#captain shoulders strikes again

[malum-forev]

Eyes, They Never Lie

Summary: Sam and Bucky try to recruit (Y/N), Bucky's ex and a former Avenger who has left that life behind. But they realize her life has changed completely once they meet a her daughter with striking blue eyes.

Pairings: Bucky x Former!Avenger!Reader

“They want me to assemble a group,” Sam takes a long sip of his beer, thinking that it’ll do something to ease his mind. “The New Avengers.”

Bucky lets out a low whistle.

“I know.” Sam mutters. So far, it’s Captain America and the Falcon, but other than that, he’s completely lost. “Back when Steve was here, there was a place for us to go. We could aspire to one day go into the compound and train, but now, anyone who is willing to be part of the team is scattered all around the world.”

Bucky hasn’t said anything, not because he doesn’t know how to help his friend but because he’s so lost in his own journey. Running for congress sounded like a good idea, until he started dealing with the political world. So much bureaucracy, so many people wanting to fatten their wallets. And not enough actual helping.

“You got any ideas?” Sam asks, bringing him out of his mind.

But Bucky just hums, because the idea he does have is crazy.

“C’mon I know that being a silent watcher is your whole deal but I need some help over here. How the hell am I going to build a team from zero?”

Bucky finishes his drink, as if that’s going to help jumpstart his confidence. “Are you looking for fresh meat? Or do you got space for an old timer?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “I thought all your fighting days were behind you.”

“I want out,” Bucky loosens the tie on his neck. “I want to go out on the field again. Really help.”

Sam runs a hand down his face, there’s hesitation in the way he looks at Bucky. 

“Unless…” Bucky gulps. “Unless I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“No, no.” Sam places a hand on his shoulder. “I just need to tell you something before you say yes to this-“

“What is it?”

“I was-uh-“ Sam looks up at the screen above them, not wanting to look at his friend in the eye when he says it. “I was gonna ask her to join, too.”

“Oh,” Bucky can’t help but think back to when you were his, at least for a moment. Every time he thinks about being happy, you’re right there next to him. 

You were the first woman he was actually interested in. He spent years wasting time with thousands of women, letting them in his apartment but never into his heart. But your eyes reeled him in from the moment you started as an agent. Steve would always tease Bucky, saying he’d have to see you fall in love with someone else if he didn’t ask you out. 

Those were the best years of his life. No doubt.

Until you left. You retired, and wanted nothing to do with him. And all the love you had seemed to evaporate from one day to the next.

But Bucky? He was still waiting for you to come back. 

“I-I thought she disappeared, retired.” Bucky stutters at your memory. 

“I found out where she lives now. And I planned on talking her into the group.” Sam looks down at the beer in his hand.

“I’m in.” Bucky says, but he’ll never be sure if he accepted because he wanted out of the political world or if he wanted another glimpse of you. 

-------

“The house is supposed to be up the road.” Sam mutters, trying to find cel reception. But the two of them were so deep into the woods, it was almost impossible. 

Bucky had always imagined you’d end up like this. Off the grid, living off your land. But in the dream, the two of you would be together. He’d spend the day cutting wood and harvesting whatever you’d grown, and you’d be deep into a hobby, spending your nights recounting your wild life. 

They see an opening up the road, but as they come closer, their eyebrows knit together.

“This can’t be it.” Sam says under his breath.

A huge cabin, surrounded by pine trees, is the only thing around. There’s a big tree at the front of the cabin, with a tree house on one of its branches. A glittery pink bike on the lawn along with a replica of Mjolnir next to it.

Sam parks his truck and they both step out cautiously. Bucky looks around, wondering how the woman who used to scream at the sight of a spider could live here, all alone.

As they come closer to the front door, they hear rustling from the tree house.

Bucky nudges his friend’s shoulder. “There’s someone over here.” 

Sam’s head whips just enough to see a pair of binoculars looking at them from the wooden window. 

“Hello?” He calls out but there’s no answer.

“Do you live here?” Bucky asks, only to be slapped on the chest by his friend.

“You can’t ask that! It’s creepy!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “How else am I supposed to get an answer if I don’t ask a question?” 

But there's no response from the person inside the tree house. Instead, there's clanking and banging and before they even realize it, there's a little girl pointing a bow and arrow directly at them.

"State your name! Now!" She tries to look menacing but her outfit is too much for the two men to handle. Sky blue rain boots with a purple tutu, a Def Leppard t-shirt and heart shaped sunglasses.

"Oh my god." Sam immediately melts. "Aren't you the cutest little thing I've ever seen."

But the little girl doesn't fall for the Captain's words, she points the arrow directly at Sam. "Don't make me repeat my question, I know how to use this."

"Do you live with an adult? Your aunt, maybe?" Bucky's throat dries up as he asks the question. He knew you had siblings before you went into the crazy line of work that were the Avengers, and he begged that the little girl before him was theirs.

Bucky spent hours thinking about you on the way here. He'd been dreaming of seeing you again, thinking of what must have changed and what stayed the same. But he never thought there was a possibility you had moved on.

"Is your-" Bucky clears his throat. "Is your dad home?"

Sam eyes his partner. "Smooth."

The little girl walks backwards until her back bumps into the cabin's front door. "I'll call my daddy."

Bucky's heart stops. After years, he was still thinking of you whenever his eyes closed, and you, you were completely over him. Started a family with someone else.

"I'm sorry, Buck." Sam pats his back, immediately noticing the shift in his friend's eyes.

"S'okay." Bucky mutters, grinding his combat boot into the ground. "I'm not here for her, I'm here to assemble the team."

"I know, but-"

"I said I'm fine." Bucky snaps, running a hand through his shorter hair.

You'd begged him, for years, to cut his hair.

"I love your long hair," you'd once murmured against his lips. "But I also love how you looked during the Howling Commandos era."

"Era? You're making me sound more old than I am." Bucky smiled against your lips.

"I'm just saying, you could shorten it." Whenever you looked into his eyes, it made him feel like he was the only thing in the world.

"I thought you liked pulling my hair." Bucky flipped you on the bed, taking in your bubbling laughter.

The creaking sound of the cabin door brought him back to now. Bucky sucks in air, preparing to meet the man who is apparently so incredible that you decided to drop everything to be with him.

He has to be at last six feet. Well I'm 6 foot 1, on a good day. Bucky responds to his own thoughts. And he must be jacked. Not as jacked as me, I'm the fucking Winter Soldier for fucks sake! He must love her. Well I, I've loved her every day since I met her.

It feels like it takes hours for this mystery man to come out. The door opens slowly, only to reveal... You.

Bucky's knees buckle as your eyes meet his. You hadn't changed a lick, and if he didn't know better, he'd think that you were still his. Bucky's hands ball into fists at his side, needing a physical reminder to not reach out and hold you. Beg for your kisses. Tell you he doesn't care that you left, just as long as you take him back.

"Sam? Bucky?" Your voice trembles. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

The little girl pokes her head from behind your legs. "Mommy!"

"Mommy?" Sam and Bucky shriek at the same time.

"Attack them! Take them down!" Your daughter laughs.

"Young lady!" You scold.

But the little girl interrupts you, raising a chubby hand to stop your words. "I've already told you my name is Tashi Romanoff."

"Tashi, please, go upstairs and play. I need to talk to them for a moment. In private." You enunciate your last two words, knowing they were her least favorite words in the world.

"Fine," she huffs, turning on her heels. But not before taking off her rain boots and heart shaped sunglasses to reveal a pair of striking eyes. Clear blue with a steel ring surrounding her iris. Bucky's brows furrow as he catches a glimpse of Tashi's eyes, almost the same exact shade as the one he sports.

"W-wai-She's-" Bucky stutters out, not being able to comprehend what just happened.

"Tashi, huh?" Sam raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah, she’s going through a phase where she refuses to be called by her name," you close the door behind you. "Auntie Nat came to visit us during the blip and she just latched on to her."

"W-was her dad blipped?" Bucky tries to act normal but his heart is beating out of his chest.

"Her dad isn't in the picture." You cross your arms. "She was a surprise."

"So-uh-so that means." Bucky points between him and the house. Not being able to get the words out. "There's no way that."

"She's not yours, Barnes." You roll your eyes at your ex boyfriend.

"But she-her eyes." He blinks.

"There are a lot of guys with blue eyes out there." You let out a light laugh. It was strangely easy for you to slip into how things were, teasing and sharing laughs was the base of your relationship with Bucky. But now, so much time has passed, and you're definitely not the same person you were back then.

"What are you guys doing here?" You look down at the floor as you ask the question.

"Someone out there has created a mind controlling substance that puts everyone in danger. And we need to stop him. We found his lab and we got some of the vials but we need your help taking him down." Sam says but you're shaking your head before he even has time to finish. "I want to form a group. The world needs us again."

"Look, Sam, I appreciate you going through all the trouble to find me but, as you can see, I have other priorities now." You look back into the house through the window to find your daughter peeking through the window.

"But-" Bucky speaks up but you stop him.

"You guys can stay the night if you'd like," you say, looking at the darkening sky. "But I'm not going back. There's a reason I left that life."

Bucky bites his tongue to stop himself from asking you what that reason was.

"Thanks for letting us stay." Sam smiles as he passes the threshold of your home.

You never thought this day would come. Seeing your daughter run around your back yard with one of your best friends.

“She’s beautiful.” Bucky comes to stand next to you, but you only hum in agreement. Words seemingly disappeared from your mind the second his scent wafted closer to you. Sandalwood and fire, clean linens with a dash of something else. So masculine, so protective. So incredibly, Bucky. 

“How old is she?” He asks.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” You take a deep breath in, letting him coat your lungs. 

“I just want to know.” Bucky tries to act innocently. He dissects every trait he can tell comes from you, but the rest, they look awfully similar to him. Tashi’s nose has the same bump as his and her eyes crinkle just like Bucky’s when she smiles. 

“Faking was never your forte.” You smile. “She’s not your daughter Bucky.”

“Bucky.” He repeats his name like it hurts him to say. “You never used to call me that.” 

“Well, I used to call you baby but I wouldn’t want Tashi to start asking questions about who my other baby is.” 

Bucky lets out a laugh, it’s a low grumble that shakes his ribs. It’s been so long since he felt this peace. “I missed this,” he lets the words slip out.

“I missed this too.” You say, barely above a whisper, stopping yourself before you say that you missed him. But you did.

Every day since you left, you thought of Bucky. Of the way he used to hold you so tenderly and the kisses he gave you at night. Of how he said I love you and made it sound like the only words that existed.

But all those memories were of the past, your life before Tashi came in. And you should keep them like that.

-----

The moonlight is the only thing that illuminates Bucky as he wanders around the cabin. He didn't mean to lurk but he'd woken up from a nightmare.

Your home was different than he imagined. A lot more stuffed animals and toys and less trinkets from your past life. There were a couple of pictures here and there but they were mostly of Tashi and you.

"What are you doing up?" Bucky jumps up at the sound of her squeaky voice.

Tashi looks up at him with those goddamned eyes. They looked so much like his, it was concerning.

"I-I couldn't sleep." Bucky rubs the back of his neck.

"Do you have nightmares?" She asks so innocently. If only she knew the things he dreamed of. "I have them too."

"You do?" Bucky whispers, making her nod her little head.

"Mommy usually helps be back to sleep but I don't want to wake her up." Tashi brings a finger to her mouth, motioning for the Sergeant to keep quiet. "Don't tell her I woke up, promise?"

"Promise." Bucky brings out his pinky, wrapping it around her little finger. "I'll let you in on a little secret of mine."

Tashi's blue eyes widen, urging him to go on.

"You may not know about me but, there was a time your Mommy helped me with my nightmares." Bucky smiles at the memory.

"I know about you, silly goose." Tashi covers her giggles with her hand.

"You do?"

She nods, holding her hand out and taking him to her playroom. Sitting Bucky in an incredibly small chair. "You're the boy from my book!"

Tashi places in his hands a hand sewn felt book. The characters were a bit wonky but Bucky could immediately spot himself in the fabric.

"You're the boy with the heart of gold and the arm of steel." She says, proudly pointing to the book.

"The boy with the heart of gold and the arm of steel would save anyone, especially the people he loved," Bucky read his description on the book. "People around the world misjudged him, but that didn't stop him from being good. He proved them all wrong."

"You're my favorite character," Tashi smiles wide. "Don't tell Uncle Sam."

"Your secret is safe with me." Bucky lets out a watery smile, setting the book down on the floor. "How about you go up to your room and I can tell you a story about your mom."

"Really?" Tashi jumps up.

"Only if you promise to try and go to sleep again." Bucky raises his eyebrow, trying to appear strong but the little girl already had him wrapped around her finger.

"Under one condition," Tashi crosses her arms. "I can go outside and get my Natasha figurine."

Bucky bites down on his lip. "It's quite late to go outside."

"Please?" She pouts. "It'll only take a second."

God she looks so much like you.

"Fine." Bucky gives in. "But I'll be watching by the door, can't let you go outside all alone."

The super soldier walks behind the little girl, watching as she runs outside and sifts through the grass.

Bucky should have known something was wrong, he should have heard them lurking in the bushes. But he was too distracted by her, too distracted by the idea that this could have been his life. That in some multiverse, Tashi was his daughter and he could've retired next to the love of his life.

But he didn't. And it was too late once he realized what was happening.

Tens of agents dressed in black closed in on the cabin, running onto the property. Tashi was the first thing they grabbed.

He heard her yell out his name, but it happened in slow motion.

"No!" Bucky screamed, running towards the man who kidnapped her. "Let her go!"

Tashi's red splotched eyes was the last thing Bucky saw before they crammed her into a black van and left down the only road. His feet burned as he ran behind them, but not even Bucky was able to catch up to them.

Once he came back to the cabin, Sam and you were running around trying to understand what happened.

"I'm sorry." Bucky lets the tears run down his face. "I couldn't stop them."

You dropped to the floor with a sob.

Bucky's knees finally gave out. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry- We're going to get her back, I promise that I'll get her back."

Authors note: hi hiiii omg I went a little bit overboard with this one. It's been a looooong time since I wrote something this long. I hope y'all like it! Xx

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @whoreforbarnes @ironwinnerwonderland @oikarma @ellabellabunny123

[dawnwriterimagines]

Traitors Among Us

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Part Three: The Guilty Plea

Part Four: The Verdict Due

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

and if you'd like to support a fanfic hoe in need...would you Buy me a Coffee?

[beloveds-embrace]

(poly 141 x reader with non-sexual dom john price bc i am a whore for him)

You’re not reckless; you are calculated.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you rush the objective, half expecting to get clipped, half hoping it might happen just hard enough to matter. A sharp enough consequence to justify the chaos rattling in your chest. A hit that would, for once, hurt more physically than mentally.

But it never happens, because you get out.

Again.

And when you stagger into the safehouse, vest half-shredded, blood caking your neck and a quiet look in your eyes that screams what the fuck is wrong with you, it’s not Gaz or Soap who calls you on it. It’s not even your Lieutenant.

It’s the Captain.

Price doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands near the back wall, arms crossed, eyes cold and unreadable under the brim of his cap. Everyone else talks; Ghost grunts, Soap slaps your back, and Gaz offers water.

Price watches.

Watches you. Watches how you brush them off. How your hand trembles when you take the water bottle. How you don’t really hear anything they’re saying.

And when you try to pass him without a word- head down, body bowed, heart dragging low in your chest- that’s when it happens.

And hand shoots out, and thick fingers wrap around the scruff of your collar, yanking you back with practiced ease. You stumble, off-balance, but he barely lets you flinch before he drags you down into the seat between his knees. Scruffed, like a misbehaving mutt.

It’s not gentle. It’s not rough, either. It’s deliberate. Like everything else John Price does.

“Try that again,” he murmurs low against your ear, “and I’ll make sure you don’t so much as breathe without checking in first.”

His hands settle heavy across your shoulders, just there. Like an anchor. Like a silent demand: Stay. Sit. Don’t move. You’re not going anywhere. Like he thinks if he lets go, you might unravel into the smoke of his cigars and drift out the window.

You stare forward, muscles coiled, but not fighting it because even if you wanted to, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

The rest of the room doesn’t react. Gaz’s back is to you, unbothered, watching Soap root through the medkit. Ghost flicks his eyes your way once, gives a small nod to Price, then moves on.

This is normal. Not just that, but also routine.

You are under Price’s hand now, and they all know better than to interfere when he’s decided someone is his problem to handle.

They’ve seen this before.

They’ve been there, in their own ways.

“You think you’re clever,” he says quietly, voice low enough only for you, “Rushing in like that. Like your body’s expendable. Like I wouldn’t notice.”

You say nothing.

“I told you,” he continues, the growl of his voice like a match striking dry wood. “I see you pulling this shit again, I make damn sure you won’t so much as take a piss without me signing off.”

He tightens his grip just enough to remind you: talk.

You want to tell him to fuck off. To let you go. To stop seeing through you like glass held up to sunlight, but you aren’t stupid enough to do that.

“I’m fine.” You mutter.

“Bullshit,” he replies instantly, and you can feel his glare. “You’re bleeding, you’re shaking, and you’ve looked like a ghost since the last op.”

You try to shrug him off, instead, and it is a big mistake.

The arm around you locks, and suddenly your back is pressed tight to his chair. His breath is hot by your ear, the scent of blood and gunpowder and cigars curling around you.

“You wanna play this game?” he snaps. “Where you pretend not to care what happens to you? Fine. But you’ll do it sitting right the fuck here until I’m satisfied you won’t drop dead the moment I blink. You run, and I’ll find you. You disappear, and I’ll tear up every goddamn city from here to the Urals until I get my hands on you again. You hear me?”

You clench your jaw. Try to keep it together. The ache behind your eyes threatens to spill over.

“I don’t need to,” he murmurs back. “I just need to keep you breathing.”

There’s silence for a while, after that. Your mouth feels stitched shut, and you feel no particular rush to tear it open and let your words spill out. Eventually, your shoulders drop. Your head tilts, ever so slightly, against his knee. The tension bleeds out of you slow, like sap from a broken tree.

Price doesn’t move, and doesn’t say anything more. He simply keeps you there, solid against him, and the others still don’t say anything.

they’re used to how he gets when someone forgets their worth.

[ddejavvu]

MEI i have severe top gun maverick brain rot and all i can think about is reader being the admirals daughter and everyone assumes rooster or hangman is gonna go after her but it turns out she’s been hooking up with bob for AGES and they’re all like ??? how did you do that???? bob gets kinda flustered but readers just like idk he was really nice and he’s really good in bed

"Check it out," Phoenix elbows Bob where the man is engrossed in reading the back of the bar napkins Penny had handed them so that they didn't stain her tables again, "There's Mav's daughter. 'Think she's got that Hawaiian shirt on to seduce Rooster?"

Bob's eyes dart to where you're chatting with Penny, his shoulders stiffening as his friends turn to watch you.

"Nah, Rooster doesn't like orange. But those cowboy boots she's got on are probably for Hangman- didn't he say he'd teach her how to square dance?"

Penny reaches over the bar to tug affectionately at one of your braids and Bob tries to no avail to break the conversation.

"Actually, she's-"

"I'd say she was here to meet Fanboy, but she doesn't date losers," Phoenix's eyes are narrowed dangerously, and she hides a smirk against the rim of her bottle.

"Hey! Hangman's a bigger loser than I am!" He protests, but before the taller man can trap him in a headlock, Penny points towards the dagger squad where they're lounged in a corner of the bar, and your eyes shine as you rush over.

"Bob!" You shriek, throwing your arms around his neck and letting your legs bend when he hoists you off of the ground for a hearty hug. His muscles are well hidden beneath his regulation khakis, but he's built for much heavier loads than you, and he lets you hover a few inches off of the ground while he hugs you.

Your face is buried in his neck but you press a kiss against his cheek, catching the bewildered blinking of the rest of his squadron over his shoulder.

"Oh. I forgot you didn't know." You supply, your feet back on the ground as Bob keeps one arm slung loosely around your waist, "Sorry, we- uh, we've been hooking up for a while, it's just... I haven't seen him since you guys got shipped out."

"You've been hooking up with her?" Coyote stares down his nose at Bob who shifts subtly closer to you, nodding once, stiffly in the face of his teammate's scrutiny.

"Damn. And he was good enough in bed to keep you waiting 'til he got back?"

Bob flushes - you feel his skin warm where it's pressed against your own, and you fill the awkward silence.

"Oh, please. I'm sure you've seen it in the locker room; I'd wait a lifetime."

Bob scoffs over your shoulder, now even more flustered, but Phoenix is happy to save the situation.

"Does your dad know?" She tilts her chin towards you, remembering how viscerally uncomfortable their Captain had been whenever someone had suggested you get together with one of his aviators.

"Of course he knows," You laugh, "He's the one that set us up! 'Said Bob had to get his hands on me before Texas over there tried to Hold 'Em."

Bob wraps an arm protectively over your chest, leaning over your shoulder from behind to return a kiss against your own cheek.

Hangman whistles lowly, shaking his head with a dazed look, "Well, shit. I didn't know the offer to hold 'em was on the table, but-shit!"

Bob's face darkens but Rooster levels the toe of his boot with Hangman's lower thigh, striking him at the back of the knee and subsequently spilling beer over his khakis. Hangman grunts as his knees knock against the beer-sticky floor, but he seems to know he deserved what he'd gotten because he doesn't retaliate.

"We'll wrangle him." Rooster promises, "You two go have fun, Bob you gotta quarter for the jukebox?"

"Yes'sir," Bob nods, tugging you towards a lesser populated area- perfect for slow dancing even if the bar isn't, "Let's make up for lost time, honey."

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑 .

# with black-leg sanji.

milk started to leak from your nipples — and sanji was never one to waste food.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day one. smut (mdni). breast worship. lactation. praise kink. pathetic sanji. handjob. no y/n used. afab!reader.

WC: 2k.

sanji had witnessed a fair share of devil-fruits in action throughout their sailing. from those who were foolish in its essence, such as that of the candle wax; to those who were horrid and lethal — sanji could well-reminisce the brightness and the sharp ache that followed-in-suit to enel’s lightning strikes. he figured not another thing could surprise him; until his crew faced a short-lived and stupid battle against the pirates from a self-proclaimed stork-stork captain.

the opponents caused no harm. their captain, all but managing to brush your shoulder before being swiftly knocked out. relieved with your untouched health — as it was shown through your exterior —, the straw-hats’ lives returned to common routine in the aftermath, not a thing amiss. that was, of course, until you started to throw up.

countless examinations and book researches pointed out the source of your illness. the devil-fruit from the stork-captain was known for the ability to impregnate others. however, the user needed to touch two people, and that hadn’t been the case — which had sanji praying and thanking gods he hardly believed in. the mere thought of you, bearing the marimo’s child, was enough to leave him seething. comical reaction aside, chopper theorized that, as you had no bundle of cells within your uterus, you’d but suffer from some pregnancy-related effects for a while — perhaps a time equal to the duration of your period. their doctor advised you to refrain from touching others with the previous common frequency, as to avoid the triggering of said devil-fruit.

that had happened four days ago, and sanji was in the deepest pit of despair. you were far from sight throughout the day, gracing them with your presence only during meal times — and even then, your chair was placed the furthest away from the rest, as to avoid accidental brushing. sanji was half-aware of the anatomical consequences of pregnancy: nausea, cramps, swelling; and being unable to support you through it all was driving him insane.

the soothing herbal tea he brewed was intercepted. he had chopper trailing behind him for hours on end. whenever you aimed to spend time outside the walls of your room, the damned marimo stood by the crow’s nest door as though a guarding dog, unallowing him to proceed. even then, with the sunny docked and most of the crew elsewhere, sanji held no expectations of sharing an alone moment with you whatsoever, as robin had been the one assigned to stay behind in order to guarantee that the pair of you would be kept separated. sanji could neither argue nor defy a woman’s request, and robin could not be swayed with monetary bribery on your part.

he sighed. the weather was not suitable for lukewarm beverages, so he could, at least, distract himself from you with thoughts on how to turn thyme tea into a pleasant summer drink. a knock on the kitchen’s door — followed-in-suit by light steps — tore him from his thoughts, however. sanji’s nostrils were filled with the characteristic scent of your perfume, and he turned to your direction so fast he was positive a bone in his back cracked.

“my love!” sanji shouted, gripping the counter to resist the urge to jump you.

“hi,” you greeted softly, sitting on the side opposite from him.

his throat dried up. he had missed the sound of your voice and sight of your face. having you close yet again after four, painful and infinite days, had him squirming as though an addict being offered his most favored drug.

“how did you manage to convince sweet robin?” he inquired, whose worried you waved away.

“i have my ways,” you smiled. sanji fell to his knees, immediately bolstering himself up with flushed cheeks, for he could not waste a second of that moment. “missed me that much?”

“oh, mon amour, you have no idea,” he started out, placing one hand above his chest in order to profess his affection. “the sun doesn’t shine as bright without you. the food loses its taste. the vastness of the ocean brings not freedom but rather a cruel, monstrous prison—”

“shit,” you interrupted through a curse, the lovesick glance once held switching to one of annoyance. sanji’s attention remolded itself, his instincts all but shouting at him to pay closer attention to your needs, rather than to complain about his non-comparable misery.

“are you hurting, my pearl? do you need me to prepare something? perhaps some tea,” he fretted, searching for soothing herbs. “are there any cravings? i can cook it for you, no matter how offsetting.”

“it’s none of the sort, don’t worry,” you sighed. “i just need to see chopper later on. it keeps leaking.”

sanji’s eyes trailed to the wet patch on your shirt; two dots staining the fabric and offering him the clear outline of your nipples. his knees buckled yet again, although he had learned enough from the previous embarrassment to contain himself. pregnancy had a countless set of effects; he could not believe he had forgotten of lactation — a process which happened to have a direct influence on the size of your breasts. sanji caught himself drooling upon the sight of it; your hands supporting the weight you were unused to.

“does it hurt?” he inquired, licking his lips.

“it is far from light on the back,” you answered, squeezing it with a sour expression. sanji grew embarrassed at the speed of his erection — his cock aching amidst the coffins of his clothes. yet another renewed influx of milk had begun, leaving a trail in its wake; tearing through the thin fabric, molded into a droplet that fell on your thighs.

“mon ange,” he whined, losing his breath mid-sentence. sanji felt the surge of tears pooling in his eyes, the sheer yearn to hold you one enough to drive him straight into a bridge of delirium. “please, it’s been so long.”

his hands clenched and unclenched. a pathetic gesture; a mute plead to be given the pleasure of groping your breasts. the glance spared was one filled with uncertainty, for you were the rock whose surface swayed with the waves of his lust. it was fair to be cautious — if sanji was a most decent man, he, too, would have waited — yet, he was anything but. the man jumped through the counter’s surface to drop on his knees in front of you, his lips ghosting over the flesh of your legs as he glanced up at you, shedding a single tear.

“please,” he pleaded. “i won’t put it in, i just want—no, i need a taste. i promise i will make you feel good, lumière de ma vie.”

your fingers threaded through blonde locks of hair; infatuation filled-eyes. “you wish to be good to me?”

“yes,” he whined, pressing feather-light kisses to the extension of your legs. “more than anything, ma belle.”

you hummed then, at last conceding to his desire. when your touch left his figure in order to remove the ruined shirt, sanji raised to his feet, placing his hands on your waist.

“wait, wait,” he stuttered, clearing his throat. “i want it to be comfortable for you. a mere kitchen chair will not suffice.”

your thumb parted his lips, resting above the lower share. “you’re so caring, love. always treats me so well, what would i do without my knight?”

he whimpered, closing his mouth around the tip of your finger, his tongue swirling with regained desire. sanji’s arms cradled your figure closer, raising you from the previous seat in order to reach a more comfortable room. you retreated your hand, wiping the tears off his cheeks with fleeting brushes of your lips. adoring whispers were a blessing bestowed upon his ears — praises regarding his strength; his beauty; his love. he could feel the warmth of his pre-cum, smearing the tip and the underwear’s fabric.

he sat you with tenderness on the crimson cushes of the leisure room, placing one of its pillows on your lap. when sanji’s fingers met the edges of your shirt, he found them trembling.

“so eager,” you cooed, petting his chin. “will you be my good boy, sanji?”

“yes,” he whined, tender hands working on the removal of your shirt. the wet patch was more prominent, with nothing but the dripping fabric of your bra separating him from the anticipated and sacred vision.

sanji struggled with the clasp, yet you neither reprimanded nor complained. instead, your words were nothing but soothing. “take your time, there’s no rush.”

he slid the straps down your arms, dragging his tongue around the internal dampness etched on your bra’s cups. the taste had him shuddering; whining and rutting his erection against your bare leg as he attempted to swallow it all, sucking on the fabric. your touch was soft on his scalp; toying with the disheveled hair.

“how does it taste?”

“like heaven, ma moitié.”

a lonesome string of saliva connected his lips from the fabric of your bra, yet it was broken once he placed it on the couch. you tapped twice on the pillow above your lap, beckoning him closer. sanji had then positioned his head on it, eyes trailed to your swollen nipples.

“open wide,” you instructed, and he behaved as though a loyal servant; you, his muse and goddess. “that’s it, such a good boy.”

he moaned, witnessing as you pinched on your left nipple, an amount of liquid gushing over. sanji angled his head in order to catch it all; his tongue lolling out. the perfection of your body had offered him a feast and he would rather not waste a single drop. the initial taste drove him mad, and you raised a knee to drive his face closer to where he wished. sanji’s mouth closed around the hardened nipple, as he cupped and teased the other breast, striving to have it leaking as well.

tears rolled down and sanji closed his eyes at the enhanced taste, moaning with sheer desperation as he delved further, his tongue swirling around the bud as his cheeks hollowed in an attempt to coat more of your milk.

“open your eyes for me, my love. i want to see you,” you voiced out, brushing his fringe aside. when he caught a glimpse of your face — worked up and eager; loving and grateful — he rutted his hips against thin air, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “my handsome prince; my diligent heart. you, too, want to be touched, don’t you?”

sanji tried to convey his agreement through a glance, the thought of departing his lips from your breast to produce an answer all too unbearable. you tsked, tugging lightly on his hair.

“a good boy uses his words, and you’re good, aren’t you, san-ji?” you dragged the syllables of his name, teasing him further.

“yes,” he swallowed the milk beforehand, his lips leaving your nipple with a pop. the sudden lack of contact had you whining — it was brief; hidden; but there nevertheless. “please, love, please touch me.”

sanji whimpered as your fingers hovered over the waistband of his pants. “how could i ever deny my baby?”

the fabric of his pants and underwear lowered ever-so-slightly — only enough to free his aching cock — and sanji cried out when he felt the teasing of your thumb on the tip. his mouth latched itself around your nipple yet again, his fingers pinching and teasing the other one as if to coax your essence. the strokes on his cock matched the rhythm of his tongue, swirling and hot, coated white. sanji dragged out his teeth — a butterfly-touch; a temptive bite — and your lips produced the sound of an angel’s choir.

you shuddered, arching your back, face contorting with pleasure as he claimed your sensitive breast. sanji’s eyes were wide, drowning in the magnificent beauty. crimson, warm, red dripped down his nostrils, a trail that merged with the white from your essence. the milk he failed to swallow escaped past his lips, dripping on the pillow; wetting his goatee. the sound of his moan came out muffled, though the vibration had you mewling.

“keep going, baby, you’re doing so well.”

he was your knight; baby; perfect. neither a failure nor a nuisance, but your good boy.

the taste was intrinsic to you, yet unique; the sweetest beverage he was given the honor to drown in. inimitable, stimulating points of his palate that diverged from those teased by your cum. the divine essence born from your pleasure had a saltier base, it would have worked well as a topping for caramelized meals, though sanji hadn’t been able to convince you to use your cum for that purpose. your milk, however; oh, how he yearned to use it. how would it affect the flavor of a smoothie, a cheesecake? which ingredients would suit best to neutralize the overbearing sweetness?

sanji groaned with need, groping your other breast, his cock twitching once the scarce milk tainted his palm, trailing down his wrist; wetting the buttoned sleeves of his shirt. his lascivious tongue followed-in-suit, his nose burrowed into your flesh.

“t’es mon obsession,” he whimpered, sucking on the tender spots around your nipple, ensuing a painting of red and purple; leaving butterfly-kisses and soft bites, tearing up as his mouth failed to swallow you whole. “je t’aime beaucoup.”

your voice failed mid-moan, and you pushed his face back into your swollen niple, eyes rolling once sanji returned to his previous ministrations. your palm squeezed him; his pre-cum a lubrification that enhanced the pleasure from the masturbation. he rutted his hips, craving your touch, and your fingers busied themselves with his face; drawing heart-patterns, wiping the fresh blood off his nose. your thumb brushed against the milk that fell from the side of his lips, red and white creating pink.

when you smeared the tip of your tongue with it, tasting and moaning around your own finger, sanji combusted. he tore his mouth from your nipple, rubbing himself against your hand while moaning louder than he had ever done. a drop of milk fell upon his trembling lips and he opened them as wide as he could, tainting your palm with his cum while your milk did the same to his tongue.

you hummed with approval, pushing his sweat-drenched fringe off his temple. “let it all out, my love. i’m here, that’s it.”

sanji choked on your milk, whimpering whatsoever as a particular squeeze dried him off his essence.

“a good boy cleans up his mess,” you cooed, wiping his tears. “will you be good for me?”

“always, my heart,” he stuttered, his tongue lapping at the damp flesh of his other palm, chasing the sweet taste of your milk.

the breast he hadn’t sucked on leaked less; sanji wondered if he could change that in the future. your thumb gathered the milk on his cheeks and goatee and guided it to his awaiting lips. sanji sucked on it with diligence, drawing pleasure from your approving expression. at last, he sat upright, wiping his cum hastily with his underwear, whining as you sucked on the rest of his load that stained your fingers.

“don’t move,” he instructed, pulling his pants up with a cough. sanji removed the pillow off your lap and properly laid your back on the couch. he wrapped his coat around your shoulders, caressing your chin before pressing his lips against yours. “i’ll pick you a clean shirt and bra. some water, too. just relax, chérie.”

when sanji left, he made sure to hide your previous clothes inside his own closet, sniffing the fabric and chasing the vanishing scent of your milk; committing it to memory. he would not be able to live without that, his palate itching to be graced with the sweet flavor again. he had no idea of the duration of that devil-fruit, but it was of no problem, as all he had to do then, to keep on draining you off your milk, was put a real baby on you.

— 🐈‍⬛ : the nasty month is officially upon us! had to start with my beautiful french blonde, the light of my life. 🫡 let’s have some fun through october!

[g1rld1ary]

high stakes & high seas - pirate!james potter x princess!reader

wc: 3111 summary: you get kidnapped by a pirate crew as political leverage and meet the ship's charming captain me: a late addition to fantasy/mythology au for @acourtofchaos festival! took me a little longer than expected as i have a few assignments still going on but wanted to get this out!!! i have many more ideas for this pairing so they will probably pop up again soon...

The sun was all encompassing, warming your skin as you sat on the bow of the ship, feet dangling in the air. The waves occasionally brushed your uncovered feet, but you were in too good of a mood to mind. You could see dark clouds out in the distance, threatening to ruin your afternoon, but you’d deal with that when they arrived.

You looked back over your shoulder to the crew working on the ship, members of your family, of course, nowhere to be seen, too afraid to ‘ruin their complexion’. You shared no such worries.

You were, to be fair, a bit of a black sheep in your family. The only sibling who wasn’t vying for the crown, the only child who didn’t believe in the same ideology as your parents, the only one not utterly obsessed with your outward appearance. You assumed that all of your family members were currently hiding away in the dark, musing on their own alleged superiority.

When you looked back out to the horizon, the storm clouds were significantly closer, along with the outline of a ship headed straight towards you. It was unusual for ships to come straight at you — typically, when they saw your kingdom’s flag, they gave you space out of respect for your family. This ship, though, seemed not only unafraid but to be heading straight towards you.

Shit.

It seemed everyone on board put the pieces together at the same time, the crew springing into action. The helmsman tried to steer your ship out of the other’s course whilst a deckhand pulled you onto your feet, ushering you back towards your quarters.

The other ship was close approaching, if you looked back over your shoulder, you were sure you’d see the figures on the foreign deck, but you didn’t have time for that. Rain was already sprinkling over you, and you could tell you were in for a much wilder storm.

You stumbled over the hem of your gown, falling onto your hands and knees with an emphatic thud, scrambling to get back up and keep going. You were desperately trying to open the door to the cabins and quarters, rattling the handle with trembling hands.

“Everybody stop,” A booming voice made everyone freeze, your blood running cold, hand still lingering on the brass door handle. You turned slowly, eyes wide as you took in the sight in front of you.

The other ship had pulled up right next to yours, no doubt scratching the expensive paint and detailing that would have your parents moaning and whining for days — never mind the fact that someone could very well die in the next few moments.

Standing up on the railing of the deck was a pirate, illuminated by a dramatic thunder crack and lightning strike, making him appear a looming figure over the rest of the ship.

“What do you want?” The captain pushed through the crowd of skittish crew members, “If it’s money, just name a price. We’ll happily comply to ensure everybody’s safety.” You noticed how he purposefully avoided mentioning the royal family.

The man waved him off with a far-too-casual air, the flimsy hand gesture almost insulting. How could he not want money? He was a pirate, and this was a royal ship; it was probably the grand prize of pillaging on the ocean!

“Money’s not our object,” The man said, landing lightly on the wood floor of the deck, making hardly a noise considering his thick brown boots. The rest of the crew took an involuntary step back, intimidated by the man’s unnerving calmness.

“Then… what is?” The captain stuttered, hand hovering nervously over his sword.

“Her.” The man looked squarely at you, long finger raised at the point between your eyes. You gasped quietly, backing yourself flat against the wall in an attempt to shrink into nothing.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you have that, sir.” The air became thick on deck, unperturbed by the rain pouring over you all. The crew were all on edge now, seemingly preparing for a fight. The man’s cool expression hadn’t changed, save for one raised eyebrow.

“Shame,” He said, looking around at the circle your crew had made around him, “I’m not quite used to not getting what I want.” Then he whistled, long and crystal clear even through the rain.

Suddenly, figures came from all directions, swinging from their masts, climbing up the side of the boat. You didn’t know what to do, you weren’t equipped for combat! Plus, the door was clearly jammed, and you didn’t think there were any other ways to get off the deck.

The fight was dynamic but surprisingly clean. The pirates seemed hesitant to cause any injuries, merely tying most of the crew up against the mast or deck railing, clearing their path to you. You didn’t think you were a freeze kind of girl, you’d expected flight at the very least. But there you were, stuck in your place, feet sinking into the rough wood below you.

Through the chaos, you saw the pirate captain set his eyes on you again, the hint of a smile on his lips. As if in slow motion, he all but strutted toward you, direct path unperturbed by the fighting going on around him. Another lightning strike hit as if on cue, illuminating him so you could see the glowing amber flecks in his eyes, otherwise shadowed by his tricorn hat, drooping in a roguish way, no doubt weighed down by the heavy rain. You could feel your own hair plastered to your face and neck from the same cause.

The man didn’t waver as he stepped into your personal space, his eyes saying everything his mouth didn’t need to. You stared up at him with wide eyes, chest heaving from adrenaline and anxiety, lips slightly agape. Your hands stayed stuck to the timber wall behind you, like it was going to save you.

It seemed like an age that you stayed like that, you too scared and he too intense to move. Finally, finally, he spoke.

“You’re prettier than your portrait,” He said, eyes raking over your figure. You shrank further under his gaze, suddenly self-conscious. That wasn’t what you expected.

“What do you want from me?” You managed, searching his eyes for any deeper meaning. You didn’t sense malice or bloodlust, which at least soothed you a little.

“Just your company, your highness. See if you’re as sweet as you look.” He smiled, revealing blinding teeth. Then, like an afterthought, added “And the leverage you give me over your parents, but that’s secondary, of course.”

“You won’t get anything out of my parents,” You said through gritted teeth, body finally catching up to your terrified mind. You moved to run, but the man caught you before you could take a step, gripping both your shoulders in his large hands.

“I thought we were going to be friends,” He pouted, voice dripping with sarcastic upset, “We can do this the hard way, but remember it was your own choice.” The captain hoisted you up over his shoulder with strong arms. You’d long lost your panic response and were thrashing, kicking and demanding him to put you down, using every trick in your book. Nothing worked.

“I don’t even have shoes on, you animal!” You yelled, smacking your hands against his back. The man didn’t so much as flinch, but you felt his head move against your hip, looking for someone.

“Moony!” He yelled, and a tall man tying rope knots around the helmsman looked up. “Go get the girl some shoes, will you?” ‘Moony’ sighed and rolled his eyes, but moved nonetheless, and you heard the distinct sound of a door being kicked in as the man carrying you laughed.

You stopped by the edge of the boat, where the man hesitated before setting you down. His hand remained around your waist, not painful but a reminder that you had nowhere to run.

“Get on,” He said, gesturing down to his ship, a metre or two below. The jump worried you, you weren’t exactly known for your athleticism — which princess was?

“No.” You crossed your arms petulantly, planting your feet into the wooden planks of the deck.

“Get on,” He repeated, voice hardening as you resisted.

“No!” You exclaimed, trying your best to shrug yourself out of his grip, to no avail.

“Now.” The captain’s voice was hard, irritation present. Good, you thought, the man kidnapping you deserved some annoyance at the very least.

“Make m—” The hand resting firmly on your waist span you so you were facing the captain, his hand covering your mouth.

“Trust me, love. You don’t want to finish that sentence.” You were pressed up against his body, practically moulding together in your soaked clothes. Fear coursed through your body at his authoritative tone, looking up at him through your lashes, heart beating out of your chest.

The captain, too, seemed affected by the proximity, grip on you loosening momentarily as he stared down at you. Being put in your place had reduced your bravery, though, and you dutifully followed down into the other ship, heart sinking into your feet as reality began to set in.

The ship was nice, though not nearly as lavish as your own. You were shown to a small, simple room, with just one bed, an empty chest and a window.

You were left to your own devices for what felt like hours, but really could have been mere minutes. There was nothing to do. The window only opened a sliver, so you couldn’t have escaped if you tried, though climbing out of it would surely lead to an untimely death; nothing but rough waters below.

You’d been deeply engaged in staring at the plain wall when your first visitor came, the tall scarred man from before, his hands full.

“I brought you some things,” He said, making sure he closed the door behind him as he approached. “Shoes, of course, but I thought you might want to get out of your wet dress.”

“Thank you,” You said earnestly, but you couldn’t help the shakiness in your voice. You were one more act of kindness away from bursting into tears. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Moony.” He gave you a polite smile, the scar that ran across his upper lip contorting. “Our crew are called the Marauders. They’re really nice blokes once you get to know them. I know they seem scary.”

“And the brute that hauled me over his shoulder?” Moony laughed, shaking his head in exasperation.

“That would be our captain. Prongs. Goes about things in interesting ways sometimes, but he’s a good man. I don’t reckon he’d want to hurt you.”

“Fills me with confidence,” You spat, throwing yourself back into the mattress. Not as soft as your own, but that wasn’t uncommon.

“I should go,” He said, already halfway out the door, “I don’t think Prongs’ll be happy if he knows I’m talking to his asset.”

“Pardon?” You yelled after him, utterly affronted. An asset? You were worth much more than that.

A few hours later, you were visited again. The prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life was at the door, raking his eyes over you hungrily.

“What?” You snapped, upset when the man laughed.

“Fiesty, hey? Just how we like them. C’mon, princess: dinner time.” He dragged you by your arm out into the corridor, not giving you any time to adjust to the change in light.

“Who are you?” You struggled against his hold, brushing yourself off with self-importance as he finally relented, keeping close enough to grab you if you ran.

“I’m Padfoot, better get used to this face, darling. You’ll be here a while.”

“What is wrong with this ship? Do you all have such ridiculous names?” You huffed, stumbling as Padfoot pulled you around a corner.

“Hope you don’t bring this attitude to dinner, Prongs doesn’t tolerate disrespect.” He was laughing, but there was a shade of warning present in his words.

“You seriously expect me to dine with a pirate?” Your eyes blew wide into saucers, the idea the definition of ridiculous. You were a princess! Princesses simply did not dine with pirates, not ever.

“You might be a princess, but that means nothing here. You’re nothing here.” You got the distinct impression that Padfoot had a personal problem with royalty. “So call it dinner, or call it kindness that we aren’t required to extend. Call it your only chance to stay alive until morning.”

“I would rather starve,” You spat, wrenching your arm out of his grip again. Of the few pirates you’d met today, you were sure Padfoot was your least favourite.

Turning into the door Padfoot had led you to, the captain, Prongs, was waiting for you, already invading your personal space again.

“Then you’ll starve beside me, Princess. I’m not hungry either.”

It was just the two of you in the room; you thought it might have been his office, but the lighting was dim, and it was hard to make out the details.

Two plates of food sat between you, but neither of you moved. Clearly, you matched him for stubbornness.

“What’s your name?” You asked, keeping intense eye contact, “Your real name. Not the bullshit nicknames I keep getting.” Prongs huffed a laugh, amused at your bad mood.

“Captain James Potter, at your service.” He tipped his goblet of wine toward you in a lazy toast.

“And what do you want from me, James Potter?”

“What I want from you isn’t appropriate to discuss over a nice dinner,” He said, eyes giving you another once over. A shiver shot up your spine. “But what I need from you, princess, is your leverage. I want things your parents can give, but they won’t give them unless they receive something in return.”

“Smart, I suppose,” You mumbled, eyes catching on the actually delicious-looking meal, “But what could you want that would warrant you kidnapping me for it?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little mind about that, princess. I expect the king and queen will arrange for my demands to be met by the time we get to port.” James gave you a smile, one that felt real, and your outlook changed on him. Just a little.

“And how long will that be?”

“About a week or so, if all goes to plan,” He replied, messing with his hair, drawing your eyes up to examine the unruly curls.

“Do things typically go to plan?” You cocked your head to the side and James didn’t know if you were being genuine or not.

“Do you always ask this many questions?” He mocked your cadence, “And almost unfailingly.” You got the distinct impression he was lying to you, but his smile was so charming you didn’t think it was too terrible.

In a moment of silence, your stomach rumbled, and James’ eyes lit up with amusement.

“Come on, princess, eat with me. Is it really so terrible to dine with a pirate?” You hesitated for a moment, examining James thoroughly.

“I suppose not,” You conceded, shyly picking a first bite.

You and James ate in mostly silence, the mood scarily intimate with the singular candle between you.

“Is it nice?” He broke the silence first, and you were surprised at the genuine tone.

“Yes, yes!” You added a touch more enthusiasm than came naturally, unsure why you cared about how James felt, “It’s really delicious.” You weren’t lying, it really was good. Your family never ate anything comforting. Food was purely for show or for nutrition, perfectly portioned plates with the exact amount of sustenance you each required. Of course, it was prepared well by royal chefs, but it was nothing compared to the plate piled high in front of you, with food that warmed you as you swallowed.

When both your plates were empty, James stood.

“You’ve had a hard day, you must be exhausted. I’ll accompany you back to your quarters.”

“What, to make sure I don’t kill myself?” You joked, but James looked at you seriously.

“Precisely. Or kill one of my mates. You might have a pretty face, but I know there’s some darkness in there, princess.” You only smiled once James did, sure it was at least a half-joke.

You followed James closely, the shadows all looking scarier in the darkness of night.

“Is your room okay? Do you need anything?” James asked, looking down at you with hazel eyes.

“It’s fine, thank you.” You moved to turn away, but he caught you by your waist, pulling you back to him. You stumbled with the surprise, hand flying up against James’ chest to stabilise yourself. You both froze, feeling the other in much closer quarters than was appropriate for a princess and a pirate.

“I just — I was just going to say… This isn’t about you, I hope you know. I don’t want this to be painful, so let me know if I can do anything to make it better for you. I need you here to make things better for a lot of people.” You looked at James for a long moment, changing before your eyes again. You couldn’t decide whether he was terrible or lovely. He kidnapped you, yet seemed like he really cared about how you felt.

The boat rocked, throwing you against the door and James towards you, accidentally caging you in with his forearms. You gasped quietly, eyes wide again as you gazed up at him.

Slowly, silently, he brought a hand down, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers follow the strands down to where they finished.

“Are you planning on sleeping over, captain?” You teased in an attempt to diffuse the tension. James sighed, running a hand down his face as he pushed himself away from you.

“I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep, princess.”

With that he was off, leaving an electrifying buzz in your chest and the simultaneous realisation that you were all alone in the middle of the ocean. The combination made for turbulent sleep.

[kjhbsies]

Heyy! Can I have a James Potter x reader "Because less than twenty feet away was Y/n. My Y/n. She's laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?"

Either Bali or Morocco with a bit of Santorini pls? U can choose<3 Tysm

Bad Habit

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join my 500 celebration!

James Potter x photojournalist!reader

synopsis: She was just supposed to take the football games— not fall in love with a jock during a drunk game of 7 Minutes of Heaven. Now he’s questioning everything, including why he ever thought playing matchmaker with Sirius was a good idea.

wordcount: 3, 029

note: Prompt: "Because less than twenty feet away was Y/n. My Y/n. She's laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?" + Morocco: the almost-kiss. fluff again! thanks for the request, i appreciated it (though, i must admit, i found it hard to think of a particular scene that would go well with the prompt) this is modern football player!james REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

It started like a lot of college friendship does— accidentally, inconveniently, and with far too much sweat involved.

You were one of the photojournalists of your university's student publication, and he was the James Potter— star athlete, Gryffindor's varsity football captain, and walking ray of sunshine. You were usually behind the lens, trying to capture the perfect shot of their games— the intensity, the movement, the dedication of every player in the field. But no matter how hard you tried, your shots always seemed to be hijacked by him, James, with his boyish grin, striking some ridiculous pose mid-game like he was in a photoshoot for Vogue.

At first, you didn't get it. Why the hell was he flirting with your camera?

And it's actually when Lily Evans, one of the newswriters, had come to join you at the Gryffindor's game— that you realized that he was just using you to get close to her.

Naturally, you gave him the cold shoulder. Sure, you and Lily were friends, but not to the extent that you knew everything about her. Hell, you didn't even know that he was her crush for years. So, it'd be creepy if you gave him any details about her life. And besides, you don't have time to play messenger for another desperate jock crushing on your friend.

But James, being James, took it as a challenge. Every game? Wink. Smile. Kissy face. Every water break? 'Hey, camera girl, getting my good side?' You tried ignoring him. Really did. But then he started bringing you snacks to your post-game editing sessions. He started sitting beside you on every bus ride. He always caught you in one of the cafes you frequented and treated you to an iced Spanish latte because he said, 'Photographers are always fueled by caffeine.'

The worst part? It worked.

Little by little, the annoyingly loud and arrogant jock turned out to be just... loud. And goofy. And surprisingly genuine. You caught glimpses of his big heart: the way he comforted his teammates after a lost game, the way he checked in on everyone after practice, and how he always made sure his friends were happy. You saw past the bravado and found something lovable in James Potter. And it sucked.

Because, of course, he was still madly in love with Lily. Even if he'd toned down the dramatic serenades and public declarations, he still got that look in his eyes when she walked by. So you buried your feelings, deep, deep down where they couldn't hurt you— or worse, embarrass you.

To make things worse, James got it in his head that you were into Sirius Black. You don't know how it started, maybe you and Sirius bantered a little too naturally after a bus ride home, or maybe James just wanted to believe it so badly. Whatever the reason, he took it as gospel.

"Oh, come on, Y/n. You and Sirius? Absolute perfection." He said with a stupid grin.

You rolled your eyes. "We don't have anything in common, James."

"Oh, you do! You both like... leather and sarcasm."

"Leather?" You repeated.

"Don't question the method, just trust the Cupid."

Sirius, of course, found it hilarious. The guy knew about your feelings accidentally when he found you staring too deeply while watching James and Lily interact. And when you told him about James's assumption, he grinned, shrugged, and just said, 'Well, I am devastatingly handsome,' and he also planned to just play it along just to shut James up.

Which brings us tonight.

Frank's house was packed— an absolute zoo of sweaty students celebrating Gryffindor's third win in a row. Tables were full of beer pong, someone was passed out on the stairs, and the air was thick with cigarettes and weed (thanks to Remus's magic stash). And James— James was distracted.

His friends were talking in the living room. Peter was gesturing animatedly at the couch, but James kept drifting his attention to the nearby kitchen, where you and Sirius were situated.

You were standing by the stereo with Sirius, laughing at something he'd said, one of his rings glinting under the lights as he casually draped an arm around your shoulders. You laughed again, head tilting back, and James choked on his beer.

"What are you looking at?" Remus asked, sipping from a red cup beside him.

"Nothing."

"You look constipated."

"I am not." James glared at him. "Do you reckon they're already together and they're not telling me?" He asked, eyes trained on you and Sirius again.

"Ah, I see." Remus hummed. "Wouldn't be surprised if they already are."

"She's laughing at his jokes."

"So?"

"I tell funny jokes, too."

"Mhm. Do you also tell them with your hands on her hips?"

James flushed. "We're friends."

"So are you and Wormy. But you don't let him cuddle you at parties."

Peter suddenly appeared beside the two of them with snacks. "Would if you asked."

James groaned.

A soft creeakk echoed through the room, despite the music blaring. And everyone turned to look at the random, ancient-looking broom closet emerging from seemingly nowhere.

Frank stood beside it proudly, eyes wide with mischief. "This is the momentum killer of the night!"

Marlene, already tipsy with a red solo cup in hand, a backwards hat on, and a pair of sunglasses, let out a cheer. "Seven Minutes in Heaven!" She screamed.

A chorus of gasps and drunken giggles escaped across the room.

"We spin the bottle, whoever lands it on goes in the closet for seven minutes! You can talk, kiss, declare your love, or hell— even shag, we don't care! We won't judge— well, maybe a little. Just be entertaining!"

Everyone clapped like seals, even Remus, who had already fallen sideways onto a bean bag.

Now, a giant circle was formed, where everyone wanted to participate. You and Sirius were curled up on one of the couches, situated directly across from James. You had been sipping someone's leftover whiskey cola— definitely not yours, but you had lost yours an hour ago. No one was sober. Not even Remus, who had been munching a suspicious brownie earlier.

You were already tipsy, cheeks warm, head dizzy, when the first spin landed on Remus and Mary. Everyone howled.

The two shuffled awkwardly into the tiny broom closet. Seven minutes later, they emerged looking disheveled— Mary's necklace was backwards, and Remus's neatly ironed clothes were wrinkled.

Second spin: Peter and Marlene.

You don't know what happened in there, but there was yelling, loud banging, and when they came out, Peter had no socks on, and Marlene was holding one of Peter's shoes like a weapon. No one asked what happened.

Third spin.

The bottle slowed.

It ticked past Frank.

Past Dorcas.

Past Sirius.

And then it stopped. Right between you and James.

"OOOHH!" Sirius hollered. "This is gonna be so good!"

James blinked. You blinked. The room? Roared.

"Go on, camera girl!" One of James's teammates clapped.

"Use protection!" Remus yelled before falling asleep on Sirius's shoulder.

Marlene shoved both of you inside the broom closet. "Try not to destroy the shelf in there. Or do. Your seven minutes start now." She winked before slamming the door shut.

You two were way too close. James took up more than half the tiny closet— he was tall, broad, and definitely not designed for this cramped space.

Both of you sat down after a few minutes, your knees touching, breath mingling in the closed air. The small bulb did its job on lighting up the space, though still dim, you could still make up the shape of his jaw, the wild hairs curling around his ears, and—

"You're staring," James said with a smirk.

"Really?" You tried playing it cool. "Surprised you could see me with those things." You shot back, pointing at James's foggy eyeglasses.

James chuckled, removing them and shoving them into his pockets. "Fair point. What are we even supposed to do here?"

"Try not to suffocate?" You smiled. "And not sit on each other's laps accidentally?"

"Too late for that," He mumbled, shifting slightly as his knees brushed against yours. "Okay, how about a game? Try to get each other more?"

"Classic stalling tactic." You teased, but smiled anyway. "Alright. What's your favorite color?"

"Red and gold."

"Called it. You're waaayy predictable, Potter."

James snickered. "Your turn. How about... what was your worst experience as a photojournalist?"

You groaned. "Took the best shots in my whole life. Chef's kiss. Only to realize later that my SD card was corrupted."

James winced. "Ouch. That's brutal."

"Tell me about it." You shrugged. "Okay— your favorite coach among everyone that has handled your team?"

He hummed, placing a hand on his chin. "That's a tough one. But... probably Coach Jason."

"Oh, really? The guy who made you run 30 laps at 6 AM?"

"He's tough, yeah. But I can tell he was genuine among everyone else. Made us better."

You nodded, impressed. "Alright, fair."

"How about... who's your favorite football player?"

"Number 3. Sirius Orion Black."

James let out a loud gasp, clutching his chest dramatically as if in mock betrayal. "Y/n! I was hurt! I was your first friend. I was the award-winning captain! I always bring you coffee and snacks when you're hungry!"

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth. "Okay, okay, relax! Fine, I was kidding. Of course, you're my number one favorite!"

"Promise?"

You nodded, sincere. "Yes, James. I promise."

A beat of silence.

James cleared his throat, "Okay... here's one: did you ever have a crush on any of the football players?"

You froze.

Your brain screamed at you to lie. Say no. Say someone else.

But maybe it was the alcohol consuming your veins. Or maybe it was this tight, hot space. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you. Those damn hazel eyes.

So, you nodded. "Yeah... #7. James Fleamont Potter."

Silence.

Dead, awful silence.

James stared at you like you just smacked him with a ball. "You what—? Since... when?"

You tried to keep your voice light. "A couple of months ago. But it's fine. It's just a silly, happy crush."

James blinked. "Happy—?"

"You know, soft, small, not too serious." You replied quickly, trying to lie your way out of this awkward situation. "It's whatever. It's done." It isn't.

"Done?"

You nodded, smiling bitterly. "Yeah, I just saw how you were so deeply enamored by Lily, so I kind of... stopped. But, I really liked you before."

Done.

Liked.

Stopped.

The words rattled in James's brain like an echo.

He sat there, stunned, lips parted to say something, but didn't know how.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Potter?"

Still nothing.

You shifted, trying to get comfortable. Your foot had gone numb from the cramped position. But as you adjusted, James also moved— just a fraction, really— and suddenly, you lost balance.

With a yelp, you tumbled forward. Right onto James.

Both of you froze.

Your faces were inches apart. Lips practically brushing. You could smell the faint beer on it, and see his stupidly handsome face up close.

He gulped.

His hands instinctively landed on your waist, holding you firmly. His eyes darted to your lips.

"Uh," You smiled awkwardly. "Hi?"

Then—

SLAM.

The closet door swung open.

"Time's up, lovers— WOAH!" Marlene shrieked.

Everyone turned to see... you... practically on top of James, his hands on your waist, faces a few centimeters apart from each other.

Someone wolf-whistled.

Remus clapped.

Peter yelled, “Knew it!"

You scrambled off James, flustered beyond reason, brushing your hair back as if it would erase the last seven minutes. James looked equally stunned, blinking like he’d forgotten how to function.

Sirius was grinning ear to ear. “So... was it hot in there, or was it just you two?”

You glared at him.

James looked at you.

You looked at James.

And for the first time since the night began, neither of you was pretending anymore.

"Did they kiss?"

"Was that a... straddle?"

"Why did Captain Potter look like he got hit by a football?"

You sighed, trying to ignore the whispers going around. But none of that mattered, though, because as soon as you sat beside Sirius, he nudged you while wiggling his eyebrows.

"Sooo... what happened in there, closet goblin?"

You sighed dramatically and leaned into him, head resting on his shoulder. "I confessed."

Sirius choked on his drink. "You what?!"

"But not like a cute confession," You stared at him, eyes widening. "Like... I-don't-know-why-I-said-that-I-blamed-the-alcohol-and-my-soul type of confession. I said I liked him. Past tense. And then I panicked and told him it was just a silly crush."

Sirius blinked. "Oh."

You nodded slowly. "...Yeah."

Then he blinked again. "...Oh?"

"Please say something coherent."

He grinned, "So you're telling me that you," He pointed at you. "Y/n Y/l/n, keeper of secrets, and hater of feelings, went inside a tiny closet, then came out confessing a crush... and then lied about moving on? A bit bold move, actually. Though I might say that was great."

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. "My heart is still pounding like I ran a bloody marathon. I literally fell on top of him. Our lips almost touched. And I'm pretty sure I saw God for 0.3 seconds when he looked at me like that."

"Like what?"

You looked at him and imitated James's face— doe eyes and a pout, to which Sirius snorted.

"Oh, yeah, that's the Potter's dumbstruck in love face, alright."

You smacked his arm, and both of you started laughing.

Meanwhile, across the room, James Potter, star athlete, certified himbo, and former emotionally stable individual, was leaning against the wall while clutching a red solo cup filled with cold water.

Remus, red-faced from him and Mary's 7 Minutes of Heaven and from drunkenness, stood beside him. "You looked like you just walked out of a Greek tragedy."

James gulped his water. "She confessed."

Remus looked at him, dumbfounded. It's as if the alcohol went out of his body completely.

"...Like confessed confessed?"

James nodded dumbly, eyes still glued on you and Sirius laughing together.

Reemus peered in your direction. "And? What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is— I'm confused!" James whispered-yelled, gesturing to himself and sloshing water on his shirt. "I thought I liked Lily!"

"Thought?" Remus raised an eyebrow.

James ignored him. "And now— now, she was laughing with Sirius like they're starring at a romcom, and I feel like someone should just punch me back to reality."

"I'll volunteer, but go on." Remus patted his shoulder.

"She said she liked me. Liked, Moony! Past bloody tense. And I'm just— why didn't she say anything earlier? I would've done something!"

"Would you?"

James stopped. He paused, pondering everything.

"...Yeah." He admitted sincerely. "Yeah, I would've. Because how couldn't you fall for her? During those times, we were just playing hide and seek in our own little world and calling it friendship. But it was her. It was always her. And now I feel like a bloody idiot because I told Pads to flirt with her just so I wouldn't fall harder!"

Remus gaped at him. "You told Padfoot to— oh, my, Merlin, you created your own love triangle. You're dumb as hell."

"I know!" James whispered-yelled again. "And now I am so, so mad!"

Remus's brow shot up. "And why is that?"

"Because less than ten feet away is Y/n. My Y/n. She's laughing. What was she laughing about? How could she sit there and laugh and look so beautiful?"

Remus's lips parted. "That was oddly poetic."

"I've evolved."

Remus sighed. "Now, listen. If you're just confused, then let it go. But if you actually want something, then ask her to start over. Do it properly. No closets. No Sirius interference. Just you and her."

James nodded, taking everything that Remus had said.

And then, without hesitation, he downed the rest of his water like vodka and muttered "showtime" under his breath before making a beeline to where you were.

"Can I steal you for a sec?"

You looked up, blinking rapidly. "What?"

"You know, just the two of us. T-to talk..." James scratched the back of his neck.

Sirius wiggled his eyebrows. "Oops. Say less." He gave James a playful salute before standing up from the couch.

You stared at James, absolutely embarrassed. "Is this about what I've said in the closet? Because I swear I was drunk and probably malfunctioning like my SD card—"

He shook his head, then offered you his hand again, like earlier. "Let's start over."

"What?"

"Let's start over," He repeated, kneeling in front of you so you two were at eye level. "Hi, I'm James Fleamont Potter. I'm an Aries, I like football, and I'm currently suffering from an existential crisis brought by a pretty photojournalist who just confessed that she used to like me. And I was wondering if she'd give me a shot to get to know her without pretending I'm into someone else."

You blinked. "You're not into Lily?"

"I thought I was. Turns out, I was just scared. Because you? You terrify the living shit out of me. And not in a bad way. You terrify me in a way that makes me want to be better, funnier, maybe even take those stupid foggy eyeglasses and stare at you properly. So. Start over?"

You smiled. "Alright. I'm Y/n. I like breaking the rules of every party game. I almost once committed arson trying to get a good shot. And I'm trying not to kiss the boy kneeling in front of me."

James's ears went beet red. "Then don't try."

You both stared at each other— heart pounding, breath uneven— and as your faces leaned in just an inch closer—

Marlene’s voice boomed across the room.

“IF YOU’RE GONNA KISS, DO IT IN THE CLOSET LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!!”

Everyone cackled.

James flipped her off, and you just giggled, cheeks burning, heart fluttering.

And then, finally, he kissed you. Right there on the couch.

And you were 100% sure it was better than any seven minutes in any stupid cabinet.

©kjhbsies

[imagineweasley]

Bludgering to You

fred weasley x reader

summary: during a quidditch match, fred gets a bit too competitive and crashes into you. he didn't believe in all the clichés about love at first sight before, but as soon as he lays his eyes on you, all that changes.

y/n: your name

y/h: your house

word count: 1.7k

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The crowd roared as Fred punted the bludger away from Angelina, mere inches from hitting her straight in the face and knocking her off her broom. She jerked in the air, startled, but quickly regained her composure and sped off to score yet another ten points for Gryffindor.

"And he does it again! Fred Weasley saves the team captain from the Slytherin team!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed throughout the stadium as Gryffindors cheered and Slytherins scowled. Fred waved his bat above his head in victory as Lee continued, "Really impressive she didn’t fall off considering I almost fell off this podium when I saw Goyle's toad-face --" The microphone screeched and Lee's voice disappeared as Professor Mcgonagall snatched the microphone from his hand and scolded him. Lee merely grinned at her.

Goyle's face did look particularly toadlike today, and his already ruddy face was slowly turning into a darker shade of scarlet.

Fred waggled his fingers at Goyle who was now speeding off, "Sorry mate, better luck next time!" He allowed himself one more celebratory loop in the air before he caught George's eye from a few hundred feet away. He was waving his arms in the air at his brother and yelling something Fred could not quite understand.

"What? George, I can't hear you!"

Fred weaved through the players and realized George was pointing. When he got close enough, George yelled again, "DOUBLE BLUDGER!" He jabbed his fingers at Fred's right and left sides, and Fred whipped his head around just in time to see a bludger flying at him.

He managed to drop a few feet in the air and avoid having his skull smashed in. The two bludgers crashed in the air above him; Crabbe and Goyle had teamed up to take Fred out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Goyle racing away. Fred yelled after them, "OI, YOU TROLL, do you even know how Quidditch works!" They high-fived each other and sniggered, triggering a burst of anger in his chest.

Fred narrowed his eyes at the them in the distance. Suddenly, George was at his side.

"Mate, don't pay attention to them, you have to focus! We can test a puking pastille on them later, I promise!"

Fred nodded curtly, but his mind had not shifted. As he flew away, he saw a one bludger flying towards Harry, another flying towards Katie Bell.

He alerted George but he had already seen it and was speeding towards Katie. Fred turned midair to fly towards and unaware Harry, who was concentrating on finding his tiny gold target. Maybe the anger served as fuel, because he arrived at Harry's side long before he could be hit and smacked the heavy ball away.

Harry called over his shoulder, "Thanks mate!" Before returning to his search for the snitch.

Fred was still breathing heavily, but not from the exhilaration of the match. His eyes were still trained on the opposing team's beaters.

"Don't you dare, Weasley!" Angelina's keen eye had caught the look in his eyes and she called out, "Save that for after the match! Not right now, we can't afford to lose!" But Fred didn't hear her.

He caught hold of a bludger and sped off towards his first target: Goyle.

"YOU IDIOT!!" Angelina screamed in anger as he left her behind.

"Take THIS!" He hurled the bludger at Goyle, whose reaction time was too slow, and it knocked his left arm enough to send him toppling in the air. Fred observed, satisfied, as the smirk was wiped off his pimply face. He caught another bludger and prepared to strike again, but Goyle was less cocky and more alert this time and was able to fly off before Fred could act.

Fred had expected this though, so he was at the ready for the chase. Goyle bobbed and weaved through the players, but as he was a much less talented flier than Fred, he couldn't escape. Fred managed to strike again, this time in the shoulder. He purposefully did not throw hard enough to seriously injure him or put the team in trouble; years of playing Quidditch had honed his ability to control the force at which he threw the bludgers.

Suddenly, Fred saw Goyle reach into his robe. He watched it happen in slow motion: Goyle whipped out a wand and pointed behind him, straight at Fred. Having never seen a wand on the field, as they were prohibited in Quidditch, he moved too slowly to escape Goyle's attack.

"NO!" Fred lunged at the wand but Goyle was too far away, and the spell hit him straight in the chest.

The crowd collectively gasped as it sent him reeling through the air. He could not gain control of his broom for the life of him, and he spun around and around, the only thing he could do was grip the handle as hard as he could. After a few moments, he managed to slow the spinning, but too late; with a loud CRASH, he crashed into the y/h stands.

Students screamed as he crashed into the benches, which splintered and sent wood flying in all directions. Most of them had been able to run out of the way, but there were a few who were knocked off their bench by the force of his crash.

"FRED WEASLEY IS DOWN! FRED WEASLEY IS DOWN!" Lee was jumping up and down and screaming into his microphone, "For those who missed it, Goyle hexed Fred Weasley, THAT HIDEOUS COCKROACH! SOMEONE GO DO SOMETHING!"

Fred's head was still spinning so he could barely hear the crowd. As he gained his senses, he realized that he had crashed directly into a person and was laying on top of them. He quickly pushed himself off of the poor student.

"Are you alright?" He immediately grabbed the student's hand and hoisted them onto their feet.

"I think so? I think I'm okay." Y/n looked down at herself and assessed for any injuries, but miraculously, she did not have a scratch on her.

Y/n looked up at Fred and their eyes met. As quickly as he crashed into her, Fred lost his senses.

He had heard of people describe the moment they met their partners in a magical, fantastical way that he was always skeptical of, and he even made fun of them. They would talk about how time slowed and fireworks went off in their minds, and they just knew this person was the one, but he had never believed it. Love makes people fools, he would say.

But now, he was being proven wrong.

As he gazed into her eyes, time did, in fact, slow, and fireworks exploded through his entire body, the way people had always described. His mind filled with music that wasn't actually there, and every time he recounted this moment to her or their friends or even strangers for years and years after, he would swear he felt a zing! (Y/n would roll her eyes every time, but with a big smile on her face).

"Um... hello?" He was brought back to life when y/n waved her hand in front of his face. He didn't realize that his jaw had been hanging open and that he was still holding the other hand he had hoisted her up with. Amusement danced in her eyes and when she smiled at him, he almost toppled over.

He managed to stumble out, "I'm -- 'm so sorr- didn't mean to--" He didn't know what was happening to him -- usually he was so smooth around girls. Y/n found it endearing though, and laughed in response.

She squeezed his hand reassuringly and replied, "That's alright, I'm okay! You gotta do what you gotta do right?"

In a desperate attempt to prove he wasn't a fool, Fred managed to gather himself enough to gasp out, "PrettiestgirlI'veeverbeenbludgeredinto--" before he was interrupted.

"--AN ABSOLUTE FOOL, YOU LOOK LIKE AN ABSOLUTE FOOL, FREDDIE! CLOSE YOUR MOUTH or A BIRD'S GONNA FLY IN--" Lee's cackle was cut off, and Mcgonagall's voice now boomed, "MR. WEASLEY, GET BACK OUT THERE NOW!"

Fred blushed a deep pink and dropped y/n's hand as if it had burned him. As she laughed, he stammered out some sort of sheepish apology before hopping back on his broom and flying back out.

Thankfully, some people had still been paying attention to the game, and the second Fred flew back in, Harry caught the snitch and the game was over.

Fred flew down, still feeling lightheaded from his encounter with y/n. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Angelina was storming over to him.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, WEASLEY!" Steam was practically pouring out of her ears, "DID I OR DID I NOT TELL YOU TO DROP IT? HUH, WEASLEY? WHAT DID I TELL YOU TO DO!" Professor Mcgonagall was following close behind Angelina and was scolding Fred over her, "-- could have injured yourself or a student, for Merlin's sake, or worse, gotten yourself banned--"

Meanwhile, Harry, who had been too focused on the snitch and missed the hubbub, was jogging alongside the rest of the team and asking, "What was that? What happened? Someone tell me what happened, for the LOVE of--" With a voice tight with suppressed laughter, George shrugged and said, "Can't save you this time, mate."

The team members were giggling and talking over each other, Angelina and Professor Mcgonagall were still scolding him, and Harry was tugging at his robes, still trying to figure out what had happened, but Fred couldn't hear any of it. He had caught y/n's eye again, all the way across the stadium from the ground, and she was smiling sympathetically right at him. He was hopelessly lost in her smile, and he timidly held up his hand and waved. She scrunched her nose in an adorable way and gave him a thumbs up of encouragement. A grin spread across Fred's face.

This brought on another bout of yelling and threats from Angelina as well as more laughter from the team, and still, Fred barely heard her. It was all noise to him.

Professor Mcgonagall caught his far-off look and followed his gaze to see that he was staring right at you. She maintained a stern look, but on the inside, couldn't help but soften. She knew that look. She had seen it countless times before.

And even as Fred was being dragged away by a furious Angelina, he was still smiling and managed to memorize every part of y/n's face, vowing to find her after what surely would be a long post-game meeting.

[dckweed]

TIKTOK MADE ME DO IT!GF VS TF141 BOYS

you keep seeing all these cute silly videos of girls trying to lift their massive bfs forcefully onto counters like they’re trying to be flirty or something and you just wanna try it on yours too..your followers have been begging for more of your bf on you account..if you angle the camera so you can hide his face like he likes and catch him off guard it should go easy, right? …right?!

Captain Price – "Hot"

It’s late. Price is standing at the stove, making himself a cup of tea like the old man he is, when you make your move.

You rush up behind him, grab him by the shoulders, and yank with all your strength.

He doesn’t budge.

Like, at all.

"John!" you grunt, trying again. Nothing. The man is solid.

Price barely turns his head. "What the hell are you doin’?"

"Trying—to—move you," you gasp, now throwing your whole weight into it.

He just watches you struggle, bemused. "And why the hell would you do that?"

You pause, panting. "Because it’s hot."

Price blinks. "Hot?"

"Yes," you huff, hands still gripping his arms. "You know, when I just spin you around and shove you onto the counter and—"

He lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "Oh, sweetheart."

You glare. "What?"

He turns fully now, looming over you, his eyes full of amusement. "You think you can lift me?"

Your confidence falters. "I—yes?"

"Love," he rumbles, cupping your face with one large, calloused hand. "I weigh more than your car."

You scowl, planting your hands on his chest. "That is not true."

He grins. "Try it, then."

You inhale sharply. Square your stance. Prepare for battle. Then, with all your might, you bend your knees, grip his waist, and—

Nothing.

Not even an inch. He does not move.

Price lets out a slow exhale, like he’s disappointed in you. "That all you got?"

You groan, letting your forehead fall against his chest. "I hate you."

His chest shakes with quiet laughter. "No, you don’t."

"...I don’t."

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Good girl. Now, go sit down before you hurt yourself."

Gaz – "—you bastard”

Gaz is rummaging through the fridge when you strike.

You grab his shoulders, spin him around with all your might, and try to lift him.

"Babe, what the fuck—?!"

Your arms strain. "Get up there, you bastard!"

"Babe, NO—"

But then—somehow—you actually lift him.

Not much, but enough that Gaz panics, legs flailing. "WHAT THE FUCK—HOW ARE YOU THIS STRONG?!"

"TOO LATE, YOU’RE GOING UP!"

"NO I’M NOT—"

His elbow knocks into a carton of eggs, which promptly splats onto the floor.

You both freeze.

Silence.

Slowly, Gaz looks at you. "You’re cleaning that up."

You shove him. "Shut up, I almost succeeded."

Gaz groans, rubbing his forehead. "I cannot believe you just tried to deadlift me like a sack of fucking potatoes."

"I almost did it!"

"You are never trying that again—"

"Oh, I am," you declare.

Gaz sighs. "I need a fucking drink."

Ghost – "What the Hell ?"

Ghost is standing at the counter, slicing an apple like some kind of horror movie villain, when you sneak up behind him.

You grab his broad shoulders, spin him around—

—and immediately hit a brick wall.

He doesn’t move. At all.

"...What the hell are you doing, love?"

You gulp. "Nothing."

Ghost stares down at you, unimpressed. "Did you just try to flip me around?"

"...No."

He lifts a brow. "Then why are your hands still on me?"

You slowly remove your hands. "For emotional support."

Ghost exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ."

"I was gonna lift you onto the counter," you mumble, crossing your arms.

Ghost blinks. Then snorts.

"You—" he gestures vaguely at your much smaller frame—"thought you could lift me—" he gestures at his entire fucking mass—"onto the counter?"

You frown. "You could at least pretend like I had a chance."

Ghost shakes his head, turning back to his apple. "Not even in your dreams, sweetheart."

You huff. "One day, Riley. One fucking day."

Ghost smirks. "Looking forward to it."

Soap – "—I DONT WANNA GO—"

Soap is standing at the stove, minding his own business, when you strike.

You grab him by the arms and yank—

—and, unfortunately, Soap is a lot more compliant than expected.

"WOAH—LASS, WHAT THE HELL—?!"

"YOU’RE COMING WITH ME!"

"I DON’T WANNA GO—"

You try to lift him. Soap panics.

"Babe—Babe, WAIT—"

Your foot slips. You both go toppling to the floor in a mess of limbs, flailing hands, and pure, unfiltered chaos.

For a moment, there’s just stunned silence. Then—

Soap, flat on his back: "Did you just fucking BODYSLAM me?"

You, sprawled across his chest: "I ALMOST HAD YOU."

"YOU FUCKING DIDN’T—"

"I WAS CLOSE—"

"YOU JUST FUCKING TACKLED ME LIKE A DAMN LINEBACKER—"

You groan, pressing your face into his chest. "Why are you so fucking heavy?"

"WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING DANGEROUS?!"

You both lie there, Soap wheezing as you groan dramatically.

Then, after a beat—

"...We should try again," you mumble.

Soap lets out a pained laugh. "Absolutely the fuck NOT."

Moral of the Story:

You thought you could be the one to execute the trend.

Turns out? You were horribly, horribly wrong.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Deforestation｡⋆.

John Price x plus size reader

Price being mad you shaved your pussy. That’s it

Warnings: smut, Dom!Price, possessive!Price, fluff, established relationship, pussy spanking WC: 840

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You stepped out of the master bathroom feeling like a brand new woman, empty wine glass in your hand and your body practically glistening with the amount of expensive moisturiser you used. This is what you needed, a boiling hot everything shower to wash off the stress of the week. From your shitty manager laying off yet another one of your coworkers and giving you their workload to learning that your fiance was about to be deployed again for the second time in three months, you needed a proper refresh.

The bedroom was significantly cooler than the sauna you turned the bathroom into. Goosebumps bloomed across your exfoliated skin as you eased yourself into the plush chair in front of the vanity John had built for you. The dark green satin robe slipped from your shoulder but you ignored it, your gaze instead on the line of oils just below the mirror. 

A pair of warm if not slightly chapped lips descended upon your bare shoulder, he wasn’t quite kissing you, just pressing as much of himself around you as he could. You hummed and leaned your head against his temple, breathing in the smell of tobacco and cheap cologne and something so wholly John that clung to him.

“Good shower?” He muttered, his large calloused hands coming around to rest on your plush stomach, the tips of his fingers barely brushing against the sliver of bare skin revealed by your robe. 

“Mmm very good. I needed it so badly.” Your nose trailed along the edge of his hairline, your eyes fluttering shut as his hands began to wander downwards. John released a low sound from deep in his chest as you spread your thighs and granted him exactly what he had come to the bedroom for. He knew just how pliable you got after your showers, barely needing any prep for his thick cock with how relaxed and soft you were. 

You held onto his forearms as he finally reached down and… froze.

“Everything ok there, cap?” You teased. John grunted in reply and cupped your pussy in his massive hand, the heel of his palm digging against your clit as he probed around.

“You shaved.” 

“I did.” You confirmed, wiggling forward in the seat so he could feel even more of you. “Decided I wanted to clean up a bit.”

You received an almost feral snarl in reply. “I thought I told you this was mine.”

——————

The headboard slammed into the wall with such force that the drywall had begun to crack and flake away but the special forces captain refused to stop, not when he was so close to proving his point.

You wailed and squirmed beneath him, your nails digging into his strong back as he continued to pound into you viciously. “Please!” You cried, your voice broken and hoarse. Your stomach twisted with pleasure and you tightened around him. John glared down at you.

“No.” Immediately, he changed his pace, ripping your orgasm away from you. You sobbed in frustration but John was unforgiving. “She is mine, I know what’s best for her, not you. I know when she needs to cum because obviously you can’t be trusted taking care of her anymore.”

Your body bounced with each thrust, your words only coming out in short bursts. “It’s. My. Pussy.” You ended with a bitten off moan as John slammed into your g-spot, the fat head of his cock making your vision blur.

“She’s fucking mine.” John angrily pressed down on your lower stomach. “I trained her to take me. I know exactly what she needs to feel good. She loves me, she knows I take good care of her.” You grumbled as he once again shifted, lifting your hips from the bed so your shoulders pressed into the mattress. 

Your thighs shook violently, the breath being knocked from your lungs by a precise strike to your cervix. John reached forward, his palm meeting your bare cunt with a loud smack. You cried out and he did it again, his lips pulled downwards in what his boys dubbed the ‘Captain Face’. He clicked his tongue and delivered one last slap to your over sensitive pussy.

“Look at her, she’s so cold now. Guess I’ll just have to warm her up.” His thumb flew to your throbbing clit, finally letting you cum around him. Your back arched further up as your jaw dropped open. He huffed out a breathless laugh at the way your body locked up so tightly, he could barely pull out. “That’s it. See, knew exactly what she needed.”

As soon as your muscles relaxed, John readjusted his hips and slammed back into you, his pace immediately picking up again. Your stomach burned with the stretch of his cock and the sensitivity of your first and long overdue orgasm. “John!” You tried to protest but the man only lifted your legs higher onto his waist with a victorious grin.

“Like I said, I have to keep her warm until her coat comes back.”

Modern Warfare Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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John ‘Bravo-6’ Price

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[yeyinde]

Fuck please tell me captain price gets to go first! After all, he's the leader, and he has more experience? Gotta teach her right her first time, yea? The others get to watch, maybe get to touch...if the captain lets them..

Fuck I'm foaming at the mouth.

as captain, i think he def gets to go first. if only just to get that outta the way so the others can show you what you've been missing out on.

he doesn't put a lot of weight on first times, but he's a generous Captain and is willing to let Soap and Gaz both have at you, prepare you for him. them. he holds both by the scruff of their necks, too. in full control. always.

and with your legs thrown around Gaz's shoulders, he makes you hold his cigar (don't drop it now, love, or there'll be hell to pay) in your trembling hand for him, keeping it close to his mouth to take a puff whenever the urge strikes.

his are busy, after all—

—busy pushing Gaz's face into your cunt first, letting him feast as Soap palms his bloody hand over your body, punching your nipples. whining for a taste. cock dripping all over the place. like a sloppy, drooling dog.

takes his turn when you're buzzing after being denied so long. poor pussy forced to endure both Gaz and Soap eating you out, sucking on your clit, slipping their fingers inside. but never allowed to cum. they're always ripped back the moment he thinks you might be there, on the edge. you're only allowed to cum on his cock, sweetheart. (and maybe, maybe, if you've been good, he'll let you sit on his face after.)

when he does fuck you for the first time, he makes you feel every inch going inside of you. has Gaz hold your fingers against your rim, feeling for yourself how wide he stretches you, how deep he goes. makes you whine and beg for all sorts of lewd things—his cock deeper in your pussy, Soap's tongue on your clit, Gaz's cock in your mouth, Ghost's hands around your throat.

you're worn out before he even finishes. a shame, too, because Soap barely waits until Price has pulled out before he's shoving his fingers inside of you, cooing in your ear about how messy you are. how badly you must want his cock next. hungry little thing, aren't ye?

Price will probably go last, too. but it's not even really about sex this time when he sits you on his lap, humming at the whimpers you make, overstimulated and sore, as his cock slips inside again. warmed. soaked. you're all messy with each of them, and he rubs it into your skin, makes you suck it off his fingers. with your back flushed to his broad chest, damp curls sticking to your skin, matted from sweat, he holds you like this. big arms anchored around your front, over your belly, holding you there. and just lets you feel the rumble in his chest when he purrs in your ear about how good you've been for them, taking them all, satiating them. how pretty you look all fucked out and sloppy like this.

(and really, love. you belong like this, don't you? the perfect place for you has always been sat, balls deep, on their cocks, taking them. it's about time you learned that, mm?)

[ghostsirensworld]

may I please request a Luffy x fem reader where they encounter an enemy who’s devil fruit makes people reveal the truth which ends up with Luffy confessing his feelings for the reader and leaves him all embarrassed and the rest of the crew in shock. maybe he even says something along the lines of “I think y/n looks cute when she’s wearing my straw hat” idk, I just had this thought I hope it makes sense cause I feel like it would be super adorable! thank you!!

whoops i post once in a while yall gotta get used to it i fear but yesss

“Under the Hat”

(Luffy x Fem!Reader — ooc?)

It was supposed to be a normal scuffle.

The Straw Hats had cornered the enemy captain — a lanky man with wild hair and a sly grin — when suddenly, he clapped his hands together.

A strange purple ripple washed over the Sunny’s deck like mist.

“You can’t hide anything now,” he crowed. “Thanks to my Hontō Hontō no Mi! You’ll blurt out whatever you’re thinking!”

Everyone stiffened.

“Eh? That sounds annoying,” Luffy said, picking his nose lazily.

The enemy snickered. “Let’s see how long you last, Straw Hat!”

At first, nothing happened.

Then—

Without warning—

“I think Y/N looks super cute when she’s wearin’ my hat!” Luffy declared, loud as anything.

The words echoed across the deck.

A single gull cried overhead.

You froze mid-step.

Nami blinked like she’d been slapped.

Zoro made a sound like he’d just choked on sake.

Sanji let out a wail of despair, clutching his chest.

Even Franky’s jaw dropped open with a metallic clunk.

Luffy stood there, looking as casual as ever—until he realized everyone was staring at him.

He frowned. “What? It’s true.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

“You—you think that?” you stammered.

“Yeah,” Luffy said instantly, scratching his cheek. “You look cool. And cute. Like part of my treasure.”

His voice was so open, so genuine, it knocked the breath out of you.

The enemy captain cackled, delighted.

“I told you! No secrets!”

Luffy tilted his head, utterly baffled. “Huh? That’s not a secret though. I already knew that.”

The crew faceplanted collectively.

“THAT’S THE POINT!” Usopp shouted, yanking at his hair.

“Luffy… you don’t just say that kind of stuff!” Nami snapped, smacking his arm.

“Why not?” Luffy asked, looking genuinely confused. “I meant it.”

At this, your cheeks flamed hotter than a firework.

You gripped the hem of your shirt tightly, trying to hide your face.

Zoro smirked from where he leaned against the mast. “Captain’s got guts, I’ll give him that.”

Brook twirled his cane. “Yohohoho! Such youth! Such romance!”

Meanwhile, Sanji sobbed openly into a handkerchief. “To think—our captain falls in love before me! This cruel world!!”

Chopper was busy spinning in circles, tiny hooves smacking his cheeks.

“This is too embarrassing!! I can’t take it!!”

Still, Luffy, simple and bright, just beamed at you.

“You can wear it whenever you want, y’know,” he said suddenly, lifting his hat and plopping it lightly on your head.

You blinked up at him, your heart practically melting.

The straw hat — his treasured straw hat — slid over your forehead, nearly swallowing you whole.

Luffy grinned wide, that pure, honest grin that could command the seas.

“You look good,” he said again, simple as breathing.

You bit your lip, smiling helplessly under the hat’s brim.

“Thanks, Captain,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Luffy laughed — loud and delighted — and tossed an arm casually around your shoulders, pulling you close without hesitation.

He didn’t seem to even realize he was doing it — it was natural, like claiming something important without thinking twice.

The crew howled louder at the sight.

“Y/N’s officially the captain’s favorite now,” Nami said, smirking wickedly.

“You better treat her like gold, Luffy,” Franky added, striking a dramatic pose. “Or we’ll super kick your ass!”

Luffy just flashed a toothy grin.

“I already do!” he shouted.

You hid your burning face behind the wide brim of his hat, feeling like you could float right off the ship.

Somewhere behind you, Zoro muttered under his breath, grinning:

“Idiot.”

But you didn’t mind.

Because if loving an idiot like Luffy meant getting to see this side of him — bright, wild, and true —

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[stewpidcheescatarinabluu]

That’s My Seat.

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Karina as the cheerleader captain who stole your usual spot at your go to cafe.

Word Count: 1,993

Karina X Male Reader

You enter the usual café you always hit before your games—it’s like a ritual now. Spanish latte, extra syrup, non-fat milk. That drink’s practically your lucky charm at this point. The moment you walk in, the familiar scent of roasted beans and vanilla syrup hits you, calming your nerves like clockwork.

Jihoon, the barista, spots you and waves. “Yo, wassup MVP? Saw your game last week—you were on fire. The usual, eh?”

“Yeah,” you reply, slinging your duffel bag off your shoulder. “Extra syrup and non-fat milk.”

“Gotcha!”

You nod and walk toward your seat. Your spot. The one by the window, where the sun warms the table just right and you can zone out watching cars go by. But then—you freeze.

Someone’s there.

A girl, hoodie pulled halfway over her head, but the edge of her cheerleading skirt peeks out underneath. She’s from your school. You know it immediately.

You step up to the table.

“Hey. That’s my seat.”

She doesn’t look up. “I don’t see your name on it, though.”

“That’s beside the point. Can you move?”

“No. I’m not moving.”

You pause. Then shrug. “Then don’t.”

You sit across from her instead, dropping your bag to the side. She glances up at you now—takes in your face, your build. Probably recognizing you.

“Ugh,” she mutters. “You’re really persistent, huh?”

“Like I said—it’s my seat.”

You take a sip of your coffee as Jihoon places it down with a smirk and walks off.

“Suit yourself then.”

The tension lingers, a quiet static between you both. She tries to focus on her phone but keeps glancing up, thinking you wouldn’t notice.

“Staring much?” you say without looking up from your own screen.

“Shut up.” No denial.

“You play for the school?” she asks after a beat.

“Yeah. And I’m guessing you lead the cheer squad?”

She smirks. “How’d you guess?”

You nod at the edge of her hoodie. “I can see the color under your hoodie.”

She rolls her eyes—but there’s the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t shift in her seat. “So what, you just sit here every day like some kind of turf owner?”

You lean back in your chair, sipping your latte. “Pretty much. Before every game. Helps me focus.”

“Right. Because coffee and window views are the key to winning.”

“Hey, it works. We’re undefeated this season, aren’t we?”

She snorts lightly, not disagreeing. “Maybe I should start sitting here more often then. Might rub off on me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You planning to steal my seat and my luck now?”

She grins, playful but with an edge. “You don’t strike me as the superstitious type.”

“I’m not. But some routines are just… comforting.” You glance out the window, the late sun brushing your jawline. “This spot’s been mine since freshman year.”

That quiets her a bit. Not out of guilt—more like curiosity.

“So you’ve been here longer than me,” she says. “Big deal. Doesn’t mean you own it.”

“Didn’t say I did. Just didn’t expect to see someone sitting in my space.”

There’s a moment of silence. Not awkward now—just settled. The kind that happens when two people are trying to figure each other out.

She looks up at you again. This time, really looks.

“You know… I heard stuff. About you.”

“Oh yeah?” You glance back, amused. “What kind of stuff?”

“That you’re cocky. Quiet. Some kind of golden boy with a chip on his shoulder.”

You laugh softly, tilting your head. “That all?”

“That’s just the short version.”

You lean forward slightly, elbows on the table. “And you? Cheer captain with no real experience but all the right connections. Is that true?”

She freezes for a second. Just long enough for you to catch it.

Then she smirks. “Touché.

Jihoon calls out another order behind the bar. The café starts to fill with soft chatter and clinking mugs, but your little table? It feels like a bubble.

“You gonna keep sitting here?” you ask, breaking the quiet again.

“Maybe. Depends.”

“On what?”

She locks eyes with you.

“Whether you give me a reason not to.”

You left the café after that, latte in hand, heart a little more alert than usual. Something about her lingered in your mind—but you shook it off. Game time.

The gym buzzed with energy when you stepped in. Warm-up drills, squeaks of sneakers on the polished floor, the echo of bouncing balls. But your eyes scanned the crowd—and found her.

She was off to the side with her squad, trying to rally them into formation. Some weren’t listening, too busy gossiping or adjusting their uniforms. She looked frustrated, arms crossed, lips tight. No one respected her command yet. It was clear.

You strapped up, tightened your laces, and by tip-off, you were in the zone.

Fast breaks. Clean steals. Stepbacks that sliced through air and snapped the net. You were on fire.

But even in that focused blaze, you’d glance her way—between plays, on the bench, while catching your breath.

She wasn’t cheering much. More like watching. Eyes tracking you. Maybe with judgment. Maybe not. But she was definitely watching.

And somehow, you didn’t mind.

You didn’t like her. Not like that.

But something about her pulled at your head when it should’ve been in the game. That look. That smug confidence at the café. The way she stared like she was trying to read your thoughts.

It gave you something—fuel. Euphoria in the oddest way. A strange thrill you couldn’t name.

Final buzzer. You won. Crowd roared. Teammates slapped your back, coaches smiled.

But all you did was scan the bleachers.

She was gone.

You walked home alone that night. No noise in your ears, no music in your head. Just the quiet crunch of gravel under your shoes and a thought running circles in your brain.

What was her name, anyway?

It’s been a few days since the game. Since her.

You walked into the café like usual. Same time, same mood, same order.

Jihoon’s already halfway through prepping it when he sees you. “Extra syrup, non-fat milk?”

You nod. “You know it.”

But this time, you don’t rush to the window seat. You glance first.

And yeah—she’s there.

Same hoodie. Same skirt peeking out. But this time, she’s early. She’s sipping something with her lips barely touching the straw, eyes flicking toward the door the second the bell rang.

She was waiting.

You walk over, drop your bag beside the table, and slide into the seat across from her like it’s always been yours.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you over the rim of her drink. Her voice is calm, but that little smirk’s still there.

“You won.”

“You were watching?”

“Hard not to.” She leans forward a bit, resting her chin on her hand. “You were… decent.”

You scoff. “Decent? I dropped twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-eight and still humble. Impressive.”

Jihoon places your drink down. You nod a thanks and take a sip. The sweetness hits the back of your throat like it always does—only now it’s laced with something else. This unspoken… buzz.

She eyes you, then speaks softer this time. “You looked focused. Like, really focused.”

“That’s the whole point of this spot,” you say. “It locks me in.”

“Maybe I should stop sitting here then. Don’t want to break the magic.”

You glance at her, eyes narrowing a little. “Who says you’re breaking it?”

That makes her pause.

“You’re not as much of a jerk as I thought,” she finally says.

“You’re not as annoying as I expected.”

She smiles at that—just barely.

The silence that follows isn’t heavy anymore. It’s charged. Curious. Two people slowly peeling away each other’s edges without even realizing it.

She stirs her drink, avoiding your eyes now.

“I’m Karina, by the way.”

You blink. “Finally. I was gonna start calling you Hoodie Girl.”

She laughs, real and quick. “That’s so lame.”

You lean back in your chair. “Still would’ve fit you.”

[shadowdaddies]

Distraction

Azriel x Reader

A/N: I keep thinking about how this scene from Captain America: the Winter Soldier would fit so well for Azriel x reader on a spy mission

warnings: none

A knock on your door shook you from your daze, wide eyes alert in a prepared defense until you heard the familiar voice rumble lowly through the wooden doorway.

“Are you ready?” Azriel questioned, rough voice sending an unrecognizable thrill through you as you strode towards the door. Turning the handle, you looked up to see hazel eyes darkening as the striking Illyrian swallowed, gaze raking over your form in the fitted dress you’d donned for the evening.

“Ready, Az,” you nodded, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of admiring your friend’s appearance. He was dressed in a fitted all-black ensemble, tailored to show his impressive physique and highlight his features. He looked like a Prince of Darkness as he stepped to the side, holding out an arm for you to take.

“You look very nice, Azriel,” you smiled, playfully nudging him with your shoulder as he led you down the hall to the grand ballroom. 

He stiffened slightly at your words, as though shocked by the compliment, before he turned to face you. “You look...” he paused, taking a deep breath when he stepped back to look at you. Something sparked in your chest when he spoke again. “You look beautiful.”

Nodding, you looked away in an attempt to hide your blush as well as Azriel had hidden his shadows for the evening. You were both undercover from the Night Court, attending this ball in Hybern to find information on potential traitors. 

Since the war was won, Prythian had absorbed the kingdom of Hybern, but many were still resistant to the ideals of the Continent. You were sent with Azriel to the new ruler of Hybern’s birthday celebration to gather intel, searching for those who might pose a threat to the High Lord and Lady’s restructured kingdom. 

With Azriel’s shadows, he would be quickly identified as the infamous shadowsinger of the Night Court, but with his shadows hidden and you by his side, you could blend in with the other fae relatively easily. 

Which is why you now carried your shimmering skirts, shoes clicking down the marble floored halls with Azriel on your arm. You had expected to be more nervous going into the event, but something about Azriel’s touch kept you grounded, feeling calmer than ever. 

Approaching the double doors that led to the grand ballroom, you nodded your appreciation to the guards who opened the doors for you both. Words escaped you at the beauty of the room before you, murals of fairies from old lining the walls along with gilded chandeliers and twinkling faelight. It was beautiful and romantic, a far cry from what you had imagined Hybern to be.

Feeling a tug on your arm, you looked up to see Azriel flashing you a knowing grin as he guided you towards a servant. Picking up two drinks from their tray, he murmured appreciation to them before handing you a glass. You half-expected him to say something about the beauty of the evening, but surprise didn’t find you with his words.

“Remember our story. Keep it vague and learn what you can tonight,” Azriel murmured, his warm hand rubbing affectionately on your waist at odds with his words. You nodded, remembering your role new mates as your role for the night, and that his touch meant nothing more.

Twining your fingers with his, you led Azriel to a couple who stood by the hearth, smiling as they both listened to the band play its lively tune. You chatted with them, learning the gossip about several royal families who did not approve of the new structure in Hybern. 

“Well done,” Azriel murmured, his lips warm against your knuckles as he pulled them, twirling you in a playful move across the dance floor closer to the next target for intel. 

You wished the giggle that escaped you was more effort than it was, but something about you was truly drawn to Azriel. He was gentle with you, but fiercely defensive of those he cared for. A skilled warrior and good friend. 

Swallowing, you willed your emotions beneath the surface to plaster on your face of grace. Swiping another glass of faerie wine, you focused on the faux feelings you’d manufactured for the evening, ignoring those you really felt towards Azriel as best you could.

You were deep in conversation, laughing and joking with the female visiting from Vallahan when Azriel’s fingers tensed around your waist. Feigning ignorance, you smiled lazily at your “mate.” 

“Is everything alright, my love?” You asked - the question you’d planned beforehand if anything unplanned were to arise. 

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you, more wild than you had ever seen his bright hazel eyes. “I am just aching for a dance with my mate, is all,” he purred, teasing voice betraying the shaking fingertips that hovered your hips.

With audible “awws” and cooing at two new mates who couldn’t resist to be apart, the other fae ushered you towards the busy dance floor, where Azriel took your hand and waist, back held in surprisingly impressive form.

“I know the male in the opposite corner from where I face,” Azriel whispered in your ear, soft as if he were telling you sweet nothings. You ignored the hitch in your breath, gaze flicking briefly to a tall, burly male in the corner whose own eyes flicked to Azriel with curiosity.

“Come with me,” you whispered back, not missing how Azriel shivered at your lips on his ear. He followed you, hands loosely intertwined while you wove through the crowd towards the dark corner of the room opposite from the suspecting male.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the male moved through the ballroom, gaze scanning the crowd including yourselves as though he were looking for someone. 

“Kiss me,” you whispered, pulling Azriel’s body tight against your own, which was pressed to the cold wall. 

“W-what?” he choked out, and you had to bite back your grin at the uncharacteristically flustered spymaster. 

“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. Kiss me,” you demanded, willing yourself not to look to the presence you could sense nearing you.

Azriel’s eyes practically glowed as he searched your face, searching for affirmation before one hand found your waist, the other wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a deep kiss.

An electric energy shot through you, the spark hitting your chest hard enough to steal your breath at the feeling of his soft lips on your own. You melted into the kiss with ease, both of your bodies interlacing like two halves of a whole. 

You were dizzy for air, completely forgetting everyone else around you when Azriel pulled away, his eyes wide with something that looked like shock. 

Pushing back, you scanned the area for potential threats before deciding you couldn’t find anything. “Azriel, what happened? Are you okay?” You whispered, thumb stroking his cheek to keep up the charade of new mates.

“I- you’re my...” Azriel stuttered, just as you caught sight of the suspicious male slipping out onto the balcony. 

“Come on, Az. Let’s see what they’re up to,” you whispered, keeping a note in your mind to ask him what he was distracted by at a later time.

[spurbleu]

oldman!price x reader angsty (?) drabble

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

age leaves john price in tantrum.

he despises what it’s done to his body. the creak in his knees when he walks, the strain in his shoulder when he reaches across the table. steam engine, ironclad and coal hot, neglected the rust on the belly of its stirrups. adopted a sudden fragility he cannot stand.

takes a literal force of nature to get him to retire, and he grieves it like a father. it, in all honesty, was one. taught him how to shoot straight, how to hold his men, how to be without feeling like he’s an imposter in his own skin. forced him to grow up- which is ironically exactly what ended their alliance.

nursed whiskeys, fattened ice kissing the base. smoked like somehow- fossilized in ligero- he’d find his youth again. blistered under reluctant mortality, indulged in fatal vices because if anything is putting him in the grave it’s a gun or a cigar.

a pot never boils watched, yet you stay at your designated post by the doorway while he broods (he’s a dramatic at heart), storm clouds stamped on the collapse of his shoulders.

if you were one of his soldiers, you let him fester.

but you were his wife.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t aged yourself, silver linings sprouting from your scalp, sun spots and bleached knuckles. even so, you found time to pick up his medications, comb through amateur food blogs for gut health and bone pain, roll the aches out of his shoulder before bed. you were kind- and it was insulting.

spitfire catching on the burs of his muttonchops- unfamiliar with dependence. he was a captain for Christ’s sake- alloy lighthouse, built by cement and sheer fucking will. he didn’t need to be hand fed vitamin C and dragged to yoga class. he pitched barbed wire, dug his shallow trench and intended lay in it.

until, one evening, thunder strikes him out of dewy acrimony. he clambers up the stairs, musk of tobacco and spite plants a grimy boot in the oak. he glances over the railing, and stills.

bathroom door, cutting swaddled atmosphere with thin bisque, a pyramid down the center of the hall that created the illusion of darker corners. centered in the odd, domestic scaffolding was you- shower damp and concentrated.

it was like watching a bird preen feathers. tugging at the sags, yanking at the silvers, skin pitching at the nostril and eyes narrowing into thin keyways. and if he squinted, sniper accuracy rendered tears. sallow river bed on your flushed cheeks, clumped lashes, a frown that broke hearts.

“you’re never struggling alone, John,” you had said one evening, when he had been foolishly apathetic, “i’ll make sure of that.”

he hadn’t said anything.

guilt squirms at the base of his neck. the stranger named comfort that swelled within your embrace unnerved him so much he had forgotten to introduce himself. and now, milking moonlit lighting, with a wife who thought he was hiding from her, he called himself what he had never been as a soldier.

a coward.

you were making tea the next morning, windows surrendering a warmth when the day was still docile. it was while you were humming that your husband, sneaky bastard, folds you into the plush of his chest, drowsy lips dragging on the cusp of your shoulder.

“you always look so beautiful in the mornin, darlin.”

and it was true. you’ve never looked better to the old man.

[a-hermit-pining]

Worth a Wait

AN: Happy birthday to my dramatic fishie boi

Pairing: Rafayel x GnReader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: "I promised never to make you wait. And there was no way I could have died while you were waiting for me. In this lifetime, there will be no waiting."

"Fix my damn leg!" You glare at the squirming resident. "Or I’ll walk out with this mess." You point to your leg, now twisted in a way legs shouldn't be.

"You cannot leave..." The medical student wrings his hands, clearly cursing the moment he was assigned this shift. "We need to get you in a cast."

Your phone rings for the tenth time. Picking it up, you brace for another battle. "I swear to the seven seas, if you mess up this delivery, I will gut you, Lena. It’s the house with the blue gate… No, I don’t care that you can’t see blue in the dark. I’m paying you to deliver the cake. Right. On. Time."

You stare at the protocore clutched in your palm. It glimmers beautifully, a perfect silver, possessed only by the rarest of wanderers. Procuring it had almost cost you your leg. And has earned you tons of ethics paperwork from captain Jenna for being reckless on duty.

"Someone very important awaits me tonight. I must go." You speak carefully. "He has waited long, and I have promised never to make him wait again. So even if it takes cutting this leg off to get to him tonight, I will accept it."

The poor resident gulps, examining the leg.

"There won’t be anesthesia." He hands you a towel. "Your leg will hurt for hours after being set. And I might mess it up."

"I accept it." You inhale, closing your eyes. "And I will forever be grateful."

You shove the towel into your mouth. The world flashes as the resident clicks your knee back into place.

Your scream dies in your throat.

Leaving your crutch outside the living room, you make your way to the bedroom.

Your home is quiet. Curtains shift in the night breeze as you limp, supporting yourself against the wall.

Opening the door, you find him passed out, his brows furrowed in a dream, his cheek smudged with paint, his shirt undone.

Sitting on the bed next to him, you push his hair away from his face. Rafayel leans into your hand, mumbling something incoherent.

Propping your leg on the bed, you lean next to him, pressing kisses to his cheek.

"Happy birthday, my love," you whisper as the clock strikes twelve.

His lips twitch before his arms wrap around you, pulling you into a kiss.

"I thought you were out for work. That you wouldn’t make it." He pouts with a flair that, as he well knows, makes your heart flutter.

"Both of us knew I wouldn’t have missed it." You pull out the glimmering protocore. "I hope you like it." Taking his hand, you place the shard in his palm. "If anyone could make this prettier than it already is, it’s you."

Rafayel freezes, staring at the protocore. His eyes scan over you, searching for injuries, until they land on your leg.

"You have lost your mind." He springs up, turning on the lights, making you both squint.

"You could have died." His hands trace the cast. "You shouldn’t have... Why are you here? You should be in the hospital. Can you ever look after yourself? Are you five? Am I five? I don’t need these presents. You are an idiot and I am an even bigger one for leaving you be. I should have come with you." He speaks without a pause until your hand covers his lips, silencing him.

"I promised never to make you wait. And there was no way I could have died while you were waiting for me. In this lifetime, there will be no waiting."

"You are infuriating," he murmurs. "You're not supposed to be better at this than me… and I—" He looks away, suspiciously misty-eyed. "I… shouldn’t trust your promises. But I can't help it."

"Don't break my heart again. Don't you dare make me wait again." He pulls you into a tight hug.

A beat of silence passes, his warmth surrounding you. Then, with a sigh, you whisper, "I think Lena delivered our cake to the grump next door."

He groans, burying his face in your shoulder. "Seven seas help me."

You huff a tired laugh. "Should we go get it?"

"Absolutely not," he mumbles. "If he’s already started eating, I don’t want it back."

"Fair point."

With another sigh, he tightens his hold on you. "Sleep first. Cake can be arranged tomorrow."