#in hindsight good thing he didn't go

[jewishvitya]

Still thinking sometimes about how I asked my dad to go to therapy so we could have a relationship, and he responded with "I don't need therapy because my religion instructs me to always be happy."

[b4kuch1n]

tdov was like a week ago already but I just wanna say when I came over to vacation slash help my sworn brother move flat he told me, "ever since you said you wanted to get top surgery I've been thinking about it. it's straight up number two on my bucket list"

[catboydan]

fiance got me a kindle for my birthday <3

[thecherrypittttttt]

PEACHY; dr jack abbot x dr!reader

words: 8,800+

content warnings: a lil bit smutty, bit of an age gap, pining, the whole ED gang, fluffy <3

summary: the 4 times they didn’t get caught and the 1 time they did

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

In hindsight, the first time they were almost caught, was probably the closest call.

They were at a lake resort, about an hour or so outside of Pittsburgh, for the annual Emergency Department resident program retreat. The air was muggy - thick with humidity and loud with the mundane buzzing of mosquitoes.

Every year, after the chief residents graduate, the attendings take the whole program on a weekend retreat somewhere. Usually it is some random bed and breakfast that barely has a pool. Not that anyone cares. Everyone is happy for a weekend of relaxation and the chance to actually see the sun for 48 hours.

The hospital funds an abysmally small portion of the retreat since it is technically the time when everyone gives their feedback on the residency program. Graduating residents and attending physicians partake in evaluations on both the program and each other. The attendings rotate every year who pays for the rest of it. This year, it was Dr Abbot's turn.

Dr Abbot had spared no expense. They were at one of the nicest resorts in Pennsylvania. It had everything. Horse riding, axe throwing, two golf courses, bowling, cooking classes, a holistic healing spa, and what the residents had all decided was the one thing more tiring than the ED - the Team Building Adventure Package they were all signed up for.

The attendings spent the weekend doing who knows what while the residents conquered a high ropes challenge course, zip lining, and a climbing wall.

Yes, Dr Abbot had spared no expense but he had spared no free time either.

She was excited for this trip. For the sunshine, sure. But the chance to finally, maybe, get Dr Abbot to crack. She saw the way he tried to pretend not to look at her in the ED. She noticed the hoops he would jump through to have her on a case with him. The excuses he made up to text her - citing some random medical journal that yes, she was interested in. But she was far more interested in him.

If only he wasn't such a damn good guy. She knew he would never touch his resident no matter how much he liked her. They have had too many late night and early morning conversations up on the roof or at the diner next to the hospital or that bench in the park across the street where he had had his chance. So many times. She knew he was waiting for her to give the green light. For her to make the first move.

One night he started calling the bench in the park 'their bench'. She almost kissed him that night. But she chickened out. Now that residency was over and she would be starting as an attending at The Pitt shortly, she was feeling a newfound sense of confidence. So she bought a new string bikini for the retreat. If only she had had a chance to wear it. Or even see him.

Jack smiles to himself as he dips into the lake. He feels kind of bad. Making the residents work like this on the retreat. But he knew he couldn't see her in a bikini so he packed their schedules with the random team building program the resort had offered.

He already felt disrespectful enough with the thoughts he had about her when she was in hospital issued scrubs. If he saw her in a bikini, he would not make it through this weekend without cracking. Her half naked and technically no longer being his resident was a very dangerous combination and he was thanking his lucky stars that he had made it through the full 48 hours barely even seeing her. He missed her, of course. But she was better off without him. Practically 15 years his junior and Jack was almost certain she didn't see him as anything other than a good boss or a mentor.

Some nights he let himself think otherwise. Usually, when they'd go sit and chat on their bench and something in her eyes was practically begging him to kiss her. Jack would just chalk it up to him projecting onto her. Because gosh, he wanted to kiss her so bad. But he respected her too much to put her in a potentially uncomfortable situation.

Yes, they were close. Yes, they got along. Yes, they laughed together. Yes, they cried together and then comforted each other. But he did not want to be that male attending that took his resident simply being kind to him as romantic interest.

He lets himself actually think about her for the first time since they saw each other at check in. He can't help but huff a laugh to himself at the fact that she is probably pissed off at him for making them do so much physical activity over the weekend. He is definitely going to be hearing about it tomorrow on their shift. He can't wait to see her.

A creak on the dock shakes him out of his thoughts.

He must be dreaming. He did everything possible to avoid her this weekend. Specifically, her in a bikini. And here she was, practically glowing in the moonlight, wearing the tiniest purple string bikini and a knit coverup dress that wasn't doing much covering up. Jack is happy it is dark out because he is pretty sure that his face is tomato red.

She doesn't say anything. Just stops at the end of the dock, staring at him with her hand on her hip.

"What are you doing here?" is all he manages to choke out.

"Well, I bought this new bikini and haven't had a chance to use it because you've had us running around like a drill sergeant all weekend. Figured it would be a shame to waste it."

Jack is trying not to check her out but he knows he is doing a poor job when all he can respond with is, "Yeah, definitely"

She doesn't seem to notice. Just plops herself down onto the dock, her feet hanging in the water.

"Plus, I believe that I'm owed an evaluation with my attending."

Technically, a resident can do their evaluation of their primary attending with said primary attending. Since that is entirely counterintuitive to honest feedback, they give the residents the option to do it anonymously online or meet with another attending that is not their primary. No one ever does it with their primary attending no matter how good a relationship they have with them.

Jack knew she had already had her evaluation of him earlier today. She did it with Robby. He knew because he went against everything good and honest in him and read her file. He was dying to know what she said about him. And unsurprisingly, it was all good things. All professional things. Too professional for his liking.

Jack is typically a chatter box but the moon shining on her face is making her look more like a princess than normal and he feels breathless. He's happy to get out the couple words he is able, "You're brave."

They just stare at each other for a moment. It feels like a standoff. Who is actually going to acknowledge that they're both half naked and alone for the first time in well...ever?

"And you're stalling. C'mon, you get to give me feedback all day everyday. It's my turn, Dr Abbot."

She flips her hair and tugs her coverup up and over her head - sets it down onto the dock next to his prosthetic. Jack sucks in a breath and doesn't even try to hide the fact that he is checking her out. She's doing the same to his bare chest and biceps. Jack barely notices because he is too busy wondering where the hell she managed to get a bikini that small.

The little smirk on her lips is what confirms for Jack that she knows exactly what she is doing. Two can play at this game, he thinks. He skips the boring questions about patient care and gets right to the questions he knows she is hoping he asks.

"How do you feel your attending's behavior impacts your learning experience as a resident?"

"The praise is encouraging. But the staring, the intense eye contact-" she pauses and Jack would laugh at the irony of it all, her eyes boring into his as she says this, if he wasn't holding his breath in anticipation, "-is distracting. But still encouraging."

Jack is silent for a moment then gives himself a quick mental pep talk. If he can be brave enough to be in combat, he can handle flirting with his colleague, "Well, if my staring is such a problem, why does it sound like you like it?."

"You wish." She kicks her leg as she giggles, splashing him. Her giggles stop quickly, the second Jack's strong hands wrap around her lifted ankle. He feels a sense of pride at her gasp and lets himself think that maybe, just maybe, he makes her feel the same way she makes him feel.

If only he could hear her heart pounding in her chest. He takes her foot in his hands gently, massages the arch of it as he asks the next question, "How stimulating do you find your attending's teaching style?

Jack can't hide the smirk that takes over his face as he realizes that she is struggling to answer - because of his fingers, "Do you need me to repeat the question?"

She rolls her eyes. In the way she does so often, but this time it is a little different - forced. As she answers, she is hoping he hasn't noticed that her faux annoyance is actually just a front for how turned on she is over such little touch.

"Stimulating? Mentally, very. Physically, there’s a lot to be…desired."

He drops her foot in surprise at her direct answer and for the first time tonight allows himself to believe the fact that this might actually be happening. She takes his brief shock as her chance to dip into the lake. It's pretty shallow. The water line is high enough to lap at her neck , but short enough to where they both could either stand or tread water. He swims a stroke towards her, they are almost nose to nose but they do not dare touch. Jack breaks the silence, but not her gaze.

"To what extent do you feel your attending demonstrates ethical behavior?"

The question she has been waiting for. She doesn't miss a beat in her response, "To an annoying one."

Jack's eyebrows raise in surprise, "That's a first."

Somehow, they both manage to get a small laugh out. Jack is first and foremost a combat medic. There are numerous colleagues of his that would argue his use of, what they would consider risky procedures, isn't necessarily the most ethical thing of all time.

"Can you expand on what is so...annoying?"

"You're always looking but...you're never touching."

"Well, some would say that touching your resident would be unethical."

"Some would say that you’re teasing."

"Oh, really? Who? Did you raise your concern with Robby? What did he have to say?"

They both feel the air shift. It's the fun of their dynamic. He lets her have her fun. Lets her have control. Lets her take the lead. Lets her be her. Because they both know at the end of the day, the only other person she is ever going to follow the lead of, feel safe enough to be vulnerable around, is him. And he is damn honored.

"You know I didn't." He wants to kiss the pout off of her face - it's so cute.

"You know, he didn't mention you going to his evaluation in the tiniest bikini on planet earth so I am going to assume -" Jack traces the bikini strings on her hips then snaps them against her skin as she gasps at him finally touching her. "-that this is all for me."

Now she is the one left speechless. She recovers flawlessly, "Also, meant to put that in your evaluation. Too cocky."

"Why didn't you ask Robby?"

"Jack-"

"When I ask my residents questions, I expect an answer. You know that." Jack's hands move up, rubbing at the sides of her waist. He feels how fast her heart is beating now. The pace matches his own, making his breath hitch. The confirmation that she is feeling as keyed up as he is gives him the confidence to brush his fingers, just under her breast, but careful not to touch it.

"Because I don't want Robby to touch me." His hands drift to the back of her thighs, lifting her legs around his waist. She feels him hard against her and tries not to drop her head back in the satisfaction of finally feeling him. She reaches her hands around his neck, rests them where his curls are. The curls she's imagined running her hands through what feels like a million times. Jack's hands rub up and down the back of her thighs as he holds her up. His fingers are dangerously close to her ass, but again, he's careful not to touch. Not until she says so.

"Who do you want to touch you then?"

She rolls her eyes again. This one is different too. But it's not forced like the first one. It's frustrated - sexually frustrated. "You know who."

"Whitaker? Shen? Langd-"

She mumbles "You're so annoying" before she is going to kiss him. He doesn't know where this sudden will power is coming from, but he stops her, one hand holding her up and the other on the back of her neck - keeping her in place.

"What'd I say about when I ask questions, hm?" Jack can't stop staring at her lips. Her full, perfectly pink lips that are so, so close to his own. They haven't even kissed yet and he's so far gone. They both are. He feels himself harden more than he thought was possible as she practically pants for his kiss.

Jack can't take it anymore, his thumb reaches under her bikini top, grazes across her nipple. He'd rather bite it but he'll save that for later. He can't wait to find out what pretty noises she'll make then if these are the ones she is making now.

"Oh my god! You, Jack! I want you to touch me! Happy!?"

"Unethically so"

And in one swift movement, Jack pulls her lips to his, swiping into her mouth almost immediately. She whimpers at the feeling of his tongue against hers. Jack draws back just a little bit, to snag her full bottom lip with his teeth. He's pressing a searing kiss to her lips again as his hands reach for the strings around her back and then her neck, tugging them loose. His other hand that is kneading her ass grabs the strings on her bottoms, pulls those loose as well. He grabs the scraps of fabric and tosses them onto the dock.

He drinks her in and if he thought the moonlight made her look perfect earlier, he doesn't even have an adjective for right now.

He always assumed there would be a sun in heaven but now he is sure that there is a moon. She tugs at his curls as she presses another hungry kiss to his lips, her hands dragging down his body and slowly scratching his biceps. Yes, definitely a moon.

Jack dips his head, takes one of her breasts into his mouth. Licking and nipping at one with his mouth. Kneading the other with his hand.

He comes up for air and a bit of teasing, "This unethical enough for you?"

She smiles at him in a dazed way that makes his heart stop. "Almost" she whispers in his ear, letting her lips run down his neck - lightly kissing, sucking at the sensitive spots, and then trailing her tongue over them.

She runs her finger under the waistband of his swim trunks. He moans at the feeling of her finally touching him. He feels her smirk into his neck as he takes off his trunks, throwing them on top of her swimsuit on the dock.

Her mouth is on his again. Hot and desperate. Jack can't help but think he is the luckiest man on the planet now that he knows that she is just as needy for him as he is for her. She grinds her center down onto his hard length, and they both let out a groan. Yes, definitely the luckiest man on the planet.

"You know how long I have been waiting for you to kiss me?"

Jack is panting, he whispers back, practically speaking the words right onto her lips. "Didn't want you to feel weird. You deal with enough at work - you didn't need your old attending hitting on you."

"I knew it." That makes Jack pause.

"What?"

"You weren't making a move because you were my attending. I gave you so many damn chances and you would just stare at me. That bikini was my last resort."

"That bikini - is going to give me a heart attack. And I know this is ironic because we are skinny dipping and making out like teenagers who are past curfew but I have way too much respect for you to assume you loved me back without explicit verbal consent."

Jack doesn't even realize it slipped out until he sees the expressions move over her face. First surprise, then just pure joy, "Love?" she teases, her eyebrows raising and her hands clasped at the back of his neck.

Jack just grins, his thumb brushing her cheek as he kisses her again and whispers softly against her lips, "Yeah, I love you."

She tosses her head back and laughs. His favorite sound. Even though they are completely naked right now - it's her laugh that is making him blush the hardest. "God, I love you. I'm gonna leave the world's most positive review for that bikini because I have been trying to get you to admit that for years and if I knew that was all it would take - I would have done this a long time ago."

"Yeah?" Jack can't believe his ears. But she is nodding her head, mumbling to him that he is an idiot, and kissing him again because she can't get enough. Neither of them can. They have about four years to make up for. They could kiss forever. But a door slamming against the wood of one of the cabins breaks them apart.

"Oh my fucking god" she whispers. She would recognize that blonde head of hair anywhere. And under any other circumstances, she would be more than happy to see it.

Jack grabs their swimsuits off of the deck and into his hands, under the water and hidden from view. She flies under the dock. The space is small, but large enough for her to not have to go under water. She's hidden and doesn't have to hold her breath - that is all she cares about. She clamps a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

"I thought I told you that smoking was bad for you."Jack huffs. Dana laughs. There is a flicker of a lighter but it goes out just as fast as it was lit. It's broken. Dana sighs.

"Well, I need to go find a lighter that actually works but since I'm here - you feeling okay?" There's a lilt to Dana's tone. A teasing one.

Jack's brow furrows, "Why would I not be?"

"I don't know - I just transcribed all the attending reviews of the residents and I don't think I have ever read a more glowing review from you. I mean that thing could practically pass as a love letter.”

"She's a great doctor."

Dana cackles, "I didn't even say who it was."

Jack just laughs and for the millionth time that night he is thankful it is dark out because his cheeks are burning. "Okay, you caught me."

"But she is a great doctor. A great person too. Funny, kind, pretty, smart." a pause and then, "No longer your resident" another pause, "...single."

"Dana - what happened to you going to find a lighter that works?" That cracks a laugh from both of them.

"Fine, I'll leave you be - but you deserve to be happy too, Jack. So does she. I think you both do that for each other. Just keep that in mind."

"Goodnight, therapist Dana" Jack sing songs.

"Goodnight!" She yells back from her trek to the cabins. They wait for the click off the door before they are in the clear.

"Don't say a word" is flying out of Jack's mouth at the same time she teases, barely getting the words out between her giggles. "What a wing woman Dana is. Gosh, I just love her."

"Wing woman? Sounds like you have a crush."

Her eyebrows fly up her forehead in faux surprise as she points behind her to where Dana once was moments ago, "Oh, really? Because you’re writing love letters about me to our employer and everything. It sounds like you're obsessed with me!”

Jack mumbles a coy 'Something along those lines' and playfully tosses her bikini at her "Get dressed - lets go."

Jack is pulling his trunks on and jumping out of the lake and onto the dock. He tugs his prosthetic on and reaches out a hand to her. She just stares at him - blank and confused. They were finally there and now he wants to leave just because Dana had to smoke a cigarette.

He silences any doubt in her brain, "I'm not fucking you for the first time in a lake. You deserve a bed and not a UTI."

That tugs a laugh and a smile out of her. She ties on her bottoms and the bottom half of her top before she takes Jack's hand and climbs up onto the deck.

"Who knew what a gentleman you are." She turns her back to him, signalling for him to finish tying her bikini.

His whisper on the back of her neck makes her legs wobble in anticipation, "and I can't properly feel how wet you are for me if we're in the water."

"There he is."

They are a tangle of limbs and kisses and giggles as they slowly but surely make their way back to Jack's cabin. It is truly a miracle they don't get caught.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The second time they'd almost been caught was practically a year from the first. It'd been a year since the lake. A year of finally loving each other. A year of somehow, someway - not being caught at work - despite Jack being absolutely, positively awful at keeping them a secret.

They were head over heels in love and he was a shameless flirt. The only thing saving them was that he was a bad flirt so nobody had really noticed yet. Or so they'd hoped.

She had moved into Jack's house two months ago. If he had it his way, she would have moved in about six months ago. She was always there anyway. That is what he would say.

They had spent all morning hiding her stuff - making it look like she had never even stepped foot in the place. She was even practicing her reaction to 'seeing his house for the first time'. Jack couldn't stop smiling at her. He was just happy she was finally referring to everything in the house as 'theirs' and not 'his' - even if he was being bossed around. He liked it. He loved her. More than anything.

Every year, one of the attendings hosts a welcome barbeque for the new interns and med students that join the program in July. The whole program comes, at least the ones who aren't working, from the newest third year med student to the most seasoned attending.

Usually, if there is a new attending, they are supposed to host after their first year on the job. Jack made up some random excuse as to why he wanted to host. Everyone looked at him like he had three heads when he had volunteered but he knew that she couldn't exactly send out an invitation with the same address as him and not blow their cover.

They had spent all afternoon on absolute opposite ends of their backyard. Jack posted up with Robby at the grill. She was lounging on the pool chairs with Dana, Collins, and Mel.

She was killing him. She wasn't in that purple bikini. This was a work function after all. But she could wear a paper bag and Jack would be sweating so the high cut swimsuit she was in now wasn't helping his case. The only thing getting him through the afternoon was knowing how she would be once everyone was gone.

She likes to tease that he is the needy one. And normally, she is right. But if there's a couple hours where they are on separate shifts or apart for whatever reason, having to pretend like they are not practically engaged, she is on him like glue the moment they're together again. And she doesn't leave him be. Jack relishes in it.

Like he is right now. They're putting the house back together. Getting all her stuff out and back in its rightful place. When they set up this morning, they had basically split the house in half and tackled it that way. Now she trailed behind him like a cute puppy, holding onto his bicep and nuzzling herself into his side. "Can we please do this tomorrow? I just wanna lay with you. I'm tired."

Jack is so giddy, he practically giggles. He slowly lowers himself onto their plush patio furniture. Tugs her down on top of him. Her legs on either side of his waist and her arms finding their usual place around his neck - her hands in his hair. He cups her face, presses a long kiss to her lips and then speaks against them, "From what? Laying by the pool and teasing me all day?"

"From pretending that this isn't our house."

Jack grins at the emphasis, and then they're both in a fit of laughter thinking about the hilarity of the day. Of their situation. Of how they silently communicate that they don't think they can keep sneaking around for much longer. They don't really want to. They know this is it. That they are it for each other. So everyone is going to find out eventually anyways.

He imitates her, "Dr Abbot, where is the garbage can? Dr Abbot, where is the bathroom? Dr Abbot, where is the-"

She covers his mouth with his palm and feigns annoyance as she rolls her eyes. "I'm not going to ask where the bedroom is if you don't shut up."

"Don't need the bedroom. Got you right where I want you, baby." He's slipping off that damn cover up that is really never doing its job anyways and laying her down on the daybed.

He's kissing down her body, slowly. Doing his favorite thing - worshipping her. Her hands pull at his curls and he lifts his lips from her body only to murmur against her hip, "Been dying to taste you all fucking day."

He's pulled her bottoms not even halfway down her thighs when they hear the lock on their fence rattle. She is up and running into the house faster than Jack can even blink. He can't help but double over in laughter - he has never seen her move that fast in their lives - not even for a code.

Robby's voice shuts Jack right up, "Why are you laughing to yourself?"

"Why are you breaking into my backyard?"

"I forgot my sunglasses." Robby walks over to where Jack stands by the daybed. He picks up a pair of sunglasses off of the side table.

Abbot nods to them, "Those look like Heather's sunglasses."

Robby doesn't miss a beat, "And that-" he juts his chin towards the coverup that was left abandoned on the daybed, "-looks like something that belongs to another doctor we know."

Jack feels his face heat up, "She must have left it here."

"I was talking about Shen." Robby jokes, cracking one of those smiles that reaches his eyes. A knowing smile.

Jack just has to laugh. It is Robby after all, "I'll bring it to her next shift."

"Oh, I'm sure you will, brother. I'm sure you will. Along with a coffee and probably an engagement ring if it was up to you."

If only he knew, Jack thought.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

After that day at the barbeque, Jack and her fess up to Robby and Collins. They were both their respective best friends. It was getting too hard and they really didn't see a reason for it anymore.

Robby and Collins were about as surprised as Jack and her were when they found out about them giving it another go - so not surprised at all.

It was Tuesday night the third time they almost got caught. A Tuesday night meant Robby and Jack had a basketball game for the ED's rec team and Collins and her would go to yoga and for a walk. Probably stopping at some kind of wine bar along the way that Jack and Robby would eventually meet them at.

Tonight was different though. Collins and her took their walk straight to the park district that the hospital league played at because tonight was the championship game and the whole department was going to support.

“Oh look who decided to grace us with their presence.” Robby teases the second they walk into the gym.

The boys on the team are warming up - Robby, Whitaker, Langdon, Shen, and Jack. She feels Jack's eyes looking her up and down - she didn't wear the matching workout set for no reason. The biker shorts were short and tight. The sports bra was low cut and tighter. She had a sweatshirt on over it though - gives him something to take off later.

Jack just smirks and tosses her the basketball. She catches it with ease and effortlessly sinks a shot. She hears Dana and some of the rest of their work friends cheer from their spot in the stands.

“Ooo look! She’s got better game than you, Dr Abbot” Robby nudges his shoulder.

She rebounds her own ball and shoves it back into Jack’s chest as she responds. He’s smiling down at her. He wants to kiss her so bad, "Someone has got to show you fools how it’s done.”

Her and Collins cross the gym and take the steps up into the stands to meet the rest of the department.

"Don't turn around, it'll make it obvious, but Dr Abbot is staring at your ass." Victoria whispers it to her like it’s the most scandalous thing in the world.

Victoria is being so sweet, trying to be helpful - she doesn't want to laugh at Victoria but Dana's response makes her and Collins crack up. They can't help it.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, kid!”

Oh and Dana knows now too. Dana is like a second mom to her. She couldn't not thank Dana for wing womaning for her that night out on the lake. Even if Dana was a little floored at finding out what she had actually interrupted that night.

"Dana!" She tries to pretend to be shocked. But their facade is fading quickly and neither of them particularly care too much. The only thing they care about now is the bet they have going on who is going to be the one to accidentally get them caught.

"Cheers!" Dana starts as she hands over a solo cup full of wine that she had packed in the cooler next to her. "to Coach Abbot." Dana finishes.

Now she is the one staring. Jack pulls off his sweatshirt, exposing his biceps in the tank style jersey they've all got on. She huffs a laugh at the fact that every other department has a color jersey and the ED's is camo patterned because Jack paid extra to get it. She can't necessarily claim she is paying attention to the game but she is paying attention to him and how good he looks as he plays.

She also feels a tug of pride in her belly. It may sound stupid, but playing a pick up basketball game was once thought to be impossible for an amputee like Jack. She had gotten him the special running prosthetics for his birthday. She had spent an exorbitant amount of money for him to be able to participate in this rec league. But she would have spent much more because it wasn't about the money. It was about him feeling good, feeling like himself, being able to do all the things he loves to do - no matter what. That was priceless.

The game flies by. So does the wine. At some point Dana suggests that if she had enough wine on her they should drink every time Jack looks up at her when he makes a shot and everytime Langdon airballs a shot.

The team sits on the bench as they prepare for the last quarter. A groan comes from Jack, then a low 'Fuck' and she is doing her best not to seem overly concerned. Suspiciously concerned. He doesn't seem hurt. He's been moving great.

But then she sees it. The broken running prosthetic. He places it in his bag and replaces it with his normal prosthetic. He seems fine but her heart sinks for him. He must feel her or something because he turns around and gives her a small smile and a thumbs up. That makes her feel better. Collins nudges her shoulder, pointing towards Shen who apparently had just called her name twice.

She tears her gaze from Jack now that she knows he is okay, “What?”

“We need a fifth person if Jack can’t play anymore.”

“Okay?” She asks, confused. What does that have to do with her?

“Jack said you played basketball in high school.”

“Not particularly well.” She glares at Jack. He knew she wasn’t great. Sure, she had a bit of a shot on her, but she hadn't actually played a game of basketball in over ten years.

“We don’t need well, we just need able.” Langdon pipes up in a completely non encouraging way that only Langdon can.

“Convincing.” she deadpans.

“Please, we just need someone who knows the rules. Unless anyone else in the department would like to reveal that they are secretly a basketball legend.” Shen looks at the department, sitting in the stands behind their bench.

The department looks at her. She sets down her solo cup and stands up, making her way down the few stairs to the bench, “I want it on record that I’m a glass and a half of wine deep. And Dana is pouring so that probably is more like two and a half."

Everyone claps and cheers and whistles. Then Jack takes off his jersey to hand to her, she takes off her sweatshirt and the whistles get louder.

Her sports bra dips lower onto her cleavage than she was planning on ever letting her coworkers see. She didn’t even know she had the mark on the top of her breast until Langdon yelled from down the bench, “What are you hooking up with a teenager or something? What’s with the hickey?”

She is absolutely beat red and Jack actually does a bit of spit take from his water bottle. Jack and her were adults. They weren’t in the habit of giving each other visible marks, but marking eachother in places noone else can see? That was a different story.

"Oh my god." She has never tugged a piece of clothing on to her body faster. The jersey falls over her like a dress, going past her biker shorts and hitting mid thigh.

She quickly scans Jack’s chest as he pulls a plain back tshirt on, praying to whoever will listen that she didn’t leave a mark anywhere on him last night. She sighs in relief at the fact that the only marks are his permanent ones. The ones she loves tracing - his freckles, his birth marks, some scars. She’s made a habit out of kissing the scars.

She would maybe be a little sheepish about wearing a jersey with a big 'ABBOT' on the back in front of all of their coworkers if Langdon hadn't just made her hickey everyone's business.

"Okay on that note, let's finish this game." She manages to huff a laugh and rounds the bench to sit with the rest of them. Landgon is bent over, tying his shoe. She knocks him over and he mumbles something about probably deserving that. She feels a bit better.

Jack is up and in front of the five of them, explaining some play on his white board as seriously as he explains assignments in the trauma bay. She takes a peak at their teammates, to see if they are also taking this as serious. They are - deadly so.

She can't help but start to giggle as the buzzer goes off and they're making their way to the court. They all look like they've seen a dead body, “Guys, lighten up. We’re playing radiology, not the 90s Bulls.”

She feels a gentle tug on the back of her jersey, pulling her back to the bench where Jack is. She slowly turns around to him, her eyes basically popping out of her head. Telling him what her mouth can't say. Could he be literally any more obvious?

“What can I do for you, captain obvious?”

Jack lets the jersey go immediately, “Sorry - habit."

Her heart warms at that because she gets it. It's hard when they're at work - not to reach out and just touch each other. Not even in a sexual way, just in the way that they feel like extensions of each other and it's weird to not be able to touch when they want.

She's technically still on the court and he is technically at the bench, but he is the closest a coach can get to the sideline without being on the court and she is the closest a player can get to the sideline without being out of bounds.

Close enough to hear him say, "Just wanted it also on the record that I’ve seen you accomplish much more impressive, physically demanding activities than a basketball game while a glass and a half of wine deep. Like when you were hooking up with that teenager last night.”

She can't help but whip back around agape at him, a smile threatening to take over her face, “You’re a dog.”

"And stop looking at me like that."

"What? I’m in trouble for looking at my coach?"

"You're in trouble for looking at me like that with my last name on your back."

She opens her mouth to respond but is interrupted by the referee who she is pretty sure is just a resident from psychiatry, "If the Emergency Department coach is done flirting with their new player, we can get this fourth quarter started."

She hears Collins and Dana cackle in the stands. Jack and her are both flushed for what feels like the millionth time that night and not from the basketball. The whistle blows and then the fourth quarter is well underway.

There is maybe a little more than a minute left in the game and against all odds, they are only down by four. She hasn't done awesome. She hasn't done bad. She's hit a couple mid range shots. Missed some too. But now she was definitely flushed from the basketball - they'd been running up and down the court for eleven minutes straight. And radiology had substitutions.

Robby makes an easy layup and they're back on defense. Radiology is passing the ball around, trying to kill time. She hears Jack tell Langdon to foul his player with the ball. He does, the guy misses both his free throws, and now the ball is back in their possession - for likely the last play of the game.

Robby dribbles the ball up the court. Maybe three seconds left and now they are only down by two. He dishes it out left to her. She's out on the left wing, behind the three point line and closest to the bench. The ball reaches her hands. All she hears is Jack muttering, "Shoot".

So she does. The ball leaves her fingertips and swishes through the net right as the buzzer sounds.

She turns around to look at Jack, her jaw dropped and a little shocked. "You did it! We won!"

And then they're both laughing. And his arms are around her waist, lifting her up and spinning her around before they both remember where they are. And who is watching. He sets her down and Robby claps a hand on her shoulder, "Be careful or we're gonna put you on the team next year."

"Absolutely not." She huffs, sipping her water bottle.

"I'm sorry - were you guys just hugging? We're all not going to ignore that, right?" Shen can't help himself. She knew he wouldn't.

"She did a good job." Jack says nonchalantly. As if they embrace like that all the time.

"I've done a good job all season. Where's my hug?"

"Those are reserved for players our coach has a crush on." Robby teases.

"Michael!" Heather chastises from the stands and that gets everyone going even more.

"Michael? Since when do you call him Michael-" Langdon trails off - figuring out for himself what's going on.

Jack and her just look over at Heather appreciatively. She mouths a silent 'Thank you' to Heather for taking the heat off of them.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

After seeing his last name on her back at the basketball game, and honestly way before then too, Jack could not stop thinking about calling her his wife.

They both knew that was eventually happening. They'd talked about it. They went ring shopping. She gave him a general idea of what she liked and then she left him to his own devices. She still wanted to be surprised. And she was still waiting to be surprised because he hadn't proposed yet. She was almost positive he had bought a ring because he had been acting so skittish the past week or so.

They're working the day shift together the fourth and final time they almost get caught. Robby and Collins went on vacation and they're covering their shifts for the week.

Jack is charting at the nurses station, trying not to stare at her everytime she walks by. It's been irritatingly slow. At least when it's busy they have something to distract themselves from each other.

“So Dr Abbot, who is she?”

They both freeze at Perlah’s statement. Jack stops typing. She was on her way to go round on a patient but quickly pretends she needs to make a pit stop at the nurses station to listen in.

“Excuse me?”

“The girl I saw you ring shopping for the other day.”

So he had bought a ring. She smiles to herself. Even more so when she sees how red Jack is. She winks at him from behind Princess and Perlah's inquisitive stares.

“It’s probably the same girl who decorated his house over the summer.” She pipes up from the back of the station.

Princess and Perlah laugh along with her. They're murmuring something about how they thought his home had a woman's touch to it at the barbeque earlier that summer as they're called away from the nurses station.

They leave Jack alone quicker than they'd leave Robby alone. They know he is not an open book and they'll respect that but that doesn't excuse him from some teasing. Especially if Perlah has got first hand information on him.

Jack stares at her, a smirk twitching, fighting to appear on his lips. She peels out of the station and to the staff lounge. Jack is hot on her heels and the staff lounge is thankfully, very empty.

"I could decorate the house if I wanted to. You just like that stuff." She playfully rolls her eyes and humors him.

"Sure you could, Dr Abbot. Just tell that girl she did a good job, yeah? On the house and the future husband."

"I'm not completely incapable of having taste, you know? I've got a pretty big diamond ring to prove it."

“I heard. Planning on doing anything with that anytime soon?"

He kisses up her neck, slow as his hands rub at her hips. He whispers as he reaches her ear, tugs a bit with his teeth and then, "Planning on doing a lot with it. And you. Exceptionally soon, actually."

Then he's pressing her against the wall next to the door and placing his lips on hers. His hand snaps at the waistband of her scrub pants, then under her top, over her chest and splays across her throat - lightly squeezing it. She whimpers at the sensation, her lips parting a bit further and Jack takes the opportunity to lick further into her mouth. They can never get enough of each other, they don't think they ever will.

This was especially reckless of them, though. They were plenty guilty of sneaking away to the on-call rooms or a supply closet, but the staff lounge during a fully staffed day shift was just further proof they were not keeping this sneaking around stuff up much longer, if at all.

She moans his name, quietly, as she reaches for his waistband. Any other time, when his brain was working, Jack would grab her wrist and tug her to an on-call room. But she's already got his head hazy and he knows they can't go much further in the literal staff lounge but he lets himself relish in her soft hand stroking his hard length.

He tells himself he'll give them just a couple more seconds - tie themselves over until they're off their shift. Or at least can find a supply closet that locks. Their usual spot had been compromised two weeks ago since it no longer had a working lock. He is silently counting down from five in his head. Five seconds and then they'll be done. But god, she has no business being so damn good at this.

He only makes it to three when the door handle jiggles and they are flying off of eachother. He sits in the chair closest to them. He can't go back out there until he is a little less...excited. She has made it practically halfway to the staff pantry when Mateo steps in.

She snags a lollipop from the cabinet and unwraps it. Jack has to physically keep himself from groaning out loud when she winks at him and wraps her lips around it. Way slower than necessary, by the way. She waves hello to Mateo and then looks at Jack, "Hope you find your ring, Dr Abbot."

And then she is out the door, but not before she hears Mateo ask Jack, "You wear a ring?" She laughs to herself.

Oh, he'll have a ring on that finger soon. They both will.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Their luck wasn't going to last forever. They were honestly shocked they had made it almost eighteen months with only Dana, Collins, and Robby knowing. Sure, they got some suspicious glances from Shen or Ellis sometimes, but everyone else seemed none the wiser.

They had had the night shift from hell. Nothing tragic had happened, thank goodness, but it had been absolutely jam packed with cases. She doesn't think either of them had gone to the bathroom or eaten or even had a sip of water for the entire twelve hours.

She knew it wasn't healthy. It wasn't healthy for anyone, but especially for her. She had been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes as a baby and at this point in her life, she could guess what her blood sugar was without some kind of monitor inserted into her skin 24/7.

Of course, she typically wore one anyways. Especially at work. Like right now. She was dizzy and sitting at the nurses station, head in her hands, waiting for everyone to finally arrive for shift change so she could get the fuck out of there and go home with Jack.

She could feel the shakes coming on and she really did not want to pass out at work. She's kicking herself for not eating the many snacks Jack had been bringing her from the vending machine. Where was he finding the time to go get those? She had no idea. But the incessant flow of cases left every offering unintentionally untouched.

Jack was protective of her. Not in a weird, possessive way. But he loved her, cared for her, wanted her safe. Her passing out at work, or really anywhere, was not safe. He could also intuitively tell her blood sugar, high or low. And if she was having one of those days where she didn't want to take care of her diabetes on top of everything else - he was the one injecting her with insulin or making her a snack.

Her continuous glucose monitor was old, as a resident she could barely afford the one she had and then she just hadn't thought to change it once she got her pay raise as she graduated to an attending. She usually could just tell her sugar levels anyways.

Jack was the one who came home one day with a new one for her. This was like his super bowl. His two favorite activities - taking care of the love of his life and spending a lot of money on new medical gadgets - all at the same time.

This new one could connect to her phone, easily communicate her sugar levels in real time. When she never hooked that up because sometimes she just doesn't want to be constantly reminded of her diabetes, he just connected it to his apple watch.

That is how she knew the ED was busy. Because otherwise Jack would be standing over her, feeding her himself, until her blood pressure was back to a normal level.

It was almost like the thought of Jack summoned him. Jack was second to shift change, behind her. He strokes her hair a couple times and drops a bag of peach rings into her lap - taking advantage of the time alone.

“Sit and eat before you faint, please.” He says gently. He sets a glass of water on the desk in front of her.

“Jack, I’m fin-“

“You’re shaking like a leaf and your blood sugar is-“ he pauses and looks at his watch, “64 and dropping.”

“Why do you know her blood sugar?” Mel asks, as she walks up, genuinely confused.

Both Jack and her are frozen in place, staring at each other.

“And where did you get those peach rings? We don’t have those in our vending machines. Only at the store across the stre-“ McKay trails off as she puts two and two together.

“And why do you get her blood sugar sent to your apple watch?” Langdon chimes in, eyes darting in between the pair of them.

“Wait, is your glucose monitor connected to Abbot’s apple watch?” Whitaker with the questions now.

Jack just looks at her, shrugs, and digs into his wallet as they both laugh. “I knew you’d be the one to get us caught.” She mutters, satisfied with her victory.

He slaps a $100 bill onto her palm. She pockets it and tosses a couple pieces of the candy into her mouth, still chuckling.

“Get you caught?”

Robby, Collins, and Dana are laughing uncontrollably. Because of course this is the way they would get caught.

“If the peanut gallery could quiet down over there - I could let you all know that yes, her glucose monitor is connected to my apple watch because my fiance likes to play Russian roulette with her diabetes and that is not happening on my watch.” Jack's voice is serious but the big grin on his face is giving him away.

“Quite literally, actually.” she adds.

“Fiance?!”

"Yes, now hurry up with this shift change so I can get her home before she becomes a patient."

"I knew that house had a woman's touch!" Perlah yells from across the hall, not letting her patient get in the way of any gossip. Especially something this big.

Eventually, everyone calms down. Her blood sugar slowly rises as she eats. Jack stands next to her chair for the rest of shift change, her head leaning against his leg, his hand softly massaging the nape of her neck and her shoulders as the other hand takes notes for the both of them.

They wrap up shift change, not without a few jokes tossed their way, and then Jack is kneeling down to be eye level with her. "How you feeling?"

"Peachy." She giggles. So does Jack. They're both a little giddy right now. "Take me home?" she asks, intertwining his large fingers with her own.

"Gladly." He smiles as he helps her up and presses a kiss to the back of her hand, both of their backpacks on his back.

They don't escape completely unscathed. They both hear Langdon as they're halfway out the door, "Oh my god, that hickey you had at the basketball game was from Abbot!?"

"Nothing gets by you, Langdon." Jack claps him on the back as they exit.

Once they're outside, Jack presses a kiss into her hair and murmurs "I love you". Right in the middle of the ambulance bay - because he can now.

If he knew getting caught would feel this good he would have slipped a long time ago.

[sapsolais]

!

[dollfacefantasy]

ONLY BAD PUPPIES ♡

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: when you get needy, you act up. lucky for you, logan understands that means you just need a firm hand to get you back in line.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, masturbation, pillow humping, pet play, light anal play (plug), daddy kink, praise/degradation, brat taming

wc: 1.9k

kinktober slot: day 23 - pet play

Of course, he'd do something like this. You should've known your punishment wouldn't be so simple. He wouldn't just make you touch yourself in front of him while he watched. That wasn't Logan's style as it pertained to taming you when you acted up. When you bratted out like you had earlier, he took it upon himself to truly humble you.

Today had been a busy day for both of you, but you'd been having a rough week. You felt extra needy for him as of late. The exact cause behind those feelings remained a mystery, but regardless of the specifics, you knew that the long list of tasks you performed over the last several hours did not make you happy.

All you wanted to do today was curl up with your boyfriend. You longed to sit in his lap while the tv played in the background, to have his hand stroking over your head and down your back, to feel him brush his thumb over your lips as he told you what a good girl you'd been.

But you didn't go about getting that attention the best way. In hindsight, you could admit that. It probably wasn't the best idea to tease him. Multiple times you rubbed the softest parts of your body against him and looked up at him with puppy eyes while innuendo spilled from your lips. You'd made a point to be huffy when he rebuffed you to finish up his work around the mansion. You tried giving him the cold shoulder to no effect which made you whiny.

And that was the one thing that guaranteed you a punishment. Because only bad puppies whine.

Right as the high-pitched words about him being so mean to you fell upon his ears, he suddenly finished up with whatever he was doing much quicker.

His hand curved around the back of your neck, guiding you up to your bedroom.

"You think you're cute, huh?" he asks under his breath, "Think you can get what you want by stamping your feet and throwing a tantrum?"

"I didn't-" you try to deny. But Logan doesn't take excuses either.

"You did. You think I don't know you? That I can't see the gears turning in your little head?"

The door to your room flings open with the force of his hand. He shuts it behind you firmly and leads you to the bed, sitting you down.

Already, your head hangs in shame, like a guilty pet who knows they're moments away from being scolded. He clicks his tongue at you in disapproval.

"What happened to all that attitude?" he taunts, yanking you by the hair to make you look up again, "C'mon. Let me have it. I was so mean to you today, wasn't I?"

Your lip sticks out into a pout. "I didn't mean it…" you try to justify.

"But you had no problem saying it before. So let me hear it again," he goads.

You whine and try to plead with your eyes to know avail. "I just wanted you to spend time with me," you say, guilt making your words much less convincing. You knew you'd been bothering him and that you could have waited. You just didn't want to.

"Spend time with you? Is that what you call it?" he says with a raised brow, "Be honest. You were getting fussy because you wanted me to 'spend time' bouncing you on my cock."

Heat creeps up from your belly, through your chest, and into your neck and cheeks. You can't answer because you know that he's right.

He chuckles, his hand rubbing down your scalp to massage the nape of your neck. "Mhm. You don't have to hide it, baby," he says. Dropping his hand away from your head, he walks over to the other side of the room to grab a few things you'd be needing soon. "I know how you are. You just can't help it. My puppy can't function if daddy doesn't give her attention for a few hours."

When he invokes his title and your own, the humiliation brewing in your belly feels more severe. You now know exactly what he's grabbing. As soon as he turns around to return to you, your suspicion is proven correct.

His hands hold the exact items you expected. One palm holds your collar while the other cradles the fake ears and tail. Your chest aches at the sight of them. They felt so good most times, but when you'd been bad, they became the ultimate tools to put you in your place.

He can see your reaction, and if the grin on his face is any indication, he loves it.

"What's wrong, pup? Thought you wanted to play," he says.

You don't have any coherent response to that. In no time, he strips you down and buckles the sleek band around your neck. The simple tag that reads 'puppy' dangles at the front. Next, the ears slide into place on your head. They were a nice set, pointing proudly upright. Last comes the tail. You don't get any real lube for it. That's a treat for good girls. All you get is his spit spread over the bulb before it prods at your puckered entrance. It slips in with relative ease, only drawing a tiny whimper from you as you adjust.

He stands back to admire his work. You kneel on the mattress, looking at him with the same guilt from earlier. Anticipation chews up your spine as you wait to hear your sentence. In the past, he'd made you get off on his boot. Another time, he leashed you to the bed while fucking you rough. Once he made you crawl around with a vibrator in. You could only shudder now as you imagine what lies ahead.

But it doesn't seem to be anything so drastic based on his words.

"You wanted to cum so bad all day today, puppy, so I'm gonna let you. You're just gonna have to be a big girl and do it yourself," he says, heading to the chair several feet from the bed.

He sits down and settles in, eyes staying on you the whole time. It's weird. The idea of starting to touch yourself while someone else just sits there. Doing it was one thing, but beginning feels separate to you.

Either way, your hand ventures between your thighs to rub at your folds. But before it can really get into it, he stops you.

Now you find out what the real punishment is.

"Ah ah ah, sweetheart. Puppies don't get to use their hands," he chides, that fucking smirk plastered across his face

You blink at the statement. It replays in your head again. His expression only grows more smug as you gawk at him, heat creeping up from your belly into your chest and neck.

"But… how?" you ask, as if you didn't already know, "What do you want me to do?"

"You're smarter than that. Use that little brain," he teases.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, air puffing out from your mouth. The solution is right in front of you - or rather, behind you, resting against the headboard at the top of your bed.

Slowly, you turn around and reach for his pillow. You bring it around your body and crawl on top of it. The smoothness of the linen is cool against your cunt. It feels wrong there, like it won't provide enough friction to make you cum.

You give the puppy eyes one more try on him, but they yield no success.

"Get to it, pup. Let's see you take care of yourself for a change," he says.

And that's that. Arguing any further would be pointless and only get you in more trouble.

You lower yourself a bit more, making sure you're flush against the cushion. It puffs up from the pressure of your legs on either side. Then you start. You begin to drag your cunt back and forth, rocking your hips in small strokes.

It doesn't do much at first except make your head foggy with shame. Humping a pillow is a much more intensive process than just using your fingers. All of you moves with each thrust of your pelvis. Your breasts bounce with your momentum. The tail sticking out of your ass shakes and catches on your leg. Even the tag on your collar bobbles around.

"Atta girl," Logan praises from the sidelines, "You're gonna learn how to do this, so you don't have to bother daddy when he's trying to work."

You nod before your head falls back. Despite this method of self-pleasure not feeling that great at first, you were finding out it was a slow burn. The more you rutted on the plush surface between your legs, the greater the intensity of the sparks of ecstasy between your thighs.

He can feel himself starting to stiffen in his jeans. Everything about you was so needy and pathetic right now. It drives him crazy. His hand slides over his lap to palm his semi-hard bulge. From the sharp jerks of your hips to the shaky whimpers coming out of your mouth, everything about you calls to every cell in his body.

Like always, you don't last long. Puppies are never good at being patient. As soon as you find a rhythm you like, it only takes a couple minutes for you to work yourself to the edge. Your eyes go glossy, breaths morphing into harsh pants. Your tongue practically lolls out of your mouth. And then, once you realize how close you are, come the pleas.

"D-daddy," you choke out around other sounds of carnality, "Please, can I cum? Please please please please."

You were a natural when it came to begging. But you were bad, so he doesn't let you off easy tonight. He doesn't answer your calls for him and continues to watch. Being ignored is worse than a no to you, and he knows this.

"Please. I need it- I- I can't wait," you cry, "Pretty please, daddy."

"You think you've earned it?" he asks.

"Uh huh, I did. I earned it," you repeat, slurring your words a little.

He pauses for a moment, making you wait before he gives his permission. "Alright. Go ahead then. It's the only one you're getting tonight."

You try to force the words 'thank you' out, but instead, you can only moan as release crashes into you. Your hips buck wildly on the pillow. Arousal gushes from you and darkens the already existing wet patch. Your chest heaves with all the feelings rushing through you, your back arching before you topple forward.

Even with your face smooshed against the blankets, your hips still twitch in the afterglow. You ride out the little remaining bursts on his pillow. When you finally get yourself to sit up, eyes droopy and mind hazy.

He's in front of you now. His cock is out, his hand stroking it slowly.

"You did good, puppy. You were a very good girl," he praises.

You bask in it for a moment before your eyes fall down to his hard shaft in front of you. He smiles, knowing you could never resist a chance to have his dick.

"That's right. You were good, so now you get a treat. Daddy knows how much his puppy likes to lick."

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: requested by a very dear reader on wattpad :)

summary: based on the song by justin timberlake; SHIELD agent!reader, iron man 2!nat because i rewatched it recently and goddamn 🤤

warnings: smut (fingering, n receiving), blood, descriptions of injuries

word count: 11.5k

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Practiced hands adjust seams and smooth over her arms. The fabric doesn't bunch, which is good — it wouldn't be practical during a fight. You tighten the straps around her thighs, making sure they're snug and secure, and then look up.

Natasha smiles at you and cups your jaw. Her thumb brushes along your bottom lip.

"Taking your time?"

"More like stalling."

It's dark in your lab. Machines whir, scanners beep occasionally. You're crouched in front of her, fitting and prepping her suit pre-mission. You've done this dozens of times. It's how everything started between you and her.

Back then, you couldn't believe your luck (you still can't), because who would've thought that being her weapons specialist would lead to what you have now? In hindsight, however, it makes sense.

It's intimate. It's quiet. It builds trust. You know her better than most people around here, which is a privilege. You know her favorite types of knives, how she likes her suit fitted, what exactly she needs to be able to perform at her best.

And then, afterwards, you go home. Other things matter, like her favorite candy (sour patch kids) or the show she's currently watching.

You adjust the suit around her waist, fingers skimming her hips. You secure a few holsters, attach some knives, and then straighten up. You feel her lips against yours before you can even look at her again.

Deep, firm, slow. Savoring it. You cup her face before slowly moving your hands into her hair. The curls are soft between your fingers.

She pulls away, but you can still taste her breath. Her lips curve into a sweet little smirk.

"Stalling, huh?", she mumbles, glancing at your lips. You lick them and taste the lip balm she loves so much.

"Yeah. They take a while. Missions, I mean."

"I'll be back before you know it."

Your hands trail down her sides again. You absently adjust her knives.

"Not soon enough", you say, pecking her lips. "Who's joining you this time?"

Natasha tilts her head. "I'm not telling you."

You frown. Truthfully, it might be for the better that you don't know. Depending on who it is, the answer might end up making you waltz up to said person and show her off just to make a point.

Mine. Seriously. Look, don't touch. Actually, don't even look.

She smiles and steps away. You quickly snake your arm around her waist and tug her back into you.

"I want an answer", you insist. Her hands splay out on your chest, toying with the zipper of your SHIELD vest. "For safety."

"Remember that lie detector test you took?"

You furrow your eyebrows. "What's your point?"

She grasps your bottom lip. "No wonder you failed. You're miserable at it."

"Not necessarily a bad thing."

"Never said that's the case."

She steps away and gathers her stuff — her favorite gun, her backpack, her Widow's Bites that she puts on. You stand there, watching her, arms crossed and mind running in circles.

Hopefully, she's not going with Valerie. What they had was barely a relationship, but the entire organization knows that she's still pining for Natasha.

Or Ward. Nothing happened between them, to be fair, but you heard him call her 'eye candy' once.

Was he wrong? No. Did you mess with his suit anyway, just so it'd smell like something had rotted in it? Possibly.

"Be careful", you mutter, still slightly disgruntled.

"Always am." She shoulders her backpack. "Hands off Ward's stuff."

Your head snaps upward. "What? I didn't-"

"Lie detector test, honey."

You grunt, rubbing the back of your neck. Natasha puts her foot up on a chair to adjust the strap around her thigh. You catch yourself staring.

Behind you, something starts beeping rapidly. You quickly walk back to your and curse quietly. One of the new high tech gadgets you've been tinkering with has started sparking.

Natasha glances at you, trying not to smile. "New?"

"Of course", you mutter, trying to find what the issue is this time. You reach for the pliers and cut one of the wires. "Goddammit."

"Don't burn yourself."

You sigh and put the gadget aside. How unfortunate — you've been putting a lot of time and energy into this little project. It's a small gadget, merely the size of your palm, but its impact would've been huge. It's multifunctional, designed to help agents hack into databases, unlock different kinds of locks, even scan rooms for traps.

Of course, you mainly had Natasha in mind when designing it. She's complained about similar issues a couple times in the past, and the idea struck you when you were lying in bed together.

Whatever. Looks like you'll have to keep working. In the end, it doesn't matter whether you put ten weeks or ten months into it — as long as it'll end up making her life safer and easier.

"You're nerding out again", Natasha says, suddenly behind you, and presses a kiss to your exposed neck. Your cheeks flare up. "I'm leaving."

"A goodbye, maybe?", you say, turning to face her halfway. She pauses, then cups your jaw with one hand and puts the other on the small of your back.

She's not used to this yet. This having-someone-to-say-goodbye-to, tender thing. Having someone who wants that goodbye, and the obligatory kiss that follows. Someone who'll wait in the hangar when she returns. Someone who'll check up on her.

How couldn't you, though? The reason why you're doing it is standing right in front of you. You'd be an idiot not to care like this.

"Don't go all sentimental on me", she mumbles, finally kissing you.

It's softer this time, lingering even after she's already parted from you. You walk her to the jet, where the pilot is waiting already. Another kiss, a bit quicker, then she turns around. You watch her leave, red curls bouncing slightly as she climbs into the jet.

. . .

SHIELD's hallways are never quiet, never silent, never empty. There's always someone wandering about — whether it be security or agents getting from one place to another.

It's not different tonight. You're walking through hallways, boots thudding against concrete floors and your hands tucked into your vest. Comparing you to a dog would be stupid, but you're not too unlike Hachi in that moment.

You round a corner, greet a fellow agent and check the time. 2.40am, so Natasha should be arriving in about ten minutes. You run your hand through your hair and step into the hangar, where Fury is waiting already.

You give him a quick side eye. "Another one of those?"

"Immediate debriefing. Not much time, Y/L/N." He raises his eyebrows. "What're you up for this early?"

"Nat", you say evasively. "I always wait for her."

He nods. It's not that your private relationship isn't known around here. You've been seen kissing, sneaking into each other's workspaces, flirting over lunch and leaving together a bunch of times. But Fury always seems to assume that it just isn't that serious. That it can't be that serious.

You know what he bases that assumption on. It's not fair, or right, but you can't change the mind of a man who's as stubborn as a mule.

He'll always see Natasha as the person he was first introduced to. The girl from the Red Room, who wouldn't let anyone get too close to her. The one with the trauma, the one who built walls too high to climb and too thick to take down.

It's bullshit. You know it is because you've seen the proof. You've held it in your hands, you've seen it in a way no one else is allowed to. Which is exactly why you won't tell him about it, though. There are different ways in which you can protect someone.

You hear the spinning of engine blades, still muffled but slowly increasing in decibel level. As the jet nears the hangar, the sound gets less and less bearable. If it were only slightly louder, it'd cause you pain.

You walk down the stairs as soon as the jet has touched down. The moment Natasha steps out, though, your stomach turns.

Valerie, in all her glory. Straight black hair, a little nose piercing, her hand resting on your girlfriend's lower back and steadying her. She mumbles something and laughs before Natasha can even react properly.

In that moment, you're glad you left your taser in your office. Giving her a quick little shock probably wouldn't sit too well with Fury, and you're pretty sure Natasha wouldn't love it, either.

Thankfully, she spots you before you can say anything stupid. She's next to you in the blink of an eye, smiling softly, secretively, and squeezing your hand. She doesn't dare do much else, but that's fine. Just like that, Hachi is back home.

You wrap your arms around her and kiss the top of her head. Her head rests against your chest, if only briefly.

"How was it?", you mumble, ignoring the fact that the Director is trying to talk to the woman wrapped up in you. She tips her face up, letting your lips brush against her nose.

"Exhausting and painful", she replies, voice soft.

"No Ward?"

"Careful there."

"Can't blame me for asking." You glance in Valerie's direction pointedly. Natasha pinches your side. "What's she doing here?"

Natasha sighs and kisses your cheek. A rare moment of PDA meant to calm you down, but it ends up having the opposite effect. Valerie gives you a look that's entirely too long. You frown and turn back to Natasha again, your arms tightening around her.

Your little moment gets disrupted by none other than Fury. He pats your back with a little too much force, so you let out a long-suffering exhale and let go of her. Right, the debriefing. Another hour spent here, waiting.

You trail through the hallways, following Natasha like a guard dog. The debriefing room is familiar, with its black leather swivel chairs and long table. A fancy high tech screen hanging on the wall, a projector, the shutters closed so that not a single photon can escape.

You sit next to her. Obviously. She raises her eyebrows at you, but truthfully, she should be glad you didn't just say 'screw it' and pull you into her lap.

Fury stares at you like you just shapeshifted into an actual dog. You weren't part of the mission. All you did was prep her gear and fit her suit. You don't belong here. Yet you waltzed in like you do, and no one seems to be complaining.

Grinning faintly, you put your legs up on the table and cross your arms behind your head. You nod lazily.

"Feel free to start, Sir."

Another stare. A sigh, long and loud. He rubs his forehead and finally turns on the projector. A bunch of mission jargon, accompanied by a map and a few pictures, appear on the screen.

An hour turns into two. You leave the debrief room with your arm around her shoulders. You're tired, but she's drained. You know she'd never admit to it — you know she tends to push herself no matter what; even on the brink of death, she'd keep fighting — but you can see the signs.

The blinking, slightly more frequent. The redness in her eyes. The way her voice softens into a mumble.

She barely says anything on the way home. But as soon as you've entered her apartment, she pulls you into the bedroom with her. You're the one who fitted her suit, who made sure it's like a second layer of skin on her. You know every strap and zipper, and you undo them all blindly.

Your vest is shrugged off. It lands on the floor. Boots are toed off and kicked aside. Bodies fall onto the mattress together.

Right as you're kissing down her neck, hands wandering over her body, you feel something that shouldn't be there. A bandage, around her thigh, with dried blood on it.

First, you stare. Then, Natasha puts her fingers under your chin and tips your head up.

"You know what I think about you doing that."

You almost grimace. She hates it when people stare at her wounds and scars. It's not just a pet peeve — it's a deeply rooted insecurity. It's only a small part of what she tends to cover.

In that moment, though, you don't care. Because you know what Valerie was for on this mission. She was there to watch Natasha's back, to make sure she wouldn't get hurt.

"She failed", you say, sitting up. Natasha sighs and rests her upper body on her forearms. "She had one job-"

"And she made a mistake."

"One that could've killed you!"

"Do you really think I'm that easy to kill? Trust me, she's helpful, but she's not the reason the mission was successful."

You snort derisively. Not because of her, but because she thinks she has to remind you. Of course you know all of this. There's a reason as to why Natasha is so feared, why Fury values her so much. But you're looking for things that'll help you win this argument.

It's not really an argument. You're just pissed at her ex.

"I'm aware", you say, fingers brushing against the bandage again. "Still, you know...what's the point of her joining if you end up getting shot at, anyway?”

Natasha raises her eyebrows, silently challenging you. Do you really want to hear this?

"Oh, come on."

"You're ridiculous."

"Okay, maybe I am", you concede. "You're still the one with a bullet wound, though."

She flops backwards onto the mattress. You sigh and crawl on top of her, hands braced next to her head, and kiss her.

She grasps the front of your top, lips pressing against yours firmly, essentially shutting you up.

Well, it shuts you up for exactly five hours. The second you're back at the headquarters in the morning, you drop Natasha off and then make your way to the gym. Boots thud, your steps heavy and determined.

You push open the door with such force that it slams against the wall, but Valerie doesn't bat an eye. She's on the treadmill, warming up, her hair in a sleek ponytail and her clothes tight. There's a band around her wrist that measures her vitals.

She barely glances at you. You stomp to her side and tug the earphones out of her ears. Another glance, slightly annoyed.

"What?”

"What do you mean, 'what'? You're the reason my girlfriend has to take antibiotics!"

She stops the treadmill and leans on one of the handrails. You'd love to wipe that look off her face — smug, unimpressed, almost daring. You used to be naive. You used to believe that no one could be that petty. Natasha's ex managed to prove you wrong.

"She's fine", she says, sounding like she's explaining the concept of love to a toddler. You clench your jaw. "She's not even in med bay. They sent her home."

"'Fine'? She got shot at! You were there to prevent it, and what did you do?"

"I tried", she replies curtly. She straightens back up and turns the treadmill on again, but you slam your fist on the stop-button. "What's with you and those anger issues?"

"You tried? You don't go there to try! You go there to do your fucking job!"

Valerie raises her eyebrows at you. You've never been nice to her, no, but you've never snapped at her like this. Truthfully, she thinks it's ridiculous. It makes her wonder why Natasha bothers being with you, but that's a thought she's not going to voice unless she has to.

"She's alive", she says, leaning back against the other handrail this time. Her arms cross in front of her chest.

"Oh, and that's enough? It's the bare minimum! I need to be able to trust you that you'll protect her!"

"No, you don't", she says. "Nat trusts me, and that's enough."

You almost flip the treadmill she's on, but that'd be overkill, so you lean over the handrail and grip it tightly.

"Not enough, apparently. Otherwise-"

"Agent Y/L/N."

You turn around, blinking. As soon as you see Fury's face, you almost roll your eyes. Of course. Who else would it be but the man who could fire you.

You put some space between you and Valerie to make it seem like you weren't about to chew her out.

"Yes, Director?", you ask, trying your best to seem normal.

"Romanoff's asking for you."

Maybe you should be embarrassed that those few words are enough to make you perk up, but honestly, you don't care. She's asking for you, not Valerie. When she needs to talk, she talks to you. You're jealous, and that's fine, but deep down you know there's no reason to be.

You shoot Valerie a pointed glance, then leave the gym.

. . .

"You're insane", she says, combing her fingers through your hair.

You're in the rec room, which is only empty because almost everyone is at lunch. Natasha, on the other hand, received a sweet little text that made her tug you away from the cafeteria.

She's straddling your lap, hands all over you. In the sweatpants and tank top she's wearing, you can barely focus. Too bad there are security cameras all over this place. The storage room falls flat as well. 'Too dirty', she said. 'So much dust.'

Though, if you hook up at work once, it might affect your performance for the rest of your career.

"She had it coming", you say stubbornly. Natasha raises her eyebrows. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Noticed what, exactly?"

You shift under her. She clicks her tongue and cups your face. "May as well tell me."

If only it were that easy. You doubt she hasn't noticed how Valerie stares at her, how she still seeks her out, how she wants what's clearly taken. You don't have ownership over her — obviously not, god forbid — but you're selfish. You know you are. If you could keep her to yourself, you would.

"The point is-"

"The point is you're overthinking this", she cuts you off. "Val and I are on good terms..."

(The nickname makes you fume. You bite your tongue.)

"...and I don't need to end up in a spat with a coworker." She pushes her finger into your chest. "And neither do you."

No reply. You stare at her, tongue between your teeth, a million unsaid things on your tongue. You're not sure if she hasn't realized or if she simply doesn't care, but you do have your reasons. Valerie is annoying, and she's petty, and she hovers around Natasha like she has any right to do so.

You don't like this feeling, either — this all-consuming jealousy. It's not something you're used to. But something about that woman just drives you up the wall.

"Fine", you mutter. "Fine, I'll let it go."

"You better."

"I still don't like her."

"Fair. I guess."

Natasha pecks your lips and scoots off your lap. You watch her grab the coffee pot and pour a generous amount. Sugar, no milk. Back to work it is.

You pick her up once you're both done with your shifts. Arm wrapped around her shoulders, you make sure to walk past Valerie's desk on your way out. She doesn't look at you, but her typing on the keyboard speeds up.

"Ha", you mumble.

"What was that?"

You shake your head and kiss her ear. She squirms at the feeling.

"Doesn't matter. I'm happy now, angel."

. . .

"Whose idea was this?"

"Hill", Natasha says, reapplying lipstick. You're in the elevator that leads to the building's top floor, but you're not here for work. It's Fury's birthday, and apparently Maria Hill decided that the grumpy old man deserves a proper celebration.

You're leaning against the wall of the elevator, hands in the pockets of your slacks, an absentminded look in your eyes. A gift is tucked under your arm, your shirt is open at the top, but it's not your reflection that's got you this distracted. It's Natasha, looking at herself in the mirror and gently blotting her lips. Hair freshly curled and dress hugging all her curves, she looks unfairly sinful for an office celebration.

"Doubt he even wants a party", you mumble, eyes trailing lower. You exhale quietly. "That dress is a blessing, you know."

"So dramatic", she says, smiling faintly. "I'm not complaining. I want to see him get drunk. Think that’ll change his grumpy attitude?"

You hum. The elevator dings and comes to a stop, so Natasha links her arm around yours. You step into the hallway, her heels clicking with every step. You can already hear the music and feel the bass thump.

“Nothing could change it”, you say, eyes on her. She tilts her head. “A real Fury the Grouch.”

“Sesame Street?”

“I babysat my niece while you were gone. Don’t ask.”

Natasha laughs, the sound soft and raspy and genuine. She tugs you into an empty corner, hands finding the collar of your shirt, and brings her lips up to yours.

“Good thing you’re not a grouch. And even better that I know exactly how to turn a grumpy you back into a happy you.”

“It’s quite easy”, you affirm. Your hands slide to the curve of her back, keeping her close. “It involves you and the disposal of a dress.”

“Charmer”, she whispers.

Cheeks reddened, you smile. You lean in, slowly, and steal that kiss you’ve been waiting for since you stepped out of your apartment.

She tastes like mint and something entirely hers. Her fingers grasp your collar tightly, her skin is warm under your palms. She nods her head to deepen the kiss, one hand finding the back of your neck.

“Romanoff, Y/L/N! You really have no shame, do you?”

You pull away with a quiet groan and shoot a glare at the offender. Of course it’s Ward, because who else would it be but SHIELD’s most annoying agent.

Natasha doesn't even glance at him. She just smiles at the sight of your mouth, smudged with her lipstick, and swipes her thumb across your lips.

"Not your color", she says thoughtfully.

"Agreed", Ward says, putting a tray of horsd'œuvres down next to you. “You guys hungry? Probably not, since you’re eating each other’s faces. The salmon’s good, though.”

“Can you creep someone else out?”, you mutter.

Natasha smiles at you, which is enough to soften your attitude a little. Ward rolls his eyes.

“I’m just saying, Fury gets uncomfortable when someone holds hands. But keep the girl-on-girl action going, I’m not complaining.”

“I’ll shoot you”, you say, gripping Natasha’s waist.

He lifts his hands. “You can try.”

“That’s enough”, your girlfriend mumbles, patting your side. “Stay here for a moment, hm? I’m getting us something to drink.”

You hum reluctantly, staying in your spot against the wall. With your hands losing the purpose of holding Natasha’s waist, you have no other choice but to tuck them into your pockets.

She’s already halfway to the bar, hips swaying and red curls moving with every step. You sigh quietly and turn your head. The way you scan the crowd isn’t deliberate, but it’s purposeful. It’s you making sure that nobody is staring too hard.

You’re fine with Natasha getting looked at. Somewhat fine, that is. You know she’s gorgeous, and that others can see that too. Humans can’t help it — if something’s beautiful, they stare at it.

Or avert their eyes. Which is what happened when you first met her. But knowing you wouldn’t get anywhere with that attitude, you’d forced yourself to get your shit together. Thankfully, you didn’t make an idiot out of yourself. It worked out.

You still remember it all. First dates, leaning against bars and sipping whiskey. Getting to know her. Sleeping with her. The tingling feeling in your stomach whenever your phone made a sound — a text? A call?

That hasn’t changed. You still hope it’s her behind every phone call, every text.

Natasha leans over the bar and mumbles her order to the bartender. He nods and turns around. Valerie slides closer. Just like that, the mood shifts. It’s like a storm rolled in.

You’re somewhere between making a beeline for the bar and staying right where you are. After what happened last week, you’re sure she wouldn’t appreciate an unwarranted interruption by her girlfriend right now.

They’re talking, that’s it. Just a brief chat. They’re co-workers, after all. Friends. Exes. It’d be selfish of you not to let her have this, right? Even if they’re connected by history.

But Valerie’s getting closer. If you were in Natasha’s spot, you’d probably feel her breath and smell the cigarette she smoked.

You subtly feel for the gun tucked into your belt. It’s always there. Not a moment of peace for you, but you’ve gotten used to it.

Natasha smiles. Valerie tilts her head, scoots closer. Your heart beats faster.

Natasha gets up and turns around. Valerie stares at her, blinking. You quickly push off the wall to meet her halfway.

She wraps her arm around yours neck and holds the glass to your lips, tipping it. Vodka burns in your throat, your eyes water, and you pull away enough to kiss her. She hums, sucking the remaining alcohol off your tongue.

“What was that for?”, you mumble, rubbing her side.

“Thought you needed it. Tried to stop you from breaking her nose.”

“Oh, you…” You huff. “Alright.”

“You’re everything but subtle”, she reveals, putting the empty shot glass aside. “And shooting her really isn’t necessary, baby.”

You roll your eyes. Natasha smirks and tilts her head, nose brushing against your jaw. Her hand cups the side of your face. Your cheek feels warm beneath the pad of her thumb.

“I don’t know why you’re this chill”, you mutter.

“Because I know that Val can be sad and desperate”, she whispers. Her hand moves to your shirt, and she undoes another button. Palm against your chest, she feels your steady heartbeat. “And it’s you who’s taking me home tonight.”

You put your hand on her wrist, holding her hand in place. Your eyes slowly trail back to the bar, to Valerie; and when your eyes meet, she knocks back another shot.

She's looked pissed off before, but never like this. Time to amp up the heat.

"Taking you home, huh?", you mumble, glancing at Natasha's lips. "You're optimistic."

Natasha raises her eyebrows at you. Her hand, still on your chest, slides back up and into your hair. "What're you saying?"

"I'm saying..." You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I don’t want to wait. Let me touch you."

She exhales. Her head tilts, her eyes search yours. What you’re doing is painfully obvious, but she can’t deny the thrill your words send through her. The idea is risky, but appealing.

You, her. Hidden in a dark hallway. Dress hiked up, lipstick smudged, your hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

Would you keep her quiet? Or would you try and do the opposite?

Your hand moves down her body and to her backside. You give it a light squeeze, and she gives you another glance.

Her hand grabs yours. You sneak away from the party and into the hallway.

Before you even manage to push her up against the wall, she's already pulling you closer. Your lips crash into hers, desperate and needy, and she clutches your collar. Your hands fumble with her dress, bunching it up around her hips.

The party is still in hearing distance. A pop song is playing instead of whatever techno music was booming earlier. You hear voices, muffled and blending together. Natasha’s lips press against your shoulder, your own trail kisses down her neck.

“Don’t leave a mark”, she warns, breathless, when you suck on her collarbone.

“Why?” You pull away enough to see the hickey blooming on her skin. “Looks good.”

She moans quietly and tugs you back in. Your fingers slide between her thighs, to the lacy underwear she’s got on, and nudge the fabric aside.

Moonlight seeps in through the window. You taste alcohol and mint. Wet heat envelops your fingers, and her back arches. You thrust in deeper, all the way you your knuckles, and kiss her through it. She pulls away, panting into your open mouth.

"Fuck."

"Don't make a sound", you mumble, peppering her jaw with kisses. "You'll get us caught."

A whine. Your free hand grips her thigh, hikes it up. Having better access now, you add a finger. She almost falls apart, and her moans and whines echo in the empty hallway.

A door opens and shuts. You angle your body a little, still fingering her relentlessly.

Butterflies and tingles, legs trembling and breath uneven. You hear footsteps, quiet and muffled. Your hand is drenched, her underwear is sticking to her thighs.

Another whiny moan. You shush her, curling your fingers and pushing them deeper.

"Not a noise, love. Or I'll make you come again. Want to go back in there shaking?"

The footsteps are approaching you. Natasha writhes, and you wrap your arm around her thighs to keep her in place. When she comes, it's loud and barely restrained. You laugh against her neck, breathless, and let her ride out her orgasm.

She slumps against the wall. You pull out and lick the excess moisture off your fingers. She watches you, dazed and spent.

"Back to the party?", you ask, already adjusting her dress with one hand.

"A moment", she mumbles, closing her eyes. "Good luck explaining this to Fury."

"Huh?"

She nods at the ceiling. You look up and huff. Security cameras, of course. Everywhere. Filming and remembering every moment, every gasp, every movement of your hand beneath her dress. You curse quietly.

"Goddammit."

"This was your idea", she says, adjusting her dress and smoothing it out. "Have fun dealing with him."

You roll your eyes and kiss her flushed cheek. Natasha's managed to go from looking wrecked to almost normal. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair a tad more disheveled, her cheeks still got a hint of color in them, but nobody would suspect that it's from anything other than a makeout-session.

Well, except for whoever checks the security cameras. You bite your lip when you realize just how much they'll see.

It's an odd feeling. Yes, they'll see way too much — but they'll also see you with her.

Natasha fixes her lipstick, wipes the smudges off your mouth with a napkin, then you return to the party. Of course, almost nobody noticed. They're too caught up in chatter and alcohol. Fury looks like he's about two minutes away from exploding. You can't blame the poor guy; he's surrounded by a bunch of drunk agents trying to get him to dance the Cha Cha Slide.

Valerie's ignoring you, but in that one way that lets you know she's trying her hardest to do so. She knocks back another shot, her jaw set.

You smile to yourself and let Natasha lead you further into the room. Once you've reached the middle, she wraps her arms around your neck and presses a quick kiss to your swollen lips.

"Round two in my office later?"

"Don't you dare", she murmurs.

"Shame."

The look on her face is unimpressed, but her lips twitch. You hug her closer to your chest, still swaying in spot. You dip your head and kiss her shoulder.

"Let me show you off", you mumble, running your hands over her back. Natasha smiles now, her face buried against your neck.

"You are, dumbass."

You hum. You can't argue, you are showing her off. You pulled her into the center of the room, the center of the universe, and pulled her into a slow dance that probably would've had her running a few years ago.

Her head tilts slightly, resting against your shoulder. She stays silent for a while, lost in everything happening around her.

The party, now a bit more quiet. The music, having changed to a slower rhythm. You, holding her.

The contrast between the thing in the hallway and the dance here is drastic enough to give her whiplash. But she's content, happy, silently and quietly. She's unlike you in that regard — no need to make a big scene of it. Keep things as lowkey as possible. Not everyone needs to know.

(Two days later, you get called into Fury's office because the person checking the security camera footage complained about emotional damage. You get banned from the hallways. Natasha's belief to keep things private is reinforced. All you hear is that your office is still an option.)

. . .

You're on the floor, cross-legged, Natasha's suit on the ground. A lightweight Kevlar blend you designed, adjusting to every movement. You straighten out the fabric and check for damage.

"The side is singed", you comment. "An explosion?"

"You don't want to know."

You shake your head and get up. Natasha unzips her jacket and peels it off, the tight fabric revealing creamy skin you're definitely not supposed to be staring at.

Her pants follow, then her shirt. You crouch in front of her and help her step into the lower half. You tug the fabric over her legs, smoothing it out as you go.

It's been a while since you started doing this. You should be used to it. But your hands brush her calves, her thighs, and your ears burn.

"Cold hands", Natasha comments.

"Stop squirming."

"Can't blame me, your hands are very cold."

You look up, jaw set. "Just...don't move."

She smirks as she lets you help peel the fabric over her arms. You grab the zipper and pull it up, slowly straightening up as you go.

When you're face to face and you've got her all zipped up, you don't let go. Natasha hums, watching you. You hesitate one last time — the quicker you're done, the sooner she's leaving for her mission. Again.

"You're staring", she mumbles. You let go and turn around, leading her into the weapons storage room. Tight quarters, as you barely fit in there together. But you make it work.

"I should be used to this", you admit, scanning the shelves. Natasha reaches over you to grab a gun, her front brushing your back. "But I'm not."

"Neither am I."

You grab her Widow's Bites and a couple blades. You turn around and fit the bracelets with an automatic look. Then you kneel in front of her, slide her belt into place, adjust it accordingly. The thigh straps follow — lord have mercy — and you tuck her weapons in. You tap each of the concealed items: the blades along her ribs, the guns, the taser.

Natasha brushes her fingers through your hair and makes you look up. She crouches, breathing more heavily, her lips right in front of yours. You smell perfume and gunpowder, leather and shampoo, cleaning solvents. Her breath is hot against your lips when she speaks.

"Blades are lighter."

"Shaved an ounce off", you mumble, blinking. "Makes it easier."

"Always thinking about everything", she replies. Her lips meet yours halfway and she kisses you with her fingers tangled in your hair. You grab her waist and keep her close, knees still on the ground, head tipped back slightly. It's warm, slow, enough to make you wish you could cancel the damn mission.

She pulls away. You clear your throat.

"I'm keeping an eye on Valerie."

"Oh no, you're not."

"She doesn't have a clue what she's doing", you say, getting up. Natasha sighs. "You got shot!"

"Her responsibility is to support me as best as she can and focus on the mission. She's not my babysitter, Y/N."

She turns around and picks up a scope. You narrow your eyes, silently trying to both find an argument and figure out whether you designed the gadget she grabbed. It's not the matte black one you handed to her a couple months ago. It's more clunky, less practical, the magnification range is probably less optimal as well.

She turns, the scope in her hands, and looks at you. You raise your eyebrows.

"You're sure that's the one you want?"

Natasha tilts her head, idly toying with the scope she's holding. "What's wrong with this one?"

You frown, irritated, and gesture at it. "Well, first of all, the magnification range is not nearly as good. Its system is also outdated. The reticle doesn't auto-adjust, which means that if the light conditions are less than optimal, you'll suffer from it. The thermal and night vision are also pathetic. I tested it, and it's no good."

"Sounds fine to me", she drawls. You narrow your eyes.

"Babe", you say, already turning around to grab the scope you personally designed from the shelf, "I spent half a year tinkering with this. I burnt my fingertips off twice."

"Appreciate the dedication", she says. You swap the scope out yourself, not breaking eye contact. "And the confidence, too."

"I mean it. This one's better. Ergonomic, biometric lock, the casing is great, and the internal shock buffers? Even Fury was impressed."

"You sound in love."

You bite back an 'I am', because she knows you are. Not with the damn scope, though. The scope is the result of being in love, and she knows it. But that's no reason to make her even more cocky.

You nudge her out of the storage room and lock it behind you. Safety measure — no need for anyone to get into her private stash. Even Fury needs permission, but in a less official way.

Natasha leans against the wall and watches you clean up. You wipe the workbench with a towel, arms flexing in a way that makes her wonder why you aren't joining. You fit in, she knows that already.

Then again, it'd make her job even more terrifying. She'd spent every second worrying about you.

"Five minutes", she reminds you.

"Right", you mumble. "Be careful. Make sure Valerie's doing her job or I'm doing it for her next time."

She wants to argue that you have no idea what it's like on the field. How dangerous it is, how much it differs from what you do every day. But you have been on the field before, years ago, when you were just starting out. Your talent has always been weapons and everything high tech, but when you got injured, you had no choice but to switch to what you're doing now.

You're good at it. Better than at field work. But she knows you sometimes miss it. Specifically those few months you got to spend alongside her, right after you met and before everything turned more intimate.

You can't protect her by being there anymore. But you can design tools that will make her job safer.

"I have your scope", she says, voice softer. "I'll be fine."

You can't help but preen at her words. You've been praised for your inventions many times, but it's only her opinion that really counts. When she says something, she means it.

"Be careful", you say. "The scope's good, but..."

"But it all boils down to the person using it", she finishes, grabbing her duffel bag. "I'll be fine."

"I know."

"Good."

"We'll stay in touch?"

Natasha steps closer to kiss you. It's fleeting, brief, and you know why. Quick goodbyes leave dry eyes. She'll be back soon, but what she does is risky, and you're never not scared that any goodbye could be your last one.

She steps out. You've watch her leave.

. . .

This time, you don't have to wait that long to see her.

Something goes wrong during the mission. Not horribly wrong — there are no accidents, no injuries, which is a relief. But one of the prototypes, a crucial one, malfunctions in the field. It's so tailored that nobody else can fix it, and since you're the one who designed and understands it, you're flown out.

The helicopter touches down in a remote area of the Catskills. You adjust your suit before jumping out and landing on thick grass. The forest is cold, the area foggy. Leaves that were once green have started to turn red. You exhale quietly.

A winding pathway leads to a small cabin. The exterior is hardly impressive, but the inside hides an entire bunker and an underground facility. Clutching your duffel bag, you walk towards the front door.

You're welcomed by a man in his 30s. Hair already graying, jeans, a flannel shirt. He stares at you and you stare at him. You can smell his stupid cologne.

"Want to let me in?"

"Who the fuck-"

"It's Y/N", a familiar voice says. Natasha. You can hear her from somewhere in the cabin. "Let her in."

"Oh", he says, stepping aside. "Right. The girlfriend. They told us you'd come by."

You push past him, not saying another word, and make your way into the cabin. Natasha emerges from downstairs, her hand on the railing. Her hair is curly and tied back, and she's wearing one of your old band hoodies. The sight is enough to let you forget about Mr. Wannabe-Lumberjack.

You meet her halfway. She hesitates, then decides it's worth it and leans in. You reciprocate the kiss and cup her cheek. She tastes like black coffee. It's way too short, but you can't really complain — you feel like you're being watched, whether that's actually true or not.

"Who's the guy?", you ask, following her into the lab.

"Agent Mintz", she says. "Formerly a lieutenant in the US army. Did you bring your little toolbox?"

"Little", you mutter, lifting the toolbox to test its weight. "This thing weighs 30 pounds. Lieutenant, you said?"

She flicks on a light and leads you to a workbench. You haul the toolbox up onto the top and open it. Natasha slides the prototype, a combat neural link, in front of you. You jack a tether into the side port and hook it up to a tablet to diagnose the problem.

"Tried to guess my body fat percentage", she says casually, right as you're running a scan. You pause. "He was off by one percent.”

You exhale, your fingers drumming against the surface of the workbench. "Of course."

"Very observant."

"Mhm", you mutter, looking at the data on the tablet. The prototype is desynced — her muscle memory has been outpacing the link's adaption rate. "Sounds like a great dude."

"He designs tech as well", she says, leaning on the workbench next to you. Her head is turned toward you, her voice softer and more sultry. "You know the GhostSuit?"

You bite your tongue and straighten up to brush Natasha's hair aside. "Hoodie off."

She hums and strips so you can access the link housing. You rearrange the central circuit array with tweezers and a soldering pen. You curse when your hand accidentally jerks.

"Burned your fingers again?"

"Crap", you hiss, shaking your hand. "What's this Mintz dude's issue, anyway?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, your body fat percentage? Is he kidding?"

"Pretty sure he wasn't."

Footsteps, on the staircase behind you. You whip around and glare. You should've expected it to be him — there's nobody else around — but his presence is still an unpleasant reminder that you aren't alone.

Arms crossed and tattoos showing, he leans against the railing and nods at Natasha. "Combat neural link?"

"Very much so."

"I designed it", you mutter, starting to re-upload the stored neural combat data. "Specifically tailored for her."

"Of course", he says, grinning. "Only the best for Ms. Romanoff."

You roll your eyes and plug in a thumb drive. Your hands brush over her shoulders.

"There", you say, ignoring Mintz's presence. "Want to test it a little? Just some quick movements."

Natasha nods, the neural link facing you. It's nothing huge, just a few kicks and balance shifts, but the prototype's lights glow smoothly again.

Agent Mintz raises his eyebrows. He steps closer, inspecting the little device, and almost runs his fingers over it.

You stare at the floor. You're not going to do anything — Natasha will break the guy's wrist if he crosses a line, and you stepping in would be unnecessary. You turn around and start to put your stuff back into the toolbox.

"Impressive", he says. "Doesn't take away from your beauty, either."

An explosion makes them both flinch. You give Natasha an innocent look and gesture at the test grenade that 'accidentally' rolled off the workbench, now on the floor and releasing smoke.

"Oops."

Natasha purses her lips to stop herself from smiling. Mintz just clenches his jaw, clears his throat, and steps aside.

"Alright", he says. "I'll see you later."

He leaves, but you don't turn around. You keep cleaning up, hands moving swiftly, until you feel her mouth right next to your ear.

"What was that?"

"Nothing", you say, closing the toolbox. Natasha's hands sneak under your zip-up hoodie, fingers digging into your abs. "Happy accident or whatever."

"You're not slick."

Your mouth opens and then promptly shuts again. Her lips are against your jaw, the kisses wet and warm. It's only been a couple days, but god, you missed this. Your bed's too empty when she's not around.

Instead of arguing, you let yourself melt. Even if just for a minute, you do. Her body's pressed up against yours, her touch familiar. She smells like your perfume, which confirms your suspicions that she's the one who grabbed it from the shelf in your bathroom.

The tech, the clothes, the perfume — all yours. You wonder if there's a part of her she hasn't claimed as yours yet.

She turns you to face her, her hands staying under your hoodie. Only then does she wrap her arms around your neck and pull you closer to kiss you. You hold her to you, nodding your head to deepen the kiss. Her heart beats faster, and so does yours, but you have a significant advantage — you're not attached to a link with stress-response sensors.

The tablet lights up. You glance at it, briefly pulling away from the kiss, and bite back a smirk. The device logged her rapidly accelerating heartbeat, her changing vitals.

"You know it records this stuff, right?", you mumble. "Heart rate, adrenaline spikes. Practically broadcasting your- ouch."

"Don't."

"You didn't have to twist my ear like that, you know."

Natasha laughs quietly, her lips brushing against yours. She doesn't feel sorry. Not at all. "That's what you get for embarrassing me."

"I'm not the one embarrassing you", you murmur, smiling, and kiss the corner of her mouth. She hums. "The device is."

"And who designed that device?"

You shake your head, but she cups your face and pulls you into another kiss. When the neural link sends another signal, she reaches behind her neck and tugs it off. It gives you enough time to grab her and spin around to set her down on the workbench.

Her thighs wrap around your waist. You mouth at her neck, hands slowly bunching up her hoodie around her torso. Slender fingers tangle in your hair, tug at the strands, and you move your lips back up to hers. She moans into your mouth.

"You do that one purpose", you mumble whenever you take a short break from kissing her stupid. Natasha hums against your lips. "To get a rise out of me."

"It works", she says, using her calves to pull you closer and closer. Your pelvis creates friction between her legs. "I wish I could put one of those neural links in you. See what your body does."

"Cruel", you mutter, pecking her lips. Your hand pushes past the waistband of her sweatpants. Her breathing gets heavier. "You already know what it'd say."

Your fingers find their target. You kiss down her neck, biting and nipping, and slowly thrust into her. Right as her hips buck against your hand, you hear someone hurry down the stairs.

You don't even flinch. You just sigh into her neck, hand still buried in her sweatpants. You're not stopping this unless someone's dying.

"What now?"

Mintz stares at you, frozen in place. He's uncomfortable, so much so that he keeps making himself even more uncomfortable by staring. Natasha bites her lips and grabs your wrist, guiding you out of her pants again.

"There's, uh, movement. We got ten minutes. Suit up."

You sigh and pull away. Natasha slides off the workbench and grabs the neural link again so you can attach it. You work fast, brushing hair aside and attaching it to the link housing again. She turns and reaches for her suit, and you pack your things.

She looks at you and hesitates. The injury, the accident, is still fresh in her mind. It may have been years since that happened, but she can't forget it that easily.

Blood on pavement, in your mouth. Coughs that sounded way too scary. Your hand shaking in hers, your entire body trembling.

You tilt your head. She's thinking, probably so much so that she's lost in whatever train of thought she's following. Natasha shakes her head when she realizes that she's gone quiet.

"It's fine."

You nod and look at Mintz. "Keep an eye on her and the neural link. She shouldn't go out with it untested in live combat, but it's a little late for that."

He shrugs, rubbing his jaw and starting to look for his gear. "Then go with her."

Natasha immediately looks at him. "What?"

"Yeah. Hell, no one knows how to fix that thing. Only she does. If shit goes sideways..."

"It won't", she interrupts him. "She knows what she's doing. The link is fine."

"Nat", you say, making her look at you. She blinks and averts her eyes again. "Hey. I'll be careful. Besides, it might be safer if I join."

"I don't want you out there."

"Well, too late." You walk up to the storage space with the suits and dig through heaps of old clothes. "Better be safe than sorry."

"Trust us", Agent Mintz says. He straps a knife to his thigh and adjusts his suit. Natasha shoots him a glare, her own suit zipped up halfway. "I've got overwatch. But if something happens with the link-"

"Nothing's going to happen", Natasha insists.

You reach for a vest and slip into it. "Don't be stubborn, baby. Doesn't even look good on you."

"This isn't a joke."

"Never said it was." You step closer to zip up her suit. She briefly closes her eyes. "Let me help you suit up. It's basically tradition."

She doesn't say anything as you step away again to swap your shoes for some combat boots. You reach out your hand, the set to her jaw cracks for a split second, and you lead her up the stairs and outside.

. . .

Natasha notices the neural link misfire when she gets out of the van.

Minutes ago, you were adjusting it. You brushed her hair aside, checked the prototype, made sure it's up to date and connected to your tablet. You seemed certain. You were, probably, otherwise you never would've let her out of the vehicle. The mission may be important, but she knows you'd never test her luck like that.

She jumps out of the van and approaches the building. SHIELD's abandoned black site, sitting in the middle of the forest. Not something they thought would be targeted, but ex-HYDRA agents found out about some data drive that was apparently forgotten her, and now they're trying to steal it.

As soon as she sneaks into a corridor, walking close to the wall, she notices an issue. She doesn't tell you anything, but she feels it. She feels it misfire in motion, feels the little glitch. It's not supposed to happen, and she knows it.

Too late now. There's not enough time to be running back to the van and get it fixed.

"You inside?", you ask via comms.

"Corridor on the east side of the building, approaching a staircase. Any news?"

"Copy. Sir Lieutenant is in position. Do they train them in the army for this kind of stuff?"

"No", he suddenly speaks. "We usually just die."

"Oh really? And you're still here?"

"Y/N, I am begging you", Natasha hisses. You shut your mouth. "Focus. Both of you."

"Sorry, babe.”

Your mumbled response would've been enough to make her smile in just about any other situation, but right now, she's too on edge to react. The neural link glitching, the shuffling noises, the fact that you're outside, in a van and basically alone.

She keeps her back pressed against the wall. Mintz mumbles instructions into her ear — go left, down the hallway, go right, down the stairs — and you're checking the neural link's feedback via your tablet.

Someone pops out from behind a staircase. Natasha, not having to think twice, ducks right as he shoots. It's combat, and she knows what shes doing. She's been trained for this. The neural link usually helps, too.

This time, it doesn't. What it does is worse than it not helping.

Right as she's about to kick him and twist the gun out of his hands, her shoulder locks. The neural link misfires, again, lasting only a split second but still long enough to almost get her shot. She curses quietly.

You stare at the tablet, unable to believe your eyes for a moment. You're not sure what happened, but very briefly, everything glitched and you lost signal. Now that it's back, though, Natasha's vitals have spiked.

Which doesn't have to mean the worst, obviously. The vitals spiking is normal, especially during missions. But the glitch? The signal going poof? Bad signs.

"Natasha", you say, already desperately tapping on the screen to see if you can do anything, "what happened?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it. I found the vault."

"Okay", you say, packing your stuff and hopping out of the van. Into the corridor, go left, down the hallway, etc. Thank god you listened to Mintz as he gave her the instructions. "Be careful."

"I said don't worry."

"You said don't worry about it", you mutter. A gun in one hand and your most important tools in the other, you're easy meat. "What do you see?"

"Desks", she says, eyes scanning her surroundings. "Computers. Deposit boxes."

The signal is lost for another short moment, making her voice sound chopped. The feedback displays another glitch. Your heart beats faster and you hurry up.

"Right. Column five, row ten", Mintz adds. "Iris scan, ten digit password and a keycard. You got everything?"

No sound comes through. Then, a grunt. Something breaks, possibly a chair or a table. Whatever it is — it has you speeding up, running, searching for the stupid vault. But you reach it and the door is locked.

You glance at the screen. Bleeding located.

"Nat?", you say, rummaging through your tools. Maybe you have something that'll help you unlock it. "Any updates?"

Again, nothing. You curse and grab a hairpin, but this is SHIELD's abandoned black site. The doors are designed to keep trespassers out.

You end up grabbing the little grenade you packed. It's tiny, usually only enough to take out one person, but it'll have to do. You attach it to the door, active it, and quickly move backwards.

It blinks three times. It explodes, the door bursting open, and you exhale and run into the vault.

Blood, and a lot of it. It's soaked the right side of her shoulder. Right as you move to help her, someone wraps their arm around your neck and squeezes. You gasp, choking, and start clawing at their forearm.

Natasha barely manages to move enough to point her gun and shoot. The pressure on your airways disappears and you fall to the floor, wheezing and gasping for breath. You crawl to her side and put both hands on the bullet wound in her shoulder. Thick blood seeps between your fingers, and you take off your vest to ball it up and use it to stop the bleeding.

"You're okay", you say, voice shaky. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shakes her head. "Get the data drive."

"No", you say, keeping the vest pressed to her shoulder. You speak into the comms. "Mintz, you there?"

"What happened?"

You swallow, fingers digging into the fabric of the vest. "The neural link, it- it glitched. Misfired. Natasha got shot."

"On my way."

You nod, still putting your entire weight on the wound, still watching her every breath. She seems stable enough, but speaking from experience, it's not a good idea to rely on the hope of something happening.

There are two things you're thinking about.

One: she could die. Right here, right now.

Two: you designed the neural link. You 'fixed' it. If anything happens to her, it's your fault.

Earning her trust seemed to be the biggest honor once. None of your achievements seemed as valuable as getting someone like Natasha to trust you, getting to watch her open up and show you sides nobody else had ever seen. In that moment, however, you curse it. If she'd never trusted you, she wouldn't have worn the neural link. She wouldn't have gotten hurt.

. . .

It's quiet in medbay. Natasha's better now — the wound has been treated, the bleeding has been stopped, she's stable. But the heavy feeling in your gut remains.

She's asleep right now. Her cheeks are rosy instead of pale, her curls have flattened a little. You reach out and brush your fingers against her jaw, then you get up.

The neural link has been in your pocket ever since you got her to medbay. It's sitting there like a mass that's pulling you down, defying the laws of weight.

You reach into your pocket and pull it out. The surface shimmers in the dimmed lights of the room, your initials carved into the side. You ball your hand into a fist, clutching it, then leave the room. Natasha barely stirs.

Your steps are quick and filled with silent anger. Boots thud against vinyl flooring, your throat bobs with every despaired swallow. You push open the door to your lab and slam it shut behind you.

You reach for the hammer before you can think twice. The neural link shatters into tiny pieces, bursting to the sides and falling to the floor. Breathing heavily, you put the hammer aside. Then, the tears come.

They're silent, unthreatening. Rolling down your face in drops, staining your hoodie. You wipe them away with the back of your hand and pause, hand still against your face, when your phone buzzes.

It's the nurse, telling you she woke up and asked for you. You hesitate — do you want to go back there? Does she, despite asking for you, actually want you back there?

It was a mistake. It could've happened to anyone. But when Valerie made a mistake that got her shot, you lost your mind. But who's going to do that to you? Who's going to chew you out?

Nobody. Not even Natasha. You'll get away with it.

Sighing, you make your way out of the lab and back to medbay. It smells clinical, like disinfectant and cleansing chemicals. Metallic, too. You feel nauseous.

When you approach Natasha's room, you see a figure enter and close the door behind themselves. Heart starting to beat faster, you hurry up. You push open the door only to find Valerie standing next to her bed. That's when you lose it.

"Get the fuck out."

She barely even looks at you. "I'm just checking in on her. Making sure she's okay. Heard what happened."

"I said get out."

"Valerie, leave."

Both your and Valerie's heads whip around. Your first instinct is to be petty and make sure she knows it, but Natasha is injured, and you truthfully have other things to worry about.

She exhales sharply, then turns around and leaves. The door shuts loudly.

Natasha looks at you, not saying anything. She's studying you — you can tell that much. It's what she's always done. You shift, then hesitantly sit down on the edge of her bed.

She tilts her head. A soft breath leaves her lips. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You broke the neural link."

You blink a few times. Oh, so that's how observant she truly is. Or maybe she just knows you really well.

"Well, I...", you trail off. "It's useless anyway."

"No", she says, voice quiet. "You spent months working on it. It worked."

"It didn't. It's the reason you almost..." You rub your face. "You could've died, Nat. Because of me."

"That's not true."

"But it is."

"That thing helped me", she insists. "I wore it because I trust you. Because I love you. And you just broke it?"

You stare at the floor, jaw set. There's no way to explain what's going on in your head. All these years, you tried to be the one who protects the one person who claims she doesn't need protection. The one who protects everyone around herself — you, too.

When you got injured all those years ago, it was Natasha who got you out of the battlefield safely. She carried you to the field medics, she went to medbay with you. She stayed until you were better.

You would've kissed her. Neither of you were ready, though. But she was worth the wait.

"I fixed it", you say, glancing at her. She softens. "I tried to fix it. I swear. I don't know what went wrong."

"Accidents happen."

"Not like this", you reply, raking your fingers over your thigh. The denim feels overstimulating against your fingernails. "Not to me. Not when it comes to you. Valerie makes mistakes, and Mintz, and Ward, but-"

"And you're flawless? Perfect?"

You shut your mouth. No, you're neither of those things.

"If I were, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Natasha scoffs. You refuse to look at her, so she shifts in bed despite knowing she shouldn't. It's a plan, though — a plan that works. You quickly lift your head.

"Don't even try", you say, already trying to gently nudge her back into bed. She smiles and you know what she's done. "Oh, fuck me."

"Not while I'm injured."

You roll your eyes, but what she's doing seems to work. You smile, one hand still on her waist and thumb rubbing circles into her side. She flops into the pillows again, a tad more dramatic than others would expect her to do it.

"It was supposed to help", you say softly. "I wanted it to be safer for you. Easier. It almost got you killed instead."

Natasha hums. "You're right", she says. "It did. But how many times did it save me?"

"That's not important."

"Oh, but it is. And I'm not just talking about the neural link. You've invented a dozen of these nifty little things, and how many times were those faulty?"

You shift, refusing to answer. You could say it — never. They were never faulty, never malfunctioned so badly. Sure, there were some issues and minor problems every now and then, but Natasha was always able to keep going despite those. This was a one time thing. An unlucky coincidence.

You feel her fingertips trail down your back. You sigh and then smile tentatively. "Alright. Fine. You got me."

She stays silent for a moment, her fingers glued to your back for no specific reason. She's touching you, and that's enough.

"You didn't invent your way into my life, you know."

You look at her, frowning. Those are words you didn't expect. "No?"

"No." Her fingers drum against your spine. "The gadgets are great. Truly. But they're not the main appeal here, and they never were."

"It's just..." You swallow. "You saved me. It's like, I don't know."

"A debt?"

"Maybe."

Natasha doesn't say anything. She just moves her hand, reaching for yours. When you give it to her, she tugs you into her side.

You know she's being serious. She doesn't need the gadgets. You'll keep inventing them, anyway.

. . .

There's a bandage around her shoulder and a tiny bandaid above her eyebrow, but she's still attracting attention from everyone in the room. You know she is. She always does. You pull her into your side and lead her through the hallway.

"They're staring", you mutter, gently squeezing her upper arm.

"I wonder why."

"You're beaten up and they're still staring." You enter your lab and walk right towards the little couch in the corner. Natasha sits down without arguing, which is a miracle. Getting her to do just about anything that'd be beneficial for her injuries is like fighting a very stubborn bear.

She shifts until she's comfortable, her injured arm resting on a pillow you tuck against her side. "So?"

"Nothing", you say evasively, closing the door now. You're pretty sure no one's going to come by anyway, but you're not keen on taking that risk right now. "Need anything? Water, a granola bar?"

"I'm good." She tilts her head. "You gonna keep me locked in here until they stop staring?"

Hand around a water bottle, you pause. You're crouched in front of the mini fridge.

"Well..."

"Oh god."

"I'm kidding."

She laughs and, despite saying no earlier, accepts the water bottle you hand her. "Hey, at least feel sorry Valerie quit."

"Feel sorry?" You snort and step up to your workbench. You grab the new neural link you've been working on and the stack of data necessary to program it so you can get to work. "I don't do that."

"No, of course." She leans back and watches you work. You adjust wires, program the link using your tablet, test it a few times.

It took two days for you to get up and get started on another neural link. You've barely been sleeping, and Natasha knows that's the case, but you're relentless. Having experience with this prototype, creating an updated, better one hasn't been hard. That doesn't make the process less painful, though. You've burnt your fingertips again already.

"I'm relieved, you know", you mumble.

"Mhm?"

"Valerie really was incompetent."

The cap of the water bottle hits you in the back. But she's smiling, trying not to laugh, and you turn around.

"I mean it."

"She's not even here anymore", she says. "Dial down the jealousy."

"It's not jealousy, it's me disliking her."

"And why do you dislike her? Because you're jealous."

You walk up to the couch and sit down. Hands cup her face, fingertips burnt and wrapped into little bandaids so they'd hurt less, and your breath fans against her lips. You lean in and kiss her, but briefly enough to leave you both wanting more.

She sighs, eyes lazily trailing across your face. "That's not an answer."

"I'm not in the mood to argue. I need to work on your new neural link."

"Better not make any mistakes this time."

You give her an unimpressed look like, Really? You know how much that destroyed me. But she just smiles and tugs you closer.

"I told you I trust you", she says. You roll your eyes. "Don't give me that look, or I'll start using someone else's scope."

"Oh, don't even-"

"Kidding", she cuts you off. "Again."

You narrow your eyes at her. But with the bandaid over her eyebrow, and her bandaged shoulder, you can't be too mad. You sigh and press a kiss to her mouth, your hand on her cheek. She smiles against your lips, hand resting on yours, fingers tangling with yours.

"You're beautiful, you know", you mumble, placing another kiss on her mouth. "No wonder they're all staring. Can't blame them."

"Mhm? Beautiful, you say?"

"So so beautiful." You run your hand down her arm and lightly squeeze her wrist. "It's not fair. You're all beaten up and you still look like you escaped some frame in a museum."

Natasha huffs a laugh. Her forehead rests against yours, her thumb brushes against the side of your hand. You scoot closer and the cushion dips slightly beneath you. She rests one leg over your lap.

"Not jealous anymore?"

"Oh, fucking mental", you say, nodding. "But Valerie's gone, so that helps."

"Terrible."

"Honest."

She scoots and ends up fully in your lap, her weight welcome and familiar. You wouldn't be able to guess her body fat percentage (that detail still leaves you stunned whenever you think about it), but you don't need to see or hear her to recognize her.

Your hand trails down her side and slips under her hoodie. She's warm, her body nestled against yours.

She smiles and nods at the workbench. The neural link lays abandoned, at least for the time being.

"You're stalling again."

"No", you mumble, kissing her shoulder. "Just taking my time."

[thebibliosphere]

With hindsight, I probably should have realized I was polyamorous/ambiamorous sooner than I did. (And to be clear, I realized it pretty young. I just didn't have the terminology for it.)

Ignoring the fact that five-year-old me used to watch Signing In The Rain! on a loop and was already making up stories about Don, Cosmo, and Kathy all living together in Don's big house and *gasp* holding hands (maybe kissing), I was never any good at shipwars.

Like someone would ask me, "What's your OTP?" and I'd be like, "Well, I guess I like X/Y, but also Y/Z is good too..."

And they'd be like, "No. I mean your one TRUE pairing," and I'd just blink at them like, I'm sorry, I don't understand the question.

I'm sure they thought I was trying to stir shit or being deliberately annoying, but I just... couldn't wrap my head around it. Why did I need to pick one thing? There were multiple options with different things that made them appealing. That's like going to an all-you-can-eat buffet and just drinking water. Which is fine! If water is all you want, great. But you don't get to go to an all-you-can-eat buffet and judge people for eating different foods...

And when I eventually found out multi-shipping was a thing, I was like, "oh neat, that's what I do!" and while there was a definite feeling of having found my people, it was weird having the moral judgment from other people who seemed to think multi-shipping was a symptom of a greater moral character flaw. Like my inability to settle on just one thing meant I was more likely to cheat irl.

This wasn't helped by the fact that I... kinda already didn't care about monogamy? Not the way my friends did. I didn't mind that my then-boyfriend liked Sarah, too. What I minded was that he went behind my back and kissed her when he'd told me I couldn't kiss anyone else.

It was the betrayal of the agreement that hurt. Because we'd agreed. He'd asked me to be exclusive with him, and I did. And then he... didn't. And my friends couldn't grasp that.

It was all, "How could he kiss someone else?!" and my chief complaint was, "Why didn't he tell me first?!"

Anyway, if I could go back in time, I'd tell teenage me, you're not weird and amoral, you're just queer, polyamorous, and have ADHD, lmao.

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve had long accepted that Carol always came up with the best or the worst idea. There was no in between. But this time, he might have to thank her for telling him about Eddie Munson's talented mouth.

ao3

One night, when they were drunk and feeling funny, Carol had dared Steve to walk up to The Freak and demand the alpha eat him out.

“What’s the reward?” Steve had squinted at her.

“A mind-blowing orgasm,” Carol had wiggled her brows. “I heard Munson is really good with his mouth.”

Steve had snorted and that was the end of the topic.

He knew Carol hadn't meant it and had probably forgotten about the whole thing came the morning.

But every time he ran into Eddie at the school, his eyes would always linger a bit too long on those plump lips.

Carol’s words kept circling in his head like a broken record.

Munson is really good with his mouth.

Steve should’ve known better than to give in to his curiosity (and desire), but by the time he stood in Eddie’s bedroom, blushing and trying to not fumble around like an idiot, it had been too late to back out.

He had suggested the school’s bathroom stall at first, but the alpha just shook his head with a lopsided smile, “Princesses like you deserve to be taken to a bed.”

It was supposed to be mocking, but the way Eddie scrambled up to follow after him like a dog with a bone told Steve everything he needed to know.

So now, with Eddie’s head burying between his legs and hot tongue lapping at his cunt, Steve decided that Carol was right for once.

That mouth was really talented.

Steve had his fingers tangled in the mass of dark curls, thighs trembling and eyes rolling back as Eddie pinned him down and drank all of his slick from the very source.

“Eddie,” he mewled, seeing stars when the alpha licked at his sweet spot.

And then, his stomach tightened, the pulsating heat coursed through him and before he knew it, the blinding pleasure crashed over him like a bull.

It was his most intense orgasm and he was still shaking when Eddie pulled away, eyes dark and heavy with want.

“Again?” The alpha asked, hand stroking his hipbone slowly, temptingly.

Steve should’ve turned down the offer, told Eddie it was just a one-time thing, put on his briefs and slacks and gone on his way.

But Steve did none of that. He just nodded and spread his legs wider, “Please.”

It was all Eddie needed to kiss him on the forehead, “So polite. Such a good boy, aren't you?”

Steve let out a chirp but before he could feel embarrassed about it, Eddie kissed him again. This time, it was on his lips.

“Gonna treat you right, sweetheart.”

And Steve was helplessly charmed.

In hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming a mile away with how eager Eddie had been at his audacious request.

Because after three orgasms being wrung out of him, Eddie just kept going, sucking and licking and fucking Steve’s sensitive pussy with his tongue.

He didn't stop until Steve screamed his name and squirted all over his face, cross-eyed and delirious from the overstimulation.

Steve had been too out of it to register whatever the alpha tried to tell him afterward. When he regained his senses again, he found himself all cleaned up with his briefs on and tucked under a soft quilt that smelled of citrus and cigarettes.

It felt like coming home but Steve didn't want to get ahead of himself so he ignored the joyful purr from his inner omega and let his eyes wander, searching for a certain alpha instead.

As soon as he wondered where the hell Eddie was, the door opened and let the alpha in. He smiled teasingly when he caught Steve staring.

“Back to earth, Harrington?”

Steve frowned. He wanted to be ‘sweetheart’ again. But he just pushed through his sudden discomfort and sat up.

“Yeah, I gotta go,” he didn't bother meeting Eddie’s eyes as he tried to stand up on his wobbly legs.

And yet, he was taken off guard when Eddie was by his side within seconds and gently pushed him back down.

“Wha–”

The kiss was a surprise, but Steve wasn't picky so he wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck and let out those happy trills and chirps.

Was he too easy to please? Perhaps.

Then again, Steve wasn't one to turn down his chance and if Eddie decided to give him what he wanted, he didn't see why he shouldn’t take it and run as far away as possible.

“God, you’re so sweet,” Eddie groaned once they parted. “Never taste anything as sweet as you.”

“Liar,” Steve pouted with a haughty sniff.

“I’m not,” Eddie pecked the corner of his lips repeatedly, as if couldn't have enough of him, as if to stave off the endless hunger. “Been crazy about you for years, sweetheart.”

“Really?” Steve arched his eyebrow and bit his lips to contain his stupid smile.

“Really really,” Eddie seemed to give up the charade and kissed him square on the lips again. “Just say the word and I’ll give you everything, baby boy.”

“Then fuck me,” Steve murmured against those plump lips. “And if you’re good, I might ride your knot later.”

Steve knew he had gotten Eddie right where he wanted when the alpha growled and flipped him over.

The next day, he walked to his locker with a limp and Carol just shot him an impressed look.

Honestly, Steve also felt pretty proud of himself.

[zorosangell]

I’d love to see your take on this! maybe reader has been with zoro since they where both children. She’s a little weak and whiny and naggy and clumsy but zoro has always dragged her around to where he goes despite that. Even when zoro left the village to pursue his dream of being the greatest swordsman, he threw her over his shoulder and dragged her with him.

our dilemma is, reader think zoro sees her as a little sister. but he’s her dream and everything more. She feels as if she’s always held him back. I mean, she can’t fight. She doesn’t have any special powers. All she’s good for is shinning his swords and patching up his clothes and nagging him about taking a shower more than once a week. When luffy offers zoro a spot on his newly formed crew, he joins, but she declines. And she’s adamant about it. I’d love to see how zoro convinces her, and how he realizes that he needs to tell her just how much he needs her.

⛥ﾟ・。 inn

synopsis: you'd known zoro nearly all your life—having grown up with the swordsman in his home village—and considered him the most important person in your life... so, after luffy saves you both from the execution yard and invites you to join his crew, you can't help but feel like your lack of strength will end up becoming a hindrance to zoro's dream

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is DOWN BAD for reader, reader is clueless, oblivious fools pining pretty much.

a/n: i pray a confession like this finds me

"The hell do you mean you're not coming?" Zoro repeated, brows furrowed as he watched you pack his bag.

"I don't know why you're acting surprised. I've already told you this," you stated, plainly, stuffing a toothbrush in his knapsack. "Did three weeks on the sticks make you hard of hearing?"

"This isn't funny, (y/n)..."

"I'm not laughing, Zoro."

The man scoffed, rolling his eyes at your sarcasm as he pulled himself off the door frame, moving toward you.

This sudden coldness seemed to be coming from nowhere.

"What brought this on?" he asked, seriously, "Before we started this journey, you were itching to get off Shimotsuki. Now all of a sudden you wanna go back home?"

"It is not all of a sudden," you corrected, sharply, halting your movements and snapping your head over to him with furrowed brows.

You didn't appreciate that he was making it sound you were doing this on a whim.

In reality, you'd been thinking about this for a while.

"You sure about that? 'Cause this is the first I'm hearing about it," he fired back with just as much bite. "So unless you've been keeping something from me, then yes, it is all of a sudden."

You groaned, annoyed with and unprepared for such rigorous questioning.

Though, in hindsight, you should've figured.

When it came to things about you, Zoro seemed to stand at full attention, acting as if figuring out whatever was up with you was as interesting as finding the One Piece.

Little did you know, it was something as simple as fear...

You went quiet, frantically racking your brain for something to say, his side eye practically burning through your flesh.

"I'm homesick, alright..." you lied, horribly, averting your eyes from him. "I miss Sensei... and Haru... and Kenzo..."

"Bullshit," he scoffed, not buying it for a second. "The day we left, you wouldn't shut up about how happy you were to leave Haru and Kenzo behind."

You gulped, a pit of nervousness sinking in your stomach at his tone.

He sounded pissed.

"You've always been a terrible liar, (y/n), so cut the crap and spit it out."

The swordsman slowly stalked even closer, until he stood right before you, forcing you to look up at him.

"I'm not asking again."

"Can't you just leave this alone?!" you whined with a exasperated sigh, throwing your head back. "Why the hell do you care so much?"

"I care because my best friend is ditching me when we promised we were gonna sail across the world together!"

"I'm not ditching you!"

"You're ditching me, (y/n)! Ditching me to go back home for what? For Haru and Kenzo? The guys I used to beat up 'cause they'd pick on you?!"

"It's not like that!"

"Oh, then, please, by all means, tell me what it's like!"

"I'm holding you back, alright!" you barked, stunning the man to silence.

Your chest tugged as the words echoed in the air, feeling that much more real.

God, you were so ashamed.

You wanted nothing more than the ground to swallow you whole.

"You're what?" Zoro asked, completely confused.

"I'm dead weight! A burden! A hindrance! A million other words for weakling I can't think of right now..." you continued, plopping yourself down on the bed, defeated. "Whenever I try to fend for myself, I always get knocked on my ass, and you always have to turn around and save me! That's not something we can keep up if we're joining a pirate crew! And especially not if we're heading out to the Grand Line!"

You sighed, looking down at your lap, sadly.

"People like me don't survive in a place like that... And if you wanna become the World's Greatest Swordsman, then you can't have any distractions... especially none of the bumbling little sister variety."

Saying that last part felt like swallowing glass.

You hated everything about this whole conversation.

Of course, you wanted to travel the world with Zoro; that'd been your dream for as long as you'd know him.

But you loved him to much to hold him back.

The man was going places, and deserved to pursue his ambitions without worrying about you being killed while he wasn't looking.

Taking a breath, Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose, before he hit you in the face with a pillow, harshly, knocking you back on the bed.

"OW!" you yelped, muffled by the cushion smothering your face. "THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!"

"THAT'S WHAT THIS WAS ALL ABOUT?! YOU MADE ME THINK THAT I—"

The man stopped himself abruptly, taking a moment to regain his composure.

You nearly scared him half to death.

He though he had done something or said something wrong that made you want to abandon your dream.

The possibility was eating him alive, and he frantically racked his brain to try to recall what he did.

Obviously, it didn't work, and only further filled him with the dread of continuing on his journey alone.

But now that he knew what the real problem was, it'd be a cold day in hell before he'd ever let it ruin your plans.

"Look..." he started, carefully removing the pillow from your face. "I don't know why you said all that crap about you bein' a burden or a weakling or whatever, 'cause I know you're not one..."

His gaze shifted to you, seriously, his steel eyes practically peering into your soul.

"But even if you were... you think that's gonna convince me leave you behind? Like we aren't friends?"

He shook his head, giving up on pretending.

"Hell, like we aren't more than that?"

You let out a slight gasp, eyes nearly as wide as saucers.

This had to be a dream...

"A couple of cheap excuses won't make me give up on you, (y/n)," he continued on, a small smirk creeping onto his face. "Our journey's not over. And I'll drag you by your ankles kicking and screaming before I let you go back to that village by yourself."

Swiftly, his arm snaked under your waist, yanking you up with a yelp and allowing him to get a better look at your face.

God, you were so damn pretty...

That crush of his had been a constant presence in his life since the moment he met you, and now it looked like it would be there for even longer.

"You're my (y/n), you hear me? Not a little sister. Not a nuisance. My (y/n)," Zoro stated, plainly, not a single hint of doubt in his tone. "Nobody else can take your place. And I'm not leaving this goddamn inn until you promise that you're coming with me to join Luffy's crew."

Suddenly, his face became somber, expression turning vulnerable as his eyes glimmered with a slight hint of fear.

You were his anchor... his tether to the ground.

You'd been there from the moment he first picked up a sword, acting as a nurse and his number one cheerleader during his crusade against Kuina.

He'd become accustomed to your mindless conversations as he trained.

Accustomed to your post-battle scoldings as you patched him up.

Accustomed to your adorable snorts of laughter as you two yukked it up over dinner.

You had become so intertwined with him and his dream, that he no longer found any distinguishing feature between the two.

And rather, he realized something of vital importance...

"I need you by my side, (y/n)..." he stated, firmly, grip tightening around your waist. "Without you..."

He attempted to gather himself once again, eyes staring into yours like they held the heavens in their iris.

"Without you... I'll never be the World's Greatest Swordsman."

You practically turned into a cherry, so overwhelmed that you could barely speak.

This is a bad idea!

You're gonna get yourself killed!

He won't be there every time!

He'll get sick of you!

But you quieted the intrusive thoughts, your answer already set the moment the words left his lips.

"If we make it out to sea... you'll really be stuck with me," you sighed with a faint chuckle, resting your forehead against his. "No turning back."

He smirked, leaning into you as well.

"Wouldn't want it any other way."

With a playful shrug, you let out a dramatic sigh, looking up at him with a cheeky smile.

"Well, since you asked so nicely... I guess I can come with you."

His eyes widened with surprise, and without a moment's hesitation, he kissed you, smashing his lips on yours with a passion so palpable, it nearly knocked you back onto the bed.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he pulled his hold even tighter, your places in each other's arms feeling nothing short of home.

And, once everything was said and done, you two pulled away, staring into each other's eyes.

Within them, you could find nothing but pure, unfiltered devotion.

[straows]

Pheromone Spray; G.S

-In which you listen to Nanami's wife and order a pheromone spray that was supposed to make your husband go feral. Only, things didn't go exactly to plan.

A/n: This will be rewritten soon.

Pulling you hair up in a bun and sliding on your reading glasses, you sat on the floor in your guest bedroom closet as you scrolled on your laptop.

You’d gone out for coffee with Nanami’s wife yesterday. And she’d been going on and on about this perfume that had her husband, yes even the saint that was Nanami, acting like a man starved.

So of course, you were intrigued. Because for as long as you knew Nanami, he was a gentleman. So if that perfume worked that well, what would happen if she tried it on Gojo?

You’d tried a few different websites to find that specific perfume that Nanami’s wife used, but it was proving more and more difficult.

Finally, however, you’d seen it on a website buried amongst the others. And all they sold was this perfume, special lube and horny edibles. So of course you bought them all, using your own card that is. The total ended up being $263.35. Which, in hindsight, was way expensive and just about drained your account of all the money you had on there, but that was fine as long as Gojo didn’t look.

Sighing, you finally closed your laptop and took off your reading glasses before pulling yourself out of the closet.

Finally stepping out of the guest bedroom, Gojo, bless his heart, had been trying to find you for near about an hour. You’d convinced him to play hide and seek with you, and this was the perfect excuse.

“Found you!” Gojo tried to be slick as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “Not too good at this game are you?” Acting as if he wasn’t stress sweating from how hard he was looking.

Rolling your eyes, you just smiled. “Of course, yeah. I’m terrible at it.” Your smile turned to a shit eating grin as you looked away.

“Hey, I checked your bank funds and it says you spent about $100 on The Sims?” Gojo had a teasing grin on his lips as you immediately pulled away, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Shut up,” you groaned, “I needed to get some more outfits but the patreon cost money and then I went down this rabbit hole.”

“Oh baby. Poor sweet baby. Of course you’d fall for shit like that.” Gojo sighed and pet your head, only for you to bite him. “Ow! If you wanted to fuck just say that!” He whined.

A month, a whole fucking month later, the package finally came in. And the packaging was pleasantly discrete.

You’d never yanked a package from the front porch so fast, immediately racing into your secret hideout, the guest bedroom, you locked the door, then ripped open the packaging. Smiling as you sniffed the perfume, it didn’t smell bad at all, it really smelled like your usual body mist you used.

Quickly, you spritzed it on, using probably way too much but you really wanted to see it work.

Grabbing the box, you hid it under the bed but paused when you heard the front door open and close. Shit. You’d forgotten Gojo had to go into the office.

But wait. This was perfect. You could try it out on him there. And if it did work, well, you could just giggle while Gojo struggled.

Immediately, you grabbed your keys and hopped into your car. Breaking a few traffic laws on the way there. You were just so excited. You loved watching the infamous Gojo Satoru, your finance, struggle. It just made you laugh every time. For example, you’d worn the Mean Girl’s Christmas outfit for Halloween last year, and refused to let Gojo touch you. So he was forced to rock a boner the entire way to the party, the whole party, and the way home. Of course when you got home he fucked you as hard as he possibly fucking could.

Walking into the office, you made a bee line for Gojo’s office. You didn’t notice other men at the office watching you. You had tunnel vision.

On the way there you had grabbed one of those bagels Gojo adored as an excuse to be there. Walking into his office, you smiled innocently. “Hey baby, you forgot to eat breakfast.” Setting down the little bag on his desk, you stood behind it, leaning back on it as you faced him.

Gojo smiled brightly, “Oh my god I’ll combust I love you so fucking much.” He near about moaned when he smelt the bagel. “I love you, I love you, I love you— is that a new perfume?” His eyes immediately locked onto your neck before glancing back up at you.

“Ummm, yes! Nanami’s wife gave it to me.” You laughed a little nervously, before tilting your head, “you like it?”

“Yeah you smell really good.” Gojo stood up from his chair, his hands leaning on the wood of the desk on either side of you as he pressed his face into your neck. “Really good.”

“Yeah? That good huh?” You couldn’t help but giggle, feeling his nose press against your neck like he was getting his fix or some shit.

“Fuck. Too good.” Gojo groaned, his pants growing tighter as a boner formed in his pants. His heart racing and his mouth growing dry.

One hand moved from the desk to grip your hip, bringing you flush against his body. “Shit,” he groaned into your neck, before pulling his face away and staring down at you.

About to say something, the door swung open to his office, and Nanami’s wife appeared. She paused, before smelling perfume and giggled. “You got it! Oh my god!”

Nanami appeared behind her, an amused look in his eye as he watched Gojo be in the same predicament as he was not even a week prior.

“I believe the ladies would like to go out for lunch. You have some paper work to fill out.” Nanami gave Gojo a stern look.

Gojo didn’t take his eyes off you before forcibly prying them away and looking at Nanami, “oh come on, my finance is here to see me.”

You grinned before pressing a kiss to his jaw sweetly, all while your hand teasingly trailing over his bulge.

Gojo had to muffle a groan, “y-you—“

“I love you baby, I’ll see you at home okay?” You winked at him before walking out with Nanami’s wife, giggling like school girls.

“What the fuck.” Gojo sat down with a grunt, his brows furrowed in frustration as he started down at the bulge in his pants.

“I tried to tell her it wasn’t a good idea to tell your fiancé.” Nanami sighed, about to turn around to head back to his own office before Gojo stopped him.

“Wait what do you mean? Tell her what?” Gojo eyed Nanami suspiciously.

“The pheromone perfume? My wife pulled that ridiculous prank on me last week. While I’ll admit, she did it at home so it wasn’t really a problem.” He pulled at his collar slightly as he remembered the hours he spent ‘reminding’ his wife about what he thought of her pranks. He fucked her all night and took off work the next day to use the perfume again.

“You’re joking.” Gojo stared at him, his jaw clenched. “And she’s just gonna leave me like this?”

Immediately, he pulled out his phone to look at her bank account, noticing that she only had $1.22 left and that she’d spent $263.35 on that fucking perfume. “Well shit.” Pulling out his phone, he immediately sent the text that he’d be waiting for her at home, and that’d he’d needed to come early due to ‘being sick’.

“He loved it! Loveddddd it!!!” You smiled widely as you spoke with Nanami’s wife, all giggles and smiles when you got that text. “Wait, shit. He said he’s not feeling good, do you think he’s sick from it?”

Immediately your face dropped, “can that happen?” Looking over at your friend, concern written all over it.

“It didn’t happen with me and Ken, but I don’t know. Gojo may be allergic to it?” She frowned.

“Here, I need to head home. Can I pay you back for the lunch tomorrow?”

“Nonsense. I got you into this mess. Go make sure he’s okay, I know you’re worried.” Nanami’s wife shooed you off and you were thankful as you rushed home.

Walking inside, you looked around and noticed all the lights were off. “Baby? I’m home. You said you weren’t feeling well, what’s wrong?” Turning on the light, you walk into the kitchen not noticing Gojo, who was in nothing but a pair of grey sweats. The outline of his painful looking boner showing through the fabric.

“Welcome home.” He wrapped his arms around you from behind, glaring down at you, “your little perfume prank today was not very funny.” He huffed.

“Wha-“ You paused, “wait. How did you find out about it?”

“Nanami.” Gojo pressed a kiss to your shoulder, all the way up your neck before biting down hard on your shoulder making you gasp. “Fuck you still smell so good.”

“You can’t blame me, the way she said it drive Nanami crazy… I just wanted to try it on you.” You tried to be all cute and sweet, but he was not having it.

“I can blame you. Because you left me there to deal with it all on my own.” His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, before roughly palming at your breast. “You’re so mean to me.”

A soft whine slipped past your lips as you let your weight lean against him. The feeling of his large hands roughly grabbing all over your body had your thighs squeezing shut.

“But this is what you wanted right? Hm baby? Wanted me to be rough and manhandle you, that it?” His voice was mocking and his tone condescending. Teeth nipping at your neck and jaw as he ground against your ass. Stuttered and breathless moans were muffled as he buried his face in your shoulder.

“Y-yeah, wanted you to be rough with- fuck, with me.” Placing your hands against the cold granite of the counter, you leaned forward so you could your ass against him completely, moaning softly when he’d grip your hips roughly before pressing into you.

“You definitely need to be punished.” Gojo nodded to himself, pupils huge and dark, his hair sticking to his forehead as a light layer of sweat coated his skin, “and you’re not getting out of it anytime soon.”

In a way, your plan worked. You got to see him squirm at work. And in the end you got what you wanted, just for a lot, lot longer than you’d imagined. Seeing as Gojo didn’t even show up to work the next day as he was far too busy fucking you in every room and on every piece of furniture in the house.

I mean from the bed, to the dress, to the floor and closet. To the shower, to the hallway and to the kitchen. And all throughout the house.

By the time Gojo was finally shooting blanks and his cock was so sensitive that he’d hiss if you were to touch it, he finally began to calm down.

And instead of punishing you more by making you sit on his face while your overstimulated, he just wraps his arms around your naked and exhausted body and refuses to let go.

Lololol I love the idea of some shitty perfume making your bf go batshit crazy for some puss.

[mattslilies]

✩ criminologist!reader - lets matt distract her from studying ✩

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

warnings: sexual content, smut scene, p in v, missionary sex, just overall soft n sweet

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"ugh!" you put your head in your hands, the frustration from studying completely overwhelming your mind.

you were in grad school, going to earn your master's, and while you had a good, steady job, you wanted to further your career, which lead to you being completely and utterly stressed out at 11:56 pm in your boyfriend's bed.

you rarely ever spent a night at your own place, having abandoned your roommate, but still paid rent, so it wasn't unusual for matt to find you doing all of your schoolwork in his room.

you had been sitting at his desk, but you had decided to move to somewhere more comfortable, which in hindsight was a wonderful idea, because your back would've been sore by now from all the hunching over your laptop you'd been doing.

it was just then that matt exited the bathroom, having been in there taking a shower.

often sleeping shirtless, it wasn't uncommon to see matt pop out of the bathroom with just a loose pair of pajama pants or sweatpants.

"baby?" matt noticed your distressed demeanor. "what's wrong?"

you looked up, removing your head from your hands.

"nothing, sorry, i'm just stressed out. i have a massive test tomorrow, and i feel so incredibly unprepared."

matt ran a hand through his hair, a gentle look on his face.

"babe, you've been studying since you got here. it's been six hours. don't you think you should take a break?"

you looked up, shutting your computer because you just couldn't stand to look at the screen anymore.

"I think at this point it doesn't matter if i study any more or not. i've crammed everything i could have possibly crammed."

sitting down on the bed next to you, matt gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, smiling when the corners of your lips lifted, just a tad.

noticing that it seemed to improve your mood, he moved the books and your laptop off of the bed, hovering over top of you to press a kiss to the opposite cheek, a wide grin covering your face.

his smile was contagious, you letting out a soft laugh, pulling his face down to press your lips against his.

he went to pull back to breathe, but your arms wrapped around his neck, only allowing him a millisecond to catch his breath before you entrapped him in a passionate kiss.

when you finally let him pull away, he laughed before speaking.

"given up on studying, then?"

"if you shut up long enough to distract me from it."

"mhm. noted."

it was a good thing that he hadn't moved from hovering above you, as he reconnected his lips to yours.

you didn't often get the chance to really enjoy your time alone with matt, as you were often working, or he was often working, or you were both just exhausted or otherwise busy.

your arms wrapped around his torso, keeping his body held close to you as one of his hands traveled up your shirt.

he only broke the kiss to speak. "can i take this off?"

you quickly nodded, moving to help him remove it, as well as letting your hands ghost down to his pants hemline, your eyes questioning as you slowly tucked your fingers under the waistband.

the both of you adjusting to make the ridding of clothes easiest, moving with practiced comfortability.

you let out a quiet gasp as matt's thumb easily connected with your clit, rubbing slow but firm circles as he laid open-mouthed kisses on your neck.

"so pretty, baby."

you couldn't even muster up a response, the feeling of matt's middle and ring finger slowly entering you, giving you time to adjust.

he felt your nails dig into his bare back as he curled his fingers, easily hitting your sweet spot with no effort at all. keeping his pace steady but not too quick, taking a small bit of pride when he felt your back arch, stomach pushing up against his chest.

he silenced your whine at his fingers leaving you with a deep kiss, running his free hand through your hair.

"you're okay, baby. breathe. you ready?"

an enthusiastic nod and a gasping "yes" was all he needed, aligning himself and pushing in, his thumb returning to your clit, the pleasure helping distract you from the uncomfortable stretch.

giving you plenty of time to adjust, he continued his motions, whispering gentle praise as he cautiously moved his hips, testing the waters.

when he received a low moan in response, he gradually began to pick up the pace, adoring the way your nails dug into his back with even more pressure hen he got the perfect angle, gasping his name right into his ear.

he felt you tighten around him, your noises getting more and more high-pitched, almost whiny.

"you're so gorgeous like this, baby. doing so good for me. cum for me, sweetheart, you deserve it."

it was the gentle praise combined with the consistent pace he kept that quickly pushed you over the edge, feeling him let go shortly after.

he stayed there for a few moments before pulling out, continuing to kiss you through the uncomfortable sensitivity.

carefully cleaning you up, matt helped you into a set of his comfortable clothes, ones that you would definitely steal from him later, before laying down with you, pulling you close.

"you're going to do great on your test tomorrow."

you fell asleep, the test the last thing on your mind as matt pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

another tiktok with frat jaehyun x sweets - bf telling gf to pretend he’s a random guy & sweets being the way she is, teasing him as a joke

I fear I had too much fun with this one hehe thank you anon!!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ pretend I'm a random guy ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Fratboy!Jaehyun knew very well that playing pranks on you or doing these TikTok trends on you wasn't a skill set he carried. It was more your thing, which he was alright with, despite the constant stress that came from them.

This trend though, this one he'd been seeing endlessly and strangely, you hadn't done it to him yet. At first he got a little pouty thinking that maybe you didn't want to do the trend with him. Even though they were a source of tension for him, in hindsight they were fun. He could see why you liked recording these moments and having a good laugh with him. Even if the pranks were mostly at his expense, he would do these pranks and a million more to hear your laugh. After the poutiness, he did realize that you'd been working on a big project for one of your classes all week and maybe you didn't have too much time to be scrolling on your phone.

Tonight though, you'd be stress free and looking to relax with your boyfriend. You stood beside Jungwoo in the kitchen while you both made conversation and ate your ice creams from the convenience store. He should have known that the two of you going on a snack run would have resulted in a counter full of sweet snacks and the two of you gossiping like middle aged women.

Jungwoo was called away and Jaehyun took this opportunity to play his prank. He set his phone up against the roll of paper towels and set up the timer. He stepped toward you, counting down the seconds in his head, plus a few extra, before exclaiming, "pretend I'm a random guy!"

Jaehyun was on you in less than a second his arms, grabbing your waist as he kissed you messily and passionately. You kissed him back eagerly, letting his tongue slip past your lips so he could taste the remaining sweetness of your ice cream on your tongue.

He pulled away with his eyes wide, "no! Wrong! You're supposed to pretend I'm a random guy so why did you kiss me back?!" That was not supposed to be how this went down! You were supposed to push him away and act like he was, well, a stranger!

"Well, the random guy who attacked me with kisses was really hot! I have to pretend I'm blind because I'm not single?" You counter with a raised brow.

He runs a hand down his face, "let's try this again." He exhales for a few seconds before he paints on a smirk and asks, "hey pretty lady, are you single?"

"No, but my boyfriend doesn't have to know. Want to get out of here?" You ask while batting your lashes up at him flirtatiously, dragging your hand down to the waistband of his pants.

"Sweetheart! Fuck! Again?!" Jaehyun groans.

"Baby, can I really be blamed when you're just really good at flirting? Wow, I'm starting to regret not making you work harder for me now. I like you flirting," you tell him while fanning yourself.

"Last time, Sweets. Behave, alright?" Jaehyun scolds.

You nod, shaking your arms out and exhaling with a nod. Jaehyun starts one last time, knowing there isn't a lot of time left on the video, "Hey there, pretty-"

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence before you're screaming at the top of your lungs like your life depends on it, "help! Help! Stranger danger! Pervert alert! Perv alert! Someone help me!"

Footsteps thud toward the kitchen where you now stood with a sweet and innocent smile directed right at your boyfriend.

"It's fine! She's fine!" Jaehyun calls out loudly, sighs of relief can be heard. He glares at you harshly, "what the hell does behave mean to you, huh?"

You shrug, "I was just having fun."

He snatches his phone from where it stands. How does he still end up the loser on a prank that he played?

[itsmywritingtime]

One-Sided Competition 💴

Catching someone’s stare from across a crowded room was typically romantic. A sign of some sort of affection, that out of everyone, they were choosing to put their focus on you.

However, the look in Ruggie’s eyes was anything but.

You searched your mind for anything you could have possibly done to upset the boy. When you couldn’t identify anything, you shrugged it off and bit into your sub.

The cafeteria ghosts had given it to you after you had struck a deal. You helped them unload and package food and they would give you a little extra during lunch. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the most balanced deal, but you would take whatever was given to you. And these sandwiches were quite delicious, so it was all worth it.

Ruggie had been having the worst month of his life.

It was normal for him to be spending his free-time taking up random jobs around campus for a little extra cash. However, in the last month, it seemed like the amount of opportunities dwindled.

It had first started when he went to Sam’s Shop. Sam had gladly accepted him when he asked for a side gig. Yet, he rarely if ever got a call. If he ever worked it was only for a few hours at a time and sporadic at best. The employee discount was barely worth it.

Annoyed at his lack of hours, Ruggie had paid Sam a visit. It was a Sunday afternoon, one of the busiest days of the week. Everyone tended to gravitate towards the shop on that day, gathering last minute supplies for a project, buying groceries for the week, and everything of the sort. To his surprise, there was no packed shop like there typically was.

Meandering his way in, he was even more shocked to see the store almost empty. A customer walked past him as he peeked at the cashier, expecting it to be Sam, but it was you.

You greeted the next customer in line with a smile, making small talk, and sending them on their way in record time. Ruggie could only silently stare.

So this was the thing taking away all his hours.

“What can I get for you for you, Little Imp?” Ruggie almost jumped as Sam appeared behind him.

Sam didn’t like loiterers, so hesitantly, Ruggie bought the cheapest thing he could find and made his way over to you.

And damn. As much as he hated to admit it. You were good.

Though, that was okay. He had other opportunities.

Azul had never failed to set Ruggie up with work. They worked quite well together after all.

But, whenever he was called in to work, you were always there.

It was almost like a switch flipped after Azul’s overblot. Going from enemies to employer and employee without any pause.

Perhaps that was why Azul kept you around, with a handful of overblots underneath your belt, you knew how to navigate difficult situations and be innovative when dealing with rude customers.

Whether it be a busy evening or a slow weekday. You never failed to be in a Octavinelle uniform, serving and taking orders with a smile. He started to dislike that bright smile of yours.

The students of NCR were very stingy when it came to giving tips. Whether it was because the students did not have enough money to hand over any tips or they simply were asses, it was overall rare for him to get a thaumarks that weren't from the paycheck that Azul gave him. His reputation didn't do him any favors.

But even so, it seemed like you never left a shift without a few extra thaumarks in your pockets from patrons that took a liking to you.

Azul, being the shrewd businessman he was, took notice of your success in the waitering area of your expertise.

Ruggie couldn't call Azul out due to his lack of evidence (and he couldn't afford to lose the gig), but he swore that the housewarden favored you in some sort of way. Furthermore, the two morays tended to flock towards you one way or another.

It had hit Ruggie early on that you had somehow managed to have a emptier schedule than him. He still had spelldrive practice and errands for Leona to deal with, yet it seemed you were freer than a bird after classes ended for the day.

Well. That was fine. There were other opportunities outside NRC.

Ruggie didn’t make a habit of searching for work outside of the school ground, there was typically nothing available, but when push comes to shove!

Craneport wasn't as popular and bustling as it used to be, but there had to be at least one opening for him, however infrequent it may be. Anything would be good!

A cargo ship was pulled up to one of the docks. He could see a few workers coming and going, picking up and moving creates. He could feel a grin growing on his face at his luck. Ruggie wasn't exactly the most physically strong, but he was almost positive that they would take a spry student like him (that they could pay a little less), over any older guy.

As he took a step toward the ship, another person emerged, carrying a wooden crate almost twice their size.

Ruggie felt his composure snap.

YOU WERE HERE TOO?

The crate was placed down with a 'SLAM'. You huffed and wiped your forehead with the sleeve of your forearm. You looked up, observing your surroundings, you thought you had felt someone looking at you.

Must have been your imagination.

Ruggie stomped back to the bus stop, fishing around his pocket for some loose change.

In the time it took him to make his way to the stop, he had already made up his mind.

If it was going to be like that, so be it. He was not unfamiliar with competition. This meant war.

⋆

So back to present day, there he was, making this one-sided war known, by staring daggers into the back of your head as you, blissfully unaware, ate your lunch.

He fully intended on winning.

TLDR: Two poor people compete against each other rather than the system that put them there. sigh… /j

Note: This is my first time writing Ruggie like ever. But practice makes perfect!

[poppyseed-cheesecake]

It wasn't easy, hiding how he felt.

It wasn't easy at all.

Here you were, finally within reach, and you sneered every time his eyes met yours. You were disgusted, scared and far from trusting him. So how could he tell you how his heart sang each time he saw you. That, had he his tail still, it would wag like that of a dog getting fed on the rare occasion you smiled in his presence.

Of course he couldn't. You'd never speak to him again. He had to take it slow, earn your trust, let you come to him.

Though he of course wasn't above using dirty tricks. You weren't exactly subtle, the one thing you liked about Sylus was his looks. So when he'd tasked you with stealing that brooch from him, it was no coincidence that you'd found him in little more than a towel or a robe multiple times.

And it had felt good, seeing you struggle, seeing your eyes flick down before quickly coming back up, your ears now a shade redder than before.

And giving Luke and Kieran that handcuff idea? Probably the smartest thing he'd done in a while. It had been the first time you'd genuinely smiled at him. Smugly, of course, but a win was a win.

You'd touched him so brazenly, Sylus had felt your nails gently graze his skin when you'd examined the hem of his robe, and it had taken him every ounce of self control to not break the flimsy cuffs and grab you right then and there. Oh how he'd longed to pull you into his lap, bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhale your scent, press you against his chest and feel your heart beat against his...

But he'd endured, not wanting to scare you away, until you'd asked one question too many and found yourself on your back, him hovering above you.

In hindsight, he regretted it.

How much longer would you have spent so close to him? Having thought him at your mercy, helpless and defeated? Would you have touched him further?

Sylus would never know, and he cursed himself for not having been more patient.

But it was all in the past now. Months later, you'd gotten kind of used to him at least. No doubt due to his constant efforts to be a part of your day to day life.

You even texted him first sometimes, like yesterday, for example.

-got mission in n109 zone, few days, lemme crash at ur place?-

He couldn't help but smile. Of course you could "crash" at his place. And he was grateful you'd given him a day in advance to prepare. The kitchen was stocked up with the sweets and instant noodles you liked. Your favourite coffee brand was ready for you, and so were the expensive shampoo and conditioner that you wanted to buy but that "just wasn't worth it".

Everything was ready for you. Including Sylus himself, of course.

He'd taken note of wich shirts had gained him lingering looks in the past. It was always a good choice to start the day buttoned up and end it naturally with a bit of cleavage. Apropos, you were going to come back soon from your last hunt for the day, Mephisto had done a good job keeping tabs on you without you noticing.

Quickly, Sylus got on all fours and began doing pushups, keeping and eye on Mephistos steadily incoming reports.

Good, you'd be here in about ten minutes.

Tossing his clothes aside, he took a quick shower before checking in the mirror. Satisfied with his pump, he wrapped himself in an expensive robe, leaving his hair slightly wet on purpose.

Just in time for your steps to announce your arrival. The shared livingroom door opened, and he could hear you sigh, then knock on the bathroom door.

"Yes?"

"You gonna be in there much longe-"

Sylus opened the door, perfectly timed to interrupt you. His right hand leaning high against the doorframe blocked you from entering immediately, and he didn't miss your gaze flicking over his entire body more than once before landing on his face.

"Sweetie, you look exhausted."

And positively ravishing, with your hair dishevelled, dirt and specks of blood staining your face, and your cheeks ever so slightly flushed, as you held his gaze steadfast. No doubt focusing hard on not taking a few more looks down.

"...Yeah no shit..."

Your voice was a bit more timid, less forceful, than you'd probably intended. But you still didn't look away, it took Sylus everything to not grab your face and- No, he shouldn't even think about it that only made it harder. He allowed himself to pointlessly wipe a bit of blood from your cheek though, long fingers tracing along your jaw, before stepping aside to allow you entry.

"I do hope this isn't yours?"

It took you a moment to swat his hand away completely and shove him out.

Your fingers were cold on his back, and he pretended to shudder.

"Go and warm up, what do you want to eat?"

The door slammed shut, but he did hear you demand "Soup" before the shower water drowned out any more noise.

It was a cold day afterall. A quick phonecall later the soup was ordered, and he was getting dressed, taking his time buttoning the shirt, not all the way up, of course.

The dinner was short and uneventful. You truly were too exhausted to even spare his chest more than a glance, and he could feel a bit of shame rising in his stomache. At least it really hadn't been your blood.

Of course you were worth every bit of effort, but he did feel a bit silly sometimes, courting you like a male bird, relying on shiny chains dangling over his muscles, using anything at his disposal to hold your attention. To make you feel anything other than fear and disgust towards him.

After you went to bed he sat in that shared livingroom, the one joining his bedroom to yours. Listening to soft pianos, quiet enough as to not disturb your sleep, but loud enough to almost overpower the sound of your breathing, because it truly was driving him insane.

You mumbled things in your sleep, higher pitched and gentler than when you spoke to him. In your sleep you weren't all fangs and claws. But sometimes you were scared. His good hearing was a curse, sometimes. When you whimpered in your sleep, no doubt dreaming of a past he hadn't been a part of, but knew well enough to understand why it tormented you.

In those moments he wanted nothing more than to rush to your side, hold you gently and make you feel safe, make all those horrible things feel so far away. But he knew you wouldn't like that in the slightest, waking up in his arms right now was probably akin to a nightmare, as much as it hurt him to admit it.

But he also couldn't ignore it completely. So he sat in the next room, listening to music just loud enough so that he could pretend not to hear you, and silently offer you support.

A few days later, much to his surprise and delight, you found yourself cooped up in his apartment. Heavy rain keeping you from your hunt. But instead of your usual grumbling you'd dropped a hefty stack of cards onto his desk.

"Hm?"

He looked up at you, genuinely wondering what you were going to do next. Sylus shouldn't have done that, you looked so beautiful from below that he forgot his own name for a moment.

"If you're not busy, let's play."

You averted your gaze, and he realized he might have been staring too intensely.

"Nevermind."

Before you could fully turn he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back.

"No, let's play."

Turned out, you were incredibly competetive, and much better at the game than he'd thought.

Quite frankly, he should take you with him, next time he was playing cards somewhere.

It was a steady back and forth of losses and wins, woth you demanding a rematch each time your own cards betrayed you.

Sylus didn't mind, you were so engrossed in the game that you forgot how you felt about him.

Slamming down cards yelling "Take this, sucker!" and collapsing dramatically into yourself when he retaliated with a devastating blow.

And you actually laughed! Full on, laughter from the chest.

Oh how he could drown in that sound. What he wouldn't give to hear it every day.

And after that rainy night of cards, something had...changed.

In a good way. Both of you had noticed.

You didn't recoil anymore, when he reached for you. There were even a few times you asked him to take you along to some of his deals.

It felt good, having you take his arm at an auction. Wearing a dress in his colours, showing off those firm shoulders, each movement a sight to behold...his view was divine, and it was a struggle to keep his hands from wandering.

But it wasn't worth risking your slowly budding trust.

So he restrained himself, letting you lead every interaction.

You didn't need to know what he did to himself later, when you were gone, while thinking of exactly what he saw that night. Of what he wanted to do to you, how he wanted to slowly take it off.

Starting with the straps on your shoulders, he'd hook his finger underneath, feel the leather press it against your skin while it would slowly glide towards the buckle. He'd pull it up a bit, watch your reaction when you'd think he was going to let it snap down onto your skin, only to pull it aside to give him access to kiss and bite as he pleased.

He would try to keep his other hand on your waist for a while, but he knew he wouldn't be able to resist sliding into the slits of the dress for long. He'd tease the edge of your underwear without ever seperating from your neck and shoulders, push up further, until that pesky belt would block him.

Would he take it off, or would that be too much time wasted? Honestly, he probably wouldn't have the patience for that. He barely had a hold on himself just holding onto your arm, and if you were to give him permission to do as he pleased? No, who was he kidding, if he truly was allowed, he'd just pull the top of the dress down. Why would he bother with that belt. He'd let his lips wander lower, hopefully your hands would be in his hair. Hopefully you'd pull him up occasionally to press your lips to his. And hopefully you'd forcefully push his head back down until you could hook one of your thighs over his shoulder.

He'd drag his mouth over the inside, too hazy to even consider closing it. Then he'd reach where he wanted to be most, and he wouldn't be able to hold onto himself for much longer. That much he knew.

There would be no dignity, or class in it, no, the first time you'd allow him you'd see him on his knees begging for a taste.

If there would be times after that, he could attempt to be dignified.

What would your voice sound like, when he'd pull your panties aside to finally taste you? Would you eventually grab his hair, hold him in place so you could grind on his nose? Ride it out, with no consideration for him or his ability to breathe? What expression would you make, when you finally came?

He dropped his palm on his face, sighing heavily.

This wasn't good. His fantasies were so many steps ahead. It was bad enough that he occasionally imagined you underneath him, his crushing weight holding you in place while he softly cooed praises in your ear, but this...was arguably even worse.

Sylus felt himself, achingly hard just at the thought. And the guilt did eat him alive, but he'd already imagined this far, and you'd gone home. So much closer to him than before, but still far too distant.

[fayes-fics]

Right In Front Of You

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Sometimes, the thing you most need is right in front of you...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, smidge of dirty talk, orgasm. Friends to lovers, only one bed.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Request fill for @eecummingsandgoings, who asked for only one bed trope with Benedict. Thanks to the awesome @colettebronte for beta reading and for the title suggestion! This is a seasonal-ish fic set in early December. Enjoy! <3

“You guys are so late!” 

Melanie draws you into a bear hug after her fond chastisement.

“Blame this one,” you roll your eyes and signal a thumb over your shoulder to Benedict as he wanders up the path behind you. “He was supposed to be on map-reading duty after we ran out of phone signal.”

With a big smile, he mimes being stabbed in the chest before he receives a welcoming embrace as well.

“He’s been shit at directions since uni; why the hell did you have him navigate?” she chimes, taking your coats as you peel them off and hanging them in the hallway cupboard. 

“Because you have experienced his driving,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, good point,” Melanie guffaws.

“Starting to take this personally now,” Benedict pipes up with a good-natured chuckle as she ushers you both further into the cottage.

“This is nice!” you comment as you survey the place.

Its snug warmth is like an enveloping embrace on this cold, early December day. It's an Airbnb rental in the Lake District and looks suitably rustic but modernised with an open-plan layout—a perfect venue for a uni friends reunion. 

“Well, I'm afraid you two are so late that everyone has already nabbed the good bedrooms,” she announces. “You will have to share the other attic room, two floors up.”

“I'm sure we will be fine,” Benedict blithely responds. 

“It's only got one bed,” she cackles.

“Bagsy the bed!” you crow, turning to look at him triumphantly.

“Fine, I’ll take the floor,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

While chivalrous, it also seems fair payback, given that he got you so horrendously lost on a single-track country lane, going miles in the wrong direction. Sharing the drive up from London was supposed to take about five hours, not the almost seven that it ended up being by the time you eventually got back on the right road. 

Leaving your bags in the hallways, you greet and join the gaggle of friends in the living room area, crowding onto the sectional sofa and beanbags. Melanie, always the mother hen of the group, stands across the room at the kitchen island, stirring a huge casserole dish that smells delicious.

“Alright, you bastards, come and get it,” she calls not long after you settle.

So, all twelve of you decamp to the long table, and drinks flow as you tuck into a hearty, tasty stew. The group have come without their spouses or other halves, except Dave and Andrea have been together since the second year and are still going strong more than ten years later—well, and one other exception.

“Matt brought Vanessa?” you comment into Melanie’s shoulder while conversation flows in little groups.

“Yeah, I know,” she winces. “Sorry…”

“No, it's not that. I just think it’s a bit odd. She’ll have to endure so many old uni tales and in-jokes all weekend. She’ll have little idea what we are all on about…” 

Matt is your ex, yes, but you broke up almost a year ago now. You didn't get together until five years after uni, and in hindsight, you wish you never had. Vanessa is his first girlfriend since your breakup. You've been alone since—the only singleton left in the group.

“Drink up,” Melanie advises sagely, refilling your wineglass almost to the brim. “They have the other attic bedroom that backs onto yours, and even though the stone walls here are thick, I've heard rumours she is a loud one.”

“Urgh…” you take a large gulp, not savouring the idea of hearing your ex and his new woman having sex through an adjoining wall.

The rest of the evening passes pleasantly: wine flowing, a lovely time as you all catch up and trade stories. Jon recounts a hilariously disastrous holiday in Portugal that ended happily with him meeting his current partner Simon on the plane home, which earns him a round of applause. 

The first to turn in is Matt and Vanessa, and not long after, others start to yawn and make their excuses, the drive from various corners of the country taking its toll on everyone. 

Benedict grabs your bag as well as his, you trailing behind, making your way slightly gingerly up the second, narrower, steeper staircase to the attic rooms.

“I guess this is us,” he notes, nodding to the only door without a faint lamp glow leaking underneath.

You follow him into the room as he dumps the bags and flicks on a sidelight. It's not big but it’s homely, if a little chilly compared to downstairs, heated by the fireplace as it was.

“Ben, you can’t sleep on the floor; there's a draught,” you remark as you sit on the bed and pull off your fuzzy socks, a coolness wafting over your toes.                                        

“I’ll be alright,” he assures genially, opening the wardrobe to gather a pile of blankets.

“And there's not much room,” you assess, realising the floor space is minimal unless he lays near the chimney, likely the source of the problem. “Seriously, we can share.”

An odd expression clouds his face briefly before he agrees and quickly excuses himself to the bathroom. You do the same after he returns. He is already under the covers, peering at his phone through reading glasses when you shuffle back into the room in your PJs.

“Are you sure about sharing?” he checks as you round the bed to climb into the other side.

“Yes, you idiot,” you chuckle, playfully swatting his leg through the duvet. “Nothing for Paul to worry about,” you add in jest, referring to his boyfriend of over two years now.

He goes so still that you twist to look at him. He is biting his lip with an almost sheepish mein. 

“We, umm, broke up about a month ago,” he elucidates quietly.

“God, I'm so sorry; why didn't you say before??!” 

It strikes you as odd that he never even mentioned it in the hours you were stuck in the car together. He had just sat dutifully, supplying supportive words as you lamented the dating scene. 

“Well, you’ve been away travelling…” 

“I meant today.”

“Oh, well, I guess I didn't really see the point, seeing as everyone has left their plus-ones at home,” he shrugs, then tilts his head back. “Well, apart from that idiot,” he adds, referencing Matt through the wall.

“Yeah, I thought that a bit odd he brought her… but anyway, do you want to talk about it? Paul?” you offer, wanting to give your good friend the opportunity to vent.

“Very kind,” he smiles briefly. “But no. I'm sick of talking about it, to be honest. Daph has been non-stop trying to agony aunt the situation, and Eloise has been plying me with alcohol and barbs about all of my terrible life choices, not just Paul,” he grimaces mildly.

You chuckle, knowing exactly how that has likely been going.

“You know he just brought Vanessa to make you jealous, don't you?” Benedict changes tack, keeping his voice soft even though it's unlikely to carry through the thick stone wall.

“Maybe,” you hesitate, then sigh: “I'm over him and his nonsense, to be honest.”

“You were always far too good for him.”

“Hah!”

“I mean it,” he insists, an abrupt intensity to his gaze that causes butterflies.

There’s no point denying your attraction to Benedict; he's a very handsome man. But it's always felt like a harmless crush; you doubt you are his type, and he’s not been single for many years. 

“You are just trying to butter me up before you take over the whole bed like an octopus and snore in my face,” you deflect with humour.

“You never could take a compliment, could you?” he chastises gently, taking off his reading glasses and setting aside his phone.

“Please, I would never take any compliment from you seriously,” you riposte dryly. “I knew of your charmer reputation from the very first day of uni. Everyone did. Your Bridgerton reputation preceded you.”

“Entirely unfair to be tarred with the same brush as my lothario of a brother,” he sighs with mock burden. “I mean, yes, okay, at uni, I was a little…”

“Slutty?” you interject

“... adventurous..” he corrects with a narrowing of his hazy eyes, “but nothing like the rumours suggest. I just got with a couple of raconteurs early on who vastly overstated my abilities and skills,” he demures.

You know the truth is somewhere in between the polyamorous, bisexual playboy reputation and the modest version he is claiming.

“Besides, that was years ago,” he points out with a dismissive gesture. “I've had a total of five lovers in the last ten years.” 

It is indeed true. Before Paul was Tilly, Tessa, Gen and Henry. He’s been surprisingly monogamous since his earlier, sluttier years.

“Ready to sow your wild oats again?” you ask, bumping him lightly with your shoulder.

“Hah!” it's his turn to scoff.

Just then, a distinct female moan filters through the wall. When it happens again, your eyes dart to each other.

“Oh god, Mel warned me this might happen,” you grumble, burying your head in your hands.

“Told you,” Benedict clucks. “This is definitely designed to make you jealous.”

“Pfft, please. Believe me, he's not that good; she's just a really vocal one, apparently.” 

For some reason, you are keen for Benedict to know Matt is not the best you've had. Not bad, but not exactly worthy of the decidedly rousing review Vanessa is now giving through the wall.

“Want to beat him at his own game?” 

His face is all permission and danger, making your pulse race, uncertain about what that could mean. But then he breaks into a goofy grin and throws back the covers, athletically jumping to his feet on the bed next to you, looking equal parts adorable and attractive in navy tartan pyjama bottoms and a dark grey t-shirt. He takes a few test bounces, the metal springs of the bedframe under the mattress squeaking mildly in protest as he does so.

“C'mon!” he coaxes, grabbing your arms and hauling you upwards onto your feet. “I think with a few bounces and choice noises, we can make our point.”

Perhaps it's mostly the three glasses of wine, but it seems like a funny idea. You both start to bounce, grasping each other's hands and giggling, the bed beginning to rattle against the adjoining wall as you work up a jumping pace.

“Make it sound like you are having the time of your life,” he proposes, laughing.

Your attempted noise of pleasure has you flushing with embarrassment at the feeble result.

“Oh, I know you can do better than that!” Benedict incites, eyes glittering with mischief. 

“I really can't,” you protest.

“Follow my lead. I’m not above a touch of theatrics,” he winks.

Benedict groans loudly, and despite the absurdity of the situation, it makes something run hot and electric through your body. He peers at you expectantly, awaiting your rejoinder. 

You cringe as, once again, your second attempt is lacking.

“Loosen up,” he rags lightly before repeating his very distracting noise. “C’mon, just imagine I am the best sex of your life.”

Your traitorous mind finds it remarkably easy to settle on that idea. Supplying a vivid picture of Benedict looming over you, a beguiling lopsided grin on his face as he takes you apart with long fingers buried between your legs. Just the thought has you biting your lip, but not before a feral noise escapes entirely without you meaning it to.

“Oh yes, that's much more like it,” he looks slightly taken aback but entirely approving. He leans in close as he requests: “Just a little louder.” 

Then with a grin, he turns to face the wall and pounds his fists onto the thick, rough stone. 

“Yeah baby!!”  His decidedly Austin Powers-like call echoes up along the ceiling as he tilts his head back, going fully theatrical.

“WE GET THE FUCKING HINT, BRIDGERTON!!”

Matt’s muffled, annoyed yell through the wall has you exchanging looks before collapsing back down onto the bed and rolling around in fits of quiet giggles.

“Well, it worked… I don’t think you were much help at all, though, if I’m honest,” Benedict opines breezily. “I definitely did the heavy lifting.”

“Perhaps I’m just not a loud sex noises person,” you posit.

“Then you haven’t been having the right sex. Which, given you were dating Matt, is sort of a foregone conclusion,” he needles genially.

“Not all of us are Vanessas… or apparently Benedicts.” 

He laughs heartily before countering: “I bet you could be. I’d happily try to have you screaming the roof down if I thought you’d ever bloody let me…”

It's a record-scratch moment that has your stomach flipping even as outwardly, all you do is scoff at the patently ridiculous idea. He must be kidding. He has never given you any vibes of being remotely interested in you in that way.

“Let you?! Bitch, please. As if you’d want to!” you rebut, wine stealing your filter. 

He turns towards you, seemingly in slow motion, breathing slightly heavy from the recent exertion, his cadence dropping low with words that sound like a warning. 

“Don't play that game.”

“I’m not playing any game,” you frown even as your heart speeds up at the challenging glint in his eye. “Ben, honestly, I… I'm not,” you stutter, all your assumptions about him scattering. “I… I didn't think you saw me that way…”

He twists up to hover over you. It appears he reads the honesty behind your stilted words, surprise rippling across his features before a breathtaking, troublesome look takes its place.

“You never could see what was right in front of you, either, could you?” 

Although rhetorical, you have no response anyway. Buffering as his lip quirks appealingly, a burst of heat behind your ribs as he leans down closer.

“Will you let me?” 

“Let you what?” 

Your whispered response is entirely too breathy and wanton. A delicious crackle in the air as Benedict stares down at you, inches apart, lips and cheeks flushed dark, likely a mirror of your own.

“Test your theory.”

The slow sweep of his glistening tongue over his lower lip breaks your resistance.

“Yes…” 

Your shaky exhale of permission may be barely audible but seems so loud to your own ears. 

And suddenly, his mouth is on yours.

The kiss starts soft and almost hesitant, but alcohol and desire coursing through your veins make you impatient, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to tug him closer, craving his weight and heat to engulf you. And that is what he does as his lips part yours, his tongue seeking permission you readily give as he presses you into the mattress. It’s a blur as you take from each other greedily, open-mouthed, demanding kisses that never seem to end.

“I need to hear you make that sound again,” he rumbles, kissing over your cheek, snagging your earlobe between his teeth, breath gusting hot into your neck.

Boldly, you grab his wrist and, throwing all caution to the wind, guide it lower between your legs. His fingers curl into the cotton, sinking into the heat, knowing you are seeping through the thin material.

“Are you always so wet?” He whispers, impressed, kissing a line over your throat.

You don’t answer, not wanting to say that it’s all him, instead pulling him in for another searing kiss, hoping he will get the hint. Sure enough, as you suck greedily on his questing tongue, he slowly swipes, locating your swollen clit with just one move. Just that slight nudge has your body alight, stuttering into his mouth, spine arching up off the bed, pushing your breasts into him. 

“I want to make you come,” he admits breathily, dilated pupils trained on you as you squirm under his touch.

“Please do.”

His groan is poetic, an insistent mass nudging your hip promisingly as he leans into you. You glance down, mesmerised by the veins on his hand as he moves to pluck at the bow at your waistband until it relents. His touch spiders under the material, trailing through your trimmed hair and then between your legs, a delicious noise in the back of his throat as his bare fingertips slide into your wetness. 

You want to ride his digits until you are screaming, want them buried in you so far you see stars. Want him to make you suck your juices from between his knuckles, him calling you all the filthy words under the sun as you do so.

“Whatever you are thinking of, tell me,” he pleads, his other hand sweeping into your hair, cradling the back of your head, a slight pull on your scalp that just heightens everything. “I just want you to use me. Take what you need from me; just please make that perfect noise again.”

“God Ben….” You stumble, never having had someone make such an offer before. So much pent-up desire you are quaking as you answer without artifice: “I was thinking of your fingers inside me.”

You don’t even have to ask him for it, he twists his wrist, and you moan as two fingers breach your weeping pussy, a slick noise filling the air as your body suctions onto his invasion. He utters a curse, perhaps taken aback by just how soaked you are. You inhale sharply, grasping the corded muscle of his forearm as he slides deep, his knuckles grazing your walls, reaching places you cannot.

He begins to softly stroke you, massaging in a rhythm that has your mouth slack, staring at him wide-eyed; then his thumb nudges your clit at the same time, and you are unable to prevent the loud staccato groan it elicits.

“Yessss, there it is..” he hisses triumphantly, kissing your temple. 

You nuzzle his cheek until he takes your hint, kissing you again, plundering, you making the noise again, open-mouthed, against his teeth and tongue, dripping onto his palm as he takes you higher, an electric hum racing under your skin. His thumbnail catches deliciously under your clitoral hood as he strums your swollen nub. Somehow it feels illicit, both of you still clothed in your nightwear, a tented outline in his pyjamas nudging your hip as you shamelessly ride now, a dewyness gathering inside your tank top at the flush of desire enveloping your skin.. 

“Come on, sweet girl,” he goads, “ride my hand properly. Use me.”

That term of affection would usually make you bark a laugh, but right now, it’s just blisteringly hot, him wringing the most filthy sodden noises from your body as he rocks in and out of your pussy. 

So you do. 

Scrunch your grip into the duvet beneath you and undulate on him, baring down as he surges inwards, moving like a wave together as he makes noises of encouragement, his lips warm on your cheek. His eyes don't leave your face except occasionally to glance down your writhing body, gaze lingering on your nipples pebbled against your vest. 

His feet entwine around your ankle, holding you down just a little bit, giving you just a little fight that you need, reading you like a book. With a nod and lopsided smirk, he silently bids you to keep going. And you do, getting overheated, chasing that high he is aiding and abetting.

“Don’t hold back,” he tutors silkily into your damp temple, intuiting that you are swallowing back some of the noises you want to make. 

So you follow his bidding. Stop modulating yourself, letting go, leaning into the simmering in your body, each perfect glide of his fingers spiralling you so high it's almost dizzying, your desire running down between your cheeks now. Something daring in you wants to be louder than Vanessa. To make the whole house jealous. Hell, for the entire world to know how good this feels.

He angles to catch your g-spot as well, and it hurtles you rapidly over into the blissful abyss; unable to stop yourself from spasming almost violently, screaming out, him fighting against your convulsions as you fracture apart and reassemble, breath stolen, blood pounding in your ears. You float both high above yourself and grounded in your body as that wondrous quake spreads to every corner of your being.

“That was bloody perfect,” he exhales, a thread of pride etched into his tone as you collapse down, heaving breaths as he withdraws from inside you.

“WE GOT THE FUCKING HINT EARLIER!!” 

Matt’s yell through the wall makes you both still, eyes going comically wide before you both start giggling. Benedict lands a kiss on the tip of your nose as he rolls on top of you, his rigid cock nestled against your inner thigh.

“Well, that just sounds like a challenge to me,” he quirks a seductive eyebrow. “Let’s give them something to really complain about…”

Then, without warning, his soaked fingers yank down the neckline of your vest, his warm lips suctioning onto your nipple, and you are calling out loudly once more. 

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt 1 : @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @hanji-emo-blog @sya-skies @urfavnoirette