Sofiemay - Sofie - Tumblr Blog

'no place to run, you pull the trigger of my love gun' 18+

oneshot - billy is on edge, and you love to tease him when he's on edge. you find a gun in his waistband and realise you're kinkier than you thought. (4.6k words & set before the events of the movie) pairing - billy (burn 2019) & gn!reader (reader is described as being wet) tags - oh here we go guys this is a lot :3 - gun play, a lot of degradation from billy, slut/whore mentions, blowjob, choking kink, gun kink, threatening kink, gun is held to head and put in mouth, angry!billy, pre-established relationship, dom!billy sub!reader, fingering on a table, fingering while standing, wet mentions, slight pain, slapping, orgasm denial, orgasm control, missionary ig?

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you knew you were fucking in for it later. you could tell by the way billy was pacing around the apartment, his heeled boots clicking distinctively with every step he took. his thumb nervously rubs over his bottom lip, his other hand hooked firmly through a belt loop in his jeans. you can't help but stare from the sofa, mesmerised by the way his shoulder muscles tensed with each step.

billy's temper had always been an issue and on days like these, that was extremely apparent. but he didn't scare you, he never could. because you knew that under that triple denim layer lay something a little softer, not that it came out all that often. you liked him when he was angry.

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what was it this time? did he owe more money? piss off the wrong group of guys? whatever it was, you'd never seen him quite this tense.

your lips part, a slight smirk as you begin to speak. something half-hearted and laced with desire. but billy catches you before you can make a sound.

"don't, just fucking don't." he snaps, stopping in front of you and pointing a finger. you feel yourself sink further back into the sofa, the material giving in to your movements.

but you can't wipe the smirk forming. and that only serves to fuel billy's fire. he thins his eyes.

"this funny to you?" he asks as he sneers in disbelief that you're somehow finding this amusing.

you shake your head, unable to wipe the smirk no matter how hard you try.

he laughs, rubbing his chin as he nods, pursing his lips. "ah, right. . ." all at once, he's in your space, gripping your jaw roughly to force you to look up at him. "cause i thought i saw a smirk on those pretty little lips of yours, must have been seein' things, huh?"

his strong grip forces you to make eye contact and you gasp at the touch, neck craned back. "wasn't smirking. . ." you mumble out in a lie, your cheeks squeezed together slightly making your words muffle from his grasp.

"such a bad liar," he grins, bringing his face down close to yours, "you think i'm fucking dumb?"

"no. . ." you breathe out shakily, feeling like your whole body ached for his touch like he set you alight just by touching you.

his eyes glare, a hint of lust sparkling just behind them. the room was silent spare the small breaths exchanged between the two of you as billy considered his next move.

and his next move was pulling you into a deep, sloppy kiss. your mouth obediently opens for him, his tongue slipping inside with ease as his grip on your jaw grows tighter. this earns a small squeak from you and he grins, exhaling into your mouth. the way your neck was craned so far back made it uncomfortable, but you liked uncomfortable.

all at once, he's pushing you away roughly, letting go and standing up straight. he wipes your combined spit from his lips with the back of his hand and runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

you lay back, panting softly as you stare up at him with wanting eyes, reeling a little from the kiss. your eyes glance down to his crotch then back into his eyes, silently telling him what it is you truly want.

he arches an eyebrow and anyone else would think he was looking at you with disgust, but you knew billy. he loved this game.

"can't help yourself can you?" he bites his bottom lip as he takes all of you in, studying your body, "so fuckin' needy, even when my patience is wearing thin with you."

you spread your legs slowly, your hands tracing down your thighs.

but he's seen enough.

billy grabs you by the front of your shirt, forcing you to stand. "fucking- come here." he practically growls, throwing you towards the shoddy kitchen table. you yelp and stumble back, your backside resting against the wood as he makes no delay in approaching you.

gripping your thighs, he pushes you up on the table and places a firm hand on your throat as he slots between your legs. "you like workin' me up, don't you?" billy hums, leaning in to pepper rough kisses along the side of your neck, squeezing it with his hand making you gasp. his stubble rubs at your skin, burning your sensitive skin.

you can't even form a single thought, nevermind give him an answer to his rhetorical question.

he nips on your neck, causing you to squeal, "answer me."

"y-yes. . ." you exhale slowly, swallowing hard against his grip.

billy gives a contented hum at your answer like he didn't already know it. your hands begin to snake down his chest to find his belt buckle, but he swats your hand away before you can get anywhere close.

"don't." he hisses, before diving his free hand into your shorts, immediately bypassing your underwear without a second thought. your mouth slips open as his fingers glide against your slick heat, already soaking his digits. he grins against your neck. "already so wet for me, pathetic."

you murmur out something incoherent, a half-defence that's drowned out by a moan when he slips a finger inside of you. his cool silver ring feels so good against your hot, aching walls.

"shut your fuckin' mouth," billy growls, "wanna hear how wet you are."

you promptly close your mouth with one last whimper, breathing shakily through your nose as your eyes trail up to the ceiling. his finger pumps in and out, creating soft slick noises that are barely audible. billy's breath hitches in his throat when he hears it and he lets out a breathy laugh as he brings his head up to look at you.

"how long you been thinkin' about this? since i walked through the door?" he asks, biting his bottom lip with a smirk, "or. . . oh, did i interrupt you? were you already workin' on yourself?"

you shake your head, holding back a moan as he slips another finger inside.

"so fuckin' tight, fuck. . ." his fingers speed up, not for your pleasure but for his as he enjoys the way you writhe against him as his hand squeezes on your neck.

"billy, please -" you begin to say, but he slips a third finger inside and you let out a long drawn-out moan.

his face comes close to yours, your lips practically touching, "what did i fucking say? shut the fuck up."

but how could you not moan or beg when he was working you this good? you instinctively spread your legs wider and this only increases the pleasure as you melt back against the wood of the table that creaks under you.

and you can't help it, another moan rings from your lips and you reach for his belt buckle once more. desperate for his cock.

billy's eyes widen and he pushes you back on the table with force to stop you, pinning you down by your neck as your back makes a thud against the wood of the table. "do you not listen? are you fuckin' stupid?" he spits out, gritting his teeth as his fingers plunge deeper, curling into you almost painfully.

your body gives in to him, resting back against the table as you feel your airflow cut off even further with his grip.

eyes practically rolling back when he slips his fingers out of you, your mouth is stuck half open as you feel empty. finally, he was going to fuck you. but before he can stop you this time, your hands begin to trail towards his belt once more - until you feel something. . .

your hands land on something behind his waistband, something hard. your eyes widen and meet his as he removes his hand from your neck to reach out to grip your wrist tightly in an effort to stop you. but then, he allows you to remove the object whilst still in his grip, a small silver revolver gun. once it's in your hands his jaw clenches as he watches you turn it over.

billy takes the gun from you carefully, but you continue to eye it with keen interest as you lean up on your elbows, a flush falling across your cheeks. and this doesn't go unnoticed by him. the air is filled with thick tension.

tentatively, he points it towards you with a grin to gauge your reaction. you tilt your head up slightly and glance from the gun to him, before leaning in, tongue slipping from your mouth to lick along the cold metal at the tip. his expression melts into one of surprise and desire as he watches you.

"god, you're such a dirty fuckin' whore. . ." he exhales and pushes it further towards your mouth to encourage you, ". . .keep goin'."

and you oblige, your tongue lapping over the gun lazily as you look up at him. billy could feel his heartbeat pick up in his chest, his free hand coming down to place on your hip. you looked so good like this, his mind completely clouded with thoughts of fucking your brains out. his cock aches inside his boxers against his jeans, begging to spring free and delve into you.

"get up," he suddenly snaps, stepping back, catching you by surprise, "c'mon, move." billy isn't best pleased with how you don't immediately spring into action, so he reaches out and pulls you by your waistband which causes the fabric to tear slightly, forcing you to stand up once more.

he lowers the gun, reaching out to give you a quick passionate kiss before he pushes you towards the bedroom. you stumble, gripping the wall to balance yourself as you try to focus on walking. but all you can think about is how he looked as you lapped obediently at the gun, the way his fingers felt inside of you. . . fuck.

another push, his hand firm on your back as you scramble forward. "i said move!" he yells, pulling his belt buckle and throwing the belt over his shoulder. you glance over your shoulder as you watch billy slowly undress and make your way into the bedroom.

your eyes find the bed in the dimly lit room and you pause just long enough for billy to catch up to you. his hand snakes around your stomach and he pulls you close. his jacket is gone, and so is his belt, the zipper of his jeans catching on the small patch of skin that's exposed at your back above your shorts.

you melt back against him, looking up with a dazed expression. "not fast enough," billy tuts and shakes his head, "that desperate for my cock that you can't even make it a few steps to the bed?"

and you nod. this makes him laugh as you feel the gun press against your temple as his hand stays planted firmly on your stomach. "use your words."

"yes. . ." you whine and swallow hard, the threat from the gun almost too hot to bear.

his hand slides beneath your underwear and shorts once more, this time focusing on your bundle of nerves. your legs nearly buckle immediately, billy never wasted any time. you reach out to place a hand on the wall to steady yourself. he comes close to your ear, "can't even stand straight. . . i'm hardly touching you."

but all you wanted was for him to be inside of you, so fucking badly. your legs shake and your breaths come out in quick bursts as the pleasure builds. his fingers slowly circle your most sensitive spot, grinning as he feels you writhe against him. he pushes the gun against your temple almost painfully.

"you like this, don't you?" he asks, referring to the gun as you let out a loud moan, "like it when i threaten you?"

"god yes. . ." you reply.

it shouldn't come as a surprise to billy that you were into this, you'd both done some pretty kinky stuff - but he somehow still can't help but be surprised. he didn't expect the gun to come in handy in more ways than one. when it came time to use it, it was going to be extremely hard for him not to picture your tongue, wet, all over it.

his dick throbs at the thought.

"i'm gonna fuck you till you can't think straight," he whispers into your ear, slowing down his fingers to an agonising pace, "you're gonna be beggin' me to stop cus it'll be too much for you to handle."

you shake your head, pleading in moans. you could handle anything he gave you.

"ah. . . always so confident, aren't you?" he pants in your ear, "you're fucking irritating, always talkin' back." with his words, you feel your wetness grow, struggling to even think straight. right against your ear he continues, "i'll shut you up."

and with that, his hands slip from you as you whine, he's pushing you forward towards the bed and forcing you to sit. you're pouting. that fucking look you give him drives him wild. his hand raises to give you a swift smack across the cheek and you gasp as it stings, looking back up at him, biting your lip as the pain only increases your pleasure.

"open that pretty mouth of yours," he commands, shuffling his jeans and boxers down a little to spring his cock free. billy hisses as the cold air hits it, but the relief balances it out. your eyes trail down to his dick, watching in awe of its girth and how hard he is. but you remember what he asked of you, and you open your mouth, letting your tongue hang out a little.

"good. . ." he says as he grins, stepping forward to press the gun against the side of your head, "now suck it."

and fuck, you do. you take him slowly into your mouth and his head falls back, a large moan spilling from his lips like it feels like heaven. he bites his lip to avoid calling you soft pet names, coaxing you and encouraging you with words like 'baby'.

you struggle to take him in all the way, eyes watering as he hits the back of your throat. his head tilts down to look at you, his mouth half open and brow covered in sweat. he swears he can almost cum on the spot just from looking down at you, his cock stuffed into your mouth, his revolver pressed to the side of your pretty little head.

"fuck. . ." he pants, pulling his hips back and pumping into your mouth with a few thrusts. you take it like a champ, bringing your hands up to place on the skin exposed at his stomach, feathering your hands across the hair there.

"takin' it so fuckin' good. . ." billy swallows hard and looks at you through hooded lids, "you're fuckin quiet now, aren't you? can't talk with my dick in you? that's what i fuckin' thought. god. . ."

and you're behaving so well for him, taking his cock in and out of your mouth at his pace which he's speeding up bit by bit. it's not enough for him, and he grips your hair with his free hand, pumping a little rougher.

your eyes widen and the tears roll down your cheeks from the pressure, letting him use you. the cool metal against your temple has you reeling.

and then he pulls back, pulling himself from your mouth quickly. drool rolls down your chin as you simply look up at him with a dazed expression. this makes him chuckle and he lets go of your hair roughly, pushing you back. "get your fuckin' clothes off."

you obey almost immediately, scrambling to remove your clothes until you're sitting pretty and waiting for him on the bed, fingers curling into the sheets. he watches you, hungry, removing his shirt and tossing it to the other side of the room.

he kneels on the bed, inching closer to you, not bothering to completely remove his jeans or boxers - he didn't have the patience for that. spreading your legs apart with his calloused hands, one hand still firmly holding the revolver, he eyes you like you're a toy he can play with. his breath hitches in his throat as he feels his cock brush against you, still wet with your spit.

"please-" you begin to whine.

his hand is on your throat again, this time rougher, so rough it makes you yelp. "shut. . . the fuck. . ." he leans into you, pushing the gun against your lips, "up. . ."

he grins as he pulls the gun from your lips, trailing it down your stomach until it comes to your heat, sliding it across it. you twitch at the cold material and let out a shuddered moan, he lets you moan this time - watching as you react as he prods it against you.

billy slides the gun back up along your stomach, along your torso and back up to your lips. "taste yourself." he commands.

you feel heat surge to your core, feeling the way he brushes against you and the way he degrades you driving you absolutely wild with desire. opening your lips slightly, he pushes the tip of the gun inside as he watches closely. billy mutters a soft 'fuck' under his breath as he watches how obedient you are to him.

"now, you're gonna take my cock however i give it to you," he nods, talking like you're stupid, "yeah?"

you nod and let out a soft moan in response, unable to talk as your tongue flicks over the harsh metal.

"good. . ." billy hums and removes his hand from your neck to position his hard dick at your needy hole. his breath hitches in his throat as he slides it up and along, teasing you before plunging in all the way. you arch your back, brows knitting together as he finally stuffs you full.

he pulls back before plunging in again, letting out a soft grunt before he places his hand on your lower belly, feeling the way your body reacts to his thrusts. "see the way you take me in so easily?" billy smirks, looking down as he watches his cock disappear inside of you. you sit up to watch too, elbows shaking as you try to support yourself with them.

"ah, can't answer me can ya?" there's a grin evident on his face as he pushes the revolver a little further into your mouth, causing you to swallow hard.

the way he's plunging in and out of your desperate, slick hole while talking down to you like dirt - there's something about the way he does it that makes you crazy for him. his pace is slow at first, not even looking you in the eye as he admires the way you take him in. it's agonising.

wet noises fill the room, filling the gaps between your soft, incoherent moans and billy's rough grunts. he glides in and out, out and in, so easily, like you were made for him. the pleasure starts to build, slowly at first - but then billy's eyes trail up your body to meet your gaze and it sends a surge of heat to your core.

he grins at this, loving the effect he has on you. his hand moves from your belly, settling on your soft neck again and squeezing as he leans closer to you, hunched over your body as he keeps fucking you slowly. "that feel good?" he asks breathily.

"mh-" is all you can answer with the gun in your mouth, letting out soft gasps in between.

billy removes the gun from your mouth, admiring your spit all over it before pressing it under your chin, squeezing your neck harder. "speak up."

"yes!" you cry out, body shuddering as your head tilts up from the pressure of the gun, "god. . ."

he's fucking into you a little harder now, thrusts coming in deep and heavy as he smacks against you, driving you into the bed as it squeaks under the pressure. "such a good little slut for me, aren't you?" billy bites his lip, "acting smart till you're stuffed full with my cock and a gun to your head. . ."

each word causes you to moan out, wrapping your legs around him in an attempt to get him closer. your hands come up to rest on the sides of his neck, mouth stuck open as moans continue to spill out of you at a rapid pace. he raises an eyebrow at you.

"m' . . . billy i'm. . ." struggling to form even the smallest sentence. his cock, relentless and hard, pumps in and out even harder, causing your legs to start shaking. your walls are tightening around him, causing him to whimper a little.

he realises you're close, too close and he laughs breathily, "oh no you don't, don't you fuckin' dare cum."

your eyes widen and you shake your head, "p. . . please!" you whine, throwing your head back as you feel the edge creeping closer.

billy thrusts inside of you roughly and stops, filling you and staying completely still.

it feels like the breath has been sucked from you as you stare up at him in shock, breaths falling from your lips as you feel the pleasure you were chasing so hard begin to slip away.

"you're not cumming until i say so, got it?" billy says, a little sadistic twinkle in his eye as he presses the gun to your chin a little harder, causing it to hurt.

"but-"

he practically growls at this response, hand squeezing around your neck even harder as it cuts your words off. "don't fuckin' talk back to me."

you nod a little and bite your bottom lip, at his mercy.

billy relaxes as you give in to him, smirking as he places gentle kisses along your jaw, "good. . . see how good you can be for me?"

you whine a little, your walls instinctively fluttering around him and this causes him to moan against your jaw. it's like music to your ears. you do it once more and he can't help it, he needs to fuck you again.

his hips begin moving on their own, slow at first and then working up into a fast pace. billy sits up a little, his arm outstretched to keep a hold of your neck as he pushes the gun against your forehead. his hips work diligently, back and forth as his cock plunges deep. you can tell he's close by the dazed expression on his face.

you almost want to ask him to cum inside you, to fill you as much as he possibly can - but you think better of it, waiting for the right moment.

arms falling to the side, you let your hands rest above you, almost signifying you giving yourself to him completely as your legs tighten around him. and fuck. . . you feel it building again, an orgasm that threatens to completely destroy you.

billy can feel it too, the way your hole twitches with need, clamping down on him with each thrust. he picks up the pace to an almost painful speed, causing you to throw your head backwards.

"cum inside me!" you call out, unable to hold yourself back anymore, "fuck, please baby!"

"since you. . . since you asked so nicely," he grins and groans, feeling his muscles tighten around his stomach. fuck, he really was gonna explode inside of you soon.

"just hold out a little longer," he coos to you, "take it." and his grip on your throat loosens as he tilts his own head back, chasing his pleasure. his dick twitches, aching for release as it glides inside your velvet heat.

his head snaps down, the slapping noises filling the air as he keeps going, knowing it hurts but also knowing that you just fucking love it. he looks into your eyes, you're practically dying to cum.

billy leans down, hunching over you once more. his lips are close to yours as he listens to your sweet moans fill the space between you two. "you close?" he asks with a grin, already knowing the answer.

"mhm!" is all you can say, willing yourself not to cum just from the way his voice goes gruff at times like these.

"you gonna cum all over this dick?" he continues, teasing you.

"yes!" you whine, feeling the frustration build as you approach the edge, pleasure building as his cock slams in and out of you.

his grin widens as he slides the gun to the side of your head, "then fuckin' cum for me, cum all over me as i fuck you like the little whore you are."

and those words, jesus, those fucking words send you cascading off the edge. the orgasm rips its way through your body, causing your back to arch and your body to spasm. your legs tighten around him, your hole clamping down and attempting to milk his cock dry. over and over, you pulse around him as explosive moans leak from your lips.

instead of keeping his speed, he increases to an impossible pace, pressing his forehead to yours. "oh fuck, baby, fuck. . ." he pants as he rides your climax, swallowing hard and feeling the way you writhe against him. before he knows it, his cock is pumping ropes of cum into your tight, fluttering hole.

the sensation drives you crazy, eyes rolling back as you cry out. the way he's whimpering against you, the way his dick is twitching as he pushes his load deeper with every thrust. . . it was almost too much to handle. you start to see stars, your vision clouding with pleasure.

it all begins to slow, his thrusting slowing with each shaky moan as he eventually collapses against you. your body still twitches a few times involuntarily, trying to come back down from that high. his weight is welcomed, almost grounding you as his head finds your chest.

your hand comes up to his cheek and one on his hair, gently running through his locks as you sigh shakily.

"fuck, needed that. . ." billy mumbles, closing his eyes.

you almost laugh, "yeah, i could tell." it seems like most of the tension he was holding seemed to be mostly gone now or at least calmed. you loved helping him like this, plus, it was a bonus that in order to fix it: he had to fuck your brains out. a win-win.

he rolls over off you and lays on his back, looking at the ceiling with sweat covering his brow. his hair is dishevelled, with small parts that are usually slicked back now coming down in soft curls at sections. he looked beautiful like this.

your eyes trail down to find the gun still in his hand and you take it, him giving it up easily as he's already half asleep. opening the chamber, you see it's empty and you can't help but grin.

"what? you want me to actually accidentally blow your brains out while i'm fucking your brains out?" he looks at you with a smirk through sleepy eyes.

you pause for a moment, "maybe." you grin again.

"you're a fuckin' freak. . ." billy laughs.

"and you love it."

billy rolls his eyes, turning to wrap you into an embrace as he kisses your forehead, "i do."

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‧₊˚ dedicated tags: @helen-on-earth @boonam @sun-spider13 @laurrrelise @sammygirlism @sleepyhutcherson‧₊˚ ily all sm!! thank you!

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he's literally my bf idc idc

Wool Over My Eyes

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Mike always says you have such trouble getting up in the morning. You don't intend to take so long to wake, but Mike is quite confident the solution lays just at his fingertips- and lips.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no use of gendered pronouns, no genitalia specification, light bondage, pet names, dirty talk, fingering, oral (reader recieving), cum swallowing, morning sex, light breeding kink, recording sex, dacryphillia, light choking, switch! Mike, switch! Reader, facial, age-gap, interrupted sex, barely proofread and over the course of three days after my shifts right before I went to bed (cuz we die like men)

Notes: I love you gullible fucks.

"C'mere here, sweet thing."

I groan as Mike rolls me onto my side, his lips finding my cheek that has been textured from the blanket that imprinted itself upon my skin as I slept restlessly through the night. It had only been a couple hours ago that I'd finally found sleep, and it doesn't even feel like five minutes since I'd actually sunk into it.

"Five more minutes," I groan, my words slurred with sleep as I press my back further against Mike's intoxicatingly warm and inviting front, hardly even noticing anything else about my surroundings as I begin to drift back into sleep once more.

"You said five minutes an hour ago," Mike gently chides into my ear, his voice almost a full octave lower and rough with his own sleep, probably. My hand automatically raises to swipe lazily at his lips which graze so lightly against the shell of my ear, his breath tickling my skin enough to irritate my tired mind. "It's time to wake up."

"Mm," I moan in a somewhat childlike manner. He chuckles at this, his lips once more finding my cheek as his hands begin to peel the blanket away from me, slowly exposing my chest mostly.

"Don't," I groan in a soft, high voice, the cold air of the room beginning to stiffen certian parts of my body. Such as my back, shoulders.

"Be nice," Mike chuckles as his lips trail lazily closer to my own, his hand satisfied with how exposed my body is now and beginning to reverse its trail, now grazing his fingertips gently along the soft cotton of my shirt that still keeps my chest covered.

"Make me," I try to snap, too drugged with sleep to carry any venom in my voice.

Mike's lips find mine in an instant, his tongue diving into my mouth as he suddenly moves his hand to my hair, tugging at it almost harshly as a small whine escapes me from the sudden aggression. He moans into the kiss, his other hand wrapping around my throat ever so gently as our lips slide together, slick with his spit, making me pant against his kiss.

"Don't make me be the bad guy," Mike says against my lips when he pulls away for a moment. His head ducks down to tease at my neck, biting into it softly before he returns to my mouth, slipping his tongue inside of it once more and moaning loudly as he does.

Our kisses are not graceful, I'll admit. They're messy, hard, wet with thick desire as his hand trails to and from my neck, spreading across my chest until his calloused hand eventually dives under my shirt, searching for a stiff nipple to play with as he pulls away from me once more, his eyes glazed with want and desperation as he watches me closely, a lazy smile upon his lips.

"Make those pretty sounds for me," Mike pleads breathily as he pinches particularly hard on my nipple. A short gasp escapes me, my cheeks turning red as my eyes flutter shut once more.

"Hey," Mike says in a firmer voice, lips quickly sealing onto mine once more as his tongue slips against mine needingly before he quickly pulls away. "Stay awake."

"I am awake," I pout softly. He tugs on my nipple again, forcing a small cry from me as he bites my bottom lip.

"Don't lie," Mike warns in a low, rough, almost growling voice. "You know I hate it when you lie."

It's not a lie!... Though admittedly I could see how it would be easy to slip into such bliss as Mike uses me. It's a somewhat arousing thought, the idea of him fucking me to sleep.

"I'm recording, you know," Mike teases as his other hand slips from my hair to the other side of my chest, both of my nipples now being abused by the older man as I pant openly, my hips finding his thick thigh between my legs. "Figured I could use the proof that you just don't like waking up in the morning to see if you'll finally listen to me."

"I listen to you," I protest. His nails scratch my nipples, making me loudly cry out at the touch.

"I said. Don't. Lie," Mike reminds me. "God, its like you want to be punished."

The idea makes my legs pull together in want, my hips dragging deliciously against Mike's thigh as I moan openly, wanting for nothing more than what he'd just suggested.

"You like that, pretty toy?" Mike asks softly against my ear, his teeth nipping at my lobe while one of his hands roughly grabs my chest, the other hand swirling his thumb in quick circles around my aching nipple. Fuck, Jesus. I could cum like this and I wouldn't protest.

"Maybe I just won't touch you," Mike says low in my ear, his voice predatory as I quicken my hips against his thigh which presses harder against me. "You seem to be eager to cum just like this. So easy, so fun to play with."

Mike shoves his tongue into my mouth once more, his hands shifting. One to my throat, one to my hip. He guides my body to quicken its pace against him, his hand occasionally smacking hard against my ass and even playing with the muscle as his eyes drift open to watch me.

"You like being my favorite toy, don't you?" Mike asks in a tired, low and aroused voice as he smirks. I nod slowly, stupid and sleepy against him. Mike smacks my ass again, grabbing and jiggling it roughly after. "Open your eyes when I'm talking to you," he commands. Stupidly I obey, eager to please him as I begin to feel my stomach constrict in pleasure at his touch.

"There you go. Good plaything. You're just so eager to please, aren't you?" Mike asks in a patronizing tone, leaning forward to graze his lips against mine. I move to press harder against them, but he pulls away, still leaving them close enough to tease me, waiting for me to try to swoop in again, then pulling away far enough I whine as I realize his evil game.

"You like older men playing with you, admit it," Mike says in a cocky tone, his hand dipping under my sweatpants to play with my bare ass. I moan in response to his words and his touch, but it doesn't seem to be enough.

"Say it," Mike orders softly, smiling at the sight of me. I blush, shaking my head slightly as I glance away. Mike grabs my ass roughly again, pressing his thigh harder against me as the look in his eye shifts to something slightly darker. "Say it."

I shake my head again, an unwilling smile growing more as Mike grabs harder, leaning in close enough to whisper threateningly, but ready to pull away if I dared to take advantage of the opportunity and kiss him.

"I like older men playing with me," I say in a soft, quick whisper before he can make another threat. His eyes turn gentle once again, and he drags me into another kiss, sweet and loving while he begins to shift his body to hover above mine, moving his thigh much to my displeasure.

"Look at that," Mike praises softly. "You can be so good when you want to be, can't you?"

Mike leans down to press his lips against my neck, biting roughly into it and making me cry out. He stays there for almost a minute, ensuring that there will be a dark bite mark obvious on my skin for the next week before he moves to the other side of my neck, repeating this process. I squirm underneath of him, moaning and crying out pathetically. His hard cock grazes against my leg, and once he finds it he begins to grind against it, releasing his own soft noises as he begins to lap at my blooming marks with his warm, wide tongue.

"Fuck me!" I whine against Mike's ear, nipping at his lobe and panting openly as my hand descends downwards, my fingers just brushing past the waistband of my pants when his own hand carefully but tightly grabs my wrist, moving to pin it just above my head as he uses my body to masturbate.

Mike doesn't respond to my plea. He simply moans as his hips increase in tempo, making it obvious how close he is already. Part of me wonders if this was meant to be a reenactment of his dream last night, or if maybe he'd been fucking himself beside me as I slept for who knows how long before he finally woke me in a moment of desperation. Both ideas make me faint with want.

I use my free hand to snatch a clump of dark curls on the back of his head, pulling them roughly to force him away from my neck. The pain makes him cry out in a deliciously broken voice, his hips stuttering before resuming in a slightly increased pace as his eyes shift to meet mine, a bright red coat of blush decorating his peaceful face, creating the perfect image of such a beautiful, desperate man.

"I asked you to fuck me," I seethe, tugging harshly on his hair again, making him cry out once more. His cock twitches against my leg, then suddenly he begins trying to crawl down my body, his hands grabbing at whatever flesh he can find as he bites harshly at my being, his slick tongue quick to soothe the marks as his amber eyes watch me pleadingly, begging for praise that I don't offer to him.

Mike's hands paw at my pants, dragging them down my hips without even undoing the tight drawstring that keeps the waistline fitted to me properly. The moment I feel the cold air begin to sink into my newly exposed skin, Mike's lips are quick to warm me once again, his tongue diving between my legs as he laps greedily, moaning as he teases my entrance with it. The wet muscle probs at me, tempting me to grab his hair and shove him against me while I ride his face, but I decide instead to pet his hair in non-verbal praise, driving him wild as his blush deepens. His large hands cup my ass, raising my hips off the bed slightly and spreading my legs wider, allowing him easier access to me.

"Stop being a tease," I moan lightly, digging my hand deeper into his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp. His voice cracks as he moans, slipping his tongue into me obediently as he plays with my ass. His own hips fuck the bed, slight trembling obvious as his lashes flutter shut, spit beginning to dribble down his chin as he quickly slides his tongue out and in, swirling it around inside of me and playing with my entrance every time he slips out.

I close my own eyes, pleasure making my back stiff as I hold his head between my thighs, hyperfocusing on the feeling of him tongue fucking me, the knot in my stomach tightening with every move, big or small. The noises he makes as he eats me out are improper, through and through. His voice makes insanity inducing vibrations that spread throughout me with each pathetic, high pitched moan. The bed creeks with every thrust of his hips against the old mattress. A part of me wonders if he's being so vocal for the tape currently recording us, paranoid that the cassette player on his nightstand may not be able to hear us properly. Another part of me likes to think that he's just this into it, so driven insane by my body that he just simply can't help the noises of pleasure that escape him. The idea makes me grip his hair tighter, my hips beginning to thrust harder against his face, making his voice rise in pitch as his eyes drift open, glazed and stupid while he admires me. His nails dig into my ass, his tongue hardly moving out of me now as he fucks me.

"You like it when I fuck your face like this?" I ask him, watching his blush grow as he nods against me, his hips quickening as I thrust harder into his mouth, my thighs tightening around his head. He looks so pretty like this, so utterly desperate.

"You want me to cum on your tongue?" I ask him, tugging his hair harder. He shakes his head, swirling his tongue around inside of me, making me groan lowly. "Where should I cum then?"

Mike slips his tongue out of me quickly, raising his head slightly as he speaks. "On my face," he says sweetly before diving back between my legs, lapping greedily at my entrance while I moan.

"Oh," I drawl slowly, letting him play with me while I watch. "You want me to paint that pretty face?"

Mike moans against me, sliding his tongue into me once more as he ruts against the bed, his eyes closing once more as he puts his all into the act.

"Do you like warming me up for your cock like this?" I ask him, giggling when he dives deeper inside of me in response. "Such a good way to get me ready to breed."

This seems to do the trick for Mike, his eyes snapping open to watch me as he fucks my hole desperately, moaning and panting as his tongue slides in and out, slick noises echoing throughout the room with each movement.

My breathing hitches in my throat as I fuck his face roughly, my stomach feeling tight as my orgasm edges closer, my teeth digging into my lower lip.

"I'm not gonna last much longer," I warn Mike, thrusting harder onto his rapid tongue while one of my hands begin to play with my now neglected nipple. One of Mike's hands quickly finds the other, both of us now playing with my chest to make me whine as I edge ever close, my eyes squeezing shut as I focus on my climax, my voice ragged and high as I moan for Mike to quicken his hand. He obeys immediately, his thumbnail flicking at the hard bud while his other hand squeezes my ass, nails digging into the cheek while he moans into me. I steal a look downwards at him, locking eyes with his now possessive glare while he watches me with eager satisfaction, silently begging me to come undone onto his face. And with such a beautiful, demanding man fucking me like this, who am I to say no?

"I'm coming," I stutter as the tight knot in my stomach begins to snap. "Fuck, Jesus, I'm coming!"

Mike moans in harmony with me, eyes widening in excitement as I pull him as tight against me as I can. My own eyes flutter shut, my hand clamping down over my mouth to muffle my sharp cries, my body trembling as my muscles stiffen, pleasure ripping through me to the point I clamp my thighs tight around Mike's head, pumping into his mouth with such vigor I'm almost worried he may not be able to breathe properly. But he doesn't ask me to stop, his pants soft and desperate as his own body shakes.

The force of my orgasm takes me by surprise, relaxation kicking in hard enough that when I close my eyes, it's hard to open them again. With each tremble from the waves pulsing through me I'm coaxed back into sleep, my muscles slowly relaxing one by one, my mind shutting off, and it doesn't take long before I can hear a deep voice in my ear, whining something much too loud for my tastes.

"Mm," I groan once again. "C'mere, come cuddle with m-"

"I asked you, very politely, to stay awake," Mike whispers in my ear. My eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly to adjust once more to the morning light. "What on earth am I going to do with you?"

In Mike's hand is a small washcloth, wiping away at the leftover cum I had painted his face with. Mike's hand is rubbing my thigh as he grazes his cock over my hole, teasing me as punishment.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, a blush rising to my cheeks as I try to put on my best act of innocence so maybe he'll skip the torture and go straight to fucking me.

"No," Mike drawls, his hand inching closer. "No, I don't think you are."

The tip of Mike's cock presses against my entrance, threatening to dip in, making me moan desperately.

"Shush," Mike soothes me, wrapping his hand around my throat slowly, finger by finger. "Don't wake the rest of the house."

Mike slips his middle finger inside of me, pumping quickly and hard. I whimper quietly, which seems to be too loud for his taste.

"I said be quiet," Mike whispers patiently as he carefully squeezes my throat. I try to reach for his hair only to discover my hands have been bound to the bedframe by some sort of cloth.

"You like my tie, sweet thing?" Mike asks sweetly, slamming harder into me. I can hear the increasing volume of the smacking inside me as he fucks me with his hand, sounding so delicious as he curls his fingers just right. Mike leans in closer, running his tongue over the bottom of my lip before shoving it inside of my mouth to claim me once again. I moan loudly, giving in fully to desire as he has his way with me. Mike pulls away instantly, choking me hard enough my airflow is slightly restricted. His ring finger slips inside of me right before he begins to slam inside of me with all of his strength, making me gasp pathetically while he ruins my tightening hole, my legs trembling as I arch my back, pressing against his smooth tie. I wrap the longer end around my palm, tugging at it in desperation. Mike bites down on my neck again, and I'm about to cry out when the doorbell buzzes throughout the living room, making us both jolt in surprise at the sudden interruption.

"No, no, no, no!" I whine, my eyes wide as I feel Mike thrust into me one final time as hard as he can before pulling away, leaving me empty and trembling while he stands from the bed. "Come back, come back!"

Mike looks cocky and pleased with himself while he pulls a sweater on over his head, glancing back over his shoulder at me for just a second.

"Just go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'll handle it," he coos like an asshole.

"B-but I'm not- we-"

Mike is out the door before I can protest, our unexpected guest buzzing once more in clear irritation at the slow response to their arrival. Who the fuck even is it? It's hardly even seven!

Disappointed and frustrated, I slump against the bed, clearly pouting as I hear Mike open the front door. And Abby is slipping out of her room now too, her young voice muffled through the walls as she greets Aunt Jane, apparently.

Oh my god.

Not fucking fair!

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

You know, I wasn't gonna write this. I just pulled a bunch of tags out of my ass when I originally posted the fake fic, but then I decided you guys took the joke so well that you all deserved a little treat. Say 'thank you, Dani.' <3

I may be an asshole, but I'm not evil. So, I expanded my regular taglist to include the horny fucks that got trolled so they could read my bullshitted glory. You're welcome 😌 (would love to have you join the taglist full time, btw!):

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool @laurrrelise @orchidmothh @mystargirl-interlude @freak-accident419 @fatinhadesiners06 @mrjsbunny @futureman @sleepyhutcherson @lile6969 @heartsoremania @bowerssz51 @nick-nacker @joshhutchersonsgf @kathybernice @janitorhutcherson @sofiehutch. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Happy April fools day, everyone. Thanks for following, reblogging and commenting. See you next time!

                •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

futturman comforting you headcannons

masterlist | requested by @futturmansgf (babe im sorry this is so late xx hope you enjoy!)

pairing: josh futturman x gn!reader

tags: comfort, fluff, angst, established relationship, best friends to lovers but it’s not really mentioned, mention of family issues (nothing specific stated), use of y/n.

author’s note: finally getting back to focusing on my requests! this is so rushed and not my best work for sure but i still hope it’s enjoyable <3 also not edited so excuse any mistakes!

First off, I 100% believe Josh is the type of boyfriend to tell you to call him whenever you need him—and he empathises how it could be three in the morning and if you call him he will pick up!

He’ll probably be up gaming, playing either Biotic Wars or something.

It doesn’t matter how into his game he is, the moment he sees your contact appear on his screen, he puts his controller down, mumbling a quick “hold on” to whoever he’s playing with before muting his mic.

“Hey, Y/N,” he’ll say through the line, his voice gentle. The moment he hears you sniffle and the sadness in your tone, his heart breaks. “Is everything okay, love?” He asks out of concern.

He picks up your call, you didn’t often call him this late so this must’ve been important. “Hey, Y/N, is everything okay?” He asks through the line, his voice gentle. He hears you sniffle and he can tell something is wrong (also because it’s not everyday that you call him this late.)

He listens to you explain what occurred, and before you can get too in detail he asks you if he can come over.

He listens to a brief explanation of what happened, you want to say more but you’re so overwhelmed with everything, and you’re partially scared you’re bothering him.

Josh knows you through and through, he has since you two were really young. So, he can sense you’re struggling and that you clearly want to say more so he doesn’t hesitate to ask you what he wants to, immediately blurting it out once you’re done speaking.

“What?” You ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“Can I come over?” He repeats, his tone gentle. You don’t know why but it surprises you—it surprises you that someone is willing to drive late at night just to hear you ramble about your problems.

You’re quite, no answer leaving your lips so quickly Josh says, “you—I don’t have to, er, if you—you don’t want me to but…” he trails off.

Truth is, he wants to hold you. He wants to be there for you physically if he can. If you’ll allow him to.

If you want, he’ll listen to you over the phone of course but he prefers to be there with you.

“Josh, it’s three in the morning…” you respond. This is not you saying no, though, you’re just still unsure if he wants to actually come over.

You hear him let out a soft chuckle. “I know, Y/N/N, but I really don’t mind. You clearly need someone right now.”

You agree and both of you hang up, Josh not even bothering to tell his friends (who were still on the game) bye, simply leaving the game.

Yes, Josh Futturman is the type of boyfriend to drive down to your house even if it’s three in the morning.

He doesn’t show up empty handed either, probably stops at some ‘open 24 hours’ shop to grab you some of your favourite snacks.

The moment you open the door, he moves forward to hug you. You were still crying, a little less but he could see your teary eyes and your stained cheeks.

With that, you both get cosy on the sofa in your living room, Josh patting his lap for you to lay your head so he can play with your hair while you tell him about your issues.

He listens the whole time, he doesn’t talk until your done.

He honestly can’t imagine what you’re going through, how your family has the capability to treat you like that. It pains him that you’re being treated so poorly by them.

He plants soft kisses on your head whenever you start crying, wiping your tears away.

When you’re done, he cups your face in his hands, gently wiping your tears away with his thumb. He looks into his eyes, his own glossy with probably tears. “I’m so sorry, love,” he frowns. He hates seeing you like this. He especially hates that your family’s causing this. “I know you’re struggling, I know I can’t take your pain away but I want you to know that you’re, like, the most important person to me. It might not mean much but I love you and I’m sorry your family hasn’t shown you that love but you are loved by me, okay?”

He always knows what to say in these situations.

He knows how to make you feel loved even in moments like these.

He peppers kisses over you face, even your tear stained cheeks, whispering “I love you”’s between each kiss.

Lastly, he’ll land at your lips, kissing you so softly and lovingly. He takes a moment between the kiss to tell you how perfect you are which makes you smile softly.

Your snacks that he brought over go ignored for now, Josh holding you in his arms until you fall asleep, finally at ease.

thinking about stoner!mike again…

cw: obvious drug use, fem!reader, slight nsfw?

stoner!mike who prefers smoking in his car late at night, sharing a blunt with you with the soft sound of one of his fucked up CDs playing in the background.

stoner!mike who chuckles and watches you struggle after taking a long hit, so adamant on matching his pace when in reality, his tolerance is a lot higher than yours.

stoner!mike who goes fucking feral whenever you suggest shotgunning. keeps his hand on the back of your neck as he slowly exhales the smoke into your mouth, groaning as he pulls away with the taste of your lips on his.

stoner!mike who gives you his worn out jackets and hoodies that reek of weed but also smell like his cologne, preferring you in them and goes fucking brainless whenever you’re wearing just that.

stoner!mike who never lets you smoke alone. either joins you or watches you in case you go through a bad trip — needing to be there.

stoner!mike who prefers eating you out in the back of his honda accord after finishing a blunt, swearing to the gods above that you taste so much more addictive. literally gets hard at even the thought of it.

stoner!mike who’s only your dealer, fuck anyone else who tries to give you something better. only thing he wants back in return is you — not sex, not money, just you.

stoner!mike who rolls all your blunts for you <3

i want to chew on josh hutcherson like he’s made of plastic

IMAGINE COCKWARMING JOSH WHILE HE’S GAMING.

nsfw | mdni | fem!reader | switch!josh | cockwarming | cursing | praise | unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy) | creampie | having to stay quiet | brief handjob | josh says hachi machi once (i wanted it to be as canon as possible😭) | not proofread

OH MY GODDDD okay so it definitely would start off with him playing biotic wars waayyyy longer than he told you he would, leaving you frustrated.

you walk into your shared living room where (of course) josh is sitting on the couch with a pair of headphones resting on his ears. josh is yelling at the screen and throwing his hands up in frustration, readjusting the mic to talk to the people on the other side.

you smile at the scene in front of you, making a conscious effort to stifle any laughter that threatens to escape. even though you were annoyed, you still thought it was so cute how serious he was about the things he loves.

you walk over to the couch and sit next to him, hoping he would take the hint that you want to spend time with him. he turns to you for a moment and gives you a gentle smile, genuinely happy to see you. but as quick as he looked to you, he turns back to the screen and yells at his friends in anger, upset they can’t beat the level.

you throw your head back against the cushion in frustration and sigh, annoyed that he still won’t pay attention to you while you’re right next to him.

you knew how much he loved those games, and while you thought it was nice that he was comfortably sharing a hobby he enjoys with you, you wish that he would focus on you just a bit more.

you attempt to get up but before you can get anywhere, josh reaches his arm out and grabs your hand. he looks up at you with those brown, doe-like eyes and you swear you could fall in love again. you knew he was asking you to sit back down, but what was the point if he was just going to play that stupid game the whole time?

josh grabs the side of his headset and clicks a button, letting you know he muted it.

“come sit down on my lap, i missed you.”

your eyes widen at his words and you smile, surprised that he even noticed you get up. the first words to you since you came in here was asking you to sit on him lap? not like you were complaining though.

you crawl into his lap, careful not to block the view of the tv, and try to get yourself comfortable. you gasp when you feel something hard against your ass, and you have to stifle a moan when you turn around to see him smirking at you.

before you could say a word, josh turns on the mic and starts talking again, careful not to get too loud. he doesn’t want to hurt your ears, and you silently thank him.

you try to ignore the growing wet spot on your underwear, thinking about how hard josh is just from you sitting on his lap. it takes everything in you to not just rip his clothes off and ride him into oblivion, but after all, he is trying to play with his friends.

josh’s hips stir underneath you and you hear him gulp loudly. you knew how hard this was for him too, and you wanted to help him. you move your hips in circles a few times, perfectly against his hard on.

josh can’t help the groan that falls from his lips at your movements, but before anyone can ask questions, he covers it up by saying, “this is so fucking annoying.”

relieved that you weren’t caught, you move your hips back again, and josh shoots you a death glare. your hips stutter for a moment at his look, but then, you get an idea.

you get back up from his lap and he starts to ask you where you going, but he realizes exactly what you’re doing as he watches you slowly tug at the ends of your shirt.

you don’t break eye contact as you pull your shirt up, exposing your chest to josh. his eyes flick back to the screen, and he contemplates throwing the controller down and fucking you on the couch. his eyes then go back down to your chest as you completely disregard your shirt, leaving it somewhere on the floor beside you.

josh gets broken out of his daze when loud shouts come from his headphones, and he quickly goes to turn it off. he mutes his headset, but before he could take them off, you say, “no, no. keep playing, baby.”

josh frowns and his eyes don’t leave yours, even though he really really wants to look down at your chest.

“what are you doing?” you ask, “aren’t you going to play?”

josh lets out a shaky breath and looks back at the screen, a feeling of anxiety running through him. he clicks the button on the side of the headset and unmutes it quickly, apologizing to the others for having to leave so abruptly.

you turn around and face the tv, careful to not block josh’s view but also making sure he can still see you, you bend down and pull down your underwear and shorts.

you turn your head over your shoulder and see josh practically drooling all over himself, and you smile at his reaction.

you step out of your clothes and turn back around, fully facing josh. josh lets out a shaky breath and heat rises to his cheeks. a pink hue lightly sits on his cheeks as he tries to find the words to say.

you look back at the tv and see josh’s character doing nothing, and you turn back to josh and cock an eyebrow. josh’s eyes widen and he quickly looks back at the tv, trying to focus on whatever’s happening on the screen in front of him.

while josh isn’t looking, you drop to the floor in front of him and rest your head on his thigh. josh’s breath catches in his throat and he tries not to look down at you, hands shaking slightly against the controller that sits in his soft hands.

if that game was soooo important to him, why was it so hard for him to focus now? you knew the answer to that question, but the thought still amuses you.

josh continues to play the game as best as he can, only sneaking a few glances down as he feels your hand reach up to his zipper.

the sound of his zipper sliding down makes him tense up, but nonetheless, he still focuses on the screen. you grin to yourself, thinking about how well he listens to everything you tell him to do.

you pull his pants down to his thighs as best as you can, despite him sitting down. your eyes widen in shock when you see the wet spot that has formed on his boxers, and you use your pointer finger to touch it softly.

josh hisses through gritted teeth at the feeling, and you smile thinking about how hard it will be for him to keep quiet. even though you love every sound he makes, you wanted to punish him for being on the game too much.

in all honesty, it really didn’t bother you too much, but it was fun to see him try his best to be quiet and focus on the game.

you pull his dick out of his boxers and take a second to admire it. the pink tip is leaking with precum, and it drips down the side of his dick. you spread the precum around his tip with your finger and hold the head softly.

it takes everything in him not to fuck up into your hand, but he knew he was better than that. instead, he tries to pay full attention to the game, despite the feeling of your hand moving up and down his cock at an antagonizing pace.

josh’s palms sweat against the controller as he tries to listen to the voices coming through the headphones, giving the best responses he could.

you wanted to sit on your knees in front of him and jerk him off until he came, but suddenly, you got a better idea.

you remove your hand from his dick and he frowns, looking down at you with confusion painting his face. you get off your knees and stand up, watching his eyes follow your body. his brown puppy dog eyes look so adorable right now, and you swear you could die on the spot.

you stare down at him and then at his dick that’s begging to be touched. you turn around and get in front of him, blocking his view from the tv and moving your body down.

you grab josh’s dick and line it up with your hole and slowly sink down on it. you have to bite your lip to silence any moans that may spill out of your lips, and when you turn around and see josh’s face, you know he’s struggling just as bad as you are.

every inch you take of him makes it harder to stay quiet, and josh has to cover his mouth with his hand. his controller sits loosely in the other one, and you stop moving down when you realize he’s not playing.

josh frowns but then realizes why you stopped, and takes his hand off his mouth. he moves his head to the side to see the screen, and you continue to sink down until his dick is all the way inside of you.

you lean your body back against josh and try not to think about his dick perfectly stretching you out. you grip his hands and bring them around your body, so he can still play the game while you sit on his dick.

josh sighs and grips the controller tightly, trying to ignore the feeling of your walls gripping his dick tightly. he mumbles a few words to the mic, not like you’re paying attention though.

as the veins along his cock graze your sensitive walls, you felt yourself getting more sensitive with every moment that passed. your vision goes fuzzy with tears as you watch the screen in front of you, seeing josh’s character run around and try to kill the biotics.

josh and his friends beat the level and excitedly yell into their mics, and you hear some muffled words come from the headphones resting on his ears. josh is rambling on about how excited he is and absentmindedly fucks up into you a few times, causing him to stutter over his words.

your mouth falls open in a silent cry and your eyes roll back in your head, the tears the sit at the brink of your eyelids spilling out.

josh pulls his lips through his bottom teeth as he tries to listen to his friends, trying not to stare down at the way your bodies are connected. he gives another quick thrust and you whine, though he’s quick to cover it up with a fake cough.

you hear the headphones click and josh brings his mouth to the side of your ear, then whispers, “you’re gonna have to be quiet if you want to keep doing this. can you do that for me?”

you nod your head aggressively and turn your head around to face his, studying his cocky demeanor. josh unmutes the mic and turns his focus back to the game, talking loudly to the other people on the line as they start a new level.

even though it was your idea, you won’t deny how badly you need him to fuck you. your cunt aches with need as you tighten around him, and his breath hitches.

he gives an experimental thrust up into you once, seeing if you can stay quiet or not. you clap a hand over your mouth and whine, careful to muffle the sound so no one hears.

your body slumps against josh’s as you try not to make noise, shifting your hips around to release the pressure in between your legs. josh’s hips move up to meet yours and he moans, but quickly catches himself and starts complaining about the game.

when the words “level complete” pop up on the screen, you sigh in relief. you silently begged josh to get off the game and fuck you. even though you wanted to punish him, it felt more like punishment to you.

josh quickly excuses himself and shuts off the game, ignoring his friends pleas to keep playing. he disregards the controller somewhere on the couch, wasting no time and gripping your hips tightly.

“missed you so much, baby,” josh coos, gently thrusting into you. he lets his mouth fall open and moans loudly against your ear. your body twitches against his and you whine, incoherent words falling from your mouth.

“you’re so tight,” josh groans, “feels so good.”

you whimper at his words and move your hips in circles around him. josh brings his lips to the side of your neck and sucks dark circles along your neck and shoulders.

you moan his name like a prayer and he snakes his hand down your body, gripping your thigh harshly. he puts his hand between your leg and grazes your bundle of nerves with his middle and ring finger.

your hips twitch and chase his fingers, needing to feel any kind of pleasure. josh laughs against the shell of your ear and begins to move his fingers around in circles on your clit.

“so fucking wet,” he whispers, sucking a dark circle behind your ear and licking the area softly, as if he’s trying to get rid of the color, “can feel you leaking all over my thighs.”

you push your shaky legs to the ground and settle yourself, then pull up off his dick. you both whine at the loss and josh grabs your hips, trying to pull you down again. you line his dick up with your hole and use your legs as leverage to slowly start bouncing on his cock.

“hachi machi.” josh moans, and you scoff at his stupid choice of words. his dick is literally inside of you and the best thing he could say was “hachi machi” ?

you lift off his dick again and slam back down, then starting a rough pace. josh thrusts up harshly into you and your legs almost give out, and josh has to hold you up.

he rubs aggressive circles on your clit and groans, “can you touch yourself for me? wanna help my pretty girl feel good.”

you nod and move your hand down your body, replacing his fingers with your own. josh grips your hips again tighter than before, and you’re sure there will be bruises by tomorrow.

josh picks your hips up and slams them down harshly over and over, and you can feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“i’m gonna—” you cut yourself off with a moan when he moves his hand up to your chest, pulling lightly on your nipple.

“gonna cum all over my dick?” he moans, abusing your sweet spot on your neck with his tongue. “i’m close too, baby.”

josh coos over the way you respond to his touch, and he gives more deep thrusts into your tight cunt. josh’s hips stutter underneath you and you feel his warm cum coat your walls. josh is moaning so loudly you are sure the neighbors could hear.

that feeling of his thick cum shooting into you enough to tip you over the edge and you cum around his cock. you rub harsh circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs as josh pulls on your nipple, and your back arches against him.

you throw your head back, only giving josh more access. he muffles his loud moans in your neck as your cunt continues to milk him dry, and you feel like your head is spinning. nothing comes out of your mouth but moans and whimpers as josh continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

his lazy thrusts slow to a complete stop and he pulls you into his chest. you both take a moment to catch your breath while he stays inside of you.

“thank you so much, baby. needed that so fucking bad.” josh breathily whispers, rubbing soothing circles on your waist.

you brace yourself on the ground and pull yourself off, and you both whine at the loss. you plop down next to him on the couch and sigh, leaning your body against his.

you and josh sit like that for a moment before he asks, “wanna take a bath to clean up?”

I think about pegging him way more than I should.

average conversation with @janitorhutcherson

hey bitches!! it’s e, i’m backkkk. i had a fic idea, something i think i’ll use for a lot of new content if y’all react well to it. to give y’all a run down before we get into it, this is a famous!mike schmidt au.

basically mike is josh hutcherson. reader (you) are his live in PR assistant. not sure the perfect word for it, but basically you manage his social media presence, the way he dresses, how he is in public, attend all events with him to monitor him, etc…… kinda like a babysitter….. also, could technically be a part of olderbf!mike because reader is 22, mike is 31. anywaysss..! it’s a new idea, i just wanted to set the scene. the way i’m writing this is different from usual. plz let me know what you think! if y’all like i’ll write more in this universe🤭

summary: ur actor mike schmidt’s assistant!!

warnings: angsty, just an introduction to an idea.

————————

mike schmidt was a mess, and everybody knew it. that was part of what was so appealing to the public. he was a celebrity, a famous actor, known for various movies, tv shows. he was glamorized, lived in LA just like the rest of them, edits to upbeat songs all over social media with his hips swaying from some random snippet of a trailer. yes, mike schmidt was a heart throb, but he wasn’t your typical golden boy. he wore jeans and raggedy t-shirts to interviews. his brown curly locks were always tangled and sticking in fifty different directions. his stubble was always a little too rough, his hands calloused and bruised to masculine perfection. he wore snap backs and had no sense of what a filter was. he said things as they were on stages, into microphones, or on livestreams, silly phrases coming out of his pink lips. he was carefree, not glamorous nor slouchy but instead some odd middle ground that left women with slack jaws and puddles of drool. he was what every woman actually wanted when they said they wanted a man ‘written by a woman,’ or so they thought he was.

in reality, mike was the biggest pain in the ass to walk the earth. while most 22-year-olds got to save pictures of him to their pinterest boards and kick their feet every time he came into their tv screen, you were stuck managing his every move, saving his ass from letting the wrong thing fall from his mouth in front of the wrong audience. you were his manager, of everything, really. you managed his social media, coached him through what to say during interviews, inspected the clothing he wore before events… there wasn’t quite anything you didn’t do for mike. the two of you had a weird connection since you’d started, not quite foes but certainly not friends. the air was always somewhat tense, something you were all too aware of whenever you’d have an interaction with him. you knew it needed to change, and fast.

you’d gotten the job fresh out of college, extremely eager to take such a high paying position. you were lucky and you were aware, your gratitude something you showed through your endless devotion to being the best manager, and hopefully one day friend, mike could have. when you’d first been offered the position, part of what made it so appealing was knowing not only were you being paid, but you were given a room to stay, in the same home as mike. it was crucial, living alongside your boss in order to keep him in check. when you’d walked into a meeting room after you’d accepted the position, you were debrief about mike, told he was… difficult, to put up with. he tended to push his previous managers to the limit, his somewhat childlike demeanor sending them running the other direction. you accepted this as a challenge, something to motivate you to prove that you were worth more than the other old and dried up pieces of talent they’d had in here.

oh boy, did you have another thing coming. you weren’t any different to mike. sure, you were gorgeous, your eyes a color he could drown in, your laugh something he grew oh so fond of over the past few months you’d lived with him, but you were just another manager… right? it was his job to make this difficult for you. that’s how he saw it. so, you fought like you were pulling teeth, demanding he go change before going out like he was your 14-year-old daughter when he’d come out in a bleach stained t-shirt. you’d have to keep him from posting selfies of him smoking a joint on FACEBOOK just to cause a stir. for gods sake, you didn’t care if he put them anywhere else, just please, not where all the old people were. you’d argue late at night when you’d both head back to his place, your eyes filled with fiery anger after he’d drop some stupid shit in an interview, accidentally saying something about how one of his older costars were a “dried up old fashioned hag who needed to get some.” was he wrong…? no. but that didn’t mean he could say it.

he’d always yell back, his eyes filled with just as much anger. you went about this charade almost every time something had to be done. it could be a red carpet event, an awards dinner, an interview, even simply a live stream, there was always something with mike, something to yell and scream about. you constantly tried your hardest to stress how much you cared about this job, about him even too, sometimes blurring the line between professionalism and feelings as you’d get a little too intimate about the things you’d left behind, desperate for him to understand you, to see you.

it wasn’t until one night you’d finally had enough. he’d changed outfits right before a big interview that could’ve got him in front of multiple big directors, something big, even more groundbreaking for him. he’d been in an elegant outfit that fit his body so well, just like a glove, you could only imagine. of course, he hated it. he hated being coaxed into things, told what to do, to say, and currently, both were happening. when no one was watching, he’d slipped himself into a pair of black jeans and a tank top, walking out just like that, then proceeding to insult every director there individually. you were dumbfounded. no, he wasn’t drunk. no, he wasn’t high, medicated, or under any influence. this was just… mike, and you were starting to have enough.

the moment the two of you entered the house, you’d went at it, your face red from anger. how could he? how could he go out and blatantly go against everything you’d said purely out of boredom? he was a grown man, you’d think he could do better than this. you were embarrassed, not even for yourself as who represented him even though you should’ve been, but for him. you wanted this for him. your eyes locked on his, the moment you slammed the door shut. his big, beautiful brown eyes you most definitely didn’t mind looking into, no matter how angry you were. “mike, what the fuck,” was all you could say before he stuck his hand up. he went to turn on his heel, not even bothering to listen to a word you’d have to say.

that’s when you did something you didn’t think you’d do. this time, you’d let something slip, something you’d wished you hadn’t. “mike, if this shit doesn’t stop i’m fucking quitting, i’m leaving.”

that’s all it took.

that’s all it took for him to turn back on his heel to face you, frozen. his mouth was slightly parted, his eyes wider than you’d seen them before. he looked… angry.. confused.. no, not even. he looked… sad? he fluttered his eyes, his mouth opening and closing a little. you’d known you’d lasted longer than most, but this wasn’t what you were expecting.

“don’t,” was all he said, taking a couple of steps toward you. you stood there, frozen and tense as who was basically your boss slowly moved towards you, his demeanor different than you’d seen before. he was like a lost and wounded puppy, his dark brown eyes glistening with an emotion you’d never seen in him before. he reached out, touching your shoulder. you flinched, not even because you didn’t want him to but out of instinct.

“just, don’t go, y/n. i couldn’t take it, okay? i-i’m sorry, i’m sorry i fuck around too much, i’m sorry.. i just.. i don’t want you gone,” he said, his voice was low and growly. oh. he wanted you to stay. this was the first time he’d shown any interest in you in any way other than arguing, and you didn’t know what to do. with that being said, you did what you knew how to do best.

“okay,” you simply said, nodding your head as you went to your room. that night, you’d laid in your bed conflicted about the side of the man you lived with that you saw tonight. meanwhile, while you tossed and turned in your own sheets, mike did the exact same. little did you know, you were the only person mike had ever felt a real connection with. you were the only one patient, loving, thoughtful enough to be there for him, even through his hissy fits. he adored you, your style, your walk, your laugh, your humor, and he hated it. you were in his mind 24/7 and he hated it. but no, he could never get closer, because he knew you’d leave, just like the rest, and tonight was proof.

no, if mike were to ever attempt to get closer, you’d be the one to start it. and perhaps.. perhaps you would be, perhaps this encounter would be so engrained into your brain that you think about it daily, dissecting the look on his face. but who knows? maybe next week you’ll change your mind and pack your things, walk out the door. only the narrator knows quite what’s in store for the two of you…

tiger, wolf, and josh being the worst best friends of all time ever 💖

he’s just so boyfriend

Hey I love your work so much!!

I was thinking of maybe a Mike Schmidt x reader where the reader is all like “I’m not good enough for you, I don’t deserve you” stuff and then like Mike makes it up to the reader to show them that they are more than enough 🫶

Sure, but it's gonna hurt!

Blue Sunrise

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: All is well, yet you aren't. A fact that disturbs and irritates you so, even if it shouldn't.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no use of gendered pronouns for Reader, SFW with brief mentions of smut, pre-established relationship, set during the movie but that's honestly not very relevant, hurt/comfort, Reader and Mike both have PTSD, this isn't projection, bed rotting, depression, self-loathing, night terrors/nightmares, panic attacks, sleep deprivation, mentions of medication, lack of self care, slight self-harm (scratching), breakdown, nosebleed.

Notes: *in sonic snapcube dub voice* heyyyyyyyyyyyy what's upppppppppppppp it's meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee (STOP!!)

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6:34 A.M.

The dawn is gentle, the sky a soft blue behind the thin, cheap blinds that cover the bedroom window not that far in front of me. If I wanted, I could get up and open the window, revealing the surely beautiful and gorgeous sunrise that waits for me just outside the blinds.

But I don't. And I won't.

Birds sing gently outside, waking up and fliting about here and there. It's my favorite part of the day, quite frankly. When I can, I open the window to allow in the fresh, cool air, moist with the morning dew, unmuffling the bird's songs as I drift off to sleep, my schedule mostly in tune with Mike's for his night shift. Sometimes I manage to stay awake to greet him when he returns home. It's always nice when I do. His smile is lazy, his strides long and slow as he makes his way to the bed, peeling off his work clothes and crawling under the covers with me. Sometimes he'll press himself against me, his lips finding my neck as his hand dives between my thighs, his fingers trained on one goal as he murmurs against my skin how much he's missed me. Sometimes I wake to this.

There's a part of me that wishes he'd do this today just so I wouldn't have to think.

The lock on the front door rattles as someone attempts to insert a key into the hole. It doesn't matter how long he's lived here or how he uses those keys every morning, he still takes a moment to make sure he's using the right one, and on the first try he usually isn't. So it takes him a solid minute to unlock the door and enter the house. If we had dogs, they'd surely drive us insane from his routine. It slightly drives me insane already. But I'm technically not even supposed to be awake, so I never mention it.

When Mike finally enters the house, the first thing I hear after the satisfying break of the doors seal ringing throughout the living room is a deep sigh as Mike's backpack lands in front of the coat rack. He should be quieter about setting it down. I would be. But I think he assumes we should be so deep in sleep it really wouldn't matter, and it honestly doesn't make much noise. Just a slightly dull 'thud' against the thinly carpeted floor.

Next I can hear his car keys land in the bowl they're meant for. Again, he's a bit too loud with it all. At least, while people are sleeping. But it's not really a bother. In a way, I like it. It gives me a routine to memorize, his sounds before he'll trail to our room and come press himself against me.

The rocking recliner creeks softly as he sits in it, lazily undoing the laces on his boots before he tosses them towards the coat rack. And next he'll duck his head into the fridge I'm sure and look for the leftovers I put into a big bowl for him to warm up - which he won't, because he's a psychopath who likes cold food. - and then when my alarm goes off, he'll come to wake me up, rising from the old couch where he's very quietly reading his book while he eats and do whatever he has to do to prevent me from slipping back into sleep. He's very good at that job. Especially when he uses his tongue.

But today there's a break in the routine. Today, his footsteps are padding towards our room, the door quietly opening as he slips in. I can hear him let out a soft sigh as he tugs on his hoodie, pulling it off and then discarding of his jeans, which muffle the clack of his belt buckle as he slips them off. Left in his undershirt and boxers, he crosses the room to open the blinds and the window, letting in the fresh air and leaning against the thin windowstill for a moment. Now, I can see him.

He looks rested, a little more than he should for having just finished a night shift. I keep telling him he's going to get fired, but he always wiggles his way out of that conversation. The bags usually under his eyes aren't too deep this morning, which while problematic is relieving. His skin is pale blue from the dawns light that pours into the room. His dark curls are more thick on the top of his head, clumped together from him not brushing them after his shower. He must've used too much conditioner, because his hair also looks thicker than it usually does. The breeze blows his oversized pale blue shirt against his chest as he leans forward, allowing his eyes to close as he takes in a deep breath. It feels like an overly private moment. Like I've intruded by watching him. I don't see him like this much when he isn't alone. When he's with me or Abby, he's alert. Somewhat on guard. It's like he's watching us to make sure we're okay. He's too used to things falling apart in an instant. But when he's alone, physically or emotionally, the walls crumble away to reveal a man who enjoys peace. Who smiles softly as he bends down low, resting his chin upon his arms, letting the dawn greet him and being the supposed first in the house to greet the dawn. And I feel like a stalker for watching him. A scene that feels as if I've stolen what will now only exist deep in my mind for when I want to remember one of the few times he has truly ever looked at peace with the world. It's a scene out of a painting. As private as a prayer. I should grant him more privacy, but I don't. In a captivated and enchanted way, I can't.

I'd never tell him this, but in this moment he looks like his mother. And not in the sense of him being her son. No, based off of the few photos I've seen of her in more private, intimate instances, like when she was holding a very small Mike on her lap on his second birthday, or when Mike's father had stolen a photo during their honeymoon when she wasn't looking, Mike looks just like her. Quiet, serene, not hiding anything from anyone because there's no need. At this moment it is just him and the gentle, late winter breeze that makes my nose begin to sting. He's beautiful. Just like she was.

The moment comes to an end, and now it is just a moment that exists only within my mind as his eyes open. The blue dawn brings out the green in his eyes that's usually hidden by artificial light that overpowers the amber, turning them mostly black in some instances. That's the color I thought they were until I saw him in proper daylight. His long lashes bat once, twice in an almost sleepy manner as he shifts his focus, now turning his head to look at me. I shut my eyes quickly, my canines biting into my tongue to force myself to keep a straight face. But it's too late. We made eye contact, even if it was only for a second, and now he knows I'm awake.

"Sweetheart?" He whispers softly, his voice low and slightly gravelly in the way it always is. His 's' and 't's just a tad sharp, clear as always when he speaks. I hear the floor groan as he pads towards me.

I don't speak. I'm not supposed to be awake. I should be asleep, he would rather I was asleep. I tried to be asleep.

He stops in front of me, I can hear the floor groan louder as he crouches in front of me. He's trying to decide if I'm awake or not, if maybe he'd been tricked into thinking we made eye contact. But something convinces him he hasn't, and the bed sinks as he places a hand upon the mattress to support his weight while he kisses my temple.

"Hi," he whispers against my skin, placing another kiss just above the curve of my brow. "Good morning." He places another kiss on the space between my brows, his lips now trailing up to the middle of my forehead. "You look so pretty like this."

Like what? My skin shining with oil, my nose dirty, my body heavy from not having moved?

Something makes him pause when his lips find my cheek. He keeps his lips pressed against my skin for a moment before he pulls away, licking his lips as he looks closer at me.

"Hey," he whispers softly, a finger finding my chin. "Open your eyes."

I don't want to. When I do he'll instantly know what I've been doing, and I don't want to handle it. I don't want to deal with it.

His hand slips under my head, between my cheek and my pillow.

"Sweetheart, your pillow's wet," he says in quiet surprise. "Open your eyes, talk to me."

Hesitatingly, I obey. Cracking my eyes open and trying not to reveal how horrid the dryness in them feels after allowing them rest for a few moments after keeping them open for what could have been hours at this point. Mike's face is inches from mine, his brows furrowed in concern as his eyes scan for other obvious signs of distress.

"Hi," I croak in a tired, unused voice as I try to pretend all is well. Mike unfortunately knows better.

"What happened?" He asks concerningly, taking in the tone he does whenever Abby is upset, fretting over me like I'm an injured child as both of his hands cup my face, his lips finding what he's confirmed are thin, itchy and salty tear tracks, placing several, feather-light kisses along them.

"Nothing," I answer honestly, my voice still cracking. "I'm fine."

"Your eyes are red, baby," he says softly, pulling away to look at me again while his body inches closer. "You look like you've been crying for hours."

Ha. I wish. If I had been, maybe I'd feel better about everything. But instead, I've been lying here since Abby went to bed, feeling numb and dead internally as I willed myself to be upset about anything. Work, bills, the color of the walls. I'd succeeded maybe twice, little tears streaming down my face for a minute or two. But then they would stop, and it would feel as though I couldn't cry. Really cry. Like there was some emotional, maybe physical block preventing me from just truly letting all of my emotions out in a possibly hysterical fit. One that would mean I could connect to my humanity. I don't know what's wrong with me. So, instead I just say "I haven't cried."

Mike opens his mouth to call bullshit, but his brow furrows tighter as he thinks. "What's wrong?" He asks again, now lifting my head to allow one arm to slip underneath so I can lay upon it.

"Nothing," I answer again, truly unsure of what to say. "I'm really okay."

And I am. Work is fine, I am fine. Friends are fine. I don't have entitlement to be upset.

"Is it another episode?" Mike asks softly, now pulling his body onto the bed to lie next to me, fully committed to being partner of the year over here. Ugh. Great.

"No," I answer quickly, averting my gaze. Mike's hand cups my cheek, his body cool compared to mine. I'm soaked in sweat from sleeping - read: laying motionless on the bed since 9:30. - in too warm of clothes in too warm of a room under too warm of blankets. I probably stink. Meanwhile the morning air makes Mike feel refreshing. He's perfect. I'm a mess.

"It's okay if it is," Mike says softly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of if-"

"I'm not having an episode," I say firmly, cutting him off as though it will solidify my statement more than his if I finish mine first. "I'm just not."

I don't pretend to be perfect. I'm not, and I never will be. I know that's okay. I know episodes happen, and that I'll be okay. I've been so much better lately on my new schedule. I'm working, I'm happy.

I have absolutely no good reason to be in the midst of a depression episode. One where the memories won't leave my mind, where I can't sleep, can't think about anything but the past. It plays in my head over and over again, and I can't stop it. Even though I try. I read, I journal, I bathe. But I don't feel real. People don't feel real. Mike is disorienting in the sense that he is the only thing that truly feels real. Where the pale color of the sheets seems hypnotic, his slightly tan skin contrasts to remind me this place really does exist. The furniture and details of the room seem as real as something from a video game, renderings that aren't as realistic as they could be that blend into the wall more as you look. Flat. Nothing. But the freckles on his nose are real. Strikingly real. Overly real. It's as though someone took their time to place each one, carefully deciding their color, their opacity, their placement. I want and love each one, but at this moment they slightly torture me by drawing me into a comforting trap.

"I haven't had an episode in over a month, I'm better," I attempt to say in a firm, solid voice. But I'm too tired, too worn out. My chest burns both from anxiety induced heartburn and how shallow my breathing has been for the past several hours. Mike looks sad, and I hate that. Deeply.

"You have been doing better," he says softly, like a reassuring parent. "I've seen that. And I'm so proud of you."

But I still have this. I'm still like this. I still can't have people wrap their arms around me from behind because I'm instantly taken back to when it would end in me collapsed on the ground, panting, crying, calling out for help that just wouldn't come. I still can't wear shirts with too tight of collars because it always end with me half naked, ripping the shirt off while hyperventilating. That was how I had to tell Mike. For our first Christmas together he bought me this beautiful turtleneck, knowing I liked the style but didn't own many. A dark evergreen color, affordable but a lovely tight-knit material, I adored the thing. But the moment the shirt was over my head, the neck felt like a hand suffocating me, and though I tried to tolerate it fie as long as I could, it only took one casual graze of his hand along my back to send me reeling into a corner, hyperventilating, sobbing, blubbering like a terrified child as I clawed at my neck while he tried to get it off of me.

'I'm so proud of you.' The statement feels like a backhanded reward. It feels as though I'm an idiotic child who just can't learn their ABC's or basic fundamental math. It feels like I'm a small toddler surrounded by adults looking at me full of pity in their eyes while they think 'well, you'll never be normal by any means. But maybe one day if you're lucky, you'll work in a Subway.' But they don't tell me this. They just praise me for existing. 'You woke up today! You put on clothes today! You didn't kill yourself!' It makes me want to scream. Yes, even at him. I want to grab him by his shirt and scream until my voice is shattered 'don't praise me for the bare minimum! I'm not a child!'

But I know he's not. I know he feels the same way when he slips back in progress as well. There was a solid month last year where Mike's insurance refused to pay for his sleep medication due to some paperwork slip and such, something they eventually realized was a complete blip on their end. But that month was hell for Mike, who could barely sleep well even with the medication. His easy smirks were replaced with cracked lips, skin raw from constant biting. His eyes were filled with paranoia from lack of sleep, and worse were the night terrors. Mike didn't even know he was still capable of having them, usually sedated by his meds well enough that if there was a nightmare, he just stayed asleep. At worst he'd wake up in a haze, maybe a very short yelp if anything. But without his meds, it was screaming. Constant screaming. There were nights he would wake after only an hour and he'd start, his voice shrill and reverberating off the walls as he thrashed in the bed. You couldn't console him, touch made him worse. When it happened, you simply had to leave the room and pray he would be okay. The episode could last anywhere from five minutes to an hour, and you would know it was over when all you could hear was broken sobbing, quiet and childlike in nature. Then I would return to the room, and there he'd be. Sometimes wrapped in blankets, sometimes his shirt torn off of himself. Usually sitting either in the dark corner of the room or on the floor of our closet. Red, angry marks would trail along his skin from clawing at himself with his uneven nails, some of them being actual cuts he'd managed in his terror. I'd carefully clean his cuts with cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide while he silently stared ahead, too ashamed to speak or make eye contact with me. And too terrified to sleep again.

Sleep deprivation didn't help, either. One day I saw him with a Redbull stuck in his hand, seemingly never empty despite how much he drank from it. At first I thought it was one, than I realized it was three, then I realized I didn't really know what number he was on. It was surprising how well he could take the new, unusual load of caffeine that tastes sickly sweet without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. I didn't realize he was trying to starve off sleep until the next morning when his leg was bouncing a mile a minute and he was snapping at every little thing. That day he had a breakdown over dropping an unpeeled onion. And that's when it slipped out.

I didn't judge him. I was terrified for him, but I didn't judge him. And I could tell the same was true for him when I would have my slips, though mine looked different. Mine looked like a lack of self care and rotting in our bed, staring pointlessly ahead until he would lift me off the bed and carefully guide me to a warm bath, where he'd gently wash my skin with a soft rag like I was a newborn while I stared ahead at nothing. At this point we had learned to tell the oncoming signs of each others episodes, and how to starve them off. And if we couldn't, how to help each other through them.

Usually, I don't mind. But today, it hurts. It all hurts.

"Have you eaten?" Mike asks me gently, his thumb gliding over my cheekbone as he wraps me in his embrace, careful of where he places his hands on my person. Like I'm a bomb.

I don't want to be treated like this anymore.

"Yes," I sigh in an irritated voice, like it's the most inconvenient thing he should ask me such a question. But I haven't. I feel empty and yet too full at the same time, and guilt pounds behind my left eye with the ferocity of a headache that I can't just mother myself.

Mike doesn't believe me. He'll pretend he does, but the press of his lips betray him as he takes a deep breath in like he's trying to tell what wire to cut next.

"Would you like to have breakfast with me?" He asks softly, his thumb still stroking just below the raw corner of my eye. It burns. All of it.

'No,' I snap in my head. But I just tighten my jaw and press my own lips together.

"I'm not really hungry, but thank you," I say in a tight voice. Now he's going to pretend that's okay, and he'll go get his breakfast. Then he'll pretend he can't finish it all, joke lightly and say I gave him too big of a portion even though he eats like he's still a growing teenager, and offer me little bites as he "tries" to finish the rest, then eventually trick me into finishing it. He isn't slick, and I'm not a child.

"Hey," he says in a light whisper. "I was thinking maybe we could go out today? All three of us? Or I could call Max, see if she'll watch Abs for a little bit so we can get away?"

Distraction. Cute. I don't need it.

"That could be nice," I admit through half gritted teeth, not meeting his eyes. "Where to?"

"Anywhere," he says too quickly, obviously relieved to have a straw to grasp at. "Your choice."

Guilt twists in my chest like an alien creature settled in my lungs, burning as it begins to slither its way towards my throat to suffocate me on its wrath. He doesn't need to do this. Can't he see how well I'm doing?

"How was work?" He asks me in an attempt to keep me talking. Mike doesn't like silence, not like this. Not really any time. There's always noise throughout the house, whether it's a show on in the background or white noise from his cassette player. He can't stand silence. Especially from people.

"Work was..." Fine? The usual? Non-eventful?

"Good," I decide. Mike presses his lips together again. Stop doing that.

"Yeah?" He asks in a slightly tight voice.

"Yeah," I confirm in a tighter voice.

"You didn't... call out or anything?"

My bottom left back molar feels like it might snap from how tight my jaw is. "Why?" I ask, venom unintentionally creeping in.

"Just asking," he says quickly.

"Why?" I press harder, wanting to know who told on me. Abby hasn't even had the chance to speak with him.

'It's because he knows your patterns,' I think. 'He's trying to gage how serious this is.'

"Maybe we could go out for breakfast? We can wait until Abby wakes up, go get some Waffle Hous-"

"I'm not having an episode," I snap quickly, more harsh than I intended. My tone makes him flinch slightly, his eyes shutting for a moment as he takes another breath in. Now I'm scared he'll pull away.

"We... don't have to talk about this right now," he says softly, opening his eyes again and wrapping his arm around me tighter. "Let's just focus on breakfast."

The guilt pounds in my kidneys, which are sore since I haven't left the bed since I laid down after putting Abby to sleep, but I did have a full water bottle around 3:00 in the morning. It's not Mike's fault I backtracked. He's just trying to be nice. I'm the asshole here.

"I'm sorry," I say in a small voice, dropping my gaze and biting my tongue between my canines again to stop the tears that are now willing to come freely to burn my eyes during such an inappropriate moment.

"It's okay," Mike says softly, placing a kiss on my forehead. "Don't even think about it."

'Don't even think about the fact he's just trying to be a decent person and you can't even say 'thank you,'' a grating voice in my head chides me. 'What, you're too good for a free meal?'

"I'm sorry," I repeat softer, my nails digging into my wrist that I'm holding to keep control over myself. Mike's hand is searching for mine, ready to pry it away to prevent me from doing what I need to to prevent the waterworks.

"Hey." Stop with the 'hey's. "I said it's alright, you're okay."

It's all bad. Everything's bad, and it's not going to get better. I keep thinking I'll get better, I keep thinking I'll be okay. But every two steps forward is one step back and I can't keep doing this redundant bullshit for the rest of my life. Am I going to be 40 at the office Christmas party sneaking off to freak out in the bathroom because something triggered me and I just can't get a grip on things? Am I even going to make it to 40?

Mike is comforting me, cradling my head to his chest and rocking me back and forth. And his shirt is wet. I don't like that his shirt is wet, it should be dry. Why is it fucking wet?

"It's okay," he's whispering in my hair while horrid choking sounds come from somewhere around us. Maybe the other room? "You're alright, it's okay."

I'm aware it's alright, I'm aware it's okay. Why are you wet? Why does my head hurt?

"I can't- sleep," my voice chokes out between guttural sobs, my face pressed into his chest. "It's all nightmares."

Oh. Shit. That's me. The wetness, I did that. My bad.

"I know, it's okay. How long?" Mike asks softly. What, are you gonna call my therapist?

"A week," I moan into his chest. My ribs expand with each recycled breath I steal from against his chest, and I can feel him trying to gently tug me away so I can get one with fresh, cold air instead. I don't let him. My lungs burn more. "They just won't stop."

"It's okay, it's only temporary," he says softly, his hand pushing away some of the blanket to relieve me of the boiling warmth underneath. The cold air is refreshing against my skin, even through my clothes are soaked with stinking sweat.

"No, it's not!" I cry hysterically into his chest. "They don't go away. None of it goes away. I want it to go away!"

He's nodding, rubbing circles on my back as I grip his shirt hard enough it may stretch.

"It'll get better. It did for awhile," he reminds me.

"But I'm back here. I always end up back here. I was doing so good!" I sob, feeling the wetness on his shirt begin to slightly thicken, probably due to snot. I try to sniff it back into my sinuses, but I think that just draws his attention to the new fluid he's covered in.

"That's okay. You'll do even better next time. And if you don't, that's okay too." Don't say what I think you're going to say. Do not. Michael, I'm serious, don't- "I'm still proud of you."

Fuck. Ooooooff!

This is the real release of my emotions. Now I'm gasping, choking, sobbing, making horrible sounds that sound like a European ambulance siren wailing through the streets to announce someone's dying on the way to the hospital. My head throbs with the pain from the heavy crying, and I may give myself a nosebleed from the passion of it all. And Mike, his patience thick and durable, just holds me through it all. Letting me soak his shirt, dirty his skin, grab at him blindly while I wail like a spoiled child, just repeating the phrase over again. 'Proud.' What pride. What honor to be had at such a breakdown. Yes, very understandable.

"I should be better," I sob into his chest. "You deserve better."

"What?" He laughs lightly, and at first it feels mocking, but then he's pulling my head away fron my soaked enclosure and his eyes are so gentle for a moment I know the light laughter is simply from surprise. Then his eyes widen and he's back in parent mode.

"Don't leave me. Don't leave me!" I choke out while gripping his shirt. At first he thinks I'm talking about our relationship, then he realizes I'm not letting him pull away.

"Sweetheart, you're bleeding," he gently explains. "Let me wipe your face. I just need tissues. I'm not even leaving the bed."

But that's too much. Let me bleed, let my head throb, let this headache take the vision away in my eye from how bad it hurts. Let anything happen so long as I can stay in this moment. Don't break the spell. Don't let me go numb again.

"Don't leave me," I cry pathetically, my eyes all scrunched together in the same manner as wailing infants, my grip on his shirt not breaking. Sure enough, there on the wet spot of his shirt is a dark stain of blood that should hopefully come out if we wash it fast enough.

"Let me do that," I'm saying as I try to peel off his shirt now. "Let me wash it."

He's gently guiding my hands away. "Don't worry about it," he says gently, kissing my hands and wrists like they might break even from the delicate graze of his lips. "Let me take care of you."

He does this all the time. He always takes care of me. I should do more. Be more. For him.

"You deserve better," I choke out, feeling like I may suffocate from the tears. Mike's brows furrow in concern, and he grips my chin very carefully as he makes me meet his eyes.

"Hey, no. Get that out of your head, it's all okay," he tells me softly, staring at me like if he can't verbally convince me, his hard stare will do the trick. "I don't want to hear you talk like that."

"I should be better," I repeat, my crying lessening slightly as I try to hold eye contact.

"You're getting better," he reminds me. "This is the happiest I've seen you since we met. You'll get back to that. Hell, you could feel the same way tonight. It's okay. Take a day off. We all need one, even normal people," he says softly, stroking my hair as he kisses my forehead. "Can you just let me take care of you in the meantime?"

No. Go away, let me rot.

"We can still go out for breakfast," he offers gently. "I can still call Max, or we can all stay in. I'll set up a nest in the living room so you can watch TV. Works you like that?"

Stop. Stop being nice to me, stop trying to make me feel better. It all just feels awful. I don't want this guilt, someone takes it away.

Mike must sense my overwhelmed emotions, because he places another kiss on my forehead before asking if he can clean my face again, and this time I say yes. He pulls away, which is still upsetting but less so. I don't make a deal out of it this time at least. He opens a drawer, searching for wipes and pulling them out before turning back to me.

"Do you want to sit up?" He asks gently. I bite my tongue to prevent another mocking thought directed towards me and nod. Bones crack as I do, my kidneys hurt worse. But at least I finally moved.

Tears still streak down my face as Mike wipes away the snot and blood, his large hand gently cupping my face as he does. There's a soft smile on his face, though I'm not particularly sure why. And when he's done, he runs his thumb along my bottom lip before placing his own lips on top of mine. They're chapped, one spot raw from excessive biting. But there's still some leftover chapstick on them, and it tastes like grapefruit.

I tug on his shirt, one hand sneaking under it to feel his cool skin underneath. He gently takes my wrist once more, then pulls away. A silent rejection. He knows that I'm just looking for a distraction from my emotions, and in a moment he'll offer a much healthier one. He does discard the shirt, leaving his chest bare, but only so that he doesn't smear my fluids back onto me as he pulls me in for another embrace.

"We'll be okay," he promises. "Everything will be okay."

"What if it's not?" I ask in a quiet, strained voice.

"Then it'll be okay later. You can take time to not be okay," he says.

There's a short silence before either of us speak. And when I hear his voice hitch in the way it does when he's about to say something, Abby's alarm rings crystal clear in her room. Then the sound of a truck rattles by on the road in front of the house. Birds continue to sing. And my pours feel so clogged I'm sure my skin will be lashing out for days.

But it'll all be okay.

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

"Can we have some fluff to reco-" no. Suffer.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool @laurrrelise. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

ᥫ᭡. your name , mike schmidt ( suggestive )

say my name until you lose your breath …

tags gn reader. established relationship. fluff. kind of self-indulgent. teasing. mike + sleeper build combo.

“it hurts mike.”

your body was shaking like a withered leaf — limbs tense with a burning sensation.

“yeah?” he tilts his head a bit, a sadistic twinkle in his eyes.

you couldn’t last long anymore.

“yes! it feels like i’m gonna – ”

your poor face nearly slaps against the cold wooden floor if it weren’t for mike’s rough hand breaking your fall. he saved you from an embarrassing bruise that you would’ve had to heal for a week — what an angel. but even then, you let out a muffled painful cry against the wooden floors. the nonexistent muscles sculpted on your arms ached, the wind in your lungs struggling to spill out from your lips.

mike shakes his head as he soothes your forehead with a sweet brush of his thumb, back against the edge of his undone bed.

“i still can’t believe you can’t do push-ups.” there was a playful condescending tone in his voice that you couldn’t be mad at because he sounded hot.

you lifted your head, an exaggerated pout on your face. mike smiles at that, tracing his hand over your chin to tilt your gaze towards his. a hue of green and gold in his brown eyes — a little detail you loved about him.

“physical education was my lowest grade you know.”

the gruesome memories of being cruelly yelled at for not participating in group activities or the echoing of shallow cheers during the mile, you being the last person standing. yeah, not a great time.

“really now?” he asks with feigned surprise — a quirk in his brow.

you glared at him, getting up with wobbly feet and nearly toppling over. mike catches your fall again, gently guiding you on the bed. it was a little embarrassing, but he didn’t seem to complain.

“yes, mr. high school footballer.” now it’s mike’s turn to roll his eyes at your teasing, taking a seat back on the cold wooden floor.

what you would’ve done to see him in a football uniform — now stuffed in the depths of his mundane closet. not long ago, you happen to see crinkled photos stuffed in the drawers, old high school photos of mike. a youthful glow to his face, the curls in his dark hair longer, strong arms sadly covered in the sleeves of his jersey. high school you would’ve fawn over him, you’d like to also think he would with you — through the bulky clothes and thick framed glasses.

“whatever. i’ll show you how it’s done.”

a lazy hum vibrates your throat as you carefully watch mike stand up, stretching out his muscles just like he always did. the same sneak peek of his coarse happy trail never failed to make your heart skip a beat, letting out the same tired yawn with a lousy scratch through his messy locks. you tuck yourself in his soft sheets, the comforting smell of warm cotton and woodsy cologne nearly lulling you back into a doze.

every morning, he would do push-ups like this. you’d have an empty space beside your sleeping form, panic filling your heart. it’s then you hear deep grunts, the noise making you blank out with a blush — until you look over and see him in his third set of push-ups. dripping sweat sticking between his skin and the thin fabric of his t-shirt. mike subconsciously coerced you into waking up early. with the sun still beneath the clouds, you check him out while you’re smothered under the sheets he tossed on top of you. conversing about what you’ll do that day, what you wanted for breakfast, who’s turn to wake up abby.

if it weren’t for his deep breathing and quiet groans, you wouldn’t have to be so aroused every morning — like now.

planting his palms flat and arms extended towards the freezing floor, mike‘s position was much more stable and proper that you were attempting to replicate. his upper body bobs up and down, bare feet perfectly planted on the ground. you quietly admire mike’s hidden physique, counting each push-up with a whisper. his elbows barely buckle with each bend, keeping a steady pace without breaking a sweat. completely in contrast from the suggestive noises spilling from his soft lips, breathless and sweetening.

“say my name.”

he stops mid push-up, a confused look written all over his flushed face.

“i … w – what?” from how winded he was, his confusion sounded like a low whine — the familiarity leading back to this exact bed.

“say my name while you do push-ups.” beneath the sheets, you hid a sly smirk — the wink of sleep long gone from the excitement bubbling in your chest.

“yeah … okay sure baby.” mike’s genuine cluelessness was laughable. his doe eyes was unmistakably innocent, naturally obedient to your command.

now every completed push-up he executed perfectly was tied with a sweet tune of your name. the quiver in his voice was sweetly addicting. a breathless drawl drags at the end of your name — tired hiccups escaping his throat. reaching towards his limit, he growls your name with each grunt. how does he not notice how he sounds? fuck, he sounded so cute yet so possessive, but you refrained yourself from throwing yourself at him.

with one last bend to his arms, your name comes out as a desperate whimper. hot panting forced through his lips, drips of sweat running down his brow bone. mike crashes back beside the edge of the bed, his head bent back to the plush mattress. you gaze down at him with a soft smile, brushing away the damp strands of hair — still snug under the warm covers that combat the biting cold of the early morning.

“i know why you asked now.” mike mumbles tiredly, reaching up with aching arms to brush your hair in return. a cocky smile on his face.

“i was wondering when you’ll catch up.” you press a soft kiss on his lips, another on his dampened temple.

“you have a dirty mind, you know that?” mike blushes at the showers of kisses, chuckling at your little perverted plan.

“yeah i do. now do it with your football jersey.” he rolls his eyes the second time this morning, sneaking in a warm kiss on your chin before he stands up — cracking his tense neck with a hard tilt of his head.

“or i’ll just get myself a glass of water.” mike jested with a dry strain to his throat, taking your soft hands and tugging you on your feet.

you happily held his hand. both of your bare footsteps pattering through the cold, darkened hallway — careful not to wake up abby from her room.

“orrrr you can take a shower with me?” you suggestively whispered in the shell of his ear, nearly wrapping yourself on his aching arm — barely irked by the fabric draped on his shoulders that was dosed in sweat.

mike grinned in amusement, knowing you both already shared the shower during early, much more rushed mornings.

although, it never hurt to hear it from your lips.

“yeah sure baby.” his voice deep and rich in your ear, pecking a gentle kiss on your bed hair.

mike guided you both to the dimly lit kitchen, a sickly flirty exchange stuffed the cold hallway — quiet mumbles and fleeting touches.

besides the discipline he puts himself through every cold morning, mike learned to love them, especially when you’re there to admire him — despite the fact you would pretend to be asleep. he knows, but he likes to play your game every now and then.

add. note : okay i’m extremely unathletic, so i hope someone reading relates too. and can you tell that i got this idea from tiktok … (￣ ￣|||)

this is extremely correct

mind is going fuzzy thinking about riding peeta omfg

nsfw | mdni | riding | fem!reader | switch!peeta | cursing | praise | fluff |porn with no plot | pet names (sweetheart, baby, darling, etc.)

the soft glow of the lamp on your nightstand dances across peeta’s features and captures the dark look in his eyes perfectly. his blonde curls fell in soft waves over his forehead, the tips slightly damp with sweat. his face was pale other than the light blush on his cheeks, and his pretty eyes glistened with lust as he laid beneath you, silently begging for more.

peeta’s tip is just barely touching your cunt, soaking with your arousal. when you first took his dick out of his pants, he was hard and leaking. you desperately wanted to taste him on your lips, but you could do that later.

now, you wanted to feel him inside of you.

you move your hips back and forth against his dick before putting it inside, using it to stimulate your clit. you whine at the stimulation, and peeta bites his bottom lip to try to silence any moans before they leave his mouth. he doesn’t do a good job though, and a breathy moan escapes his puffy lips.

“don’t hide those pretty sounds, peeta..” you moan, “wanna hear you.”

peeta lets his mouth fall open in an ‘o’ shape, and a high pitched whimper comes out. your hips jerk at the sound, and you realize that you can’t wait any longer to have him fill you up.

you grab his dick and line it up with your hole, sighing as you feel his precum mix with your arousal. peeta hisses at the feeling, taking a chance to admire you.

you begin to sink down on his dick, only getting the head in before having to stop and let yourself adjust. you stabilize yourself on his chest, taking deep breaths before sinking down another inch.

peeta wants to let you go at your own pace. he throws his arm over his eyes and groans, knowing he could easily cum too quickly if he kept looking at you.

he just so desperately wants to fuck up into your tight cunt, but he knew how hard you were trying. you wanted to please him, and he was more than happy to sit back and let you do what you want.

once you had his cock all the way inside of you, you needed time to adjust to his length. you sat there for a moment with his pubic bone perfectly sitting against your clit. peeta struggled to focus on anything other than your tight pussy swallowing him, and accidentally bucks his hips up a few times.

you bite back a moan when you feel his dick hit a certain spot inside of you, the spot you needed him most.

he moves his arm away from his eyes and puts it beside him to grip the bedsheets tightly. his knuckles were white with how hard he was holding them and it took everything in his power to not fuck up into you again.

he looks down at where your bodies are connected and his dick twitches inside of you. he groans and throws his head back, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

when you finally started moving after what felt like hours, peeta groans loudly.

“just like that, darling.” he moans, and he removes his hands from the bedsheets to grip onto your hips tightly.

your pace is antagonizingly slow, and peeta doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already fucking his hips up into yours.

“peeta— baby, slow down.” you whine, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

peeta’s hips stutter when he hears your pleas, and he slows his hips back down to your pace.

“i’m sorry, i cant—” peeta whines when he focuses on your chest, “i can’t help it. you feel so good.”

you moan loudly and put your hands on your boobs, putting your nipples between your thumbs and pointer finger. your mouth falls open and you moan quietly, letting your hips roll faster.

the sight has peeta practically drooling all over himself, and his eyes burn with desire. he bucks his up a few times into your soaking cunt again unintentionally, expecting you to ask him to stop. but you only moan louder and chase his hips.

peeta groans and squeezes his eyes tightly, using his hand to brace your waist on him.

“feels so good, angel. you don’t know what you do to me.” peeta says, opening his eyes and gently grabbing your hand that sits on your chest. he takes your hand softly and intertwines your fingers, watching your other hand that continues to play with your nipple.

“you look so pretty like this.” peeta sighs, taking a hand off your hip and using it to push himself up. he brings his mouth to your chest and softly kisses your nipple, looking up to see your reaction. you whimper and put your hand in his hair, continuing to rut your hips harshly.

tears collect at the brink of your eyelashes, threatening to fall when peeta swirls his tongue around your nipple.

you pull lightly on a fistful of peeta’s hair and he whines against you, sucking softly on your tender flesh.

peeta switches to the other nipple and you squeeze his hand tightly as his teeth graze over the soft bud, using his hand as a way to keep yourself in touch with reality. his soft skin felt perfect against your own, and the way your bodies connected felt just right.

“don’t know how much longer i can last, sweetheart.” peeta groans against your chest, his raspy voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“please cum, peeta,” you choke up, tears staining your cheeks, “wanna cum with you.”

peeta whines and starts bucking his hips into you at a merciless rhythm, savoring every thrust inside of your tight cunt.

his name falls from your lips like a prayer as your orgasm threatens to come at any moment, begging your body for the release you desperately need.

you roll your hips in circles as peeta thrusts into you, knowing exactly how you like it.

your orgasm hit you like a wave and you felt like you were on cloud nine. your body almost fell forward, but before it could, peeta grabs you and holds your body up as he helps you ride out your orgasm.

your orgasm was enough to send peeta over the edge and soon he was cumming. your cunt pulsates around peeta as he cums with a high pitched moan, hips stuttering and dick twitching inside of you. he saw stars as he came, and nothing but incoherent blabbering fell from his lips. you couldn’t make out anything he was saying, but you were sure his mind was just as scrambled at yours was.

peeta’s back arches against the bed as your hips slow to a complete stop, and he puts his hands around you, letting you fall forward against his chest. your body goes limp against his as peeta pulls out, a breathy whine leaving his lips.

you lay in peeta’s arms for a moment, taking in everything that only happened seconds earlier. you feel peeta’s toned stomach clench slightly with every deep breath he takes.

“you’re so perfect.” peeta whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. you give him a lazy smile and allow yourself to doze off, mind fully at peace as you lay in peeta’s arms.

I need him (inside of me)

@sofiehutch

good boy ⭒

reader x peeta mellark smut

a/n : i’m actually screaming this was so fun to write, pls repost if ya like it!! 💗

contains : sub peeta mellark, soft dom reader, praise kink, multiple rounds, peeta and the reader own a bakery, pinv, talk of having kids, no protection, riding

MATURE 18+

Peeta Mellark was a hard worker. Partly because that’s just who he was as an individual, but mainly because of his upbringing. The need to impress ran through his body as if it were his own blood. He craved praise, feened off of it as if it were a sweet, sweet nectar.

This notion was very present in his every day life. When he’d accidently burn a loaf or spill a bag of flour, his face would turn a rosey pink shade out of shame and he’s scramble to fix his mistake. His puppy dog eyes would shoot over to me, as if to scream “I’m sorry! I’m so very sorry! Please don’t hurt me!”, only to be met with a peck on the cheek and a whisper of “It’s okay, you’re fine”. His eyes would soften, and his hands would become less clammy, brow less furrowed, and cheeks even rosier.

If I dared to give him a slight compliment in the morning, the blonde’s head would be in the clouds for the rest of the day, almost in a trance from the mere thought of his special girl thinking he was admirable.

At first, I thought this whole ordeal was sort of sad, I mean depressing even. Peeta was just so love starved.

But then I learned how to use it to my advantage.

There he was, on top of me, trying his very best to impress me. His cock pistoned in and out vigorously, each one of my moans encouraging him. My back arched off of the sheets as I wrapped my legs around his waist, trying to get him deeper.

He understood this rather quickly, trading speed for force and plunging himself directly into my core.

“Good boy.” I moaned out, almost automatically. His pace faltered for a moment, starstruck.

“Say that again.” He whimpered.

“Say what baby?” I questioned, confused as to why he’d stopped.

“Uh, please can you um call me a good boy again?” He mumbled. Something in his eyes had shifted, he looked almost helpless.

“Well…” I decided to tease him, rile him up more. “I can only do that if you act like one, so if you fuck me real good, yeah, you can be my good boy.”

Peeta nodded, beginning to thrust into me once again, determined to be a good boy.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy.” I cooed, gazing up at him with major ‘fuck me’ eyes.

His jaw slacked and he moaned deeply. “You’re so- fuck, you’re so hot.”

I giggled at the love drunk expression on his face. “Thank you, my handsome boy.”

I felt his cock twitch inside of me. God, praise really did have an effect on him.

“I- oh baby I’m gonna come.”

I moaned as he fucked me deeply, hitting my g-spot with each thrust.

“Go ahead, come inside of me like a good boy.”

His eyes rolled back into his head as he came with his new found permission. He pulled out immediately, connecting our lips before lying down beside me.

“That was- fuck, amazing.” He sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

There was silence for a few moments before he realized.

He sprung into apology immediately.

“Holy shit baby, you didn’t come, did you? I’m so sorry love, I’ll do whatever you want, eat you out, fuck you again, whatever you want. I’m so stupid, I don’t know how I-“

I pressed my lips to his to shut him up as I climbed on top of him.

“No baby, you don’t have to ride me, I’m the one who messed up. Let me-“

“Peeta, I want you to be a good boy and listen to me.”

I angled his wet cock upward before sinking down onto it. I began working my hips.

“You are not stupid, you are so smart.” I bounced on him as I spoke, “you’re so good to me, everybody makes mistakes and that’s ok. You have gotten me off a million times before. You’re such a good fucking boy.”

He began to look away as blush creeped into his face. I grabbed his chin and forced him to look me in my eyes.

“You’re so handsome baby, ah fuck- you’re such a hard worker, and you’ll make an amazing father one day.”

My legs began to shake as I released on his lap, my cum flowing down his cock. I continued to ride him throughout my high.

“Now say it to me.” I ordered.

“You’re so beauti-“

I shook my head, “No, tell me about how much of a good boy you are.”

His face contorted, clearly too shy to say such things.

I touched his face lightly, “Peeta, good boys do what they’re told. Be a good boy.”

He nodded, “Um- I’m a good boy.” He whimpered, unsure of himself.

“I don’t believe you. Say it like you mean it.”

He cleared his throat, looking into my eyes. “I’m a good boy. I made a mistake and that’s ok. I’m so handsome and will make a really good father. Fuck- I’m gonna come.”

He released inside of me, painting my spongy walls white. His voice filled the room with pornographic noises. After letting him catch his breath, I crawled off of him. Peeta walked into the bathroom for a moment and came back with a damp rag and a smile on his face.

He began to slowly clean me up. I looked in between my thighs and laughed at the amount of semen that had collected.

“Jeez, if we don’t start being more careful, you might be an amazing father sooner than we’d imagined.”

He chuckled, pressing his lips onto mine. “I’d be ok with that.”

take all of me

pairing: josh futturman x f!reader

summary: when a messy time jump leaves josh with a brand new body part, the only person he wants to show is you

warnings: 18+ MDNI, roommate!reader, friends to lovers, dick swap, smut, handjob, f!masturbation, unprotected piv, rough/painful sex, size kink, mild body insecurity, comfort

words: 4k

@tinycozycomfort this one's for you pookie <3

“You have to see this.”

The front door slams, and then your roommate waddles into the living room looking so excited, you'd think he just won the lottery. You laugh at his dramatic entrance after the initial shock subsides, not bothering to pause the TV behind him.

Josh bursting into rooms at random happens more often than it probably should, usually to announce a breakthrough in his game or gossip he heard at work. But as you wait for him to share his big news, you notice there's something off about him.

He's jittery as hell and standing awkwardly like he really has to use the bathroom. His legs are spread a little too far apart, and his hands are clasped tightly in front of his crotch like he's either protecting himself or hiding something. You're pretty sure he was out doing resistance stuff all day—and that's when it hits you.

Whatever he's itching to tell you has Tiger and Wolf written all over it, and that can't be good. Your smile drops and you raise an eyebrow expectantly, silently demanding an explanation, but he just continues to stand there with that goofy look on his face.

So, he's going to make you ask. Dumbass.

"Uh, you gonna show me or are you gonna keep blocking the TV?" you ask bluntly. He grins brightly at your interest, and your expression softens.

"Both. You're not gonna believe this," he says, suddenly fumbling with his belt and unzipping his pants. Before you can object or react at all, he tugs down his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop.

Your jaw drops. "What the fuck is that?"

He's right. You can't believe it. The monstrosity hanging between his legs definitely wasn't there when he left the house, or at the very least, it didn't look anything like that last time you saw it. Not that he walks around the apartment with his dick out, but living together, you see each other naked now and then, and that's...new.

"How the hell—did you get a penis enlargement or something?" you openly gawk, trying to wrap your head around what he's showing you. Josh's dick is massive, almost too big to fit his body.

Huffing out an awkward laugh, he moves to cover himself again, likely embarrassed by your reaction. You immediately feel terrible. You didn't mean to make him feel bad. There's just no way you could've seen that coming.

"The TTD is sort of...broken," he explains timidly. "The last time we jumped, it swapped a few body parts between the three of us. A couple toes, a finger—"

"A dick? That's Wolf's dick? Holy shit."

He nods excitedly, perking back up. "I know, right? It's crazy. One second, we're in James fucking Cameron's house and everything's going haywire, and then we're back in 2017, and suddenly my pants don't fit. How does he even walk around with this thing?"

You scooch forward on the couch to get a better look, oddly captivated. "I think you're about to find out since it's yours now."

Abruptly, his face goes blank like he's just realizing he might be stuck with Wolf's dick forever. You can't tell if he's happy about the prospect or worried, but you're starting to feel a little conflicted yourself.

Feelings you're usually able to ignore are bubbling to the surface, and it's getting harder to remind yourself that the dick currently making your mouth water is attached to your roommate. Curiosity gets the better of you, and before you can stop yourself, you ask a question you really shouldn't.

"Can I touch it?"

"What? You want to...what?" he sputters, taken off-guard. The tips of his ears burn bright red, and his mouth opens and closes repeatedly like he wants to say something. Ultimately, he gives up.

After the whole show-and-tell thing, you're a little surprised he's getting shy again, but the last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable. It's a line you haven't crossed with each other. You decide to backtrack, hoping you haven't overstepped the boundaries of your friendship.

“Obviously, not if you don’t want me to. No pressure at all, I was just curious," you rush to reassure him. But when you glance down, you notice he's subtly grinding into the heel of his hand, already half-hard and giving away exactly how he feels about your request.

"I-I mean, yeah, totally. Go right ahead," he consents casually, but he doesn’t sound nearly as nonchalant as he thinks. You give him a playful smile, reaching out and grabbing a handful of his shirt to tug him closer, and he awkwardly shuffles forward until he's between your legs.

He watches you nervously, fidgeting as you trace a prominent vein that snakes from the base to the tip. A soft, needy sound from above you encourages you to continue your path up to toy under the ridge with your thumb, and when his cock twitches in interest, you peer up to gauge his reaction.

The sight alone makes you wet. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, and that flush that began at the tips of his ears has spread to his cheeks and down his neck. He's already gnawing on his bottom lip in anticipation, waiting to see what you'll do next.

Eagerly, you wrap your fingers around him the best you can and give him an experimental tug. He chokes out a groan, and it sends another wave of heat through your body.

"Is it sensitive?" you ask soothingly, taking it slow with a few loose strokes.

"Yeah," he breathes out. You pump him again, a little tighter this time.

"More sensitive than the other one?"

He nods, swallowing harshly. "Yeah."

"Want me to keep going?"

"Please."

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you push his shirt up for better access and pump him faster, marveling at how quickly he starts to leak onto your fingers. You tease the head with your palm, spreading precum down his length to ease the slide, but he doesn't melt into your touch like you expect him to. Instead, he tenses up, fighting to keep still.

"Hey," you duck down and kiss his hip to get his attention. "Don't overthink it. Just let me take care of you, okay?"

He nods again, panting as his head falls back and his eyes flutter closed, trying to relax his body like you told him to. His hips rock forward, steadily establishing a rhythm until he's a whimpering mess and all but fucking into your fist.

He's a lot louder than you expected. Your room is right next to his, so you know what he sounds like when he's jerking off, but this is on another level. And he looks wrecked.

Sweat dampens his forehead, curling the soft baby hairs at his temples, and his volume increases, easily drowning out the ambient music of the movie still playing in the background. It's turning you on way more than you'd like to admit, your underwear sticking to you so badly, it's getting impossible to ignore. As if on cue, he whines your name in search of more friction, and you realize you can't anymore.

Desperate for relief, you slip a hand past the waistband of your sweatpants and dip two fingers into your aching cunt, fucking yourself for a few blissful moments before trailing back up to rub your clit. It's not nearly enough, but there's no way you're asking Josh for help.

You're roommates, not fuck buddies—or so you tell yourself, even though you know it's a load of bullshit. Even though you know he'd say yes in a heartbeat.

While you continue to jerk him off, he buries his hand in your hair to ground himself, mumbling under his breath as his fingers tense and untense between the strands.

"Fuck, that feels so good," he sighs, his head lolling forward so he can watch you work him. But then, he catches sight of you playing with yourself, and he seizes up, jerking violently in your grasp. "Are you...? Shit—"

Before he can accidentally teeter over the edge, you squeeze the base of his cock and cut him off with another offer you really shouldn't be making. You must be out of your fucking mind. It's Josh. But he's so hard, and you feel so empty. You'll worry about the consequences later.

"I know something that feels even better."

His eyes fly back to yours, darting between them like he's waiting for you to elaborate or take it back. But you don't do either. Instead, you release his cock to shirk your sweats and underwear. Spinning around, you brace your hands on the back of the couch and stick out your ass—an invitation.

"Only if you want to," you continue.

Oh, does he ever. He stumbles forward in a daze, holding your waist with one hand while he slaps his cock on your ass with the other. He feels hot and heavy on your skin, and your mouth starts to water again.

"You're sure about this?" he asks hesitantly, even as he grabs a handful of your ass and spreads you open.

"Touch me, and then ask again if I'm sure," you reply over your shoulder, knowing it won't take more than that to convince him.

He looks hesitant to do that too, but concedes when you wiggle against his crotch. Cautiously, his hand disappears between your legs, and the moment he feels it, all of the air leaves his lungs.

"You're so wet," he mumbles to himself in awe, grinding his palm into your messy heat. Without warning, he dips a thick finger inside you and pumps it a few times before adding another one. "And tight, oh my god."

You push into him, thankful to finally have something inside you, but you want to be full. The weight of him so close to where you need him is slowly driving you crazy. You're tired of waiting.

"Josh, just fuck me. Trust me, I want it," you whine, sounding as desperate and needy as you feel.

His fingers slip out of you, and then you hear a wet noise like he's sucking them clean. Jesus Christ. You force yourself not to think about how much you want him to eat you out if this ever happens again.

He shifts behind you, muttering what sounds like a pep talk under his breath before he inhales deeply and lines himself up.

"Fuck, is it even gonna fit?" he asks incredulously, nudging your entrance. The question was probably rhetorical, but you answer it anyway.

"Make it fit."

His body reacts before his brain can catch up. There's a pained groan behind you, and then his hips jolt forward of their own accord, burying nearly half of his cock inside you. He manages to stop himself after a few jerky, shallow thrusts, but your walls are already squeezing him, and you can tell he's struggling not to cum on the spot.

And you're struggling not to scream. The stretch is mind-numbing, and the longer he stays still, the more intense it gets. Your nails dig into the couch while you fight to adjust, dangerously close to puncturing the cushions, and you've only taken half of him.

You want all of him. Just the thought makes you gush, and that sets Josh off even worse. He whines at the sensation, holding onto your waist for dear life.

"I need you to move," you finally manage to gasp out. "I need you to move right now."

"Shit, okay. Move...right, I can do that," he says quietly to himself, on the verge of another pep talk. His hands trail up and down your sides soothingly, but it feels like it's for his benefit, not yours.

"Josh," you all but growl, forcing yourself backward to steal another inch. That snaps him out of it.

"Hachi machi," he mumbles dumbly, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. You'd tease him for it if you didn't think he'd stop again, but it turns out he's as desperate as you are. "Do that again."

You do as you're told. Using the back of the couch as leverage, you tug yourself forward, then force him even deeper. He curses loudly, slackening his grip on your waist, and you get the message loud and clear.

"Again," he grits out. "Please don't fucking stop."

"Not on your life," you reply, more than happy to give him whatever he wants.

Taking over, you work yourself onto his cock inch by inch, gritting your teeth at the onslaught of pleasure and pain. It feels so good, it's making you dizzy. When his hips finally connect with yours, your eyes roll back and your jaw drops.

You're so fucking full. Part of you just wants to keep him there, so unbelievably turned on by being split open like this. But you also want to be railed into this couch within an inch of your life, and that part wins out.

It doesn't take long for Josh to get sick of not being an active participant. Spreading you open, he guides you roughly by the ass—a punishing repetition where he pulls out to the tip, then rams back in, careful not to plunge too deep and hurt you.

You fall into a rhythm, fucking faster and harder until you're positive he's officially ruined you for all other men. You can actually hear how wet you've gotten, and as the sound fills the room, his thumb begins to trace your entrance.

"Wish you could see this. You're fucking...creaming on me right now," he mutters in disbelief, smearing it across your skin. "How are you so wet?"

"B-because you're huge—the fuck else would it be?" you joke breathily, but it comes out as a stuttered mess.

Of course, you'd still be bantering back and forth while he's balls deep. Leave it to you and Josh to moan snarky comments at each other like it's pillow talk. He tries to retort, but then accidentally hits something spongy inside you that makes your cunt clench, and you cut him off with a sob.

"I knew you'd sound pretty," he admits, grinding into that spot to see if you'll do it again. And you do—you can't help yourself. "Might have to keep Wolf's dick if you're gonna sound like that every time I fuck you with it."

Holy shit. What happened to your sweet golden retriever roommate? This can't be the same guy who invites you over to his parents' house for Friday night dinners and seeks you out for comfort after his game kicks his ass one too many times.

That guy never struck you as the type to fuck you so good, you forget how to speak. Or the type to say shit like that. You manage to find your voice, wondering if there are more sides to Josh you don't know about.

"I sound even prettier when I'm cumming," you goad him. You're already so close, and you both know it. Especially with the new knowledge that whenever you hear him jerking off, he's thinking about you. You think about him, too. "But not as pretty as you."

And he almost proves you right, then and there. But to your disappointment, he freezes up, exhaling shakily behind you. If his heavy panting is any indication, he had no idea you were listening in the next room, let alone that you liked it. You don't give him a chance to catch his breath before you go in for the kill.

"You should cum inside me. I'd love to hear what that sounds like," you tell him, peering over your shoulder to see his face. But his eyes are already squeezed shut, and he looks like he's either about to cry or burst. Maybe both.

"O-Oh...fuck—"

Just as you're about to pick up where he left off, his hips jolt forward again, pushing him deeper than you were prepared for. The shock combined with the low whine still vibrating in his chest sends you reeling.

"Fucking ow. Be careful with that thing, Futturman," you gasp as your legs threaten to give out, but it tapers into a moan. God, even the pain feels so good. His arms encircle your waist to keep you from falling.

"S-sorry, I just...what?" he chokes out, and it's so high-pitched, you almost miss it.

"I'm on the pill, just—"

He slaps a hand over your mouth, and you shoot him a pleading look.

"Shit, don't—I heard you, don't say it again. Unless you want me to cum literally right now," he says frantically.

"Do it," you all but beg.

His face screws up, looking conflicted like he's doing everything in his power not to. But then your entire body is thrown forward, and he's finally fucking you the way you need him to.

The dull, syrupy ache from earlier ebbs into heady pleasure that sends you hurtling towards your peak, making your head spin and your walls flutter around him. You quickly forget about chastising or teasing him, and once he finds that perfect spot again, you forget everything else, too.

Josh isn't doing much better. He's devolving into a whimpering mess again, his movements messy and uncoordinated like he's about to lose it, and you're not far behind. You try to warn him between rough thrusts, but by the time you pull yourself together enough to speak, it's already too late.

"Josh, I'm...fucking cumming—fuck, I'm cumming," you sob, and your legs actually give out this time. You clamp down like a vice, gushing around him as your orgasm slams into you, wave after wave. It's intense and overwhelming, and god, you feel so fucking full.

You're too blissed out to realize how hard you're squeezing him or how hard he's fucking you through it, but it doesn't take long for him to steal back your attention.

"Holy shit, that's tight. Oh my fucking god, you're gonna make me—" He lets out something breathy and desperate, and you were right. He sounds so pretty when he cums.

Instead of catching you as you crumble, he yanks you up, holding you flush against his chest while he empties into you as deep as your cunt will take him. His hand splays across your stomach so he can feel himself moving inside you, and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head towards his. Then, his lips are on yours.

Your first kiss with Josh is awkward and messy, a heated exchange of breath more than anything else, but it's still perfect. Because it's him. He tastes vaguely like apple juice, sweet and a little tart, and it spreads across your tongue as the kiss deepens. He moans into your mouth, trembling as his hips slow and your aftershocks wring out the remainder of his orgasm.

For a while, you stay like that, letting Josh hold you and kiss you insistently, then sweetly once you've both come down from your highs. He doesn't part from you until his cock softens and slips out, and even then, he only pulls back far enough to turn you around and rest his forehead on yours.

"That was...," he trails off, his long eyelashes fluttering as he processes everything you just did together. Your eyes meet his, and you get lost in soft hazel, anxiously waiting for him to continue.

"You're incredible," he finishes, gazing at you almost reverently. You're flooded with relief, unable to stop the huge smile that spreads across your face. And you don't want to.

He kisses you again, and you melt into each other, slowly sinking onto the couch. This time, there's no heat or desperation. You're just enjoying the newness, exploring what already feels so comfortable and familiar.

Without breaking your kiss, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto his lap. His release begins to leak out of you, smearing across his thighs, and the sensation brings you back to the present. You can tell he's reluctant to pull away, but when he finally does, he looks nervous—maybe even a little insecure.

"Talk to me," you say softly, cupping his cheek and thumbing across the stubble on his jaw. He sighs, averting his gaze as he leans into your touch.

"I'm just...I don't know," he starts, and you can tell that whatever it is, he does know. He's just scared to say it. You let him work up to it at his own pace, and after a long pause, he continues. "Would any of this have happened if the TTD hadn't swapped my dick with Wolf's?"

Ouch. You had a feeling this conversation was coming. These are the consequences you knew you'd have to face eventually, but you never expected him to believe you were so shallow.

You school your expression before responding, trying to ignore how much it hurts that he could think so little of you.

"Yeah, I think it would've. It might've taken a little longer, but we would've gotten our shit together eventually. The TTD stuff just sort of...sped things up," you tell him honestly. "Maybe this wasn't obvious before, but I clearly like you, new dick or not. Most of the shit we do isn't even remotely platonic, and I'd never do that with another roommate, let alone fuck them. I thought you knew me better than that."

"I did—I do. I'm sorry, of course I know that. Things are just happening really fast, and it feels like everything's changing—you and me, my body, the future," he says, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "I like you so fucking much. I just needed to know you didn't sleep with me after all this time because my dick got bigger."

His words sink in, and your expression softens. He looks more vulnerable than you've ever seen him. You hold his gaze for a moment, then lean in to kiss him, draping your arms over his shoulders to pull him close as your lips move purposefully against his. Separating, you meet his eyes again.

"Josh, I could care less about superficial shit like that. It could literally fall off right now, and it still wouldn't matter as long as you and I are okay," you respond, hoping he believes you this time. "And for the record, I wanted to sit on your dick, too. I just never got the chance."

He huffs out a laugh, relief radiating off of him in waves. "Have I mentioned that I really like you?"

"Oh, I know," you grin, wiggling in his lap to ease the remaining tension. "I think you forget our beds share a wall. I've had to listen to you jerk off almost every day for over a year, and I don't know if you realize this, but you say my name. A lot."

He smiles sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink. "Jesus, okay. Point made."

The two of you quickly slip back into easy banter, and it feels good. You're still the same roommates who annoy the hell out of each other, but everything's out in the open. Now, you can actually act on all of the offhandedly dirty shit you always say to make him blush.

"I never said I didn't like it," you laugh, biting your lip. "Maybe I can help next time."

That catches him off-guard, and he accidentally swallows wrong. "Uh, yeah," he clears his throat, trying and failing again to sound nonchalant. "I'd be down for that."

"Can I put it in my mouth?" you ask innocently, and he winces, tipping his head back onto the couch. His hands slide up your thighs and squeeze, tugging you closer to his crotch.

"I'm gonna get hard again if you keep going," he whines, even though he's already halfway there.

"Not really seeing an issue here."

Threading your fingers through his hair, you guide him back to your lips and kiss him messily, still in disbelief that it took a time travel disaster to finally get you to this point.

You'll have to thank Wolf for his noble sacrifice later.

thanks for reading!

divider by @saradika-graphics

reader and peeta showering together after a hard day (just some innocent intimacy nothing suggestive) 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 love this man sm 😭🤞🏻🤞🏻

!!!!!! thank you for the req angel <3 this inspired me so so much! thanks for kickstarting my writing for peeta era hehe

peeta mellark x fem!reader 16+ please for non-sexual nudity. not really in universe but can read as post mockingjay if you want it to!

Peeta’s sketching on the bed when you come inside. One knee propped up with his back against the wall behind the bed, his sketchbook pressed against his thigh. His golden hair falls over his forehead, messy where he’s been too distracted by his drawing to push it back.

He looks up when you enter, smiling a bruising smile you don’t feel deserving of.

“Hey. Hey, sweetheart.” It’s alarming how quickly he sets aside his book and pencil to reach for you, as if he hadn’t been immersed in his sketching mere seconds ago. “C’mere, I missed you.”

As much as you’d like to be wrapped in his strong arms right now, you’re filthy, and he’s just changed the sheets earlier today.

“I can’t. I’m all dirty, see?” You wiggle your dirt-covered hands at him. You’ve been in the garden all afternoon. Time drifted away from you as you planted a new batch of tomato seeds. By the time you were done, the sun was setting and you hadn’t even realised. Your knees are stained dark brown and you’ve got dirt up to your elbows. “I’ll shower first, then we can cuddle. Sorry, baby.”

Peeta looks decidedly put out. You turn away from him before he can convince you any further, because you know if he looks at you like that for much longer you’ll give in. You pull fresh clothes from your side of the dresser and then move down the hallway to the bathroom.

The showers warming up and you’re starting to undress when Peeta knocks on the door. It’s unlocked, and he doesn’t have to, but he knocks anyway.

“It’s me,” he says. Who else would it be? You think. Silly man. “Can I come in?”

You pull the door open for him instead of answering. You’re halfway out of your clothes but it doesn’t phase him. Sure, he looks, but not for long, and not in a way that would suggest anything other than affection.

“Hey,” he says. He pushes the door closed behind him. The shower runs in the background, a peaceful thrum. “Do you mind if I join you? You can say no.”

You huff a soft laugh. He should know by now that saying no to him is a near impossible feat. “Yeah, of course. I don’t mind.”

You finish undressing quickly, eager to be clean and warm. Peeta leaves to get fresh towels while you hop in under the hot spray. The majority of the dirt on your skin has been rinsed by the time he gets back. You hear him moving around the bathroom for a minute or so before he pulls the shower curtain aside. You let him in, moving aside to make space for him. It’s tight, but it’s not uncomfortable. Weirdly, it’s almost a perfect fit for the two of you.

Peeta moves under the shower head and the water quickly drenches one half of his hair and one of his shoulders. His big hand slides over your hip and he carefully moves you into a position where you’ve both got equal spray.

“Hi,” he says, smiling. He’s so close you could count his freckles, each light brown spot scattered across his collarbones.

“Hello,” you say back. His thumb rubs your hipbone, up down, up down. “Is it too warm?”

“No, it’s perfect.”

You smile and touch your palm to his cheek. “You okay?” You’re not asking because he seems out of sorts. You’re asking because you want to know, and if he’s not he’ll tell you. He does the same for you. It’s just how you love each other.

Peeta nods. “Yeah, I’m okay. How did your gardening go?”

You beam. You love that he cares about what you care about. “Good. We’ll have tomatoes growing out of our ears by summer, I think.”

Peeta laughs. It’s a brilliant sound that bounces off the shower walls and warms your chest. “Awesome,” he grins. Then, “Hey, you’ve got dirt under your ear.” He reaches behind you to grab the flannel hanging on the shower caddy. “Look that way for me?”

He holds you still with a hand at your jaw and rubs the dirt from your skin so gently you barely feel it. His touch is like a magnet — you’re drawn to it over and over again, no matter how generously he gives it to you. When he asks if he can wash your hair, you’d be crazy if you said no.

“Yeah, please,” you tell him, past caring how desperate and needing of his touch and love you are. He knows, anyway.

Peeta turns you by the hips so your back is to him, then gently tilts your head backwards. You hand him your shampoo and he squeezes a dollop onto his hands, rubbing his palms together before spreading the bubbles over the top of your head. He’s very, very gentle with it, much more than you’ve ever been, massaging the soapy, sweet-smelling bubbles into your hair, fingers rubbing circles onto your scalp. His dedicated touch, along with the gentle thrum and warmth of the shower spray, is enough to almost put you to sleep.

“Okay, you can rise now,” Peeta speaks up. His tone is soft and you suspect he’s noticed your sleepiness. He gets very soft with you when you’re tired. “Shut your eyes, please.”

You do as he says and he directs you under the spray. He holds a hand over your forehead like a barrier so the bubbles can’t escape and sneak into your closed eyes. The action in itself makes your chest ache. He cares more than you could ever comprehend.

When he’s done rinsing you finish scrubbing the dirt from your knees, your elbows. Peeta washes his own hair, and you help him rinse the same way he did for you.

“Thank you, angel,” he says. Warm water and soapy bubbles stream over his shoulders, his neck. His eyelashes are wet, clinging to each other in sparkly triangles. He dips down and kisses your shoulder, then your cheek. “Love you.”

You beam. You love him more than anything. You get on your toes to kiss him properly, a warm press of your mouth on his, a promise for more of the same later, when you’re clean and dry and fed. “Love you too, Peeta.”

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

Strawberry Blond

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Pairing: Peeta Mellark/AFAB Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Late one night, you get a call. (4.7k | originally posted on ao3 | Masterlist )

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You know that your relationship can never be normal. 

Even now, when you technically should have peace of mind— and you're out of the arena, out of the Games— there's still the ugly truth that lies beneath it all. The Victor's Village is beautiful in comparison to the rest of District Twelve, but because of the reason why you earned a residence here, you're not sure if you'll ever truly enjoy it. Brick houses with plenty of room, and yet yours is still far too empty, even if you have your family to keep you company. 

Peeta lives alone in his. 

There's always smoke coming from the chimney, and he keeps most, if not all of the lights on. The only room that occasionally has its lights off is his, which is on the second floor. You've woken up in the middle of the night many times and glimpsed the shining evidence that he's still awake. It's not like you get perfect sleep yourself— but you worry, sometimes. 

You do visit him, sometimes. But you've never knocked on his door when it's nighttime. You're not entirely sure why that is; maybe it's because you're afraid of what the cool silence will bring. Maybe it's too intimate. Neither of you are strangers to intimacy, and you've definitely maintained a little of that, but … There's still a certain distance. Away from the cameras, you still struggle to discern what's real and what's not. 

The way he looks at you is certainly real. 

You don't know if you'll ever feel exactly the same way towards him. 

Sure, you do like him. A lot. He makes it easy. He's the type of guy that you could bring home to your parents. He's the type of guy that one would want to come home to every day. Of course, he's a little more reserved, and his eyes are duller, but— he's still Peeta. He's still the baker's boy. Deep down, he'll never lose what made you— and all of the Capitol— fall in love with him. 

Is it really love, though? Or is it just admiration? 

It's something that you think about a lot. You've never said those three words to him when not in front of an audience. And he knows that on those specific occasions, it wasn't real. It was just an act. Maybe when he kissed you, he wasn't acting. Maybe when he looked at you and said those lovely things to you, he wasn't acting. 

You can dream. You can hope. 

However, most of your actual dreams nowadays are just nightmares.  

No golden boy is holding you, shielding you from the awful weather. There's no bright, happy future in which everything turned out right. And there's none of those strange, albeit interesting dreams where your house is upside down and your teacher at school is telling you that somehow, you've suddenly graduated and you're being sent off to the Capitol to become one of them. 

Instead, there's just fire. 

Tonight, you dream of fire. 

Burning bodies that fall from the highest trees. You can vaguely make out who they are— there's a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, a primal guilt. Everything around you is blazing, and you know you should try and get out, but your feet are frozen, rooted to the spot. You can't move, even as the flames begin to lick around your ankles. Even if you did run, you wouldn't be able to escape. This has been a long time coming, hasn't it? 

Despite the almost blinding brightness emanating from the fire, everything else is foggy and dark. The only thing you can focus on is the corpses, the trees, and everything coming down around you. Someone shouts your name, but it's muffled like you're underwater. You fail to register it fast enough. 

A scream, crystal-clear. 

You whip around, and there it is. The evidence of your failure. You're helpless to do anything— you can only watch— more screaming, more yelling, more pleads for help— 

There is so, so much blood— 

You're awake, and the blistering heat is gone. 

Gasping, you sit up, struggling for breath. It keeps catching in your throat. Your heart's pounding at a pace that makes your head spin. Dizzy, disorienting. But it used to be worse than this. 

At least you don't wake up sobbing anymore. 

This is still awful, though. Trembling, you wrap your arms around yourself, attempting to regain control. In, out. In, out. Your lungs shudder with the effort, but you keep going. Despite the comfortable warmth of the house, there's still goosebumps prickling up and down your bare skin. Your arms. Your neck. The sheets are tangled around your waist and legs; you almost feel trapped. 

There's no point in closing the curtains, since virtually nobody is in the streets, and the other inhabitants of the Village couldn't possibly look through your windows. When you glance out of the one nearest to your bed, it's almost pitch-black outside. There are no street lamps, after all. You try to focus on the cold, empty houses to distract yourself. 

Finally, your breath slows. Your pulse calms. 

You're still shaking, faintly, but your knees don't give out when you detangle yourself from your blankets and slip out of bed. You consider that a minor victory. 

Taking care not to make too much noise, you head downstairs. The polished stone is cold underneath your feet, but it's grounding, in a way. It settles you back down to earth. For a short while, you frequently lost your way due to the sheer size of the house, but now you know the quickest route to the kitchen by heart. Even when half-asleep, you know exactly where to go. 

The light flicks on with a quiet buzz when you gently press the switch. 

Quietly, you wonder if the ultimate prize for winning the Games was running water. It's cold, as it splashes over your fingers and into the basin. There are plenty of pristine, artisan glasses and whatnot in the overhead cabinets— probably made in District One— but you always reach for the mugs you had before. The ones with a couple of cracks and dents littering their bodies— evidence of their long lifespans. 

You lean against the counter as you take a long gulp of water. It's pleasant, the feeling pooling low in your chest. 

The silence used to be unnerving, but now, you welcome it with open arms. 

You take another, smaller sip from your mug. Maybe you'll be able to sleep for another few hours. Until the sun rises, at least. Then, you can take a walk. You can wander around all you like here, provided that you don't stray too far. Regardless, you're sure nobody will be too concerned about that. Haymitch is the sole man responsible for the lax rules concerning the victors. 

You're still not sure if you like him or not. 

Slowly, you finish your drink. But, just as you're ready to set it into the sink and head back upstairs—

—the phone's ringing. 

You can hear it pretty clearly, even if it's muffled. 

Who could be calling at this hour? Furrowing your brow, you put down the mug and start heading down the hallway, towards the study. You're well aware that Haymitch tore his phone out of the wall ages ago, so it couldn't be him. Nobody from your District calls you, either. And if you get any calls from outside the District, they're usually during the daytime. Not at two-ish in the morning. The Capitol may be invasive, but they're not that invasive. They need their beauty rest, you figure.  

So, taking all of that into consideration, that only leaves— 

"Peeta?" You mutter, upon picking up the phone. 

There's a beat of silence. 

"Hello," he replies. 

It's a bit hard to tell over the line, but he sounds nearly as groggy as you. Delicately, you shut the door of the study behind you with a quiet click. Just in case. 

"Is something wrong?" You allow yourself to be a little louder, now that there's a barrier between you and the rest of the house. "Couldn't sleep?" 

"Something like that." There's a slight rustling. "I mean— nothing new, right?" Even though you know he meant it as a joke, the grim truth makes it fall flat. 

Still, you breathe out a quiet laugh. "Nothing's changed." Affixing your gaze on one of the chairs sitting around the mahogany table, you fiddle with the telephone cord. "Did you, uh— did you need something, though?" 

Peeta hesitates again. 

"I just—" He cuts himself off. "I'm sorry for calling you so late." He's entirely earnest in a way that makes you ache. "Did I wake you up?" 

He's also dodging the question, even if he is genuinely worried about your sleep schedule. 

"No, you didn't," you assert, "don't worry about that. It's fine." 

"Okay," he responds, relief palpable despite the crackly quality. 

The telephone cord is somewhat cold where it rests on your knuckles. You continue to twist it around your idle hand. 

"You still haven't answered my question, by the way."  

Peeta audibly exhales. 

"Oh." More rustling. "Yeah. I, um—" he clears his throat, "—yeah, I do need something, actually." 

That could mean a lot of things. Does he just need to talk? You know he does, sometimes. Or maybe he just needs some more flour, and is too embarrassed to admit it. He does seem like the type of guy to stress-bake in the wee hours of the morning. However, you seriously doubt that he wants anything related to that. 

"What is it?" You ask, finally. 

His next words are rushed, as if he's afraid that if he says them slowly, he'll never get them out. 

"Could you come over? I just—" it's only a momentary gap, "—don't wanna be alone right now." 

Ah. 

The thing is, you understand. You know what it's like. And there's only one possible response that you can give right now. Vividly, you can see him— the cave—  his face, shining with a cold sweat, his eyes scrunched tightly in pain— 

"Okay." You're already mentally mapping out where to go. "I'll be there in a few." 

-- 

When he opens the door, Peeta looks exhausted. 

But when he smiles at you, there's still that light in his eyes. That look he gets whenever you're around. It used to make you feel sick to your stomach, but now— now, you're not quite sure how to feel. You've been told that in comparison to him, you're rather good at keeping your feelings hidden underneath the surface. It's been necessary, after all. 

"You're here," he says after a beat, as if he expected anything else. 

"I'm here," you echo. 

Wordlessly, he steps aside to let you pass by. Somehow, although the layout of his house is exactly the same as yours, his still feels different. Warmer. A little cozier. The remnants of something sweet are still floating through the air, and you glance back at him. Maybe you were right about the possibility of him making cookies— or apple turnovers. Or those little cakes. 

"Been baking?" You ask. 

"Earlier," he clarifies, shutting the door behind you. 

"Smells nice." 

Peeta lingers by your side. "Want some?" 

"If that's okay." 

"It's always been okay." He raises his eyebrows. "How many times have I told you that you don't even need to ask?" 

You shoot him a look. "Doesn't hurt to ask." 

Flawlessly, he copies your expression. "How do you know that?" 

"It's called being polite, Peeta." 

"Polite," he repeats. "Polite…" 

You let out a short sigh. 

"Just show me where they are." 

He gives you a shit-eating grin. "And there it is." 

You don't even bother trying to respond; he's already padding past you, anyway. It's a short trip to the kitchen. His is more cluttered than yours— recently-used, more lived-in. There are more dishes in the sink, more stuff on the counter. But your eyes are drawn to the two wire baking racks on the stovetop. On top of them sit around two dozen pastries. They're prettily decorated with pink, blue, and white icing, and you take some time to admire them as you join him in front of the stove. 

"You've outdone yourself," you can't help but murmur. "Wow." 

At your compliment, Peeta instantly turns bashful. 

"Oh, thanks." Of course, he can't let those words sit. "It's— it's not my best work, but I—" 

His volume drops, and he pauses. 

"Well— my hands were shaking, so…"

Abruptly, you turn your attention away from the pastries. 

He notices, interrupting you before you can even open your mouth to speak. 

"I know what you're gonna ask," he says, softly. "And, yeah, I do want to talk about it. Just—" Peeta sucks in a breath. "Just not now, okay? Give it a little while." The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he gestures towards the racks. 

"Eat." 

You consider pressing the question. You consider urging him— did it happen again? Was it worse this time? It had to have been worse, considering that he wanted you over in the first place. Just thinking about it makes your stomach perform an uneasy flip. You can read Peeta. And right now, you can read the bags under his eyes. The tiredness he's trying to fight away. 

However, you don't want to push him. You don't want to break him down. Not again. 

So, you take a pastry. 

It's really, very good. 

Peeta takes one for himself, too, and you eat in silence. You know that despite your frequent approval of his various baked goods, he's still carefully watching your reaction; you make sure to look pleased, and it isn't hard at all. He seems satisfied. You're also satisfied. Once you've finished your pastry, you lick the remnants of the icing off your fingers. 

You pretend not to notice the way he stares— briefly, before forcing his gaze away. 

You pretend to ignore the way your heart skips. 

Mercifully, he breaks the awkward tension. 

 "Do you— would you want to take some home?" He asks, after swallowing. "We both know that I'm not gonna eat 'em all." 

"Oh, yeah, I'll take some," you answer. Thinking for a second, you add, "Were you going to risk bringing some to Haymitch, or—" 

He snorts. "Not this time." 

"More for me, then." 

"And your family, you mean?" 

You smile. There's no way that you're going to give up those pastries without a fight. 

"Sure. And my family."

Peeta doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he returns your smile all the same. 

-- 

He always keeps his bedroom windows open at night. 

You're not exactly sure why, but you suppose it's because he runs warm. Always. 

The duvet's soft on your bare skin, and his hands are gentle. With the way your head is positioned, if you move your ear just so, you can hear his heartbeat thumping through his chest. A steady rhythm. He's calm, and so are you. You're certain that you could fall asleep like this— if it weren't for the fact that you have other, more important priorities right now. 

When you look up at him, shifting an increment closer, he talks. 

"I thought things were getting better." His Adam's apple bobs as you watch. "I thought that— that things were gonna start improving. That I'd— " He trails off, for a second. 

"That I'd start going back to normal, I guess. But I should've known that it's… It's impossible." His gaze is focused on the ceiling. "It was hopeless to try and believe that I could just keep on going like nothing happened at all." 

You find your voice. 

"But you still tried?" 

The chuckle he lets out is completely humorless. 

"Yeah, I tried." 

He's always been optimistic— he's always trying to see the best in people. And seeing him like this makes you feel hopeless. You know what he's going through. It's essentially the same thing that you're going through. However, it's not like you can read minds. He knows the right words to say, but you don't. Even though you wish you could. Words— even though actions can speak louder than them— still mean a lot. You turn that word over in your head a couple of times. Actions. 

"What happened?" You ask, quietly. 

 A beat. 

"I let down my guard," he starts, volume barely a whisper. "I was confident in my stability. I thought that I wouldn't— break down, or anything. Because it had been a few weeks, and—" 

His eyes shut. Tightly. "God, I'm stupid." 

"You're not," you rush to interject, "don't say that." 

Peeta lets out another huff. "But it was stupid. To assume that I'd be okay, I mean. I should've— I should've expected it, at least." He quickly carries on. "Even after everything, I still let myself fall into a routine." 

I still let myself fall back into a routine, you know what he means. The bad dreams pale in comparison to the real monsters that loom over the both of you. Haymitch is a living example of what can happen; what will happen, if you don't hold on to tight control of the hypothetical reins. You ache. 

"Don't blame yourself for any of this," you murmur, "please. It's not your fault. Not in the slightest." You have to speak slowly, pace yourself. Keep yourself from everything you want to say. "Even if you tried to— I don't know, stay hyper-aware of everything— it would still come crashing down eventually." A breath. "It's inevitable, Peeta. It's always going to be here." 

"But I don't want it to be here," he chokes out, "I really, really don't!" 

You push yourself up from your previous position. His eyes are open now, wide and looking up at you. 

When you move backward and open your arms, he's on you in an instant. 

You rock back and forth, gently. You're not sure which one of you is holding onto the other tighter. Clinging would be a better word. His face is pressed firmly into your shoulder. You can feel him shaking. 

Despite everything, he won't let himself make any noise when he cries. 

You don't know how long you stay like this. It could be minutes. Hours, even. All you can feel and register is him. Peeta. He's trembling. The barely-there sensation, combined with the undeniable tightness of his arms. His hands. It's almost like he thinks that if he loosens his hold, even by just the slightest fraction, you'll suddenly disappear. 

That you'll cease to exist. 

That you'll become not real.  

When you finally draw back— slowly, tentatively, and only because he does it first— 

He sniffs, eyes red. They're not brimming with unshed tears, but they're still wet. You can't help but thumb away what little remains on his lower lids, even though you know that you probably look about the same. 

Peeta returns the gesture. 

Unlike you, though, he lingers, hand dropping to cup your cheek. 

There's a moment. 

You've done this before, of course. You've held each other. Comforted each other, brought each other back down. But since the end of the Games— since you've gotten away from the clamoring audiences desperate for a romance despite the sick circumstances— you haven't done anything more than that. 

You haven't kissed him since the end of the Games. 

But right now, you realize that you want to. More than anything. Anyone could see that Peeta wants it, too. Maybe even more than you do. 

So, when he leans in— just barely— closing the distance— 

It's practiced, at first. Familiar. Almost nostalgic. 

But then he melts, and it's suddenly something completely different.  

Peeta lets you softly maneuver him down onto the mattress, up against the pillows that are still too soft for your liking. He kisses you in the way those terrible poets describe— it's all excessively large bouquets, a clear starry night, longing looks across a crowded room, and—  

It's real. 

He gives. You take, and exchange it for everything you have in return. His hand stays on your cheek, the other behind your head, pulling you down. He kisses you like he needs it to breathe. You lose yourself in the feeling. Whenever you part, it's only out of necessity, and you're soon leaning back in. You're making up for lost time— you're making up for every action you didn't mean, every word that was too sugary-sweet. 

Soon, your kisses grow deeper. And neither of you wants to stop. 

It's only when his hands are trailing down your body, down to the hem of your shirt, that you bother addressing it. Even if you want this— so, so desperately— you don't want to force anything in a situation that doesn't require it. Just kissing is nice. It's very nice. Nice enough that it takes a little while for you to regain control of your mouth. 

"Is this—" 

—and he's already speaking. Hushed, like you. 

"Please." 

It's almost embarrassing, what that single word does to you. But you barrel on. 

"It's okay?" You ask, "Just say if it's not, and I'll stop—" 

"—I just," Peeta visibly struggles with what to say for a moment, before settling on: 

"Need you," he says. "Please." 

It's more than enough, and you're in no place to deny him for much longer. You recapture his lips, welcoming his touch. His hands on your back, then your waist, then your hips again. His grip is firm, but not overly so. He would never hurt you, after all. Especially not here. Especially after what he's witnessed. 

His hands are warm and calloused on your bare skin. Strong, with all the work he's done since he was old enough to knead dough. You have to sit up in order to take off your nightshirt, and he takes the opportunity to do the same with his. You've already seen him shirtless, and at close proximity, too— but it wasn't like this. You couldn't trail over every little detail with your lips, back then. 

Peeta shivers, letting out a short giggle when you press a kiss to his stomach. He's sturdy, that's for sure. Impressive biceps, a toned chest. He's beautiful, and you tell him so. You think he blushes, but it's difficult to say for certain from your position. You're too focused on finding all the little freckles you can. 

He likes it when you kiss his neck, breath audibly hitching when you do so. 

But even though he lets you entertain yourself for a decent while, he makes sure to return the favor. He's never liked being in the spotlight for long, after all. And he wants. 

He finds all of your scars, from the arena. From before the arena, too. He maps them out, painstakingly, mimicking the way you'd kissed him all over earlier. Sensitive, he notes, when you make a small noise when his thumbs find your nipples. Soft, he observes, as his fingers slip underneath your waistband, moving lower. 

Soon, you're completely exposed, and he is too. 

Peeta pays more attention to certain parts of you— your thighs, your chest— but he doesn't skip over anything in particular. He wants to know everything; he wants to learn everything. And he's eager to learn. By the time he reaches the spot between your legs, you're already wanting for him. You've grown needy from his kisses, his caresses. You can feel him against your thigh— he's just as needy as you. 

His fingers are clumsy, at first. But they're strong, and you guide him. One, then two. Then another. His breath is loud, and he hums, biting his lower lip at your quiet moan after you tell him how to crook his fingers. You jolt when he finds your clit, paying careful attention to it while he works you open. 

At your whispered insistence, he grips himself by the base— already having put on protection— you don't care enough to ask exactly how he obtained it— and he pushes in. The groan he lets out sounds like it's been punched from his gut. 

He sets a slow, measured pace. Almost awkward at first, but he's a fast learner. He learns what angle makes you spread your legs wider for him. You wouldn't even use fucking to describe what you're doing— somehow, that word's too rough. He kisses you, nose bumping against yours. Most of your noises are muffled against his lips, but he takes them all the same. He absorbs them, and drinks them in. Drinks you in. 

"Peeta," you sigh, and he breathes your name in return, before ducking to kiss your shoulder. Your collarbone. Your neck. 

He comes first, twitching, pulsing deep within you. He stifles his whimper by tucking his face into the divot between your shoulder and your neck— but you can still feel it. You help him ride it out, until his thrusts falter, and his hips still. 

It's a few moments of limbo, in which he catches his breath. He meets your eyes. His are hazy, half-lidded. He kisses you. 

Then, he pulls out— disposes of the garbage, of course— and wastes no time in making his way down your body, to where you need him most. 

You're certain that he's never eaten anybody out before, but he's a natural. He's enthusiastic— much more so than when he was inside you. This is just for your pleasure, now. When you thread a hand through his tousled hair, he moans into you, increasing his efforts tenfold. He doesn't care for the mess— or the noise, as he laps at you. He doesn't even care for his own need to breathe. Peeta just wants to give. 

His brow is furrowed in concentration as he rapidly pulls you closer to orgasm. You can do little but take. And when you finally topple over your peak— 

"—that's so good, ah— Peeta, I'm gonna— ohh—" 

You cry out, heat rolling low in your abdomen— gathering, passing through your entire body. 

You float on blissful waves, and he licks at you through it all. For a single, brief moment, your mind is perfectly calm. 

When you relax, the warmth steadying to a hum, he notices and stops working at you. He wriggles a little, and leans forward to rest his chin on your stomach while you catch your breath. You can feel his, too, and it's hot on your skin. Peeta seems reluctant to take his eyes off you just yet. 

It's quiet, you register. You're reluctant to ruin it, but he looks pretty messy. 

"I should get you a towel or something," you say. 

He cracks a smile, his eyes softening. "Should you?" 

"Yeah." You're powerless not to return it. "But, you know, for me to get the towel, you have to get off me." 

"So demanding." 

You let out a short, offended sound. "Hey, that's just—" 

"I'm getting up." And he does. 

It doesn't take long to clean up, and the obnoxious white fluorescent lights of the bathroom don't blind you for long. Again, Peeta looks on while you wipe off his face— this close, you notice how brilliantly blue his eyes are. You notice the precise angles of his jaw. His cheek. He's probably doing the same to you— tracing the contours of your face. 

To your relief, you're back in his bed a few minutes later. He completely shuts off the lights, flicking off his bedside lamp, and then crawls under the duvet with you. You're not sure if it's creepy or weird to enjoy it, but everything here smells like him. A sort of earthy, warm scent. Even though you're both well aware of the multiple floral shampoos that the Capitol has to offer— he still retains that one thing. 

You're comfortable. You're safe. 

Peeta wraps his arms around you from behind. 

You're not sure if you should say something or not, but he does it first. 

"You'll stay?" Whispered, into the stillness. 

"Of course." Without hesitation. 

His grip tightens, almost imperceptibly. 

"Thank you," he breathes.  

The words are stuck in your throat. 

You can't bring yourself to say them, even though you know you'd mean them. Every single syllable. 

But you have time. You can tell him tomorrow, even. Or the day after that. Tonight, you didn't say it aloud, but you still told him all the same. 

You understand exactly how you feel, just before you drift off. 

You love him. 

Please

summary: When Finnick notices how the reader's drink has been spiked with sex pollen at one of President Snows Balls, he and Peeta make a plan to save her from the special services the victors sometimes provide for the capitol. Finnick causes a distraction, while Peeta makes sure to take the reader away to safety, only the plan doesn’t go accordingly, and ends up with a sex crazed reader stuck on a closet.

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Warnings: sexual content, slight dubious consent, fingering, lots of praise, dom!Peeta??, reader under sex pollen

Notes: This is my first attempt at a shortfic about Peeta Mellark, as I have been quite obsessed with him lately This story is a short fic with little to no plot, so, enjoy the smut ;) For any weird grammar mistake, feel free to correct me for as inglish isn't my first lenguage!

Word count: 6.6k

Giff: @xiaolanhua

Finnick cursed out loud, grabbing the attention of some of the most important and exclusive people in Panem who were nearby. They began to chuckle and whisper among themselves in return, clearly enjoying the sudden outburst of District’s four beloved victor. Peeta, on the other hand, quickly realized something was wrong, politely ending the conversation with an all too eager sponsor who was in the midst of trying to convince him to go back to her room together. She was old, caked with so much makeup her features were almost unrecognizable. Staring at her for too long made Peeta feel uneasy, as if he were in a fever dream, where everything was washed in an eerie distortion, almost normal but not quite. 

“Are you okay?” was the first thing he said once he got to Finnick’s side, standing beside one of the absurdly food collapsed tables at one of the ballrooms corners. He was holding a glass filled with sweet smelling liquor, his hand so tightly wrapped around it his knuckles were turning white. Peeta was sure it was going to burst into pieces in just a matter of seconds, so he quickly reached for Finnick’s hand, surprised to find little to no resistance as he took the glass away and set it on the table. The motion seemed to snap Finnick out of whatever trance he had been in, blinking at Peeta as if he were just now assessing his presence there.

“What?” was all he could manage to say, his eyes returning their focus to something far away, the feather of a muscle twitching as he grounded his jaw.

“What's wrong?” Peeta pushed, following the man's gaze in an attempt to understand what he was seeing that was making him so mad. Finnick had a temper, Peeta knew that, but it was always tightly concealed in that calm and easy-going facade he portrayed, his armor against everything. It took quite an effort to make him lose his composure.

“(y/n)” He answered, voice made of steel. Peeta frowned, eyes desperately trying to find what was going on, his chest tightening at the mention of your name, “They dosed her drink with an aphrodisiac powder.”

Peeta’s whole body froze, his eyes snapping back to the man beside him. 

“What do you mean aphrodisiac powder, what the hell even is that?”

But Peeta could already imagine what it meant, what they were doing it for. Anger rose in his blood like fire, pumping into his heart, beating so fast it was starting to make it hard for him to breathe -

“Finnick” He managed to get out, hand coming up to grab the man’s arm, turning him to face him.

“I recognized this man talking to Snow earlier” Finnick began, his eyes closing as one of his hands came to massage his temple, as if a piercing headache was making it hard for him to think “He is the one who arranges the customers for-,” he took a deep breath before opening his eyes to meet Peeta's wide ones “ the special services from the victors the capitol sometimes provides”

His stomach churned in a way that threatened to make Peeta vomit every expensive item of food he had ingested tonight, right on the pristine marble floor. He knew exactly what Finnick was talking about. Haymitch had told him about this business Snow ran, a way for him to further control the victors, make them pay for whatever rule breaking he deemed was done on their game, threatening their family’s life as a cost of it. But (y/n) had won fair, she had outsmarted the players, not the capitol, she didn't deserve this, she-

“I have been watching this man all evening, analyzing his moves, trying to figure out who Snow had sold to him,” Finnick continued, interrupting Peeta’s running thoughts. “It was easy enough to discover, with the way he has been practically stalking (y/n) all night.” An exasperated sigh escaped his lips “But something is different this time. He hasn't come up to talk to her and she is completely oblivious to him, as if she doesn't know what Snow has done, as if she hasn't been warned what would happen if she denies”

Her family, massacred. Peeta swallowed, his throat painfully dry all of a sudden. 

“That’s when I noticed what he was doing” Finnick’s hands bawled into fists by his sides, his eyes returning to scan the room before returning to Peeta’s, “They are drugging her, filling her with aphrodisiac poison that will make her unable to think of anything more than sex. They are making her into a puppet so they can take advantage of her, avoiding the resistance, the threats, the compromise on her part.”

“That is sick” Peeta breathed out, feeling lightheaded and utterly disgusted.

“People here in the capitol are absolutely rotten” Finnick spat, “I have been a victim of that drug before. It is so potent, it makes it physically painful to deny sex, it forces the body to need it on a primal level, triggering an almost survival instinct.” 

Peeta cringed at the thought of Finnick, barely a teen, being a subject to all this.

“We have to do something, we have to save her” Peeta rushed through whispered words, his eyes looking around them in search of anyone who could be eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Yes” Finnick agreed, “But we must do it inconspicuously, or they could end up hurting her even more.” 

“What is your plan?” Peeta’s breathing eased a little, his chest loosening at the reminder of Finnick’s clever mind. 

“Once the effects of the drugs kick in, she will quickly excuse herself to the bathroom. There, I will intercept the man, distract him. Make a big scene if I must.” The ghost of a smirk pulled at Finnick’s lips at the thought, before it was quickly wiped away as he continued “You will find (y/n) and get her the hell out of here, but not to her room. They will be probably expecting her there” Peeta shuddered at the thought, nodding at Finnick.

“Where is she now?” Peeta inquired, his eyes returning to the crowd, unable to find the girl in question.

“Near Snow’s fountain, to the left side of the room. She is talking to a man with a neon green top hat.”

Peeta found you instantly then, the loud pounding of his heart in his ears drowning any other sound. You looked so beautiful, he couldn't help to notice, with your hair pulled away from your face in an elegant updo, filled with colored jewels that caught and reflected every light on the ball room, like a beacon. Your dress was made of black jewels as well, hugging every hill and dip of your body in an exquisite way, a slit on the side of your hip revealing the tan skin of your right leg. And your smile, so bright as you laughed at some joke the man before you had uttered, it took his breath away- until he realized how your chest was moving rapidly, as if the air entering your lungs wasn't enough, at how your skin was covered in a sheen of sweet, some stray away hairs curling around the nape of your neck and around your face, and at the way your hands had begun to tremble, hiding the away by clasping them tightly behind your back.

“It is starting,” Finnick commented, straightening his shoulders as if preparing himself to move. Peeta did the same, struggling to calm his fast beating heart.

You offered the man another smile, this one polite, apologetic. The man dipped his head and moved out of your way, allowing you to begin moving into the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor, towards the other side of the room, where the bathrooms were located. Finnick nodded at Peeta, signaling to start moving the same way as you. They got to there first, and Finnick leaned forward to whisper right on Peeta’s ear, in a gesture that seemed like a warm goodbye from a friend to the ignorant eye. 

“I will go for the man, you grab (y/n) and leave right away, don't waste time on explanations until you are both alone and safe.” 

Peeta nodded, clasping his back as reassurance. He could do this, he told himself, willing his body to calm down, to gather his anxious thoughts. 

Before Finnick finally pulled away, he added in a tense, almost somber tone, so lowly his words almost got forgotten among the chattering crowd.

“Do what you must to help her, she’ll be glad it was you and not someone else.”  

Peeta’s brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could ask what Finnick meant by that, he was already being swallowed by the crowd, disappearing among the vibrant colors, the moving bodies, the discordant music that made Peeta’s teeth greet in discomfort. 

Peeta moved onto the side of the bathroom door, acting as if his shoelace had been untied and crouching down to fix it, avoiding anyone starting a conversation with him that could complicate his inconspicuous escape. 

It only took a couple of minutes before he heard your voice,

“S-Sorry, excuse me please” You sounded breathless, words tight in your throat, as if the mere effort to get them out was painful. 

Peeta got up then, instantly identifying you making your way out of the crowd in a desperate attempt to get to the bathroom. He walked up to you just as you took the door handle in your shaky hand, grabbing your wrist in a secure grip before pulling you along with him, without stopping to say anything. You gasped in shock, stumbling slightly over your feet before you could manage to keep up with his fast pace. You pulled at his hand in an attempt to be let go, but he ignored you, mind only focused on one thing-

The exit door, only a couple of steps away

 “Peeta!” you exclaimed as you finally recognized him, struggling to maintain a composure, smile wavering between a frown and a grimace of pain “What the fuck are you doing?” you whispered, feeling as though your vision was shaking, not being able to see people anymore, just shapes and colors merging together in a sickening spin-

You were going to throw up.

“I’m going to be sick” you pleaded, arm now falling limp on his firm grip, deciding to leave fate in his hands- unable to do anything to resist, and knowing deep down Peeta would never hurt you.

Peeta’s heart squeezed on his chest as he heard you, and he opened his mouth to explain -what? he did not know- anything to make you feel better, to help you understand what was going on,

But then a crushing sound vibrated across the room, making people gasp and scream in shock, their attention now focused on the other side of the room. 

Finnick

Peeta let out a sigh of relief as he got to the entrance door, which was luckily open, not a peacekeeper in sight.  He didn't waste a second to pull you out towards the main hall, where the elevator to the victor's rooms was.

“It will be alright (y/n), I promise” Peeta finally spoke, his voice just above a whisper, as he continued his way with unbreakable determination, both of your steps resonating against the glass floor the only sound in the spacious room “just trust me, okay?”

You felt as if Peeta’s voice was coming from underwater, muffled and far away- But still managed to understand.

“Okay” You replied, unable to voice any other word running through your dizzy brain - Your heart, you realized, it was beating so fast you couldn't catch a breath, and your skin, it felt so uncomfortable, so tight against your body- you wanted to rip it out. And the heat, the fucking heat

Peeta’s hand freed your wrist as he pressed the elevator’s button in a frantic pace, his other coming up to grip your hip, pushing so you stood in front of him, blocking the view of your body with his. 

You were so close now, bodies almost pressed together. His smell invaded you like the most intoxicating, addictive perfume you had ever sensed, tightening your chest in a silent hitch of breath - And his touch- so firm and strong, fingers pressing down on the overly sensitive flesh on your hip witch was barely covered in the thin material of your jeweled gown- it set flames through your veins

Peeta heard the rush of voices coming down the hall, right from where you had come, before he felt their quick heels clad steps coming closer. Whatever Finnick had done, it had set a commotion enough to make people begin to retreat to their chambers in a hurry. 

His eyes snapped to the elevator, the bright gold number still stuck on the 7th floor, and he realized it wasn't going to come by quick enough - They were already nearing the corner, they were going to catch the both of you, they were going to take you away and hurt you-

He secured your hand in his before he began to pull you further down the hall, your feet struggling to find their footing but managing not to stumble over them as you followed him. There was only one door in the hall, right on the end of it, a black metal block painted in bright gold. Peeta didn't bother to knock on it as he grabbed the handle, twisting it at the same time he pushed the side of his body on it to open it- and to his surprise and utter relief- it did. He didn't waste a second to push you inside, head twisting back one last time to see down the hall, where he noticed a couple of people beginning to appear, their vibrant colors striking against the pristine white walls and gold floor details. 

He closed the door behind him, leaving out the light from the hall, engulfing you both in complete darkness. He let out a long breath, his head dropping back against the door frame, a chuckle leaving his chest before he could stop it.

You tried to blink back the darkness, but your eyes were still struggling to adjust. Something was very wrong, you realized, as you couldn't seem to make the air from the space enter your lungs. You stepped back from the man in front of you in an attempt to gain some distance and ground yourself, but you felt the cool jab of metal meet your back- you twisted on the spot, freeing your hand from Peeta’s as you extended your arms in front of you. And you felt, to your utter horror, how on every side you were met with metal railings or the cool feeling of painted concrete walls. 

The space was tiny. A closet, of some sorts, you figured with a leap of your heart.

 “I can't” you gasped aloud, one hand coming up to clutch your chest, pulling at the absurd number of necklaces that had been wrapped around your neck- it felt as if you were choking “I can't breathe.” 

Peeta’s hands were instantly extended in search of you, his eyes wide in an attempt to see something, but only being met with darkness. 

“It is okay, hey, I’m here” He whispered, one of his hands brushing your shoulder. The contact made electricity run down your body, and you twisted in an attempt to get away from his touch, managing only to bump into the railing so hard, their contents began to fall onto the floor-

Peta cursed under his breath at the loud sound of stuff crashing against the glass floor, his heart drumming onto his chest as he felt the footsteps from outside alarmingly close. 

“Hey, hey calm down” He tried again, his hand grabbing your shoulder this time. And you tried to twist away again, desperate to get away from the warmth, the heat of his body, his burning touch-

it was too much, too much 

You pushed into the railing again making it crash against the wall in a loud bang. 

“(y/n)” Peeta rushed, his voice tight on his chest in anxiousness. But you didn't hear him, wouldn't hear him, needing to get away, desperately trying to do so-

Peeta felt the voices outside begin to wonder what those noises down the hall were, their loud cackling dimming down as if to hear better. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before somebody came up to investigate,

“Calm down” He ordered, voice low, almost a murmur. You could feel it vibrating on your chest, “We have to stay quiet, or they will find us.”

You tried to reason with his words, to obey, to understand what the fuck was going on - but then a pang of pain shot down your belly, taking the air from your lungs in a rush of a breath, before settling in a tight coil of aching between your legs. It made a whine fall from your lips before you could stop it, eyes closing as you hugged your body tightly.

Peeta’s heart stopped when he felt nearing footsteps, arms shooting forward when he heard your loud whine of pain at the same time, determined now to make you quiet. One hand found your hip as the other your arm, and he didn't waste a second to twist your bodies, so you stood with your back pressed to his chest. One of his strong arms circled your waist, locking you into him in a grip so tight you couldn't move an inch, as his other hand came to your face, palm pressing onto your mouth to silence any noise. 

And just like that, your senses cleared, they sharpened, they focused and circled on only one thing-

Him.

The way his warm body was pressed to yours, the feeling of his strong muscled arm wrapped around your waist, the way his chest pushed against you in every intake of breath, the feeling of his heart pounding so loud and fast against your back- and his god damn smell, so sweet and dark and intoxicating- it made the coil deep within your core tighten painfully, breath hitching on your throat.   

Peeta strained his ear to hear whatever was going on outside, the footsteps stopping just inches away, its shadow casting beneath the door frame. But it was so hard to concentrate on anything else that the way for body felt pressed to his - so warm he thought you might be having a fever-  and the way you were breathing so hard and fast, you were panting against his hand- but he could notice, he could see how much you were trying to do as he said, to stay still and be quiet, even if you were in so much discomfort 

“That’s it, calm down” He whispered, lowering his head so his lips were pressed to your ear, making sure only you could hear him. “You are doing so good” he praised, the words warm against your skin. 

The way he phrased those words was enough to make a shiver run through your spine and make your head spin with desire. You hadn't noticed the way you had begun to press further onto him, almost as if desperate to be closer, to feel him even further. And his hand, his fucking hand had begun to rub the side of your waist in a comforting way,

You were melting. But you wanted more, you needed more-

Peeta tried to ignore the way you had begun to move against him, how your breathing had changed to something deeper, how your mouth let slip little whines and moans against his hand. He knew it was the drug's effect, he knew you couldn't help it, he knew he had to maintain a clear head, to take care of you and make sure you stayed safe.

And then you felt it, as you ground your body against his, you felt something hard begin to press against your ass. It made something in you snap, a need so desperate and maddening, it made fire rush through your veins as if boiling from the inside out- it made your brain drunk and fuzzy with desire- and the pain, the excruciating coil tightening between your legs, it was too much, too much.    

Peeta felt your hand suddenly grip his, moving his arm away from your hip. He felt almost in a daze, as if unable to stop you as you moved it down your body. His breath hitched in your ear as you pressed his hand right between your legs, where you needed him the most. The thin material of your jeweled gown was the only thing standing between his fingers and your pussy- he could feel how warm you were, and cursed aloud when he noticed also how wet. 

“We can't” He whispered; voice slightly breaking as he felt you increase the pressure of his fingers “They have drugged you with an aphrodisiac. You are not thinking straight-”  

A moan slipped through your lips, muffled by his hand still pressed against your mouth. Peeta's eyes strained on the doorframe, noticing the shadow gone. He almost sighed in relief, until he felt the loud chuckles coming from outside-

they were still there.

Your brain couldn't comprehend anything else but the need for him. A need that was becoming so strong, the pain was unbearable. You could feel tears swell in your eyes as you gasped, your other hand coming up to push away his own from your mouth. 

“Please, Peeta, I can't take this anymore- I” you choked on a whine when you felt his other hand slip from away from your body “-I need you, please, just help me.”

You pleaded, head dropping back against his shoulder in utter defeat. 

Peeta cursed again, eyes tightening shut as he searched for the will to contain himself, to find a way to reason with you, to make you understand how this was so wrong-

But then he remembered Finnick's words. ‘Do what you must to help her,’ what did he even mean? Was this the only way you could go through this? You would hate him for it, Peeta thought, taking advantage of you like this- but you were in pain, you were literally crying and shaking in his arms, he couldn't stand seeing you like this, it was breaking him-

“Please” you whined, your own hand coming between your legs to relieve some of the pressure there in a futile attempt- you felt absolutely nothing.

“Okay” he murmured against your ear, telling it more to himself than to you, making up his mind. “How can I help you, (y/n), just tell me how.” 

You sigh in relief at his words, closing your eyes in anticipation.

“Touch me” you whispered, breathless “Please.”

Peeta felt lightheaded with the way you were so desperate, so needy for him. In any other circumstance, he would have given away with the first please ever uttered from your beautiful lips- because you were always so composed, so strong, so unwavering- hearing you like this was making him almost as desperate for you as you were for him.

“Please what?” Peeta couldn't help to reply, his voice just as breathless as yours, beginning to move his arms, tentatively resting his hands on your hips.

You groaned in frustration, beginning to push yourself away from him so you could turn around to face him when you felt one of his strong hands spread across your abdomen, pushing you right back against him. He was so strong, you couldn't help but think, imagining his hands pushing and pulling other parts, handling you as if it were nothing-

“Please, Peeta” you begged.

Peeta melted at the sound of those tight words in your throat.

“So polite” he praised, finally moving one hand to the side of your hip where the slit of your gown began. His callous warm fingers met your bare skin there and you sighed in content “Such a good girl” he whispered, mouth pressing down just below your right earlobe, in that sensitive spot that felt to good it sent tingles down your body and made you moan out loud before you could stop it-

Peeta’s other hand instantly moved to cover your mouth once again, roughly pushing your head back against his shoulder. 

“What was that?” A woman’s voice exclaimed from the hall outside, filled with delight “Sounds like someone’s having a good time!”

Peeta cursed on your ear, the words sounding even more coarse coming out of his mouth. 

You whimpered, unable to take the pain between your legs any longer- your heart was beating so fast, it seemed as if you couldn't catch your breath, your skin so taut you thought it might snap over your bones, and the heat- you thought you might pass out 

“Shh it’s okay” Peeta tried to calm you, his eyes glued to the shadows now outside of your door. Had they figured someone was inside here? “Be quiet doll, you can do it.”

You nodded your head in a haze, desperate to show him you would do anything he said. 

Peeta knew you couldn't take it any longer, practically limp in his arms, trembling in his grip. He took in a shaky deep breath before he began to move the hand on your hip underneath the surprisingly thin material of your gown. Your skin was so smooth and soft, and so, so warm- Peeta had to take a minute to just caress between your hip and upper thigh, savoring the feeling of your tender flesh beneath his rough fingers - before he heard your impatient cry from within his hand covering your mouth. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed the shadows beneath the door begin to move away, using the courage to finally dip his fingers between your thighs. His breath hitched when he noticed you didn't have anything under your gown, being met with your bare pussy right beneath his finger, hand freezing in place as the realization of what he was doing, and to whom, dawned on him.

He was about to fuck (y/n), districts four beloved 73rd hunger games victor.

“You are killing me” you mumbled against his palm, desperately pushing your hips forward in an attempt to increase the pressure of his fingers where you needed him most. So, he dipped his hand further, his muscled arm tensing over your belly as he did, bringing you flushed against him. And his fingers, ever so slowly, began to part your folds, his eyes closing as his head dropped down to lean on your shoulders at the feeling of your slick coating his fingers, smoothing his entrance. You bit his hand in an attempt to quiet the moan bubbling on your chest, head pushing back against his shoulder in an attempt to get a grip on yourself.

“So good” he murmured, lips tightly pressed to your ear “So good, so quiet.” 

You could feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as he began to rub your wetness up and down, right over the bundle of nerves that send electric waves of pleasure down your body. One of your hands came down to grip his arm, pushing it down with further force- Peeta instantly knew what you wanted, what it meant- and he obliged, increasing the pressure and pace of his fingers. 

The people outside began to cheer for something, the noise followed by clapping. Peeta didn't waste a second to remove his hand against your mouth, moving it down to your chin as he pushed your head further back, adjusting so his ear was right over your mouth-

“Let me hear you doll” He breathed, his fingers quickening their pace almost desperately so- feeling so good it made your toes curl and your thighs squeeze around his hand. And you moaned, so desperate and needy it would have embarrassed you if it weren't for the fact that that was exactly how you felt for him. 

“Peeta” you choked out in a gasp right on his ear, and that was enough to make Peeta lose his mind, a low groan escaping from his own lips, the sound so deep and hoarse it vibrated on his chest.

You could feel his erection pressed on your backside, so hard you knew we wanted you just as much at the moment. And you wanted to feel him, God, it was all you could have ever wanted, so you started to move your hand to your back- until you felt his hand suddenly stop, making you freeze in place. You could hear his ragged breathing, feel his heart pounding against your back-

“Look at me,” He whispered, interrupting the sudden silence. You opened your eyes, surprised to notice how they had adjusted to the darkness, able to see the outlines of the door, the metal railing filled with cleaning supplies- you were in fact, in a closet. And then you looked up, finding his beautiful face before you. 

He was so handsome; you had noticed that the first time you saw him. With his big, deep brown eyes and breathtaking smile. And now, with his messy blonde hair, his parted soft lips, his completely darkened eyes-

He looked delicious.

“You are absolutely beautiful” he murmured, the hand on your chin moving up to cup the side of your face. “(y/n)” he continued, a deep breath leaving his lips, fanning your own. You wanted to taste him so badly “You are not on your right mind, this is not what you want.”

You shook your head, exasperated.

“I want you so badly” you voiced in a shuddering breath “If you don't touch me right now, I think I might die.”

You used his stun position to free from his grasp, finally turning so you were face to face. He looked completely disheveled, his white tux discarded on the floor, and his matching shirt completely wrinkled, the first buttons torn and revealing a slit of tanned skin. 

“I-” He began but you couldn't resist any longer, shutting him up with a kiss. 

His hands were on you instantly, pulling at your hips to position you flush against him, to then wrap his arms around your waist to lock you in place. Your hand snaked to the back of his head, where you tangled them on his hair, slightly pulling it just to hear him groan again- it felt like fuel to the fire inside you. You used the moment to deepen the kiss, meeting his warm tongue inside his mouth. The kiss was desperate, hungry, lips moving feverishly against each other.

Peeta forgot about everything else, about the people on the other side of the door, about getting caught- he could only think about you, about feeling you against him, your lips on his, your tongue on his mouth- he wanted more. His hands began to roam your body, testing, feeling, kneading your soft flesh in a grip so strong you knew would certainly leave bruises. And then they were on your ass, squeezing so tight you moaned against his mouth- and he was lifting you up from the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist-

“I need you” You panted against his lips, finally breaking the kiss. The coil in your lower stomach feeling even more unbearable, the pain was making you see white dots in the corner of your vision “I need you inside me.”

Peeta leaned his forehead to yours, attempting to regain control of himself, to think straight. He sat your body against the railing, separating enough so he could see your face, meet your eyes.

And he stared at you, almost in awe before he spoke again, dropping his head back as if to force himself to stop doing it any longer.

“Your eyes” he breathed out, “they shine so black when you are hot for me.” 

You cupped his face between your warm hands, forcing him to face you as you once again begged-

“please”

Peeta wanted nothing more than to oblige - he would have lifted your gown and fucked you right there against the railings- but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn't, not when you were under the effects of a drug that altered your senses, your reasoning.   

So, he compromised. Not doing anything was torture to you, or so he told himself, moving so one of his arms could fit between both of your bodies while the other began to lift your gown and gather it just over your hips. 

“Are you going to be a good girl and stay quiet?” He panted, his ears once again registering the commotion outside. Seemed like they moved the party to the hall, he realized, glad that the noise had gone louder, hiding what was going on in the little storage closet down the corridor.

“Yes” you whimpered, unable to contain the tears swelling in your eyes due to the pain, and the excitement- 

Such a wreck for him, Peeta thought, brain drunk in desire.

“You are the one killing me, (y/n)” he murmured, holding your gaze with eyes so intense you thought he might be looking through you. 

And then his hand was between your legs again, slowly rubbing your wet folds, surprised at how they were more so than before. He quicken up the pace faster this time, taking his time in enjoying every sinful sound falling from your lips, your head falling back to lean against the railing- you gasped when you felt his other hand grip your chin, thumb and index finger pressing against your cheeks and forcing you to open your eyes

“Look at me” he panted, and you thought you might cum just by the way he was looking at you with so much hunger-

And then you gasped in shock as without a warning two of his fingers slipped inside you, his thumb continuing to rub on your sensitive clit. Pleasure shocked through your body making you involuntary shake against the rails, the pressure on your lower abdomen coiling impossibly tighter-

“I'm gonna-” you whined, head leaning forward to try and find somewhere to lean on, but Peeta’s grip held you there on place, forcing you to face him. 

“Say please” He breathed, lips hovering over yours, his fingers moving in and out of you with the perfect pressure, the perfect pace, and his thumb-

“Peeta” you whimpered.

He could feel how close you were, how your walls clenched around his fingers in the most delicious way- he thought he was close himself to climax, just by the way your face scrunched with pleasure, how your body became undone under his touch-

“Come on doll, ask nicely” He encouraged, needing to hear you beg, just one more time.

 “Please” you managed moan.

And he was merciless about it, plunging his fingers into you harder, faster, his thumb rubbing against your clit feverishly, curling his fingers and hitting just the perfect spot-

You become undone with his name on your lips, waves of pleasure erupting from deep within your tummy as the tight coil finally released, toes curling and body jerking. He slowed the pace of his fingers as he continued to ride you out of your orgasm, your shaking body finally collapsing into his, blind with gratification and exhaustion.

Peeta panted against your ear as he finally removed his fingers from inside you, proceeding to hold you tight against him before he lowered you from the railing back onto your feet- until he quickly realized you couldn't stand on your own, arms wrapping securely around your waist and across your back to hold you in place, your own coming up to snake around his neck in a solid embrace.

“Are you alright?” He whispered, his breathing still ragged, heart pounding loudly against your chest pressed to his- you on the other hand, were completely crashing, blood pressure dropping, white stars dancing in the back of your close eyelids. 

“hmm” you hummed, struggling to remain conscious.

“I think they left” Peeta voiced his thoughts, frowning in concentration as he listened for any noise outside- but it was completely quiet, he soon realized. 

You didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, brain completely fogged with satisfaction, body finally out of pain and completely relaxed on his arms, as if meant to be there all along.

“(y/n)” Peeta shook you, his tone finally above a whisper “Hey, I need you to stay here yeah? stay with me.”

You tried to nod but your head just fell limp against his shoulder-

He smelled so fucking good.

“Thank you?” He replied, amusement clear on his breathless words.

You hadn't realized you had voiced your thoughts out loud, a soft chuckle scaping your lips.

“You are completely out of it, aren't you” He sighed, leaning over you so he rested his chin on top of your head, attempting to calm himself down.

You frowned at the height difference, moving your feet, and realizing you were barefoot, heels completely lost somewhere in the tiny closet.

Once Peeta finally could catch his breath, heart in a slightly normal pace, he stepped closer to the door, your almost limp body secure in his strong arms. He pushed the side of his face flat against the cool metal, concentrating on identifying any sound that could indicate someone on the other side but-

Nothing. Silence.

“Okay” He murmured, nodding “Okay, we are going to come out, yes?”

You mumbled a reply, what? you didn't know, but it was enough to make Peeta nod again. You felt him loosen his grip on you making you react on clinging to him with all your strength, desperate to avoid the loss of contact.

“Hey, I’m here, I won't leave you” He assured you, hands pushing you by the hips to create some space between the two- and you were so completely weak, barely registering your body at all, that you couldn't avoid the separation. 

You frowned, opening your mouth to try and object, when you were suddenly being lifted from the ground and up on his arms again, this time in bridal style, with one of his arms holding under your knees as the other secured around your back. 

“Romantic” you gushed, chuckling again.

Peeta rolled his eyes, sheepish smile tugging at his lips, as he adjusted his body so his hand could twist the handle and open the door. He loosens a breath he didn't know had been holding as he registered the hall with quick assessing eyes, noticing it completely deserted.

You tried to blink at the sudden light, but it took just a couple of blinks before your eyes dropped closed again, as if the weight of them was impossible to overcome. 

“Your room is not safe” He murmured, beginning to make his way to the elevator with you tightly held on to his arms “We will go to mine.”

You nodded, the pull of unconsciousness so strong you were sure it was only a matter of seconds before you were out- so you snuggled closer to him, wrapping your arms across his neck and positioning your face right at the nape of his neck, where his smell washed over you and his warmth seeped to your skin.

And just like that, you were out with a content smile plastered on your face.

𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐊: 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 — smut, afab!reader, blowjobs & riding, p in v, creampie, face-fucking, slight breeding kink, switch!peeta, overstimulation, squirting, fingering

peeta mellark is a loser.

you often wonder how your boyfriend always radiates charisma whenever he’s in public. infront of cameras, he’s charming, confident, keeps himself composed.

he’ll always keep things professional—even with you. the most you’ll get out of him during a social event is a chaste kiss or a soft peck on the cheek, denying you of anything more.

it amuses you, the way he puts up such an outgoing front. how he treats you like a coworker playing pretend lovers because he can’t keep his dick in his pants whenever you get too touchy.

just imagine the capitol’s reaction if they found out their ‘charming prince’ from district twelve was also just a whining bitch.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

“what the hell was that?” peeta sighs as he drags you into the guest bedroom and locks the door behind you.

“i have no idea what you're on about.” you whisper, a hint of mischief in your eyes.

“oh, so you just feeling up on me back there was nothing?” he scoffs.

“it was a light touch. it isn’t my fault you’re sensitive.” you hum, a grin tugging at your lips as you watch his breath hitch.

“the sponsers could’ve seen you.”

“but they didn’t.”

“they could’ve.”

“so what if they did? what’s so wrong with giving them a show? it’s what they want.” you refute, walking closer towards him.

“you—can't just wait till we get back, huh?” he sighs, gulping as you inch closer towards him.

“what did you expect, peeta? how can i keep my hands to myself when you just look so good tonight?” you mock, palming the growing bulge in his pants.

“we can’t—not now.” he sighs.

“we aren’t even tonight's center of attention. nobody will notice that we’ve left.” you smile.

your hands run down his tense thighs as you slowly place your knees on the carpet, gazing up at him with those doll-like eyes that you know drives him crazy.

“you don’t have to do this.” he whispers, his hand making his way down to your cheek as his fingers curl around your jaw—the pad of his thumb rubbing small, gentle circles across your skin.

“you know you won't make it through the night without my help.” you hum, unzipping his pants and pulling his member out. it’s already red and hard, precum leaking out the minute you palm it.

“aren’t you a little excited tonight?” you tease, placing soft kisses over its veins and along the sides.

“you aren’t the only one that’s had to hold back all day.” he mutters, his hand finding a place around the top of your head.

he didn't do anything but watch as the end of your tongue slowly licked up the precum from his tip’s slit. he holds back a moan as you feel his grip tighten ever so slightly around your hair.

“fuck, you’re—ah—mmhph” he whimpers.

his words are shortly cut off the moment you take him into your mouth. never will he get used to just how warm you feel when he’s inside you.

his cock pushes at the back of your throat as you swallow him whole, struggling to resist the urge to buck his hips into your wet mouth.

thankful for the lively crowd in the room next door, you listen to his quiet whimpers and moans. his eyebrows furrow together in pleasure as he his puppy eyes stare down at you. more, is what they begged, and who were you to deny him of his need?

his hips slowly jerked and twitched as you bobbed your mouth up and down along his length, your moans vibrating onto him. it was cute, how he tried his best to keep his composure and not fuck your mouth dumb—but you wanted more. so, you gave him a reassuring look, pushing yourself as deep as you could go as he stared into your lustful eyes.

peeta had always been able to read you like a book, so it wasn't hard to understand your expression. if you were to so generously invite him to not hold back, who was he to refuse?

he experimentally rolls his hips into you, letting out a shuddering breath when he feels you swallow around him—his free hand laced into your hair. when you gag around him but still try to take him further, he thrusts deeper, his cock twitching. “fuck, you feel so—good—shit.” he moans, quickening his pace.

“wait a minute—hah—don't want to—cum yet.” you slowly pull back as he stops rolling his hips, trying to catch your breath.

the moment you lift yourself up, he pulls you into a sloppy kiss, sliding his tongue into your wet mouth as he tasted the flavour of your spit and his precum mixed with his own saliva. the two of you let out muffled moans as your mouths pressed together. though, it wasn’t long before he broke the kiss and wasted no time to take things one step forward.

“on the bed.” he simply stated. you climbed onto the mattress and sat on your knees, waiting for his next instruction. instead of words, he drew you into his lap, your thighs on either side of his waist.

“lift yourself a little.” he whispered, watching as you silently raised your hips. you sighed as your short dress was completely unzipped and thrown to the floor, your panties pushed down to your knees, completely exposing you to him.

“gotta make you feel good too.” he mumbles, his large hands rubbing up and down your inner thighs.

you softly moan as he continues to tease you, rubbing right near your cunt but trailing his hand back down before actually touching you. you sigh in relief once his hand finally makes it's way up, gently rubbing against your clit and the folds of your cunt.

it’s embarrassing, how you’re already soaking wet and so welcoming to his fingers as they slowly enter you. you sigh as you feel his hand slowly fill you up, bottoming out.

and the moment his fingers started curling deep inside of you, your silent whimpers turned into growing moans.

“peeta—fuck, you’re so deep, oh my god—” you slurred, your thighs trembling as he picks up his pace. you begin to burst into loud moans the moment he begins thrusting them at an unspeakable pace. feeling so full, you cried out as his fingers plowed into you mercilessly. his hand snaked up to your mouth, muffling your sounds as he went faster.

“don’t be too loud unless you want everyone out there to hear you.” he whispers, replacing his hand with his mouth. you whimpered and cried, trying your best to keep all those pretty sounds inside as his fingers curled inside you, ramming your cunt at an unfathomable speed.

you could feel your climax as heat started to build up in your stomach. you were so, so close. and then, just as you were about to cum, there was nothing. he pulled out, denying you your release.

“don’t look at me like that, i’ll make sure to fill you up real good.” he whispers, taking off his top and removing his bottoms.

your bodies pressed against each other as you strattled yourself back onto him, the folds of your wet cunt rubbing against his leaking member.

“fuck, i’ll never get used to seeing this.” he hitched, placing his hands at your hips as the two of you grinded into each other.

“let me give you want you need, peeta.” you whisper, placing a soft kiss onto his cheek before pulling back. he only watches, his half-lidded eyes following your every move as you palm his shaft, positioning yourself over him. you spread your legs and took your time pushing into him, burrying yourself deep inside, inch by inch.

“fuck—you're so wet.” he moans.

when you finally bottomed out, your hips took control and began painfully slowly riding him out while gradually increasing your pace. you wanted to watch his desperation escalate.

it didn’t take long for his whimpers to turn into growing moans as he began whining your name. he started rolling his hips with yours, picking up the pace, and you weren't sure you could hold yourself up much longer.

his sloppy rolls turned into intense ramming as you continued to ride him. he thrusted into you, hitting that deep spot over and over again. you writhed in pleasure, letting out a loud moan. the unrelenting rhythm was everything, the feeling taking you to your peak.

“fuck, peeta! you’re too—mmph’–fast! hhmmph! oh my god—ah!” you cried, your legs shaking as you bobbed up and down his cock.

“you’re so tight, i need you so bad—i’m gonna—fuck—“ before he could finish his sentence, he pulled you down, suddenly flipping you over. your back was pressed against the mattress as he continued his thrusts.

“i’m gonna cum—peeta, wait–mmmph!” you cried, suddenly feeling his hand press against your overstimulated clit, his fingers pressing down as he plowed into you. your hands pushed at his abs as you were on the verge of cumming.

“please, i need to—inside—ah—“ he slurred, his thrusts reaching the fastest he could possibly go. “let me cum inside you—give you my babies.”

“give the capitol what they want—“ he moaned, applying more pressure onto your clit as he rammed into you.

“peeta! i'm—holy shit—fuck!" you could only scream as as you felt a giant gush of heat pool in your stomach. your entire body trembled as you began squirting on his dick—but peeta wouldn’t pull out, he only thrusted himself further into you as you continued your spasm.

“it feels so good!” you whined, feeling so full from his dick filling your cunt as you continued squirting.

“f-fuck.” he moaned, listening to the juices of your cunt squelch inside and around him.

“don’t… don’t pull out—“ you cried, shaking as you gradually came down from your high. your juices slowly leaked out and soaked the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you.

but your sighs were only interrupted by shrieks the moment peeta started thrusting into you again, overstimulating you after such a short rest.

“wait—ah—peeta! i can’t—'s too much!” you slurred, watching as your juices continued to squirt out every time he thrusted into you.

“i’m—i’m gonna cum—mmph—ah—come on, please, cum with me again, please—” he whined, rutting into you like an animal. as he felt you tighten onto him once again, he pulled you into a kiss, his tongue swirling around yours as his hand pushed your back up, your whole bodies fully pressed against each other as he fucked you stupid.

you whimpered against his mouth as the heat began to build up once more, but his lips muffling your moans as you squirted around him for the second time. his cock stuffed you, slowly grinding but never fully leaving your cunt as the squelches of your wetness slowly squirted out everytime he thrusted.

he let out a long moan as he came inside you, followed by whines and whimpers of your name as the two of you rode your highs together.

once you both finally relaxed, he pulled out. you watched as a gush of your liquid spilled out of you, his semen slowly seeping out and dripping down your cunt.

“i should provoke you more often.” you weakly sigh, brushing the hair out out of your face with your fingers. he only scoffs as he pulls you into a soft, gentle kiss.

you wonder how long the two of you were gone for from the event, but you had bigger things to worry about—like how in the world you’ll possibly be able to walk back home.