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luvwestwood · 4 months

Text

"Give Me Five" - Choso Kamo

4,591 words.

₊˚༊*·˚ warnings. nsfw (18+), ice-hockey player! choso, bestfriend's brother trope, p in v, resolved sexual tensions, foreplay, fingering, titty sucking, choso fucks you in his jersey, orgasm denial, praising, hair pulling, rough play, nsfw links (underlined), spitting kink, mirror play, feral choso

₊˚༊*·˚ notes. I absolutely enjoyed making this special request for @moonriseoverkyoto! thank you all so much for 700 followers ^^ included a link for you lovelies as a gift, hehe I hope to send more work your way soon :) thank you for the love and support this whole month!

rightful art credits to @/kmskc_f, @/yume041624, @/elcheggen, @/uoru1_juju (all on twt)!

(russian translation) - creds to @juliabelll 🩷

Goosebumps formed all over your skin as you were met with the coldness of the rink. Bits of regret filled you for being stubborn this morning, choosing to not wear extra layers. Squinting, you look around to find a close friend of yours, not too far a figure jumping up and down catches your eye.

"Hey! Over here- I'm here!" Yuji called to you in his typical, chirpy voice. Multiple heads turned to the sudden commotion, followed by another look to your direction. Embarrassed, you facepalm; whispering quiet apologies to others as you squeeze past the row of seats, making your way over.

"Yuji!- I got caught in traffic. Did I miss anything?" You fold down the seat next to him, the excited Yuji passing you another one of those generic team jerseys that he also had on. You take a good look at it before putting the garment over your head, the team colours being black and yellow.

Beside you, the boy rummages through a large plastic bag of popcorn. "Mmph- No- My brother would be happy if he knew- You were here." His eyes were wide open and alert, observing the game like a hawk.

"..Ah, it's nothing. If I didn't go, I would have been rotting at home." You giggled, knowing the real answer. As soon as Yuji sent the text, 'wanna go to my brother's game next weekend?'. You had to go. You've been dying to go. Ever since you met Choso for the first time, you made good use of every opportunity you had to see him.

He had an unforgettable face, and a dreamy body you'd sometimes, and shamelessly catch a glimpse of from time to time. But you were doubting, and unsure if the feeling was mutual. The man was busy, which drove you to think he had no time for a woman in his life.

You fixate your head to the rink in front of you. Of course, you got a hold of the best seats. Yuji being the brother of a world renowned hockey player had it’s benefits.

The same bag of popcorn lands firmly onto your lap, Yuji reaching for the soda cup underneath his foot. "Hmm, he looks pissed though. I think I know why." He leans back, index finger scratching at his head.

You furrow your brows, taking several glances around the ice. A familiar back faced you, 'Kamo' and '12' plastered onto the behind of his jersey. Dark hair effortlessly left down, not too much going on. A couple loose strands falling onto his face, Choso looked like a dream. Yuji beside you shrieks for his name, cheering his brother on.

Choso spins around, glaring at the audience. He was outraged, and you weren't sure why. He didn't dare smile, or wave. Yuji grunts at his brothers reaction, smile fading and slouching back down onto the seat.

"..Oh, I get what you mean now." It was undeniable that Choso was a different person behind his helmet, and that he took the sport seriously. He always wanted to make everyone proud. As one of the best players on his team, everyone counted on him, so there was a generous amount of pressure on his shoulders.

The screeching blow of a whistle shrills throughout the arena for half time, Choso violently shoving his hockey stick onto the ice. Plenty of teammates approach him, others choose to not get involved. Either way, he shoves past them. Everyone around you seemed confused, wondering what made him so agitated. You watched as he cursed to his higher-ups, hands strongly gripping onto the side wall.

"Every day, I fucking hate this sport more and more." Choso speaks through gritted teeth, angrily ripping off his helmet. "Piece of shit."

The staff team stands aside, ushering him out of the rink. His coach guides him over to the side bench, crouching down to give him a typical, motivational chat. Choso only puts his head down and into his gloved hands, becoming more and more annoyed by the second.

"Kamo- you know what? Bring your ass back to the locker room and give yourself five." Not knowing what to do, his coach decides it was best for him to blow off some steam. Not letting out another word, he storms off back into the locker rooms, the crowds groaning as he does so; the privacy invading camera focusing on him.

Chatter filled the air between the crowds around you. “..What happened to him? Your brother just stormed off.” You turn to Yuji, confused and filled with millions of questions.

"No clue, but I'm still a bit hungry." Yuji sighs, looking at the now empty plastic bag of popcorn. He takes a sip of what's left in his soda cup.

"..What? You are?" You look through your purse for some money. More than enough, that's for sure. A wrinkled twenty bill was tucked away inside. "Here- I'll go and get you something. It's on me."

You could've sworn that you had seen happiness twinkle in his eyes. This boy certainly loves to eat. "..Really?" He smiles, in response you nod your head up and down.

"Yeah! Just give me five, I'll be back as soon as possible." You warmly confirm the offer and he nods, shortly before you had to endure the entire process squeezing your way back out of the row.

You walk off into the tunnel leading to the outside of the arena. So many halls, and I’m not even familiar with this place. The two minute stroll led you to nowhere anyways, resulting in you doubting yourself. “…Where’s the food court?” You pout, coming to the conclusion you had probably been walking in circles this whole time.

The next long corridor you were met with was filled with doors everywhere. Loads of them. “..Ah.. have I been here before?”

Walking past each door, you look around for anybody nearby who was able to provide some sort of guidance. Hopeless, there was no one at all. Until one door you had walked past was slightly open, the light on. Maybe someone was in there? You genuinely just wanted to get your hot dogs.

You retrace your steps backwards, the faint sound of two voices coming from the room. Curious, you peeked your head through the slight gap.

"I don't think I did my best out there." It was Choso, elbows on knees on a padded seat. Heaving heavily, pulling the last strings of himself together. His coach with arms crossed in front of him. The conversation was hard to make out, but you were still able to put together some bits of it.

Clutching tightly onto your necklace, you couldn't help but feel concerned. Choso adored this sport with his entire heart, but so much he didn't have time to do anything else. Yuji always talked about how distant he could be when preparing for the new season.

The cursing stops, and before you know it, the door in front of you was wide open; framing you to look like an absolute snoop. You howl, instantly stepping back from the door frame. The same coach stood in front of you, an appalling look on his face. "Who the hell are you?! A money hungry reporter? Guards!-"

You nervously laugh, "Oh- No, no- I'm not a-", endless words were coming out of your mouth in a complete babble.

"..I know her." Choso who was watching everything unfold, tilted his head to the side, looking to see who was at the door.

The coach looks at you with an unamused expression, giving Choso a double look. His voice grows low, speaking in a discreet manner. "How about you talk it out with him. He needs it." He says before walking away from the frame, giving you a stare down as he does so.

Dumbfounded, a string of words only come out in a disoriented patter, "..I was just, looking for the.. concession stand.."

Choso on the other hand, keeps quiet. Blankly staring at the carpeted floor. His gloves and skates were off, but his jersey still on. You gulp, considering if you should speak anymore; scared that you'll only tick him off further.

Your hands rested in each of your palms, unsure whether you should step inside. "..I'm here with your brother, actually- cause he invited me to-"

"I know. I wanted you to come. I invited you, I told him to ask you." Choso speaks lowly, his tone different from when he was talking to the coach. He lets out a labored sigh, mumbling. "..Only for me to play like absolute shit,"

Processing what he had just said, it still changed your entire perspective. You didn't know how to think of it though, so you simply looked over it.

Deciding to approach him rather than standing at the door like some stranger, you close the door behind you. Recalling the coach talking about 'money hungry reporters', you didn't want to take any chances. "..I don't mean to pry, but do you want to talk about.. this?" Sitting down on the free seat beside Choso, you were careful with your choice of words. You didn't want to dig the hole any deeper. Making yourself comfortable, you set your bag away to the side and faced him.

Choso's voice was more soft, and it wasn't as stern to when he was talking to his coach. "..I just don't approve of how I'm performing lately."

Personally, you didn't know much about ice hockey. Nor did you store any valuable advice for it in your brain. It pained you to think that if you were to give him advice, you'd sound like a typical high school guidance counselor.

"Oh, well um.." You purse your lips, trying to come up with something to say. "Is it because you're.. stressed?" Still unsure of what to do, your hand slowly makes its way onto the flat of his back; slowly rubbing shapes all over to comfort him.

"Probably." Although his voice was now mellow, Choso's replies were becoming short and quick. You were afraid that this talking out was of no use to him.

Your hand stops its movements, "..Should you do something about it? Like let it out?", Choso lifts his head up, turning to you. A gulp forces down your throat at how intense he was eyeing you, your own eyes unable to hold contact.

Choso blinks, head turning away once again to rest his chin on his palm. "..I don't know how." That was his problem, Choso wasn't good at letting out his emotions. He usually bottled them up, and solved his personal problems on his own— you could almost refer to him as a stoic being.

Clearing your throat, you bite your lower lip to try and think of something. You gave him the advice, but you didn't know the method yourself. This is why I could never be a therapist.

You mentally curse at yourself, trying to come up with a suggestion that isn't so cheesy like, do what you love to do!

"..I don't know either.. Me- I guess?" A worried expression washes over your face, a mazed Choso turning his head to you for the second time.

A perplexed, questioning noise came stirred up in him. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Eyes fluttering, you were unable to provide him with another answer. What did you mean by, 'me'? Was it just another one of those moments where you let your mouth speak before you think? "..You could let it out.. on me?"

Chosos demeanor had altered, his chin peeling away from the warmth of his palm. His body sat upright as he looked at you, his lips slightly parted. You couldn't tell if he was mortified or enthralled; and you were almost begging for him to say something.

He closes his mouth and swallows some spit to nourish his dried out throat, before standing up in front of you. You feel as if your beating heart were to take over your entire body and head any second now. A lingering tension in the air so thick— not even a lumberjack could saw through it.

Choso's eyes surveying you from top to bottom, studying the features on your face— his thumb swipes across your cheek in a tender, reassuring matter. He was grateful of your offer, but he just couldn't bring himself to directly accept it.

Choso's hand slowly moves down your face, the tip of his thumb gently pressing down on your lower lip. "..You look good in our jersey," His thumb forces the rest of its way into your mouth, "..but even better if it was my own." Was this a code phrase for, 'I need to fuck you, and I need to fuck you now?' His thoughts drifted off to filthy things—like imagining himself rutting into you in his own, bespoke jersey, 'Kamo' in a dirty gold written on your back as you take him whole like a good girl.

Your breath hitches, his finger gliding over the surface of your tongue before he decides to pull it back out. Choso starts to take off the gear on his upper half, both the body pads and jersey.

It was difficult enough to keep your eyes off the now, half naked Choso in front of you. His body muscular and perfectly carved from all of the work he's been putting in for preparation, Choso was more than pleasing to look at. He tosses his jersey and gear beside you, his hands grabbing onto the flesh of your waist.

Lifting you from the seat, you wrap your legs around his torso, lips desperately locking onto each other as he switched positions. The two of you now sitting back down on the seat.

Short mewls and gasps for air leave your mouth as you started to pull your top over your head; Choso's hands roaming all over the surface of your ass. Your hands travel down his chest, your finger tips tracing over his abs painfully slow. Tongues tangling, Choso swallowing any moan he could get from you, especially after the distressingly slow period of yearning for one another. It felt like a reward.

Being the skilled man he is, his fingertips undo the clasp of your bra effortlessly. Groaning in satisfaction, eyes closed and sucking; a free hand fondling with the other.

You claw your fingers through his hair, quietly moaning as he hungrily latched onto your nipple. Arching against his bare skin, you ached to keep him close, and possibly closer. Amidst the sucking, Choso reaches for his jersey beside him, gesturing you to put it over your head. He fulfilled his wish. You proudly raise your arms up, feeling the fabric graze against your skin. It was quite massive on you, hence himself being twice your size.

Impatient, your curious hands wander off to the waistband of his pants; his safety gear already being off had made it easier. Reaching down and past his skin tight shorts, a thought evoking in you causing your hand to withdraw.

"..W-wait," You pant, "What about everyone out there?" You couldn't help but worry about those outside who would start to get suspicious. You knew how much this mattered to him.

Choso rolls his eyes. "I don't really care, they're assholes anyway. Let them wait." His lips only make its way back onto the skin of your neck, warm breath fanning down your sternum. He didn't care if everyone else were to wait outside. He had been waiting for this moment, dreaming about it - and would do anything to not miss it.

Using two hands, you possessively grab onto his jaw to keep him closer, Choso's hands cheekily moving up inside the jersey and cupping onto both of your tits. He really loves them, doesn't he?

Pulling away for another breath your lips miss his already. You hop off his lap, hastily unbuttoning and kicking off your jeans. They fly away to the other side of the locker room, Choso pulling you back into his embarace. But this time, you were facing the other way.

His fingers tug onto the hem of your panties, pulling them back until they snapped against your skin; the stinging sound echoing throughout the room.

You intently watch yourself in the full length mirror across from you two, Choso using his hands to guide your legs open; his head falling onto the crook of your neck.

Choso's hand slowly made its way down to the your panties, his fingertips moving the fabric to the side. Toying with your folds, taking his sweet time. His delicate, addicting touch giving you shivers all over. You close your eyes to indulge in the ecstasy of this moment; scolding yourself for not doing this with him any sooner.

His same fingertips circle your clit, the speed of his movements fluctuating; which resulted in you grabbing onto his bicep, your body sinking down into his lap. Choso watches you break into pieces under his touch, how you repeatedly tap on his arm- asking for leniency.

Choso leans down to your ear, his throaty voice almost sounding like he's purring. “Just relax for me, I can feel you’re too tensed up.” Wasn’t it supposed to be me who gives him advice? Why is it that the roles have reversed?

The back of your head presses deeply into his chest, Choso bringing retrieving fingers give them a generous suck before pushing them into you. His fingers curl up inside, working them in a motion that emits a squelching noise.

“C-Choso, it’s too much- please,” A whimper crawls out of your throat, the man above you cooing and hushing you.

Your hair raising pleas being the catalyst for him only wanting to do more than he already is. His middle finger taps and teases and your bundle of nerves, his strength making your tug on his wrist pointless. “..Shh, you don’t want them to hear, do you?”

You frantically shake your head from side to side, Choso grinning against the top of your head as he had you wrapped around his finger. Cock straining against his shorts, he would take a photo to make this memory last.

His gestures come to a halt and you whine, Choso had forbidden you from orgasming. "Choso!" You hiss as he glues his hands to your hips, twirling you around against the seat.

Mindfully pressing onto the flat of your lower back, he bends you forward; in need of support, your hands reached for the wooden slabs that divided the seats. His strong hands rip your underwear into fragments off your body, Choso sneering at you nagging him.

His actions in no rush, the same hands that were cupping your pussy now feeling down your back, Choso sheepishly grinning at this fresh new view, a degree of gratification fills him for the hundredth time at the sight of 'Kamo' and '12' plastered on your back.

You reach behind you, barely tapping your fingers on Choso's pelvis to grab his attention. He leans down to hear what you had to say, the imprint of his cock imprisoned by his shorts pressed against your bare pussy.

“..Let it all out, I promise I’ll be okay.” Your hand snaked behind his head, fingers combing through his hair one last time. His body heat glossed over your behind, a position so intimate.“Just tell me if I’m hurting you, alright?”

Nodding in approval, Choso withdraws into his old position. Grabbing for his girthy cock out of his shorts, he groans as he jerks it ever so slightly. Forming an orb of spit on his tongue, letting it fall directly onto his length. He doesn't waste anymore time to slide it in, the objective of not hurting you still at the back of his mind.

You let out a long, awaited whimper that broke out into a pained sniffle, his entire length stretching you out. Your anchoring onto the wooden panels only grew stronger, Choso stilling in you for a few moments. The two of you create a symphony of guilty satisfaction, Choso himself unable to process that you let him inside of you; luckiest man in the world, he thought.

His grip on the plush of your waist transition into a soothing massage, “..Are you okay?” Concerned, he regards your strained noises.

Tears well up in your eyes, Choso rubbing his hands up and down your back. “..I-I’m fine.” You replied, managing to form some words. Even though it hurts, you didn't want him to stop. You wanted this as much as he did. He inhales deeply, grunting as his hips stroked into you slow and deep. He took you in like a work of art, savoring every minute, second with you.

“Fuck, Choso- just go faster will you? I know you want to.” You choke out, words dying in your throat. Choso obeying the green llight, you felt him grab and twist onto the fabric of the jersey behind you, his hips snapping into you at a faster pace.

A cacophony of skin slapping and moaning echoed throughout the room, Choso brings his hand down to toy with your clit; heightening your stimulation. Your entire body jolting with each of his thrusts, his little praises like 'good girl', and 'you're taking me so well' making your sex pool like mad.

Broken and choppy curses slip past your wet llips, Choso letting go of the jersey and fixing his grip on your scalp, pulling your head back towards him.

His hand sneaks underneath your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact as you furrow your brows up at him. Your mouth stays wide open, moans no longer heard coming out from it. "Look at me baby," lids shut at the colossal pleasure, Choso needs not to repeat himself; but he does. "I said, look at me," Hauling your eyelids up, a vision of Choso glaring down at you from above— he wasn't the same person as the one half an hour ago.

Choso drops yet another ball of spit into your mouth, patting on the bottom of your chin telling you to shut and swallow, letting out a throaty sound in approval.

Clawing his fingers back into your scalp, he pushes your head back down. His leg lands onto the seat beside you, his thrusts brutally drilling into you deeper than before; Choso definitely rearranging your guts. You let him use you, so he did exactly that. Hell- if you two had a bed, just make sure you have enough saved for a new one the next day.

Makeup was unfortunately ruined from tears and spit, your hair no longer in perfect style from all the grabbing. His heavy balls relentlessly slapped against your clit, Choso huffing quietly.

He takes a hold of your two wrists, prying you from the comfort of the seat and commanding you to stand. Hypnotised, you watched everything unfold; Choso still holding onto your arms behind you as he continued to rut into your hole like a mad man.

Your cheeks were stained with tears, all sorts of unimaginable feelings stirring in the pool of your stomach; Choso already grows bored of the position. He swiftly lides you off his cock, turning you around for the fifth time today so he could see your beautiful face one more time.

Unsure of what was to happen next, you tiringly wrap both of your hands around his neck as he cupped onto the surface of your ass, lifting you up and sinking you down onto his cock. Your head rests against his chest in exhaustion, Choso’s anchored grip slowly loosening, choosing to move into the inside of your legs. Short paced breaths and eyes shutting at the new sensation of him fucking up into you. It was light work to him, carrying you was no problem at all.

Pushing both of you against a nearby wall, your back almost slid up and down the cold panels as Choso grew feral, his cock bullying but thoughtfully kissing your cervix at this unforgiving pace.

You fail to keep your eyes open, body taken over by bliss as he bottoms into you, convinced you had lost your voice. Choso could feel your silky juices move down his shaft, walls constantly clenching around around him.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes,” Choso orders, your hands hysterically tapping onto his shoulders to let him know you were going to snap. Your face winced in pain, you knew that you were going to have a hard time walking for the next week or two.

“..C-Choso,” you choke out, a threshold about to be met as the unfamiliar coil in your stomach urges to let loose.

His thrusts deepening to push you over the edge, cock sloppily moving in and out of your hole; his entire length coated with you.

“Just let it out— let it out.” he desperately whimpered, your mouth forming an ‘o’. His words like a spell, something that will haunt you for days coming. Choso’s eyes faux-sympathetically looking into yours that were blinking like mad as he felt your legs shiver in his grasp.

You shatter and cry at the orgasm that washed over you, bringing yourself to look at his cock withdrawing from your puffy, used cunt. Choso's jaw clenched, beads of white endlessly form at his tip, his balls twitching at the same time your gummy walls pulsed and throbbed around him.

He doesn’t let go of you, bodies still overheating and glistening from sweat. Instead he carries you back to the seats, sitting you down like a fragile porcelain doll. “My legs,” your voice raspy from the endless moaning, “..they’re so sore.”

Choso leans in for a meaningful kiss, your cock-dazed smile forming against his lips. His hands kneading your thighs. The locker room smelled of filthy, sinful sex—but that will just air out in no time. “..You need me to walk you out?”

“Choso, you can’t. There are cameras everywhere.” You grab your purse off the ground, in search of your phone. Almost forty five minutes have passed, your eyes widening. “Huh?! How long have I been gone for?"

He attempts to wipe the stained carpets, a faint white still engraved. Atleast he tried. “Pussy too good I forgot where I was, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Not funny, Choso. I need to get back to your brother!” Scurrying around the room, you pick your jeans off the ground, Choso whistling behind you causing you to turn your head,

“..Guess these aren’t of use to you anymore?” He holds the fragments of your panties up, torn to pieces, the dismaying mempry angering you as you were reminded of it for the second time.

You snap at him, Choso not taking any inch of you seriously. I mean, he literally had you whimpering, fucked you in his jersey and melting under his touch less than five minutes ago. “You fucking owe me a new pair.”

“I’ll buy you a hundred.”

You hurry out into the lobby, looking around for Yuji. Not having time to fix your hair, you almost scream as you walked past a reflection of yourself, mortified at how you looked. It’s okay… he wouldn’t suspect anything, right?

A familiar coral haired person was lounging at the sofas down the end, of course that had to be him. “Y-Yuji? is that you?” The head turning to your direction, it definitely was him; his eyes were shocked to still see you alive and standing before him.

You sit on the free armchair beside him, “..I’m so sorry, something just.. happened.” Nervously smiling, you wipe the residues of dried spit off your chin, your head stuck in one direction to avoid looking at Yuji in the face. Airing yourself with an invisible fan, you look away in all sorts of directions.

“It’s cool, the game got cancelled anyways- and I got my hotdogs.” He points to the four empty wrappers on the table in front of him. Yuji leans back against the sofa.

“..Uh— ..Is that, Choso's jersey?"

Fuck.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24 all works are owned by me, and originally come from my own head. please do not re-post on a third party platform without my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ as always, thank you for the love on each and every one of my posts! it means the world to me, ily guys sm!!🎀🩷

[luvwestwood masterlist]

#choso kamo smut #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #choso kamo #choso x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso

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arlana-likes-to-write · 1 month

Note

Can you do a Natasha x fem Reader based off wildest dreams by Taylor Swift? The idea I had was something like R and Nat having feelings for each other and then end up kissing or something a one of Tony’s (Tony is R’s dad) parties. They end up have a secret relationship because R is scared to come out to the team and especially her dad. But they end getting caught by Thor who accidentally tells Tony and the team at a dinner or something. But there’s a happy ending

Note: I do apologize but I kind of changed the ending on this but I do hope you enjoy it.

Warning: secret relationship, reader is closeted for the beginning, kissing, angst with a happy ending, drinking, self-doubt, miscommunication

Relationships: Natasha x Stark!Reader, Tony x Pepper x Reader (platonic)

If there was one thing about your father, he could throw a party, and most of the time, you had no idea why a party was happening. You knew the team returned from a mission. They saved the day, were the heroes, and now they were drinking and partying. All expect Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow was nursing a Long Island iced tea outside the party. She was wearing a black mesh jumpsuit. The top was sequined with a deep v-neckline and long sleeves. It was a showstopper. Every head seemed to turn towards her but ignored every advantage, man or woman.

You sighed, stood up from your spot at the bar, and pushed your way through the party to the outdoor balcony. You felt her eyes on you as the door closed behind you, and the sounds of the party became muffled. She would come; you just had to wait. So you walked to the patio set in the corner and sat down.

The cool summer air caused goosebumps to form on your skin. You enjoyed the cooler weather, and the sun blasted the city during the day. It recorded high temperatures this year. “You are going to get sick wearing just that,” you knew she was smirking without looking. You were more focused on the city skyline.

“Come keep me warm then,” this time, you looked at the Russian as she walked over to you. She sat down next to you, her thigh barely touching yours, but you felt the warmth she gave off. This was the nature of your relationship with Natasha. Constantly flirting, teasing touches, and longing looks at one another. That was it. It was as if you were both too scared to take that final step. “Are you not enjoying the party?” You turned to face her. Your arm bent on the back of the couch, and you rested your head in your hand. “The talk of the town is that you’re a hero.” You were caught off guard by the bitter laugh that escaped from her, and she sipped on her drink. You frowned.

“I’m not a hero.”

“I think you are,” she said, placing her hand on your thigh. You were wearing a skirt, so you enjoyed the feeling of her hand on your skin.

“You look good,” she said, changing the direction of the conversation. Did you wear this for me?” You rolled your eyes but placed your free hand on top of hers.

“No,” you deadpanned. “I don’t want to inflate your ego, Romanoff.” She smiled and moved closer to you. You thought she was going to kiss you. Instead, she rested her head in space between your neck and shoulder. “Nat,” your voice shook. “What are you doing?” She hummed, and the vibration caused a shiver to travel down your spine.

“I was thinking about kissing you,” she pulled away, and you felt the warmth of her breath on your lips. “What do you say to that, pretty girl?”

“I’d say, what are you waiting for?” Her lips were softer than you expected. Her hand moved to your cheek, keeping you close as the kiss depended on it. She ended it. Her lips were red, and her cheeks were rosy.

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered. “Drive out of the city, away from the crowds.” You have never moved so fast in your life.

Now, your relationship with the Black Widow has changed. The longing looks were still there, but the flirtatious behavior was replaced with stolen kisses when the team wasn’t looking. Too often, Natasha pushed you up against the tower’s walls and kissed you as her life depended on it, always ending before the team caught you. No one knew, especially your father. For six months, Natasha and you kept your relationship a secret. Even when you knew Natasha wanted to show you off at every party, cuddle with you during moving nights, or claim you as hers. It was you. You weren’t out yet to Tony, and the man was trying to set you up with every eligible bachelor in the city. You were so scared he would be disappointed in you. So you hid, and you pretended it wasn’t kissing you.

You woke up to an empty bed, and the spot Natasha had slept in the previous night was cold. There was the lingering scent of her perfume on her pillow. You had an apartment a little away from the tower. Tony told you often that you could live in the tower, but you liked the sense of privacy. It was also the perfect place to be with Natasha, away from the team. You could be all over her, which you were last night, and a fight broke out.

You were needy and missed your girlfriend, which caused you to be attached to your girlfriend like a koala. She laughed it off at first, poking fun because she was usually the one that constantly wanted to be close to you. You grumbled something about being unable to hug her all day, which was true. You were both so busy the only time you could touch her was at night or early morning before your busy schedule whisked you away from one another. As the night carried on, you noticed a shift in her mood. With Natasha, it was up in the air on how to deal with it. Sometimes, she was honest and told you the truth. Other times, she bottled everything up and shut down.

You decided on the direct approach and asked what was bothering her. She was quiet for a moment and focused on the Bond movie that was playing. It was her night to pick, so you weren’t surprised when you returned from the bathroom to see it queued up on the TV. ‘Are you ashamed to be with me?’ she asked.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time she’s asked you this question. As soon the question was asked, you knew the direction was headed. Over the past six months, it was the only thing you fought about. Hurtful words were said on both sides. She was tired of being your secret. Even though you fought about it before this time, it felt final. She was almost fed up waiting for you.

You sat in your bed and stared at the clothes she had left in your room. Most of them were folded neatly in the space you made for her in the dresser or hung up in the closet next to yours. These clothes were from two nights ago when you ripped them off your girlfriend. You slumped back in the bed, pulled Natasha’s pillow over your face, and inhaled your scent. You needed to get out of bed, but the weight of the fight and waking up to Natasha being gone was soul-crushing. Sighing, you force yourself out of bed to take a quick shower.

You were part of the lead team of scientists at Stark Industries. A position you had to work your ass to get the position and prove to everyone you were more than qualified. You heard the whispers and saw the dirty looks, that everyone believed you got the job because Tony Stark is your father.

Braiding your hair, you entered your kitchen and found a note on the counter. You recognized the handwriting of your girlfriend. ‘Your breakfast smoothie is already blended, and I peeled some hard-boiled eggs. Maybe we can do lunch if you aren’t busy. Forever and Always.’

It was a saying the two of you said. Instead of ‘I love you’, it was ‘Forever and Always.’ Natasha found it easier to say that than the L-word. You kissed the note and placed it in your pocket. Still, your heart felt heavy.

There was no time to see Natasha between meetings, running experiments, and writing reports. You were exhausted and missed your girlfriend. It wasn’t until 3:30 when you saw her. She was in the kitchen, cutting her sandwich into triangles. You always found it funny, but she claimed it tasted better. Your eyes locked onto hers pointed to the side hallway and walked over there. With your back against the wall, you waited. You heard her footsteps as she stood in front of you. “Hi,” she smiled.

“Hi,” you responded and kissed her cheek. But you refused to move away, basking in the warmth she always gave off. You put her arms around her neck and hugged her. Her hands found their natural place on your waist. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m just so scared.” You felt her nod and gently pulled back so she could face you. Your arms remained tightly around her neck.

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, too. Forever and always, I promise.”

“Forever and always,” you whispered against her lips. She kissed you softly. In hindsight, getting lost in how Natasha kissed you was a bad idea. You bite her bottom lip, and the gasp she releases lets you deepen the kiss. Her grip on you tightened, and she pushed you back against the wall. You moaned, and it only seemed to spur her on. Kissing Natasha was everything. Every time she kissed you, it took your breath away. Gently morning kisses or rough, passionate kisses against your kitchen counter. You could spend your entire day in her arms and her lips on yours. “Ah, Lady Stark, oh-” you jumped at the sound of the God of Thunder’s voice. His eyes flickered to you and Natasha, whose arms were still around you. “How long has this been going on?”

“6 months,” Natasha answered. You’ve lost your ability to speak. The god smiled.

“Very well. I will find you later,” he winked at you and returned the way he came. Thor knows you thought. Someone on the team caught you. It was only a matter of time before it got back to Tony or Pepper. The Avengers were superheroes, super soldiers, and trained spies, but they were horrible secret-keepers.

“Sweetheart,” you snapped out of your thoughts by Natasha’s voice. “Are you okay?” You nodded, unsure if you were.

“I have to tell Tony and Pepper before it gets back to them through someone else.”

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” you cut her off before she could finish her question. You desperately wanted her to be there but needed to do it alone. You were the reason your relationship was hidden for so long. “Sorry,” you ran your hands over your braid. “I have to do it alone,” you placed her hand over her heart. The steady beat calmed you down. She put her hand over yours and kissed you softly. The kiss was so gentle it felt like a goodbye. You kept your forehead against hers and closed your eyes. There was so much you wanted to say.

What would your last request be? Would you tell her to remember you? She took you to the beach for a date. You stood in a nice dress and stared at the sunset, red lips and rosy cheeks. ‘Remember me there,’ you thought. ‘Say you’ll see me again even if it’s in your wildest dreams.’

“Forever and always,” you said again.

“Forever and always.”

You promised Natasha that you would find her as soon as you were done talking with Tony. Luckily, you had some paperwork to give him, so the visit had a more tangible reason to see him. You opened the door to his office as a dart was thrown, and it hit the door frame. “Oops, sorry, kid,” you rolled your eyes and pulled the dart out of the wood.

“For you,” you dropped the pile of folders onto his desk. “We just need you to verify our numbers are correct, and then we can move on to the next phase.” He groaned dramatically and flopped down into his chair.

“You know I promoted Pepper to CEO, so I didn’t have to deal with paperwork.” Your mother was a saint. You chuckled and aimed at the dart board. You threw it and hit the bullseye.

“It’s your project,” you said, walking over to the board and pulling out the darts. We don’t want another Ultron,” you saw him roll his eyes.

“You make one robot that goes rampant, and it’s all everyone talks about,” you laughed and threw another round of darts. “Do you need these back now?” He pointed to the files.

“No,” you sat in the chair and crossed your legs. “Can I not spend time with my sperm donor?” You ducked at the stress ball he threw at you. He hated it when you called him that, but you loved getting a rise out of him. “Actually,” you folded your hands. “Can we talk about something?” He sat up in the chair. It was rare for you to see the man so seriously.

“Are you dying? Pregnant? Did you kill someone?”

“No!” You laughed and scratched the back of your head. “I uh shit,” you weren’t sure why you were so nervous. You knew the man was an ally. Stark Industries was at every event during Pride.

“Angel,” he smiled. “You can tell me anything, and I won’t be upset.” Angel was the name he called you since you were a baby. You were born very premature and got sick so easily that the doctors weren’t sure if you were going to make it. But you recovered.

“I’m gay,” you whispered. “I’ve known for a while,” you said before he could say anything. “I’ve been so scared to tell you.” He stared at you, blinking a few times, but remained silent. “Right, sorry for wasting your time. I’ll go.” You stood up quickly, knocking over the chair. You left it on the ground and stumbled out of the office. You needed to get out. You needed to go.

Natasha was getting worried. She thought it was taking a lot longer than she thought it would. She asked the AI where Tony was, and the Black Widow walked into a shit show when she entered his lab. Tony was frantically moving holograms around, but they flashed red, and he would try again. Pepper was no better. Her phone was pushed against her ear, and she was pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Are we being attacked?” She asked, making her presence known. Tony glanced at her before focusing back on whatever he was doing.

“I don’t have time for whatever stupid prank Yelena or Peter pulled. Whatever they broke, just order another one,” he began to work again. I have to find her.” He said it mostly to himself. It was a mumbled and throwaway comment, but Natasha heard it. ‘I need to find her,’ Tony said. Natasha grabbed Tony by the shoulder without thinking and threw him into the chair. She steadied him so he wouldn’t fall over.

“What did you say to her?” She asked, crossed her arms, and took a small step back.

“How do you-” he squinted his eyes at her. “Look, I didn’t say anything to her.” He threw his hands to the side. It clicked in Natasha’s head. She knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. You took his silence as rejection. “Now move so I can find our daughter.” But Natasha stayed.

“Where have you looked?”

“FRIDAY can’t find her,” Pepper ended her call and walked over. “I’ve called some of her favorite sports, but no one has seen her.”

“She’s either turned off her phone or blocked me from finding her.” Natasha always believed you were more intelligent than him, but she knew where you would run off.

“I know where she would go,” Natasha turned on her heels to leave.

“Wait,” Tony called out. His frantic voice caused the Black Widow to stop. “Why do you know so much about her?” Right. If you took off, you wouldn’t have told him. Slowly, Natasha faced him.

“I’ve been dating her for six months,” she said. “So I will find her and make sure she’s safe.”

You knew your time was up when you heard the quiet chime of the front door. You waited until strong arms circled your waist and pulled you flush to her chest. “Found you, my love,” you smiled and chuckled. Of course, she would be the one to find you. She was the only one who knew about this place. “Tell me about this painting.”

You told her a story that captured the emotion of the painting in front of you. You stood in a small art gallery way past closing hours, but the owner gave you the key. You were an investor here, meeting the owner in Central Park while they were painting. The art gallery was small, and it showcased local and small artists. It was peaceful, and the place gave your mind a break. You kept the gallery a secret, protecting your space from the crazy personalities of the Avengers.

“Is he mad?” You finally asked. Natasha shook her head and kissed your shoulder.

“No, he’s worried he couldn’t find you,” she chuckled softly. “I may have told him we are dating.”

“Oh,” you whispered. You felt oddly okay with him knowing, even if he wasn’t going to accept you as you were. “Where is he?”

“Well, I told him to stay at the tower,” Natasha sighed. “But he’s stubborn, and I caught him and Pepper following me.” You laughed, not surprised that Tony Stark couldn’t follow a car without getting caught. You spun around to face your girlfriend, arms around her neck and hugged her tight.

“Forever and always,” you whispered.

“I love you too.” The three-word statement shocked you and made your stomach flip. Your heart filled with butterflies. You were happy and terrified but mostly happy.

You were startled when you walked out of the gallery, and your dad bulldozed into you. His arms wrapped around you tightly. “I love you,” he said. “I love you and support you even if you have questionable taste in women.” You let out a watery laugh and wiped away your tears.

“Thanks, Stark,” Natasha rolled her eyes with a small smile on her face.

“I will support you. I will always want you to be happy,” Tony continued.

“We love you no matter who you love,” Pepper said, getting out of the car and joining you. “No matter what.” You collapsed into your parents’ arms and cried against them. A weight was lifted off your chest, and you felt free.

The next Stark Party, you were sitting on the couch. This time, Natasha’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist and your hand on her thigh. It seemed second nature that the two of you were attached at the hip. No one batted an eye. When looking back at it, you seemed a little silly. But now you were free to live your life to the fullest.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x stark!reader #tony stark x pepper potts #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow fanfiction #inspired by music

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jedi-luca · 11 months

Text

Something’s in the Air - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk (graphic image inside)

Summary: Natasha returns from a mission after being exposed to a chemical that makes her extremely, extraordinarily feral for you.

Reader has a penis; no pronouns used.

Part 1 can be found on @dirtyvulture page

3 Hours Later

“We should probably get out of here.” You chuckled looking at the destroyed hospital bed before looking back at your girlfriend. She was looking at you in a way that simultaneously scares and turns you on. “Nat?” You croak feeling her clench you.

“Oh we’re not going anywhere.” Natasha used the sheer power of her thighs to straddle you. “I need you Y/N. So badly it’s like I'm in pain without you inside of me.”

“Babe, we've been going at it for like 3 hours now. I want breakfast and sleep.”

“I need you so badly it hurts.” She mewled, rocking her push against your flexing abs.

“Maybe Dr. Cho has an antidote to this exposure.” You say, hating the thought of her in pain. “Give me a chance to get hard again. Get on my face.” you say already pulling her by the hips.

Natasha eagerly turned around lowering her hips. She needed to squirt and when she relented control she would be shaking, eyes rolling to the back of her head, Russian words fleeting her lips because she can’t even distinguish English from Russian. She shook with anticipation, feeling your lips kissing her thighs.

You swiped your tongue causing the ex-assassin to let out a long moan as she felt your lips wrap around her bud. You enter her with two fingers making her gasp. Her hips were rocking roughly against your mouth and fingers. You kept one hand against her abdomen.

Your voluptuous girlfriend looked down at your semi. Her mouth salivated. She was embarrassed to say she definitely drooled a bit on you before lifting your member, and fully stuffing you down her throat.

You groaned, sending vibrations against her clit causing Natasha to moan. Sending the same vibrations with you down her throat. She could feel your abs flexing and your toes stretching. It always made her unbelievably wet when she made you moan or twitch. She gasped feeling your fingers tapping inside of her. Winding up her coil in a way only you know how.

Meanwhile outside the door of an Un-soundproofed room

“Bruce you know how I feel about bringing your work in here.” Steve furrows his brows walking into the kitchen seeing Bruce and Cho typing on their laptops. Test tubes along the table.

“Yeah Natasha and Y/N are occupying that area at the moment.” He chuckled, taking his glasses off looking at a giggling Cho.

“Well then just move them!” Steve huffed before turning on his heel.

“Cap, I don't recommend going that way.” Cho and Bruce said in unison.

“Why?” He huffed.

“Natasha was exposed to a hydra chemical.” Doctor Cho said with a sigh. “We’re trying to find an antidote now.”

“Oh well I’ll go check on her.”

“Cap, Y/N is with her.” Bruce said, looking at him in a way Steve couldn’t comprehend.

“Oh good, I needed to talk to Y/N anyway.” He smiled Before Cho or Bruce could say another word Steve was going up the stairs and down the hall.

“This should be good.” Tony cackled watching him go up as he brought his team an iced coffee and a boom box that dummy was carrying.

Steve stopped in his tracks the moment he heard the moaning and ran back down. “They’re doing it.” He said cringing as running past them.

“Oh I can’t make this shit up.” Tony laughed before blaring some AC DC.

Back in the medbay

“Y/N.” She breathes out, popping you out of her mouth suddenly. Natasha’s mouth went agape feeling a great pressure in her core before feeling herself release into your mouth like a waterfall. “Oh my God yessss.”

Natasha moved away from your mouth and gripped you with her hand.

“Fuck baby.” You both moaned as she slid her velvet walls down your shaft.

“You feel sooooo good.” Natasha gasped, placing one hand on your chest and the other on your thigh. Using momentum to rock her hips. “So good, so good!” She chanted rocking and rocking until she quivered above you. Squelching sounds of your combined fluids filled the room, and the pristine crisp smell of clean chemicals was long gone. The only smell was the scent of sex.

You caught her before she fell against your chest. You could see tears in her eyes as her pussy convulsed around you. “I love you so much.” She cried against your forehead.

“I love you too baby. So much.” You say softly in her ear before taking her wrists behind her back with one hand. The other hand wraps around her throat as you thrust up.

“Yeah! Ooooh!” She lets out a throaty groan trying to meet your thrusts. Wiggling and circling her hips. She was so wild, more so than when you were both stuck on an island for 3 weeks.

You moan pulling out quickly causing Natasha to clench around nothing. “No back inside.” She muttered trying to grip you, but you sat up with her in your lap. You slip back inside of her.

“Yes!” She cries out gasping for air kissing you with both hands roughly before breaking gasping for breath. She chanted yes as you suckled on her neck her breathing picking up and her hips rocking faster and faster.

Natasha hooks her arm around you moaning as she arches back, throwing back her hair. “Fuck.” She groans using her other arm to help with momentum. You trail your lips from the nape of her neck down to her rosy nipples. Squeezing and sucking leaving marks in your wake.

You can feel the pressure inside of her. She's so close. Her clit is hitting your flexed abs with every rock she makes. Your hands felt like they were everywhere and your lips and tongue took a hold of her. The red head wrapped both arms around you squeezing you as she came apart. You could feel the rush of liquid and drops of her tears against your skin. “Ooh fuck ohhh Y/N it feels so good!” She cried against your neck. “It feels - so fucking good.” She moaned humping you over and over again as her orgasim continued.

You grunted pulling out before you exploded.

“Fuck Nat!” You say throwing her around until she was on all fours dripping like a fire hydrant. She loved when you were at this stage almost like a caveman. She loved how tiny she is compared to you. She looked back looking at the way your muscles gleamed with sweat. The veins running down your abs to your thick cock made her impossibly even hornier.

“You’re so insatiable.” You pant, sweat running down your body.

She whined.

“Get back inside.” She whimpered against the pillow with her ass up in the air.

“Don’t be a brat baby.” You say gruffly slapping her ass before palming her ass cheeks.

She whined. “Please keep going, don't stop.”

You slap her ass a few times before sheathing yourself deep inside of her.

“Yes, yes, oh Y/N, don’t stop! Don’t ever fucking stop.” She moaned, meeting your harsh thrusts. She could feel the tension in her shoulders begin to melt away when you held her back letting your hands massage her.

You felt Natasha reach below her body to massage her clit meeting your thrusts as you railed into her.

“You like that baby?”

She groans in response, drooling on her pillow as her pussy convulses around you. You slap her ass at her lack of response. “Yes! Oh so much! So much. I’m so close.”

You began drilling your hips faster and faster against her favorite spot.

“Just like that! Just like that! Don’t stop! Don’t stop im so close! Im so close.”

You could feel your own release nearing. You grunted drilling faster and harder than before making your girlfriend speak in Russian begging for you to keep going.

“Oh fuck Nat this is it baby I can’t hold it anymore.”

“Let go baby, fill me up.” She spoke in her mother tongue. “I'm so ready.” you felt her convulse knowing she was near and so were you.

You groaned shooting ropes and ropes of your seed deep within her womb. “Fuck!” You both moaned loudly when the door opened. You were too busy twitching inside Natasha to see Maria walk inside with two syringes in her hands.

“Go to sleep.” Was the last thing you heard the woman say before you and Natasha pass out.

40 hours later

You and Natasha stirred awake at the same time.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” You grinned sleepily as you brought her over closer to you.

“Hmm, good morning my love.” She giggled feeling you pepper her face with kisses.

“It’s actually 9:30PM on a Tuesday evening.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimed in.

You and Nat look at one another with wide eyes as the sex marathon comes to mind.

“Would you like to hear a voice memo from Maria Hill?” F.R.I.D.A.Y. Asks.

“Yes.” You sighed.

“Natasha you were exposed to sex pollen which is why you two were having a sex marathon in the medbay which is destroyed by the way. I took you both off missions for the rest of the week. Rest up bitches.”

“The team is going to hold this over our heads for years.” Natasha groaned.

“…Eh…Worth it.” You shrugged, laughing when she smacked your chest before giggling herself.

“You’re terrible.”

“But you love me.” You shrug, smirking.

“I do.” She sighs snuggling into you. Her ass wiggling against your crotch.

“Watch it babe don’t start a fire you can’t put out.”

“My ass isn’t sore. Wanna make it sore?” She smirked looking back at you.

This woman was going to be the death of you.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x g!preader #@dirtyvulture

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somber-sapphic · 4 months

Note

HEY could you please do a jj and emily x reader sickfic 🫶

Cabin Fever

〖Summary: You're sick and are stuck on a jet.〗

〖Word Count: 1.4k〗

〖Pairing: Jemily x Sick Reader〗

〖Notes: Criminal Minds is my current obsession so I am perfectly happy to write this. In the future though if people throw in a prompt or two I can probably create a fic that's more suited to what you want :)〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You had started to get sick two days into the case and were incredibly glad that this Unsub had been so easy to catch. With enough cold medicine and tea, you’d been able to stave off the worst of your illness for just long enough to put a killer behind bars.

Your girlfriends had noticed. The whole team had noticed. Even Garcia had been able to hear your congestion over the phone. You hadn’t really been trying to hide it. You were one of those people who got mushy when you got sick, you wanted to be held and taken care of.

Had you been home you would have jumped at the opportunity to be coddled but you were working and with work came a more professional relationship with your girlfriends, even if you were sharing a room. But with work came responsibility and all that.

Now at least you got to go home. You didn't have to look at the faces of dead people or interrogate psychopaths, you could just relax. The box of tissues in front of you was quickly running out with a small pile forming in a plastic bag beside you. Next to the box was a bottle of hand sanitizer, mostly there for Spencer’s peace of mind. The book you were reading had been set aside in favor of an audiobook and headphones, it was just too difficult to focus on the blurry words.

You’d been given occasional worried looks from the team and Hotch had set a mug of tea down in front of you about an hour ago, but you hadn’t touched it. As nice as the warm liquid would probably feel on your throat you just couldn’t do it. The idea of putting anything into your body made you nervous. It was normal for you when you were sick. Plus, you hated tea.

JJ, noticing that you were getting worse, stood from her spot on the couch beside Emily and walked over to you with a soft warm smile on her face. That was a common expression when she was worried but trying to act like she wasn’t.

“Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?” she asked, slipping into the seat beside you. You glanced over with glassy eyes and offered a tiny smile, desperately wanting to be anywhere but in the air. The pressure on the plane was wreaking hell on your sinuses, your head and face throbbed, and each jolt of turbulence was like a knife in your skin.

“Don’t feel great.” You admitted, your voice croaky and quiet. The blonde’s face twisted into a look of sympathy, and she reached out to take one of your shaky hands.

“Why don't you go sit with Em? She’s just reading a book; I don’t think she’ll mind some company.” She offered, glancing around at the mess around you. Her crystal blue eyes lingered on the ice-cold mug for an extra second longer than the rest. You could see the gears in her head turning but you weren’t sure where they were going. She knew from experience that you would not be consuming any hot leaf juice.

Emily looked up at the sound of her name, seeming as though she had no awareness of the situation prior. She was deep into a book that seemed to be in Russian which had probably captured her full attention. It wasn’t her best language, so she was taking every opportunity to get better. Mostly to beat Reid. The two apparently had a silent academic challenge thing going.

“Uhhh…” She hesitated, never having been one who really knew how to take care of sick people. The woman had very little experience with being taken care of, so she wasn’t always the best at it. It didn’t matter to you, you wanted her to hold you of course but you really didn’t need anything else.

JJ shot her a look that said, ‘do it or I’ll end you’ and Emily quickly scrambled into a sitting position so that you could take over most of the couch. She opened her arm and beckoned you over, hugging you tight when you crawled into her lap.

You sniffled thickly and a pained moan escaped your lips. Every part of your body ached and lying down seemed only to make it worse. Emily frowned down at you, not entirely sure what to do. JJ had wandered over to the back of the plane, going through the fridge to find something.

The others were all doing their own thing, collectively ignoring you. That was perfect because you really didn’t want attention from them. Especially not the facts. Never before had you been so glad that Reid was asleep.

“What can I do?” Your girlfriend muttered, lowering her voice for your benefit. You shrugged and shuddered, curling up more tightly against her. It didn’t soothe the pain in your muscles, but it temporarily stopped the shivering which made the pain worse.

Emily grabbed the blanket at your feet and pulled it up around you, doing the best that she could not to jostle you too much. She looked back over to JJ who had procured what she wanted and was (thankfully) returning to help.

“Sit up for a second love.” The media liaison coaxed, pulling you up gently with the help of Emily. She produced two small pills and your favorite color Gatorade, suppressing a smile at the amusement on your face. You were surprised that they had it, the only thing that you would drink when you were sick.

With little hesitation you took the pills, wondering why you hadn’t done so earlier. The fever that was currently doing the most damage probably had something to do with it, for some reason, you’d completely forgotten that things like Tylenol existed and had settled for cough medicine instead.

“Now, lay back down for a bit. We land in a few hours, try to get some sleep. I’m going to go work on wrapping some case notes up with Hotch, just take a nap on Em, okay?” She bent forward and kissed your hot dry forehead, mentally noting your temperature. Emily looked mildly alarmed but nodded when you turned to her, signaling that it was okay.

“Do you uh, want me to read? In English of course. It’ll be good to practice some translation.” she asked, patting the book that she had put to the side. You coughed quietly and rested your head in her lap, snuggling close. The worry melted off of her face and she rested one of her hands on the side of your head and began to stroke your cheek.

“If you want. M’just gonna lay here.” You mumbled, grabbing one of her legs to hug. Some part of you worried that she would leave and didn’t quite connect the facts that one she would never do that and two there was literally nowhere she could go.

“Alright. You rest, let me know if you need anything.” You closed your eyes as she picked her book back up and began to read silently, missing the smile from JJ. She’d been watching the exchange from afar, waiting to jump in just in case Emily fumbled it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in the profiler, it was just that she could be so incredibly awkward sometimes and JJ knew that what you really needed right now was someone to hold you. She itched to jump in and lie on your other side but the quicker she got her work done the better it would be when you finally got home.

“Everything okay?” Hotch asked, following JJ’s gaze. The blonde shook herself slightly and looked back down at the papers, sighing softly.

“Yeah. They’ll be okay. It’s probably the flu, I’m not sure if they got a shot this year. It’s been busy.” She breathed, dragging a hand across her face. The boss nodded sharply and returned to the work in front of him, not requiring any further explanation. That was good enough for JJ.

She went back to her work in silence, glancing up every so often to make sure that you and Emily were okay. While you felt like crap and the pressure in your body wasn’t allowing any level of comfort you knew that eventually you would. But for a while, you’d happily let yourself be cared for by these two wonderful women.

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justkending · 5 days

Text

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 4)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 3900+

A/N Note: Only a few more chapters to go (I think, but we're both lost on how long this series will be.) Thank you guys for reading and as always, thank you for the love and support!

____________

Chapter 4:

Y/N's POV

It wasn’t him. It was 100% me. I did this to myself. I built a wall so quickly around him because I didn’t want to like the man behind my misery.

My teammates knew enough about my backstory to think they had an idea of my reason for joining SHIELD: helping the little guy because, at one point, you were the little guy—the manipulated guy—the one who no one saved, so you had to save yourself—and now anyone else who can’t do it for themselves.

Yet, there were so many other things I kept for myself, and things files couldn’t tell you. No files existed of them, and I’m glad because I didn’t want the pity.

James Buchanan Barnes was the reason behind my abuse. Not personally, but my abuser was obsessed with his accomplishments under the German and Russian terrorist organizations and wanted to make a female, more skilled, discrete, and sleeker version of the Winter Soldier.

Who fucking didn’t, right? God, every goddamn evil bastard on this godforsaken shit show of a planet wants to remake something that was a once in a lifetime kind of thing and crack more than a few eggs to get to that point. Selfish asshole…

Being constantly compared to him and then beaten for not hitting the unreachable mark of the man I was ‘of no comparison to’ after years of trying to hit that standard, and then being asked to be on a team with him? A lot of emotions hit me like a train when I got that news.

Will I amount to being the trained spy and agent I am for Shield with him by my side? Will he make me look like a completely pointless addition to the team? After five years of already working with the Avengers and then learning who the Winter Solider was? Steve’s best friend and probably the only person he could relate to in their journey? All the way to having to work with him… The change-up was instantaneous, where I would have begged for baby steps.

Then again, when has the world made it easy for me?

So yes. I was an ass and kept him further than arm's length away to stay safe from learning that he was a good guy when I wasn’t ready to like him yet. I had a lot of trauma I never thought I’d have to work through with the infamous man himself, and that irritation and annoyance just continued when he finally matched my energy, and we never strayed from that relationship until… now.

And here he was, genuinely asking what HE did wrong when I was the reason for our enemies’ plot line.

“Bucky, I don’t think I can talk about this right now,” I breathed out slowly, feeling the tears prick in my eyes.

It had been a minute since I cried and felt this vulnerable, and I couldn’t seem to stop it. I think subconsciously, I didn’t want to stop it, but my mind was begging my body to hold out until he was out of the room.

“Y/N, if I did something to you, I didn’t realize-”

“You wouldn’t have known,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to stay steady, but also not wanting to put anymore of the blame on him from here on out.

He wasn’t a bad guy.

He had proved himself time and time again to be a really good guy. Even when he broke and decided he hated me back, he still had his moments when he put it aside and showed chivalry. I admired him for it even when I ignored the admiration.

Makes it hard to fully hate a guy who made sure ladies weren’t opening any doors for themselves. Or a man who remembered Morgan’s birthday and bought her an ice cream cake before stealing Steve’s shield to sled down a hill her dad told her not to. Or a man you treat like absolute shit 99% of the time, and he still checks on you when you have nightmares, and he grabs water and an ice pack and helps you even out your breathing before waiting for you to go back to sleep.

I didn’t ask him for the help, and he never mentioned the handful of times he fell into the routine of soothing me back to sleep. Never brought it up, never made me feel like I owed him, and never hinted at remembering such kindness.

But now?

“You wouldn’t have known why it started this way to begin with. And you likely won’t,” I sigh, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth before turning around; a lot more put together, even if it was just a mask I had learned to put on most of my life.

“I don’t understand,” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows at my disposition.

“I don’t expect you to, but maybe we should go to sleep and talk about it later. It’s getting late, and you have to go to your ‘job’ tomorrow,” I say with hand quotes. “We have to keep the ruse going.”

“A few hours of sleep doesn’t affect me,” Bucky shook his head, and I could see him itching to put his hands back on me, but he held back. “Please. I need to know what the hell I did.”

“Again, Bucky,” I say sternly this time, all emotion I’m struggling to keep at bay shoved down. “You are not at fault, and tomorrow I’ll talk to you, but for now, I need to sleep on it.”

He read my face for lies, and I kept it neutral. I wasn’t going to break here. Now was not the time. I needed space to think about how I was going to approach this after so long of avoiding it and being put on the spot wasn’t going to work for me.

“Ok,” he said, softer than I think I ever heard him talk. His eyes were soft and sensitive, and I didn’t know how I felt about it…

He turned and walked out of my room, gently shutting the door behind him and turning off the overhead light he had originally flashed on.

I didn’t instantly head straight to bed. I stared at the doorway in the dark, seeing the faint silhouette of the barrier between us. He was still on the other side, and I could hear his heart rate higher than normal.

This was affecting him more than I thought it would. Why was he so worried about what I thought of him? He didn’t seem bothered by my disinterest in the past. Or at least I didn’t figure he did.

____________________

When I woke up, Bucky was already gone. His truck, normally in the driveway, was missing, and I knew he had taken off for our mission report.

Thankful, I took the time to make my coffee, sit on the front porch, and watch the neighborhood take on its morning routine.

People were on runs with their family dogs, moms were doing their morning walks with strollers, some neighbors were out already tending to their gardens, and everything suburban seemed to be on track.

Towards the end of my cup, I notice Ms. Bauer coming back from her jog she must have taken earlier than the others.

“Oh, hello, neighbor!” she shouted when she spotted me, uniformly checking our house like her head was on a swivel if she heard a pen drop in it.

Still in her jog, she sashayed over to my lawn, and I mumbled, “Here we go,” smiling at her as she followed the sidewalk to our steps.

“How are you doing today, Bethanne?” I grin standing from my patio chair and going down the steps to meet her at the bottom of the flight. “Is there a run club I didn’t know about? You’re the 10th person I’ve seen getting a head start on their steps for the day.”

She laughed and waved a hand at me before taking an earbud out, pausing her music on her watch, and placing her hands on her hips as she looked up at me.

“There is actually a mommy and me walking club on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Depending on the weather, of course, but who knows,” she grinned up at me. “Maybe you can be joining it sooner than you thought.”

“Maybe not as soon as you think,” I laughed, holding my mug tighter with both hands so I wouldn’t strangle her instead and leaning on the banister. “We wanted at least a year in the house by ourselves before we add another set of feet to the chaos,” I scrunch my nose and add, “but I’m excited for the day Beau and I have a mini-version of us running around here.”

“Speaking of Beau,” she grins, looking to the driveway. “Where is he today? He’s usually home with you most of the time, right?”

“Oh, it was time for him to get back to work. He took off for a few weeks to get moved in and spend time with me before we had to get back to the real world,” I answer as planned.

“That’s right. I think I remember you guys talking about that at the first block party,” she nodded, watching me carefully for slip-ups. “Can you believe it’s only been two weeks of you guys here? I feel like you two have been a part of the community for at least a year.”

“You’re sweet,” I gush convincingly and look out to the neighborhood for effect. “You guys have really taken us in as your family, and you don’t know how much I appreciate it. We appreciate it,” I correct and look off in the distance like I’m thinking of my sweet, doting husband when, in reality, I was thinking of the day this mission was over and I could carry on with my normal life. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned this. Beau isn’t one to really talk about it, but his family life wasn’t the best. They’ve practically been strangers since he turned 18.”

“Oh, is that so?” she inched up, feeding on the new (fake) information.

I nod. “When we started dating, my family took him in as his own- well, I only had my dad around for most of my life, but they got along really well. He passed three years ago,” I give a tight-lipped look as I look down at my feet in sadness. “They developed a bond, which wasn’t hard considering who my dad was. He was the best, though we might be biased in thinking that. Taught Beau how to do a lot of things dads are supposed to teach their sons. Well,” I sniffle for added effect. “Anyway, we’re kinda on our own now. No extended family we’re close with, and with my dad’s passing, it’s really just us. So when I say we’re grateful for y’all’s hospitality, I mean it.”

She seemed to buy it, as much as an undercover convict could, and smiled kindly up at me before placing a hand on my arm.

“Of course, sweetheart. We’re just lucky you two are some of the good ones. You’d be surprised who’s come in and hasn’t made the cut. Lawns in disarray, unfriendly attitudes, and you know the list,” she winks and rolls her shoulders back before stretching in her spot. “Speaking of being lovely neighbors, how would you and Beau feel about a dinner at our house? Reggie and I have been talking about having you over for quite some time now, and I think we can finally host.” Before I could ask, she stopped me and explained. “Kitchen renovation. It was and still is a pain in my ass, but it should be doable for a small dinner.”

“That sounds lovely,” I beam as much as I could act. It was the perfect next step, and the bait had been taken, but a part of me wanted to settle things with Bucky in our personal dispute before we put on our masks for the two main perpetrators. “Let me check with him and see what his schedule will look like now. He’s getting some new orders today, and some things are changing in the company. We’ll know more tonight. But we will for sure make it work.”

___________

After Bethanne told me some useless neighborhood gossip, she excused herself, and I went back inside to get ready for the day and consider how I would approach Bucky on our issue.

I knew it was time to be truthful, even if I dreaded it. Bucky had proven time and time again that he wasn’t the enemy, and I needed to deal with my issues. I was tired of wasting energy on hatred and anger, and these last two weeks proved that Bucky wasn’t the one who should have been receiving the blunt force end of my trauma.

I had until four in the evening to come up with an idea of how I wanted to go about it, but I had stress cleaned instead and couldn’t come up with a non-terrifying way to approach this life-changing conversation.

Finally, I found it best we get dinner in the town over (as not to have any peaking eyes or eavesdropping ears as we dive into my life story I hadn’t indulged to near anyone before), and I would talk to Bucky there. However, plans changed when Bucky came home.

From my spot in the kitchen, I heard him shout in his domesticated voice across the street, “No, that sounds perfect! We’d love to!” The door opened just as he finished his sentence, and his voice became clearer.

I moved around the island and slowly walked toward the door to get a view of who he was talking to, and I noticed Bethanne at her mailbox waving to Bucky.

I furrowed my eyebrows at the obvious commitment he put us in, and after he waved back, he shut the door behind him, looking at me, and dropped the act quickly.

“What did you just agree to?” I asked, nodding my head behind him.

He looked me up and down, and I almost forgot I had picked a new, semi-fancier sundress for our “surprise anniversary dinner” (at least the front I was trying to put on for getting out of town without too much suspicion).

(Make whatever color you please or change it in your mind if you want! I'm choosing to pick it as a darker red.)

“You look nice,” he says as his eyes trail back up to my own, and I swear I see him take a gulp.

“What did you agree to?” I asked again, focused more on what he had decided for us regarding Bethanne.

His previous shocked face faded away, and he rolled his eyes slightly before throwing his work bag to the side.

“Bethanne invited us to dinner. I said yes because we need to build a relationship with them,” he replied stoically, as if my question was dumb and pointless.

I just stared at him and let my “personal vendetta” look rest on my face. He studied me and had the decency to shrink ever so slightly.

“What?”

“What happened to discussing things first?” I said in an eerily calm voice.

“I didn’t think accepting dinner at a home we’ve been trying to get inside of for the last two weeks is something we’d have to discuss.” And now he straightens up, throwing his empty arms to the side.

A few seconds later, I yelled, “You dipshit!” in a muffled grunt, keeping my voice down as much as I could handle and balling my fists in anger.

His eyebrows shoot up and he huffs with his chest puffed out as he marches to me. I see the intent in his eyes, and I start walking away towards the opposite room closest, needing a minute not to lose my shit, and if I have to look into his stupid azure eyes like he wants to read everything passing through my mind, I’ll break.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growls, and I shoot him a look over my shoulder as I shift my pace and head down the hallway to the bedrooms. “Y/N, stop being a stubborn ass and-”

“Unless you want a heel thrown at your head, and you’re welcome for being civil about this, I suggest you leave me alone,” I shout behind me, turn sharply to the left, and go to my room.

“I don’t even know what THIS is! You looked at me like you wanted to kill me when I walked in, and I haven’t even talked to you today besides updates about work,” he said just as I slammed the door in his face. “Oh, real mature. Shut the door like an adolescent. Wait, I forgot. You are one…” He mumbles the last part and I hear him lean on the door.

Instantly, I whip the door open, and he doesn’t have time to predict his next move. He falls flat on his back on the wood floors of my room, only padded by a thin oriental rug I made Tony buy me.

He’s winded from the fall and clutches his chest as I bend down next to him and say, “I said. Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.” I stare at him for a second, solidifying my threat. I stand to walk out and only give him a glance as I pass the doorway.

_____________

Bucky’s POV:

I left her the fuck alone.

I may have been royally pissed (that is a blatant ass understatement), but something about the look in Y/N’s eyes told me not to push unless I wanted to wake up with my head no longer attached to my body.

I was too scared to leave her room in fear I’d run into her when she wasn’t ready and risk taking the chances of the guillotine earlier, so I sat on her bed and tried to rack my brain to where I slipped up to cause whatever the hell I walked in to…

I knew almost instantly and realized what a stupid, simple mistake it was. Bethanne asking me to dinner set her off, I knew. But her comment about talking with each other before making decisions told me my mistake.

Something happened I didn’t know of, and I may have just fucked whatever it was up. As for what it is? No goddamn clue. But using context clues and just basic reading of the body language, Y/N had already made a plan, and I threw it out the window, likely.

I heard footsteps before I could think further, and Y/N appeared in the doorway, taking a deep breath. She would have convinced me she was going to be civil if it wasn’t for her history, but I was excited to see which lane she chose.

“One thing before I bite my tongue,” she says in almost a whisper, like she’s trying to keep her frustrations at bay. “You make me want to shave my head like Britney Spears in 2007 75% of the time. This moment was almost a tipping point for that kind of outcome..” She lets out a long breath like she passed the test of keeping it together.

Surprisingly a lot more tame than I was expecting.

“Glad you got that out of your system. Now, please tell me what the hell happened?” I asked, keeping my guard up in case she resorted to her typical insults and fury.

“Oh, now you want to communicate,” she mocks and walks to the bed, harshly sitting next to me but leaving a copious amount of space between us.

I let it slide because I know she’s fighting bigger demons, like the urge to insult me, until I personally dig my own grave and say goodbye to my cruel reality.

“Bethanne was goading us,” she answers, thankfully getting right to the point. “Something about her proposition seemed off, and I wanted to clear some things up with you before we jumped on the offer.”

I nodded my head, seeing that my instantaneous reply wasn’t thought out. That was on me, yes, but she also reacted extremely dramatically, expressing an odd feeling about the interaction instead of hard proof.

“What did she ask, and what was off about it?” I question, trying to stay mission based because something seemed off still.

“It wasn’t what it was but how she was asking. Something in her tone and the way she was looking at our house and me. Like she was trying to take in detail after detail up close. Checking for cracks in the foundation,” she answers and turns to me just slightly. “She also said her kitchen was under renovation, and something felt off about it.”

“The vibes about our neighbor getting a kitchen renovation made you knock the wind out of me when you opened your door?” I said before I could think, but I didn’t budge, my furrowed eyebrows aimed at her.

She matches my glare and turns her body fully to me.

“It seemed like an excuse,” she answers slowly.

“To what? Host a dinner? That’s kind of the opposite effect. Who would want to host a dinner when you have kitchen renovations? It means they trust us if they’re willing to let us see a house that’s not perfect like the front they put on.”

‘That’s what you get from it, but I think they just planted a little seed of their own.”

“What do you even mean?”

“Kitchen Reno? That’s an excuse to say, ‘Oh, Charlotte, I can’t cook the chicken pot pie I was going to make for you two because our new oven hasn’t been delivered and installed yet. You know? Because we have the kitchen under renovation? I completely forgot,’” She acted in a convincing Bethanne impersonation and then quickly turned back to serious.

“You got that from a kitchen reno comment?” I deadpanned after a minute.

“I got that from understanding women masterminds who know how to manipulate a situation. I am that woman, so I think I can read them pretty well,” she says confidently back.

Touché.

“And what if you’re wrong?” Her bitchface grew at my question.

“First off, I’m not. Second off, even if I was wrong, we are supposed to consult each other about accepting invitations into the house of our suspect enemies,” she ran a hand through her hair, which I notice now looks styled differently. Did she curl it or have it blown out? And yes, I know what a blowout is. I have women friends and coworkers.

Yeah… I was in the wrong here, and that’s on me. I wasn’t thinking. I also had a long day snooping around for more information about this whole operation, but it isn’t necessarily an excuse… It’s not like I haven’t worked on a case like this in the past. I mean, minus being fictitiously married to a coworker.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and she gives me a weird look. “What?”

“I wasn’t expecting an apology,” she says, standing slowly and straightening her dress.

“I know when to accept I made a mistake,” I shrug and stand as well.

She studies my face like there's a retort that’s going to follow, but I just stare at her silently, communicating that I’m set on my apology.

“Ok…” she drags out, watching me as she steps toward the door. “Well, I guess we need to get ready for tonight. Considering we have dinner. With our neighbors. And we need to set up bugs if possible.”

“Guess so,” I nod, crossing my arms.

She stops suddenly and looks at me with a look of realization. “You’re in my room.” She steps to the side, leaving room for me to leave, and avoids eye contact.

She’s still acting weird, but I need to change and get my head in the game for tonight, so I walk out with a subtle head nod as I leave.

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @livstilinski @basicallylool @starryeyeseunbyul

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter1 @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @billyseye @hallecarey1

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia @stopjustlovethemcu @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @learisa @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim

#bucky barnes x avenger reader insert #bucky barnes x reader insert #bucky barnes mini series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x avenger reader #justkending #marvel #marvel mini series #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes

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capsensislagamoprh · 2 months

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So like, which smart ass sets the ring tone for when Otabek calls to 'I need A Hero' on Yuri's phone?

I'm torn between Victor being mischievous and Mila just straight up taking the mick. Think they tag team it? Do they use the original pop version, the bardcore version? Some re-mix?

How long until Yuri finds out? Where does he find out? How long does it take him to exact his swear jar worthy revenge? How long until he gets pissed that he didn't think of it himself? How hard dose he blush at that thought?

I have ideas, you see.

#yuri on ice #yuri plisetsky #otayuri #otabek altin #victor nikiforov #mila babicheva #teasing the kitten #pranks #they would #bet Yuuri says 'no #can anyone out prank the Russian Skate Team?#I doubt it #this is why Yakov is bald #Georgi in the background low key #digging the song #it's on his play list

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jtl-fics · 1 year

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Fluent Freshman - Part 19

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2. Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

#Fluent Freshman AU #Is it a songfic chapter if it's only 3 lines? Experts aren't sure #Did I listen to lose yourself a lot while writing this chapter? Perhaps #If Nora mentioned something about Jackson or Romero in her extras I did not read it #Also gonna be honest here and state that I forgot the likely year that AFTG happened in and this is happening in 2010 #So I guess this AU also involves a slight time shift #Andrew and Neil may have gotten lost in one another's eyes a bit down in the speakeasy #Really they're just being polite to get all of their PDA out of the way while FF is taking what might be the piss of a lifetime.#(They have no idea how accurate that might be)#Andrew is all set to kiss one of his favorite of Neil's freckles (yes he has ordered them from favorite to lesser favorite)#Then his phone goes off #He looks and it's Roland #Andrew: WTF is Roland trying to call me?#Nicky is busy being the Dancing Queen. If someone plays ABBA he will absolutely scream rn #I had considered a whole sequence of FF trying to get Nicky and Aaron to the safety of the backroom in Eden's #And Nicky just keeps reappearing on the dancefloor while FF is looking for Aaron #I was gonna use that simpsons meme where Moe throws out Barney and then Barney is just right back in the bar #But it got a little too crazy #But just know in this AU Nicky is canonically an excellent escape artist #Maybe Erik went through a bit of a magician phase and Nicky was DELIGHTED to be asked to be his assistant #Maybe that's how they got together #The inherent ROMANCE of magician and assistant #I don't remember if they ever really said in the books or nora's content #If I'm rambling because I forgot to shut off my alarm (Memorial Day 4-day weekend baby)#The fate of FF's phone may have been caused by some slight anger towards my own #RIP FF's Wymack phone (July 2010 - November 2010)#AFTG #AFTG AU #Andreil #FF - Pt.19

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mostlymarvelsstuff · 1 year

Text

Requested by: @romanoffsbish #6 “Are you really so oblivious?” ; WandaNat•Tony says it to R who’s currently “googly” eyeing the couple from across the room with a sad smile, and Tony’s had enough of the dancing around each other nonsense.

Authors note: requests are still closed. I’m trying to clear my inbox before opening them again. Thank you for your patience 💖

Word count: 2898 WandaNat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

Wanda giggles as Natasha playfully spins her around the kitchen, the ingredients for their pancakes quickly forgotten as the spy initiates an impromptu dance session to the music that plays from the Sokovians phone.

They don’t even notice the attention paid to them by the few of their teammates over at the table. Sam smiles at the scene before returning to his oatmeal and Tony pretends to gag at the display of affection before he sits down with his omelet.

“Let them be Stark” Thor chastises with a mouth full of poptart, “Love is special, and it deserves to be celebrated”

“I know that goldilocks” he retorts with an eyeroll, “Besides, I doubt they even heard my teasing."

Clints brow quirks as he drops his banana peel on the table and his eyes meet yours as you glance up from your plate. You both share a knowing look before smirks spread on both your faces.

“Oh yeah” the archer agrees, “No way the super spy with super senses heard you. Ridiculous notion”

You chuckle at the nervous expression that crosses the billionaires face only to earn a glare from him in turn, “At least I let my feelings be known”

Mistaking his jab at your not so hidden feelings for more teasing you simply toll your eyes and grumble, “Whatever Tony”

“Is he bothering you malysh(baby)?” Wanda voice suddenly rings out through the dining room and Sam has to suppress his laughter at the way Tony's complexion pales slightly

“Oh. Uh, no. No, he's just being his normal, annoying self” you tell her, smiling over where she stands with her girlfriend at the kitchen island.

“Good” Natasha says, her tone sending a chill through both you and Tony but for different reasons, “Otherwise I’d have to punch him”

“I’m right here you know” the man says, waving his fork in the air

“Oh I know. I just don’t care.” she replies, sending a wink your way

You try your best to ignore the warmth that spreads across your cheeks at the action, instead focusing back on the man next to you again. He purses his lips, letting out a small huff in annoyance and you laugh at the Russians ability to get under his skin so easily. You completely miss the way Natasha beams at Wanda for being able to make you produce the sound they both adore so much.

“Y/n?”

You turn to look at the brunette again, “Yeah Wans?”

“Tasha and I were going to go into the city today. Do some shopping, go to lunch, sit in the park for a little bit and maybe get some ice cream. Then we were gonna watch a movie when we got home. Would you like to join us?”

“I’m sorry guys, I have a briefing to attend in like half an hour. I think I’m being sent on an impromptu mission.” you tell them as you stand and walk back to the kitchen with your dirty plate to clean, “I hope the two of you guys have fun though”

“Oh, ok” the witch responds, her shoulders deflating at both the missed opportunity and the distance you’ve created. Truthfully both she and Nat have noticed you being a bit more distant with them lately and it was worrying them, "Maybe next time then"

Though you feel nervous about spending that much alone time with the women you nod, "Yeah next free day I have we can definitely do something"

Natasha doesn't like the knot of discomfort she feels in her gut. She doesn't know what other team members are going with you on this sudden mission but she desperately wishes that she or Wanda was on the chosen team. She feels better when one of them is there to watch over you. What if something happens to you today?

The look her girlfriend gives her indicates she feels the same way about this situation and Nat wishes there was something she could do to change things, but there isn’t. So she settles for doing something that both shows she cares and helps slightly settle her nerves.

“Just be careful out there, ok kotenok(kitten)?”

You smile at her, “Always Nat. I’ll see you guys later.”

The two continue to stand there a few minutes after you leave. The worry for your fate on this mission and the disappointment for your lack of presence in their lives of late might as well shine over their heads like neon signs in Vegas. So Tony decides to do his best to reassure them.

“Try not to worry too much” he says, placing a hand on each woman's shoulder, “T’Challa and I are going with her. Hill will be there too so she's in good hands. I can’t promise no harm will come to her because you know how hectic these things can get, but I can promise that I’ll bring her back in one piece.”

“Thanks Tony. I just wish we could go with her.” Wanda tells him, a sad smile on her face, “We like being able to see that she's safe”

“I know. Which is why I will do my best to stick to her like glue, and have her home in time for your movie”

Nat turns to him with a smirk, “You know, don’t you?”

He chuckles, “You may be a spy, Romanoff but there's no hiding that look. Plus witchy here doesn’t know what it means to have a poker face”

“Hey! I can keep a straight face” she huffs, crossing her arms.

Natasha quirks a brow at her girlfriend, earning a glare that makes her chuckle, “I didn’t even say anything”

“You didn't have to, I heard your thoughts” she replies, making the redhead smirk

“Good luck Romanoff” Tony cuts in, “I’m off to the briefing”

Several hours later the quinjet lands back down at the compound and you and your team tiredly shuffle around, gathering your things as you prepare to disembark and head inside.

“It’s been a long day. Head inside and get some rest everyone. Turn your paperwork into me tomorrow morning and I’ll get it to Fury” Hill states before heading off

T’Challa is the next to move, he has a jet to Wakanda to catch tomorrow afternoon and needs extra rest to get that paperwork done beforehand, “Goodnight Tony, Y/n. Good work today, and if I don’t see you before my flight, it was good to see you”

“Goodnight” you and Tony say in unison before heading inside yourselves.

As the two of you walk through the hall you're stuck by the fact that the tv and light are still on in the living room, something which is unusual for this time of night. You both wordlessly decide to take a peek at what's going on and stop in the doorway.

Over on the sofa, curled up with each other under a blanket sit Natasha and Wanda. A Bond movie plays on the tv and even at your distance you can tell by the way the Russians lips move that she's softly quoting every line. Wanda looks up at her with a fondness before linking one of her hands with Nats and her attention returns to the screen. You smile at their cute interaction, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

A deep ache fills your chest as you watch them, and you sigh. You’d give anything to be able to join them, but you can’t. Not in the way you want to at least. And you’re tired of pretending that you don’t want more with them. You've had to withdraw because only being their friend while they held your heart, it hurt. You know it's nothing personal, nor is it their fault, but you couldn’t continue to do that to yourself. You hope one day, when your heart has righted itself, that they’ll understand. But until then, solitude is best.

“Well” you whisper, “Glad to see Nat still likes Bond. Goodnight Tony”

You go to turn away but his firm hand stops you, “Are you really so oblivious?”

Your brows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

“Kid, it's past midnight and they're in the living room. They have a tv in their room, and you and I both know that's where they always watch their movies.”

You shrug, “Maybe they just wanted a change of scenery”

He exasperatedly runs a hand through his hair, “Christ sake kid, they waited there for you.”

“Huh? Why would they do that?”

He sighs, “Because they miss you, and they didn’t get to spend the day with you, so they at least wanted to be here to greet you once you got home. They wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling guilty for hurting them with your absence while also feeling grateful for their care, “I better not keep them waiting then. Goodnight Tony”

“Night Y/n” he says, with the hope that finally everyone's confessions would come to light tonight

You slowly approach the couple, feeling guilty you were about to disrupt their movie despite knowing they waited up for you. In the end you don’t need to interrupt them as your movements end up catching the Sokovians attention and her eyes light up.

“Malysh(baby), you're back!”

Nats head quickly turns in your direction, but her smile fades slightly as she notices the dirt and small scrapes that adorn your forearms and face, “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, “No. Just some normal bumps and bruises is all.”

They both frown at your statement and Wanda quickly untangles herself from her girlfriend in order to approach you. Her hand gently trails across a bruise on your cheek before grabbing onto your hand and she looks back to Nat to receive a nod.

“Let's get you cleaned up, ok?” You're too tired to say no so you dumbly nod and follow her to the couples bedroom, with Natasha right behind you.

“Sit down kotenok(kitten)” she instructs, her tone softer than what you're used to

You do as you're told, relaxing into the small sofa in their room as Wanda heads into the bathroom and Natasha rifles through their closet. You unintentionally doze off as you wait and the two women briefly contemplate allowing you a small nap before they decide that you’d be better off and more comfortable once cleaned up and out of your uniform.

“Y/n…Wake up sweet girl” Wanda coos, as she gently shakes you

Your eyes strain to open, “Sorry guys”

“It’s alright. You've had a long day.” Wanda says, sitting down beside you, “Let's get you clean.”

She brings the washcloth up to your face first and Nat smiles as she watches you practically melt at the feeling. The brunette softly scrubs your face, careful to not agitate any of the small scrapes as she rubs the sweat and dirt from your face.

“There we go. I knew your beautiful face was under all that grime”

You blush slightly, and you know with as close as both women are that they've seen it, yet neither tease you for it, “Thanks Wans”

She smiles and nods, “Give me your arm”

You do so, watching with sleepy eyes as she cleans your left forearm before moving onto your right one. Youd been so focused on her movements that you hadn’t realized Nat had momentarily left in order to prepare the bed for them.

“She all clean, detka(baby)?”

Wanda nods, “Yup. Clean and ready for bed.”

You assume that's your queue to leave and shuffle as you prepare to stand but the redhead is quick to stop you, “Woah, easy there. We haven't gotten our Y/n time for what feels like ages, so we’re claiming now while you're too tired to protest. Here, go change”

You look down to see that she's handing you an extra pair of her pajamas and your stomach erupts with butterflies, “Thanks Nat.”

The two share a smile as you head off to their bathroom to change and Nat helps the younger girl off the sofa, “Go ahead and get into bed detka(baby)”

When you emerge from the bathroom you find Wanda suggled into her side of the bed while Nat sits on the edge of her side. The Russian can’t help the smile that spreads across her face, seeing you in her clothes has her heart speeding up in her chest.

“Well, goodnight guys” you tell them, taking a step forward only to be stopped by Nats hands grabbing yours

“Where do you think you're going, pretty girl?”

“I- I uh, the couch?” you stutter out, mentally slapping yourself for becoming so flustered by her words

Wandda frowns as she sits up, you never used to mind sleeping in their bed with them on movie nights, when had that changed? Why are you so distant now?

“Y/n?” she hesitates, “Have Tasha and I upset you?”

“What? No. No, of course not. Everything is fine” you stress, but Nat defeatedly drops your hands as her expression turns sad

“Everythings not fine, Y/n. This is the first time we’ve been able to spend any time alone with you in nearly a month. You've been avoiding us, and it hurts”

“Just please tell us what we did so we can fix it.” Wanda practically begs, “We miss having you around. We miss you.”

“You guys haven’t done anything. I promise.”

“It doesn’t feel that way” the Russian mumbles, and your guilt returns ten fold

“Ok. I probably should have said something sooner, but i didn't know how” you sigh, “I still don’t, but you guys don’t deserve to be left wondering”

You stand there for a moment, nervously picking at your fingers as you try to figure out what words are best to use to explain everything. But your anxiety is getting the better of you, and you can’t blame it. I mean how are you supposed to tell your two best friends, who are a couple, that you love them.

Wandas eyes widened as unbeknownst to you, your thoughts had become incredibly loud. But she doesn’t want you to panic, and your anxiety is already quite high, so she decides to not let it be known that she’d heard you. Instead she gets out of bed and slowly approaches you, grasping your hands with hers once she's close enough.

“Whatever it is Y/n, you can tell us. I promise it’ll be ok” she assures, squeezing your hands for added emphasis.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you think about the prospect of saying the words out loud, but the way Wanda reassures you gives you some courage, “I um, I- I love you both. In a more than friends kind of way.”

“Oh kotenok(kitten)” Natasha coos as you glue your eyes to the floor, and she quickly gets to her feet to join the two of you. She grabs your chin and tilts it up so you're looking at her, “That's something you never had to hide from us. Because we feel the same, don’t we detka(baby)?”

Your eyes widen in disbelief and you look to the other woman for confirmation, “You guys love me?”

“We do, we love you Y/n” Wanda admits, smiling wide

“So very much” Natasha adds, wearing a matching smile of her own and she can wait no longer, “Can we kiss you?”

You eagerly nod and she brings her lips to yours. It's everything you thought it would be, fierce and full of passion and it quickly takes your breath away. As soon as she pulls away from you Wanda replaces her on your lips. Her kiss too is just as you expected, tender and full of love. Once it ends the brunette pulls you into a hug, which Nat joins.

You let out a happy relieved laugh as their arms wrap around your body and you easily sink into them. They can feel just how exhausted you are, so despite the wonderful discovery the three of you have made, they know that their first priority is letting you get your needed rest.

“Come on malysh(baby)” Wanda says, breaking up the group hug, “It’s very late and you need sleep”

“She's right. We can talk more about this tomorrow” Nat adds, ushering you over to the bed

This time you don’t argue, you climb right in and get settled in your spot in the middle of the bed so you can be between the two of them. Wanda happily joins you, snuggling closely as she pulls you against her. Nat smiles as she joins you but instead of snuggling close she leans on her elbow, her other hand cupping your face.

She gives you another kiss, “Love you”

“Love you too Natty” you sleepily mumble, making her heart swell. You then turn to Wanda to let her have a kiss, “Love you Wans”

“Love you too, sweetheart” she whispers, brushing a hand through your hair, “Sleep well”

You end up falling asleep before they even finish pulling the covers up over you. They both scoot closer, each wrapping an arm across your midsection to ensure you remain close.

“Our pretty girl” Nat mumbles as she nuzzles her face against your neck

Wanda does the same on your other side, “All ours”

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @when-wolves-howl @danveration @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145 @eline03 @wizardofstories@imthenatynat @marvelonmymind @fluffyblanketgecko @bitch-616 @dakotastormm @zoomdeathknight

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x y/n #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat #wanda x natasha #wandanat x reader #wandanat x y/n #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #marvel #fanfic #marvel fanfiction

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wereallydobevibing · 22 days

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Oh, to Find Love in Russia | Konig x Reader

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write your own ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: Mentions of injury, specifically written for my delulu girlies💕

The ice, cold air of a wintery Russia rushed through your body like death through Pompeii. With your lips an ungodly shade of purple and your fingers feeling so stupidly numb, you follow the public map displayed on the side of the nearest building to meet a short term comrade in a common tourist area.

It took you some time, having never been to Russia before, but you eventually find yourself walking alongside a very large man who names himself König. He leads you away from the tourist path and into a market area where you both enter a less than busy bar. You agree you’ll talk here, where it was warm and your shivering didn’t hinder your ability to speak.

The next two hours was a conversation of confirming your roles here and the goals that were set to be accomplished – you both were sent to gain intel, but König’s main focus was to serve as your armor, and gaining intel was especially assigned to you, dear reader.

You were not a special forces operator because you were big and strong, or because you had a particular set of skills pertaining to combat at all. Your task-force had elected you to become one of it’s soldiers because you were a holder of intelligence – you were the brain, and everyone else was the body.

Your skills lied in your ability to speak and understand a multitude of languages. Your looks and personality made you attractive to others both romantically or otherwise – people couldn’t help but make themselves known to you. You were good at making them feel so special that it hurt too much to not spill all their flavors into your cup.

Blackbird, they called you; a symbol of beauty and intelligence. You were your team’s little warbler – whatever they needed to know, you were sent to find out, and you always came back chirping your sweet song of intel.

König was quite taken by you from the very start – he’d never met a woman in his field that carried herself with such grace. Overtime, many women in special forces became much like their male colleagues; rough around the edges, heavily drinking and/or smoking, cursing like wounded sailors.

You? You were so clean. Not a single profanity fell from your glossed lips, your voice was smoother than the finest of silk velvets. Your eyes are still warm with the hope of a better world and twinkled with the gentle promise of eternal youth.

Granted, you were still rather fresh in age being in your early 20s. Still, you were special.

As you both got familiar with each other over the next few hours, König grew firmer in his belief that the radiance of your skin was actually your golden soul shining through your pores.

The safe house you’d both been given had been put together at the last minute. A fact that was clear by how it was a small cabin with only a couch in the living room and one bed in the bedroom, certainly not prepared for two. The kitchen was stocked with little snacks and such, but if either of you ever got the taste for a real meal, you’d have to eat out or go grocery shopping.

König was quick to offer you the only room, as you were a lady deserving of privacy.

Over the course of two weeks, you took turns cooking and choosing restaurants. But by week three, you’d become so focused on your task of manipulating a Captain in the Russian anti-group that you’d end up spending every free moment of your day at the desk, documenting the day’s occurrences and future strategies. König became responsible for making sure you both ate – it seemed that if he didn’t feed you, you’d simply forget to do it yourself and starve.

Week four was when the storm arrived, the great finale that signaled the nearing end of every mission – Blackbird had collected everything she needed and was ready to fly on home and feed her findings to her kin. Things were wrapping up and, naturally, that meant shit was going down.

The final day would end with König wounded – he fought well, your knight in shining armor. Of course he won, but he was losing blood from his abdomen and you knew he was in pain.

The jet that was assigned to pick you both up would not arrive until morning. Your due date was not until two days from now, but you’d finished early. Until then, you used what you had to stop the bleeding and make him comfortable.

You leave him on the bed that you’d been sleeping in for the last five weeks, flat on his back. If not for the pain of his stab wound, he might’ve enjoyed drowning in the lingering, feminine scent of shampoo and perfume stuck to the sheets and pillows you burrowed yourself in at night.

You bandage him with delicate fingers – such a stark difference compared to the medics back at the KorTac base. They were always so rough, like hornets pricking and prodding at his body.

He doesn’t notice how your focus was divided between his wound and his bare chest. Your impulsive thoughts, if you gave in to them, would’ve had you resting the palms of your hands flat on his muscles and grazing your fingertips over the ridges.

You tried to be respectful, the man was in pain – but you just couldn’t help your nature as it demanded to behold the glorious sculpture settled before you. Thousands of years ago, König might’ve been the model for ancient Greek statues. He was beautiful.

König sits up on the mattress when you finish, which now is stained with speckles of blood, clenching his jaw as he did. Your hands come up on his bare chest and you stop him.

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, “You have to rest, König, you’re hurt.”

“This is your bed, schatz,” König grunted, “I will go to the couch.”

Now that the mission is over, you suddenly feel a wave of guilt come crashing down onto you. You’d been so busy thinking about what you needed to do, how you were going to get your hands on the information you’d been sent out to receive that you didn’t ever stop to think about König’s comfort. And here he was, spending every single day of the last five weeks watching your back, making sure you ate, and that you were comfortable. All he did was think about you.

As you stare at him, your heart begins pulsing erratically. Your face grows warm with the sudden realization that this big, brutal, soldier of a man was such a gentleman. He’d been so kind and considerate, looking over your shoulder for you like he was born to do it and not just because it was his job.

Your hands raise to cradle his masked face. You think about how this six-foot-ten beast had been sleeping on that tiny, poor excuse for a couch for nearly two months for the sake of your comfortability, and how he would do it even now when he was in pain.

Without a second thought, you go in and kiss him through the fabric of his mask – a little peck of admiration for his chivalry, a humble praise for being a rare man.

König stares at you when you pull back, he’s stunned. All these weeks of very subtly flirting with you … he thought you’d never notice, or even reciprocate his interest. König figured that you both would separate at the end of this story like Orpheus and Eurydice, he’d be damned to never know you again and you’d forget him as soon as he was gone.

With your hands still holding either side if his jaw, you tell him, “Lay down, König. Here.”

He brings up a large hand to meet one of yours, using the other to hold himself upright and stroking your wrist affectionately with his thumb, “You will not sleep on the couch, schatz.”

“No,” You agreed. “We will both stay here, on the bed, and that way if you need anything, I’m right here to help you.”

Still not believing what’s happening, he tries again to rise from the bed, only for you to guide him back down until his head rested on one of the pillows.

You ask, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

König, beneath his mask, feels his lips curling upward as he laughs breathlessly.

He grins, “Okay?”

It was perfect.

#cod #call of duty #modern warfare #konig #kortac #konig x reader #simon riley #john price #john mactavish #kyle garrick #x reader

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lissa-edem · 2 years

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#vasilisa kaganovskaya #ice dance #russian national figure skating team #figure skating #aesthetic

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sprout-fics · 9 months

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Falling Down to Earth (Part Two)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 7.3k Tags: Slow Burn, Heavy Angst, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity Warnings: Discussions of childhood verbal abuse A/N: Fix was originally written as a reader insert, and has since graduated into something more of an OC. Her series with Ghost is written in second person POV, but many aspects of her character remain complex and dependent on the lore I've created for her. This chapter details her past, and in doing so details childhood trauma and verbal abuse. Please mind the tags and read at your own discretion.

In the weeks that follow, the wind carries you in your descent down to Earth.

There's a peace, a tranquility to Laswell's home that feels wholly unfamiliar to you. Nestled in a quiet, unassuming suburb, you wake just after dawn to the sounds of birdsong and leaf blowers, of dog walkers and parents hustling children into cars on their way to school. The scent of arabica coffee wafts from downstairs in the kitchen, and with it comes the memory of Ethiopia, of the moss green and sandy highlands that peeked beyond the flap of your medical tent. You journey back there behind fluttering eyelashes, remember the aching loneliness that even now sits hollow inside your heart, and once more recall the dusty wind as your only friend.

You keep Paula and Kate's company, but even there it feels like a piece of you is missing. You've long since stopped trying to recall the voices of the 141, feeling the healing wound in your side ache fiercely every time the memory of their faces flashes in your thoughts. You press it down just like you do with all things, compress it down into your marrow no matter how much it hurts, and think perhaps the fractures it gives you will heal into something stronger. You hide the ache behind your vain attempts at a smile, and you feel a flutter of alarm in the cast of concern behind the gazes of Kate and Paula as if they know.

Nobody can know. If they see, if they know...

You shove away the thought before you can finish. Each time it is summoned you try desperately to revoke it, to keep your hands busy so as to distract you from the tumult of your thoughts.

The first week at Kate's is spent memorizing the routines of the two women, of trying to find ways to make yourself useful. Paula chases you from the kitchen more than once when you offer to cook, relegating you instead to chop vegetables or wash dishes. So you try other ways to earn your keep. You take Whiskey on long winding walks until he tugs in the direction of home. You repair the ice maker, you find the issue with the vacuum chord, you fix the flickering light in the basement.

"I see why they call you 'Fix'." Paula remarks to you, and you offer a faint smile, unsure how to say the thing that weighs heavy on your heart. That you need to do this, you need to do this so you can stay.

By the end of the second week you have exhausted all available opportunities within the house and take it upon yourself to busy your mind with the studies you neglected during your off-days with your team. Old lessons of Arabic and Russian are refreshed in your brain, and Kate finds herself a welcome conversation partner at dinner, much to the mild annoyance of Paula, who fails to discern the language between you two. Kate smiles in offering small corrections to your syntax and pronunciation, supplying the words that make your brow furrow in concentration.

"No Russian." Paula chastises her wife, pointedly gesturing at her with a salad fork, and Kate relents with a chuckle.

Yet when you ask Kate for materials, for reports in Russian that you can read and decode in helping with intelligence for the Taskforce, Kate only levies a grimace with a distant, sad concern underneath.

"Not yet Fix." She tells you softly, and you don't stop falling, trying to navigate this dimension in which you aren't useful to them, in which you can’t prove yourself so they’ll keep you a little longer.

Yet it seems the more you pre-occupy yourself, the more worry festers behind the eyes of the two women who have taken you in. You can't understand it, fail to comprehend the anxiety you see when they look at you.

"Have you ever considered allowing yourself to take a break?" Your therapist asks you, in his cluttered office filled with plants and sunshine.

You stiffen in your chair, shoulders taut with energy you can't conceal, a gale brewing in your thoughts as your mind reels under the scrutiny.

You don't answer, but your silence speaks volumes.

"I have to prove myself." You write in your journal that night, lit by the dim glow of the desk light in the guest room. "I need to be better, to do better. I need to prove I can do it. If I fail here too, where else is there to go?"

Yet even as you write the words in rushed, slanted handwriting, you already know.

"I can't go back to them. To him. Not after what he did to me."

Memories of a different kind. Shiny black shoes and perfectly styled hair ribbons, mahogany desks and lace white napkins. Your crumpled school uniform and bandaged knuckles that sting almost as much as the sound of your father's infuriated, booming voice. It's wordless, the things he said to you long since carried away by the wind, but the imprint of them lays imprinted on your skin, upon the tremble of your hands as you grip the pen in your hand like a scalpel with which to dissect yourself.

It hurts.

You think, somewhere deep inside, it's always hurt.

Yet you've long since de-sensitized yourself to the pain, feeling it shred inside you like a cyclone ripping branches from the elm of your heartbeat and ignoring it so you hike up the mountain of expectations where you'll never see the zenith. You don't know how else to live, don't know a way to find the childhood of yourself before you changed into what you are now. You think you glimpse the figure of your younger self as you fall, see her pass through the clouds just as you do, hurtling down into an unknown future neither of you can predict. Just like the ever-changing tides of the ocean below, you can't find the wavering headwind to catch under your melting wings.

She reaches for you in your dreams, your younger self, a tiny outstretched hand as if she can save you from your rapid descent. You don't know what it means, but you can't resist the urge to reach back, try and embrace her as you so desperately wanted when you were both the same. There's a distant part of you that thinks perhaps if you hold her long enough, you can undo the scars that have never healed inside you. You think maybe you can save her.

The reminder of your own failure lays heavy against your side, stitches that crisscross over purpled flesh where the last of your infection fades away. You know the scar of it will keep just like all the others- a blemished history of failures that effaces your flesh.

It's the threat of being one more failure away from cataclysmic impact that drives you to wake early, to read Russian news over breakfast, to skim the news from the Middle East in the afternoon, to spend long hours at the Red Cross doing every manner of task they request of your honed medic skills. It's the same force that has you trying to run to the edges of the Earth and back just to say you can.

You wonder sometimes if it's enough, if it will ever be enough.

No matter how hard you try, to prove to Kate that there isn't a looming maw of despair and regret inside you, that she seems to see past your efforts anyways. She tries to tell you to rest, that you don't need to try as hard as you do. Yet all it does is make you panic, knowing her gray eyes can peer past your forced smiles and laughter, your achievements and your vain efforts to prove that you're fine. That everything is fine. It always has been. Why would it not be?

You tell your therapist just as much, from where he sits across from you. You web your fingers together on your lap, hide the tremble there with an easy, practiced smile, force your shoulders to relax as you maintain a poised air of perfect composure. You convey to him your achievements as of late, boast about your ability to understand the Russian newscasters and the Arabic of the woman at the Red Cross who delights in your knowledge of a familiar language. You tell him how you're valued by the other volunteers, that you are getting back down to your regular time on a 5k run, that you're doing fine. Better than fine. You're making the most of your time on your forced leave, you're ready to go back.

Your therapist looks unconvinced. He listens serenely, nods to what you are saying. Yet he doesn't speak. He lets the silence between you two weigh down, and it feels so much like the calm before the storm, the one where a thick veil of ocean thunderclouds rolls in your thoughts.

"How is this different from what brought you here?"

You blink, and all at once the air in the room seems to suck into nothingness, an abstract absence of noise and movement in which the only thing you feel is the pressing weight of his eyes upon you. Even so you smile carefully, ignore the way your breath catches in your chest and try to ask him what he means.

When he sighs, pulls his glasses to rub at his brow, you feel the familiar sensation of sinking pull you downwards. Down, and the chasm of the dark churning ocean yawns below, beneath the grey blanket of storm clouds you hurtle towards in an imminent doom.

"You were injured, and you started trying to rush your healing process, and in doing so injured yourself further." He elaborates, nodding to your almost healed injury at your side. "How is this different?"

You swallow, try not to taste the distant scent of sea salt on your tongue. The wind rushes in your ears along with the thrum of your heartbeat. It feels unstoppable, and once more you find yourself helpless to the sensation of freefall, trying to claw back up towards the sun.

"I'm not injured." You supply, careful to keep your voice composed, even, to not give a single indication of the doubt you harbor inside yourself. You know this routine. You’ve had to pass psych evaluations before. To stay composed, to not let the cracks inside you show, to not allow them a single modicum of doubt is how you’ll survive, how you’ve always survived, how you’ll continue to survive even as something inside you howls into the gale in a desperate bid for mercy.

He only shrugs. "I'm not talking about your injury." He tells you plainly. "I'm talking about the reason why you're here."

Your hands are shaking. He can see it. "I'm here because I was caught trying to hide an injury from my CO." You force yourself to say carefully, measuring your words.

"Why were you hiding it?" He presses, and you feel like you’ve been caught in wolf jaws, a sudden snap of teeth against your flesh. It makes panic flare inside you like a sunburst, and you try vainly to push it down as you always have, deep into those dark tidewaters that beckon to you. You’ll never rise out of it if you fall, you know that. You’ll sink, sink further still, weighed down by the burden of your failures, unable to see the sky you’ve fought so hard to reach.

“I was hiding it because I didn’t want them to see something that was my fault, something I could have taken care of myself.” You reply evenly, but it’s too late. He sees you, he sees you like they all do, is slowly peeling away the hardened shell of you to see the rotten interior you’re trying so desperately to hide.

“If you could have taken care of it yourself you wouldn’t be here.” He states, and you flinch. His voice has taken on a flinty sharpness, seizing upon your weaknesses and sending you into a doomed tailspin ever downwards.

“You needed help from your teammates, but you didn’t want to accept it because you wanted to prove you could do it on your own, even though it nearly cost you your life.”

“No-“ You try vainly, feeling your muscles tighten, begin to tremble. Caught in a sniper’s scope of your own design. It’s too late, you didn’t realize it was your own finger on the trigger.

“You did it because you don’t think you are enough despite them telling you so. They’ve already accepted you, and yet it isn’t enough, so you’re still trying to prove yourself even now, and in doing so only hurting yourself further.”

“T-that’s not-“ You can’t breathe. The wind has stolen the oxygen from your lungs. You can’t see the sky.

He pauses, looks at you. You’re shaking, ramrod straight in your chair, eyes wide and unseeing of anything except your inevitable descent. You can’t stop it, and the mere thought of the cataclysmic collision to come drops the floor out from under you, makes the walls close in, shifts the axis of the world so you no longer know where you are.

In the midst of it, you see them. It’s in the vision of the four men who have accepted you as one of their own that the man before you murmurs a final, devastating mystery you refuse to speak the heart of.

"Fix, who hurt you to make you this way?"

You’re on your feet before you can think twice about it, heart hammering and eyes unseeing. Adrenaline slinks sharply through your veins, alighting your nerve endings with a panic you forgot you knew how to feel. Your jacket is in your hand and you turn, breathing heavily and all but stumbling from the office before he can stop you.

He calls for you, but it’s lost to the gale.

“I see you. Just you.”

You can’t be seen. You can’t stand the feeling of being flayed open, of having your ribcage cracked just so someone can dig their hands into the blooming bouquet of chlorosis in which lays your still tender heart. To see you is to peer inside while you’re helpless, prone, unable to stop the discovery of the putrid thing that’s been festering inside of you for years. A hate so dark and deep it spans the globe in a watery grave. Your ocean is filled with misery, a tempest of failure you’ve tried desperately to avoid and yet seem to plummet through the clouds towards as the debris of your wax wings hangs suspended in the air around you.

They’re going to see. They’re all going to see, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

They’re going to see how much you hate yourself.

You stagger from the office and out of the building and into the eye of the hurricane. It’s mindless, the way your feet carry you, searching aimlessly for a destination you don’t know. You think somehow if you walk far enough you’ll arrive back to them, and manage to convince them through trembling shoulders and half-hearted smiles that you aren’t broken, that you can stay, that they don’t need to leave you behind yet.

Through the streets, even as the lampposts flicker on and the afternoon rush hour fades into a low hum of passing cars. People seem to dodge you, and even they seem to see the haunted look in your eyes, the way you’re walking to the end of the earth as if it will save you.

Eventually you find yourself amongst a small throng of people, and as you try to weave through them you instead find yourself pulled by the current. They tug you in the direction of somewhere inside, of music and the smell of cigarettes and clinking glasses. It feels familiar, like the pubs off-base you used to frequent with them, and yet it’s not there, too different. If you close your eyes, however, you think maybe you’re back there, that you’ll be beckoned over to the corner booth that seems to be exclusively for you and them.

Instead you find yourself perched on a bar, rasping your order for a heavy scotch that you finish under the eyes of the bartender before you order another just as quickly. It’s on your third that you force yourself to slow, see the perfectly cut ice cubes swirl amidst a cloud of amber as your senses fuzz to a distant din.

When was the last time you went drinking with them? It was before the campaign to Latin America, perhaps during that period of blissful late September in the Staffordshire countryside. You can still remember the taste of your outraged laughter when Soap hauled you into the air while sparring, with brawny arms fringed with coarse hair that tickled against your skin. You’d scuffled with him in the dirt, had felt the golden glow of camaraderie as Gaz and Price watched on with broad grins.

Then Ghost, who had lingered in the shade of the building you four were beside, had stared into your soul in that cursed way where you almost wanted him to see. Like a dark sorcerer, it’s always been Ghost who has been able to peer past your gaze and discern the things inside you desperately try to conceal. Yet he’s never once said anything on it, has simply observed in silence, as if waiting for you to stop yourself as you descend into the unfathomable depths.

You’re still thinking of him when there’s a figure out of the corner of your eyes that draws your attention. He saunters over towards the bar, catches your eyes and smiles but sits with a barstool between you both. Watching, waiting, curious.

He’s tall. Brown haired, a smattering of freckles across his nose that pinches just a bit when he smiles at your blatant staring. His hair is short at the sides, longer and curly on top in a way that drapes across his forehead. He looks like he’s come from work, a blue collared shirt tucked neatly into jeans, nice shoes perching on the rail of the barstool.

He has brown eyes. Almost rust colored. Almost like him.

He looks at you, and you realize he doesn’t see. He doesn’t see who you are, sees instead the pretty, lonely girl at the bar on her third scotch that’s quickly becoming watered down. He doesn’t see you the way Ghost does.

You smile then, tilt your head at him a little coyly, blinking slowly like a cat. Come closer.

He does. He’s drawn in, scoots over one seat and introduces himself as James. You almost tell him your call sign, and then you almost tell him your real name, before settling at last on an alias that makes him raise his eyebrows in consideration.

“It suits you.” He says, and you smile at that, at the idea that somehow you’re so invisible to him, that he has no idea of who you really are. He doesn’t know the things you’ve done, the people you’ve killed, the person you’re hiding inside. It’s a heady rush of power that leaves you grinning, drunk on scotch and this strange covertness you drape yourself in.

“So, what do you do?” He asks in classic D.C. fashion, in a city full of social climbers with keen eyes looking for allies.

“I work for the government.” You tell him, and fail to supply which secretive three letter agency that entails.

“…Doing what?” He inquires as you sip at watered down scotch. You shoot him a sly grin, a flutter of eyelashes that makes his eyes widen imperceptibly.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

He laughs at that, thinking it’s some sort of joke when it’s not, and presses no further.

He tells you he’s a political consultant, one of those sharply dressed men who wander Washington in search of esteemed politicians they can sell their services to. You wonder if he knows your brother, of the same breed of self-proclaimed big thinkers self-righteously destined for greatness. Maybe there’s a cabinet position in his distant future. You’re not sure if you’ll live to see it should you continue to be a soldier.

You offer fleeting conversation, but mostly you just listen to James regale you of his accolades, more than happy to ramble your ear off. He orders you a fourth scotch which you barely touch, not fond of the idea of being more inebriated than you already are. You watch him with a smile summoned only by the pleasant haze of liquor. It seems to encourage him. When he tells you a joke you laugh only because you know you should, watch the brightness of his eyes dance under the dim lights of the bar.

“You’re very mysterious.” He tells you, leaning closer.

“I’ve been told I’m very good at that.” You reply enigmatically.

He seems entranced by that, somehow, finds the vague apparition of you riveting. You relish it, the way he doesn’t really see you, in the way you want to be seen. Mystic, confident, beautiful, a thing to be lusted after and desired even though he knows he’ll never unravel the secrets inside you.

“I actually don’t live far from here.” James tells you a low, conspiratorial whisper, and you tilt your head in consideration. You shouldn’t. You’re tipsy and off balance, internally reeling from the things you can’t control. Yet the thought of not being alone, of forgetting everything just for an evening, is too tempting to refuse.

“Alone?” You ask silkily, and James’ eyes flick down to your lips before they dart back up to your piercing gaze.

“Yes.” He whispers breathlessly, caught in your spell. His hand bridges the gap between you, spreads across your thigh in a way that sends a sudden current of doubt through you. It burns brightly in the back of your thoughts, the way this suddenly seems to feel wrong. You push it down and instead force a little shiver at the touch, grinning coyly at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Want me to buy you dinner first?” He asks, and it’s strangely boyish, that. Almost endearing.

“I think scotch counts.” You supply, quick to imply your readiness to leave, to get on with this before you have second thoughts.

James seems to catch your meaning, and escorts you from the bar after you settle your tabs, a hand on the small of your back in a gesture that makes your shoulders tighten uncomfortably. It doesn’t take long to hail a taxi, and soon you’re in the back of a dark car with him leaning over towards you. You only half return his kiss when he offers it, feigning a pleased little noise that seems to encourage him as his tongue slips clumsily against yours.

“You like that?” He husks, and you don’t bother to answer, hand sliding up to his shoulder in a loose grip. He tastes like the bitter bite of tequila, tinted with lime, and again your mind floats back to Venezuela and the half open bottles of home brew that shattered under bullet fire. You remember the smell of the spider infested hideout in the jungle, of the thick humidity that blanketed over your senses like a sheen of warm sweat under the weight of your tactical gear.

You remember the trap door, the bullet lodged against your ribs, not being able to breathe, the fear on Gaz and Price’s face, the skeletal gloves that offered you onto the med-evac like handing a lamb to the altar.

You remember him. You remember his voice.

"You're only seeing me."

You pull back like you've been burned, nearly bite his lips in the process, feeling your eyes widen in horror as the truth of what you're doing pierces through you. This is wrong. It’s all terribly wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be drowning yourself like you’ve already fallen from the heavens.

“Stop the car.” You rasp hoarsely, your hand still on his collar in a vice-like grip, trying to anchor yourself futilely.

James looks at you, the shock on his face apparent for just a moment as the car passes under a streetlamp.

“Wait- what’s wrong?” He asks, caught off guard, and you don’t answer, mind running too fast, circling down into a tailspin. It’s too much, you’re drowning, you’re gasping-

“I can’t.” You try, voice cracking, unable to clarify any more. “I-I have to get home.”

James’ face flickers between confusion and disappointment. Yet his voice is gentle as he asks: “Are you okay? Was it something I did?”

You shake your head. No, no it wasn’t him. It’s you, it’s always been you. The taxi driver pulls over to the curb, and again James tries to press for answers you don’t have.

"I’m sorry, I can't do this." You tell him hurriedly as the taxi comes to a halt, gathering your jacket and things and swiftly reaching for the door.

“Wait-“ He tries, grabbing your wrist, and you’re ready to snarl at him like a defensive animal when you see the concern in his eyes. There’s a pause as he regards you, seems at last to see you for what you are.

“Take the taxi.” He tells you softly. “I’ll catch another one. Just…get home safe.”

You swallow, still tasting scotch in your mouth.

“Thank you.” You whisper, unsure of what else to say.

James nods, releases you, reaches for his door. He’s halfway out of the taxi when he turns back to you.

“Can I have your number?” He asks in a last-ditch attempt, and when you shake your head he looks down at his fancy business shoes and closes the door.

There’s silence for a few minutes before you murmur Laswell’s address to the taxi driver, who gives you a look of pity before he pulls away into the night.

The glow of streetlamps pass above. You somehow find it in yourself not to cry.

It’s shortly before 2am that the taxi pulls up on the quiet street where Laswell lives. The lights in the house are dark. You wonder if either of them called you when you weren’t home for dinner. Your phone is still turned off in your pocket, the messages unread.

You quietly thank the taxi driver, sidle up the steps and unlock the door as quietly as you can. The house is silent, and you’re sure both women are in bed as you turn towards the stairs-

“Fix.”

You flinch hard, not expecting to be caught, feeling so much like a teenager sneaking back in after breaking curfew. It would be comical if it weren’t for the even, passive inflection of Kate’s voice that sounds like disapproval.

You turn towards the sound, notice for the first time that the kitchen light is on over the barstools. Gently, you pad over to the doorway, and find Kate sitting upon one of them. Her hair is tied back, she’s wearing comfortable night clothes, and the sight itself is so strangely at war with the common image you recognize from her. Buttoned shirts and fitted slacks, utilitarian jackets and boots to match those of the team she oversees. There’s a glass of water beside her hand, and as you glance at the stool across from her you see an empty one just for you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She shrugs at your questioning gaze, and you both know it’s a lie you won’t call her on. “Come sit.”

You shouldn’t. You should go to bed, wake up in the morning and pretend this evening never happened, try to salvage the image of the person you try to be.

Yet Laswell’s gaze is not to be questioned, and you slide into the seat with averted eyes even as she pours you a glass. You fidget uncomfortably, trying to summon a myriad of explanations to excuse your midnight arrival. You wait for Kate to begin questioning you, to interrogate you as to your movements, but instead she stares passively down into her own glass, twirling the water for a few moments before speaking.

“They ask about you.”

You blink, excuses abruptly forgotten as your eyes dart up towards her. “What?”

“The boys, they ask about you.” She repeats quietly. “Every time I talk to them, they ask how you’re doing. They want to know how you’re doing.”

You’re stunned into silence, and when you don’t speak, Kate continues. “I tell them what I can, but I tell them they should really be asking you themselves.”

You frown, eyes softening with dismay. It’s been weeks since you left, and you’ve not heard a single message from them. You check every day, have nearly deleted your conversations with them in a mixture of despair and heartache. It weighs heavy inside you, their absence, and you yourself can’t find the courage to talk to them first, thinking perhaps they’d only reject you if you did.

“They…haven’t talked to me.” You whisper faintly, chest achingly hollow.

Kate meets your eyes then. The normal flinty sharpness of her gaze has softened into a soft, dove-grey stare. There’s sadness there, a touch of regret, and it festers in your still healing wound.

“I know.” She replies, and her shoulders drop. The gesture has a murmur of apprehension bubble inside you, muscles stiffening as you mentally bastion yourself against whatever terrible news she’s about to deliver. “I talked to Price today. I asked him why they haven’t reached out.”

They’re going to leave me. You think in growing panic, air growing short in your chest as Kate frowns into her glass. This is it. She’s telling me I’m off the taskforce.

“He said…he didn’t know if he had the right, after what happened.”

The wind changes direction once again. You look at Kate, stare at her in clear confusion. For once it’s her who avoids your gaze- Kate, the prophet, the soothsayer of your team, the one who divines the wind now refuses to look at you, and her face speaks of guilt.

“We failed you, Fix.” She whispers, voice faint. It’s the loudest sound you’ve ever heard.

“We all saw how you were struggling, we saw that you were fighting something we couldn’t see. We wanted to help, but you were so determined to do things on your own that we didn’t see how much it was hurting you.”

Kate sounds lost. She’s staring at a map she can’t conjure, trying to trace the paths between her grief and your own distant pain, feeling it flare inside her in turn. You’re unsteadied by it, by this sudden exposed vulnerability of a woman so unshakeable in her foundations you’ve stared at her with stars in your eyes since the moment you’d met.

“We should have been here for you, Fix. You shouldn’t have to do this by yourself.” She confesses at last, voice fragile in a way that you can’t understand. “I’m sorry.”

“No one fights alone.”

His words, from that time. When he has clasped you to him and prevented you from falling into frost. You’d clung to him in your rawness, burrowing into his warmth under the guise of hypothermia. He was doing it to keep you alive, or so you thought. An obligation as your comrade, as your superior to ensure you didn’t die. Now you see it was so much more than that.

He did it because he cared.

He cares. They all do. In your grief it wasn’t clear before, but now you feel the dark clouds you descend through part way to allow the glimmer of sunlight to show through. You grasp at it blindly, remember the sounds of their laughter, their smiles, the firm touches and playful jabs that fill the emptiness of your chest in which the dark wind howls. You’d felt it filled, in that moment where you’d burrowed yourself into Ghost’s chest, wondering if perhaps it was empty too. You’d fallen asleep in his embrace and had remembered at the edge of deliquium that all you’d ever wanted in your whole life was to just be held.

"Kate,” You breathe at last in a rapid whoosh of air that changes the headwind that howls in the emptiness inside you. “…there's something I need to tell you."

Kate sits before you silently, expectantly, and you don’t lift your head to look at her. Your hands rest on the glass tumbler, the warming ice water inside.

“My name…isn’t my real name.” You confess quietly, and despite how small your voice is it feels loud- louder than gunfire, than grenades, explosions, RPGs. “I changed it.”

Your hands grip tighter to the glass, brow scrunching in a distant ache as you go on. “I changed it because I didn’t want people to know who I was, who my family was. I didn’t want to bring them with me.”

A pause.

“…but it seems like they came with me anyways.”

You look up then, slowly, into the knotted brow and thinly pressed lips of Laswell. Her eyes are soft, sad in a way that feels foreign and yet so welcome.

“My father. He’s a senator. He has been ever since I was in high school. He’s on the Armed Services committee. You might have even met him.” You don’t say his name, still afraid to even admit that small truth- the fact that you once called that man father.

Laswell is quiet for a long time, as if processing the information you’ve given her. She seems to be weighing it heavily inside her, finding the thing that needs to be said. Her fingers tap every few beats against her glass before she finally speaks.

“I knew.” She sighs at last.

You blink, look up at her once more, confusion coloring your eyes. She returns your stare, a little guilty, before she elaborates.

"I knew, Fix.” She admits and reaches for the pitcher to refill her glass and yours. “I had a feeling. I've met the senator before, I remember faces. The first time I met you, it rang a bell. He said something about having a daughter in the armed forces. You...look similar."

You wince at that, a small gesture of vague displeasure that you can’t rid yourself of his resemblance. Yet then you look back to Kate, to her steely grey eyes watching you, waiting for you to speak. You’re not entirely surprised she knew. Laswell’s intelligence background means she likely knows more about you than you know about yourself at times. It’s her job to know. Yet it doesn’t explain…

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You ask in scarcely a whisper, trying to contain the small feeling of hurt inside you.

At this, the guilt in Kate’s expression deepens. "Maybe I should have.” She offers regretfully. “-but you never once mentioned your family and when I looked up your file, saw you had changed your name...it didn't take much to connect the dots. I had my suspicions about you...becoming estranged from them. It's no use to bleed a healing wound."

"A wound." You laugh mirthlessly. "Yeah, seems like I've been getting plenty of those recently."

Your side aches.

"Fix." Kate’s hand stretches between you two, comes to rest over your tightly webbed fingers with a featherlight touch that settles into something firm. "Tell me what happened."

It’s not a demand. It’s a request, almost a plea on her part, wanting desperately for you to reach out in turn, grasp her hand as you fall. You instinctively want to pull back, to shield yourself from her keen eyed stare, but after today, after tonight, after a lifetime of wearing yourself down to brittle bone to hide who you are…you’re tired.

So you unclasp your palms, turn them up so her hand settles in them, keeps you there so you don’t descend further.

"I don't even know where to start.” You confess, and your voice suddenly sounds so much younger than who you are now, like the child inside your soul has finally reached you in your freefall. “I was the youngest daughter, an accident my dad told me once. The extra."

You breathe out a shuddering exhale, as if releasing the ache that howls in the hollow of your chest.

"He always hated me. I'll never know why. Maybe it's because I'm a girl. Maybe it's because I was a tomboy, or hated dresses, or that didn't fit the mold of being the perfect obedient little doll he wanted me to be for the cameras…” You pause, feel a splinter of pain flare at the center of your healed bullet wound. “Maybe it's because I...was too much like him."

"I was always second best. The wrong child."

"He loved my brother, still does. Sees him as his successor. Wants him to run for office.” You pause with another humorless little laugh. “Hell, he might even be in office right now. I haven’t exactly been in contact with them.”

Yet then you swallow, your face pinching in dismay once more. “All my father ever needed of me, all he wanted was for me to be like my mom. Docile, subservient, cowed, perfectly poised even when he cursed her for having me."

White, pristine white, the color of lace and freshly pressed dinner napkins. The color of the pearls resting against your mother's throat. When she swallows your eyes dart up to her face. She's looking past the gauzy pale curtains of the banquet hall, outside to the hazy, dimming streetlights beyond. Her eyes are distant, sad.

"I don't think...abuse is the right term.” You go on, and your voice wobbles now, your resilience fading as the memories pile in. Polished wood floors, carefully maintained picturesque bedrooms, furniture you weren’t allowed to sit on, the mahogany desk in your father’s office. “I was provided for, some would say I was spoiled. Part of why I changed my name was I didn't want anyone to figure out they were shipping out with the spoiled rich girl from Chevy Chase."

You pause then, feeling the silence of the kitchen press down on you. You remember the loneliness of your first assignment of distancing yourself from your squad, of trying to conceal yourself and aching for it. You’d whittled yourself down to your marrow, forcing down every ounce of hurt and pain because you had to, because you only ever had yourself. If you reached out, if you asked them for aid, if they saw…

“I didn’t want them to see.” You whisper, barely audible, wide eyes staring in horror at the dark churning ocean below. “I didn’t want them to see what he made me.”

It’s silent then, in the aftermath of what you’ve spoken. The truth of it hangs in the silence between you both. Like the lingering air after a typhoon, the atmosphere presses heavily on your shoulders, threatens to weigh you down so much that it loosens your grip from Laswell’s hand.

She only clings closer.

"Fix.” She says, and her voice is suddenly so soft, aching with emotion. “What you went through was abuse. It wasn't physical unless you haven't shared something with me-“

"No.” You interject. “No he never- he never did anything like that, I swear. Not even to my mom. I think...I think he knew how much it could hurt his career- his...reputation."

"All he did was just..."

"He told me I was worthless, Kate.” You whisper, and your throat seizes with a sob so sudden and fierce it threatens to shatter you at the seams. “He said that I was a waste of space, and no matter how I tried to get good grades or honors or be good at athletics or make friends or anything. It didn't matter. That even if I tried to tell anyone what he said to me that they wouldn’t care because I was useless."

Salty, briny tears flood your eyes. The words that have haunted you this entire time, the words you’ve tried so desperately to fight against, to prove aren’t true are the ones that he told you. That your purpose of being alive was futile, that your mere presence was a burden.

"I...I was never good enough Laswell.” You choke out, shoulders heaving with the effort to contain your sobs. “I-I'm not sure I'll ever be good enough."

Kate moves then, and it’s so quick that you think for a moment she’s letting you go. Instead, Kate stands from her chair and comes over to your side, uses her hands to press you against her in an embrace so fierce it forces the scarcely contain sob from your throat.

"You are enough, Fix.” She tells you, her voice suddenly sharp, severe in a way that isn’t meant for you. “You've always been enough. I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise. I wouldn't have given you to them if I didn't think you were enough. Understand?"

You shudder, another hiccupping sob you can’t contain bubbles up your throat. Your hands raise gently to her, afraid that if you touch her further maybe she’ll pull away.

"Laswell...I..." You try, absent of words. She seems to understand.

"If I could go back and change it, I would.” She tells you, and holds you tighter, arms wrapped around you protectively as if they can provide you shelter, as if she can cure you from the sins of the past. “You didn't deserve what happened to you, Fix, and you don't deserve to feel this way about yourself with all you've accomplished."

Yes, the things you’ve done. Your medic skills, your military training, the languages you’ve learned, the missions you’ve fought in, all of them in a desperate bid to prove a better version of yourself than you truly are.

"B-but I failed, Kate.” You sob, chest finally loosing itself of all the ache there as you cry freely. “I got myself injured and then nearly killed myself trying to push too hard, and I-" Your voice chokes off as another sob wracks your shoulders.

Laswell pulls back from you then, holds you at arm’s length so she can peer past your watery eyes. Her hands clench on your shoulders, and you see she might be crying too, eyes shining with unshed emotion.

"What matters now is that you're here.” She declares, voice hoarse with choked tears. “You have a family, Fix. With us. You never have to speak to your father or mother or brother ever again if you don't want to. We will always be here. No amount of failure on your part will ever change that."

You still yourself, look at Laswell like you want to believe her, and you do. Laswell would never lie to you unless it was to keep you safe, and this…this…

Your quivering inhale releases as a chest-cracking sob, and then another, and as you raise your hands to try and scrub away the tears from your eyes you finally let go. You allow yourself to cry, like you’ve wanted to for so many years, like the way you thought you’ve forgotten. You cry like the child you still are inside, the little girl looking up at a world too large for her and wondering how she’ll ever grow to fit it. It spins dizzyingly underneath you, an abstract of blue and green where you descend through white clouds. Sunshine warms your skin, and the air whooshing past your ears stills into a gentle, cradling breeze.

You stop falling.

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