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swiftispunk · 1 month

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acts of service | frankie morales x f!reader

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pairing: frankie morales x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 7.9k

summary: an unexpected admission leads frankie to make you an offer you can't refuse. this surely won't come with any consequences. OR you've never had your pussy ate and your best friend frankie helps you out. warnings etc: [pre-triple frontier] smut, childhood best friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love are lying to themselves and each other, shy!reader, kind of insecure!reader, pet names in both english and spanish, literal porn, piracy, the US military, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), a little handjob action, frankie morales has a huge cock, reader is curvy coded but i think anyone could read this fic, pov swapping, this has kind of a bittersweet ending i'm sorry. no use of y/n.

a/n: these two kind of just swept me up and took me on a ride. i headcanon this girlie eventually becomes frankie's "lady," which i tell you now bc i fear i might have accidentally made this sad. thank you @joelscruff for the beta and thank you @adamantiumspy for the notes on the spanish.

“I should get going soon, huh?”

“No.”

“Okay, then,” Frankie shrugs, requiring no more convincing than that.

He hadn’t really wanted to leave anyway. He was just trying to be polite. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about that with you, but still. He doesn’t want to overstay his welcome or anything.

It's just that the times he gets back home are rare, and even rarer are the times he gets with you. His best friend. He doesn’t know if that’s still what you’d call him, but that’s his own stupid fault. Maybe he’s known you the longest but he knows you’ve been busy building your own life, a life far removed from the years you’d spent growing up together.

You’ve got all kinds of friends now. People he’s never met, people that came into your life while he’d been deployed. Hell, you’ve spent the better part of the last six months dating some guy you’d met on a dating app (he didn’t even know you could use those things for anything other than fucking) but that relationship had fallen apart before he’d even gotten the chance to meet the guy. Your first real boyfriend, as you’d put it.

It’s probably for the best anyway. Frankie’s sure he wouldn’t have liked him.

Frankie’s not sure he’ll like any guy you’re dating who’s not him.

But you don’t need to know that. He’d chosen this life, for better or for worse, and the last thing he’s going to do is burden you with his stupid, inescapable feelings when he knows he’s just gonna have to leave again anyway.

So instead, he overstays his welcome.

The bowl of popcorn you share sits half finished on the end table, your cozy little living room cast in the faint glow of a colourful glass-shaded floor lamp, that one you’d proudly boasted about finding at the antiques market. He remembers the ache in his chest when you’d sent him that picture, that painful longing for a simple life with you, complete with antiquing and brunch and nights like tonight; your feet in his lap, splayed out together on your sectional while Frankie flips aimlessly through your seemingly never-ending list of channels.

“Jesus, how much do you pay for this?” he demands, honestly just curious now as he clicks towards the channel-800 mark, waiting for the numbers to circle back to 1–which he really thinks should have happened by now. “Who even needs all these channels?”

He jumps past a slew of news stations that all appear to be from different countries, perfectly punctuating his point.

Your sweet laughter fills the air. God, he loves that sound. He’s missed it.

“You think I pay for this?” you say. “Frank, this shit is like, so illegal.”

“Excuse me?” He rounds on you, pausing his scrolling on what appears to be a soap opera from Indonesia, “So you’re a criminal?”

“No,” you insist, making grabby hands for the remote, which he deliberately holds just out of your reach with a smirk. “My dad set it up, I don’t even know how it works. I only use it to watch Housewives, anyway.”

“Sure,” he teases as you squirm a little closer, your legs draping over his thighs almost to the knee now. His cheeks warm at the proximity but he pushes down the butterflies in his stomach, twisting away from you as you reach across his body for the remote. “Next time I come home you’re gonna be running some kinda underground piracy ring on the dark web.”

“Whatever.” You slump back into your spot on the couch, adorably mock-grumpy about it. But Frankie can still see the smile tugging at your lips.

“No, seriously,” he presses on, “If I’m gone long enough, I’m gonna come back and find you in jail.”

That quickly wipes the smile off your face. Your mouth forms into a hard line and a sharp twinge of guilt punches Frankie hard in the gut.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t go away for so long,” you grumble, and there’s no hint of teasing in your voice anymore.

Frankie’s own face falls and he swallows tightly against the sudden lump in his throat. He shouldn’t have fucking said anything. And worst of all, you keep looking at him with these big, sad eyes, like you’re heartbroken at the thought of him going away again and goddamnit if you keep that up, he might start to believe it means something more than it really does.

Whatever anguish he’s feeling inside must be showing pretty clearly on his face because before he can even open his mouth to make it right, you’re apologizing to him.

“Sorry, I made it weird,” you quickly amend, shaking your head and forcing a smile. Like it’s your job to alleviate the tension in the room. You’re always doing that. Always making sure everyone else is comfortable. But Frankie’s not gonna let you get away with that. Because you have every reason to be mad at him and he knows it.

“Hey, no,” he sighs, sitting forward and anxiously rubbing at his scruff. “You didn’t make it weird. I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure what for. For leaving, for bringing it up, for loving you. The sympathetic smile you offer him feels less forced now, at least.

“It’s okay,” you nod. You take a deep breath through your nose and Frankie’s relieved to see you let your guard down again, your head falling back into the couch behind you as you exhale. Your eyelids flutter closed for a second and he feels almost envious of how relaxed you look. That is, until a cacophony of blood curdling screams begin erupting from the television and your head is quickly snapping up at the sound.

“What the fuck are we watching?” you demand, your voice coated with genuine laughter again.

“I think she just found out he was having an affair,” Frankie posits, trying his best to make sense of the drama currently unfolding on screen.

“I don’t know, she could be screaming about how much she loves that other woman’s outfit.”

“She’s crying.”

“Maybe she’s just passionate about fashion, Francisco.”

He snorts and for a few minutes, you watch in comfortable silence, taking turns guessing what the hell is going on until you give up and nudge at his leg with your socked toes.

“Keep looking,” you suggest. “I don’t know what else is on here, I’ve honestly never gone this high in the channels.”

“‘Kay,” he agrees easily with a smirk. He’s always loved how you let yourself get a little bossy with him. You’re not like that with everyone. You’re quiet with most people, always trying to make yourself smaller or sweeter or softer. But not with him. And that’s how he likes it. He’d never want you to pretend with him.

He clicks his way higher and higher through the channels, waiting for something to catch his eye or yours. He quickly flies over a long string of radio channels, 60s, 70s, 80s, Easy Listening…he’s flicking through them so fast he doesn’t catch the moment the channel titles lining the bottom of the screen change to XXX–Adult, 24/7 Porn and you’re suddenly being slapped with the image of a woman laid out on a kitchen counter, bare beyond a pair of stilettos, moaning out obscenely while her male scene partner buries his face in her pussy.

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan. You cover your face with your hands, poking an eye out from between your fingers, a sight so fucking cute Frankie forgets for a second that he should probably change the channel.

The woman on screen cries out as the man between her legs devours her–a little overzealous, in Frankie’s opinion. Frankie swallows tightly, pushing down on the unconscious twist of arousal the sound inspires. He’d be lying if he said the images on screen combined with your legs still slung over his thighs weren’t having some kind of effect on him.

“You’ve really got everything on this thing, huh?” he chuckles, working to keep his tone light.

You keep peeking through your fingers at the screen and inexplicably, Frankie finds himself torn, hesitating with his hand on the dial. What would it be like to watch this with you? Would you want that? Why does it feel like crossing a line? Why does he kind of want to?

“Frankie, turn it off,” you beg and that easily settles it. If you don’t want it, then neither does he.

He mumbles a hurried, okay okay, continuing his exploration upwards through the channels but…it doesn’t stop. Just channel after channel of actors in various states of nudity and debauchery.

“Fuck–there’s a lot,” he notes, more to himself than you.

He combs past a few orgies and some painfully inauthentic lesbian stuff. He knows he could just hop back to the guide instead of skimming through it all, but it’s kind of funny now to see just how much porn is baked into this highly illegal cable device your dad had apparently set up for you.

He only pauses when you make a small comment, just as he comes upon another video of a man shouldered between a woman’s thighs, the camera zoomed in close to his face as he flicks his tongue over her clit.

“Ugh, why do they always have them doing that?”

Frankie turns to face you, letting the video continue on in the background. Your hands aren’t covering your eyes anymore. Instead, you assess the scene with furrowed brows and your lips curled upwards in disgust.

“What?”

“Like, there’s no way either of them enjoy that,” you continue, waving your hand at the screen like he should just know what you’re referring to.

Now Frankie frowns, turning back to the TV in case he’s missed something horribly wrong. But no…as far as he can tell, it’s just a man feverishly eating pussy.

“You’re talking about him eating her out?” Frankie asks.

“Yes!”

You say it like it should be obvious.

You watch together now, and Frankie tries his best to take in the scene pragmatically. Which is hard, considering the wet smack of the man’s lips against the woman’s pussy is making his ears burn and the blood rush to his cock.

The male actor is…enthusiastic. Lacking some finesse maybe, but certainly giving it his all. His eyes are closed, mouth glued to her cunt as he rocks his head back and forth. He’s on his knees in front of her, dick hard as a rock between his legs. Frankie can’t really see the problem, but you’re still cringing away beside him.

“I mean, she’s over acting a bit but he seems to be enjoying it,” Frankie shrugs.

At that, you scoff.

“What?”

“No guy actually enjoys that,” you say insistently.

His first reaction is shock; you’re a smart person and he’s never heard you say anything more wrong. But the initial disbelief quickly turns to rage the second it dawns on him that there’s no way you could have come to that conclusion on your own, which means someone else must have convinced you it was true.

“Who the fuck told you that?” he demands.

It comes out angrier than he intends.

“I–”

All at once, you shrink in on yourself, dropping your head and staring down at your hands. And all at once, Frankie feels like an asshole because he can tell you really fucking believe the lie.

“Nenita,” he says, softening his tone.

He turns the volume down on the TV and twists to face you full-on. The obscene images on screen play on in the background but they’re easier to ignore without the wanton moans of the actors. He wraps a hand around one of your wrists and you peer up at him shyly.

“Who told you that?” he repeats.

You take a deep breath.

“You remember that Tinder guy I told you about?”

Any attempt at softness dissipates in a second. Your voice is so timid and Frankie’s blood boils because you’re not supposed to sound that way with him. About a million furious thoughts cross his mind, like how much he’d love to fucking kill the loser who’d made you feel this way, who’d fed you the most absurd, bullshit lie just so he could deny you pleasure–

Jesus. Your first real boyfriend. How many times had you sucked his cock, maybe even let him fuck you and he–

The goddamn injustice of it all has him too mad to even respond. He just makes some noise between a huff and a scoff and squeezes his fingers tighter around your wrist.

“I don’t know, that’s just what he said,” you go on quickly, always trying to diffuse the tension. You shake your head and look down at your hands again. “He said he didn’t like it and any guy who says he does is lying.”

“Well, I like it,” Frankie says reflexively and your eyes snap up to meet his at once.

One thing about you and Frankie is that you rarely ever talk about sex. You’ve been with people, he’s been with people–you both know this. But you don’t…talk about it. Frankie’s not one to kiss and tell anyway, plus, maybe part of him had always thought that if he’d been too explicit about his experiences with other people, you might start to think he hadn’t been dreaming about you through every single one of them.

It’s why this admission, here, in your apartment, on your couch, with some second rate porno playing in the background, has you staring at him wide-eyed. Because it feels like crossing a line.

But Frankie holds his ground, staring right back at you until he sees you nod.

“I fucking love it,” he continues, like he needs you to really hear it. “And I’m not lying.”

You nod again, and even though you still don’t look fully convinced, he leans back into the couch, prepared to let it go but–

“Wait, so.” He sits upright again, and he really shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t go crossing yet another line but some sick, masochistic part of him needs to know. “Does that mean he never even–?”

You just give him this look before dropping your gaze back down to your lap and Frankie sighs, pulling his cap back to comb an exasperated hand through his curls instead of saying what he’d really like to say.

It probably is for the best he never got the chance to meet this guy.

“I mean, it’s fine, I didn’t want it anyway,” you insist with a shrug. “Or…I don’t even–I don’t even know if I like it.”

That’s fair, he guesses, but also–

“You probably just haven’t had anyone do it right.”

Every woman he’s ever been with had seemed to like it when he’d done it, anyway. He’s certain if he got his mouth on you…

Don’t even think about it.

But it’s too late; he already is thinking about it. Thinking about your messy little pussy and how warm and wet it would feel against his lips and how your sweet juices would stain his moustache and beard. How your soft thighs would feel pressed against his ears and how you’d writhe when you came for him. How he’d like to ruin you for anyone else so you’d never again have to doubt how much you loved it.

He’s thinking about it before you even quietly admit, “I haven’t had anyone do it at all.”

And the admission breaks his heart, because you deserve it. You deserve to feel good. He could make you feel good.

He blurts out the offer before his brain can catch up in time to stop him–

“Can I?” he asks in a breathless rush. “Can I do it for you?”

Your eyes widen and something fiery burns in his belly, a tingling, nervous heat expanding outwards to his extremities with a kind of electric shock. Adrenaline, he realizes, coursing in his veins after crossing yet another uncrossable line.

“Frankie,” you breathe and he swears he can feel the same waves of anticipation that are currently flooding his senses rolling off of you in turn.

“Just as a friend,” he lies, inching closer to you on the couch, experimentally resting his hand on your thigh. You both stare at it in wonder, shared breaths coming faster between you.

“You can say no,” he whispers. Please don’t say no.

Your breath catches as he moves his hand higher, intoxicated by the warmth radiating between you. He gets as far as the soft crease of your thigh and then your hand is flying down to cover his, stopping him in his tracks.

“Frankie,” you repeat. He thinks you sound sad, and that’s not right. He lifts his stare from your conjoined hands to carefully watch your face, trying to make sense of the fear there, while you shake your head and nervously avoid his gaze.

“You don’t need to do me any favours, Francisco,” you murmur.

“It’s not–” he starts, cutting himself off with a deep breath as he tries to collect his thoughts.

A favour? Yeah, right. How can he find the right words to tell you he’s dreamt of this a million times? That even if he hadn’t been in love with you since he’d first laid eyes on you, getting the chance to eat you out would still be the sweetest fucking gift in the world?

He hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your face up so he can see your eyes. You glance up at him from under your lashes, doleful and shy, shoulders bunched up to your ears. No. You’re not supposed to look like that with him, you’re not supposed to make yourself small for him.

He presses his fingers down into the meat of your thigh and your lips fall apart as a shallow breath passes through them.

“I want it too, querida,” he rasps. He can hear years and years of pining and desperation underscoring his words. He hopes you don’t.

You’re treading on dangerous ground and you know it.

I want it too, querida.

His whispered words ring out between you and you allow yourself to believe that they’re true. Frankie wants it, he wants to see your pussy and he wants to put his mouth on it, he wants to give this thing that no one’s ever given you before–

As a friend.

It’s fine, you can ignore that part. You can pretend. This is just a friend helping a friend and not the man you’ve always wished would love you back and it’s definitely not going to fuck you up forever to let him do this.

You’re too blinded by arousal to think straight, too caught up in the heat of the moment as he moves your legs off his lap and pulls you down so you’re lying on your back and he’s hovering above you. He slowly strokes his hands up and down your thighs over your leggings, like he’s trying to get a feel for you. And he kind of is, you think. He’s never touched you like this before, all reverent and patient with it as his thumbs near the apex of your thighs before trailing his touch back down to the tops of your knees, over and over until you’re so turned on you don’t even care how much of a mistake this is.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he hums, almost to himself as his big hands curl around your hips and his fingers play just under the edge of your shirt.

He sounds so genuine. There’s no way this is real.

Instinctually, you roll your eyes. “Frankie, come on.”

“You are,” Frankie insists, reaching up beneath the hem of your shirt to glide his palms over your bare sides. He exhales shakily at the feeling of your naked flesh under his hands and your cunt throbs in response, your will to argue with him fading in an instant.

Then he licks his lips, flitting his eyes up to your face as if to ask permission for whatever he’s going to do next. Whatever it is, you nod your acceptance.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, appearing to steel himself before he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and begins to tug them down your thighs and–

Reality hits you like a ton of bricks. Frankie’s about to see you naked. Francisco Morales is about to see all your imperfections and your curls and your pussy.

“Frankie, wait.”

You clench your legs together and Frankie stops at once. He looks up at you like a wounded puppy, brown eyes all wide and unsure, eyebrows raised in questioning.

Oh god, he’s so beautiful. He has no idea how beautiful you’ve always found him. Not a clue how inadequate you’d started to feel beside him when he’d begun to grow up into such a handsome, desirable young man while you’d stumbled awkwardly through your teen years, always feeling like you’d never be worthy of love or pleasure, least of all from Frankie.

Of course you know now that’s not true; you’ve had plenty of suitors and casual hookups since Frankie’d gone away. Although, you’d never felt comfortable enough with any of them to let them do this for you. And then your stupid ex had to go and make you feel so ashamed for even wanting it that you’d been forced to just accept your fate, that this just wasn’t something you were ever going to get to experience.

And while you have to admit there’s probably no one in the world you feel more comfortable with than Frankie, you’ve also spent years convincing yourself he would never love you the way you’ve always loved him. That he’d never look at you the way you’d always wished he would.

If he’d wanted to, surely he would have done it by now. Right?

“You want me to stop?” he asks.

“I just–”

You do but you also really, really don’t. You throw an arm over your face, debilitating nerves co-mingling with the electrifying need coursing through you. You can’t fucking think.

You take a long, steadying breath, prying your arm away from your face to find him still looking down at you with that stupid, beautiful face.

You’re about to offer him an out but the earnestness in his eyes makes you say something honest instead.

“What if you don’t like what you see?”

The confusion on his face dissolves into something like shock as he huffs out a disbelieving laugh. You frown, embarrassed, and Frankie quickly reins himself in.

“Corazón,” he says, working to sound more serious even as a smile continues to pull at the corners of his lips. He grabs your arm and much to your surprise, places your hand over his crotch. Your mouth falls open with a sudden gasp.

“Feel that? Feel how fucking hard I am?” Frankie murmurs gruffly and you do. Even through his jeans, the thick, prominent outline of his cock is firm and solid under your touch. You don’t think you can speak without moaning, so you just bite your lip and nod in answer to his question.

“Créeme,” he grunts, pressing your hand down into his bulge like he’s trying to prove his point. “I already like what I see. Are you gonna let me see me more?”

You nod frantically, the evidence of his arousal all the convincing you need for now.

“Yes?” he presses expectantly.

“Yes–yeah, Frankie.”

You think you hear him say, ‘kay, under his breath, and then he’s shifting, considering the couch around him like he’s trying to decide how he wants to do this.

“C’mere,” he suggests, not really giving you much of a choice as he guides you towards the corner of the sectional, maneuvering your body until your legs are dangling off the end of the couch. He locates a cushion and places it under your neck and then he falls to his knees on the floor before you.

You’re now face to face with the muted porn on your TV screen, the actors having now advanced from cunnilingus to rabid fucking. It’s kind of a debauched backdrop, you guess, but no more debauched than the sight of Frankie throwing his cap off and darting his tongue out between his plush lips as his fingers make their way under your waistband again. He starts to tug, and this time, you let him.

“Lift up just a bit for me, babe,” he instructs you gently when the fabric bunches around your ass. You angle your hips up and Frankie hums appreciatively, carefully pulling away your leggings and underwear. He keeps his eyes on his hands while he strips you from the waist down, moving without an ounce of haste.

You bring your knees together out of habit once you’re fully bare but Frankie isn’t even looking where you expect him to. He’s looking at your ankles and shins as he draws a line up your legs with his hands, that same up and down pattern he’d painted on your thighs earlier.

“Can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he marvels softly.

Your heart rate quickens into overdrive when his hands eventually move up to rest on your knees. Something seems to overtake him then as his soft eyes darken and go a bit glassy, dull fingernails digging into your skin with barely-contained desperation.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes, his voice almost a whine. He leans forward into you, teeth grazing at the flesh of your thigh as he peeks up at you from under his dark lashes. “Can I please look at your pussy?”

“Yeah, Frankie,” you squeak. How could ever say no when he sounds like that?

You urge your muscles to slacken as Frankie coaxes your knees apart, pulling back to look at you when he does. You can’t help it; you squeeze your eyes closed and hold your breath, waiting nervously for the moment he decides to end this.

“Fuck me,” Frankie groans.

What does that mean? Is that good?

“Holy shit, baby,” Frankie continues, shaking your leg a bit to get your attention and against your better judgment, you open your eyes. You look at him, rather than your own body laid out like this, because it’s easier that way.

He’s ogling you, sitting back on his haunches with his hands on your knees, mouth agape as he takes in your pussy for the first time.

“You’re so wet,” he revels quietly, glancing up at you curiously. He looks…thrilled about it. “Do you always get this wet?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever been so wet in your entire fucking life actually.

“Mm-mm.”

Frankie smiles.

“Just for me, huh?” he hums, then he’s looking at your pussy again and it’s like it entrances him. He growls, hinging to kiss your inner thighs. He inhales deeply through his nose and you try not to get too embarrassed at the thought of him breathing in your scent. Anyway, he seems to like it, if the ragged sigh he exhales and his fluttering lashes are anything to go by.

“Oh my god, you’re gonna taste so fucking good,” he grits through his teeth.

You’ve imagined your first kiss with Frankie thousands of times. But you’ve never imagined it quite like this. Never imagined his lips on your knees or his scruff on your thighs, his fingers tracing the stretchmarks around your hips like he’s drawing a map across your skin. Every touch, every patient, adoring graze of his hands and his mouth and his teeth both calms and excites you.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers after several long moments.

“Yeah.”

“You have a perfect pussy.” The smile in his voice is audible and it quickly breaks the spell.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, playfully kicking a leg out at him. “You don’t have to do all that.”

“Do what? I’m being so fucking serious,” he retorts, his sweet smiling fading. “It’s…so pretty. I’m not lying. Okay?”

You nod and choose to believe him. “Okay.”

It’s getting hard to argue with him now, as his hands glide up towards the apex of your thighs, spreading you open wider as he slowly nears your centre. Your heart pounds in your ears, chest light with anticipation as his thumbs brush your outer lips and your eyes snap shut again.

“Can I touch you, baby?” he asks, his voice all low and husky in a way you’ve never heard him sound before.

“Please.”

He sucks in a long breath, which you mirror unconsciously, and then he’s swiping two thick fingers through the seam of your folds, spreading wetness from your hole to your clit.

“Oh,” Frankie sighs reverently as you melt under his curious touch.

Your breaths come fast as he plays with your pussy, running his fingers up and down through the mess of it, getting to know you here just like he had with his hands on your body. This part you know, most men have at least put the effort in to finger you. But the fact that it’s Frankie touching you makes every sensation more electrifying and new.

Never mind that no one’s ever touched you with as much patience and attentiveness as Frankie does, quietly observing every response his fingers elicit from you. He spreads your lips apart and pinches them back together, stroking your clit just enough to make you squirm before pulling away.

You sneak an eye open just in time to catch him sucking his fingers clean, sighing long through his nose before he refocuses on your cunt.

Well, he did say he loved it. Maybe you’re starting to believe him.

He inches closer, broad shoulders finding space between your thighs.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on you now, hermosa,” he tells you. He reaches out to touch one finger to your dripping core. “Right here.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“It’s so wet there, Frankie,” you protest weakly. Why would he want to put his mouth on the messiest part of you? You can’t understand it. Frankie just smiles.

“I know, baby. I wanna taste you.”

You can only whimper in response, Frankie so close now you can feel his warm breath against your folds. He plants one last kiss to the crease of your thigh and then at last, closes the space between his lips and your pussy.

You feel him lick a thin stripe through the wettest part of you, the slick contact sending an emphatic jolt to every nerve ending your body. He does it again, widening his tongue this time, and your responding gasp is cut off when Frankie fucking moans. What does that mean?

Your head snaps up and you stare down at him in horror.

“What’s wrong? Does it taste bad?”

Frankie detaches his mouth from your cunt, confusion mapping the crease between his brows.

“Bad?” he repeats. You just blink back at him with uncertainty written all over your face and he seems to recognize you’re being serious. His features soften.

“No, querida,” he insists. “Just tastes like pussy. Really fucking good pussy. Did it feel good?”

You nod–you can’t lie.

“Good. I’m gonna do it again. Just relax for me, okay?”

He waits until you nod again and your tense muscles have loosened, then he dives forward for a second time.

Now, you trust that the breathy moan he lets out is one of pleasure rather than disgust. It’s not that hard to believe either; Frankie glides his tongue through the seam of your folds with ravenous interest, up and down, in wide circles around your lips and curious flicks over your hole, peeking up at you with each careful ministration to ensure he’s on the right track.

And, Christ, you may not have any frame of reference but it certainly feels like he is.

It’s so…wet. So dizzying and warm and all-encompassing. Then Frankie dares to spear his tongue inside you–once, twice, a third time–and you keen at the welcome intrusion, moaning out a sound so pornagraphic you could probably rival the woman currently being railed from behind on your TV right now.

You feel–rather than really see–Frankie smile against you.

“Does that feel good when I do that?” he asks and then he does it again.

“Yes, Frankie.”

He hears the silent plea beneath your words and quickly gets back to work.

With his tongue still dancing over your fluttering hole, Frankie closes his lips.

And that’s–oh–that’s so much more overwhelming. His mouth consumes your pussy as his tongue laps and lathes at your core, drinking down everything your body gives him. His eyes close and his brows furrow while his lips move hungrily against you and you imagine this is what it would feel like to kiss him–hot and wet and sloppy and perfect.

He continues like that, making out with your pussy until your hips involuntarily begin to rock up into his mouth in search of more. Frankie groans, sucking at your folds before pulling away with a wet pop.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he groans. He gazes bearlily at your pussy, his lips coated with arousal and saliva. You don’t miss the way he drops a hand to his bulge.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs. Usually so controlled and composed, Frankie sounds almost delirious now. “Baby, I’m gonna lick your clit now. Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah–yeah, please, Frankie.”

Frankie makes a wild, guttural noise, leaning in to press a kiss into your pussy.

“Tell me, baby, tell me where you want my tongue.”

But then he’s teasing his mouth over your hole again, making speech nearly impossible as he swirls his tongue around your opening–like a preview of what he’s about to offer the most sensitive part of you.

Desperation takes over and any lingering nerves fade away.

“My clit, Frankie,” you beg him. “Please lick my clit.”

The order has him moaning against you again, the vibration alone enough to make you dizzy even before he’s gripping both your thighs to spread you open further and his mouth is moving to find purchase over your nub.

A sound you’ve never heard yourself make before spills from your parted lips as Frankie begins to deftly work your clit with his tongue. Sparks ignite in your belly at the sensation, so different than how it feels to have someone’s hands on you here. It’s slick and it’s intimate and it’s so much more…concentrated this way. Frankie presses into you harder and flattens his tongue, focusing on drawing precise little circles around your clit that have you seeing stars.

Jesus–did he go to school for this or something? How does he know to apply just the right amount of pressure? How does he never falter in his rhythm or even stop to come up for air? How does it already feel like you could come at any second if he keeps doing what he’s doing right now?

Fully intent on your pleasure, his messy curls frame his flushed cheeks and his hooded eyes. He’s coaxing towards your end like he’s been fucking training for this his entire goddamn life.

You get lost in it, indulge in the feeling and the fact that it’s Frankie doing this for you. Frankie is making you feel this good. Frankie is going to make you come.

You grab at his hair and push his face into your cunt, past the point of caring if he’d be upset about that as your orgasm blooms hot in your core. Frankie just groans appreciatively, laving at your clit and giving you just that much more when he puckers his lips and sucks at the tiny bundles of nerves.

“Oh, Frankie, fuck–fuck, do that again–”

Bossy. He loves when you get bossy. You’re so close and, apparently, that makes you bossy.

He smiles. He doesn’t hesitate to do as you ask, sucking hungrily at your clit and swallowing down your salty-sweet flavour. When he feels your muscles begin to tighten he offers you his tongue again, sucking and licking, sucking and licking. He thinks about the man on screen earlier and takes a page out of his book, slowly moving his head from side to side as much as he can with your hands in his hair–and, yeah, you seem to like that, if your wild, needy moans and your breathless little gasps are anything to go by.

He doesn’t want to leave here ever. He wants to drown and die with his face in your cunt and your hands in his hair. He wants his last breath to be coated with your scent so he can be buried in the ground with it, knowing his life had been worthwhile because at least he’d got to have you this way even one fucking time.

But your pleas are growing stronger and your chest is heaving faster and Frankie knows it can’t last–because you’re going to come. Suddenly, that’s the only thing in the world that matters.

“Like that, Frankie,” you cry, when he finds a new rhythm with his tongue, broad, coaxing strokes over your twitching pearl. Your eyes snap open and find his at once, beseeching him. “Don’t stop doing that, Frankie–I’m gonna come.”

He hums against you and heeds your orders, never stopping or slowing the movement of his tongue. You chant for him–yesyesyes–and Frankie just hums and hums his encouragement.

Come on, baby, come on, baby, he thinks. Let me see what you look like when you come for me. Let me know this part of you.

“Frankie!”

The drawn-out cry of his name is the last warning he gets before your pussy begins to pulse under his tongue.

Your climax is even more beautiful than he imagined it’d be.

You arch up into his mouth and his hands are quick to hold you there, licking you through it as you quiver with the force of it. Wetness gushes from your core and Frankie laps at it greedily, drunk on your taste and your sounds and your writhing form above him.

Years of service to his country, and somehow he thinks this might be his proudest achievement. He’s never felt more gratified than he does watching you fall apart for him right now.

Meanwhile, Frankie’s cock aches, leaking and hard in his boxers and begging to be touched. He’s already so close, he could probably come too if he just–

With his mouth still closed over your pussy and your body still shaking with the swells of your orgasm, Frankie begins to palm himself furiously through his jeans, chasing his own high before you can come down from yours.

But it’s too late. You catch him red-handed.

“Frankie–stop, honey, don’t come like that.”

You pry him off your soaking cunt and Frankie doesn’t fight you. You’re sitting up, watching him, gaze smouldering and fixed on the hand he’s currently rubbing against his clothed cock. He should be embarrassed but he just wants to come.

“How, baby?” he asks you brokenly.

“Take it out.”

“Fuck, fuck–”

He hurries to obey, straightening up off the floor and fumbling hastily with his belt buckle. It takes him three tries to get his fingers to cooperate long enough to figure it out, unzipping his jeans and yanking them down his thighs, completely forgetting this is the first time you’re ever going to see his–

“Oh my god,” you gasp the second his cock is free from his boxers and he’s wrapping a relieving hand around himself. He looks up at you, momentarily concerned until he sees your eyes are trained on his cock.

And yeah, fine–sue him–his ego blooms for a second, watching your eyes widen at his size, breath leaving you in this adorable little sigh.

“Frankie, you’re so–”

“I know,” he interrupts. You share a smile, something so familiar, as Frankie strokes his cock over your cunt, something so decidedly unfamiliar. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck you with it this time.”

This time. Fuck. He hasn’t even finished doing this with you now and he’s already planning when he’s gonna get to do it again. As if he even knows if you want that, as if he’s not leaving again in just a few weeks–

“You can,” you say hurriedly and the offer pulls him off the edge of spiraling and right back into the moment, cock throbbing in his hand as his head falls forward into his chest with a groan. “Frankie, you can fuck me.”

He shakes his head.

“Gonna come in two seconds if I do that, babe.”

He’s also not sure he has the self control to fuck you right now without hurting you.

Plus he really is so fucking close. Your fingers explore his belly and Frankie pumps himself faster. He watches in a lustful haze as your hand moves to hover over his cock, almost curious about it.

“Can I help you, Frankie?” you whisper. Jesus, do you even know how alluring your voice sounds? He’s gonna fucking explode if you keep talking to him like that.

You lightly touch your fingers to the back of his hand–and he’s never said yes so fast in his life.

“Yeah–fuck, yeah, baby, you wanna help?”

“Mhm,” you nod, peering up at him sweetly as you take over.

“Oh, shit–fuck,” Frankie rasps the second you wrap your fingers around him. Then you start to stroke him in long, languid pumps and his eyelids involuntarily flutter.

“Yes, baby, just like that,” he sighs. He abandons the urge to come for a moment, letting his eyes slip closed and really trying his best to just savour the feeling of you touching him. His stomach lurches when he feels you swirl your thumb over his slit, smearing wet drops of precum around the head of his cock. His chest warms with something like pride at learning this about you, that you know what you’re doing when you get a cock in your hand. That you’re good at this.

“Fuck…that’s so good, sweetheart,” he finds himself whispering just because he thinks you deserve to know.

“Frankie.”

Your voice calls out to him through the fog of bliss and he dares himself to glance down at you. Still working over his length in deep, adoring strokes, you bite your lip and meet his stare with wide, faraway eyes of your own. He cups your cheek in his hand just because he can.

“Hm?”

You smile and it’s so fucking beautiful and soft and you that he can’t help but smile right back.

“You made me feel so fucking good,” you tell him earnestly.

“Yeah?” Frankie strokes your cheekbone with his thumb and you tighten the grip of your fist around his cock.

“Yeah,” you nod, just as your smile falters in lieu of something darker. “I want–I want you to come for me, Frankie. I want you to come on my pussy.”

“Jesus,” Frankie grits, nodding frantically as he shoos your hand away and takes his cock in his own hand again. “Yeah–yeah, okay.”

The request alone has him hurtling towards release and in a flurry of desperation, he reaches up under your shirt to palm at one of your tits with his free hand while he concentrates the pumps of his fist to the head of his cock. Your head falls back behind you when he gets one of your nipples between his fingers and you moan so pretty for him.

Fucking hell, he’s not gonna last.

“You want me to come on your pussy, baby?”

“Mhm.”

That pleading lilt in your voice makes tension coil in his core, heat rising up the back of his neck. He can hear the sound of his own heady grunting as he strokes and strokes himself for you, eager and impatient to give you what you’d asked for.

“Whose pussy is it?” he growls.

He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe part of him just needs to know he’s really claimed this experience for you. That no one’s ever going to make you feel good as he had.

Your eyes lock and you tell him exactly what he needs to hear–

“Y-yours, Frankie. It’s your pussy.”

“Yeah…yeah, it is–fuck!”

He comes with blinding force, his cock twitching violently in his grasp as he paints your mound and lower belly with white ropes of spend. Huffed breaths pass through his lips as the waves pass over him, his knees aching against your floor as he shudders and groans and milks himself over your pussy. His pussy.

Once he’s emptied himself completely, his body still quaking with residual aftershocks, he hooks a hand behind your neck to pull you in closer. Sated, your features shrouded in bliss and gratitude…Frankie’s always loved you, but he’s never loved you more than he does right now.

“Mi vida,” he breathes, clutching your face between his palms. “Can I kiss you?”

And even though it’s beyond backwards, to share your first kiss with your tang on his tongue and his cum on your skin, you nod, leaning into him willingly as he finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Somehow, even after waiting years for this, he finds it in himself to kiss you slow. You don’t seem to be in any rush either, sighing as you part your lips for him and let him spill his tongue between them. You press yourself closer, wrap your arms around his neck to deepen it and a glimmering warmth trickles down his spine.

Breathless and charged, there’s a change in atmosphere, and suddenly everything feels painfully fragile. Like the moment he breaks this kiss, the earth will crack open under him and he’ll be pulled down into its molten core and it’ll never be like this again.

So he just kisses and kisses and kisses you, finding his way back onto the couch and holding you hostage against his lips. But you make no attempt at escape. You just mould your lips against his and fist your hands into the fabric of his shirt and kiss him right back with just as much force and finality.

He wants to tell you everything, but he doesn’t know how or if that would even be the right thing to do.

I love you. I still have to leave.

No. He can’t do that to you.

“See how good your pussy tastes?” he asks between kisses instead. You laugh against his lips, but when he opens his eyes to see your face, he finds your eyes are wet with tears.

Shit.

“You know that’s not why I’m kissing you so much, Frankie.”

Reluctantly, he breaks away. He holds your face between his hands, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Why are you?” he whispers. Is it the same reason he can’t stop? Is it that same feeling of impermanence he can’t seem to shake?

The tears in your eyes spill over and pool in the webs of his fingers.

“Because I’ve always wanted to,” you tell him shakily. And as quickly as his heart swells with the confession does it deflate with your next words, “And I don’t know when I’ll get to do it again.”

Frankie sighs, his forehead colliding with yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. For so many things but mostly–

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay, Frankie,” you assure him, scratching your fingernails into his scalp and slanting your head to steal another salty-wet kiss. He thinks he feels you smile, and it almost soothes the ache. “It’s okay now.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #pedro pascal character fanfiction #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 1 month

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

Author's Note: I had a comment left on my post HERE. The person who commented brought up this scenario of Simon being dared to kiss you and you think that he won't, but he actually does and sparks end up flying. So, of course, I had to write it because... I mean... Come on... (lol). And here it is.

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader, Soap

Summary: During a game of Truth or Dare, your lieutenant is dared into giving you a kiss, but something about the way he has been acting lately may mean this is going to be more than a quick ordeal. And the way you have been feeling towards him won't be helping.

Word Count: 4k

Part 2: READ HERE

The night has started innocently enough: you and your fellow officers sit around together in the rec, blowing off a little steam after another successful mission. Some nice, simple fun of playing cards and shooting the shit like you usually do when leaving the base to go down to the bar isn’t an option. Everyone happens to be here tonight, including that brooding, mask-faced lieutenant that you can’t seem to keep your mind from drifting to as he stands against the wall behind you.

Maybe it’s just your imagination, but you’ve noticed that the lieutenant’s presence has become more and more common lately, especially when you’re around. He keeps mostly to himself, staying on the edge of the fun by just watching, yet you swear that if you are stealthy enough from out of the corner of your eye you can catch his gaze lingering in your direction.

Whether it’s just a trick of your mind or the truth, either way it makes your pulse race. And tonight is no exception.

All has been pretty calm so far, nothing too rowdy or out of hand. At least, it was until now as the night has waned on and inhibitions have fallen. What was once an innocent bit of fun has turned a bit more risque as Soap decides that cards aren’t enough to keep everyone entertained. What game is it he always seems to pick when everyone is more loose? One where the consequences always end up interesting: Truth or Dare.

Several rounds have passed already where the truths have consistently gotten more honest and the dares even more spicy. No one is ready to call it quits just yet, but there is one person that hasn’t had a turn after all this time and that just won’t do, not if the Scottish sergeant has anything to say about it. Taking matters into his own hands, Soap turns his attention to the big man standing with his arms crossed, watching quietly.

“Oy, Lt. Come on, you’re already ‘ere. Ya gotta join us,” Johnny says through the raucous laughter to drag the silent lieutenant into the merriment. “Or are ya chicken, hmm?”

As much as you want Lt. Riley to join in, you would rather him stick around and something like this could get him to walk out; you don’t want that to happen. “Fucking can it, Johnny,” you say as you strike him in the bicep with your fist. “You’re talking out of your ass, alright? Knock it off.”

To everyone’s surprise and yours, after a momentary pause, Lt. Riley steps up closer to the table with his arms still crossed. “ ‘s fine,” he dismisses your concern. “But, one round is all you’re gonna fuckin’ get from me, sergeant, so better make it count.”

Johnny nods his head in agreement, actually caught off guard that he is even able to get this far with the ever stoic and cold-shouldered officer. It all seems a bit too easy, but Soap isn’t going to pass up an opportunity like this to get the lieutenant involved. He’s gotta make this good whatever it is that gets chosen and so he pauses a minute to think of an idea for either scenario before speaking up. “Alright Lt, ye know how it goes. Truth or dare?”

Truth is never going to be an option for Lt. Riley, not with the level of secrecy he keeps to at all times when it concerns his life; he knows if he gives Johnny an inch he will take a goddamn mile. So, there is only one other option and though he tries to hide the fidgeting in his hands, he picks it.

Maybe it’ll be something that’ll help him strike up a conversation with you later. “Dare,” he says.

The grin that lights up Soap’s face instantly lets the entire table know that he is up to no good and the words that follow are a testament to that fact. You thought you knew Johnny well enough by now, but not even you could have been prepared for what came out of his mouth then. “Alright, I dare ye ta kiss our sassy little sergeant right here,” he says as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.

You meet his blue eyes and hold them in stunned silence. Is he fucking serious? As if Lt. Riley would ever go for something so fucking dumb as this. Johnny has to be out of his goddamn mind to put you in this position; it’s like he knows something he shouldn’t. Again your immediate reaction is to sock him in the arm, this time a bit harder to drive home the point that you are done with his bullshit.

And yet… shockingly… you hear the lieutenant speak up.

“Fine,” Lt. Riley agrees to everyone’s amazement.

You turn your attention to face him. “Are you sure? Johnny’s just being a dick, you don’t have to listen to him, sir,” you reassure as you shoot a glare that has the Soap nervously shifting in his seat, worrying about what is going to happen to him later for pulling such a ridiculous stunt.

“Said it’s fine,” he repeats, his gruff tone metered. “But I ain’t doin’ it ‘ere though; you’re not gettin’ a free fuckin’ show if that’s what you’re after Mactavish.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll give ya that,” Johnny concedes. Those blue eyes scan the room for a solution. “How about ‘round tha corner there.”

He points to the bend in the wall a few feet away; far enough from the group that they won’t be able to tell what’s happening behind it. Since there are now stipulations that the lieutenant has set, Johnny is going to add his own as well for good measure. “However,” he pipes up, “since it ain’t in front a us here, ya gotta stay in place for 10 minutes. I doubt ye’ll actually do anything, but might as well make ye both have ta awkwardly stand there for a bit. And don’t think yer gonna pull a fast one; I’m gonna be countin’.”

You look back at the lieutenant and he gives a nod. “Fine,” you agree as well. How you are able to keep your voice so steady when you feel that jolt deep in the pit of your stomach is a mystery, but you pull it off just fine.

With the rules set Lt. Riley stares at you as if waiting for you to get up from your seat first before he moves. You do and he immediately follows close behind as you make your way over to the wall just past the corner amidst the sounds of whistles and whoops. With a quick flip of the bird back over your shoulder to the group, you both vanish around the side and come to a stop a few feet from the edge.

You lean your back up against the wall as he comes to stand in front of you, watching you intensely through the opening in his thin balaclava. As you wait to see who will speak first, you notice a tension in his broad shoulders that hadn’t been there before. This is the first time you both have ever been this close to one another and you can’t overlook the fact that he seems even bigger now that you are standing so near; you can’t help but admire how small you feel next to him.

The longer he stares at you with those golden eyes, studying your face as if he is deciding something, the more rapid your heartbeat thumps heavy in your chest. He takes a step closer and then another before coming to a stop again. Now there is less than a foot’s distance between your bodies and suddenly there is a shift in the atmosphere around you both, a thick tension that is growing harder to ignore.

The sounds of laughter filters over to the both of you, breaking you out of the haze of your thoughts. “You know, we don’t have to do anything. If you want me to lie, it’s fine, sir,” you speak before he has a chance to. “Fuck Johnny for putting us in this situation. We can just stand here in silence until we get called back.”

He clears his throat. “Who said anythin’ ‘bout lyin’?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrow that you can make out through the mask. “Just don’t wanna, is that it?”

Something in the way he says the statement catches you off guard. Why does he sound slightly disappointed? Did he want to actually do this? You couldn’t really believe that; no, you must be reading this all wrong. “No, that’s not…” you stumble over your words; why is it getting harder to speak? “I just… didn’t think you’d want to… but… if you do then…”

“Yes or no?” he cuts off your string of stammering.

“Yes,” you confirm.

Nothing else needs to be said other than that. His hand moves to his face, his fingers finding the bottom edge of his mask, and now you can’t breathe as you wait to see what’s under there. This is the first time you’ll be able to see more than just his eyes and that leaves your mind reeling.

Okay, you prepare yourself, it’s just a kiss, right? Nothing to it; you’ve been kissed before. This will be no different. Just breathe and we’ll get through it.

The mask is wrenched up above his nose so that his mouth is revealed and spread across waiting for you is a subtle, cocky smirk. Your cheeks flush as your eyes are drawn to the facial hair covering his jaw and outlining his lips; short, light brown outgrowth from not having shaved today. It accentuates his strong jaw perfectly and though you try, you can’t look away.

Still focused on his face you miss the warning as a strong hand suddenly finds its way onto your waist as he moves against you. His broad chest is pressed up to yours, you can feel it through the thinner fabric of his shirt, and you can’t tell whether it’s your own pounding heartbeat or his that you feel. That tension is suffocating now that he is this close, the air so thick it feels like you can cut it with a knife. You wait impatiently for the moment to finally break.

It feels like you are holding your breath when after a few more seconds he finally speaks. “Good,” he says with a bit of breathiness to his voice, “cause I’m no liar.”

Leaning his head down slowly to reach you his lips inch ever closer until you can feel their warm, ghostly presence brush over your mouth causing your eyes to flutter shut as the ecstasy from the anticipation of them making contact overwhelms you. They are there, right there, and you plead with the universe to finally let them touch. You feel him inhale sharply and with that they are crashing against yours. It is with such an automatic, visceral intensity that it knocks the wind from your lungs.

Simon had been certain until the second your lips made contact that he could keep himself under control, that this was nothing more than sinless fun, but as he breathes in the hot, moist air from your mouth while he captures it again, he already knows that this is not going to end how he has intended. There is an immediate magnetism that you both cannot pull from and what is supposed to be something quick, turns mind-numbing in an instant.

Time stands still as your lips twine together in that familiar back and forth and what can only be a few short seconds extend out into an eternity. It’s like flicking on a switch how easily you melt into his embrace, like acquainted lovers, like your lips have always meant to be pressed tightly together.

How can this be the first time you have ever kissed?

The stubble covering the exposed half of his face pricks along your cheeks the more he advances; the skin around your lips and your jaw growing more raw each time he moves, but the way it makes your face burn is far from painful. His breathing has become more strained, muscles tensing as he risks nipping carefully at the skin on your lower lip.

You inhale a sharp breath through your teeth and then it happens: an unconscious reaction to the pleasure surging through your veins like liquid fire. You can’t stop yourself as a sneaky moan creeps up your throat and before you can swallow it back down you hum it into his mouth.

That low, alluring sound leaves that hulking military officer hungry to hear more. Those large hands of his desperately want to paw at your body, to caress all those silky curves against the coarse skin of his palms, to let his fingertips linger at all that delicately soft flesh for as long as he can. A deep, gnawing ache settles itself in his chest as he takes your lips with more feral aggression; Simon has never craved something more in that moment than to keep you like this entangled with him.

The longer he goes, the more there is nothing tentative about his movements; he kisses you like he owns you. Lt. Riley steals from you as if your lips are air and he will suffocate without them, his desperation is the kind that feels like this is life or death and he needs you to survive. You are unprepared for the fucking bliss of it all, the raw, unbridled passion that his lips create as the friction abrades the tender skin of your mouth.

And your thoughts scream for him to keep going.

You match his intensity with your own, kissing him back with everything that you have in you. He opens his mouth slightly and without thinking your tongue moves in and presses against his, trying to shove its way into his mouth. Fuck, he is not prepared for you to be so keen and it throws him off for only a moment before he leans into that passion and comes back with his response.

The lieutenant braces one of his large hands near your hip, pinning you to the wall while his mouth engulfs your own as he slides his tongue in between your teeth to fill the cavity full. It slithers over the surface of your tongue towards the back of your mouth, the taste of you intoxicating so that he cannot get enough. The pleasure is so intense that it severs his connection with reality and everything outside of your joined mouths fades away into background noise. His other hand moves from your waist and is suddenly wrapped around the back of your neck, his thumb holding steadily against your jaw to keep your head securely in his grip so that he can pull you as tight against his face as he can stand.

Your head is reeling from the potency of those hot, feverish lips that are suck yours into their desperate embrace. Then his knee forcefully pries its way between your thighs and you are sure that you will not come back from this. It’s too much to handle and you’ve lost all control… no, that’s not right. You’ve yielded everything completely to him without even having to think about it and he has taken every single ounce of what he has been given as if it has always been his.

Leaning up into him, you stand up on the balls of your feet as he guides the movement of your head by tilting it from one side to the other in that natural dance that happens when lips play. You are both insatiable as that carnal need to devour the other makes it impossible to not relinquish yourselves to the ecstasy that overwhelms in that moment.

Never in your life have you wanted a man to possess you more than you want your superior to right now. Images of him picking you up and slamming your back into the wall, making you encircle his waist with your legs, his cock straining and throbbing between your clothed sex as you plead with him to take you, fill your mind until they make you light-headed.

Lt. Riley is not faring any better and he has to focus his entire will into keeping his hands engaged so that he can resist the tingling in his fingertips to find the button on your pants and undo them. If you were alone without the threat of interruption, you might already be half undressed by now, but just as that urge reaches its peak and his fingers are moving in, you both hear the words that make your hearts sink.

“Eh, you two,” you hear Soap calling out from a distance, “times up.”

It is torture to pull away from you; Simon is on the verge of combusting from being forced to stop before he is ready. But he has to or else he might be found out and there is still hesitation to admit that he might actually want more of this. Even after the ecstasy you both had just shared he isn’t sure how far he should let this go and so with a sigh of defeat he releases your lips from his own.

By the time he lets you go and moves out from between your legs, your stance is unsteady and your mind fuzzy. The sudden lack of pressure against your mouth leaves you feeling empty and you have to stop yourself from whining aloud. As your eyes slowly flutter open you look up into his face and are met with that chocolate brown gaze lingering on you. There is something swimming in the depths of his eyes: a question, a statement, you’re not sure, but he doesn’t say it aloud. The need to say something yourself eats at you, but you close your mouth tight and bite your tongue to keep silent.

You can’t bring yourself to risk admitting that you don’t want him to stop; what if he doesn’t feel the same? The pressures of putting it all out there at this moment is too much to handle. Instead, you let the moment die away quietly as you breathe deeply through your nose.

“Times up,” Lt. Riley repeats the phrase softly as he situates his balaclava back down under his chin to hide himself from you once again. The others are cheering for your return, giving you no time to collect yourself, so you simply sigh and stride back to the group together.

Heads turn your direction as you reappear back into the main room. “Well?” the heavily accented voice of the bastard that has orchestrated this whole thing questions you both.

Trying not to stumble back to your seat, you play it off as if you hadn’t just had your soul sucked out through your lips. “Well what?” you return as the lieutenant passes you up and takes his place back behind the group.

Soap’s brow furrows. “Don’t play dumb with us, lass,” he chides. “Was he any good?”

You cautiously take your seat back where you had been as everyone waits for your answer, trying to give yourself more time to calm your pulse that is still racing like wildfire through your tingling limbs. “It was fine,” you say, hoping you are collected enough to pull off such a bold-faced lie.

“Oh really?” Johnny asks skeptically as he eyes you up and down to read your body language. Your heart leaps in your chest as you think you’ve been found out, that the bloom in your cheeks is still too noticeable, but he continues like nothing. “I think yer full a shit. Probably didn’t even get a peck, knowin’ LT. I bet ye did nothin’ back there, but stand in silence.”

You snicker at him, carefully adjusting yourself in your seat so you can squeeze your legs together to relieve the throbbing in such a way that it doesn’t draw attention. “Aww... Guess that’s only for us to know and for you to spend all your time worrying about, bitch. It’s gonna eat at you, isn’t it? Gonna lose sleep thinking about me and the lieutenant, hmm?” you pick back, which seems to get him off your case.

“Ye wanna add anythin’ here?” Soap asks as he turns to the mask officer.

You risk a glance over your shoulder back at your superior, knowing that this could undo all your progress at regaining your composure, and you catch him completely lost in thought, not having heard a word that Soap just said. Quickly he recovers, clearing his throat. “What’re ya on about, Mactavish?” he questions back.

“I asked if ye had anythin’ to add to her account of events,” Johnny chuckles. “Or are ye too stunned ta speak?”

The lieutenant shoots him a glare before pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Don’t push yer fuckin’ luck, yeah?” he answers it like a threat as he flips open the pack and places a cig in between his fingers.

Soap holds up his hands innocently with palms facing out in agreement not to start any trouble. “Ye must a been terrible, lass,” Soap picks as he turns his attention back to you to keep the jovial atmosphere up.

You slug him hard enough to make his chair squeak from the force before joining in the others laughter to disguise the heat still burning through your cheeks. Simon takes the opportunity to slip out unnoticed, though you let your eyes follow him one last time. It is a monumental task that he has to perform to actively put one foot in front of the other, to calculatedly focus his breathing to stay calm, and make it out of the door without anyone noticing that his composure is clearly broken.

Once out of sight he hurriedly steps out into the cool night air and immediately rips up his mask as he lights his cigarette, taking a long, heavy drag off it as he leans up against the brick of the building. The nicotine tingles his throat and he hopes it’ll be enough of a distraction to stop the intense pounding in his chest. Breathing the smoke out in a weighty sigh he adjusts the crotch of his pants as they have suddenly become too tight for his comfort.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath as he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, desperately trying to focus on anything in a vain attempt to calm himself, but he already knows its no use.

The second his eyes are shut all he can think about is that kiss: he can still feel his arm around you, detect the ghost of your lips against his, sense the warmth of your breath in his mouth. He tries to push the delectable sensations from his mind, but they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon and he knows it.

Opening his eyes he stands back up off the wall with a need that compels him, making him move strategically so that he can peek through the door without being seen. Sneakily he stares back into the building, those brown eyes catching the sight of you smiling and laughing, those full lips making his blood pressure rise as he watches them move about as you speak, still red and swollen from being claimed.

This is a problem, a big fucking problem. Now the only thing that that hardened military man can think about, instead of keeping his distance, is how he can recreate that exact scene with you again.

And maybe, just maybe, take it even further.

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jazjelspen · 2 months

Text

my angel baby [part 3]

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution: NOT PROOFREAD and in this fic the reader isn't a big fan of adam so qwq apologies adam lovers!! nothing against him at all!]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. alastor attends the court but doesn't do much but watch the mess happen tbh qwq sorries. )

(oh and every flashback that will be in almost every chapter will be out of order! but will always include what age the reader was in at the time of that memory!)

(tags: @wildfire153 @nevermorekisses @corvidae-00 @d0nutsaur @baalzie @luujjvi )

It is the day of the court meeting.

You have never been so glad in the entirety of your afterlife that you made so many good connections to higher angels throughout all your years in heaven.

You managed to convince one of your close friends that usually attended these kinds of court meetings to bring you along as a sort of 'extra advisor', an outside opinion of sorts.. with the exception of not speaking out and interrupting the court while it's ongoing and if you need anything to be said to tell it to them and they'll speak out for you.

Apparently this meeting was entirely set up so that the princess of hell could present a hotel as a second chance for sinners who genuinely wish to better themselves and to go to heaven. Personally you thought that hell was simply their punishment to live through due to their sins, they had their chances. But then again you couldn't imagine what hell was like to those who murdered or committed sins they didn't intend to for the sake of their safety and others.. so a part of you understood where she was coming from as well.

Although.. you genuinely hoped she wouldn't use Alastor as an example since he most definitely doesn't regret a single crime he's done on earth.

You followed your friend inside the court room, taking a seat beside them as you looked down below where Charlie Morningstar and the manager of her hotel, who you know found out is named Vaggie, were prepping to present their cause. Suspiciously, Alastor seemed to be running late since the courthouse seemed to be lacking his presence for these few short moments.. which you weren't exactly sure if that was good or bad.

Once everyone was seated and all was quiet that's when the infamous Adam came and flew in, god you hated that man. You questioned how someone like him could be in a high position in heaven with how many things he's done it just peeved you off.. but you never bothered to verbally question it since you didn't want to find out if mortal souls can be fallen as well since for all you knew only higher angels like the seraphims could become fallen.

Ah, and finally Alastor appeared by means of traveling by shadow.. several members of the court hushing and murmuring after seeing the power that particular sinner seemed to have. Unlike them, you only let out a huff of air through your nose as your skin began to grow cold.. feeling nervous at how the court is reacting to your father even if none of them knew of that big fact just yet. Alastor then set himself beside Charlie on her right hand-side, Vaggie on her left.

Once Adam let out his usual annoying comments that you mentally muted out, that's when Sera finally began the meeting.

Guess you're right on time, Alastor.

"We are gathered here today to determine whether or not a soul in Hell, can be redeemed into the heavenly realm by means of this Hazbin Hotel." she spoke, voice full of reason and seemed very professional. She then gave the rest of the court's attention to the princess. "Princess Morningstar?"

The poor girl seemed nervous and Adam's presence didn't seem to help much either. With a sigh she began as well "Thank you, Seraphim."

You felt bad for the girl, the pressure she must be under. She didn't seem evil to you at all.. in fact with what you heard of her so far she more or less seemed to fit in with Heaven quite well. Oh poor thing.

She cleared her throat, "Webster's dictionary defines redemption as--"

"Objection! Lame and unoriginal."

Hearing Adam's voice made you want to scream.

Oh and so did Alastor's right after.

"Oh here now, no need to be so rude." Alastor's voice interrupted, his tone seemingly playful yet serious "How may we even present our case if you won't even let us explain hmm? Now that's no fair."

Adam scoffed, "Pfft! And why even are you here smiley? Don't tell me something as fucked-up looking as you is gonna be the princess's piece of proof for this shitty hotel, aren't you just another sick fuck?" Laughed the man, an ego bigger than heaven itself.

"I am Alastor, host of the hotel and a sort of co-founder of it as well! I can assure you the Princess's cause and ideas, as bizarre as they seem, seem to be developing quite well!

Now if you'll let us continue, we can at least show you the progress of it so far." The deer demon pointed his hand towards Charlie to give the attention to her once more.

Sera let out a sigh and stepped in to let Charlie continue, with the exception of no further dictionary references.

You sighed feeling frustrated, can't they just let her speak and present herself the way she wants to?

The poor girl seemed to skip through several note cards, Adam continuing to nag her about evidence and yada yada. While he complained your eyes landed on Alastor, your father seemingly annoyed and intrigued by this annoying guy as well.

The few words passed around seemed to deafen on you as you stared at him, trying to see what could he be plotting. Was he to use this hotel as a means to cover something, to bring in more victims, to cause more pain? You were unsure.. he seemed to nice about it. Alastor noticed your prying eyes and side eyed you back as well with that shit-eating grin, making you immediately look away back towards the princess to listen to her once again.

"Angel Dust." she exclaimed.

"Oh yeah. The porn demon! He's totally worth being redeemed." Adam's sarcastic comments and actions only made you see him as childish. You never really interacted with him one on one before since you never needed to but you have seen and heard several things.. you didn't think he deserved to be up here.

"Well if you know so much, what do you think it takes to get into heaven?" Adam seemed flabbergasted by her comment, almost stuck on what to say with how many filler words he uses.

You then put your finger under your chin in thought, 'Good question.. what does it take?' you thought up your own deeds, sacrificing your life for another, your everyday general selflessness, you remember always helping others that needed it and always defended your father from people who saw him as nothing but dirt. To you, getting into heaven takes pure selflessness.

Adam sent a golden paper towards Vaggie, her voice announcing what is says. "Act selfless, don't steal, stick it to the man.. Are you fucking serious?"

Alastor interrupted right after " I do believe theres a few more things after that if I do so recall.."

Adam practically ignored him and started boasting about himself again. You could've sworn a migraine was to come onto you. Alastor definetly wanted to let out more witty comments but knew he had to behave on this particular day as well. He felt annoyed but his relaxed attitude and smile never let that slip out for a second, he looked perfectly composed.

Your friend, the court member, gently nudged on your arm as a way to ask you if you're okay without verbally saying it since apparently you have been sighing and huffing constantly when annoyed or simply reacting to something.

"Oh.. sorry.." you mumbled towards them, they whispered that it's okay right after.

"Let's fucking see then." Adam snapped his fingers as Charlie proudly presented Exhibit A. Everyone seemed to watch with interest, you with slight doubt and hope for the best.

------(sorry besties we gotta time skip a bit more into the song portion of the court qwq I don't know what else to write heeere im sorryyyyy)-------------------------

The evidence was nothing but clear, his Angel Dust fellow was truly making progress to redemption, it was clear through actions! Maybe there really is serious hope for him after all.

So why was Sera and Adam so adamant in not going further in this?

Your thinking only amplified when the court around you also asked the same thing, about why this soul isn't in heaven then.

It wasn't until the Princess started questioning them as well where Sera was stopping the questioning.

Emily started singing and her words slowly impacted you and as you lingered on it that it made you look down and gaze down at your father once more, his expression relaxed and now more focused on how the situation is playing our rather than helping out.

Alastor was here for the entertainment and laughs, and this man knew that it was just going to get better from here now.

-------------(passing through the song cuz honestly im unsure of what else to add but I just know alastor is watching this shit show go down and maybe try to defend charlie but in a half-assed sort of way.. love the man.)----------------------

Sera's voiced echoed across the court, finalizing her final verdict which made your legs threaten to get back up from your seat again. "I'm sorry.. but this court finds that there is no evidence souls in Hell can be redeemed."

Nono its not fair, not every sinner down there is evil theres still a few that have potential to be here! The evidence was clear! Progress can be made!..

And to imagine all the sinners they've killed up to now.

Adam cackled and boasted more, threatening the trio to attack their hotel first.

Alastor took this to heart and decided to act a bit irrationally, activating his powers as his shadow grew bigger as a way to threaten him back. The two girls begging him to stop knowing that this will only anger the angels more.

"Whoa--p lucky for you I'm not in the mood to fight right now, bye bye fuckers!" With a cackle Adam opened a large yellow portal which slowly sucked Vaggie and Charlie in as they begged not to leave. Alastor on he other hand dug his heels onto the ground and his tentacles kept him on the floor strong and using his microphone cane as extra security to not fall over from how strong the portal was trying to suck him in.

"Geez you just don't give up do you, fuckin' radio freak." Adam's comment made Lute grab her weapon that appeared in her grasp when she extended her hand out, raising it up to strike Alastor that was already struggling a bit to stay in place.

Sera exclaimed with Emily and the entire court gasping, "Adam that's--"

"ENOUGH!" you exclaimed, jumping down and leaping out of your seat to stand in between Alastor and Lute, become a barrier.

Lute scoffed "Get out of the way, you aren't even supposed to be in here"

"Killing him would just make you as bad as any other sinner down there."

She snarled at your comment, resisting the urge to strike you instead.

You turned around to face Alastor with a pitiful look on your face "Get out of here, go home. You're making this worse than it has to." You took a steps closer to him yet tried to stay put so that the portal doesn't suck you in as well. "Leave, dad." you gave him a smile, as if this is the last time you're going to see him ever again. "Resisting heaven in this way will only make this dangerous for you and me. Go."

Alastor's eyes narrowed at you, taking a glance at Adam behind you who was flipping him off before giving his attention back to his little dove.

Without any words he made his powers relax, the tentacles slowly uncurling from his ankles and he went into the portal with a menacing grin look to the court as if indirectly saying that this won't be the last of him.

With the portal finally closed you then let out a sigh, Adam laughing his ass off. "Seems like you got a shitty case of daddy issues huh! You came from that prick's ballsack too?? Did you cheat your way up here or something?"

'I'm adopted dipshit, could say the same thing about you though' your thoughts were then interrupted by Sera scolding Adam who then calmed down and flew off himself away with Lute beside him, so did the rest of the other court angels.

You turned to look back up at her too, an obvious look of disappointment adorning her face for being in a place you weren't even meant to be in the first place.

"_____." her voice made you feel small, "I will discuss with you later about the.. decisions you took today, but now theres more important things coming towards our way. Your apparent father... being a good example of what we need to protect ourselves from." She then proceeded to turn to Emily, talking to her in her own gentle way.

You sighed in defeat, although you didn't see Alastor do anything terrible he almost was about to do something he could have possibly regretted.

You flew yourself out of the court room to the entrance of the courthouse, deciding to walk by foot to blow off some steam.

The extermination was set to happen in a month, that'd give you enough time to prepare..

Nonono-- you can't actually be thinking to go to hell in disguise, help the princess, defend her against the angels in another disguise so the angels don't recognize you then go back home like it's nothing.

Right?

Oh god you were crazy enough to do all that huh. Even when the stakes of winning aren't high at all? When you could die?

Well, dying seems better than living in a hypocritical heaven that was more unfair and unkind as it seemed. Yes you love your friends and your people but.. how could the higher ups be alright with so much massacre and murder at their command, they were just like Alastor to you if anything.

You understood Charlie's cause and are willing to stand up for it.

You didn't want to become a fallen if it was possible.. but you couldn't sit here and do nothing.

You may or may not also be doing this to keep your dad safe, even though unbeknownst to you he was one of the strongest overlords in hell and was powerful as fuck, you would excuse this 'care' you have for him by saying you just want him to serve his eternal punishment for his crimes and not have the second easy way out.

"Fine. Let's get to work."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Alastor was currently holding you by the hand as you both walked back to your home. It was an aggressively rainy day in New Orleans with the raindrops falling like hail, various people running or walking through the rain. You and Alastor were just strolling through with him holding up an umbrella to give you both some kind of shelter.

With you being your two year old self you couldn't help but to playfully kick the water on the ground, it irked Alastor a bit but didn't say much until you then decided to jump on a big puddle to make a huge splash.

"Now _____, I hope I don't have to ask you one more time after this. No jumping on puddles so aggressively, at least only when you're playing but right now we are getting home dear. We mustn't have you catch a cold so soon." He spoke sternly, giving you a smile to make you not feel as if he's mad at you.. at least not entirely.

"Sowy.. " you spoke, your intended word coming out differently than you intended at first but Alastor understood your baby yapping just fine.

"Good girl, just don't do it as much now."

Then you stopped doing it but you still enjoyed watching the ripples in the water.

Once you two got home Alastor took his large coat off and set it on his coat hanger, placing the umbrella in a cane holder and and kneeled down to your level to then take your own rain coat and softer coat off and hung them as well, guess just maybe he seemed to care more than he led on with how he double coated you to stay warm.

He then took off your little rain boots as well and set them beside the door, after that you then immediately skedaddled away with a smile on your face to your room. Alastor sighed as he then went to remove his shoes and set them beside the door, exchanging them for cozy slippers that were waiting for him next to your rain boots as well.. thing is you ran off before he was able to have you put on your own matching pair of fluffy slippers for the cold.

He grabbed them for you as he then headed to you room to find you, assuming you were playing he expected a mess but instead you bumped right into his legs! He looked down and saw that you covered yourself in one of your warmest blankets that he recently bought you for the raining season.

"____, dear you're dragging it on the floor." He sighed a little before picking you up and covering you well with the blanket "Let's head over now, we have some music on the radio to listen to for the rest of the day."

He walked over to the living room and set you down on the sofa. This time as you were set down he also covered the blanket around you even more.. basically turning you into a baby burrito so you'd stay extra warm. He then turned on the radio to play some more classical and softer jazzy tunes before grabbing a newspaper he set down that early morning, setting himself beside you and continuing where he left off.

Despite being trapped in the warmth you couldn't help notice something weird, odd, even to you as a toddler. "Papa.." you babbled.

"Yes, dear?" he spoke with his eyes still glued on the words on the page.

"Red..red." you continued on, wiggling an arm out to touch the sleeve of his dress shirt.

"Hm?.." he hummed as he slowly went to look at what you were pointing.

Oh..

Right, yes, red.

"Ah.. yes.. I must've bumped into paint dear don't worry about it. " he gave you a gentle pat on the head before hastily setting the paper back down again and walking over and around the sofa to head to his room "Be a good girl and stay right where you are, I'll be right back." he exclaimed while leaving.

He let out a long sigh as he then aggressively opened his closet doors to change out of his bloodied dress shirt with a large red hand print smeared on his arm sleeve.

How did he not notice that.. that was too close. You wouldn't understand but he could only hope that no other person saw it.

No one better have saw it.

You were still in your blanket cocoon, too comfortable to move out of it. Hearing the tunes only made you relax even more, oh how you loved it.. the sound of rain even made the experience better to you somehow.

"Blabla.. bleh.. pluh.." you babbled in a sing song way from all the music you listen to. You then proceeded to get bored.. easily.

You wiggled your way out of the blanket to then grab the paper that Alastor left, staring at the front page of it.

Of course you couldn't read for shit, but it's good you couldn't since it's front headline is definitely- something..

'BREAKING NEWS: LOCAL POLICE HAVE FOUND EIGHT MORE BODIES IN LOCAL RIVER BANK. COULD THIS BE NEW ORLEAN'S NEWEST BOOGEYMAN AT WORK?'

"_____, don't touch papa's things sweetheart." Alastor popped out of nowhere and gently tugged the newspaper form your tiny hands. "you can barley read as well, don't tell me you want to start reading the news at your little age." He sat beside you, his signature smile shining as always.

In the end, you snuggled closer to him and slowly felt asleep on him as he continued on reading and relaxing now.

Half an hour passed and he finished reading the paper, enjoying a few parts here and there about it. He closed the thin pages to then look down at you leaning on his side sleeping and huddled in your blanket, in peace.

Ah, how cute. He never was a huge fan of kids, in fact he would've given you away long ago at this age.

But it's small moments like these that made him want to keep you longer, the small and peaceful ones, the ones where you two bonded over things you two enjoyed equally. It's gotten to the point where almost couldn't imagine life without his daughter in it.

Oh god, he's grown soft.

This isn't him, it couldn't be. He's heartless, lacks empathy.. he really does.

But when it comes to you it's like it reverses even for a few moments.

His smile widened as he then gently grazed your head with the back of his hand to avoid waking you up.

He started to mumble to himself, "You see.. a boy would have been the son of another family, but you ______ Altruist.. shall be mine." He spoke softly, a sight to behold from Alastor who is known for anything except soft.

Oh but you were his little girl, his daughter, not by blood but unfortunately he accidentally let himself get attached and now he is proudly your father.

He won't ever admit it, even if threatened with death, but he'll always know that in his sick and dark soul his baby girl was his light. This is why he decided to never let you know about this part of himself that he indulged in without shame.

If only his mother were to see him now, she'd be so proud of Alastor that he has at least made a proper human connection. That he's given her a granddaughter.

Oh if only, only she were here now.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(thank you for reading everyone! sorry if this chapter seemed a bit lazy or smth qwq I was mostly unsure of how to have alastor and the reader pop in here in there throughout the trial since I wanted to stay true to the show as well but we’ll get more of them very soon!

most likely there will be two more parts after this and it’ll be wrapped up! i will not promise an entirely happy ending for al and his kid tho😭 still deciding on it)

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slttygeto · 10 months

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JJK MEN AS DADS — headcanons.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥featuring: geto suguru, nanami kento and toji fushiguro.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥note: enjoy this alternate universe where everyone is okay and safe and happy.

╰┈➤ interested in sending a commission?

╰┈➤ GOJO'S VERSION

—GETO SUGURU ;

some of you might not agree with me on this but he probably never saw himself becoming a dad

sure he loves kids, they do annoy him when they’re loud and all over the place but he never thought that he would have kids

that is until you announced to him that you were pregnant, and his entire world changed

his daughter is pretty much everything to him but he doesn’t spoil her (gojo does)

he wants to teach her proper manners, the right way to communicate things and isn’t big on spoiling

and you both end up raising a sweetheart who’s in love with uncle satoru.

“baby, stay in my sights.” you heard suguru talk to your daughter as you both walked down the food aisle. she was well mannered, didn’t act up or tried to be bratty when told something (unless she was having a really bad day, which was very different).

watching your husband parent a child that looked like a mix of you both was a different kind of love. he was gentle, careful and most importantly trying to be there for her.

from taking her on daddy-daughter dates, to talking things out with her when she was mad at him or when she messed up, suguru proved himself worthy of becoming someone’s father.

“who knew someone else would come along, and you’d call them baby,” you teased the man with a small smile, letting him push the cart while you walked next to him. he shot you a playful glare before grabbing a can of tuna.

“don’t even start—i somehow got used to speaking in girl voice from being forced to attend her tea parties…” he sighs but you know it's far from a tired one. he looks at your daughter with so much love, so much adoration that your heart flutters.

you were incredibly lucky.

“tell me you love me in your girl voice, come on,”

"move."

—NANAMI KENTO;

this man was made to be a father

despite how tired he looks he always makes time for you and your girl

very lovey dovey and is very proud of referring to you two as his girls

whenever he is asked to hang out, he goes 'lemme make sure my girls dont need anything'

hes quite literally the best

most patient, loving and understanding husband/father

ever since you gave birth, kento and your daughter had a routine. you two would feed her at 8p.m when he comes back from work, he would then take her to the bathroom where he would bathe her then read her a bed time story. he would then kiss her goodnight, keep the small moon shaped light turned on before closing the door.

it was endearing because he put it on so much effort when it came to her. you knew it was the bare minimum for a father, but you were still very grateful that you married a good husband and an even better father.

both kento and your daughter were now in the bathroom. bath time usually took about twenty minutes to half an hour, and it would be filled with giggles coming from your four year old and kento's occasional chuckles. but it was oddly quiet, so you decided to go check on them.

when you opened the door, your heart melted at the sight. your daughter had fallen asleep in the bathtub, and so your husband was trying his best to get her out and dry her up before she caught a cold.

and he was doing it so quietly that you couldn't help but ask if he needed any help.

"baby, do you need help?" you whispered to the man holding the sleeping girl, lightly kissing his nape and squeezing his shoulders.

"I got this." he whispered in response, turning around and pressing a light kiss on your lips and forehead.

you watched with heart eyes as he gently woke her up to dry her hair, kissed her forehead and continued on with their routine, before it was time to say goodnight.

nanami kento was an angel sent from above.

—FUSHIGURO TOJI;

this man isn't new to parenting, in fact you knew you weren't his first wife

but you were accepting of it, helped giving the grieving man a second chance at life as he liked to say

you met megumi when he was still so young and the little boy loving you was enough reason for toji to confirm that you were indeed the right one

loving a child that wasn't yours wasn't given to everyone, toji was well aware of that

and as you watched the man parent megumi, you were a bit hesitant to announce to him your pregnancy

when you did tho, he sobbed like a baby

and twins? a boy and a girl? oh he was in for a ride

"you little rascals better let me love on my wife in peace." your husband whispered to the two sleeping babies in their cribs. it was 9p.m and they were fortunately fast asleep.

you on the other hand, were busy with your oldest.

finally after getting them in bed, you were with megumi in the kitchen asking him what you should pack for his lunch tomorrow, which the ten year old responded with what he typically always chose.

megumi wasn't a difficult child, but with the arrival of the twins, you were a bit worried that he would think you and toji no longer cared for him. dealing with twins wasn't easy, but you were aware and willingly brought two lives to his family, and were fully responsible for it.

when toji was with the twins, you would help out megumi with his homework. and when it was time to breastfeed the babies, toji would take megumi to basketball practice or engage in a random activity together.

"a juice box?" you asked while packing his lunch, which the little boy nodded at before staring at who was coming down the stairs.

"you got school tomorrow at 8?" toji asked megumi, and the little boy responded with a nod. not much of a talker.

"are they asleep?" megumi quietly asked his dad, who raised an eyebrow at him before saying 'yes' and you watched as your son fiddled with his fingers, anxious of what to say next.

"gumi, do you wanna see them?" you stepped in, a hand resting on his back. the little boy looked up at you with sparkly eyes, grateful that you understood him.

"go, and if they do wake up call me." you kissed his forehead and watched as he carefully tiptoed upstairs.

toji's eyes stayed glued on you during the entire interaction, and finally let his arms wrap around your waist once your son was upstairs before resting his forehead on your shoulder.

"thank you," he whispered out, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

"for what?" you chuckled, caressing the taller man's back.

"for making everything feel like it's worth it."

2023 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

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maevesheart · 3 months

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only angel (2)

FINNICK ODAIR X FEM!READER

note: wasn’t originally planning on making a part two to this but it just seemed so unfinished??!?! and i love ruthless reader idk she’s a queen

summary: through your alliance with katniss, you and finnick rekindle some buried feelings.

wc: 5.2k

tw: violence, death, brutal!!reader, blood, allusions to forced prostitution

only angel (1)

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER, THE 68TH HUNGER GAMES

Brutus and Enobaria sat in front of you and Mace, your district mate.

They reminded you of strategies that you had been taught your whole life, ensuring that as long as you two played into the Capitol’s hands, you’d get plenty of sponsors and come out alive.

Mace and you had never been close back home, but you saw him in the shopping centers, had some mutual friends. It was someone familiar, and even though your two mentors spent more time perfecting your wielding of knives and crocodile tears, you hoped Mace could somehow make it far in the games. Like you knew you would.

Enobaria and Brutus had introduced you to the various other Career Tributes, taking their time to butter up the other mentors, ensuring a ticket for your survival.

You were small compared to the other tributes, even the girl from Twelve was bigger than you.

But you trained, and you trained hard, showing off the various knife and sword tricks that had been engraved in your brain since you were a child.

Enobaria helped with your endurance, shocked by how fast you were. She had instructed you to not show that off to the other tributes, don’t give too much away.

After the private sessions with your mentors, you were stronger, faster, and more agile than Mace could even dream. You almost felt bad, the way Enobaria and Brutus were setting him up for death.

But, at the end of the day, only one can make it out alive.

Enobaria was strategic, determined for you to win. She instructed you to not show too many strengths in the private session with the Gamemakers, just enough to get a respectable score for someone from a Career District.

You followed her instructions to a tee, refusing to be one of the 23 fallen.

For the interviews, Ceasar laughed at your innocent comments and jokes, complimenting the head piece you wore, noting how it looked like a halo.

“Beautiful, like an Angel,” he smiled, the crowed cheering in agreement.

You giggled, smoothing down the uncomfortable golden dress they had sewn you into.

The crowd roared with your unwavering confidence, the arrogance paired with your baby-face and innocent smile was enough to send them into a fit of convivial.

It was just too easy.

The night before the games you had snuck out of the floor for Two, going up to the rooftop in hopes of having a moment to yourself.

You perched on the ledge, a small nightgown barely covering your shivering body.

You closed your eyes to relish in what could possibly be your last moments of peace, before being snapped from your trance by footsteps echoing.

You whipped around, teeth barring and senses on high alert. You were already acting like the wild animal Enobaria had been training you to be.

“Not in the arena just yet,” a smooth voice sounds out, a boy a few years older than you coming into view.

You recognized him as Finnick Odair. He had won a few years back, and was now returning as a mentor.

You ignored him, turning back to the outline of the Capitol.

He approached you slowly, leaning his body against the glass railing you were propped against.

You looked up to him, tired-eyes meeting his, somehow seemingly sparkling.

“Unfortunately,” you spoke, your mouth in a straight line. Enobaria had introduced you to him during the parade, but his tributes were not ally-material.

He laughed at your response. You stared at him, unamused.

“Feisty,” he smirked, watching you look away from him and back to the skyline.

“Not really in the mood to talk about my fate,” you said, his eyes still burning two holes into the side of your face.

His smile dropped slightly, having once been in your position himself.

He reminded himself you were only 15. A year older than he was when he won.

He had only won 3 years ago, and stood on this same rooftop. Looking out on the same city skyline.

Your peripheral vision caught him lean both his forearms onto the glass, shifting closer to you.

“Is it just as scary as it seems?” You ask. You were a child. A child that had been trained to hunt and kill. But deep down, you were just a scared kid. How would you kill all those people?

Finnick hums, acknowledging the same question that wracked his mind the nights before his games.

“It is,” he recognized your fear, but refused to give you false hope that it wouldn’t be as brutal as it truly is.

The words Enobaria had spoken to you earlier bounced around your brain, it’s just killing. Self-defense. All of it. Don’t be scared to kill someone who isn’t scared to kill you.

You let out a long breath, closing your eyes.

“I don’t want to die,”

It was quiet, but Finnick heard it, head perking up and turning to stare at you.

The role as a tribute was meant to bring great honor to someone from your district, but you were terrified. You were young, passionate. You had so much to give and so little time to give it all.

“Enobaria told me to hide my strengths, and I did. I’ll be able to kill them, once it comes down to it. But how will I live with myself?”

Finnick asked himself the same question everyday. How did he kill all those people? Sure, it was survival. Him or them. But how do you continue your life, pretending like you hadn’t murdered people on live national television?

“I—“ Finnick fell short, eyes still watching the side of your face.

“How do you cope with it all?” You finally turned to him, salty tears on your cheeks.

He knew you were preparing yourself for the inevitable. He had heard Enobaria boast about you, and had seen you in training. Other tributes would be frightened to get close to you.

He didn’t answer, swallowing thickly. You would soon understand, you would be in his position.

You choked out a sob, hands wrapping around your body.

He watched with wild eyes, before pulling you into his warm chest, head burrowing in his body.

You made no move to remove yourself from his body, and his arms were snug against your back.

“Kill as many as you can, as soon as you can. Then lay low, hunt. Don’t fall for any of that ally-bullshit.”

His voice was rushed, eyes filled with emotion. He felt for you, a scared child. He remembered his fear all too well.

You sniffled in his chest, hands balling at the thin fabric of his top.

And you listened to him.

In those next few hours, during the bloodbath, you killed two, both with knives to the chest. The Capitol citizens cheered as your face reflected the highest kill-count. You knew it was nothing to be proud of.

That next evening, while the rest of the Career pack slept, you stole the boy from One’s — Yves — backpack, shoving their weapons into it as quietly as possible.

Your small size came handy, being able to stealthily move around them, you were lucky the arena was a desert, sand not making a noise.

The girl from One — Aithon — began to lightly stir, and you knew it was now or never. Finnick’s words from the night before mixed with Enobaria’s, and that was all you needed to take a sword in each hand and take down the two tributes from One.

Their deaths were quick, the canons sounding out and Mace waking up, his laying figure looking up at you. Small but powerful.

You stood over his body, one foot on each of his arms, keeping him from reaching up to you.

His face twisted in confusion, looking over to the blood pouring from Yves and Aithon, each who had just been sleeping soundly next to him.

Your knife neared his face in milliseconds, and you had to force your arms down as he began to scream.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper, guilt beginning to cloud your senses.

But you pushed past it, knowing you had to come out alive. No other option.

“Y/N! Please!”

And then there was silence.

He wasn’t anything special, but he was from home.

You held in tears as the canon sounded, running from the three as quickly as you could.

Whilst you hid behind one of the large cacti around the arena, Enobaria grinned as Capitol citizens celebrated her and you, her star tribute.

Finnick watched, heart tugging, knowing that he had encouraged the killings, he had told you to trust no one. And you had listened.

And from then on, you became the Capitol’s angel, their winged symbol of purity, despite the blood and deaths of many on your hands.

When Snow placed the crown on your head, you smiled, naively, and thanked the crowd. Thanked them for their donations, and their belief in you from the beginning.

But that’s all you were to them: a spectacle. A little girl who killed five in one day, a little girl who’s life had been dedicated to these games, to win. A little girl who would never get her purity back, never get to sleep without seeing Mace’s terrified face before she killed him.

He didn’t deserve it, none of them did. But it was life or death. And there was no way you were going to die.

PRESENT DAY, THE THIRD QUARTER QUELL

Your group continued up to the Cornucopia, you and Finnick taking the tail.

Peeta and Finnick drew a map in the dark sand, you leaned against the side of the metal Cornucopia, Johanna plopping down next to you, and Katniss on your other side.

It all happened in a blur. One second, Wiress was singing her song about a mouse and the clock, and the next, Gloss was on top of her, knife straight into the heart.

Katniss’s arrow struck him, you grabbing your swords to get Cashmere who was standing behind him.

Finnick rushed after you. He knew you could take Cashmere, but what happened if Brutus appeared? Brutus had never been kind to you, and it was doubtful he would start now.

Your sword stuck Cashmere in the leg, and she screamed, falling onto the little amount of ground that the middle sector offered.

She turned over, knife in her left hand, grazing your ankle slightly. Luckily your stylist had dressed you in thicker socks; she had been an absolute idiot about most things, but at least she had your back in the arena.

Your thigh was still slightly burning with pain, but you pushed through it, sticking both your swords into Cashmere’s chest, a strangled gasp leaving her lips and her head falling back against the ground.

The canon sounded out, but you continued to pull your swords out and drive them back into her chest, more blood pouring out.

You were grunting now, mind hyper-aware of your actions, but refusing to stop.

You kept driving the sharp tools into her chest, her body slightly moving up when you retracted the metal, and then caving in as you pushed them back.

You weren’t going to die; you refused to.

Hands were on your shoulders, pulling you backwards, and you turned, swinging.

Finnick let go and backed away, hands held up. He knew you’d never hurt him, but once you’re in the killing mindset, it’s very hard to break it.

You dropped the weapons to your side, a long breath leaving your lips that you hadn’t realized you’d be holding in.

Finnick pulled you along with him, hand on your side as he brought you over to everyone else.

All of them were staring with wide eyes — besides Johanna of course.

Katniss knew you were brutal, but she didn’t realize how quickly you did turn into the angel of death. One second you were smiling, laughing at something Johanna had said.

Then your eyes were lit with a fire, teeth out, and running, faster than Katniss had ever seen someone move.

She had watched you kill Cashmere in seconds, continuing to drive the weapons into her, sounds of exasperation leaving your lips but you were unrelenting.

You felt like you were fifteen again, scared and angry, brutal to anyone who crossed your path. Your swordsmanship was uncanny, and Katniss dreaded the moment that she had to try and kill you.

And then the Cornucopia began to spin, extremely fast. You grabbed onto Finnick, a sword sucking down into the water, your other tight in the palm of your opposite hand.

You and Finnick fell to the ground, grabbing at the hard rocks to keep from flying to the water.

And then you heard Peeta scream Katniss’s name, and the two of you both yelled a loud, “shit!”

You pushed off the hard ground, crawling to the side of the island, hand reaching down to grab Johanna’s axe and try to hoist the two of them up.

You grunted, holding onto a small portion of the metal that wasn’t sharp. Your feet dug into the ground, sword shoved into the rock to keep you grounded.

You watched as Katniss went flying down, and then Johanna was on top of you, the two of you gasping for oxygen when the spinning stopped.

You and Johanna were back on your feet, rushing to help Katniss out of the water.

You all made your way back onto the sand, where it was relatively safe.

You discussed strategy, your fingers tracing different shapes into Finnick’s thigh.

“Who’s left then?” Katniss asked, eyes flickering between you and Johanna, the two of you having a conversation with your eyes.

“Brutus and Chaff, I think that’s all,” Peeta announced, all eyes shifting to you at the mention of your district-mate.

“I get Brutus,” you spoke clearly, eyes hard.

“Y/N…” Finnick spoke, hand smoothing down your arm.

“Just… I know him. I can handle it, I swear,”

He had helped train you, of course you would know his methods like the back of your hand. You had been seeking revenge for years, waiting for the day you could get him back.

What had the games done to you? Fantasizing about killing someone?

And then you were back there, back to the moment your life really ended.

You were dressed in clothes Snow had picked out, a hairstyle Snow had picked out, makeup Snow had picked out. You were his newest doll, malleable to his every demand.

It was your victory tour, and Enobaria and Brutus were accompanying you, helping you with speeches and coming to terms with your new life as a Capitol pet.

You were finishing up in the Capitol, the final destination. Snow had laid out his conditions for you: your pride and body now belonged to the Capitol, and with it, they could do what they pleased. Your company came with a high price.

He had threatened your family back in Two, describing in detail what would become of them if you didn’t comply with his wishes.

You had gone back to the train and told Enobaria and Brutus, eyes spilling hot tears when Enobaria pulled you into her arms, hands stroking your hair. At least she was kind.

Brutus, however, was not.

His boisterous laugh rang off the walls of the train, your eyes peeking out from Enobaria’s embrace to glare at him.

“Let me know when you start, sweetheart,” he smirked, a scowl overtaking your features.

You had been waiting to get him back, to show him that weren’t a little slave for his disposal. Finnick understood your rage, more than any other person could.

He wanted to kill Brutus just as badly as you did.

No one else asked any questions, and for that you were grateful.

And then the screaming started, and you jumped to your feet, eyes frantic and scanning the area.

Whoever it was, they were screaming for Katniss, and rather brutally as well.

And off she took. You were the fastest, so you caught her first, arms around her shoulders to steady her, but she kept moving, screaming back to the voice.

She stopped abruptly, and shot an arrow into a large black bird that was flying over your heads.

The screaming stopped immediately. And then it began again, this time, it was the voice of Mace. And you felt the blood drain from your entire body, legs suddenly shaking and threatening to go out.

The words he had screamed to you before you had slit his throat were wrapping around your body, swallowing you whole.

“Y/N! Please! Y/N!” You were running then, the screaming getting louder and louder, tears streaming down your face as you tried to escape it; the horror that would haunt you forever.

“It’s not real, they’re jabberjays!” Katniss assured you, running behind you, trying to catch up.

You saw Finnick and Johanna’s faces ahead through your blurry vision, and you sped up, Finnick’s arms wide for you to run into.

But it was a force field, and you collided right into it, falling to the ground in a heap of tears and painful memories.

You covered your ears, head digging into the ground to stop the noise, but it wouldn’t stop. You wailed, and Finnick was hitting the force field, which he was standing on the direct other side, but there was no avail.

He was screaming for you, to look at him, listen to his voice. But the field was soundproof, and he had to watch with a heavy heart as you sobbed, the sounds of the person you betrayed all those years ago the only thing you could focus on.

Finnick’s hands were all over you, smoothing down your hair, checking your face, helping you stand.

Peeta was doing the same with Katniss, the both of you having tear-stains down your cheeks and dirt smudged into your cheeks.

You were frozen solid, eyes big and wide, legs slightly shaking. You had never felt worse about something than what you did to Mace that dreadful night. His screams haunted your dreams, and to have the Gamemakers play into that weakness reminded you just who the real enemy is.

“Y/N, look at me,” Finnick’s hands were on the sides of your face, pulling you closer to his protective figure.

“It wasn’t real. It wasn’t him,” he shook his head lightly, your lips still quivering from fear.

You could only muster the strength to simply nod, telling him that you knew, but the Gamemakers were cruel, so cruel, and they had hit you right where it hurt.

Just as you were beginning to regain your usual automatic-kill mindset, a small box flew down, straight into your hands.

Everyone gathered around you, curious as to what could’ve been sent.

You knew Enobaria would have your back, and considering the sponsors this year were based upon what you had left over from your games, you were lucky. You had a large pot of donations under your name, not needing much assistance when you were in your first games.

You screwed off the top, being met with a small vile of Crave Cure, the very concoction that she had sent you during your games. It came with a note reading: remember who the real enemy is. I’m always rooting for you. - Baria

That assured you of Enobaria’s stance, likely scheming with Haymitch and Plutarch behind the scenes, ensuring your protection by Thirteen.

Finnick smiled next to you, Johanna calling out with happiness.

“Finally!” Johanna cheered, axe thrust into the air.

You even broke a smile, suddenly distracted from the traumatic experience you had just endured.

You looked up, seeing the confused looks on Katniss and Peeta’s faces.

They would’ve never heard of Crave Cure, it was the most expensive thing a mentor could send their tribute, and required many sponsors. It was usually only sent to the Careers, both you and Finnick had received it during your games.

“Crave Cure,” you spoke, Katniss’s eyes meeting yours.

“One drop on your tongue and it cures hunger for 12 hours,” you smiled to them, picking up the vile.

“Enobaria is a saint,” Johanna spoke, watching as you dropped a tiny bit of the brown liquid onto your tongue, a content sigh escaping your lips.

Beetee went next, then Finnick and Johanna.

Katniss and Peeta stood awkwardly to the side, not knowing to approach or not.

“Oh, enough of that! We’re allied, aren’t we? Take a drop,” you urged, placing the vile into her hands.

Peeta nodded, and that seemed to be all the convincing Katniss needed before mimicking your action and gagging when she tasted the fluid.

You laughed at her expression, a light-hearted tease. “Not the best, but it does do its job,”

You figured you had really won her trust, considering how she walked next to you during the hike to the big tree.

The two of you talked about your families back home. You complimented her dedication, to protect her little sister.

She had killed your Cato and Clove; the two you had spent hours coaching, assuring they’d be okay in the end. Words you had needed so badly during your games.

Through talking with Katniss, you realized no one deserved to win as much as she did. She was selfless, willing to sacrifice herself for both her sister and Peeta, placing herself as a protector, not a victim.

And then the peace you had all been building crashed down, Katniss suddenly retreating from the trust you all had built after Beetee offered she go with you and Johanna.

“Why can’t Johanna and Y/N go? I’ll protect you with Peeta,” she spoke, and you met Finnick’s gaze. You read the fear in his eyes, knowing this the was now or never moment.

“Katniss,” you spoke, hands resting on her shoulders.

“You know who the true enemy is,” you whispered, holding her intense eye-contact.

Her eyes softened at your words, everything seemingly clicking into place. With a nod, you grabbed her hand, and pulled her with you and Johanna.

A look over your shoulder to Finnick, and a nod. Your eyes said it all: I love you. I’ll see you soon, once we are safe and out of the Capitol’s hands.

You and Johanna halted your movements, stopping Katniss as you did.

“Stay down,” Johanna instructed Katniss, grabbing her arm.

“What-“ Katniss was about to scream, and you could not let that happen.

You grabbed her face with your hands, eyes frantic for her faith.

“You can trust us,” you whispered, barely loud enough for the cameras to pick up on.

But the raw emotion in your eyes calmed Katniss, giving Johanna the opportunity to cut the tracker out, Katniss’s arm beginning to bleed heavily.

“It’s alright,” you soothed her, your arm out to Johanna, waiting for the inevitable sear of pain.

And then it came, and you placed your body over Katniss’s not allowing her to get up and try to attack.

But then you spotted Brutus over the rock, his hard eyes staring straight into yours.

“Y/N,” Johanna warned, watching the familiar fire begin to brew.

You were up in seconds, sword in one hand, knife in the other, running up the rocky hill. The pain in your arm was masked by the rush of adrenaline you ran high off, killing spree — if you will.

Johanna grunted in anger, but she knew not to expect anything different from you.

“Do not move,” she instructed Katniss, picking up her axe to follow you.

You had reached Brutus quickly, pouncing onto his back and driving your sword straight through his abdomen.

He cried out in pain, blood soon coating your legs that wrapped around his waist.

You pulled the sword out, taking the knife to his neck. He was dead in seconds, the familiar canon sounding throughout the arena.

After registering what you had done, images of Katniss flooded your mind and you internally cursed yourself, rushing back to the spot you had left her and Johanna.

Johanna was back to your side, but Katniss was no where to be seen.

“Fuck!” You cursed, sprinting back towards the tree where Beetee, Finnick, and Peeta were.

She had likely gone back to protect Peeta and kill Finnick, and you were not about to let that happen.

Johanna tried to keep up with you; but even with a gushing arm and slit leg, you were fast. Much faster than anyone else.

“Finnick!” You screamed, feet pounding against the hard ground, propelling you towards the tree, where you watched Katniss aim her arrow straight at Finnick’s head.

Beetee was on the ground, and you crouched, feeling for his pulse. His heart was still beating and you hovered over him protectively, in case Katniss decided to turn around and fire at you too. Which seemed very likely.

You watched as Finnick said something to Katniss, obviously resonating with her, the bow slightly lowering.

“Johanna! Give me your arm!” You swung around, panic-struck and searching for the familiar face.

And you saw her a few feet below, trying to climb the vines you had mounted with ease.

You looked between Finnick and her, torn as to which to try and protect. You knew Finnick would hold his own, so you turned back around and began to move for Johanna, quick feet avoiding possible injuries.

But just as you were in grabbing-distance of her, Finnick’s voice rang out, screaming, “Get away from that tree!”

A crack of something echoed around you, and you turned wildly, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Then you understand what Finnick had meant, a loud crack of lightening rained down and sent you flying, reaching for Johanna as you flew past her, her terrified eyes meeting yours.

The last thing you remembered was being pulled up into the air by a large claw, head and limbs limp as you were hoisted up; sword still secure in your palm, a protection habit you had picked up since your games. You always needed to be armed, after all, life was the arena.

You awoke to the sound of a heart monitor, steady beeping lightly calming your high-alert nerves.

You winced sitting up, large bandages wrapped around your forearm and thigh.

You inspected your surroundings, two empty mats in front of you, and Katniss sleeping to your left.

You stood, hushed voices on the other side of the door that reached the ceiling of the craft you were on.

You looked for a weapon of sorts, not willing to go in unarmed. On the other side of the empty room was your sword, glimmering and coated in blood.

You walked over to it, legs sore and aching, the familiar metal calming against your palm.

The door immediately opened as you approached it, Haymitch and Plutarch’s widening as they spotted your weapon of choice clutched in your ruthless hands.

But it dropped to the floor with a loud clatter when your tired eyes met Finnick’s, a relieved smile coming over your features.

You rushed to him, throwing yourself into his arms. His lips met yours halfway, melting into his strong hold around your body.

The two of you fit together perfectly, like you had been made in the same mold.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him tighter to your already close bodies.

You poured all your pent up feelings into the kiss, all the feelings you had suppressed since the fight that had ended your relationship.

It was the most relaxed you had been in the whole week, since your name was plucked from the bowl of living victors.

His lips moved against yours as he squeezed your hips, hands feeling everything they could, to ensure that it was in fact you, and you were alive and safe in front of him.

You pulled a part, a grin across your small face.

He smiled back, but your bliss was interrupted from the clearing of a throat behind you. You spun around, eyes meeting the expectant ones of Haymitch, Plutarch, and Beetee.

The look on your face said it all. And Haymitch nodded, validating all the thoughts that had been running through your head.

You were safe, headed for the secret hideout of Thirteen. All was okay.

You almost began to laugh thinking about how the Capitol would react, their Angel and Darling being two of the biggest conspirators in a rebellion. How ironic.

And Katniss was on the ship, you had successfully carried out your tasks.

“Where’s Johanna?” You asked, a smile still dotting your face.

Finnick’s composure broke, and your heart dropped, realizing the obvious.

“No, no, no, no,” you began to back away, spine hitting the hard metal of the table.

“I went after Brutus, I didn’t cut the tracker… fuck! Oh my god, Finnick, oh god,” you began to dry-heave, accepting her capture as your fault.

Finnick’s hands were on your biceps, steadying you and pulling you back into his chest.

“Johanna and Peeta are in the Capitol,” Plutarch spoke, your worst fears being confirmed.

“It’s all my fault,” you groaned, head in your hands. You had killed, hunted, and tortured. But the idea of a friend’s death being on your hands hurt more than any of those ever did.

Haymitch spoke reassuring words behind you, but Finnick’s hold and the idea of betraying Johanna was all you could focus on.

How would she forgive you? Was she alive? How would you ever cope if she wasn’t, and it was all your fault? Of course, you let the murderer take over, and went after Brutus.

Finnick’s arms soothed down your back, keeping your grounded as you were flooded with grief, with the heavy weight of betrayal.

Johanna and you were close friends, you were supposed to protect each other in the games. She had protected you, always by your side, and you neglected to do the same.

“We’re going to try and rescue them as soon as we can,” Haymitch said, even though you all knew that might be an impossible task.

And then Finnick slipped his hand into yours, fingers curling around yours and softly rubbing your knuckles.

You composed yourself, closing your eyes as you took in a deep breath, regaining focus on just your interlocked hands. Finnick always knew how to relax you.

All you had wanted initially was to get out of this quarter quell alive, to return home to your big mansion and family. To hug them again, to prove to the Capitol that they could take everything from you, but they couldn’t kill you.

But now, you realized that all had been in vain. Where you really belonged was here, holding hands with Finnick, discussing how you were going to break your friends from the Capitol’s mean grip.

You’d die for him, for them. You’d flap your wings once more to ensure they’d all live.

When Katniss first volunteered for Primrose, you hadn’t understood how she would sacrifice her life for another.

But now you knew, and you knew you’d do it too.

You finally had something to live for, someone you loved, who understood all that you had gone through better than anyone else.

Life was the arena, and if it came down to it, you knew the angel would sacrifice herself for the darling.

#imagine #angst #maeve writes 🎀#finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair #thg finnick #finnick odair x reader #catching fire

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safetypinxtales · 4 months

Text

Together with you | Azriel

(Lonely with you pt. 2)

summary: heart break sucks. Missing your friend sucks even more. It is mind-blowing what a little open communication can do.

words: 4.1k

warnings: angst with happy ending, terrible communication at parts (sorry), mention of alcohol consumption, fluff, just general misery, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, dumb idiots in love

notes: so this got a lot more angsty than first anticipated, but here it is! Not sure how I feel about it, I like some parts, not so sure about others - feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

part 1

Cold. Your bed was freezing cold. And empty.

Like lying on a frozen slab of stone, utterly alone and undeniably pathetic. Just as alone and pathetic as yesterday, when you woke up on the couch in the living room. No Azriel in sight. Like he wasn’t the one to practically beg you not to leave him alone, and then he went and did that exact thing to you.

It was humiliating. You were humiliated.

And that was why you had avoided him like he was contagious for all of yesterday, burying yourself in paperwork or hiding away in the library. But your plan was far from foolproof, you’d barely made it through yesterday without seeing him, so today had to be different. If being close to you was so shameful he had to sneak away before you had a chance to wake, you would simply remove yourself from the situation and spare yourself some Gods damned dignity.

You had already written to Mor, your excuse of needing to get away from the happily mated couple for a few nights only a half lie. You were in desperate need of a good night’s rest, however that was not the most pressing issue at hand. But there was no need for her to know that. Yet. She would find out eventually, she always did, and you would be stupid to expect otherwise.

Two hours past sunrise should mean that the Valkyrie training would be full and well underway, and thus it would be safe for you to make your escape. You got the things you’d need and made your way up the stairs to one of the smaller balconies overlooking the training ring. You knew you really shouldn’t, because what good would it do? But you had to. Just a quick glance. Quietly you moved towards the railing, scanning the people below.

There he was, a thing of graceful, terrifying beauty. He seemed to be demonstrating a movement with a training sword for some of the priestesses. He moved with such fluidity, wielding the sword in his hand as if it was an extension of himself. He was like death on swift feet. A fallen angel, a dark prince.

He was beautiful.

You must have accidentally made a sound, because his head shot up and his eyes zeroed in on you. Oh Gods. The intensity in his gaze, and the increasing pressure in your chest was too much. He didn’t want you.

You staggered back, one little step and you had winnowed yourself down to the city streets. This was good, you needed to get away. He left you alone. He drew back first. You knew all of this, so why did it hurt such an unreasonable amount?

You rubbed your chest in hopes of getting rid of the tightness that seemed to have moved in there since yesterday morning, and then you set course towards the one stop you had to make before getting to Mor’s.

It had been three days since you arrived at Mor’s apartment with a paper bag filled with the sweetest, sugar-powdered pastries your favourite bakery had to offer. It had taken you both approximately 20 minutes to devour them all, after which you no longer had anything to distract your friend from digging up the truth behind your visit.

You were in love with someone who did not harbour the same feelings towards you. And you desperately needed to get away from him, to save what remained of your heart.

You had cried, drank some wine, and then cried a little more. You went back to the bakery for more pastries the next day, and the cycle repeated.

The crisp, early-spring wind was a menace today as you were on your, now daily, pastry run. You were trying to stop your hair from whipping around like a being possessed, cursing up a storm, when you heard him call your name.

You froze to the spot, like his voice was some primal command. That insufferable tightness in your chest was as present as ever as you forced yourself to put on your brave face and turned towards him.

There he was, jogging towards you, his brow furrowed.

“Hey,” Azriel breathed as he came to a stop in front of you. His shadows swirled out in your direction, but retracted before they had a chance to reach you.

“Hi,” you mumbled back, suddenly finding the cobbled street very interesting.

He cleared his throat and took a step closer. You took one backwards. The cobblestone looks different here than in the alley by the bakery.

“I haven’t seen you in a while… you haven’t been home – at the House, I mean,” he coughed lightly. I wonder if it was made with, like, a different technique? Or maybe the stones are just differently shaped or something?

“Yeah, no, I’ve been staying with Mor for a bit.” It’s definitely mossier on the smaller streets, maybe that’s why? It just shifts the perspecti–

“Angel, please look at me.”

You didn’t want to, Gods you didn’t want to. But alas, you seemed to have no power when it came to Azriel.

Any other day, the worry swimming in those hazel eyes would have melted your heart. Today, it just hurt. “Did I do something? Is that why you… haven’t been around?”

You scoff, “No, you didn’t do anything, Azriel. It’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not fine! I haven’t seen you in days, and now you can barely look at me?” He exclaimed, exasperation clear in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, or made you uncomfortable – but I miss my friend,” his hands twitched where they rested at his sides, shadows swirling around him with unease.

“Oh, please,” his brows furrowed further at the dry laugh that escaped you, “Are you being serious, Az? I fell asleep in your arms, after you pleaded with me to stay with you – and then I woke up alone.” His face fell. “How do you think that feels? I mean, you must know how I feel about you!” You cursed yourself for the way your voice quivered, and that damned burning feeling behind your eyes that you were so sick of.

“What– no, I didn’t– what do you–,” he stuttered. He actually stuttered. The spymaster of the Night court couldn’t even come up with an excuse for being an ass.

“Save it. I get it – you were lonely, we’ve all been there,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around yourself, “I have to go.”

You turned back in the direction of Mor’s apartment, pastries be damned. You just had to get away.

Azriel had other plans though. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, the cool wisps of shadows snaking up your forearm. You couldn’t help the way you recoiled from his touch, how it seemed to ignite every nerve in your arm.

“Wait–,”

“NO!” A sob wracked your body. “No, just leave me alone, Az. Can’t you tell that you’re hurting me?” His face twisted in time with your words, and tears pricked your eyes. “Being around you hurts!”

His shadows were whipping violently around him, but he was as still as death itself. Something like dread and confusion were clouding his eyes.

He called after you as you walked away. But he didn’t stop you, nor did he try to follow you. And you didn’t dare look over your shoulder, too scared you might run back and give him the rest of your heart, shattered as it may be. No, instead you carried the shards in your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks, one after the other.

You weren’t sure how you were ever going to be okay.

The bedroom door creaked open, and you pulled the duvet further over your head.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Mor said in a sing-song voice. You weren’t sleeping.

“I’m not asleep,” you muttered, huffing loudly at the giggle that escaped her.

“Yeah, well, calling you a crybaby would be insensitive so I went for the next best thing.”

Her comment made the corners of your lips twitch, and you silently cursed her for always knowing how to cheer you up. You had gotten quite comfortable in your misery.

You pulled the covers down and looked over at where she stood. Your chest grew uncomfortably tight when you saw what was in her hands.

“Another one?” You asked and rolled over to face the window. You had forgotten how stubborn he was. Competitive bastard.

“Yes, and they just seem to get bigger and bigger. I like the daffodils in this one though, very spring-esque. The other ones didn’t have any daffodils,” she mused as she walked in and headed towards the far end of the room, most likely towards the dresser. It was the only surface area not currently taken up by a bouquet.

This was the sixth bouquet he’d sent. In three days. He had turned Mor’s guest room into a damn flower shop. Just being in a ten feet proximity of this room would have sent Cassian into a sneezing frenzy.

“Remember that time in Elain’s garden, when you told me daffodils were your mom’s favourite flower? That she called you her little daffodil when she carried you in her womb? They are very beautiful – just like you.

“Yours, Azriel.” Mor read the note before carefully putting it back with the flowers.

Every set of flowers had come with its own handwritten note. He had apologised in the first one, the rest told you he missed you, recalling memories of moments you’d shared. Each one ended with a heartfelt compliment, one that brought tears to your eyes every time, without fail.

Mor let out a slight sigh. “I am fully on your side here, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but… are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? I know you’re hurt, and you have every right to be, but… he’s a good male and he likes you – a lot.”

She’s right. You figured that out two days ago. But your pride was wounded, and your trust had been betrayed, and it stung.

However, somewhere along when the initial pain had started to diminish it had slowly but surely gotten replaced by the agony of missing him. Now you didn’t know what part of the pain came from what, you only knew that it hurt.

But Gods, you really did miss him – more and more by the minute. You missed him in your bones; your best friend, your partner in crime, the male you loved.

“Alright, you don’t have to say anything. I have to visit Rhysand to go over some work though, and I won’t be home until late tonight, probably. There is food and tea in the kitchen, or you can go down to the pub downstairs and ask them to make you something. Just… make sure to go there earlier in the evening to avoid drunken idiots, okay?” You rolled over to look at your friend, who once again proved herself to be way better than you deserved. You nodded.

“Thank you,” you whispered and her lips curved upwards in a soft smile.

“Of course, take care of yourself,” she said, that warm smile still intact as she made her way out of the room, closing the door behind her.

After dragging out your stay in bed a few more minutes, the thought of a warm cup of tea became too enticing to ignore. Chucking on a thick sweater you dragged your feet out of the bedroom.

Once in the kitchen, you put the kettle on the stove and went in search of some tea. Where was the one Mor made you yesterday? The one that felt like drinking a warm, spiced hug – you needed that one right now. You found it in one of the cupboards just in time for the water to start boiling. So you made your cup of tea, drizzled in a little bit of honey, and walked out to the living room. You had just put your tea down and made your way over to the wall of bookshelves to pick out a new story to escape into when there was a knock on the door.

The way your entire body froze, yet seemed to come alive at the same time, signalled you knew who it was. How your body and soul could possibly know it was Azriel on the other side of that door, you weren’t sure. But alas, as you crossed the living room towards the entryway and tugged the front door open, there he was.

He looked tired. His eyes seemed uncharacteristically old, his skin dull and the bags under his eyes were undeniable. Despite this he still managed to look as breath-taking as always.

Those tired eyes met yours, and you swore you felt time stop. He was here. Your Azriel.

Except he wasn’t yours, was he? A truth that only stung worse when your name fell from his lips. But seeing him here, like this… you could live with never having him, you thought. As long as he was in your life, if only as a friend.

That’s why you breathed out a “hi,”, and opened the door wider, a silent invitation to step inside. His shoulders sagged in relief as he stepped over the threshold.

“Hey,” Azriel whispered on a shaky breath, as you closed the door behind him. You stood in silence for a minute, neither of you apparently knowing what to say.

Azriel was the first to break the silence, “so, uh– did you get the…”. Bouquets is what he didn’t say, but he didn’t have to.

“Yeah, yeah I did,” you mumbled, never really meeting his eyes. “Pretty.”

“Yeah? Okay,” you could see him nodding out of the corner of your eye. “Good.”

You raised your gaze to meet his, and your heart clenched. You just wanted things back to the way they were, you wanted your friend back. Because standing here in front of him, not knowing what to say was awful. So you did the only thing you could think of…

“I miss you.” Your voice wavered more than you’d ever care to admit, but there it was – the truth.

Azriel’s shoulders visibly shuddered at your confession. “Oh, angel,” it was your time to shudder. “I’ve missed you too, so much. I’m so sorry,” his eyes glazed over as he continued, “but please believe me when I say that I did not know – about how you felt. And maybe that makes me stupid, and blind, and oblivious–”

“No,” you interrupted him, “you’re not any of those things, Az.” His deprecating words wounded you so deeply, a heavy sadness filling your chest.

“I should have known. I never would have– I wouldn’t have been such a coward if I knew.” You swore you heard the remnants of your heart crack.

“Azzy…” You stepped towards him and reached up to cradle his face in your hands. His own hands flew up to your wrist and you prepared for him to reject your touch.

Only he didn’t.

Instead he gently held your hands in place and leaned into your touch in a manner so tender your breath hitched in your throat. His thumbs swiped across the backs of your wrists.

“I’m sorry, I got all up in my head and I–,” you didn’t let him finish.

“It’s okay Azriel, I forgive you.” His posture straightened a little as you continued, “I’m sorry too.”

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, and before you could even register it happening, Azriel had pulled you into a hug. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he held you against his chest. He was so warm, and comfortable, and safe, and one tear became two, became three. All the while, Azriel held you, wings enveloping you in a cocoon as he whispered sweet nothings into your hair.

After what felt like hours, but was merely just minutes, Azriel dropped his wings from around you and as you felt his arms ease their hold on you, you took half a step back. His hand that had cradled the back of your head now cupped your cheek, the other came to rest on your hip.

You dried your tears, ungracefully wiping snot from your nose, and you once again lifted your head in search of those hazel eyes you had grown so in love with. And as your gazes locked – that’s when you felt it.

Like the snap of a bowstring, dead center in the middle of your chest, that glowing, golden thread locked into place – forever connecting your soul with the male across from you.

The impact was so intense you staggered back, knocking into the end table behind you. Your hand flew up to your chest, fingers clutching the fabric of your sweater as you tried to make sense of what just happened.

Azriel is your mate.

Does he know? Does he even want you? A thousand thoughts swarmed your head, but they were all overpowered by one: mate. He was your mate.

Azriel stood, one arm still partially outstretched, eyes wide and brow furrowed. Something like bewilderment filled you to an overwhelming degree, and it took you a moment to realise that the feelings did not belong to you. They were all Azriel, unable to keep his emotions from bleeding across the bond to you.

“You’re my–,” you stuttered.

“Yes,” he breathed in response.

“I– I’m your–”

“Yes,”

“You knew?” His eyes shuttered at your question.

“Yes,”

You had to sit down.

You wobbled over to the couch and dropped down. You didn’t even realise he’d followed you until you felt the seat dip beside you.

He seemed to realise words were not something currently in your possession, and took it upon himself to start to explain.

“You were sleeping, had been for probably an hour at least, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I have–,” he swallowed and his whole body shook as he professed his next words. “I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you. When Rhysand introduced you to everyone and you were trying to sneak glances at all of us, thinking you were being discreet. You weren’t – quite the opposite actually.” You turned your head to look at him. One of those rare smiles decorated his face as he recalled the memory. “I think everyone noticed, but no one said anything. They were all probably as smitten by you as I was. Not only were you so adorable, you were the most divine female I had ever seen. Your eyes shone so brightly, and you radiated such calmness, such security – like every problem that had ever been wasn’t so bad after all. Like everything was always going to be fine, as long as you were around. You looked heavenly. Like an angel.” He whispered the last part and as his eyes met yours you sucked in a breath at the emotion swimming in them.

Angel. His dedicated pet name for you. What he had been calling you, and only you, since that very first day. Not only were you the only person with that specific pet name – you were the only one of Azriel’s friend to even have a pet name, you realised. Sure, he referred to Rhysand and Cassian as his brothers. But you were his angel.

“You love me?” You croaked, fresh tears filling your eyes.

“Yes, I do.” You hiccupped, face twisting as your chest filled to the brim with so many emotions you could not possibly name them all. He took your hands in his, and gave them a light squeeze as he continued, “When we were on that couch I was just… watching you. Holding you. Realising how perfectly you fit in my arms, when you moved. You snuggled deeper into my chest, like being close to me was an instinctual need, and then you sighed, and you smiled in your sleep – and I couldn’t breathe,” he took a deep breath, “that’s when the bond snapped.” You wanted to reach out and smooth out that crease between his eyebrows. Instead you just moved closer to him, pressed yourself into his side, and when he looked down at you, you gave it your best at pushing some of that endless love you held for him down that glittering bond.

A sharp exhale left his parted lips and he gave your still entwined hands another squeeze. When he looked at you his cheeks were tinged with pink, the tips of his ears flushed.

He loved you.

He was your mate and he loved you.

“I was so shocked. Why would it snap now and not earlier?” He shook his head, his eyes not once leaving yours. “Then I started to… doubt myself,” his brows furrowed deeper, “what if you didn’t want me? I didn’t even know if you knew. Knew and… and decided you didn’t want to be with me. The Gods know I don’t deserve you.”

You couldn’t help the broken whimper that escaped you as you listened to this wonderful male voice how lowly he thought of himself.

“Don’t say that Azriel,” you croaked, your voice thick from crying. “I love you so much. I look at you and my heart fills to a point where I genuinely think it might burst,” you coughed out an attempt at a laugh. “You are a good male, and I could not imagine a greater honour than the Mother choosing you as my mate.”

A single tear rolled down Azriel’s cheek at your confession. You untangled your hands from his, instead crawling into his lap. This wonderful male, and he was all yours. The love that filled your chest felt so secure, so safe. Like the warmth of the morning sun. Like the smell of freshly baked bread, and early morning bird song. It felt like the beginning of something great.

You raked your hands through his hair, and as you leaned in to kiss that lone tear away from his jaw, you watched his eyes shutter closed.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips, your forehead coming to rest against his, “my mate.”

His hands found your hips and gripped them tightly, and the touch was more than welcomed. If it was up to you to decide, he would never let you go – forever in each other’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered once more, breath hot against your lips. “I shouldn’t have–… please don’t leave me again.”

“Never,” you promised, and then, like waves crashing ashore, you leaned in that last bit and pressed your lips to his.

His entire body shook beneath you as he reciprocated the kiss, moulding his lips to yours and you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly right it felt. Like coming home. And as your lips moved together that glowing thread became a wild, real, physical thing between you. His hands gripped you tighter, like you were his lifeline. Pulling you impossibly closer, as if you were the air he needed to breathe. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and your lips parted, letting your tongues meet in the most delicious of ways.

The kiss was claiming, overpowering and you could not help the whine that escaped you as his fingers dug into your sides. A primal growl rattled deep in his throat, alighting every nerve in your body.

This.

You wanted to stay right here, just like this, forever.

You didn’t know how long you actually did stay like that – the two of you seemed to, again, be able to defy the concept of time together. But you were now laying on the couch, Azriel’s heart drumming a steady beat in your ear, a warm, overwhelming comfort overtaking your body.

Slowly, you started to feel yourself drifting off to sleep, and with your head on his chest, his arms around you, the opening and closing of the front door and Mor’s voice that followed, felt so very far away. You almost didn’t apprehend what she said as her voice moved in closer.

“You better not leave her this time,” she ordered, and the rumble of Azriel’s voice, how very safe it made you feel, lulled you deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

Your body was impossibly heavy, the words he mumbled into your hair the last thing you registered before sleep claimed you.

“I won't,” he pressed a kiss to your head, “never again.”

tags: @hnyclover @justdreamstars @historygeekqueen @sharknutz @icey--stars @mel-wcst @alysena2 @lewsnumerounofan

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #lonely with you

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drudyslut · 4 months

Text

— summary: you meet rafe cameron on tinder

— pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

— warnings: smut! 18+ tinder hookup, oral (m&f receiving), fingering, protected sex, some degrading name calling, praise, strong language. i think that’s it.

— note: this isn’t based in the obx. it’s an NYC au <3

❥ swipe, fuck, leave — r.c

being on tinder was not apart of your life plan, but with the pain of your last relationship, and how messy the break up had been, you’d fallen into the world of dating apps- more specifically, tinder.

you wanted meaningless hookups with guys whose names you’d never remember, wanted rough, no strings attached sex- swipe, fuck, leave as your friends would say.

it was friday night, and the sound of your heels clacking against the pavement, followed by the chatter of the many people around filled your ears as you walked along the cold streets of new york city.

you approach your destination, an extravagant hotel coming into view, your eyes sparkling as you stared up at the tall building.

you pull open the large doors, making your way straight to the elevators. once you’re inside, you pull your phone out, opening your messages with the man and finding the room number- room 920.

once you reach the ninth floor you step off the elevator, smoothing down the front of your black dress and beginning your search for the room.

your eyes scan each door carefully before they finally land on the room you’re looking for. you reach your hand out slowly, knocking softly on the door and stepping back, waiting on him to answer.

the door swings open in seconds and you’re met by the most beautiful set of blue eyes you think you’d ever seen, a sexy smirk played on his lips.

“y/n right?” he says, voice low and raspy, the ache between your legs already growing.

you smile. “yeah. nice to meet you, rafe”

you extend a hand out for him to shake which he gladly accepts, his large hand covering your small one as he places a soft kiss to the back of it.

“please, come inside”

you quickly oblige, stepping through the threshold and into the room.

your eyes begin scanning the room, taking in the beautiful view of new york from the large door that leads out to a balcony.

“this is so beautiful, wow”

rafe chuckles, making his way toward a mini bar and pouring two glasses of wine. he grabs both glasses, making his way toward you and handing you one.

“i take it none of your other tinder hookups spent this kind of money for the night?”

you chuckle, bringing the wine glass to your lips and taking a long sip. “they have not. so far i’ve had hookups in someone’s parents basement, in a car, and mostly at my apartment. this is a nice change of scenery”

rafe grins, setting his glass down and taking yours from your hands. he places his hands on your shoulders, sliding the skinny straps of your dress down, his lips placing soft kisses on both sides.

“well, i’m glad i can be the first to treat you to a night you deserve. a beautiful girl like you deserves princess treatment”

you feel your face heat up, your head falling back as his lips begin kissing at your neck.

“charming aren’t you?” you say, your voice shaky, breathing becoming erratic the more he kissed and nipped at your neck.

he licks a stripe up your neck and to the lobe of your ear, his teeth lightly nipping at the skin and sending chills down your body.

you turn quickly on your heels, arms flying around his neck as you harshly press your lips against his. he forces his tongue into your mouth, the two of you fighting for dominance before he inevitably wins.

you moan into his mouth when his hands run down your sides, gripping your ass tightly in his hands.

“can’t wait to fuck you, i bet you feel so fucking good” he groans, his feet carrying the two of you to the large bed.

he pushes you back onto the large, fluffy mattress, your tits bouncing from the impact.

rafe climbs on top of you, his mouth attaching to your neck, nipping and sucking at the flesh while his hands palmed at your breasts through the fabric of your dress.

you whimper when he sinks his teeth into your skin, sucking a deep purple bruise into your neck. he kisses the new hickey softly, pulling back and admiring his work.

“need to get this off of you” he states, his hands working your dress down your body, tossing it onto the floor.

you see the outline of his growing cock through the fabric of his khaki pants, your eyes growing wide at the sight.

“so. fucking. sexy” rafe groans, his eyes taking in the sight of your red lace lingerie set you’d chosen for the night.

“fuck me already” you whine as your hands fly to his pants, palming him through his pants.

he chuckels, quickly unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down his legs. you begin salivating when you see his hard on pressed against his thigh, his briefs giving you a better look at what you’re working with.

“such a needy little whore aren’t you?”

“i know what i want, and how i want it. i want you to fuck me, and don’t be gentle”

you watch as his bright blue eyes go dark, his lip brought between his teeth as he nods his head.

“i like ‘em fiesty. i like a woman who knows what she wants”

you loop your fingers into the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down his legs and tossing them to the side, his large, thick cock springing free and smacking at his stomach.

“fuck” you groan, eyes wide as you take in his full size.

rafe chuckles darkly. “don’t worry, i’ll make it fit sweetheart”

you lift yourself from your back, sitting on your knees, hands flying to grasp him. you spit into your hand, placing it back on his cock and stroking him slowly, twisting and pulling his entire length.

a raspy groan falls from rafe’s lips, his head falling back in pleasure. “feels so good, fuck”

you smile to yourself, leaning forward and placing a kiss to the head. he twitches in your hand, precum leaking from his tip. you lick the precum from his head, humming in approval, the taste of him on your tongue making your arousal pool into your panties.

“taste so good, rafe”

you lick a stripe up the bottom of his shaft and to the head, pushing the tip into your mouth and sucking at it lightly. a string of curses and groans fall from his lips, his hands flying to the back of your head, fingers tightly gripping at your locks as he shoves himself fully into your mouth.

you gag around him, the tip of his head repeatedly hitting the back of your throat as he thrusts himself into your mouth.

“fuck, fuck! such a good little slut, letting me fuck your throat, letting me fill this pretty little mouth with my cock and you don’t even know me”

you feel your eyes filling with tears, the abuse his cock was doing to your throat making it hard to breathe, making your mind hazy.

you place your hands on his thighs, steadying yourself as he continues his abuse on your throat, his hips thrusting into your face harshly.

his dick twitches in your mouth, his release nearing the edge. he pulls your hair tightly, pulling your mouth from his cock, the head popping out with a small pop.

“up, i wanna fuck you on the balcony, let all of new york know who’s making you feel so fucking good”

you quickly obeyed, jumping from the bed and rushing to the balcony door. you swing it open, stepping out into the chilly air, goosebumps traveling up your skin, but you were too turned on to care.

rafe makes his way behind you, a condom in hand. he sets the condom on a small side table, pushing your back into the railing and dropping to his knees. he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, sliding your lacy red thong to the side.

"wanna taste you first" rafe says, running a finger through your slick, gathering your arousal onto his digit.

he removes his finger from your pussy, shoving it into his mouth and humming in approval.

"so fucking sweet, just like i thought you'd be"

you gasp when you feel rafe lick through your slick folds, his tongue lapping up your juices and flicking against your clit.

your hands fly into his hair, tugging at the messy locks as loud moans and whines fall from your lips.

you scream out in pleasure when he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking at it lightly while he shoves two fingers inside your aching cunt. he begins thrusting his finger in and out of you, his tongue sucking and flicking your clit, pushing you close to your release.

rafe pulls his mouth from you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, “scream baby, let everyone know how good you feel��

he wraps his lips around your clit again, fingers brutally thrusting into you, hitting at your g-spot and making you feel weak.

“fuck! rafe, rafe, rafe! so fucking good, please, fuck!” you shout, your head falling back, hair dangling off the side of the balcony and blowing in the wind.

he sucks at your clit harshly, his large hand holding at your thigh and keeping it pressed into his shoulder.

“gonna cum, rafe! fuck!”

you begin clamping around his fingers, the band snapping inside you as your release washes over you. your legs are shaking, rafe’s hand tightly gripping at your thigh as he fucks you through your high.

he lets your leg fall from his shoulder, pulling himself away, and up off his knees, wiping his mouth clean.

“that was fucking hot” he smirks.

you grip at the railing, trying to steady your breathing as he grabs the condom off the table.

he rips the foil packet open with his teeth, stroking himself a few times and sliding it down his length. he tightly grips your waist, turning your body and pushing you into the railing, your breasts pressed harshly against the cold metal.

a gasp falls from your lips when you feel him sliding his cock through your slick, teasing your entrance with his head, pushing it in slowly then quickly pulling it out.

“rafe, please-“ you beg.

you hear him chuckle, his free hand gripping at your hip to keep you still while he sinks himself inside you, a raspy groan coming from his lips.

“fuuuck, so fucking tight, feels s’good” rafe groans, slowly thrusting himself in and out of you.

you can’t help the loud whines that escape you, the feel of his thick cock pressing into you so deep you could feel him in your stomach.

“fuck, just like that” you whine, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder.

he snakes his free hand up your side, wrapping his large hand around your throat, his lips leaving a harsh kiss to yours as he begins fucking into you harder.

“doing so fucking good for me baby, taking me so well”

you arch your back, pushing your ass out farther for him, allowing him to hit deeper inside of you. you’re a moaning mess, the swollen head of his cock repeatedly hitting at your sweet spot.

you can feel the burn between your thighs, your stomach tightening as he fucks you closer to the edge.

“gonna cum! fuck, rafe!”

he pounds his hips harder into yours, his ringed fingers digging into your hips while his other hand is tightly wrapped around your throat. you begin seeing stars, mind hazy as you clamp down around him.

“cum for me, be a good girl and cum” rafe rasps, his thrusts becoming harsher and sloppier.

he smashes his lips to yours again, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. you moan against his lips, him swallowing every beautiful sound that falls from you.

the band snaps again, your release washing over you. you let your head fall forward, legs shaking as rafe fucks you through your high, chasing his own.

you feel his dick twitch, thrusting inside you hard as he busts into the condom.

you slightly wince when he pulls himself from inside you, the empty feeling making you pout.

“that was fucking great” rafe says, an amused smirk on his lips while he pulls the condom off, tossing it into the small trash bin that was sat outside.

“you weren’t too bad yourself” you joke, biting at your bottom lip as you watch him make his way back into the room.

“you wanna stay here tonight? it’s kinda late” rafe says, grabbing his underwear from the floor and slipping them back on.

you bite at your lower lip, contemplating staying. your rules for tinder were no staying the night, and never fuck the same guy more than once, but there was something about him that was making you want to break your rules.

“uh, sure. couldn’t hurt to break one of my rules, right?”

“rules?” rafe asks, eyebrow quirked as he grabs his glass of wine from the table.

“yeah, my tinder rules. never sleep with the same guy more than once, and never spend the night”

rafe chuckles. “you got it all figured out huh? let me just say though, if you stay the night, you’re definitely breaking all of your rules, because i don’t think once was enough for me”

you smile, letting a small laugh out. “i definitely think i’m okay with that”

rafe hands you your glass of wine, the two of you taking small sips as you keep your eyes on each other. you didn’t know for sure, but you felt like you were in for a long night with this one.

RAFE TAGLIST: @whore-4-drewstarkey @ivy-34 @aemonddtargaryen @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @starkeypankowsbae @lizcameron @m-1234 @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @alexisbaumann2004 @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @mel119g @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @jjmaybankisbae @lexasaurs634 @softlilacarrest @fayerite @exhaustedbutelated @lyndys @urmyslxt @presleyanswrites @sierraluvz @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron

rafe masterlist | taglist form

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reiderwriter · 4 months

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Unhappy Holidays

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're unlucky enough to run into Spencer Reid at holiday celebrations four years in a row. In the New Year, you're resolving to rid him from your mind forever, but you never were one to stick to resolutions 👻🦃🎄🎆

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors dni, enemies to lovers, low-key work rivals, semi-public sex, car sex, hate sex, fingering, thigh riding, creampie, unprotected sex (no condoms but contraceptive mentioned), slight spoilers for s4 of Criminal Minds (but not really).

Prompt Request: #50"You're so fucking obsessed with me.” #82"Really? Because your pussy is saying something different, sweetheart.” #93"Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

A/N: This is my first submission for @imagining-in-the-margins November/December Office Party writing challenge! I'm sorry I've been so busy recently, but the holiday season really does take a lot of effort to get through at work lmao. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more over my vacation! For now, enjoy some very unserious smut~♡ (as if I write any other kind).

Here's a link to my masterlist, where you can find all my work!~☆

Working with the FBI was no walk in the park, which, from your desk at the opposite corner of the bullpen, Spencer Reid sure made it look like.

Working on adjacent teams for the last three years had become gradually infuriating. You were forever in the man's orbit, stuck dealing with the other women on your team sat giggling about him and his many stupid haircuts, and wondering just how far you'd fallen to have to stare at his stupid face 5 days a week.

If you were unlucky. His team did happen to be out on cases a lot more, whereas yours handled correspondence and consulting cases, a cushy and safe job.

It annoyed you to no end that you had multiple field-based qualifications, extensive fire arms training and were top of your class at the academy only to be relegated yo desk duty whilst boy wonder with his doctorates was allowed to trip over his own feet catching actual killers.

Other people wondered where your dislike of the man sprang from, and you could only let out a disgruntled squeak and tell them your horror stories.

A few months into your job, your been fresh faced and bushy tailed or however that saying goes, and overly eager to take any assignment that came your way. Even if the assignment was baby-sitting an injured Doctor Spencer Reid. He'd been shot whilst out on a case whilst trying to talk down an unsub, and you'd jumped at the chance to get to know him.

He was an office legend, of course, though those days it was more for his characteristic lack of social graces rather than the beauty he'd grown into. You'd been so eager to get to pick his brains, find out how he'd managed to score the position on the BAU at such an early age.

Reality had hit you square in the face when he'd spent a week ignoring you, making you run around like a headless chicken searching for hard copies of documents the FBI had digitised a millennia ago, and hadn't so much as spared you a glance.

The straw that broke the camel's back came as you were running back to him triumphant with a document he'd requested eight hours before and had let yourself into Penelope Garcia’s office quietly, only to hear him bad mouthing you.

“She makes me uncomfortable. I've had her out searching for useless files all day because I don't know what to do with her.”

“She's trying to help, Spencer, it's her job right now, cut her some slack.”

“Her job is currently getting in the way of mine. I even tried writing my own doctor's note so I could get rid of her, but Hotch wouldn't allow it.”

You'd dropped the file loudly on the table, watched the two spin around with horrified looks and turned silently and left the room.

He hadn't once tried to find you after that, and you let your apprenticeship under Doctor Reid quietly fizzle out as you got back to your regular work.

Your resentment still burned though.

Each time you'd been caught in the same elevator with him, you'd ignored him to an almost insane degree, enjoying the way he squirmed and tried to make small talk.

You'd been in contact with JJ and his Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner as well, through cases you'd recommended, but always maintained your cold shoulder.

The one place you could not ignore him, however, was a Penelope Garcia party.

After you'd slammed the file down on her desk, Penelope had guiltily sent you a gift basket filled with sweet treats and books, and had hounded you for a week to make sure your feelings weren't too damaged by her friend's stupidity.

You actually liked her, and found at least one silver lining to the storm that was Spencer Reid ripping through your life.

In the three years since the “incident,” you'd found yourself at three parties where Penelope in all of her heartwarming ways had tried her best to force a reconciliation between the two of you, to disastrous results.

The first was a Halloween party, and you'd been incredibly proud of your Princess Laia costume when you'd arrived. Only until you'd gone to the kitchen to top up your drink to hear Spencer Reid boring some guest or the other about how Star Trek was more advanced, and had a richer plot line.

Penelope had stepped into the kitchen just as he'd caught a glimpse of your (rather skimpy) outfit - yes, you'd chosen swimsuit Laia, yes, you were going to own it - and had immediately jumped into introductions, as if you weren't already intimately acquainted.

“Spencer! This is Y/N! She loves Halloween, too, she makes all of her costumes. You guys should talk.” She'd led the other guest away and left you there with Spencer as you'd awkwardly looked upon his own costume.

“Are you the Tenth Doctor?” You asked begrudgingly, noting his pin-striped suit and the shorter hairstyle he'd chosen.

“Are you a fan? I prefer the original show run more than the current stuff, but David Tennant has really been doing a wonderful-”

“I'm sorry, let me stop you there. I don't watch Doctor Who. I guess I prefer something with a… How should I say, richer plot?”

He'd snapped his mouth shut and didn't have chance to open it again before you turned dramatically and walked away from him.

The second party you'd been cornered into was just over a year later.

Having been stuck in the office over Halloween, Penelope was determined to get in one last celebration before Christmas steam-rolled every other holiday, and thus you'd been invited to her single-people-only-friendsgiving-potluck, and you'd found yourself having to navigate knocking on her door with a casserole dish in your hands.

Luckily a large hand had appeared from behind you and knocked on the door for you. Unfortunately, the sudden shock from the silent appearance of a man right behind you startled you so much that the dish fell straight from your hands anyway.

Penelope opened her door upon hearing the crash and you whirled on your would-be attacker.

It was Spencer again, eyes round in shock, hand still curled into a fist.

You took a calming breath as you gathered yourself, trying not to bite his head off. You wanted to scream and shout and rip his head out but you didn't, instead letting the fury drip into your voice as you finally opened your eyes again.

“That dish took me four fucking hours to make.” You huffed in anger once more as Penelope guided you into the apartment and poured you a glass of wine before you moved back to the entry hall to clean it up again.

Needless to say he didn't care to converse with you after that.

A few small parties in between had been blissfully Spencer-less and you'd lulled yourself into a false sense of security. That's when you accepted the Christmas party invitation.

As one of the unlucky few members of the FBI who had to stay out over christmas in case of some emergency or the other, you'd been grounded in Virginia, unable to travel home for the holidays. So Penelope Garcia's singles-only-Christmas-fun-time-Party was your last ditch effort to spend the holidays actually resting and eating good food.

Learning from last time, Penelope reassured you that there was no potluck, that she had prepared all the food herself, and all you'd need were a bottle of wine and a willingness to party.

You'd taken those recommendations as law and had immediately let yourself into a glass of mulled wine as you arrived, and - noticing that the party was Reid-free - had allowed it to raise your Christmas spirits slightly more than you usually would.

By hour two of the event, you were full of yuletide joy and swaying freely along to the tune of Silent Night.

Spencer’s late entrance really would have gone unnoticed by you had you not bumped face first into his chest as you spun yourself around in your dance, his hands quickly falling to your hips to steady you.

The few moments it took you to gather yourself were about as long as you needed to realised that he'd caught you in his arms underneath the mistletoe. And with your mind fogged by mulled-whatever-it-was-Penelope-mixed-into-that-punch, the part of your brain that objected to the very existence of Spencer Reid went silent, and the incredibly tiny and somewhat damaged part of your brain that instead saw him as attractive started shouting loud instructions.

Before your common sense could return, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss the very warm, very close man holding you upright.

“Mistletoe,” you muttered as you clawed his arms off of you and took yourself straight to Penelope's bathroom to throw up.

So yes, your acquaintance with Spencer Reid had never been good, and you were perfectly fine with resenting him from afar, privately.

With three years of bad experiences under your belt, you weren't excited at completing your yearly tradition of horrendous interaction. Which is perhaps why you immediately and loudly protested Penelope’s New Years Eve party invitation.

“Y/N, it's a party. What's the worst that can happen?” She pleaded as she followed you down the corridors of the office building.

“I could see Spencer Reid. I could be forced to converse with Spencer Reid. I could get absolutely wasted and kiss Spencer Reid. There, three options, please accept my resignation from partying.”

“Y/N we both know you don't drink anymore, so at least one of those is unlikely to happen. And Spencer might not even come, he has tickets for an indie theatre from 6pm onwards, they're playing some Russian movie from the 60s that's like 4 hours long or something. So u retire yourself and tell me you'll come?” She had to take three or four steps for each of your own, not that you were so different in height but because you were practically marching in order to avoid the topic.

But you finally stopped and let out a sigh as you turned back to Penelope who stopped just before she ran into you.

“You're sure he won't be there?”

“I'm sure he RSVP’d no.”

“Fine. But I'm not drinking and I will still be expecting the Penelope Garcia virgin punch experience.”

“Bring the party poppers and you have a deal.”

“Done.”

–X–

Over the week since you'd accepted the invitation, you'd made peace with it. For the most part, you did love a Penelope Garcia production. There was something wonderful about your friend and her ability to brighten anyone's mood, an ability that was only heightened at holidays. She was like a glittered goddess gaining power when worshippers used her altar, except the altar was her house and the worship was a range of hallmark-induced holidays.

You arrived at the party at 10pm, and though that was the start time you'd been given, you weren't surprised to see a full house of Penelope’s team mates already in attendance. Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss sat spread across the sofa in the living room area, and you noticed a few techie friends also grabbing drinks and chatting.

“Y/N, I'm so glad you're here! You remember everyone on the team, right?” She pulled you into a hug and then sat you down in the middle of the group, waiting for you to mingle and become comfortable before she ran off to more hostess duties.

“Of course, nice to see you guys.” You grabbed your promised punch and sat back comfortably, striking up a conversation with Emily about how bleak the dating scene had been recently.

“It seems like all the men around me are jackasses,” Emily muttered and you giggled along.

“I'm wounded,” Morgan shot back, a hand pressed to his chest in faux pain.

“Good. You're like a lion out there in the clubs stalking gazelles, it's like watching a nature documentary when you're out there.”

You almost snorted your entire drink up your nose as Emily finished, needing to compose yourself for a second.

“I guess the men on our team aren't great with romance,” JJ laughed and took a swing. “Hotch and Rossi have four divorces between them, and Derek here is a lost cause.”

“Our only hope is young Spencer. May he grow into a respectful young gentleman and break out curse,” Emily toasted.

“Oh that ship has sailed,” your laugh this time was bitter, your mood immediately growing sour with even the smallest mention of Spencer Reid.

“Ah, Penelope mentioned you had a problem with our boy wonder. Care to share?”

You opened your mouth to give your standard non-answer and move the conversation along, but you were interrupted.

“Yes, Y/N, care to share? I am slightly curious about that as well.” You turned around and there he was, and your stomach turned in disgust.

Just one time, just one party. You'd been having fun, and here he was to ruin it.

“What are you doing here?” you gaped up at him, unsurprised to see him still decked out in sweater vest and slacks even in his down time.

“I was invited.”

“You declined, Penelope said you had movie tickets.”

“Ticket, singular. And it was cancelled so here I am. What's your problem with me, Y/N?” His jaw clenched and he grabbed the back of your chair and leaned down. It was supposed to be intimidating, but you rolled your eyes. When he looked that attractive, veins in his arms popping out of the sleeves he'd pulled up, you couldn't see him as intimidating. His arms were distracting yes, but God that was nothing compared to his thighs. His pants were tight, and you thanked whatever Clueless tailor had sewn them, because you now allowed yourself a momentary lapse to enjoy the appearance of his lower body.

You tried to shake the thought of his attractiveness from your mind, reminding yourself where you were and in what company.

“I don't think I need to answer that. I think I'll enjoy holding it over your head instead,” you said, standing up and beginning to gather your things.

“Wait, Y/N, where are you going? New Year isn't for another 30 minutes.” Penelope scrambled over and grabbed your hand, pleading with you to stay.

“I'm sorry Pen, but there's just this very annoying bug buzzing around me, and I think I need to get away from it.” You said your goodbyes and excused yourself from the party, happy to have walked away relatively undamaged.

Fate had other plans, and as you stepped out of the apartment building ready to walk yourself home, a hand caught yours from behind as a voice chased you.

“Y/N, wait. I'll go. You go back inside.”

“And return with my tail tucked between my legs after making a grand exit? I'll pass, thanks boy genius.” You shook yourself from his grasp and made to walk away again, but he quickly matched your pace and stepped into your path, cutting you off.

“I can't let you walk home. It's like 40° out here, and your coat is more style than substance.”

“Get into a car with a stranger? I'm sure you of all people know how stupid that sounds.” You stuck a finger out and poked his chest, but he grabbed your hand and held it in place as he spat out his next words.

“I'm not a stranger, I'm the man you're obsessed with, Y/N. Big difference.” You laughed, mostly in shock at his indignance, but he stared at your face as serious as could be.

“Me? Obsessed with you? I'm not the one who followed a woman they're barely acquainted with out of a party filled with all of my friends. Sounds like you're projecting, Spencer.”

“Am I?” He questioned, stepping closer and grabbing your hip as he continued his questioning. “I wasn't the one who was sat there talking about me with all of my colleagues.”

“Well, I wasn't the one who turned up to a party I'd declined an invitation to.”

He was imperceptibly close now, hand gripping your hip so tight you wondered if it'd leave you with a mark.

“I certainly was not the one who initiated a kiss last year, Y/N. You need to face the facts, you're so fucking obsessed with me.” If his hands had you feeling dizzy, his words were completely knocking the sense out of you. Suddenly you returned to the person you'd been under that Mistletoe, and everything from his closeness to the rough edge to his voice begged you to do it once again.

“Go fuck yourself,” was about all the words you could manage as he finally let his lips fall down and crush into your own.

You should've pushed him away, but instead your traitorous body wanted to prove his point, opening up for him faster than you'd opened up to anyone else before.

His tongue flicked against your lips and you gladly let him explore your mouth, opening up to tangle your tongue with his.

He tasted sweet, like the punch Penelope had handed you earlier, only now you wondered if someone had accidentally laced it with how free you were being with your affections.

He resurfaced for air, but you didn't care if there was nothing in your lungs at all if it meant that his lips would engage your own in battle once again.

“Look how much you want me,” he smirked. “Look how needy you are after a single kiss, chasing my lips like that.”

“You and your big fucking mouth. I wish you'd shut up once in a while.”

“I'll make it my new year’s resolution.” His lips joined your own again, and you clashed hard, exploring as much as you could muster as he pulled you in the direction of his car.

“I'm not driving… home… with you,” you growled between kisses, trying not to put your teeth to his neck and bite down hard. You're not sure if that impulse was a murderous one or a kinky one.

“I'm not putting you in the front seat, Y/N, I'm putting you in the back. You should be familiar with the idea.”

Heat sparked between your legs, and you allowed yourself to be manhandled into the beat-up trash heap of a car.

He'd not taken his hands off you as he got you in, pushing himself in first and then pulling you by the hand that you'd unconsciously gripped hard. You immediately straddled his hips, skirt naturally riding up in the process. He noticed and looked curiously down at you, growling as you pressed your lips against his neck and grabbed you instead by the hair gathered in a ponytail at the back of your head.

“See, you're obsessed with me. Just admit it.” Without breaking eye contact, he dug his fingers into the material of your tights and pulled in opposite directions, leaving your underwear exposed to his wandering eyes.

“I'm not obsessed with you,” your voice needed conviction to land, but it came out as a lusty whisper, especially as he slipped his fingers inside your underwear and finally touched your aching cunt.

“Really? Because your pussy is saying something else, Princess.” He found your clit faster than you'd ever expected, rubbing slow circles into your skin as you began rocking your hips back and forth.

It was becoming hard to disagree with him, with each flick of wrist growing the heat between your legs. You attacked his neck again, hands practically ripping at his top buttons so you could muffle the sounds of your arousal against his neck, collarbone, chest, any stretch of that pale skin available to you.

He forced your hips to a stop with one hand as he slipped a single digit inside of your hole, gathering your arousal as he set a steady pace, thumb keeping your bundle of nerves occupied.

“Listen, Y/N, can you hear that?”

“I can't h-hear anything.” You had to grind your teeth together to get the words out with minimal interruptions of moans bursting from the pit of your stomach.

He leaned in close to your ear, nuzzling your neck and placing chaste kisses up towards your ear, finally pulling away just enough to whisper a single word in your ear.

“Liar.”

His hand stilled and pulled off you quickly and your eyes broke open, hands unconsciously fitting into his shirt as if you were worried he was going to leave you there like this, on the edge of pleasure but still so far away.

“Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”

“Jackass. You've only been here for like 20 minutes.”

“You can climb right out of this car if you want to, Y/N.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the death grip he had on your thighs, the very obvious tent pitched in his pants and the way his eyes couldn't go five seconds without undressing you told you you had more power in this interaction than he wanted to give you.

There was no way either of you were letting the other go unused tonight.

You relaxed your grip on his shirt and shifted your weight to one of his thighs. Lithe he may be, but lowering yourself down there was an unexpected strength there. He watched on curiously as you rocked experimentally against him. Back and forth you rocked, trying desperately to keep up his momentum or tempt him to help you out again.

It was time to let your voice back out, and you did, moaning without a care as you hummed his leg like a bitch in heat.

“You're enjoying this lot, huh, Y/N,” he muttered, and you watched as his hand worked his pants zip open, removing one of the barriers in the way between the two of you, as he began palming himself.

“What's that saying? Anything you can do, I can do better?” He growled at that response but didn't stop you. Instead he bought a hand down on your ass as you moved, so hard you jolted at the sudden pain. Your eyes shot open as your hips stilled, but you felt warmth grow between your legs.

“Yes, you definitely enjoyed that. Should I do that again, or do you think we should hurry this up and go back up for the countdown?”

You hesitated only a second before you pushed his hand off his lap, shifting your hips further towards his knees before letting your hand reach for where his had just been.

You didn't let yourself think about how big he was as you pulled his cock free, didn't let yourself wonder how he measured up against anyone you'd been with before. You didn't let yourself waste time thinking about how various office rumours were true, and definitely not a second was wasted feeling jealous about how those rumours were spread in the first place.

Instead you simply slammed your lips back against his, mouth opening to let your tongue engage his as you lifted your hips with his help and lowered yourself down on him.

You didn't have to rid yourself of sinful thoughts after that as he purged every single brain cell from your head, filling you so contently that there was simply no space for anything but him.

You locked up on top of him, clawing at his shoulders as you whimpered at the stretched, falling so he was balls deep inside you. You wanted to move, to use him for your pleasure, but your walls tightened every time you even thought about it as he stroked your hair through it all.

It had been some time since you'd last had a sexual partner, and you needed the few minutes to overcome the first uncomfortable bliss of it all.

“That good?” he whispered, but the harsh tone of earlier was gone, replaced only by unsure humour to break the silence.

“Been a while.” He nodded, kissing you again to distraction as he shifted your positions.

Cradling your neck and securing your legs comfortably around him, he lowered you against the backseat, pulling out slightly as you adjusted to the new angle.

“Better?” You nodded quickly, because it was. There was no more pressure on your legs, and despite the cramped space in the car, you had enough space to lie almost flat.

“Yes… thank you.” Just as his cutting tone had escaped him, you also heard your own tone softening, the sigh of contentment slipping past your lips almost sweet. Almost.

“Are you going to fuck me now, or what?”

He let out a shocked laugh, but lent down to shut you up with a kiss nonetheless. Bracing himself against the car door, his hips softly rocked into you, pace increasing until you were back to the edge of cumming, nails pressed hard into his skin until you were sure he was going to complain.

He didn't though, but kept up his thrusts, until your vision suddenly darkened and stars exploded in them, rolled back in your head as they were.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, where should I…?” He panicked, but you wrapped your legs around him, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him down to swallow his moan as he shot his load inside of you.

“Birth control.” You whispered when you finally let him go, gasping for air. “Contraceptive pill. No need to get the car dirty.”

He collapsed on top of you then, forehead resting against your own as you both caught your breaths.

The moment was silent, and you found the synchronicity of your breaths almost calming. Eventually you had to break apart, and he helped you up to a sitting position, but didn't break eye contact as fell back into his lap.

His hands stroked your back, dipping to your ass at times, but he didn't talk. Neither of you did.

The eye contact between the two of you was possibly the most pleasant conversation you'd ever had.

“I'm sorry.” He blurted, just as fireworks erupted into the night sky. Your heart shook, and you weren't sure of it was the shock of the sound, or the way the rainbow of lights illuminated his sincere expression.

“You don't have to apologise for cumming in me, Spencer.”

“Not that. Before. The casserole and the mistletoe, and the Halloween costume.”

“Wow. Um, okay. Apology accepted, I guess, though I'm not entirely sure why you're apologising now.”

He took a deep breath just as another set of fireworks went up.

“I pulled you under the mistletoe. It was Penelope’s idea, she knew how stupid I was being around you and sent me over. I saw it and took the chance.”

“Fuck. Why?”

“Because I was pretty useless at being chivalrous the year before.”

You climbed off his lap in a scramble and sat on the seat beside him, mind racing, trying to figure out where the hell he was going with this.

He turned to you, trying to keep your attention as he stumbled over the words.

“You couldn't knock on the door, so I wanted to help you, but I didn't think I'd scare you so much you'd drop it.”

“You didn't scare me it was a momentary lapse in my observational skills.”

“You shrieked,” a smile threatened to pull his lips up, they twitched as you flushed red.

“And Halloween?” You looked at him again now, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between the two of you.

“You refused to look at me for a year after we stopped working together,” he shrugged quickly running a hand through his hair and expelling a breath. “I don’t really know how to talk to women.”

“You just know how to piss them off?”

“Morgan says it comes naturally.”

“Yeah, well, Morgan is very wise.”

A brief silence stretched between you, or as silent as a night full of cracks, pops, whizzes and bangs could be.

“I don't get it. You tried your best to get rid of me when I was there to help you. I wanted to impress you, and you kept sending me on meaningless errands, and now you're saying what? You wanted my attention?” There was a quiet anger to your voice, but you were surprised to find it diminished and tired.

“I wanted you gone because you were distracting me, Y/N, not because I hated you.”

“Well, what's the difference, Doctor Reid? Please indulge me.” You huffed a little but kept your eyes on him, trying not to seem too desperate for his answer.

“I have an IQ of 187. Emily says when I'm around a pretty girl it's more like 52,” he fidgeted with his pants, forcing the words out.

“You're a pretty girl. We had a case to work and all I could think about was how to get you to like me. Hotch chewed me out like three separate times for being absent minded.”

He was looking anywhere but you, trying his best not to appear like a fool but you were locked onto him.

“Oh my god you're an idiot.”

“When you're around, yes.”

“And that means I'm equally stupid.”

“No, you just jump to conclusions and hold grudges. There wasn't anything really that stupid about your actions, though it could be suggested that not thoroughly thinking through the wording of the conversation you overheard-”

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling him down again mlby his tie.

“Oh my god, shut up,” you whispered as you broke apart.

“Does that mean we can do this again? Because I'd like to do this again?”

“Stop talking, start kissing jackass.”

He finally didn't argue with that, pulling you back into him as you sat under the stars in his car welcoming the new year.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #criminal minds smut #cm writing challenge

1K notes · View notes

ellemj · 5 months

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Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 4

Bucky Barnes x Reader

**If you haven't read part 1, part 2, or part 3 yet, you should probably head that way first.**

Summary: Round two doesn't go quite as either of you expected.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, sex pollen (dubcon), possessive!Bucky, near somnophilia, profanity, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Special thanks to @littlemiss-yeehaw for helping with the warnings <3

Feel free to let me know in the comments if this requires more warnings.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: I wish I could share the filthy mental image that I have for paragraph 10 of this, but sadly, it doesn't exist. How are we feeling here guys? Also, I'm fckin loving responding to you guys. I didn't expect to be so into it and it's just making me wanna take requests after this even more.

You awake suddenly, your eyes fluttering open and straining to adjust to the darkness around you. You’re on your right side, and as your eyes fully adjust, you realize that you’re lying inches away from none other than Bucky fucking Barnes. You’re already feeling overly feverish, with a flu-like body ache wracking your frame, and a pounding headache behind your eyes, but looking at him and remembering what you did earlier tonight adds a wave of nausea to the mix. How the fuck did the two of you let it get that far? You’re acutely aware of how exposed you are, with both of you having fallen asleep on top of the covers, there isn’t a blanket or anything that you can pull over yourself. You roll over as quietly as possible, moving to sit on the side of the bed and then reaching down to the floor and picking up your discarded t-shirt. You pull it over your head before checking your phone on the bedside table. 11:31pm. You’re three and a half hours in now. The pain that Bucky so kindly relieved for you earlier has returned, but it's rapidly worsening. You steal a glance at him over your shoulder. You’ve never seen him sleep before. Any overnight mission you’ve ever been on either involved one of the two of you being on night watch or, luckily, separate bedrooms. He looks peaceful like this, with his signature scowl missing and a serene expression gracing his features. You wonder if he looks like this every night, or only after sex. Something about the thought of him having sex any night other than tonight leaves an unfamiliar pang in your chest. However, you blindly chalk that pang up to being some random side effect caused by the chemical that’s working hard within you.

As you sit there on the side of the bed, the darkness enveloping you like a hug from a close friend, you feel it. That deep, unrelenting need to be touched again, to be fucked until you’re so full that the pain you feel right now melts away as if it never existed in the first place. You’re stronger than this. Just lay back down and go to sleep. Maybe if you dream about sex, your mind can trick your body into thinking it’s gotten what it needs and you can get through this without splintering your partnership any further. You can do this. Laying back on the bed as quietly and gently as humanly possible, you decide within yourself that you don’t need him. You don’t need his hands traveling along your searing skin, simultaneously cooling you down and making you feel impossibly hotter. You don’t need his dirty words filling the space between you and dancing around your mind until all you can think about is letting him take everything from you. And you most definitely don’t need his cock. His cock. Fuck, why did you let that into your head? Now all you can think about is the way he reached so deep inside of you, his girthy length stretching you enough that for a moment, the pain of his cock entering you for the first time was the only pain you felt in your entire body. You catch yourself tilting your head to the side to look at him again. He must’ve gotten up at some point while you were asleep to put his boxers back on, and honestly, fuck him for that. You’re left staring at his abs, at the way they rise up and drop back down so subtly with every breath he takes. Your eyes travel down his vibranium arm. You always liked his arm. Hell, you liked it even when it was silver with that damn red star. But now that it’s black and gold, built for strength and stealth, it looks like it belongs on him. Biting your bottom lip, you let your hand run up the front of your t-shirt, your fingertips deftly sliding beneath the collar of it and pulling his dog tags out so they’re no longer against your skin. You run your finger over the raised letters that spell out his name, wondering how many times he’s done the exact same thing himself. It’s almost calming. Or at least it would be if you weren’t currently replaying the moment that he pulled you in by those same dog tags earlier and fucked you until you couldn’t think straight.

A soft sigh leaves your lips and you know your resolve is crumbling, you know you’re seconds away from doing something you really shouldn’t do. Your thumb traces over the top inscription once more, James B Barnes. Fuck it. You didn’t have a plan when you threw your rational mind out the window, but suddenly you find yourself moving to straddle Bucky on the bed. As soon as your left leg crosses his lap and your drenched pussy is hovering inches above his clothed cock, he begins to stir, a low, pained groan rumbling past his lips. He needs this too, you’re sure of it, and that’s what encourages you to seat yourself on his lap. His eyes fly open now and he looks first at where your bodies are making contact, and then straight up at your flushed face. He’s died and gone to heaven. That’s what’s happened. He’s positive. When he sees you on top of him, wearing only a t-shirt and his dog tags, he has to wonder how yesterday’s mission went so unbelievably right that he ended up here. His hands are quick to find your hips, pushing your t-shirt up a little so he can touch your skin directly. The touch immediately soothes some of your bodily aching and you lean forward, bracing yourself with your hands resting on the bed, on either side of his head. He sucks in a deep breath, trying to gather himself enough to think straight while he keeps his eyes trained on the little silver shapes dangling from your neck right in front of him.

“Did you need something, sweetheart?” Bucky taunts after a few seconds of composing himself beneath you, a smirk playing on his lips. Even barely awake and caught off guard, he’s an ass. You shake your head and grind yourself down on his already hard cock, the friction making you fight back a moan that’s threatening to rise from your throat. He lets out a groan of pleasure now, his grip on your hips tightening instinctively and his eyes closing.

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes. Don’t act like you don’t need this too.” You retort, continuing your actions with your hips as you lower yourself down until your face is only an inch away from his. You let the tip of your nose brush against his and he opens his eyes, staring up at you with an indecipherable look. “Be honest with me, you offered to do this as some kind of heroic act, but you secretly wanted this.” Bucky swallows audibly and you’re starting to get high off of the effect you have on him. Technically, it’s the effect that the chemical is having on him but you let yourself pretend for a moment that it’s all you. As your breath fans across his lips, he feels an unwelcome anger spreading through him. Anger stemming from the fact that you’d tease your lips in front of him like this, dangle something so tempting right in front of his face yet refuse to indulge him.

“Think what you want.” He huffs, his grip on your hips loosening and throwing you off guard momentarily. You freeze on top of him, backing away from his face a bit and trying to gauge his mood. He’s obviously horny enough to fuck, as evidenced by the hard-on that’s currently pressing against your soaked panties. Is he just trying to act like he doesn’t want it because you accused him of wanting it? God, the pounding headache intensifies and you scrunch your eyes shut. You really need to stop thinking.

“What’s got you so pissy?” You ask, sitting back fully on his lap and rubbing your temples with the thumb and middle finger of your right hand in that way that always worries Bucky in the field. You only do it when you’re struggling to make a decision or when you’re severely bothered by something, like bothered to the point of putting a bullet in some shithead’s thigh just to get them to talk. He wasn’t planning to say anything about it, truly. His plan was to fuck you until the only thing you can possibly do is moan his name. But to hell with it. He brings it up anyway.

“You took my cock so well tonight…” His voice is full of lust and has a teasing air to it, setting your nerves on fire. The way he praises you has your thighs clenching at his sides. “But you didn’t say my name one. Fucking. Time.” Ah, there it is. That’s what’s got him so pissy. You’re learning that he has a possessive streak, which isn’t your problem at all considering you’re not someone he can possess. He can get some other girl to moan his name, but you won’t be doing it.

“You didn’t give me any reason to.” You snap back. You’re lying. You know it and he knows it. He fucked you until you saw stars and made him promise not to pull out of you. His name was on the tip of your tongue more than once, but you restrained yourself for reasons he’ll never understand.

“Fine. If that’s the story you want to go with, that I didn’t do shit for you earlier, you can get yourself off.” He says smugly, that damn smirk appearing again as he sits up suddenly, pushing you off of him. You land on the bed next to him as he quickly shoves his boxers down his legs, tossing them on the floor and laying back once again. This time, that little shit lays back and places his hands behind his head in the most relaxed position you’ve ever seen him in. Your eyes are instantly drawn to his cock, where it’s fully erect over his lower stomach and leaking clear drops of precum. Shit. You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down on it a little too hard, nearly drawing blood. You arch a brow at him, wondering why he stripped if he’s going to make you get yourself off. Just like he does in the field, he reads your mind from that one look. “You’re going to get yourself off on my cock…or not at all.”

You can’t say that you’re ashamed at how fast you mounted him and seated yourself down on his cock. You can’t even say that you despised him for making you put on a show for him like that. You lied to him and pretended like he didn’t give you the best sex of your life only an hour ago, so he chose this as your punishment. A punishment that you accepted and used to your advantage, riding the fuck out of his thick cock just like he told you to. At some point, your hands were braced on his chest as you bounced your ass up and down, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix every time you slid back down. This drew sounds from you that could turn any nightmare of his into a wet dream. Once you were right on the precipice of your second orgasm of the night, he was sure you were going to moan his name. Your head was tilted back, showing off all of that open kissable space along the column of your throat with his silver chain still draped around it, and he swears he saw his name flashing behind your closed eyelids. But you moaned out a simple fuck instead, and then you continued riding him until you both came, hard. For the second time tonight, as he empties his cock into your pretty little cunt, you both feel like you’re floating away on a pain-free cloud of euphoria. He glances over your shoulder a few minutes later when he sees you checking the time on your phone. 12:10 am. If his math is right, he may have as little as four hours left to get you to moan his fucking name.

Little does he know, that as you drift off to sleep next to him, under the covers this time, all you can think about is fully letting yourself go and moaning his name out while he fucks you in every position known to mankind.

Next Part

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