#keller x reader

[bullet-prooflove]

Hello~~ Could I request number 35 "Time on my hands Since you been away boy" with Matthew Keller, please ? I want him to know "his girl" hasn't stopped living her life! I'm sure it's the only way to make him regret or something as close as it

OMFG this got way out of control!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @tems13 @rosielou94

MyGirl! Series:

My Girl (NSFW) - Noone puts hands on Keller's girl.

One More Night - Keller doesn't know when he came so sentimental.

Merlot - Keller misses you more than he'll admit.

Keller’s been in New York less than twenty four hours when he breaks into your house in Manhattan. He’s had his eyes on the brownstone all day, watching your comings and goings from various vantage points across the streets. Boxing, groceries, the art supply store and then later in the evening, a date.

Something in his chest twists because he recognises the dress you’re wearing, it’s the last one he fucked you in. He remembers how soft the material felt underneath his fingertips as he undressed you, the way it had slipped from your body, landing at your feet.

He spends the evening rifling through your things, searching for evidence of another man in your life, of a relationship. He finds nothing, not a cufflink or a toothbrush. He’s in your bedroom when he hears your key in the lock, the sound of your laughter in the hall. He escapes out onto the balcony that overlooks the city, closing the French windows behind him. Even if you look out he doubts that you’ll be able to see him in the darkness.

You aren’t alone when you step into the bedroom, pulling the other man along with you. It riles something inside of him, see those hands on you, those lips kissing the places that he’s kissed. He doesn’t know the person you’re with, but he stinks of Wall Street, the suit costs more than a Mecedes and the watch could feed a small country. You don’t take him to bed, instead you push him into the plush chair directly across from the window and Keller realises you’re giving him a private show of his very own.

He wonders what it was that tipped you off, something he hadn’t returned back to the proper place, the scent of his aftershave. It doesn’t matter because he sees this for what it is, a punishment, a way of torturing him for leaving without a word.

You don’t undress and neither does the suit, instead you unbutton his fly before taking him out of his trousers. Keller’s hands bunch into fists inside the pockets of his jacket, the bite of copper in his mouth as you hike your dress up and sink down onto him. He gets the message loud and clear, he’s not the only one having his fun in your time apart. You’re not crying into your pillow, waiting for him.

It lasts five minutes. The poor suit has no idea how to handle a woman like you and it shows. It isn’t long before you send him on his merry way, his mouth smeared with lipstick and his shirt untucked. He tries to hand you his number but you tuck it back into his breast pocket. You don’t look out of the window, you don’t give Keller a second glance. You head straight into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. He hears the sound of the shower turning on and water running as he slips back in through the French window.

You come back to find him sitting on the bed, his jacket tossed across the chair you’ve just fucked another man on. He watches you approach, that silk robe clinging to your skin as your damp hair falls across your features.

“You didn’t come.” He remarks as he tilts his head up towards you.

The scent of ylang ylang floods his senses, soft, floral. It’s different from the last time you were together, Keller wonders what else has changed. The two of you are at a tipping point right now, how he plays the next couple of minutes determines his future with you, the one he could have if he wants it.

“That was wasn’t the point.” You remind him and his lips twitch up into a smile.

He’s seven shades of fucked up but it turns out you are too. You won’t put up with his shit and that’s what tonight has been about. If he walks again, you won’t have any trouble cutting him loose.

“It is when you’re with me.” Keller tells you as his fingers undo the belt on your robe.

It falls open, revealing your nakedness. He keeps his eyes on yours, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he guides you towards his mouth. His lips brush over your bare skin, and your breathing hitches. Your head tips back, an exhale tearing from your throat as your fingers tangle in his hair, guiding his mouth to just the right place.

He moans when he tastes you for the first time. It’s like honey on his tongue and Keller can’t get enough. He growls against your cunt, burying his face between your thighs and you make that sweet little noise, the one he can never get enough.

There isn’t another woman alive that does this to him, that make him want to chase her pleasure, that makes him earn his own. You’re beautiful when you come, skin flushed, gaze locked on his. He licked up your mess, his hands tangling in your robe before he pulls you down into his lap, kissing you the same sinful way he has everywhere else.

You take your time undressing him, fingers teasing lightly across his skin, as you divest him of the fabric. He’s fucked so many women since the last time you were together but none have ever come close to the way he feels with you. He’s desperate and overwrought by the time you get him naked, your palm comes to rest on his chest, pushing him backwards onto the sheets. He smiles as you follow him down, your thighs straddling his hips, your wetness rubbing all over his cock. You guide his hands above his head and it isn’t until he feels the silk belt from your robe loop around his wrists that he realises what you’re doing.

There’s a question in your eyes, one that requires an answer and he knows you’re at the turning point.

If he does this with you, if he submits, then he’s giving you a part of himself and Keller, he doesn’t do vulnerability. He feels the silk loosen and he can tell you’re already slipping away from him. Trust goes both ways and he isn’t willing to play the game. That’s the problem with the relationship, it’s always been one sided. You give and he takes. It’s the same way with everything in his life. It’s the reason he destroys everything he touches.

“Like this.” Keller says roughly. He holds out his wrists, crossing one over the other so that you can get a tighter bind. “I can’t slip the knots this way.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Can I request a sexy Keller fic? Maybe where reader is his secret wife, all his friends think he’s shy, but not with her. Also can she be a badass!

I love your work! Keller is under appreciated thank you

Hope this is okay for you Anon! You're right Keller is underappreciated!

Mrs Keller

Director Keller x Reader

Word Count: 7603

Keller never thought much about the way people spoke about him. He was an observant man, he needed to be in his role as Director, but at no point did he think people spoke about him behind his back in any other regard than a boring, mundane, professional one.

     It was his assistant who had alerted him to the fact that he was wrong, and she did so in the most surprising way.

     ‘Gemma?’ He called from inside his office.

     She came scurrying in, pushing her glasses up her nose. ‘Sir?’

     ‘Can we cancel the meeting with Miss Clare? I don’t want to see her in this building again.’ Keller sighed, annoyed.

     ‘Of course.’ Gemma nodded, frowning but half smiling in confusion. ‘Any reason you don’t want to see her again, sir?’

     Keller liked Gemma a lot, she was a great assistant, she didn’t take crap from anyone and always made sure he got to where he needed to be on time. She had become a great friend of his, especially during the Skrull incident.

     ‘She’s a pain in my ass.’ Keller breathed harshly through his nose. ‘Wildly inappropriate and not the kind of person I want wandering around this agency.’

     Gemma stood up straight and frowned. ‘Oh, I thought you and her were… getting along?’

     ‘What do you mean?’ It was Keller’s turn to frown.

     Gemma just smiled. ‘Sir, it’s evident she likes you and we just presumed with all the time you were spending together…’ she rolled her hand to indicate something more, but Keller just didn’t understand.

     ‘We were talking about a potential client.’ He explained.

     ‘Sir, you know, it’s okay to admit you’ve been out of the game a while.’ She gently closed the door behind her, making sure no one could hear the conversation. ‘But you really should give Miss Clare a chance. She is lovely when you get to know her, single, very well regarded and would be in complete understanding of the demands of your job.’

     Keller almost laughed. ‘Gemma, I do not need dating advice.’

     ‘I’m not offering advice, I’m just saying, it’s okay to relieve a little stress every now and again.’

     Keller came around his desk, mostly to stop Gemma speaking.

     ‘I promise, I’m fine.’ Keller smiled.

     Gemma let a breath go. ‘Okay, well, if you change your mind, let me know. We all worry that you’re a bit lonely these days.’

     Keller nodded. He knew Gemma meant well and he always appreciated it, but he really didn’t need to be set up on a date with anyone.

     ‘I’m not.’ Keller shook his head, feeling a lot less stressed than he did before his assistant's concern. ‘Out of interest, who’s ‘we’?’

     Gemma suddenly looked a little sheepish, making Keller chuckle as he grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair. ‘It just slipped out.’ She sighed.

     ‘It’s been a long day,’ Keller nodded. ‘But you do need to work on your poker face.’

     Gemma just rolled her eyes about to leave his office. ‘By the way, you’ve got three profiles to go over and seven operational reports to read before tomorrow. You got time tonight?’ She teased, making him laugh.

     ‘I’m sure I’ll find time.’ He nodded, opening the door for her and turning the lights off before leaving for the day. Fury was waiting outside, holding a file, he liked the young man a lot, he had a lot of potential. ‘Fury, what can I do for you this evening?’

     ‘Actually sir, I was just dropping my team reports off to Gemma.’ He gave a polite smile to Keller’s assistant, who took his thick file and began to sort it into tomorrow’s work.

     ‘Actually, just put it in the case.’ He said, taking his long coat from the coat rack next to Gemma’s desk. ‘I’ll get it read before tomorrow. Start a new day with a clean slate.’

     ‘Are you sure? You’ve got quite a lot to get through as it is.’ Gemma said, hesitating before putting it in the briefcase Keller would take home with him.

     Keller just smiled and whipped his dark scarf over his head. Gemma shook her head sighing, before putting the files away and standing the brief case up.

     ‘Goodnight everyone. As always, good work today, let’s continue to raise the bar tomorrow.’

     ‘Yes sir.’ Fury said, stepping to one side.

Gemma watched her boss leave the office, sitting back with her arms folded and sighing.

     They waited until Keller was well out of ear shot before speaking about anything.

     ‘He doesn’t want to see Miss Clare anymore.’ Gemma said, immediately.

     ‘What? Why not?’ Fury whined. ‘She was great for him.’

     ‘He said she was a pain in the ass and inappropriate.’ Gemma shrugged. ‘I guess he doesn’t want to date anyone.’

     ‘Damn.’ Fury shook his head. ‘Well, he needs to do something, he’s been different.’

     ‘I think he’s lonely.’ Gemma agreed. ‘Maybe he just needs to get laid.’

     Fury snorted, chuckling as he began wandering away. There was no way he was talking about his boss’s sex life, getting him a date was one thing, laid was another thing entirely.

     Gemma looked down the corridor where Keller had disappeared and wondered why her boss was so reluctant to meet anyone. It was clear he lived a rather solitary life, some company wouldn’t do any harm and maybe he would unwind when at work.

     Fury was right though, in the recent weeks, Keller just wasn’t himself.

Keller took a breath as he got into his car, he didn’t realise the extent to which his assistant was concerned for him.

     He could tell from the way Fury spoke, he was the other one who talked about his personal life. Keller couldn’t deny he was slightly annoyed that he was talked about in such a way, but at the same time, he couldn’t let it bother him.

     Keller pulled out of the parking lot and began driving in the opposite direction to his home. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he was always being watched, but he was keeping a promise.

     Keller pulled up outside the airport and pulled out the first file in his briefcase. Almost twenty minutes had gone by before he spotted the person he was waiting for.

     As per his promise, Keller put the file away and stepped out of the car, striding towards you.

     You walked towards him, dragging two cases and carrying a duffel bag over your shoulder. He wished you’d picked up a trolley, but it just wasn’t your style.

     ‘Hello darling.’ Keller smiled, placing a soft kiss to your lips and taking a case. ‘Good flight?’

     ‘It was okay.’ You shrugged, smiling widely. ‘I mostly slept.’

     Keller opened the back of the car and carefully put your luggage away.

     ‘I hope you haven’t been working too hard.’ You raised an eyebrow seeing his briefcase in the back seat of his big black car. Keller gave a small smile like he’d been found out. ‘Richard, I knew you couldn’t be trusted.’

     ‘You were away for too long.’ Keller chuckled, taking your duffel bag to place next to your cases and opened the front door to get in.

     ‘So, now it’s my fault you’re a workaholic?’ You teased.

     ‘I wouldn’t never blame you for that.’ Keller shook his head, knowing would never say a bad word against his wife.

     He drove you both home, listening to your stories about your adventures in Europe. Keller was a little sad he couldn’t come with you, but he had other duties and no one actually knew he was married.

     You made it home and Keller told you to go inside, make some tea and wait for him to bring your things in. Keller was like that, he didn’t like it when you got overtired, you always got a little moody and it wouldn’t make anyone happy.

     When he finished taking your cases up to the bedroom, Keller came back down, removing his jacket and tie so that he was left in just his shirt and trousers. He saw you sitting on the sofa opposite the fire you had already started. You were reading through a book with some fascination.

     ‘What you got there?’ Keller said, grabbing the brief case and settling down next to you, one arm on the back of the sofa behind you.

     You smiled, pushing your glasses up your nose a little. ‘It’s a Greek tragedy.’

     ‘In original Greek?’ Keller nodded, impressed. ‘You learn that while you were away?’

     ‘I did.’ You smiled, gently biting your lip. You knew how much he loved when you mastered new skills like that.

     Keller smiled warmly. ‘I missed you.’ He said, his voice much lower than it had been, grabbing your full attention.

     You turned to look at him fully. ‘I missed you too.’ You tilted your head, observing his beautiful blue eyes. ‘I really hope you haven’t been overworking yourself.’ On a much more serious note.

     Keller bowed his head. ‘You know how I am when you take your trips. I do okay for the first week and then I just get a little restless.’

     ‘Well, I’m back now.’ You shuffled closer and ran your fingers gently through his hair above his ear. Keller inhaled a little deeper, he really did miss you.

     Keller gently grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, he smiled cheekily.

     ‘I have the best story for you.’ He said, excitedly.

     You just laughed knowing it would be good from his smile.

     ‘So,’ he quickly pushed his glasses up. ‘I call Gemma in just as I’m about to leave and tell her not to let Miss Clare back into my office-‘

     ‘Who’s Miss Clare?’ You frowned, worried she’d been mentioned before and you’d forgotten.

     ‘Uh, she was a potential client, but it doesn’t really matter.’

     ‘Okay.’ You nodded, getting reinvested in the story.

     ‘So, I don’t want her back in my office, I don’t even want her in the building again, and Gemma asks why. I said, she was just a pain in the ass, a little inappropriate and I actually have a feeling she was cooking books in her previous employment.’ Keller swallowed watching your face reacting to his story. ‘Anyway, Gemma then starts to say she’s concerned that I’m lonely and give me dating advice.’ That made you laugh. ‘I told her I was fine, obviously I didn’t tell her the real reason to back off, but I did think you’d find that funny.’

     ‘It is.’ You said, calming down. ‘What are you going to do if she tries to set you up with someone else?’

     ‘I don’t know, I haven’t thought that far ahead.’ Keller shook his head. ‘I mean, I could tell her the truth?’

     You tilted your head, as if to say you’d already had this conversation.

     ‘You’re right,’ Keller nodded. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

     ‘Speaking of dangerous, I still could’ve gotten a taxi home. You didn’t need to pick me up.’ You repeated the same thing from a previous argument you’d had.

     ‘I know.’ Keller bowed his head, still dragging his fingers over your knuckles. ‘I just…’

     ‘What is it?’ You frowned, getting your husband to look at you.

     Keller sighed, wondering wether he should’ve said anything else. ‘I don’t feel like I get to do a lot of that stuff.’

     ‘What stuff?’

     ‘Just… small stuff, like… picking you up from airports, taking you for coffee or dinner, I don’t get to come home early and surprise you with a clean house.’ Keller inhaled deeply and let his head rest back on the sofa. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be ungrateful for what we have.’

     ‘No, you’re not.’ You assured him. ‘And none of that stuff is small, it’s all relevant and I’m sorry you can’t do any of it.’ You stroked through his hair, relaxing him. ‘Maybe when you retire?’

     ‘Can I retire tomorrow?’

     You breathed a laugh. You knew he wouldn’t retire for a long time, you knew his job was too important to him, you knew life would always be a little different, you fell in love anyway.

     Eventually you were both able to settle into work. You read your new books, Keller read his reports. Occasionally, your husband would ask you if you were okay, if you needed anything, sometimes he would apologise for all the work he had to do, you would laugh and shake your head and wait for him to finish.

     It was well into the morning hours when a noise caught both of your attention.

     ‘The bins?’ You frowned.

     ‘Sounded like something falling.’ Keller was on his feet immediately to check it out, you following close behind.

     Keller went out to the front of the house and saw a bin had fallen over. He looked at it suspiciously before lifting it back into position.

     ‘Something wrong?’ You asked.

     ‘I don’t think so.’ Keller shook his head, more reassuring himself. ‘Must’ve been a cat or something.’

     You breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Probably Mrs Denton’s from down the road, it gets everywhere it shouldn’t. Maybe we should get a dog.’

     You made Keller laugh as he locked up once again. At least you were able to help him relax a little.

     ‘You wanna go to bed?’ He asked just as you picked up your book, ready to settle down again.

     ‘You’re finished working?’ You frowned, looking down at the files that you were certain he should not have left lying around for you to read.

     ‘Basically.’ He shrugged. ‘I only have one more report to sign off on. I can do it in the morning.’

     You smiled warmly. ‘Okay.’

     Truthfully, you had lied about sleeping on the plane, you maybe got a couple of hours, but you found it difficult to get anymore. Keller knew that, he always knew that, but he never said anything.

     You went upstairs first while your husband went around the house, turning off lights, checking locks and making sure your home was secure. It was one of his ticks, a compulsion he had to always keep you safe no matter what.

     While you waited for him to finish, you went through your nightly routine, taking off any makeup you still had on, slipping into your soft pyjamas and thinking about the following day.

     Soon, Keller came up the stairs to find you in the en-suite, cleaning your face, hair pulled up into a loose bun, out of the way.

     ‘I’ll have to do a couple of washes tomorrow,’ you said, thinking about the two cases you had to unpack. ‘Is there anything you need for the week?’

     ‘No.’ He said, his voice a little hoarse, when you properly looked at him through the mirror, you could see his expression had softened completely, his beautiful blue eyes grazing over your body.

     ‘Something I can help you with?’ You chuckled, knowing exactly what was going through his mind.

     ‘One or two things wouldn’t go amiss.’ He flirted, stepping towards you and gently sliding his hands around your waist. ‘I’ve missed you.’ He whispered below your ear, making a small chill run down your side.

     ‘I can tell.’ You closed your eyes, leaning back into his warm body.

     ‘You tired?’ He asked, more unsure of how far he could go than anything.

     You just laughed, turning around to face him, sliding your arms around his shoulders. ‘I confess I’m a little worn out from all the Italian boys that kept me company for the last couple months.’

     Keller laughed, kissing you. ‘I forgot, you were left unsupervised,’ he kissed you again. ‘I may have to remind you who the boss is.’

     You sucked in a harsh breath, this was your favourite game, the one where your husband would pretend to get jealous of something that never happened and show you his feral side.

     ‘Yes please.’ You breathed against his mouth.

     Keller sank into a passionate kiss against the bathroom counter, his hands running over your body, reminding his body of how much he loved you.

     He lifted you around his waist, wrapping your legs around him. Keller carried you back into the bedroom and lay you down on the soft, freshly made bed.

     ‘You made the bed?’ You frowned, noticing the smell of the white sheets.

     ‘I did.’ Keller nodded, taking his glasses off and throwing them on the side table. ‘I even mowed the lawn,’ he kissed your jaw. ‘I tidied the shed,’ he kissed your neck. ‘And I made sure your art supplies are well stocked.’ Keller lifted his head after making you dizzy, his darkened eyes scanning your features. ‘I love you.’

     You smiled up at your husband. He really had been out of sorts while you were away, restless and unsure of what he should have been doing.

     ‘I love you, Richard.’ You whispered back.

     Keller smiled, running the back of his fingers over your cheek, moving stray hair out of your face.

     He kissed you softly, but soon that softness turned into passion and desperation. He needed you naked, open to him, displayed against the white sheets for him. You needed to feel his hot skin against yours, you missed his body, you missed the way he held you and made love to you.

     Keller looked down at you, slowly sliding himself inside you, and it was a moment of pure bliss for both of you. He held himself there for a moment, just allowing his body to remember yours for a moment.

     ‘Don’t go away again.’ He whispered against your lips. You smiled, almost laughing. ‘I don’t think I can handle you leaving again.’

     ‘I won’t go.’ You promised. ‘I’ll stay here with you for as long as you need me.’

     Keller kissed you passionately. ‘I always need you.’

     You loved him. Everything about him, his passion, his attention to detail, everything about him, you loved. He calmed you when your mind was a mess, he cared for your needs like it was the only thing that made him happy, he received your love with gratitude like no other man ever had. You had no idea what you had done to deserve him.

     He made you come, crying out his name, he allowed himself to be lost in you for a moment or two, and it was always beautiful to watch him lose control.

     When you first met Keller you were unsure he was the one for you, he was always so calm and in control, never allowing his emotions to fluctuate too much. You wondered if there was anything more to him than that. Eventually, he asked you for a chance to get to know the real him, it intrigued you enough to give him that chance and you never looked back.

     Your husband gently pulled the sheets up and encircled you in his embrace.

     ‘Goodnight, darling.’ He whispered, kissing your neck one last time as you fell asleep.

When the morning came, you were surprised to find Keller was already up and getting dressed. You gently whined seeing him do his tie.

     ‘What is it?’ He smiled, knowing exactly why you were upset.

     ‘You’re dressed.’ You mumbled.

     ‘Generally, my office appreciates its employees to be clothed.’ He chuckled, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed, stroking through your hair. ‘You hungry?’

     ‘Always.’ You inhaled deeply, just trying to wake up.

     ‘Well, if you’re downstairs in the next five minutes, you’ll get some pancakes.’ He kissed your temple and stood up to finish getting ready for work.

     Your husband left you alone to get yourself up, and eventually you were able to drag your sore body into your black silk dressing gown and down to your kitchen where Keller was reading through a report on the counter.

     A plate was already sitting for you on the island and you could only smile, settling into one of the stools. Keller poured some coffee, bringing it around to place next to your plate.

     ‘Thank you, Richard.’ You smiled, moving your legs to face him. ‘You know you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.’

     ‘It was no trouble, at all.’ He shook his head, leaning in to give you a soft kiss. He gently put the pot of coffee down, sliding his hand into your hair. His lips were so soft and inviting. ‘I love you.’

     You chuckled. ‘You’ve already said that.’

     ‘And I’ll say it every second you need to hear it.’ He countered, kissing you again.

     You felt one hand drift to your calf, pulling it around his waist once again. It, again, made you chuckle into him.

     ‘You know I love the way you look first thing in the morning?’ He said, moving down your neck once again.

     ‘You mean a mess?’ You let your hands slide into his hair, gently grasping it as he continued his sensual attack on your neck.

     ‘A hot mess of my doing.’ He growled, dragging his teeth over your earlobe. This man just had a way of igniting you. You laughed while he continued to pepper kisses down your throat, before finally needing him to stop. ‘Okay, I’ll let you go.’ He said smiling into another kiss. ‘But just this once.’

     You giggled watching him go about finishing his coffee and reading his report.

     ‘I gotta go.’ Keller came up behind you, once again kissing your neck and breathing you in. ‘What if I call in sick?’ He inhaled.

     ‘Then you’ll be fielding calls all day instead of indulging in what you really want.’ You shot back, sliding your hands over his arms around your waist.

     ‘Wanna bet?’

     ‘Go to work, darling.’ You twisted your head to kiss his temple, knowing he wouldn’t call in sick or be late. ‘Call me if you get lonely.’

     ‘Hmm.’ He hummed into one last kiss. ‘I love you.’

     ‘I love you too.’ You chuckled. ‘Now go, or you’ll be late.’

     Keller reluctantly pulled away, grabbing the report and leaving you alone to get on with your day.

Keller arrived at work, handing the briefcase to Gemma who just sighed, shaking her head.

     ‘You work too hard, sir.’ She called as he entered his office to begin his day.

     Gemma got him to a couple of meetings in good time, and finished the morning with an operational briefing.

     ‘Sir?’ A lower level agent entered the room, unsure of himself. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’

     ‘We’re in the middle of a briefing,’ Keller sighed, annoyed. ‘What is it?’

     ‘Sorry, it’s just that there’s someone here to see you.’

     ‘Tell them to make an appointment with Gemma, I don’t have time right now.’ Keller dismissed him, indicating for Fury to continue, but he didn’t, instead, Fury just watched the agent behind Keller. ‘What now?’

     Keller only noticed then that the agent was almost shaking. ‘I’m sorry sir, but she said you’d say that and if you did, I was to say…’

     ‘What?’ Keller frowned.

     ‘I was to say that she wouldn’t expect your wife to need an appointment.’

     Keller’s heart dropped, he caught a brief exchange of looks between Gemma and Fury, but ignored it as he flew out of the briefing room.

     You stood in the corridor, arms folded over your leather jacket and not in the least bit pleased.

     ‘Richard.’ You frowned, clearly riled up by something.

     ‘Are you okay? What are you doing here?’ Keller asked, he suddenly saw blood on your arms and a little on your neck and face. ‘Are you bleeding?’

     ‘It’s not my blood.’ You stated plainly, you moved your jacket to reveal more bloodstains on your grey vest and Keller’s head was filling with rage. ‘Three men broke in and tried to kill me, I’ve dealt with it, but I wasn’t sure where else to go, so I came here.’

     Keller observed your face and body, you had clearly put up a decent fight, your knuckles and arms looked cut up like you’d been using them to defend yourself and quite suddenly, Keller felt a rage beginning to boil beneath the skin.

     ‘You need to keep your head, Richard.’ You almost commanded him, knowing how he could be. ‘I’ve got the security footage, I expected you’d like to go through it as soon as possible.’

     Keller couldn’t focus. Gemma had manoeuvred herself into view, probably curious about what she’d heard.

     ‘You must be Gemma.’ You said, still slightly riled up, but more capable than your husband to focus. ‘Would you mind going over the footage? I think Richard and I might need a moment.’

     ‘Yes, of course.’ Gemma’s tone was what brought Keller back to the present.

     ‘I don’t need a moment.’ He said, strangely calmly, taking the tape from you. ‘Are you injured at all?’

     There was almost a look of disappointment in your eye. You knew that despite his outer shell, your husband was on the brink of losing control.

     ‘Richard, I’m fine.’ You said, steadily. ‘I’m a little sore, but I just want you to deal with this as quickly as possible.’

     ‘Okay.’ He whispered. He hadn’t stopped looking at you since stepping outside the briefing, you were his primary focus now, the rest of the world could burn for all he cared, as long as you were safe.

     Keller opened the door to the briefing room, indicating for you and Gemma to step inside.

     ‘Okay, new target.’ Keller announced as he entered the room, he put the tape into the player and began working. ‘Someone has broken into my home and attempted to harm my wife-‘

     ‘Attempted being the operative word.’ You said, catching his attention.

     Keller turned to look at you. His gaze piercing yours.

     ‘Richard, the bodies are still there tied up in the kitchen. Perhaps a team could pick them up?’ You suggested.

     He nodded. ‘Fury.’

     Fury immediately organised a team to do as they were ordered. Keller still watched you, still concerned that you were hurt, but unsure of how to handle both your well-being and the safety of his home.

     The security footage took his attention away, and Keller found it much easier to focus.

     He watched you cleaning up after breakfast, smiling, going about your day as you should have done. Three bulky men entered the house and Keller almost smiled at how little back up they had, it was no wonder you weren’t hurt, three was hardly a challenge for you.

     The three men creeped around the house, you had already moved into your art studio, smiling at the restocked supplies that Keller had sourced for you. It swelled his heart.

     Eventually the footage showed you having dressed and made your way back downstairs. You paused for a moment, wrapping your fingers around a nearby mug that you’d forgotten from breakfast.

     ‘Woah.’ Gemma breathed behind him as the footage showed you easily dispensing with the three men, kicking the last in the face to knock him out. ‘So, you’re a badass then?’

     Keller listened to you breathing a laugh. ‘No, not really. I just know basic self-defence that Richard taught me a while back. Nothing more.’

     Keller stopped the video and ordered a nearby agent to run facial recognition to find out who they were, before turning to you and sighing.

     ‘Are you okay?’ He asked, quietly stepping towards you.

     ‘I’m fine.’ You tried to assure him.

     Keller nodded, he felt restrained in a way, he wanted to be himself for your sake, but he was surrounded by the people he worked with and didn’t know where to draw the line.

     ‘Sir, I can take her to get cleaned up? Maybe see a doctor?’ Gemma said, tentatively.

     Keller just watched you, trying to make a decision.

     ‘You know,’ you decided to help him out. ‘It really is good that you’ve surrounded yourself with friends, Richard. I feel I’m in very safe hands here.’

     ‘You are.’ Keller nodded, gently taking your hand, looking down at the scrapes made from defending yourself.

     ‘Richard.’ You whispered, taking his attention back to your face.

     Keller sighed and gently pulled you in close to his body, stroking his hand through your hair and making sure he could feel you in tact. Somehow it helped his focus. He placed a soft kiss to the side of your head and pulled back.

     ‘Go with Gemma.’ He told you, despite knowing you’d already made your mind up over what you were going to do next. ‘I’ll be along soon.’

     ‘I know.’ You nodded and eventually followed Gemma out of the briefing room.

You knew Gemma would have a lot of questions, but she was doing well to keep them to herself.

     She took you to the infirmary to get checked, finding that most of the blood really was from someone else. Apart from a few scrapes you were fine, you knew you were, but it made your husband happy to make sure you were taken care of, so you were happy to comply.

     You smiled a little at Gemma who would occasionally stare at you like some exotic creature. You knew perfectly well why.

     ‘We met at an art gallery.’ You said, once the doctor left the private room you were being seen in. Gemma sat forward listening. ‘He was quiet, shy, never really one for being the centre of attention. Truthfully, I thought he was a bit of a bore. But, eventually, I got to know him, we went on a few dates, he told me he was some secret agent and I didn’t believe it at the time, but then some idiot tried to steal a painting and… Richard barely did anything, he was so calm and collected, he stopped the thief and helped keep everyone calm.’ You remembered the night well. ‘Suffice to say, I was intrigued after that.’

     ‘And then you married him?’ Gemma asked, listening to every word of the story.

     ‘Well, not without reluctance,’ you confessed. ‘The wife of the Director of SHIELD. Some title. It gave me pause for thought, Richard made clear it wouldn’t be the safest choice I’d ever make, but he promised he’d make it work no matter what I chose. We both had to make sacrifices for our marriage. He gave a lot more than I did, but still…’ you trailed off thinking on all the things you could never do because of the man you loved. Every day you believed it was worth it though.

     ‘All this time, we just thought he was lonely.’ Gemma shook her head. ‘Sorry, it’s just so weird to find out Director Keller has a wife.’

     ‘That’s okay.’ You chuckled. ‘The loneliness is my fault unfortunately. I travel a lot and Richard does get a little out of sorts. He does okay for the first week or two, but gets increasingly restless the longer I’m away.’

     ‘You travel for work?’

     ‘Kind of.’ You bobbed your head from side to side. ‘I’m a painter so the travelling is voluntary really, but I always wanted to see the world.’

     Suddenly the door burst open and Keller, looking slightly more panicked than he had done, came rushing in.

     ‘Are you okay?’ He demanded.

     ‘Darling, I’m fine.’ You sighed once again. ‘Clean bill of health, just some scrapes. Nothing to worry about.’

     ‘You promise?’ Keller needed to be sure.

     ‘I promise.’ You nodded, assuring him. ‘Are you okay?’

     ‘No.’ He let a steady breath go through his nose. ‘My wife was attacked and all I can think about is how I should’ve have gotten her the dog she wanted.’

     ‘If I’d known all I needed to do was get myself into a life threatening situation-‘

     ‘Don’t.’ He suddenly begged, stepping towards you, entering your personal space. ‘Please don’t say that.’

     ‘Okay.’ You breathed, realising he wasn’t ready to joke around just yet. ‘You need me?’

     ‘Darling, I always need you.’ Keller breathed, once again sliding his arms around you and holding you close.

     Gemma indicated that she would leave quietly, allowing you both to have a moment alone and you smiled appreciatively.

     ‘If you can wait a little longer,’ Keller spoke into your hair. ‘Fury is still picking the culprits up, you can stay in my office until I can take you home.’

     ‘Oh don’t worry about me, I can get back okay.’

     ‘It’s not really a question.’ He said, catching your attention. ‘The noise we heard last night, when you thought it was Mrs Denton’s cat? It was one of the suspects disabling a camera, clearly they didn’t know about the others.’ Keller pulled back, his eyes filling with water. ‘I’m sorry this is all my fault, they followed me to the airport when I picked you up yesterday. I’m so sorry my darling.’

     ‘Richard.’ You half laughed. ‘Never apologise for caring for me. Never apologise for that. I knew the life I was signing up for when I married you and I wouldn’t trade it for anything else.’

     Keller just watched you for a moment, trying to decide something behind his eyes, it made you smile. Keller gently stroked your cheek before pressing his warm lips to yours. He was finally relaxing.

     You spent the rest of the day in his office, feeling mostly bored and unsure of what to do, but Keller took care of you. He took all his meetings in his office while you sketched at his desk, keeping yourself occupied. People would come in and sort of glance at you as if to ask ‘who the hell is she?’

     ‘This is my wife, she has security clearance.’ He would say in a commanding voice that you’d never heard before, and get whoever it was to get to the point quicker.

     Occasionally Gemma would pop to ask if there was anything you needed and your husband took pride in asking for the coffee you like the most. You would just smile at nod to Gemma, knowing Keller needed to feel he had control over every situation.

     ‘You need to relax, Richard.’ You said quietly once you were left alone. ‘You’re getting far too tightly wound and you’re snapping a lot. From the look on Gemma’s face, it seems to be out of the ordinary behaviour.’

     ‘Well, what do you expect after hearing my wife was nearly killed this morning?’ He snapped, making you raise your eyebrow.

     Keller could get away with snapping at junior colleagues, he could pass it off as being too busy or working to hard to engage, he could even get away with ignoring things completely if he so chose. But not with you.

     ‘I’m sorry.’ He sighed, taking his glasses off and closing his eyes for a moment. ‘I’m just angry.’

     ‘I can tell.’ You agreed, standing up to wander over to him. You gave him a moment, before gently moving his arm away so you could slide onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his temple, running your fingers through his hair. ‘How’s that?’

     Keller wrapped his arms around you, inhaling deeply. ‘Much better.’

     You stayed like that for another moment or two, until you felt him freeze beneath you.

     ‘What is it?’ You immediately asked in a sleepy voice. You were far too relaxed as well.

     ‘You’re shaking.’ He noticed, taking your hand to find you were in fact shaking.

     You almost laughed. ‘Well, the shock had to wear off some time, didn’t it?’

     Without warning, whatever delayed reaction you’d had to everything suddenly stopped and all emotion began flooding your system. Keller just held you, whispering how it would be okay, you would be okay.

     You believed him, but it was difficult nonetheless. You couldn’t hold back the tears forever, but it seemed you would get so little time to feel it. Another knock came to Keller’s door, you felt him sighing beneath you.

     ‘It’s okay-‘ you whispered.

     ‘It’s not.’ He countered, leaning up to kiss you. ‘But I appreciate you saying it is.’

     You smiled at your husband, slowly untangling yourself from his embrace and moving to look out of the large window in his office.

     You heard him going to the door and talk quietly to someone you vaguely recognised. The door closed behind you and you let a deep soothing breath go. You knew the emotions would catch up to you, you’d spent all afternoon trying to stop them, hoping you could hold on until you were back home for your husband's sake. But sometimes there was no holding back the tide.

     ‘Mrs Keller?’ Gemma called from the door, you sucked in a deep breath and turned to see the interesting young woman. ‘Do you need anything?’

     ‘I’m fine, Gemma.’ You smiled as best you could, moving to sit on top of Keller’s desk the way you always did when you were at home. It almost startled Gemma, no one sat on the Director’s desk. ‘I hope he hasn’t been too hard on you.’

     ‘Oh no, don’t worry about us,’ she said, tidying away a few files Keller had left on his coffee table. ‘The Director is usually a little snappy when he’s stressed.’

     ‘Well, I confess it’s not a side of him I’ve really seen.’ You frowned.

     ‘Really?’ She seemed shocked, making you chuckle. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant we all get stressed.’

     ‘True, but Richard doesn’t really bring the stress home.’ You shook your head, thinking about your husband. ‘It’s quite unusual seeing him in this light.’

     ‘I know what you mean.’ Gemma chuckled. ‘Honestly, the Director is great, we get along very well and I always feel like I can tell him if somethings wrong, he’s usually quite kind about things, but I’ve never seen him like this before.’

     ‘Like what?’ You tilted your head, intrigued.

     Gemma took a moment to find the right word. ‘Warm?’ She scrunched her face like it wasn’t right. ‘I don’t know, just… he’s very professional I suppose, so seeing him with you and being so…’

     You frowned in questioning.

     ‘Oh, I don’t know, he’s just behaving the way someone would behave when they’re in love, but seeing him do it… it’s very weird.’ She chuckled, making you smile as well. ‘I hope that’s okay to say.’

     ‘Gemma, I’m not your boss,’ you laughed. ‘You can say anything you like.’

     Gemma nodded, still collecting up files. ‘Well, in that case, I’m really happy he has you. I mean none of us thought in a million years that the Director would have a secret wife, especially not one so badass.’

     That made you laugh a lot more, but it did highlight the sore parts of your body.

     ‘Trust me, I’m not as badass as you think.’ You calmed down. ‘And I’m afraid the secrecy is necessary, I’m sure you can understand.’

     ‘Of course.’ Gemma nodded. She was probably one of the only people who could understand the demands of Keller’s job.

     After a moment, the man himself entered, carrying a file in his hand, he stopped when he saw you, observing you for a minute.

     ‘So, we know who it was,’ he started, slowly taking the last few steps towards you. ‘A team has been sent to neutralise the threat.’

     ‘Neutralise? That’s a very professional word.’ You smiled.

     ‘It is.’ Keller breathed a laugh. ‘But to put a dampener on things, I will be stationing a two man team outside the house every day for the next month. Just to make sure.’

     You sighed, not happy, but knowing it was necessary.

     Keller gently placed the file down and stroked your thighs, being careful with you.

     ‘I knew you’d hate that, so I am going to make up for it.’ He promised, you saw that glint in his eye that belonged only to your husband. ‘Tonight, I’m going to take you home, make you dinner, run a bath and I will not take a single piece of work home with me.’

     ‘Really?’ You frowned, suspiciously. ‘That does not sound like you at all.’

     ‘I promise, tonight I’m yours and that you are my only priority.’ Keller gently slid his hands up your jaw and placed a finely, soft kiss to your lips. ‘I’m so sorry this happened, darling. I’ll do everything I can to make sure it never happens again.’ He whispered against your mouth, placing another kiss.

     You were enjoying the moment, but a noise from where Gemma was still tidying broke the quiet. Keller’s head whipped around, clearly having no idea she was still in the room.

     ‘Sorry, I’m so sorry!’ Gemma was trying not to smile, but also trying to gather up the files. ‘It’s just you came in, I didn’t know when to leave, I’m sorry.’

     You placed your hand on your husband's chest, making sure he understood that none of it was a big deal and you felt him inhale calmly.

     ‘It’s okay.’ He sighed, you could tell he wasn’t angry, just a little embarrassed. ‘Don’t worry about it, just… could you make sure there’s a car outside for me? I think it’s time I took my wife home.’ Keller pierced your gaze with his. Those beautiful blue eyes that belonged to the man you loved.

     ‘Yes, sir.’ Gemma said, leaving immediately to call for a car.

     ‘She’s going to give me hell for that.’ Keller chuckled.

     ‘Good.’ You smiled. ‘Someone has to.’

     Keller gently stroked your hands, being careful to avoid the scrapes, but it was now the skin around the injuries that was sore as well.

     ‘That hurt?’ Keller frowned.

     ‘A little.’ You shrugged. ‘It’s just sensitive.’

     Your husband nodded and gently smiled. ‘Am I an awful person for being grateful for another opportunity to show you how much I love you?’

     You just chuckled, shaking your head. ‘Of course not.’

     He bowed his head slightly, before placing a kiss to your cheek, breathing you in. ‘You have a few decisions to make.’ His voice was low, the way it is when he knows you’ll love what he’s about to say.

     You frowned, pulling back to see him.

     ‘Whatever you want for dinner,’ he smiled, again stroking through your hair. ‘And… what kind of dog do you want?’

     You suddenly started laughing. ‘Richard, we can’t get a dog, what’s going to happen when I go away? Who’s going to look after it?’

     ‘In case this has passed you by, I am the Director of SHIELD, I can look after it here.’

     ‘Richard.’ You shook your head. ‘I am fine, we don’t need to get a dog.’

     Keller let his breath go, still smiling. ‘Okay.’ He said. ‘Are you ready to go home?’

     ‘I am.’ You nodded. ‘But seriously, if you’ve got work, please don’t hesitate to bring it with you. I know I’ve kind of set you back for the day.’

     ‘Darling, I know this is the first time you’ve seen me at work, but trust me, there is nothing this place can throw at me that will take priority over you.’ Keller placed another soft kiss to your lips. Somehow it grounded you, you believed every word he said.

     Your husband picked up his jacket, giving you his coat, despite knowing you didn’t need it, and you said good night to Gemma.

     There was a whole team waiting outside and Keller began speaking to them in a very professional tone, you gave Gemma a look almost mocking his other personality, making her stifle a laugh. Much to everyone’s surprise, including yours, Keller slid his hand down your arm, kissed your cheek and led you out of his office.

Gemma watched her boss leave, she had never seen him like that before. Usually a relatively cold and commanding man, it was a pleasant surprise to see his softer and gentler side.

     Fury creeped out from a corridor just after Keller left, eager to talk about what had happened.

     ‘Oh my god.’ Gemma mouthed, while Fury whistled.

     ‘Who saw that coming?’ Fury chuckled.

     ���How the hell did he manage to keep her a secret all this time?’ Gemma just laughed, baffled by her boss.

     ‘No idea, but kudus to him.’

     ‘And she’s lovely. She’s a painter.’

     ‘A hell of a fighter. Keller must’ve taught her a thing or two.’

     ‘And they’re so sweet together.’ Gemma continued gushing. ‘Did you see the way he was around her? God, I could never have imagined him like that.’

     ‘What did you imagine him like?’ Fury frowned, making Gemma scowl at him.

     ‘Did you manage to track the guys who did this?’ Gemma sat up, moving a few things around in her desk.

     ‘Yeah, some gang that’s been watching Keller for a while now, we’ve been tracking them for a few months.’ Fury nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘I’m kinda surprised Keller went to the airport himself to pick her up. It’s a huge risk just being seen with her.’

     ‘He promised her this time he would.’ Gemma told him. ‘It’s funny, the way she was talking about him, feels like there’s a lot of promises he wasn’t able to keep.’

     ‘The price of the job.’ Fury nodded.

     It dawned on the both of them just how difficult the marriage must have been, how in love you and Keller must be to continue down this path together, regardless of consequence.

A couple of months later, Keller had come into the office with a white German Shepherd barely six months old on a lead. He went about his day as usual and when Gemma entered his office to help him with a few meetings, she greeted the dog and asked how long you were going to be away for.

     Keller just smiled and scratched the dog’s head affectionately.

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[smutstationchoochoo]

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room. 

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

  Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?”  His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

 You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

 His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?  

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment.  It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.  

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up.  Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

[sky-is-the-limit]

"𝑰𝒏 𝒂 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔, 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒂 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒏."

[lxvvie]

Simps 'R Us, Between the Sheets edition: Your faves and the wholesome and funny things you two get up to in bed, part I.

Capt. John Price - When he's half asleep and about to snore loud enough to wake the dead (Price vehemently denies this), you like to have random conversations with him because you know questions you ask will do one of two things: elicit a nonsensical answer from the Cap'n or... wake him up from his sleep altogether.

Gaz - Is curling up into himself because you're the big spoon, you're running your hands over his body because he's highkey lowkey ticklish, and your face is buried in his neck because... he's highkey lowkey ticklish. "Darling, please—" Gaz manages to gasp out between... wait, are you giggling, Garrick?

Soap - Your darling golden retriever chaotic good boyfriend loves... to sleep naked. You're not complaining, though, especially because he loves it when you lay on him. You've made a home for yourself between his thighs; his stomach is your pillow, and he usually has a hand rubbing your head. Helps him to relax, y'know, bonnie? And whenever you don't lay on him, it's an affront to Johnny's... everything. His heart is broken. His soul is crushed. You're too far away from him (even though you're still right under him). How could you do this to him? He can't live like this. No other stud muffin can offer you what he can, beautiful. But no really, bonnie, he needs you on top of him like... yesterday.

Ghost - You really like his body. Like... really like his body. You blow raspberries on his stomach, you smack his ass, you talk about his eyelashes—scratch that, you love his body. To you, every scar tells a story, and you've asked him plenty of times to talk about them. And then you did the unthinkable that had Simon wanting to disappear into the fucking blankets—"Si-bear, I didn't know you had a mole on your inner thigh!" Bloody fucking hell, he'll never hear the end of this. And then you kissed it and Ghost's face had never felt so bloody hot before. Christ, you'll be the death of him, sweetheart.

Roach - Nothing but the most sickeningly saccharine stuff to ever stuff happens with Roach. A poke-fest, a kiss-fest, a tickle-fest, you name it, it happens. Roach loves to sleep with his face buried in your chest and arms wound tight around you. Always. You rubbing his head soothes him to sleep as well.

Alex - You're also the big spoon here, too. You're busy talking about conspiracy theories you believe the government is/was involved in and Alex is entertaining you ("That so, Boss?"). In actuality, his eyes are comically wide because the truth is oftentimes stranger than fiction and you may or may not be walking a little heavy there, Boss.

Alejandro - Is the big spoon to your little spoon in bed no matter what you're doing. Loves to intertwine your legs together, too. Alejo murmurs how much he loves you in your ear and kisses the top of your head before telling you good night.

Rudy - Sometimes when he's asleep, you'll whisper "Rodolfo" in his ear which causes Rudy to shoot up, eyes comically wide because the only time someone calls him by his full government name is when he gets into shit but it wasn't him this time, it was that idiot Alvarez— "Didn't get to tell you good night and I love you, Rudy, so... good night and I love you, Rudy." Oh. Oh. Ha. Real funny.

Farah - A cuddle bunny through and through. She loves laying up under you, her head resting on your shoulder or under your chin, or her face in the crook of your neck. She wants to hear you as you sleep. She wants to feel the gentle rise and fall of your chest or the resonances as you speak. Farah simply can't get enough of you.

Keegan - It's really you teasing him because Keegan isn't one to really get flustered or deviate from his infamously neutral expression. Much. Until you came along. You two are relaxing in bed and you're the one randomly calling out, "Hey, Kee-Kee," to which Keegan makes the most surprised and disgusted face in response and you're wheezing.

[urdreamydoodles]

I love your headcanons!! I’d love to see how you think the X-men would react to the reader playfully biting them, in or out of the bedroom, whatever scenario you’d like (you can go with any characters, but bonus points for Logan, Erik, Charles, and perhaps a new one, Victor Creed 👀)

X-MEN CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

You bite them playfully

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Victor Creed, Julian Keller, Kitty Pryde, Cable, Warren Worthington III, Morph, Mystique, Magik & Alex Summers

Reply to anon: OMG yes, Victor my little mad dog!

Logan Howlett

- You don’t expect him to react. Not really. He’s endured bullets, blades, and the unrelenting weight of time itself. A playful bite from you should be nothing—should be a drop of rain against an unshakable mountain. And yet, the moment your teeth graze his skin, a low growl rumbles from deep within his chest, something primal and unbidden. His muscles tense beneath your touch, like an animal caught between instinct and restraint.

- His gaze finds yours, sharp and golden, flickering with something unreadable. His lips curl into the faintest smirk, but his eyes betray him—dark with challenge, with something wilder lurking beneath. “That all you got, darlin’?” he rasps, his voice rough as gravel, his fingers curling at his sides as if resisting the urge to seize you right then and there.

- But Logan is nothing if not a man of action. A heartbeat later, his arm is around your waist, pulling you in close, the heat of his body searing against yours. His voice dips lower, a teasing growl, though there’s a dangerous edge to it now. “Y’know what they say, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “You bite a wolf, you better be ready for it to bite back.”

- And he does. Maybe not in the way you expect—not with teeth, but with hands that grip too tight, with lips that press too hard, with a possessiveness that lingers in every touch. Because Logan doesn’t do playful. He does hunger. He does need. And if you dare to tease the beast, you’d best be ready for the storm that follows.

Remy LeBeau

- Remy freezes the moment your teeth press against his skin—not from pain, not from surprise, but from something far more dangerous. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smirk yet, but the promise of one. And then, ever so slowly, he tilts his head toward you, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with mischief.

- “Ma belle, you tryna kill me?” he drawls, his accent thick and lazy, but his voice carries that unmistakable edge of heat. His fingers brush over your arm, slow and deliberate, as if tracing the intent behind your bite. “'Cause I gotta warn you, chérie… I ain’t the kind to die easy.”

- The next thing you know, he’s got you backed against the nearest surface, one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing the curve of your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His grin is downright wicked now, his gaze molten with amusement and something darker. “See, you play this game wit’ me, mon amour, you best know the rules.” His breath is warm against your lips, teasing, taunting. “You bite me? I devour you.”

- And then he leans in, and oh—Remy doesn’t just kiss. He claims. He teases. He tastes. His lips ghost over yours, never quite giving you what you want, never quite letting you escape, because if you’re going to start a game with the Ragin’ Cajun, you better be ready to lose.

Kurt Wagner

- The moment your teeth sink lightly into his skin, Kurt stills, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, his mind goes utterly blank—because of course you would do this, of course you would find new ways to unravel him, to leave him speechless and stumbling. His tail flicks once, betraying his surprise, before curling around your waist in retaliation.

- And then—oh. Oh, then he laughs. A low, breathy chuckle that rumbles in his chest, warm and so utterly Kurt. “Mein Schatz,” he murmurs, his voice rich with amusement, his golden eyes gleaming. “Was that supposed to be threatening? Because I must say… you might have to try harder.”

- But his tail tightens ever so slightly, his hands settling on your hips, his body pressing just a little closer. His voice drops into something softer now, something teasing but fond. “Or perhaps you weren’t trying to scare me at all,” he muses, brushing his nose against yours, an intimate little gesture that makes your heart stutter. “Perhaps you were simply asking for a little attention, ja?”

- And oh, does he give it. He moves fast—so fast you barely register the shift before you’re elsewhere, whisked away in a blink of smoke and laughter. One moment you’re standing, the next you’re tangled in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his teleportation, caught between breathless kisses and whispered endearments. Because if you’re going to bite him, liebling, he’s going to make sure you never regret it.

Scott Summers

- Scott’s reaction is immediate—sharp inhale, muscles tensing beneath your touch, jaw tightening as if trying to suppress whatever instinct just surged through him. His discipline, his restraint—it has always been his armor, his cage. But you—you have a habit of making him forget himself.

- “What was that?” he asks, voice lower than usual, a little rough around the edges, though the slight flush creeping up his neck betrays him. His fingers flex at his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you closer or set you firmly away. But his ruby-red gaze is locked onto you now, and he is searching—for your intent, for your reasoning, for something he can brace himself against.

- “You can’t just—” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, as if that will somehow ground him. His lips part, like he wants to scold you, like he wants to tell you biting is not part of a proper battle strategy, but the words never come. Instead, his hand lifts, cups your chin, his thumb grazing over your lower lip in something dangerously close to reverence.

- And then, ever so slowly, his lips brush against yours—light, testing, but oh-so-intense. Because Scott Summers does not give in easily. He does not let himself have. But you—you are different. You are his exception. And if you are going to play with fire, then you had best be prepared to burn.

Jean Grey

- Jean stills the moment your teeth graze her skin, not in fear or surprise, but in the way someone freezes when they have just stepped into the unknown. She has felt so many things in her lifetime—pain, joy, rage, divinity itself—but the sharp, teasing sensation of you doing this? That is something new. Her lips part slightly, a breath catching in her throat, and though she does not speak, you can hear her thoughts as if they are your own: What exactly are you trying to do to me?

- And then, oh, she smiles. Slow, knowing, the corners of her lips curving into something dangerously affectionate. Her fingers trace lightly over your arm, telekinetic energy humming faintly beneath her fingertips as she studies you with emerald eyes that gleam with amusement. “You do realize who you’re dealing with, don’t you?” she murmurs, voice soft but laced with something teasing, something nearly predatory. “You think you can surprise me, love? That’s adorable.”

- But Jean is not one to let challenges go unanswered. The next thing you know, her hand slides to your jaw, tilting your face toward hers with effortless ease. She doesn’t need to use her telekinesis to hold you there—no, the intensity in her gaze alone is enough. “Tell me,” she muses, leaning in so close her lips barely brush against yours. “Do you bite because you want my attention? Or because you already have it?”

- And before you can answer, she kisses you—deep, slow, deliberate. Not just a kiss, but a response, a promise. Because Jean Grey is made of passion and power, and if you wish to tease her, if you wish to provoke her, then you must be prepared for the storm you have just invited into your arms.

Ororo Munroe

- The moment your teeth press gently against her skin, a low, melodic hum escapes her—a sound not of displeasure, but of acknowledgment. Ororo Munroe has spent years cultivating grace, control, an unshakable presence that commands gods and mortals alike. And yet, this—this quiet, playful act of yours—catches her off guard in the most unexpected of ways.

- Her silver eyes flick toward you, gleaming with something unreadable, and for a moment, the air around you shifts, electricity humming faintly in the space between your bodies. Not as a threat, not as a warning, but as a reaction—as if even the very elements themselves are uncertain how to respond to the way you unravel her. “My love,” she says at last, her voice a soft, indulgent purr. “Was that meant to challenge me? Or are you merely being mischievous?”

- Slowly, her fingers trail along your shoulders, feather-light, teasing, carrying the same effortless power as the wind itself. And then, in one smooth motion, she moves—you don’t quite know how, only that one moment you are standing in place, and the next, the storm has wrapped itself around you. You are pulled flush against her, her presence enveloping you in warmth, in strength, in the quiet promise of something far greater than either of you can name.

- “If you seek my attention,” she whispers, her breath brushing against your ear like the gentlest breeze, “you need only ask.” And then, with a slow, deliberate smile, she leans in, her lips brushing over the spot where your bite had just been—a silent response, a wordless challenge of her own. Because if you are to tease a goddess, then you must be ready to be worshipped in return.

Rogue

- The second your teeth sink playfully into her skin, Rogue gasps—sharp, sudden, entirely unprepared. It’s not that she doesn’t like it, not at all, but more that she did not see it coming. For all her strength, all her bravado, you have just done something no enemy, no battle, no nightmare has ever managed to do: you have caught her off guard.

- “Sugah,” she breathes, her accent thickening just a bit, her voice a mixture of amusement and something else—something dangerous. Slowly, her green eyes flick to yours, and oh, that look—half-smirk, half-warning—tells you that you might have just started something you cannot finish. “Did you just… bite me?”

- And then, before you can answer, she does what Rogue does best—she acts. One moment, you are standing comfortably, the next, she has you pinned. Not roughly, not cruelly, but firmly, her gloved hands gripping your wrists, her breath hot against your skin. “Y’know,” she muses, tilting her head as she studies you, “if you wanted my attention that bad, all you had to do was ask.”

- But the glint in her eye betrays her—because for all her teasing, for all her bravado, the truth is simple: she loves this. Loves that you would dare to play with her, loves that you know exactly how to unravel her defenses, how to make her forget the space she so often has to keep between herself and the world. And so, with a wicked little smirk, she leans in, her lips hovering just above yours as she murmurs, “Hope you know what you started, darlin’. ‘Cause I don’t play fair.”

Erik Lehnsherr

- The moment your teeth press against his skin, Erik goes very, very still. Not out of fear, not out of surprise, but out of calculation. He is a man of war, of tragedy, of wounds both seen and unseen, and he has spent his entire life anticipating danger. But this—this playful, fleeting bite from you—is not something he had prepared for.

- And then, slowly, he exhales. Not in frustration, not in anger, but in something far deeper—something like acceptance. His sharp, silver gaze flicks to yours, unreadable yet knowing, and a slow, deliberate smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Liebling,” he murmurs, his voice as smooth as tempered steel. “Do you think this is a game?”

- He does not move immediately. No, Erik prefers patience, prefers anticipation, prefers to let you feel the weight of what you have just done. And then, finally, he acts. His fingers ghost over your jaw, light as a whisper, his touch deceptively gentle. But his grip—when it finally settles—is not. His hand tightens, not cruelly, but possessively, his thumb tracing over your pulse as he studies you like a puzzle he has yet to solve.

- “If you wish to test me,” he muses, his voice a low, dark promise, “then by all means… continue.” And then, in a move so smooth it leaves you breathless, he takes—captures your mouth with his, slow and unyielding, like gravity itself bending to his will. Because Erik Lehnsherr does not play. He conquers. And if you wish to tempt him, then you must be prepared to surrender.

Charles Xavier

- Charles Xavier is a man of the mind, a man who has unraveled the deepest corners of human thought and consciousness, who has witnessed the entirety of existence through the whispers of others’ souls. And yet, for all his knowledge, for all the mysteries he has unraveled, you still find a way to surprise him. The moment your teeth press against his skin—soft, playful, fleeting—he stills, blue eyes widening just slightly, as if he cannot quite believe that you, of all things, could ever be so unpredictable.

- But then, oh, then he laughs. Not a polite chuckle, not the refined sort of amusement he offers in conversations of wit and charm, but something richer, something real. A warm, low sound that spills from his lips like honey, as if you have just whispered the most delightful secret in the world. He tilts his head toward you, curiosity sparking in his gaze, and for a moment, you see it—the boy he once was, the one who believed in the simple joy of being alive. “My dear,” he muses, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips, “are you quite certain you wish to play this game with me?”

- Charles is a scholar, a tactician, a man who has spent his life wielding words and thoughts like weapons, and he is not one to let a challenge go unanswered. Before you can pull away, his fingers ghost along your wrist, light as a whisper, and suddenly—you feel it. Not words, not images, but a sensation, a feeling, as if he is pressing the weight of his affection directly into your soul. This is how he fights back—by letting you feel what you do to him, by drowning you in the sheer, unshakable depth of his love.

- “You are a fascinating creature,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, intimate thing, meant only for you. And then, with deliberate slowness, he leans in, his lips grazing the same spot where your teeth had just been, a silent response, a quiet promise. Because Charles Xavier is a man of the mind—but with you, he has learned to love the body, too.

Wanda Maximoff

- Wanda Maximoff has spent her entire life on the precipice of chaos. Magic flows through her like a storm, raw and untamed, and though she has learned to control it, there is still a part of her that lingers on the edge—uncertain, fragile, waiting for the world to turn against her. But you—you are different. You do not fear her, do not tread lightly as if she is glass that might shatter at the slightest touch. No, you play with her, tease her, press your teeth against her skin in a gesture so human, so simple, that for a moment, she forgets the weight of her own power.

- Her breath catches—just a little, just enough for you to notice. Her fingers curl against your arm, not to push you away, but to steady herself, as if grounding herself in the moment, in you. And then, slowly, her lips curve into something soft, something real. “You’re bold,” she murmurs, her voice laced with quiet amusement, but there is something else there, too—something dangerous. A challenge. A warning. Because Wanda Maximoff is not someone you tease without consequences.

- Before you can react, she moves. The world shifts around you, a flicker of crimson in the air, and suddenly, you are weightless, as if gravity itself has forgotten you exist. Her magic hums against your skin, curling around you like the brush of unseen fingertips, and she watches you with a look that is pure mischief. “Tell me, darling,” she whispers, tilting her head ever so slightly, “was that meant to tempt me?”

- And then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, she leans in—her lips barely grazing your skin, a phantom touch, a promise of something more. Because Wanda Maximoff is chaos incarnate, and if you wish to play with her, then you must be prepared to dance in the storm.

Pietro Maximoff

- It happens so quickly that even you don’t realize what you’ve done. One moment, Pietro Maximoff is standing before you, talking, teasing, filling the space between you with his usual boundless energy, and the next—your teeth graze his skin, a fleeting, playful bite, quick as lightning itself. And then? He’s gone. A blur of silver and laughter, a gust of wind where he once stood.

- But before you can even blink, he is back—and oh, that look on his face. His lips are curled into a smirk, his blue eyes gleaming with something wild, something electric. “Really?” he breathes, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You think you can bite me? Me?” His laughter rings out, sharp and bright, and suddenly, he is moving again—circling you, his presence a flickering pulse in the air, there and gone all at once.

- And then, he strikes. Not with speed, not with force, but with something far worse—anticipation. He stops right behind you, so close that his breath is warm against your ear, his voice a whisper of pure, unfiltered mischief. “You know what they say about quick reflexes, don’t you?” he murmurs, and before you can even think to react, his lips brush against your neck—a flicker of a kiss, a ghost of a touch, so fleeting you almost question if it happened at all.

- And then? He’s gone again. Laughing, running, taunting. Because Pietro Maximoff is not someone who is caught—he is the storm itself, and if you wish to play this game, then you must be prepared to chase the wind.

Hank McCoy

- Hank McCoy is not a man who is easily surprised. He has spent his life in pursuit of knowledge, unraveling the mysteries of science, of genetics, of the very fabric of existence itself. And yet, for all his intellect, for all his careful observations of the world—he does not see you coming. The moment your teeth press playfully into his skin, his entire body freezes, blue fur bristling slightly, golden eyes widening in stunned disbelief.

- “Oh, my stars and garters,” he breathes, his voice carrying the unmistakable weight of a man whose entire world has just shifted. Slowly, his gaze flicks down to you, studying you with the same meticulous focus he applies to his research, as if you are some rare, fascinating discovery he has yet to fully understand. “You do realize,” he murmurs, voice warm and teasing, “that by initiating such an experiment, you are opening yourself up to… repercussions, yes?”

- And then, oh, his smile. Slow, wickedly amused, utterly delighted. Before you can react, he moves—not with the hesitant carefulness of a man afraid of his own strength, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how to turn the tables. One moment, you are standing, the next, you are swept off your feet, cradled in arms that are both impossibly strong and impossibly gentle. “Ah,” he muses, adjusting his grip as if holding you is the most natural thing in the world, “I do believe I now have the advantage.”

- And then, with a quiet chuckle, he leans in—not to bite, not to tease, but to kiss the very spot where your teeth had been, slow and deliberate, a scholar testing a theory. Because Hank McCoy is a man of knowledge—but when it comes to you, he is more than willing to be a student of the unknown.

Emma Frost

- The moment your teeth graze her skin, Emma Frost’s response is immediate—a slow, measured inhale, the faintest arch of a perfectly sculpted brow. She does not startle, does not react with anything so crass as surprise. No, Emma assesses. A woman of elegance, of control, she has spent a lifetime ensuring that no one catches her off guard, that no one slips beneath the carefully constructed ice of her composure. And yet, you have done it, a playful bite against porcelain skin, an action so simple yet so bold that, for the briefest moment, even the White Queen falters.

- But then, oh, then she smiles. Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous. A curl of her lips that carries no warmth, only sharp amusement and something far more wicked. “Darling,” she purrs, voice smooth as silk, laced with the faintest edge of laughter, “if you wanted to get my attention, there are… other ways to do so.” Her fingers ghost along your wrist, deceptively gentle, a reminder that while you may have started this game, she is the one who will dictate how it ends.

- She does not retaliate with force, nor does she melt into you like some lovesick fool. No, Emma punishes in the most exquisite way possible—she makes you wait. A brush of her fingertips against your jaw, a lingering glance, the press of her body close enough to promise but never enough to give. “Tell me,” she murmurs, tilting her head, voice rich with amusement, “was that truly your best effort?”

- And then, when you least expect it, she strikes. A shift of movement so swift, so precise, that you don’t even register it until it’s happening—her lips against your pulse point, her teeth grazing the same spot where you dared to mark her. It is not surrender. It is not an answer. It is a lesson. A warning. A challenge. Because Emma Frost does not lose—but she does enjoy playing with her prey.

Laura Kinney

- The moment your teeth press into her skin, Laura reacts. No hesitation, no pause—her body tenses, muscles coiling like a predator poised to strike. Instinct kicks in before thought, before reason, before she can even register that it’s you. And for a split second, you feel it—the sheer, terrifying violence that lurks beneath her skin, the razor’s edge of a woman who has spent her entire life as a weapon.

- But then, just as quickly as the tension rises, it fades. A sharp exhale, a flicker of recognition, golden eyes narrowing as she processes what you’ve done. There is no laughter, no teasing retort—just a look. Calculating. Intense. Confused, but not displeased. “…You bit me,” she says at last, voice flat, as if stating the most bizarre fact in the world.

- And then? She tilts her head, considering you in that unnerving, almost animalistic way of hers. “Why?” The question is genuine—Laura has never been one for mind games or coy affections, has never understood the subtle language of teasing and playfulness. Biting is something she associates with combat, with survival. But with you? With you, it is different.

- Slowly, tentatively, she mirrors the action. A nip, precise and measured, as if she is testing this new form of affection, as if she is learning you the way she has learned every other part of the world—through experience, through instinct. And when she pulls back, there is something new in her gaze, something raw and unspoken. Because Laura Kinney may not understand why you did it, but she knows one thing with certainty—if you bite, then she will bite back.

Wade Wilson

- You barely have time to finish biting him before Wade gasps—loud, theatrical, utterly over-the-top. “OH. MY. GOD.” His hands fly to his chest, staggering back as if you have mortally wounded him. “DID YOU JUST—YOU DID. YOU ABSOLUTELY DID.” His voice is thick with emotion, somewhere between scandalized and delighted. “Babe. You bit me. Like a feral little love-goblin. That’s so hot.”

- And then? Then, all hell breaks loose. Within seconds, he is biting you back—but not just once, no, because Wade Wilson is incapable of moderation. He is nibbling at your cheek, at your shoulder, at your hand, peppering you with playful, exaggerated love-bites while making increasingly absurd noises. “CHOMP.” He sinks his teeth into the air dramatically, eyes wide with manic glee. “RAWR. Oh, sorry, that was my dinosaur impression. But honestly? If I were a dinosaur, I’d be a love-raptor. A snuggle-saurus. A Wade-a-don Rex, if you will.”

- The worst part? He does not stop talking. “You’re lucky I don’t have rabies,” he chatters, waggling his brows. “I mean, I might. I did lick a questionable taco truck the other day. But, y’know, if I do have rabies, then I guess that makes you my one and only transmission method—romantic, right?” He grins, then gasps again, as if struck by a sudden epiphany. “WAIT. Does this mean we’re in a vampire romance now? Am I your dark, brooding, undead lover? Babe, I gotta be honest, I am so ready to emotionally gaslight you across centuries of longing.”

- But then—just when you think he’s going to turn this into a full-fledged one-man show—he pauses. Just for a moment. The humor dims slightly, enough for something softer to slip through. And then, in a rare, fleeting act of sincerity, Wade leans in, pressing a kiss—not a bite, not a joke, but a kiss—to the very spot where your teeth had been. “…Seriously, though,” he murmurs, voice warm and uncharacteristically quiet, “that was, like, really cute. You’re really cute.” And then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment is gone, swallowed up in another round of ridiculous, dramatic antics. But for that one, brief second? He meant it.

Victor Creed

- The instant your teeth graze his skin, Victor Creed laughs—a low, rumbling thing that vibrates in his chest, a sound that is both amused and hungry. He does not startle. He does not pause. No, Victor reacts the way a predator does when something small and delicate dares to bare its teeth—with interest.

- His fingers curl at your waist, grip firm, possessive, a wordless acknowledgment of what you have done. “Now that’s adorable,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement. “Little thing thinks she’s got fangs.” His golden eyes gleam as he studies you, head tilting slightly, as if debating whether to play along—or devour you whole.

- And then? He leans in. Closer, until his breath is warm against your ear, until you feel the sheer size of him, the sheer power in every inch of his body. “You wanna play rough, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice dropping into something darker, something edged with promise. “You sure you can handle that?” And then, without hesitation, he bites back. Not gentle. Not teasing. But slow, deliberate, lingering—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who you are dealing with.

- When he pulls away, his grin is wolfish, sharp and deadly. “That all you got?” he taunts, dragging a thumb over the mark he’s left behind. “C’mon, now. If you’re gonna bite, bite like you mean it.” And with that, he watches, waits, golden eyes glinting with something dangerous, something wild. Because Victor Creed is a man who thrives on blood and instinct, and if you wish to play this game, then you must be prepared to lose.

Julian Keller

- The moment your teeth graze his skin, Julian smirks. A slow, lazy curl of his lips, equal parts cocky and intrigued. He doesn’t jerk away, doesn’t react with surprise—no, Julian Keller is a man who thrives in the unexpected, who wears confidence like a second skin. “Well, well,” he drawls, amusement dripping from every syllable, “look at you. Feisty today, huh?” His voice is low, smooth, laced with the kind of arrogance that makes you want to bite him again—harder, just to wipe that smug expression off his face.

- But then, before you can so much as think about it, he moves. Swift, fluid, his telekinesis pressing against you, pinning you in place—not harsh, not cruel, but playful. A silent reminder of who he is, of what he can do. His grip at your waist tightens ever so slightly, his body angled close, so very close, and for a second, it feels less like a game and more like a challenge. “That supposed to be some kind of warning, babe?” he teases, his breath warm against your ear. “’Cause if you’re picking fights, you should know—I never back down.”

- He doesn’t retaliate immediately. No, Julian waits. He lets anticipation build, lets you think you’ve won—that you’ve caught him off guard, that he’ll let this slide. But then, just as you relax, he strikes. A sharp nip against your jaw, quick and precise, a mimicry of what you had done to him. But unlike you, he doesn’t stop there. No, Julian Keller is competitive, and if you’re playing this game, then he’s playing to win.

- “Gotta admit,” he murmurs against your skin, voice a quiet rasp, “you’ve got guts. I like that.” His grip loosens, but that smirk remains, his green eyes gleaming with challenge. “But next time? Maybe try a little harder.” And just like that, he pulls away, walking off as if nothing happened, as if he hasn’t just left you standing there, heart pounding, already plotting your revenge.

Kitty Pryde

- “Oh!” The moment your teeth press into her shoulder, Kitty lets out a startled squeak, her entire body jerking in surprise. She phases instinctively, and before you even register what’s happening, you’re biting nothing—your teeth sinking into empty air as she slips through you, her molecules scattering like mist. It’s not that she minds, not really. It’s just that she wasn’t expecting it. And Kitty Pryde does not like being caught off guard.

- “Did you just—?” Her voice is breathless, half-laughing, half-accusing, her wide eyes locking onto yours. There’s no anger there, no real irritation—just confusion and delight, an almost incredulous sort of amusement at the fact that you, of all people, had dared to bite her. “Okay, rude,” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest in mock offense. “You can’t just do that without warning! What if I phased and got stuck inside the floor? You’d feel really bad, wouldn’t you?”

- But her protests are all for show, because the next second, she’s grinning, her playful side taking over. Kitty Pryde is mischief wrapped in kindness, and if you think for one second that she’s letting this go unanswered, you’re sorely mistaken. “Y’know,” she muses, tapping a finger to her chin, “if this is how we’re communicating now, I could phase my hand into your ribs and just… give your heart a little squeeze. Not lethal! Just, y’know… uncomfortable.”

- And yet, despite her teasing, despite her empty threats, there’s a warmth in her gaze, an unmistakable fondness in the way she leans in, brushing her lips—soft, fleeting—against the spot where your teeth had been. “But,” she murmurs, voice dipping into something gentler, something real, “I think I like this way better.” And then, with one final cheeky grin, she phases through you once more, vanishing just before you can grab her in retaliation.

Nathan Summers

- The moment you bite him, Cable pauses. No visible reaction. No sharp inhale, no startled flinch. He simply stills, his entire body locking into that unnerving, soldier-like stillness. His metal hand, which had been resting at your waist, remains unmoving, his entire frame rigid as if waiting, assessing. It’s instinct, honed over decades of battle, of survival. Because Nathan Summers is not a man accustomed to softness, and affection—even when playful—is something he has never learned to anticipate.

- And then, slowly, he exhales. His head tilts just slightly, his cybernetic eye dimming, the faintest flicker of something amused passing through his otherwise unreadable expression. “…Did you just bite me?” His voice is low, gravelly, tinged with something between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “Huh.” He says nothing else for a long moment, simply watching you, studying you as if trying to decipher what exactly prompted you to do such a thing.

- And then, finally, he shakes his head, a quiet huff escaping him—something that might, under very specific lighting conditions, be mistaken for a chuckle. “You’ve got guts,” he mutters, the corner of his lips twitching in something dangerously close to a smirk. “Reckless, but gutsy.” His organic hand brushes against the spot where your teeth had been, as if committing the sensation to memory.

- He doesn’t bite back. Doesn’t tease or taunt or retaliate. No, Cable is not a man who plays games. Instead, he opts for something simpler, something quieter—his hand cupping the back of your head, his lips pressing against your forehead in a rare display of open tenderness. A silent acknowledgment. A wordless acceptance. Because Nathan Summers may not understand softness, but for you, he is willing to learn.

Warren Worthington III

- The moment your teeth sink into his skin, Warren lets out a sharp gasp—a mix of surprise and something dangerously close to pleasure. His wings flare instinctively, feathers rustling with a sudden, unconscious movement, his entire body reacting before his mind can catch up. Because Warren Worthington III is a man of control, of composure—and yet, with you, it seems to shatter so easily.

- “Did you—” His voice is breathless, his pupils blown wide, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You just—” He swallows, as if struggling to find the right words, as if the simple act of you biting him has completely short-circuited his mind. He is an angel carved from marble, all sharp lines and celestial grace, and yet here he stands, utterly undone by something so small, so mortal.

- And then, something shifts. A slow, wicked smile tugs at his lips, the sharp edge of his Archangel persona slipping into his gaze. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he murmurs, voice a velvet purr. “Not unless you’re prepared for the consequences.” His wings snap forward in an instant, encircling you in a cocoon of soft, gilded feathers, trapping you against his chest. His fingers ghost over your jaw, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

- “Because now?” His lips brush against the very spot you had marked, his voice dropping into something dangerous, something electric. “Now it’s my turn.” And then, before you can even think to protest, Warren Worthington III—heir, angel, warrior—bites back.

Kevin Sydney

- The moment your teeth sink into his skin, Kevin’s entire form shifts in surprise. One second, he’s his usual self—sharp jaw, bright eyes, that ever-present smirk—and the next, he’s you, your own expression of mischief mirrored back at you. His voice, now an exact replica of yours, lilts with exaggerated amusement: “Wow, is this what I look like when I do something reckless? No wonder you love me.”

- He lets the illusion linger just long enough to make you blink in disbelief before shifting back, his laughter spilling out in warm, unrestrained waves. There’s no irritation, no reprimand—just the unshakable joy of a man who thrives on unpredictability, who relishes in the absurd. “Biting, huh? I like this new development,” he teases, rubbing the spot where your teeth had been with faux contemplation. “I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that, but hey, I do have a thing for surprises.”

- He retaliates in the most Morph-like way possible—by suddenly growing a pair of exaggerated fangs and snapping playfully at you, his grin widening as if daring you to test your luck again. “C’mon, babe, if we’re making this a thing, let’s make it fun,” he quips, waggling his eyebrows in an over-the-top display of challenge. “What’s next? Claw marks? A dramatic villain monologue? Give me something to work with!”

- And yet, despite all the jokes, despite the effortless laughter, there’s something softer underneath. Because Kevin Sydney is a man who hides behind humor, who masks emotion with theatrics—but the way he touches you now, fingers brushing idly along your wrist, is genuine. “Seriously, though,” he murmurs, his usual grin dimming into something real, “I like when you do things that catch me off guard. It reminds me that life’s worth sticking around for.”

Raven Darkhölme

- The moment your teeth press into her skin, Mystique doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t jerk away. Instead, she merely stares, her yellow eyes sharp, assessing, calculating. It’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking—whether she’s amused, annoyed, or considering shifting into someone entirely different just to make you regret it. “Interesting,” she murmurs at last, her voice low, velvet-smooth, carrying an edge of intrigue that makes your heart stutter.

- Then, before you can so much as blink, she moves. A blur of shifting colors, of muscle and bone rearranging in an instant—and suddenly, she’s behind you, her lips a ghost of a presence against your ear. “You really think you can surprise me?” she purrs, her breath cool against your skin. “I’ve spent lifetimes being a step ahead. If you wanted to catch me off guard, you’d have to try harder than that.”

- But despite her words, despite her unshakable composure, there’s an undeniable interest in her tone. Because Raven Darkhölme is a woman who’s spent decades in control, who rarely allows herself to be touched without permission—and yet, you’ve just walked right through every layer of her defenses without fear. And that? That fascinates her more than she’d care to admit.

- “Brave,” she muses at last, her fingers tracing the very spot you had bitten, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, she adds, “But reckless.” And just like that, she shifts—her form melting into someone else, someone entirely unfamiliar—before disappearing into the shadows, leaving only her voice lingering behind: “I will be returning the favor.”

Illyana Rasputina

- The moment your teeth sink into her skin, Illyana freezes. Not in shock, not in discomfort, but in something else—something unreadable, something ancient and dangerous. Because Illyana Rasputina is not a woman accustomed to softness, and affection—even playful—has always been laced with sharp edges in her world. Her grip on her Soulsword tightens, and for a fraction of a second, her eyes flicker with golden fire, as if Hell itself has stirred in response.

- And then, she turns to you—slowly, deliberately, her expression eerily calm. “Did you just bite me?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s something lethal beneath it, something that makes even the air around her still. She doesn’t sound angry. If anything, she sounds… curious. As if she’s trying to decide whether this is something to be annoyed by—or something to encourage.

- And then, after what feels like an eternity, she laughs. It’s low, dark, a sound that carries the weight of fire and steel, of war and something far older than you could ever comprehend. “Hah. You’re bold,” she muses, tilting her head, considering you with something between amusement and fondness. “I like it.” Then, with a flick of her wrist, her Soulsword vanishes, and she leans in—so very close, her breath warm against your throat.

- “But you do realize,” she murmurs, her voice a whisper of shadows, “that I always bite back.” And before you can so much as react, she’s gone—vanished in a flash of eldritch fire, leaving nothing behind but the lingering heat of her presence and the unshakable knowledge that this game has only just begun.

Alex Summers

- The second your teeth graze his skin, Alex jumps—a sharp, involuntary reaction, his entire body tensing as if you’ve just electrocuted him. “What the hell?!” he blurts out, twisting to look at you with wide, startled eyes. There’s no immediate anger, no irritation—just sheer, genuine confusion, as if he cannot comprehend why you would do something so reckless.

- And then, as realization dawns, his expression changes. His brows furrow, his lips twitch, and before you can so much as breathe, he lets out a laugh—not the kind you were expecting, not cocky or smug, but genuine. It’s warm, boyish, disbelieving, the kind of laugh that makes the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You bit me,” he says again, shaking his head like he still can’t quite wrap his mind around it. “Are you—are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

- And yet, despite his reaction, despite his initial shock, there’s something undeniably fond in the way he looks at you now. Because Alex Summers is a man who has spent his life in the shadow of expectation, of responsibility, of chaos—and here you are, bringing something light into his world, something unexpected, something good. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind that as much as he pretends to.

- “Alright, fine,” he relents at last, rubbing his neck where your teeth had been, his grin turning almost challenging. “But just so you know? I’m keeping score.” And with that, he leans in—his lips brushing against your jaw, a teasing warning before he suddenly nips at your skin in retaliation, pulling back with a satisfied smirk. “Your move.”

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Puck-cident

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood, vomit, injury, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are the unfortunate soul that takes a puck to the face during one of Utah's games, Clayton sees whole thing and demands to be let off the ice.

Notes: By popular demand I have finally gotten around to this fic ☺️This turned out to be like 5.5k so...enjoy?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Everyone always knows there's a risk involved with sitting in the audience at an ice hockey game. The announcers at every game never fail to remind people that pucks can travel at well over 80mph and can go into the audience. Always reminding people to keep their eyes on the puck. But, no one actually ever thinks it'll hit them. You've seen your fair share of pucks caught in the crowds, you've never seen someone get injured.

You've been to so many ice hockey games that maybe you've been lulled into a false sense of security, a sense that nothing bad could possible happen to you, not when you're sat in the stands to watch your boyfriend play. Not when you're wearing his jersey, Keller plastered across the back, number 9 bold and clear. Not when you feel so at home in that space, so secure. Turns out you're terribly wrong.

Normally Clayton's eyes wouldn't have followed the puck as it went out of bounds, normally he'd have sighed and moved to the new faceoff circle, caring very little for what fan had managed to catch it. Normally, he'd be more concerned with the fact that they were in a two goal deficit. But, something made him stop on the ice today, something made him follow the puck with his eyes to its end destination. Eyes widening in horror as the scene started to play in slow motion while he was utterly helpless on the ice, stood there with his grip slacking on his stick.

Clayton never imagined that it would be dangerous for you to come to one of his games because fans getting hit by pucks? Getting genuinely hurt? That seemed like such a fluke incident and you'd never been hurt before, not in all the years you'd been coming to his games. Even before you were with him you'd gone to ice hockey games, not once had you had an issue. But, it sinks in, the reality of it, that it does happen and can happen to you. That it's happening to you right now and he can't do anything to stop it.

The piece of vulcanised rubber that had flown off the stick of the opposing team flies over the glass into the stands and he watches like some sort car crash, a sick slow motion view as the puck finds you, like your name was written on it. It's hard to tell from this distance how hurt you are, or where you were hit, but he can see the crowd writhing around you, the panicked yells telling him enough.

Enough that Clayton's skating towards the bench as fast as he can, shrugging off teammates and referees who try to insist he stays, who keep asking him what's wrong and where he's going. His coach tries the same, stepping in his path, confused as to where Clay's off to in the middle of a game as the captain of the team.

"Keller, what do you think you're doing?"

"Respectfully, Bear, my girlfriend just got hit by a puck going nearly 90mph. I'm going to see if she's alright." His tone is short, clipped, trying to be respectful of his coach, a man he does respect and admire. But he's made up his mind and nothing and no one is going to stop him from going to you right now. He'd sooner quite hockey entirely than play a whole game unsure if you're alright after being injured.

"Keller, the game..."

"Fuck the game, you've got enough players. I need to see her, coach." Maybe it's the wild look in his eyes, the way panic stands out stark and clear. Maybe it's the tense set of his shoulders or the fact that his stick creaks so hard under his grip that it sounds like it may crack. Whatever it is, he isn't yelled at like he expects, no one tells him to go back out on the ice.

Instead Tourigny steps aside letting him past as Clayton storms down the tunnel, passing his stick off to someone. He's barely aware of the fact he takes off his skates, shoving them in someone's arms before he's running out towards the entrance to the stands in just his socks, the only thought on his mind being you and whether you were okay right now.

It's hard to describe what goes through your head when you see the puck coming straight for you, a blind sort of panic that has you freezing in your seat, not that you had anywhere to go to avoid it, not at the speed it had come at you. You're in such shock that you don't really feel much after the initial impact, head buzzing and dazed, neck hurting from the snap of your head backwards, ears ringing as people around you start fussing over you. Someone has you up out of your seat, your arm around their shoulders helping you out of the stands. The feeling of wetness glides down your temple and you raise a hand to your face that comes away red, noticing almost numbly that you're bleeding, blood running down the side of your face, upset because it starts to drip on Clay's jersey, the white one he'd lent you. The fabric being stained, ruined.

"Keller has left the ice, rather abruptly, we're unsure if it's related to the fan in the crowd who's taken a puck to the head or not." Someone has the game station on, clearly enjoying having the commentators speak during the game, the crowd is so loud as you're all but hauled up the stairs to the exit of the stands. You have just enough awareness to wonder if Clayton had seen you get hit or whether he'd been hurt on the ice himself or wasn't feeling well.

You feel like you're going to be sick as you're helped into the main entrance of the arena, lights blinding you, head pounding, the numbness starting to fade in favour of such blistering, aching pain in your head that you can't help but start crying. You feel pathetic, scared, panicked and in pain. You just want Clayton but he should be playing a game right now and the realisation that you couldn't have him with you only makes you cry harder.

It turned into full on sobs when your dizzy, double vision locks on to Clay who's running in just a pair of socks towards you, frantic, helmet being tossed behind him to someone. There's two of him, your vision going in and out but you're so happy to see him that it doesn't matter. So happy that he's here that you can almost ignore the pain, the nausea, and the blood.

He's got you in his arms before you can even comprehend reaching for him, whoever had helped you this far taking a step back to let him take over. He's petrified, you look horrific, blood coating the side of your face and neck, red clotting around your temple. Your eyes unfocused, the white of his jersey bloodstained, tears streaming down your face and he knows someone's calling the first aid team, but it doesn't reassure him when you look like that.

Clay's hands cup the sides your face, your blood is sticky against his palm and he knows he shouldn't be, knows its not anyone's real fault, but he's irrationally angry. Angry at the other team for sending the puck off into the stands, angry at you for always insisting you sit like a normal fan rather than in the box for family and friends, angry at himself for not insisting, angry at Tourigny for trying to stop him from coming to find you, angry that he wasn't with you when it happened. Angry because the alternative is fear and he's not sure he's ready to feel that right now, not sure he can, needing to keep it together for you because you're still crying, clutching onto him like he's the only thing that can bring you comfort right now. He can't help the way he grips you back tightly, trying to reassure himself that you're okay, even as blood keeps flowing from the split skin of your temple.

"You're going to be okay, baby, I've got you...It's okay." It's not, fuck, it's not, but he's trying to stay calm for you, a blank mask on his face rather than blind panic as he watches a stretcher be wheeled towards you. Runs his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you and himself at the same time, he knows his hands are shaking so fucking badly and he hopes you don't notice, hope you feel reassured by him, feel like he's steady, stable.

"We need her on the stretcher, Keller, so we can have a look at her." Clay's attention goes to the first aiders behind you, the stretcher pulled close enough that all you have to do is step back and jump up.

"It hurts, Clay..." You're sniffling into his shoulder, blood getting on the jersey he's wearing, not that he cares. The equipment team are used to getting blood out of things. Two bloody jerseys is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

"I know, baby, oh, I know...I'm just going to give you a little boost up, okay? We're going to get you sat up here, okay?" He talks you through each step as his hands find your waist, helping you jump up onto the stretcher. The movement makes you dizzy, nausea filling you to the point where you know you're going to be sick, desperately trying to keep it in, being unable to. You can't help it when you're sick...all over Clay, head leaning forward between your legs as you vomit over his legs, whimpering as you do so.

"I'm sorry...I've got blood on your jersey and now..." You're crying harder now, embarrassment and shame added to the whole issue because you've just vomited over your boyfriend's expensive hockey gear after bleeding over 2 different jerseys. But, Clay doesn't flinch, hands stroking your hair as you lean forward to quell the dizziness. Is it gross? Oh, totally, does he actually care? Not really. It's testament to how much he loves you that the grossness doesn't matter, he'd let you vomit on him a million times so long as he can look after you in the process.

"It's okay, baby, I need you to lay back, okay? They're going to check on your head..." His hands are gentle on your shoulders, pushing you back while helping you swing your legs straight on the stretcher. Clay's fingers brush back your hair as he looks down at your hazy gaze, "I need to go change real quick and I'll be right back, sweet girl."

When he goes to step back you're grabbing his hand with the precision of a star goalie, even with the double vision and haziness you manage to find his hand. The grip you have on him is so tight, scared for him to leave you, scared you'll be alone like this. Even as you know he's covered in blood and vomit and needs to change, deserves to change.

He's right back to stroking your cheek, backs of his fingers gentle on your skin like he's afraid you might break, "I'll be right back, you're not going anywhere without me."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He tells the medical staff not to go anywhere with you without him. The fear of coming back to find you gone roiling in his stomach, not really wanting to leave you alone but knowing he can't stand here covered in sick. He's so quick, running down the corridors to the locker room to limit how long he's gone. The speed with which he takes off the vomit soaked clothes and sweat stained uniform is probably record breaking and despite the smell of sick he doesn't even contemplate a shower, just throws on some old sweats and a t-shirt, shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers before bolting back to where he left you. He can take a shower later, once he knows you're okay, once you're both back home.

You're lying back on the stretcher with one of the first aiders, Clay thinks his name is John, leaning over you, shining a torch in your eyes to check for a concussion when Clay returns. He can tell already that you have one between the dizziness, vomiting and the way you seem to wince at any and all light. It doesn't take a genius to realise the puck to the face has rocked your brain a little too hard.

The middle age first aid looks up at Clayton as he finishes checking you over, Clay coming up on your other side to grab your hand again. The way you look at him, so trusting, so happy to just have him back makes his heart skip a little even as it breaks at how tired and in pain you look.

"She has a concussion and needs stitches, we're not allowed to do them here as she's a member of the public, she needs to go to hospital. It might also be a good idea to get an x-ray, make sure she's not got a fracture or anything like that." John turns to Clayton, pocketing the flashlight. It's not what he wants to hear, Clay would rather hear that you're perfectly fine, but it's obvious you're not. Still panic closes his throat at the thought that you might have something even more seriously like a fracture or worse.

"Does she need an ambulance or can I drive her?" Either way Clayton's coming with you, whether in the back of an ambulance or in the driver's seat of his car. He'll deal with the aftermath of leaving the game later, but right now? You're his priority and he's not leaving you.

"Probably quicker for you to take her yourself, Keller. I can help you wheel her to your car?"

"Thanks, that'd be great, John."

"No problem."

Clay has your hand in his, walking alongside the stretcher as John wheels it down to the parking lot. You're dazed and slightly giddy, laughing at each bump despite the pain and that's more concerning to Clay than the crying. A cloth has been put to your head, held there by your free hand, knuckles tight like you're working off instinct just to keep it there. He's not sure you'd be able to release it with how tight your grip is. He knows head wounds bleed a lot, but that doesn't make seeing the cloth already red with blood, any easier or less worrying.

Clayton's decided he has a new appreciation for how you feel whenever he gets injured on the ice. It's...God, it might be one of the worst things he's ever had to go through.

He's proven right, that you can't seem to let that cloth go when he helps you down from the stretcher and to his car, your hand doesn't move, cloth pressed to stem the flow of blood even when you stumble. He has you in the passenger seat and buckled in as quickly as possible and maybe he breaks a few traffic laws on the way to the hospital, but anyone would. The way you're barely there next to him, so dazed that he's worried the concussion might be something more has him pressing a little harder on the accelerator.

The blood is enough in the emergency room for you to be fast tracked to a doctor and a bed, struggling to sit upright he makes the decision to get up on the bed with you. You rest between his legs, leaning back on him heavily, Clayton the only thing keep you sat upright as the doctor, Dr Pandya, pries the cloth from your hand and assesses the wound.

You shy back into him when the doctor wipes away at the large cut with antiseptic to clean away the blood, only for more to come spilling forth. Clay's arms wrapping tight around your waist, linking your hands with his to give you something to grip onto.

"You need stitches, it's not going to close on its own."

"Okay..." He can tell you're trying to be brave, breathing suddenly heavier, fingers tightening around his until his own start to go numb, but he doesn't complain. Just lets you lean on him, seek support from him.

You're brave throughout the 14 stitches it takes to close up the cut on your temple, more stitches than you've ever had to have in your life. But, you don't complain, don't ask to stop, don't hiss, just let it happen as you grip onto Clay with everything you have. The warmth of his back behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder, pressing kisses to your neck, helps. Having him with you helps.

"All done. You have a concussion and need to rest for at least 2 days before you do anything. Avoid bright lights, loud areas. Keep those stitches dry for at least a day, so no washing your hair just yet unfortunately. If it starts to bruise, ice it."

The doctors turns to Clay this time, "If she starts to seem confused, keeps vomiting or just doesn't seem to be getting any better then bring her back in. But she should be tired for the next few days but start to feel better soon."

"Thank you," You're quiet but polite, not wanting to be rude when someone has taken the time to help you even if it is the doctor's job to do so.

"Thanks, Doc."

There's a quick sort of turn around in which Clay fills out the necessary paper work, financial details, insurance and the like before he's helping you up and out of emergency room.

All you want is to sleep, curl up in bed with Clayton and hide from the pounding in your head, the bright lights and loud sounds of the outside world only making it worse.

He's calmer on the drive home, no more traffic laws being broken even if he grips the steering wheel a little tight and keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, assessing. Some of the panic has eased, but not all. You're still hurt. Concussed, stitched up, definitely going to bruise and swell, and in need of rest. Rest he can't be there for the entire time because of his job. He might have gotten away with leaving the game tonight, but he knows he'll be expected at practice tomorrow, knows he'll be expected at the home game the day after and that means hours of time in which you're alone. He hates the idea of it, already running through a mental list of people he could call.

"I got blood on your jersey..." You're sniffling again when he pulls the car into the driveway, putting it in park. He turns in his seat, leaning an arm on the headrest to watch you. You're staring at the blood stains on the jersey you're wearing, tears dripping down your cheeks and it's...it's so silly and so sweet that some of that panic eases further.

"It's okay, baby, the equipment guys can get the blood out."

"Really?" You look at him so hopefully, so innocently happy. He hates that your reaction is like that because of your injury, at the same time finding it amusing, a small smile reaching his lips for the first time since he saw you take a puck to the face.

"Yeah, baby, they're great at that..."

"Oh..."

There's a beat of silence where you just blink at him, sighing out each breath like even that's too tiring right now. There's blood crusted around your stitches that he knows you're going to get annoyed with while you can't get water near them, bruising starting to pop up around that side of your face, swelling beginning to show and make you look a little lopsided.

"Let's get you inside and into some comfy clothes, yeah? You tired?"

"Really tired..." You blink all slow at him, eyelids feeling supremely heavy and he knows you're going to be out like a light the moment he gets you into the bed. That's reassuring in a way, that you'll find it easy to rest, at least tonight, before the aches fully settle in.

He's tries to be quick getting round to your side of the car but he's starting to feel just as tired. A combination of playing half a game of pro-hockey, the anxiety, panic and worry over your wellbeing, being thrown up on, going all the way to hospital and back, all working to make Clayton feel like dropping where he stands. But, like always you're his priority.

His hands reach for yours, tugging gently to pull you from the car, "Okay, out you get, baby." You go willingly, letting him guide you from the car and through the house. Letting your brain shut off because he's got you. You trust him to guide you around obstacles, through doorways, a level of trust that Clayton can't help but feel honoured by as you let him sit you on the edge of your shared bed.

You blink up at him all slow and sleepy, shoulders slumping and he's certain if you laid down you'd be out in seconds.

"Arms up, baby." You don't question him, don't hesitate, arms straight in the air with the sort of sluggishness that tells him even doing that feels hard right now.

Clay's careful of your hair and your stitches as he pulls the bloodstained jersey over your head, throwing it in a corner to take back to the rink to salvage. You leave your hands up as he helps you out of your undershirt and replaces it with one of your favourite big comfy t-shirts. You don't drop your arms until he tells you to, the sort of obedience you fall into around him because he takes care of you so well that you trust him more than you trust yourself.

"Wanna shower..."

"You can't get your stitches wet yet, sweet girl, tomorrow night I'll help you shower, but not tonight, okay?"

"Okay..." He knows you hate it, your routine is like clockwork. Every evening you shower, washing the dirt and grime of the day away, and breaking that is upsetting to you. But, you trust him. You listen without protest and let him lay you back so he can wriggle your jeans down over your hips and off your ankles, socks coming with.

"Up for me, baby." You reach for him from the first word, arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his chains as he lifts you to your feet, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as he pulls the covers back.

He settles you in against your pillow, swinging your legs up and pulling the covers up to your waist as you cling to him. Your fingers don't detach from his chains, holding tight to him so that he can't pull away, hovering over you.

He's so handsome, maybe it's the concussion talking, but he's always so handsome. Your free hand reaches for his cheek, tracing the skin beneath his eyes and he can't help but smile at you, at the soft way you're gazing up at him. Still dazed, but oh so loving.

"You okay, baby?" He huffs a laugh down at you, teeth peeking out and you love that smile, god it makes him so pretty. So, so pretty. Even prettier when one of his hands cups your cheek like that, long finger stroking the skin gently where your cheek lifts from grinning up at him all dozy.

"Mmm, you're really pretty."

"I think that's your concussion talking, sweet girl." His fingers graze the swollen skin by your stitches lightly, not hard enough to hurt or sting, but a reminder to himself that you've got 14 stitches right now. That right now you're brain is a little scrambled.

"Nuh uh...you're always pretty...I got really lucky." You might be concussed but you know it's true. Clayton's so handsome you spend half your time wondering how you managed to bag him because he could have any woman he wanted and instead he chose you. This handsome, beautiful, kind, caring man, a pro-athlete, and he chose you. Normal, little old you.

"Wrong way around, I'm the lucky one. You took a puck to the face for me, that's pretty hardcore, baby." The blood around your stitches is dry and flaky, proof that today wasn't just a dream or imaginary. Proof that his girlfriend had taken a puck to the face, survived and only vomited once, pretty hardcore.

"Didn't mean to..."

"I know...it worried me though, just glad you're okay."

His fingers caress your skin as silence over takes the two of you, just gazing at each other as each of you feel the other under your fingers. To feel the way you graze the tip of his nose, how you tug a little on his chains to bring him just an inch closer. It's grounding to have you in his hands like that, to feel your warmth, to know you're going to be fine even if he'd been scared today. The whole thing has just solidified in his mind how much he loves you, how much he'd be willing to do for you, to give up for you. That you're it for him whether you realise that or not.

You take a shuddering breath, eyes shifting away from his like you're embarrassed by what you're going to say next even as your fingers tighten around his chains and keep him close. His blue eyes fixed on you, attention unwavering and loyal.

"I was...I was scared I'd be alone...just wanted you..." Your head isn't quite as fuzzy as earlier, but you can remember it clearly. Feeling the panic at the thought that you wanted Clay but he wouldn't be there...then the joy at seeing him, the relief as he ran out in full gear except skates, socks only on his feet.

"You thought I wouldn't be there?"

"You had a game...a-and I didn't know if you'd seen it happen...thought you'd still be playing." It's like you're ashamed for thinking he wouldn't be there, and while he hates that you did, he understands why. There was no guarantee he'd have even know you were hurt, it was just by some fluke of luck, by sheer chance that he'd actually watched the puck fly into the crowd for once. Even then, in some arenas would he have even been able to tell it was you?

"They'd have had to chain me to Schmaltz to keep me on the ice, baby. Always going to be there for you, no matter what. You first. Hockey second." He means it. Hockey has been his life since he could put on a pair of skates, and he'd worked hard for it, always having to do 10 times what the bigger guys did and do it 10 times better. But, you? You're it for him you'll be it for him when he retires from hockey, when he can no longer play and that? That's worth more than a game, even a game he loves. It's practically a proposal in itself, a promise to you because he never wants you to think he'd pick the game over you, especially not when you're hurt.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The smile you give him is blinding, so full of love that he wants to bottle it, memorise it to keep for those bad days. For the days when they've lost a game, for the times when he needs a reminder to keep pushing, to keep going.

"Come to bed?" You try to tug him again by his chains but he unfurls your fingers gentle, one by one, smoothing over your knuckles in reassurance.

"I've got to shower baby, but I don't want to leave you alone..." The idea of taking his eyes off you, of not being able to see that you're okay for even a minute makes him feel sick.

"You smell like vomit..." You wrinkle up your nose, scrunching your face like you've only just realise that he smells. Your hands pushing on his shoulders a little, moving him away rather than closer and he can't say he blames you. Even he's over the smell now.

"That's your fault, baby."

"'m sorry..." You mumble, warmth flooding your face at the memory of throwing up on him, his hockey gear taking the brunt of it rather than the floor.

"It's okay, I'll go shower, but you'll okay if I leave you for a few minutes?"

You nod your head gently, carefully because nodding too much hurts right now. Clayton presses a quick kiss to your forehead, avoiding the swollen areas of your face before leaving you.

He's no nonsense about it all, washing with a precision and speed that would make the army consider recruiting him. He's thorough, however, skin scrubbed down until he smells like your vanilla body wash and not vomit.

Clay doesn't faff with clothes, just shoves a pair of boxers on and curls up next to you, you're already asleep, mouth open slightly, the tiniest hint of drool at the corners. Endearing. He wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you gently closer until he can curl around you like that might keep you safe from any further puck based incidents.

Clay doesn't sleep...not well at least. He spends half the night just watching you breathe, scared that if he closes his eyes something might happen. A total of 3 hours all he gets, so when the doorbell rings shrill and loud at 7am all he can do is groan loudly and burrow his face into your shoulder.

The doorbell rings again and he's swearing under his breath because if it's a sales person or a cold caller he might actually commit a crime. All he wants it to stay curled up with you, maybe get some more sleep now you seem a little perkier, eyes blinking open and more coherent than they were yesterday.

"Clay...the door." It's your worry about ignoring it that has him groaning, stretching and shoulders popping as he stumbles out of bed.

"I know, baby...stay here."

He doesn't even bother putting on clothes, just walks to the door in his boxers. Your head might still be fuzzy but you can't help the way your eyes trail over his back, the way his arse looks in his boxes, the thick set of his thighs. You're almost certain he puts an extra little saunter in his step because you're watching.

He kind of hopes whoever has disturbed his rest with his injured girlfriend gets the shock of their life seeing him open the door in just his boxers. Unfortunately, it's just Kesselring, who has seen him in his boxers more times than he can count, completely unphased.

"What're you doing here, Kess?"

"Came to check on Mrs Keller and brought a gift," The taller man holds up a little gift bag and as much as Clayton wants to slam the door in his face he doesn't, just stepping aside to let Kess in.

He leads him to you, where you're wrapped up in all the bed blankets, making yourself a little cocoon and your face brightens at seeing one of your favourite members of his team. Kess is only your favourite because he lets you go round to see the cats whenever you want, whether he's there or not. Or that's what Clayton says to ease any of that ugly little jealous side he has that occasionally rears it's head. Even knowing that Kess treats you more like a sister than anything else.

"For you Mrs Keller," Kess hands you the gift bag even as you swat at him weakly. He'd been calling you that ever since Clayton announced you were dating...the alternative wasn't much better, referring to you as the team mom because Clayton was the team dad.

"Thank you, Michael," You pull out a wad of tissue paper, unfurling it to reveal the last thing Clayton ever wanted to see.

"You brought the thing that nearly killed my girlfriend into the house?" He's actually irrationally angry at the rubber. The black has been cleaned, not a speak of your blood on it and the edge has been covered in white stick tape. In black sharpie, 'the puck-cident March 2025' has been written in Kess' chicken scratch handwriting.

"Kells, it's a puck."

"It nearly killed my girlfriend. It's evil." He sneers at the inanimate object in your hands.

"Clay," you're laughing at him, giggling at the way he glares at a piece of rubber, "It's sweet...Michael, it's very sweet." You turn to the taller man, smiling up at him because it is thoughtful in a weird sort of hockey logic way. To bring you the puck that gave you 14 stitches, like it was some gaming winning puck you scored with.

"Well, figured you might want a souvenir from your puck-cident," Kess grins at both you, the pun so bad that Clayton and yourself are both groaning at him.

Clayton pointing to the door, this time with humour in voice, head shaking, "Out! That was so fucking bad, man!"

"I'm going, cap, Jesus! A guy can't do anything nice these days! What a pucking crime!"

"Kess!"

[bitchinbarzal]

Team Mom | C Keller

summary: you’ve become somewhat of a mom to the team.

-

Clayton isn’t an outwardly emotional guy. He keeps things pretty level, takes things as they come, and never makes too big a deal out of anything. But when he’s named the first captain in Utah’s history, he almost loses it.

Almost.

He holds it together in front of the cameras, in the locker room, even when his teammates shower him with congratulations. He keeps it together when he shakes the GM’s hand, when he hears his name in the announcement, when he pulls on the jersey with the “C” stitched on the front. But the second he gets home and sees you standing there with a cake that says Congratulations, Captain! in slightly smudged icing, he feels the emotions creep in.

“Did you bake that?” he asks, stepping closer, a small grin tugging at his lips.

You scoff “Absolutely not. You think I had time to make a cake between running errands for your team?”

He laughs, pulling you into a hug. You smell like vanilla, probably from the frosting you insisted on fixing yourself “Thank you” he mumbles into your hair.

“For the cake? It was the least I could do—”

“No” he cuts in, pulling back just enough to look at you. “For everything. For dealing with the guys. For being here”

You roll your eyes, but there’s warmth in them “I don’t deal with them. I like them”

That’s debatable.

The thing is, you’ve been around Clayton’s team long enough that you’ve become part of the fabric of it. And somehow, without realizing it, you’ve ended up being something of a—

“You know you’re like our team mom, right?” Logan says casually one night at dinner.

You nearly choke on your drink “Excuse me?”

“Oh, for sure” Dylan agrees “You’re always checking in on us, making sure we have food, giving us rides when needed—”

“I once drove you to practice because your car was in the shop.”

“Yeah, and you packed snacks,” Logan reminds you.

“I was already going to the grocery store!”

Clayton, for his part, is having way too much fun with this. He leans back in his chair, watching as his teammates list off all the things you do for them.

The way you remind them to bring extra layers when they travel somewhere cold, the way you make sure they eat something green at least once a week, the way you’ve somehow memorized their coffee orders and deliver them without asking.

“I also pack your lunches” you argue, looking pointedly at Clay “Am I your mom, too?”

He smirks “Nah, i think that makes you my wife”

Your face burns, and the guys lose it, laughing at your expression.

The nickname sticks.

You don’t particularly like it, but you don’t hate it either. At least, not enough to stop the guys from calling you “Mom” every time they need something.

It starts off small.

“Mom, can you sew this button back on?”

“Mom, can you look at this text and tell me what it means?”

“Mom, I forgot my headphones — do you have an extra pair?”

And then it escalates.

“Mom, I may or may not have spilled coffee on my white dress shirt, and I need it for a team event tonight”

“Mom, can you send me that soup recipe?”

“Mom, I think I have scurvy”

“Mom, I—”

“I am not your mother!” you remind them.

“You’re the team mom” they reply, like it’s a fact of life.

And the thing is? You kind of are.

Clayton never says it out loud, but he loves it. He loves the way you’ve made his team feel like a family, how you take care of them in ways he never even considered. It’s not just about the meals or the reminders—it’s the way you care. The way you sit through their rants about bad calls, the way you text them good luck before games, the way you make their wins feel bigger and their losses feel smaller.

He knows he’s the captain, but he also knows that this team wouldn’t feel the same without you.

And maybe, one day, he’ll put a ring on your finger to make it official.

For now, though, he’ll settle for knowing that when he puts on that jersey with the “C” on it, he’s not leading this team alone.

He’s got you.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

The Type of BF/GF Cod Characters Would Be (Scenario)

You know, like that one thing circling around TikTok

Characters Included: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

And yes I'm aware that some have repeated characters, some fit more than one

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

A/n: I'm honestly on a roll and I've had my morning coffee so I'll start cracking, I have been trying to post more recently since it's October and I didn't really partake in the tober fests so I thought posting more might be good. Just me or are biker fucking hot? Yeah it's probs my thing for masked men.

Disclaimers/Warnings: OOC??

Doberman Boyfriend/Girlfriend whose first instinct was to protect you when you officially became theirs, initially they were always protective in subtle ways, subtle ways that also assert dominance over others. Little things like having a hand on your lower back or gently gripping your waist to move you. Their claimed spot is behind you, since they always find it to work when intimidating others and making sure no one even glances at you the wrong way. Might seem like they're intimidating but to you it's a different story, they're sweeter, more docile? Just far more affectionate and you basically have them wrapped around your finger. Switches in the bedroom but dom leaning, can be subs if you want them to be.

Characters: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Valeria Garza, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Philip Graves.

Golden Retriever Boyfriend/Girlfriend who are so loyal to the bone, they're fun and oftentimes a little himbo-ish? Quality is the best spent with you, kind of follows you around all the time. They're very clingy but do respect your personal space if you aren't in the mood, though that's what you love about them isn't it? That's they're insistent and wouldn't give up on you no matter what. Also love doing things for you (acts of service) and lives for it when you praise them. Switches in the bedroom, sub leaning.

Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Alex Keller, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

Tabby cat Boyfriend/Girlfriend whose chill around others but absolutely craves your affection behind closed doors. The kind of people sometimes randomly show affection in front of others even if they HATE pda. The kind of people who have been traumatized yet still affectionate as can be, everyone loves them for being down to earth but they do have bit of an odd side that only you see. Is a hardcore switch, no leaning.

Characters: Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Nikolai Belinski, Philip Graves.

Black cat Boyfriend/Girlfriend who randomly bring home things that made them think of you, they knew you'd like it but only let out a subtle smirk. Lives for you being their adorable little sunshine, mean and cold towards other but less with you. Tried to give you tough love but eventually gave in because you are you. You know how cats sometimes bring you dead animals as a proof of affection and acceptance, they've done that... only with a human head of course. Providing for you and making sure you're taken care of is their love language, very protective and can really hurt people if they wanted to, someone hurts or upsets you? Their head will be displayed on your front porch. Hardcore doms in the bedroom. (Yandere AU anyone??)

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Alejandro Vargas, Valeria Garza, König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Philip Graves.

[gothicflowers]

Anon: Which COD man do you think eats pussy just to relax you? Like if you had a shit day, they don’t care about their needs they just get on their knees?

anon, I love you. And there are three characters that come to mind.

ALEX KELLER JOHN PRICE RUDY PARRA

He made it home first. You didn’t have time to hang your coat before he had you pressed against the wall in a heated kiss. Hands roaming all over.

“I missed you today, work has horrible” you whined to him as he made his way down kissing your neck. A soft sigh left your tired lips. He picks you up, hands on your ass underneath your skirt carrying you to the bedroom.

“Oh I could tell from your messages” he mumbled as his lips attacked your chest. Sucking little love bites into you.

“I want you so bad but I’m exhausted” you replied as he sat you onto the bed. Eyes desperate for him as you slowly blink tiredly.

He smirks “Oh baby, I’m not expecting anything from you. Now lay back, relax and keep those pretty legs open for me” his rough hands pull you in closer to him as his tongue drags through your soaked folds.

[gothghostiie]

thinking about being bent over the the bathroom sink right after finishing your makeup before you have to leave for work, getting your empty little brain fucked out while he tells you that you don't need to work, all you need to do is take his cock!!! :(

[bullet-prooflove]

Please could I have “Oh God, I never thought we'd take it that far” with Keller 😊

“Oh God, I never thought we'd take it that far.” You whisper against Keller’s lips, your fingers threading in his hair, tugging just a little. He moans at the sensation, his breath hitching as his arm loops around your waist, grasping you even tighter.

You’re talking about the fact he’d killed a guy tonight, shot him in the chest because he’s gotten a little too handsy with you. He still has the blood on his face, the spatter of crimson staining his cheek as your thumb chases over the droplets.

“No one gets to touch you like that.” He tells you resolutely. “No one puts their hands on my girl.”

His girl, fuck it wrecks you when he calls you that. He knows it too, you can tell from the sinful way he smiles before his palm comes to rest the nape of your neck. You’re wearing the diamond choker he stole tonight, each stone contrasts against your skin as his fingers slip underneath the silver settings. He grips it in his fist, pulling it taut against your throat as he thrusts up into you. You make that noise, that sweet, filthy little sound that he loves and he knows he has you right where he wants you.

This is the real high, the reason he does all the crazy shit he does. There’s no other feeling in the world that even comes close to this, to being with you in the aftermath of a heist, ruining you, being ruined by you.

“That’s it baby, we’re getting there now aren’t we?” He murmurs against your skin as he fucks you.

His cock brushes over that sensitive little spot deep inside. The ecstasy chases through your synapses like a wildfire, building and building until it reaches a crescendo. He holds you there on the peak, the edges of your vision tinging with darkness as you tighten around his cock, gripping him so fucking perfectly that he’s right there with you.

“Mine.” He whispers as he takes you over the edge with him. “My fucking girl.”

@kmc1989

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

So as we know sharks are very territorial and sometimes little attention whores, they tend to love divers and get territorial over them with other sharks. So I was wondering if Price ever gets protective or territorial over remora reader with the others, or if he feels miffed when she spends time with the others more than him? If some part of him likes her cleaning him and only him?

using this as a follow up to shark mer Price being a territorial bastard >:)

to recap: Price is super protective over you--you're his territory--but you spending time with the Ghost, Gaz, and Soap doesn't bother him because they're his territory too.

however this does not extend to anyone outside the 141. this is a problem because you're naturally curious. because you're a remora mer, right?

and way too friendly for your own good. and extra extra prone to lapsing into a fawn response instead of a fight or flight response.

so you can't really blame Price for being kind of overprotective.

when he's not around, you can bet you're juuuuust dumb enough to swim right up to, say, a diver. or even the small diving boats humans putter around in near the reef.

you might meet a friendly human diver like perhaps Alex Keller (◕▿◕✿)

who for sure doesn't mind your poking and prodding and general lack of boundaries.

he's totally chill about it. actually he's into it. he loves your curiosity! swimming with mer is rare. being this close to one is a dream.

you're basically doing this (video).

you're idly aware that he's examining you as you're examining him, but it doesn't stop you from checking out his suit, his tank, his legs--weird plastic fin-feet he's got--you'd even pull his goggles right off his face if he's not careful.

you have more curiosity than sense. so does he.

because the moment Price sees you, he immediately pushes his way into the middle of this little... mutual exploration you're allowing to happen.

more accurately, he snatches you away. diver Alex is lucky if he escapes with a glare instead of a warning bite.

you, meanwhile, are fucking grounded.

plead ignorance if you want, but you know it's against the rules to do what you did.

you were sort of hoping you could avoid punishment by acting cute. or by not getting caught in the first place. idiot.

no dice. Price takes you straight back to his cave--and you are to stay there. you'd better stay put on your own free will, too. Price isn't above tying you up. he knows Gaz will feed you anyway.

and Gaz is the only one allowed in. if he's good.

it sucks for everyone when you're grounded. Soap is bored and horny out of his mind. Ghost says nothing, but he conspicuously moves his usual day-sleeping spot closer to the entrance of the cave.

how long can you expect it to last? you're not sure. maybe until Price isn't fuming at the thought of you getting snatched up like a goldfish in an aquarium net.

more mer au / more Price / masterlist

[sweetdispatch]

Not saying I love you back

Players headcanons summary: how certain players would react on you forgetting to tell i love you players: Cole Caufield, Adam Fantilli, Nico Hischier, Jack Hughes, Luke Hughes, Quinn Hughes, Clayton Keller, John Marino, Matt Rempe, Juraj Slafkovsky

C. CAUFIELD

You wanted to mess with Cole while he was leaving for morning skate. When he closed the door and didn’t hear I love you back, he stepped again into the apartment. You giggled at his reaction. He approached you and repeated those words again to you but you only kissed him. He was looking at your face trying to read if he made you mad but when he saw the smile creeping at your face, he realised that you were only joking with him. “Not funny” Cole said to you and left the apartment for good now. You quickly sent him a message saying I love you but he only liked it. Two can play this game - he thought to himself. 

A.FANTILLI

Adam would be taken aback when you didn’t respond to his words. He was always telling you that those words mean a lot and he wouldn't just say them to say. That’s why when you didn’t say I love you, he thought the worst. That you don’t love him anymore. He got scared that this is your way to break up with him. “Do you not love me anymore?” Adam asked you. From his voice you could tell that he’s sad and then the realisation hit you. You explained to him that you were just joking but he got mad at you for joking about this topic. For the whole day you were trying to apologise to him, promising to never again joke about this. 

N. HISCHIER

At first, Nico didn’t even realise that you didn’t say I love you back. It was so natural for both of you to say it that he had this programmed in his head that you said it. When you noticed that he didn’t react, you tried again later that day. This time, he noticed that you didn’t say it. He looked at you with brows raised and you laughed. You couldn’t pretend anymore and you said I love you back to him, telling him that you tried to get his reaction for the whole day. 

J. HUGHES

Jack looked at you when you didn’t say those words back but didn’t do anything. He knew you and assumed that you’re pranking him again. That’s why for the rest of the day he didn’t say them to you either. You were shocked when he didn’t say them for the whole day because at every opportunity he was telling you that he loves you. When you were going to bed, you said to him I love you. The only response you got was “I know”. You realised that he was pranking you now. 

L. HUGHES

Luke told you those words before he left. You didn’t say them back and for the rest of the day he was wondering what he did wrong. You never acted this way and he was sure that you had to be mad at him but nothing was coming to his mind. On his way back, he bought you a huge bouquet of flowers, your favorite coffee and a basket full of your favorite candy. “I don’t know what I did wrong but I’m so sorry” Luke said and you looked at him with love. You didn’t expect that this little joke would make him so nervous. You told him that you were just messing with him and he acted offended. You kissed his lips and promised him that he did nothing wrong. 

Q. HUGHES

Quinn thanked you for breakfast and said I love you. You only responded to him with “no problem” and kissed his cheek. He knew something was wrong when you didn’t say those words back. He was asking you why you didn’t say it back. You were playing like you don’t know what he is talking about. He was clearly mad at you and this whole situation. He became rude to you. You gave up and told him that it was all a joke but he was still mad that you were playing with his feelings. You promised him not to do it ever again. 

C. KELLER

When you didn’t say I love you back to Clayton, it got him all worked up. He was furious that you didn’t say it. You tried to interrupt him in his monologue but you couldn’t. For him, those words have a huge meaning and if you said them once, you should still tell them unless you don’t feel it anymore. You kissed him when he started talking nonsense and told him it was a prank but he couldn’t accept this and believed there’s a deeper meaning than you haven’t told them. You were saying I love you all the time to him until he finally believed you that you were only joking. 

J. MARINO

At first John was shocked when he didn’t hear you saying I love you back so he repeated it. Again, he got no response and he asked you directly why you didn’t say it back. You just looked at him and laughed. You couldn’t keep the act longer when you noticed his serious face. He was confused why are you laughing because he didn’t find it funny. You explained to him that it was only a joke and he was even more confused. “Why would you even joke about this?” John asked you and you apologised to him telling that you only wanted to see his reaction. 

M. REMPE

You didn’t say I love you back when Matt was leaving for morning skate. You thought that’s gonna be funny to see his reaction. He didn’t react and just left the apartment. You were surprised that he didn’t say anything to you. You expected him to make sure that you still love him. When he returned, he could tell that you were thinking about something and he was confident that you were thinking about his no reaction. “My sister showed me this trend. I know that you love me and wanted to mess with me” Matt told you and kissed your lips. You wanted to prank him but he pranked you. 

J. SLAFKOVSKY

When you didn’t say I love you to Juraj, he froze in place. You were always saying it back but from your facial expression he could tell that you’re not mad at him. That’s why he was repeating those words until you’ll tell them back to him. But you were just standing there smiling at him. Finally he lifted you up and started kissing your face. After each kiss, he said I love you and was doing this long until you said them back.

[sky-is-the-limit]

Alex Keller is the type to say "ooohh big stretch" with a beaming smile on his face as he pushes a third finger in you, and I won't elaborate.

[lxvvie]

Call of Duty, Father's Day edition:

Just fatherly things, or how you honor the men in your life on this special day.

Capt. John Price - Price never asks for much, just your safety and happiness, but the kids wanted to give him presents for Father's Day, so you do. A new hat that looks like all the others but more expensive, a new mug for his tea, and kisses galore on his chonky cheeks. What more could the Cap'n ask for?

Gaz - Kyle just wants to hold his family in his arms, so he does. He didn't think he'd make it back in time to be here with you guys but he did and he's so damn happy. Now he and the little ones can get caught up on the latest gossip.

Alex Keller - It's not too often that he gets to do this. You all enjoyed his favorite breakfast with him: a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's worth the sugar rush you know Keller and the kids will experience afterward.

Soap - Soap's been meaning to help his girls with their cheer practice so you honor him by... letting him be the bottom of the pyramid. With his cheer uniform on. And Whiskey keeps licking his face. You took a photo and he'll never live it down. The wee ones laugh every time.

Ghost - The Missus™ achieves his dream of sleeping in today with his girls right beside him. There's Simon, his big arm wrapped around his kids who're cuddled up against him, and Pup by his feet sleeping peacefully. He'll wake up to a wonderful gift courtesy of his girls: a pink shirt that says Princess Daddy in glittery letters across the chest, and it's adorned with a tiara, too? Missus Princess Daddy™ is life, Simon. You cannot escape it lmao.

Alejandro - Alejandro wakes up to his kids tackle-hugging him in bed. There's breakfast and a card with heartfelt messages on it. They're very proud of their papa for everything he does and continues to do for them. Oh, and he's about to be a papa again. Best Father's Day gift ever, amirite? Congrats, Alejo!

Rudy - Oh, you let the mother hen rest today. Rudy loves to pamper and cater to his family but now it's his turn to be pampered and catered to. The house? Clean. Dinner? Cooking. Kids? Loving on Rudy. All is as it should be.

König - The kiddo's Father's Day gift has been pranking König something fierce all day and all you can do is shake your head in faux exasperation and revel in the gremlin laughter (from both of them) echoing throughout the house. You'll have his favorite meal for dinner.

Horangi - Today, Horangi is being honored by his kid beating him in card games. Repeatedly. And Horangi trying to figure out how and why this is happening lmao.

Graves - Graves is also pretty content with his lot in life. You and Boss Baby Graves give him a gift card to a spa he's been wanting to try. And then you get his ass by having some of the men from Shadow Company call and wish him a Happy Father's Day and call him Dad. Real cute, darlin'.