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yanaromanov · 23 days

Text

my sweet assistant

- professor!natasha x lawyer!wanda x reader

part summary: you take a position in assisting professor romanoff after classes to make up for a missed assignment. your flustered state only continues as you’re forced to spend one-on-one time with her, even more so when her wife is introduced into the equation…

part warning(s): teacher/student relationship, age gap (r is of age), power dynamics, married wandanat (no cheating), pet names, mentions of anxiety, mentions of bad family relations, minor death, funeral etc. minors dni

authors note: this took me a bit longer to write and release than i would have liked thanks to my broken arm and writers block so apologies for that. but even tho i kinda hate it, it’s here now, so i hope you enjoy! :)

part two of the inescapable love series

inescapable love series

･｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･

11.5K words

People say life comes with its ups and downs, something you had come to learn was rather true, but why did it always seem the downs came at the worst of times? A call from your mother was never really a good sign to begin with, usually her nagging being the only thing waiting on the other end of the line, but this time when you picked up and heard what she had to say, not good turned to terribly bad. It wasn’t the extent of the problem as such that worried you, more so the timing. Your Russian class had an assignment coming up, due in less than a week, and thinking you had enough time to get round to it, you still hadn’t started. Something that would have been totally fine if not for your mom’s name popping up on your phone last night and sharing news that would throw your entire schedule off.

The way your mom had picked up the phone had immediately informed you something was wrong, but a death announcement was certainly the last thing you had been expecting to hear on a Sunday night. It was your grandmother, on your dad’s side. She’d passed away over the weekend, finally giving up on the hospice care she’d been dependent on for months. The news itself hadn’t been too much of a shock, the old woman’s health deteriorating for years, and it didn’t much upset you either. You’d never really been close to your grandmother, your brother being the one favoured from your family, keeping you distanced whenever you visited her house. Your teenage self had already mourned for the relationship you had never had and that felt more painful than the actual loss in front of you now.

The main thing concerning your mind now was how you were going to complete your assignment. On the phone, your mom had told you she’d already booked the flights for you coming home, prepared for the funeral just that week, a quick turn around due the arrangements been made in advance from the anticipation of her death. It would see you in England the entirety of the week, leaving tomorrow afternoon and not returning until late Friday evening. Even with the extra days you had at home, the funeral tea and family gatherings would no doubt leave you no time at all to complete your assignment.

You knew what you had to do now, had done it many times before for other classes, but something about this time felt more intimidating. As you sat in the lecture theatre, watching your professor teach at the front of the class, your heart pounded in your chest at the thought of asking for the extension. More time alone would have to be spent with your Russian professor, the last time still lingering unwanted in your mind. The thought of speaking to her one on one once more was enough to send your anxious mind into a frenzy.

Desperately, you tried to cling on to the reality of things as your lesson continued. It was the day of the week where your class would practice your Russian speaking, conversing with one another whilst Professor Romanoff would walk around, listening in and correcting any mispronunciations. In the end, it would build up to the speaking exam the end of semester held, a private conversation that each student would have with your professor which was then graded alongside your written tests.

The girl sat beside you had claimed the spot as your partner when the first speaking lesson had started up, thankfully not the same girl who’d passed you dirty looks after your perfectly scored paper. The two of you worked through the worksheet in front of you, sounding out the words and building them up into a conversation. Your partner seemed slower than you to grasp the concepts, but you found you didn’t quite mind, allowing your thoughts the moments in between to plan exactly how you’d make your request to Professor Romanoff.

When the class had finally drawn to a close, everyone began packing up their things, worksheets handed back down towards the front. Professor Romanoff stood against her desk, collecting papers as she shouted out across the clamouring hall. “Remember your assignment is due on Friday everyone. Do not use google translate. I can tell!”

It seemed your class wasn’t paying her announcement much notice, instead focused on making it out of the double doors and out into the corridor. Like you had done before, you packed away your things slowly, lingering in the row of seats until almost everyone had left the room. Only when the last few stragglers were close to the door, did you begin your descent towards the central desk. Professor Romanoff stood wiping clean the board once again, back facing you. This time, however, you cleared your throat to make your presence known. The woman’s face was slightly bewildered as she turned, melting away immediately as she spied you standing across the way, a smile appearing on her lips instead. “Miss Y/L/N,” she said, wiping the chalk dust away from her hands and turning back to close the distance between you. “Is everything alright?”

"Uhm, yes," you said nervously, watching as the woman came to stand in front of you. "Well...no, but-" You shook your head, attempting to dispel the anxious thoughts that clouded your brain. Fingers began to fidget as you looked back up at your professor with a nervous smile. "I was wondering if I could possibly get an extension for the assignment?" The redhead in front of you raised a single brow, looking inquisitive to your scenario and hence, drawing more of and explanation from your chest. "It's just my grandma passed away and I have to fly back to England for her funeral this week. I'm not going to be back till Friday night and with all the travelling and family stuff and jet lag, I probably won't have enough time to do it." Your hands gestured about, trying to find anything else to do rather than anxiously pick at your nail beds. "I don't need a long extension, maybe just till Monday? I can get it done over the weekend when I'm back."

The spill of words finally fell short in the silent room, your blurting echoing ever so slightly in the emptiness of the hall. Professor Romanoff stood in front of you, today wearing a matching black skirt and blazer, a white shirt neatly tucked in. "I'm sorry to hear about your grandmother." Your gaze raised up to the pair of green eyes as she spoke, a soft expression held between her features. "Are you doing alright?"

The question had came unexpectedly. You shook your head as you answered. "Oh yeah, I'm fine." You smiled sheepishly, shrugging your shoulders. "We were never close."

"Well," Professor Romanoff replied, gaze softening further. "I'm still sorry to hear about her." She passed you a gentle smile as she stepped towards her desk, leaning against the front of it like it seemed she had a habit of doing. When she looked back up at you, her expression had changed. "As for an extension..." Her emerald stare met yours, always seemingly able to make you shy away. "You're a good student Y/N, so I'd really like to say yes, but unfortunately I have a policy against extensions."

Your memory fleeted back to the first day of class, suddenly recalling the rules your professor had set out. Extensions would only be given to those with medical absence, provided they had a document signed by a health professional. Only remembering that now, you felt entirely stupid for asking for the extension in the first place. "That's right," you blurted. "I'm so sorry, I totally forgot. Listen, forget I even said anything." You adjusted the straps of your backpack as you made to turn your body towards the door. "I'll try get it done on the plane or something. Thank you anyway."

You made it about three steps away before you heard your name being called out from behind you. Slowly, you turned your shoulders, looking back at the woman who still sat against her desk. "Yes, Miss Romanoff?" you called in response. A single manicured nail raised up, the finger curling to beckon you back in the direction you'd came. Biting down on the skin of your cheek, you turned fully, slowly closing the gap that had formed between you and your professor. When you stood in front of her again, you began to rub one of your arms nervously.

Professor Romanoff inclined her head towards you, a faint smile on her painted lips. "I can't give you an extension but I can offer you an alternative. Some extra credit that will cover the assignment, worth the same percentage of your grade. And I'll even give you the full marks."

Your head angled in both curiosity and uncertainty. The prospect of the extra credit sounded like just what you needed, but you couldn't quite grasp the notion that your professor was suggesting. "Full marks?" you asked. "As in, a hundred percent on the assignment?"

A painted smirk pulled at the corner of your professor's mouth, her body leaning ever so slightly closer to yours. "Don't act like it's such a miracle, sweetie. We both know what you're capable of, hm?"

As her words hit you, you could immediately feel the warmth they brought to your cheeks. Face feeling flushed, you tried to distract your brain, unfocusing on the perfect pair of lips still smirking in your direction. "What would I have to do for the extra credit?"

Professor Romanoff sighed, adjusting herself on the desk. You diverted your eyes as her arms crossed her body, once again pushing her slightly-revealed cleavage up against her chest. "Well, my assistant for this year pulled out on me last minute, which has left me just drowned in work." Green eyes met yours as a wide smile spread across the redhead's lips. "So, just give me a helping hand after class for a few weeks and the credit is all yours."

This proposal seemed almost too good to be true. Simply helping out your professor in turn for a perfect grade? It almost didn't seem fair. As you thought over her offer, the idea couldn't help but make you feel a little flustered. After all it would entail spending time alone with the red haired woman, something that seemed to leave you an oddly ruffled mess. But the entire thing sounded far too good to pass up, an opportunity practically laid out on a silver platter. Sounding easy enough to follow through with, you nodded your head with a smile. "Yeah, I can do that."

The smile on Professor Romanoff's face widened at your agreement. "Perfect," she said, green eyes glinting. "Can I see you back here next Monday? Say...three pm?"

You nodded once more. "Yeah. That works for me."

"Alright then," the redhead replied. She stood up from her desk, smiling down on you from the height accentuated by her heeled boots. "Don't you worry your pretty head about the assignment and I'll just see you here next week."

The words seemed to wash over you with a flush, something igniting inside that you couldn't quite put a finger on. Nervously, you looked to the floor, picking at the ends of your jumper while Professor Romanoff moved to stand behind her desk, seemingly unaware of your heightened nervousness. Before you could properly formulate a response, the other woman was already speaking once more. "Go on then. Don't want to be late for your next class do you?"

Her words seemed to shake you back to the present, that nervous little smile appearing on your face again. "Right," you said, adjusting your backpack. "Thank you, professor."

She smiled back at you. "It's no problem, honey. Now run along."

You found yourself nodding as you turned to leave, urged on by her commands. A few steps away she called out to you. "Take care of yourself, Y/N."

You looked back over your shoulder, flashing a small smile. "I will Miss Romanoff. Thank you." And with that, you were walking out the door, headed towards your next class with you mind focused on what exactly your assistant duties with Professor Romanoff may entail.

———

"When are you back again?"

"Friday night. About nine-ish?"

You passed the raven-haired girl a quick glance over your shoulder as you continued to fold the items of clothing in your hand. A loud sigh filled the space as you heard Kate roll over in her bed, rustling the top of her sheets. "That's four whole days of you leaving me completely alone."

As you placed the last of your clothes into the open suitcase, you swiveled around to look at Kate. Your brow furrowed as you noticed your best friend sprawled dramatically across the covers. "Kate, you do realised we have other friends?" you replied with a soft sigh.

But it seemed the girl took no notice, throwing her hand up to cover her eyes as another noise of discomfort slipped from her lips. "I'm gonna look like such a loser at breakfast." The truth was that the pair of you did have more friends at university, with whom Kate could definitely speak to while you were away, despite how the majority of the time it was always just the two of you. This could be down to the fact you were the only ones still sharing a dorm on campus, most of your friends having moved out to apartments around the city. You and Kate had looked into that option but your loan wasn't enough to cover the rent, so you'd both settled to remain in the on-campus accommodation, still sharing your meals in the wide dining hall.

You sighed again. "I'm sorry my grandma dying is such an inconvenience to you." At that, Kate shot up in bed, immediately looking less irritated and instead concerned. The way you smiled playfully back at her, however, made her brows drop ever so slightly, the fear of her actions hurting you slipping away. You'd already told her you weren't all that bothered by the passing, more so annoyed by the bother of it all, but it seemed despite how dramatic she could be, Kate was still worried about your feelings. "Relax Bishop," you said, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "You know I'm kidding. I hate the fact I'm going just as much as you do." With all the hustle of trying to get through your work that day, you hadn't had much time to think about the reality of going home. Now packing your things, the dread of it all was beginning to settle on your shoulders. Still, you forced a smile on your lips as you walked across to Kate's bed, sitting yourself down next to her. "I'm sorry I'm leaving but I'll make it up to you, yeah?"

Just then, a spark seemed to light up in Kate's eyes. She turned to you, a wide smirk plastered on her lips. "Will you come to a party with me?" The proposal was one Kate often brought up, and one that was just as often shut down. Whenever Kate was getting ready to go out for a night, you were always cooped up in your textbooks, ignoring her complaints of how you studied too much and focusing instead on memorising every piece of material on the paper. For three years, your best friend has had to drag you to every party you'd ever been to, sometimes even snatching the book from your hands and then pleading you with puppy dog eyes. Those same eyes looked at you now, silently begging.

"Fine," you said finally, causing Kate to throw her hands up in the air. You raised your hand before her excitement could get out of hand. "But only one and not until after midterms."

The girl looked slightly disheartened but her smile still remained wide. "Fine," she replied, looking to already be planning the event she'd drag to you in a few weeks time. As Kate settled herself back in her bed, you stood to cross the room, returning to your almost-packed suitcase. You placed the last item in one side - a long black coat Kate had let you borrow to wear to the funeral - then zipped up the first half. All the other half was missing was your toiletries bag, of which would have to wait until the morning to be packed. As you were closing things up, you threw a comment to Kate over your shoulder. "I spoke to my Russian professor today about that extension for the assignment, remember?"

You heard Kate's head turn towards you, becoming distracted from her party planning. "Oh yeah, what'd she say?"

As the final zip on your suitcase closed, you turned back around to your best friend. "She doesn't really do extensions so she said I can help out after class instead to make up my grade."

Kate's brow furrowed. "What, like an assistant?"

"Yeah, exactly. Hers apparently dropped out so I'm filling in for a few weeks." You bent down to push your suitcase under your bed, ready to go tomorrow morning, then stood again, shrugging your shoulders. "She said she'll give me the equivalent of full marks for the assignment."

"Wait, what?" Kate shot up in bed, her jaw hanging slack. "You just help her plan a couple lessons and get a free ride to a perfect score?"

You breathed out a laugh, not only at Kate's theatric tone but also at the improbable truth of the scenario. It hadn't really hit you until now how easy you had it, an exceptional gateway to an easy 'A'. "Yeah," you giggled out, taking a seat on your bed. "I mean, she said I'm a good student so she expected me to do well anyway." You tried to ignore the strange tingle in your head as you recounted your professor's words, instead focusing on Kate who flung herself up in her bed.

"Dude," she said, looking at you incredulously. Her eyes shifted, looking down to the floor. "Maybe I should have taken Russian this year."

Another laugh spilled from your lips as you stood, closing the gap between you and your best friend. "I think you should focus on the classes you're already taking." Your hand reached out for Kate's pulling her up from her bed before she could get a chance to reply. "Now, let's go get dinner. I'm starving."

———

The setting sun streamed in through the wide windows of Natasha's office. The entire room was painted in a soft orange glow, guiding the redhead as she finally began to pack up for the night. Today had been a long day for her, her daily schedule packed and evening full of essay marking that needed to be completed by tomorrow. Finally, Natasha had managed to get finished up, closing her laptop and packing away her notes for the night. She tucked them away into her bag to bring to work the next day before shutting off the lamp inside the room and retiring from her office for the night.

Her feet padded across the wooden floors as she made her way out of the home office. The sun's glow followed her, let in by the expansive windows her and Wanda's house contained. When she reached the living room, Natasha spied her wife curled up on the corner of their sofa, a blanket draped over her legs and an open book sat in her hands. Her footsteps were silent as she made her way over to the other redhead. Though she imagined her wife had still felt her approach, as she didn't flinch when Nat's hands came down for a hug from behind. Natasha's arms wrapped around her wife, a small hum escaping her lips as she pressed a gentle kiss to the pulse point of her neck. "Baby," Natasha whispered, her voice low. Wanda simply hummed in response, her eyes still focused on her novel, her attention only slightly skewed when Natasha leaned in closer, pressing more kisses down the skin of her neck.

"I need to speak to you about something." Natasha's voice remained low, her words fanning out on to her wife's collar bones. She'd been waiting for this moment now for a while, anticipating just the right time to bring up her scenario to her wife. The thoughts had been circling her head for a small while now, perhaps longer than she liked to admit, but she found she couldn't wait any longer to share.

"What is it, moya lyubov?" Wanda's eyes finally raised from her book, head turning over her shoulder to look up at her wife. Though, this position didn't last long, as Natasha lifted her legs and swung herself over the back of the couch, landing in a position beside her wife. This was a habit Wanda hated, forever telling Natasha to 'use her legs like an adult', but this time she didn't have time to pester the redhead as she'd already began to speak. "Do you remember that student we spoke about? The one that got the perfect score."

The slight look of annoyance from Nat's behavior was quickly replaced by an inquisitive expression as Wanda furrowed her brow. The redhead finally closed her book on her lap, sliding a bookmark into place. "Yeah, I do. What was her name again?"

"Y/N Y/L/N."

Wanda hummed, a small smiling appearing on her lips. "That's it. Cute name. What about her?"

Natasha inhaled, her mind passing over the already scripted conversation she'd created. "I spoke with her again today. Came in asking for an extension for an assignment." The redhead smiled, remembering the interaction from that morning. She took another deep breath before she uttered the next words from her mouth. "I think I've maybe taking a liking to her."

"Oh?" Wanda's eyebrows raised, her expression changing to one of surprise. It wasn't new that the couple were searching for someone else in their relationship, the openness of the topic having been in circulation almost since the two had first got together. But the surprise came from the fact Nat had perhaps found someone she believed could slot into their duo, her and Wanda's standards usually far too rigid to find anyone to spend more than a night with. If Natasha was bringing up a girl like this, she must have seriously considered the possibility of a longer association, and that thoroughly intrigued Wanda.

"Now," Natasha continued. "Of course I don't want to do anything we don't both agree on, but..." She paused for just a moment, smiling a little up at her wife. "I would be lying if I said I hadn't already been playing around with her. Just a little bit." Natasha held up her fingers, signaling the small amount of teasing she'd subjected her prized student to. "You know, I didn't want to come asking your permission for a girl who turned out to be a bore."

The more Natasha continued to talk, the more Wanda became interested and invested by the conversation at hand. She slowly slipped her book to the couch beside her, leaning in closer towards her wife. "And is she?"

A wide smirk appeared on Natasha's lips as she relished in her wife's question. "Not in the slightest." Her expression only deepened as she recalled the little moments of you she'd been observing in class. "She's so fucking cute," she said, stating the obvious right off the bat. "She's always early for class and always paying so much attention. She shows up in the sweetest little outfits, like she doesn't even know how good she looks." The redhead smiled as she remembered the sight of you in your small summer dresses or slightly oversized sweaters. "Oh," she said, reminded of her favourite bit of all. "And she has this adorable little English accent."

With the last of her wife's words, a similar looking smirk began to appear on Wanda's own face. "Well now I'm intrigued.”

Natasha smiled back at her words as she shrugged a shoulder. "As I said, I played around a little bit and Wands..." The redhead had to suppress a sigh as she reached for her wife's hand. "I just know how much fun she'd be," she continued, her voice almost a whine. "I mean, she gets flustered so easily. One little pet name and she's already hiding away her flushed face."

Wanda's smirk deepened as Natasha continued to talk, stirred further by the slight desperation she could hear in the redhead's voice. She had to wonder just how long she'd been wondering about this one student and just how much fun she was getting to have without her... "Go ahead, malysh," Wanda replied finally, squeezing her wife's hand gently. "I trust your instincts. You'll just have to introduce me sometime soon."

Natasha's brows shot up. "You're sure?"

"Yeah," Wanda chuckled back slightly, amused by the excitement underlying Nat's voice. When she spoke again, her lips had formed a devilish smirk. "It'll be fun. It's been a while since we had somebody to play with."

———

The funeral was awful. Of course, one never expects such an event to be the epitome of joy, but this particular funeral was like your own personally curated hell. Your entire family was gathered in one place, meaning not only were your parents’ critiques breathed down your neck the entire time, but they were also joined by those more distant. Grandparents and judgmental aunts seemed to team up on you, all obsessing over your university career and what your future plans were. Many pestered the question of your singularity, claiming that ‘a pretty young thing like you should have been swept up by a man a long time ago’. Unfortunately, the almost-compliment that could be found in their talk, was quickly diminished by the discussion of how it must be something wrong with your personality rather than your face, comments all whispered from where they thought you couldn’t hear.

There was no escape from the constant berating, your schedule full of family meals and teas, and far too lengthy conversations around the fireplace, of which you could not be excused due to your mother’s abhorrence of anyone ever thinking of her children as rude. To make matters worse, you were exhausted from jet lag and the flight, something certainly not helped by the endless hours of socializing and pressing on a smile for your family.

Still, you pushed through like the perfect daughter you always tried to be. You sat politely at the funeral, wearing an old black dress and Kate’s coat, the perfume of your best friend aiding a little to your torturous discomfort. Though your family cried, your eyes remained dry, silently staring at your feet and trying not to draw any attention to yourself. At the funeral tea, you shook hands and smiled softly at family members, answering any questions they asked with the grace your mother had forced upon your shoulders at a young age. Of course, she found her usual pride in parading you and your brother around like a pair of trophies she’d spent hours shining. The entirety of every event was exhausting.

Even at the will reading, there was no break to be given. Your late grandmother had graciously scattered her belongings to her loved ones, though seemingly biased to those who she deemed more palatable. Your brother received a chunk of her money alongside her old ring, something the family gushed over due to the prospect of his long-term girlfriend who he could now finally pop the big question to. Your rolled your eyes as they pandered over him, all blatantly dismissive of the old bible you’d been left, with your grandmother’s handwriting inside with a note of how she wished for it to be read out of at your wedding when you finally found yourself a suitable husband. You had simply rolled your eyes and shoved it to the bottom of your bag.

All that being said, it was a huge relief to you when you finally made your way back to the airport. Though you’d had to spend the journey constantly criticized by your mother about your uni work, as soon as you stepped on to the plane, relief was flooding over your shoulders. As the sky came to fill the widow, clouds passing by, you were more than grateful to be heading back to the true place you thought of as home.

Kate came to pick you up from the airport, hugging you immediately and beginning to rant about the idiots she’d encountered in the car park as she pulled your case towards the exit. The pair of you went straight to a mcdonald’s drive thru, your hunger unquenched from the bad aeroplane food you’d been offered. Fries and hamburgers were shared in the front seat of the car as you relayed back your awful week to Kate, telling her everything that you hadn’t even had the chance to text her due to your family’s never-ending nagging.

That weekend was very stressful. Due to the packed schedule you had followed back in England, you’d had next to no time to complete any of your work from that week. So, from morning until night, you cooped yourself up at your desk and ground it all out. At times, Kate had to drag you down to the hall for some food or persistently remind you to even go to bathroom. In the end however, you managed to get it all finished. By eleven o’clock Sunday night, you were finally all caught up from your missed classes and had completed all your deadlines. The light in the room were low, only your small desk lamp lighting up the space. Kate slept in her bed, hair fanning out across the pillows. You were quiet as you cleaned your space, eyeing the untouched plate of food Kate had brought up for you after you’d refused to go down for dinner. It was long cold now and you felt a little guilty throwing it out, but you were far too tired now to think about eating. Instead, you simply turned off the light and slid yourself into your bed, finally letting your mind rest and prepare itself to return to your regularly scheduled classes the next morning.

———

"Alright everyone, that's all for today's lesson. Are there any questions?"

Like always, the bustle began began your professor could even finish his sentence. Everyone was already packing away their things, drowning out the teacher's voice with their own hustle to leave. It happened almost every class, and almost every time you felt bad, one of the only people who remained still until they had officially dismissed you. But today, you found yourself following the crowd more than you usually would have. See, your professor had droned on a bit too long that afternoon, moving into the passing period you had between classes. Most times that wouldn't have been a big deal seeing as it was your last class of the day, but today was the day you were supposed to meet Professor Romanoff and thanks to your English professor's extensive elaborations, you were left with only a few minutes until you'd be late. So today you put your cares aside and as the class packed up, so did you, stuffing everything into your backpack and throwing it over your shoulder before joining the crowd exiting the lecture hall.

Your English building was on the exact opposite side of campus as your destination, so your feet held a quick pace as you flitted between the crowds of students on your way. Pathways were held up by casually conversing people, all relaxed now their days were over. They all annoyed you severely as they slowed down your journey, obviously uncaring that you still had places to be. By the time you had reached the building in which your Russian class was held, the clock was already a few minutes passed the scheduled time. You almost burst in through the doors of the hall, ever so slightly out of breath from your fast paced journey across campus. As soon as you entered the room, you spied the redheaded professor sat at her desk, head buried into her laptop. She looked up to you as you walked across the floor, nervously adjusting the backpack straps on your shoulders. "Hi," you breathed out, trying your best to seem casual despite your racing lungs. "I'm sorry I'm a little late. My last lecture ran over a little."

A pair of perfectly white teeth smiled back in your direction, Professor Romanoff looking you over. "Y/N," she said, her gentle voice falling upon your ears. Something about it in that moment made you realize you had almost missed it over your break, but the rational part of your brain soon took over and told you you were being ridiculous. "Don't worry about being late, you're barely two minutes over." She smiled again as you closed the final distance between you, moving to stand by the edge of her desk. She stood as you did, displaying today a pair of grey slacks and a soft black jumper, all adorned with delicate gold jewelry. Her smiling face looked down at you, that forgotten odd feeling of warmth spreading through your gut. "It's good to see you again. How are you? How was your trip?"

You ignored the sensation in your stomach as you smiled back at her. "I'm good. The trip was fine. A little boring but fine." There were many worse words to describe your trip than ‘boring' but you decide to settle for that, not wanting to bother your professor with the complicated details of your family and more so, simply wanting to leave the entire week in the past and not think of it again.

“That’s good,” Professor Romanoff replied with that same easy smile. “I’m glad to hear you’re alright.” Her hands lifted from the pockets they hid in, reaching out to open a drawer of her desk. You wondered for a moment what she might be looking for before she pulled out a small stack of papers, extending them out towards you. “These are some extra notes from last week’s lectures.”

You smiled, slightly surprised. “Oh, thank you.” Most of your university work could be found online for both absence and revision purposes, but it never was quite the same as attending the classes themselves. Usually you hated using just the online notes to catch up, never grasping the material as well as you’d like, but this weekend you’d had to make do. That was, of course, until Professor Romanoff handed you the extra notes. “That’s very kind of you.”

“Well,” your professor replied. “I wouldn’t want my best student falling behind, would I?”

Her words worked to form that warm sensation across your cheeks, the given title heating up your insides with flustering pride. You were grateful the woman had started to busy herself at her desk with something else as you tried to brush off her compliments as smoothly as possible, attempting to hide the flush of your skin.

“You can grab a chair from the side. Bring it over.”

You nodded, almost snapping back to reality once more with Professor Romanoff’s words. You placed your backpack down beside her desk, quickly slotting the extra notes into the large pocket before moving to grab a spare chair from the edge of the room. When you returned, your professor had seemingly found what she was searching for, a large stack of papers now sat in the centre of the desk.

“Sit,” Romanoff beckons with a smile, gesturing her hand towards the front of her desk. You pull up your chair, positioning yourself across from her own seated position. “These are tests I need marked. They’re all multiple choice and there’s a marking scheme.” The redhead lifted a single piece of paper, handing it over your way. “So you’ll just have to see if the letters match up on both papers. That sound okay?”

You nodded once more, her instructions seeming simple enough. “Yeah, sounds fine.”

“Great.” With a smile, Professor Romanoff slid the pile of unmarked papers across the desk towards you. She explained that if you needed any help, just to ask, and that she’d just be busying herself on her laptop. You nodded again, reaching into your backpack quickly for a pen before you began to work away.

It was an easy job really, simply matching the circled letters on the quiz papers to that of the marking scheme. In truth, it was almost relaxing to have something to do that didn’t require much brain power. Professor Romanoff sat across from you, typing away on her laptop. Occasionally, you’d look up to take a glance at her, catching moments of concentration or boredom on her face, but your eyes would never linger long, too scared of getting caught looking her way. She’d turned on the radio to fill a bit of the silence, music humming softly from a black stereo on the edge of the desk. All in all, the endeavour was a blessing in disguise - much simpler and easier than the effort the equivalent assignment would have took.

“You getting on alright, milaya?”

The voice brought you from the almost trance you’d put yourself in as you marked the set of papers. Your head rose from them, more than half the stack already complete as you smiled back at your professor. “Yeah, all good.”

She nodded, smiling at you with her perpetually perfect red lips. Under her gaze, you felt your eyes drop back to the papers, for some reason feeling entirely too see every time she looked your way. She went to turn back towards her laptop, your hand reaching out to continue marking, but a lingering question had been vibrating in your head. You had been too afraid to ask before, to be the one to break the soft silence of the room, but now was your opportunity. “Are these law papers?”

Professor Romanoff looked back at you, her expression soft. “Yes,” she said, simply. “I also teach a beginners law class alongside my usual Russian.”

You felt your eyebrows raise, unexpecting of her answer but also rather impressed. Now it made sense why the papers you were marking were not at all taking about Russian vocabulary but instead legal terminology.

“I studied a law major at college,” the red haired woman continued. “It was going to be my career until I decided to teach instead.”

“Huh,” you hummed, interested by the new information you were discovering about your teacher. “Why’d you decide to switch?”

Romanoff shrugged a shoulder. “Honestly, I love teaching.” A small smirk then appeared on her lips as she leaned in closer across the table. “Besides, my wife is a lawyer and just between me and you, I’m not sure I’d like her as my boss. She can be a little scary sometimes.”

There was a playfulness to her tone that you easily pick up on, the entire interaction meant as a jest, but somehow it left you with a strange feeling in your chest. You listened to your professor’s words, but your mind seemed to stick on one. Wife. In that moment, you suddenly realised you hadn’t pictured her being married - not that you had pictured her at all, your mind chided in defence. Now you quickly realised that she was indeed with another person, and not just that, but with a woman. Suddenly you had to push your mother’s berating thoughts from your head.

“So what about you?”

“Sorry?” you replied, mind crashing back to the present moment. Professor Romanoff looked back at you with an almost playful looking smirk. It only added to that strange feeling inside your chest.

“What’s your major?” the redhead elaborated.

“Oh.” You sat up straighter, trying to adjust your jumper in an effort to conceal the fact you’d gotten lost in your thoughts once more. “I’m an English major.” Romanoff raised a brow, the smirk on her face widening to almost a smile. You sighed softly, throwing your head to the side. “You can make the joke if you want, everyone does.”

An English girl studying English. You’d heard almost every variation of the joke, mostly from drunk boys at frat parties that thought they were the pinnacle of humour. Shouldn’t you already be an expert at that? Wait, they don’t teach you English in England?

You were expecting some similar turn of phrase to escape your professors lips, following in the footsteps of everyone you’d had this conversation with before. But to your surprise, she simply shook her head, frowning ever so slightly. “I think I’ll refrain,” she said, frown turning into the same wide smirk. “I hate being unoriginal.”

A laugh bubbled up in your throat, pushing out through a smile and into the air. Your professor followed, chuckling with you. After a moment, she stilled, looking back at you curiously. “So, tell me,” she said, leaning in closer to the desk. “What does bring you all the way to America to study?”

Because I can’t stand being at home with my parents. “Experience, I guess,” you said with a shrug, hiding away the truth behind a smile. “And I got a full scholarship when I applied so…” Your words died down, not quite sure how to finish your explanation.

Thankfully, your professor seemed to pick up the conversation easily. “A very smart girl, hm?” Her lips met as she hummed and it seemed you could feel the vibrations running down your spine. Your eyes fell back to your lap, trying to hide the awkward smile her praise had brought. You were unsure of what exactly you should do, contemplating if her question was rhetoric or not, and praying the former due to your inability to think of a response. Blessedly, Professor Romanoff cut through your mind’s distress with another question. “You’re in fourth year, right?”

Your eyes picked back up, meeting hers. “Yeah.”

She smiled, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared back at you intently. “And what exactly lead a fourth year English student to my beginner’s Russian class?”

You were getting a little bit of deja vu of the conversation you’d had with Kate multiple times. This time, you settled on the short answer. “I thought it sounded interesting,” you said simply, smiling as you shrugged your shoulders.

Professor Romanoff seemed amused by your answer. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

You felt yourself smiling back in response. So am I, your brain mused, but your consciousness refused to let anything move past your lips. Instead, Romanoff was picking up the conversation once again. “What’s your plans for after?”

Your eyebrows raised, suddenly surprised by her question. “Sorry?”

The redhead chuckled. “Once you graduate, sweetheart,” she said, voice sounding slightly amused. “What do you plan to do with the rest of your life?”

“Oh right,” you fumbled. You felt a little stupid for thinking she ever meant anything other than that. “My, uh…my mum wants me to go to law school actually…”

A red brow raised in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

You nodded, reminiscent of your previous chatter with your professor. A funny little coincidence that you two may be following a similar path. Although in that moment, you couldn’t help but be a little jealous. She had eventually fallen away from law, moving to a career she was truly passionate for. You were unsure if you’d ever get that opportunity. It had taken months just to convince your mother to let you major in English, claiming it was good for getting into law school after college. And after three years, you still hadn’t been able to convince her away from that same dream of hers, now unsure if you ever would.

“And what to do you want to do?”

“What?” Your professor’s words took you by surprise. When you looked up, it felt as if her eyes had seen straight through you, like she’d been able to hear your every thought.

“Your mother wants you to go to law school,” Professor Romanoff reiterated. “What do you want to do after you graduate?”

Your voice was unsteady in your response. “Go to law school?”

Professor Romanoff raised a brow as she angled her head. “Are you asking me?” All you could muster was a shrug, feeling suddenly very small in the large hall. You didn’t much like talking about what you wanted to do in your life, haven forgone the gesture years ago due to your mother’s constant coercion. But then your professor leaned in slightly, a small smile crossing her lips. “You can tell me the truth, sweetheart,” she said. “I’m very good at keeping secrets.”

The endearment fell on your already blushed cheeks. Most times you wouldn’t have said anything at all, hidden behind the lies your mother had constructed about your person, but something about the redhead’s smile almost drew the words directly from your mouth. “I guess if I could do anything, I’d be a writer,” you said, playing at the sleeves of your sweater.

“A writer?” Romanoff repeated, raising a pair of curious brows.

You felt yourself nodding as a small smile crept on to your lips. “Yeah. I love books and writing, and I guess it’s what I’ve wanted to do ever since I was a little girl.”

“Why don’t you do it then?”

Her words came as a shock, your system unsure of how exactly to respond. You shrank back under the redhead’s gaze, reminded of the words you’d been told so many times they were engraved into your mind. “It’ll be good for me to go to law school. My mum says I’ll get a better job.”

“Maybe…” Professor Romanoff hummed. Then her expression changed to something you couldn’t quite understand as she leaned in closer, her emerald eyes trained on your face. “But do you know what my birth mother used to say about me? She used to tell me I was useless little piece of shit that wouldn’t get anywhere in life.” Your eyebrows raised slightly in shock as you heard her words, especially on the fact she’d cursed so easily and how oddly good it sounded coming from her lips. Then her expression shifted again, an almost smugness taking over that drew your attention away from your own thoughts. “Thirty years later I’m a professor at one of the most prestigious universities in America. I’m married to a very successful lawyer, and living quite frankly an amazing life with a pair of adoptive parents who love me very much.”

Professor Romanoff finished with a small smirk, seemingly unaware of how her words settled on your shoulders. The entire statement was so weighted, so much shared about her as a person in so few words. Something in you felt slightly honoured that she could be that vulnerable around you, or perhaps her story wasn’t one she kept bundled up in her chest like you did, like a weighted lock on your heart. Still, you felt a sense of solace in learning more about your professor, a sense of trust being built in up inside. Her smiling eyes met yours as she leaned in even further on the desk. “Don’t let people who don’t know the real you keep you from what you want. We only get one life, Y/N. Don’t waste it trying to be someone you’re not.”

Her words settled in your stomach with an odd sensation. Her reassurance felt like another brick added to that wall of trust, perhaps her intention to try and learn more of your story. But maybe that trust wasn’t quite strong enough yet.

You shied away, unwilling to share more of your story despite how open Romanoff had seemed, years of criticisms sitting heavy on your shoulders. “Maybe,” you said lowly, picking up your pen once again. But you knew you’d never truly be able to follow through with what she was proposing you should, knew your future fate was already sealed by the woman who’d brought you into this world. She’d have a perfect daughter with her perfect career and wouldn’t settle for less, no matter how it made you feel. For now, all Professor Romanoff’s words could provide was a little fuel to that already dying fire of a dream inside your heart.

The pair of you quickly fell back into the steady silence of your work after your conversation, you pen dotting over papers as your professor turned back to her laptop. The radio played quietly in the background as you tried to push whatever words lingered in your head, both from your mother and the redhead in front of you, too many feeling provoked from the subject to allow you to focus properly. Dispelling them from your mind, you trained your eyes on the marking schemes in front of you, though having some of the answers memorised by now, and continued to work away at the stack of tests on the desk.

Time passed quickly once more, your speed increasing as the papers became more familiar in your hands, easily noticing the same mistakes made over and over. Occasionally you heard Romanoff begin to hum along to a song on the radio, focusing momentarily on her soft voice before refocusing on your work. In your mind, you became determined to finish them as quickly as you could, absentmindedly hoping to impress the woman they were for.

You were almost finished your task, down to the very last paper when a shrill sound cut through the soft atmosphere of the room. Both you and your professor’s heads shot up from your work, eyes turning to your backpack from where the loud ringtone emanated. Shit, you thought, obviously accidentally turning on the ringer that you always kept silenced.

“I’m sorry,” you said, glancing over at your professor in slight fear of her reprimand. But in return, you were only met with a soft smile.

“Don��t worry, milaya,” Romanoff replied gently. “This isn’t class time. You can answer your phone.”

Relieved by her answer, you let out a soft sigh. Reaching over, you began to dig through your bag to find your mobile, the nonsensical tune still ringing out. With no suprise, when you found it, Kate’s name and profile picture covered your screen. Quietly, you apologised again before accepting the call, slightly turning away in your chair as you held your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” Kate’s voice replied back from the other end of the device. She sounded slightly off but you couldn’t quite tell why.

“Are you okay? What’s up?”

A small sigh sounded in your ear. “Okay, please don’t get mad at me again but-“

You were replying with a sigh of your own before Kate could even finish her sentence. “You forgot your key again, didn’t you?”

“I’m so sorry,” the girl on the end of the other phone pleaded.

You sighed again, shaking your head. “Kate, how many times-“

“I know! I know,” she cut off. “I’m the worst person ever. But I slept in this morning and just forgot to put it in my bag. I’m sorry.”

Your sigh turned less frustrated. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” At your core you weren’t a confrontational person. You could never stay mad at anyone for long, especially Kate.

“Well, I came back to the room and you’re not here,” your best friend continued through the phone. “I thought you were finished english at three?”

“I am,” you replied. “But I’m helping out Professor Romanoff, remember? I’m in her class right now.”

You could hear Kate’s realisation through the call. “Shit. I am so sorry.” There was a pause. You could picture Kate dancing on the heels of her feet, the same way she did every time she needed to ask you a favour. “Uhm, could I possibly swing by and pick up your key then? Please Y/N, I really need to finish my computing assignment. It’s due at five.”

If there was anyone who would leave their work until one hour before the deadline, it was Kate. Another soft sigh escaped your lips. “Fine.”

Kate’s smile could practically be heard through the phone. “Thank you! What room are you in?”

“Language building, room ML4.”

“Okay,” Kate replied. “I’ll be right there. You’re the best, I love you.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little as you responded. “Love you too.”

With that, Kate hung up the call. You pulled your phone away from your ear, switching it off and throwing it in your pocket as you turned back in your chair. “I’m so sorry,” you began, facing back to your professor. “It’s my roommate, Kate. She’s locked herself out again.”

Romanoff raised a curious glance. “Again?”

“Bad habit.” You smiled back sheepishly, shrugging your shoulder. “She’s just going to stop by and pick up my key, if that’s alright?”

The redhead smiled back at you. “Of course. That’s perfectly fine.” A small sigh of relief escaped your lips, glad that the encounter wouldn’t be a problem. “But I think we’re actually almost done here,” Romanoff continued. “How are you getting on with those papers.”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied, pulling yourself back towards the desk and the stack of papers sat atop of it. “I’m actually just on the last one.”

“Well if you just finish that up, you can run along with your friend when she gets here.”

“You’re sure?” you replied, looking up. You didn’t want Kate’s endeavour to disrupt any of the help your professor needed. But the redhead simply nodded in response.

“I’m sure, Y/N.”

“Okay then,” you responded, nodding your head softly. A small smile was passed between the two of you before you were grabbing your pen once more, reaching out to finish marking the final test in the stack. Your hand moved quickly as you corrected any of the mistakes, flicking through the sheets of paper at an impressive rate. It was just as you were marking the last question that the noise of the hall doors opening drew your attention.

Clamouring in, Kate appeared inside the hall, her backpack momentarily getting caught on the handle before she was able to free herself. She stood sheepishly inside the room, looking across the way and spying you and your professor sat at the desk. “Uhm, hello,” the girl announced. You could tell she was trying to play it cool but she had that same almost awkward look she got whenever a girl she liked try to talk to her. “I’m, uh, Kate Bishop. Y/N’s roommate.” Her finger pointed to you, as if trying to prove she hadn’t barged in for no apparent reason.

Professor Romanoff had stood from her desk as Kate had entered, her hands finding a place resting inside her pockets. Now, she smiled across at her. “Yeah, she mentioned.”

Kate gave that awkward little laugh of hers and you had to refrain from not giggling at her yourself. “Sorry to just barge in on you guys. Are you still…” Her hands gestured towards you and the desk, trying to gage where you were with the work.

But Romanoff simply shook her head in response with a short smile. “No worries, Miss Bishop. We were just finishing up.”

Kate’s eyebrows raised. “Great,” she replied, sticking one of her thumbs up.

You had to stifle your laughs at her awkwardness. Was this how she interacted with all of her professors, or just the ones she didn’t know? As you hid your smile, you tidied up the stack of papers on the desk, piling them up neatly before rising to your feet. “Okay, Miss Romanoff,” you said, slightly pushing them in her direction. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you?”

The woman turned back to you with her gentle smile, her voice soft. “That’ll be all for today, Y/N.”

“Okay,” you replied, adjusting your jumper as you reached down for your backpack, throwing it over one shoulder. “Well, thank you again for this.”

Romanoff smiled. “No, thank you. I’d be drowning in work without your helpful hands.” A smirk seemed to form on her lips as she sent an emerald wink your way.

The action left you suddenly stuttering for the right words, embarrassingly affected by such a simple action. “Right,” you finally managed, voice jumbled. “I’ll uh- see you on Wednesday?”

Thankfully Professor Romanoff didn’t seem too bothered by your flustering state, if anything you might have said she even looked amused. “I’ll see you in class, Y/N,” she said, smiling down at you.

You returned the gesture as you turned away, walking to close the distance between where you and Kate stood. As you met the raven-haired girl’s side, a voice called out to the both of you. “Have a nice night, ladies.”

You turned briefly to Romanoff, smiling as you and Kate hummed a thanks in unison. As you passed through the doors to the hall and exited into the corridor, you felt your shoulders loosen ever so slightly, that perfect emerald stare still lingering in your mind. You couldn’t quite understand why you left that class always feeling so worked up.

This time, however, there was little space for you to think about it, as merely a few steps down the hallway, Kate was grabbing hold of your upper arm. “Holy shit, that’s your Russian professor?”

You turned quickly to your best friend, both startled and shocked by her sudden comment. “What? Yeah?”

Kate breathed out a laugh. “Y/N, you never told me she was hot as shit.”

“What?” you stuttered, taken about by Kate’s choice of words. “She’s not- I mean -I-I never noticed.”

The girls hand shook your arm slightly as the pair of you continued to walk. “Never noticed? Y/N, you must be blind because that was one of the most attractive women I’ve ever seen.”

The words come as a bit of shock, not expecting Kate to think so highly of the woman you’d been spending the last weeks of lessons with. The raven-haired girl began to mumble on about how she should have taken Russian and how it was unfair how she always got the old, ugly professors. But in all honeslty you weren’t paying her much mind, instead focusing on the words that had spilled from Kate’s mouth previously. Sure, Professor Romanoff was a nice-looking woman, you’d noticed that the first time she’d walked into the room, but that didn’t mean you should be attracted to her. That was wrong, she was your teacher, she was married for god’s sake. You shouldn’t be thinking about her in that way. You weren’t thinking about her in that way. Sure, she made you blush every time she spoke to you, and her stare made a strange warmth pool in your stomach, but that didn’t mean you found her attractive. Right?

———

Term continued on with its usual snowballing effect. The next couple of weeks began to fill up with more and more work as you progressed further into the year. You and Kate spent many of your time outside of lessons bundled up in the library, spending hours revising for your upcoming midterms. The pair of you were also beginning to write your final dissertations, the main project that would lead to your graduation at the end of the year. You'd had your topic picked for months and had already started your research over the Summer, which left you room to help Kate find something she could write about, having struggled finding a topic she didn't find extremely boring.

Your usual meal time chatter turned away from mindless gossip and instead to lesson content, both of you complaining about how many assignments you had due. The carefree start of term was officially gone and the usual endless list of deadlines had crept back up on you just like it always did. Luckily for you, you'd managed to maintain the rigidness towards studying you'd possessed since doing your exams in secondary school. You could maintain focus for hours, staring at your laptop or notes until everything was photocopied into your mind. Sure, it sometimes meant you'd miss a meal or a few hours of sleep, but it was all worth it for the perfect grade you were determined to achieve in the end.

Your sessions with Professor Romanoff continued on over the next couple of weeks too, still just an hour after your final class on a Monday. You'd offered her more help if she'd needed it but the redhead had politely refused, claiming she didn't want you wasting your time when you had exams to study for. In fact, she told you that she'd only require your help for a few more weeks, just up until the midterm, then you were free to go with that easy 'A' tucked into your pocket. Surprisingly, when you heard the news, you found yourself feeling slightly saddened. Over the time you'd spent with Professor Romanoff, you'd rather enjoyed yourself. It wasn't that the work was particularly exhilarating or you two ever did much other than look at papers, but the small moments you'd been able to find in between had been rather pleasant. Whether it was the soft lull of the radio music that you both would hum along to, or the small conversations she'd have with you about your home or your studies, the time you spent with the redhead somehow always left you with a warmth in the pit of your stomach.

One particular rainy Monday afternoon, the pair of you were comfortably sat at her desk in your usual positions, your chair across the way from hers. As she often did, Romanoff typed away on her laptop, while you sat stapling together test papers for her advanced Russian class, having previously just photocopied the stack. The paper was still warm against your skin as you organised them into the correct order, the feeling almost soothing you into a trance-like state. You hadn't even noticed it at all until it was suddenly shattered by a soft sound echoing through the room.

Your head picked up, readjusting itself to the real world before turning to the right where the sound emanated from. The sight that befell upon you caused your brows to raise ever so slightly in surprise. As the door to the lecture hall swung closed, a tall, unfamiliar, but smartly-dressed woman entered through them. Her heels clicked confidently across the floor, eyes trained on your professor who sat at the desk. You watched as the redhead stood when the woman reached her, smiling softly. "Detka, hi." Romanoff placed a small kiss on the woman's cheek as they hugged briefly.

"I tried to call but it went straight to voicemail," the other woman replied. She stood a few inches taller than Professor Romanoff, her hair a lighter shade of red straightened almost perfectly down her back. She wore a deep copper suit with a crisp white shirt, a designer handbag thrown over one shoulder. In all honesty, you couldn't tell if she'd came straight from work or a catwalk. When her body turned to stand side by side with your professor, you noticed her eyes shimmered down at you with a soft olive green. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise you would still have company."

At that, you noticed Professor Romanoff turn towards you, as if she had just remembered you were there. She smiled as she gestured to the taller woman. "Y/N, this is my wife, Wanda."

Right, wife. The idea she'd slipped a few weeks ago had almost left your mind entirely. Now that said woman was standing directly in front of you, looking down with an expression you couldn't quite read. "So you're the star pupil my wife has been telling me about, hm?"

Her voice was playful when she spoke, but at the same time low and almost sultry. Everything about it, including her words, left you stuttering over what to say. Had Professor Romanoff really been speaking about you to her wife?

"This is she," the redhead replied, covering for your inability to form a full sentence. She looked back at you with that same easy-going smile that seemed to make you shift in your seat.

Wanda passed you a similar expression as she inclined her head towards you, smirking just slightly. "Well then, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Thankfully, in that moment, your ability to speak seemed to return. "It's nice to meet you too, miss."

A small chuckle escaped the older woman's lips as you spoke. She glanced at Natasha, the pair sharing a look you couldn't interpret, before her sparkling eyes were back on you. "Oh please, honey. You can just call me Wanda." Just then you realised it wasn't only your professor's use of nicknames that seemed to send a shiver down your spine, Wanda's words setting your nerves on edge as you felt the heat flush to your cheeks. You looked down to your lap in an attempt to hide it, not wanting either woman to see your embarrassed state. From the corner of your eye, however, you saw Wanda wasn't going to let you hide that easily. She sat herself on the edge of the desk, leaning in closer to you and the stack of papers close by. "Working hard, are we?"

You looked back up to meet her eye, the action seemingly stripping away your speech once more. Thankfully, your professor stood up to answer for you. "Just getting some papers organised for my lesson tomorrow," she said, sitting herself down at her chair once more. Her eyes met her wife's. "Sorry, I didn't realise we'd run so late." Just then, you assumed why Wanda had shown up so unnanounced. Professor Romanoff had mentioned in passing that her wife would sometimes meet her after work, meaning that your sessions couldn't run any later even if she did need the extra help you offered.

"No, need to apologise," Wanda replied with an easy smile. "I don't mind sticking around while you guys finish up. Especially when your little assistant is so cute." Her eyes turned to you, a smirk playing on her lips. The entire action seemed to freeze you in place, entirely unsure of what to say or do.

"Cat gets her tongue sometimes."

Your eyes flicked to your professor as she spoke, a very similar smirk appearing on her face to match her wife sitting next to her. The taller redhead hummed lowly at her comment, her gaze tracing over you. Sat in that chair, you felt entirely too seen. Your eyes darted around, unsure of where exactly to look while the pair of older women watched you. If there was something you were supposed to say, you mind could not conjure it. In that moment all you could do was sit awkwardly as two pairs of green eyes traced your every movement.

But then, a familiar tune rang out to your rescue. When before you'd cursed your forgetfulness to turn off your ringer, now you silently thanked yourself. Your eyes rushed to your backpack, then quickly back to your professor and her wife. "I'm sorry," you stuttered out. "Could I?"

"Go on, milaya."

You tried your best to ignore your professor's comment as you reached into your backpack for your phone, quickly holding it up to your ear. To no surprise, it was a familiar voice singing a familiar tune. Still, you found the situation grateful for its diversion from the stalemate conversation you'd been stuck in beforehand. As you hung up the call a minute later, you turned back to the desk with a sheepish smile. "It's Kate, she's locked herself out again."

Professor Romanoff raised a perfect brow. "That really is a bad habit of hers, hm?"

You fought back a small chuckle at her words, surprised she even remembered you'd said that. "Yeah," you smiled back, then dropped it into a small frown. "I am so sorry-"

Before you could even finish your sentence, the redhead was holding up her hand to stop you. "Don't worry about it, milaya. You can run along. I'll catch you in class on Wednesday."

Your eyebrows raised, not wanting to be an inconvenience to her yet again. "You're sure? I can easily-"

"I said it's fine, Y/N," Romanoff reiterated, her voice coming out more stern. It wasn't quite angry, just firm, but it was enough to shut your mouth right up. You looked back, eyes wide, afraid that you'd annoyed her by leaving early twice due to your roommates negligence. But at your response, the redhead simply smiled down softly at you angling her head towards the door. "Go on. I can handle the rest."

You found your head nodding almost on its own accord, directed by not only your professor's watchful eye but now that of her wife's too. Your words came out little and few, a mumbled thank you and another apology spilling from your lips as you packed up your bag and threw it over your shoulders. One last reassurance and smile sent you walking out the door, headed back to your dorm where Kate would be waiting for you. As you went, you were hyper aware of the two sets of eyes trained on your back, picturing the two redheaded woman still sitting at the desk watching you walk away. What you weren't exactly aware of was how their gaze dropped even lower, both staring at the short black skirt you'd decided to wear that day, watching how the material grazed lightly against the back of your tight-covered thighs. When you exited out the door, you couldn't see the way the taller redhead turned back to her wife, looking down at her from where she still sat on the desk, a wide smirk appearing on her face as she bit into a perfectly painted lip. You couldn't see the way the pair looked at each other, leaning closer in, nor hear the words Wanda uttered back to her wife before their lips met in a kiss.

"You're right, she is cute. Let's keep her."

#inescapable love au #professor natasha romanoff #lawyer wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #platonic kate bishop x reader

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hedgehog-moss · 6 months

Text

Last Sunday in October, a story in five parts :)

i. The guy who owns the pasture next to mine took his cows back to their winter lodgings the other day, and told me I could let my llamas eat what was left of the grass if I wanted. That was sweet of him but his pasture's fence is cow-proof, not llama-proof, so I had to wait for a sunny day, so I could sit with a book nearby and keep an eye on the llamas Pampe. Today was the day!

Pampy looked happy about this unexpected change of scenery and started grazing peacefully, meanwhile Pampe started with exploring the whole pasture, including the patch of woods at the back, hoping to find a flaw in the fence.

(Note Poldine below, desperately running after her mum so she won't be left behind if Pampe does find an opportunity to escape)

ii. I found some impressive coulemelles in this new pasture (I don't know any mushroom names in English sorry.) I cut one to take to the pharmacy and ask if they're the good kind (here with my hand for scale)

They're also known as nez de chat, cat's nose mushrooms, in some regions...

I found some girolles nearby last year, but not this time. The llamas seemed to be on their best behaviour so I thought after lunch I'd go look for mushrooms farther away in the woods, down by the torrent, instead of watching them all day.

Poldine, watch your mother.

I asked Merricat if she was volunteering her services as a llama-sitter (it looked like it)

—but she suspected I was going home where the fire is, so she followed me. (I don't make a fire on sunny afternoons, though... she had to nap in my cardigan instead. Not as good, but a tolerated second-best option.)

iii. I took Pan with me after lunch so he wouldn't encourage Pampe in mischief, and he was uncharacteristically audacious in his frolicking! He doesn't like water and he's usually quite prudent when we're near the torrent, even scolding me if I climb on mossy rocks, but today he was jumping from one slippery rock to the other very boldly.

As I was taking this nice waterfall photo, I heard a very dramatic high-pitched squeal followed by a dramatic splashing sound, and when I turned around Pandolf was dragging himself out of the torrent, looking, as we say in french, honteux et confus.

I'm sorry that his bout of audacious frolicking had to end this way :( Back to frolicking gingerly for at least a couple of years... (His fur is magical though, he looks like a drowned rat at first but then shakes himself twice and is immediately back to a normal volume of floof. So his dignity doesn't suffer for long, at least.)

iv. I found no mushrooms but something even better!

I love chestnuts so much, I've been hoping to find chestnut trees for years but was starting to think they just don't grow at this altitude... But I suck at identifying trees so it's very possible I walked past them dozens of times and never recognised them when it wasn't chestnut season.

You really have to earn every chestnut, even with the crushing-under-your-boot method to squeeze them out you still have to extricate them from their burr going ow ow ow the whole time. The worst thing is when you kill your fingers opening a reticent burr and it resentfully spits out a bunch of sad deflated worthless chestnuts.

Still, I ended up going home with chestnuts in every single one of my pockets. When we got out of the woods and back on the road Pandolf and I ran into a woman we don't know (so, not a close neighbour) and we started talking about foraging and I wondered if I should tell her about the nearby chestnut spot. But those things are private. No one told me about the chestnut spot even after I made increasingly heavy casual hints about how much I love chestnuts. After a while though I started suspecting this lady knew about the spot and was on her way there. Or on her way back, through a different path. She looked shifty. So did I. It's very possible that we were both standing there in the middle of the road with our coat pockets crammed with chestnuts, making pointedly non-chestnut-related small talk.

v. I went home and started making chestnut-pumpkin soup while dodging constant coordinated chicken attacks. At first they act like they're napping on a conveniently-nearby chair, or looking the other way, and as soon as you stop distrusting their intentions, they pounce, often from two different directions.

Side plot: Pandolf spent this whole time desperately trying to catch a cat, to restore his self-confidence after falling in the torrent.

Morille went from strolling casually on top of the fence to lounging casually in the hazel tree above my head, making it look like she hadn't even noticed she was being chased, which was very frustrating for Pandolf. Nothing wounds a dog like going unnoticed.

I told Morille it would make him happy if she let him catch her, and she was like eh, fine, and elegantly jumped from the hazel tree to the top of the stone wall.

Pandolf immediately followed, poked her a bit brutally with his big nose, and then he didn't know what else to do with her once he caught her so he just wagged his tail like "Well played, cat!! It was nice chasing you" and left.

v. bis (or ter) I want to reassure Pirlouit fans (who might have noticed that he wasn't allowed to graze in the neighbour's pasture with the llamas) that he knows he's entitled to fair compensation as a donkey, and he stood behind the fence the whole time I was preparing my soup, patiently waiting for his pumpkin benefits. Which he did get.

I found some leftover chestnuts in my trouser pocket tonight, that I'd forgotten about, so I'm having stove-roasted chestnuts for dessert after the chestnut soup! Chestnuts were 90% of my dinner and were also the reason Pandolf got dinner. I ran out of dog kibble and I was thinking of giving him a hard-boiled egg and some rice tonight, and go buy kibble tomorrow, but on our way back this afternoon we stopped by our closest neighbour's house and I humbly offered a handful of chestnuts in exchange for one serving of kibble. The neighbour's dog didn't look enchanted with our offer but his human agreed. I usually trade with my chicken's eggs but this woman has hens so I'm glad chestnuts are also accepted as valid currency.

#crawling along #i love numbered lists but i really should stop using them in my posts because i always end up adding extra stuff at the end 😭

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hier--soir · 3 months

Text

a lover's pinch | eight

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: the one where they get caught. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, domestic bliss, gratuitous descriptions of joel reading, joni mitchell, explicit unprotected piv sex, delayed gratification, dirty talk, finger sucking, biting, academic praise kink, cream pie, who's in the pic on joel's desk??, angst, confrontation, an orpheus and eurydice metaphor uh oh, those blue panties from 3 come back to haunt us. word count: 6.9k nice series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: i need someone to make me write [or not write] the way j miller phd does in this... also sorry and i hope you like it and sorry again follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part eight of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Winter descends over Maine not with a bang, but with a whimper.

The days and weeks fold together in a blurring mess of sleep ins and papers and coffees, until suddenly a month has passed, and you hardly noticed it slipping through your fingers.

You spend less time at home, and more tucked on one side of Joel’s couch, your feet in his lap as he lounges down the other end. You dip pale toast in runny yolks at the table, listening to him on the phone to Sarah in the other room. Hear him say I’m good, baby girl… I’m really good when she asks how he is.

You ride shotgun in the truck between his place and the university, slipping out the passenger door a little early every time. Walk the final stretch lest someone notice his glasses, your hair through the windscreen.

On campus you watch him up there on his stage, a burn in your chest, and see how he seeks you out in the after. How he props you above him and returns your gaze finally. Curls his body around yours and repents for every time he had to look away.

It's warm and it’s kind and it’s trading books with scribbled notes in the margins.

It’s rain smacking against the windows as you read, his scruffy chin nesting in the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, two sets of eyes staring at the same words.

It’s nodding off in his bed where the sheets have started to smell like your perfume, eyelids heavy as you wait for him to get home. It’s wearing only his clothes and being woken up by his face between your thighs, pupils blown and lips slick.

It’s finding each other at the end of a long day and hearing him say, I thought about you all afternoon.

And this feeling of familiarity writhes between the slats of your ribs. A comfortable, quiet fondness that you see reflected in his eyes when he looks at you; that you hear when that tender mouth forms your name.

You gorge yourselves on it. Put lips to the crooks and thorns in each other’s bodies and suckle on that fondness, swallow, swallow, and watch the well never run dry.

The bleed is endless. Beneath the stain of time it floods and flurries, melting the two of you together until you start to feel certain it could never end.

Until, of course and at last, it does.

Sunday.

It’s late, you think. Somewhere in the mess where time blurs between sunset and midnight, Winter stealing hours that feel like minutes.

The curtains in his living room are drawn, low yellow light warming the room from a tall lamp in the corner. Blue spins in the on the record player, a gentle sway of sound that fills the room.

I like listening to Joni on Sundays, he’d confessed in the bathroom, bashful as he rubbed a towel over you, drying the wet ends of your hair and the slick skin of your shoulders.

He reads at the table now, strong chin cupped in his palm as his eyes flit across the pages of a textbook.

Something to do with conservation; a Minoan palace in Knossos, you think. He’d explained it earnestly, but his curls were soft and fluffy from the shower and his glasses were resting on the tip of his nose and so you’d found yourself zoning out, eyes going from round to heart shaped as you nodded along from the couch.

Every few minutes he grips his pen and jots down a note before glancing up to check on you. And whenever this happens you avert your eyes quickly, pretending to be enthralled by the half-finished essay on your screen. You have a feeling he catches you each time, because he keeps laughing softly, tutting under his breath as he goes back to reading, foot never stopping its tap-tap-tap in time with the music. The only time he gets up is to flip the record, and soon those little laughs and huffs start to mix with Joni’s bell-like voice, and the opening lyrics to California swell through the room as you type at a glacial pace.

She sings, I met a redneck on a Grecian isle, and you glance up again, eyes turning wide and doe-like when you find Joel already watching you. He gave me back my smile, Joni sings. But he kept my camera to sell.

“How’s the writing going?”

“Good.” Liar. “Great, even.” Bad liar.

Joel’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, lips twitching in a clear attempt to smother a laugh, but he just nods, looking back down at his book.

He’s wearing home clothes. That’s what he called them. Home clothes.

When he’d said it, still pulling them on, you’d wanted nothing more than to grip his hands and stop him in his tracks, but you’d sequestered yourself to the other side of the room instead, sorely committed to the study evening he’d suggested. But he’s in soft grey sweatpants and an even softer looking white t-shirt, and every time he sips his coffee he hums happily against the rim of his mug, and his bare foot goes tap-tap-tap and Joni sings Oh, will you take me as I am?, and—

“Come here.”

You blink. His eyebrows raise expectantly, lips split into a broad smile now.

“Unless you’d rather stay over there and keep starin’.”

You reach him as The Last Time I saw Richard, the final track on side two, begins to spin.

Joni sings, all romantics meet the same fate, and Joel’s knees fall apart, thighs splayed so handsomely across his chair, inviting you to take a seat. You ignore the woeful lyrics and focus instead on the knowing smirk on his face, taking a step forward, and another, until you’re stood between his open legs.

He doesn’t touch you. Just smiles, all saccharine and easy, leaning back in his chair.

“Much left to do?” He points at the laptop in your hands.

“Maybe another hundred words,” you grumble and put it down on the table. “Today, at least.”

Joel hums, eyes flicking down. His gaze skirts across the bare skin of your legs, the soft sleep shorts you’re wearing; ones he puts on you himself, and knows you don’t have anything beneath.

“Come here.” He pats his thigh; stops you with a soft tut when you try to straddle him. “Naw, baby, like this.”

Soft hands tilt your hips, turn you until your back is to his chest and he’s drawing you onto his lap.

“Oh.” You smile, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.

Nose turned into the side of his face, you brush a kiss to the edge of his jaw and sigh in relief as he wraps his arms around your middle and squeezes.

The space between his chest and the table is a little tight; small enough that if you were to lean forward a few inches your ribs would knock against the wood.

As if he’s thinking the same thing, Joel leans forward. Presses you against the table, one hand coming up to hold your face. His fingers are soft on your skin, offering small amounts of pressure as he grips your jaw and encourages you to look forward.

“Gonna tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up a little, skin prickling at the shift in his tone. Still soft, still quiet, yet with something… demanding, shifting just below the surface.

“You,” you say, cringing at the way your voice takes on a higher quality all of a sudden. Steeling yourself, you add, “You’re distracting me.”

“Wasn’t doing anythin’,” he responds simply. “Just sittin’ over here, minding my business while you burn holes in my head.”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“I cooked dinner.” He squeezes you again. “Fed you. We showered, and now I’m readin’.”

“You were humming.”

Joel kisses the shell of your ear.

“And tapping.”

He flutters his fingers against your hip.

“S’that such a crime?” he murmurs.

“No, but…” You sigh when his tongue snakes out, tracing the soft curve of your earlobe. “But it…”

“But but but,” Joel mocks, and you can feel his sick smirk against your neck, teeth teasing along your carotid now. “But all you can think about is my cock, ain’t that right?”

Your stomach falls away. Everything firm inside you turns to goo as he laughs, knowing he’s right.

“So needy,” he taunts you, holding your hip tighter as his length begins to thicken against your ass. “Had all day to ask for it.”

You don’t respond, tongue tied and more uninterested in your essay than ever.

“Just lookin’ for a distraction now,” he teases lightly. “The more you put it off, the harder it’ll be to get it done, baby.”

“I know.”

“If you know.” He hooks a finger over the waistband of your shorts. “Then finish it.”

“S’not that simple,” you whine, rolling your hips over his lap. A sharp puff of air warms the back of your neck, so you do it again. His hand tightens around your jaw.

“Just a hundred words, right?” he coaxes gruffly. “Come on now, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You feel his thick cock beneath his sweats, stiff and pressing between the crease of your thighs, melting what’s left of your resolve. You want to grind down against it. To pull your soft sleep shorts to the side and let him sink inside with no more pretence. But you put your hands on the desk, eyes on the screen, and Joel slides his warm palms beneath the hem of your t-shirt. Floats them over the curve of your stomach, the soft flesh around your ribs, waking thousands of tiny hairs that cover your skin until his fingers meet your chest, and he cups your breasts.

You shiver, lids growing heavy as he squeezes and tickles at your skin. Your nipples harden to peaks against his rough palms, and he sighs at the feeling, face resting against the back of your neck as he plays.

“Fuck,” you sigh, voice a broken buzz in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “I thought you wanted me to write.”

“I do,” Joel murmurs unconvincingly. “A hundred words, go on.”

Hands like lead on the table, it feels like an impossible task. Even more than it did ten minutes ago. You force yourself to lift your fingers to the keyboard, vision sharpening as you look for where you left off. You try to shut him out, try to ignore the way his tongue warms the skin on your neck, the way the hairs on his thighs tickle against yours, and begin to write.

But he doesn’t make it easy.

The second you finish the first sentence one of his hands drifts down your stomach to cup your pussy over your shorts. You flinch, heart galloping in your chest when he sighs in your ear.

“Joel,” you whimper, pleading already. “I can’t if you…”

“You can,” he soothes. The warmth of his palm is suffocating, so hot against where you’re already wet and wanting. Thick fingers press against the fabric, nudging it between your slick folds until it goes damp. “Just ignore me, baby.”

“Easier said than done,” you reply. You type five more words, chest rattling with heavy breaths as he paws at you, thumbing at your clit through your shorts.

His breath is hot and heavy against your neck and his soft curls tickle your skin as you try to focus.

“Ignore me,” he repeats, and you squeak as he tilts you forward. A rush of breath spills from your mouth, chest flush to the desk, ass suspended above his lap as he shifts behind you. And when he pulls you back down, you sigh pathetically over the fact that he’s pushed his sweats down.

The full weight of his length presses against you, nestled between the rounded flesh of your ass, and you manage to mumble his name.

“Just—” You’re panting now; considering begging. “—I can do this later. I will finish it later, I swear, just—”

Joel nudges your shorts to the side and presses a finger between your folds. A ragged gasp stutters out of you, finger jammed against the keyboard. A steady stream of kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk fills a line of the document as he smears your wetness up to your clit.

“Fuck,” you mumble, hips tilting forward, trying to chase the feeling.

“None of that,” he tuts quickly, other hand slipping down and pinching the skin at the inside of your thigh. You’ve only backspaced half of the k’s when he slips two fingers inside you. “Come on, now.”

Thirty words fly as he crooks his fingers inside you. Slow and gentle, thumb rubbing messy circles against your clit as he works you open.

“That’s it,” he coos, pressing a third finger inside. Your cunt sucks desperately at his fingers, the skin of your face warming as you catch a glimpse of your reflection on the laptop screen. Jaw hanging low, a silent prayer for relief written across the open slant of your mouth. “My smart girl. Knew they didn’t give you that degree for nothin’.”

You gasp and swat at his wrist, but a satisfied little smile cracks your face for a moment when he laughs. Only for it to fall seconds later when he lays a sharp bite to the back of your shoulder. You moan, voice cracking around his name, rutting desperately against his hand.

“You can do it,” he flatters you, sickly sweet and entirely convincing as he strokes at your insides. Curling and stretching until you’re turning to a wet trembling mess in his lap, wobbling through half-assed sentences that you aren’t sure even match up with your essay outline anymore.

“Good,” Joel murmurs. “That’s good.”

“Don’t look,” you slur out, heart pounding at the idea of him reading anything you’ve written in this state. “It’s f-for your class, you can’t look.”

“Not lookin’.” He noses at the back of your ear. Presses an open-mouthed kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Just lookin’ at you, m’always just lookin’ at you.”

“I’ll finish it.” You switch up your tactic now. Voice low and breathy, the back of your head resting heavy on his shoulder, eyes longing to close. “Tomorrow, I’ll write it—”

“Tomorrow?” His thumb drags harder on your clit.

“Yes,” you gasp, stomach tensing. You feel a bit floaty all of a sudden. Locked out of your own mind, all thoughts spilling from between your thighs as desire grips you, consumes you. “Please, just…”

“What, baby?” he prompts. “Say it.”

“Just let me sit on your cock,” you groan. “Please, I can’t think right now, I’ll finish it, I promise.”

“You fuckin’ promise—Christ,” he grumbles, fingers drifting from your tight clutch. “Just a little more, baby, for me.”

You don’t even really know how it happens after that. Ears roaring, skin tight, everything is a blur as you write and write and write and he presses his leaking tip between your folds works you down onto his length. Hands everywhere, so warm, so rough, holding your thighs, your waist, your breasts, your shorts to the side. Slower when your gasps spin higher, you think, always knowing when to ease up, when the burn gets too much too quick.

Joel grips your thighs, prying them apart until your calves are on the outside of his, and then he’s shifting his legs open wide, giving your own no choice but to follow. You feel the full weight of him in this position. The long, thick stretch of his cock inside you as your legs dangle listlessly over his lap, toes straining and failing to reach the floor. You can do nothing but rest heavily across his thighs, those hands still everywhere all at once, and whine pitifully as your walls spasm and clench around him, coil inside pulling tighter and tighter.

Vision waning, the text on your screen warbles as Joel slips the pad of his finger against your clit and begins to play with it. Soft little rubs that have you going tense and leaning forward on the table, braced on your elbows and grinding down into his lap, desperate for release, for movement, anything. It feels like your brain is splintering into a thousand tiny pieces inside your skull.

“You’re so wet,” Joel rasps, forehead heavy against your shoulder blade as he groans. “Pretty pussy’s drippin’ all over me, honey. You really need it that bad?”

You say something you think, mouth moving and eyes rolling as his hips shift up in a weak little thrust. Just one.

“Keep goin’.” He sounds pained, half-drunk as the words stumble out of him.

Your mind slips further from your grasp and you’re typing pure gibberish. Slurring messes of letters cloaked in perfect punctuation. Your fingers fly across the keys, painting commas and full stops and semi colons around complete and utter bullshit as your cunt flutters and your belly stirs.

His finger glides and his cock pulses and your vision darkens and you come. Shoulders hunched, table digging into your forearms, you fold forward and cry out as an agonisingly brief orgasm rips through you.

It’s over before it’s even begun, but Joel groans and offers a shallow thrust, your cry turning to a gasp as he grips your thigh for dear life.

“Oh good girl,” he murmurs, fingers slowing against your nerves, not wanting to overwhelm. “Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now. Liquid frustration that pools against your waterline and threatens to spill when he still doesn’t fuck you how you need him to.

“How much left?” he asks roughly, rocking his hips against yours in a steady pace now. Gentle, rolling movements that snag on the heels of your orgasm and hold it close.

“Huh?”

“How many words?”

“I don’t…” Your eyelids flutter. “I don’t know.”

“Shit, sweetheart,” he laughs a little then, rueful but not unkind. “That’s gonna be hell to edit.”

With a furious groan you slam the laptop closed, the sharp smack of metal on metal filling your ears as he grips your hips and really starts to fuck you.

It’s not fast though, not rough. Just deep, lingering strokes that grind against the end of you and nudge you stumbling toward the edge. He pinches your clit between the tips of his middle and ring fingers, rubbing slow drags up and down against the hood like that. Moaning and sweating, you slip your hand over his. Press lower and let your fingers glide around his girth, thick and vascular between your thighs, hot skin wetter every time he pulls out of you.

“Feel that?” Joel pants, teeth nipping at the top of your spine. “You’re creamin’ for me, baby. Fuck, I—I need to taste it.”

“Shit—oh god.”

He grips your wrist and drags it up, chin harsh against your shoulder as he sucks your fingers into his mouth.

The groan he lets out is filthy as his hot tongue snakes out to lick the webbing between your fingers, and you tip your head to watch his eyes roll back. His thighs tremble beneath you, but you can’t be sure it’s not just the vibrations of your own body tricking you.

But no, it’s him. His hips stutter against yours, deep plunges stilting into shallow movements, and he stalls deep inside your cunt for a second on the end of every thrust, as if his brain is short-circuiting.

You hook your fingers in his mouth, the tips digging into the gums behind his teeth, and tug him back to reality. He nips at your fingers and moans, hand falling heavy between your thighs again. And he doesn’t stop now; keeps pushing and pinching and fucking and grinding until your pussy is pulling tight and slick around his length and your fingers are fanned loose and shaky across his face, and you can hardly breathe except to say Joel or please or oh my god.

“Can feel it,” he grunts breathlessly, skin smacking against yours in a sharp staccato beat. “Deep breath, baby, c’mon, let me have it.”

“Your teeth,” you gasp feverishly. “Bite me again.”

“Fuck,” he snarls and then he’s grating the hard line of his incisors along your shoulder.

The sweet pinch of his canines digging into your back sets your cunt aflutter around him, mouth hung open in silent ecstasy as he fucks you full of his seed and you suck it in deep, tight with longing, still panting and high when it begins to drip from where you’re connected, spooling around his cock and smearing between your thighs and his.

His chest heaves against your back. Chest hair damp wet sweat, dripping through your thin shirt until it can’t decide whether to cling to his skin or yours. There’s an ache at the base of your spine, maybe a muscle pulled, and his thumb presses into the flesh there as if he can sense it.

Sounds come back slowly. Joni’s finished and the needle tracks around the runout groove on the record, a little crackle flaring every few seconds where the two channels join. Joel’s breathing too, rough against your shoulder, harmonising with the wet sound of his lips peeling from your skin.

You tilt your head to the side.

Wild eyed, cunt-struck, Joel knocks his nose against yours. Groans low when you flick your tongue out to graze across his bottom lip. He’s bitten it rough and ragged and red, and you want to soothe the sting. His glasses are on top of his head, smudged lenses tucked amidst wild fluffy curls.

You try to kiss him, hard and wet, but he stops you with a hand to your jaw. Cradles your face and strokes your cheekbone and wipes the spittle from your lips before kissing you lightly. Chaste and gentle, like the two of you are ten and have never kissed anyone before, have never been brave enough to use your tongues.

That invisible bleed in your chest drips heavier. You picture a thick spurt of red against your chest cavity as he kisses the corners of your mouth, the tip of your nose, your eyelids.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

You nod, smiling when his lips catch and drag across your skin with the movement of your head.

A moment passes like this. Searching kisses dotted over your smiling face. The swell of your cheeks, the ends of your eyebrows.

“Sometimes I feel like you aren’t real,” Joel confesses. A bare bones whisper that tickles the skin between your eyebrows, where his lips rest now. “Like you might just melt away if I don’t hold on tight enough. Disappear if I look away too long, and I’ll be stuck tryna convince myself that you were ever really here.”

Twisted up in his arms, you can feel the way his heart batters against his chest, thrashing through to vibrate against your back. He might as well be plucking the admission straight from your own mouth.

“I’m real,” you murmur against his neck. “I’m here, it’s real.”

“Me too,” he says. Something wet tickles your skin, but it’s gone in a second. Rubbed over by his thumb, soothed with another kiss.

I love you, you think, but when you speak it comes out as, “No melting.”

Joel laughs softly. Kisses you again. “No melting.”

Thursday.

“It was too much.”

“It was fine.”

“I said the word grateful three times.”

“Four, actually.” You chew the inside of your cheek and shrug apologetically. “I counted.”

“Jesus,” Joel sighs, reaching up to a drag a hand over his face.

He’s pulled his desk chair all the way across the office. Tie loosened and top buttons undone, he slumps in it a little. His thick knees almost brush against yours where you sit in his armchair.

“Hey, I liked it,” you smile, bumping his knee. “It was nice - shows you care.”

“Well, you ain’t all that hard to please,” Joel smarts, lip quirking up into a sly grin.

Mouth open in a scoff, you feign offence, dragging your laptop from your satchel and making a show of ignoring him.

“How the mighty fall,” he continues, sighing dramatically and tilting his head over the back of the chair. The light coming in through the window hits his face just right, and the grey hairs in his curls shine. “Grateful to have been your professor… asshole.”

“Don’t be precious,” you laugh softly. “You’re just embarrassed because you said you were going to miss us.”

“That was a lie,” Joel tuts, brushing you off with a hand in the air, biting back that grin. “I ain’t gon’ miss any of you assholes. And when those final papers come in—” He taps a finger against the top of your laptop “—I’ll be sayin’ my prayers that any of you can string a worthwhile sentence together.”

“If you’re lucky,” you drawl, batting his hand away. “You’ll teach some of us again next year. And when that semester finishes, you’ll say all of that shit again, because you’re a sap, Joel Miller.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, face softening, and then clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Smart ass.”

“And you love it,” you quip easily, only balking a moment later when the word hangs awkwardly in the air. Hands pausing on your keyboard, you glance up, neck hot, only to find Joel watching you still. Face suspended in a small smile; eyes light as he nods.

“I do,” he says after a moment. “But you’re on thin ice, wise guy.”

He plucks a book from his desk and spreads it open on his lap, either not noticing or simply not caring as you watch on, slack jawed. I do.

After a moment, Joel taps his foot against yours again. “Write.”

So, sucking in a breath, you do. Time passes and rain starts to drizzle against the window as you write, and Joel reads. Having forgotten to put a record on like normal, he hums lightly under his breath; some tune you can’t place but still nod along to. Every few minutes he turns his page, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

You hate the way he holds books. Hate the way he cradles the spines, thumb hooked around the footnotes to hold his page. Hate the way his fingers trace the stanzas as he reads, tender and patient, and always afraid to miss something. Hate most the way the tendons on the backs of his hands flex when he turns the page. How the veins around them go fat and blue the longer he does this, as if all the blood in his body is sprinting towards the words. It’s a dangerous sort of eroticism, watching him read. You hate how much you love it.

In need of reprieve, you focus on your own hands. Crack tired knuckles and stretch out cramps and aches, taking a moment to peer over at his desk. The picture frame you’d once been so curious about is propped on the edge of it once again.

You can see Joel behind the glass panel, sporting a shit-eating grin with Sarah, clad in a graduation gown, tucked proudly against his chest. Taken the day she finished high school, you know now. And you’d never noticed it that first time, months ago, but Ellie’s face rests in the corner of the picture. Pink tongue stuck out and eyes pinched shut; she’d snuck her head into the frame at the last second apparently.

You gaze fondly at it, and feel that familiar warmth in your chest over the fact that he’s put it back out. No more hiding.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Joel glances over his shoulder, and then smiles.

“It’s a good photo,” you say. “You look so happy there.”

“I was. It’s one of my favourites,” he nods, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He seems to consider you for a moment, eyes flicking around your face, fingers fidgeting with the corner of his page. “Hey, I uh… Sarah actually called yesterday.”

He pauses. Takes an unusually deep breath and folds the book shut.

“Okay.” You blink, confused. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yeah, yeah, she was uh, she was askin’ about the holidays, and if—”

The office door creaks open, and Joel’s mouth seals shut as Rachel walks hastily inside, rushed words filling the small room.

“Joel, sorry, I need to grab—oh.”

There’s an odd pause after the words catch in her throat. A moment of uncomfortable stillness as the three of you inhale all at once, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

You and Joel aren’t touching, but your knees rest close, one of his feet in the space between yours on the carpet. Laptop propped on your knees, your final essay still lays open with a stream of edits pasted through the margins, cursor blinking at the end of the word nostos.

Joel, tie undone and sleeves rolled up, looks painfully casual in your presence.

“Sorry.” Rachel blinks, hovering awkwardly as the door clicks shut behind her. “I didn’t realise you had a… a meeting today?” The end of her sentence flares up, as if she’s confused, phrasing it like a dubious little question.

You offer a smile in her direction and hope it comes across as relaxed, a little encroaching even; as if you are the one who has interrupted; the one who should not be here.

“It’s fine,” Joel supplies easily, straightening in his chair to give her his full attention. His face gives nothing away. Stoic and calm, the way you’d imagine him to be if you weren’t here at all. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she says, frowning like she’s affronted by the question. Looks between the two of you again, listless fingers curling at her sides. “Just came to get that Livy copy back

You look back at your screen and will yourself to type something. To appear casual, studious, as if your heart isn’t lodged in the base of your throat.

“Sure,” he nods, gesturing vaguely toward his desk. “It’s in one of the drawers on the left.”

Rachel nods, walking over to the desk, and as her back turns you spare a glance at Joel. Find him already looking at you, eyebrows pulled down a little. Pink lips mouth It’s fine, married with a soft nod of his head, and for the second time in seconds you attempt a smile.

There’s the sound of wood sliding against wood, and then a soft, tired kind of silence. The lack of sound seems to swell, the air in the room thinning, your eyes focusing on Joel’s fingers on the armrest of his chair, tap tap tap, Rachel’s unruly curls somewhere past that, her face downturned, looking at something. Wary breaths held in unison, synced heart beats racing. It’s fine, it’s fine, no melting.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Your head snaps up. Joel turns in his chair and begins to ask what’s wrong, but all that ends up coming from him is a sort of choked noise, rough around the edges, and breathless in the middle. Chest on fire, you let yourself look past him to where she stands.

Her gaze is hard as she stares Joel down from across the room. A slip of blue; soft material visible between her fingers, held up for a stunned chorus to see.

Your hearing deafens a little as you look on, motionless, a vague memory of birthday boy and got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock? playing in your mind. Of a damp patch on his shirt as he tucked blue into his desk drawer.

Joel says Rachel’s name, you think. Can see the way his jaw moves, the way her dark eyes sharpen, flitting back and forth between the two of you. And then, like a volcanic eruption or the swell beneath a wave, realisation crests the hill and It’s fine cracks and crumbles and turns to dust in your grasp. You don’t know what she knows, or how she knows, you just know that she does.

“You… what is this?” Rachel’s face shifts into something uncomfortable. A warped, grotesque shot at a smile. But as her lips curl upward, eyebrows down, it’s nothing but a contorted mess that blurs endlessly between confusion, surprise, and then horror. “This… her? She’s the reason you—”

“Rachel.” Joel’s entire body is wound tight. You can see the edge of his jaw from where you sit; the way his shoulders pull back, tight he watches her.

Your body seems to hold itself together for a moment. Breath caught on an inhale, lungs expanded, eyes frozen on the hard line of his nose, the arm of his glasses—places you feel safe to hover. But then she speaks again, and everything lurches back into focus. Like a needle scratching on a record, or tires squealing as a car pulls to an abrupt stop at a red—the words make you cringe, chest deflating and face crumpling.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” she’s saying, and her voice raises, louder to match the disbelief in her tone. “You… she’s a fucking student.”

When the fear hits it doesn’t come slowly. It strikes hard and solid; an icy sheet of dread that sucks at your fingers and numbs your extremities. Cool and abrupt, it sinks to your bones and promises that you’ll never again feel anything but this. It laughs in the face of your warm kind month, pressing its chilled ice picks to the back of your eyes until they burn.

Her words hang heavy in the air, thick weights that press down on three sets of shoulders, and you have never wanted anything the way you want to see Joel’s face right now. To look at him and believe that this isn’t as bad as you know it to be. See that mouth tell you it’s fine and remember how it tastes.

Instead, a fear-stricken Orpheus, you will yourself not to look at him. Despite that longing, the way your arms beg to stretch out, to hold and be held, you do not look. No, you don’t think you could suffer the double death of both knowing this is happening and seeing him know it too.

In his place, you let your eyes turn to Rachel, and find that she already stares at you, small mouth cracked ajar in incredulity.

Mind whirring, racing, stumbling; fumbling to pin back together the pieces of who you once were in her eyes and who you are now. This woman you admire so, whose career path you’ve dreamt of, whose wit and quirk has propelled you, invigorated you.

It’s agonising to watch—the way her face morphs into something so unfamiliar as she looks at you now. An expression that once held only admiration, kindness, marred here by an inexplicable sense of pity. Not hate, or contempt, which perhaps would be easier to handle. Easier than the way those dark orbs go round and solemn with worry as they fall upon your anguished frame. It’s a slap in the face; camaraderie washed down the drain like the dregs of a long overdue bath, as she grips your soiled underwear in her fist.

Joel says her name, you’ve lost count of how many times he’s said it now, and she spurns his attempt at placation like a snake. Fast and deadly, venom dribbling from her tongue.

“Someone else?” she says, and her voice is like never before. Mirthless and cold, fury laced through every word. With a sharp jerk of her elbow, she tosses the underwear across the room. They land against Joel’s chest, caught silently in his fist. “You’re fucking sick.”

“This isn’t what you think it is—” Joel starts, and you think you hear his voice shake.

“It isn’t?” She laughs cruelly at that. “You haven’t been sleeping with one of our students?”

The cursor blinks on your screen. Nostos, nostos, nostos, nostos.

“Listen, can we talk about this somewhere else?” he asks. “Not like this, I—”

“Oh, is this not a convenient time for you?” she scowls. “Jesus Christ.”

The urge to speak bubbles in your chest. You don’t even know what you’re going to say until the words are spilling from your lips, disjointed and warbled, a voice that doesn’t even sound like your own.

“I pursued him,” you say.

You can feel them looking at you. Can hear the way you must sound to her, like some kid and not a woman who’s almost thirty years old and just as much to blame. But you can’t stop it.

“We’re both adults. He never made me do anything I didn’t—”

Joel says your name sharply. His fist, in the periphery of your downturned gaze, grips your balled up underwear so tight that the blue is entirely invisible within the thick masts of his fingers.

You suck in a breath, and it feels like the last bit of air in the room disappears into your lungs, so you hold it there. Keep it safe inside and figure that if all three of you were to suffocate then at least the truth, and all the foul consequences that come with it, would die here with you.

“Can you give us a minute?”

Silence falls in the lull after those words, and it takes a moment for you to look up, finally. To realise that the double death wasn’t in looking at Joel, but in understanding that he’d spoken these words to you, not her.

Eyes locked with his, you feel the fear move to your side. Hang low until it ebbs and flows in the space beneath your ribs—a sharp ache with no end in sight. He looks tired; resigned. Mouth thin and downturned, cheeks splashed with red.

You think you must say something. Some fumbling, awkward acknowledgement, because Rachel is giving you that look again and you can’t bear it. Can’t stand those eyes, that misplaced pity.

You collect your things, hands numb as you pile them into your bag and head for the door, skin prickling in defence against the silence that follows your movements.

Outside his office, alone in the long corridor, you know you should go. Should follow the wall down the stairs, out to your car, and not look back. Can you give us a minute? But that sharp ache leaves you cowering against the wall, limbs heavy, ear to his door.

“Rach,” Joel says softly, and it’s so familiar that your stomach rolls, lids fluttering closed. “It isn’t what you think, just let me explain, alright? We met before the term began; before she was my student. Before.”

“And then?”

“What?”

“I said, and then?” Rachel’s voice is steely. “You met her before and, what, you saw her in class and decided it was fine to let it continue? You—”

“Everything was consensual. You know me, I would never—”

“It’s not as simple as that, and you know it. Did you not think about what would happen if you were found out? Her credibility will be destroyed, Joel.”

“I know—”

“I mean for fucksake, her first major presentation was given at a conference where you were the keynote speaker. How do you think this will look?”

“Fuck, I know. Can you keep your voice down, please.”

There’s a brief silence. You hear shuffling, feet against carpet, and a dull spike of fear flares in the back of your mind. The idea of getting caught a second time, eavesdropping from outside the door. Against better judgement, you don’t move, and Rachel speaks again.

“You’re wrong,” she says. “I don’t know you. I… you aren’t the man I thought you were.”

You don’t hear Joel’s response over the drumming in your ears. Hot blood thrashes and roars inside your body, veins pounding with terror. Hands shake damp and weary at your sides, thinking hard, hard, grasping for solution, for the chance to say I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.

But he must have said something because then you hear it. A low fragment of a human voice, words spoken clear as day. They slice through your ears and have you peeling away from the door, swallowed by a white-hot longing to disappear as you stumble down the hall, the stairs, until you’re sucking in cold air on the pavement outside.

It’s raining hard now. Thin spray that comes at you sideways, lashing at your face and blinding you. You curl your back to the downpour and search thoughtlessly for your car, hands outstretched, those words of hers ricocheting off the inside of your skull.

When you find it, you press your key into the door and slump inside, and you still can’t avoid it. She might as well be standing right by the door, peering in at you. Shock in the jut of her brow, disappointment in the slant of her mouth as she whispers those words over and over through the crack in your window.

"I don’t care if you love her, Joel. I have to report you.”

refs:

joni mitchell's 1971 Blue album. [life changer]

the hollow men by t. s. elliot [fat juicy banger of a poem]

orpheus and eurydice from metamorphoses by ovid, tr. by a. d. melville

thank you for reading x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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withleeknow · 3 months

Text

happy place.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; unedited, just me being self-indulgent and word vomitting again word count: 0.8k listen to 🎧: you are in love - taylor swift

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

one of your favorite things that minho does is when he drops everything just to hug you. unprompted, out of nowhere.

you like to call these sporadic moments your silent hug time.

it started not too long ago, maybe a few months back, on a random sunday afternoon while you were all snuggled up with soonie on the couch and lazily flipping through the pages of the book you were reading. it had been gloomy and miserable all day; you and minho were supposed to drive to the beach and soak up the last rays of summer sun before fall announced its arrival.

the weather had other plans though. no more beach day, that was for sure.

your boyfriend quietly walked into the room, not saying a word as he grabbed the novel in your hands, slid your bookmark into place and unceremoniously dropped the book onto the carpeted floor. soonie was promptly handled - much more gently - and placed somewhere next to the couch, which earned minho a controlled hiss before the cat just wandered elsewhere in the house seeing that your cuddle session was so rudely interrupted.

you’d learned not to question why minho did the things he did or how that peculiar brain of his worked, so you just quietly watched him with a puzzled look on your face, curious to see what he would do next.

you didn’t know what you expected, but to have him quite literally flop onto your body, pinning you underneath him as he rested his head on your chest, was definitely not something you had in mind.

“you good?” you asked, threading your fingers through his hair to play with the soft floofy mess, holding him close to your heart.

minho just hummed in response as he hugged you tightly. he didn’t sound upset or anything; there was nothing for you to worry about.

he then stayed in the same position for roughly fifteen minutes before pushing himself off of you. “recharged. thanks,” he announced curtly, pressing an appreciative kiss to your lips and leaving the room without an explanation.

that’s kind of how it became a thing. minho would randomly surprise you with silent hug time every now and then, always without warning and reasoning. you suppose that he does it whenever he wants a little boost of energy and affection, whenever he feels down and needs a little pick-me-up, or simply whenever he just wants to be close to you for a while before returning to his day. to “recharge,” as he would call it. it doesn’t even matter what you're doing when he wants it; any time can be silent hug time.

you’re making dinner? not anymore. minho already has the stove turned off before holding you hostage between his body and the kitchen counter, his arms around you keeping you flush against him.

you just got back from grocery shopping and the ice cream needs to be put in the freezer? nope, minho doesn’t give a shit about that. your two tote bags full of produce and snacks can stay on the floor for all he cares. all that matters to him the second you walked through the front door is bombarding you with a bear hug and flooding his senses with the scent of your shampoo and the perfume he loves most on you.

you’re both running late to changbin’s housewarming party? too bad. what minho wants, minho gets and minho gets right now. you can only sigh in defeat as his hands slide around your waist to pull you to him, his face finding refuge in the crook of your neck where he gives you a quick kiss there. you wrap your arms around his neck, turning occasionally to press your lips against his temple. changbin will definitely be fussy about your tardiness, but if you’re being totally honest, he’s lucky that you’re able to drag minho there at all.

in all fairness, it’s cute. it’s wonderfully endearing and such a minho thing to do. in true minho fashion, he would rather manhandle you and let your ice cream melt than tell you that he wants a hug, because god knows that minho would never willingly admit it on his own.

nevertheless, even if you you might not be able to hear him ask a simple question like “can i get a hug?” in this lifetime, you still have the privilege of being the one he goes to when he needs peace and comfort, and his actions speak more than his words ever could.

minho thinks of you first because he associates you with nothing but goodness. because you’re his happy place. you’re the calm amidst every storm, the safe harbor he can always return to when he needs shelter. every pretty color he sees and every beautiful adjective in his vocabulary? that’s all you.

to minho, you aren’t even synonymous with love. you are love.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz1skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin (italicized = can’t tag)

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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verstappen-cult · 2 months

Text

#. . . Five times Max refuses to acknowledge he’s sick + one time he does.

request made by @lucien-calore. . . “hi, you asked for a max request and i shall deliver! can i please have a sickfic where max refuses to acknowledge he's sick (a flu or something, nothing too serious) but when he does, he acts like a drama queen?”

You’re making dinner when you hear Max coughing from his streaming room, then the laughs of his friends making fun of him.

You don’t think too much about it. That is until he can’t stop coughing while you’re eating, and when you’re getting ready for bed, and at all during the night.

It’s only in the morning, as you’re making breakfast and he’s feeding the cats, when you decide to say something.

“Baby?” You say, trying to look nonchalant while making the eggs.

“Yes?” He puts the cat food away and makes his way to you. Max hugs your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “What happens?”

“I’m gonna go to the pharmacy after pilates, do you need anything?”

Max hums, like actually thinking about it before saying, “No, love. Got everything I need.”

“You sure? Nothing for that cough you have?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He kisses your cheek and pulls away, grabbing an apple. “I’m gonna be streaming, make sure to say goodbye before you leave, okay?”

“Are you okay?” It’s the fourth time in less than an hour that Max enters the kitchen to fill his bottle of water.

“Yeah, it’s just that all the singing and screaming at the concert last night left me with a sore throat.”

You try not to laugh but it’s impossible. It’s been three days since he started with that horrible cough, which hasn’t stopped, but he still doesn’t understand that he’s probably sick.

“Max, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that.” You close the book and get up from the couch, he looks confused as you get closer and place your hand on his forehead. “Jesus, Max, you’re burning up!”

“I’m hot, don’t you think?”

“Max, I’m serious, you got a fever.”

“It’s probably nothing,” He reassures you by placing a kiss on your cheek before turning around. “I fell asleep on the terrace. I’m gonna take a shower, okay?”

“Max, I swear to God—”

“You look hot when you’re angry.” That’s the last thing he says, walking away.

“Max!”

It's impossible. You’ve tried everything to make Max understand that he’s sick and needs to rest, but he won’t admit it.

This morning you practically begged him to stay in bed to rest and recover, but he did not listen to you, saying that it was nothing — as he’s been saying all week — and actually dragged you to the Padel court because ‘I’m gonna win this time’.

Dani’s visiting, so, everyone got together to spend Sunday morning at their favorite place, promising to go to brunch after. But it’s been three hours and they have just finished the second game. Who’s fault is that? Max’s.

It’s no secret that Max is not very good at Padel, but now that he’s sick it’s been torture. Every couple of minutes they have to stop the game for him to cough, so it’s been impossible to actually play and he doesn’t want to give up.

And it’s worse because Charles is his partner. Only a look at the Monégasque and you know he wants to murder him.

“Max,” You call his name, leaving your book aside and walking closer to the wall that’s separating both of you. “you’re sick, why don’t we go home?”

“But, baby, I really think I can win this one.”

“No you won’t!” Lando shouts from across the court as he’s stretching.

“Oh shut u—”

“Max, I’m serious.” You don’t know what else to do at this point. He’s always been so stubborn, but this has reached new levels.

“I’m gonna win this for you, baby.” He winks and turns around to join the rest of the group.

“Max? Why are you still in bed?” You enter the room, gaze immediately going to the watch on the nightstand. It’s two in the afternoon. He never stays in bed past ten, not even during winter or summer break.

“Jus’ tired.” He mumbles, face hidden in the pillows.

“I’m gonna make you a cup of tea, okay?” You sit next to him, stroking his hair.

“Don’t want a cup of tea,” He opens his eyes, looking up at you and pouting. It makes you giggle. “I want you.”

“I won’t kiss you until you admit you’re sick.”

“That’s so unfair!” He pouts again, this time grabbing your arm and trying to make you lie next to him. “I’m not sick. I’m like super healthy.” You snort, shaking your head and standing up.

“Then, no kisses for you.”

Max groans, hiding his face under the blankets. “I can survive without your kisses, you know.”

That makes you laugh because you know Max, and you know how much he likes to kiss you at every opportunity. The chances of Max keeping that promise… Impossible.

“Whatever gets you through the night, Maxie.”

“Hey, baby.” Max places a kiss on your cheek as you leave the grocery bags on the kitchen table. “You got everything for tonight?”

“Yes. I already talked with your mom and they’ll be here at around nine.” Max helps you put the groceries away, frowning when he sees some medicine and a special broth he knows perfectly well among the things you will need for dinner tonight.

“What's this?”

You try to hide a smile, pretending to be busy with anything just to keep you from looking at him. “Your mom said you used to love it as a kid.”

“Yeah,” He says, still confused. “when I was sick.”

“You are sick, Max. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this.”

“I am not!” He huffs, rolling his eyes. You can see from the irritated expression on his face that he's tired of you repeating the same thing over and over again. “I’m gonna go play for a little bit.”

You grab his hand before he can walk away, pulling him closer to you. “Hey,” Max raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to talk. But you cup his cheeks instead, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m worried, I don’t want you to get worse.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You can only watch as he leaves the room, Jimmy following closely behind.

“Well, I tried.” You mumble, looking at Sassy perched on the counter. She meows and you’re glad at least someone understands you.

“Schatje?” You hear Max’s hoarse voice say.

“Mmh?” It’s your answer, busy peeling some vegetables. “What happens?”

He hesitates for a second, you see from the corner of your eyes how he avoids looking at you, which makes you stop and turn your attention to your boyfriend.

“I’m sick.” He whispers, surprising you. But he deserves a little teasing.

“What? I didn’t hear you.” You play dumb, and Max sees right through you.

“You were right, okay? I was being an idiot.”

“Yes, you were.” He pouts, making you feel warm all over. You walk to him, placing your hand on his forehead. “You have a fever. Why don’t you go lie down on the couch, uh? I’ll heat up the broth.”

“I’m sorry for being an idiot.” He breathes into the air, blushing all the way from his cheeks to his neck. You know that admitting when he’s wrong is not something easy for him.

“I know, baby. But,” You reach up and boop Max on the nose with your index finger. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

“But I wanted to help you, everyone’s about to arrive.”

“Worry about what your mom will say once I tell her how stubborn you have been.” He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “If you’re a good boy and take the medicine, I’ll think about giving you a… reward.”

If Max takes the medicine and finishes all the broth is only because he wants to get better. It has nothing to do with the reward you’re going to give him tonight.

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #f1 grid x reader

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drvscarlett · 1 month

Text

About You Pt1

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

A/N: I know I said that its a whole one shot only but I don't think that I can do it. I have to cut it because there is a lot of history. I hope you all enjoy.

About You Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Taglist: @spideybv28 @randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine

2005, Circuito de Jerez

The earliest memory that Y/N has of Sebastian Vettel was watching him test the Williams-BMW car.

It was her first time accompanying Mark and she was still grasping some of the key concepts of Formula 1 when Sebastian headed to the car. She watched how he drives and how the team were discussing about how he is a potential driver for the seasons to come.

"You know Seb is just a year older than you" Nico Rosberg, who has been keeping you company for the testing that afternoon, stated.

"Then that will make him the youngest driver if he enters Formula 1"Y/N mused.

Y/N didn't know but she was pretty excited to see him on track. She knew that this Sebastian will change a lot of things in F1 and will probably make history. At the same time, she can't help but be a bit worried since its a dangerous sports. One second you can be living the dream and then the next you find yourself recovering in a hospital room.

Sebastian Vettel gets out of the car and lifts his visor. There was a certain spark in his eyes that Y/N didn't miss out. Its the spark that showcase how much he loved to race.

Y/N didn't miss how her heart skipped a beat.

2006, Istanbul Park

The next time that Y/N sees Sebastian Vettel was during the free practice. He was a Friday driver for BMW-Sauber and he is as impressive as the day she first saw him in Spain.

"That kid just set out the fastest lap" her brother, Mark was shocked by the time set by Sebastian.

"That kid has a name" Y/N stated "and its Sebastian"

"Oh how come you are so informed about this missy?" he wondered

"He drove with you in testing season last year remember" Y/N replied.

The replay on the screen showcases the bold moves that were made by Sebastian. It was like he was driving like he is a man on a mission. If Y/N will bet, there is a lot of teams that will be shortlisting his name to their team.

"What do you think about him?"

"A little bit of reckless, I mean 6 seconds in your formula 1 career and you already have a penalty. There must be some kind of record for that" Mark was referring to the speeding penalty that Sebastian received as soon as he left the garage.

Y/N mumbles a small hmm as she continues to watch how Sebastian moves around the track. She was sure that sooner or later, she might see Sebastian more often.

2007, Albert Park

Fridays aren't too crowded as the Sunday races but still there was a bit of pressure in Sebastian Vettel's shoulder as he entered Albert Park.

He walked the paddocks and tried to visualize himself not just a Friday driver but an actual driver for the Sunday races. He pictures the screaming crowd chanting his name, the smell of burning rubber, radio messages from the team, and even being at the podium with the champagne.

In his daydreaming, he didn't realize that he bumped into someone. All he saw was that a girl was down on the ground with papers all over.

"I'm terribly sorry. I was not looking where I was going" he apologized.

"I'm equally at fault too"The woman assured "It was not wise to type and walk especially since this whole place is swarming with people"

Sebastian helped the girl compiling the papers and he noticed how the papers seem to be like contract for sponsorship. He looked at her and tried to identify which team did she belong to but her lack of team merchandise makes it difficult.

"You're new here?"he tries to decode.

"No, I'm not. I've been coming here since 5 years ago" there was an accent in her voice. Australian, if Sebastian was right.

"Huh, you must know your way around this whole place"

She takes a closer look at him, "You're that rookie Sebastian Vettel"

Now Sebastian doesn't have a huge following that he knows of and this is probably the first time that someone outside the family knew about him. Now, he felt even more curious about the girl.

"How did you know my name"

"Hard not to especially when you set a record to having the fastest penalty in their f1 career" she joked.

Normally Sebastian will be annoyed by the reminder of his mistake last year. He choose to forget that small mishap and avoid talking about it. But this time, he felt like the giggling is contagious that he can't help but smile when talking about his mistake.

"I assure you that I'm a much more better driver now" he states, holding up his hand as if saying that he swears he is a better a driver now.

"Hoping to see you deliver Vettel" she grins.

The girl started walking away from Sebastian when it occured to him that he didn't even know her name. He rushed to catch up with her.

"Wait, I didn't get your name"

She looked at him and there seems to be a slight hesitation

"If we meet again in a formula 1 race then I'll tell you my name" then the girl walked out of his sight.

2007, Indianopolis track.

It seems that luck has been on Y/N's side because she managed to avoid Sebastian during the past races. But it seems as if this luck is running out slowly since they are bound to meet up this weekend as Sebastian was bumped from reserve driver to formula 1 driver due to the injury that Kubica sustained in Canada.

She was hanging out at one of the coffee machines when she felt somebody tap her shoulder. She gave him a smile upon recognizing him.

"Sebastian Vettel, shouldn't you be preparing in your f1 car now?"

There was a loopy grin on his face, "Mystery woman, I was beginning to think if you are just a figment of my imagination.

Y/N pressed the hot cup to his hands, "I'm very much real and not just a figment of your mind"

"So will you tell me now your name?" Sebastian wondered. He has to admit that it has been bugging him for weeks on end about who this mystery woman is. He even went to ask around the paddock but his description was very vague and no one could help him.

"Its Y/N, nice to meet you" Purposely leaving out the last name.

In Y/N's mind it was just a safety pre-caution to leave out her last name. It was for her own good as well because people tend to act differently once they hear about your big brother or your connection to the sports. For once in her life, Y/N wants to be seen as just Y/N.

Maybe she just want to prolong this little charade for a little while longer.

"Y/N nice to finally meet you"

2007, Nürburgring

Maybe its the home turf advantage that boosted his confidence but Sebastian managed to ask Y/N if she would like a tour around the place. Thankfully, she agreed. Sebastian was already blabbering about the places that they have to get to and Y/N had to remind him that they're not staying for a vacation.

He will tell you that he is not freaking out but he prepared for the whole afternoon. He even asked his mother what outfit should he wear to make it seem like a casual hangout. In his defense, he never had a lot of friends growing up and he certainly didn't have beautiful australian girls around.

"You know you don't have to bring me flowers, were just touring around"

It was his idea to bring flowers because he often sees it in airports. When someone new is in town, they bring them flowers. He felt like the orange gerberas were a good pick as advised by the florist he knows.

"But the flowers made you smile" Sebastian grinned "I'm more than pleased to have a happy tourist to tour around"

Then two engaged in a conversation about their early life. Sebastian shared stories of the town he grew up in and his stories of motorsports.Y/N, on the other hand, listened and shared some bits of her life in Australia before she traveled around the world.

Eventually the duo ended up in an orange farm, where they picked out oranges and waited for the sunrise to set in the horizon. It was a core memory that they will share with one naother.

"We should do this again sometime"Y/N suggested

"Its a breather for you and I" Sebastian agreed "Away from all the lavishness of F1 and the pressure of the sports"

"Sounds like you wanted to run away with me"

"Who wouldn't want to run away with someone like you?"

2007, Fuji Speedway.

The past few weeks has been stressful for the Webber siblings. The articles published by some news sites seems to be getting on Mark's last nerve. Everyone seems to be taunting him about how he is over a hundred of race starts already but then he still haven't won anything. The pressure is high and Mark was determined to prove them wrong.

"Mark just don't do anything stupid okay?" Y/N begs.

She watches as Mark suit up for the next race. She was already used to her brother racing but she knew this race was a little different since her brother wanted to win.

"I'm not going to be stupid Y/N, I'll drive good today and I'll get that win that they want"Mark grumbled.

Y/N handed the helmet to her brother, "Just stay safe, I don't want to lose you"

"I'll come back safe"

The race went underway and as usual, Y/N watches it in the comforts of the driver's room. She did not want too many attention focused on her and she felt like her heart might actually come out of her rib cage if she watches it on the stands.

Japan's wet races gives Y/N a heavy feeling that something bad might happen. Her heart beats rapidly as she watches cars after cars spin out or crash. She prays that none of them was Mark. or Sebastian.

There was 20 laps to go when her ears started ringing that a Red Bull has been rear-ended by a Toro Rosso.

'Please don't let it be Mark and Seb. Please don't let it be Mark and Seb'

But the voices in the Red Bull pitlanes and the storming voices of Mark confirms her worst nightmare.

"That kid is so stupid, he shouldn't have been allowed to drive" Mark roared "I had that in the bag, I was going to win"

Y/N immediately hugged her brother, "Its alright, the win will be coming soon Mark. What matters is you are safe"

There were frustrated tears from Mark as he cried in the embrace of his sister. Privacy was given to the siblings as the race continues on. She was so focused on her brother that she didn't notice that there were several messages in her phone.

Seb: Where are you? Seb: I messed up my race and Webber. Seb: Call me when you get this. Please?

2007, Shanghai International Circuit

It felt like a heavy weight on Sebastian's shoulder after he messed up. He kept on blaming himself that he did not just mess up his own race but he also messed up Webber's race. It did not help that Y/N was not replying.

The media has also been eating him up with the way that Webber responded to him. He was called a kid that did not have enough experience. It stings a lot but now he has to put up a brave face and just race.

"SEB! SEB!"

Sebastian looked back and he saw Y/N. There was no hesitation in him but he immediately hugged her. It was the only time ever since Japan that people aren't mad at him or hounding him for questions. He felt at ease to be with Y/N.

"Where have you been, I have been messaging you over the weekend"

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Y/N says "And before I forget, I made you this as a token of my apology"

In her hand, she has a paper bag. Sebastian's curiosity is piqued upon looking at the contents inside the bag. There was a tupperware with food and a sticky note in a messy handwriting "for sebastian vettel, you can do it."

"You cook?"

"I don't but hey its the thought that counts. I figure that you might need-"

Y/N doesn't have to explain a lot because Sebastian already appreciated the gesture. He hugged her again and it seems like everything just got a little bit lighter for Sebastian that weekend.

It wasn't Sebastian's weekend at all but remembering the little note, that was tucked inside his helmet, he felt a lot better. He can bounce back next season.

2008, Autodromo Nazionale di Monza

This was the internal dilemma of being Sebastian's friend and being Mark's sister. The two of them are in different side of the coins for this season. Two drivers shared the same family with Toro Rosso being the sister family of Red Bull but it seems like that's their only similarity.

Then there was the mixed emotion. Of course, Y/N was proud of Sebastian because he is slowly improving and shining with every grand prix. She was always elated when they see each other post-qualifying or post-race at the hotel rooftop (it has been their common knowledge that they will meet up there so that they can get fresh air together). On the other hand, Y/N knows about the pressure that it is being placed with her brother. Mark has been declining and losing hope for a maiden win. He has been in the sports for some time and he believes his time should have arrived by now but he lost opportunity after opportunity.

Y/N can't fault anyone for this one. Both of them just wanted to achieve their dreams. She wished everything does not have to escalate but here they are in the 2008 Monza Grand Prix.

Sebastian Vettel was starting on pole while Mark was starting third. Everyone is buzzing about the possibility that Toro Rosso might clinch a first win before Red Bull. It was something that Y/N knew bugged Mark's mind.

It didn't help that it was a rainy start and it sort of brought her back to Japan 2007. She was not an overly religious person but she prayed to any higher being to please don't let Mark and Sebastian crash with each other again.

The race went underway and the rain was not as heavy as Japan. Still there was some crashes and some spin. But Y/N felt the conflict of emotions start again upon seeing how Mark started to drop places while Sebastian pulled away from the rest.

Y/N went out of the driver room when it was nearing the end of the lap. She didn't know whether she should run and congratulate Sebastian or she should stay behind and comfort his brother.

Of course, blood is thicker than water.

Mark looks absolutely defeated as people started to ask him about how he is feeling when their sister group got its first win before them or how did he manage to mess up his 3rd position to eight.

"Just please give him some space, we will be answering the questions later" Y/N stepped up. Right now she was not Mark's sister but rather Mark's assistant.

Y/N helped Mark to go back to his driver's room so he can get a few minutes to himself before he gets questioned by the media again.

"It feels like shit. I feel like I can't do anything right" Mark threw his gloves across the room.

"It wasn't your time yet Mark" Y/N replied. Its like a broken record at this point which frustrates Mark.

"Then when will it be my time? Sebastian has been here for just a year or so and he already have a grand prix victory"

Y/N knew that this was the dam breaking. No words can comfort her brother right now so she just went to give him a hug. She could only wish in silence that Mark gets his win eventually.

On the other side of the paddock, there was cheering. Sebastian Vettel was in cloud 9 as he saw the Toro Rosso mechanics and engineers calls out his name. Everyone was in full party mode that they have even tossed Sebastian up in the air.

Everyone wanted to talk to him. They wanted to ask him about how he is feeling or how he created history today. He was the youngest driver to have a maiden win and the first one to bring victory to Toro Rosso.

But Sebastian eyes seem to search for someone in the crowd. He wouldn't voice it out but there was a certain woman he was hoping to see when he stepped into the podium. It had a slight twinge in his heart but the roaring crowd silenced that feeling.

'Maybe I'll see her later' Sebastian thought.

However, there was no Y/N in sight for the rest of the weekend.

2008, Marina Bay Street Circuit

Sebastian was still experiencing the highs of his Monza win and the Singapore GP has also been a good race for him. He might not have a podium finish but 5th was good enough. However if there was one thing that bothered Sebastian was the lack of Y/N sightings.

He tried messaging her after Monza but there was no reply. He thinks its probably weird that he didn't even get a congratulations because surely Y/N would know about it. There might be a couple of reasons why she didn't see it which is a) she was sick or b) she resigned.

Sebastian was gunning for the first choice because surely Y/N won't just resign without saying goodbye.

So imagine his surprise when he saw the woman that has been bugging his mind at the exit of the pitlane.

"You could have answered my texts you know" that was Sebastian's greeting to her

Y/N seems to be caught off-guard by Sebastian's presence. She was still in her work outfit Sebastian takes note as she was carrying a tote bag.

"I'm sorry. It just got a little busy for me"

Sebastian nods, he understands how having a job here is quite difficult. He could not fault her for that.

"Why not lets celebrate? I won in Monza and I finished fifth here"Sebastian offered "Consider it as your make up dinner for not congratulating me"

There was that hesitant smile gracing her face again and it reminded Sebastian of the first time she didn't tell her name. She seems extremely conflicted.

"Seb I would love to but I still have to do some work and-"

"Y/N, there you are"

Sebastian and Y/N whipped their head to the source of the voice. Mark Webber started walking towards them. It confused Sebastian as to why he knew Y/N but then he remembered that Mark was probably the one that Y/N has been working with.

"I told you to wait for me"Mark says as he picked up the bag of Y/N "I was just fixing some things with Christian"

"I can carry my stuffs myself Mark" Y/N replied

"But you have been walking in your heels the whole day, it's going to make you cranky sooner or later" Mark quipped back.

Now this confused Sebastian. It seems like their dynamics is not just work related but rather something personal. He also felt like he has missed a whole chapter and he feels very invisible at the moment.

"You two know each other?"Sebastian managed to ask.

There was a panic in Y/N eyes as if she wanted to explain but it was Mark that beat her to it.

"Of course, I know her" Mark admitted "Why wouldn't I know my sister?"

And it was that moment that Sebastian pieced out why she haven't been able to message him or why she was MIA as well in Japan. He felt stupid because he never inquired why she didn't give out her last name or why she was booked at the same hotel as the drivers.

Great just fucking great.

2008, Interlagos

It was eating her alive that Sebastian is not in speaking terms with her.

In hindsight, she understands that sooner or later, she has to tell him about who really is. She just didn't know that it will be as early and as unprepared as what happened in Singapore. She also got an earful from Mark who questioned how did she manage to meet Sebastian and why does it seem like the two are close with each other.

Honestly, she can't wait for the season to be over so that she can rest from all the drama but she knows that she has to make amends before winter break starts.

And so she slipped to the Toro Rosso garage, under the disguise that as Mark's assistant, she has to talk to Sebastian. So here she is in Sebastian's driver room, waiting for him to arrive.

"Can't I deal with this after-"Sebastian immediately stopped in his tracks upon seeing Y/N "Oh its you"

Silence enveloped the two of them. Y/N has a practiced script in her head but no words doesn't want to come out.

"I'm giving you five minutes or I'm kicking you out" Sebastian warned.

"I just came here to say that I am sorry. It wasn't really my intention to deceive you. I just wanted to be friends with you without my last name being too intimidating. I know that its terrible but I was going to tell you my name someday but Mark just got into the way and its all shit"

She was word-vomitting, she was sure of it. But hey its better than keeping everything as a burden on the shoulders.

"Say something please?" Y/N wondered with Sebastian's silence.

"You could have told me, don't you trust me?"

"I trust you Sebastian. Its just, its really complicated to be seen as Mark's sister or Mark's assistant. I just want to be just Y/N when I'm with you"Y/N sighs.

Y/N felt bummed as she thought she could fix this before winter break starts but she knows he might need some time.

"I know that its not easy to forgive me. Its selfish of me to do that so I won't force you to forgive me" she says "I'll give you some time to collect your thoughts"

Y/N reached out for the door when she felt a hand tugging her back. She saw Sebastian reaching out.

"Just give me some time"

"I will. Don't worry" she understands "I have to say I'm really proud of you this season. You did well Seb"

There was that silence when Sebastian held her. She knows things are far from okay and there is the upcoming season that has the possibility of Sebastian being upgraded to Red Bull but in this moment, none of that matters. Its just them. Just Y/N and Seb.

#sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x oc #sebastian vettel imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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bradshawssugarbaby · 2 months

Text

Remind Me - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley Bradshaw is one hell of an aviator. He's one of the best at what he does. You only wish the same could be said of his performance as your husband.

A/N: this is my first real attempt at angst but I ended up making it smutty and fluffy as well so there's that. I was inspired and got a little carried away. Inspired by Remind Me by Brad Paisley and Carrie Underwood.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x wife!reader

content/warnings: angst, allusions to cheating, allusions to divorce, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), breeding kink if you squint, praise kink, Bradley being an unattentive husband bc he's clueless, fluffy ending.

word count: 4.6k

"Been so long that you'd forget, the way I used to kiss your neck Remind me, remind me So on fire, so in love, way back when we couldn't get enough Remind me, remind me"

You pulled into the driveway of your beachfront home, the salty Californian breeze encompassing you as you turned the key in the front door, a bag of groceries nestled on your hip as you pushed the door open. A deafening silence came over you as you walked through the entryway, and you noticed that your husband, Bradley, was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t unusual for Bradley to fall asleep in front of the tv on a Sunday afternoon, the drone of sports commentary providing a backdrop to his nap, a neglected bottle of beer warming on the coffee table, condensation tracing its descent down the amber glass. However, today, the usual harmonic sounds of Sportscenter and Bradley's gentle snores was conspicuously absent, replaced by an eerie quiet that settled around you like a heavy blanket, an empty couch, and a note on your kitchen counter - Bradley’s idea of conveying information that wasn’t life or death - scribbled in his distinct, masculine penmanship.

“Hey beautiful, be back soon, out for golf and beers with the boys - B.”

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his predictable escapades, a mixture of annoyance and resignation washing over you. You let out a long huff as you set the groceries down on the counter, the rustle of paper bags echoing in the stillness of the kitchen. As you meticulously organized the contents into the fridge and pantry, your gaze fell upon the neglected stack of dirty dishes occupying the sink. Their number seemed to have multiplied since the previous night, despite Bradley’s assurances that he would take care of them. You had even reminded him earlier that morning, amidst sips of your morning coffee, only to receive a distracted hum and a vague nod as he scrolled through his phone, his attention elsewhere. This wasn’t anything new for you - Bradley often had a single tracked mind, unable to focus his attention on more than one thing at a time when he wasn’t in the cockpit of a plane, but lately, it felt like every conversation you tried to invoke was one-sided, with Bradley giving little more than a half-hearted “mhmm” in response, regardless of the topic.

As you closed the fridge, you noticed that your dry-erase calendar had a new date encircled in pink, with Bradley’s unmistakeable writing on display in the center.

“Mission: 3 wks?”

“Of course you have another fucking mission,” you grumbled to yourself, shaking your head.

The realization hit you like a freight train, slamming into your heart with a pang of unfairness. Bradley's profession demanded his constant departure and return, but the frequency of his missions seemed almost cruel, especially considering the fleeting moments of bliss you shared during his brief stints at home. Six weeks had barely passed since his last return, yet it felt as if his presence was unchanged from the way it had been when he was gone.

Between rigorous training sessions and endless briefings, Bradley sought solace in the camaraderie of his buddies – Jake, Reuben, and Mickey – the trio of bachelors who seemed to relish in their freedom. Their escapades ranged from impromptu drinks to leisurely rounds at the driving range, filled with a sense of masculinity and adventure that Bradley found himself longing to be a part of. Approaching the dreaded milestone of forty, he yearned for the carefree attitude he held in his youth, reminiscing about the exhilarating escapades of his twenties and earlier thirties - ending right around 36 years old when he met you.

In a bid to reclaim some form of that lost spontaneity, Bradley had tentatively ventured into his friends realm, seeking companionship in their revelries. Initially relegated to the role of designated driver, his latent talent for piano and penchant for serenading transformed him into the life of the party. What started as a sporadic outing soon morphed into a monthly ritual, then gradually escalated into a seemingly incessant cycle where every day not spent on base was dedicated to partying it up with "the boys"

As you sank into the welcoming embrace of the couch, enveloped by its plush cushions, a sense of desolation washed over you like a tidal wave. Clutching a pint-sized tub of ice cream to your chest, you sought solace in the flickering glow of the television, scanning through channels in a futile attempt to distract yourself from the gnawing ache within until Bradley came home. Settling on a marathon of romantic comedies on one of the dozens of channels that seem to play nothing but movies and reruns of old sitcoms, you blinked back tears as you watched the romance unfold on tv, all while feeling like your own was slowly dying.

It was three and a half hours later when Bradley finally came clattering through the door, a couple beers deep. You heard him clumsily kick his deck shoes off at the door, his bare feet slapping against the hardwood flooring as he walked down the hall with heavy steps. You did your best to ignore him, wanting to make it clear that you were upset, but not having the fight in you after three and a half hours of crying into a carton of chocolate peanut butter ice cream over Katherine Heigl and James Marsden and Reese Witherspoon and Josh Lucas and their romantic gestures, tender embraces and declarations of love and happily ever afters. You fixed your eyes on the tv as you caught sight of Bradley from the corner of your eye, his fluorescent pink golf shirt almost impossible to ignore.

As Bradley's voice echoed through the living room, infused with a hint of playful banter, you felt a pang of resignation tugging at your heartstrings. His honeyed drawl, his sun-kissed glow and his almost blonde highlights cascading through his curls, created a striking contrast against the solemnity that enveloped the room. With sunglasses perched atop his head like a crown, Bradley sauntered into view, his caramel-colored eyes scanning the scene before him with a mixture of concern and confusion.

“Hey honey! When’d you get home? You watchin’ one of those chick flicks?”, he spoke with a playful tone, an underlying hint of apprehension lingering in the air.

Ignoring his inquiry, you remained in your silence, your gaze fixed upon the flickering images on the television screen. Bradley's brow furrowed, the lines etching across his forehead as he searched for a clue amidst the sea of your emotions.

“Aw, I don’t mean chick flick in a bad way, baby, I’m just teasin’”, he continued, his voice laced with a soft plea for understanding. “Some of them aren’t so bad, you know, I like a couple of ‘em.”

When he was once again met with silence, Bradley took a couple of steps closer to where you lay on the couch, moving his tall, six-foot-three, athletic frame into your line of view. You continued to focus on the tv, finding it nearly impossible to ignore the neon hue of Bradley’s polo shirt now, noticing how he’d paired it with a basic pair of khaki shorts and his Ray-Ban aviators that he never left home without. He knit his brows together as he watched you, his eyes wafting over to the now empty ice cream tub with a single spoon sitting inside, resting on the coffee table. He hummed softly - something he often did when he was trying to think, as a confused look started forming on his face.

“Baby, come on, what’s bothering ya?” He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, “Did I do somethin’? ‘Cause if I did, I’m sorry for whatever it is.”

“You aren’t,” you finally responded, not breaking eye contact with Ryan Gosling as he appeared on the tv.

“I’m not what, babe?”

“Sorry. You’re not sorry. You never are sorry.”

“Honey, I’m not following ya.”

You huffed and shook your head as you sat up on the couch, wiping your eyes as you felt the hot tears stinging them once again as they threatened to make a return. A raw aching feeling built up within you as you took a deep breath, preparing to have the conversation you’d been dreading for who-knows-how-long. You looked down at your wedding band for a moment, the sight of it nearly enough to trigger painful sobs as you braced yourself for what was about to transpire between you and your husband.

“You’re not sorry. You’re never home because you choose to never be home. You’re not sorry for it. It’s like you don’t want to be around me, Bradley,” you started slowly, shaking your head as the tears began to fall.

“Baby, hang on-” Bradley begins before you cut him off.

“Look, Bradley, if you’re unhappy-”

“Unhappy? Baby, no, I could never be unhappy with you, what are you talking about?” Bradley cooed, kneeling down beside the couch as he brushed your hair behind your ear in a tender gesture to ermphasize his point.

“Are you seeing other women when you go out with the guys?” You say bluntly, giving Bradley a stare that practically burns right through him.

“What?! Honey, I think you’re getting the wrong idea here.”

“It’s really not that far-fetched, Bradley. You’re always wanting to go out with your only single friends, you constantly go out to play wingman with them at bars to help them get laid, then when you’re home, you never listen to me, it’s like I may as well be talking to myself most of the time. I only seem to see you if you’re hungry or asleep and that’s only because you can’t boil water to save your life and our bed is the only one in the house that always has clean sheets on it.”

“Babe, I don’t know who the fuck you think you married-” Bradley protested.

“Oh, really? Mr. “Didn’t-get-married-until-he-was-38-because-he-liked-picking-up-girls-in-bars-better? Wasn’t it because that was more convenient for you? Because then you’d never have a “little lady back home to worry about” whenever you went away?”

“That was before I met you, the minute I met you, I stopped wanting to do any of that bullshit. Our first date, I knew I wanted to marry you, honey.”

“That doesn’t mean that’s how you feel now, does it?! I mean, Christ’s sake, Bradley, when was the last time you even kissed me?! Let alone had sex with me, for fuck’s sake. I thought you wanted to try having kids soon once you got your promotion settled,” you said as your voice cracked, shaking your head.

“Honey, please,” Bradley began pleading, shaking his head.

You abruptly stood up from the couch, walking away from him and heading towards the kitchen. You opened the fridge, conveniently using the door to block Bradley from your sight, your anger towards him boiling towards the edge now. You grabbed yourself a drink and cracked the top off with the bottle opener, slamming the fridge door shut. Bradley held his hands up in defense as he looked at you, an expression of complete astoundment on his face.

“Baby, I may not be the smartest man out there, but I’m not unfaithful, you know that. I know you know that deep down.”

“Bradley, I don’t know what I know anymore. I used to know that you loved me too, but that doesn’t seem to hold true.”

“What are you talking about?! Honey, you know that I love you.”

“Do I?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Sweetheart, I’ve never loved anyone like I do you. I know showing it isn’t my strong suit - I never got to see much of an example other than pictures of my folks, but I know damn well that I look at you the same way my dad looked at my mom. And I know that I’ve never, in the four years since we started dating, ever, as much as entertained the idea of being with another woman. I married you. Remember? You were there. Better or worse, sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part, all that?”

“It’s pretty easy to vow to love someone for better or for worse when you’re never fucking around, isn’t it, Bradley?!”

“Well forgive me for fighting for our fucking country, Honey. What, you want me to just walk away from my duty?”

“Your country and your boys come before your wife, do you not see how fucked up that is?”

“You come first, always. I work as hard as I do at work for you. I try to work my ass off to get promotions and be leader on missions so I can make sure you’re taken care of. So that if anything ever happened to me, you’d be set, you’d never have to worry about a thing.”

“I don’t want that! I want you. You could pump gas for a living or be a lifeguard on the beach for all I fucking care. All I know is, the man I married isn’t here anymore, and I don’t know where he went or why.”

Bradley shook his head angrily and scoffed. His face began to turn red as he narrowed his eyes, beginning to talk with his hands.

“I’m the same fucking guy! Babe, is this seriously because I went golfing this afternoon?”

“No, Bradley, it’s because you’ve been home for six weeks and you haven’t as much as kissed me since you got home off the last mission, and I just saw that you put a new three week one on the calendar. You leave in 10 days and you didn’t even tell me! What, were you just going to fuck off and go when it came and not say a word?”

An awkward hush fell over the two of you, echoing throughout the house. Bradley looked to his feet, remaining quiet as he shook his head. He sighed loudly and pressed his hand to his forehead before looking up at you again.

“Honey, believe me, I only found out this morning, I was going to tell you…but,” He frowns as he realizes why he didn’t tell you. “But then Jake called, and I wanted to blow off steam about it, so I agreed to hit a few holes with him. But, Baby, I swear to you, I am the exact same Lieutenant Bradshaw who asked you out on a date four years ago. Remember? I almost missed a briefing just to talk to you. Nearly got my ass in trouble for it, but you were worth every second.”

You looked up at Bradley, sinking your top teeth into your bottom lip as you shook your head, almost in disbelief as you remembered how you and Bradley had met.

You were visiting Coronado for the day, your first trip over the San Diego Bay since moving to the city from Colorado Springs. The sun had been shining as you strolled through the picturesque town on the Pacific coast. Bradley had been walking up to one of the dozens of restaurants that scattered the main strip for lunch with a couple of his comrades, dressed in his khaki uniform as he waited in line for his food, his tanned skin and broad shoulders catching your eye almost immediately. He flashed a smile at you, and in that moment, you’d managed to forget your own name, completely entranced by the man in front of you.

From there, Bradley had asked you to sit with him for lunch, leaving his friends behind at a nearby picnic table. The two of you had so much fun simply talking that he didn’t realize the time, or that his friends had already left, and that he had to be back on base for a briefing in 10 minutes. He’d quickly exchanged numbers with you and practically sprinted back to his car - a 1972 Ford Bronco in pristine condition, something you remembered about him immediately, a detail you’d found yourself looking for on your outings in the downtown core of San Diego, in case he’d made the trip to your side of the bridge for some reason.

A week later you were on a second date, and from there, your relationship became official soon after, with a marriage proposal happening on your first anniversary when Bradley arrived home from a mission. He saw you waiting for him on base, standing there in a pale blue sundress, looking even more beautiful than he’d remembered when he left a few weeks prior. He ran up to you, picking you up and swirling you around as he held you close, kissing you more passionately than he’d ever done before. No sooner than he put you back down, he dropped to one knee and asked you to be his wife, and you said yes, without an ounce of hesitation.

“Bradley,” you sighed sadly, shaking your head as you looked up at him.

“Honey, I swear to you, from the day that I asked you to sit down for lunch with me, I have never even looked at another woman. All I ever do for the guys when we go out is offer to talk to a girl on Jake’s behalf after he fucks it up and I have to go explain that his brain stopped maturing once he hit about age 15 when it comes to women. He thinks with his dick sometimes and gets his dumbass in trouble. I just go smooth it over so he doesn’t get a kick to the nuts or arrested for something stupid, like fighting some girl’s boyfriend.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Sweetheart, oh my God, you really thought I was cheating on you? What would any other woman have that you don’t? I’m just there babysitting Jake, and, I usually get a free beer and a plate of Buffalo wings out of the deal.”

“You...you do it for chicken wings?”

“I mean, I do it to hang out with my friends in situations where we’re not planning a mission or flying like our asses depend on it because we might not make it home otherwise.”

You nod your head slowly as everything suddenly starts making sense. It wasn’t that Bradley didn’t want to be with you, it was that he wanted some sense of normalcy with his friends, instead of what had become normal for them at work. You could appreciate it, even if Bradley was going about things the wrong way.

“Can I show you something?” He said softly, cautiously reaching out to take you by the hand as you nodded your head.

Bradley pulled you in close to his body, wrapping you up in his strong arms and holding you in a passionate embrace as he kissed you with everything he had in him. His lips hungrily kissed at yours, his tongue flitting out to trace your bottom lip as you parted your mouth just so to allow him access. A soft, breathy moan escaped from your throat as you kissed Bradley, the passion overtaking you as he gently pulled away, still hovering above your mouth.

“I want to remind you how much I love you.”

Without another word, Bradley hoisted you up onto the counter, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you towards him. He knelt down in front of you, gently tapping your inner thigh with his hand as you parted your legs for him. Bradley pulled your comfy shorts down off your waist, dragging them down your legs before dropping them to the floor. He ducked his head down between your thighs as his hands rested on you, pulling you ever so slightly in towards him. His tongue licked a long, slow trail up your slit, eliciting a loud, breathy gasp from your lips.

Bradley’s tongue began to work at you, licking and sucking at your sensitive clit as you tilted your head back. Your fingers raked their way into his curls, tugging gently on them as you guided his head in to your center, a whine leaving your lips as you felt him encircling it with his tongue, his touch delicate, yet passionate, as if he was making this his life’s work. You felt his tongue tracing shapes on you - letters, almost, and Bradley’s muffled voice had a tone of seduction to it as he spoke, his lips vibrating against your swollen, puffy cunt, sending a whole new sensation through you.

“Bradley!” You cried out, throwing your head forward to watch what he was doing, “I-I’m getting close, honey.”

Bradley looked up at you from under hooded lids as he watched your facial expressions, loving how your body was reacting to his touch. There was a newfound look of determination in his eyes as he slipped two of his long, slender fingers inside of you without breaking contact with his mouth. The feeling of his fingertips pressing into your sweet spot and his combination of licking and sucking at your clit like a man starved was enough to push you over the edge. Your legs began to quiver as you felt yourself approach your climax, screaming out Bradley’s name, making it the only sound that could be heard echoing through your empty house.

“Gonna explain what the fuck that new technique of yours is?” You panted as you came down from your euphoria, your head spinning as you stared at Bradley, who was wiping his chin with the back of his hand and sporting a look of pure pride.

“My wedding vows,” He shrugged, as if this was the most obvious explanation in the world.

“Your vows? You recited your vows?”

“Sure did, babygirl. Had to show you I remembered them somehow, figured that was better than me reciting them while bending you over the countertop. I’m not done convincing you just yet though.”

He smirked, taking you by the hand as he helped you down off the counter. Bradley turned you around, your back facing him as he placed his firm, strong hand on you, guiding you as you bent over and rested your hands on the cold marble surface in front of you. You couldn’t help but grin to yourself as you realized your husband’s methods of making it up to you - he was never great with words, spoken apologies usually ended up coming out wrong, words getting tangled and twisted on his tongue, unable to string together a coherent sentence that held any meaning. However, what Bradley lacked in his communication, he made up for with his actions, doing whatever grandiose measure he could to make it up to you.

Bradley’s broad hand stroked your back, running down to your ass as he gave it a playful squeeze. He let out a low groan as he undid his golf shorts, hurriedly kicking them off behind him. Bradley gave his cock a few quick strokes with his hand before running his tip along your dripping wet slit to tease you.

“Ready for me, Honey?” He purred, grinning as he watched you tense up as you felt him brush against your clit.

“Bradley, so help me, if you don’t stop teasing me-” your sentence was cut off abruptly as you felt Bradley buck his hips forward, pushing his length into your entrance.

You whined as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate him, feeling full as he bottomed out inside of you, Bradley leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder as he gave you time to adjust. Bradley stood himself upright, lining his hips up with yours as he pulled back before giving a hard thrust forwards. He began pumping himself in and out of you, snapping his hips into a rhythm as he held your hips in place with his hands. Each thrust was sharp and calculated, hitting all the right places in perfect timing. There was one thing your husband prided himself on more than anything, and that was how well he made love to his wife.

“That’s it, Honey, you look so pretty taking my cock like this,” Bradley hummed, his voice sultry and smooth as he praised you.

“Bradley, harder.” You commanded, whining as you felt an aching need for him to let you cum.

Bradley began thrusting deeper into you, taking less care to be gentle with each movement. You felt your knees buckling with pleasure as he thrusted, and the sounds coming from both you and Bradley were beyond obscene, but in the best possible way.

“Baby, I’m getting close,” He breathed, tilting his head back and panting. “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No!” You responded, clenching your thighs around him, in a more zealous response than you intended. “Need you, Bradley. I don’t care what happens. I need you.”

You could almost hear the change in tone from Bradley as soon as you spoke. Except, instead of killing the mood, like you’d anticipated, Bradley began fucking himself into you harder than before, almost desperate as he gripped your hips tightly.

“You want me to fill you up, my pretty girl? Want me to cum in that tight little pussy of yours?” He husked, his body practically giving way to pleasure as he thought about it.

“Mhmm!” was all you could muster out of you as you nodded your head, feeling yourself reach your orgasm again, your walls clenching around him tightly.

“Fuck, Honey, you got it. Anything you want, Babygirl, I’ve got ya.” He babbled as he fell apart inside of you.

You placed your palms flat against the counter to hold yourself steady as Bradley’s thrusts became sloppier, slowing until they reached a gradual stop. He held his positon inside of you for a few moments while he caught his breath, almost too exhausted to move. As he pulled out, you let out a deep sigh, almost aching at the now emptiness in you.

You finally got air back into your lungs as you stood upright, turning to face him as you leaned your back against the counter. Your gaze fell on Bradley, a blissful look of exhaustion on your face. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, his curls now slightly dampened from a mixture of the Californian humidity and the passionately wild sex you’d just had. Bradley gave you a crooked grin as he gently put his arms around your waist, pulling you in close to him.

“How was that for my apology? Or do you need me to do it again? ‘Cause if you give me like, an hour, I��ll go grab one of those Body whatever drinks Jake always has after a workout and I’ll be good to go for another round,” Bradley chuckled, stroking your hair.

“It was good, you’re forgiven. But,” you paused, grinning up at him as he raised an eyebrow at you. “I’d appreciate it if you spent a little more time with me. Maybe we could catch a ball game together, go for a road trip or something.”

“You know what? That sounds like a great idea. I’ve got tomorrow and the next day off. We could drive up to Malibu or something. Hell, Vegas is only four hours. May as well check that off our bucket list while we still can.”

“While we still can?” You cocked your head to the side, giving him an incredulous look.

“Well, you just begged me not to pull out…and if it’s alright by you, I’d kinda like to see what happens if we kept doing that,” Bradley said with a playful grin, laughing as he stroked your cheek.

“Oh, is that so?” You smirked, shaking your head at him.

“Well, this road trip will give us four hours and a lot of desert to pull over in. You’ll get lots of chances to see what happens.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster fanfiction #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick fic #top gun maverick imagine

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vivwritesfics · 3 months

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Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Five - The B*tch

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.5K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

ik people have been asking to be added to the taglist, but it is officially closed and has been for maybe two chapters now

Series Masterlist

The last time Y/N saw Daniel was Monday at daycare. She picked up Milo as he picked up Olivia for the last time before she was to stay with her mother.

Y/N and Daniel waited together for Milo and Olivia to walk out of daycare. They were bound to walk out of the gates together, so Daniel and Y/N stood side by side as they chatted.

When they picked up their children, Y/N wished him one more good luck on his race and took Milo home.

Now that they had each other’s numbers, Y/N and Daniel texted a lot. The number was just meant to be for playdates, but the moment he started sending her pictures from the location of the grand prix, it was game over. They spoke every moment, like a pair of teenagers.

For the next week, Olivia was with her mother. Although she was there every afternoon, Y/N never met her. It was Olivias doing. She was five, sure, but she was smart as hell. She was going to do anything in her power to keep the women apart.

But then on Friday, Y/N let the eyes scan the children's face for Olivia. She watched as, with shoulders slumped, she walked over to a tall woman with a stern face. She immediately grabbed a hold of Olivias arm.

"Come on, Milo," Y/N said softly, holding his hand as she walked over to Olivias mother. She weaved around other parents and their kids, giving their teacher a grateful nod.

In just seconds Y/N was standing in front of Olivias mother. "Hey," she said, offering her a kind smile and a wave. When Olivias mum just stared at her, she continued. "I'm Milo's mum and a friend of Daniels."

"Okay," replied Olivias mother, her voice flat.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath. This was going to be a hard conversation. "So, my son and your daughter are good friends, and he was wondering whether Olivia would like to come over on Sunday to watch the F1 race?" She offered.

Still, Olivias mother stared. And then she laughed. Well, more like cackled. "Piss off and leave my daughter alone," she said and began dragging Olivia away.

With a gasp, Y/N covered Milo's ears. "Please don't swear in front of my son!"

Olivias mother waved her off and dragged her daughter away. Y/N just watched, still holding Milo's hand, as they walked away. When Olivias mother turned around and saw her staring, she held up her middle finger and flipper her off. Y/N quickly covered Milo's ears and walked with him back to their car.

They got home and Milo instantly set about playing with his toys. His mother set about finishing the work she had brought home with her while he watched television.

As she typed away at her work laptop, her phone vibrated against the kitchen table, ringing. The face that appeared on the screen was familiar, the face she had been hoping would appear for the last few days. Daniel grinned at her, the picture being the one he had taken in the park.

She slid her finger across the bottom of the screen and held the phone up to her ear. “Sup, Mr race car driver,” she said, continuing to type.

But she slowed down as Daniel began talking. “Sup, Miss Milo’s momma,” he responded, with equal enthusiasm.

Y/N let out a laugh. “Is that all I am to you? Just Milo’s momma?” She asked, but it wasn’t serious. The inflection in her voice said that much.

Daniel brushed it off. Well, he more laughed at it and moved on, instead of ignoring her completely. “Did you see Olivia today? I’m supposed to call her mother in a minute.”

Scratching the back of her neck, Y/N sucked in a breath. “Uh yeah. Yes, I did. And I met your ex. Daniel, I say this with the utmost respect, but she’s the-“ she looked towards the door and dropped her voice to a whisper “-fucking worst.”

Daniel let out a sigh. He knew. He knew how fucking terrible his ex was. If he could take Olivia away from it all, he would. But he couldn’t. “I know,” he said. “Trust me, I know. But how was Olivia?”

“She seemed… okay,” Y/N answered. “Milo and I tried to ask her mum if she could come to ours to watch the race on Sunday, but she immediately shut us down.”

It didn’t surprise Daniel. As soon as he was mentioned, his ex had probably made us her mind about Y/N, and there was no way she was going to let Olivia go to her house. She was a threat now, at least in his ex’s eyes. “I’ll talk to her, don’t worry,” he said. “I should get going.”

“Wait!” Y/N called suddenly. “Have you raced yet today?”

Daniel couldn’t stop himself from laughing. She really knew nothing about F1 (it was adorable). Daniel quickly ran her through the Friday free practice. He explained that he wasn’t in the fastest car on the grid, but he was still performing well, better than the previous year. He even described to her what car to look out for when they watched the race on Sunday.

Finally, they said their goodbyes. Y/N went back to her work while Daniel called his ex.

***

It was Olivia who picked up her mother’s phone. She was going to get into trouble for that, but it was a chance to speak to her daddy. She wasn’t going to miss out on that.

“Daddy!” Olivia shouted as she pressed the phone against her ear.

“Hi Badger!” Daniel cheered. “Listen, kiddo, I need to speak to your mum for a minute, but I’ll talk to you after, okay? Do you think you can pass me over to her?”

Although her father couldn’t see it, Olivia nodded. She hopped down from the sofa and went up the stairs, searching for her mother. “Mum!” She called.

Her mother appeared from her dressing room, in a skintight black dress, hair done, and makeup almost finished. “What?” She snapped at Olivia. As soon as she saw the phone in her hands, she snatched it from her and looked at the caller ID.

Sending Olivia away, she pressed her phone to her ear. “Hey Danny,” she said in a sultry sweet voice, but Daniel knew better than to fall for it. “What can I do for you?”

“You’re not letting Olivia go to Milo’s house to watch me race?”

The fake smile she had been wearing dropped from her face. “So what? She can watch the race here if she can figure out how to use the television,” she said and sat back at her vanity to continue with her makeup.

“Oh, come on.” It wasn’t normal for Daniel to get angry, but his ex just brought it out in him. “Milo is the first friend she’s ever made. Don’t fuck this up for her and let her go to his house, please!”

“It’s my week with her, I can do what I want.”

“She’s not some sort of pet! She’s a human being, and she deserves to be treated like one!” He yelled (thank god he was alone in his hotel room).

“She’s my kid too, Danny!”

“Don’t call me that.” His voice was suddenly low.

She grinned, realising she had gotten to him. “Or what, Danny? What’re you going to do about it?”

But Daniel didn’t let it get to him. He sucked in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. She wasn’t going to get to him, not if it meant screwing things up for Olivia. “Look, you do this for me, and I’ll owe you one, okay?”

It was a risky proposal. She could have asked for anything, and he would have said yes, if it meant Olivia having fun with her friend. “Fine,” his ex said. “Fine, she can go, but I’m not picking her up.”

“Great, thank you,” he said. “Can I speak to Olivia now?”

Instead of answering, his ex ended the call and put the phone into her bag. That was fine; he got her another playdate, he could call her another time.

With the confirmation from his ex that the playdate would happen, Daniel sat about texting Y/N.

daniel riiiiiciaaaardoooo

good news, she's happy for Olivia to come over

y/n (milo's momma)

great! I'll get them some snacks

daniel riiiiiciaaaardoooo

olivia's gonna love it one problem though, you're gonna have to pick her up from her mothers house I don't want her having your address

y/n (milo's momma)

that's more than fine, danny

daniel riiiiiciaaaardoooo

are you okay if I say milo's name on television? i wanna say hello to the kids when i'm getting interviewed

y/n (milo's momma)

that's fine, danny just keep it to his first name pls he's so excited

daniel riiiiiciaaaardoooo

i know olivia is gonna be excited too i'll see you monday, okay?

y/n (milo's momma)

see you monday, danny

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lillians-world-is-f1 @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @stay1strongbeautiful @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @angiesw0rld @yunakynn @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @catmouseggy @bathedinheat @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @evie-119 @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @radiator101 @lightdragonrayne @angelxxrose @millinorrizz @xemiefx @ellies-world61 @the-depressed-fellow

#daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader smut #daniel ricciardo x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one #formula one imagine #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #dr3 #dr3 imagine #dr3 x reader

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killuintense · 6 months

Text

❝ two fools in love ❞

rookie!leon kennedy x fem!reader.

summary: just you going to look for Leon at the police academy.

content: 1.3k words, pure fluff, a little little bit of angst (reader miss leon), comfort, subby and cute Leon ofc.

note: the calm before the storm (I plan to do a longer one shot of angst :p)

It was Friday afternoon and the weather was colder than you expected, especially when you left the warmth of your home. You were walking through the crunchy autumn leaves that intruded on your way to the police academy, where an anxious Leon was waiting for you.

You hadn't seen him since Monday. He had kissed you goodbye with a lazy, clingy kiss —just like him— at the door of your apartment, promising to see you again at the end of the week. And finally that moment had arrived, giving you a feeling of excitement that ran through your whole body with enthusiasm. It had been difficult for both of you at that new stage in your lives, where the blond would have to go to an academy every month and only leave to see you on weekends, where both would spend from Friday to Sunday glued to each other without being able to separate for a second. But then everything would end and they would have to say goodbye. Sometimes you would accompany him, and sometimes he would leave alone, but not before sinking into your arms and filling your face with kisses, making sure you could not forget him for the remaining week.

You wondered if he thought of you as much as you thought of him, because it was suffocating to walk into the apartment and smell his scent even when he wasn't there, to walk by the refrigerator and look at the pictures of the two of you on that last vacation you had. Leon would circle your waist with his lips pressed to your neck and yet you were still able to see his smile and his little eyes slightly narrowed as you held the camera turning that selfie into a beautiful memory that you needed to see often to be strong and keep holding on to his arrival, reminding you that he loved you more than he could surely show. Although sometimes he was very messy, and you ended up finding in the least expected place some of his notebooks with reminders about some element that he should take into account for the physical exams they took at the academy every so often; his handwriting was as strange as he was, cursive leaning to the side as if his mind was faster than his hands. And as the days went by you refused to put in the washing machine the last T-shirt he had worn before he left, which held his cologne and his warmth. His smell of roses, so particular but masculine, and you could only remember the desire to devour him every time you saw him again, standing like a pathetic child who only expected your approval for everything, who blushed even with your slightest pampering or compliment. He emanated that warmth in which you wanted to sink and die, to die in the happiest way of all, where you never let go of him and only remained in love with him and his love.

You thought the nights were the worst, and sometimes you struggled to choose which was harder, the coldness of the bed or the coldness of your body, without his arms around you, without his silly jokes with that sleepy and tired but mellow voice, with his lips leaving wet kisses on your face and neck. You stroked his hair, that soft clump of golden hair, somewhat dull at times as he whispered that he loved you, and down your spine ran a shiver that made you giggle like a fool, asking him to stop even though deep down you knew he wouldn't because you really didn't want him to.

He was so naughty, always doing what he wanted and getting away with it, behind that silly and pathetically shy attitude, always letting his hands travel a little more than the coverage of your nightgown, squeezing and biting the way you loved it. It was too much to see how delicious you were in his eyes, the way you managed to elucidate in her eyes that there was never enough of your body to satisfy his hunger. That's why the nights were empty without his company, but so full of warmth when he was there, so full of that hungry love he gave you.

Now, in the distance you could see him, saying goodbye to his companions who were also greeted at the entrance by their families or partners, some of them leaving alone as well. But he was lucky enough to know that you would arrive at any moment, stealing a smile as he looked around like a puppy anxious to meet his owner. He was too cute for your heart to bear it a second longer, so you decided to cut his waiting short, jumping behind him while hugging him by his shoulders, having to slightly tiptoe because of the height difference "Waiting, big boy?" you murmured with your voice choked in his neck giving him a soft kiss, making him not hesitate a second longer to turn around and wrap his strong and chubby arms around you, which always knew how to hold you with determination.

"My love" he said happily, hugging you, feeling that that torture was finally over. And, no lie, Leon was an exaggerated person by nature, dramatic as shit; he looked at the little picture he had taken of you every time he felt that his stay at the academy was like being in a war, and your picture smiling at him was the only light in his path (that day the major Krausser made him wake up at 4 a.m. and he felt he was really dying). "I missed you so much..." he said after a sigh of relief, squeezing your waist before seeking your mouth desperately, giving you a kiss loaded with pleasure and welcome, those kisses that felt more meaningful than any other because they had the genuine desperation of needing you in order to feel alive. He pressed you against his body as his tongue caressed yours, dominating the kiss by his eagerness to have his way with you, leaving you the opportunity to suck on his lower lip with mellowness before pulling away.

"Wow, did you miss me?" you resist, stroking his face and squeezing his cheeks. You always made sure he was well fed, you hated the idea that in his training they weren't attentive enough with the food and made him go hungry, but his cheeks were always fluffy, his arms strong and his legs and chest... you found yourself more than you'd like looking at him morbidly, wanting to squeeze him so badly. And well, why deny that more than once he scolded you for biting him too much in those places where a simple kiss didn't do his figure justice.

"I'd say the same about you" he murmured against your cheek while in his tone you could feel his playful chuckle. Both of you glued to each other with decorum and that was one of the things you liked most about Leon, he wasn't ashamed to show you your love in front of anyone, not his academy mates or strangers, he was proud to have such a fucking beautiful girlfriend and denying it would make him an idiot. And he could be a dramatist, but never an idiot. "I feel like my stomach is going to explode if I don't give her some of those delicious hot chocolate pancakes you always make" you resist as you look into her bambi eyes, big and blue. Your legs were working too hard not to bow down to him because of the tenderness he caused you, but you really couldn't help but be weak in front of that blond.

"Leon you look like a giant baby asking me to make you a snack" you laughed, biting his cheek with desperation before hanging on his shoulders to stare at him, your gaze surely reflected that overflowing love you had for him "But you're my baby so let's go get those pancakes" you feel his happiness hit your face at the moment a smile of complacency feeds your ears.

Disentangle themselves from that smothering embrace but soon it doesn't take long for him to take your hand and entwine it with his, gently caressing your knuckles. You start walking towards the apartment amidst banter and fleeting kisses, you sometimes gently tap his shoulder when he tries to kiss you but you run your face to spite him, and Leon swings his hands together, sighing like a fool in love. They were both fools in love.

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roosterforme · 1 year

Text

The Younger Kind Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: In the aftermath of his drunken kiss, Bradley doubles down on his efforts to find someone else. You're confused and hurt, but you don't want to risk losing Noah, so you don't say anything, even if it's crushing you inside.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (eventually 18+)

Length: 3300 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

Bradley woke up with sunlight on his face, warming his skin. He must have forgotten to close his bedroom curtains. He started to sit up and noticed that he was for some reason wearing his jeans. And his mouth was so dry.

He groaned, realizing he was on his couch as he finally got upright. And then his head started pounding. "Oh, shit." He must have really overdone it at the Hard Deck. Served him right for letting Nat take him out all night. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. It was still early, and his phone battery was almost dead.

When he tried to stand up to check on Noah, he spotted a glass of water, a bottle of Advil, and a note on the side table.

Hope you have fond memories of last night. Enjoy your hangover. And let me know when you need me to watch Noah again.

Bradley started to remember more of his night at the bar. Jake and Nat and playing pool and lots of beer. But then he pictured with crystal clarity your perfect face just seconds before he kissed you. He closed his eyes and sank back against the couch cushions, remembering the feel of your perfect skin beneath his fingertips and the way you were immediately kissing him back.

His cock pulsed when he thought about your fingers tugging his hair. He could practically still feel the sensation along his scalp.

But then you stopped him. Because he was drunk.

Oh fuck. Bradley had kissed you, pushed you back against the furniture, and told you how fucking pretty you were. When he was drunk.

"Oh my god." He'd be lucky to ever see you again. Noah would be devastated.

He grabbed your note and carried it to his bedroom with him, passing Noah still asleep in his bed on the way. He set the note on his dresser and read it again and again. Did he have fond memories of the evening? Hell yes, he did. His hands on your waist. Your lips on his. That wildflower scent as his nose rubbed your cheek. He wanted all of it again.

He was also terrified. He needed to get back on track with the dating app and hope you would still be willing to babysit Noah. Because there was no way in hell you would want to date him. He was so much older than you. And you were still a pediatric nursing student. Right about to start your career. And he was looking for something permanent with a woman.

"You're an idiot," he mumbled, stripping off his shirt and changing into a clean one. He plugged his phone into the charger next to his bed. He would need a full battery so he could go through all of his matches and messages and line up some more women to meet.

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

You were waiting around on Sunday, hoping you'd get a text from Bradley. You weren't sure if you should text him or not. The only thing you seemed to be able to do was replay those kisses over and over again in your mind. It had been perfect. His lips were addicting. And odds were he didn't remember any of it.

Finally by late afternoon, you caved and texted him first, careful not to mention any of the kissing.

You feeling okay? How's Noah?

Hours went by. You finished your school assignments for the entire upcoming week, you cleaned your house, you went for a walk on the beach. No response. You were feeling lonely and kind of miserable, because Bradley didn't remember kissing you. Or worse, he did remember, but he was trying to forget.

You had your thumb ready to call Greyson, because you didn't want to be alone any longer today. As you were about to see if he was home, Bradley finally wrote back.

Bradley Bradshaw: I'm fine. Noah is too. Hey, I'm lining up a bunch of dates on the app. Can you send me your availability for the next week or so? And, I'm really sorry about last night. It won't happen again.

You sank down to sit on your steps. It wouldn't be happening again, even though you wanted it to. So he did remember....he was just trying to forget.

You sucked in a deep breath before you started to cry. Now Bradley had even managed to ruin going to see Greyson for you. But you texted him back anyway, because at least you'd get to spend some time with Noah even if Bradley didn't want you to stick around after he got home anymore.

So you told him the days you were free, and by Monday morning, he let you know he had a date planned with a woman named Amanda on Thursday night.

Cool. But you didn't want the details anymore. You didn't even want to know that her name was Amanda. You'd get there on time and leave as soon as Bradley got home from here on out.

Of course the week flew by in a blur since you were kind of dreading Thursday evening. When you were heading to Bradley's house directly from class, you thought about stopping at that coffee shop he seemed to favor, but it was closer to North Island. So you just continued on your way.

The front door was unlocked. "Hi?" you called out, and Noah was running for you immediately. "Hey, Noah!" You knelt down on the living room floor and scooped him up into your arms and let him hug you.

"Missed you," he said, releasing you and leading you toward the kitchen. Even though you braced yourself, as soon as you saw Bradley, you remembered what it felt like to be in his arms.

"Hi," he said with a forced smile. Even the first time he met you, he didn't seem to have to force friendliness. You really hated this.

"Hey," you managed, and then you saw the coffee cup on the counter when he reached for it. He handed it to you, and you couldn't help but smile a little more. "Thanks."

So he was giving you a peace offering. He didn't want you to be upset over the fact that you would never get to feel his lips on you again.

"You're welcome." You could almost feel that there should have been a Princess at the end of that sentence. Its absence had you gulping down some of the French vanilla coffee before you could start pouting.

"What do you want to do today, Noah? Crafts, coloring, blocks, a hike?" you asked, pointedly ignoring Bradley as he hesitated before walking out of the room.

"Blocks, probably," Noah said. "And I'm hungry."

You rummaged through the refrigerator, noting that there was very little food left already. You sighed. "Mac and cheese?" It was really the only option.

You started to get everything ready when Bradley strolled back into the kitchen looking gorgeous for his date. "Not sure what time I'll be back."

"No rush," you said without really looking at him. "But if you have two credit cards, can you leave me one? I'm going to order you some groceries online."

He was silent for a moment. "You can do that? Online?"

You turned to look at him. "Do you live under a rock?"

He laughed, seemingly in spite of himself, and you did too. "I told you I was old, Princess. Too old for you."

You watched him swallow hard as your tummy swooped at the pet name. When he handed you his Visa card, his warm fingers brushed yours, and you had to turn away as he said goodbye to Noah.

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

Bradley was too old for you, but Amanda was just two years younger than him. And things were starting off pretty well as Bradley watched her order dinner. She was even prettier than her profile photos had led him to believe; he noticed that was something that never seemed to happen. And she was a kindergarten teacher who loved kids.

But, she looked a bit like an older version of you. Which was confusing to Bradley, because that was simultaneously making him very sexually attracted to her as well as making him uncomfortable.

"So, Amanda, what's it like teaching kindergarten?"

She smiled at him over her wine glass. "Here's the answer I should give: it's so much fun, and I just love the kids. Here's the real answer: the kids are exhausting, but somehow they are also sweet, so I go back each day like a sucker."

Bradley chuckled as she sipped her wine. She ordered the same kind of wine he had shared with you. He needed to focus on Amanda. She was funny and pretty and liked kids.

"I have a son. He's three," Bradley told her, wanting to just get that out of the way immediately.

"What's his name?" she asked with an unwavering smile.

"Noah." Then she started asking all the right questions, and making all the right jokes. She even laughed when he made fun of himself with a shrug. And when her high heel grazed his calf under the table, he didn't even mind it.

He hadn't thought about you too much, so of course that was when you texted him.

Babysitter: Noah and I had an unfortunate runin with the sink while we were doing dishes. Can I borrow a shirt?

"Sorry," he mumbled to Amanda as he typed out a response to you. "It's my babysitter."

"No problem."

But it was a fucking problem for Bradley. Because as soon as he told you where you could find a clean shirt in his dresser drawers, he was imagining you getting changed in his bedroom. He was imagining you wearing a wet shirt. He was imagining you looking at him while removing your wet shirt in his bedroom.

He gritted his teeth and tucked his phone away as his cock twitched.

Amanda. He was ready to focus on her and the way she kept intentionally bumping his leg.

"I'm having fun with you, Bradley," she said with a grin.

He nodded and agreed, because compared to anything else he had going for him, she was actually a pretty great option.

"You free on Saturday?" she asked. "There's a film festival in Balboa Park we could hit up."

And just like that, he had a second date.

And then twenty minutes later, Amanda was kissing him next to her burgundy car. Bradley felt her fingernails scraping at the back of his neck, and it felt good. He let his hand rest at her waist, and that felt good, too. Just as Amanda's lips parted so he could taste her, Bradley pulled back a little bit.

"I'll meet you there on Saturday," he rasped, and his eyes drifted closed as she kissed his mustache.

"Night, Bradley," she said, slipping into her car and pulling away.

He was in no rush to get home now. He didn't even want to look at you all curled up on his couch with your Skittles and your textbooks. But he needed to get back so you could leave for the night. You had class in the morning.

When he parked the Bronco in the driveway, he sat there for a few minutes. He couldn't date you. There was no way. Noah was already way to attached for him to even consider intentionally fucking things up with the babysitter. And you were too young. He'd just head inside and send you on your way until Saturday night.

But when he unlocked the front door and found you asleep on the couch wearing his well worn UVA sweatshirt, his heart started pounding, and he could barely remember the woman he just had dinner with. You looked impossibly young and too fucking sweet. The fabric was pushed up enough that he could see a few inches of skin and your belly button. He could see a bit of lace peeking out above your leggings, and he was aching to kiss you there.

He turned and went directly to the kitchen to catch his breath. But you had cleaned the entire room so it was spotless. The refrigerator was covered in Noah's artwork, and when he opened it up, it was filled with the groceries you had ordered for him.

Bradley closed the door and let his head tip back. He selfishly didn't want to wake you up. He wanted you to sleep at his house tonight. He wanted to see what you looked like first thing in the morning. So he went to check on Noah and change into his pajama pants before returning to see you were still exactly where he had left you.

Your steady breathing and softly parted lips were mesmerizing, and Bradley had to turn away a few times; the sight of you in his shirt was too much. Finally he knelt down next to you.

"Princess?" he asked softly, but you didn't stir. "Princess, wake up." Still nothing. It was almost midnight now. Bradley gently slipped his hands and forearms between your body and the cushions, and he slowly scooped you up into his arms.

"Mmmm," you moaned, and your lips made contact with his bare shoulder in a brief kiss before you stilled again. He held you close to his body and you curled up against him, never waking as he walked to his bedroom and gently set you on his bed.

Bradley tucked you in, pulling the bedding up to your shoulders and letting his fingers brush your neck. Then without hesitation, he bent and placed a kiss to your forehead before shutting off the lamp and leaving the room.

He went to brush his teeth, hoping he would be able to relax enough to fall asleep on the couch, alone. But you'd spent time in here too, because the room was clean now. New towels were hanging up, and everything was lined up on the vanity with perfect precision. Bradley started to violently brush his teeth, and that's when he saw your tee shirt hanging up near the shower curtain. Along with a sheer black lace bra.

He reached out to run his fingers along the straps before taking the lace between two fingers. He groaned, his toothbrush hanging precariously out of his mouth as he pulled his hand away and spit his toothpaste into the sink.

Without a backwards glance, he made his way to the living room couch and tried like hell to fall asleep on the cushions that smelled like your wildflower scent.

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

You woke up with the softest fabric brushing your cheek, and you felt snuggly and warm. You wondered what time it was, and as soon as you moved, you realized you weren't in your own bed.

You sat up quickly, eyes wide, breaths coming out ragged. But this room smelled familiar, and it felt safe. It smelled like Bradley. You were in his bed. But you were alone.

Then you caught sight of your purple crown hanging from one of the bedposts, and your tummy swooped. You crawled across the bedding to run your fingers along the crown before climbing out of Bradley's bed.

Hadn't you fallen asleep on the couch in the living room? You remembered getting tired and dozing off, no matter how hard you had been trying to stay awake.

You buried your nose in the scent of Bradley's sweatshirt as you walked quietly down the hallway and peeked into Noah's room. He was still sound asleep, looking as angelic as always. Then you walked into the living room where the couch was empty with a blanket tossed halfway on the floor.

You knew Bradley was in the kitchen before you heard him messing with the coffee maker, and when you peeked in, you almost moaned out loud. He was turned away from you, hair a wavy mess, and all of the toned muscles of his back and shoulders were on display.

"Morning," you said softly, and he spun to face you. There was nothing you could do except stare. Everything you saw above his low slung lounge pants had you almost giddily laughing. Toned abs, sparse chest hair, collar bones that you wanted to lick, and a scarred neck.

"Morning, Princess." Oh shit! His voice was so rough. It sounded like sex, and you clenched around nothing as you bit hard on your lip. "I'm trying to make you a latte, but only Nat knows the secret inner workings of this machine."

You made your way a little closer and said, "Regular coffee is okay." But your voice was shaky, and Bradley was examining your face now.

"Alright, get out the creamer, Princess."

You did as you were told, your thoughts stumbling over having a normal, domestic morning with Bradley and Noah in this house. Your breath caught as you turned to look at him again, and it felt like the awkward, drunken kisses were a thing of the past as Bradley measured out the coffee.

"You moved me to your bed," you whispered, and he nodded at you. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Bradley was blushing and looking down at his hands. "You looked too comfortable. It felt like a crime to wake you up."

You grinned. "Can't have you committing any crimes. But you could have left me on the couch."

You wanted to add that he could have joined you in his bed, but you weren't feeling that bold. You didn't even know how his date had gone, but you knew he had slept here alone, on the couch.

He shook his head, the pink color starting to fade from his cheeks. "That would have been unfit for a Princess."

Bradley poured two mugs of coffee, and you added French vanilla creamer to each of them. Then he handed you the mug that said Kiss me, I'm an aviator and you blew on the steam. You forced the words out as he looked down at you. "How was your date?"

You watched as Bradley's brow creased, as if he had somehow forgotten he was even on a date. You were hoping to hear him say it went poorly, and that she didn't eat salad dressing, but instead his words made your heart stop.

"I'm going on a second date with her on Saturday."

"Oh." Your lungs deflated, and your shoulders slumped. "I'm so happy for you."

"Yeah...." he grunted, but he didn't look too happy.

And then Noah came into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and looking between the two of you like he wasn't sure who to hug first. Bradley scooped him up in a hug, but soon he was reaching for you, too.

"Will you make me scrambled eggs?" he asked as you hugged him. You really needed to leave for class, and you really wanted to get away from Bradley, but of course you agreed to whatever Noah wanted.

So you made eggs and sausage for the boys while you finished your coffee, Bradley's eyes on you the whole time.

Then you excused yourself to freshen up in the bathroom, hastily dressing in your bra and shirt from yesterday, before folding up Bradley's soft sweatshirt and leaving it on his bed. You thought about ripping the crown down and throwing it away, but instead you carefully placed it on top of his sweatshirt before turning on your heel.

You contemplated leaving without saying goodbye, but then you'd be thinking about Noah's little face all day. You simply couldn't let yourself be that bitchy. So you gave him a little hug as he finished his eggs.

And when you turned toward Bradley, he asked, "So you can come on Saturday evening? Sit with Noah while I'm out with Amanda again?"

You wanted to laugh in his face and tell him no, but instead you nodded before you grabbed your things and ran out the door.

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

He needed a little help remembering, but I don't think he could fully regret kissing her.... but poor Princess! The next part will be 18+!!!!! You have been warned! Enjoy your babysitter fic @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 7

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