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tkwrites · 8 days ago

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Can I make it up to you? - Nico Hischier x ofc

gif by kawhh

Title: Can I make it up to you?

Part V in the It Doesn’t Matter AU

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Nico Hischier x Lena (ofc)

Summary: When Lena is hit on at a Devils event and Nico responds by staking his claim rather than checking in to make sure she's okay, she’s understandably pissed. Though their ensuing fight is resolved, Nico still wants to make it up to her.

Warnings: Sexism and unwelcome advances followed by angst and then a lot of makeup sex. Smut (18+ only!): Fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), face sitting, squirting, unprotected p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!), spanking, and a bit of exhibitionism if you squint.

Word count: 8,000

Comments: Well, Nico and Lena are back. This piece is out of order (shocking for me, I know), but the missing piece will be written to fill in their story.

I had this idea of them having makeup sex that I just couldn’t shake. Which, of course, meant they had to get into a fight first. I’m sorry for the angst and all the sexism, but it gets better, I promise.

It's been so fun writing Nico into the feminist, romance hero of my dreams. I hope he might be yours, too.

If you did enjoy it, please consider letting me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing.

Can I make it up to you?

Part V in the It Doesn’t Matter AU

Lena walked out of the bedroom, and Nico felt his eyes widen. He just stood there, slack jawed and blinking like a fish.

He couldn’t get over the fact that Lena was his date. His date. He got to take her out and have other people know she was with him. The feeling exploded in his stomach.

When she smiled and twirled, his tongue nearly fell out of his mouth.

The back of her dress was daringly open, held together by two thin ropes that criss crossed over her shoulder blades. A cowl of the smooth, dark fabric pooled at the small of her back. She wasn’t wearing a bra — at least not that he could see.

Her hair was down, just brushing her shoulders in soft, beachy waves. She’d refreshed the color the night before, so it was beautifully pastel pink, bringing out the green in her eyes and setting off the color of her skin. Her makeup was just enough to make her look bright and doe eyed.

He was going to have to look at her all night and still be expected to talk to people like a sane person? Fuck. Fuck fuck, fuck.

He finally managed to croak her name, and she giggled.

“You like it?”

Like it? He wanted to stay home and worship her in this dress. His mind filled with visions of tracing his lips from the drape of fabric all the way up her spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, minding not to tell her she looked beautiful. She did, but Nina’s lectures about how to compliment women rang in his head.

“Thank you.”

Lena knew he would like this dress. She saw the way his eyes lingered when women on TV wore backless dresses like this.

Even still — even knowing — an enormous blast of pride ignited inside her when he was reduced to staring at her open mouthed. She’d chosen right.

She’d never worn anything like it before. Thankfully, Nicole had helped her pick it out and get the right bra to wear with it. The smooth, delicate fabric felt like a breath of fresh air on her skin.

Walking into the party, Nico couldn’t help feeling smug. When people turned to look at him this time, he was finally in a couple. Not only that, he was in a couple with the person he’d dreamed about coupling with since he was seventeen. He wanted everyone to know she’d chosen him.

While he went about his schmoozing duties, Lena hung around with the other partners, talking and gossiping and sharing notes on each others outfits before their conversation finally gave way to real life. How people's kids were doing. How hard motherhood was when your partner was only there some of the time. What a weird thing it was to find yourself dating the boy you always dreamed you would. It was a bigger adjustment than she would have thought.

When she stepped away to order a drink, staying close to the bar to watch it being made, someone stepped up close to her. She figured it was Nico. He was the only one that stood this close. The illusion shattered as masculine voice asked, “so what’s your name?” in a strong Jersey accent.

Glancing over at him, she took stock. He was wearing a green suit that, on top of clashing against the olive undertones in his skin, was half a size too big for him. He needed a better tailor. And a better hair stylist. The garishly dark combover he was rocking was doing him no favors.

“Alaina,” she said. It wasn’t her name, but it had almost been. Her mother’s mother’s mother was named Alaina, but everyone in her life called her Lena. When it was time for her parents to name their first daughter, they decided to shorten it from the get go. She was named after great-grandma Lena after all. No need to make it complicated.

“That’s a beautiful name.” He reached forward slightly to brush the backs of his fingers up her arm.

She stiffened against his touch.

“I’m Reggie,” he said, confirming her suspicion that he might just be her fathers age. Lena felt her skin crawl. Why was a man his age even talking to a girl in her twenties, let alone flirting with her?

“It’s nice to meet you, Reggie,” she said, giving him a tight smile, “but I really should be getting back…” her words trailed off when she looked over her shoulder to find the other partners had moved on to a different part of the party.

Damn. There went her easy out.

“You know,” Reggie said, continuing as if he hadn’t noticed her looking for someone. “My company owns a box for the season if you’d like to catch a game.”

“I can get tickets.”

“In a box? I doubt it.”

Pursing her lips, Lena took a step back only to have him step forward to keep her from putting too much distance between them. Where was Nico when she needed him? Where was anyone? It was looking more and more like Reggie was the kind of guy who she’d either have to punch or run away from. Possibly both. She hoped she wouldn't have to resort to shouting.

He smiled as he seemed to realize no one was coming to her aid.

Lena gulped, feeling her heart begin to flutter in her throat. She pushed her drink aside just in case, grateful that, at least, they were in public.

Nico’s eyes found Lena again. That big guy was still looming over her at the bar. Through the open back of her dress, he could see how tightly her posture muscles were wound.

Excusing himself from his conversation, he made his way to her. She shouldn’t have to put up with this shit, and this dude needed to know she wasn’t here alone.

Spotting his forest green suit, Lena relaxed slightly, realizing Nico was walking toward them. She was going to be free of this douche at last.

Instead of turning his attention on her, though, Nico addressed Reggie as he walked up to them. “Hey man,” he said, slipping his arm possessively around her, his hand cradling her hip.

Reggies eyes darted between them, wide with recognition. The shock wore off quickly though, replaced by a kind of conspiratorial grin, “I should have known a girl like this was with one of you,” he said. “Though I didn't think they took kindly to you dating such rebels.”

Nicos eyebrows raised. Lena wasn't what he would call rebellious.

Instead of telling Reggie pink hair and a nose ring didn't make a rebel, or saying something about how he and Lena had known each other for years, or anything else, really, Nico took her completely by surprise when he said, “yeah, she’s not single.”

Her posture stiffened. She never saw this kind of cock slinging from Nico. He was usually so much kinder than that, not so concerned with being the bigger man.

With the Captain standing right in front of him, Reggie immediately launched into a discussion about how the team was doing.

Nico stood there and kept the conversation going, his hand still at her hip, forearm warm against her bare back. Were they in any other circumstance, she would have relished the feeling of his luxurious suit against her skin.

“Your scoring has really dropped off since the start of the season. Is something wrong you're not telling us?”

He said it with concern in his voice, but Lena knew it was a sentence crafted for maximum impact. She saw the shadow of guilt pass through Nico's eyes before he launched into a media-trained, rehearsed response about how he was trying his best, but sometimes, pucks just didn’t go in the net.

“You’ve got some —”

Nico cut her off. Even if it meant he was being insulted, he preferred it to this asshole leering at her again. He was trying to keep this creep's eyes off her.

She let out an affronted little snort, and he tried not to smile, touched that she was still willing to go to bat for him.

It was a solid five minutes of clipped, polite conversation before the guy finally got the hint and left.

Nico turned to her only to find her glaring. The triumphant smile slipped from his face.

“Let’s go get some air,” she said, turning on her heel and walking toward the balcony, breaking his grip in the process. Her tone was icy, and Nico braced for impact as he followed her, his bottle of beer clutched in his hand.

“What the fuck, Nico?” Lena asked quietly as soon as they were tucked into a dark alcove of the balcony, out of earshot from the other guests.

“Wha—”

“What the fuck was that?”

“I came to rescue you.”

“To rescue me?” she repeated, voice incredulous. “You didn’t even acknowledge me! You hardly even looked at me! I’ve never felt like such a possession.”

“I know men like that,” he tried to explain, “I was trying to get his attention off of you,”

“And in the process, you made me feel like some kind of dumb trophy.”

“A trophy?” he repeated.

“Yes! An ornament there to do nothing but make you look better,” she said. Her words and tone had maximum impact, smacking into him as if she’d hit him with her open palm.

Shit. He had done that. His first instinct had been to check on her, but he’d pushed it aside, wanting to let that guy know she wasn’t here alone. He knew he shouldn't have second guessed his gut reaction.

Goosebumps were rising on her arms in the cold night air. He slipped his jacket off and held it out to her.

His offering was met with a fierce glare. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here, Nico.”

“I know, and I want to, but I can tell you're freezing,” he held the suit coat out again, “please.”

She took it from him and threw it on the ground. “Will you listen to me, now?”

Chastened, he nodded. “I’m sorry.”

God, why did he have to have those eyes? Those earnest, puppy dog, always wanting to do better, brown eyes.

“Nico, I needed rescuing, and instead, you came over and started dick measuring with that guy. Who, by the way, I’m pretty sure was old enough to be my father, but still hit on me.”

His jaw hardened. “He was hitting on you?”

“Yes.” Her voice took on a sarcastic tone, “what did you think he was doing? Telling me about his kids?”

“I don’t know…”

“For some reason, men of a certain age always think that having tattoos or piercings means you’re a slut.”

Wincing, he asked, “what did he do?”

“Well, he touched me for one.”

His jaw went hard, and a protective kind of anger flashed in his eyes.

“What?” Nico was going to kill him.

“Not like totally inappropriately,” she amended angrily. “He touched my arm, but it still made my skin crawl.”

What the fuck? Hadn’t there been enough media and enough talk for men to know they couldn't touch women without their permission? Even when someone asked for a picture, Nico never put his arm around them unless they did it first or they gave permission.

“Then he told me I should come watch a game in his company owned box,” she scoffed. “He totally ignored me when I said I had access to tickets.”

Anger flared in his chest. Not only was this dude a creep, he hadn’t even listened to her. “How can I be better?” he asked. Not only in this instance, but to be a better man.

“I wish you had checked in with me before you started engaging or telling him I’m not single. I don't belong to you.”

“I don't think you belong to me, Lena,” he said, hurt she would even think that.

“Really? The whole ‘yeah, she's not single’ thing,” she threw her voice into a distorted imitation of his own, accent and all, “coulda fooled me.”

“I didn't…” fuck. He had said that. “I was just trying to get him to focus on me instead. I don’t think you belong to me. You’re my girlfriend, I know that’s different.”

The really annoying thing was that Lena knew he was telling the truth. It wasn’t an empty pronouncement. He really was sorry. And everything she knew of him told her he would learn from this and try to get better. All the same, she wondered if he really got where she was coming from.

“Do you even understand why I'm upset?” she asked, arms dropping to her sides.

He'd royally fucked up if she was asking that. “Yes!” He schooled his voice into a less frantic tone and continued, “I understand.”

“What do you understand?”

“That you felt disrespected when I went straight into trying to solve the problem instead of checking to see if you were okay first.” It was something he often talked about with Nina and his mother. Women rarely wanted a solution to a problem. Most of the time, they just wanted someone to listen. And instead of doing that, he’d just barreled straight into fixing it. He knew better. He was a fucking idiot.

“Oh.” It was a more succinct explanation than she'd been expecting.

“I won’t ever do that again, Lena. I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out for her.

Thankfully, she came into his arms willingly, even tucking her cold nose under his jaw. He swallowed against the sensation and slid his hands over her back.

“Lena, you're like ice,” he chastised, trying to cover as much of her as he could.

Now that the adrenaline of anger was ebbing away, the cold seeped in — and it seeped in fast. She stepped closer to Nico to try to absorb some of his body heat.

“Can we get you inside?” he asked, rubbing her back. His hands were cold too, so he was sure it wasn’t doing any good, but it was better than nothing.

“Thank you for being willing to understand,” she said, ignoring his question.

It was such strange phrasing that Nico pulled back to look into her face. “Of course I’m willing.”

“Not all men are,” she said, tugging him back so their chests were once again flush.

The fact that she’d had to put up with assholes who didn’t even try to understand where she was coming from ate at him. She deserved better than that. He wanted to be better than that.

Holding her, out in the cold, he dared to look at the pieces of himself he didn’t like to. The ones that were jealous and overly eager to prove that Lena was with him. That guy hadn’t posed any competition, and he knew it. In his heart of hearts, he knew she would never do that to him. He had no reason to get defensive of their relationship and should have checked in with her first. She should have been his top priority, not how others saw him.

“I’m sorry, Lena,” he said, his voice quiet against her ear. “I let my pride come before how you were feeling.”

Damn him. This was why she could never stay mad at him. “Thank you.”

Her lips brushed against his neck when she said it, and it caused a shiver of a different kind to ripple over his skin.

“I love you,” he said.

She pulled back to look into those big brown eyes. “I love you, too.”

“Can I take you back inside now?” he asked. “I really don’t want you to get frostbite.”

“It’s not cold enough to get frostbite,” she said even as she broke away and bent to pick up his jacket.

He was momentarily mesmerized by her bare back in the winter moonlight and was still staring when she held his jacket out to him.

“I’m sorry I threw it on the ground,” she said, attempting to knock some of the dust off. It had been a childish thing to do, and she wished she could take it back. He’d just been trying to care for her, and she’d been so hellbent on making her point, she’d thrown his very sweet gesture into the dirt.

A half smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I deserved it.”

“It was sweet, and I’m sorry I threw it back in your face.”

“It’s okay,” he assured, taking it from her and settling it on her shoulders.

The silk lining was cold against her skin, and she shivered.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, gently turning her around so he could lead her back to the party, his arm draped around her shoulders.

Snuggling into his side, Lena took a deep breath, readying herself to face the crowd of people again. At least no one had heard them arguing.

“Do you want to leave?”

“You need to stay, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

The warm air in the ballroom stung as it collided with the chill on her skin. “I’ll stay with you,” she said, shrugging his jacket off and handing it back to him. She didn’t want to go home alone. She’d just be sitting there waiting for him anyway.

“Okay,” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple.

“There you are!” Nicole exclaimed. “Were you two sneaking off? Naughty, naughty,” she teased, winking at Nico. “Though, I can’t really blame you with how good she looks in this dress.”

He gave her a bashful smile.

“Come on, Lena. Kristen was just about to tell us the funniest story.”

Allowing herself to be pulled into the party, Lena glanced back at Nico. She sent him a smile and a little wave. The last thing she saw before the crowd closed around them was his cheeky wink, as he mouthed, ‘I love you.’

An hour later, they were tucked into the back of an Uber on the way home. Lena was playing with Nico’s fingers as she recounted Kristen’s story about Eric trying and failing to make dinner while caring for their kids and dogs.

He laughed, glad that after the night they’d had, she was still willing to share these silly stories with him.

“We’re okay, right?” he asked, entwining his fingers with hers.

“Yeah,” she said, lifting her face so their eyes met. Her anger had faded almost completely. “Of course we’re okay.”

A sigh let go in his chest.

“Nico,” she raised a hand to cradle his jaw, “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me or anything. I know you better than that. It just kind of struck a nerve, and I lost my temper.”

Shooting her a rueful smile, he corrected, “you had every right to be upset with me. I was an ass.”

She laughed, “you kind of were.”

Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to her temple and let his voice drop low, “can I make it up to you?”

“Make it up to me?” she repeated, eyes darting to his. Was he implying what she thought he was?

His brown eyes smoldered as he nodded.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Whatever you want,” he murmured, dipping his lips to her neck.

Tipping her head to give him more access, she found her voice suddenly much breathier than it had been. “I think we can arrange for that.”

He pulled away only when the car pulled up to their building.

The smug little smile on her face as they rode the elevator nearly made him start to pant. He knew what that smile meant.

Pausing as they passed through the kitchen, Nico asked, “do you mind if I grab something to eat before?” The food at those parties was never quite enough.

She shook her head. “I’ll meet you in your room.”

Although she hadn’t slept in her own bed in weeks, she hadn’t really moved anything into his room, so it didn’t quite feel like theirs.

A few minutes later, perched on the end of the bed, she watched him come in, admiring the way he moved in his beautiful, dark green suit. The vest hugged his torso in a way that made him look deliciously thick. That had certainly changed since they were seventeen.

Nico stopped in front of her, swallowing the last bite of apple.

“What do you want?” he asked. God, his accent was already thick, and he hadn't even touched her.

She leaned back and swept her hair from her face before bracing with that arm, too. “I want to watch you undress.”

Nodding, he swallowed hard. “Do you want it a certain way?”

Shaking her head, she said, “just go slow.”

He started with his tie. The slip of the silk under his shirt collar was a hypnotic whisper.

Watching her watch him made him breathless with anticipation. It was an incredible turn on, knowing she didn’t want him to be anything but who he already was. He knew she didn’t want a performance.

“Can I hang this up?” he asked, holding up the suit coat.

She nodded.

He walked into the closet and came back with a hanger. He removed his vest and hung it up before covering it with the coat.

“Your hands are so sexy,” she breathed, watching him work the buttons of his shirt, top to bottom.

His dimple winked at her.

Glancing up, he asked, “do you want me to get you off with them?”

“Uh hu,” she breathed. She was still reclined on the bed, but her legs were now crossed, attempting to get some friction between her thighs. Just the thought of it, of his casual offer to bring her pleasure, had desire singing through her veins, ending hot and heavy between her legs.

He worked on the buttons of his cuffs, watching her. Her face was flushed, eyes blown dark with lust. Finally, he shouldered off the button down and tossed it behind him to be added to the hamper later.

“Undershirt first,” she said when he reached for the button of his pants.

Not bothering to hide her need, she drank in the movement of his arms and chest as he worked the shirt over his head. She squeezed her legs a little tighter together.

He paused for a moment then, letting her drink in the sight of him shirtless in those incredibly well tailored trousers.

“Turn around,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I want to admire your ass in those pants.”

He blushed but did as she requested, adding in a little shake.

She laughed, then let out a groan as he stilled and flexed slightly, showing off his toned back.

When he looked over his shoulder, she’d collapsed back on the bed.

“I can’t wait.”

“Wait for what?” he asked, turning back around.

“I can’t wait for you to touch me.”

He took a step forward. When she didn’t stop him, he took another and another until he was standing right in front of her. Reaching down, he slid one of his hands up her smooth calf. The soft fabric of her dress bunched around his wrist as his hand slid onto her thigh.

Lena moaned, and it shot straight to his groin. He loved that sound more than any other in the world. “This is good?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He tried to push the skirt up over her hips, but her hand caught his forearm, halting the movement. “Need it now,” she said, guiding his hand between her legs.

The smile he gave her was wicked. Moving her underwear out of the way, he dipped his fingers into her sweet, wet heat. “You’re dripping.”

Her back arched, trying to get her clit closer to his hand. “Yeah. I’ve had to look at you in that fucking suit all night.”

It was always a pleasant surprise when she said things like this. When it became evident that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. “I’ve been half hard looking at you in this dress all night,” he admitted, finally adjusting so the heel of his hand pressed into her.

She made a keening noise and ground against him. “Bought it just for you.”

As her admission pulled even more blood from his brain, his entire body froze.

“Nico!” she complained.

He snapped back to himself and started moving again, curling his fingers inside her and following the wave of her hips.

“Oh,” she moaned, head thrown back. “Just like that.”

He hadn’t been able to touch her like this for very long, but in the short amount of time he had, he’d been an attentive student. He seemed to remember everything she told him about what she liked.

“Nico.” The way she said his name while they were making love was a symphony in his ears. What had he ever done in his life to deserve to be in this moment? Especially after fucking up so terribly that evening.

“What do you need?” he asked, pressing a little harder.

Breath rushed from her mouth, “kiss me.”

Fingers still buried inside her, he covered her body with his and captured her mouth. He swallowed every noise she made until she broke away, panting.

“Right there,” she moaned, hips rolling. Something about the way he was touching her, fingers crooked just so, had fire licking through her veins. “Keep your fingers right there.”

Working the spongey spot inside her, he breathlessly awaited her climax.

“I —” The words she was going to say fell right out of her brain. They came crashing back with sudden force as Nico continued his magic. “I’m gonna come.”

“Yes. I love it when you come for me.”

Pleasure, more intense than she’d ever felt before, broke open inside her and, clutching the comforter, Lena cried out.

Nico watched her face, fascinated, as he felt her release slick his fingers .

“Fuck,” he groaned, “you’re so sexy.”

The pleasure kept coming until sensitivity turned his touch into a branding iron. Squirming away, she croaked, “too much. Too much.”

Slipping his hand from her and out from under her dress, Nico watched her chest rise and fall in sharp little gasps as he brought it to his mouth.

“Oh my god,” she said, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

She could practically feel Nico’s wide smile.

“I’ve never felt anything like that.”

“Really?”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were doing that,” she held up her hand, crooking her fingers as if beckoning him to her.

“Someone told me it was the best way,” he said, a blush darkening his cheeks.

“Someone?”

“Courtney,” he admitted.

Courtney had been a girl he’d hooked up with on and off whenever he was in New Jersey. One of them would snap the other, and they’d meet up, usually every few weeks. When Lena had moved in, he’d stopped responding to her, and she’d eventually stopped asking.

Lena only met her once but instantly disliked her, later telling him, “I don’t know, she’s just so obsessed with herself. She hardly even acknowledged I was there.”

It had been awkward to watch the two of them interact. Courtney, who Nico knew liked him more than he liked her, and Lena, who at the time, he thought didn’t like him the way he liked her. It had put them in an awkward triangle of disproportionate feelings. When Courtney had left to go home, she told him, “you’re so full of shit, Nico. When you two figure out what the hell is going on between you, let me know.”

He’d been affronted at the time, hurt she would insinuate he and Lena had anything together. Now, looking back, he could understand how uncomfortable it must have been for her to be stuck between two people so in love with each other. She must have felt like he was playing games with her. She’d still spent the night in his bed when he asked her to come over three weeks later, though.

“Hu,” Lena said, holding herself back from continuing, at least she was good for one thing.

“Have you never…” he trailed off.

“Never what?”

His blush was back, “Have you never…I mean, wasn’t that your…” he had to pause, trying to remember the word, “your g-spot?”

A series of puzzle pieces clicked into place all at once. “I wasn’t sure I had one,” she admitted, turning her head to look into his face. “I’ve never been able to find it.”

Half of his mouth curved in an amused smile. “None of your boyfriends tried?” he asked, tracing the edge of her dress, where it curved around her shoulder. He’d daydreamed of making Lena come like that for years — ever since Courtney taught him what the g-spot was and how to find it.

“No,” she snorted. “Milo gave decent head, but none of them were as invested as you are.”

His vision flared red for a moment before fading back to normal. Most of him was smug that he’d been the first one to find hers, but a part of him was angry she’d wasted so much time on losers who didn’t deserve her.

Lena sighed. No wonder she’d never felt anything like that. She never had.

“What do you want?” Nico asked, his hand slipping down her side, sliding over the slippery fabric with ease.

“Hm?”

“What do you want?” he repeated, “I’m making it up to you, remember?”

“I want to sit on your face,” she said, not missing a beat.

Nico grinned. He loved getting her off with his mouth, but the prospect of getting her off with his mouth while she was above him and he could see her beautiful face? What a dream.

“You’ll have to help me get this dress off,” she said, standing from the bed. “It’s taped.”

“Taped?” he repeated, sitting up.

She turned her back to him, and before she could explain what she meant, he made good on his earlier promise to himself, trailing his lips from the cowl pooled at her low back up to the little ropes holding the dress on.

Lena hummed, a shiver running through her body. If he was going to have this reaction all the time, she was never covering her back again.

“What did you need?” he asked, lips whispering over the top of her spine, just under her short hair.

“Nicole helped me tape it,” she said, running a hand under one of the sides until it caught, “so it wouldn’t fall off, or accidentally expose something.”

His fingers followed hers, easing the tape from her skin before repeating on the other side.

She turned around, grasping the fabric at her hips so she could lift the dress over her head.

Nico drank in each movement, his dick twitching when the black lace of her underwear was exposed.

She thought about hanging it up, but there was a wet spot from her orgasm that would need to be cleaned off before she could wear it again. Instead, she tossed it aside, so it draped artfully across the floor.

He made a low noise in his throat.

She stood before him in black pumps, a tiny pair of black lace underwear and a bra that was some kind of free-standing contraption. No straps and no band. As she went about removing it, he realized it was stuck to her skin. It must not have been that uncomfortable, though. The red marks had already mostly faded when she discarded it with the dress.

After easing her thong off, Lena held it out to him, hooked on one finger. She’d bought it, wanting to see it tucked into his pocket by the end of the night. While she’d been getting dressed, she’d wondered if it might end up there before they left the gala, but that hadn’t worked out. Good thing, too. Everyone would have known. That dress really didn’t hide anything.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, taking the underwear from her and tucking it into his pants pocket.

Preening, she motioned for him to lay back.

He did, scooting up to the pillows to get in a comfortable position.

Lena waited for him to get settled before straddling him.

Watching her crawl up his body, knowing where she was going to end up, was perhaps the hottest thing he’d ever experienced in his life.

“After this,” she said, hovering over him, just close enough that the only thing he could smell was her sweet, humid heat, “I want you to bend me over the bed and fuck me.”

“Okay.”

Like he could say no to anything she wanted while they were in this position.

She made a satisfied humming noise and lowered to his mouth.

He groaned, hands coming up to grasp her hips, fingers digging into the flesh to keep her on top of him. He wanted to keep her here as long as possible.

He played with her clit, then licked through her, savoring the juices that gathered on his tongue. He hummed just to see her squirm and her nipples tighten.

When he tried to pull away, and she followed him with a whine, he couldn't help but laugh.

“Touch yourself for me,” he urged before latching his mouth back onto her.

Clutching the headboard with one hand for balance, she toyed with her nipple with the other.

The sight of it made his dick jump in his pants. “Das ist es,” he murmured, purposefully not bothering to translate. She always seemed to like it when he used his native language in bed, especially if it was praise.

Her head tipped back with a groaned, “oh fuck,” as she moved to the other breast.

The need to get her off, to make sure she had the best orgasm possible, was a palpable itch he needed to scratch. It felt like he might just die without it. Keeping his left hand at her hip for balance, he brought the other to her center.

Feeling his fingers tease her entrance, Lena popped her hips back to facilitate him. She was rewarded with a low hum of appreciation and a wink.

Reveling in her expression — eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering and jaw slack — Nico continued his pursuit, easing two fingers into her, determined to find her g-spot. He’d done it before, he could surely do it again.

He knew he'd found it, not only from the slightly different, spongey texture but also from the stuttered moan of pleasure that crawled up her throat.

Her left hand smacked back onto the headboard, grasping desperately for balance as her hips rolled atop his face.

Milking her clit with his mouth, he worked his fingers in and out and up and down until she was trembling above him, chanting, “Yes! Nico, yes!”

He hummed back, moaning as a fresh wave of her arousal slicked over his chin. If this wasn’t about him making up for being such a prat, he would beg her to turn around so he could feel her mouth at the same time.

This was a whole new feeling. The combination of Nico’s extraordinary mouth, along with his magic fingers, was the catalyst for a series of reactions Lena had never felt together before. First, there was the intense heat that shimmered over her skin, then the pleasure that zinged from her core all the way up to her brain, and through her legs, right to her toes, still tucked into her pumps. Finally, there was the swirl of emotion and sensation that took up residence in her low belly. All together, they resulted in an orgasm so intense, she didn’t even have words to describe it.

Color and sound and heat rushing through her until they swelled to bursting, unleashing all over Nico’s face.

Choking out a groan of surprise as Lena’s orgasm gushed over his hand and flooded his mouth, he tried to commit every detail of this night to memory. He’d never made a woman squirt before and was bound and determined to remember everything so he could recreate it. He wanted to experience this over and over again.

She practically fell off of him, and they lay there, gasping.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, swiping at the liquid dripping off his neck. He had no idea if it was her release or his own sweat. He didn’t care.

“Fuck me,” Lena breathed, her hand coming up to her forehead in disbelief. “You’re just bringing all sorts of things out of me today.”

Nico started to giggle, and Lena couldn't help but join in. They soon found themselves rolling toward each other, overtaken with laughter. It ended up being both of their favorite memories of the night. Yes, Nico had just made her come so hard she saw stars, but this — this laughing together in the middle of it all felt so…comfortable. It was a reminder that at it’s core, their relationship hadn’t changed all that much.

“I love you so much,” Nico laughed against her mouth.

“I love you, too,” she said before silencing him with a kiss.

He moaned and pulled her on top of him.

After a few more minutes of passionate kissing, chests still occasionally shaking with laughter, Lena pulled away. Grinding her core against his stomach - knowing it drove him wild - she said, “well, I think I’m plenty prepped.”

He grinned and managed to tamp down most of his laughter.

Helping her off of him, he watched her stand and brace her hands on the mattress before hauling himself out of the bed and shoving his pants down. When he’d pulled the hanger from the closet, he’d intended to hang them up, but the prospect of fucking her stole too much of his brain power to care anymore. So they stayed heaped on the floor as he took his place behind her, rutting his hard cock against her.

She moaned and popped her hips back to grind on him. If she kept that up, he was going to come before he even got inside her.

What was it she’d said? I want you to bend me over the bed and fuck me. Bringing a hand to the back of her neck, he pushed her forward until her chest pressed flush to his mussed comforter.

Her heels were still on, and even though they pitched her legs forward at an awkward angle, forcing her to grasp for balance with her toes, she was glad she hadn’t kicked them off. She would have been too short without them, and there was something so hot about having to rely on him for her balance.

Lena moaned. She’d dreamed of this so many times. Of him coming into her room, pressing her down to the bed, or sweeping everything off her desk to bend her over the hard surface, and using those powerful legs and hips to fuck her brain into mush. When he told her, however you want me, she knew she had to take advantage.

Fuck, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life. Seeing her bent over like this, with her beautiful back and the ample curves of her ass and hips on full display, was the fulfillment of a fantasy he hadn’t even known he had. He felt like the luckiest man on the planet.

“You like that?” he asked, sliding his erection through her wet center.

Shifting her hips back, trying to entice him inside her, she breathed, “yes.”

He took the bate, but only teased her entrance with the thick head of his cock.

“Nico,” she whined.

“Hm?” he asked, enjoying this far more than he ever thought he would.

“Fuck me.”

Something occurred to him suddenly, “do we need a safe word?”

She was too busy trying to get more of him inside her without falling over to respond.

Easing back as he lifted his hand off her neck, he asked, “what’s your safe word? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“Lena,” he admonished.

“Fine,” she huffed, mind whirring, “cantaloupe.” She’d bought one just the day before, and it was the the first thing that popped into her mind that didn’t sound too close to something she might yell out naturally, like puck, which was the first word she’d thought of. “Now fuck me.”

A deep groan let go in his chest, and Nico pressed her back down, hand now resting between her shoulder blades. “This is okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she huffed, frustration evident in her voice, “come on.”

His only response was to trace his thumb over her skin.

“Please,” she whined, not caring that she sounded desperate and needy. She felt desperate and needy.

Chuckling, he gave her no warning before burring his cock in her sweet, tight center.

Hands fisting the comforter, Lena’s back swayed like a snake as an animalistic cry flew from her mouth.

This kind of standing doggy, which she found allowed for stronger thrusting than kneeling, had always been one of her favorite positions. It felt new with Nico, though, who was thicker than any of her previous partners. He hit spots in her she never knew she had and filled her in a way she didn’t think was possible.

Panting, she moved with him. The solid feel of him behind and inside her made her desperate for more. “Nico,” she moaned. Whatever else she was going to say jumbled in her mouth as he withdrew to the tip before burying himself back in her warmth.

God, she was the most amazing woman he’d ever met. Her head was turned, so he got a view of her blissful expression in profile as she moaned and panted for him. The sight of her ass bouncing off his hips had him desperate to do things he’d never imagined himself doing before. Good thing they had a safe word. She might just need to use it.

His free hand came down on her ass with a sharp slap before he grabbed the globe of it, kneading the muscle.

She cried out.

“That’s good?” he asked, wanting to make sure it wasn’t a cry of pain.

“Yes,” she moaned, “so good, Nico.” She’d never liked getting spanked before. Then again, she’d never trusted someone like she trusted Nico. She knew he wouldn’t push it too far, which had always been her hesitation with the guys who tried it before. When Nico did it, it sent so much unexpected electricity rocketing through her system, she couldn't let go of the idea of him doing it again.

He switched hands, so his right pressed into her back, and his left was free to smack her other cheek until it was red enough to match its partner. There was something incredibly arousing about knowing she trusted him to do this. That she found it hot, too.

Back arching with the pleasurable pain, Lena begged, “harder.”

“You want me to spank you harder?” he asked, a little surprised. He hadn’t exactly been gentle about it.

Her head shook, just slightly, “Fuck me. Fuck me harder, Nico.”

Sliding his hands over her curves and onto her hips to get a good grip, he got into a more grounded stance and snapped his hips to hers.

The fulfillment of this fantasy nearly drove Lena out of her mind.

Her face turned slightly, so her shout was muffled by the comforter. Which was a shame, really. He wouldn’t mind his neighbors overhearing this. Especially that dick next door who checked her out every time they passed by each other in the hall.

Unable to hold it in, he moaned, “You’re so perfect for me, Lena.”

“Yes,” she chanted, “for you, Nico. Only for you.”

He wanted to make her come around his cock, but her declaration had a surge of heat streaking through him, so hot that his resolve crumbled in one fell swoop.

“Fuck, gonna come,” he groaned, his rhythm turning sloppy and swift.

“Yes,” her hips tipped, just so, making her even tighter.

The sensations became too much, and her name burst from his mouth in a shout.

Feeling his hot release spill into her, Lena moaned.

Joints liquified by his orgasm, Nico collapsed, his chest pressing into her sweaty back.

It took a few moments before he could get his mouth to work right. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair.

“For what?” she laughed.

Feeling came back into his legs, and he eased out. “Didn't last long enough for you to get off.”

With his weight off her. Lena crawled onto the bed, desperate to give her legs a rest. Her heels clunked to the floor, one after the other.

He climbed on beside her, pulling her against him.

“You know,” she said as she turned over so they were face to face, “just because I didn't get off that one time doesn't mean I didn't thoroughly enjoy myself.”

“You deserve to get off whenever I do,” he argued.

“That's really sweet, Nico,” she assured, a hand coming up to caress his cheek and push his hair from his face. She knew he had a tendency to be too hard on himself, wanting everything to be perfect every time. “But don't forget you just made me come so hard I squirted.”

He scoffed, “like I could ever forget that.”

“And it's not like you came without getting me off,” she assured, tracing soft patterns on his scalp. “It evens out in the end.”

He made a discontented noise but didn't argue.

She let it drop. “Let's go clean up, yeah? If you're really worried about it, you can get me off in the shower.”

Pulling her even closer and burying his face in her neck, he told her, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, fingers carding through his hair. “Now, come on. I need to shower. You've made a right mess of me.”

Laughing, he slid off the bed and lifted her into his arms.

He deposited her onto the bathroom counter and started the shower.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes as he studied her face.

“With what?”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

She shook her head, “no. I would have told you if you did. I know you would have stopped if I told you to.”

A relieved sigh let go in his chest.

He lifted her off the counter and followed her into the shower.

After soaping each other up, Nico did spend some time on his knees, getting her off not just once but several more times. He was too taken with her shaking legs and panting mouth as her hands sunk into his hair to stop at one.

“I did enough?” he asked a while later, after pajamas had been donned, and they’d crawled into bed.

“Enough what?”

“I made it up to you?”

“Mmmhmmm…” she mumbled sleepily.

Tucking himself against her, he relished the warmth of her body pressed against his.

“I forgave you long before I got naked, though,” she said, feeling it was important to clarify. “The awesome sex was just a bonus.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a few soft kisses to her shoulder.

“I love you,” she said, voice slow with fatigue.

“I love you, too. Thank you for believing in me.”

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Nico.”

Heart swelling in his chest, he pulled her a bit closer and settled in to fall asleep.

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mlqueen89 · 11 days ago

Text

One | Flyboy

so cross your thoughtless heart she's the albatross she is here to destroy you

The Albatross by Taylor Swift | TTPD |

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin x f!oc (top gun: maverick)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

w a r n i n gs : smut, mentions of masturbation, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v sex, multiple orgasms, one-night stand, jake being a cocky, self-assured man who leaves no crumbs after he eats.

word count: 8,997

summary: in affairs of the heart, eleanor rigby has one strict rule: no pilots. Less than 24 hours back in the US, she breaks it.

A/N: this whole entire fic literally started with the (full) name of eleanor. i also have a radar tech in the family, so that helped a bit. snowball met a steep hill and picked up speed. i've planned for ~10(ish) chapters, but it may be open ended with a few more random scenes/chapters here and there.

proud to say that this one was beta read by my bestest friend, so you know she was mean to me helpful.

also! i saw the asks - super excited to dive into those, tysm. ♡♡

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ next chapter ♡ previous chapter ❥

Eleanor Rigby hadn’t wanted to go to the Halloween party, not really.

The boxes stacked in the spare bedroom of her friend Nicole’s four-bedroom house desperately needed unpacking and the 10-hour time change from Western Turkey to San Diego was kicking her ass. She’d done about as much unpacking as was required to find a suitable outfit for her new job in the morning, folded them carefully and set them out.

When Nicole had invited her out, Ellie had fallen asleep, mid-unpack of the rest of her belongings, waking only when the bubbly blonde burst into the room and jumped onto the foot of her bed, dressed in all her glory as Barbie.

“Ellie does San Diego! Let’s goooo.” Nicole tugged at Ellie’s arm as Yanique flicked on the light in the ensuite, reapplying a purple-ish shade of lipstick as Ellie blinked against the sudden light in her dim room, her arm jiggled aggressively by an enthusiastic Nic.

Bleary-eyed, her voice just a croak, Ellie politely declined, muttering something about starting her new job early the next morning and making a good impression. Nicole eventually relented with a huff and left, a little less than impressed, with their other two roommates, Yan and Sophie, in tow.

Within 45 minutes, her phone buzzing against the hardtop of the nightstand, the voice messages started flowing in.

Nicole’s first voice message was short, 12 seconds. Ellie’s thumb jabbed at the play button as she gathered the dishes from her girl dinner of toast and coffee and used her elbow to push down on the paddle door handle, making her way to the shared kitchen.

Ellieeeeeeee... Eleanor Rigbyyyyyy ....

There was a dull thud of base in the background somewhere, behind the long, pronounced whine of Nicole’s voice as she sang the beginning of her namesake Beatles song, horribly off-key.

Ellie, please you have to come out. It’s Halloween, the most magical night of the year! Just make an appearance. An hour, tops. Please?

Ellie moved through the kitchen, rinsing out her cup and placing it on the drying rack. Her head was in the fridge, scrounging around for an apple in the crisper drawer, when the next three messages came in.

Please, pretty, pretty, pretty, please with like, a million cherries on top, even though I know you hate cherries.

Bradley’s not here yet, Yan already left with a weird guy in a Frankenstein costume—do we know what kink that is? That has to be a kink, right? I’m not kink shaming though, I promise. He was just like... weird. Do you think I should get her to drop her location? Like, just in case?

Soph is requesting Chappell Roan for the like, twentieth time, and I think she’s going to start a fight with the DJ about being an anti-feminist incel if he doesn’t play “HOT TO GO!” again... did you know that she broke up with that witch, wiccan girl from Hinge? HingeWitch? The one that had that study of cheeses in her bio, that blue cheese description—Ellie thought she heard Nicole pause to gag—anyway, I think she thinks she got cursed or something...

The voice message cut off even though Nicole’s tone suggested that she wasn’t finished talking about Sophie’s ex.

There was a garbled message in between the last one and the next, one in which Ellie could hear Nicole begging the DJ not to leave and promising to talk to her friend about the excessive requests for Chappell Roan.

Don’t abandon me in my time of need, El. Desperate need. Like, jumping off of very tall somethings desperacy.

Ellie smirked. Nicole, her very best friend in the whole wide world, quite possibly the vast universe, was, in fact, very dramatic.

Quickly, before another voice message could roll in, Ellie hit record on her own before she bit into her apple, wrestling the third box out of a teetering tower of boxes in the corner of her room and hit send.

Fine. I’ll be there in twenty.

The response pinged back quickly.

Ohmygodohmygod, thank you! Remember, the theme is Icons through the Ages!

Wear something sexy. Iconic sexy. Iconically sexy? But not Hawaiian Barbie. Or whatever Soph is dressed up as. I want to say is either Frida Kahalo or Mama Imelda from Coco. Basically, avoid anything with a Mexican gothic vibe.

Once Ellie had managed to pull her vintage leather aviator jacket from the box, the one she’d mislabeled in her hurry to pack everything up, the rest of her costume came together fairly quickly.

When she found the venue, a small bar off a main street, she still had around 30 seconds to spare on her twenty-minute promise to Nic.

Eleanor had always known that Nicole was popular, but the Halloween party, a party which Nicole had demurely announced was just “a small thing” with “a few work friends” was in actuality, not quite a small thing.

Weaving her way through the crowd, Ellie scanned the room, trying to pick out the hot pink of Nicole’s costume or the flower crown Sophie had carefully woven into her voluminous red hair.

Squeezing her way through a group of Spanish Conquistadors (notably with less armour and more exposed skin than was historically accurate) Ellie paused short of the small DJ booth in the corner of the bar, her eyes still scanning for Nicole when her eyes fell on him.

Sandy blonde hair peeked out from under a neon sweatband, shoulders stocky and solid in a sleeveless denim vest over a t-shirt that read, No Shirt, No Shoes, No Problem. The white sneakers, short shorts, and that unmistakable lanky sway to the beat of Footloose pumping through the venue that could only belong to one person.

It was Ken.

Specifically, the Ken to Nicole’s Barbie.

“Bradshaw?” Ellie called, squinting.

Ken spun around with the beat of the song, a lopsided grin already on his lips as he faced her. “Holy shit, Rigsy?” Swiftly, Bradley Bradshaw was over to her, scooping Ellie off her feet, squeezing her tightly in a bear hug, shaking her frame slightly with a growl, before she groaned and he set her back down, feather light.

“You didn’t say you were back stateside.”

“My flight got in last night.” Ellie shrugged, straightening her jacket and adjusting the thin white scarf around her neck, “Just wanted to surprise you, Rooster.”

“Well, damn it,” Bradley nodded in approval, all dimples and easy charm, “colour me surprised.”

It was no wonder Nicole had fallen for him, head over Barbie heels. Even Ellie liked him, and that was saying something.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw was less pilot and more golden retriever, a good heart wrapped in an all-American charm with an easygoing, dopey grin that made people feel like they’d known him for years. He was the kind of guy who’d lend you his jacket and forget to ask for it back or show up at your door with takeout and Sleepless in Seattle cued up on a streaming service he had to pay an arm and a leg for, because he “just had a feeling.” The Batman who responded to the Emotional Needs and Mercury Retrograde Bat Signal™. The hero the people deserved. Ellie was pretty sure she caught him watching videos of a baby hippo getting into shenanigans at a zoo in China on loop for 14 minutes while Nic tried to pick an episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians that would really pique his interest and get him invested enough to make it his “new Roman Empire”.

Ellie remembered the night Nicole and Bradley had met with perfect clarity.

Nicole had been in the middle of swearing off all men for the foreseeable future, her voice thick with the brand of determination that came with a prosecco-fueled resolution. Ellie had watched as her friend declare a new era of singlehood and Taylor Swift before turning to Sophie, slurring out a request for “gorgeous, single women willing to humor an experimental phase.”

It wasn’t two minutes later that Nicole lurched forward, losing all her resolve—and her prosecco—in a sudden, graceless bout with the sidewalk.

As Ellie rubbed her back and tried to get her standing, a group of pilots had come down the street—Bradley Bradshaw among them, flanked by two others they’d later get to know as Phoenix and Bob. Bradley had been the one to stop, eyes quickly scanning the situation, assessing and then moving in with expert precision. He’d peeled off his jacket immediately, holding it out to Nicole as she moaned her embarrassment and weakly gestured at the puddle of what had once been bubbly and appetizers a few feet away.

“It’s okay,” Bradley had told her, voice soft and reassuring. “If you throw up on this one, I’ll just get another jacket tomorrow.” When she’d protested, he’d grinned, shrugging in that effortless way of his. “Honestly, they just give these jackets to anyone,” he’d joked, as if he hadn’t spent years earning the right to wear it and every single patch stitched on it.

Nicole had blinked up at him, mascara smudged, his jacket draped over her shoulders, looking at him like he was some knight out of one of the many cheesy rom-coms she loved. And for once, Ellie hadn’t blamed her for it.

That night, Bradley Bradshaw had seen her best friend at her worst and treated her like she was worth sticking around for.

And that was Rooster in a nutshell—a steady warmth that lingered long after he was gone, the guy who would do just about anything to make Nicole smile, including, but not limited to, dressing up in the ridiculous costume he was currently wearing.

Nudging her, Rooster grinned. “So,” he drawled, “does this mean I finally get the best friend stamp of approval?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, feigning a reluctant sigh, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d approved of him long before now. “Don’t let it go to your head, Bradshaw.”

“Too late,” he laughed, mimicking his head expanding dramatically before throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Already there.”

Rooster grabbed his drink off the small table bordering the dance floor, draining the glass. “Love the costume, by the way," he sucked his teeth against the burn of the whiskey he’d downed, “I’ve not seen one Amelia Earhart here.” He craned his neck, searching in the dimly lit room.

“You think the goggles are too much?” Ellie adjusted the strap on her head, pushing a loose strand of hair up underneath the band. “I think they might be cutting off circulation to my brain..."

“An aviator is only as good as their headgear,” Rooster tapped the top of his head. “You’re just missing your call sign.”

“Guess you must not be a very good one, then.” Ellie smirked, snapping the neon sweatband on his head with a laugh.

Rooster levelled her with a narrowed gaze, but there was no heat behind it, “one day someone is going to love that you’re kind of mean.”

“Sorry, Bradshaw—” Ellie pointed at her ears, shrugging as she stepped back, a smirk on her lips, retreating into the crowd “—I can’t hear you.”

Rooster flipped her off, in an affectionate way, she assumed. “Sit and circumnavigate, Rigby.”

With another laugh, Ellie turned and set her sights on the bar, squeezing her way through a grouping of zombies and a Michonne, who stood shoulder to shoulder with a Negan, complete with Lucille, tugging her scarf out of Zombie #1s grasp on the other side.

The last tug, sharp and forceful, sent her stumbling over the tattered chiffon hem of the La Llorona’s dress at her back.

Ellie braced for the rough landing as she attempted and failed to steady herself. She felt the fall in her stomach, the way it pitched as gravity pulled her down. She figured it served her right, the swift intervention of karma coming for her after she’d insulted its favourite pilot — Rooster was going to have an absolute field day over this.

Ellie had been so lost in the idea of bracing for the impact of the ground, hard and sticky, she didn’t notice that she hadn’t fallen until she looked up and saw a lopsided smirk and green eyes, looking down at her. The realization there were hands hooked under her arms, holding her up came quickly after.

“And here I was thinkin’ that Amelia Earhart had a reputation of staying upright.” The man was all smirk, dimples ghosting his cheeks, as Ellie blinked up at him, processing the situation.

“Guess I’m overdue for a refresher course on emergency landings.” Ellie cleared her throat, righting herself with his help before she tugged her bomber jacket back into place.

When she glanced up from her improved angle, Ellie could see just how striking he was—sharp jaw, confident eyes, and a natural swagger that suggested he knew it, suggested he knew women sized him up in more ways than one.

“What are you drinking, Amelia?”

“Nothing, yet.”

“Let’s fix that, shall we?”

The music pumped anew, the DJ spinning a Thriller remix, as she approached the bar, the presence of the man at her back as she weaved her way through the crowd. She could feel the hover of his hand at her lower back, ready to catch her if she took another tumble. She hadn’t been expecting much from the night—just a few drinks, maybe some small talk with Nic, a short discussion with Sophie on Chappell Roan’s representation of duality in the midwestern identity to prove that she’d come out and spent the appropriate amount of time there. But as she took the beer the bartender slid her way and the man leaned against the bar next to her, she couldn’t help but smile. She definitely hadn’t been expecting this.

“Let me guess,” Ellie’s eyes scanned his costume then, taking a moment to take stock. Carefully, she scanned the skull patch, dagger in its teeth, VFA-151 stitched in below, the chevrons, patches, carefully piecing the images and small details of his costume together before she replied, eyebrow raised, “you’re a pilot—” she paused to sip her drink, her eyes falling on the patch on his bicep, “—Navy.”

A grin pulled up the corner of his mouth as he gave her a slow once-over, a scan he didn’t bother to hide, before he leaned casually against the bar beside her. “Hangman,” he said with a smirk, and Ellie’s eyes dipped to the patch on his chest, the golden wings stitched above the call sign. “Best pilot you’ll ever meet.”

She tilted her head, gaze sliding from his call sign back up to his face. “Best pilot, huh?” She gave him a once-over that was part skepticism, part intrigue. “You Navy guys really know how to sell it.”

Ellie leaned into the bit hard. Tonight, she was Amelia, and he was Hangman, the name stitched into hundreds, if not thousands, of storebought costumes. If she were Navy, she might have been insulted.

If he heard the skepticism in her tone, he ignored it and chuckled, not breaking eye contact as he matched her smirk. “Only because it’s true. Besides,” he said, letting his voice drop lower, “don’t have to sell anything when you’ve got it all.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, meeting his challenge head-on. “Big words for someone who still hasn’t proven a thing.”

“Oh, don’t worry, darlin’,” he drawled, leaning in just close enough to lower his voice to a rumble, “I’m very good at proving myself.”

She laughed softly, a glint in her eyes as she set her drink down. “Okay then, why don’t you start with this—” Ellie leaned in, her finger tapped lightly on the golden wings over his heart, her touch lingering. “Explain why they call you Hangman.”

She waited, waited to see if he’d squirm, held his gaze and paused for the story that was sure to come. Some feeble attempt at role playing for an unpracticed character, just a call sign with no real bite, no real story.

He smirked, clearly used to that question but still savoring her attention. “I’ll leave that for you to figure out,” he teased, straightening, “after all, you strike me as a curious type. And I’d hate to ruin the mystery.”

Ellie chuckled, leaning back as she looked him over. That was his game, wasn’t it? A tennis match, a steady volley and lob. Two could play at that game. “Maybe I’ll get bored before I do.” Ellie added a shrug to punctuate her words for effect.

“Somehow, I don’t think so.” His voice held a hint of challenge, his gaze lingering, his grin lazy but sharp. He straightened up, hand resting on the bar, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Guess we’ll see,” she murmured, lifting her drink to her lips, her gaze unwavering as she took another sip. She looked away for just a second, but not before she caught his confident grin widening.

“Believe me,” he said with that maddening confidence of his as he leaned in, so close that his voice was low, the heat of his words warming the shell of her ear, “I’ve got plenty of ways to keep you entertained.”

Ellie had barely unlocked the front door to Nicole’s place when he was on her, his hands on her hips as he pressed her into the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He kissed her like a man starved, his fingers reaching up to tangle in her hair at the base of her neck, anchoring her to him.

This was the culmination of the barely veiled innuendos, the heavy-handed flirting that had gone on all evening.

When he’d slipped out of the bar and onto the street with her, Ellie knew what would happen. He knew what would happen. She could tell in the way his eyes raked over her, all want, pupils blown wide. He wanted her and she wasn’t shy to admit, maybe not out loud, but to herself, that she wanted him too.

“Maybe we should—” Ellie’s breath was uneven, her mouth missing his the moment they broke apart, just long enough for her to tip her head in the direction of the stairs.

“Yeah—” his reply was equally breathy, his eyes on her lips even as she spoke, his tongue jutting out to whet his lips. A thrill shot through her, one that dipped low and pulsed between her legs.

She was wet already, she could feel the slickness of herself, the material of her panties weighted with the evidence. In response, in a swift motion, he picked her up and Ellie instinctively spread her legs so that they framed his waist, her ankles locking at his low back. Ellie didn’t need to be told, she gripped him with her thighs, squeezing tight as he chuckled.

“Good girl,” he smirked against her mouth before he kissed her again, deeply, his tongue pushing inside to taste hers.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she broke from him only just long enough to give directions to her room in as few words as humanly possible, reaching out to grip the door frame of her room as he carried her down the hall and almost walked past it.

Shutting the door behind them with his foot, he wasted no time in pressing her up against the wall. His fingers worried the buttons, slipped each from their place, starting from the bottom up as Ellie took her bomber jacket off, tossing it and the goggles to the floor before she joined him in working on the buttons from top down.

“So many—” his breath came out with an edge of frustration and Ellie gave up on her buttons to tug the zip of his flight suit down to where her hips met his waist.

“Just rip it,” Ellie huffed out, voice unsteady as his lips dipped to her neck, teeth grazing the spot where her collarbone met the base of her throat. One less thing between his mouth and her skin warranted the sacrifice of a shirt.

He didn’t waste time, didn’t question and the sudden coolness on her skin and the sound of the buttons hitting the floor, scattered, had her grinning. She liked a man who followed orders. “You owe me a new shirt, Captain.”

“Lieutenant,” his voice rumbled into her skin, making quick work of her bra next. By the time it hit the floor to join the other articles of clothing, his hands were on her breasts, teasing her nipples, every pinch and pressure, every touch of his lips, every nip of his teeth sending surges of raw pleasure pulsing down.

Ellie hated the way he ripped the sounds, raw, unabashed, desperate, from her. Hated how she’d folded under his smooth charm — she could have stopped it, could have said good night and left him at her door. Touched herself, alone, in bed, thinking about the way he’d been so eager to prove he was the best, picture how his touch would have felt, how he would have filled her as she coaxed herself over the edge and leave it at that.

But she hadn’t, she’d wanted him —she’d own that. She wanted him to fuck her stupid. She could feel him, the hard outline of his cock pressing against her as he held her to him.

“Easy, darlin’,” he chuckled lowly, rough around the edges as she shifted, reaching to touch him over top the Nomex. “We haven’t even started yet….”

He was across to her bed in a few easy strides, carefully setting her back so that she sank into the pillows, his hand lingering at her waist as he leaned over her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His gaze held hers, steady and unhurried, as he let his fingers trace lightly over the edge of her jaw, his index finger coming to rest under her chin, his thumb smudging her bottom lip.

As his thumb traced her lip, smudging her lipstick, she caught his hand and pulled his index finger into her mouth, closing her lips around the digit, tongue tracing purposeful patterns as she slowly dragged it out. Her eyes never leaving his as he huffed out a heavy breath, a thrill running through her.

“You should know that I have a rule, sweetheart.” He murmured, leaning over her so that his arms framed her, so close that his nose brushed hers as he spoke, his voice low, deep, edged by the hard edge of desire. “Ladies first.”

Her pants were off quickly, leaving her in nothing but a whisp of material separating her from the man who wanted all of her. She heard the jingle of dog tags as he lifted the white shirt that had been under the flight suit over his head and abandoned it.

Before she could sit up to see him, stripped down to his boxers, he was back on her, lower.

Softly, he kissed her inner ankle, the next kiss trailing higher, her calf, another on the inside of her knee and the next, on her inner thigh, so close to where she wanted him, she was sure he could feel the heat radiating from her core.

She was a wreck, a hot, wet wreck and she was barely holding onto the part of her that was ready to beg him to touch her. The part of her that wanted all of him in a way that was driving her mad every moment he wasn’t touching her.

“What do you want?” His voice was steady, measured as he touched her over her panties, his rough fingers brushing over the dampened spot of the material. The sound that left his lips, a quiet hissing intake of breath, told her he knew what he was doing to her, knew that he had her right where he wanted her.

In response, Ellie writhed, sensitive to even the smallest brush and despite herself, a small moan left her lips, one she couldn’t have contained even if she had wanted to. What was the question again?

He moved up from the altar between her legs, nipping a sensitive spot on her side where her ribs ended before he remedied it with a soft kiss, blazing a trail up her body with his mouth. Carefully, holding himself just above her, he bent to tease her nipple with his tongue, whetting the already hard peak, before he closed his lips around one and then moved to the other.

Ellie was barely holding on, her vision edged with haze as he looked up to finally locked eyes with her. If he kept it up at this rate, he wouldn’t even need to fuck her.

“What do you want?” His voice was husky, his body propped up over her as Ellie tried to order her thoughts, process them into coherent words. “You going to tell me or am I going to have to guess?”

She could feel him against her thigh, hard, ready, the thin material of his boxers the only thing between her and all of him. There was some small satisfaction, a thrill that swept through her and coiled low in her stomach, that there was a part of him he was barely controlling a part of him that wanted to be inside of her now. The wet spot of precum on his underwear ghosted against her bare skin and she swore she could feel him twitch.

Hangman, she’d asked at the bar, explain why they call you Hangman.

Mystery solved.

“I want—” she started, barely a whisper as he kissed the corner of her mouth, kissed her jawline, his fingers slipping under the top waistband of her panties as he continued to nip at the most sensitive spots on her neck.

“You want…?” He prompted, waiting, even as his hand slipped lower, slow, calculated.

“I want you to—,” Ellie lifted her head and muffled her moan into his shoulder as his fingers found her slick clit, massaging lazy circles, steady, calm, “Mmm.” Her nails bit into the muscles on his back as her head fell to the pillow, arching into his touch.

“Guess, it is then.” He murmured, that infuriating smirk in his words as he pulled his hand away from her slick, stopping the steady rhythm she’d just gotten used to. She whined after the loss, but he didn’t give her much time to mourn before he was down between her legs again, his fingers dragging her panties off.

Swiftly, he pulled her to the bottom of the bed, throwing her legs over his shoulders. Ellie gasped, her hips bucking up into his tongue as he swept it up through her folds. Calmly, as she inched closer to unravelling completely, ascending the slope at dizzying speed, he gripped her hips, controlling her movements as she pressed down against his mouth.

She could feel the pressure building with every expert movement of his tongue over her, through her. Reaching down, she combed her fingers through his hair, gripped into it and tugged him over, directing him to her need.

“Oh, god….” Ellie whined, the words just barely words as they dissolved into a moan, her free hand gripping the mess of sheets underneath her.

“Hangman’s fine, gorgeous.” The response was quick, cocky. The response of a man who knew exactly what he was doing to her and taking his time.

“Wait,” Ellie’s hips chased after his mouth, a groan on her lips as she threw her arm across her eyes. “Don’t stop—.”

He was torturing her now, bringing her just to the edge and then allowing her to come down just enough to bring her back up again. He was fucking good and he knew it. It was going to drive her insane with want.

“You have to say please, sweetheart,” he murmured, the heat of his breath on her inner thigh almost too much, carefully, he touched her with his thumb, a light pressure as he teased her. Ellie could hear the smirk in his words.

Words. What were words? Ellie's mind was short-circuiting. Short-circuited, past tense. Already gone. Wires crossed— leads jammed in the wrong place, signals crossed.

She hadn’t wanted to fall apart under his touch so easily, she'd wanted to seem like she wasn’t desperate for him, but his touch was a warm fire on a cold night.

“Ple—fuck,” Ellie moaned, her words dragged out, long and torturous as she felt his thick fingers slip inside her, slow and deliberate.

She didn’t even know his real name, wasn’t even sure if she could manage to say it even if she did. He was undoing her carefully, piece by piece, sensation by sensation, she was malleable under his touch.

“What was that darlin’?”

Ellie might have been embarrassed at the squelch of her wetness as his fingers stroked in and out, excruciatingly measured, but she couldn't think about anything. Just the way he filled her while still leaving her wanting more, more, more.

“Please—” her nerves crackled like livewires as she moaned, her hips moving against his fingers with each stroke, her movements almost involuntary, the wild need in her chasing the high, just out of reach.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” his voice was husky, lower now. He gripped her hip, holding her, steadying her rhythm before he added another thick finger, three deep in her now, his thumb moving in circles around her swollen clit.

“Jesus,” he breathed, taking a moment before his mouth dipped to her hot center, alternating between sucking and the slow caressing tip of his tongue, creating just the right amount of excruciatingly perfect sensation, his fingers stroking and curling inside her. “You're so tight, sweetheart. Might not—”

He might not fit. She finished his words in her mind, a secondary thought, one that made her mad with want.

She breathed through the sensations, jolted and writhed as his pumping digits searched for the spot that made her see stars. She felt drunk, high, soaring, just on the edge of release, her muscles aching to reach the peak before she tumbled over, completely undone.

When she finally broke, her back arching off the mattress, her hips grinding harder into his hand, she moaned into her forearm to muffle the sound.

That air of self–assured cockiness he carried himself with at the bar, the swagger. It was all well–earned, she was coming to realize. Pun intended.

“You know what they call a pilot with at least five confirmed air-to-air kills?” His voice was low as he drew his fingers from her, slipping his arm behind her still arched back as he leaned over her, his heavy cock pressing up against her throbbing pussy through his boxers, hard, ready.

She was hyper aware that she still wanted him, inside her, filling her, spreading her to her limit in a unique mix of pleasure and pain.

“Hmm—Ace?” Ellie’s mind was still hazy, vignetted around the edges as her heart hammered against her ribs.

It happened in a moment, a quick change of position, as he lifted and turned, positioning himself under her so she straddled him. Smooth and calculated, precise and fast, an expert maneuver.

Ellie could feel her bare wetness against him, her hands bracing on his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath her touch. In the dim light of the room, she could see the glint of his dog tags hanging off to the side, a small detail of his costume she wished she might have looked at before, in the bar.

“Ace.” He smirked up at her before he shifted her hips up and he pulled her down over his face.

Ellie gripped the steering wheel tightly, the worn pleather creaking under her hands as she leaned forward and angled the rearview mirror sharply so she could get a better look.

“Fuck,” Ellie hissed, her fingers hovering just over the purple mark on her neck, just above her collarbone. How she hadn’t noticed it in the mirror this morning, she wasn’t quite sure.

“Seriously? A fucking hickey?” She was already digging around in her purse as she huffed, her fingers blindly searching for the concealer she knew wouldn’t be there because she could see it in her mind’s eye, sitting on the edge of the porcelain countertop in her ensuite bathroom. “Are we fourteen?”

This was definitely topping her list of things she didn’t need her first day on a new job site, especially not Miramar.

When Ellie had woken up that morning, the sun barely peeking through the half-shut blinds, she wasn’t surprised that she was alone in bed. There was no note, no forgotten sock, no evidence, save for the dull ache between her legs and a tender, purple love bite on the inside of her right thigh as evidence that last night had even happened.

That was what one-night stands were though, right? One night.

Even under the hot stream of water from the shower in the ensuite though, Ellie closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift back, only shaking herself from the thought of him when the alarm from her phone buzzed it right off the counter.

Groaning, Ellie blew out a noisy breath, abandoning the purse search when she found nothing other than a stray mint.

Guess today was going to be a hair down kind of day.

It wasn't the look she normally felt comfortable with on military bases with all the formality of rank and protocol, but she was a civilian contractor, it was unlikely anyone would notice. Hair down was better than the talk that might follow her around if anyone saw the mark on her neck.

Sighing, Ellie pulled the pins out of the bun she’d spent her morning perfecting and allowed her hair, dark, still damp and wavy from the shower, to fall around her shoulders. Carefully, she pulled the tresses forward, over the rouged mark on her skin, peeking just out from under the collar of her white blouse.

It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do in a pinch. She made a quick mental note to head off base on break to stop at a CVS to grab some concealer before she twisted the rearview mirror back into place.

Tony Cudmore, the Crew Staffing Supervisor she had been coordinating with solely through email before now, was already waiting for her just outside the gates, his eyes on his wristwatch as Ellie approached. “Rigby, glad to have you on board. Heard we snagged you from your work on base in Turkey.”

“Yeah, well. When Uncle Sam comes knocking, right?” Ellie snagged a tress of her hair as it lifted from her shoulder in the wind, carefully patting it back into place.

“Don’t I know it,” Tony chuckled, his white, push broom straight moustache blustering as he waved at the officer stationed in the booth by the gate before he scanned his security pass. “How’s your old man?”

“Ah, you know the type, Tony.”

Ellie had perfected the art of sidestepping questions about her dad and Tony didn’t push further, seemingly content with the non-answer.

As they reached the security clearance office, Tony slid a few documents under the glass and Ellie stepped up in front of a camera, the flash going off quickly before she had a chance to adjust.

Whoever thought DMV photos were bad had clearly never had their photo taken by a Naval Officer a few months away from retirement.

“Given name?” The man behind the glass murmured, so low that Ellie had to strain and lean toward the hole at the bottom of the glass to hear him.

“Eleanor.”

“We have a lot of work here that could really benefit from your expertise. The boys are flying Super Hornets nowadays, so the tech is good, but the improvements from your research could really give ‛em the edge.” Tony continued at her side, distractedly flipping through emails on his phone as he waited, “Now of course, those Super Hornets are far and away from the Tomcats your dad would have been flying in his heyday here, let me tell you….”

“Surname?”

“Neven - but you can just put Rigby.” It was Ellie’s turn to murmur now, edging closer to the slot in the glass, her voice just loud enough to be heard over Tony’s absent chatter behind her.

The Security Officer paused, fanning out Ellie’s passport and glancing up at her for a moment, eyebrow raised before he punched something into the computer. She offered him a tight smile a beat too late.

When the man slid her the newly printed security pass, Ellie’s eyes scanned for any sign of the hickey and was thankful that, though her hair looked like a bird's nest and her eyes were half-closed in mid-blink, at least the hickey wasn’t memorialized in her security pass.

As they stepped out of the security office, Tony untucked a manila folio from under his arm and passed it to Ellie as they walked. “I’ll take you around. Give you your bearings. You’ll be working with the tower crew lots. Some good people up there.”

They were out of the outbuilding now, Ellie’s heels clicking across the tarmac, past the line of F18s lined up on the hardtop and gleaming in the early morning California sun.

“The ground crew might ask for some help with the planes, so you’ll be in the hangars. I’ll take you for a quick flyby,” Tony chuckled to himself, pleased with the pun, “we’ll pick up the tour after since the meeting with Admiral Simpson and Rear Admiral Stark is at 0900 sharp and those suits don’t mess around.”

Tony’s strides were long, and it took Ellie a moment to jog after him, catching up just in time for him to open the door for her.

“If you’re not five minutes early—” Ellie started, half playing into the old Navy saying she had grown up hearing as she slipped into the hangar.

The nostalgic scent of jet fuel and oil hit Ellie hard in the closed space — it didn’t seem to matter how long she did this, how long she worked around planes and crews, in different countries, different airfields, this part never changed. Part of that was comforting in an odd way. It felt like home to her.

Tony snapped his fingers in response, the sound of agreement. Tony opened his mouth to speak when a loud peel of laughter echoed in the closed space. Tony glanced at his watch, confused for a moment before his face turned toward Ellie, excited. “Oh, well, will you look at that, lucky you, we’ve got some of our Flyboys here. Must have some free time before drills.”

Ellie followed a few steps behind Tony as he rounded the front of a line of Super Hornets, a spring in his step. As they approached, she took in the group of aviators in their flight suits from a distance, casually talking and laughing — and then her stomach twisted, her gait faltering for a moment.

There, leaning against one of the jets, was the last person she expected to see again, let alone here: Hangman.

He looked almost exactly as he had last night, though somehow the daylight amplified everything about him— his height, the confident set of his shoulders. He turned, mid-laugh and Ellie watched as his eyes caught on her, like he recognized her for a fraction of a second before the look was gone just as quickly.

Hangman’s easy smile shifted when he saw her, an eyebrow shooting up, surprise flashing across his face before his expression settled into something like amusement.

The last time she’d seen that look, she’d been over top of him, hovering, before he pulled her down over his mouth greedily, his tongue painting pictures over her most sensitive nerve endings as she moaned. She was pretty sure she’d broken one of her fingernails as she gripped the headboard, biting into her bottom lip so hard she could taste blood, his other hand reaching up to cup her breast roughly.

Yet here he was now, in the light of day, truly in his element, looking like he belonged here as much as the jets around him.

Ellie felt her heart kick up a notch, a reaction she’d hoped she’d managed to stow away. She forced herself to play it cool, lifting her chin slightly as they neared the group. She didn’t have a choice – there was no running from this. The consequences of her own actions coming back around to haunt her.

“Hangman, Payback, Harvard,” Tony greeted, nodding to him and the other pilots. “Good to see you guys. Just giving our new radar tech a tour.”

Ellie felt her pulse quicken as his gaze slid back to her. He wasn’t going to say anything, right? They were strangers here, well, coworkers now. She wasn’t Amelia Earhart, and he wasn’t the pilot from the party, except, he very clearly was and Ellie had miscalculated, mis-stepped. A TOPGUN pilot no less.

As she held his gaze, she could see the recognition flickering behind his eyes. He knew exactly who she was, but his mask didn’t slip, not for a second.

“This is—”

“Rigby. Eleanor.” Ellie interrupted Tony sharply. The introduction as herself, not as Amelia, would be on her own terms. At least she could control that. Here, at Miramar, she was Eleanor Rigby.

“Welcome to the team, Rigby,” he said smoothly, holding out a hand as if they hadn’t already met in the most intimate of ways. The way he said her name sounded off, like he was testing it out in the context of their previous… encounter.

Ellie held her breath, pausing only a moment before she forced herself to shake his hand. “Thanks,” she replied coolly, her voice even, though she was silently praying for the ground to swallow her whole. She refused to let him get the upper hand. Not here, not in front of people she had to work with.

His grip was firm, his eyes amused. Ellie caught the brief flicker of his gaze to her neck, his eyes resting where Ellie knew she’d tried to hide the hickey, admiring his work, likely.

Tony chuckled, oblivious to the tension. “Lieutenant Seresin’s one of the best we’ve got. You’ll probably end up working on his bird now and then.”

Ellie forced a smile, though she could feel the bottom of her stomach drop out and she cleared her throat in an attempt to press down the nervous, incredulous laugh that threatened to escape her. Technically, she’d worked on it last night, right?

“Looking forward to it,” she said instead, even though the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near him right now.

He released her hand, stepping back into the group of pilots. “Catch you around, Rigby” he said casually, before turning back to his crew, who began to stalk off, out of the large open hangar doors, not looking back.

“Anyway, you’ll be working here between—” Tony continued, oblivious.

Ellie let out a breath as Tony waved at her to follow him, continuing the tour. She kept her eyes forward, focusing on Tony’s voice, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of Hangman’s eyes on her or the memory of last night still lingering between them. This complicated things. This really complicated things.

At least he’d set a standard: he didn’t know her and Ellie was only happy to play along with that pretense. She didn’t know him either. At least, that’s the story she was sticking to.

The fluorescent lights in the conference room felt harsher than usual, and Ellie shifted uncomfortably as Admiral Simpson and Rear Admiral Ingrid Stark watched her closely, their expressions unreadable.

Standing before two of the Navy’s highest-ranking officers, Ellie tried to steady her breath, tried to ignore the slow trickle of panic coursing through her. The same panic that churned the small bit of breakfast she’d managed to eat while maneuvering in and out of San Diego traffic all the way to North Island.

All she had to do was focus, recenter her mind on the presentation. The presentation that culminated the last three years of her career, it was important, she knew – it had been the sole focus of her work in Turkey and yet, here she was, hiding that stupid hickey and thinking about the man who made it. Thinking about how he looked at her in the hangar not but twenty minutes ago, a glance exchanged that held a shared secret between them as he took her hand and treated her like a stranger. Cool, calm, collected, all charm.

It was the same easy charisma she’d leaned into just last night, at the Halloween party, blissfully unaware of who he really was. Except now she knew he’d been telling the truth the whole damn time and she’d just called his bluff wrong. And now, now with all those thoughts running through her mind at Mach 2, she was standing here, in front of the highest-ranking personnel on base, expected to deliver a groundbreaking presentation on her research, trying to ignore the lingering flush of that unexpected run-in this morning.

Ellie cleared her throat, tightening her grip on her tablet as she began walking the Admirals through her research. Running through her practiced script, she carefully outlined her new detection algorithm—a project that had garnered their attention in the first place, the same work that had pulled her back here, to Miramar.

Truthfully, if they’d asked any probing questions, Ellie would have to confess that the technology was in its earliest stages but had the potential to counteract enemy jamming of GPS signals. In theory (because that was the key word theory), the algorithm she’d developed, on paper, had the potential to become an un-jammable navigation system.

Ellie clicked through to the next slide, “The reason this algorithm has the potential to give our pilots the advantage is because the enemy would have -”

You have to say please, sweetheart.

The memory from last night, his words a steady command, sent a pulse through her, from her chest, down into her core, where it settled, hot and pulsing.

Ellie’s voice caught in her throat, and she coughed, before holding up her index finger and pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher at the head of the table. Quietly she sipped the water, her eyes landing outside the window at the tarmac as ground crew guided an F18 out of the hangar. She waited for a beat, measuring her sips as she calmed down.

Get your shit together, Rigby. She coached herself, draining the last of the water as she caught Admiral Simpson checking his watch from the corner of her eye. You are not going to screw this up because you had sex last night.

Incredible sex.

The best sex you've had in the last two years... possibly in your entire life.

Top tier sex... with your new co-worker. Who just so happens to fall into the off-limits category.

If she could have shaken her head without it seeming strange, she would have, but she suspected she was getting into foot tapping territory. With Admirals, time was money.

“I’m sorry, as I was saying—” Ellie straightened her blazer, setting the glass down and resuming her presentation, determined.

When she finished, Admiral Simpson leaned back, giving her a thoughtful once-over as he drummed his fingers on the folder containing her research on the table in front of him. “Well, Ms. Neven,” he said, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The best of the best. That’s what they told me about you. I suppose that must run in the family.”

The weight of the comment hit her immediately, and her mind reeled again. This time for an entirely different reason. She hadn’t anticipated Rick’s reputation coming up so soon—or at all.

She managed a quick nod, hoping it looked confident. “Thank you, sir,” she said, barely keeping her voice steady.

Simpson’s smile deepened. “When we saw you were one of the top minds in the field, it was a no-brainer to bring you in for this project. Your research is intriguing.” His gaze softened slightly, just enough to give her a glimpse of the man behind the rank and she wondered if, for half a second, it had anything to do with the fact that he had a daughter her age. “You’re going to do great things here. Your dad’ll be proud, no doubt.”

Ellie nodded again, murmuring her thanks, feeling an odd pressure bubbling under the surface. Truthfully, she had expected some bluster about her family, some comments about her father and his Radar Intercept Officer being wingmen for the late Fleet Commander Tom “Iceman” Kazansky. She hadn’t expected it this soon.

“Admiral Stark and I will take a look over your documentation and see how best to get the testing started. I trust you’ll let us know if you need anything in the meantime?” Admiral Simpson stood then, and an Officer stationed outside the boardroom opened the door from the outside.

The meeting adjourned, and as everyone began to filter out, Ellie felt herself unraveling by the second, anxiety pushing its way to the forefront. She wanted to scream or laugh, possibly both. Instead, she was rooted in place, unable to decide whether to escape to the nearest empty room or brace herself against the wall and breathe. If she didn’t leave this room for the rest of the day, what were the chances she’d run into him again? Probably slim.

This was her first day here. The first day and she was thinking about how she’d been laid bare and fucked out of her mind by a man she’d never thought she’d see again, much less work with. All in the middle of one of the most important presentations of her entire life, in front of the people who could make that research into something tangible, a finished product, a cornerstone of new technology in aviation, a reality.

The lights in the boardroom automatically flicked off and Ellie sighed, gathering up the last of her things before exiting the room. She could hide in the women’s bathroom, right?

“Ms. Neven.” RADM Stark’s voice approaching from the hallway behind her startled Ellie. As she turned, Ellie watched as Stark appraised her with a mix of curiosity and approval. “Impressive work. It’s good to have some estrogen in the room for once.” Her lips curled into a slight smirk, and Ellie let out the measured breath she’d been holding.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m—excited to work here,” Ellie's voice was a little steadier now, a bit of genuine enthusiasm breaking through her nerves as she reminded herself why she was here in the first place. Her work. Her career. Her tech.

Stark raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Don’t get too excited,” she said, producing a small stick of concealer from a crisp tan pant pocket. She held Ellie’s gaze, a message or a warning behind her cool eyes, Ellie couldn’t be sure, as the ranked Officer handed the makeup to Ellie. “I think we might be the same shade.”

Ellie’s heart stuttered as the realization hit her, broad-sided. Her hand shot to her neck before she could think, the heat in her cheeks flaring brighter than before as she accepted the concealer, mumbling a mortified thank-you.

Stark gave her a knowing smile, a curt little nod as she tapped the side of her nose, before walking away, her stride as calm and confident as when she’d approached.

Ellie waited until the RADM was clear from sight before making a beeline for the bathroom, practically stumbling into the mirror over the sink. She tilted her head to confirm what she already knew was there: a very visible, very damning mark on her neck. The scarlet letter.

Great.

She didn’t waste a second applying RADM Stark’s concealer, muttering under her breath as she blended it carefully with the tips of her fingers, dabbing. “One day at Miramar, Ellie. One day.”

As she swiped on the secondary layer of concealer for good measure, she felt the rush of everything hit her again. The tension of the presentation, the equal parts pride and pressure from the Admiral’s praise, and him—Lieutenant Seresin, Hangman, with his easy, cocky grin and the piercing eyes that, despite everything, she could still feel on her.

tags: @mrsevans90 , @avengersfan25 , @hookslove1592

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#glen powell #smut #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #hangman smut #hangman x oc #top gun fanfiction #tom iceman kazansky #rick hollywood neven #(i love you) it's ruining my life #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster top gun

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