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bitten-fruit · 4 months

Text

you re-enlist

And Captain John Price absolutely doesn't want you to. He begrudgingly takes you to his office to sign the paperwork - and shows you what your decision has brought you.

18+ MDNI - 5k words

tags: John Price x f!Reader, power play, oral and vaginal sex

a/n: To get some content on here I've pulled this from my longfic Licking Wounds on Ao3. Trimmed/tweaked it a little to make them tumblr friendly :)

“Just... let me sign what I need to.” You breathed, exasperated.

Captain Price sat behind his desk, leaning back insouciantly in his chair, bouncing his knee in irritation. His cautious and tired eyes flitted between yours, considering his words before he spoke.

“This is your last chance to change your mind.” He grunted.

You sucked your teeth frustration. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“You should.”

“Why? Will my presence really be that fucking draining for you?”

He quickly absorbed your sudden anger, mirroring it as he stood from his chair, leaning against the surface of his desk on white knuckles.

“You know that’s not what this is about.”

His tone was by turn seething and pleading, glowering at you with gruelling severity.

You scoffed. “Oh, so it would be.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t be childish.”

“Childish?”

Evidently fed up with your petulant bickering, his head dropped from his shoulders as he grunted in frustration. “I just... I can’t understand why you’d come back to this.”

“You can’t?”

“You had the chance to get away from it. You got out.”

“Got out. You think I got out, do you? That once I got shipped back to London I was done with it all?” You groaned, impatient. “Just let me sign the goddamn paper."

There was visible dispute burgeoning behind his lips, but he stayed silent – leaning forward to tug open one of the drawers of his desk. He pulled out a pad of blank paper forms, hesitantly but methodically tearing one sheet free along the perforated line. He flipped it, placing it down on the wooden surface and twisting it so it faced you, pushing it towards the edge in your direction with his fingertips.

He plucked a ballpoint pen from the steel mesh cup on the edge of the desk, before dropping it on top of the paper form with a quiet clack.

Crossing his arms, he stood upright with a huff and watched you scrutinisingly; glare challenging yet reluctant.

You quietly swallowed, stepping abashedly towards the desk and leaning over it, holding the pen between your fingers and pensively clicking the end of it with your thumb.

Jaded eyes scanned each word, the tip of the pen trailing each line as you read. You checked box after box, writing down the answers to probing questions as though you were completing an exam under the shrewdly watchful eye of your professor. Existing health conditions, current medication, family lineage, previous rank, promotable status. It would almost be nostalgic, answering questions such as these again, for the first time since you were promoted to sergeant four years ago – if it didn’t carry such painful weight, and weren’t so rife with sordid history.

The nib of your pen met that dotted line, finally, at the bottom of the form. Your eyes looked at the conditions and implications of your signature, that thick paragraph above the box, though not a single word was absorbed by your busy mind. It didn’t matter – you knew the consequences of that pen meeting the paper. Even if the Captain wished it, signing your life back into the hands of the SAS was not something that could be easily revoked.

He seemed to relish hopefully in your hesitation, his breath slowing as he watched you consider, pen hovering cautiously over the paper.

You briefly glanced up at him, from under your challenging eyebrows, meeting his eye. His stiff gaze wordlessly pleaded with you, his mouth in an austere line.

Steadfast, you ignored his silent dispute.

You signed the dotted line.

There.

Done.

No backing out now.

A soldier again.

You were astonished at the adrenaline a mere signature could pump from your heart, quivering with it, as you dropped the pen to the desk and stood upright.

His steely eyes did not leave you, face replete with a medley of discernible emotions; ire, anxiety, remorse, solemnity. Arms still crossed firmly over his chest, you listened as his heaving lungs drew in a deep, exasperated breath.

He licked his teeth before he spoke.

“That’ll be all then, Sergeant.”

He dismissed you bluntly, coarse voice dripping with derision. A crease formed in your forehead, taken aback by his sudden dismissal, breath hitching at his use of your rank instead of your name; sergeant, a title he hadn’t referred to you by in two years.

It was as though he was satisfied, doing his best to show you what your decision had brought you, to make you regret it. You were his subordinate again. Just his sergeant.

“I knew you’d enjoy it in the end, Captain.” You seethed, tone draped in sardonicism, an immediate retaliation.

His brow furrowed as he looked down his nose at you. “Enjoy what, eh?”

“You finally get to order me around again, don’t you?”

“You-”

“Am I dismissed? Or are you going to command me to drop and give you fifty?” You growled pettishly, scowling up at him. “It must’ve been hard, not being able to command me to do your bidding while I was a civilian. But that didn’t stop you from trying, did it?”

He grunted, an increasingly enraged sigh escaping his chest. “I didn’t want to be giving you orders again.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I didn’t. Just because you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not being commanded to do it, doesn’t mean I’ve been waiting for the chance to.”

A kick to the stomach, you worried you’d lose your balance with the blow.

Grimacing at him, you stepped your weight onto your back foot in reaction to his venomous accusation.

“Fuck you.”

You hissed it through your teeth, unable to conjure up any intelligent rebuttal, only lashing out with the reprisal that your frenetic emotions scrambled together.

He sniffed irately, adjusting his arms over his chest.

“Can’t talk to your captain that way, Sergeant.”

Your jaw hung loose in disbelief, overcome with a cold rage that made your body quake as it flooded your arteries.

“Fuck you,” you repeated wryly, daring. “Are you going to order me not to talk back to you, sir? You prick?”

He glared at you with challenging contempt.

“You want me to give you an order, do you?”

“I want you to get off your fucking high horse.”

“Yeah? Am I too honourable?”

“Honourable? You’re a sanctimonious p–”

He put his hands on his hips, brashly sucking his teeth before he interrupted you.

“Take off your shirt.”

His hoarse command pierced the thick air like a bullet.

The wind was viciously sucked from your lungs, then, your racing heart jolted under your ribs with such voltage it felt as though you had been shocked by a defibrillator. You could only stare at him, stupid, waiting for him to relent, to take it back, to say that he was kidding.

His expression, now, was unreadable. You weren’t certain whether he was purposefully keeping his countenance devoid of emotion – or, if, you had abruptly lost any and all ability to understand him or his intentions.

He was a stranger, but a familiar one. A captivating one.

Before you could stammer out a semblance of a response, he continued.

“That’s the sort of order you’ve been wanting from me, isn’t it?” He goaded darkly, seemingly smug at his ability to render you flustered and wordless with one short sentence.

Dumbstruck, still, you could only swallow a pointed breath as you desperately tried to read any clear objective in his shrouded blue eyes.

“Go on.”

He’s not kidding.

“You wanted an order, I gave you one.”

Fuck.

You were completely staggered by the whiplash. Your distended heart thumped so vigorously in your chest you thought it might crack a rib.

There was a conviction within you, somewhere, to question him. To question if he was being serious, to ask him if this was some kind of sick joke to make you regret your decision.

And while you believed that was the case, that it was a derisive retribution, a game to get back at you – there was a stronger urge to play along. To meet his challenge, to execute his dare.

Meeting his indignant gaze with yours, you tucked your fingers under the hem that sat between your waist and hips, peeling it up your torso and stretching it over your shoulders, then past your head. Sweeping your loosened hair out of your face, you held the thin black fabric in the other hand before dropping it to the linoleum floor. You shivered a little in the cool air of the room, your stiffening nipples concealed by the cups of your rarely-worn grey marl brassiere – practical and unsexy.

But the look on his face was telling; he hadn’t truly expected you to comply.

That surprise waned quickly. His dark eyes tried their best to hold your stare, but they failed him – raking over your torso, jaw clenching as his gaze stuck brazenly to your exposed cleavage.

Trembling with adrenaline, you waited for him to say something. Anything.

You expected dispute; you anticipated he’d say, I wasn’t serious. And that would be a satisfying reaction – your effort to make him uncomfortable would prove a success, a victory, you’d have the last figurative word.

He wiped down his face with an open hand, rubbing his beard anxiously as he wrestled with what to say, how to react – maybe some attempt to restrain himself. He leaned against the surface of the desk, resting his weight on his knuckles.

Through gritted teeth, he uttered his next command.

“Bra.”

You swallowed timorously.

It was surreal, really, you worried you were hallucinating – you imagined that in reality he was shouting at you to stop, but you were unable to hear him over your carnal psychosis.

But it was too late now, to stop yourself. You were driven to finish what you started. Changing your mind now, pulling your shirt back over your head and running out the door – would leave you questioning whether any of it was real. You wouldn’t survive in that oblivion, between reality and dream, fact and fantasy.

You needed proof.

You reached behind your back, contorting your shoulders to allow your fingers to grip the clasp against your spine. Your breasts pillowed out of the top of the soft cups as you stretched the band to unhook it, before slipping the straps down your shoulders. It slid from your chest, down your arms, gently – it, too, fell to the floor; you dropped it on top of your abandoned t-shirt.

You drew in a quivering breath, the skin of your breasts tingling as the goosebumps elicited by their exposure trickled across their soft flesh.

He sucked in a heavy breath, deep and slow, rugged and rasping. He took a step, and you retracted slightly; but you watched like cautious prey, as he walked around from the far side of his desk, to the front of it. He leaned on the very edge of the surface, not quite sitting on it, as he insouciantly crossed one boot over the other. His lascivious eyes did not leave you, absorbing every feature, every curve, like he was admiring an artwork.

Despite the metre and a bit of distance from him, you felt the dense heat that hung in the air between the two of you, radiating from him like he was a fucking oven.

“Trousers.”

A brief conflict almost escaped you, but he quickly smothered it.

“Off.”

Whatever reluctance that lingered melted away, then, dripping off of you like a layer of sticky ice cream – by virtue of the unwavering sternness of his command. And that, you realised, was where your comfort lay; where there was no ambiguity, no remorse for a poorly made decision, no culpability for your actions. If you were following an order, the onus was on him.

So you followed it.

Your kittenish fingers went to the button of your grey cargo trousers, popping it undone, slyly pulling down the zip of your fly. You flayed back the open waistband, pushing them down your hips, struggling briefly to pull them past your ass; its recent plumpness made your pants a touch too small. The polyester fabric loudly shuffled in the distended silence as the trousers fell down your legs, into a puddle at your feet; you stepped out of them as though out of a pond.

By the time you looked up to meet his gaze once again, though, he had already charged at you; quickly taking the base of your head with large hands and pulling you towards him. He forced his eager lips against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, such an aggression that your first primal instinct was to resist him with claws against his chest.

But you were quick to surrender to him, relishing in the taste of him, his tongue, his breath hot in your mouth, you sucked it deep into your chest. Your starving hands coiled up and around his neck, scratching at the tense muscles in his heaving back through the fabric of his uniform jersey; hooking into him in some feline effort to make sure he was real, to prevent his escape, to keep him from being stolen away.

His mouth wasn’t on yours for long, though, dragging wetly across your jaw to your neck, the crook of your shoulder; he chewed at your soft, fervid skin, teeth skimming and barely digging into the tendonous flesh. His vicious hands gave you no reprieve, clutching at any part of you that could force you closer, tighter against him – ensnaring the meat of your hips, your waist, kneading at your sensitive breast with the other.

He separated from you only briefly, though his possessive hands didn’t leave you. Crouching slightly, he hooked his arms behind your thighs, under your ass – deftly hoisting you upwards with no visible effort. You clutched the back of his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips to maintain your balance as he lifted you, turning on his heel and carting you towards the desk. He quickly used a free hand to sweep aside the papers, flinging them to the floor in a confetti; he put you down hastily, keeping you close, the cold surface of the varnished wood biting at your bare skin.

He gave you a transitory respite, carefully checking your face before he went any further; likely ensuring you weren’t crying this time, that he hadn’t crossed an unspoken boundary. Whatever look you gave him in return was outside of your control or perception – but it was an invitation, evidently.

He dove down to kiss you again, but fleetingly – his savage lips trailed down from yours, biting their way along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You leaned back slightly on the desk to allow his avid venture, his ravenous mouth biting and suckling wherever it landed; drowning momentarily in the softness of your breast, cupping it with his wide hand to push the pillowy flesh against his face.

That wasn’t his final destination, though. His mouth only brushed over your nipple, sloppily kissing down your tensing stomach as he lowered himself to one knee, clutching your waist with both hands on his journey downward to hold you still. You felt your heart in your throat, in utter disbelief; you could only suck down jagged breaths as his lips grazed against your lower belly, just above your hip, teasing the elastic hem of your underwear. He gingerly kissed your mound through the thin cotton, controlling hands holding your hips by the bone.

Too rapacious to taunt you for long, he tugged sharply at the hips of your panties, leaning back so he could pull them down your thighs, over your knees, off your ankles. Your foot rested gently on his collarbone as he paused in apparent admiration, your exposed, spread pussy mere inches from his face; his breath despite its heat was cold against your wet, feverish skin. You felt embarrassed at his close inspection, his unashamed reverence – but his murky gaze broke away from your intimacy, instead meeting your eye. He wore an expression of unassailable pride, though cloaked in an avaricious hunger; he stared at you cruelly from under his brow, daring you to deny him.

Hitching your legs over his arms so that they rested on his shoulders, he clutched the side of your thigh with his mammoth hand while he pushed his lips into the inside of your leg, high enough, close enough, to make you quiver in desperate anticipation.

Piercing eyes still locked on yours, peering up from your eager flesh, his husky voice murmured deeply into your skin.

“Is this what you wanted?”

He jibed, almost a growl, as though teasing you for your recent behaviour – scolding you for acting out instead of asking for it, causing a scene instead of using your words like a grown-up.

Another kiss, higher, closer, teeth grazing the supple meat of your inner thigh, coarse beard prickling against the burning skin of the edge of your cunt.

You couldn’t think of the right answer, if there were such a thing, to his question – your head was by turn empty and running a million miles a minute. Really, you didn’t even know the answer.

Was it what you wanted? This entire time? Has it been what you wanted since the last time, in his barrack in Urzikstan? Since the gala? Or, even, since you met him?

Your answer left your wet throat before you had the sense to question it, or rationalise it.

“Yes.”

You breathed, a whisper, barely, almost a squeak. You weren’t certain that it was the truth, either – but it was what you wanted now, so it was honest in some sense.

With firm hands he adeptly tugged your hips so you perched precariously on the very edge of the desk, allowing him ease of access to you.

He cruelly denied you still, placing maliciously soft kisses against the slit of your pussy, torturing you with only a light pressure while you willed him to dive deeper. An ardent whimper fled your chest, quiet and pleading.

Whatever carnivore he was doing his level best to restrain escaped its prison at your sheepish sound; his monstrous hands dug deep into the flesh of your hips, maw lunging forward and pointed tongue parting your slick folds like he was searching for water. It dipped into you only briefly, a momentary taste of the dripping syrup he seemed to take pride in inducing from you – before he used it to glide up to your clit where it was nestled. With ravenous lips he suctioned it into his mouth, devouring you; dextrously chafing your sensitive bud with a flat tongue, maintaining a vacuum that made a dangerously loud and needy moan escape your throat.

He only hastened his torment in response, drinking you like he might die of thirst, breathing heavily through his nose so as not to allow you even a second of relief from the unbearable suction. Feverish claws clasped at the top of his head, running through his short hair and scratching at his scalp, holding his head where you wanted it. Your head hung back off your shoulders, briefly staring at the panelled ceiling before your eyes unwittingly fluttered shut, doing your best to swallow the choked cries that threatened to make the whole army base aware of your depravity.

Your constricting legs inadvertently tried to push him away, your body overwhelmed and desperate for a break from his ruthless consumption, almost too oversensitive to be pleasurable – but not quite. He restrained you tightly, though, not allowing you to flee from him for even a second; his firm hands controlled your hips with an alarming strength, head moving with you as though predicting the direction of your attempts at escape, mouth not separating from you once.

One hand retreated from your side, but to quickly prevent your bucking his constraining arm slithered over your lower stomach, clutching the far hip and using his elbow to hold you down to the desk. His free thumb, then, crept to your cunt under his chin. Despite how slick your skin was, drenched in both your clear sap and his saliva; the clenching muscles of your vagina were squeezed so tightly he had to push his thumb into you with effort, almost popping as it broke past your resistant entrance.

That seemed to weaken his resolve, the tightness of your muscles clamping around him rhythmically, in tune with the burgeoning, forcible orgasm that threatened to crash over you like a tidal wave; he released a ragged, resigned exhalation into your skin. You felt yourself beginning to drown in it, that swirling ocean. The floor, the desk, the room sunk in it, slipping away from you as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, only him keeping you afloat.

But he stopped, then, thumb begrudgingly slipping out from inside you, suddenly releasing his merciless suction and separating his wet mouth from your yearning pussy. You groaned in dispute, cut short, a sharp rush of air escaping your overwrought lungs.

“Not yet.” He grunted hoarsely, barely audible.

Brows twisted in pleading frustration, you looked down at him, meeting his frightening glare as he pushed himself to stand; beard glistening with the wetness of you, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” You whined breathily, panting as you watched him tower upright, looming over you in licentious authority.

“I’m not having you come yet.”

His injunction was authoritarian, uttered darkly, his rumbling voice so hoarse it sounded animalistic; a growl, a threat. He stood between your legs, still, you watched in quiet, anticipating obedience as his livid hands tore at his belt. Ferociously unbuckling it, as though it would fight against him – he tugged open the button of his trousers, ripping down the fly and unsheathing his rigid cock from his straining boxers; menacing, it dropped heavy out of the elastic waistband, the solid shaft landing against your ravening cunt with a hard, wet slap.

You winced slightly at the sore impact, and his humanity seemed to return to him momentarily; softening face inches from yours, his attentive blue eyes scanned your features for reluctance.

“Tell me no.” He urged throatily, “tell me no, and I’ll stop.”

A shaky breath seeped through your lips, your delirious gaze flitting between his eyes, lashes fluttering as you processed his promise.

“I don’t want you to stop, Captain.” You uttered weakly, entreating.

His careful eyes darkened quickly at your bashful plea, watching your lips form the syllables of his rank like you were stroking him with it. His dominant hands returned to your hips, then, clutching at the bone and lifting your pelvis so it was angled right, just where he wanted it.

His clouded glare didn’t leave yours, his fingers dipping into your saturated pussy as though scooping the viscous fluid that dribbled from you; you watched, beguiled, as he rubbed your juices up the thick shaft of his cock, coating the head in it, briefly unable to stop himself from fucking his fist, huffing carnally, while he was lubricated by your watery come.

With a tug of your legs that were coiled around his hips, you grounded him, impatient; his sinister gaze met yours again, watching your wanton expression as he obliged you and dragged the soft head of his cock down your slit, the cruel pressure against your agitated clit making your body twitch. He restrained your spasm with his free hand your waist, keeping your pelvis still, as the tip of his length nestled between your lips, pressing against your clenching entrance.

Gripping himself by the stiff base, he pushed past your tight opening with his full weight; stretching it tautly around the girth of his cock as he stuffed you with it. You let out a pained squeak as it abruptly filled you, ramming against your cervix with a pressure that made you flinch.

The sharp soreness briefly frightened you – you had been deprived of the sensation of that angry thickness inside of you, ever since…

You didn’t let your mind go back there, not for a second; your eyelids shot open, desperate gaze sticking hurriedly to your Captain, his riled and yet gentle expression bringing you back to him, rugged but soft hands holding your hips as he impaled you on the length of him. You clutched the fabric of his jersey tight over his chest, gripping his arms, his shoulders; keeping him real, corporeal, there with you. He let out a strained grunt as he pulled you down onto him, as deep as your insides would allow him to go, to the hilt; he held you there, forcing you to squirm.

Your delicate hands held his warm neck, leaning forward as you pulled his head down to kiss him; mouth open and tongue desperate to taste him again, to feel his hot breath against your face, the soft scratch of his beard on your chin. He returned your kiss, tender, compassionate – a stark juxtaposition to his ruthless incursion; rutting into you powerfully but methodically, slow but hard, deep enough to be painful.

But the hurt was translated by your aroused nerves into a bestial pleasure, using your goading legs to pull him further into you, you felt his cock push against your aching organs. It raked against your sodden walls on its way out, a slight sting as it dragged along your taut opening – before filled you again, abrupt, sharp; it forced a sweet cry from your fevered chest into his mouth. He grinned arrogantly against your lips, a ragged, breathy chuckle taunted you in response.

You separated from him, then, lying back over the surface of the desk; you arched your back, angling your hips so that his length beat your walls more viciously, wrapping your legs around his waist and clutching at the edge of the desk above your head with straining claws. Exposed to him now, on display, his thrusting only increased in vehemence, speed, depth; carnivorous hands digging into the meat of your hips as if you might slip away from him, forcing you down on him with each rut.

Eager for release, your fingers glided down your stomach, navigating diffidently to your clit; you drew wet circles over it, letting out a soft whine as you pleasured yourself with the rhythm of his accelerating thrusts.

“Shit.”

He groaned huskily at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, his face twisted into an exasperated rapture, forcing himself to slow down slightly so as not to push himself over the edge too quickly.

He stopped you, hastily; a stern hand tightly ensnaring your wrist and tearing your fingers from you. He pulled your arm upward, pinning it firmly to the wooden surface underneath you, holding your hand by your head. He leaned over you, then, making you watch as he held his free hand to his lips, spitting lecherously into his fingertips; they found your clit without needing to look, stroking the oversensitive spot inexorably, the pressure cruel and unrelenting. His head hung from his shoulders, mouth landing against the hot skin of your shoulder, placing gentle kisses along your collarbone as he ruined you.

The union of the two sensations – his cock, hard as stone, fucking into your stomach, and merciless fingertips tormenting your swollen clit; it surged within you, frayed nerves electrocuting you as your inevitable orgasm loomed, its delay rendering it incensed and sorely overpowering.

He must have felt the muscles of your walls clamping down on the length of him as it dawned on you, the change in the music of your sounds; aching whines growing louder, crawling from your labouring throat.

“You gonna come on me, are ya? Beautiful thing?”

He growled into your skin, only increasing the severity of his torture, relentless in his goal to finish you.

Your delirious tongue was unable to form a word in response, only releasing a high-pitched and arduous cry as your unforgiving orgasm collided with you, waves of carnal heat pulsing from the base of you, the muscles of your bullied pussy clenching tightly around his avid cock.

“That’s it.”

He grinned against your neck as he kissed you there, moving with you, allowing no escape.

“Good girl.”

With no apparent intention of slowing down to offer you a reprieve, he instead began speeding up, forcing you to squirm and shriek in dispute at the overstimulation. Your desperate, animal fingers clawed at his wrist, struggling to tear his stiff hand away from your cunt – but he relented, eventually, falling victim to his own pleasure as he shifted his focus to fucking you harder, deeper.

He scooped an arm under your back, lifting you just slightly from the surface of the desk as he hovered over you; the other hand holding the bone of your hip tightly, keeping it steady while he rammed you. You listened in rapture to his grunts of ecstasy, gentle hands clutching the back of his neck, nails grazing his hot skin as you coaxed him to chase his own release.

You pressed soft lips into his bearded cheek, comforting, reassuring him; and that seemed to do the trick, bringing him too close.

“Fuck.”

He groaned hoarsely in begrudging pleasure as he paused, for just a hesitant second, before reluctantly tugging his cock out of you and slamming the wet shaft of it it against your mound.

You panted heavily, holding your forehead against his, relishing in the sensation of his hot come shooting over your stomach, painting you; it dribbled down your sides, down the creases of your hips, dangerously close to your cunt. He winced against you, twitching involuntarily as he pushed the last of his semen out of the head, drooling onto your febrile skin.

You kissed him, again; he tenderly pressed his lips against yours in return as he took the moment to catch his breath. His mouth left yours after a moment and landed in the crook of your neck, his heaving body hung over you, propped up by his elbows on the desk under you. You felt him kiss under your ear, his warm breath and prickling beard sending a shiver down the nape of your neck.

You wanted to say something, anything – but there were no words you could think of to offer him. Gratitude? An apology? Your brain was fried, fucked into pliable mush.

Instead you lay in silence, embracing him for as long as it would last, doing your best not to consider the consequences that lay ahead of you as a result of such an unbelievably foolish lapse in judgement.

He’d been your captain for only a few minutes, and you had fucked him already.

And yet you wished the moment could last infinitely; savouring his gentle lips as they planted drowsy kisses on your neck, tired hands caressing your waist in what felt like wordless praise, a silent gratitude.

Despite the reservations, the guilt, the doubts that stormed around you, deafening; your thoughts encircled only one thing, one source of comfort.

He was your Captain again.

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girlgenius1111 · 6 months

Text

i could change up my body and change up my face

arsenal x platonic young reader

warnings: this discusses an eating disorder. this is based off my experience; everyone's are different.

You thought you were doing the right thing. The healthy thing. You'd always been a more muscular player, and it hadn't really bothered you. Football players varied in size; it didn't mean anything for how good you were. You debuted for Arsenal at only 18, and people had a lot to say; most of it you could handle. The comments on your weight, on how if you were smaller, you'd be faster, better, were what caused the problems.

It spiraled quickly; one day you were skipping dessert, and the next you were skipping entire meals. It was hard to balance: eating enough that you didn't feel like you were going to pass out on the pitch, but not so much that you could barely look at yourself in the mirror. Evidently, it was harder than you thought. You only managed it a few weeks before people began to catch on that something was up.

Your teammates had noticed that your behavior was off recently. You were less talkative, and you saw everyone outside of training a lot less. A few of them had discussed it, and had decided to keep an eye on you, see if things got worse.

When you passed out during training, everyone thought you were joking. It had recently become a popular prank; you and Kyra pretending to be hurt, scaring everyone, before popping back up. It was a bit of a boy who cried wolf situation: when you went down, a few people glanced over, but thought you were kidding, especially because no one had been near you. It was a hot day, though, and you'd barely eaten. You were lightheaded before you got out on the pitch, but once training began it only got worse.

You managed to last through the first part of the scrimmage, before you had to stop, putting your hands on your knees and breathing hard. Black spots dotted out your vision, and the world spun gently around you. You though you heard Katie make a joke about you already being winded, but you were falling to the ground.

In fairness to your teammates, it only took about 10 seconds before they realized something was actually wrong. Katie and Lia watched you go down, and something about it just looked wrong; you crumpled too easily for it to have been on purpose. Swearing, they both rushed to your side, rolling you onto your back.

"Fuck. Medics!" Katie called, kneeling down beside you.

"Hey, y/n, can you hear me?" Lia called, lightly tapping your cheek. Your eyes were shut, and you were completely limp on the ground. At her prompting, though, you groaned, shifting slightly and opening your eyes. Both girls sighed in relief. You blinked up at them in confusion. Why were you on the ground? You tried to sit up, but both girls stopped you.

"No, stay here, we need to make sure everything's alright," Lia said, as the physios finally arrived. A small crowd had gathered around you and your cheeks flushed red at that realization. You'd messed up. No one was going to let it go that you'd passed out. None of your protective, caring, overbearing teammates would let it go until they knew why this had happened. And they couldn't know: if they knew, they'd make you stop.

That was really all you could think about: how possibly you were going to play this off. As they got you up, after you blatantly refused a stretcher, and walked you slowly into one of the medical rooms, your mind was flashing from excuse to excuse.

"What are you feeling?" John, the head physio, asked, once you'd settled on the exam table. He was looking at you carefully, as if he could see right through you; it was incredibly unnerving.

"Just a little dizzy, I don't think I drank enough water," you replied. John looked at you searchingly for a minute, before asking another question.

"Did you eat breakfast today?" he questioned, eyes not leaving yours. It was the way he asked; not what did you eat, but did you eat, that told you that you were caught. You knew they'd notice that you'd lost weight, you all had to do weigh ins to correctly meal plan. You just hadn't noticed a difference, and assumed there wasn't much of one. But the way that John was looking at you, it must have been more than you thought. Enough that they'd noted it, and enough that they seemed to know what they were dealing with.

"Yeah of course," you lied. He could tell.

"I'm gonna step out for a minute, alright?" With that, he headed out of the door, leaving you to stress in the room. You didn't know where he was going, and it terrified you that he could come back and blindside you with anything at any moment.

You heard voices in the hall, and prepared yourself for an onslaught of different physios, and maybe the club psychologist. You weren't really sure what your plan was, and you didn't have anytime to settle on one before the door was opening.

It wasn't John, or a different physio. Not the club psychologist either. It was Leah and Katie, both walking into the room with incredibly worried looks on their faces. Briefly, you thanked god that Kim was out; she had this specific look she gave, and whenever you got it from her, you told her whatever you had previously been trying to hide. The odds of being able to lie to Leah and Katie weren't great, but better than if Kim had been there too.

"Using me to slack of training, McCabe?" you tried to joke. Neither girl cracked a smile.

"We talked to John. Do you want to tell us what's going on?" Leah responded, ignoring your comment.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just got dehydrated, I'm fine." Apparently, you'd decided to play dumb. A strategy you weren't so sure of as you tried to hold eye contact with Leah.

The blonde sighed, taking a seat in one of the chair in the room. Katie remained standing, arms crossed over her chest. You were expecting tough love; harsh words that told you to get your shit together. You weren't expecting Leah's voice to soften, for her to look at you like you were fragile.

"Y/n, we want to help you."

"I don't need help with anything," you insisted.

"Then why have you lost a significant amount of weight in the past 3 weeks? Why did you just pass out on the pitch? And why haven't we seen you at any team dinners recently?" Katie replied. Her expression was hard, but you knew it was masking her worry.

You didn't know what to respond to that, honestly. You'd been expecting them to tiptoe around the issue for a while, try to get you to admit to it. In the back of your mind, you wondered if maybe you weren't in trouble. Maybe what you'd done was wrong, was bad, but it didn't mean they were mad at you, like you'd expected.

"Listen kiddo, we know there's a problem. There isn't anything you can say that will make us think there isn't."

"I don't know what to tell you. There isn't anything going on. It's not on me if you guys are seeing things that aren't there," you replied, crossing your arms. Both girls sighed, and exchanged looks.

"Okay, y/n, if that's how you want to play it. If everything is fine, you can come over for dinner with me and Lia tonight." Leah told you.

"I can't-" you began.

"Be there at 6," she interrupted, her tone leaving absolutely no room for argument.

-----

You took a seat at the table, putting your hands underneath to hide how much they were shaking. You really didn't want to be here, but there was literally no way to get out of it. If you didn't show, you expected Leah, Lia, Katie, and probably half the team to show up to your house. You didn't want to draw anymore attention to the issue that you already had, so you just needed to get through this dinner, eat the food, and go home.

How hard could it be?

"We made your favorite," Leah told you, setting down a full plate in front of you.

"We?" Lia questioned, smirking at the other woman.

"Okay, Lia made your favorite, I sat nearby and kept morale up." You only weakly smiled in response, your attention still on the seemingly massive amount of food in front of you. If they noticed, they left it, taking seats on either side of you.

They kept the conversation going, with you contributing very little. Instead, you pushed the food around your plate, taking bites every so often. You weren't saying anything, forcing every bite down your throat. Lia and Leah watched you carefully, seeing the way every time you brought the fork to your mouth, you looked like you were in pain.

You could have done this meal normally. It was just that you'd had to eat lunch with the team after training, and the food in front of you was food that had practically haunted your nightmares in the last few weeks.

By the time you'd gotten halfway done with your plate, you were close to tears. The conversation had died out, and the older women were watching you as the fork shook in your hand.

"Y/n," Leah said softly, placing her hand over yours to stop it from trembling.

You let out a deep exhale, putting your face in your hands.

"I'm sorry," you said, voice muffled. You felt horrible. Truly, completely, horrible. All you could think about was the calories you'd consumed, and the fact that there was literally no way for you to deny this anymore. It was terrifying; the recognition from the others that you had a problem made it all the more real to you.

A hand was on your arm, pulling you away from the table. You went with it, standing and following Leah out of the kitchen. She led you to the couch, sitting down in the armchair across from you. Lia came in too, placing a glass of water on the table, before sitting down on the next to you. You were staring intently at the rug, following the pattern in it across the floor, instead of looking at either of the other people in the room.

"You don't need to apologize, y/n. You're not in trouble, and we're not mad at you." Leah stated cautiously. You remained quiet. "Can you tell me when this started?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking for a minute.

"Neither of us are going to judge you for anything you tell us. And we aren't going to tell anyone what you say, as long as you let us get you help," Lia promised, and you found yourself looking up at her, blinking back tears. Her face was open, kind, and you felt yourself opening your mouth and beginning to talk.

"It's only been like a month."

"Did something happen that caused it?" Lia questioned.

“I'm not really even sure what happened. I know I shouldn't read comments on social media but I did and I couldn't stop and all of a sudden..." you trailed off.

Both girls sat in silence for a minute, clearly thinking hard about what they wanted to say.

"We'll talk to the club psychologist, and we'll get you in therapy. We'll get you better, and everything will be fine," Leah said, trying to project confidence. You knew she was just trying to help; outline a plan for you, let you know that there was a fix.

It wasn't that easy, though. The way she said it, like it was just a matter of going to therapy, and then it would be all better, made you inexplicably angry. Clearly, she didn't understand how hard this would be.

"It's not that fucking simple Leah," you said bitingly, and both girls looked at you in surprise.

"Y/n, I know it's not-"

"No, you can't just say that. List out 2 steps and make it seem like it'll be easy. It's going to be impossible, and I don't even want to-" you cut yourself off, jaw snapping shut.

"You don't even want to what, y/n?" Lia asked, eyebrows pinched in confusion.

"I don't want to stop. I don't think I can, I don't think I'm strong enough," you said, voice cracking over the last few words. Just as quickly as it had arrived, your anger had disappeared, leaving your eyes stinging with tears.

Before you knew what was happening, Leah was crossing the space in between you, sitting down on your other side, and pulling you into a bone crushing hug. The force of it knocked the air out of you slightly, leaving you to hold tightly to the stability that Leah brought.

"I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to make it sound like it would be easy; I know it won't be," she paused. "Alright, I don't know what it will be like, because I haven't gone through this, but I promise you, you are strong enough to get better.

"And you don't have to do it alone; we'll be here, whatever you need," Lia cut in from your other side, sounding earnest. They wanted to help, so badly. It shouldn't have surprised you, how much they cared, but it did. It always did.

-----

Lia had told the truth. Every member of the team, even if they didn't know exactly what was going on, helped you in some way.

Leah and Lia had you over for dinner most nights; their support was silent, but there all the same. They didn't make a big deal of it if you finished your meal, or if you didn't. They trusted that you were trying.

Katie took your phone one day, wordlessly grabbing it out of your hands and disappearing. When she came back with it, you found the comments on all your posts limited to people you followed.

Alessia ate lunch with you, every day, no matter how long it took. She talked to you to, about her experience, but never made you feel like you had to tell her anything in return. It helped more than you could express, knowing that you weren't alone, that someone knew what you were going through.

Viv grocery shopped for you, when she figured out it was something you struggled with. She always bought too much, but she always gave you options. When things started to get easier, Viv still took you grocery shopping. It was her way of checking in without making you talk, seeing how you were doing by how overwhelmed you got.

You were partially right; it wasn't easy, but you were strong enough. And when you weren't feeling like you were, your teammates stepped up and were strong where you weren't. You could do it, you could recover. You weren't sure if you would have been able to by yourself, but it didn't matter, because you weren't.

-----

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc x reader #leah williamson #lia walti #katie mccabe #alessia russo #vivianne miedema

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bowsellie · 10 months

Text

we have chemistry

warnings: college!ellie x college!reader, stoner!ellie, chronically ill reader (not specific, just mentions of fatigue and a medical accommodation for a single room for plot reasons lol), weed usage (Ellie and reader), mild language, briefly proofread, no use of y/n minors dni! smut in 3rd section! top!ellie, some degradation, praise (reader called a good girl, pretty girl, etc., ellie told she's doing a good job), SO MUCH CONSENT WE <3 CONSENT, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), aftercare.

💗💗💗

You didn't want to be taking organic chemistry. Nobody in that class did--not even the chemistry majors. But as finals season rolled around, you found yourself spending extra time to make sure that it would at least be worth your while. Needless to say, not everybody shared the same drive.

As the clock hit 8:49am on the last class before the exam, everybody started shoving their laptops away despite the professor's continuing drone. To your right there was an extra loud snap! as the student beside you--an auburn-haired girl you'd never seen before--shut the screen with finality. You shot her a glare, gently closing your notebook as people began to trickle out.

"You're smart, right?"

You angled your face towards the sound, assuming somebody was having a side conversation close by. Instead, you found yourself face to face with striking green eyes leaning to reach your line of sight.

"Hi. Yeah, you. You're using an actual notebook and have all the fancy pens and shit, so...are you smart?"

Your eyebrows drew together slightly as you shrugged with one shoulder. "I try, I guess. Um...why?"

One corner of the girl's mouth picked up. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I've literally never been to this class before. My grade sucks. But I really don't want to retake this shit. Do you think you could help me?"

You stared at her incredulously, mentally calculating the equation of audacity and arrogance it must take to expect a complete stranger to help despite a clear lack of effort.

You opened your mouth slightly to say some variation of hell fucking no, who do you think you are anyways?, maybe you should have considered that before skipping literally every other class meeting when she stuck out her hand. "I'm Ellie, by the way. I'll pay you for helping me." When you hesitated to shake it, she added a "please".

You rolled your eyes, shaking the girl--Ellie's--hand with slightly too much force. "Fine. Whatever. Give me your number." You slid your phone across the table, already open to the contacts app, and watched as she typed.

"You're a lifesaver! Thank you..." she asked, pausing for your name. You gave it. "Thank you."

💗💗💗

Getting back to your dorm and settling into bed for a nap, you briefly texted the number now in your phone as "Ellie" with the last name "Wehavechemistry".

hey

Almost immediately, three dots popped up.

hey there. do you like my contact? lmao

i mean, we do have chemistry together. so like...sure?

no no no. i meant like...we have chemistry. wink wink nudge nudge. and my last name starts with a w so it's funny. do you get it?

...

it's funny.

yeah yeah sure. very funny. hahaha. anyways.

when did you want to come over? i'm free all weekend, and the final's monday. sooooo

oh shit

didn't realize the final was monday

ummmmmmmm how does tomorrow at 8pm work? do you have a roommate or something we need to accommodate for?

no, no roommate. tomorrow at 8pm works fine for me. see you then, ellie.

Turns out, texting with Ellie wasn't all that insufferable. She was friendlier than you expected, and every time you put your phone down to try and fall asleep you found your heart beating too fast at every notification to actually put it down.

Instead, you kept the conversation going until 8pm the next day rolled around, when instead of a text you got three loud raps at the door.

Opening it up, you saw Ellie in the same hoodie as yesterday. This time, her hair was slightly damp and she smelled like...old spice and something pungent and earthy. Did she shower already?

"Hey," you said, suddenly feeling awkward and over dressed in your jean shorts and crop top, hair still done from that afternoon. "You can come in."

Ellie grinned at you as she slid in the door. "We have a semester of schoolwork to cover. Hope you're prepared for a long night," she said.

"Trust me, I am. Did you bring anything?" You asked, looking for a bag as she climbed on to your bed.

"Nope. Not school stuff, anyways." Curious, you tossed your notebook towards her and watched as she pulled a pre-rolled joint and lighter from her hoodie pocket. "I'm assuming you don't smoke since you're like, a nerd, but do you mind if I do?"

You shook your head, dropping your jaw in false offense. "How lame do you think I am? Just because I actually go to class doesn't mean I'm a nerd."

Ellie shot you a disbelieving look, but handed you the joint anyways as you joined her on the bed. "Here, have the first hit. As a thank you for helping me out."

She lit it for you as you inhaled, passing her the weed and opening your notebook. "If this keeps you from retaining information that's not my fault. Just saying."

"Trust me, I'm so alert right now it's crazy. All of tonight is gonna be stuck in my memory for a while."

💗💗💗

The room gradually grew darker, lit only by your adjusting lamp and the last smoldering ashes of the joint as you reached halfway through the notebook.

You breathed heavily through your nose, looking at Ellie seriously. "It's so late. We're not going to finish this tonight."

As she looked up at you, you suddenly noticed how much closer you two had moved over the course of the night. Had your thighs been touching the whole time? Has her breath always been so close it's hitting your cheek? Why did she have to smell so good?

Your own breath caught in your throat as she leaned even closer to you, placing a hand so close to your leg you could feel the fabric of her sweatshirt against her bare thigh. Almost imperceptibly, her gaze flickered down to your chest, now rapidly rising and falling.

"How set do you think I am for this stupid final?" Ellie asked seriously, a rasp in her voice either from smoke or the lowered pitch.

"You picked up on everything really well, so at least the first half I think you'll do fine."

She grabbed your left hand in both of hers, causing your breath to catch again. Her eyes flickered down again, this time lingering longer. Following her gaze, you noticed the top of your bra peeking out.

"Sorry," you said, quickly adjusting your shirt to cover it as heat spread through your body.

"No, no, you're fine. Sorry for looking," she said. You looked at her face, watching as her eyes seemed to trace the shape of your shoulders and the line of your throat.

The air thickened with tension, but you found yourself not wanting Ellie to leave yet. "So, why did you take this class anyways? If you didn't want to go?"

Finally, she met your eyes. "I need a chemistry for my major. Astronomy. I thought I would like this one, but didn't realize it was a fucking 8am when I signed up. By the time I realized I wasn't going to make it up that early it was too late to drop." She shrugged. "What about you? Big chemistry fan?"

You snorted. "Not really, but I also needed a chemistry for my major. I like the 8ams, it lets me have afternoons free to sleep. That's why I don't have a roommate--medical accommodations for fatigue or whatever." She nodded along, genuinely listening.

"Well, hopefully I don't have to retake this class. Next time there probably won't be a pretty girl willing to help me out."

You smiled at her, breathing sharply out of your nose in a laugh. "We'll see what we can do."

A beat of silence washed over you before Ellie pointed towards the pride flag on your wall with her chin. "So...are you..." She began, causing you to laugh full out this time.

"Yeah. Obviously, I'd hope, but if you're feminine people tend to assume otherwise I guess." You smiled and looked at her. "Are you?"

Ellie placed a hand on her chest. "I'm hurt you had to ask. I've been trying to flirt with you since I got your number, babe."

Oh.

"Oh."

She leaned back a little. "I can cut it out, if you want. I couldn't tell if you were into it or not."

Without giving her time to continue doubting, you sprung forward and attached your lips to hers. Threading your fingers in her hair and breathing in as you pulled back.

"So...you are into it?"

"I'm a little dense, Ellie. Don't let the color-coded notes fool you. But yes. Now that I know...I'm into it."

She smiled at you with one side of her mouth again, this time leaning forward to kiss you first. Lips opening slightly, you felt her body around yours as her hands found the bed and pushed you on to your back.

Ellie pushed her tongue gently into your mouth, settling between your legs as they fell open. As you felt her weight between your hips, you groaned a little.

Whining a little as she pulled away, your eyes fluttered shut as Ellie threaded her fingers through the hair by your ear. "Is this supposed to be my payment?" you asked, leaning into her touch.

"Shut up," she said playfully, leaning in to kiss you again. This time it was more forceful, teeth bumping against teeth as your tongues chased each other. Too focused on the overwhelming sensation of Ellie's mouth on your own, you broke the kiss to moan in surprise when you felt her knee push against your core.

Using the opportunity to trail her mouth down your cheek, to your jaw, to your neck, Ellie asked "is this okay, baby?" between kisses. You nodded before remembering she couldn't see you, instead responding with a slightly choked "yes."

In response, her lips attached right behind your ear as her teeth sunk into you and she began to suck. You groaned, bucking your hips against her knee. Kindly, she began to push it back into you, laughing into your neck as you continued whimpering.

"What?" you asked. "Why are you laughing?"

Ellie pulled away from the spot she had been working into your collarbone, meeting your eyes. "You're just so pretty. Can't believe I have you falling apart for me and I've barely touched you."

Your mouth fell open at her words, groaning. Ellie's mouth found yours again, her hands reaching for your tits over your shirt. "Can't blame me for looking at these," she said between kisses, "You look so good in this shirt."

"Take it off, then," you said. You sounded braver than you felt, your stomach doing absolute flips as the girl over you quickly complied to reveal your lacy nude bra.

"I like this," she said softly. "I want it off, though. Is that okay, pretty?" You nodded. The bra was nothing special--just comfy and the right color. If Ellie liked it, though, it was now one of your favorites.

Her mouth moved down your chin and neck to attach to your left nipple, bringing a hand to your opposite hip as she sucked and licked lightly. Your hips continued to buck against her knee, which was now stationary as you essentially rode her thigh.

Chuckling a little, Ellie looked up at you and began unbuttoning your shorts. "Knew you'd be needy. What kind of thoughts are you hiding from me?" she asked, pulling off your bottoms and panties in one go when you lifted your hips to help.

You smiled a little watching her eyes attach themselves to the spot between your legs. "What can I say?" you said. "Maybe I'm a little slutty if the right girl has me under her."

This seemed to light something in Ellie, who watched your face as she brought your face down to your pussy. Close enough to feel her breath, her eyes gleamed as she moved away from your hips chasing her.

"Please," you asked, voice breaking. "Please, Ellie."

"Guess you are a slut, huh? Begging for me already." Whatever response you had was cut off by a screaming moan as her mouth attached itself to you, immediately lapping at your clit before interspersing it with longer licks. Your legs shut around her face as your hands grabbed into her hair, pulling a little as you noticed the groan she made at the pressure.

"That feels so good, Ellie." Her motions sped up at this, and you hurriedly repeated the phrase as she focused more attention on your clit. Feeling everything tighten, you wrapped your ankles around her back as your hips lifted almost completely off the bed. Still attached to you, Ellie fully moaned as you pulled her hair and came over her face.

Whimpering softly as she pulled away, you audibly groaned when she looked up at you and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. "You did so good, baby. Do you have another one in you?"

You quickly nodded, feeling words escape you. All you wanted was for her to say you did good again.

Ellie leaned into you, placing her head into the crook of your neck as her fingers ghosted lightly over your hips, stomach, and thighs. Finally, you felt them dip into the pool of wet that had collected in your cunt. Spreading the mix of saliva, cum, and arousal up to your clit and around your hole, she slowly pushed a slender finger into you. Your back arched off the bed when she began pumping it in and out, chuckling against your neck.

"Such a pretty girl. You're doing so good," she whispered. Your moans grew louder at her words and she pushed another finger in. "Good girl," she breathed, kissing your neck and jaw as she worked into you.

"Ellie," you gasped. "Ellie, please."

"What, baby?"

"Please, Ellie, please. Wanna cum."

You felt her lips quirk up against your collarbone as she added a thumb to your clit and a curl to her fingers. Quicker than you'd ever been able to get there yourself, you felt the tightening of your gut. She swallowed your moans with a sloppy kiss, gently catching your bottom lip between her teeth before soothing it with her tongue. She used her other hand to hold on to your hair at the scalp as you writhed, second orgasm shuddering through your body.

"Good girl," she said as she worked you through it. Sitting up, she wiped her fingers on your thighs before moving up up to let you rest your head on her chest. "You did so good, baby. My smart, pretty, good girl."

You whimpered a little, not prepared to speak just yet. Ellie seemed to understand and didn't push you, holding you and playing with your hair until you leaned back to smile at her.

"That was good. Thank you," you told her, leaning in for a kiss that tasted of your sweat and pussy.

Ellie broke away, moving the hand wrapped around your waist to grab something out of your back pocket. She placed it on your bare chest, tucking it between your tits.

"What do I look like, a prostitute?" you asked. "Much love to them, but..."

Ellie raised her eyebrows. "I mean, you fuck like a professional, but this is for helping me study."

You grabbed the bill and pushed it back into her pocket. "Save it for next time. We need to finish that notebook if you want to actually pass this class."

Ellie kissed the top of your head. "How does tomorrow work?"

A/N this is basically a self insert...my bad. tried to make it as inclusive to different readers as possible. let me know if there's anything I can improve on!! <3

#Ellie smut #Ellie williams smut #Ellie williams #Ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #Ellie williams x you #Ellie williams oneshot #stoner!ellie #college!ellie #she's astronomy major coded prove me wrong

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obsessedwithtoomanythings · 1 year

Text

The Terrifying Ordeal of Falling in Love with Leon Kennedy

CHAPTER 2

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader (female reader)

Series Warnings: Minor injuries, Leon teases reader a lot, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Drinking, Drinking followed by driving, DO NOT DO THAT THIS IS FICTION, Anxiety, Leon S. Kennedy has PTSD, Leon has an anxiety attack, Anxiety Attacks, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nightmares, Leon S. Kennedy has Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling, Probably incorrect medical talk, Strangulation in one tiny little scene, Reader's brother was a cop who was KIA, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Grief/Mourning, Christmas Fluff, Mistletoe, Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Arguing, Love Confessions, Looking for Alaska is mentioned, Inconvenient Love Confessions, Penis In Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Leon loves eating Pussy change my mind, Shower Makeout, romantic smut, Desperate Leon S. Kennedy, They are both desperate for each other tbh, They say I love you as they come, Scar Kissing, Enthusiastic Consent, Always pee after sex, UTI PREVENTION, POV First Person, No use of Y/N

Words: 1.4K

Masterlist

March 2004

We’re only getting older, baby

And I’ve been thinking about you lately

Does it ever drive you crazy?

Just how fast the night changes

-Night Changes, One Direction

The door opening pulls me out of the piles and piles of reports I have yet to file away, and I greet the distraction with a thankful sigh. Dr. Dalton stands in the doorway, his usual smile adorned on his features. In this lighting, it’s easy to make out the light dusting of freckles that dot across his face.

“Wanna take this one?” He asks, eyeing the stacks of paper littering my desk. I stand immediately, almost too fast, the hem of my purple scrubs catching and tugging me back closer to the desk with an unexpected huff. The doctor chuckles at my accidental antics, grabbing half the reports of my desk with a smile.

“Thanks, Dr. Dalton.”

“No problem, and hey, it’s Jasper,” he corrects, still smiling. “Oh! Before I forget, Lilian asked if you were interested in coming to dinner sometime?” Lilian is Jasper’s wife, and while I have yet to meet her, the way he talks about her? It serves as a gentle reminder of what love is supposed to look like.

“That would be fun! I’d love to meet her.” He lights up.

“Perfect, I’ll let her know. Now I wouldn’t keep him waiting, he seemed a bit irritable.” Oh. An irritated injured agent. Now I understand why Jasper offered it to me.

Striding out into the room, I adjust the diffuser silently as I breeze past, hopefully increasing the lavender scent before I look up and see him. Again. Standing in the middle of the infirmary.

“Agent Kennedy. Was hoping I wouldn’t see you back in here,” I say, disappointment etched on my features. It’s not as if I didn’t want to see him again, quite the opposite, actually. However, that desire also included that meeting not taking place in the infirmary when he’s injured.

“Was I really that bad of a patient, Nurse Nosy?” He asks, that signature smirk plastered on his lips as his arms fold across his chest, and I frown at the nickname.

“Nurse Nosy?”

“Yeah, seemed fitting after our last meeting.” His tone is infuriating.

“What do you need, Agent?” I cross my arms across my chest as well, a futile attempt at shielding myself.

“I’m having some lower back issues, so I figured I’d stop in and have someone take a look.” Agent Kennedy’s excuse seems kosher, and I gesture to the exam table with a wave of my hand, grabbing the gloves from the box.

“Remove your shirt and lay down on your stomach, Agent.” The words are devoid of any of my previous niceties, figuring he’d rather be in and out than make small talk.

“That tone’s a bit rude,” he mutters, but still doing as I asked. I turn back toward him and release a gasp. His entire back is covered in bruises in different states of healing, and I notice that the gash on his shoulder has become scar tissue already. I reach for the ice, but he notices this and quickly speaks. “They’re fine. I’ve been icing them.”

“Jesus, what the hell do they have you doing?” I ask as I move to press my hands against his lower back, right in the curve of his spine. Before I make contact, I notify him of where my hands are about to touch. He silently huffs, and I remove my hands like his back is a hot stove. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was that tender.”

“It’s not. Your hands are cold.” The words are mumbled into the space between his arms, his forehead now pressed against the folded limbs to keep his nose off the exam table. I exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna run my hands down your spine, tell me if I land on the area that’s bothering you.” Even through the gloves, I can feel the heat that practically radiates from him and I find myself wondering if he has a fever.

“There,” he mumbles as I graze over one of the bumps of his spine.

“Does it hurt when you move or all the time?”

“Mostly when I move or stretch.” I remove the gloves and toss them into the garbage with a chuckle.

“Well, I figured out your problem, Agent.” Agent Kennedy sits up, turning to look at me with pained movements as I move away toward the cabinet.

“And that is?”

“You have a pretty nasty bruise right over that vertebrae. It pulls tight when you move, hence the pain.” The explanation is simple, and I reach over and drop two little pills into his hand, along with a water bottle.

“What is this?” If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was anxiety in his voice. But I do know better.

“It’s pretty intense. You need to be real careful with it.” I fain seriousness, almost losing it with a giggle that bubbles up in my throat. “It’s regular-grade tylenol,” I whisper, leaning in close as a smile spreads across my lips before I reach for a blank form on the counter. The blonde rolls his eyes at the theatrics, looking at them hesitantly before popping them in his mouth, followed by a small swig of water. As the bottle lowers, I rest my fingers on the edge, not raising it, but preventing it from dropping any lower. “Drink. You need more water in your system if you want those bruises to heal faster.” His mouth opens in protest, but with a single glare, he seems to think better of it, drinking a few more large gulps.

“Why are you here?” He questions. The pen in my hand stills as I look at him. Still shirtless.

“Because I work here?” As if that wasn’t obvious.

“No, why here? Why not somewhere else?” He wants to know more about me? Or maybe he’s just being nice? Do I even answer? A sigh falls from my lips as I rotate, resting my back against the countertop as my hands find my pockets.

“I used to work in pediatrics. You know, taking temperatures and handing out suckers after a shot, the whole spiel.” His eyes widen. Guess he didn’t read my file then.

“That’s one hell of a change. I bet you see a lot more injuries this way,” he mutters, almost chuckling.

“I’m used to it. My brother was a cop. I used to be the one to bandage him up whenever he came home beaten to shit.” The agent doesn’t hesitate, latching onto the subtle wording.

“Was?” Damn it.

“Yeah. Was. He was killed in a hit and run 4 years ago.” I don’t need to share this with him. Something about the blue eyes he’s sporting just draws me in, and I find myself struggling to look away, knowing I should. “You can put your shirt back on, by the way,” I inform, turning away from him and those whirlpools he calls eyes. I hear a slight rustle of fabric behind me.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words are sincere, and the tears spring into my own eyes without permission. Reigning them in before turning back to him, his muscular chest and abs now concealed under a loose black shirt.

“Thank you.”

“Used to be a cop myself, it’s not an easy gig. Your brother was brave.”

“Really? You? A cop?” The revelation takes me by surprise, although it probably shouldn’t have. My eyebrows rise in shock.

“Yeah, believe it or not. Ended up here through sheer dumb luck.” The way he says ‘dumb luck’, it sounds like there’s more he wishes he could say but can’t.

“Well, then it sounds like you’re pretty brave yourself, Agent Kennedy.” The clipboard handed to him. Him signing it with a scratching across the paper. His hands, bruised knuckles and all, returning it to me.

“I would be inclined to disagree with you, but I’m worried you’ll scold me again,” he admits with a teasing smile, stepping off the table again and heading toward the door. “And hey.” My eyes find his, actually facing me this time. “Call me Leon.” Then he’s gone. Again. Stepping back into the office, I hand him the report, dropping down into my chair with an exhausted sigh.

“So how did it go?” Jasper asks with a mischievous grin. I roll my eyes.

“It went fine. Thanks for making me do that, by the way,” I tease, crumpling an old post it and tossing it at him. It misses, landing in front of him on the desk, his own laugh resounding.

“Oh, I didn’t hon.”

“What?” But he said-

“Guy asked for you. By name.”

He what?

Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy smut

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nurse-buckley · 2 years

Text

To Keep Me From Freezing

Fandom: 9-1-1 Word Count: 3,383 Pairing: Buck x Reader Warnings: Being locked in a walk in (honestly my biggest fear when I worked in a grocery store!) Minor medical exams/ mentions. Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz , @fireladybuckley @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @floralbuckleys If you want to be added or taken off my tagslist please let me know! Thank you @floralbuckleys and @firemedicdiaz for helping revamp and reading over this fic for me and @floralbuckleys for the amazing graphic. <3

‘Have a good shift.’

You smile as your phone lights up with a notification from Buck, you pocket the device with a sigh knowing it was time to start getting yourself ready to leave for work. You’d been taking on more shifts in the store trying to keep yourself busy while Buck was away for his long shifts. The added bonus of overtime was also a very good incentive.

Throwing on your store branded jacket and name tag, you grab your keys and make your way out of the door, walking the familiar route.

The shift went by as usual, stocking the shelves in your assigned aisle, helping the off customer here and there looking for various products or advice. You enjoyed the quiet of the night shifts, unlike the majority of your colleagues, fewer customers meant you could work mostly uninterrupted. Having the shelves fully stocked, neat and tidy at the end also gave you satisfaction, Buck teased you for it endlessly as you’d found yourself doing the same at home, constantly reminding him to rotate the food in the cupboards in date order.

You glanced at your watch, finding relief that you didn’t have long left of your shift. The display you’d been working on just needed a few finishing touches and then you could go home, shower and spend the day with your boyfriend. You spot your manager walking past, looking beyond stressed as she paces up and down the aisles looking for someone.

You sigh when her eyes land on you and she begins to make her way over to you. “Y/N, I hate to ask…” she begins.

“It’s fine, Elise. What’s up?” you reassure her, kicking yourself for the offer, hoping the task won’t take too long. You guessed you weren’t her first choice but you were happy to help if it meant a little more overtime.

You watch the relief wash over her face, happy you weren’t going to be another in what was probably a long line of colleagues who chose to blow her off. “Everyone’s gone home, and you know I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate but that shelf in the walk-in freezer is broken again, someone’s just left stock all over the floor. I’ve gotta go to an appointment so I can’t stay until open,” she says all at once.

“Elise, it’s fine. I’ve got it. I’ll just finish up here and then I’ll see what I can do.”

She flashes you a smile, giving you a clap on the shoulder before turning to leave. “You’re a lifesaver!” Elise tosses you the keys to the store, going over the instructions on how to lock up when you finish, assuring you’d be paid for the overtime. She continues her thank yous as she walks away, leaving you by yourself in the store.

You pull out your phone, sending a quick text to Buck, ‘might be home a little later, gotta fix something in the walk-in and then lock up. Going to need a hot shower when I get in…maybe someone to join me too?’ You sent with a few emojis.

Your phone lights up as the three dots appear, then disappear as Buck decides on how to respond. You let out a laugh as your phone buzzes with a new notification, Buck having replied with a few suggestive emojis.

Pocketing your phone once more, you zip up your jacket as far as it can go and pull on the gloves before heading to the back of the store to the walk-in freezer. You should feel slightly ridiculous at the attire, considering the climate you live in, but they were needed in the biting 0 degrees of the freezer.

The cool air hits you as soon as the doors open, causing you to suck in a deep breath. Your boss hadn’t been lying when she’d said the stock was everywhere. In fact, she probably hadn’t been entirely truthful with you. Realizing you would probably be in there longer than you thought, you decide to close the door behind you, not wanting to let in the warm air or hear the robotic voice reminding you ‘door open, please close the door,’ on an endless loop.

Unsure of where to start, you begin by shifting the stock around to give you a bit more room to work. It probably wasn’t the wisest decision to go in with only your jacket, but you knew the sooner you got in, the sooner you would be out of there and you could be on your way home. You shake off the cold, focussing on the task at hand, hoping you will be done soon.

Your fingers are numb and you’re barely able to grasp at the last few items by the time you are done, the gloves just about doing their jobs none they were damp from the melting ice from the frozen produce. With the shelf finally fixed, you make quick work of restacking the boxes of frozen vegetables and oven fries before turning to leave.

You give another pull on the handle, surprised as the motion jerks you. You were stuck. Not quite believing it, you give the door handle another hard yank, trying to keep the panic from rising further, but once again the door doesn't budge.

You try to swallow the anxiety that has risen in your chest as your biggest fear has come true. ‘The safety release, it’s there for a reason. Try that before you panic,’ you thought to yourself as you pulled on the emergency release next. Dread washes over you, the uncomfortable sensation of your stomach dropping with the realization that the door is still jammed tightly shut.

With all the strength you could muster, you try one more time, hoping it is just a small build up of ice that is preventing your escape. Your strength, however, is of no use. The lever hardly budges. You slam your hands against the freezer food in frustration as you let out a choked sob as you finally admit to yourself that you’re stuck. Turning your back against the freezer door, you allow yourself to slide down, your emotions finally taking over as you let the tears you’ve been holding back escape.

The tears only made you colder as the moisture hits the cold air. You try, in vain, to stop, hiccupping as you try to choke back the tears; but the fear and anxiety were too much.

You pull out your phone from your pocket, glancing at the top right hand corner of the screen to see what you had expected; no signal. Elise had likely already left, so you knew there was no point in ringing the safety buzzer either. With no one to call and the store empty, you choked out another sob at the realization that the morning team wouldn’t be in for another hour.

With the knowledge you wouldn't be able to get out, your mind turns to survival mode. You vaguely remember something from one of the survival shows Buck loved to watch; you needed to keep calm. Panic would only burn energy and your body needs that to keep warm and to survive.

You glance around, noting the broken down cardboard boxes you’d cleared, sitting by the door to the freezer. You place a few on the floor, hoping it would be enough of a barrier to insulate you from the cold ground. You also spot the roll of saran wrap you know is kept in the freezer to wrap the full cages and begin to frantically unravel the rolls, folding it as you went to make a makeshift blanket.

You sit down on the insulated floor, wrapping the improvised blanket over your head and around your shoulders. With the remaining cardboard, you cover the rest of your body, hoping it will stave off the chill from the cool freezer air.

Despite the makeshift shelter, you can’t help the involuntary shivering causing your whole body to convulse as it tries to keep you warm.

You can gradually feel yourself growing more tired, not sure if it's from the cold air or the effect of the long shift you’d completed, not that you cared either way.

For once, you’re thankful for the thermal socks and heavy uncomfortable steel toe cap boots, at least your feet are warmer than your hands. You know it’s not looking good for you when you begin to lose the feeling in your fingers, despite having your arms wrapped around you and your hands tucked beneath your armpits. Rubbing your hands up and down your arms helps to warm you some, the action helps to keep your blood circulating, praying to any god who would listen that you’ll make it out of this alive.

You clumsily fumble your phone from your pocket, with the hope that by some miracle you might have at least one bar of signal, but as suspected, nothing. Checking the time, you sigh, sliding the phone back into your pocket, fumbling it slightly as your fingers are no longer cooperating.

As the time passes, you feel yourself growing weaker by the minute. You can feel yourself growing more tired, fatigue sapping the remnants of your energy. Your head jerks forward, startling as you temporarily lose consciousness.

Your thoughts drift to Buck, the last you checked the time, you knew he’d be home soon, having completed his own shift. Hopefully he will realize something is wrong when you’re not at home to greet him; but the message you sent earlier about staying late left you with little hope he wouldn’t think anything of it.

The longer you spend in the cold, the less feeling you have in your fingers and the sensation only continues to spread, your arms and legs beginning to lose feeling, growing numb. It's not long before you don’t even have the coordination or energy to keep your arms moving up and down, letting them fall weakly onto your lap. You begin to slip once more, too confused to even attempt to stay awake, forgetting the importance of it. You just knew the darkness felt inviting. Comforting.

Before consciousness fully leaves you, you’re aware of a clanging sound, the familiar sound of metal against metal as the freezer door slides open; you’re too far gone to care, allowing the darkness to finally consume you.

As soon as B shift comes in, Buck wastes no time in saying his goodbyes, leaving a miserable Eddie as he prepares to pull another shift of overtime. He checks his phone, confused when he doesn’t see any messages from you telling him you were on your way home or had arrived home. ‘That freezer job must have been bigger than the manager let on,’ he thought to himself.

Buck tucks his phone into his pocket, getting into his Jeep and pulling out of the parking lot, he decides he wants to surprise you at work, not wanting you to walk home after what had turned out to be a demanding shift. By the time he pulls into the parking lot of your store, Buck can see one of the morning staff heading in early. He quickly puts his car into park and hastily makes his way towards the entrance.

“Hey! Do you mind if I come in? I’m picking up Y/N, they said they were staying late fixing that shelf in the freezer, but I can’t get hold of them.”

The young girl nods, “sure, come in. The walls in that freezer are so thick, you can never get any signal in there.”

Buck follows her inside, looking around for you. “Hey, do you mind showing me where the walk-in is?”

Your colleague nods, gesturing with a jerk of her head for Buck to follow her as she makes her way through the store, out through the ‘staff only’ doors.

An uneasy feeling passes over the firefighter as he sees your backpack against the wall, opposite the freezer doors.

Buck is broken out of his thoughts as the woman, who’d lead him out back spoke. “That’s weird.”

“What?” Buck replies, following her gaze to the red flashing light on the panel next to the walk-in.

“The freezer is running too hot,” she comments as she gives the door a tug. She sighs in frustration when it doesn’t budge. “This stupid door has been playing up all week, damn management won’t do anything about it.”

Buck’s heart sinks as he looks between your abandoned backpack on the floor and the woman before he attempts to open the freezer himself. He body shoves the woman out of the way, a little more aggressively than he’d meant to as he tries to open the door himself. It takes a few tries but with one hard pull, much to his own relief, the door opens. Metal grinding again metal as the bright lights from the freezer illuminate the dim hallway.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary at first; the shelves look in order, the boxes and cages neatly stacked. Buck’s heart feels as if it’s in his throat as he notices a familiar pair of work boots sticking out from behind a pile of stacked cardboard.

He rushes into the freezer, not caring how the chill of the cold air bites against his exposed skin, still only wearing his LAFD issued navy t-shirt. Buck frantically pulls the cardboard away, finding you nestled in the makeshift cocoon you’d made yourself in order to keep warm. He thanked god you had, as it may have just saved your life. He looks you over, noting how pale you skin is, the slight tinge of blue to your lips. Placing gentle fingers on your neck, he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relieved to feel the gentle thrum of your pulse against his fingertips.

“Y/N, can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes for me sweetheart,” he calls urgently.

You can hear his voice in the distance, wanting desperately to wake up and tell him you’re okay, but your body betrays you.

Buck watches your eyelids flutter as you try to muster the energy to come back to him.

“B-,” the name is heavy on your tongue.

“I know, I’m here. I’ve got you.” Buck’s worry grows as he gets no further response from you, swearing as he realizes the situation is quickly turning dire. He looks back towards the employee who is still standing at the doorway, shocked at the scene unfolding before her.

“I need you to call 911 now. Tell them there’s a hypothermic victim, trapped in a commercial freezer, unknown length of time, unconscious and hypothermic. Let them know firefighter Evan Buckley with the 118 is on scene. Once you’ve done that, I need you to get the first aid kit and find the emergency blanket.”

She nods her understanding before frantically pulling the phone from her pocket, shaking as she dials the number. Buck turns his attention back on you, trusting her to relay the relevant information.

He gently pulls you forward into his arms as he gets himself into a better position to help lift you to your feet, careful not to jostle you too much. Buck easily helps you up and out of the freezer, moving you away from the entrance and cool air. He places you gently down on the floor before he begins his assessment.

Buck shushes you gently as you let out another incoherent moan as you feel Buck moving your sore and stiff muscles against your will.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Buck soothes gently, “but we need to get you out of these cold and damp clothes.” He continues his reassurances as he removes the garments, leaving you in your undergarments. Your colleague returns moments later, the foil blanket in hand as she opens and shakes out the blanket, handing it to Buck and helping him to wrap it around you.

With no other immediate method of rewarming, Buck sits against the wall, gently maneuvering you to sit between his legs. He pulls you into his chest, allowing his own body heat to help. The only thing keeping him calm is the gentle rise and fall of your breathing as he holds you close.

He places a gentle kiss to the side of your head, not sure who he’s trying to reassure more. “I’ve got you.”

Buck’s not sure how long he sits there with you, but he soon finds relief as he sees the familiar uniforms of the firefighters and medics being led to you by your colleagues. He’s even more relieved when he sees the face he’d hoped would turn up. Eddie.

Eddie sets his kit and monitor down next to the pair of you, reaching around Buck to take your wrist, taking your pulse while his friend gives him the low down on your condition. The older firefighter can feel the chill coming from your skin, even through the barrier of his gloves, shaking his head as he decides his next move.

The medic next to him is already shaking out another blanket, manoeuvring around Buck to secure it around your body.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?”

A familiar voice breaks through the haze as you’re finally able to open your eyes, glancing up to see Eddie kneeling in front of you. You try to move your body, try to speak to tell him you’re okay but everything is too heavy, takes too much effort with the little energy you have. You register the weight of someone's arms around you, shifting your head slightly to see you’re in Buck’s arms.

The effort of the interaction saps what little energy you have as your body betrays you, eyelids droop, head falling back against Buck’s shoulder. You’re vaguely aware of Eddie’s calm voice, followed by a slightly more panicked tone coming from Buck, but you’re too far gone, the warmth of unconsciousness, once again, too inviting.

Eddie continues his assessment, a little more urgently, placing electrodes on your chest, attaching you to the various monitoring equipment. Thankfully, you’re blissfully unaware of the extra attention, not even feeling the sting of someone inserting an IV.

As soon as the medics are finished with their assessment, Buck gets to his feet, gently lifting you with the help of Eddie and his partner. Working together, they set you down onto the waiting gurney, working in synchronicity they get you safely tucked under more blankets and strapped in. Buck helps wheel the stretcher to the waiting ambulance, climbing in with Eddie after you.

It’s not hard to miss by the sight of your unstable vitals on the monitor and the look Eddie gives Buck that you’re not quite out of danger yet. Buck takes a seat on the bench next to his friend, keeping out of the way as he continues treating you as the ambulance pulls out of the parking lot.

Buck wants nothing more than to reach out and hold your hand, whether to reassure you in your unconscious state, or ground himself, he’s unsure. The way you’re tucked into the blankets doesn’t give him access to your hands, so instead he places a gentle hand on the bundle of blankets over your arm.

“We’re almost at the hospital, stay with me, alright?”

Eddie gives him a tight lipped smile from the seat by your head as he continues charting vitals and monitoring you. He’s unsure of how he can reassure his friend, let alone if he was going to take any of it in with the state of shock he’s in from discovering you. Eddie leans forward, clapping a hand on Buck’s shoulder, “we’ve got them. We’ll get them through this, okay? Y/N’s a fighter.”

Buck sighs, taking a breath of relief as the paramedic driving announces you’re less than a minute out. The ambulance pulls into the emergency department entrance coming to a halt, a few seconds later the doors fly open, doctors and nurses surrounding the stretcher. Buck sits unmoving, staring ahead as they take your gurney away, only moving to stand when Eddie guides him out of the rig, and into the hospital behind you.

#911 #9-1-1 #911 x reader #9-1-1 x reader #911 fanfic #9-1-1 fanfic #buck #evan buckley #buck x reader #evan buckley x reader #eddie diaz #mine #my writing

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sixhours · 3 months

Text

Chapter 4 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Jackson welcomed you with open arms.

They found you on the other side of Elk River, as you expected. It was easy to play the part of the weary traveler because that’s what you were for the six-weeks-on-foot trek from Kansas City to Jackson. When they sat you down in the interrogation room, you didn’t have to lie about the arduous journey. You turned in your weapons willingly and they didn’t ask to search your bag, which was fortunate–most of your cargo was repurposed radio equipment.

You got the impression the people of Jackson weren’t especially concerned about FEDRA’s influence. Being a thousand miles from the nearest QZ probably had that effect. What they didn’t know was that FEDRA had been setting up outposts for years; dotted along the highways, creating rough paths for delivery routes between the QZs, often cloaked as run-down gas stations or abandoned radio towers. The FEDRA network had grown slowly and stealthily thanks to people like you.

You were offered a home in exchange for work, given the pick of several empty houses that had been cleared for resettlement. You chose a light green, two-story cottage, drawn by the old-fashioned TV antenna springing prominently from the rooftop. That would come in handy.

You joined the town’s only other doctor, a 76-year-old man named Eric, at the tiny clinic just off Main Street and saw plain relief in the man’s eyes on your first day of work. It was clear they needed your experience. They didn’t have much compared to the hospitals in the QZ, but the clinic was efficient and clean.

It was a straightforward assignment and you slipped into a familiar pattern: Ask around, ingratiate yourself to the community, find the people who made the decisions, and then…listen. You’ve learned that it rarely takes coercion to get people to talk here.

~*~

You sigh and drop your pen on the workbench, rolling your head on your shoulders. It’s two in the morning, and you have to be up at 5:30 to take over for the night shift, but you already know you won’t be able to sleep. You’re not used to it yet. Jackson is too quiet, too easy, too safe . Like a mirage in the desert, you keep waiting for it to evaporate into thin air, and yet, a month into this assignment…it’s still here.

You’d told your superiors about the girl on a hunch, and now they want more information. It’s not unusual for you to be asked to dig deeper into an individual, but you’ve never targeted someone so young. You suspect she’s the kid of some high-level Firefly but you don’t ask questions, you never do.

You spin slowly around in the creaking office chair, surveying the dormered attic where you’ve set up the radio and recorder. It’s filled with someone else’s memories, the usual forgotten fodder. Old trunks of graying yellow linens, a broken bicycle, a moldy dress dummy, and dozens of boxes packed with papers and books. Occasionally you paw through the latter looking for reading material–not that you’ve had much time to read.

Tonight your eyes settle on a box near the foot of the workbench, and you begin leafing through it, flicking aside dusty exam papers and report cards, drawings, construction paper turkeys and candy canes.

At the bottom of the box, you unearth a short stack of comic books. You take them out, brushing a thick layer of dust off the top, revealing the first cover: a monstrous creature with white wrinkled skin over a bright red mouth and four sharp teeth. The next book has a glowing UFO soaring across the starry sky and what looks like a fetus in a test tube, and the third shows a ghostly smeared handprint on a window.

You wrinkle your nose but tuck the comics under your arm, thinking they might be the kind of thing a 15-year-old would enjoy.

~*~

In the days after meeting Ellie and her father, you do some research. The pair first arrived in Jackson last winter, then promptly disappeared, the circumstances surrounding their departure mysterious enough to become a source of gossip. They reappeared the following spring, but no one can tell you where they’d been.

You learn that Joel works as a contractor and patrolman. He’s surprisingly well-connected in the Jackson hierarchy as Maria’s brother-in-law. He’s respected, but not exactly well-liked; he’s too reserved for that. You know he has an itchy trigger finger and a short temper, and the prominent opinion among many in Jackson is that his daughter is one of his few redeeming qualities.

And you know you don’t stand a chance of getting close to her without gaining Joel’s trust.

You’re turning this over in your mind during your shower one morning, staring at the water-stained floor in your tiny bathroom when you have a flash of inspiration.

~*~

Joel is visibly surprised to see you at his door that evening. His eyes widen, then narrow in suspicion.

“Just wanted to check in on my patient. How’s she feeling?”

He sucks in a breath, staring down at you with a sneer like you’ve crossed some deeply personal line.

“She’s fine,” he says.

“Joel?”

Ellie pokes her head out the door and sees you standing there with the comic books in your hands. Her eyes go wide. “Is that for me?”

“Hey,” you smile. “And yeah, I found these in my attic and thought–”

The girl shoves her way past Joel before you can finish, grabbing the books from your hands. She flips through the pages, frowning. “Aww man, I was hoping it was…something else. But these look cool.”

“I think this was some sci-fi show back in the 90’s,” you shrug. “I used to watch reruns. Seemed like the kind of thing you’d be into. If you like them, let me know. There may be more up there.”

“They look gross,” she beams at the cover with the white fanged monster, and you decide that’s a mark of praise.

“You done?” Joel snaps, still glaring at you.

“Actually, I have a question for you,” you say, turning back to him. “May I come in?”

Another pause, long enough for Ellie to dig an elbow into the man’s side. “C’mon, man. She’s a doctor . What’s she gonna do, bandage us to death?”

You smirk at this, raising your eyebrows in a silent question.

Joel makes a low sound in his throat. “Fine.”

The house is warm; spartan, but tidy. Not the bachelor-pad-slash-teenage wasteland you’d expected. You step into a small living room with an overstuffed leather couch, a small fireplace, and a coffee table. It smells like pine wood and fresh coffee.

Before you can look around, Joel is standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and scowling.

“So, I heard you’re a contractor,” you begin.

He blinks, expression blank, not offering anything further.

“And I…might have a job for you,” you continue. “My kitchen has some water damage on the back wall and ceiling. The bathroom floor feels soft, and I’m worried it’s not structurally sound.”

“Jobs go through the labor committee,” he says flatly. “Take it up with them.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I know…but it’s such a small thing. I don’t want to waste the committee’s time if it turns out to be nothing. And I don’t even need a builder, necessarily, just someone to take a look at the damage and confirm that my tub’s not going to fall into my kitchen next time I take a bath.”

Another long pause, Ellie looking back and forth between you as the pause unfurls into awkward silence.

“Ugh, he’ll do it,” she says to you.

“Ellie–” he growls a warning.

“God, and you say I have no social skills,” she mutters. “Just fuckin’ do it, Joel. Go help the lady with her kitchen or whatever.”

“Kid–”

“She saved my life, right?”

Joel rolls his eyes. “She didn’t–”

“And didn’t you try to, like, shoot her?”

He glares at you before turning back to her. “I didn’t–”

You watch this exchange with fascination, the easy way the young girl neatly dances around his protests.

She smacks him lightly on the arm. “When do you want him?”

The question is so abrupt, it takes you a hot second to realize she’s asking you to name a date. “Tomorrow? I have a shift until 7 but I can take a break to show you my place.”

Joel seethes at Ellie, but she grins, entirely unintimidated.

“Fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Tomorrow. Five.”

“Great. It’s on Coburn, the third house on the left.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything further.

“Guess I’ll show myself out, then,” you say, turning back to the door. As it shuts behind you, you overhear Joel’s low growl.

“What the hell’d you do that for?”

Ellie’s laugh is the only response.

#the last of us hbo #the last of us #fanfic #joel and ellie #ellie williams #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

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