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daryltwdixon · 1 month ago

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Joel Miller x Reader Just Coffee

fluffy Joel drabble to help clear my head. I was a barista for 8+ years and loved my regulars, so this is like a little slice of my life when I worked for a family owned coffee shop in the downtown of a city. Hope you enjoy! lmk if you want a ptII cause im thinking hot car sex w these two after their first date.

Inspired by that tlou (game) scene where Ellie asks if Joel used to go to coffee shops, and he admits, ‘All the time.’ And when she asks what he would order, he says, ‘Coffee, just coffee’

Vanilla latte, iced—extra pump of vanilla, three pumps of caramel, swirl, whipped cream. Chai latte, soy milk—hot, extra hot. Cold brew with sweet cream, shot of peppermint. London Fog—extra foamy, not too hot.

"Coffee. Just coffee."

You could’ve kissed him right then and there. And he was handsome enough that you wouldn’t even have to close your eyes. He must’ve caught the way your shoulders relaxed, how the sigh left your body like a weight lifted.

“Comin’ right up,” you smiled, ringing him up as he slid a few ones into your very, very empty tip jar.

‘Just Coffee’ guy settled at the small bar, joining the usual morning stragglers—people who took their time with their warm mugs, occasionally ordering a bagel or a scone to go with it. He sat next to your crossword regular, an older gentleman who always had a puzzle in front of him, filling in the blanks with unwavering confidence. Always pen, never pencil.

You left them to it, but your eyes drifted toward ‘Just Coffee’ now and then, making sure his mug wasn’t too low, wasn’t getting too cold.

The morning flew by in a blur of orders and chatter, the shop filling and emptying in waves. By the time you checked back on ‘Just Coffee’ guy, he was gone.

A pang of disappointment sat low in your stomach. You wished you would’ve gotten him talking—he had that air about him, the kind of presence that carried stories. The people who sat at your bar top, the ones who weren’t rushing in and out for their nine-to-five caffeine fix, were always the most interesting.

You were surprised to see him the next day. A smile lifted at his lips as he stepped up in line, cash at the ready in his large, dirt-greased hands. A man who worked manual labor, clearly.

"Coffee," he said, his twang deep and velvety. "Just coffee, miss."

"You got it," you said with a smile, handing him a warm mug of your house roast as he took his new usual seat at the bar.

"Dammit—" the man next to him muttered, scratching his chin with the tip of his pen. Steve, your crossword regular. Under his nose, the day’s puzzle sat partially filled in, his brow furrowed in frustration. “What in the hell is the ‘process of leveling or smoothing wet concrete’? Seven letters?" He called your name, exasperated. "You got any idea?”

"Steve, if I knew anything about construction, I’d be way further along on my home improvement projects," you called over the hiss of the milk frother.

"Screedin’ is the word you’re lookin’ for, I think."

‘Just Coffee’ spoke casually, like it was second nature, his voice rolling low behind the lip of his mug. Steve blinked at him, like he hadn’t even realized the man was there, his wide eyes darting between him and the crossword.

"I think that might just work! How do ya spell that now? S-C-R-E—"

"S-C-R-E-E-D-I-N-G," ‘Just Coffee’ said slowly, the drawl thick and steady as the letters tumbled off his tongue.

You smiled to yourself, glancing his way. Knew he had to be manual labor. But before you could turn and ask him about it, he was already stepping off the stool, giving a quick nod of thanks, and heading for the door.

A couple of ones landed next to his empty mug—more than the cost of his coffee.

He didn’t come the next day.

Or the day after that.

By the fourth morning, you caught yourself lingering by the bar, staring at the empty stool where he sat. The coffee shop was just as busy, orders coming in waves, regulars dropping their change into the tip jar, Steve grumbling over his crossword. But something was missing.

You’d gotten used to those hazel eyes meeting yours across the counter, the quiet weight of his presence. The way his dark, unruly hair framed his face, always a little windswept, a little messy, like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a long shift. His hands—rough, calloused, dirt still lingering in the creases—wrapped steady around a warm coffee mug.

It had only been a handful of mornings, but somehow, he’d settled into your routine like he belonged there.

And now, the absence of him gnawed at you in a way that surprised you.

You should’ve asked him his damn name.

By the sixth day, you convinced yourself it didn’t matter. He was just another customer, just a passing figure who needed a caffeine fix before moving on. Maybe he found a different coffee spot. Maybe he’d never been the type to stick around anyway.

But on the seventh morning, as you wiped down the counter, movement by the door caught your eye.

You turned, heart kicking up against your ribs.

There he was.

Another worn flannel, same dirt-streaked hands, same heavy-lidded gaze scanning the shop like he hadn’t been gone for a week. And when those hazel eyes finally landed on you, a flicker of something warm and familiar crossed his face.

You pushed off the counter before you could stop yourself.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” you said, trying to sound casual, but you knew he could hear the lilt of amusement in your voice.

“How are ya, miss?” he drawled, stepping up to the counter, cash already in hand. “Been busy.”

You nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way his fingers curled around the worn bills. “Let me guess—coffee, just coffee?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You got it.”

As you poured, you finally asked the question that had been itching at you since the first day he walked in.

“You got a name, or am I just supposed to keep callin’ you ‘Just Coffee’ forever?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he watched you.

“Joel,” he said.

You smiled, setting his mug down in front of him. “Well, Joel—hope you don’t disappear on me again.”

His fingers brushed the warm ceramic as he settled onto his usual stool. “Jobs come and go, just depends on the day, hunny.”

Hunny. It was damn near like honey dripping from his tongue in that slow drawl, thick and warm. The way it rolled off his lips curled low in your belly, heating your cheeks as you turned to the next customer, hoping to God he didn’t notice.

The middle of the week was always slow, which worked in your favor today. By the time the morning rush faded, you found yourself wiping down the counters, clearing dishes near the bar, and finally getting the chance to ask Joel about his life.

You rinsed out a mug, letting the warm water run over your fingers as you glanced toward him. He was nursing his coffee slow, one hand wrapped around the mug, the other resting loose on the bar. His posture was easy, relaxed, but you could tell there was something there, something deep in his bones that he carried.

"So, what kinda jobs come and go?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joel glanced up from his mug, considering you for a moment. “Construction, mostly," he said, rolling his shoulders like the very word made them ache. "Been a contractor for years—fixin' up places, layin’ concrete, buildin’ what needs buildin'.”

Figures. Those arms—strong, steady—the kind that looked like they knew the weight of real work. His hands were large, rough and calloused, the kind you’d feel long after they touched you. But, Joel was a customer. You weren’t thinking that, of course not.

"Guess that explains why you knew the crossword answer last week," you teased, tossing the rag over your shoulder. "Steve still talks about it like you pulled magic outta thin air."

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Man’s usin’ a pen for a crossword, and I’m the one impressin’ him?"

You grinned, leaning against the bar. "Hey, knowledge is power around here, Joel."

He let out a quiet hmm and took another sip of his coffee.

Before you could press further, the bell above the door jingled, and you got up hastily to take the newcomer’s order.

“Don’t worry about him,” Joel called over, sitting up straighter, setting down his coffee mug as his gaze flicked toward the man.

He stepped inside, his dark hair long, face clean-shaven, dimples deepening as he took in the scene. Something unspoken passed between the two of them—something that made it hard to tell if they were coworkers, friends, or something else entirely.

Then the man clapped Joel on the shoulder, grinning wide, “So this is what you’ve been ditchin’ the mornin’ crew for, huh, big brother?”

Your brows lifted. Brother.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, eyes narrowing with obvious irritation, but his posture remained loose—like he was used to this, used to him.

“What ya got for me, Tommy?” he asked.

You barely had a second to process before Tommy’s attention shifted to you. His gaze swept over you, warm and playful, before he leaned a little too comfortably against the bar, ignoring his brother.

“Well now,” he drawled, flashing you a grin that could probably talk its way out of a speeding ticket, “if I knew this was the kinda place Joel was sneakin’ off to, I would’ve tagged along a whole lot sooner.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and rubbed his forehead.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smile. “And here I thought he just liked my coffee.”

Tommy let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “Can’t say I blame him, darlin’.”

Joel let out a long, long sigh, already done with whatever this was turning into. He stood, tugging his jacket over his broad shoulders before clapping a firm hand on Tommy’s back—firm like a warning.

“C’mon,” Joel muttered, steering him toward the door.

Tommy let himself be dragged, but not without a final wink in your direction. “I’ll be seein’ you around, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips as Joel shoved him out the door with far more force than necessary, the bell jingling wildly as they disappeared outside.

Joel glanced back once, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the last two minutes of his life before heading off into the distance.

You just smiled, shrugging as you wiped down the counter.

But things changed after that morning.

Tommy only needed to step through the damn door before Joel was tensing at the bar, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his coffee suddenly the least interesting thing in the room. He continued to show up every morning, still ordered just coffee, still sat in his usual spot—but now, his eyes lingered on you more.

And now, he stayed just a little longer.

Not by much, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.

You noticed how his gaze flicked toward you between sips, how his fingers tapped idly against his mug whenever you laughed at something a customer said.

His brother joined him more too. You noticed the way he cut Tommy off real quick anytime his brother got a little too comfortable leaning against the counter, that exasperated “Tommy” carrying a warning underneath it.

And you noticed how his tips got just a little bigger after that morning, a couple extra bills tucked under his mug like an unspoken thank you.

So when a week passed—no sign of Tommy this time, no interruptions, just Joel sitting at your bar—you wondered if today might be different.

And it was.

Because today, as you cleared a dish from the counter, Joel cleared his throat. Not the casual kind, not the I’m just readjusting in my seat kind.

The nervous kind.

You glanced up, brows lifting. “What’s eatin’ ya, Joel?”

Joel exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. “Yeah. Just—uh.” He scratched at the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “You, uh… ever eat anywhere that ain’t this place?”

Your lips twitched. “You askin’ if I leave my own coffee shop, Joel?”

His jaw tightened, clearly close to regretting whatever he was doing, but he powered through.

“I’m askin’ if you’d wanna get somethin’ to eat. When your shift is done.” He finally met your gaze, voice a little gruffer than usual, but there was something hesitant in his expression—like he was braced for you to shut him down, “With me.”

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossing as you took your time, letting him sit in it for a second. Watching the way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, how he resisted the urge to shift under your gaze.

Then you smiled. “Are you asking me out?”

His eyes flicked away, like he really hated how direct you were, but you could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Then, after a pause—“That…a problem?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Not at all.”

Joel’s fingers flexed against his mug. “Good.”

You grabbed a napkin and a pen, scribbling something before sliding it across the counter. “Then you’re gonna need my number.”

He eyed it, then you, something unreadable in his gaze before he finally, finally reached for it. His fingers brushed yours as he folded the napkin, tucking it into his pocket without another word.But you swore—swore—you saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took another slow sip of his coffee.

Part II is here :)

#fluffy Joel miller #Joel miller #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou one shot #Joel miller fluff #tlou joel #joel the last of us #joel x reader #the last of us hbo

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pppeachyyys · 2 months ago

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*ೃ༄ bllk boys + cliche love tropes!

ft: isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, mikage reo

✩ what cliche love trope are the blue lock boys?

female reader, so much fluff, i got a lil lazy..., hc + small drabble!!

ISAGI YOICHI - childhood friends to lovers

✩ everything is a "do together" activity. this includes (and is not limited to) throwing woodchips in the playground, studying, eating bentoes, sleeping, even taking baths.

✩ naturally, you both are very protective of each other!! the years of bonding gave you two an unbreakable connection.

✩ had fake marriage ceremony behind the slides in the playground, and you both just kind of stuck to the idea of "husband and wife" ever since. (you were both 6)

✩ despite it being so long, isagi still gets so flustered around you!! he has that sweet grin every time he greets you in the morning.

✩ always waits outside your door to walk together to school. sometimes when it's cold, he'll even offer his extra scarf for you, wrapping it around your face.

✩ when people ask about you, hes so quick to simply go "oh, n/n? we're gonna get married for real one day!" with that cute smile and blush.

✩ it even gets to a point where when he goes pro, he ALWAYS makes sure to mention your name in every single interview.

↳

sweat dribbles down to isagi's chin, his chest heavy, rising up and down in attempt to catch the oxygen he's so desperate for. despite it not even being 30 minutes after one of his biggest games, he's getting bombarded with the press and their eggy questions.

the man closest to him raises his mic towards isagi and the cameras zero in on the two. it's hard to hear his voice due to the pumping of blood through his veins, but he manages to catch the basic idea.

"who are the people who have supported you to becoming the star player of the game today?"

isagi is quick to think of one particular person. despite feeling absolutely milked, a smile forms on his face. with heavy breathing, he replies, "well, obviously my parents and my teammates, they always pushed me to be better and improve, but there's a special girl out there who has always been my biggest supporter."

the crowd audibly coos, the flashes simply getting even brighter. isagi can tell that everyone is begging for him to continue, so he does, his desire to brag about you growing.

"she's always been there for me, watching me since i managed to find my love for soccer. and i don't think i could be here if it wasn't for her." he ponders if he should say the next sentence, but the swell of his heart overtakes his brain.

"thank you, y/n. and when i come back home, i'll make sure you're the happiest girl in the world."

ITOSHI RIN - forced proximity

✩ when i say forced, IM TALKING FORCED!! like- you're the foreign exchange student living in his own house!

✩ at first, its awkward. little word is exchanged between you two, and the only interaction you get is a simple "it's your turn to shower" or "come down to eat dinner".

✩ he also never walks with you to school either despite living in the same house and attending the same school.

✩ eventually, you're convinced that you're never going to befriend rin, but a small upbringing makes you realize that he's just shy and closed off.

✩ once you slowly gain understanding of rin's true character, it's a little easier to talk to him. and even he starts to warm up a little.

✩ living in the same house brings so many opportunities and it's impossible to avoid not getting close!!!

↳

a fun fact you've learned about rin is that he is always on schedule and has a strict routine. this includes everything from his well kept diet, sleeping at 9pm sharp, and even his devoted time to reading a book for 30 minutes once it hits 7pm.

everything about his life has set rules and orders, and once again, this includes his showers.

it's not like you're purposefully trying to learn what he does every minute of the day, it's just that he's so prominent with his ritual that you simply learn it without realizing. after eating dinner, he always thanks his mother for the meal. then he heads towards the bathroom to wash up for exactly 45 minutes and heads over to tell you the bath is free at 6:50 on the dot.

so why is it taking longer than usual today?

for some odd reason, you're worried. rin has practically mastered his way of living and to think that he's behind on something as simple as a shower makes you wonder if he decided to drown himself in the sink. should you check up on him? you guys aren't close like that but you can't help but stand up and make a beeline to where the shower is.

you hesitantly knock on the door. "uh... rin? you okay? it's been pretty long since you've been in there."

it's silent for a few seconds until the door clicks. you're met with the sight of messy wet black hair, grey sweatpants hung low, and a white tee that simply adds to the masculinity of rin.

at this time, you also remember that the boy you're temporarily living with is jaw droppingly handsome, and you can't help but avoid eye contact.

"sorry, we ran out of shampoo so i had to replace it."

his response is short. simple. you just nod and let him pass, still trying to refresh your brain. you're confused. has he always been so charming?

MIKAGE REO - loser bf and cool gf / shikimori is not just a cutie trope

✩ yeah, your boyfriend is pretty cool, but he's not as cool as you!

✩ you're KNOWN to do good at everything and also look absolutely stunning while doing it.

✩ sure, reo is popular. people are fawning over him 24/7 and so many people wish they could be him. but behind that facade, he's truly reduced to a love struck loser who is completely whipped for his girlfriend.

✩ i mean- you can't blame him! you're always there to save the day for him.

✩ he somehow forgot his notes (he's usually an organized person)? you have yours to share! he forgot how to tie his own tie for some odd reason? don't worry, you can always tidy him up!

✩ he realizes that ever since you guys started dating, he's simply turned into a lost puppy without your aid. and honestly, he's okay with that.

✩ he's still the confident, talented, charming guy as always. it's just that he would rather let you save him and take him far away to a distant land.

↳

reo comfortably situates himself next to you, the grass of his schools soccer field tickling his ankles. he's lost in listening to your rambling and also staring at your face, simply smiling whenever you would look at him mid rant.

in fact, he's so far gone that he fails to notice the screams of people on the field warning the both of you of a soccer ball on it's way to decimate you both, and he also fails to notice that you catch on to the warnings.

"reo, watch out!" practically in slow motion you yell, using your hands to push him onto the ground and then lifting them to catch the ball (which was going at an unreasonable crazy speed) smoothly onto your palms.

he blinks once. twice. the shock factor has made it hard for him to process what just happened and he can only stare as you return the ball back to whoever. he watches as you return back to him, your fingers reaching to brush away his lilac hair.

you help lift him back up. "are you okay reo? that ball was moving so fast, i thought we were both gonna be dead!" your fretting makes reo smile.

"well, i'm just fine, knowing you're always there to save me."

#blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #blue lock fluff #blue lock #blue lock hcs #bllk #bllk x reader #mikage reo #mikage reo x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #isagi yoichi #isagi yoichi x reader

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amoristt · 1 month ago

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euclid

「 ✦kang dae-ho/reader ✦ 」・❥・he chokes you for the first time tags: smut MDNI // afab! reader, choking, pwp oneshot, unprotected, rough kinda?? for daeho's standards im sure

a/n: tiny little thang i had to to write bc i couldnt get this out of my head and its eating me alive !!!!!! word count: 1.2k

・❥・ you’re alive- perfect underneath him. a squirming, moaning, mess of a thing dragging your nails down the flexing muscles of his back and pressing your thighs to either side of his hips. warm and soft, every last part of you, down to your very DNA. built for him and the curve of his cock, eager to take it when he’s sliding against your gummy walls and finding the very essence of you against the tips of his fingers. he’s mapping out the shape of you, he’s finding every curve and every valley, remembering outline and the heave in your chest. nothing goes to waste. nothing goes unexplored, all appreciated, all a prayer from within the temple.

Dae-ho is burning alive. every sound you make is fodder for the incineration he’s scorching in. the bed is creaking with the intensity how he takes you, the wooden frame knocking off the wall in thumps until he has to shush it- reaches up and grasping the frame until every knock is bouncing off his white knuckles. his other hand runs paths over your breast, your collarbone. grazes just below your jaw, and you’re already tilting your head back to bare it.

the moment his grasp rests on your throat, you’re watching him through the thick fog in your eyes, equal parts lust and anticipation. pulse as quick as a rabbits- beat, beat, beating from underneath his broad hand. vibrating notes of fervor rumbling from your throat into your lips, into his waiting ears with every snap of his hips into yours.

the clutch of your jugular in his hold does not come naturally to him. he lingers until you place your hand over his, puffy lower lip caught between your teeth in a hunger so true it flashes it’s great maws and swallows his whole right then, right there. he digs his fingers into that endless drum of blood pumping flush through your body and then he sees it- the shift in you. excitement into gratification, eyes losing their focus. he loves when he can see himself within the mirrors of your pupils, but he can’t deny how he’s transfixed to watch you lose yourself. feeling, seeing, experiencing nothing except elated bliss. your legs wrap around his waist, heels driving into his lower back.

you want this. by the look of you, you need this. evident when you clutch the top of his hand with your own and look up from heavy lashes and urge him to press harder, to squeeze tighter. he ruts into you and hit’s something good, something that makes you arch your back and toss your head into the pillow with a wailing cry on your lips.

“please,” you manage, struggling to get anything out except wanton moans with the way he drives himself within you. your fingers twisting into the bedsheets, your legs shaking around him, there’s something like tension growing within his gut.

he hears the exact moment your breath cuts short around his grip. rough inhales bottlenecked into wheezes, chirpy mewls snuffed out into rasping gasps for air. you don’t leave the spotlight of his eyes, you never do, but more so now than ever. watches the way your eyes slip shut, feels the way your toes curl, shivers when he takes your smile. smiling, and constricting around his cock so much so that he feels like his own breath is trapping within the confines of his lungs. his knuckles have gone numb between the bedframe and the plaster wall, forgotten by the raging sea of your sex, all things loud and urgent, smearing over his thighs with every clap of his skin meeting yours.

you’re gripping his biceps and his forearms and anywhere else you can get purchase on, nails digging into his skin in the most delightful of ways. he lets up his grip, listens to you suck in wet, rapid breaths before he traps it in your throat all over again. keens, cries, all rewards you sing for him strangled out. a rush of something infects his body and runs it’s course into the burrow of his brain- this sense of power that’s making him lose himself in your heat. the ability to choose when you breathe, when you don’t, watching you split apart at the seams until you’re nothing but red faced and drooling under his grasp. tightening around his shaft like a vice, begging to keep him there forever. he doesn’t realize you’re cumming until your walls are fluttering around him in waves of euphoria. he can damn near see the stars behind your eyes.

that tension in his belly is growing into something he can’t hold back, pleasure so palpable it could be touched, dragging all the composure out of his body. you’re still gripping him so fucking tight it’s making it hard to breathe, in the throes of your orgasm, unknowingly dragging him to the very edge of that precipice himself. he’s driving you up the bed, pressing you into the mattress with the weight of his body.

he slams into you once, twice, three times, and then the festering tension within him breaks into this overwhelming wash of intoxicating bliss. finds the very depths of you and the thrill of your walls sucking him in when he can’t help but let go. it’s not his intention to bury himself sound against your cervix when he cums, but he does anyways, in thick spurts of pearly white that's filling you to the brim. his hand leaves your throat in favor of bracing himself on the pillow beside your head, and you suck in ragged breaths. he’d think you were pain if not for the dazed, lopsided grin on your face, spent and fucked.

properly satisfied.

it takes all the power in dae-ho’s body to not crush you when he collapses over your form. he’s leaning on his elbows, your legs still loose around his waist, panting in your neck. pulling out is his least favorite part of sex with you. it’s lonely outside of your body, too uncomfortably cold to bear at times. you don’t speak at first, nails idly dragging up and down his spine under goosebumps form in their wakes.

“was that,” he has to collect himself, searching for the words. “...was that good?”

“that was amazing, yeah.” you giggle at the waver in his tone and place a chaste kiss to his shoulder. your voice is honey sweet in his ears.

“i didnt hurt you?”

“stop worrying about that. you wont hurt me.”

“i always worry.”

“i know.”

your fingers are dancing through his hair, melts all else away except for you. his lips find your neck, placing kisses to the sore skin, as if apologizing to the very marks themselves before he rolls to his side.

Not a second goes by wasted before he’s wrapping his arms around your form, yearning for that warmth to be all over him once more. he pulls your back against his broad chest and buries his face in your hair, and you, you mold into him seamlessly, two conjoined souls, lost on where one ends and the other begins.

#need this man like water #deep sigh #kang dae-ho x reader #kang daeho x reader #squid game #player 388 #smut

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libertyybellls · 1 year ago

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KISS IT OFF ME !

pairing; finnick odair x f!dist4!reader

summary; finnick can’t take his eyes off of you in any crowd- but he can take care of you, what’s new?

contains; FLUFF, established relationship, finnick is still pining for reader, alcohol consumption- but positively i guess, reader is anxious in the beginning, objectification by the capitol as per usual.

a/n: i hope im not misunderstood but when i put specific photos or outfits/hairs in the headers of my works that is not directly what i am picturing the reader as! its more-so the hairstyle, or the outfit- or simply the aesthetic of the picture. not the race, hair nor body type. ur all cutie pies. ok anyways onto the fic kiss kiss.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

“well would you look at that!” your stylist squeals in your ear, “from the moment you won your last games i have just been dying to design for you again and… here we are!” she ushers you to spin around.

she’d always been kind to you, perhaps less kind to your dignity- always wanting to flaunt you like a show pony- but nonetheless her support had always been there.

“it’s beautiful, thank you.” you smile small at her. so bittersweet, she was oh-so ecstatic to dress you up once more but to you- this meant less serenity to you. more agitation, more distress, more death.

it felt like a paradox, to be adorned in this sweet, innocent, baby pink before you’re sent away to a grim world once again- you’d already gone off on a tangent to finnick. you’d both sobbed solemnly about the cruelty of it all, how you would never be able to live in peace.

but finnick just wanted you both to have this one night, to indulge in the capitol before you were sent of to your deaths, obviously he would see the brighter side of thing- blabbering about plutarchs plan and how he only needs to protect you, katniss, and peeta until he can get you out of there.

sounds so very simple doesn’t it?

once you’d finished your interview you attended a party, a celebration for the third quarter quell. how ironic, what was there to celebrate?

you’d seen the food platters, the spiked drinks, and indulge you did.

your brain had been fuzzy by the time you’d escape the overbearing class of the capitol citizens, who wanted to know every detail of your life.

it was then- finnick had spotted you- so inebriated you’d genuinely laugh at something the woman next to you said.

feasibly being that she’d said something so pretentious you couldn’t help but tilt your head back in laughter. but nonetheless he admired.

he admired your dress, your smile, the way your eyes slightly disappeared when you laughed, the way your hair was laying down your back. he was simply under the spell of you.

it was then your eyes met his smitten ones, so love drunk- or possibly just drunk- that you’d excused yourself and made a beeline straight for him.

he’d encaptured you with warm arms, a leather corset-like article of clothing consumed his waist- followed by his white buttoned down that seemed to be unbuttoned.

you noticed the way his eyes consumed you- not like the others did. not like you were a piece of cake, not like you were something they had to have for the night, but someone who lit his chest alight.

“you look beautiful.” he murmurs into your hair, his hands around your waist.

“i hardly feel that way- im scared, i think.”

he shook his head, pulling you from his warm embrace much to your dismay. “don’t be. you’re with me right now.” finnicks plush lips lay atop your forehead now.

you laugh as he continues to peck your face, giggles leaving your lips.”so beautiful.”

it was only when you nearly toppled over your unnecessarily long pumps that he took not of your consumption.

“so head over heels it seems you’ve had a little to much to drink. what do you say i get you back to your room now? hm?” he straightens you back up. “run you a bath?”

you let out a muffled mm into his chest, your other hand placed on the side of his chest holding you steady. “love you s’much finn.”

it was his turn to laugh now, there was no mockery, no heinous act behind it, just you and finnick. “i know baby.”

#finnick angst #finnick fanfic #finnick fluff #finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick oneshot #finnick smut #finnick #hunger games finnick #finnick x you #finnick x reader #finnick x y/n #thg finnick #my #finnick odair x you

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goldfades · 11 months ago

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𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐄? ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | requested! -> "can u pleaseeee write a fic with paige & a cheerleader at uconn ?? something cute like post game ritual, like going out to each or something"

─ word count | 1.2k

─ warnings | slightly suggestive (no smut tho), very flirty paige cus she's the rizzler, sweet fluffy things, some teasing and established relationship! nothing else, enjoy!

─ taglist | taglist in my navigation!

─ ev's notes | im on such a paige kick rn so please send me some requests and you shall receive!

"─ I KNEW WERE GOING TO WIN AFTER THAT," PAIGE EXPLAINED enthusiastically as you listened intently, a small grin playing on your face as you did so.

Your girlfriend walked in front of you as she told you everything and anything that was going on in her mind, her adrenaline still pumping from the game that had ended almost an hour ago. She was just rambling excitedly and of course you didn't mind, you actually enjoyed it thoroughly.

You were cheering on the sidelines the entire night and your arms were so sore, they were after every game. Paige carried your pom-pom's for you as you finally walked out of the arena, you could barely even feel your feet at this point.

Despite feeling the exhaustion of the entire night on your shoulders, it dissipated as you watched Paige. You didn't even feel tired anymore as the cool air hit you. The night air felt crisp against your skin, a refreshing contrast to the heated atmosphere of the arena.

"But Coach was mad because I kept looking at you during the game. It's not my fault you showed up looking that good, I mean Jesus. I will never get used to how sexy you look in the uniform." Paige rambled as her eyes looked at you up and down, you felt your cheeks get warmer. Her admiration was always flattering, and you found yourself blushing slightly under her gaze.

No matter how many times Paige showered you with compliments, it'll never get old. "Well, I can't help it if I distract you," you teased, returning her gaze with a warm smile. "But you're the sexy one, trust me."

"Yeah, I guess so." Paige shrugged as she began walking backwards so she could face you. "I'm the sexy one and you're the pretty one, that's how this works, right?"

"What works? Liking girls?" You tried to clarify as you laughed, shaking your head.

Paige chuckled and shook her head. "I meant, you know, the whole dynamic. I'm the sexy athlete, and you're the pretty cheerleader,"

You let out a huff of laughter as you reached her car, Paige joining in a few seconds later. "Oh, I see what you're getting at," you said with a playful smirk as you leaned against her car. "Well, if that's the case, then I'm the lucky cheerleader who gets to support her amazing baller girlfriend."

Paige smirked, unlocking the car and holding the door open for you. "And I'm the lucky baller who gets to have the prettiest cheerleader by her side."

With a laugh, you climbed into the car, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as Paige joined you in the driver's seat. As she started the engine, you leaned over to press a quick kiss to her cheek as her hands slid down to your thigh and squeezed it.

You leaned back into the passenger seat as Paige kept her hand on your thigh, driving with one hand. God, she really was sexy. She felt your gaze as her lips curved into cocky smirk but she kept her eyes on the road. You let yourself relax into the moment, enjoying the sensation of Paige's touch against your skin.

You reached your apartment building, the drive feeling all too short. As Paige parked the car, she finally turned to meet your gaze, the playful smirk still on her lips.

"You okay there, beautiful?" she teased, her voice low as you met her eyes.

You couldn't help but chuckle at her cocky demeanor, feeling a surge of affection for the confident woman beside you. "More than okay," you replied, your voice soft with affection.

Paige's smirk softened into a tender smile, and she leaned in to press a lingering kiss to your lips. The warmth of her touch sent a rush of electricity through you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the game ended.

You both pulled away and she let out a small laugh as you pressed another kiss on her cheek. You opened your eyes and let out a little laugh as you saw some of your lipstick had transferred to her lips and cheek.

Chuckling softly at the sight of your lipstick on Paige's lips and cheek, you reached up to gently wipe it away with your thumb, your touch lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary.

"There we go," you said with a smile, admiring the smudge-free result. "Can't have you walking around looking like you just won a makeout session instead of a game."

Paige laughed, leaning into your touch. "Wouldn't mind winning that too," she teased, her voice low and playful. She leaned away as she finally turned her ignition off with a yawn. She gestured for you to get out of the car and you both got out.

She grabbed your hand as you both walked up to your apartment. Once inside, Paige led you up the stairs, the familiarity of the surroundings comforting as you reached your door.

She opened the door and you threw her stuff on the ground with a tired huff. It was a routine you were both accustomed to, and one that always brought a sense of warmth to your heart.

Your lips curved into an amused smile, Paige always treated your apartment like it was her own but of course. But you didn't mind in the slightest; in fact, you found comfort in her presence and the easy way she fit into your life.

"You know, one of these days, you're going to move in officially," you teased, nudging her playfully as you stepped into the apartment behind her.

Paige grinned, turning to face you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And what makes you think I haven't already?"

She walked into the kitchen as you followed closely behind. She opened the fridge and grabbed a water before chugging it quickly as you rolled her eyes at her antics.

"Slow down, you'll choke." You joked, leaning against the kitchen counter with a smile. Paige shot you a playful glare before setting the empty water bottle on the counter with a satisfied sigh.

"I'll have you know, I'm a professional water chugger," she replied with a grin, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

You chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. "Is that a new sport you're adding to your repertoire? First basketball, now water chugging?"

"Hey, hydration is key," Paige said, adopting a mock-serious expression. "Gotta stay on top of my game, you know."

You laughed, reaching out to playfully ruffle her hair as she groaned. "Well, I can't argue with that. But next time, maybe try sipping instead of chugging. I'd hate to have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on you."

"If that makes you feel better, princess." Paige rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she shot you a playful smirk. "Anyway, I'm gonna go shower cus I'm disgusting."

"Sounds like a plan," you replied, giving her a playful wink as she headed towards the bathroom. You looked down and realized that you were also sweaty and disgusting.

"Wait, wait. I need to shower too, so hurry!"

"Or..." Paige started as she smirked back at you. "You can join me?"

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Paige's suggestion, a playful smirk on your lips. "Oh, is that so?"

Paige smirked, her gaze meeting yours with a hint of excitement. "Why waste water when we can save some by showering together?"

"God, you sound like such a boy right now." You joked as she grabbed your arm and pulled you into the bathroom. "Okay fine. For the environment."

"Yep, for the environment." Paige replied as she closed the door, a smirk playing on her lips.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#paige bueckers fanfiction #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #uconn headcannons #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #ncaa women’s basketball #women's college basketball #wcbb x reader #wcbb #wcbb fic

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yourlittlebunnyy · 4 months ago

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sleepy lucien x reader

main masterlist - lucien masterlist

summary: he needs you but you're asleep

warnings: smut, somnophilia

w/c: 1.1k

a/n: im ovulating and i got carried away so yes

lucien comes home late at night. he's so tired. all he wants is a warm bath and some good sleep. he doesn't find you waiting for him as usual, tho. it's weird. he's used to be climbed like a tree by you as soon as he step into the house, but tonight you are not there.

he searches for you everywhere only to find you asleep in your shared bed, wearing one of his shirts and hugging his pillow.

he basically falls in love with you all over again. you're the prettiest angel he has ever seen in his entire life. he can't tear his eyes off of you. he steps closer, careful not to wake you up. one of your legs is hooked around the pillow, exposing your skin.

he realizes you're not wearing anything underneath. your sex is exposed for him and him only. you had fallen asleep like a good girl, waiting for him to come back. his cock stiffens in his pants, begging to be freed.

lucien can't keep his hands to himself. the soft skin of your thighs and ass just looks so inviting... he starts with gentle and innocent caress, just wanting to feel your warmth. but he wants more. you've been a good girl for him, and you deserve a reward. he is careful not to wake you up when he quickly gets up and undress himself.

he slowly pulls up the shirt just enough to discover your lower back. he quickly licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry at the view. he's exhausted, and you're probably too, but he cant bring himself to stop, his blood his boiling in his veins.

he needs to restrain. you are helpless, you didnt even notice him. he could take you right now without any problem, but it's not fair. but... that's exactly what is turning him on so much he has to unzip his pants to free his cock - you're defenceless, free for him to use. his little princess.

his hand moves between your folds, the touch of his fingertips barely there, just enough to cover your skin in goosebumps. but you dont seem to notice, and he goes on undisturbed. his fingers find with expert movements your little button, circling it slowly. his eyes are fixated on your face, looking for any sign that you might be awake. your breath fastens, but your still very asleep.

with his other hand he pumps his cock a few times, some droplets of precum already leaking from his red and angry looking tip. he gently moves you on your back, and the vision is ethereal. the shirt - his shirt, his so thin that he can see your nipples through the frabric. all he wants to do his putting his mouth over them and worship you like you deserve. but tonight it's not about you. its about him.

he opens your legs, your sex now exposed more than ever. if you were awake, you would probably complain with red cheeks, embarrassment filling your mind. but now... he can do whatever he wants. he is not ashamed to admit that this type of control makes him go crazy.

he change position. now he's between your legs, his nose just mere millimetres from your centre. lucien could feast on you like you were the last meal in the whole Prythian, but he doesnt. he wants to make this moment last for the entire eternity, thats why he licks your folds slowly, to taste the waters. to see how you would react. you let out a sigh, your face relax even more, but other than that - nothing.

his tongue naturally searches for your entrance, hungry for the sweet nectar you're the only one capable of providing for him. his pace quickens a bit, eager to feed himself. his cock is so hard its painful, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. this is like heaven, he thinks, maybe he's dead, maybe he's really in heaven.

but its all real, expecially when he hears your little moans. he forces himself to slow down and watch your pretty face that is scrunched in a pleasured expression. he uses his hands to keep you in place, massaging your skin with a softness that causes a dark contrast with the way he's eating you out. his thumb finds your clit. lucien is needy to hear you sing for him. a particularly loud whimper excape your lips the moment he starts to draw circles on the bundle of nerves, his tongue burning inside you, deeper and deeper.

"lucien..?" you're so confused on what's happening, a moment ago you were alone in your bed and now a red head is between your legs. you're about to ask for explanation, but lucien doesnt stop his movements and the feeling washes all the coherent thoughts in your mind. "shhh..." he groans, the vibration from the sound just adding to the pleasure. "just enjoy, pretty." it might sound like an invitation, but his hand locks you in the bed and you cant move or protest even you want. not that you want, tho.

his circles on you clit became tigher and tigher, just like the knot thats quickly forming in your stomach. you call his name so many times it sounds like a chanter, you're not sure if you're complaining or asking for more with your pleas, but hes not listening either. "i'm... I'm so close, lu." you cry out. you wish you could move to stand on your elbows and look at him, but you're too afraid he will stop. instead, you just lay there and take what he gives you. "let go, love. let go." he can feel your walls spasming around his tongue, your cunt begging for release.

you're lucky that its exactly what he wants to give you. with one last lick, you fall over the edge. its like fireworks exploding under your skin, a feeling you will never get used to. he helps you get through it, keeping you in place as you try to arch your back. his tongue and hus fingers dont stop until you're begging for him to do so.

he press one last kiss to your sex and quickly climbs you, positioning himself on top of you, between your legs. "hello there." he says softly, his nose brushes your neck, breathing your scent. you smile. your hands, that just moments ago were gripping the sheets, now find their place on his hair, giving him some comfort.

a hard presence presses on your belly, reminds you that tonight is not over. he smirks just like a fox and position himself so his tip brushes against your centre. "i hope you didnt think it was over, love." oh, you have a long, long night ahead of you.

hope you enjoyed! ♡

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takes1 · 11 days ago

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i just read the overview for the kyotani fic… ik you and the requester cooked so glucking hard omfg🤤🤤🤤

[final?] accidentally falling for kyoutani (maddog)

ayyy much appreciated pookie bear.💕😌 i have no plans to write a part after this so it will no longer be a priority. if i do write more (specifically after i write myself back out of the 'part 2 prison' im in rn bc im a dumbass) it'll be because of inbox requests for it

warnings. nsfw, implied depressive symptoms, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / angsty smut / bad coping strategies! / porn with plot / or plot with porn? / f!rec oral / spontaneous intimacy / heavy petting / making out / clothes on type shit / kyoutani is a munch / crying and hugging / 2.8k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. requests open. part one here.

"Mmm..." Your eyes danced across the photo preview, back to his eternal pout, and suggested, "Can you do some push-ups or something? Your forearm needs to be veiny-er..."

Kyoutani hated that. His eyes narrowed at you, his grip slipping away. You turned from his reflection to give his actual scowl an irritating smile.

"My forearms?"

"Yeah-,"

He flexed both of his wrists towards you, "These aren't veiny enough for you?"

You pointed at the strings under his skin, all plump and oddly attractive, "Well- see yeah, that's okay. But the back, look. Turn them around."

A big, frustrated sigh. He turned them and they were genuinely less vascular, there.

Getting this picture right was very important to you, and you made it immensely clear that it needed to be perfect for you to post it. Always worried about the optics, despite choosing the school's most renowned loser to do this operation with.

"God," He groaned, a big eye roll, "You're such a--,"

Ignored went his usual insults, mixed in odd cadence with his new pet names, as he pushed out about 40 good push-ups. Kyoutani did what you told him to at the end of the day. You had a few ideas around why-- but it generally boiled down to the fact that he secretly liked keeping you around.

Nobody could be okay with being alone all the time, right?

You sure weren't.

Kyoutani repped those out like he could do at least double that. You crossed your arms over yourself, warm, at his gesture at your feet. You wanted to tell him to keep going, just to see if he would.

It had been a month of no-contact with Tooru and you were drowning in the withdrawal. That was at 6 games, a mix of practice and real ones, that you had missed. You wondered if anyone remembered you. If he could ever pick out your voice in the midst of all his options, in the stands, the way he told you he did.

"Aagh-, you- are so difficult."

He was breathy as he rolled his hoodie sleeves back up, then fixed his collar. You took a little long staring at him, void of usual judgment, and he made a face at you when you pulled him back in to continue workshopping your photo.

Distracted, you drawled, "You don't make this easy, either."

"Hm... that is better-," Your fingers slipped over his arms again, his pump showing well.

The point was to have him be recognizable, but not in an explicit way. Just his forearms, maybe some of his hair, and his height the only real indicators of who was holding you in this mirror pic.

Tooru would know in an instant. Others might put two-and-two together, and more would have no clue.

Kyoutani's eyes lazily watched your screen, how you adjusted the exposure lower, the frame size. It was a dull endeavor, and not enough to truly interest him. Unlike you, he had no hope for your failed relationship coming back from the dead. Oikawa choked, dumping you- it was that simple.

Your neck smelled like that sweet, soft perfume you wore almost every Friday. That was his favorite. It made him hungry for a something with strawberries and cream, or a nice pastry.

While you moved his arm where it needed to be -right under your chest-, he sucked a slow kiss into the side of your neck.

It didn't mess up your photo, and it wasn't like you hadn't been paying him in kisses already, so you suppressed your shivers and ignored the creep.

Another few takes later, and you had some photos to work with, so you could edit and decide how/where to post them.

Kyoutani satisfied, so you started your editing where you stood, in front of your desk, tapping away with your thumbs while his hands roamed over your shirt.

He kept you shivering, a little short of breath, and half-distracted.

"How'd it turn out?"

He never spared his best sarcasm with you. He didn't give a damn about the picture.

"Fu-ck you," You sighed- it was embarrassing how quickly he got you worked up, making you more tense, than anything.

A breathy chuckle. That was too easy. He didn't go for the obvious response.

He moved further down, fingers hooked under your blouse. He pulled on it to swipe his tongue and teeth over the sensitive skin there.

"That-- that feels-- good," You struggled, eyes clouded, head tilted so he could have more room.

It had been too long. Any touch got your mind racing, your body reactive. You were barely able to post the picture.

Kyoutani scoffed. You thought he would stop, just to be an asshole, but he moved to press a kiss right behind your ear.

He grumbled, a hand diving, hungry, under your shirt, "I can do better than good."

You put a palm on your desk, stumbling forward and weak at his words, under his grasp, from all his prodding. He pressed you up against it, kisses faster, rougher. His other hand rested on your thigh, just shy of your skirt. More of a question, than anything.

There were worse options. Somewhere. He was hot, and horny, at least.

You turned around and brought him in by the back of his head for a rushed and heated kiss.

He not only met it, but gladly escalated everything-- he gripped you hard and placed you on the desk, a heady groan under his passionate kisses.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled his hips in. It all felt so good- so fast, but so easy. There was hardly a second thought to it at all.

"Fuck-," He groaned, parting for the moment it took to hold you tighter.

Hurried and ruttish kisses overlapped one another. He couldn't finish one before he started the next. Unable to keep up, you were getting pushed back in his haste, all giddy at his almost-funny enthusiasm.

But it was no laughing matter.

You were just as lonely. You tried just as hard. You wanted somebody to touch, somebody to hold.

Somebody to make you feel good. Wanted.

Despite your routine changing overnight after you and Tooru weren't on speaking terms anymore, you failed to fill the space. The quiet, the hours you used to dedicate to just your relationship, now void of anything, was like a memorial to the concept of 'us.' Inviting Kyoutani over -sneaking him in through the garage, rather- already felt like you were disrespecting your mourning. This was the desk he used to sit on. That was your bed that he used to sleep in.

Kyoutani cupped the back of your head like you were made of glass-- his sigh proceeded it, like this wasn't just some spur of the moment kiss.

And you let yourself be convinced. Just for a little while.

He was fast with his hands. Gripping, groping, pulling your expensive clothes.

Your own grasp was pushing down under his hoodie, under the collar of his shirt to feel more skin. He was warm, and here, and real.

"Have I--," You cringed at your stutter, as he kept his hickeys cropped close to your jaw, "Told you that- you're kinda cute?"

His hips rolled against yours, his fingers plunged under your skirt on your hip, under the panties Tooru paid for months ago.

"Cute."

A tiny nick next to your ear made you flinch, "You must be thinkin' of someone else."

He was making you breathless already, the dull sensation enough to get you soaked and destitute. A light chuckle at his stupid avoidance, and you knew to try harder next time you had something nice to say.

Kyoutani pulled back and rolled his eyes, muttering another, dismissive, 'cute,' and pressed his palm real soft against your pussy.

"Mm-m," You couldn't return his kiss, chin tucked lower, instead. All tense at his touch.

Your thighs squeezed around his wrist.

"No way you're that sensitive-," He laughed at you, but it wasn't targeted.

You evaded his curious gaze. In your denial of kisses, he dropped to his knees, instead.

"It's- been a whi-le-- Ah-h!"

Kyoutani was kissing you through your panties- on your desk- kneeling on the floor- while you were both fully clothed- and Tooru was who-knows-where, not giving a fuck about you.

He muttered something against your cunt, a buzz good enough for you to scratch the paint off of the surface.

You flinched, but didn't have a doubt in your mind about what you wanted as he pushed them to the side and put a sloppy kiss to you.

"Ah-h," Was a pitiful, whimpry noise out of your parted lips.

Kyoutani's hands, perfectly veiny at this point, had your thighs hostage, encouraging you to keep them up so he could get better access in this position.

His tongue was new, but he was so gentle, so attentive, that you got used to him embarrassingly quick.

Those fingers were darker, shaped more blocky and thicker than Tooru's. But they still felt good. They looked hot, gripping you. His curly, dyed hair was very different. You wanted to touch it, but refrained, in case he got mad. Nevertheless, it was a welcome sight between your legs.

The pleasure you had associated with only one person wasn't so specialized anymore.

"Mmn!" You winced at a strong suck to your clit.

Before you could tell him he was too rough, he was back in his light circles again.

Your chest was getting tight, your shallow breaths uneven. Tooru was never this spontaneous. You would've never known you liked it so much.

This was not your most conventional orgasm, but it topped more than a few.

"I-i'm--," Your whiny admission fell away at his consistency, his soft kisses and tonguing at your pussy, "F-uck, fuck, fuck-! H-ah,"

You came all shaky, whiny, for him, just the way he liked you. You were never more pretty to him than in that moment, how he made you all soft and sweet, soaking wet and broken in.

Kyoutani wasn't eager to part from you- you had to squeeze him with your thighs, just to get him to move.

When he came up, all flushed, relaxed, and chin dripping, he looked horribly beautiful.

He kissed you hard before he wiped it off.

"Knew you'd taste sweet," Was an alarmingly soft mutter against your neck.

That made you smile.

He filled the gaps around you perfectly, all warm, and out of breath, too. Did it classify as a hug? Because it felt like one. You put your arms over his shoulders and sighed, trembly, and heavy against his strong hold.

His thumb rubbed just under your hairline, and you could feel the expanse of his chest, the rhythm of his breathing.

Part of you wanted to apologize for involving him in your lunacy, your inexplicable obsession with the idea of getting your ex back.

The thought of that was messy, though, because then you would be apologizing for all of it. And now, after whatever this was, you wouldn't fully mean it.

Buzzed, you simply were not sorry for getting acquainted with him.

The desk was not comfortable. He smushed a few pecks, slow, against your forehead and lifted you to stand up.

"You're pretty good at that," You managed to admit before another kiss.

Careless, and absorbed in your body, "It's nothin'- you're pretty easy."

Instead of letting him keep up his handsy, huffy attempts at getting further, you turned your face so he caught your jaw. Your palms faced flat on his shoulders, instead of pulling him closer.

Kyoutani groaned, "Not like that--,"

"No no, I know," Your raised, insincere tone was a direct contradiction, "I know."

You reached for your phone. His frown got tighter.

He didn't want to let you go, but couldn't keep holding you when you acted like such a stranger. His fingertips slipped from you and were replaced in fists at his sides.

It was just like you. Reaching for something familiar and comforting as soon as you were intimidated, or unsure.

There were many notifications, all a blur as you scrolled down an endless sea of them. You cleared your throat, straightening your clothes, and he scowled at how different it felt, just watching your guard go back up.

Distracted, you glanced vaguely across to his shoulder, then your screen, and absentmindedly created distance by starting to search for a change of clothes, before you spared him any semblance of an explanation.

"Sorryyy, I really need a shower, sooo..."

He rolled his eyes and sat on your bed, "Kay."

The tiny consideration to be kind, cute, and engage him one more time did cross your mind. Maybe, if you had been more sure that he would be receptive to something domestic like that, you would've followed your intuition.

Instead, you shut the bathroom door behind you.

You looked down at the screen, finally alone, and grew cold.

Two missed calls, four messages. From Tooru. He still had a white heart by his name. You watched your thumb start to shake over the screen-- you set your phone face down and puffed out a sick breath as you turned the knob on the shower.

It felt like you cheated.

It didn't matter how hot you made that water. You felt disgusting and couldn't wash it away.

Kyoutani didn't need his overly sensitive hearing to know you were crying in the bathroom. He ran his palms over his face with a sigh and fell onto his back.

If Oikawa wasn't in the picture, his stress would be gone- but he also wouldn't have had a chance, in the first place. He had to weigh all the costs and benefits, gritting his teeth to the sound of your quiet sobbing.

The worst part was that you really weren't that bad. Nobody could be a bitch for that long. Maybe you needed to learn how to be less pretentious. He couldn't be sure, but he knew you had your good moments. He liked those. He liked you when you were sweeter, when you had your stupid guard down, and got all clingy and nice to him because you didn't have another outlet.

Being last-pick was getting really old.

You were sniffling long after the sound of the shower was gone. He waited what felt like an interval between too long and too little to knock, to check on you.

The door opened and an excessive amount of steam poured out.

He waited for you to say something, to prompt him to speak, but the natural beat faded away, and you were both standing there, staring at each other.

"Uh..." His jaw worked, face heavy and frustrated at his lack of words, "Are you... okay?"

It was easy getting his uncertain gaze meet your face, so long as you didn't look back at him. Thankfully, you were staring at his shoulder, lashes decorated with pretty little drops, your eyes brighter, somehow.

You nodded and he was at -yet another- severe deficit. He bit the inside of his cheek with a loaded sigh through his nostrils.

Kyoutani was so bad with words. You could hear his frustration.

"Come on," His hands went up past his sides for a subtle suggestion. An embrace. His face was turned up and away. You wouldn't have to feel the pressure of him watching.

There was a soft spot under all his messy bullshit, and it wasn't just fueled by sex. You hated how much you needed it, right now.

You closed the distance. No argument, no sarcasm, no pushing back.

You wouldn't put all your weight on him. Not like you did earlier. You'd be damned before you cried in his arms, no matter how empty you felt. He felt good and he was steady, strong. Your body melted, faltered, against your will.

"You wanna- I dunno- go get a coffee, or somethin'?"

That sounded like a fantastic idea. You pushed enough on his chest to tell him you were done with hugging, but he still kept a grip on your upper arm, eyes analyzing every little shudder and movement.

You nodded again, unable to properly respond. Scarred knuckles grazed your puffy face, not enough to do anything- just there to give you a soft touch.

"I'll drive."

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artdcnaldson · 9 months ago

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Has reader ever just had a "i have to get out" moment in the changeover universe?

Like art is trying to talk to her after sex and shes just staring at the wall re thinking her decisions.

They are very toxic and i know the reader has feelings for them so i think art would have been very smothering ir clingy if reader made any atempts at going out with another circle of friends and distancing herself

(im sorry i over analyse many situations 😭)

Anon… i love u <3 I love this messy main character bc i too would throw away my scruples for this man.

Rating: M

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Toxic situationship, manipulation kinda, mild angst

Summary: You say something you shouldn’t. It messes up the fucked up equilibrium that you and Art had found in whatever you could call the relationship you had together.

FEBRUARY 2007

For Valentine’s Day, you got Art a teddy bear and a box of chocolates. He got you nothing. He wasn’t your boyfriend, so you didn’t know why you were upset about it, but you were. It stung like a fresh wound, one you could never just let be.

The two of you fucked, because that’s what you always did. The feeling of his mouth on yours, warm and tasting of mint, almost made you forgive him for not getting you anything. He called you beautiful, let his hands trace your body reverently, made you cum once, twice before he pulled you into his lap and let you sink onto him.

His forehead was against yours, breath coming in pants as you rode him, bodies pressed so close it almost felt like making love. Maybe that’s why you said it— the words tumbling out like a prayer.

I love you, Art.

He was tense, for a moment, brows furrowed slightly, before he kissed you and laid you onto your back. He pulled another orgasm from an impossible place within you, one you didn’t know existed. He came, messy on your thighs, and rolled over onto his back.

It was quiet, and you felt so far away from him. Your fingers brushed against his hand, testing, but he pulled them away and stood to redress. It was so quiet that you could hear blood pumping in your ears, like an ocean.

”You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” was what he finally said.

Your lip wobbled, just slightly. And then tears pooled on your lashline. “Sorry,” you said weakly.

“It’s fine.” But you had a sinking suspicion that you’d really fucked up. He handed you a towel, and you cleaned yourself up as best as you could while fighting frustrated tears.

”Are you leaving?” You asked. He was standing in between yours and your roommate’s bed, like he hadn’t quite decided yet. You pulled on a tee shirt and underwear and gave him a pathetic, pleading expression. ”Don’t leave, please. I didn’t mean it. We can watch a movie.”

He acquiesced, and let you cling to his side pathetically after you pulled out a portable DVD player. You split a pair of headphones and watched The Royal Tenenbaums.

Halfway through the movie, clarity hit like a lightning strike. Or maybe it was more like a sinking feeling of dread— of being neck deep in quicksand before you realize you should be crawling out.

You couldn’t keep doing this. Because Art was a dream, really. Handsome, and talented, and smarter than you’d expected him to be. And he was so sweet, when he didn’t realize that he should’ve been discouraging your affection. Or maybe he liked it, but only when it was quiet and he didn’t have to acknowledge that what he was doing was wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t wrong and it was all your own fault for wanting someone who made it clear they weren’t emotionally available. Maybe you were pressuring him into something he didn’t want and it was all unfair to him too.

It didn’t matter. It was fucking killing you.

When the movie ended, he stretched and said he’d see you in class. You nodded, smiling the sad smile of a dog unknowingly being left at the pound.

Once the sadness faded, it was replaced with a molten resentment, an anger at him and yourself over your time being wasted. He still sat next to you in class, sneaking peeks of your notes, but you ignored him as best as you could. Days passed, then a week. You started to feel human again.

A couple weekends later, you ignored the text he sent asking for you to join him at a mixer the tennis team was planning on crashing. You ignored the follow up too.

You wound up at a party on the opposite end of campus with a few girls from the service org you were in. You flirted with a new guy, felt like maybe you were worth more than a casual fuck buddy.

So the sight of him sitting at your door when you finally stumbled home was the last thing you wanted to see. All sad, slumped against your door.

He scrambled to stand, expression filled with longing. “Don’t be mad at me,” he pleaded. “I missed you so fucking bad these past few weeks. Felt like I was going crazy.”

Your heart skipped, and hammered against your ribs. You wanted to reach out and kiss that sad, longing expression off his face. You wanted to tell him to leave. It was all very confusing.

“Don’t say that, Art, please,” you said weakly, lips turning down into a frown. You tried to sidestep him, to get the keys into the door, but he pulled you against his chest.

He smelled so nice— like cologne and cinnamon gum. You gave a pathetic sigh at the warmth of him, wrapped all around you. “I missed you,” he repeated. “It’s like a part of me has been missing. I wanted to talk to you so badly, to kiss you, to watch boring movies with you.”

Annoyance and longing bubbled hot in the pit of your stomach, you had to force yourself to push him away. “You just missed having a cheerleader you could fuck whenever you felt like it.”

He frowned. “That’s not true.”

”What’s my major? What’s my favorite place on campus?” He swallowed hard, exhaling sharply through his nose. “What’s my favorite movie?”

“How would I know that?” He asked, resignation flat on his features.

You rolled your eyes. “Because I tell you about it all the time. Because I’ve taken you there. Because I made you watch it. Twice.” You finally got into your room. When you didn’t slam the door, you realized that you were aching for him to follow. You wanted him to be near you, even if you were seething.

When you turned to face him, you hated that even though you were incredibly mad, you still wanted him to just prove you wrong. To convince you that you were being crazy and he was innocent and the only problem was you being a weirdo about your feelings.

God, he was so pretty. And he looked so sad.

“I’ll try to be better,” he said. “I’ll take you on dates, and buy you flowers, and give you what you deserve.”

But you’ll never be his girlfriend. You knew it, deep down. Even as you caved and gave a sweet, sad little nod. He was across the room, holding you against his chest as you felt annoying tears slipping down your cheeks. Tears of relief, of frustration, of resignation.

“I’m not Tashi,” you said when he pressed his lips to the crown of your skull. It was annoying that he had the power to quell all of your uncomfortable emotions with a single romantic gesture. He pulled back and met your gaze, and you softened. “I know she’s always been your first pick, and I don’t blame you, but I’m not ever going to be her, if that’s what you’re waiting on.”

Something passed over his expression, briefly. “I know you’re not.” It was more of a lament than it was an attempt at comfort. “I’m not waiting on anything.”

His lips trailed down, along your jaw, at the corner of your mouth. He pulled back, looking at you expectantly. Are you going to let me?

Your lips parted softly as you kissed him with lips that tasted wet and salty. It was chaste, and sweet. He pulled back and ran his thumb along your cheekbone. “Let me hold you until you fall asleep? Please?”

It was hard to stay mad at Art Donaldson, even when you knew you really should.

Thank you for reading! If you have any requests in the Changeover universe, or otherwise send me an ask :)

#art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson fanfic #challengers 2024 #challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #my writing

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damsalindistress · 12 days ago

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what are they like/first time in bed with HSR men

PART 1: AVENTURINE x F!READER

info & warnings: nsfw/smut, MDNI, aventurine x female bodied! reader, slightly ooc probably, fingering, mentions of cock warming, marking/hickeys, p in v, top aventurine, bottom reader, mentions of riding & gagging, this is long asl, mentions of his past, kinda fluffy in parts, just read it for urself 😓 also this kind of sucks because im still a beginner at writing fics like this!!

aventurine LOVES the thrill, fingering you under a table at the casino? hell yeah. having you sit on his lap ‘innocently’ while you cock warm him? say less. this guy also loves marking you up, to show everybody that you belong to him, it’s also just a display of his true love for you!

i feel like he would have certain kinks that you’d be a bit shocked by- like you knew he was crazy because of his gambling tactics(“i’ll bet my life”), but when he asked you to gag him while you ride his cock .. well, you just weren’t expecting it- but you were into it to be completely honest. then bondage was also a big one of his, he liked tying you up with soft silk ribbons and seeing your pudge get squeezed lightly- and this man likes it too no doubt, tie his wrists up and he’s all yours.

but it took a long time to get to this level of intimacy with him- considering his past traumas. so sex was a big milestone for him, especially with someone as beautiful as you.

most people considered him untrustworthy, and a con artist considering his job as a stoneheart and the mask he puts on. but with you? god. he felt like he could just talk to you normally, and actually relax his shoulders for once.

so the first time with him was very soft and honestly.. oddly romantic?

like roses on the bed type- and that’s stuff he never expected to do for anyone.

“you’re beautiful, [name]..” he would murmur, his head in your neck peppering soft wet kisses, as you straddled his lap on the bed, your head tilted away so he had full access. “says you,” you would tease back playfully, letting out gentle hums of the feeling of his lips on you.

it was slow and sensual, hovering above you now, once he had prepped you with his fingers and stroked himself off for a moment he held your hips, making eye contact with you before he actually put his member inside.

“can i?” he asked you, although you and himself knew it was an obvious yes, he still wanted verification.

“yes, love,” you said, smiling softly at him as he reached his hand over to caress your cheek before sliding back down to your hip.

he nodded slowly, before taking one hand off your hip and lining himself up with his cock and your pussy, before pushing in and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like cumming right then and there, you already felt so good. you would let out the softest of moans as he pushed in your walls a little further, waiting for you to nod and tell him it was okay to move further in.

“you feel good, fuck.. you feel really good,” he would curse under his breath, letting out breathless sounds of his own. “do you feel good?” his eyes darted up to you- he’d been watching the way you sucked him in for a little too long.

“yeah- yeah, you can move av,”you said reassuringly, in reality you felt butterflies everywhere, your core tightening around his thick cock like a vice already, and you couldn’t wait for him to speed up.

once he heard your confirmation he held onto your hips a bit tighter, allowing himself to go further and finally bottom out.

“ahh-” he let out a moan, biting his lip. you absolutely loved the sight of him, he was truly gorgeous to you. but hell, you already sounded breathless just from a few thrusts.

“baby, faster,” you huffed out, that got a soft chuckle out of him and he nodded, his thumb that was slowly caressing your hip stopped and tightened once again, before he slowly pumped himself inside of you, going halfway out, to the point he could see his slick shaft, before pounding straight back in. it was slow- but it had a definite rough intent with the way your flesh smacked together, making a loud echo.

“fuuuuck.. you feel-… hah,” he panted, going in and out now with an actual pace, but you get the gist of how he’d be, and obviously he had protection.(never forget protection!)

so once that level of trust was established in your guys’ relationship, sexual pleasure became an actual big thing for you both, especially when he’d be gone for a while on trips for the ipc.(once he came home from penacony let’s just say.. best dick you’ve ever gotten from him..)

he had missed you so much! when you both reunited he hugged you tightly, just wanting to feel you in his arms and kiss your lips, to be able to feel and smell your scent again.

usually after, the sex would be rough and very loud, not even words anymore, just his shameless moans mixed with yours as he bent you into a pretzel. but!! it’s just a representation of how badly he needed you over his time away.

he usually says it under his breath, but almost everytime you guys finish, he says “gaiathra has truly blessed me with you,” and it always brings a smile to your face- well, when you can comprehend one.

the end✍️✍️ sorry if this was really lame i just felt like writing this and i also would like to make this a series because star rail men are dndbdbdbbxkskri😍, feel free to request who you’d like to see!! and i’m also always open to criticism and suggestions on how to write better or what to write!

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 8 months ago

Text

Postcards

Summary: Tom Bennett is sweet on the Post Office girl, but only dares to approach it just as he's conscripted for war | Word Count: 7.2k~ (oops) | Warnings: ww2, mentions of death, smut, fingering

A/N: A very VERY Happy Birthday to @ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 I hope you enjoy this and have a lovely day! ❤ And thank you so much to @theoneeyedprince for skimming over this 😘

“Get ‘im a cuppa, would ya darlin’!”

Her grandfather’s low baritone seemed to rumble through the floorboards so much so it made her eardrums throb, and she shook her head as she descended the creaky staircase at the back of the store room, running a hand over the collar of her dress to keep it flat.

“Yes, Granda,” she sighed, filling the kettle and placing it on the lit stove. Gone were the days when she was young, afraid of the tiny flame that appeared when her grandfather struck a match to light the gas. He’d always laugh at her concerned expression, chuckling that no grandchild of his was going to be such a ‘scaredy-cat’.

He’d had her lighting matches on the stovetop since she was eleven years old. No exceptions.

A harsh but fair upbringing, given that she was his only grandchild.

She brushed a wavy lock of hair from her face, her pumps clicking on the floorboards as she let the water boil and joined him at the front of the post office. She rolled her eyes when she saw him struggling with the sack of post, grunting and grumbling to himself as elderly men often do.

“Get off, granda, let me.”

“Cheeky beggar! Can do it on me own, ya pesky-”

“Granda.”

He finally turned, perhaps recognising the same tone he’d heard in his wife and daughter in years gone, and knew not to argue. She saw that when her grandfather, turned while bent over and withered with his years, with a smattering of white on his chin and waved sparsely on the crown of his head, had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, the end almost chewed right through with the effort he’d used in trying to lift what he easily could have several years ago.

He raised an eyebrow, bringing the cigarette from his age-weathered lips and blowing the smoke out, “Go on then. Tea on?”

“Course, it is,” she sighed, bending to pull the sack of post from the floor and into the corner to be sorted later. “I’ll do that later, you go upstairs”.

“Bollocks, will I. I’m staying ‘ere.”

Her grandfather was stubborn, though it was something they accused each other of being regularly. A family trait, some would say.

The postman, clad in his dark uniform trudged through the front door, ringing the bell with it. His satchel was empty and his cheeks were pink like the wind had been at them.

“The usual route please, darlin’”.

She nodded. “Cuppa first?”

“Yes, ta, milk, one sugar-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she smirked, “same as every day.”

As the postman settled into the familiar chair, reserved for him if anyone asked, her grandfather gave a low grumble, shifting his weight with the slow deliberation of age. He looked over at his granddaughter, the same stubborn glint in his eye that she mirrored back at him.

"You're not still jawing, are you?" he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray like he had done a thousand times before.

The kettle whistled, and she moved with ease, pouring the steaming water over the tea bags, the rich aroma filling the small, worn kitchen. She added the milk and sugar to the postman's cup, stirring it with a practised hand.

"Here you go," she said, placing the cup in front of him. "Warm yourself up."

"Bless you, lass," the postman replied, wrapping his hands around the mug as if to soak in its warmth.

The grandfather watched the scene with a softened expression before he straightened, a hint of urgency in his voice cutting through the usual routine. "Put the sign out, will you, love?"

With a tired sigh, she set her teaspoon down and retrieved the sign her grandfather had already sorted that morning, today’s headline written in white chalk across the blackboard surface. She didn't usually pay it much attention, but as she held the frame in her hands, her eyes were drawn to it. One word stood out like a beacon:

‘Britain Declares War on Germany’

“It’s official now,” her grandfather mused, having clocked her shocked, mildly terrified expression, his voice carrying an air of aged wisdom. He had seen another war before this one after all, even then, he had been too old to actually fight in it.

Her breath caught for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. "Today?"

"Aye, today," he confirmed, as if it made any difference, a solemn nod accompanying his words. "The world’s about to change."

She stepped outside, the gravel crunching under her feet as she made her way to the front of the shop. With a steady hand, she hung the sign where it would be seen by all who passed by. She stepped back as if to make sure the words were true and not a trick of the eye, and couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation settling in. The world was indeed about to change, and their quiet corner of it would not be spared.

As she stood there, contemplating the significance of the headline, she heard the familiar sound of a bicycle approaching. Douglas pulled up, half-dismounting with a hurried air.

“Y’alright, Douglas?” she greeted him, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Douglas’s eyes flicked to the sign, and he visibly flinched. A deep furrow appeared on his brow, and his jaw tightened, frustration evident in his tense posture.

“Not seen my boy, Tom, have ya?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Fortunately not. Why, is he in trouble?”

Douglas let out a frustrated sigh. “Is he. If you see him, send him back home.”

She nodded, then glanced back at the sign, understanding the unspoken pain in Douglas’s reaction. “I will, Douglas. Take care.”

Douglas gave a curt nod, his eyes lingering on the sign for a moment longer before he mounted his bike again. He gave her a brief, strained smile, the weight of his past experiences clear in his eyes, and pedalled away. She watched him go, feeling the heavy burden of the news. He and Tom were alike in many ways, stubborn mostly though, and set in their ways once their mind was made up. But Douglas was gentler since the first war had changed him, and Tom was never the same after his mother. Turning back to the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that their small world, like so many others, was on the brink of something monumental. Something far beyond their understanding.

The week passed in a blur of routine tasks and quiet contemplation. She worked diligently, covering the post office as her grandfather went off to the social club, seeking the comfort of familiar faces and shared memories. The steady stream of customers brought a sense of normalcy, yet the weight of the headline hung over her like a shadow, and many others as well.

Each day felt heavier than the last, as the reality of the declaration of war settled in. Conversations with customers often turned to the uncertain future, and the usual gossip was replaced with talk of enlistment and preparations.

As the afternoon sun began to wane one gloomy day, the door to the post office swung open with the chime of the bell. She looked up from the counter, her heart skipping a beat as Tom Bennett walked in. His usual carefree expression was absent, replaced by a seriousness she’d rarely seen before now.

She smiled. “Three guesses who you're skulking away from.”

Tom approached the counter, a faint smirk rose at the corners of his mouth, and his serious depression faltered somewhat. “Box of matches, please.”

She rang him up, the familiar clink of the register grounding her amidst the day's uncertainties. Even from here, behind the counter, she caught the faint scent of cigarettes on his weathered coat, for some reason making her head feel airy. As she handed him the matches, she couldn't help but broach the topic.

“Heard you signed up,” she said, her voice gentle but curious. “What made you do that?”

Tom’s face hardened slightly. She knew immediately why but dare not say. “Don't carry on, had enough of this off Dad.”

“Not Lois?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tom let out a short, humourless laugh. “Nah. She can’t wait to see me gone.”

“How will she cope?” she smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.

Tom shrugged, pocketing the matches. “She’s tougher than she looks. She’ll be alright, both of ‘em will.”

Granda trudged past the doorway leading to the back room, leaving a large heaved sigh with a cigarette between his weathered lips. Tom nodded up at him, “y’alright, Granda? Keeping steady?”

She couldn't help but smile as she glanced back. Nobody called him by his real name, only ever what she had always nicknamed him, from a time where she was unable to say ‘grandad’. At first it embarrassed her, but now to hear everyone else call him Granda, well, it was endearing.

Her grandfather simply glared with hooded eyes, blowing smoke between his lips and permeating the air with musk, “bugger off, ya bone idle twat-”

He was still muttering things as he walked off and she gave Tom a face that showed she was trying her hardest to remain stoic.

“Your own fault really. Should know better.”

Tom chuckled, “Yeah, I should.”

From the first day she stepped behind the counter, Tom had made it his mission to tease and charm her, testing the waters with playful remarks and lingering glances. He would lean in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, just to watch her cheeks flush a delicate pink. It was a game they played, a dance of words and looks that neither was quite brave enough to escalate.

She found herself looking forward to his visits, the highlight of her day amidst the routine tasks of sorting mail and ringing up customers. Tom seemed to delight in the effect he had on her, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in close. “You’re going to spoil me with all this attention,” he’d say, and she’d laugh, trying to hide how much she enjoyed their playful but enigmatic banter.

Now, as Tom stood before her, the weight of his decision to sign up for the war added a new layer to their unspoken bond. The cheeky glint in his eyes was tempered by a newfound seriousness, and she felt the fragile line between them tighten and shift.

As she handed him the change, their fingers brushed, and she felt a familiar warmth rise to her cheeks. “You know,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “you’re going to make a right mess of things if you keep winding everyone up.”

Tom leaned on the counter, his smirk widening. “Oh, you like it when I wind you up. Admit it.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for a post office clerk-ow!” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief, rubbing his shoulder in faux offence when she smacked him lightly. If she were honest with herself, it was just an excuse to touch him.

“One of these days, your cheek will get you into real trouble,” she warned, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Tom leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll be the one to give me a proper telling off.”

She rolled her eyes, busying herself with doing a recount of the till, mostly so that she could have something to do with her hands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible to resist?” he quipped, his grin widening.

“Impossible to deal with,” she corrected, though her cheeks flushed with a hint of colour.

Tom watched her for a moment, his smile softening, blue eyes flickering to the pile of post she still had to sort. “Got anything for me? I'll take it back on my way home.”

She hummed a laugh, shaking her head as she sorted through.. She always sorted the Bennett Household’s post separately, so she’d be prepared for another one of Tom’s spontaneous visits. “To face the wrath of Douglas?”

He scoffed, leaning back against the counter with a mock look of horror. “Don't make me laugh. I can handle my old man.”

“Brave words, Mr. Bennett,” she teased, handing him a small stack of letters. “But I’m not sure anyone can handle Douglas when he’s in a mood.”

Tom took the letters, their fingers brushing for a brief moment. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” he said with a wink. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

She smiled, feeling the familiar warmth spread through her. “I believe it. Just don’t go getting yourself into too much trouble, alright?”

Tom’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “No promises. Trouble seems to follow me wherever I go.”

As he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder. “And don’t worry, I’ll come back before I ship out. Wouldn’t want to miss another chance to see you blushing for me.”

With that, he straightened and headed for the door, leaving her with a smile and a heart a little lighter despite the day’s heavy news. She watched him go, the weight of their unspoken connection lingering in the air. In her heart she knew she was afraid of truly letting him go, at the prospect of not seeing him walk through those doors every other day. Her heart felt like lead, deep in her chest, wondering if it was already too late, with war reaching their horizons, to admit how she really felt about the man who had just signed up to fight in it.

The days continued to pass in a blur of activity and mounting tension. The declaration of war had cast a long shadow over their small town, and everyone was feeling its effects. Life carried on, but the underlying anxiety was palpable.

A week later, Tom walked into the post office, a different kind of seriousness in his eyes. He held an official-looking envelope in his hand, and she knew immediately what it was.

“Got my papers,” he said, handing her a letter to post. “I’m shipping out in a few days.”

She felt a lump form in her throat but forced a smile. Don’t cry. “So soon?”

He nodded, looking around the familiar space of the post office.

“There’s a…leaving do at the Cross Keys, if you want to come and see me off with the others.”

And why on earth would she have said ‘no’.

A small gathering was held at the local pub to send off the men who had conscripted to do their bit. It was a tradition of sorts, a way for the community to come together and show their support. Friends and family gathered, raising their glasses to wish him well and offer their prayers for his safe return. It was all bright faces, pink cheeked from ale, clinking glasses and all. And all she could do was watch from her seat. Watch him. As if she wanted to print the very image and soul of him into her mind on the off chance he might not return to her, or if he already had a sweetheart to write to, and wouldn't spare a second glance to her.

The pub was filled with laughter and conversation, but she could see the sadness in everyone’s eyes. As the evening wore on, people began to drift away, leaving behind a quieter, more intimate group.

Tom found her sitting at a corner table, nursing a drink. He slid into the seat next to her, a playful glint in his eyes. “Mind if I join the prettiest girl in the room?”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. Tom looked around, then back at her. He was antsy, she could feel his nervous energy a mile away. He was probably annoyed as well. Douglas hadn’t come to the pub that night, and there was always something in Tom that craved his approval. “Got anything you want to say to me before I go, or are you just going to miss me in silence?”

She looked down into her lap, tracing her thumb over the rim of her glass, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t know what to say without sounding like a fool, Tom.”

“Then be a fool. I won’t mind.”

Her chest was all tight with anxiety when she finally had the courage to form the reply, looking up into his blue eyes, “this place just won’t be the same without you.”

She’d always seen Tom a certain way. Sure. Cock of the walk. Ever since his own mother died he’d almost put on this thick outer layer that was impenetrable. But here, sat with half a beer left in his glass, tapping his fingers against it nervously, his eyes gave way to something more vulnerable. They both know he was off to go and do something important, that he needed to feel valuable in some way, and this was his way of proving it. But his expression showed that he was also a young man, like so many others, who was afraid.

“I won’t miss much about his place.”

Her heart sank a fraction, deep, forming a pit in her stomach. And it seemed Tom sensed it, as he twisted his body to face her, nudging her arm with his elbow to grab her attention again.

“But I will miss you. Especially you.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. The pub was nearly empty now, the noise reduced to a low murmur, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable in her chair, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt in a gesture of uncertainty about herself. “Tom, I–”

His lips pressed to hers in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a moment they had both imagined countless times, but reality was far sweeter and more poignant.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers and chuckled softly. “About time we stopped dancing around it, isn’t it?”

She could laugh. Cry even.

Tom sensed her surprise and something that lingered deeper, but his bravado didn’t allow him to approach it, but it was enough that his thumb brushed a wayward hair from her face. “Had to get that in before I left. Didn’t want to regret missing my chance.”

She let out a relieved, breathy laugh. One that expelled all the tension from her body for a moment. Her eyes never quite left him, as if in wonder. And she was hit with the endless thought that she did not want this moment to end, she didn’t want him to leave. But knew she could never ask that of him.

“Promise me you’ll write,” she said instead.

A classically-Tom Bennett smirk rose to his face. He always did that when he saw the colour rise to her face. “I might.”

They both laughed lightly, with some uncertainty, when she swatted his shoulder. That attitude would get him in trouble, if not with her.

“How about I do you one better,” he started, “I’ll come back, and we’ll have our time.”

She knew then she could ask no more of him. She felt a mixture of hope and fear, knowing how much she was already relying on his return, how much she already craved it. But in response to his weighty promise, she nodded softly, her eyes feeling heavy with tears she did well to keep back.

It almost felt cruel, to have this moment the day before he would leave her for the seas. There had been no time…

Tom’s cheeky grin returned, albeit with a touch of tenderness. “Good. Now, let’s get you home before I change my mind and decide to stay here with you.”

She wished he would.

It was only when she was at her doorstep, watching him walk away, the darkness gradually enveloping him, that she finally took a deep breath, clutching the memory of his kiss and the promise of his return close to her heart.

The days following Tom’s departure were filled with a bittersweet mixture of hope and anxiety. She busied herself at the post office, trying to keep her mind off the worry gnawing at her. The routine tasks that once felt mundane now served as a distraction from the ever-present uncertainty.

On the morning Tom was scheduled to ship out, she was on shift, sorting through the morning post with a heavy heart. She couldn’t bring herself to go to the docks to see him off, knowing it would be too much to bear. Instead, she stayed at the post office, her mind wandering to thoughts of him, imagining his cheeky grin and the promise in his eyes.

After a fortnight, she was giddy with joy when she was sorting the post and saw her name amongst the pile, she nearly gave herself a papercut in her fervent attempts to open the letter, wanting to see his words, in his hand, it would give her happiness beyond belief.

Little Miss Postie, You wouldn't believe the state of things here. It's a lot different from our quiet little town. The lads are a good bunch, though, mostly, and they’ve already learned to put up with my jokes. They’ve got no choice, really. It’s either that or Hitler and I wouldn’t like those odds. I miss seeing your face every day, the way you blush when I tease you. You remember that night at the pub? I bet you do. I wasn’t joking about regretting not kissing you sooner. Let’s just say I’ve had some pretty vivid dreams since then. Don’t worry, I’m keeping my head down and staying out of trouble. Mostly. But it’s hard not to think about you when I’m supposed to be focusing on training. The open sea allows a man to think a bit too much, and every time I see the stars at night, I think of you. And, well, there’s not much else to do out here except think… and maybe imagine a few things I shouldn’t put in a letter. Write me back soon. Tell me everything. And don’t leave out the parts that make you blush. Yours, Tom

She sat at the counter, Tom’s latest letter in hand, a smile tugging at her lips as she read his words again. The warmth of his cheeky tone and the sincerity of his affection made her heart flutter. She knew she had to reply, but she wanted to make it special.

Rising from her seat, she walked over to the display of postcards near the entrance of the post office. The assortment included scenic views, cheerful illustrations, and wartime propaganda. Her fingers brushed over each one until she found a postcard that seemed perfect—a World War II specific postcard featuring a charming drawing of a sailor in uniform, waving from a ship, with the words “Keep Smiling and Carry On” printed in bold letters.

She took the postcard back to the counter and carefully penned her reply, choosing her words with care and affection. When she finished, she read it over, her cheeks warming at the bolder parts. With a satisfied smile, she addressed the postcard and prepared to send it off.

Dear Tom, I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with the lads and keeping them entertained. The town isn’t the same without you, and I miss your cheeky grin and those comments that always get under my skin—in the best way, of course. I hope you continue to write to your father and Lois, they miss you greatly. I’ve been thinking about that night at the pub too. More often than I should admit. Sometimes I catch myself smiling like a fool. Granda thinks I’ve gone mad. He’s just a few pennies short of putting me away. Since you were so forward in your letter, I suppose I can be a little brave too. I’ve had a few dreams myself, some of them involving a certain navy man and that uniform you hate. I’m looking forward to seeing you out of it as much as in it. Stay safe, Tom. I can’t wait for your next letter. Yours, ‘Little Miss Postie’

Little Miss Postie, I knew there was a reason I liked you. I couldn’t stop smiling when I read your letter. And blushing? Don’t worry, I’ve been doing plenty of that myself. Don’t tell anyone though or I’ll tell everyone you’re lying. I can’t wait to get back and see if those dreams of yours are as good as mine. Maybe we’ll have to find out together. And as for that uniform, well, I’ll make sure to wear it just for you. But you might have to help me out of it later. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while. Training is tough, and they’re keeping us on our toes, but thoughts of you keep me going. The lads are starting to wonder why I’ve got this goofy grin on my face all the time. I’ve been telling them about you—well, only the parts that won’t make them too jealous. They all say hello, by the way. Take care of yourself, love. And keep those letters coming. They’re the best part of my day. Yours, Tom

Her reply was affectionate, written with that telltale blush to her cheeks that Tom would have made fun of her for. Every scratch of the pen on paper, telling him that him blushing at her letter would be their little secret, and that he shouldn’t give the lads too high of expectations of her, made her heart feel as light as air. And as she signed off the letter, urging him to come back to her, she would not let that little whisper of uncertainty grow at the back of her mind. And as she turned over the postcard, appreciating the watercolour design on the front, she thought of his face when, and how she imagined it would light up when he received it. Just as hers does.

She waited for a response. But none came.

She found herself anxious, restless. Had she said something wrong? Gone too far? Scared him off with her incessant affections and flirtations? Surely not, she thought. But the lack of any real response had tensions rising in her gut, and the seed of doubt had long been planted.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, she checked the post every morning with a mix of anticipation and dread. Each time the mail arrived, she sifted through the letters, hoping to find one from Tom. But there was nothing. No letter, no word. Her heart sank a little more with each passing day.

Her grandfather and the regular customers noticed the change in her. She became quieter, more introspective, holding onto the hope that Tom would keep his promise and return. The thought of his words, “I’ll be back, and we’ll have our time,” became her lifeline, the thing that kept her going through the long, uncertain months.

Sometimes, she'd allow herself a trip to the house Tom used to inhabit, remembering the times she'd pass by on her way to the post office and spot him leaning against the doorway, smoke blowing from between his curled lips, amused to see the way she was watching him.

She'd hand Lois the post, come in for a cuppa, sometimes Douglas would say a quick hello as he was passing through the kitchen. But whenever she saw him, she was reminded very much of Tom, thousands of miles away from her, and the way his eyes crinkled like Douglas’ did when he smiled.

Every morning, she performed her duties with a determined smile, greeting the postman with a hopeful glance, on the off chance that some letter had accidentally ended up at Douglas’ home, only to be met with a sympathetic shake of the head. She would take a deep breath, steel herself, and continue with her day, refusing to let despair take hold. If she ever let it stick, it would swallow her whole.

It was funny how life had a way of testing people in their worst times.

Granda had always been stubborn. So much so that even when she told him she would put out the sign in a moment, he was too impatient. She only found him later, collapsed alongside the sign for that day's news. But no news seemed as important to her as that very minute, knelt beside her dying grandfather and shouting at passerbys for help.

If her little town was good for anything, it was community. Her grandfather left enough to cover the costs for the funeral, but all who remained put in as much as they could so that they could give the very beating heart of their slice of peace a good sendoff. Her grandfather would have hated it, everyone snivelling and crying over him. But it took the edge off her grief to see that he had touched the hearts of so many, despite his grumpy attitude.

At least, she thought, she wouldn't have to let go of the post office and go work in a factory. This small slice of peace was all she had left of her grandfather. And she counted her blessings that he had left her a good amount in his will, and what remained of his savings.

She only hoped that this brief didn't come in pairs. And she couldn't help but think of Tom now she was truly alone, running the post office by herself, her loneliness only exacerbated by the fact she only had herself to make a brew for in the morning now. She has the most vivid nightmares about the day someone would come and break the news that he wouldn't come back.

Then, one crisp morning, as she stood behind the counter, sorting the latest batch of letters, the door to the post office swung open with a familiar chime. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat as Tom Bennett stepped inside, dressed in his navy uniform, looking weary but very much alive.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of all the months of worry and hope melted away as he crossed the room, a tired but genuine smile spreading across his face.

“I told you I’d come back,” he said softly, his voice carrying the same mix of cheekiness and sincerity that she had missed so dearly.

For a moment, she stood frozen, unable to believe her eyes. Then, in a rush of emotion, she ran around the counter and threw herself into his arms. As she hugged him tightly, the dam of her emotions broke and she began to sob uncontrollably. He smelled of cigarettes and the sea, a mix of salt and smoke that was uniquely him. The scent brought a rush of memories and emotions, grounding her in the reality of his presence. His uniform carried the faint tang of saltwater, a reminder of the long months he had spent away from her, battling the elements and the enemy.

Tom hugged her back, a bit confused by the intensity of her reaction. “Hey now, what’s all this? I’m back, aren’t I? In one piece and everything.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching him even tighter. “You look terrible in that uniform,” she said, her voice shaky but filled with affection.

Tom chuckled, a familiar warm feeling pooling in her gut, rubbing her back soothingly. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t join the navy for the fashion. Besides, I was hoping you’d be so happy to see me that you wouldn’t notice.”

She wiped her cheek, feeling like air was finally making its way into her lungs. “Y-You didn’t write me back. I thought I'd lost you too.”

“I’m sorry, love. I never meant to leave you in the dark. It was just complicated out there, I–”, Tom furrowed his brows, his head cocking down at her slightly. “Too? I—”

He only had to look around. It was never usually this quiet. And she saw the realisation dawn across his war-hardened face when he spotted the framed picture of Granda on the counter.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “When?”

“A few months ago,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “Stroke. The tobacco must have caught up with him.”

Tom’s expression softened, and he pulled her into a tighter embrace. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered, resting his cheek on her head, “you're more a soldier, doing all this on your own.”

She held onto him, his presence like a balm for her aching heart, growing stronger every day around the pit that was grief. “I didn't feel very strong.”

Tom didn't reply. He hadn't felt very strong himself either. And she knew from the way his large hand rubbed her back to comfort her, that there was more to his easy-going facade than he wanted to let on. And he knew for her equally, that the months were tough on her own, and that she was still healing.

“Missed you so much,” she confessed, pulling away slightly to look up at his half-worried expression, “it felt like I was losing both of you at the same time.”

Tom sighed, a light, almost pretty sound from his lips, his gaze drifting down slightly to her lips, as if he were just remembering all the details he didn't want to admit he'd forgotten all those months at sea.

“Don't cry.” His thumb lingered, swiping away a tear from her under eye, before he lightened the atmosphere with his smile, “I'd prefer to see you blush again. Suits you better.”

She couldn't help a smile breaking across her face, and the warmth that crept up her neck made her feel like a schoolgirl.

Tom winked. “There it is.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her, softly at first, as if testing the waters. Her hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his uniform as she kissed him back, the warmth of his lips against hers sending a shiver down her spine.

She pulled back slightly, a playful protest on her lips. “Tom, we’re still open…”

He gave her a devilish smile, turning around to flip the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and locking it with a swift motion. “Not anymore, we’re not.”

He wasted no time, pulling her back into his arms, his lips growing more insistent and passionate. His hands roamed her back, finding the familiar curves and contours he had missed so much, but had no time to explore before he’d left. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire.

She felt her own longing mirror his, her body responding eagerly to his touch. “Show me,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.

Tom’s grin turned wicked as he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands exploring with newfound urgency. “I've been dreaming about this,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and tantalising. “Every fucking night.”

She laughed softly, feeling a delightful mix of anticipation and excitement. “Tom Bennett, you are impossible.”

He gave no reply, his fingers already working on the buttons of her blouse. His movements were deft, practised, as if he had imagined this moment a thousand times over. She gasped as his hands brushed her skin, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

His lips found hers again, their kiss deepening as he pulled her blouse free, letting it fall to the floor. “Yeah, but I knew you’d come around,” he said with a cheeky grin, his hands sliding to her waist and pulling her closer.

Their kisses grew hungrier, their bodies pressing together with an urgency that had been building for months. She reached for the buttons on his uniform, her fingers trembling slightly in anticipation as she worked to free him from the fabric. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled her into his arms again, his hands caressing her bare skin and breasts through her brassiere, sending waves of heat through her.

She sighed, her head falling back as his lips trailed down her neck, his kisses leaving a path of fire in their wake. “Tom,” she breathed, her hands clutching at him, needing more.

“I know, love,” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm. “I know.”

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the small sofa in the back of the post office where she sometimes took breaks. Gently, he laid her down, his eyes never leaving hers. Their movements became a dance of passion and longing, each touch, each kiss, a testament to the months they had been apart. Tom’s hands explored her with a reverence that made her feel cherished, loved.

As if by muscle memory from those dreams he would write about, his knee slid between her thighs as his hands roughly bunched up her skirt to her hips, two fingers tucking between them to tease her bud through her knickers.

“Tom,” she gasped, her body arching against his.

“Shh,” he soothed, his lips capturing hers once more. “I’ve got you.”

She was enraptured by the way he nipped at her lips, that she only realised he had pulled the gusset of her underwear aside when he gently, but insistently, pushed two fingers inside her, crooking upwards and finding that rough, sweet spot with unyielding precision.

He swallowed every sound she made, every now and then a grunt of approval slipping past his own lips as he stretched her open on his fingers, his pace teasing. Her fingernails left crescent moon shaped welts in his now bare shoulders, the muscles tensing beneath them.

Tom hummed against her lips, pleased with himself. “Not so shy now, are you?”

His teeth slid across her neck, no doubt marks left behind, but she couldn't even focus on that with the way he was insistent on teasing that wild spot inside her that made her body feel like white, fluttery flames.

“I've missed your reactions…especially this one.”

His thumb joined in his ministrations, applying gentle but firm pressure to her bundle of nerves in tandem with his fingers plunging in and out of her wet heat. And if her face hadn't been buried in his shoulder, she would have cried out, embarrassed at the sounds she and her body was making. Tom however, seemed to revel in it, his hand soaked with her arousal as she teetered on the edge.

The tightness in her gut spiralled as she clutched him tighter, her body aching pleasantly with the force of her peak rushing through her, all while Tom grinned and didn't falter, as if to watch her linger on that border of pain and pleasure.

Before she had even fully come down, his fingers were gone and she felt she was able to fully breathe again. Her flushed expression snapped open to him as he pulled her thighs towards him, on the sofa, and watched as he righted himself and slid his belt through the loops of his trousers, a sound that made her belly flutter.

He raised his eyebrows, pulling his trousers low enough to free himself and leaned over her again. “Missed me that much?”

She laughed, and hid her face, the dull ache still thrumming through her body ignited again as the head of is cock parted her folds and nudged her bud. “Tom-”

Warmth crept to her face again when his hand turned her face towards him again, his pupils near eclipsing the blue with want as he sheathed himself within her, holding her there to watch her expression as her walls stretched to accommodate him.

In any other scenario, she would want to slap that self-impressed look off his face, but not now, not when it felt this good.

His eyebrows barely furrowed, struggling to keep his composure. “Christ, you're so fucking tight—”

His words shot straight to her core, clenching around him and eyes slipping shut as he began a tortuous pace, like he hadn't gotten to this part in his dreams before. His arms wrapped around her like choking ivy, pushing her body to his with every needy thrust, his breath hot against her neck and the metal of his identification tag cold against her chest.

For a few brief moments, the world outside the post office ceased to exist. There were only the two of them, reconnecting in a way that was both familiar and new. Tom's cheeky comments and playful touches had yielded to blend seamlessly with his genuine affection, creating a moment that was perfect in all its imperfections.

She can feel his hips growing tired the closer he gets, and if she is being truthful, the cooling sensation of the buckle of his belt and the friction it gives her is only flinging her to the edge right alongside him. And when he breathes her name all shaky and low like that, she can't help herself, and she lets go again with a choked cry, the second sneaking up on her so quickly it feels like she never really recovered from the first.

With a stuttered groan, mirrored by his own hips, he crushes her in his arms and pushes forward as hard as he can, burying himself as deep as he's able as he comes hard nestled in her silky walls. She held him on top of her, his weight a comforting reminder that he was real, that he was here. Her fingers gently traced the contours of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath.

Her heart was still racing, but not just from their shared passion. It was the sheer relief, the overwhelming sense of having him back in her arms after so long. Every night of worry, every day of longing, all melted away in this moment.

She buried her face in his hair, inhaling the familiar scent of him, mixed with the faint hint of the sea. Tears of relief welled up in her eyes, but this time they were tears of joy, of profound gratitude. And she wanted to say so much, but whenever she tried, her throat closed up, not wanting to interrupt this quiet, loving slice of peace in her arms. For the first time in months, she felt whole again.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and flushed, Tom rests his forehead against hers, his eyes filled with love and mischief, her his voice low and intimate. He means to say so much more. The depth of his feelings, the fears, and the nights he had spent longing for her, it all threatened to spill out, leaving him vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. She saw it, though, in the way his eyes darkened with emotion, the unspoken words lingering just beneath the surface.

“I think we might need to close early more often.”

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