#different types of nursing jobs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

highdramas · 2 months ago

Text

fresh out the slammer | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

warnings: language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), talks of cheating and emotional manipulation

word count: 2.1k

summary: after a failed engagement and a move back to pittsburgh, there's only one person you want to run back to.

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. fresh out the slammer really is that girl, and i'm happy with how this fic turned out! please let me know what you think because i am a slut for feedback <3

your thumb hovers above jack abbot’s contact in your phone, a green tea shot in your opposite hand. a recipe for a mistake, or the best decision in your life, after many bad ones-- who can say?

realistically, you should be heartbroken. and maybe that feeling would come later. but right now, all you feel is burning, fiery anger. and a determination that supersedes anything else.

if someone had told you that you would’ve sat through five years of an unhappy relationship, then engagement, you would’ve called them crazy. if they told you that it would end with catching your fiance, conrad, having sex with his twenty one year old assistant in the bed you paid for– well, it bruised your ego to even think about it.

it hadn’t been all bad. on the good days, it was like the clouds would part and conrad would warm to you, remind you why you had stayed for the better part of five years. remind you why you had agreed to help pay for his law school. why you covered the rent on the apartment that you shared. why you had turned others down, even when you had felt that insatiable pull. well, not others, plural. just one very specific other. that temptation that you never quite broke from, the person who lived in the back of your mind as a what if or an if only things had been different.

at this point, you’re sure that jack has heard the news of your failed engagement and relocation back to pittsburgh– you knew that dana wouldn’t be able to keep the secret for long, from any of your former coworkers. there was a part of you that figured he had to be somewhere, chuckling to himself, told you so, kid ringing through his mind.

the move to philly was supposed to be temporary– just while he goes through law school, and then back to pittsburgh we go. but when he was offered a position at a firm, you were forced to put down roots, despite your better judgement. you didn’t have very many friends in philadelphia, nor any family– just conrad. you got a good job at a good hospital, but it wasn’t PTMC, and you knew that it never would be. the first thing you did after your blow-up argument– him, half naked, you, drunk off of a bottle of red wine– was you put in your resignation, and gave dana a call, drunk and crying, to see if they, maybe, needed a night shift nurse. to your delight, she said yes– and you were on the first train to pittsburgh to crash in dana’s guestroom. you planned to surprise the whole lot at your first shift towards the end of the week… but, to be honest, you didn’t know if you could wait that long.

you’d never fancied yourself a sit at the bar alone and drink your sorrows away type, but there was a first for everything. you already hated feeling like you were mooching off of dana and benji’s kindness, despite their insistence of the contrary. and, as lovely as they were, there was still something that stung about being privy to their happy marriage. that was what you had wanted for yourself. that was what you tried to hold onto with two hands… but fate didn’t seem to think it was your time.

but now, with the absence of a diamond on your finger and five years of your life down the toilet, all you wanted was to feel warm. all you wanted was to feel those specific eyes on you.

fuck it. you hit call. the dial tone drones on, and on. at a certain point, you’re ready to swallow your pride and accept that he’s not going to answer, but you hear his familiar voice come through the other end, “well, look what the cat dragged in.”

you have to press your lips together to stop a full smile from spreading across your face. “guilty as charged.”

the silence on the phone is heavy. he knows. you can feel it, even without him saying anything. “how are you holding up?”

that’s the only confirmation that you need. you laugh into the phone, letting out a long, drawn out sigh. “oh, you know.” you circle the rim of your glass with a finger. “never been better.”

“yeah?” you hear him groan. you can picture him stretching out on his couch, putting his hand behind his head while he talks to you. the thought makes your mouth run dry. “dana told me.”

“oh, i’m sure she did. traitor.” dana’s opinion on who you should be with was not lost on you, and you assumed it wasn’t lost on jack, either. “i’m alright, though. seriously.”

he hums and you can tell he’s turning the information over in your mind, trying to assess how honest you’re really being with him. “good enough to call me, apparently.”

“apparently.” you squeeze your eyes shut and go for it. “i’m actually already back in pittsburgh. i don’t know if dana told you. i’m staying with her and benji.” he’s still quiet on the other side. always so quiet. always giving you the room to fill the silence, as he knows you often like to do. “and i was wondering… if you’re not doing anything…” he already starts to chuckle on the other end, knowingly. “if you’d want to meet me at lefty’s?”

his silence peters out to thoughtful quiet once more, until you hear movement in the background of the call. “i’ll be there in ten.”

jack makes it in seven.

you try not to look too eager; you cross your legs and make small talk with the bartender, occasionally glance at your phone and force yourself not to look over at the door every time that it opens. but, of course– it opens, you look over, and there he is.

jack isn’t the type of handsome that you usually go for. conrad, despite being a lawyer, wasn’t so clean cut. he was a little messy, a little rough around the edges– jack looks precise, strong, sturdy. capable. and god, those arms– the spring evening has them on display, and you’re quickly remembering why it was so difficult to stay away. every cell inside of you jumped when he came around, as if you were programmed to want him.

he doesn’t quite smile, but he doesn’t need to. you stand up from your stool and he saunters right up to you, those arms going to circle around your waist. you let out a nice, long sigh– finally, it’s like your heart seems to say.

you close your eyes and rest your face in the crook of his neck. for a moment, you allow yourself to just breathe. despite all of your bravado, you really aren’t okay, or as okay as you would like dana and your mom and your best friend back home to believe you are. you’re not okay because you’re not happy with the person that you have allowed yourself to become. you’re not okay because you with that you had listened to your gut all those years ago. you’re not okay because you threw everything away for someone who who didn’t even love, not really– and that self realization fills you with shame. with jack, for a split second, it’s like you can let that facade drop at his feet. you pull back and you look at each other, and jack pushes your hair back behind your ear. “i think you need a drink,” he flags the bartender down. “another for the lady.”

you settle into barstools, and he hooks his ankle around the leg of yours and tugs you a bit closer. you can still find it within yourself to smirk and prop your head onto the palm of your hand. “you can say i told you so. i give you permission.” your voice sounds downtrodden, even in your own ears.

he raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. “i’m not saying shit.” he thanks the bartender and slides your drink to you, taking his ipa. “tell me what happened. dana didn’t give me any details.”

“oh, bless her,” you roll your eyes. but, you begin to divulge the story to him. he knows the beginning– the fights that would end in you crying and walking down pittsburgh streets by yourself, which always resulted in calling jack to pick you up. but you begin to explain the middle, and the ending, everything that happened in philly while you avoided his texts and calls, purposefully. you knew that if he knew the truth of the situation… well, he would’ve shown up, and you think he would’ve kicked conrad’s ass.

that doesn’t sound so bad now.

but, slowly, you tell him. about the cheating, the fighting, the emotional distance and the nights that you spent alone, not knowing where he was. you explain to him how you were paying for all of your joint expenses, even after he joined a firm, when you tell him how much you were working to pay for all of it, jack’s nostrils flare. “don’t,” you warn, laying your hand on his arm. “it’s my fault. why would i put up with that, i mean, really?”

“because he manipulated you,” jack says effortlessly. “he made you think that was okay. come on, you’re not telling me you blame yourself?”

“regardless–” your eyes find where your left hand rests on his arm. no ring in sight. he looks down and stares at the same spot. “regardless… it’s over.”

jack huffs a laugh that you feel right down to your bones. there’s a vulnerability in it– a hope that you could detect from a mile away. “is it?”

you squeeze his arm once. “yeah.” your hand retreats, and he doesn’t stop you. “it is.”

it’s not fair, a voice in the back of your mind says. it’s not fair to do this to him, to come back and lay at his feet for his attention– but you want him, you’ve wanted him the whole time, and you’re so tired of rejecting yourself of the things that feel good and right and real. and when he looks at you, you have to reckon with the fact that it’s not his attention that you’re looking for. it’s his understanding, his friendship, it’s him– you didn’t want to call anyone else. you didn’t want to be with anyone else.

there’s a war going on in his mind, and you can feel it from a mile away. he shakes his head and puts his face into his hands and you look away, sheepishly… but not that embarrassed, either. “oh, kid, you kill me.” he wipes his face one last time. “you know that?”

when you bite down on your lip and nod your head, you watch something shift in his face. whatever tension he was holding onto seems to release– his limbs go a bit loose, and he leans in to be closer to you, faces inches apart. “what’s the real reason you called me?”

the eye contact is invasive. you feel like he can see through every inch of you, and it creates an unease. you’re used to being unknown, unseen, and not cared for by your partner. you got used to taking the crumbs of affection and making a meal from them. you’re not used to this undivided longing that jack hits you with every time he looks in your direction. you don’t know how to handle it. if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t know if you can handle it.

in a way, it was easier to be in a loveless relationship. in a loveless relationship, you never have to fully open yourself. you never have to worry about heartbreak, because being left is more of a relief than anything else.

if jack broke your heart, you don’t know what ruins would be left of you. that was the truth.

“because,” you start, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. “i’ve thought about you every single day since i left pittsburgh,” you swallow. “and i felt like i made a big mistake, walking away from you when i did.” the sheer intensity of his gaze grows to be too much, and you want to look away– but you know he’ll just coax you back to his hazel eyes. “and i’m selfish enough to see if maybe i can get a second chance.”

jack continues to look at you with a precision you can’t quite place. he breaks only to turn to the bartender and say, “can we close out, please?”

your eyebrows shoot up. “where are we going?”

the bartender runs jack’s card and he thanks them, scribbling a tip and a signature onto the receipt. he doesn’t look up as he says, “we’re going to my place.”

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot fanfic #the pitt fanfic #my writing

586 notes · View notes

whisperedmeg · 22 days ago

Text

FLUORESCENT MERCY ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part i

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: spencer reid was never cut out for prison. under the buzz of the fluorescent overheads in the prison infirmary, spencer meets a nurse who sees beyond his inmate number.

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

w/c: 7.7k (yikes sorry)

tags/warnings: s12 prison arc, mentions of drugs and murder, afab reader goes by she/her pronouns, flirting, banter, probably horribly inaccurate info on medical treatment and prison healthcare, mention of Alzheimer’s/schizophrenia, sadboy spencer, minor sexual tension, fluff, mentions of blood and other injury, spencer gets hurt a few times but he’s okay, reader lowkey kind of cyberstalks spencer but it’s fine she’s sweet

a/n: hello!! first time posting a fic on here eeeep. mostly writing this for myself more than anyone else tbh, but i hope anyone who stumbles upon this mouthful enjoys it. get to know me here. a few disclaimers: I am not a nurse!!! I have never worked in the correctional system or even been inside a prison before!!! there will probably be plenty of inaccuracies as to how that all works, and if that will bother you, this probably isn’t the fic for you and that’s okay. this is just for funsies :-) staying mostly true to the prison arc canon but with some tweaks for the sake of the story. story is told by reader from first person, very very minimal use of y/n (only when it’s absolutely necessary). again, i am very very brand new to posting fics on tumblr (+ writing for criminal minds in general) so I appreciate any and all interactions with this fic and any advice/feedback in my asks is always welcome! if you enjoy, please reblog! there’s really no other way for me to get this thing out there as a brand new blog, so that would mean the world to me 🤍

this is part of a series, but can be read as a stand-alone one shot!

series masterlist

Some days the air inside the infirmary felt heavier than others — thick with stale disinfectant and something harder to qualify. Grief, maybe. Danger, sometimes. Or resignation. Or just the ache of a hundred slow-moving lives, pressed up against metal and concrete.

I’d gotten used to it, mostly. That dull, pulsing ache. But occasionally I still caught myself pausing between tasks and wondering how I’d ended up here. Not in a bad way. Just… reflective. Being a nurse in a prison infirmary wasn’t the kind of job most little girls dreamed about, and it definitely wasn’t the kind of job that made first dates lean in with interest.

But I chose this. On purpose.

I’d seen what broken systems could do. I’d watched people be forgotten because it was easier that way. Being here meant I could be the person who didn’t look away. The person who treated people like people, even when the rest of the world pretended they were less than human.

I never used to picture myself here. Not in a place like this, anyway. But life doesn’t always move in straight lines, and I’ve learned not to fight the curves.

I became a nurse because I wanted to help. Not in some abstract, motivational quote-type of way, but in a way that matters. Out of school, I specialized in trauma for a while. Emergency room work in the city, night shift, a revolving door of chaos. At first, I loved the fast-paced and high-intensity nature of that environment, but I burned out quickly. When the opportunity came up to transfer into the correctional system, most of my colleagues looked at me like I was nuts for even considering it. But I didn’t flinch. People in here deserved care, too. Especially in here. No matter what they’d done to end up in prison.

There’s a different kind of urgency in prison nursing. You see a lot of pain that runs deeper than physical injury — shame, grief, resignation, embarrassment, numbness. Some inmates came in loud, either angry at the world or simply desperate to charm their way into extra pain medication or a reason to sit out of laundry duty. Others were quiet and looked right past you — or through you. Quiet because of shame or misery or as if the simple act of hearing their own voice could beckon danger to their feet. I didn’t blame them. The main goal for most was survival, plain and simple. And sometimes, simply surviving a place like this was hard enough.

—

He came in during the tail end of my shift one Wednesday — tall, hunched a little like he didn’t want to take up any more space than absolutely necessary, with curls still damp from the showers and a bloodied gauze pad pressed sloppily to the side of his left hand. A cut. Not bad, but deep enough to need attention. He sat perched on the edge of the cot like it might vanish under him if he moved too suddenly, his shoulders rounded and his head dipped down.

“Spencer Reid?” I asked to confirm his name, checking the file. He responded with the tiniest nod of acknowledgement, as if he forgot his muscles still worked. I lifted my eyes up from the paperwork to try to meet his, but they remained firmly trained down at his lap.

He was a new inmate, having just arrived at Millburn three days prior. Eerily quiet. Noticeably out of place. Something about his appearance didn’t seem to suit him, either. The patchy stubble peppering his jaw and the unruliness of his hair just looked off, and it was clear that he normally presented himself in a way that was much more cleaned up than this. It took me about 45 seconds to determine that the version of him before me wasn’t an accurate depiction of the man inside the jumpsuit.

My cursory read of his file was littered with red flags. Arrested in Mexico? Immediate FBI involvement? Last-minute switch from protective custody to gen pop upon arrival? Something seemed… strange, even for federal prison, where strangeness and corruption were the norm. I shook my head slightly, as if trying to literally clear my mind. Investigating or even knowing anything about his background at all wasn’t my job: I was here to provide medical care, so I turned off the instinctually curious part of my brain and got to work. “So. You cut your hand?”

He nodded once, barely lifting his eyes. “Library. Book spine split,” he replied. “There was a metal strip inside the binding. I wasn’t paying attention.”

His voice was soft but even, the kind of tone you could almost mistake for calm if you weren’t paying attention. He didn’t flinch when I took his hand, but I felt the muscles in his forearm and wrist pull taut like a wire. Clearly this man was uncomfortable with physical touch. I almost felt bad, but I couldn’t do my job without touching him, so I kept my hold.

“Sorry to hear that,” I said, trying to find that tone that falls somewhere between neutral and kind. “The prison library is supposed to be a safe place amongst all the chaos.”

The corner of his mouth twitched ever-so-slightly. Maybe a smile, maybe just a tic.

I cleaned the cut and wrapped it. His tension seemed to fade a bit as I worked, but it was replaced with something sadder — surprise at the genuine care I was showing him.

“Should heal up fine,” I told him. “Just try to keep it clean. If you notice any signs of infection like redness or fever, tell the guards you need to come back. Otherwise, I hope I don’t have to see you back here again. No more cuts, okay?”

He gave a polite nod, still not quite looking at me. “Thank you,” he murmured. He flicked his eyes up to me for a fleeting moment — brown, maybe? Hazel? Somewhere kind of golden in between? Before I could decipher the answer, he dropped his gaze back down to his lap.

And then he was gone, escorted out just as quickly as he’d come in.

It wasn’t anything remarkable. It was the type of patient interaction I’d normally forget before a shift was even over. But something about the way he’d sat so quietly, like he was trying not to leave even a speck of evidence of his existence, stayed with me.

Some inmates at Millburn talked too much. Some didn’t want to talk at all. Spencer Reid was the kind who seemed like he used to talk a lot, but had forgotten how.

—

My apartment was dark and quiet when I got home from work — just the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the air vents as they settled into the night. I shrugged out of my scrubs, tossed them into the laundry basket, wrapped my robe around my body, and tied my hair up, my mind in a post-work fog. Some shifts clung to me longer than others. Today hadn’t been particularly bad, but I still felt the weight of it hanging somewhere behind my sternum. The longer I worked at Millburn, the heavier that weight seemed to get.

I microwaved a cup of leftover soup and curled up on the couch with my legs tucked beneath me, a blanket over my lap, and the TV playing something I wasn’t watching. My body was home, safe, comfortable. But my mind? My mind was somewhere else entirely.

The quiet, sad patient from the other day. Spencer Reid.

I hadn’t seen him again since I’d cleaned out that cut on his hand a few days ago, but for some unknown reason, he lingered in my head longer than most patients ever did. I’d told myself it was just professional curiosity understandably fueled by glaring abnormalities — that strange patchwork of mystery surrounding his intake file, the dissonance between the man and the setting. But if I was being honest with myself, I knew it was more than that.

It was the way he held himself like he was waiting to be punished for existing. The way his eyes, when they finally lifted, looked out from a place far deeper than the moment called for. The way he thanked me like my ounce of kindness caught him off guard.

One thing seemed clear: he didn’t belong there. I didn’t know what he’d done to end up in a federal penitentiary, but everything about him — the tone he used, the posture, the way he moved like someone used to quieter places — made it feel off. Not in the arrogant way that some white-collar criminals carried themselves, no — there was no smugness, no entitlement. Just… misalignment. Like he’d been suddenly dropped into a life that wasn’t his own.

I reached for my phone before I could talk myself out of it.

The search bar blinked at me, empty and expectant. I hesitated. It was a line I hadn’t crossed yet since I took the job at Millburn, but curiosity had always been a close cousin to empathy, and mine were tightly wound. So I typed his name into the search engine.

I was met with dozens of articles. Some recent — bold headlines about his arrest, drug and murder charges, extradition from Mexico, and a leaked photograph of him looking disoriented and bruised, eyes wide with something between confusion and betrayal. I learned he was awaiting trial, denied bail and remanded to federal custody.

I continued to scroll. Older articles populated the page — articles that painted a very different picture of the man in the photo. An FBI profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit out of Quantico. Over a decade of service. Genius-level IQ. Multiple PhDs. A polymath, one article said. Another quoted a journalist who referred to him as “a human encyclopedia with a badge.” I found footage of him from an old press conference, standing stiffly beside a blonde woman in a blazer, answering questions with a verbosity of language and a voice that sounded steadier, more self-assured than the quiet one I’d heard in the infirmary three days ago. I breezed through a few more articles, then I stopped scrolling.

I didn’t know what any of it meant, but I did know that the story in the recent headlines didn’t seem to line up with the man I’d met, the man who he appeared to have been prior to his arrest. That nagging feeling in my gut, the one I’d felt since his eyes first met mine, was still there.

I closed out of my phone and sat in the quiet a while longer, my vision blurred and out of focus, wondering what it must feel like to go from that kind of life — traveling around the country, solving impossible crimes, saving countless lives — to a place where everything is taken from you. To become the type of man that people only see as the charges on a rap sheet.

Whatever he’d done (or hadn’t done), he was still a person. But it was obvious to me that he no longer really felt like one.

I shut off the TV and let the darkness settle around me. I took a long, warm shower in an attempt to clear my head, but his name and his face still hovered around the hazy edges of my thoughts. I’d met a lot of inmates who wore guilt like a second skin. Spencer Reid didn’t. Whatever his story was, I had a feeling it hadn’t been fully told. And part of me — the quiet, stubborn part — wasn’t quite ready to let that go.

—

The second time I saw him, it was raining. Not the kind of rain that makes people pause at windows, but the kind that soaks the world in gray and turns everything sluggish.

Inside the infirmary, the ceiling buzzed faintly with humidity and fluorescent fatigue, and the consistent pitter-patter of rain against the barred windows made it easy to forget there was any world outside these walls at all. I was restocking gauze when I noticed his name on the intake log, two and a half weeks from his first visit.

Reid, Spencer. Mild cough. Lightheadedness. Possible fever.

My fingers paused over the clipboard, barely grazing the pen. I wasn’t sure what I expected — or why it mattered at all. He was just another patient. Just another inmate. Still, I felt something shift when I walked up to his cot. He was noticeably pale, a little drawn, like the weight of something invisible had pressed down on his bones. The weight of this place, of his situation.

“Hello again,” I said softly. “Guess we’re making this a habit. Thought I told you I didn’t want to see you back here?”

He looked up at that — actually looked up. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes stayed on mine for a beat longer than they had last time.

“I didn’t plan on it,” he said, voice quiet.

“I believe you.”

I moved through the usual steps: gloves on, vitals checked, a listen to his lungs. He wasn’t running a high fever, just something low-grade. His breath hitched slightly on the inhale, but there was no wheeze, no crackle. Probably viral. Should clear itself up in a week at most.

Still, he looked… frayed. Like someone who hadn’t slept properly in days. His hands were clean, but his nails were shorter than last time, bitten down. His face appeared sunken and his under eyes had a distinctly purple hue to them.

“Have you been sleeping?” I asked gently.

He tilted his head. “As much as possible. So, no.”

I didn’t push. Sometimes the answer wasn’t what mattered — it was how it was given.

We were quiet for a while as I documented the basics. I could feel his eyes drifting across the room, landing briefly on the supply shelves, the bulletin board, the sink. Avoiding mine, but not out of defiance. Out of caution, maybe. Or simple awkwardness. He coughed, and I handed him a paper cup filled with water.

“I read once,” he said suddenly, “that coughs often get worse when you’re trying not to think about them.”

I offered a small smile. “Sometimes trying not to think about something just leads you to focus on it even more. And thinking about a cough can trigger the reflex, even without physical cause. So I would say try not to think about it, but, you know…vicious cycle.”

His mouth twitched — a shadow of amusement, there and then gone. The air between us felt a little less still.

“You’re not what I would’ve expected from someone who works here,” he said after a moment.

I arched a brow, clipping my pen back onto my clipboard. “What did you expect?”

He shrugged. “Less… human.”

I offered him a small, empathetic smile. “Well,” I said after a beat, “lucky for you, I don’t know how to be anything else.”

I handed him some Tylenol and told him to keep hydrated. As I wrote out the discharge slip, I instructed him to come back if the fever feels like it isn’t breaking, and to try and get as much sleep as is possible in a place like this.

“Thanks,” he said before he left. Just like the time before, the word landed like he really meant it.

He walked up to the guard waiting for him, stepped out into the corridor, and was gone. I found myself wondering, again, who he really was — beneath the headlines, beneath the polyester prison uniform, beneath whatever pain had hollowed him out into a shell of who he used to be.

—

The infirmary was chaos.

Not the full-blown ER chaos of my past — just the slow, stomping, institutional kind. Raised voices, the occasional drop of blood, too many bandages unrolled across the counters. There had been some sort of fight in the cafeteria, supposedly over a stolen piece of cornbread. Or maybe a slur. Or a look. No one ever really knew for sure how these things started. By the time the inmates were dragged in — limping, cursing, sweating, sometimes screaming — it didn’t matter anyways.

I was elbow-deep in a butterfly bandage on one man’s eyebrow when I noticed him: Spencer, sitting quietly near the far wall.

He didn’t look as badly hurt as the others. His posture was too upright to suggest anything broken. He was holding a wad of gauze to his arm.

I clocked him on the low-priority end of the triage sheet: Laceration, superficial. Minor bleeding. Stable.

Sandra, the other nurse on duty, eventually crossed the room to him once we’d worked through the others. I could hear her asking him to remove the gauze.

“Clean cut,” she said. “Might need a few stitches.”

“I’ve had worse,” he replied, voice flat.

I was just finishing with discharge paperwork for a dislocated shoulder when I heard Sandra say, “We’ll get you patched up quick. Hang tight.” I glanced over, and he was already watching me. He quickly flicked his gaze to the floor.

“I’ve got that one Sandra,” I said over my shoulder, peeling off my gloves and tugging on a fresh pair. “Can you finish up this discharge for me?”

She raised a brow but didn’t question it, just nodded and switched places with me.

“Lucky me,” he murmured. It wasn’t quippy or sarcastic. It actually sounded genuine.

“You say that like you’re not sitting on a lumpy cot with your arm bleeding.”

He tilted his head, lifting his eyes to meet mine. “Well. Silver linings, I guess.”

I sat on the rolling stool beside him and started cleaning the wound. It wasn’t deep, but it ran a jagged path just beneath the curve of his bicep — a random flying lunch tray, I guessed. Wrong place, wrong time.

“You weren’t involved in the fight,” I said, phrasing it as more of a statement than a question.

“No,” he confirmed quietly. “Just passing by. I ducked too slow.”

I smiled without looking up. “Ah, classic mistake. You’ve got to learn to duck before the tray gets airborne.”

That actually got a laugh out of him — a soft, surprised sound, as if he hadn’t expected it from himself. He blinked down at me, momentarily disarmed. “You make jokes now?”

“Only in life-or-minor-laceration situations.”

The edges of his mouth twitched again. The usual shadow in his eyes was still there, but it seemed to thin out when he looked at me. A veil, instead of a wall.

“You’ve done this before,” he said as I threaded the suture needle.

“Stitches?” I asked. “Well, yeah. Hundreds of times.”

“No. I meant…this. Calming people down.”

I paused for just a second, then resumed. “Part of the job too, I guess.”

He didn’t reply, but his breathing had slowed. I worked quickly, neatly. The room was almost empty now. Just one CO near the door, arms crossed, barely paying attention. When I finished, I handed Spencer some gauze and medical tape. “You’ll want to keep this dry, at least for twenty-four hours. Try not to lift anything heavy. Or start any cafeteria fights.”

He shot me a shy, lopsided smile. “No promises.”

The guard called his name then — sharp, abrupt. Spencer stood, moving more slowly than necessary, tucking the gauze into the pocket of his jumpsuit. He looked down at me one last time, and for a second, neither of us said anything.

“Thanks, y/n.”

It was the first time he’d said my name. He must’ve read it on my badge, clipped to the pocket of my scrubs.

“You’re welcome, Spencer. Try not to need to come back if you can help it.”

He followed the guard out without looking back, but something lingered in the air after he left — the smell of antiseptic mixed with something warmer underneath, just a faint trace of something hard to name.

—

It had been a long morning — nothing dramatic, just a steady stream of minor injuries and chronic complaints. Small cuts that somehow still bled too much, headaches no amount of ibuprofen could touch, an older inmate who claimed chest pain every Tuesday at the same time he knew my shift started like clockwork. I was halfway through restocking the suture tray when a CO came in with another patient. I looked up and fought back a smile at who it was.

The new cut Spencer was sporting wasn’t too bad — a scrape along his forearm, probably from another cafeteria scuffle or a hallway shove — but it was deep enough to bring him back.

Fourth visit to the infirmary in the two months since he first arrived at Millburn. Enough visits that I didn’t need to check the intake clipboard to remember his name, or his face, or his voice.

Spencer sat in the same cot as last time, waiting quietly, hands folded like he was at a lecture instead of a prison clinic. When I walked over, he looked up and nodded in greeting. No smile this time, but not cold either.

“You again,” I said, slipping on gloves.

“Apparently I’m accident-prone.” His tone was deadpan, but there was a flicker of warmth behind it. He offered his arm without being asked.

The scrape was shallow, red around the edges but clean. I could’ve just sent him off with a bandage and a warning, but I didn’t. I pulled over the tray and got to work slowly, methodically cleaning the wound slower than I usually would.

After a moment, I said, “So, Spencer. If you’re going to be a repeat visitor, we might as well get to know one another.”

He looked up at me blankly, blinking.

“Where’d you grow up?” I asked.

He looked back down at his arm while I ran an alcohol pad across it. “Las Vegas.” He winced a little — whether at the words he was saying or the sting of the disinfectant, I wasn’t sure.

I nodded like I didn’t already know. Like I hadn’t read three different articles and an old symposium transcript with his name on it one night after my shift, sitting at my kitchen table in the dark.

“Have you always lived there?”

“No. My mom’s still there, but I moved away when I went to college and left permanently for work. I live here in DC now.”

“What kind of work?” I asked.

He hesitated, just for a second. There weren’t any other inmates in the infirmary, but he dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “I, uh, I’m with the FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit. Or I was, at least.”

I kept my expression neutral. “That sounds intense.”

“It is.” A pause. “Interesting, though. Never boring. Lots of travel.”

I wiped the scrape clean, letting the silence stretch for a beat before I spoke again. “Do you miss it?”

Another pause, this one a little heavier. “Yeah,” he replied quietly.

He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push. Just taped down the bandage and asked, “What’d you study before the FBI?”

“Mathematics. And chemistry. And engineering.” He paused, then added, “Also psychology. Sociology. And philosophy, more recently.”

I looked up at him, eyes wide. “All of those?”

He gave a tiny shrug, like it wasn’t worth mentioning. “I finished my first PhD when I was seventeen.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Show-off,” I said with a breathy laugh.

That got a smile. A real one this time. He looked almost sheepish. “You?”

“What about me?” I asked, pausing my work on his arm to meet his eyes. Hazel in this light. Golden brown in others, definitely.

“Where’d you grow up?”

“Philadelphia,” I said. “Still have the accent when I’m tired or drunk, I’ve been told.”

He nodded like he could hear it already, even though I wasn’t sure I’d ever let it slip around him. “Did you always want to be a nurse?” he asked.

“No,” I admitted. “I never knew what I wanted to be when I was growing up. I actually started college as a literature major before I switched to nursing. I worked in the ER for a while before I ended up here. This job just kind of…fit.”

He didn’t ask what I meant by that. Most people didn’t. He just nodded again, like he understood anyway. “Do you like it?” he asked.

Somehow it felt like a bigger question than it was. “Sometimes,” I said with a quiet sigh. “Some days are harder than others.”

He looked at me for a long moment, and it oddly felt like he knew exactly how I was feeling, like he could see the way the job was wearing me down. Now it was my turn to feel intimidated by his gaze. I turned awkwardly to look at the clock then busied myself tidying up the tray, pretending that the eye contact didn’t linger.

“There you go,” I said, gently patting the gauze I’d taped to his arm. “Try to avoid any more cafeteria collisions, please.”

“I’ll do my best,” he murmured with a shy smirk. He stood when the CO came to collect him, but before he turned to go, he paused.

“Thanks. For this,” he said as he tilted his chin to his arm, “and for… treating me like a person. Just…thanks.”

It wasn’t just polite. It sounded like he meant it. Like it mattered to him, that I called him by name and asked about his life. “You’re welcome, Spencer.”

This time, he did smile at me before he left.

And this time, I watched him walk away a second longer than I meant to.

—

I’d barely clocked in when the alert came through: inmate altercation, multiple injuries, possible head trauma, ETA three minutes.

Not exactly an unusual start to a shift. Fights were as common as bad coffee at Millburn, and most days followed the same dull rhythm — triage, patch-up, repeat. But one name on the intake list made my pulse hiccup: Reid, Spencer. Stab wound to the thigh. Suspected concussion.

I barely looked up at first — just long enough to confirm it was him, sitting upright on the cot, jumpsuit leg soaked with blood and torn a little above the knee. He didn’t look scared, but he didn’t look fine, either. Sandra moved toward him with a clipboard, but I touched her arm before she could speak. “I’ve got this one.”

“Of course you want the cute one,” she grumbled under her breath, but then she just nodded and headed over to tend to another waiting inmate.

I crossed the room slowly, cataloging him: alert, steady breathing, pale but not shocky. His gaze wasn’t confused, just… disconnected. Like he’d already run the numbers in his head and decided exactly how bad it was and whether it had been worth it.

He turned his head when I got close. There was blood on his temple — superficial. The leg was worse. Deep, clean. Too clean for it to be the result of a chaotic brawl, which meant it wasn’t chaos. It was personal. And the angle of it appeared to be possibly self-inflicted. I wondered if he’d done it to himself in an attempt to get moved into solitary.

“Hey,” I said. “Rough day?”

Spencer gave me a humorless half-smile. “Story of my life lately.”

I pulled a stool beside his leg, gently peeling back the torn fabric to assess the wound. “You’ll need stitches. At least ten. You take a hit to the head, too?”

He hesitated. “Not really.”

I met his eyes. I hesitated too, then dropped my voice. “But you could say you did.”

He blinked. Just a flicker. I pressed on, quietly. “If you did, I’d have to put you on observation. Infirmary bed. Eight hours minimum. Away from the block.”

A beat of silence. Then a soft, “Yeah. I definitely got hit in the head.”

I nodded once, then clicked my pen and wrote it down. Possible concussion. It wasn’t a complete lie — not exactly. But it wasn’t about the protocol either.

As the infirmary quieted and the other inmates cycled through, I stitched his leg in silence. Sandra kept to the intake desk. I led Spencer to the far corner, away from the fluorescent overhead lights, and dimmed them slightly. I pulled a tray table between us and sat down across from him like we had all the time in the world.

“Brain games,” I said, gesturing to the shelf behind me. “Helps me assess cognitive function.”

“You’re making that up,” he said, almost smiling.

“Of course I am.” I smirked, setting up the chessboard. “You play?”

“I used to. Not as much anymore,” he said quietly.

We played in silence first, but slowly, words started to fill the spaces between our moves. He told me about his eidetic memory and the languages he could speak. I told him about my time working in the ER, about the burnout, about why I took this job. He mentioned someone named Gideon — an old friend, mentor maybe — who taught him to play. I lost three games in a row, and on the final checkmate, I groaned. “Let’s take a break.”

He nodded, then opened his mouth like he might say something else, but he didn’t. I waited. Sandra disappeared into the break room.

After a few seconds, I spoke. “Can I ask how you ended up here?” My voice stayed soft, careful. Not clinical — I wasn’t asking as his nurse.

His whole expression shifted, and he looked guarded. I regretted asking instantly. “Sorry. You don’t have to—”

“No, no. It’s okay. I want to tell you. I just don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning,” I suggested with a shrug.

He looked away, pausing. He took a long breath, and for a moment before he spoke, I thought maybe he never would. “My mom,” he finally said. “She’s schizophrenic. And… about a year ago, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.”

The words knocked something loose in me. I felt it, sharp and instinctive. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

He blinked like he hadn’t expected sympathy. “Thanks. I didn’t really handle the diagnosis well. Started looking into treatments — trials, compounds, oils, anything that might help. I found a woman in Mexico making something that worked. Nothing illegal, but the specific compound isn’t FDA-approved. So I started traveling down there every few months, in secret.”

I watched his leg bounce slightly under the table. Not from pain, but from nerves.

“The last trip… someone drugged me. Planted narcotics in a car and somehow I ended up behind the wheel in the desert. The woman I’d been getting the medication from, Rosa — she was murdered. They blamed me. I was arrested. Framed. I know that probably sounds like what every guy in here says, but…it’s true. My team and I think it was a serial killer we arrested a few years back — he escaped custody last year.”

His voice got quieter as the story stretched out. Thinner, like it was costing him more and more to keep talking. “My team got me extradited back to the U.S. They helped find me a good lawyer. But I was remanded to custody without bail. So… here I am.”

I let it settle, allowing myself to feel the full weight of it. I’d read bits and pieces online, after that first cut I’d stitched months ago. But hearing it like this? It was different. Sadder, somehow. “I believe you,” I said softly.

He blinked. “Why?”

I tilted my head, considering. “Because…well, I’ve seen guilty. This isn’t it. Plus, if your team’s still backing you, that means something.”

He looked down, fiddling with a chess piece. “I think most people want to believe I’m guilty. That I snapped or something. It’s easier than believing the alternative.”

“Easier doesn’t mean truer,” I said simply.

He looked back up and smiled. It was small, but real. “Can we play something else now?”

We pulled out Scrabble, and the conversation drifted with it — books, places, bad camping trips. He laughed at my story about a raccoon stealing my breakfast, and the sound surprised both of us.

“I haven’t laughed in a while,” he said.

I poked the back of his Scrabble tile rack. “You’re welcome.”

Sometime during our third game, he asked: “Why aren’t you married?”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t wear a ring. I just assumed.”

I shrugged. “You first.”

He laughed quietly. Told me about his failed attempts at dating. The woman he lost at the hands of her stalker. The job that got in the way.

I gave him my version. How the hours I worked scared people off. How guys never seemed to call back after finding out I worked in a men’s prison. How I’d rather be alone than explain myself yet again to someone who wouldn’t get it.

“Honestly,” I said, “most men want someone who makes their life easier. Not darker.”

“That wouldn’t stop me,” he said quietly.

I stilled, the statement catching me off guard. I waited a moment to process what he’d said, to make sure I’d heard it correctly. “What?”

His cheeks flushed. “I mean, it…it wouldn’t stop me from wanting to know someone. If they worked here. If they were like you.”

“Like me?”

Spencer nodded. “Smart. Honest. Beautiful.” His voice cracked shyly on that last one. “Brave. A little scary.” He chuckled, then took a breath. “If they were you,” he finally clarified softly, his eyes awkwardly flicking down to the board before meeting mine again.

We didn’t move. Didn’t touch. But something shifted — a soft tilt in the air between us.

He swallowed hard. “That was inappropriate. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Technically, yeah, it was inappropriate. But I’m not uncomfortable.” A moment passed. My knee brushed his under the table — light, accidental. “It was an unexpected comment, but it wasn’t unwelcome,” I finally added.

He paused for a few beats, absorbing what I’d said, the way I’d reacted, the brush of my knee. “Hypothetically,” he said, “if I got out of here… would you want to try meeting again? On the outside.”

I let the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding leave me slowly. “Hypothetically… yeah. I’d like that. If you’re talking about a date, that is.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t expected that answer. “O-okay. Cool,” he stammered. A sheepish smile tugged at his lips. “Cool.”

I grinned. “So, Spencer. On this hypothetical date, what would we do?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked up, very seriously, and asked, “Are we flirting?” It looked as if his brain was mid-calculating risk and probability, like he couldn’t dare answer my question until I answered this one.

I stared back at him. “Do you want to be?”

He coughed, surprised I’d thrown the question back at him. “I…don’t not want to be. I just didn’t think you’d want to flirt with me.”

“I don’t usually flirt with inmates,” I said slowly. “I mean… I don’t ever.” I held his gaze. “You’re a special case.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, watching me like he was trying to decode a particularly complicated puzzle. “Special how?”

I met his gaze, letting the moment stretch between us. “You’re…different. You don’t walk in here full of swagger or venom. You don’t talk down to anyone. You’re very attractive. You’re nice to me even when you don’t have any reason to want to be. You don’t…you don’t belong here.”

His throat worked as he swallowed, then glanced toward Sandra before returning his eyes to mine. “Some days I’m not sure where I belong anymore.” There was a quiet honesty in his voice that hollowed something out inside me. That sharp, aching awareness of how deeply alone someone could feel, even in a room full of people. Especially then.

I reached across the little table and nudged the corner of the Scrabble board closest to him with my fingertips. “Well, for the next few hours, you belong here. With me. Under ‘observation.’” I gave him a tiny, conspiratorial smile.

He smiled back, the edges of his lips tugging up in that crooked way I was beginning to associate with him. “You’re a very thorough observer.”

“It’s in the job description,” I said with a shrug. “Besides, I like to be sure.”

Spencer leaned forward a little, elbows the table, fingers laced together. “What are you sure of?”

I thought for a moment before responding. “I’m sure you didn’t do what they say you did. I’m sure you’re extremely intelligent. I’m sure you care about people more than you let on. And I’m sure that I haven’t looked forward to a shift like this in a very long time.”

Spencer looked down, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, or didn’t know what to do with it. “You’re going to get in trouble for being nice to me.”

“I’m not being nice,” I said. “I’m being… honest. Besides, no one’s listening.”

We sat in silence for a moment, letting that word — honest — hang in the air. It meant something different here at Millburn. It was rare. Sometimes costly. But with Spencer, it didn’t feel dangerous.

Sandra’s voice cut through the stillness, calling out a question to me from the front desk. I stood, my hands brushing the front of my scrubs.

“I’ll be right back,” I told him, heading over to help.

When I returned a few minutes later, Spencer was still seated in the same spot, but his posture had shifted slightly — more relaxed, more open. He’d turned one of the Scrabble tiles over in his fingers, tracing it absently, as if lost in thought.

“You didn’t swap the tiles to cheat while I was gone, did you?” I teased as I sat back down.

He grinned, shaking his head. “I’m too much of a perfectionist. Cheating would ruin the whole point.”

“Good to know,” I murmured, reclaiming my spot across from him. “So. You never answered my question.”

He tilted his head.

“Hypothetical first date. What would we do?”

A small flicker of hesitation crossed his face — maybe uncertainty, maybe just the weight of imagining something he wasn’t sure he should allow himself to hope for. But then, he spoke.

“I’d take you to the planetarium,” he said. “They do these night shows on Thursdays. There’s music — actual curated playlists — and they project constellations onto the dome. You can lean back and look at the stars without all the city lights getting in the way.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how perfect that sounded.

“That’s…actually kind of dreamy,” I said.

He gave a small, bashful shrug. “It’s quiet. We wouldn’t have to talk unless you wanted to. And afterward, there’s a diner around the corner that makes really good pie. We could split a piece or two.”

“Pie and stars,” I said. “I could go for that.”

“I’ll remember,” he said quietly. “For after. If there is one.”

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted again — still soft, still tentative, but edged now with something more electric. Hope. A thread of connection thick enough to feel, even in a place that was never meant for anything tender.

The game slowed, and we didn’t look at the board as much. Our conversation stretched out between moves. I told him how I like old Hollywood movies and hiking when I could get out of the city. Spencer mentioned classical music, science fiction, the smell of bookstores. We sketched out a series of hypothetical first dates like kids killing time — a Sunday at the museum, a night at a trivia bar, a coffee place with mismatched mugs and not enough chairs.

“Do you always win at Scrabble?” I asked, knowing the hours had dwindled away.

“Almost always,” he said, then added with a smile, “Unless I get distracted.”

I raised a brow but said nothing. I thought for a moment, then carefully placed a series of ten tiles along the edge of the board in front of him — each one selected for the small score number etched into the corner. It spelled out gibberish, but it’s not the letters that mattered. When he looked up, I met his eyes.

“That’s a phone number,” I said softly, “not a word.”

He looked down at the tiles, then back up at me again, a soft smile curling at his lips.

“I figured you could try to remember it for when you get out.”

“I will,” he said, his knee brushing mine under the table again — this time, I knew it hadn’t been accidental.

Suddenly, the loud buzzer of the door cut through the atmosphere we’d been so perfectly curating. A CO walked in, indicating the end of Spencer's observation period. I stood up and walked to him. “I need a minute to finish the assessment, then he’s all yours.” The officer nodded then leaned against Sandra’s desk to make flirty small talk.

I padded back to Spencer and noticed the shift in his demeanor — he was scared. Sad, too, for this to end, but the fear in his eyes at the prospect of going back to his cell was evident.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure the guard was distracted, then placed a hand on his knee under the table. “I think I can help,” I said quietly. I stood and grabbed the assessment sheet, filling in my “findings.”

“Patient remains alert and oriented. Mild fatigue consistent with post-concussive recovery. Observation window uneventful. While current concussion symptoms appear mild and improving, patient is at increased vulnerability for subsequent severe head trauma.”

I paused, then lowered my pen, pressing the tip to the page just a little harder.

“Recommend reevaluation for protective custody placement based on frequency of injury and heightened vulnerability. History of recent trauma and exposure suggests increased risk of harm in general population. Further monitoring advised.”

I stared at the paper for a beat, listening to the low hum of the overhead lights. My eyes flicked up to Spencer, who looked at me with some confusion on his face, then back down to the sheet. The language was clinical, common, nothing dramatic. But I knew what it could do for him.

It wouldn’t get him out. But maybe it would give him a little more space. A little more safety. A little more time.

I signed my name at the bottom and flipped the file closed. I motioned for Spencer to get up. “Stay safe,” I said quietly, giving him a look only he could decipher before I waved to the CO to come over.

“Here’s my assessment for the warden,” I said as I handed the file to the CO. “Make sure he gets it tonight, please.” The officer nodded — I had good rapport with the COs here — and he led Spencer out. Spencer looked over his shoulder at me for just a moment, and I saw something deeper in his expression, something he hadn’t shown since I’d met him.

Hope.

—

A week after his concussion observation period, he came in holding his head like it hurt.

It was the first thing I noticed — the way his fingers pressed into his temple, his expression pulled tight in manufactured pain. I’d seen patients genuinely suffering from migraines, seen them blink and tense and wince and faint. This wasn’t that. This was a performance, and not a very good one. He should stick to his day job, I thought to myself. Not cut out to be an actor.

I stifled a giggle and walked up to his cot, looking up from my paperwork and smiling at him softly. “Hey. Back so soon?”

Spencer lowered himself onto the cot with a dramatic sigh, hand still braced against his forehead. “Migraine,” he said, wincing dramatically. “Started last night. Light sensitivity, nausea… the works.”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, standing and reaching for the small penlight in my coat pocket. “You want to tell me why your pupils look perfectly normal and your blood pressure’s textbook perfect?”

He smiled, just barely. “I missed your voice.”

That stopped me cold. Just for a second, but long enough that I had to pretend to be very interested in the pulse oximeter in my hand.

“That’s…not usually a billable symptom,” I murmured.

He chuckled softly. It was the first time I’d heard him laugh like that. It was warm.

I stepped closer, wrapping the pulse oximeter around his finger even though I already knew what it would say. The tips of his fingers were cold, but his skin was soft. I held it a second longer than necessary, just watching the numbers rise on the tiny screen.

“Looks like you’ll live,” I said.

He tilted his head, looking at me more closely now, and the moment stretched between us — full of unspoken things that couldn’t be said in a place like this. His eyes scanned my face like he was memorizing it.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he said quietly. “For the report you wrote. The recommendation. I’m not stupid. I know that was you.”

I didn’t answer. I just looked down and reached for the thermometer instead. His hand was still resting on his thigh, twitching slightly like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“It was medically sound,” I said, voice low. “Repeated head trauma and high-stress environments can—”

He interrupted me with my name. Just my name, nothing else.

I swallowed.

I pretended to take his temperature, the plastic probe tucked beneath his tongue as if any of this still resembled medicine. My fingers grazed his jaw. When I pulled it back, I reached for his wrist to take his heart rate again, manually this time. My fingertips slid over his skin too gently, too deliberately.

The CO by the door shifted his weight with a faint grunt, and I blinked, heart jolting back into rhythm. I pulled my hand back and stepped away, jotting something on the clipboard that didn’t matter. “I’m prescribing you sleep. Go take a nap, FBI boy.”

He smirked at the nickname and stood slowly, like he didn’t want to. “Wasn’t really about the migraine,” he admitted, voice low but steady. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

The truth of it landed heavy between us, no performance, no pretending. Just honesty — stark and bare and strangely brave.

I felt the words settle into my chest like a secret I was glad to keep. I nodded, barely. “I know.”

He gave me a small, crooked smile — softer than the last, tinged with that same look in his eyes I saw last week - hope.

ᝰ.ᐟ

part ii.

362 notes · View notes

clairerosetarot · 3 months ago

Text

PICK A PIC! Your Future Spouse’s Kinks | 18+ 💦

Also: Don’t give to much meaning to the words in parenthesis, they are just used to specify which gif is which, try to focus on the feeling instead! 🤭🧘‍♀️

Well hello there guys!!!! I’m so sorry that I took so long to get back, March is really kicking my 🍑 lol. Anyways I’m back and wont take a break again for quite a while I hope. :) Let’s get started with the reading.

Decks Used: Rider-Waite and The Golden Future (oracle) by Diana Cooper

Pile 1 🌊

Cards: The Lovers, Illuminated Light, Family Relationships.

Wow, This is really interesting Pile 1! I’ve never really heard of this before but it seems like your partner has enveloped sexual energy with a light, almost healing, loving one. I believe they have a ‘love kink’ is that even a thing? lol 😆 Or perhaps a mutual praise kink. Showering you with expensive gifts and travels too. I swear I had a pile similar to this in my last reading so if you picked that as well then this is definitely for you.

I feel like your partner didn’t have all the love in their household available to them growing up. Maybe their parents were divorced, or just always away for work. They saw this and wanted things to be different, imagined a life for themselves where they marry who they really love and shower them in it everyday. If their parents weren’t divorced then maybe they just come from a culture where showing love outwardly isn’t expressed and they felt like a black sheep for wanting that. They want to engage in extreme sensory pleasures with you, pile 1. No pain, just pleasure is what i’m hearing. Massage oil, feathering touches and caresses in between soft kisses, chocolate honey and strawberries (Food is coming through here - could be a Taurus ♉️), maybe some flavored lube lmao 🤣 They are sort of cracking me up with this and if you are a sort of ‘bossy’ type of person and having trouble receiving such affection I get that, but they will also make you feel good AF!! “Just lay back and left me try to make you squirt” Is what i’m hearing LMAOO they are kinda freaky but wrap it in such love and respect they hold for you. If you were expecting hard bondage and slapping i’m sorry my dears, this person probably doesn’t get that but will do it to make you happy i’m hearing.

Overall Your future spouse will love you in the most tender and heartfelt way! You’ll feel adored, cherished, and supported every single day. The future looks bright and full of love! 💕🌟

Hope that brings a smile to your face!

Pile 2 🌊

Cards: The Star (why so many major arcana already lol I think my readers rate attracting some big time freaks 🥵), The Waters of the Planet, The Super Love Portal, The emperor jumped out also.

Okay, can somebody say dom?? Even if you are to wed a women pile 2, your future spouse will be dominating AF. They might like to hear you cry Mommy/Daddy for them 🫣. You guys are the type of couple that falls into these roles very easily in bed ( or elsewhere 😏) and keeps it up until old age. Big “old couple grinding on each at the nursing home” energy here lmao. They will also have a voyeurism kink, I think they are little too possessive to actually have s*x in front of other people, but perhaps letting others know in a sneaky way by leaving hickeys on your neck or scratches on your back.

You know how some people are subjected at work by their boss so they become dominant in bed? Well, your future spouse is the opposite. They have a dominant almost domineering presence at work and a loving, but also just as firm role in s*x. They could be an ENTJ, i’m not good with mbti but they fit that vibe. As for signs i’m getting Scorpio or Capricorn energy, not necessarily their sign just the energy they have. I feel like this person is cold to certain people, especially at their job, however when it comes to you, let’s just say they indulge in you in extra special treatment. You definitely get pretty princess treatment with them, that’s how you’ll know they’re the one! But be careful pile 2 as if you are not used to this treatment it will attract jealousy. My advice is to mediate and communicate well together outside the bedroom since your chemistry is so electric within it. 😉❤️‍🔥

Overall Your future spouse will be a strong, dominant, and confident person, but their love for you will be equally strong and full of devotion. They will protect, lead, and support you in ways that make you feel safe, loved, and empowered. Together, you’ll conquer the world! 🌍💪

Hope this reading resonates with you! 🌟

Pile 3 🌊

Cards: Page of Wands, Our Beautiful Planet, The 12 Chakras,

Let me set the scene for you my pile 3s: you can tell your partner is a little nervous, they don’t give themselves to just anyone. They are sensitive, sweet, smart and highly spiritual. You two get close and you ask them lightheartedly flirting what they like in bed. Still their cheeks warm just thinking about it. They muster the courage themselves to tell you; Making you c*m with me.

Pile 3, your future spouse is definitely the shy and sensitive type. The type you want to bring home to your mother and keeps an open mind about all your tarot-loving hippy dippy stuff. They feel bad about it, they really do, but when you’re around looking the way you look to them, they think of nothing else but making you c*m. I think they will have a kundalini awakening with you that causes this. When you to come together… and c*m together, it feels earth shattering and universally orgasmic. 🤤

I almost don’t want to say to much in comparison to the other piles because of what a sweet soul they are, but they could be bullied in the past and that causes them to have a lot of empathy or others, especially for women. Unlike many they want to know how to make a woman reach her climax and they get off more on that sometimes than taking. I’ll leave you on that delightful note to ponder, pile 3.

Your future spouse will be a warm, sensitive soul, giving all their love and care to you. Their deep emotional connection will make you feel safe and loved, and they’ll always put effort into making your relationship flourish. Together, you’ll build a beautiful, loving life. 💖🌟

I hope this reading fills you with love and positivity! 🌷✨

—

That’s all y’all! See you next time, and remember if it don’t apply let it fly!

669 notes · View notes

honkytonk-hangman · 23 days ago

Text

Running Partners [Oneshot]

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You liked jogging, you didn’t enjoy a lot of working out, but jogging felt good. It got your blood pumping, and you always felt more ready and energised for your day. Such a nurse thing to say, you know, but it was true, and besides that… You got to see him everyday.

Words: 10k

Warnings: stalking (not by ghost), mentions of injury, implied uuhhhh murder?

You pass him every day.

Your job started early, the new shifts you’d signed on for at the hospital were regular (thank god), with the only catch being you started at six every morning. It wasn’t so bad. When your lease was up, you’d been able to find a flat barely fifteen minutes from the hospital, which left you with more than enough time to get up early, around four-thirty, and go for a run.

You liked jogging, you didn’t enjoy a lot of working out, but jogging felt good. It got your blood pumping, and you always felt more ready and energised for your day. Such a nurse thing to say, you know, but it was true, and besides that…

You got to see him everyday. Broad, tall as hell, and built like a brick shithouse. You’d never seen his face, he always wore a plain black face mask, a choice you still found slightly questionable, but then again, you were a nurse. You vaguely understood. Still, wearing one while running seemed hardcore, even for one in your profession. It didn’t bother you much. He had beautiful eyes, big and brown and strangely emotive, even though he never seemed to really actually emote that much. The most you ever really got from him was recognition.

It started on your first morning after moving in. You passed him on Gilberton Road, the size of him almost taking up the entire footpath, but he’d moved aside for you as you approached. That early in the morning there hadn’t been anybody else about, and you’d eventually come to know there hardly ever was, but you were English dammit, and the only polite thing to do was to say hello.

The first day you thought he might’ve had headphones in. He always wore a dark hoodie, pulled up, and he eyed you as you passed, your soft ‘Morning’ possibly lost on his plugged ears, but the second morning, and the second greeting, his eyes had shifted to you and he’d simply nodded.

It became routine.

Without even speaking, you came to understand he must have been some type of military. Most days his sweats were plain, dark, but some days his sweatshirts bore an insignia, a few of them unknown to you, but the plainer symbol, the one you recognised as the mark of the British Army, sold the idea to you. Besides, a man built like that, out for a run every morning, his routine mixing with yours like clockwork? He was definitely military. Had to be.

So that’s why when you noticed a car following you early on in your jog this morning, you’d done a few laps of the blocks around your street, and then you’d made straight for him.

You glance back subtly once again, your heart thundering louder and louder in your ears. The dark blue car was still following you. You don’t exactly know when you’d picked up the shadow, but you’d taken a different route upon noticing its presence, a pit opening up in your belly, and a sickly feeling filling your chest. It was definitely following you.

Usually you’d only lightly jog, going at your own pace, but this morning you all out ran. Partly because of the car following you, and partly because you’d already taken a slightly different route, and as you check your watch for the hundredth time since your idea unfolded, you hope to god you haven’t missed him already.

You’re in luck. Though, in the moment you don’t stop to think about how odd it is that your masked stranger has stopped halfway up Gilberton, seemingly standing stock still and waiting for something. You don’t stop to think about how he seems to straighten when he sees you coming, or how his eyes flicker over your much faster pace with a frown.

Your heart continues to hammer, and you tell yourself this is it, this is fine, this is when the car goes away. You slow down as you approach him, and eventually come to a stop.

“Please act like you’re meeting me,” you say breathing hard, your hands shaking as you uncap your water. If your eyes are watering slightly, you don’t notice, but he does. His frown deepens. “Is there a blue car behind me?” you ask, stepping slightly closer, even as you chuck another paranoid look over your shoulder. The stranger's eyes move past you almost immediately, locking onto something else, tracking the movement with his gaze.

“They been following you?” he asks back, his voice deep, almost gravelly, and it suits him. When you don’t respond, his eyes flicker back to you.

“Yes,” you reply hurriedly. “I don’t know anybody with a car like that it’s really–”

“–S’alright, love, follow me,” he says, eyes having trailed back to the car, but he jerks his head along the path you usually take, and waits for you to start moving before he joins you. Your heart still hammers in your chest, your ears, but you practically feel it begin to even out again as you chance a look over at your new companion, and find him focused on the parked cars linging the street, keeping his eyes on their mirrors for the reflections behind you.

“Take a left,” he instructs, eyes remaining vigilant, but nodding in the direction of the forked pathway that leads off into the small park Gilberton Road lines. You follow his directions, relieved when you make it far enough into the grassy plane that the trees block the road, and you can no longer see the blue car, and by extension, it can no longer see you.

You come to a stop, leaning down with your hands on your knees and breathing heavily, shakily, trying to get a hold of yourself.

When you finally look up at your stranger, he’s watching what can be seen of the road, dark eyes scanning the sliver of street, until he appears to be satisfied with what he finds and he turns his head to look down at you.

“S’at why you’re late?” he asks, making you blink up at him in sheer confusion.

“What?”

He turns his whole body to face you now, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“The fucker following you, is that why you were late?” he asks again, forcing you to stand up straight once more, your chest heaving in exhuastion as you feel the adrenaline rush begin to come down some.

“Yes– I– were you waiting for me?” you stutter out, your hands now shaking even harder as you attempt to take another drink from your bottle.

His eyes follow your movements, his brow creasing into an even deeper frown.

“Yes,” he says with no further explanation.

“Oh– I’m– I’m sorry,” you say, trying your best to avert your gaze away from him and place the twist cap back on your water. You drop it, feeling like an idiot, but before you can bend down to grab it, a larger hand enters your vision, snatching up the lid, another hand moving to the bottle in your hand, which he tugs gently out of your hold, and replaces the covering easily, calm as clover.

You look up at him, blinking back the wetness in your eyes, but when that fails, wiping madly at your cheeks with the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, doing your best to choke back the sniffles you can hear in your voice. Your stranger stares at you, an awkward sort of concern in his eyes.

“Nothing to apologise for,” he tells you. You get the feeling offering comfort isn’t usually in his wheelhouse, because he shuffles slightly closer to you, but makes no further movement. He stays holding your bottle as you subconsciously wrap your arms around yourself, doing your best to take deep breaths, still shaky, still sobbed.

“I don’t know if they were following me from– from home or–” your voice cuts out and this time when he steps closer, it's more definitive, more determined, even as his hand comes up and gingerly grips your shoulder, a firm, tight hold that grounds you.

“I’ll go back with you,” he says affirmatively, and all you can do is nod, even when he starts to move, his hand shifting to between your shoulder blades, gently directing you out of the park and back to the main road.

You look up hesitantly, but the snap of your neck left and right makes him answer your question before you can even think to ask it.

“They’re gone,” he tells you firmly, and vaguely you think you feel his thumb sweep in broad strokes across your back. “Which way?”

You direct him quietly as you walk, eventually getting enough of a hold of yourself that he drops his hand from you, though you note he still holds your water.

“I can… I can take that,” you offer, holding a hand out and getsuring to your water. He makes no move to return it, his eyes swivelling down to you almost in a sideeye.

“Hands are still shaking,” he tells you, making you close your fist and return it to your side. “S’normal,” he goes on, like he’s attempting to backtrack. “Adrenaline will probably stay with you for a couple hours–”

“–I know,” you don’t mean to cut him off. “I’m a triage nurse,” you tell him quickly, apologetically. He cocks his head slightly, but nods, turning his gaze forwards again.

“You walk to work?” he asks after a moment.

Your hospital was one of the only big landmarks in the area, you figure he assumes you work there.

“Yeah, managed to get myself stable shifts, couldn’t cut the arse-end hours of the morning anymore,” you’re rambling a little, unsure why you bother telling him all that, but you don’t stop yourself, and he seems content to listen.

“Must be nice,” he says. You have to admit, small talk sounds odd in his voice. He sounds more used to barking orders than chatter, but you appreciate his effort anyway.

“You do shift work?” you venture, nodding to the unfamiliar emblem on his zip-up, which he looks down at almost like he’d forgotten it was there. His eyes shift to you again, and you get the feeling beneath his mask, he might just be smiling wryly.

“Sometimes,” is all he says, not darkly, or finitely, like he doesn’t want to talk about it, so you further distract yourself, pushing deeper.

“What is that? I’ve seen you wearing Army stuff, but I don’t recognise that,” you ask lightly, waiting as he seems to decide whether or not to explain it to you.

“Not supposed to,” he tells you at last, stretching his neck slightly before going on. “S’SAS.”

“SAS?” your voice is coloured with a surprise you couldn’t cover even if you tried. You don’t bother to hide the appraisal you give him either, something he appears all too aware of, averting his eyes from yours, but you see the twitch in the corners, like he’s trying his best not to look back at you.

“Guess it’s my lucky day,” you say at last with a huff of laughter. His eyes do return to you then, a full turn of his head this time, his eyebrow raised.

“S’not usually what people say when they see me,” his voice is amused. You laugh again and shrug your shoulders.

“Maybe, couldn’t think of anyone better to have as a running partner when someone’s following me, though,” you say, trailing off slightly as you remember how all this started. You’re brought out of your spiralling thoughts by the ice cold of your bottle poking you in your side, making you jump and yip slightly. Now he’s definitely smiling under his mask, his cheeks scrunching up his eyes slightly as you blink up at him in faux outrage.

“D’worry about it. Got your back, partner,” he says. You feel yourself grow flustered at the way he says the word ‘partner’, but snatch your bottle back now that he’s holding it out where you can grab it. His eyes follow your movement seemingly faster than you can actually make them, but he doesn’t pull the bottle back, lets you grab it, though doesn’t let go right away, holding on to it for a few seconds longer before finally releasing it.

You ‘humfph’.

“This one’s me,” you gesture as you come to a stop outside your flat–a small-ish, but big enough for you– two story terrace home, one of eight or nine lining your street. Your stranger looks up at it, his eyes roaming over the facade before he nods resolutely.

“Want me to wait with you, walk you to work?” he asks after a moment, like he had to think it over before offering.

“I don’t wanna make you late,” you wave a hand, annoyed to find it still shaky. You drop it quickly, but he’s already seen it.

“Won’t make me late,” he says simply.

You hesitate, before digging into your pocket and grabbing your keys, pursing your lips as you struggle to rifle through them, the jingling from your shaking hands making your difficulty that much more emphasised. Your stranger holds out his hand then, and sighing, you hand them to him.

You watch him climb the four steps up to your door, carefully slotting the key in the lock and twisting, before stepping back and holding your keys out to you, though he does hold them up in such a way it’s clear to you he’s inspecting your keyrings. You shuffle forward, waiting for him to look back at you before taking them from him, opening your door and turning back to him.

“Uhm… do you want to come in? I have tea?” you ask a little nervously. You watch your stranger appear to think.

“Flavoured stuff?” he replies with a sniff that gives you the distinct impression that he does not like ‘the flavoured stuff’. You chortle.

“I have Yorkshire,” you offer, fairly certain you had a box of the stuff somewhere. You drank coffee, but your ex had drank tea, and you’re pretty sure you hadn’t gotten rid of it.

“Alright then,” he says, waiting for you to enter before he follows. “M’Simon.”

–

It becomes the new routine.

At four-thirty on the dot, Simon knocks on your door. You run together. You get the impression he gets his real running done before he picks you up, but you appreciate him keeping pace with you on your jog anyway.

You like Simon. He’s quiet, but doesn’t seem to mind if you make small talk, usually only replying with a few words, or a hum, but you get the feeling he listens to you very intently, cataloguing the things you say or your opinions. He remembers when you talk about work, asking you questions occasionally when you fall quiet. It’s… nice, you think. He’s reliable, oddly communicative for a man of so few words, and you appreciate his sudden but welcomed presence into your life. It’s not hard to have a crush on the man, even disregarding physical attraction, he was smart, sensible, and he often made you laugh, really laugh, usually when he wasn’t even trying to.

But this morning he leads you down a slightly different route. Simon usually led the way in your jogs, you don't mind so much, you’d been jogging the same route since you moved in, so the change of scenery was nice, but today you stray further from the usual haunts. You don’t even think to ask, but as he slows, he comes to a stop outside a small cafe, the inside of which seems bustling with military folks in their fatigues, and you look up at him questioningly.

“Only place ‘round here open this early,” he tells you, as if that explains what you’re doing here, but your stomach grumbles a little bit, and you follow him inside. It’s just a cafe, but you feel oddly out of place among the sea of uniforms, and you feel Simon’s hand lightly ghost over your back as he ushers you forward toward the counter. You can’t help but notice a few of the soldiers stand up a little straighter in what you’re assuming is his presence, not yours, and several men even throw up salutes, but they’re waved away with an almost annoyed sounding ‘at ease’ from the man behind you.

You shuffle toward the counter and wait patiently as the barista, a rough looking older gentleman comes around to you, his features grim, but friendly, and he nods at Simon as he moves to stand beside you.

“Lieutenant Riley,” he greets with a nod, his eyes dancing down to you, and you swear you see the flicker of an eyebrow raise, but you couldn’t be sure. “Usual?” he asks. Simon shakes his head once.

“Not this mornin’. Just her,” he gestures at you, which makes you blink dumbly up at him for a moment.

“I see. What’ll it be, luv?”

You rattle your order off, a simple latte, and Simon swats your card away and hands the older man a couple of notes, instructing him to keep the change. You move off to the side, to wait in the queue, and you take the moment, while standing fairly on your own to look up at him curiously. He doesn’t return your gaze, too busy looking around the coffee shop, but he does lower his chin slightly.

“What?” he asks, gruffly.

“Why didn’t you get anything?” you poke his arm, finally prompting him to glance down at you.

“Didn’t want anythin’,” he says. You frown up at him.

“Liar,” you roll your eyes, watching as he lowers his face even further and fixes you with a stare.

“Fine. I don’t wan’ any of these knobs seeing my face,” he tells you.

You study him for a moment, his excuse momentarily sounding ridiculous, but somehow, you believe him. You hadn’t ever really thought about how he rarely, if ever, removed his face mask. He always wore it in public, he even wore it in your home, and you’d only really caught a glimpse of the lower half of his face on the occasions you invited him in for tea before he walked you to work. Even then, you mostly left him downstairs while you showered and readied for the day. You’re not sure you could really describe him if you were ever asked, and you’d be better off recognising him by his build and height than any facial features, aside from his eyes.

You think you would recognise his eyes anywhere.

Your frown deepens in curiosity, and you study the parts of his face you can see while he watches you.

“Is that… a thing for you? With your job?” you half-whisper. He’d already told you he was SAS, and from the light reading you’d done, their whole deal was pretty secretive, you could only really find details about historical stuff. Simon seems to hesitate before he nods. You blink up at him and purse your lips before making a soft ‘hmm’ sound and turning back to the counter.

Behind you, you hear a low chuckle, a rough sound you’d receive on the few occasions he deigned to laugh.

“Usually get more pushback than tha’,” he mutters softly, and still facing away, you shrug.

“You could wear a tutu for your job for all I care,” you tell him. It was a little strange, but from all you know about him, all you’d learnt in the past couple of weeks, you suspect the man had been through a lot, probably still went through a lot, so you’d respect his wishes for extreme privacy if he wanted it.

Your order gets called, and the barista, who Simon thanks using the name Ed, gives you a wink on the way out.

“What was that about?” you ask with a smile, turning back to wait for him as follows you out of the cafe.

“Thinks you’re my girlfriend,” he replies almost immediately. You pause coffee halfway to your lips.

“Wait? I’m not?” you ask, looking up at him with so much faux-confusion you almost believe yourself for a second. Simon nearly stumbles, but he covers it by spinning on his heel and staring down at you, his eyes wide with something akin to panic at first, before they lower into glare. It’s almost intimidating for a second, but the look of disgruntled agitation on what you can see of his face makes you break out into laughter.

“I’m fucking with you,” you manage to get out between giggles. If possible, his glare gets darker. You start walking again, elbowing him in the side as you pass him. “You’d have to show me your face if you want me to be your girlfriend.”

From behind you, you hear a huff, and footsteps following after you.

“Fuckin’ hell, woman,” Simon grumbles as he falls into step again. “The cheek on you.”

You peek up at him at that, mostly to see if he’s still glaring, only to find that he now eyes you with what you can only describe as fondness.

You soften some.

“I really was only joking, Simon,” you say quietly after taking a few sips of your coffee. You round a corner, and he looks down at you. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“The mask?” he asks. You glance up at him too, and nod.

“Yeah, I get it– I mean, I don’t, not really, but… I guess I don’t know exactly what you do, but it’s probably dangerous, right?”

“Probably,” he agrees.

“And– and you probably don’t want any of that following you home,” you continue on, frowning to yourself even as you look away.

Simon stays quiet for a few moments.

“My other mask might bother you,” he says then, instead of really responding to what you’ve said. You wonder about it for a second, wonder if that really was the reason he covers his face, wonder if maybe, it had happened before, if that was why he was so careful. But then you register what he’s said and you crane your head to squint up at him.

“Your other mask?” you ask, confusion and curiosity mixing in your voice. Simon chortles.

“It’s a skull,” he tells you, bringing his hand up to his face. You think he’s smiling behind his mask again. “Covers everything, protects it too.”

You stare at him for a moment, trying to imagine what that would look like, if you’d even want to see it. You suppose if he was wearing it, that meant he was working, and you’re pretty sure if he’s working, that meant bad news. You don’t say any of that, however, undertsanding somewhere in the back of your mind that he didn’t often talk about any aspect of his job, and even this little detail was probably not something he shared with you lightly.

“I–” the moment you start speaking, you’re cut off, a dark black SUV tearing around the street corner up ahead, and screeching to a halt on the road beside you. Simon’s body language immediately changes into something you’ve never seen before, his arm swinging out and shoving you behind him as he watches the driver’s door swing open.

Almost instantly some of the rigidity in his muscles seem to relax as a young, handsome man with dark, tawny skin steps out, beelining around the side of the vehicle toward the two of you.

“Ghost, you’re needed back on base, we’re headed out,” the man tells him, his accent more Londoner than Simon’s, and you can’t help yourself, you peek around him to get a better look. The newcomer is dressed in what you might describe as ‘tactical casual’, with dark wash jeans, some kind of jacket, and a weapons vest over top. Before Simon has a chance to say anything, the man’s eyes drift toward you, and he blinks, all urgency seemingly forgotten as he takes you in.

“Who’s this?” he asks, voice lighter now, a little cheekier, and you watch as his gaze swivels back to Simon, who stands down completely, though you note, doesn’t step aside to reveal you to the man. He all but ignores him in fact, wheeling around on you, blocking out the other man’s view, though with the tiniest flicker of amusement, you see him shuffle slightly to the side so he can still get a look at you.

“I’ve got to go,” Simon tells you roughly, his voice somehow deeper than usual, gruffer even.

“O–okay,” you respond, not knowing how else you should. He must see your eyes dance worried and intrigued between him and the sight behind him, because he ducks into your vision slightly.

“Might be gone for a while,” he goes on after a moment. “M’gonna text you a number, anything happens, that blue car shows back up again, you call that number immediately, understood?”

You nod, realising you’re no longer speaking with your friend Simon, who even in his rough-around-the-edges manner, was softer than this. No, you realise you’re speaking to Lieutenant Riley, who was giving you an order.

“I’ll call, I promise,” you reassure him. He nods once, then turns, stepping past the other man, and all but wrenching the car door open. You blink in an almost stunned silence as he disappears into the SUV, leaving you for a moment with his friend– colleague?

“Uh, Hi,” he says.

“Hi…?” you return the greeting. The passenger's side window scrolls down, and Simon is glaring out of it.

“Garrick!”

The man, this Garrick, turns quickly around, like he’s been caught, and then looks back at you, swallowing quickly.

“Ma’am,” he says, nodding once. Must be a military thing, you think. Simon nodded a lot too. You watch him as he then spins on his heel, returning to the driver’s side.

And then they’re gone.

You stand in shock for a moment on the sidewalk, blinking after the black car, only pulled from your reverie by a single message from Simon, with no further words, just a number.

You save it, and walk home.

–

“Ghost,” Laswell comes marching through the hangar on a mission, using that tone that makes him stop in his tracks. They’d just finished their latest op, Ghost had been back on base for no longer than fifteen minutes, but he squares his shoulders and turns back to her, ready for whatever she was about to throw at him now. It had been a full month of this, not that he minded so much, always did feel more at home in the field than back London, but he might’ve been hoping for a little bit more down time as they planned their next move, especially with Gaz out of commission and on his way back for surgery on that broken arm.

“Laswell,” he greets her in kind, but she doesn’t stop, keeps moving right for him, only coming to a stand still when she’s sparsely two feet away. “What’ve you got for me?” He asks.

“I got a call while you were on your way back,” she tells him, and immediately his blood runs a little colder. “It was a woman, said her name was–”

“–What happened?” He cuts her off. He knows what your name is, that's not the part he needs to know right now. Laswell eyes him.

“She said the blue car was parked on her street,” Kate tells him and he has to assume you’d explained the car’s driver following you previously, because she says it with a sort of gravity that never meant good things. “I had her call the police, but apparently it took off before they could get the plates… I had somebody sent out to keep an eye on the place…”

Ghost lets out a string of expletives, looking away from her for a moment as he gathers his thoughts.

“CCTV?” he asks, almost snaps back, but Laswell takes it in stride.

“I looked it up, but the thing must be stolen. Plates belong to a gentleman who died three years ago, registration hasn’t been renewed, and the car wasn’t sold, at least not that I could find a record of,” she pauses a moment, eyeing him intently again. “Simon,” she says then, drawing his attention back down to her. “I advised her not to go to work, or leave the house, but I don’t think she was planning to anyway. She’s scared.”

Ghost almost growls at her.

“Of course she’s fuckin’ scared,” he bites back, but quickly regrets it. He shifts on his feet, antsy and annoyed. Kate’s face softens and she steps in just a little closer.

“Call her,” she says, making him freeze for a moment, hands flexing at his sides. “I know it's a blackout, but we’re grounded until we know our next moves. I can give you a few minutes, but only that,” she cuts him off before he can even argue.

He follows her to her office silently, his emotions a mixture of seething and anxious, but all of that fades away when the line picks up.

“H-hello?” your voice sounds small and he has to forcibly stop himself from grinding his teeth.

“Hello luv,” he hears himself say. He’s not bothered about Laswell sitting on the other side of the desk, listening in, he knows that’s her job. He knows she’s heard much worse than this.

“Simon?”

He shifts in his seat upon hearing the crack in your voice, angry that this has happened to you. Again.

“Thank you for giving me Kate’s number…” you say, sounding like you’re breathing back fresh tears. “She… she really helped me.”

Simon tuts.

“I’ve only got a short time, are you alright?” he asks, trying his best to soften his tone, not let his blooming anxiety feed into yours.

“Yeah, I–I’m fine, just shaken up… I saw them before I left, so I don’t think they know which house is mine…” you tell him, sounding slightly more confident at that assertion. Simon nods to himself.

“Can you do me a favour, sweetheart?” if the pet names register or deter you, you certainly don’t show it as you hum your affirmative down the phone. “Need you to stay at home for a while– Not too long, but just until I know you’re safe, alright?”

Laswell looks over at him then, but he ignores her, continuing on.

“Got a mate that’s gonna be on some leave for a while, gonna send him over to you, can you wait until he’s back f’me?” he asks.

“S-sure. I– I think that would be good.”

He’s glad you don’t argue, though worries about what state you must be in to want that kind of help. Laswell motions to him from the corner of his eye, and he knows what she’s telling him before he even has a chance to look up.

“I’ve got to go, you call again if something happens between now and my mate being able to get to you, alright?”

You confirm with him again, and without so much as a goodbye, Laswell cuts off the connection.

“Any longer than that, I’d have to log it,” she tells him apologetically. Ghost waves his hand, placing the phone back into her possession. He doesn’t stand right away, just sits and thinks for a moment, before he looks up at her properly, meeting her gaze.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. Laswell smiles, small, but genuine.

“Of course,” she says, before spinning back around in her seat and bringing up something on her computer. “I’ll alert Gaz as soon as he’s awake and able… this isn’t… this isn’t related to work, is it?”

Ghost stares at her for a moment.

“No, happened to meet when she was bein’ followed the first time,” he explains, but doesn’t feel the need to give her the full story. It wasn’t important, all she needed to know was this was some regular ol’ stalker, nothing related to their various ops.

Laswell nods, and turns back to her screen.

“I’ll keep in email contact with her and Gaz.”

Ghost feels selfish for the relief he feels at those words. Feels selfish that he's passing off his worry to her, so he can focus. But he needed to, in order to remain at his best in the field. He couldn’t be worried about what was happening at home, and there was a reason he’d given you Laswell’s contact in the first place. Wordlessly, he stands, and leaves her office.

–

You’re wiping down your kitchen counter for the fifth, maybe sixth time today. You could only fill your day with so many chores, so much telly, and so much laundry before you started repeating yourself. So when your doorbell chimes, you almost jump at the chance for something new, even if you know you should be more cautious about opening your door right now.

You’d promised Simon.

Still, you make sure you look through your blinds and your peephole before you answer, but both pre-checks give you the same answer, and honestly, it’s not the one you had been expecting.

“Hello?” you ask, opening the door a crack, glancing out at the familiar man, the same one who had come for Simon all those weeks ago. He smiles at you, and immediately shows you both his hands.

“Hello again,” he says, his voice warm and filled with what you think is genuine friendliness.

“Are you– you’re Simon’s friend?” you ask, opening the door a little further, but not yet all the way. The man nods, and drops his hands.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m Gaz, Ghost sent me, said you might be wanting for a lil’ company.”

You blink at him, your frown dipping further, your eyes scanning his face uncertaintly.

“Who’s ‘Ghost’?” you ask, and for a split second, his smile drops some.

“Sorry,” he says, nodding to himself, as though realising something. “Lieutenant Riley is. Simon,” he tells you, before shrugging. “Goes by Ghost in the field.”

“Oh,” you say, slightly dumbfounded by the information. You stand there for a second longer, processing before you realise this man has come to help you, and you’ve left him on your doorstep.

“I’m so sorry, I’m just a little shaky, come on in.”

You and Gaz get on like a house on fire. He’s overly polite at first, a little formal, but soon enough he eases out, and you find you quite like having him around.

“So, what’d you do to your arm?” you ask a few days later, after insisting he let you look at his injury.

“Not sure I can tell you that, luv,” Gaz responds without missing a beat. Apparently the break wasn’t so bad, a fracture that required a cast, but he seemed to be healing alright.

“I know what you do, Kyle,” you say in a faux-annoyed voice. “I mean, not like, exactly what you do, but you can tell me if you fell out of a window or something,” you continue with a roll of your eyes. Gaz chuckles, and looks up at you as you round the couch and place a cup of tea down in front of him.

His gaze is momentarily sympathetic, before he gets a wicked look in his eye.

“I’ll tell you,” he begins, shifting better to face you where you sit on the other end of the sofa. “If you tell me what’s going on with you and Ghost– Simon.”

You refrain from frowning. It had become rather obvious to you, more obvious than just the impressions you’d gotten in your own experience, that your friendship with Simon wasn't exactly anywhere near the norm for him, which in turn made it all the more interesting to his teammate.

“Sure,” you say, trying not to feel like you’re tricking him.

“Took a crowbar to the arm,” he says with a sigh. “Knocked my gun out of my hands, blindsided me… probably would have been fine if I hadn’t finished out the mission, but…”

You nod in understanding.

“The extra stress on it,” you say, and receive a nod. He looks at you expectantly, and you let out a breath.

“We’re friends,” you tell him, immediately earning a playful scoff.

“LT doesn’t have friends,” he shoots back quickly, though not meanly, you don’t get the sense he’s trying to insult him.

“Look, I– I know what you’re saying, it's not like… it isn’t as if there’s nothing there, I’m not stupid. I don’t think he’d go out of his way for me like this otherwise… but we are just friends.”

Gaz looks at you thoughtfully, pursing his lips as he thinks.

“I believe you,” he says then, as if he’s decided something. “Mostly because that man has never taken a personal phone call in his life, let alone when we’re in a comms. Blackout…”

“Wait, but I thought soldiers could contact their families… and friends?” you tack on the last part quickly. Gaz shakes his head.

“The type of shit we do… it’s better if we don’t,” he tells you solemnly.

“Is… is that why he hides his face?” you ask. Gaz’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You’ve never seen his face?”

You pause, wondering if this is information you should share. You’d gotten to know Gaz fairly well the past few days, but you still weren’t certain of the dynamic between him and Simon, let alone where you stood within that.

“Sort of… It’s not like he was looking me straight on,” you trail off. “Sometimes after our runs, he has tea while I clean up for work, he takes the mask off then, but it’s always back on by the time I’ve come back downstairs,” you almost feel guilty admitting it, given what you’d learnt since then about how Simon preferred to keep his face hidden. “I don’t know if he meant for me to see.”

Gaz snorts and shakes his head.

“Trust me, if he took that mask off anywhere near you, he meant for you to see… I’ve only seen his face properly once,” he tells you. You blink.

“But you work with him!” you argue. Gaz chuckles and takes a sip of his tea.

“So the fact he regularly takes it off around you at all…” he doesn’t finish, just flashes you a grin and bounces his eyebrows.

You huff out a chortle and shake your head at him.

“You boys don’t get a lot of gossip, do you?” you ask, earning a boisterous, hearty laugh.

“Nah, not really. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened in years on that front,” he tells you truthfully. You shake your head again.

“When I go back to work tomorrow, I’ll fill you in on all the workplace dramas,” you tell him, reaching out and patting his uninjured arm. Once again, he flashes that bright, boyish grin at you.

“You know what? That’s a deal, luv.”

–

You’ve been back at work two weeks now. You loved your job but you couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy the time off with Gaz. Still you got to see him everyday, he’d walk/jog with you in the mornings and then walk you to work, and in the evenings he’d drop by and walk you back. You usually made him dinner, or you’d just talk. You’d gotten him onto ‘Come Dine With Me’, and you’d had a blast replaying the older episodes.

It had been a break at least from the regular ‘missing Simon’ or ‘worrying about Simon’ hours you’d been having. You know you shouldn’t. From everything Gaz had told you or let slip, Simon–or Ghost as he called him most often– was not somebody you should worry about. He was the somebody others should be worrying about.

It goes a long way to comfort you.

It’s not as though you can really imagine Simon at work, with guns and explosives and knives or whatever else, but it isn’t as though you can look at that beefcake of a man and not picture him doing some real damage, it's the whole reason you’d ran straight for him that first day.

He had a dangerous air to him, even the way Gaz speaks about him at times. It was like he was built specifically for something, but you suppose that was what years of training and hard work and a certain mindset would do to you.

You clock out in the main office, and hike your bag further up your shoulder. You’re tired, it had been a long day, but luckily not a very intense one. Sometimes that was worse, though. At least if you were called in constantly for triage, you had something else to focus on, but today your thoughts had constantly drifted back to him.

You chuck a text out to Gaz, who replies immediately, insisting he had a surprise for you. You sigh a little. You know he must sense your growing worry, he’d been suggesting doing more and more things recently in the hopes of getting your mind sof things, you think. You’d gone mini golfing last friday, which had been fun. Gaz was a good mate, and you think you’d really like to hang out with him again, even after all this was over.

You step out the front doors of the hospital, fiddling with your phone in your hand, but looking up sharply when you spot some movement to your left. You see Gaz first, standing against a guard railing, chatting away, and as your eyes drift to the person next to him, you feel your heart speed up and your face break out into a wide, unabashed smile.

“Simon!” you all but shout, moving your way quickly toward them. You want to throw yourself at him, want to toss your arms around him and squeeze tightly, but to be honest you don’t really know what state he’s in. Simon and Gaz stand up a little straighter, a massive grin on the latter’s face. A surprise indeed.

Simon looks weary, looks tired, and you spot what looks like a stitch in his upper brow. It doesn’t deter you though, you meet him halfway and shuffle your bag awkwardly taking him in.

“Y’look good,” he says simply, and you realise how much you’d missed his voice. You can’t help yourself, you move closer, and pull him in, or, really, pull yourself in, wrapping your arms around what you can of his bulk, and smushing your cheek into his chest.

You’re a little surprised by how quickly he hugs you back, it’s not like this was normal for the two of you, but faster than you thought he might, or at all really, his arms are around you too, tight and firm and you can’t help it when your eyes grow a little wetter.

“I missed you,” you say softly, only loud enough that he would pick it up, and he hums against you.

“You been alright, sweetheart?” he asks. You don’t know when he started with the petnames, you don’t think he used them before he went away, but maybe you just hadn’t noticed before. You pull back.

“I’m good,” you say, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. Simon’s brow furrows, and he twitches a little before he lifts his own hands, gloved in the cold weather, and uses his thumbs to dry your cheeks.

“No cryin’ love, come on now,” he faux-scolds, ducking down a little even as you nod. “Makin’ me feel bad.”

You smile up at him and he seems to pause for a moment, before his own eyes seem to crinkle slightly.

“You want dinner?” you ask quickly then, not content to have him walk you home and disappear again. “I got out a pork roast this morning,” you go on, looking past him to Gaz, who had conveniently been checking his phone until he hears that.

“Aw, come on LT, first night back and you’re getting a home cooked meal? Can’t say no to that,” Gaz teases. If Simon is bothered by it, he doesn’t say, simply reaches out and takes your backpack from you, and jerks his head in the direction of home.

You’re finishing up with the vegetables, the roast just out of the oven and waiting when he enters. You’d left the boys in the other room, to talk about anything they needed to talk about, and also give Simon a bit of a break, considering from what you’d picked up on, he’d literally come as soon as he’d gotten back earlier this evening.

You shoot a glance over your shoulder as Simon moves about your small kitchen, tossing the two beer bottles in the trash, but he’s looking over at you. He has his mask off, tucked under his chin, but you were still trying not to stare too much. Gaz had wiggled his eyebrows at you already, as if to prove a point you’re pretty sure you already know, but if you had any doubts, they’re sated the moment Simon seems to cautiously step up to you from behind.

Slowly you feel his arms move around your middle, and you do your best not stop what you’re doing in awe. You feel his forehead connect with your shoulder and when nothing seems to immediately push him away, he lets out a long, deep breath.

“M’sorry I wasn’t here,” he says almost too quietly. You smile a little, still taken aback by this second showing of affection in one evening, and stop your food preparation briefly to pat this arm circling your stomach.

“You couldn’t help it,” you tell him. “And Laswell checked back in on me, too.”

He raises his head a little at that.

“She did?” he asks, sounding a little surprised. You nod.

“Mhmn.”

He doesn’t respond to that, simply rests his head back on your shoulder and takes another deep breath.

“Missed you too,” he says then, like an admittance, but you only chortle, placing down your tools now, and gingerly reaching back to cup his cheek. He seems to jump a little at the touch, before he leans into it, and you think if a man could purr, he might just start.

“I know,” you say softly.

“You know?” he asks back, his voice laced with amusement.

“You don’t send an SAS mate round to look after your friend you don’t miss,” you poke at his arm with your other hand, and feel the huff of laughter he lets out against your neck.

“Friend,” he says, and there's something else in his tone, but you can’t pick out what it is.

“We’re not friends?” you ask then, forcing yourself not to twist around in his arms, but you do turn your head, a little breathless when you find him, his full bare face, looking back at you, thoughtful.

“No,” he says slowly, but you don’t panic too much, don’t feel your stomach drop. He still has his arms around you. “I showed you my face, that’s what you said, innit?” he asks back, almost huffily. You pause for a moment, brows furrowing slightly as you try to recall what he’s speaking about. “Said I’d have to show you my face if I wanted…” he trails off.

Your face breaks out into a grin as you remember, and you can't help but laugh, your hand shaking where it cups his cheek and you giggle to yourself.

“Well, new clause to that,” you say between pearls of laughter, brought on even more so when his face falls into a little frown that you raise your hand to smooth out from between his brows, his eyes watching you closely. “You also have to tell me if that’s what you want!”

“That’s what I want,” he says quickly, like he might miss his opportunity if he doesn’t get in fast. You chortle again, and can’t resist the urge to tease him, the full effect of his facial expressions now almost a game to you, to see how he looks when it’s not just his eyes you can see.

“You know we could still just be friends,” you say slyly, tracking as his lips turn downward and his glare returns, muscles in his face fighting against the thumb you’d used to relax them previously.

“No,” he says again, firmly, a growl this time, and you laugh. “The gall of you woman, making me worried to fuck, then tryna just be friends,” he huffs out, standing tall, making your hand drop from his face entirely. His hands move to your hips then, shuffling you around to face him and he stares down at you for a beat.

You’re surprised when he drops his face to yours, his lips pressing quickly against your own, pulling back only briefly before he seems to decide that’s not quite enough and he does it again.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” he tells you roughly, lips brushing your own when he speaks.

“My running partner?” you ask breathlessly. He glares darkly at you, and this time he kisses you firmly, slowly, like he’s getting a taste for you. You can’t help but lean up into it, pressing up on your toes.

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and then one of his hands is leaving your hip, wrapping around the back of your neck where he angles your head slightly to the side. His mouth parts, and you take the opportunity to deepen your kiss, seemingly surprising him somewhat, though you feel his lips curl up into a smile, even as his hand tightens on the back of your neck.

He kisses you like it might make you shut up about this whole ‘platonic’ thing, and when he pulls back at last, hand still holding your head in place, he looks down at you for a moment like he’s searching for something.

“Okay,” you say shakily.

“Okay,” he replies, voice much deeper than it was before. You feel his fingers flex against your neck.

“Okay,” Gaz says, suddenly standing in the doorway to the kitchen, grinning like the cat who got the cream.

“Garrick I will break your other arm,” Simon growls, releasing his hold on you and whipping around. You let out a bark of laughter, your hands coming up to rest on Simon’s shoulders, pushing up on your tiptoes to try and whisper in his ear, but you can’t quite reach.

“If you do that, he’ll have to stay home and hang out with me for longer,” you tell him. Simon turns his head to look back at you, practically pouting. “Set the table please, dinner’s almost ready.”

Gaz stands up straighter, and salutes you with his good arm.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

–

“I’ll drive,” Simon tells the rest of 141, already at the car door, leaving the others to simply complain about it. They’re going for drinks, a ritual that took place one week post mission, every mission, and one Simon did not usually lead the charge on.

Price silently takes the passenger’s seat, ignoring Johnny and Gaz as they fight over who called shotgun first, both of them climbing in the backseat huffily when they notice. Simon almost smiles under his mask, shooting Price an eyeroll the older man waves off with a short chuckle.

“Everyone got your seatbelts on?” Price asks buckling himself in.

“Had it on b’fore I got in the car, wha’with Lt. drivin’ an’ all,” Soap says with a snicker that comes to a short sharp stop when Simon briefly presses down the accelerator, then the brakes, jolting his (un)willing passengers testily.

“Simon,” Price faux-scolds, but when he looks over at the Captain, he’s grinning.

“Alright you trollops, ready?”

The drive out is surprisingly peaceful, despite Simon’s rising anxiety. If anybody notices his nervous tapping finger on the steering wheel at every red light, they don’t say anything. It’s not until he thinks they’ve picked up on the fact he’s driven past the turn off for the pub that the chatter in the backseat calms somewhat, a few more lingering silences between the banter until he comes to a stop outside your place. Simon puts the car in park, and he’s never felt a quiet so pervasive before.

It stays quiet until after he’s left the car, taking the umbrella from the foot well with him. The door slams, and he’s never been glader not to hear the conversation that immediately ensues.

“Where the hells’ he goin’?” Soap snaps like a rubber band, never taking his eyes off of Ghost as he stalks around the car and up onto the sidewalk. “Who’s flat is this?!”

Price watches for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest.

“A woman’s,” he says, doing his best impression of being indifferent, but he can’t quite hide the curiosity and surprise in his voice.

“A bird? Simon doesn’t know any birds!” Soap says, before pausing. “Except the ones we work with,” he adds. The Scot looks between Price and Gaz, before he double takes back at Kyle, and narrows his eyes. “Yer aw’ful shifty,” he says, immediately clocking when Gaz puts up his ‘playing it cool’ front.

“Nah mate, I’m as surprised as you are,” Gaz tells him, almost sounding convincing.

“Wha’ makes you think it’s a woman’s house, Cap?” Johnny asks instead of pressing the Sergeant, though he keeps a side eye on him even as he looks back out at where Ghost has knocked on the door and stands waiting.

“Took the brolly,” Price says with a sigh. “He’s not using it, though. Yet,” he nods toward the scene playing out before them, and Soap’s questions come to an end when the front door opens and you appear, smiling up at Ghost.

His jaw all but drops to the car floor when Ghost appears to actually lean down toward you, you raise a hand, hooking a finger over the top of his black cloth mask and pulling it down. And then you kiss him!

“Fuck off!” Soap exclaims. He looks frantically between Price and Gaz. “Get off!”

No one responds as Ghost puts up the umbrella and holds it over your head as you step out, locking your door, before allowing him to escort you back to the car. Soap almost jumps when the car door opens, and Simon ducks his head into the car.

“Move,” he says shortly. Soap just stares, eyes flickering between you and his Lt. in nothing but agape shock.

You elbow Simon, he catches it without looking.

“Hi, s’nice to meet you,” you say. Soap watches Simon roll his eyes. His mask has been replaced, but Johnny doesn’t need to see his face uncovered to know he’s scowling at him. You peek further into the car, and your already smiling face lights up even more.

“Gaz!” You say happily. Soap whips his head back around to Kyle, expression somewhere between betrayal and shock.

“You knew about this?!”

“Move, Johnny,” Simon growls again, though there's a note of exasperation in his voice more so than anger.

Soap quickly slides over to the middle seat, fumbling for the seatbelt, watching as you look up at Simon with a little frown.

“I should sit in the middle, I’m smaller,” you tell him. Simon’s eyes meet yours and he shakes his head.

“Safer on the sides,” he almost grunts.

“Gee, thanks, Lt.,” Johnny grumbles as you take Simon’s offered hand and climb into the back. He waits for you to buckle yourself in before he closes the door.

“Hi,” you say again in the brief moment you’re alone with 141. Price turns around in his seat, and holds a hand out to you that you shake.

“John Price,” he tells you. “Sorry ‘bout this one,” he nods to Soap, who is still somewhere between bewildered and calming down.

“Sorry,” Johnny tells you quickly, shaking your offered hand, looking at you kindly. “Jus’... didn’t realise Lt. had… you,” he seems to cringe at that. “I’m Soap, or Johnny.”

You smile brightly and shake your head.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him, taking back your hand. “He warned me you’d be like this.”

Soap blinks.

“He talks about me?”

You ignore him with a smile, leaning around to wave at Gaz.

“How’s your arm doin’, Kyle?” you ask warmly. Gaz scrunches his nose and pouts.

“Be better if I had a nurse like you takin’ care of me,” he tells you cheekily, just as the driver’s door opens again and Simon climbs back in.

“Careful, Garrick,” he says warningly, but there’s no real bite behind his words, amusement more than anything else.

The car starts to move once more, and it isn’t lost on anyone but you that the ride is suddenly much more smooth.

“So, you two know each other?” Soap asks the least obvious question first, nodding between you and Gaz. You smile.

“Gaz kept me company while he was on medical leave,” you tell him.

“Oh,” is all he responds at first, clearly wondering ‘why’.

“Some fucker keeps stalkin’ ‘er in his car,” Simon fills in, surprising you slightly. You’d have figured he’d not tell them anything more than absolutely necessary about your relationship, or you by extension.

It hits you then, that despite his seeming annoyance and gruffness with them, these were probably the people he trusted most in the world. It warms you a little.

“Wha’? And you haven’t killed the bastard yet?” Soap asks, immedieatly chilling the atmosphere in the car by a few degrees. Simon eyes him sharply in the rearview, and you feel the held breath by the others like a taute bungee cord.

You knew in the back of your mind Simon was a dangerous man, that when he went away for work, it wasn’t to sit around on a base simply performing requisite duties. But hearing the confirmation of that fact still somehow gives you pause. But only for a minute.

“Sorry– I didn’t mean–”

“–I wish he would,” you cut Soap’s apology, with a short, nervous little laugh. The mood shifts back then, and from the front seat you hear Price chuckle heartily.

Simon’s eyes swivel to you in the mirror, dancing away back to the road a moment later, and he seems to shift in his seat some.

“Is tha’ permission, then?” he asks with a faux-lightness that informs you you should pick your next words very carefully. You shrug.

“Can you get away with it?” you ask, still keeping your voice jovial. Plausible deniability, you suppose. Next to you, Soap lets out a bark of laughter.

“Aye, you bet yer arse he can,” he tells you, gently nudging you with his elbow. “An’ if he doesn’t get the cunt, I will.”

“Watch your fuckin’ language!” Simon barks, glaring at him in the mirrors. Your laugh is somewhere between a scoff and a gasp. You lean forward to the front seats and smack Simon’s arm.

“You called the guy the exact same thing last night!” You say. “And Johnny was being nice!”

Simon’s head briefly snaps back to you, seemingly betrayed that you outed him, before turning back around and grunting. Soap flashes you a megawatt grin.

–

It’s the Saturday after your drinks with Simon’s team, and you’re cleaning up after lunch when you hear your front door open, then close heavily. Despite all circumstances, you aren’t overly worried, you recognise the sound of his heavy footfalls, and the clank of his keys as he drops them in the bowl by the front door.

“Simon?” you ask anyway, moving around the doorway of the kitchen, surprised to find him right there, and even more surprised when he cups your face in both his hands and kisses full and deep half a second later.

When he lets you up for air, you almost gasp with how fervently he coups you up against the kitchen counter, backing you into it quickly.

“S’dealt with,” he says simply, kissing you again. You frown some, confused, and you pull back ever so slightly.

“W–What?” you ask, still a little breathless. Simon looks down at you. His mask is crumpled up, hanging from one ear, and you recognise the slightly wild look in his eye. It was the same as when he’d come back from his last mission. You hadn’t noticed it then, not used to seeing him a little riled up, a little adrenalised, but you reconise it now.

“Stalker. S’dealt with,” he says, his hands on your face holding you just a little tighter, like through touch alone he can convey what he means. For a moment a slightly sick feeling fills your stomach, and you pull away.

“Simon, stop,” you say quickly, placing a hand onh his chest when he all but reels back from you. Your gesture calms his almost panic now, and you curl your fingers into the front of his shirt so he knows not to go far. You scrunch your eyes closed, and take a few deep breaths.

“I–” your voice fails you at first, and you feel his hands move to rest on your shoulder and your waist supportively. You swallow. “I don’t want to know,” you tell him at last, eyes still shut and shaking your head.

When you open them at last, he’s looking down at you guiltily, though you sense no remorse for what he may or may not have done. You shake your head and use the hand in his shirt to pull him nearer once more, tucking yourself against his chest, and wrapping your arms around his back. You close your eyes again and take in another deep, shuddering breath.

“I don’t want to know,” you say again, feeling his arms wrap almost hesitantly around you. One of his hands cups the back of your head, safely, securely, and he strokes it once, twice, before he simply holds it. You feel him swallow.

“M’sorry–”

“–Don’t be,” you cut him off quickly, tightening your arms around him, latching onto his shirt at the back, over where the muscles in his shoulders jut out. “Don’t be sorry, thank you.”

Your voice gains a slightly weepy edge, and he adjusts you, moves so it’s him with his back to the counter, and you all but fall against him, his fingers on the back of your head gripping ever so slightly tighter, but it's comforting. And then you start crying, full, heavy with relief, and you keep crying until all the stress has worked itself out of you.

–

It takes you a while, but you start jogging again. Simon joins you of course, and you find yourself inordinately pleased on the mornings he brings Gaz or Soap (or both) along with him.you start frequenting Ed’s coffee shop until he knows you by name, make it a well trodden spot during the weeks or months when Simon is away.

Life returns to normal.

In some ways at least.

Simon moves in with you when his lease is up, half his time spent with you at your home anyway, it feels natural for him to be there the other half now too. Gaz’s own end of lease, and some jerking around on the part of his new place’s owner see him staying in your spare bedroom for a few weeks before he finally sorts out his own flat, not that it would end up mattering, with both men getting called away two weeks later. They’re gone for three months, in which time you help Collect the keys of his new apartment, and help him move some of his stuff in, a favour he’s all too thankful for when he returns.

You meet Kate, you go for drinks with the boys, and a few years later, you find yourself with a ring on your finger and a tiny little baby girl that loves her daddy and her uncles so much she ceases crying the moment one of them picks her up.

You don't, however, ever see the blue car again.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x female oc

342 notes · View notes

bellaxgiornata · 21 days ago

Text

Not Like Before Prologue

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 2k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; nurse!Reader, canon-divergence (no Abel or Thomas), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, girl dad Jax

summary: Jax met you at a bar out near Fresno, California while on a run with the club. Unable to deny the instant attraction, you brought him back to your place for a few hours of the best sex of your life. Almost two months later, you realized you were pregnant with his kid and no way to contact him. Due to your hospital's budget cuts, you end up taking a job at St. Thomas Hospital, bringing both Emilia and yourself to Charming five years later, entirely unaware that the local MC is the one your daughter's father runs–and that out of the hundreds, you were the one he never forgot.

a/n: I'm excited to see so many of y'all were looking forward to this! I honestly didn't expect y'all to want to read about girl dad Jax discovering he's got a daughter. This first part has bits of smut from that night 5 years ago (you'll eventually get more later). Initially was going to post this in a few days but I'm incredibly sick so here you go! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. Dividers by the lovely @secretlysamcro.

series tag list: @kmc1989 @secretlysamcro @chloe-skywalker @cindsvibes @aussiefangirl95 @sjester42-blog @danzer8705 @uknowmesstuff @mmarysha

Tonight had been anything but what Jax expected.

When he'd locked eyes on you from across the bar earlier this evening, he'd felt an immediate attraction–an instant pull to you. Something he’d never experienced before with the countless women he’d hooked up with over the years. He’d caught you sitting at your table with your friends making eyes at him while sipping on your mixed drink, giving him the same exact look he knew he’d been giving you.

Thirty minutes. That's how long it had taken for you to leave that table and head to the bar alone, ordering yourself another vodka cranberry. When you'd met his gaze from across the room again, Jax didn't hesitate. He'd gotten up from the table with the Sons, clapping Opie on the shoulder and shooting him a smug grin. Jax knew damn well he wouldn’t be back until he’d found some way to have you for the night.

Because SAMCRO wasn't in Charming this weekend. They'd had a run all the way out to San Bernardino, but after a little territory dispute on their way back home, it had gotten far too late to keep riding. Clay had made the call for the group to settle in at a cheap motel near Fresno for the night. So for the next few hours, Jax had been open to finding a different distraction than what he always had in Charming.

And tonight, that had been you.

But what Jax hadn't expected was your sense of humor and the way your adorable laugh easily had a grin spreading over his own lips at the sound. And while you drank down a second vodka cranberry as you both talked at the bar, both of your groups of friends long forgotten from your minds, you'd disarmed him with your charm and the twenty different times you'd leaned over, giggling as you confessed that you weren't the type to ever bring a guy back to your place.

But he'd seen the way you kept eyeing him. He'd noticed the way you reacted to his flirting and the compliments, noticed the way you’d leaned into his touches whenever his fingers brushed over your cheek, your arm, your hip. He knew you'd felt that same attraction that he'd felt from the second he first spotted you.

He was proven right when you'd stepped outside with him. Jax had lit up a cigarette, in need of a smoke almost an hour later just to give his hands something to do to keep himself from taking you against the damn bar counter with how you’d been affecting him. One moment he was joking with you, taking a drag off of his cigarette, and the next, you'd plucked the damn thing from his fingers and thrown it aside. Then you'd grabbed him by the kutte before smashing your mouth onto his until all he could taste was your vanilla lip balm on his tongue.

He'd had you every which way back at your apartment after that, but not before he'd buried his face between your plush thighs. Your fingers had been tangled in his hair, your body writhing on your bed as you whimpered beneath his mouth. When you finally came on his tongue that first time, your hand pulling sharply on his hair as you cried out in pleasure, you'd tasted even sweeter than your lip balm.

Jax had lost count of how many times he'd gotten you to come for him tonight. But fuck if he hadn't quickly found himself loving the way your eyelids fluttered as the most beautiful noises flew past your lips each time that pretty pussy of yours squeezed him relentlessly with every single one of your climaxes.

It was at some point in the middle of him taking you for the third time that he realized it. With his hand wrapped around your throat as he'd pulled your face back towards his, laying on your stomach as his other hand pressed into the mattress to hold himself over the back of you, he ruthlessly fucked you into the bed. The fitted sheet had flown up in one corner long ago with how roughly he’d been driving into you and with how tightly you’d had a hold of it curled in your fists. It was then that realization had come before either of you did again.

A few hours out here with you wouldn’t be enough.

This encounter hadn’t felt like any of the ones he’d had before–and there’d been plenty after Tara had left Charming a few years ago. Because you were the first girl Jax had been with that he’d actually seen. It wasn’t Tara at the forefront of his mind while he was inside of you. He wasn’t hiding your face in a pillow or the sheets trying to imagine he was inside of her like he’d often done in the past with the girls hanging around the clubhouse. He was actively watching you, enjoying the way you looked as you panted and gasped, moaning and whining while he fucked you hard and rough. But before that, he’d taken you slow and soft, the moment feeling oddly intimate and passionate as he’d laid flush over the top of you, not an inch of space between your sweaty bodies as his eyes held yours. And the way you’d buried your face into the crook of his neck, back arching your body into his when you’d come moaning against his skin, had his entire body practically vibrating in sheer pleasure.

Underneath the faint haze of alcohol, he was aware that something more was happening here.

By now he’d fucked you three times already in the past couple of hours, yet here you were, riding him with your head thrown back over your shoulders as you were nearing yet another orgasm, your perfect tits looking even better from his angle beneath you as you bounced along his cock–which was already mostly spent by now. He was close to coming once again himself, his hands gripping your waist as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, his own hips rocking up to meet yours. The sounds you were making had him falling apart so goddamn easily for you.

Jax came yet again soon after, filling you with what little he had left to give by this point. But as he pulled your sweaty, panting body down on top of his, he found himself wishing he didn’t have to leave so soon. He wanted to keep you as close as he could for a little bit longer, his fingers gently brushing back and forth over your shoulder in a way that could almost be considered affectionate.

He found himself being soft with you in between all the sex. Something he didn't understand. Something he didn't do with girls. But you were different. You’d made him feel different–made him feel something for the first time in years. And he’d found himself enjoying the jokes and the conversation between the fucking far more than he thought possible.

But then you’d fallen asleep on him shortly after that fourth time when he’d pulled you down onto him, your body clearly exhausted from the physical exertion. Jax knew he needed to get back to the motel to get some sleep himself before finishing the few hour ride back to Charming tomorrow. He couldn’t just stay here curled up in some random girl’s bed even if a small part of him strangely wanted to do exactly that.

So he did what he knew he was supposed to–he slipped out of your apartment while you were asleep. Made a quiet escape back to his cheap motel room. But he’d tossed and turned in the shitty bed until sunrise knowing he’d never see the girl who’d made him finally feel something again and not understanding why the fuck that mattered at all.

Sitting on the floor of your small bathroom, your head fell back against the vanity cabinet behind you. Both tests had come back positive. There was no denying it now, no writing it off that you just weren’t feeling well or that the stress of work had caused you to be late.

You were pregnant.

Pregnant with the baby of some guy you’d known for only a few hours. Some guy you couldn’t even recall the name of almost two months later–Jared, Jason, Jay? All you could remember was that he’d been painfully handsome, he didn’t live around the area, he was in some sort of motorcycle club that you also could not remember the name of, and that he’d been incredible in the bedroom.

Apparently so incredible that he’d gotten you pregnant.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself, tears pricking at your eyes again as you stared at the ceiling of your bathroom. “Of course the one fucking time I have a fling with someone–the one goddamn time I let myself have any fun–this is what happens.”

All because you’d been stressed out that night due to your new job at Fresno Community Hospital. They’d been giving you the shitty shifts for months solely because you were the new nurse. Third shift, second shift, doubles. Your schedule had been so damn screwed that when you’d finally had a day off, you’d gone out with your friends to let loose. The second you’d noticed the attractive biker eyeing you from across the bar, you didn’t care about the hint of danger radiating off of him or the fact that you weren’t the type for one night stands. You’d found a new way to deal with your stress–him.

And goddamn had he worked you out that night. You had a feeling you’d found the damn unicorn of one night stands because the way that man had taken care of you–folding you and bending your body in ways you had no idea it could even move–had been mind-numbingly amazing. You’d never met a man with quite so much stamina and determination, and you’d certainly never fucked anyone who damn well knew what the hell they were doing quite like that.

But you’d stupidly told him that you were on the pill, forgoing condoms that neither of you even had in the moment. Except the alcohol clouding your mind had you forgetting the part where you’d been so fucked up with your work schedule that you’d missed a handful of birth control pills that month.

And now here you were facing the consequences of your actions.

Expelling a rough breath, you looked back down at the two tests laying innocently on the floor beside you. Both of them displayed two very pink lines that you couldn't dispute. You’d sat on the floor of your bathroom for almost an hour now, running through a range of feelings–fear, despair, shock, disbelief. Eventually you’d settled on acceptance, because you already knew that you were going to keep this baby. You had no idea how you’d make it work, but you knew you’d figure it out.

But you had no way to contact the father. Not that you figured the man you’d met two months ago would remotely care about you carrying his child, but you didn’t even have a way to reach him. If you could have, you’d at least have given him the news on the off chance it somehow would mean something to him. It wasn’t like you’d ever exchanged phone numbers that night, though, and he’d long since disappeared by the time you’d woken up in your bed the next morning.

But what else had you expected? He’d made it clear to you that he was no stranger to random romps with girls he’d just met even if you weren’t that type yourself. You were just another random hookup in a string of probably countless others for him. You doubted he would even remember your face, and you weren’t even certain you'd given him your name.

And now you’d be forever linked with him and he’d never even know.

#jax teller x reader #jax teller smut #jax teller x you #jax teller #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction #soa #soa fanfiction #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam characters

261 notes · View notes

omagpies · 5 months ago

Note

Recently saw your roleswap AU and I’m loving it! I have a few things I’m curious about:

1. So by my understanding Anya failed her flight certification 8 times and PE was cheap enough to be fine with that? Did she never pass? Makes sense, I’m just kinda clarifying lol

2. Does nurse!Curly also feel like he wants to try something different in his career like in canon? Did he also not have enough savings after PE went under? Did he go to nursing school or did he also fail his entrance exams?

3. What’s Daisuke’s story in this AU? Did his mom push him to go to trade school to become a mechanic? Did he do that on his own and his mom suggested working with PE?

4. It’s so interesting to me that Anya tried E-dating after getting back to earth and seemingly got rejected based on her appearance, poor girl :( but I’m kinda wondering about Curly’s perspective on this, did he have feelings for Anya while she was E-dating and just sucked it up for her?

5. I’m kinda curious about Curly and Anya’s relationship pre-crash, was it a little bit flirty like in canon? Did Anya try to approach Curly with what Jimmy was doing or was the blackmail powerful enough for her not to say a peep to anyone?

haha gonna answer all of these at once! but first here's something on 5 :)

she never passed the Official Legit certification but passed what counts for it in PE (so, certified only to fly PE vessels) and kind of sees it as her last chance to make it as a pilot. still hopes to get properly certified one day, working at PE to make the money for simulator hours and exam fees

curly actually went to a med school on a football scholarship but had to drop out about two or three years in because he started prioritising studies over practice and the money got pulled. used the money he had left to switch tracks and certify as a nurse. joined PE because space travel sounded fun but is pretty bored of it because he doesn't get to do much on a regular haul. he isn't quite as existential in this regard as canon curly because working in a people-oriented nurturing profession actually makes him feel useful, he just wishes he could be more useful ya kno? has enough savings to be able to rent a place and find a job at a hospital, so overall it all kinda works out for him if you don't count all the horrors

i think in this au daisuke's mother actually pushed him to intern as a mechanic a few years earlier than in canon, which is how he met swansea (pilot with engineering background) and got inspired enough to go into trade school. by the time the events of the au begin he is a certified mechanic though not with a lot of experience :"3

curly has had the biggest fattest crush on anya almost the entire time of knowing her (i feel like he kinda spawns in already in love with anya), so her E-dating phase is kinda rough on him (like, Very rough; mans full on wasting away from his heart getting broken in tiny ways a hundred times a day), but he is king of denying himself and putting others first so he does his best to be A Good And Supportive Roommate about it. he even tries to date other people too! but with not nearly as much gusto and it never goes far. he is too whipped

there was definitely Something. i'll expand on it a bit more in a later ask i got about captain anya, but the tldr is that she goes to great pains to Act Professional and curly is never in a million years going to confess anything. and then jimmy's arrival blows it all up and any kind of romance plummets down everyone's lists of priorities. and anya never tells curly anything -- this is her problem to deal with, and with him being jimmy's friend there is a tiny part of her that is afraid of not being believed even though she overall thinks he's a good guy :")

anya writes all kinds of things, but it's all fiction. she dabbles in poetry, but her two main points of focus in prose are a) long meandering stream of consciousness type of pieces that span generations and have very convoluted plots and interpersonal relations (think woolf's waves meets one hundred years of solitude), inspired largely by the time she had to lie there and do little more than drift in and out of delirium and think, and b) shameless smut that starts out as your run of the mill romance and suddenly changes genres halfway through (funny how life can just Change all at once huh). she never really gains a Massive audience but does have a considerable number of dedicated fans of both categories

(more roleswap au)

#mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #curlya #daisuke mouthwashing #caw caw #my art #roleswap au #JUST IN CASE it wasn't clear #the top half (in blue) is a dream sequence #chac-chac

387 notes · View notes

i-write-sometimes-maybe · 9 months ago

Text

Disobedient- Lady Lesso X Ever!FemReader (NSFW)

Synopsis: You’re a fun little ever, and Lesso can’t wait to play with you.

Word Count: 7.1k 🫣 (yes you read that right)

Warnings: SMUT, possible trigger warning as there will be blood mentioned, knife play, edging, edge play (cause, ya know, knives), kinda blood play, bratty reader, brat tamer Lesso, marking of many types, denial, coercion of admission of feelings 🤭 read it to see if there’s more😈. Also yes part of it is similar to my one shot ‘Celebration’ but since Ive been writing this for damn near a year I don’t care enough to change it. At least you know I wrote both 🥲

A/n: Everyone thank @pebbleswritessometimes for this oneshot cause literally a week ago I didn’t know when or if this would be finished soon, but they wanted and hyped me so they got it 🥰🫶🏻. Also, If you can’t tell, my motivation has been shot lately especially with smut, so this drags but I hope it’s good for you guys! I was trying to get this out a lot sooner than I actually did, my bad. I ended up getting a second job and been busy with both jobs as well as not having much motivation but then I quit said second job and continued to struggle with motivation, sorry it took so long lol hopefully the smut makes up for it. Also, yes, there’s a difference between edging and edge play!! Enjoy!

☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎☁︎︎

You were stuck at the white cloth-covered table, sitting basically by yourself. The table next to yours had a couple of Never girls, Dot and Anadil, but they seemed to be sitting by choice. At least, that's what you guessed after they shoved off two boys that walked up to them.

Sitting at a table by yourself at the first ever, Never-Ever dance was certainly not one of the things you had planned for tonight. You just wanted to dance.

You were looking around the ballroom, finding the drastic change in aesthetics amusing. The school was unified but that didn't mean the students didn't stick to what they know. The dance floor was separated into light colors and dark.

Only a few mixed at the tables, but the students kept quiet. Creating a strange feeling in the air.

Your eyes scanned the room. At first, you were looking for your partner, at least, that's what you told yourself.

But then your eyes landed at the front of the ballroom. The two heads of the once-separated halves standing side-by-side, the Deans. The Dean of Good was dressed in a light, poofy ballgown that made her look like a cupcake. While the Dean of Evil remained in her signature dark suit.

This time, it was accented with a deep royal purple ascot, taking you by pleasant surprise. But you could tell this was one of her nicer suits, it fits her a little better than the others. Not that you would know, of course. This is definitely the first time you've taken more than a second to look over the red-haired Dean.

But gods, the way she holds herself. The way she looks at everyone. The way you can practically see her thoughts as she glared at the Never-Ever PDA. The way she would throw her head back laughing at something you desperately wished came from you.

But that's the thing. You kept wishing for things. But as an Ever, you get your wishes, right?

But now, you wished you could watch her shrug off the blazer. To watch her roll the cuffs of her sleeves up to reveal those toned arms. How you wish her hand would wrap around your-

You cleared your throat as if you've been caught red-handed, and you might've. You caught her eyes on you. They lingered longer than a simple look should've. But you're imagining things, now. Maybe a Never spiked the punch you were currently nursing.

'I think I'm mentally cheating. How could I be so disobedient.?'

She smirked at you, it couldn't be at you, right? Right? There's no way she knows what you're thinking. Her eyes landed on you once again, and she did a once-over on you.

And in that moment, you suddenly wished your outfit choice was good enough. You steered away from the baby pinks and champagne colored dresses that all the other Evers wore. Deciding on a royal blue floor length gown that fit to you perfectly but also complimented your skin tone. You thought you were being risqué with the slit that went straight to your hip, but as Lesso's eyes seemed to linger there for a moment, you knew it was a good choice.

You knew you shouldn't, you have a boyfriend.

Boyfriend! That's right, yeah. What was his name again?... Of course, you didn't forget your own boyfriend's name. Your mind certainly isn't occupied with the Dean, of course not. You definitely weren't dating him only to maintain the 'perfect Ever' appearance, nope.

You couldn't help it, her eyes are oh so enticing.

'I think I shouldn't be lookin' in those eyes. Why do they give mе butterflies?'

You took a second to try to find your boyfriend -unaware your thoughts were heard and the dean was barely biting back a smirk- your eyes rolling as you see him entertaining a group of Ever girls. Unconsciously, your eyes went straight back to the fiery-haired Dean. Who, to your surprise, was walking straight to you.

You wouldn't admit that your stomach dropped a little and you got nervous.

She stopped just a few feet from you, "You can't seem to keep your eyes off me, can you little one?"

You decided to hop onto some suddenly present charismatic boldness, you chuckled a little bit and stood to come face-to-face with her, though she was a couple of inches taller than you.

"It's hard not to when you're the best looking person in this room." It was wrong, you both knew that. She's the Dean and you are technically a student. But if it was so wrong, why does it feel so right?

You were well over age, being late to the start of your own story. It was late enough that you thought you'd not get the chance to go to the school and get your own fairytale.

Your heart skipped a beat as she took another step towards you, you never thought she'd be this close to you, especially in front of everyone else.

"I guess I could say same about you, Dove." Her head tilted slightly as she took the opportunity to examine you closer. Something igniting within her once she saw just how revealing your dress was, never mind the low-cut neckline.

You smirked, "Like what you see, do you?"

A humor-filled chuckle escaped her, and you yearned to hear it again, "My, my, what a bold little Ever. How cute." She wouldn't admit that she was honestly a bit surprised by the dress you chose, or that she secretly loved it.

"What? Haven't met anyone that isn't afraid of you?" You had no idea where this confidence of yours came from, but you didn't mind.

She fully chuckled this time, not expecting these remarks to come from you. But again, she did love it.

She started walking towards you, and you started walking backwards. You weren't afraid, that much was clear, but you did want to be away from the near-center of the room. You had no idea if anyone was watching, but you couldn't care less if someone was.

Luckily, your spot in the ballroom wasn't too far from the edges.

She licked her lips, a move that you wanted to watch on repeat, "Perhaps not, but this is going to be fun."

You only stopped moving backwards once you were sure you were at the back of the ballroom, your back hitting the wall being the dead give away, "Oh? I do hope you're not expecting me to just give in and fall to my knees for you." You spoke softly as her body continued to infiltrate your space.

"Oh, you'll be on your knees, pet."

You pulled her by the lapel of her suit, "You're going to have to make me, if you want anything from me." You smirked, tilting your head this time.

"You, my little one, are trenching in great waters."

"Well, luckily, I can swim."

She smirked again at your antics. Oh, she was gonna have fun.

"You really have no idea what you're getting yourself into, do you?" Though Lesso kept her tone, she was being genuine.

"I'm sure you'll enlighten me." You plastered on the most sickly-sweet smile, one that Lesso couldn't wait to taste.

She remained silent, whether is was to think about what she was about to do or to think about what to say, she leaned forward and placed her hand on the wall next to your head.

You took this little moment as a chance to show her what you've got, that you're not one to be underestimated, "Tell me where you want us to go. Tell me, and I'll take you there." She raised her eyebrow at this, enthralled by the possibilities.

"Oh? So, if I say, take me to the gardens, you could do that?" She wanted to believe you, but teleportation is unheard of in the fairytale world, and especially from a student.

You stayed silent, looking into her eyes as you swiftly took hold of her other hand that was placed atop her blazer buttons. Lesso hardly had enough time to react, let alone speak, until she realized that you had taken you both to the gardens.

A big part of you was relieved at finally being alone with her. But you watched as she processed that you could teleport.

Before she had the chance to say anything, you spoke first, "It's not all I can do," You were proud of yourself, and you didn't try to hide it either.

She looked back at you, a new look swirling within her eyes and she hummed, "Really, care to share?" She tried to keep her teasing, uninterested tone but she was curious and it showed.

You fake pondered for a second, "Only if you earn it." You finished off with a smirk, knowing that you weren't necessarily hiding anything.

She chuckled again, filling your stomach with butterflies, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

She could see something unknown within your eyes, "You've got no idea."

She took another step closer to you, your fronts almost completely connected by this move of hers, and she used her pointer finger to push your chin up a bit more, "Well, I'm sure I can figure it out."

You grabbed the top of her shirt that was just under the ascot and used the material to pull her down and closer to you, close enough to smell the scent of whiskey that she probably thought she could hide, "And if I'd rather show you?"

Something overcame Lesso at that move, she wasn't sure what it was but her self control seemed to have dwindled to nothing. Excitement continued to do nothing but fill her, and couldn't wait to see just how much innocence you lacked.

Her eyes went to your lips for a moment before they flicked back to your waiting eyes, "Then show me, Dove."

That was all you needed to pull her even closer and connect your lips with hers, it was something that you both had clearly been waiting for. Gods, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't pictured this moment, and it was even better than imagined.

You moved your arms to wrap around Lesso's neck, pulling her nearly impossibly closer to you. In that moment was when her hands went to your hips as well, slightly squeezing once her hands settled in their spot.

You took this opportunity to take her somewhere else, you certainly wouldn't be complaining if she took you bare in the gardens but you'd prefer to not have the whole school witness such a thing. You took the both of you back to your room.

You lucked out, being such a late comer to the school got you your own room. And you were more than thankful you had just cleaned it.

Lesso pulled back from your lips, not only to catch her breath but to see where you've taken the both of you. She hid her impressed features once she looked from your quaint room back to you. She was unsurprised when she saw the proud look on your face being combined with your very obvious lust.

As your tongue peeked out to wet your lips -to taste Lesso once more- you noticed how her eyes instantly followed the action. So, you played into it, slightly pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

Once you saw Lesso swallow the lump in her throat, you knew what effect you had on her. You thrived on the reactions she had to you. The subtle way her eyes narrowed at your smart mouth remarks, the way her pupils dilated every time you did, well, anything.

"You know you can look and touch right?"

Lesso sucked her teeth, "I am touching you, pet." She raised her eyebrow in challenge, seeing as her hands were still on your waist from the kiss.

The corner of your mouth twitched in attempts to hide your smirk, knowing that if you challenged her just enough she'd come to her limit and take you right then and there.

"But not in the way we both want you to," You started. "You're not, holding back are you?" This time you didn't hold back your smirk.

Her grip on you noticeably tightened, "I'll tell you this once, pet. Strip for me. Now." Her face remained stoic but you saw the amusement in her eyes.

You wouldn't admit just how her tone had affected you, causing your wetness to increase tenfold, "And if I don't?" It was redundant to say, you would've done anything she asked, but still not without a little bit of a fight.

Lesso summoned a blade, moving the very tip to the top hem of your dress, right in between your breasts. You knew it was sharp with the way the edge caught the light.

In a flash of movement, she pulled the blade down causing the dress to be cut in half once it connected with the pre-existing slit on your hip and fall right off your body.

"I liked that dress." You spoke near breathless.

"I gave you a chance."

Her other hand slowly snaked from its place on your waist, up across your abdomen. Her hand continued between your breasts, but it didn't linger there.

Her hand went on past your cleavage and up to your neck, her hand moving to wrap around your throat. You managed to hide the whimper that threatened to escape you as she applied pressure.

She leaned towards your ear to whisper her words, "I'm going to fuck that attitude out of you."

"Are you going to do that any time soon, or should I get myself started? I mean, you're making a lot of promises for someone that's yet to prove anything." You very well knew what you just started, and you couldn't wait.

Lesso's jaw clenched at your words.

"Oh, my little Dove, I'm going to break you." She spoke with a wicked simper.

"Then break me." You had the faintest of smirks on your face, eyes half-lidded as you spoke.

She started pushing you back by the hand that was still on your throat. Though it was quiet, it was clear that your chest started heaving from excitement. She moved her hand only long enough to push you down on your bed. A soft 'umph' coming from you at the contact.

The only light in the room was from the moonlight streaming in through your open window, but it was enough light to see her eyes darken as they roamed over your nearly naked form.

You couldn't help but take your bottom lip between your teeth as you could practically see her ideas raging through her mind as her head tilts the slightest bit. You were overwhelmingly ready for her to take you, in any way she saw fit, if the now-ruined panties you still adorned were anything to go by.

You watched with a bated breath as she slowly stalked her way onto the bed with you. You tried to resist the fidgeting of your hands as she took her time straddling you.

Her knees came up to rest by your ribcage, your breathing not resting at all as she practically ignored you as she begun twirling the blade once again. She watched as the edge caught the limited light, only watching you through her peripheral.

Her signature head tilt returned, "You're so pretty. But, I'd bet anything that you'd be prettier with tears streaming down your face as you beg me to let you come."

"You're more than welcome to find out."

She let her wicked smirk come back to her face, she loved to play the game of cat and mouse, especially with you being her delectable prize.

Your whole body reacted as she leaned over you, lightly tapping the tip of the knife against the bulging artery of your throat. Your head instinctively tilted back to give her all the room she may want.

She slowly began dragging the blade down your sensitive skin, only enough pressure to leave a slightly itchy feeling but not enough to draw blood, yet. Your excitement continued to grow with each inch she dragged the blade.

"My beautiful pet," She started.

"Yours, huh? News to me." Lesso looked to your face just in time to watch you wet your lips.

"Don't think that you won't be mine, not after I'm done with you." She was beginning to get a little irritated with your insubordination, it was obvious in her tone.

You readjusted the strap of the bra that had managed to dislodge itself from its spot on your shoulder while being shoved to the bed, "Is that another promise?"

The blade moved from your collarbone, swiftly moving to the center panel of your bra, and in the time it took for you to blink, Lesso had sliced through it. The fabric was in half and it caused the cups to fall to the side, rendering the garment useless.

"Hey! That was my favorite one... It was expensive."

"Oh, was it? How evil of me. Maybe you can earn yourself a new one."

A displeased huff came from you but Lesso wasn't paying attention, now fixated on your body. The very same body that you couldn't bring yourself to look at in the mirror for too long without finding a list of things you wanted to change.

Her silence while observing you brought forth all the insecurities you had, and you instinctively moved to cover yourself.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lesso gripped your wrists and moved you away from your chest, only once she had your hands pinned above your head did she see the uncertainty in your features, "You don't get to hide yourself from me, this is all mine."

"I am my own, I belong to no one but me."

"Oh, my pet, we shall see how long you believe that."

Lesso bent further over you, her lips connecting to the slight cuts that were only just starting to become visibly irritated on your skin. Her tongue peeked out, causing a delicious sensation once she swiped over the superficial slice.

A breathy moan type noise left you and Lesso just couldn't wait to hear more, to make more come from you.

Her tongue continued down your chest and she latched onto a spot on top of your breast, beginning to leave a mark.

You may fight with her about being hers (for now) but she'll make it clear you're not available. The idea of seeing you covered in all the marks she could possibly leave on you, just had her itching to leave more.

And so she did.

She left another love bite on your sternum beside the now puffy cut on your chest.

Lesso was moving almost painfully slow, but that wasn't without effort. It was originally in efforts to make you writhe and beg. But now? The slow movement of her marks and tongue, it was in efforts to savor you. To get the chance to memorize the taste that's distinctly you.

It felt like minutes before she moved her lips again, only now connecting them to your nipple. Though it was hushed, a proper moan finally escaped you.

Her fingers grazed across your bare torso as her tongue swirled around your nipple, the sensation causing an eruption of chills across your skin which didn't go unnoticed by the redhead.

She finally moved onto your neglected nipple, instantly hardening the moment the tip of her tongue came into contact with it. You fought the urge to tangle your finger into her fiery locks.

You couldn't let her win that easily.

Only once you released a breath did Lesso manage to pull herself from you, before she lost herself.

"Gods, if I had known you look and tasted this good, I would've made you mine sooner." Her nails scraped up your ribcage.

You ignored the butterfly eruption in your stomach, a scoff would've came from you if you weren't so focused on the feeling of her, "I am not yours."

She looked from the marks forming on your skin to your face, "Really? It seems you're convinced."

Just as you opened your mouth to agree that you were, in fact, convinced, you felt the blade drag across your stomach. Instead, a stuttering breath came from you.

"What was that, Pet? I didn't quite hear you." Her words were empty, you both knew what she was doing.

You wouldn't let her off that easy.

But what you didn't know is she knew your refutal would come, so as your mouth opened once more to argue her tongue swiped up the blood that began to bead from the fresh cut above your navel.

Finally, finally, she got to hear a true moan of yours.

Your head pressed back into the mattress and your body instinctively arched towards her and the sensation she was providing.

She peaked up to see your eyes closed with bliss, "You taste addicting on the inside and out."

You looked up to see one of the best sites there is. Lesso's hair was slightly disheveled, her pupils blown wide, a little bit of your blood still present on her bottom lip.

The urge to pull her into a kiss, to know what you taste like on her lips was overwhelming. Almost too compelling...

"I'm still waiting for you to fulfill your promise." Your comment was breathless but you hoped it still held the snap you wanted it to.

Her eyes never left yours as you saw her lift the blade again, slicing off the excuse of an undergarment in a quick move.

You'd be a damned liar if you said you're not entirely enthralled by what's to come.

Her lips continued from your navel, grazing over your hip bones. Of course she would continue to tease the living hell out of you, her lips never quite going where you wanted them to.

Another mark was left on the very top of your thigh, her fingers just slightly brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of your other thigh.

She was so close, so close to where you were almost quite literally aching for her.

It was almost to the point of begging, almost. Your hips involuntarily thrusted to get her where you wanted.

You knew very well that if anything slightly resembling a beg left your lips, she would win whatever little rendezvous was going on and you couldn't have that.

But to your absolute pleasure, it wouldn't come to begging. Yet.

Just as you felt the slight of her breath on your throbbing clit, your head lulled back entirely too ready for what this woman would do to you.

The moment her tongue met your clit, your bottom lip went between your teeth as not to reveal how desperate you were. Your hand instantly moved to the sheets below you, knuckles turning white as her pace went from torturously slow to almost enough.

Your thighs parted even further to allow more of her to be closer to you.

"Oh, fuck," One of your hands left the bed and almost entangled itself in Lesso's hair, but that was before you caught yourself.

Part of you wanted to believe that this was so you'd win the game. But the part of you that you were ignoring was thinking it was so you wouldn't actually get lost in the redheads presence.

But what you didn't know was that the redhead had felt the way your fingers just grazed along her shoulder, and she wanted to feel more.

You could tell that her repetitive movements were bringing you closer to the peak of pleasure, the tightness in your stomach was starting to become distracting.

Lesso could've sworn she could taste how close you were, if the way your thighs twitched was anything to go by. She gave it just a moment more, another moment for you to think that you were actually about to get what you wanted.

But that moment would soon come and go.

Just as you were about to voice your closeness to the edge, all movements and sensations stopped.

Part of you knew to expect this, but that didn't mean you wouldn't be annoyed.

Lesso was no longer biting back her smirks, especially when your groan of annoyance escaped your lips.

"What was that, pet?" She gave a slight nip to your inner thigh. "I didn't hear you."

"Fuck, Leo," If you weren't so focused readjusting your head on the pillow you would've seen Lesso swallow at the moment her name left your mouth.

She wasn't expecting how breathless and perfect it sounded, leaving her a little bit shocked if she was being honest. But while she was honest, she wasn't even aware you knew her first name.

In her state, she didn't hear what else you said. With the slightest shake of her head, she knew she couldn't dwell any longer.

To your dismay, she moved away from your dripping pussy. Her lips slowly trailing back up your torso.

She left more love bites where there was room, slowly easing herself to hover above you.

She licked her lips as she felt your body erupt with chills as she was finally level with you, choosing to not say anything about it this time.

Another mark left on the spot where your neck meets your shoulder before she moved to speak directly in your ear, "If you want to cum, you know what I want." She said too cool and composed for your liking.

You fisted the fabric of her blazer, trying to pull her closer, "And I've told you, if you want it from me then you make me."

A deep chuckle came from her, as if she knew something you didn't, and she sat up once again.

Her eyes never left yours as she slowly pulled the blazer off, making a show out of it.

The only way you'd be able to describe her movements was entrancing. The way she swiftly undid the buttons of the blazer and tossing it somewhere you weren't paying attention to. You weren't even sure if you blinked as you saw her take off the waistcoat next.

The only thing you were sure of is how badly you wanted her to keep taking things off. To see what she's been hiding from you this whole time. To see if she's as toned as you imagined...

Her smirk returned, "Pet, if you want the shirt off you only have to ask."

Your eyes rolled back once you processed what she said, "Telepath..."

Gods if you could've seen the cocky smirk on her face, you would've been much more turned on. If that was even possible.

You didn't even want to dwell on the amount of times and things she's must've seen in your mind. And none of them were innocent. Luckily you looked up, flushed cheeks and all, in time to see her unbutton her top.

You had involuntarily laid your hands on her thighs, watching her as she's straddled above you. Slowly, more of her was revealed to you, feeling your mouth go dry and the throbbing in your ignored cunt strengthening.

You simply couldn't look away. Her pale skin was toned, each muscle having its own definition. She may not be the most chiseled sculpture but you'd still swear she was one of Michelangelo's works.

"You staring, pet."

"That, is no one's fault but yours." You spoke, still breathless, as you looked back in her viridian eyes.

The game was temporarily forgotten, desire had overtaken all actions from you both.

Her lips rejoined at the base of your neck, adding more fuel to your inextinguishable flame.

You simply couldn't help it anymore, one of your hands finally tangled itself in her fiery locks like you desperately wanted to do ages ago while the other went to her now bare side.

And gods was it diminishing the last of Lesso's control, the sensation of your touch was almost overwhelming. The feel of your breath on her neck was nearly making her head spin.

She once again moved downwards, going slowly as a way to regain her thoughts, but to you it was a way to get you to squirm.

And, it worked.

Your need had built up enough before she took away your bliss.

You may have given into your need to feel her, but you still wouldn't beg.

Your hips lifted from the bed, but not for long before her hand had pinned them still once again. You couldn't help but groan.

Yes, you were antsy. Yes, you desperately wanted to be taken and completely destroyed but you were not about to say that out loud.

You'd fight to win this forsaken game if it killed you.

And, it just might.

Her lips lingered on your hip bone, so close yet so far from where you needed her.

Lesso's eyes peered up your tense body, loving to discover new things about you. She loved how your brow furrowed as you focused, how your fingers fidgeted in place until you could decide where you wanted them.

Lesso simply loved to play with you, to get you to writhe and moan. She had discovered a new favorite thing.

And speaking of moans, a soft one rippled from your lips as her fingertips slightly grazed your clit. A whispered curse involuntarily left you as she finally provided some sensation to your needy and abandoned clit, pausing just as her pace speeds past excruciating to run just along your folds.

A stuttering breath left you this time, knowing that this tease was the ultimate move for her. That this is her play.

"Something you want to say, pet?"

You bit your bottom lip, merely an attempt at withholding your whimper, and shook your head. You were desperate, desperately hoping she'd continue but quicken her pace.

Again, Lesso wouldn't say it out loud but as much as she loved seeing you twist and turn with desperation, she wanted to see what you looked like when you come. To hear the symphony that is your moans. She wanted to know if you'd grip her tight as you came undone or push her and the stimulation away because she knows once she gets a taste she'd never be satisfied by anything else again.

Lesso's thoughts were interrupted as a louder moan coming from you.

Your back arched and mind went empty as her fingers suddenly and easily slid into you, your arousal causing no resistance.

"Oh, fuck-" Your head began to lull back once she finally began moving her fingers.

The pace was just as steady as her previous ones, not trying to work you too quickly, but the new sensations were welcomed.

"More, I need more." Your hand flew to the red locks, trying to get more of something, anything.

Lesso was tempted to have you beg like the desperate little whore you were, but she'll take that, for now.

Her pace increased ever so slightly, only enough for her to see the way your face contorted with desire and need.

Just as you were about to repeat your previous statement, she added a third finger. Stretching you just enough to have a mind fuzzing pleasure start to build.

Lesso decided now was the time she'd like to commit to memory, the way your hips thrusted to keep pace with her fingers, how your back arched off the bed in search of more. How you sound, all. Because. Of her.

Lesso was sure to stay consistent, knowing your desperate self was beyond ready for release.

She merely needed to wait for it.

"Fuck-" Your words came out rushed and desperate.

"Awe, does my pet want to cum?"

"I'm not your pet." You quickly realized and spoke on your autonomy.

Then, it all stopped.

The slow incline to the edge, the glorious way she filled you, the way your body urned for more. All of it. Gone.

Your breaths came out rapid and broken, "Oh, fuck me."

"Well, I'm trying, but you're making this awfully difficult for yourself."

"Me?!" Your head collapsed against the pillow at the audacity.

She moved herself away from you, "You already know what I want from you, pet."

A scoff came from you, knowing you won't give in that easy, "What? Think I can't take it? You think I'll just give in, just like that? Cute." You looked back in her eyes, a glimmer of frustration beginning to gather.

You smirked inwardly, knowing that the game is working in your favor.

Her head tilted a little, "Oh, you can take it, can you? You can handle all I can give you?"

"Oh, do tell me that wasn't your all, now..." Your delicious simper filled Lesso with the need to make you eat your words.

More than joy filled you as her fingers slid back into your pussy, only now she was moving at the fastest pace she's done all night.

A near guttural moan came from you at the sudden move of hers, no building or waiting necessary.

Lesso still hadn't spoken, but as her free hand slowly snaked up your body, only pausing for a moment to leave a quick pinch to your right nipple.

Just as your brain processed the sudden sharp sensation, her hand wrapped around your throat. Your head tilted back as automated response to her touch.

Just as she squeezed, a small mewl came from you as her pace didn’t ease. Her fingers continued to pound into you harshly, causing you to get closer and closer to the edge of pure bliss.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to play with me?” Her voice lowered, no pleasure lied behind it then, it was almost dark. And as you saw her sharpened glare you wanted to be afraid, but something about Lesso makes it impossible for you to be afraid.

She chuckled lowly as your arousal increased at her words, “Pathetic.”

The pure pleasure she was giving you, the delicious look she had, the tone of her husky voice, it was just enough for you to come close.

And Lesso knew it. She could feel it.

But you wouldn’t.

Again, everything stopped suddenly.

Her hand left your pussy, as the grip on your throat loosened enough to hear a pathetic cry escape.

Okay, you thought you can handle it. But when she overloads your senses with nothing but the feeling of her, it becomes difficult to not give in.

Your eyes closed and your bottom lip went between your teeth as an attempt to keep yourself together.

Your hand reached up to hold onto her wrist that was homed around your throat. Maybe as a way of grounding, definitely as a way to keep some feeling of her on you.

Barely a moment passed before Lesso spoke up, "You're mine, say it." Her tone left no room for discussion.

"I belong to no one." Your voice however, was weak and low.

"Then you'll continue to be denied, entirely on you." A beat, two beats. You knew that you couldn't keep denying it, and not just because you wanted to come.

A stuttering breath, then a sigh, “I’m, yours. I belong to you.” It was no question, you both were aware of this fact before this rendezvous started. Something was so delectable about playing the game first.

She had the most aggravating smug smile on her face, and it looked so good on her. Damn you, damn it, damn her. You wouldn't take it back even if you wanted to. You were hers. Irrefutably, irrevocably, undeniably, completely hers.

She didn't have to say anything about how pleased she was with your admission, she knew it all along, her smile said it all.

Your chest was still heaving, trying to catch some of the breath Lesso stole from you, when she crawled on top of you once again. She straddled you like she had many times in the night, lightly tracing her nails over the marks she's made. She admired the discolored hues her love bites started to take on, loved seeing how your sensitive skin reacted to the slight edge of the blade, how your skin is adorned with marks from her nails all over.

She just couldn't get enough of the sight of you. All marked up by her, marked up where everyone can see, marked to show that you've been claimed.

But then, it hit her. You weren't technically marked by her. Oh, that just won't do.

She reached back over for the previously abandoned blade. Unconsciously twirling it once again between her fingers, an unknown habit of hers.

Where to put it? Where-to-put-it? She thought to herself, still silently looking over your tired and marked up form.

You simply laid there, you knew she was thinking of something, but you knew you'd find out soon enough.

And soon it was.

Not more than a moment after your thought, a hum came from the redhead and she leaned over you.

"This may hurt, but I'll make it quick." She spoke just as the tip of the knife cut into your skin.

'Fuck...' You thought as your mouth opened with silence.

The pained pleasure was the most mind spinning feeling you’d had felt to date.

The tip of the blade slicing through your delicate flesh.

And soon enough, a perfect “L. L” was carved right above your left breast.

A perfect marking that left no room for interpretation, you were now and forevermore, hers.

You, belonged to Leonora Lesso.

Both of your hands fisted her hair as her tongue swiped over the wound to clean you of the mess you were making.

Your eyes would’ve rolled to the back of your head at her move had they been opened.

“Please…” The slight tug in her hair was enough to tell Lesso everything she needed to know.

“What, begging already?”

“You’ve already won tonight, there’s nothing else for me to lose but one more thing for me to gain.” Your hips thrusted up enough for her to get the message.

And in that moment, Lesson realized it was time to keep her part of the bargain.

Her lips and tongue slowly moved south once more, exploring every part of you she could on the way.

She skipped past your navel, knowing that this would be the time you get what you wanted.

Gods the moment her lips came back into contact with your clit, you could’ve sworn you could come right then and there.

“Oh, fuck Leo, just like that.” Your hands never left her hair, nor eased on the grip.

Lesso would be a damned liar if she said she wasn’t entranced with the way your voice was breathless, or with the way her name simply rolled off your tongue.

Her pace increased on your clit while she brought her fingers back to your desperate pussy.

“Oh, fuck!” Your back arched off the bed and your grip in Lessos hair was a welcomed pained pleasure for her as it got even tighter.

You both knew you wouldn’t last long with the speed and expertise Lesso was using on you.

You were rapidly approaching the peak of bliss, feeling light headed as it was already and you haven’t even crossed the threshold yet.

“Leo, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

The swirling of her tongue on your clit pausing only long enough to speak, “Yeah? Does my pet wanna cum?”

“Yes! Yes, I wanna cum!”

No other words came from Lesso but her lips once again wrapped around your clit. Along with the swift swirling of her tongue, she pared it with new suction.

The newfound pleasure caused white to appear in your vision, your overwhelming sensitivity becoming known.

Just as Lesso slightly curled her fingers, you were there. A near scream-like moan and the cinching around Lessos fingers told her you were there.

You came, and you came hard.

Lesso’s name fell from your lips like a mantra, being spoken over and over and over again.

Lesso got her answer as you started to use your grip in her hair to pull her from you.

The sensitivity was nearly unbearable and Lesso wasn’t easing up.

She knew you’d have to pry her away from you.

The pure taste of nothing but you was a craving she didn’t know had to be satiated.

Your hands finally relaxed enough to moved from Lesso’s hair to her jaw, now pulling her up to face you.

You still hadn’t caught your breath but you didn’t let that stop you from pulling the redhead in for a kiss.

Her hands moved to be resting on your waist, choosing to deepen the kiss.

Your body was weak but you needed a taste of Lesso too, even if it was a sample.

She was pliant in your hands, moving in any way your slight touch nudged her too. Your lips slowly moved down her jaw, the bliss causing her to briefly close her eyes.

You continued further down, reaching her neck and beginning to leave a mark right on her pulse point, "Only fair if I get to leave my mark too. Wouldn't want anyone else to think they've got a chance, now do we?"

You could feel the way her chuckle left her throat as your lips moved along her skin.

You were sure to make it worth while, leaving a bright large mark where it couldn’t be obviously hidden.

Sure, it was meek in comparison to the marks and cuts she’s left on you, but you like to think it’s the thought that counts.

Lesso pulled back a bit, and just as you were admiring your work, she was admiring you.

Neither would speak of it but this mutual liking, no infatuation, no no love, would be the center of a new universe.

Her eyes glanced down and a proud smirk rejoined her features.

“I’ll get a rag to clean you up, stay here.” She reluctantly climbed off you to grab a rag, finding it surprisingly easy to maneuver in your space.

Your voice was still soft, partly hoarse from the previous activities, “Not like I can go far right now.”

You yearned at her genuine laughter at your comment, knowing you’d gladly get to hear it again.

She came back with a water bottle and a rag, “I’ll be sure to ease up on you next time.”

And with one simple sentence, one small act of kindness, you and your heart smiled.

Next time.

Again, you were hers. Irrefutably, irrevocably, undeniably, completely hers.

🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮

Taglist: @v3nusxsky @just-your-casual-nerd @scream-queenlover @darkth1ngs @hxzxrdous @sgelessoanddoveykissing

Lmk if you wanna join the taglist! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

423 notes · View notes

fandom-random-help · 2 months ago

Text

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 of Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Military!Reader

Simon stared at his phone in a bit of shock. He wasn't stupid, but now he was second-guessing that. He was putting pieces together in his mind while his phone buzzed over and over with calls from Price. How could his sweet little bird lie to him? Why would she even lie about this?

Things started to make sense now. The constant "business trips", you knowing how to shoot a gun (multiple in fact, but he didn't know that), and the slip of the tongue when you would respond to and/or understand military jargon. All of those things made Simon believe you were Grasshopper, and right now he needed to see you. He got dressed in his casual clothes, an army green shirt, black sweat pants, and a black surgical mask to match. He snuck out of his room and quietly walked as fast as he could to the infirmary. He couldn't believe you never told him about what you really do for work, but he also understood why you would keep it a secret. He knew it all too well. The worry, the agony of not knowing if you would come home alive at the very least, the thought of possibly putting those you love in danger. He knew those thoughts, hell he's had them ever since you two started dating. He needed to hear those words from you though.

You sat in your bed. You were glad to be in somewhat familiar territory and you didn't have to wear that stupid mask anymore. The infirmary was nice, but void of anything lively to say the least. Your recovery was going quite well. There were even discussions of you getting to go home in a couple days. With all of the good news surrounding your recovery you were drowning in the thought of having to confess to Simon about everything. You've talked yourself up, gaining confidence and finding the words you wanted to say for when you would see Simon again. Suddenly, a faint knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts. A young nurse carefully walked in and closed the door. "Sergeant (Y/L/N) there's a Lieutenant Riley here to see you. Would you like for me to send him in?" The nurse asked almost in a whisper even though you were wide awake. You nodded your head, "Let him come in."

When Simon walked in his eyes scanned your form. You looked so different in a hospital gown. So fragile that if you even attempted to get out of bed you'd break. He didn't say a word as he sat down beside your bed, his eyes still on you. After a brief moment of looking at each other in pure silence, you spoke up. "Simon, I'm sorry I never told you. I was worried about how you would take it. I wanted to have both my job and you. I didn't want you to worry about me or make me change my career because it didn't fit your perception of me." Before you could continue Simon cut you off with a chuckle. "Love, I don't want none of that. I get why you did it. I get why you kept it from me, but don't think I didn't worry. I do gotta say though, you had me fooled in the beginning." You looked at him in suprise. "Wait really? How? I felt like I had the most ridiculous mask covering my face. My jokes with the guys weren't funny. I was almost useless the entire time. I felt so out of place." You explained. Simon shook his head. "No love, you are an entirely different person at work than you are at home. You were bold, confident, you spoke your mind when need be, and let's not forget the stress ball. I didn't know you kept little things like that with you, but you did and it came in handy. You were incredible out there darlin'. So what, you took a bullet? You were lucky and quick enough on your feet that that's the only wound you suffered the entire time we were gone." You blushed at his words and then he leaned closer. "I'm lucky to call you my girlfriend. Wanna know why?" You smile and nod your head. "Because I have the most gorgeous and badass woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." Your heart swelled at his words. Simon was never the affectionate type, and you didn't mind. But this? This was a whole different side of him you've never really seen all too often. "You wanna know something else?" He said. You giggled, "What baby?"

"Before I knew you were my girl under the mask. I fell for Grasshopper pretty hard. I gotta say she was pretty irresistable. Hard not to think of her bossing me around if she was rightfully mad." His confession had you a laughing mess. "So what are you saying? You liked Grasshopper more than me? Your precious little doll?" You chuckled. "No love, it just means I fell in love with a new side of you. To me, it felt like falling in love all over again with you." Simon whisperd.

The rest of the night was spent with you two telling each other about your military stories. The good, the bad, and the awesome stories were all laid bare to each other in the silence of your infirmary room. Simon even cuddled with you on the hard bed for the remainder of the evening. When the sun rose, you were greeted by a firm knock at the door as the doctor stepped in. Simon quickly got out of bed and sat back in the chair beside you, listening intently on what the doctor said about your recovery. You were going to need some time to rest at home. No strenuous activities or heavy lifting. The doctor handed you the discharge papers and you signed them eagerly. Simon waited for you outside of the room while you gathered all your things.

But then he noticed Price, Johnny, and Kyle at the front desk. He could only assume they were there to see you on your way out.

"Bloody hell." Simon cursed under his breath.

Part 4

Taglist!!!!! (I almost forgot)

@camcvpidd

@thatoneghostcosplayer

Love you guys!!!!!

#cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #cod modern warfare #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty

274 notes · View notes

mrskokushibo · 10 months ago

Text

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, Smut, Sex, 18+.

Plot: Your friends take you out for a girls' night to watch an MMA fight, where one of the fighters, Ryomen Sukuna, is a notorious hottie. Will this be the night you finally meet the man who will truly rock the foundations of your world?

Cover artwork by the amazing @innaillus 🙏❤️

Masterlist

The sound in the arena was getting louder as more people were streaming in, filling up the stands. You were looking around curious, taking in all the impressions. It was your very first time attending a fight of any kind, let alone an MMA one. You knew what it was all about as you saw it on TV, but being at the venue in person was an entirely different experience. The booming base of peppy rock music was blending with the chatter of people and an occasional announcement from the conferencier.

Your seats were in the VIP section just next to the ring. Your bestie, Bec, organised this for you all as a treat, a girls’ night out, away from your crappy love lives and mundane jobs. She slept around a lot and seemed to have connections anywhere and everywhere. You often joked, that somehow, she would be the one to land some rich dude eventually. You wished you were this open, but you always seemed to attract assholes, so you almost gave up on dating actively.

You were also the quieter one in your friend group and, just like now, you sat on the edge of the action, taking in all the impression in silence. You enjoyed being around people as long, as they let you be you. And that is why you were so close to your friends. They accepted you exactly the way you were.

Your drinks arrived and you were now sitting and sipping on a beer and snacking on some hot chips. You were facing the ring and were studying it closely. You have seen boxing rings before, but this one was different. It had a cage around it. This made you think a little as to how violent was the fighting if the fighters needed to be caged in like this.

‘Excited?’

You were interrupted by Bec, who was now leaning over the others to be able to make herself heard over the surrounding commotion.

You nodded with your mouth full of chips and beer.

‘You know…’ She leaned in a little closer to you.

‘One of the fighters is supposedly an official hottie. I saw pictures of him and damn, girl. I would fuck him even if I was on my deathbed.’

Well, you could easily imagine Bec doing something like that and you chuckled. A dirty mind in such a kind and smart person. She was the most accomplished of your friend group. A corporate lawyer, spending a lot of time working pro bono helping underprivileged clients. She, on the other hand, always called you a superhero. That is what she thought nurses were. And you did work in a huge, busy, public hospital, trying to make the stay more bearable for your patients. Who, by the way, always got very attached to you, probably due to your kind and caring nature?

‘We will see if I think the same as you. He might not be my type.’

You grinned and winked at Bec, who immediately shook her head while swallowing her drink.

‘Oh, but no, my dear. Trust me on this one. Since you have a pussy, you will get attracted to him. Instant squirt. I’m telling ya.’

She grinned in her typical mischievous manner while you were shaking your head at her over-sexualized tirade.

She was just about to say something more, but the lights went out for a moment and the conferencier began to welcome the audience, announcing the imminent start of the fight.

‘First out. The king of knockouts, the one and only, Ryomen Sukuna.’

As the name was announced the crowd went wild, lights turned blood red and music went from upbeat rock to very loud heavy metal. In the corner of your eye, you could make out the contour of Bec making the ‘thumbs up’ gesture in your direction.

When he entered the ring, you automatically realised what Bec was talking about. This man was … perfect. Everything about him screamed ‘sex’. A strong, perfectly toned body, spiked pink-dyed hair with a natural black undercut. His eyes were those of a large predator, slightly narrow and with a confident and playful look. His face was handsome and masculine and had a friendly look to it. And then there were the tattoos. Black, symmetrical markings on his face and chest and black bands on his wrists, biceps, thighs, and ankles. He reminded you of a powerful and wild tiger. You were in a state of awe and yes, Bec was right, you were getting a little aroused.

He was strutting around the ring, exuding pure confidence, and blowing sweet kisses, waving, and winking to the audience. All smiles and joy, this was someone obviously not to mess with in a ring.

The conferencier announced the entry of the second fighter, but you barely paid attention to him, being so focused on Sukuna. Very soon, the lights in the arena were switched to full power again and the match began with the ring of a bell.

It was like watching a brutal dance, the fighters moving swiftly and with amazing agility. You could only imagine the force behind the blows they were dealing each other as you were watching their powerful muscles flex and bodies break out in a sweat, which made their skin glisten in the strong arena lights.

The game paused for a moment after Sukuna dealt a scary-sounding blow to his opponent. You could almost hear the creaking of bones and tendons as the man’s back hit the cage right in front of you. The man was not knocked out, but his team was tending to his bloodied face, cleaning him up for continued fighting.

And that is when it happened. Sukuna was leaning leisurely in his corner of the ring, rolling his head in a stretch, and looking around at the audience as if he was sitting in a bar doing some people-watching instead of being in the middle of a fight. His eyes were moving around the perimeter and when they reached you, his head stopped and he smiled and winked in your direction. You froze but also felt a few butterflies rise to flight inside your belly, causing the waterworks between your legs to go into a state of high flow. Bec saw what happened and was now doing a double ‘thumbs up’ in your direction.

Soon, the ring rang again and the fight continued. But not for long, as Sukuna’s now completely exhausted opponent was slammed into the cage once again, but this time, he remained laying down on the floor of the ring. The audience was in absolute uproar, chanting ‘Ry-o-men, Ry-o-men’ and ‘Hail Thy King’ almost in unison. The referee began the count over the fallen fighter, but he did not get up. A clean knockout. The ref walked up to Sukuna, grabbed his hand, and raising it in a sign of victory, screaming out into the microphone: ‘Ryomen Sukuna wins by knockout.’ The crowd went even louder and the noise was now almost deafening. But as the fighters left the ring, the crowd settled down and it was all finished just as quickly as it began.

You felt a little tricked by the speed of it all. It would have been great to watch the sexy Ryomen for a while longer. But, oh well, all good things come to an end.

The crowd began its exodus out of the arena and soon enough, the city air hit you in the face with its’ smog and smells. Your group headed off to the nearby nightclub, Bec holding you under your arm, discussing the match and the very sexy Mr Sukuna.

The line to the club moved quickly and a few minutes later you and your friends were occupying a booth in the immediate vicinity of the dance floor. The music was already too loud to have a decent conversation, but you all were so used to losing your voices after a night out that the conversation flowed easily despite the high decibels emitted from the speakers.

The evening went on as usual, with drinks, and complaining about existing, ex-, and potential boyfriends. You danced, drank some more and very soon Bec was being dragged away to the dance floor by some hunk she chatted up at the bar.

It was your turn to get more drinks and honestly, you were promising yourself that this was the last round and then it was straight home for you. But as you were standing in front of the bar, waiting your turn, something caught your attention and changed the course of your evening.

"Well, well, well. Whom do we have here?" The sexy, husky, and playful masculine voice, whose owner you couldn't yet see, momentarily drowned out all other noises, including the deep pumping base of the club.

When you turned around to see who the voice belonged to, you must have really looked startled as the tall guy right in front of you now, smiled and ran his hand through his hair with an apologetic look on his face.

‘Sorry, I did not mean to scare you… Are you alright?’ He touched your shoulder lightly and leaned down to you. ‘I will leave you be if I annoy you.’

Quickly, you regained your composure. The owner of the voice was no one else but the sexy fighter from a couple of hours ago, Ryomen Sukuna. You felt like slapping your own cheek partly to check that you are not dreaming and partly for your stupid and awkward reaction.

‘Yes, yes, of course, I am all right. And…you are anything but annoying.’ You smiled and stretched out your hand to him to make up for the previous lack of social skills.

‘I am (y/n), and you are Ryomen, right?’

‘Yes, that is right. You have a good memory.’ * So…he did notice you at the match…How interesting…*

‘I was just about to grab a drink. Anything you would like?’ You asked him unassumingly. He smiled and shook his head.

‘Shit, I’m the one who should be buying YOU a drink. But ok, go ahead. Whiskey on the rocks for me.’

He followed you to the bar and you both sat down as they were vacant seats right in front of you and might just as well not stand while waiting.

‘With the risk of sounding like a creep. Are you here alone?’

He looked almost a bit embarrassed at having posed such a question, but you quickly eased his mood by telling him all about your girls’ night out. When you pointed and waved to your friends, Bec was not there, but when you scanned the place, you could see her making out with some tall, dark-haired dude at the far end of the dancefloor. Right. God old Bec…

The drinks were put in front of you and you chose to stay where you were. He leaned on his elbow, swirling his drink, his narrowed eyes studying you in silence for a moment. His lips twitched in a small, fluttering smile. His eyes were moving across your figure and you began to feel heat spread in your underbelly.

‘So…is this like the place to relax after your fights?’ You chose to break the silence. ‘And by the way…are you here alone? Asking with the risk of sounding like a creep.’ You chuckled a little.

‘As a matter of fact, I am. Here alone. Well, now at least. My team usually goes out here to celebrate, but everyone needed to get home early. I was also about to leave, but then I spotted you.’

He took a sip and kept on swirling his drink while making small talk about the venue and his training routines. You told him about your work and hobbies. But when you both finished your drinks, he suddenly stood up and stretched out his hand.

‘Come, let’s dance, hm?’

You followed him sheepishly, the music slow enough for a very close-up dance, so obviously in no time at all, you were gently swayed in his embrace. He was wearing tight, black jeans and an equally tight white t-shirt, the expensive type. No jewelry, no watch, the only thing adorning him being the stylish tats and of course his meticulously styled hair. He was very tall, much taller than you and you could rest your head on his chest with ease. You could feel the muscles, he was so warm too, like a furnace. He smelled of bergamot, sandalwood, and myrrh. With your eyes closed you found yourself hugging him tighter and your hips instinctively grinding against his.

You continued like this into the next song, and then to the next, slowly losing track of time, his hands wandering down to your waist and his nose nudging your forehead, to get your mouth’s attention, which very soon led to your lips connecting into a slow kiss. The surge of lust rushing through you pushed you even deeper into his embrace, you wanted to drown in him. And you also wanted him to ask you to go to his place, or your place, or just drag you to a back alley and fuck you senseless. But instead, he pulled away from the kiss and looked you deep in the eyes.

‘It is getting late… You know, as much as I would like to offer you more tonight, I am a bit old-fashioned, so this is as far as we go. But…why don’t you join me for dinner tomorrow?’

You could not say you weren’t disappointed, but whether intentional or not, his move made him essentially irresistible in an instant. Before he walked you over to your friend group, you exchanged numbers and he promised to be in touch in the morning.

Your friends kept quiet when you were saying your goodbyes, but as soon as he left, they all high-fived you. Their booze-fuelled questioning and cheering of your dating success kept on going all the way until the taxi stopped outside of your apartment building and you were finally free to take in what happened earlier tonight. You could barely sleep that night, luckily for you the next day was your day off, so you weren’t all too worried about the perspective of looking like a zombie for your date. If there was to be a date, that is. But as far as sleep went, you would catch up with a nap or two during the day anyway.

You dozed off at around 4 am only to be woken up again by the message ping of your phone at exactly 10 am. With shaking hands, you picked up the heavy rectangular device, and to your surprise and excitement it was from him. There was no hesitation with opening the message, your fingers quickly pressing on the bold unread text. And there it was:

‘Dinner at 6 pm? Just to give you heads up, we are going to (name of one of the best restaurants in town) I will pick you up. Can you give me your address, please?. xoxo / Ryomen’

*Shit, shit, shit.* You had nothing that elegant to wear. The urge to go shopping suddenly became overwhelming and you decided to skip breakfast and instead grab a takeaway coffee on the way, and eat something in town instead, after you shopped. You texted him your address and ventured out.

You hated shopping in panic and of course, just because you were looking, you didn’t find anything to buy. *Nice. So now what?*

You got home disappointed and began rummaging through your closet. Eventually, you settled for your favourite little black dress, heels, and a classic simple Swarovsky-crystal choker. A classic look, even though to you, it was how you saw yourself on nearly every date for the last year. It was too late to do anything about it now. You decided to take a nap and when you woke up, after a quick snack and another coffee, you got ready in your usual not-too-overdone manner. *Alright, this will have to do.*

Before you managed to put your shoes on, your phone pinged again.

‘I’m outside.’

You looked out your window and you could not help but stare at the gorgeous sportscar parked just outside of your gate. Almost running through the hall, you put your heels on and rushed down to meet him. At a closer look, the car was a brilliant black Acura NSX. A rather rare car, but what else would you expect of someone like Sukuna.

As you walked up to the vehicle, the door opened and there he was, nimbly jumping out of the car, walking up to you and embracing you into a kiss.

‘You look amazing.’ He whispered in your ear.

But in your eyes, it was him that looked…amazing. He was wearing a black suit styled casually with an expensive black t-shirt and stylish all-black-leather Vans slip-ons. His hair was immaculately spiked and today he was wearing a whole bunch of piercings in his ears.

When you were done with your greetings, he opened the passenger door for you and as you got seated, he closed the door behind you and then jumped into his seat. He smiled at you before starting the engine. The roar was guttural and the vibrations were hitting your core just as much as the presence of the very charming man next to you. You did not notice your surroundings as all the way to the restaurant you were too focused on his presence and your conversation.

At last, the car slowed down and you arrived at the restaurant located in the middle of the business district. He parked the car just outside of the entrance and gave the keys to the concierge. As he led you in, you were almost taken aback by the interior of the luxurious eatery. It was a Japanese/Western fusion restaurant, with none less than two Michelin stars on its resume. The walls were graphite grey, illuminated by dim lanterns cleverly placed, creating a pattern of shadows cast by the intricate pottery standing on tall, oriental side tables. The kitchen was completely open and located in the middle of the dining room, covered by the branches of a large, heavily pruned Sakura tree.

The tables were placed around the kitchen, allowing the guests a full view of the spectacle the chefs were putting on.

A waiter in traditional Japanese attire led you both to your table and very soon you were enjoying a meal like no other you have ever experienced. Dish after dish, one more exotic than the other was brought out to you, accompanied by vintage wines and sake.

The whole time, the two of you were talking almost non-stop, you were amazed at how well-versed and educated he was. Not what you expected out of someone who essentially beats people up for a living. Beneath the friendly and civilised conversation, the sexual tension was steadily building up for nearly every bite you took.

When the main meal was finished and you wiped your mouth with the thick, linen napkin and cleaned off your hands with a warm, wet towel provided by the waiter, he took your hand and held it gently, massaging the inside of your palm with his thumb. His eyes were narrowed and a delicate smile lit up his sharp features. A heavy blush was spreading underneath your make-up. Your mouth was getting dry and you felt warmth spread inside you.

‘Do you have room for dessert? They make this amazing matcha mochi here… You should try it.’

He was speaking slowly, and it was almost as if he was beginning the seduction ritual, because his movements followed the slower speech and the pink of his eyes was growing darker by the minute, with what you only could read as pure, unadulterated lust.

You bit your bottom lip and shuffled in your seat. You were getting wet. But going home was not an option yet. It is now that the game was just beginning. The foreplay before foreplay. Teasing and small touches drove you to the brink of what your body could endure without literally throwing yourself at him.

‘Yes, I would like to try it. And maybe some coffee to go with it?’

You cocked your head and smiled knowing very well you needed a lot of coffee for what was coming.

The sweets and coffee arrived soon after you placed the order.

You speared some of the mochi with your fork and deliberately slowly put it in your mouth, sliding the fork out with a painfully delayed motion, that made your lips pout out. You licked them discretely in a seductive manner and gave him a small smile while looking him deep in the eye.

He bit his bottom lip and his eyes narrowed again.

‘I see that you are enjoying your dessert.’

He took a sip of his coffee and smiled at you.

‘It is good to stock up on extra energy sometimes.’

You both smiled at each other and kept eating in silence while exchanging hungry looks.

As soon as you finished dessert, he called in the waiter, paid and you both left almost in a hurry. The air outside was cold already and you huddled with him while waiting for the concierge to bring out the car.

You couldn’t get into it fast enough, and once you were buckled up, the engine roared again, pushing your arousal into an even higher gear.

He placed his hand on your thigh and began rubbing the soft flesh just above where your stocking ended and garter straps took over. He did not move the hand an inch, just stayed like this, teasing you and glancing your way with that charming smile that by now had you go instantly wet.

A moment later and the car was driving into an underground garage. He finally let go of your thigh, jumped out of the car, and walked over to your side to open the door for you. As you were getting out, he caught you in his embrace, closed the car door, and began kissing you. He pushed you against the car and had his hand stroke your cheeks and neck, for now still clothed breasts and hips.

You had your hands on his neck, running them through the coarse black hair of the undercut, making him moan quietly.

‘I guess I am not very old-fashioned tonight.’

He spoke in between kisses, his husky voice going straight into your core.

‘Let’s go upstairs, hm? Or would you like me to be old-fashioned and take you home?’

He was teasing you, knowing that going home was the last thing on your mind at this point.

You only shook your head in reply and smiled biting your lower lip. Without a word, he took you by the hand and you began walking toward the elevator, that was already on the garage level. He pressed the highest number on the panel and soon you were pressed against something again, this time the elevator wall while being kissed by your excruciatingly hot lover-to-be.

Out of the elevator, into the apartment, the two of you simply kept kissing, both his and your hands exploring the other in an increasingly adventurous manner. He was starting to breathe a bit heavier and his tongue was swirling frenetically in your mouth, having a little wrestle with yours.

You didn’t have much of a chance to have a look at his place, you were too preoccupied with him to notice your surroundings. He was gently pushing you toward a large black sofa in the middle of the open-plan space. As he reached it, he removed his suit jacket tossing it to the side, then spun you around slowly, sitting down and taking you with him onto his lap. You were now straddling him and pressing your chest to his.

‘Mmm, I didn’t think we would end up like this so quickly.’

‘Are you telling me you have a hard time getting girls to come home with you?’ Your voice hitching through the heavy breathing and kissing.

‘Maybe… maybe not. But you didn’t seem like the easy type.’

‘Because I am not, but you made it easy for me to not be as restrained as I normally am.’ You nibbled at his lip.

‘Is that so? I am flattered…’

He kissed your neck and began to move his hands onto your ass, squeezing the softness with his solid wrestler's hands, sliding them up to your waist, and then repeating the lewd massage while continuing the kiss. You were literally ready to have him take you on the sofa, but he obviously enjoyed the foreplay quite a bit. You could feel his hardness and he must have been surely very aware of how wet you were with only a thin layer of black lace separating your seeping pussy from him. Grinding yourself on him in encouragement was your next instinctive move toward what you really wanted to happen, but he just kept roaming his hands all over you as if he could not get enough of the anticipation.

You shifted your focus to his face to distract yourself, tracing the outlines of his tattoos, forehead, down to his cheeks and then chin, and then all the way up the other side of his face. His eyes were closed in pleasure and he reminded you of a wild cat all over again, just as he did the day before in the ring.

‘This feels nice. You have such a soft touch. Don’t stop…please.’

So, you kept tracing and now also kissing the black lines on his face, making him purr and moan. But you wanted more, to see the marks on his torso, arms, and thighs…maybe there were more in other, intimate places? The thrill of being so close to someone that only yesterday was a distant figure in the spotlight of fame was consuming you and fuelling your arousal.

You pulled off his t-shirt, exposing the long-awaited sight to your starved eyes. The marks started at the base of his neck, spanning from down his back and onto his chest, and down again toward his abs. These tattoos were wider and less intricate than the ones on his face, making him look quite tough, if you were to be asked. You kissed his toned chest and run your fingers across his biceps and down his long, strong arms. Your hands were moving as if with a mind of their own, trying to touch all of his upper body all at once. The need to have him much closer to you than this was growing stronger with every touch.

When you were about to lose your patience, he put his hands at the hem of your dress and began pulling it up. You lifted yourself up on your knees to help him get it off and once the dress was off, his hands latched on to your breasts, massaging until you were nearly out of breath from pleasure and moaning. You kept grinding against him harder.

‘So eager…’ He kissed your breasts while removing your bra and once freed, your breasts were now supported by his cupped hands with the right nipple rolled between his lips. You moaned loudly and made him intensify the action to see how much more noise he could get out of you.

When you began tugging at his belt, he stopped.

‘I think we will be more comfortable in the bedroom.’

You got off him quickly and he followed suit, taking your hand and leading you out of the lounge area and into a smaller room next to the kitchen part of the open-plan living space. The bedroom was dimly lit by warm wall lights and all you could make out was a double bed in the middle of the room and a large TV hanging on the wall opposite the bed. There were, what looked like a couple of Bonzai trees here and there, but that was about all you had time to spot before your attention was stolen once again by Ryomen.

He was now kissing you and unbuckling his belt, you looked down while he was unzipping his pants and sliding them off, uncovering a pair of tight, black boxershorts, stretched snug on top of the hardness of his erection. You swallowed and looked up at his face again and putting both thumbs under the hem of his underwear, you were taking them off quickly.

His cock popped out and it was perfect. Not too big and not too small, the kind of girth and length, that your experience already told you would make you a very satisfied woman.

‘You like what you see?’ Your hungry look was so apparent to him now.

‘Mmm, in fact, I do…’ You dragged your fingers gently on the top of his shaft, kicked off your heels, and climbed onto the bed, supported on your elbows, slowly spreading your legs for him. All you were wearing now were your stockings, garter belt, and a minuscule lace g-string.

He jumped onto the bed with the agility of a leopard and crawled the rest of the short distance dividing you both.

‘Glad to have the King of Knockouts all to yourself?’ He chuckled and smiled in a cocky manner.

‘Yes, very glad.’ You placed your arms around his neck as he was now on top of you, making nearly full body contact.

‘You know, I didn’t expect such a good girl to get this naughty this quickly.’

‘Oh, but even angels need to fall sometimes.’ Your voice was muffled by the kisses he was landing on you while his hands were busy exploring your body.

He pulled away and looked down at the remainder of your garment.

‘You don’t need these, do you now?’ He followed his rhetorical question by rolling the whole lot of you and tossing it aside.

‘Where were we…’ He was now back on top of you, grinding into your folds with his delicious dick.

‘Ah, I think you seem to want me inside you, right? You are very wet…’ His hand was rubbing you roughly between your legs.

‘Yes...please.’

He chuckled and moved his hand from your pussy to his dick, positioning himself at your entrance. He moved his arm back to your side and once in the position to move, he entered your aching and clenching core without any more hesitation.

You were now in full moaning mode, not caring anymore about trying to sound half switched on, the words coming out of your mouth were blabber as you could feel his dick pry its way into you. Your bodies were slowly connecting and synchronising to the rhythm of sex. The feel of his naked body on yours, the softness of close skin-on-skin contact, so sensual, so intimate, so…lascivious. For every thrust of his hips, you were carried away further and further from reality, and yet this was one of the most real, primeval activities a human could engage in. The duality of sex always puzzled you, made for procreation, but executed to fulfill lustful desires.

His love-making was slow in its action, but intense in feel. The heat of his breath when he kissed you was as if he was branding you as his, the gentle, but firm touch of his knotty fingers was sending nerve impulses that traveled not only to your deepest and most aroused core but were slowly but surely opening the doors to your soul.

Every inch of your skin, every muscle and nerve was seeking him, trying to get closer than the physicality of flesh would allow, his strained breath was now your breath. You practiced your ritual in silence, only accompanied by the wet squelching of your sexes joined in their communion and the slapping of flesh. Lewd and holy at the same time. You were near the limit of what you could take before releasing all the pent-up tension your core gathered up over the past two days. As your climax washed over you, the scream that came out of your mouth was almost that of someone else, a primal woman, unleashed and free, reveling in the glory of the pleasure one human could gift to another.

You were still shaking from your orgasm, almost half-conscious from the discharge of impulses. The squelching was louder, as your climax opened your floodgates, drenching you both. Wet and sloppy, he kept on thrusting, but much harder and faster now, chasing his own high, his toned, magnificent body beginning to flex its muscles.

‘Can I come inside you?’

‘Yes, of course, I took precaution…’

And a few moments later, his abdomen was contracting pushing his hips further into you in a few deep thrusts, granting him a full release, painting your insides with his warm seed.

Breathing heavily, he rolled over onto his back, taking you with him in a tight hug. Your sexes stayed connected, your thinner cum blended with his thick, creamy semen, running out onto both your thighs and the sheets beneath you. He was rubbing your back gently, kissing the top of your head as you were this much shorter than him. Your head was snuggled comfortably into his wide, strong chest, you could feel the flexing of his muscles as his arms moved across your back and his heartbeat was lulling you almost into a slumber.

‘Please stay the night. I did not get enough of you yet.’

You lifted your head up to look at him with your now slightly hazy eyes.

‘So, you are not kicking me out? I thought you had a lineup of girls waiting for you?’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘Such prejudice… Being famous doesn’t make me a pig, you know. Besides, most chicks are only after my stage persona, not me.’

He kissed your head again, his eyes closed now and a peaceful smile gracing his face.

‘You know…I must thank your friends for taking you out to see my fight. Without them dragging you along, I would have never met you.’

Most likely, he did not realize, how much his words meant to you right now. Was he the one you were waiting for so long? You were willing to take that chance and run with it.

You pulled yourself up to his face and began kissing him again, your tongue hungrily making its way straight through his thin lips into the warmth of his mouth. His dick slid out of you, letting the rest of the aftermath of your fucking run out freely onto his legs.

‘Let’s take a shower. We made a bit of a mess.’

He led you into the spacious bathroom. It was probably the most lavish bathroom you have ever seen, with walls, and floor tiled with black slate, elegant Japanese-style bath standing at the far end, together with all the traditional equipment needed for a bath ritual. The shower was to the right of the tub, large enough for two people to easily move around inside the glass and stone walls.

Well in the shower, you closed your eyes and tilted your head upwards letting the warm waterfall wash your makeup off you, you rubbed it all off quickly before he could see your smudged face and then let the water rinse the residue of the sex off your lower body. He came into the shower and stood pressed to your back, letting his hands wander all over your chest and belly. Your arousal was already at its peak again and you moved your left hand back to grab his now completely hard cock, while his right hand was playing with your nipple and the left began rubbing your clit.

He pressed you toward the nearest wall, water flowing down on you in unison with the lewd massage he was giving you. You let go of his cock to support yourself with both arms on the wall. He spread your soft ass cheeks to reach your pussy again and bent his knees to compensate for the difference in height, shoving himself into you once more. This time the sex was faster and sloppier. You were barely holding on to the wall while his thrusts were getting stronger, his hands holding your belly and breasts for stability and closeness.

He moved one hand to draw circles around your completely swollen clit. You were drowning in your lust once again. The heat between your legs increased as your nerves were sending more and more pleasure impulses to your brain. You no longer knew if it was water or your slick that was running down your legs, you were this aroused. His sexy lips were kissing and nibbling at your neck and all that was left for you to do was to moan, and moan, and moan.

As his fingers moved faster, rubbing directly on your little pleasure trigger, you gave out one loud moan and then came, shaking in overstimulation as he kept rubbing your nub for a while after your climax passed. He moved his hands onto your hips, stabilising you properly, and increased his pace into a relentless race toward an orgasm. The wet thwacking of his hips into the softness of your ass kept you just barely awake. Luckily, his arousal was just as strong as yours and he came with a quiet growl, almost pushing you flat into the wall.

Panting and almost slouching the two of you got out of the shower drying each other in a drawn-out ritual. You were enjoying touching every part of his body through the cotton of the fresh warm towel, just as much as reveling in the sensation of his hands doing the same to you. Once dry he lifted you off the ground and carried bridal style to the bed, covering you up with a soft, thick but light duvet of pure goose down. He ran over to the kitchen and came back with water for you both and some snacks. While you were both enjoying the well-earned refreshments, you started to feel like sleep was now not far away. Once you were done, he put the tray on the side table and crawled in under the duvet, snuggling up closely to you.

‘I am so glad you chose to stay here with me. In the morning, I will be able to impress you with the best goddamn breakfast you ever had.’

You smiled and nodded in response while kissing him softly, and a moment later, you were both falling asleep, drifting off to, what hopefully, was a future together.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

488 notes · View notes

femsolid · 9 months ago

Text

"They found that teachers give different amounts and types of attention to different genders. Boys were called on more than girls and asked more challenging questions, particularly in STEM subjects. If they hesitated, teachers were more likely to give them more time or reframe the question. With girls, they were more likely to repeat it and ask someone else. Other studies have confirmed that boys get more attention from teachers throughout school. They are much more likely to get verbal and nonverbal attention from gym teachers specifically. This attention disparity reinforces, and is likely driven by, the idea that boys are “naturally” more aggressive while girls are more submissive; where boys demand attention (and are expected to demand more attention), girls are told to wait quietly for it.

Studies have also found that boys and girls are praised for different things. Girls’ work is more often praised for physical appearance, like neatness, rather than content. They are often rewarded for success where boys are praised just for effort. They are also criticized more for incorrect answers while boys are praised more for correct answers. When it comes to behavior, girls are more often praised for good behavior (even if it isn’t related to the task or lesson) while boys are criticized more for bad behavior. This all reinforces the bias that girls’ effort and knowledge is less important than appearance and success. This may explain the trend of girls having higher GPAs than boys; from a young age, they are taught to hold themselves to a different standard, and to associate their self worth with their grades since they are praised for success and results rather than effort or knowledge.

These differences in treatment impact what students think they are capable of. Boys are more likely to enroll in STEM classes and take higher level versions of those classes. As a result, there are significantly less women in STEM fields, which contributes to the bias that boys are better at math and science despite brain scans proving this to be false. While boys are often pushed into higher paying career roles (engineers, doctors and lawyers), girls are more often pushed into lower paying career roles that emphasize the stereotypically feminine role of caretaking (like nurses or teachers). It may be that women dominate these lower paying careers because they are seen as better suited for low paying jobs, or that these jobs are seen as women’s work and therefore undervalued in terms of pay. Regardless, the point stands; the subtle differences in how teachers treat students has a major impact. The wage gap still stands at around 82 cents to every dollar a man makes."

#mp #education #school #sexism #girlhood

440 notes · View notes

kendallroydefender · 2 months ago

Text

Blood & Honey Part 2 (Jax Teller x reader)

Summary: When you take a teaching job in the quiet town of Charming, the last thing you expect is to cross paths with Jax Teller - outlaw, single father, and the leader of the town’s most infamous motorcycle club.

It was a Friday night and you went out with some of your coworkers. They had asked you to come and being new in the town you thought you could make some friends maybe.

It was nothing wild, just a few drinks to unwind after a long week. But somehow, the night led you here, to a dimly lit bar with a jukebox playing some old rock song in the background.

You sat down in a booth with the others when you saw him.

Jax was standing at the bar with a few other men wearing a similar kutte as he did. His effortless confidence radiated from over there.

A pretty woman was standing close to him, obviously wanting his attention, her hand trailing down his arm. You shouldn’t care but something in your stomach still twisted.

You forced yourself to look away, zoning back into the conversation.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see him tilt his head slightly when he spotted you. His posture changed slightly, just a little. He hadn’t expected to see you here.

The crow eater leaned in but Jax gaze was locked on you.

For the next twenty minutes or so you tried hard to ignore his looks. You’ve been sitting at your table, pretending to listen to your coworkers conversation, pretending not to notice Jax lingering looks across the bar.

You needed a drink. Something stronger than the beer you’d been nursing. You excused yourself to go over to the bar.

You had just ordered when you heard him behind you.

”Let me get this one.“

Jax settled next to you, leaning against the bar.

”Didn’t think I’d meet you here.“

You smirked a little

”Didn’t thought you’d notice me, looked like you were… occupied.“ you answered

It was Jax turn to smirk now.

”Is that jealousy I’m hearin‘, Darlin‘“

You hummed.

”More like an observation.“

He chuckled, stepping closer, the scent of leather and something uniquely Jax enveloping you.

”If it makes you feel any better, she’s not my type.“ he told you with a knowing look. A feeling errupted in your stomach, something close to butterflies but you didn’t want to think about what that meant.

Before you could answer the barkeeper slid your drink over, Jax handed him some cash before looking at your beverage. The strong one you needed after trying to ignore him all evening.

”Didn’t take you for a whiskey girl.“

He quipped.

”Didn’t take you for the kind of guy who pays attention to what I drink.“ you arched a brow.

His confident smirk appeared back on his lips

”Yeah, you did.“ you let out a little chuckle.

And just like that the air shifted between you. You forgot about your coworkers, about the reason you were even here at the bar ordering whiskey.

It was just the two of you, talking, teasing, Jax leaning in closer as the minutes pass by.

And the way he was looking at you? It was different. Not just playful, not just for fun. This was deliberate. The way your fingers brushed, the way his voice dropped slightly everytime he said your name, his eyes dropping to your lips every now and then. And you found yourself liking it, letting it happen.

You laughed at something he said when one of the guys he was here with came over.

”So sorry to interrupt but Jax,“ the guy cleared his throat ”There’s a problem.“

Jax stance immediately shifted.

”Can’t wait?“ Jax asked, probably already knowing the answer.

”Nah.“.

Jax let out a deep exhale, a flicker of frustration in his eyes and you asked yourself if he hated this as much as you did.

”Sorry, Darlin‘.“ he told you with some sincerity in his voice. Then he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his warm breath against your ear.

”Try not to miss me too much, Teach.“ with that teasing tone.

And then he was gone. The sound of motorcycles disappearing in the night while you’re standing at the bar knowing that tonight had shifted something between you.

You went back to your coworkers, holding the cold beer bottle in your hands.

Mia, another young teacher, turned to you.

”So…. What was that about?“

You blinked, feigning confusion.

”What was what?“

She scoffed, smirking ”Oh, come on. You and that biker- Teller, right? Looked like a little more than small talk.“

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head.

”His kid is in my class. We’re just friendly.“

”Friendly.“ Mia repeated unconvinced, amusement clear in her voice. ”Right.“

Brad, on the other hand, snorted as he leaned back in his chair. “You might wanna be careful about getting too friendly with him.”

You frowned slightly, side eyeing him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He scoffed. “It means Teller’s not exactly the kind of guy you bring home to mom and dad. Unless your parents are cool with, you know, guns, drugs, and bodies in the trunk.”

Mia rolled her eyes. “Oh, relax, Brad. She’s a grown woman.”

Brad wasn’t done. “Yeah? Well, grown women can still get caught up in shit they shouldn’t.” He tilted his beer bottle toward you. “Especially when the guy feeding them whiskey is the kind that leaves a trail of destruction everywhere he goes.”

Your jaw tensed, fingers curling slightly around your glass. “It’s not like that,” you said firmly.

Mia nudged your arm, still grinning. “Not yet.”

You groaned, throwing back the rest of your drink as Brad muttered something under his breath.

You went back home soon after that.

You let out a slow breath, kicking off your shoes before sinking onto the couch.

What the hell were you doing? Was Brad right?

Jax Teller was trouble. That was obvious. He wasn't the kind of man you should be getting close to, let alone flirting with, letting him buy you drinks, letting his hands linger on your waist, laughing at what he said.

You were an elementary school teacher trying to keep kids on a good path.

But you couldn’t deny how good it had felt. Talking with him, getting to know him better,

Forgetting for a moment who he was. Who you were. Letting yourself enjoy the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room. The way he touched you soft but sure. How is attention seemed to be focused on you only every time you two talked.

Your stomach twisted while your skin still buzzed from him being so close. This could be a really bad idea, you had heard of the club but Jax… there was something about him that made you not want to keep him away.

Jax let out a slow breath, fingers gripping the handlebars of his bike a little too tightly as he rode back to TM. His mind was still at the bar, still caught up in the warmth of your laughter, the way you looked at him like you hadn't decided yet if you were playing with fire.

You were smart. Careful. Not the kind of woman who threw herself into something reckless.

Which meant he should probably back off.

But fuck, he didn't want to.

He'd spent the last few months feeling like he was on autopilot. He'd thrown himself into the club, into making things right after everything fell apart with Tara, after coming back from Stockton. Nights at the clubhouse, days in the garage, just routine, no real feeling behind it. But now there was you. You were light in a way he hadn’t been around in a long time. And tonight at the bar? That hadn’t just been some harmless back and forth, not him just flirting for the hell of it. And that was a problem. You had a career, a reputation. If he got involved with you, he'd be dragging you into his world whether he meant to or not.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Talking to Jax had become a regular thing. Just some calls here and there.

Today was a day like that. You were curled up on your couch, phone tucked between ear and shoulder, sighting playing with the ends of your hair.

”It's just frustrating, you know? I don't have favorites, I don't grade unfairly, but some parents think their kid deserves special treatment just because they throw a fit."

Jax hummed.

”And if they only thought it okay, but showing up at school demanding a change of grade?“ you let out a frustrated huff.

”I don't know. I just- today sucked." You said.

There was a beat of silence as if he was thinking about something.

”You home?“ he asked then.

”Yeah, why?“

”Just don’t fall asleep.“ he said that teasing tone back in his voice.

Ten minutes later there was a knock at your door. You opened it to find Jax standing on your porch, helmet in his hand.

”C‘mon,“ he tipped his head towards his bike parked on the curb ”You need a ride.“

You blinked ”Jax, it’s late.“

”And?“ he smirked, then softer ”Always helps me clear my head.“

You bit your lip, glancing past him at the dark street, then back to him, the soft insistence in his eyes, the almost hopeful smile.

This was a bad idea. This was how people got caught up in men like Jax Teller.

But as you stepped back into your house just long enough to grab a jacket, you already knew you were going.

He gave you his signature grin. Carefully setting the helmet onto your head closing the clasp, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

And as you slipped onto the bike behind him

”Hold onto me.“ he told you and you wrapped your arms around his middle, feeling the warmth of him. And as he started the motorcycle you knew you didn’t want to fight this pull between you two anymore. The night in the bar had put this thought into your head but now you were sure.

The night air was crisp against your skin as the bike hummed steadily beneath you.

For the first minutes you didn’t think, didn’t worry, didn’t replay the frustration of the day in your head. You hadn’t even realized you were smiling until Jax took a turn a little sharper than usual, just to mess with you. You let out a laugh, tightening your arms around him, you felt him shaking slightly knowing he was laughing too.

You understood him now, it felt absolutely freeing, the way the road drifted by, the wind in your hair, his warm body close to you.

Eventually the ride slowed down, leading you back to your place. He pulled up to your house again, killed the engine and for a moment you just sat there.

His head tilted back slightly. ”Feel better?“

”Yeah, I do.“

Jax got off the bike first, holding his hand out for you to take, he didn’t let go immediately and neither did you.

”Told you.“ he murmured, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

For a moment time seemed to halt. His blue eyes searching yours for something, hand still holding yours, the distance between you shrinking.

His eyes flicked to your lips, just for a second, but long enough to make your breath catch. Jax fingers tightened around yours. You swallowed hard, feeling the warmth radiating off of him, the way his chest rose and fell. But then as quickly as the moment came he exhaled sharply.

”Better get inside, darlin‘.“ he murmured, his voice low.

His hand slipped from yours, slowly, reluctantly as if neither of you wanted to let go. You nodded, stepping back towards your door. Before you opened it you looked back, he was still standing by his bike, something unreadable in his eyes.

”Goodnight.“ you said lowly

”Goodnight.“ he said back. And then you were inside, leaning your back against the door. Fuck, you were already in too deep.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was almost a week since your ride with Jax when you heard a knock on your front door. It was late. Too late for someone to be knocking on your door.

But the second you heard it something in you already knew who it was.

You hesitated only a moment.

You were in sweatpants and a tank top, barefoot, hair a mess from the long day. You shouldn’t open it.

And when you pulled the door open Jax was standing there. Hands in his pockets. That familiar kutte over his shoulders. Blue eyes catching yours in the dim porch light.

“What are you doing?” you asked, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

Jax exhaled, glancing past you into your home for a second before his gaze settled back on you.

“I was just…” He stopped. Running a hand over his jaw. Then he shook his head.

“I wanted to see you.”

It was simple.

But there was something in the way he said it, something that made your pulse quicken.

You nodded before asking

“Do you want a beer?”

And just like that he was inside.

He was leaning against your counter as you handed him a bottle. He seemed in thought

”Long Night?“ you asked

”Something like that.“ he nodded.

”Wanna talk about it?“ you asked softly, no pressure.

”Nah..“ he shook his head, staring down at the bottle before taking a sip. “Didn’t come here for that.”

You leaned against the opposite counter, arms folding over your chest, trying to act casual even though your pulse was racing. “So why did you come?”

Jax looked up, met your gaze. Something flickered in his eyes, something he wasn’t trying to hide tonight.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you,” he said, like it was that simple. You blinked, lips parting slightly, unsure what to say to that. Because you’d been doing the same. Replaying that night on the bike, the night at the bar. The way his hand had felt on your hips. The way his voice sounded when he said your name.

“I tried,” he went on, voice low. “Tried to keep some space. Figured maybe that’s what you needed. But it didn’t work. Every damn night I end up back here in my head.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. The honesty. The rawness.

“I didn’t want space,” you admitted. “I just didn’t know what this was.”

He pushed off the counter slowly, closing the distance between you in a few quiet steps. “It’s whatever you want it to be,” he said.

His hand found your cheek and you leaned into the touch.

”But please don’t pretend there’s nothing here.“

You looked at him, studying him.

”I’m not pretending.“

His eyes met yours. There was a humming between you, something like electric static. The distance between you shrinking. Until finally his lips meets yours.

And everything stopped.

Because the second his lips pressed against yours, it was over. No more denying that this was what you wanted, no more trying to suppress what you felt for him.

There was nothing soft about it.

No hesitation. No second guessing.

It was hot and desperate and completely reckless. The kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are, who you are, why you shouldn't do this.

Jax's hands found your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to anchor himself.

Your own hands fisting into his shirt, pulling him closer like you've been starving for this.

And maybe you had. And maybe he had too.

Maybe this was always going to happen.

Because when Jax pressed you back against the kitchen counter, lips trailing down your jaw, breath warm against your skin you didn’t stop him.

You just tilted your head, eyes fluttering shut, giving in.

But then he stopped. Just barely parting from you, heavy breathing and foreheads almost touching. You both aware how fucked you were. How good it had felt. How much you wanted to do it again.

”You sure?“ he muttered after a moment. A last out he offered to you. But you knew that you couldn’t go back acting like this never happened. So instead you kissed him again. And that was all he needed. The moment your lips crashed back into his he made a sound, something low and approving from the back of his throat, before his hands tightened on yours hips and the next thing you knew was that he lifted you onto the counter.

You slid your hands into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan and hearing that did something to you.

He was kissing down your jaw, nipping at your throat, dragging his fingers up the inside of your thigh. He kissed you like he was making up for every time something had almost happened, for every time one of you had pulled away.

Your fingers slipped under his shirt, dragging over his warm skin, and he let out a quiet groan into your mouth again, making you tighten you legs around him, pulling him impossible closer.

His hands slid under your ass, lifting you off the counter.

You didn’t stop him. And he didn’t stop either. Not this time.

"Where's your room?" he muttered against your lips, voice low, rough.

”Uh,“ your mind was clouded with the feeling of him filling all your senses.

”Down the hallway, left.“ you got out between kisses.

He wasted no time, carrying you down into the bedroom.

The next morning you woke feeling his chest pressed against your back. He was still here.

You felt good, but worry was in the back of your head. There was no way you could go on acting like this never happened.

Jax stirred slightly behind you, pulling you closer instinctively.

His voice was gravelly and warm against your neck.

“You’re thinkin’ too loud.”

You let out a quiet breath. “Sorry.”

Jax pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t be.”

”I just thought, maybe you would’ve left.“

He was quiet for a moment.

”Would you want me to?“

”No.“ you’re answer came immediately.

”Okay.“ he said, his hand trailing down your arm.

You hesitated, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the pillow. “I just don’t want to misread this.”

He shifted slightly, just enough so you were facing him now. Blue eyes clear, serious in the morning light.

“You didn’t,” he said simply.

You blinked. “No?”

"If I was just lookin' for a one-night thing," he said casually, "picking my kid's teacher would be a real dumb move, don't you think?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jax just grinned. "You really think I'd risk

PTA meetings bein' awkward forever if I didn't actually want this?"

Your face heated. "I just-"

"Relax, babe." He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm not goin' anywhere. 'Less you want me to."

You swallowed. "No."

That smirk returned, but this time, it was softer. More sure.

"Good." He said leaning in to connect your lips for the first time this morning.

And just like that, the weight on your chest disappeared.

You spent the morning in bed together. Talking about everything and nothing, his hand resting on your thigh, coffee mugs in the other.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You had been seeing each other for a few weeks now. No one knew yet and you both wanted to keep it that way for a while longer. Not because you weren’t sure about this but because you wanted to stay in your blissful bubble for a bit. So sneaking around it was.

Jax had just grabbed a sweatshirt from his dresser when he noticed something out of place. Something black and lacey by the foot of his bed. For a second the cocky smirk broke out on his face, remembering last nights activities.

But then he heard footsteps down the hall and his stomach dropped.

Gemma. She had come to get some change of clothes for Abel. He had a few seconds to act before his mother would find them and she would definitely have questions knowing that he would never bring one night stands into this house.

He grabbed them quickly, stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans just in time for Gemma to call out,

”Jax, where’s Abel’s raincoat?“

”Uh, in the living room.“ he shouted back.

For the rest of the day, they set tucked away in his pocket. A little secret pressed against his thigh. And every time he reached for his cigarettes his fingers grazed over the fabric making his mind wander to you, a faint smirk appearing.

By the time he showed up at your place later that night he was already grinning when you opened the door.

”What?“ you asked raising your eyebrows.

Amusement written all over his face, he didn’t answer immediately as he walked into your house.

A second later he was dangling your underwear in front of your face.

”You forget something, darlin‘?“

Your face grew hot

”Oh god, where did you-“

”My Bedroom. My mom almost saw them.“

Your eyes widened slightly.

”And you had them with you the whole day?“

”There’s worse things to carry.“

You shot him a unamused look.

”Just sayin‘ I’m not sayin‘ no if my girl wants to give me some souvenirs.“

”Shut up, Teller.“ you laughed softly before he leaned in.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your alarm buzzed, breaking the peaceful quiet of the room. You sighed, shifting slightly, but the warmth behind you didn't disappear. Jax's arm was still heavy around your waist, his breath steady against the back of your neck.

For a second, you just stayed there, eyes closed, breathing him in, the scent of his skin, the faint trace of cologne and leather.

You weren't used to this. Waking up with someone still in your bed, still holding you even in their sleep but you had grown so used to him in your bed the last weeks.

You carefully turned in his hold, wanting to see him before you got up. He was still asleep, his face relaxed. The lines of worry, the weight he carried every day, were gone. He looked peaceful.

It would be so easy to stay. To press your face into his chest, let yourself drift off again. But reality called, and you had a classroom full of kids waiting for you.

Carefully, you reached up, brushing a few strands of hair away from his face.

He stirred slightly at your touch, brows furrowing just a little, and you couldn't help but smile.

Then, you whispered, "You can stay."

Jax's eyes barely cracked open, still heavy with sleep. "Mm?"

You kissed him gently, just a slow, lingering press of your lips against his. His lips chasing yours afterwards.

"Stay. Sleep in."

He blinked at you, his gaze clearing just a little. Maybe he was still too tired to fully process it, or maybe he just didn't expect to hear it from you. Usually he left your place with you in the mornings. But after a beat, his arm around you tightened, pulling you closer for just a second before he exhaled, sinking back into the pillows.

"Alright," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. "Yeah."

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his hair once more before slipping out of bed. And this time, when you left for work, you didn't hear the rustling of sheets or the soft sound of a zipper. Before you left the house you pressed a small kiss against his temple.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You weren’t exactly sure when the shift had happened. Maybe it was after the morning you had let him stay at your place. But he had asked you to come over for dinner. Dinner at his place with Abel.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Abel, obviously. You were his teacher. But this was the first time seeing him like this. Not at school. Not in the classroom. No professional lines between you. Just… you and Jax and his son.

The closer you got to his house, the more nervous you became.

It felt like a bigger step than you were ready to admit out loud.

When you pulled up to the Teller house, Jax was already outside, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting. He grinned when he saw you, coming closer with that easy confidence.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to kiss your cheek, his hand lingering at your waist.

“You sure this is okay?” you asked, glancing toward the house. “I don’t want to confuse him-”

“He’s good,” Jax said, tone low and warm. “He knows you’re not just his teacher anymore. Just be yourself. He already likes you.”

You nodded, your fingers curling around his as he led you inside.

You stepped inside, the scent of garlic and something warm in the air, and you could already hear the sound of small feet padding across the wood floor.

“Dad! I think it’s burning again!”

Jax chuckled. “It’s not burning, bud. It’s just crispy.” He looked back at you, smirking. “Gemma’s lasagna recipe. I tried to make it look like I knew what I was doing.”

You smiled, your nerves still fluttering in your chest as Abel came around the corner, stopping short when he saw you.

“Hi, Miss Y/L/N,” he said, blinking at you like he wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to call you that.

“Hey, Abel,” you said gently, giving him a soft smile.

He looked up at Jax. “Do I still call her that?”

Jax crouched beside him, one hand on his shoulder. “At school, yeah. But here? You can just call her Y/n. If that’s okay with her.”

You nodded. “That’s more than okay.”

Abel looked between the two of you.

“You gonna stay for dinner?”

“If that’s okay with you.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

The dinner went great. Afterwards Abel showed you his room, pointing out some of his stuffed animals and showing you pictures of him and Jax on his wall.

While Jax was bringing Abel to bed, you thought you could make yourself useful and started to do the dishes.

”You didn’t have to do that.“ Jax said when he came back

”It’s the least I could do after you making dinner.“

Jax stepped in behind you, his hands finding your hips as you dried the last dish. His voice was low against your ear.

“You’re making me look bad.”

You laughed softly, leaning back into him just a little.

“Just trying to help.”

He turned you around gently, eyes scanning your face.

“You staying?” he asked. Like he was trying not to push, but hoping.

You looked up at him, giving the tiniest smile.

“Yeah. If that’s what you want.”

His hands slid to your waist, tugging you closer.

“I always want you.”

He kissed you then, slow and steady.

Later, after the lights were off, you were laying curled up in his bed, his arm draped over your waist. Your back pressed against his chest, the soft rise and fall of his breathing steady behind you.

“You good?” he murmured into your hair.

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“Yeah. I’m really good.”

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the blinds, soft and golden. You stirred first, blinking slowly as you registered the warmth of Jax’s arm still slung around you.

“Mm,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. “You tryna sneak out on me?”

You turned to face him, grinning.

“Just needed the bathroom. Not bailing, promise.”

He smirked, eyes still half-closed.

“Good. Was gonna tie you to the bed if you tried.”

You raised a brow. “Kinky.”

He laughed, pulling you back toward him. “You’ve got no idea.”

You stayed like that for a while tangled up, limbs draped lazily over each other, slow lingering kisses. For once, there was nothing urgent. Just him. Just you.

Then a knock came at the door.

“Dad? Can I come in?”

Jax groaned softly. You bit back a smile.

“Yeah, bud, hang on a sec.”

He gave you a look, playful and teasing.

“Showtime.”

You reached for his shirt beside the bed, tugging it over your head.

“You get the kid, I’ll get the coffee.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek.

“Perfect team.”

#jax teller imagine #jax teller x reader #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller fic #jax teller x you

149 notes · View notes

aetherialavenger · 9 months ago

Text

mouthwashing Daisuke thoughts/spoilers

I keep thinking about how Daisuke was so desperate for approval and wanting to belong when hes just this kid doing his first job ever in a clearly already toxic work environment where he has no clue whats going on between everyone. He's always this ray of sunshine, wanting to cheer everyone up and keep an optimistic outlook.

But then, he gets drunk and starts pouring his heart out about feeling lost and aimless. It's a feeling i think most people can relate to, a hidden insecurity most people wouldn't dare let slip past their lips if they weren't blackout drunk. It hurts to see the only person on the ship, who always tries to make you—the player—smile, curled up on the ground sobbing. Jimmy sees this, notes this, and uses it against Daisuke.

Daisuke wants approval more than anything. He wants that Disney Channel type work experience where his jerk of a boss goes "good job kid" and he finds friends in his coworkers. He wanted things to work out because he believed in a world that wasn't as cold and lonely and apathetic as the one he lived in. His mentor cares about him, but struggles to show it because he's long since been weathered into this cranky jaded old man, the type of person who doesn't really know how to use his words until it really matters and often he still spews a lot of fermented bottled up anger.

Swansea only could bring himself to express his care for others through actual acts in service of those people. He wanted Daisuke to have the greatest chance of finding that purpose in his life, he understood him better than anyone on the ship, i think. He had been where Daisuke was, of course. A recovering alcoholic and a lost soul have stood in the same shoes at different times. When Daisuke was so mortally wounded he wouldn't have survived (especially now that their nurse and their medical supplies were gone), Swansea did the only thing that made sense and that was to make sure Daisuke didn't have to suffer anymore.

#mouthwashing #thoughts #daisuke i love youuuu blehhhh #also that old man too i guess

357 notes · View notes

shelbgrey · 3 months ago

Text

Cherry Bomb (Derek Shepherd)

Paring: Derek Shepherd x Wife!Reader

Summary: Derek gets injured on the job and his wife has no problem helping him feel better.

Warrings: SMUT! Oral(male and female receiving), dirty talk, sudducing, slight public sex, Not proof read.

MasterList ML2

Derek and his wife were both surgeons. They dealt with and saw a lot of different things and patience with very different backgrounds. Sometimes seeing those backgrounds and stepping into their worlds was probably the hardest part of the job.

It was one of those unexpected days, the type of day where they were forced into unchartered territory. It was one of those rare times Ped and Nero came together as one, giving Derek and y/n the opportunity to work on a case together. A little girl had came into the ER with a concussion and it wasn't minor. After a few check ups and noticing the body language of both the daughter and her mother, Derek had the suspicion the little girl was Being abused. Unfortunately they were right, God they hated it when they were right about those things when the cops came to separate the kid from the mom, she went after Derek in a fit of rage before she was hauled into custody. Nothing serious happened to Derek, just four scratches on the side of his neck and the top of his jaw from an awfully manicured hand.

After things calmed down, Derek sighed walking up the nurse's station with the little girls chart. Y/n looked up from the computer and saw his neck. “Jesus, Baby” she said, taking his jaw in her hand and gently moving his head to the side to see the damage.

“It's nothing, honey. don't worry about it” he said, shrugging her off.

“That bitch got you good”

Derek sighed and put his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He knew she would get upset. “It's just a few scratches, y/n. The mom flipped out when social services showed up”

“You're letting me clean this up and bandage it up” she told him.

Derek rolled his eyes playfully and let her have her way. “Yes, my dear wife, whatever you say” Derek jokingly said.

“Yeah, because It could get infected” she said in what Derek called her ‘serious wife tone’

Derek smiled softly at her and gently kissed her forehead. “Fine, Doctor Shepherd. Have your way with me” he teasingly added, knowing she'd fuss over him.

Y/n pulled him into the Attending's lounge for privacy and he sat down on the arm of the couch. Y/n grabbed the needed supplies and stood between his legs, gently cleaning the blood off his neck.

Derek Leaned into her gentle touch, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I know you're just worried, but you know I've had worse just from getting into fights with Mark” Derek teasingly said.

“Shh” y/n said, dabbing the scratches with peroxide, making a small groan leave Derek's lips as he stayed calm through it all. He placed one hand on her waist, rubbing the top of her hip with his thumb.

“Sorry, Honey” she sighed sympathetically as she finished cleaning the area with care.

He gripped her a bit tighter, as the peroxide stung. “It's alright. you don't gotta apologize, baby”

Y/n just got madder the longer she stared at those four scratches. It was rough, the type of scratch you'd get from a cat, but bigger. She bit her lip as her anger bubbled. Of all things she was pissed off she was cleaning off small flakes of cheap nail polish off the wound. Thankfully it wasn't deep enough for stitches. Usually Derek was the overprotective one. The one that over reacted about minor inconveniences.

She bit her lip, shaking her head as she threw the bloody gauze in the trash. “that fucking bitch” she mumbled rubbed ointment on his cleaned scratches.

Derek smiled softly at her protective nature, knowing she was more angry than he was. Her usual cool demeanor cracked when something happened to him, which he found endearing. “Easy there, tiger” he chuckled softly, leaning his head against her neck, kissing her cheek.

“No, she puts her hands on you”

he couldn't help but smile softly as he gently wrapped his arms around her waist, rubbing her hips with his thumbs. “I know she did and I understand that you're mad about it too, but I'm okay” he then put one of her hands on his chest over his heart, so she could feel it beating.

It made her take a deep breath, he watched her shoulders dip back down and he could feel her relax a bit. “See? I'm okay, my heart’s still beating” he whispered in an almost soft, sarcastic way. A soft chuckle left his lips as he looked up into her eyes.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. “don't be a smart ass” she joked softly, gently shoving him.

“Aw, come on. you know you love me and my smartassness” Derek chuckled again, wrapping his arms around her more, pressing her up against his body as his hands gripped her hips.

“Smartassness isn't even a real word. And another thing, you would have a cow if the roles were reversed,” y/n said, looking him in the eyes. “you've pushed a patient away from me before”

Derek couldn't help but chuckle a bit as she mentions the one time he almost lost his cool. He could be very overprotective at times. “But that was different” he said gently as he pulled her closer and gave her ass a slight pat.

“How?”

he pulled back to look up at her, one hand going up to her face, gently cupping her face in his hand. His thumb gently Rubbed her cheek as he spoke. “I'm allowed to be protective of my wife, but no one else is allowed to lay a hand on you” he said softly as he leaned in, his nose brushing up against her's.

Y/n rolled her eyes and placed her hands on his chest, stopping him. “hang on, I still need to bandage your neck up”

Derek smirked softly as she stopped him from continuing, he then sighed dramatically. “Alright, alright, do your thing” He joked with a chuckle as he sat patiently for her to finish.

Y/n opened up a bandage and placed over the scratches on his neck. “There”

“Thank you, Baby” he whispered once the bandage was on and he was able to turn back to her.

She kissed him on the nose. “your welcome”

Derek smirked before speaking in a jokingly yet sarcastic manner. “Do I get a lollipop for being such a good boy?”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” y/n rolled her eyes playfully, throwing away the gloves she used. “What flavor? cherry?” she rolled her eyes.

Derek grinned at her as she teased him. “Hmm, cherry would be nice” he joked in a slightly suggestive way as he looked her up and down.

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully as she cupped his jaw. She pressed her lips against his passionately, making Derek moan softly against her lips. She tasted sweet, like cherries. The taste wasn't so subtle, but he loved how her chapstick gave her soft, plump lips that wild cherry flavor.

Derek wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “Mmm, that's just the flavor I wanted” He whispered between kisses before deepening it, running his tongue along her bottom lip.

Y/n pulled away gently for air, pressing her forehead against his. Derek smiled, his hand gently rubbing up and down her hip. “Hm, I think I like that lollipop the best,” he joked, still in a suggestive tone.

She shook her head playfully. “You're such a dork sometimes”

He smirked once again, knowing he was pushing her buttons. “What? I have a thing for cherry flavored things” He continued to tease, using his hands to go up her shirt, gently rubbing her skin as he spoke.

She rolled her eyes playfully and pressed her lips to his again then pulled away only for him to grab her chin, brushing his tongue against her lips.

Derek smirked at her reaction, his tongue gently prodded her lips again, not just to taste her again but wanting them to open so he could tease her more. His hands roamed over her body and under her scrub top.

Y/n pulled away gently. “I'm still pissed about your neck”

Derek pouted at her, pulling away and taking a breath. “Oh, come on baby. It’s just a few scratches, I’m fine” he said as his hands roamed further up her body as he tried to pull her back to him.

She pulled away before he could kiss her again, making Derek huffed as he was once again foiled in his attempts to get physical with her. “Those few scratches that could have gotten infected. Who knows what was under that white trash bitch's nails”

He couldn't help but smirk when she called the mom that attacked him white trash. “True but didn’t you just clean and disinfect the scratches before you put the bandages on them, my darling wife?”

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes at her pulling away and dodging him yet again. “Yes, but I still want to beat her trailer trash ass”

He chuckled a bit at her saying she wanted to beat her ‘trailer trash ass up.’ “Now, honey, you can’t go around saying you’re gonna beat someone’s ass. You’re a doctor, not a street fighter” he couldn’t help but tease her a bit.

“I know how to fuck someone up”

“y/n,” he said softly, trying to get her to relax. “You’re too sweet to go around beating up people”

Y/n pulled away yet again before he could kiss her. “am not”

Derek pouted again when he was once again foiled by her pulling away from him. He chuckled a bit at her saying “am not”, he wasn’t sure if she was trying to be cute or not but it was adorable. “Yeah, you are. You’re the sweetest person I know” he said softly, gently rubbing her hips, he was getting slightly frustrated at her constantly pulling away from him.

“Now, can I finally kiss you? Or are you gonna keep pulling away from me like a teasing little brat?”

She cupped both sides of his jaw. “yes, you can kiss me now”

Derek let out a slight moan against her lips when she FINALLY kissed him. His hands slid around her waist and he held her tight. His mouth moving against hers, desperate to deepen the kiss. The cherry flavor still lingered on his lips as she slid her tongue past his lips.

His hand gently caressed her cheek while his tongue met hers in a passionate dance. He pulled her closer, one hand sliding up her back while the other stayed firmly on her waist. He moaned softly against her lips. “that cherry chapstick is driving me crazy”

He pulled her on top of his lap, straddling him. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as he continued to kiss her deeply.

Y/n pulled away gently and leaned down to nip and kiss down his jaw. “I'll give you an amazing orgasm if you let me punch that bitch,” she whispered in his ear. “Just one punch, square in the face”

He chuckled darkly against her hair, gripping her hips tighter. “Baby, are you trying to bribe me with sex for violence?” he groaned as she hit all the right spots with those little nips.

“You heard me”

Derek couldn’t help but smirk, getting very interested in the idea. “What exactly was that promise you gave me again, baby?” He asked in a slightly teasing tone, he was almost going to agree to let her punch the woman.

“An orgasm” she whispered seductively in his ear.

he felt a shiver run down his spine as she whispered in his ear. He began to imagine what she was planning to do to him. He couldn’t help but grip her hips even tighter, getting just a little more worked up. “And what exactly are you gonna do to me, baby?”

“Anything you want” she whispered in his ear then nipped at the skin below it.

Derek's breath hitched, and he let out a deep moan. “Fuck,” His hands began to roam more freely over her body as he thought about her offer he gently nipped at her earlobe. “How about I make a deal with you, baby”

“Hm?”

He began to grab her and pull her to sit in his lap, his lips gently kissing her neck, nipping at her sensitive skin as he spoke. “I’m thinking your pretty little mouth would be a wonderful place to finish” He said in a soft, seductive voice.

“Yeah, baby?” she whispered seductively, grabbing his chin, tilting his head up to look at her as she spoke. “You wanna cum down my throat?”

He groaned at her words, his eyes darkened with lust as he looked up at her. He nodded his head slowly, biting his lip. “Yeah, baby. I wanna fuck that pretty little mouth of yours until I cum down your throat” He said, his voice husky with desire.

Y/n dropped to her knees in front of him and pulled down his scrub pants. He let out a soft groan as his hard cock springs free, bobbing slightly in front of her face. “Fuck” He breathed heavily, his eyes locked on hers as she looked up at him.

As their eyes locked he let out a deep groan as she wrapped her small hand around his thick shaft, slowly pumping him. He couldn’t help but place a hand on her head, his fingers gently playing with her hair as he looked down at her. “Open that pretty little mouth for me, baby”

As her tongue reached out to meet his tip, his head lulled back in pleasure, her hand still wrapped around the base of him. Her lips parted slowly, taking the first inch of him, and swirling my tongue around him. He exhaled heavily, his breaths deep, but quick with the slightest grunt mixed in. The way he sounded made her wetter and her thighs clench.

Derek gently gripped her hair tighter, moving her head slowly back and forth over his length as she took more of him into her mouth. “Fuck, yes. Just like that, baby,” His voice was thick with pleasure as he watched her take him deeper. “Your mouth feels incredible”

Y/n couldn't help but moan as she took him deeper into her mouth, pressing his cock to the back of my throat. Derek felt like he was going to pass out from the pleasure, his vision starting to blur as she sucked him off so expertly. He reached down and grabbed her head, holding her in place as he started to thrust even deeper into her mouth, his balls slapping against her chin with each stroke.

She gagged slightly as his tip hit the back of her throat. She squeezed his thighs, digging her nails into his skin. he let out a ragged breath, almost growling as his hips moved faster, fucking her face more urgently. “Fuck, baby, that feels so good” His voice was strained, near whimpering as he got closer to the edge.

Y/n moaned against him, getting him closer and closer, his balls drawing up tight against his body. He could feel the pressure building to a boiling point, his release imminent. He looked down, watching as she choked and gagged on his thick length, her mascara running down her face from tears.

She went up to cup and massage his balls and that was it, the feeling of her handling him like that and the vibrations of her moans sent him over the edge. He let out a loud, guttural groan as he started to cum down her throat, his hot seed filling her mouth and coating her throat. “Fuck!”

Y/n moaned, swallowing every last drop. He finished, his head falling back against the, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His release was so intense, he could barely see straight. He looked down at her, his precious girl on her knees with her face and mouth coated in his seed.

She licked her lips clean, standing up between his thighs. He looked up at her, his eyes soft with love and adoration as she stood between his thighs. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from her face, his thumb brushing away the mascara streaks. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice still shaking slightly with aftershock. “You are incredible”

Y/n smirked, cupping his jaw and kissing him softly. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he kissed her back, his lips still soft and gentle despite the intensity of their moment. “I love you so much, baby” He murmured against her lips, his heart still racing from his intense orgasm.

“I love you too”

He nuzzled his nose against hers, his hands roaming over her back possessively. He broke the kiss to whisper. “You always take it so well. My poor baby's throat must be sore” He murmured, his fingers tracing patterns on her back.

“It's worth it” she said softly.

Derek smiled tenderly at her, cupping her face “You're amazing,” He whispered, before capturing her lips in another tender kiss. “But I still want to make you feel good,” he murmured against her lips. "My turn now. Lie down for me, angel.”

Y/n pecked him on the lips then laid down on the couch that was in the attending’s lounge. Derek's eyes darkened with desire as he looked at his beautiful wife lying on the couch. He walked over, kneeling between her legs. He reached out, tugging her scrub bottoms off and spread her legs wider, admiring the sight of her wet pussy. “So beautiful”

She blushed as he leaned down and kissed her inner thigh, trailing slow, soft kisses up towards her center. “You're so fucking perfect. I never get tired of seeing you blush, I just want to kiss every inch of you” His breath ghosted over her clit as he spoke, making her squirm and her breath hitch. She grabbed his hair in her fist while her hips instinctively bucked towards him.

He chuckled softly at her response, blowing a cool breath over her clit again. “You're so sensitive,” his tongue flicked out, giving her clit a quick tease before pulling back. “Tell me what you want, baby. Do you want me to lick your pretty pussy?”

Y/n nodded quickly, her heart rate pounding with anticipation.

“Not good enough, y/n. I need to hear those sweet words from your lips” He said teasingly, blowing another breath across her sensitive folds, making her hips buck. His fingers gently brushed through her wetness, but didn't touch her where she needed it most.

“P-please,” her breath hitched. “T-touch me, Derek”

He grinned, loving how desperate she sounded. “Oh, baby,” he buried his face between her legs, his tongue diving straight into her dripping pussy, making her head fall back in pleasure. “Fuck, you taste so good” he licked and sucked at her clit, moaning against her as she tugged at his hair. His fingers reached up, spreading her open wide as he began to eat her out.

Derek moaned against her, the vibrations making her gasp and arch her back. He slid one finger inside her, then another, pumping them in and out as he sucked on her clit. He looked up at her, watching her face contort in pleasure.

“D-Derek!”

He felt her walls tightening around his fingers, and he knew she was close. “That's it, baby. Come for me. Scream my name as you come all over my face” he curled his fingers up, hitting that special spot inside her and triggering her orgasm unexpectedly. She tugged at his hair, arching her hips up against his face as she came undone.

Derek groaned into her pussy, intensifying the pressure on her clit as he felt her come undone. He lapped up every drop of her juices, milking her orgasm for all it was worth while his fingers continued to thrust inside her. “That's my girl”

Y/n gasped, trying to catch her breath. Derek slowly pulled his face away, his lips glistening with her essence. He crawled up her body, claiming her lips in a deep, possessive kiss. She moaned against his lips, carding her fingers through his hair.

He broke the kiss to nuzzle against her neck, planting soft kisses along her collarbone. “You're absolutely gorgeous when you cum” his voice was husky with desire, his hand pressing against her thigh.

“Mmm” she sighed, her head falling back against the couch cushion as she caught her breath. “don't think I'm gonna punch anyone. I did enough physical things for one day” she smirked.

Derek chuckled, nipping at her earlobe. “Good because I'm not done with you yet, Baby” His hand slowly slid up her thigh, his fingers brushing against her still-sensitive pussy. “Round two?”

She kissed him softly. “Let's get home first” she mumbled against his lips.

He pouted, pretending to be disappointed. “Fine, fine. But we're picking up where we left off as soon as we get home” he warned, helping her sit up and straighten out her clothes.

“Let's go” He said huskily, grabbing her hand, entwining their fingers as the snuck out of the Attending's lounge.

#Derek shepherd smut #Derek shepherd x reader #Derek shepherd #Patrick Dempsey #Greys anatomy smut #Greys anatomy x reader #Greys anatomy imagines #Patrick Dempsey smut

147 notes · View notes