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sams-fic-recs · 11 months

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One for the Road

Summary: You both want it. Who's gonna act on it first?

Pairing: John Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Language. Smut. Female receiving oral. Fingering. Light daddy kink. Age Gap (reader is 21+) Mentions of death.

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Shoutout to young Whitney who liked John more than his sons. Who knew over a decade later I'd be able to write this.

You meet at a bar.

Ha. Bullshit. If only that'd been how this started. Then, John wouldn't have thought twice about you. Could've enjoyed a beer in peace and quiet.

No, this story starts with you not knowing your limits.

In the sunless city of Tacoma, a forgotten town in Washington, there's a grizzly string of murders. High School kids being hacked at a quarry. All the victims are under the influence. There's also a local urban legend of a young woman who was struck by one of the drunk high schoolers now haunts the quarry and all who drink. It's a cautionary tale about underage drinking.

Turns out it's real.

Yellow tape maps out the area, police surrounding the scene. John's here as Special Agent Dunbar and you're here as Special Agent who-gives-a-shit. The dumbass cops buy your gambit, but John ain't fooled.

“A little young to be in the field, kid,” he says, bursting the bubble that's protecting you. A flicker of your gaze goes from him and back to the blood splattered autumn leaves. A glint of light still remains in them – they're not snuff out like John's. Not yet. Whatever's got you on this path, it hasn't been enough to break you yet.

You take a sip from your Starbucks. John can smell the overwhelming amount of cinnamon and spice in it. Why couldn't people just order a regular coffee? Did everything need to be ruined by know-nothing yuppies wanting to reinvent the wheel?

“And a little too busy listen to your cheap pick up lines,” you say, tone reading-a-phone-book flat.

“Funny,” he says, “That's one helluva ego you've got there.”

“Stay out of my way.”

That's all he needs to hear. John minds his business.

And beats you to solving the case. Figures out where the corpse of the ghost is buried. Salts and burns it. A simple open and shut hunt.

As destiny would have it, you run into him again.

Different case, different state. A poltergeist in Nowhere, Idaho. It's your first time in this great state. You hate it.

“Hi honey,” you say, giving your best enthusiastic greeting. Joining John and a realtor who's conducting a house tour, you slip your hand in John's. His grip tightens to a burning vice, but you play it cool, smiling sweetly. “Sorry for being late, yoga ran a little over. These hips aren't going to unlock themself, amirite?”

The schmucky laughter between you and the realtor is enough for John to pull his hand from yours. “Give us a few minutes to feel out the house, yeah?”

The realtor nods, giving you and John some alone time. With the sound of the door closing behind him, your facades drop, entangled in a silence that would make most women uncomfortable. The grown man before you takes up enough space with his energy alone. Makes your insides wriggle. Eyes so dark they appear pitless, he's a looming figure. Hard weathered and worn. Ground by mortar and pestle. One of those man's man type. Full of misogyny and antiquated ideals.

...Handsome.

In a battle of alphas, you don't break contact nor speak first.

When he finally does talk, it's with a sigh.

“It's a-”

“Poltergeist,” you interrupt. You already know.

“Buried in the basement,” John finishes, scratching a beard with more gray in it than black. “Make that your last time cutting me off.”

“Thought I told you to stay out of my way,” you say, “you're kind of doing the opposite.”

He finds the stairs leading to the damp-aired basement. You wait for him to open the door, but that doesn't happen. He leans his body against the door. “You're in over your head, kid.”

“Kid. Please. I'm old enough where someone would think we're together,” you say, “it's a little insulting. Not because of the age thing, but because I'm way out of your league.”

“This life is bleak. A one way road with an ending already carved out for anyone dumb enough to travel it. Here's an out. Take it. Turn around and go back to home.”

You add ageist to the list of traits men like him have. Hunters are few and far between, even rarer are women. The concern would be sweet if you knew he wouldn't share the same reaction had you been a man.

It's better to placate. Belly up. Be harmless. You can tell just by the smoky smell of his cologne and the stern punch of his words that he's not going to listen to you.

“Wow,” you say, “wow, you're absolutely right. What am I doing here? Thanks!”

The dummy buys it.

Nightfall comes and you burn the corpse. This time before John gets to it.

In a bar, he sits alone with a drink. You see him before he sees you, which surprises you a bit. With a lonely beer trying to keep him company, John's somewhere lost in thought. Not in the moment with the chatter of the bar or the dated music playing, but in a distant memory. You know the look, have caught yourself contemplating loved ones lost more than you'd like to admit.

You slide a chair up his way.

“We've gotta stop meeting like this, John.” You've done your homework and know who you've been playing tag with. “If first time's shame on you, and second time's shame on me, what about the third time?”

He bites. “Third time, we're all fucked.”

“I'm beginning to think this may be preternatural or designed by fate's hand. Lemme guess,” you purse your lips, tapping a finger against them while you pretend to think deeply. A lightbulb pops over your head and you snap your fingers. “Wendigo case over in Monticello?”

He hates to admit it, but you're right. Doesn't tell you that though. “Lucky for us, I don't believe in fate.”

“What do you believe in? Demons? Ghosts?”

“And the salt of the earth that can send them back to hell.”

“What about isolation? Believe in that too? Because from my vantage point, I'd say if it weren't for me sitting here, you'd be pretty lonely right about now.”

“Less annoyed.”

“But still lonely.”

“Hurry up and ask me what you came over here for so I can tell you no.”

“In the market for a partner?”

He swigs from an iced glass bottle. “No.”

“It's easier than us running into each other. Cheaper. Not to mention safer.”

“You don't know what the hell you're asking for.”

“So what if I don't?”

“Then that means either you're stupid or childish. I can't afford to figure out which.”

“Orrrrrr that I trust you.”

“That was an easy revelation,” he smirks, “you're stupid.”

“Tell me we're not after the same demon and I'll leave.”

“There ain't a we in this, kid.”

“Yes, there is. The way I see it, we're both two stray dogs chasing after the same car. Fire on the ceiling, slitted eyes like a dragon, but you feel like you're staring into the sun,” you say, “Ringing any bells?”

That sardonic smirk of his fades and hardens to a granite line. For the first time in your encounters, John's taking you seriously. “Yellow eyes.”

You toss money on the table. Covers his tab. “Meet you back here at sunrise.”

John smiles to himself as you leave him to his lonesome. He stands corrected, had you first met at a bar, he may've entertained you.

“What's this?”

You're in the passenger seat of his car that's barreling ungodly speeds down Route 66. John, you've come to learn, on top of having road rage, is a speed demon. Oh, and he has a small collection of music he rotates through.

“It's music,” he says, “music I'd like to listen to without anyone talking.”

Ignoring his snide ways, you elaborate. “Yeah, but who?”

“You don't know the Stones?”

“The who?”

“No, not The Who,” he says, “The Rolling Stones.”

Bluesy music croons in the car and you listen intently, really digesting the sound before you give John an answer. “Didn't know they existed until now.”

He's never felt older.

“But I like them.” Your body sways along to the song. John tries keeping his focus on the road and on the hunt.

“Why do my clothes smell like this?” He sniffs the pit of his flannel. It's fresh, citrusy scent clinging to the fabric. “What did you do?”

You're reading a through his journal. It's homework. When you're not on a hunt, eating, sleeping, or training, you're reading. It's discipline day in and out for you. “I washed them.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” He furrows his brow. “Why?”

“Because they stunk. And normally when clothes smell one washes them to eliminate the putrescent odor. ”

“I didn't ask you to eliminate the putrescent odor.”

“Not verbally, no. You know, John, you've got some decent handwriting. I was expecting chicken scratch.” The man you're hunting with is kind of legendary. You're not sure he knows it, but his journal feels like a guide to future hunters down the line once he's six feet under. “Sometimes the answer is in plain sight. Kind of like the demon in Kent. It was the babysitter all along. She dropped clues that we should've picked up on at the start. So do you.”

“I can wash my own clothes.”

“You're welcome.”

“What's your stock in all this?”

John's gaze catches yours through the bathroom mirror - a little red toothbrush scrubs furiously in your mouth. With a garbled mouthful of minty toothpaste, you answer, “whutdyamean?”

“Yellow eyes,” he says. You spit froth into a sink and reach under the faucet to rinse your mouth. “A woman like you, a number of years ahead of you to make something out of yourself, doesn't give up that potential for this line of work. Not unless revenge is being served.”

Somewhere down the line you transitioned from kid to woman. You don't ask questions.

Wiping your lips on the neckline of your ratty Rolling Stones band tee (found it in a thrift shop and had to buy it) you shrug. “Sounds like you're trying to know me, John.”

“Glad to know your ears work,” he says, unlacing his boots that're stained with the night's charades. “Now you can answer my question.”

On your way walking by his bed, you snatch the remote. You're controlling the TV tonight. You're sick of sports and CNN. “Took my pops.”

“Explains it,” he says, not being able to stop his oncoming lament. “Daddy issues.”

It's not like John means so say it definitively. He doesn't mean to say it aloud at all. Just him grumbling his thoughts. The boys, they'd fuck with him about this habit. Mary, too. Always needing to say what's on his mind.

Your eyes are on him. Even with his back turned, he can feel 'em. Yup, they're lasering right at the back of his head, trying to burn a hole until you can see through his skull. He removes the other boot, not bothering to retract his statement or slide you an apology. He meant it, no need to apologize for his truth.

“When you're right, you're right.” Ain't no denying the hurt in your voice. Jesus, did women need to get so affected by every little thing? It's not that serious for the argument he knows is about to play out. If you can't control your emotions, it could cost you your life in the future.

Ignoring you, the mattress responds as he lifts himself to head for the bathroom. He prays to god you left at least 4 minutes worth of hot water. He's too tired for anything other than a shower.

But your words are a tommy gun, spraying with a ferocious onslaught. “Didn't know you got your Ph.D from the University of Abusive Fathers and Failed Husbands.”

A stray bullet strikes him in the chest.

He turns to you, ready for the war, because somewhere along the way you forgot your rank. It may be unfair, cruel, abusive, whatever, but you don't have the privilege of talking to him like how he can you. Not when it's easy to rip your head off, chew you out, make you cry, whatever he wants. Not when you're the subordinate. He's seconds from it actually, tearing you a new one. Emotions may make you weak, but you need to know your place.

It's skin to skin contact when he pivots to verbally spar you. Oh how he forgets how light you are on your feet. Bodies meeting, your skin is still damp from the shower and he can smell the 99 cent bar soap against you. It shouldn't smell so fucking good. And here you go, taking your pristine body and getting sullied by the collateral he's covered in.

There's an anger in your eyes, one that John shouldn't like the sight of so much. It's primitive of him, scratching an itch he didn't know he's had. Just one off-comment can twist you up inside and makes him wonder what you may be really feeling, beneath the false pretense of anger. How wet your must be in this moment.

“What?” you pout, standing on tiptoes and closing the distance between your lips. The hem of your shirt rides up your bare thighs on your way to him. He has to control his gaze. “Got something you wanna say, daddy?”

Temptation is a wicked s.o.b. and John knows better than to give in. It's all up to him, what happens and what doesn't. It's always been that way.

But you're damn pretty, even more so when you think you're mad. When you feel like you're right and have conviction behind those words. You're too young to know anything, but you try. He figures it's because you want to prove yourself to him. A flattering thought, especially when he knows he's not worth dog shit.

He could give you what you want. What he wants. Fuck you. Bend you over the sink, make you watch yourself call him daddy – only this time you'd be screaming it.

“We leave at six,” he says, heading for the bathroom.

“That's what I thought,” you chide, “don't think about me too much while you're in there.”

How could he? You left him no hot water, asshole.

You both don't say much after that. Life's funny, at one point John wished you'd keep that mouth of yours closed, but now, dealing with the actual silence, it bothers him. Months together and now you have nothing to say. Still mad at him, over a dumb fly away comment.

He doesn't need this shit. Soothing the ego of a fucking adult.

He caves.

“Found a diner that serves breakfast all day,” he says, eyeing you in the passenger seat. You've got on headphones connecting to a walkman you found on your travels. Hopefully he's not talking to himself right now. “That's your thing, right, eating scrambled eggs and hash browns at eleven at night?”

Take the olive branch, honey, call it a day. He can't afford to hunt with someone who's mad at him.

“If you want me to not be mad, then you apologize.”

“It's been three days-”

“If you want me to not be mad, then you apologize,” you reiterate. “Why do you owe me one? I'm glad you asked. You manipulated me. Lied about wanting to get to know me. Then said I had daddy issues while talking about my dead father.”

“-the apology horse left the stable when you mentioned my wife. Put your big girl panties on, swallow that shit down, and move on.”

“But what if I'm not wearing panties, John?”

Wait. What?

The sputtering of his mind can't handle your question. It was a sniper of a comment, hitting him with him not realizing what the fuck happened until it's too late. You beat him in the verbal sparring. And now your tone is rising until you're at a full blown scream, anger reemerging like it never left.

“Now either you apologize or you shut the fuck up.”

Well you're not getting shit now.

John cranks the volume up to the radio until it's all either of you can hear. Even with your headphones on, his shitty music plays.

He takes you to that diner anyway, hoping a little late night breakfast will cure the anger. You order a pot pie out of spite.

John drinks alone at the bar. Almost five days of coiled silence that he doesn't understand why it bothers him so much. He forgoes the beer and drinks something with a bit more bite. Dark and chilled. Straight, no chaser.

Across the bar, you dance with some random bar hopper. Your bodies move in sync to a fucking song that he showed you. The sight ain't something he's used to – you being a woman, a beautiful woman at that, lusted after by a man. Hands not John's, feeling along the length of your body. With eyes shut, you have him ensnared. Under a trance.

Sure, John's seen men flirt with you on many-a-case, he's just never seen you engage in it. And he's definitely never watched you all but fuck a man with your clothes still on like a whore.

Dark eyes heavy with alcohol and envy, he shoots back his drink and makes an exit. You don't notice.

2:32am reads the red numbers of the clock. The door opens with a slow, guilty sigh. You try drunkenly tiptoeing in, careful not to wake the old dumb dog.

You take a shower, washing off the inebriation and stilling your mind on tomorrow's... today's case. What the shit are you hunting again? You remember John mentioning but wasn't actively listening. Fuck.

The mattress, as rock hard and small as it is, feels so damn good once you lay in it. You've been on your feet all day, maybe dancing to stupid rock songs you feel corny for knowing wasn't the best idea.

“It's late,” a harsh whisper prods the black of the motel. John's voice slides into your ear so fully, it consumes the space in your head. His voice becomes your internal thought. You realize you've accidentally slid into the wrong bed. “We're taking out a Wendigo tomorrow. Where've you been.”

Wendigo! That's what he was droning on about.

“Stayed at the bar, John. Wanted to have fun,” you breathe, “didn't know I had a curfew.”

“And that asshole, the one you were dancing on-”

“Julio. And he's not an asshole.”

“Excuse me, Julio,” John says. As if that makes it any better. “Was he fun?”

“John, there are nights where you are gone and I don't see you until the Sun is up. I don't ask questions, I don't pry. You shouldn't either.”

“Right,” he says. You think it's the first time he's ever verbally agreed with you one something. You'll take it.

Body pushing to head back to your bed and not take up space in his, your attempt is in vein when his arm snakes around your waist to lock you in place. Beneath the curl of his bicep, he pulls himself closer to you, bodies fitting each other's just the right places. Your ass presses nice and good into him and you hear him groan in your ear.

“John,” you breathe, core tight and adrenaline licking at your pulse. “What are you-”

“Y'feel that?” It's a simple question pounding inside your mind. Throbbing at your temples. He doesn't explain and he doesn't have to. He's hard against you, a delicious warning of all he could give you and more.

“Mhm.”

“I bet you do,” he chuckles, “want me to say sorry?”

His fingers press between your legs, and delves into the heat of your thighs. It hitches a breath at the edge of your throat, prods a tiny squeak between your parted lips that you pray he doesn't catch. Pressure dips against the janky material of your panties. Sweet pressure that spins the room.

“I asked you a question, honey,” he says, “want that apology you've been looking for?”

You swallow the inferno inside you. “Yeah.”

“Good.” His hand disappears. “Take this shit off.”

Holy shit, this is really happening. You've thought of what this may've been like, but didn't think it would ever be a reality. Not with how stern he is with you. Not with the line you hunters walk. You don't waste a moment, working to pull off your panties. It's not to his satisfaction. Not fast enough. Never good enough for him. John's yanking them off without care of being soft. It forces your legs open for him face to push exactly where he wants to be.

No kisses, no time to ready yourself, he goes in to devour you. It rips his name from your lips. A gasp of submission and a shock of pleasure. You can feel it against every piece of you, in your veins, flowing in your bloodstream. In the dark matter of the ceiling you stare at. He tongue pushes and lightning strikes. Fuck.

He's groaning, deep and rumbling like thunder. Must know you liked whatever it is he just did because he does it again, and again, and again. The next time pushing two fingers in you to see how you respond. It's with a dirty mouth. Foul and obscene.

You come with hands over your mouth. Shamed to admit he's damn good at eating pussy. How many women has he been with where he can make you come like this without knowing your body. How long has he been wanting to do this?

“Turn over,” he commands softly. It breaks the loose string of thoughts in your mind.

“Okay,” you sigh all dumb and out of it. He takes a pillow, pushes beneath your stomach and reaches for another one. This one he stuffs between the headboard of the bed and the wall it rests against. You clench at what that means for you. At what's in store.

Teeth clenched. Unbearably so.

“I want you.” It's so beautiful in your head. Makes you delirious to hear him say. Low and needy. He can't hide it.

“Then take me.”

His hand gently slides down the length of your spine and you shiver as he pulls off.

Slow to start, he guides himself in you sweetly.

“Ohmygod.”

“I know,” he coos. Running a hand over your waist, you think it's to tell you it's alright. Nah. It's to keep you from running. He knows how big he is. You're going to, too. “I know.”

Even with his tongue having been inside you, he's shocked by how tight you are. Siphoning and wet, he's choking noises from him he's ashamed to have you hear. Fuck, he can't stop himself. “Push back on me.”

You do as you're told, ass meeting his every thrust greedily wanting to take it all.

“There you go,” he praises, “good girl. Just like that.”

He knows just how to make your brain turn to mush. Son-of-a-bitch knows you've only wanted to hear him give you an appreciative word. Could save his life, solve a case, and he gives you nothing. This. It makes you work twice as hard to hear his adornments some more. Makes you shake involuntarily, tell him you're going to come and not to stop.

Molded by primal compulsions, every push of his hips, every snap of the bed, the croak of the mattress, his grunts smearing your skin, it's driving you mad.

He pulls your body pulled into the undertow, down amongst the black where he dwells, and he uses you up. It's the closest you've felt to salvation, crying for him to tear you a part.

It's not until morning, where neither of you have the guts to break the silence, that you wonder if maybe you've made a mistake.

#john winchester x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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Finnick Odair (The Hunger Games)

gif imagine + headcanon

☆ imagine finnick getting jealous/protective over you in the arena + finnick kisses you for the first time

Good thing we're allies, right?

Finnick never wanted to harm you

You were a strong fighter but also soft spoken and kind, too kind

This had him worried the second the games were announced, he knew you for years but never acted on his feelings from fear

Losing you to Snow, the thought of you rejecting him because of his past, etc.

All of those things haunted his mind

Finnick did what he could and decided to protect you from a healthy distance, not wanting Snow to see how important you are to him

That specific choice didn't unfold smoothly

Finnick slowly lost his temper

Whenever someone else, especially another male tribute, tried to help you - he couldn't stop himself from puffing his chest in annoyance and dominance

It didn't help that you had no idea of the whole plan plutarch had created

Finnick needed to keep you safe and tied to his side, literally - after you got seriously injured, he lectured you and ordered you to stay close at all times

And despite saving you, Finnick still had to deal with your anxiety and terror

"How do I know I can trust you?" You asked, breathing heavily on the ground after the hot, thick blood-rain poured down.

He only scoffed lightly, dropping his trident and gripped your hand, pulling you up and guiding you to the water

He's oddly silent when doing so, you half expected him to say something cocky or ridiculous but no - he only focused on cleaning you off, careful not to touch you too much, obviously respecting your body

Finnick eventually broke the silence with a low hum, almost as if he's amused to see how you innocently melted into his touch, leaning against him for support

"Good thing we're allies, right?"

You don't have to look at him to see the smirk on his face. You don't care though, he's right - you fell into his arms so easily, him being a true ally is a blessing

Honey, I would've killed you hours ago if I didn't care. But I do — I'm not going to leave you here to die.

Finnick is naturally protective so it's no surprise when he risked his own life to save yours, no hesitation whatsoever

The poisonous fog had burned your neck, arms, hands - this caused you to be slower, tagging behind them with little to no energy

You tried telling him to just run, to get himself and the others to safety, you'd be fine in the end - the pain would only last temporarily for you

For Finnick? That pain would be permanent if he lost you, especially if he knew the chance of you surviving was high

"Stop! Just fucking go!"

You didn't necessarily say you don't give a shit about me Finnick but he knew all too well why you screamed at him with so much agony, not only from the fog but from the inside, you're hurting

Finnick earned a few burns during the attempt to save you - he did, almost effortlessly and silently. He kept his pained groans to himself, he can't let you hear his discomfort and risk you feeling guilty

Finnick was the one to hold you under the water first, apologizing constantly whenever you screamed and cried

He took care of himself last

You stared at him with confusion, anger, guilt - too much to handle and pick apart

"You need to stop looking at me like I'm some hurt dog in the road. You don't care- stop acting like it. I don't want your pity."

Finnick washed away his burns with a grunt, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before turning to face you

"Honey, I would've killed you hours ago if I didn't care. But I do — I'm not going to leave you here to die."

Finnick held your gaze like it was a challenge, he needed you to understand what he was trying to say without revealing too much

He's willing to die for you, if it means you'll get home safely and somehow take a lead into the revolution that's planned

Finnick is scared to death of losing you. He'd rather lose everything else, even himself, before losing you

Please stay, I don't want you going with him

Finnick isn't one to beg

So when he said please to you, it was shocking to say the least

He had a weird feeling about the male tribute offering to team up with you, the plan to meet up at the tree now unsettling

"Is there a problem here, Finnick? She can decide for herself."

He ignored the words and silently pushed himself in front of you, his hand brushing against your stomach to keep you in place

"She's staying with me."

Time was ticking and you sighed, wanting this to be over with so you tried walking past Finnick after the guy left, assuming you'd follow behind him soon

The blonde with troubled eyes held onto your wrist, asking you begging to stay

"Please stay, I don't want you going with him."

Finnick let out a breath of relief when you nodded and walked towards him instead, he immediately held your hand and left the open area, looking back to find the male tribute glaring with ill intentions

He ended up taking the life of that tribute mercilessly but quickly, thanking his instincts on reading people correctly

Don't ever scare me like that again

The last minutes of the game. Everyone is on edge, no one knows what to do when the canon goes off more than once

Katniss screams for Peeta while Finnick screams out for you, tears threatening to spill and cover his cheeks

His heart pounds so hard against his ribcage that it almost hurts

When Katniss finds her lover, Finnick begins to feel nauseous. With no sign of you and no way to hear you, he can't keep his calm composure for much longer

He runs through the deep forest, raising his voice and scanning the area until he stops on your figure, shaking and weakly moving away from someone he cannot recognize, they aren't breathing anymore, Finnick can tell it's your first kill

All you did before was hide it out

He sprints over to you, bending down to cradle you in his arms, forcefully having to hold you down when you start flailing around in a panicked state, your mind making you think he was someone else

Most of his words are muffled by the ringing in your ears but his eyes hold so much concern and love so it's not hard to guess that his words were comforting

The only thing you can hear at the end of his small rant full of anxiety is simple yet holds so much depth after it's spoken

"... Don't ever scare me like that again."

Finnick kissed you immediately after forcing those words out in a hoarse voice and held you close, pulling away to rub your bloodied cheek, wiping it with his thumb before kissing you again with more tenderness, to show you he truly meant it and that it wasn't just the heat of the moment

I don't want to forget it

After the games were over and time allowed everyone alive to heal and mourn - Finnick is glued to your side, often concerned about your hidden thoughts and feelings, part of him is.. insecure

Katniss tried pulling the same thing, saying and doing whatever to stay alive, he thinks of that possibility with you - if you meant everything in the end because he most certainly did with all his heart

"Maybe we should just try to forget it. Move on some how.. staying here mentally won't do us any good. And I-"

"I don't want to forget it."

It was at the moment both of you knew how strongly you loved each other. He always fought against your anxiety and habit of pushing him away and you always gave him reassurance and comfort

Finnick will forever love and protect you, games or not - he is there, always

I love you

Finnick usually held you at night but tonight you held him, running your fingers through his hair while he rested on top of you, eyes closing slowly, low hums leaving his mouth

He didn't like to cry in front of you, he felt too exposed and weak - tonight he had no energy for that thinking process and let himself sigh out shakily, kissing your collarbone and neck lovingly

After everything, all the nightmares and fights, Finnick loves you more than he ever imagined, you're his life and he loves you unapologetically, unconditionally

"I love you."

#finnick odair x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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the only thing that matters.

pairings. finnick odair x fem!reader

about. finnick is the only one to have ever gotten past your quiet and stoic shell, but neither of you think it’s for the good.

warnings. eh idk

ricky rocks. the hunger games series is honest to god one of the best to ever touch screens.

johanna hated watching you and finnick. it killed her.

since day one, johanna, like all of the others were closely fixated on you and every move you made. you were alluring solely due to the fact that you were silent and completely detached from the destruction of your reality. there was a large admiration for you and whether it was due to your great skill in combat or ability to keep an unwavering face when under the worse of pressure, no one could choose. you were a mystery.

johanna couldn’t figure you out; not for the life of her, and it was absolutely frustrating. especially when her greatest competition did.

of course. of fucking course it was finnick. she wasn’t surprised the more she thought about it—finnick could get anybody to talk. so of course it had to be him who would unravel you like a ball of yarn.

he was prying, and had no problem with being a pest if that meant he got what he wanted—and he always got what he wanted.

it was astounding to say the least.

“they’re sickening aren’t they?” katniss almost jumped at johanna’s jarring words that interrupted the silence.

it took her a moment to realize that the girl was talking about you and finnick and johanna had caught her staring.

“i don’t know… i think it’s interesting,” katniss bit the inside of her cheek as she watched finnick smile genuinely while watching you speak. the two of you were the only thing keeping the group from not seeming depressive. “they seem like polar opposites and yet this is the first time i have ever seen her smile… and it’s because of him.”

once you had gotten out of the blood rain with johanna, crossing paths with katniss and finnick and the rest of their group—you had begun to clean yourself off in the water before finnick had dunked you with reunition. there was no reason, and katniss had thought you would kill him once you came back up, but there you had been; gut laughing, trying to catch your breath while also attempting to return the favor.

johanna chuckles, “he’s a fucking dickhead for that,” she tsks, shaking her head, still watching the two of you, “but i guess it’s sweet in some fucked up way. both found each other amidst of all… this.”

she hated watching the two of you, because it reminded her of something she couldn’t have, something she lost, and something the two of you could so fastly lose as well with any wrong step.

“this is where we finally die, isn’t it?” your eyes watch the calm waves as they slowly wash up further onto the shore, just enough to kiss your feet.

your words make finnick narrow his brows, almost frowning real hard as he looks over to you. you feel distant, out of body and too far for him to reach and yet you were more than close. he feels uneasy at the tone of your voice, like you were almost ready to give up.

“far from it…” he slightly tips his head to look at your face, but he sees nothing, receives nothing despite his hope that you’d be in touch and full of emotion like all other times the two of you have been together. “hey, why?”

his hand holds your shoulder, almost reaching for your face, but you meet his eyes before he could further do so. the concerned melted into his face made you inhale sharply, feeling slightly bad for causing the borderline stress in his eyes, “finn, i didn’t mean it… like that.”

“you ready to give up on me?” his eyebrows raise, trying to curve his lips in a accustomed smirk, but you can still see the worry.

“not yet,” you shook your head, almost scoffing as you look back out to the sun sinking into the trees, “just thinking.”

“think more logically, y/n,” he settles more comfortably and over the panic, using his index finger to lightly you tap on the side of your cheekbone. “if i die, who’s going to be your friend? keep you alive?”

you rolled your eyes, mumbling, “we both know i’m more than capable keeping myself alive.”

“we do,” it wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “but outside of the games, what’re you going to do with yourself?”

you shook your head at his silly scenarios, now looking to him with something he didn’t like, “we just try to die together then.”

“she’s the only thing he cares about,” johanna stares harder than katniss was, watching the way his hand clasps the back of your neck while pulling you closer to him. “truly.”

“this is unlike you. since when is death a concern to you?”

“since i met you,” you purse your lips, almost in shame that an obvious dent was made in your principles when you met finnick. “you make me feel so helpless.”

he chuckles, shaking his head at the words coming from your mouth that some could find offense in, “oh, i know you love me.” but it was finnick, and he knew your meaning behind them and he knew exactly how you felt.

before, you were both considered some of the capitols top killers with nothing to lose. but now, everything seemed to not be in your favor the moment you met each other. you had everything to lose now and you both knew it.

“we’ll be the death of each other, y/n.”

navigation.

@transias @cc13723things @thehuntress09 @afidiofobia @savedbythegraceofsoutherncharm @demigirl-with-problems @nyx3028 @missaryasstuff @hizziestial @ritz-hell-hotel @kayalect @mystic-writings @stitch-flo @ancientimes @s0urw00lf @straightzoinked @i44nishi @falcvns @alexxavicry @grxcisxhy-wp @lupinsluvbot

#finnick odair x reader #fav

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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cold tables

finnick odair x female reader ; cw: finger fucking

he didn't even have the audacity to take your pants off as your sitting upright with your legs spread wide on the cold meeting table, only unzipped and unbutton pants with your panties pushed over to the side

his fingers are inside of you. his. finnicks fingers move in and out of you, slow but so detailed that its making your back arch off the edge of the table

"do you?"

"hm?"

"do you like my fingers inside you?" he asks again, looking you right in the eye as a smirk stretches his lips. he wasn't asking out of nervousness or inexperienced (anything but that) he was mocking you, knowing how you're going in and out of it every time his fingers move in and out of you

"mhm" you whine out, he moves closer, lips almost touching yours

"lay back, right now" he whispers softly yet authoritative. not needing to raise his voice or put any filter on it, not when he's like this at least.

you do as he says, moving down as your long sleeve shirt isn't enough to help with the coldness of the table, fuck you shouldn't even be in here.

his free hand rests above your head as he looks at you, moving down to get a better view of your face when he starts to curl his fingers.

you moan and his mouth slightly opens with a hint of a smile, his thumb lays on your clit, moving it until you bite your lip so hard it bleeds

"keep lookin' at me, don't wanna miss this, baby" he whispers again, speeding up his fingers as you realize he means he doesn't wanna miss the look on your face as you come

he lightly shh's you when your whines crack out of your throat a little too loud, your chest rises and falls rapidly as his fingers move with a consistent speed, you came all over them with a sharp whimper, he leans down and kisses you, both your lips and his dripping fingers being the warmest thing in this room you kiss him deeper as your frozen nose buries in his, with hot breaths leaving them with sharp whines coating them.

#finnick odair x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 - 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: as finnick sneaks back into your cart during the victory tour, you start to pity him as he wraps his arms around you, knowing that this is all for the captiol and none of it is true...at least not for you.

cw: almost one-sided love, katniss and peeta trope, no smut, and lots of crying.

with how the trains speeds you feel as tho you're flying, laying in your bed with the new weather outside your window. yesterday it was snowing, now it's spring.

the silk bedsheets mold your skin as you lay there, regretful.

a hand snakes under and up to your abdomen, the scent of musk heavy on your nostrils as he pushes himself closer to your back.

he sighs once he has your touch back into his grip and you stay put, hoping he falls back to sleep.

it was a mistake, letting him back into your bed again.

it wasn't like you two did anything..it's just for the nightmares. but still.

he thumbs your shoulder softly, brushing the finger on your body to test your awareness, you feel his eyes on your neck.

once he gets no indication of your conciseness, he dips down to lay a soft, quick kiss on your neck.

it makes you shiver, a little fever sparking in your spine for that moment. it wasn't forced for his own excitement, it was a little good morning for you.

and that just makes it worse.

you pretend to flutter your eyes and he quickly sinks back into the silk sheets. you sit up and drowsily grab a towel before walking towards the bathroom that's connected to your cart.

you eye him as you take tip-toe steps, as if not to wake him. but you catch his lips flashing a soft smile before forcing down into a line.

you sprint into the bathroom and turn on the shower as you feel your chest heavy with breaths. you lock the door and sink down as you choke on air and have tears rush out of your eyes

he loves you

he loves you so much.

your mind brings you back to Annies sobs and pleas for you to return finnick to her, safely. to bring her love back.

I wonder how she felt seeing you brush his hair back in the arena before dipping down to kiss his puffy lips.

I wonder how she felt when 'her love' came home with a new love.

you confessed to him on the train that it was a lie. your love wasn't real and you watched him fight back tears while putting on a sad smile

"it's okay, really"

that's what he told you when you turned to look back out the window of the train car. you knew it wasn't your place but your cloudy mind thought it was a good idea

"fin...um...Annie was talking to me before the games and-"

"please. I don't want to hear anything about annie cresta."

so you both sat in silence as the train brought you back to four.

and now, on your victory tour with the capitol and everyone breathing down your neck, you realize that you will never have a life without odair being next to it.

you can't help but claw at your chest with sobs as the shower spits water at you, because finnick takes this as a chance, a chance for you to love him.

but you would never give yourself that chance

not with that promise you gave to annie.

and not with that vow you gave to yourself.

an: I might do a part 2 for this, katniss and peeta trope is such a good one I just had to make some angst for it. I hope that you guys liked it even though its short :( I'm sorry I cant do super super long ones, I just write when I can and post right after lmao. Also my babies!!! We got to 70 followers! I love you guys so much, when I started this acc I didn't think anyone would still be around for thg content, but you guys came through and made me love the fandom even more...I love you guys so much! mwah!

part 2

#finnick odair x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!

Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)

And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣

Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x

hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes

cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything

You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.

When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.

During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.

But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.

When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.

You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.

You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.

Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.

He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.

He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.

He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.

He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.

During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.

Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.

The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.

You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.

You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.

Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.

You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.

When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.

When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."

Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.

You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.

The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.

As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.

You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.

Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.

"I have a plan."

"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."

Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."

You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."

Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."

It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.

You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.

Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.

You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?

You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.

You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?

"Hello, Y/N."

You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.

He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."

You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.

"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."

You shook your head. "No."

He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"

"No." You said again, louder.

He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."

He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.

If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.

They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.

"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."

You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.

"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"

Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.

Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.

You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.

It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.

You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.

But you knew that was just the beginning.

You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.

"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.

A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.

"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."

You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.

He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.

As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.

That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."

You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.

There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.

"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.

"Are you.. Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.

His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."

You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.

Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.

Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.

You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.

You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.

"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."

#finnick odair x reader #fav

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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dead wrong — steve harrington x reader

summary: steve harrington is down horrendous for you, his best friend. his love is not as unrequited as he thinks.

contains: best friends to lovers, mutual pining (but mostly steve pining), steve’s pov, fluff galore, idiots in love, reader is good with the kids, reader is a skater like max, reader hurts her wrist and steve is a worried lovesick idiot. cw! descriptions of wounds/blood, mentions of hospital, reader wears steve’s clothes. she/her pronouns used.

a/n: first long fic yay!! I am extremely proud of this so pls love it 🤍

fem!reader 5.3k words

gif by @barneswayne

Steve Harrington is totally, most definitely, not in love with you. Just friends, he thinks, best friends. Best friends who hold hands and sit far too close together.

Speaking of, you push further into Steve’s side, your scent washing over him. Your hand squeezes Steve’s, and he thinks, never mind. Maybe he is in love with you. So in love with you it fucking hurts.

A chorus of shouts erupts around him. You and Steve are watching Eddie, Robin and the kids play beer bong, only without the beer. It’s soda. Dustin starts doing a stupid victory dance while half of his peers laugh and the others cringe. Steve cringes. You laugh. All high and lilting and adorable. Steve has to remind himself to breathe.

He brings your joint hands to rest on his knee. Your rings push into his skin, almost like harsh reminders that he can’t hold you like he wants to. He frowns.

“Steve?” Your voice brings Steve out of his thoughts like it always does. You give his hand a shake. “You okay?”

Steve looks up and prays you can’t see the hopeless devotion in his eyes. You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, with your messy hair and your eyes lined with glitter. Rosy cheeks, glossy pink lips that he stares a beat too long at. He’s known you for years, and yet he’s never gonna get used to how gorgeous you are. He swallows, forces his eyes up to yours.

“I’m okay,” he says, though he’s really not. He never is, because you never won’t look like that. “Are you?”

There’s another explosion of noise from the soda-pong players, but you don’t seem to notice. You frown like you don’t believe him. He’s being too obvious, he knows.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you sure, Steve?” You stretch your free hand across your torso to touch his face. Steve heats like an oven under your hand as you press your palm to his forehead. “You’re not feeling sick, are you? You feel sort of hot.”

Steve grabs your wrist, harder than he means to. He loosens his grip guiltily when you give him an alarmed look.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, lowering your hand gently. He can feel your pulse, only just, underneath his fingers. It’s damn sure slower than his. “I— uh, no. I’m not feeling unwell. It is pretty hot in here though.”

A total lie. The only reason he’s burning up is you.

Your frown deepens, a push of your bottom lip that makes Steve want to kiss you. It’s such an overwhelming feeling that he has to blink multiple times to make it go away.

“Oh,” you say. You look around the room and then back at Steve. “Do you want to go outside?”

Steve has a bit of a dilemma. If he says yes, he’ll be alone with you. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. If he says no, he’ll have to stay in this stuffy room with yelling teenagers and ping pong balls flying at him every five seconds. He decides on the first option.

“Sure,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. Then, to make you laugh, “Smells like boy in here anyway.”

You giggle. Steve feels like copying Dustin’s lame victory dance.

“You’re a boy, Stevie,” you say teasingly.

He wrinkles his nose at you. “No, I know, but it’s like … adolescent boy.”

You laugh loud, your mouth pulled up in a staggering smile. “Oh, okay,” you say, as if anything he just said made any sense.

Steve is starstruck for a second before you’re pulling him up from his seat, your hand in his a familiar, heart-aching weight.

Steve finds himself sitting side by side with you on the hood of his car. He can’t exactly remember how he got here — on the way, all he could think about was your hand in his and the fact that your thumb kept brushing over his knuckles in very distinct lines. Whether you’d meant to or not, he doesn’t know. He hopes you did.

“Any better?” You ask quietly, stretching your pinky across the small gap between your hands to tap his.

Steve feels something like an electric shock where your skin touches his. It baffles him, how such a tiny touch can cause such a big reaction throughout his body. He stares at your hand when he answers.

“Much,” he says honestly. He looks up at you. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. You can go back in if you want.”

Secretly he hopes you’ll stay here with him forever. But that would be selfish, and if Steve is anything when he’s with you, it’s not selfish.

“Eurgh, no.” You pull a disgusted sort of face that makes Steve grin. “I could barely stand it when you were there. Without you, I think I’d die from the smell alone.”

Steve laughs. Really laughs. The words without you, I think I’d die, float around his brain like fish in a fish tank. When he’s done laughing he catches your smile, all pretty and wide, and his heart does one of those funny backflips that he’s never gonna get used to.

Steve watches as you brace your hands on the edge of the car and push yourself up the hood, pulling your shoes up to rest on the metal. Your skirt is short enough that Steve can see half of your thighs, more when you shift yourself like that. He stares for two seconds too long and then feels so guilty he almost apologises.

Instead, he says, “Aren’t you cold?” He points at your skirt but doesn’t look.

You shrug. “No, not really.”

With a sigh you let yourself fall back against the hood of the car. Your skirt rises even more and a half inch more of your skin is exposed — Steve feels like the universe is out to get him. His only escape is to fall back next to you, his right shoulder brushing your left one. You smile when he does, head rolling to the side to look at him. Face to face now, Steve can feel every small breath coming from your parted lips.

“See any stars?” He blurts, because your face is much too close and he’s scared if you look at him like that any longer, he’ll kiss you stupid.

You look up at the dark, empty sky and wrinkle your nose. “No.”

“Wait, look, there’s one.” Steve lifts his arm to point at what he thinks is a star.

You squint in its direction. “That’s a plane.”

“What? No it’s— oh.” He trails off when he realises the ‘star’ is moving. It disappears behind a cloud a second later.

You laugh, breathless and pretty, and drop your head onto Steve’s shoulder. Your perfume fills the air around Steve and he has to stop himself from leaning closer. You bring a hand up to fiddle with your necklace, a cheap, plastic ‘S’ charm that sits directly on your sternum. The fake diamonds are falling off, half of them gone already, but you’ve refused to take it off after all these years. Steve has one of your initial, too. You got them from a dollar store when you were twelve and pinky promised to be best friends forever.

You slip your necklace safely beneath your top and then stifle a yawn behind your hand.

Steve gives your elbow a nudge. “Tired?”

You shrug one shoulder and then droop further into Steve’s side. Every point of contact between you burns.

“You’re tired,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

You make a noise that’s probably meant to be a sound of protest but comes out more like a tired moan. Steve chuckles lightly, reaches over and rubs your arm.

“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s go home.”

‘Home’ really means Steve’s house, because you’ve left your car there and because you’re over so much it’s become your second home. By the time Steve is pulling up the driveway, you’re so dead beat he doesn’t even consider letting you drive yourself home. You practically hang off his waist as he walks you both inside.

“M’tired,” you mumble as you pass the living room.

Steve has to bite back a laugh. “Uh-huh, I can tell.”

You look up at him and squint like you know he’s laughing at you. Then you say, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Steve’s heart skips. Sure, you’ve slept in his bed before, but every time you have Steve lay awake for at least half the night. He’s not above admitting that he’s watched you sleep more than once. He’s seconds away from telling you to take the guest bedroom when you pout dramatically.

“Please? You’re so warm.” You push into his side, your arm tightening around his waist like you don’t ever want to let go.

Steve hates himself for nodding, but he can’t help it. “Yeah, okay.”

He drags you up the stairs and into his room. Your makeup and stray jewellery is strewn across his dresser — you’d gotten ready at Steve’s before the party. If you could even call it that, Steve thinks. He plants you on his bed and you fall back immediately, eyes shut tight as your hair splays across the sheets.

“You’re like a zombie,” Steve says amusedly, his gaze all fond and mushy as he looks down at you. “From like, Day of the Dead or something.”

You pull a face, faux offended but your big grin gives you away. “Ew. I’m not that ugly, am I?”

Steve hums long and high like he’s thinking about it. This makes you gasp and throw a hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. Before Steve can get half a laugh out a pillow is hitting him straight across the face.

“Hey!” He exclaims, glaring at you. You’re still lying down, eyes screwed tight like you’re pretending you didn’t just brutally attack Steve. He laughs because you’re fucking adorable. “Zombies don’t throw pillows, Y/N.”

Your words are plagued by a yawn as you say, “This one does.”

Steve sighs at your antics, picks up your murder weapon (his pillow) and replaces it on the bed.

“Oh no,” you groan suddenly, like you’ve remembered something awful, hands flying to your face in despair. “My makeup, Stevie. M’too tired to take it off.”

Your words stick to each other like taffy in your tired state. Steve remembers the last time he let you sleep in your makeup. He didn’t hear the end of it for days. He’d rather avoid your wrath this time round.

Steve sighs, knowing full well he’s about to put his foot in it. “Well, will you let me do it?”

You open one eye blearily and look at him. “Would you?”

Steve shrugs, though the thought of being that close to you makes him feel nauseous. Luckily, you’ve closed both eyes again so he can blush all he wants. Plus, he’d do anything for you. Even endure the overwhelming urge to kiss you breathless.

“Sure thing, babe. I’ll get the stuff.”

Steve ends up sitting on his bed with you across from him, crossed legs pressing up against his. You’re sitting so close you’re almost in his lap. He ignores this for the sake of his dignity.

You’ve got your eyes shut and your hair up in a clip. A lock of hair has tumbled out of its knot and Steve pushes it away from your face, fingers hooking behind your ear and lingering. He keeps his hand on your jaw as he raises his other hand, a wet cloth ready to clean your sparkly makeup off.

“You sure about this?” He asks hesitantly. He’s dead terrified he’ll do something wrong, like get glitter in your eye.

You smile softly, your eyes staying firmly shut. “Yes, Steve, it’s fine.” Your tone is half reassuring and half exasperated.

Steve bites the bullet and goes right in, pressing the wet cloth to your cheekbones first. You’ve got blush and glitter there, sprinkled on your cheeks like fairy dust. He smooths the cloth along your skin and it comes away sparkly and pink.

“Okay?” He asks, pausing worriedly.

You nod slowly, your head starting to droop in his hand. “Yeah, Steve.”

Steve grins fondly at your face, screwed up in exhaustion. He tightens his grip on your jaw to keep your head steady, thumb hooked under your chin. Carefully, he begins to dab at your eyelids, also painted with silvery glittery eyeshadow.

Your face dewy and makeup-free, Steve thinks you’ve never looked prettier. So pretty it drives him mad. He stares, really stares, for far too long but he’s worried if he opens his mouth, breaks the silence, he’ll never get to see you like this again. Your hair all messy pretty, your eyes shut and eyelashes kissing, your pink lips turned in a half smile.

He’s not surprised when your soft voice drifts into his thoughts.

“You done?” You open your eyes, eyelids heavy and head heavier.

Steve snaps out of it. He lets go of your face quickly, slides off the bed even quicker.

“All done,” he says, almost tripping over his own feet.

You smile, seemingly oblivious to his clumsiness. Or maybe, it’s just happened so often that you’re not surprised. Either way, your smile is sickeningly sweet. Steve is torn between the desire to kiss you or run as far away as possible from you.

Your voice matches your honey-smile when you say, “Thank you, Stevie.”

You reach out to touch his forearm, your hand a heavy weight on his skin as you wrap your fingers around his arm and squeeze.

He grins lopsidedly, and he’s sure he looks like a lovesick idiot but he can’t find it in himself to care. “You’re welcome.”

You drop your hand and Steve’s arm suddenly feels cold as ice. He wants to touch you again but knows he shouldn’t. He strides to his bedroom door and pauses to turn and look at you.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” he says. Your eyelids are drooping again. He laughs fondly. “Get in bed while I’m gone, zombie-girl.”

Your giggle follows him all the way to the kitchen.

When Steve gets back, a glass of water in each hand, you’re still as a statue on your self-appointed side of the bed. You’ve swapped your outfit for a grey t-shirt that you totally stole from him but deny every time he asks about it, and the shortest shorts known to mankind.

He switches off the light and shuts the door with his heel. Pointedly avoiding looking at your bare legs, he rounds the bed and sets the water down, then bends over you.

“Y/N?” He whispers.

You hum softly, though Steve can’t tell if it’s a hum of acknowledgement or just a sound you’ve made in your sleep. He leans closer, listening to your breathing. You’re awake, only just.

He brushes his hand over your upper arm, touch as light as a feather. He thinks he feels goosebumps on your skin but doesn’t have time to wonder why. You’re lifting your chin slightly, lips parted.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” you whisper, so quiet he barely hears you. Steve’s heart swells. “Thanks for … everything.”

A few moments later you fall silent and your breathing grows steady, and Steve wonders how the hell you always fall asleep so fast.

He rubs your arm, kisses your forehead because he knows you won’t remember this part. His lips buzz as he pulls away. “Goodnight, sweet thing.”

You’re outside Family Video. Steve emerges from the back room and spots you so fast it’s like he’s got a third eye. He’s both shocked and pleased — he hadn’t expected to see you until after his shift.

You’ve got the kids with you. You and Max are zooming around the carpark on your skateboards while Dustin and Lucas are poised on the hood of your car, poring over comics.

He watches you skate with Max. Like some lame rom-com cliche, your hair is blowing in the wind and Steve swears you’ve moving in slow motion. You’re laughing and joking with Max and Steve stares and stares. Stares until Robin sidles up next to him.

“What’re you— oh.” Steve can hear the smirk in her voice even though he refuses to look at her. “What’re they doing here?”

Steve shrugs and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound, moving to the counter to put down the box of videos he’s carrying. Robin follows.

“You’re not gonna go say hi to Y/N?” Robin asks slyly. Steve can hear in her voice what’s coming. “You’ve been staring long enough.”

Steve blushes furiously despite himself. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, sure.” Robin hoists herself onto the counter, peers into the box of videos and picks one out at random. “Just like you weren’t holding her hand on Tuesday night?”

Steve can’t exactly get himself out of that one. He snatches the video from Robin with an annoyed tsk, slotting it back into the box. Her laugh is devilish.

“You are hopeless, Steven,” she says, whacking Steve over the head as she hops off the counter.

Steve rubs his head and glares at Robin. If looks could kill she’d be dead meat. “That’s not my name.”

Robin gets this look on her face that Steve knows all too well. He wants to pummel her before she’s even said anything.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, all sarcasm. “What is it, then? Stevie?”

Steve’s blood boils. Only you’re allowed to call him that.

“Y’know what, Robin?” He says loudly. He turns on his coworker, seething. She’s totally nonchalant, a stupid smirk on her lips. “Why don’t you just leave me—?”

“Steve!”

A shout of his name from the door. He turns and finds Lucas standing there, looking panicked.

Steve’s brow furrows. Then he notices you and Max are no longer whizzing around the carpark. “What—“

“Y/N fell,” Lucas says, out of breath. “We think she hurt her wrist.”

Steve’s heart drops. “Shit.”

He goes flying out the door and into the parking lot. You’re sitting on the concrete, one knee pulled up to your chest, your skateboard dormant next to you. Max is kneeling over you, and Dustin has graciously abandoned his comics for your sake.

“Y/N!” He damn near shouts. He runs over to you and Max and gets on his knees. He’s probably just ruined his jeans on the concrete — he doesn’t give a single fuck.

“Y/N,” he says frantically, a tentative hand landing on your shoulder. Both your knees are scraped something awful and a nasty gash blooms on the outside of your wrist. Steve’s worry is loud and his heartbeat twice as much. “Y/N, are you okay? What happened? What’s—“

You look up. Your eyes are shining but you’ve got a dopey smile on your lips.

“Steve,” you say breathlessly. You blink and a tear falls from your eye and over the bump of your cheek. “Hi. Good to see you.”

Steve stares at you in horror. How can you be making jokes at a time like this? You laugh wetly and Steve looks at Max, totally alarmed.

“What happened?” He demands.

Max is much calmer than he is. “She went over a bump or something,” she says. She’s rubbing your back and Steve feels a rush of gratitude for the younger girl. “Fell on her left arm. Her wrist might be sprained or broken, but—“

“Broken?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure his soul just left his body.

“I said might,” Max says through her teeth.

“Y/N?” Steve slides his arm around your shoulder, carefully avoiding your left wrist, which you're cradling in your uninjured hand. “Y/N, baby, can you get up?”

You make a noise like a scoff but it’s muffled by your sniffly nose. “‘Course I can.”

Steve helps you anyway, Max on your other side keeping a firm hold on your jacket. You hiss as you straighten your legs, knee-wounds sprouting fresh blood. Steve bites down on his lip so hard he almost bleeds himself.

“Are you gonna take her to the hospital?” Max asks. There’s genuine worry in her eyes that Steve barely sees. Dustin, Lucas and Robin appear, looking equally worried.

Steve puts on a brave face. “Think so. What do you think?” He asks Max. “You’re the skateboard expert.”

She grins so quick Steve almost misses it. It disappears when she looks at you in your bloody and bruised state. “Yeah. Just in case.”

Steve walks you over to your car, half dragging you. Not that you need him to, he just can’t bear for you to hurt any more than you already are. He deposits you in the passenger seat, ducks his head in to pull your seatbelt across your torso. He’s seconds from ducking back out when you stop him, your uninjured hand on his chest, right over his racing heart.

“It hurts,” you say, quiet enough that only Steve can hear. Your eyes are welling up again. Steve feels like crying himself.

“I know,” he says, nodding vigorously like it will make a difference. “I know, sweet girl. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay.”

At this point he’s talking to himself as well as you. You nod in an exhausted sort of way and Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. Slow and soft and as close to your lips as he’s ever kissed. He has to take a few seconds to compose himself before straightening up and turning to the others.

“I gotta take her,” he says, sending an apologetic grimace in Robin’s direction.

Robin nods once and surprisingly, doesn’t say a word. She looks about as sympathetic as Steve has ever seen her. He turns to the kids.

“Help Robin,” he says. He’s trying desperately to make his voice sound normal but falling short of the mark. Everyone notices but nobody comments. “Don’t mess up the store.”

He gives a grateful smile to Max and then rounds the car, hopping in and starting the engine.

You’re half asleep on Steve’s couch, your head in his lap. You’re wearing his yellow sweater — the one he bought only because you’d said he’d look good in yellow. You’ve just woken up from a post-hospital nap and Steve’s hand is in your hair, brushing slow strokes over the side of your head.

He’s feeling a lot of things. Relieved, for starters. The doctor had said it was only a sprain, they’d bandaged up your wrist and you’d left the hospital in far better conditions. Steve was in far better conditions, too.

Steve looks down at you, at your bandaged wrist and the huge bandaids on your knees and thinks, fuck. He thinks his heart is about to claw its way out of his chest. He doesn’t think he can take this love thing any longer.

You stir and take a long breath, turning your head in Steve’s lap to look up at him. Your eyes are tired but you’re smiling.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly. He doesn’t want to break the silence. It feels good, to sit in silence and comfort with you. He runs his fingers through your hair again.

You nod. “Mhm. I’m good.”

“Hurting?”

You shift in his lap. “No, not right now.”

You fall silent and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell you how worried he was about you, but you could probably tell. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell he was nauseous-level worried. Then he thinks about telling you he loves you. It’s a stupid reason, really, but it was all because a nurse had asked if he was your boyfriend. He’d wished he could say yes.

“Steve?”

Steve hums and meets your eyes. You move to sit up and Steve helps you, knowing you won’t let him stop you. A firm hand between your shoulder blades, his palm sliding down your back as you straighten yourself. You shift so you’re facing him, your legs crossed beneath you and your injured wrist resting in your lap. Steve is careful to avoid your wounded knees.

“What is it, babe?” Steve asks quietly. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, dragging his thumb over a spot where your tears had smudged your mascara earlier.

You melt into his hand, eyes falling shut as a long, deep sigh falls from your lips. You raise your good hand to cover his, holding it to your face. Your hand burns stars onto the back of his.

“Is it your wrist?” Steve asks. You’re acting strange. He puts it down to your injured state. “Your knees? Do you want more ice? New band-aids?”

He’s being a total worrywart, he knows, but who can blame him?

You shake your head, eyes open but cast down. “No.”

“Just feeling bad?” He asks through a frown. In a strange parallel to a couple of days ago, he lifts his free hand to press his palm to your forehead. You feel warm but not hot.

“It’s …” you start, then trail off. Both yours and Steve’s hands fall to your lap.

Steve’s concern spikes. You’ve never been one to hide anything from him. “Yeah?”

“Um, it’s … it’s silly but—“ You take a deep breath and let your eyes raise to Steve’s. You get a look on your face Steve doesn’t quite understand, but it makes his heart leap to his throat anyway. “You know today, when that nurse asked us if you were my boyfriend?”

Steve laughs embarrassedly, too loud and too sudden. So you’d been thinking about that, too. He pulls his hand away from your lap and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?” He says, though it wasn’t really. Almost every new person he meets thinks you’re dating him. “I was—”

“I wanted to say yes, Stevie.”

Steve stops talking abruptly, his mouth slamming shut. He hadn’t really known what he was about to say, anyway. He searches for words but all he comes up with is a garbled, “What?”

You laugh, all soft and slow and distorted by fatigue. You raise your hand to rub your neck, a mirror of Steve only a moment ago.

“I wanted to say yes,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. Even the second time, Steve doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you say, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

For once in his life, Steve has nothing to say. He gazes at you like you’re some sort of angel on earth. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in some cruel dream and he’s about to wake up with his chest aching.

“I …” Steve‘s voice catches on the words. His throat burns so he mustn’t be dreaming. He tries again. “Y-You … you do?”

He’s not even embarrassed by the stuttering. Just when he didn’t think he could be any more in love with you, you giggle. He was dead wrong. His heart grows about three sizes too big for his chest.

“Yeah, Steve,” you say, fondness smothering your fake exasperation. “Do you … do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

What Steve wants is to kiss you. He wants to kiss you til you can’t breathe and then some more after that. Silently, he takes your injured wrist in his hand and gently shifts it so it’s out of the way, resting on the couch cushions. Then he grabs your face, fingers splayed over your jaw and neck. He can feel your pulse. It’s almost as quick as his. He leans so close he can hear every breath you’re taking.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. “That okay?”

You laugh a giddy, breathless laugh, surprised at his suddenness. “Please do.”

He slams his eyes shut, darts forward to kiss you and fucking misses. Your noses bump. A surprised giggle bubbles from you and Steve goes red.

“Wait, I’m sorry—“ He tries again, tilting your head to one side and angling his head to the other. This time it works perfectly, and your giggling is swallowed up by Steve’s mouth, lips fitting together like they were made for each other.

You sigh and go all melty and Steve’s heart skyrockets. It feels like everything in the world is falling into place. It’s years of longing, eternities of lingering touches and offhand compliments and longing glances all rolled into one life changing kiss. Your good hand has jumped to Steve’s chest, first bunched in the material of his t-shirt and then spreading over it, palm atop his wild heart. He thinks he might die on the spot. Or like, catch on fire or something.

Steve is losing breath but he won’t stop just yet. He drops his hands to your shoulders and pulls away a hair’s breadth. Then he dives back in for one, two, three kisses that you respond to with all the eagerness in the world. Your kisses are so lovely they make him light-headed.

When Steve pulls away (for oxygen, nothing less) you chase his lips with yours. He laughs, all fondness. He’s dizzy with love.

“Woah, hold your horses, cowboy,” he says through a woozy laugh. He’s finding it hard to speak. He barely hears himself. For all he knows, he’s talking in an alien language.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sounding very sorry at all. “So … was that a yes?”

Steve has to laugh. He can’t help it. “Are you kidding? Yes, Y/N. That was a yes. I—“

He’s rudely interrupted by someone banging on the door. He thinks he knows who it is. Only one person he knows knocks that hard.

He sighs morosely but he can’t keep the grin off his face for very long. “I’ll get it.”

He heaves himself off the couch and makes for the front door. You stop him before he gets very far, a hand in his bicep.

“Wait, Steve.”

Steve turns, puzzled. “Yeah?”

You’re lifting your chin up, lips parted. Steve knows exactly what you want.

His grin grows impossibly wider as he bends at the waist to kiss you once, chaste and slow and just as perfect as the kisses shared moments ago. When he pulls away you’re smiling so big he’s worried you’ll get stuck like that forever. He wouldn’t mind.

Another round of banging from the door. Steve sighs, squeezes your good shoulder once and then marches to the front door, just about ready to kick the intruder off his front porch. He opens the door and finds his suspicions were correct. It’s Dustin.

He’s holding a handful of flowers that look suspiciously similar to the ones that grow in Steve’s mom’s garden.

“Those for me?” Steve asks. He shoots his arm out to stop Dustin from barging in, hand gripping the door frame.

Dustin pulls a face. “Ew. No, they’re for Y/N.” He steps aside and more kids appear, plus Robin and Eddie. Eddie’s van has been parked haphazardly in Steve’s driveway. “Can we come in or are you gonna stand there and guard the door like that all night?”

“She’s tired.”

“But we bought chocolates.”

“Well—“

“Dustin?” You call from the living room. Oh, great. Now Steve’s gonna have to let them in. “S’that you?”

Dustin beams and gives Steve an expectant look. Steve drops his arm with a defeated sigh and Dustin goes marching in like he owns the place. Max, Lucas and even Mike follow. Mike, who never shows up to anything. Though Steve shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Mike’s favourite, out of the older ones.

Eddie comes next, then Robin, who stops to give Steve a grimace.

“Sorry,” she says wryly. “They really wanted to see her.”

Steve shrugs good-naturedly. He’s on cloud nine and much too happy to care all that much. He follows Robin into the living room and finds everyone crowded around you, Max on your side and Dustin getting down on one knee to present you the probably-stolen flowers like you’re the Queen of England. You look the same as Steve feels — kiss bitten and with your head in another world. But you’re pleased by the company, he can tell.

Dustin moves to give you one of his bone-crushing hugs and Steve goes all panic mode.

“Please be careful with her!” He says urgently, his panic obvious under the usual demanding tone he takes with the kids.

But you’re laughing under Dustin’s hug, and Steve can’t stay mad when you look like that. You meet his eyes over a mop of curly hair and your gaze goes all mushy and sweet. Steve’s legs feel like jelly. If he keeled over dead right now, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He’s sure someone will see but he doesn’t really care. Grinning from ear to ear, he mouths, “Love you.”

He’s said it before, of course he has, you’re his best friend in the whole entire world. This time though, it’s all the more different. It’s better. You flush, oblivious to the noisy chatter around you.

“Love you too,” you mouth back.

Steve can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated!! reblog this and I’ll kiss you on the mouth mwah

#steve harrington x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

Text

How dare you?

summary You start getting close to a cute guy at a party but your best friends brother isn't so happy about it.

pairing(s) JJ Maybank x reader, Rafe Cameron x reader

warnings jealous!Rafe, one or two curse words, mentions of drinking, fighting, angst angst angst.

a/n I'm a sucker for jealous Rafe so this will definitely need a part 2. Enjoy! / 1.9k words.

You're grateful for your best friend, you really are, but at the moments like these you wished she never got a boyfriend. After you and Sarah spent the whole afternoon getting ready for the party of the summer, John B had to show up and steal her away from you. You weren't actually mad at her, quite the opposite, you wanted her to have a good time, just like you wanted to have it yourself, but the problem is that now, with her gone, you knew basically no one there.

You stayed at Sarahs' lots of times before, since your families are business partners so you visit Outer Banks quite often, but you never actually got to get to know anyone besides the Camerons, or to be precise only one of them. You did say hi to Sarah's infamous older brother in the kitchen once, but after he just side eyed you, you figured it was better to avoid him but you just couldn't ignore how irritated and annoyed he seemed whenever you and Sarah were around. Especially you. It's like he had something against you but you couldn't quite distinguish what. And you decided that you won't care because there was something more important you had planned this summer instead of dealing with his nonsense- meeting a certain someone.

You never actually met any of the pouges but your best friend told you more than you needed to know about every friend of her boyfriends', especially about a hot blond one. Sarah was supposed to introduce you to all of them tonight but it seemed like she had more important things to do right now. After slowly beginning to feel lonely, you decided that you didn't get ready for nothing. If Sarah wasn't here to introduce you to people, you were gonna do it yourself. It can't be that hard, right?

You just needed a few shots to boost your confidence.

As you were approaching the bar you heard an unfamiliar voice from behind calling for you. "Y/n!?" You turned your head to meet a face you recognised from one of Sarah's friend group photos. "I'm JJ", he shouted, leaning over so you could hear him over the loud music "John B just texted and apparently the lovebirds aren't coming back here so Sarah asked me to keep an eye on you". You were taken aback by this sudden situation and you knew your friends did this on purpose. You were already too tipsy to answer anything but a flirty "Not complaining" while sipping on your drink. The only thing you could focus on was the smirk on his face. God, he looked so good.

You two quickly took off, jokingly gossiping your friends and being a bit too touchy considering you were complete strangers an hour ago. JJ was in the middle of describing the way him, Pope and John B got in a fight with the kooks a few days ago, when you felt something change in you. You were looking at JJ but you couldn't hear a word, this weird feeling completely taking over you. It could be because of the 3rd drink you had tonight but no, you've felt this before, just before you'd catch him staring at you. And that's when you knew, you were being watched.

While JJ was too occupied reenacting the fight for you, your head hurriedly searched through the crowd, hoping you're in the wrong. But that's when your eyes met his. Rafe's blank stare from across the room made you freeze immediately. His face looked completely serious and collected but you could see the way his brows slightly scrunched up. He was judging you. It's almost like he was mad. You looked away immediately, trying to shift your attention back to JJ who didn't happen to catch your change of demeanor. "Could you take me some place more quiet, please", you asked, interrupting his vivid storytelling, not actually minding the loudness. You just needed to get away from there. Get away from him.

The two of you grew to like each other's company so much that neither of you wanted to leave the party yet, so you found the only slightly quieter place at the party- the porch. JJ noticed you shivering from what he thought was just the night breeze outside. But oh, if he only knew. He covered your shoulders with his jacket and a little "there you go". You were silent for a while, feeling sort of cozy and safe just being wrapped up in his jacket. You put your head on his shoulder when he finally broke the silence. "I never thought a girl like you would hang out with a guy like me", he said quietly, almost like he didn't want to wake you up, even though he knew you weren't asleep. You couldn't help but lift your head off his shoulder, murmuring a sleepy and confused "what?". "I mean, me being a pouge and all", he said more clearly, finally turning his head to face you. You never really thought about it that way. "Oh, I honestly couldn't care less about your 'rivalry' with the kooks, I just don't get it. But if I had to choose...", you said with a teasing smile forming on your face, "I'd join up with your 'gang' ". He let out a chuckle, lightly bumping his shoulder into your side. "I'm really glad to hear that", he said smiling at you, the sudden eye contact making you blush.

You spent the rest of the party enjoying JJs company. Laughing at his jokes made you forget why you two were even out on the porch, so you quickly grabbed his hand and ran back in when you heard your favorite song playing. All you wanted right now was to dance because your mission was complete. You met the person you came to the party for and you hit it off instantly. Nothing could ruin this night for you.

What you didn't know is that Rafe wasn't letting this go. You really thought you could laugh so loudly and have a good time with his biggest enemy in front of him. On his part of the island. And on top of that you tried to hide from him? Didn't you see how he was looking at you earlier? Wasn't that enough for you to realise that he didn't want you there. Didn't want you with him. And you just ignored his obvious warning and continued flirting with someone else? But no, he can't do anything yet. He hasn't told you how jealous he was every time you'd hang out with Sarah. Of course SHE claimed you. He's always been intrigued by you but he couldn't stop thinking about all the stuff his sister must've put in your head. He's Rafe Cameron, he couldn't just come up to you and get rejected. It would hurt his ego and reputation forever. But this? This was even worse. Who do you even think you are? How dare you? You were moments away from following this pouge into a first empty room all giggly and shit. And God, he didn't want to imagine what could happen next.

JJ cupping your face in the corner of the room got Rafe out of his trance. Seeing him kiss you was the last straw and he couldn't hold back anymore. His fists clenched as he was approaching the two of you and just seconds later, he was grabbing JJ by his shoulders, pushing him off of you.

You were taken aback and it took you a moment to realise it was him. Rafe was holding JJ by his collar and you could notice the rage in his eyes. You collected yourself and tried to separate the poor boy from Rafe's grip but he was too strong. "What do you think you're doing, huh?", he shouts, looking at you with narrowed eyes, keeping JJ in a chokehold.

You couldn't believe this was actually happening. Why does he think he can just come up to you like this and ruin your night. He couldn't do this. Not right now. Not like this. Not after he's been ignoring your existence ever since you got there. And now, he has the audacity to hurt the guy you like? Who does he even think he is? How dare he? In front of all these people?

You glared at him in disbelief, unsure of what to say. There was so much on your mind. You wanted to yell and scream because he took this too far. The only thing you were able to do at the moment though, was cry. You knew you had to do something to put him back in his place but it's was so late and you were so drunk. You couldn't think straight and you felt so overwhelmed that you just ran away.

He knew it. He knew he fucked up and seeing you cry wasn't exactly what he had planned. Not like he planned anything. He knew he couldn't follow you because he didn't know where he would even begin explaining himself. If you'd even let him to.

After JJ finally escaped from his grip, he ran to catch up to you. Yes, he did want to confront Rafe but he figured he'd deal with him later. Right now, your wellbeing was his number one priority.

You wandered off far from the party but your muffled sobbing gave you away. He noticed you sitting on the beach, face buried in your hands, when he approached you carefully. "U okay?", he asked worriedly as he sat next to you. "I'm so sorry" was all you could say before breaking down again, putting your head on his lap. He caressed your hair as he spoke in a calming tone, not trying to upset you even more: "It's okay. I'll take care of it", he whispered as you sat up again. "I'll take care of you".

You were still shaken up. After all, this was the first time someone so furious and agitated came over to you, demanding an answer to a such an absurd question. You started believing that it wasn't even aimed to you, it had no reason to be. The only logical explanation you could come up with in your current state was that you just got caught in a pouge-kook fight that had nothing to do with you. Rafe did attack JJ after all. You convinced yourself that the question was meant for JJ but you couldn't figure out why. You weren't sure if you even wanted to know. Calming yourself down with the new theory, you finally started speaking. "He just wanted to get revenge on you for beating up his friends the other day, right?", you said with confidence, thinking you've finally figured it out. You wondered if your reaction was too dramatic considering the situation had nothing to do with you. You could've helped JJ instead of getting freaked out by an ignorat jerk. "God, he's such an asshole, why does he dislike you so much?", you asked as JJs face looked at you with confusion. Could you really be this oblivious? "Y/N...That wasn't about disliking me. It was about liking you". You freezed at his words, refusing to believe what he had just said, when that weird feeling came over you again. You felt Rafe's intimidating presence as you turned around, shivering. It was him and he was just steps away.

#jj maybank x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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Kindergarten Troubles

Ghost X Wife!Reader

“Well, aren’t you just handsome!”

“My goodness, you’re so tall!”

“And so muscular!”

“Are you taken?”

“My goodness, you must be here to pick up one of the little ones… What a good father you are!”

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is many things…

A soldier.

A Lieutenant.

He has faced death down so many times before, death became a friend…

He is a friend.

A teammate.

He is a husband.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley can handle many things.

He can handle explosions.

He can handle gunfire.

He can handle war.

But one thing he CANNOT handle.

Is the attention he is getting, while waiting for you to get done with work…

The line of cars is getting longer, as the minutes pass as parents gather in wait for their little ones to be let out for the day.

It was meant to be a surprise.

He had returned days early from his mission and was sent on his leave…

He feels naked without his balaclava.

He didn’t want to scare the children, at the school where you teach; but now he is regretting not keeping the mask in his pocket.

He has never felt so exposed…

Mothers left and right…

Bloody hell – even fathers, had begun to side eye him like he was a piece of meat.

A full course meal.

He could feel his nerves starting to wear thin.

“So, which little one is yours?” A young mother – blonde, who had taken particular interest in him, stood within his space.

A little too close for his liking.

“I’m here for my wife,” his voice is flat, it’s even and straight to the point…

The woman in question, and all others standing around within ear shot – go silent…

And suddenly take a step back.

And Simon feels like he can breathe.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was a reasonable man… He knew how to be civil when it was needed; but bloody hell he was tired, and he was uncomfortable.

Pulling out his phone, he reads the time, and feels his heart racing as the time grows closer.

Five minutes before the bell rings.

He can feel a faint smile tug at his lips, and knows that it must be silly… But he can’t help it.

He so desperately needed you.

You were his whole world.

You came into his life at one of his darkest moments and didn’t see him as a monster… You didn’t see Lieutenant Ghost…

You didn’t see a solider, nor a killing machine.

You saw Simon Riley.

He never believed in falling in love at first sight.

But when you took his world and spun it around like the storm that you are… Well, he made himself out to be a liar.

Because he found himself falling in love.

The last five minutes feels like an eternity.

But the bell chimes are music to his ears, and he finds himself on high alert, seeking your face in a sea of hundreds.

Some would say it would be nearly impossible to find you in a sea of running children, and chattering facility and staff.

But he can spot you blindfolded.

He knows your walk.

He knows the sound of your laughter.

The scent of your perfume.

He knows everything about you.

He feels the heat of the sun, bearing down on his neck, the intense glares from the lingering parents as he moves towards the school entrance.

But he pushes forward, weaving his way through the onslaught of a crowd of hyperactive children, and exhausted teachers.

Till he spots you.

You’re holding hands with two of your students, looking into the sea of parents.

He feels his chest tighten at the sight – he always knew you were good with children. There was something about you that brought out the best in kids…

Something that brought out the best in him.

He feels the exhaustion slowly slipping away from his bones, as he watches you move with your students.

You’re a natural.

You’re moving towards the group of parents that had been harassing him just moments ago, and he feels the sudden need to make his presence known.

Make it clear…

Who he was taken by.

He hates to interrupt your conversation with the parents, but the look at the parents face is well worth it…

It’s filled with horror, realization.

Did they just try to hit on their child’s teacher’s husband?

What a lucky woman?

“So sorry to interrupt,” his hands find their way around your waist; he chuckles at the startled expression you wear across your face.

“Simon!”

“Hello love.”

He catches you in his arms, and it feels like home…

“You’re home early!”

“Came home early to surprise you,” he presses a soft kiss to the top of your forehead.

“Well consider me, surprised!” You pull away, wide eyed, as the realization and presence of your audition brings you back to the now. “Oh my gosh! Forgive me!” You straighten out your clothing.

“And who is this?” The blonde mother from before doesn’t seemed pleased.

But Simon can play that game too, and extends a hand before you can reply, “Lieutenant Simon Riley – her husband.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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just practice | simon "ghost" riley

aka you're the first pussy ghost eats tags: fem!reader, oral sex, smut, 18+

Caramel eyes flicker over you. Nonchalant, a little dazed. As if he doesn't care about the admission he has just let slip. His fingertips are digging into the soft pad of your breast; reddened skin where he'd just been sucking lazily.

"…Never?"

Though, maybe it's not such a surprise. This man, often coming to you dripped in the scent of residual gunpowder, seems to crave touch as much as he leans away from it. Kissed you for the first time only after flinching away. Preferred taking you from behind. Kept his clothes on each time you fucked so that only his cock, hands, and the crescent of his hips gave away any skin.

Despite this, he was a giving lover so far. He'd learned after just a few times that you liked his mouth to your nipples. Squirmed, even more, when he bared his teeth to them. You liked his fingers to your clit at the same time as his cock to your cervix. He paid attention, studied you. You'd noticed in the past month of these heated exchanges that he would glance at your cunt and marvel at it. A silent gospel. But never, not yet, has he placed his mouth there.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

His hand is dipped in the plush of your cunt. It's been lingering there for some time, fingering you slowly, inviting a slickness. This is a rare moment where he's truly taking his time with you. Not so rough, a little more curious. He'd collected some of your arousal and brought it to his lips. Furrowed brows as he tasted them; went back for some more. Until finally, you touched the back of his mask and murmured: You can eat me out if you want.

To which he cleared his throat and offered a gruff truth.

He’d never done that before.

Now—

"Well, do you want to try it?"

Ghost studies your eyes. Looks for any signs of jest.

Then, his hand slips from your cunt and leaves it pitifully unattended for a moment. He grips your legs, and parts them purposefully. Takes his time situating himself between them. You almost get impatient but you realize: this is a first for him. You owe him patience.

He inches his mask a little higher, the fabric bunched at the end of his nose.

Ghost gives a firm kiss to your inner thigh, a little bite, before drifting his gaze up at you.

You touch his shoulder. "This is just practice, don't worry."

"M'not worried."

With a grunt, he locks his arms around your thighs and drags you a bit closer to his exposed chin, roughly now, earning him a little squeak from you. It's the heat of his breath that you feel first, your mouth normally the victim of its assault. If there's one word to label Ghost, it's warm. His lips: they just barely brush over your clit. Already, a pleasurable fever ensues. The blood rushes straight there until you're puffy for him.

Rough: his other norm. But right now he's curiously gentle. This is the first time he’s doing this because you are the first person to earn such intrigue from him, the deep inhale as he nudges his nose against your cunt evidence of that. He licks a slow, molten stripe over the entirety of your cunt, hole to your bud, and hums at the taste. Better from the source.

And then again.

"That's..." you swallow and try not to buck your hips, looking for something more. "Good. Just- maybe not so slow?"

"Greedy."

But he takes your request and adjusts, firmly placing his whole mouth over you. This time, curiosity replaced with concentration. A hymnal of licks and grazes and dripping saliva. He's not sure what to do, but he's mastered a mental block on all uncertainty: just does what his gut tells him. Usually his approach. He kisses you there like he kisses your lips, except pays a little more attention to that swollen, sensitive part of you.

"That feels good," you breathe some encouragement. "Can you just—“

You swallow thickly and prop yourself up on shaky elbows. Ghost lifts his head up and gives you a hazy look, lips plush and wet, before ticking up a brow.

"Jus' what?"

The sight of him like this, a new view, makes you lose your words. You search for them, panting, "Don't forget... lower, too. You can put your tongue inside."

He listens. Your head soon lulls back when you feel his tongue firmly press into you. One of his hands leaves your thigh to bring a thumb to your newly abandoned clit, giving skilled circles to the slick flesh. His tongue inside you figures it should mimic his cock, pumping in and out of you at a steady rhythm. He’s a quick learner; you’ll give him that.

Unsteady elbows give out beneath you and soon your head is back to the pillow. Your hole quivers around his tongue— he doesn’t relent. Just concentrates on both actions at the same time, reveling in the soft cage of your thighs against his exposed stubble. You moan and mewl. An arch of your back is the signal he earns to keep doing what he’s doing. Heels digging into his back, Ghost feels his shirt bunch up because you’re applying that much pressure.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he can’t stop himself from groaning into you. Voice raspy and muffled. If he knew you’d make these kind of sounds, he’d have given you his tongue sooner.

It’s messy and hot. Saliva mixed with your leaking; a concoction that’s not possible to separate.

Writhing, you grip some of his balaclava and whine out an order, “Simon… gimme your fingers!”

“Don’t fuckin’ whine,” he admonishes, digging his fingers into your thigh. “Ask right.”

A whimper. “Simon… can you give me your fingers, too?”

Abiding, he moves his tongue and replaces it with two fingers, an unforgiving shove that gets him all the way down to the knuckles. Your cervix pounded by blunt fingertips. Your warm, sopping walls are like velvet around his digits. Groaning softly, it’s just… so much. Ghost can feel your pussy begin to throb, wishing he could just take a second to sit back and watch you.

But he’s seen you cum a few times now. All your little expressions. He knows what it looks like when your lips curl inward to relieve some of the ecstasy; your eyes clamp shut. He simply imagines it while continuing his ‘practice’. Content to keep licking and nipping and fingering you.

“Atta girl,” he growls against your clit.

Any uncertainty has been doused by the clear approach of your orgasm. His roughness is here— a blistering smack to your thigh. A firm grip of your breast. Slaps it at the same time he curls his fingers and fucks into that soft pad of you.

Your moans have no end, no beginning.

They’re an endless string that fills the room as you buck your hips. Your walls clench, then flutter. Belly frothing with a white-hot release.

Ghost licks it up. Keeps his fingers moving to push you through it.

His novice tongue is still hungry, even though you’re stuffed. Breathlessly, your heels release the pressure on his back and your legs shake.

His eyes flicker up with a newfound obsession. Reeling from your orgasm, the continued onslaught teeters towards overstimulation. Your hand is lazily pushing at his head.

“You can…” in a constricted whisper. “…stop now.”

“Need some more practice, pet.”

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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So. I saw this picture. He looks so soft and huggable. Therefore my brain spat this out. Obvi I love chubby grump Bucky who can F U C K

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2, 623 words

Synopsis: Bucky is having a mid-life crisis at 100 something years. His girlfriend is an aggravating little angel shit who doesn’t understand why. Cue pool time and ripped blonde superheroes making poor Bucky extra grumpy.

Tags: Chubby!bucky, avenger!reader, size difference, age gap (twenties and technically late thirties), pnv!sex, daddy kink, Bucky’s hating ass internal dialogue, the reader is a slut for the extra Fluff, pwp, fluff and smut, him Jealous, and Big, I tried to make it humorous heehee

Poolside blues

It was hot. Bucky sucked on his popsicle angrily, sulking under an umbrella. He wore his t-shirt even in the blazing heat. Bucky grimaced at the cloth sticking to his skin, pulling at the fabric with a huff. He didn’t want to run around shirtless when the likes of Steve and Thor were basking in the sun— the golden gods they were.

So Bucky sucked on his popsicle, his fourth one already. He flexed his metal fist, cursing it for being such an eye sore. The assassin was convinced his body had it out for him. Mess of a shoulder, ropey bullet scars, and way too much extra weight he didn’t ask for. Bucky stared down at the soft flesh adorning his midsection, lips twisting into a frown.

Hydra had royally fucked his metabolism up, serum or not. Add a plethora of mood stabilizers and Bucky looked like a damn chipmunk hoarding up for the winter. His girlfriend thought it was cute, cooing and pinching his fleshy hip. Bucky did not think it was ‘cute’. He’d never been like this in his over-extended life. Soft.

He’d held thick muscle since the serum and kept that up at the least. The brunette worked out religiously to rid himself of that extra pudge. Now he was jacked with the stupid layer over it— making him feel like a bulky lummox. Therefore if he was going to sweat to death by the pool, so be it.

Bucky’s icy eyes flickered to his best girl playing around with Thor in the water. She giggled and batted at the blonde god while he picked her tiny frame up. The brunette’s eye twitched while gripping his popsicle stick until it crushed. His girlfriend was too cute for her own good, often drawing attention from the other sex.

“Are you just going to drill holes in them with your mind or get in the pool?”

Bucky glared at his oldest friend. Steve smiled down softly, big hands on his waspy waist. He grumbled, “I’m fine. Punk.” The blonde teased, “That’s why your shirt is soaked then huh? Go get in the water you’re making me miserable looking at ya.”

“Nope,” Bucky shot back, popping the ‘p’.

Steve sighed and dove into the huge pool. Bucky pouted efficiently from the side-lines. Thor had his stupid blonde hair and stupid white teeth and stupid washboard abs. His girlfriend appeared in his line of sight, her brows knitted in concern. Bucky attempted to not stare at her perky tits— nipples peaked under her blue strappy bikini.

She hummed, “I can feel you drowning in self-pity over here. Why don’t you get in babe?”

He was staring at her tits now, he didn’t care, not really. Bucky shrugged, “You have fun I’m fine over here. Thor is waiting.” She narrowed her eyes up at him, pushing back damp hair. Bucky licked his lips, holding the woman’s glare.

In a swift motion she launched onto the concrete.

Clambering up she swayed toward the grumpy man, droplets running down her tight body. Bucky took in the view, getting lost in it really. He could watch her all day and sometimes would. The assassin grunted as she plopped onto his lazily spread thighs, soaking him. Bucky hissed, “What was that for?”

The coolness of her skin felt amazing. He willed himself to not pop wood in front of the few teammates milling around. His girl leaned over, breasts about to spill, and pressed against his padded chest. She simpered, “Buck, c’mon, you know no one around here cares. You’re perfect.”

Bucky snorted, “To you, maybe.”

She frowned and lightly slapped at his shoulder, lips pouting. Bucky hated when the pretty thing pouted— he somehow would up doing what she wanted in the first place.

Every. Single. Time.

She ran a finger down his chest, big eyes begging, “Get in the pool, please? You look so upset over here and that makes me sad.”

Once again Bucky lost to her feminine wiles, groaning out a strained ‘fine’. Her mouth split into a toothy smile, cheering, “Yay!” He rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm. Sometimes Bucky forgot she was a little over ten years his junior. If one took off the cryogenically frozen periods. She hopped back into the water, eyes eagerly flickering to the side.

Bucky hauled himself up and reluctantly peeled off his dark shirt, revealing his pale skin and soft parts. He willed himself to not curl into a ball or run away screeching. Steve wolf-whistled, sending an embarrassed flush across the brunette’s full cheeks. He barked, “Knock it off Rogers!”

Sam, as always, had ESP for people flustering Bucky. He shouted from the grill, “Looking thick my man! Whole slice of beef!” The assassin was convinced he was going to self combust, sliding into the water to cover himself up. His girlfriend snickered when Bucky resurfaced from his shame dive, splashing his face.

He frowned down at her, the spitfire raising a brow in challenge. Bucky slung her over a thick shoulder, hand across the backs of her thighs. She laughed and kicked, playfully squirming. Bucky had half a mind to leave a mark on her ass, show the Asgardian who she really belonged to. She stopped thrashing and murmured, “If you do not stop being jeal-“

The assassin cut her off when he dunked under the water. She spluttered and cursed at him, Bucky laughing, “Sorry sweets, what were you saying?”

“Put me down or I’m ripping your hair out!,” she howled. He chuckled and slowly let the angry avenger down. She shook her head, flicking the sensitive skin below his belly button. Bucky winced and gaped petulantly— horribly trying to block of the feeling of jiggle. The woman latched back onto him, pressing a feathery kiss to his bearded jaw. With a dirty smirk, spirits lifted, Bucky led them to the shelf in the deep end.

Sitting back he groped at her ass under the water, earning a squawk and another slap in return. She whispered angrily, “Stop that! Not in public!” Bucky grinned dumbly, eyes flickering to her perky chest. He apologized, saccharine sweet, “Sorry baby, you’re just so pretty I couldn’t help myself.”

Tony Stark and Natasha approached the pool, him lowering his sunglasses at the pair. Stark sipped his drink and loudly observed, “Horndogs at it again. Barnes you’re a nasty old man, you know that?”

Sam sniped, “They call him Bucknasty for a reason!”

Bucky’s temples throbbed with annoyance. He shouted at Sam, “No one calls me that but you! Bird brain!” He needed to scoop the girl up and take off— now. Steve was howling with laughter, hand slapping his chest, Thor smiling in confusion. She turned and grinned at Tony, “He’s my nasty old man.” The woman laid an exaggerated kiss on his cheek. Stark pretended to gag and situated himself in a lounge chair. Natasha’s lips quirked up, green eyes sparkling with amusement.

Bucky rumbled quietly, “I’ll show you nasty if you keep it up acting like that in my lap.”

Her tits bounced when she inhaled sharply, shit-eating grin falling from her face. Bucky lecherously grabbed another handful of ass for example. Her voice quavered when she weakly replied, “Very funny Buck. Not in front of everyone!”

“I’m not being funny. Seeing you getting flipped around by the blondes has me feeling…some type of way.”

Bucky was proud of his updated lingo, courtesy of the sexy trembling thing in front of him. She huffed quietly, squirming minutely on his thick thighs. “Jesus Christ, they’re all going to know when we both leave.”

“I think Clint complaining about us being loud all the time lets the team know what the deal is,” he smoothly pointed out.

With another harsh look Bucky regretfully watched her get out of the pool. Now he had to walk in front of everyone without a safety blanket again. He briskly climbed out after her, keeping his eyes focused ahead. Tony complimented, “Looking yoked there Barnes, trying to bulk right now?”

Bucky wanted to hiss at the billionaire like a feral cat. He felt like he’d been bulking for months. Just not allowed to cut— so sayeth the metabolism. He grabbed a towel and threw it around broad shoulders, aggravated with how his belly was on display. She was toweling her hair off.

“C’mon then you beast,” she snickered.

“Beast?,” he echoed.

Bucky hauled her up again, the smaller one yelping. He snatched his sweaty shirt up and carried her to the elevator. She sarcastically questioned, “Do you always have to carry me around like a caveman when you get jealous?” Bucky grunted in agreement, thumbing at the soft skin of her thighs.

She said, “You do know I only think about you, like, all the time.” Bucky couldn’t help but let his heart skip a beat. Still he whinged, “I don’t know why when there’s all these… ripped guys hanging around.” His girlfriend scoffed and rolled her doe eyes. She remained quiet on the walk, ensuing quiet ride up the elevator, and the remainder of the trip to his rooms.

Deposited on the bed she informed Bucky, “No matter how many times you shrug it off, I think you’re really hot. I like a little fluff on my men.” The brunette shook his head, crawling onto the covers. He muttered, “I don’t. I follow you around like some goddamn oaf.”

She pinched his cheek, grinding out, “You’re a little soft and I happen to enjoy you fucking me into the bed. Stubborn mule.” Bucky’s dick twitched at her words, grabbing an ankle to pull her closer. She continued matter-of-factly, “It’s also nice to have my big scary boyfriend behind me. It turns me on.”

Bucky peered at her, face set in suspicion. She ran a hand down his side, finishing it’s path at the laces of his swim trunks. Her face was cutely set in determination, deft hands untying the shorts. The assassin groaned low in his throat as the cloth fell down, exposing his aching cock. He climbed out of them and threw the shorts across the room.

Bucky eyed her up, watching her cheeks heat at his gaze. He gently positioned himself between her legs, pointedly keeping his weight off to her chagrin. Bucky sealed his watering mouth over a covered nipple, sucking eagerly. She whined and flexed under him, thighs wrapping around his hips.

“Ah! Buck!”

Her long lashes fluttered when his other hand untied the strings on the top. Bucky eased off the flimsy fabric, whistling lowly at her full tits. He nipped and flicked his tongue on a peaked bud, tweaking the other. She cried out, rutting up against his heavy cock.

Bucky’s lips split into a grin when he realized she was also untying her bottoms with shaky hands. He pulled off a nipple and teased, “That needy for it, huh?” She yanked off the offending fabric with a nibble at his jaw. Bucky would purr in contentment if he could. Until the nip at the flesh under his chin— which granted he has always had but still didn’t appreciate it.

He grumbled and lightly swatted her ass with a grimace. She mused, “You’re so hot. Honestly. I wish you would believe me Buck.” The assassin ignored her comment, instead sucking marks on her collarbone. She writhed underneath him, the wetness of her pussy sliding against him. The woman whimpered, hands holding his cheeks insistently, “C’mon and fuck me, please daddy.”

Bucky almost exploded, came back, just to explode again into a puddle of goo. She wanted to play like that today. He gripped her hips with low moan, eyes traveling up the expanse of skin. His girlfriend’s chest heaved, eyes darkly glazed. Bucky growled, “Y’want me to fuck you? Shouldn’t daddy finger you first?”

Huff. She shook her head no, dragging the molten slick across his need. Softly she begged, “C’mon daddy please, want to feel the stretch, need you.” Bucky’s eyes rolled in sheer desire, nudging the blunt head of his cock against her opening. He slid in with a curse, eyes clenching shut.

She was snug as always around him, pulsing and seemingly sucking Bucky in. The woman whimpered, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders. She gasped, “So big, fuck daddy, don’t stop!” Bucky was not going to stop unless he magically disappeared.

He braced an arm beside her pretty flushed face to get leverage. With a lewd smack Bucky clapped his hips into her, enjoying the wanton whine. The brunette pulled back to give another roll of his hips, moaning lowly. He got into the rhythm he knew she liked— slow but forceful. Bucky smiled down, cooing.

“You’re so pretty babygirl, taking me so well,” he emphasized with a deep thrust. She clawed at his shoulders, pressing sloppy kisses to his throat. Wide eyes met his, her breathing, “No you’re pretty.” Bucky narrowed his lids, apparently his girl wanted to be a little shit.

“I don’t understand why you won’t let me- shit! Daddy!,” she cried out with a smile, “Compliment you!” Bucky picked her legs up and hiked them higher, driving his hips into that silky-soft spot. He grunted in pleasure as she arched and yanked at his hair, mouth hung open with punched out ‘ah’s’.

Bucky rumbled, “I don’t like it- fuck sweets so tight- because it’s exaggerated!” He was panting with exertion now, reveling in the tell-tale slaps of skin echoing. The petite Avenger under him whimpered when Bucky hit her g-spot dead on, tears pricking her eyes. Bucky kissed a droplet, murmuring sweet nothings.

“Keep fucking me daddy, I’m gonna hah- cum!,” she wailed. Bucky urged, “Yeah babydoll, want you to, c’mon need it.” He thumbed around her clit, breathing into her lax mouth, swallowing up those broken keens. She sobbed his name into the kiss, clawing and scrabbling when she clamped down on him. Bucky’s eyes rolled up at the pulsing and gush of slick, fucking her through the orgasm.

His baby’s loud keens turns into little whimpers as he kept thrusting into her tight body. She quavered, “Cum in me please daddy!” The woman nipped along his jaw again, rubbing at his flexing ass. Bucky felt his lower belly tighten, a swirling fog gathering in his brain purely driven by need. He growled, “I’m gonna fill that sweet pussy up, you want that from Daddy, huh?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Ask and one shall receive. Bucky felt his balls draw up and he came with an embarrassingly slutty groan. He drooled onto her neck, gasping through the brunt of his body emptying into her wet heat. She cooed, “Oh, so good, ah thank you daddy.” Bucky collapsed halfway onto his girlfriend, still firmly snug inside.

She rubbed a trembling hand across his bloodied shoulders, serumed body already working on knitting the claw marks back up. Bucky simply breathed, unable to come up with intelligent words. His brain had probably shot out of his dick. She maddeningly caressed his, ugh, love handle.

Bucky groaned, “Stop it.”

She retracted the touch and rasped, throat bruised from yelling, “One day I’m going to convince you Buck. Perfect as you are.” Bucky snorted, “We’ll see about that.” He softened at her lithe hands pushing his sweaty hair back, grinning like he’d hung the moon. He murmured, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

She giggled and cuddled up like a damn koala. Bucky didn’t truly mind, albeit she may be delusional and think overweight one hundred year old former assassins are sexy. He was glad he’d been able to find the loon, all his to boot. Bucky shook his head in amusement, the feeling of her sharp teeth on his chin again, him starting to protest.

#bucky barnes x reader

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sams-fic-recs · 1 year

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Wrath (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: After you risk your life protecting Ghost, the Lieutenant is furious. Angry enough, in fact, to pay you a late-night visit.

Requested by @chippyroh :

#69 Shut up or I'll shut you up.

#71 You’re driving me out of my fucking mind

A/N: Listen here you little shits, I will not be making a part 2 to this and you cannot convince me this time.

Category: Sexual Tension || Angst || Enemies to ? || Hurt/ Comfort

Warnings: Graphic language, Manhandling/Rough-handling, Sexually suggestive themes.

It was meant to be an easy mission but, really, what were you expecting?

You were experienced enough to know that when it was meant to be a breeze, you had to prepare for a fucking hurricane. And as Ghost stormed towards you, his fists clenched and his gaze furious, you knew this was gonna be one hell of a storm.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He didn’t stop until his chest bumped into yours, heaving and hard. His wide shoulders swayed from side to side as the officer sized you up. “Are you fucking stupid?”

You grit your teeth and glared. “I just saved your fucking life, Sir.”

You weren’t much in comparison to the towering figure that Ghost presented, you knew that. Still, you stood as tall as you could manage and set your jaw. You were right to provide him with backup. You were right to have taken out the people on his tail.

You’d done everything right.

So, why was he so fucking angry?

“Don’t start this shit with me, Sunshine,” Ghost hissed, fingers wrapping around your bicep. He pulled you in flush against his body, your armoured plates knocking against his. “That was out of line.”

“Saving your life?” You questioned, bewildered. “Saving your life was out of line, Ghost?”

His eyes narrowed and a deep rumble reverberated in his chest.

“No,” he snapped, leaning back. “Pretending you were anything but a fucking sniper was, though.”

Your breath left your lungs as though you’d been sucker-punched. You searched what little features you could see for an ounce of regret, any softness in his features to show he didn’t mean it- but the kohl on his eyes only highlighted the sharpness of his gaze.

“This isn’t over, Sunshine,” Ghost warned, snatching his hand from your arm. He imparted a glare that had your throat tightening, before he brushed past you roughly. For once, you wished you had never made it home.

______

You were angry at yourself for crying.

It was in your own shower and hidden from the rest of your unit, but you were still upset.

Your life was insane and full of enough sorrow to destroy most, and there were more than enough reasons to justify an emotional break. However, crying over a man? You were ashamed. Embarrassment seared red hot across your chest, it made your blood boil- it made you angry.

Who the fuck did he think he was?

You had done everything right. Price had clapped you on your back upon your return, commending your quick thinking. Ghost had scoffed at that, watching the interaction from the darkest corner of the room.

“Leaving your post is not ‘quick-thinking.’” The words had been a snarl from beneath his bloodied mask.

Price raised a brow as you shifted on your feet furiously. “I saved you on the evac, Sir. There was no fucking post.”

Ghost took a step toward you, his finger pointing at your chest as though he were marking you for death. You were thankful Price stepped in, you were angry but you weren’t stupid. You didn’t want to go toe-to-toe with the grim reaper himself but you would to defend your actions.

“How about you both hit the showers and cool off. Good job on today,” he gave the two of you a pointed look, “the both of you.”

You said nothing, only returning Ghost’s glare vehemently before storming off.

Your clothes felt too soft on your freshly scrubbed skin. It always felt like that after a mission; everything smelt too good, felt too good and sounded too quiet. It would take you a couple of hours to adjust, but your blood burned at your surroundings.

You were already overstimulated and now you were uncomfortable.

Fuck you, Simon Riley, you ingrateful twat.

You wanted to find him and shake some sense into him. You wanted a fucking thank you. You wanted his recognition, his approval and you seethed at your desire to feel accepted by him.

You dried your hair roughly with the towel, your frustrations translating into your menial tasks. Angrily shower, angrily dry off, angrily get dressed- you were fucking furious and you couldn’t get past it.

Bang, bang, bang.

You gasped, dropping the towel as someone battered against your door. It shook on the hinges under the pressure, and you stood frozen for a long moment. It was late, there was no reason for anyone to be visiting.

Everybody from the 141 was out and about, you and Ghost had returned a day earlier than expected.

You frowned as they knocked again with the flat part of their fist, the dull thuds picking up in volume. You scooped the towel from the floor, throwing it over the chair in the corner.

“Coming,” you shouted before they could go for a third round. You worried the frame wouldn’t hold up much longer. No sooner than you had twisted the handle, the door swung open. You leapt out of the way, eyes wide as a towering figure stepped through the threshold, slamming the door shut behind them.

The lock engaging behind him sounded like a death knell.

“Sir-“ you rasped, stumbling backward as he approached you.

“Cut that shit out,” Ghost snapped, “you know my fucking name.”

Fuck.

You stared up at him with wide eyes, as you continued back into the room. He was furious, just as heated as he had been when he’d gotten back from the mission. The man had clearly showered and changed, standing before you in a hoodie and balaclava.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” You glared at him, heart leaping into your throat as your back finally hit the wall. Ghost’s eyes slid to each side of you, marking how you were trapped between your own furniture.

“You know what you did today, Sunshine,” he said heatedly, “everyone can congratulate you about it as much as they want but you listen to me. Never do that again.”

You sneered, leaning forward. Ghost inclined his head, meeting you halfway as your noses nearly brushed. “I saved your life within the parameters of the mission and I’ll do it again and again if I fucking have to.”

“You were almost killed!” Ghost’s finger rose to press into your chest harshly. “Almost had a fucking bullet put between your eyes.”

“But I didn’t! Had I not stepped in you would have been a fucking pin cushion, Simon!”

You were forced back into the wall as he smacked an open palm into the plaster beside your head. You jumped at the sound by your ear, your lip trembling beneath his gaze. You could feel the heat emanating from his body in waves, he was fucking burning.

“What?” You whispered, your mouth dry all of a sudden. “You gonna fuckin’ hit me, Riley? You gonna hit me for doing my job?”

“Of course not, you idiot.” He snapped, leaning back. Ghost’s eyes narrowed as his hand slid from the wall by your head, resting at his side.

“Why are you here then? Barging into my room, locking the door behind you, putting me against the wall,” you listed, your voice low and urgent as you glared at him. Your chest heaved against his as you raced to catch your breath. “You’re either here to fuck me or fight me and we both fucking know that you hate my guts, Riley. So, get to it and get the fuck out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine,” Ghost rasped, shifting on his feet. “You deserve to get your shit rocked for the way you acted out there.”

You searched his gaze, his eyes the colour of a stormy ocean as he glared right back at you. “You don’t even know what you’re doing here,” you snarled, leaning forward once more. This time, Ghost didn’t challenge you. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved, L.T?”

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“Your life is worth more than mine, Simon,” you growled, poking a finger into his chest. “You’re my superior, it’s my job to protect you.”

“Then fucking listen when I say shut up, or I’ll shut you up.”

“Sniper or not, if it ever came down to me or you- it’s my fucking job to die for you-“

Your back slammed against the wall, breath leaving your body at the impact. You were disoriented for a short moment, vision hazy as you tried to regain your bearings. His body was pressed against yours, his hands gripping your shoulders so tight you knew you’d be bruised.

You couldn’t think, you couldn’t anticipate his next move. Not when he gripped your jaw, half his fingers on your face and the others wrapped against your neck. He leaned down and you flinched, opening your mouth to gasp.

He wasn’t going to hit you.

Instead, Ghost kissed you.

You don’t know when he had rolled his mask upward, but his mouth was hot and urgent against yours, groaning when he swallowed your gasp before it could come to fruition. He tasted sweet on your tongue and poisonous to your mind, drowning all your inhibitions in his touch. You whimpered against him and a wicked smile curved his lips upward.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. Your hands gripped his shirt tightly as his free hand moved to tangle itself in your damp hair, your dripping strands locked tightly between his fingers.

When he pulled away you were dizzy, your head falling back to rest against the wall. Your chest heaved as your heart pounded against your ribs, demanding to be freed.

There was nothing but silence for a long moment, the space between you both filled with his ragged breathing and your shaky gasps. You were so close you could taste him, his forehead pressed against yours and his eyes squeezed shut.

“You’re driving me out of my fucking mind, Sunshine.” Ghost rasped finally, his voice throaty and strained. “You just don’t fucking listen.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes trained on the beast before you. You’d watched this man tear people apart with his bare hands. You’d seen him take bullets to the chest, seen him snap necks and tear limbs.

But those fingers that had wreaked so much havoc rested on your throat softly, now. So gentle, as though he thought you would crumble beneath him if he squeezed.

But he wanted to grip tighter, and you knew it. You could tell by the twitch of his fingers, by the clench of his jaw.

“I can be taught, Sir,” your voice was barely a whisper but Ghost’s eyes snapped open as though you’d yelled at him. He watched you, like a predator observing its prey. You wondered if he thought he’d misheard you, maybe he was praying that he hadn’t.

When he leaned in close, your body shivered against his as adrenaline spiked your system.

“I’ll fuckin’ teach you to listen, Sunshine,” he murmured finally, fingers tightening against your skin. “Don’t you worry.”

Maybe he didn’t hate you, after all.

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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