oliveofthenight

[oliveofthenight]

Duke and Jason Being Hood Kids

The Hood Kids Series is organized here. Explore, enjoy, and let me know what you think.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

[oliveofthenight]

I Now Pronounce You…Confused- Bofur x F!Reader

I’m really excited for this one! Found a hilarious trope prompt and one of my favorite shows has done this at least once too 😆

Warnings: mentions of alcohol/intoxication, suggestive jokes

Every pound of your head came like the cruelest heartbeat, painfully reminding you you were alive. A little too alive, frankly. It had been a long time, maybe even never, since you had indulged such as you’d chosen to the previous night, distracting yourself enough for the bottle to throw you right into the…cot? Bed?

Oh, stars. Bolting upright, you flung the blanket that was half-draped over your body off, realizing with the motion of your arm and the uncovering of your body that you were, in fact, still in the dress and pinafore you’d remembered putting on the previous day, not a scratch anywhere on you or it. Well, thank the heavens for that at least.

For that as well as the emptiness of the bedroom of sorts you were in. Perhaps you had simply gone awash and someone had walked you back there for a rest. Yes, that had to be it, you reflected as you slowly rose to your feet, slinging one leg followed by the other off the edge and gripping one of the posts for balance. Blast your splitting skull. Blast it all!

But judging by the doorway carved into the far sight of your square little brown quarters, at least there was what appeared to be a small washroom attached to the bedchambers. If not all hope was lost, anyway. Tugging your shifted skirts straight about your waist again, you tentatively squeaked across the old floorboards, glancing up at the molding around the ceiling. Very pointy-looking flowers and the like. That was right, you’d made your way to New Dale.

A traveler. That was what you were. Hadn’t found any reason to settle down yet, and if you’d made as much of a fool of yourself as you suspected, this place would be no exception. New Dale was to be the final stop on the way to see the infamous Lonely Mountain anyway, not much of a potential home, but right close and certainly availed of drink, not to mention quite the handsome mayor. Or whatever that Bard called himself.

At any rate, more than ready were you to disappear through that doorway and, with any luck, into a nice cool bath. You made your way over to it, but right as you made to step through another figure emerged, almost stepping into you, rocking back, and giving a call of shock to match yours.

He was a dwarf by the looks, and mainly height, of him, one a bit your senior and most distinctly wearing a great big hat that made you want to try it on so badly your hand twitched as if to make to swipe it off his head.

“‘N who might you be?”

The dwarf asked, tone not at all accusing, quiet as though he was as hungover as you, and frankly sounding more amused than anything else. The lilt of it carried an unspoken hint of ‘why not?’.

A rhetorical question you were more than happy to answer right back with one. “Were you in here all night?”

The dwarf looked taken aback by that, brown brows rising suddenly, seemingly before he could stop them. “Not like you’re thinking unless you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking. I don’t think.”

“What?”

“Can’t remember much of last night,” the dwarf answered, a gloved hand pressing to his hatted head, “but if you’re worried about how well we got to know each other last night, frankly I don’t even know if we got to names!”

You shook your head. “We mustn’t have, for I have not the foggiest what yours could be.”

At that, he smiled and you really took him in, realized what a kind and cheery-looking fellow he was. “Then let these introductions be all the sweeter. Bofur at your service, madam.” As punctuation he bowed at the waist, a hand flipping to extend toward you.

Letting out a chuckle, you gave your name, took his hand and felt your brow rise in surprise at the way he boldly brought your hand to his lips. It brought a smile to them, though, and with that out of the way Bofur waved a hand and bid you use of the washroom, which you gladly took up.

Should you have used the tub fully? Probably, but as it was you were still just a hint unsteady on your feet and drawing water sounded about as appealing as kissing a dragon right about then. Alright, maybe not that bad, but unpleasant enough. As it was you opted to take up a clean white rag and simply scrub yourself up as best you could, harsh hands grating soft fabric against your skin. The soap bar was simple, but a hint of orange blossom carried into the air around you as it bubbled lightly onto your moist body.

Upon finishing, you tugged your clothes back on, wrinkling your nose at the contrasting smell of wear pulling once more onto freshened skin. Drying your hands and lacing your shoes, you made your way back out, taking a curious peek around the doorway as if Bofur had been the product of a wild hangover dream.

Standing a short distance from the corner, the dwarf stood and waved a hand, offering a little smile. Not a figment of your imagination, then. Tentatively you waved back.

"We must've both just nipped off here to sleep it all away without realizing."

"Well, I guess that makes us roommates!" Bofur replied jovially, eyes turning upward with the joy of his smile.

"I guess so," you agreed, giving a smile of your own and emerging from your accidentally-shared room at his side.

Another enemy: a staircase. With a little 'whoa', Bofur pitched a little forward, grasped your forearm for stability, and gave a little hum of satisfaction before holding on completely. Your own rolling brain was silently grateful for the extra balance, the warm weight against you as you gripped the banister's smoothness. Joined like that you arrived down at the bottom and turned into the tavern, which already housed a mild bustle of patrons and servers.

One such woman came up to your side soon after you separated, hands joined at her waist and cheeks beaming with...pride? But what could she possibly-

"Well, if it isn't the newlyweds!" She exclaimed, sunshine positively beaming from all sides of her voice. "Frankly I am a bit surprised to see you out so soon. Well, no matter! Shall I prepare a spot of breakfast for the happy couple?"

"You're joking," Bofur snorted, "Right? We don't even know each other!"

"We met for the first time upstairs just now," you added, nodding agreement before turning back his way, "But I am sure we would enjoy some breakfast, thank you!"

"What are you talking about? You wed last night! No rings or anything, the two of you simply could not wait any longer! Quite romantic."

"I don't understand," Bofur said, gaze swinging up between you and this other woman, "We just got each other's names. Must've been another dwarf."

Leading you to your table, the woman spoke your names before you'd given them, reciting vows that named a brother and cousin Bofur had yet to mention at all, but that he'd apparently thought you'd like last night. Even though according to him the cousin, Bifur, needed some taking care of. Probably didn't hold his ale well. Your vows included an old joke about how you thought you'd be married in trousers, which was something you'd said to your family as a little kid. The name you'd been sure your future husband would have when you were twelve years old. All things this strange woman could never have known. Unless, of course, you'd spoken them last night drunk out of your mind.

"By my beard," Bofur breathed, clearly having come to the same conclusion, "We really did get married! Who in their right mind let us do that? Drunk as skunks, we were!"

"Probably the town justice you shook down 'Until I am bound to this fine woman for all eternity'," the server giggled as you wobbled into your seats, eyes still wide, "So, er, eggs then? Sausage? Bacon? Flapjacks?"

"All of the above," your companion sighed, eyes remaining locked on yours, "And whatever your strongest tea is, please."

"Just tea?" You asked with a sardonic smirk.

"Never got that hair of the dog stuff. 'Sides, don't want to end up like last night again, eh?"

"Maybe if we do it again we'll get divorced."

"I dunno, seems the liquor made us like each other a whole lot more."

"Could've liked each other even better," you quipped drily, glancing down at your clothing.

"You've got me there," Bofur chuckled.

He said nothing more as you waited for your tea, but some barely perceptible shift had occurred in his eyes, which occasionally shot down lower onto your form and then right back up again like they'd been slapped. Your own gaze wavered from his eyes a bit, tracing the line of his mustache down and back up again. He drummed his fingers in some unknown rhythm against the table's wood surface, glancing back up at you with some unspoken question you weren't sure if you wanted to answer.

"Your tea! Tea for two!"

Tension thoroughly cut, you both tore your eyes from each other to meet those of that same server once again, this time setting down a laden with tea things. Beaming at you again, she set a little white cup banded with green and gold, the center of each ribbon bearing lilies. White lilies, of course.

"Get it?"

"Yes," you groaned.

"Ah, lilies, that's clever," Bofur remarked, holding a cup up to his face and chuckling, "'S good, save for the fraudulence and falsehood of it all. Say, do you guys have honey?"

"Of course."

And with that, it was just you two again, you two and the tray and the steaming teapot that matched your cups. Was Bofur not feeling the pit of dread that sunk within you or was he truly that good at masking it? Or maybe he was truly so confident in your situation's coming reversal.

"So I suppose we track down that same justice to nullify this all?" You asked, staring down at your cup under the guise of ensuring nothing of your refreshment spilled.

"Supposing so," Bofur answered, accepting your proffered teapot from across the table, although he refrained from pouring anything, likely in anticipation of the honey, "For now, we may as well enjoy a nice meal, eh? I hear the flapjacks here are especially good."

"Oh? From who?"

"From my love of flapjacks! Now come on, how's about we get to know each other a little? Daresay we're a special kind of friends now. What brings you to New Dale? Business?"

"Quite the opposite," you snorted, leaning back until one of your chair's hard corners poked into the flesh of your back, forcing you to shift quickly to maintain an appearance half as nonchalant as Bofur's, "I had no more reason to go here than anywhere else save my own desire. New Dale was actually just a stop on the way to visit the mountain."

“Mountain?” Bofur asked, brows raised in great interest. “The Lonely Mountain? Erebor? That mountain?”

“Yes,” you giggled, “Any other names you’d like to give or is the hangover leaving your body now?”

“Well, what did you want to see? I’ll have you know your husband lives there."

"Let me see, the architecture, the history, that great mass of gold and gems I've heard so much about, all the beautiful things only dwarves can make."

"Men can make beautiful things, too," Bofur answered, "After all, they made you."

For once, your mind could not conceive of a single protest.

~

In the shadow of the Lonely Mountain you and Bofur strolled, Bofur pointing out the meaning of this flag and that statue until you had entered the great stone bulk and stared in awe at massive columns of whatever greenish stone and flying colors from a great indoor marketplace. In-mountain. Whatever the lot of it was, it did not smell nearly as dusty and dry in there as your imagination had conjured- how’d they keep it so nice?

Whilst there, Bofur bought you a souvenir. In drifting over the assortment of carven wood implements, your eyes slid back to a great stein numerous times. Inhaling the scent of the sawdust littering the floor behind the crafts-dwarf, you skimmed completely over spoons and even little statues of creatures of the woods to look at the thing, the thing finished smooth and set with some rune. One of joy, according to Bofur.

"You like it."

"No, I don't." A glance at the seller, then back to Bofur. "Well, yes I do, but I don't know if I can-"

Coins spilled onto the table. One, two, three.

"I can. I want you to have it. It reminds me of you, all things considered.”

“Drunken night?” The seller chuckled, crossing his arms and darting his eyes between you two as a smile spread beneath his bushy beard.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bofur answered with a chuckle before you could put in your own proverbial cent.”

“A stein?” You asked him as you walked off, waving the great big thing like the world’s stumpiest flag. “That’s my symbol now?”

“Come now,” Bofur tutted your name softly, giving a nonchalant little shrug, “‘s just a joke. If you don’t want to be known by this, then tell me what your favorite thing is.”

You’d think he was the homeless one for all his Mahal-may-care attitude, and yet there he was, relaxed and himself inside this mountain with his own people. For once you envied the static life, aching for something beyond the next port-of-sorts as you looked into his eyes.

“Swans.”

“What?”

“I’ve traveled a lot. But one village I saw I’ll never forget. It stood at the foot of a lake, and when you sat along the water you could watch all the white swans paddling across the water. It was so shiny and blue and they were so graceful. Not that they couldn’t kill you on land, but out there on the water? Anyone’d wanna be one of them.”

“I can see it,” Bofur told you, head tilted a bit.

“Really?”

“Sure,” he waved a hand, “You’re just like that! Pretty but don’t make ya mad. I like that. And say, I have just the thing for you then, Swan Lady, and it’ll be much better than some ol’ beer mug!”

Swan Lady. You liked that. It echoed through your head as you smiled and followed Bofur's eager lead deeper into the mountain.

‘Better than a beer mug’ was an understatement- Bofur led you beneath a doorway carven with bear cubs and birds and even little dwarven silhouettes, hanging banners of deep blue and yellow contrasting the stone. Light poured from it, a bright yellow light that still somehow stayed cozy. Firelight. A lot of little firelights. Through the welcoming waves of the carvings was an assortment of shelves lining every wall. Each of them was filled with different delights: porcelain figurines crowned in painted gold, wooden swords with unique hilt ornaments, wolves on wheels with strings matching the colors of their yellow eyes, grey fur, or red maws. Spinning mobiles hung from the ceiling in the form of anything from Erebor’s thrushes to whimsical winged ponies spinning in little skybound derbies. Where, you wondered, should your eyes fall next? Not to the mirrors, carved and waved for distorted reflections. You were still a little too hungover for that.

Bofur answered that question, softly catching your attention with your name before he waved you to a corner shelf. “Look here.”

Tearing your eyes from a squat wooden dwarf knight, you followed Bofur, only to see another pull-along toy, this time white. A swan with neatly carved feathers and eyes serenely shut. Capturing just what you’d described. Well, save for the wrath awaiting anyone annoying. It didn’t need it, though. Not this one.

A smile spread across your face, the stein in your hand lowering forgotten. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Of course you are.” You elbowed him playfully.

“I can’t believe it!” Bofur exclaimed with a grin. “Oh, here, come meet its makers, then. My cousin and my brother.”

For some reason, the thought of meeting Bofur’s family brought a little rush of heat. Meeting people wasn’t usually any pressure. Why a couple of toymakers?

Why indeed. Bombur and Bifur were right nice, even if the elder one didn’t speak. He got his point across well enough, and how he’d blushed when you complimented his beautiful swan! The pull-along he gifted you, sending a wink Bofur’s way.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Bofur said again, but that time with a soft smile and gaze that didn’t pull away from yours.

~

Erebor’s halls were so vast as to almost feel outside despite their clear lack of sunlight or clouds or any such natural effect beyond stone, stone, and more stone. The air was clearer than any cave you’d been in- there must’ve been some sort of ventilation system. Fascinating. It made you want to build one of those wild mining pulleys they had just to shoot yourself to the top and crawl around for it. A few dwarves barreled past you and Bofur, almost knocking you over had his gloved hand not gripped yours. A grip as warm as you’d expected. Not that you’d imagined it. Nor had you imagined the way his voice softened when he told you “just in case”, eyes flicking tentatively up to yours.

“So, how’d you like Erebor?” Bofur’s voice shook your brain by its shoulders, dropping it from its thoughts and sensations of still-gripped hands.

“It was amazing,” you told him, strolling ever slower on your way back to New Dale, “I almost didn’t want to leave! Thank you for everything: showing me around, the gifts, better company than I deserved. I wasn’t the fairest this morning.”

“You- You- Well,” Bofur rubbed the back of his neck before dropping his hand down to take yours, “Plenty fair for me. In fact, can I tell you something?”

Inhaling deeply, you swallowed, something in those hazel eyes yanking a rush of words from deep in your chest. Erebor deep. Deeper than you ever thought you’d go. Deep enough that you almost feared it. You’d gotten outside the justice’s office, great grey-painted door looming before you like a heavy cloud.

“I have to tell you something too,” you told him.

“I want to stay married,” you both blurted out simultaneously.

Bofur’s jaw dropped. He gaped at you for several sped heartbeats before snapping out of it, shaking his hatted head and breaking into the widest, giddiest grin you’d ever seen. That morning you might have called it a dumb one. Right then? All you could say was how beautiful a sight it was. How it looked like home. That very thing you’d taken for granted for all those years thinking nowhere would feel like it. No one would want you. And yet with Bofur by your side it was like all those thoughts had gone poof into the pile of ash he told you the dragon had almost made of his company.

Before you could say anything, though, a pair of warmly clad hands took hold of your hips, yanking you against a fur coat and into the softest, most eager lips that could have devoured you. So intent on such were you, in fact, that you didn’t catch the squeak of a door until a man’s voice interrupted you, forcing you to pull apart, although Bofur’s hold on you remained fast.

“Still can’t keep your hands off each other, can you?” The man, presumably the justice, not that your faulty ale-hazed memory was any help, chuckled. “Newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds,” you agreed, speaking again in unison and gazing into each other’s eyes, your arms reaching to stroke Bofur’s.

“We’re crazy, aren’t we?” Bofur teased.

“Positively drunk on love.”

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[oliveofthenight]

Notes: First songfic ever so it might not be of best quality! Fun fact! I absolutely hated songfics back then but I think they are kinda romantical now <3

Prompts: Songfic, first kiss, sickness, and slow dancing.

Proofread?: Nop

A Sentinel was chasing you and a few friends; destroying everything in its path. Unfortunately, you were unable to escape and the mutant killer grabbed you. It's eyes glowing, ready to send you to your undeserved grave. Then it malfunctioned; a street light went through the right eye and it caved in. Reacting instinctively it let go of you, and you felt yourself land in someone's arms. You stared up at your savior. Her white bangs and brown jacket that was filled with a sweet but strong perfume. What stuck out most was her Black lipstick.

The night we met I knew I...

Needed you so.

She must have noticed your stunned look and smirked. "Well, aren't you cute?" Her green eyes locked onto yours. Your nerves sent waves of electricity through your limbs. "You will be safe with me darling, don't you worry" The cool breeze flew through your hair as she began to float again.

You stayed at the mansion after that. Not wanting to be on the enemy's radar. You mostly stayed around Rogue since she was the one who saved you and helped you train.

And if I had the chance I'd

Never let you go.

You understandably caught feelings for the southern woman but never gained the courage to confess. You tried to push those feelings back and focus on getting better at using your powers. Rogue didn't help much. With her flirting and innuendos while training, it made you fall back in love again every time.

But instead of accepting her attempts at loving you, you brush them off as you just being delusional again.

So won't you say you love me?

I'll make you so proud of me.

"Doyouwannahavedinnerwithmetonight?" You blurted out, immediately regretting it and clapsing your hands over your mouth. You watched her flinch before turning around.

"I'm sorry honey I didn't hear a word you said"

"Nothing" You picked up your book and ignored her skeptical look.

"You're lying" She pointed at you.

"No I'm not" You pushed the boom further into your face.

We'll make 'em turn their heads

Every place we go.

Rogue put an arm over your shoulders. "Did you just ask me out?" she teased.

"You were not supposed to here that-"

"Don't worry yourself sick about it sugar, I'm free tonight anyway"

So won't you please,

Be my,

"Be my baby~" Rogue's arm reached over the table for yours. Your face became warmer, as her words reached your ears. You lift her hand up and placed it on your face. The diner you took her to wasn't crowded. A booth was available in the corner, for you both to freely talk with each other.

"My one and only baby." When she spoke to you it felt like it wasn't laced with that joking tone she always gave you, but filled with absolute yearning.

Say you'll be my darlin'

Be my baby now,

Oh, oh, oh, oh

I'll make you happy, baby

Just wait and see.

Rogue was dressed up in one of the hoodies she "borrowed" from you. She had arrived at the mansion after being out searching for matching Halloween costumes for the both of you. Hearing her step into your room, you looked up from your desk.

"Hey, sugar! Ah' missed you" She rested her arm on your chair, and hovered over the book you were ready.

"But you left out a few minutes ago." You chuckled, grabbing her cheek to give her a quick kiss before going back to your book.

For every kiss you give me,

Rogue body began heating up. Her once-cold fingertips, regained it's warmth. Your smug look made her even more hot, and of course she wasn't letting that slide. You felt her grab your shirt collar before picking you up out of the chair and planting kisses on your face and lips. Covering you with her Black lipstick.

I'll give you three.

You stared at the ceiling, groggily. With the seasons changing, you would get bedridden. And being sick was the worst thing that could happen, since it felt like you were dying. The light from the hallway seep into your dark room and Rogue peeked in with a bowl.

Oh since the day I saw you

I have been waiting for you.

"Ah' made you some soup hun." All you could do was groan in response. "Aw, my poor baby's sick" Rogue said as she helped lift you up. She raised the spoon to your mouth. You relax as the warm broth satisfies your weakened body.

"Guess we shouldn't have gone out that day," Your froggy throat mustered out. Rogue hummed and laid down next to you.

"But at least we get to spend time together" You leaned more into her neck.

"You're gonna get sick"

She laughed before hugging your waist. "Ah' don't care about that stuff. I'm strong enough to fight a lil' cold anyway"

You know I will adore you

'Til eternity.

So won't you please,

"Be my, be my baby" You sang along as you waltzed around the room with Rogue in hand. The radio played the old song. "Be my little baby"

"You really like this song do you?" She said twirling you around.

My one and only baby

"You sang this to me, remember?" You leaned your forehead onto hers. "Say you'll be my darlin' "

You both stayed like that, swaying slowly while cradling each other. Just basking in the other's presence, singing the next chorus together.

"Be my, be my baby"

Be my baby now,

(My one and only baby)

Whoa-oh-oh-oh~

[oliveofthenight]

I don't know why I bite.

You can follow me on tiktok! 👀

[oliveofthenight]

I'm back on tumblr hehehe,, my utrh jason collection :3c

[oliveofthenight]

*chants* dad bun aaravos, dad bun aaravos

Aaravos giving Leola a bath and instead of a rubber ducky it’s a rubber unicorn she’s playing with in the bath water :)

Prompt given by @herefortheclout19 ! <3

[oliveofthenight]

If you're writing for dp3 then Hiraeth from your prompt list would work SO well since they're all stuck in the void! 🤲🏽😭 We need Gambit fics its a DROUGHT HELP

♧ ⎯ LUCK O’ THE DRAW !

summ. You find the Devil himself at the end of the world. Surprisingly, it isn’t the first time you have. It is, however, the first time it hurts. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader (established relationship. Kinda. Multiverse be funky like 'dat.) w.count. 1.8k a/n. Because Channing deserved that Gambit all those years ago, and I've come to (attempt to) deliver what the the people have asked. Masterlist here.

MOST PEOPLE MEET THE DEVIL at a crossroads, but you meet yours in— quite literally— the back end of fuckin’ nowhere.

It hurt more than it should.

Your heart practically stutters. 

“Remy.”  

Then he turns, and you wait for the flash of recognition in his eyes.

Nothing comes.

And then. And then.

Realisation— logic. The cold, hard truth: This isn’t your Remy LeBeau. Your Remy had died long before, in a Universe that was pruned and erased into nothingness by the TVA. Your Universe. The joke? That the Gambit before you is merely a variant amongst a million. The punchline? He looks exactly the same as the day you’d lost your own. 

“Well, this is awkward. You know off-shoot Hawkeye here?” Wade says, astonished, before his eyes widened. “Ah. Tragic exposition time for the readers, I see.”

Your mind is still reeling. It feels like someone’s just jammed a chisel straight into your gut. “I— Knew a version. Variant, I guess,” you manage to correct yourself, distracted by the skirting trenchcoat and the all too familiar sound of shuffling cards. 

Christ, it’s like he’d stepped right out of your memories.

Remy’s eyebrows shoot up as he studies you. Something in your chest pulls taut, threatening to snap as he speaks. “Apologies, mon ami. But as far as I remember, I ain’t never seen you before.”

“Ouch,” Wade winces, looking between you both. “What a classic trope! This is like, me talking to my past Mom in The Adam Project. Funnily enough, my Mom was you!” He snorts, pointing to Elektra. 

You ignore Wade and offer Remy a wan smile. “I figured. It’s okay.”

…It is obviously, in fact, not okay. 

You avoid him like a plague shortly after the entire commotion; it’s almost comical. Wade had managed to come up with a plan with the rest of the group, albeit a ramshackle, flimsy one, but you’ve hardly been able to pay attention through the bloodrush of shock rocketing in your head, anyway. 

Being around this Remy is stunningly stifling. 

The lilt of his accent, the sharpness in his smile; the flourishing of cards and the faint hum-drum of kinetic charge against his fingertips. 

You’ve seen it all before, once upon a time. You never thought any of it could ever bring you to this bad of a heel. 

It hadn’t taken long before you’d tried drowning yourself at the end of a bottle of brandy Logan had handed you that night. (The whiskey tames his mordance and makes him uncharacteristically civil. He’d said something along the lines of: Y’need this more than I do, bub; look like you’ve just seen a fuckin’ ghost. Shit, I guess you did, huh? )

“Mais la,” comes a huff. “Ain’t that mine?”

A frisson runs through your heart. 

“Sorry,” you say, barely glancing up from the barrel fire tucked outside the team’s hideout. You’re not quite sure you can handle meeting his gaze. “I know I should’ve asked.”

A playful hum. Remy settles on the log adjacent to yours. “S’alright. No harm done, chèr.”

It takes everything in you not to flinch at the endearment. If he’d noticed, well— he’s smart enough not to mention it. He’s curious and it stands to reason; afterall, he’s never quite seen someone look at him as weathered as the way you do. It’s as if the effort itself to do so would be unbearable.

“Y’kno’, I been told I’m easy on the eyes. Not for you, tho’, eh?” Remy shoots you an amicable smile. It’s charming, if a little compelling. “Guessin’ I made bad on you where y’from? You done been boudéin’ since y’first got here.” 

You let out a laugh. It’s the most brittle sound he’s ever heard come from someone. 

“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s… You just make me a lil’ homesick, is all.”

Remy bristles with his deck of cards. A Charlier cut; a One-handed shuffle. It’s a mindless tic; your variant used to do the exact same with the exact same ease.

(Such a miracle, you remember thinking once, that there could be symmetries in the Multiverse. Now you learn, perhaps, it’s far more a curse. Either way, you can hear Remy’s doting voice in a distant memory, dimpling coyly at you: “S’just the luck o’ your draw, chèr.” )

You tamp down the memory before it could sink its jowls any deeper in you. 

“You’re curious,” you say.

He makes a noise of assent. Revolution cut; One-handed shuffle. Repeat.

“I ain’t gon’ axe if y’ain’t wanna answer.” 

It’s kind of him. 

You forgot he was like this.

Witty, yet gentlemanly. The way Remy always has been.

Underneath the blanket of the night, the crackle of the flames limn the planes of his face in flickering, hazy saffron. The look in his eyes is sincere as they meet your red-rimmed gaze. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him, and in this light no less: tall, cutting, strong.

Lively.

The last you’d seen Remy, he’d been drawn out and battered by the war. Not that he’d ever admit it; he always insisted on keeping up his sunny disposition despite the constant losing battles happening. (Sometimes you think you resent him for doing that; it’d felt like he’d taken the light of the world with him when—)

You thank your lucky stars the variant Remy doesn’t make a comment on how you must be staring so openly. It’s a feeble attempt to committing every detail to memory, you suppose, in case you don’t get the chance again.

“In my Universe, a war was waging against mutants.” Your nails tinker against the empty bottleneck of the flat whiskey you’d nursed, thinking of how to cut a bloodshed of a story short; to get your point across before you falter and lose your footing.

“There was a mission sanctioned, and during it— a decision had to be made at that moment. So… you chose. Easily.” Your brows pinch tight against your will. The molten burn returns to the back of your eyes. “You saved so many lives the day you died.” 

Something catches in your throat when you realise your mistake, find yourself amending instantly, “He. He died.”

(It had been swift. A small mercy, all things considered. There wasn’t even a need to check for a pulse when you finally managed to reach for him.)

You’re fidgeting, too, with something in your other hand. Remy catches sight of it only now: a card, sitting pinched between your ringed fingers. Nine of Hearts. Its edges are torn and creased across the face, singed an ashen black. 

A proverbial piece of Remy’s heart, carried to the end with you.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a cold rush over his body at the sight. 

“…I’m sorry, chèr,” he offers quietly, inadequate as it is. He hadn’t expected that. 

He can’t imagine how haunting it must be to look at someone you’d shared a lifetime with and be met with a complete stranger instead. 

A living, breathing, ghost.

That unbiddable feeling of longing had always seemed to accompany the sight of him; but now it’s different. Now, there’s a blistering, brutal pain to come with; All-encompassing grief, thick as molasses in your lungs, overturning itself like a phantom from wherever you thought you’d buried it a long time ago. 

The only way to smother it would be to reach out, to hold him like you had once before, and isn’t that an ironic inconvenience? 

“No, no. I’m sorry,” you tell him, sigh coming out as an awkward laugh. A breeze passes and you inhale deep to ground yourself. Press your eyes shut momentarily to will away useless tears. “It must be so weird to hear all of this from me about— well, you, technically.”

“Mais, can’t ‘ave all been a bad memory, tho’, right?”

Right. No. It hadn’t been. There’s something else too. An undercurrent. Beyond the grief, the deep ache in your marrows— you think it’s nostalgia. Hiraeth. More bittersweet than it is painful.

It’s… It’s watching mutant schoolkids teaching him UNO for the first time. It’s the bickering over the beignets for breakfast, or your feet on his lap at the couch in the lounge after dinners with the rest of the X-Men. Lazy banter. Conversations that go everywhere and nowhere.

“Yeah,” you agree, feeling something bloom in your chest you thought long lost. “You taught me everything about your home, too. Down South. Told me about the bayou, the cypress trees. Your Cajun, your ways. We used to play Bourré.”

Talk of home has him ducking into a laugh. Remy had been in the Void far longer than the rest (he figures, at least)— he’s very nearly lost most of his fragmented memories to time by now. “Did I? Oughta’ play a game or two wit’ you.”

You buckle at that. “Ah. You were always the better player.”

Then:

He makes the leap before he runs out of steam. “Was we…?”

His finger darts between the space you two share.

“Oh, no,” you override, sheepishly. “No, we, we were good friends and stayed good friends. I was—” Your breath scurries; a reconsideration. “I was glad with that. You had a Southern belle named Anna Marie. A powerful mutant called Rogue. You two were good for each other.”

You must have given yourself away somewhere, though, the way Remy is reading you with a pinned gaze. It’s the same, levelled look you’ve seen before— the kind he gets in a game of cards. 

Something discerning eclipses in his eyes.

He’d gotten the measure of you in an instant. 

“Gambit musta’ been blind blind not t’see you.”

Ah.

You smile. It’s windswept. Resigned. “Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? My Gambit’s gone. No matter how much I wish I can see him again.”

Remy’s eyes dart to your hands.

“Y’kno’, chèr,” he begins, something spirited in his tone. “In the world of cards, each a’ these and they suits hold a meanin’.”

He flourishes his deck, hypnotisingly smooth with every elegant cut, fan and spring. Every shuffle cascades as smooth as liquid in the sleight of his hands.

“Some of my folks back in New Orleans I remember, they learned me to read ‘em. Now, outta the whole deck? What you got there; the Nine of Hearts is also called the Wish card.”

The small laugh that punches out of you is bell-like. “Really?” 

It’s warm. Bright. Musical to his ears. It washes over him, and he can’t help but hang on to the peal. He wanted to hear it again. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Remy clicks his tongue as he shoots you a sunny look. “Would never lie t’you, chèr.”

The cracks in your soul don’t disappear, but they surely lighten as you look gently at him. “Huh. Well, I guess I got my wish, didn’t I?” 

He chuckles. 

“Mais, I ain’t your Gambit but—” 

He leans. Reaches out behind your ear with an empty palm, playfully revealing a gilded card from seemingly thin air with a sharp flick of his wrist:

Another Nine of Hearts. His. He hands it over to you, by way of meaning—  I’m here, now.

New beginnings.

You take the card with a smile.

[oliveofthenight]

Nosy Neighbours ; Gambit x Reader

summary: PART TWO TO TACO TUESDAY! Reader wakes up after a night of debauchery.... and continues it. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.2K | smut with very little plot, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjobs, eating out, no use of y/n, a sprinkling of angst at the end because things are developing for reader.

a/n: Listen, listen. I am blown away by the love on my first Remy fic, and the fact that you guys wanted a part two made my day. Thank you so much for all the praise and I hope this one lives up to the hype as well! part 3....? peut être... - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @atomicfoxx!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Sunlight filters in through the crack in your curtains, warming a stripe across your thigh and stomach. You squeeze your lids shut tighter and turn your head away from the window, trying to get away from the glaring brightness. A grogginess lingers heavy in your system, but despite that, your body is giving you all the internal signals that it's time to wake up. You stretch deeply, muscles quivering as you flay your limbs out on the bed.

You hadn't gotten that drunk. At least, you didn't think you had. You don't remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember the dreams you had. They were lusty, lewd and lascivious, and every other adjective to describe naughty; your brain had conjured up the filthiest dreams you'd had since... well, ever. And they were all with the Cajun guy you'd met at Wade's. Remy. You remembered his name because you'd said it at least a dozen times in your dream. 

Still half asleep, you flop over, throwing your arm and leg over onto the mattress. Your sheets are pulled down on one side, oddly, but you assume you just tried kicking them off or burritoing yourself in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sniff and an unexpected sweet, warm fragrance fills your nostrils. Breakfast? You roll over again, and sit bolt upright to look down the hall. You suck in a breath and hold it, listening intently to the sounds coming from your kitchen; the scrape of metal against cast iron and a distinct sizzling sound. 

“What the hell?” You whisper, scooting yourself to the edge of the mattress. 

As you get up off the bed, you pull the sheet with you, wrapping it around your naked body, which honestly, was odd - you never slept nude – always in an oversized shirt. Your muscles seem to shake as you walk, and ache pings somewhere in the area of your hip flexors as you pad down the hall, barefoot. When you get to the kitchen, there’s a visual in front of you that causes you to come to a screeching halt.

Had it really not been a dream? 

You nearly have to pick your jaw up off of the floor. He – Remy – stands in your kitchen, over your stove, in nothing but his purple briefs and your polka dotted apron, which hasn't been tied and hangs from his muscular neck.

As he tends to the bacon sizzling in the pan, he sees you in his peripheral, and turns his head slightly, a bright but relaxed smile on his face — the look of it tickles something in your core. You hum quietly.

"Mornin', cher." 

What you want to say is holy shit but you instead mutter out an inquisitive and unsure: "Uhhh, morning...?" 

Even though you’ve seen him naked before, you’re still flabbergasted by the visual. You swallow, and let your eyes fall down the length of his body; tan skin pulled taut over sculpted muscles. He's just as delicious now as he was in your dreams. Maybe even moreso, with the lingering cuddle of sleep, his hair mussed, and the sunlight beaming in from the small window over the sink, kissing his skin in a yellow haze. 

"Hungry, mon ami?"

"Starved, actually." You blink away from his half-naked form and up to his face. "I'm so sorry, am I still asleep or did we....?" 

Remy chuckles and flips the bacon. "We sho’ did. I ain’t remember the last time I had it like ‘dat." 

You take a breath, and think back. It doesn’t take long to differentiate between dreams and reality as it all comes rushing back, playing out in your mind like a dirty movie. 

The way he held you close to his chest, the way his hands explored your body, fingertips kissing your flesh... the way his thick cock felt as it filled you, pleasure coursing through your body in ways that you’d never experienced before. The way he spoke, the way you said — moaned — his name. The way you nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder after you both had cum, the way he’d stroked your hair as you fell asleep… 

You swallow and blink again, bringing yourself back to reality. Remy is plating the bacon and walks it over to your small kitchen table. He gestures with a nod of his head and you walk over, plopping down into the seat, which squeaks as you do. Tucking the sheets underneath your armpits, you reach forward and pluck a single piece from the plate; it's warm and sticky, and tastes like maple syrup. You hum happily as you chew, and Remy takes a piece for himself as he sits down in the chair across from you. 

"Remy," you coo. It sounds far more wanton than you intend, almost a moan. Judging by his reaction, it sounds familiar — like the way you were whining his name last night as he hammered into you. 

"Hoo, don't start 'dat again or we gon' be havin' a repeat of last night." 

You swallow the mouthful of bacon and reach for another strip. He’s a good cook on top of everything, and made the bacon just the way you liked it. Great. 

“Listen, I… I’m not usually like… that. I don’t hook up with random guys or anything.” 

“Is ‘dat what ‘dat was?” He asks, a taunting tone in his voice. There’s something behind it, something warm and inviting, but you shake the thought off. 

“Wasn’t it? Isn’t that what that’s… classified as? I’m…”

He interjected, pushing the plate towards you. “Well, I dunno’, cher. You fell asleep in my arms… and I’m still here.”

You munch on another slice of bacon as you grapple with the fact that maybe it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Your eyes glaze over, staring at nothing in particular as you consider a couple of things. 

First, was the fact that you’d never been one for one night stands. They were frivolous, and usually ended in embarrassment or heartbreak. Neither of which had happened here. He had a glaring point; he had stayed, and apparently, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. Another something that you never did. 

Second, was the fact that you’d also never really been one for the whole fate, destiny, or soulmate thing. That was cringy, and not something you’d ever entertained, because why would you? Save for a few meaningless relationships in college, you’d been alone and liked it that way. Less to deal with, less to have to clean up at the end of the day. You weren’t actively looking for a relationship, but Remy had just been there. Wasn’t that how fate worked? You furrowed your brows.

Third, was the undeniable fact that something – and you didn’t know what – but something about Remy had been written deep within the confines of your heart. The magnetic pull that you’d felt towards him last night still lingered heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to push yourself against him and feel his body against yours. 

Lust at first sight. That’s got to be what it is, you decide. You’re in lust with him.

But why not test it again…. Just to be sure. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, having been sent the signals that you plan to pursue him. Again. 

The wanton voice returns as you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the kitchen table. “Maybe we should… do it again… for good measure. Remy…”

"Chere, what did Remy say about usin' ‘dat voice...?"

"What if that's what I want?"

Remy's chewing slows and his eyes lift to yours. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile as he stands up, stretching forward to meet your mouth. Your lips barely graze each other, before – 

As if on cue, someone knocks at the door, the sound echoing in your ears. Shit. You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting towards the door. 

“I’ll get it.” 

Begrudgingly, you move away from him, kick the sheet out behind you so you don’t trip on it, and hurry to the door, unlatching it.

"Wade," you breathe as you throw open the door, almost exasperated. 

Wade pauses for a beat, assessing your appearance. "Oooh, good morning, sunshine. Looks like someone celebrated Taco Tuesday with some extra Cajun seasoning."

You heave a sigh; half out of annoyance and half out of embarrassment, because the reality was, you hadn't looked in the mirror this morning, so your appearance was a mystery. You look down at your sheet-clad body, and pull it tighter around you, as if that's giving back any of your modesty.

Wade leans on the doorframe, grinning like an absolute idiot. Lips pursed, he wiggles his eyebrows (or lack thereof) at you and waits for you to say something. Confess something. He's waiting for the juicy details, and you aren't delivering. 

"Speak, Lassie! Tell us what happened!" 

You huff. "What do you want, Wade?" 

"So hostile. Actually, like State Farm, I was just being a good neighbour. Checking on you and the Cajun Sensation since you two never came ba - oh fuck me is he in his underwear? What in the Magic Mike is happening here?" He peeks over your shoulder, spotting the half-naked Gambit behind you. 

"Wade!" You try to lean into his line of sight, preventing him from looking any further. "Look, I hardly know you, I'm not about to divulge my sex life to you-" 

"Woah, TMI, princess. But thanks for the confirmation!"

"What!? No, that's not what I meant! I'm just..." 

"Sure, pumpkin. It's okay, Disney gave it an R-rating for a reason."

"What are you talking about?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Nothing." You snap, obviously frustrated. "Look, I'm fine. Everything is fine, we just --" 

Remy's voice comes from behind you, fast approaching. "Cher? Everythin' alright?" 

You cast your glance behind you briefly – he’s ditched the apron, and is now in nothing but those tight fitting briefs that leave little to the imagination. God, he's so attentive. He’s already acting like a boyfriend, a thought that turns your guts to butterflies. 

Wade preens, clearly amused. "Oohh, well fuck me sideways. It was that kind of night, huh? Real x reader type plot. Cute. Have you said I love you yet? Or is that chapter three?" 

You bristle, absolutely appalled at the question. Behind you, Remy opens the door further and  raises one arm over his head, leaning it on the wood of the interior frame. He sees Wade and grins brightly, a twist to his lips, almost like he knows what’s happening.

“Mornin’, mon petit rouge.” (My little red)

“Oooh, I felt a tingle with that one.” 

Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Starting with his bare bicep, which was now on full display, Wade's eyes trail down the length of Remy's body, lingering far too long at his groin before snapping back up to his face. 

"Jesus fuck, someone needs to put Agent Tequila on ice again. I thought it was Texas where everything is bigger–"

You feel your cheeks get hot and your eyes widen. “CHRIST, Wade!" 

“Oh please, drop the Sandra Dee act, pookie. You two fucked nasty and everyone knows it. At least the whole floor.” 

Behind you, Remy laughs low. You can feel his gaze on you, tunneling into you, almost as if he’s waiting for you to confirm or deny. The decision weighs heavy on your shoulders, and finally, you blurt out an answer.

“Okay, so we did. Happy now?” 

Wade’s shoulders drop and he heaves an over dramatic sigh. “Hallelujah. There, doesn’t honesty feel good?” 

Remy leans forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Not as good as what I did to you last night, huh cher?” 

“Heard that.” Wade barks. 

Your entire face feels hot, and the blush is spreading down your neck the longer this goes on. 

Remy’s hand comes forward to take a fistful of your ass, squeezing firmly before giving it a determinate smack and heading back to the table. He’s apparently ascertained that the situation is safe; Wade may be a character but he means no harm. You stiffen at the feeling, fighting against the betrayal of your body. Wade arches a brow, his eyes darting to the very subtle way that your hips pitch forward stiffly. 

“Anyway, this isn’t a threesome — could be, but isn’t — so I’m going back home. I have a big… wet… chimichanga waiting for me. Toodles.”

You’re relieved he ends the conversation before you have to; you aren’t quite sure what might’ve come out of your mouth had he stayed any longer and as an afterthought, you don’t want to create hostility with your next door neighbour. You shut your door, throwing the deadbolt into place. 

You march back to the table with an apparent chip on your shoulder over the interaction with Wade – which all things considered, wasn’t that bad, but you’re still worked up. Your muscles are tense with frustration, which you don't notice until Remy's large hands are sliding up the sides of your arms. He eventually gets to your shoulders, which he pinches and massages between his fingers, forcing them back into a more relaxed state. You let out a sigh, and buck your hips back slightly. His groin is pressed up against the ample curve of your ass, your bodies fitting together like a erotic puzzle piece.

“What’re you all mad  for, cher? C’mon now…” 

“Who does he think he is? Making me confess that… and I’m a grown wo—“

“You was pretty loud last night.” He interjects, that mischievous smirk on his lips. 

You spin around in his grasp and cross your arms, shooting him a disapproving look. “Whose side are you on here?”  

He's unphased by your anger, and instead, brings his hands up to your cheeks, pulling them forward until your head gives way, and your lips smash against his.

At this, you let out a mewl of faux discomfort, and Remy smirks against your lips. He shakes his head softly, and pulls you closer at the waist. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and looks down at your sheet-clad figure. While it is a tantalizing sight -- the way the sheet drapes over your figure, conforming to the curve of your breasts, peaking over your semi-hard nipples -- he wants to see your body again. It's been hours, and he's craving it again.

“Yours.” His voice is so sure, so low and so close. 

Well… his hands are definitely on your sides. They roam between your waist and your hips for a few moments before he makes a fist with one of them, the gray fabric bunching between his fingers. 

“Who you bein’ modest for, huh? You don’t need ‘dis. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” 

“I… I don’t know…” you whisper, falling into the trap of his eyes again. When he looks at you, really looks at you, you feel like you’re standing at the edge of a building, but going nowhere, because his big, brawny arms are wrapped around you tight. You’ve never felt safer. Uh-oh. That’s not good. 

As he drags his fist down the front of your body, the sheet pulls free of your arms, the fabric grazing your nipples. The sensation has them hardening, and Remy’s hand replaces the sheet, running his thumb over one of them, while cupping the fullness of your breast with the rest of his hand.

He leans forward, kissing from your hairline, over your ear and down the curve of your shoulder, sending convulsive shivers down your spine. The feeling of his lips, pressing into your soft, warm skin… your lids flutter. Your hand reaches down, sliding over his taut muscles, until you find the bulge between his legs. The fabric is warm, heated by the fire of his cock. Your fingers curl around the length of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unconsciously, his hips pitch forward, forcing more pressure on your palm.

"Remy," you breathe, looking down between your bodies. His briefs are tenting now, his cock straining against the fabric. You swallow back the saliva that's gathering in your mouth, literally on the verge of drooling. 'I wanna'... I have to -- need to taste you."

"In Louisiana, 'dey call 'dat having an envie for somethin'."

"Yeah, well I have an envie for your cock right now, so..." 

The surprise is apparent on his face, his brows lifting on his forehead, but it quickly morphs into something more lusty, something more pleased. His dick jumps at your words and he reaches up to grip your chin firmly, looking hard at your mouth. 

Aroused, his accent thickens. "Hoo, you a naughty girl with 'dat mouth. Why don't you show me what else it can do, huh?" 

You nod and sink to your knees, slowly. Once you're situated in front of his groin, you reach up and hook your fingers around the elastic of his waistband, peeling it away from his skin. You lean forward to trace the tip of your tongue along the lines of muscle, that tantalizing V cut. Remy chokes on his breath, as your tongue flattens against the skin. 

You continue baring him, pulling the fabric down his thighs in one quick motion. He helps you by kicking them off to the side, and now stands, completely bare in front of you. His cock bounces heavy in front of your face and you immediately take him into your hand, wasting no time. You wrap one hand around the thick shaft, towards the base, and slide it slowly up towards the tip.  

The heat coming off his cock radiates into your palm and the contrast of the velvet, soft skin, and the aching, rigid center has your mouth (and cunt) drooling. You can't help it, and the way Remy's muscles flex every time you move your hand eggs you on. You begin stroking his cock, slowly, but tightly and his breath hitches in his throat. Tightening his abdominal muscles as he does, Remy bucks his hips, forcing his dick through the circle of your fingers. The precum is spreading now, making the action easy. His head is down, watching you intently. 

“‘Dat’s it, babygirl, just like ‘dat…”

As you drag the head over your bottom lip, glossing it with precum, it twitches in your grip. Extending your tongue, you slap the heavy, fat tip against it a few times, teasing him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue massaging the underside with a flattened tongue.

Remy braces his hands on the counter top above you, his breath rushing out. 

“Hoo, you don’t need no help from Remy, you know what you’re doin’.”

You nod and tighten your grip around the base, leaning your mouth forward to press a single kiss against the tip. Your tongue peeks out, licking a long stripe from the base to the head, and you hear Remy make a sound that can only be described as a growl. You moan against his cock, the sound buzzing against his skin. He bucks again, forcing his cock further into your mouth.

Remy’s grip tightens on the counter top. He’s doing his best to keep it together but the way that your warm, wet mouth has enveloped him, the way that you’re gently sucking as your head bobs, the way your fingers wrap around his cock, gripping him firmly and jerking him off at the base has him in pieces. Aside from last night, he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good – certainly not in the Void, and try as he might, no memories are coming forward from before the Void. All he feels – and sees – is you. You. You, in your naked, morning messy glory. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, his gaze heavy and half-lidded.

You have to open wide to take him all the way in, but you don’t care. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your cunt weeping profusely between your legs, and the head nudges the back of your throat, teasing at your gag reflex. You steady yourself and get back to it. Your nose prods the thatch of coarse hair above his cock as you deep throat him, over and over again. The salty pre-cum glides over your tongue, saturating it with the taste that you’re craving.

“Mon coeur,” He exhales a low, raspy breath, and backs his hips away from your mouth, his dick leaving your lips with a wet shlick. You stare up at him with wide, unknowing eyes, chin covered in saliva. His cock twitches in your grip; the visual is erotic. 

“Believe me when I say ‘dis, cher. I wanna’ make a mess on your face, but Remy ain’t ready for it to be ova’. C’mere.” 

With a gentle tap, he urges you up off your knees, helping you to get to your feet. Just like before, he’s hoisting you up into his arms and you’re ready to be carried off again, but this time your ass comes down atop the counter, and Remy slots himself between your legs.

“Wait-wait…. What are you doing?” 

“Eatin’, mon ami.” He says it so nonchalantly and throws in the ever casual mon ami as though this is something done between friends. His hands cup your kneecaps, urging them apart with careful urgency. He looks at your cunt, and his brows lift slowly, a smirk crawling across his lips. 

“Hoo…” He chuckles, running a single finger along the slit of your cunt. As he pulls back, his finger is coated in your arousal, thick strands of clear stringing from your cunt to the tip of his finger. “You get yourself all worked up while you were down ‘dere? She is glistenin’, cher.”

You’re almost embarrassed. Almost. You hadn’t told him, but giving head was a massive turn-on. Besides that, the mere sight of his massive cock was enough to get your engines running. Something about admitting that to him sounds a little too whorish, so you keep your mouth shut. You whine, leaning your head against the cabinets and buck your hips forward, closer to the edge. 

It’s as though he can tell you’re withholding something from him. 

“Ah-ah, cher…” He brings his face close to yours, licking at your mouth. “Tell Remy what’s on your mind.”

“I… I like giving head… I like giving you head…. I like…”

He nods, encouraging you further. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you roll your eyes to the ceiling. 

“Ugh, okay. You have an amazing cock, and I like having it in every part of me.” You curse yourself for being so honest. 

Now it’s Remy that’s on his knees, and he dives at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue is strong and warm against your clit, flicking upwards against the bundle of nerves. He’s burying his mouth in your folds, lapping at it. Every time his tongue nears your opening, you let out a long, whining moan. 

Pause. Let’s just recap. Just to make sure we’re on the same god damn page. You met this guy at Wade’s…. Fucked him all night long, he made you breakfast and now he’s giving you the most toe-curling head you’ve ever had. And you think, just maybe, you might be falling in love with him. Cool. Okay. 

Your hand snaps to the crown of his head, fingers lacing amongst his hair to hold him to the spot he’s working. His tongue is drilling into your clit, and that’s when you feel the pressure of two fingers, prodding your slick slit. 

“Sweeter ‘den ‘dat maple syrup up on your counter,” he says, practically into your cunt. You look down; his gaze is lust-blown, and lips are glossy, spit-slick and reddened. He presses a few gentle kisses to your clit before his tongue starts swiping at it again, and plunging his fingers deep within your core. Just like before, he knows just how to curl his fingers up into the sensitive spot inside you. You let out a moan, and bump your head against the cabinets again. 

A shudder rips through your body, overwhelmed at the dual stimulation. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently and you can feel the slippery puddle forming on the countertop beneath you. Briefly, you wonder if you’ll just slide off the counter, but really… the only place to go is further into Remy and his mouth. 

Abruptly, you feel the flash of heat between your legs and arch your back, readying yourself for the drop. Your cunt aches, throbs and – Remy suddenly pulls away, his chin shimmering with your arousal. 

“Huh, I didn’t hear anyone say you could be doin’ ‘dat yet, ah?” 

Holy shit. You clench her tight, holding back the wave of an orgasm. Your teeth grind together, legs quivering at the feeling of denial. You were right on the edge, right on the edge of white, hot bliss. 

“Ffffuck,” you whisper. “Fuck. Please….” 

“I said no, cher. Not yet.” There’s a playful lilt in Remy’s voice and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck me then, please…. I need to feel you.”  

He chuckles, and presses a deep kiss to your folds. “You ain’t gonna’ have to ask me twice, ma bichette.” (my little doe)

He slips his fingers out, and inserts them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of them. Your jaw drops. It’s such a casual, but erotic action, and your cunt responds feverishly. She’s got a heartbeat of her own at this point, thrumming between your legs. Leaving you leaking on the countertop, Remy gets to his feet and turns around to the kitchen table. He shoves the plates out of the way, somehow not knocking them onto the floor. 

“C’mere…”

You’re in his arms again, and he’s swinging you around, plopping you down on the kitchen table. Your hands go back behind you, pressing down into the wood apprehensively. 

“I don’t know if this table can support me…. ” 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout ‘dat, cher. It might not, but Remy’s gonna’ be holdin’ you tight. This is just givin’ me a betta’ angle, ‘das all.” 

He wasn’t lying; most of your weight was in his grasp. One arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. You scoot yourself closer to the edge, closer to him, and inhale a deep breath. Remy shuffles forward, his cock leading the way. The red, leaking tip nudges your entrance and he lifts your head to place a kiss against your lips, nibbling softly on the bottom one. He’s so passionate, even amidst the burden of his fiery, seemingly untameable lust. A lover. Fuck… you think. You’re falling into a deep, dark hole that you don’t think you can climb your way out of. 

Remy reaches between your bodies, pushing his cock down slightly, until he feels the sopping wet opening of your cunt. Groaning deeply, he stuffs himself inside, inch by inch until your bodies are flush. He finds a rhythm quickly, bucking his hips against you. As he splits you open, you can’t help but moan loud, louder than last night, his cock filling you, throbbing veins rubbing against your inner walls.

“God, yeah… yeah, fuck me hard…!” You chant, sounding more and more like a porn star with every passing moment.

“Only if you give it t’ me, cher… the way you takin’ this dick, I ain’t gonna’ last long.”

You nod hurriedly, looking deep into his eyes. He growls and pulls his hips all the way back before slamming them back into you – hard. Your jaw drops again, and you find yourself staring at the cabinets, vision going hazy with lust as your orgasm rushes to the surface, claiming your body wholly. The plates that previously hung on now go clattering to the floor, but the sound does little to interrupt you two. Remy’s got his dick so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars, and the sounds that are tumbling from your lips are far louder than the sound of porcelain on tile. 

With a smooth, guttural sound, Remy loses it, too. He fills you, deeply, and what leaks out the sides, he hurriedly pumps it back inside of you until his cock starts to soften, his thrusts languid and spent. 

“I could do this with you all day…” You whisper into his neck, rubbing your nose against the warm, sweaty flesh there. 

“Me too, cher, me too.” He nods, blinking slowly. “But I can’t be doin’ ‘dat… not today.” 

You rear back suddenly, looking him in the eyes. They’ve still got that mischievous glimmer that he seems to always possess, but there’s something behind them. A sort of… coldness, that has your arms falling away from him. 

“You have to leave…” you say softly, suddenly understanding. 

Remy nods, and slips out of you, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. He pushes your hair out of your face, and rubs his thumb along the fullness of your cheek. He disappears then, and your shoulders sink slightly. You stay on the table for a few minutes, your legs hanging limply off the table, just listening to the sounds of him getting dressed; the gentle rustle of clothing, the snap of his elastic waistband as it hugs him.

Finally, you hop off the table, and bend down to retrieve the rumpled pile of sheet. You hold it against your body, not worrying about what’s showing. Like he said before, he’s seen everything. You turn, and spot him – standing tall behind your couch. He reaches for his leather jacket.

He’s attractive, so the sight of him dressed is to be appreciated as much as him undressed, but there’s a pang of sadness in your chest. Your lungs feel tight, and you wring the sheets around your fingers as he smoothes a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly. Again, as though he’s in tune to your emotions, he seems to notice that you’re staring sullenly. 

“Remy be needin’ to deal with some things, cher…” he says, adjusting himself in his jacket. You wonder what it is he has to deal with, where he has to go. It’s none of your business, you’re sure. You want to ask him if he’ll be back, but your gut warns that that sounds too desperate, so instead, you nod once. 

“Thanks,” you start, trying to find the strength in your voice. “I had a really good time. My door is uh, always open.” 

“Good t’ know, cher.” He says. He sounds genuine, but he’s still leaving. Every bone in your body is screaming for him to stay. He makes his way over to you, wordlessly, and wraps his arm around your waist. His lips find yours, and he tips you backwards slightly as he kisses you. The way he tastes you feels like he’s trying to stain his own mouth with your essence, to remember it later. When he breaks off and straightens you back up, you let out a pathetic little cry that you know he hears. You bring your fingers to your mouth, stroking your bottom lip softly. 

And with that, he opens your door, slips out and shuts it behind him, but not before casting one last look at you, standing there in a sheet that he fucked your brains out on. 

To the closed door, you whisper: “I… think I love you.” 

He doesn’t hear it and maybe that’s for the best. 

[oliveofthenight]

You know what they say……..

[oliveofthenight]

pov Kori found out you just liked and didn't reblog art on tumblr.com

[oliveofthenight]

rip Jason Todd you would've loved crane wives - curses

animatic I've been working on for a few weeks now! i have many emotions about him.

[oliveofthenight]

meant to post this yesterday (august 16) for his birthday. oops

[oliveofthenight]

happy birthday to the boys everrrrrr

anyway here are some old sketches and doodles i cant finish bc theyre on my computer 😣😣

[oliveofthenight]

In the middle of the night

TW: Jason x vigilante!reader, fluff, you and jason being sweethearts, Jason being weak on the knees for you, slight curse words, Damian is a cockblocking bitch.

This was what Jason always wanted in life. Peace and quiet. Oh and someone like you of course.

Sitting on the rooftop of a building, after patrol, watching cars and people pass by was Jasons favourite pass time. Just listening to the sound of cars and admiring gothams bright lights.

And his night became so much better when he felt a presence sitting next to him. He didn’t have to turn his head to look who it was. He knew it was you. And when he felt your arms wrapping around his waist he melted right into your embrace.

“Long night?” He let out a sigh at your question and wrapped his own arms around your frame bringing you to sit on his lap, of course after moving back a little, not wanting you to fall down.

He laid his head on the crook of your neck and let out a content sigh after taking a deep breath of your (his) favourite perfume. “Missed you.” He breathed out while tightening his hold on you.

Gripping the hair at the back of his neck you lightly tugged on them so you could finally look at his eyes. Those deep blue eyes that make you fall harder for him every time you see him. “Missed you too jay.” You softly breathed out as you slowly lowered your head so you could finally kiss him.

And as soon as your lips touched he let out a soft sight on your lips, all the tension melting off his shoulders. God he could do this every single second of the day. Breaking off the kiss he almost whined at the way you were looking at him, god he loved you..

Cupping his face with your hands you softly smiled at him. “So pretty my Jay.” You said and softly laid a kiss on his forehead. Jason smiled and he was sure the pupils of his eyes were now transformed to hearts.

He softly pulled you back into him wanting another kiss but before he could do just that his coms made a beeping sound and Damians voice came through. “If you two are done screwing each other, father wants us all at the batcave. Oh and I hope you used protection.” He finished his speech with his little evil giggle.

You looked at Jason in silence not knowing what to say until he opened his mouth.

“You little demon spawn. I swear to fucking god I’m gonna shove your katana so far up your a- .”

{I FREAKING LOVE THIS WHAT}

[oliveofthenight]

Hey, Waiter!

NSFW CONTENT

—you meet jason at one of bruce’s charity galas and you fuck.

—jason todd x f!reader

—2.7k+

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

"Honey, cross your legs."

"Honey, sit up straighter."

"Honey, we're at a gala, not a summer blowout in the Maldives."

These were just a few of the many phrases your mother chirped at you since you arrived at this stupid gala. You didn't even want to go, but your mother preached something about how, "we needed to be a united front since your father was going for reelection as a New York senator" or something like that.

It was stupid. Nobody gives a shit about familial ties; they care about your values, goals, and accolades. But there's no arguing with your mother; she's as stubborn as they come.

So, you'd sit pretty, legs crossed, with a pristine posture, biting your tongue when she says you could be sitting straighter or you could smile more. Granted, it was only a couple of hours, and if it kept your mother from turning the world around you into hell personified, you'd gladly plaster a rictus smile to appease her.

"Oh, there's Bruce!" Your mother quietly says between you and your father. "Let's go say hello," she says, gripping your hand and pulling you out of your chair, gesturing for your father to follow along.

Somewhere along the way, your parents move in front of you, sequestering you behind them. So once you all reach Bruce, he only takes notice of them, issuing a polite welcome and thanks for their attendance. Your mother swivels her head to see you tucked away behind her, bringing her hand out, gesturing for you to come in front.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne," you politely say, sticking your hand out, before introducing yourself. He grasps your hand with only a slight hesitation.

"Pardon my shock. I just haven't seen you since you were two," he confesses. You smile, pulling your hand back before your mother steps next to you and places her hand on your shoulder.

"She's grown quite a lot since then, Bruce. Still a little air-heady, but I'm hopeful the more she ages, the more my personality will rub off on her," she laughs, carefully wiping a piece of loose hair away from your face. You should feel offended, but the way her joke landed so poorly, making Bruce lightly cough the awkwardness away, made you feel pity.

"You know Selina," he says, filling in the silence, gently placing his hand on her waist as she delicately sticks her hand out for your father to shake.

Who wouldn't know Selina Kyle? She was drop-dead gorgeous but as sharp as they came. She was dressed to the nines in a designer black floor-length dress. It must have been Celine or Givenchy, so it was definitely over five thousand dollars, which is just pocket change to a guy like Bruce Wayne.

"Pleasure," she coos, pulling her hand away. Her gaze shifts to your mother, slightly narrowing her eyes. It seems your mother is oblivious to Selina's adversary towards her because she eagerly sticks her hand out, ready for Selina to shake.

"Selina. So good to see you." But, instead of shaking your mother's hand, she crossed her arms over her chest

"Mhm. I wish I could say the same," Selina sharply replied before Bruce put his hand on her shoulder in warning. You gave Selina a small smile, smothering it with your hand. She covered her own with her champagne glass as she took a sip.

"She's joking," Bruce amends, signaling for a waiter going around with glasses of alcohol. "Champagne?" He asks, reaching for two glasses from the waiter before handing them to your parents.

Before any more conversation can occur, a man calls for Bruce. "Bruce," The man says, "When do you want to start?" The man questions. Bruce picks up his arm, turning his wrist to check his watch.

"He said he'd be here by now," Bruce sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. His eyes were scanning around in search of something—rather someone. He does, however, spot Alfred, who he calls over and asks if he'd seen a guy named Jason.

"It was humorous of you to assume Master Todd would abide by your schedule, Master Wayne," Alfred remarks, his face stone-cold. Bruce checks the time on his watch again, then scans the crowd again.

"Just start the silent auction. I suppose Jason will come when he comes," Bruce suspires, clearly agitated. "See you at the auction," he chimes to you and your parents as he sticks his arm out for Selina to take.

"See you," your mother cheerfully says, though you know the cheeriness is just a facade because once Bruce and Selina walk away, your mother instantly drops the smile.

"Can you believe that woman? She was a criminal for God's-sake. She should be thankful that people like us even mingle with her." Your mother scoffs at your father. He hums along, paying relatively no mind to what she is saying.

While she goes on a tangent about how Selina is just using Bruce to get to his billions, you notice a dark figure heading toward the fire escape that you assume leads to the roof. You don't know why, but your brain is fluttering with the idea that you must follow it. So, you do just that.

"I have to use the bathroom," you interrupt, gently touching your mother's hand. You turn your head away from her, not bothering to turn back when she calls your name.

You walk around a corner to see the fire escape latch slightly ajar. Reaching out, you grasp the level and push it out, quickly feeling the chilly Gotham air touch your cheeks.

Once your foot touches the stone with a 'clack' from your heels, you see the dark figure lying down, smoke clouding around him. He glances over at you, taking a drag of his cigarette and letting out a cloud of smoke.

"Didn't think pretty girls would come up here." This mystery guy's voice is deep, and judging by his figure, you can tell he's lanky.

"You know the latch and all."

"Are you calling me incompetent?" You cock a brow, hand on your hip with your purse in hand.

"No, I'm callin' you pretty," he says casually, taking another drag of his cigarette, not sparing you another glance. You hate to admit it, but this guy is pretty smooth, but you wouldn't tell him that.

"Who are you?" You ask, taking a few steps toward him and only turning your head to look at the night sky, which is aglow with billions of little stars. You see all the high-rise buildings, light illuminating the dark streets. It's a shame Gotham is so corrupt and unlawful.

"I should be askin' you that, seeing as you’re on my roof," he tentatively says. You can just feel the smugness in his tone, making you roll your eyes.

"You're a Wayne?" You question, arms crossed, slowly stepping closer to him.

"Somethin' like that I guess," he shrugs, which makes you let out a light laugh.

"You guess? You don't know your own family lineage?" You joke, moving to sit not completely next to him but close enough that you could feel the smoke in your nose. You could also see the outline of his face—strong jaw, pretty eyes, fluttery lashes, and nice lips.

"Why are you so curious?" He glances at you with a sly smirk on his lips. You look at him, then at the cigarette in between his fingers.

"You know smoking kills," you inform, pointing towards the cigarette. He lays his head back on the roof, his lips curving into a smirk before retaking another drag.

"You know what else kills? Poking your head around where you don't belong," he puffs out the smoke as he speaks. You turn your head away from him, trying to conceal your smile. This guy is something else, you think.

"Jason," he adds.

Your eyes widen, and your lips quirk. "Ah, you're Jason." You drag out the 'you're,' getting Jason to turn his head towards you. An inquisitive look is plastered on his face.

"So you've heard of me?" He cockily says.

"I know enough about you to know you're flakey," you raise a brow. He lets out a soft laugh.

"Mr. Wayne was looking for you, and so was everyone else," you clarify.

"Oh, please don't tell on me," he fake pleads, clearly being sarcastic. "Especially to Mr. Wayne."

You roll your eyes, though your lips threaten to smile. "I'm sensing some sarcasm."

"Well, aren't you just a modern-day Poirot.”

You widen your eyes, raising your hands. "Wait, wait. You read classic literature?" You gawk, hand coming to your chest.

"I dabble," he shrugs nonchalantly. You eye him, lip quirking.

"Well, aren't you just full of surprises?" You say, holding your two fingers out, gesturing to his cigarette. "Let me take a puff," you insist.

"Ah, ah," he tuts. "What happened to 'smoking kills?'" He raises a brow, taking a puff of the cigarette himself.

"Sue me, but I'm curious," you shrug. He eyes you, wondering if you're joking. He gives you his cigarette anyway. You take a long drag, feeling the smoke cloud your lungs.

"Easy, easy," Jason warns. "Don't take too much, or you'll—" Before he can finish, you start violently coughing, feeling your eyes well up with tears. "Cough," he finishes, taking the cigarette from your hand as you go to cover your mouth.

"You like this shit?" You say through harsh coughs.

"You get used to it," he answers, not paying attention to the question. He's more concerned about you. "You okay?" His tone isn't condescending—it carries empathy.

"Ya, ya. Took too much," you shyly smile, hiccuping a little, turning your head to look directly at him. He laughs lowly. His laugh is deep and gravelly but still sounds kind. You gulp. God, were you getting turned on by a laugh?

You were facing him head-on, and even in the shitty lighting, you could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down and the way his jaw clenched. Your eyes slowly drift down his face, falling on his lips. He had stuck his tongue on his lips to wet them, giving them a glistening sheen.

"Are you thinkin' about me?" His voice is dry. You sharply move your eyes to bore into his, sticking your tongue out to wet the seam of your own lips.

"And what if I am?" You challenge. Suddenly, you can feel your own heartbeat, and your hands are clammy. You can see the gears in his brain working, trying to figure you out.

"Well, are you?" He asks roughly, putting his cigarette out on the roof. You search his eyes, gently biting your lip. His eyes follow you the whole time.

"Guess," you quipped. You hadn't realized you had scooted closer to him, close enough to where he could if he wanted to touch you. This little banter you guys had was getting you wetter by the minute. It was odd. You'd never even met this guy, but you would let him kiss you, maybe even more.

His gaze drifts from your eyes to your lips. "If I were to put my hand under your dress, what would I find?" He gruffly says. Your eyes drift back to his lips, and you bite your own as your chest rises and falls rapidly.

"What would I find?" He urges a little more assertively this time. You rapidly avert your eyes back to him, taking note of the blue hue in his eyes, which has seemingly grown darker.

"Maybe you should find out, Jason," you encourage. Once you give him the go, he's quick to move closer, crushing his lips to yours roughly. It was unlike anything you've ever felt before—like a ton of dynamite just erupted in you, leaving you feeling a buzz on your skin.

You reached up to grab the back of his neck, pushing him further on your lips. He groans as you sink one of your hands into his hair, gripping your waist in his hands and pulling you so you straddle his lap.

"Do you hook up with every girl you just meet?" You murmur into his lips, slipping your tongue between the seam of his moist lips.

"You hook up with every guy you just meet?" He imitates, in between breaths, gripping your waist tighter as you tug on the roots of his hair harder.

"Touché," you whisper, breathing labored as he presses deep kisses down your neck. He works his way down until he is kissing the top of your breast. Slowly, he brings his hands up to slip the strap of your dress down, exposing your breasts.

He kisses a straight line down the top of your breast to your sensitive nipple. His mouth is hot on your skin, especially in a place so sensitive. You moan as his mouth fully encompasses your nipple, lightly sucking, sending goosebumps down your skin.

You reach for his tie, grab it with your hand, hurriedly untie it, and throw it to the side before carefully undoing the few buttons on his jacket.

"It's a shame no one got to see your suit," you murmur as Jason returns his lips to yours, pressing feverish kisses into them before slipping his tongue into your mouth.

"Ya? Why's that?" He mumbles against your lips, as his hands fumble with his zipper trying to pull it down. You slid the jacket off of Jason's shoulder.

"Because you look fucking hot," you say, looking into his eyes, noticing the way his pupils dilate, hunger written all over his face. He quickly slips his slacks down, along with his boxers. Fumbling with the pocket of his jacket, he grabs a condom.

"Really?" You scowl, as he rips open the gold packaging with his teeth, slipping it on himself.

"What? Don't give me that look," he urges, pooling your dress up around your waist, sliding your panties to the side, as he guides the head of his cock inside your glistening cunt.

"Don't act like it didn't come in handy," he appeals as his cock slips inside you easily. You both groan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.

"Fuck, you were wet. Just slipped right in," he grits as you rock yourself against him, desperate for more friction. His hand is in your hair, pushing your face towards his to share messy, hot kisses as his other hand helps you set a pleasurable pace.

You throw your head back as he thrusts into you, eliciting a moan from you. "Fuck, Jason," you mewl as you feel his lips back on your breast, sucking and nipping with his teeth. Your hands grip tighter in his hair, hoping this will give you some kind of stability.

"Feels so good. So fuckin' good," Jason groans as he feels you clamp around him. You press your lips back to his, aching to feel the vibrations of his groans against your face. He grips the sides of your face to deepen the kiss, his teeth clashing with your own.

You continue going up and down on his cock, occasionally he thrusts himself into you to satisfy his urges and lets you grind against him to chase your own high. He takes your nipple into his mouth one last time before you moan so loud you're surprised the Gotham City Police isn't called, and Jason is spewing curses and groans as you both come.

Your bodies are both buzzing and twitching. Chests heaving so heavily you're suprised your hearts didn't just bust straight out of your chests. Jason pulls out once you aren't panting as hard, guiding you off his cock as you fix your dress. He slips the condom off, groaning at the touch, before tying it at the end. Then, he slips his jacket back on along with his slacks.

You haphazardly stand, holding onto Jason's shoulder to keep your balance. Once you gain stability, you awkwardly cough out a bye, unsure on how to make this any less weird and head back towards the fire escape. You only turn when you hear him say something. Turning on your heels, you look back at him, still in the same spot.

"I, uh, never caught your name?" He yells, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

"Didn't throw it, Jason," you shout back, making a lopsided smile grow on his face. Then, turning to go back through the fire escape, you catch a smile spread across your face as well.

Maybe being forced to attend one of Bruce Wayne's galas wasn't so bad.

a/n: jason todd = thought daughter

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[oliveofthenight]

— read you like a book

sdv!harvey x f!reader

rated e - 5k

Tags: gentledom/service!dom harvey, mutual pining/ yearning, mention of alcohol, flirting, kissing, begging, teasing, body worship, oral sex, vaginal fingering, implied squirting, multiple orgasms

A/N: had the thought that Harvey would know just how to take care of you, and wanted to explore that idea (and still deep in my Harvey-is-a-dirty-talker era)

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” Harvey rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

“I was thinking-,” A finger slips beneath the band, testing the elastic. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

(Or - Harvey overhears about your past lackluster experiences, and can’t help wanting to lend a hand)

There’s the clack of pool balls colliding in your corner of the Stardrop Saloon. The jaunty piano music muted, your fingers wrapping around a sweat-dewed glass.

A late-night Friday evening, the conversation already turning debauched as your off-handed remark of feeling frustrated was quickly misinterpreted and took another turn. Spiraling away from you, with their overlapping ideas.

Your nose crinkling with a suggestion to use the community board, one that has them bent-over with laughter - you could only imagine the shock at seeing such a message.

Help Wanted: Farmer looking to get ploughed. Used to getting a little dirty. If interested, please call…

“Could use an app. Been a while, but I used to do that.” Shane’s wiggles his phone at you, keying in the website for FerngillFlings. Flashing the front page at you, all while you try to ignore the clench of jealousy that flares to life in your stomach.

Sam leans over you, squinting at the screen, “You can’t tell me that works. Your matches come all the way out here?”

“Sure do.” Shane’s shoulder lifts in a shrug, from where his arm rests on the couch behind you. “Haven’t heard any complaints.”

The double-innuendo isn’t missed, your tongue poking into your cheek as your head shakes in exasperation.

“Haven’t heard, or haven’t listened?” Abigail shoots back with a smirk, and he rolls his eyes at her in response.

“Any matches from here?” You can’t help but ask, glancing sideways at him in curiosity.

He slumps a little further in his seat, knee knocking against yours, “Wouldn’t you like to know, farm girl?”

Thick fingers curl around the can before it lifts it to his lips, hiding his own smirk as you stiffen beside him.

Shane infuriated you. Always teasing, never answering a question directly. Deflecting a sly comment with a dry one of his own, until you weren’t sure where you stood with him.

You’d given up a while ago.

Your heart now quite taken with another.

“I think we’d all like to know.” Abigail chimes in, and you send a grin her way.

“I thought we were still talking about Miss Grange Queen?”

Your look turns apologetic - you know Pierre has been prepping all week as well - but she brushes it off, “I don’t care. Honestly, I hope you win this year. But he is right…”

A chipped polished nail taps her lip, before she fixes you with a look of concern, “When was the last time you got laid?”

The gulping swallow of your drink goes down wrong, making you splutter. A solid hand thumps you on the back, as your palm swipes across your mouth.

“What?” You manage, through watery eyes.

“Okay, we definitely gotta know.” The hand still rests against you, pinned against the plush cushion of the couch. Fingers tapping expectantly between your shoulders.

Yoba almighty.

You know they won’t back down. Even Sam lingers, eyebrows raised as his hip rests against the edge of the pool table.

“It’s been… a while.” You hedge, glancing around the room before you can answer. Voice lowering - not worried about the bar, it’s too far away.

More concerned about the booth that sits just across the room. Occupied when you arrived - your gaze flicking to Elliot often as he had sat alone, waiting.

Knowing who would be coming - a little flip in your stomach with Harvey arrived late, red-cheeked from the run, the novel pinched between his fingers.

You thought it was cute. Their little weekly book club. On another night you would have hoped to eavesdrop - figure out what the choice was for this month.

“You talking weeks? Months?” Sam asks, ignoring the glare from Sebastian, the hip check that follows - indicating his turn.

“Pre-farm,” Your head shakes, “Two years, maybe?”

“Years?” Abigail screeches, as your eyes widen - a hand coming to press unconsciously against a burning cheek.

Unable to help the sidelong look at the table across the way. The heat in your cheek rising to your ears when your eyes meet hazel ones, before you’re dropping your gaze.

“It’s not worth it,” You try to rein them in, all but pleading, “It’s not like it’s all that satisfying either, you know?”

“You mean you don’t…?” Abigail suggests - looking at you dubiously, and even Sebastian is turning to give you a pitying look.

“I mean… sometimes, I guess?” Your shoulder lifts, and then drops, “It’s not a big deal.”

You could get there yourself just fine. Have certainly managed, with your current dry spell. Before, you sometimes would afterwards - alone - easing the unresolved pleasure that licks in your belly.

But you’re sure it wasn’t the same as having someone there with you. Having their focus so solely on you.

It’s not something you’re about to explain. This has gotten too deep. You’re used to the tales of Shane’s old one night stands. The occasional complexities that come from Sam and Abigail both dating the same person, but these talks rarely focus on you.

“What kind of guys are you fucking?” Shane asks bluntly, making you gasp.

“Normal guys.” You hiss, “Besides, it’s probably just me.”

Taking a sip of your drink then to deflect, the sharp flavor making you cough.

“You don’t starfish, do you?” Sam pipes up, helpfully.

It has you almost choking again.

Shane smirks, “Maybe it is you, Farm Girl. Should have someone here take a look-”

You miss the end of his comment with the sudden, loud scrape of wood. Heads turning to where Harvey half-stands, his chair pushed back. Staring your way, with lips parted and brow furrowed.

“You got something to say, Doc?” Shane scoffs, his voice a little too loud.

Harvey blinks, and reddens. Coming back to himself, a sharp click of teeth as they close - swiping his half-full glass from the table.

Mumbling something about needing a refill - before his head is dipping, and he makes towards the bar.

Your eyes follow him, before your hand is scrubbing over your face - the heels pressing into your eye sockets. And finally, mercifully, the subject is changed, a collective groan as Sam accidently knocks two stripes in the corner pockets.

But even as the evening fades - you can’t quite shake Harvey’s expression from your mind.

The air is cool, hinting at the coming frost. Your jacket shrugged on as you step outside, before plunking down on the cobblestone path outside of the Stardrop.

It’s dark, late. The scattered streetlights outside offering pockets of the town, the rest cast in hazy shadow.

There’s a flare of light to your side. Sebastian sneaking out for his smoke break, now that Robyn and Demetrius have called it a night. You sometimes go with him, keeping silent company.

Content to let your legs dangle, to listen to the croak and groan of the frogs near the river. To let your mind wander.

Tonight though, it’s still so singularly focused.

You don’t feel embarrassed about what you said, only that he overheard it. Harvey had so much of his life together - surely a man who was there to discuss books and drink wine would not want to spent his evening listening to the lewd gossip of folks younger than him.

What if he took your words to heart, and thought you were not interested? What if he thought you weren’t good? A sigh to yourself then, as you pull yourself together with a reminder. Not that he thinks anything of you.

But… you admit that you had hoped.

It’s only now that you hear voices just down the path, two friends bidding goodbye. That shade of green you’ve come to associate with Harvey has your ears pricking up - catching where they linger, near the park benches.

Bravery steeling itself, in your belly.

“I’m gonna head out,” You hear yourself saying, as you push to your feet, “I’ll catch up with you guys tomorrow.”

“You sure?” Sebastian asks, with a smoky exhale.

“Yeah.” It’s distracted. Giving him a wave, just as you skirt around the door that opens behind you.

Missing the pair of eyes that follow you as you leave.

Too far out of earshot to hear the murmured words, as he exhales another held drag from his cigarette, “You’re missing your chance, man.”

And then the answer, growled out as Shane’s hands shove deep into the pockets of his well-worn jacket.

“Never had one.”

“Harvey!” You call out, as he splits from his companion.

Missing how Elliot settles amongst the trio of benches, his book cracking open to finish the chapter under the streetlight.

Harvey lingers, in the middle of the cobblestone path. His expression almost wary, your explanation coming in a rush.

“I am sorry if we made you uncomfortable.” Your hands clasp together, fingers twisting, “We should’ve been more considerate. You and Elliot were there first.”

His expression clears at that, a slight mark between his eyebrows. He’s tall, you’re realizing. Not that you didn’t know, not that you haven’t stood next to him on occasion.

But your heart had never quite pounded like this, never so acutely aware of your proximity - too used to the barrier of the counter in his office.

“No, uh, not at all. I wasn’t uncomfortable.” Harvey clarifies, his voice soft, “I certainly didnt mean to try to interrupt. I’m afraid that was rude of me.”

His answer sends your mind careening into overdrive. Not quite taking his half-hearted excuse earlier, but too wrapped up in your embarrassment to truly process it.

That has you thinking - realizing that he had some sort of intention. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, unable to help but wonder.

“Can I ask you something?” Your eyes search his, voice quiet in the night, “You don’t have to answer.”

The slight curve of his lips fall, an almost uneasy look passing his features - though he does not deny you, “If you’d like.”

“What were you going to say?” You ask him “Back in the bar. You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Your words hang, for a moment. And then silence, enveloped by the soft sounds of the night.

“Oh.” He hedges, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “It’s, ah… it’s just a shame.”

Your eyebrows lift, worry flooding through you as you wonder what he means.

“That you haven’t had a more… positive experience.” He finishes lamely.

The worry transforms, turning into a heated curiosity.

“Why would it be a shame?”

The shade of pink deepens across his cheeks, hidden in the shadows. A finger unconsciously hooking around his collar and tugging.

“Because there’s no reason satisfaction can’t be mutually inclusive,” He manages, “From uh, the point of view of a medical professional.”

Your lips press together to hide your laugh, charmed by his careful answer, “How I wish that were true.”

And that had him fixing on you, catching you in the brunt of his gaze, “It could be. Maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

It makes your breath catch. That hope flaring to life again. Reading into his meaning, daring yourself to ask, “Is that right? You know anyone around here?”

Only to watch the way his face goes carefully blank - his words slow, “I’m sure… I’m sure you don’t need my help to find out.”

It’s hard not to feel disappointed. Hoping that there was an offer, woven into his words. The bit you had clung to leaves you, with the next exhale of your breath.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Your smile is small. Deflecting with a joke, because it’s all you know, “I don’t starfish, by the way. If you heard that part.”

He huffs a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I didn’t think you did.”

The look he gives you is at odds with his hesitance in answering. A soft, amused smile that makes your heart flip.

Yoba, you have it bad.

“Goodnight, Harvey.” You smile back - intent on ending the night before you make it worse, “And, thank you.”

His answer echos yours, his feet firmly rooted as you disappear into the night. Silence lingering under the soft glow of the street lamp, as his mind races.

“If you were looking for an invitation, old friend,” An amused voice comes from the benches - where Elliot still sits, his book long forgotten.

“That was it.”

The television blares as you stretch out on the couch - intent on unwinding a bit further, after a long day. Immediately stripping down to your loungewear as soon as you stepped in the door, cracking a window to let in the autumn air.

Your head rests on a pillow, an old quilt pulled haphazardly around your hips as you watch a rerun of The Queen of Sauce - something that fortunately required little attention.

Because your mind is occupied elsewhere, thinking back to the square with both chagrin and disappointment. Hoping that maybe Harvey had drank more wine than you thought - that maybe he wouldn’t remember how you all but threw yourself at him.

Gentleman that he is, he probably just wouldn’t bring it up in the first place. You don’t know if that’s more preferable, or less - perhaps you owe him yet another apology.

A timid knock at the door draws your attention, your feet silent as you slip from the couch. You really should move it - giving yourself a view of the small, narrow porch. Maybe installing another light outside.

But this was Pelican Town, you remind yourself - you’re not in the big city anymore. It was probably Abigail, not wanting to head home yet.

For now, you move to the door, pausing to shrug on the worn, plaid barn coat that hangs by the door, buttoning it in an last-minute attempt at modesty.

Your hand on the frame of the door as you crack the front door open, close enough to grab the old wooden bat you have tucked next to the rickety side table.

Eyes going wide when you realize who it is.

Harvey. His face half-turned away, looking like he’s second-guessing himself from your delay - half-way ready to book it down the steps that lead to the packed dirt road.

“Hi again,” You nudge the door open wider, leaning against the frame.

He turns back, surprise crossing his features again when he sees you. Eyes dipping down, snagging - slowly dragging back up over the bare skin of your legs, the low dip of the collar, as if he has forgotten himself for a moment.

“Hi.” He answers belatedly, blinking as he comes back into the present.

You wait a beat for him to explain, for any sort of sign as to why he’s here. Wondering why he travelled all the way in near-darkness, you knew more than anyone what a trek it could be.

And he must realize, because he blinks again, worry pulling down the edges of his brows, a small crease appearing in the middle.

“I-, well, Elliot-,” Harvey begins, throwing a thumb over his shoulder into the darkness, his other hand still clutching the book from the Saloon. Starting over when he realizes he’s making zero sense, “Back, in the square.”

His lips pressing together for a moment, an inhale of breath before the words rush out, “Am I misreading this?”

An emphasis on ‘this’, a small gesture with his fingers between the two of you. It makes you smile, relief flooding through you - enough to where you’re reaching out, tapping a fingernail against the solid cover of the book.

“I think you’re reading this just fine.” Your head tilts up to look him in the eye, seeing the relief on his own features as well, “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes,” He breathes, and you’re stepping aside with a smile - taking his book from him to rest on the little side table.

Hanging his moss-green jacket on your one good hanger by the door, showing him where to put his shoes.

Steps that make the floorboards creak because he doesn’t know which ones to avoid - not yet - as he lets you guide him to the couch. Carefully sitting on the middle cushion, the sharp, white starch of his dress shirt standing out against the worn, rust-orange fabric.

Your own feet following until you’re standing in from of him. Not quite believing, as your face tilts down to meet the upturned angle of his own.

Harvey was here.

The man who got more than a little bossy with you when you came in to the clinic with a bad scrape, or a cold. Who always has a smile, who listened intently when you keep him up to date about the new crops you’re growing, even though he knows nothing about farming.

Who you never had let yourself daydream about too often, because he had always kept you at arms length. You had always thought it was part of his profession, or that perhaps he just didn’t see you like that.

Like he’s looking at you now - like you’ve hung the stars.

You really want to kiss him.

You hope he’ll let you.

Slowly, like when you’re approaching a new calf, you move toward him. The slight, automatic spread of his knees as you step between them, before your own knees are bending.

Hands resting on the wooden frame of couch as you lower yourself - until you’re straddling his thighs, bare knees pressing into the worn cushions on either side.

“This okay?” You ask, close enough to smell a hint of his aftershave, the solid weight of him beneath you.

Hands that slide from their place at his side, up the curve of your calves, until they’re resting on the bare expanse of your thighs.

“Yes.” The word comes out low, fingers pressing against your skin as your own drop to the thick buttons of your coat, slowly working each one open.

Until you’re shrugging the fabric off to pool on the wooden floor - all bare arms and legs beneath in your too-large t-shirt, a pair of cotton underwear.

About to apologize for your choice in clothing - never actually expecting to take someone home - but the hands rise, cradling your face as he tips it to meet his.

A low sound in your throat at his lips touch yours, your hands resting on his chest, fingers fisting in the fabric. A feather-soft brush until you shift, pressing yourself against him as you lean in.

His groan matches yours. Hands moving, skating down your arms, curving around your hips. Your hips roll on their own, seeking the friction of his trousers. Something warm pooling in your belly, when he deepens the kiss.

Encouraging you, as those hands guide the roll of your hips again. As his tongue brushes against lips that part without thought.

There’s the sharp punch of fruit on his tongue, paired with the taste of him. A heady mixture, making you feel like you could get drunk off just this.

You can feel him harden beneath you. Pressing against your cleft as your thighs inch further apart. It’s only when your hands leave his - reaching for the bottom of your shirt, that he breaks away.

His lips kiss-swollen and pretty. Disheveled, his tie crooked, shirt wrinkled from your fingers. Equally dazed, his eyes flicking down to your mouth, and then further again.

“Not here.” Harvey’s voice is a low rasp, unmoving despite his demand.

It has your pausing, until you catch the way his first two fingers slip under the hem, petting against skin.

“Bedroom?” You offer, and he’s smiling. Leaning forward to kiss you again. Easing you off him but it’s reluctant - his fingers twining with yours as you stumble into the next room.

It’s darker in there, the light from the television flickering against the floor. Dissolving as it reaches your bed, your knees parting this time as he stands between them.

Your eyes greedy, focused on his fingers as he loosens his tie, the first few buttons of his shirt. His own drifting over every inch and curve of you. A short intake of air as you tug the shirt from your shoulders, leaving it to drop on the floor.

It feels like you’re on display, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not with the way he looks at you - his eyes snagging on the damp patch between your thighs, the pale fabric darkening with your arousal.

“You want to know what I was really thinking about?” He rasps, the tips of his fingers skating against your waist, slipping down to tease against the elastic band.

You’re near-mute. Left nodding, as the bed dips. As he urges you back into the pillows, folding himself onto the mattress with you.

“I was thinking-,” He tests the band, a finger slipping beneath. Inching it away from your skin, but not making to remove them, “A girl like you should be taken care of.”

His voice drops, “And that I wanted to be the one to do it.”

You feel yourself clench down around nothing. A low whine in your throat at the tone of his voice. So matter-of fact. Like he knows how to do just what he says.

“Can you?” It comes out strangled, your breath held as his eyes fix on yours, “Could you show me? What it’s like to be taken care of?”

“Would you like that, sweetheart?” He asks - his gaze searching. Slipping a second finger under, the blunt nails grazing sensitive skin.

“Yoba.” Your hips feel like they lift on their own, seeking him, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He smiles again, the moonlight catching on his glasses. A hand running through tousled curls, mussing them further. Fingers joining yours as your panties join the floor, baring yourself fully.

You expect him to touch you and he does - but not in the way you’re thinking. Lowering himself next to you, guiding your mouth to his again. His hand skimming the inside of your thigh. Fingers slipping along the crease where it meet your hip, inches away from where you ache for him.

“Harvey.” You sigh into his mouth. Chasing it when he pulls back, hearing the pleased hum in his throat. Carefully removing his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket.

Then his mouth is dropping to your neck, where your pulse flutters. To your shoulder. All while his fingers trace your skin, making you squirm in anticipation.

When his tongue peeks out to brush against tight, peaked nipple, you hear yourself cry out. Clinging to him again, as teeth graze against your breast - followed by a soothing kiss, his mustache tickling against the soft curve.

“I need you to touch me,” You pant.

Long forgetting what it was like to feel like this. The anticipation swirling in you like a dam about to burst. The desperation - knowing after all this time of wanting him, that tonight he is yours.

Your own hands grasping at him - tugging at the buttons. Pale skin and dark hair appearing with each one that loosens, trying to pull the hem from where it tucks into his trousers.

The hand against your thigh twitches, his gaze dark as he glances up at you. No longer hidden behind frames, you can see how his pupils are blown wide, inching out the hazel.

“I just want to make sure you’re ready, sweetheart.” He rasps, inching closer - fingers parting on either side of your mound.

“Want you nice and wet for me.”

It’s too much. You’re too wound up, needy. In your daydreams you’ve thought of him - in your bed, bent over the table in his office. Everything pales in comparison to this, turning you into a begging mess.

“I am,” You breathe, “Fuck, Harvey. You know I am, I’m-”

The words break off, turning into a ragged moan as he finally touches you. Parting your slick seam, where you’re dripping from the press of his mouth and the teasing glide of his fingers.

“There you are.” He hums, though you can feel the way his hips press against yours. Chasing his own urges, seeking friction where he strains.

Your eyes flutter half-shut as he teases as your entrance. Fingertips slick as he brings them up to circle your clit, sparks going up inside your belly.

Watching as he moves, the careful ease from where he lies next to you - now settling between your thighs.

“Yoba, you’re beautiful.”

He says it so simply, almost as if in awe. Your thighs start to clamp shut around his hand but he’s smiling - his left palm pressing your leg to the bed, opening you further.

Not used to his gaze like this. It flicks from your face, down to where his hands shift - his thumb rolling against your clit, as his middle finger sinks inside you.

He can feel how you clench around him already. Movements slow, drawing himself out just to sink further each time.

“So fucking pretty.” He says it again - you think, just to see you squirm. The way your eyes pull from his, the flex of your muscle under his palm.

Transfixed by the way his fingers move. The pressure against your clit, the way he presses deep. Your small room filled with the little sounds you make and the slick plunge of his finger.

Your panting breath catching, turning sharp as his finger crooks on the next pass. Carefully stroking against your inner walls, a throb of pleasure following.

He catches your sounds, a mark forming between his eyebrows. One you’ve seen before, in the way he focuses when you’re explaining something about your farm. A sweet stretch of pressure when he adds his ring finger, opening you further as he strokes again.

You haven’t felt anything quite like this. A ghost of it, with past lovers. Something that made your muscles tighten, but never so focused.

Like he’s intentionally searching for this spot that makes sparks arc up your spine. Making you ache for more - to be filled by him.

“Mm,” He hums with satisfaction, “Right there. Does that feel good?”

It’s hard to think, with the thrust of his fingers. The circling pressure against your clit. Your own fingers curling - one in the sheets, an anchor. The other drifting up to cup at your breast, unable to help leaning into his ministrations.

“Tell me, sweetheart.”

There’s an edge to his voice. One that he uses in his place of authority, one that only stokes the roaring flame in your belly. Everything winding tight in anticipation, each steady pump of his fingers hurtling you towards your peak.

“Yes,” You moan, “Yes. Oh, Harvey-”

His head dips, mouth pressing a kiss against your abdomen.

“Good girl.” He husks, with your answer. The words shoot straight to your cunt, just as you begin to arch into his touch.

“Oh, please-” You whine, eyes sliding shut, “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

The pinch of your fingers harsh against the tight bud of your nipple. The flicker of pain melding with the tight swirl of his thumb.

“Good.” He all but growls, the words low and rough in his throat, “Come on, honey. Show me.”

Your next moan turns high and long - as that tight string inside you finally snaps. A throbbing pleasure that begins at the apex of your thighs, radiating outwards as you bear down around him.

The hand in your sheets grasping and slipping on your way to him - his hand leaves your thigh to twine with it. Anchoring you as your hips buck into fingers that have gone still, giving you something to clench around.

“Just like that,” He coos, “Ride it out, I’ve got you.”

His breath warm against your skin, a kiss pressed to your stomach again, then hip.

“It’s not you,” Harvey tells you, each kiss moving lower, “You know that, right?”

Your breath catching - it feels like your cunt is still pulsing, when his mouth dips further. Not waiting for your answer this time - driving his point home with the talented tongue that suddenly presses against the bud of your clit, wet and warm.

Ensuring you won’t forget.

A moan is ripped from you, as he teases. Tight pointed licks, a flat lick following. A rough groan as he tastes your orgasm that coats his fingers, only just how beginning to move.

You’re too sensitive, squirming at his touch. Panting breaths and little jerks of your hips, the tight twist of overstimulation bleeding into something smooth and sweet as honey.

He’s ruining you for everyone else. The thought is a blurry one, something you can barely snatch. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’ve already come harder than you ever have.

And is already working you towards a second. A rough groan when you let your fingers leave his to twist in his dark curls. Grasping onto his shoulder with the other one, his shirt wrinkling further.

You want it off. You want all of it off, want him bare and on top of you. Want to taste him on your tongue. Taste yourself against his lips, after this.

Unsure how he’s able to do it. Bring you to the edge again so quickly, but maybe it’s because you’ve never desired someone like this.

Deeper than desire, though you’re not quite ready to admit it.

You’re brought back, as his palm presses beneath your thigh. Hiking it over a shoulder, opening you to be devoured. Those fingers more confident now, sure and slick as they pound into you. Louder now, with the way you coat them, your release smeared across your thighs.

This time when you come, it’s against his tongue.

Brought over with the way his lips close sound and suck. The way he groans at your taste, his clever fingers leaving you breathless.

Choking on your heartbeat as you shatter. His wide palm curled around your thigh, keeping your cunt pinned against his tongue.

This time he can feel your pulse. Each throb of pleasure as it resonates through you. Feel the way you gush for him - his fingers dampening further, across knuckles and the flesh of his palm.

“Fuck.” You moan, when you can breathe again.

You expect him to pull away, after this. He must know you’re more than ready. But instead all you can see is dark eyes, a tongue that slips between the fingers that are still buried in you.

“Harvey,” You gasp, as his tongue then lifts to curl over your clit again, “Don’t you want to-?”

Doesn’t he want to fuck you?

Isn’t he aching, like you are?

“Tonight is about you,” He answers firmly. Lips glossy with your release, and despite his words you don’t miss the way his hips press into the bed.

“Sounds like I got some time to make up for.”

Your head falls back onto the pillow as you huff a laugh, breath catching as you feel his fingers slip free just long enough to work in a third.

Already finding that spot again, as he begins to build towards a third.

If he can read you this easily already, you think dizzily…

You can’t wait to find out everything else he knows.

So here for the Harvey Renaissance 🙏💕 would love to know what you thought! Are you enjoying 1.6? (If so what are your mod recs???) | part ii is up here!

[oliveofthenight]

— every trick in the book

sdv!harvey x f!reader

rated e - 3k

Tags: gentledom/service!dom harvey, mutual pining/ yearning, kissing, begging, teasing, body worship, oral, fingering, vaginal sex

part ii of read you like a book, but can be read as-is!

“You’re always working so hard,” It’s a soft murmur, as your fingers fit around him. Feeling the hard outline through the fabric, as you scoot backwards off him, “Let me take care of you, too.”

It could just be last night that you mean, but it’s more than that. You want to make him feel appreciated. Seen.

(Or - you return the favor.)

You wake to a sunlight streaming in, stretching pale gold across the floor.

An arm slung across something solid, a low thrum beneath your ear. It takes a moment before the night before comes rushing back, a heat settling in your core and cheeks that is absolutely linked to the body you’re using as a pillow.

A tilt of your head, and your eyes are meeting his. Your lips parting with surprise - quickly forgetting your shock that you slept in with the distraction of him.

Harvey, still in your bed. Stripped down to a white t-shirt and boxers. His glasses still resting on the bedside table.

If it had been anyone else, you would have expect them to leave. But it felt right - the dress shirt slung over your kitchen chair. One of the toothbrushes you bought in bulk, tucked in the cup next to yours.

“Morning,” You stifle a yawn, as you sit up, “How long have you been up?”

The arm looped around you tightens for a fraction of a second, before it slips down to the bed.

“I woke up early, but I made sure not to wake you.” His voice is lower than usual - rough with sleep.

There’s a soft smile then, with the tilt of his head, “You looked so peaceful.”

You don’t know how he can be so sweet, when he ruined you so thoroughly the night before. The urge coming back to kiss him again, your eyes dropping to his mouth.

Thinking about how he tasted like you, when your tongue has brushed his.

But you don’t quite know if he wants that, now that a new day has begun. His insistence that last night was about you. That he had wanted more, but had never reached out and taken it for himself.

It leaves you on uneven footing.

“Are you hungry?” You manage, instead.

The time ticks towards overdue for your chores, but you can’t bear to drag yourself away.

His head shakes.

But then he’s adding hesitantly, “Coffee would be great though, if you have it.”

Your teeth sink into your lip as you smile.

“I think I can manage that.”

As if you haven’t been growing beans to harvest for him, as if you didn’t already know how much he loves it. So many morning already spent, the buzz from his smile as you handed over the cup doing so much more than a shot of caffeine could.

When you return, holding two cups, the shirt from the night before tugged on - you linger for a moment, in the doorway.

Harvey is frowning at his phone, lost in thought. He’s always handsome but like this - sleepy and tousled, his guard down - it is something you want to remember.

“I could get used to this.” You sigh happily, as you set the cups down on the side table.

His hand scratches through his hair, the words coming slowly, “Having someone in your bed?”

“No,” You huff, though you’re smiling.

“Seeing you. Like this.”

The look he gives you is startling, something tender nestled deep in his eyes. His voice rough in a new way as his hand reaches for yours.

“Come here.”

With a squeak, you’re hauled into his lap. It echos the night before, though with familiarity in your movements now.

His eyes flick between yours for just a second - and it’s you that kisses him first this time, in the dawn of a new day.

The soft press of lips that grows hungry. His name panted against his mouth as his hands wander - more confident in the way his palms curve around your waist.

A sleep-thick hum when he hears you, just before his tongue sweeps across your lip. They part for him, a rock of your hips as you shuffle closer.

Feeling him beneath you, separated by just a thin layer of cloth. Soft sounds pulled from you as he deepens the kiss. His touch slow as it slips down to your hips, and then under your sleep shirt.

A twist of his wrist, until his fingers brush your inner thigh. A throb of need shooting straight to your cunt, your breath tight with anticipation.

“Yes,” You moan - needing his touch, “Please, Harvey.”

He hums, the sound turning to a rough groan when the tips of his fingers slip against you. How wet you are for him already, the little buck of your hips into his touch.

“I don’t know why you bothered to put this back on,” He husks in your ear, his other hand tugging at the hem.

It’s all you need to hear before you’re pulling it off, letting it drop off the side of the bed. The sound he makes is one you’ll commit to memory - the need, as he pulls you back in for a kiss.

A shot of pleasure ringing through you as he circles your clit, with that same pressure as the night before.

Your own hand drifts, across his chest, and down. The back of your hand brushing his as you cup him, greedily watching the way he inhaled a sharp breath.

“You’re always working so hard,” It’s a soft murmur, as your fingers fit around him. Feeling the hard outline through the fabric, as you scoot backwards off him, “Let me take care of you, too.”

It could just be last night that you mean, but it’s more than that. You want to make him feel appreciated. Seen.

He groans at your touch, the smallest nod - giving himself permission - as your fingers hook around the elastic of his boxers.

Lifting his hips so you can tug them down. A dark dusting of hair thickens where his shirt is pushed up, down to where it frames the base of his cock. Heavy where it bobs against his stomach, the head flushed. The tip shining, threatens to leak with his need.

“Harvey.” You sigh, and his cheeks dust with pink. Lips parting to say something, the sound turning into a ragged gasp when your head ducks.

The tip of your tongue catching the drip, tasting velvet skin. Messy, in the way your cheeks hollow as your mouth closes around him. Spit pooling on your tongue, slicking him up as you go deeper.

You like the way he sighs - the involuntary throb when you swallow him down. When your fingers curl around his base. The soft squeeze before your palm drops down to cup him.

“Look at you.” Harvey’s voice has your eyes opening. That tone from the night before, his fingers tightening where they fist in your sheets - holding back the urge to buck into your mouth.

You’d like to make him let go, you think. Like to let him take, for once.

It makes you moan. A soft hum around him that has his head tilting back. Leaning into the pump of your fingers, the swirl of your tongue.

Until his hands are reaching to cradle your face - saliva stringing from his cock to your lips when you ease him out of your throat.

“You can come in my mouth,” It comes out hoarse, and his fingers pinch against your skin, “Unless you want to come somewhere else.”

“Yoba, sweetheart.” He grits out, teeth clenched. A twitch of his cock in your palm, where you still squeeze him.

You push yourself up, kneeling between his spread thighs. His hand already reaching to cup you. A rough sound in his throat when he feels how you drip for him, inner thighs sticky.

“I’d really like to fuck you,” Harvey rasps - the tip of a finger traces your opening, nudging at the tight entrance. “Would you let me in here?”

He dips inside and you can’t help but clench around him - remembering how good he felt the night before.

“Yes,” You keen, as he sinks knuckle-deep.

A second finger added after a moment, thick inside you as he works you open - your hands fisted in the shoulders of his shirt.

Until you can feel a tremble in your thighs. Something building in your belly as your eyes grow hazy with pleasure.

Pliant, as he leans you back. Fingers slick with you as they tug at your legs, guiding them over his own.

A hand finding a wayward pillow, his own look dark as he lifts it in question. 

“Can I use this?”

You nod, and he smiles, “Then tuck this beneath you, sweetheart.”

It’s easy to do as you are told. Tucking it under your back. A low cluck of his tongue as he leans over you - hands catching the edges.

A sharp tug as he works it into place beneath your hips, tilting you up to meet him. His boxers pushed down his long legs, lost in the twist of blankets as he fits himself between your thighs.

“This okay?” Harvey asks, and it takes your brain a moment to process.

Eyes too caught on how his hand wraps around himself. Half-tempted to tell him to keep going, so you can watch as he works himself empty across your belly.

“Y-Yeah,” You manage, a small frown as the corner of his lips turn up, “It’s been a while-”

“I heard you,” The smile deepens, his cheek indenting with a dimple, “Two years, right?”

That knocks you out of your daydreams, heat flooding through you.

“You weren’t supposed to be listening to that,” You huff, eyes dragging away.

He thumbs at your chin, bringing you back.

“I’m glad I did.” The teasing edge ebbs, “Been longer for me, don’t worry.”

He already knows your birth control methods - something you are only now grateful for. Weeks spent going over that first appointment at his clinic, a hand scrubbing over your face as you had stuttered - already enamored with him.

“I find that hard to believe,” Your hips lift, meeting his length - letting it rub against you.

There’s an inhale of breath as he shifts over you, eyes dragging over your form.

“I would disagree,” He husks, “But that’s something I’d rather do later. Right now, I…”

Harvey’s words trail off. His thumb rolling against your clit, before it shifts against your skin - tugging you open.

Your skin puffy and slick beneath his touch - a strong throb of desire racing through you.

“I want you.” You whisper.

He smiles back, “You have me.”

Your breath catches as he lines himself up. The thick head of his cock pressing against you, wrenching a sharp inhale from your lungs as he sinks into you.

Half-seated in you when he goes still, worry crossing his features, “You sore, honey?”

Your head shakes. A roll of your hips as you try to take him deeper.

“No,” You pant, “Feels, feels good. You’re just-”

Bigger than your fingers. A tight fit into your slick hole, your moan drawn out as his hands fit against your waist. Tugging you to meet him, until he’s buried fully.

Twin sighs, as he takes a moment for you to adjust. You’re the one that moves first, again. Greedy, in the way your teeth sink into your lip. Hands reaching to brace on his thighs, just above where his knees press into the mattress.

He begins to move, but not before he shoots you a look that sends a jolt through you. A slow saw of his hips that drags his cock against your walls.

A little squeal when he shifts almost all the way out, only to hilt himself with a sharp thrust.

“That what you want, sweetheart?” He coos, with a slow roll of his hips. Slipping from you again, just the tip of him inside as he waits.

“Yes,” You beg, “Please-”

The syllables string out as he fills you again. His low grunt melding with your moan, as he finds his rhythm.

Steadily pounding into you. The pressure in your belly swirling as your thighs inch wider. His fingers curling against your skin, a gentle tug to meet the slap of his hips against yours.

It has a hand dropping to the sheet, twisting in them the ground yourself. Ragged panting breath as each thrust sends a jolt down your spine.

“Is that good?” He asks. Voice strained, unable to help the circuit of his eyes. Your face down to the sway of your tits - as your hands drift up to cup them, thumbs brushing the tight peaks of your nipples.

To where you take him, each inch of him slicked up.

“So good,” You manage,” Want you to feel good, too. I don’t-”

A soft gasp then, when his cock nudges against a place his fingers found, “It’s hard for me to come like this, but I want you-”

He hums, with a hint of a smile. Those strong hands angling your hips up another fraction. The next thrust sending his cock directly against that spot.

Your cry is loud, wrenched from you. Heavy-lidded eyes widening with how he feels inside you, reaching for him when he arcs down to press his mouth to yours.

“You let me worry about that.” He tells you, as a hand leaves your waist, drifting downward, “Just relax, sweetheart.”

It’s hard to relax when you feel strung-tight. Clenching around him as his finger rub circles against your clit with each rock of his hips.

You’d always thought he had a good memory - the way he’d ask after your animals, the crops you were growing - and he proved it now. Calling back to the night before, when he had been watching.

Learning just what made your hips lift, your toes curl. The warmth that pools in you accelerated with the way you take him in - the soft pull of his brow of concentration, those lips parted with his own harsh breath.

Another urge to pull his shirt from him, so you can see every inch - the breadth of his chest, almost as if you could see the way his heart races beneath.

It’s too much.

His name a soft chant as the pressure builds and builds. Losing their shape, as you find yourself on the brink.

“Oh-” It almost sounds surprised, when it slips from you. A panting gasp, as he smiles, “Harvey, don’t stop. I’m gonna-”

His eyes darken, “That’s a good girl. Let me feel you.”

You clench around him, with a soundless gasp. Heart fluttering behind your ribs, as his fingers press just a little harder.

“You like it when I call you that?” Harvey husks, “My good girl?”

“Fuck-”

You’re coming before you can answer. His touch, his praise snapping that strung-tight thread inside you. The harsh sound of your breath turning into a dull ringing in your ears, as Harvey feels how you pulse around him.

The hand on your hip pinches tight. Lips parted as he groans at how tight you are - how your release coats his cock, the wet sound of you taking him growing louder. 

Bringing him right along with you, just as you start to come down. 

“Want you to come in me,” You manage, as you roll your hips to meet his thrusts.

Harvey’s answering hum is closer to a growl. Low and rough - his pretty eyes blown wide with need. That steady rhythm short and turning sloppy, as his head tips back.

His own murmured curse, as he does as he is told. A moan ripped from him as he follows - grinding himself deep as he comes. Throbbing inside you, each shallow thrust spilling more of him against your walls.

Leaving him breathless, just as you are. His look dazed when his head lowers, the curl of his lips when you’re already watching with a soft smile of your own.

You miss him when he leaves you. A low hiss as you find yourself empty, the bed dipping as he lies down next to you.

A breath before your mouths are meeting. Soft swallowed sounds as your hands drift across his chest. As his own trace over your curves, down further when he feels you sigh into his mouth.

Gentle, as they slip between your thighs again. Tracing your seam - his fingers slick with his release, when he begins to touch you again.

The moan that slips from your lips is ragged, the words panted out.

“Harvey,” You gasp, as his fingers circle, “I’ve- I’ve come enough, you don’t-”

Harvey silences you with another kiss, sharing a breath as you sigh into his mouth. His voice dropping with a soft command.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, sweetheart.”

The coffee grows cold.

Harvey smiles the whole way home.

Still stuck on the morning, the drawn-out goodbye that followed him from the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the porch.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” You had leaned against the doorframe - your smile sweet and lopsided. Almost as if still dazed, a feeling that was mirrored in his own chest.

It makes him feel brave. There’s a degree of confidence, in his abilities. It hasn’t been so long that he’s forgotten.

But feelings - feelings are something else. It took weeks of flirting and a sizable shove from Elliot to get him moving.

He doesn’t want to mess this up.

Harvey calls you, as the clinic door shuts behind him. He’ll be late to the museum, but he’s sure Gunther will understand.

His breath catches, but you pick up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” He’s smiling again, “Uh, I made it. Home, I mean.”

You laugh and it makes his heart flip, “Good. I was worried about you.”

“Right. Easy to get lost,” He sags against the counter, fingers clutched around the phone. A second, as he inhaled - gathering up his courage.

“Uh, listen. I’d like to see you again. Would that be alright?”

There’s the briefest pause, and it feels like time stops with it.

“Yeah.” Your smile bleeds into your words, “I’d really like that, Harvey.”

His name sounds nice, on your lips. Not Doctor, just him.

Almost too caught up to catch your teasing, “I need to get you your book back, after all.”

“Oh.” He flushes, remembering how it had been abandoned the night before. Forgotten, in the swirl of the morning, “I am so sorry. I completely forgot-”

Your answering laugh is so sweet, that his worry fades. Voice softening, as you ask,“Can I stop by at lunch?”

His answer is easy.

“I would love that.”

And as he climbs the stairs to his apartment, he finds himself thinking…

He could get used to this, too.

thank you so much for reading! 💖 was so excited to do a little part 2 for this fic!