
Ghost has gotten quite comfortable releasing inside you. The two of you had forgone condoms fairly quickly. And in the beginning, it was due to the rush of things, the need to have the other right then and there, or at least, as soon as you could. But now, it’s for the feeling, the intimacy. There’s really nothing else like it. In truth, he always hated the latex barrier when it came to you.
Shivering briefly, you release an affectionate breath, a shaky inhale before cuddling into him. Used to this reaction by now, both of those bulky arms wrap around your back, holding you against his chest. He finds it endearing, your need for closeness, especially as the two of you come down.
Smoothing a hand over your head, he kisses the top of it, rumbling to you in that deep, entrancing voice, “You’re so good for me.”
And he means it in more ways than this. Truly, you bring out the niceness in him, whatever amount of it he has left. The longer you and Simon stayed together, the more you connected, the more you felt like you could really do this. Your relationship could be sustainable, and you could be vulnerable.
Every chance Simon got, he took to your side. In the training yard, he’d lift weights adjacent to your station. In the cafeteria, he always saved you a seat next to him. And in the debriefing room, he pulled up a chair for you beside him. And while the two of you were busy gravitating towards each other, your teammates were busy with eyeing your movements. It was starting to look suspicious.
“You alright, love?”
Even when he’s done, and his breaths have steadied, he rests inside you. He did this often, especially when you rode him. While your need for closeness was expressed with words, his was expressed with actions. And this action, was one of his favorites.
“Mhm,” Grinning, your eyes shut, your body weight resting comfortably on his chest. Removing your arms from around his neck, they instead loop around his wide midsection, hugging him.
He’d been trying to ignore the issue at hand, the issue that’s only an issue to him. And while you riding him was more than a good enough distraction, now, he was now in his head again. Feeling you wrap your arms around him softens something inside his heart, and now more than ever, he wants to keep you protected.
With a small grunt, he shifts, arms lifting behind your back. Listening closely, you can hear the velcro separating on his hand, and then the drop of a single glove onto the seat to your left. Simon’s warmth then envelopes your chest, the slow drag of his naked hand across your breasts. He caresses them fondly, before focusing on the right.
“Didn’t get to enjoy these much.” Your soldier murmurs, cupping your tit and pushing it up toward his waiting mouth.
Lips, warm and wet, wrap around your nipple, sucking softly on it. His palm is warm, fingers pressing into your smooth flesh. It’s his favorite part of you, after all. He knew it before even seeing their bare skin.
“Hm…” Reaching up to the back of his head, you release a relaxing breath. Your head drops back as you cradle him against your chest, feeling the passionate massage he begins to give them. “Love this, Si…”
“Mm,” He moans in response, eyes closing as he enjoys you.
He feels surrounded by you, and you by him. Resting like this together feels so special, almost sacred. You crave it. A profound sense of longing fills you, and you feel foolish, because he’s right here. He’s here with you and still, you can’t get enough.
Sliding your hands around to his cheeks, your head turns as you lean in. Lips press sweetly to his second skin, the black fabric covering his temple. And it makes him chuckle quietly, kissing the slope of your breast.
“Like my mask?”
“Mhm,” Your lips curl into a devilish grin while pressing against him, holding his head even closer to you.
“Do you…” With a deep breath, he lifts his head, eyes finding you. “Do you ever wish you could see my face?”
With this question, you still, looking at him with a quietly shocked expression. Swallowing, you think before speaking, knowing that your words need to be respectful and calculated. But it only takes one for a decent response that can also be truthful.
“Yes.”
Just barely nodding, Simon’s heart pounds inside his chest. Now that he knows this, he feels like he’s disappointed you.
“But I know you don’t want to show me.” You continue, surprising him. “And that’s okay.”
And you think this is the most innocent those deep brown eyes have ever looked. His brows raise beneath the mask, taken aback by your reaction.
“It really is, Si.” And your sweet smile capitalizes on your sentiment.
Your presence in Simon’s life, the grace you give him, it all still astounds him. Some six months later and still, you continue to bring purpose to his life every single day. He hasn’t quite realized it, but that’s exactly how he sees it.
Without another word spoken, his hand rises to the back of your head, bringing you down for a passionate kiss. Your own hands slide down to his jaw, petting lightly at the blonde stubble he has. And you count yourself lucky he’s even let you see that.
“Want a smoke with me?” Simon asks against your lip, nipping at your lower one when you grin.
“Sure, baby.”
Shifting onto one side of his hip, he grabs the pack and lighter from his pants pocket before settling back onto the seat. With one item going to his lips, the other is held up to you, quick to be taken by one of your hands. It’s endearing when he does this, silently asking for a bit of help, even if it’s as small as this.
His face, the features you’ve been allowed to see, light up from the small fire. The quiet sizzle of the joint hums in this small lull before he takes a breath in, fingers grabbing the end. Turning, he releases the smoke into the air, feeling your hand drop the lighter onto the seat beside him. And while this hushed pause should resemble a sense of peacefulness, it prompts a certain worry inside you.
“Si?”
“Yeah?” When his eyes return to you, they’re squinted slightly, eyebrows furrowed. But not in anger or annoyance. What’s bothering him?
“Are you okay?” Lifting your hand, you lay it over his cheek, fingertips brushing over that black mask. “You seem…quiet. Quieter than normal.” And your small poke at him makes both of you grin.
With a sigh, he lifts the cig, offering it to you and then watching you take it. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eyes when he says, “Don’t know how I feel about you tagging along, sweets.”
Without meaning to, he questions your abilities, the same abilities you’ve trained for years to gain. But you take his comment better than he expected.
“Yeah?” You chuckle, raising a brow as you tease, “Afraid I’ll show you up?” Another puff and you’re handing it back to him, curious about what’s going on inside that skull.
“Nah, it’s nothing like that.” Casually, he shakes his head, inhaling on his pass. “Place we’re going is… it’s not a place for you to be.”
“I know it’s dangerous, Si. That’s why I’m going, so I can help you guys.” You knew it, you fucking knew he’d have an issue with you coming. You just weren’t sure how deep that worry was.
And now, he’s silent for a minute, a long minute. Looking away from your gaze, those deep eyes wander to the window, searching for the right words to say. Something along the lines of… “Just don’t want you getting hurt.”
“Awe…” Again, you’re teasing, poking fun to avoid the real conflict. Neither of you want to have a serious conversation, not when your entire life is one giant critical discussion. But you have to admit, you like seeing this side of him.
Leaning in, you nuzzle his temple, your voice turning quiet and sweet. “I like it when you’re soft with me, big boy. Makes me feel like you care.”
“‘Course I do.”
And when you snuggle even further into him, his eyes close, a heavy breath released from his nose. It’s a silent response, his body reacting to your genuine adoration for him. He makes sure to keep his head still, wanting you to continue the loving motion. And you do, reveling in the way his arm returns to circle around you.
It’s not about him doubting you, it’s about him protecting you. He knows you can handle yourself, and he found that incredibly attractive when you first met. But now? He just wants to keep you safe, make sure you stay on base and never have to see combat again. But Price was the one to call the shot this time.
On the other hand, Ghost is also worried about the team. Specifically, he’s worried about them discovering your relationship. No one knows about the two of you except for Johnny, and neither of you want anyone else to find out. And if you somehow get hurt out there, his emotions are sure to expose themselves. There’s not a single chance his affection for you won’t show, his angry and possessive nature sure to shine through. After that, they’re bound to figure it out.
“I’ll be with you,” Comes your gentle response. “How could I ever get hurt when I’m with you?”
Sweet, he thinks. But it’s not enough to reassure him.
*
*
*
The helo ride is easy, nothing that gives you jitters in any sort of way. The only thing you wish was different, was the view - there isn’t one. The entire ride is done with complete cover, not a window in sight as you all sit in the far back, strapped to your seats and waiting to be told otherwise.
Johnny had insisted you hunker down with him, he honestly wants to get to know you a bit more. Especially now that you’re dating his best friend. He also wanted to distract said friend; Simon needs to keep his head on straight. But Ghost wasn’t having any of that. Not because he was worried Soap would make a move, but because he promised himself you wouldn’t be leaving his side for even a second throughout this trip.
While sitting beside each other, you find yourself wanting him, yearning for his touch, to lean against his shoulder or even hold his hand. But the closest you two settle for is the touching of your knees. Around the boys, you manspread just like them. So, while leaning back in your seat, you do just that. And of course, Simon doesn’t move an inch. He likes your need for touch, it matches his quite nicely. It might even make him smile beneath his mask.
“Drop point,” Price announces, “Comin’ up fast.”
And upon command, the four of you release your buckles, standing to correct your straps. Simon eyes you from his peripheral as you adjust your vest, leaning down to check the pistol in your thigh holster and then the one secured to your stomach. He finds it attractive, watching you train your knowledge of weapons. But he shakes those thoughts out of his head. Right now, he’s making sure the way you’re loading them is correct.
Hovering above the designated location, each of you approaches the sliding door. Once Price tosses the rope down, he’s the first one on it, landing on the ground with a firm thud and immediately securing the area. Then, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. You’re last, and it’s for your best interest. It gives you the advantage of watching them, taking notes on how to do this. And when you finally secure your gloves and grab hold of the rope, you look to them on the ground. But it’s not the team you find. Grinning, your eyes immediately lock, his trained on you beneath that stoic mask. He’s standing at the bottom, staring up and waiting for you. And all he wants to do is tell you to stay, or at the very least, catch you. But all he can do is watch as you slide down, restraining himself from wrapping his arm around you once you’re on the ground.
His Reckoner gear is menacing, though his attire usually is. The black jacket matches the shawl slung loosely around his neck, draping down onto his chest. Shielding him from the rapidly growing winds is his outfit’s hood, tight around his head and mask. You find yourself favoring this look, so dark and mysterious. It’s how you first saw him when you met. And you’re dressed similarly, your entire outfit made up of black and gray canvas, a scarf around your neck and gloves on your hands, with your own hood up, too.
Only a small part of you tries to separate yourself from him, but it doesn't reach surface level, not even close. Regardless of wanting to hide your relationship, you stick to each other like glue. Taking his position at the rear of the group, he makes sure to keep his strides in line with you, matching your pace expertly as you continue forward.
The silence between you is comfortable, familiar, and again, you find yourself longing for him. With a devious thought creeping into your mind, you let your hand fall to your side, wandering further enough to swipe your pinky across his thumb.
“Think you’re ready for this?” A deep, Scottish accent suddenly asks.
Jumping sharply, your hand instantly flinches away from your lieutenant. “W-What?”
“Bit jumpy, there?”
Smirking, you roll your eyes, hands grabbing the straps of your vest. “I’m just fine, Johnny.” And then, you nod, feigning an air of smugness. “What about you?”
“Born ready, sweetheart.”
Ghost huffs. “Born a pretty boy.” But even he’s grinning as he says it.
“Fuckin’ grump,” Soap teases, walking backward and just ahead of you two so he can continue talking. “We’re only an hour in.”
“And still needing to secure our position.” Dad - Price, snaps, reminding Soap to keep his voice down.
At this, Johnny’s eyes widen, his body jerking around before jogging forward to catch up with the rest of the group. You chuckle at his reaction, but Ghost doesn’t make another sound as you continue. He’s too busy with his own thoughts to converse with you.
Flurries of snow buzz around your covered heads, sticking to the fabric of your scarves, the hairs of your eyelashes and the scruff on the boys’ chins. It brings about a certain childlike bliss, a winter wonderland in the midst. Smiling innocently at the beautiful landscape around you, those joyful emotions soon dissipate alongside your captain’s voice.
“Ice ahead.” He declares, signaling for the rest of you to ready yourselves. And with a deep breath, that’s just what you attempt to do.
“Grab your ice axe.” Simon murmurs, twisting around to grab his own.
“I know.” You sass, reaching back for the tools in your pack.
Easily, he dismisses your attitude. All he wants is for you to be prepared, adding on, “A bundle of rope, too.
Approaching the mountain, you ready yourself. Almost as if staring a beast in the eye, you stand flat on your feet, staring up at the vast landscape. It’s intimidating, this imposing piece of nature. Familiar winds sweep across the rocky edges, brushing the snow from its various levels. And beneath it lay thick layers of ice, sheet after sheet sliding down the summit’s side.
“You and I can go first, get to the top fast as we can.” Simon decides, planting a hand on your lower back and ushering you toward the front of the group.
“Why?”
“Let’s go.” Easily, Simon pushes his way forward, right beside you.
His added attention to your every move is noticeable within the group. And honestly, it’s starting to irritate you. To an extent, it’s insulting, especially in front of the other men. But you need to focus on the task at hand, and that doesn’t include any of your emotions about him.
Reaching up, a small grunt is released as you swing your pick, digging it into the ice. And once Simon is sure you have your footing, he starts up right alongside you. He’s below your stance and slightly to your right, watching your steps while trying to keep his own in check. But to his surprise, you’re doing fairly well for your first time. The burn in your muscles is nothing compared to the determination to prove Price right. He won’t regret bringing you on this mission.
However, repeatedly hoisting your body up while trying to find your footing is becoming increasingly difficult as you go on, gravity beginning to weigh heavy against your body. Every step is met with a disgruntled groan or grunt, with Ghost’s echoing below you. Eventually, you start to hear the rest of the team’s noises, each man climbing up at their own pace.
“You alright, lass?”
“Ye-ah,” Comes your breathy response, releasing an airy laugh. “This isn’t so h–hard.”
You’re speaking as you climb, with every other word coming out between some type of guttural noise. And further beneath your feet, Johnny laughs in return.
“McTavish, watch your footing.” Price chides, his voice hurried and a bit frantic. It startles you. “McTavish!”
Breaking open your seemingly sound world is the sudden cracking of ice, your eyes going wide. The sound of frozen water splitting between the five of you echoes along the summit’s climb, and soon after, your teammates’ yells, too.
“Soap!”
Glancing down, you barely have time to react before Ghost is barking at you. “Head up!”
Instantly, your head snaps upward, breaths labored as worry consumes you. Your ears ring with the sudden spike of adrenaline forcing blood through your veins, heart pumping from the appearance of your base instincts.
“Keep going!” He continues to shout, “That’s an order, Bones!”
With everything in you, you want to look down, especially when you hear the boys’ continuation of panicked shouts. But beside you, Ghost’s movements pick up, your own now excelling forward, too.
Simon’s chest heaves beside you as he scrambles up the side of the mountain, your movements now just as fast. Stab after stab, you hurl your arms upward against the ice, forcing the axe into the thick sheets.
“S-Simon.”
“Keep going.” Is all he says, all he’s able to say.
And in the blink of an eye, you’re at the top curve. Simon hauls himself over the side, immediately leaning over the cliff’s edge to reach for your hand.
“Take it! Take it now!”
“Price!” Gaz yells in the distance, a heavy thud heard at the bottom of the cliff.
“John.” You barely whimper, thinking the worst has come.
The firm grip of your lieutenant’s hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, yanking you up and over the edge. You land on your stomach with a hard unff, Simon’s hand now settling over your lower back. He can’t see anything, a thick dusting of snow covering the lower half of their climb. For a moment, he thinks about yelling, but chooses to flick on his comms instead.
“Price?” He questions into the mic, eyes searching frantically for any one of them. “Soap?”
“We’re here.”
“What the bloody hell happened?”
“Wrong, wrong move.” Johnny huffs through the link. “Ice cracked, Price fell. Me shortly after; Gaz was still close to the ground.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“Just a bit.” Price finally answers, and this is when you move to sit up. But Simon’s firm hand on your back keeps you down. “I’ll be fine, just a sore back.”
“Orders?” Now that he knows no one is severely injured, he needs to know the team’s next moves. He is second in command, after all.
“Simon?” Again, you try to push yourself up, but the pressure he applies becomes firmer, his fingers curling into your jacket.
“Stay.” He demands, his voice dark and stern. If you were anyone else, you’d think it was a warning.
“We’ll have to trek around, but…” Trailing off for a moment, the captain finishes with, “It’ll add a day to our hike.”
A moment of silence passes, and Simon leans away from the cliff, settling beside you. Finally, he lets you up, turning his head as he watches you gather your bearings beside him.
“Hike on,” Price decides. “Secure the safe house, we’ll be a day behind. This path is lost.”
“No reconvene?” Ghost clarifies, wondering if the team should get their heads on straight after being separated like this. And upon this suggestion, Price grows silent in thought.
“Setting up camp would be smart. Give us a rest, some time to calm down and gather ourselves.” He finally agrees, then declaring, “We’ll stay for the night; right thinking, Ghost. We’re to be up and moving no later than dawn, am I clear?”
“Clear. I’ll expect your comms in twenty-four.”
“Affirmative. Bravo Six, out.”
With that, Simon stands, your eyes trailing up his large figure while he adjusts his gear. Labored breaths continue to form within your lungs, now stung from the harsh winter air.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re heading off on our own.” Your partner confirms, brushing the snow from his pants.
“How are they? Is anyone hurt?” The comms transferred to his earpiece, you were only able to hear his responses.
“Nothing severe, they’re choosing a different path. It’ll add a day, but Price wants us to continue on.” Tilting your head, your curious expression prompts further information from him. “We’ll make camp for the night though, give us time to rest.”
“And then what?”
“We’ll locate and secure the safehouse, wait for them to arrive.” Leaning down, he holds a hand out, helping you up once you take it. “You alright?”
Now that you’re alone, he grabs your shoulders, rubbing them for both comfort and warmth. “You’re shivering.”
“Just cold.” Shrugging, you brush it off as just that, feeling chilly. Though, it’s partially due to shock, and Simon knows it. It’s been more than five years since you were last in the field; maybe you weren’t fully ready for this.
“You’re alright, love.” Guiding you to his chest, he sighs, holding the back of your head. “No one’s hurt.”
All you do is nod against him, pulling up your big girl pants and shoving aside your emotions. He’s right, everything’s fine, just a small bump in the road.
“We should make camp.” He suggests, the surrounding scenery darkening as he speaks.
Your current location is far enough away to make a small fire and not draw any attention from the targeted enemy. So naturally, it’s the first thing Simon does, right after finding a small patch of brush for you to set the tent. It’s a small thing, just barely big enough to fit one man. But neither of you mind squeezing inside together. You don’t have sleeping bags, but what you do have are Mylar thermal blankets. Which will have to do, and are actually useful in these situations.
“Bones.” Ghost quietly calls, and when you look over your shoulder, you find him huddled near the fire. He then jerks his head to the side, beckoning for you. “Cm’over here.”
While rubbing your hands together, you make your way over to him, sitting down by the little fire he’s built. It’s enough to bring you warmth, though, the pulsing embers doing wonders for your frozen appendages.
“Any better?”
“A little better.” With your hands outstretched toward the flames, you nod, eyes trained on the wispy bits of fire floating through the wind.
Upon your response, he scooches closer, positioning himself behind you. Here, he spreads his legs, laying them on either side of your own and pulling you in between them, right up against his chest. You smile as he drags you back, allowing him to hold you between his legs. His cold, covered chin then finds your shoulder, both arms wrapping around your midsection.
Rumbling to you quietly, he asks again, “Any better?”
The smile on your face burns brighter than the fire. “A lot better.”
Shifting slightly, you relax into his body, basking in the fact that you can so openly cuddle up together. And when he feels your entire weight fall into him, he hums, kissing your shoulder through the mask. He’s become such an affectionate man around you.
Inside, your heart beats for him. Thinking back to the scenario on the cliff, you replay Simon’s protective acts in your head. His verbal directions, both before and during the event, his physical motions of pulling you up to safety and then keeping a hand on your back.
“Si?”
“Hm?” He returns, mouth full of a protein bar. While you ponder your question, he hands you one, too.
“Why did you hold me down? By my back?”
He chews his food much slower now, thinking. Never before has he thought through his responses so thoroughly before meeting you. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing; he’s quite frightened of it, actually.
“Didn’t know if anyone was hurt.” He eventually returns, and you’re confused until he finishes his statement. “Didn’t want you seeing something like that.”
And while you appreciate the meaning behind his actions, it prompts a certain fear within you. He can’t continue to fight your battles for you, not when you’re out in the field. He has to be himself, not a modified version just because you’re here. He can’t be Simon, he has to be Ghost. And still, you can’t help but feel grateful for him, all of him.
“Thank you.”
*
*
*
The day was cold but the night was frigid, your thermal blankets doing little to shield you from the frozen hell you were in. What helped build heat beneath the metallic blankets, though, were your bodies. It was Simon who suggested it, and you didn’t think twice once he did. There was nothing sexual behind it, only concern and genuine care.
As soon as you were at his side, huddled within the tent, his arms snaked tightly around your stomach. Naked beneath the crinkly cover, Simon hugged you to his body, not only for heat but for comfort. His masked face easily found its way to your neck, body curling around yours like a protective outer shell. And in this way, he warmed you, inside and out.
Feeling Simon’s naked body served to bring you a sense of relaxation you didn’t think you’d find on this mission. Being able to sleep beside him was also an incredibly relieving act you didn't think you’d get to experience while deployed. Now that it’s just the two of you, you’re free to bask in each other’s company, reveling in the sweet way your souls connect. It’s not just about physical attraction for you two, not anymore. What you have is chemical. You’ve become each other’s best friend - companions; it’s just natural for you to be together. Even like this, pressed against each other in complete nakedness without an ounce of sexual intention in the air, it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward, not for either of you. Those bulky forearms nestled right beneath your breasts, feeling the smooth curves lay against him. And his flaccid length pressed against your backside, his strong hold keeping you nice and close throughout the night. Neither of you cared. There wasn’t room for insecurity between the two of you, not after all you’ve been through.
“You’re my girl.” Simon whispered to you, mask lifted just enough for him to kiss your ear.
His eyes were closed as he spoke, body tired and sore and lulling him to sleep. But not before murmuring, “You’re mine; mine to keep.”
But that was last night. This morning isn’t so sweet.
While Simon continued to display his ever-growing and extremely doting personality, the weather was still acting like a petty bitch. Wild winds surged through your small camp when you awoke, gathering your things once dawn hit the sky. Simon stamped out the fire, you packed up the tent, and off you went.
“How much farther is it again?”
“About twelve kilometers.”
The dramatic groan you exude makes his lips curl beneath the mask, eyes turning to witness your adorably irritated face.
“C’mon,” He teases, that smirk revealed through his tone. “You can make it.”
“Can I borrow your mask?” You then ask, a grin curling on your lips.
Rolling his eyes, they land on you, an unamused expression swirling within them.
“Look, you’re being stingy with it.” Continuing with your charade, you then add, “It’s freezing out here. My cheeks are getting all chapped.”
At this, he huffs out a single laugh. “Looks pretty damn cute to me.”
It’s interesting, you think. All of this started with you making fun of his mask, and now, you adore it. You adore him.
Both of you are thankful for the common knowledge of swift and silent movement as you trek on through the harsh, mountainous terrain. The quicker you get there, the quicker you’re able to rest. Price mentioned that the cabin even had heat and running water, a true reprieve for you all. At least, for the time being. Besides, you can’t get too carried away just yet. You still have to secure the area before enjoying it.
“Looks to be a bit easier from here.” Ghost announces, coming to stand on top of a ridge you haven’t yet arrived at. But when you do, you’re met with flat, snowy terrain.
“Thank god.”
“C’mon, hasn’t been that hard.”
And he’s right. Aside from that icy cliff incident, this hike has been a piece of cake. Nothing to complain about on your end, really; messing with Simon was just fun sometimes. He always fell for your antics, too. Something about you acting weak and frail just made him want to care for you. And that’s something you’d never protest.
Walking with you was nice and easy; you understood him and his preference for silence. It’s a trait you both shared. Why speak if there’s nothing to be said?
“Have we got a plan?” Simon then says, deciding this is something that should definitely be said.
“About?”
“The safe house, how we’re going to secure it.”
“Well, I don’t really have any experience in searching for and disarming traps. I think that’s on you, buddy.”
“Yeah?” Buddy, it makes him chuckle. “And what will you do?”
“Cover your six?” It’s a suggestion; you can still be helpful. “I can scope out the treeline, make sure Price was right about enemies not crossing over the lines.”
“Sounds like a plan, love.”
And what a good plan it was. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine as soon as you arrived at the safe house, finally reaching your destination in the early evening. Either you just work well together, or you were simply eager for some rest. Likely both.
“Scanning.” Keeping your eye on the surrounding treeline, you speak into your comms, listening to Ghost rustle through the brush not too far off in the distance. “Movement.”
“Friendlies?” Ghost immediately returns, fidgeting with something on his head. You can hear it through your small speaker, assuming he’s handling a trip-wire.
Upon further inspection, you release the tight breath you’d been holding. “Deer.”
“Copy.” He returns, going about his given task.
Knowing you have his back makes his job that much easier. And if he’s being completely honest, seeing you with a gun in your hand, your expert eye skimming the treeline, it was attractive. Turned him on, actually, as much as he needed to focus he just couldn’t help it. He admires your work ethic. Even when he had watched your body climb up the sheets of ice, he admired it, eyeing the way your muscles twisted and flexed beneath the canvas of your pants, the way he could see right up between your legs. It’s a wonder he didn’t get even a semi while climbing. But he’s thankful you hadn’t distracted him to that extent.
“Clear.” Simon grumbles into the comms, “Moving south.”
Shifting in the trees, you stay adjacent to him, watching his figure from behind. You’re ready to face any possible enemies, but are thrilled to find this portion of the job has been just as easy as the rest.
“Clear.” He then repeats, finalizing his task. “Moving in.”
Desperately, he wants to relax, find his way inside and just be for a moment. Price said there’d be heat and running water, and Christ, is he looking forward to that.
“Bones?”
“Copy.”
“You following?”
“Coming in.” You confirm, walking up from behind, your position still crouched and eyes zeroed in on the treeline.
Walking into the clearing toward the small home, you almost feel naked, exposed. Every step you make is in Ghost’s footprint, following his every movement to avoid the traps. And once Ghost is on the wooden steps at the front, you glance over your shoulder, taking one last look at the perimeter.
“C’mon,” Simon almost coos, fatigue seeping into his voice. “We’re clear, love.”
Typing in the code Price had given him, Simon unlocks the door and with a harsh nudge, makes his way in. The house is made up of one central room, a side bedroom, bathroom, and small kitchen space. In the living area is a single couch, and further in the bedroom you see a mattress. Hopefully something to help Simon’s back.
“Might hear a bit of noise,” Simon says, walking off toward the kitchen. “I’m kicking on the furnace.”
“That is fine by me.” Breathing out a sigh of relief, you let your body fall onto the couch, dropping your pack to the floor. “I could use some warmth.”
An abrupt thud rattles the baseboards as the rusty furnace burns to life, a small whoosh of dust fluttering from the vents. The soot briefly filling the air disturbs your lungs, a small bout of coughs overcoming you. But for Simon, it does nothing, his mask guarding him from any of the pollen-like pollution.
Casually, he strides your way, plopping down beside you on the couch. He sits alongside a long and raspy sigh, his body right against yours as he wraps his arms around you. Apparently, one of his favorite things to do.
“C’mere,” He says quietly, pulling you to lean back against his chest. And he enjoys it when you snuggle into him, resting against his firmness.
Placing his fingers beneath your chin, he lifts your head, and when you turn to meet him you discover his bare lips. They’re dry and chapped, both of your mouths as they press together, but neither of you really care. You’re yearning for each other, and very suddenly aware that you have an entire cabin to yourselves. And as Simon holds your face with his gloved hand, his kisses become sweet, sensual slides and meetings that make your heart beat.
“How are you?” He asks in that deep, rumbly tone, still full of genuine care.
“Tired,” You breathe out with a short laugh. “Sore.”
“Mm,” Your love nods, gifting you with another small kiss. It’s short and sweet, the gentle stamp of his lips. “Why don’t you have a shower with me?” He’d eyed the bed in the backroom, too, thinking about how wonderful it might feel to lay down in it after washing yourselves clean. But in this moment, that’s not at all what you’re thinking about.
Is he going to let me see his face?
You’re shocked he even asked, you never thought you’d get an opportunity like this with him. And so, with your eyes flickering up to meet his, you nod. “Okay.”
“Won’t be too luxurious,” His voice rumbles across your skin, dark eyes staring down at your charming little face. “Grimy shower, no soap. Just enough water to wash the sweat off our skin.”
Sleepily, you smile. “That’s good enough for me.”
*
*
*
The strength he continues to use even beneath the weight of fatigue is astounding. You’re not quite sure how he has it in him, but he holds you up from behind, cradling your body in his arms. And it’s not like you weigh much, but it still impresses you. There’s not much Simon does that hasn’t impressed you.
Warmly, the water cascades down your body, droplets rolling over the hills and valleys of your skin. And it’s so pleasurable that you moan, eyes closing as your head tilts back to rest against him. Briefly, it frightens him, his eyes dipping down to your relaxed face. He’s reassured by the small flutter of your lashes, a display of respect for him. Before getting in, Simon told you not to look at his face. And while it made your heart sink, you really should’ve known better than to expect that from him.
On his end, this is just as nice, if not even more. With his mask off, he uses one hand to run down his face, then ruffling it through his short hair.
“Simon?” You ask, feeling him reach up, brushing water through his locks.
“Mm?”
Still temporarily blind, you ask him, “What color is your hair?”
That deep laugh bounces off the tile walls, and it makes you smile, heart beating with a certain affection you’re not yet ready to admit to him.
“What color do you think it is?”
“Well, your stubble is blonde, and your happy trail…” Grinning, you reach behind you, fingers petting at the damp patch of hairs leading down to his groin.
“Blonde.” Simon repeats, both hands returning to your hips.
Leaning down, his head tilts, lips brushing your cheek as he says, “That’s what I am.”
For a moment, when you feel his hands roam, you assume it to be sexual. But it isn’t, not at first anyways. While you bask in this new knowledge, Simon washes your body, hands running over your shoulders and arms, your stomach, your hips and thighs.
“You’re tense.” That grumbling voice says, rubbing your shoulders. “Give you a proper rub when I bring you back to base.” And the way he says it makes you swoon, something about his wording making you feel cared for, protected.
“You’d do that for me?”
For a flash, you consider the danger of your situation. You’re both living in a fantasy right now, showering together for the first time, enjoying each other’s company while you’re supposed to be guarding the safe house. But apparently, Simon’s quite sure of the absence of any danger.
Shifting slightly, your Ghost’s broad palms rise to cup your tits, groaning softly into your ear as his head dips down to your neck. Here, his lips work over you, kissing you sensually beneath the warm spray.
“‘Course I would.”
When you sigh, your head falls back a bit further, truly exposing your neck. And this gives him the perfect opportunity for his dominant hand to lift a little higher, fingers encircling your neck. A spike of adrenaline hits your blood, your pulse jumping when it happens. You keep your eyes from flashing open, instead flashing him your grin.
“I want you, sweetheart.” Simon openly admits, his firmly toned body pressing against your back. “While there’s no one around… no one here but you and me…”
“Baby,” Reaching back, you use one arm to wrap around his neck, fingers combing up through his hair. It sends a tingle down your entire spine, feeling his full head of hair for the first time. “I want you.”
“Just us, alone…” He’s trailing off, voice murmuring beneath the shower’s loud stream. “Pull as many pretty sounds from you as I like.”
Chuckling, you return with, “How are you not exhausted?”
“I’m never too tired for you.” He easily responds, “Cheesy, but it’s true. I want every second I can get with you.”
It’s really strange to you, seeing your relationship now versus the start of it. At the beginning, Simon was cold, completely cut off from any outside communication, and that’s how he liked it. He didn’t have anyone close to him, and so, he didn’t have anyone to lose. A man free of commitment, free of any domestic responsibility; tied to his military base, and nothing more. But then you showed up, and made him feel things he never wanted to experience. It was something he blocked out, but his defenses weren’t strong enough to daunt you. And now, instead of avoiding your affections, he returned them tenfold every time he could.
Another pull in your chest, muscles tightening, stomach fluttering. You want to tell him, be open and honest just as he’s pushed himself to be with you. But you don’t know if this is the right time, you don’t know if there will ever be a ‘right time’ with him.
But before you can fully process that, Simon finishes washing your body and his, wiping away the sweat and grime of the past couple days. He even snakes a hand down between your legs, bringing water to rinse you while pressing his lips to your ear.
“Turn it off.” Gentle breath brushes over your skin, both broad palms on your hips as you bend over to do it. “Stay here.”
There aren’t any towels in the cabin, there isn’t much of anything, really. But he moves out into the living room to grab a random blanket from the couch, returning to wrap you in it.
“All we have.”
“That’s okay.” Your smile is sweet as you stare up at him, now with his mask on again. He’d dried himself briefly before coming back to you, and now, he guides you to the bedroom.
“C’mere,” Turning you around to face him, Simon sighs, lifting his mask. “Give me those lips.”
Easily, he pushes forward, guiding you down to the bed as he distracts you with his mouth. The blanket lays open around you as it happens, revealing your naked body to him once again. And on either side of your head, those strong forearms hold your soldier up, his mouth delicate as he begins to consume you.
One large hand finds its way to your thigh, parting your legs. With gentle eagerness, he settles between them, lowering himself to kiss your neck.
“So beautiful,” He murmurs, eyes closed as he shakes his head. “Even through all this, through the hike and weather.”
“Shut up.” You return, laughing playfully at his words.
“I mean it.” Simon instantly responds, voice gruff as he speaks to you in that lowered tone. “You’re the only woman to ever do this to me.”
Your loving lieutenant speaks with a sense of urgency, voice breathy and raspy and full of the deep accent you adore so completely. Truthfully, it’s the most emotional confession he’s ever given, and it stuns you to your core. In your eyes, he might as well have told you he loves you. It’s likely the closest you’ll ever get to it.
“Simon…” Reaching up, your hands cup his cheeks, wishing now more than ever to see more.
“You mean something to me…” He admits, slowly moving down your body.
As he creeps down your frame, your hands pull away from his face, feeling his own explore you in the most intimate way. Both of them secure to your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze before his lips find them. He’s soft with it, mouthing at the delicate bends of your body.
“A perfect treat,” Ghost grins, lips curling over your skin. “All for me.”
That devilish smirk only grows wider when you spread your legs for him, watching with bated breath. Simon always made this such an event, laying you out on any surface or bed and making you wait for his every move.
“Just look at that,” Your sharp inhale makes him hum in admiration, using his thickest digit to thumb at your glistening lips. “Those creamy juices just leaking out of your cunt…”
“Simooonnn,” Thrusting your hips up, you huff dramatically, tossing your head back onto the bed. “Please.”
Usually, he’d laugh, but he doesn’t want to drag it out this time. He wants to indulge in you while he can, before anyone else shows up. And so, he fully parts your lips, tongue laying out to swipe through them. His breaths waft heavily across your center, smooth lips engulfing your sex. He sucks on you, already slurping up the combination of your slick and his spit. Steadily, he strokes you with his tongue, digging it deep inside your warmth. But then he’s pulling himself back, using both hands to spread your legs, pulling apart your sticky lips.
“Christ, I love this.” His voice is thick, eyes unwavering from the space between your thighs. Licking through these delicate petals… right down into that hole.”
Lifting himself ever so slightly, he laps at your clit, tongue circling the hood as he toys with it. The way your hips quiver gifts him with encouragement, with confidence. He knows your body, and he’s going to use that knowledge against you.
“Come on, babe. Make those beautiful noises for me.” Reaching forward, he grabs onto the meat of your ass, squeezing it in hand. “There’s no one here to listen but me, just me…”
“Ngh,” Arching your back, you cry out for him, both from the force of his hand and the way his tongue flicks against the peak of your sex. “Fuck.”
“Come on.” His breathy encouragements continue to flow, his lips soft and wet as he licks through you. “Moan for me.”
“B-Baby, yes…”
He’s sucking on you, lips smacking against the wetness of your cunt as he basks in its taste. The more you writhe beneath his face, the firmer his grip on you becomes, until you’re unable to move yourself at all. Your hips still, crushed comfortably beneath his weight as both of those veiny forearms settle overtop them.
“Yes.” Reaching out, you wish so desperately to be met with the wonderful sensation of his golden hair. But alas, it’s that goddamn mask. Fingers curling tightly into the fabric, you cling to him, chest puffing out sultry gasps into the dusty cabin air. “I, I ca…”
“More.”
“Simon,”
While mumbling against your skin, Simon’s deep, dark eyes flutter up to your gorgeous face. His hands dig into your hips, fingers pressing into the muscles that make you so delicious. Every time you’re near, whether it’s sexual or otherwise, he adores the way you say his name. The way you call for him, reaching out for protection, for friendship, for love. You reach out to him for love, he knows it.
Massaging you with his hands, Simon’s grunts vibrate through your legs and hips, his mouth insistent. And when you meet his eyes, meet that possessive, predatory gaze, you’re done for. The entire sensation of it rushes through your body, opening up and completely letting go. Your back arches, jaw dropping as you listen to him mouth at your quivering cunt like it’s a feast. Heavy grunts and humid breaths, the wet sound of your juices mixing with his spit. Your hips shake from it, lungs constricting from the euphoria tightening your veins.
“Si-imon!” Eyes pinching shut, you revel in it, hands pressing to the back of his head as you reach out for more of his touch. But it’s as if you can’t bring him any closer than he already is.
He lets you hold him, lets your body roll through the motions. But it takes everything in him not to immediately crawl over your body and capture your lips. So, he continues to lick you, letting himself get lost in the taste of it, the smell of it. Shoving his tongue inside, he can feel your hole quiver around him, can feel the way his taste buds react to your cum.
“Baby, baby.” Simon’s tongue swirls around your clit, menacing orbs trained directly on you once again. “Baby…”
And all at once, he’s on you again, lifting himself from between your legs and reaching out to wrench your jaw open.
“Give me those fucking lips.”
Crashing his mouth to your own comes alongside his heated moan, the sound of wet gasps and hot breaths instantly filling the air. He’s pressing himself into you, crushing you comfortably beneath his weight. And the hand he has on your cheek only further secures its grip, keeping your mouth open for him.
“You want me?” He always loved to hear you say it.
“Yes, yes baby, please.” When he pulls away enough to speak, your hands shoot up to his cheeks. “Simon, please.” But then you see him pause, the glimmer of a smirk pulling on his lips. Those deep, mocha orbs stare down at you as he waits. He wants to hear you say it, and you know it.
“I want you.”
If it were any other situation, Simon might’ve held back, might’ve made you repeat a few more words just to really get himself going. But he’s already throbbing against your leg, precum leaking onto your skin since the moment he laid you on the bed. The rest of them could be here any moment, likely in the morning but you never know with Price. He has to take advantage of this while he can.
Leaning on that decorated forearm, Simon’s free hand lowers to his shaft, gripping the base. With his eyes dipping down, he takes a beat to lick his lips and catch his breath. He’s hot, swollen, his pleasure pulsing as it slides across your outer lips. And you pull him in while he does it, mouthing at his neck and trying your damnedest to keep his skin free of any visible sin.
“Such a perfect pussy…” He whispers, sliding his entire length in.
It stretches you, prompting your legs to widen as you take him. The sight of this makes the corner of his lips quirk, a devilish glint in his eye twinkling from your submissiveness.
“That’s it,” A rough sigh is punched from his chest when he’s fully seated, when the firm drag of his cock slows to a dull throb between your legs.
Through the carnal desire clawing through his chest, he pauses, heart beating fondly from the way you nuzzle against his skin. It’s intimate, it isn’t just lust. And as soon as he comes down a bit from that blind passion and excitement, his arms encase your head, cradling you in them.
“Sweetheart,” Brushing the tip of his nose across your own, he draws your attention. Your soft breaths make you seem so small, and in contrast, him so large. You put so much trust into his hands.
Dipping down, Simon kisses you, distracting you with the sweet press of his lips while retracting his hips. Driving his pelvis forward again, he listens to your shrill gasp as it escapes your throat, fingernails already digging into his skin. Repeatedly, he seeks your warmth, pleasure flowing through his system as you give him this tempting sin. That’s really what it is to him; love is a sin.
But he takes every bit of it like a man that’s been promised to hell.
Steady and continuous is the pace of his hips, pelvis slapping between your open thighs. Repeatedly, he breaches your entrance with a girth you’ve desperately missed, his entire body pressing into you. And now that he’s inside, that free hand lifts, eyes watching your bouncing chest before grabbing at it. He paws at your seductive curves like it’s the first time he’s ever touched them, mouth finding the slope of your shoulder and neck as he kisses your skin with wet, parted lips.
“This is just what I need,” Simon groans, growls. “You’re just what I want. You know that, don’t you?”
The moans you once kept silent now burst from your lips, grinding your hips up in time with his thrusts as best you can. Grasping for his shoulders, you feel yourself go weak, the fat head of his cock hitting you deep.
“You know that, right?” He repeats, fondling your chest with firm grabs. But when you still don’t answer, he grunts out his disapproval, head lifting to dig his covered nose into your cheek. And you know better than to not answer him.
“Yes, Simon…” It comes out as a sigh, eyes fluttering open to see those deep, endlessly brown eyes.
And it makes him grin, chuckling breathily. You’re drunk on him.
“Good.” He mumbles against your lips, the hand on your chest now sliding down your side. It follows the dip of your waist and hips, smoothing over the side of your ass until he reaches your thigh. And then he’s grabbing you, hauling your leg further up on his waist, and in turn giving him access for a harsh smack.
“Pretty girl… you’re mine.”
“Simon.”
“Look at me.” Grabbing your jaw, he turns your head in his direction. And the force of it snaps your eyes open, staring up at your enormous soldier. “Look at me when you say my name.”
“Simon…”
Emotion swirls inside your chest until you feel like it’s about to burst, dire need and complete infatuation taking over your body. He’s all consuming, something you can't and wouldn’t ever want to run away from. It’s clawing at you from the inside out, your care for him, your genuine adoration. And you don’t want to say it because you’re sure he won’t react too nicely, he won’t accept it, but you can’t help it. You really can’t, and all at once, you’re saying it.
“Simon, Si, I love,”
Briefly, he stutters, both his hips and lungs. But he keeps going, he’s sure that’s not what you’re saying. It’s not what you should be saying.
“I love you, Si.”
The embrace you hold with him couldn’t be more intense, your chests pressed together as your arms loop tightly around his neck. Something inside him feels like it’s breaking, cold heart cracking with something akin to warmth. If he had the chance, he would’ve begged you not to say it. You don’t need to fall for him like that, not in this way, not in this lifetime. It hasn’t been kind to him, and he, in turn, hasn’t been a kind man. Any semblance of good intention left in his body has been given to you and… he figures that’s it, isn’t it? Is that what love is? Giving someone everything you have? Every piece of good you’ve been made with?
“Bones,” Simon eventually returns, hips slowing until he stills. Resting in this lull with you, he can practically feel your anxiety, your vulnerability. You’ve given him everything you have, too. “I… do.”
“You don’t have to say it.” Comes your instant, tiny squeak.
Out of either vulnerability or insecurity, his head finds your neck, stuffing its way into concealment. “I do.” He says again, squeezing you with his entire body. “I do.”
With a firm sigh, he decides to give this to you; you deserve this - he’s going to give this to you.
“I love you… too.”
“Baby, you really don’t have to say it.” You can practically feel the uncertainty seeping through his skin as he clings to you, seeking security. Stroking the back of his head, you hold him, wrapping your legs around his waist, too.
“I do.” He continues to repeat, now nodding. “I love you.”
*
*
*
“Are you joking me?” Soap practically scoffs, a look of disgust crawling across his face.
“Sorry?” Ghost returns, generally unphased as he inhales another drag of his cig.
“Could you be more obvious?”
At this, Simon’s face turns stern, snuffing out the joint on the couch’s arm before dropping his hand to your leg. A simple gesture of yes, yes I can.
You’d woken up in Simon’s arms, limbs tangled together beneath a worn and tattered scrap of fabric one might call a blanket. Counting yourselves lucky, you opened your eyes to an empty cabin once again. The team hadn’t arrived just yet.
It took some convincing, but you finally got Simon out of bed and dressed. You didn’t want to draw any suspicion should they walk in on you like this. And so, you settled together on the couch. While you laid down, snuggling your feet onto his lap, Simon pulled out another cigarette. It was relaxing, not only being alone but sharing this habit.
The morning was cold but comfortable enough for you to fall back asleep, body resting easily on his sturdy lap. It humored him, seeing just how tired this mission has made you; and you’re only halfway through. But while you were fine spending your time getting some shut eye, Simon was having difficulty fighting his natural instincts. Now that you’ve said it, admitted it, he’s worried. The place you’re in is dangerous and admitting something so precious makes the situation that much more stressful. It also makes him that much more protective.
And so, while you laid resting against him, Simon pulled out his pistol, resting it against his knee with the barrel pointed towards the front door. If anyone were to come in here, they’d have to go through him first.
Lucky for him, though, it turned out to be the boys.
“Lieutenant.” Price nodded, watching Ghost return the gesture.
Lowering the gun, Simon watched as Price and Gaz made their way into the bedroom to set their things down, leaving Soap with the two of you. And that’s when he voiced his concerns, that deep Scottish scoff making itself known.
“Real discrete.” He comments before hearing the captain shout from the room.
“Bit messy in here.” Price remarks, “Messier than I’d last left it. You two do some good sleeping in here?”
“Nah,” Ghost returns with a grin only Johnny can see. “Slept out here, Cap.”
When you hear Simon’s booming voice, you finally wake again, meeting the azure eyes of your friendly sergeant. “Hey, Soap.”
And he can’t bring himself to be any bit annoyed with you. “Hey, gorgeous.”
It’s meant as a friendly compliment, of course, but Ghost squeezes your calf, nonetheless.
“Alright,” Price booms, stomping into the room. “Let’s circle up. We’ve got plans to discuss.”
Already, he hates this. The entire atmosphere has shifted from light and lazy to dark and perilous. Simon can feel his heart rate increasing, his breaths deep and dragging. The mere thought of you in the field makes him want to jump up and wrap you in his arms, drag you away and hide you somewhere safe. What he hates even more than the possibility of that happening is the fact that he allowed it, he’s allowed this to happen. It wasn’t exactly his call to make, but he would’ve made it, and he didn't.
He’s made his bed, and this time, he’s got to lay in it.
So, without much choice, he watches his men regroup in front of him, with his partner sitting up to join in. Price tosses out the maps, Gaz whips out the compass, and Johnny’s already pulling out snacks. Pulling down his mask, Simon releases a harsh sigh, nothing that really draws anyone’s attention, though. He’s pretty much always cranky, and with you here, that trait has grown tenfold.
When Simon reaches for your hand on the couch, your eyes widen. What the hell is he doing? But before you can react, and before anyone else has a chance to see, Johnny tosses a protein bar at the lieutenant.
“Johnny, what the fuck?”
“Don’t be dumb.” Johnny scolds outwardly, scowling at his closest friend.
Price can feel something lingering in the air, an awkward silence, a secret. But he pushes it away. Glancing between his teammates, he clasps his hands together.
“Alright, let’s get to it, then.”
Here we go.
#oooohhhh baby#I love you#I do#Simon Riley#Simon Ghost Riley#Ghost cod#Simon Riley x you#Simon Riley x reader#Simon Riley x female reader#Simon Riley smut#Simon Riley fluff#cod fanfiction#call of duty fanfiction#call of duty#cod mw2
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take the day
Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader
Summary: After his training flight gets canceled, Cyclone gives Jake the rest of the day off, allowing him to play hooky with his son. Or Jake Seresin has bad parents and will do anything for his kid's happiness.
wc: 2k
A/n: I saw this tiktok once and it was of a boy asking his mom if she was having a good day with him and ahhhhh I knew I needed to write a dad!Jake fic.
Jake had been waiting for this day all month, a beautiful shiny new plane was ready to be tested. He set many reminders on his phone, the test’s title written in red ink on every calendar. It was a mistake on Cyclone’s part for the boost Hangman’s ego had when he got the phone call. He smiled at the sun peeking in through the blinds, this was going to be his best ride all year. The blond gathered the thick manual off his desk and started to make his way to the door, only to be stopped by his superior. “The test’s been canceled for today,” Cyclone told him evenly.
It felt like a punch to the gut; hopes and dreams were crushed in a little temporary office. Jake’s face only slightly fell, his nose twitched and his lips dipped into the smallest of frowns. “Understood, sir,” he responded formally.
“Take the rest of the day. You deserve it, Hangman.”
The door shut with a soft click of the lock and Jake slumped back in his chair in unison. Taking the rest of the day off seemed like such a foreign concept, did Cyclone of all people smile as he said it? He furrowed his eyebrows and let his eyes fall to the framed pictures on the old oak desk. He could call up Javy, grab a drink after the other man finished—his eyes continued to scan—he could find you and haul you into the supply closet like all the times before. He passed the wedding photo and let a smile grow on his lips as he looked at the photo of his son on his best friend's shoulders.
“You’re sulking,” you giggled as you opened the door, closing the blinds before making your way to him. “It’s a good look.”
Jake rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, his arms finding their way to the sides of your waist, pulling you into his lap. You touched the medals on his khakis and smiled fondly at his wings. "He wants me to go home," he said, still astonished.
An amused snort came from you, your lips tugging upward into a smile "Whatever will you do?" You sighed dramatically, emphasizing your teasing with a playful roll of your eyes.
Jake smirked and flashed his eyes towards the door before kissing the side of your neck. "We could find a closet," he hummed, "just like old times."
"No way! Not with Cyclone and Warlock running around."
Fine, he thought, pressing his back against the chair. "Well, I was thinking…" Jake suddenly paused, hesitation creeping up the back of his neck.
Sick? The boy's not sick, he can stay at school. Jake was twelve and had appendicitis.
Back in my day, we powered through. Are you cryin'? Pathetic, Jacob. Get out of my damn truck and get to class. Jake was fifteen and just lost his beloved grandmother.
"...nevermind, darlin', I'll just go home. Sleep a bit."
You carefully stroked his well put together hair, being mindful of the gel that kept it together. "Jake," you scolded, "talk."
He swallowed the lump of displeasure and forced his green eyes to look at your reassuring face. "I was thinking about takin' Luke out of school early. Do some errands, spend some time together before you get off."
There was a small pause that Jake took note of immediately. He watched your face for every slim movement, any indication that it was a terrible idea. Then you smiled.
"Oh, Jake," you chuckled, "he'd love that, baby."
Jake's nerves subsided and the unknowing tight grip he had on your waist softened. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
—
Luke's eyelids drooped, green eyes barely focused on the board in front of the class. His science teacher droned on—he wouldn't be able to tell you anything he learned from that class. His head started to slowly slip off the hand that was holding him up.
"Luke Seresin.” The door opened, and a frail older woman scanned the seventh-grade science class. The boy in question looked up, shyly raising his hand. The woman sighed, “Pack your things,” she instructed, “you’re leaving early.”
Suddenly, he was much more awake. He slid off his chair and grabbed his books, ignoring the various faces of his classmates. Placing his backpack around his shoulders he hurried over to his teacher to get his homework before following the woman.
The gears of his mind started to turn. He rarely got to leave early, most of the time it was you coming to pick him up for a doctor's appointment. Luke grimaced at the thought of the upcoming dentist appointment. Was that today? He hoped it was his Uncle Javy. Luke loved when his uncle came to pick him up and play hooky when he was on leave.
Luke took a deep breath as he walked up to the large wood doors separating him from the front office. His jaw was slightly clenched, praying that it wasn’t the dreaded cleaning. The door clicked as the middle schooler pressed the bar, opening it.
His eyes looked upward to the figure standing at the front desk, politely making small talk with the receptionists. His eyes widened as the frame and accented voice clicked in his mind, “Dad!” Luke gasped. The familiar tall muscular frame with tanned skin and a sweet smile turned to him.
Jake chuckled at his excitement and outstretched his arms for him, playfully grunting as his son ran into his stomach. “Hey,” he laughed, cradling the back of his head.
"What are you doing here?"
Jake let his happy face falter, "Your ma said you have a dentist appointment," he lied.
Luke's face fell instantly, the sound of a drill echoing in the back of his mind and making his teeth hurt. He grumbled and threw his head back but allowed Jake to usher him outside the school. "Do I have to go?" He whined.
"There's no appointment, son. Don't need those ladies giving me funny looks," Jake explained, checking behind him to make sure no one could still hear him.
"Then wh-"
"Thought we could go to the hardware store and then the auto part store," Jake hummed, tilting his head side to side.
Excitement bubbled in Luke's stomach, a bright smile spreading on his face. "Then burgers after—from the diner on the beach?" He asked with a light tilt in his tone.
Can we get lunch on the way home, dad?
We have lunch at home. Money doesn't grow on trees, Jacob. How dare you ask me that. Jake knew his family was loaded, there was even an expensive bottle of scotch in the backseat.
Jake lovingly stroked his son's hair, forcing the memories away, and made sure he would forge new ones in his son. He playfully scoffed and kept moving him along towards the truck, “Well I guess we have to,” he said happily.
—
Jake looked through the streaks in the glass, silently judging the two men playing football in the sands technique. He shook his head and took another bite, witnessing an easy throw being missed. It wasn’t even three o’clock yet and he was exhausted from the boy with enough energy to power the city. He smiled fondly at how Luke would walk up and down every aisle of the part store and ask questions, even sharing the bits of knowledge he picked up about his dad's truck. The toothy grin and bright eyes made the exhaustion all worth it.
Luke peered up at his dad as he ate his burger. "Dad," he started in between bites. He swallowed and spoke again, a sliver of caution in his tone, "Are you having a good day with me so far?"
A jolt went through the aviator's heart, and then another when he caught the sight of Luke's green eyes looking at him with all the hope in the world.
Validation.
A part of him hated how much this day was turning out to be a bitter trip down memory lane. Jake gave up asking his dad about things when he was fourteen, the grumpy one-worded answers, tightened grip on the steering wheels and deep frowns were enough. Disappointment chipped away at Jake until he was able to build armor strong enough to deflect the demeanor. He wouldn't let that be Luke, he wouldn't let his eyes grow dim and shoulders slump like his own.
Jake leaned forward and smiled, "I'm having the best day with you, son."
The boy shifted happily in the red faux leather seat, his smile growing miles wider. "Cool," he laughed lightly before starting on his small pile of thin fries.
They ate in silence until Luke saw the jukebox sitting in the corner and begged his dad for a couple of quarters. The boy gleefully ran to the large red box with a clenched fist full of coins and scanned through the old songs, his tongue poking out in concentration. A smile broke out onto his face as he finally found the song he was looking for and pressed the cream colored numbers.
"Slow ride?" Jake whispered to himself, looking around at the speakers attached to the wall.
"I know you liked this song," Luke reminded him cheerfully as he returned to the booth.
"Your mom hates it," Jake chuckled in return.
"But why? You play it all the time."
"I had our DJ switch our first dance song halfway through at our wedding," he reminisced, "she never fails to remind me."
Luke loved hearing stories about you and Jake before you had him. They weren't the rehearsed stories his pops and grandma told to keep their image in pristine condition. Jake told him everything that was age-appropriate, you two were mostly an open book with him.
"Kinda like how she tells everyone she's the better pilot."
Jake's eyes narrowed and his lips became pressed in a tight line. "Now that's what we call a lie, son. No one is better than your old man."
Luke smiled and gulped down the last of his meal, "I believe you—just don't tell mom."
"Scouts honor," Jake mock saluted and laughed. "Why don't we head down the beach?"
Luke gasped and hurried out of the booth, "Can I play in the water? I have my gym clothes in my backpack!"
The blond nodded, and followed him out of the booth calmly, throwing a few bills on the table. Luke grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door, even refusing to let go as they walked to the truck.
—
The sun had just begun to go down when Luke finally emerged from the water and Jake put on his sunglasses to block the sun’s glare. “You still not tired?” Jake questioned as he balled up a towel and threw it at the kid's face. Luke yelped and ripped it off and began to wipe the water off his face.
He dropped to his knees and continued his work on the sand castle he abandoned. “Nope!” he laughed, reaching for his plastic bucket. Jake slumped further in his beach chair, allowing his eyes to slowly close, listening to Luke’s commentary and the smell of the ocean lull him to sleep.
Jake figured only five minutes had passed when the roar of planes woke him up. It was nice while it lasted, maybe Cyclone was right… he needed to take the day. He opened his left eye and watched Luke look up to the sky, looking up at the Navy planes in the air. When he was younger he’d wave at them, asking if the pilot was you or his dad, but now as he grows older he just stops and looks up at them fondly.
“Do you think mom’s having a good day?” He asked, his gaze focused on the plane zooming above the clouds
“Why don’t you ask her yourself!” A new voice entered the space that made both the Seresin men perk up. Luke was the first one to jump up from off the ground, racing right into your embrace. “You have salt all over you,” you giggled, bending over to kiss his forehead.
“Dad let me play in the water! Oh, oh and we got food at the diner,” Luke started to ramble until he saw the other person step onto the sand. “Uncle Javy!” You were finally able to breathe as your son let go and ran up to his favorite person.
Jake walked over and wrapped you up in his arms, letting you nuzzle into his strong chest. “Good day?” you asked, humming in contentment.
You felt Jake put his chin on the top of your head, nodding. “The best,” he answered, watching Javy hoist his son over his shoulders and walk him to the water and throw him into the wave. “Remind me to thank Cyclone.”
“Look how happy he is,” you sighed happily, Luke’s infectious laugh making its way to your ears. Jake held you a little tighter. “You make him happy.”
Jake wanted to scoff and tell you that you didn’t have to lie, that he was a subpar father, and that Luke would run as soon as he turned eighteen as he did. He didn’t remember smiling like that, having a family love a kid as much as they all did the boy with matching green eyes being thrown into the ocean. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin x you#jake seresin x fem!reader#dad!jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#hangman x you#jake seresin imagine#top gun#top gun maverick
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GENDER: Female Reader
WARNINGS: Inappropriate Language, Jealousy, 18+, Fingering, Oral (Male Receiving), Cum Denial, Squirting, Slight! Hair Pulling. and Slight! Degrading
CHARACTER: Ran Haitani
WORD COUNT: 830
A/N - I've been wanting to write this for while now and I pleased that I got too, also got thigh riding one coming up soon just got to figure which character. Which character do y'all want?
ABRIVATION KEY: F/F = Favorite Food, Y/N = Your Name
Ran hated it, he hated the way your radiant lips were upturned into a smile at the coquettish waiter—oblivious of his flirtatious remarks and touchy-feely hands.
“And for the beautiful lady, F/F.” The waiter beamed as he laid the dish before you, his hand ghosting over yours purposely.
It pissed Ran off, and his irritability only intensified as you removed the napkin hidden beneath your plate. “Give that here.”
You peered up at Ran and reached over the table, complying with him. Ran’s eyes narrowed at the paper cloth, pupils trembling with rage, his calm demeanor unraveling. The bastard had inked his number into the napkin with ‘Need a better man? Call me.’ written below it. That sent Ran over the edge, baffled and angered at how the dumbass could soberly flirt with you when you are with him, he hops to his feet and rams his hands against the wooden table—frightening you and the surrounding customers.
Ran snatches you by the wrist, yanking you from the chair and out the restaurant. He needed to get away before he made the mistake of murdering that waiter.
"Woah, where are we going?" You questioned, confused. “What is wrong with you, Ran?”
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me!?” Ran laughed bitterly, roughly tugging the car door open and ushering you into the leather seat. “That damned waiter is what is wrong with me. Not just the waiter either, it’s how you didn’t even deny any of his actions and comments. But that doesn’t matter right now, because I’mma remind you who you belong to you fucking slut.”
Ran shuts the door noisily before rushing to the drivers, he revs up the car and speeds off. You glanced over at him, watching how his knuckles whitened at the grip of the steering wheel and his jaw clenching angrily. Your eyes wandered out the window, pondering on your words, the silence was strained and you hated it—-but his jealousy was secretly attractive.
“I’m sorry-”
Ran’s hand ceased your apology with a squeeze of your thigh, your breath quivering as his fingers inched up your leg and under your dress.
“No panties, huh?” Ran spoke, scowling before stroking a finger along your bare pussylips.
Your cheeks bloomed with embarrassment and you looked away, feeling yourself becoming aroused.
“Watch me, Y/N.” Ran grinned, pressing past your folds and kneading at your clit. “Watch the one who’s going to make a mess of you.”
You whined hushly, your hips grinding into his hand.
“That’s right baby, make those pretty little noises.” He purred, a finger swirling around your hole before he eased it into your wetness.
Your nails raked against the seat, spreading your legs further apart, with a gasp. Knuckles deep, Ran retreats his finger from your puffy pussy before he adds another digit and thrusts them back into you with a slick slurp of your cunt.
“Ran…”You breathed, writhing with a humming whine.
A lazy smirk comes to Ran's lips, feeling your pussy sucking and tightening around his fingers, and he eases his digits from your wetness before you can cum.
Your thighs chafed against each other desperately and you seized his hand as you pleaded, “Please, please, please make me cum Ran!”
“I don’t think you deserve to cum,” he jested.
“No, please.”
Ran droned thoughtfully before lifting himself up from the seat fairly, a hand still resting on the steering wheel, and shimmied from his pants and boxers—his dick leaping from its confines.
“Suck.”
Your eyes broaden before hurdling over the middle compartment and taking his erection into your hand, parting your lips and circling the head of his cock with your tongue. His lips lifts with a snarl as his hand grasps your hair and bucks his hips into your mouth, plunging his dick into your wet heat.
‘Honk!’
“Shit.” He hissed, his free hand returning to the wheel.
You smiled broadly around his cock then you hollowed your cheeks and bounced your head, his trimmed pubes tickling your face. Ran inhales suddenly, slamming his head back against the headrest. Your hand slithers down to his balls, palming at them, as your sopping tongue runs along the veins of his dick. Ran jolts, cock twitching, as his hot cum spurts down your constricting throat—choking you.
“Fuck, baby~” He curses, petting your head. “You definitely need a reward after that.”
Your heart thrums against your heaving chest, bobbing your head needily, and adjusting yourself back into your seat. Oh did your cunt throb excruciatingly, sobbing for a release. You sighed as Ran’s fingers made themselves at home in your pussy again, rocking with his fingers. You nibble on your lower lip, tilting your pelvis for him to hit that good spot, approaching your orgasm rapidly. Your back arches, a strained moan coming from you, as you squirted around him.
“Damn, all mine.” He gaped, shoving his fingers into his mouth and lapping your arousal up. “You taste so good~"
#ran haitani#haitani ran#ran haitani x reader#haitani brothers#ran haitani smut#tokyo revengers ran#tokyo rev ran#tokyo revengers#tokyo rev#tokyo rev x reader#tokyo rev x you#anime#anime x reader#tokyo rev smut#tokrev#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers oneshot#tokyo rev oneshot#oneshots#female reader#oneshot#short story#x reader#reader insert#anime oneshot#ran x reader
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@jegulus-microfic Feb 14 - lips
Cowboy James 🤠
Inspired my @regulusmydarlin here's the one where Reggie finally cracks 🤗
Previous part first part
~
"Has anyone ev'r told ya you're gorgeous?" James pondered, running a finger along the side of Regulus's face.
"You have. On multiple occasions, if I recall correctly." Regulus replied, eyes still on his book.
"Y'do indeed." James replied with a grin. "An' I'm gonna keep doin' it." He added, flicking a silky black curl. Regulus sent him a little side-glare, and James chuckled.
"Honestly, though, darlin', how could I not tell you over n' over? Ev'ry time ah see you, ah’m flabbergasted at how darn pretty y'are."
Regulus scoffed.
"Real smooth, Potter." He droned. James smirked.
"What, d'ya want me t' go inta detail? Would that convince ya?"'
"If it would make you happy, go right ahead, nosy." Regulus encouraged, still fondly holding onto that nickname.
"Mmm, alrigh'. T’ start, y’r hair is gorgeous," James began, twirling a curl around his finger. " 's so shiny and bouncy, an' y'look divine when y'laugh or turn 'round, it alw'ys bounces n' lands perfectly. Your hands, god, th’r the prettiest hands ah’ve ever seen, ah honestly don' un’erstand. Th'r thin and delicate and y'r skin overall is jus' such a pretty, markable compl'xion..." James trailed off, observing Regulus. The man still hadn’t reacted, staring downward, though James could tell he was no longer actively reading; he was listening intently.
"And don' even get me started on y'r lips, darlin'. Th'r sinfully stunnin', so pink and jus' the perfect plumpn'ss, ev'ry time I look at you I jus' wanna kiss ya. I wanna bite 'em and make 'em all swollen and shiny... s'pose tha's a bit off topic..." James trailed off with a smirk. He caught a little tick at the corner of Regulus's mouth.
"Then th'rs your waist, y'r whole damn body, with y'r long limbs n' pretty legs and that fuckin' arse... ah mean, Christ almighty, if ah wasn' a sinner before ah met you..." the cowboy didn't even finish the sentence, but Regulus got the implication. It was getting harder for James to focus. Pointing out all these rather delectable things about Regulus, sitting right next to him, made it hard to not simply shut up and devour the man.
"But ah think my fav'rite’s gotta be y'r eyes." He spoke, and he noticed Regulus's posture straighten slightly. The younger man hadn't expected this.
"Ev'ry time ah look into y'r eyes ah feel like 'm drownin'. Ah've nev'r seen nothin' like 'em, really. Th'r like a storm an' a silver bullet at the same time, all steely and sparkly and just fuckin' stunnin’. Ah could look into y'r eyes fr'vr, sugar." James's voice had dropped, but it was soft. Like he was getting lost just talking about Regulus's eyes.
Apparently, that was the key.
James’s face split into a delighted grin as he watched a blotchy red spread across Regulus's cheeks and exposed neck. Unable to help himself, he leaned in, pressing his lips to the red spots.
"So tha' was all it took, huh? Ah feel like ah jus' foun’ the 8th world wonder." James drawled cheerily, and Regulus rolled his eyes, but was still furiously blushing. James leaned forward again, sucking more red marks onto his neck.
"Maybe, if ah mark y'up, tha' pretty blush will last fr'ver." James murmured, dragging his tongue over Regulus's Adam's apple to the other side. Regulus shivered slightly, and he felt James's grin against him.
"Watcha think 'bout that?"
"I think Sirius would kill you." Regulus hummed, but he tilted his head back to give the cowboy easier access.
"Ah think 's worth it if ev'ryone else would know y'r mine." Regulus turned his head slightly, and James paused.
"Am I yours?" He questioned, not looking directly at James.
"D'ya wanna be?" James asked in response, and Regulus bit his lip.
"Yes."
"Then tha's that." James stated, but his grin stretched from ear to ear. He pulled Regulus in for a proper kiss this time, licking into his mouth hungrily. Regulus let out a huff of air, throwing his book on a nearby chair and pulling James down towards him.
"Now," James broke away to pant, hovering over Regulus. "What do ah hafta do to make y' blush all over like that?" He murmured, voice growing husky. Regulus groaned, pulling him down again, and James spent the rest of the night finding out.
~
"Hey, pretty." James drawled as he walked into the room, where Regulus and Pandora were sprawled on the couch. As he said it, he made direct eye contact, his gaze intense. And just like that, Regulus was a red as a tomato. Pandora gasped.
"Holy shit!" She exclaimed, before clapping a hand over her mouth.
"Sorry!" She squeaked, and James laughed, a rumbling chuckle from his chest.
"Don' worry, doll, 's nothin' ah have'n heard before." James said, and Pandora blushed.
"Right, of course. Sorry, just... I've never seen Regulus flustered. Ever. I didn't even know he could blush!" She declared, and James laughed again.
"Took me a secon' t’ figure it out, too." He admitted, plopping down on the couch next to Regulus, who was pointedly ignoring the charming man next to him.
"Aww, Reggie's all hot and bothered!!" Pandora cooed, and the man sent her a glare. She burst into a fit of giggles, which was soon joined by James's hearty chuckle.
"I hate you both."
~
"Howdy, Sirius." James greeted as he walked into the bar, followed by Regulus.
"Well hey there, partner." Sirius replied, grinning as he wiped out a glass. "And Reggie! What are you two doing together?" Sirius wondered, and James shot a look back at Regulus.
"Well, ah was jus' comin' here t' see ya, when ah ran into lil Reggie here in the parkin' lot." James drawled, and Regulus heavily resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Oh, how funny!" Sirius commented, setting the glass down and leaning his arms on the bar. "Hope he wasn't too rude to you." He added, sending a warning look at his brother, who did roll his eyes this time.
"Aw, naw, he's been a righ’ angel." James replied, smirking at the smaller man. Sirius scoffed, sweeping a glance at Regulus.
"I don’t know who you met, but I don't think it's my brother." He grumbled, and James laughed.
"Don' worry, he's been plen'y polite. Very gentlemanly." James assured Sirius, and Regulus had to hold back a laugh. He didn't think anyone would find him or James very gentlemanly if they knew what the two had been getting up to over the past few days.
Sirius shrugged, taking the towel off his shoulder and grabbing another glass.
"Well, I have to tend to some folks, but let me know if you're feeling thirsty." He said with a wink, before moving to the other end of the bar. James scooted over closer to Regulus, so they were shoulder-to-shoulder.
"Real subtle." Regulus murmured, letting his gaze travel around the bustling bar, not the gorgeous hunk next to him. He couldn't be too obvious with Sirius only a few feet away, whether he was busy or not.
"Right?" James agreed, and Regulus sighed. "Y'know, y'look even prettier under these dumb lights. Ev'ryone else looks all weird n’ wash’d out, but y'look like a damn vision. An' y'r eyes just reflect all the colors, it's stunnin’." James commented, and Regulus could feel his cheeks heat. He could also, suddenly, feel his brother’s eyes on him. He turned his head, locking eyes with similar grey ones, which were soon moving closer.
"Are you blushing?" Sirius asked, astounded.
"No." Regulus snapped, trying to step away from James as casually as possible. "Must be the lighting."
It didn't work.
"Mm, no, you're definitely blushing! And you two were standing awfully close... James, are you fucking my baby brother?" Sirius questioned, in true, blatant, Sirius Black fashion. The cowboy answered without hesitation.
"W're datin', actually." Sirius's jaw dropped open.
"So this is where you've been going?" He screeched to Regulus, gesturing wildly at James.
"Yes..." Regulus replied, sheepish.
"And you didn't tell me?" Sirius's voice was only rising in pitch and volume.
"Listen," James cut in, placing a hand on Regulus's lower back. Sirius tracked the movement, and Regulus couldn't quite read his face. "Ah know he's y'r baby brother, an' y'r protective, but—"
"Whoa, whoa. Yeah, I wish he was still a baby. But I have no misconceptions about Regulus's lack of virginity and all. I know he dates and fucks. Hell, he told me the first day he met you how badly he wanted to fuck you." Sirius rambled, and Regulus shot him a death stare as James looked down at him smugly.
"I'm offended because Regulus didn't tell me. How could you not spill that you were hitting this?!" Sirius exclaimed, gesturing to the cowboy next to Regulus, who grinned.
"Because you told me not to!" Regulus cried out, throwing his hands up in the air. He wasn't a generally expressive person, but when it came to Sirius, he gestured a lot.
"Yes, as a rebound. But since you agreed to date him, clearly you're in a better state than I thought. I'm proud of you, baby bro." Sirius grinned, holding out a fist to Regulus. The younger man frowned, looking at it as though it were a puzzle. James chuckled, before demonstrating.
" ‘s a fist bump. Y’ bump his w’th y’rs, like this." He explained, before bumping his fist against Sirius's. Regulus raised a haughty eyebrow at the both of them, before rolling his eyes and bumping Sirius's fist. James held out a fist next, grinning eagerly. Regulus gave him an exasperated look, but when they bumped fists and James brought his out in an explosion, he couldn't help a small smile.
God, was he turning into a sap??
Minutes later, when James snaked a hand around his waist and whispered pretty and stunning into his ear, he confirmed that yes, he absolutely was.
~
1656 words :)
#james potter#regulus black#jegulus#cowboy james potter#pandora lovegood#sirius black#jegulus microfic#lips#bartender Sirius black#compliments#gorgeous#starchaser#sunseeker#boyfriends#aww
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Bitter had the Heart
Dead Tired(Tim Drake x Danny Fenton), Tim Drake-centric, unfinished, the author is plotting, temporary character death, please check out ao3 for full tags list
3/46 Chapters | Chapter Length: 3584 words
Chapter 3: We are Not Translating Fanfiction
Tim didn’t understand why he had even picked this class for this particular credit. He technically didn’t need it. Then again it seemed more interesting than the other classes and Tim had been hoping for a challenge for once. The teacher was big on working as team and while, yeah Tim could do it. He preferred to work alone on his topics and thankfully there was an odd amount of people in his class so when he requested to do the group assignments he allowed it.
Until today.
One Daniel “Danny” Nightingale, was a late transfer into the class for unknown reason. It was also the mysterious kid in the alley. He looked a little better in person but the vote was that he was definitely sick, whether just right now or long term had yet to be determined. He leaned heavily on a cane at the moment walking with a heavy limp.
Tim could point out his handsome features though. The higher cheekbones. The stunning raven hair, his piercing blue eyes. The kid definitely wasn’t immune to the streets. The way he held himself on the verge of running. The sunken wary eyes. This kid was far too comfortable with living in fight or flight mode. If he even knew anything else it would be surprising.
The teacher pointed to Tim giving him the spot right next to him advising sitting next to the person he would be partnered with. It wasn’t required by any means but it certainly was an option, and he did.
“So, now that that’s out of the way, where was I? Oh yes the IPA. The International Phonetic Alphabet.” Professor Kaivan began his speech as Danny pulled out a piece of notebook paper and pencil sitting next to Tim.
“Uh, hi, I’m Danny,”The kid held out his hand and Tim shook it. A cold chill going up his spine from how cold he was, damn.
“Tim Drake-Wayne,”he introduced with ease, expecting the man to back away or at least move seats because of his name. The Wayne name caught most people off guard but Danny seemed unfazed by it all. In fact he didn’t even flinch or stutter or reel at who he was talking to even.
“Nice to meet you Tim,”Danny gave him a bright smile. “Apologies for having you stuck with partnering for me after I’m already a late transfer.”
“No issue. Can I ask why you had to transfer?”Tim raised an eyebrow at the man. Their words quiet as the professor droned on.
“I was in Latin, and I can fluently speak and read latin. The professor kept getting things wrong and I kept correcting them. They kept insisting because they’re the ‘professor’ but I kept insisting I was right, which I was. She didn’t like that so she kicked me out. She got so annoyed she refused to teach me. Thus leaving me with about to loose my credit I really needed this semester so I asked if I could late transfer into another language based class.”
“And here you are?”
“Here I am. Only teacher that was willing to give me a chance.”
Tim snorts a little. Tim had only almost been kicked out of a class one, and that was one of his law classes. Tim kept correcting the professor over and over and over again, and it kept pissing off the professor so bad. Tim had a sneaking suspicion he was going to like this guy. He just hoped the guy was as intelligent as he seemed.
Being fluent in a dead language was no easy task. None of the bats were fluent in a lot of dead languages but they all knew several spoken languages and a little of a few dead ones. Tim more than others. Books were always his specialty. He preferred to spend the house researching alone in his room or the bat cave. It was part of the reason the other claimed he had a coffee addiction. He did not by the way. He didn’t know what Dick was even talking about.
“Professor Kaivan is pretty relaxed about that kind of stuff. He assigns minimal homework and prefers to do the group projects over everything else.”
“Yeah his rate-my-professor score is pretty high.”
“Sounds about right,”Tim agrees, turning back to the topic at hand for the moment.
“Now, learning the International Phonetic Alphabet is not for the faint of heart. Having someone to listen and assist when learning this is vital. One of the many reasons everyone in this room has a partner. Learning it is vital for the rest of your success in this class. Breaking down specific sounds a language makes and making it easy for everyone to read any language in this format.”
Professor Kaivan was an interesting man. Until four and a half years ago he had some of the worst rate your professor scores, but it was rumored that after the death of his partner he sobered up and wanted to help people. Since then, he has been a great teacher. Using his partner method to teach people, becoming a caring professor, giving students days in class to study and work on whatever work needed to be done. He wasn’t a super hard professor to have.
His hair was graying as the man was into his late 40s going on 50s. Sideburns and his beard graying though. He dressed pretty chill too, half the time coming into class wearing a casual cardigan and a beanie. He was an accomplished guy with a full on doctorate in linguistics. Masters in Psychology and bachelors in the study of Italian. Most of his focus seemed to be on the intricacies of the Italian language but Tim was fluent in Italian and didn’t care to take any of his italian classes. Not that the man had many.
“I know the 107 letters can be difficult and if you don’t know what to listen for they can sound similar to each other, but that’s why this whole unit is just on breaking down the IPA, and making sure all of us can read, and understand it. Okay?”
Mummers of okays and yesses echoed through the lecture hall. Tim opened his phone, scrolling to Dick’s phone number and clicking on it.
Timmy Boi: Guess who just walked into my Linguistics class as a late transfer?
Dickie Bird: Who?
Timmie Boi: Alley kid
Dickie Bird: No fucking way. Is he that rude in person?
Timmie Boi: No not yet at least. We’re partnered up for the semester though, so plenty of time for me to find out heh. Dude’s got a cane.
Dickie Bird: So not our so-called mystery vigilante Jason wants us to meet?
Timmie Boi: Unlikely, He also looks sick as a mother fucker Dick. Like it’s bad.
Dickie Bird: Damn, so still no leads until Friday?
Timmie Boi: Unfortunately not. Cams still distorted as fuck with those symbols?
Dickie Bird: Just like all the others. Only copies we have are hand drawn references. No one can get a clear pic.
Timmie Boi: Anyluck on the Distortion dude? Anything on him?
Dickie Bird: Uhh, he showed up 3 years ago? Works for Jason mostly. Started as a runner, then became body guard and personal protection for a lot of the shipments going in and out of Jason’s domain. That was only after bribing over 15 inmates too.
Timmie Boi: How the fuck did Jason keep someone, a meta namely, from us for so long?
Dickie Bird: Who knows. One guy said something about protecting a child. The child is Jason’s guard dog. Brutal when he needs to be. Maybe he’s scarier than he looks? People kept quiet over fear?
Timmie Boi: You’re the people person, but even then if people are scared we would have heard something else. I just think we have something else in the picture here that we’re missing it all.
Dickie Bird: Well, any cameras he passed by that night went to static. I had Barb check it out for us.
Timmie Boi: So his gift can mess with cameras? Only mildly concerning.
Dickie Boi: Wait, why are we having this conversation right now Tim? You’re in class?!?!?! I’m leaving you alone. Pay attention, and don’t fall asleep, and DRINK WATER FOR ONE IN YOUR CAFFEINE ADDICTED LIFE.
Timmie Boi: YOU CAN’T STOP ME DICK. I’M GETTING COFFEE RIGHT AFTER THIS.
Speaking of coffee, he could probably get mystery-dude’s phone number for their homework and stuff. Maybe he could even get coffee with him and help him with his classes. And maybe find out more about that night in the alley.
“What are you doing after class?”Tim spoke up to look over at the man. Danny wasn’t even paying attention to the lecture. He was… drawing? Way better than anything Tim could draw that was for sure. Maybe he would get along with Damian? Tim liked the easier stuff, taking pictures. He could draw but he didn’t like it nearly as much as being able to get behind a camera and take some beautiful photos. Man, he should get back into that again. Dick was always pressing him to get back into a hobby outside of crime solving. He liked to stick with what he was good at though.
“Oh? Uh nothing really, just contemplating existence. Why what’s up?”Danny gave a soft shy smile. Oh no. His smile was cute. Also wait, contemplating existence?
“Well, I figured if we’re gonna be stuck together all semester we could get coffee and talk about the project and get to know each other a little better.” Tim could watch a wave of anxiety slip over the man.
“Well, I don’t know maybe,”a small shrug then a quiet moment of contemplation. “Actually, sure that’d be nice!”
“Great!”
“Wait, we already have a project?”Danny’s eyes widened looking from his doodle of something? Tim couldn’t make it out but it was pretty? Looked like a pool of swirling water sketched in a gray scale. Who knows. This guy must have been so distracted he didn’t hear the teacher’s words about their project. Rewriting a speech in a non-english language into the phonetic alphabet.
Tim couldn't help but laugh a little at him.
This caught a small look from the teacher and Tim stifled his laughter a little even as Danny began to fight his own laughter as the two looked at each other. That was so dumb. Why was he even laughing at that?
“I’ll explain after class.”
“Sounds good to me, I’m just sitting here… doodlin’.”
“I see that..” Tim gave him a smile as Danny chuckled himself turning back to his drawing. The man stretching his arms upwards turned to actually pay attention to the teacher. A small frown coming across his face noticing the thin spindly scars edging up the side of his neck across the back of his neck. What the fuck was that? He shook his head.
Tim stayed mostly alert the rest of the hour long class. Kaivan had started going through the various letters of the IPA and their origins and why they were chosen. It was interesting to say the least. He had learned a lot and the class was definitely different than what he was used too. Danny on the other hand.
Fuck Tim hoped the dopey smiles and spaced out stared was how he payed attention or their partnership was going to be a lot more strenuous than he originally thought. He swore he saw him falling asleep a couple times there before jerking himself awake. Not that Tim could blame him. He averaged only about 3 hours a night if he was lucky. Then again, Tim didn’t exactly play the whole “catch up on sleep” game.
It did take a gentle nudge from Tim to get the man away and on their way to the coffee shop. He was slow as he walked with the cane but Tim didn’t say anything about it. Everyone had their little quirks and issues. Lord knows Tim had his.
The cold autumn air in Gotham was settling around them.
“What’s your major?” It was Danny who spoke up with a quiet smile.
“Oh, business. I plan to take over my father’s company,”Tim replied.
“Wow, impressive.” Danny looked up at the sky with a small chuckle as Tim raised an eyebrow at him.
“Thanks, what’s yours?”
“Engineering, I was going to do Astronomy but we’ll the Gotham Skies aren’t exactly the clearest.” Danny chuckled softly as Tim gave a nod.
“The smog helps no one. Glad you found a major you like though.” There was a silence settling between them but it didn’t lessen the mood in fact it almost felt welcomed in a quiet way.
“Same to you!” Danny looked up at the crows stopping the duo in their tracks. There were almost 10 crows just watching them. Tim, had never seen that. All them staring at Danny. “Boo.” The man whispered and with a small chuckled, all 10 flew off the branches and into the air leaving Tim to watch and then follow. Missing how the birds simply landed up ahead.
Tim was sort of lost in thought about the revelations they could possibly have about the whole Distortion situation.
“Heyo, Timmy,”Danny’s voice dragged him from his thoughts and his slow pace holding the door open. “Don’t hurry up and you’ll be soaked.” He hadn’t even noticed a slow drizzle starting to fall from the sky. He held his hand out before running to meet the man.
Tim joined the man into the warm coffee shop. The scent of pumpkin spice filling their noses as they moved to get in line.
“Didn’t get too wet did you?”Danny asked concern surprising Tim.
“Ah, no, don’t worry about me though. I might be more concerned for when we leave here though.”
“I’m not too worried.” The man gave a nonchalant shrug. “Can’t kill me worse than I already have been.” Was that a death joke?
“Oh?”Tim gave a smirk. He wasn’t normally one for puns, those were Dick’s thing but also… Dick wasn’t here. “Did it have you rolling in your grave?” Dick could never find out about this but then Danny’s shit eating grin only widened across his face.
“Oh, for sure it was to die for after all.”
“I can’t I’m sorry,”Tim laughed with a smile. “What’re you getting? I’ll pay since I invited you out.”
“Oh, I might scare you with my order.”
“I promise you won’t. Mine is insane myself.”
“One of those extra large pumpkin spice lattes with 10 shots of espresso.”
“Extra large americano with 8 shots of espresso,”Tim quipped. “I see you’re a man just as insane as I am.”
“Oh, for sure. I’ve never met someone with an order just as bad as mine,”he admitted as he stared up at the menu. “How are the sandwiches here? Are they pretty dead-licious?”
“Oh god..”
“Or I don’t know, pretty frightful?”
“Please Danny.”
“I bet they’re boo-mbastic.”
“Who ever uses that word anymore.”
Okay Halloween was coming up admittedly. Yes there were halloween and fall decorations coming but, but god dammit Danny. It was like having another Dick around.
“You decided to fuel this.”
“I did not decide to fuel anything!”Tim complained just as they got to the counter ordering their coffees. It was a barista Tim was familiar with. A kind girl named Sarah who seemed to be all too familiar with the two of them.
“Oh! Can I also get the mac and cheese please!”Danny offered another charming smile putting some money in the tip jar. “I can pay you back Tim.”
“No worries.” Tim gave a shrug.
“Alrighty and here you are Tim.” Sarah handed him his card back with the receipt as he himself put some money in the jar.
“Damn, she knows your name?”
“I know you too Danny, Mr. 10 shots of espresso at midnight last week. You also fucking work here.”
“Love you guysssss, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Danny practically purred out with an innocent smile.
“You two together, scare me,”the barista motioned between the two of them. “But honestly, we were waiting for you two to meet.”
“I’m innocent,”Tim vouched.”Also wait, what?”
“I watched you order an extra large cup with only espresso shots in it for Finals last semester.” Sarrah refused to answer the apparent group that had been waiting for Tim and Danny to meet each other.
“I was busy!”
“You weren’t sleeping!”
“Anyways I’m going to go over there,”Danny pointed to an empty table by the window.
“Yeah, Tim. How about you go over there. With your little Date,”She emphasized the word as Danny was already over sitting down unpacking his backpack onto the table.
“He’s not my date! We literally just met!”
“Yet. Next in line please!”
“Sarah-- no-- I swear to--”Tim could have sworn he saw an exchanging of cash behind the counters. Were they betting on something. What the fuck were they betting on?!? He hissed and moved to join Danny in the opposite seat.
“So did you even catch what the group project is? How much have you studied of the Linguistics 101 class anyways?” Tim pulled out his laptop setting it in front of him. He logged in giving a small smile of the silly chaotic and group picture they had gotten last year at Christmas. Bruce stood on the far right and Jason on the far left Dick’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. Damian was trying to stab Tim again who was moving to dodge it. Steph chaotically cheering the gremlin on. Cass quietly wondering if she should intervene in the middle. Duke full on panicked at what was going on as it was his first Christmas with the family. Barb covering her mouth in laughter in front of Bruce. He wanted to make sure she was included. It was his favorite photo of him and his siblings.
Fuck. Danny had been talking to him.
“Earth to Timmy.” A wave of a hand in front of his face.
“Please just Tim,”he laughs. “Sorry, yes?”
“I was asking about the IPA. Are you familiar with it? I have no idea on anything about it.”
“I know like half of it? I’ll have to learn the other half,”he admits. “But yes, the project.”
“Fuck, yeah okay what’s this project?”
“It involves reading.”
“No! WHY!”
“In another language.. That neither of us speak.”
“Oh god.”
“Yeah, so we’re supposed to write down a 1,000 minimum word speech, or chapter from a book or whatever and put it into the International Phonetic Alphabet.”
“I don’t know about you but I speak a lot, like A lot of languages.”
“Yeah.. I feel the same way.”
“What do you speak?” Danny playfully pushed Tim’s computer screen down from booting up the program the professor had given them to use to type out the phonetic alphabet. It was still apparently a nightmare program, but he had decided to type it so he wouldn't be deciphering shitty handwriting.
“Mandarin, Chinese, Italian, German, French, russian, Japanese, tagalog, spanish, I think that’s all of them?”
“You speak Tagalog too!” Danny’s words switched with ease to the language.
“No fuckin’ way,” Tim had to laugh at that one. “What else do you speak?”
“Same things are you but, Esperanto, Swahili, Cantonese, javanese, Sardo(technically a dialect but you know same difference), Ukrainian, I think that’s all?”
“I thought I was the Polyglot. Oh! I also speak ASL and BSL.”
“I know bits and pieces of ASL, definitely no BSL though,”he laughs softly. “But wait what other languages does that leave?”
“Well, a lot but I mean. We could always pick an easy one we both know.”
“Italian?”
“Yeah, please. I do not want translate someone in a non-latin based alphabet. It registers funny in my brain.”
“I gotta ask though Danny… Esperanto?”
“Okay, leave me alone! I had a friend who spoke it and taught me it so we could shit about others.”
“That’s fuckin’ hilarious though,”he smirked. “But what should we translate?”
Danny looked like he was about to burst out laughing. “What if we just fucking translated the Divine Comedy.”
“Danny Nightingale, are you telling me we should rewrite one of the most famous works of Italian writing, ever. That is also notoriously translated, a lot? And is--- you know.”
“Ma Divine Commedia,”Danny laughed. Tim could not with him right now. “E la fanfiction Tim.”
“YEAH I KNOW, that’s why I can’t believe you’re suggesting it.”
“COMMEDIA.” Danny proclaimed with a snort. Fuck that was cute. Thank god his name was called to grab their stuff. He could ignore the small twinge in his chest as he brought them their coffee and the food for Danny.
“Let’s get this over with I guess.”
“YES!” Danny threw his first into the air in excitement. “This is the start a beautiful friendship Tim, I promise.”
“Are we about to be nightmares to our poor professor?”
“What? Nooooo.”
“Oh yes we fucking are,”Tim rolled his eyes and smiled as he sipped his drink pulling up the original document. They were so fucked, but at least it would be funny. If Danny was his new partner for his class maybe Friday would come sooner than he thought.
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#danny phantom#danny phantom au#dcxdp#danny fenton#dc x dp#dc x dp crossover#batfam#danny phantom is a little shit#tim drake#dc x dp fic#tim drake x danny fenton#graphic depictions of violence#archive of our own#ao3 link#ao3 fanfic#red robin#temporary death#tim drake robin#timothy drake#jason todd#red hood#nightwing
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His Favorite Rival
Tengen Uzui x Black GN Reader Fluff
CollegeAU, Bully!Tengen(not toxic, dw), Enemies2Lovers
CW: passing notes, Tengen got no wives, they/them pronouns
After only a few weeks of attending Music Theory, you managed to catch the eye of Tengen Uzui, the man many people warned you about since you were new to the university. During your time here, you heard more and more of Tengen’s misdeeds from your friends every day with them mentioning damn near everything from stealing to beating students up with his friends, leading your to try to avoid him, but that was kinda hard since you shared a class with the flamboyant 6’6 man.
Avoiding him was made extra hard with him sitting only a few seats across from you and he abused the hell outta that fact by tossing notes onto your desk every other day. Despite his bad rep, they usually said something nice or teasing, so you expected no different when the scrunched up paper lands on your notebook today. You open it and it reads:
"This is boring (-_-) how about I save both of us and bring u back to my dorm?"
Your jaw drops and you look over at him with raised eyebrows and widened eyes as the professor droned on about timing. In response, Tengen winked making the students closest to him snicker leading you to believe that they were his friends and this was a prank. Your face heats up slightly as you face forward, trying to drown out the hushed laughter and shake the feeling of their stares. By the time you collect yourself, the buff man was sitting next to you and leaning over the desk to whisper in your ear.
"Hey~"
"What, when did--"
"Whaddya say?" He whispered, winking, "Ditch this class? I can make it worth your while?"
"Go die."
Tengen scoffs with amusement, "Or what~?"
The area around you two went quiet as a few other students looked at the scene he was causing. He was only doing it for attention: your attention. He didn't care who saw but of course you did with not knowing anyone in school aside from him and your small group of friends.
"Or I'll kill you myself." Your groan under your breath.
He looks you up and down, smiling mischievously, "Oh, that's hot."
"Go fuck yourself."
"How about you try to make me~?"
"I don't have to; you bother me so much, you probably do it daily thinking about me."
His smile turned into a smirk as he leaned close to your face. "How'd you know?"
You groan quietly at his comment before kicking his shin under the table to hopefully make him leave you alone while you hide the burning in your face. Tengen yelps in pain, making his friends and a couple students laugh out loud as he rubbed his leg.
“I knew I had an effect on you."
"Mr. Uzui!" The teacher says, tapping her foot, "What are you doing?”
“Listening of course, Miss Anri.”
“Uh huh, yeah. Stop flirting with the girls in class, look for a girlfriend on your own time."
"Miss--"
The professor just turned back to the board, "Just shut up and pay attention, Tengen."
"Finally someone who agrees."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next day you were in Music Theory sitting nowhere near Tengen or his friends, which gave you a very conflicting feeling in your chest. Like of course you liked him, he was one of the hottest boys on campus but he was also one of the loudest. As you saw yesterday, he can be a little much, even when he was being the tamest version of himself. While deep in your thoughts, someone tapped on your shoulder but when you look at them it didn’t seem to be one of Tengen’s friends but he was holding a small, folded piece of paper.
“Lemme guess, Uzui?”
“Yeah.” They say, resting it on your desk, “Sorry, you guys are having a rough patch.”
"We are not a---ugh!"
You throw your head back in exhaustion as they walk back to their seat quickly as to not be seen by the professor. I scan the room for Tengen and see he was sitting at his desk, looking at you with unbridled excitement for you to open the note. But instead of giving the bully the satisfaction of pranking you again, you made sure he saw you crumple it in your fist before tossing it onto your desk, tilting your head to the side as you glare at him.
Another note was passed to you during lunch and knowing Uzui had to be somewhere in the area, looking on with excitement, you rip it up and throw it out without looking for him. The next day, your white-haired classmate finally decides to approach you outside of class, stopping you in the hallway with a flirty wink as he leans on the wall next to him. He finally approaches you after class.
"Been trying to get a hold of you for a while now, (Y/n).”
“You say that like you got my number.”
“Right, that being said, why are you ignoring my notes?"
“Because I don’t like you.” You step around him and strut away, “And stop telling people that we're going through marital problems.”
“What, don’t like me?” He starts to follow you, “What do you mean, you don’t like me?”
“What I said.”
"(Y/n), don't just walk away from me while I confess! Confessions have never been this hard for me before!”
“Whatever, Uzui.”
"Baby please~"
“I’m not your baby. We’re in public, don't call me that before people think we're dating.”
"Good.” He grabs your arm and gently tugs you back to him, “I swear this isn’t just some joke.”
“Cap.”
“It’s not, I’m being so deadass right now. Why do you think I started passing notes to you in the first place?”
“Cuz I’m new and an easy target?”
“No stupid, cuz I wanted to get to know you better. You were being awkward so I thought you weren’t getting it so I tried being more direct.”
“That’s why you invited me to your dorm?”
“Yes!”
He pulls you in close, his body touching yours. You could feel his chest touch your back and his face inches away from yours.
“Like I said, this is the hardest confession I’ve ever had to do. I tried to avoid doing this in person but that was the most unflashy way I’ve ever done things. So here I am, in the middle of the hallway...asking you out properly.”
“And this isn’t some ‘prank-the-new-girl’ shit?”
“I put that on my life.”
“God, you’re a piece of work.” You groan with a small smirk, “Fine, one date.”
He winks. “All I need to make you love me.”
#x black reader#tengen x reader#kny#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#tengen uzui#tengen uzui x black reader#black reader#black writers#tengen fluff#kny tengen#demon slayer tengen
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The Temptation Chapter 4
Priest!Bucky
Warnings: eventual smut; religion (yes it's a warning); mentions of past sexual assault
Bucky had not seen or heard from Y/N since that confessional night. He didn’t expect to, but it made him more anxious the longer he didn’t. Would she actually come try to talk to him? What would he say? What would he do? Why would he suggest that?
”Father Barnes,” Father Richards called out as Bucky was in the courtyard garden reading.
”Yes?”
“We have a meeting set up with Miss Y/L/N and her estate lawyer tonight at 8 pm”. Bucky’s breath hitched. “She wants to do the reading of the will here. Hopefully Constance was quite generous to us,” he said.
”Yes, hopefully,” Bucky smiled politely.
That night could not have come sooner. By 7:55 Bucky was positively buzzing. He heard the tapping of heels in the hallway and immediately stood, Father Richards following his lead. A man walked in ahead of Y/N in a fancy suit, looking very self-important. Y/N was looking at the floor as she walked in. Bucky had to restrain himself from making a noise as he ogled her. She was wearing black again, this time a low cut, lacy black shift dress that stopped mid thigh. She had an oversized black suit jacket over it, her bare legs ending with black strappy heels on her feet. Her pink hair was still pulled up in a scarf like the day he met her, showing off her neck and the gold chain and earrings she wore. That damn blood red lipstick was on her lips again. She looked like sin, and he secretly loved it.
”Welcome,” Father Richards greeted them. “Please sit.”
The lawyer sat and before Y/N could take the other chair she stared at the desk. “Is this a new desk?”
”Yes,” Bucky piped up, looking at her earnestly. “The other was faulty, so I got rid of it.”
”Got rid of it? He took the fire alarm ax to it and hacked it, saying we needed firewood!” Father Richards laughed. The lawyer chuckled at the absurdity, but Y/N stared at Bucky. He gave her a slight nod. She blinked, gave him a dazed nod back and sat down.
”Well, let’s get on with it,” the lawyer started. “Here is the last will and testament…” he droned on in legal jargon that was all gibberish to Y/N and Bucky. They kept glancing at each other, a silent conversation seeming to happen between them. After almost an hour, since Constance had a lot of money to spread out, he said, “Ah, here it is, after all the other charitable donations. ‘Lastly, I leave a charitable donation of’…” he seemed to double check the number, “‘$2,000,000 to the Brooklyn parish of the New York City Catholic Church’.” Y/N huffed a laugh, her eyes rolling. “‘The rest of my estate, the home, the assets, and the sum of $8,887,124.36, will go to my granddaughter, Y/N Y/L/N’. And that’s it. Congratulations to all of you,” the lawyer stood, giving the priests and Y/N handshakes. “Your checks will be sent to you by tomorrow morning, all other assets and the home should be in your name already, Miss Y/L/N.”
”Thank you,” Y/N gave him a nod.
”Let me show you out,” Father Richards led the lawyer out of the office, leaving Y/N and Bucky alone. Y/N looked everywhere other than at Bucky, contemplating what she had been left with.
”Congratulations,” Bucky said, trying to break the silence.
“The same to you,” she whispered, sparing him a glance.
”Yes, the parish will get some much needed updates with that amount. Maybe throw some fun parties,” he tried to keep the conversation going. Y/N just nodded. She finally took a deep breath and looked at him.
”Could we talk?” She asked.
”Sure,” Bucky answered a little too quickly.
”Alone?” Y/N pressed.
”Yes,” Bucky said. “We can go to the back somewhere.”
”Lead the way—“
“Miss Y/L/N, what a great blessing from Constance,” Father Richards returned, making them both jump. “Thank you for working with us. I know you’re not fond of us but I hope you won’t be a stranger.”
“Oh, sure, thank you Father,” Y/N gave him a quick handshake and an odd look.
“I’ll uh, show you out,” Bucky offered.
Bucky led her to the front doors. As she stepped out he said in a low voice, “Come around the back towards the garden. I can let you in from there.” Y/N nodded and walked off to the left towards the back. Bucky walked briskly through the halls towards the back of the church, past the kitchens and the nuns quarters. Thankfully it was late enough that people weren’t milling about and he was able to get back to his personal area without being seen. This was dangerous. He could feel it in his bones. And yet he kept walking. He reached the door that connected the garden to the church and wrenched it open for her. Y/N was already there and thanked him as she stepped in. He led her down the last corridor that led to his room.
She realized when she stepped in it was his personal room. It was small, with a full sized bed, a small desk in one corner and a closet and bathroom on the opposite side. He also had a bookshelf that was filled with books, some she recognized as books she had recommended to him, which made her smile wistfully. Y/N could also feel the danger of this situation, but felt it was important to get it done here and now.
”You can have a seat on the bed if you’d like,” Bucky offered.
”Thank you,” Y/N said quietly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. Her dress rode up a bit on her thighs, making Bucky blush and look away, feeling flustered at the fact she was here, on his bed.
”So, uh, what did you wanna talk about?” Bucky pulled the chair at the desk out and sat it in front of her so he could face her. He kept it a couple of feet away as he sat down.
Y/N breathed deeply. Bucky tried hard to focus on her face rather than her lace covered cleavage rising as she breathed. “I need to tell you something.”
Bucky nodded. This was the moment. He still had no plan, no idea, for what he would say or do in response.
Y/N blew out a puff of air and laughed at herself then closed her eyes. “I like you Bucky.”
“I like you, too,” he answered automatically.
“No, I…I really like you,” Y/N opened her eyes. “In a way that I shouldn’t.” She shifted on his bed as she looked down again. “I want…to do things with you that you can’t do. And because of that, I have to leave.”
“What?” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m leaving,” Y/N glanced at him. “I’m going to renovate and keep the brownstone as a home base, but I’m going back out to do more travel photography. I just can’t…” she paused as she looked at him. “I can’t stay and keep running into you everywhere. Have these coffee dates that aren’t dates. Constantly crave something that I can’t have because you won’t choose me, and I don’t want to make you choose!” she rushed out the last part. “You’ve been a great friend to me, and I have enjoyed these last few months I’ve been here, but I can’t do this anymore.”
She made a move like she was going to lift herself off the bed. Bucky immediately reacted, moving from off the chair to a kneeling position in front of her, making her legs spread to accommodate him and a gasp fall from her lips. His hands cupped her cheeks like they did a few weeks back and held her there, staring into her eyes.
“Don’t,” he begged. “Don’t leave…”
Y/N’s mouth dropped open as she watched him. She loved the sight of him kneeling and begging before her, something she didn’t know she would be interested in but it was lighting that forbidden fire deep within her. His big blue eyes were pleading with her. Her face twisted into a look like she was in pain.
“I can’t stay,” she whispered, her eyes looking sad as her head tilted, nuzzling into one of his hands.
Bucky wasn’t sure who leaned in first. It didn’t matter. Next thing either of them knew their lips met. Bucky had not kissed anyone since he was a teenager, so he had forgotten the euphoric feeling, and now that he got a taste of his forbidden fruit he was insatiable. Her lips were soft as they moved against his with desperation. Bucky didn’t know what he was doing and followed his instincts, his hands slipping to the back of her neck to hold her close, then slipping down her back to bring her body flush with his. Y/N’s arms wound around his neck and he felt like he was melting into her embrace. Her fingers ran through his hair and as she scratched softly down his scalp he whimpered against her mouth. Her legs caged his hips against his bed as her hands explored, cupping his jaw and then moving her lips away from his mouth to start kissing his cheek, then down to his neck, one hand holding his neck in place and the other ripping at his Roman collar, popping a button for her lips to gain more access to his throat, then scratching down his chest. Bucky’s head fell back, his eyes rolling in his head as his hands found her hips then ran down her bare thighs, kneading the plushy skin.
Bucky’s eyes landed on a cross that was hung on the opposite wall in his room that he had draped Constance’s rosary on. He had a flash of guilt surge through him that was quickly replaced with pleasure when she sucked on his neck. He felt like this was a whole new type of worship. The popular song he’d heard from a few years back flashed through his mind: “Take me to church.” The devilish, carnal side of him knew in that moment that he would abandon the cross, abandon his promises and covenants, if it meant that his church was this: this woman, this pleasure, this sweet release.
Y/N’s lips traveled back up to his mouth. He kissed her hungrily as she opened her mouth and her tongue licked along his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and she dipped her tongue in, tasting him. She let out a moan and Bucky chased the sound with his tongue. He suddenly lifted himself up and pushed Y/N to the bed on her back, one of his knees settling between her legs right at her core, making her shiver in his arms. He took his turn in kissing and licking down her throat until he reached her chest, burying his face into her cleavage as he smelled and kissed her. He wanted to suffocate in her.
Y/N’s hips rocked against his knee, searching for the friction she desired. As her head tilted back her eyes fell on the cross and rosary on his wall and she stiffened. Bucky froze when he felt her tense up. He looked up at her and followed her eye line to the cross.
“Stop,” she said, pushing him back by his shoulders. Bucky immediately got up but stayed close.
“Y/N,” he started.
“This was a mistake,” Y/N muttered as she adjusted her clothes and stood up from the bed. She grabbed her bag and started walking towards the door.
“No, Y/N wait, please!” Bucky grabbed her arm. She wrenched it out of his hold.
“NO! No Bucky. This is wrong. I’m sorry,” she paused, stifling a sob behind her hand. “I’m sorry I tempted you.”
“What? Y/N you didn’t tempt me. I’m a grown man who can make my own choices, and I chose to be here, alone, with you, because I wanted to. You didn’t make me do anything,” Bucky stood in front of her. “I wanted that. I want this,” he gestured between the two of them.
“It doesn’t matter,” Y/N cried.
“How could it not matter?” Bucky asked incredulously.
“Because you can’t have us both!” Y/N yelled, pointing towards the cross. Bucky sighed defeatedly when he glanced at the cross again. “And I won’t make you choose.”
“I just want you,” Bucky said desperately.
Y/N shook her head as she side-stepped him. “Goodbye Bucky.” She took her heels off so she wouldn’t make too much noise walking along the hard floors and opened his door. “See you when I see you.”
“Y/N,” Bucky whispered but she was already halfway down the hallway, ducking around the corner and back towards the side door he’d let her in earlier. Bucky broke down in tears for the first time in years as he watched her leave. He closed his door and sat down beside it as he wept. Everything he felt was too conflicting. Devotion pulling him two different ways, the lust he’d been drunk on, the guilt eating him from the inside out, her smell still floating around the room making him aroused but devastated. He got up and walked over to his bed, her body outline still indented into his comforter. He fell to his knees where he’d been earlier and laid his head into the indent, his tears wetting the blanket as he breathed deeply, trying to calm the throbbing pain in his cock and his heart.
**picture if from Pinterest, it's A.I. so there's no "artist" or "creator"**
@wintrsoldrluvr
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes x reader#marvel#smut#priest!bucky barnes x reader#priest!bucky barnes#chapter 4
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MURDER DRONES EPISODE 5 : Random details and favorite parts of this episode
Will be putting major spoilers under cuts if anyone has NOT seen the new episode, or has yet to see it.
CW/TW: Blood, body horror, murdery stuff! SPOILERS!! AHHH!!! You get the point. I am not responsible for your actions :3
(This post is a mix of different things btw, Md related tho)
None of this will be in order, and I might need to make a PART TWO!!! Since the total is 45 images. :’)
FIRST UP. I would like to take the time to appreciate doll so have some LOVELY LITTLE images of her I took.
She looks so fucking awesome???? Like holy shit. She slayed!!!!!
not to be fruity .but. yea
SHE. also Isn’t that the campsite? Or just a different location with the same appearance.
OKAY. Next up. BABYGIRL . I SQUEALED AT LIKE EVERY SCENE OF THEM SHES SO FUCKING CUTE. MAN😭
BLEEEEEH (I’m going to make this my icon soonthat was the purpose of the screenshot. Also because I love them)
World is mine by Hatsune mi- cyn. World is mine by cyn. The famous vocaloid /j (HSES 😭😭😭😭)
Noticing how her balance is SOOO Much better while holding someone?. Also MOOD .just like me .real 💔
i lov e you🥺EEEK /p. Shes melting
MY SIB AND I WERE FUCKIJG DYING OVER THE PUPPY EYES.LMAO. I love their humor
J* , and they locked her in the basement. I am so SAD about this information
PROTECTIVE BIG BRO MODE…babys
Okay, listen, i know these 2 got shipped before the release but OUCH this makes things so much weirder!!! eugh:( (mainly saw em as friends.tttotallt not becsuse I project my friendship with my silly mutual onto them.no. /sarc)
anyways forget them being friends as my headcanon. THEYRE FUCKING SIBLINGS EVEN BETTER!!! (prjdedcts me and my elder sib onto th— *gets killed /j*
GAY RIGHTS(After the 2nd watch i realized she was making them kiss each other and I started laughing so hard my sides hurt)
Okay glitch QUIT SHOWING OFF. god damn !!!!! Literally appreciating this scenery so hard. 10000/10. :3
YKNOW HW I WANTED TO SEE TEARS IN THE NEW EPISODE!! LOOK. KIND OF CLOSE!!
LOOK HES SOBBING!!!! ALMOST. I GOT WHAT I WANTED OMFG!!!!! YAYYA!!!! (Love it when ppl cry /j
Lovely little lad. Reading abt dogs:) so cute…
subtle hints of favoritism..👀(she obvs likes J more I think,)
I love how immediately i could tell this was drawn by Liam. Canonically J in the show but like his style is so adorable and bouncy!!!! AND LIKE yummyys:3 eated
Cute detail in Uzi’s room. SHE LIKES BABY COWS GUYS. ITS TIME TO MAKE FANART OF UZI WITH BABY COWS. /J
Blushys:)!
For those wondering what this is it’s basically a ripoff of YouTube. The caption is titled "Top 100 Doors ever!!11!" and then the views at the bottom 😭😭. KHAN AND HIS FUCKING DOORS GOD DAMNIT
This part scared the shit out of me i was literally about to cry. I THIUGHTT SHE KILLED HIM
I had to slow this down and repeat the same clip OVER AND OVER Just to get it right, apparently the solver can swap roles? (The order is supposed to be yellow then purple since Uzi takes over as an admin instead of CYN.) very cool.
STP FIGHTING D:
BOTH VRY SCARY :(
Better glimpse of her backpack. Cute little skullbat zipper!! Also batteries. 👍
Apparently DEAD BATTERIES, aka the logo on Uzi’s sweater could be a possible band? Or reference to a band I don’t know? Like how they have my chemical robots (or something like that) as a ref to the band MCR (romance).
Sigh., N was that you.
Conlang? Fictional language? Glyphs? I’m assuming it’s VERY important (since liam lovessss foreshadowing, i will further elaborate). Hoping there will be ways to "simplify" it to english!
Yknow how in episode 2 Uzi takes braidens sentience or sumn like dat. Yea 💀
Alright I’ve hit the limit, gonna rb again with part 2!!!!! Soon. Maybe
#murder drones#Murder drones spoilers#Spoilers#md spoilers#spoilers md#murder drones spoilers#Md spoiler#Murder drones episode 5 spoilers#Ask to tag#Md ep 5 spoilers#Murder drones ep 5 spoilers
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Lucid Dreams- Bucky Barnes x Autistic!Enchanced!Reader (Part 01)
Summary: The cradle of sleep continuously eludes Bucky. Nightmares tormented him every night. But a chance encounter with an unknown woman draws him into the dream realm. Granting him the peace he so desired. But he longs to see her again. His dreamgirl.
Disclaimer: The reader's autistic traits are based on my own. Every autistic person is different with their own different traits. So please do not assume every autistic person is like this.
Inspiration: Lucid Dream by Owl City
Bucky jolted awake from another nightmare. Covered head to toe in sweat, his heart rate extremely high. He was in his apartment, on the floor in the living room with a bunch of blankets and his pillow. The TV on low playing some crappy old sitcom from two decades ago was the only light in the room. Bucky groaned in frustration as his hands went to his short hair. He hadn’t had any decent sleep in weeks. Nothing but nightmares.
He was so tired.
The lack of sleep was affecting him during the day, shuffling through the streets as if he were undead. Fueled by reflex and muscle memory. How much longer was this going to go on?
“How have you been sleeping?” Dr. Raynor asked. But Bucky didn’t answer, he didn’t want to. He just kept staring blankly out the window, his vision doubled occasionally with exhaustion. In the corner of his eye he saw Raynor grab the notebook with frustration. His anger spiked, “Like shit okay! I’ve been sleeping like shit! Happy now?!” He exclaimed. The pen stilled in the therapist’s hand as she eyed him. “Have you been doing those sleep exercises I recommended?” Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes, every single one. And not one of them made a damn bit of difference!” All these “new age” methods were ludicrous in his opinion. Scented candles, meditation, listening to some ancient sounding new age music. It was too weird for his taste. A glass of smoked whiskey and a good book was enough for him, more realistic.
Bucky sat through the rest of the session harboring anger. His frustration over the lack of sleep he was getting was pissing him off more everyday. Everynight he’d stay up as long as possible. He'd eventually pass out but he’d be up in less than four hours from a nightmare.
Walking back to his apartment the sounds of the city had become droned and melded, in his exhausted hazed mind it was like the world was fading away. He passed the little coffee shop on his route, it showed up a few months ago. Seemed to be fairly popular with the young crowd. Whatever. He just wanted to go home.
“OOF!”
Someone bumped into him. “Sorry!” They left before he could see their face. He couldn’t really see clearly through the haze in his eyes. He looked at where he felt the person’s hand touch him, on his sternum. He felt a warmth coming from it as if the hand was still there. He grasped the end of the hoodie and pulled it towards his nose, he sniffed. Coffee. The smell of freshly ground coffee beans wafted into his nose. The roasted smell made his mouth water. Fresh coffee. Maybe he’d brew up a pot when he got home.
Finally his apartment was in sight, and so was someone. Sam. The new Captain America sat on the steps of his building. Clearly waiting for him. On approach Sam stood up, “Raynor called me.” He said. Bucky rolled his eyes in annoyance, “What are you my nanny now?” Bucky snapped, fishing out his keys. “She told me about your sleep problems. I just wanna help man.” He was so sick of this. People thinking they can just walk into his life and without indirectly telling him he’s a wreck, a psychological tire fire, a monster who must obey like an obedient dog! “She knows nothing about me!” Bucky was getting more and more angry. “Buck, we're just trying to help.” Sam placed his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. But the former Winter Soldier shoved it off as if he had been burned. “SHUT UP!” He yelled. He turned to Sam, “You wanna help Sam? Then leave me alone! You have no idea how all this is for me! Everything I’ve done! And until you do, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” He yelled with all the anger that had been pent up inside.
He turned and entered the building, leaving Sam behind. Once inside everything hit him.
Why did he do that? Sam was just trying to help, like the good friend he is. And Bucky lashed out. He pushed his friend away. His only friend left. Bucky leaned his head back on the door as his face began to tremble and hot tears pooled in his eyes. He banged his head on the door in an attempt to punish himself. He slid down to the floor as sobs began to emerge from his throat. He was all alone. That’s what he does, he pushes and alienates all those close to him. Afterall it was his fault Steve left. Bucky berated himself thinking Steve abandoned him because he had enough. Bucky’s sobs echoed in his apartment. He was so tired. Why couldn’t he sleep? He just wanted to sleep.
Later that night, Bucky’s eyes were red and swollen from sobbing out his frustrations. He wished the world would just swallow him up forever. It was past midnight now, the smoked whiskey he poured two hours ago was almost finished. The astronomy book in his hand was half done. Since being freed, astronomy had become his favorite thing to catch up on. He could recall memories from his childhood where it’d be late at night, his parents and sisters would be tucked in and asleep while he snuck up to the roof to find all the constellations he could see. And get lost in thoughts over what may be beyond that sky and those stars. Now with all the satellites and space stations he was more enthralled than ever.
He yawned, he couldn’t see straight anymore. He wanted to sleep but he knew what would happen in a few hours. He needs to sleep. He stripped down to his boxers, his dog tags dangling against his bare chest. He looked at the spot where he had been touched earlier that day. It felt hot but not in a painful way, there were no marks or anything but he felt the heat seep deep inside him. Maybe he was hallucinating.
He laid down in his pile of blankets on the floor, the TV was on low. His head resting on the pillow. He took deep breaths trying to relax his mind and think of anything other than the impending nightmares he’d face later.
What would it be like to float through outer space? He wondered. Where nothing mattered. The problems he faced everyday would just melt away. Just him and the endless horizon of stars.
He slipped into sleep.
Weightless, Free, Peace, and warmth. That’s what Bucky felt, he’d never felt this before.
I am a light sleeper
But I am a heavy dreamer
He opened his eyes. And to his wonderment saw an endless sky of stars and colorful nebula clouds. He was floating in outer space. Yet he could breathe and there was no lethal cold. It was warm. Like being wrapped in a soft blanket or embraced by someone. This had to be a dream. It felt so amazing, sure he was just floating but it felt so free, so peaceful. He wanted to touch the nebula clouds, he reached his hand out unsure how to move himself forward. But with the thought of moving forward he slowly floated towards the cloud.
My imagination gives me wings
And I can go anywhere
His hand went through the cloud and it moved with his hand. Following his every movement as if he was controlling it. In a spur of childlike wonder he quickly flicked his hand and the cloud followed. Dazzling wisps of bright colors and starlight followed his hand creating an ethereal dance of light and wonder. Bucky’s heart soared with warmth and happiness. He wanted to see more. With a quick thought he floated up.
And when I wander away, to some other place
I'm suddenly there, way up in the air
Where passenger trains catch fire and fill the sky with flames
And that black rabbit of death
Wakes up in a breath, of beautiful dreams
My heartache it seems, so terribly vain
Where fire and diamonds fall like rain
He reached out to grab a star. In his hand it was small yet bright. Like a firefly. He held it with care. It was like he could do anything. Go wherever he wanted. Nothing could tear him away from this feeling. His self hating thoughts, his tainted mind. It seemed so far away like no harm could come to him here. Here in this realm of dreams he felt safe.
Do you believe in endless miracles?
Do you believe in the impossible?
Do you believe sleep is a time machine?
Do you believe in curiosity?
Do you believe in what you cannot see?
Do you believe life is a Lucid Dream?
He suddenly heard music. It was getting closer. Was there someone else here? He looked and saw in a burst of ethereal color, a woman. Running on a stream of white starlight that grew to catch her steps. Nebula clouds and stars followed her as if she were guiding them. Her (y/h/c) air flowed behind her like a curtain as she ran. Dressed in a black tank top and underwear of the same color, she was happy as she ran on the stream of starlight. Earbuds were tucked into her ears with their cords disappearing into nothing. Bucky could hear the music from them. As clear as day. The woman turned her head to look at him, she smiled brightly as if she had been looking for him. Her (y/e/c) eyes, brighter than the stars that followed her, gazed at him. Beckoning him. She was so beautiful. Like a Goddess of Dreams. With a quick flick of her hands she sent another stream of starlight his way. It flowed under his feet pulling him forward to follow the woman. Nearly losing his balance he gradually moved his legs to run on the stream.
This was amazing! He was running on starlight! He looked at the woman again, her smile was bigger and brighter. She raised her arms high as she looked at him cheering him on. He ran with her on the stream of starlight exchanging glances. She pointed ahead of them, the underside of a swirling galaxy. She sprinted ahead of him and breached the galaxy in a burst of stars and colored dust. Like a mermaid surfacing. He wanted to do it too. He sprinted. Breach. Breach. BREACH!
Well that's how you study the stars
That's how you study the stars
And that's how you know 'em by heart
Life is a Lucid Dream
He pushed through the galaxy floating up and up with the stars following him. The brightness in his chest radiated. He never felt so free. So happy. So content. He breathed deeply in peace as he floated. He opened his eyes and stared at the swirling galaxy before him. He wanted to stay forever. His dog tags floated before him. Above him he saw the woman again, delicately drifting towards him with a soft warm smile that made his heart flutter. She reached out and cupped his cheeks with such tenderness his eyes drifted shut at the warmth. “Time to wake up.” Her voice echoed with such grace and softness it made the angel's of old sound tone deaf. And with a soft kiss to his forehead he was enveloped in a warm bright light.
I am a light sleeper
But I am a heavy dreamer
When Bucky opened his eyes again, he heard the sounds of the city. He stared at the ceiling. He was back in the real world. He smiled at the memory of his dream.
He sat up, he felt well rested. Looking at his watch, it was past 6 in the evening. He had been asleep for sixteen hours. With no nightmares. He felt amazing. His mood shifted when in the corner of his eyes he saw a glowing blue light over his sternum. Ethereal blue light in the shape of a delicate handprint lay on his chest, the fingers ending at his sternum. Radiating a soft warmth. It faded slowly into him. He felt a wave calm wash over him as he thought about the woman in his dream. Did she do this? Did she give him that dream?
He needed to find her.
He had to see her again.
#bucky barnes#bucky x reader#james bucky buchanan barnes#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x autistic female reader#bucky barnes imagine#bucky x reader fluff
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Call me Jesus, cause it took me almost three days to come back from the dead after you've killed me with that quote. The fact that it was in German too??? I got the book and I was looking through it before I'll start reading it in earnest, and I noticed how Kafka was signing his letters. He started nicely with his full name, and than it became shorter and shorter, just Franz or F, till he straight up switched it to Yours or YOUR F??!?! And then he was the audacity to write "now I'm even losing my name it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours." I can't do this anymore.
Imagining Konig doing something like this. He wouldn't disclose his name straight away but he would encourage you to just call him Konig, even explaining what it means and how he came up with it. You might roll your eyes cause calling himself Konig is a bit cocky and you'll be damned if you call any man king. He just laughs it off and tells you to just call him yours if you don't like his 'name'. (He's the rizzler guys.)
And then it got me thinking about Konig reading to his darling like? That's such a nice way to spend time with someone (+++ that scrumptious little bit that you wrote the other day about him relaxing after coming home.) Imagine making his man read something remotely romantic to you, especially in German. Must you do this to him? Don't you know saying things in your native language feels so much more intimate? >:( He would do it just because you batted your eyelashes and said his voice sounds so much nicer than any audio book available.
I knew I heard that song before but I didn't know where until I went into the comments and someone said it was in AHS!! The atmosphere that song creates🙏 Please accept my humble and slightly inaccurate Konig playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6zF7E91ynXnSIz8y4TQ2XG?si=cSk41EmNRriLsBQeG8Gqtg&pi=e-MIL8IEG8RpWL
To finish things nicely, I have a quote for you from Romanian poet Nichita Stănescu: "Spune-mi, dacă te-aș prinde-ntr-o zi
și ți-aș săruta talpa piciorului,
nu-i așa că ai șchiopăta puțin, după aceea,
de teamă să nu-mi strivești sărutul?" Meaning:
"Tell me, if I were to catch you one day
And kiss your foot's sole,
Isn't it so that you would limp slightly afterwards
Out of fear of crushing my kiss?"
Yours 🕷️
that is my favorite part of the book! him giving away himself in the most subtle way: a name… aghh i could go on eternally about how special that is to me. how very König-coded it could be too, he doesn’t have a(n official) name, anyhow! Letters to Melina au where König is simply someone’s lovesick penpal or whatever…?!
of course when you agreed to correspond with this man, you never had any intention of more than bittersweet conversations. you never had any intent to meet, but each letter he sends becomes more heartfelt and heart-wrenching than the last… he regularly adds small words that hold weight: “I miss you”s and “I want to see you” between details of his work, his lonely life.
he’ll even tell you that there’s no one else has ever understood him the way that you seem to… he tells you of the small conversations he’s had with his peers, how they’ve only left him feeling empty. how he pines for you, even sends a sizable check with the hope that you might send a polaroid with your next letter. never mind the fact that when you do there’s a very apparent stain on his response.
he’s ridiculous, possibly even compares himself to Severin in Venus in Furs the way that he just worships you: his Venus. /:
and you have killed me with the thought of him curling up in bed with his love, begrudgingly reading to her in German. it’s not that you even want a translation for the words he speaks, it’s just the sound of his voice, the soft rasp as he drones out the words and the comfort of being tucked so closely to him. his hand lazily pets at your hair, glancing at you with a little grin each time he noticed the way your gaze grows shimmery and adoring… he’s stopped reading the book a long time ago, taking to only tell you in his mother tongue just how special you are to him, how he would kill and die for you. it’s not like you would know any better, anyway!
that playlist though?! Massive Attack, The Cure, Deftones, Type O, Haunt Me, etc…?! are you trying to kill me?! sooo many good songs here!! i actually have a lot of them on my own! <3 humbly offering you this and this!
also that poem?! the way you ended this message?! i am going to sob! little 🕷️, i adore you!
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Meet Me in the Bathroom
Donald Pierce X F!Reader
This is the first time I've ever posted anything I've written to Tumblr! This is written for @toxicanonymity's Boyd-a-thon, which was almost perfect timing considering he's become my new blorbo.
Word Count: 1.7k
Warnings: 18+, Smut with minimal plot, alcohol, semi-public sex, fingering, light spanking, over-use of pet names, unprotected sex.
Summary: Not even five minutes into your drink, Donald invites you to 'catch-up' in the bathroom. You agree.
Tap tap tap. Tap. The sound is aggravating, the sight even more so.
Donald Pierce slides next to you, practically peacocking his chest out as his robotic digits thrum against the bar table. Each tap of his fingers on the wood makes your eye twitch. Apparently, there’s no escaping the Reaver’s ringleader, not even in a bar right on the outskirts of Laguna Vista. You’ve only been nursing your drink for about five minutes, before he’s made his way over to you. Not even enough time to feel a buzz.
He’s got that stupid grin on his face. The one where his gold tooth glints, contrasting his otherwise pearly whites. As the man leans forward, pulling down his red shades to reveal his steely blue eyes, you can’t help but roll your own. Your wordless exchange is one you’ve shared before, though it’s far too early for the two of you to make your way back to wherever he’s staying.
“Oh, c’mon, angel.” He clicks his tongue before sipping his whiskey. “Ain’t like you to refuse a piece.”
You almost choke on your drink, not wanting to stroke the man’s ego with a laugh. Watching as he folds his glasses and tucks them into his jacket pocket, you can’t help but rest your eyes on his chain necklace — Donald notices, chuckling to himself as he leans a little further forward. The chain you’d been admiring now dangles gently off his skin, glimmering slightly as the dim lights of the bar catch it swaying. Soon enough, his whiskied breath hits the shell of your ear, breaking you from your trance.
“I ain’t asking for you to stay the night, princess. Just hoping you’d meet me in the bathroom in a minute or two.” He’s almost pouting, the dirtbag. “Like old times?”
“The fucking bathroom, Don? That’s disgusting” You growl through a whisper.
“Didn’t stop you in New Mexico. Or Lake Charles, or-”
“Christ, fine. I’ll be there in a minute.”
God damn it. You chew down on your lip, shutting your eyes to avoid the cocky eyebrow wriggle he’s most likely doing. Why did that work on you? Why does he work on you? Goosebumps pimple your skin as he pulls away. Like you expected, he’s wiggling his eyebrows. Without another word, he shifts off of his seat, swaggering away to the bathrooms, looking back at you with a smirk, he slips an ‘out-of-order’ sign onto the door of the disableds.
You swing back your drink with haste.
---
It takes about two minutes for you to convince yourself to actually follow him. Quickly, you make your way across the room in an effort to stay unnoticed by the bar’s other patrons - though, they all seem too wrapped up in their own business to notice two people entering the same bathroom. As you push open the creaky door, you’re met almost instantly with the strong frame of Donald Pierce. Both flesh and cybernetic hands make their way down your sides, and his predatory grip tightens around your waist. Pulling you into the bathroom entirely, Don kicks the door closed with his foot before pressing you up against the cold wood. You still have enough time to look around the bathroom before his lips latch onto your neck. Like you suspected, it wasn’t exactly clean.
The walls have some kind of mold growing up the side, and in truth, the floor is no better. God knows what the actual amenities look like. There’s a faint droning of the harsh fluorescent light above you, but that holds nothing in comparison to the sound of Don’s throaty chuckle as his hands begin to guide you over the sink.
“You’re not bending me over that thing.” You try to dig in your heels, but you know he’s far too strong to be stopped. That, and you don’t really want him to. “Don, it’s filthy.”
“Stop whining.”
“Don, you’re not fucking me-”
“-I said stop whining.” He cuts your protests off short, turning and forcing you to grip the sides of the decrepit sink as he pushes you against it. “Now, be a good girl and look in the mirror.”
Hearing his order makes your cheeks burn, and you lift your head to catch his image in the mirror. You watch the reflection with shaky breath as Don hikes your skirt up and drags your panties halfway down your thighs. With your eyes focusing on Don, you catch him throwing his head back, growling in frustration to himself before he unbuckles his belt. He drags his tongue over his teeth, flitting his eyes between the sight of your warmth, slick and wanting, and your blushing face in the mirror.
“Wish I could take my time with you.” He admits with a growl, lazily pushing the waistband of his pants under his balls, pumping his cock a few times in preparation. “Shit, I’d worship your pussy if you let me, angel. But we don’t got time.”
You’re about to quip back to him that it was his choice to fuck in the bathroom, but the air is forced out of your lungs as he delves two freezing cold metal fingers into your pink slit. Already, you know he’s not planning on keeping his cybernetic digits there for long; simply working your wetness enough to make room for his thickness. When a moan threatens to escape your lips, you have to remove your gaze from the mirror entirely. Don clicks his tongue, hastily pulling his hand away from your core.
“Thought I told you to look, pretty girl.” The southern man reaches forward and grips your jaw, steering your head back to the direction of the mirror.
Once again, you’re met with your own reflection. You watch through half-lidded eyes as Don grips his length in his hand, coating it in the slick he had gathered from your core. It’s mesmerizing, the way his tip is already red and weeping in his tight grasp. He knows you’re looking, and rewards your focus with a gentle love tap of his cock against your folds. If you weren’t so worked up, you’d bark at him to get a condom, but that’s more time you don’t want to lose. After a heated exhale from Don, he pushes forward.
While this isn’t the first time his girth has invaded your walls, the pure thickness of him forces a choked gasp from deep within your chest. The man has yet to move, instead he dips his head down, clearly in his own bubble of ecstasy while your wetness envelops him with ease. Don’s hands grip your hips with enough strength to leave bruises, and without warning the Reaver pulls himself completely out, only to ram himself back in. His pace is vicious; the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the dingy bathroom. All you can do is bite down on your lip in a desperate attempt to stay quiet, watching through glassy eyes as Donald’s reflection fucks into you with a snarl.
“Fuck, angel,” He rasps, catching your eyes in the mirror. “Don't you look so pretty takin’ my cock like this?”
You nod, earning a harsh slap to your ass with his flesh hand.
“Words, baby. You know I like that pretty lil’ voice of yours.”
“I look pretty.” You manage to squeak out through high-pitched whimpers.
“Good girl.”
His praise is accentuated by his cybernetic hand snaking around your waist and slipping between your soaked folds. Finding your clit, he circles it with an equally brutal pace as his thrusts. There's a knot in your stomach, and already you’re feeling it begin to snap. It's as if he knows, digging his free hand in your hip for better leverage to fuck you even harder; now hitting deep enough inside you to make you need to scream. Instead, you clamp your teeth down around your hand, moaning into the bitten skin. You're so close it hurts.
“Does my pretty girl wanna cum?”
Again, you nod. This time you don't get spanked. When you focus on the mirror, you see Don's face begin to twist into pure bliss. He's close too. In his one moment of being a gentleman, he clearly wants you to cum first, or at least at the same time. Throwing his head back, Don lets out a low growl.
“Cum for me, pretty girl. Let me feel it.”
On command, your body spasms, a quick and powerful release clamping down around him while you whine into your hand. You can't help but squint your eyes shut, feeling the final staggered thrusts from Don before he pulls out with barely enough time to spare. All you can hear is his throaty grunts, right before thick ropes of his release coat your ass. He slumps over your body for a moment, syncing with your own heavy breaths before finally pulling back and admiring his work. The reaver gives your left cheek a gentle smack before pulling your skirt back down over it. He's pocketed your panties. Jerk. As you pull back with shaky legs, you aren't surprised to see he's already tucked himself back in, zipping up his fly as your eyes meet his. Can't exactly have pillow talk in a disabled bathroom, can you? The look he gives you isn't one you've seen before, but you can guess what it means.
“Gotta go?” You assume, finally exhaling a stable breath.
“You know it, angel. Nature of the job.” He shoots you the same shit eating grin as before, making sure to add in a wink this time for good measure.
With that, Donald exits the bathroom without so much as a goodbye. You rest your arms back against the sink, shaking your head as you laugh at your own expense. A minute later, you follow suit, creaking open the toilet door and removing the out-of-order sign. The man is nowhere to be seen, leaving an empty feeling you’d much prefer to drink away than acknowledge. When you head back to your original seat at the bar, the tender sets down a pretty pink cocktail with a note.
See you later, pretty girl. - D. x
---
Thank you for reading!
Feedback, thoughts, and other ideas welcome. Maybe more Holbrook boy fics in the future :) Big thank you to @justeverythingprettymuch for hyping me up to post this <3
#boyd a thon#boyd holbrook#donald pierce#donald pierce x reader#logan 2017#donald pierce smu#goose writing
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