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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

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The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts.

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls.

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents.

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it.

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation.

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks.

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment.

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own.

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice.

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only.

— I can fold my own pants, love.

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken.

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry.

— Little minx.

— Me or Lady Lasswell?

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine.

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light.

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya.

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him.

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons.

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about.

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea.

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him.

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you.

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny.

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness.

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least.

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price.

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least.

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move.

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are.

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker.

— Shite, love. Sorry.

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one.

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he?

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second.

— Not a chance.

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you.

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate.

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him.

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way.

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home?

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around.

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again.

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite.

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin.

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper.

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to.

— Help your captain, eh?

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t.

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him.

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his.

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here.

You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little.

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact.

Price moans.

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy.

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers.

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this.

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy.

God, what are you even thinking about?

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you?

— We really shouldn’t be doing this.

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir.

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here.

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly.

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly.

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are.

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave.

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this.

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife.

#cod #yandere price #price x reader #captain price #john price #captain john price #yandere cod #call of duty #cod imagine #cod fanfic

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luvhughes43 · 7 months

Text

the beginning | jack hughes

au masterlist⭐️

summary: jack and yns relationship is super lowkey, but what happens when yn starts doubting why their relationship is so private?

warnings: pregnancy

word count: 5.6k

The first time you met Jack Hughes you were job shadowing a colleague of yours. It was your first real week of working at the New York Times, and with how busy the team's schedule was you were sent down with Lewis from the sports column to report on… something hockey related. You weren’t really sure, and Lewis didn’t care to fill you in.

You had never given hockey two thoughts when you were growing up. Your father wasn’t interested in any sports aside from the usual football game on thanksgiving (which you had a theory he just watched to get out of festive activities and house work). And anyway, there was only one local ice rink where you grew up so you’d never really had the opportunity to learn about the sport.

All that to say, you had no idea what you were doing. You watched Lewis pin his “The Athletic” reporters badge, and you fiddled with your visitors pass as you waited for the press conference to start.

When the conference did start, you jotted down notes absentmindedly on your notepad. About halfway through the meeting, your attention is immediately pulled to a side door where a few men stood, snickering and whispering to each other.

One of the men noticed you though, smirking half-heartedly in your direction as he nodded his head towards you. That small action caused the rest of the boys to look over in your direction. Your face flushed, and before you could look away your eyes connected with those of maybe the cutest guy you’ve ever seen. His hair was brown and overgrown, and his whole face lit up when he laughed.

“Ow!” you whispered, rubbing your arm to try and alleviate the pain that was Lewis elbow knocking into your side. He pointed to the man speaking at the front of the room, and immediately looked away from you with an annoyed expression etched onto his face. “i’m sorry,” you whispered to Lewis but he shook his head in response. “pay attention.” his harsh tone brought you back to reality, and with one more glance at the cute man in the corner, you return all your attention back to the conference.

⋆ ★

“Journalists still use notepads?” a teasing voice asks, and when you lift your head up from your notebook you see the same man from earlier staring at you.

“We use recorders too but I'm just job shadowing so I didn’t think I needed it. Lewis the-” you stop your sentence short, well aware of the fact that this guy probably didn’t care about your writing tools or your coworker.

The guy surprises you though. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and nods at you to continue.

“Lewis, he works for the athletic paper. anyway, i was assigned to shadow him today because the woman who i was going to shadow had this breaking news story she had to cover,”

“why didn’t you go with her?” the man asks, genuinely curious.

“Well it's my first week and the woman is really particular about how she works. She said if I followed her she’d only get distracted,” you finish your story with the shrug of your shoulder.

the guy nods in understanding before he pushes himself off and away from the wall. He squints a little and points to your name tag.

“Oh, i’m Y/n” you say, adjusting your name tag so he could read it properly.

“I'm Jack” he smiles at you, and before either of you has time to say anything else, Lewis walks over to you grumbling.

“It’s time to go,”

you smile politely at Jack and he reciprocates.

“See you around, Y/n” he raises his hand in a boyish fashion before retreating out of the hallway.

⋆ ★

“It's so cold!” you shivered, voice quivering as you try to warm yourself up with the palm of your hands. you decided not to wear a coat tonight, against your better judgements, and now the frigid Manhattan air came to bite you in the ass.

your friend nodded, teeth chattering as you two ran across the street and down the next block.

your friends apartment came up first, and so she rushes out a quick goodbye before you set off down the street again.

“Fuck! Where am I?” you hear a mans voice ask off in the distance. You wouldn’t normally try and investigate, but when you looked up and saw the familiar mop of brown hair, you made the decision to go over and talk to him.

“Jack?” you asked, hands still rubbing up and down your arms to try and provide you some warmth.

Jack looks up startled, and once he recognizes it's you he relaxes again.

“Y/n right? From work?” he asks, and you nod as you step closer to him. The street lamps illuminate his face perfectly, hues of yellow and orange highlighting his features well.

“Yeah,” you nodded, face twisting in confusion as you watch Jack shrug out of his jacket.

“I’ll let you wear my coat if you help me get.. here” Jack points to the blue destination point on his phone.

You weigh your options, you could take his coat and help him out.. Meaning that you got to spend more time with him.. or, you could go home to the warmth of your apartment..

You hold your hand out for his jacket, and Jack smiles as he passes it over to you.

You peer at his phone, taking a mental note of where he’s trying to go before leading him in the right direction.

“Have you ever used google maps before?” you laugh teasingly, watching as the direction changes and the walk time gets shorter. “you were going in the complete opposite direction”

Jack chuckles, “my bad”

The walk is silent for a minute, before Jack starts questioning you. “So… Do you usually take walks with strangers?”

“You're not a stranger, I met you like two days ago” you joke, knowing full well it's probably not wise to walk the streets with a man you've only ever spoken a few sentences to.

Jack nods, and when you glance in his direction you see the hint of a smile grace his lips. “So, have you lived here long?” Jack asked at a stoplight.

“I’ve lived in Manhattan for a year now. I did an internship last year for journalism and then they hired me” you explain as the walking light turns on and you both cross the street. “What about you? How long have you been in jersey?”

“I live in Jersey for the hockey season. I've been in Jersey for 4 years now? I think?” Jack speaks, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his NJD hoodie. “I grew up in Canada though, and I live in Michigan during the summers'' he explains.

“I’m from Denver, but I don't go visit much. I went to college here on the east coast and ended up staying through the summers to work” you speak, surprised at how easy it is to talk to Jack.

“I didn’t go to school,” Jack blurts out, and you bring your arm up to try and disguise your giggles as a cough. Jack seems embarrassed by his small outburst and quickly clarifies, “like I was drafted and went straight to the nhl”

“That must’ve been hard” you hum, and Jack quirks an eyebrow at you. “Like, having to be in the real world so soon”

“you moved on your own at 18”

“Yeah but I moved for school. You were straight into the pros. That must've been a lot of pressure”

Jack doesn’t respond, but you can tell by the way he’s carrying himself that your words rang true.

“Anyway,” you pick up the conversation. “I really like living here. Yeah my hours are kind of insane, and rent is beyond… but I really like the city”

“I think i’d live here,” Jack replies as he surveys the mostly empty streets. “there's always so much to do”

You nod, getting ready to cross the next street. “Uh, where are you going?” you call out, as Jack starts walking down the wrong street.

“There's a pizza place!” he says simply, and you stare at him confusedly before he explains. “I’m going to a bar, I can't drink without eating something” Jack shrugs and you walk to where he paused. He points to the small 24 hour pizza shop he wants to go to, and you both walk inside.

After you both order, and you're sitting at your table with your food, you start to question things. “So, why were you wandering the streets? How did you get here from Jersey?” you ask, blowing on your steaming pizza before you take a bite.

Jack mirrors you, taking a bite before he answers. “My friends and I all came together. They went out for dinner first but there was this shop I wanted to check out, they’ve got sick shoes, anyway that's not the point. they dropped me off at the store and so my plan was to just walk and meet up with them after but I… well got lost”

You and Jack continue talking, time completely slipping by both of your minds as you let the conversation flow. You learnt that Jack did in fact like to read, and you made sure to give him a few recommendations before you both parted ways.

“Do you want your jacket back?” you ask, already starting to shrug out of the warm material.

He holds up a hand to stop you, “No you should wear it its cold-”

“I'm just walking back to my apartment I should be fine,” you say, shimmying your shoulder and letting the sleeve fall from your arm.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” Jack's question stuns you.

“Aren’t you supposed to meet up with your friends?”

Jack only shrugs, “it’s only like 12 i’ve got plenty of time to catch up with them”

You nod slowly as you readjust Jack's coat on your body.

“Plus, wouldn’t want you to take up any other stranger if they ask for directions” Jack jokes, “might make me jealous”

You knew his comment was supposed to be a joke but… butterflies. Literal butterflies.

Fifteen minutes later and you were outside of your apartment building.

“Thank you” you say, “for the pizza and for letting me wear your jacket”

Jack smiles at you brightly, and you couldn't help but smile back at him. It was like a natural reaction.

“Thank you for taking me to where I needed to go,” Jack takes his turn in thanking you.

“But I didn't..”

“It's the thought that counts” Jack grins as he pulls out his phone. “But, since you didn’t walk me to where i was going… i’ll accept your number as an apology”

“Apology?” you laughed, placing a hand over your heart and pretending to be shocked by his words. “If I recall you were the one who wanted to stop for pizza and to walk me home”

“You're right, you're right,” Jack says, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“But I will give you my number,” you say, holding your hand out to accept Jack's phone. When you pass his phone back, your contact fresh in his list, Jack beams.

“I’ll call you!” Jack yells out as he starts walking down the street.

“How about you text me when you make it to the bar!” you shout back. “And by the way! You're going in the wrong direction!” you shout again, and Jack sighs loudly. He dramatically turns around before walking your way again.

Before he has the time to say anything more, you give him a few directions so he doesn’t get anymore lost.

Less than 30 minutes later, while finishing up your skincare routine, your phone lights up with a notification.

Jack H: I made it! Thanks for tonight and for the directions

You went to sleep that night with a smile plastered onto your face.

⋆ ★

After that first “date” you and Jack routinely made plans to hang out. It started off with Jack texting you whenever he happened to be in the city, which then translated to you inviting him to all the new places in town you wanted to try.

“I don't know how I feel about that,” Jack speaks in between spoonfuls of his ice cream. You two had just gotten out of an exhibit, something about ancient rome.

“What? You never think about the roman empire?” you retort, thinking about Jack's interview that was posted earlier in the year. Jack rolled his eyes at you, but he smiled nonetheless.

“Like, how do they even have all that stuff? It's been so long”

“Yeah.. the armour was cool though,” you respond, shuffling across the crosswalk with Jack trailing after you.

There’s a brief pause as you walk up White Street towards the little italian restaurant Jack wanted to stop at.

“So, I was looking online and there’s this new exhibition popping up soon. Something about the elements and sensors… I don't know, it looked cool” Jack breaks the silence, and you have to bite back your smile. He was looking up exhibits for the two of you to go to? Last week he was talking about how much he didn't understand modern art!

“Since when are you interested in the arts?” you tease, knocking your shoulder against Jacks playfully. He looks down at you, eyes crinkled as he smiles.

“It’s something to do,” Jack shrugs, “plus, let's not lie here! You’d love to hang out with me more,” Jack laughs teasingly, but you can sense the hope that lies beneath his words.

“I’d love to hang out with you” your hand brushed against Jack without your knowledge. Your hand feels like it's on fire from the small contact.

“It's a date then!” Jack cheers, grabbing ahold of your hand to steer you in the right direction. You could only hope he meant a real date.

⋆ ★

The exhibit was great, but your time with Jack was even better. He always found ways to make even the most mundane things light up with colour. By the end of the night, you were positive that if you didn't ask Jack out on an official date, you’d lose your mind.

Jack, ever the gentlemen, walked you up all 6 floors of your apartment. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” you say as soon as you reach your front door.

Jack nods, easily agreeing with you. “I think i’m a changed man, that art thing was so cool”

You laughed lightly, leaning against your door as you watched Jack ruffle his hair with his hand. “My turn to pick the activity next time?” you ask.

“Yeah but no more ancient rome things” Jack easily jokes.

“How about something more…” you hedge, unsure of how to ask Jack out. Of course you’ve asked him to go out places before but… this was very different.

Jack leans against the staircase railing, tilting his head signalling for you to continue.

“Like…” you contine, all words escaping you as your attention is suddenly caught to the sight of his bare arms.

“A date?” Jack prompts, smirking as he catches you staring at him.

Upon hearing the word date you're immediately crashing back to reality. Your hearts beating wildly, something you hadn’t felt since the early days of university.

You nod, “yeah, yeah.. Like a date” you shake your head to clear it, and when you meet Jack's eyes he beams.

“I’ll be waiting for you to text me the location then…” Jack's voice trails as he walks closer to you, leaning in as he presses a quick kiss to your check.

You stand there momentarily stunned, watching as he slowly walks backwards to the top of your floor's staircase. “I’ll see you on our date?” Jack calls out, and you mirror his bright smile.

“I’ll see you on our date!” you call back, watching as Jack starts walking down the stairs.

you were falling hard.

⋆ ★

The big date came and went, and you and Jack continued dating silently. It was nice just being with him, away from all the pressures of his fans and his large social media presence. You had a small private account, so you would post some pictures on there, but you never officially went “public” with your relationship.

Ynuser

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That didnt mean there weren’t close calls though. With Jack being extremely popular, there were a few times when the two of you were photographed out by fans.

After the first incident, you thought nothing of it. Of course someone would see you guys eventually. Although you weren’t sure how you felt about being photographed by random people out in public… Jack was always quick to reassure you that people would eventually forget about the photos.

It wasn’t the forgetting you were worried about though. After being with Jack for a few months, your twitter feed started recommending you hockey content. Which was fine at first, until you saw all the speculations of yours and Jack's relationship.

You muted all the hockey terms you could think of on your twitter account… but that didn’t stop you from thinking of all those accounts words. Was it true that you weren’t Jack's type? Is that why he wasn’t posting you on his social media accounts? Did he actually prefer going to small coffee shops and art exhibitions? Or was he trying to hide you from the outside world?

Even though you knew you liked your relationship being private… Was there an ulterior motive on Jack's end? Did he not find you pretty enough to post on main? You started to spiral.

⋆ ★

The bar was much more crowded than you would've liked, but when your boyfriend invited you out you easily agreed.

You sat in the corner of the booth all night, sipping on your vodka sodas and listening in on the conversation around you. The devils were doing good so far this season, and as a result, Jack had decided it was time to drag you out with him to the bar. You wished he hadn’t.

It’s not like you were an insecure person… (that was somewhat a lie), but when every girl was gorgeous and hitting on your boyfriend… it made you doubt things.

You watched all night as Jack looked at other girls, and your spiralling started to feel a lot more real.

“Who is she?” you screamed, tears streaming down your face as your boyfriend of two years stared at you in shock.

“Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! I swear! It's you who-”

“When was the last time you slept together?” you shouted, your boyfriend winced at your biting words.

“Last weekend…” your boyfriend finally admitted the truth. You had your suspicions that he was cheating on you for weeks now… and each time you brought it up he convinced you that you were crazy. “But baby!” his voice was frantic as you grabbed your bag and started shoving things into it.

Your eyes were wild as you stared into the eyes of the boy that you had loved. When he had nothing else to say, you zipped up your bag and left. Your chest arched and your heart burned… you promised that you would never let yourself get cheated on again.

A blonde touches Jack's arm. You know this because you're watching it happen, right in front of your eyes. You swig your now warm soda, blinking hard to will away the tears.

You look away from the sight, causing you to miss the way Jack's eyes immediately try to seek yours after he brushes the girl away.

The drive to your apartment was quiet.

“Baby, what's wrong?” Jack asks, and despite how much you want to call him out, you feel juvenile about it.

“Nothing,” you sigh, shifting in your seat so that you can look at Jack. He looks at you tenderly, as if whatever mysterious thing that's hurting you is hurting him too.

“You can tell me anything, you know that right?” Jack speaks up again a minute later, this time his eyes are trained on the road.

“I know,” you whisper. “I’m just tired. Work was busy today”

Jack hummed in response, and that was the end of the conversation. As usual, he walked you up to your apartment, and then you kissed him goodbye.

When he left you stayed up in bed and questioned everything. You knew you were being insecure, but were you paranoid too? You didn’t want to be hurt again and you were fearful that you would be cheated on again. It was irrational, you knew. But your ex was always being hit on and he took one of the girls up on… no. You wouldn’t let that man ruin anything else in your life.

Everythings fine… you whisper to yourself, and soon enough you fall asleep.

⋆ ★

Things got worse from then on. Whenever Jack was gone on roadies you would read through every comment you could find about Jack’s types, his ex gfs, anything that you could find. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to them. It was like some cruel, sick addiction that you needed to keep up with.

user82

Liked by jackhughes, and others

user82 recently… 🍸

“She's just a friend! What are you talking about?” Jack was immediately defensive when you brought up his liking habits.

“Listen, I’m not trying to be some insecure girlfriend but-”

“You are insecure!” Jack's voice is loud and his words slice through you like swords.

Your eyes immediately start to water, “baby, I didn’t mean it” Jack rushes to your side, hand on your shoulder as he tries to get a good look at you.

“I’m sorry…” you cry, your hands coming up to shield your face away from him.

“No, I'm sorry. You're not insecure you’re right” Jack tries to soothe you but your mind goes numb.

Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! But baby! baby, I didn’t mean it…

You let Jack drag you over to the couch, where you spend the rest of the night cuddling and watching some movie that was really just static noise.

Your chest aches and your heart burns, but you knew that Jack was right. You were insecure. You didn't think you were as pretty as the girls who wanted him, and now you certainly didn’t think you were deserving of an instagram post.

Baby, she doesn’t mean anything to me! But baby! baby, I didn’t mean it…

⋆ ★

After that night, you tried to distance yourself from Jack Hughes. When he was on roadies, you would take extra long to reply to his texts. You were also suddenly picking up more hours at work, volunteering to cover stories nobody wanted to cover.

On the other side of things, Jack was confused. He had thought after his apologies that everything would be fine? He thought you needed space, so he gave you plenty. But now it seemed like the two of you weren’t even together anymore.

“Dude, just talk to her” Trevor's voice was somehow still loud over the phone.

“Yeah but she wants space” Jack sighed, as if Trevor had no idea how girls worked.

“Okay… and did she tell you that?”

“I can tell”

Trevor shuffled on the other end of the line. “Okay Jack, listen. You guys have been together what? A year now? You can’t just throw away your whole relationship because she may or may not be a little insecure. Why don't you talk to her? Like actually sit and figure this out”

For the first time, Jack thought, Trevor was making some sense.

“I want to be with you! Do you want to be with me?” Jack's voice was unintentionally rough and loud as he questioned you.

“Of course I want to be with you!” your voice is just as loud.

“Then what's the big deal!” Jack is visibly annoyed as if you're some person that's wasting his time.

“Well, don’t like other girls' instagram posts and stare at models in public!” you retort, crossing your arms childishly. Jack throws his hands up in the air, sighing loudly.

“I like you, what don't you understand?” Jack enunciates each word loudly and waves his hands around wildly in some effort to make his point clear.

“Why can't you understand that I just need some reassurance!” you cry out, completely worn out by this conversation.

“Reassurance? I’m not going to cheat on you! Why do you think so low of me?” Jack pauses, seeming to connect the dots in his head. “Oh. this is about him” Jacks voice turns cold and you feel the oncoming sting in your throat.

“Just because you’ve been cheated on before doesn’t mean that it's going to happen again.” your cheeks felt wet. Were you crying?

“I don't think you’re going to cheat on me” you whisper, arms wrapping around yourself in a bad attempt at trying to calm yourself down.

Jack stands still, staring at you with glaring eyes.

“I just want… I want…” you can't even finish your sentence. You didn’t know what you wanted. You just felt so bad about yourself.

Jack stares, nodding his head in exasperation as he watches you cry. “Yeah, well, when you figure that out call me”

“Jack please,” you call to him through tears, following him down your hallway as you watch him walk away.

You never called.

⋆ ★

A month went by, and you felt the breakup in every aspect of your life. Work reminded you of that first day with Jack. Your apartment reminded you of all the times he would walk you home… you missed him.

“We’re going out tonight! Enough being sad” your coworker, Claudia, exclaimed as she walked into your apartment. She was holding a saks bag, no doubt filled to the brim with outfit options for the night ahead.

“I’m not feeling it” you mumble, eyes immediately finding focus on your tv screen.

“It's been a month yn.. If you don't go out now, you're never going to” Claudia's voice is soft. She sets the bag of clothes beside you on the couch, and she silent starts showing you your options.

“That ones cute” your voice is muffled but Claudia hears you anyway.

“Perfect!” She smiles, setting your choice to the side and pulling out a plastic bag full of accessories.

You felt ridiculous. You were wearing heels much too small, and your dress was way too tight. The drinks though… definitely hit the spot. And after a while, you didn’t think of Jack at all.

“I’m having so much fun!” your words were slurred as you slung one of your arms around Claudia's shoulder. She smiled happily at you, tipsily swaying your hips so you were both dancing to the beat of the music that was blasting throughout the club.

“Is that…?” Claudia starts but then abruptly stops, almost as if she had seen a ghost.

“Is that what!” you shout cheerfully, spinning yourself and Claudia around so that you could see what she saw.

“Y/n don't!” Claudia tries to reposition you but it is too late.

In the middle of the dance floor stood Jack Hughes, your Jack Hughes, and some girl that looked oddly familiar. As if sensing your gaze, the girl turned. It was the girl from instagram.

“I’m going to be sick!” you moaned, hand covering your mouth as Claudia quickly rushes you outside of the club. Luckily, the two of you make it outside rather quickly, and then you're heaving onto the streets of New York.

“I am so sorry! I had no idea that he’d be here!” Claudia speaks apologetically, holding your hair out of your face as you continue dry heaving.

“He's with.. Oh my god” you emptied out what must've been everything in your stomach. “Claudia, he's with her!” you cried, drunkenly leaning into your friends side. Claudia grabbed hold of you, walking you down the street so that the two of you could hail a cab. “I know, i’m so sorry”

Once you were situated in the cab, you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. You pictured the look on Jack’s face when he saw you. Surprise, then shock, was it regret next? You weren’t sure. Then you imagined the girl he was with. Pretty, and perfect, and you wanted to cry all over again.

“I'm blocking him!” you slurred, pulling out your phone and heading straight to your contacts. Claudia nodded along, concern etched in every feature on her face.

Your hand hovers over the block button. “No! I’m deleting him! He's done. I don't ever want to talk to him again!” you cry, ignoring the cab driver's face as he looks on in disapproval.

“Do what will make you feel better hun,” Claudia speaks to you softly, giving you the courage to block and delete Jack from your phone and life.

⋆ ★

After that night, you were steadily getting sick. You thought nothing of it at first, chalking up all your symptoms to stress and your recent breakup. It wasn’t until you checked your email that your world stopped spinning.

Amazon: Upcoming Delivery

Hi Yn Ln,

This confirms your purchase from Tampax

Your visa has not been charged yet - we’ll email you when it has been charged.

Thank you for using Amazon Pay.

Your phone fell to the ground with a large thud, and you ran to your kitchen to check your calendar. You flipped through the pages, looking for the little red dots that signified the days that you had gotten your period. You flipped through the months.

February

January

December

You couldn’t think as you stuffed your feet into your ugg boots. You put your jacket on while you half-ran down the stairs, and if it weren’t for the man on the 3rd floor grabbing your arm to steady you, you would've crashed down the remaining flights.

Your nearest bodega was only one block away, and when you got there a minute later, panting and trying to catch your breath, reality had finally set in.

Your breathing was laboured and loud as you came to a stop in front of the pregnancy tests. How was this your life?

You bought one of every kind, and you tried to ignore the burning gaze of the cashier who rang all your items through.

“That’ll be $65.24”

It seemed like less than a minute later you were back in your apartment. All of your surroundings blur into nothingness as you pull the tests out of your coat jacket.

You stumble into your bathroom, slam the door shut behind you, and peel off your leggings.

You decide to take all the tests at once, leaving only two for backups in case you did something wrong. The last test shook violently in your hand, and only then did you realize that you were crying.

Positive

Pregnant

Two lines

⋆ ★

The first thing you had done when you found out you were pregnant last night was block Jack Hughes. He was the only person you had slept with in the past 3 months, and in your frustration you blamed him. Your relationship was over with, he had moved on, and now you were pregnant? Life was cruel.

After a long debate, a night full of crying, and an afternoon of rest and relaxation… you decided it was best that you told Jack about the pregnancy.

You type in Jack's contact: a nickname, two white hearts and a sword emoji that represented something you couldn’t quite recall in your panic induced state. When his nickname showed no results, you hit the backspace button and typed in his full name, which you assumed you might have switched to when you saw him out with another girl.

No result.

You dropped your phone into the sink with a loud clatter.

fuck.

That night's events replayed in your mind like a bad film. You had blocked and deleted Jack's contact.

You wipe the tears from your eyes with the back of your hand, breathing in deeply as you reach into the sink and pick up your phone. Everythings fine… you have him on instagram. You can just message him there.

jackhughes

unblock

Life truly was cruel, you thought, sobs racking your body as you let yourself slide onto your bathroom floor.

You unblocked Jack, only to find that his follow was removed.

It's fine… you reassured yourself as you hit the unblock button and started drafting your message. He’ll see it. He has too.

⋆ ★

You checked to see if he had seen the dm the next evening, and to your surprise, you were blocked.

Tears immediately started blurring your vision and you couldn't help but cry out in pain.

What the fuck were you going to do.

part two

#journalist au!#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes fic #trevor zegras x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 10 months

Text

NFWMB (Nothing Fucks With My Baby)

Pairing: Reader x Venom

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: you get kidnapped, there's some cannon level violence, nothing to write home about <3

Genre: idk if I should really classify this as angst fr but the ending is fluffy!

Summary: Carnage returns, his mission remains the same; kill Venom. And he plans to use you to do it.

Based on this ask by @weebnotheree (thank you so much for the request, I know it took a while so I appreciate your patience, I hope you like it <3)

***

"Hey y/n!" Your coworker skirts over to your desk with curious excitement.

"Yes?" You glance up from your computer at her.

"Your boyfriend is a reporter isn't he?"

"Correct. Where is this going exactly?"

"Well do you think he'd be able to come cover the charity gala this weekend?" She asks.

"He doesn't really- cover this sort of thing? He'd need to get assigned to it. But I can check with him, he can ask his boss and maybe they'll send someone else down." You concede. It can't hurt, after all, you do need the exposure for the event anyway.

Hours later, after you've both gotten home from work and eaten dinner. You're winding down for the day with Eddie by watching a show together when you propose the question from your coworker.

"Eddie quick question." You say, not lifting your head from his shoulder.

"Yeah?" He's been tracing patterns against your leg for the past ten minutes.

"Do you think you could come cover the charity gala this weekend? My coworker Dani thought it'd be a good idea." You tell him.

"I don't usually write those sorts of pieces." He hums.

"I know I told her, but I also told her I'd ask anyway. It doesn't have to be you, if your boss sends someone else that's fine. We're just aiming to get more eyes on the event." You shrug.

"I'll talk to my boss. He'll probably send someone. Not me though."

"Yeah that's fine, I know these aren't your thing, you don't have to come." You say.

"Say what?" You feel him shift to look at you.

"I drag you to enough work functions. I'll let you skip out on this one." You pat his chest lightly.

"Don't have to tell me twice." Eddie snorts turning back to the TV.

"Technically I already did tell you twice." You chuckle.

"Smartass." He pinches your thigh.

"Always." You sit up just to wink at him.

The following day, you are accosted by Dani pretty much as soon as she walks into the office.

"Did you ask him?"

"Ask who, what Dani?" You ask though you know exactly what she's talking about. "Also have you forgotten that the proper way to start a conversation is with a greeting? What happened to hi? What happened to how are you?"

"Hi, how are you? Did you ask your boyfriend about covering the gala?" She says.

"Hi Dani, I'm doin' alright. How are you?" You ask her.

"Y/n!" She huffs.

"Yes Dani I asked. He said he'd talk to his boss. Knowing Eddie, someone will probably be at the gala. It's handled." You finally cave and give her the answers she came for.

"You're the best!" She tells you.

"I know, thanks." You chuckle. You shrug.

The day of the gala is chaos from the minute preparations start. It's not really anything that surprises you and you've been handling everything that comes your way with ease.

"Y/n!" Your coworker Wendy grabs your attention when you're sorting out something with one of the photographers.

"Yes Wendy?" You aks.

"The uh catering staff is here do you know where they're supposed to-"

"They just got here?! They were supposed to be here an hour ago! Who was on that? They should've been checking for- oh never mind! Their tables are over there on that wall and tell them to hurry Wen the event is literally starting." You sigh pointing her in the right direction. The event is just gaining momentum, doors opened about twenty minutes ago and aside from the catering situation that has just been taken care of, as far as you know, everything is precisely as it should be. At least you hope so since you did come here a couple of hours in advance to make sure things were ready. You aren't technically in charge of this event but you are naturally better at organizing chaos and these events tend to be a bit of a frenzy on the day no matter how prepared you are in advance.

Tonight is your company's annual charity gala. Every year the board votes on a cause to raise money for by hosting a huge party. This year's cause is a charity that supports kids getting involved in the arts. There are a bunch of art projects on display, some of which will be up for auction at the end of the evening, but the goal is to shmooze with the community members effectively enough that they want to support the charity. You spend most of these galas working optics; talking to reporters, setting up pictures, and just generally organizing things throughout the night. As part of the company's public relations department events like these are your specialty. Carefully curating the perception of everything that goes on here tonight with the help of the other members of the department here tonight.

You're pleased to say that a couple of hours in, the event is going off without a hitch. Once it's in full swing, you have your hands full giving statements to different press outlets and sending photographers to snap the board of directors with guests of the event. Just as you're preparing the host for his introductory speech, you notice a small crowd gathering by one of the large glass windows overlooking the city.

"What's going on over there?" The host frowns at you.

"I'm- not sure. Probably just some nightlife chaos got people's attention." You shrug but before you can walk up the stage there's a shout from a few of the guests followed by the sound of shattered glass as something crashes through that large window. The room erupts into chaos as red goop shoots out at people. It only takes you a couple of moments to realize the thing currently ruining your gala is Carnage. You didn't meet him or anything last time they faced off, but Eddie gave you enough of a description to come to that conclusion when you spot the bright red tentacles and eyes so like Venom's but different at the same time.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." You huff quietly from where you're crouched behind a curtain with the gala host.

"What is that thing?!" He hisses.

"Doesn't matter. Find the nearest exit and run like hell." You tell him.

"What?! You want me to go out there?! What if it sees me?" He shakes his head. You poke your head out just enough to see Carnage. Weirdly enough he just seems to be picking up people and dropping them on the ground again.

"You ever seen that thing before?" You ask.

"God no!"

"He's looking for something. Unless you think it's you, I'd suggest taking the risk before he starts getting snackish!"

"W-what?!"

"We know you're here! We did our RESEARCH!" The man beside you is practically shaking as Carnage's deep voice rings through the room.

"He's coming this way, you have to move now." You say.

"What about you?"

"He's more likely to notice two of us. I'll be out after you." You're so busy directing the guy you don't realize how close Carnage is to you all until the curtain you're behind is ripped off its bar.

"AHA! THERE YOU ARE!"

"GO! GET OUT OF HERE NOW!" You shout to the guy as Carnage reaches for- you. He's reaching for you, you realize only when one spindly spider-like appendage wraps around your waist.

"How noble of you. We weren't after him- but if you must be the hero-" Carnage easily reaches the scrambling host before he can get to the door and all you can do is shut your eyes tight when Carnage lifts him up. It's only when his screams stop suddenly and something warm drips onto your arm that you're sure is blood. You don't dare to check what Carnage has done, but if you had to guess, he bit his head off; much like Venom does when you or Eddie allows him to. Your eyes only shoot open when Carnage starts to move again, swinging back out the hole he came in through and taking you through the city. You're in the air for quite some time before eventually, Carnage drops you, rather gently for a kidnapper, on the ground inside a dusty building.

"Hello, little thing." Carnage says to you.

"I could have sworn Venom dealt with you already." You cross your arms.

"Almost. I was lucky to escape."

"Unfortunate for the rest of us." You muse.

"Rude!"

"Let me remind you that you did kidnap me so excuse me if I'm not kind." You roll your eyes. "I take it my role is to lure Venom to you? Right?"

"Correct. He cares for you. So he will come."

"Of course, he will. Though, disrupting my work event was an unnecessary scene just to lure him out to- where are we?"

"An old firehouse!"

"Wow you really are a baby." You scoff realizing he's chosen another location where loud noise is common.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing nothing. I presume you have a different host now right? That other guy, the serial killer, died the last time, didn't he?"

"I am bonded to his blood! I can regenerate!"

"I'm sorry- so you regenerated… an entire head for your last host?"

"Yes!"

"That is- very strange." You frown. "Still, this place doesn't hold sentimental value to Cletus so- how will they find you?"

"Oh just call them." Cletus makes an appearance, finally, and rolls his eyes as he makes his request.

"Call them? You want me to call them and lead them to where you plan to kill them?"

"Yes. Or I'll kill you."

"That would be stupid. Killing me won't get you what you want." You scoff.

"CARNAGE! YOU TOOK MY CHOCOLATE DROP! I'M GOING TO RIP YOU TO SHREDS!!"

"Guess we don't need to call him." Carnage says pushing you into the fire engine that's collecting dust in the unused building.

"WAS DYING ONCE NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!" Venom stomps towards Carnage.

"Father. I'm not that easy to get rid of!"

"EVIDENTLY!" Venom charges at Carnage and the two of them are quickly destroying the old brick firehouse you're occupying. From inside the fire truck you're in, it's hard to tell who's winning for most of the fight. It's all too quick and too fluid the way they're throwing each other around. By the time you've gotten a handle on what's going on between the duo, Carnage has Venom pinned to one of the walls that they haven't totally ruined already. Frantically you turn towards the control panel of the fire engine, you can't imagine it's still fully operational but there's a chance you can find some way to make noise with this thing. You need to give Venom the upper hand somehow.

"V!" You shout and cover your ears for only a moment before pressing as much of your weight as you can into the horn of the truck and hoping for the best. You can't explain the relief that you feel when that horrid loud noise fills the small space and Carnage screeches. You let up on the horn once he stumbles away from Venom, his attention on you now that you've gotten involved.

"You!" Carnage snarls. You lay into the horn again before he can get to you and the sound seems to disrupt him enough to almost completely separate him from Cletus. You let up when Eddie has crept up behind them and Venom takes over to fully rip Carnage from Cletus by force. You didn't think that was possible and it is extremely strange to watch. Venom grabs Cletus with an extra appendage and holds him far in the air as he eats the angry red goop that is Carnage.

"EVEN WORSE THE SECOND TIME." Venom grumbles and you can't help but giggle a little. The noise makes Venom wink at you before turning his attention to Cletus. "THIS TIME STAY DEAD!" Venom says before biting his head off, out of your line of sight. You come out of the fire truck just in time to catch him dropping the body.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" Venom runs over to you and lifts you into his arms so you're eye level with him as he looks over you for injuries.

"I'm fine V. He didn't actually hurt me. You got here so quickly." You muse.

"EDDIE WAS WATCHING COVERAGE OF YOUR GALA." Venom explains.

"It was going so well until he crashed it." You pout. "You don't have any other errant children we should know about right Venom?"

"NO. NOT THAT I KNOW OF." Venom shrugs lowering you back to the ground.

"Good because this kidnapping thing is very inconvenient." You say. Eddie chooses that moment to reappear and he quickly wraps his arms around you.

"Y/n, baby, thank fuck you're okay. I am so sorry." He breathes out.

"You're sorry? What for?" You frown as you hug him back.

"If I had just come to the damn gala in the first place-" You pull back and hold Eddie's face in your hands to make sure he hears what you say next.

"No. It wouldn't have changed anything. In fact, it would actually have been worse I think. There were hundreds of people in that building and we were on one of the higher floors. The casualties if you had fought him there would have been so not worth it. This was the best outcome. I'm sure there were several injuries but I think there was only one death besides him so- don't apologize. Especially because there was no way you could've predicted him crashing my event. Don't blame yourself because other than a ruined charity gala and the inconveniences that come with a kidnapping, I've barely got some scrapes. You two did well." You tell him.

"We couldn't have done it without you. The fire horn was a great idea."

"Yeah well, you were going to die. And I didn't have any fire." You shrug. "We should get out of here though, I can't imagine it'll take much longer for authorities to get here in search of the red monster that crashed a charity event." You add.

"True. The party looked beautiful by the way. You know, before Carnage trashed it." Eddie says scooping you into his arms.

"Thank you baby." You kiss his cheek just before Venom appears again to take you all home.

"I WANT A KISS TOO! I DID ALL THE WORK."

"You can have as many kisses as you want V." You say kissing his cheek too as he walks out of the trashed fire station with you in his hold.

"I WANT ALL THE KISSES THEN!" He declares as he swings you both up into the air.

"Once we get home I'll kiss you til my lips fall off if you so wish my love." You giggle.

"NOT THAT MANY! IF THEY FALL OFF I WON'T GET ANY MORE IN THE FUTURE!"

"Okay okay. Reasonable amount of kisses, once we get home. Deal?"

"DEAL!" Venom says before taking off from building to building to get you home. There's no such thing as normal when your boyfriend is sharing his body with an alien you suppose, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

***

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #venom fluff #venom x reader #venom fanfiction #venom #eddie brock fluff #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock fanfic #eddie brock #venom angst ?#venom angst #requests

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bellaveux · 8 months

Text

BETWEEN THE PAGES | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

genre: college au! fluff, smut

summary: professor maximoff asks you out on a date.

content warnings: MINORS DNI! fluff, smut, college au!, unspecified age gap, professor!wanda, student!reader, bit of alcohol consumption, smut; service top!wanda, power bottom!reader kinda, making out, marking, fingering and oral (r! receiving), overstimulation, little bit of a praise kink

word count: 9.5k

note: i’ve been meaning to write another professor!wanda and black cat!reader fic so wrote this as kind of a prequel to AFTER CLASS but it’s long overdue lol. i hope u like it!

You always came to class early. That was the first thing she noticed about you. But, there was something about the way you entered her lecture hall for the first time, sitting just a few rows away from her desk, close enough for her to see you without anyone getting in the way. It was something about you that was so endearing. She just couldn’t figure out what exactly it was about you that made her stomach flutter and her heart beat faster than it typically does. Usually dressed in a skirt that gracefully swayed with each step and a cozy sweater that hugged your figure, you never failed to greet her with a shy smile each day you entered the room, and each time she swooned. Too cute. It was like that for the first few months: watching the door patiently to see when you would walk in, stealing glances your way when you were seated in front of her as she taught, or occasionally looking over the book she was reading while you were taking a test, reading a book, or working on notes. She couldn’t help it. It also didn’t help that you were not only beautiful but smart, too. Every test, assignment, and project she had given out, you nailed them with ease, almost like you'd already mastered the subject prior to her teachings. Perfect was what you were. She thought about it every day.

As each day passed, Wanda always looked forward to the days when you would enter her class. And she wasn’t trying to be a creep about it in any way, but she couldn’t help but look… and wonder. She wondered about what you were like outside of her class, if you were just as reserved and quiet as you were in here or if you were bubbly and talked a lot, and what your voice sounded like. You were quiet. And it wasn’t a quality that she didn’t like at all; in fact, it only made her more intrigued, like you were a mystery that she wanted to solve. In the quiet moments, when the world slowed down, her thoughts would invariably drift to you—your earnest gaze, your subtle smiles, the way your eyes seemed to light up the room.

But despite the elation of her thoughts of you, she makes sure to remind herself why you were here in the first place: you were her student. And for your professor to have such thoughts about one of her students, it was wrong. She knew this from the beginning. But try as she might to suppress her emotions, Wanda found herself captivated by your presence anyway.

And she really tried, to be fair. She tried to ignore her thoughts of you in her head, but she could only do so much. In the end, she couldn’t resist asking you to meet her after class during her office hours. She’d try multiple times to find the most credible excuse to get you to stay, and usually, she’d opt for subjects regarding your work and even ask you if you were interested in being a teacher’s assistant. Who in their right mind would decline that offer? You’d get paid on top of being alone in the same room with your favorite professor—the, despite her intimidating looks, easygoing professor that you had been fond of since day one. In fact, everyone liked her. Most of the students thought she was hot anyway, which you had to agree on as well.

The work she had you do was simple, for the most part. Grading papers and organizing paperwork and files for her were the most common tasks she gave you. Eventually she had you read a few essays and reports, asking you to judge how well they were written. Wanda thought of it as a learning experience—to read, collect your thoughts, elaborate, and then discuss with you on that same subject. It was a little nerve-racking, to say the least, but really, you enjoyed every second you spent with this professor. Especially since she was so nice to you.

And you’d be lying if you said you had never noticed her lingering eyes on you on several occasions. Sometimes she stands behind your seat and leans over to see your assignments, and you can smell her sweet perfume and feel her breath against the top of your head. Then, you’d be lying a second time if you said it didn’t make your stomach flutter each time she got close to you.

Of course, with the quiet moments you shared together each week, you began to notice some things you'd never noticed before: how she's unable to get to work without a hot cup of tea using that old, faded, and chipped mug that the university gave her a couple years ago, how she spends an extra few minutes in her office at the end of each day because she always misplaces her ID card, or how she constantly has her nose stuck in a book—a poetry book you’d often see, when she wasn’t reading those one of those meaty, mind-bending volumes.

And as time went by, you also began to notice more and more the way she would look at you. It wasn’t as if you were completely oblivious to her stares. You could see clearly when her eyes would linger a little longer than necessary, occasionally catching the flicker of a smile that your professor seemed to suppress. It was as if you had developed a sixth sense for each time her demeanor shifted or her eyes would trace over you, just as she was doing now.

"Is everything alright, Professor?" You say, your voice coming out smoothly, cutting through the quietness that filled the room.

"Yes, I’m fine." Wanda cleared her throat and turned away from you, her eyes darting back to the book she was supposedly reading. "It’s, um... I’m just lost in my thoughts."

"Lost in your thoughts or lost in trying not to stare too obviously?"

Your professor’s eyebrows twitched upwards, your question pinking her cheeks as she turned the page of her book mindlessly while attempting to hide her smile. "I assure you, (Y/n). This book is… intense."

"Intense?" You rolled your eyes, not entirely convinced by her excuse, as your eyes traced the cover of her book. "Hmmm, The Book of Nature… William Wordsworth?"

Wanda skimmed through the pages of her book and cleared her throat for the second time, "It's a deep exploration of... um, philosophical concepts. Quite thought-provoking, really."

"Philosophical concepts?" You repeated with a sly smile playing lightly at your lips. "Are you sure that’s what it’s about? If I remember correctly, Wordsworth is a poet, right? And you look pretty relaxed for someone who’s reading about some intense philosophical poetry."

"Well, I think philosophical debates can be strangely soothing sometimes," she told you with a chuckle, slowly making her way out of the nervous state she was in just a moment ago.

"Really? I mean, I love poetry, but that’s quite the intellectual balance you’ve got there."

"Yeah," she breathed, her confidence seemingly flowing from her body right in front of your eyes as she used a finger to adjust the collar of her button-up. "And speaking of balance, how do you manage to keep your work in check while being so captivatingly distracting?"

The blush that paints your cheeks presents itself much more quickly than you could’ve imagined. It was adorable. Managing to turn away from her this time, you avoid her eyes as yours land back down on the papers that were set in front of you, completely forgotten while being under your professor’s gaze. You could practically feel the smile on her face as she watched your every movement. Wanda pulled her office chair closer to yours, where you had brought an extra chair up to her desk as you worked. She set her book down softly, mindlessly leaning in closer and closer to your face as her eyes kept darting between your eyes and those delicious-looking lips of yours. Her tongue dragged itself along the bottom of her lip subconsciously as she stared at you, not even hiding her intentions this time.

"You make it awfully hard to concentrate, (Y/n)," she continued as her eyes traced over the contours of your face, down to the skin of your neck as it strained slightly underneath the collar of your sweater. "I find it rather difficult to stay focused when you’re sitting in front of me."

"Um, Professor… I think we should…" With a flustered smile and stern eyes, you motioned over to the clock right by the door, notifying her that her time with you was nearly up.

Wanda only smiled before speaking again, nodding her head as she leaned back slowly to glance over to check the time, "Of course. Do carry on with your student duties, Miss (L/n)."

To be honest, it’s the first time she has heard you talk so much. Your voice was delicate and smooth, a voice that she wanted to keep hearing over and over again. Talking to you was something she wanted more of. She was quite smug, thinking about how all the rest of the students who admired you for your intelligence and work ethic didn’t get to talk with you as much as she did or spend time with you as much as she did.

A triumphant warmth spread through Wanda's chest as she turned back to read her book. Successfully making you flustered had ignited a sense of giddiness she hadn't felt in a while. But, a calm smile played on her lips, a facade she effortlessly maintained to match your demeanor, masking the happiness that bubbled within her. It’s evident throughout the days, where fragments of her infatuation for you are sprinkled into every moment you spend together. In those moments, she loved everything about you—from the way you worked and focused on your tasks, to the way your voice sounded despite not talking all that much, to the way you furrowed your eyebrows when your eyes stumbled upon something that confused you, or when your lips would curve into that pretty smile she loved to see so much.

Eventually, Wanda came to terms with her feelings rather quickly, but made no move to pursue them just yet. For you to be her lover was something that was not allowed, especially in her profession. She’d also still have to tackle the subject of whether or not you harbored even the slightest similarity about whether you had the same interest as she did for you. During moments where she would sit alone in her office or at home, she’d often let her mind drift off to the thought of you and how she would treat you if she were able to call you hers. Gifts like flowers, books, or jewelry would gladly be given as attempts to make you happy. She’d give you flowers every day if it allowed her to see that smile of yours for even just one second.

The two of you spend the rest of the semester filled with mindless flirting and grading essays, projects, and assignments, all while Wanda reads most of the time, and by reading, you mean she skims over a couple pages and spends the next few minutes admiring the beauty that is you before her. And sometimes, she lets her mind wander just as her eyes do, down to the skin of your thighs underneath those black tights, wondering how it would feel to have her hands all over your legs. She wonders how you would sound, moaning her name as you give her the sweet taste of heaven. If you hadn't been so engrossed in the activity your mind was occupied with, you'd see how her eyes latch to your frame and the way her mouth waters at the sight. It takes everything in her to keep her composure and not pull you into her private office and have her way with you.

She wants to do this correctly, of course. She wants you to want it, too. Though, it may seem like you return her advances and all the rest of her flirty remarks, she wants to make sure it’s something you are sure of.

So, she asks. And she starts by giving you a gift.

"Shakespeare?" You questioned curiously, running a finger along the spine of the book as a shy smile slowly etched its way onto your face. "I didn’t really take you for a romantic, Professor."

She had given you a gift before you were able to step away so soon from her and her class room. The book—The Sonnets by William Shakespeare—rested neatly in the palm of your hand as Wanda watched you inspect it with eager curiosity. You had mentioned your love of poetry once, and with her own collection sitting in the comfort of her own home, she decided to give you one of the books that she loved so much. It was romantic and a tad bit cliché, she’d have to admit, but to make you happy just as you did for her was the only thing she wanted from this.

Wanda brought a hand up to scratch the back of her neck, her eyes darting down to the book in your hand, "Well, I-I appreciate the beauty in romance, yes."

"Thank you for this. I’ll make sure to read it over break," you say, holding the book tightly between your chest and your arm before turning to make your way out of the door. "See you next semester."

Wanda had pondered it, thinking how long the two weeks of winter break would feel with you away from her. The weekends already felt like too long of a wait before Monday came around—the first day of each week when you stepped foot in her class. She looked forward to every day because of you and loved thinking about you on the weekends, then she’d repeat it all over again. But, two weeks. Two whole weeks without seeing that pretty face of yours or hearing that quiet, pretty voice of yours—it sounded dreadful.

"(Y/n)?" She called out to you before you could step out of her empty lecture hall. "Can you stay for a bit? I have something to ask."

She asked you out to dinner in the next few minutes after going on a quite adorable ramble about her being so enamored by you that she couldn’t help but ignore her own boundaries as your professor and ask you out on a date. She was confident but, at the same time, so anxious to hear what you had to say about it. The stare you gave her after her little speech was enough to make her want to dig a hole so deep into the earth and crawl into it so that she’d never be able to see the light of embarrassment. Wanda watched as you clutched the book she gave you tightly in your arms. By this point, she was so sure you’d turn her down given how long you were taking to answer.

Of course, when you answered, she couldn’t process it correctly for the first few seconds, but as soon as she did, her eyes lit up just as brightly as the sun on a clear day. The smile she was biting back was contagious, making you roll your eyes and smile back as she fought the urge to wrap her arms around you. And for a moment, you even thought as if you could imagine a tail wagging back and forth behind her in excitement. You both agreed on next Friday night at eight in the evening, when she would pick you up, take you out to a nice restaurant, and treat you like a queen. You deserved a lovely evening out, and Wanda couldn’t wait to share it with you.

As she went about her daily tasks leading up to that Friday, an uncontainable excitement welled up within her, and she couldn't help but steal moments to envision the evening ahead, leaning back in her office chair to imagine the upcoming night with a dreamy smile on her face, the prospect of sharing dinner and conversation with you filling her mind. Her heart raced with anticipation, wondering what you’d wear on that night, wondering how even prettier you would seem so close next to her, wondering how your hand would fit in hers, and wondering if you’d let her steal a kiss or two, or maybe, if she was lucky, even more. And god, she prayed for all of the luck to be on her side for even just one night.

When Friday came, Wanda rushed home from her office at the university to get ready before she would drive to pick you up at the address you had emailed her—she forgot to ask where you lived, but before she could ask, you had emailed her your address a couple hours earlier. She smiled at the thought, being so excited for the date that she forgot to ask one of the most important questions. Wanda settled on wearing an all-black suit, one of her favorites, and made sure to smooth out every wrinkle with a precise touch, each movement revealing the anticipation bubbling beneath her calm exterior. She knew that your choice of attire was a mystery, and her all-black ensemble was a versatile canvas, ready to complement whatever you had in mind.

But, fuck, when she saw you—God, she was just in pure awe at the sight of you.

Wanda arrived a little bit early, the anticipation of your dinner date bubbling within her. She parked her car outside of your apartment building and leaned against it, one foot casually crossing over the other. She glanced at her watch, checking the time, but her heart raced with a different kind of countdown. As the moments passed, Wanda’s excitement only grew. But when you finally emerged from the building, the sight that greeted Wanda left her speechless. The dress you wore wrapped around your frame perfectly, the silky fabric resting on your soft curves, along with a daring slit that ran up your thigh, revealing a glimpse of your leg with each step you took, and it drove her absolutely crazy. Wanda's breath caught in her throat as she gazed at you; the sight of your shy smile made her heart race even faster.

Fuck, she wanted to say. And for a moment, she struggled to find her words, but not less than a second later, she managed to regain her composure, a smitten grin forming on her lips, "You look beautiful, (Y/n)."

"Thank you, Professor," you replied, smiling innocently up into her eyes in a way that drove her insane. "You’re looking pretty amazing as well."

Wanda couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at your compliment, but she was still spellbound by the stunning vision before her. She offered her arm to you and walked with you towards the car, opening the car door for you. But, she couldn't shake the image of that tantalizing slit in your dress; the glimpse of your leg driving her senses into overdrive.

Throughout the night, Wanda found it nearly impossible to tear her gaze away from that slit in your dress. The subtle but alluring glimpse of your skin had cast a spell on her, igniting a fire of desire and fascination that she struggled to contain. Each moment she spent with you, Wanda's mind wandered, and she’d stumble on her words as she spoke, all because of her thoughts returning again and again to the sight that had driven her senses wild earlier. She couldn't help but steal glances at that tantalizing slit in your dress whenever you shifted or crossed your legs, her heart racing each time her eyes traced the path upward. And every now and then, you would catch Wanda's lingering gaze, a knowing smile playing on your lips. You seemed to relish the effect your attire had on your professor, your confidence growing as the evening progressed.

The date was going splendidly, with you and Wanda engaging in lively conversations, sharing stories, and relishing each other's company. You laughed together, savored delicious meals, and exchanged meaningful glances that hinted at your growing connection. Both of you were having a great time, enjoying the chemistry and camaraderie that seemed to come so naturally. However, your dress, still with its tantalizing slit, had become a magnetic force that Wanda found impossible to resist. It was as if her mind had been spellbound, repeatedly drawn back to that alluring detail with every glance in your direction. While you spoke passionately about your love for literature and your dreams, Wanda tried her best to maintain eye contact and stay engaged in the conversation. But time and again, her gaze would wander, trailing along the path of that tempting slit.

She stared all night, wondering what it would feel like to run her fingertips against your soft skin, wondering how you’d look when you slip out of your dress slowly, wondering how you’d sound—and the precious imagery alone caused all higher brain function to abandon her.

As the night continued, Wanda couldn't help but feel overwhelming happiness. Your presence was intoxicating, and your smile was a beacon that lit up the evening. It was a feeling she had longed for—the joy of being in the company of someone who not only understood her intellectually but also stirred something deeper within her. You were perfect. So perfect. She wouldn’t have had it any other way. Wanda was proud to have even come this far with you and wondered if you’d allow her the chance to take you out for a second time. She would be glad, too. God, she prayed you’d want to.

Dinner ended sooner than both of you would have liked. Wanda found herself lost in the sight of you the whole night, wishing she could linger in the moment a little while longer. And the idea of taking you home felt like an interruption to a masterpiece still in progress. She held your hand as she walked with you slowly down the path back to her car, which was parked a few ways away for this very reason.

But there was one thing Wanda couldn’t get off of her mind as she led you inside her car and started the drive back to your apartment—your lips. She wanted so badly, more than anything, to kiss you. Those lips that had been speaking to her for the entire night—she wanted to taste them and feel them against hers. With every passing streetlight, the desire to lean over and capture your lips at every red light only grew stronger. Her heart raced, and her fingers gripped the steering wheel every time she thought about it. The desire to taste the sweetness of your lips was undeniable. Yet, she hesitated. The night had been so perfect, and she didn't want to rush things.

"Thank you for tonight, Professor," you softly as soon as the car came to a slow stop in front of your building. "I had a wonderful time."

"Well, it’s not every day I get to have dinner with someone as beautiful as you," Wanda said, turning her head to face you as her hand gripped the steering wheel.

"You really know how to lay it on thick, don't you, Professor?" You rolled your eyes, trying to fight back the laugh that almost spilled from your mouth.

Wanda grinned from ear to ear and glanced at the street in front of her for only a moment, "I mean, only when it’s the truth—"

Mid-sentence, just as Wanda spoke, you leaned in and planted a soft, sweet kiss on her cheek, maybe a tad bit close to the corner of her lips. It was a sudden, tender gesture that caught Wanda completely off guard, making her grip tighten around the gear shift of the car. Then, you gently place your soft hand on top of hers, causing her vision to go hazy with clouds of lust, devotion, and affection. You don’t miss the way her ears turned red as you pulled away from her face.

Eventually, Wanda found her voice, though it was tinged with surprise as she stammered out, "Well, that was... unexpected."

In her mind, truthfully, she wanted to ask you to do it again and again and again. Maybe she’d ask for you to kiss her lips next time, but she’d never let you go off to do anything else.

"I think you’re too much of a flatterer," you chuckled softly, your fingers gently tracing the outline of Wanda's hand on the center console. "Do you say that to all of your students, Professor?"

Still slightly stunned from the tiny kiss, Wanda turned to face you. Her usual composure had been momentarily shattered by the feeling of your lips against her skin, and she met your eyes with a genuine, heartfelt sincerity, "No… just you."

The words slipped out of her mouth, unfiltered and genuine, carrying with them the depth of her feelings. In that moment, Wanda realized that her attraction to you was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It wasn't just casual flirting with someone who she thought was pretty, as she did in the beginning; it was something deeper, something that had taken her by surprise the longer she had gotten to know you. Wanda's heart continued to race as she watched your playful expression soften, replaced by a warm and genuine smile.

"Do you want to come in, Professor?"

Wanda, still feeling the electrifying effects of the way your lips felt, faltered once more. The idea of spending more time with you was undeniably tempting, but she knew that if she continued this evening further, it would require every ounce of her self-control. Her hands ached to touch you, to run them along your waist and hips, and she longed to press her lips against yours over and over again. The dress you wore was not much help either; her eyes were always glancing down to that slit that showed off the soft skin of your leg. In her mind, a hundred affirmations echoed, each one urging her to say yes. So, she did.

You led her towards your apartment, hand in hand, walking down the softly lit halls of the building in a happy, expectant silence. Although she tried to hide it, Wanda could feel her own excitement building to an almost unbearable level. Her heart raced, and her breaths came a touch quicker as you led her to your place, the feeling of your hand in hers setting her skin on fire. When you reached the door, you fumbled for your keys with one hand, your other still firmly clasped with Wanda's. Your movements were deliberate, yet there was an undeniable excitement radiating from you, a subtle telltale sign that you, too, were looking forward to what lay ahead.

A sense of comfort washed over Wanda as she stepped inside, the atmosphere of your warm apartment enveloping her as she followed you in. She watched your hips as you walked in front of her, her cheeks and ears reddening at the sight once more. Your space was also thoughtfully decorated, exuding a lived-in charm that made it feel like home.

"I’m sorry about the mess. It’s usually tidier, I promise," you tell her, placing your bag gently on the counter in the kitchen before turning back to look at her. "I honestly wasn’t planning on inviting you in yet, but… I don’t know; I guess I couldn’t help myself."

Wanda, however, didn't seem the least bit bothered. Her warm smile remained unwavering, and she looked around with genuine appreciation. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands now stuffed into the pockets of her pants, coolly leaning against the wall, "No, I don’t mind it. And it’s not messy at all. It’s a lovely home."

Her eyes roamed over your cozy living room with its soft, inviting couch, adorned with a few well-placed cushions. The warm glow of dimmed lamps bathed the room in a soft, comforting light. Bookshelves lined one wall, their shelves cradling an eclectic collection of literature, each book seeming to hold a story of its own. The scent of a vanilla-scented candle lingered in the air. It was a cozy, lived-in scent that made Wanda feel instantly at ease—a reflection of you and everything you loved. And on your coffee table, amidst your own collection of books, she saw the one she had given you. It lay there, open and well-loved, with pages slightly ruffled and a bookmark placed near the end. In no way would Wanda have minded the mess at all, not when she was surrounded by the tokens of you and your life.

"I’m almost done with it," Wanda heard you say as she looked around your apartment. "The sonnets are really beautiful. I think I’m enjoying it better than his plays."

The professor raised an eyebrow at your claim, "Bold statement, (Y/n)… But I’m glad you’re enjoying it."

You smiled at her as you moved to get two glasses and a bottle of wine that you’ve been saving for special occasions, and this was definitely one of them. But when you turned to look back at Wanda, her gaze, once warm and affectionate, had intensified with desire and lust as she watched you pour the wine into the glasses. Her eyes held an unmistakable hunger, as if you were the most captivating thing in the world, and it didn't go unnoticed. Wanda's stare was so intense and filled with longing that it seemed to sear through you like a fiery caress. It made your heart race, and your breaths quickened as you tried to maintain your composure. With that look in your eye, you knew this night was about to get even more special.

"What are you thinking so hard about over there, Professor?" You asked with a smirk that made Wanda weak in her knees.

Wanda shook her head and bit her lip, her cheeks reddening at the topic of her own thoughts. She made her way towards you as you slowly lifted the wine glass to your lips. And although you were occasionally flustered by her intense gaze, you had a reputation for your own brand of composed charm. Wanda approached the counter where the wine glasses were placed, her fingers lightly caressing the stem of a glass as she lifted it herself. Her movements were fluid and sensual, drawing your attention like a moth to a flame. But this time, when she turned to face you, she found herself locked in a gaze that mirrored her own desire. Your eyes held a magnetic allure, an intensity that matched Wanda's in every way—your look was a silent challenge, a dare to see who would break first.

You brought the wineglass to your lips, and the woman in front of you watched with a heightened sense of awareness, her gaze locked onto the way your lips delicately touched the rim of the glass. Your soft and inviting lips seemed to beckon Wanda like an irresistible temptation. They glistened with the remnants of the wine, and a thousand thoughts raced through her mind. She couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to taste those lips and feel their softness against her own. She wondered how your lips would feel, how they would respond to her touch, and how you’d moan into her mouth. And she couldn’t get her mind off of it.

"Professor," you spoke, setting your glass down on the counter before stepping close in front of her. "I think… you’re thinking too much."

Wanda’s anticipation was palpable, and she held her breath as you closed the distance between the two of you, her heart pounding in her chest. As you stood so close, your breaths nearly mingling, you sensed that she was still overthinking the moment. And finally, in a bold move, your hands reached out, gently tugging on her suit jacket, pulling her even closer. The touch was electrifying, sending a shiver down her spine as your lips met hers in a deep kiss. Wanda's breath caught in her throat as your lips met hers, and she melted into the kiss with a soft groan, moaning at the sweetness of your lips that she had been waiting all night to feel.

You led her to your bedroom with your lips never leaving hers and your arm around her neck while your other hand pulled her jacket roughly off her shoulders. A laugh bubbles against your mouth as you trip over the rug on the way to your room, but Wanda catches you with a chuckle, her hands at your waist holding you against her. Your lips fit so perfectly against hers, and the taste of you on her tongue unlocked all of the desires she had been trying to keep at bay. All she could think about was you. Mere seconds have gone by when your back finally meets the soft comfort of your bed, all while Wanda explores your mouth with her tongue. She indulges herself in the taste of you and tugs desperately at your dress, just as you tried to undo her belt, albeit poorly. The gasp you let out when Wanda moved her head down to your neck, sucking, licking, and nipping at your sensitive skin, distracted you from your current task, leaving her belt loosely unbuckled.

"Mmh, Professor…" Your bedroom was painted with your needy moans and Wanda’s soft grunts as she pressed herself against you, your body pressed in between her and the mattress.

"Wanda," she murmured into your neck, leaving marks on your skin as her mouth explored. "You can call me Wanda… Please."

You smiled and ran your hand through her hair, urging her to look at you and bring her face close to yours just for you to say her name in the sultriest way that made the woman in front of you physically stutter, "Wanda."

Wanda swallows the lump in her throat, dazed as she watches your lips as you spoke out her name. She parted her lips, unaware of the hazy look in her eyes as she stared at you. Dragging her tongue over her bottom lip, she subconsciously leaned in to press another kiss to your sweet mouth, but you cupped her face with a soft yet commanding touch before she could close the distance. Wanda's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing as your gentle fingers caressed her skin. She felt a shiver run down her spine as your touch lingered, trailing slowly from her face, down her neck, and over her collarbone. Your hands moved with deliberate tenderness, unbuttoning the rest of her shirt one button at a time.

And she could only watch; her eyes locked onto your hands as if they were the most mesmerizing thing in the world. Your movements were slow, each button releasing its hold on the fabric with a soft, tantalizing pop. Wanda, lost in the sensations of your touch, was in a daze once again. Her eyes remained fixed on your hands, watching as they worked their way down, unbuttoning her shirt one by one. Your fingers brushed against her skin, leaving a trail of warmth and desire in their wake. With the last button undone, you gently slid Wanda's shirt off her shoulders, and it slipped down her arms, a whisper of fabric gliding to the floor. You couldn’t help but smile at her, hovering over you with a black bra on, her pants unbuckled, and her hair tousled from all of the making out. God, was she beautiful.

And Wanda thought the same thing about you, if not more. You still had your dress on, and the way you spread your legs a bit so she could settle comfortably on top of you did nothing but make her feral. Wanda’s mouth practically watered at the sight of your exposed skin. With a gentle and curious hand, her fingers danced along the skin of your leg, slipping under that same tantalizing slit that had been teasing her the whole night. She kissed your chest as she did so, but with the way you were squirming underneath her, Wanda couldn’t get the thought of your hot, naked, trampling body out of her head. And she could feel it—fuck, that lacy underwear you were wearing—as if you had planned this all along. It was driving her absolutely insane.

"You can take my clothes off for me," you whispered lowly into her ear, and for a moment, Wanda froze at your words.

Soon enough, her hands started pulling roughly at every piece of fabric she could get her hands on. She needed to see you. She was going to lose it if she didn’t see you. And despite how rough her hands were, Wanda carefully slipped the dress off of your body, undoing its zipper in a way you almost didn’t notice. But all caution was thrown out the window when Wanda finally laid eyes on your half-naked body. It was black lace underwear that you were sporting, and all she could think about was how stunning you looked. She sat there for a while, frozen and heated, her eyes raking over every inch of your body. To think that you were wearing this underneath that goddamn dress this whole time, god, it makes her absolutely exasperated with desire.

"I’m getting a bit cold here, Professor," you smirk, your fingers trailing up her pants, finally meeting her undone belt once again. "Warm me up a little?"

"Yes ma’am," Wanda breathed out and nodded, her hand ghosting over your skin once more as you opened your arms and urged her to come closer—the sight causing her to melt and a question she didn’t even think twice about spilling from her mouth. "Can I fuck you? Please?"

Almost immediately, Wanda leaned down and pressed her face against your body, littering soft and hot kisses along your stomach, up the valley of your breasts, your collarbones, and to your neck. She would lick, suck, and kiss all over again, marking your skin with the prettiest bruises. You almost forget to answer her question when she starts kissing you, but she pleaded once more. To let her do whatever she wanted, just say the word, and she’ll make sure to make you feel so fucking good.

"Please," she begged you, whining only slightly as she kissed your neck. "Please, (Y/n). Please—I'll do anything, I—"

"Touch me there," you said, slipping your hand into hers to lead it down to your warm, clothed center. "Right there, Wanda."

You let her fingers press against the fabric, feeling how undeniably soaked you were. Without a second thought, Wanda immediately circles your clothed pussy with the pads of her fingers, just getting lost in the feeling of your wet heat. Her jaw slowly drops as she watches her own fingers play with your cunt. She pressed even harder the moment she finds your clit underneath the thin fabric and when you moaned, arching your back slightly in the process, she lost all self-control. You don’t even get a second to catch your breath as Wanda immediately starts clawing at your underwear, pulling your bra off of your chest in the quickest way possible. And, when she moved her hands back to your panties to uncover the very treasure she was yearning for, you suddenly heard an unmistakable sound—the sound of fabric tearing.

Your eyes widened in disbelief as Wanda stared at the torn piece of underwear in her hands, "Did you just—"

"I’m sorry." Then she kissed you to give you something else to think about other than the fact that she just ripped your precious, laced underwear.

"You ripped—"

She kissed you again, murmuring against your lips, "I’m sorry, baby."

"That was expensive, you know. I just got it last week," you said, rolling your eyes, wrapping your arms around her neck as she continued to kiss your skin all over again. And it was working—when you felt her lips kissing you and sucking on you, you could barely think about anything else.

The corner of Wanda’s lips turned upward at the thought of you buying lingerie just for her, "I said, I’m sorry. I’ll get you another one, I promise… But, right now, I really want to fuck you. I want to fuck you until you can't move. Let me make you feel better, baby? Please."

Wanda's plea hung in the air, her voice a desperate whisper filled with desire. When she turned to look back at you, she did so with an intensity that made your heart race even faster. Already blushing from the heat of the moment, you felt your cheeks grow even hotter and hotter. Your gaze locked onto Wanda's lidded eyes, and you could see clear as day the raw need inside of them.

Your lips parted, and a deep, crimson blush spread across your cheeks. With a soft voice, almost breathless, you finally gave in, "You’re lucky I like you, Professor."

You were going to say more, but you couldn’t help the gasp that fell from your lips when Wanda dips two fingers into your pussy without any warning. She could feel you tense up around her waist, and your hands moved to grip her biceps as she started pumping into you at a slow pace, easing her way up to a faster one. Wanda’s jaw dropped once again, moaning as she felt just how tight, warm, and wet you were around her fingers. She could feel every sliver of you, your spongy walls wrapping around her digits, and you gasping right into her ear. God, it was so perfect. You are so perfect. She could fuck you like this forever.

"Does that feel good?" she asked, looking up at you with lidded eyes while her fingers continued to make their way in and out, in and out.

"Yes, right there," you nod quickly, moaning in her ear as your grip on her arms got tighter, trying to hold on for dear life as Wanda gradually got faster and faster. "You feel so good inside of me, Wanda. So good—ah!"

The woman reveled in your praise, unable to hold back her own moans as she watched her fingers, glistening with your slick, sink deeper and deeper.

"You’re sucking my fingers in, baby." And you truly were. Her fingers are buried deep in your pussy, and almost immediately, she finds that weak, spongy spot inside of you and begins to torture that button. With your moans getting pounder and louder, she penetrates deep against it, groaning into your neck as she listens to the music of your moans and whimpers.

After a moment of getting lost in the heavenly sounds that were spilling from your mouth, Wanda pulls your leg over to your chest, pumping her fingers in and out at a much faster pace than before. With her digits accelerating in speed, your body jolts and your moans go up an octave as Wanda continued to fuck her fingers into you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling her press against that sweet spot inside your pussy over and over again, building up to the climax she had been working diligently to witness. And finally, the band holding you together finally breaks, your body succumbing to one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had in your life. Wetness pools all over her hand, and your pussy clenches tightly around her fingers. Wanda melts at the sight of your trembling body and shaky legs as your hands grip onto her biceps even harder, trying to hold on as she helped you ride out your climax.

When you calmed down, legs trembling against her, Wanda carefully pulled her fingers out of you with a squelch. She stared down in awe at your wetness, glistening all over her fingers and dripping down her hand. With her lips parted and eyes glued, you could not help but smile as you were catching your breath, still a bit hazy from the orgasm she had just given you. When you felt like the professor was taking a bit longer than expected, you reached down and gently brought her hand close to your face, her eyes following as you did so. And when you opened your mouth, you dragged your tongue slowly over the length of her fingers, and all Wanda had the strength to do was watch.

"Fuck," Wanda breathed out as you licked her hand clean of your essence.

You pulled Wanda in by the neck to kiss her, and she groaned into your mouth when she tasted your juices on your tongue—the taste of how good she made you feel. After pulling away to catch your breath once more, Wanda made her way back down again, leaving kisses along your skin as she traveled to the heavenly space between your gorgeous legs. And with mere inches away, she could smell you, smell the taste of you, and it lingered on her tongue, only making her yearn for more. The scent of you floods her senses, and she leans in with lidded eyes, lost in the thought of having you come right into her mouth. God, she wanted it—she needed it.

She was so close—her mouth was so close. You were right there, all ready in her mind for the grand meal she was about to indulge herself in. And with a soft but firm hand holding her head back by her hair, you stopped her.

"Not yet," you told her, shaking your head slightly as your fingers threaded through her hair.

"What?" Wanda gives you another dazed look, confused and almost frustrated with the fact that you interrupted her on her way to a heavenly meal.

"Not yet," you repeated once again, louder and clearer, with a more demanding tone. "I want you to watch me."

With her eyebrows raising in surprise, Wanda wondered what it was you had in store for her, "Watch you?"

With a teasing smile, you took your hand off of Wanda’s head, slowly dragging your fingers against the inside of your thigh, then in between, the soft pads of your fingers meeting your clit. There was nothing else Wanda could keep her eyes on except the way you pressed softly onto your clit, with another moan slipping out. Your clit was wet and slippery, coated with your juices. You could feel her heavy breath against your pussy, just centimeters away from her face, and all Wanda could do was stare. The sound of your quiet whimpers filled her ears, and it took everything inside Wanda not to dive in, face first, into your heavenly heat.

You must’ve known. You must’ve known what you were doing; keeping her desperate and begging while also checking if she’d be good and obey. And although it was hard to keep away, Wanda followed your orders and watched. With her eyes stuck to that precious button you were torturing all by yourself, she couldn’t help but pant slightly, like an obedient dog waiting for its signal to start eating.

Soon, you were getting close all over again, and Wanda was disappointed that it was not her doing. Although your moans and whimpers were more than enough to fuel her desires, waiting to touch you almost became unbearable, but she remained still, her eyes still glued to your pretty pussy as you touched yourself.

"Let me—Let me touch you," Wanda pleaded, unable to take her eyes off of the way you were rubbing your fingers against your sensitive bundle of nerves. "Please, let me help."

"N-Not yet," you said again, your body writhing more and more as each second passed.

With a groan, Wanda dropped her head down against the plush, inside part of your thighs, holding you down as you chased your own high. She kept watching with her mouth open as she resisted each and every urge in her body that told her to ignore your order and just jump right in, but she held herself back. She didn’t even know how, but she knew that once you allowed her, you’d reward her with the best meal and orgasm you could ever give her.

And just as you were about to hit your peak, you let one word slip, "Now."

Wanda finally opened her mouth and let her tongue fall. Her jaw drops as she lets her tongue travel from the bottom to the top, dragging it through your folds and swirling it messily around your clit. The taste of you was as blissful as angels singing in her mouth, as if her tastebuds had been blessed by the gods themselves. Your cries and moans rested well on Wanda’s ears, doing nothing to stop her from eating you out so fervently. A pleasured groan fell from Wanda’s muffled mouth as you tugged harshly at her hair, Her breath was hot, and your pussy had you squirming beneath her. It was heaven for Wanda. God, she’d give everything if it meant being able to live the rest of her days down here, with her head between your legs and your pussy in her mouth. She’d be set for life.

Your poor clit was already so sensitive, and Wanda was lapping at you like a thirsty dog. Your precious brain couldn’t even focus anymore, and all you could think about was Wanda’s tongue. And because of how close you were just before she started, your orgasm started to build higher and higher in a matter of seconds. Her mouth showed no remorse, and the lewd noises only made you flush deeper. With her thighs squeezing her head between your thighs, Wanda devoured you, holding you still with ease despite your constant squirming. Then, she wrapped her mouth around your clit, and sucked, and sucked, and sucked, and sucked, until she had you screaming her name into the air as you came inside of her mouth.

And yet, she doesn’t stop.

"W-Wanda, I—"

"Not yet," she said, voice muffled as she continued to fuck you through your orgasm, her tongue swirling and licking every crevice in and out of your sex.

Your words die in your mouth, and you let out a squeal as she buries her tongue right into your pussy all over again, licking and swirling it inside of you as you whined about how it was too much for you to handle. But, she kept going anyway. And fuck, you felt incredible wrapped around her tongue; it drove Wanda insane. Your body was hot, trembling at the mercy of her touch, screaming out as Wanda continued to overstimulate you. She was now far from being gentle. How could she? When you had been teasing her all through the night with that slit in your dress and those eyes that were begging her to do something? Occasionally, she’d open her eyes to see you arching your back, screaming into the pillow, and it made Wanda moan against your pussy, the vibrations doing more to stimulate you.

With her eyes glued to your body as your legs tensed around her head and your stomach clenched as you moaned, Wanda whined and pushed herself further into you. Her hands were now spreading your folds open as she dragged her tongue up and down your fold before wrapping around your clit once more. Even when you finally gushed inside her mouth, she kept going, even with your entire body enveloped in shivers, as she savored each and every drop of your essence.

"I think–It’s too much—" you tried to say.

But, she just hit you with the same words all over again, "Not yet."

And she’d make you come a third time, then a fourth, then a fifth—until you couldn’t take it anymore. By the end of all of it, Wanda goes back up to your face, her heart racing faster as she sees your tear-stained cheeks and a lazy smile on your face as you try to look at her. She wipes them clean with her thumb and kisses them with her lips, using her other hand to calm your trembling body by running it along your quivering legs.

You reach out for her with a whimper, trying to grab hold of her, begging for her care as she soothes your body. Wanda smiles and re-kisses each bruise she left on you, all the way up until she makes it to your mouth. She kisses you softly and gently, and you can taste yourself right on her tongue. Nuzzling your face into her neck, Wanda pulls your body to lay on top of her, securing a tight and comforting hold on you as you began your drift to sleep.

It’s everything Wanda could have ever wanted—to be with you. It was perfect. You were perfect.

"You did so good, Wanda," you said sleepily into her skin, muffled as you spoke. "So good for me."

"I think I should be the one saying that, (Y/n)," she replied with a proud smile as she ran her hand through your hair. Eventually, her hand rested on your cheek, soothing her thumb over your skin as you began to let your eyes flutter closed at her soothing touch. "You are… so beautiful, darling… So perfect."

You almost fall asleep after a few seconds. Her touches, the feeling of her breathing, and the way her skin felt was everything you ever wanted and more. Wanda laid there with the same thought in her head, her heart filled with an overwhelming sense of love and contentment. As she gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, she couldn't imagine a more perfect moment.

“I have something for you,” you say, voice rasp and groggy as you moved reach something from the drawer of your side table. “It’s nothing special… it’s just… you keep losing your card, so..”

You couldn't help but feel a touch of nervousness. You had spent hours searching for the perfect gift, wanting to express you affection for Wanda in a meaningful way. Yet, when you were finally about to give it to her, you couldn't help but feel a bit shy about its simplicity.

But then, Wanda's eyes lit up with curiosity as she accepted the small box and carefully opened it. Inside, she found a cute red lanyard with a playful pattern, and her heart swelled with affection. She held it delicately in her hands, her fingers gently tracing the tiny pattern that adorned the fabric. It was a simple yet thoughtful gift, and she couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for you for choosing it.

Your shyness melted away, replaced by a radiant smile, as you watched Wanda’s joy. You couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth, knowing that your gift had brought a smile to the professor’s face.

Wanda turned towards you, her eyes soft with emotion and her heart full. She reached out and gently cupped your cheek with her hand, her thumb tenderly brushing against your skin. With a sweet and sincere smile, Wanda leaned in slowly, her lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. Your lips met like two puzzle pieces finally fitting together, and for that moment, the world seemed to fade away.

“It’s perfect,” Wanda says, unable to suppress the way her lips curved upward. “Thank you.”

Then, each day as you arrived for class, your heart couldn't help but skip a beat when you saw Wanda. What caught your attention immediately was the sight of the red lanyard that Wanda wore around her neck. It didn't matter if Wanda's outfit matched the lanyard or not; it was always there, a constant presence, and a sweet reminder of the thoughtful gift you had given her. On some days, it stood out vividly against Wanda's attire, a burst of color that added charm to her ensemble. On others, it contrasted playfully, a delightful pop of red against more subdued colors. But in any case, it was always there.

Over the next few weeks, You and Wanda found yourselves in a whirlwind of newfound affection and stolen moments. In the classroom, your glances became a language of your own. Wanda would catch your eye from across the room, and a playful yet affectionate smile would curve both yours and her lips. It was as if you shared an inside joke, one that no one else in the class could comprehend. As the days went by, their desire for each other grew. They were days off of stolen kisses, lingering glances, and shared smiles that only you could fully understand.

One day, in the middle of a lecture, Wanda couldn't resist the urge any longer. She discreetly slipped out of her seat and gently tugged at your hand, pulling you slightly behind and into a closet at the back of the room, out of sight from her classmates' curious eyes. With a mischievous smile and a twinkle in her eye, Wanda leaned in and pressed her lips against yours. It was soft and tender, a tantalizing taste of their affection that left both of you breathless. The classroom continued with the lecture, seemingly oblivious to the hidden exchange.

Yet, for Wanda, those stolen kisses were like sweet secrets shared only between the two of you.

— navigation!

#bellaveux writes!#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen #marvel #avengers x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader

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hederasgarden · 13 days

Text

Sweet Surrender

Summary: Jake’s given and taken orders a hundred times throughout his career but nothing compares to the moment he realizes you liked it. Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x F!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: 18+ only. Sexual content. Authority and sir kink, praise kink and Hangman being a cocky asshole. A/N: Thank you @wildbornsiren and @whatblogisthis216 for beta'ing and @blue-aconite for the beautiful graphic. In the future I may write part 2 if my muses cooperate. Reblogs and comments feed the muse.

Masterlist ♡ Top Gun Masterlist

Jake doesn’t pay much attention when you’re first introduced with the rest of the eggheads from the Office of Naval Research. Another one of many civilian engineers working on the new plane he’s been assigned to test. You keep things professional and polite although he can tell you find him attractive. It’s written all over your face and demeanor. You’re not the only one, several of the other engineers can’t seem to string together a full sentence around him.

You’re pretty, he can admit that much to himself, but a sweet face has never been enough on its own to hold his interest. Especially when he’s here to do a job, one he takes very seriously. The chance to be the first to fly the latest prototype jet isn’t an opportunity that comes up often. He volunteered immediately for the assignment when it came up, beating out most of his Top Gun class for the honor.

What he doesn’t bank on is having to sit through mind numbingly boring briefings and listen to the engineers argue anytime the tiniest adjustment is made. Most of his exposure to you is during these meetings but the first time you talk to him one on one is four weeks into the project.

That’s when he notices your particular….quirk. You’re following him out after the morning briefing, yammering away about the new wing design specs. He’s read your report in detail and already familiarized himself with the changes.

All Jake wants is a moment of silence to mentally prepare himself for today's test but you keep talking. It doesn’t help that he’s got the beginning of a headache forming behind his eyes and you’re oblivious to his attempts to cut the conversation short.

“I got it. I know how to fly a plane,” he tells you.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” you start but he cuts you off with a look.

“I’ve read your briefing packet, top to bottom. It was extremely thorough. If I have questions you’ll be the first person I ask. Scout’s honor,” he adds, giving you a sloppy half salute that seems to confuse you for a moment before you start talking again.

“I just want to make sure-“ you begin and Jake sighs, annoyed.

“I got it. Now go sit down,” he tells you curtly.

You step back back, brows raised. Jake almost misses the way your pupils dilate and your lips part just so.

"I'm sorry, Sir," you reply. "I..."You stammer and tug at the hem of your shirt before hurrying to take a seat.

You watch him from behind the computer bank as he climbs into the cockpit and fiddles with the controls. He can feel you watching him as he puts his helmet on. It’s clear to him that you want his approval, even if you don’t realize it.

Fuck, that paired with the ‘sir’ and the delicious little waver in your voice spikes his interest. He waits until you’re practically squirming in your chair before he gives you a nod. Your response is immediate, shoulders dropping and the tense lines on your face easing.

It’s not just that he makes you nervous, he’s seen that plenty of times before. No, this is different. Special. You liked it when he barked an order at you.

–

Over the next few weeks, he watches you closely, taking note of your responses to everyone you interact with. It’s clear you crave praise from others, perking up under any compliment you receive and deflating under criticism. However, it’s your response to authority that interests him most. You’ve got a natural inclination to listen to orders but as far as Jake can tell he’s the only one who elicits that type of reaction from you.

Each encounter he has with you is a chance to test the theory he has. He catalogs the difference in your responses; when he’s softer in his requests versus an outright order. Jake sees how quickly you obey a demand to sit next to him at the next briefing, just so he can be close to you. The speed you produce a new report just for him is a powerful thing. He especially loves the way you blossom under his praise when he compliments changes you've made to improve performance.

You’re smart, undeterred when the men in the room try to speak over you. Even though you’re quiet-natured, you’re no pushover either. He respects your determination and hard work.

The most telling moment is one afternoon when you’re loitering on the edge of the hanger as he finishes up his conversation with the flight chief. It’s clear you need to speak to him. The fact that you won’t interrupt him is just a bonus– something he knows from experience will translate well in the bedroom.

“Come here,” he commands, crooking a finger at you. He doesn’t even have to raise his voice to have you scurrying to him. You touch your chest and fiddle with the locket you wear, twisting the thin gold chair around your index finger. Jake’s not sure if he’s just gotten better at clocking your reactions or you’re extra affected today but whatever the reason, he’s enjoying the show.

“What do you need?” He asks.

“For you to sign the report,” you tell him, opening the folder and pointing to the highlighted portion.

When he takes the pen from you he makes sure to drag his fingertips over the back of your hand, watching for your reaction behind his aviators. The soft sound that passes your lips doesn't disappoint him. He thinks about what other sounds he could drag out of you. How he could get you desperate enough to beg him to fuck you. The way you’d sigh his name and -

“Sir?” Your soft voice snaps him out of his little daydream. You’re staring up at him expectantly. “I need my pen back, please.”

When he hands it back, you smile. It makes him long to pull you against him and kiss you breathless. To test out the limits of how well you’d listen to him but he knows he has to wait until the project is over. He’s not about to jeopardize either of your careers though as the weeks drag on he certainly finds himself fantasizing about that.

You’ve caught him staring at during the morning briefings once or twice, his chin resting on steepled fingers. It’s always the same response from you, the double blink and glance away. Sometimes you’ll bite your lips and fiddle with the pencil, tapping it in rapid succession against the table. He can feel your eyes on him too and he has to repress a smirk. These morning briefings are starting to become his favorite part of the day.

—

Two torturous months pass before the admiral visits and the project gets wrapped up. He has some innocent fun with you during that time, nothing overly mean, just enough to get you flustered and stoke the flame. His favorite form of foreplay.

The team celebrates at the Hard Deck. Alcohol flows freely and spirits are high. It turns out engineers partied harder than pilots. You only have a drink which bodes well for Jake. He needs you sober for this and wants a clear head of his own, nursing a single beer most of the night.

While he waits for an opportunity to get you alone he formulates how he wants to approach this. He doesn’t doubt his assessment. He’s rarely wrong about these things but it’s always possible you’re not completely aware of your quirk. If he embarrassed or frightened you all his waiting would be for nothing.

After another hour or so he senses his chance. You head outside to take a quick call and Jake follows. He waits at a safe distance to give you some privacy but once you slide the phone back into your jacket he makes his presence known.

“Lieutenant Seresin,” you greet. You look surprised to see him but pleased too.

“It’s Jake,” he corrects, stepping toward you.

When he presses into your space you take a half step back and then another, letting him herd you into a little alcove out of sight. You watch him curiously, maybe even a little confused. You’re not scared to be alone with him —you trust him.

“What’s up?” You’re trying for casual but failing adorably.

Jake’s close enough to touch you, but refrains from it. He won’t until he has your permission and understanding. He smirks and tits his head. A direct approach might be quicker but he’s curious if you’ll figure it out on your own.

“I know your secret, sweetheart,” he whispers.

That gets you going. You don’t seem to know where to put your hands. Nervous laughter comes next but Jake stays quiet, letting you squirm a little longer.

“My secret?” You question.

“It’s compatible with mine,” he hints.

You frown, forehead wrinkling. He recognizes the expression from countless morning briefings when you were contemplating a problem. It’s cute watching your brain work in real-time to put the pieces together. A full minute passes before your eyes dart back to his face, surprised.

He nods encouragingly and then very hesitantly you say, “Is that so, sir?”

There’s a heavy emphasis on the last word.

“Smart girl,” he praises.

You grin and rock back on your heels. “Well, I did design the aircraft you’ve been flying the last four months,” you shoot back.

He can see the struggle it is for you not to smile. You’re proud of your work and should be but he can’t have you mouthing off already.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he warns playfully, loving the way you immediately duck your head.

“Sorry, sir.”

You sound appropriately contrite and he smirks.

“Look at me.” Two fingers under your chin encourage you to meet his gaze. “I want you to be honest,” he begins, watching carefully for any sign you’re not on the same page as him. “Do you want to do this?”

“Do you mean…you mean sex, right?” You ask, looking a little unsure.

You’re so sweet that Jake slips character briefly to give you the soft smile you deserve. “Sex and more,” he confirms. “I can help you explore this side of yourself.”

“Yeah. I want that,” you tell him shyly.

“That’s good to hear, but that’s not how you talk to me, and I think you know it.”

“I want you to teach me, sir,” you respond.

“Better,” he praises.

He slides a hand up your jaw to grasp the back of your neck and angle your face upward so he can crush his lips against yours. He closes the distance between your bodies, pressing you back into the wall with a groan. You make a desperate little sound that goes right to his dick and grasp his biceps tightly.

You part your lips and fuck, he’s finally tasting you fully like he’s been imagining. He loves how soft and warm you are in his arms and the way his lips slide against yours. All of his pent-up desire is out now. The hand at your hip slides down the curve of your ass to grasp your thigh so he can grind shamelessly against you. You whimper, nails pressing into his skin. He rocks his half-hard cock into the warmest part of you, needing more friction. He wants to hear you make that little sound again too.

“Oh, please,” you gasp when you finally part.

You sound wrecked and he thinks you look it too.The skin of your face is warm to the touch and your eyes are a little glassy. Jake's half convinced you might let him have you here and for a moment he actually considers it. He knows how good that kind of messy, quick fuck can be but tonight he wants to see all of you. To spend his time taking you apart until you’re incoherent and at his mercy. He can’t do that here.

“Easy,” Jake whispers, running a hand down your back. “Look at me,” he instructs, smiling when you do. You’re trembling all over and he rubs his thumb over your swollen lips as he gazes down at you. “Catch your breath.”

Once you’re calm he lets go of you and runs a hand through his hair. You’re watching him, waiting to be told what to do. “Go inside, say goodbye to your friends. Then I want you to meet me out front. Got it?”

You nod and he surges forward to kiss you one more time before stepping back to let you past him.

Fuck, tonight is going to be good he thought.

♡

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#jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader

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tasteracha · 1 year

Text

professor bang

word count: 2.3k

warnings: unprotected sex, power imbalance (grad student x professor), multiple orgasms, chan calling the reader pet/good girl

synopsis: you laid out a perfectly crafted trap to seduce the hot professor - too bad he’s one step ahead of you.

the midday air is unsuspecting as you walk down the creaky hallway, floorboards of the psychology building groaning under your feet. the nerves are close to eating you up whole but you continue walking, too far into your plan to turn back now - you know what you want, and you’re going to get it. no one turns an eye as you walk past open doors, the hem of your dress swishing around your knees. they’re accustomed to seeing you here, being a graduate student in the department means you spend more time here than you do in your own apartment.

you stop at one door in a series of identical ones, only told apart by a worn out plaque listing a room number and a shinier, newer one reading “christopher bang, ph.d.” underneath it.

the door is cracked just a bit, enough for you to peer inside and there he is, standing in front of his desk, wearing a crisp white shirt under a grayish-blue blazer. his pants are too tight to be suitable for a professor, and they cling to his thighs and stretch across his ass perfectly, making you pause in the doorway with a hungry stare that lasts for too many seconds.

when you look up you meet his eyes and it makes you jump; you didn’t know that he knew you were there. this doesn’t fit in the plan.

the plan you cooked up when he got a little too cozy with you during the department holiday party last semester. the plan you’ve been making and scrapping and working yourself up to execute, avoiding him at every corner so that he wouldn’t know. you were supposed to surprise him, walk in pretending like you needed help with some assignment, getting closer and closer to him until your breaths were intermingling and then you’d look into his eyes and he would glance at your lips and-

and now he’s caught you checking him out like some kind of creep.

“oh, hi y/n,” he says, eyes turning crinkly as he looks at you with a shit-eating grin. fuck.

now that you’ve been found out, you slide inside the gap in the door, shutting it closed behind you and letting the lock click behind your back. if he notices, he doesn’t react, steady eyes trained on you as your feet take you closer and closer to his desk.

“hi professor bang,” you say, surprised by how clear your voice comes out. that’s good, you wouldn’t want him to know how nervous you are just yet, it would add to his smugness and you didn’t know if you could handle his ego being even bigger than it is right now.

“what can i do for you?” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the desk. the blazer stretches over his shoulders and the material does nothing to hide his biceps and your mouth waters. he quirks an eyebrow at you when you don’t speak for a moment, and you have to clear your throat before any sound comes out.

“i needed some help with a research project,” you say, moving close enough to him that if anyone were to walk in they would absolutely report the both of you for some kind of ethical violation. good thing you locked the door, then. “i was hoping you could be of service.”

“oh?” he leans further back into the desk, fully relaxed in a way you wish you were. “what kind of project?”

“well, it has to do with human connection,” you trail a finger across the collar of his blazer, further down until it catches on a button, in a show of false confidence. “i was looking to maybe get some hands-on experience? for research, of course.”

you feel a swell of victory when his breath catches in his throat and his arms loosen from where they were crossed to drop at his side.

“well i certainly am the expert in that domain,” he drawls, eyes flickering down to your lips and back up. “i did write my dissertation on it, after all.”

it’s a lie - you’ve read his dissertation, full of information about cognitive theory and eye movements and other things that honestly went way over your head. not a single mention of human connection was in that document, but the fact that he’s so readily playing along with you means that you didn’t misread anything. either he wants you, or he enjoys toying with you; either way, you were on board.

even more so when he takes his blazer off, throwing it off to the side like it didn’t cost him an aggressive amount of money to buy. you’ve seen the designer labels on him plenty of times enough to know he likes to treat himself to nice things.

you’re hoping you can be his next nice thing, the next possession that he flaunts and parades around.

you lean in for a kiss, but he surprises you and flips the both of you around until you’re backed up into the desk. he’s leaning over you, dark eyes looking down at you like you’re his prey.

“let’s even the playing field a bit, shall we?” his voice has gone down, low and sultry, and you feel your head loll back from how it makes you feel. he makes quick work of removing your dress, letting the material pool to the floor so he could focus on your bra. it’s your favorite one, lacey and red and sexy, the material leaving nothing to the imagination. he takes a second to admire it, fingering at the strap around your shoulder and sliding his thumb into the cup before he reaches behind you and unhooks it in one try. it joins his blazer and your dress on the floor a moment later, and you’re left feeling exposed in front of him.

“how is this even?” you ask, resisting the urge to cover yourself with your hands. “you’re still wearing all of your clothes.”

“well, sweetheart,” he starts, moving impossibly closer to you. “we’re in my office. that means i get to decide the rules, no?”

he swipes an arm across the table behind you before you can answer. papers flutter in the air, and he’s hiking you up onto the desk before they reach the ground. his hands are under your thighs, spreading them apart so he can fit between them. one of his hands snakes into the band of your underwear, your sensitive skin erupting in goosebumps from his touch.

“so wet,” he says, a smirk painting his face as his fingers part your folds to make slow circles around your clit. it shouldn’t be enough to send shivers up your spine, but it’s him, so it does.

“for you,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. the amused glint in his eyes turns sharp, dark and possessive. just what you wanted.

“this is mine?” he asks, cupping you in his hand while his other reaches around the small of your back to hold you close to him.

“yours,” you hum, nodding even though his attention certainly wasn’t on your head.

he dips his fingers inside of you, gliding easily inside from how his fingers are coated with your juices. when he crooks his fingers and thumbs at your clit your head tips back, and you might have lost your balance if he wasn’t holding you so close that you could feel his breath on your skin.

it’s on your third time stumbling over the word professor that he leans into your ear and tells you to call him chris, his lips kissing your ear as he works you to your high. you’re shaking apart on his desk and yet he doesn’t relent, he continues to move his fingers with fervor until you can’t help but push at his chest to get him to stop.

“chris,” you stutter out when he latches his lips to your neck, open mouthed and hot as his fingers move to grab at your thighs. his hands are so big, veins bulging as he digs his fingers in. you hope there are bruises there, tomorrow. and the next day.

“gonna fuck you now, okay?” he says, voice husky. “for research.”

“yeah, research,” you breath out, using both your hands to cradle his face so that you could kiss him, finally. his lips are as soft as you imagined, plushy pillows that you could find yourself lost in for hours. he keeps his lips on yours as he moves your underwear down and off, helping you balance so he could slide it under your thighs until you’re bare in front of him. you’re unbuttoning his shirt with shaky fingers, and he chuckles against you when you can’t get one of them open.

“funny?” you break away from him, eyes trained on the way his lips are red and slick with spit.

“you’re cute,” condescension lines his voice and a spark of anger runs through you at how he knows he has the upper hand. he gently takes your hands away from his clothes and makes quick work of them himself. in what feels like a split second, he’s stripped of his shirt and pants and he’s pulling down his boxers, revealing smooth planes of muscle and strong thighs and bulging arms that you’ve fantasized about for months. you don’t know if you want to cover them in bites or let him crush you with them more - there will be time for that, the next time.

you know there’s going to be a next time if it’s already this good and he’s barely even done anything to you yet.

he spreads your thighs apart further, and you don’t miss how he licks his lips at the view of your dripping cunt in front of him before he lines himself up at your entrance. you barely got a glimpse of his cock, but your mouth waters at the idea of it being inside of you. he glides his cock through your folds a few time, slicking himself up before pressing his head inside of you.

when he bottoms out you can’t help but tighten your walls around him, helpless to the desires of your own body, and the groan he lets out makes you clench down even harder.

“relax, pet,” he says, panting a bit. his thumb strokes at the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. “i’m going to take good care of you okay? but you need to relax for me.”

he leans down to kiss you again, and it must be a good enough distraction because he begins moving in time with the swipes of his tongue on your teeth. every time he rocks into you the air punches out of your lungs, you’re so full. he moves his face to the crook of your neck to hide his own labored breaths when he increases his pace, thrusting into you faster than you can keep up with.

he’s pressing you into the desk with each movement of his hips, the sharp corner against your legs sending pricks of pain up to your head. the game is over, the research bit is done, now it’s just chris taking what he wants from you. you love it. his arms wrap around you, keeping you upright, and you latch onto him like a lifeline. you’re completely at his mercy, entirely submissive to the way he’s keeping you still so he can use you.

you can tell he’s close when he pushes his head even further into your skin, fingers gripping your back and his movements becoming sharp and purposeful. he spills into you a second later with a bite to your neck, and you can’t help yourself from following him as your head tips back in pleasure.

when he pulls out you wince, the emptiness that he’s left you with feeling worse than you’ve ever felt with anyone else. he lowers you onto the desk slowly, letting your head rest on his mousepad as he runs his hands up and down your sides in comforting sweeps. you’re utterly spent, two orgasms hitting your limit, even more intense coming from him.

“one more,” he drawls out, not showing compassion at all for the way you’re panting and drooling onto his desk. “you can do one more for me, can’t you?”

“no, no, no,” your voice comes out thready and light, barely a sound. his hand returns to your core either way, slow circles of his fingers around your clit making your body twitch with each pass. the oversensitivity is too much, but you’re too weak to pull away from him. you don’t even know if you want to, anymore.

“there’s my good girl,” he grins when you whine and rut down onto his hand. you didn’t know it was possible, but the coils in your lower belly start to tighten faster than before. you’re coming before you even realize it’s happening, pleasure seeping from your core to your fingertips, an all encompassing sensation that you can’t put words to. it lasts for what feels like forever, waves and waves of ecstasy rocking through your body until your vision blacks out for a moment.

“you did so good,” he finally stops and you press your legs together to stop him from returning. he’s pressing kisses to your body, your thighs and your stomach up to your neck and cheeks as he mumbles praises into your skin. his hand runs through your hair, pushing the sweaty locks that were stuck to your forehead out of the way so he could press a final, sweet kiss to your forehead. “so good for me. so pretty, my precious pet.”

and even as he takes care of you, cleans you up and helps you back into your clothes and feeds you water, you’re holding back a smirk. because he thinks he has the upper hand, he thinks he won, but you can guarantee that he’ll be knocking at your door before the week is over.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #bang chan x female reader #chan x reader

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sorcerersseestars · 10 months

Text

synopsis: Gojo blames you for the first-years' disaster that the higher-ups caused.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x gn! reader

genre: hurt/comfort, angst to fluff

warnings: mention of death/a corpse, yelling, heavy feelings of self-blame, stuttering (it makes sense here tho I promise), emotionally constipated Gojo, mention of not eating for an extended period of time/being hungry (due to the situation), manga spoilers!! (star plasma vessel arc), indirect confessions

word count: 5.2k

notes: There are some slightly non-canon details. I’m pretty sure that Nanami and Yuji don’t know each other at this point, but let’s pretend they do. Also, I’m insinuating a more seasoned bond between Gojo and Yuji/reader and Yuji - let’s also pretend that they’ve been teaching Yuji for longer at this point, for more angst potential. :) LAST THING - you used to be a very mediocre child/adolescent actor in a few small/bad films. Only relevant for one detail.

Also, Gojo may be a bit ooc here - possibly overdramatic in his wordings - but I really wanted to write a Gojo that loses control of his emotions, since I think it'd be difficult to elicit such a reaction from him. I hope it suits him okay!!

GOJO HAS ALWAYS had a soft spot for you. In high school, he would regularly volunteer himself to take your blame, even though you never asked him to do it and would practically begged him not to. But, he was frustratingly persistent and would do it despite your many protests. If you ever cheated on an assignment, Gojo would claim he copied yours. If you fumbled during a mission, Gojo would lie in the report. If you both snuck out and got caught, Gojo would say he dragged you out with force. Whenever you would have an argument with someone, Gojo would comfort you afterwards, insisting the other person was in the wrong even when they obviously weren’t.

Although he has eventually ramped down this ridiculous treatment over the years, you will never forget this boyish idiosyncrasy from your younger days.

Today, however, it’s like those days never even existed. You don't recognize the person standing in front of you. You can’t blame him for his reaction – it's wholly natural – but it still jars you.

Today, you fucked up. You fucked up so badly that there's a very permanent, unchangeable consequence to your actions – or rather, your lack thereof. The consequence of your stupidity, the result of your thoughtlessness, lies unmoving in this room. The body of Itadori Yuji, separated from reality only by the thin plastic covering of a body bag, rests on a table only feet from where you stand.

His mentor, one sworn to protecting his students, sworn to delaying his impending execution as much as possible, stands before you. His signature blindfold obscures his eyes, and you can only imagine the wild, swirling gaze you would be faced with in its absence.

Yuji’s mentor – your long time close friend, who has never blamed you in any great capacity for anything through the entirety of your friendship – now looks at you scathingly.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He spits, tone icy.

He's not looking at you as he rigidly hovers over the operating table, but you can feel the intensity of his emotions despite the distance. Words fall out of your brain, and you struggle to string together a cohesive thought.

“I-" You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “The higher-ups told me not to go with them, I don’t know wh–"

He barks out a harsh laugh, cutting off your pathetic excuse. His head is in his hands, fingers roughly carding through his disheveled hair. He pauses in his ministrations to face you: he is suddenly towering over you, broad frame filling even the corners of your vision.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” He growls. “Did you stop to think for even a second? Why would they ever ask a teacher to stay behind?”

Tears begin to slide down you cheeks. You quickly wipe them away and will your building urge to break down to go away.

He sighs, his breath leaving him loudly and aggressively. “I don’t understand how this happened. You know how this works, (Y/N)! You know how the higher-ups are!”

“I’m sorry,” You choke out quietly, voice stretched and thin. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring him back, (Y/N)!” Gojo shouts.

Shoko and Ijichi are silent. Shoko is looking at the ground, her stony expression difficult to determine. Shoko, your friend who always sticks up for you no matter what, especially when dealing with Gojo. Shoko, who hasn’t spoken a single word to you since you arrived. For once, she agrees with him.

Your eyes land on the black body bag laying on the operating table, and you can’t hold it back any longer. Your legs weaken underneath you and you begin to shake. The sobs you’ve been suppressing rip out of your throat. Ugly, choking sobs.

Nobody moves to comfort you. If anything, Gojo’s scowl deepens, and Shoko turns away at your display of emotion.

“I know,” You sob. “I know it doesn’t. I know it's my fault.”

You take a few shaky breaths. “I didn’t know- I didn’t mean for it to happen- I- it’s my fault.”

He slides his blindfold down, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. You are about to blurt something else out, but before the words can leave your tongue, you catch his gaze and you’re immediately frozen. His boiling blue irises steal your breath and leave you rooted to the spot. Never in your life have you seen him this angry or even display this much emotion.

“If you keep standing there and crying, I think I’m going to kill something,” He says lowly.

“Gojo,” Shoko interjects in a warning tone.

Gojo bites back, “Why not? We all want the higher-ups gone. It’d be so easy. Shit like this wouldn’t happen anymore.”

Ijichi pales. Shoko roughly says, “Are you crazy?”

He doesn’t answer, and the determined look on his face isn’t necessarily comforting. It seems a storm is brewing – the most powerful sorcerer is being driven to a point.

You’re reaching a point, too – your breaking point. You feel like you can’t breathe. When you inhale, your lungs refuse to inflate past the shallowest of breaths. It’s all hitting you now, clear thoughts rising past the fog of adrenaline that overwhelmed your mind. The reality is that you fucked up, and it’s not fixable.

You fucked up, and there’s no going back in time to change your decision, to go against orders to stay with your students. There’s no way to bring Yuji back.

“Why are you still here?” Gojo says with an exasperated huff, addressing you directly. “Seeing you only adds to my anger.”

You say nothing, your mind occupied only with your regrets. He frowns and tries again.

"Unless you want to dive further into this preventable death," He says coldly. "Leave. There's still a job to be done.”

You barely hear his words. Your brain doesn’t have the energy to collect them, to interpret them, as it hyper-fixates on the horrible hole forming in your heart. Your eyes are wide, pupils enlarged, and you are visibly quivering.

“Didn’t you hear me? You need to leave!” Gojo growls, frustrated at your lack of reaction, believing it to be indifference.

“They must be in shock, Gojo,” Shoko murmurs. “They’re shutting down.”

Shoko’s diagnosis is indeed correct. You don’t hear a single word that comes out of their mouths; your shoulders and heart have grown heavy, leaden, from knowing the fate you led your students to. One deceased, two severely injured. All because of a risk you did not take, an order you did not disobey.

Yuji’s bright smile burns into the back of your eyes, a reminder of what you’ve lost, of the ultimate mistake.

One second, your eyes are on the black body bag, and the next second you can’t see anything, your vision blurred by tears and by speed. You’re running, you realize, legs pumping as fast as they can. Your lungs ache and your legs cramp up, but you can’t will yourself to stop. You can’t think. You can’t catch your breath.

When you inevitably collapse, you don’t know where you are or how much time has passed. It’s just a patch of grass damp with dew, a few maple trees dotting the banks of a small neighboring stream. You’re laying under one of these trees, your arms outstretched so your fingers can comb through the cool, wet blades of grass. You’re vaguely aware the the sun set at some point after you left. Maybe it’s been a hour, or a few more. You have no idea.

You want to scream, you want to cry, but you don’t. You can’t; it won’t come. When his grinning face and determined smile taunt you, reminding you of your sins, you can only screw your eyes shut, willing the torture to end.

Wetness finally runs down your face, and you taste salt. It is oddly comforting. Your hands repeatedly grab the gentle grass, numbing your mind until exhaustion eventually overtakes you.

There’s a buzzing filling your brain. You groan and roll over, reaching out to your bedside table to grab the offending object. You startle at the feeling of sharp gravel under your fingertips – it’s unpleasantly damp, as well, leaving muddy residue on your hands.

The buzzing starts again, and this time you clearly feel the vibrations through your leg. You sit up, scooting back until your back firmly hits the tree trunk behind you, and force your tired eyelids to part. You have to squint, as the sun has already risen and has crossed the sky a fair amount – it must be approaching noon already.

When the buzzing persists, you grumpily rip the phone out of your pocket. It’s not an alarm, as you had expected. In fact, you startle at the caller ID: Gojo Satoru.

You stare at your phone blankly, your brain buffering. You ultimately let it ring out, although your finger hovers over the answer button. Once the screen fades to your usual background, your throat goes dry. Missed calls from Shoko, Nanami, and Gojo fill your screen. You quickly skim the accompanying texts and wince.

Shoko <3: I know we’re all upset, but we shouldn’t have taken it out on you…just let me know you’re alright, okay? (10:43 pm)

‘Nanamin’: I heard what happened. It isn’t your fault, (Y/N), no matter what anyone says. Call me if you need anything. (6:26 am)

Satoru: Where are you? (11:34 pm)

Satoru: Pick up (11:59 pm)

Satoru: please (12:03 am)

Satoru: I fucked up. I need to talk to you, please let me (12:05 am)

Satoru: I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, but let someone, anyone, know you’re alright… (7:12 am)

Satoru: Megumi just told me he tried to visit you but you still weren’t home. (Y/N), please…say anything…I need to know that you’re okay (11:17 am)

It all rushes back to you: your lethal mistake, the deserved reaction you received from your two best friends, how you shamefully ran away. Fuck. There’s no way you can face any of them, especially not Megumi.

You wish this never happened. Hot tears burn your cheeks again; your eyes flood with regret. Shame quickly floods through you, making you feel hot all over. How can you feel sorry for yourself when it was your fault in the first place?

You roughly wipe your face with your sleeve and stick your phone back into your pocket. There’s no way you can respond right now. It’s bound to die soon, anyway, so there’s no point in trying.

You don’t want to move from where you sit. You want to sink into the ground and stay there until the horrible feeling inside you goes away. But…

“What if it doesn’t?” You whisper those words out into the universe, a sinking feeling in your gut telling you the answer.

You want to cry more, allow yourself to shed more tears, but you don’t. You wobbly stand up, and are surprised at how weak you are. When was the last time you ate – yesterday morning, before the disastrous mission?

You have to go home. You can’t stay here, in the middle of nowhere, neglecting yourself. It’s a thought that rings in your head and won’t leave you alone until you decide to listen. Okay. You will go home. You can manage that.

It takes a while, but you find your way back to your apartment. Last night, you had apparently meandered into an expanse of empty land neighboring the school, as you pass by Jujutsu Tech on your way back. It is a bit off the beaten path – you doubt anyone has ever intentionally gone where you ended up last night.

During your journey home, you have to reference your Google Maps app a few times, but you somehow successfully get back home, despite your directional challenges and weakened state.

Until you step into your apartment, you don’t realize how cold you are. Your feet are numb from being cold and wet, your toes icy when you peel the damp socks off. You cringe at how unaware you have been at your body for the past 24 hours: your mental state ignored all physical needs.

Your stumble to your bedroom, aching body screaming for a rest. You relent easily, collapsing on your bed face first. You’re so grimy and covered in remnants of the dirt bed you laid in last night, evidence of your outside stay covering your clothing. Bits of twigs and leaves invite themselves into your sheets – you couldn’t care less right now, though. You don’t even think about it.

On instinct, you plug your dead phone in without even looking. There’s silence for a minute or two before it whirs back to life, the screen flashing at your tired eyes.

There’s another message waiting to be opened.

Megumi: Come back soon, sensei. He’s getting unsufferable

Megumi:…more than usual

A hoarse chuckle leaves your throat, the first laugh that’s left you since the whole incident. You sigh immediately after though, as you begin to wonder how Megumi has been dealing with everything. If you hadn’t run away, then…

Your head is in your hands again. No matter what path your thinking strays down, you keep returning to your immense guilt over what happened.

You wish you were mad at someone. You wish that you felt angry at Gojo, but you aren’t – you can’t be. In your eyes, he wasn’t wrong; how could you be mad at him when you agree?

You’re not mad, but there’s this other unpleasant feeling. It feels like one of Nobara’s nails has been lodged in your chest, and every time you think about his reaction, the nail twists a little deeper into your heart. He’s never yelled at you before. That hurt.

It’s understandable, but it still hurts.

Gojo…You don’t think you can face him yet, but he may come to you if your radio silence continues. Maybe you should just get it over with and call him. You can just tell him you’re alive and hang up. That should suffice.

Without thinking further on it, you grab your phone and dial his number. Within two rings, the line connects.

“Yo, (Y/N)! Long time no hear!” His chirpy voice booms through your speakers. He’s back to his usual self – overly casual and full of mirth. He sounds way too cheerful; it throws you off guard.

A sharp inhale leaves you as you’re about to tell him that you’re fine and to not worry, so that you can hang up and avoid him. But, nothing comes out. Everything you thought of saying flies out of your brain. You’re left wordless, mouth hanging open.

“You there? (Y/N)?”

You shake your head, coming to your senses.

“Yes,” The single word that leaves you is weak and breathy.

“You good? Are you home now?”

“Yeah. Home now. I’m alive, so no need to bother checking in on me,” You say thoughtlessly.

God, that was lame. You can’t help but cringe at what you just said. It’s what you intended to convey, yes, but that’s not how you wanted to say it.

“Just alive? Sounds real peppy over there!” He chuckles. “I was going to come over anyway, but you’ve really pushed it over the edge.”

“Ah,” You say somewhat panicked, searching for a way out of this. “There’s really no need. I just need rest so there’s no need. I’ll see you later, then.”

“You mean soon!” He chirps before you can hang up. You groan into your pillow; this is exactly what you had been trying to avoid. How are you even going to look at him?

You’ve just put your phone back on your nightstand when there’s sudden footsteps approaching your bedroom. Before you can think further, the door is flung upon and a familiar figure appears before you.

“Ultimate best friend Gojo Satoru has arrived! Everyone applaud!”

A series of small claps ensues, while you just stare on in silence and disgruntlement. A wide smile stretches across his face at your displeased expression.

“C’mon angel, not even a single clap? That’s cold.”

You roll your eyes, but only half-heartedly. The gesture is so pathetically slight that Gojo’s smile falls a fraction. You don’t have much emotional energy to expend on humoring him, it seems. Because of him.

It’s then that he fully takes in your appearance. Tear stained cheeks, dirt caking your clothes and body, scraps of organic material matted in your hair and clinging to all parts of you. There’s even smudges of dirt around your eyes where you’ve attempted to wipe away tears.

He questions your appearance, trying to appear lighthearted, “Was the forest calling you? You really didn’t sleep here?”

You immediately feel self-conscious of your appearance and cross your arms. You manage out a quiet, “Something like that.”

“No, seriously…where did you sleep?” He probes, this time lacking the lightheaded tone.

A weak, sheepish smile appears on your lips, “Ah…the ground? You were right, I guess.”

He blinks. You rub the back of your head and avoid eye contact, softly laughing an awkward little chuckle.

“Seriously?” He asks, but it lacks any judgment. He is truly just in disbelief.

You just nod.

“Hey, are you…are you sure you’re okay?”

You weren’t expecting that. You wish he would stay in his childish mindset – these real questions are worse.

You breathe out slowly, “I mean…yeah. I’m fine.”

It’s not a very convincing delivery, but it was the best you could manage. The corners of his lips turn down slightly, almost unnoticeably, but he doesn’t comment on your answer. He knows he should question you further, dig a little deeper, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he excuses himself, “I’ll be right back. Just stay put! I’ll know if you move, so you better not move an inch.”

He raises two fingers to his eyes, then directs them to you, clearly saying ‘I have my eyes on you!’

It’s amusing - he’s always amusing - but when you try to smile, your lips just flatline. You can’t tell if he notices, since he has already turned away and walked into the bathroom, but you hope he couldn’t tell.

When he returns, he’s holding a dampened washcloth.

“Bath time!” He says, shaking the cloth excitedly in front of you. You flinch a little as a few stray drops of water unexpectedly land on you, which he lightly laughs at.

And then he begins swiping away the dirt that has accumulated on your body. He starts with your face. He’s on his knees, one elbow resting on the space neighboring your right thigh, leaning in to have more control with the cloth. You close your eyes when his face comes within inches of yours - too close. Even when you feel as horrible as you do now, your heart won’t stop thumping quickly against your ribs, as if it cannot deny those deeply hidden feelings you harbor.

He hums while he works, gently dabbing all the places where you have visible dirt. It’s comforting, or at least it should be. You heart begins to clench tightly, and you so badly want a hole to appear in the ground to swallow you up.

“Gojo, why are you being so nice now?” You ask, voice small. “I don’t really deserve it. I’d…prefer the alternative. This feels wrong right now.”

He sets down the cloth, wincing at your pitiful words. Is that how you really feel?

He pauses. He’s not good at this sort of thing – acknowledging other people’s vulnerability, lowering his own walls to empathize with others, any of it. He hates it. He hates how emotionally he acted yesterday, he hates how it has affected you.

“No,” He sighs. He speaks slowly as he carefully chooses his words, “I…shouldn’t have acted like that yesterday. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Your bottom lip trembles, but you force yourself not to cry, “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for it. Everyone was thinking it.”

He tries to catch your eye, but your gaze is downcast. He ducks, lowering himself to the ground even more, to enter your field of vision.

“Hey,” He says softly. “Do you trust me?”

Your brow furrows; you don’t understand why he’s asking you that. You feel yourself nodding, though.

“Everything I said yesterday,” He starts, but then shakes his head at himself. “No, everything I yelled at you yesterday – it was misdirected. What happened wasn’t your fault. There was no way of knowing what was about to happen.”

“But now, it’s obvious,” You mumble. “I should have known.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty. You were following orders. The ones assigning the orders are at fault, not you.”

You grab your sheets with tight fists. You turn your head to the side, away from his invisible gaze, “Orders that were obviously suspect. It’s still my fault as an experienced sorcerer.”

Gojo’s chest constricts. You sound exactly like he did yesterday; the consequences of his actions echo back to him from your mouth.

“I promise it’s not,” He insists, but it falls on deaf ears. “I’ve made mistakes too. I’ve made mistakes, but you never treated me like I treated you yesterday.”

Gojo clenches his teeth. This is hard. He hates bringing up this side of the past, but he’ll do it for you.

“You never judged me for what happened during the Star Plasma Vessel mission. Even though you wanted to leave that night, and I ignored you, you never blamed me.”

“You were seventeen,” You say quietly, shakily. “We were all kids. That was over a decade ago.”

“But you knew how to make it better,” He says breathlessly. “And you never even once insinuated that it was my fault.”

You smile sadly at him, and your next words are sure and immediate, “Because it wasn’t.”

Gojo’s mouth hangs open for a second, still amazed at the understanding and kindness that so easily shine through you even in the darkest moments.

He reaches out for your hands, unsure, and squeezes them when he finds them. “Can I…can I start over ? From yesterday?”

You blink blankly, not completely understanding, but give a hesitant nod anyway.

He exhales deeply and lowers his head to your hands until his forehead brushes your fingertips. It’s completely unexpected, and you freeze upon contact. His head is bowed to you – embarrassment and confusion flood you.

You are relieved when he raises his head to speak.

“What happened with our students isn’t your fault,” He says quietly but with conviction. “It’s the work of the higher ups - it’s their fault, nobody else’s. I’m…”

He pauses. Words he never says need to come out.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that this happened while you were here and I was away, I’m sorry that I blamed you for things out of your control. This was never your fault.”

You are silent. You say nothing. You don’t move. Your expression stays blank.

He panics. He takes your silence as a sign of not being forgiven – which is not what he fears, in fact he doesn’t want to be forgiven. But he doesn’t want to lose you, and that’s exactly what he thinks has happened. Did he completely sever the bond spanning more than a decade?

“I understand if you can’t forgive me, but,” He swallows thickly, the anxious feeling rising. “But I hope this doesn’t…”

He tries again, “I hope our friendship…I hope you- I don’t want to lose you after all we-”

“Satoru – it’s not that,” You say quickly. “You haven’t, I promise. I have already forgiven you. I forgave you from the moment it started.”

You close your eyes, clenching them shut. You don’t want to cry again. “It’s just that…even if I’m not directly at fault, Yuji is still dead. Our student is dead. Despite anything that can be said of the situation, that fact will not change.”

He really shouldn’t tell you this. He needs to, but he shouldn’t.

“Do you trust me?” He says again, voice only a whisper. He’s even closer now, only inches away. A hand raises to ease his blindfold down so that it rests loosely around his neck.

Your eyes on his are so clear, and reveal so much – surprised by his bare gaze, confusion clear in your beautiful eyes he finally can see so clearly up close.

“Of course,” You whisper breathlessly. “Always have.”

“Close your eyes, and hold on,” He says. “Don’t want you getting lost again, angel.”

You know what that means. Teleportation. But where could he be taking you that is so important right now? Maybe somewhere he knows you like to calm you down?

You’re taken aback by the rush of air around you even though you’ve traveled like this many times.

The few uncomfortable moments in the strange vortex allow you to question where be could be possibly be taking you. Before you can decide on an answer, however, the roar in your ears subsides, and you are steadied by his grip around your shoulders. He's so close again, wisps of his soft hair tickling your neck. One of his large hands drops down to clutch yours. You’re ashamed about now nice it all feels in such a situation.

Then all that slips away and you're immediately on guard - there's another cursed presence nearby.

“Gojo-sensei, you’re back? That movie was kind of weird and bad, but I swear that one character was (L/N)-sensei. Do they have a twin or something?”

Your eyes pop open. Your hand falls out of Gojo’s as your grip completely goes slack. That voice…Youthful, full of energy and a kind innocence. It could only be...

Gojo responds ecstatically, dramatically, “Ah, but of course not! I have brought an honored guest! An old time Hollywood star whose home was the red carpet! The famed, the budding talent, (Y/N)-”

He’s cut off by a shriek. He blinks twice, and you’re already far from his side, rushing to the secret he has to keep - the secret he couldn’t possibly keep from you.

You crash into Yuji, binding him in a crushing hug. He's open mouthed and spluttering in surprise, but you don't have it in you to be embarrassed right now. You have no idea how, but he is standing before you, living and breathing. As seemingly endless tears pour down your face, you miss now the confusion on his face morphs into a look of grim understanding. He doesn't know what you went through, but he can guess.

And then you're laughing. Crying and laughing. Heaving breaths to accommodate your almost hysterical laughter, standing back to wipe away your tears before hugging Yuji again.

The sight of you hugging your student so tightly, healing with just this action, coaxes a half smile out of Gojo. Only half because he is in danger of faltering himself, bottom lip wavering as a wave of emotion flows over him.

The abandoned blindfold is clenched tightly in his hand as he tries to hold back the emotions welling in his brilliant eyes. He almost wants to put it back on to hide the emotions underneath, but he can’t, not when the whole reason he took it off was to see this with his own eyes.

No words are exchanged for a long while. They don't need to be, and even Gojo can see that.

By the time he is taking you home, your dynamic has shifted back to something more normal. It's raining, but you insist on walking back, citing the fact that his teleportation makes you horribly dizzy. (Or maybe, just maybe, you want a little more time with him. But you'd never admit that to yourself.)

The constant overhead drizzle is a bit annoying, but is bearable despite Gojo's claims of it tainting his very existence. He’s clearly back to his overdramatics - it's comforting.

The streets are dark, with only muted warm yellow lights lining the sidewalks, creating only vague halos of light due to the misty air. Gojo walks close to your side, an arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders. At some point through your chatting, it slips down to your waist. You don't notice it right away, but once you do, all you can do is wonder if he's done that before - if it's normal for friends.

You notice something else strange. His blindfold is still loosely hanging from his body, his baby blues on display. It's hard to look at him like this - you feel too exposed - even though you desperately want to get lost in his eyes. Yes, your deep affection for him still rings true, even if he yelled at you, even if he did expose your horrible, cringey child acting.

“I can’t believe you put on that movie!” You exclaim, miming exasperation.

Gojo chuckles, “Scolding me again, that’s a good sign. Even if it’s for an illogical reason – c’mon, ‘Painters in Paris’ is a classic!”

You can’t hold back your wide, devious smile, “I guess you would think that since you literally look like a fucking paint brush!”

His jaw drops, and he looks at you faux-offended as you practically double over in laughter.

“Angel! No, I really should be calling you devil! You- get over here!”

Although you run from him, he quickly catches up to you and you’re in his grasp. He immediately overwhelms you with vicious tickles.

“Gojo!! Satoru, you– stop that!” You say between bouts of laughter. You’re off balance, and his relentless attack isn’t helping. “Hey, stop, I’m gonna–!”

You stumble and begin to topple to the cold cement, but you’re scooped up before you meet your demise.

A small gasp escapes you at your proximity, and at his eyes so clearly looking deeply into yours, yearning burning through them. He's never looked at you like this - has he?

“Woah! That was close, huh, angel?” He smiles, tone nonchalant and voice steady. He seems unaffected by your closeness, but his eyes tell a different story. You don't know what to trust - him or his eyes. But they say that the eyes are the windows into the soul – what answer does that leave you with?

And what answer do you have? Right now, with his strong arms around you, those beautiful eyes glittering as if they hold a sea of stars, that sweet smile that never fails to give you butterflies, those lips you can’t help but glance at for too long–

You know.

Without thinking, you give in to your instinct to keep leaning in, and your lips meet his. It's not a passionate crash, but more of a gentle whisper to the soul. A soft brush to his lips, all the sweetness he brings to you returned.

Then, you pull away slowly, almost in confusion. Did you just do that?

You’re horrified. What did you just do without a single thought behind your action?

A gentle chuckle brings you out of your momentary horror.

“So what, you’re a paint brush kisser now?” He chuckles softly, his thumb gently brushing against your lower lip.

You take in his expression - flushed cheeks, a soft smile, eyes full of a softness you've never imagined they could have.

"Yes,” You agree, your mouth stretching widely from the excitement and happiness you can’t hold back, “ l proudly am.”

He pulls you closer and kisses you deeply, again and again and again until you're both out of breath. You both stay in that moment, feelings that lay hidden for years finally spilling out, until you're completely engulfed by the rain.

note part 2: I have a tendency to be over-detailed about boring/fluff details, so I tried to do that less here. First one shot in a while !! I hope the flow is still okay…I also couldn't decide how to do the ending, so l hope this works?

Also wow I can’t stop writing hurt/comfort and Gojo being an ass! I have another story drafted that’s also Gojo x reader and hurt/comfort as well…

Here’s a hint about that one: 🌸🩸

If you’re looking for more hurt/comfort, here’s my gojo hurt/comfort series: here (more action-y than this though)

Thanks for reading !! :)

#gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru is a little shit #jjk #ieiri shoko #gojo fanfic #yuji itadori #gojo satoru is emotionally constipated #gojo x reader #gender neutral mc #gojo satoru x you

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 months

Text

Cozened Indigo - Part One

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes. Word count: ~4k

Summary: Unhappy with the assignment she has been given to work on for the Duskendale Gazette, she opts to pursue her own story, not quite realising what she's getting herself into. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @humanpurposes. I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Chewing the end of her pen, she leans closer to the computer monitor as her eyes scan the Reuters website almost frantically.

Aemond Targaryen, son of late billionaire, Viserys Targaryen, charged for the murder of his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon. Case pending trial.

Nervous excitement swirls in her gut, as she leans back in her uncomfortable, creaky office chair. This is the first mention she has seen of such a scandal, unsurprising considering how high profile the Targaryen family are in Westeros. They’ll have worked hard to cover this up, however, with a court case imminent, the news is now public knowledge.

She knows that every media outlet from Dorne to Eastwatch will be all over this, but it will be nothing beyond surface level detail, the most basic of coverage. None of them will be able to get the family to talk, but she can, that is her specialty – was her specialty.

Essos Fraudster Glorified by White Cloak Magazine.

The headline passes through her mind like a stormcloud, a dirty mark upon her career that she can never scrub out. She had been duped, it was an honest mistake, but it had cost her dearly.

When whisperings began regarding an oligarch from Essos having shady business dealings in King’s Landing, she had set out to investigate, feeling it was a story worth telling. To her surprise, he had agreed to an interview, and she had been spun a tale of a man born into tremendous wealth, who was now looking to give back by setting up charitable foundations across Westeros.

She had done her due diligence, followed up on all of the sources at her disposal. Every phone call she made checked out, verifying his claims, and so the glossy double page spread had run in White Cloak Magazine, painting a picture of a misunderstood, altruistic individual who just wanted to share his wealth.

It had been the crowning achievement of her journalistic career, until two days later when the Blackwater Post had run their own story, utterly destroying hers. The oligarch was in fact guilty of tax evasion and money laundering, the charities he had founded mere fronts, empty shell corporations and hedge funds used to hide large sums of money that were never intended to be donated. The sources he had provided to back his claims had all been disreputable business associates of his, posing as bankers, accountants and employees.

He was jailed for his crimes and White Cloak was made a laughing stock for the piece they had run. As the person who had written it, it was her head that was placed upon the chopping block, a blunder of such enormity could not be overlooked.

Her humiliation had felt as though it would swallow her whole. She ought to have been more thorough in her research, but hindsight always possesses more clarity than what is right in front of you. She had considered just giving up and pursuing a different career path entirely, yet despite the shame that shrouded her, she had known that the urge to write would never leave her, an insatiable itch that must be scratched.

For a year she had looked for another job, had applied to just about every magazine and newspaper that existed in Westeros. If she had to relocate to Dorne, The Reach, or even The North then she’d do it for the sake of her career. Unfortunately, the blemish on her record was well known, and nowhere reputable would touch her.

That was until the Duskendale Gazette had taken a chance on her. The pet project of Royce Baratheon, it is a small, localised publication, a far cry from the nationwide reach of the high end White Cloak, but they were willing to hire her, the salary covers her rent, and it means not having to move away from King’s Landing.

For the last eighteen months she has occupied a desk in a darkened corner of the Duskendale Gazette’s offices, lovingly nicknamed “The Wall” by those that sit there - a place where writers at the end of their careers or close to retirement are sent to die.

It has been a slow, painful death, covering everything from disputes over fishing permits in Blackwater Bay to the implementation of a one way traffic system in Rosby. Discovering the news regarding Aemond Targaryen feels like the shot of adrenaline that her career needs to bring it back to life, provided he’s willing to speak to her – provided she can get sign off to write the story in the first place.

She sets down the biro she has been gnawing on and looks at the time on her computer. 9.02am. Glancing over her shoulder towards the big, glass walled meeting room that sits at the centre of the newsroom, she can see that Royce, along with the other editors and department heads are settling around the table, preparing to plan the next round of commissions.

Anxiously biting her lip, she considers her options. It would look bad to just walk in uninvited, however, if she doesn’t ask now then she’ll never get to do it. This is a story worth writing, surely they’d see that? Abruptly, she stands up, drawing in a steadying breath.

Fuck it, I’m going in.

She knocks at the door, not awaiting an answer before pushing it open. The men around the table furrow their brows, falling silent as they turn to look at her.

Royce shuffles the papers in front of him, sighing in irritation. “We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

Undeterred, in spite of the way her heart thunders in her chest, she steps further into the room towards the head of the table where he sits. “I know and that’s why I’m here. I saw on Reuters this morning that Aemond Targaryen has been charged with the murder of his nephew. I–”

“You won’t be covering that,” Royce interrupts, standing from his seat and lifting a sheet of paper from the pile. “I’m putting you on the upcoming curfew that’s to be implemented in Flea Bottom.”

“Royce, please, there’s something here, I know there is,” she presses, attempting to push down the anger that simmers hotly under her skin at his dismissal. “This could be huge for us.”

“You’ll write the story you’re assigned,” he insists, thrusting the paper towards her, “the last thing we need is a profile of some spoiled aristocrat, especially from someone with your track record.”

There it is. Someone with your track record.

“Just give me a chance–”

“You will write what I’ve commissioned, and be grateful you’re getting anything at all.”

“So you’re just going to ignore this?”

“We’ll place a court reporter on it once it goes to trial, but that is not your concern. Focus on your own assignment.”

She turns on her heel, storming back to her desk. Her skin burns with humiliation, tears blurring her vision as she sits down, slapping the commission sheet down next to her keyboard. Drawing in a steadying breath, she scrubs her hands over her face in an attempt to calm herself.

Scanning the assignment she’s been given, she scoffs. A curfew enforced by King’s Landing Constabulary as a means to curb the violent and drunken behaviour that’s rife in Flea Bottom. It's a soulless story, she knows she’ll be expected to simply present the facts, alongside a media ready quote from the police force, instead of addressing the rampant poverty in the area that is the catalyst for such problems. The final product will be better used as ad space.

It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and wanting to prove Royce wrong, she decides to press ahead with the story that she wants to write anyway. Opening her internet browser, she searches the Targaryen name, presented with hundreds of links and articles regarding the family.

There is nothing she doesn’t already know; they’re from old money, own most of the banking and legal services from here to Oldtown and there is a rift that divides Viserys’ second wife, Alicent, and her children from his first daughter, Rhaenyra, and her family.

The remaining patriarch of the family, Otto Hightower, owns a law firm called Red Keep Solicitors which is based in the centre of King’s Landing. A good enough place to start for her background research. Scanning the office to ensure no one’s looking, she stuffs her assignment sheet into her bag and slips out unnoticed.

As she steps out of the taxi that has pulled up outside of the high rise office block, she is surprised by the lack of media presence. She had assumed that with the information that leaked this morning, there would be a line of news station vans parked along the pavement, with journalists all clamouring to get a vox pop from someone from either the Hightower or Targaryen family. Besides a steady flow of traffic down the street, it’s dead. Whoever is working to keep the media away is doing an exceptional job. For once, she is thankful she works for a small, local newspaper; no notoriety means being able to fly under the radar.

The polished black marble of the foyer floor causes each of her footsteps to echo around the lofty reception. The space is modern and minimalist; the reception desk placed at the far wall, the motif of a castle with the company name emblazoned across the wall behind it. A forest green, crushed velvet sofa sits off to the side, serving as the waiting area.

“Good morning,” the young woman seated behind the desk greets her. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Otto Hightower,” she says, smiling politely. The less she gives away, the less likely she is to be turned away.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping he might be able to squeeze me in for a quick consultation?” She asks hopefully.

“Hmm,” the receptionist’s eyes narrow, regarding her with suspicion, before she taps delicately at the keyboard of her computer. “I’m afraid Mr. Hightower is fully booked for today. Can I take a message?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll wait,” she replies, keeping her tone light, attempting to appear casual. She moves to the sofa, taking a seat and crossing one leg over the other. She ignores the receptionist, who is now eyeing her intently.

Plucking her mobile out of her bag, she pretends to look busy as the woman behind the desk picks up the phone and speaks in a hushed tone into the receiver, clearly alerting whoever is on the other end to her presence.

Thirty minutes tick by in uncomfortable silence, during which she has checked just about every app on her smartphone and read through most of her emails. Her head snaps up upon hearing the elevator ding. As the doors slide open she sees a tall, much older, bearded man step out. There is no mistaking that this is Otto Hightower.

Jumping to her feet, she follows him as he walks quickly past her, out of the building.

“Mr. Hightower, might I have a moment of your time?”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even turn to look back at her, his tone clipped as he tells her “I have no interest in speaking to the press.”

Undeterred, she lengthens her strides to keep up with him. “I understand your concern, but I’m not here to drag anyone’s name through the mud. I’d just like to understand more about what happened with your grandson.”

“No comment,” he says flatly, pulling open the rear door of a sleek, black Mercedes that pulls up to the curb and climbing in.

Before she has the opportunity to say anything else, he’s slamming the door closed and the car is pulling away.

She groans in frustration, walking back towards the entrance of Red Keep solicitors and leaning against the wall. She isn’t ready to give up, not when she’s had a small taste of what it’s like to work on something she actually cares about again. This is just a minor setback, she’ll find someone willing to speak to her. For now, she just needs to get back to the office and plan what the next step of her strategy will be. Pulling out her phone, she opens the taxi app, preparing to head back.

“You’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”

The quiet voice pulls her attention away from her screen and she glances over her shoulder to be met by a dark, curly haired man, leaning heavily on a cane, an orthopedic shoe on his left foot.

“Excuse me?”

“You couldn’t really have believed that showing up here unannounced would get you an interview, surely?”

She scowls. “And who might you be?”

“Larys Strong,” he replies, eyes never leaving hers.

She turns fully to face him. “And how do you know what will or won’t get me an interview?”

His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, eyes moving slowly from her head to her feet and back up again. It unnerves her and she can feel herself involuntarily shrinking away from him.

“It’s my job to know. The Hightowers are keen to prevent any unwanted…whispers from occurring, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“So, no one from the family would be willing to speak with me?”

“Absolutely not. But I might be.”

“You? How would you be able to help me?”

His eyes seem to glitter, almost malevolently, as he stares at her. It sends a shiver up her spine.

“Oh, I provide all kinds of help to all kinds of people.”

He produces a business card from his inside pocket, handing it to her.

Larys Strong, Harrenhal Associates.

She gives a quiet thanks, fishing around in her bag and handing him one of her own. He glances at it quickly, before slipping it into the pocket from which he’d taken his own.

“Come by my office around seven this evening,” he tells her. “I’m sure we have much to talk about.”

Watching in stunned silence as he turns and shuffles back inside the entrance of Red Keep Solicitors, she knows she should feel excited – she finally has her in, dubious as it may be – however, she cannot shake the feeling that she has just unwittingly stepped into the midst of something sinister.

She whiles away the remainder of the day back at the Duskendale Gazette, ensuring she knows everything there is to know about the Targaryen and Hightower families – at least everything that’s publicly available anyway. She also looks into Larys Strong; there’s little to be found about him, but what she is able to dig up is impressive. He’s a solicitor, and has seemingly never lost a case for any of the clients he’s defended. She has an eerie feeling that the means through which he achieves this are far from ethical.

By the time seven o’ clock rolls around, she’s stood outside of a dingy brick building, located off of the Street of Silk. It does not even come close to the grandiosity of Red Keep Solicitors, without even so much as a sign to indicate it’s a place of business.

Ignoring the voice at the back of her mind that screams at her to turn and run, she presses the buzzer, pulling the door open as it’s released and making her way up the rickety wooden staircase to the top floor.

The room is dimly lit, small and stuffy, worn out carpet lines the floor, complete with furnishings that are likely older than she is. What strikes her as most odd is the abundance of flowers, there’s a vase on every flat surface and they look strangely out of place, a lurid splash of brightness against their darkened surroundings. She wrinkles her nose, the cloying scent of patchouli is overpowering. It’s either being used to cover up the odour of something else or is a misguided attempt to suggest opulence, but instead comes across as tacky.

Larys hovers in the doorway to his own personal office, watching her as she takes in her surroundings.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he eventually says. “I appreciate that an out of hours visit is less than ideal, but I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”

She nods, nerves swirling in her gut at the sudden realisation that no one knows that she’s here.

“My secretary has left for the day, so please leave your phone and any recording devices on her desk. I trust you realise that anything discussed this evening is strictly off of the record?”

“Understood,” she replies, deciding to just leave her entire bag on the desk as she follows Larys into his office.

It’s even smaller and more cramped than the tiny space that serves as the reception area. Overstuffed shelves of books line the walls, and the room’s only illumination is a lamp which sits upon the desk.

Larys settles into a leather armchair behind it, gesturing for her to take the seat on the other side.

“Can I ask what your involvement with the Targaryen family is?” She finally asks, once settled across from him.

He sits back, fingers moving absentmindedly over the grip of his cane. “I provide counsel to them. I will be acting as Aemond’s legal defense in the upcoming trial.”

She raises her eyebrows in shock. It’s surprising to know a family as wealthy as the Targaryens would be willing to trust such a delicate matter with someone who operates their business out of a seedy back alley. “You? Why?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, upturning the palm of his free hand. “Who else would? No one from Red Keep Solicitors could represent him, it would be a conflict of interest. And besides, I get results, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes, I do, as I’m sure you know all about me. Which leads me to my next question, if the Targaryens don’t want the media involved in this then why have you agreed to speak with me?”

Larys is silent for a moment, fingers stroking delicately over the petals of a red flower that sits within a vase upon his desk. “My reasons are twofold,” he says, finally looking up at her. “First, both sides of the family have come to a mutual agreement that neither one will talk to the press. I feel that is a mistake. Aemond needs all the help he can get. I don’t necessarily mean starting a media circus to report upon his every move and dig into his past, just one reputable source to give him a leg up while he’s at a disadvantage. Second, I have chosen you because I’m aware of your past…indiscretions. The future of your career rests upon this, so I know you will treat it with the due diligence it deserves.”

She scoffs in disbelief, running a hand through her hair. “The guy’s been charged with murder, how much care could he possibly need?”

“The prosecution will be pushing for a sentence for murder, yes. I’ll be arguing for a lesser sentence of manslaughter.”

“So, he didn’t mean to do it?”

“I think it’s better said in his own words.”

“You can arrange an interview with him?”

“I can arrange a visit for you to speak with him where he’s currently being remanded in custody, at Dragonstone Prison, yes.”

She attempts to remain neutral as her excitement bubbles unrestrained internally. “When is the trial?”

“In three weeks, so we have to act swiftly. I believe this concludes our discussion. I shall be in touch regarding your visitation.”

She is taken aback by the abrupt ending to their conversation, rising slowly from her seat as she leaves his office and collects her bag. It’s unnerving that even as she descends the staircase she can still feel his presence, the sweet, heady aroma clinging to her clothes like an invisible fog.

True to his word, Larys gets her her visit, and two days later she sits in the ferry terminal for Dragonstone Prison. Having had her identification checked, and her details input onto the system, she is issued a number and has to wait for it to be called before she can board.

The wait is agonising, and a full hour passes before she is called forward, scrambling to her feet towards the boarding area. The grey waters are choppy, causing the ferry to rock slightly on its short journey across the Gullet, until the craggy isle that houses the criminals of Westeros comes into view. The high, cement walls of Dragonston Prison are imposing and bleak against the skyline.

Disembarking the ferry, she is guided through the visitors’ entrance and searched, her personal effects rifled through as she walks through a metal detector, and her electronic devices taken away, to be returned to her upon her departure. Her identification is checked once more, and her details input onto the system again. She is told to take a seat, her name will be called when it’s time for her visitation to begin.

The hard seat is uncomfortable, and without the distraction of her phone she is left to stare at the clock on the wall. Its relentless ticking is maddening, the minutes feeling as though they crawl past. So absorbed in watching it, she jumps when her name is finally called, struggling to compose herself as she’s ushered through into the visitation area.

A series of tables and plastic chairs make up the startling white windowless room, and she is led to one in the far corner. Unsure of what to do, she simply stands beside her seat, awaiting the man she is to meet.

From the photos she has seen, Aemond cuts an imposing figure, dressed all in black. She hopes that the softness of the grey prison uniform will render him less intimidating. However, those thoughts are dashed the moment she sees him walk slowly through the door on the opposite side of the room.

He is in no rush, his steps are methodical, unhurried, a predator stalking its prey as he moves towards her. The photographs do not do justice to his height, long and lithe, he towers over her, and she feels herself holding her breath as she takes in the sharpness of his features. His long, platinum hair is pulled back into an immaculately styled ponytail, giving her an unhindered view of his chiseled jaw, aquiline nose and prominent cheekbones, though spoiled slightly by the ragged, angry looking scar that runs the length of the left side of his face. The eye within the socket sits milky and lifeless, but it does little to lessen the intensity of the brilliant blue of his right.

She notices the slightest dilation of his pupil as he stares unblinkingly at her, making her heart race as the cold sweat of fear prickles the back of her neck. So preoccupied with simply getting her story, it has not occurred to her until now that she would be face to face with a killer.

Certain he senses her fright, she sees his lips twitch with the faintest of smirks. The fact that it does not reach his eye makes her blood run cold.

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troloxyn · 1 month

Text

Self Control. (Jason Todd x Reader)

TW- Smut, drinking!!

One night at a party, you and Jason hook up, and now you're both too afraid to speak to one another. That is until he decides to help you with homework two weeks later, breaking the silence.

Listen, I haven't been able to do any school work because my mind decided it HAD to finish this first. so i hope yall enjoy! Deadass over five thousand words, I think my brain melted a little bit writing this.

Word count: 5,366

Having aspirations outside of vigilantism was ideal, as long as you could keep up with the pressure. Piles of overdue assignments, paperwork, case studies and unread emails clawed at her from inside of her computer. You should have something outside of your nightlife escapades- it was encouraged, expected. Keeping up with the workload was just second nature. Which right now, she could not. If she gave into the pressure of her inability to focus, she would have dropped out of her bachelors classes two semesters ago. However, the eating force of fear of failure won her over. Not only was she not one to accept failure, her entire ride to college was free- on behalf of the Wayne estate- and she definitely couldn’t disappoint him of all people.

This one was destroying her. A case study in her criminal psychology class. If the world hadn’t moved digitally, her entire desk would be littered with notes. She avoided this project on purpose- and now that she came to face it, she realized perhaps waiting until a week before it was due was giving herself too much credit. She whisked through photos, police reports, fake-autopsies, psychologist interviews- the pages were on a never ending loop. She was tearing her hair out by the time she made it to the end of the information portion, her wrist becoming sore from endless clicking. Time to focus. Lock the fuck in, girl, she tried to tell herself.

“How’s the six figure amount of debt going?”

She jumped out the sound of his voice, turning in her chair to face him. Standing in the door frame, leaned against the wooden, cherry kissed wall of the library with his arms crossed. Of course, he looked incredible. She could tell he just got back from the gym, his sleeveless black shirt over his toned frame and a pair of gray sweatpants she wouldn’t let him walk out of the house in if they were a couple. His face gleamed as if he was sweating, his hair pushed back in a mess. She didn’t do a double take because she knew she’d lose some form of her composure.

The other reason she couldn’t focus.

“Great, considering I'm not paying for it.” She scooted closer to her computer, as if it could pull her away from his magnetizing grip on her. She could feel his eyes behind her in the grazing of an awkward, heavy silence.

“So, what are you working on?”

One could say the two had gotten closer within the past couple of months. Before, he practically ignored her. As they got closer, their main interactions were chastising her over being late to school. Scolding her, as if Bruce didn’t do it enough. It was never condescending- when she slept in for classes, Jason would be pounding on her door or dragging her out of bed.

The pressure caused by him came to a halt, though, after a drunken night of intimacy. Now she was definitely waking up late for school. She’d gotten sort of used to him forcing her out of bed. It was an accident, she thinks to herself over and over every time her body recalled his touch. That’s what was really bothering her. The two would meet eyes around others and he wouldn’t tease her the way he usually did- something lingered behind his gaze and it bothered her- the way their eyes would meet when everyone got together. The way she’d catch him looking over at her from across the room- even before that night, but more often now. Neither of them spoke about it, she didn’t think they really had the guts to. Besides him initiating a few conversations, they haven’t talked at all. It happened rather quickly between them. He had her in the bathroom on the sink, tearing off her dress and squeezing her exposed breasts, his thick and strong legs pressed between her thighs so intimately. Bites all over her neck- bites that certainly bruised her collarbone and shoulders, uncaring for her sleeveless dress as long as it came off. A party on the outside, people babbling in conversation and music blaring louder than Bruce would have liked. Dick had poured heavy drinks that night. In those moments, nothing else mattered. It was between Jason and her, the clothes he was tearing off of her and all the frustrations he’d ignored. His free hand around the back of her neck, forcing her into a sloppy, messy, kiss- her lathered moans of excitement and the friction of his jeans to her thin panties. Quieting her with his lips, drenching her entire face with kisses. rubbing her swollen clit, unzipping his jeans- slipping her panties to the side, pushing himself in. Her gasping, parted lips and wide eyes- “Shush, baby- fuck- They’re gonna hear us-“

“A case study,” she replied, snapping out of her memories into reality. She could feel his presence behind her chair, feeling a hand come onto its back rest, gently making contact with her incidentally. She cleared her throat. “It’s a research project and a case study. It’s very long. I decided to ignore it for.. a while.”

He hummed. “Shouldn’t be too hard. We’re used to this kind of stuff anyway.”

“It’s not that,” she replied, scooting away from his touch. “It’s uh- Just can’t focus.”

“That’s no excuse.” She rolled her eyes at his comment. She tried not to look at him too much- His ungloved, veined hands that trailed up to his tight arms. His fingers tapped one by one on her desk. He towered over her, he was so huge- “You need help?”

“Help? No way,” she replied. She could smell whatever cologne he was wearing and she remembered it vividly from that night. She cleared her throat awkwardly, laughing a little at his suggestion in sheer intimidation of his looming presence. “No. I wouldn’t want to bother you with this.”

He shrugged. Finding an excuse to at least be around her since it all happened. “I ‘ont got shit else to do. Plus, might be fun. You got other homework?”

She cried, shrinking into her arms. “Fighting with you guys and being a college student- I don’t know which is gonna kill me first.”

He was silent for a little bit and it ate at her. She was anticipating a sly remark, a comment about needing to get her life together, pull yourself up by the bootstraps, not an invasive silence-

“You should be proud. It’s not easy.”

His comment almost left her crippled.

“Huh?” She looked back at him, giving him a look. He immediately froze up, frowning at her, flustered by her reaction. “Dammit- I try to be nice for once- I’m saying you’re doing a good job. I certainly couldn’t give a fuck enough to do what you do.” She smiled a bit and turned back to her screen.

“That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He smacked his lips and leaned in closer to read the text on her screen, shaking his head. “Don’t be weird. I won’t do it again.”

Except, that wasn’t the nicest thing he’d said to her. Maybe while sober, but that night in the bathroom through the suffocated echoes of laughter and music, he practically fawned over her. Spilling words of affection, calling her a goddess, treating every part of her body with an intense passion she didn’t expect he held for her. She’d never expected him to be like this, thrusting himself into her and gripping her ass tightly, mouth pressed against one another and still looking for oxygen through painted moans. Kissing every area of exposed skin he could breathe near, worshiping her body like it was a drying resource. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” he moaned, pulling back while fucking her into the sink to get a look at her taking him. His thumb brushed her clit with enough force to form a knot in her stomach. “J-jason-” He cut her off moans with more kisses, never stopping his rhythm. “Better be quiet, baby,” he said through her lips. “You want this whole house to know what I’m doing to you?” Her moans were muffled by her whining, biting her lips closed as he looked into her eyes. “You want everyone to know how good I’m fucking you?” She nodded her head yes, barely able to manage the words out of her desperate mouth and he chuckled. “Oh yeah?” His voice made the knot in her stomach tighten like a balled fist. He could see it in her face and feel it inside of her, each word he spoke and every thrust she was being knocked over the edge. “Keep up them pretty moans then, baby, everyone’s gonna know who’s making you feel this good-” Her moans peaked and through his drunken state he wondered if anyone really heard them in here. He couldn’t care less, being knuckle deep into the girl he’d had dreams about for months and constantly stealing looks when he thought she didn’t notice. “You gonna cum for me, baby? That’s it, keep going, I won’t stop until you do.”

She wondered how he could act so cordial now.

She didn’t forget any moment of that night. How they took shots together from a nearly failed mission, how they argued over comics, how they fought or threw their jackets at each other. How during their fake fight, he picked her up by her legs, slamming her into the couch. How easily he moved her around, how huge he was in comparison. How his arms felt on her body. How she swore she could totally beat his ass and how they had to fight- she just wanted him to put his hands on her for some reason, badly. How he had opened up to her in such a way she hadn’t seen before. How she noticed that night how incredibly handsome his smile was, or how his eyes gleamed in an almost squint when he laughed. How Dick had teased him for fighting with her. How when the party got louder and they kept talking and stumbling into each other, giggling and pushing each other into walls. Or how she’d pulled him into the bathroom and almost immediately were kissing, pressing into each other’s bodies like they’d been together for years. How the next day they couldn’t even look at each other.

“Why don’t you start by organizing your sources? I can help with the interviews,” he said, snapping her out of her day dream. “You’re really gonna help me?” “Don’t think you could do it without me,” he smiled, something she didn’t catch him doing often.

After a solid thirty minutes of reading, she realized she was going in circles. Each part of the overlapping case study was drowned out by the wretched banter of her memories. It felt impossible to not steal glances at him. Ever so often she would feel eyes on her and she would let him stare- moments at a time felt like minutes, they traded glances awkwardly. She watched him as he intensely scrolled on the spare laptop, taking physical notes in one of her journals. His fist propping up his head as he wrote, eyebrows knitted in concentration. Recently, she started to notice how handsome he was. How the intensity of his personality took over his dark features in contrast to that pretty smile he gave when he was drinking the other night. He looked up at her, catching her stare red handed and she smiled. “How’s it coming?” She asked. She felt flustered and nervous, unable to diminish the little smiles that came to her face as she took glances at him. He closed the notebook and stretched his hands into the air, lifting his black shirt to reveal some of his stomach. “I should be asking you that,” he said in a yawn. “What’s the matter? Still can’t focus?” He asked. She shook her head no. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she muttered with an awkward laugh, turning back to her computer. She knew exactly what was wrong with her- and so did he.

“Lemme’ see,” He said, sliding past her to her computer. Now they were dangerously close- his arm going underneath hers to reach her keyboard, their hands brushing against one another so he could move the mouse. They stayed like this for a few minutes, slowly getting closer to one another, his broad shoulders near her face. Gently, she placed her temple against his shoulder, scooting closer to him. She noticed him stop typing, the silence in the room drowned out by her laptop’s fans thudding every now and then. Snapping his concentration once more and putting him more on edge than he thought she could, “Do you wanna sit?” She asked. “We can sit together,” she was being bold.

For ignoring his existence for almost two weeks, she had an awful lot of forced confidence. That whiplash scarred him, made his stomach turn, assuming he heard her incorrectly. He thought maybe he came off too strong that night, in the bathroom- perhaps it was the way he talked to her while he fucked her. Maybe it threw her off, perhaps he said too much. He was a passionate man and she had gotten a hold of him at the height of his yearning. She wanted to be close to him again- even if not in the same way, to be engulfed by his arms might be enough to help her focus. He agreed with great hesitation, feeling flustered and unlike himself. It wasn’t often when he felt put on edge, and everything about her was making something in him tick. Her soft touches, whatever perfume or shampoo she used, her quiet hums while she tried to work. He almost resented her for making him feel so self conscious.

Watching her sit down into his lap, biting down on his tongue. For two weeks, ever since that night, he’d been trying to suppress the feelings that got worse with time. Confusion, anxiety, yearning for her all over again. He had a whiplash that he couldn’t lick to heal like other wounds. Approaching her was incredibly difficult, especially since she’d disappear whenever he came around. Months of dreaming about her in those positions were taken to reality and he savored every moment of licking up her body and taking her over and over again- but when he had felt that coldness from her, he wished he hadn’t even been there that night. He would have rather suffered in silence longer than for her to not talk to him. The night of the party was an accident, sure, but not a bad one- just not one he would’ve expected. Not one he knew how to confront properly. How could he be around her and act like nothing happened that night, when he had to cover her mouth to not let veracious moans leak out of the bathroom? Neither of them expected it to get to that point. He didn’t know where it came from. He had a certain amount of self control, self control that was tested- self control that failed with every racking thrust he slammed into her. He thought about it almost every minute of every day, slamming inside of her and grabbing her hair, the way she moaned and sighed in appreciation- the way his name rolled off her tongue like an orgasm building up in his body-

He had to stop thinking about it. He could feel an erection press his sweats and he huffed, moving her away from his crotch with ease. What was he doing here anyway? He wanted to talk to her- he’s wanted to since it happened- but it was too much to confront. Everytime he even got near her he could sense her discomfort. Dick asked him about her several times after that night. “Everybody knew you guys were flirting. You were body slamming her into the couch and twirling her around, and then you guys disappeared for an hour-” He was nervous, maybe even scared of her emotions, not knowing if she resented him for that night. But the way she was leaning back for comfortability against his chest, and the way she held onto his free arm so innocently, he sincerely doubted it now. With an arm wrapped around her waist, she moved back to the center of his lap.

Maybe they would just never bring it up, he thought. Maybe they’ll just keep moving forward and with disdain or limerence for one another. He didn’t wanna do this every couple of weeks without talking to her in between, or having to pretend a part of him wasn’t deeply infatuated by her. He felt her shift and he could’ve let out a whimper- he had a feeling she knew what he was doing and it was torturing him. A hand fell to her thigh. He traced it a bit, as if it were casual- he was beginning to get light headed. She wore a skirt and thigh highs, so he played with the elasticity of her socks, snapping them onto her skin gently. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, his heart pounding like it was his first time. From over her shoulder, He looked at her thighs. He remembered that night, spreading them apart and pounding her. He buried his face into her neck, his member twitching from the memory, her smell, her ass pressing and shifting on him. He knew she could feel it and now he wanted to ask her all of those questions he had asked that same night while he had her on the sink.

His hands slid down her thigh, squeezing them firmly, lightly parting them over his knees. She hummed. It was rather meak and it made him nervous with excitement. “Hmm?” He asked. “You’re distracting me,” she told him. Not like she didn’t enjoy it.

“Excuses,” he mumbled into her neck. “What you need to do is focus.” He said, traveling further up her body. Bold, very bold. She could feel tightness in her stomach and her face flush with heat. “I’m trying,” she stuttered out as he explored more coverage of her thigh. His fingers traced her flesh, drawing closer and closer to her skirt. “Good,” he huffed. “Keep going.” His voice was more gentle than it usually was, slower and muffled into her shoulder. He watched as she organized her work, skipping through her case file and summarizing the prompt questions. His hands met her panties and her entire body tensed, he watched as she began to mistype on her keyboard and fumble with commands. Through the cloth of her panties, he felt damp fabric as he slid down her slit, coming back up and making full circles around her clit with his other hand squeezing her thigh. He held her thighs open with his own, fully spread out, only covered by the cloth of her skirt. She whined, hummed, mumbled his name, shifted against his stiff erection. “Why’d you stop typing?” He asked, his fingers in locomotion. She whined through closed lips, thighs twitching and tensing against his own. “Jason- It feels good-” “You’re gonna get in trouble if you don’t finish that work, girl.” He taunted her, quick but heavy moans escaping her lips. “Keep goin’,” he demanded. She did as she was told, trying to write sentences through a building orgasm. He could feel it from the way her thighs tensed and how her back arched that she was close. He wanted to give it to her so badly it made him ache, make her cum over and over again- he didn’t know if it was right, if they could be friends after this. He didn’t know if he could watch her act like he didn’t do these things to her after it was over. Was this worth whatever relationship they had left? Even as he contemplated it, his hands couldn’t stop roaming. He couldn’t fake it- he couldn’t act like he didn’t want her and he wouldn’t, either. He watched as she struggled to type and flip through files on her computer. “Good job, baby. You’re being sucha’ good girl.” He kissed her ears as she let out a soft moan, slipping his free hand up her loose fitted shirt, going under her bra. “Jason- I’m-” “Keep saying it, say my name again,” the friction of their clothes were making him raw with desperation, bucking his hips up as she melted onto him. He felt her tense up, longer than before, letting out a sigh of his name, gripping the sides of the chair and the mouse. He continued to touch the fabric covering her swollen clit, letting her ride out her orgasm as he kissed her face. The way she moaned and moved around in his lap could make anyone fall in love, he thought. That was dangerous. She was pressed completely into his back, humming his name, touching his face with her soft hands. He brought his fingers back to that sweet spot, making her finish even faster the second time. He could feel the dampness on her thighs, sweating onto his pants and he hadn’t even fingered her.

He stood up, holding her by her waist as he did so, bending her back over the keyboard. “Keep working, baby. Don’t mind me, okay?” He kissed the sides of her face while he was pressed against her back. She heard his sweatpants shift as she worked his boxers. She tried to look back but he grabbed her face, pushing it down into the screen. “Work,” he ordered, more intensely this time. With her bent over her keyboard, her lifted skirt exposed her thin panties, working them halfway down her thighs. He removed his member from his boxers, precum staining his clothes and dripping from the tip. “What are you working on now, baby?” He asked. His voice made knots in her stomach as she tried to flip through pages and explain what she was doing. Her mouth parted to speak but was interrupted as his erection poked through her thighs, rubbing against her leaking mess. He had a strong grip on her ass, moving her hips back and forth on his cock, watching the gleam from her soaked cunt make noises. He moved slowly and with ease, her thighs were soaked from his teasing. “T- I’m- I’m working- Trying to-” He gave her ass a firm slap. “Speak up,” he groaned. His cock ached with every sliding motion, he could probably cum himself but he held back, satiating every movement. “The introduction- to my- my um..,” she panted. He laughed as she scrambled through her moans. “Please, Jason?” He hummed in appreciation. He kept working his dick back and forth against her slit, pushing himself faster each time from pure bliss. Now he was a moaning mess, low groans he tried to silence as he fucked her thighs. “Keep working,” he huffed. “You still have so much to do. You’ve been waking up late every day for classes, and you expect me to let you get away with that?” He watched as she cried, trying to type and retain information. Her brain, too distracted by his aching cock pleasing himself between her. She wanted to protest, to blame him for not waking her up like she’d gotten used to. So spoiled of her. Firmly she squeezed her thighs, earning a moan from his parted lips, stroking her hair with his free hand and tightly gripping it. With a quick gasp, he pulled her face back, kissing her gently. “I missed you,” he mumbled into her mouth. She almost didn’t hear him but she spoke through his moaning kisses when it registered. “I missed you so much, Jason,” he was now squeezing her breasts and rocking against her hips, steady moans he didn’t care to suppress anymore. “I thought about you everyday,” he admitted. “I thought about you in every single way.” He moaned, bending to kiss the back of her shoulders, trailing down her neck to the sensitivity of her spine. His words earned a yearning cry from her, and the part that wasn’t enjoying every engulfing moan of hers felt a slight dread about their future. As he kissed her shoulders, he wondered if she would come back to him after this. If they would be able to be normal like how it was before. Her back arched from the sweetness of his lips as he ran his hands underneath her clothes. Great, he thought. Go ahead and say a bunch of sweet shit to the girl you won’t talk to for the next month.

Pulling out his soaked member from her thighs, with ease, he pushed himself into her. Honest, drawn moans escaped their lips, saliva trailing from their lips as they departed. He grabbed her hips, forcing her down into the keyboard once more, taking in every part of her soaked cunt and moaning her name. She shifted, struggled against his hips, his length believably long for a man of his stature- something she was not used to. “C’mon, baby. Take it for me, like before,” He cooed, keeping his hand firm on her back as he fucked her, louder, sloppier moans of pain and pleasure from him poking parts of her that had only been reached by him. He was so different when they had sex, she had realized. So sweet and affectionate, intensely passionate and loving. Meekly she reached her hand to his hip, stopping his motion momentarily- he chuckled, grabbing ahold of the hand and holding it to her back. “What’s wrong? Can’t take it?” He asked through thrusts that made her unable to form words. “Jason- feels so good, it’s so much,” she stuttered out, rocking her hips slowly. He grabbed her other arm, holding her back like a pair of handcuffs as his breathing hitched.

“Oh yeah?” He asked. “You want me to keep going?” He said, slowing his thrusts. Her hips rocked promptly against his throbbing member, “please, please don’t stop,” she mumbled, her face now down into the coldness of the Wayne manor’s library desk. “No problem, sweetheart,” he spoke with confidence, picking up his speed, giving her no time to adjust. Fucking her almost senselessly, her moans now cries as his mercy ran thin. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t slow down, mindlessly knocking over her book bag and other school supplies as he broke into her. His pace was rapid and without any consideration of how she was going to sit down for the next few days. Slamming a hand down onto the table for added pressure while still restraining her, “-Tell me how much you enjoy this,” he panted, watching her struggle against him as her ass bounced against him every time he plunged into her. Her words were melted ice cream, scrambled word vomit, he fucked her so hard she could barely manage to spit anything but the word Jason out, which she mumbled with each thrust- and it drove him over the edge. “Tell me how much you missed this feeling, tell me how much you missed me,” he spat, grabbing her hair and forcing her face up. He looked at her with sincere need- not just a sexual one. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you Jason,” she confessed through stutters. It made him smile, a sweet, almost drunken smile as he laughed through huffs of pleasure. “So good for me,” he said through kisses. Her stomach fluttered from a softness she’d only seen once before in him.

He picked up her leg, throwing it on the table to make sure he fucked her thoroughly enough to get his point across. With her arms now free, she grabbed onto the table for dear life, biting her tongue from letting out a scream she knew someone would hear from above the floorboards. They didn’t need Alfred coming in to check on if someone was getting murdered down here. Holding one leg up as he pounded into her, his breathing racking from every thrust that brought him closer to satisfaction, he grabbed a fistfull of her hair. “You’re gonna talk to me tomorrow, right?” The question threw her off guard, her moaning dimming as she tried to piece the words together. The grip on her hair tightened and she winced. “You’re not gonna ignore me after I fucked you this good?” He asked, getting closer to her ear, making sure he heard her right. “Because,” he panted as his hips bucked further into her, the grip on her elevated leg almost bruising. “I’m gonna fuck you like this every chance that I get.” The words edged her, he felt her body tensing, aching for release as he picked up his pace. “You don’t have a choice- me ‘nd you- we’re gonna do this a lot more.” He felt her cumming, squeezing around him, her back arching as he muttered filth into her ear, indescribable moans and thank you’s. “Don’t thank me yet,” he told her. “You’re not getting rid of me, girl. Try to ignore me again. You won’t forget how much I made you cum. You won’t forget how good I fucked you.” Her face felt hot and so did her entire body, more of a promise than a threat and she was fine with that. “I won’t forget,” she repeated as he kissed the lobe of her ear. His chest now pressed against her back with a hand around her throat, “You’re mine. You’re all mine. You’re not going anywhere. I’ll see you tomorrow, and the day after that- everyday,” She felt herself cumming again as he beat into every corner of her walls, nodding profusely. “I’m all yours, Jay,” she whimpered. “Thank you- thank you-” She forced, her entire body squirming under pleasure.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Where do you want me to cum?” He asked. “Inside of me, please,” desperate and filled with need. “You want me to fill you up, princess?” She nodded, begging. “Look at me,” he demanded, forcing her face to his, eyes interlocking. “-Need to see that pretty face when I cum-” It was less of a demand and more of his own whimpering pleading. His hips bucked one last time into her, her mouth open for a kiss as she watched him finish, a range of emotion hitting his face as he tightened the grip on her leg, stroking her face with his free palm. It was incredibly hot, she thought, watching his face while he came.

He pulled out with a sharp gasp. He bent over, kissing her exposed ass before pulling up her panties and fixing her skirt, fixing his own clothes afterwards. He grabbed a hold of her, sitting back down into the chair, stroking her hair and giving her small pecks on her face. With a sigh of content, he kissed her temple. “Alright, baby. Can you focus now for me?”

Meanwhile, upstairs.

“Alfred,” Dick interrupted as Alfred tried for the door. “Why don’t you ever hangout with me anymore?” Alfred raised his eyebrow at the young man he practically raised in front of him. “Master Dick, whatever do you mean? Is our spare time spent with one another inefficient?” “Yes, right now it is,” Dick said with crossed arms. “We could be hanging out, right now.” “Sounds lovely. I just need to check the library-” “So, you don’t like me anymore?” Dick huffed, covering his face. “Can’t we go make cookies? Please?” Alfred sighed. “Master Dick, is there something wrong?’ “Yes, Alfred, there actually is.” Alfred raised his brow once again. “But if you bake with me right now, there won’t be. And I will be much happier.” “Is there something going on downstairs you don’t want me to know about?” Alfred asked with a concerned look. Maybe he didn’t want to know. “I think we should make sugar cookies this time,” Dick said with a grin, placing his hand on Alfred’s shoulder and leading him away from a now closed door.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd imagine #jason todd #batfam #red hood x reader #red hood #robin jason todd #red hood smut #jason todd x you

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 26 days

Text

To Warm You Up

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Summary: A snowy day means a good book, warm drinks, and cuddles

Word count: 704

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

A/N: I wrote this last night while my sleep meds kicked in. I used the prompt, 'bring you a hot drink'

It was quiet. The snow fell outside, watching the flakes dance every so often as you looked up from your book. It had been snowing all morning, and so you felt it was the perfect day to stay curled up in bed. Finally, you got the chance to read through a book you'd recently purchased. Your Maine coon, Dumpling, curled up by your feet.

You smiled content in how your day was going so far. The only thing missing was your girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff, she had gotten up early this morning and had occupied herself in her office with work since the snow kept her from going to the office. You hadn't heard from her all morning and now as early afternoon was about to turn to late afternoon you heard movement. You assumed Natasha had gotten up to grab herself something to eat. Making you remember you hadn't eaten yet. Your stomach growling at the realization. You didn't want to move though. You had become invested in your book and Dumpling had moved himself to your thighs, sprawling out across them.

Just as you finished up a chapter Natasha came through the threshold of your bedroom, tray in hand. Her red hair loose, falling over her shoulders in waves. A smile on her face when your eyes met as she got up on the bed with the tray. She'd made you a sandwich; turkey and cheese, a small pile of chips next to it and your favorite mug filled with hot chocolate. You could smell the peppermint and the two cinnamon sticks poking out gave away that she made it exactly how you like it.

“Oh moya lyubov. You didn't have to do this.” You set your book down on the side table before cupping her cheek. She leans into your touch. The two of you had been together for years. You knew everything about the other.

The Natasha you had met years ago who had defected from Russia who was so closely guarded. The Russian who was cold and calculated in every move she made. The Russian who when you first met was assigned to you and Clint. The Russian who put every wall up, used every sweet little lie with you and you who called her bluff everytime. She'd been put with you for one reason. You could tell when people lie. So really in the end she had no choice, but to tell the truth which terrified the red head.

“I wanted to. I hadn't heard you move since your trip to the bathroom this morning.” She raised an eyebrow at you, making you smile.

“Yeah I haven't. I got engrossed in my book. I'm already a little more than half way through!” Natasha could hear the excitement oozing from your voice. How could she not love you who only ever showed her love and kindness? You who would listen to her ramblings after nightmares. You who when she needed to be handcuffed to the bed to sleep offered your hand instead. You who offered a place when she had nothing and noone.

Some might think Natasha couldn't possibly settle down, but here she was with you as the snow fell outside. You picked up the mug, giving it a few blows before taking the first sip. The hot liquid falling down your throat and warming you instantly. You can't help the small ‘Mmmm’ that pushes up your throat, eyes closed. The mug warming your hands that you hadn't realized had gone cold as they tended to do, especially in the winter.

You talked with Natasha as you ate, catching up on her day and how work was going. She'd been writing reports and working on Intel the young Avengers had picked up on. You moved the empty tray aside, pulling Natasha against you. She always clung so tightly as if you'd disappear if she didn't hold you that way. She'd always been like this. You tried breaking the habit early on, but it never worked. Now it is something you look forward to, like a weighted blanket or stuffed animal. Natasha brought you comfort on such a level and in such a way you know no one else could compare.

#ley writes #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x gn!reader

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precious-little-scoundrel · 28 days

Text

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: yes…Virgin!Gale + Maureen/Gale bonding

Universe: Friends in the Crucible (pacific au)

Summary: “Get laid, Buck.” Doc Egan prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve your jitters better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

Warnings: all the sex! 18+.|| both tender and feral || Doc Egan being a unorthodox but loving menace, a theme of ptsd and body tremors/insomnia -poor Gale is going through it after a whole war, drug mentions, erectile disfunction, Maureen is aggressive but everything’s consensual, usage of the word “Jap”. Graphic descriptions of Gale’s virginity loss, male overstimulation and an amusing amount of thought given to Bucky’s existence during the act … im sure that won’t lead to anything when Maureen returns to base and reports to Egan about it, right? Hahaha of course not, that would be craaazy

Word count: 10k

“Buck, come on now, it’s not a prison sentence, it’s just a little time off.”

“I don’t need time off.” Gale reiterated, a panicked sort of fierceness creeping into his tone as his appeal now stretched into something longer than the usual flippant favors Egan was customarily so eager to dole out.

“Those hands suggest ya do.” John gave a not unkind glance of sympathy at the twitching fingers rattling on the armrests of Cleven’s chair.

12 rescue missions in 15 days. Flying upwards of ten hours each. He’d done worse before, but then again, that had been when he was fresh, younger, less banged up from the head hitting the cockpit wall.

“Sending me to go watch flamingos and contemplate sand or some shit isn’t gonna make me steadier.” Gale very much feared his gripes were beginning to sound like begs, “Don’t send me off like this. Don’t.”

“Petrified of flamingos?” John hummed, glancing down at his chart as if contemplating making a note of this new malady, “Maybe if your dad had taken you to a zoo once or twice as a kid you’d not be scared stiff of the prospect.”

Cleven stared back at him with the most hurt eyes John had ever seen. He balled his own fist up to remember the rightness of his point, even if he’d delivered it about as clumsily as a marriage proposal at a funeral. “The hell would you say something like that?” Buck whispered, not even angry, just utterly lost.

“Buck, I’m just sayin’ -inability to slow or be alone, it’s classic symptoms of battle fatigue.”

“I don’t wanna sit on a beach when I could be helping, I’m perfectly capable of still helping! You know it!”

“But you can’t sleep.” John circled back to where this all began, with Gale asking if there was anything to knock a fella out when 82 hours of insomnia wasn’t sufficiently exhausting.

“Give me something, you’re a doctor! Goddamnit, John!” Gale finally broke, voice raising and fists clenched.

“Surgeon, technically.” John gave him a wane smile, “And I can’t dope up an active pilot.”

“Just an active surgeon.” Gale sneered, tit for tat on the insults.

John nodded grimly but murmured, “The day Gale Cleven becomes John Egan is a day this whole operation can pack up and go home.”

“So you're being the better man,” Gale scoffed, “-sending me to watch flamingos.”

“I’m not givin’ you shit.“ he confirmed, “Unless it’s an assignment.”

“Will it keep me outta the flak asylum?”

“If you comply to all the regulations, maybe.” Egan shrugged.

“Go on?”

“Get laid, Buck.” his friend prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve you better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

“That’s your ultimatum?”

“No, no, my ultimatum is that you go on a little sabbatical with one of my nurses, she’ll keep an eye on you and you can make yourself useful, helping her unload heavy shit at the aid station they’re setting up at Peleliu. My recommendation is that when she comes into your room at the end of the day and drops her knickers, you lay back and think of Wyoming.”

Major Cleven had thought of a million and one ways to bribe or ally the prospective nurse to his side of the deal once he knew which unfortunate female Egan was going to pick for this deplorable detail. Calling his friend a pimp and a bastard had done little good, threatening malpractice and a hardness of heart towards Gale’s own principles -even less. So Gale figured when the time came he’d just gently turn the well meaning comfort gal away and maybe pay her off to lie that they’d done it: for his hand’s sake.

After all, if she was willing to do this, was she even a nurse or was she someone Bucky dressed up in Red Cross arm bands like some sleazy fantasy? Gale didn’t think any of the nurses he’d encountered would be willing to go along with such a sordid “assignment.” Sure, some of them were -carefree. Indulgent. Easy, as the men sometimes called them before getting a stinging cheek that proved them wrong. But they were a proud bunch and they had earned it.

Rolling a toothpick in his cheek, Buck pondered these things while sat on the bench of a Goony Bird waiting for his nurse to hop into the cargo hold with him and off they’d go to Pelilu. The situation was made worse by the suspense of who it might be and the insulting foreignness of being on a plane but not piloting. It made Gale feel an odd sort of feeling close to self pity that he hadn’t felt in ages, not since he was a kid and the nostalgia of it wrung him out of all energy. He made himself sit on that metal bench motionless as the heat index rose on the tarmac and made up a fun little game involving trying to see if he could get his hands to stop tremoring for five seconds straight.

So far he’d lost his own wager each time. He told himself if he could make it to five seconds then the nurse Bucky had sent would be a gray haired matron and this really was just a sabbatical to lift boxes and breathe ocean air and get Gale to laugh at himself.

Then Maureen Kendeigh climbed into the hold and squeezed past their cargo of medicine crates and plopped down right next to him, leg bumping his and breathing like a race horse. “I have jogged here the entire way from administration.” she wheezed, tugging at the collar of her shirt where her glistening throat was bobbing in thirst. “Sorry I’m so late, Major. Am I late?”

It could have been Bucky sat next to him: the choice of phrasing was so familiar, the damnable ability to force forgiveness for tardiness with a single smile so predictable. Gale found dread knotting his stomach at the realization it would be her, even as a warmth spread all over him at her sweet presence that had the odd effect of steadying his hands despite the panicked fuzz of his brain at her proximity.

Oh he didn’t want this. No, no, no. He’d like to think of Maureen very much apart, apart from anything but her heroism, not her wide spread stance on the bench beside him or the idea of her dropping her knickers and making him think of Wyoming. He preferred her very much not attainable in the deeper ways and very much not what he saw himself with when all this was over. Whatever she and Doc Egan had was between them and he’d held it up like a shield to keep himself in check, a boy's code of honor about not encroaching on his friend’s girl. Even if said friend didn’t have the decency to make said girl “his” girl.

But to have Maureen dished up to him on a platter by John when John must have suspected some of Gale’s appreciation for her professional merits -it was somehow worse than any dressed up floozy or the easy new intern. He’d not be able to pay Maureen off without insulting her. Or outing Egan’s intent. Maybe she didn’t know. What if Gale spilled the beans and she was as harmless as himself? What if—

“God, Major, did you sleep at all?” Maureen’s steady fingers were gripping his expressionless face and suddenly turned him towards her, one thumb swiping a tender crescent in his under eyes.

Gale’s eyes seemed to forget blinking was a thing, they grew wide and stayed wide at her inspection and the sandy wind blowing in from the tarmac stung at them as they dried out. “No,” he found his voice and it came out more winded than hers, “you’re not late.” he lied.

Once they get to the island, touchdown and unload, there’s then three hours of driving around the pitted old warzone to the aid station. There’s more foliage the more they go, less mortar pitted earth, but the increasing tropical paradise surroundings put Gale on edge. Maureen drives them to their unexplored destination as confident and recklessly as Bucky would, little surprise there. Gale can’t help glancing at her with unabashed amusement for the way she keeps her pistol propped on top of the steering wheel with one grip, facing out like a top turret for their hood, while keeping the map balanced on her thigh.

He cradles his own BAR with loose arms, ready to use it. Sure they secured the island months ago, but still, not infrequently some Jap comes out of his hiding hole, a cave, or whatever fucking tree he resides in and surrenders. Or, conversely, some of them have charged with guns blazing or sword drawn, deciding to go out and a bang of glory and take with them whichever hapless American happens to be nearby. That Emperor worship shit ain’t happening on on Gale’s watch, and so Maureen gets to drive -she didn’t have to beg like that, he was going to let her- and he shoulders the duty of keeping his eyes peeled for the next bush becoming animate and running at them, pulled pin grenade in hand.

“Some relaxation.” he jokes as their jeep lurches into another crater. If it’s not the bomb pits it’s the massive roots crawling over the smashed earth the Marine Corps call a road.

“It’s a reverse strategy!” she informs, grin wide as a shark’s and Gale could almost draw a little pencil mustache above that top lip and pretend it’s Bucky torturing him thus -hey, that might be a good mode of thought to keep everything strictly professional- “Like when nothing else works, you kick the broken thing.” Gale politely ignores the urge to argue about being broken, that’s not her point… he hopes, “You’re all shook up,” she goes on, voice raised to be heard over the rev of her driving, “and calm hasn’t worked, so why not shake you up worse?!”

He squints at her, fully aware he isn’t being chummy like she is trying to be, knowing he’s being a stick in the mud but he’s dying under the uncertainty, chafing under the pretense. Does she know? Or does she not? Five times today he’s resisted the urge to slap her chest like he would Demarco’s and ask her levelly, man to man, if she knows. “If this doesn’t work then what?” he asks anyway, sober as hell despite the comedic jostling and even Maureen’s joviality dims in the face of his dour mood.

“Then we’ll have to get real unorthodox.” she replies, allowing something close to annoyance at his attitude to seep into her own expression and Gale refuses to pull his eyes off her.

Do you know? He wants to ask.

“Stop scowling at me and watch for Japs.” she snaps at him so suddenly and so heated he genuinely spooks and turns his body back towards their horizon.

It’s worse than he thought. Worse than he imagined on the times he lost the bet with his hands and let his mind go somewhere besides a practical joke from Bucky and a gray haired spinster nurse as his companion. The aid station is on the edge of the new camp, far off enough to be genuinely secluded from both sights and smells of the navy station. It’s a tiki hut, thatched roof and swinging mesh door and lovely little veranda and palm trees and waves lapping up the back steps.

It looks like the sorta place people advertise for honeymoons and Gale stares at it with a 100 yard stare once Maureen grinds the gears to park.

“Jesus.” he knows his mouth is curling in disgust and beside him Maureen huffs in disgust with him.

She jumps out of her side of the jeep, not a shred of amusement left on her face. Gale sits and stares and listens to the roar of surf and the clinking of the cooling engine.

“Not bad.” she grunts under the burden of a crate which Gale should be lifting if he could just make his legs work and his mind obey. “But I bet it’s gonna be a bitch to keep the gnats out though, so much foliage around.”

Her hips sway like a tantalizing pendulum when she jogs up the bungalow stairs, her waist somehow accentuated by the way her arms are lifted to keep the crate hoisted on her strong shoulder and Gale has the perfect seat to watch it. How did he never notice the lines on her before she was doing hard labor? Then he recalls, she’s mostly been in flight suits around him, he’s never seen her paired down to collared shirts and belted pants. How’d he never notice the lines on that gi-

“Don’t make me drive this thing in the surf to wake you up.” her slap on his listless forearm rouses him to realize she’s back out at the jeep, standing beside him looking at him as he sits here catatonic like the mental case he’s showing symptoms of being. “And take your jacket off, you’re gonna get overheated being so formal.”

“Are you in on it?” he snaps suddenly as she grins at him over his first crate. He can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not but he’s damn tired of it.

“In on what?” Her face falls.

He can’t do it. He just can’t do it and he hates himself for being such a coward. “This.” he chooses vagueness and it tastes foreign and awful on his tongue.

“It’s a week out of the cockpit in paradise, Cleven,” Maureen’s own expression holds back no disdain for his pissy attitude, “man the hell up.”

What Maureen, Gale and five other technicians had loaded into the jeep and it’s buggy in the course of two hours, takes the mere two of them close to four to unload. And that’s even with Gale keeping a rapid pace to his work like a sweating maniac, feverishly wanting to stop thinking for once. His jacket and shirt are thrown over the chairs that are actually provided as furniture in the place and Maureen’s tie lays discarded on the accompanying desk. The rooms are bare but there’s two beds in the bedroom with crisp sheets that have only a bit of pollen dusting them and there’s a desk, as mentioned, three chairs in the main room and Maureen insists they can use crates for a table.

The back room is for the actual medical aid, and Maureen insists nothing gets moved into it until she can sanitize the whole place. So they stack the boxes in the main room and in the bedroom and when the sun gets lower they’re relieved to find there’s some dubious provisions for electricity in the place.

“I can get it to work.” Gale decides as Maureen tries flicking the light switch ten times as if to see if the bare bulb will grow a will of its own and turn on for her. It reminds him so much of Bucky’s brand of idiocy that Gale almost forgets himself and reaches out to swat her hand away from the futile flicking.

“Ok, then you do that while I keep unloading.” she insists, “Won’t be able to do anything if it’s pitch dark in here.”

So Gale drags a chair over and begins to fiddle with the wires tacked to the ceiling, risking electrocution so Maureen Kendeigh can see her way around as she tromps past him again and again in the same path with yet another crate.

He’s good with his hands. Excellent, in fact, judging by how one bulb flickers then stays steady, then another and another until the inside of the bungalow is aglow with cozy light: enough light for Maureen to appreciate his sweat soaked singlet and the way it rides up his belly when his arms are up and how it’s bright enough for her to scrub the exam room effectively when laying in a room with an insomniatic Gale Cleven gets to her at 3:00 am.

As it surely will. God! -the man is as impossible as he is beautiful, and while she doubted she’d manage it with him before, the sheer amount of fury she feels towards him right now leaves no doubt. She’ll shake him up. Like a Fuckin’ Martini. And he doesn’t have to like it, probably won’t, but they’ll both feel better after. “In on it” -he’s got the gall to ask but not the balls to spell it out, she can’t abide a quasi gentleman and so far Gale Cleven’s been nothing but the genuine article. Until now, now when he can’t accept certain human things about himself like fatigue or attraction, and he takes it out on her with a sullenness belonging to a much older man.

Maureen’s fine with that, she thinks as ogles the glowing golden skin of his sheened shoulders on one of her passes with a crate, she can take her mad out on him, too. And she’s got a lot of it. More than John Egan was ever able to lick away.

By 15:00, and some change to the second hand, Gale Cleven was still awake. Little surprise there, not to him, but even though it didn’t matter he found himself thoroughly annoyed and taking it out with a lethal glare at the vague gray ceiling, lit by a massive moon over the ocean. Wire and chairs but no curtains -an oversight about the furnishings. It wouldn’t have mattered, he knew that, and still the racket Maureen was making put his teeth on edge. It wasn’t Benny’s snoring or John’s drunken mumbling but it was a consistent *swoosh, swish* of industry that had Gale feeling a mixture of guilt and determination to keep lying here while she scrubbed.

It had not occurred to him she might’ve needed this break, too. Such as it was, effective as it was not proving. He knew she’d seen some combat in the beginning at Manila, maybe even worse than Iwo but long hours doing what she was doing now, where she was doing it, was no joke.

The urge to get up and help her was strong but then, so was the crippling fear of being around her in the dead of night and inviting any more of the bossy familiarity she’d tucked him into bed with. A magnesium capsule! She’d made him take three of the maternity horse pills and told him to calm the hell down as if he didn't have ample reason to be on edge with her laying a foot away on another bed, stripped down to her cotton slip. Of course Gale would cite war horrors if anyone asked why he couldn’t sleep but to be frank, he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t managing it these days and it had started awhile ago. Before Maureen Kendeigh glowed sweaty and luminous in the moonlight while gripping his cheeks and puckering his protesting mouth and plopping pills on his lolling tongue.

Thinking of it made his face flame with embarrassment for such a childish resistance. But god, her nursley familiarity sent a cross signal to his brain each time she helped herself to his flesh and no amount of berating himself while sweating in these rough sheets could dislodge the reaction. Closer to fifteen hundred than was remotely chivalrous, Gale threw off his sweat soaked bedding and tromped into the glow of light outside their bedroom, shuffling blearily into the little exam room. He faltered for a brief ten seconds at the doorway watching her undulating movements with sponge in hand and knees on the floor, white slip clinging like a second skin from the sweat.

He felt the sudden medical urge to lick her like the cattle back home lick at the salt block, a strange way of quenching thirst. Was ninety two hours without sleep considered genuine grounds for insanity? He felt like maybe he should be keeping a diary of these fevered thoughts to report back to John and see if he needed to get turned in. This wasn’t horniness, this was salt cravings. Yeah, yeah that’s what it was.

“You hypocrite.” he felt emboldened to tease and his voice came out rough and lower than even he expected, the disuse of laying there for ages taking a toll.

Maureen looked up like she’d been spooked herself, a slip and stall of her scrubbing, hair hanging about her face so unprofessionally he realized he’d never seen it in such…disarray. “Oh, the baby’s awake.” she grinned back and he felt an indulgence settle in his gut for her he didn’t know existed, “I see my magnesium capsules were a cure all.”

“Oh yeah, knock a horse out.” he agreed derisively.

“Your eyes are droopier.” she found a silver lining and as if reminded of the grit in them, his large fists came up and rubbed them meanly.

Like a little boy, she thought, watching him in the harsh light of the bare bulb, warm wood all around him the same color as all that sweaty skin and those skivvies hanging onto the lithest set of hips she may have ever seen. Looked as if one deep breath of that lean belly and the fabric would be goners, slipping down to the floor dramatically like a woman’s pantyhose in those unfortunate comics where that’s always occurring just when she wants to cross a busy street. Maybe if she could make him belly laugh-

She wished she knew how. She wondered if he knew how.

“Got another Sponge?” he asked and she was reminded why she liked him so much.

“Top crate, there, left, there that one.” She directed him with jerks of her chin until he was at the right one, “I’m using antiseptic.” she warned.

“I know,” he answered, dropping to his knees beside her and making use of her bucket to dunk his sponge, “smell’s been givin’ me a headache.”

Maureen’s mouth twitched at his tired grumpiness, more endearing now he was still putting effort into being near the caustic shit and the way his golden hair flopped on his forehead with his scrubbing movements. If his hips were that fluid, that rhythmic in cleaning a floor, how much more could she teach him to be—“Yeah, I’m sure it’s the anti-septic giving you a headache.” she snarked.

They ate sandwiches he’d gotten from the navy camp’s mess on the back porch, letting the sea water lap at their feet. A little stale but it was a much needed breakfast and Gale brought fresh water back, too, and a report that they were nice fellas and entirely too undressed for her to ever go see. That suited her fine, they’d be a pest if they knew a woman was up here and personally speaking she only needed one man for company, crate lifting, and doing the job well. And she rather had her heart set on it being Gale Cleven. Especially now she got to stare at him under the bright morning sun with a tropical breeze and more skin on display than at a swimsuit contest. He’d put on a singlet, as if to mark that a day had begun even if they hadn’t slept the night, but that was promptly sweat soaked and tiny nipples were pebbling under it from the breeze.

“Did they ask if a nurse came with you?” she pressed him between bites.

“Yeah.” he swallowed his bite thickly and licked at the mayo collecting at the corner of his mouth with typical precision, “And I lied.”

“Well, well,” she cooed, making him roll his eyes, “how’d that feel?”

“I have lied before.” he balked.

The look he gave her was both thunderous and remincent and she repented that line of questioning, used to distinguishing in her patients whether a wound was from wartime or stemmed from childhood. “Well who’d you say came with?” she asked.

“A technician.” he mumbled, blushing for some reason.

“Mm, someone nice and hairy and stinky-“

“Stop.” he begged.

“-not anyone they’d wanna meet.”

“I did it for you!”

“-if that makes you sleep at night, Cleven.” she humored him and like lightning, the back of his hand had flicked out and thumped her on the sternum, hard.

“Shit!” Maureen clutched the place, more in surprise than pain although he’d walloped her good and well.

“Shit!” He parroted in mortification, holding his hand like it was an offensive weapon.

“What was that for?” she laughed, “Do I remind you that much of Benny? Are you missing him that bad? Is that who you pretended was with you up here? Huh? Huh? Benny Demarco, now that’s a beauty to hide under a bushel-“

She was crowding him in on the steps and he was teetering towards falling off, too alarmed at his own outburst to trust his instincts now to shove her off without causing harm -and she knew it. She pressed her advantage and crawled over him with her teasing comments about Demarco until his long body had bowed so far away from her’s it was levitating and then toppled predictably into the surf.

“Fuck it’s cold!” he wheezed out as the embrace of the old pacific drenched him and rolled him about at her feet for a few delightful moments before he got his footing and rose, shaking his hair out of his eyes and grabbing for the steps.

“Sea bathing was in doctor Egan’s regimen.” she informed remorselessly before extending a merciful hand to help him up. He was slippery and shiny as an eel coming up and the grip of his hand was as strong as she expected. And still she found it intoxicating, the duality of him as he stood there pouting and bitchy over being cooled off. “Stay right there baby, I’ll get you a towel.” she patted his chest, right where he’d smacked hers, and went inside.

“I’m not your baby.” She heard him holler to her through the door-less porch. “I’m not your baby.” he reiterated vehemently but lower again when she came out with the towel.

“Yes you are.” she argued, “For this week you’re my baby, whether that’s a literal infant or not is your choice -and don’t start arguing, you’ve got to stop it, no one’s making you do a damn thing.” she insisted, hand raised and his mouth closed satisfyingly as a result, “You’ll be my baby. I know you already had a baby, no? Our baby? Shared her with ten other men, that’s generous of you-“

“-Ensign!-“

“-so I’m not gonna be your baby. You’ll be mine and you can find me something to be for the week.” she watched closely as recognition of her logic began to dawn and settle on him, “I could be anyone. I could be Benny Demarco, for instance. If that’s who you wanna lay next to.”

Gale didn’t speak for a long while, eyes off to the side watching the surf lap at the steps and she was still standing there, holding his unused towel. “Who do you want me to be?” he asked finally and his grave perception just about winded her in its raw honesty.

“You.” she replied honestly, “Whichever version of you made it here with me.”

“An infant -a baby.” he scoffed and she was suspicious those eyes were watery. And too delayed for it to be from the salt.

“My baby.” she replied, “Never had one before.”

“With respect ma’am, that’s Bullshit.” he argued in a fierce hiss, “I know you have, with John and -and-“

“I’ve been somebody’s,” she clarified, “but I think I’ve grown out of that. You’ll be my baby, huh? It’s not marriage, Cleven, it’s a week in paradise and hopefully some shut eye, too. So do you want me to be Benny?”

Those watery eyes let one single tear go trickling down his pink cheek alongside the rivulets of ocean water dripping from his hair and Maureen had never felt a single thing heat her up quite like it. “No,” his chuckle was thick and he sniffed, “not Benny. Maybe uh, God, I dunno, I’ve never had anyone.”

“Then we can make it up entirely.” she was pleased by the idea of not being a stand-in, although god knows she and John could sympathize more about the need for that than anyone. “We’ll be castaways.” she suggested, sitting back down on the porch now the confrontation was dwindling and in full confirmation of her suspicions, he sat again beside her without fuss.

“Marooned.” he disagreed, chin resting on his hands and a boyish tug pulling up the corner of his lips. “Something insane you did landed us here.”

“Mm, took liberties with the captain's daughter, perhaps?” she teased, daring to run a finger along those golden shoulders and collect a few salt drops. He shuddered under her but stayed put.

“I’m not playing fair maiden for you.” he retorted but his eyes were fond.

“Mm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Maureen was still impossible and Gale felt his gut burn in a bizzare sort of drive to prove her wrong. He’d hardly ever felt this even with all the jokes from the boys, not even with all the temptations from the girls, it just hadn’t seemed something that needed proving. Every flea and salmon could do it, he never doubted when he got married he could manage it credibly enough.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” his voice sounded like he’d come to a decision and Maureen squinted at his profile until it clicked.

“I’ve never been married before.” she observed breezily.

“And I never planned on being married for just a week.” he replied.

“Isn’t there a film about this?” she asked, “Cary Grant gets stuck on an island and he marries his castaway but then they get rescued and there’s a first wife?”

“Yeah, I think so, actually.” he thumbed at his bottom lip in contemplation and Maureen found it endlessly distracting, along with the bird song and the ocean crash and the sunshine.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” she agreed then, settling back on her elbows to stare up at the sun and let it add a few freckles, “And when it’s over and you’re rescued, I’ll be the better woman and let Our Baby have you.”

“You’ll always be the best of women, Maureen.” he sounded like the admittance took every fiber of his resolve to say, but she’d heard it before in his voice weeks ago when she was patching him up.

If a tear slipped out the corner of her shut eyes and down a sun warmed cheek, she wasn’t going to make a deal of it, not until she felt his finger catch it tenderly before it dropped from her jaw and rolled it back up.

She felt her lip wobble traitorously and perhaps there were more tears planning to follow and betray her but the shivering shock of his full lips, pressed to her bare shoulder, stemmed the flood. Maureen held her breath and kept her eyelids sealed, an orange glow of sunshine behind them as all her senses attuned to the drag of his caresses up to the juncture of her shoulder, the press of his body next to her on the porch boards, the suspenseful absence of his hands. They were soft as marshmallows, those lips, and a stray tip of his tongue caught her clavicle as he worked his way up a path that almost seemed premeditated, as if he’d thought of doing this a million times but held back. Now he allowed himself and the assured intimacy of his mouth made her body heat soar almost beyond her endurance as he crept up her throat and onto her cheek.

A kitten lick to that tear track down her cheek and Maureen was whimpering from something else entirely, breaking ranks and turning her head to gaze at him, nearly stunned by how close he was, how alive, how beautiful, how blue. There were his hands now, one propped beneath her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. Her lips were tingling with anticipation by the time he’d lowered his face far enough and brushed her mouth with his.

Maybe he’d done his fair share of kissing the girls back home goodbye, or maybe it was a talent given along with this impossible lips, or perhaps she’d wanted it so long that the final having of it sent Maureen spiraling with something oddly like obsession.

Kissing was enough for the longest time, the shore sounds and the squawking of ocean birds and the feel of Gale Cleven laying more and more atop her as his tongue met hers and danced. She scratched the back of that tanned neck like she dreamed of doing a dozen times, little scritches to his hairline that had him sagging against her kisses to the point of crushing.

She allowed herself the liberty of running her hands along his lean sides, taking in the graceful taper of his waist, the dip of his back, the sopping wet waistband of his briefs. She wondered if this is how men feel with a young girl, when there’s so much loveliness one wants to maul it and mark it and watch it respond. Anything to make him moan again into her mouth, wrenched and helpless and appreciative of her all at once, anything for him to hump his hips against her thigh in a manner so mindless he didn’t seem himself at all.

When he pulled away, dazed and winded from his own exertions, he seemed to have left behind all his inhibitions, stark need written on his face and only some doubt of what he was allowed yet remaining. “Are we gonna?-“ he trailed off, raspy voiced and trembling with suspense.

“Going to what?” she couldn’t abide it any longer, his demureness, “Say your mind, Cleven.”

“Do it.” he let out with a wince.

“Well I don’t know, Mr. Jones, you tell me. Are we gonna?”

Gale huffed and threw his head back, trying to regain some sense of mind, lip savagely pulled between his teeth. “Yeah. We are.” he decided.

“Then finish your sandwich.” she patted his waist and pushed him off.

“I can’t!” he begged with a groan from where he’d spilled out on the porch like a boneless dummy. “Not now.”

“You’re gonna need it, the water too, trust me on this.”

“Are we gonna -make love? Or go for a forced march?” he protested but lifted the canteen to his lips anyways when she gave him a look and proceeded to drink it dry.

“How would you know the difference?” she teased and he had the good humor to roll his eyes. If all went according to Egan’s plan, they oughta hibernate for twelve hours of sleep afterwards and she wanted him hydrated and ready for that. Maureen had a plan of her own, which certainly might lead to such a sleep, but it also involved not getting off that boy for love of God or money until he was as useless as a wet rag and the impertinent gnawing between her own legs was replaced by a good ache.

Cleven was staring at his sandwich remorsefully, “I can’t get this down, Maureen.” he declared with sudden finality and then, without preamble he threw it into the sea. “C’mon, Mrs Jones.” he held out his hand for her as he stood up, something close to an excited grin taking over his face.

He was so confident now, having come to a decision, and Maureen found herself naturally bending to his direction, placing her hand in his large palm and allowing him to haul her to her feet as gently as a dance partner. “We’ve got a bed.” she reminded blissfully into another kiss, anchored to his face by the persistent hands snarled lovingly into her salt tousled curls: this hair Maureen, this hair drove me mad.

“And we’re gonna use it.” he agreed, walking her backwards up the porch until he feet were skidding over the threshold, his tongue still sucking her own.

She stopped him there with a hand to the willowy plane of his belly, a regulated, principled woman to the last, and snapped the still soaked waistband of his drawers. “Off, you’ll make the sheets wet and sandy.”

Their sweat would accomplish dampening them enough in this muggy heat, they didn’t need sand and ocean water to boot. Maureen ducked beneath his arm and went back out to grab the discarded towel.

“I don’t want a trail of drips on our clean floor.”

Gale smiled softly at the usage of “our” -it felt right somehow, to share things with her. They’d been at it for some time, it came naturally like it had with Bucky and the few other boys who he knew would be something special and unlike anything else after this. It was a little bittersweet to know he was living the best days of his life, right here and now, enviable, irretrievable moments of raw connection slipping away with each drip, drip, drip onto the threshold. It was a heartache in the making and it was a spur for the moment. Back home they’d never understand, and any old observer would see nothing unique, but Gale could allow himself the rightness of sharing just one more thing. Why not cement it fully, irrevocably, as the closest brush he’d ever come to with another soul- he’d asked himself the same with Bucky, knew it was already an established fact.

Maureen’s lips were warm where they pressed to his back, the space between his shoulders, towel held to his waist. “You’re not shy of me, are ya, baby?” she whispered in his ear, thumbing at the still worn briefs.

He could feel himself this past hour hardening and softening, so many times in the space of so many minutes he was dizzy with it, the way his brain would have the upper hand and then, suddenly no, it all rushed south. Which now left shyness as the only real excuse for the way he burned and shrank and burned and shrank in turn at each of her touches.

“You gonna give me the towel?” he asked instead.

“Once it’s safe to do so.” she replied primly, in her familiar nursing voice, and he hated the shudder that tore through him. She stepped under his arm again, around him and into the house, and stood in the shade of the it with the towel spread invitingly, tauntingly. A whole yard and a half between then and she’d decreed no drips past the threshold. Gale’s cheeks burned as did his eyes, smarting with brimming tears from an odd frustration he’d only ever felt over a botched mission, an anger at not being able to bomb his target and make it worthwhile, a petty frustration he always felt before the cold rage of lost men fully registered.

Futile tears: Gale yanked the skivvies down and stepped out of them efficiently.

Maureen wasn’t smiling at him from the shade anymore, not even a smirk, she looked hungry. She looked like Bucky, taking in “a view.” Gale didn’t know ladies ticked that way -or maybe they didn’t, maybe only Maureen did. The blush in his cheeks ran down his chest and spilled onto his belly and his fists clenched without thought.

“When the man of the house,” Maureen was reciting some inane pamphlet she no doubt did not heed or else they’d never be here, “respects the whims of the lady in small matters, he will find the lady more submissive to issues of larger stake such a-“

Gale made a dash at her, to shut her up, and she fled from him to the bedroom, feet smacking on the hardwood and cotton slip fluttering up her thighs -his towel with her.

“I want you bare.” he told her when he had her, struggling in his arms before the bed, a lush friction where he pressed tightly behind her.

“Then sit,” she sounded genuinely breathy, trapped to him and he had never heard her like that before, it made him want to hold fast, “and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

It was just a slip, no garters and no braisere or girdle, yet still Gale sat himself on the bed and Maureen bit her cheek to keep from laughing at the modest way he deposited the towel on his lap, covering what she’d been eyeing and thanking her luck for. A cock as pretty as his face -now if she could just make it stand up fully.

“You ready?” she deferred to him as she stood there before the bed, being looked on with all the reverence and trepidation of a goddess by this seated acolyte.

“Please,” he nodded furiously, “please show me.”

It felt a little wrong to expose oneself in front of such an angelic being, curtainless windows throwing in the sun on him all golden and untouched, white scratchy sheets and white draped towel making it a bower of innocence for a brief moment. It also felt right, to throw off everything but what they’d been born with. Off went rank, obligations and expectations, as easily as dragging the slip over her head.

She tossed the article of clothing behind her for good measure -and dramatic effect- then noted with satisfaction the bleary eyed comprehension of her charms from Gale Cleven where he sat with his mouth hung so slack he was liable to drool.

“Incredible.” he muttered, husky and a little slurred, his hand raising without his own volition to beckon her closer, a plea, command.

Maureen swayed on her feet, nearer and nearer until she was standing above him, between his parted legs and she shuddered as he laid that broad palm on her hip and dragged it up her side in an admiring swath, thumbing at her belly and catching her ribs in his hold.

“Those flight suits of yours, they don’t…they don’t let show the half of it.” Gale declared, mesmerized, face hovering closer and closer until his lips were pressing against her flesh, right under her sternum, his forehead pressed to the underside of one pendulous breast, nuzzling as he became aware of that, bunting like a calf at her breast with his face, gone silly with access.

“Whadda ya think?” she giggled, the silliness of Gale Cleven gone stupid over making yams jiggle being the exact sort of thing that made life worth living, and being a woman exquisitely satisfying.

“They’re so goddamn soft.” he moaned around a bit of the underside, still hadn’t worked his way to a nipple. He seemed too preoccupied with their give and bounce to make a more calculated use of them. Maybe if men hadn’t been told what to do with them, they’d do what Gale Cleven was doing and rub their face against them and let them rest on their foreheads. There was a charm to this ignorance as he licked the salty sweat from their undersides with a surprisingly brave tongue.

The clumsy misuse was oddly effective for Maureen, what Gale lacked in skill he made up for in unstudied appreciation and nothing got her quite so ready as being appreciated to the point of foolishness. Her first conquest had been a boy at school who hadn’t minded tripping in his track shoes, day after day, to try to catch up to her on her bicycle, just to give her a flower or trinket. He was laughed at for his devotion until he broke the school track record next year, and Maureen was sure to remind him of her role in his success. They’d soon found a mutually beneficial reward system and Maureen had adopted that attitude as a maxim for the future, her dates and conquests may have been many but each of them in their own way had been appreciative -or else she was jumping out the window, damn the twelve foot drop out the dormitory.

No one, however, had looked quite so gifted by her mere existence as Gale Cleven did while he clutched at her hips and smushed her flesh between his hands like it were some fine dough and he was an artisan.

Discreetly, and it was easy to be so with his face buried in her bosoms, Maureen glanced between them at the tool she had such hopes for and found it, unsurprisingly, twitching and dribbling against his thigh, half hard but flapping about like a fish on dry land, the discarded towel no match for its movement. He’d need a hand, literally and metaphorically, and as she raked her nails through his blond curls and directed his slick mouth to a nipple, she felt him sag even further into her hold. Maureen weighed her next step carefully, trying to tamp down her own wants. She’d need to be sure but slow, careful not to spook him, or antagonize or embarrass.

She wondered if he even realized the same banged-up-head condition that sent him out here was most likely responsible for the jitters that kept him flopping. She wasn’t so conceited as to assume he’d not bedded a woman yet out of mere dysfunction, Cleven was a man of principle and strict notions regarding how the world should be, and he wasn’t one to build those notions on passing medical conditions.

“You like ‘em?” Maureen teased him, shocked at how hoarse her own voice had gone in the interim.

“Gonna make a home in here.” he mumbled in the affirmative, slack grin molded to the valley between them, blue eyes wide as the skies outside peering up at her.

“Got a job for you, baby.” she murmured, thumbing at the scar on his cheek.

“What’s that Mrs. Jones?” his voice alone made her mad with need, as did the saucy turn of his mouth so wonderfully foreign she didn’t know how she’d control herself until he was ready.

“Need you to lick a little landing strip, right here.” she ran her finger along the somewhat tacky skin between her breasts, sweat and his sloppy kisses having partway done the job already.

“What for?” Gale asked, hushed and curious.

“You’ll see soon enough.” she recalled how effective her nursing voice had been on him, and pulled it out now it seemed beneficial.

She had been right, with only a hesitant spark of aggravated defiance, Gale dipped his head and stuck out that pink tongue, lapping a swath up between her breasts as directed, flaming eyes locked on hers as she shivered from the breeze on spit slicked flesh.

“Again.” she told him, and his hands came up to hold her breasts apart as he did it again, and again and once more under his own direction until it was shiny and messy and his nose was gleaming, too.

“What’s it for?” He demanded once more, pink cheeked and swallowing hard as his mouth had dried out from his efforts.

“I told you, silly,” she replied casually, “it’s a landing strip.” and with as little fuss as possible she got to her knees before he’d registered the absence of her standing above him. “Gale, let go of the damned towel.”

She held in a laugh of delight at the tortured color he had grown to, veins running like so much ivy up and down him and a vibrant pink tip that matched his lips. Maureen wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look him in the face again without thinking of this drizzling little pink mushroom.

“You oughta count your blessings, Gale Cleven, it was a close call, my coming along at all.” she informed him soberly while his mind visibly vacated his body at the repeated sighting of his sputtering cock emerging from between the pillowy press of her breasts, “It was pretty touch and go there for a bit, I was quite sure in fact, that Bucky was gonna help himself to this assignment.”

“Maureen!” Gale thundered, except his usual imposing ire was much diluted by his quivering belly and hoarse voice.

“What?” she brushed off his scandalized displeasure with a grin, feeling cocky herself as he hadn’t flagged on her in minutes and was beginning to gush in earnest, “Bucky loves the beach.”

“Sure, Maureen.”

“In the end he decided I had what it takes.” she went on conversationally, ignoring the inhuman sounds that came out of him when she casually spit on his tip, the better to work her lips around him, “These.” she clarified, pressing her breasts to his thighs as she wrapped her mouth around him and sucked.

“Fuck, hell, Maureen! Sorry, sorry, oh fuck!” -not even Gale Cleven had expected his hips to fly up that hard and fast, knocking on the back of her throat.

She laid her hands on his squirmy hips and did her best impression of a Listerine gargle round his tip, which sent a shudder through him so strong she thought he might’ve climaxed already.

“Maureen, Maureen come on, get up here, please.” now he yanked at her hair, desperate for once and that was a pleasure to hear.

“What baby?” she pulled off him.

“Gotta kiss you.” he told her firmly, and hauled her bodily up by her armpits, rolling her under him in the bed.

Kisses -sure, Gale, kisses.

He was moaning atop her, wiry and flexing his hips against her, wriggling to get between her thighs and she let him, hungry and expectant when he slotted easily in place. He pressed his lips to hers ardently, then reared back in shock at the taste of his own precum in her mouth and on her lips.

“Salty.” he whispered as if to himself before licking his lips and going back for more. “What do I need’to do?” he whispered urgently against her mouth as she rocked against him and he rocked back until they’d frustrated each other thoroughly with mere caresses.

“Put it in, my baby.” she whispered back.

“First though, don’t I need to-to do- something? Something first?” he could barely think straight but he’d heard enough talk about this, about gentlemen and the necessity of some form of chivalrous preparation. The way discipline and intuition set apart an average pilot from an excellent one. Bucky had talked a lot about getting girls ready, making them squirm, revving them up, for all his apparent disinterest during the topic, Gale had been listening.

“You’ve done it already, Mr. Jones.” she giggled, reaching between them to drag him more firmly through the wanton swamp he’d made of her. “I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

“Oh fuck, s’wet.” he mumbled the obvious before willingly letting her guide him in, his body following her tug like his cock were a leash.

“Jesus,— Gale!” Maureen choked as he bottomed out in a sudden plunge, shocked at the stretch despite the gauging of his size. “You’re so deep, oh baby you’re a big one aren't ya.”

“You ok?” he whimpered, shuddering on top of her again and again at the incomparable feeling of being inside another’s body.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she gasped, “Hurts so good, you can move, baby.”

“You’re so warm.” he sounded close to worshipful he was so drunk off her, and Maureen spared a moment to smirk at the fate of man: come tearing their way out of a woman to begin their lives only to spend the rest of it trying to and needing to get back in.

He did try to move, she’d give him that. And while Maureen was more than half expecting it, still, it was mildly comical to see the confusion flash across his blissful face right as the buildup was snatched from him and he was suddenly shaking into the real event before he knew it, betrayed and euphoric all at once. The muscles in his belly and back and neck seized and his hips lunged in a series of uncoordinated pumps and she could read the panic in his eyes right before they rolled back -a begrudging admittance that this was nothing at all like the steady predictability of his hand.

“That’s it baby, that’s my baby, feel nice, huh?”

Gale didn’t answer her, too occupied whimpering with a taut throat and jaw clenched so tight he could snap a hinge like that. He was shaking worse than before when the spasms subsided and the tiniest pressure to his sweat slicked neck had him buckling to lay pressed against her, half senseless from the force of his release.

Maureen had always loved this part of sex, the pliable, bewildered, smushed man atop her like she’d sucked his soul out, when he’d rendered it up to her so willingly, so desperately, forcefully even, chasing his own eventual weakness. Long limbs aligning on top of hers, the hot pants of winded breath against her breasts, the hands listlessly holding on wherever that had last tried to grip and control her. The view from above with Gale Cleven was something additional, beautiful and glistening with bronzed swaths of sun exposed skin and the pale whites of his thighs and ass making a perfect little outline of absent shorts, his golden hair tousled beyond salvaging and that luscious mouth, drooling like a babe’s.

“So this is what Bucky’s been talkin’ about.” he mumbled into her breast, cheek smashed and enunciation shot to hell.

Maureen laughed in disbelief, “Thinking of him even now? Really, he’s going to be impossible if we tell him.”

“Just sayin’, now I know.” he defended, lazily rubbing his partly softened cock inside her with a shimmy of his hips that was quickly followed by an overly sensitive mewl.

“You don’t know anything, Angel boy.” she insisted and Gale raised his head at that, sour that she’d still contradict him after thirty seconds of vigorous pumping. “Let me see your hands.”

He had some trouble recalling where he put them but eventually he found them under her hips and withdrew them from their warm shelter to present them, warily. “Well, damn.” he muttered to himself, somewhat shocked by just how badly the shakes had worsened. “Looks like that treatment backfired.”

“More of a dose dependent case, I’d say.” Maureen corrected and circled each wrist with her hands and brought them up to her lips to kiss.

Gale’s face smoothed at her softness and a shy smile lit up his bleary eyes while she felt a twitch of his spent cock deep inside her, swishing about the mess he’d made like a dog’s tail after getting pats. “You have the most beautiful hands.” she informed him earnestly and balls deep inside her she watched as one single innocuous compliment sent him scarlet with a blush. “And they’ll be yours again soon.” she promised.

His gentle expression and bright red cheeks crumpled rather suddenly and before either of them seemed to expect it, fat teardrops had escaped the blue of his eyes and rolled down the crimson flesh of his face.

“Goddamnit.” he cursed hoarsely, in an absolute rage at himself, regaining his hands from her grip insistently to bring them up to his own face, hiding from her behind harsh fists that rubbed at his wet eyes like he could grind the grief and weariness out between his knuckles.

Unbalanced as he was without hands to support him, and legs gone jellied from his fast fading pleasure, Maureen chose to capitalize on it as a nurse would a brief state of insensibility to move a patient to a cleaner cot. Remorselessly she pressed at his shoulder and lifted their still joined hips until he tipped over, rolling onto his back beneath her. “We’ll have none of that.” she told him with loving adamance from her new perch, prying his hands away and pressing them to the sheets beside his head. “The hiding, I mean.” she clarified and he looked all of hardly past twenty laying there with wobbly lips and wet eyes unobscured, “I’m a very great proponent of crying,” she went on conversationally which confused him more but kept him too preoccupied to stifle his tears, “De-sanguination is still a highly esteemed practice, you know, it means to drain the body. One type of draining often triggers the other.”

“You gonna start bleeding me?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, maybe, you’d look so pretty all streaked up.” she teased and ran a sharp thumbnail over his pinned wrist.

Well, that got him hard again. Fascinating.

“You know what’s got your hands like this-“ she whispered softly, “-probably the same reason you flop, too.”

“Huh.”

“Pretty common.” she assured.

“Quit tellin’ me I’m common.” He growled, tickling her sides and she grabbed his hands, pinning them again playfully.

“Nothing common about you, sweet baby.” she swore, leaning down to kiss him and enjoying the way he met her strongly, surely, “Gale, can I move?” she asked, half strangled by the taut string of need coiled in her belly, tugged to madness by the bulk of him still resting limply inside.

“Move?” he was perplexed.

“I’m going to die if I don’t get some friction.” she whispered, somehow shy to admit that in the face of his innocent bewilderment, “God -please tell me someone has informed you women finish, too?”

“Bucky says they clamp up so tight you can’t help but blow.” Gale recited dutifully, “Which is what just happened, right?”

Maureen grinned wide and wicked before dragging her hips up till he was barely in, then plopping down into the cradle of his hips, making him let out a “oomph.”

“Maureen?” he questioned, half knowing already he had been mistaken but hell, to go again? “Maureen- I’ll die if we go again.”

“What a way to go.” she muttered, her pace atop him increasing as did the tortured gasps tumbling from his lips. His spunk was making terribly wet, lewdly sloppy sounds of suction each time she slammed down on his cock and the visual of her exerting herself on top of him was something so blatant and jiggly he could hardly endure the visual feast of it.

“Shit, shit I can’t-“ he growled while his trembling hands latched onto her hips in a grip that was anything but dissuading. “Maureen.” he begged her for…he knew not what.

“Come on Mr. Jones,” she clasped her hands around his face and aligned their noses, rubbing like a kiss with each movement of her lower body, “you’re not one to leave your missus needy, I know you’re not. Not when you’ve got such pretty hands-“

-a shudder from him.

“and a clever tongue-“

-a whine from him that sounded close to a wounded dog’s it was so lasting.

“-or a tool this capable.”

“Maureen.” he groaned.

“Baby, my baby.” she begged, “You’ve got what I need, come on, take me apart.”

Like he trusted himself for the first time since they began this endeavor, she felt his body bow up beneath her, his arm flexing strongly across her hips, his legs braced beneath her and a heavy hand clutching her neck, then he was driving up into her with a wild abandon she only ever hoped was simmering beneath that cool exterior. When she finished he hadn’t stopped, and Maureen found herself crying out like a feral thing into the hollow of his clavicle as the brutal pummeling went on, satisfaction drug out of her over and over in harsh ruts.

“That more like it?” he panted the harsher he grew, a hand around her jaw pushing her face away from his so he might see the damage he was doing.

“Yes, yes oh baby, yes!” she swore through clenched teeth, it had been too long and each blissful peak only aggravated her further, made her hungrier, that and the fact he was so proportioned as to be a constant delight just shy of pain, “Hell Gale, do ya hear us?” she gloated, propping herself back on his thighs to watch the shiny pink of him flash in and out of her wet sheath.

Mesmerized, Gale didn’t reply, but he dragged a hand up her belly and felt for the way it tensed at each intrusion, the span of his fingers an incredible thing across her skin. “Can’t believe you can take it, easy as that.” he marveled, his thumb straying and pulling apart her petals the better to watch.

“Thumb it right there.” she directed gently, reaching down to move his calloused finger over her bud, right above where he split her apart, “That’s it, ya feel that too, huh?”

“Fuck you’re tight.” his voice cracked and his eyes shot wide again.

“Are you -?”

“Maybe.” there was a wobble of blissed uncertainty in his voice until she stopped her movements and he let out a sob before he could catch it. “Maureen, please.”

“Please what, baby?” she was chuckling at him, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I let you-“ he pleaded, still thinking things worked that way, “-now I need, please Maureen...”

“Oh you can.” she assured and his face lightened but his eyes stayed wary, “But just know, I won’t be stopping.”

“What?”

“You remember how that feels, don’t ya baby?” she reminded, gently pushing him to lie back and beginning their movements anew, “So good you can’t stand it, so messy and easy for me, so tender and much for you?”

“Jesus.” he wheezed, his lean belly caving in with his heavy pants, but she felt him throbbing inside her and his pupils were large as saucers, “You’re as mean as Bucky.” he whined, voice gone high in panicked pleasure.

“Thank you, but really I’m not.” she laughed, gently thumbing away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek. “Not quite.”

“Maureen, please, please you’re too pretty!” he begged nonsensically even as his hips began to snap into hers, invigorated and forceful.

“Hold it Gale, try to hold it.” Maureen gasped, staring down at the prettiest face she’d ever seen as his brow began to furrow, “Or don’t, all the same to me.”

“I’m gonna flip you.” he swore and a few seconds of inaction passed, marked by the slam of her hips down onto his, and she thought he didn’t mean it until she gave him a daring look and suddenly she was careening backwards, head jolting against the sheets and body laid out firmly beneath him.

“Goddamn.” she swore at the way he hadn’t dislodged an inch during the whole maneuver, suddenly pressed just as deeply as before, his hips working like a piston and his hands tight and strong on her neck. “Goddamn baby. Oh goddamn that’s good.”

“S’good?” he begged her to repeat, some dizzying natural force propelling him harder and faster and needier.

“You’re so good.” she was adamant as she hung about his neck and locked her ankles in the small of his back. “You’re so good I’m - I’m -gonna-“

“What was that about holdin’ it?” he hissed, smile cocky and smug.

“Bull ain’t out of the gate yet Cleven,” she cautioned but her hips had begun to lift of their own accord, a tremble taking hold of her, “But I’m close, I’m, i'm real cl- oh God!”

“Come on sweet Maureen, wanna make ya -wanna do it for ya. Give ya what you need, Mrs Jones.” Gale’s hoarse and sweet nothings poured hot and breathy in her ear and Maureen found herself locked and gripping him before she knew it, moaning into his neck as he moved in and out, in and out as she’d only ever dreamed of.

When she cracked her dazzled eyes open again he was panting above her, the clink of his dog tags gently bumping her chin with each sway deeper, lashes batting in a golden flutter as he too began to lose himself, slower, more drawn out and yet every bit as desperate as the first time.

“Look at me baby, look at me when ya do.” she pleaded, gently gripping his chin as his mouth fell open in a series of little noises of effort that went straight to her belly grown hot and molten with the feeling of him spurting inside.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh,” Gale was working atop her in pained delight, lips so smeared and face so sweaty he looked like he might melt at any minute, “thank you, oh fuck, thank you, sweet Maureen.” he chanted low and dreamy, again and again until he drove in once more and stayed.

Those clear blue eyes fagged in an exhausted ecstasy, his head dropping impossibly further with each ragged pant until his face was barely hovering over her breasts, neck bent and forhead slowly pressing into the swell of them. His forearms gave out and those hands of his stayed trapped beneath her shoulder blades.

“Sleep Angel baby,” Maureen coaxed, hand cradling the back of his dear head to her breasts, feeling a low lazy peace settle over her at the feel of his dead weight plugging her up and the lovely wringing out she’d just endured, “let’s just sleep, dear boy.”

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strwyofthesun · 9 months

Text

a workplace escapade

pairing: id!leon kennedy x agent!(f)reader

synopsis: you work at the DSO and your days there have become increasingly mundane till you are assigned to a mission with Leon under the president's orders. and ever since then, tension grows between the two of you in your workplace.

word count: 2.4k

cont: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, masturbation, oral (m receiving), slight degrading, overstimulation, breeding (?)

a/n: it's like 5 am here and i have not had a blink of sleep. also, is it normal to feel hella embrassed when writing smut? can't take myself seriously i sweaaar. stream sntv too, i was inspired by i can see you to write this cuz shits jus so good.

reblogs, comments, reqs are highly appreciated! <3

The days in the headquarters of the Divisions of Security Operations have been getting more and more tiresome the longer you’ve been working. When you were newly employed, the job seemed exciting at first. Working alongside the best of the best agents from all across different branches of the US federal government, it was nice to have more company and see new faces. Over time though, the missions increased in difficulty and you’ve seen friends and colleagues come and go. You’ve tried your hardest not to become numb to everything but hid your emotions of anger and frustrations. On days where you weren’t on the front lines fighting, you were in stuffy, cold rooms reporting on what happened during your missions and relaying the information you have found. Your work-life balance was basically non-existent at this point, spending most of your time in and out the headquarters and if you’re lucky, you’d get to go home and relax for a while until you are called again for the next assignment.

Nothing gave you any thrill or excitement anymore. Everything had become a routine to you, until, under the president’s orders, you and agent Leon S. Kennedy are paired together for a mission. You left your comfort of your home immediately as soon as you were called and headed to the white house to meet the president and Leon.

Leon wasn’t exactly a new name or face to you. You’ve heard about his deeds and he does live up to the name he has made for himself. There has been a couple of instances where the two of you would bump into each other in hallways, but other than catching each other’s glances, there wasn’t anything more to say really. Though, you had to admit, other than being one of the president’s bets, he had looks that could kill as well. It’s hard to miss him whenever he’s around. His striking blue eyes, tall figure, long blonde hair, and that charming smile of his. If only your job had room for having more of a life, you’d have probably fooled around with Leon by now. But sadly, that isn’t the case.

You shortly arrived at the foot of the president’s office and you could hear him talking to who you assumed was Leon. Two of the president’s bodyguards opened the door for you and you let yourself in.

“Ah, speak of the devil, she’s here.” The president said while smiling at you. “I’m sure you are acquainted with one another, yes?” He asked while looking at the two of us.

“Yes, Mr. President but it’s our first time working together.” You responded.

“Oh? Is that so? I trust that my best agents will be fine.”

You got flustered at the president’s comment and hear Leon chuckle from the side, “We’re flattered sir.”

The president soon briefed the both of you on what needs to be done and the goals you must achieve. You and Leon nodded in agreement and the president patted the both of you on the shoulder with a look of pride painted on his face. “Make me proud my agents.”

The mission went according to plan and was successful. The following day, the both of you return to HQ and prepare to report what happened. You sported a white long sleeve button-up that has been rolled up and a black skirt that hugged your figure nicely. It wasn’t all the time you wore an outfit like that whenever you reported back, so not only were people congratulating you for the successful mission but at the same time, complimenting you on your outfit. You arrived rather early in the meeting room as it was only you and a couple associates in the room. Later, heads started turning once Leon stepped into the room. He was wearing a blue suit with a white button up underneath, looking jaw-dropping to say the least. The men and women in the room stood up to shake hands with him as you patiently waited for your turn. You stood up and walked up to him while he checked you out.

“Nice outfit. Suits you.” He said smiling at you.

You returned the smile and said, “I can say the same to you.”

The two of you head to the front and start recounting the events that have occurred. Whilst you were talking, you noticed Leon from the corner of your eye, looking at you. But it wasn’t just a simple look, you could see his eyes shine as he drowned in the sight of you. It was as though he was undressing you with his stare. One of the associates asked Leon a question but he didn’t respond due to him still having his gaze fixated on you. You turn to look at him directly and uttered a small “Hey” to catch his attention. He snapped out of his trance and apologized. Leon answered the question and for the rest of the meeting he really couldn’t keep his eyes of you.

Once the meeting was finished, you came up to him and jokingly asked, “Did I have something in my teeth? Why were you staring?”

“Oh, was I? I didn’t realize… I'm sorry." He apologized.

“No need to apologize. It’s okay Leon.” You reassured him.

He then gestured for the door and held it open for you. You thanked him and went parted ways for the day. When you weren't on a mission, you mostly spent your time on your desk from morning till night while occasionally running into Leon if he wasn't on a mission as well. You’d give each other an awkward smile and go about your business. This went on for about a week and over time, Leon was suddenly all you could think about every time you’re at work. Hopping that you’d bump into him somehow or see him around the halls. The thought of catching him staring at you excited you. It felt like there was this electrifying tension between the two of you.

You were done working together for a mission, but something told you that this wasn’t just the end for the both of you. Impure thoughts filled your head, distracting you from your job. You could tell that it wasn’t just you, and that’s what thrilled you the most. Knowing that you both want each other, yet held back. It made you long for him even more. The times you and Leon would talk to each other for work purposes, the two of you kept your composure and kept it professional when deep down you both needed the fulfill the urge to be on each other's bodies.

It was getting late at night already and you yawned from the exhaustion of a long day’s work. You rummage through your paper looking for a specific document when you remembered that you had left it in a meeting room. You sighed and sluggishly make your way to the meeting room, cussing yourself out for forgetting and now you’re working overtime. As you approach the door, you hear noises coming from the room. You thought it was odd that someone was still in there since the building was almost empty at that hour. Leaning into the door, you peaked through the glass and see Leon, touching himself. He moaned your name under his breath along with profanities. This took you by surprise. You leaned even closer on the door and ended up accidentally pushing it, making Leon jolt knowing that he’s been caught.

He quickly zips up his pants and walks up to door to see who was looking, when he was then met face to face with you.

“I-I left something inside the room…” You stuttered.

Leon just looked at you panting slightly, forehead glistening with sweat and the buttons of his shirt open just enough to see his bare chest. You excused yourself and went in the room and grabbing the document you left when all of the sudden, Leon pinned you to the wall, barely leaving any space between the two of you.

“Are you really just going to leave me here?” Leon asked .

“You seemed… busy.”

Leon let out a chuckle and leaned in close to your ear, “I know you heard me…” His breath making contact on your skin made you shudder.

“Maybe I can help you out..." You whispered back dropping the document to the floor and placing your hand on his chest, slowly moving down, palming his hard dick through his pants. Leon buried his face into your neck trying to stifle his moans. You undo his button, unzip his pants, and pull it down along with his boxers.

You bend down to kneel infront of Leon and level with his cock. You run your thumb over his tip making Leon's breath hitch. You let your tongue slide along his shaft tracing the veins on it. Slowly, you take in his dick in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down while your hand stroked the lower shaft. You licked his tip and left kisses on it, teasing Leon. You speed up the pace leaving Leon breathless, throwing his head back.

"Faster..." Leon panted.

"I can't hear you, Leon. Speak up."

"Faster... please..." Leon says louder this time. you granted his request and start pumping him faster. His mouth is agape as he starts heaving heavily. It turned you on knowing that you could make the Leon Kennedy like this. The thoughts of you and him together were coming to life, and this was barely scratching the surface of all the things you've imagined.

"Fuck, I'm gonna... cum..." he said trying to desperately get out the words from his mouth. You moved even more swiftly this time until Leon came onto your hand and before he could even ride it out, you started stroking his still hard and now sensitive dick.

"Wha- what the fuck are y-you doing?" He hissed.

You don't reply. You just look at him in his eyes while you pick up the pace catching Leon off guard.

Leon whined, "Please..."

"Please what?" you responded.

"S-Stop..." He managed to say.

"And why would I do that? You seem to be enjoying it." you smirk as you stroked his dick faster and faster.

Leon started to tremble a bit and his cock twitched in your hand. He groaned at how you were pumping his overstimulated cock, continuously moaning, filling up the room with his whines and groans. He was begging to you to stop but you didn't. You didn't stop until he came again. And when he did, you finally let him ride his climax down.

Once he settled down, he looked at you menacingly and you thought to yourself, if eyes could kill, you'd definitely be dead by now.

"Stand up. You think I'd let that shit slide?" he said as he heaved. You stood up as Leon grabbed you and turned you around, your back facing his. He pulled you closer, one arm wrapped around your torso while the other snaked its way down to your core. His hand unbuttoned your shirt, slid its way into your bra, and fondled with your boobs, leaving a moan escape your mouth. His other hand moved in tight circles around your clit, doubling the pleasure you were feeling at that moment. Leon pulled your skirt up and pulled your soaked panties down. He slipped his dick inbetween your thighs just right at the surface of your cunt. He thrusted back and forth making sure his dick isn't in you on purpose. He was teasing you and you were starting to become needy.

"Leon... put it in me..." you tried pleading with him.

"Beg for it." He responded, his lips curling into a smirk as he continued moving his dick through the folds of your slick cunt. "Please Leon... I need you in me." Hearing you beg for him, he gave into it and rammed his dick in your cunt leaving you and him gasping at the sudden movement.

"Leon what the fuck?!" you screamed. "I gave you what you wanted didn't I? Ungrateful bitch..." Although Leon was cussing you out, you didn't feel any sort of hatred or resentment towards him. In fact, it turned you on even more and Leon was catching up to it.

"You like it when I call you a bitch huh?" he asked as his hand moved from your boobs to your jaw, squeezing it.

He moved closer to your ear and whispered, "Or would you prefer if I called you a slut instead? Would you like that?" You nod your head in response.

"My, my, what a dirty little slut you are... I can't wait to fuck you like one." He said as he lets go of his grip on your jaw.

"I'll be your slut and yours only... Use me however you like. I'm at your disposal Leon." You said breathelessly.

"Oh I'll never dispose you. I'll make sure I fill you up with my cum like the fucking slut you are. So shut the fuck up and take it." Leon whispered as he started pounding hard into you leaving you in shambles. Whatever mess you left Leon in a while ago, you were now twice the mess he was.

Leon was fucking you in every spot you thought nobody could even fucking reach. He placed his hands on your hips and gripped it tightly as he pounded his cock deep into you. You were panting, breathing heavy, moaning, whining, all of the above.

"Good girl... You really are taking it like a slut. So fucking good for me."

Your walls tighten around Leon's cock, milking him off everything he had in him. You scream, "Le-Leon! F-Fuck I'm gonna cum!"

"That's right cum for me, princess." You came screaming his name but he didn't stop. "Leon! S-Stop please..." You begged.

"Why would I stop? I haven't even came yet." He said with a smirk plastered on his face. All your pleading went in his ear and out the other. He continued ramming into you while your eyes welled up with tears from the feelings of pleasure derived from pain. As much as it hurt, you didn't want it to stop either. Leon quickened his thrusts and grunted as he came, feeling his hot cum fill you.

"Take all that in." he moaned into your ear. As he was filling you with his seed, tears streamed down your face from the overstimulation. Leon pulled out and made you face him.

"Don't cry princess, isn't this what you wanted?" Leon said as he kissed the tears off your face. Trails of kisses from your cheeks led to your lips and the both of you share a long and passionate kiss before pulling away and fixing each other's clothes.

Maybe overtime wasn't so bad after all.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon scott kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut

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chelseachilly · 2 months

Text

falling for you

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: as a reporter for chelsea and england, you and ben have always been friendly - and sometimes a bit flirty - but you never imagined a fluke injury while filming a youtube video could lead to something more warnings: mentions of minor injury, mainly just fluff ☺️ word count: 6.4k

author's note: hope you like this one! it was a lot of fun to write and definitely my longest one-shot yet hahah. fc is olivia buzalgo obviously lol

As a reporter for both the England national team and Chelsea, you’ve always tried your best to remain professional and not show favouritism towards any of the players.

For the most part, this hasn’t been an issue. While you do spend a lot of your time with incredibly fit guys around your age, they’ve never been anything other than colleagues or, at the most, friends.

Except for Ben Chilwell.

He had been on your radar professionally for some time before you met, as he was an up and coming talent at Leicester and for England. You always thought he was good looking when you watched him play on television, but you didn’t really know much about him.

It wasn’t until he signed for Chelsea in the summer of 2020 that things changed.

You were tasked with conducting Ben’s first interview for the club, and the two of you hit it off immediately. You felt like you had known him your whole life within the hour you spent together in a small room at Cobham, chatting about his career and his goals at Chelsea.

You also learned quickly that Ben wasn’t just attractive - there was something magnetic about him. You felt instantly at ease around him, yet he also made your heart rate triple with a quick smile as you passed in the hallway or a glance in your direction while he’s on the pitch.

While you would never dream of pursuing him, partly because it’s unprofessional and partly because there’s no way he feels the same way, the connection between you two hasn’t exactly gone unnoticed.

Every time you post an Instagram story of you working with Ben or a video of you interviewing him is released, the comments and replies are flooded with fans speculating about whether you two are dating. You always feel a bit embarrassed, wondering if he’s seeing these responses too, but you continue to post the content for two reasons:

One, because your content with Ben always performs the best, meaning your bosses are always encouraging more of it;

And two, because you’re super into him and you’ll take any excuse to work with or spend time with him.

So, despite all the speculation, you continue to post pics with Ben whenever you’re working together, and the occasional borderline-flirty comments he leaves certainly don’t help matters.

yourusername

liked by benchilwell, masonmount and others yourusername Always a pleasure with the best left-back in the league @benchilwell ☺️ view all comments benchilwell High praise from the best reporter in the game 😉 chelsfan1 ooh i think chilly has a crush on y/n benfan2 they are never beating the secretly dating allegations 🤨

The seemingly flirty comments he sometimes makes in person don’t help matters, either - certainly not for your growing crush on him. You find yourself both looking forward to and dreading every opportunity to film something with him, loving every minute of your time with him but wishing deep down that it could lead to something more.

You’ve hung out a bit outside of work, too, sometimes grabbing something to eat after a shoot or partying together after Chelsea have won a big game. You’re friends, but that’s all you are. You’re painfully reminded of that every time you read about the latest gorgeous model he’s dating.

That doesn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when your boss emails you your next assignment, a video with Ben and Conor. They’re two of your closest friends on the team, so it should be a dream day of work for you to film a silly video with them for the club’s socials, but you’re more nervous than usual.

Ben’s been a little bit flirtier than usual lately, bringing you coffee when you’re working at Cobham and sending you funny TikToks throughout the day. You’re not reading too much into it, but it’s definitely going to make it harder for you to ignore your feelings for him.

But you’ll at least have Conor and the camera crew there, so it won’t be that bad. You hope.

You arrive at Cobham bright and early that day, already dressed and having done your own makeup as per usual for a shoot like this. You meet up with the cameraman, Brian, who you frequently work with, to go over the plan.

“You nervous?” Brian asks when you walk into the office, a small smirk on his face.

You can feel your face go pale and your eyes widen. “What? Wh-why would I be nervous?”

“Because of the shoot,” Brian says blankly, raising an eyebrow at you. “You know, how you were saying you’re awful at football…”

Ah, yes. The normal reason for you to be nervous.

Truthfully, your mind has been so taken up with thoughts of seeing Ben that you haven’t worried too much about the video itself. The premise is that the boys will demonstrate some football skills and you’re supposed to try to replicate them. You’re hardly a footballer, so it’s really just meant to be lighthearted, funny content for fans who like your dynamic with the boys.

“Oh, right,” you say with a small laugh. “I’m sure it won’t be too bad. How hard can it be?”

Brian just laughs, ignoring your slightly odd behaviour from before. “Yeah, you’ll be fine.”

A little while later, you make your way out to the training pitch where you’re meeting the guys, and you smile when you see Ben has shown up early and is kicking the ball around and scrolling on his phone. He stops and smiles when he sees you approaching.

“Y/N, hey!” he exclaims, pulling you into a quick hug. “You alright?”

“Hey, Ben,” you reply, in a bit of a trance as you pull back from the hug. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Great,” Ben grins. “You ready to learn a few things?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s not every day that I get a free football lesson from the stars of Chelsea FC,” you tease.

“Yeah, you basically won the lotto,” Ben chuckles.

You raise an eyebrow with a smirk. “You’re comparing a morning with you to winning the lottery?”

Before your banter can continue, you see Conor and the rest of the video crew approaching and you’re brought back to reality - in which Ben is your coworker, not your boyfriend, and you have a job to do.

You quickly hug Conor hello and chat for a minute while the guys set up the filming equipment. You can tell they’re in high spirits from the recent winning streak they’ve been on, making the atmosphere around Cobham better all around.

Once it’s time to get started, you get into position and begin your intro, explaining the premise of the video.

You start off with some easier skills, watching Ben and Conor demonstrate before attempting them yourself. You’re definitely not a professional, but you played a bit as a kid, so you can handle a few kick ups and headers.

As things start to get a bit more complicated, you’re definitely struggling more, but the boys are very sweet and encouraging. Honestly, you’re not too concerned with showcasing your abilities - it’s just a funny video, and it’s part of the job. You don’t think any of the fans are expecting you to be the next Leah Williamson or something, but you still try your best for the sake of the challenge.

The final skill you have to do is a bit of a trickier one, a crossover. Ben shows you how to do it with ease, obviously, before encouraging you to give it a go.

After a couple failed attempts that you hope the video editor cuts out, you finally manage one, and both Ben and Conor cheer for you like you just won the Champions League.

“You’re a pro, Y/N,” Ben grins. “Wanna go again?”

With a sudden boost of confidence, you nod, and Ben kicks the ball back to you. You kick it up a few times and meet Ben’s gaze with a small smile before jumping up and swinging your leg around the ball again.

Only this time, instead of landing perfectly on your feet, you land directly on the side of your left ankle and fall over.

There’s a shooting pain up your leg, but that’s overshadowed by the immediate embarrassment you’re feeling. The moment you catch your breath and sit up, Ben is already at your side with his hand on your upper back, asking if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist, before you’ve even had time to assess if that’s true. “Just give me a sec and we can keep going, sorry guys.”

“Are you sure?” Brian asks, setting his camera down on the tripod after he stopped filming. “It looked like you twisted your ankle pretty bad.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you say, though the pain has begun to settle in and it definitely doesn’t feel like nothing. “Ben, can you help me up?”

Ben looks hesitant, his eyes flitting from your ankle back up to your face, but he nods and grabs both your hands to help lift you to your feet.

You’re determined to soldier on and finish the video with minimal humiliation, but the moment you put the slightest bit of weight on your left foot, you wince sharply and feel tears begin to brim in your eyes.

Ben immediately catches you and carefully lowers you back to the ground, keeping a hand on your back.

“Y/N, you’re hurt,” Ben says, eyes full of concern. “It’s your ankle?”

You nod, afraid that if you speak, your voice will tremble from the pain.

“We should take her to one of the physios to get it looked at,” Conor suggests.

“I’m sure they have more important things to deal with,” you mumble, feeling a bit more grounded by the way Ben is gently rubbing your back, giving you something other than the pain to focus on.

“Not really, we don’t have training today so most of the boys aren’t even here,” Ben assures you. “I’ll take you there now.”

You’re about to ask how you’re going to get all the way up to the physio offices if you can’t even stand, but you don’t have to wonder for long before Ben is carefully slipping his arm under your knees.

You let out a small gasp as you’re swept off your feet, suddenly finding yourself in Ben’s arms.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asks quickly, misinterpreting your surprise for pain.

“No, I’m good,” you say quietly. Despite the shooting pain, this is partially true - how could you not be good when you’re currently being carried bridal style by the guy you’ve had a crush on for years.

“Sorry, guys,” you say to Conor and the crew. “Maybe once they look at my ankle we can continue-“

“There’s no way you’re walking on that today, and we have enough content for the video,” Brian tells you. “Go get checked out and let us know how you’re feeling, alright?”

“I will,” you smile. “Thanks.”

“Good to go?” Ben asks you, and you nod.

You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you with ease up to the physio department, feeling strangely comfortable in this position you never expected to be in. You love the feeling of being in his arms, how safe and protected you feel even in your vulnerable state.

Once you arrive at the physio rooms, Ben sets you down gently on one of the beds and runs to grab someone. He returns moments later with Billy, who you’ve met a few times around the club. He’s a kind man who you know is particularly close with many of the players, including Ben.

“Hi there, Y/N, let’s take a look at that ankle,” he says gently. “Ben, mind grabbing some ice?”

“Of course.”

Ben goes over to the freezer and grabs a bag of ice while Billy carefully removes your shoe and sock, the action alone making tears form in your eyes once again.

“Let’s ice it for a few minutes first,” Billy suggests after seeing the state of your rapidly swelling ankle. “I’ll go get you something for the pain.”

After he takes the ice pack from Ben and gently places it on your foot, relieving the throbbing a little bit, Billy leaves the room. Ben pulls up a chair next to you and lightly touches your arm.

“You doing alright? That looks like a bad one,” Ben says, his voice impossibly even softer than before as he sees the pain you’re experiencing.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m just so humiliated, to be honest. Leave it to me to injure myself on video, and in front of my coworkers and two professional footballers.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about, love, that could’ve happened to anyone,” Ben insists, making your heart jump at the tender nickname. “It’s my fault, I encouraged you to go again. I’m so sorry you got hurt, I feel awful.”

“No, Ben, absolutely not,” you say quickly. “It was just a dumb accident. I think I got a bit too confident in my football abilities.”

“Well, you were doing great,” he smiles. “I think the fans will love the video. Just like everything else you do.”

You’re grateful that Billy walks back in right in that moment, both because of the pain meds he has for you and because it diverts Ben’s attention from your now flushed cheeks.

As Billy begins your assessment, you turn back to Ben.

“You really don’t have to stay, I’m sure you have better things to do with the rest of your day.”

“Don’t be silly, Y/N, I’m not going anywhere,” Ben says definitively.

You’re sure you’re blushing again, but it’s quickly overshadowed by your grimacing in pain as Billy gently rotates and palpates your foot. Ben’s presence calms you down massively as Billy runs some tests to determine the extent of your injury.

After it’s determined that it’s just a bad sprain, Billy puts you in a boot and gives you crutches to get around for the next few days. He says to go for an x-ray if it doesn’t improve in the next two weeks, but that you should be walking fine by then.

Once you’re cleared to leave, Ben offers to grab your stuff from the media team offices as you rack your brain to think about how you’re going to get both yourself and your car home.

He returns with your bag slung over his shoulder and another gentle, heartwarming, completely irresistible smile on his face.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I just need to call my parents and see when they’ll be able to make it,” you tell him. “It might be a while, but I’m fine to wait here. I’ve already taken up way too much of your time.”

Ben just furrows his eyebrows. “Don’t your parents live in North London?”

You just blink at him for a second, completely surprised that he remembers this detail you hardly remember sharing with him, before nodding.

“That could take hours with traffic, I’ll just take you,” he insists.

“That’s really nice, Ben, but I also have to get my car home somehow.”

“So I’ll drive you home in your car, then Uber back to get mine later,” he says nonchalantly.

“Ben-“

“Please just let me do this, Y/N,” Ben pleads. “I swear it’s no trouble.“

After a moment of deliberation, you find yourself agreeing with him. It could take hours for your parents to get here, and you’re really looking forward to being home on your couch after the day you’ve had.

He helps you down to the car park, matching your slow pace and opening all the doors for you, and then helps you get into the passenger seat of your car. You feel mildly embarrassed that he has to drive your tiny little vehicle that probably cost only a fraction of his weekly pay, but he immediately tells you how nice it is and cracks a joke about how much cleaner it is than his own, putting you at ease.

You play some music while he drives, chatting about some of the recent changes at the club as you give him directions to your flat. About halfway there, you notice how his phone that he placed in the drink holder between you is incessantly buzzing.

“Do you need to get that?”

“No, it’s alright,” Ben shrugs. “Probably just the boys. I was supposed to go to my mate’s house after we wrapped up, but I’ll text them and explain. He won’t mind.”

You instantly feel terrible for keeping him from hanging out with his friends on a rare day off from training.

“Ben, I-“

“Y/N, it’s really no big deal,” he says, looking over at you now that you’re stopped at a red light. “They’re not going to care that I bailed on playing FIFA to help my injured friend.“

You nod and smile at him, holding his gaze until the light turns green and the person behind you is honking at you to drive.

yourusername

liked by benchilwell, conorgallagher92 and others yourusername Before and after attempting to keep up with professional footballers…I’ll keep my day job lol 😅 view all comments benchilwell You'll be back on the pitch with us in no time 🥰 conorgallagher92 Hope you're feeling better!! You did great 😊 chelsfan3 aww poor y/n, what happened?? yourfriend Get well soon babe! x benfan4 Omg Y/N and Ben...need this video out asap (and hope she's ok!)

The next few days pass fairly uneventfully as you’re laid up on your couch icing your ankle and watching Netflix.

Thankfully, you didn’t have any in-person work commitments this week, and you’re able to do some prep for next week’s interviews from the comfort of your own home.

Although the injury is certainly a disruption to your routine, the most significant change is the sheer amount of attention you’ve been receiving from Ben ever since.

After he helped you get home and learned that your flatmate is on holiday for two weeks and you would be home all alone, he insisted on staying and making you something to eat. He only left once he was confident that you were comfortable and had everything you needed.

Since then, he’s texted you way more than he ever has before, constantly checking in and asking if you need anything. As much as you would love for him to come over every day and watch movies or have dinner with you, you have a nagging feeling that he just feels guilty about your injury. You like him so much, even more so for how sweet and attentive he’s being, but you don’t want to take advantage of that kindness.

After the third day of being bored at home, though, you’re starting to go a little stir crazy, and it’s hard to resist when Ben texts you.

True to his word, Ben shows up at 5:45 with Nando’s for both of you, having remembered your order from one time you went together after an interview he did for Sky.

After teasing him during dinner for never having finished the films, you decide to watch the fourth Harry Potter movie, Ben helping you settle in on the couch with your leg up before sitting right next to you.

As time passes, he gets progressively closer to you, until his arm is resting on the back of the sofa. He’s not quite touching you, but after he selects the next film, silently looking at you to see if you want him to stay, you feel a bit braver. After nodding with a smile, prompting Ben to hit play and settle back into the cushions, you shift slightly closer to him and lean into his body.

“You’re warm,” you say, suddenly feeling the need to justify your closeness when you feel his muscles tense slightly.

When you feel him shift away from you, you’re completely humiliated for misreading the situation. What on earth were you thinking trying to cuddle with him? You don’t cuddle with your other friends.

But these thoughts are quickly shut down as Ben grabs the blanket from the opposite end of the couch and drapes it over both of you, then raises his arm to invite you to lean back into him with a smile on his face.

You hesitate only a moment before curling back up to him, your head now resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you.

You’re so comfortable and at ease in this position, despite it being completely new and a bit terrifying, that you can feel yourself drifting off less than halfway through the movie. You swear you feel Ben press a kiss to your forehead, but you’re not sure if it’s real or you’re already dreaming.

When you wake up again, the credits are rolling and Ben is half-asleep with his head resting on top of yours.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” you murmur with a small yawn, reluctantly extracting yourself from his embrace.

“It’s okay, you needed the rest,” Ben says softly, his voice a bit gravelly from lack of use.

God, you want to kiss him so bad.

“It’s late, do you have training in the morning?” you ask.

“Yeah, at nine,” Ben confirms. “So I suppose I should get going. Do you need anything before I do?”

“No, thank you, though,” you say. “For everything, Ben. You’ve been so amazing, I really cant thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ben says softly, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze. “You’ve always been so nice and supportive when I was injured, whether you’re interviewing me about it or we’re just chatting privately, and I don’t think I ever told you how much I appreciate that. How much I appreciate you.”

Your cheeks are growing hotter as you hold his gaze, his bright blue eyes staring into yours with a new kind of intensity you’ve never seen before.

As much as you desperately want to lean in and press your lips to his, or even tell him how you feel, you’ve grown to treasure your connection with him too much to risk anything. You have to be sure.

“You’re welcome, Ben,” you say. “I’m glad I could help. I’ve always hated seeing you go through that.”

Ben nods, squeezing your hand once more before letting go.

“I’ll text you tomorrow, keep taking it easy and feel free to call me if there’s anything you need. At all.”

“Thanks,” you say once again, rising and grabbing your crutches to walk him out and so you can lock the door behind him. “I’ll be okay. But I will probably have to miss the game on Sunday, not sure I’ll be up for the journey to Newcastle.”

You hate missing Chelsea games, whether they’re home or away, but even if you secure a spot on the team jet and you have a comfy spot in one of the boxes, it would be a lot to navigate on crutches.

“Of course, we’ll all miss seeing you, though,” Ben says. “Won’t feel right doing the interview with someone else after we win.”

“I love the confidence, but you speak with other interviewers all the time,” you tease him gently.

“Yeah, and I always wish they were you,” he admits as he slides his shoes on. “Good night, love.”

He steps forward, cupping your face and pressing another kiss to your forehead - this one definitely not a dream - but pulls back much too quickly for your liking.

“Good night, Ben,” you’re barely able to choke out, your heart rate nearly triple its usual pace.

The moment he’s gone, you crutch back over to the sofa and flop down, letting out a long exhale.

Surely, he would’ve kissed you when he had the chance if he fancied you, right?

But, at the same time, no matter how nice of a person he is or how much he treasures your friendship, you doubt he would spend his whole evening cuddling with you if he didn’t want to.

As you settle in and press play on yet another movie - the perks of not having work in the morning - you try to put all thoughts of Ben out of your mind. This proves difficult, considering the blanket you’re using still smells a bit like his cologne, and because you haven’t really stopped thinking about him since the day you met.

The next week, after Chelsea defeat Newcastle 3-1 with a spectacular assist from Ben that you really wish you could’ve seen in person, you’re back at work.

You’re doing an interview with Pochettino this afternoon to talk about the win and how the season is turning around, which is a great opportunity for you, career-wise.

You just wish that it hadn’t happened on a day when you’re still hobbling around in a boot and Brian is stuck in traffic, meaning you have to set up for the interview yourself. Thankfully, you’re no longer on crutches, but by the second trip down the stairs from the media office to the room where you’re doing the interview, your ankle is really starting to protest all the walking.

Just as you’re taking a break in the middle of the stairwell, propping the tripod you were carrying up against the wall and taking a seat, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching and mentally prepare yourself to explain what you’re doing just chilling on the stairs.

“Y/N!”

The sound of the familiar voice calling your name relaxes you a bit, your shoulders slumping as you see the same smile that has been imprinted in your brain for the past week.

“Someone told me you were in today but I couldn’t find you in the media office,” he says, the smile on his face fading as he notes your slightly pained expression. “Are you alright, love?”

Since your injury, he’s called you “love” more times than you can ever recall him saying to anyone before, making your stomach fill with butterflies every time.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you insist. “Just…taking a break.”

Ben narrows his eyes, and you know you aren’t fooling him, as much as you don’t want any more pity or guilty looks from him.

“In the stairwell? Wait - you aren’t carrying equipment yourself, are you? Y/N-“

“Brian’s stuck in traffic, and I’m interviewing Poch in an hour. I’m not going to waste his time because we were late to set up.”

“Y/N, there’s no way I’m letting you carry anything else down these stairs,” Ben says seriously, reaching out to carry the tripod under one arm and offering you a hand with the other.

You take his hand and let him pull you to your feet, but you still can’t help but protest.

“Don’t you have training right now?”

“Nah, just finished,” he says, beginning to walk down the stairs and keeping a hand hovering behind your back as if he’s afraid you’ll topple over. “We have a break for lunch now before we hit the gym.”

“But-“

“I’ll have plenty of time to help you and eat,” Ben says, now countering your arguments for accepting help before you can even make them.

Once you get down to the room of the interview, Ben insists you sit down and elevate your leg while he grabs the rest of the stuff. On his final trip, he comes back with your folder of notes in one hand and a bag with lunch and drinks for both of you in the other.

You don’t know how he keeps continuing to surprise you with his sweet gestures, but somehow he’s one-upped himself yet again. You sit on the floor and eat the sandwiches he grabbed from the cafeteria together while he helps you review your talking points for the interview.

He doesn’t get up to leave until Brian arrives to finish setting up, ensuring that someone will be there to prevent you from doing any more physical labour.

“Can I give you a ride home today?” Ben offers as he helps you up off the floor. “You still can’t drive with that on, right?”

You glance down at the cumbersome boot. Unfortunately, you did injure your driving foot, which means you had to get an Uber here today. You’re about to tell him you can get another one home, not wanting to inconvenience him any more, but you know that he’s just going to refuse.

“That would be great, Ben, thanks,” you smile, squeezing his hands before letting go. “I should be done here in about an hour and a half.”

“That’s perfect,” he grins. “Good luck with the interview, I know you’ll smash it.”

He jogs away to head to the gym, which you suspect he’s now late for, leaving you in a bit of a daze with a completely lovestruck expression on your face.

“Someone’s got a crush,” Brian says a moment later with a smirk, snapping you out of your trance.

“I-I do not,” you insist quickly, your eyes wide.

“I was talking about Chilly,” he says, chuckling a bit at your frantic denial. “But now that you mention it, you have always gotten on particularly well with him. No wonder the fans are always commenting about the vibes between you.”

“Oh, shush,” you roll your eyes. “There are no…vibes. He’s just being nice because of my ankle.”

“Right, I’m sure that’s the only reason,” Brian retorts sarcastically.

You pull out your phone and see that the Instagram stories you posted earlier are garnering lots of attention, your replies full of fans commenting on how sweet Ben is - something you’re well aware of.

yourusername via instagram stories

Thankfully, Brian can’t tease you much longer before Poch shows up for the interview. You say hello and settle in before getting started.

About 30 minutes later, you have everything you need from him and thank the coach for his time and a great conversation. You and Brian head back to the media offices to get to work on early edits of the video, a part of the process that you’re not really required to help with, but you always enjoy being as involved as possible.

You’re wrapping up and sending the file to the media team for final edits when Ben appears in the doorway, freshly showered and now wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that really look unfairly good on him instead of his training kit.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “I’ll just grab my bag-"

Ben is already walking over and grabbing it for you so you don’t have to carry anything, and you both say goodbye to Brian before heading for the car park.

He opens the door to his car for you, even though you’re definitely capable of getting in yourself now, and then he begins to drive to your place, no longer requiring any directions.

“So, how was the interview?” Ben asks after a moment of comfortable silence.

“It was great,” you say. “He speaks very highly of you, you know. Not that I blame him after that assist on Sunday.”

“You watched?” Ben asks, his eyes lit up with joy as he glances over at you.

“Of course, I wasn’t gonna miss it just cause I couldn’t be there in person,” you smile. “You were brilliant.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from Ben’s gorgeous smile as he continues to drive - improved only by your compliments being the reason for it.

You continue to chat about the game and other things until you arrive in front of your building. It’s hard to keep the slightly sad expression off your face when Ben pulls into the driveway and you know you have to say goodbye to him again.

All you want is to drag him inside with you and never let him go, but you know that isn’t realistic. Sure, he’s been wonderful and caring and attentive all week, but you’re sure that as soon as your ankle heals, everything will go back to how it was.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks once he puts the car in park and notices the look on your face. “Is it your ankle? Is it bothering you?”

“No, no,” you say, quickly dissuading his worries. “It’s nothing, I’m all good.”

He nods, but the concerned expression doesn’t quite leave his face. “I’ve been worried about you. You know, being here by yourself and stuff.”

Though your stomach flips once again at his soft tone, you try to ignore it. He’s just being nice. He’s a nice person. That’s why you like him so damn much.

“It’s okay, my mum has come around a few times and my flatmate will be home on Saturday,” you tell him. “Besides, I’m completely fine. I know you feel a bit guilty, but it’s just a sprained ankle. You’ve been so sweet looking after me, but I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

Ben blinks at you for a moment before letting out a sigh, running his hand through his hair.

“It’s not…I mean, I did feel a bit guilty, but that’s not why I wanted to take care of you. It’s because I care about you.”

You frown in confusion. “I’m not saying you don’t care about me, Ben, I care about you too, but-“

“Y/N, for gods sake,” Ben cuts you off, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just that I care about you, okay? I care about the boys, but I don’t exactly turn up with dinner and cuddle with Reece or Trev when they’re injured.”

As you realize what he’s implying, your breath catches in your throat and you find it hard to speak at all, let alone say the right thing.

You’re not sure what comes over you, but the only thing you can think to do in the moment is the thing you’ve been dreaming about doing for the past three years - you lean across the console and press your lips firmly to his.

You have a brief feeling of terror that you’ve misunderstood what he was saying, until Ben starts to kiss you back and you no longer have any thoughts in your brain that aren’t of his lips.

He parts his mouth slightly and you kiss him harder, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair. You sigh into his mouth, in pure ecstasy as he kisses you like his life depends on it.

You only part when you both need to come up for air, and even then, you’re reluctant to pull away from him, lingering close. Ben brushes his nose against yours, and you watch as he slowly opens his eyes.

“Y/N,” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to do that.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to,” you murmur, slowly pulling back from him. “Why…why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable since we work together a lot,” Ben admits. “I thought about bringing it up every time we hung out outside of work, but I always chickened out.”

“Oh,” you exhale, your mind whirring with a million different thoughts. “I never knew you felt that way about me.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “I flirt with you all the time! There’s a reason the fans are always posting about us online, saying I fancy you and stuff. I thought it was obvious.”

You could nearly scream at your own obliviousness - if only because it delayed what was just most definitely the best kiss of your life - but you never thought in a million years that Ben would choose you over all the other options he has available to him, over all the perfect girls you’ve seen fawn over him at games and parties.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me now, even if it took me falling over and injuring myself for us to get here,” you laugh under your breath, making him roll his eyes at you with affection.

“I’m definitely not glad you got hurt, but I was happy to have an excuse to spend more time with you,” Ben admits. “I just…always want to spend time with you.”

You’re blushing like crazy again, but this time, you don’t care that Ben can see. When he reaches out to cup your face and stroke your cheek with his thumb, you don’t shy away from him, your bashful smile mirroring his.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he asks. “There’s this amazing French restaurant in Richmond, I would love to take you if you want.”

You’re giddy at the thought of an actual, romantic first date with Ben, though you’ve felt more romance eating sandwiches on the floor and chatting in crowded stadiums and walking to get coffee with him than you have on any “real” first date you’ve ever had.

“I would love to,” you smile.

“Okay,” Ben grins. “I’ll pick you up at seven, then?”

You nod, feeling pure elation as Ben begins to lean in to seal your agreement with a kiss. It feels so natural, it’s hard to believe your first one was just minutes ago.

“Can I help you inside?” Ben offers once you’ve pulled away again.

He knows full well that you’re completely capable of walking to the door by yourself, but you’re not offended by his chivalrous behaviour, especially now that you know he has a very good reason for it.

“Only if you kiss me again at the door,” you respond, smirking at him playfully, and his eyes light up with delight.

“I can definitely do that.”

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