open post for pic prompts, starters, and texts. f/m or f/f for shipping. see here for more permissions. please link nsfw images. compatible with all seasons of wynonna earp.
( he hopes that wynonna will forgive him for keeping the i’d catch you in his head. perhaps it’s one of those unspoken truths shared between two people. truthfully, oliver’s style of bonding consists of breaking people to pieces over the rocks of reality—life is tough, be tougher. luckily, wynonna isn’t a friend trying to get on his level on the battlefield. she doesn’t seem to require the reassurance, judging by how she leans into him; her sigh a vibration that almost tickles upon his lips. oh, but it’s perfect. her unhurried pace, how she turns her face to give or take more, and oliver surrenders even as a part of him compartmentalizes how wrong ( right ) this is.
his fingers twist in the back of her jacket, anchoring himself to his decision and to wynonna. they’re out in the open and that means he can’t participate with reckless abandon, but he can respond to how she opens her mouth under his by doing the same. he brushes the tip of his tongue through that divide, seeking hers, and pushes his palm across her cheek back into her hair. it’s as soft as it looks — which is great, except that oliver gets more of a thrill from her mouth than that tidbit about her. it’s up to her, really, how far she wants to take this out on the street. he’s content with learning how to navigate this new territory, how the wet heat from her tongue sparks the beginning of a new hunger ( one that’s cropped up during banter or sparring ) and fans those flames gently.
this is a yearning he’s felt since that first dance and again, later, when each person discovered their dualcam counterparts. not to mention the risqué photograph that had been sent to him by mistake. actually doing this sends him spinning because it’s heady and wonderful, and exactly what he needs. unfortunately, he does kind of have to breathe eventually. barry and kara got all those pesky superpowers. oliver’s only human so he breaks for air, not far enough to put a stop to anything. )
[ It speaks to the possibility that she's maybe thought about what this would be like already, because she doesn't move to do anything just beyond kiss him while they're still standing here right out on the street — but jeez, she's really not complaining about this part of it, his hand fisting a grip in the leather of her jacket hard enough to make it squeak between his fingers and the other sweeping back into the waves of her hair, combing against her scalp and making her turn into that touch with a tilt that doesn't seek to peel her mouth away from his.
And if she'd wondered about what kissing him would actually feel like, those early thoughts pale in comparison to what he actually does, making both her scalp and her lips tingle from the intensity of it, his tongue dipping into her mouth to taste her and prompting another quiet sound from her in turn. She rocks up onto her tiptoes to close more of the height difference between them and her arms wind around his neck, fingers of one hand gently stroking across the short hair down across his nape.
It's where she hovers when the kiss inevitably breaks, but she doesn't shift back down right away, hasn't even opened her eyes yet to take him in from this close, so when she whispers across his mouth it's relying on everything by feel alone, the tip of her nose barely brushing his. ] You know, I might be a little biased, but my place is pretty good for more of this talking thing.
( sometimes, what you build up in your head doesn’t live up to the actuality. that’s not the case here. more often than not, oliver’s body is like a taut wire with no slack, pulled tight and fixed. he relaxes when wynonna’s arms come up over his shoulders and around his neck. her fingers are hypnotic and the sole point of focus with his eyes shut. is she looking at him? is she waiting for him to open his eyes? is she as comfortable as he is? oliver can’t quite bring himself to open his and discover the truth.
he chuckles, more air than depth, and drags her upper lip between his. one more languid kiss, selfish and warm; he tries to avoid to get around the scratch of his facial hair on her skin though it’s somewhat unavoidable. when he pulls back a second time, he retracts his hands from the small of her back and her head to lower her arms from around his neck delicately. he’s fairly certain he could scoop her up in a fireman’s hold, however he’s also convinced there’s no way, no how that she would allow that for the entire length of the walk to her place. )
I see your bias and raise you: then what are we waiting for? ( oh, sorry. did she think he kept the illusion of being prim and proper up 24/7? he's polite because it's beneficial to him. if he's perceived one way, then it's incredibly simple to conduct his private life in another. ) I've wanted to be alone with you from the moment I stepped into your bar.
( closer to the truth. he's not positive he wants to be so forthcoming with himself, let alone wynonna, to admit he sought her out with one purpose in mind. he can be himself around her, now more than ever. )
[ He might be trying to avoid the scratch of facial hair against her chin but she doesn't lean away from it, doesn't avoid the instinct to slant their mouths together solely because she's worried about a little razor burn; if anything, it only adds to the sensation of what kissing him already feels like, that rasp that somehow works in tandem with the firm warmth of his lips on hers for those few minutes that they're entwined like this, standing out on the street bathed in lamplight.
He's slowly winding her arms down from around his neck but not moving to separate himself from her beyond that; she can faintly perceive the warmth of his skin where her front just barely grazes his, permeates through the thin cotton of her shirt, tantalizingly close enough to make her want to draw in even more, to peel all the layers away until there's nothing between his body and hers anymore. ]
Honestly? Might have been even earlier than that, for me. [ If he's going to fess up to feeling a certain way about wanting to see her naked after tonight, then she can raise him even more truthfulness; she'd be lying if she said this hadn't been on her mind, playing somewhere in the background, even if it hasn't necessarily rocketed to the forefront of her awareness until now, when she knows what his mouth tastes like.
But they're not waiting anymore, if that's the agreement they've each navigated towards, and when she finally rocks back onto her heels it's with an accompanying jerk of her head down the street; she's never not appreciated that the bar is a short walk away from the high-rises, and she appreciates it even more at a time like this one. ] But we can get even more alone than this.
For how long? ( try as he might not to come across as overeager, the curiosity cuts through effortlessly. her body serves as a stronger temptation, right there, even as his hands retract from her wrists. he’d forgotten in a way, what this felt like with someone new. a current of excitement and anticipation so varied from being with someone you have mapped out. he wonders idly ( though it doesn’t particularly matter when ) if it had been as early as out on the dance floor or if it had been during his endless drills of exercise. sex is a pretty inarguable defense against running another mile. it would have worked.
he hates himself for breaking away from her and for living in the reality of the moment, for needing privacy and four walls. wynnona doesn’t seem too bothered when she indicates their direction with a tilt of her head and oliver falls into step with her with ease, delighting in the allure of her invitation. more alone than this is what he's after. is that fire going to dwindle on the walk over? is she going to cool off and change her mind? is she going to be the sort of person that needs a glass of wine to jump in once the moment's in front of her and it's not impulsive? there's a lot of details he doesn't know about wynonna at all. ) Because I'll admit after seeing that photograph, which I deleted, I was curious.
( he shrugs, not ashamed of the truth albeit a little awkward in regards to being the first to take the plunge and confess. )
[ Her hands almost instantly slip back into the pockets of her jacket — not to preserve any warmth, since it feels like it's radiating out of her now in a way that's almost impossible to ignore in the immediate aftermath of their kissing, the drink she still tastes on her tongue, but rather for lack of anything to do with them in the right now. She'll have plenty to do with them eventually, but right now, she curves her fingers in against her palms and casually sweeps her tongue across her lower lip, as if trying to subdue her reaction to the rising anticipation of it all, the spreading crookedness of her grin. ]
Maybe I was curious if you'd actually done anything with that picture after all. [ She knew he hadn't, had taken him at his word when he'd said he'd gotten rid of it then, but the thought of what it could have potentially led to had given her more than one image to dwell on. ]
Before that, though, the sparring. Watching, learning how you fought, how you moved. Sort of made me wonder how you'd handle yourself some other way. [ And how they'd move together by the very nature of a different tangling of limbs; if he'd let her bear him down or refuse to go easy on her, apply that same kind of concentrated focus once her thighs were wrapped around his hips or if he'd let himself lose control a little more like she knows he's capable of, had glimpsed hints of down in the Arena. She shrugs one shoulder, hair spilling forward across her profile with the movement, forcing her to toss her head slightly when she finally gives him a sidelong glance, trying to gauge his reaction to what she's implying by not saying. ]
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his fingers twist in the back of her jacket, anchoring himself to his decision and to wynonna. they’re out in the open and that means he can’t participate with reckless abandon, but he can respond to how she opens her mouth under his by doing the same. he brushes the tip of his tongue through that divide, seeking hers, and pushes his palm across her cheek back into her hair. it’s as soft as it looks — which is great, except that oliver gets more of a thrill from her mouth than that tidbit about her. it’s up to her, really, how far she wants to take this out on the street. he’s content with learning how to navigate this new territory, how the wet heat from her tongue sparks the beginning of a new hunger ( one that’s cropped up during banter or sparring ) and fans those flames gently.
this is a yearning he’s felt since that first dance and again, later, when each person discovered their dualcam counterparts. not to mention the risqué photograph that had been sent to him by mistake. actually doing this sends him spinning because it’s heady and wonderful, and exactly what he needs. unfortunately, he does kind of have to breathe eventually. barry and kara got all those pesky superpowers. oliver’s only human so he breaks for air, not far enough to put a stop to anything. )
no subject
And if she'd wondered about what kissing him would actually feel like, those early thoughts pale in comparison to what he actually does, making both her scalp and her lips tingle from the intensity of it, his tongue dipping into her mouth to taste her and prompting another quiet sound from her in turn. She rocks up onto her tiptoes to close more of the height difference between them and her arms wind around his neck, fingers of one hand gently stroking across the short hair down across his nape.
It's where she hovers when the kiss inevitably breaks, but she doesn't shift back down right away, hasn't even opened her eyes yet to take him in from this close, so when she whispers across his mouth it's relying on everything by feel alone, the tip of her nose barely brushing his. ] You know, I might be a little biased, but my place is pretty good for more of this talking thing.
no subject
he chuckles, more air than depth, and drags her upper lip between his. one more languid kiss, selfish and warm; he tries to avoid to get around the scratch of his facial hair on her skin though it’s somewhat unavoidable. when he pulls back a second time, he retracts his hands from the small of her back and her head to lower her arms from around his neck delicately. he’s fairly certain he could scoop her up in a fireman’s hold, however he’s also convinced there’s no way, no how that she would allow that for the entire length of the walk to her place. )
I see your bias and raise you: then what are we waiting for? ( oh, sorry. did she think he kept the illusion of being prim and proper up 24/7? he's polite because it's beneficial to him. if he's perceived one way, then it's incredibly simple to conduct his private life in another. ) I've wanted to be alone with you from the moment I stepped into your bar.
( closer to the truth. he's not positive he wants to be so forthcoming with himself, let alone wynonna, to admit he sought her out with one purpose in mind. he can be himself around her, now more than ever. )
no subject
He's slowly winding her arms down from around his neck but not moving to separate himself from her beyond that; she can faintly perceive the warmth of his skin where her front just barely grazes his, permeates through the thin cotton of her shirt, tantalizingly close enough to make her want to draw in even more, to peel all the layers away until there's nothing between his body and hers anymore. ]
Honestly? Might have been even earlier than that, for me. [ If he's going to fess up to feeling a certain way about wanting to see her naked after tonight, then she can raise him even more truthfulness; she'd be lying if she said this hadn't been on her mind, playing somewhere in the background, even if it hasn't necessarily rocketed to the forefront of her awareness until now, when she knows what his mouth tastes like.
But they're not waiting anymore, if that's the agreement they've each navigated towards, and when she finally rocks back onto her heels it's with an accompanying jerk of her head down the street; she's never not appreciated that the bar is a short walk away from the high-rises, and she appreciates it even more at a time like this one. ] But we can get even more alone than this.
no subject
he hates himself for breaking away from her and for living in the reality of the moment, for needing privacy and four walls. wynnona doesn’t seem too bothered when she indicates their direction with a tilt of her head and oliver falls into step with her with ease, delighting in the allure of her invitation. more alone than this is what he's after. is that fire going to dwindle on the walk over? is she going to cool off and change her mind? is she going to be the sort of person that needs a glass of wine to jump in once the moment's in front of her and it's not impulsive? there's a lot of details he doesn't know about wynonna at all. ) Because I'll admit after seeing that photograph, which I deleted, I was curious.
( he shrugs, not ashamed of the truth albeit a little awkward in regards to being the first to take the plunge and confess. )
no subject
Maybe I was curious if you'd actually done anything with that picture after all. [ She knew he hadn't, had taken him at his word when he'd said he'd gotten rid of it then, but the thought of what it could have potentially led to had given her more than one image to dwell on. ]
Before that, though, the sparring. Watching, learning how you fought, how you moved. Sort of made me wonder how you'd handle yourself some other way. [ And how they'd move together by the very nature of a different tangling of limbs; if he'd let her bear him down or refuse to go easy on her, apply that same kind of concentrated focus once her thighs were wrapped around his hips or if he'd let himself lose control a little more like she knows he's capable of, had glimpsed hints of down in the Arena. She shrugs one shoulder, hair spilling forward across her profile with the movement, forcing her to toss her head slightly when she finally gives him a sidelong glance, trying to gauge his reaction to what she's implying by not saying. ]