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hazelfoureyes · 3 months

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A boiling frog (Alastor x Reader smut)

saw someone talk about “boiling frog syndrome”, when a situation becomes dire so slowly you don’t realize how dangerous it is until it’s too late, like a frog slipping into death as the cold water comes to a boil, never trying to leap out. Made me think of Louisiana frog legs and, of course, our self obsessed deer demon. my longwinded ass used restraint and went for a PWP (I hope…. No, theres still plot. I’m a slut for plot. Sorry?)

Your companionship was peppered onto Alastor so gently and slowly he didn’t realize he was too far gone until he was hopelessly dependent on your attention. He decides the only remedy is to drown you in his.

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x fem reader, cunnilingus, biting, work attire, realistic descriptions of yet another job I once had, fingering, mentions of my favorite alcoholic beverage, southern shit, filing, that asshole in room 127

Minors DNI

When you first arrived at the hotel, Alastor was pleased to have some help. Charlie informed him of your experience on earth managing apartments and how you would be taking on the role of ‘Resident Relations Manager’. Any issues, complaints, or room adjustments would go to you first. Marvelous. As his underling, you often came to him with your own gripes and stories of the latest drama around the hotel. It became a sort of ritual to meet at the bar after work, talking about the day’s trivial matters over two fingers of rye and a cassis orange. One morning you joined him for coffee in the sunroom he added shortly after your arrival, silently enjoying the view. Then you returned the next day. At some point you started filling his mug and bringing it to the chair he always used. Neither of you spoke, which he found refreshing.

The group dinners were never his scene, the familiarity they bore was uncomfortable and dangerous to his plans. But he overheard your laughter as you and Angel teased each other about what could or couldn’t be defined as a kink. When he joined the table, he was pleasantly surprised at the in-depth conversations you sparked among the band of hopeless fools he’d come to enjoy.

So when he entered the sunroom one morning to see his cup, but not you, it ruffled his fur, so to speak. At dinner, he heard from Charlie you were eating in your office. The bar was full of residents and yet empty all the same when you never arrived.

Three days was all it took. Three days of not seeing you. When he walked past the bar at 9pm to see just Angel and Husk, he continued onward until in the safety of the darkened hall. Licking his teeth, he found himself getting angry. Annoyed that he was promised, by your actions, interesting conversation and like-minded company. His fists curled out of frustration, lights strobing as he stalked down the hall.

But that melted into something even more upsetting, he felt… worried. Not that his smile showed it, passing Vaggie with a nod of his head.

When did you manage to creep into his mind? Like an overlord taking territory, you had taken space in his thoughts with ruthless speed. Never one to be passive in competition, he realized he needed to take drastic measures to catch up to you. He knew of many ways to get *ahead, but he found an ambush always worked like a charm.

Alastor’s shadows gathered before he rose from the floor of your office.

You were standing near a filing cabinet, looking intently at something, “Hello there Alastor, to what-“ you turned the page, not looking at him, “do I owe the pleasure?” You hadn’t actually lifted your head from the file until you felt a hand in the small of your back. You flinched and took a step away, turning around to ask what he was doing when you noticed you weren’t in your office anymore.

The large hole in the wall that led into an endless swamp of a forest hinted at whose room this was.

Closing the file with one hand, you gestured around the room, “Is there a reason I’m here?”

He motioned for you to sit on the bed, and when you laughed he used the microphone to corral you to the edge. “You’ve been busy, as of late.”

“Swamped.” Usually your puns would get atleast a chuckle from your boss, but this time he passed right over it.

“I realized today we haven’t had one of our usual chats in quite a while. What’s been keeping you oh-so-occupied?” He pushed down on your shoulders until you came to rest on the bed.

Nervously, you scooted back a little from him, “Well, so many new residents has meant so many petty little issues. This guy on the 34th floor is angry that the man who killed him is on 37– Alastor?!” He had knelt down and lifted your ankle, slipping your shoe off.

“And?”

“What are you doing?”

“Isn't it obvious?" He picked up the other ankle, "Listening. Continue.”

You laughed breathlessly, “wha-,” but the way he looked up at you seemed to catch your tongue, “uhm, so- yeah so he doesn’t think his killer deserves redemption-,” the other shoe was taken off, neatly set besides its twin. You took a deep breath to try and calm down, “and even if he does, he shouldn’t be—,”Alastor’s hand slipped up your right thigh, fingers taking your stocking and rolling it down. His gaze on your face never wavering.

“Keep going.” The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just suggesting it.

“-be on a higher floor.” He peeled the left stocking down, delicately pulling it over your toes.

You forgot to breath for a second. Instinctively you brought your knees together.

“That is quite annoying! What ever will you do?” That toothy grin widened as he looked up at you. His hand began to massage the sole of your right foot.

“Huh? Do what?”

“About the man on 34’s complaint”, his hand then moved up to your calf, he hummed, “what supple flesh, my dear.”

“Thank you?” Should you be scared or horny? Was he tenderizing his dinner? He looked up at you expectantly. “I told him if the angels return, higher floors would be the most dangerous.”

"Ha! Quite a clever response! Did it placate him?" He raised your right knee to his mouth, placing his lips above the joint. You felt his breath over your inner thigh as he let out a soft huff of a laugh, a reaction to your confused face. You were absolutely panicked; frozen. That wild look you were giving him, if he could he would drown himself in those eyes. Alastor felt his own excitement build, a twitch pressing his cock against the zipper of his dress pants. What a delicious reaction. His long hands crawled under your work skirt, nails grazing your skin as he grabbed the sides of your panties, "It's rude to leave someone waiting, dear."

You shook your head, crawling backward on the bed, "Okay, I get it. Ha ha, you managed to frazzle me."

A darkness fell over his face, "I don't think you do get it." He opened his mouth and dragged his teeth over the skin of your inner thigh, "You've neglected me quite rudely! Most people wouldn't dare such a thing and yet you don't even seem slightly concerned about it."

Rude? "Alastor, oh my god. What did I do? I've been at work every morning on time, if not early. I have been staying up late to make sure the resident files are up to date. I've been meeting with Charlie like you wanted about-,” He brought the panties down your thighs.

"It is what you haven't been doing, mon cher.” He pulled them clear of one leg, leaving them to hang off the ankle of the other leg. "I've been drinking my coffee alone in the sunroom, do you think I had the set of rocking chairs delivered for my own amusement? Dinner has been monotonous without your conversation. And what about our nightly gossip at the bar?" When he lifted your leg and hooked your knee over his shoulder, you fell back on your elbows to keep from lying flat.

"Listen-- Alastor!" His name was squeaked out as a bite stung you, dangerously close to your now naked pussy.

"Sir." He chided.

"Sir?!" He pushed your skirt up, exposing you, "Sir. I don't really like people going down on me."

"That's odd.” His hands gripped your thighs and dragged your ass to the edge of the bed, your pussy now inches from his face. His eyes rolled from left to right, “I don’t remember asking.” Your other leg was pulled over his shoulder, causing you to finally fall onto your back.

A long, wide tongue licked from mid thigh to the place where your legs met your crotch. You felt the heat of his mouth before he finally made contact with your core, one long lick from entrance to clit.

You buried your face inside the file, inhaling the smell of ink and paper with each pant. Your heart was pounding, the rush of blood from your head to your lap left you dizzy and seeing spots.

“Ah ah! I need your full attention.” He took the file and tossed it to the side. He needed to see your face, this was pointless if he couldn’t watch you go dumb in his mouth.

He had started this wanting to ensure you would be thinking about him as much as he had been you, but the way you couldn’t even speak when he touched you shifted his mission. Now, he wanted to win. Maybe he would be bothered by the absence of your presence in the sunroom, but you’d lie awake at night pained by the absence of his tongue in your cunt.

“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” Your face was beet red.

“Good. I’ve never been very fond of sharing my toys.” His nose grazed your already throbbing clit as he sunk his tongue into you. Reflexively your thighs pressed against his ears, his head keeping you from closing them entirely. His tongue seemed to lick at your walls as if reaching for something, the sensation wet and warm. You whined, embarrassed at how you were twitching against his lips.

You could feel his smile widen, thumb pressing down on your clit. Gripping the sheets you tried to ease away, the pressure too rough. His nails dug into your left leg, keeping you from making any real difference.

As he dragged his tongue along your walls you felt something you normally didn’t when getting eaten out; the beginning tension of an orgasm slinking into your stomach.

When his mouth left your cunt you gasped, the air stinging at your wet hole and thighs.

“Starting from the morning, tell me exactly what you did today that was so important you didn’t feel the need to entertain me with your company. If your mouth stops moving, so will mine.” He brought his lips to your other thigh, nipping at the skin.

“I made your coffee but got a call about a resident.” His finger pressed against your entrance before breaching.

“Oh, it has been awhile. I thought you were just being modest”, he laughed, your embarrassed expression spurring him forward. He hadn’t expected you to be so tight on just a single digit.

“She feels unsafe, there’s a jackal demon on her floor who keeps”, his finger curled, hitting that bundle of nerves that made your eyes cross, “who is giving her really scary looks.” He bit down again, breaking the skin. You yelled, yanking your leg back but he didn’t release you. “Alastor- please. This is cruel enough.”

“You haven’t even begun to see me be cruel.” He lapped at the wound, finger in you slowly dragging out before entering again. Still bent, it would hit your spongey g-spot with every move. “After that?”

“I had a meeting with Charlie. About the different growth activities.” Eyes closed, you could feel your pleasure slowly inching up that peak. “I needed to organize the files first, so I ate at my desk again.”

His lips cupped your clit as he began to suck. Your hips rose off the bed and his mouth went with you.

“It’s a lot of paperwork, you won’t let me use a computer for it.” His hand pulled back as a second finger joined. The way your cunt was gripping his fingers, he couldn’t imagine how much you’d hiss around his cock. His hips rutted against the air beside the bed, out of your view.

You put your arm over your eyes to hide yourself in some way, breath hitching when his fingers began pumping in and out of you. The moans tumbling from your mouth made Alastor’s grip on you tighten further. His cock leaking into the front of his pants.

When his tongue stopped flitting over your clit you groaned a complaint.

“Ffuuuck, Alastor. D- Uh, Room 127 hates the view o-,” your jaw clenched around the words, “something something blah blah blah —nngh” your head went back, your hips now fully grinding into his mouth. You needed more friction, your orgasm rolling just to the precipice.

His tongue slowed.

“He- he uh, I said he could move,” his fingers curled, pressing over and over into your g-spot, “when he stops being such an asshole. fuck me, please don’t stop—,” you reached down for his head and took a fist full of hair, earning you a surprised moan from him.

Alastor removed his hand from your leg to palm his clothed erection. His nose buried into your bush as his own breathing picked up.

So close.

“-and now I’m here and you’re here,” your words breathy, “and I’m gonna cum—I’m so close, so close,” your lips tingled from the way you were panting.

You choked out a moan as your orgasm reached its climax and pleasure wracked your body. Your grip on his hair stinging, your pussy sucked his fingers in with so much need he closed his eyes and let himself cum against his palm at the thought of his cock in their place. He felt the warmth soak into his pants.

Both of your hands came to your face, too embarrassed to speak.

Alastor placed your shoes and tights beside you, and rested both of his elbows on either side of your head. His weight pressed into you, and you finally looked at him. He was resting his chin on his cradled hands, staring down at you.

With a smug grin and raised his eyebrows he said, “Apology accepted.” He pushed off of you, bringing both fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean with a wet ‘pop’. “See you in the sun room at 8am! Bring that cheery smile I’ve come to enjoy!” He sunk back into the shadows and was gone.

You looked around, you were back in your office. He’d transported you seamlessly from lying on his bed to lying on your desk.

“Yes, sir.”

*get it? He wanted to “get ahead”… head. The slang for cunnilingus ? I’ll see myself out

༻Masterlist༺

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sprout-fics · 5 months

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Danger Close

(Captain John Soap MacTavish x F! Reader)

Call of Duty Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (18+) Minors DNI Wordcount: 3.8k Tags: Power imbalances, Unrequited pining, Shy Reader, Stuck in a lift, Dry humping, Dirty talk, Seduction, Praise kink, Vaginal fingering, Secret affair, Pet names Warnings: None (ask to tag) A/N: This is a quick little idea of the OG himself. I'll probably do more headcanon based ideas soon, but for now enjoy the filth

The thing about Captain MacTavish is that he’s…intimidating.

The self proclaimed red-blooded Scot is built like a brick shithouse, as one of your fellow officers once put it. Ruggedly handsome, strong, thick with muscle with coarse hair over his arms and stubble along his jaw. There’s a scar over one of his eyes, a slashing wound that should have blinded him. It crinkles slightly when he offers a lopsided smirk that taunts danger, that bares a reckless nature he hasn’t fully shed despite his years of experience. You tell your bunkmate that he’d make very good money as a bouncer at a nightclub, and her laughter nearly wakes up the whole hallway.

Intimidating.

Which is not necessarily the right word, you think. The Captain has a way around his men and fellow officers, an easy likeability that’s hard to ignore. He commands respect from his troops not in the way of brute posturing or snarling demands, but in the display of capability that has saved their lives many times over. He’s the firm touch on their shoulder as they check their gear before deployment, the firm reminder of level headedness over comms, the sharp, ringing command that cuts through gunfire when everything else has gone wrong.

The man exudes leadership, and you are among those helplessly drawn to it.

Yet there’s something closed off there that you can see in his eyes, an untold story that has drawn the lines of age in the corner of his steely gaze. It feels as if there’s an invisible barrier around him that prevents others from getting danger close. Magnetic, it pulls you in despite yourself, an inextricable attraction towards the nick of a blade you long to taste. Dangerous, like a moth to flame.

Not that you’ll ever do anything about it of course. As much as you daydream about the time you saw the captain’s broad back shiny with sweat on the sparring mats as he trained the other recruits, the low lilt of his accent that clouds your thoughts, you know it’s a terrible idea to develop a crush on your superior.

It’s hard not to, not when you deliver him his daily intelligence report in the afternoon, and he always makes sure to look up and greet you as you hand over the folder, smiling and offering: “Thank you, lass.”

Traitorous, you think, how your stomach devolves into butterflies just at the sight of his pleasant grin.

Worse is the fact that despite his gruff exterior the man is always such a gentleman to you. He gives you his full attention when you speak, ensures his other male officers do not interrupt or speak over you, holds open doors when you walk into the meeting room together, ensures his men don’t harass you just for your status of being a woman. You think it’d be easier if he was just as pompous and arrogant as his fellow officers, but instead Captain MacTavish has the ability to make you feel special, like you’re the only other one in the room with him.

It makes you feel a little guilty, admittedly- that he’s kind and decent and you constantly think about what it would be like to bend the rules so he can bend you over his desk.

Caught in fantasy as you are, you don’t notice the way his eyes watch you out of the corner of his eye, take note of you stretching on your toes to reach something in a filing cabinet, the way your brow scrunches in thought as you scrutinize his paperwork, the slight tremble of your hand when you pass him a cup of coffee in the mess hall, the duck of your head when he offers an amicable thanks.

You don’t notice the way he’s thinking anything but decent thoughts about you.

It’s hard to help. You’re a sweet, shy thing, and Soap is a man not immune to the charm of your bashful nature. He enjoys your wide eyed gaze as he selfishly sneaks gentle touches, a hand on your shoulder as he scoots past you in a crowded hallway, letting his fingers linger a little too long when you pass him a stack of files for him to sign off on, the barest little hitch of breathing he hears when he lets his voice dip an octave as he speaks.

“Thank ye, bonnie.” He tells you this afternoon, and relishes the way you repress a shiver at the endearment.

Later, when he catches you at your desk gazing dreamily into space, he enjoys the glassy tint of your eyes, and imagines you’re thinking of him.

And, secretly, he thinks what it would be like to have you mewling and trembling under his war-worn hands.

For all his decency and charisma, there is one thing you don’t know about the captain, and that is that he’s a wolf.

And you, you’re an adorable bunny waiting for the killing bite of his seduction.

Yet shy as you are, never to act on this, Captain MacTavish decides to take things into his own hands.

He has you move your desk to his office, helping him with his own paperwork, and offers to buy you lunch on the basis of being a good boss, a good superior. He ensures you have everything you need for your space and helps you pick out a better desk chair when you complain about the standard base ones hurting your back.

And if he uses his rank to ensure your colleagues and higher ups don’t complain? Well. That’s his business.

“Good lass.” He tells you in passing when you find a piece of intelligence he requested, offering a small squeeze of your shoulder and feeling you stiffen under him before exhaling unsteadily- unaware of his smug grin just behind your shoulder.

Cute, the way you think he won’t notice your little reactions, your dreamy eyes and the fantasies hidden behind them.

In all places, it comes to a head in a stuck lift.

The meeting is in fifteen minutes, and you insist on taking the lift because of the obstacle course drills you were put through yesterday, whining about your aching thighs. Soap, the good captain that he is, acquiesces and allows it, crossing his arms and watching the doors close-

Only for the lift to give a groan and shudder to a stop.

“Bloody old building.” He gripes, giving the doors a small kick in grumbling protest. “Told maintenance these things needed to be repaired months ago.”

He’s not concerned. Worse comes to worse, he’s crawled up through elevator shafts before. Besides, it’s not as if you’re on the eighth floor, merely stuck between the first and second. It’s an inconvenience, but not an inescapable or deadly one. He’s not as young as he once was, but this shouldn’t be too beyond him.

You, on the other hand, press the call button frantically, trying to ask for help and rescue. The operator is quick to tell you that mechanics and the fire brigade are on the way, and tells you to stay calm.

“How long are we going to be stuck in here?” You ask Soap, fidgeting. A nervous little filly, he thinks, as he eyes you with mild amusement.

“Maybe an hour.” He drawls, watching as your eyes go wide.

“We’ll miss the briefing.” You manage, a little choked, as if that is the gravest of your concerns, and not the thoughts Soap has about taking full advantage of the privacy he has with you.

“Aye.” He replies with a snort. “Shame, that.”

You make a little sound at that, something between petulance and despair, slumping into the wall as your face crumples.

“Hey, easy.” Soap offers, voice gentler now as he approaches you, gloved hands easily balancing you by your elbows across the wall. “It’s alright lass. We’ll be free in no time. Take a breath for me, aye?”

You nod at that, eyes turned towards the ground to avoid his gaze as you suck in a deep breath, hold it, and then let it out slowly.

“Good girl.” He purrs, unable to help himself, and relishes the way your eyes dart up to his, pupils blown wide as you realize for the first time just how close he is.

This is dangerous.

He’s got you crowded into the wall of the lift, all but blocking escape with his brawny frame. The shadow of his figure falls over your smaller form, dwarfing you. His hands cup you by your arms, bare fingers skimming along your exposed skin and leaving goosebumps rising in their wake. Your captain’s expression is calm, but even with the overhead light backlighting his face, you can see the intent, the scarcely concealed fixation there hidden beneath kind eyes and whispered only though a knowing smirk.

Prey in a snare.

“S-sir-” You manage, voice tight as you finally realize the true nature of his intent with the way he hums a low, deep note in his chest that makes you shiver.

“Thought I wouldnae ken you watching me, bonnie?” He asks in a low, rumbling intonation that vibrates at the base of your skull. “Sneaking looks and off with the faeries everytime I called you a good girl?”

“I-” You try, and it’s a useless effort really. You could summon a thousand excuses, but you know none of them would work on him. Captain Mactavish’s eyes are too keen, too knowing for that. If he’s seen this much, if he’s seen the way you daydream while he doesn’t look, the way you try desperately to quell your infatuation with him, then there’s no use trying to pretend otherwise.

"You like being called a good soldier? A good lass?” He goes on, and you bite down hard on a whimper of want that threatens to bubble up your throat. Your captain’s thumbs stroke the inside of your elbow gently, pressing down on the divot of sensitive skin and loosing an unsteady breath from your chest.

“Look at you wobbling like a wee fawn.” He purrs in that low lilt of his. “This isn't because of me, is it? Developing feelings for your superior. Tut tut. Naughty thing."

“Captain-” Your voice is a strangled thing in your throat, choked by the cognitive dissonance of this, of something straight out of your wildest fantasies, a secret you keep to yourself in the dark of your bunk with your fingers buried between your thighs.

John hums, allowing his eyes to roam down your form, gently caged into the wall as you are, eyes glimmering with a hunger you didn’t know he possessed- A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Tell me to stop.” He murmurs then, voice serious. “I won’t touch you. I’ll transfer you if that’s what you want.”

“No.” Your answer comes so quickly it surprises even you, and suddenly your fingers are gripping on the inside of his forearms as if trying to keep him from retreating. “...Please.”

He gives you a moment, then another to reconsider, to retract your agreement and shove him off you. When you don’t, your captain grins.

“Shy little bonnie.” He croons. “Didnae have the words to ask for what you wanted from your superior, did you?”

You shudder when his gloved palm cups your cheek, leaning instinctively into it, sweet and willing. His thumb presses down on the plush bed of your bottom lip, and it takes a moment of courage to part your lips, lean forward so it rests on your tongue instead.

The sound your captain makes is carnivorous.

Hungry, wanting, dark as sin as he watches you engulf the digit and make eye contact with him, as if tempting danger. He tastes like the steel like of a sharp blade, cutting through your senses and leaving crimson want dripping against your thoughts.

He removes his thumb so a drip of spit trails after it, and before it can spill your captain bends and kisses you.

It’s dizzying, all consuming, all open lips as he groans into you, one arm snaking around to the small of you back to balance you on wobbly legs, the other gripping your chin and directing you exactly how he wants you, tilting your head just so he can kiss you deeper. You feel unbalanced by the sheer force of it, leaving little choice but to clutch at his uniform, go a little limp in his arms and mewling into his open mouth.

“Aye, that’s it.” He groans between wet, sloppy kisses, dragging his teeth over your bottom lip and feeling you press back into him, eager for more. “Fuckin beautiful, hen.”

His warm breath spills against your open throat, where you think he might bestow a killing bite if you’d let him, groaning in appreciation at the raw, heady taste of you as he takes everything you can bear to give him.

“Sir-” You whine when he wedges a knee between your legs, hands planted firmly on your ass so he drags your clothed cunt over the rise of his thick thigh. “Oh God-”

“No God here, love.” He huffs as your head flops gently to the side, his words fanning across the shell of your ear so you shudder. “Just you an’ me.”

That might be for the best, you think. One less witness to the act of your captain defiling you the way you’ve dreamt of for longer than you care to remember.

Your captain’s hands grasp the fat of your ass as you give an experimental rock onto his thigh, stifling a little whimper as you do. It only makes him chuckle, dark and hungry into your ear as he nibbles on the sensitive skin beneath your jaw.

“C’mon lass, you can do better than that.” He huffs, and you feel him smile against your neck. “Go on, take what you need. Wanna feel you get off just from grinding on my leg like this.”

You’re not sure if you can, honestly, but gods above do you want to try.

You grab at his neck for support, pressing him further as he bows over you, engulfs you with the heat of his frame. Then you allow your knees to fold, letting him support the weight of you as you begin to drag yourself along his thigh.

The friction is delicious, sends your nerve endings alight with sensation as the pleasure of it spills past your lips with an open groan. You wonder if the mere act of this, of humping your superior’s leg like a cat in heat while he purrs praises into your ear, does more for you than the actual motion itself. Either way, you begin to feel a warmth unfurling in your core, cunt clenching down on a needing emptiness that has you bury a whimper into his shoulder.

“Thaaat’s it.” MacTavish- John, you wonder if he’ll let you call him, croons in your ear. “Lemme hear all those pretty noises, hen.”

You do, realizing there’s no one else to hear you. You give in, allow him to hear every hitch in your chest, every shuddering gasp and breathless plea of “S-sir-”

“Feel good?” He asks, hands kneading the swell of your ass as he helps rock you along his thigh. “Just imagine bonnie, could have had this weeks ago if you’d only let me.”

He’s right. If you’d only said something to him, had made a move on him, then you could have been having his low, Scottish lilt purr right in your ear as you try to get off ages ago.

But this is good too.

“Cannae even imagine how much it took for me not to pounce on you.” He huffs, pressing fluttering kisses against the thrum of your pulse. “All those sweet little looks you thought I couldn’t see, the way you were mooning over me like I wouldnae notice-”

“That’s- that’s not-” You try, managing to sound a little indigent despite your heaving breaths.

“Oh I know, bonnie.” He croons with a huff of laughter. “You were just trying to be a good soldier, didn’t want to get caught seducing your superior, aye? What would the other officers think?”

You whimper at that, clutching a little tighter if only out of a remnant pulse of shame. Yet John doesn’t let you stop, drags you more insistently over the bulge of his thigh straining through his pants.

“They don’t get to know.” He tells you, smirking. “They don’t get to know how sweet ye are like this, how pretty you look trying to come all over my leg, aye bonnie?”

You feel it rising inside you, feel your oncoming climax mount with every low rumble of words against your skin, with the way his scent clouds your senses so there’s nothing else but the sensation of him, the pleasure of you grinding your wet, empty cunt against his leg.

“C’mon, little one. Can feel you trying. What’dye need?” He huffs, and you shake your head into his shoulder.

“Empty.” You tell him in a little, shy whisper, face burning as you refuse to look him in the eyes. Yet a hand catches your cheeks, turns you up to his gaze so you have no choice but to look into his bright, glimmering stare.

“What was that?” He asks, and Gods, you think he may eat you alive. “Need to use your words, sweetheart.”

“E-empty.” You tell him a little louder, catching sight of the glassy eyed stare reflected in his eyes, feeling your legs shake with the effort of trying to hold your own weight.

“Oh poor wee lass.” John sighs, bending down to kiss you again, swallowing the little whimper that bubbles up your throat. “Dinnae fash, I’ll take care of you.”

He pulls away so quickly you nearly drop to the floor, were it not for the hand slung across your hip that keeps you upright. You hear the clink of a belt, and for a single hopeful moment you think maybe it’s his, only to groan in disappointment and need as he squirms his hand past your own waistband, slinking his fingers between your folds.

“Christ almighty, lass, you’re soaking wet.” He breathes, bracing his forehead against yours so you feel his warm huff of air on your swollen lips. “Just from this?”

Yeah. This. You want to tell him. As if ‘this’ isn’t something straight out of your wildest wet dreams, him easily handling you in close quarters, treating you with greedy hands and yet touching you as if you’re something prized, a beautiful weapon he’s admired from afar for far too long.

When he sinks a finger into you John groans a deep, resounding noise in his chest, open and appreciating the way your slick heat instantly clenches around his fingers.

“Fuck, the feel of you, hen.” He breathes as he pumps his fingers with deliberate slowness, as you whimper and writhe and try to force yourself down onto his hand to chase your just out of reach climax. “So warm and tight, cannae even imagine how you’d feel around my cock.”

“Please.” You gasp desperately, body flushed with want as you grind against his fingers, seeking to angle them just right. “Captain.”

The sound John makes is primal, and you’re given little warning before suddenly he’s plunging a second finger into you, giving you only a moment to adjust to the stretch before he’s setting a rapid pace that has you wail into his chest.

“Is alright lass, I got you. C’mon, wanna feel you cum all over my hand.” He growls, panting, entire body coiled tight as he pushes you further towards your climax. “I’ll fuck you proper after, promise. Just need to feel it when you come, wanna hear how pretty you sound, c’mon-”

It’s that thought, the one of him having you right here in the lift, bending you against the wall and fucking you just like this that makes you arch with a broken little shout, clenching down hard on his fingers as he slowly works you through it, murmuring sweet endearments down at you as you tremble. You feel your walls pulse around his thick digits, coating them in slick and you realize too late he never took his glove off.

You nearly buckle as the last pulse of pleasure pulses bright and powerful through you, clutching at him with a little whimper as you come down slowly. You’re warm all over, muscles flooded with a bright release that has you wobble where you stand. The pulse of your heartbeat echoes in your ears and you try desperately to catch your breath amidst it all.

And, naturally, that’s the moment when the lift starts moving again.

You almost entirely lose your balance when the floor beneath you jolts, squeaking as you lean fully into your captain. He doesn’t seem to be caught off guard at all. If anything, John seems amused at the sudden motion of the elevator, huffing a warm sound of disbelief up towards the ceiling.

“Think we’ll still be late for that meeting, bonnie?” He asks, grinning mischievously, as if he didn’t just make you come so hard your knees wobble.

“No sir.” You breathe, leaning back against the wall as he pulls his hand from your pants, leaning up and licking his fingers free of your wetness.

“Fuck.” You breathe helplessly, head flopping back. “You’re glove-”

He hums, as if just now realizing you stained the palm of his fingerless glove, pulling the velcro strap with his teeth as one hand balances you while you regain your strength.

“Keep it safe for me.” He tells you, jamming it into your front pocket as the lift whines to a halt. “Give it back to me later. After the meeting.”

After can mean a lot of things, you realize.

The lift dings pleasantly, and your captain hauls a brawny arm to keep the door open for you, ever the gentleman.

“Go on then lass,” He smiles, friendly and easygoing despite the knowing, hungry glimmer in his gaze. “Tell them I’ll be a few. Have to give the mechanics a talkin to.”

You nod, still a little shell shocked, a little disheveled, blinking dazedly as you scoot past him, then pause.

Checking the hallway, you twirl around and lean up to kiss him so you hear the little breath of surprise against your lips.

“After, captain?” You ask sweetly, blinking your lashes up at him and watching his pupils blow wide.

“After.” He declares, voice just as sultry, leaning down to nip teasingly in front of your face, fangs and all.

You sway off to the meeting, sneak into the back row and explain the hold up, and nobody looks at you twice, shy as you are. When your captain comes in five minutes later, only you notice the way he struts to the front of the room, smirking wide and assured as he briefs his men on their next target.

“Weapons hot, lads.” He declares, arms crossed, a smile taunting danger. “We’re danger close.”

#john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #captain mactavish x reader #captain mactavish #captain mactavish x you #I saw a gifset and went a little feral apologies #This is also unbetad to hell so sorry for that too

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willowbelle · 2 months

Text

A Doctor's Cure

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: established relationship, doctor-patient dynamics, breast play, oral (f receiving), dom!law, sub!reader, law is a tease, lots of teasing, edging, begging, praise, reassurance, piv sex, exam-room-sex (hehe), use of “doctor”, "good girl", "sweetheart", "tell me what you want", etc.

summary: law and reader have a double-sided relationship: patient and doctor, & lovers. They aim to keep the two partnerships separate, but Law's work has him neglecting reader's needs, making her resort to rather drastic measures to get her partner/doctor's undivided attention. ;)

word count: ~4,000

tagging: @bby-deerling @risenwrites @strawheart-pirate @uchihabbynic @nina-ya @mandiemegatron@shamblespirate@eelnoise@maddddstuff @throwmethroughawindow @mariihzoka @basedbogwizard

A Doctor's Cure

You and Law shared an understanding.

Work is professional; must always be kept that way, and private life is exactly that:

private.

The two must never intertwine.

------

The office is cold, frigid, uninviting.

The room exudes an aura of sterile austerity, its walls painted in a clinical shade of white that seemed to swallow any hint of warmth or comfort. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh, unforgiving glow that accentuated the starkness of the room. The air is heavy with the scent of antiseptic, mingling with the faint tang of ink from the doctor's neatly stacked files.

Against one wall stands a row of cabinets, their metal surfaces gleaming dully in the artificial light. Each drawer is meticulously labeled, a testament to its owner’s penchant for order and precision. A single window, obscured by heavy blinds, offers a glimpse of the outside depths of the sea, but the view is obscured by the grime of neglect.

In the center of the room sits the doctor's desk, a polished slab of dark wood that seems out of place amidst the clinical surroundings. Behind it, a high-backed chair looms, its leather upholstery cracked and worn from years of use. On the desk itself lies an array of instruments - a stethoscope coiled neatly beside a stack of paperwork, a computer monitor flickering silently in the corner.

-----

The doctor is the same; silent, calculated, meticulous.

He commands the room with a towering presence; his tall, lean frame exuding an aura of quiet strength. Despite his slim build, there’s an unmistakable muscularity to his physique, hinted at by the subtle contours visible beneath his crisp, white coat.

Dark hair, swept beneath his speckled hat, frames a face weathered by years of dedication. His features are chiseled, a strong jawline, softened only by the hint of a tired smile that plays at the corners of his lips. It’s his eyes that hold the most intrigue – tired grey orbs, rimmed with heavy bags that speak volumes of sleepless nights.

Despite the weariness that etches lines upon his face, there’s an undeniable intensity to his gaze.

-----

As you pad into the room, the frigid air tickles your spine, climbs up your back, sinks its claws in. It’s not just from the temperature, there’s a palpable aura of detachment that fills the room, too, leaving you uneasy.

Law sits behind the desk, framed by sterile white walls, his expression inscrutable. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, eyes you up and down, seeming to dissect you even before words left your lips.

You clear your throat, the nervous noise echohing in the stillness of the room as you take a seat on the exam table.

You didn’t need to be here. You weren’t sick. Law had simply grown neglectful, consumed by his work. And so, driven by desperation for his attention, you resort to a lie.

"La-,” you begin, but swiftly correct yourself, “Doctor, I've been experiencing these persistent headaches..."

Maintaining a romantic relationship with your doctor requires a delicate balancing-act. In the privacy of your shared moments, away from the sterile confines of the doctor's office, your relationship is beautiful, intense, passionate. But here, you are nothing more than a patient, and for professional reasons, behind these doors, it must be kept that way.

His response is measured, delivered with the precision of a well-practiced routine.

"Describe the nature of your headaches," he says, voice devoid of any warmth.

Your interactions take on a dual nature; each appointment serving as both a professional consultation and an opportunity to revel in the comfort of each other's presence. However, away from this room, the professional barriers dissolve, replaced by an intimacy that transcends the confines of your roles.

“Well, they've been getting worse," you speak softly, glancing at the floor as you anxiously play with your fingers, "It's like a constant pressure behind my eyes, and sometimes it feels like my vision is blurry."

As you recount your symptoms, his eyes never waver from yours, his silence almost suffocating. Each word you utter seem to be met with a calculated pause, as if he were processing every detail, every nuance.

As Law listens to your fabricated symptoms, his brow furrows in concern, his demeanor shifting subtly as he leans forward, attentive to your every word. Despite the guilt gnawing at your conscience, you press on with your deceit,

“It just hurts so badly,” you rasp, “I’m desperate for something, anything, to help me.”

You weren’t talking about your head. Your skull didn’t hurt. His neglect did.

He reaches forwards, tattooed fingers rubbing reassuring circles into your kneecap. His touch lingers a moment longer than necessary, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes of the things you shared. Despite its cold, calculating exterior, his gaze offers a of something that transcends the confines of your doctor-patient relationship, understanding, love, devotion.

The familiar warmth of his fingers seems to seep into your skin, dismissing the chill that had clung to your flesh the moment you entered the office.

"I know, baby," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the floor as he speaks. "I'm so sorry."

“Baby?” your throat feels dry, making the word catch in your mouth. “Doctor…” you regift his title, but instead of accepting it, he places a reassuring palm on your thigh.

"I know I've been busy lately, I've overlooked you," he admits, his voice heavy with regret. "I'm so sorry."

"B-But, we had an agreement," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “In here,” you glance around the room as you speak, “I’m just your patient.”

His gaze softens, a flicker of understanding crossing his features.

"I know," he says gently, his voice tinged with regret. "But sometimes lines blur,” he gulps, “And it's impossible to ignore what's truly important."

You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. For so long, you had clung to the illusion of professionalism, hiding behind the guise of patient and doctor to shield yourself from this very moment of vulnerability.

But now, faced with his unwavering sincerity, you realize that the walls you had built around your heart were no match for the depth of your love for Trafalgar Law.

“Law,” you say softly, abandoning his professional title, “Just kiss me.”

And he listens, immediately closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss.

It's a kiss filled with pent-up longing, a culmination of the emotions that have simmered beneath the surface for far too long.

His free hand rests gently on your face as his lips meld with yours, rubbing gentle circles into the apple of your cheek.

You let out a shaky breath into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between your open lips.

A wave of conflicting emotions washes over you. Relief mingles with lingering hurt, and the weight of his apology hangs heavy in the air.

But as his tongue dances with yours, the clinical walls of the exam room dissolve into nothingness, and in that moment, you transcend the roles of patient and doctor. The world around you fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours. You are no longer merely his patient; you are his lover once more, entwined in an embrace that knows no bounds.

He wastes no time in moving atop you, shrugging his labcoat off his toned, tattooed shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the tile.

As he advances, you recline against the crisp, white paper that lines the examination table, yielding to his presence. He leans over you, his weight enveloping you, strong arms framing your head as he cages you in.

His inked hands travel up and down your needy body, making you shiver beneath his touch.

“Law,” you whine weakly, taking his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging gently on the tender flesh, “Doctor,”

The doctor simply groans in response to your desperate plea, a deep blush rushing to his cheeks at your intimate use of his professional title.

A smirk tugs at his lips,

“Tell me where it hurts,” the doctor rasps, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

To your surprise, he's fully engaged, playing along with a fervor that electrifies you to your core.

He slides a hand down, carefully spreading your thighs to allow his torso to slot between your legs. You allow you head to fall back, moaning softly at the sensation of his crotch meeting yours.

His hips immediately get to work, skillfully grinding his throbbing erection against your aching cunt as his hands tangle themselves in your hair.

Although you’ve only just begun, your face is already flushed and your chest is heaving. Desire pricks at your skin and leaves you trembling for more.

“Doctor,” you whine.

Your needy state ignites something within your doctor, and he picks up the pace, making you whine and tilt your head upwards to nip at his ear.

“Please, help me.”

“How do you want me to help you, love?” he teases, tilting back to allow his slender fingers to snake in between your crotches, slowing rubbing tight circles into your clothed clit.

“F-Fuck,” you softly curse, twitching instinctively at the long-awaited sensation of his hands finally meeting the place you needed them most.

But to your dismay, he stops, bringing the hand up again to hold your chin, tilting your face to look at him.

“That doesn’t tell me anything, dear. I can’t cure you if you don’t tell me what’s got you so bothered.”

You’re losing your composure now, head growing fuzzy frim his relentless teasing.

“Mm, Lawww,” you whine weakly at the loss, instantly reaching down to grasp his wrist and bring it back to your aching sex, “Please-”

“Please?” he questions, a smug look decorating his usually-stoic face, “Please what?” he begins kissing down your neck, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “Oh, and I don’t believe we’re on a first name basis just quite yet, so that’s doctor to you.”

He nips at your delicate skin as he continues to kiss down the column of your neck, “Let's try that again.”

“P-Please, doctor,” you correct yourself, “Fuck me.”

“Mmm,” the tall man hums, “That’s not a very professional request, but since you asked so nicely, I guess I’ll let it slide.”

With one arm supporting his weight above you, he begins working on his belt with the other, his gaze fixed upon you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. The predatory gleam in his eyes makes you feel small, vulnerable, yet oddly exhilarated by the primal desire that courses between you.

Before long, his belt hits the tile floor with a resounding clang, causing you to startle slightly as he looms over you.

He chuckles softly, amused by your vulnerability.

“Why don’t you do us both a favor and strip?” he mumbles softly, voice tinted with lust, “It’ll allow me to properly cure you.”

His dedication to this roleplay elicits a soft, playful giggle from you, yet beneath the surface of amusement, there lies a greater sensation; a tingling arousal that spreads through your limbs and makes your head spin.

“Of course, doctor,” you play along, promptly obeying his orders and peeling your clothes from your needy body.

As you gradually raise your blouse over your head, Law's unwavering gaze remains fixed on you, stripping away any pretense or barrier. Even before your clothes are fully removed, his intense stare leaves you feeling utterly exposed, vulnerable, and entirely at his mercy.

As his eyes travel up and down your naked form, something new dances beneath his steel irises, admiration, completely enthralled by the sight before him.

His lingering gaze sends a flush of warmth rushing to your cheeks, and you find yourself instinctively turning your head to the side, a shy smile playing at the corners of your lips as a bit of embarrassment washes over you.

He gently tilts your face back towards him, his touch tender yet confident,

“Beautiful,” he says simply.

He opts to help you unclasp your bra, making you lean forwards slightly so he can snake his arm around you.

You let out a shaky breath against his chest, allowing him to strip you.

The cool air hitting your breasts causes your nipples to harden instantly, earning a pleased groan from Law’s mouth.

“I suppose I should join you,” he smirks, referring to your nakedness.

And so he does, inked fingers curling around the hem of his undershirt as he leisurely peels it over his head. Your eyes widen at the sight of his exposed torso; while you've seen it before, of course, the unexpected setting amplifies its allure. Beneath these foreign fluorescent lights, in this room where you never imagined seeing him this way, the contours of his muscles glimmered like something new, forbidden, enticing.

Once shirtless, he moves atop you again, lips swiftly attaching to the soft flesh of your chest. You let out a moan as his mouth slowly makes its way towards your breast.

You lean yoiur head back, letting a few gaspy moans escape your throat as his hot tongue swirls around your erect nipple.

“L-La-” you whine, “Doctor-”

He groans against your breast before gently nipping at it, his tongue continuing its efforts as it lazily swirls around the needy bud.

“Yeah?” he rasps, his other hand coming up to grasp onto your neglected breast, “Tell me, how does that feel? Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

“M-Mhmm,” you mewl in agreement, reaching down to tug at his strands of dark hair, “B-But I need more-”

“Oh?” the doctor groans, tilting his head to glance up at you, dark grey irises seeming to dissect you as they bore into your face, “What more do you need?”

You pause for a moment, meeting his gaze with a hint of hesitation, torn between yielding to his request and remaining illusive.

Noticing your hesitation, Law’s gaze darkens, and pinches your nipple between his slender fingers, gently tugging at it, determined to pry the answer from you.

“If you can’t tell me what you need,” he smirks, “Then I can’t help you feel better.”

Sensing the threat in his tone, you let out a shaky sigh, abandoning all dignity as you open your mouth to speak,

“You,” you whine, reaching down to place a delicate palm on the growing bulge beneath his pants, “I need you inside me, doctor.”

And with that, Law’s lips are on yours again, pressing his flesh against yours with a newfound passion, his tongue exploring your mouth as if it was oxygen and he was suffocating; his lifeline.

“Mm-mm!” you whine, instinctively bucking your hips up to reward yourself the euphoric sensation of his crotch rubbing against yours.

He wastes no time in pulling his pants down, tossing the garmet to the side as he works on peeling his boxers off, too.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he steadies himself above you, one arm holding himself up, caging you in as he reaches his free hand down to grip his cock.

The white paper crinkles beneath you as Law begins rubbing is weeping tip along your folds, earning a pleased sigh from your mouth.

“Are you ready for me?” he leans down to whisper in your ear.

You take a deep inhale, reaching upwards to grip onto his muscular, tattooed back, grounding yourself.

“I’m ready, doctor.”

He begins to push inside you, a low groan rumbling out of his chest as he stretches out your entrance with each forward movement.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he rasps, “Need to stretch you out.”

You whine weakly as Law continues to push his cock inside you, his impressive length forcing your insides to open up, accepting him greedily.

“M-mm, sh-shit,” you curse, throwing your head back as Law finally bottoms out, the tip of his cock granting your cervix with a gentle kiss as he’s now fully engulfed within you.

He gives you time to adjust, peppering reassuring kisses onto your face until you give him the “Okay” to start moving.

"I've got you," he reassures you, his voice a soothing balm against the pain between your legs. It's a stark contrast to the cold, professional tone he had maintained before, his words now infused with warmth and genuine concern.

Before long, your body relaxes beneath him, around him, and you glance upwards to meet his gaze with a gentle nod,

“Doctor, you can start,” you whine softly.

And with your permission, Law begins, bringing his hips back to thrust into you slowly, carefully, testing the waters to see how much you can take.

“Fuck,” you moan, the noise exciting the man above you, causing him to smirk as he glances down at your trembling form.

“You’re doing so good, y/n,” he praises, groaning as he picks up the pace a bit, “You take me so good-”

“O-Oh, d-doctor,” you whimper, stumbling over your words, glancing downwards to watch his cock disappear in and out of you over and over again.

“Yeah?” he groans, “Like what you see, baby?” he grins wolfishly, bringing both hands down to grip your waist so he can pummel his length into your needy cunt.

“Y-Yes-!” you whine sheepishly, your face flushed red and beading with sweat.

His newfound roughness ignites something within you; singes your blood with a desperate, euphoric type thing. You rake your nails down the doctor’s back, whimpering and writhing beneath him as the pace of his thrusts never falters.

His skilled cock is meeting all the right places; battering your sweet spot, making you see stars. But just as you’re approaching your orgasm, he pulls out, raising himself up and stepping off the exam table.

Your breath catches in your lungs and you’re trembling, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at the man who so devilishly deprived you of reaching your peak.

“L-La-” you begin to whine, but before you can finish, he’s on his knees in front of the exam table, slotting his head between your legs to grant your aching slit with hot, skillful licks.

He groans into your cunt, sending vibrations through your body as his steel irises glare up at you from between your trembling thighs.

You shake beneath him, letting out a trembling vibrato of a moan as you collapse back onto the crisp paper of the exam table, allowing your doctor’s gifted tongue to have its way with you.

“Mm, fuck,” he groans in between licks, “You taste so fucking good.”

“A-Ah!” you cry out, back arching off the table as your hand shoots down to tangle itself in Law’s thick scalp of dark hair.

Law places a palm on your stomach, gently pressing your back down into the table,

“Stay still, baby,” he rasps, “This will help, I promise.”

With a few more stripes of his tongue, he latches onto your clit, forcing a loud moan to escape your lips.

“O-Oh, doctor!” you cry out, eyes screwing shut from pleasure as he sucks greedily on your aching nub.

“Mmm,” he moans, lazily shaking his head back and forth, his hot tongue dancing skillfully over your needy clit.

You lace your fingers in his hair, desperately tugging on the strands, eager for release.

Before you can even comprehend it, he’s up again, towering over you as you shake and whimper on the exam table.

He smirks at he gazes down at you, offering you no remorse, just a simple command,

“Flip over for me.”

Knowing better than to disobey your doctor, you do just as you’re told, turning over so your stomach is pressed against the table and your ass is in the air.

You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking as he chuckles darkly, “Good girl,” he praises, completely enthralled by your unwavering obedience.

In an instant, he’s behind you, palm resting on the small of your back as he lines his cock up with your entrance, teasing you by merely rubbing his tip along your folds.

“Doctorrr-” you whimper, bucking your hips to earn more stimulation from his throbbing cock.

Although he wants to tease you more, you’re deserate, and he’s no better, so he relinquishes control, immediately grasping your hips and thrusting himself into you fully.

The intrusion is sudden, but welcomed, making you throw your head back and cry out in both pleasure and a hint of pain.

Sensing your discomfort, Law uses his fingertips to rub comforting circles into your flesh as he grips your hips,

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart,” he reassures you, his hips meeting the flesh of your ass with lewd smacking sounds as he thrusts in and out of you.

“Fuck-!” you moan loudly, your cunt greedily accepting his length with tight, hot squeezes as he moves in and out.

He reaches forwards, inked fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he tugs on the strands, forcing your head back to give himself access to your neck. He leans forwards, forcing himself deeper inside you and making you let out a weak whine as he places passionate kisses along your newly-exposed neck.

“Sh-Shit,” he curses in your ear as he groans, “That pussy’s so fucking good to me.”

Your face flushes at the lewness of his words, letting more moans escape your lips as his twitching cock greets your sweetspot with a euphoric nudge.

Your head starts to spin as Law’s thrusts begin to grow sloppy; he’s close and you’re not far behind.

He’s gaining momentum but losing his rhythm as he thrusts in and out of you, desperately chasing his orgasm, groaning through gritted teeth.

“Y/n,” the doctor groans, throwing his head back, “S-So close," he stumbles on his words, thrusting more feverishly now, making you cry out beneath him.

“Law-!” you whimper shakily, abandoning his professional title as euphoria washes over you, your white-hot orgasm clouding your vision as it courses through your veins.

He finishes in time with you, unapologetically painting your insides white as he moans heartily, granting you with a few more weak thrusts before he leans forwards to collapse on your back.

You're both panting, the echo of your shared climax still lingering in the air, sweat glistening on your skin as you simultaneously come down from your highs.

As the clouds of pleasure that had circled your brain finally begin to dissipate, you’re met with reality again; Law planting gentle kisses to your face as he whispers sweet praises into your ear.

But even as you lay here together, only one thing consumes your mind.

"Law," you begin weakly, stealing a glance at the man behind you.

"Hm?" he responds, his tone curious and attentive. "What is it, love?"

"How did you know I was lying?" you ask, your voice tinged with laughter, still catching your breath. "About being sick?"

He chuckles gently, his lips grazing your nape with a soft kiss before he answers, his voice laced with both amusement and affection.

"I've spent enough time with you to know when something's off," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "And besides," he adds, his tone playful, "I could never resist the opportunity to give you a little extra treatment.”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

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roosterr · 1 year

Text

murphy's law

a/n: ive had this idea in my head for a while so i decided to dump it out of my brain for all of you to enjoy. somewhat inspired by lunarvicar's amazing wonderful fic to the flame i really love her writing so check it out yo also i haven't written anything in years so cut me some slack :')

pairing: captain john price x gn!reader

summary: when a simple mission goes south, you get left behind in the confusion. you just can't seem to catch a break.

no use of y/n, callsign is 'vantage'

no physical description, but reader is (very) vaguely implied to be shorter than price

warnings: descriptions of injury (nothing too graphic), canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, minor character death, i don't know how the military works lmao, lots of swearing bc i can't help myself

word count: 8.6k

read it on ao3 here

✹✹✹

it was a straightforward mission; in and out, grab what you need, and you'd be home in time for dinner. nothing you hadn't handled before.

ghost and price were on overwatch; the lieutenant was positioned with his rifle on a rooftop across the street, whilst the captain stayed in the suv with a laptop to keep an eye on the surveillance cameras around the exterior of the building.

you'd had your eyes on this intel for months now, biding your time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. your opening had finally arrived, and with all that time spent planning, it was going so well.

that should have been the first red flag.

the second, more apparent, warning sign was that anything you found as you, gaz, and soap swept the building was either something you already knew, or irrelevant. how was that possible? the location of this facility was a heavily guarded secret, you'd fought tooth and nail to find it; why spend so much effort hiding something which had such little value?

you'd ventured to the second floor, up the damp stairwell and further into the eerily quiet building. there must be something worth hiding here, you just had to find it. you certainly weren't planning on going home empty handed.

you paused your movement into the dark, staring down the empty corridor through the sights of your gun. you felt your stomach turn, and swallow down the sick taste of bile in your throat. for everything you'd done to get here…

it was going so… well.

bringing your hand to the radio on your chest, you don't bother to calm the shake in your voice before speaking.

"does this feel off to anyone–"

you're cut off by price's shouting, a twinge of panic in his voice you aren't used to hearing from him.

"fuck– it's an ambush! get out of there, now!"

you're about to respond, when you hear gunshots from below you. soap and gaz were downstairs, where the hostiles were pouring into the building, and you were on your own upstairs.

the shots from ghost's rifle make your ears ring, even from across the street.

"vantage, get yer arse down here, there's too many of 'em!" soap's yelling brings you out of your haze, and you can't find the energy to respond as you take off running, back to the stairs you came up. "shit– man down! gaz is hit! they're coming up, vantage!"

you just about register what he said when the door to the stairway bursts open only a few metres ahead of you. diving into the nearest open room, you narrowly avoid a bullet to the gut, and slam the door shut behind you.

shit. fuck. fucking shit.

you counted at least four hostiles up here, and with gaz injured, soap would most likely be dragging him back to the suv you all arrived in, where price was waiting, which meant…

you really were alone.

well, ghost was out there, but he was a man of self preservation. he wouldn't risk coming in here to save you. not when you were this fucked.

your chest felt tight, now, and you could hear the enemies shouting on the other side of the wall. come on, you plead with yourself, do something!

snapping your head to look around the room you'd trapped yourself in, your eyes linger on the filing cabinets lining the wall next to you. you can drag them over here, barricade the door.

prolong your survival, or delay the inevitable.

you hadn't noticed how hard your nails were digging into your palms until you went to grip the cabinet. the half-moon divots stung against the cool metal as you heaved it in front of the door.

now the hostiles are outside, rattling the wall with their attempts to kick the door down.

you drag another one, for safe measure. you pray they'll be heavy enough.

through the blood rushing in your ears, you can just about make out price's voice.

"vantage, answer me dammit! what is your bloody status!"

"i'm good– i'm good," you manage to get out between pants, never once taking your eyes off the door. willing your heartbeat to slow down. "not injured, just– stuck in a room upstairs."

"that doesn't sound good to me."

it all went quiet when he spoke to you. at first you thought it was just because your focus had shifted– because it was him– but it really was quiet now.

"yeah, i… they're– wait, they're not at the door anymore, they…"

hold on.

what?

"ghost, you got eyes? what's happenin' over there?" there's a sense of urgency to your captain's voice, and for a single selfish moment, you think he might be worried for you beyond that of a just soldier. your frenzied mind lingers on that thought.

the gruff voice of ghost brings you back to reality,

"they're setting charges– vantage, you need to find a way out."

charges. explosives.

all you can muster is a half-hearted, "shit…"

deep down, you know that isn't going to happen. you wouldn't have time to run down the stairs, and even if you did you'd only be walking right into their bullets. there's nothing they can do to help. and you think, deep down, they know that too.

this is it, then, you think to yourself, am i really going to die like this?

and for another fleeting moment, you're filled with regret that you would never get to see john's face again. all the stolen glances, lingering touches, inside jokes; none of it would ever amount to anything. would he remember you? would he even come back for your dog tags?

the tightness is back in your heart, but it's different this time.

your eyes still don't leave the door as your back hits the wall. the faint moonlight gives the room a soft glow, serene, and your heart sinks further into your stomach.

the moonlight;

the window, the outside.

not an ideal escape route, but these were hardly ideal circumstances.

you didn't waste a second with hesitation and backed up for a running start. you thank every deity you can think of that you always insisted on wearing a helmet.

this was going to hurt, but it was better than the alternative.

"van, you have to get out, please!" you're not even sure who's talking in your ear anymore, but you know who you want it to be.

for him, you think to yourself, i have to make it back to him.

with a deep breath, you take off into a sprint, tucking your head into your elbow and diving shoulder first through the glass.

as you free fall out the second storey window, you think you hear john calling your name, your real name, and you think you feel a flutter in your chest. it was almost peaceful.

and then you hit the ground.

with a thump and a sickening crack, you rolled unceremoniously and ended up on your side, in the snowy alleyway behind the building you were just trapped in; the building that was about to be demolished. your elbow muffled your pained cry.

right, explosives, the reason you jumped to begin with.

your teammates are still going berserk in your ear, yelling at each other or you or both, but you can't bring yourself to respond. you could answer them once you were a safe distance away– and when you could breathe without heaving. as you stand, swaying on your feet, you feel your ribs shift in a way they definitely aren't supposed to, filling you once again with the innate urge to vomit.

but you swallow that down; it'll have to wait, you need to get as far away as possible, now.

your hands braced your broken ribs– and you notice, then, that your shoulder is killing you too– as you stumble down another alley, leading away from the building. you slip and almost fall on the untouched snow, but somehow manage to catch yourself. in the back of your mind, you notice you lost your rifle at some point. you'd have to survive with just your pistol.

for a moment, you almost felt that you'd gotten away, that you'd made the perfect escape.

of course, it was too perfect.

the charges finally went off. you were thrown forward, and despite your helmet, everything went black.

✹✹✹

your ribs flared with agony at the ragged breath you took, blinking your eyes open as consciousness returned to you. darkness swarmed your vision, contrasting the pure white of the snow that was slowly freezing your extremities, and you fought with every bit of self-restraint you had not to cry. your eyes stung anyway.

how long were you out? you were still in the alley, and you hadn't been found by anyone yet, so it couldn't have been long. i need to move, is the only thought swirling in your head. with what little strength you could muster, you rolled yourself onto your back to look at the ruins behind you.

dust filled the air and coated everything in sight, obscuring your vision almost fully; but what you could make out, was the lights from your enemy's guns as they swept the rubble.

looking for you, presumably.

shit shit shit.

you had god knows how many broken ribs, your shoulder was fucked, and now your vision was swimming, and to top it all off you could barely hear yourself think over the violent ringing in your ears. this night just kept getting better and better.

it took everything in you not to scream at the agony as you dragged yourself behind a fallen dumpster, sitting up against the cold brick of the building behind you in an attempt to catch your breath.

in. out. in. out.

in.

out.

every move had your bones creaking in protest, the longer you sat here the more you felt every little cut and bruise and shard of glass littering your body. the dust in the air tickled your throat and threatened to make you cough up a lung, spots in your vision danced like fireflies, luring you back into the clutches of sleep.

no… i can't rest yet, you urged yourself to fight your drooping eyelids, i have to get back to the suv… they're waiting… for me…

the crunch of debris under heavy boots snaps you back to the present.

someone was approaching.

the optimist in you wanted to believe it was price, coming to rescue you. but you couldn't take that chance. your hand grips the pistol on your hip, drawing it out slowly to make as little noise as possible.

the shadowed figure came stumbling into view. your arm straightened to aim at their unprotected head, eyes wide and breathing laboured.

the man– the boy– locked eyes with you, flinging himself backwards to the wall opposite you with his hands held high.

your expression hardened. he was your enemy. his uniform made that clear. for a moment, neither of you moved, you weren't even sure if he was breathing anymore. like two wild animals, locked in a staredown, each of you waiting for the other to make the first move. which one of you was the hunter, and which one was the prey?

shooting him will draw his comrades over here. sparing him means he can call them over himself. a lose-lose.

lost in your internal debate as you stare at him, you vaguely notice his hand lowering to his belt, and in a moment of panic, your heart clenches in time with your finger to deliver a shot right between his eyes.

his body slid down the wall, a perfect mirror of your own as the life fades from his expression.

shit. again.

his friends must’ve heard that. with renewed, adrenaline fueled vigour, you scramble across the alley, and begin rifling through the packs on his chest and belt.

a twinge of guilt fills you as you notice his empty holsters. he wasn't even armed.

shaking your head, you find what you're looking for; a morphine shot. at least, that's what it looked like, the words on the label were swimming with the concussion you surely had. it would have to do.

you take the syringe carefully, and stick the end into the muscle of your thigh, through a rip in your pants you hadn't noticed before, and inject the solution. it would take a minute to kick in, but hopefully the painkiller would help you at least make it back to the suv where your team was waiting.

where price was waiting. god you hoped they were okay, him especially, though he was probably in the least danger of you all. what you wouldn't give to have stayed in the car with him.

pocketing the empty syringe, you spare another glance at the boy's face. his wide, lifeless eyes. the pack he was reaching for. the same one you found the morphine in.

he… was going to help you. and you'd killed him.

oh god. the realisation has your stomach turning for the third time that day.

you pressed his eyes shut and pushed yourself to stand. as you trudge your way to the far end of the alley, you keep your eyes forward. there wasn't time to linger.

with a deep breath, you steel yourself and begin to make your way through the cold, abandoned streets of the small town. the suv wasn't far, only a couple blocks away. it wouldn't take you long to get there, even with your injuries.

somewhere in the distance, you could hear terrified screaming, presumably the residents who were forced awake by the sound of the explosion.

now that the ringing had died down, you realise that you hadn't heard your teammates in a while. absent-mindedly, you bring a hand up to press the comms, and you almost start talking before you feel the plastic crunch under your fingers.

"oh for fucks sake."

of fucking course your radio was broken. it must have been crushed when you were flung forward by the explosion.

brilliant.

whatever, the suv would be in your sight soon anyway, you don't need it.

the cover of night made it significantly easier to hobble through the streets unseen, thanks to your all black gear. the enemy were still hovering around the destroyed building, but at least that meant they thought you were buried under there. hopefully they would stay distracted long enough for you to make it back.

god, fuck, you really couldn't wait to get back to base. you desperately needed a shower hot enough to melt your skin to scrub off all the dirt and blood from your body. the morphine had started to kick in now, but you still felt your ribs shift unnaturally with every heavy step. you'd definitely need a few weeks off to recover from this one, and you’d probably get an earful from the captain. you’d kill to hear his voice right now, even if he was yelling at you for being an idiot.

only a little further. then you’d be back with the safety of your team, with this godforsaken place in the rear view mirror. with the promise of being able to rest, your limbs seemed to grow heavier as the exhaustion finally made its way into your bones.

except, when you turn the final corner, you freeze, an ice-cold dread sweeping through your veins.

the car was gone.

it wasn’t there.

they weren’t there.

there was a stretch of tarmac that fresh snow just beginning to fall had yet to cover, tire-tracks that showed the u-turn the suv had done, blood on the snow from– you assume– gaz, empty bullet casings from the fight they put up.

but no suv.

no teammates.

no john.

no. no, no no no. they couldn’t have left you. that wasn’t how you did things in the 141. it was no man left behind, you knew that. maybe they’re just circling the area, you rationalised, desperately trying to calm your ragged breathing, yeah, they went to look for me. they wouldn’t leave me behind.

but they weren't here.

and as you followed the tire-tracks down the street, they didn’t go back into the town. they made a straight line, directly to the dirt track leading into the wilderness, clear as day in the snow. back the way you had all gotten here earlier that night.

your knees dampen from the snow, the painkiller in your system keeping you from feeling the impact. when did you fall over? there was no attempt to stop the searing hot tears this time as they ran through the dirt caked to your face. your throat constricted, lifting a hand to your mouth to muffle your hyperventilating.

they were gone.

long gone, without you.

they really had left you behind.

a mumble from somewhere to your left interrupts your breakdown. grief morphs into blinding rage for a split second; can i get a fucking break? you swing your arm still holding the pistol to point at whoever was watching you, twisting your abdomen in a way that has you gritting your teeth.

a woman, clutching her young son, shielding his eyes and ears from you.

you lower your gun. that’s not a mistake you’ll make twice. catching her eyes, you gesture for her to be quiet, which is quickly met with her frantic nodding.

it reminds you, you’re still not safe here. you were supposed to be, but hey, it looks like plans change. no man left behind– what a load of horseshit. you push yourself onto shaky legs, you only had a few hours until the morphine wore off, and you needed to be out of here before that happened. as fast as you could possibly muster, you begin to stumble towards the dirt track that disappears into the treeline, following the slowly disappearing tire-tracks.

✹✹✹

you managed to make it into the woods faster than you expected, and you found a fallen tree slightly off the path to take shelter behind while you licked your wounds. literal and metaphorical.

this was unbelievable. how could they leave you like that? if they’d only taken the time to do a quick lap of the building, they would’ve found you laying face down in the snow, and this whole mess could have been avoided. where were they off to in such a hurry anyway? it’s not like you guys had found anything sensitive.

oh, wait. gaz was shot. that had briefly slipped your mind. perhaps you were being a little selfish by getting so worked up by this, but then again, for all they knew you could have been in the same condition– or worse. they…

your breath hitched. and not from your injuries.

they thought you were dead. that would make sense, in the chaos of everything, and amidst your panic, you didn’t really do a good job keeping up with answering your comms. still though, you were definitely going to rip them all a new one when you got back; or maybe it would be the other way around.

either way, you couldn’t sit here and dwell on it all night. you needed to make it to the safehouse before they flew back to base. if you missed them this time, you really were well and truly fucked.

✹✹✹

"i've gotta be at least half-way by now," you lament, flopping down against another tree with a grunt in an attempt to calm the burning in your legs and chest. the morphine had worn off about a few hours ago, and you were finally feeling all the bleeding wounds you'd ignored before. nothing lethal, you hoped, aside from your shoulder, ribs, and splitting headache, it was mostly just a lot of glass in your skin.

when you left the town, it must have been just past midnight, and at this pace it would be well after morning before you made it back. you could just about see the first signs of dawn poking through the cloud layer.

the snow had gotten heavier, casting a haze over the horizon, but it hadn't escalated into a storm yet. even under all your gear, the cold was starting to bite at your limbs. your lack of gloves was a decision you were coming to regret; if you lost any fingers because of this you really were going to kill price.

"fuck, he thinks i'm dead…" you groan as you stare up at the sky. snowflakes catch in your eyelashes and threaten to freeze the tears as they well up in your eyes. was he as distraught as you currently were, you wonder? was he even moved at all, or were you just another soldier, just more paperwork he had to fill out?

being in love with your captain was so, so difficult. a mistake, most would say, and you used to tell yourself the same thing. but after knowing him, seeing the vulnerable parts of him he keeps closely guarded, you can't bring yourself to care. seeing his expression when you gifted him the cigars you bought for him, learning his favourite drink when you all went out after missions, trading stories over paperwork in his office late at night. even after everything you've been through together, you know, in your heart, he doesn't feel the same; he's your superior, you're his sergeant, and he is nothing if not an honest man. it can never work between you two. but despite it all, the only regret you have as you sit bleeding in the snow, is that you never told him how you felt.

please, don't leave me here…

in the back of your mind, you know they wouldn't go home without at least id-ing your body, but you were so shaken by the ongoing near death experience that your train of thought wasn't making much sense anymore.

the distant whirr of a helicopter snapped you back to reality. maybe it was… no, the 141 didn't have a helicopter here, which could only mean it was a hostile one. fucking fantastic. where you were slumped was right at the edge of the road, with very little cover from above. you needed to move further off the path, under the protection of the forest canopy.

with a laboured grunt, you pulled yourself back onto your feet, using the tree behind you as a crutch until you could catch your breath again. the helicopter was getting nearer now, close enough that you could almost make out the spotlight through the falling snow.

a brief jog was all you could manage to get away from the road. the snow wasn't deep enough to leave tracks that would be noticeable from the air, not through the shade of darkness. you still as the helicopter passes overhead. there's no change in its course, and you huff a breath of relief. at least you wouldn't have to try and outrun a chopper.

you watch the helicopter's silhouette fade into the night sky. there was nothing to do but carry on. you needed to get to the safehouse.

this was going to be a long night.

✹✹✹

hours, it had been hours since you first set off, so long in fact that it was essentially daytime. the sun hadn't fully risen, casting the world in a dim light that was just dark enough to keep you tripping over roots and holes in the ground.

the snow had let up a while ago, but the overcast clouds had stayed, the perfect match to your steadily declining mood. you thought you felt like shit earlier? if only you could have predicted how much worse it would get. you were acclimated to the pain by now, it reduced to a constant throbbing where your bones were broken. perhaps the icy temperature around you was numbing your injuries; it was either that or the shock.

ahead, you recognised a set of worn tire-tracks making a hard turn through a gap in the forest. there was no way of knowing it was the right way, but a spark of optimism ignites in your chest. maybe you were finally getting close. you just had to pray that your sense of direction was good enough to be leading you in the right direction.

you were right on top of the tracks now, and upon closer inspection, the pattern of the treads might just match the ones on the suv; you've had to fix that damn car so many times you'd know it in your sleep. they were messy, the snow making it hard to pick out, but you needed the hope right now.

this had to be them.

you go to continue down the clear path, to follow where your team had gone, but your luck just doesn't improve.

the mud slides under your foot, catching your ankle and toppling you in your attempt to struggle through. the breath is forced from your lungs as you impact the ground. you cry out through gritted teeth, feeling the strain of your muscles twisting far further than they're supposed to.

pain strikes through your ankle like lightning. drawing a breath is almost impossible from the pressure of your ribs. as you fight to sit up, the mud fights to drag you back down like quicksand.

fuck. another injury to slow you down.

muddy snow covers you from head to toe, the stabbing pain in your shoulder coming back in full force.

was that a car? the low rumbling from the direction you came from drew your attention, and you faintly see beams of headlights through the darkness. you momentarily forgot about your injuries, a frenzied panic making your blood run cold. another patrol. i need to go.

then, as you struggle to get up and out of sight, you feel a concerning pop from your kneecap, and you don't even have to look to know it's dislocated.

but there was no time to check the damage, you had to hide, now, or the truck would reach you and you'd have a lot more problems on your hands. you scramble onto your hands and knees, and yank your ankle free of the wet mud, practically throwing yourself behind the undergrowth just in time for the truck to round the bend.

your ribs are displaced again, injecting fresh pain into the shuddering breath you took, on top of your newly twisted ankle and dislocated kneecap bent uncomfortably beneath you.

it's a miracle you were able to keep quiet as the vehicle passed by.

by some stroke of luck, or just divine stupidity, your enemies drive straight past the space in the trees and your hiding spot. the headlights cast ominous shadows as they cruise by, but they didn't see you.

struggling to your feet once again, this time you give the muddy path a wide berth as you make your way deeper into the forest.

✹✹✹

one foot in front of the other. dragging your injured leg behind you. cradling your broken ribs.

just keep going.

limping through the mud took every resource your body had left, the effort of keeping upright was almost more than you could take.

how much longer could you possibly go, before you can't get back up again?

you couldn't lose hope.

ahead of you, a break in the sea of trees.

just one foot in front of the other. that's all you need. it's all you can do.

closer, stepping out into the open, squinting against the sun.

against the pale light of the morning sky, you see a dark shape. a building? you couldn't tell, you could only pray it was the warehouse you'd been longing for.

one foot in front of the other.

closer still, despite the bone-deep exhaustion in every limb. you could make it out now, the rusted metal siding and fresh tire-tracks in the mud. you were right there.

you taste the salt before you realise you're crying.

almost,

somewhere between the agony, you hear yourself think,

still too early to celebrate.

your heart stutters. they were here, they had to be.

they had to be.

one foot in front of the other.

closer again, you focus on the keypad beside the door. your ankle twists uncomfortably as it drags along the gravel.

the handle became your crutch as you mustered the energy to lift your arm to enter the code.

seeing double, vision swaying as the edges fade.

a distant beep. a red light turning to green.

the handle turns under your weight, and the door swings open.

you find the floor coming up fast.

voices are all around you.

you give in to unconsciousness.

✹✹✹

the distinct hospital smell is what rouses you from your deep, dreamless sleep. hands prod at your busted ribs, drawing a scratchy groan from your dry throat. you grab the wrist of whoever is there as you fight to open your eyes.

"sergeant vantage?" they call out to you, and you realise with a disappointed sigh that it's the medic and not your captain. you open your eyes fully and see her standing above you with a clipboard in one hand. apart from her, you're alone in the medical wing. she notices you looking around, and looks down at the clipboard as she continues, "glad to see you finally awake. your teammate gaz got off pretty lucky, the bullet went clean through his leg. you on the other hand, i'm impressed you made it back at all."

your ankle is in a boot and elevated on some pillows, and you can feel your knee is tightly bandaged under the blankets. an ache starts to form in your shoulder at the effort of holding your arm up.

"vantage, i need you to let go of my wrist." she says, and after an awkward pause you free her from your hold.

"sorry doc…" you mumble, bringing both hands up to your face and observing the tiny cuts littering your skin. you let them flop down to your sides again, but the aching doesn't subside.

"how are you feeling?" she breaks the momentary quiet, setting her clipboard down on the table next to your bed, "want me to get you anything?"

"i'd kill for some water…" you wheeze, the dehydration was catching up to you.

"alright, i'll be right back," the doctor affirms, making her way to the door. she turns back to look you in the eyes with a stern expression before she leaves, "please don't go anywhere."

and with that, the door clicks shut and you're left truly alone with your thoughts again.

your bones creak as you push yourself to sit up, your movements sluggish still with exhaustion, and you're reminded of just how badly you were hurt. everything aches, and it feels as though you'd been asleep for years.

gaz was okay, that's a relief. a little insulting that he got shot and was still in better condition than you, but whatever.

you look around the room for something, anything, to take your mind off the pain, and your eyes eventually land on the table beside you. a few cards sat on top, all with some variation of get well soon on the front, along with a small vase of flowers. you pick up the card closest to you and open it to read the scratchy handwriting inside.

'i swear you could survive a nuke, you're like a cockroach! get better soon, lots of love, soap! xxxxx'

what a charmer soap was. you chuckle at his lighthearted message, he always did try to keep your spirits up in times like these. as you place the card back where it was, your gaze is drawn to the empty chair next to your bed. there was a thin blanket folded over the back, probably left by whoever was last sitting there.

your mind begins to wander; how long were you out? your teammates clearly visited, does that mean price did too? you feel your stomach flutter at the thought of him worrying for you, watching over you as you recover. and if he fell asleep at your bedside? the heart monitor might call the doctor back if this train of thought continues. but then again, you doubted he'd be that forward, he would most likely be buried in paperwork like he usually is after a mission. and the mission you just came back from would require more paperwork than most.

because they… left you behind. that's right. you had to walk yourself back to the safehouse on all your injuries. who knows how long you were walking for but it must have been at least ten hours, considering the sun had risen by the time you got there. the butterflies were swiftly melted by the hot anger rising within you.

you were going to give him a piece of your mind, just like you promised.

all thoughts of the pain you were feeling are out of your head as you fling the blanket off your lower body. you grip your injured leg and lift it over the edge of the bed, swinging your other leg to plant both feet on the floor.

just as you were about to pull yourself up to stand, the door opens again and the medic walks in with your water bottle in her hand. she stops, an icy look in her eyes as she observes what you're doing.

you look back at her, debating whether you should give it up and lay back down, but your anger quickly wins over. the heart monitor picks up again as you work yourself up.

"i swear to god, if you don't sit back down right now," she makes her way over, setting the water down on the table you were using as a crutch. you meet her eyes indignantly, and go to step around her anyway. "no! you need to rest!" the doc puts her hands on your shoulders, and she stops your movement embarrassingly easily.

"fuck that," you croak, your voice still hoarse, "where's captain shithead? i need a word."

she maneuvers you back into sitting on the edge of the bed, and hands you the water. you keep your sour expression, but still drink half the bottle in one go.

"i assume you mean captain price? he's in his office, hasn't come out since you all got back." she takes the bottle from you when you're done, setting it down again, before moving to take the iv out of your arm. if she feels your glare, she doesn't acknowledge it. "whatever it is, it can wait."

"yeah right, i got a few strong words for him, and he is gonna hear 'em."

the doc hesitates as she works.

"i don't know exactly what happened out there, but i think you should know… that he hasn't visited you," she speaks softly, watching your angry expression fall. "your other teammates did, i even saw ghost sneaking out of here one night, but you didn't hear that from me."

silence overcame the small room again as her words sunk in. he left you for dead, and now he was avoiding you? even ghost visited you, and you'd barely had a single conversation with him. your heart feels tight again, the same way it did when you were trapped in that building.

"how long was i out?" your voice is low, almost a whisper.

"two days."

you should have listened to all the people who told you loving him was a bad idea. you'd almost died, and he still didn't visit you? that stung. god, you haven't even been awake an hour and you already want to throw up.

i guess i really don't mean that much to him, huh?

you think back to the night before the mission, when you'd sat with john while he did paperwork. at first, he tried to convince you to get some sleep,

"you wanna be well rested, love."

but you stayed anyway, saying that you'd just sleep on the flight. you would rather spend your nights of insomnia with him anyway.

the two of you had talked for hours that night, about anything that came to mind. it was the early hours of the morning when you finally retreated back to your own quarters. he'd insisted on seeing you back, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and your room was in the next building over. the way he'd lingered by your door as you said goodnight, you really thought he was going to kiss you then. but he didn't, and you went to sleep with a heavy feeling of disappointment that persevered into the next day.

"i'm sorry vantage." the medic sets something down on the end of the bed, and you turn to look. a pile of your clothes. "i know how you soldiers are, you're gonna get up as soon as i leave no matter what i say, so i'd rather you not walk around in a hospital gown."

she was right.

"...thanks, doc."

despite the overwhelming pain in your heart, you were still about to rip into price.

✹✹✹

you limp out of the infirmary after dressing yourself as quickly as your injuries would allow, which is to say, not very fast. thankfully there weren't any stairs between here and your captain's office, you definitely wouldn't be able to make it up them with your crutch.

the sun was already setting, a pink hue filling the sky as you pushed open the doors of the medical wing. you tried to think as little as possible as you made your way steadily across the courtyard. it would only upset you, and you desperately wanted to be pissed at him. you wouldn't– couldn't– let price see how hurt you were, he probably didn't care anyway. he was just your captain, after all, realistically there was no reason for you to be this upset.

but you were, and the few people you encountered in the corridors could see it written on your face, staying well out of your way as you shuffled past them.

as you stared at the closed door of john's office, your anger wavered. despite the ache in your heart, you considered for a moment that perhaps you were being dramatic. he was your captain, you were just one of his soldiers. it made perfect sense that he'd prioritise the lives of three others over yours alone.

it was his job, and he did it well.

you love john, of course you do, and that's why you're so affected by that fact. maybe you were letting your selfishness get the better of you. honestly, you didn't have a real reason to believe he felt the same way about you. everyone on task force 141 was close, that's the way things are, you couldn't confidently say he treated you differently.

but he was smart. he had to know how you felt, had at least had to know that you don't go out of your way for your other teammates as much as you do for him.

then again, even ghost had visited you while you were out, and you considered yourself much closer to price than him. so maybe he hated you now, he'd finally gotten tired of your poor decision making skills. it was the reason you were in this situation to begin with.

you were just about to abandon the idea of laying into him when price's voice sounded through the door.

"whoever's standin' out there, hurry up and come in, or piss off." he sounded exhausted, his tone blunt with annoyance. it wasn't unusual for him to get like that, especially whilst buried in mind-numbingly boring paperwork, but you could feel something else under the surface of his sharp tone.

well, there goes your last chance to run. you took a moment to steel yourself, to remember that you were in fact angry at him, and open the door with the harshest look you can muster.

he didn't look up as you let the door close behind you, keeping his nose buried in whatever report he was currently scribbling on. his hat was discarded on the desk next to him, and the hand in his hair was keeping it the messiest you'd ever seen it. you breathe in deeply through your nose.

"oh you'd love to get rid of me that easily, wouldn't you?" you spit, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

john's head snaps forward at the sound of your voice, the hand in his hair dropping to his desk, allowing you to finally get a good look at him. his eyes were wide and tired, you could tell the bags under them were darker than the last time you'd looked him in the face.

"vantage…" he spoke with something almost like disbelief, like he couldn't fathom that you were really in front of him. the hard lines of his face soften as his eyes meet yours, and then even further when his gaze falls to your crutch and boot.

fuck, how were you supposed to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that? you channel every ounce of bottled up frustration you have before his blue eyes consume you.

"well unfortunately, i am still alive. not that you give a shit; you got a restraining order on the infirmary or something?"

he murmurs your name– your real name, and as he rises to stand, his eyes don't leave yours for a second.

fuuuuuck.

"what? you leave me for dead, now the cats got your tongue?" you hiss at him, but you can feel the venom leaving your words with every second. the way his expression falls ever so slightly has you regretting what you were saying. you came in here needing to hurt him the way he hurt you, but you were quickly losing your nerve.

"don't do that…" he was almost pleading, as he made his way around his desk to stand in front of you, his piles of paperwork long forgotten. he goes to grasp your elbow, but you pull back before he can touch you.

"sorry if you've already filled out my death certificate, i'd hate to cause you any more headaches." there was little fight left in your voice now, as you stared each other down in the middle of his office.

in the pause, john screws his eyes shut, turning his head to the side, before fixing you with a hard stare.

"don't. you know i would never've left you if i had any other choice!" it's not anger when he raises his voice, it's desperation; trying to convince himself as well as you. he takes another step towards you, toe to toe now as you lock eyes.

"do i know that? because from where i'm standing, it looks like you couldn't get far enough away from me," you can't help the way your voice cracks, nor can you disguise the hurt when you continue, "even fucking ghost visited me, but not you…"

another beat of silence.

"i couldn't…" john mumbled, eyes showing his mind was somewhere else. your chest tightened; every trace of anger was gone, replaced with the heartache you'd gotten so familiar with when it came to him.

"correct me if i'm wrong, but i really thought you cared." you try to take a step back, put some distance between the two of you, but he grabs your upper arm– successfully this time– to stop you going anywhere. it takes an impressive amount of restraint not to melt at his touch.

"of course i fuckin' care!" he growls, tugging you marginally closer.

your eyes hardened again; of course he did, just not in the way you wanted him to.

you jab your finger into his chest as you speak, your expression sour. "well you could've fooled–"

he grabs your hand as he cuts you off, and you can see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his face turning sharp again.

"bloody hell, just shut up! it killed me to leave without you, y'know that? if it weren't for simon i would've sent 'em back without me! i waited, as long as i could," he wasn't shouting, but you went quiet as if he was, any retaliation you thought of dying on your tongue. john let out a heavy sigh before he continued, "but you didn't come. you were stuck in that building, and then when it went up in fuckin' smoke, what was i supposed to think? i– we called out to you so many times, but you never responded."

the silence between you was heavy. deep down, you had already assumed everything he was telling you, but to actually hear it from his mouth had you choking up in his grasp.

"i…" you tried to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn't come. despite your best efforts, the tears welling up in your eyes were close to spilling over as your gaze fell to the floor.

john sighed again, softer this time, and using the hand on your arm he brought you into his chest, letting go of your hand with his other and wrapping it securely around your back.

you rest your cheek against his chest, bringing your own arms up around his torso, and revelled in the feeling of his embrace. listening to his elevated heartbeat, you wondered if he could feel just how hard yours was beating too.

"when you came crashin' through that door the next mornin', alive, i swear i've never been so relieved. but then you wouldn't wake up, and you were covered in so much blood… i…" his voice breaks, actually breaks, and you try to lift your head to look at him, but his hand on your arm moves up and presses into the back of your head, holding you tight against him. "...i was fuckin' terrified, love." he whispered.

"... why didn't you visit me?" the question you'd been meaning to ask all along, the real reason you had been upset at him.

you feel him press his lips into the top of your head, gently rocking you both where you stand. the crutch falls from your arm, but neither of you make any move to retrieve it.

"i couldn't. i couldn't face you, layin' in that hospital bed, hooked up to all them machines… knowin' it was my fault…"

"Hey, you know it wasn’t…" you murmur with disapproval; as much as you hate to admit it, you dug yourself into that hole.

"fuck, i'm– so fucking sorry love,"

"don't apologise… please, you did what you had to," you lift your head, and you can look him in the face again. his eyes were slightly red; if your heartstrings were pulled anymore they'd surely break. "plus, i was never really mad at you anyway."

he huffs out a small chuckle, his breath fanning over your face, the crease in his brow melting away as your eyes meet, "well ain't that a relief?"

"i thought you were pissed at me, and that's why you didn't visit…" you clear your throat and avoid his gaze, "i mean, i did lock myself in a building full of hostiles… not my finest moment,"

"no. as stupid as you are sometimes, i could never be angry at you."

"that is a relief."

a quiet overcomes the two of you, standing in eachothers arms as the evening sun casts the room in an orange glow. you wanted to stay like this for the rest of time, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the voice in the back of your head that said this was inappropriate. the way he was talking, holding you, had your hopes high, just like that night before the mission. the one where you went to bed disappointed. it didn't help that you were expecting the let-down now, if anything it only made your heart sink even lower.

you notice that, exactly like you, john was staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. you tilt your head, wordlessly urging him to tell you what's going on. he sighs, scanning the multitude of cuts and scrapes that litter your face, "i promise you, i will never let anything like that happen again, alright?"

"i believe you." you smile softly, and you do; of course you do, you'd trust him with your life. it wasn't something you'd admit out loud, but you would do just about anything if he asked you to.

"i swear, i'm not lettin' you outta my sight." the look on his face has you squirming is his grasp, under the intense gaze he pinned you with.

"alright, i get it," you chuckle, your face heating up at the implication. this was doing nothing for the enormous crush you were harbouring. shuffling backwards slightly, you put enough space between you that you can comfortably rest your hands on his chest.

"i don't think you do, love," you feel his chest rumble as he speaks, and his gaze becomes serious, "i coulda' lost you. i thought i did. fuck, when soap and gaz came outta there without you? i thought my heart'd stopped… i just– i…"

it was rare to see your captain so lost for words. you feel his heart beat faster under your fingertips, the distant look in his eyes giving away the internal debate he was surely having.

"john?"

"if i'm out of order, say the word and we can forget all about this, but vantage…" his voice was low, and you felt your cheeks heat up to a boiling point as he cradled your face with one hand and leaned in closer, chest to chest again. the anticipation and the proximity might just make you sick. "you mean the world to me, i don't know what i'd do with myself if i lost you."

was that… what you thought it was? it sounded an awful lot like a confession, and you really really wanted it to be, but… was it too good to be true?

the lack of a response from you had john pulling back with an uncharacteristic cough that radiated embarrassment. he let go of your face, hovering next to your cheek as if he couldn't bear to let go, and you frown at the absence of his warmth.

"just ignore me, i shouldn't've–" he begins to back-pedel, going to move away from you before you cut him off.

"no!" you exclaim, with a bit more panic than you intended, and grasp his shirt in your fists to keep him close. "i get it, i really do. i- i care about you too, probably a lot more than a teammate should." your face heats up at the admission, and he lights up with surprise. "i think i always have."

slowly, he moves his hand back to its place cupping your jaw, searching your eyes for any signs that he was misinterpreting your response. when he found none, he smiled at you so genuinely you doubted anyone had ever been so sincere towards you.

"yeah?" he murmurs, the slight disbelief gone from his expression but still present in his voice.

"yes, john," you mirror his tone, bringing a hand up to hold the back of his neck. his skin burned hot under your touch.

"well thank god for that," his voice is barely a whisper now, as he draws your lips closer to his. the air separating you felt thick enough to be cut.

you let your eyes fall closed, and with a small burst of confidence, you lean forward and close the final distance between the two of you. he kisses you so tenderly, with so much emotion, it makes your head spin. you sigh into him, tilting your head and pressing yourself impossibly closer, revelling in the feeling of being in his arms at last. all your many months of pining had led up to this moment, and you felt like your heart might just burst. regretfully, you find yourself needing to break away for air, and to your delight he follows your lips as you pull back.

"maybe i should get injured more often, if this is what i get," you breathe, a dazed smile on your face as both your eyes flutter open, and his chest rumbles under your hand with a deep chuckle.

"you better not; i'll have your head if you do, love."

✹✹✹

#john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #price fic #mw2 x reader #price x reader #141 x reader #first fic ive ever posted im scared #dont break my heart pls <3 #roosterr writes

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dira333 · 2 months

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Don't tease - Tsukishima x reader

A/N: 1k, fluff, requested by @missalienqueen

Tsukishima is going to be the death of you.

“You really wanna do it that way?”

You tense immediately, hoping he’ll leave you alone just once. But to no avail.

“I didn’t think I’ve ever seen a filing system this… creative,” Tsukishima drawls. He’s looming over you, a tall shadow of incessant teasing. Ever since you’ve started working at the museum, he seems to have it out for you. He shows up during your tours, butts in when you get a few hours to yourself to work on your recent thesis and just never leaves you alone.

If he could keep his mouth shut doing so, it would only be half as harrowing, because he’s actually kinda cute - as long as he’s not narrowing his eyes at you like this.

Tsukishima often reminds you of your old principal. That man too had been a pole of judgment, always present at the wrong time. You had hated that man and Tsukishima was beginning to… okay, you weren’t kidding anyone, you could probably never hate Tsukishima. If he isn’t tormenting you, he’s polite and sincere in his work and you can tell by the way he treats the rest of the staff that he can be kind when he wants to.

So why does he treat only you like this?

“Let me do it,” he insists at that moment. “Wouldn’t want you to break a nail from all the hard work.”

Your mouth opens before you even register it. “If you want to work as an Educator instead of a Curator you could have just applied for that position when it was free instead of trying to bully me out of it.”

Tsukishima stiffens. He’s never resembled a pole more than at this moment, all his limbs locked tight to his body as he stares into space. You can’t really tell if his face is turning pale too because your own body is locking up, heat flushing your face as you press a hand to your mouth. You’ve never been this bold before.

“I’m sorry!” You rush out when you can speak again, “I didn’t mean-”

“But you did.” He insists, voice low and… dejected? No, you have to be mistaken.

“I… well… yeah.” You stutter. “I mean… You have it out for me. I don’t know what I did to deserve that treatment, but if you want my job so bad, you should have just applied for it. The position was vacant for months.”

“I don’t want your job,” Tsukishima presses through his teeth. His eyes are looking everywhere but at you. His cheeks are flushed now and you can almost see steam coming from his ears when he adds: “I want you.”

You blink.

You blink again.

Tsukishima pushes himself away from the filing cabinet, his movements stiff and awkward.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was bullying you.” His voice sounds almost unfamiliar.

When he bows you notice how red his neck has gotten.

He really is ashamed.

“You have a weird way of showing that.” Your hands itch to hold onto something. To make sure that this is real.

“I… well…” Tsukishima rubs his neck with one hand, eyes darting across the room. “I’ve been told before that teasing someone instead of clearly communicating could go wrong but I didn’t really believe it. After all, it worked for my… friend.”

“Your friend was probably nicer about it.” You point out, your tongue heavy in your mouth. What are you supposed to do now? Knowing he likes you?

“I… probably.” He swallows thickly, offers you his hand. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You shake it. The warmth of his skin against yours and the strength of his grip sends a shiver up your back.

He turns, cheeks still pink.

“Well, I’ll… I’ll let you do your work then. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Tsukishima is almost at the door when you untangle the knot in your tongue, brace against the nervous stutter of your heart.

“You could have just asked me out.”

He swirls around so fast you fear it’s going to give him whiplash. The look on his face is something you want to burn into your brain. It’s the delight of a child mixed with the anxiety of someone who’s been let down before. His eyes narrow immediately like he has to make sure you’re not playing him.

You nod, no longer able to form words.

“So…” He clears his throat. “Are you… free? Tonight?”

You nod again.

A smile lights up his face, boyish and bright. Your heart stops for a second before it hammers at twice its usual speed. Tsukishima is going to be the death of you.

Tsukishima is going to be the death of you.

“You really wanna do it that way?”

You nod, typing away. Behind you, the cushions of your shared couch rustle as he maneuvers around. He leans onto you, heavy and warm, face pressed into your neck.

“But I want to cuddle.” Tsukishima drawls.

“And I want to finish this thesis. You told me I would have more than enough time today.”

“And you will. You just have to cuddle first.”

You try to send him a glare, but his face is hidden away in your hair.

“Tsukishima!”

“Kei,” he corrects you immediately.

“Tsukki,” you compromise and he groans.

“If someone would let me focus, I’d be finished in half an hour and then we could cuddle.”

He huffs. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re not either.”

“Fine.” He gets up. His tone is all snappy, but he winks at you to let you know he doesn’t mean it. He still might be infuriating and annoying, but he’s gotten way better at communicating when he’s actually mad and when he’s just playing for cuddles.

“What are you doing?” You ask when he stalks toward the bedroom.

“I’m going to put on my cutest outfit. We’ll see if that convinces you.”

“Take your time!” You call after him as you pick up your typing. “And send a picture to Yamaguchi when you’re done. I’m sure he’ll appreciate seeing you in the Dino-Onesie he bought you.”

He sends you one last glare.

You return to your document, surprised to realize that all you’ve left to do is write the last paragraph. If you keep at it, you’ll be finished before the Onesie is zipped up.

With a confident grin you pick up speed.

My Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #Tsukishima x reader #Tsukishima Kei #Tsukishima fluff #Tsukishima drabble #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!

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thatswhyilovetheghost · 7 months

Text

Easy, girl.

Whumptober Day 1 : 'Swooning'. (No, I'm not posting day 1 on the 13th)

Captain John Price x f!Medic Reader

Summary: The Captain isn't impressed by his medic's tendency to overwork herself.

A.N. : Only mild whumpage in this one, fainting w/ hurt/comfort <3

The interrogative call of your name nearly makes you jump out of your skin, head crashing into the surface of the desk you were rifling through folders under. You hiss a curse between your teeth.

Turning around, you're met with the displeased face of the Captain of your assigned squad, firm hands resting on his hips as he glares down at you, brows furrowed.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he starts, "but didn't your shift end about four hours ago now?"

Eyes widening, you raise your wrist to check the time, only to be met with a glaring 01:00.

"I- sorry, Captain, I was just sorting out some paperwork which-"

"Which can be done tomorrow," he interrupts, sending you a reproachful look that raises your hackles.

"It's fine," you snap, rising to your feet, arms now full of folders. "I've got it all under control, Captain."

The rapid movement makes your head swim. You stumble slightly and blink away the blur.

"Mm, looks like it," he snarks, concern underlying his tone.

His sarcasm only serves to make you prickle further. You huff, steadying yourself on your feet before making your way to a filing cabinet.

Or, attempting to at least. The increased motion sends your vision to a white flash that quickly fades to black nothingness. The last thing you feel before you pass out is a set of strong hands grasping at you, pulling you close.

When you wake it's with a gasp, as though you'd been drowning but pulled to safety. There's someone holding you, tight and close. You squirm at the restriction.

"Shh, easy - easy, girl. I've got you. You're alright."

The voice that hushes you is deep and rich, a slight familiar gruffness to it. Forcing your eyes open you find yourself looking straight into the piercing blues of Captain Price.

Captain Price, your Captain, whose lap you're currently settled on.

Price, who is sitting on the floor, legs crossed and back flat to the wall, must have scooped you up before you hit the ground and curled you into him while you were out.

Fuck, how long had he been holding you like this?

He lifts one hand from stabilising you at your hips to your jaw. Holding your chin up to get a good look, Price scans your face, scrutinising every blink and wince you make.

"Sir-" you rasp drily, feeling your face warm both in embarassment at fainting in front of your superior and at the situation it had left you in.

"There she is," he cooes, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on your skin. "You feel alright?"

You nod, hyperaware of his proximity.

"Y-yes sir, thank you," you manage.

"Good girl," he nearly sighs in return, eyes flicking over your face once more as though for his own reassurance. "Think you're ready to listen to me about gettin' some sleep now?"

Price chuckles under his breath as you turn away in embarassment, rubbing a broad palm up and down your thigh in teasing comfort.

Without another word, Price lifts you up like you weigh no more than a feather and shifts you into a bridal position in his arms as he rises to his feet.

You squeak lightly in surprise, and if Price notices you hiding your face in his tac-vest he doesn't mention it.

Slowly so as not to make you dizzy, your Captain carries you over to an empty cubicle in the medbay.

"Shh, there we are," he soothes, bending at the waist to lower you into the bed. There's a comfortable silence as Price pulls the blanket over your form, ensuring all of your limbs are tucked into its warmth. "How's our lovely medic s'posed to take care of us if there's no one looking after her, eh?"

You feel your heart pounding at your ribs at his words, wide eyes looking up at your Captain.

"Thank you, sir," you speak softly, suddenly finding yourself imagining what his lips might feel like against yours.

"Always, love," he whispers, dropping to press a kiss to your cheek before walking away. Price pulls the curtains to your bay closed, turning to take one last look at you before retreating to his own quarters.

When you wake up that next morning you aren't sure if you dreamed the softness from your Captain, but the look he gives you later when he comes in to check on you reassures your mind.

Your Captain had his eyes on you now, and the man was not known for giving up. If he had to take you to bed himself every night from then on, then so be it. He was sure you'd let him tire you out.

#whumptober 2023 #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader

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makethatelevenrings · 8 months

Text

Day 1: Orgasm Denial w/ Jason Todd

all works in my kinktober series are 18+. you talk a lot about boundaries in life, let's see if y'all can respect this one.

Kinktober Masterlist

The wood of the chair creaked under you as you strained against the silk that trapped you in place. It was Italian silk, of course. Luxurious and delicate and smooth against your skin. Jason hated seeing any mark on your skin other than the ones he left. The first time he tried ropes and metal handcuffs, he refused to touch you until the abrasions on your skin healed.

You shifted again, your breath coming out shaky. Plush fabric covered the back of the chair so your skin didn’t scrape against the wood. Sweat clung to your skin and you shivered when a cool breath brushed against your neck.

“I thought I made myself clear,” he spoke softly with a bite hidden under the words. Long, thick fingers slid under your jaw and forced your chin up. You met Jason’s gaze and swallowed against the pressure on your neck. His anger was present in his eyes.

Yeah, you had fucked up.

It wasn’t the injury that you sustained at work that was the problem. It wasn’t the fading bruise on your cheek that brought that fury in his eyes. It was the fact that you had tried to hide it from him with concealer.

That, Jason Todd decided, was absolutely unacceptable. He wanted to know every bump, bruise, and papercut so he could care for you the same way that you cared for him.

“I know. I know,” you whispered. His thumb stroked delicately over the bruise that was in its last stages of healing. It barely appeared on your skin, but of course he caught it.

“Accident or not, I need to know when you’re hurt,” he murmured. “You know why, right?”

Because he is terrified that a wound will fester and take you from him. Jason Todd is scared of few things and losing you is the fear that keeps him awake at night.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he whispered against your skin. You shivered as bumps rose along your skin at both his order and his presence. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and then you exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“Because I’m yours,” you said in one quick burst. He hummed, his hand drifting down to brush against your pebbled nipple.

“You are, but that’s not why. It’s because I need to know you’re safe, angel. Or I’ll crush the hand of whoever hurt you. No one hurts my angel.”

God, your cunt pulsed at his words and a moan caught in your throat. Seriously, this injury had been an accident between you and a filing cabinet, but you hadn’t wanted to worry Jason. But when he caught the yellow base of the concealer on your cheek and wiped it off, you knew you made the wrong choice. The look of pure devastation in his eyes, despite your hurried assurances of your safety, made your stomach churn.

Jason needed to see your skin unblemished by anything other than him because he couldn’t ever risk losing you.

This moment right here was your punishment for your omission. You knew it was coming and you accepted it. Your relationship balanced between the two of you for control and right now, Jason tipped the scales in his favor.

“How long do you think you can hold on, angel?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He chuckled, low and dark and so much like Red Hood and not like Jason that it made you want to squeeze his stupid fucking head between your thighs until he was pussy drunk. He traced a line down your neck and then bent down to suck a dark bruise against your collarbone.

“I think…an hour will do. What do you think?”

An hour. Fuck. Holy fucking shit. Could you? You had done it before for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. An hour?

It made you nearly drool with want.

Jason grabbed your chin once more and forced your head up so his eyes were locked with yours. “What do you say if you want to stop?”

You shook your head against the fuzzy softening around your mind and instead focused on answering. “Magpie.”

“And if you can’t speak?”

“Tap three times.”

“Good. Remember, sweetheart, I’m doing this for your own good.”

His fingers slid between the folds of your cunt and he began to rub small circles against the bundle of nerves that sent warmth curling through your stomach. You squirmed, both at the feeling and also at the anticipation. At what point would you become a brainless, babbling slut begging to come?

“I miss you when you’re not beside me,” he continued to speak as he dipped a finger into your tight hole and then groaned in appreciation. “Wet already? Poor thing, you’ve got a while to wait.”

“Won’t be too hard if you keep going at this pace,” you grunted.

Of course, your big mouth had to push his buttons. Jason grinned, shark-like and brilliant, and his hands pulled away from your body. You wanted to whine at the loss of his touch. You wanted to chase after the calloused fingers that always drove you to pleasure, but these fucking bonds were keeping you trapped.

And then you heard the familiar whirr of a vibrator click on.

“That won’t last an hour,” you blurted, your breath picking up just a little at the thought of him pressing that toy against your clit as you spasmed and thrashed and begged.

“Good thing I charged three of them. Now, remember angel, you can’t come until I tell you.”

He spread the lips of your pussy and pressed the vibrator, set on low, torturous waves, against your clit. “And that won’t be for a while. Let’s see how many settings we can go through until you’ve apologized enough.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd smut #kinktober 2023

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luveline · 9 months

Note

maybe a reader and roan centered ficlet where roan gets to go to readers work for the day, be like her mini assistant because eddie couldn’t find anyone else to watch her while he had to do something?

ty for requesting ♡ fem reader

The phone rings at exactly 2PM as previously discussed.

"Ro! Quick, come answer the phone for me, baby."

Roan climbs out from under your desk where she's sorting paperclips into cuteness piles, the skirt of her best blue dress brushing your calves, her hair in a slicked back bun but coming undone as the day goes on. "What do I say?" she asks.

You pull her onto your lap. "You say, Hi, I'm Roan Munson with Cora Enterprise Limited, how may I help you?"

She squares her features into a fierce, determined glare. Picking up your heavy grey phone, she presses her lips to the receiver and says, "Hi, I'm Roan! How can I help you, Cora?"

Her eyebrows pinch together before smoothing, elation quick to take. "Daddy!"

You can't hear what Eddie's saying, but you imagine it to be like, Hey, pumpkin, you sound so grown up! How's working for a mindless conglomerate as another cog in the machine working out for you?

"It's fun." Roan tips her head back to look at you. When your gazes connect, she wiggles her thin brows. "She's fine, dad. We're having fun without you."

Passionate garbled talk from the other side. Roan giggles and leans further into your chest, seemingly pleased when you wrap your arms around her stomach.

"I learned how to do the printer, and the managing, but they wouldn't let me in the lab 'cos you picked shoes with cut outs. Yes, I know I asked for them, dad." Roan hands you the phone with an expression beyond her years. "He wants to talk to you."

"Thanks, babe." You bring the phone to your ear. "Hello, Y/N speaking."

"Hello," Eddie says, his voice warm as usual, the sound like laying under the sun on a cloudless day. "Is she behaving?"

"She's being awesome. I told you, you don't have to worry about it. I'm practically alone in my office with Mel on maternity leave and Jessica trying to impress the Swedes." You stop Roan's little hand where it tries to open your top drawer, worried about the box cutter you use to unseal samples. "She's literally no fuss. I'd have her here every day if they let me."

Roan gasps like this is the very best idea in the world and nods at you until her head looks like it's going to fall off.

"They might have to. I can't believe it's day four of no water at the elementary. We're lucky you could take her, what are the parents who work jobs like me supposed to do?" he asks.

"Maybe I can have them all here. Roan's a good assistant for a six year old. In fact, she's doing a better job than I was on my first day. Right, bubby?" you ask the head of curls in your lap.

"Right!" Roan lifts her head to the receiver, her full row of top baby teeth white and shiny in the office lights. "I'm going to do the flying cabinet next!"

"Filing," you correct.

"Oh. That doesn't sound as fun." She wrinkles her nose.

"Lunch first," you say. It's a good pacifier. Boring office tasks are usually easier after one of Eddie's sandwiches.

"I'll leave you guys to it, then," Eddie says, muffled slightly by the roaring of an electric saw. "I'll try not to feel too left out over here."

"If I were you I'd feel very left out," you say.

"Nice. Love you, miss you, see you at five."

You put the phone against Roan's pale ear. "Tell dad bye," you say.

"Bye, daddy. I hope you have a nice lunch."

Loving babble. Roan's smile gets bigger and bigger the longer Eddie talks. She stretches tall in your chair to put the phone down before twisting to wrap her arms around your shoulders, her nose cold where it presses into your throat. You bring a hand to the back of her head.

"What's this for?" you ask, hugging her.

"Dad said to give you one. And to say you didn't say I love you back, so, um, you're in the bad books."

"Not the bad books," you murmur.

"Don't worry. I get out of them all the time."

—

more eddie, roan and reader

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 9 months

Text

Secrets That Whisper & Shout

Pairing: Moonknight trio (Steven mainly) x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: idk brief mentions of violence

Genre: fluff & minor angst

Summary: you are extremely intrigued by your neighbor and the voices you can sometimes hear in his head because of course your neighbor seems extra susceptible to your powers

***

It's an interesting way to live life, being able to see into people's minds. To alter their memories, control their actions, hear their deepest inner thoughts even if you're not trying to sometimes. It can be weird but you just try your best to live your life normally. Right now the biggest hindrance to your delicate balance of normal is your neighbor. He lives across the hall for you and unfortunately, for some reason, you keep finding yourself inside his mind. It happens when you let your mental guard down for a little too long. You've always compared people's minds to houses, or offices full of filing cabinets, your powers give you a key basically but it seems like your dorky neighbor's mental door is never closed let alone locked.

The weirder part is what you hear when you do find yourself in his mind. For most people, the voice in their head sounds like them- and while you've never really spoken to your neighbor, you know for a fact there's no way he's simultaneously a nervous Brit, a cocky American, and a grumpy Spanish speaker. There are three voices in his head as opposed to one, they speak to each other and seem entirely independent of one another. You haven't intentionally done any snooping in his mind but you can imagine his mental filing cabinets are entirely different than any you've been in. It's not really your business though so you never look into it. No matter how curious you are about how and why he has three voices in his head.

You know very little about your neighbor. From accidentally listening to his mental debates you think his name is Steven. The other voices have names too but you're unclear who is who because you've never stuck around long enough to discern that. He's not very social and only leaves his apartment for work or errands. He hardly ever takes phone calls and he never really calls anyone- except, around the time you moved in he used to call his mom pretty often but you think she never answered and eventually, those calls stopped. The strangest detail you've realized is sometimes he'll sneak out of his apartment, through the window and you have no idea where he goes or what he does but he's always back within a week. You don't mean to keep tabs on him, sometimes you cast your magic out to scan for threats and you'll notice the lack of presence in the apartment across the hall.

He's a curious case, your neighbor across the hall, and today you've decided you're going to bite the bullet and speak to him. Your curiosity about him is the main reason and you hope that being able to assign personhood to the voices you hear will quell it even a bit. You cross the hall and knock on his door confidently before you can convince yourself not to on one Saturday afternoon when you know he's home. You checked first. There's some shuffling on the other side of the door and eventually, it opens a bit hesitantly but it opens.

"Hi! My name is y/n. I live across the hall from you." You say, your chosen tone is friendly but soft.

"I'm- Steven. Can I help you?" He asks sizing you up.

"I hope so! I was baking cookies and even though I went to the store before I started I guess I didn't make a complete list of things I needed because it turns out I actually don't have enough sugar so I was just wondering if you had any I could borrow by chance?" You ask. You are baking, but you also definitely have enough sugar, it just seemed like the simplest way to initiate conversation. A bit cliche but it's a classic for a reason.

"You want to borrow sugar?"

"Yes. A cup if you have it." You hold up your measuring cup with a smile. Steven pauses for a moment before he answers.

"Sure. I've got some. Come on in I'll pour some for you." He says walking into his apartment. You follow him in glancing around. The studio style flat is full of books littered everywhere, it's the first thing you notice when you walk in. Steven takes the measuring cup from you and quickly grabs his container of sugar to pour some.

"Thanks so much! I'll bring by some cookies to repay you!" You tell him.

"Oh, no thank you. I appreciate the offer but I am vegan and I'm sure you don't intend to bake vegan-friendly cookies so-" He trails off with a shrug. You frown but make a note of the information. He's vegan. "I've never seen you before." He says after a moment while he puts up his bag of sugar.

"That's probably because you don't leave much besides for work. I've lived across you for over a year." You muse.

"Hey! I- I leave!" He turns to look at you.

"To do your laundry at the witching hour when you're the least likely to run into people?" You smirk a bit at him.

"No." He huffs.

"Thanks for the sugar, Steven. Hope to see you around more." You toss over your shoulder as you walk back into your apartment.

You do make a handful of vegan cookies for your neighbor, even though it wasn't your plan, after checking to find that it really is just a couple of minor changes, vegetable oil instead of butter, water or nondairy milk instead of eggs, and since you don't already have vegan chocolate you leave out the chocolate chips- at least according to the recipe you found. They're basically sugar cookies and you only make six for Steven, some of which you sprinkle with cinnamon to make up for their plainness, but you imagine they're a decent thanks for the sugar you borrowed- even if it was a ploy.

A couple of hours later, you knock on Steven's door again, this time with a small Tupperware container for the cookies you made him. He opens it again with the same confused frown after a few moments.

"Hi again! I know you said not to bother with the cookies because you're vegan but I wanted to say thanks anyway so- I adjusted my recipe to accommodate. They're sugar cookies except two of them are cinnamon, I wasn't sure if you like cinnamon so I didn't make them all cinnamon but the cookies are vegan. So, thank you, for the sugar." You say handing him the plastic container.

"You adjusted your recipe so that I could have some cookies?" Steven doesn't seem to believe the words even as he says them.

"Yes. I know you said I didn't have to bring any but I wanted to anyway. Since I did use your sugar to make them."

"Thank you. I appreciate the effort. I can't wait to try them."

"If you ever need anything, just knock." You tell him and wait for his cautious nod. "I'll be seeing you." You say leaving without waiting for him to agree with that statement. From then on, Steven does in fact make a point to speak to you more often. The first time is a couple of days later, he runs into you in the elevator and tells you he enjoyed the cookies. He'll definitely speak to you when he sees you around the building but it's on you to actually make plans if you want to see him otherwise and sometimes you do. You invite him out to lunch, have him over for tea, suggest movies to watch together, you even visit him at work every once in a while. The first time you went to his job you didn't even know he worked there, I mean he'd told you he worked at a museum but you never thought to ask which one, but once you knew he worked there you definitely made a point to pop in and say hi when you're around and he's working. It takes a while but you manage to build a pretty good friendship with him over the next few months to the point where you're hanging out a couple of times a week these days. In fact, he's supposed to be over later today to show you some movie he's been dying for you to see. For now, you're sitting on your couch reading a novel until he gets here. It'll be another few hours before he comes knocking at your door.

You've really enjoyed getting to know him, more than you expected to honestly. He's as sweet and awkward as he comes off at first glance but there's something endearing about his gentle shyness even when he's raving about whatever thing has most recently captured his attention. You find yourself looking forward to the time you spend together more than you like to admit. You have no idea if your fondness is reciprocated to the same extent and you also have no idea how to broach the subject with him. Much like a skittish animal, you're always careful about how you make changes to your dynamic. It's something you try not to dwell on, if he likes you or if you'll tell him you like him and how to do so, things are good between you two and as they say, if it ain't broke don't fix it.

Your head snaps up at the sudden rush of fear you sense. The book in your lap long forgotten anyway as you had been lost in your thoughts until the dread you felt in your very bones pulled you from them. It's not your own though, that panic, and you have to take a moment to pinpoint the source. You gasp when you realize it's coming from Steven. It's been a while since you felt someone's feelings so uninhibited and you rush out of your apartment before you can even consider a plan. He must be in trouble for you to feel his alarm this way. When you reach for his doorhandle you hear some sort of crashing sound inside and you force open his apartment door to find Steven evading someone attempting to corner him in the apartment.

"Steven!" You gasp when the masked intruder chucks some sort of dagger at him.

"Y/n?! Get out of here!" Steven shouts at you from behind the couch. You ignore him and charge the attacker by launching yourself using Steven's side table. The attacker can't react quickly enough to the kick that you aim directly at their chest and they go down hard. You don't give the stranger a chance to get up and strike either of you, taking advantage of their disoriented state you slip into their mind, 'suggesting' that they leave and forget they ever came here, forget Steven even exists and forget you while you're at it. When the masked assailant stands again they climb out of the window they came through without saying a word.

"Are you alright Steven?" You frown turning your attention to where he's frowning from behind his kitchen counter. When did he move behind the kitchen counter?

"What just happened?" He blinks at you.

"I am- a magical being of sorts-"

"Like a witch?"

"Something like that. I mean- I can do magic in the more traditional sense, like spells and such but most of my powers are telepathic. I can read minds and alter memories, reshape reality-"

"What?" You hardly register Steven's shocked exclamation.

"I mean that can take a lot of energy depending on the scale, like I obviously can't do it for everyone, everywhere, at the same time but like- I could say, make it look and feel like there are spiders all over this room." You shrug.

"Why would you ever-"

"Arachnids are a common phobia, it's gotten me out of some touchy situations." You say.

"That doesn't explain what just happened though." Steven shakes his head.

"Oh, I can control people if it comes down to it. I just- made the person leave and forget you exist."

"You can do what?!" His eyes widen.

"I don't use it! Usually. I've only done it a couple of times to protect myself or someone who really needed it." You shrug.

"And your protection was to force someone to do something else against their will?!"

"Hey, that person was literally trying to kill you! I could've taken the violent route instead but I'm not a fan of it!"

"So that man-"

"Doesn't remember being here, doesn't remember attacking you, doesn't even remember you exist. You're safe." You say.

"Holy shit."

"Look I wanted to be honest with you because I care about you but if this is too much for you to handle then- I will leave all I ask is that you keep my secret to yourself."

"You won't just... take it from me?"

"I don't want to. And I won't, unless that information in your hands becomes a threat to my life."

"Have you ever used them on me? Your powers?" He asks. You pause for a moment considering how to answer. Admittedly he doesn't seem to be taking all this super well, you wonder if it would be worse to just say no but looking at him you can't bring yourself to tell the lie.

"I have. Not- on purpose and nothing altering. No mind control or memory changing or reality reshaping- absolutely nothing that changed anything about you it's just that sometimes your thoughts are loud. You yell in your head a lot- in several voices. Sometimes I can hear them." You explain.

"You can hear them? The different voices?"

"Yes. I don't quite understand it but I never snooped I just- would leave when I realized it was happening again." You say.

"I think you should go." Steven says avoiding your gaze. Your shoulders drop for a moment that you're sure he doesn't see.

"I see. Alright but Steven-"

"Your secret is yours. I won't tell anybody." He says quietly. You nod although he's still not looking directly at you.

"Okay. If you need anything- my door's open. Otherwise, take care- Steven." You say and exit his apartment before he can respond. Steven's reaction hurts more than you'd like it to, you suppose you wouldn't have been able to keep the secret from him forever though. It would've come out eventually, especially if you got any closer to him as you had considered.

The next two weeks are weird. Steven doesn't text you, or call you, or come over for tea or lunch, you make a point not to visit him at work as you are positive he's avoiding you based on the fact that he's clearly adjusted all of his habits so as to not run into to you around the apartment building. That- you think stings more than his initial reaction. To think he was so put out by your revelation that he no longer wanted to even risk seeing you... Whatever, you wouldn't dwell on it. The world keeps spinning. A sudden knock on your door interrupts you before you can focus back on what you were working on. With a confused frown, you walk over to the door and look through the spyhole to see Steven standing in the hall, and that surprises you immensely. For on that knock was sharp and harsh in a way you've never heard Steven knock on anything ever, but also for him to just show up at your door after 2 weeks is... unexpected. You pull open the door and lean casually against the frame.

"Hello." He nods and you immediately notice he does not sound like himself. You quirk an eyebrow at him.

"Steven? Hi. What are you doing here? And- why are you talking funny?"

"I'm not Steven my name is Marc Spector." He says.

"Did you hit your head or something?" You snort crossing your arms in confusion.

"No? I'm perfectly fine."

"Right except your name isn't Marc Spector it's Steven Grant. Unless you've been lying to me since we met which- would certainly be interesting but I don't think that's what's happening here." You say.

"Not quite. See we have a... condition-"

"Do not tell me about what's wrong with your body!" You put your hands up to stop him.

"It's psychological." He says.

"Oh okay. Proceed." You say.

"It's called dissociative identity disorder. My mind is- fractured. Essentially this body houses more than one consciousness." He explains.

"This sounds very Jekyll and Hyde and if you're coming to me to say you're a serial killer I don't-" You trail off when suddenly something clicks. "Holy shit you're one of the voices in Steven's head!" You gasp. You knew he sounded familiar but you didn't pinpoint it until just now.

"First of all, it's my head okay I am the original. Secondly- Steven told you about us?!"

"If he did do you think I would sound as confused as I do right now? No, he didn't tell me anything. I just realized why I recognize your voice." You say.

"Recognize my voice?" Now he's looking at you like you're crazy.

"I can hear you sometimes. You are quite loud- especially compared to the other one."

"You can hear us?" His eyes are wide as saucers.

"Yes, never on purpose though. I'm a telepath. I can read minds and change memories and alter reality and stuff like that so- sometimes I can hear you- which by the way we still haven't answered the billion dollar question why are you here?"

"Steven has been moping around for over a week now and every time we force him to leave he looks longingly at your door so I came to find out what the hell you did to him because I swear-"

"I didn't do anything to him. I told him I was a telepath and he freaked. He's been avoiding me since. All on his own. And before you start throwing around threats I'll warn you Marc Spector that I could take hold of your entire fractured little mind without even breaking a sweat. So tread carefully if you're going to start swearing things." Your eyes narrow at him.

"He's been avoiding you?" He blinks.

"We talked about my powers, he asked me to leave, and so I did. Probably assumes I'll take advantage of him using them or something." You shrug.

"Well you did just threaten me."

"It wasn't a threat it was a warning. Besides I'd never hurt Steven, you I don't know and you did start a pretty menacing sentence that prompted me to- never mind."

"Now I'm confused. If he's avoiding you, why is he moping around the apartment?" He frowns.

"You're asking me. You're the one that shares a body with him." You say.

"Explain to me exactly what went down?"

"I was in my apartment and someone attacked Steven- I don't know who or why but could feel it so I went over to help and I used my powers to get rid of them."

"What'd you do? Launch him out the window?"

"No? I just made him forget about us and where he was but when he mindlessly climbed back out the way he came in without attacking us I obviously had to explain some things. I guess Steven didn't take it all that well." You shrug.

"That doesn't sound right. I think you should talk to him."

"I- don't think he wants to do that." You shake your head.

"No. No, this has gone on long enough. Hang on." Marc says.

"Marc seriously mind your-"

"Y/n?" He grimaces. You recognize immediately that it's Steven you're talking to now.

"Steven- one the uh- voices? Marc? He thinks we need to have a conversation. Does he make a habit of meddling in your life this way?"

"Less often than you might think but- I do owe you an apology." His head drops.

"What for, exactly?"

"How I- handled things before. I was... cold, it's just that when you said you could hear Marc and Jake I was worried about what else you-"

"I'm sorry, who is Jake?" You shake your head at him.

"The identity disorder thing- there are three of us as far as we know. Myself, Marc, and Jake." Steven says and you nod as you piece it together.

"Would it be presumptuous of me to guess that Marc and Jake are not your only secrets?"

"No actually. Marc is an avatar."

"Of what?" You ask. Steven's shocked confusion prompts you to fill in the gaps, "I've met avatars for each of the sins so, one of those maybe? Or a celestial body of some sort? The moon perhaps- I'm guessing you don't mean in the same sense as the cartoon boy because people with elemental manipulation do not refer to themselves that way in real life so-"

"Khonshu." Steven says when you trail.

"What?"

"He's- Khonshu's avatar."

"Egyptian God. Interesting. Correct me if I'm wrong he's the god of justice, right?"

"That's right." He nods.

"So the guy that was attacking you a few weeks ago was probably mad at him for- something related to that."

"Most likely. Can't imagine a museum guest putting a hit out on me for not having any more pyramid pens or something." Steven scratches the back of his neck and you chuckle a bit at his joke.

"Interesting."

"Look- that day, I wasn't sure if this was something I was ready to tell you. I've never told anyone this before, the only person that knows is Marc's ex-wife, so when you said you could hear our thoughts I was worried you knew more than just that there were voices in my head and- I'm sorry." Steven trails off with a sigh.

"So- what changed? Why are you telling me now?"

"Well Marc revealed himself to you." Steven says. "But more than that I just- really hate not being able to talk to you. I like my life way more with you in it but I- after how I reacted I sort of figured I'd earned my misery, that I didn't deserve your forgiveness because when you chose to trust me with your secrets I turned you away, I even judged you, instead showing literally any modicum of support of the person I care about. I made an ass of myself."

"I wasn't upset with you, you know. I mean as far as shitty reactions go yours doesn't even make the top 5. You didn't tell the apartment building to gather their pitchforks so- I count that as a win." You shrug.

"I would never-"

"I know." You nod. "While we're- confessing our sins anything else you wanna share?" You ask with a chuckle. Steven holds your gaze for a long moment and there's a brief second where you consider finding out for yourself what he's contemplating so hard, you won't of course, but the silence drags long enough to make you want to rescind the question. Eventually, Steven's hand grabs your arm and yanks you towards him. His eyes are so wide at the action you'd think he's not the one who pulled you but before you can ask him about it his lips are on yours. The kiss is short and a bit unsure but his mouth is soft against yours and when he pulls away still with that wide-eyed look you do nothing but blink at him for a moment.

"I- I'm so sorry that was- I mean Marc was- I didn't plan- I wasn't going to-"

"Steven." You place your hand against his cheek to halt his frazzled rambling. "Did you want to kiss me?" You ask.

"I've wanted to kiss you for months." He breathes.

"Then don't apologize. I've wanted to kiss you too."

"Really?"

"Yes so- I think I'm going to do it again." You say pausing long enough to give him an out. When his eyes flutter closed you take that as your sign to lean forward and connect your lips again. You're sure in that moment you could do this forever and you silently wish to whatever powers above that you'll have that long to do it as many times as you wish.

***

A/N: I'm thinking of turning this into an anthology (like There is No Right Way) of the moonknight trio dating a telepath because I think it would be interesting idk- anyone interested in more of this dynamic?

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fluff #steven grant fanfiction #jake lockley fluff #moonknight #moonknight x reader #moonknight fanfiction #steven grant fluff #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant angst

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victoria-grimesss · 9 months

Note

How about a NSFW Soap with his secretary girlfriend?

masterlist

->Paring: Soap x Fem!Reader

->Words: 0.5k

MDNI!

Soap would lavish the time he's around his sweet secretary girlfriend.

He would be bouncing his knee on the flight back to base thinking about those tight tight pencil skirts and low-cut blouses. How you bat your lashes at him and write love notes on sticky notes for him.

He also thinks about bending you over that oakwood desk.

He leans against your desk all smug as you're taking a phone call. Arms crossed fiddling with the trinkets on your desk. You bat his hand away, but he just grabs it and places kisses on it up your arm.

Johnny isn't shy when it comes to PDA, he wants everyone to see his beautiful girlfriend. His sweet little secretary, he looks unashamedly down your top, and you maybe bend over a little extra to give him a sight. You turn around to get those super important files from the bottom filing cabinet and he stares and more than enough times he touches too.

If anyone comes up when he's there he'll ask to take a message for you, he's just helping right? You have so much on your plate you can't shoo him away.

"You look so pretty bonnie, that's a good color on you."

"Thank you, Johnny."

"You know I think you would look even better if I could sit in your chair and you sit on my lap." He's grinning and his eyes are sparkling it's hard to say no.

----

When everyone else has gone to bed and a majority of the lights are out he bends you over the desk and rips that pencil skirt from the bottom seam up. You curse at him but it holds no conviction. None at all.

"Fuuuck bonnie, you feel so fucking good, I've been waitin' to feel you wrapped around me again."

His thrusts are slow and full of love, he goes in alll the way and stays there for a minute holding you steady by your hips and slowly eases his way out.

"Been counting down the days till I could bend you over this desk and- fuck you're so tight you missed me huh?"

You whine and your heels click on the floor as you shuffle trying to get him to move faster.

"Eaassy pretty girl, we got all night, might fuck you up against that frosted glass window next yea? Would you like that bonnie? Get you nice and wet here then pin you up against it? Have your legs wrapped around me fuck."

"Yes johnny please, anything, anywhere just don't stop."

"Yea you'd like that huh, all those guys that come up to your desk and think about havin' you but they don't know I'm the only one that can fuck you right."

He swears like a sailor when he's inside you and you love the way he speaks, the way his accent sends waves of pleasure down right to your core.

---

He savors these times with you, he pockets your panties and buttons up your shirt for you all sweetly afterwards, you've always kept an extra skirt in your drawer and he always gets you a pretty new one for next time.

#cod smut #cod headcanons #soap x reader #soap x fem reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #mw2 smut #soap smut #john soap mactavish smut #cod fanfic #john mactavish #soap headcanons

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indifferent-depravity · 10 months

Text

Pussyfooting

Minors DNI 18+

CW: age gap

A/N: don't forget requests for everything are open so if you'd like to see anything from me feel free to drop it in my ask box :)

buy me a coffee!

help me escape abuse

my Etsy shop

~~~

With Gemma out looking after a sick Abel, you graciously take over all her shifts, not even giving her a chance to object. The office at the club's garage was an easy gig, half of it was just waiting for customers and organizing paperwork, giving you little to do for most of your shift. But you can’t complain as your eyes wander back to the window into the garage where Chibs is working on a car.

Your eyes trail over his body, thighs pressing together at the sight of his bare arms straining as he works. Your eyes lock when he looks up, a smirk growing on his face as you duck your head down, a deep blush crawling across your cheeks. You quickly mess with the paperwork in front of you as the door opens, trying to look busy to hide your embarrassment.

A hand covers the page and your breath hitches, eyes slowly moving up the arm to find Chibs in front of you. Your mouth goes dry at the playful smirk on his face and you swallow, feigning nonchalance as you speak, “Chibs! Did-did you need something?” You ask, nervously tapping your nails on the desk.

Chibs leans closer until you can smell the cigarette smoke lingering, “Was jus’ wondering what you were thinkin’ when you were staring at me just then.”

You laugh nervously, pushing the chair away from the desk and him. You move to stand in front of the filing cabinet, blindly shuffling through its contents. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I-I wasn’t staring!” Your voice sounds shrill and you squeeze your eyes shut, grimacing inwardly.

“No? Didn’t realize you kids changed the definition of staring.” Chibs murmurs and you can hear him move behind you, swallowing hard as his hands settle on your hips. He spins you around, hovering his lips over yours, “No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart, I never said I didn’t like the attention.”

He leans in and you tilt your chin up with a shaky sigh to meet him, letting your eyes fall shut. Your lips barely brush against each other when someone yells for him in the garage. Chibs curses under his breath, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment and then he’s gone with a gentle squeeze to your hips.

You groan and drop your head against the cabinet, shifting uncomfortably as wetness causes your panties to cling to your cunt. You clear your throat and sit at the desk when you catch Chibs watching you, your face burning as he winks at you.

~~~

You weave through the crowd gathered in the clubhouse, letting out a grateful sigh as you push your way out into the cool night air. You lean your back against the wall and light up a cigarette with a satisfied hum, taking a slow drag.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You choke on the smoke, quickly tipping your head up to exhale. You eye Chibs as he mirrors your position and gestures silently toward your cigarette. You hold it out, breath catching in your throat as he leans forward, eyes holding yours as he takes a drag, his lips just barely brushing your fingers. He gives you a smile as he exhales and you smile back, shakily bringing the cigarette up to your lips to delay responding. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes slide down to your mouth as you wrap your lips around the cigarette, tongue poking out to wet his lips.

“Shouldn’t you be knee-deep in croweaters vying for your attention by now?” You ask in a light tone and look at the dark garage in front of you, passing the cigarette to him without looking.

He snorts and takes a drag, watching the smoke curl in the air. “Some of us know when it’s time to stop fucking everything with two legs and a pair of tits.”

You roll your eyes, turning to give him an amused look when you see him already watching you.

“When they know they found their old lady.”

You stammer and turn back, heat crawling up your neck at the implication. “Y-Yeah I guess they do.” You take the cigarette and finish it off, dropping it onto the concrete and crushing it beneath the toe of your boot. You stand there for a while, a deafening silence growing between the two of you.

“Sweetheart.” At the pet name, you look over at him, heart skipping a beat at the heat in his gaze. Chibs cups your cheek, pressing you against the wall, “I’ve been meaning to ask-”

“Chibs! Aw, man, Clay’s been looking for you! He wants you in the chapel.”

Chibs growls, shooting the prospect a dirty glare, “Get the fuck out of here before I shove my foot up your ass, prospect!” The prospect puts his hands up in surrender, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to go back into the clubhouse.

You giggle, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stifle the noise. Chibs raises an eyebrow, giving you an amused look which causes another giggle to fall from your lips. You stretch onto your toes and press a kiss to his cheek, “Don’t want to keep your president waiting.” Your eyes linger on his for a moment before you slip away, smiling inwardly as you catch him pressing his forehead against the wall with a groan as you rejoin the party inside.

~~~

“I don’t know what to tell you, baby. If you had brought her in a couple of weeks ago like I told you, it would’ve been an easier fix.” Gemma gives you an apologetic look as if that makes the knowledge you’ll be out of a car for the rest of the week any easier.

You run your fingers through your hair with a sigh, “I know, Gem, thanks for trying.”

You turn to your car in the garage, trying to figure out how you’ll survive without your car when your eyes wander to Chibs, the sleeves of his coveralls tied around his waist, exposing his arms. Gemma sidles up next to you with a smirk, “You know, it’s a lot easier to just fuck the man instead of pussyfooting around.”

Your face heats up at her teasing words and you splutter, quickly diverting your eyes to the floor, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She scoffs, “Mhm, sure, sweetheart. Everyone knows you and Chibs have a thing for each other and you’re just too chicken-shit to say something.” She looks you over for a moment before sticking her head into the garage, not giving you a chance to protest as she yells his name over the din of people working, waving him over as he turns around. Gemma nods her head towards you, “They need a ride home, do you mind taking ‘em? I would but I’m going to be here late doing paperwork.”

Your head jolts up and you glare at her, mouthing at her to knock it off. Chibs nods, “S’long as they’re okay riding a motorcycle, I don’t mind.”

Your heart skips a beat at the thought of riding behind him on his motorcycle and you shake your head, giving him an apologetic look, “You don’t need to do that, I-I can just walk home.”

“It’s no trouble, what kinda man would I be letting you walk that far?” The look on his face tells you that no arguing would get you out of it and you give him a small smile. “We can go whenever you’re ready.” He says and walks in the direction of his motorcycle, wiping the motor oil off his hands with a grease-stained rag.

Gemma narrows her eyes at you as she hands you your things, pushing you out of the office with a quick kiss on your cheek. You mumble curses at her under your breath as you walk toward him. You stop short, your words dying in your throat at the sight of him on his bike, sending a silent prayer to whoever is listening that you could keep it together long enough to get home.

He smiles when you reach him, holding out his hand to help you onto the bike. Your heart races as you take it, using it to steady yourself as you swing your leg over the bike. He looks back at you with a grin, guiding your arms around his waist, “Hold on tight, sweetheart.” You give him a nod, tightening your arms around him as he starts the bike. A grin forms on your face as he speeds off, closing your eyes as you enjoy the wind whipping through your hair.

You’re almost sad as he slows to a stop in front of your home, your heart still racing from the ride as you loosen your grip on his waist. You climb off the bike, suddenly feeling cold as you shift your feet nervously. Leaning down, you quickly kiss his cheek before stuttering out, “I- uh I wa- th-thanks for the ride, I’ll see you at work.” You close your eyes with a slight grimace, turning on your heel to escape before you make things worse for yourself.

“Sweetheart.”

You flinch when his hand catches your wrist, heart stuttering in your chest as you hear him get off the bike. You’re about to give an excuse to leave when he tugs on your wrist, making you stumble into his chest. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes slowly sliding up his chest to find him watching you, his face unreadable. “Chibs?”

Chibs cups your cheeks, his lips hovering over yours as he murmurs, “Call me Filip.” He kisses you passionately, stealing your breath away. It takes you a minute to respond, curling your fingers around his wrists as you stretch onto your toes to kiss back. He lingers close to you when he finally breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours with a sigh, “Baby, I- tell me you want this too, I need you to want this.”

You nod against him, closing your eyes as you whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Come inside?” You grin when he agrees and gently tangle your fingers in his, a buzzing excitement replacing your anxiety as you tug him to your front door.

Chibs wraps his arms around your waist when you drop his hand in favor of opening the door. He lightly kisses your neck and your keys nearly slip from your hand as you try to find the right key. He nips at your skin, drawing a soft whine from your throat, “Ch- F-Filip you need to stop distracting me.”

He hums, tugging you back against him, pressing the hard ridge of his cock against your ass, “Say my name again, sweetheart.” You moan and try to blindly get your key in the door, knees growing weak as he ruts against you. You finally get the door open and he urges you inside, pressing you against the door the minute it shuts. “C’mon baby, say it again.”

His hands roam over your body, sneaking underneath your pants to palm your ass. You gasp, arching into him, “Fuck, Filip.” You pull him down into a searing kiss and roughly push his cut off his shoulders, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, “Take your clothes off, now.”

“Bossy today, aren’t ya?” Chibs chuckles and pulls his shirt off, throwing it to the side before tugging your shirt over your head.

You give him a devilish grin and flip your bodies around to press him against the door as you dip your hand into his coveralls, fingers brushing the heated skin of his cock, “You can take your time next time, need you to fuck me right now.” He groans, thumping his head back against the door as you slide your hand over his length. You attack his skin, nipping and sucking marks over his neck and collarbones.

“Fuck- sweetheart it’ll be a bit difficult to do that if you keep touching me like this.” You hum, still moving your hand over his shaft, grinning against his skin as he bucks into your touch. Chibs grabs your arm, swallowing a moan as he forces you to stop. You press a kiss to the underside of his jaw, giving his cock a final squeeze before pulling away.

“Come and get me then,” You say with a smirk, making a show of peeling off the rest of your clothes as you make your way to your bedroom. Your cunt throbs as you hear his boots hit the floor with a heavy thud and you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, slowly teasing them down your thighs. You giggle as Chibs wraps his arms around you, hand sliding between your thighs with a groan.

“God, you’re so fucking wet f’me, aren’t you?” You whine as his fingers find your clit, digging your nails into his arm, “Been thinking about this pretty pussy wrapped around my cock for weeks now.”

You tip your head back against his shoulder with a sigh as he sinks his fingers into your cunt, “Maybe-maybe you should stop lollygagging and fuck me then,” You say with a quiet moan, your knees weakening from his touch.

Chibs growls and pulls his fingers out of you with a light smack to your ass, spinning you around to face him, “You’re going to get in trouble if you keep mouthing off to me, sweetheart,” He grips your thighs, hoisting you into his arms as he moves to sit on the bed. Your breath hitches as his cock slides against your cunt and he grins, delivering another smack to your ass that has you clenching your thighs around his hips.

You let out a breathless laugh, reaching between you to press the head of his cock against your entrance, “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” Before he could answer you sink down on his cock, a whimper bubbling out of you as you stretch around his length. He swears, digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass as he bottoms out inside you.

You shiver as Chibs drags your hips against his, working you over his cock, “Oh, I think you’ll find out, sweetheart.” He growls, surging forward to capture your lips in a deep kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth as you moan into the kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your hips, the drag of his cock inside you making your toes curl.

He presses his thumb against your clit and you break the kiss with a gasp, throwing your head back as you shudder against him. “Fuck- ‘m so close, Filip,” You whimper, another shudder running through you as his cock presses against a spot deep inside you, “I want you to cum with me please, I need- I need to feel you.”

Chibs groans, pressing his forehead against yours as your bodies mold together. “It’s alright, sweetheart, let go. Cum for me, cum on my cock.” He coaxes you over the edge, rubbing circles over your clit as you let out a broken cry, clenching tightly around him as you reach your climax. He follows you quickly, letting out a quiet moan as he fills you with his seed.

~~~

You poke your head into the garage, “Filip! What’s the status on the gold century? The customer wants an update.” He shouts a reply and you shoot him a smile, turning pink when he returns it with a wink.

“When did you become Filip?”

You can hear their jeers at his reply even through the door and you groan, grimacing when you turn around and see Gemma looking at you with a smug smirk. You glare at her, “Don’t even start.”

“So… he a good lay?”

#filip chibs telford #filip telford #chibs telford #chibs telford x reader #filip telford x reader #sons of anarchy #soa #chibs soa #chibs telford smut #chibs smut #writing #smut

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spiteless-xo · 1 month

Text

Eren Jaeger is charming.

You rationalize to yourself that it’s because he works in sales—when he smiles at you, when he flirts, when he touches your arm—you’re supposed to fall in love with him. He wouldn’t be good at his job if you didn’t.

And of course, Eren’s girlfriend is stunning.

Dark-cropped hair to highlight her sharp jawline, a body crafted from hours at the gym and careful attention to diet, and tits bigger than your head. She’s beautiful, she’s perfect, and the two of them look flawless together in all of Eren’s photos hung in his office. The two of them seem like the ideal couple. They're madly in love and aren’t afraid to broadcast it to the world.

The only problem is, she’s not you.

But when you start to see the cracks in their flawless public facade, you find an opportunity to tilt things in your favour.

Your boss asks you to stay late a few nights each week to help do some filing while the bookkeeper is on maternity leave. It’s not rocket science and you’re able to figure it out without direction, but it takes a few hours and you’re usually the last person to leave each night.

Usually.

Recently, you’ve noticed that Eren has been staying at work late. He’s typically the type to clock out the second the clock hits 4 pm, so his change in behaviour leaves you curious.

His office is nowhere near the filing cabinets, but if you take the long way back to your desk at reception, you get to walk past his office. His door is always closed but he keeps the blinds on the window open, so when you make your way past you catch glimpses of him staring angrily at his computer screen, or his phone, or resting his chin on his hand as he scribbles on some papers.

What could he possibly be working on so late at night? Sales were down this year due to supply-chain issues, so he should be leaving work earlier, not staying late.

Your curiosity grows like a weed and you find yourself staying late on nights that you don’t need to. Keeping yourself occupied with busy work and walking past Eren’s office as many times as you can. You know that your persistence will eventually yield more information.

One night, your patience pays off.

When you walk down the hall toward Eren’s office, you notice that his door is sitting half-open. It's unusual—he always closes it when he works late.

You slow your steps, approaching his door carefully and cautiously and praying that your shoes don’t make noise on the tile until you’re close enough to his doorway to hear his deep voice mumbling into the phone.

He’s arguing with someone, that much you can tell, even when you can’t make out exact words. His tone is harsh—angry—and you quickly realize that he’s talking to his precious girlfriend. The one he posted a picture of on Instagram yesterday—her sitting at a cafe, wrapped in a dark red scarf with just a simple hashtagged caption.

Eren spits out each syllable of her name like he can’t tolerate how it feels on his tongue. His voice gets louder but you still can’t quite make out what he’s saying over the rushing of blood in your ears. You bite your tongue and hold your breath, desperate to know more, and accidentally find yourself pushing the door open further as you lean against it.

Dark green eyes meet yours instantly, but his tone doesn’t waver as he speaks on the phone. He wraps up the conversation quickly, throwing his phone down onto his desk when he hangs up.

He doesn’t look at you after that and you make slow, cautious movements toward him as you apologize profusely for eavesdropping. You explain that you’ve never heard him speak like that to someone before and you were just worried it was something serious.

Eren grunts in response and covers his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his desk as he breathes out with a huff.

You move closer—soft, slow steps like you're afraid he might run off—until you’re making your way around to the back of his desk. You seat yourself on the wood, crossing your legs until your knee brushes against his arm and he finally looks up at you.

He looks defeated and you feel a sick sense of victory brewing in your gut.

You offer him some words of comfort and a soft smile as you reach out to rest your hand on his shoulder. You’re surprised when he melts into your touch, gaze wavering slightly as he looks up at you.

Feeling bold, you gently stroke down his arm, running your hand up and down along his bicep, feeling the firm muscle underneath the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You swear you can see his breath catch in his throat when you bring your hand back up to his shoulder, fingering softly at the collar of his shirt.

He thanks you for being kind and asks that you keep this to yourself. He doesn’t need Karen from accounting to know the details of his relationship problems.

Of course, Eren. Your secret is safe with me. Always.

He smiles up at you and rests his hand on yours. It’s warm and heavy against your skin and when you intertwine your fingers with his, he doesn’t pull away.

You can be charming, too.

#eren jaeger x reader #cw cheating #dealership au #ive always thought i'd be fun to write a fic with little to no dialogue #especially because my fics are usually very dialogue-heavy #eren #aot #tiff.fic #eren.drbl

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drabblesandimagines · 7 months

Text

Promises

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy nonsense, taken some liberties with timeline of RE2R.

“There.” You hop off the desk and turn back round to admire your handiwork, hands on your hips and tilting your head a little at the banner now hanging from the ceiling tiles, surrounded by streamers. “Hey – does that look squint to you?” It had looked level when you were stood up there, but now you’re back on the ground the banner proudly displaying Welcome Leon looked a little off.

“Does it matter?” Edward steps behind you, files in hand after rummaging through the filing cabinet. “He’s not going to take a spirit level to it.”

“No, but…” You sigh, tilting your head in the other direction to see if that made a difference.

“You were off the clock 40 minutes ago, rookie, and I ain’t paying overtime.” Branagh’s voice booms from his office door and you turn, shrugging your shoulders in acknowledgement. He’s got his jacket over his arm, briefcase in hand, looking to be heading home for the evening.

“Of course, Lieutenant. I just wanted to get this up before I left for the day. He still starts the day after tomorrow, right?”

“Mm-hm. I don’t know why Chief Irons is insisting on this morale-boosting bullshit.”

You hold your tongue – calling it bullshit is exactly why the captain is insisting on it, and when Branagh had tasked you to do something to make the new recruit – one Leon S Kennedy – feel welcome upon joining the force, you’d thought the idea was quite sweet. It had been daunting enough for you almost six months earlier, joining a police station where everyone else was a few years your senior and friends for a good while. It had been difficult gaining their respect, proving your worth but, hey, you had it now… more or less.

Branagh sighs – you must’ve been pouting. “It’s not squint, rookie.” He walks over, looking at the banner and streamers with a stoic expression. “As long as you haven’t wasted taxpayers’ money with that and that weird lock puzzle you’ve set up, then I shouldn’t complain.”

“No, sir. I got the locks from storage and the banner and streamers are all on me. And we could re-use it, if you switch some letters around…”

He scoffs, taking in the sign again. “To what?”

“Er…” You look at the letters. “O clown melee.”

Branagh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Go home.” He turns to your fellow officer, then. “Edward, I expect that report on my desk first thing tomorrow.”

“You got it, Lieutenant.” Branagh nods as he leaves the room. “Why are you so excited about the new guy anyway, rookie?” Edward is at his desk now, flipping through the pile of arrest records.

“Isn’t it obvious, Edward?” You grin, picking up your rucksack from beneath your desk.

“Ah, you want a boyfriend, I get it.”

“Ugh.” You scoff. “No, it means I won’t be the rookie anymore.”

Edward cocks his eyebrow at you before shaking his head. “Nah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line is casual, upbeat. It’s nice to hear after the last 24 hours has been anything but. It matches the photo in the file you have, one finger still besides his contact number. Blonde hair, cute face. Too sweet to come here now.

“Leon Kennedy?” You try and steady your voice, sitting at the desk in Branagh’s office. You can see some streamers dangling from the ceiling and you hope the broadcast that’s been playing for the last few hours can’t be picked up on the line.

“Speaking. Who’s this?”

“I’m with the Raccoon Police Department.” There’s blood on your forearm, but you’re not sure if it’s yours. “I know you were meant to start tomorrow, but there’s been a… delay with the paperwork. Our end, not yours. We’ll be in touch with a new date.”

“Oh. That’s…” He sounds disappointed, but if you told him the real reason he wouldn’t believe it. You don’t believe it. “Er, that’s okay. Thanks for letting me know. You’ll definitely been in touch?”

There’s a bang at the window. A man, blood dripping down from his mouth, a gouge out of his own neck snarls at you through the pane of glass.

“We will.”

“All rig-” There’s no dial tone, no beep of disconnection – just silence. They’ve cut the phonelines.

Seven days of hell. This wasn’t covered at the academy – whatever this is. They said it was a radiation leak at first – that was what was making people act so feral. You’d seen the worst of humanity over the days and no-one seemed to be coming to help anymore. The army had been drafted in, at first evacuating bus-loads of civilians out before that was deemed too risky. They then tried to quarantine everyone, everything in but nothing is working – blockades go up, they come down, more and more people die, your colleagues die.

Or do they, really? Scott, Ford and Carlsen were definitely upright, shuffling towards you the third or fourth time you resorted to shooting them in the head.

The police station was designated a shelter, a sanctuary. It’s a sturdy building, that’s for sure – solid walls of a former art museum – but it’s not enough to stop whatever has happened to the people you tried so hard to protect.

You don’t know where Phillips, Edward or Branagh are, or if they are still even them. It’s impossible to know how long you’ve been down in the cells now – power’s out, it’s dark all of the time. The only way you know that time has passed at all is by the hunger pangs in your stomach.

You’re just glad that they’re not for human flesh.

Yet.

You’d found Irons down here. His last orders were for everyone to stay in the station itself, but Branagh had sent you down, reluctantly, in the hopes of finding any sort of supplies that hadn’t already been picked apart. Everyone assumed the chief was dead - hadn’t been seen in days. As you’d headed down to the cells, you’d heard raised voices, arguing. You couldn’t work out what they were saying at first, concentrating too much on the fact that they were real voices, saying real words and not guttural growls.

Chief Irons holding a gun in a man’s face, forcing him into in a cell and slamming the door shut is not what you’re expecting to see.

“Don’t just stand there,” the new prisoner called out to you, “help me! The guy’s a madman. He’s been selling us all out to Umbrella this whole time. He’s responsible for this all!”

Chief Irons turns to you, pupils blown out, looking fed up, gun still held aloft but now in your direction.

“What are you doing down here? You were told to all stay up in the station.”

“Sorry, Chief. We thought… Branagh told me to come down. What’s going on?”

“Er, hello! Did you hear me?” The man is holding the bars of the cell. “He caused this.”

You ignore your gut in the presence of authority, “Is it wise, sir, to leave him in there? He’ll be a sitting duck.”

“He’s not the only one.” And you see his trigger finger flex.

You run then, an attempt at a sprint from the adrenaline, but there’s a hot, searing pain in your thigh. You’re fast, but he’s faster, an arm wrapped around your windpipe, cutting off the oxygen. You stomp on his foot, jerk your head back, anything to try and make him release his grip but the world is swimming before you.

Perhaps this is the most peaceful death you could wish for.

There is a bitter feeling when you wake up, locked in a cell further down the corridor from where you’d been, without your gun, thigh tacky with blood and painful to move. There is a crude bandage wrapped around it, preventing blood loss but it feels more a death sentence than a blessing, surrounded by echoing snarls and rats that need kicking away.

You wake up to repetitive, methodical gunshots. Someone is going cell by cell, peering in and eliminating those inside.

Maybe the army is back, maybe they’re cleaning up the mess.

You’d fallen asleep sat in the corner on the cot, back leaned up against the wall. The rats didn’t seem to climb up here as much at least – you’d feel them before they managed to get a nibble.

The footsteps are getting closer and closer before a flashlight is shone around your cell, investigating every nook and cranny before it lands on your face, causing you to squint. You hold up your hands.

“I’m not one of them.” You plead, your voice raspy from sleep. You desperately want to cough but worry that’ll make too much of a them sound.

“Are you hurt?” The voice sounds fleetingly familiar. You blink in the light before it dips a little and you can see who’s wielding it.

Although his hair is mussed, a little bloody, you recognize the sweet face from the file on Branagh’s desk all those days ago and a certain something clipped on the end of his gun.

“You got your welcome present.” “Huh?”

“You’re Leon, right?” He nods. You get to your feet, cautiously, using the last of your energy to limp across to the bars, curling your fingers around them to steady yourself. You offer your name - as if it would mean anything to him. “I put that in your desk. Did you solve the lock or did you just smash your way through?”

“No, no, I solved ‘em.” He bites his tongue, doesn’t tell you that when he solved them was moments after he had to shoot that certain colleague in the head. “Did you put that all together?”

You smile, “And the banner – if it’s still up.”

“No, it is.” He wraps his hand on top of yours, maybe as desperate for human contact as you’d been. “Thank you – I wish I could’ve seen it on a day as it should’ve been seen.”

“Me too. But… why are you here? I told you to stay away.”

“That was you as well?” His eyes widen – beautiful blue things. If Edward could see you the smitten look on your face now, he’d be intolerable. He’d caught you making eyes over guys being booked in the past, after all.

“I wish you’d listened.”

“You said you’d be in touch.” He teases, before settling into something more serious. “I’m glad I didn’t cos it looks like you’re in quite the predicament. Why are you in there?”

“Long story. Can you get me out? There should be an override switch for all the cells – runs on a generator. Not sure if things have been messing with it.”

“I’ll work something out.” He smiles, squeezing your hand before he lets go. “Just… sit tight. I’ll be back – I promise.”

And, as you stagger back to the cot, head falling back against the wall, you believe him.

Time is fuzzy now, or maybe you’re just weak from hunger, weak from pain. Water from the cell sink has been the only thing that’s kept you going. But now there’s an alarm sounding and mechanical locks clunking and so much groaning.

Your name is being called, shoulders shaken but you can’t focus. You’re heaved up from the cot, arms wrapped around your waist and over someone’s shoulder. A hand squeezes your backside before there’s an apology and it shifts back to your waist. There’s gunshots, hissing, snarling, screaming, swearing all around you but all you can do is hang limply, catching glimpses of limbs and blood smears on the floor before it all goes black again.

“She’s dead weight.” A new voice – female – echoes around your head, though you’re in a different position now – cradled in someone’s arms, face pressed against the weirdly familiar feeling of a bulletproof vest.

“Ada.” A warning tone.

“What? You can’t carry her and shoot.”

“It’s fine.”

“Not where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” You mumble, forcing your eyes open and up to see that picture perfect smile once more.

“Hey. How you feeling?”

“I’ve felt better.”

“I’m sure. This is Ada – she’s with the FBI.” A woman in sunglasses and a white coat shoots you a disinterested look. “We’re going to Umbrella’s lab. This whole thing’s a virus – we need to stop…” He smiles, noting your bemused expression. “I’ll explain later. You just rest, okay? We’ll find you somewhere safe whilst we deal with this.”

“Safe?” You want to laugh. “Good luck.”

Leon finds something though – an armored military truck the south side of town. No windows, a box of rations still intact.

“Okay, you stay set up in here.” He’s crouched in front of you, Ada hanging back at the door. “I promise I’ll be back for you afterwards.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He squeezes your hand. “I’m gonna keep it – just you see.” Leon gets to his feet and Ada steps aside as he exits, before peering at you over her shades.

“Here.” She withdraws a gun from within her coat, slides it over the metal flooring of the truck. “Just in case.”

Leon puts on a smile behind her, hand aloft in a wave and Ada slams the door shut.

You don’t need to check the barrel to know there’s only one bullet in there.

More time passes through a combination of consciousness and unconsciousness. Opening up packets of dry, dusty crackers that tasted euphoric on an empty stomach and bottled water, gun still within reach and blissful silence as the thick metal walls obscured all sound from outside.

The door opens, morning light flooding behind, illuminating Leon as an angelic figure – his shoulder now wrapped in a bloodied bandage. A woman sporting a ponytail behind him, a little girl too, but no Ada.

“You came back.” You breathe out as he crouches in front of you, taking your hand.

“I promised, didn’t I? This is Claire and Sherry, and we’re all getting out of here.”

You kiss him, clumsily, head still woozy, but his hand comes up to rest on the back of your head, holding you steady before someone clears their throat behind.

“Ahem, Leon…” Claire jerks her head towards Sherry, the girl staring wide-eyed.

“Sorry.” He’s flustered – adorably so – but he drops his hand from your head and helps you to your feet, keeping you close to his uninjured side. He presses his lips to the side of your temple as Claire and Sherry turn, mumbling into your ear.

“And I promise to come back for your kiss too.”

You wake with a start, sitting up in the bed, trying to catch your breath. You were back in the police station, hands grabbing at you from boarded up windows, guttural wet sounds from things no longer human.

There’s movement besides you, followed by a click, a soft, yellow light illuminating the room as a warm hand rubs your back.

“You with me, sweetheart?” Leon asks, cautiously. He knows how it feels to wake from a nightmare, how disorientating it can be.

You reach for his hand, lacing his fingers between your own, grounding yourself. You're in bed, you're home, you're safe, you're with him. “You came back.”

“Always will.”

Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

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