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wife-of-all-dilfs · 5 months

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what friends do | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you were a simple town girl. finnick odair was the crown jewel of panem. both of you needed an escape and found it at a secluded beach just outside district four. these were three ingredients that created a year-long friendship. but were friends supposed to have… impure thoughts about one another? you weren’t so sure.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, wayyy too much detail, dirty thoughts, friends-to-lovers, mild angst, mostly readers pov, pre-rebellion, HEAVY dirty talk, fingering, unprotected p in v (big no no), multiple orgasms, so much pining, creampie, cock-warming

notes: i’m so sorry this took me so long. life has been up my ass lately and, as y’all know, i’m a slow writer. but thank you sm to everyone who patiently stuck around, i love y’all <3 this was supposed to be a short smut fic but um, apparently not. anyway, this has taken long enough to come out so imma stop rambling. ENJOY <3

word count: 11.7k

Mid-Autumn was closely approaching District Four.

Harvest in the fishing industry was at its peak and the docks were chock-full with boats bringing in their plentiful catches. The town centre was a bustling scene, crowded with people selling produce and trading for food to bring home to their family's kitchen table.

Last year's autumn harvest was the same picture—overflow, hustle, commotion; chaos like this was something you never came to enjoy. So, it was also around this time last year that you had decided to set off in search of the perfect location away from the rest of society. A place where you could be at peace, where you could forget the disastrous world you lived in.

District Four was home to many popular beaches, but the one you discovered was uninhabited, isolated, found after an hour-or-so-long trek through overgrown dirt pathways and a thicket of sea-grape and palm trees. A true paradise away from society. Or so you had thought in the first few weeks.

You weren't too sure when he had started showing up or how he had even discovered the beach.

However, one evening, as you were seated in the sand watching the sunset on the darkening horizon, you noticed a dark figure diving and surfacing in the flat, glimmering water. Their movements were so poised and fluid like the ocean was something they had conquered. You guessed it to be a dolphin or shark because there was no way a human being could move so gracefully.

But then the figure started wading to shore, and the next thing you knew, they were standing on two legs and exiting the water. You knew then that you had guessed wrong. The sun behind him obscured the bronze of his hair and the swirling lukewarm sea that pooled around his pupils. All you could see was the outline of his tall broad figure as he hiked through the sand toward you.

Fear had told you to bolt from the approaching stranger. You were in the middle of nowhere—it was the perfect place to be murdered or kidnapped. But something else, some deep and tangible instinct, also told you to stay.

"Didn't realise I had a captive audience," thestranger spoke, droplets of gleaming water sliding off his body and into the sand as he stood a few feet away.

Taken by surprise, you fumbled over your words trying to form a sentence in response. "I wasn't—I didn't—"

"Easy, honey," he chuckled. The sound was so warm and pleasant that it almost alleviated the slight chill in the air. "Just pulling your leg."

Your mouth formed a small circle. "Right," you said, gaze locked on the golden sand in embarrassment. "I, uh, didn't think anyone else knew about this place."

To be honest, you were pretty sure it was a restricted area. Probably the reason it was so isolated. If a Capitol official found you, the consequences would most likely involve your tongue, a scalpel, and a hell of a lot of pain. All for a wanting a little peace and quiet.

"Neither did I," the man said. "I only come every now and then. Need an escape from the constant buzz back home. Time for myself, you know?"

"Yeah." You smiled, feeling the stranger's words resonate in your soul. "Yeah, I do know."

You thought you saw the corners of his lips curve into a smile, but the shadows on his face were so prominent that you couldn't tell.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked.

Well... if he were going to murder you, he would have done it already. So, you nodded. Sometimes you questioned your survival instincts. Or lack thereof.

He didn't leave much space as he sat beside you. Only an inch or two, meaning you could feel the humidity of body heat and salt water emit from his skin. Even sitting down, he was still quite tall compared to you, but that wasn't what caused your heart to drop into your stomach.

The setting sun, which no longer disguised his face with shadows, now illuminated his entire figure and revealed his identity. His hair was a mess of wet wavy strands, the colour alight like a pale fire beneath the sun's orange radiance. His skin was sun-kissed, no doubt from days he had spent perfecting his swimming abilities. And those dimples... wow.

He was gorgeous. A man sculpted by the gods of beauty, just like everyone in Panem had depicted him to be. Even his sea-green eyes were as striking as everyone said.

Finnick Odair.

The man who was crowned victor of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games at fourteen. Who trapped multiple tributes at once in a net and killed them one by one with his famed trident. A killer.

The man whose reputation in the Capitol was known nationwide. A proud womanizer.

That was what everyone made him out to be.

Only, in the brief interaction you shared with him, he seemed like quite the opposite. He radiated effortless charm and warmth, but not in the arrogant way the media had portrayed him. Then again, did the media ever accurately portray the truth of anything?

It was then that you determined it didn't really matter who people said he was or what he had done. He was a human being—just like you. He deserved a chance.

His pink lips stretched into a knee-weakening smile; you were grateful that you were sitting down.

"I'm Finnick, by the way."

The both of you knew he didn't need to introduce himself. The whole of Panem knew his name and face. Though the fact that he humbly did so anyway made you like him the tiniest bit more.

You returned his smile with one of your own and introduced yourself.

Time passed and the sun had set; the moon had risen, but you both remained sitting side-by-side in the sand. Conversation flowed so naturally between the two of you that it was difficult for you to remember that stopping and getting some air into your lungs was an important factor in keeping a conversation going... as well as keeping you alive.

You told him about yourself as he did himself—some things that were meant to remain secrets, some things that seemed too strange to tell anyone else.

At some point, he had offered to walk you back to your house. The trek was over an hour long but neither of you seemed to care. The time flew by.

When you were standing at your front door and he was gazing up at you from the bottom of the steps, you both promised to meet again the next day. And you did.

As you did the day after that... and the day after that... and the day after that...

**********

As soon as the nights carried that familiar chill and the town congested with markets and fervent buyers, you knew mid-autumn had made its return. This meant most of your evenings were spent at a certain secret beach with a certain District Four victor.

Having already finished his pre-sunset swim, Finnick was sitting beside you, fingers weaving dried palm leaves into the mat beneath you. A couple of weeks after you had first met, he had shown up one day holding it all rolled up in hand.

"Made this for you to sit on," he had said with a proud smile. "Took nearly all night and earned me a few good finger cramps, but I think it was worth it."

Pinpointing the exact moment your attraction to him first formed was tricky. However, that gesture was one your mind returned to often. That little palm-leaf mat, the time and effort he put into making it, was scored on your heart.

Finnick was very much a gentleman.

He would always offer you a hand when standing up and whenever you walked back through the overgrown seaside forest. Sometimes he picked fruits for you such as sea grapes and mangos or would climb one of the palms and knock down a few coconuts. One thing he always, always did wasmake sure you got home safe; he never let you out of his sight until you were safe inside your front door.

All those gestures, big and small, added up. Soon enough, Finnick Odair had infiltrated your heart and consumed all your thoughts. You saw his sea-green eyes staring back at you whenever you gazed out at the ocean by your house. Felt the ghost of his hands on yours whenever you picked a grape from the kitchen fruit bowl. Heard his voice calling out your name in your most vivid of dreams.

But there was more to it than innocent adoration.

The guilt came when your gaze started lingering on his body a little too long whenever he left the water at the beach. Shimmering droplets would glide down his beautifully tanned skin; his arm muscles would flex as his fingers raked back his dripping wet hair. It wasn't yourfault he was the walking definition of perfection.

Unholy was the closest word to describe the filthy thoughts that had perverted your imagination. What started as endearing daydreams soon became fantasies that had you seeking relief between your thighs late at night. Your thoughts went wild whenever he dropped you off at your house. It took everything in you not to invite him inside and ask him to fuck you senseless against the front door.

All you had to do was ask. You knew he would say yes.

A year is a long time to know someone. A long time for feelings to grow. It also serves as a lot of time for things to happen between two people—things that linger in your mind even months after they have happened.

Like the times he would walk by you and teasingly whisper something provocative in your ear, then disappear for an hour of swimming, leaving you all hot and flustered in the sand. Neither of you would acknowledge it when he returned. Or when conversations took such a flirtatious turn, the tension only dissipated when houses were separating you at the end of the night.

But that's just what friends do, right? They tease and banter?

Maybe.

However, not all things could be chalked up to being just friends.

Another thing about Finnick's eyes was that they were transparent. You saw how helplessly they clung to you the days you stripped to your underwear and joined him in the water. He had this sort of reaction that turned his eyes into a dark violent sea, like you were some divine temptation planted to test the strength of his resolve.

Sometimes he could resist. Other days it was obvious he couldn't help but reach out and touch.

He would try to be subtle about it. Hands holding yours a little longer than necessary when he helped you stand up. Sitting too closely beside you so that your arms and legs would graze against each other. Brushing off pieces of seaweed that would stick to the dip of your waist and then constantly using the same excuse just to feel the heat of your soft skin.

There was one interaction, though, that you fell asleep to the thought of every night. It was a moment when things almost went too far; an interaction friends definitely did not share.

You could remember it clear a day. Hell, you could still feel it clear as day.

It was a hot summer evening. Both you and Finnick were at the beach and swimming in the water since being in the muggy coastal heat for more than five minutes was parallel to roasting in a thousand-degree sauna.

You were about twenty meters offshore, bobbing beside Finnick as he dived to collect various seashells. That boy could hold his breath for an unbelievable amount of time which meant sometimes you spent minutes alone on the surface, waiting, listening to the calm waves lap eerily around you.

This is exactly how people die in shark movies, said an unwarranted voice in your mind.

As usual, a minute went by. Nothing to worry about. Then a minute turned into two and you were starting to become a little concerned. And then it was two and a half minutes and you were now panicking.

"Finnick?!" you called out, hoping he could somehow hear you from the dark depths.

Three minutes had totalled, and you were pretty certain he had drowned. Just to add to the utter dread coursing through your veins, something slimy brushed against your foot. Most likely a piece of seaweed, but you didn't make that connection at the time.

That very same moment, Finnick burst through the water's surface, only mildly breathless and pinching a small iridescent shell between his fingers.

"Look at thi—"

Before the words could leave his mouth, he found himself enveloped in your distraught embrace. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, crying tears of relief.

Damn that stupid seashell.

He automatically secured you in his arms, concern palpable in his voice as he asked, "Are you okay?"

You pulled away, an indistinguishable combination of tears and saltwater rolling down your cheeks. Though it was hard to miss the look of distress found in your furrowed brows and trembling lips.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" you exclaimed, gripping his arms to emphasise your urgency. "You hear me?! Ever!"

Finnick's head tilted slightly, surprised by your emotional reaction. He hadn't realised he meant so much to you. The surprise faded into remorse, softening his features.

"I won't. I won't, I promise," he said sincerely. His eyes flickered over the worry lines etched on your forehead. He unconsciously brushed his thumb over the lines, hoping to draw out the anxiety with his touch, and then tucked away a strand of hair. "I'm sorry I scared you."

You took in a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to compose yourself. A mess of emotions stirred inside you—worry, embarrassment, irritation. You were partially frustrated with Finnick for making you fear for his life. Mostly annoyed with yourself for showing such vulnerability in front of him.

"God, you're an idiot sometimes," you sighed, shaking your head.

He smirked. "Didn't think you cared so much about me."

"No, you just don't think, Finn."

He glanced off into the distance for a moment with furrowed brows. "Well, that's definitely not true," he countered, meeting your gaze again with a half-smirk. "I think about a lot of things, actually."

"Oh? Like what?" you asked, slightly annoyed. "Do tell me what the great Finnick Odair thinks about instead of his own safety."

Slowly, the smirk faded from his lips. Something new tinged the atmosphere and suddenly everything around you seemed hotter than it previously was. Not an uncomfortable or sweltering heat, but one that held an intensity that sparked the air with electricity.

You suddenly became very aware that Finnick was still holding you in his arms. You recognised the confined proximity between you and him and realised that, before this moment, your bodies had never been so close.

Your legs were curled around his hips, pelvis pressed firmly against his. The position of his hands, which were keeping you afloat, was bordering on inappropriate but would only be deemed as such if you cared. Which you didn't. You liked it—having his hands on you.

One thing you couldn't ignore was the flickering of his gaze. How his eyes kept dropping to your lips. How they blatantly revealed a long-awaited confession that words just couldn't capture. Still, you wanted to hear him say it. You wanted to hear the purr in his voice as he told you.

Then he was leaning in. You weren't sure whether it was on purpose or if the pure magnetism of the tension between you was drawing him closer. Regardless, you started to lean in closer too, eyes drooping as you focused on his mouth.

And before the short distance between your lips and his became immeasurable, you whispered, "Tell me, Finn."

The hands keeping you afloat trailed up and down your back restlessly as Finnick forced a tense exhale through his nose. He seemed to be wrestling with thoughts. You waited in anticipation, and right when it seemed like he was going to make a move—

"I think..."

—you were interrupted. By no less than a pod of dolphins as they leapt from the water, causing you and Finnick to jolt from each other's embrace.

The rest of that evening was not worth mentioning. Not because you had forgotten what happened, but because the sheer awkwardness between you and Finnick afterwards was so torturous that you wanted to keep the memory squashed in the recesses of your mind. Neither of you acknowledged what happened. Finnick still walked you home, but it was done so in agonising silence.

Surprisingly, you both returned to the beach the next day. You hadn't expected him to be his usual upbeat self, but he was. So, in turn, you too acted like the previous day was erased from history. But your friendship with him was never the same.

Flirty conversations no longer felt like a joke; they now had a deeper meaning. Fleeting touches caused full-body goosebumps that didn't happen before. There was so much unresolved tension, and it was painfully thick. Inescapable.

So, as Finnick sat beside you present-day, weaving dried palm leaves into the mat beneath your bodies, you couldn't help but notice the transparency of your body language and his. The gap between you both was comparable to the size of a pearl and even though neither of you acknowledged it, you kept catching each other stealing quick glances every half-minute or so.

When you were sure he wasn't looking, you found your gaze drawn to his fingers. They were sturdy, yet nimble; curling and manoeuvring in ways that had your face feeling hotter than the heat of any sunburn or warm summer's day. This heat was beneath your skin. Spreading through your limbs in little tendrils and wrapping around your nerves. A dip in the salty sea wouldn't cool you down nor would a gulp of cold fresh water.

As you stared at his hands, you knew only the source of the sensation could offer reprieve. But that wouldn't happen, so there you burned.

The fact that he was shirtless and that his hair was a gorgeous mess of damp bronze curls helped not one bit with taming the consuming desire inside you. God, you were a mess yourself.

You sighed.

The sun, glowing intensely with a divine orange, was beginning its descent on the horizon. Your feet were buried beneath the soft sand, trying to retain some warmth as a slight breeze blew against your exposed skin.

Wearing a short sundress probably wasn't the most practical idea. Embarrassing as it was to admit, practicality wasn't what was going through your mind when you decided to wear it... Someone—Something else was.

"Something on your mind?" Finnick asked suddenly.

Your heart fumbled in your chest, terrified that he had somehow heard your thoughts. "Sorry?"

"You sighed," he said, turning his head to look at you. "Or am I just getting so old that I'm already starting to hear things?"

With relief of his lack of mind-reading abilities, you laughed softly. "You're definitely getting a bit old, Finn," you teased. "Any nursing homes you've been considering?"

"I heard retirement by the sea has its perks," he quipped, subtle dimples present as he returned to his weaving. "Although, I will need someone to make sure I don't fall asleep while swimming and get carried out by the tide. What d'you say, sweetheart? Up for becoming my personal lifeguard?"

Absolutely. "Depends. Will you force me to wear one of those awful flowery swimming caps with a matching tankini?"

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I'm thinking more like those little red bodysuits. You know, the ones that zip open down the front?"

You reprimanded him by pushing his shoulder, wearing a betraying smile. "Very charming."

"I just think red's your colour, that's all," he laughed.

Your stomach fluttered. You knew he was teasing you; teasing was basically the foundation of your... friendship. Deep down, you knew there was also some truth behind his words. A truth that was as electrifying as it was upsetting—how long were you both going to keep up with this whole 'friends' charade? Could you handle it if the answer was forever?

Best not to think about it. For your sanity's sake.

Finnick finally settled into a comfortable position with his forearms locked around his bent knees, apparently having decided to continue his mat-weaving another time. He had been extending it bit by bit ever since he first made it for you. At this point, you were sure he was attempting to cover the entire beach. For now, it was only big enough for two people to lie down on.

Sounds pretty convenient, came an abrupt thought.

And then you fell down yet another rabbit hole of depraved daydreams... A pair of hands interlocking your own above your head. Hot lips pressing kisses to your neck. Tongue gliding up the sensitive skin of your jugular. Your fingers tugging at bronze curls between your thighs.

You were sick. Diseased with immorality. Finnick was your friend. If not your best friend. You're not supposed to fantasise about fucking your best friend.

"Thinking about anyone in particular?"

You almost choked on your saliva. "W—What?"

How did he keep doing that?

Finnick seemed to find joy in your perplexity. It was written all over his face. God, those fucking dimples. "You've been completely still for nearly five minutes and your legs are covered in goosebumps," he pointed out. "Hence the question: who are you thinking about?"

As you looked down, you found that your skin was in fact riddled with goosebumps. It didn't occur to you then that the only reason he could have noticed was if he was staring at your legs in the first place. It also didn't occur to you that Finnick obviously had the very same debauched thoughts running through his own mind.

Why did you have to wear such a revealing dress? He already struggled enough with resisting you at the best of times.

If you had been paying attention, a simple glance in his direction would have revealed how his ears were pink and his pupils were dilated. More importantly, you would have seen his legs constantly shifting to ease the discomfort tenting his pants. Fortunately, he had mastered the art of winding himself down in a short amount of time.

Unfortunately for you, that ability was not within your skill set.

You scoffed. "In case you haven't noticed, Finnick—it's autumn," you said, a quick snappy lilt in your tone. "I know you've got some weird internal space heater built into you, but normal people tend to have a reaction to the cold."

Well, it's a good thing you didn't sound defensive...

Finnick raised an eyebrow at you, displaying a puzzled half-smirk that spoke a thousand words.

You lowered your head in embarrassment, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry," you murmured. "I just, uh, don't really like the cold."

"Who could've guessed."

Despite serving as an excuse, it wasn't entirely untrue. You really did dislike the cold. And it was now that you seriously regretted your choice of sparse attire. The breeze kept blowing up the dress's skirt, threatening to expose your dignity to the world. Or more accurately, to Finnick. Thankfully, you had decided to wear a pair of delicate lace underwear that morning instead of old granny panties.

Nevertheless, now that it was on your mind, you couldn't think about anything but the cold gusts of wind blowing against you. Chills ran over your skin and you were shaking like a leaf.

Finnick, being the gentleman that he was, scanned the surrounding area for anything he could use to keep you warm. He would've given you his shirt had it not been crumpled in a ball of wet sand on the ground.

There was nothing else of use. Nothing except a single apprehensive idea sitting in the forefront of his mind. It was all he had. He bit the inside of his cheek as he contemplated the potentially disastrous idea.

Then, after taking a silent deep breath, he finally said, "Come here then." Your eyes snapped to his. You must've looked like you had seen a ghost because his brows knitted together in confusion. "What?" he breathed out a chuckle. "I'd prefer not having to carry you home as a block of ice."

You thought about it for a moment. Was it really such a good idea after the thoughts that were just swarming in your mind? Another gust of wind blew by and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself.

"I won't bite, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to," he added.

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, shut up."

With that, you slid across the mat, positioning your body, which was still facing the sunset, in front of his legs. There was a moment of hesitation. Anxiety. But before you could reconsider, Finnick wrapped a strong arm around your middle and pulled you back against his chest, situating your body between his legs.

The exhale that left your lips was instantaneous and you couldn't help but shudder at the warmth of his skin. "God," you sighed, overwhelmed by the sudden change in temperature. "How are you so warm all the time?"

"Oh, you know. Weird internal space heater."

You laughed softly, then felt Finnick's chest vibrate against your back as he joined you. His bare arms wound tighter around you, motivated by the affectionate atmosphere. Your body seemed to melt into the cocoon of warmth he provided, and a soft smile graced your lips.

"Better?" he asked.

You nodded, responding with a whisper, "Thank you."

"Anytime."

You could hear the smile in his voice and how intently he was trying to hide it. You wished you could have seen it. To see the sense of peace you shared. However, feeling it in the way he held you was enough.

Instead of blood, your heart now seemed to be pumping out rather odd alternatives—waves of sea-green salted ocean, iridescent seashells, smiles paired with heart-stopping dimples. How could he? How could Finnick condemn you to loving him like this? So unwaveringly; so without a hope of ever being able to return to life without him in it.

He made a mess of you. A ruin. And even with wholesome affection running through your veins, you still couldn't ignore the hazy images conjuring in your mind from the way his body was pressed firmly behind you.

How could he?

The sun had just touched the horizon, granting the sky a few more minutes of light, meaning it was almost time to head home—an upsetting reality. You weren't sure how much time had passed before your body started to ache from lack of movement.

You wiggled your toes which were buzzing like television static. The feeling started moving up your legs and you knew if you didn't stretch, you would later embarrass yourself trying to stand on dead legs. So that is what you did. You started moving.

First, you stretched out the muscles in your legs and then moved onto straightening your back against Finnick's chest, feeling the faint pops of your spine offer you relief. And then you started readjusting your position and wriggling your hips to fit more comfortably between Finnick's toned thighs. That was your first mistake.

"Stop moving."

You were taken aback by the rigid inflection in his tone. "What?" you asked, ignoring his warning and continuing your restless movements.

"Stop. Moving," Finnick repeated, sounding more strained.

His hold on you became stiff. Completely frozen.

You were confused. Everything was perfect a moment ago, and all you were doing was stretching—why was he being so weird and snappy?

In response, you exhaled sharply. "I'm just trying to get comf—"

"Fuck," he breathed out.

Your eyes widened and it was safe to say your stomach had flipped inside out.

That was the moment you finally realised your second mistake. The rigidness in his voice wasn't him being snappy with you at all. Not even close. He was just trying to prevent the pleasure he felt below from reaching his vocal cords.

But it was too late. It wouldn't have mattered if he managed to keep quiet because you could feel it now. The achingly hard length that was pressed against your backside, reaching all the way up to your tailbone.

"...Oh," you whispered.

"Yeah," Finnick said. "Oh."

Now it was your turn to freeze. Fear consumed you, similar to what you imagined having to remain motionless in front of tyrannosaurus rex to prevent from being eaten alive was like. Thanks to the damning wind, strands of your hair blew behind your shoulders, undoubtedly tickling the exposed skin of Finnick's chest. Even that minuscule movement had your heart threatening to explode with anxiety.

As per usual, panic wreaked havoc in your mind.

What do I do? Do I get up? How will we come back from this? Does he—

Finnick cleared his throat. "Uh, you still alive in there?" he chuckled nervously.

You felt minor relief enter your bloodstream upon hearing the normality in his voice. At least one of you was composed enough to act normally. Well, as normal as one could act after becoming hard due to their best friend sitting in their lap.

"Is it—" You swallowed the nerves rattling your voice "—is it because there's a girl sitting on your lap, or is it because it's me?"

That was the million-dollar question. Was his reaction simply biological? A natural response to stimulation? Or was it deeper than that? More personal.

Finnick was silent.

The rapid thumping in your chest moved to your ears, like a drumroll leading up to some grand reveal. You felt dizzy; both filled with dreadful anticipation and exhilaration. Your senses were so heightened, fuelled by an inane bout of adrenaline. You swore you could almost hear the gears turning in Finnick's mind, smell the smoke as they rotated over and over, trying to make sense of your question and form a suitable response.

Religion never played a factor in your life, but, oh, how you were zealously praying his answer would be the one you spent all your nights fantasising about. But still, he was silent.

And right when you believed he wasn't going to respond at all, his lips finally uttered that single life-changing word. "You."

Fireworks seemed to light up every nerve in your body. You.

You weren't sure what to make of your thoughts at first. The overwhelming abundance of emotion caused by a singular word was difficult to fathom. Only one sentiment stood out from the rest—and that was the fact that Finnick felt the same as you did for him.

It was no longer a speculation. It was a fact. A truth. An undeniable reality. You had both verbal and physicalproof, literally digging into your backside.

Finnick slowly, very slowly, unwound an arm from your torso, and you held your breath. His hand slid across your waist and then plastered itself over your hipbone, careful not to apply too much pressure to make you feel uncomfortable. When you felt the slight movement of his thumb gliding across your clothed skin, you exhaled the burning air in your lungs with a shaky sigh.

"Do you want me to get up?" you asked softly while staring at the sunset, although you were focused on anything but.

"Not a chance." And then he unwound the other arm, now cupping both sides of your hips with two large hands. The heat from his palm sank into your skin, sinking deeper layer by layer until it reached the rapid flow of your bloodstream. "Do you want to get up?"

You felt a pulsing sensation between your thighs that had your parted lips inhaling slow deep breaths, and you knew the only logical answer was no. So, you shook your head.

Finnick reached up to skilfully tuck a lock of hair behind your ear before placing his hand back on your hip. He then leaned down beside your ear, voice a hot, velvety whisper, "What next then, sweetheart?"

A wave of chills ran down your entire body.

What next? Another question for the ages. You had dreamt of this moment a million times over. You had pictured the unholiest, most vivid of scenarios, and yet here you were, mind blank as an empty void.

Then it hit you. Rather than acting from a pre-planned script, wouldn't it be better to just let your body act on what it naturally desired? On instinct? You took in a deep, stabilising breath and gave yourself into moment.

You slowly began turning your head to the side until, for the first time since he pulled you into his arms, your eyes flickered up and found Finnick's. His lips quirked with the ghost of a smile at the exchange, but he held it back. His jaw clenched and unclenched, muscles ticking with tension.

He was looking at you in a way you had never seen before. Or perhaps, you were just never close enough to notice, and he had always looked at you this way. There was a blazing intensity in his eyes, dark and penetrative, a bridge between yearning and total reverence. It was so enticing that you could feel your hands itching to undress yourself in front of him.

Finnick murmured your name.

"Yes?" you managed to whisper.

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this?"

Those words—he had stolen them from the tip of your tongue.

You couldn't find the strength to muster any profound response. So instead, you found your head tilting back and the crook of your elbow winding up and around the nape of his neck. You didn't need to guide him down; he came willingly.

His lips caught yours in a soft, warm exchange. Singular yet prolonged. Then there was a brief pause of disconnection, a calm before the storm. And with Finnick, when it rained, it poured. Suddenly, a hand was cupping the area where your jaw and neck connected, and his lips were on yours again.

There was so much more heat in this kiss. A depth that kept growing with each connection of your lips. You could hear the fervour in the breathless exhales that exited his nose, the quiet groans that slipped into your mouth. Though the same could be said for you.

You couldn't subdue the moans and meek whimpers that leaked out. Especially when his tongue slipped into your mouth and took control over your own. At this point, you couldn't even be called putty in his arms; you were pure liquid, totally and completely submissive in his embrace.

It was impossible to tell who was throbbing beneath you anymore. All you were sure of was that the pretty lace panties you had put on that morning were now soaked. Though even if he never touched you, you wouldn't have cared. Having his lips on yours, his tongue on yours, was enough. And if he kept at it long enough, you were sure it would even be enough to get you off. That's how much power Finnick had over you.

Apparently, he felt the same too. Because when you leaned further back into him and your ass pushed against the length of his erection, his fist scrunched the fabric of your dress by your hip and his lips left yours to let out a shuddering breath.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he huffed, half chuckling.

Technically, it was a suppressed moan. Either way, you swear you almost came then and there.

With one last gentle kiss, you opened your eyes, pulling away to replenish your lungs with air. Finnick's eyes were already locked on yours in a drunken haze from the taste of your lips. Your arm unwound from his neck, grazing down his broad shoulders and bicep. During so, your eyes caught on the tiny bumps and raised hair scattered across his arm.

"You've got goosebumps," you smiled, trailing your fingertips across his skin.

His gaze moved to follow your hand, wearing a boyish grin. "Would you believe me if I said I was cold?"

Your throat buzzed with a suppressed giggle. Seeing the way his body reacted to yours was incredibly motivating. Someone telling you they lusted after you could easily be spoken with deception. But having visual confirmation, witnessing a reaction that couldn't possibly be forced, was a whole different story. Finnick's body craved you.

Given that incentive, the slight trepidation still holding you back now disappeared into the back of your mind. Your fingers curled around his wrist, dragging the hand beneath your jaw down to your neck, and then down to your chest. It didn't take him too long to figure out your intentions. He overtook your influence and autonomously moved his hand to cup your breast.

You were essentially caged in his embrace. Exactly how you wanted it.

You stared ahead with relaxed eyes, watching as the sun slipped into the dark water. Night had officially blanketed District Four and, now being shielded by darkness, the stars were your only witness. Strangely enough, you felt a new sense of shamelessness.

So as Finnick kneaded your breast in his warm hand and pinched the sensitive peak of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger through the lace of your bra, you allowed a soft moan to escape your lips.

It was almost as if you could actually feel the smirk growing across Finnick's lips behind you. One thing you actually could feel was the twitch of his achingly hard cock beneath you.

"You like that?" he asked, definitely smirking.

"Yes," you sighed almost immediately.

If only he knew how truly euphoric you felt. If only he knew how many times you had imagined being in this exact situation. Having him touching you like this. The guilt of imagining him in such a way used to eat you up. But now that you were past the guilt, there was no shame connected to the thought of Finnick eating you up.

Fuck, he would look so perfect between your thighs—bronze curls all messed up from your pulling and tugging; sea green eyes squeezed shut as he dedicated his attention to dragging you down to the pits of hell with his tongue.

Your head fell back against his collarbone. He took this as a signal to move your hair aside and start planting hot kisses onto the curve of your shoulder. Then he trailed further across, brushing his lips across your skin until he reached the side of your neck and started sucking gently, though enough to leave behind pretty little red marks of possession.

"What about this?" he murmured against the delicate skin.

The faint taste of sea-salted air sat in the back of your throat as your breaths deepened. You felt his tongue glide partially up the length of your carotid artery, and your entire nervous system seemed to short-circuit.

"Yes,"you practically whined.

He must have found this amusing because you could feel the vibrations of his chuckle against your neck. But he wasn't finished yet. Hell, the finish line was a lifetime away regarding the things he planned on doing to you. They probably couldn't all be done in one night though, unfortunately.

You had completely forgotten about the hand still splayed on your hip. Why would you pay it any attention when it was sitting idle? Only it wasn't simply resting on your hip anymore. No. Now it was moving. Moving down.

His lips were still on your neck and he was still cupping your breast, but all you could focus on was the carnal descent of his hand. He found the hem of your dress, fingers toying with the flimsy material as one did when deciding whether or not to go through with something potentially consequential. Ultimately, he began to drag the fabric up your thighs, knuckles grazing over your soft skin until the skirt of your dress was ruched around your hips.

You sucked in a sharp breath. The vulnerability of suddenly being exposed in such a manner hit you like a tonne of bricks. This was really happening. Finnick, the Capitol's darling, District Four's golden boy, and more significant;y, your best friend, was touching you. He was kissing you. He was seeing and feeling parts of your body you had never let him see or feel before.

Naturally, this unfurling web of thoughts produced a surge of insecurity.

But, when his hand curled around your inner thigh and spread a wildfire of warmth across your skin, every thought that was previously passing through your mind disintegrated and was replaced with unadulterated yearning.

Finnick's mouth finally detached from your neck to hover beside your ear. "And this?"

He lightly kneaded your thigh to emphasise his question, dangerously close to the place that undoubtedly crossed the boundary between friend and lover.

You were speechless. The desire running through your veins was paralysing. All you could do was look, see, feel, and hope to god you didn't pass out from the shallowness of your breathing.

"Come on, sweetheart," he roused in that low, seductive purr. "Don't go quiet on me now. Use your words."

And how could you ever disobey a voice like that? It took every ounce of strength and concentration you had in you, but eventually, you managed to find your voice.

"I—" You cut yourself off with a gasp as his thumb purposefully wandered up to the edge of your underwear. Asshole. "I lie awake every night imagining us like this, Finn. You don't need permission to touch me. You've already had it for months."

Suddenly, a gentle finger was turning your chin, compelling you to meet Finnick's gaze. His eyes lacked the intensity from before and were now brimming with awe, brows knitted as if he was asking for confirmation if what you had said was truthful. And it was, painfully so.

To answer his wordless question, you leaned forward and connected your lips with his. He responded with ardency, and not long after, you could feel his hand wander up to the waistband of your panties.

He wasted not a second before dipping his hand beneath the lace material and finding that sensitive spot that had been begging for his attention.

Your lips separated from his to let out a breathy moan. "Finnick."

He simply smiled, two fingers rubbing circles around your clit. He pressed gentle coaxing kisses to your lips, and you really did try to respond, but you were never one for multitasking. Especially when the man you had fallen in love with was touching you so.

His other hand wandered across your torso, holding your waist, grazing over your stomach, tracing the length of your sternum. All very loving adorations compared to what his other hand was doing.

"I think I'm going to hell because of you," he murmured, millimetres away from your lips. Such a disconcerting thing for someone to admit, but all you could manage was a hum in response. "Every time I see you, I can feel myself getting closer and closer. You derange my thoughts, sweetheart. You corrupt them.

How am I supposed to be around you if I want to fuck you every time you say my name? And what makes it so much more impossible is that you don't even mean to make me feel this way; you just do. God, you're maddening. So sweet and maddening," he cooed, fingers picking up in pace which caused you to melt back into his chest and let out a pretty little moan. "Drives me crazy."

"And to think," you managed, "I thought you had your hands between my legs because you hated me."

Your hips were rolling lightly along with the rhythm of his fingers.

At the very same time Finnick's thighs tensed around your hips from the friction against his cock, he abruptly plunged two fingers inside you. Punishment.

The moan you let out was positively filthy.

"Such an attitude you have," he said. "Anyone would think you're completely innocent in a dress like this. But I know better than that." His fingers slid in and out, curling every time the base of his fingers bottomed out inside of you. "I know exactly why you wore it. Just like I know exactly why you wore those lace panties you pretend that I can't see whenever you bend over."

Heat crept up into your cheeks from hearing his words. You wanted to provoke him by saying 'And look where it got me'but who knew how his fingers would respond to your attitude.

"You can't do that to a man," he continued. "It's criminal."

"It's only fair, Finn," you breathed out, struggling to keep your voice level. "You ruined me."

A deep moan rumbled in his chest, though it never escaped. He couldn't break that easily. He needed to remain in control. This moment, to him, seemed like an eternity forthcoming. He needed to make the most of this moment with you, needed to show you what it was like to receive earth-shattering pleasure so that you only ever wanted to receive it from him. No one else.

Despite his obvious attempts at keeping himself in check, you could still feel his thick impatient cock twitch beneath your ass. Even through the layers of clothing between you, you could tell that he was incredibly big. So much so that it worried you a little. Only, when his fingers curled again, you forgot all about it.

The pads of his fingertips buried into your inner walls with every curl. The heel of his palm struck your clit with every thrust of his fingers and you could feel your stomach start tightening. Fuck, he was amazing at this.

It had been so long since someone had touched you like this. Well, someone that was actually good at it. Just a few minutes and Finnick was already about to make you come.

"Feels so good, so—ah—good!" you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

He reached a free hand up to your breast, lightly pinching your nipple between his fingers until you let out a gasp. At least one of you was good at multitasking.

"You gonna come?" he asked, not that he even needed an answer. He could feel the way your walls were contracting around his fingers, feel the sticky warmth of your slick leaking onto his knuckles.

You nodded fervently.

"Say please first."

"Finn," you whined in frustration.

You could hear him chuckle self-satisfyingly behind you. "Come on, baby. Sweet girls are supposed to have manners, aren't they?"

His low, husky voice almost threw you over the edge. Oh, how you would love to listen to the sound of him talking you through your orgasm. That is if he ever even let you get to that point.

Never had you ever thought you would be pleading with a man for anything, yet here you were. Though, Finnick Odair could hardly be called a man. He was so much more than that; he was bordering on divinity. And you weren't going to miss the chance of being unravelled at the hands of a divine being.

"Please, Finnick," you begged, your body literally buzzing with desperation. "Please make me come."

He pressed a kiss below your earlobe. "Since you asked so nicely."

His fingers picked up in pace. They weren't even plunging in and out anymore but were rather curling, over and over again in that electrifying spot inside you. He went hard and fast, working to bring you to your high as quickly as possible. Your moans were so unrestrained, so breathless and shallow that you started to feel the world spin around you.

Your hand flew back to hold onto his arm, nails digging into the hard muscles of his bicep. Your hips were writhing in Finnick's lap and you could hear him groan out a string of curses. He held you down by the hip to try and keep you still, then moved across to the bottom of your abdomen where he pressed down.

That is what did it for you.

You cried out as tightness spread down your stomach and pure ecstasy took control. Finnick murmured words of praise and reassurance as you rode through your high, though a lot of it didn't register in your mind. You heard only a few bits and pieces which were enough to prolong the feeling that was overwhelming your entire body.

"Taking it so well."

"That's it, sweetheart. That's it."

"Such a good girl."

As the waves of pleasure slowly began to subside, you returned to reality. The heat that had been building up inside you started melting away, leaving you in a state of relaxation. Your fingers, which previously clung onto Finnick's arm, now grazed absentmindedly across his skin. It felt like you had been sucked into a dream—a little hazy and surreal, but incredibly tranquil.

"You okay?" Finnick asked softly.

You hadn't even noticed that his fingers had left your body. He had pulled down the hem of your dress— not that your dignity really needed saving anymore—and was holding your melted figure in his arms.

"Mm," you hummed contently, eyes fixed on the view in front of you. "Warmed up."

If only you were able to see his face, his smile. Those dimples. A powerful longing to be able to see every expression known to man morph his facial features washed over you. It was a little ridiculous how attracted to him you were. Nonetheless, you indulged the desire.

You pushed yourself from his lap and pivoted to face him

You were straddling his lap before any ounce of hesitation could hold you back. Finnick circled his arms around your waist, pulling you closer into his chest. He was smiling. He was smiling and it was even more beautiful than any sunset you had ever witnessed. You concluded that you had definitely made the right choice in deciding to face him.

"Hi," you whispered.

He smiled. "Hey, stranger."

He brushed back a few pieces of hair from your face, observing the blown size of your pupils and the sultry colour of your lips. He did that—he could not get over the fact that he did that to you. Finally.

You shrunk away from his gaze, a timid smile on your lips.

Finnick tilted his head slightly. "Shy thing."

You buried your face into the side of his neck, groaning quietly in embarrassment. You could hear the perfect sound of him laughing above you. He stroked the length of your spine, somehow managing to ease the nerves from your body with a simple touch. You left a quick kiss on the warm skin of his neck and rose back up to meet his gaze.

"Feeling better?"

"Much," you replied, sheepishly. Your eyes flickered across Finnick's, hesitated, and then gestured downwards. "But... you're not." His head tilted as though he were confused as to what you were suggesting, so you leaned in closer until your lips ghosted over his. "Still need to take care of you."

A breath of warm air fanned across your face as he chuckled. He shook his head. "It's alright. I can hold off for another time."

And although the prospect of doing this again another time was downright exhilarating, you couldn't ignore the palpable heat still lingering in your lower stomach, throbbing between your thighs. You could only imagine how he must have been feeling—cock throbbing with a need for relief, though ready to deny himself the same amount of pleasure he just gave you.

You suddenly curled a hand around the back of his neck and brought him into a slow kiss. To show him he was allowed to indulge himself. That you wanted him to. You ground your hips down on his lap and felt his lips falter against yours.

You pulled back and echoed your previous words, "It's only fair, Finn."

Time seemed to pause for a moment. Your breath and his mixed with one another in a sort of hot whirlwind of anticipation. Your bodies were still. Finnick's eyes were half-lidded staring at your mouth.

Then came the explosion.

His hands were hastily tugging your sundress over your head; his lips were on yours as he reached down between your bodies to unbutton his pants. It felt like a race against time. Like if you didn't do this now, the chance would never come by again. Hell, his pants hadn't even made it off his legs before he was holding himself in his hand and you were rising to your knees, positioning yourself directly above his length.

Your lips never left his, strenuous as it was, meaning the only gauge you got of how big he was wasn't from seeing it, but from feeling it as you pulled your panties aside, guided his cock to your entrance with one hand, and felt the entire veiny length of him fill you completely as you lowered yourself onto him.

A quiet, synchronised gasp left both your lips as you enveloped him completely in wet velvety warmth. His pelvis was connected with yours and his cock was pressed right up against your cervix. So incredibly deep, you could almost feel him in your stomach.

You stayed like this for a few seconds.

"So big," you gasped against his lips.

His hands were on your back, dragging up and down. "Want to stop?"

"Never."

This was so not what friends did.

He trailed kisses from your mouth, to your jaw, and down to your neck. You were grinding sinuously back and forth, Finnick's hands now on your hips as a guide, feeling his tip bury into the sensitive walls inside you. Your head fell back with a gratified moan as he nipped your neck unforgivingly, only to soothe the spots he marked with the glide of his tongue.

At that moment, the past and future were of no significance. The idea that doing this might ruin your relationship with him afterwards didn't concern you. You didn't bother recollecting a time when you and Finnick were merely friends, nor did you ponder how you even managed to reach this point.

All you could focus on was how fucking perfect his cock felt inside of you.

The cold, which was previously a nuisance, now served as a stimulant to your nipples which were only covered by the thin unpadded material of your lace bra. They were bouncing with every movement you made, the hard peaks rubbing against Finnick's chest and creating a triangle of pleasure between them and the depravity that was happening further below.

He was so hungry in the way he kissed you. His lips were soft, but they moved with heat and determination. His tongue was supple as it pushed against yours, moving masterfully in a way you could only compare to how he swam in the ocean. A conqueror—able to bring you into submission with ease.

You pushed yourself upwards, the muscles in your thighs slightly burning as you did so, and felt his cock glide through you. He inhaled harshly through his nose when his tip almost left your wet heat, and then groaned into your mouth when your hips sunk back down, engulfing him once again.

"Shit," he almost whined as your walls clenched around him. "I fuckinglove you."

You pulled away to look him in the eyes. It was incredibly difficult for you to contemplate his words—his confession—when he was, what, eight or so inches deep inside you?

He didn't look like he regretted saying it. He was simply staring at you with raised brows pinched together in pleasure, awaiting your response as you continued your sequence of rising and sinking to fill yourself up with his cock.

"You love me?" you asked in a laboured breath. He only nodded in response. You sank fully down onto his lap, discontinuing your movements, willing him to prove his so-declared devotion. "Then show me."

He was breathing heavily and watching you through strands of sea-salted hair messily splayed across his forehead. He was so beautiful it actually kind of hurt to look at him. His eyes fell to your mouth during this brief amnesty, a decision prominent in his mind. Then he was rushing forward, crushing his lips to yours and forcing your body to lay back on the mat beneath you.

Finnick somehow managed to remain inside you as he switched your positions—him now above you as your legs were wrapped around his waist. His body pinned you down with a comfortable weight, skin warm and flush against yours.

He was overpowering and dominating, and his thrusts were laced with a sense of appropriation like he was making you his. The slow grinds of his hips were hard yet measured and so breathtakingly deep, and the gentle upwards curve of his cock made sure his tip was prodding against that swollen pleasure-inducing spot every single time.

His kisses were sensual and slow; his tongue slipping languidly into your mouth, swirling and massaging your tongue like it was made of pure silk.

You had told him what to do—now he was showing you. Finnick Odair wasn't fucking you. He was making love to you.

Your hands were on his back, fingertips leaving red marks on the curves of his shoulder blades. You moved up to his hair, scratching your nails softly into his scalp, which earned you a soft moan in your mouth. Even you could feel yourself pulsing around his cock. Everything he did, every sound and action he made, had your body yielding to him.

His hand pulled you up into him by the waist, arching your back off the palm-leaf mat so that he was thrusting more profoundly into that blissful spot inside you. He never sped up his pace. He didn't need to. He was savouring the moment as much as he could, memorising each warm ripple of your walls his cock glided over inside you, every intoxicating moan your soft lips released, the pressure of your warm supple thighs hugging his waist.

He was committing every aspect of you to memory. Inside and out.

Having that knowledge only made the moment so much more pleasurable. Knowing that he wasn't just thinking about you with his cock, but was thinking about you with his heart too.

That feeling started creeping up inside you—the blissful burn of heat pooling in your lower stomach. It made your walls flutter around him. Made you whine and moan uncontrollably into his mouth until you couldn't focus on kissing him anymore and had to pull away.

Your head fell back onto the mat, hair strewn out around you. The sounds coming out of you were pure sin. Desperate, greedy sin.

Finnick chuckled adoringly above you. "Too fucked out, sweetheart?"

He couldn't exactly talk. The second you clenched around him again, he groaned out a curse and you—the parts of your mind that were still relatively comprehensible—were sure you could feel the warmth of pre-cum ooze inside you.

"Finnick," you mewled, and he caressed the baby hairs framing your face. "Feels so good. Should—should've done this sooner."

Through your half-lidded eyes, you watched as he nodded and then descended to your forehead, pressing his lips tenderly against your skin. I know, the gesture said. You felt a rush of affection flood through your body, ultimately accelerating the build-up happening inside you.

You could feel yourself teetering so impossibly close to the brink of your orgasm. The tightness inside you was so hot and overwhelming; it was a struggle for you to keep your eyes from fluttering shut and rolling back, though you willed yourself to keep them open. You had to.

Watching Finnick's face contort with pleasure as he's thrown into his own high from feeling your walls contract around him would probably be the highlight of your entire life.

"So beautiful," he cooed as he thrusted into you. "My sweet girl's gonna come, isn't she? Can feel it."

The words flew out of your mouth. "Come inside me."

"Come inside you?"

You were pretty sure he was mocking you from the devilish curve of his lips and furrow of his brows. But your lust-drunk brain didn't really care.

"Please. Wanna feel you—" Your chest heaved with each breath "—everywhere."

Finnick was so obviously trying to keep himself from giving in before you. But you could see how delirious his eyes were as they stared down at you and you heard how every low, gratified—frustratingly sexy—sound he made betrayed him. He was so close.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," he said, finally.

He managed to unhook your hands from around his back and guided them upwards, holding your wrists together above your head with one hand before he brought his other back to your waist. It was oddly romantic how he held you, given that he was fucking you like life after that night wasn't guaranteed.

And then, without warning, he was pounding into you, bottoming out completely with each thrust.

It was almost animalistic now—how you were both unable to control yourselves anymore. You were writhing beneath him, impulsively fighting against the grip he had on your wrists. And Finnick, well, he was fucking you so hard, you weren't sure if walking home that night would be a possibility.

He was a disaster of pleasured vocals, deep moans, and heavy breaths. You thanked the absolute heavens he was because it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard in your entire life.

When your own moans started to rise in pitch, you knew you were done for. You felt so full. Stretched out to the max. Blinded by the heat that was drowning you. But your eyes managed to remain clear and locked on Finnick's the entire time, just as his were on yours.

With a fleeting glance downward, he once again placed a large hand over your abdomen and pushed down, and your back arched off the ground.

You were gone.

"Oh fuck!"

The heat, white and fiery, had consumed you. Your thighs tensed uncontrollably around Finnick, your body shaking beneath him as your insides pulsed all the way down to your stuffed entrance. White, sticky sweetness covered Finnick's cock as he continued to thrust into you, the wet sounds overpowering the waves cresting on the sands. It felt like fucking heaven.

He let out a moan, broken and breathless, and released the grip he had on your hands. In that short moment, you instantly gripped onto him, feeling his body shudder beneath your hands as his throbbing cock spurted out ropes of warmth deep inside you, the essence of both of you mixing inside your body, making you one.

You pulled him down and crushed your lips to his with a sudden intense urge to be as close to him as you could, if it were even possible to be any closer to him at that point. It felt a little spiritual, the way you practically wanted to merge your body with his. That's what having sex with someone you truly loved was like, you supposed.

The kiss was sloppy and messy, but it never lacked heat or affection. Lacking heat was impossible between you and Finnick.

A lot of time passed before either of you even contemplated pulling away from one another. Finnick was inside you for what must have been a good half hour after you had both finished. It felt close. Deeply intimate. He held you in his arms, his hands mapping out various parts of your body with unhurried measure as you lay beneath him, lazily yet affectionately making out with warm, reddened lips.

There were quiet giggles and heated words whispered between you that would have prompted another session had either of you been graced with the energy.

But it was late. The remnants of the sun had long since disappeared beneath the horizon, dimming the sky to a deep dark blue, the world's only source of illumination being the stars casting their sparkling light on the rippling water.

It was a new moon.

Eventually, you ended up laying over his chest, legs strewn across his as you both faced the ocean. Your head rose and fell with each breath Finnick took and it felt unreal.

You were momentarily worried your infatuation with him had grown too out of hand and you had imagined the whole day, or perhaps, the entire time you had known him. That it was all a figment of your vivid imagination.

Then, his warm hand slid into your own, which was draped across his stomach, and you knew that this, the newfound relationship between you and Finnick, was undeniably and rapturously real.

He slowly lifted them together above your bodies, palms flat against one another. There was a notable size difference between them—his palm was large and calloused with long fingers that squared off at the tips, meanwhile, your own fist could probably fit into his palm.

Your fingers danced delicately together as you both watched from below. He traced the length of your fingers with his fingertips; followed the etches in your palm, and turned your hand to explore the protrusions of your knuckles. There was a certain gentle curiosity in his touch, similar to that of someone who was discovering the act of human connection for the first time.

"I don't know if I can walk home," you whispered.

Finnick lowered your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your knuckles before placing them back on his stomach. "I'll carry you."

"For an entire hour?"

"I'll manage," he said, "I've got muscles."

You scoffed quietly to yourself, smiling. "Ok, big strong man."

"Says the girl who needs to be carried home."

"Well, you are kind of the one to blame for that."

You tilted your head to glance up at him and found exactly what you were expecting to see. He was wearing a proud grin, all apple cheeks and crinkled eyes. It was something you had come to adore, even though sometimes it was out of arrogance.

Your head turned to rest back on his chest. You watched as his thumb caressed slow circles over your knuckle.

"What you said before," you began, "is it true? Do you really... love me?"

The heart beating beneath your ear genuinely sounded like it skipped a beat. You imagined that was a good sign, though your nerves were still a little frayed. What if he had only said it because of the heat of the moment?

A beat went by. "I've been trying to tell you ever since I first wove the mat for you," he confessed, his voice quiet yet holding the weight of the history that made up your friendship.

There it was—the truth laid bare. Despite hearing the words, it didn't really change anything. You suspected deep down you knew the entire time; you were just too self-doubting to accept it. To accept that Finnick Odair, the crown jewel of Panem, had fallen in love with you, an ordinary girl from District Four who just so happened to meet him at a secret beach.

Although, there was a sensation you remember upon first meeting him. That instinct that had told you to stay instead of running away, as any logical human being would do upon being approached by a stranger in the middle of nowhere. That instinct, despite sounding utterly ridiculous, caused you to believe that perhaps it was fate.

Maybe you were destined to meet. Maybe it didn't matter that he was a nationwide celebrity, nor you a simple town girl. Maybe your souls were entwined from the start and, one way or another, you would have met anyway.

Maybe.

"That's a long time," you said.

He laughed. "Yeah, well, I thought you would've gotten the hint by now."

And you couldn't help but join him. You thought you were the one who was deranged out of their mind. Here Finnick was telling you he had spent an entire year trying to confess his love without you even realising.

"I'm sorry it took me so long."

"It's alright," he said, earnestly. "I'd say it worked out pretty well. I mean, look where your obliviousness got us."

You smiled. Your legs were tangled with Finnick's; his arm was holding you tightly against his bare upper body, and his fingers were lovingly tracing over yours. Yeah, you were pretty grateful for your obliviousness sometimes. A new pair of underwear might have been something to consider, though.

A silence settled between you, comfortable, peaceful. Being in Finnick's embrace almost made you forget entirely about the reality of your existence—the Games, the dominion over Panem, the chaotic environment back home. It was the reason you had set off last year in search of a place away from society.

You had now found that the escape you were looking for wasn't a place or a hidden paradise, but a person. It was Finnick.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

The trees and palm leaves danced in the light breeze. Waves lapped on the shore.

You angled your head back to look at Finnick and felt him pull you closer. His expression was a picture of relaxation and contentment. His eyes gazed down at you, glimmering with the reflection of scattered stars in the night sky, just like the sea in front of you.

He seemed to already know what you were going to say. Always the mind reader.

"Say it, sweetheart." The corners of his lips twitched expectantly.

Sweetheart. Oh, how could you have ever felt for him in any other way?

"I love you too."

His face broke into one of the happiest smiles you had ever seen.

...roll credits

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xxbimbobunnyxx · 5 days

Text

Summary: Life is soooo hard being a spoiled little housewife, sometimes all you need is for Rafe to think for you. 18+MDNI!!

Warnings: Daddy kink!, cockwarming, body worship, dom/sub dynamics, mostly fluff? (Idk being soft is not my strong suit be nice to me) also you can thank @strangerstilinski for putting the image of Rafe playing w your hair while you cockwarm him in my head.

Today was hard. By your standards at least. It felt like every single little thing was going wrong. First your nail tech made your nails too squared off, then your hair appointment got canceled. You went to the mall to try to get the new shoes you’ve been lusting after but they didn’t have your size even though it said they did online. Starbucks made your coffee wrong and to top it all off you stopped at the store to get stuff to bake Rafe cookies and you fucking burned them. It didn’t help that you were about to get your period so you felt extra needy and Rafe wasn’t even here to take care of you because he had to work late.

You feel like a huge baby sitting in the edge of you and Rafe’s plush bed, pouting over such minuscule things. But it isn’t your fault Rafe conditioned you to get whatever you want, whenever you want. Plus you wanted to do something for yourself today, usually he drives you around on maintenance and shopping days but you thought it might be fun to go on your own. Apparently not. So after the commotion with the cookies and the smoke alarm you decided to just sit down and wait for Rafe. He was all you wanted right now. When you hear the front door open your entire body practically perks up, just knowing he was home eased the tension in your body some immediately.

“Baby? Where are you?” Rafe calls out to you as you hear his expensive loafers against the carpet. He rounds the corner into the room and sees you sitting on the bed with your pretty little eyes brimmed with tears and your sparkly glossed lips set into a pout as they wobble. “Hey, sweet girl, what’s going on?”

“Daddy - I -“ your sentence is cut off by a whimper as the tears in your eyes start to stream down your cheeks. He rushes towards you, taking your face in his hands, running his thumbs under your eyes to keep your mascara from staining your face.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby, daddy’s got you, I’m gonna take care of you, okay? C’mere.” He leans down and presses a gentle kiss on your lips before crouching down on one knee so he can take your little pink heels off your feet. He runs the tips of his fingers along your ankles before pressing his lips against the inside of each one. He stands again, taking your hands in his so he can softly pull you to your feet. “My girl just had a long day, huh? Need me to think for you?”

“Mhm.” You let out a sigh as he presses his lips to your shoulder, he pushes the strap of your little tank top down before kissing across your collar bones, his lips touching every inch they can.

“Use your words, Princess.” He mumbles against your skin as he starts to kiss up your neck, leaving soft nibbles and gently sucking on the skin.

“Yes, daddy, need you to take care of me. Don’t wanna think anymore. Please.” You whine.

“Alright, don’t gotta beg, baby. I’ve got you.”

His finger tips caress the skin underneath your shirt as he grabs onto the hem and pulls it over your head. His hand comes around your back to undo your bra and he places wet open mouthed kisses on each of your nipples. Rafe takes his time unzipping your skirt, and pushing it off your hips, his lips grazing over and sucking on any skin they can reach as he undresses you with such tenderness. Once you’re finally bare before him one of his large hands cups your face while the other grips onto your hip, pulling your lips to his.

“Look at you, my perfect girl, so beautiful.” He pulls his shirt over his head and grabs you by the hips as he walks backwards towards the bed, using his grip to maneuver you so that you’re straddling his lap. “What do you want, hmm?”

“Just want you. I don’t know.” You pout up and him and he chuckles slightly, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Alright baby, how about you sit on my cock and just let me hold you for a while, huh? How’s that sound?” He smooths down your hair as he smiles sweetly at you.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” You hum and Rafe wraps one of his thick arms around your hips to maneuver you so that he can use his free hand to pull his pants down enough to free his cock. He’s already hard, it doesn’t take much more than seeing you naked and needy for him to get him going nowadays. Honestly he thinks if you breathed just right he would be rock hard in seconds. He uses his grip on you to line you up with his cock, gently pushing his tip into your entrance.

“You’re always so tight for me, princess. So wet.” Rafe gently thrusts the rest of the way inside of you, pressing your hips flush against his. “There you go baby.”

“Mmm, missed you daddy.” You let out a sigh of relief as wrap your arms around his neck and lean forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Missed you too baby, always miss you.” He kisses the top of your head, massages your scalp, rubs your shoulders, leaving kisses behind his in wake. Rafe runs his hands down your back, gently massaging your muscles. He connects your lips and slowly rolls your tongues together as his hands continue to rub and worship every inch of your body they can reach.

“Love every part of you.” He mumbles against your lips as his kisses travel over to your cheek and down your jaw. “Love this pretty face.” He kisses your nose. “Love this cute little nose.” He runs his nose down your jaw to your neck where he counties to place tender open mouth kisses. “Love this pretty throat.” His kisses travel down your shoulder to your arms. “Your soft skin.” He kisses the back of your hand before gently placing his lips on the pad of each one. “Love your cute hands, all these lil rings you wear and how small they look around my cock.”

“Raaaafey, I love you.” You giggle, causing your walls to constrict around him.

“I love you, angel. If you keep laughing like that I’m gonna have to flip you over and fuck you until you can’t talk though.” He chuckles as his hands find your ass and squeeze the flesh between his fingers. His words make you wiggle in his lap, causing his tip to brush against your sweet spot.

“Mmm… I wouldn’t be against it.” You gently rock your hips against his, looking at up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah?” You giggle and nod. He smiles widely at you before flipping you onto your back. “You’re fuckin’ in for it.”

#rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe concepts #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe fluff #rafe cameron concepts #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x reader #Dolly writes

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ilovetulips · 1 year

Text

fem!reader x older!tattooartist!eddiemunson

part 2 !

WARNINGS : smut 18+ pls ,, age gap (ages aren’t rlly mentioned but r is 21, e is 39) ,, p in v and all the stuff that comes w it ,, lots of petnames ,, use of yn!

A/N : first smut ive ever written. so scared rn. hope u all like it

———

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t absolutely petrified walking into the small hallway containing each tattooist’s room. your legs were shaking and your heart was pounding, so much so that your vision blurred as you stepped up to your assigned room.

“eddie munson”, you could eventually make out from the sign on the door.

entering the spacious room, you look around and take in the darkened walls littered with various drawings, the long bed on the left side covered in cellophane and the faint sound of music playing.

it took you a while to finally catch sight of the mess of dark curls on the right hand side, bopping his head to the music slightly, small grey hairs shining in the light and his hand scratching his pencil against the paper below him.

“h…hi.” you voice squeaked out in a stutter, sounding completely different to how you usually speak.

“can i help you?” he barks out rudely, not even turning to look at you.

“oh i’m sorry, i must’ve got the wrong room. sorry for disturbing you.” you begin to back out of the doorway behind you, before his brown eyes shoot up and meet yours.

“shit- sorry sweet thing, thought you were maria from next door. c’mere, sit down.” he gives you a cheesy smile while his eyes widen slightly. “you my 2 o’clock, yeah?”

your palms shine with a thin layer of sweat, originating from both excitement and nerves. “mhm, should be under the name y/n.”

“gottcha sweetheart, beautiful name. what’s a sweet thing like you doing in a place like this, hm?”he rolls over in his chair to where you’re sat on the bed, placing his large palms over your trembling knees.

he smirks down at them before focusing on you, his pupils blowing out and looking at your lips every now and then.

“it’s m’first tattoo… can you tell?” you look up at him shyly through your eyelashes, his face intimidating you - not that you were scared of him, he was just really attractive.

“yeah, you’re shakin’ like a leaf doll, but i’m here to help ya stay calm. whattcha thinking of getting?” he tucks a stray hair of your behind your ear before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

god his arms were consumed in ink, only adding to his attractive qualities.

———

you spoke to eddie about the design, placement and all necessary paperwork before you were relaxed on the bed, laying on your side and watching the boy prep his tattoo machine.

you had a few voice cracks and stuttered a bit while talking to him, mostly due to his stare shrinking you, but he had made you feel extremely calm while prepping you.

“mkay doll, gonna need you to lift that shirt up a tad for me n’ we’ll get started. no rush, you tell me when you’re ready and when you wanna stop. can you do that for me darlin’?” his chair rolls back over to you, his gun ready to go.

you nod your head and reach down to grab the hem of your shirt. you’re stopped, however, when eddie’s calloused hand covers yours.

“words, sweetness. need you to use ‘em.” he taps your skull with his other hand, and pinches the hem of your shirt with the other.

you can’t deny the blush tickling your face is because of him slowly driving you insane, but you’re not going to stop him. “i can do that.”

“for me?” he tilts his head, crows feet creasing around his eyes as he smiles.

“for you.” your lips stay in the oval shape as he moves your shirt himself, yet you can’t take your eyes of his own lips. you have no idea how old he is. late 30s maybe? is this wrong? you shouldn’t feel attracted to someone like 18 years older than you… right?

he catches sight of the band of your bra, all cute and lacy. now it’s his turn to blush slightly. he can’t help the wicked grin spreading across his features, such a pretty girl wearing such a pretty bra.

“now you tell me if it hurts too much, wouldn’t want to cause such a precious girl like you so much pain.” he’s good at this. really good at this. your face was now beet red, and your thighs were unconsciously clenching together. you hoped he wouldn’t notice - he did. and it went straight to his ego.

———

you’re about 15 minutes into the tattoo itself. eddie taking his time and meticulously placing every line with care. you can’t help the small noises you make when it becomes particularly painful, once again hoping he didn’t notice.

he stops with a sigh, the faint bzzing making the silence grow louder, and the tension more suffocating. “sweetheart, if you don’t stop making those pretty noises i’m not gonna make it through this tattoo.”

his darkened pupils look up at you through his curls gracing his forehead. you didn’t know how to react, so you just stared at him with parted lips and slightly widened eyes. you, luckily, were too oblivious to notice the amount of times he had to adjust himself in his pants, and the prominent boner he was sporting right now.

he knew it was “unprofessional”, but he had never had a client like you before. you walk in with a cute little shirt and skirt, lacy underwear and give him doe eyes while moaning to yourself and expect him to not react?

“m sorry… didn’t realise i was doing it.” you look away from him, trying to focus on the artwork on the walls, but only being able to focus on the growing wet patch in your underwear. he has a way with words, and he’s incredibly attractive.

“don’t have to apologise, i like ‘em. but they’re driving me insane over here princess.” he leans down to meet your eyes in front of your head. the tension was so intense you were practically choking on it. he can’t help but reach over and trace your lips with his thumb, pulling your bottom lip down while you let him do it.

“so pretty.” he mumbles, leaning back and patting your thigh before reaching to finish the tattoo. “want you to lie just on your back now, yeah? nearly there doll.” and so you do, until the pleasure pain was so much that you were arching off the bed, your breasts nearly spilling out the top of your shirt.

eddie was glad he was wearing jeans that day, so the wet patch of precum in his boxers wouldn’t soak into their material. you, however, were not glad to be wearing a skirt with such easy access to your underwear, and the larger wet patch soaking them.

“fuck- baby you can’t keep doing that. you’re makin’ it real hard to concentrate over here.” he rubs his hand over his face and reaches for the cup of water on the small table next to him.

“…sorry.” you smile sheepishly. “can we… uh take a break?”

“course princess, you want anythin’?” by anything he means a snack or some water - but you’d hoped the offer was for something else.

you shake your head no before looking back up at the ceiling. that didn’t last long until you could feel someone’s eyes on you - eddie’s.

he was sat, legs spread and arm leaning on it, his veins prominent in the hand pinching his lip. but his eyes were the most captivating, as they were black. full of lust and desire. you saw the affect you had on him, and to be honest you have never felt so attractive or turned on.

you turned your head to look at him, lolling it to the side before contorting your body fulling to the side. your skirt flicked up and caught your hip as you did, revealing your panties and causing eddie to groan.

he clamped his eyes shut before walking over to you, gripping your chin with his pointer finger and thumb and forcing you to look up at him. “i can’t tell if you’re doing this on purpose, or you’re just dumb.” his words shocked you.

“m not doing anything, eds.” you tilt your head to the side slightly, smirking as you did so. you weren’t doing it on purpose yourself, but maybe your body was just reacting naturally to him and doing it to make him look.

“eds? we’re on nickname basis now sweets?” he leaned down, his hot breath fanning across your lips as you squirm under his gaze. you nod dumbly as his hand travels to grip your jaw and rub his thumb across your lips again. you were practically panting, desperately trying to relieve yourself without him realising.

“you gone all shy now? after that whole performance?” he presses his lips to the base of your throat, peppering slow kisses up it’s centre before meeting your lips. “maybe i’ll just let you sort yourself out. who knows who else you’ve been a little slut for.”

a whine escapes your lips as he pulls away from your lips, missing his warmth. the name going straight to your cunt and making you needier.

“jus’ you. i promise. couldn’t help myself.” you mumble, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“don’t act all innocent with me angel, i know what you want, and you know what you were doing. want you to tell me what you want from me.” he crouches down in front of you, hands on your thighs and inching up slowly.

“need you to touch me. want you so bad.” you squeak out, shuffling about on the bed.

“oh yeah? want me to make you cum, sweet girl?” he peels back your skirt, your panties on full display as you lean on your elbows to look at him curse under his breath. he grips your knees and spreads your legs further apart, eyeing the wet patch between your legs.

“god you’re so wet, i can see it from here. got you all worked up hm?” he presses kisses on your inner thighs, watching you squirm until he roughly grabs your hips. his stubble scratching your thigh slightly as he kisses higher.

you hum in agreement, focused on the growing tension about to snap. that was until you felt his fingers pull at the sides of your underwear, pulling them down to show off your glistening folds.

he growls slightly, groaning at the sight before pulling your panties off and basically diving into your pussy. licking strips from your hole to your clit, humming and rolling his eyes back at the taste.

he was eating you out like a starved man, sucking at your clit and poking his tongue into your hole while you were a moaning mess above him. writhing and wriggling your hips, grinding into his face while you were overcome with intense pleasure. he brought his hand up, inserting a finger inside of you before lifting his head up and smiling.

“tastes like heaven, sweetheart. so so sweet f’me fuck.” he reaches that spongey part inside of you, your moans growing whinier as you reach your climax. he roughly covers your mouth with his hand, muffling the sounds you’re making before watching his finger plunge in and out of you.

he starts sucking at your clit again, mewling at the taste of you before adding a second finger to thrust into you. your eyes were rolling back into your head as he coached you to your climax. you failed to notice the poor boy practically grinding the floor, trying to find any way to relieve himself while relishing in your pleasure.

“you gonna cum baby? yeah? go on, cum all over my tongue darlin’”. he poked his tongue back into your hole before making his way back to your clit. he was sloppy, the sounds of him and his tongue filling the room and probably the hall next to it. you didn’t have time to think about it though before white fuzzies took over your vision, and the coil inside you snapped.

eddie slowed his pace down, but lapped at the hot white liquid spurting from your hole. he was basically kitten licking it by the time you’d snapped out of your intense climax. you’d slept with guys before, with women before, but none had ever made you feel like this.

so you grabbed him by his hair into a kiss, teeth clashing and tongues dancing. you hum sweetly at the taste of yourself being transferred from him to you, trailing your hands down his chest and towards his bulge. he looked big, but nothing could’ve prepared you what he was actually hiding.

he sat down, spreading his legs as you knelt down in front of him, holding his cock in your hand and staring at it. he hissed as the cold air hit his sensitive tip, sticky with precum. he chuckled darkly at your expression, grabbing his dick and slapping it against your cheek lightly a few times.

“you okay there, doll? you can take me.” he smirks, smug from your expression. you lean in, licking a stripe from his base to the tip and taking extra time to lick the prominent vein pulsing on the side. he groaned in pleasure, jutting his hips up into the air before you grasp him with both hands and lick his tip a few times.

you watch his face the whole time, scrunched up in pleasure and making him look so much more attractive. swirling your tongue around his tip and licking the precum away, you start to take him down your throat until your nose hits the base.

“fuuu-uck. where’d you learn that you little slut? used to suckin’ big dick are ya?” his groans are sent straight to your core, making you wetter than before.

you pull away with a ‘pop’, and look into his eyes. “you’re so big, eds. biggest i’ve ever seen.” you’re about to go down again until he grabs your face harshly, puckering your lips while he stands and looks down at you.

“don’t believe that. you gonna let me fuck your face now, sweetheart. quit teasin’.” he holds his cock, guiding his tip to your parted lips and thrusting his hips in slowly until you’re gagging. strings of curses tumble out of his mouth at the sensation as he pulls out and fucks your face harshly. his balls slapping on your chin while you moan and clench your pussy as he uses you as a fucktoy.

“such a good girl, letting me ruin your pretty mouth like this. fuck- perfect angel.” he’s holding your chin as tears flood down your cheeks from gagging so much. he’s thrusting so intense that your jaw is starting to ache.

“shit shit shit - gonna cum sweet girl. swallow it all f’me, be a good girl.” and so you did. hot ropes of his salty release coat your tongue and the back of your throat. you stick your tongue out at him, so he can see the dollops of him cum he left there before you swallow it all happily and sit up to kiss him again. watching you, eddie could feel himself getting hard again.

his tongue swipes over yours, both of your recent releases mixing together in your mouths. salty residues left at the corners of your mouths before you pull apart.

“bed. now.” he pants at you, walking you towards it until your back reaches it and you fall back. you spread your legs again, giving him a look at your pussy dripping with arousal again. he watched as a bead of the liquid travels down your thighs, before he laps it up and rubs his tip through your folds.

the sensation of his tip hitting your clit almost had you screaming, but you bit down on his shoulder instead as he sharply sucked air through his teeth.

“eddie- please.” you pant, the words coming out strained from desperation. hearing you beg for it did something to him, blood pumping to his tip more than before.

he plunged into you slowly, the burn of the stretch adding to your pleasure as eddie groaned. he went all the way in and stopped, kissing your collarbone before looking at you.

“feels so fuckin’ good. so tight for me.”

“move. please move- fuck.” he pulls his hips sharply, before slamming them back into pace and setting a rough pace to fuck into you at. he was so big, it felt like he was ruining your pussy and your organs. his tip prodding against your cervix, creating a bulge in your stomach that he pressed on.

“look at that. too big for your pussy to fit. fuck” the rough pace he set had led your moans into an incoherent string of words. you couldn’t process what was happening, just the intense pressure building in your stomach causing you to clench around him.

“y’fucked all dumb up there, angel? fuck- clenchin’ around me like that m’ not gonna last.” his hips stutter before falling back into their pace.

“fuckfuckfuckfuck” high pitched screams sound out of you, not caring who can hear anymore because it feels so good.

“my dumb girl, pussy’s made f’me isn’t she. god you’re perfect.” you can’t help but drool at his words, being fucked so dumb that you can’t remember words.

you clench harder around him, indicating you’re close as your moans mush together. his hips falter again, becoming overwhelmed by the wetness squeezing his cock. he reaches his hand down to your clit, and spits on your pussy before he spreads it around and rubs it in circles around the nub.

the sensation is so overwhelming, your orgasm crashes over you with no warning. you hadn’t even got a chance to warn eddie about needing to pee - which didn’t matter anyway as you squirted all over his dick. the lewd sounds still filling up the room as eddie doesn’t slow down.

“squirting all over me, fuckin’ slut. you’re gonna stay here till i cum, use you as my own little toy.” you were falling into being overstimulated, the climax still having it’s effects on you. but you notice him slowing his pace down.

“shit- gonna cum. can i cum in you, doll? feels so good i don’t wanna pull out. please?” he flops his head to your shoulder.

“please cum in me, eds. want you to cum so deep in me.” before you knew it, his warmth was spitting out of his sensitive dick, painting your inner walls white and mixing with your own release as he pulls out of you slowly.

the white liquid of both of your releases drips out of your hole, before eddie quickly puts your panties back on you to prevent it from dripping out, giving the puffy mound a few playful taps and causing you to hiss from overstimulation.

“want you to keep it all in there for me, like the good girl you are.” he kisses you sweetly before flipping your skirt back down and making sure you’re okay.

———

“that was the best sex i’ve ever had.” the man says next to you, arm around your shoulder as you trace the tattoos on his chest.

“me too. felt so good eds.” you smirk at the new nickname. you sit up and grab a pen from the table next to you. finding a space between the collage covering his body, you write your number down.

“i wanna see you again. call me?” you rest your chin on his chest.

“course i will sweetness.” he kisses your head before standing up and sitting back down in his rolling chair.

“y’wanna finish that tattoo now?”

3K notes · View notes

joelsgoldrush · 11 months

Text

swore i heard you whisper that you preferred us like that

joel miller x f!reader / 5,8k words

summary: you ask joel –the quiet, distant joel– to teach you how to ride a horse. they say the eyes are the window to the soul, and it must be true, because when he really sees you, it´s like he finally understands what you feel for him.

warnings: smut 18+ let’s pretend joel never left jackson, porn with plot, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel is 56), grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation, pet names, unprotected p in v (don't try this at home ok), dirty talk, soft!dom joel (sort of???), a bit of angst/feelings, joel gets all babygirl around reader, ellie appears for like a minute, mediocre attempt at recreating joel's southern accent (sorry in advance)

a/n: hello??? well this is my first fic ever so bear with me, i'm still new to all this. also english isn't my first language so i'm afraid there may be mistakes (mostly when it comes to collocations bc i hate them and they confuse me), buuuut i'm learning obviously and if you find anything that should be corrected PLEASE TELL ME thank you :) i'd appreciate if you told whether you liked this story (idk what to call it tbh) but if you don't it's more than fine! anyways thank you so much for reading if you come across this fic, i hope you like it! i've spent a week writing it bc finals season is killing me <///3

here's my masterlist in case you want to read my other works :)

"Oh, my drunken southern star / How you tried to hide in darkness / Slipped from orbit / Now you’re dangerously close / Come out, come out from all your hiding out / We’ll dig in our heels, salute the battlefields / Where our broken hearts were born."

What is it that he has?

You used to ask yourself that question every night as you went to bed. On some occasions, you couldn't manage to come up with an exact answer. There were too many reasons that disclosed why a man like him lingered on your mind, even in those moments that were supposed to be for you and only you. Sleeping more than three hours a day was definitely something you needed tremendously, but still, the not-so-rational voice inside your head kept on bringing his name up without fail, disturbing your rest.

Joel Miller. Was it possible to feel like this? Like you knew somebody without having exchanged more than five words with them? Sure, there wasn't a single person in Jackson who wasn't aware of his existence. From whispered rumors in the streets to stories that intended to give his reserved personality an explanation, Joel became a real talking-point among those in the commune. Years ago, when the world was still just a floating ball in space, he would’ve frightened you, being the kind of person your parents used to warn you about as you started to grow older.

He walked a certain way, as if he were holding the suffering of many lives in his hands. Always on guard, prepared to fight those who defied him. Hidden knives in his pockets, a gun between his fingers, the trigger too tempting to be pulled at any time given. His hair was a mixture of brown and gray, and you swore that the latter was only becoming more prominent as days went by.

Suddenly, your pillow felt too uncomfortable, your hands fisting the fabric of your t-shirt while you kicked the blanket resting on top of your bare feet. A sigh escaped your lips, the taste of something you couldn't even distinguish on your tongue, your unsteady breath being the only sound to be heard in that noiseless night.

You were having a hard time figuring out how you felt about Joel (if there was anything to feel in the first place, since he barely remembered your face and there you were, fantasizing about him instead of sleeping.) Maybe you liked how he presented himself, how bossy and persistent he looked the times you caught him patrolling around the zone. Or perhaps it was his character what charmed you in the first place, and the fact that, deep down, a different side from him remained completely unseen.

He was handsome, too. Tall, broad shoulders, aquiline nose. His arms looked majestic in every single piece of clothing he wore, his tanned skin shiny enough to reflect the very same sun. And his legs… you were sure they were muscular like the rest of his body, because of all the physical effort he did. You had heard that he worked as a contractor before the pandemic, which made a lot of sense. Once or twice you had paid attention to his hands and–

Then, a familiar feeling sinked in. Warm began spreading through your belly, your thighs involuntary clenching together. “Fuck,” you muttered in a low tone, keeping your hands glued to your sides. Another motive not to think about Joel: he made you feel… things. Certain things that you hadn't felt for anyone in a very long time. You preferred to think that it was probably due to the fact that you were touch-starved, and not because you found yourself deeply attracted to him. Never had you ever been a sexually active person, so why now? Why did the mere image of Joel in your mind turn you on?

He’s strong. I’m alone. I feel the need to find someone who’s willing to protect me. That’s it. No other reason.

Your internal monologue was lacking in arguments, but it was definitely something you could work with. As if on cue, you found it hard to keep your eyes open, your limbs not feeling as if they were yours anymore. Next thing you knew, you were asleep.

That night, you dreamt with Joel.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

In a small cabin, you taught children how to paint and draw. Maria believed it to be helpful for their psychological development or something like that, and you had agreed to do it. A good way to spend your free time– that’s what it was. Plus, you liked children; some would even choose to include you in their drawings, and that small gesture just warmed your heart.

There, you met Ellie, a teenager whose basic vocabulary consisted mostly of profanities.

And boy, you loved Ellie.

It was hard not to, actually. She was like a breath of fresh air, with her jokes and instant charm. You two became attached in a short time, and she reminded you of a younger version of you, just a lot braver. Although in this world it brought her benefits, you sometimes wished she wouldn’t have gone through all that shit. Those eyes, which squinted as she laughed if you tickled her sides, were the cemetery of many buried memories. You wondered how she managed to put a smile on her face despite her past and the horrible things she had seen, hoping it was genuine and not a mask.

“Look!” her voice brought you back to reality. Blinking in her direction, you realized the amount of paint you had dropped onto the floor, a red stain already forming on the carpet. “Are you okay? You seem off.”

“I’m fine! Just a bit sleepy today, that's all,” you got closer to where she was lying down, her fingers moving the brush you had gifted her in different directions. Squatting a bit, you placed a strand of hair that didn’t make it into her ponytail behind her ear. “So, what are you painting?”

She smiled warmly, and her teeth catched her lower lip momentarily. “It’s not finished, okay? Don’t freak out. I know you’re a perfectionist.”

“I’m not…” you tried to explain yourself, but ended up choosing to be defeated. “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, may I see it?”

The canvas was in your hands a few moments later. Ellie spoke beside you, her words mixing together in a sign of embarrassment. “It’s for Joel. Figured I could do something nice for him, you know? I don’t– I think I need to start over. His eyes look kind of strange, don’t they? They’re so close he looks like a cyclops.”

“Don’t say that, kiddo. This is… it’s beautiful,” your index finger traced the lines framing his jaw, the shades of his skin perfectly achieved. You held the painting even tighter, afraid of breaking it for a second. He wasn’t frowning like he normally did; Ellie had painted him smiling, and the crinkles by his eyes matched his age. Surely you must have spent more time than necessary staring at it, ‘cause then Ellie continued talking.

“Well, you know what they say: The student has become the teacher.”

You handed the canvas to her, a smirk taking place on your face. “Yeah, I guess I’ll stop teaching you if that’s the case.”

An hour or so later, someone knocked on the door. As both of your hands were occupied (a more formal way to say that they were dirty with paint), you screamed “Come in!”, and Ellie covered her painting with an old, muddy curtain you used to clean the tables in which the children worked. You were about to ask her why she had reacted in that way, until you turned around and saw him.

Joel was there, as every other Wednesday. In your cabin, standing right in front of you. And you didn’t even look presentable. His hair looked messy, a couple of locks stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Hi,” he said shortly, meeting your gaze and attempting to shake your hand, but you avoided contact.

Showing him your hands, you held your palms in the air as an indication of the still fresh paint on your skin. “Sorry. If I were to accept the gesture, I’d leave you a stain.”

He retrieved a bit, adjusting his glove. “It’s okay. Safety first.”

That was supposed to be a joke, you noticed tardily. The silence in the room persisted until Ellie appeared from behind your back, already putting her coat on.

“You were supposed to pick me up in half an hour, asshole.”

His mouth snapped shut for an instant. “I missed you too. How was the class?”

Ellie lifted her shoulder in a half shrug, looking in your direction and proceeding to jerk her thumb toward Joel. She didn’t want him to see the painting. “Fine as usual.”

“Can I see what you’re–”

“No fucking way!” she accentuated the word fucking, drawing him closer to the door.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not done.”

“But–”

“No more questions, Joel. Let’s go! Say bye!” Ellie handled him like a baby, which made you giggle.

Though you saw Joel raising his eyebrows, so you stopped laughing.

Soon, they left and the cabin returned to its familiar quietness. A sigh erupted from your chest, and you allowed yourself to fall on top of a chair.

At least you could say you had actually talked to Joel for once.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

It didn’t surprise you that you wanted to see him again.

Not in the “you-turn-me-on” way, but in the “you-seem-interesting-and-i-need-to-find-out-why” one.

He had something. Something so magnetic and indecipherable that kept pulling you towards him. Something that made you look for his presence in every crew, and not sensing what it was only made your wishes to dissect him grow bigger. There was a tiny probability that he was an idiot with a pretty face. Who knew? You definitely didn’t, and that needed to change. You deserved to know if pining over that man was worth it or not.

That chain of thoughts led you to look for him the next day, almost trembling with eagerness as you asked him the most stupid and unexpected question you could have imagined.

“Would you teach me how to ride a horse?”

He looked at you as if you were out of your mind, opening his mouth a few times and then closing it before he actually replied to you. “You’re tellin' me you don’t know how to ride a horse?”

“Tried it a few times, but failed and now I really want to learn to do it properly,” you swore his eyes were trying to decipher if you were saying the truth or not. “Ellie told me that you could probably make some time to teach me?”

“So Ellie's in charge of my schedule, I suppose?” you froze on the spot, and he must have noticed it because then his expression dulled. “Sorry, sweetheart. It was a joke. I've been told I'm not the best humorist.”

Sweetheart. You could’ve died a happy girl.

“Look, why don’t we meet up tomorrow after lunch? I'm sure it won’t take us much time. Not a difficult task, y’know?” he stroked his beard, apparently thinking you understood what he was talking about.

“Sure. Thank you, Joel. My name’s–“

He didn’t let you finish. “I do know your name,” and before leaving, he repeated: “I’ll be here tomorrow. You know where to find me.”

To say that you slept without interruptions that night was an understatement. Each hour seemed to become longer the more you glimpsed your watch. Your heart drummed inside your chest violently, and you feared that someone else would be able to hear it if they got close enough to you.

After having lunch in the same spot as every other mundane day, your legs took you to the stable. You took a shaky breath, expecting him to appear out of thin air, but fifteen minutes went by, and there was still no sign of Joel. Pressing your forehead against the wooden door, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “What was I even thinking?”

“Hey.”

You looked to your side and– there he was, already getting inside the stable and inviting you to follow him. Joel petted one of the horses, clicking his tongue. His fingers caressed the animal’s back, and when he shot a glance at you, he didn’t ignore your disturbed expression.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of horses.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” you laughed awkwardly, eyeing the horse, which stared at you with those big and strange eyes. You raised your hand to mimic Joel, but that just made the animal move further away from you. “I guess it’s mutual. We don’t like each other.”

Joel smirked, guiding you outside. “It’s a damn horse. I don’t think you can tell whether he likes you or not. You gotta change that attitude of yours,” he murmured as he got on top of the horse, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Treat him well and he’ll be nice.”

At first, Joel taught you the basics: how to position yourself for balance, get your legs in the right position, hold the reins properly. A little bit of help coming from him was needed for you to mount the horse. He got down on one knee, patting it as if it were a mounting block. “Come on. Step on it.”

No need to ask me twice, you thought as you did what you were told, and once you were grabbing on those reins for dear life, you observed him with curious eyes. “Now what?”

“Now…” he pressed his hand into one of the horse’s sides, and afterwards, the horse began to fucking trot and you cried out, a high-pitched shriek slipping from your mouth. Joel laughed maliciously, almost hypnotized by the scene. “Now is when you learn how to ride a horse!”

“This isn't funny!” you screamed, the horse still very much entertained with the way you were jerking on top of him. “Stop!”

You couldn't believe how he kept… cracking up. Joel touched his stomach, shaking with laughter. “You’re a natural, can’t you see it? I’m havin' the time of my life here.”

“What I can see is that you’re an idiot! Cut the cackle and help me!”

But he didn’t move a single muscle. Instead, he remained still, that smug look never abandoning his features.

The bastard. “You’re gonna make me beg? In this situation?”

Crossing his arms while teasingly grinning at you, he added: “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Joel Miller, will you help me? Pretty please?” your hair was getting in the way, and you could taste it as you insisted. “Is that enough for you?”

It was, actually. He helped you get down from the horse, his thick fingers digging into the mushy skin of your waist. It shouldn’t have felt that good, but it did. You were supposed to be angry at him for setting you up and still, by touching you for a microsecond, he had transformed you into something malleable.

Sadly, that feeling didn’t last much longer. “Didn’t know you were a man of manners. Should’ve told me beforehand.”

“Didn't know you could scream like that. I hope you didn’t freak anyone out.”

The two of you continued to practice until nightfall. A thing you also learned, apart from horse riding, was that Joel was a determined man. Everytime you tried to quit, he stopped you, making it impossible for you to rest. You stared at him, rubbing the back of your sore neck with a grimace. “I’m tired. Can we go back?”

“One more time.”

“Joel–”

“Trot a couple of meters just one more time, and that’s it for today. Can you do that for me?”

You tried not to pay too much attention to his choice of words, although it was basically non-viable. He looked sinful, and you longed to shut him up with a bruising kiss. Again, a hopeless option. Your hands itched to touch him, to feel his stubble, rough and coarse under your thumbs. How could you stay focused when the man you had been daydreaming with for the last couple of months was bossing you around?

Despite your inability to clear your head of any of those thoughts, you managed to accomplish what he had asked you to do. “Well done,” he offered you his hand to dismount the horse and you accepted it, sighing as you stretched out your arms. “We should take him back to the stable,” Joel suggested, giving you the impression of being pleased as you told him you were coming with him.

Inside the stable, he relocated the horse into one of the many stalls. Unbelievably, the place didn’t smell like absolute shit, which was what you were expecting from a barn. “Thank you for the lesson,” you told Joel once he was done with the horse.

“Anytime,” he scratched his jaw, the dim light making his dark eyes look, if possible, even darker. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No. You were right,” your heart thrummed with every word that he blurted. His presence was addictive. You were never the one to have any bad habits, but deep down, you recognized that he easily could develop one. “I thought you were less talkative.”

“So did I,” for an instant, he pressed his lips together, forming a tight line, as if he had said something he shouldn’t have in the first place. “I think I didn’t ask you this before: but why now? I mean, why did you wait so much time to learn how to ride a horse? Everyone in Jackson seems to know how.”

You cleared your throat, his piercing eyes peering at your movements. “I guess I thought it wasn't necessary back then, before all this. It's one of those things that you don't even consider until it becomes inevitable. I used to believe I had a lot of time left when I was younger,” you had never talked about this with anyone else. There was something so intimate about this conversation, how Joel stood seemingly tongue-tied in front of you, as if he were taking notes of what you were confessing to him. “I remember being a kid and not wanting to use my toys sometimes because I kept waiting for the right moment. But then…”

“You realize there’s no such thing as the right moment,” he finished the sentence for you, and you bowed your head. “Life can end at any moment, especially in a world like ours. That’s why you always gotta do what you wish to. We never know what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“Live for today, hope for tomorrow? That’s your creed?” you tried to mock him, the tension in the stable far from evident, but he didn’t move.

“It’s the way I try to live my own life. I don’t like being left with the desire to do somethin’ I could’ve done earlier. Too old for that.”

Maybe you were gradually losing it. Perhaps just a little. It couldn’t be a coincidence, right? Had he noticed how you acted around him? Were you that obvious?

“So, you would advise me to just…”

“Do whatever you feel right, sweetheart.”

That raspy sweetheart made you give in.

His eyes. His penetrating, gleaming eyes scrutinized your face at the same time you closed the distance between your bodies. From there, you were able to see every freckle, every small detail that you hadn’t previously acknowledged. He parted his lips, as if to speak, but no words other than your name came out. One of your hands made its way up to his cheek, cupping it, feeling the warmth his skin radiated. His head immediately leaned into your touch, like a moth into a flame.

You kissed him, unable to keep waiting. It took him what felt like ages to kiss you back, his fingers tangling in your hair. He absorbed your whimpers, pressing your back against the nearest wall. Maddening– it was the perfect word to describe how being kissed by Joel felt like. When you thought he was going to draw away from you, he just held you tighter until your lungs implored for some air. Your knees had never felt this weak, and you found yourself grabbing onto his shoulders, already feeling the places where his stubble had left its trace in flames.

“Joel…” you mumbled against his lips, detaching your mouth from his. Your erratic breaths seemed to sync together like a melody, and you tugged at the collar of his jacket.

He knew, could see it on your features. “Wanna go to yours?”

Joel took you home. The moment you set foot in the cabin, he closed the door behind him, his hand lingering on the handle as he contemplated you from a distance. You took your coat off first, starting to unzip your pants. There was silence long enough to hear crickets in, the moon up in the sky being the only bystander of your meeting. His eyes roamed the newly exposed skin of your legs and you observed him gulp.

“Did something happen?” you asked him, a flush crepting up your face. Taking a step forward, one of his hands came to rest on top of yours.

“No, it’s just that– Are you sure you want this?”

Crinkling your nose, you uttered: “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just too old for you,” he warned you, running a knuckle down your cheek. “You should be with guys your age, y’know? Not with an old man like me.”

“I want you,” reassuring him, you got rid of your t-shirt, and the fact he was still dressed up from neck to toes lit some kind of fire inside you. His calloused fingers fiddled with the strap of your bra until it slipped off your shoulder. “This is what I want. Please, Joel.”

It turned out that Joel Miller certainly was a man of manners.

You couldn't help but moan as he grabbed you by the waist, dragging you to the couch by the window and straddling his lap, his hard-on finding its place beneath you, pulsing and in need of more. His tongue brushed yours ever so often, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his teeth latched onto the skin of your throat. Joel groaned, the sound, low and primal, having its desired effect on you, your hips involuntarily grinding against his in a delicious but tormenting rhythm that already had you on the verge of tears.

“Joel, please,” you managed to plead, not knowing precisely what you were asking for. His hands cupped your ass, imprinting his fingerprints on the soft flesh, forcing your hips to go harder and harder. The harsh fabric of his pants was definitely going to leave a mark on your cheeks, and thinking that helped you realize that you were the only one –almost– naked. You reached for the buttons of his denim shirt, your lips hovering over his. “Take your clothes off?”

He did the rest himself, throwing his jacket to the floor. When he got to his jeans, he cocked his head. “Why don’t we move this to the bedroom, if you’re so goddamn needy?” The few guys you had been with had never been very talkative during sex; there was even this one specific boy who had asked you to not make a sound while he fucked you.

But Joel wasn’t like them. It was just starting and you had already realized that he had a dirty mouth, an expectant look on his face every time he waited for your reaction to his words. “Now you’re quiet, huh? Thought you wanted me to fuck you, darlin',” one of his fingers pressed down on your clit, stimulating it through your underwear. He sighed, stopping his movements and pressing the damp pad of it against your lower lip, urging you to taste yourself. “You’re wet, baby. So fuckin’ wet. Have you been like this all day? Bet you would’ve let me take you right there in the forest.”

“Oh my God,” you whined next to his ear, your whole body trembling with desire. “Take me to bed,” you begged him, and next thing you knew, he was grabbing you as if you weighed nothing and heading towards your room.

Not knowing how, you kept your hands to yourself until he placed you on top of the bed. Joel shoved his jeans down and you didn’t think twice– you stroked his length, the fabric of his boxers only making the slow drag of your hand more satisfying. His long fingers circled your throat, and you moaned as you kept eliciting exquisite noises from him. “Let me take care of you,” his dilated pupils carved holes in your being, his grip doing nothing to cease the ache between your legs. “Please, baby. I need to make you feel good. Been thinkin’ about this for so long.”

“What?” you slowed down your pace, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “You wanted me?”

“Why do you think I began to pick Ellie up from your classes, huh? Because I’m a good, generous man?” Joel parted your knees, getting closer to where you required him the most. “I’m sorry to ruin this, but I’m far from good. Just wanted to see you and your pretty face. Didn’t know if we were on the same page until you came lookin' for me, askin' me to teach you how to ride a damn horse,” you hadn’t noticed your bra was missing till he cupped one of your breasts, flicking your nipple between his fingers. “I’m sure there were many other people you could’ve asked to teach you, but you chose me, didn’t you?”

“Don’t want anybody else,” your lips chased his, a drop of sweat already rolling down your temple. “I didn’t– didn’t know you noticed me.”

“How could I not? If you could only look at yourself like I’m doing right now… You’re a sight, sweetheart, all spread out for me,” removing your panties, he kissed the skin where your inner thighs met, his tongue darting out to draw imaginary figures on your flesh. His mouth was just inches away from your cunt, and you had to tell him.

“Joel?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never– nobody has ever done that for me.”

He seemed to understand what you were referring to. It made you tense a bit, despite the fact that you were completely naked in front of him, basically begging him to tear you apart. Still, the realization that you weren't as expert as him hit you out of nowhere. Yeah, it was all fun and games, kissing and touching probably the hottest man you had seen in your almost three decades of life. But said man was a lot older than you, and he had lived his best years in the real world, not this fucked up version you grew up in. You were sure he had been with many different women, which wasn’t a problem– you two were nothing.

“Nobody has ever tasted ya’? That’s what you’re tryin’ to tell me?” you nodded quickly, shoving a strand of his graying hair back away from his eyes. Joel chuckled languidly, squeezing your hips. “Do you want me to? It’s okay if you don’t. We can try somethin’ else.”

“Please,” you’d have time to embarrass yourself later, thinking about the amount of times you had repeated that word. But certain moments were to be lived only once, and though you hoped it wasn't the case, you had to take the chance. “I want you to.”

Four words. It took Joel four words to disappear between your legs, licking a hot stripe up your folds. You nibbled on your bottom lip, a loud moan filling the void of your dorm. He drew sweet patterns in your cunt, discovering a part of you that no one else ever had, and you couldn’t help but to grind against his face as he dipped the tip of his tongue into your entrance. Breathing wasn’t a necessity anymore. You felt as if all the air in the world was being punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter the more Joel spent his precious time keeping you entertained.

At some point, he focused his attention on your clit, circling it over and over again, making you shudder. Suddenly, the pad of his middle finger tested the waters, and he slowly slid it into your cunt, earning a strangled whine from you. Burying your hands in his hair, your glossy eyes looked for him for a second. You shouldn’t have done that, because as you took in the sight of Joel with his own eyes closed, browns knitted, your nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was even possible to want somebody that much.

“Joel, wait, I’m– fuck,” your jaw went slack and you scrunched up your face, two of his thick fingers nudging that spot that made you see stars. “I’m close.”

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart. Don’t know why you say it in such a dry tone,” his mouth curved into a smile, his chin and stubble shining with your slick.

Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “I don’t want to come yet.”

“But you will.”

A thing you also learned, apart from horse riding, was that Joel was a determined man.

“Joel–“

“I’ll make you come with my mouth, and then with my cock,” dizziness was starting to blur your vision, your eyelashes fluttering with every hard thrust of his fingers. You glanced up to the ceiling, tears filling your eyes. “Think you can do that for me, be my good girl and come twice?”

You bobbed your head. It was official: he was going to make you come.

Drawing in a long breath, you could feel the unbearable pressure in your core. His name sounded like a prayer on your lips, chanting it in the same way some people expressed their devotion to a certain God. You had your own personal deity, whose tongue accomplished to push you to the limit, licking every drop of your release as if it were a special kind of forbidden elixir.

Your shoulders sagged and you relaxed under him. Joel kissed you, an open mouthed and filthy kiss crowning that moment as you panted. Through the cotton fabric of his boxers, you felt his hard-on poking your thigh. Shoving his underwear down, you took him in your hand, hot and just big, stroking him for real this time. You twisted your wrist at the tip, and he slumped forward, almost crushing you with his entire body weight, his breath dampening your neck. “Wanna fuck you, baby,” he croaked, his hips chasing your touch.

Out of all the scenarios you had ever imagined, none of them included being split open by Joel. You had a very vivid imagination, but no amount of creativity would’ve prepared you for what his cock would feel like inside of you. He bottomed out, his arms shaking where they rested on each side of your head. Joel’s breath quickened as he pulled out, just letting the tip, and then thrusting into you again.

“Fuck,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It was even hard to decipher if you were still alive or dead from how magnificent he felt.

“So good, sweetheart. You’re so good, such a good girl,” he groaned, fucking deeper into you. His cock pulsed inside you, your cunt squeezing him. “Can’t believe how– how tight you are. You’re gonna make me lose my f–fucking mind.”

It was just too much. You hadn’t even recovered from your last orgasm before Joel started pounding into you like his life depended on it, the obscene sound of skin slapping skin ringing out in the room.

“You gonna come, huh? Gonna make a mess?” you could sense he was also close, his pace faltering as seconds went by, words slurring together. He pressed his forehead against yours, clenching his fists and taking in a sharp breath. “Fuck. I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.”

Come inside, you wished to tell him, to feel his seed dripping out of your greedy hole, painting your walls. But you weren't on the pill; it was also the first time you were sleeping with Joel, and you didn’t know how he would take the… suggestion. “Close,” you yelped instead, tears shimmering in your eyes as Joel’s body hovered over you like the most perfect eclipse.

His thrusts became more frenzied, if possible. “That’s it, darlin’. Come for me,” your gaze fixated upon him, his eyes flickering with hunger. “Wanna see you when you soak my cock.”

Your body went limp, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. Soreness took place in your throat as you moaned his name through the aftershocks, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids. Going rigid, you let go of Joel’s shoulders. He pulled out, mumbling something you didn’t quite catch. You fisted his cock, trying to give him the release he so yearned for. Joel kissed you, messy teeth and saliva taking part of it. Heavy on your hand, his dick twitched as you squeezed the base, roped of his warm cum splattering your belly. The scene reminded you of a painting; he was the talented painter, and you his blank canvas, waiting to be signed with his name.

It was the turn of silence now. None of you said anything for a while, until Joel used his boxers to clean up his cum from your stomach, smiling apologetically at you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” your fingers delicately traced the contours of his chest as he reclined, enveloping you in the embrace of his strong arms. “Will you stay?”

Please say yes.

“Only if you want me to.”

Moral of the story: learning how to ride a horse can actually be nice if your teacher happens to be Joel Miller.

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lemmetreatya · 1 year

Text

Maybe It’s Foreboding (Or Not) — Miguel x fem!Reader

word count: 1.9k

content: no extreme warnings, modern au, fem!reader, reader uses female pronouns, reader commutes to work by train, reader knows basic spanish, hc that miguel speaks both irish and spanish — and that he’s irish on his father’s side (idk if this is correct or not), use of petnames, id say miguel is a bit ooc — but hes not — he just doesn’t have all that canon trauma going on sjsksk

FINALLY DID SOMETHING OF GOOD QUALITY FOR ONCE????? had to get back on my shit yktfv!!! also psa for the translations — i do not speak fluent spanish and not a lick of irish so please!! if there’s anything incorrect/needs changing, dont be afraid to tell me!! hope you enjoy ❤️❤️

Your usual commute to work was barely ever eventful. It mostly consisted of you getting onto your train — hoping you’d get a seat — and feeling despondent every time you noticed no seats were available.

Which was expected: You had to use a busy train in order to get to work on time. Any earlier and you’d have to wonder around your office’s surroundings to waste time and any later would have you clocking in late.

This timed train was so much more convenient for pace but it just never granted you those graceful minutes to sit down.

But alas, you stuck with it, because what else was there to complain about? The trains weren’t too full so it didn’t mean you were squashed like packed sardines and it was relatively quiet due to most passengers being too mellow at this time of morning to make any lucrative noise.

“Sorry, Miss.”

At first, you ignored the deep sounding words, assuming they could have been for anyone. But then a soft tap bounced just over your thigh and so you looked down to see what the disturbance was.

Looking up at you was a man with focused eyes. He wore a plain black suit with matching trousers. His white shirt had two buttons undone and he wore no tie. You couldn’t help but noticed how tossled his hair was. Clearly he was on his way to some type of occupation.

“Would you like to sit down?” He asks.

“Oh! I…”

You lean off from the pole you were supporting yourself on and adjust your bag on your soldier. Maybe this man was pitying you because you looked tired. You honestly weren’t and were genuinely just being comfortable, but you guess your lax composure compelled this reaction from him.

“No. Sorry, I was just being lazy. I’m fine, you don’t need to give up your seat for me.”

You shake your head and deny his request but the man continually persists. He was already starting to get up from his seat.

“No, en serio, sit.” He moved his briefcase over with his foot. “Can’t have a pretty lady like you standing now, can we?”

And it’s not like you agreed; Flattery of any kind from a stranger was always met with caution, but concerning he was going out of his way to give you a seat, you guess it’d be rude to deny it.

“Oh…How kind.” You stagnantly laugh.

The man took your place from before, now standing over you as he held onto the pole. He placed his briefcase between his feet. As you finally sit down and change your bag from your arm to your lap, you look up at the man with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

He only smiles at you acutely before offering you a curt nod. That was the only interaction you had the whole ride before you got off at your stop and made your way to work.

The next time you see the man isn’t until two days after the first ordeal and towards the end of the week.

He sees you before you see him, regarding he boarded the train sometime before you, and instantly flags you over.

“Miss!”

Weirdly, his call made you smile, and you pot on over, not expecting much.

“You really don’t have to.” You try as he gets up and out of his seat. He’s however already shaking his head.

“Don’t be silly. I already told you why you do so I don’t wanna hear anymore complaining.”

With rolled lips, you nod as you meekly sit down. Having an abash austere about you, you struggle to look up at him as you speak.

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you.”

“No need for thanks.”

You wait several seconds before looking up to give him a communal look of gratitude but you find he’s already looking down at you. You find difficultly baring his coarse stare and so you look back down at your lap.

Throughout the ride, you can’t help but notice how his leg kept innocently brushing against yours.

Once again, no more words were shared between you and like before, you get up and leave for your stop once it comes.

“You know how this goes.”

This is about the sixth time the man has offered his seat up for you, and quite frankly you do know how it goes, but it just never seems like a good enough reason to therefore take his seat.

“Señor.” You muse with a light smile as you board the train. “You really don’t have to.”

“Oh, but I really do. Come. Sit.”

The man is already out of the seat, hand widely displaying towards it — it’s yours.

Despite the seatless train, most people know by now not to sit in it’s stead. The man himself is tall and wide enough to deter anyone from trying, but most reoccurring passengers know the deal as well as you do.

As you take your seat, the man smiles down at you. His smiles have gotten a lot warmer over the various interactions. Per usual, he places his briefcase down near your feet and brush his knees with yours. You believe it’s going to be another wordless journey but the man opens his mouth, closes it, before saying:

“And please, call me Miguel.”

He jogs your knee with his, so you were aware it was you he was talking to, but you still looked up at him with a slight expression of confusion. For some reason, it was as if moths — the Night’s Butterfly — were flitting around within the neck of your stomach.

“Sorry?”

He sighs out of his nose. It was not out of annoyance, but as if he too was experiencing some emotions of nervousness. The man however had enough confidence to look down at you and attempt to gain your gaze.

“As opposed to señor, call me Miguel.”

Your mouth lets out a small ‘ah’.

“Miguel.” You repeat.

So his name was Miguel.

It suited him, and made slight sense concerning he seemed to know Spanish well, but even more so because it was as if he had metamorphosed right in front of you. It wasn’t a physical change, but being able to put a name to a face definitely altered your perception of him. It was as if he’d become more human.

With a soft hum, you look up at him with an inquisitive contort.

“Miguel.” You taste his name in his mouth once more. “Is that what you’d like me to call you or is that your actual, real, government name?”

The man’s expression was unreadable.

“Well, what do you think?”

You shrug, unsure why he’s asked the question, but you give your answer anyways.

“I’d think it’d be kinda stupid for you to give your government name to a stranger on the train. So I’m guessing it’s a nickname or at least a pseudo one.”

Miguel’s eyes clip towards the moving view behind you, before training back onto your face.

“Looks like I’m kinda stupid then.”

You pause, register what he’s said, and then let out a tinkling laugh as you shake your head meticulously. Miguel chuckles a few seconds after you, and he can’t help watching you as he does so.

There’s a pause.

“I’m not much of a stranger anymore though, right? We’re more acquaintances than anything.” He tries.

“But Miguel, you don’t even know my name.”

“Only because you haven’t told me.” He shrugs.

This is the most quick-fire that he’s ever been but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it.

“You want my government name or the pseudo one?” You muse.

“It’s only fair that you give me the government one.” He catches himself before adding more gently, “Only if you’re comfortable doing so and kinda stupid like me.”

Once again, you can’t help the smile that braces your mouth. You tell him your name, the government one, and Miguel knocks your knees together in concur.

“Ah. Hermosa nombre por una hermosa dama.” [1]

He says, and regardless of whether you understood or not, you knew what he was getting at. If his words didn’t convince you then it was the silky look of— admiration? That gave him away.

Your cheeks heated, and your head dipped. All you could force out was a humble Thank You.

“Where I’m from, we have this saying.”

Miguel angles his breakfast snacks in your direction and you wordlessly take a small handful.

Surprisingly, your usual train was a lot quieter this morning. Maybe it was due to school holidays season, but there was enough space for you and Miguel to both have a seat. Your journey so far had been non-stop chatter.

“Más í an ceann í, beidh a fhios ag do chroí sula ndéanann tú.” [2] He reprises wisely.

It wasn’t Spanish, and you knew Miguel spoke Irish (“That old bastard was only good for one thing.”), so the translation was pretty much lost on you.

“Is that so?” You say with a hum and a crunch.

Miguel is also crunching on some of his snack, palm covering his mouth as he chucks the small pebbles towards the back of his throat before he’s shaking his head.

“Nope, that was a complete fucking lie. No such saying exists like that, I just made it up on the spot.” Miguel leaves room for you to let out a burst of laughter. “But, if it was a saying, I’d live by it like it was gospel.”

Shaking your head, you finish the portion of snacks that were in your mouth before you reply.

“Maybe you should paten it then. Make sure no one else gets the chance in saying it’s the gospel they wrote.”

“Maybe I should patent it…” Miguel echoes to himself with a deep laugh. “Yeah, maybe I should.”

The both of you lull into a comfortable silence. The sort of silence you could fall into with a long time friend who was low maintenance, or a family member who you tolerated sharing the living room space with. It was the type of stilling that didn’t require speech but welcomed it if it came. Mornings with Miguel were the calm before the inevitable storm and the small pick-me-up that pushed you out of bed.

But then as you pondered how he made you feel, you realise that you only knew Miguel within the context of your work commute. You’d only ever spoken to this man within the short time that you travelled to work; Never before, never after. Had you gotten just one train earlier or later — heck, one carriage — different that fateful day, it would have inevitably changed the course of your life and the starting foundation of the friendship (?).

Life truly was funny in how it dealt it’s cards.

“What does it mean anyways?” You ask with piqued interest.

Miguel makes a WTF face, a face he made often, before he’s scrunching up his packet of finished snacks and dumping it within the blue convenience store bag he had. You recognise that everything he’d purchased was in Spanish.

“What does what mean? Be more specific.”

“Your fake saying you lied about.”

Miguel turns his head to look at you, those deep insightful eyes of his analysing you, searching for something. You’re not sure if he found what he was looking for. Whether he did or not, you wouldn’t know.

The man only turns forwards again and snorts.

“Don’t worry your pretty lil’ head about it.” He concludes. “You wouldn’t want to know.”

________________________________

[1]: Beautiful name for a beautiful lady

[2]: If she’s the one, your heart will know before you do

#miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel x black reader #atsv #atsv x black reader #atsv x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099

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billybob598 · 10 months

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Someone Like That (Leah Williamson x Reader)

Ok, hi everyone! This is my first fic, so please give me any feedback good or bad! I'm gonna try to get another one out in a couple days as well. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1.7K (I think)

Leah watches with baited breath as you dive to stop yet another shot. She gets her head back in the game quick enough to clear the ball out of bounds. You scramble back onto your feet.

“Come on Arsenal, we have to close the ball down quicker!” Everyone just gives you a small nod in acknowledgment. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a hand reach out for a high-five. When you make eye contact with Leah she gives you a grin, you return it as you slap her hand.

As the game against Bayern continues on, you cannot but watch in awe at everything Leah does. When she assists Frida with that cheeky chop pass you almost ran across the field to hug her. But you didn’t, mostly because that’s a long way to run for a goalkeeper. When the final whistle blows you sink to your knees with a sense of relief.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” You look up to see Leah heading straight for you. As she opens up her arms to you, you can’t help but be mesmerised at how gorgeous she looked. Even after playing 90 minutes of gruelling football. It’s only when she gives you a concerned look that you snap back to reality and give her the hug she’s been waiting for.

“You played amazing today, y'know,” you mumbled into her neck.

“I know,” she says with a smirk. You quickly shove her away with an unimpressed look. “Ok, ok, sorry,” Leah watches fondly as you roll your eyes at her before starting to walk around the stadium, thanking the fans.

Katie and Jen watch the interaction shaking their heads.

“When are they going to realise they’re in love with each other?” Katie asks, slightly frustrated. Ever since you had joined Arsenal two years ago the pair of you had been crushing over each other, neither wanting to make the first move. It was actually quite annoying for the rest of the team, watching you guys dance around your feelings. Of course, there were multiple bets going on about when you were going to get together and who was going to make the first move.

“I don’t know, they might never,” Jen says with a light shrug.

“Well, we can’t let that happen,” Jen looks at Katie, mildly surprised by her statement.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got 10 pounds on them getting together before the end of the season,” Katie replies.

A couple days later, there was a team bonding night at Viv and Beth’s. You weren’t particularly fond of social interaction. It was weird, why would you go watch a movie at someone else's house and have to share snacks when you can just watch that same movie at your own place while having all the snacks to yourself? As you approach the door you hear a shout from behind you.

“Oi! Y/L/N!” You're not surprised when you turn around to Katie jogging to catch up with you.

“What do you want?” You don’t intend to sound so annoyed but it just slips out.

“What’s got your knickers in a bunch?”

“Sorry, sorry, what’s up?” You say with a sigh.

“Actually, I think I might know why you’re so moody lately,” there’s a hint of mischief in her voice and you don’t like it at all. You gesture for her to continue as you both stop outside of the door. “Does it have anything to do with a certain English blonde who might also be the captain?” Your eyes widen as she continues speaking, “I mean everyone knows you're in love with her and that she’s in love with you so, it would really be better if you fessed up before the end of the season. For everyone.”

“Wait, wait did you say Leah was in love with me?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty obvious.”

“No, no way. There’s no way someone like that likes me. I mean, she’s way out of my league,” you scoff.

Katie laughs, “Okay, Y/N, I know you don’t think very highly of yourself, but you’re actually kinda hot.” The look of bewilderment on your face has the Irish woman chuckling to herself as she knocks on the door. As it swings open you’re met with the rather grumpy looking Viv.

“Catch yourself on, Viv, neither you or Y/N look very happy to be bonding,” Katie says, rather loudly. Viv gives you a soft smile before letting the pair of you in.

“Not that happy to be doing this either?” Viv whispers into your ear. She gets her answer when you give her a look of “are you kidding, look at me.”

As the night progresses, you are actually enjoying yourself. There were a lot of games and laughing. Despite this, you can’t get your previous conversation with Katie out of your head. Did Leah actually like you? Should you make a move? No, that’s a bad idea, there’s no way Leah frickin’ Williamson likes you. Because of this you expertly avoid Leah all night. The captain can’t act like this doesn’t hurt her a little bit. She tries to rack her brain about what she possibly could have done to offend you. Beth had been giving her sympathetic looks every time she tried to talk to you and you completely shut her down. Leah was starting to get angry, she hadn’t done anything. Not anything she could remember, anyways. So, as Beth started to usher people out of the house, sensing Viv’s social battery depleting, Leah watched with irritation as you got into your car and drove away. No words being spoken between you and her the entire night. She jumps when a hand lands on her shoulder, turning around to see an apologetic looking Beth behind her.

“It’s okay Leah, maybe she just wasn’t feeling well or something,” her friend says.

“Yeah, maybe,” Leah huffs out.

“You have to tell her about your feelings,” Beth reasons, trying her damndest to get her friend and teammate to finally tell you that she was in love with you. Walking to her car, Leah whispers to herself, “There’s no way someone like that, likes me.”

The entire drive home and the entire time she’s getting ready for bed, Leah’s thoughts are on you. Did you actually like her? Should she tell you? No, that’s a bad idea. Is it? Before she has time to second guess herself, Leah grabs her car keys and starts making the drive to your flat. It isn’t until she’s standing outside your door that she realises how terrible of an idea it actually is. She’s just about to turn and walk away, when the door opens. You look up startled by the blonde’s presence, “Leah! What are you doing here?”

Leah feels a blush creeping up her neck as she responds, “Um, I came by too, y’know, like talk or something.” Or something? God she was such an idiot sometimes. Now it’s your turn to blush as you open the door to her, motioning for her to come in.

“S-Sure, come in,” you reply nervously. The second Leah fully enters your flat she’s engulfed by your scent. “Do you wanna sit or something?” You try your best not to stop your hand from shaking from nerves. Leah sees this and all she wanted to do was take your hand in hers and hold you until you stopped shaking. But, she couldn’t do that, not yet, not when she wasn’t sure if you were mad at her or not. The pair of you fidget nervously for a couple seconds in an awkward silence. Finally Leah breaks it,

“Are you mad at me or something?”

“What? No, why would I be?” Your confused face sets something off inside Leah.

“You didn’t speak to me at all tonight, you didn’t even want to sit beside me!” She has no idea why her voice raised so quickly, she has no idea why she’s so mad at you. The look of hurt that comes across your face makes her want to go die in a hole.You mumble something incoherent. “What did you say?” You take a deep breath before meeting her eyes. God, you could just get lost in those blue eyes forever.

“I don’t know why I was ignoring you,” You say unshakily.

“You don’t know?” Leah replies, clearly not satisfied with that answer, “You don’t know or do you not want to tell me?” The hard glare she has on her face is enough to send your eyes back down to the floor, suddenly finding the hole in your sock very interesting. “Answer me Y/N,” it sounds like a command. Then, after a beat, she uses a much softer tone, almost like she’s begging you, “Please, answer me Y/N.”

“Because…”

“Because…?” The silence is deafening. Leah decides she has finally had enough and slowly starts to turn and walk away when you say in a very loud and clear voice,

“Because I love you for God sake! I love how much passion you have for football. I love how you and your mum are like best friends. I love how whenever there are kids around you make it your mission to play with them. I love how intense and serious you look on the pitch. I love how you are insanely clingy when you're tired or drunk. I love how your tongue always sticks out a little when you’re doing your sudoku’s. I love everything about you, big and small. Sometimes I feel like I love you more than I love myself. Because I fucking love you, Leah,” your voice gets quieter at the end of your confession. Leah freezes, not saying anything for a couple seconds. You take this as her answer, shoulders sagging as you mumble out a quiet apology. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. This night was officially the worst.

Just as you start to turn away Leah grabs your hand, pulling you into a searing kiss. It takes you a second to fully register what’s happening, but when you do you immediately kiss her back. After air becomes a necessity you pull away, leaning your foreheads together.

“I love you too,” Leah whispers against your lips.

“Yeah, I think I got it,” you say with a giggle. Leah rolls her eyes and pushes you away.

“No, no come back,” you plead with her, slowly connecting your lips as you pull her closer to you. “Do you wanna stay here tonight?” All Leah does in response is hum against your lips with a smile.

You definitely were happier than you’d been in a long time, and so was Katie a couple days later after realizing she was ten pounds richer.

#leah williamson x reader #engwnt x reader #woso x reader #woso #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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selfindulgentpixies · 9 months

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Soothing words and decaf

Satoru Gojo x Reader x Suguru Geto one shot

When nightmares wake you up once again your boyfriends decide they can't just leave you to sit up alone. Gn!reader, reader wears glasses and has bad eyesight, not stated where in the timeline this is. It's an AU where Suguru never left though. This is really just to comfort myself because my nightmares have been bad lately and making sleep super difficult. It why i've been slow on writing stuff because i'm tired a lot. Also i couldn't decide on just one of them for this comfort fic and needed to be doted on by both. Pls excuse any typos or mistakes

You wake with a start, a stuttering in your chest and a choked gasp. You gaze blearily up at the ceiling, your current location slowly invades your senses and pushes away the personal hell your subconscious had been creating for you. There’s warm breath fanning over the crown of your head. It would probably be ruffling your bangs if not for the fact they were plastered to your forehead by the sweat. You glance to your right and see that at some point in his sleep Satoru had decided you were his personal teddy bear. Your eyes then drift to the left and you jolt slightly to find that Suguru is blinking back at you with a combination of tiredness and concern.

“Another one?” He asks, voice low and thick with sleep. This had unfortunately become routine.

You go to speak and nothing comes out the first try but upon clearing your throat slightly and trying again you let out a small. “Yeah.. Go back to sleep, Sugu.”

He huffs a little at your words and how you begin to try and wiggle out of Satoru’s arms without waking him. An impossible task given that all three of you weren’t what anyone could call heavy sleepers. Trauma will do that afterall. So it’s unsurprising when Satoru grumbles and tightens his grip on you. “You should take your own advice.” Satoru’s voice is just as gravely as Suguru’s and when you glance up you see him peering down at you with his impossibly bright eyes.

“You know I can’t do that… Let me up and the two of you can get some sleep.” You scoot up to a sitting position, Satoru's arms wrapped around your waist making your task of reaching over him to the side table to get your glasses a far harder task than it needed to be. You whine and flop on him. Fine you’d just be blind. You wiggle down and under his arm, surprised he allowed you to do so as you slide to the end of the bed to get up.

You didn’t feel like giving Satoru a chance to change his mind about letting you go so you don’t walk past him to get your glasses and instead just pad your way into the kitchen. Your shared apartment with the two men was so familiar you could probably navigate it wearing Satoru’s blindfold.

Once you’re close enough to the microwave to make out the little glowing numbers you let out a huff. It wasn’t even five am yet. You’d maybe managed to get four hours of sleep which was becoming painfully typical. Today would be another day of surviving off coffee and hopefully slipping in a nap as soon as you got a chance. Your nightmares seemed to happen less when you slept during the day.

You’re shuffling around the cupboards getting down what you need to make coffee when you hear quiet foot falls, perhaps near silent for someone else but your ears were sensitive and seemingly more so when you chose to mostly forgo being able to see. Anything beyond a couple feet away from you losing all clarity and blurring around the edges. Impressions of objects you only recognized based on familiarity.

Well mostly. “That’s the sea salt, love.” Suguru whispers against the shell of your ear as he takes the long cylindrical container from your hand to place back on the shelf and then grabs a very similar but not identical container that houses the sugar.

You grumble. “Why do we even keep them next to eachother on the shelf?” Suguru’s hair tickling your neck makes you twitch slightly but you don’t brush it or him away as he leans over you, enveloping you in his warmth, resting his chin on your head as he bends at the waist and wraps his arms around your middle.

“Normally you’re wearing your glasses and can tell the difference.” there’s the smallest hint of amusement to his voice.

You sigh. That was true. It annoys you but it’s true. You rock back on your heels and lean into his chest. “Really you should get more sleep. Go cuddle with Satoru, I’m sure he’s lonely trying to sleep alon-”

A loud yawn cuts through the kitchen as Satoru walks in. “Too late, already here.”

“Seriously you both should-”

“If we should be sleeping so should you. So either you come back to bed with us, or we’re all starting our day at this ungodly hour.” You feel Suguru’s jaw moving against the top of your head as he talks.

You frown deeply, slouching in his hold. “I… can’t sleep okay? If i go back to sleep it’ll probably just start again.”

Suguru hums and rocks the both of you back and forth. “Then it sounds like we’re all getting up then, right Satoru? “ He turns you both so you’re facing Satoru who’s much closer now.

Another yawn. “Sounds about right.” And as he says this he places your glasses on your face, bringing his own into focus for you. Satoru is beautiful as always but definitely looks like he needs more sleep. But you know very well how stubborn both he and Suguru are, they’re worse than you are.

You cave. “Fine, stay up if you want then.” You wanted to sound petulant but instead you just sound tired. Suguru Squeezes you before rising to his full height and releasing you. “Go relax, I’ll make the coffee.”

Before you can respond he gives you a small nudge in Satoru’s direction who doesn’t give you time to protest as he scoops you up and carries you toward the plush living room couch. He flops both of you down before rolling you so he’s squishing you into the plush fabric. “Satoruuuu-” You try to protest as he nuzzles into your neck. If you were more awake you might have caught on to what the two men were doing since in the kitchen Suguru put away the regular coffee and switched it out for decaf before brewing it. They still had some hope of lulling you back to sleep and caffeine wasn’t part of that. They knew you well enough that you likely just needed to be soothed and given time to get out of your head so you could be directed back to bed.

“Mmm don’t want to cuddle me?” He pouts at you.

“You’re squishing me, you big menace!”

The two of you go back and forth, you sinking back into the couch and giving Satoru his way despite complaining when what feels like suddenly Suguru is there holding two mugs of coffee and judging by the heap of whipcream on the third mug a cup of hot chocolate for Satoru. He kicks one of Satoru’s legs. “Move over and quit crushing them. “

Satoru grunts and starts to complain until he looks At Suguru and spots the mug topped with whipcream. He sits up quickly, suddenly looking angelic which earns a sigh from both you and the long haired man. You sit up and give Suguru a grateful smile as he passes you one of the steaming mugs. “Thank you, Sugu.”

“Of course.” He leans forward and brushes his lips over your forehead. He gets you to scoot over slightly and as you often do you find yourself squished between the two men. You didn’t need to be squished, the couch was big enough, Satoru just seemed dead set on not moving further than he had to.

You don’t really talk as you quietly sip at your coffee, instead listening to Satoru and Suguru talk about the upcoming day, voices low and soothing. You hardly notice when your mug is pulled from your hands and placed on the coffee table before you can spill the remnants of your drink on your lap. You blink rapidly realizing you’ve been completely zoned out only now to have Satoru’s face directly in yours. It’s brief because the next thing you know he’s picked you up for the second time that night, or rather morning. “Satoru-” You cut off in a yawn and wrap your arms around his shoulders, body shaking slightly with a stretch.

“I think it’s time we head back to bed. Suguru and I have been talking to you and you haven’t even noticed,” he says amusement clear in his voice. You can hear Suguru in the background putting your mugs in the sink before following the two of you.

“Mm sorry,” you mumble against his shoulder, your glasses being pushed askew though you couldn’t care less. You feel more than hear Satoru laugh. And it feels like in the next blink he’s laying you back in bed, and gently slipping your glasses off before crawling in after you, wrapping you in his arms. It’s only a couple moments later that Suguru follows. A rough warm hand sliding under your sleep shirt to splay over your stomach.

You’re finally back asleep then, safely tucked between the two of them where no harm can come to you, even if your dreams make you feel otherwise. The two of them will always be there to remind you that you’re safe.

@nanamikentoseyebags @strawberrystepmom @icy-spicy

@gojoest

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #gn!reader #jjk x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader x geto #rossi writes

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angelofthenight · 2 years

Text

“Are We About to Kiss?”

(Vance Hopper x Reader)

Part 2 Part 3

(Reader is g/n but has mostly female friends so this can be read as g/n or fem!)

Summary: (Y/n) uses the weapon of flustering to get out of a violent situation with Vance

Warnings: Swearing, Threats, Slight public humiliation, Vance is kinda tsundere

Word Count: 2.5k

You walked down the aisles of the Grab N Go with one of your friends by your side. The two of you were going to a sleepover party to celebrate transitioning from freshman to sophomore when school starts again by the end of summer break. The whole place seemed to be pretty busy, considering it was 5pm on a Saturday.

“(Y/n), just pick one already. I don’t want us to be the last people at the party.” Your friend complained over your shoulder as you kept looking between two of your favorite snacks in the aisle. “Dude, relax, it’s cooler to be fashionably late. Plus it’s better to be the last person there rather than the first ‘cause we don’t have to wait for the party to start.” You explained as you finally grabbed one of your options.

Right as you got up from your knees to your feet the door hit the bell alerting everyone that someone had arrived. “Oh my god, look at who just walked in.” Your friend quietly said to you as you felt the air in the room go tense and people go still like if they breathed too loud they’d get attacked. You finally looked over to where everyone was looking to see the infamous Vance Hopper walk over to his beloved pinball machine.

Everyone knew this specific Grab N Go was Vance’s territory yet everyone still seemed to cower away from him. Just like the group of boys, who were always mean and harassed you and others, that were hanging around the game literally scampered away in a fearful sweat.

Vance wasn’t necessarily a bully, more of just an aggressive individual who will attack if provoked. So it was satisfying to see him scare off the ones who purposely brought out people’s misery. It was like seeing a lion among kittens; a jungle cat among house cats.

You went to middle school with him before he was held back twice and he was always very strange around you. He’d consistently sit next to you in the classes you shared and get very defensive if someone took his spot so it was clear he wanted to sit next to you but yet would never talk to you. And everytime you’d talk to him he would be very rude and a little passive aggressive. You still wondered to this day why he always sat next to you. Maybe it was because the seat was closest to the door, maybe it had the best view of the clock, maybe it had the best view of the board, maybe it had the best view of the window. Maybe he liked the scent of the perfume you wore everyday or maybe it was just easiest to cheat off your work. The list was honestly endless.

The Grab N Go slowly returned to its previous atmosphere once Vance got settled into his game. Your friend led the two of you to the line to the cash register to check out your snacks. Your features perked up over remembering something. You touched your friend's shoulder, “I forgot my drink, I’ll be right back.” You said simply before quickly walking over to the very last aisle where the fridges were. The drink you wanted in the size and style you liked was only sold here so you always liked getting it every time you came around.

You quickly rounded the comic rack that was right next to the occupied pinball machine. You glanced over to the boy who you haven’t seen all summer and was completely focused on his game. Your gaze lingered a little longer than you thought since when you turned your head back you had to halt your walking, almost knocking into the short child just standing there staring at the chips across the drinks. You moved around him to pull the clear door open to grab your favorite drink, managing to get the second to last one.

You let the door swing close on its own as you retraced your steps in pursuit of rounding the comic book rack. Your eyes moved back onto Vance’s focused face, that was your first mistake that led to your second mistake: getting distracted. Just when you looked back in front of you another child came running at you from around the comics. You yelped in surprise and threw yourself to the side to avoid letting the kid run right into you as he passed you to reach the other kid.

That was your third and worst mistake. Because when you thrashed yourself out of the way you caused your lower back to smack right into the side of the pinball machine.

Before the sound of loss even came from the game you jumped away from it in utter foreboding fear, eyes blown open in skittish terror. You clutched onto your cold drink, feeling the frozen coldness burn your palm skin to pink. You watched in absolute horror as the tiny metal ball fell through the bottom hole as Vance’s face watched helplessly.

You wondered if you had time to snatch the kid who ran past you and replace yourself from your spot with him, saving yourself while pinning the blame on the one who caused it. You also considered just digging your own grave right there and then. You debated if you should just accept your fate and take the beating like an idiotic champ, get at least a pat on the back for not crying.

Vance began huffing like a bull through his nose and clenched teeth as his fists tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. “Are you fucking-” he turned his furious face to you, eyes that burned with hellfire clapping onto yours, “-kidding me?!”

You were too frozen in fear to speak as you mentally weighed your pathetic options at the last second. You could beg for your life, you could try apologizing, you could try to make a run for it, or start praying to God. You wanted to just drop dead before he could touch you, already knowing you weren’t a fan of hospital food at all.

He lunged toward you like a wildcat and grabbed two fistfulls of your shirt, you dropping your drink in the aggressive process. You hopelessly listened to your drink shatter to glass as Vance wildly pounded your back against the cold fridge door, feeling the frosty fumes chill your exposed skin.

You grasped onto his wrists as you felt the floor suddenly sink away from your feet. Your eyebrows were curving upwards in fear as Vance glared with an enraged snarl. “You fucked with my game you goddamn bitch!” He brought your face closer to growl in close proximity, “I’m gonna crack your fucking skull open, twatty cunt!”

‘Okay, ouch. He didn’t have to add the last part.’ Your mind managed to say through the hot, buzzing feeling that was spiking through your senses. It was strange to have this much of Vance’s attention on you since for all the years you’ve sat next to each other your faces never really faced each other directly for a long amount of time, only fleeting glances and looking over right when the other looked away.

You wondered if you cried, you could make Vance feel bad a little and let you off with a threatening warning. Maybe you could say something like “Hey remember me? You always sat next to me in our classes? Haha, aren’t we good bro?” Your brain was in survival mode and racked for ideas in three seconds until you landed on one. Deescalate the situation by making it unbearingly awkward.

“Are we about to kiss right now?” You asked, putting on a wondering look.

There was a pin drop of silence after your statement, even Vance’s carnivorous expression dropping like a dime and being replaced with a sense of confused shock. He almost looked cutely innocent with that soft look in his eyes from being caught off guard. His lips were parted with a loss of words and his cheeks unmistakably faded into a dusted shade of pastel red. Whether from anger or flusteredness was unclear to you but you hoped it was weakening enough for him to let you go out of awkwardness or second hand embarrassment.

Vance’s eyes darted around your surroundings, looking at anything but you, appearing to not know how to react. You kept your face calm and serious to hopefully make the situation more uncomfortable for him. He bared his clenched teeth as he sounded like he struggled to say anything. He dropped your shirt, letting your feet touch the ground and your body slouch against the wall, and backed away from you with his hands up like if he touched you any longer he would catch something.

“What is wrong with you!?” Vance shouted with his face still flushed which made him look slightly less intimidating. “Of course we weren’t gonna fucking-” He stumbled on his words a bit as he couldn’t seem to even get the word out. “J-Just get out of my sight!” He yelled down at you and then added for extra measure, “Stupid cunt!”

You scattered up to your feet and sped walked away, briefly looking down at your shattered drink with a look of disappointment, and out the Grab N Go doors. All eyes were on your form as you ran off. You slumped your back against the outdoor wall as you caught the breath you didn’t realize you lost. It was only a minute until your friend came out with the snacks in her arms and ran over to you. “Holy shit, dude! I totally thought you were done for! Like, I literally thought he was going to crack open your head!” She exclaimed with a horrified expression.

You grabbed her free hand and placed it right on your heartbeat. “Feel how fast my heart is beating. My whole life flashed before my eyes… I sleep a lot.” You said with a humorous tone and relieved smile. “I still can’t believe you said that! And he was so stunned he actually let you go! Good to know your weirdness scared off the fucking apex predator of Denver. You tamed the beast!” She said as she hooked her arm around yours to start walking towards her car. “His friend teased Vance about it and he kept being like ‘sh-shut up!’ all flustered with the pinkest cheeks!” She laughed loudly.

You smiled small in amusement as you looked over your shoulder to the glass window that captured Vance still by his pinball machine. Once you looked over you caught him looking at you too but quickly whipped his head away as if he wasn’t.

The sound of the doorbell silenced the laughter filled conversation with you and everyone else at the sleepover party. You stood up from your spot on the carpeted ground saying, “I think that’s the pizza, I’ll go get it.” You jumped over your friends’ laid down bodies and pillows to reach the coffee table where everyone put in an equal amount of cash to pay for the pizza. You ran up the basement steps while tucking the money in a neat stack.

You reached the front door to unlock it before swinging it open… only to be faced with Vance Hopper. You swore you almost pissed yourself, fearing that he had made up his mind and wanted to finish you off after that little stunt of yours.

“Hey.” Vance said with his arms crossed tightly. Your brows pinched together in sudden puzzlement. “Did you follow me here?” He glared and barked in defense, “Don’t flatter yourself! One of my friends knows your friend's older sister.” You slowly nodded, still wanting to know how that conversation exactly went and how it led to you.

You placed the money on the table beside the door then leaned against the doorframe, folding your hands together. “So why are you here?” You asked. Vance dropped one of his arms to reach into his back pocket, pulling out your favorite drink from the Grab N Go. The last one. He handed it over to your delighted self. “You dropped your other one like a clutz.” He said simply before tucking his arms back away.

You smiled in surprise down at the drink in your hands and flashed a brighter smile back up at him. “Thanks a lot.” He turned his head to the side, “It’s whatever.” You were about to apologize for bumping into his game but he started talking before you could. His head faced you again and he leaned a little closer to you with a glare and his arms still tightly crossed. “Just so you know, we were not gonna kiss back there. I was getting ready to kick your ass and you just… caught me off guard. So if you thought it was because I like you, then you’re fucking wrong. Because I don’t.” He said with defensive aggression over something you didn’t even suspect.

Your eyebrows were slightly raised over how worked up he got about that theory no one even said aloud. He turned on his heels to walk down the steps but turned back around at the middle step, pointing a finger at the drink in your hand. “And I didn’t get you that because I like you! Okay!?” His voice got a little quieter, “It’s because you’ve always been cool and you were just stupid just this once.” You guessed that was his own weird way of forgiving you.

You watched him finish walking down the steps before you said to him, “Hey Vance, one more thing!” He turned to you with a waiting look. You smiled softly. “I miss sitting next to you in class. I hope you get to pass this year.” You said, hoping this makes things cool between you two and maybe even become friends.

Vance’s cheeks turned rosy as he casted his eyes back down. “Me too.” He said in a quieter tone than how he had been talking, letting you wonder which statement he answered with that. He looked back up and pointed another finger at you with furrowed brows. “And if anyone says that I like you just know they’re wrong and stupid! Okay!?” He added randomly but his warm cheeks kind of ruined it.

You smiled in amusement. “Okay.” He turned back around and started walking back to his friend's parked car in the street. “Bye Vance!” You called out. “Cunt!” He yelled back, returning to his more defensive tone.

Your group of friends all suddenly crowded around behind you, watching over your shoulder Vance and his friend drive off. “What was that about?” One of your friends asked with a mixture of confusion and protectiveness.

“You know, I think he admitted he likes me… in his own weird way.” You said with an amused her confused head tilt over what just happened.

#the black phone imagine #the black phone x reader #the black phone #vance hopper imagine #vance hopper x reader #vance hopper

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keerysfreckles · 7 months

Text

your kiss - peter parker

pairing: tom!peter x f!reader

summary: peter, your best friend, also known as spiderman swings into your bedroom after a night of patrolling and finds you asleep on your desk. he tries his best to be quiet while tidying up your room, but things change - for the better ?

warnings: PURE FLUFF!!! use of y/n and she/her pronouns

ﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟﾟ*☆*ﾟ

peter parker has always been enthralled by y/n. ever since the first day of freshman year, since the two were biology lab partners. the two were quick to have a connection, and were soon best friends by the end of the first semester.

he was enticed by her. the way her hair bounced on her shoulders as she walked from classes. or the way her eyes lit up at the mention of her favorite book. he especially loved how her smile got slightly wider once he stepped in the room.

y/n was always on his mind. whether it be a reminder for him to ask how her day was, or because he simply couldn't stop thinking about the girl.

lately y/n and peter haven't been able to talk much, due to peter being busy being the friendly neighborhood spiderman, and y/n was tackling college applications as well as essays and exams.

every friday night, peter would stop by y/n's apartment she lived in with her parents. her parents absolutely adored peter when she brought him over to study for an upcoming economy test.

this friday was no different, as peter finally swung on his last web to get to the girl's window. he caught his breath as he took his mask off, while sliding open y/n's bedroom window.

his feet hit the carpeted floor of y/n's room, and he smiles softly once he sees y/n asleep. her head was resting on her folded arms, which were covering pages of her unfinished essay. her computer was open and on the dim screen was a half finished college application. peter chuckled quietly, as he closed the window, and threw his mask at the edge of her bed.

peter made his way towards y/n's desk and turned off the lamp. he closed her laptop, and tried his best to clean up the supplies the girl wasn't laying on. peter also couldn't help but notice she was wearing his midtown sweatshirt. he must've left it over one time, and now he was glad he did. he thought she looked adorable in it.

as peter was moving the books off the desk and towards y/n's bookshelf, y/n lifted her head from her arms, and rubbed the drool that was leaving her lips. she turned in her desk chair, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"pete? what are you doing here?" her voice was quiet, and hoarse considering she just woke up.

peter walks over towards her, "just doing my weekly check in. i see you're still busy with college stuff."

y/n only nods, and peter notices her shoulders tense at the mention of it.

"how were the streets of queens tonight?" y/n asks the superhero, as he sits on her bed and she starts to clean up her desk.

"they were alright," peter shrugged, "i caught a guy stealing from the deli. so i guess that's something."

y/n nodded intently, as he continued to tell her about his night. peter couldn't help but let his eyes trail over y/n's figure as she sat on top of her desk across from her bed.

y/n couldn't help but let her eyes go back and forth between his face and his body in his spider suit.

as y/n was not-so-discretly looking over peter's body, peter smirked. "why are you staring at me like that y/n?" he let out a breathy laugh, mostly out of nerves.

y/n's face instantly changed into a shade of red. "i wasn't staring," she lies.

out of no where, peter suddenly gains confidence. he isn't sure where it comes from, but before he knows how to stop, he's walking towards y/n. he simply stood in front of the girl, his hands were placed on both of her bare knees.

peter's voice is soft, scared if he spoke any louder he'd scare y/n off. "i don't know what it is about you y/n, but i've always been captived by you."

"captived?" y/n reiterates, surprised at the confession by the boy. her cheeks grow hotter as peter moves forward, now standing directly in between y/n's thighs. his hands don't leave her legs, while his thumbs rub comforting circles over her skin.

"why do you think i stop by here every week?" he honestly asks.

y/n shrugs, as her brain becomes foggy at the close proximity of the pair, "because you care about me?"

peter slightly chuckles, "well yeah i care about you. but it's mainly an excuse so i can see you."

y/n doesn't know how to respond, and is grateful once peter continues, "i've liked you since the first day of freshman year. i've always liked you y/n. even when you dated that douchebag jonathan, and came home crying almost every night because of him. i've liked you since sophomore formal, and i got enough courage to ask you to dance with me. i've liked you since i told you i was spiderman, basically trusting you with the biggest secret of my entire life. and i've liked you since you started applying to all these colleges. i've always liked you y/n."

y/n's silent, as she takes in all of peter's words. of course they all caught her by surprise. she's liked peter since the night of the sophomore formal. she remembers the night vividly. how she danced with peter, and got milkshakes with him afterwards.

peter's voice gets caught in his throat, creating a more raspiness to it as his leans closer towards y/n and whispers, "if you don't want me to kiss you, just say so."

only a moment passes before y/n's the one to lean forward, connecting her lips to peter's. her hands move to his shoulders, and peter kisses her with such force. he's been waiting to kiss the girl for four years, of course there's going to be force behind it.

"wow," y/n whispers as peter pulls away. her hands don't leave his shoulders, and only move to his neck to lightly play with the curls at the base of his neck.

peter looks down to his midtown sweatshirt y/n's wearing, "y'know, i could get used to you wearing my clothes."

y/n giggles, a hard blush forming on her cheeks. peter leans forward and kisses y/n's lips again, much quicker than before.

"how would you feel about being spiderman's girlfriend?" peter asks.

"it would be an honor," y/n giggles once again, before pulling peter in again and kissing his lips. that wasn't the only kiss shared for the rest of the night.

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tom holland peter parker #tom!peter parker x reader #tom!spiderman #spiderman

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joeyalohadream · 6 days

Text

Wednesday WIP, Clegan Stalag fic. Currently at 6,000 words and not done yet. Also my first ever attempt at something that isn't fluff.

Very vague premise I started with is the idea that Bucky was struggling so visibly in the Stalag, while Buck mostly seemed strong (even though we know that man was NOT okay). So I took Buck out of the equation for a bit to explore Bucky's ability to lead while dealing with his deteriorating mental state. He accidentally checked out of the leadership role with Buck there to take care of it and now he feels compelled to step up and into it with Buck gone (hopefully temporarily) but he struggles to do it without Buck by his side. Learning about himself and Buck in the process because he unintentionally left Buck to lead on his own, and now that he has to do it while Buck is away, suffering in the place of a fellow airmen, he doesn't know if he can.

Here's 800 words to test the waters.

Bucky rolled over in his bunk as the door to their hut slammed open, hitting the wall with a thud. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been dozing; he was never really sure of that these days. He was fairly confident that the boys were only coming back from the daily line-up at the potato shack. He remembers a firm squeeze to his shoulder and a murmured “Be back with your chow in a bit, just rest John,” in his favorite raspy voice and swears it was just moments ago. Returning to their broken-down hovel with bowls of potato water surely didn’t warrant the chaos that interrupted Bucky’s doze.

Lately Bucky has been fading in and out. He doesn’t know how best to describe it, and he wouldn’t try to anyway, so he avoids thinking about it as best he can. Somedays he thinks maybe he should try to describe it to Gale. He might be a man of few words, but he hardly ever fails to say exactly what Bucky needs to hear.

But every time he wants to finally open his mouth and unburden himself onto Gale, his gaze lingers on the dark bruises that seem to grow every day under his eyes. On the skin pulled taught on his pale cheekbones as he somehow manages to lose weight and color faster than any other man in the Stalag.

In the end, each time, he refuses to become a burden to Gale. He won’t add to the heavy load on his best friend’s shoulders with his own issues, even though his current issues are preventing him from helping to lessen the load like he usually would.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” Bucky hears Crank’s voice cut above the anxious chatter that filled the hut.

“I don’t know Crank! We sent a runner to get Colonel Clark but what the hell is he supposed to even do?” Benny’s voice, usually calm and reasonable breaks out through the growing volume of voices in the small space and Bucky begins to gain momentum to sit up.

“Bucky get the fuck up,” Brady’s uncharacteristically harsh voice almost stops Bucky in his tracks, but he manages to get to his feet as he finally looks around to observe the faces of the men around him. They all look some combination of angry and scared. Bucky observes every face in the room, noting that his favorite face of them all is missing, before turning to Brady.

“Where’s Buck?”

Brady shakes his head and turns away from Bucky, looking somehow both more angry and more scared than anyone else in the room and Bucky feels the fog lift from his brain as his heart starts to pound faster in his chest.

“Where the fuck is Buck?” Bucky questions the room. His gaze flicks over the faces of his men, watching as most of them shuffle their feet and avoid eye contact with him. He swears he can feel his blood cool in his veins as he takes a step forward and grabs Benny around his collar and pulls him forward.

“Where is he Benny?” Bucky shakes him, feeling more alive than he has since before he walked into that phone booth in London.

“They beat him,” Benny breathes out. “Then they took him to the cooler.”

Bucky drops his hands, releasing Benny’s jacket and stumbling back a step.

“What?” He can’t help but stare at Benny uncomprehending because Gale is a senior officer in here. He goes to meetings with the Krauts and negotiates for supplies and he’s fucking Gale. Gentle, quiet, loving Gale and how could anyone hurt him?

“For how long?” Bucky practically yells. The cooler? He thinks and feels his heart sink. Gale can’t go to solitary confinement, none of them can survive this place alone and Gale has been wasting away even in a room full of people who care about him.

“Do we look like we speak German Bucky? We don’t fucking know anything!” Crank snaps at him.

“Why?” He needs answers. Disrespecting the guards gets you thrown in the cooler. Trying to escape gets you thrown in the cooler and none of them are going anywhere without a plan and each other. Gale wouldn’t do anything to get himself thrown into solitary, none of them would. Except me, Bucky thinks and then immediately feels shame.

Bucky reels back as every head in the room turns in the same direction at once and he follows their gaze, shocked when his eyes end up on Alex, leaning against the wall in the corner.

Silence envelops the room and Bucky takes a step towards him.

“I was working on the maps,” Alex says, still staring at the floor. “I didn’t see the Krauts coming, but Buck did.”

#clegan #buck x bucky #mota fanfic #mota fic #gale cleven #john egan #mota drabble #bucky egan

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margotwhites · 3 months

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Jason Todd x female reader

Summary: You pissed him off more than anyone else in the world. With your killing, with the dirty job you do. The truth is, you asked for what was coming for you. And he was more than happy to deliver.

Warnings: SHORT SMUT (it's not super long.) dirty talk, degradation, very mean Jason

Disclaimer: english is NOT my first language, so probably there are mistakes. Feel free to correct me.

Your heels collide against the floor of your apartment. It was a nice place — expensive, full of luxuries that you were able to provide yourself with. You were proud of yourself, really. Accomplishing so much in such a little age. You know how people see you. How your friends perceive you. A rich heir, a daddy’s girl. Little do they know you are your own daddy, or whatever the phrase is. It doesn’t matter.

Little do they know that you kill people for a living. You’re such a sweet girl. So polite and happy. You snicker, thinking about the idiots the surround you. None of them realize your little disfarce. They think you truly are the innocent, charming little girl that makes everyone love her. It’s almost irritating, how nobody ever sees the real you. They don’t seem to realize the person behind the smile, the killer behind the delicate body.

You grab a cigarette, lightning while sipping a Blue Label from an elegant glass of whiskey. Observing Gotham lights from your giant window, that extends from your feet towards the roof. Your office, inside your penthouse apartment. Today, today was a good day. Today you deserved a Blue Label. Nothing more; it wasn’t good enough for a Macallan Valerio 1926, even if you do have the bottle. But it was good enough for a Blue Label.

So you drink, and appreciate the view of Gotham. Gotham, that provides you with so much opportunities. It’s not a city for everyone. Hell, it isn’t the best city for almost anyone. But for you? Gotham was perfect just as it is. Dirty, rough and wicked.

Today is going to be a good night, you think. You couldn’t know how right you were.

Finally. He was finally able to track where that bitch lives. Jason is not one that usually delivers those kind of offensive words towards women. In reality, that’s his line. He is okay with murder, hell, he is one, but misogyny is the line for him. But you. You deserve every single bad word he can thinks of. He despises you.

Six months ago, a bunch of killings started to happen in the higher classes of Gotham. Entrepreneurs being killed at cold blood, for no clear reason. Then, his own targets started to come down too. The crime lords, the drug lords, the sex traffickers, all coming down, one by one. He thought it was a good thing. Someone else is also doing the job. He didn’t felt jealous his targets were being taken down by other hands. Hell, he was happy.

But those who remained, the criminals that remained, those weren’t being taken down. They were growing, expanding their business. And then he thought they would be over too, if not by his hands, by the hands of whoever that was ending everyone with such ability. But it wasn’t the case. He realized, maybe too late, that there were specific man who had protection.

With a quick research of his own, asking the right questions at the right contacts, he found out. It wasn’t a vigilante who was ending the criminals or the business man. It was a hired assassin.

And he knew he had to take you down when you started killing innocent people for money. When it wasn’t just the douchebags anymore. It was just rich people, being killed because your clients wanted to take over the money or the business. Does he have a huge amount of sympathy for rich snobs? No. But an innocent is an innocent. And he wasn’t letting that slide.

But you had a pattern, he realized. No women or children. Those were not killed. Mostly, your victims were rich, white man. It doesn’t make it any less worst for Jason. Well, maybe a little, but even so, he needs to take you down. But what really pissed him off is not the work you do. What pisses him off the most is how your always, always one step ahead of him.

But not anymore. He was finally able to track your home, after three months of search. Gotham is a huge city, and you hid your tracks so well he didn’t even know your name till now. He never saw your face. He just knows you’re a woman. And now, where you live. Well, he expects he is right about it, because if he isn’t, he’s going to invade an extremely wealthy apartment and that might cause problems.

So he just hopes his informants were right.

You were inside your bathtub, big enough for ten people, reading a deliciously smutty book and drinking red wine. You didn’t have much time for romance in your life, unfortunately. So you read books, that deliver you a tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your hair was up in a bun, showing your elegant features.

Jason enters the apartment through the window of one of the living rooms. The sight of the luxurious apartment, bought with the blood of innocent people, disgusted him. He stepped carefully, observing the surroundings. The light was off. Maybe you were out working or attending to a ball. He knew you did that a lot. He gets into one of the corridors, and realizes there is no one in this floor. But there is stairs in the end of the corridor, and he goes up to the second floor.

The second floor is just as big as the first, and every light is off. He enters inside another living room. No — a library. Then at a second kitchen, a cinema room, and a lot of another stupid luxuries that he didn’t give a shit about. But there is a room he didn’t check already, and he opens the door. Big bed. A piano inside the room. More walls filled with books and paintings. Very elegant, cozy.

He notices then, a small light coming from under a door. He grabs his gun, and with no second thought, opens the door forcefully, making it slam on the wall. He points the gun at you, that is still inside the ridiculously big bathtub, full of bubbles. You close your book and stares at him, and then he stares at you, and for one second Jason truly believes he is in the wrong place, because there is no way a woman with that face could be a hired killer.

But then you smile. “Jason Todd. Came here to join me?”

A chill runs down his spine. How the fuck did you know about his identity? He tries not to demonstrate how shaken he is by your revelation.

“Get out of the tub. Hands up in the air where I can see.” He says, his voice cold. It sends a chill down your spine.

“That’s not a proper way to treat a lady, you know. I’d like some privacy.” You say, voice sweet like venom.

“Pity. Hands up.” He insists on the matter, gripping his gun tighter, his finger on the trigger. This woman is dangerous and he knows it. A single moment of inattention, she can end him like a snake.

You chuckle, and stands up, the bubbles and foam running down your exposed body. You step cautiously out of the tub, not really mind the fact that he could see your whole body in full display. Your mind is worried with a different thing: just how the hell you will get out of this situation.

You could kill him, yes. It would be harder than your usual target, but you both are inside of your home. He’s in your territory. Even if he’s the one holding the gun, you still have the upper hand; you just need to distract him enough to catch one of your daggers.

But the truth is, you don’t really wanna kill him. Yes, he’s been a pain in the ass the last six months. But he was a good man. You respected that, eve if you’re not good yourself.

"At least be a gentleman and handle me that towel." You say, pointing at the towel hanging close to where Jason stands. He thinks for a moment. Maybe it's a trick. But you are indeed naked, and he feels a little bad exposing a woman at an arrest while being completely naked.

So he turns around slightly to grab the towel, and that's all the time you need to burst running through the bathroom door. As soon as he realizes he curses loudly and goes after you, but you already caught a dagger that was in a counter.

He thinks about shooting you, that would make it all easier. But something inside his guts doesn't allow him to. So he keeps pointing at you, a dagger in your hand, and you're ready to strike.

The chill of the cold air makes shivers run down your naked body. you're still dripping wet, the bun now undone, your hair falling down till it's complete length.

Jason catches his breath. You were beautiful. He was working though, no time to get distracted by skin. Even if it is the most perfect thing he ever seen.

"Drop the weapon and get into your knees. Or I'll shoot." He says, coldly.

"I wouldn't shoot me if I were you. You'll create enemies I don't think you're interested in." You reply, and you're not bluffing.

You're crazy, he realizes. To burst towards him while he is holding a gun. He missed, yes, but he could have shot you accidentally is some vital place, and he doesn't want that either. You're nuts.

"On your knees. Now." He says, almost barking. Before he can say anything else, you strike forward. He shoots, but misses. In the meantime, you are able to draw a deep cut in his arm.

He hisses at the cut in his forearm, and you're about to deliver another one to his chest, but he grabs your wrist , shoving you against the wall. He is physically stronger than you, so you'll need to get out of the situation in another way.

"Be fucking quiet." He says, when you open your mouth to say something. You smirk, staring at him.

He can't help but feel attracted towards you, completely bare against that wall, his hand holding your wrists upon your hand. He looks at you and an urge to fuck you right there gets him.

Because he hate you, he really does. Even more now that you managed to play him for a fool. He hates you, and he hates that you're so hot, so tempting. He hates that he can't help but stare at your tits, or notice how small you look compared to him, and how tight you would be.

And he hates it even more because he knows he can't.

"You want me, don't you?" You say, noticing his silence. It's just a whisper. But you have a smile on your face. And then he knows, you want it too.

But you're still a damn assassin who needs a lesson. And he's glad to give it to you.

He grabs your hair, and with force shoves you into the ground, on your knees in front of him. You frown, looking up at his face. You try to stand up again, but he point the gun at you.

"Stay quiet." He says, his voice breathy. God, is he really going to do this? Yeah. Fuck it. He can see it in your eyes. You desire him too.

So with his other hand he starts to undo his belt, letting in fall on the floor. He opens his zipper, and without shame or regret he pulls his cock out, pumping slowly.

Your eyes widened. Okay. This wasn't what you were expecting, but it's way better than be arrested. So you go for it.

You open your lips, inviting him. He doesn't lose time, shoving his whole length down your throat, making you gag. He still points a gun to your head with one hand, the other moving your head, his balls hitting your chin every single time.

"Fuck- you should quit your job as an assassin, ya know? You're way better like this." He says, mockingly. You get irritated, and tries to push him away to do some snarky comment, but he pulls you into his hips again, making you close your eyes.

You relax your jaw and your throat, and lets him facefuck you. He grunts, you gag, and you don't know for how long the whole ordeal went, but suddenly he grabbed your hair again and pulled you up, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a pop.

"Turn around." He says, harshly.

"Fuck off-" you try to say, even when you feel your legs trembling at his hot, dominant tone.

He scoffs, the sound lightly different because of his mask, and with a pull on your arm makes you turn around. He grabs your ass and open it, kneeling behind you, observing your pussy.

"You're wet. Pathetic slut." He says, and stands up again. He doesn't waste time and shoves himself inside of you, making you moan softly. He was so big, and the stretch was so painfully delicious.

He starts to fuck you like you're a toy, not slowing down and not really giving a damn about your pleas. He grabs your throat, forcing your back against his chest, your breasts tightly pressed against the wall.

"Shut your mouth and take it like the good whore you are." He says in your ear, making irritation grow inside of you. You try to think about something clever to say back to him, anything really, but you can't.

All you can think about is how he hits all the sweet spots inside of you, making you squirm. He slaps your ass, grip tight in your throat.

"God- slow down-" You manage to say.

"Shh. I said for you to be quiet and take it." He says, slapping you again, harder this time.

He gets out of you, and throws you on the bed. You try to create some distance between you two, but he grabs your ankle and pulls you back into him. Not giving you time to think before he slaps your abused cunt.

You let out a little scream, trying to close your legs. No point in it. He forces them open, observing the wet mess that you are.

"Maybe I won't arrest you, after all. Maybe I should keep you to myself. As my personal slut. What do you think?" He whispers, and puts his dick back into you. You moan, unable to respond, too focused in getting fucked.

His hips slam against you, reaching a point so deep no one ever reached before.

"Jason- oh God-" You say, hands going to his shoulders, bringing him closer.

He chuckles, one hand going between your bodies to pinch your clit. You arch your back at the soft pain, moaning.

"You like that? You like being fucked like a whore?" He asks, giving you a little slap on the face. It's not hurtful, just a reminder of who is in charge.

And you find yourself nodding, too lost in the pleasure.

The pleasure is like a wave, with each thrust of his hips you find yourself moaning louder, almost shouting his name. He takes his mask off, and kisses you, his tongue invading your mouth and tasting your lips.

He moves positions again, putting you on all fours. It keeps going for a long time, your eyes rolling up your skull, one of his hands on your ass and the other one grabbing your hair, pulling your head backwards.

"Fuck- you're tight for a whore-" He says, chuckling.

"That's because I'm- oh- I'm not one!" You say, irritated.

"Oh, you don't like me calling you a whore? What about my little whore? Sounds better?"

You clench around him, because yes, it does sounds better. He notices and chuckles again, a little breathy, but still able to talk.

"That's what I thought."

After everything, he did actually arrest you. He gave you time to put your clothes on, the gun always pointed. But it doesn't matter. You'll be free in two days, and you both know that.

And Jason finds himself... excited about the thought of your freedom.

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the smut was a little shorter than what I planned, but I intend on doing more of this type of fics. with more smut. hehe.

#jason todd #jason todd reader #batfamily #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd deserves better #jason todd x you #jason todd blurb #jason todd fluff #jason x reader #jason todd smut

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winchester-girl67 · 1 year

Text

Cravings (Part 2)

Summary: Post-claim, Dean and the reader enjoy a lazy day at her place when she tells him that she wants to bite him back.

Part 1

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader, Baker!Dean x pregnant!reader

Square: True mates @spnaubingo

Word Count: 3,529

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, non-traditional true mates, pregnant reader (Dean is not the father), unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy cravings, morning sickness, mentioned/implied one night stand, mature themes, smut adjacent touching/kissing/cuddling, implied smut, light/brief smut, language, mostly fluff

A/N: For those of you who wanted more of these two. Sorry this took so long, I haven't been able to write much lately. Also written for @spnaubingo. Enjoy!

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"Hmm, you like that?"

"Oh my gosh... Yes, Alpha. Harder!" You ordered and he happily obliged.

Then you whimpered, your foot jerked and Dean froze, "Are you okay, Y/N? Is it too much?"

"Don't stop," You sing-songed and he chuckled between purrs as he continued to circle his thumbs. "Right there, so strong, Alpha. I love you."

"Wow, you're really enjoying this," he hummed, taking pleasure in giving you pleasure.

"Mhm," you nodded, "I can't remember the last time someone massaged my feet. This feels A-MA-ZING!"

Your hums started to vibrate in your chest, you couldn't remember a time where anyone had been this attentive with you. Your eyes watered a little but you were too content to let the tears fall.

The pregnancy had your feet and ankles so swollen already and you didn't even have to say anything for Dean to notice. One of the many benefits of your new bond. He just felt what you felt and vice versa.

Even during Dean's rut -which only lasted a couple days, just long enough to get you both out of spending Christmas with family- when he mated you for the first time, he was tender and loving. You tried to present for him but he flipped you over onto your back, wanting to feel every inch of what was about to be his. Forever. Every promise of what your future together held.

Then he bit and you were claimed.

That was near two weeks ago now and Dean hadn't spent a single night at his house since. All that was left was to officially move him into your house and make it a home.

There was really no reason to wait, no second thoughts on the claiming from either of you either. Dean agreed to move since he knew moving a pregnant omega could be upsetting and enough had already changed quite quickly. He was just happy you accepted the change; having an alpha in your life, in your house, when you said you never wanted one.

Dean was different, though. He wasn't your typical breed, you would've thought alphas like him didn't exist anymore; if he wasn't currently digging his fingers into your flesh in the most pleasurable -non-sexual, for the most part- way right now.

You didn't have to let him claim you, because he would never force you, and he was determined to show you he loved you endlessly for it. For choosing him.

Your house was also slightly bigger and had your scent infused into the walls and carpeting. It wasn't a hard sell to a rutting alpha at the time. Plus, this way he would be able to sell his house to his brother who'd been searching for a home for a while with his mate. They were trying to expand their family themselves, but hadn't had much luck lately.

Dean talked about his little brother a lot but you hadn't met him, or Jess. Sam and Dean planned to move over his stuff soon though, so you'd get to meet them then.

You were nervous because Sam wasn't apparently all that thrilled about you joining their pack without being introduced to you first. Dean explained that it had less to do with you and more to do with his dating history. Dean's past with omegas rivalled yours with alphas. Apparently the wrong omegas take advantage of tender alphas.

He was your forever. You wouldn't do anything to hurt him, you were a team, a partnership and you're supposed to build and grow together not tear each other down. Sam would see that when he met you.

Dean's hands slid up your legs, his strong fingers massaging the muscles of your calves and you felt like you were melting back into the couch. All you could think of was watching him make bread yesterday at the bakery. The way he folded and kneaded the dough in front of you. Except now you were the dough and his palms gripped and molded the soft flesh of your legs.

You never wanted this to stop.

You didn't even notice when you completely sunk onto your back, lengthways, until Dean's hands slid higher up your legs to your hips as he crawled over you. One of his palms felt the skin of your inner thigh as he pushed up your maternity dress with the other, revealing your swollen belly.

"Fuck. You're a sight, sweetheart." He sighed happily, sitting between your legs and holding a palm on your bump.

The pup rolled and Dean followed the movement until he felt a little kick on the side of your stomach. He purred so loud you almost thought he was growling, if it wasn't for his almost unbearably sweet scent -it was a far turn from the salty musk when you first met him, he was happy now- and he bent over you to place a kiss to your belly, below your navel and to the side. You loved him like this, already bonding with the pup as if it were his own.

As far as you both were concerned, the pup was his now; blood had nothing to do with it. His claim included every extension of you, you could feel it. You were a family.

Gosh, he was a beautiful man. If more alphas were like him, less omegas would feel the need to suppress their natural cycles. You often wondered how nobody snatched him up before you did. You were beyond thankful no one did.

"You're carrying high," Dean determined, feeling up your stomach with both hands.

"And," you laughed and caught his wrists as he roamed higher up your dress towards your swollen breasts.

"That means, it's a girl." He smiled softly and leaned over you to kiss you on the lips as he held your ribs. You hadn't found out the pup's gender yet, you wanted to be surprised. "I fucking love you. So fucking much. Fuck."

Tears welled in his forest green eyes and he swallowed his purrs with his emotions. He cleared his throat and kissed you again. His mouth hugged your bottom lip with a quiver and his tongue licked the tip of your nose when he pulled away. He didn't like letting you see his emotions get the best of him and he was trying to distract you, but with the bond you felt everything he was feeling. Fear and excitement but mostly a need for comfort, a reassurance in your new bond.

You tangled your fingers in his soft hair and moved his head to the crook of your neck, where your mating gland was. He turned his face and pressed his nose to the claim, inhaling and fermenting your bond instantly with a single scent.

A calm rushed over him and you tugged him up by his hair for a needy kiss. Dean groaned, his chest heating and lungs rumbling against you with a violent, growling purr.

"Alpha," you whimpered against his lips, wanting more of him.

He gave 'alpha' every meaning of the word.

Instinct took him over and he pushed your dress up your chest, exposing your breasts. His lips found your puckered flesh as he massaged the tension from your sensitive mounds.

Forget dough, you were putty in his massive and capable hands. His fingers worked every inch of you like he read your mind. But you still whimpered, needing more.

"I know, Omega, I know." He cooed, "I got you, baby. It's okay."

He tugged your panties down your legs, throwing them aside to the floor and slotted himself back between your thighs. His sweatpants, still separating your skin from each other and you snapped at him.

Dean laughed and leaned over to kiss you again.

You scented him and your teeth ached with a need to claim him -which you still hadn't done, it didn't need to be done to cement the bond and alphas typically didn't like to bear a claiming mark- but you refrained, now wasn't the time. You didn't want him to reject the claim, so you'd bring it up when your heads were clearer.

You clenched your jaw shut instead and enjoyed his touch.

After your little romp in the living room, you watched Dean make dinner as he strained the pot of spaghetti over the sink.

"D," you said, "you do know that carrying high doesn't mean anything, right? It's an old wives' tale. We could still be having a boy."

"I know," he shrugged, rinsing off the pasta and shutting off the element to the stove, turning the second one down to let the tomato sauce simmer. "I just have a gut feeling."

You knew Dean wanted a girl, a little princess to spoil rotten, but you wouldn't be heartbroken if you got a little prince instead. Either way, you could always try again for the one you didn't get. You always wanted to fill your home with lots of pups, eventually move out to the country with a picket fence, a big yard for them to run wild in and a long driveway to learn how to ride their bikes.

It was a dream you gave up on long ago but Dean revived it just by being himself.

"How much do you think I eat?" You gawked at the super-sized bowl of pasta Dean served you.

You were a little over five months pregnant, but it was still a lot of food.

"The pup needs the nutrition. Just eat what you can." He said and kissed your forehead.

Dean spooned some sauce on top of your mountain of spaghetti, holding the lid of the pot under the spoon as he did so. You beamed up at him, getting butterflies like the first day you knocked on his door and padding away to the table with your bowl of pasta like a trophy.

Dean was the real trophy, but you liked the food, too.

He served himself next, using a plate instead because he liked to cut the noodles. You told yourself it was because he was a baker, not a chef; a real chef would never cut spaghetti. You liked the bowl because it made less of a mess when you twirled the noodles onto your fork.

Dean joined you at the table and hummed around his food, clearly happy with his recipe. You, on the other hand, thought something was missing after your first forkful. It just tasted off.

"Something wrong with the food, sweetheart?" He mumbled, slurping bits of spaghetti back into his mouth that tried to escape as he spoke. "Want me to make you something else?"

"No, no," you waved him off, the man was catering to no end when it came to your cravings. "It's just missing something."

You padded back to the adjoined kitchen and Dean studied you as you searched the cupboards, not really even sure yourself what you were looking for.

Until you found it.

You made your way back over to the table with your prize in hand. A clear plastic case, housing round, golden-wrapped, hazelnut and wafer chocolates. Dean stared with a grin plastering his cheeks as you unwrapped three of them and stuck them on top of your pasta mountain.

The chocolate immediately started to melt in the heated tomato sauce and it smelt heavenly. Your mouth watered and you sniffed the air above your bowl.

"Mmm," Dean hummed hesitantly like he wasn't sure if that was going to satisfy you or make you sick, but he didn't stop you.

You twirled equal amounts spaghetti and melted-chocolate-meatball onto your fork, shoving it into your mouth before it fell into your lap. You chewed for a moment -watching Dean take another bite of his chopped meal and swallow- before you decided you couldn't and spit it back into your bowl.

"Yuck," you groaned, wiping the taste from your tongue with your palm. "Ugh. Sorry, D, I can't eat this."

That was not heavenly tasting, it was disgusting.

"That's all right, tell me what you want instead and I'll make it." He said, standing from his seat to give you a peck on the cheek and clear away your plate when you heaved at the smell.

Morning sickness never really went away, it just got sneakier.

Your tastebuds were off today and Dean made a series of your favourites, which you ultimately couldn't eat, before you settled on toast. After your first slice, though, you followed your nose and let the pup tell you what it wanted, that included toast with a dollop of honey and a mashed banana spread.

Dean reheated his meal, finally content you had something to eat and smiled at his happy omega.

After dinner, you crawled into your king-sized bed to watch a little TV comfortably with your mate. The nest of blankets and pillows had only gotten bigger with the addition of Dean's bedding -which he'd been slowly moving over a little at a time, same with his clothing, which packed the walk-in closet full of flannels. The rest of his stuff was left waiting for Sam to come by to help, although you suspected most of Dean's furniture would be left behind for his brother, who was living in an apartment at the moment and didn't have a lot of furniture to begin with.

You snuggled into Dean, barely giving him any room to get comfortable and threw your leg over his, pushing your knee into the space between his thighs so your hips hugged his leg. Dean was used to being used as your body pillow by now and he purred, nuzzling the top of your head. He flipped on a baking competition show for some background noise and you placed your hand over his heart to feel the strong thump against your palm.

A calm washed over you that you knew came from him and the claim and you lightly scratched your nails over his ribs lovingly. Your alpha was content and you fucking loved being able to feel every emotion without having to scent him like before. That being said, you still loved the sweet, warm scent of him when he was truly happy.

You slid your hand under his shirt and palmed the love handle above his hip. Squishy, warm flesh filled your palm and you dug your nails in possessively. Dean growled when you gripped a little too hard. He was all muscle but he didn't need to be sculpted with rock hard abs to prove it, he was soft and hard in all the right places and you loved his tummy.

"You okay, Y/N?" Dean asked and stopped purring.

You realized he was probably picking up on a little insecurity coming from you. You didn't even notice that was what you were feeling until he asked. Something was on your mind though.

"D, do you think we're true mates?" You asked, nuzzling his scruffy chin with your nose.

"Honestly, I don't know." Dean wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you to lay half on top of him.

You tried to adjust your swollen belly so you weren't making him uncomfortable but he just tugged you back in closer. Your leg still nestled between his but your bump now pressing into his hip.

"But," you started but stopped and instead laid your head on his big shoulder.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

You couldn't hide anything off feeling with this bond, that was going to take some getting used to.

"What if another omega comes along and they're your true true mate, meanwhile you've already claimed me?" You muttered, brushing your fingers over his unmarked mating gland.

Typically only omegas bore the claim, but you would've liked him to have one, too. A mark that meant he was yours.

"I. Love. You."

"But-"

"No buts. It's a fairytale, Omega." He growled, not liking your implication.

You pulled your hand away from his gland and wiggled your hips until he released you and let you roll onto your side, facing away from him. It didn't happen often, but you didn't like when he took that tone with you.

The alpha tone.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I just don't want you ever to think I'll leave you, for any reason. I love you, that means something to me." He sighed and rolled over to tuck you into his chest as he spooned you from behind. He kissed the crown of your head and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you grounded to him. "I mean, it's a little ridiculous to think that an alpha and omega will find and make each other happy just because it was meant to happen and they're instantly attracted to each other. If true mates are real, and that's a big 'IF', it's just about compatibility but even compatible people need to put work into their relationship. There's zero guarantee of a perfect romance, no matter what, and just because you're true mates, doesn't mean you'll make each other happy. A neglected mate is a neglected mate, despite the amount of stars that had to align in order to pair them together. So let me ask you this, are you happy with me, Omega?"

"Absolutely, I am." You sniffled and found his hand on your waist, sliding your fingers between his large ones. "Are you happy with us, Alpha?"

"Incredibly so." He kissed down your cheek and nuzzled your claim, teasing it with his teeth. You shivered and purred softly at his nips. "Then to answer your original question... because I'm happy and I know we'll never give up on each other even on our worst day, despite our imperfections, and because I am truly, deeply, helpless in love with you. Both of you." He moved your entwined hands to rest on your bump, "Yes, I believe that makes us true mates... And it doesn't hurt that you smell so good."

"I wanna bite you," you breathed.

Dean laughed hard and his chest shook against your back, "What was that, my little Omega?"

You hardly felt little these days, being practically swollen everywhere, but you liked the way he saw you.

"I want to claim you, too." You explained and turned in his arms to face him.

He brushed the hair from your cheek behind your ear, "We're already bonded, Y/N, it won't change anything if that's what you're thinking. The bond only cements feelings that are already there and links us together through our emotions, we already have that."

"I know, but- I just always told myself that if I was claimed, I would claim my alpha back." You said, wetting your lips and circling your fingertips over his gland again.

"You want to claim me, for the sake of claiming me?"

"I want to claim you because when you marry, you both wear rings." You murmured, placing small kisses over his gland and trying to entice him.

"We could just get married-"

"Is my big alpha afraid of a little bite?" You chuckled against his skin and you felt him flush against your lips.

"Pfft, no." He said unconvincingly.

"I'll make it enjoyable," you promised, pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him. "You won't even feel it."

It wasn't a lie. If you claimed him the same way he claimed you, it would feel like a pinch at most. You nipped at his neck and felt a nervous shiver race through his body, your teeth nibbling his flesh.

"I won't do it if you don't want me to." You kissed the burning skin covering his mating gland and he shuttered again.

"I want you to claim me, Omega." He said and you met his gorgeous, green eyes. Then he teased, "Just, please, be gentle. It's my first time, sweetheart. But I trust you, baby."

He pushed his sweatpants down and your nightie up to your hips, then rocked into you and before long, you fell into him and bit. Your claim marring the perfect, freckled skin of his neck beautifully.

You licked at the mark as you laid on top of him, satiated as you cleaned away the few drops of blood despite the gross copper taste on your tongue. He'd done the same for you with your claim, something in the saliva of alphas and omegas help it heal quicker and not get infected.

You hummed against him, your belly pressing into his and your breasts flattened against his ribcage. Both your chests rumbling with a harmonized purr.

None of this was in the cards for you, not if you thought about it months ago. It's incredible how much can change in such a short amount of time.

"I still wanna marry you," Dean murmured in your ear.

His nose trailed down to your neck and buried into your scent. Dewy skin making the smell stronger as big hands roamed up your nightie and over your bare back. He held you to him gently like you'd float away if he let go, or pop if he held too tight.

Dean was a gentle giant of an alpha and he was all yours.

"Okay."

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Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33 @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28

SPN: @hobby27

Cravings: @hogwarts--imagines

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writershapeholeonthedoor · 9 months

Text

Happy Together

Pairing: Florence Pugh × Fem!Reader

Summary: A cute unplanned date night with your girlfriend, Florence

Disclaimer: English is not my first language, be aware and be kind

"Hey," Florence greeted as she walked closer to where you were leaning against the car. "You didn’t have to pick me up."

It was late. Very late, actually. There were maybe three or four cars still in the parking lot aside from yours, but there wasn’t anyone else walking around. They were probably still in the studio working, even at that ridiculous hour.

Florence's face showed her fatigue. She had cleaned her skin from the heavy makeup she had to wear on set and it was easy to spot the bags under her eyes. She was also wearing her comfortable sweatpants and a loose jacket, the same clothes she had walked out of the house earlier that day. It seemed she was a minute away from falling asleep while walking from the way she was dragging her feet.

However, as soon as she spotted you, her face lit up all at once. You could feel your chest warming up at the clear affection you could see in her expression, at the bright smile that curled her lips up, at the way she seemed taller and more alert than she had been a second ago. It was mostly dark around you two, and you wouldn’t have been able to see anything if it wasn’t for the reflectors around the parking lot, but you would be able to swear right there that Florence lit up everything around her like the sun.

When she stopped in front of you, glancing up, you realized you hadn’t replied yet. Instead of saying something yet, you cupped her jaw, tilted your head to the side, and pressed a lingering kiss on her lips. You didn’t bother to deepen it, though the simple, delicate touch was enough to make your heart race inside your chest.

When you pulled away, all smiles and warm cheeks, you wasted no time placing both hands on her waist to keep her where she was. Standing between your slightly parted legs, looking at you with those soft green eyes. Suddenly, you were in no rush to get back home. You could stay there forever with her, if needed.

"Yes, well, I wasn't going to let you get a cab this late," you replied after a few seconds.

It was past midnight the last time you checked your phone. One of the downsides of her work. When the night shots started, Florence would be in the studios for much longer than usual and, really, there were days she didn’t even know when she would be free to go home.

When she told you early that week that she would be getting back home around two or three in the morning, you were worried, of course. So, the obvious solution in your head was to make sure she would get there safely. You two didn’t live together yet, and you knew you would stay awake until she texted you to let you know she made it home, so, really, it was easier to go pick her up.

Besides, that gave you an excellent excuse to see her again. Even if you woke up together only hours ago.

Florence rolled her eyes fondly at you, a smile trying to make an appearance, before she placed a palm flat against your chest, right above your heart. Her hand stayed there for a moment, but her finger quickly started to draw the outline of your bra under your shirt. It was a move made out of habit, you knew it, but there was no stopping the shiver that ran down your spine.

"We don't need both of us to have a fucked up schedule, you know?" She said.

You shrugged. "I don't have work tomorrow, so it's not a problem." Then, because you knew she would insist that you didn’t have to be there, you kept talking: "Did you have time to eat yet?"

The grimace that took over her expression was enough to let you know the answer, but she still grumbled under her breath. "No. I literally just left the costume department to take off my clothes. We had to make, like, a million takes on the same thing," she complained and an adorable pout showed up right after.

It made you want to lean over to kiss her lips again, but you kept yourself in place offering only a smile at her. You didn’t quite understand her world - the shootings, the photoshoots, the costumes, the takes - though you loved the way her eyes shined whenever she mentioned her work.

That, of course, didn’t change the fact that, sometimes, her working schedule messed up some other aspects of her life, such as eating food and drinking water. It always made you worried whenever she told you she skipped lunch or that she totally forgot to drink water that day. You always jokingly said it was a hard task to make sure she would live another day, but, in reality, you were just constantly worried about her.

Which explained the way you physically cringed when you heard her poor explanation. "Oh, Flo," you sighed and just knew there was no point trying to talk her into healthy habits. "Well, let’s see if we can find an open restaurant, okay?"

"I'm tired." Florence pouted while drawing her hands to her shoulders and then down your arms.

"I know, but you need to eat something. We can order it to go, if you wish."

"Fine," she sighed and pulled away from you, which almost made you regret ever saying anything. "But just because I'm actually hungry."

"Get inside your carriage then, madam," you joked, adding a weird French accent in the last word, and making a quick run to the passenger's side to open the door for her.

She chuckled at you and kissed your cheek as she walked past you to enter the car. You took some precious seconds to recover from the way your heart fluttered because of the delicate kiss, but, eventually, you were able to rush to the driver's seat and take off not long after that.

"What do you wanna eat?" You asked.

"Whatever we can find open this late at night," she replied with a small shrug. "It's very late, I doubt we're going to find any open restaurants."

You would have to agree with her. You tried to keep your eyes on the road at the same time you glanced from side to side to see if you could find anything that was still working that late, but Florence's favorite places were closed, just like everywhere else. It was a bit crazy to think a city that size wouldn’t be working 24/7, but it seemed it wasn’t your lucky day because there were no restaurants still open for you to take your girlfriend for a late dinner.

Eventually, after you drove for several minutes and your frustration grew more and more, you felt Florence's hand touching your thigh to get your attention. "Let's go home, my love. I'm sure I still have some instant noodles in the cabinet."

You sighed, ready to admit your defeat. "I guess we would only find a McDonald's working this late. Sorry, babe."

Busy as you were trying to get a better look at the river mirror to change lanes so you could drive to her house, you failed to notice the face your girlfriend made. "Hmm," she hummed, tilting her head to the side as well. "I wouldn’t be opposed to McDonald's."

"Really?" You asked in surprise, throwing a quick glance at her. "McDonald's?"

"They have a vegetarian menu now," was the only thing she said before shrugging, and you really didn’t need much more to change your way to the closest McDonald's you could find.

Florence loved to eat real food, as she liked to say, and it was very unusual that she would express the wish to eat fast food like that. However, considering the other option was to go home and make instant noodles, you weren’t going to try to change her mind. Besides, you really loved good junk food.

"Fine," you relented. "But, if your mom asks, I get mad when you don't eat healthy food." To make your point, you turned your head at her, taking advantage of the red light, and made a face that was clearly you trying to have an 'I'm-Mad-Façade'.

Florence laughed loudly, throwing her head back for a moment and showing the column of her throat, before she leaned over until your noses were almost touching. What did touch you, though, was her finger poking where your eyebrows had joined thanks to your fake grimace. It made your face instantly relax and she laughed again when you pouted and looked at the street again. A second later, the light turned green and you were moving again.

"Very mad," she teased, although there was too much love in her tone for it to actually bother you. "The maddest."

You sighed dramatically. "My efforts are never acknowledged."

"They're always acknowledged, darling," Florence corrected you gently as she placed a soft hand on your thigh.

You grabbed her hand and raised it to your lips so you could kiss her knuckles, but you had to drop your light teasing with her since you had to pull into the drive-thru. "What do you want to eat?"

"Oh, I could eat an entire house," she groaned. Florence moved a bit to be able to read the bright letters as you drove in. "McPlant, the apple pie and fries."

"Anything to drink?"

"I should probably get water," Florence said, but, as you looked at her with a raised brow, she laughed. "What? At least I got the vegetarian one!"

"So that means you can drink the milkshake," you joked, already leaning over to make your order.

"That's way too much food," she commented when you moved to grab your credit card.

You shrugged. "You said you're hungry."

"But two large fries, four apple pies and nuggets?"

This time, you opened a smile at her as you waited to type your password. "I hope you enjoy the menu for our romantic date," you joked. "Very romantic," you added after putting your wallet away.

Florence rolled her eyes, but she had a big smile on her face and you couldn’t resist leaning in to give her a peck. You drove to pick up your order next and, after putting way too many things inside your car, you started driving toward her house. Florence kept talking about her day, her crazy agenda, her ongoing meetings and table readings, and you listened to her carefully as both of you stole a french fry from a bag every once in a while.

You were about a mile from her house when she tapped your arm suddenly and pointed at something. "Let's go to the park!"

"What?!" You asked without trying to hide your surprise. "Do you know how late it is?"

She glanced at you. "It's literally in front of a police station. And there’s a place to park the car."

"Are you sure you don't wanna go home?"

"I'm just trying to bring this romantic dinner to a nice location," Florence explained.

And even if you weren’t totally sure it was a good idea, you also knew you were very bad at telling her 'no'. That's why it wasn’t a surprise at all when you found yourself parking your car at the spot right under a lamppost. It was a nice park, but you already knew that. Florence takes her dog there for walks and you have joined them more than once. Even so, it looks even better at night. The fountain lit up with thousands of little lights that also made the trees and flowers around it glow as well. It was also a beautiful night. They could see the stars and the moon up in the sky, the street wasn’t awfully noisy as usual, and the few people walking around didn’t even seem to exist.

Florence apparently had intended for you two to eat inside the car, but you got out and started to put the different bags of food on top of the hood before you coaxed her outside as well. Your girlfriend looked a bit suspicious, although she didn’t offer any resistance when you helped her slide on the hood. You made a quick pause to give her a kiss, letting your hands rest on her hips for a few more seconds, and then you pushed yourself up to sit by her side, already grabbing a nugget to eat.

Florence only smiled at you, shaking her head fondly, before she reached for her burger to start eating. There, both of you talked and ate with no rush at all, talking and laughing and sharing fries. At some point, Florence had some ketchup at the corner of her mouth and you used the pad of your thumb to clean it, smiling when you noticed her cheeks turning a bit darker.

"I'm sorry," you whispered with a grin, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

"For what?" Florence asked and tilted her head to the side.

You shrugged, unsure. "Well, you're used to fancy restaurants and those complicated dishes I can't even pronounce. And here I am, making you eat McDonald's on top of the hood of my car."

Florence's hand touched your cheek before you could look away from her as you planned on doing. She waited until your eyes were locked with hers and smiled gently. "This is the most romantic dinner I ever had," she declared so certainly that there was no room left for you to doubt it even for a second. "Because it's you, and I’m so lucky to have you, darling. How lucky can I be, really, that I just got the best girlfriend in the entire world, huh?"

Feeling even more embarrassed and a bit flustered, you end up looking down. "Didn’t know you were dating yourself," you grumbled under your breath, almost low enough that Florence wouldn’t be able to hear it.

But she did, and her reaction was to laugh happily at you. Florence's body ended up leaning toward you and her forehead rested on your shoulder as her small frame shook with laughs, and you just couldn’t help but put your arm around her waist even if your cheeks felt like they were on fire. It still amazed you that you kept falling more and more in love with her as the days went by.

"Come on, let’s get you home," you said after her laughs ceased.

You tapped Florence's thigh and tried to move away, but she only leaned away enough time to place a hand on your cheek to pull you in for a kiss. Your lips touched gently at first, bringing a shiver down your spine, though you didn’t waste any time to slip your tongue between her parted lips. Florence sighed against your lips and that’s when you both knew it was time to break the kiss.

"You're coming with me, right?" Florence asked once she pulled away, licking her lips while brushing her thumb against your bottom lip to brush off her lipstick.

"If you wish for my outstanding presence," you joked and got an eye roll as a reply, which made you chuckle. "Anything you want, Flo."

"Let's go then," she declared. "I want to cuddle!"

"Your wish is my command, my love."

#florence pugh #florence pugh x you #florence pugh x reader #fanfic #one shot #y/n #drabble #actress #creative writing #florence pugh fluff #soft florence pugh #fluff #soft #celebrity x reader #marvel #marvel actress #yelena belova

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 1 year

Text

The Other Half Part Six

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Notes: This is going to feed into an ask that was sent to me. Just needed to build that bridge, ya know.

Warnings: Some fluff; mostly angst. Soz. Whoops. Not beta-read.

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Minors interacting with this work will be blocked.

Summary: You can’t know what he does—you can’t ever know. You could be in enough danger as it is if you’re ever connected to Bruce Wayne; he can’t imagine the repercussions if you were somehow associated with Batman.

“So, who is she?”

Liz asks it with a knowing, cat-like smile on her lips, brow arching. The question raises Bruce’s hackles, but he manages to keep a calm, serene smile on his lips.

“Who’s who?” He bats back unblinkingly. It takes everything in him to hold still, to keep his gaze on Liz’s, his hand steady on his glass of wine. She doesn’t blink first; she doesn’t laugh it off or change the topic. She waits. For ten long, uncomfortably quiet seconds, they both wait—until her boyfriend asks Bruce to pass the bread, and the date that Liz arranged for Bruce comes back from the bathroom, asking what she’s missed.

“Why are you still up?”

“Why are you calling if you didn’t want to talk to me?”

Bruce can’t help but smile. Sure, he’d asked a stupid question, but you sound so damn sleepy and soft. He can just imagine you at his place, curled up in his bed, wearing another one of his borrowed shirts. He leans against the wall of one of Liz’s bathrooms, eyeing the door.

“I want to talk to you,” He murmurs. “But I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was just watching tv.”

“You sound like you were sleeping.”

“I was just resting my eyes.”

“Sure you were.”

“Don’t get sassy with me, Bruce Wayne. I know where you live. Hell—I am where you live.”

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything. If you do, tell Alfred, he’ll—”

“It’s late. I’m not makin’ Alfred do anything. ‘Sides, if I want anything, I’ll get it for myself.”

“So stubborn.”

“Stubborn?”

“Stubborn, yes you are.”

“This from a man who rented out an entire restaurant and then took me to Burger King because I said he wouldn’t.”

“That’s not stubbornness. It’s being decisive.”

“Well I have decided that if I want anything, I’ll get it myself, and I won’t ask Alfred.”

Bruce chuckles softly, scrubbing his hand over his eyes.

“Alright,” He concedes, nodding and looking down at his feet.

“Are you having a nice time with your friends?”

Bruce glances toward the door, pursing his lips and considering.

“Yeah,” He says, “Liz’s boyfriend is nice.”

“Mind telling the paparazzi that?”

Bruce smiles. “I’ll send out an email.”

“Perfect.”

“‘Liz Wyatt is unequivocally not dating Bruce Wayne’.”

“Should be enough to satisfy Mich.”

“Is that what matters to you?”

“No, of course not.”

He tries not to find the way you rush over your words so precious.

“I was teasing,” He offers before you feel the need to explain yourself.

“Ugh—That is not nice, Wayne. Wake a girl up and you start teasing her.”

“I thought you were just watching tv.”

“...I’m hanging up now,” You grumble. “Go—Be fancy-schmancy and rich and attractive with your fancy-schmancy and rich and attractive friends.”

“Text me if you need anything before I come back. ‘kay?”

“Not Alfred?”

“Not Alfred.”

“I will. Keep it down when you come in?”

“Sure,” Bruce smiles, shifting from foot to foot. Then, against his better judgement, “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“Don’t tell me what to do…Mwah.”

Bruce chuckles before he hangs up, lowering his phone. He looks down at your contact, and the little photo he has of you there. He draws in a deep breath before he reaches down, unlocking the door and opening it.

“Shit—” He hisses, jumping as he catches sight of Liz standing there, waiting. “This apartment is huge. Do you not have any other bathrooms?”

“So who is she?” Liz plies.

“How thin is that door?”

“Bruce.”

“...Just someone I’ve been seeing.”

“Who is…?”

“What’s it matter?”

“Explains why you didn’t so much as glance at Cici at dinner.”

“That’s not true. I glanced at her plenty.”

“C’mon, Bruce, you know that that’s not what I mean.” She glances over Bruce before proclaiming: “I wanna meet her.”

“What for?”

“Because when was the last time you ever dated someone? You didn’t even do that in college. Besides, you’ve met my boyfriend.”

“And that was your choice.”

“Are you ashamed of her or something?”

The question punches him in the middle of the chest, his expression hardening. He’s taken hits from crowbars, guns, and baseball bats that have hurt less.

“Of course I’m not.” It leaves him with a thread of steel that he’s never heard in his own voice—not outside of the suit, anyway.

“Good,” Liz’s smile is as bright and as steady as ever. “I wanna meet her. Bring her over here for dinner, we’ll double.”

“If I bring her, I don’t want this to be an interrogation.”

“It won’t be an interrogation. It’ll be dinner.”

Liz is still pointing that smug, satisfied little smile at him. She knows he won’t back down from a challenge, not like this.

He’s too damn stubborn.

Dawn is just beginning to creep over the city as he climbs into bed with you at the penthouse. The room is pitch-black; he can hardly make out your form under the sheets. He feels your warmth as he lifts the covers; he cuddles in close, curling his body around yours. He smiles as you stir, as you press back against his chest and rest a hand on his.

“Bruce?”

You're mumbling, and your voice is a little rough in a way that it wasn't on the phone last night. Maybe you had only been resting your eyes when he called, just on the edge of sleep on his couch.

“Mhm,” He hums, gently wiggling his fingers against yours.

“You just gettin’ in now?”

Bruce rests his head between your shoulder blades, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“Of course not.”

The lie is as blatant, as plain to him as the nose on his face. But you can’t know what he does—you can’t ever know. You could be in enough danger as it is if you’re ever connected to Bruce Wayne; he can’t imagine the repercussions if you were somehow associated with Batman.

“Just got up to use the bathroom,” He tacks on. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay,” You murmur, pushing back against him again.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Mmmkay.” Your grip tightens on his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. Bruce smiles, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. He’ll worry about Liz and everything else in the morning…Well. Later in the morning.

“You busy tonight?”

“You sound like you’ve been gargling with rocks,” You laugh, glancing up toward the door of the stockroom. “Are you just getting up now?”

“No. No, been up before, and then uh…Down again. What time is it?”

“It’s almost two in the afternoon.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad.”

“Frickin’ billionaires,” You mutter, scrubbing your hand over your face.

“So?” Bruce pushes on, “You busy?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What you have in mind.”

“Dinner with Liz?”

You blink slowly, stunned. Dinner with her? Why the heck would Bruce want to bring you to dinner with Liz Wyatt? She’s all glamorous, and cool, and you’re…You. You work in a store, you’re not like Liz. You’re not even like Bruce. You don’t realize how long you’ve been in your own head until Bruce says, “...Hello? Are you—” The words drift away, like he's looking at his phone, then back in, “Are you still there?”

“Yes! Yeah, sorry, I was, uh—” You clear your throat. “I got distracted.”

“So? You busy?”

“Uh…” You glance around the room, like there’s a good answer scrawled on the wall somewhere. Your mouth works wordlessly for a moment before you manage, “N-no. I mean, no, I’m not busy.”

“Great. I can pick you up from work?”

“I should get changed after work, not, uh—My place? I mean, what time does she expect us over? Should I bring something? I can get a—”

“Okay,” Bruce chuckles on the other side of the phone, halting your panicked questions. “We don’t have to go.”

“No, we can go, I just—”

“Take a deep breath, sweetheart.”

“I’m breathing just fine—”

“We’ll do it another night—or not at all, if you don't want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t wanna go, I just—You know, I’m processing.”

“Sounds like you’re freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out! I’m asking questions. I am asking relevant questions.”

“You’re also repeating yourself.”

“...We can go,” You insist. “I just need to get ready.”

“Alright.”

“How fancy should I dress?”

“It’s just dinner at her place, you don’t have to get all…you know.”

“Well, what are you wearing?”

“Right now? Not much.”

“Bruce.”

“You should come back.”

“What, right now?”

“Mhm.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m hanging up now. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Alright—Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“...It’s gonna be fine.”

You nod, though Bruce can’t see you.

“I know,” You agree. “I wasn’t worried. I’m not worried.”

“You’re doing that repeating thing again.”

“Really hanging up now.”

You draw your phone away from your ear, peering down at it warily for a moment. Dinner with Liz Wyatt. What do you wear to a model’s house? What do you bring to a model’s house? Oh, there’s gotta be answers for this all over Quora.

“You look beautiful.”

“...Well don’t sound too surprised,” You grumble, straightening your sweater before turning to go back into the apartment. “I need like two more minutes, I just have to get on my earrings and my shoes.”

“Those flowers for Liz?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice choice. She loves carnations.”

“I know. I did some googling,” You admit guiltily, taking up one of the earrings from the table and putting it in.

“Are they in a vase?” Bruce tacks in, tapping his finger against the glass of it.

“Mhm. Keeps her from having to go and find one when we get there.”

“Clever.”

“I’m very smart.”

“I know that.”

You smile as you raise your other earring, fastening it. You glance back as Bruce cuddles up behind you and pressing a kiss to your neck.

“...We really don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

You’re quiet for a moment, brow furrowing.

“...You’re making me think that you’re the one that doesn’t want to go,” You manage after a moment, glancing back at Bruce. He shakes his head, resting his hands on your hips.

“I’m just making sure...Guess it’s time you met a couple of my friends, anyway. I’ve met yours.”

“You’ve met one friend,” You argue, chuckling.

“Mm. Where is Michelle?”

“Work.”

“She know where we’re going tonight?”

“Nope, I just said we were getting dinner.” You reach out, taking up your jacket from where it’s hung over the back of your kitchen chair. “If Liz is amenable, I’ll send Mish a selfie later, maybe surprise the shit out of her.”

“All set?—I’ve got them,” Bruce reaches out, taking hold of the flower vase before you can pick them up.

“Thanks. Is Alfred downstairs?”

“Nope, I’m drivin’.”

“Fancy.”

“...Is Liz’s apartment like yours?” You ask, shifting in the passenger seat.

“What do you mean?”

“Just, you know…Big, and…Nice.”

“Yes, it’s both of those.”

“Okay.”

“Why?”

“Just—Need to prepare myself so that my jaw doesn’t drop when I get inside.”

“Your jaw didn’t drop when you got to my place.”

“It was frozen shut at that point...Speaking of which,” You tack on, “Power’s fully up and running again, so I’ll get out of your hair.”

“...You can stay if you want.”

“In your hair?”

Bruce casts you a side-long smile. “I just mean you can stay over whenever you like.”

You smile, sliding down in your seat a little. “Noted, thank you…And you’re always welcome at ours, though it’s not as nice.”

“Your bed’s comfy.”

“That’s true.”

You glance out of the tinted window, watching the swankiest skyscrapers in Gotham fly by. You feel Bruce take your hand, and a smile unwittingly grows on your lips.

“Shouldn’t you have both hands on the wheel, Mr. Wayne?”

“I’ve got it,” He reassures. You hum in concession, grasping his hand with both of yours. You close your eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

“We can—”

“Don’t say we can still turn around,” You warn.

“Alright.”

You open your eyes, tipping your head to the side and watching Bruce.

“Do you want to turn around?” You offer.

“No.”

“Okay, so…We’re agreed.”

You loosen your grasp on Bruce’s hand, sliding down in your seat a little more and resting your head on your hand. It’s a moment before Bruce pats your thigh, then draws his hand back. You’d actually managed to shake some of your nerves, but Bruce’s repeated insistence that you don’t have to go to dinner is making you more and more nervous. You draw in a deep breath and hold it for a few moments before you slowly push it back out.

“Okay,” You hear Bruce mutter. You frown as he pulls into a street space, and glance around.

“We can’t be here already,” You frown as he puts the car in park.

“Listen,” Bruce turns in his seat to face you. Your stomach flips with nerves, and you brace yourself. “I’ve never introduced anyone to Liz—Or, to most of my friends. Not anyone that I've been more serious about.”

Your brows raise at his admission. He's serious—about you? Bruce reaches out, taking hold of your hand again.

“I’m sorry if I’m freaking you out," He adds, "But I don’t know what we’re in for, either.”

“...You’re nervous?” You realize, stunned.

“Am I not allowed?”

“Come on, you know that that’s not what I mean,” You mutter. You sigh, looking down at his hand again, turning your hand over in his, intertwining your fingers.

“...I didn’t even consider the fact that you might be nervous,” You admit. You raise your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. Your nerves flare as Bruce slips his hand from yours, but he takes hold of your jaw, turning your head and leaning in. He gives you a gentle kiss, thumb sweeping your cheek. You smile, patting his cheek as he draws back.

“We’re gonna be fine.”

Dinner’s not bad—in fact, it’s quite nice. It’s catered. You’d typically ask if there’s anything that you could do to help with prep, but there’s an officious staff of three flurrying around Liz’s restaurant-grade kitchen. Liz is quite nice herself, but she and Bruce can sometimes make you feel a little on the outside. You don’t think they’re doing it on purpose—they have a shared history, a longer history than you have with Bruce.

On the other hand, Liz’s boyfriend is lovely. He gives you smiles when the two of you are in the same conversational boat, watching as Bruce and Liz chatter on on topics that neither of you are familiar with. He lobs easy questions at you, backs Liz down from touchier questions, and keeps the wine and conversation flowing. You actually start to enjoy yourself, until—

“So you two are going to the gala together, of course.”

Liz’s boyfriend grimaces, eyes flicking to you apologetically. It seems he can’t back her down from that one quickly enough. Your brow furrows, a smile frozen on your face as you repeat, “Gala?”

“For the Wayne Foundation! Oh, don’t tell me Bruce didn’t tell you,” Liz glances between you and Bruce chastisingly. You turn your head to look at Bruce. He still has a smile on his face, but it’s that plasticized smile he gave your manager, and accompanied by a tight jaw. He won’t even meet your eye—hell, he’s not meeting anyone’s eye.

“Bruce,” Liz tacks on scoldingly, “You haven’t even given her time to prepare. She’ll hardly have time to get a dress now—Leave that to me,” She adds, leaning in and resting her hand atop yours. “I know all the designers in Gotham, I’m sure they can rush something by the 21st.”

“Oh,” You force yourself to laugh, shaking your head, “You know what—He did, but I’ve got work that night.”

“Surely you can take off.”

“I really can’t,” You insist. “My manager doesn’t like me very much. She barely forgave me for disappearing with Bruce for my lunch hour.”

“What!” Liz’s eyes brighten as she leans back. “Oh, I have to hear that story.”

It’s a safe enough diversion. You feel Bruce watching you; you don’t dare turn to fully meet his gaze, though you glance at him every now and again. Your mouth works on autopilot, but your mind is racing. Was Bruce even going to tell you about this? Or was this going to be one of those things that he does—those nights when he just goes off and acts like Bruce Wayne at before crawling into bed with you just before dawn?

Frankly, you’re not sure which you’d prefer.

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half

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