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avifaunaa · 6 months ago

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how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ pt.3 ]

Authors Note: Welcome to the third installment to this series! To be honest with you guys I’m not entirely sure how long this series will be — I know it will have at least two more parts but after that it’s a guessing game. I hope you like it! Also like — remember when I said it’ll get softer? Yeah. Uh. That’s pushed back a chapter or two. Uh.

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s been a year and a half altogether since your hiring at Stark industries and just a little over two years in which your relationship with Natasha began. However one of Natasha's old enemies resurfaces and plans on striking where it hurts the worst -- and it draws back memories for both Reader and Natasha and forces them to confront their fears.

Content Warnings: the fluff and angst that comes with this series but added in — stalking and discussions of a stalker, general feelings of discomfort and anguish, some splashes of BRIEF humor, arguments, brief violence and a cliffhanger

Word Count: ~5.2K

Breakfast was the most entertaining meal at the Avengers Compound in New York.

You say this with assured confidence and know-how because, at precisely 8:30 A.M. after FRIDAY has managed to set off the universal alarm that can’t be turned off thanks to Tony’s masterkey password being required, you see Earth’s Mightiest Heroes all clamber into the kitchen in differing states of wake and dress.

Steve Rogers for example — he always was dressed in his training uniform and bright-eyed as he greeted you and Nat by the coffee pot.

“He’s always awake by five at the latest,” your girlfriend mumbled around greasy bacon later when she caught you eyeing him suspiciously, “Why do you think Grandpa goes to bed at eight?”

Steve sipped his coffee and peered at Natasha with this sort of bemused expression, as if this was all to common of a comment made. “Early bird gets the worm, Nat.”

You could have sworn Natasha’s eyelid twitched but made the incredibly wise choice to leave it alone and instead refilled her coffee for her — a third cup, black, in less than twenty minutes. She only took her coffee one way at the Compound.

Tony was in a state of frazzled disarray likely brought on by too much caffeine and not enough sleep — a state in which you’ve experienced a few times since coming to work for him when Nat wasn’t around to stop it. Pepper was nearby and dressed in her finest pantsuit, hair done and makeup perfect as she dangled a tie from her wrist.

“Tony,” she called as her husband stole bacon from Clint’s plate and added it to his despite having some already. The man was in a rush, probably to get to his lab. “Tony stop. Your schedule is clear today until eleven. You have that board meeting with . . .”

The words faded out from listening point as Pepper followed Tony, eyes to the ceiling as she guided him to his office instead of the lab like initially planned.

“He stole my bacon.”

Your gaze then turned to the forlorn source of the words. Clint usually never stayed overnight at the Compound these days — he settled well with his family into the farm even after he was pardoned. He hung out with Natasha until the early hours in the morning — doing whatever it is the two do to bond.

Natasha had smelt of bonfire and whiskey when she returned, so you suspected they’d not gone very far at all.

He was in a large t-shirt and his boxers, eyes staring at the grease stains left behind where his bacon once was.

“My bacon,” he repeated, frowning.

Natasha deliberately crunched hard into one of her slices from where she sat between you and him without so much as turning her head to look at him.

You elbowed the ombré-haired spy in the flank, causing her to cough mid-swallow. “Serves you right,” you said as you leaned backwards and swiped some bacon from your plate and threw it on Clint’s behind Natasha.

“You’re evil,” she rasped rubbing at her upper chest and eyeing you. “I was just eating my breakfast.”

“Okay, sure,” you agreed in the tone that clearly reflected your opposite view, but you flashed her a teasing smirk to soften the blow as she scoffed at Clint digging into his gifted bacon.

“How do we turn off the eight o’clock alarm?” Sam asked as he shuffled tiredly in, Bucky right behind him. “I had to beat the shit out of some sorely underarmed terrorists yesterday and I didn’t appreciate having my well-earned sleep disrupted.”

Bucky grunted and shimmied around the man to cross around the counter and look at what was served this morning. He ignored the bacon, had browns, and fruit and chucked three spoonfuls of eggs onto his plate before exiting.

“Eggs only? What the fuck?” You said without really meaning to, mostly because that was a lot of eggs when there was other options offered.

“We listen, we don’t judge,” Clint said as he brandished his now empty plate and removed himself from his spot next to Nat.

You knew the words in which he mimicked from a trend and pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Why are you on TikTok? You’re too old for that, it’ll rot your brain,” you replied as you shoved your empty plate toward him too. He scowled at you but took it as if offended.

“My children,” he said in a way that implied it explained everything. “They want to get TikTok famous by showing me on their little videos. Do you realize how many messages my twelve year old has gotten about whether or not I’m still married?”

“Snipe them,” Natasha told him simply, obviously, “and then delete their accounts.”

“The — the weirdos or my kids?”

Natasha smirked at him.

Clint sighed heavily even as you tried to elbow Natasha again. But she seemed ready for such an act and grabbed you in a gentle but firm headlock and leaned her head down, grasping your chin, “You’re being bratty.”

You smiled at her to disguise the fact that you could feel your cheeks heating up at her intense gaze. She didn’t prod at you though, simply offered a peck and released you before getting to her feet. “Clint — I think I want to beat the hell out of you before you go home today.”

Clint sighed again. “Yes, Natasha.”

You were left with Sam and Steve — the two on complete opposite ends of the “awake” spectrum as you cleaned up the countertops you, Nat, and Clint used.

“We should go running,” Steve finally said, gesturing to Sam.

The Falcon in all his honor and glory slammed his coffee cup down and flipped Steve off — who in turn managed the most offended look you’ve ever seen.

“You’re buzzing.”

It was a short form sentence that you believed was intended not at you — maybe at Bruce who had joined you and Tony in the lab today after Tony had finished his meetings.

You let the comment slip away into the music that filtered through the overhead surround-sound system that Tony showed you once on the giant hologram control panel.

It’s taken you six months to completely figure out the settings for the music, you still have trouble pulling up detailed blueprints you upload into it via Friday sometimes.

Your degree was absolutely worthless in those moments, but even Tony waved you off and admitted to designing the panel and system himself and thus it doesn’t work in the way most technology of this caliber would.

It did make you feel better, admittingly.

The music suddenly cut off in the middle of the best part and you twitched, your hand-held laser machine cutting a heated indent into the machinery you were working on.

“Kid,” Tony said behind you when you stared longingly at the ruined metal as steam poured from the red-hot wound. “You’re literally buzzing.” He poked you where your phone was in your white jacket’s pocket.

“Oh. Oh shit.” You sit the laser down and fumble as Tony backs away with some sort of gun looking object swinging dangerously loose in his hand. “Sorry, Tony.”

He made a pew pew noise at you as he sauntered back to Bruce [ who was too ingrained in his work to care ], and responded, “Next time it happens, I take fifty bucks from your paycheck.”

“I’ll sic Natasha on you,” you threatened as you swiped up on your screen to see why your phone was blowing up in the first place.

If Tony had cracked back at you, it went upon deaf ears. The insistent nudging was a barrage of text messages sent from a contact labeled UNKNOWN with no phone number available when you checked.

You were mostly confused initially — you rarely got messages unless it was from Kate and Yelena, Natasha when she wasn’t with you and not on a mission. Even your number was scarcely used by the members of the Compound after you’ve given it to them. They preferred to speak through FRIDAY most days.

The contents of the first ten texts were photos and that is what had your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach as you scrolled down each one.

They were of you — and Natasha together sometimes — but mostly of you. Leaving the Compound, going on dates with Nat, they even have one of you two exiting the shelter with the new scruffy white kitten in your arms. You were beaming in the photo, completely oblivious to the eyes on you from a distance.

So was Natasha.

It made you think . . . Natasha was the most observant person you knew. She would switch sides with you on the sidewalk if she felt like there was something about to go wrong. Sometimes she was right [ Peter came crashing into the windshield of a car while the Green Goblin attacked him. Not even the suit Tony made him was holding up against this menace! ] and would get you to safety before joining in the fray.

But this time . . . This time each photo was taken she was completely unaware which made you wonder how well this person was at hiding among the crowd.

It scared you. You were scared and you only realized this when the photos started becoming hard to stare at as your hands shook under your phone.

You glanced behind you quickly but was relieved to see Tony and Bruce back in their own worlds amongst the technology.

You swiped down more and found no more photos, but actual texts.

The Widow cannot run from her past forever.

It will consume her like ashes over the world and once he has you, she will never again know the meaning of peace and her mind will never rest.

Happy hunting.

Three text messages all to the point -- and very matter-of-fact. Like whoever sent them knew they weren't going to be concerned about threatening a former assassin's girlfriend.

You swallowed the thick lump that shot up to your throat and decided to be logical about this. You emailed the texts to Natasha and hoped she checked it before you came home to your shared rooms that night.

Telling her could end in just as an easy disaster as keeping them from her. In the two years total you have known Nat, something she had made explicitly clear to you more than once is that any threats you get may not be as simple as an internet troll looking to ruffle some feathers.

This had been made entirely too clear when a close call had occurred right after you got hired by Stark and still lived in your own place. It had shaken both you and Natasha out of the feeling of unbreakable bliss.

She had found you a few days after the incident itself, slipping you a glass of wine while she sat an ice cold beer down on the coffee table untouched but open.

For a while the television was the only company you both kept -- then:

"I am . . . I have been meaning to talk more in depth with you about what it means to be with someone like me," Nat finally said leaning forward to grab the beer. It left rivulets of condensation on the glass table. "But I figured when . . . there's been a lot."

You paused the show you were not really watching to really show her you were listening. "You've told me what it means," you replied, not unkind but confused. The wine dangled half-drank in one hand. "We discussed it and I have had meetings with Pepper about--"

"No, Malysh," Natasha interrupts firmly. You took a second to take her in, the way she spoke and how . . . unsettled she was.

She clenched the bottle's neck so tightly she could break it if she wanted to. Her hair was still pulled up and windswept from returning from what she claimed was statements on your behalf to the court about the incident.

She hadn't wanted you near the damn thing -- and at the time you had let her take over with a fierce protectiveness and be your wall, your rock to lean on. You weren't harmed, but you had felt so violated and paranoid for days after that it was enough to leave a scar.

"What that was," she finally said, voice softening but filled with a pain that you could not describe, "that wasn't . . . that wasn't the worst of what could happen to people that get close top-leveled people like me, or Steve, or Tony. For me in particular, I have made twice as many enemies as most of the others have. My first life in Russia as their Widow and assassin and then my second chance here -- as an Agent of the U.S. government and a hero in the public eye."

You took a big gulp of your wine to hide your features shifting with your emotions. You still remember his face showing up at your door, forcing his way in, his breath hot and wet in your face --

"That man -- he wasn't one of those you said," you managed around the rim of the glass, sending a worried glance her way from a few feet away as you regained control of yourself. "You said that he -- he was someone who fit closer to the criteria of crazed fans."

"I did," she agreed. Her shoulders remained tight as she leaned back against the couch. "And that remains true. But we looked closely into what he had you read in front of him before sending it to me. The writing was in blood and there were some things contained in those letters that only could have been known if he was watching you and me together long enough."

The way he licked his lips, those beady eyes gleaming with anticipation as you opened the envelopes one-by-one and read each fucking letter.

Another swallow of wine and you locked away the memory and trauma that came with it.

"Yeah, well, he's probably enjoying life at Rikers instead."

"He didn't go to Rikers."

This made you pause again. Unable to hide your confusion or any other emotion -- your wine glass was empty. Instead you placed it tenderly on the side table and found another focus: Liho and Swayze swatting at one another in their cat tree,

"What do you mean," you said shakily after finding your voice, eyes locking with your girlfriend's, "he didn't go to Rikers? Where the fuck is he? Floating in space? Lost in the system? Do we even know if he's still imprisoned?"

You hadn't meant to be so sharp, nor did you intend to throw the accusatory tone at her in the same sentence. But your heart was racing faster than you could think which meant you couldn't think.

Natasha suddenly scooted closer to you and raised her hand in offer. You regard her for a moment but know you'd give in and need her touch. You link fingers with her and the warmth of her is like a coat of salve on a endlessly painful wound.

"He," she began as she settled into your side, finding her words, ". . . Do you remember when I brought you by before you got hired here? It was a short stay and you met Happy and Pepper. They had paperwork."

"I was on spring break," you acknowledge, nodding. You were in and out before you got a good look at anything, really, so you didn't consider it your first time at the Compound.

"Right. I told you everything we were having you sign," the Widow continued as her free hand started to trace designs lightly into the skin of your arm, "It was an NDA and paperwork that went with it in regards to the government bullshit."

You were still an anxious mess but you tried to draw some humor from what you could remember feeling about the situation. You sent Nat a weak smile, "Sure. Every time I signed my name on a line I felt like I was slowly giving pieces of my soul away to the government just so I could get into your pants and hold your hand." You let a pause fill the air for dramatics. "So worth it."

Her eyebrows shot into your hairline, perhaps impressed by your bold statement but snorting. "I see what I am to you." She stops to press the softest of kisses to your head, as if to soften a blow about to land, "So that NDA. It was in all that heavy packeted wording, but when you agreed to it the government, in turn, agreed to essentially view you as a protected asset under listed circumstances."

She let you mull over words for a moment and you tapped your fingers against the armrest. Maybe you should have read deeper than you actually did.

"What I'm getting from this is that I'm sort of . . . I'm sort of under some special security or whatever?"

"Kind of," Natasha agrees, fingers finally coming to a rest on your pulse. "After we did the required background check and got the paperwork squared away it pretty much meant that you became important to keep from any particular . . . attention. We did what we do with anyone who either works with our agency or is associated with us in some way -- we put a security AI detail on your name and information so that it can alert us if any of that is sought out and leaked. It became confidential the minute you signed and hiding it draws curious eyes on top of seeing me out with you more often."

"So my private information was pretty much zapped out of all existence and anything under my name is watched?"

Natasha nods. "Right."

"Okay," you drew out, scratching behind your ear. "This doesn't . . . what happened that made the dude find out who I was?"

"He didn't use the methods that most of these people do, he went off grid and used paranoia and "wait 'em out" techniques. He was someone I had knowledge about for a while but when I met you I stopped seeing him -- or perhaps I stopped looking over my shoulder." The vulnerability she was showing you right now was so . . . you didn't want her to be ashamed of it. Not for a second.

So you cupped her cheek and tilted her face to her. "You're not blaming yourself, are you? Because it's not your fault, Natasha. You deserve to live a life where you don't have to look over your shoulder every single second." She turned her face into your palm and kissed it so softly.

"I do blame myself," she admitted in a small voice, hiding in your comfort while finding shame in it. "It is very hard not to when he has been a shadow to me that I was used to but should have known would have grown."

"He wasn't using usual means you said," you repeated her words, frowning and stroking her cheek. "He was going to find out about me whether or not you forgot about him. If you hid me, he would've followed you to where you meet me."

"Logic and emotions don't compute together," she said quietly, closing her eyes. You allowed her this moment of silence and rest your head on top of hers, still cradling her head in one hand.

"He found you because I got sloppy," she finally told you.

"He found me because he was relentless and avoided ways of being caught -- he was smart in those regards. You weren't sloppy, he was just . . . he was just good."

Natasha released a breath you did not realize she had been holding. "I'm supposed to protect you -- being with me it comes with those . . . those dangers. If I even slip up once --"

"Then what?" you prod softly, searching her eyes.

Natasha didn't seem able to get the words out. You ran your fingers through her long hair. "Nat, we do this as a team. We're a pair. I know your instinct is to protect me and I love you so much for that. But I need you to know that protecting me doesn't mean it's your duty."

She curled deeper into you and you kissed her head again. "I want to protect you, too. I may not be able to fight the monsters you can -- but I know how to chase them away when you sleep and keep you safe when you come home. So just . . . don't worry when I'm with you. I know I have nothing to worry about. But also," you added, giving her a nudge, "you needn't worry when we're not together either. I have Iron Man."

She scoffed and pushed off of you, retrieving her beer but coming back to sit next to you and cuddle.

"You never said where he went," you told her an hour later, deep into Shark Tank. "The guy."

She lifted the beer to her lips, eyes still locked onto the screen and said, "He went to a place we take enemies of the State. A place that makes Rikers looks like daycare."

You would have tried feeling sorry for him if he hadn't broken your favorite mug on top of the whole 'writing letters to Natasha in blood and making her girlfriend read them' thing.

Natasha was pissed off when you returned at 9PM to your apartments, FRIDAY setting the smart alarm system automatically behind you after locking the door.

She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa with her glasses on in the dark and staring at her laptop. Hair braided but loosely undone, sweater and shorts plastered to her fit form.

"Should I be worried you have no lights on?" you mused as you dropped your back in the entry way and threw your lab coat on top of it before slowly starting toward her.

She sent you a frosty look.

You thought up all of the possible things that you could have done to incite this part of Nat. Usually it had to do with leaving work too late — but this morning you both agreed between 8:30-10:00PM.

Did you leave your shoes on?

You did a quick look down at your feet and — nope — you managed to off the tennis shoes into the hall outside the door before stepping inside like habit.

She had returned to her furious typing by the time you went over a particularly short list of things that you ensure you don’t do to piss off Natasha. She was slow to anger — especially with you. And if she was angry she would hide it until she was ready to discuss it at a calmer time.

So whatever you did really upset her and you can’t remember a damn thing about it. You breathed out through your nostrils and pulled up your big-kid pants as you slowly made a few steps over. Then stopped to ensure she still had space.

“Okay,” you start simply, sticking your hands into your jean pockets. “I think you’re going to have to tell me why you’re mad. I’m no dice on this one.”

She jammed her thump into the enter key and pointedly ignored you. Swayze wailed at you as she twined between your legs, a ball of thick white fur. Liho was not far behind — a dart of black in the dimly lit room.

“Natasha — Nat,” you tried as you bent down to scoop up your still wailing feline and sit down next to her on the couch. “Talk to me, please. I don’t like it when you glare at me like I’m the one in your interrogation room.”

She was slow to give you a reaction but she closed her laptop and covered the room in total darkness. Only then did she say, “FRIDAY, living room overheads, soft yellow.”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff.” The order was executed immediately, and the gentle glow lighting up Natasha’s features less harshly than the screen. She looked less hostile and more tired.

“When did you get those messages?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. Surprised only because you’d stupidly forgotten about the entire thing by burying yourself into your work to not have to confront those memories. “I — probably only like ten minutes before I sent them to you in the email.”

“Did you reply to them?” she asked evenly, eyes locking with yours. Green pierced you in a way that made you entirely too nervous.

“No, and I think you know that,” you said slowly. “What’s going on, Nat?”

“We got into your phone records,” the spy told you, resting her chin on her cupped hands and nudging her glasses back up her nose. “The number that messaged you is difficult to track and even one of my agents, Daisy, is struggling to get into this particular set of code that was encrypted into the photos. She’s one of our best, and she’s having problems with it.”

“I didn’t know that the photos were encrypted — they just sent normally like — I don’t know, photos.”

Her lips thinned. “Yes, we didn’t expect you to know which is unfortunately why the problem had gotten worse.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked quietly. Your hands no longer stroked along Swayze’s coat, and the cat had wiggled from your grasp after sensing the tension.

Natasha broke her gaze. “Nothing — it meant nothing. All I’m saying is that your phone isn’t safe anymore. They likely were able to sneak through your phone’s security and into all the private information you have stored. Empty the phone. We need to destroy it.”

You rubbed your face and sagged into the cushions, overwhelmed with the coldness Natasha exuded and how she seemed to treat you like you were a civvie and not her partner.

“. . . now, Y/N.” She turned her head away from you as she stood up, glasses removed and went into your shared bedroom.

“So I’m on first-name basis now?” you muttered as you dug into your bag and scrounged around until you came through your phone. You tossed it on the coffee table and stalked into the room.

“Why are you acting like this?”

Natasha was fidgeting with something on her Widow suit. She only did that if she had a mission coming up — and she would usually take the suit down to the armory to restock her belt and pouches.

She let you wallow in the silence besides the rustling of fabric and zippers before she said, “I don’t know how you think I’m acting.”

You crossed your arms. “Okay assassin-spy-superhero-watchdog,” you told her sarcastically, tensing up when she shot you a glare. “You’re being an ass. This is not normal behavior.”

“I’m perfectly fine and it’s just been busy at S.H.I.E.L.D. lately. I’m stressed,” she excused, throwing the suit down on the bed and turning away from you. “Are you tired? You worked late tonight.”

“Natasha I’m not tired enough to not talk to you,” you tried, moving forward. “This is weird. You don’t —“

“I need you to just—“ Natasha looked up and finally, finally, met your gaze again. “—just stop assuming something’s wrong. You’re okay.”

“I’m not the one worried I’m not okay!” You burst, arms flying into the air over your head. “You’re behaving weirdly.”

She clenched her jaw and skimmed past you into the other room, and you stood there in shock at the sudden change your partner was having in attitude.

She was closing down, locking the doors and windows. Your throat was starting to close when you realized how distant and cold she was becoming — and you feared it had to do with everything on the phone she found.

Did the findings spook her? Did the anger at being caught unaware by another person anger her to the point of shutting you out?

You didn’t think you would be getting an answer.

“I’m going to — I need to leave,” you breathed when you found her in the weapons closet in the hall. Despite the armory, she still kept her own stash and you laughed when you first saw it.

“What?” This seemed to get a rise out of her as she stood. Her eyes flickered with a hint of something — but it was so brief that you believed you imagined it. “No, with that text I would be more comfortable if you stayed here.”

“Natasha whatever’s going on is making me uncomfortable,” you snapped, pushing down the lifting sense of doom at the look on her face. “You’re not talking to me. You’re literally — I don’t know what’s going on but I feel like I came home to a weird scene of the Twilight Zone.”

Natasha hesitated as she set her gun carefully back into the case. “Listen, I need you to trust me. I know I’m not giving you answers but I have a reason. I wouldn’t — this is —“ her hands were trembling.

You closed your hand around hers as you got on your knees in front of her. “You’re panicking and shutting down on me. This is not usual for you, Nat. I trust you with my life but I need to understand what’s triggered this behavior.”

She glanced behind you, around the both of you, nervously. Her throat bobbed as she moved her hand until it encased yours in a firm grip. “I know who this might be and I believe it’s connected to the previous incident.”

“But you said the guy was pretty much in a pit,” you replied softly, keeping your anxiety at bay to keep Nat calm. Though you know Nat wouldn’t freak out if you did — she took your panic in stride.

“He is but I don’t think he was the one I should have worried about,” she admitted with a strained tone. For the first time you saw tears start to mist over her eyes. “I think he was — I think he was used to keep me busy.”

“From what?” you encouraged, stretching forward and grabbing her face. “Natasha if you know who’s doing this then you need to get yourself protected, not me. They’re only using me.”

“You don’t understand, my love,” Natasha murmured, forehead resting solidly against yours. “They’re using you but will absolutely kill you. This is an old enemy — but recent enough that they still seek me out.”

“Who could possibly want you dead this badly that isn’t already rotting in the grave?”

Before she could give you the response you wanted, something sharp and pricked suddenly and silently hit your side. Natasha pulled back and grabbed your shoulders.

Her eyes flicked behind you to the large, floor to ceiling windows that faced the forest that surrounded the Compound and realized there was a hole in the glass.

And then something shattered the windows into dust as she threw herself over your body.

Reader and Natasha will return in part four

PART FOUR

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #htwswy #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #series

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 10 months ago

Text

Tear Down My Reason [6]

Blue Jones x nonbinary afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 13: Shower Sex

Summary: Blue makes you jump.

Series Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for beating and saving me as always! And for good baby!

Warnings: kissing, pet names, fingering, p in v sex, shower sex, always gonna say a bit of dub con because reader is a paitent, however everything is consentual, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 1241

You were allowed to walk about in some parts of the asylum unaccompanied during free time. You didn’t need permission to go down this corridor.

But it still made you uneasy when you were on your own.

Russell, one of the newer orderlies, was watching you from the end. Seemingly waiting for you to walk past him. You swallow.

The sense that if you turn and go the other way would be a very bad move fills your chest at the same moment you know that walking past him will also be.

You slow your step, thinking rapidly, maybe you were overreacting. Blue would have-

You yelp as someone grabs you from behind and pulls you into the showers, you try to yell through the hand on your mouth, about to lash out, but quickly relax when you hear his voice.

“Shh, shh, Honey, Honey, it’s me.” Blue moves to stand in front of you, his hands on your arms, stroking your skin. “Sorry I scared you.”

You give him a weak, but playful smack on his forearm and he grins. “You’re lucky I didn’t bite you.”

He moans and pulls a face, “Honey,” he steps closer, lightly rubbing his hips against you. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

You chuckle, “I didn’t promise anything.”

He pouts playfully, “Well could you? Can’t just say something like that and expect me to be all casual about it. I wanna feel your teeth.”

You snort and take a step back just to goad him. “Do you?”

He nods eagerly, following. “Yes.”

“And what exactly were your plans when dragging me into the showers?”

“To fuck you in the shower.” He says simply, a little smirk on his lips.

You give him a look, pretending that it doesn’t sound like a very interesting idea. “In the showers? When anyone could walk in?”

“I’ll lock the door.” He says eagerly, holding up his masterkey. “Come on,” he traces the edge of your top with the tips of his fingers. “Nice warm water and me between your legs?”

The soft look he gives you is almost impossible to refuse, not that you’d want to anyway. “You make a compelling argument.”

He grins, sliding his fingers under your t-shirt. “I sure do Honey.” He leans forward and kisses you messily, groaning when your tongue strokes his. He breaks the kiss for half a second to put his key in the door and lock it and then tugs your top over your head.

Blue pauses as he traces the love bite bruises he’d left on your neck, a low groan reverberating through his chest.

You shiver, partially because of the cold but mainly because of his touch and his eyes darken.

“Ugh, Honey, Honey,” he mutters, kissing you senseless and walking you backwards towards the first shower stall.

While the ones in this part of the building were separate from each other, there were no curtains, meaning whatever orderlies were usually monitoring wash time had a full unencumbered view of the patients.

He pulls down your trousers and underwear, making you giggle when he tries to accomplish this and not break the kiss. You kick off your slippers and socks, not caring much for where they land.

The cold tile on your back makes you gasp and Blue chuckles, “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters as he turns on the shower head, shielding you with his body until he finds the correct temperature.

“Mmm, see?” He rubs your arms affectionately, “all nice and warm.”

“You’re getting soaked.” You laugh, pulling his t-shirt lightly. He was still in his jogging bottoms as well, but had, at least, slipped off his shoes.

“This needed a wash anyway.”

You snort as he pulls them off, letting them fall to the bottom of the shower and soak through completely. His cock bobs free, heavy and swollen with need.

“Now, I was promised some teeth,” he leans close, pressing you up against the warming titles.

“I never promised anything.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but you don’t give him the chance and sink your teeth into his neck.

Blue groans instantly, becoming pliant in your hold. He pants in your ear as you nip and suck, muttering affirmations and sweet praises with every breath.

“Bite me harder, Honey, please.” He slides his hand down to your thigh and hooks your left leg around his waist. “I really want to feel it.”

You sink your teeth deeper, taking care to not break the skin and Blue shivers, weakly bucking against you.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

The water is a good temperature now, steam rising in the small space.

Blue slips his hand down your chest, squeezes your right breast and flicks the nipple with his thumb until it hardens before he trails down your stomach and to your clit.

Your hips buck instantly as he rubs it gently with his forefinger.

“Mmmm, yeah,” he groans, his breath hot against your ear. “Keep biting, keep sucking, that’s real good Honey.”

You do your best, saliva slipping from your lips and mixing with the water running down his chest as he rubs and rolls your clit in a tantalising rhythm.

You moan into his skin, grabbing hold of his forearm.

“Fuck, real good Honey.” He grinds his hips against you, rubbing his leaking cock along your inner leg. “You just keep your mouth nice and full and I’ll make you come, okay?”

You whine, squeezing his forearm as you scrape your teeth along his jugular.

“Oh god, yes.” Blue gasps, clenching his jaw as pleasure flows down his spine.

Your thighs start to shake as he keeps stroking, keeps pulling you closer and closer to the edge.

“You gonna be a good baby and come?” He mutters.

You sob out an affirmative and Blue grows.

“Good baby.” He removes his hand from your clit quickly, but doesn't give you enough time to lament the loss before he takes hold of himself and pushes inside.

You gasp, your mouth opening as he splits you open, filling you so perfectly.

“So fucking good Honey.” He snaps, his voice gruff and strained as he bucks and rocks, ending each deep thrust with a roll of his hips that presses the dark curls between his legs perfectly against your clit.

“Blue!” You bite down on your lip, holding him tightly as he moves, only able to hold on and take it with one of your legs around his hip.

He swears, punctuating every thrust that has you seeing stars and clawing at his back.

“I’m gonna…” You whine, your body buzzing.

“Gonna let me fill you up Honey? Gonna be a good baby and let me fuck my cum into you?” He snarls.

“Fuck.” You come hard, shivering in his hold as your tense and spasm, euphoria flooding your veins and leaving you weak and waitless.

“Hon-ey,” Blue whines pitifully as he fucks you through it, bucking wildly until he follows you with a deep groan and sigh.

He stumbles against you, pushing you back further against the wall and swearing.

“Sorry Honey, sorry,” he moves back a fraction, stroking your cheek.

“It’s okay,” you grin, holding him close as he releases your leg from his hip.

He gives you a completely sincere look. “Your pussy’s just so good it makes me want to pass out.”

You snort, swatting him playfully and he giggles. “That’s terrible Blue.”

“I know Honey, I know.”

Thank you for reading!

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bumblebeeswrite · 4 months ago

Text

KILLER ROMANCE | CHAPTER 2 | INTENTIONAL ENCOUNTERS

summary: you carefully orchestrate a plan to get to know Jason, or rather, for Jason to know you.

word count: 2,581

CW: reader is actively stalking Jason, manipulation

The next morning, your alarm clock began to blare next to your head at 6:30 sharp, and you heard Jason’s from across the hall not a moment later. The first rays of sunlight were sharp and hard to ignore, piercing through the glass window to paint stripes across your bed and face.

You stirred from your sleep, slowly chasing away the lingering remnants of dreams with a stretch of your arms. The memory of Jason’s slightly rumpled hair and the soft curve of his lips as he’d bid you goodnight in the common area last night played on repeat in your mind. “Best one yet,” he’d murmured, a simple statement that had taken root in your mind. You intended to ensure this summer lived up to that promise, for the both of you.

After a swift, invigorating shower in the communal bathroom - it thankfully had surprisingly decent water pressure- you rummaged through your dresser drawers. If your plan was going to succeed, you would need to plan everything down to your socks with meticulous care. A pair of faded denim shorts, comfortable and casual, felt right for the morning’s to do list. Of course you sported the Camp Pineway t-shirt, now well loved with years of use. You attached your masterkeys to your belt loops and slipped on your brown sandals. Before any duties of the day, you paused in front of the slightly cracked mirror hanging above the bathroom sink. You slightly tousled your hair before putting it up behind your head. You would have preferred to leave it down, but the summer heat just wouldn’t allow for it. Your last stop was a swipe of cherry chapstick, just about as much makeup as the sweltering heat would allow. You found Jason already in the small common room of your shared cabin, the air thick with the comforting smell of what could only be instant coffee. He was hunched over a battered clipboard, his brow furrowed in that familiar expression of intense concentration, the tip of his pen hovering over the paper as he jotted down notes. The early morning light caught the fine hairs on the back of his neck, a detail you’d never noticed before, but it immediately went straight to your heart.

“Morning,” you chirped, injecting a large dose of cheerful enthusiasm into your voice, but careful to avoid being overly eager.

He looked up, a slight startle flickering in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey, Arrow.” He said, offering a small, but distracted smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that always shot a little thrill through you. He then promptly returned his attention to the lines scribbled on his clipboard.

Arrow. He remembered your nickname. It was a small, almost insignificant detail to anyone else, but to you, it was a tiny flicker of recognition had finally taken root in his mind. A minor victory, perhaps, but every victory counted in the grand scheme of things.

“Whatcha workin’on?” you inquired, stepping further into the common room and leaning casually against the doorframe that separated it from your own small bedroom. You wanted to appear interested in his tasks, supportive of his responsibilities as co-head counselor. Teamwork, after all, was key.

“Just trying to hammer out the activity schedule for the first few days.” He mumbled, his focus glued to the page, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his pen against the paper a steady counterweight to the quiet hum of the mini fridge. “Making sure we’ve got a decent mix of stuff to keep everyone occupied until the little terrors- I mean, campers- actually arrive.” “Anything I can lend a hand with?” You offered, pushing yourself off the doorframe and taking a few steps closer to where he stood. You knew your official duties as activities director would kick into high gear later today, but you wanted to project an image of helpfulness, like a reliable partner. Especially in Jason’s eyes. He looked up again, a genuine flicker of consideration replacing the earlier distraction in his gaze. “Actually,” he said, holding the clipboard out to you. “Take a look at this. I’m second-guessing the balance. I’m not sure if I’ve got enough of the.. You know.. The really active stuff versus the more chill stuff” You took the offered clipboard, pretending to study the carefully planned clipboard with intense concentration. Your eyes scanned the columns of activities- canoeing, nature walks, arts and crafts, campfire sons- but your focus was on the way Jason’s sunkissed hair fell across his forehead as he leaned closer, his finger tracing a line down the page to highlight a particular entry labeled scavenger hunt. He smelled like a comforting blend of lingering sleep and pine sap. It filled your senses, making your heart pound and your head a little dizzy.

“Hmmm,” you murmured, tapping your chin thoughtfully, pretending to be deep in thought. “This looks pretty good overall. But you know,” you continued, a playful glint entering your eyes. “Maybe we could squeeze in another archery session? You know, really capitalize on having the reigning camp archery champion in our midst.” You punctuated your suggestion with a lighthearted wink.

He chuckled, a bright, airy sound that always seemed to resonate directly within your chest, causing that familiar flutter again. “Yeah, maybe.” He said, the corners of his eyes crinkling into those endearing little lines you loved. “Though I have a feeling you’d probably scare off any potential competition.” “Hey!” You protested playfully, nudging his arm gently with his elbow, a spark of playful energy igniting between you. “Friendly competition is good for morale! Builds character!” He smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that seemed to illuminate his entire face and sent a fresh wave of warmth through you. “Alright, alright.” He conceded, shaking his head with a laugh. “Archery it is. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.” You replied, your smile mirroring his. Mission One: Appear helpful, knowledgeable, and inject playful banter.

Check.

Later that morning, you made a point of ‘needing’ to retrieve some extra clipboards from the supply shed, timing your departure from the main lodge with what you hoped was Jason’s likely route to the office. You’d subtly observed his morning routine the day before, noticing his tendency to drop off paperwork around mid-morning.

And sure enough, just as you reached the slightly creaky door of the supply shed, you nearly collided with him as he emerged, a precarious stack of what looked like cabin assignment forms clutched in his arms. “Oh! Hey, Jason.” You said, pretending to be mildly surprised. Your acting skills had been honed by years of summer camp skits. “Didn’t see you there.” He stopped short, a slightly awkward smile spreading across his face, his grip tightening on the stack of papers. “Hey, Arrow. Just taking these over to John and Kathy's office.” The forms wobbled precariously, threatening to spill onto the dirt below your feet. “Need a hand with those?” You offered immediately, gesturing towards the teetering pile in his arms. “Nah, I got it.” He said, but his tone was laced with doubt, and the slight strain in his arms was evident. The forms look dangerously close to an embarrassing cascade. “Come on,” You insisted gently, reaching out and carefully taking a chunk from the top of the stack, your fingers brushing briefly against his. A small spark, whether real or imagined, seemed to pass between you. “Teamwork makes the dream work, right?” He hesitated for a fleeting moment, his gaze meeting yours with reluctant amusement. Then, another small and genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I guess so,” He sighed softly, and you fell in step beside him. You walked together in comfortable silence towards the main lodge. The shared task, however small, created a sense of togetherness.

“Anything exciting on the agenda today?” You asked, breaking the quiet as you approached the steps of the main lodge.

“Just more training sessions for the new counselors,” He replied, his brow furrowing slightly as he navigated the porch steps. “You’ve got the waterfront safety briefing this afternoon, right?” “Yep.” You said, injecting a forced enthusiasm into your voice, trying to sound genuinely excited about the prospect of explaining the intricacies of the buddy system and the proper use of sunscreen. “Always a highlight.” You punctuated your statement with a playful roll of your eyes, hoping he would catch the sarcasm.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that you always found adorable. “Tell me about it.”

Mission Two: Engineer a shared moment of mild commiseration and demonstrate a similar sense of humor.

Check.

Over the next couple of days, you diligently continued your carefully orchestrated ‘chance’ encounters. You made sure to position yourself near the mess hall coffee station around the time you knew Jason normally came for his second cup, striking up a brief and lighthearted conversation about the merits of different breakfast cereals- you pretended to have an intense loyalty to sugary options, knowing his preference leaned towards the more wholesome varieties. You also ‘accidentally’ ended up in the same small group during a mandatory nature walk training session, pretending to have an exaggerated interest in the local types of fungi, a topic you vaguely remembered him mention having some knowledge about during a fleeting conversation you overheard last year.

Each interaction was deliberately brief, seemingly spontaneous,and utterly innocent on the surface. But each one was meticulously designed to make you more visible, more familiar, more… memorable to him. You wanted to weave yourself into the fabric of his daily routine. You wanted to be a familiar presence, someone he felt comfortable talking to, someone he might even look forward to seeing.

One sunny afternoon, you found yourself near the slightly dilapidated arts and crafts cabin, pretending to examine the somewhat worn archery equipment. You knew that Jason often stopped by this cabin to check on the general state of the supplies, especially now that the campers were here.

Your co-head duties encompassed a wide range of seemingly mundane tasks. Sure enough, a few minutes later, you heard Jason's familiar gate approaching.

“Everything alright here, Arrow?” He asked, approaching with his arms crossed over his chest. “Just making sure our trusty bows are still in championship-caliber condition for my inevitable victory at the end of summer competition.” You said with a playful wink, drawing back the string on one of the older-looking bows, testing its tension. He chuckled, the sound leaving you breathless. “Wouldn’t want you to have any excuses when I finally decide to enter and dethrone you.” “Oh, you think you have what it takes, Hochberg?” You retorted, your eyes sparking with a challenge.

“Maybe,” He said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

The banter felt easy, natural, a small step towards a more relaxed relationship between you. After a brief pause, you turned to face him, your expression one of casual interest. “So, you’re still into photography, right?” You remembered seeing him with an old-fashioned camera slung over his shoulder last summer, capturing fleeting moments around camp.

His eyes lit up slightly at the mention of his hobby, a genuine spark of enthusiasm replacing his usual reserved demeanor. “Yeah, I brought my old film camera again this year. Hoping to get some good shots of the camp before the summer is over.” “Oh, cool.” You said, looking at him with genuine starstruck interest. “I’ve always been so fascinated by photography. It seems so.. Magical, capturing a moment in time like that. Maybe you could show me some pointers sometime? I’ve always wanted to learn the basics.” You battered your eyelashes slightly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the blatant attempt at manipulation.

He hesitated for a moment, a flicker of consideration dancing in his blue eyes. “Yeah,” He said slowly, a smile touching his lips. “Yeah, I could probably do that.” Mission Three: Discover a shared interest (or at least create the convincing illusion of one) and subtly suggest a future, more personal interaction.

Check.

That evening, as the sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and purple, you deliberately positioned yourself on the slightly creaky screen porch of your shared cabin. You were reviewing the detailed schedule for yourself and the cabin’s activities for the upcoming week, your clipboard resting in your lap. But in reality, you were aware of Jason’s evening routine, his tendency to retreat to the porch after dinner and lose himself in the pages of a book until he could barely read the lines. Sure enough, after a few more moments of pretend schedule perusing, you heard the familiar creak of the screen door as it was pushed open. “Hey,” He said softly, his voice a low murmur as he settled into the old, slightly lopsided wicker chair that sat opposite yours. “Hey, Jason.” You replied, looking up from your clipboard, a casula smile gracing your lips. “Just trying to get a head start on things. Kids have the ropes course this week.” He nodded in agreement, pulling a well-worn paperback from the pocket of his faded khaki shorts. The title was obscured by the dim light, but the thickness of the spine suggested a light read. A comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the rhythmic chirping of crickets in the nearby trees and the muffled sound of the other counselors enjoying their evening break.

After a few minutes, you lowered your clipboard, setting it on the wood beside your feet. “You know,” you said, looking over at him, your tone casual and conversational. “I was thinking about that photography thing we talked about the other day. Maybe tomorrow, after we’re done with morning circle, we could wander around camp for a bit? You could show me some of the very basics, you know, the beginner level stuff.” You finished your request with a self-deprecating chuckle.

He looked up from the pages of his book, a surprised but not unwilling expression on his face. “Tomorrow?” He echoed, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Yeah,” You said, trying to sound nonchalant over the panic you felt at his tone. “No pressure, of course. But I’m eager to learn. And you seem so.. Knowledgeable.” You offered him a flattering smile. He hesitated for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on yours. Then he smiled. “Alright, Arrow. Tomorrow it is. But don’t expect any miracles. I’m not a professional.” “Hey,” You replied, your smile widening, a feeling of quiet triumph in your chest. “Beginner lessons are all I’m after.”

Mission Four: Solidify plans for a dedicated one-on-one interaction based on a shared (or cleverly fabricated) interest. Checkmate.

As you sat on the screen porch with Jason, the gentle breeze rustling in the leaves, carrying the scent of woodsmoke from a distant campfire, a sense of satisfaction settled within you. You were making excellent progress. He was noticing you. He was starting to see you as someone he could connect with, someone he might even be.. Interested in. The initial awkwardness that had taken over your early interactions was slowly but surely giving way to a more relaxed and comfortable dynamic. The stars, it seemed, were finally beginning to align in your favor. And you had every intention of ensuring they stayed precisely in that configuration. The summer, you felt with growing certainty, had a wealth of untapped potential, and Jason Hochberg was poised to become a central figure in yours.

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#jason hochberg fic #fred hechinger jason #jason hochberg x reader #jason hochberg #jason hell of a summer #hell of a summer fic #hell of a summer #a hell of a summer fic #a hell of a summer

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