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[novagreen]

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 | A. Donaldson & P. Zweig x reader

Pairing: Art Donaldson x black!reader, Patrick Zweig x black!reader

Summary: Standing in Tashi Duncan's shadow was not anything a weak minded soul could handle--when the "Pouty Princess" encounters Art and Patrick at her cousin's party, a sudden rush of attention and admiration begins to poison her heart and mind that spans for years beyond her imagination--did you escape Tashi's shadow or had you become an even more calculated adversary?

Warnings: CHALLENGERS SPOILERS, sexual situations, angst, language, minors DNI

Word Count: 3.9K

___________

CHAPTER ONE "HE WAS MINE FIRST"

NEW ROCHELLE - ATP CHALLENGERS

In August of 2019, the absolute only thing you were concerned with was turning Patrick Zweig into the biggest fucking star in men’s tennis the U.S. has ever seen.

Years of blood, sweat, and tears were inches from going down the drain at the New Rochelle Challengers tournament, and you refused to let yourself and your career be embarrassed because Patrick couldn’t get it the fuck together.

“Listen to me.” You said, cupping his chin. The two of you sitting in a small room as you awaited his call to the court. “I don’t care about the brand deals, I don’t care about the Grand Slam, I don’t care about our argument … the only thing I’m concerned with is you wiping the fucking floor with Art Donaldson.”

Patrick smiled, his right hand wrapping around your waist. He nodded, a look of understanding but hesitance stifling him and his mentality. “What if I don’t win?”

“That’s not an option, Patrick. Don’t start this—”

“It’s possible.” He argued, narrowing his eyes at you.

You scoffed. Snatching yourself from his grasp and grabbing your purse. “Art hasn’t won a match in God knows how long. This is child’s play.” You blinked, studying the stupid look on his face and how it’s never brought about anything good. “Why are you suddenly unsure of yourself? You’ve done this before and you will do it again.”

“He’s different now. We haven’t played against each other in years.” Patrick tried to rationalize much to your dismay. You rolled your eyes, digging in your purse in search of your phone and a cigarette. “I’m just being practical—”

You grabbed the device, fully out of cigs, clutching it firmly in your hand. “You? Practical?” You laughed.

The knock at the door didn’t rattle you, you stared into his soul and awaited for him to tell you the real reason this sudden doubt was being disguised as practicality.

His hand grazed the small of your back, leading you out of the room and through the corridors leading to the court. Something wasn’t making sense, his behavior was off, there was a gleam in his eyes that you knew tennis nor your presence were the cause of.

You were getting flashbacks to Atlanta. Running into Art in the hallway of the hotel. Your significant others missing in the dead of night. That sickening sense of dread causing your stomach and confidence to plummet to your feet.

Clutching your YSL purse tightly to your side, your matching high heels clicked and clacked against the rocky pavement leading to the stands. You were told that a front row seat was waiting for you and you craned your neck to search for your place. It wasn’t difficult to pick her out of the crowd, no matter how much she cut or dyed her hair she would always be recognizable.

You shared blood after all.

You slipped your dark Prada glasses over your eyes, calculated steps leading you to what you assumed would be another unpleasant family reunion. “Interesting they’ve paired us together.” You muttered, taking your seat next to Tashi as you both stared ahead.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from me.” You could hear her sigh beside you, one of frustration and annoyance that you’d identified many times before.

You turned to her, pulling your glasses down slightly. “And when was the last time I listened to anything you had to say?” You laughed, turning back to face the court. “I think you’re stuck in 2006, Tash … I’m not your little bitch anymore.”

The sun glistened, an alarming contrast from the windy and grueling weather the city witnessed over the course of the ATP Challengers match. It was fate for this game to happen, and for the two boys, now turned men, obsessed with the Duncan girls to face each other once more.

Patrick rounded the corner, returning back to your presence after you both just left the locker room together. “Kiss for good luck?” He asked, the only thing between you two being the short fence.

You stood from your seat, a grin creeping across your lips as you met his. The intensity of his presence had your heart racing with frustration and pleasure. No matter how often you argued, he was still yours in this moment alone. Your hand snuck to his neck before you pulled away from the intimate embrace.

“Fuck him up.” You stated, loud enough for Tashi to hear. You returned to your seat, adjusting your cream Loewe tank top and black dress pants.

Patrick remained quiet, just nodding upon your command before returning to the sidelines. He snuck the tiniest of glances at your cousin, enough to drive you up the wall. You couldn’t tell if it was a power move to keep you in line, or, a flutter of yearning for what once was.

“Whatever it is that you did,” you snapped your head in her direction, “you better shut it down right here, right now.”

Tashi shook her head. “I didn’t do anything, Y/N.”

“You can’t bullshit me.” You hissed. “Art may not see through this act that you do disguise as confidence, but me? I grew up with you and I know all of your tricks.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “…and there you go bringing him up.”

“I have every right to.” You shrugged, relaxing back into your seat. “He was mine first.”

STANFORD - FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

As important as college is to define your identity, yours was once again lost in the shadow of Tashi Duncan. You never wanted to go to school with your cousin, it was bad enough being converted into her lackey as she became the golden child of your family.

The agreement was that her father would pay for your education as long as you two attended together. Your mother and father couldn’t afford it really, and at any other school of your choice, you’d inevitably struggle to pay tuition. The money was used to control you and the tactics worked.

You shared everything together, her dorm being merely across the hall from yours, classes practically the same, the only distinction was that she was the athlete and you were the less cool family member that just happened to always be around. If you had told your fourteen-year-old self that you’d be going to college with Tashi, she would have jumped for joy. But now, with the fame and the money and her being a complete bitch … being in her presence was like hell on Earth.

The only good part about Stanford was Art.

Tennis had grown very boring very quickly until you watched him play. His moans and grunts mirror the ones he released with you underneath him in his dorm room. The attraction between you two was undeniable when you first met at seventeen and now it had transcended your college years.

Entering the dining hall, you could instantly feel the tension and anxiety spinning in the pit of your stomach. Large, obnoxious, “Duncanator” posters were plastered along the walls. Encouraging letters and support from Tashi’s on-campus groupies made you want to gag. You rolled your eyes briefly, searching for the real reason you entered the hall in the first place.

There he was, in all of his glory, positioned directly across from Tashi as they shared lunch together. Your insecurities would have spiked if he hadn’t told you he wanted to talk with her about Patrick and his career. Art may have liked Tashi in the past when you all were kids, but things were different now. It was always about tennis between those two.

Suddenly the loud screeching of the table chair skirting the linoleum flooring filled your ears. Tashi was pissed, something inaudible coming from her lips as Art appeared lost and concerned. You quickened your pace, trying to diffuse whatever was happening before she blew a gasket. 

“I think you might be the worst friend in the world.” She fumed, looming over the boy as you neared the two. She noticed you from the corner of her eye and took a rushed breath. “Don’t do this to her.” She stated, whispering so you didn’t hear.  

Art nodded. “Sorry.” 

“Hey!” You gleamed, trying to disrupt the tension between them. “It’s hot as fuck today. I had to walk all the way from the College of Business and my Marketing professor refused to turn the air on. I should have worn a tee shirt.” Your eyes focused on the grey material hugging Tashi’s body. “Is that mine?” your smile faded looking at the words “I TOLD YA” painted on her chest staring back at you. 

She cut her eyes in your direction. “Yeah, it got mixed up in my laundry and I liked it.” 

“So you just took my shirt?” You asked in disbelief. “If you’d have just asked I would have let you borrow it, Tash.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Looking between you and Art, the two most annoying people in her world at the moment. “Oh my God, Y/N, it’s just a stupid tee shirt. I have bigger things to worry about right now.”

“I don’t care.” You laughed incredulously, letting your bag fall from your shoulder and onto the floor. “You have access to whatever the fuck you want and you still decide to take my shit … you’re being selfish, per usual.”

Tashi shook her head, looking around at some form of escape before she exploded. “Thanks for lunch, Art.” She acknowledged, ignoring you like she always did when she was upset. She sauntered off and out of the dining hall. Leaving you and Art to make sense of what that was. 

“She’s such a fucking bitch.” You huffed. 

Art pulled you in for a side hug, clutching you tightly and rubbing his strong hands down your arms. “She’s your cousin.” He retorts. 

“Which means I’ve been dealing with this since forever.” You fired back, glancing up at your boyfriend. “What was all of that about? She looked pissed at you.” 

Your encounters with Art started as hookups. Before practice, after matches, and even as early as 8 am before your first class. You always believed he was obsessed with you when in reality, you couldn’t let go of the idea of him. The idea that someone who was once interested in the great Tashi Duncan was now spending his free time tangled in your sheets and kissing your breasts. You felt relieved…like you’d finally won the silent battle.

Art was someone who genuinely liked you for you, not to get close to your cousin, or so you believed. 

It wasn’t difficult for Tashi to read between the lines of your undefined relationship. You were running around campus calling Art your boyfriend and while he never corrected you, his entanglements with you were never broadcasted proudly. Tashi didn’t know what Art had up his sleeve but whatever it was, she truly didn’t want you to get hurt. 

He kissed the top of your forehead, a grueling headache forming already. “It’s just some stuff with Patrick. They’re going through a rough patch.” He evaded the question, ignoring where Tashi mentioned his lack of true feelings for you. 

“When I talked to her this morning she said they were fine.” You furrowed your brows. Curious as to how their relationship could have gone to shit in the span of four hours. “He’s still coming to her match today?” 

Art nodded, scooping your bag from the floor and swinging it onto his shoulder. “Yeah, he should be here soon.” He stated lowly. “Where you headed? You done with classes for the day?” 

“Yeah, I’m tired. I’m going back to my dorm.” You held his hand, feeling the callouses from his intense tennis conditioning. “Walk me there?” 

“And what’s in it for me?” Art teased, a sly grin creeping on his lips. 

You pushed him slightly, and snatched his backward cap from his head, placing it over your curls. “Don’t piss me off before I cut you off.” 

Hand in hand, you two walked the campus grounds rather quickly to reach your dorm hall. When he felt as if you weren’t moving fast enough for him, Art scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder. Running through the hall, you screamed and pleaded for him to put you down. 

“Art! I swear to God if you drop me!” You slapped his ass, giggling. Making him laugh even harder. 

“Woah!” You heard a deep voice say, halting you both in your tracks right outside of your dorm. 

Carefully, your feet met the floor once more. Staring at his chest briefly, your eyes wandered upward, meeting the seductive gaze of Patrick Zweig. He was cocky, confident, and from your encounters a silly asshole who won Tashi’s number and never let Art forget it. He raised a brow, looking down at you as if he would swallow you whole. 

“Hey, Pouty Princess.” He smirked. 

You sighed. “I haven’t heard that since I was seventeen … let’s keep it that way.” You pat his shoulder roughly. 

The attention quickly shifted from you to Art. The two friends embracing and catching up in the hallway. As more time passed with no indication of Art cutting the conversation short, your energy had depleted. Even though he rarely saw Patrick, they had the duration of his visit to spend time together. This moment was supposed to be for you and now it was being ruined. Flashes of that hotel room sent chills down your spine—the embarrassment of the two boys fawning over Tashi while you nervously watched. 

Between her stealing your shirt and now being second choice compared to Patrick, you were instantly turned off.

“Dude, I’m starving.” The brunette held his stomach. “Do you think we could go grab something—“

You chuckled nervously. “We were just about to chill—“

“Yeah for sure.” Art interrupted, a grin spreading on his face. 

You snapped your head in his direction. “You literally just ate.” You furrowed your brows. 

Patrick looked between you two, the gears shifting in his mind. “Wait…” He let out a loud chuckle, gesturing in your direction. “Were you guys about to fuck?”

“Yes.” You deadpanned. “I was about to give Art the fucking time of his life, but, it’s fine.”  You rolled your eyes, snatching your bookbag from your boyfriend’s grasp. “Go eat.”

Art’s features softened, knowing he was in trouble. “Wait, Baby.” He reached for your waist which made you inch away from his grasp. You quickly dug into your bag, grabbing the Stanford lanyard from the front pocket that held your keys.

“I’ll see you at the match.” You unlocked the door, stepping inside. “Always good to see you, Patrick.”

The slamming of the door completed your sentence. You gave it a few seconds. Sensing from the bottom of your heart that there’d be a knock on your door and a curly-haired blonde on the other side. When a minute passed, you gave up, throwing your bag across the room and knocking over the lamp on your desk. 

Second best to Tashi, second best to Patrick. 

Is this how things would be for the rest of your life?

Looking at the wall clock beside you, there wasn’t much time until Tashi’s match. You didn’t even want to go at this point. So mentally drained with her and her attitude that the match was the least of your worries. You sat on your bed, arms crossed, foot tapping the ground in frustration as you and your thoughts sat in silence. They would all be at the courts, together, having a great time without you. You refused to allow them that satisfaction. They couldn’t just throw you away. 

You served a purpose beyond playing fucking tennis.

Wiping the two tears that managed to break free, you shot up from the bed and dug through your dresser. Pulling out leggings and a matching grey tee, you freshened up and changed. Taking your hair from it's ponytail and allowing it to be free flowing, you looked at yourself in the mirror and already began to feel a bit better. By the time you finished getting ready, you were going to be ten minutes late.

Grabbing your keys and wallet, you headed for the court and regained your composure during the five minute walk. Looking into the stands, you saw Art, sitting alone and squinting due to the beaming sun. You trudged up the stairs, breezing past spectators as you sat to the right of him.

"Where's your boyfriend?" You asked dryly.

"He's not coming." Art replied, trying to make you laugh.

You cut your eyes in his direction. "You think everything is a joke."

"I don't." He stated defensively. "I just hadn't seen him in a while and there was some time before the match."

You huffed, trying to ignore the perfect pout in his lips and how helpless he sounded. "Yeah well that was our time together and he's going to be here the whole weekend. Seems like you'd rather spend time with everyone else but me."

"Hey." Art said softly. When you ignored him, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He pulled your lips into his, giving you a sensual kiss in the midst of all the screaming fans. The sense of security and warmth fleeting as soon as he let you go.

The audience gasped. Screaming on the court was the only thing your ears registered. Tashi was laying on the court, holding her leg, and crying to the top of her lungs.

"Oh fuck." You muttered, shooting up out of your seat in disbelief.

Without a second thought, you cut through the stands and pushed people out of your way. You beat Art to the court, him following behind you quickly.

"Tash?!" You yell out. "I'm here. Hey, I'm here it's okay." You dropped to the ground, trying to hold her but it was no use. The amount of pain rushing through her was unfixable.

She opened her eyes, an amolunt of sadness behind them that you didn't think she was capable of expressing. "It really hurts." She whined.

"We'll get you fixed up in no time." You nodded, tucking her braid out of the way. "I promise."

There was something unintentially sinister about making a promise that you could not keep. As you sat with Art in the infirmary, Tashi and her wrapped knee between you both, you kept replaying the match in your head. She had never cried like that before, not even when you were children. You blamed yourself even though there was nothing you could have done to avoid this. You were here to protect her and you failed.

A figure appeared in the doorway, catching your attention. You turned and saw a sweaty Patrick, cheeks red and flushed from running to the infirmary.

"I'm sorry, I---" He began, taking small steps inside.

Tashi refused to face him. "Out."

You scrunched up your face, confused as to what had happened between them.

"Tashi..." Patrick pleaded.

She pointed toward the door. "Out!"

"Listen--" The brunette didn't stop. Not when he felt insurmaountable guilt for being absent.

"Out! Out! Out!" Tashi hollered, making you jump and the pure rage fueling her.

Art stood on his feet. "Patrick!" He shouted. "Get the fuck out."

Patrick looked at his best friend, then his girlfriend, who turned away from him and returned her attention to the wall in front of her. He shook his head in shock and left from their sights.

"Why were you so mean to him?" You asked innocently, to no one in particular.

Tashi scoffed. "Excuse me?"

You stood up, leveling with Art. "He's your boyfriend and he's here to support you." You frowned. "I mean really, what the hell happened between you two?"

"I don't think this is a good idea, Y/N." The blonde protested, watching Tashi grow more upset.

"I'm literally just asking a question." You retort. "I'm trying to understand why you both just turned on him out of nowhere. What am I missing here?"

She sat up in the bed, eyes lasered in on you. "My relationship is really the least of your concerns right now." She hissed. "Not when yours is nonexistent." Your cousin slipped.

"Tashi--" Art warned.

You raised a brow. "What the fuck are you on about now?"

"It's the mere fact that you have all of these opinions and ideas and haven't the slightest damn clue as to what is happening in your own life." She spewed venom in your direction. Pointing at you with the utmost vitriol you've ever seen. "I tried everything to prevent you from getting hurt but now I don't care. While you've been around blowing Art, he's been coming to me trying to find the words to break things off with you."

The boy could barely look in your direction. "Tashi, please." He begged too late.

"He thinks you're annoying, clingy, and I frankly feel the fucking same." She continued. "You're always around and embarassing the hell out of me everytime you open your mouth."

You looked to him, trying to find some indication that this was a bluff. Art didn't defend himself, defend you, or deny anything that was said. You held more dignity than to ask him if any of this was true. You should have known that sex wasn't enough, that men will fuck and suck anything that isn't nailed down. You weren't special.

Everything between you and Art might as well have been a lie.

"I didn't think this was possible, but, your leg getting mangled turned you into more of a complete cunt." You choked down sobs. Turning to Art, who finally looked you in the eye, and you just shook your head. "Fuck you!"

You turned on your heel, storming out of the infirmary and ignoring Art calling your name. Your chest heaved furiously. You wanted nothing more than to kick the shit out of Tashi in her other leg. It took everything inside of you not to turn around and unleash on her.

The better half of your anger stemmed from heartbreak. How much you actually loved Art had turned you into a fool, apparently an annoying one. The other half stemmed from insecurities...the fact that some of those things Tashi said were probably true and you'd successfully buried them deep within you until now.

You burst through the doors of the sports center. The hot sun beaming down on you and further fueling your irritation. You cupped your hand over your eyes, trying to find the path back to your dorm when your gaze landed on the pacing figure smoking near the trees.

Patrick was still here and as of right now, the only friend you had.

"You have another one of those?" You asked, sauntering over in his direction.

The man squinted, looking down at you. "Since when do you smoke?"

"Since apparently I'm clingy and annoying." You leaned against the tree with him. "Oh, and embarassing, can't forget that."

Patrick winced. "Tashi said that to you?"

"She simply repeated what Art told her." You nodded in disbelief.

He opened his mouth to speak. Closing it quickly as he searched his pockets for a pack. Carefully he grabbed a fresh cigarette, passing it to you with a small smile. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think you're any of those things. I actually think you're kinda cool." You looked between him and the stick hesitantly. "I'm gonna have to teach you how to smoke it, you know?"

You took the cig between your fingertips, looking up at his gentle eyes and in that moment, you shared a grin. "Well, Patrick, teach me then."

***

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[novagreen]

[novagreen]

AARON HOTCHNER COME INVESTIGATE THIS PUSSY

[novagreen]

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[novagreen]

Vice.

Synopsis - Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.

Pairing - Luke Alvez x Female Reader

Warnings - smut. cursing. luke has a gorgeous filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 1.6k

Author's Note - my baby my baby my BAAAAAABY!! I have been in love with this man for years and years and I can't believe I haven't written more for him. if you ever have a luke request, please send it to me. love him with my whole heart <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

Vice - a weakness of character or behaviour; a bad habit. "Cigars happen to be my father's vice."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Italian food."

The entire team laughs, faces illuminated by the warm yellow lights in Rossi's backyard.

"Yeah, no shit," Tara retorts, looking pointedly at Dave. "Doesn't take a behavioural analyst to figure that one out."

"Look, you asked the question, I answered."

He reclines back in his chair and takes a sip of his wine, looking around the table.

"Okay Tara, you go. What's your vice?"

She chuckles to herself before confessing.

"Super steamy period romances."

Everyone bursts into more laughter.

"Wait, what?"

"What kind?"

She's clutching at her sides as she answers.

"All kinds! Movies, books, TV shows. If it has corsets and sex, I'm in."

Your cheeks are aching from smiling so hard. You're not sure who first raised the initial question, but it's really allowed you to get to know each other a little bit deeper.

"Okay, enough about me. Simmons, what's your vice?"

"I have six kids. I don't have time for a vice."

He sounds serious, but he's grinning as he says it.

"I think the six kids are a result of an old vice."

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, several glasses of wine almost obliterating your verbal filter. Your team howl with laughter.

"No comment," Matt wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. "Golfing is a safer option now. No risk of unplanned surprises."

"I had to change mine after kids, too," JJ chimes in. "I used to smoke cigarettes after bad cases, but I can't anymore. What kinda mom would I be if I lectured the boys about the dangers of nicotine, and then got caught chain smoking in the backyard?"

"A cool one," you shrug, yelping when she jokingly punches you in the arm.

"What about you, hotshot?" she asks, the whole team turning their attention to you. "What's your vice?"

You desperately avoid any eye contact, trying to play it cool. You just know Luke has that glint in his eye as he looks at you pointedly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Oh, fuck," you groan, fingers threading into the dark curls of his hair.

"Shhh, honey," he murmurs, lifting his head from between your legs to look up at you. "You and I both know how much trouble we'll be in if we get caught."

He dives back in, tongue gliding and flicking all the spots that make you keen. You slap one hand over your mouth, the other grappling to hold onto the leather beneath you.

"Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he taunts, condescension dripping from his tone. "The thrill turns you on, doesn't it, baby? The risk of getting caught only makes you hotter."

You whine against your palm, bucking your hips to urge him to keep going.

"What do you want, princesa? Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

He loves this. Loves hearing you beg. Loves having you relinquish complete control and let him take care of you. Loves that he can turn you, the most independent, headstrong woman he knows, into a whining, needy mess.

"Fingers," you croak out. "Make me come, Luke, please."

He grins up at you like the cat who got the cream, self satisfied smirk never leaving his lips.

"Okay, baby," he soothes. "Since you asked so pretty."

He slides two fingers into you with embarrassing ease, crooking them in the way he knows you like.

"Oh, sweet girl, what would the team think? Huh? What do you think they'd say if they saw you like this, letting me finger fuck you in the backseat of my car in the parking garage?"

He's muttering lowly, under his breath, but you hear him clear as day. He loves to patronise you, tease you, get under your skin. In everyday life, he treats you with the utmost respect. In bed, not so much. You love it.

"Couldn't even wait until we got home. Poor baby, just had to take the edge off."

His eyes meet yours, like a magnetic force. His gaze is so dark, it has you squirming in place.

"It was the shirt," you choke out. "Fucking shirt."

"Hmm?" he hums against you, the vibrations pulling you closer to the edge.

"Your shirt," you moan as his thumb finds your clit. "Makes your arms look so, fuck, so big."

Oh, you shouldn't have said that. You can practically see his ego inflating.

"I'll let you wear it tomorrow morning, if you want. If you can still walk by then, that is."

You're right on the precipice, orgasm almost within reach. If he keeps talking to you like this, you'll be at the finish line in no time.

"Oh, I've got a better idea. Why don't I fuck you in it?"

The idea makes your head spin, sending you straight into your climax. Sharp white heat licks up your spine, curling your toes and arching your back. Your grip tightens in his hair and he groans, low and honeyed.

"That's it, baby," he's murmuring. "Ride it out. Good girl."

You finally relax, melting into the leather seats. Luke crawls from his position to lean over you, resting his body onto yours. He kisses you gently at first, then dirtier as you come back to yourself.

"My place or yours?" he whispers against your lips.

"Yours is closer."

"Mine it is."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Hello? Earth to Hotshot?"

JJ nudges you playfully, grinning at you from ear to ear.

"What you thinking about?"

"Nothing," you stutter, clearing your throat. "Nothing at all."

You make the mistake of lifting your gaze from your lap. There, staring at you from across the table, is Luke Alvez. You almost wish you could slap that smug smirk off of his face.

"Come on, girl!" Tara hollers.

"Everyone has a vice," Spencer begins. "You have to. Especially in our line of work. We have to have some kind of outlet. Some sort of release."

Release. You almost choke on your wine, patting yourself on the chest.

"Yeah, no. I, uh, I like British reality TV. I guess that's mine."

The team laugh, everyone teasing you relentlessly. You risk a glance at Luke, and regret it immediately. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and chuckles, knowing look in his eye. You're petrified for a moment that he can read your mind.

"Okay then Spence. Your turn," you prompt, desperate to take the attention off yourself.

Spencer starts rambling about quantum physics, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

Relief.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Yeah, this is what you needed, isn't it baby?"

You try to respond, but Luke's huge hands wrapped around your throat are making it a little difficult.

"My poor sweet girl, just needed some relief huh? You sick of being in charge all the time? You want me to take care of you?"

His tone is low and melted, the timbre of it settling into your bones. All you can do is whine and nod your head in response.

His hips repeatedly snap into yours, his body melded to you. He's completely smothering you with his weight, but you don't mind. You like the closeness.

You lean up to kiss him, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. He's swallowing your moans, leaning his head forward to rest against yours.

"Fuck, you sound so pretty," he groans. "You gonna come for me, mama? Give me what I want?"

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes. Please, baby. Please."

"Who am I to deny you when you beg so fucking sweet?"

The hand that's not around your throat snakes between your sweat slicked bodies to rub circles on your clit, throwing you over the edge.

Your back arches, hips writhing on Luke's soft cotton sheets. You're squeezing him so tight he's seeing stars.

"Oh fuck baby, oh fuck."

Luke goes boneless, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. He releases his grip on your throat and wraps both arms around you, pressing you together impossibly closer.

"We get better at this every time," he chuckles.

You smack him jokingly, before bursting into laughter. Soon, the two of you are crying happy tears, revelling in the afterglow.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"I'm gonna get a refill. Anyone need anything from the kitchen?"

You stand from your seat and make your way inside, taking note of the replies.

"I'll help you," Luke says, rising to join you. Neither of you see the way everyone at the table looks at each other knowingly.

You're barely through the door when you feel him against you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He presses a kiss onto your shoulder, murmuring in your ear.

"I'm your vice, aren't I?"

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh.

"In your dreams, Alvez."

He nips at your neck before continuing.

"Admit it. I'm your dirty little bad habit that you just can't kick."

You turn in his arms to face him, running your fingers through his hair.

"Talk the talk all you want, Luke. You and I both know this works both ways."

Your quirk your brow at him, and he leans in and kisses you chastely.

"Old habits die hard, huh?" he grins.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," you smirk back.

Outside, the team decide they'll continue to let you both lie to them for a little while longer. It's more fun for everyone that way.

[novagreen]

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 

tags: @tayrae515

[novagreen]

a darling and a virgin | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. after being confronted by president snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: mentions of forced prostitution, angst, gentle smut, loss of virginity, fingering, lots of consent, praise, happy but also unhappy ending??, reader takes contraceptives.

notes: i’ve recently found that i’m incapable of writing short smut one shots so… i’m sorry y’all. love describing every detail too much.

word count: 6.8k

Your hands were clasped over the balcony railing of the penthouse you were spending the night in, the vibrant artificial lights of the Capitol burning your retinas as you overlooked the city. You had finally completed your first Victory Tour and were offered one more night in the Capitol to enjoy its ‘luxury’ and ‘generosity’ before returning to District Four in the morning.

For the past two weeks, you had read fabricated speeches to each District, resurfacing both your trauma from the Games and the families of the tributes you had murdered in the arena. The toll it was taking on you was heavy, but you managed to put on a splitting grin for every interview, speech, and disturbing congratulation. But not for your previous mentor, Finnick Odair.

Finnick had been there for you through the whole nightmare, even during the week before your Games. His support was unwavering which was one of the many reasons you had managed to survive from the moment you were Reaped to the end of the Tour. It was hard to tell when his mentorship had turned into something more complicated, but it had. It had become more about feelings than simply survival. Not a relationship per se, but not just a friendship either. You teetered on the line between the two, never crossing it and never discussing the fact that you were both aware of it either.

For six whole months.

When the final destination of the Tour came—the grand celebration at President Snow’s mansion—Finnick had told you it was the easiest part. All you had to do was manage a happy face, mingle with obnoxious Capitol citizens, and eat an abhorrent amount of food. He would have been right if you were a different person. If President Snow hadn’t demanded your singular presence at the end of the night.

You exhaled a shaky breath, watching the white mist drift into the light-polluted sky. The President’s words bounced around your head: Desirable… Customers... Family. The conversation played on a loop in your mind. You could remember the repugnant smell of roses, the overwhelming whiteness in the room, and the way his too-pleasant face lit up as fireworks exploded outside the window.

Shivers trickled down your spine, forming goosebumps that were borderline painful. The fact that you were on the ninetieth floor and wearing flimsy pyjama shorts and a thin long-sleeve shirt wasn’t helping either. The crisp wind blew against your body, but you had no intentions of moving to seek warmth. It felt appropriate to stay in the cold when your body would soon know nothing but unwelcome heat.

So lost in your spiralling thoughts, you failed to notice as another body silently took up space beside yours, warming up the side of your arm. This heat was welcome.

“Pretty cold out here.”

A startled gasp escaped your mouth. You straightened up and turned to the owner of the voice, only to find Finnick leaning against the railing, forearms over the edge the same as you.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I know my presence can be a little breathtaking sometimes. Nice shorts by the way.”

He turned his head turned to you, revealing his infamous flirtatious smirk. The dimples in his cheeks were prominent and charming. His bronze hair was perfectly dishevelled as usual, as if someone had purposefully placed each strand to give him the ‘sexy bed hair’ look. He was still wearing his white button-up and black trousers; the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows and a few buttons were undone, revealing his toned chest. The outfit had been accessorised with a metallic golden corset-like belt among other decorations that made him fit in with the Capitol crowd, but he must have taken them off. Now the outfit sort of resembled one that a boy would wear to a Reaping. Simple yet formal. Still gorgeous, not that he needed reminding.

Normally, you would retort with a snarky remark or, on the off occasion, flirt back, but instead, you resumed your previous position over the railings. You weren’t immune to Finnick’s charms; you praised anyone who was. You would usually be internally swooning at the sight of him, especially with the way he looked right now and his obvious flirting. But this night was much different. Flirting and swooning were at the back of your mind. All you could think about was your interaction with the president; the way his guards manhandled and escorted you to his study. The conversation that destroyed your hopes of a peaceful future.

Desirable. One word that sent ice coursing through your veins. Or snow, to be more poetic.

“I don’t think you’ve said a word since we got back,” said Finnick, still a hint of playfulness in his tone. He watched your gaze—eyes distant though not really seeing. It was clear something was wrong, so he continued, this time more softly. “You were gone during the fireworks.”

You remained unmoving, staring straight ahead at the city. Only when he uttered your name did he finally gain your attention. As you turned your head to face him, tears began to well up in your eyes.

Finnick noticed the silent distress in your expression and straightened up his stance. He towered over you, brows knitted together whilst his sea-green eyes flickered across your face, looking as if pieces were slowly falling together in his mind.

“He spoke with you, didn’t he?” he said. “Snow.”

To answer his question for you, a tear escaped your eye, but you were quick to swipe it away with a sniffle.

Your arms wound around your torso, hugging yourself as the words began flowing. “After I won my Games, when I was being crowned, he said something to me that I didn’t really understand." Your voice was gentle, just above a mere whisper. “Months passed and I’d forgotten all about it. Until now at least. He told me…” You swallowed the ache in your throat. “He told me, ‘I have big plans for you, Miss (L/N). I think you will be a very valuable asset to the Capitol citizens.’”

Finnick’s face had melted into an unreadable expression. His entire body turned to stone; it was like he was a marble statue portraying a Greek God. All of a sudden, he was sixteen again. He was in Snow’s study, being told that if he didn’t cooperate and essentially sell himself to the Capitol, his family would pay the price. And they did.

With a sad smile, you whispered, “I know what he meant now.”

Something inside him snapped and he broke from his stupor.

“No.” He vigorously shook his head. “He can’t do that. You can’t. I’ll go to him and—fuck!” His hand ran through his hair, making it even more dishevelled. The bright lights from the city were reflecting off his eyes, revealing the shine that was starting to gloss over them. “I can fix this for you, I swear I’ll—"

“Finnick.”

“He’s a fucking—”

“Finnick.” The plea in your voice ceased his panicked movements. He just stood there, looking completely and utterly helpless. You both did. Another tear slipped down your cheek as you stared at him, your voice wavering as you asked, “Can you hold me?”

He let out a breath as if the air had been knocked from his lungs and in one fell swoop, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. Silent tears began to flow more heavily, saturating his white shirt which he held you tightly against. There was a hand wrapped protectively around your lower back and another stroking the hair flowing over your neck.

You were certain Finnick let a few tears slip too because you could feel the cold breeze nip at the top of your head the slightest bit more. He mumbled the words “I’m so sorry” over and over into your hair but you just shook your head. You told him it wasn’t his fault, but he wouldn’t accept it. He had told you months ago about his arrangement with Snow. You couldn’t have imagined what it was like for him then, but you would be able to now. You would know every single little detail.

His embrace tightened as you turned your head and pressed your ear to his thumping chest.

The tears had stopped, and you managed to find your voice again. “Snow threatened to kill my family. What if the customers don’t think I’m good enough and he takes it out on them? I mean, I don’t have any experience.”

You remained silent, awaiting his response. When the hand stroking your hair halted, you realised your mistake. You realised what you had just admitted to him and mentally kicked yourself. Repeatedly.

Finnick moved both hands onto your forearms, gently pushing you away from him to get a clear view of your face. The surprise in his expression was enough to make you want to jump over the balcony ledge in embarrassment.

“You’re a virgin?”

Hearing the words out loud would have sent you over the edge—literally—if Finnick’s large hands weren’t wrapped around your arms. You tried to turn away from him, but his grip was unshakeable. Your eyes began to water again, and you felt pathetic.

“Hey,” he said tenderly as he tried to regain your eye contact. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your distraught red-rimmed eyes snapped back to him. “Not a bad thing? Of course it’s a bad thing, Finnick! I have to give my body to a stranger despite never even having my first kiss! Let alone sex!” As you said the words, the full reality of your situation began to set in. Panic turned to sadness as you realised yet again, the Capitol was taking another innocence you thought was your own to give away. You looked down, your tone becoming quieter. “I thought my first time would be special. Or at least with someone I loved.”

God, you felt so embarrassed admitting that to him. Sure, a lot of your conversations were flirty and full of sensual banter. Sex, however, was not a topic that came up very frequently. You would never want to accidentally cross a line with Finnick, especially given what Snow forced upon him. So you liked to avoid the subject as much as possible. Now, it was inescapable.

He released his grip and sighed heavily, looking out toward the view as if he were deep in thought. The vivid city lights cast an unnatural hue on his usually golden-tanned skin; even now the Capitol was changing him into something he wasn’t. His eyes shut for a quick second before he reopened them and looked back at you. The only time he had looked this serious was the morning of your Games and the night you returned. It was a little intimidating.

His jaw ticked and his gaze bore down into your own. “Sweetheart, I’m going to ask you something,” he began, “and I want you to know you do not have to say ‘yes’ if you don’t want to, okay?”

Alright, now he was really starting to scare you.

“Okay,” you said warily.

The hardness on his face remained for a moment longer, but then his expression softened and became the most vulnerable you had ever seen.

His voice was gentle. “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

*************

You were sat on the edge of Finnick’s bed, toying with the black satin sheets with a frown. Your room didn’t get satin sheets. It was probably one of the benefits of being the Capitol Darling. Not that you envied him very much. He would probably be content with sleeping on a dirt floor if it meant he got his autonomy back.

Finnick was in the bathroom doing God knows what. You weren’t sure if he was trying to make himself more presentable or hyping himself up to have sex with you. The latter worried you. The last thing you wanted was to pressure him into something he didn’t want to do. Then again, he was the one who asked.

After you had told him “Yes, please”, he had tentatively but oh-so-gently taken your hand in his and guided you inside and to his room. Neither of you had spoken along the way; you just walked in silence toward something that would either ruin or deepen your relationship. Despite being two victors, this was still a mentor making sure his tribute stayed alive.

You heard the bathroom door slide open and looked up to see Finnick standing outside the door. Shirtless, pants still on, and towel in hand. It took everything in you to not stare at his perfectly sculptured torso, his equally toned arms, or his broad and muscular shoulders. Instead, your eyes met his for a split second before you returned to the satin sheets.

Blood rushed to your head and everything felt too real. Finnick Odair was standing before you, looking like an angel and willing to fu—

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” he chuckled.

But your gaze remained on the bed.

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You won’t.’” He spread the towel on the bed, positioning it in the middle. Then he stopped his movements as he realised what you meant. “It’s not like that. I’m not being forced to do this. I want to.”

Your head snapped up and your heart leapt as those three words left his lips—I want to. For a second, you believed him, but then reasoning came to deflate your hopefulness.

“You wouldn’t want to if I weren’t in this situation.”

He let go of the towel, sitting down mere inches beside you, his eyes amused despite the solemn context. “And how do you know that?”

“Because…” you trailed off, searching your brain for an explanation only to find none. “Because.”

He smirked. “We need to work on your argumentative skills, sweetheart.”

A small smile worked its way across your lips. He returned it with a comforting smile of his own, though the sense of playfulness never left. It never really did and that was one of the things you admired most about him. Even in the darkest of situations, he was able to provide some light.

Rosy heat crept into your cheeks and you were forced to break eye contact again. Hiding how much he affected you was pointless now; if this was going to work out, you needed to be vulnerable with him. With each other. You looked down at the space between your bodies. His hand was resting on the bed beside him and soon enough, it was slowly creeping across the sheets over to your own. He gently brushed his fingers across your knuckles before sliding his hand beneath your palm and interlocking it with yours. You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his, feeling butterflies flutter around your stomach at the small observation.

The both of you silently watched your intertwined hands. That is until Finnick decided to speak up.

“I would,” he said ambiguously, caressing the side of your hand with his thumb. “I would still want to. Even in different circumstances.”

The blush on your face reddened even more; your cheeks were on fire at this point. Even in different circumstances. Was that his way of confessing… that he did have feelings for you? It wasn’t exactly explicit, but it was certainly implied. Oh god, you didn’t know what to think.

You didn’t bother to reply; words probably would have failed you anyway. You just gave his hand a slight squeeze in acknowledgement—well, it was more in appreciation. It was obvious how hard he was trying to make you feel comfortable, but no matter how hard he tried, you couldn’t shake the nerves that were rattling your entire being.

Sex was a pretty big milestone—to you, at least—and here you were, on the precipice with someone you trusted with your life. Did you love Finnick? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that your feelings for him were deep, and even though neither of you had ever clearly confessed to each other, you knew he felt something for you too. Which made everything all the more daunting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“We still don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, lifting your gaze to his. “No, I—”

His eyebrows pulled inwards, awaiting your answer. His eyes were so inviting and full of understanding, if you hadn’t lost the ability to form full sentences, you would have found yourself spilling all your secrets to him. He was so patient with you. So good. You had to rethink your uncertainty about loving him.

“I…” you tried again. Your eyes flickered back and forth from his sea-green eyes to his soft, pink lips. As shameful as it felt to admit, you had imagined what it would feel like to have his lips on yours many times before. Usually right before you went to sleep. Never would you have thought the day would come when it would actually happen.

He was still caressing the side of your palm, silently reassuring you, encouraging you to communicate with him. You sighed, closing your eyes. If he wanted you to communicate, then you would.

“Finnick,” you whispered. “Kiss me.”

Your words drifted into the air, stilling everything in the room—the air, Finnick’s hand. Your heart. He just stared at you, unblinking, unmoving, like someone had hit pause on the television at the tensest moment. The tension was tearing you apart and you almost got up and left the room. But you didn’t. Because suddenly, the sides of your face were cupped by large hands and his lips were on yours.

Finnick Odair was kissing you.

His lips pressed against yours once more in one long close-mouthed kiss before leaving again. Shock came and left within seconds and you found the courage to copy his actions. Your lips locked perfectly onto his, remaining still, enjoying the pressure and tingly warmth of simply having them connected. Then your lips moved to kiss him again. And again, and again until soon enough, his tongue had slyly slid into your mouth and you had somehow instantaneously become a master at French kissing.

This kiss felt familiar, despite it being your first. Like something you had done millions of times before, but only with him. Like having his lips on yours was the most natural thing to ever exist.

A hand moved onto your waist and suddenly you were being pulled onto his lap, legs straddling his lap. Your hands fell on his chest, mindlessly wandering and feeling the toned muscles ripple underneath your palms as he pulled you closer by the neck to deepen the kiss. Damn the people of the Capitol, but they were right to say he was an incredible kisser.

“Finn,” you huffed in between kisses, “have you got a rock in your pants?”

He pecked your lips once more with a smirk, resting his forehead against yours as you both attempted to catch your breaths. “No,” he chuckled. “I’ve just got a beautiful girl on my lap.”

Your eyes opened to see him grinning at you with mischief. Oh.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

You nodded jerkily. “Ye—Yes, that’s okay.”

“Okay, good.”

Biting your lip, you looked down between your bodies. Curiously, you rocked your hips along the length of his lap once, earning a quiet grunt from him.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “Careful,” his voice was low, tempting.

And of course, in full defiance, you did it again. His warning was a bluff. He made no real action to prevent you from grinding any further on his erection, so you kept moving, and he kept revealing how good it made him feel. The thin fabric of your shorts created a little barrier between his hard lap and the growing sensitivity between your thighs.

Meanwhile, you found yourself never wanting to be parted from Finnick’s lips. With every rock of your hips, your hands ran over every inch of his upper body, eventually settling in his hair. The way he kissed reminded you of stories of District Twelve. A district full of hunger and desperation. Only what Finnick was craving wasn’t the fullness of food in his stomach, but the desire to devour you whole. To ravage you. And by God, would you give anything to satiate him.

Forget what you thought before. This wasn’t just a victor keeping his tribute alive. As clear as the sea on a sunny day, this was a man giving himself over to a woman he loved. You. Finnick loved you.

When you pulled back to tentatively lift your shirt over your head, his eyes stayed on yours. Your breasts were literally bare and he just continued to scan the features of your face. However, you did notice the subtle shift in his breathing.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the side of your breast.

A shy, cheek-warming smile crept on your face and then suddenly, Finnick was rolling you over. Your head fell back onto the soft silk pillows, Finnick hovering above you. This position remained for a long while, the time spent simply kissing each other, alternating between deep tongue-filled kisses and soft sweet pecks. There were moments when you both stopped to flirt or giggle. These were the times you entirely forgot the whole reason you were doing this in the first place.

It was just you and Finnick. Two new lovers in a perfect world.

After a while, your lips had swollen with warm, passionate heat. You were flushed and you didn’t even need to look to know your hair was already a tangled mess. But you didn’t care.

One of Finnick’s hands had begun to wander down your stomach, breaking the established pattern of merely making out. You knew what was coming and surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Unlike outside the penthouse apartment, there was no danger. Not in this room, in this bed, or in the hands that caressed you. He grazed across the skin beneath your belly button, causing your body to flinch up into his.

Of course, he smirked at that—the smug asshole.

He returned to your lips before lowering down to your neck and sucking soft, red marks into your fragile skin. His fingers found the edge of your waistband. At this point, you were already breathing like a marathoner.

His lips detached from your neck. “Can Itouch you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed.

As he travelled down, down beneath your waistband, he pecked your reddened lips once more. A soft gasp escaped you and warmth tingled between your thighs. His fingers were gentle as he began circling that sweet, sensitive spot only you had ever touched. Having someone else touch you felt so much more different, so much more exquisite. Your body responded to his touch immediately, hips following each movement of his fingers, breaths quickening in pace.

Finnick gazed down at you, observing each pleasured twist of your expression. He began to pick up the pace as he noticed your body familiarising itself with the sensation. More pressure was applied and the gasps leaving your mouth were gradually turning into quiet moans.

“This feel okay?” he asked. Obviously, he knew the answer, but after years of having others take advantage of him, he couldn’t help but want to hear your willingness. Your consent.

But you weren’t sure if the words could form. Everything felt like it was vibrating. All you could do was focus on the pleasure his fingers were building.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me.”

His voice had taken on that seductive purr he was well-known for and you just couldn’t deny him. It took everything inside you to muster up the words. “It—it feels so good.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was so sweet, you could have cried. So sweet even with his hand stroking between your legs and his hard cock pressing against your thigh. Time slowed as his fingers sped up. Muscles in your stomach were tightening. Your insides were churning—not like when you first entered your Games’ arena, but in the best way possible. It was a sensation you had never felt before, but before it could build any more, Finnick’s hand stilled. And you genuinely whined at the loss of friction.

Then his hand moved even lower, resting a singular finger over your slick entrance. Your eyes were wide, unsure of how to feel with the sudden turn of events.

Finnick’s eyes flickered between your own. "You trust me?”

You weren’t sure if an easier question existed. “I do.”

And his lips were on yours again, deep and sensual. His tongue rolled over your own, pushing forward and then retreating in a perfect rhythm. He almost successfully distracted you from the feeling of his middle finger sinking into you knuckle-by-knuckle. Some sort of sound resembling a mix of discomfort and surprise vibrated in your throat as his finger bottomed out.

There wasn’t much pain. It was just an odd feeling.

Your lips parted from his and he looked down at you, his eyes holding an immense amount of security as he communicated through your shared gaze.

Does it hurt?

You gave him a gentle smile. No. Keep touching me.

He returned your smile with a grin. Gladly.

His buried finger curled, shooting a sharp pang up into your stomach which caused your back to arch up against his bare torso. Whether you considered it painful or pleasurable was uncertain. Perhaps a mix of both. He did it again. This time you settled on describing it as a tight twinge in your lower stomach which sent a wave of chills down your legs. Definitely pleasurable. Only, he stopped indulging you with the sensation after the second time.

Instead, you felt another finger slowly slip inside you and whimpered. Now that hurt. You felt your inner walls stretch with the second addition and it stung. Especially when he began to scissor his fingers inside you. This was him preparing you for the real deal. How you were supposed to have Finnick inside you when just his fingers had you stuffed was incomprehensible. But you allowed him to keep going, trying to enjoy the comforting kisses he pampered onto you.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said.

Your hands moved to push back his messy bronze hair as he hovered above you. His dimples deepened with a grin and you swore you would endure any pain to keep them etched on his face. After he deemed you stretched out enough, he slowly rose to his knees, unbuttoning his trousers and throwing them aside. You couldn’t do anything but stare. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

The way you gulped was almost cartoonish. How the hell was he supposed to fit? You had never seen a man naked before—you weren’t even sure Finnick was human. He had a body sculptured by the Gods, a face carved by angels, and a… well, let’s just say he didn’t disappoint in any other areas. You weren’t sure if the smug look on his face was real or a carefully curated mask created for his Capitol customers. By the way it quickly washed away, you could tell it was the latter.

He began sliding your shorts down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Suddenly, you felt extremely vulnerable. Almost inferior. Your knees fell together, concealing the most private part of yourself from him. You avoided his gaze, cheeks becoming red and hot as he observed your naked frame. He had a way of looking at you as if you were a long-forgotten masterpiece, rediscovered from centuries of being lost. No one had looked at you like that before him.

Gently, he pried apart your legs and you didn’t bother trying to resist. Only when he descended and settled between your legs did the insecurity dwindle into the background of your mind. Your naked bodies were hot against each other. His weight pinned you against the bed. Everything that was yours touched all that was his. You thought this experience would feel like a dream, but it all felt so real. You were nervous, you were trembling, and your breaths were shaky.

Finnick was quick to recognise the nervousness radiating off you. His arm curled beneath you, somehow pulling you even closer, meanwhile, his other arm rested beside your head. He brushed strands of hair away from your face, soothing you with his tender touch.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

You nodded. You wanted this—wanted Finnick. It was just the anticipation that was killing you. Your thighs squeezed his sides to tell him you were ready. For a few moments longer, he restarted the pattern of sweet kisses, rolling tongues, and the warmth of blood rushing to your head. His hand was caressing your cheek; yours were splayed on his back, gliding over the rippled muscles.

Then finally, he shifted, his hand moving south to align himself with your entrance. All you could do was watch his focused expression. This was the moment. The threshold of your relationship would be ­­crossed as soon as he pushed forward. There was no one else you wanted to share the experience with because you knew this wasn’t just sex. Not for him or for you; it was more than that. Something bordering spiritual, breaking the bounds of physical pleasure and entering into a deep emotional connection. Something no paying customer of the Capitol could provide.

He was gazing down at you, half-cradling your head as he began to say, “Are you su—" But before he could finish, you had pressed your lips to his, answering his question. You were sure. He nodded in response.

His eyes were hesitant he began to push his tip between your folds. Your fingers dug into his back, more from anxiety than anything else. It became a game of stopping and starting as he moved deeper inside inch-by-inch, allowing your walls time to adjust around him. Never had you seen someone’s face filled with so many emotions—concentration, controlled gratification, affection. So many feelings twisted his expression. Meanwhile, yours held only one. Discomfort. He was so big; you felt like you were being split apart and he wasn’t even fully inside yet.

Finally, when his pelvis connected with yours, you exhaled a heavy breath. It hurt. Bad. Finnick had the right idea to lay down a towel because you definitely needed it. He had you filled to the brim, stretched out and stuffed. Even the slightest shift in his position had your hands flying to his shoulders in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, just—” You bit your lip in an attempt to suppress a whimper. “Just go slow.”

He nodded. You smiled. Then for some odd reason, you laughed. And then so did he. Finnick’s face fell into the crook of your neck, muffling his boyish laughs into your skin. The added movements had your insides dully aching, but you didn’t pay it much attention. The moment was so innocently intimate that you wanted to stay in it forever. He lifted his head to press his grinning lips to yours and the laughter began to dissipate. Your mouths moved slowly together, full of heat and fervent emotion, and suddenly, Finnick’s body began to move too.

Careful as not to harm you, he slid himself backward in one slow motion and then pushed forward again in another. Pain stung at your inner walls and your lips left his as a gasp escaped your mouth. You were tempted to close your eyes whilst riding out the discomfort but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Finnick’s face. He was so mesmerizingly beautiful.

His cheeks were a baby pink. Lips were a rosy red. There was a thin sheen covering his forehead, slightly wrinkled by his furrowed brows. Those messy bronze locks you adored so much fell in strands across his forehead. The evident concentration and care on his face just made him look all the more picturesque.

While you admired his features, you started to notice the pain accompanying his slow thrusts was becoming more tolerable. There was still a sting, but also a dull twinge in your stomach that had you biting your bottom lip. It felt sort of… nice. And you wanted to experiment with that feeling.

Your hands were hooked around his shoulders. “Faster.”

Are you sure? His lustful eyes spoke.

You pulled him back down to your mouth. Absolutely.

And so, his hips started to rock back and forth at a faster pace. You could feel yourself clench around his cock from the change of rhythm but forced yourself to relax. He thrust in and out, rubbing against the ripples of your walls, tip brushing at a spot inside you that was anything but pain. That is what you focused on—that one sweet spot.

Time went on and he gradually increased his speed. Your lips were swollen and red, no doubt from the way he would nip and suck on your bottom lip in between each flick of his tongue. His breaths were coming out louder, heavier, as were your own. Soon enough, you were in a rhythm that was both pleasurable for him and for you. The pain lingered but it was no longer unbearable. A shudder ran down your body and your pussy fluttered around him. Finnick broke away from your lips with a breathy groan that you swore you could feel in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His thrusts became a little faster, a little more painful. A hand slipped down between your bodies and the pain faded quicker than it came. He was rubbing circles around your clit, occasionally running his fingers across it which caused you to lurch upward. All of a sudden, you came to the realisation that everything bad that had been clouding your mind had disappeared. The ache, the confrontation with Snow. Everything. The only thing you could focus on was the pleasure slowly building between your thighs and in your stomach. And Finnick. His tantalising eyes. His wicked mouth. His throbbing cock.

People always said your first time would be horrible; this was anything but. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you… loved him? Yeah, you loved him. Also because he was something of an expert at sex. You were in a pretty unlucky predicament but having Finnick willingly fucking you was a blessing.

His fingers were relentless, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. And added with the sensation of his cock repeatedly hitting that spot inside you, your uneven breaths turned into soft moans. He fucked, he rubbed, he nipped and sucked at the delicate skin of your neck. Heat was enveloping your entire body.

“Finnick,” you moaned.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” His voice was strained and hoarse.

His hand left your clit, hooking around your thigh, and curling it around his back so he could thrust even deeper. He restarted his rhythm of rubbing circles, but his thrusts felt different. Instead of just brushing that sensitiveness deep inside you, he was mercilessly hitting it. Over and over. Your moans were louder now; Finnick was more vocal too, grunting and occasionally uttering words of praise.

This went on for a while. His stamina was incredible—if you had a moment to think, you would have realised the depressing reasoning behind it. But you couldn’t think at all. Your heel was digging into his back; nails scratching at his skin. Both of you had a layer of sweat covering your bodies, skin wet, slapping and sliding over one another. Your pheromones had filled the room with the smell of sex, driving your need to finish.

Finnick’s mouth had been everywhere at this point. Your lips, your neck, shoulders, and breasts. Everywhere except your pussy, not that it really mattered anymore.

It was hard for you to comprehend how fucking amazing the sensations you felt were. There was heat and pressure pooling in your stomach, increasing at a slow pace, and growing more powerful by the minute. Finnick’s hips moved at a steady pace, but his hand had begun to slow. Even he had to succumb to fatigue at some point. He sounded like he had run for miles though was obviously pushing himself on for your benefit.

Instead of ceasing his tiring hand movements entirely, he switched hands. And that was when the heat in your stomach turned into a blazing inferno. He was much faster now. Applied more pressure. Your head fell back against the pillow with a cry. His cock was throbbing inside you at the sound.

“That feel good? Huh?” he practically moaned.

He left kisses across the stretch of your neck, running his tongue over the skin and leaving behind red marks.

“Yes!” you cried out.

Your entire body felt like it was being dipped into a white-hot flame of pleasure and the feeling was only increasing. It was clear Finnick felt the same way. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, he was cursing left and right, and he was practically pulsing inside you.

The heat in your stomach was overwhelming but you needed more.

“Finnick, I feel—I feel—” You couldn’t describe even it.

Finnick nodded, breathing heavily above you. God, he looked gorgeous. “You’re gonna come.”

Your half-lidded needy eyes met his. Something about him saying those words sent a wave of acceleration through your body. You hadn’t known what the edge was until you were on the brink of coming, and there was no stopping it. His cock plunged in and out, pushing deep inside you, practically rocketing your orgasm to the surface with each thrust. His fingers moved at such an intense pace you didn’t even know was physically possible.

As your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth fell open and every frantic breath, moan, and cry was able to escape. Finnick had the same problem. Fuck, he sounded so sexy, it only spurred you on.

Then it hit you all at once. “Fu—"

Every inch of your body tensed. You were sent into a space where white noise filled your hearing and bliss was all you knew. No pain. No sadness. Just ecstasy. Electric sparks jolted up and down your body, rising to your head, and causing you to see stars behind your closed eyes. Your moans were uncontrollable and desperate, voicing Finnick’s name over and over.

His thrusts were frenzied and sloppy, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could. He had lifted your lower back into an arch, enhancing the sensation coursing through your body. Your walls were clenching and pulsing around him, so much that he was abruptly thrown into his own high. His hips stuttered and eventually, his cock filled you as deep as he could, spurting out warm strings of white that coated your inner walls.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers wound into his hair, clinging to him as the aftershocks of your orgasm ravaged your body. Legs trembling and mouth panting, you lay there allowing yourself to regain your breath and ability to move.

After pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, Finnick slid off you, falling onto the bed beside you. Hopefully the towel was enough to save the silk sheets.

Now that you were resting, exhaustion had the chance to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure what the customs were after sex—whether you made conversation or simply went to sleep. The latter sounded pretty good though. A warm hand slipped beneath your back, turning your body sideways and pulling you so you were half strewn across Finnick’s chest and legs. You made no effort to resist.

Eyes closed, you listened to the heart beating inside his ribs. Thrumming intensely though starting to return to a normal rate.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a murmur, sounding utterly drained.

His thumb drew gentle patterns on the skin of your waist.

You nodded against his chest, remaining silent. After a little while you finally decided to speak. “I’m glad it was you.” And then after a few more moments of silence, you added, “I wish it was just you.”

You felt him press his lips to the top of your head. A long and emotional kiss. The whole reasoning behind losing your virginity returned to mind. It felt heavy, weighing down the atmosphere in the room. No matter how hard you tried to deny it, what was coming was inevitable. You wouldn’t get to stay with Finnick in this bed. You wouldn’t get to belong to him, or he you. You both belonged to the Capitol. To Snow. No matter how much you wished to belong to each other.

He whispered, “Me too.”

[novagreen]

Meet Me In the Afterglow

Pairing: Peeta Mellark X Reader

Synopsis: you’re the one who gets taken by the Capital and Peeta isn’t used to who you are when you return

Masterlist

The day finally came when you and the others taken by the Capital were brought to District 13. Peeta raced down to the infirmary as soon as he heard you were back and bumped into Haymitch.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you. Are they back?” Peeta asked.

“They’re back. But before you go in there-“

“Where is she?” Peeta cut him off and jumped in excitement. Haymitch did not share in his excitement and kept a stone cold face as he stared at Peeta.

“Kid, there’s something you should know.” Haymitch said. Peeta’s smile dropped and he felt himself get sick to his stomach.

“No.” He croaked out. “They said they found her alive.”

“No, not that. She’s not dead.” Haymitch said with a frustrated sigh.

“Well then is she hurt?”

“She’s not hurt. She’s just…she’s not doing well, okay? We’re not exactly sure what the Capital did to her but she’s not herself. I think you should give her a few days before you see her. Just until we figure out what’s going on and if it’s permanent.”

“Permanent?” Peeta repeated. “What happened to her? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Why don’t you go get something to eat and we can discuss it later?” Haymitch said and patted Peeta’s shoulder.

“No. I’m not waiting a few days to see her. I’ve waited 8 weeks. I need to see her now.” Peeta stated and pushed past Haymitch.

“Peeta.” Haymitch said warningly. Peeta ran through the infirmity and looked around for you. He made eye contact with Finnick, who solumly pointed to a room with the curtains drawn. Peeta nodded and swiftly made his way to the room. He burst inside with a huge smile and sighed in relief when he saw you sitting on a medical table with your back to him.

“You’re here.” He said breathlessly. You tensed when you heard his voice and slowly turned to face Peeta. Under the harsh florescent lighting, Peeta could see the extent of your physical injuries.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He said softly as he slowly circled around you. Your emaciated face was covered in bruises in every stage of healing. Your bloodshot eyes stared into his with an ice cold store. Peeta covered his mouth with one hand and reached for you with the other.

“What did they do to my girl?” He whispered and tried to touch your face. You smacked his hand away and as he reacted, you lunged for his neck. You slammed Peeta into a glass cabinet before throwing him onto the floor.

“What are you doing? It’s me!” He protested when you climbed on top of him.

“I know.” You said through gritted teeth and tried to strangle him again. You were quickly sedated and pulled off of him, but not before Peeta caught a glimpse of the look in your eyes. Even though he had known you for years, he didn’t recognize who he saw now. One of the attendants picked Peeta off the ground and quickly ushered him out of the room. He turned his head to look at you before the attendant pushed him out and saw you being strapped to a table. He tried to fight the people pulling him to go help you but they overpowered him. Peeta was quickly taken out of the infirmary and brought back to where Haymitch was.

“What was that? What’s wrong with her?” Peeta asked desperately. Haymitch rubbed his eyes and let out a loud sigh.

“We’re not entirely sure. The doctor said it’s called hijacking. The Capital showed her real memories and altered memories to confuse her. And they somehow made her believe that you are trying to kill her. She doesn’t know what’s real right now. Thats why I wanted you to wait.”

“Kill her? I love her. She knows that. I told her.” Peeta said through a shaky voice.

“She doesn’t know anything anymore. They completely rewired her mind. For all we know, she fully believes we’re all out to get her and the Capital is the only people she can trust.” Haymitch told him.

“What? She would never think that. How could they possibly get her to believe that?”

“They tortured her. Everyday. For 8 weeks. That’s how.”

“I told you to get her out. I told you to save her over me. You promised.” Peeta shouted at him as his sadness melted into rage.

“Getting angry at me isn’t going to fix this.” Haymitch warned. “If we want her back, we need to work with her. That means going in there and trying to remind her what’s real and what’s not.”

Peeta calmed and nodded his head. He didn’t understand what was happening so he put his trust in what Haymitch said would bring you back. The medical attendants induced you in a coma for a few days while your injuries healed and Peeta stayed with you the whole time. Even though you were unconscious and didn’t know he was there, he stayed and held your hand all day. He felt tremendous guilt for leaving you behind the first time so he wasn’t gonna leave you again. When you finally woke after a couple days, they brought Peeta to your room.

“Is this a good idea? She tried to kill me last time.” Peeta asked Haymitch.

“She’s strapped to the bed. And there will be a guard in there with you. She can’t hurt you.” Haynitch assured him.

“Okay.” Peeta nodded. The attendant opened your door for him and Peeta walked inside. When you made eye contact, you tugged on your worst restraints in an attempt to get away from Peeta. Peeta noticed this and as much as it hurt him, he didn’t mention it.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He said kindly but kept his distance.

“Why do you think you get to call me that?” You replied coldly.

“I don’t really know. I guess I’m just trying to get back to something familiar. I used to call you that in the arena sometimes. You didn’t really like it then either.” He said with a half hearted laugh. You didn’t return the laugh and instead turned your attention back to your TV. Peeta followed your gaze and realize you were watching his first interview with Cesar Flickerman.

“My interview?” He asked in surprised. You were surprised as well and looked at him skeptically.

“You remember this?”

“Yeah. That was the first time I told you I liked you. I just wish I didn’t make it so public. I should’ve told you how I felt way before the reaping. You didn’t deserve to find out that way.” Peeta said with regret as he stared at himself from a year ago on the screen. You’d been struggling to pinpoint which memories were real so to have him confirm that what he said in his interview was real made you feel slightly better.

“I wish you had told me privately too.” You said quietly.

“You do?” Peeta smiled with just an ounce of hope as he looked at you.

“Yeah. Because then Snow wouldn’t have tortured me just to hurt you.” You snapped. Peeta’s hope disappeared and he nodded in understanding.

“He tortured you because he knows I love you. Everyone knows. I was never shy about it.” Peeta said without looking at you.

“You’re just a mutt.” You sneered. “You don’t love me. You don’t love anyone.”

“That’s not true. I do love you. I always have.” Peeta said calmly. When you didn’t get the reaction you wanted from him, you disengaged.

“I watched the other interview too. From before the second games.” You said instead.

“What did you think?”

“I don’t know. Are we really married?”

“No.” Peeta shook his head. You looked confused and a little panicked to hear his answer.

“But I remember you proposing. That memory was fake?” You asked, sounding vulnerable now instead of cold. Peeta realized you were just desperate to find a few real memories to hold on to for your sanity.

“The memory was real because we staged a fake proposal for the cameras. We were never actually engaged. Or, I guess we were. But not because we wanted to be. It was a fake engagement for Snow.” He said with a tight smile.

“So there’s no baby either?”

“No. No baby. We never…” He trailed off and blushed all the way to his ears. You raised your eyebrows in surprise and then laughed meanly.

“Really? Never?”

“No.” Peeta said quietly and felt his whole face go red now.

“Wow. Whats the matter? Lover boy was too shy to get it up? Or were you just too busy making it known to everyone about how much you love me to actually take me like a man?” You asked with a condescending pout. Peeta blinked in surprise at how mean you were being and tried to remember that it wasn’t really you. It was whatever the Capital had done to you.

“That’s not nice.” He said quietly.

“Nice? I’ve been tortured everyday for the last 8 weeks because of you. So I’m sorry if I’m not nice anymore.” Your voice gradually got louder and by the end of your sentence, you tried to lunge for his neck again. Yoru restraints held you back but Peeta never flinched.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” You genuinely wondered as you sank back into your bed.

“Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Yes I would.” You scoffed.

“Okay.” Peeta shrugged and walked over to your bed. You watched him closely as he undid the restraints on both your arms.

“Hurt me, then.” He said simply. Your eyes darkened and you raised your fist to swing at him, then lowered it.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” You asked quietly.

“You didn’t swing.”

“Not now. Yesterday. When I attacked you. You’re twice my size. I’ve seen you throw bags of flour one your head. I know you’re strong. You could’ve easily overpowered me. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I’d never hurt you.” Peeta stated. “Ever. I couldn’t.”

“Snow said you would. He said you’d sell me out in a second to save your own life.”

“Well that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Ask Haymitch. I nearly killed him when he first told me he didn’t get you out of the arena. We had a deal that he’d save you before me.”

“Why would you make that deal?” You asked skeptically.

“Because I’d rather die than lose you.” Peeta said simply.

“Why?”

“I have nothing if I don’t have you. No one else I care about.”

“But I thought we weren’t actually together? You said it was just for the cameras.”

“We weren’t together. But I’ve loved you since I was a kid.”

“That’s just puppy love. A childhood crush doesn’t equate to love.” You pointed out.

“It was a crush at first.” He agreed. “But then I got to really know you. We became really close during training for the first games. You probably don’t remember that.”

“I do.” You admitted.

“You do?”

“On the train. We used to talk on the rooftop.” You recalled and Peeta could see the faintest trace of a smile.

“Yeah. We did.” He smiled too.

“That was before you became a soulless mutt who’s trying to get everyone in the districts killed in this rebellion.” You switched up on him and returned to your vengeful state.

“That’s not what I’m trying to do. All I care about is getting you back to normal.” Peeta told you. Something in your eyes changed and for a second, Peeta could see the real you. You looked scared and confused and most of all, trapped. Your eyes went back to your cold stare and you leaned towards him.

“Get out. Get out before I hurt you.”

“I’m not gonna leave you. I’m not gonna do that.” Peeta insisted.

“I don’t want you here. GET OUT.” You screamed at him and threw a pillow. The attendant burst in and ushered Peeta out of the room before he had a chance to react. He watched you thrashing in your bed through the window and wondered why you chose to throw a pillow and not your fists.

After another week in extensive therapy, your doctor deemed you fit to interact with the rest of the district in short increments. You were allowed into the food hall and stuck close by Johanna for a sense of familiarity. She helped you get some food and then brought you over to the table were Gale, Finnick, Annie, and Peeta were sitting. Peeta smiled in surprise when he saw you sit down but you didn’t smile back. You didn’t say anything the whole time you were sitting until Finnick and Annie got up to leave.

“Careful, Annie. If you don’t treat him right, I might try to steal him from you.” You said jokingly. No one took it as a joke because no one knew that it was one. You’d been quiet ever since being brought home minus the spiteful remark every now and then. So your joke fell flat but you weren’t looking for laughs anyway. You said it to get a rise out of Peeta and it worked because his face burned red with jealousy.

“Why would you say that?” He asked you.

“Why do you care?” You shrugged. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“She’s right. You’re not.” Gale added. You narrowed your eyes at him when you heard this and then checked on Peeta. You could be mean to Peeta but you didn’t want anyone else to be.

“You should watch what you say to me right now.” Peeta said lowly as he glared at Gale. You smiled in delight over the drama you caused.

“Why? Give it up already. She didn’t want you before all this shit went down. Do you honestly think there’s any chance she’ll want you now? Her brain is fried. She punched a mirror this morning because she didn’t recognize her reflection. She’s just a vegetable. Let her go.” Gale said, making your smile drop. You had been told Gale was a close friend of yours so to hear him talk about you with zero regard for your feelings made you sad.

“Maybe that’s how you feel but it’s not how I feel. I know she’s in there. And I’ve loved her for years so no, I’m not just going to let her go.“ Peeta snapped and got up from the table. He was about to walk away when he turned to Gale one last time.

“She would’ve never given up on you if you were the one the Capital took.” He reminded Gale.

“I know that.” Gale said quietly with guilt in his eyes. With that, Peeta left the food hall and went to his room. He laid on his bed for a few hours and got deep into his thoughts. He went down for dinner that night and was actually relieved that he didn’t see you anywhere. When he returned to his room, you were sitting on his bed.

“Oh. Hi. I wasn’t expecting you.” He said awkwardly and stayed by the door. You had Peeta’s sketchbook open on your lap and tears in your eyes. Every page was filled with drawing after drawing of you that Peeta had made. Peeta blushed in embarrassment when he realized what you were looking at. He was even more embarrassed when you found the one he had drawn of you that morning.

“Did I love you?” You asked as you looked up at him.

“What?”

“I know you loved me, but did I love you?” You repeated. Your tone was gentle this time so he didn’t correct you for using love in the past tense.

“Honestly, I was really sure.” He admitted. “I don’t think you knew either.”

“But did it seem like I was?”

“When cameras were on us, yes. And sometimes when it was just you and me. Those were my favorite moments, actually. The ones that were just between us. I felt more love in our private conversations than in our public confessions.” He told you. You nodded as if that’s exactly what you thought he would say. You flipped through a few more drawings and touched one that was of the two of you.

“I’m sorry I was mean to you.” You said quietly. Peeta couldn’t help but laugh at that and felt himself relax.

“What?” You wondered.

“Sorry. It’s just so you to call throwing me into a glass cabinet “mean”.”

“That’s something I would say?” You smiled slightly and allowed yourself some hope.

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “You’re very smart but you have a way of getting that across in as few words as possible.”

“That’s good I guess. That I sound like me.”

“It is good. I means you’re still in there somewhere.” He smiled softly. You stared at him for a moment and then patted the space next to you. Peeta practically ran to sit next to you on the bed and gave you his full attention.

“I’m having a hard time figuring out what’s real and what’s fake. But I’m realizing that the altered memories have this shiny film over them. My real ones don’t.”

“What’s in the shiny memories?” He asked you.

“You hurting me. Leading the careers to me in the first games. Abandoning me in the area as it burnt down. Throwing bread at me.”

“That last one’s real. That was to feed you.”

“Oh. Thank you, then. For that.” You said stiffly.

“You’re very welcome. So how many real memories have you figured out?”

“I remember making a book with you.”

“Yes.” He smiled in surprise. “We made a book about all the plants in district 12. That was when you hurt your ankle.”

“Because I always hopped over the fence instead of crawling under.” You recalled, making Peeta’s smile grow.

“That’s right! You did. I never understood why.”

“It was a few seconds faster and I got less dirt on my pants. My mom wouldn’t have to wash them as much so I told myself I was less of a burden if I jumped over instead of go under.” You said without even thinking about it. You didn’t realized you had that memory in you and smiled when you heard it come out of your mouth.

“That’s good. Thats a solid memory.”Peeta encouraged you.

“I remember you taking care of me when I had to stay off my foot. And feeing me that weird soup.”

“The hazelnut soup.” He chuckled. “I never liked it either. I’m pretty sure I was feeding you that because my mother made it and I didn’t want it.”

You cracked up laughing at how honest he was. Peeta laughed as well, then felt himself tear up.

“I haven’t heard your laugh in over a month.” He said in a wavering voice.

“Me either.” You realized. You were both quiet for a moment and avoided making eye contact as you stared down at his sketchbook.

“I’m scared I’m never gonna get back to who I was.” You said quietly.

“I’m honestly scared of that too.” Peeta admitted. To his surprise, you smiled a little at his answer. You expected him to lie to you and give you the same sugar coated answers the medical attendants had been giving you about what your future held, but Peeta didn’t do that.

“You know what’s been making it hard to decipher what’s real?” You asked him.

“What?”

“If these memories of you and me are real, I don’t understand why I wasn’t in love with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean half my memories of you, the ones they didn’t alter, are just you existing. I have memories of you sitting. Or looking out a window. Or focused on your eyelashes or hands or crooked smile. We’re not even interacting in some of them. I guess I was just always looking at you. Always memorizing you. And they couldn’t touch those memories. They didn’t know they were in there.”

“Neither did it.” Peeta said in a soft voice. You looked into his eyes and this time, he saw someone he recognized.

And you did too.

Peeta taglist 🥖

@ilovetoomanymen

[novagreen]

one day you think: I want to die. and then you think, very quietly: actually. actually. I think I want a coffee. a nap. a sandwich. a book. and I want to die turns day by day into want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friend, I want to sit in the sun, I want a cleaner kitchen, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else. I want to live.

- via duckbunny

[novagreen]

If Only You Would Know

HenryCavill!Sherlock x Female!Reader

summary: You and Sherlock are in love, Enola is sure of it. But she is forced to watch you tiptoe around the topic for an eternity. So when the opportunity arises, and Sherlock is forced to confront his feelings towards you, she does not hesitate.

a/n: we're diggin' out old old drafts for this one, but I needed a little Sherlock again :)

word count: 4k

warnings: a little arguing, pining, someone gets injured, idiots in love™️ (it's a new genre of mine)

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

You sighed as Sherlock moved about his office with hasty determination. He was a strange man. Oblivious, too, time and time again. But that did not matter for you loved him. You loved him and every strange habit he harbored. Whether it was the way in which he arranged his coats on the brass hanger by the door or that godawful pipe he seemed to always have hanging from his lips. He did not even like it - he had told you one time. “’tis just a habit, dear,” it would muffle past the brown bit in his mouth before he would clip it back between his teeth. 

But you did not care. And that must have been the very fact telling you just how deeply your heart had already fallen for the famous detective. Not a care in the world, especially not for what other people thought to say the least. Because all you ever thought about upon seeing him was love, warmth, and endearment. Nothing less. Not even a wretched criminal could ever shoot these feelings out of your heart. 

Oh well, it did not matter, anyhow. For there was one issue keeping this fairytale from becoming reality. And this issue was that Sherlock Holmes, the brightest man you knew, was blatantly oblivious to the feelings you had harbored in your chest. To be fair, you had never mentioned it to him before. For you were simply terrified of the consequences such a confession would hold. It was one thing to pine over a man who you were lucky enough to be in the same room with, but it would be undeniably humiliating to be rejected by said man as well. So you had chosen not to act on the fiery desire burning within your veins whenever your eyes hushed a glance at him. 

As much as that decision was made to protect your heart, it had turned out the circumstances provided the opposite of the desired effect. You were hurting more and more with every day you had to live with the realization that Sherlock Holmes did not love you back. In fact, he loved other women - many of them. And every single one more beautiful than the other. Sometimes you found yourself wondering if they were human at all. Never before had you seen such luscious hair as that of Sibyl or such a beautiful smile as that of Amelia. It was difficult to settle with these gorgeous women having a place in his bed and possibly his heart, but soon, you realized the importance of seeing him happy trumped your own desires. If he was happy, so were you. And if you weren’t the one making him happy, so be it. 

You had just come here to see Enola from her home to the city. Stopping by her brother’s apartment had not been on the agenda, at least not yours. But Enola was adamant to have you come when she raced up the stairs to his door. You had gasped when Sherlock had opened, his hair slightly disheveled and the shirt loosely tugged in his trousers. Your heart was pounding - it always happened when you saw him, and you swiftly averted your eyes to hide the flustered look on your face from him. 

Now you were standing in his messy home as you listened to Enola convince him to let her help him on a particular case of his - one she had a personal attachment to. Mixed emotions crawled up your spine at the sight of this professional yet intimate space. Not only one room over, Sherlock's bed was mockingly standing beyond the door, messy sheets indicating his prior endeavors, but there was no Sibyl or Amelia in sight. Still, your hands clamped around the silky material of your skirt, wrinkling the fabric harsher with every minute you spend in the deep-colored room. It smelled of musk and tobacco. Two things you had grown to miss whenever they were not surrounding you, but now, it was a shiver too much. 

Sherlock stood before you and Enola with his hands on his hips, a look of annoyance and disapproval etched on his features, but nonetheless, a sense of amusement in the edges of his frown. You knew him too well not to notice the slight pride swelling from his chest at his little sister’s determination. 

“I believe it is too dangerous for a girl like you to wander the streets, chasing criminals through London, Enola.”

“And I believe that you are an idiot, brother.”

“Perhaps,” your finger lifted in suggestion, stopping Sherlock’s head from tilting in disapproval at his sister’s array just in time. “She can be accompanied in her wandering?”

“And who would this accompany be?”

You knew it was not your place to negotiate, but you cared for Enola too much not to. And even though Sherlock’s stern eyes bore into your frame, you began to talk again: “I could-“

“Oh, dear lord. That is out of question.”

“Why brother? Do you not think Ms. Y/N and I can defend ourselves?”

A short silence lay upon the siblings as you watched the man’s shoulders draw up with a tense jaw. “I said no.”

“You are being irrational.” Enola cried. She was not one to accept defiance easily, you were well aware of it.

“No, you are being irrational. I will not vouch for having two women hurt on a mission to gather intel for my cases.”

“You cannot stop me.”

There was something itching in the glimmer of his eyes when the words left his lips, though you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Enola!” Almost fearfully, Sherlock turned to you, his eyes wandering and desperation conveyed in his stare when you heard the young girl open the door.

“I am sure we can negotiate a way to have both parties satisfied.” Enola halted as you spoke. “I am certain your bother has other tasks that need fulfilling and are less prone to danger. Isn’t that right, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock was not entirely satisfied with this turn of events, but his sagging shoulders told you that he accepted the compromise. A sigh eluded from his lungs and Enola turned to the dark-haired man with excited eyes. “I presume, there would be things you could do.”

“Thank you–“

“But,” his eyes turned stern again, “In the office only. No more wandering, is that clear?”

Enola beamed. “Yes.”

❁ ❁ ❁

It was not long after the discussion when you and Enola went about home from the city. Still, however, despite the seemingly fair compromise negotiated just minutes prior, the younger woman sloppily trudged next to you.

“He is an idiot, that is what he is.” Enola stomped past you with a pouty face. It was not ladylike, but luckily, she knew that you were not one to care about that. 

You understood Enola’s frustrations, but simultaneously, your heart were to break if anything ever happened to her. So you understood the settled worry in her brother’s words as well. He was a good man. “He is just worried. It means he cares.”

“Well, he could care a little less and let me do my job.” You hid a smirk. Only Enola would be as adamant about saving a boy she had only met days ago. She was just as goodhearted and justice-seeking as Sherlock, and your heart warmed at the similarities the siblings shared.

“It is not your job, Enola.” Sometimes you genuinely admired her fixation, though it mostly converted into trouble, still. Enola had a lot more freedom than you did when you were her age, and you too would have sprung at any chance to go and wander about, seeking adventures and perhaps a little more than that. Which was in turn, why your heart felt torn between the fulfillment of having her seek childhood dreams, and the subtle but strong tug Sherlock Holmes held you with. 

“Did you forget what we just found out yesterday? It seems no one cares about him. And if nobody else will do it, I consider it my duty to help.”

“Enola, dear.” You held her shoulders gently. “I understand your worries, but I understand your brother’s as well. I would be just as worried about you if something were to happen, and I do not want to see you hurt, either.”

“But we have to do something!” This was true. It would not be right to leave the boy framed with false accusations when you had the power to change his fate. There was something you could gather - information that may help him be acquitted.

“How about I go?” You silently cursed your good intentions as Enola’s eyes lit up. It was a blessing and a curse. But other than Enola, there would be nobody worrying for you, and in turn a lot less hearts broken if something were to happen - which it surely would not. “You can stay in the study and I will see to it that we may gather more information.”

“Alright, but be careful. And make sure to come back by five. Otherwise, someone will get suspicious.” The girl smiled, but her shoulders shook with excitement.

“What? Do you think I’m stupid?” You teased, awaiting a sassy ‘of course not’ which you returned with a wink.

❁ ❁ ❁

Enola watched the clock next to the window. Seconds, ticking by too fast for her liking. She needed more time - you needed more time. Her brother had given her files to sort and he would be coming back soon. Upon your agreement yesterday, you had gone out to gather information on the woman who accused the boy. But you would be back soon, she told herself.

“Is Ms. Y/N not here with you?” Sherlock’s voice called through the room and his steps approached her steadily. 

Enola was stiff. “She is out,” she told him while her fingers counted the pile of files on the desk.

“Out? With who?” He stepped around the polished mahogany, settling in front of her with his hands behind his back. “I didn’t realize she was being courted.” 

Oh. Enola’s eyes sparkled with amusement when she obtained a glimmer of jealousy in her brother’s. She had always had her suspicions. And she knew of your being madly in love with her brother, but Sherlock had always been secretive regarding the topic of love.

“She went to shop,” she smiled, averting her eyes. Waiting - no, anticipating a response from him.

“So she is not with anyone.” Sherlock leaned forward with squinted eyes. For a man as good at solving puzzles as he was, he did need an awful lot of confirmation.

Enola finally looked up. “Ugh, you really are an idiot.” 

“Would you quit calling me an idiot?” Disapproval swept his features and made a frown settle instead. 

“I would, but you won’t quit being an idiot.”

“Whatever do you mean?” It was quite amusing to see him clueless for once. And even though you tried to hide your feelings or the way you responded whenever he was as much as in the same room as you, it did not go past Enola how long your eyes lingered on his frame or the way the sadness overtook your features at the mention of another woman.

“Ms. Y/N is head over heels in love with you. And I do not understand why you refuse to see it, she is not hiding it very well, you see?”

Sherlock stumbled back, his hands seemingly finding their pace over his heart when he repeated her words. “Ms. Y/N? In love with me?”

“And you really call yourself the greatest detective of our time.” Enola shook her head. Still, the thought of the two of you together was one she liked to entertain. And she asked herself just how much you could talk Sherlock into once you were together. He was already caving when you suggested things - the possibilities of Enola getting her way when the both of you finally gave into the pining were endless!

“Oh, hush. I just never thought she would...” Sherlock trailed off, and if Enola was not mistaken, she caught a whisper of pink settle over his cheeks. Could it really be? The great Sherlock Holmes in love? Even better with a woman Enola adored as well?

“This is exactly the problem, brother. You don’t think when it comes to women.” Her mind wandered back to the women you had seen leave his chambers by the break of dawn. And just like then, Enola noticed a familiar sense of sadness wash over her brother’s eyes - the same one you hid from her in these moments.

“Enola...” But his words died on his tongue and Enola thought it wiser to resume her task. Sherlock was aware of his idiocy. For Enola knew just how insignificant all the other women were to him. And she hoped he had realized this fact.

A moment or two passed in which Sherlock paced the room mindlessly. His hands disappeared behind curtains and in bookshelves, until they reached for the pocket watch in his coat and a subtle grumbling eluded his lungs. “She should be back soon, anyhow. Should she not?”

“I suppose, yes.” 

“Well, it is quarter past five already. The shop is closed well over an hour now.” Sherlock did not hide the impatience in his tone, now. And Enola felt a wave of success wash over her.

It was difficult to hide her nervousness, though, for she now worried about you as well. But you were fine - she consoled herself. You were tough and intelligent, simply a little late - that was surely it. “She will come soon.”

An unusual tension fell over the room and Enola was certain, her brother had already dismissed her little story. But she would not falter. Her fingers kept cramming through the papers, counting pages she had analyzed and sorted two times by now. Her movements, however, became more frantic, and soon, her heart was pounding in her wrists.

“Enola, what in heavens did you do?” Sherlock urged impatiently, a look cold as a stone set on his face. 

“Nothing.” She did not look at him, then he would know instantly - the little lie she told.

“You sent her out to spy didn’t you?”

Why did he keep asking if he already knew the answer? Enola did not speak. She was fairly ashamed, though. She wanted to show her brother just how capable she and you both were. But having you not come back made for a serious difficulty to her plan.

She looked up at him now, just in time to see his shoulders sag and his head tilted up in frustration. “After I told you not to?”

“You only ever forbid me from going!” She cried, suddenly feeling attacked by his irrational outburst.

“I did not want Ms. Y/N out in the streets alone, either.” Sherlock was pacing again, his shoes clicked on the polished wooden floor until the reached the coat hanger by the door, only to gruffly rip the dark cloak from its place.

An accusing finger reached in his direction and a small smirk appeared on his sister’s lips. “So you are in love with her.”

The man frowned and his chestnut locks shook with annoyance. “That is not important right now. We need to find her.”

He did not deny it and Enola Holmes viewed it as a success.

❁ ❁ ❁

Sherlock swept through the streets as fast as his feet could carry him. Never had he thought that he would need to worry about your well-being. Enola’s? Yes, constantly. She did dangerous things all the time. But you were the one with the rational mind, the trait he adored most above all, for it eased his own every so often. It was enough to look out for Enola as much. He loved her and that was what love did: It made for weaknesses. Though Sherlock never wished to not adore you as much as he did, at this moment, it would have spared him trouble. 

He passed another alley filled with dubious fellows and willed his thoughts not to stray to dark paces. Normally, he could stay focused. Normally, he was able to separate his feelings from his tasks very well. Normally, he needn’t worry about you, however. 

Enola was many steps behind, he could hear her heels clicking in haste in her catching up, but Sherlock would not budge. He would keep on searching, keep on going straight until his sister gave him another direction to follow. She knew where you were after all, and he could not even begin to indulge in the worry-consumed anger this fact fueled him with. 

It did not take long for the detective to reach the house of the last suspect he had abandoned in his search for answers. You must have gone there. Enola had been especially furious about his dropping the woman upon questioning, urging her brother to stay on the lead. But Sherlock had already gotten enough information to place her in the entire scheme. Enola did not know this of course - he had never told her. So it was only plausible to send you to spy on said woman. What you had not known, however, was the dangerous affiliates this woman had, and the little to no hesitance of hers to pursue them.

The house lay empty on the street once the siblings reached its steps, no light shining through the glass windows, not the smell of dinner lingering in the air. It was odd, though nothing to be upset over. You had been here, Sherlock knew it. He was disappointed to find out, however, that you were not anymore. Of course, you had realized the danger of the situation and left, but where to? 

His head jerked to the left once Enola caught up to him, following the rattling of bins coming from the alley close by, where a faint trail of blood droplets mixed with the rain. 

“Bloody hell,” the detective mumbled with every inch it lead him further to your location. And sure enough, beyond the shielding confines of a wooden palette, he spotted your coat pressed into the wall. 

A small hiss, and then: nothing when he called your name.

“Ms. Y/N, heavens!” He rushed over once his eyes caught your distraught face behind the wood, your entire hand covered in blood, pressed to your head, where more seemed to have already dried on your scalp. 

“Mr. Holmes?” Your voice was weak, your eyes hazy - growing in the confusion the head injury most likely brought to you. 

Sherlock's arms reached out to engulf you, a handkerchief quick to be pressed on your head as he knelt beside you and let your body rest against his torso. “Enola, go and get help, immediately!” He commanded with urgency, having the young girl run off with a shocked nod.

His attention traced back to your body, where his eyes focused on your heavy lids and his heart clenched at the sight. You were hurt - seriously hurt - and Sherlock could not shake the feeling of it being his fault. Had he only consulted you in his case, had he talked to Enola, had he been less cowardly and finally admitted to his feelings. This all might have never happened.

“You should not have gone out alone!” He cried as he rocked you back and forth, his arms held you a little tighter, and he was certain that his heart beat through the several layers of clothing separating you.

“You have no right to rule over me.” Your hands pressed against his chest, forcing him to let you pull away from his embrace, and Sherlock instantly missed the warmth holding you had given him. He needed it back - confirming you were fine.

“But I told you not to go!” Big eyes stared up at him, but there was disappointment simmering beneath the sheer gleam of anger.

“Why are you upset? I can do whatever I desire!” It was meant to come out strong, but not even a woman as tough as you were able to hide the weakness taking over your body.

“But you got hurt!” Sherlock was juggling with empty arguments, he knew this much. But there was no right way to express what he wished to pursue with his words. It was all too much and not enough, all the same.

“Mr. Holmes, I can take good care of myself. I have done it my whole life.”

“And you shouldn’t have.” This seemed to have caught you by surprise. For you stopped in your shuffling away and held his gaze equal in confusion and intrigue. 

“Whatever do you mean?” You shrieked softly, your breath staggering when he came closer to you.

Sherlock found it incredibly difficult to talk, suddenly. His hands were clammy and that stupid tie around his neck seemed just a tad too tight. Christ, he could not even look at you. He was left staring towards the wet grounds with his hands wringing beneath him.“I- it has come to my attention that I lack perception in some categories.” He hushed a look at you and was not surprised to see utter confusion seeping through your stare. 

Sherlock sighed and his shoulders jumped heavily once he mustered up the courage to explain: “I do not wish to see you hurt.”

“Why?” Your eyes were big and wondrous, much like a curious child prying up in awe over what it was to become privy of.

Sherlock tried, he really did, to be steady and informative, but there was no use, for his heart had decided otherwise. “Because... because, I- my heart hurts when I imagine something happening to you.”

“But what about Sybil or Amelia… or Babette?” Every name stung another hole in his heart as your eyes saddened naming the woman he had spent previous nights with in order to get over you. He never loved them, never adored them the way he did you. They were simply a distraction. A petty compromise for the actual being he was sure would never return his affection. Now that he found out the opposite, Sherlock was uncertain about how to act. 

“These women... they were just compensation for the one I couldn’t have.” He confessed slowly, his hand reaching for you and finally getting ahold of your chin. “I did not think you would be interested in me.”

“Oh but I am, Sherlock.” Your fingers came to cover his. “I am.” And an unbelievable force of warmth and calmness washed over him. Despite the blood, despite the worry. Despite everything being wrong at this very moment, he was calm. You had this effect on him.

“I know that now. My sister told me.” Sherlock sent a silent prayer to the stars. Had his sister not been as persistent he would have never gotten the opportunity to hold you close - feel you the way he desired. 

“She is quite a smart lady isn’t she?” A low chuckle echoed through the darkening alley, though a shy blush crept upon the detective’s cheeks. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, she is a good detective.” His thumbs stroked gentle swipes over your skin, a sliver of warmth tasting your body with every movement, and it felt good to have you indulge in his touch. He would have never dreamt of having you this close, having you feel the same feelings he did. And to be perfectly honest, experiencing it, in reality, was a hundred times better than anything he had ever imagined. “God, Y/N. If only I had known earlier.”

“Let us not grieve what is already done. Embrace the possibilities of the future with me.” Your eyes locked with his once again and your aura seemed to pull him even deeper into a trance. Sherlock could not look away. He was captured by every loving emotion radiating off of you. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. But he would keep it guarded in his chest for eternity, even if nobody were to ever ask him about it. It was precious - this moment was worth hundred terrible ones. 

“You are right,” he agreed, and then, beyond his control almost, Sherlock pulled you into a warm kiss. 

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[novagreen]

Mind and Heart

pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Plus Size Reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: angsty, fluff, romance, softness, Sherlock Holmes (he is a warning!!), reader has low self-esteem, mentions of being ridiculed (not in detail)

a/n: this is my first time writing for Sherlock and I am nervous and excited at the same time. Initially it was not my plan to write for plus size readers but I couldn’t help but be drawn towards idea, so here I am. I really hope you all enjoy it. I’m writing after some time and this type of writing (old english/victorian english) is not something I’m used to hence there might be some mistakes. FEEDBACK is appreciated.

One fortunate day, you crossed paths with a wise young girl, named Enola Holmes and that fortunate event eventually introduced you to a certain famous detective, Sherlock Holmes.

You were not the most confident in matters of your appearance but you took pride in your intelligence. Indeed you could not live up to the intelligence of the Holmes’ siblings but you did have wit and will.

Enola was a sweet and kind girl, you helped her on a particular case and since then the two of you bonded. One day when you were at her detective agency, having a chat with her, the door opened to a broad shouldered man, who adorned beautiful curly hair. You couldn’t help but gaze at him.

The man seemed indifferent to your presence and went straight ahead to talk to Enola. It was her who introduced you to each other.

Sherlock, with a slight nod of his head, proceeded to talk about why he was visiting his sister. You felt out of place and decided to excuse yourself but before you could leave, the man spoke.

“It will just take a minute, Miss. I would be out of here soon.” Sherlock gave you another polite nod. You tried to not overhear their conversation and got yourself busy with a newspaper that was on the table, you moved away and decided to go through the pages while the siblings engaged in conversation.

You could not help but steal glances at the man, there was an air of confidence that surrounded him. Although you knew very well, a man like that, would not spare another look at you.

So did happen when he was done with the conversation and turned around to leave, though as you expected him to open the door and move out, he suddenly turned towards you.

“Thank you for helping my sister,” and with that he left. You did not even get a chance to respond.

“My brother is not the most talkative person. He can come off a bit rude I think, but his heart is in the right place.” Enola paused for a second and chuckled, “Well I am not sure about his heart but his mind is definitely in the right place. Always is.”

You were always intrigued by detective work and mystery, though not so adventurous yourself, the idea of mystery did provide you a certain thrill. Hence when you were invited by Enola to accompany her to Baker Street, to the famous detective’s residence, you were overjoyed to say the least. You were nervous as well, your last meeting with Mr. Holmes was not exactly ideal, and you were worried about overstepping since the invitation did not come directly from him. None the less, you thought this might be a rare opportunity and decided to jump in.

The apartment was… unorganised. Sure it smelled like mystery and adventure but you were expecting it to be more organised considering how detectives need things to be in place.

You were greeted by Sherlock Holmes with a polite smile on his face.

“It is nice to be here.” You told him and his response was just a nod. Enola excused herself to the bathroom and left you two in an uncertain silence.

“Is this where you plan your steps? uncover the details?” Again, Sherlock gave you nod, and that time a polite ‘yes’ as well. You felt it was made quite clear that he did not intend to have a conversation. Roaming around the flat seemed a better option.

Once Enola was back, she planned on making tea for everyone.

“Let me help you.” You told her but she shook her head.

“Oh I will manage just fine, I know your tea is much better than mine but why don’t you look around, or ask Sherlock the questions you had? You are here at Baker Street after all.”

You smiled at her politely and took the sofa opposite to Sherlock, who was looking outside the window. You fidgeted with your hands. Clearing your throat, you gained courage to talk to the the man of mystery once again.

“What was your first case like? If you don’t mind sharing?” Sherlock looked at you, and for a second you felt his eyes lingered on you a tad bit longer. You tried to brush aside any such thought.

“It was challenging, but I am an admirer of challenges.” His answer was better than the usual nods he threw your way but he did not try to engage in a conversation, in fact he quickly turned his vision back to the window. It seemed like he was avoiding you.

“Pardon me Sir, am I being bothersome?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself. A shocked expression came across his face but he remained silent. You could feel your tears building up.

“Tea is ready.” Enola announced with a smile as she came back in the living room.

“I think- I think I should take your leave. It was quite a nice experience to come here, thank you.” You stood up and smiled towards Enola, quickly making your way towards the door.

The Holmes’ siblings were taken aback, especially the younger one. Sherlock stood up but froze in his spot.

“What did you do Sherlock?”

“Nothing!” the detective, who always had proper replies, could barely say a word out loud at that moment.

“Oh brother,” Enola shook her head in disapproval. “go after her!” At that Sherlock seemed to have gain consciousness again and quickly made his way after you.

You were trying to hail a cab when you heard your name being called out. You turned to see the man you least expected to.

“Miss, please wait.” Sherlock was out of breath as he came near you. “Let me explain…”

“There is no need Sir, I understood that I was being intrusive and I-“

“I invited you here today…” Sherlock interrupted you. You looked at him perplexed.

“I asked my sister to invite you here today.” Sherlock let out a deep breath. “I have some explaining to do, please be kind and give me a chance.”

The man seemed earnest, and you decided to hear him out, you were intrigued to say the least. As you went up to his apartment, you found Enola welcoming you both.

“I shall leave you two alone. Do not mind my brother please, he is not very intelligent in this matter I suppose.” With a little smile on her face, she left.

Sherlock asked you to sit down and you did. He took the sofa opposite to you, and looked down at his hands, nervous. It was quite an odd sight to see the famous detective nervous.

“I had heard about you, from my sister.” He finally looked up at you. “Enola rarely speaks about someone with such admiration like she did about you, it intrigued me. She mentioned how you helped her, how you are always so kind to her and how you’ve become close to her. My sister admires you and your wit. The way she talked about you, got my attention, I could not help but wished to meet you. It does not usually happen with me.” He cleared his throat in between.

“And then I did, I saw you. I did not realise what was happening, I was drawn towards you, I was charmed by you.”

“Detective Holmes, I am not quite sure I understand what you are saying.” An esteemed, intelligent and beautiful man, Sherlock Holmes was hinting that he fancied you, it was not something you were used to. You always considered yourself as someone who will never find love, never find someone who could fancy you.

“Believe me, I hardly understand myself these days.” the man smiled softly. “I may be a good detective, I know I am able to solve mysteries, but this particular one, is not just affecting my mind, but my heart. I am afraid that my mind works faster than most, but I’m still foreign to the whereabouts of my heart.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, what your were seeing, Sherlock Holmes was flustered.

“I wanted to know you more, I asked my sister to help me. She did tease me quite a lot, but I do not blame her, it is quite unusual for me to…” Sherlock looked at you intently, took in every little curve, every little feature of your body. You felt your cheeks heating up.

“It is unusual for me to be intrigued by someone this much, to be charmed by someone.” You could feel his stare fixated on your lips as he uttered the next words. “to fancy someone.”

Sherlock got up from his place and took a seat beside you. You were still trying to come in terms with reality.

“If I may?“ Sherlock asked as he softly took your hand in his. His touch felt electric and a small gasp escaped your lips. Sherlock smiled realising you have not withdrawn your hand.

“I apologise if I have upset you. It was not my intention.”

“It is alright detective Holmes I-“

“Sherlock, please.” A smile crept up your face.

“Sherlock, I thought I was being intrusive, I assumed you weren’t interested in having a conversation with me since you were hardly speaking to me. The first time we met, you hardly even looked at me, not that it is unusual. I am not someone people usually look at, unless they want to ridicule me I suppose.”

“Firstly dear girl, most people are fools, trust me. Secondly, I can understand how it may have seemed to you but the reason I could not talk to you, could hardly even look at you was because I was nervous, I was speechless. Your beauty, your charm, your smile made me speechless.” Sherlock’s deep gaze made you look down.

“Look at me please, do not deprive me of the honour to take in your beauty.”

“I do not know what to say. You are someone I am intrigued by, someone I could not help but simply admire, and to know you feel the same, makes this feel like a dream.”

“Are you saying you share my feelings, beautiful?” You smiled and gave him a nod, and the biggest smile appeared on Sherlock’s face.

“Please give me a chance to know you better, perhaps over a cup of tea. Mind you this is all new to me, I may do or say something out of place but my heart- my heart is in the right place, at least it is now.” Sherlock confessed with a gorgeous smile.

“It is new to me as well, but I would love to spend more time with you.” you returned him the smile.

That was how your journey began with Detective Sherlock Holmes, your Sherlock.

——————————

tagging: @eviesaurusrex @sarahrogersevans

[novagreen]

Wake up sleepy head

Henry Cavill x reader

Not my gif! Credits to: @demivampirew

Summary: After a very tough filming day for Henry and you leaving him pant up the entire day by a hot picture of yourself, he remembered a certain fantasy you had told him in which he could find some release as well.

Warnings: pure filth! Smut! Somnophilia but with CONSENT! P in V, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, eating you out while you asleep, face sitting, blowjob, deepthroat, face fucking, throat bulge, daddy kink, dirty talk, fingering, fingering anal, pet names, cockwarming, one ass slap, rough but passionate sex, overstimulation, controlled orgasm, Dom/Sub dynamic, praising kink, slight chocking

Words: 3,3K

A/N: This fic is entirely written with consent in mind.

Sleepy head

You were lounging on the couch with Kal by your side. It was later in the evening and you tried staying up for Henry, your boyfriend. You haven’t seen him in a while and well you wanted to see him but you also hadn’t had sex in quite a while because he was on a busy schedule with filming. It was over a month now and it was torture for the both of you.

Keep reading

[novagreen]

Can I request an nsfw fic sitting on Sherlock Holmes’ lap while he explains a case to reader, she start kissing his neck and he starts stuttering 😩😩 (also, Im literally in LOVE with your works 😫 😭)

Pulse Point

Fandom: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: To help him relax in the midst of a trying case, Reader exploits Sherlock’s only vulnerability.

Content: 18+ for smutty smutty smut, Sherlock’s filthy mouth, unprotected sex, and pure domestic bliss.

Notes: My first prompt! Thank you thank you thank you, Anon; I love this so much. I wrote it quite quickly and unedited, so apologies for any imperfections!

“Come, sit with me, darling girl.”

Standing in the door of your husband’s study, you fall even more in love with Sherlock Holmes. He sits behind his desk in his leather wingback chair, attired in his shirtsleeves, coat discarded, posture tense—it has been hours since you saw him come home, carrying a crate of papers and wearing the expression of determination and passion that lets you know the game is well and truly afoot.

Eager to be of help, you follow his directive at once, crossing the room to his side. He settles you on his lap and places a chaste, gentle kiss to your temple, pausing to breathe in the scent of your hair. A little of his tension seems to melt away with your closeness, and you return his kiss—but on the lips, this time—with a smile. He smiles, too, and whispers, “I love you so.”

“As I love you! Now, tell me the matter of the case,” you prompt, with another light, teasing peck. “Begin at the beginning, and perhaps some new detail will reveal itself in the telling.”

Sherlock smiles, a little wearily, but with a clear relief at your presence and enthusiasm.

“Yes, pray lend me a little of your brilliance, Mrs. Holmes, for I am at my wit’s end.”

“Nonsense; your wit is endless,” you scoff, and at last he laughs, too. You share another kiss, deeper this time, and he settles more comfortably into the chair.

“It is Moriarty,” he sighs, loosening his cravat and tossing it aside. “It is always Moriarty, the spider in the center of the web. But for once, he torments me with leisure, not urgency. There is no captive aristocrat, no explosives planted, no threat of impending murder; and thank god for it. But instead, he spins me an ever-expanding list of riddles, each more obscure and particular than the last. To what end I do not know.”

He tips his head back against the chair, exposing the long line of his throat to your gaze. Though you would find it nigh impossible to select a favorite part of your husband’s body—for truly, it seems that every night as he fills your aching channel so perfectly, so completely, there is some new, glorious detail of his physique thrown into prominence—Sherlock’s neck is especially tempting. It is a singular point of vulnerability in such a massive, muscled man, and one you love to exploit: you know well that so much as a single kiss can bring the man to his knees, or else drive him to bend you over the nearest surface and make you his in the most primal, profound way.

“He boasts of the reach of his accomplices by infiltrating those systems in which we have the greatest trust, so much that the average man may not even notice anything has changed.”

You simply cannot help yourself.

Delicately, you shift upon his lap, wickedly delighted that he has fixed his eyes upon the cluttered wall opposite his desk, where his series of pinned-up schedules, diagrams, and ciphers distract him from your intentions.

“But I first noticed that the regular seven o’clock train from Trafalgar to Charing Cross was delayed on Tuesday—“

With a slow deliberation, you kiss the point where his pulse beats steadily beneath his jaw.

“—initial—initially—by seven—“

You part your lips ever so slightly and kiss him again.

“—by seven—se—“

A large, lissome hand lands heavily on your thigh. You do not let this deter you; no indeed, it only incites you further, and you press your lips more firmly against his neck.

“By seven minutes!” he concludes in a rush, and you take advantage of his pause for breath to trail your kisses lower, pulling aside the collar of his shirt for a better vantage. 

You lightly sink your teeth into his flesh, just at the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet, and he moans.

“Angel—oh, my g—god…”

As you work your way back up to his pulse point, he still stutters out a little more on the subject of the case: “Angel, the—the trains—I am—tr—trying to—explain…“

You raise your head up innocently.

“Shall I stop, sir?”

Sherlock kisses your lips hungrily, squeezing you tighter, and you wriggle in delight, feeling him grow hard at your ministrations. It gratifies you to no end, when this stern, controlled man falls prey to his own lusts, unable to help the way his length strains at his trousers—and all for you.

“No, no—“ he breathes, and you take your cue eagerly, shifting to straddle his thighs, their breadth forcing your legs wide apart. “Don’t stop, my sweet—ah—angel.”

He fumbles with the fastenings of his trousers, but can’t seem to manage the simple motor function, such is his arousal, especially as your lips return to his neck.

“Let me help you,” you offer, murmuring against his throat as you pepper it with more kisses. “Let me please you, please, Sherlock…”

“God, lo—look what you’ve—done to me,” he sighs, throwing up his hands. Laughing breathlessly, you finish the job yourself, a rapturous smile of triumph gracing your lips as your hand wraps around his freed cock, already leaking and flushed with desire. “You…you undo me completely,” he groans, thrusting up into your grasp. “Fuck, please, my darling girl, please, let me feel you—“

“Yes, Sherlock, anything you want!”

This seems to reinvigorate him, and he growls, pushing aside your skirts roughly. He does not allow the time for you to rise and doff your undergarments, but instead simply tears the delicate fabric at the seams to reveal your dripping petals.

“I’ll buy—buy you more,” he promises, as you rock your wet heat against his achingly hard cock. “What do you want, angel? What can I give? All the lace in the world. A dozen gowns, a hundred, anything for you—emeralds or pearls or—oh, Christ, you are so fucking tight I can hardly—“ This as you sink down on him, sheathing him to the hilt with your own a cry of ecstasy. “I’ll give you the world. Oh, my love…”

You continue to besiege his neck as you ride him, finding out each sweet spot that makes him clutch your hips all the harder, with Sherlock babbling out a litany of absolute filth mixed with romantic nonsense:

“That pretty, pretty mouth god your lips—you will be the death of me, angel!”

Sherlock hardly lasts a moment more after your climax causes you to clench around him, holding him tight and deep and perfect, and he gasps your name and a stammering profession of love as he spills himself inside you. You gaze into his eyes as they come back into focus, and you share a little panting laughter, for you are both an absolute mess of half-discarded clothes, dripping seed, and riotously disheveled hair. You have even left a clear mark on his neck, which makes you feel as grand as the empress of the earth, to have laid such an intimate claim upon his otherwise unassailable body. Murmuring quiet, loving little praises, you help one another to undress fully, till you stand before one another fully natural, each drinking in the sight of the other.

“My god. Just look at you, Mrs. Holmes.”

“You are the most beautiful man alive!” you cannot help but exclaim, and he tosses his head in evident pride at the compliment. How you love to make him vain.

“And at last, I am thinking clearly—for the first time all day!” he says, making you laugh again, then he lets out an exultant “Ha!” and strides over towards the gallery of evidence pinned to the wall. “You’ve done it. By Jove, Mrs. Holmes, you have knocked the scales from my eyes. I see the whole design now…”

“Then let me fetch you fresh clothes—and some water to wash, hmm?”

“Yes, give me leave a little while to dole out justice upon Moriarty. And then turnabout’s fair play for you, wife: I think your lovely neck deserves a mark or two of its own…”

If you enjoyed, please do leave a comment, reblog, or visit my Masterlist!

[novagreen]

Curvy reader hiding Tim Tams away from Henry Cavill since he loves to steal them ever since she introduced them to him😍😅

hey baby! I hope you like it.

summary - henry goes looking for the timtams you've hidden.

the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

“Y/n? What happened to the timtams?!” You walk around the corner, looking at Henry with wide eyes, watching as he looks around the kitchen for the well-loved chocolate biscuits. He turns around and looks at you with a pout. “Baby. What happened to them? I need them to live.” He dramatically places his hand over his chest, causing you to burst out into giggles. “What’s so funny?” He stares at you with wide eyes, holding back the grin trying to break free. 

You shake your head, giggling. “You will live without them, bear. Plus, I had to hide them.” You gnaw on your lip, watching his mouth drop open and stare at you with a look of betrayal. “Don’t look at me like that, bear. I never get any.” You pout, hugging your body. 

Henry moves closer and pulls you into a hug, his large hands resting on your hips. “I know. I’m sorry, baby bear. I just never thought something could be so good, and I can’t help it, but you know what I’ll do?” You hum, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I’m going to buy them in bulk, so we have enough for us both to eat. Sound good?” You nod, smiling. Henry leans down and brings you into a passionate kiss before pulling back slightly. “Now… Where are the ones you’ve hidden? Like I said… I need them to live.” You burst into giggles again, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the hiding spot, and the two of you end up sharing. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[novagreen]

Movie Night

Tags: dirty talk, fingering, sex (P in V)

******

You hated horror movies. The blood and gore made you squirm and the jump scares were always too loud.

Oh but he loved it. He loved watching you squirm and the way you moved closer and closer to him.

"Sit on my lap, dove," Henry tells you, taking your hand and leading you to him.

You do as told and give him a peck in his cheek as you settle down to watch the movie playing.

You were alert as you watched the movie, which is probably why you felt goosebumps break out when Henry slipped his hand into your shirt and rested his hand against your warm belly.

Just as you settle down again, you feel his breath in your ear and whisper, "Henry, what are you doing?"

"Shh..dove, just watch the movie," he whispered back in your ear, before moving his nose against the shell of your ear and slowly taking the lobe between his sharp teeth.

Your breathing gets heavier as his hand wanders from your belly to your heavy breast. Your puckered nipple is between his fingers, being rolled between expert fingers.

You moan as you arch off Henry's body. He holds you down and slowly strokes the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"Hush dove, I'm just getting started," he whispers, laughter lacing his voice. He stops torturing your breast long enough to reach across and switch the TV off with the remote.

He moves your hair to a shoulder and starts kissing your neck and shoulder, slowly nipping the skin with his teeth.

"Henry, I'm .... Henry please..," you beg.

"Please what, dove? Your skin is getting really warm," he teases, as his fingers slowly run up and down the growing wet patch on your panties.

"Henry, I want....please...I want to feel," you moan.

He simply chuckles as he moves your panties to the side and pushes a thick finger into your wetness. You buck against him but he holds you down with his strong arms and whispers, "That's it, dove. So wet for me...always..."

He slowly, torturously fingers you as you moan and mewl his name, "Henry, please ...I want to cum...so bad."

He pulls out his finger and tells you to stand up. As he looks in your eyes, he licks his finger clean and says, "Get naked, love. I want to see you."

You strip off the sleep shirt and panties that you are wearing and stand in front of him naked. Wanting. Wet. Needy.

You watch as Henry slips off his sweatpants and his hard cock slaps against his abs. "Come on, dove. I want to be inside you."

You straddle him and he grabs the back of your neck and kisses you hard, his tongue stroking yours, moans filling the room. You rut against his cock and that makes him laugh as he breaks the kiss, "Impatient minx."

Henry guides his cock through your folds and looking you deep in your eyes, he slowly enters you inch by inch till he bottoms out.

You moan wantonly as he stretches your walls, growing wetter as you feel his hardness deep inside you.

With a growl, Henry grabs your hips and starts rocking into you. Your head falls back as you bite back moans and match his rhythm.

The room fills with the sounds of moans and grunts and the sweet wet sound of skin slapping against skin.

"Henry please...please make me cum..I want to cum so bad," you whimper.

He kisses you and starts jacking into you harder, your moans growing louder as you near your release.

"That's it, dove. You're clenching around me so bad. I'm going to fill you up, okay? Going to fill your sweet cunt with my cum."

You look at Henry's face, sweat glistening on his forehead, curls messy, as he concentrates on your release.

The image sends you over the edge.

You chant his name as you cum around his cock. Your pussy squeezes around his cock, triggering Henry's orgasm.

You feel warmth flooding you as his cum fills you up.

"Henry..I came..Your cum.." you mumble incoherently.

"Yes dove, I know. Let's just sit like this. I want to feel you around me for a while."

[novagreen]

What They Didn't Know Was Missing

Summary: It's hard to come into terms of becoming a mother, but Sherlock reassures you that he'll remind you every day that you are worthy of being one to your child.

Warning: pregnancy symptoms, labor, mentions of abandonment, mentions of gun violence

It was around noon at 221 Baker Street. Sherlock was walking back home with a small packaged box in hand, holding it a bit tighter than he should.

He makes his way to his apartment, walking on the steps as he turned his key to the room. He looks around, not minding that his organized mess is gone and the smell of his pipe no longer lingered in the air.

Sherlock was territorial when it came to his home, but he made changes in his life when he met you.

You were the owner of a barkeep, feisty, and wasn't afraid of telling a man off when he didn't pay his tab. So when Sherlock came to the bar to ask about a suspect, you'd only answer his questions if he was a paying customer.

Either he was desperate to find answers or he just wanted to stay to talk to you for hours, the Holmes man paid a heavy load.

You both weren't afraid of courting each other in public, even if you two weren't of the same status. But, it was time to change some things. Your pub that you've built from the ground up turned into a legit business and Sherlock turned from his lone wolf days and finally proposed to you.

"I never knew I was alone until I met you, and I don't want that feeling again."

Your ceremony was small, Enola and his mother shed a few tears and you couldn't believe that his eldest brother, Mycroft, came (he never liked you due to your independent spirit, but he started to tolerate you more. Call it a win). Being married for about half a year has been a dream. But like a dream, one has to wake up.

Once Sherlock takes off his outdoor attire, he searches for you and lands his eyes on a figure on his couch.

"Hi." he whispered softly as he kneels to your level as you laid on the couch.

You turn around to face him and give him a tired smile.

"Same symptoms as yesterday?" He asks, unpacking the small box in his hand.

"Yes. When you left this morning, I awoke abruptly and felt sick." You said as your stomach churned.

"Here, chew this." Sherlock said, taking out an herb that was small as a chestnut.

You leaned your head further as he fed you the piece. You slightly grimace at the taste.

"It taste like grass." You said.

"I didn't know that you eat grass." He said, smirking. You lightly smack his chest as you lie on your side.

"It's already fighting off the nausea. How did you know it will work?" You ask.

Sherlock sat on the ground while he combed your hair with his fingers to help you relax.

"I remember my mother used it when she was pregnant with Enola."

You pause at his words, feeling your face pale.

Pregnant... the word scared you.

You got up from your lying position as Sherlock dotingly helps you too. He sits beside you as you laid your head on his shoulder. You've been feeling some sort of way since a doctor diagnosed you alongside your husband's deduction. Secretly, Sherlock was thrilled that he would become a father, he never thought he'd had a chance of having a family of his own.

He looks down at you, his eyes gazing at how you've been losing sleep and appearing almost crestfallen. He knows why you’ve been feeling like this, but he wants to hear it from you first.

“Please, love. I just want to know how I can help you.” He murmurs.

You begin to sniffle as you try to avoid his gaze.

“You can’t, Sherlock..” you said as you were about to get up.

He softly grabs your wrist and guides you to his lap, holding you still so you won’t leave him.

“You won't abandon them.” Sherlock’s voice rose.

“How can you be sure?” You ask, feeling the hot tears roll your cheeks.

You were given up as a baby, growing in an orphanage. When you were old enough, you ran away and decided to work at a pub when they needed a maid. The owner loved you as their own daughter, so they wrote you in their will to become the next barkeep. But even after your entire journey and becoming a business owner, you felt so incomplete of why your parents gave you up.

“Because you are full of love. You’re able to teach our child how to love, you’ve taught me how to love. There is not one ounce in my body that tells me that you will leave them. And I'm usually right all the time."

You chuckle loudly as you wiped away your tears. Not a lot of people saw this soft side of your husband, and you slightly feel selfish that you want to keep this side of him all to yourself.

You lean into his chest as he holds you closer to him, his hand suddenly resting on your now-showing bump.

"I promise you, I'll be there every second. Even for the birth."

You look at him worried, as it wasn't common practice for the father to be present for the birth. You haven't recovered from the stories from your friends who are midwives.

"Sherlock, I don't think that -"

"My love, I will never let you doubt yourself for one moment. I'm going to be there in your time of need. We'll be alright, trust me." He says, kissing the side of your temple. Sherlock wasn't any conventional man, so you knew his words were true.

You smile up at him as you cuddled closer to one another as you stare down at your abdomen, anticipating the life you're growing.

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

"Where is he!?" You screamed as you feel a contraction take control of your body.

"Sherlock's been working on a case since noon." Enola said, trying to support you in your distress.

"Typical, that man." You gritted as you sat on the edge of your bed, feeling the contraction go away.

After Sherlock went out during the day, Enola decided to pop in and say hello. She was going on and on about that Tewkesbury boy and suddenly you felt your water broke. Enola was shocked as well as you were and decided to call for her mother as she had no idea how to deliver a baby.

As on cue, your mother in law comes with hot boiling water and a towel on her shoulder, smiling at you.

"How are we doing dear?" She asks, putting the pail down.

"Like my body is splitting in half." You heaved out, gripping the sheets in your hand.

"It means it's almost time. Let me have a look at your dilation." Eudoria said, kneeling down.

You begin to cry, fearing that your husband was going to miss the birth of your baby.

A hostile knock echos the apartment alongside your moans, and Eudoria orders Enola to send off the person interrupting.

"I'm afraid you have to push, my dear." She said, seeing that you've dilated.

You shake your head, crying.

"I can't do it. Not without Sherlock."

"It will all be alright, we need to get this baby out so you can finally see them. Enola! Come quick, I need you to support your sister!"

Enola comes barging in, looking a bit pale at you.

"Please, don't freak out." She begs you.

You're about to ask what's wrong until Mycroft comes in, trying his best to hold your husband up as he was badly wounded.

"I'm sorry, he saw a sniper a few feet from us. Sherlock tried to push me away, but the bullet..."

You begin to sob, seeing your husband like this.

"Take him to the couch and treat his wound, you're upsetting her." Eudoria commanded, not wanting you to be in hysteria.

"No, I'm fine. I'm not- leaving my wife." Sherlock grunted, knowing the bullet went through some flesh and his pain was manageable.

His mother and brother shared an uneasy look, but after you cry again, Mycroft guided his younger brother to you.

Sherlock held your hand as you squeezed it tight, gritting your teeth as the contractions were doubling.

"You're here." You teared up.

"You know I wouldn't have missed this." Sherlock said, kissing your palm as he crawled behind you so you can rest behind his chest.

"Alright, are you two ready to have your baby here?" Eudoria asks. You look up to Sherlock who smiles at you as you shook your head, anticipating the greatest pain you faced to meet.

The birth was excruciating, and there were moments when you wanted to give up. But Sherlock kept whispering in your ear, urging you to keep pushing. Soon, you welcomed a healthy baby who was crying as loud as a symphony.

Now you were in bed, resting with your baby in your arms as Sherlock returned after saying goodbye to his mother, brother, and sister.

He stands there by the door frame looking at you, smiling at such a heavenly scene.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asks, knowing you're beyond tired.

"I feel so at peace, I can't take my eyes off of them." you whispered as they were sound asleep. Sherlock slowly makes his way to you and slips within the sheets.

"I was so unsure of what type of mother I'll be... but seeing them now, I never want to let them go." You said.

You turn to see your husband crying a bit, knowing since the day you found out you were pregnant that you'd be an amazing mother.

"I never doubted for one second."

Your foreheads connected as you breathed in his scent.

"I thought I almost lost you." you said in a low tone.

Sherlock sighs, knowing that any case he'd take would permanently take him away from both of you.

"You'll never lose me, I'll promise both of you that." he whispers.

You both lean in for a kiss and stare down at your baby once more. Two lonely souls found each other and they found what they didn't know was missing: love.

[novagreen]

┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️ 𝑀𝑦 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝐺𝑖𝑟𝑙

— short Ellie blurb cause my Joel smut isn’t turning out good. — Inspired by this twitter video also farm Ellie is my favorite Ellie 🤭

—spam my inbox

Whimpers leave your pouty lips as Ellie slides the tip of the toy through your drooling cunt. She watches as she pushes the toy inside you, filling you completely, smirking at the needy sounds leaving your lips. “Such a pretty little pussy, takin’ it so good,” Ellie’s soft voice coos as she uses her free hand to hold your thigh up. 

“I-It’s so deep, Els, please.” You reach down to hold her free hand as she starts moving the toy in and out. Ellie's eyes are fixed on your cunt, enjoying the sight of the toy disappearing inside you. 

“Shh baby, I know, just relax for me.” Ellie kisses your thighs before moving up to your face. She kisses your cheeks softly moving to your lips, “You gonna be my good girl?” She mutters against your lips pulling back to look at you. You nod eagerly, staring back at her with big eyes.

Ellie settles down between your legs, her hand squeezing yours as she leans in to kiss your thighs again. You whimper at the feeling of her breath fanning over your cunt, her tongue darting out to lick a line up your thigh. 

She lets go of your hand to bring her fingers to your aching clit, circling it slowly as she continues to kiss and nibble on your inner thighs. You clench around the toy, the sounds of the toy sliding in and out of you mixing with your whimpers filling the room. You arch your back, pushing your hips towards her hand, silently begging for more. 

“Faster please Ellie." Ellie's fingers pick up the pace, rubbing and flicking your clit. You feel a knot forming in your stomach, and you know you're close. “Wanna cum please baby, please,” You babble, your brain foggy with the feeling of Ellie. 

“Not yet, baby.” Ellie slows down her movements, sliding the toy out of you, “I wanna taste you.” She uses her fingers to spread your folds, revealing your glistening cunt to her hungry gaze.  

You let out a whimper of anticipation trying to press your thighs together. You set up on your elbows to look down at Ellie, “Please don't tease,” you say with a shaky voice. 

Ellie looks up at you with a wicked grin, "Oh, but teasing is so much fun," she purrs before leaning in to give your clit a gentle lick. You moan and your head falls back into the pillows, completely under Ellie's control. Ellie continues to tease you with her tongue, alternating between gentle licks and quick flicks. 

Your body trembles with desire as you arch your back, silently begging for more. She pulls back, eyes fixed on your cunt, and you can feel her hot breath on your skin. Ellie leans in, dipping her head between your thighs, flicking her tongue against your clit before sucking it into her mouth. You moan loudly, unable to contain the pleasure that is coursing through your body. You run your fingers through her hair, urging her to continue with every breathy moan.

“Taste so fucking good, Princess,” She groans against your cunt causing your hips to buck in response. Her fingers slide inside you, curling to hit that sweet spot that makes you see stars. You arch your back, gripping the sheets as she brings you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. You grab her hands and move up to your tits, she takes the hint and begins to grope them, teasing and pinching your nipple as she continues to suck your clit.

“I can't hold it anymore, please baby.” You beg her to let you come, your thighs trembling around her head. She doesn't stop, driving you over the edge with laps to your cunt. She continues to lap at your juices, bringing you down from your high with gentle kisses to your clit and soft touches. Ellie crawls up your body and kisses you deeply, making you taste yourself on her tongue. You wrap your arms around her and hold her tight, feeling the sweat on your skin.

She grips your jaw bringing her slick covered fingers to your mouth. You eagerly suck on her fingers, moaning around them as she whispers in your ear, “Such a pretty girl.” You look away feeling a sudden wave of shyness, she moves down to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. “My pretty girl,” She whispers again. 

I’ve never written for Ellie cause Ellie writers are kinda intimidating