#someone somewhere out there will find this infuriating
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I will be curious to read the vituperative denials of the validity of this article's analysis, which is pasted below the cutoff:
“Are you better off today than you were four years ago?” That question, first posed by Ronald Reagan in a 1980 presidential-campaign debate with Jimmy Carter, has become the quintessential political question about the economy. And most Americans today, it seems, would say their answer is no. In a new survey by Bankrate published on Wednesday, only 21 percent of those surveyed said their financial situation had improved since Joe Biden was elected president in 2020, against 50 percent who said it had gotten worse. That echoed the results of an ABC News/Washington Post poll from September, in which 44 percent of those surveyed said they were worse off financially since Biden’s election. And in a New York Times/Siena College poll released last week, 53 percent of registered voters said that Biden’s policies had hurt them personally.
As has been much commented on (including by me), this gloom is striking when contrasted with the actual performance of the U.S. economy, which grew at an annual rate of 4.9 percent in the most recent quarter, and which has seen unemployment holding below 4 percent for more than 18 months. But the downbeat mood is perhaps even more striking when contrasted with the picture offered by the Federal Reserve’s recently released Survey of Consumer
The survey provides an in-depth analysis of the financial condition of American households, conducted for the Fed by the National Opinion Research Center at the University of Chicago. Published every three years, it’s the proverbial gold standard of household research. The latest survey looked at Americans’ net worth as of mid-to-late 2022 and Americans’ income in 2021, comparing them with equivalent data from three years earlier. It found that despite the severe disruption to the economy caused by the pandemic and the recovery from it, Americans across the spectrum saw their incomes and wealth rise over the survey period.
The rise in median household net worth was the most notable improvement: It jumped by 37 percent from 2019 to 2022, rising to $192,000. (All numbers are adjusted for inflation.) Americans in every income bracket saw substantial gains, with the biggest gains registered by people in the middle and upper-middle brackets, which suggests that a slight narrowing of wealth inequality occurred during this time. In particular, Black and Latino households saw their median net worth rise faster than white households did—though the racial wealth gap is so wide that it narrowed only slightly as a result of this change.
A big driver of this increase was the rising value of people’s homes—and a higher percentage of Americans owned homes in 2022 than did in 2019. But households’ financial position improved in other ways too. The amount of money that the median household had in bank accounts and retirement accounts rose substantially. The percentage of Americans owning stocks directly (that is, not in retirement accounts) jumped by more than a third, from about 15 to 21 percent. The percentage of Americans with retirement accounts went from 50.5 to 54.3 percent, a notable improvement. And a fifth of Americans reported owning a business, the highest proportion since the survey began in its current form (in 1989).
Americans also reduced their debt loads during the pandemic. The median credit-card balance dropped by 14 percent, and the share of people with car loans fell. More significantly still, Americans’ median debt-to-asset, debt-to-income, and debt-payment-to-income ratios all fell, meaning that U.S. households had lower debt burdens, on average, in 2022 than they’d had three years earlier.
The gains in real income (in this case, measured from 2018 to 2021) were small—median household income rose 3 percent, with every income bracket seeing gains. But that was better than one might have expected, given that this period included a pandemic-induced recession and only a single year of recovery.
The picture the survey paints, then, is one of American households not only weathering the pandemic in surprisingly good shape, but ultimately also emerging from it in better financial shape than they were going in. And that, in turn, points to the effect of the U.S. policy response to the crisis: Stimulus payments, enhanced unemployment benefits, the child-care tax credit, and the moratorium on student-loan payments boosted household income and balance sheets, helping people pay down debt and increase their savings. In the process, these policies mildly narrowed inequality.
The U.S. government’s aggressive response to the pandemic, including Biden’s stimulus spending, also helped the job market recover all its pandemic-related losses—and add millions of jobs on top. The resulting tight labor market has been a huge boon to lower-wage workers. In fact, because the Fed survey’s income data end in 2021, it understates the income gains for the bottom half of the workforce, and the shrinking income inequality they’ve produced.
Hourly wages for production and nonsupervisory workers (who make up about 80 percent of the American workforce) rose 4.4 percent year-on-year in the third quarter of 2023, for instance, ahead of the pace of inflation. And this was not anomalous: Arindrajit Dube, an economist at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, crunched the numbers and found that real wages for that same sector of workers are not just higher than they were in 2019, but are now roughly where they would have been if we’d continued on the upward pre-pandemic trend.
The reason for this is simple: Low unemployment has translated into higher wages. As a recent working paper by Dube, David Autor, and Annie McGrew shows, the tight labor markets of the past few years have given lower-wage workers more bargaining power than in the past, leading to a compression in the wage gap between higher-paid and lower-paid workers. Of course, that gap is still immense, but the three scholars found that the wage gains for lower-paid workers have rolled back about a quarter of the rise in inequality that has occurred since the 1980s.
So what should we take away from the Survey of Consumer Finances data, and from Dube, Autor, and McGrew’s work? Not that everything is fine, but that public policy and macroeconomic management matter a lot. Enhanced unemployment benefits, the child-care tax credit, the stimulus payments—these things materially improved the lives of Americans and helped set the economy up for a strong recovery. If the policy response had been less aggressive, the U.S. economy would be in worse shape now. This is something you can see by looking at Europe, where economies are growing far more slowly and unemployment is higher, while inflation is no lower.
Key to this story is the fact that lower-wage workers in particular would be worse off, because they have been among the chief beneficiaries of the low unemployment created by the robust recovery. It’s a useful reminder that stagnant wages are not an inevitable result of American capitalism: When labor markets are tight, and employers have to compete with one another for employees, workers get paid more.
So, even allowing for the high inflation we saw in 2022, no one could really look at the U.S. economy today and say that the policy choices of the past three years made us poorer. Yet that, of course, is precisely how many Americans feel.
Although that pessimism does not bode well for Biden’s reelection prospects, the real problem with it is even more far-reaching: If voters think that policies that helped them actually hurt them, that makes it much less likely that politicians will embrace similar policies in the future. The U.S. got a lot right in its macroeconomic approach over the past three years. Too bad that voters think it got so much wrong.
#someone somewhere out there will find this infuriating#I'm not an economist and almost every time anyone says anything about economics I think 'sure that makes sense'#so I post in my ignorance#try to resist calling me a retard when you tear this apart#and it's always the worst with things like statistics because someone's gonna be like 'well if you reframe the numbers slightly#you'll find that in fact this article demonstrates that we have less wealth per capita than your average North Korean'
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the whole "trans men just have sexual trauma" thing absolutely infuriates me, as someone who was practically brainwashed into believing i was raped by conversion therapists as a kid.
i have been an obvious transsexual my entire life. i told everyone i was a boy. i was just told it was normal and nobody wants to be a girl. i told my mom i wanted a dick and balls and she said, "no you dont."
i was put in conversion therapy, diagnosed with autism, despite not having many of the symptoms, and put on Risperdal. an anti psychotic drug that was not meant to be used in children as young as i was, that also "just so happens" to cause out of control breast growth. (it also caused me to become obese and struggle with my weight for years even after i stopped taking it, despite never having weight problems before.)
therapists and my parents would constantly tell me that i was hiding something and try to hypnotize me into remembering it, i had no idea what it was, i was told something horrible happened to me and i had to remember it, i kept telling them i dont remember, and they told me i had memory problems. they kept telling me i had a memory locked away somewhere and i had to recover it, i had no idea what they meant by this.
i have no idea how to describe the way that i felt because of this. the feeling didnt go away when the therapy ended. it stayed with me for YEARS. my entire childhood and most of my teenage years i felt like i had a dark and evil secret that i couldnt even remember. it stuck with me, i didnt even know what it was. they marked me socially and mentally as a "rape victim" without it even happening, without me even understanding what they had done.
i didnt find out until i was a teenager that the therapists were telling my parents i had been raped. based on nothing. you know what happened in these therapy sessions? i played with animal toys and told the therapist i didnt want to go to school and that i wanted to be a boy. i told them i hated my name. and wanted to be called by a different name. they told me i had a deep dark secret i needed to remember and confess to them.
because marking me as someone who had been raped would emasculate me.
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Worst nightmare
She had him wrapped around her little finger.
Coriolanus knew she did. He's no longer the same teenage boy trying to wrap his head around what this achy feeling in his chest is. He no longer convinces himself it's hunger, or that he's just confused. He knows the feeling is longing, desire, lust, or maybe even love.
After everything that happened in District 12 with Sejanus, with Lucy and the people he left behind he had hoped he'd never have to go through this again. A foolish hope, he realizes now. He's a human being and it's almost unavoidable there are people out there who would know just the right thing to say or just the right thing to do for him to lose his ambition focused mind in the fog that is love, or obsession in his case. He's not sure there's really a difference between the two.
But he thought he knew better than to let someone in again. He hadn't liked how Lucy made him feel vulnerable, and how it had hurt when he realized she'd left him in the woods.
Yet here he was, pressing this infuriating woman against the wall with her legs wrapped around his hips, their lips barely parting to breathe before pulling the other back in.
She was perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
She was also his close friend's wife.
He always thought of himself as a gentleman. Sure, he did questionable things and studied under the most questionable woman of Panem during his time at university, but at least he was polite about it. Or at least, he acted in the way one would expect a gentleman to act.
Kissing your old classmate and close friend's wife is not very gentleman-like. He knows this but when she tangles her hand in his hair the way she does, he can't find it in himself to care.
“Festus will come find me” she murmured into the kiss. He ignored her and started to kiss his way down her neck. He's not going to acknowledge another man's name coming from her mouth when his mouth is the one making her keen so sweetly.
She repeated her words and when ignored her once again she gently nudged him back a bit so she could look into his eyes “Coriolanus, you know he can’t catch us. Everything will be ruined”
He thought he might start laughing. He honestly pities the tree somewhere out there whose single purpose is to replace the oxygen her husband wastes. “Festus Creed does not have the capability of ruining anything for me”
She hummed and brushed his hair off his face. “Your mood before we came here seemed pretty ruined to me”
His grip on her waist tightened at the memory of Festus drunkenly clinging to her, embarrassing her, during the entirety of the evening before Coriolanus had cleverly thought of an excuse to whisk her away.
“Very daring, to take me away from my husband in front of all those people” she whispers, her hands coming up to rest gently on his shoulders. “Not at all like you to take that kind of risks”
He didn't bother responding to that and simply rested his head in the crook of her neck, pulling her body as close as possible to his. She rolled her head to the side, giving him better access as her eyelids fell shut. His nose grazes up and down the length of her neck, breathing her in.
It had been a long day. His path to becoming Panem's president was set and he was prepared to wait for the perfect moment now that he has the right people on his side. He was not an impatient man, but so close to his goal it was hard not to long for time to speed up just a little bit.
That's why he'd already been annoyed when he arrived at this fundraiser which must be the 10th this month, and then he had to watch Festus wrap his arms around her. It was just too much.
When they are together, it's like all the noise is cancelled out and he can finally feel at peace. His mind finally rests and he enjoys when they focus solely on each other and nothing else.
“Marry me” she murmurs in a voice like honey.
He's taken aback, pulling away from her to look at her wide-eyed. He hardly noticed anything around him; he felt disorientated, dizzy. His mind worked feverishly. Did she really just ask that? Did he imagine things?
It takes a moment for him to gather himself enough to answer her. “What?”
She tilts her head to the side with a grin, linking their hands. “Marry me. You want to become president and you have all it takes to become one except for a wife. People will expect you to have one by the time the campaigning truly starts, and you know no one works a crowd better than me. I have them hanging onto my every word within seconds,” she pulled him down slightly so she could comfortably wrap her arms around his neck “With my family name, and influence, and your talent as a natural leader, combine the two of us and Panem would be yours by the end of the year”
He stared at the wall on the other side of the room.
Laying her fingers on his left cheek, she turned his face to look at her. “Just imagine how powerful we could be together as a couple”
He was imagining it. But...
“They'd never allow you to divorce Festus” he said with certainty. This he knew for sure. The family name and influence she spoke of would not be as impactful if everyone knew she divorced someone from the Creed family. They'd call her crazy, and steer clear of her.
“We could not marry unless Festus were dead”
Her eyes darted between his, her hand cupping his face. She truly was ethereal.
“I know”
Her response is entirely too calm and he frowned at her.
During events he would often watch her socialize and play the crowd just like she said, until they were hanging onto every word that fell past her pretty lips. She always seemed so genuine when she talked to people, but he had caught the glint of ambition in her eyes, just like him.
She was an impeccable liar without a tell. She could lie to whoever she wanted to. Despite that she tended to be a very honest woman. He knew he would be able to count on her if she was on his side. Her, with her always impeccable appearance and her fashionably styled hair wearing nothing but lavish clothing standing out blindingly, concealing her still very much venomous nature. Perfect. Absolutely perfect she was.
Festus was undeserving of a woman like her. He'd always thought it but now he was sure of it.
He could already picture it. Him, waving down at the crowd with her by his side, the envy of Panem. There would always be people against him and his tendency of making unethical choices. But how could they doubt his leadership if a woman as good as her was married to him? They'd believe she'd keep him on the right path.
She was working her way to the top, and she was succeeding. So it would only make sense for her to ask him. Festus had his sights set on presidency too, but if she believed Coriolanus had a better chance... Coriolanus tried not to let it get to his head.
Was she insinuating he kill Festus for her? So they could marry and she could become Panem's First Lady? Did she know he'd killed before? If she did, she obviously wasn't bothered by it or scared of him because of it.
But then there was Festus. Coriolanus didn't particularly like the guy, in fact, seeing Festus trip was the highlight of his day not even a week ago, but could he kill the Creed heir? He had killed before but in this situation it's less trivial. It's not about survival, nor about making it to the top. He was sure he could make it without her...but still... did he want to, without her? Is she not worth it? Is having her by his side worth killing Festus Creed for?
She's not worth it, he thought and tasted the lie as soon as it crossed his mind.
He met her eyes and thought of her smile – the smile he can't ever seem to get out of his head – and-
He was going to kill Festus Creed.
Memories of Sejanus flashed across his mind. Sejanus had been in the way of him ever returning to the Capitol. So he took choices that haunted him, but he didn't regret. Just like he wouldn't regretting ridding her of her infuriatingly incapable husband.
Truthfully, Coriolanus was surprised Festus was able to stand with a spine that weak. Always following what others told him to do, never thinking for himself, so easy to manipulate. Yet he saw himself suitable for presidency?
His hands have settled on her waist seemingly out of pure instinct. His throat felt dry, and he swallowed several times before he tried to speak.
“Yes” he nodded, decision made “Alright”
Something bright flared in her eyes as she looked at him. After a pause, she practically launched herself at him, knocking into him so hard that he had to take a step back. He laughed quickly. One of his hands is still on her waist, but the other cups the back of her neck as his thumb strokes over her throat.
She tilted her head up and pecked his lips. Something horrible tugged at his chest, and he knew. There's no one more dangerous in the world than her. Because he's obsessed and in love as she gazed up at him through her lashes.
The blood was thundering through his brain. Happiness filled his chest; a dizzying sensation and his head swam with emotion. His arm slid around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her hip.
“Mrs Snow” he whispered like a promise, smoothing his thumb over her cheek.
"What is it?" she chuckled "Why are you looking at me like that?"
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, roughly but passionately.
"You are my worst nightmare and the woman of my dreams all at once"
#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow#tbosas#tbosbas#president snow#coryo x reader#coryo snow#the hunger games#coriolanus x you#coriolanus snow x you
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The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]
Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.
CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)
Word count: 3246
This work on AO3
You’re such a sunshine, it hurts.
John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls.
His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents.
But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it.
When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation.
John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks.
But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment.
You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own.
God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice.
You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only.
— I can fold my own pants, love.
He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken.
— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right?
— Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…
— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry.
— Little minx.
— Me or Lady Lasswell?
John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine.
You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light.
God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya.
He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him.
Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons.
The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about.
You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea.
Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him.
He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you.
Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny.
He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness.
Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least.
— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price.
You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least.
You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move.
Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are.
His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker.
— Shite, love. Sorry.
His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one.
He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he?
— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second.
— Not a chance.
Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you.
You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate.
John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him.
— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way.
— Is that so, sir?
You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home?
He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around.
You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again.
— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…
Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite.
He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin.
Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper.
Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to.
— Help your captain, eh?
You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t.
He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him.
John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his.
— This is not very… appropriate, sir.
— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here.
You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little.
He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact.
Price moans.
— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy.
The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers.
— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this.
He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy.
God, what are you even thinking about?
You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you?
— We really shouldn’t be doing this.
— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh?
— This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir.
— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here.
He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly.
He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly.
— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…
Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are.
Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave.
— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this.
You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife.
#cod#yandere price#price x reader#captain price#john price#captain john price#yandere cod#call of duty#cod imagine#cod fanfic
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Fuck The Freshmen: Say My Name (2/2)
Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Media girl!reader
Warnings: car sex. Hello.
Read: Part 1: Fuck the freshman BEFORE this!
A/n: yayayaya part 2! This is final btw not tryna make another series so fast. I added another title because the main one only really applies to the first part, not this one. Ok enjoy!
Paige practically scurries out of the change room and takes your hand, leading you out of the gym in a hurry. She looks great in her practice clothes, but when she’s wearing her signature Uconn tracksuit she’s basically the Paige of your dreams. You hate it.
Clambering into the passenger seat of her car, you turn to look at her but she’s already leaning into you. Her kisses are hungry, starved even. Like she’s been meaning for this to happen. Her hands are placed firmly on your hips, yours are caressing her face. You barely breathe and it’s intoxicating, the fact that you’re willing to choke for her lips is almost your worst nightmare.
“Hey.” You manage to utter between kisses. “Buckers, stop. Someone might see.”
Paige pulls away from you and gazes out the window into the gym parking lot. “Practice isn’t over for another 15 minutes.” She shrugs.
“You’re only planning on having me for 15 minutes?” You raise your eyebrow. “Disappointing.”
“Fuck you.” She scoffs, turning on her car and speedily driving out just a little farther, to where the parking lot is deserted.
“Wow, couldn’t even take me somewhere else?” You complain. You don’t really mind, but you’re used to giving Paige a hard time.
Paige’s eyes are glaring at you, burning make-believe holes through your own. “Get in the back.”
Much to your own dismay, you listen to her and she joins you closely, immediately pushing you to lay down on the backseats.
Your mind can barely register that Paige Bueckers, the girl who would ignore you during freshman+sophomore year and make snide comments during junior+senior year, is on top of you.
Her knee in between your legs, pushing up into your heat just right. Her tongue darting out between her lips as she eyes you, then that same tongue entering your mouth as she kisses you. Her chain dangling, hitting your chest as her head moves with yours.
She’s so fine it’s infuriating. You’ve never made out with someone so good in your life.
You hurriedly take off your ‘uconn media’ crewneck, leaving you just in your bra and pants. Paige just stares for a moment, hands ghosting the straps of your bra. You realize she’s waiting for your permission.
“Use your words, Bueckers.” You say, relishing the fact that despite her being on top of you, you could still try to have the upper hand.
“Lemme see you.”
You stare at her.
“..please.” Paige grumbles out
You slightly arch your back so she can reach to undo your bra. She tosses it to the ground and lets out a whistle at the sight of you, topless and hair askew on the leather seats of her car.
“Fuck.” She says, immediately going back in to kiss you, her hands busy groping your tits. Her lips start to trail from your mouth to your jaw, then your neck, pausing there and sucking perfectly into the sensitive skin.
From your neck she trails down to your collarbone, then just over your breasts and finally she attaches her mouth to your nipple, causing you to let out a quiet whimper.
Her mouth is all over your chest, and when you look down you’re surprised to see hickeys all over you. Paige is marking you up.
As she focuses on your tits, her hands find their way to the waistband of your pants, abruptly pulling them down and revealing how wet you are through your underwear.
Paige audibly chuckles and you wish you could hit her.
She places soft kitten kisses from your chest trailing to just above your underwear line, before licking a neat stripe to your folds through your panties.
The barrier between her tongue and your pussy is overstimulating. She’s soaking you more by wetting your underwear with her saliva, your legs try to close on her but she holds them open.
“Cmon..” you moan out. “Stop teasing me Bueckers.”
Paige looks up at you, eyes electrifying yours. “Wanna use your words?”
“Please. Please eat me out.” You whine, not caring about superiority anymore.
“Say my name.”
“What?”
She looks at you darkly. “Say my fucking name. My first name. Stop calling me Bueckers. I wanna hear you call out for me.”
Before you can respond she pulls your panties to the side and attaches her mouth to your folds. Immediately you’re thrusted into pure ecstasy. Her tongue laps at your entrance and circles at your clit with pure force and aggression. Your legs start to twitch and she feverishly holds them down and devotes herself to you.
“Shit.” You groan. “Oh shit, Paige..” you finally utter, your hand reaching out for her and grabbing her ponytail. Tender headed as ever, she lets out a noise against you and you can feel her bite her lip against your skin. There’s no way. You think to yourself. Paige likes having her hair pulled.
She continues to make a mess of you, and you relish at her little noises when you tug at her hair, or use it to push her further towards you.
“Look at you, fucking up my car seats.” She murmurs against your legs.
“Oh.” You moan out. “I know you’ve fuckin’ dreamt of this. Teasing me all the time, trying to make my job harder for me. You just, ah, wanted my attention.” You manage to grumble.
When she sucks on your clit you swear you can see stars, back arching and hands gripping her head.
“Should’ve seen your face when I’d talk to them freshman.” She scoffs in response. “Looked pretty bothered to me. I just wanted to see how much you could take.”
“P..” you whimper.
“You think I never noticed how you couldn’t hold eye contact with me? How you’d watch me on the court? Fuck, even though you acted tough, most of your pictures were of me.”
She’s gripping your legs so tight. Her hands are slender, nails short. Her arms are covered by her tracksuit, but you’ve seen how veiny they are firsthand. You’ve thought of it all too often.
“Don’t get quiet now, baby.” She says with another swift lick to your pussy. “Did you ever look at those pictures? All alone in your room, wishing I was there to give you what you can’t get on your own, hm?”
You’re trying to suppress your whines, hating how she’s getting the best of you. It’s becoming too much, you can feel a knot forming in your stomach with every word that vibrates against you.
“Do you know how many times I wanted to take you, right then and there? Every dinner, every practice. Every time I could see you focusing so hard on getting the perfect shot. God, I just wanted to see how your face would change if I touched you like this. I wanted to see how much I could distract you.”
“Fuuuck, Paige. Paigey, please.”
At the mention of her name, it seems a switch flicks in her brain. She’s engulfing herself in you, the noises are embarrassing yet hot. Your thighs are wet with slick and her saliva.
“Tell me what you want, mama. I’ll do it for you.” She whispers just loud enough for you to hear.
“Paige, P-uhm..” You struggle to get the words out, the knot in your stomach is only tightening. “Make me cum. Please, Paige. Lemme cum for you.” You manage to utter.
You feel yourself almost burst, and as you cum she takes it all in her mouth without hesitation. It’s disgusting, but it’s a scene that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.
Finally she brings herself back to your face, kissing you smoothly. Her tongue dancing with yours, letting you taste yourself on her.
“Paige.” You croak out.
“I know baby. God, I love how you say my name.”
You look into her eyes, unsure what to do or feel. She looks right back at you, her hand brushing hair out of your face. When she wipes a tear from your cheek she snickers “Head game so good I had you crying? Damn.”
“I’ll get you back, bitch.” You grumble, eyes pulling away from hers. You feel your face get hot with embarrassment.
She grabs your face and forces you to look at her once more. Her eyes aren’t playful anymore, they’re firm.
“You better.”
#fanfic#fanfiction#paige bueckers#paige bueckers smut#uconn wbb#smut#uconn women’s basketball#uconn huskies#wlw smut
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floral & fading (law x reader nsfw)
18+, mdni, nsfw, wc: 1.7k masterlist
a secret santa present for my lovely anie <3 @strawheart-pirate
cw: afab!reader, piv, rough sex, scratching, choking, hate sex kinda, law is bad with feelings, reader is also kinda bad with feelings, angst, bittersweet, hurt no comfort, you let this guy hit once and he's totally obsessed w/ you, strawhat!reader, messy relationship dynamics
Law needs you desperately despite the fact he knows he cannot have you.
He hadn’t intended to get attached to you, not in the slightest. Mind scattered, full of adrenaline, and buzzing with alcohol, he had meant for you to be nothing more than a late-night drunken distraction from the flood of emotions he felt after the events of Dressrosa. Somewhere in the murky deep of the back of his mind, you had snuck in and sank your ragged claws into the sulci of his brain, to the point where he can barely close his eyes without picturing your mischievous smirk, or the contortions on your face as he fucked you, squeezing his tattooed hand around your throat.
For all intents and purposes, Law couldn’t stand you. Brimming with intelligence and wit, you squandered your potential by wasting precious time goofing around with Luffy. The strategic and combative skills you possess in battle make you an essential asset to your crew, but you were resistant to discussing any sort of long-term plan with him, insisting that wasn’t how Luffy rolled—it drove him crazy, and gave him the deep urge to break you until you finally relented and decided to use your mind properly like he wanted you to.
“Come on, Traffy! Tell us who won!” you exclaim one day after a water gun fight, out of breath and nearly falling over as you slide along the wet deck in your flip flops, Luffy close behind you.
Law rolls his eyes and sighs, not bothering to look up from the book he was reading. “How should I know? I wasn’t paying attention to your nonsense.” he says in his usual dry monotone.
“Traffy, you were supposed to be watching us!” Luffy whines, putting his hands on his hips as he pouts. Law ignores both of you, hoping you would eventually find another judge to determine the victor of your silly game; he thinks you’re finally discussing finding someone else to bother when you whisper something in Luffy’s ear that makes your Captain giggle maniacally.
“We decided to team up.” Luffy says proudly. Law catches your grin in his peripherals, but continues to sit, eyes fixed on the pages in his lap, and ignores you, a mistake that would soon lead to his downfall.
“So…You lose!” you shout with a grin.
With your words comes a stream of water straight to his face, followed by a second, less accurately aimed jet from Luffy that drenches his book and leaves Law fuming. You keep that infuriating, mischievous grin plastered across your face, but he slightly smirks as he notices the way you swallow hard as he glares at you, a silent acknowledgment that you knew you were certainly in for it now.
“Shishishi—you’re in trouble with Traffy! Not me though, I’m gettin’ away!” Luffy cackles, using his rubber arms to swing to the other side of the ship, leaving you to Law’s devices, and oh, did he have plans for you.
Your idiocy had earned you a harsh quickie in the library, full of bites and dirty talk and nails dragging into his back.
“F-Fuck, Traffy—” you whimper as he bucks his hips harshly, filling you up so deeply his cock brushes against your cervix.
He yanks on your hair harshly and sinks his teeth into your neck, not caring in the slightest if he leaves marks on your precious, unblemished skin. “Brat. Say my name properly.” he hisses in your ear, wanting nothing more than to hear the word fall off your lips.
“Mmmf, ‘m sorry, Law…” you whine, tilting your head towards him to give him more access to your neck. Law—hearing you drop the nickname and letting his real name drip off your tongue drives him wild and makes him drive his cock into you even harder as he bites and sucks along the column of your neck. The familiarity and intimacy of it—even though it’s entirely manufactured, and he would never dream of displaying a similar vulnerability and dropping the -ya from your name—allows him to pretend you care more than you do. It lets him pretend you care as much as he does.
“You better be.” he whispers, roughly clawing at your back with his jagged nails. He wanted a string of apologies out of you before he was done—he’d already coaxed one out of you for spraying him in the face with the water gun, but burrowing your way under his skin and refusing to evacuate was the much more severe crime at hand, one with a sentence that ended up benefiting you both physically, but left him in a mental state even more frazzled and unfocused than before.
Irrationality began to cloud his judgement even more so as time went on, and he insists on you being in the group he brings to Wano with him. Having you on the Polar Tang, even for a short time, is intoxicating to him—with the temptation of having you so close overpowering him, he finds himself uncharacteristically taking breaks from his work to use you for stress-relief. He tells himself that’s all it is despite the fact he knows it’s a weak lie. You’ve deciphered his feelings by this point; he can see it written on your face, though you cautiously say nothing. Instead, you hang around after your unsavory activities, following him around the submarine and staying up late at his side, curiously and gently prying at aspects of himself that he thought he had locked away for good. He’s furious at you for the way you’re able to unravel him, ripping him open emotionally just as he tears at your insides physically, and he takes his frustrations out on you accordingly. However, you never seem to mind, and take all he gives you in strides; he’s mean, nasty, and rough with you in bed, but no matter how hard he tries to keep control, there’s a glint in your eyes that says you’re the one with the real power—you’re the one who can get the Surgeon of Death to snap and succumb to his base urges, and it enthralls you, much to his continued frustration.
He finds himself obsessing over you so deeply that he makes every excuse to keep you apart from your crewmates until the rest arrived with Sanji in tow. He gives you a cover story to keep you close to him and continues his façade of this simply being sex to him, though you both know it’s more at this point.
“I like you, Law. I've gotten attached.” you said one night, words nearly drowned out by the chorus of cicadas hissing in the distance.
You were curled into his side, fingers tracing along his chest tattoos; it’s a rare moment where he lets you to show him affection like this, and your confession makes him deeply regret allowing you this luxury. Despite the way your presence makes his heart contort and twist, despite all the hoops he’s jumped through to keep you close to him, and despite the fact that if he keeps his feelings bottled up for too much longer, he may never get the chance to vocalize them, he remains stubborn, letting a painful silence emanate into the night.
“It’s silly of me, I know, but I can’t help it.” you whisper, flinching at the way your voice cracks in the process.
At times, Law saw you as obnoxious and silly, but you were also clever, compassionate, understanding, and strong, especially as you withstand all of his erratic mood swings as he sorts out his feelings for you—that’s why it cuts him to the bone when he causes you pain like this.
“Neither can I.” he whispers, unable to hold his sentiments back any longer. He feels a touch lighter, but is not surprised when the melancholy resting between the two of you remains hanging in the air, coating you like a blanket. After all, this could not and would not last forever, and once this alliance ends, the only glimpse he may ever get of you again might be on your wanted poster.
When all of the business in Wano ends, he has half the mind to take you for himself—to make you his and refuse to let go no matter how much Luffy begged him to release you, but he knows you would never leave your friends and go with him willingly. Maybe that’s what infuriates him most—no matter how intimate and soft your half-lidded stare is while he fucks the daylights out of you, you would always love the sea, freedom, and your stupid antics with your crew more than him. No amount of late-night conversations, full of hesitant divulgences and barriers broken, and no amount of physical contact would ever permanently tie you together, despite how much he wished that wasn’t the case.
Law knows this is the last time he’ll have you beneath him, close to him, and vulnerable for him, but he can’t bring himself to be gentle, overwhelmed by the violent storm in his chest. Laid out and panting, your fingers curl into the sheets beneath you as his skilled fingers work magic on your clit. Just as your thighs begin to twitch, he pulls his hand away, delighting in the way you whine and plead with him in frustration. Inked fingers roughly squeeze the sides of your windpipe, making you squeak for him.
“You didn’t think I’d let you have it this easy, did you?” he taunts, using his other hand to grip your chin, smirking as he hovers over you before planting his lips onto yours. Heated, deep, and full of longing on both sides, the kiss is enough to nearly pull his heart apart in two. He takes great care to memorize the drag of your lips against his, the way the plush skin of your hips feels in his grasp, and the grip of your walls against him as his cock slides deep inside of you.
If this is the last time Law is going to have you, he is intent on drawing it out as long as he possibly can before he lets you go. He just wishes things didn’t have to end this way.
#one piece x reader#trafalgar law x reader#law x reader#trafalgar law x you#law x you#trafalgar law x y/n#law x y/n#one piece smut#one piece scenario#one piece fanfiction#x reader#mdni
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young, drunk, and alone
putellas!reader, infuriates her sister when she sneaks out and gets drunk with her friends. alexia comes to realize that maybe, this is a result of her pushing you too hard.
angst + fluff. brief mentions of blood and vomiting. and alcohol consumption.
this is literally 6k word essay on how silly sisters can be.
-----
Sneaking out hadn't been your best plan. Was it really sneaking out if you slipped right out the front door? You weren't sure. Alexia and Olga were heavy sleepers, and because you had the following day off, you figured it was as good a time as any. You were planning on meeting up with some friends from school and going to a club. You didn't drink much; a combination of being a professional athlete, and someone named Alexia, who happened to be your very strict older sister.
You probably should have paced yourself. You also probably should have not run away from your friends, especially when you were blitzed out of your mind. You weren't quite sure where you were, or how long it had been since you'd bolted from the club. Or how many drinks you'd had.
You'd broken one of your... well, one of Alexia's heels, and you carried both shoes in one hand. You were really sleepy all of a sudden, and you spotted a bench a few meters ahead. You headed there, plopping down on the bench before pulling your phone out of your pocket. The screen swam in front of your eyes, and you couldn't figure out if your hand was moving, or if your head was moving. Something was, that was for sure.
You were somewhere. Somewhere in the city of Barcelona. You needed some help, though.
And you knew just the gal to come get you. Alexia could find anyone, but especially you; she had your location.
The phone began to ring, and you heard your sister's grumpy voice come over the line shortly after.
"Why are you calling me from inside the same house?" She said groggily.
"Aleeeeexiaaaaaa!" You sang, proud of yourself for solving your problem all on your own, especially while the earth was spinning so much faster than normal.
"Nena. You better be in your room right now." Alexia said through clenched teeth. You could hear her shuffling, and Olga speaking to her quietly.
"'M not in my room, Ale, sorry." You heard your door bang open, then, and Alexia confirm what you'd just admitted.
"I am going to kill you to death." Alexia warned. "Where are you? Are you safe?"
"I'm not totally sure where I am. There's a road... ooo and a bench. And I think a building. D'you know where I am?"
"My god. You don't know where you are?" Alexia cried, shaking off her girlfriend's advice to calm down.
"Nope. D'you?" You slurred.
"How would I know where you are!?!?" Alexia shouted. There was more shuffling, and Olga's soothing voice replaced Alexia's.
"Nena, Ale has your location. We're going to come get you now. Stay where you are, okay?"
"Yes ma'am." You said, saluting to the thin air in front of you. You hung up then, though you forgot to say goodbye, and awaited your sister eagerly.
-----
"I am going to kill her." Alexia seethed, driving well over the speed limit on the way to your little dot on her screen.
"You can kill her later, let's just make sure she's safe first." Olga sighed.
"This is Alba's fault. Or Mapi's. Or Pina and Cata's. I will find the culprit, and I will make them run so many laps..."
"She's right there," Olga interrupted, pointing to the park bench where you were sitting, looking blankly at your sister's car.
Alexia threw the car and park, and moved to throw her door open, but stopped when her girlfriend grabbed her arm.
"Alexia, she's drunk. She's not going to remember any of this tomorrow, so be nice now. You can yell later, yes?"
"Fine." Alexia sighed. She got out of the car, as did Olga, and they approached you carefully.
"ALE!!" You cheered, standing and tripping forward dangerously as you tried to tackle your sister in a hug.
"Hi." Alexia said evenly, easily catching you and helping you back upright.
"Thanks for comin' to get me," you slurred, slumping into your sister.
"Yeah, yeah. Let's get you home nena."
"OLGA!!!" You yelled suddenly, turning and seeing your sister's girlfriend biting back a smile at the sight of you. You were gone. Completely gone.
"Hey nena." Olga said kindly, opening the door to the backseat for you. Alexia barely got you buckled in before you toppled completely over, now laying horizontally across the back seat.
"Ow." You said quietly. Again, Olga had to try really hard not to laugh, turning to her girlfriend, who just look exasperated.
"Maybe I should sit back there with her." The brunette suggested.
"I think that might be best." Alexia agreed, walking around to the drivers side and getting in. She looked in the rearview mirror, seeing you completely slumped on her girlfriend's shoulder, eyes already shut. It melted her heart, just a little, how much you loved Olga, and how much Olga loved you. Still, her overarching feelings right now were anger and frustration.
-----
Once Alexia had carried you from the car, deposited you on your bed, and placed a trash can and a bottle of water within your reach, she grabbed your phone, texting your friends that had clearly not been keeping an eye on you that you were home safe. She then stomped back into her room, throwing herself dramatically onto her bed.
"What was she thinking? Is she stupid? Is she the stupidest person on earth? She has to be."
"Ale, calm down." Olga said, following her in and shutting the door behind her. "Go to sleep. Deal with it tomorrow."
Alexia sighed, laying back down under the covers, before looking over to her girlfriend. "Thank you for coming. And for taking such good care of her." She said quietly.
"Always." Olga promised, pressing a light kiss to Alexia's lips.
-----
The next morning found you not laid in bed until the afternoon like you would have hoped. Instead, Alexia had dragged you out of bed at 9am, which she felt was pretty generous, threw some training clothes at you, and drove over to the Barça grounds. She had to pull over once for you to get out and throw up, but even though you were sweating, exhausted, your head was pounding, and your stomach churning, Alexia was unrelenting.
Olga was still asleep when Alexia had left with you, and you had wondered if you could text her discreetly to put an end to this before it started. Alexia had taken your phone hostage though, so that was a no go.
Now, Alexia had you running sprints. You thanked god above that it was a chillier, cloudier day, but running while you were violently hungover was still... a form of torture. She'd found a whistle, somewhere, and anytime you stopped running, she blew it at you, making the pounding in your head worse.
You managed to last 15 minutes before you stopped a few feet away from her, looking at your sister pleadingly.
"Ale, I'm gonna throw up," you warned.
Alexia's was unflinching, sunglasses down over her eyes as she stood, hands on her hips, watching you.
"I'm not stopping you." She said coldly, gesturing for you to do so.
"Ale, please," you whined.
"If you didn't want to run sprints hungover, you shouldn't have snuck out and gotten drunk." Alexia told you.
You turned away from her, throwing up what little water you'd managed to drink so far. When you were done, you turned back, finding Alexia directly behind you, holding out a sports drink.
"Drink." She instructed. You took it, chugging the whole thing as you held back a gag, knowing if you could keep any of it down, it would be somewhat helpful.
Things continued like this for another 10 minutes, until you were sure Alexia was going to keep you going until you passed out.
In fact, Alexia was just about to call it, not wanting to completely kill you, when she heard her name being shouted from just behind her.
"Alexia, what are you doing to that poor girl?!" Mapi yelled, marching towards her friend, while Ingrid broke into a run, heading towards you. You'd fallen to your knees, retching pathetically onto the grass, even as nothing came up.
"She snuck out and got drunk." Alexia dismissed, looking concerned at the sight of you on the ground, trembling violently in Ingrid's arms. Mapi grabbed her wrist, spinning her back around.
"Alexia. This is really harsh, even for you."
"Good. Maybe she'll learn her lesson." Still, Alexia couldn't help her gaze flicking over to where you were. You were okay, she was sure. She knew what you could take, and what you couldn't. You'd drink some water, take a cold shower, and sleep the rest of the day.
Mapi looked disapprovingly at her captain. "Maybe that would have taught you a lesson. I'm sure there are more effective ways of talking to your sister about this, than attempted murder."
"She's fine. I know her limits, and so does she. If she was really not well, she would have just stopped."
You wouldn't have. You knew your sister was furious, and you would have done anything to fix that. Anything. If it meant running until you dropped, so be it. Alexia didn't think you'd push yourself that hard, though. She way underestimated the lengths you would go to for her approval.
"Anyway, what are you doing here? It's an off day." Alexia questioned, beginning to walk towards you.
"Ingrid wanted to work on a few things." Mapi said.
They reached your side, and Ingrid looked up sternly at your sister, a glare set on her face.
"Ale, can we go home?" You asked pathetically. You were completely pale, covered in sweat, and you were shaking all over.
"Yeah. Let's go." Ingrid helped you to your feet, holding you steady as Alexia wrapped an arm around you, and began walking you towards the exit.
"Should we call child protective services?" Ingrid wondered sarcastically, watching Alexia drag you back to the car.
"Nah. She's 19. And Alexia will have to deal with Olga when she gets that poor kid home."
----
And have to deal with Olga, Alexia did.
She helped you into the house, the AC in the car and the endless supply of water Alexia had for you helping tremendously. You felt more alive now, and honestly, you must have sweated out a lot of the alcohol, because you didn't feel that bad.
You were still shaking, though, still pale. Alexia cringed internally when she heard Olga's feet quietly making their way towards the front door, as she helped you pull your shoes off.
"Alexia." Olga gasped. "What did you do, take her to get run over by a truck?" She walked forward, easing you away from your sister, and towards the living room, shooting her girlfriend a harsh glare over your shoulder.
"No. We had a workout to do." Alexia said casually.
"Nena, are you okay?" Olga asked softly.
You smiled up at her, relaxing back into the couch. "Yep. I thought she was going to kill me for a bit, but she didn't."
Olga sighed. You were back to joking, back to pretending that Alexia's behavior didn't bother you. Back to acting like you didn't need more support from her. This needed to stop. Now.
"Drink some water. We can try to get some food in you in a bit. Alexia, come with me." Olga's tone left no room for conversation as she headed up the stairs towards their room. Alexia didn't listen immediately to a lot of people, but Olga was one of them.
She trailed after her girlfriend a little hesitantly. She knew she'd taken it too far. She hadn't done any damage to you, but it was still too far. And Olga was about to give her hell for it. Which likely, she deserved. Alexia was stubborn, though, and she wouldn't admit to being wrong without a bit of a fight.
"Are you crazy? What were you trying to accomplish, Ale? Whatever you made her do was overkill. You didn't need to take it so far-"
"NO. She is my baby sister, and she is off getting drunk and getting lost, and-" Alexia interrupted, suddenly furious again.
"Alexia, she's 19. This is what 19 year olds' do." Olga defended.
"Not HER. She is supposed to be responsible. She is an athlete, she has responsibilities, she has people relying on her-"
Olga cut her off again. "God, amor, I cannot imagine why'd she'd feel the need to go get drunk. That doesn't seem like a lot of stress on a teenager at all."
Alexia was quiet for a moment. "If she was stressed, she would tell me. If it was too much, she would tell me." She said, though she sounded suddenly unsure.
"Would she?" Olga wondered. "You're pretty strict with her, baby. Maybe she doesn't need Stern Alexia, and tough love all the time, maybe she just needs love." This had been swirling around in Olga's head for the past few weeks, though she wasn't sure how to bring it up to her girlfriend. She'd watched as you would wilt when Alexia would give you a simple 'good job' after a game, directly followed by all the things she thought you could improve. She watched you do things, and instantly turn to your sister, to see if she was impressed or not. If Alexia was, she never let it show.
For Alexia, sternness, rigidness worked for her. She didn't need people to be soft with her, to tell her all the time that she was doing a good job, so she assumed you didn't either. Olga could tell, though, that every time Alexia ruffled your hair instead of giving you a hug, shook off your request to something fun instead of reviewing match footage, it crushed you, just a little bit.
Olga wasn't surprised that this had happened, not at all. You were acting out, trying to burn off some stress while also trying to get your sister's attention.She hoped it would finally make her girlfriend understand that you needed more from her. You were young, living away from your mom, and you needed someone to care for you, not just push you. You wanted that from your sister, too, although you were always appreciative of everything that Olga did for you.
Their argument fizzled out, and Olga realized Alexia needed space to think. She left her there to do so, heading back downstairs to check on you.
-----
You and Alexia didn't speak of the incident in the days following. You could tell something had changed, Alexia was being... different with you. Less intense.
You thought she was just really angry. Which was fair. You'd been stupid and irresponsible. She had every right to be angry. You decided to let it pass, to not push her into forgiving you sooner.
You didn't realize that Alexia was rethinking the entire dynamic she had with you, the role she played in your life. She noticed, suddenly, that you weren't as affectionate as you had been before. You didn't sit close to her on the couch when you watched TV together. You didn't pull her into a hug when you saw her. You didn't talk to her when you were upset after a game. You didn't immediately look for her when you got hurt. She'd been so focused on being the coach that she thought you needed that she'd forgotten to be the sister that you'd actually needed.
She could be your mentor without pushing you so hard, Alexia had realized. You didn't need another coach. You needed your sister. Alexia just wasn't sure how to fix what she'd broken.
When she did figure out how to fix it, it came naturally to her. It was suddenly instinctual, again, the strong feeling within her to take care of you, not push you to be better.
-----
The first time you got some idea that Alexia was making an effort to be different was a few days after The Incident, as you and Olga had named your adventure. You were coming back from seeing your friends; the very same friends you had gone out with. It had started off fine, everyone joking around about your disappearing act. As the conversation continued, though, it became clear to you that a few of them had seen you leave by yourself, and not bothered to go after you. And they had all been significantly less intoxicated than you were.
They tried to excuse their behavior by telling you they were distracted by various people they'd met up with at the club. When you pushed, asking why no one thought to keep an eye on you, or go after you when you ran out, especially after they'd been pushing drink and drink on you, enjoying how increasingly absurd you got, they got defensive. They lashed out, going on and on about how you should have been responsible, and it wasn't their job to babysit you. You knew that, but at the same time, anything could have happened to you when you ran out of the club. It was a miracle that nothing did. The argument escalated into a full blown fight, until you were shouting back and forth at each other, bringing up issues that were long resolved.
Eventually, you stormed out, walking the 15 minutes back to your sister's house, angry tears falling from your eyes. Your friends weren't the best friend's a person could have, you knew this. They were your only friends outside of football, though, the only friends that were truly your's and not also your sister's. That's probably why you kept them around so long, and you never would have thought they would care so little about your safety.
The words exchanged had been harsh, and you knew as you neared home that there was no salvaging those relationships. You were upset, everything hard about the week catching up with you. You just hoped that when you walked through the front door, Alexia and Olga would both be too busy with various tasks to notice how upset you were. Alexia hated your friends, and you knew she would tell you that what happened was for the best. That was absolutely not what you needed to hear, now, though.
You opened the door as quietly as you could, slipping your shoes off and carefully placing your keys down on the little table near the door. You turned to walk up the stairs, jumping slightly when Olga was suddenly standing directly behind you, looking at her phone.
"What do you want for dinner? Your sister and I can't agree," Olga asked, growing quiet as she looked up, spotting how upset you were. "What's wrong?" The brunette's face grew sympathetic, and you ignored how it made you want to cry.
"Nothing." You told her, dodging her attempt to rest a hand on your shoulder, and slipping up the stairs. You shut the door to your room. It was a mess in there, it was past time you cleaned it; and, anyway, you needed to do something to get your anger out, and furiously cleaning seemed like as good of an idea as any.
-----
Downstairs, Olga was conflicted. Normally, she would take this, as the more emotionally available adult in the house. She knew that you didn't want her comfort, though, not in the way you wanted your sister's. And Alexia had clearly been taking to heart what her girlfriend had told her, being noticeably different with you, even if she hadn't figured out quite how to act. So, Olga slipped off to the office, knocking and entering when she heard her girlfriend's voice beckoning her inside.
"Hey, beautiful," Alexia said, smiling from behind the desk. Olga smiled in return, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Your sister just got home from seeing her friends and I think something happened, she was really upset."
Alexia rolled her eyes. "They suck, I'm not surprised. Is she okay?"
"She ran off to her room, but she was crying." Olga replied, watching her girlfriend's expression carefully. Alexia looked conflicted, like she wasn't sure what to do.
"I'll go check on her." The blonde said finally, receiving an encouraging smile from Olga. She stood and headed towards the stairs, pausing when Olga stopped her.
"Just a tip. Telling her that her friends suck probably won't make her feel better. Even is she's mad at them. Just try to be nice." Olga suggested.
Alexia nodded, continuing on her way. Her girlfriend was more than a little amused at how nervous the blonde seemed. It was just you.
For Alexia, though, she didn't really know how to make you feel better. What would have worked for her was clearly not working for you, she saw that now. You were so different from her, so much more sensitive. She was nervous because she didn't want to say the wrong thing. She didn't realize, however, that any attempt she would make would be greatly appreciated by you.
Alexia knocked on your door, feeling a little ridiculous at how nervous she was, opening the door tentatively when you told her to come in. You were pacing around the room, folding clothes and putting things away, even as a few tears remained falling from your eyes. You looked furious as you cleaned rather aggressively, not acknowledging your sister when she walked in the room.
"Hey, nena?" Alexia called after a minute of watching you fold a shirt like you would have preferred to set it on fire. You hummed in response, still not looking towards her. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened." You snapped, moving on to another shirt, throwing the recently folded one down on the bed, huffing in frustration when the action messed up your meticulous work.
Deciding not to second guess her instincts, Alexia strode forward, taking the shirt out of your hands and setting it on the bed. She turned you so that you were facing her, placing her hands on your shoulders. You still wouldn't meet her eyes, and you were a good few inches shorter than her, but she could still see your angry resolve cracking, your bottom lip beginning to quiver.
You didn't want to cry in front of her, not over the friends of yours that she hated. It was a waste, and you knew she wouldn't give you the sympathy that you wanted. That just wasn't how Alexia was.
"C'mere," Alexia said softly, wrapping her arms around you and bringing you into a tight hug.
Until this point, Alexia wasn't sure she quite understood what you needed from her. The second you melted into her arms, though, like a hug was all you'd needed, it became very clear. Olga was right; you'd just needed love.
Your shoulders were shaking with silent cries, as if you were trying to keep them quiet, and Alexia frowned, arms squeezing you tighter.
"You can cry, cariño, if you're upset. It's okay to cry." She whispered. Admittedly, expressing emotion wasn't something she was good with. She hadn't realized the effect this had on you expressing your emotions before now.
You cried into your sister's shoulder, no longer holding back after her words of encouragement, for a solid 5 minutes. Alexia didn't shy away from the display of feelings like you expected her to. Instead, she sat you on the side of your bed, carefully wiping the remaining tears off your face with the sleeve of her sweater.
Still sniffling pathetically, you looked down at our hands, not sure if you should tell her what happened, if she'd want to hear. Alexia caught your hesitation, sitting down next to you, and bumping your knee with hers. "Tell me what happened."
You took a deep breath, before launching into the story. Alexia grew tense next to you, clearly with anger, but you weren't sure who it was directed at. If it was at the reminder of how irresponsible you'd been, or if it was at your friends. When you finished, Alexia was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what to say.
"They suck." She said finally, before shaking her head at herself. "No, Olga told me not to say that. You deserve better friends than them, especially if their are so unconcerned with your safety and wellbeing. What if you hadn't had your phone? What if something had happened? I wouldn't have known where you were, you could have been hurt." Alexia went on, growing more agitated.
"I'm sorry, Ale," you told her.
"No, no. I am angry with them." Alexia said earnestly. "For being so careless with you. They should have been looking out for you. I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you, but I probably would have started with ruining their lives."
Protective Alexia wasn't a side of your sister you'd seen in a while. Not since you were 11 and you'd told her that a boy had tried to kiss you on the playground. She'd skipped training to march to your school, asking you to point out the boy. You had, and she'd held him up against the brick wall of the building by the collar of his shirt, warning him to never so much as look at you, ever again. He was appropriately terrified, and no one tried to mess with you again after that.
It was nice, feeling protected by your sister. It felt safe. It made you feel loved.
-----
Even after the conversation about your friends, Alexia still didn't acknowledge that something had changed.
Until after a rather rough match against Atlético. You were having an off day, your passes not connecting, your shots just barely missing the back of the net. She could tell you were frustrated, and she wasn't sure how to make you feel better. Normally, she'd give you a pat on the back, tell you to push through and focus. Alexia realized now, though, that you didn't need that from her.
Still, it was the middle of the match, and there wasn't time for a pep talk. She'd have to wait until the match was over, and then she could figure out what to say to you. Now, she needed to focus.
Alexia did focus. She focused on taking the corner, watching the ball sail towards your head. She focused on Lola's gloved hand extending towards the ball, and connecting squarely with your face. Alexia saw you drop to the ground, clutching tightly to your nose. The whistle blew immediately, and half the team was looking down at you uneasily, waving urgently for the medical staff. Lola was crouched by your head, clearly making repetitive apologies.
Normally, when you got hurt, Alexia kept her distance. She didn't want to suffocate you, and she didn't want to act unprofessional. On the pitch, you were teammates. Appearances didn't matter, though, not really, and she could be your older sister too, she knew.
Alexia sprinted to you, shoving players of both teams out of her way in her quest to get to your side. Lola saw her barreling towards her, and wisely backed up, leaving the spot just above you open, while the medics were arriving on either side of you.
You were still on your stomach, clutching tightly to your face, feeling hot blood seep into your hand. It was broken. You'd heard the crunch. And, like always when you got hurt, you wanted your sister to come hold your hand. You knew she wouldn't. She had to be professional, she had a reputation to protect. You were surprised when her soft voice met your ear.
"Hey, nena, can you roll over for us?"
Although your position smushed into the turf felt like the most comfortable you could get currently, you slowly rolled onto your back with a groan.
"Oh, honey," Alexia whispered, taking in the sight of your very broken nose, blood pooling all over your face.
"Broken," you mumbled, the movement of speaking hurting, blood filling your mouth. So as not to allow you to choke, Alexia and one of the medics carefully sat you up, tipping you forward, allowing your nose to drip into the towel being help against your face.
"She's right, I heard it break," Lola added, still hovering near you. It had been completely accidental, what she'd done, and she felt guilty. She backed up, though, when Alexia shot her a harsh glare.
"Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Are you going to pass out?" Alexia asked anxiously, knowing that you weren't a fan of blood. The medics exchanged amused looks at your suddenly overbearing sister, as you looked at her, less amused, and slightly comforted.
"No. Fine. Hurts't talk." You got out, closing your eyes as the pain intensified. Alexia's hand rubbed circles into your back, and you were floored when she pressed a kiss to the top of your head, right in front of the entire stadium, before looking to the medic for permission to help you to your feet. When he nodded and grabbed your other arm, they got you up, supporting you all the way to the sidelines, where another medic took over for you sister.
"Should I tell Jona to take me off?" Alexia asked you, still glued to your side, even as you neared the tunnel.
"No, go win." You spit some blood onto the ground, barely managing the words, and Alexia agreed uneasily, watching you all the way back inside.
The rest of the team was looking at her like she had two heads. Never before had they seen her be so nurturing with you, so outwardly worried. Alexia loved you, no one doubted that. She was just normally much more reserved about showing affection for her youngest sister.
-----
By the time Alexia got back to the locker room post match she was startled to see that you weren't in sitting in front of your locker waiting for her, or with the team doctors. They informed you that Olga had taken you home. You had a slight concussion, and your nose was broken, but didn't need to be reset, and you didn't want to wait for most of the second half to finish for your sister, so when Olga offered to take you home, you took her offer gratefully.
She sped through her shower and her post match routine, continuing to ignore the surprised expressions on her teammates face, and the rather satisfied one on Mapi's; the defender was finally seeing the return of the Older Sister Alexia she knew.
Alexia arrived home, abandoning her bag in the car and rushing inside. She wanted to make sure you were okay, more than anything. More than anything. It was like she'd just remembered that she was your sister, not just your captain, and her instinct to protect you was overwhelming her.
She marched right into the house, finding you laid on the couch, your head resting in Olga's lap an ice pack held over your nose by your sister's girlfriend, who was telling you an animated story about the crazy fan she'd run into in the stands today.
"Nena," Alexia sighed, feeling slightly better at the sight of you, more or less in one piece.
You sat up, still rather confused at the complete 180˚ your sister had done. "Hi." You had a rather disconcerting lisp to your speech, your lip swelling from the contact with the opposing goalkeeper's glove.
Alexia sat right next to you, removing the ice pack, and inspecting your face carefully.
"Does it hurt?" She asked.
"Not as much now. The ice is helping."
"Have you eaten? Taken anything? You should drink a lot of water, and ice every 15 minutes, and make sure you sleep propped up on a pillow, and we should go to the dentist tomorrow, just to make sure your teeth are okay." Alexia rambled, gently nudging your lip up to look at the swollen gums surrounding your upper front teeth. "Are they loose? If they're loose, we should go to the dentist now."
You exchanged a look with Olga. You were rather confused, while she just looked pleased with herself.
"They're not loose. I feel fine, Ale, and I ate some pasta. I think I'm just going to go to bed, I'm really tired."
You stood, keeping the ice pressed to your nose, catching the slightly frantic look on your sister's face. "You'll wake me up if it hurts, or if something is wrong, right?" She questioned.
"Yeah, if you want me to." You told her.
She nodded, relieved. "I would like you to."
"Okay. Goodnight, guys." Before you could step away from the couch, Alexia was standing and pulling you into a gentle hug, being extra careful with... your entire face. She kissed your forehead, before shooing you off towards the stairs.
Bewildered but pleased with your sister's odd behavior, you headed for bed, hoping that Alexia would be more normal, if still just as caring, tomorrow.
-----
You knew that was out of the question when your door opened softly an hour after you went to bed. You turned, not having fallen asleep yet, seeing your sister stood in the doorway, a blanket in hand, worrying her lip between her teeth.
"What's up?"
"Can I sleep in here? I'm worried about your face, I can't fall asleep." Alexia admitted, taking one step forward before pausing, looking anxiously at you.
You blinked at her for a minute, wondering if this was some kind of bizarre dream where your sister had undergone a personality transplant, before nodding.
"If you want," you agreed, scooting over to make room for you sister. She climbed onto the bed eagerly, smiling at you. You smiled back, wondering if it was possible that your sister was on drugs. She took several minutes to get comfortable, settling under the covers before turning on her side to face where you lay on your back, eyes closed. You could feel her watching you.
"Alexia you can't sleep in here if you're going to stare at me all night like a psychopath." You said, not opening your eyes.
"Sorry, sorry. I'm just worried. I'll stop now." Alexia promised, rolling onto her back too.
You didn't say anything for a moment, not wanting to ruin the very sweet moment you were having with you sister, but also feeling curiosity burn through you.
"You're being really weird." You said finally.
Alexia sighed, like she'd known this was coming.
"Am I dying or something and no one bothered to tell me? Is that why you're being so nice to me?" You were only half joking. Alexia sighed again, and somehow, it sounded guilty. "Am I?" You asked, opening your eyes and looking at the blonde.
"No, idiota, you aren't dying. I'm just... I'm trying to be a better sister."
You heard all the time that your sister was awkward, but you'd never really gotten that vibe from her until now.
"Oh. Okay. You're a good sister already, Ale." You said gruffly, looking away from her.
Alexia blinked at you. "Well, I'm glad you think so, but there is always room for improvement. You shouldn't be surprised when I'm nice to you, or take care of you. That should be normal."
"Thanks." You said after a minute, clearing your throat. You hated when Alexia was so nice it made you cry. Hated it.
"You don't have to thank me. I love you, hermanita." Alexia said, and there was no mistaking the vulnerability in her voice.
You were so going to tell Alba about this, and make fun of Alexia endlessly for being so bad at human emotions. For now, though, you rolling into her side a little, resting your head on her shoulder.
"I love you too, Ale."
Alexia smiled to herself. God, she normally hated when her girlfriend proved her wrong, but this time, it had been so needed. She was greatful for Olga, and for you, for being so forgiving. It was very youngest sister of you, never holding a grudge. She loved you. A lot. She was going to be better about showing it.
-----
this got out of hand i won't lie.
hope you enjoyed :)
#woso x reader#alexia putellas x reader#putellas!reader#platonic#woso imagine#barcelona femeni x reader
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good partner
Summary: You get a call from Sam asking to help him and Bucky find the Super Soldiers, and get Zemo out of prison. You're still not done with your mission, but the former Winter Soldier doesn't like the idea of you around. This is mostly based on episode 4 of the show, "The Whole World is Watching". I wanted to write something light but you can request a smut.
Warning: Angst, mentions of The Winter Soldier, fluff | Word count: 4k
Pairing: Bucky x f!reader
A loud thud echoed through the loft as Zemo hit his back against the hard floor. You stomped your foot on his chest and heard him grunt against gritted teeth.
"I'm in this case as well. You're just a rat who got lucky from getting out of a cell" You spat out. Both Sam and Bucky trying hard not to snort.
The baron still kept his gaze at you, holding your foot so tight you almost stumbled. He got up on his foot and wrapped a hand around your bicep.
"Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli. Hmm. I prefer to keep my leverage. I can't trust you" He locked his eyes on yours and squeezed his fingers on your skin.
You let out a dry scoff. They should've let him die in that prison. Behind your back, Sam was about to step in. Zemo had shifted his demeanor to a cold look. "You let them do it. Stay out of it".
"And who are you to say shit about what I should or should not do?" Raising your voice, he didn't flinch.
The man pointed a finger at you as a warning, still holding his damn tea cup. Only a slight second later, Bucky shattered the glass against the wall and pulled him by his collar.
"You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?" The soldier asked him. He tightened his metal wrist and you could see his shoulder grow wide.
Sam stood next to him, resting a hand on his forearm. "Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing".
Bucky still had him in his grip. Zemo didn't hold any expression, otherwise. It was infuriating. "You want some cherry blossom tea?"
You watched as the taller man twisted his collar. "You fucking touch her again, I'll break your neck". He shoved the baron backward and left the living room.
You were surprised, to say the least. Bucky was annoyed you were on this mission with them. He thought you were actually missing a few points and messing with their plan.
But much to his dismay, Sam agreed to have you on board and didn't complain about your work. Said his partner was just being grumpy.
The former Winter Soldier was leaning against the countertop, his hands gripping tightly against the edge. You offered a glass of water, which he denied.
The Falcon was somewhere else making a call, which left you alone with an irritated soldier and a trash bag of an ex-prisoner.
"Don't let him get through your head" You whispered, standing close to Bucky. He didn't look back at you. "It's what he likes to do. Ever since the last time you engaged".
He gulped harshly, it was back when he was being accused of planning a bombing in Vienna. And then, when he was held hostage in Germany, where Zemo broke him and brought Winter Soldier back.
"I don't like him either. But it's easier if we just ignore" You tried to humor him, but he still wasn't in the mood for interaction.
"Would that work if I ignored you as well?" Bucky lifted his eyes to meet yours. He had a stupid faux grin on his face.
As soon as he didn't get a response, he walked past you and made his way back to follow Sam, leaving you alone with Zemo.
~~
You're all gathered around as The Falcon goes through the plan again. Refusing to tag along with Zemo, you had to agree and make Bucky company.
They tracked Karli Morgenthau to a memorial service. But John Walker and his partner figured out the exact same plan. All you wanted to do was get all the serum back.
That is, if you didn't run into the shittiest Captain America while you and Bucky walked up the alley. You could literally hear him tightening his fists, his metal arm already functioning.
"Ah! How’d you find us now?" The soldier carried an unamused tone in his voice. You watched as John and his partner got closer to you both.
"You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?" He wasn't wrong, but you knew Bucky was past that now.
The Captain motioned his head towards you, measuring you from head to toe. "New Avenger?"
You snorted out loud and cracked a laugh. Your stomach was starting to cramp and the soldier next to you watched as John held a confused look.
"She's just a partner" He shrugged. "Sam asked for her help".
"Yeah, but not just a partner. So you better not step foot on our plans" Bucky knows how much of a menace you are.
He can't disagree with the fact that you can actually start a fight with the wrong people and not fear them.
John snorted and you narrowed your eyes at him. "Yeah, right. You wanna meet Karli, there will be civilians there. There's a high risk of casualties".
"No one's asking for your opinion, Cap. Sam is gonna talk to her and reason her" You tried to face him, but his demeanor didn't go down on you.
"She blew up a fucking building with people in it. If he's in there alone with a Super Soldier, he's getting himself killed".
Bucky rolled his eyes. "He's dealt with worse".
You were waiting inside the building while Sam tried to convince Karli. John couldn't stop pacing back and forth, even Zemo seemed annoyed already.
He started complaining about how dangerous it was, but the soldier next to you made sure it hadn't even been ten minutes yet.
Already done with his bullshit, you shifted on your foot. Bucky looked at you from the corner of his eyes. You weren't supposed to be there in the first place. He knows you're highly qualified and if shit went down you'd protect yourself.
And even though he's still pissed you're there, he can't wrap his head around the fact that this could be really dangerous for you.
John almost towered over Bucky, he was deadpanning at the Captain. "This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins".
"Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?" He tried getting into his head, but the man next to you did nothing but chuckle.
"You really don't know Sam, do you?" You chimed in and watched as John narrowed his eyes at you. "You come in here parading this new shield which, by the way, doesn't fucking belong to you and you want to dictate shit?"
By this point, he really wishes he could hit a woman. Bucky notices how John moves his body and tries to face you, but he doesn't let him.
"You better keep your distance" He warned the Captain, who took a few steps back and raised his hands in surrender.
John didn't wait five more minutes and decided to intervene in their conversation. Karli was fast enough and knocked them down before running away. You couldn't find her in the maze, but Zemo made sure to destroy the serums she had. Or he thought so.
~~
Back in the loft, the German man was lying on the couch with a soft fabric covering his eyes. He was talking about how Super Soldiers weren't allowed to exist.
In gets Bucky as he sighs before taking his jacket off. You couldn't take your eyes off his firm body, his strong arms, and perfectly shaped abs.
You were sitting opposite to him as he was on his back, just staring at his entire body. He poured a glass of whiskey before speaking up about his suspicions about John.
"Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy" He says as he rests his lips on the rim of the glass.
"Good thing you recognize that" You let out a laugh, and he snaps his eyes at you.
Bucky rolls his eyes and speaks through the glass. "You should have a look in the mirror".
You're taken aback by his response and open your mouth, ready for retaliation, but he speaks up again. "Shouldn't have given him the shield".
Sam stood next to him and pointed a finger, but you defended him. "He didn't give it".
You're sitting on the couch with your arms crossed against your chest. The former Winter Soldier walks toward you before crouching in front of you.
"Steve definitely didn't. And you're past the point of giving an opinion here. I said this mission wasn't for you".
He was too annoyed today, that's for sure. But that didn't give him the right to be a brat with you all the time. And you should ignore him, but the bickering gets him all the time.
You lift your torso and fill the gap between your faces. His brows are furrowed. "You don't get to say what I should or should not do".
The staring lingers for a while until the new captain barges into the loft asking for you all to turn Zemo over.
"Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today" Sam walks over to him.
John tries to tease your friend before the Wakandans enter the loft. They peacefully ask to turn Zemo as well, but a fight bursts in the room.
You run towards the corner of the room behind a pillar, while the wakandan knocks the captain and his friend down. The other three men are standing there, watching him get beat up with amused looks on their faces.
"Looking strong, John" Bucky teases and you snort loudly. He snaps his head your way and grins.
The soldier tries reasoning with Ayo, but she pulls herself away from him and continues to fight against John and his partner. Both him and Sam are too busy to notice that Zemo is trying to get away.
You run after him and hold the door knobs before he can lock himself. "Where the hell you think you're going?"
"Let go, or I'll shoot you" He warns, but you paid no mind. Only then, he gripped his gun quickly before shoving you backward, locking himself.
You looked over your shoulders and watched as Bucky was kneeling on the floor, grabbing his metal arm.
"Shit" You mutter and rush to him. "Everything okay?"
He carried a different look for a slight second, almost vulnerable. He reattached his arm back. Bucky looked at you and nodded. You grabbed his limb and carefully inspected it.
"Did you know they could do that?" He was still glancing down at you. His blue eyes were soft and light. He shook his head and clanked his arm.
Later on, Zemo was still nowhere near to be found, while Sam and Bucky were pissed they missed him.
"How could you not hold him back?" Your friend was messaging a few people he knew might know about him.
"I tried. He pointed a fucking gun to my head" You snapped.
The other man sat next to you on the stool by the countertop. He let out a sharp inhale. "Was it even loaded? He could've just tricked you".
"How the fuck would I know?" Your face was millimeters away from his once again. Your breath was fanning his face and you watched as he tightened his jaw.
"Know why I hate this fucking plan? Because you had one job today and you couldn't even do it" You closed your fists and clicked your jaw at his words.
"As much as I know Sam would bow down to you and say you're a great partner. I beg to differ" He got from his seat and walked with his heavy boots against the floor toward the couch.
Your voice cut through the air with bitterness and you immediately regretted it. "Sometimes you're no different from the Winter Soldier".
He stopped his tracks and spun around. Quickly, Bucky captured your face with his metal hand and squeezed your cheeks, making you pout.
"What the fuck did you just say?" His forehead was brushing yours and you could see rage in his eyes.
"Let go of her. She's just disappointed" Sam gave you a cold look before handling his partner. He grabbed Bucky by the shoulder before the man shoved your face.
You were sitting alone in the loft during the night, trying to book a flight home. Obviously, your plan to help with the mission became a disaster, nonetheless, from the beginning you knew Bucky didn't agree on this.
He thought you couldn't keep up with the plan and he was right. You were making things worse at this point. You wanted to help them, you tracked the Super Soldiers and you helped with Zemo, but that was just it.
Now you're debating whether you should just go without warning or not. Sam is going to be pissed at the end of it. He knows you're better than that, and after what you told Bucky there's no way you can face him again.
Your friend watched you from the corner of the hallway. He knows you're hurting from what happened, you wouldn't snap like that if his partner didn't push you. Sam talked to him, but he was too angry to actually forgive you.
He didn't blame him either.
"Hey, you going to sleep or what?" Sam asked as soon as he dropped his weight on the couch next to you. He peeked through your screen and saw it. "Woah, you're not leaving right? This isn't over. I still need you. We need to find Zemo".
"You can do that without me. You did it before. Besides, he's out there because of me. And Bucky is tired of my face".
He closed your laptop, and you glanced at him. "I can do it, but I don't want to. S'why I reached out to you. And we're gonna find him, he needs us too".
"And Bucky... I think it's just his sexual frustration talking" He laughed as you gasped at his words.
"Sam, what the fuck?"
"Dude doesn't even go on dates, he's probably nervous having a woman around. He's always been grumpy, I think it's in his nature. He'll come around at some point" He grinned at you.
"That's not my problem. He keeps pushing me, I'll fight back" You didn't need to look at him to see he was definitely enjoying the playfulness.
"You guys should just have sex. This is so annoying" Sam grabbed his phone as you choked on your own spit.
"For the love of God, drop this conversation before I snap at you too".
He handed the phone to you, saying Karli was threatening his sister and his nephews. She wants to find him, alone.
He has other plans, of course. But you can't even think about accepting the idea before Bucky gets to talk.
"He doesn't need to know. I'll go with him, you meet us there".
~~
You watched as he and Bucky fought the Super Soldiers along with John and his partner. They were beating each other up relentlessly.
One of them pulled a pocket knife and tried stabbing Bucky and you gasped. He shielded himself, dropping the object close to their face.
He had a snapped cut on his nose, and his jaw was split up. His knuckles were bloody red. Sam was in better shape than his friend, though.
You were shocked when you saw John's partner sitting unconscious on the floor. The captain rushed to him, too desperate to make any sense.
You pulled Bucky and Sam away and ran out of the building. "We gotta get the hell out of here now. He's gonna kill the kid" Your hands were shaking, and you almost tripped on your foot.
"Hey, woah. What are you doing here?" Bucky stopped in his tracks, looking back.
"Let's argue later, dipshit" Sam shouted at the soldier as you kept running.
In the loft, you asked Bucky to sit on the stool as you worked on his injuries. Starting on his nose, he hissed at the contact with the wet cloth.
"Keep steady, crybaby" You whispered and he looked up at you.
You cleaned the dried blood from his face and managed to apply some saline solution. The entire time, he kept his gaze on you. He noticed how focused you were on his injuries and how gently you managed it.
He held his hands up as you cleaned up his knuckles. They were red from all the punching, and it surprised you how he was still human besides the serum.
You squeeze his hands lightly, too embarrassed to look back at him before apologizing. "I'm really sorry about yesterday. It was a really shitty thing to say, and you don't deserve it. I was an asshole".
Bucky trailed his eyes to scan your face. He had a peaceful look. "I shouldn't have pushed you either. I was just annoyed Sam brought someone up to this mess".
"I accepted it. There's no right or wrong, I wanted to help". You were both still brushing your fingertips against each other.
"You're not bad after all" He mused and you chuckled. "I just- I don't think I can keep losing people".
You saw his raw personality right in front of you. That man who kept his serious and defensive demeanor was showing his true self. It was hard to miss it.
Your hand grasped his jawline, carefully rubbing his skin. He almost faltered. "That won't happen. I got two Avengers to protect me".
He snorted, showing his teeth when he laughed. "Should've seen that coming".
"And more than anyone else, you deserve that happiness. You just need to stop lying about your nightmares".
"How do you-" He was about to ask and you tilt your head.
"Sam and I talk. I know it's hard to erase the past. But you're James again, you're you" Your other hand is still holding him tightly.
Bucky refuses to look at you for a moment. And when he does, his eyes are glassy. "It means I remember. It means a part of me is still there. Which means a part of the Winter Soldier’s still in me".
You smack your lips. "You need to stop thinking you're making amends. You need to give them closure, be of service for them. Stop thinking like you still owe them just an apology".
He drops his head and bites his lip. You hold his chin up and force him to look at you. "You're not that guy anymore".
You were about to get closer for the hundredth time. Maybe close the gap between you and pull him in for a kiss. Not because you feel bad for him, for his past. But because you feel warmth when you're close to him.
You feel like he could hold the world above your head and fight for you.
That was when his phone started ringing. John killed that kid out of revenge.
~~
You finally meet Sam's sister, Sarah, after he invites you and Bucky home to help him fix his boat. A lot of their neighbors are also helping. There's a gathering with food and drinks by the lake, and every kid is excited to see the soldier. They're all lining up to hang up on his metal arm.
You're watching in the distance as he and Sarah chat about something, while two kids hang themselves on his limb. He seems lighter, happy even.
He has a different look on his face. Especially after Sam finally decided to become who he was supposed to be.
Bucky walks toward you holding two cans of beer in his hand. "You want one?"
He holds one out for you, and you accept it.
"The kids love you, you know?" You speak after sipping on your drink.
"What can I say? I'm pretty charming" He leans against the wall next to you, watching as the sun sets. There's a hue of orange in the sky.
"They only like you because of your arm. Don't get too cocky" You shove him by the arm playfully and he holds your hand for leverage.
Bucky pulls you closer to his body, his chest is heaving against yours. He's taller, so he has to look down at you.
"So you don't think I'm charming?" His words are too soft, but his grip on your waist is almost tight.
"I didn't say that" You smirk and he uses his other hand to rub the pad of his thumb on your lower lip.
The moment you felt his skin against yours, it felt like everything slowed down. Even though he was desperate to finally give you the kiss he'd been wishing for, it was obvious he was too nervous.
Sam's words lingered in your head. He was definitely in need of dates and he refused to accept it. Whatever changed his mind made you realize he had a soft spot for you.
That's what made you take the first step. You finally closed the distance and crashed your lips against his. It tasted like beer. The tiniest movement of your tongue had him groaning in the back of his throat and it almost made you smile.
He slid his tongue against yours and tilted his head for better access. He wished he wasn't holding a beer right now because all he wanted to do was cradle your face and pull you in for a deeper kiss.
Your arms wrapped around his neck and Bucky faltered as you grasped his lip between your teeth. Both tongues were fighting for dominance and you shivered.
The fresh taste of beer in your mouth made his heart flutter inside his chest. His heart was racing and pounding against his ribcage and he felt like the air got knocked out of his lungs.
You both had to pull out for air, his hand not leaving your body for a second. Resting your forehead against his, you watched as he kept his eyes closed.
"I'm glad you're happier now. I can see it right through you"
"Someone gave me a nudge. And Sam is a great friend, much to my disappointment" He joked, giving your lips a chaste peck.
"He said some pretty nasty things about you the other day" You laughed as he displayed a surprised look on his face.
"Oh, he's a dead man".
"Hmm, he might be right" You sipped on your beer, watching as Bucky placed a hand on his hip.
"What was it about?" The soldier mirrored you with his beer.
Getting closer to his face, you spoke against his lips. Voice low and teasing "You'll have to find out".
You gasped as he pulled you harder against his body and kissed you again. This time, it had a different impact, he was rough and needy.
A growth beneath you brushed against your body, and you chuckled between the kiss. Bucky had to pull away from you. He lowered his head and shook it.
"I might know what he meant" He barely had time to laugh as you pulled him in for another kiss.
You didn't even have time to tell Sam goodbye. Next thing you know, you were both in his hotel room, filling the air with a lot of passion and moaning.
You woke up the next day with a weight on you. His metal arm was spread above your body.
Jesus, they needed to get blackout curtains in the bedrooms. You slightly opened one of your eyes and peeked through your lashes as you saw Bucky peacefully sleeping close to you.
A smile escaped from your lips at the thought of the previous night.
Happiness crossed your mind when you cradled his face and traced his jawline. He was definitely happy. And hopefully, soon, the nightmares would go away.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fluff#bucky x reader#bucky barnes headcanon#bucky barnes headcanons#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes oneshot#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n
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Intoxication
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Male!Reader
Requested: Yes
Request: “love potion mix-up with Billy Hargrove??”
A/N: Happy Spooky Month everyone! Here's the first post for the 2023 Spooky Month event - the next post will be dropping on Tuesday, October 10th. Hope you enjoy!
-----
Things had been strange ever since the arrival of Billy Hargrove and his little sister, Max.
Well, things in Hawkins had been weird for a lot longer than that, especially since you and your best friend Steve had befriended the group of misfit kids that called themselves “the Party”. They’d introduced the two of you to a secret side of Hawkins, where magic and curses and strange creatures ran amok. One of the kids, a girl named Eleven, was able to control objects with her mind and see beyond what was there. Another, Will, was psychic and could connect to other planes of existence. Dustin had a way of knowing how things fit together before anyone else could even guess. Steve’s coworker from Scoops Ahoy, Robin, was a witch. And now, Max and her brother. Werewolves, if what Lucas had told you was to be believed.
But you really couldn’t bring yourself to care much about Billy Hargrove. Not when so much of his life seemed to be spent antagonizing your best friend and trying to disrupt your comfortable station within the school’s hierarchy, seemingly dead set on turning your life upside down. Even at stupid parties like this one, you could hear people chanting Billy’s name while he faced off against Steve in a match of beer pong somewhere deeper in the house while you try to coax the sticker-covered flask away from Robin in the kitchen.
“Robs, babe,” you murmur, sidling up beside her and leaning back against the kitchen island, “I think Vickie likes you already. I know it’s scary to risk rejection, but a love potion isn’t the solution here.”
Robin nods slowly to herself, but her fingers don’t loosen around the metal. “But what if I can’t do it?”
You cock your head, smiling as she meets your eyes. “But isn’t asking her and knowing better than using that and not knowing how she really feels?”
It takes a moment of consideration, but your friend nods, setting the flask on the chipped marble countertop.
“It’s more of an enhancer than-” Robin starts and it’s clear that you’re about to get one of Robin’s infamous lectures on the science of magic when she is cut off by someone snatching the flask from its place in front of the two of you.
“Aww, so sweet of you to have my next drink ready for me,” Billy Hargrove leers at you, unscrewing the cap of the flask even as his usual infuriating smirk slips over his lips, pretty blue eyes fixed on yours in with that intense, holier-than-thou look he always had. Just because he was tall and handsome and had pretty eyes and hair that you kind of want to curl your fingers into and use to pull him closer to shut him up with a kiss, doesn’t mean he could do anything but irritate you by looking at you like he knew something he wasn’t willing to share.
Your heart lurches in your chest as he raises the flask, you know you have to at least try to stop him, especially since Robin seems so stunned you’re not entirely sure she could say anything at all.
“Probably don’t wanna drink that, Hargrove,” you say, reaching out just in time to catch his wrist. “Might end up with something worse than a hangover.”
Billy leans forward against the counter, using his other forearm to prop himself up, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he looks at your hand, holding tight around his wrist, before his eyes shift up to meet yours. “You threatenin’ me?”
A derisive snort escapes you, and you gesture subtly for Robin to make her escape. The last thing you’d want is for Billy to figure out she had anything to do with whatever happens if he’s stubborn enough to drink the potion and start targeting her once it wears off. She catches your hint and mumbles an excuse about finding Steve, disappearing quickly into the crowd.
“Of course not,” you say, releasing him and holding your hands up placatingly. Sure, you didn’t really want to spend longer than necessary around Billy Hargrove, but you wanted to spend time with a pissed off Billy Hargrove even less. “Just think it probably wouldn’t be something you would like, so I was just hoping to get it back,” you reached for it as you spoke, leaning across the island yourself to try to make a grab for the flask.
Billy snatches it away, taking a long gulp from the mouth of the flask, grinning at you all the while. He pulls a face, but doesn’t wince the way one might at the burn of alcohol, but you can see the moment the look in his eyes starts to shift and the realization hits you with all the weight of a semi-truck.
Billy Hargrove had just taken a love potion while looking right at you. Billy Hargrove was about to be convinced that you were the love of his life.
“Well,” you say, eyes flickering around to look anywhere but at Billy, “I should really be going.” You push back upright, swiftly turning to make your way out the back door of the house and starting off down the sidewalk in the direction of your own home before Billy could speak. You don’t make it far before you realize you’re being followed, the scuff of Billy’s worn leather boots giving him away as he trails behind you.
“You’re not as stealthy as you think you are,” you call back over your shoulder, pace remaining steady even as Billy speeds up to walk beside you.
“Wasn’t tryin’ to be,” he drawls, lips quirking up into something softer than his usual sneer. “Just walkin’.”
You study him for a long moment. “Didn’t you drive to the party? Surprised you’d leave your precious Camaro behind.”
“I’ve been drinking,” he shrugs, clearly trying to appear nonchalant. “Drunk driving’s dangerous, y’know.” He’s quiet for a minute and you find yourself almost wondering what he’s thinking.
“You don’t have to walk me home if that’s what this is,” you say, shoving your hands in your pockets and focusing your eyes on the way the lights on the stoplight a few blocks down flicker. “Steve already made me promise to call him when I get home.”
Billy huffs and he almost seems to be pouting when you glance over at him. “Don’t see why you’re with that loser in the first place. ‘s not good enough for you anyway.”
His words shock you enough that your steps falter and you have to turn to face him to see if he’s joking or not. Billy looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him, steely blue eyes fixed firmly on you.
You have to fumble for words for a minute, the first thing you’re able to force out being a weak protest. “Steve’s not a loser!” Then the rest of his words catch up to you, “And he’s just my best friend, anyways.”
Billy seems to brighten at that, a more genuine smile crossing his lips than you’d ever seen before. “So,” he says, moving toward you slowly. The dull orange glow of the streetlights makes his hair shine almost copper and his eyes flash that distinct werewolf silver as he stalks toward you, gently herding you backward until your back is pressed to the brick wall of some long-closed business and Billy’s in front of you, arms caging you in on either side. On any other day, you might’ve felt claustrophobic- trapped and threatened by someone determined to fuck up your life. But today- with that love drunk look in Billy's eyes and that fond grin on his face, you were hesitantly pleased with your position. "If you're not with Harrington," Billy starts, leaning just a bit closer, until you can almost feel the breath of his words against your lips, "Does that mean you're available to go out with me on Friday?"
Part of you is tempted to say yes- to give in to this sweet, intoxicating side of Billy and let this go as far as he wants to take it- but the rest of you knows that what's happening is wrong.
You press a hand to Billy’s chest, pushing him back enough to give yourself some breathing room.
"I would, but this isn't real, Billy." You force yourself to say, "You drank a love potion tonight- this- you don't mean any of this."
Billy laughs then, full and unrestrained and the most genuine you've ever heard him be. "That shit doesn't work on werewolves. Metabolism’s too fast for it to really do much of anything," he says, grin unable to be helped even as his laughter subsides. "And even if it did, the stuff that your buddy whipped up just makes feelings that's already there easier to act on."
You blink, the pressure you'd been using to keep Billy at bay slacking as you think through what he'd said. If he hadn't been affected by Robin’s potion then-
Billy nudges closer, slipping his arms around your middle and tucking his face against the side of your neck. "The reason I was always so shitty to Harrington is that I was jealous," he murmurs softly, and you can feel the way he grins just a little wider as you start to relax against him, "I wanted to have people look at me like they look at him. I wanted to have you look at me like I was him."
You can’t help the way your hands come up to curl around him too, the way your fingers curl into his shirt, or the way you press just a bit closer to him. You can’t help the answering grin from carving its way across your cheeks at the thought of how pleased Billy seems to be at being the center of your attention, but you also can’t stop those few little questions from itching away inside your mind.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” The thought escapes you almost unbidden, before you can second-guess yourself, and you can’t help but keep talking. “Why didn’t you ask me out? Or- or just say hi? Something other than-” you gesture vaguely back in the direction of the party.
The tired sigh that escapes him makes it clear he knows you’re talking about his grudge against Steve and all the drama he’s stirred up for the two of you.
“It’s-” he has to pause and think over his words for a moment before he can continue. “My experience with love is… complicated. My mom died when I was little and my dad- he changed after that. Got mean. Angry.” He swallows hard, pulling away far enough to look at you, to really look at you. “He made it clear that he expected pretty specific behavior from me and anything that didn’t meet that wasn’t… good for me. Liking a guy- well, that was pretty far from what he’d expect.” His hands drop from your sides and he steps back a bit, arms crossing over his chest like he’s trying to distance himself from his thoughts. “So I was rude and sarcastic and I was mean to Harrington because at least that kept me in your peripheral.” He meets your eyes again, bright and open and honest in the orange glow of the streetlights, “But I don’t want to just be in your peripheral anymore.”
With all of what he'd said playing through your mind, finding the right words is proving difficult. "If we’re gonna try this, you've gotta leave Steve alone," you start finally, heart squeezing with more fondness than you're ready to admit as you watch the realization of what you mean starts to sink in and a million-watt smile pulls at Billy’s lips. "And Robin and the kids, too.”
A giddy laugh escapes Billy and he takes your hand in his, tugging you back down the street in the direction the two of you had been walking. “That’s a deal I’d make a thousand times over,” he says, grinning brightly as he walked with you, fingers intertwined with yours, hands swinging easily between the two of you.
Conversation flows easily as the two of you walk and you’re more at peace with Billy now than you could ever remember being with any of your exes, he insists on walking you home no matter how many times you tell him he doesn’t need to.
“Go out with me on Friday?” He says as the two of you stop at the foot of your driveway. “We could go for a picnic or to the drive-in if you want?”
When he’s looking at you like that, you can’t help but agree, quickly finding yourself more and more excited about your pending date.
Billy kisses your hand before he lets go, stepping back as you turn away from him and head for your house.
Billy smiles to himself as he watches you make your way up the driveway, keeping watch until you're safely inside, before turning and heading off in the direction of his own home. No, he knew he'd never have needed that love potion- not when it came to you. Billy Hargrove had been intoxicated by you since the first time he met you and he knows that isn't going to change any time soon.
#billy hargrove x male reader#billy hargrove x male!reader#male reader x billy hargrove#male!reader x billy hargrove#male reader x stranger things#stranger things x male!reader#stranger things x male reader#stranger things x reader#reader x love potion#stranger things au#stranger things magic au#werewolf x male!reader#reader x werewolf#male reader insert#male!reader#male reader#male!reader insert#x male!reader#x reader#halloween event#halloween writing event
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Nightmare
You had a terrible dream. A dream where you are married to Satoru Gojo, have two sons with him and are expecting another child. But it can't be real… r-right?!
~
You definitely remembered falling asleep at Shoko's bachelorette party. In front of you was a warm and welcoming sea, under you was a comfortable sunbed, to the right was a small table with drinks and the bride herself, who lazily sipped something from a tall colored glass. Utahime was yelling at the local wizards somewhere, because right in the middle of your vacation together, a huge curse came out of the water and tried to devour her drink! The young woman couldn't ask for this!
So, you remembered exactly how you ended up on the beach. Shoko unexpectedly announced her wedding, invited you and Utahime. Buying tickets, collecting things, taking a long flight, and confirming your hotel reservation... all of this is not interesting and not so important. Why? Well, because you were in an unknown apartment, and not on the beach!
You blinked around in surprise. Everything around looked expensive and rich, the designers obviously tried their best when designing this place. There were a few green plants around that clearly weren't going to bloom any time soon.
You find yourself in a hallway, facing an archway that leads to a large living room. From this angle, you could see a huge dark green sofa and a TV that you wouldn't be able to wrap your arms around... if you held it upright. It looks like someone really rich has lived and is living here.
But what does it have to do with you?
You looked around once more and were about to move on, but suddenly two voices merged into one, causing you to freeze and look in front of you in horror.
–Mama!
No, it's not that you didn't like children... not at all! The fact is that the children who ran to you looked like a complete copy of Satoru Gojo, better known as the sorcerer you can't stand!
Two boys of five or six years old, dressed in casual, light clothing, ran towards you with the big smiles you saw throughout your high school and for years afterward. One boy's eyes were covered by sunglasses, while the other wore ordinary, thin-rimmed glasses. The first one had an earring in his right ear with a gemstone the color of your eyes, the second one had it in his left ear.
While you were looking at them carefully, both children stopped in front of you, smiling and holding out their hands, wanting to be hugged.
You looked around at their snow-white fluffy hair, shining blue eyes, wide smiles that hid pranks, and felt disgusted. Who can be worse than Satoru Gojo? That's right, three Satoru Gojo! But even worse was the fact that these are Satoru Gojo's children, so they will still infuriate you even more than their father! No, even worse is the fact that these two rascals are calling you "mama" for some reason!
You wanted to push them away and get out of here, but your body was acting against your will. You suddenly crouched down and held out your arms to the boys, who jumped into your arms laughing. You wrapped your arms around their small bodies and leaned in to kiss each of them on the cheek. They responded by clutching your clothes with their little fingers and covering your face with their baby kisses.
It was... nice. The kids definitely had positive feelings for you, they loved you and weren't afraid to show it. You suddenly felt ashamed that you wanted to push them away rudely… But still! You've hugged them enough, it's time to stop! If these are the children of Satoru Gojo, then you must get out of here as soon as possible before their father comes and ruins everything!
You got up, but the boys were right behind you. They hung on to your feet, laughing and refusing to let go. You tried to throw them off, but the kids definitely took it as a game, because they clung to you more tightly!
Their laughter filled the long but narrow hallway. You let out a loud sigh and stood up straight, looking around. Where is the door to leave this hell? Yes, the children were incredibly cute, you really wanted to bite their cheeks as a joke, but you don't have time for this!
You turned sideways, catching sight of a heavy metal door that reeked of cursed energy, and were about to start moving in that direction when you froze, wincing in disgust. Oh, this sweet, not quite suitable for a man cologne you will know everywhere! And the voice! That voice was in your nightmares!
–Okay, let Mom go right now! Do you even know how much you weigh?!
–But Dad, you always hold us back easily! – the boy with the usual glasses craned his neck and peered over your leg. – Or are you saying that Mom is weak?!
–No, but I'm `the strongest' here, not her!
Great wizards of the past, you hate that grin. And that tone! It's like someone put together the words "arrogance, ""selfishness", "big ego," and "redwood self-esteem," put it in a blender, and made it out of the resulting person!
–However, you cried in pain when I squeezed your hand while giving birth, – your mouth moved against your will, but this time you didn't mind at all! The phrase is correct!
Oh, how nice to see Gojo deflate right away. He put the spoon in his mouth and began to lick it softly. Just now you've noticed that he wasn`t in his usual uniform. He was currently standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, as far as you could see, and was wearing his usual black T-shirt, camouflage pants, and house slippers.
On top of all this was an apron with two dogs, very similar to the "pets" of one young sorcerer. Instead of a blindfold, Gojo wore the round sunglasses that you so wanted to hit when you were young (and still want to hit!), because this way you can break his favorite thing and still get hit in his eyes!
He still took out his spoon and started talking again. What a pity! He looks better and more solid when he is silent!
–Okay, I admit defeat! But you really hurt my hand! And I couldn't even use Infinity because you were holding on tight to me!
–Did you cry, Dad? – the second child, wearing sunglasses, also poked out from behind your leg. – So you're imperfect somewhere?
–No! Your dad is perfect and the best! Otherwise, how did he get such wonderful sons, eh?
Gojo leaned over and patted the boy's cheek. How dare he do what you wanted?! For this, the sorcerer deservedly received a blow on the head.
–Ouch!
–Don't forget that I'm their mother. They could very well have been born so talented thanks to me.
–Yes! Mom is the best! – the boy with the usual glasses confirmed.
–Yes, but your eyesight is still so-so, – Gojo nodded at his son.
–One more word and I won't go to the candy store!
–No! – the man dropped to his knees and pressed against your thigh, immediately starting to whimper and hug you tightly. How... disgusting! – Not again! Please, my dear, my only ray of light, my goddess, my beautiful wife, who is the best person for me, do not mock me so much! I know there's a good heart hidden under those breasts that can't let your husband suffer!
H-husband?! Was he kidding you?! You wouldn't marry him even if you were threatened!
–We also want sweets! – the "sunglasses" got a tighter grip on your leg. – Mom, you promised you'd buy us a cake!
–I want ice cream! – "glasses" also pressed into you. – I'll even brush my teeth as many times as you want!
Your face is the face of the most unhappy person on earth. Not only are you surrounded by three whiners, but there are also three Gojo whiners!
For some reason, your voice sounded nice and weak, rather than filled with hatred and annoyance.
–Just let me go, you heavy ones. You're growing up so fast that I can't hold both of you at the same time.
–And I? So you can hold me?
– Satoru, - ugh! Ugh, ugh, ugh! Did you just call him by his first name?!. – to get you up, I need to summon an elephant... or Yuji-kun. I'm still afraid to imagine what you're feeding him, so that he can manage to drag the closet to the fifteenth floor without an elevator in one go.
–Because a talented teacher has talented students! Don't you think so?
–Satoru, – and here it is again! – the longer you hold me, the further away the sweet stuff is.
–But I love my wife so much! – he got up and kissed you on the lips. You almost grimaced at how disgusting it was. – My little angel, my little cinnamon roll, my siren!..
–Dad, ew, stop it! – "sunglasses" tugged at his father's pant leg. – And mother told you not to distract her!
–I'm not well liked in this family, m-m-m, it`s so sa-a-ad!..
They don't like you anywhere! But you didn't shout it out, instead blowing the man a kiss. It's terrible!
–I'll be back soon, and you can kiss me as much as you want... if you finish making dinner by then, of course. Kids, – you said to the boys still holding on to your legs, – we're going now, before it gets hot.
The boys nodded and immediately let you go, racing to the main door, to your precious exit! However, before you could even take a step, Gojo hugged you from behind, leaned his body against you, and kissed the top of your head. You rolled your eyes, wanted to punch him in the jaw, and patted his big hands that were pressed against your stomach.
–Come back soon, my sweet cupcake. I'll be looking forward to seeing you.
–Me too, – why does your body keep lying?.. – Don't get bored here, okay?
–I'll be fighting the stew that's trying to come out of the pot, so I'll have more work to do.
You giggled, although like all Gojo phrases, it was stupid and unfunny, turned around, pressed your hand to the sorcerer's cheek (unfortunately, not because you slapped him), and kissed the man on the lips. He bloomed, left a few small kisses on your face, and ran off to the kitchen when his kids started yelling at him to hurry up and leave Mom alone.
You let out a sigh of relief as Gojo galloped off to the kitchen. Grabbing your bag from the nightstand in the hallway, you put on your sandals and hat and headed outside.
After a long elevator ride down and crossing a small room, you find yourself on a hot, unbearably hot street. Your body was immediately covered in sweat, you began to stink, but the children... they happily ran forward with their heads uncovered, competing to see who would reach the store faster.
You belatedly thought about giving them some caps... and then remembered that they were actually Gojo`s kids. Yes, they called you "mama," and that idiot sorcerer even dared to mention that you allegedly gave birth to his children, but you would never do such a thing! Plus, it's definitely a nightmare, because there's no way this could have happened in reality, so you don't have to worry about any boys!
And yet your body didn't think so.
–Raito, Kurai, – the unfamiliar names came easily from your lips, – did you forget to put on your caps again?!
The boys stopped and looked at you with the eyes of little puppies. You ordered them to come to you immediately. As soon as they approached, you took out colored caps with the image of some superheroes from your bag and put them on the children's heads. They straightened them, brushed the white bangs from their foreheads, and then sped away from you with even greater speed in a direction that seemed familiar to you.
You walked with your bag slung over your shoulder, following two loud kids who were competing to see who could run the longest on the curb. The sun was shining strongly, and you took out a bottle of cool water that came from somewhere along with your caps. After drinking a little, you offered it to the children, but they refused, continuing to run forward.
The kids led you to a small grocery store, where they ran in with loud cheers. You rolled your eyes and said hello to the middle-aged man behind the counter. While the sons of a man who really pisses you off were picking out something, you stopped by the cash register to talk to the owner of the store.
–You've forgotten something again, haven't you, Mrs. Gojo?
"Mrs. Gojo"... even sounds disgusting! How could you agree to accept this status? Yes, it's a nightmare, but any horror must have some limitations!
–With such children and a husband, you can forget anything. Even your own name. Raito, – the boy with the sunglasses stopped instantly and looked at you, – would you be so kind as to have some more milk?
The child smiled happily and ran to find the right package. It seems that at this age, buying groceries is perceived as a fun puzzle.
–I know I had little children myself once... speaking of which. Has your husband returned from his business trip yet?
If my husband is Gojo, then he'd better stay there!
–Yes, – you said, somewhat shyly. – He's cooking dinner for us right now.
–Are you going to tell him something, Mrs. Gojo?
–What... what are you talking about?
A middle-aged man leaned over the counter and leaned closer to you, beginning to whisper:
–I mean the pregnancy test. From the look on your face when you came here last time, it seems that everything went well for you. You ran away so fast as soon as you paid for your purchases that I didn't even have time to ask how you were doing.
–I-I... I was just in such a hurry! Just on this day, my husband arrived earlier from his business trip! – you laughed awkwardly, and you was hitting yourself on the head inside. How, how could I have given this idiot two children, and now I want to give birth to another one?! My genes shouldn't be anywhere near his! – And... yes, you're right, it went well. We're going to have a baby.
At that moment, you were about to faint. Well, what child?! Especially from Gojo! He's like a child himself! Yes, he has two sons, but you can be sure that if you leave him alone with them, one of them will surely die of hunger or from the stupid ideas that come to these white heads!
–Congratulations, Mrs. Gojo! – please don't. - It's nice to see a lot of children born in really loving families.
–In my husband's family, it is customary to give birth to many children. Satoru always complained that he was alone. I think he didn't have enough of a brother or sister to play with.
–Yes, you said that he had some pretty strict relatives on his father's side... oh, Kurai-kun, you shouldn't bring ice cream to the checkout at the very beginning. It can melt. Bring it back as soon as you've chosen everything.
–We've already chosen everything! – the boy with the glasses got up on his toes and tried to put a large colored bucket on the counter. You immediately went up to him and helped him. – Raito is already running with cake and milk!
A second later, the second child actually appeared from behind the tea shelves, carrying a bottle and a large plastic box. You went to it and picked up the groceries, checked the date everywhere, and only then started paying. Kurai tugged at your leg, asking you to let him pay himself, and you picked him up, giving him a bank card.
As you walked with the cake in your hands, you watched the children running ahead with milk and ice cream. They talked about school and the curses they'd cast out during school break. Your body smiled, you smiled with it. These kids... even though they looked exactly like Gojo, they were quite cute and innocent. You hoped that they would be brought up better than their father.
As soon as you went back up to the apartment, the wizard was right there. He greeted you with a loving, big hug, picked up the cake and carried it to the kitchen, listening with a big, silly smile as Ratio saw a big bug on the way. You began to change your shoes, not understanding why you are still in the apartment, where everything smelled like Gojo.
You put your bag back in its place and moved deeper into the apartment, entering a cool, dark bedroom lit only by natural light from the hallway. You went inside, closing the door behind you, and started changing into your home clothes.
You were standing with your back to the entrance to the room, so you froze in surprise when someone came in and closed the door behind them. Big arms wrapped around your half-naked body, soft hair tickled your neck. Then you started giggling as the man started kissing your neck.
Unapologetic! I have to stop him!..
–I've missed you so much, – Gojo whispered, moving his lips to your shoulders. – I forgot you were so beautiful.
–Satoru, you always talk such nonsense…
–But I really love you, – he turns you around and you press your bare breasts against his T-shirt. – I've missed you and our home so much. I've had to sleep in a hotel and be sad without you and my little kids. You're the only ones who make me forget all my problems.
He pulled back slightly, but only to kiss you on the lips. You wanted to resist, and this time your body even agreed! You pushed Gojo away from you (not as rudely or aggressively as you would have liked) and gave him a weak smile.
–Later. Ratia and Kurai are waiting for us. And I have a surprise for all of you, so don't delay me.
–Oh, surprise! I love surprises! – he grinned broadly and gave you another kiss before starting to move towards the exit, taking one last look at your bare chest. – You look hotter than the hot springs, my sweet wife!
–You'll have to prove it tonight!
Ugh. Just awful. You sighed, pressing your hand to your stomach, and reached for your home T-shirt.
–Hey, (Y/N)…
What does he want? Why the hell did he come back after touching me and seeing me naked?!
–(Y/N-N)!..
Oh, shut up already! You're pissing me off, Satoru Gojo!
–(Y/N)!..
You turned around, only to see the door closed. Someone called your name again, and then you opened your eyes…
Only to see the familiar sea in front of her and Shoko's face as she chewed thoughtfully on a cigarette.
–You fell asleep for a long time. Is pregnancy really so tiring?
–Ah-h?.. What am I? Where am I?
–You are (Y/N), my friend, friend of the bride. We are located on our and especially your favorite beach in the entire resort. Anyway, (Y/N). Get up, Utahime is almost done yelling at the local wizards for not being able to keep the campers safe. If you keep lying around here, we'll miss the party!
–W-wait... what do you mean, 'my favorite beach'? Have I ever been here before?
–(Y/N), you didn't seem to be drinking... yes, you didn`t do it. We only came here because we had a great bachelorette party for you seven years ago. Of course, the place has changed a lot, but there is still excellent service!
–Uh, sorry, Shoko, I had such a weird dream that I... kind of fell out of reality. Can I have your cocktail? I think I need a drink…
–(Y/N), I'm a doctor. And I know that during pregnancy it is better not to drink. After all, you want to give birth to a healthy child without any consequences for yourself and for them, I am right? Besides, you yourself admitted that the alcoholic drinks here are disgusting, but excellent non-alcoholic cocktails.
–P... pregnant?! Me?!
–Yeah, I know this isn't the right time, but we planned this bachelorette party before you got pregnant, so all the questions aren't for me.
–Girls, I'm done! – Utahime ran up to you, wearing a swimsuit that strongly covers her body, with a small smile on her lips. – I'm ready to go. By the way, (Y/N), good morning. You slept well. How are you feeling?
–S-so... don't tell me... it wasn't a dream, a nightmare.
–What do you mean? – the young woman tilted her head slightly in your direction.
–About t-that... that I'm married to Satoru Gojo and have two children with him!
Utahime leaned over, patted you on the shoulder, and said sympathetically:
–I know I still don't believe a woman like you fell for his spell, either. But at least now we can spend his money in a casino or alcohol, can't we?
–She's still not allowed to drink, – Shoko reminded her.
–That's why we have to buy alcohol here so that she can drink it as soon as she gives birth to the baby! Oh, I hope it won't be another Gojo! Please, – she raised her head to the sky, – at least let this child not look like a complete copy of his father!
–If it's a girl, then she can't be like Satoru for certain reasons.
–Shoko! You know what I mean!
The girl laughed and stood up, grabbing her drink and stretching. You looked at her with either a resigned or happy expression.
Your nightmare... wasn't a nightmare... at least not exactly what you originally imagined it to be.
–I'M MARRIED TO SATORU GOJO-O-O-O!..
–And it's worth a drink! – Shoko silently raised her glass and finished the rest of it.
You put your hand on your stomach and felt a familiar sensation. It wasn't a dream.
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Soap MacTavish x fem!curvy!militarynurse!reader who’s secretly insecure about her body and thinks that Soap is only interested in her to get in her pants or it’s a prank but he comforts her and proves that she’s wrong and how much he genuinely loves her and that he’s been obsessed with her since she was moved to 141’s base?
Never Far From You
John "Soap" MacTavish x reader
Sorry this isn't exactly what you asked for, nonnie, but just know I am already attached to this reader and I will be slowburning this prompt. This story is getting unpacked layer by layer. I know you specified Nurses body type but it's never mentioned in this part. I couldn't find a way to casually fit it in with the idea I had but I will make it the forefront of another piece, don't you worry :]
This is also my submission for @glitterypirateduck and their Soap It Up challenge.
Prompt 2: "Do I make you nervous?"
Prompt 14: "I've been looking for you."
You haven't had to look around corners to check if the coast was clear since high school. It makes you feel childish. Makes you feel like a helpless teenager trying to avoid the prettier girls that whisper and leer when you walk past. You're too old to feel like that.
You don't know if you should be grateful you're not hiding from bullies or be more fearful of the person that's really chasing you.
You don't think you've ever been chased like this before. The girls in the halls never sought you out, and the boys that did only followed to continue jabbing at you as you tried to walk away.
No, this is much different. Too different. You don't know what to do with yourself.
Another nurse told you earlier that someone was looking for you. She gave a knowing smirk, telling you who with a teasing, sing-songy voice.
"Soap MacTavish." She grinned, leaning over the front desk, resting her chin on her hand.
You don't know why everyone thinks you like him. No. No, actually, you know exactly why. He won't leave you alone.
You left one of your patients room—a poor sap going by "Wick" that caught the nasty end of a bayonet—down a few halls to the nearest storage room. You stop before turning the corner, a suspicious feeling bubbling in your gut.
You peek over the corner, met with the rest of the long, bland hallway. He's not here. You don't like the feeling that replaces the suspicion. It's a sinking sensation.
This whole ordeal is eating at you. You know he's around somewhere. Unless he gave up after a while. Took him long enough, in your opinion. Part of you wants to run into him, though, just to get it over with and tell him to fuck off so you don't have to worry about it.
You straighten up again, pulling away from the corner and letting out a heavy sigh.
"So, who're we hiding from?" A horrifyingly familiar Scottish accent said from behind you, low and husky and almost a whisper.
You yelp and whip around to look at him, jumping back a little. Your feet scream to run, but you realize how ridiculous that is. You're an adult, you don't need to run, you're not in real danger.
The way he looks at you is dangerous, though. His eyes are lidded, relaxed as they take you in like he could do it all day. Those striking blues drag up and down your body, landing back at your eyes with such intensity that it makes you want to shy away.
He's so casual it infuriates you. He's just leaning against the wall beside you, arms crossed as he waits for your reply.
"I'm not hiding." You brush him off, tearing your eyes away from him and turning to walk away.
You pause, though, when he lets out a little huff of a laugh, almost a scoff. "Sure." He replied, not sounding all too convinced.
You look over your shoulder to glare at him but he only flashes you one of his little grins, eyes lit up with amusement and brows raised.
A real scoff leaves your own lips and you turn away again and continue down the hall. You suppress the urge to groan aloud when you hear heavy footfalls behind you as the Scot gives chase.
"I've been looking for you." He said, walking only a step behind you.
"That so?" You hum, trying to sound uninterested. Your tone doesn't sway him, it never does.
"Mhm, just asked the lass at the front where they keep the bonnie nurses and figured I'd find you around." He replied easily, and you don't have to look at him to know he's got that smirk on his face.
You hum again, not sure how else to respond. He follows you like a lost dog through the hallways until you reached the storage room. You open the door just enough to slip inside and much to your distain, Soap follows in suit, making a show of opening the door wide and waltzing in like he owns the place.
The storage room is fairly large, filled with rows of files and medications and equipment all broken off into different sections. You wind through the isles and try not to think too hard about Soap's heavy footfalls behind you. It makes you uneasy, fluttery in a way you don't want to think about. You feel like you're being hunted, like a little bunny that pops it's head up at the smallest branch snapping, unaware of the beast lurking just behind the foliage.
You stop walking and quickly turn to him, making him halt in front of you so easily that you think he was expecting it. You don't like that. You're not predictable, damn it!
"Do you need something?" You ask with exasperation, pumping up the attitude and irritation in hopes it scares him off.
You think it works for a second when his smile falters a bit and he has the decency to look a bit surprised by your outburst, but that hope immediately dies when he ducks his head down with a small chuckle that makes your stomach flip. He pulls one of his hands from his pocket and leans his arm on the shelf beside you.
He leans forward just a bit, those overwhelming blues flickering back up to you. "Does there need to be a reason?" He flashes you a lopsided, boyish smile and you feel like the ground is giving away under you.
"You always have a reason." You shoot back, cringing at the way your voice falters.
He notices, eyes looking back and forth between yours as his brows raise a little. "That I do." He replies, voice softer than before.
Soap takes a step closer, back straightening a bit in a way that makes you feel small in comparison. You straighten your back as well, taking a breath that comes in shakier than you wanted. Your attempt at coolness and defiance shatters when his other hand slips from his front pocket and slowly lifts towards you.
He's tentative, eyes holding yours and god, you can't look away. His hand lands on the side of your neck, fingers tenderly ghosting over your skin to see if you flinch away. You don't. You want to. You want to slap his hand away. You want to claw and sink your teeth into him so he'll scurry away with his tail between his legs.
But that won't happen. He'll just drag his way to your exam room and whine until you wrap him up, ask you to kiss it better. You almost want to.
The pads of his fingers drag up your neck and across your cheek. His palm is warm against your jaw and you're frustratingly pliant when he tilts your head. His eyes fall and you swallow when his thumb slowly traces your bottom lip.
"Do I make you nervous, hen?" His voice drops about an octave, low and just above a whisper. His eyes flit up to yours and you're halfway through your brain rebooting when you realize he's waiting for a response.
He isn't, really. He just wants to watch you try.
"No." You manage, a small murmur that in no way can be convincing.
He lets out a soft hum, head slowly tilting as he observes you. You feel like he's picking you apart, piece by piece. Pulling back your hardened shell to watch your innermost workings as they turn and click.
His thumb presses down on your bottom lip, tugging it down a little and he can feel the muted gasp you take. He leans heavier on the shelf beside the both of you and his hand drops away from you. A long, almost pained groan rips from his throat and he pulls back to run his fingers through his mohawk and tug at the strands. He drags his hand over his face and peeks at you through his fingers.
His eyes are narrow and hungry before he tears his eyes away again, waving you off. "Bah. Go get what you were looking for, I'll be finding you later."
You try not to sigh too audibly as you take a few steps back, your body visibly untensing as you put a bit of distance between you two. "Right, see ya." You say, a little clipped before turning on your heel and walking away.
Soaps eyes follow you until you turn a corner and step out of his line of sight, the back of his head falling back against one of the shelves with a thump. Run, little bunny. You're lucky he likes a chase.
#maus writes#call of duty x reader#cod x reader#cod#soap x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#soap mactavish x reader#so thankful that glitterypirateduck extended the deadline bc motivation was kicking my ass and it gave me just enough time to finish this 🙏#i blame ghouljams for making me love soap with darlings who dont want him#i wanna see him work for it and im a sucker for flustered stubborn mcs
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COD AU: Intro
AN: I love this. I have so many thoughts in my head. So many it’s killing me inside. Please enable me. God I hope at least one of you likes this enough to talk to me about it. To hc, to literally just share my words with. And yes…. There is a very heavy Ghost/romance element… but I’m totally not against picturing the other options ahaha.
So I’ve been thinking….
An AU where everyone needs to lay low for a while. Maybe they’re all compromised and someone with enough power and money shows interest to take out the 141 forever. And Laswell, being the problem solver that she is, suggests a safe house of someone close to her. Someone who can be trusted. Not just to provide somewhere physically safe, but also keep a close eye on the team while they’re -somewhat- forcibly being cut off from the world.
So the team are flighted into the middle of god-knows-where in the mountains. A tiny little town -if you can call it that- and they meet their contact.
Not only a girl… but civilian.
She refers to Laswell as Aunt Kate and the Captain and Uncle John. Sweet as can be, and so damn helpful that it’s almost infuriating. Especially to Ghost. She hasn’t seen a single thing about them other than what Laswell has offered, and really appears like she couldn’t care less about opening her house up to them. A house just big enough to fit all four men.
Ghost isn’t sure about the whole thing. It feels wrong being holed up in the deep holler of an Appalachian mountain with a girl not twenty-five. Like some kind of fucked-up movie he wasn’t aware of being cast for. It’s all too strange walking inside her house and seeing photos on the walls, a massive rack of cast iron skillets and pots hanging above her kitchen island, and the way she looks at Price so fondly.
Uncle John…
Something about it rubs him wrong. There’s got to be history there… at least enough for her to feel the right to call Price that. But he’s never heard of her before. And this kind of arrangement isn’t one to taken lightly. There are people hunting the 141… A threat so well documented that they couldn’t even just turn a blind eye and wait for the smoke to clear.
The sweet thing doesn’t notice Ghost’s apprehension.
But she does recognize Price’s excitement in seeing her, as well as his slight disappointment that she’d offered to do this. She’s too good to get involved in matters of war, and he’s honestly surprised that Kate let you. But then again, there could only be so much disappointment he could find in seeing his goddaughter. And funnily enough, there’s a sense of relief he has in seeing how well she’s done for herself since he saw her last.
Intelligent, scarily so. But not in an overt way. He can see it in the way she collects rainwater for watering the little garden out back, and the pistol safe tucked under her bed with a thumbprint scanner. He notices the small town she’d bought her home in, and the relatively tight community. Maybe a little old-fashioned… but it’s good in case something goes wrong. And right now, it’s paying off.
Unbelievably welcoming too… but Kate and John always knew there’d come a day when she’d get a chance to ‘mother’ someone. And now she’d have four men to do exactly that for. Even from day one, she’s already made trips to the store, rearranged her whole home, and bought god-knows-what in anticipation for their arrival.
What’s each of your favorite food, I’ll make lists so I never run out of dinner ideas.
Any preferences on how I should come and go around my the house? I don’t want to startle anyone.
Did you need anything you didn’t bring? If I can’t get it in town or online I’ll text Aunt Kate and have her get it…
She’s nearly frantic to get them settled, and everyone reacts in a muted tone of shock save for Price. He’s well-aware thanks to Kate about how excited she is… something about wanting to prove herself. And Jesus if it doesn’t make Price feel a bittersweet burn in his chest as he introduces her to the others. Seeing her wide eyes examining all of them without the slightest hesitation. Memorizing names and faces, and shaking massive, gloved, hands without missing a beat.
She’s got Soap wrapped around her finger on instant. Maybe it’s a big-brother feeling. One like Price holds for her. Since she’s younger than him -unlike his own sisters- there’s something of a chance to be one for a while. Soap almost instantly takes to her Appalachian lilt and bright smile. They’re both too sweet for their own good at times… and Price can tell right away there won’t be a knife sharp enough to cut the two of them apart after this.
Gaz is quietly polite is a way only he can be. Meticulously trying to stay out of her way as she flutters about. Wanting to help her out, but also downright flustered when she demands she be the one to carry their bags to their rooms. It’s a clear sign he’s not used to it… A woman being this damn sweet and intent on ‘helping’ a man. But he takes it in stride. Learning how to help without stepping on her decidedly ‘southern comfort’ style of catering to them. And god if Price doesn’t have to chew the tip of his cigar when she gets on his ass about something. The poor sod looks like a kicked puppy… and he’s certain she’ll end up training him with due time.
Christ above. If Ghost isn’t the most difficult bastard to deal with initially.
He’s much more sour than typical. Lurking in corners, and unable to settle down anywhere for more than an hour. He looks caged in by the comfortable couch and throw blankets. Swallowed by her pleasantly creaky porch swing and sun-couch on the wraparound. Not even her well-used garage housing an old Fold flatbed makes a good refuge for Ghost. She’s all encompassing in a way he can’t come to terms with easily.
Price sees her trying the hardest with him.
The way her voice lowers when addressing him. How she makes a conscious effort to tiptoe around the house after 10pm because that’s when he shuts himself inside his bedroom… She doesn’t exactly know he never sleeps. Dinners are often served close to the time he finally realizes he’s got to come back inside the house… and without fail, she can be found sitting near him.
Not friendly by any means.
But more like a girl who’s found an old bait-dog at the pound and can’t leave well-enough alone. Sitting with her back it to and tossing treats over her shoulder. Hoping silently that the old, scarred, dog will come around. Damn near predatory in a sweet kind of way. Price can tell she means well. She can see the same thing everyone else on the team can… and she’s just going about it her way.
She’s good like that. Maybe a little too good.
But John can’t deny he enjoys seeing it. All of it really. The way she dotes on them individually. Consistently. Hell, she even does their laundry and bought separate baskets to keep things neat and tidy. The fridges -yes… multiple- all are set with their preferences in drinks, and she’s scarily observant when things need replaced. Toothpaste… shoelaces… socks… there’s no missing anything. Brands and sizes don’t seem to be a problem either, to some shock and mortification.
Uncle John, what’s Soap mean when he says he misses Irn-Bru?
His quick and unconcerned explanation goes without another notice… until he sees Johnny taking a long drink from a bottle of it while sitting on a rocking chair on the back porch watching some hummingbirds fight over richly dyed sugar water.
John’s often preoccupied with worrying about the plans of those head-hunting them and what Kate’s doing behind the scenes in the meantime. But it’s clear there’s nothing concerning his goddaughter but whether or not they’re all fed, warm, and comfortable in her house…
Whether Ghost likes it or not.
Comments are so heavily appreciated on this… I want to make this more of what I talk about & I can’t keep it all on a notebook under my bed.
#velvetures#velvetures writes#cod mwii#cod#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#gaz x reader#kyle garrick x reader#kyle garrick#kyle gaz garrick#gaz#john price smut#johnny mactavish#johnny soap mactavish x reader#john price x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#captain john price#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#john price#cod mw2#cod modern warfare#ghost cod#cod x reader#cod mw3#cod au
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Brainrot of the day is all about people mourning the OG Shen Qingqiu, it just happens somewhere where Shen Yuan can't see because he doesn't frequent the places where Shen Jiu used to withdraw when he got anxious or wanted to paint/play music/meditate in peace.
It all starts with Shang Qinghua setting up a kinda memorial - just a pile of rocks, really - but vibes and grief make it so that each time someone discovers it and remembers Shen Jiu they add to it. Someone carves a proper stone for the memorial - no name on it, obviously. Not a fan either, because the new Shen Qingqiu uses fans too. Bamboo stalks, a painter's easel and a pipa - he never played it in PIDW, so Shen Yuan has no idea that it was Shen Jiu's favorite instrument. The guqin is what they teach to the disciples when they are first learning music, so he sort of just assumed that's the one instrument Shen Jiu played.
Ning Yingying, Ming Fan, Mu Qingfang, Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua... even Qi Qingqi starts missing him when his spy network starts falling apart without him. The list of people visiting grows until it becomes a whole thing to seek the memorial out when they miss the old Shen Qingqiu. To offer him a song or a snack or burn incense on his (chosen) birthday...
Cultivators are good at many things, processing grief is not one of them. If it was left to them they would still mourn him a century later as if he died yesterday.
Of course it's Shang Qinghua's fault when something changes. He's visiting the memorial after a very draining argument with Shen Yuan about how much Shen bro is neglecting his peak (he might as well not be a peak lord anymore because he wants to spend all his time with Binghe) when Mobei picks him up one day and takes note of the memorial. And the next time Mobei finds some miraculous rebirth plant (they've been keeping an eye out for something that can bring back Zhuzhi-lang and fix Tianlang-jun) he buries the spares there.
It should be nothing, without a body or even a soul to latch onto. Shen Jiu's presence is mostly gone from the world - except from this one place, where everyone hoards their grief in secret, sharing memories where they can't offend the new Shen Qingqiu.
It's not enough to call a drifting, shattered soul back to life.
Not until Tianlang-jun. He is on his way off the mountain after delivering a thank-you couched in the most infuriating wrapping he could muster to master Shen for his help in identifying what miracle cures were needed to fix him and his nephew up. He sought him out on Qing Jing because at least here his son can't pick a fight without consequences. Still, he's taking the scenic route as a form of spite, so that he can linger as long as possible without giving them an excuse to kick him off the mountain.
The clearing is thick with the presence of someone, a soul that is very much not the peak lord his son is so infatuated with. It's somehow familiar, in the way of people you used to regularly pass on the street remain, even after you no longer live on that street. It takes him a while to remember.
Su Xiyan didn't have 'friends'. Even her 'not-friends' (very much friends in truth, his beloved was just strange about her potential attachments to others) numbered so few he could count them on one hand. Only one of them liked music and arts enough that she introduced them to each other when they met by chance at a recital. They have only met once or twice, but Tianlang-jun carved his memory into his heart, as he did with everything to do with Su Xiyan.
What a curious thing for another Shen to linger so prominently on this peak.
Perhaps it's nostalgia that guides his hand to spill just a few drops of his blood on the dirt. It's not a proper path back, but it's a handhold, if Su Xiyan's last lingering friend wishes to claw his way back to life. Perhaps it's spite, because among all the people that frequent this place and leave their grief dripping over the rocks and grass, he can feel neither master Shen nor Luo Binghe.
Tianlang-jun isn't around for the fallout when Shen Jiu makes his triumphant return, but that's fine. It sounds like it was an unnecessarily explosive affair (Maybe it wasn't his smartest move to add heavenly demon blood to the divine miracle lotus root, but in his defense he had no idea that was there. He assumed, from the general vibe of the clearing, that it was just a plain old grave with a soul that clings through guilt or regret or resentment or, because humans are fascinating and complicated, all of the above). Rumors are always better than reality anyway (especially the ones filtered through Liu Mingyan and the book club) and this one is juicy enough to keep the cultivators gossiping for the next century.
He'll swing around when things have calmed down again, eventually. He wants to meet the new heavenly demon of Qing Jing Peak.
#svsss#shen jiu#shen qingqiu#I'm actually kinda writing this so uh#I need to stop spoiling the twists in my ideas tbh
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Firewatch Part 9
Summary: Johnny and Kyle come to a realisation and you take a chance to escape.
Words: 2.3k
CW: Kidnapping
You had mostly expected to wake up in Price's arms, but you instead woke up to see him asleep in one of the armchairs. He was a big man, it was a little ridiculous to see him sleeping in a chair. You glanced out the window, it looked like it was maybe late afternoon.
Had Price stayed the whole time then? If he was going to stay why not climb into bed with you since that clearly seemed to be their play here? It kept you so off balance that none of them had… Well there were plenty of horror stories on the news for you to imagine. And they had kidnapped you. Four men had kidnapped you and had made it clear they at least wanted you. It was starting to sink in that at any time they could decide to have you and there wouldn't be much you could do about it. But they hadn't. The one time one of them hadn't backed off as soon as you asked there had been consequences for him.
You felt more rested if still exhausted, but it was enough to feel anger building again. It was infuriating that they weren't monsters. You didn't want them to be because the thought was terrifying, but at least then you'd know where you stood. At least then you could be solid in hating them rather than finding them to be the kind of men you would have liked to have known before this mess.
It was a temptation to just roll over and go back to sleep in some form of protest, but you resisted and got out of bed as quietly as you could. Price didn’t stir and for a moment you had the mad thought that you could sneak out the window. You still didn’t have shoes, but if you snuck out and they didn’t notice would it give you enough of a head start? Would you even be able to navigate the woods? There was a dirt trail for cars to come to and from, it must go the whole way to town if the police had visited. If you followed it, kept just in the treeline so you weren’t so easily found…
You were starting to drift towards the window in a bit of a trance, the only thing snapping you out of it was the sound of voices somewhere else in the cabin. You paused and focused in to listen.
“--love her anymore?”
“Come on Soap, you think the same.”
“...aye maybe. Naw really what we signed up for is she?”
“That’s it, better bury our girl out in the yard then.”
“Och I’ll miss her ye ken? Spent so long loving her.”
You’d take your chances in the woods.
–
“I think I might actually have a crush on her.”
Soap gave Gaz a look that belayed the fact he thought what had just come out of his mouth was utter nonsense. He was sat at the kitchen island, fingers rubbing the fabric of the blanket Ghost had stolen from your house. Dosia was grumpily headbutting Soap’s legs and then pretending she hadn’t now that nobody she actually liked was about to pay her any attention. He had originally tried to pet her and gotten hissed at, so now he was steadfastly pretending she wasn’t showing him any affection to make her feel better.
“Ye’ve been in love with her for a year and now ye have a crush?”
Gaz sighed and rested his head on his arm, staring at the fabric in his fingers. It was a blanket that didn’t seem like it belonged to you anymore. It had belonged to the girl he had loved that was true, but she had never existed had she? She was this delicate little thing, a pretty little dove he had wanted to keep on display and care for.
That was not the woman in the cabin with them. No, that woman was brash and swore and fought. She had fuck all manners when she ate and snorted when she laughed and was trying to pretend she hadn’t. She treated her cat like it was her baby. She wasn’t some innocent little lamb either, she was a great kisser and wasn’t shy about barking at him to shove his fingers in her. By all accounts, that woman was not someone he would ever think was one he would like.
It terrified him actually. You were real now and you were not what he thought, so why was it so easy for him to let that dream girl go? Why did he touch this blanket and not feel a damn thing after all that obsession? Instead there was another feeling bubbling up when he thought about you. He didn’t know if it was love, but then he was pretty sure what he had been feeling was never love in the first place. This new feeling was thrilling and fragile but he wanted to keep it.
“I like her. The real person. She’s sort of a pain in the arse but she’s fun.”
“The real person?”
“We really fucked it all up didn’t we?”
Soap sighed and leaned over the counter, head lolling into one hand while the other played with the edges of the blanket. The tangible object they had associated with you all this time. Or well, that they had associated with some imagined girl. They really had fucked it all up.
“So now ye just don’t love her anymore?”
“Come on Soap, you think the same.”
All things considered, he did. He smiled with a bittersweet fondness at the blanket, feeling like he was letting go of something.
“...aye maybe. Naw really what we signed up for is she?”
“That’s it, better bury our girl out in the yard then.”
The two looked at one another with a grin. It was a silly thing to bury a blanket. But it was what it represented that was important. It was burying an obsession with someone that wasn’t real, wasn’t a person. It was letting go of what they thought they had wanted and embracing what it was they had, because even after so short a span of time they had realised that what they had was so much better. It was real. You were real.
“Och I’ll miss her ye ken? Spent so long loving her.”
He shared a small smile with Gaz. Johnny didn’t know how to pick apart the flurry of emotions in him and figure out how he wanted this to end, he just knew he wanted to keep talking to you, learning about you. It was going to be a lot harder now to keep you here against your will now that he liked you as a real person, but he was nothing if not a selfish bastard.
They put the blanket lovingly aside, Johnny gave Dosia some scratches behind the ears which she duly pretended was not happening while purring and they got to work making a frankly irresponsible amount of brunch in the hopes they could get to your heart through your stomach.
–
It was a miracle Price hadn’t woken up. A small part of you knew it meant he was exhausted as well, that this was hard on him. Well his two men were already about to get rid of you and presumably start again with a nicer, more receptive girl. She probably enjoyed cooking and cleaning. Was probably going to be wonderful and submissive and would never yell at them. Johnny would never lose his temper with her. Simon would never wind up punished because he lost control with her. Would Price go and buy her favourite shampoo? Would she like tasting oranges from Kyle’s fingers? You had.
The “road” really wasn’t much of a road. It was painful to walk on in bare feet and you were hissing every time you landed on a particularly sharp stone. You saw there was a pick up truck and considered stealing it, but you didn’t want to go searching for the keys knowing it increased the likelihood of you getting caught. When you glanced in just to make sure they weren’t in the car you saw it was a stick shift. Well that idea was out, you had learned on an automatic and would absolutely stall loudly if you tried to drive this thing.
So you were walking. Not running because you would absolutely wind up with a broken ankle and then you were really screwed. You could grit your teeth through it. Your mind drifted to what the hell you would say when you emerged. If you told the police the truth then all four of them were going to jail. If you lied then they would be free to take you again. Christ you felt bad enough about Simon being banished to the tower, could you handle all of them being put in a cell?
God it was sweltering, a stark comparison to how cold it had been last night. You had to take off the hoodie and tie it off around your waist. Maybe you should tear it apart to wrap around your feet? But then what happened when the sun set and the cold came in. You hoped you would be out of the woods by then. This place would be terrifying in the dark.
You stayed just off the road in the treeline, hoping that it would make it tricky to spot you from the tower if you were under the trees. At some point you stopped taking breaks fearing that if you stopped again you would not be able to get up. Your feet hurt, you were thirsty and hot and hungry. You wanted to curl up with your damn cat. It was with a dose of self-loathing that you realised you wanted to laugh with Kyle when she was mean to Johnny.
When you heard the distant rumble of the truck you moved further from the road, waiting for the sound to pass. They knew you were gone then. Were doing the most obvious thing first and going down the road to see if you were on it. You were far enough in the trees that you couldn’t see the road anymore. You hadn’t thought you had went that far, maybe only a few minutes, but you were turned around. You turned, trying to figure out which direction the road was with a mounting sense of panic.
Fuck. Idiot! You had seen the stories about what happened to people who went off the trail this far in the forest. It was fine near the edge where your cottage had been, where there were little walking trails (although admittedly the first few times you had ventured out you hadn’t spotted them), but this far out? You knew that they always said you should stay where you are, wait for someone to come and find you. Except they had no way of knowing which part of the road you had left from.
At least if you died it’d be on your own terms you tried to rationalise. They were going to kill you, but you had no guarantee they wouldn’t brutalise you first, so maybe wandering out never to be seen again was better. Just because your heart stupidly told you they were good people didn’t mean they were. You hoped they kept Dosia at least, they seemed fond enough of her.
You were angry at the tears welling up, knowing that you couldn’t really afford to lose any hydration. There was a sudden bitter regret for making fun of those survivalist shows. You should have paid attention. Were you supposed to try get to high ground? No, you should find water. Did you just pick the direction that was your best guess to get to the road? You’d be able to see the stars when the sun fully set, and the brightest would be North you thought. Didn’t much help knowing North because you could not visualise a map.
Your feet were so sore now. You sat against a tree, the discomfort of sitting on the ground vastly outweighed by the relief of getting weight off of your feet. You didn’t want to look and see how bad it was so you ignored it. You just let your head fall back against the tree trunk and closed your eyes, imagining you were back home. If the men that had kidnapped you were in your little imagining it was not something you would ever admit out loud.
–
Simon Riley did another rotation. Price had called it in an hour ago and ordered him to keep a watch for you while they searched on the ground. Fuck he was so mad at you, what were you thinking? When they got you back he was going to cuff you to the fucking bed anytime they left you alone. Night was falling, the temperature was dropping.
“Come on sweetheart, give me something” he mumbled, looking for any sign from the trees.
You would never have made it on foot even if you had taken the road, not without shoes, not so late in the day. It got dark out here, so dark you could barely tell where you were going without a torch. What the fuck had happened while he was gone? He trusted his team, he couldn’t entertain the idea that they might have been so cruel to you that you thought dying out there was better.
It was another 8 hours until there was finally an update from Price over the radio.
“Found her. Get home Simon, she’s in a bad way.”
#mhairiwrites#cod au#fanfic#tf 141 x reader#not the direction I thought this was going when I started writing this chapter this morning#and yet here we are
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Orange Peel Theory
Ghost x Reader fic
“Give the damn thing to me, Lt. Thought you wanted an orange, not orange juice.”
He glared back at you, an action most people would have stopped in their tracks from seeing. Instead, you plucked the fruit from his hands, easily sliding your thumbs into the hole he had made and peeling back the skin. He huffed at how easily you’d peeled it, fingers deft and graceful compared to his own.
“There,” you said with a smirk, holding out the fruit. “Now I don’t have to watch you fumble.”
He scoffed, moving to grab it from you. You managed to steal a segment of orange, popping it into your mouth with a grin before moving away. He stared at your retreating form, the sting of citrus in cuts on his fingers oddly similar to the sting in his chest.
It was odd how you were always there to offer help with such mundane things. You were simply the FNG when that had happened, a bright force among such dire circumstances. A sergeant who, despite seeing more than enough acts of war and sacrifice, had managed to hold on to what humanity you had left.
Humanity that came as small actions no one expected or demanded, ones you just took to because you could. At first, Ghost found it annoying; always offering help, always checking in on him, always stepping in with his duties to try and make them go faster so he could rest earlier. It infuriated him. He’d never do things like that, it opened up way too many opportunities to be taken advantage of.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
A light rap on his door. Hesitant, shy.
“Lt?”
He sighed, getting up from his bunk and trudging over to the door. Irritability shifted under his skin, like he wore too many layers and they were bunched up under each other, not moving no matter how much he tossed and turned and pulled at them.
He swung the door open, a huffed, “What?” leaving him. He froze nearly instantly, seeing your face look back at him.
Dark undereyes, red capillaries pulling at the corners of dull white sclera like a mirror. An exhausted, yet worried pinch ghosting your features.
“Sergeant,” he started slowly, frozen in place. The irritability swelled, but he couldn’t find it in himself to take it out on you. “What do you need?”
A glance sideways, a shaky breath poorly concealed. Regretable, shameful.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” you mutter. “Just- just can’t seem to settle. Soap’s out field, of course, and Gaz is working with Price on recon-”
“Inside,” he said gruffly, leaving you at the threshold. He stopped halfway to his bunk before turning, looking at your surprised form with a raised brow. “Move your feet, sergeant.”
Eventually, it all evolved into a back and forth game. You’d find little things to do for him, little ways to make his day better. You’d visit his office during your rounds, picking up piles of paperwork or files he was about to deliver to someone else in the base, somehow always tricking him into telling you who they were intended for.
You’d find little bits and pieces he’d misplaced and put them somewhere he knew to look, smiling to yourself when you heard him huff in mild irritation when he eventually found something somewhere he’d ‘fucking looked before’.
You’d bring him a tea, or a snack when he had spent entirely too long in his room or hunched over paperwork.
You’d fill his water bottle when he was training in the gym.
You’d peel his oranges.
You never noticed how he’d lead on your conversations, watching your cheeky smile as he gave you the name of the intended recipients of his work.
You never noticed how loud your smile was, even if you weren’t facing him in the same room.
You never notice how sometimes he’d purposely avoided being seen by you outside his office so that you’d assume he had been there all day and bring him treats.
You never noticed how he left his water bottle out for easy access.
You never noticed how Soap or Gaz would throw him a confused or knowing look when he grabbed yet another orange, days in a row when he didn’t even really like them that much.
It soon divulged into a game of hide-and-seek tag, really. You’d always do something for him, something small, and he’d always do so in return. He was a lot sneakier about it, managing to turn a lot of your own tricks back on you and never being caught.
“I know what you’re doing.”
He looked up, his face neutral as the pen in his hand stilled. He raised a brow. “And just what am I doing, sergeant?”
A small huff, a cross of your arms. Defiant, playful.
“You’re taking my stuff just so you can say you found it when you return it,” you accuse.
He doesn’t know how he managed to keep a smile off of his face, even if his mask was able to hide it somewhat. He doesn’t know how his voice remains even, either, as he turns to you properly with a long sigh. “Why would I do that?”
“Well-” you splutter, suddenly falling short for a moment. “I wouldn’t know. Seems like you’re going soft.”
“Soft?”
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
Another silence. This time, he can’t keep a smirk from tugging at his lips, his eyes sparkling with mirth. He waited for your response, watching as you shifted uncomfortably. For an amazing and competent soldier out field, you sure were pretty awful at concealing your thoughts and feelings around him.
A shake in your resolve, a sideways glance. Flustered, cute.
Cute?
He couldn’t help but think of all the things you’d done for him over time. At some point, it had become the norm for you and him; helping each other out in tiny ways while never acknowledging them. Small boosts of morale and easiness provided that was eagerly accepted.
Like when he helped you get back to sleep after a particularly restless night filled with waking night terrors and the silent tears that he had learnt to not mention, rather swiping them away without another word. Like when either of you were sure you wouldn’t make it another day, either one of your heads resting on the other’s chest.
There were times where you would text him, his contact given to you purely for basic communication or emergency that quickly descended into the occasional conversation.
03/9/20-- 11:47
Heard you got caught in cross fire. What, bullets don’t phase through ghosts?
I’m the one with the jokes love, not you
Quit your bitching, old man
You picking on the injured now, huh? New low
And here I was about to offer to bring you some real food, not hospital food. But I guess I have a new reputation to uphold
Not a reputation if only one person knows about it. I can keep secrets
I’ll be there in 10 minutes
Thanks, love
04/11/20-- 05:23
You up?
No
Yeah, good one. Slick
Glad you think so, sarge. What do you need?
Need a fucking coffee, wanted to know if you wanted a tea
Are there sticks in the woods?
Dunno, would have thought one was up your arse with your sunny attitude yesterday. Milk and sugar, like usual?
Yes please
29/11/20-- 18:03
I’m glad you’re going home this time
Why, need a break from me?
Now that you mention it…
But no, just think you deserve some actual time off instead of lurking around here like you always do
I lurk.
Yes, you lurk. You take your call sign too seriously sometimes
I’ll keep that in mind
29/11/20-- 18:07
Did I do something wrong?
He struggled being away from you, he found. He hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed being around you, how much he took the little game for granted. Now, when he lost something, he found himself wishing you were there with him until his keys magically appeared. He missed waiting for the small knock on his door as you walked in with cups in your hands, maybe a paper bag with a muffin or such.
He hadn’t eaten an orange since he went on leave for the holidays.
24/12/20-- 22:58
Happy holidays, Sarge
I should have said it earlier, but todays been hectic
Not that you really care anymore
24/12/20-- 23:01
I wanted to invite you over for a drink or two, maybe a nice dinner, but thought it would be better for you to spend it with your family
Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have family?
I would have spent my holiday with you if you asked
I should have asked
24/12/20-- 23:17
I’m sorry
24/12/20-- 23:23
I miss you
24/12/20-- 23:39
What a day to lose your humanity
I would have helped you
25/12/20-- 00:01
Merry Christmas, love
I miss you
I love you, too
A Christmas miracle, I guess
Thumbs plunge into tough skin, ripping and tearing. Yet, nothing leaks from the cavity. No, it comes away easily.
A chuckle, the burn of citrus in cuts on his fingers and in his chest. Ire, melancholy.
25/12/20-- 00:06
A Christmas miracle
I peeled my own orange
#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw ghost#cod fanfic#cod x reader#ghost x reader#reader x ghost
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I think I might have fallen in love- realization fics! Fics with this prompt can be the realization of anything--a characters imminent death, the moment wherein someone realizes they've been betrayed, or they can be super fluffy and detail the moment a character realizes they're in love, the moment where they realize they can see a future with the reader--perhaps one that entails settling down or one that involves leaving the past behind--, the moment where they realize that they want to marry them! Anything goes with this prompt, and I'll write 1-5k words using it!
ooooh okay, what about kaz x reader. and it's him realizing that he can see the rest of his life with r. i feel like that'd be such a huge moment for him, cause it was one think to admit he loves them but to actually see a life with them? like doing the domestic things, ya know?
He Knows- K.B x gn! reader
First off, I am SO SORRY that this took eight days! I've been studying to get my learners permit and before then was writing out requests on my sideblog so it's just been a lot to juggle with everything else lol, but thank you for sending this and all of your other requests in! This one was very fun, I absolutely adore a good realization fic and writing for Kaz was good after I'd not written for him in a bit!
Fic type- this is super fluffy!
Warnings- one mention of his trauma (he mentions not wanting to go to his childhood home in Lij because it still hurts to think about)
On the first day of October, Kaz Brekker is approaching the Slat and thinking about the next big job, the next big thing, when another thought suddenly occurs to him.
The thought is that he should grab you some tea at the cafe that recently replaced one of the nearby brothels. He lets the thought backtrack his feet about sixty steps, lets it allow his mouth to speak the words necessary to order you your fall-time tea of preference.
As he carries it back to the Slat, he can almost hear Ninas joyous snicker, almost see confusion in Matthias' gaze and see the smiles Inej, Jesper and Wylan are wearing.
He can hear Nina saying "you didn't peg me as a tea person, Brekker," when she notices the string and the tag which reads the cafes name attached to it.
The idea makes him scoff as he enters the Slat, eyes scanning the ever-constant crowd on the bottom floor in the hopes he'll meet your gaze somewhere within the mess of it.
When he does finally see you, you're not the first person he spots. The one who catches his attention is Jesper, wearing a bright but still burnt orange suit with nice looking navy blue accents, and he follows Jespers eyeline to where he spots you in the crowd of Dregs that has gathered on the bottom floor.
Jespers eyes are on you and Kaz watches as Jesper watches you approach the table with a mug of black coffee in hand. Kaz watches as Jesper notices Inej--who sits to his left in the table for six, Nina on his right--look at you skeptically as you slide into the spot beside Wylan.
Matthias is standing, unsurprisingly, though his arms are wrapped around Ninas shoulder in a hug from behind, and her head is tilted back so that her hair is touching his cheek. The two of them, as infuriating as Kaz finds it to be for a split second, look so happy.
Kaz approaches, takes the remaining seat at the table. You grin, slide the coffee his way. He slides you the tea he'd ordered.
"I love you for this," you say, grinning slightly. "Thank you, Kaz."
Kaz grins into his coffee, shrugs it off. "It was on the way," he says, and he knows that you know that, but he also knows that you won't know he purposefully backtracked sixty steps to get it for you. He knows that he does not want you to know that, so he says nothing of it.
You laugh, and Kaz's heart jumps in the way he's become accustomed to it doing so.
You'd been dating since the year before the Ice Court. It had been three years since. You had exchanged 'I love you's for the first time two years ago.
"I'd bet money he was zoning out while he walked," Nina says, and Kaz has to grip his cane like it's a lifeline to keep himself from spitting out his coffee while he's in the middle of sipping it. "Then he remembered 'oh, I've got a partner who likes tea' and so he walked back. Bet you it was as he was putting his hand on the doorknob."
"I'd take that bet," Kaz says, partly because he know she's wrong. "But it wasn't as my hand was touching the doorknob. It was a good six-ish minutes beforehand. Ordering the tea and receiving it took four."
Nina smiles at him. "Some days, the things you do for your beloved make up for your terrible haircut," she says. "Your next drink is on me, Brekker."
Kaz shrugs--a free drink is a free drink--and glances at you for a moment.
"Sixty paces?" you ask.
"Yeah," Kaz said. "Tacked on a solid few minutes, but I know you love the tea they make at Baileys."
"You got up to grab his coffee about six off," Wylan says. "Oh, that's so sweet! Your couple brains are couple-braining. You're sensing when the other is close by."
"It was ten bloody minutes!" Kaz says, a little incredulous. You laugh at him for a minute.
"Ten minutes," you say. "Six of which you spent walking back."
Kaz looks at you and you just grin, turning to Wylan before you take a sip of your tea.
"Either way," you say after you've downed the first sip and the warmth has surpassed your throat and settled within your stomach. "You can't judge me. You looked like Jesper had given you the entire world when he came into the Slat the other day."
Wylan scowls playfully at you, and Kaz looks at you and it just--something within him stirs. Something domestic, a part of him that yearns to come home to you every night, something that wants to relish in weekends off and hum along to the music playing from a gramophone while folding the laundry.
He shuts it out, rests his cane against the side of your chair in a manner that says 'I love you' without actually saying a damn thing at all.
-
That something stirs within him once more as he finds himself in the Kerch countryside. He hasn't brought you to Lij--twelve years gone and still, the very thought of visiting his childhood home hurts just a bit too much for him to risk it--but instead to a cute farmhouse that he'd bought in anticipation of retiring seventy years on, when he was ninety and still kickin' because he was Kaz Brekker and he would live to see 100 just to spite the people he disliked.
It is the first weekend of October and it has been a year since the last. You're in the kitchen and the only reason that Kaz is awake is because he smells coffee, wafting in from the pot as the water churns and the coffee falls into it.
He smells pumpkin, too, and knows what you've been doing without even having to think of it.
You have a very specific but very delicious recipe for pumpkin pancakes that you always make during the fall, and they stand as one of the only iterations of pumpkin-flavoured food and drink that Kaz can say he enjoys.
They're pumpkin pancakes made with a fairly basic recipe plus the addition of half a cup of brewed chai. You also tend to pair them with whipped cinnamon butter, and that morning it does not seem to be any different.
"Morning," Kaz greets as you grab two mugs from the cupboard.
In a manner that borderlines on reflexive despite Kaz's never having done so in that house, Kaz takes your electric kettle off of it's port, flips the top open and fills it with water. He sets it back on the port and clicks the small metal flap at the bottom end of the handle. He watches the port go from gray to blue to signify that the water has started heating, thanks to a mechanism that reacts to warmth.
"Morning," you respond as Kaz takes the mug he deems yours--the one shaped like a cauldron, while his is shaped like a ghost--and grabs a bag of your favorite tea, plopping it into the mug.
The two of you run through the motions quietly but contentedly even still--Kaz makes your tea, you make his coffee, Kaz gets the plates and you plate breakfast. You each grab your own utensils and sit down at the small black circular table that sits in your dining room.
Kaz, with a start, realizes he doesn't really know what to talk about. There is nothing, particularly, that currently plagues his mind. He loves the silence, though, and decides it best to allow it to remain uninterrupted.
Twenty minutes go by. Kaz thanks you for waking up and making the food--in Ketterdam, especially the Barrel, having a kitchen, having cups and plates to occupy the cupboards, utensils and baking tools to occupy the drawers and food to occupy the fridge and the pantry is a luxury. You like baking but what was the kitchen in the Slat was turned into the bar--and tells you he appreciates it.
You grin at him then, and Kaz knows that he will never escape the feeling that you are more than he will ever deserve.
That thing stirs within him again hours later, when lunch and dinner have both passed you by. It stirs when you've eaten your way through half of the pie brought to your doorstep by an old lady who'd claimed she had baked too much, the rest of it stored in the fridge for later consumption.
It is the innate feeling that Kaz cannot yet name that has him setting up the drying rack, grabbing the nearest dishtowel as his ears focus in on the sound of you humming along to the music, the music that plays softly from the gramophone as it filters into the kitchen from the lounge.
The ceramic ghost mug that you'd bought on your first day of the trip while you were in a town twenty minutes out from the farmhouse sits a couple of inches in front of Kaz, half full of chamomile tea because he does, in fact, aim to sleep through the night.
Candles have also been lit because the idea of turning the oil lamps on after sunset feels wrong, and Kaz looks at you and it all just hits him.
He's twenty-one, and he has been dating you since he was sixteen when it all just hits.
He looks at you, sees your face in the din as you dry off your hands and turn off the tap water, and suddenly he just knows.
Kaz Brekker knows that you are more than he will ever, ever deserve. He knows that he will someday propose to you and he will someday marry you, and perhaps he will retire when you do--likely around the age of 70, where retiring at ninety was his plan--and perhaps he will suggest long before you retire that you make the trips to this farmhouse a yearly thing.
He knows that he will have countless thoughts to get you tea when he's passed Baileys Cafe and he knows that he will walk back sixty paces to Baileys to get it countless times.
He knows that he will dry the dishes while you wash them, that he will find himself half awake in the heat of the Ketterdam summer, that he will get out of bed and pull the curtains back before trudging to bed again while still half asleep, just to feel himself awaken as he registers how easily enamoured he becomes with the way the sunlight cascades across you.
He knows he will come home many-a-night and he will fold the laundry with you, the two of you idly humming along to whichever record you've chosen to play on the gramophone, that your arm will bump Kaz's by accident and send the both of you into laughter.
He knows that he will experience the joy of getting to buy groceries with you, and he finds he can't wait to argue with you over the silliest things--a bag of six apples for one kruge is not the bargain deal you think it is. He knows that you'll remind him that getting two sets of the same coffee brand is not a smart financial move when the discount adds up to a grand total of one and a quarters kruge--and that one of you will laugh and the argument will break apart as though it does not exist.
"Kaz?" Someday, he will marry you. He will kiss your cheekbone in greeting and goodbye, and his soul will forever be entwined with yours.
Someday, he will have proof that the love he feels for you is not a weakness like so many Barrel thugs seem to think.
"Yeah?" Kaz asks, snapping out of his stupor.
You grin. "You okay? Lost you for a second there--you looked zoned out."
"Nothing serious," Kaz says. "Just uh--can't wait for the rest of the trip, is all. Could use a bit of rest if I'm completely honest."
You nod. "Me too,"
So then, dishes done and not a worry left in the world, the two of you blow out the candles you've lit. You go to bed a little earlier than normal, and Kaz knows that he will go to bed at your side for the rest of his days.
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