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maxlarens · 6 months ago

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OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

#oscar piastri #f1 #formula 1 #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x driver!reader #oneshots:op81 #driver!reader #Spotify

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hollyseb · 3 months ago

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A COLLISION OF FATE - CEO!BUCKY X ASSISTANT READER (one-shot)

warnings; swearing, minors dni

2.4k words

summary; As an assistant to the powerful CEO Bucky Barnes, you’ve always kept things strictly professional—maybe even a little distant. But when a chaotic morning commute turns your world upside down, you find yourself relying on your boss in unexpected ways.

authors note; this is my first fic in a while so please let me know what you think!

Fuck.

You couldn’t help but pull the bed sheets over your head as your alarm sounded. You’d slept terribly, anticipation stewing in your chest all night long. A huge day at work loomed ahead. Your boss trusted you with organising a client meeting for a massive company project, and despite your meticulous preparations, anxiety gnawed at you relentlessly.

This marks your fourth month as an assistant to Mr Barnes, CEO of Barnes Industries. Your boss embodies power and leadership, standing well over six feet. He has a presence that’s impossible to ignore, although you often find yourself trying to; avoiding his piercing gaze, shrinking away from his broad figure. He intimidated you.

You’d learned to anticipate his needs, not just to impress him but perhaps as an attempt to keep your conversations to a minimum. Although you had managed to settle into your role, growing accustomed to your boss’ high standards, you often felt a sense of apprehension. You were overwhelmed by how important he was. Mr Barnes wasn’t just your boss - he was a force of nature.

The two of you maintained a strictly professional relationship, even lingering towards slightly cold sometimes. You liked to do what he needed you to do, and then get out of his way. However, every now and then, you’d catch him watching you with a look that lingered a moment too long. You’d always assume there was something on your face, or a smudge on your shirt, anything that might explain why he was staring. But when you checked, there was never anything there.

For Bucky, it started with the little things. He noticed how you always made sure his coffee was exactly how he liked it, down to the last detail, even on the most hectic mornings. You remembered the smallest preferences he had, the things he rarely even thought about himself—like the way you would quietly replace the pens in his office with the specific brand he preferred, or how you always ensured there was a bottle of his favorite water in the conference room before every meeting. These weren’t just the actions of a diligent assistant; they were gestures that spoke of someone who genuinely cared, someone who paid attention to him in a way that no one else ever had.

Your snoozed alarm began to sound again, piercing your thoughts like a violent shriek. Just get through the meeting, you told yourself, before ultimately deciding to drag yourself out of bed. The thought repeated like a mantra. Is it normal to feel this worried about disappointing your boss? You thought, before swatting away the idea. You didn’t need to focus on that for now.

A hot shower did little to wash away the anxiety that clinged to you. Your movements were robotic as you went through your morning routine, driven by the pressure of the meeting.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone, the screen lighting up with a soft glow. 7:45 AM. It felt as though the numbers were taunting you. You ran a hand down your face, bracing yourself for the day.

Time to go.

After locking the door to your small, cozy apartment, you made your way down the narrow, communal staircase. The morning air hitting you with a welcomed bite as you stepped outside into the car park.

You slid into the drivers seat of your aging Mini, the familiar creak of the door and worn leather seat beneath you provided a familiar comfort. It wasn't much, but it was yours, the car you'd had since you were 17. You shifted into gear and gripped the steering wheel, the hum of the engine almost grounding you.

Just get through the meeting, you repeated, merging into the flow of morning traffic. You let your mind drift to the day's plans, mentally rehearsing the things you had to organise when you arrived at the office… calling the clients to confirm their attendance, setting up the meeting room, dropping the itinerary off at Mr Barnes’ desk.

As you approached a red light just a few blocks from the office, you felt a fleeting sense of calm. Your heartbeat, which had been a relentless drumbeat of anxiety, finally began to settle into a more regular rhythm. The office was so close, the meeting so imminent. All you had to do now was make it through the last stretch of traffic and face the day.

Without warning, a loud, violent crashing noise shattered the calm. The force of the impact threw you forward, your seatbelt straining against your body painfully. The contents of your bag spilling into the passenger seat footwell alongside the sound of crunching metal. Your mind was blank, struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

What the -?

Your heart raced, your breaths leaving in shallow and quick successions. The realisation hit you like a second wave of impact - you’d been rear-ended.

You gripped the steering wheel like a vice, catching sight of your pale face as movement caught your attention in the rear view mirror. the driver of the car behind you was already out of his vehicle, storming towards you.

Rather than waiting for you to get out the car, he began shouting at you through the closed window. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shouted, his voice echoing violently.

He looked to be in his mid thirties, dressed in a wrinkled suit, face red with anger and eyes practically bulging out his head.

You took a deep breath, adrenaline surging through your veins. Stay calm, don’t escalate. You unbuckle your seatbelt, ignoring the dull pain of where it had dug into you, stepping out your beloved car.

“Do you even know how to fucking drive?” He yelled, arms flailing. “I’m going to be late for work because of you, stupid bitch”

You were taken aback by his blatant profanity. Humiliation rising in your body as bystanders gawked at the interaction.

You blinked, your nerves fraying under his aggression. “I was stopped at the light. You hit me,” you said, voice trembling.

”Bullshit!” He spat, inching towards your face. “You stopped like a fucking moron and now look at my fucking car!”, he pointed in the direction of his vehicle, a sleek black BMW, barely scratched.

The sight of your car, however, made your stomach turn. The bumper was shrewd across the concrete, the metal contorted dramatically. You’d come off much worse than him. You could feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“This is all your fault!”, he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You’re going to pay every cent for the damage you’ve caused.”

Before you could respond, he lunged closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “Do you even realise how fucking pathetic you look right now? Crying because you’ve ruined my car-“

The man was interrupted. A firm, authoritative voice cutting through his ramblings like steel.

“Is there a problem here?”

You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was - Bucky Barnes. The sight of him hit you like a tidal wave. For a split second, you were frozen, breath catching in your throat.

Bucky’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on the angry driver, his expression a mask of controlled authority. Your eyes shifted between the two, noticing how Bucky towered over the man.

The man’s voice was quieter than before, his composure tense. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I’m her boss,” he said, his tone calm but edged with a warning. “And I suggest you step back before you make this any worse.”

The anger in the man’s stance faltered, replaced by a grudging recognition that he was outmatched. With a final glare towards you, he stormed back to his car.

You exhaled, realising you’d been holding your breath. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice shaky from adrenaline.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes softening a fraction. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice low and filled with a warmth which contrasted the icy authority he had shown moments before.

You watched the way his eyes trailed down your shaking body for any obvious signs of injury.

You nodded in response. “Y-yes, I’m okay. Just a bit shaken”, a forced smile pursing against your lips.

He leaned down slightly, lowering himself to your height, his face inches from yours. Placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “You don’t have to put a brave face on with me. Are you really okay?”

The depth of his concern was more than you expected, combined with the gentleness of his touch, you felt like your head was spinning.

”Thank you, Mr Barnes”, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I’m okay, I promise”.

Bucky’s expression softened even more. “Let me take you to the office. I’ll sort you out and make sure everything’s taken care of.” Bucky said, his voice low and earnest.

His words soothed you. He placed a firm but gentle hand on your mid-back, guiding you towards his car. The warmth of his touch was a comforting contrast to the cold air. You found solace in the protective way he guided you.

When you reached his car, Bucky opened the passenger door for you with a quiet, practiced grace. His movements were deliberate and careful, as if he wanted to ensure you felt as secure as possible.

Bucky closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side. As he settled into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the rear view mirror, his gaze flicking over to you. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Barnes, when it’s just us two. James will do.”

You met his gaze in the mirror, feeling a sudden rush of warmth. You faltered for a split second under the heat of his stare. “Okay, James”, you said quietly.

He gave a small, approving smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “That’s better,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get you to the office.”

Your boss wouldn’t let you know, but the way you trembled when that man was yelling at you, the way his words reduced you to feeling small and insignificant, made Bucky’s blood boil. His usual calm and composed demeanor was barely holding back the fury simmering beneath the surface. The sight of you being treated so harshly, so unfairly, sparked something primal in him—something protective and fierce.

Arriving at the office, Bucky parked with a practised ease and opened your door, offering a supportive hand as you stepped out. Eyes glazing over you again to see if you were moving with any discomfort.

As you walked into the building, you were met with a flurry of activity. Bucky led you to your room, settling you into your office chair with a soft, reassuring hand on your back.

“Take a moment to breathe,” he instructed, his voice a mix of warmth and authority. “I’ll handle the meeting for now, okay? You’ve had a rough morning.”

You nodded gratefully, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Bucky made a few quick phone calls and sent some emails, managing the meeting logistics with the efficiency and competence that defined him.

Throughout the morning, Bucky periodically checked in on you. Each time, his concern was evident, his questions simple but genuine. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” he would ask, always with that soft, protective tone.

By lunchtime, Bucky made sure you had something to eat. He watched with a mixture of satisfaction and relief as you ate, noting the gradual return of color to your cheeks.

As the workday wound down, you wrapped up your tasks and prepared to head home. Bucky had been a steadfast support throughout the day, ensuring that you felt taken care of and that everything went smoothly despite the morning’s chaos.

As you gathered your things, Bucky approached with a rare, genuine smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Much better, thanks to you,” you said, returning his smile. “I really appreciate everything today.”

”Well I would love to drive you home, but I still have a few more things to wrap up. One of my drivers will take you, okay?”, your boss said, leaning against the door frame of your office.

You opened your mouth to politely decline, feeling that he had already done enough for you today. However, you faltered when he raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his expression, you knew there was no point in arguing.

“Alright,” you agreed, feeling a warmth spread through you at his insistence. “Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied, a part of him wanted to grin at your obedience as he circled back to his office.

The ride home was quiet, the events of the day replaying in your mind. You were exhausted, but there was also a strange sense of anticipation that you couldn’t quite explain.

When the car pulled up outside your apartment, you thanked the driver and stepped out. The cool evening air was refreshing after the long day, and you were eager to wash the day away with a hot shower and a bottle of wine.

But as you approached your apartment building, something caught your eye. Parked in your usual spot was a familiar-looking Mini, only this one was brand new. The gleaming paint, the spotless interior—it was unmistakably the same make and model as your beloved old car, but this one was perfect in every way.

There’s no way, you thought.

Your heart pounded as you took a hesitant step closer, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. There was no mistaking it—this was a gift, one that had been carefully chosen to replace what you had lost earlier today.

A note was tucked under the windshield wiper. With trembling hands, you pulled it free and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unmistakable.

You’ve had a rough day. I hope this makes it a little easier. – James

A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You never expected something like this. Bucky hadn’t just replaced your car—he’d chosen something that he knew would mean something to you, something that was a perfect reflection of who you were.

As you stood there, staring at the car that now felt like a symbol of so much more, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you and Bucky had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone.

A collision of fate.

————————————————————-

TAGLIST!

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #mob bucky au #bucky x assistant!reader #sebastian stan #ceo!bucky barnes #bucky fic

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moeindia · 2 years ago

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 1 year ago

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Spies and Secrets

Summary: Natasha has never met her handler, she couldn’t give you their name or identify their face because she doesn’t know it. When she rants about this to you, her wife, you have to laugh... because you are her handler.

Word Count: 2048

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, lying in the relationship (not in a bad way, just in a spy way), but otherwise it’s just fluff!

A/N: I went back and wrote this idea since it seemed semi-popular. Hope you enjoy :)

»»————-　★　————-««

"Will you finally tell me who they are?"

"This again, Romanoff?"

"Just a first name?"

Fury sighs to make his vexation clear, but that's not enough to dissuade Natasha; she remains determined as ever in her mission and smirks boldly in the face of her exasperated boss.

"Just an initial will get me off your back," the spy continues through his silence.

Fury scoffs and Natasha knows she needs a different approach.

"If it's you, you can just say, Sir."

"Me? You must be losing your touch if you think I have the time for that, Romanoff. Should Hill be taking your next mission?"

Natasha stops and stares with faux hurt while Fury continues on, grinning to his own amusement. He wasn't going to let her keep the upper hand for long.

"If you want to know, ask them yourself!" Fury calls over his shoulder, "Mission debrief. C12-2. 10 minutes. They won't tell you though; above your clearance!"

Natasha groans. As much as she hadn't expected a substantial answer from Fury – she'd been asking him the same question for years – she thought she might be getting somewhere, but no matter which trick she tries, Fury doesn't budge.

On top of that, he'd reminded her that it wasn't home time yet, her mission isn't over until she's briefed her mysterious handler. So Natasha sighs and makes her way to the conference room, still wondering why only her handler chose to shroud themself in mystery. All the other agents meet theirs directly, while Natasha sits in a room alone, waiting for a shadowy silhouette to call in.

The first few years went by without a comment – it wasn't her place to ask – but as she rose the ranks and found her role, her handler, too, remained just above her clearance. Even now, as one of the highest ranking agents, her handler was higher still. Curiosity built like a dripping tap; manageable and menial to start, only to provoke greater displeasure the longer it went on.

"Hi Agent!" the disembodied voice crackles through the speakers. That's the other thing driving Natasha towards irritation, her handler's tone. It's nothing like Fury's commanding orations. No, her handler speaks with an eagerness and informality reminiscent of a junior agent meeting their hero, rather than the commanding officer that they are, and have been, since Natasha first joined SHIELD almost a decade ago.

"Officer." Natasha replies. She had never been told her handler's surname, or even a title she could use to address them. Any attempts she made to learn had been properly shut down, forcing her to stick with the appellation of Case Officer.

"Always so formal," her handler laughs. "As far as I'm aware, the mission was successful, so what's got you so grumpy today?" they continue, noticing an uncharacteristic clarity to Natasha's mood that day.

"If you told me your name, I wouldn't have to be so formal, would I?" the spy snaps back. "And I'm not grumpy."

"Natasha, we've worked together for nearly 10 years now. I know when you're grumpy, and I can throw in an educated guess that my identity is the cause?"

"I've spent my life working in secret," Natasha shrugs, then pauses in search of the right words. "I'm well accustomed to dubious legalities and taking orders from the shadows. I'm also well aware that I would be a risk to security from the moment I joined until I gained the trust of this organisation, so I understood your secrecy."

Natasha stops again, noticing the silhouette begin to fidget; whether out of boredom or discomfort, the assassin can tell the time is right to make her final argument.

"We've worked together on hundreds of missions over this past decade, enough for you to know every detail of my life and mind, while I still know nothing about you. Have you thought about how that might hurt, officer? because it does! to believe I still haven't gained your trust after all this time. That hurts."

The room stills to a silence as fragile as Natasha felt. Her handler's reaction would dictate the situation; any information given could redefine the relationship between the two spies, just as another brush off would leave Natasha spiralling further into this curiosity.

A sigh finally echoes through the speakers; its long pause circling the sole inhabitant of the room. "It's above your clearance," the voice admits. Natasha slumps; she should have known better. "But-" The speed at which Natasha perks up draws out a small chuckle from her handler, before they continue with an audible smile, "I'll talk to Fury. See what I can reveal."

Natasha settles in her seat, unable to keep the broad smile from her face. "I do trust you, Romanoff, I hope you know that… I just don't think I'll be who you expect."

As a trained spy, Natasha wouldn't let that last line slide, immediately thinking of its hidden meaning. But before she can ask further questions, her handler clears their throat. "I think it's time we actually start the mission debrief."

»»————-　★　————-««

Natasha can't wait for the meeting to end. She understands the need – giving her side of the story, answering questions, sharing the intelligence she'd gained – but it drags on without incident and without any further comments on her handler's identity, so she'd much rather be at home.

What reason was there for her not to do this from home? Her handler calls in from wherever they are, so realistically, Natasha could also pick up from wherever she is. Ideally at home, after a relaxing shower and a little time with her wife. Natasha supposes that's where the issue may lie: you, her wife, who has been led to believe Natasha is a security guard and nothing more. If you overheard a debrief, not only would SHIELD's confidentiality be compromised, but you might never forgive her lies. Natasha's home office was soundproofed though and, because of that, the assassin would take the risk if it means extra time with you.

Throughout Natasha's homeward journey and all through the mission debrief, you are the only thing to occupy her mind. Her mission finished in late afternoon, so she had planned how she would surprise you and spend the evening together upon her return, but then the debrief cropped up, and by the time her key is in the door, the sun has long since set, leaving her to wonder if you're even still awake.

You are. Just about. Your pyjama clad figure appears in Natasha's sight and you rush down the stairs to meet her by the door.

"You're home!" You beam as you wrap your arms over her shoulders and take her cue for a kiss.

"I am."

"How was your mission?" you tease. You know how seriously she takes each assignment, always doing prep work in her office ahead of the trips; she treated them akin to a secret mission and you never missed your chance to rag her for it.

One of your favourite methods of teasing is to liken her to James Bond, which only gets more realistic when you catch her mouthing along to the movie lines.

"Top secret. Can't tell you," your wife jokes back, her smile threatening to burst off her face.

"No injuries this time?"

"None at all."

"Good girl." She preens. "Have you had dinner?"

"Not yet, I came home as soon as I was done. Couldn't wait to see you."

"Sweet talker," you laugh and kiss her again, then take her by the hand, "I put some leftovers in the fridge, you clean up, then you can eat and share your 'top secret' thoughts."

The evening's plan formed just like that; you reheat the noodle dish while Natasha takes a shower, before the two of you come back together to sit at the dinner table.

"So, how was it really?" you ask her.

"The job itself was alright, no problem." Natasha replies, but by the way she's stabbing the noodles with her fork, you can tell something else is coming. "But my bosses…they just won't tell me all the information. Say it's 'above my clearance'."

"The cheek of them."

"Don't mock me."

"I'm not, I'm not! I promise, love," you say, though you can't hide your barely contained laughter thanks to the prominent pout on your wife's face. You school your face back into an expression of neutrality before you talk again, "that sounds annoying. Do you need this information?"

"No," she sighs, "it's just a matter of trust."

"Well, you must be working with idiots for them not to trust you after all this time."

"Mm, you reckon I should tell that to them?"

"You definitely should."

The smile comes back to Natasha's face as she shakes her head, "you're going to get me fired, sweetheart."

"You're too good for them to do that. Just keep it up, you're going to be leading them one day, I'm sure of it. Then all the secrets are yours."

»»————-　★　————-««

Another week, another mission. And with another mission comes another mission debrief. Natasha asked for her handler's identity three weeks ago and still knows nothing more. With how poorly her recent mission went, she doesn't even feel like asking the question again.

"What went wrong, Romanoff?" that same anonymous figure asks her, and Natasha can only groan: what didn't go wrong?

"We were ambushed to start with; whoever gave us the heads up got their information wrong, or someone sold us out. Either way, the plan went to shit the moment we arrived and the team went to shit by throwing mole accusations around. Splitting up only made it worse; nobody trusted their teammates to do their parts and it resulted in a mad scramble. My orders were ignored, but my team members were injured and I take full responsibility."

"That won't be necessary, Agent," the voice hums, "as leader, the responsibility falls on you, yes, but it is each agent's responsibility to trust in you and follow your plan, and you will not be faulted for working with idiots who don't trust you."

Natasha starts to defend her team, before the familiarity of the phrase has her searching through her mind for a recollection. What she does remember is a long shot, but she'll lose nothing by asking.

"Do you have a wife, Officer?"

"I do," they reply.

"Is she a redhead?"

"She is."

"Works for SHIELD?"

"Why, it's almost like you know her," the handler goades. If one had an illustrated list of all of SHIELD's employees, they would know that the short game of 'guess who' still left a couple dozen potential employees in the running, but the teasing and testing tone is the final clue Natasha needs to make her assumption.

"Y/N/N?"

"Hey love," you reply, with as much adoration as you can muster, glad to finally be rid of the voice modulator while you talked to your wife.

In front of Natasha, the screen flickers before the silhouette that had become so familiar to her is replaced by another familiar sight in another familiar location: the smiling face of her wife…in her office.

Natasha's face falls at once, striking you with panic that this wouldn't be the gleeful revelation that you'd expected; that is, until the assassin speaks again. "Is that my desk?"

"It's your whole office, my love. I'm not taking these calls from our bedroom."

"Is that why it's sound proofed?"

"I gave the approval for that, if you remember, and it's certainly not because you're taking SHIELD calls at home; you haven't even had one while we've lived together!"

"That's because you organise it straight after the mission so I don't have time to go home!"

"Because that's where I am! you'd be suspicious otherwise."

Natasha falls silent for a moment. You know her well enough to leave her to her thoughts, only twiddling your thumbs as you watch her through the screen.

"So can I do debriefs at home now?"

"I don't see why not," you shrug, "remember I still have to take notes though, so I get the desk and no cuddling until after."

"No chance of that."

"Come back now, Romanoff, and we can put it to the test," you challenge.

She accepts. "I'll be there in 30."

"I know."

»»————-　★　————-««

Tagging: @supercorpdanbeau (since you mentioned you’d like to read it on the original post!)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x y/n #black widow x you #marvel #mcu #fanfiction #ikan writes

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astrocafecoffee · 5 months ago

Text

Astro observation ( part 1)

🔹For entertainment purposes only, enjoy🔹

♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️♦️

✨ Uranus in the first house individuals may reject authority or traditions that feels restrictive to them.others may seem them as trendsetters or avant -garde in their approach to life.

✨ Venus in the 10th house of natal chart peoples are so workaholic that they prioritise their career, success over personal relationships or self care.

✨ your spouse's name asteroid could fall in your natal 7th house. ( Not necessarily, but it can be).

✨ mercury in the 5th house can indicate a communicative and involved parenting style. This individuals may encourage their children's intellectual development, creativity, and curiosity, fostering a supportive environment that values self expression and learning.

✨ Scorpio mars individuals have a strong sense of loyalty and protectiveness towards their loved ones. They can be fiercely protective of those they care about and may go to great lengths to defend and support them.

✨ regulus in 7th house of Composite chart - your relationship with your person may bring some fame/ recognition.

✨ Astrocartography mc lines - indicates which place may have a significant impact on your career or public life.

✨ Astrocartography Dc lines - you may meet your spouse/ long term partner there.

✨ Saturn in the 4th house individuals are very traditional 🙂

✨ solar return Jupiter/ mercury in 3rd house/ 10th house may indicate favorable year for cracking competitive exams.

✨ Earth dominate individuals may admire partners who take their commitments seriously whether it's in personal relationships ,career or other areas of life.

✨ juno in 1st house of groom persona chart means your spouse may influence how you present yourself to others or how you are perceived in social settings. they could bring out certain qualities in you or play a significant role in shaping your public image.

✨ South node lines in your Astrocartography chart indicates where you lived in your past lives.

✨ Briede conjunct Devine asteroid in synastry - divine/ fated relationship.

✨ Union asteroid in your groom / briede pc can indicate where you will meet your potential life partner/ spouse :

♾️ Union in Aries - dynamic / stimulating environments suggest adventurous activities, sports events, or places that involved risk taking and exploration. Gyms, fitness classes, martial art studios, organizing events , can meet through social gatherings / casual meet ups where people gather for fun or socializing. , Business conferences/ academic competitions.

♾️ Union in Taurus -

Fine dining restaurants , art galleries/ elegant social events. Settings related to finance, banking, investments , or business networking events., Exhibitions , concerts, musical performance, through mutual friends, wellness workshops.

♾️ Union in gemini -

Intellectual or educational events, workshops, seminars, book clubs , social gatherings , parties , online platforms, social media, dating apps, local festivals , neighborhood gatherings , during travel, airport, train station, writing workshop, media production, related to communication and journalism.

♾️ Union in cancer -

Family gatherings , reunions, hospitals , caregiving facilities, charity events , volunteering activities, through mutual friends, at historical sites, museums, art galleries, cultural events, small town festivals, near Lake, river, beaches, cafe , restaurant.

♾️ Union in leo -

Theatres , music venues, art galleries, or during performances and artistic events, parties , weddings, festivals , or grand gathering, acting class, outdoor festival, sports event , amusement park, related to child's education, youth organization, casinos, comedy clubs , gaming centre etc.

♾️ Union in Virgo -

Office , workplaces, professional conferences, networking events, volunteer activities, community service projects, charitable organisations, gyms, fitness classes health food store, wellness center, university, school , educational seminars, pet adoption events, parks , botanical garden.

♾️ Union in Libra -

Social getherings, parties, networking events, through mutual friends, concerts, cultural events, museums, theatre performance, settings related to law, mediation or during discussions that involve finding mutual agreements or resolutions., Teamwork, collaboration, relationship focused workshop,fashion shows, design exhibition, cocktail party, formal gatherings, courtroom, law office.

♾️ Union in scorpio -

Psychotherapy session, support groups, detective work, reasearch fields or in setting that require deep analysis and understanding., Spiritual retreats, metaphysical shops, astrology or tarot classes, tantra workshop, relationship councilling, setting related to investment, joint ventures, estate planning, holistic health centres , transformational workshop, place focused on healing practices.

♾️ Union in Sagittarius -

Travel, airport, train station, in foreign countries, or while participating in adventures such as hiking, backpacking, or exploring new cultures, University, libraries, seminars, religious gatherings, philosophy group, outdoor activities, sports events, camping trips, cultural festival, international events, language exchange program, law, publishing house, that promotes justice.

♾️ Union in Capricorn -

Office, corporate events, buisness conference, while pursuing ambitious projects, leadership roles, ceremony, cultural events, context related to banking, investments, Financial setting, teaching activities , prestigious club , organization, or during events where recognition and achievements are celebrated., Formal dinner etc.

♾️ Union in Aquarius -

Activism, volunteer work, community organization, seminars, conferences, discussion groups, online platforms, social media, tech startups, through mutual friends, social circles, online communities, music festival, Charity work.

♾️ Union in Pisces -

May meet in spiritual retreats, meditation centre, yoga studio, art galleries, theatre, music concert, poetry reading,film screening , volunteer work, charitable organisations, near Lake , beaches , hospital, clinic, wellness center, music festival, dance class, spiritual chants or ceremonies, book clubs focused on fiction on fantasy genres.

✨ Saturn in 1st house people often have RBF / Serious demeanor 👺

✨ Moon opposite/ square Saturn in solar return chart indicates emotional heaviness, feeling of loneliness or responsibilities weighing heavily on the emotions 😭.

✨ Jupiter/ Venus in 2nd house of Groom/ Briede pc indicates rich spouse.

✨ South node conjunct karma in synastry might suggest past life conflicts, power struggles or intense experiences that need healing or resolution in the current lifetime.

My other posts :

🔮 your future spouse's career.

🔮 your past life.

🔮 marriage placement in synastry and composite.

And many more on my page-

See you soon ~

- Piko ✨

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footygirl114 · 9 months ago

Text

Operation (Leah Williamson x Reader)

This is definitely a result of too much Grey's anatomy but I was told that I need to let some of the ideas out of my noggin so here you go? (I think). Also I could be persuaded into this becoming a series...

Your pager going off interrupted the scrolling of TikTok you were doing while enjoying your morning coffee, after rounding on your patients. You glanced at the screen and noticed it was a 911 to the ER for an incoming Trauma. Kicking yourself into gear you moved and started to make your way down, the whole time kicking yourself for jinxing your pager since you were hoping to catch the Arsenal vs. Manchester United Game at the Emirates on TV during your shift.

Knowing that wasn’t going to happen as you walked into the ER and it was organised chaos. You walked towards the head of the ER and asked “what happened?”

He turns to you and says “A car jumped a curb at the Emirates stadium before the game, ran into a few pedestrians including an 8 year old and her dad. We have the driver, a 43 year old male, and the two victims on route now.”

“damn it, how bad?” you ask him as you move to pull your hair back, and put on a trauma gown and gloves.

“the dad, is in critical condition, they say he was able to get the girl out of the way but she sustained injuries when he shoved her out of the way.” He says as you walk with him to the ambulance bay waiting for the incoming ambulances.

As you wait for the ambulance you listen to the other doctors conferring over what they think the driver was on, but you take the second to glance at your phone and double check the texts with your fiancé. They state that she was there an hour prior to this happening, and knowing the teams timing you knew she was on the field for warm up.

When they finally pull up you wait to find out what one your patient is in. Once you know where the child is you step up and move beside her gurney listening as the paramedics rattle off her name and vitals. She meets your eyes and you can see how scared she is and you say to her softly “Hi Kenzie, I’m Dr. Y/L/N, and I am going to be taking care of you.”

She’s shaking as she asks “where’s my dad?”

“Sweetie, he’s being taken care of by some of my very good friends, You and I are going to get you checked out so you can be ready for him okay?” you tell her as you move your hand to tuck a loose piece of her hair behind her ear checking her pupils as you do this.

When she nods, you move to grasp her hand as you gesture for the team to get her gurney moving. You had waited so they could get her father inside so she wouldn’t have to see him too injured. Once you get her into a room and transferred onto a gurney you start your exam on her.

She’s stays silent as you explain what you are doing, you tell her that you specialise in helping kids who have been injured or sick, and when you press on her belly and he’s hisses and pulls away in pain you know she may have some internal injuries.

Once you determine she’s stable and waiting for scans you go to move away from her but she grabs your hand and says “don’t go.”

You turn and squeeze her hand back and says “i am just going to check on your dad and then I will be right back, I promise.”

She shakes her head and holds up her other hand, leaving her pinky up as she asks softly “pinky promise?”

You smile at her and wrap your pinky around hers and say “I pinky promise sweetie.”

She lets go of both of your hands and you move outside the door, watching as your favourite ER nurse immediately steps in and starts talking to the patient, keeping her distracted, you walk out of the room and the last thing you hear is them talking about the arsenal team. You smile to yourself knowing that she will be okay for a few minutes.

You take the time to order scans for her, and check on her dad, you also manage to talk to someone from social services who is looking for her next of kin, but they are having no luck since her fathers License is from Ireland, you know it will take some time for anyone to get over here.

Walking back into her room you smile at her and say “Hi Kenzie, I am going to take you upstairs now.”

She meets your eyes and asks “how is my dad?”

Moving back towards her you sit down on the edge the bed by her legs and say “he’s been taken into surgery, by those friends of mine. He’s getting the best care possible and they will do everything they can to help him.”

She starts to cry and you move to grasp her hand and she says “I want my daddy.”

It breaks your heart and you move closer and pull her into a hug softly whispering “it’s okay sweetie, let it out.”

After a few moments of letting her cry she’s sniffles and pulls back and says “I’m okay, I can be a big girl.”

You smile and wipe under her eyes and you say “you are strong sweetie, now lets go get some scans of your belly and then we can get you fixed up to be ready for your dad okay?” She nods and you gesture to the nurse to get her ready for transport upstairs for scans then into the paediatric floor.

Less than an hour later, you walk into her room on your floor. You were one of the attending surgeons on the paediatric floor. “Hi sweetie” you tell her as you walk into the room when she turns and smiles softly at you, you continue “They called your grandma, and she should be here tomorrow.”

“Grandma is old and cant move fast” she chuckles at you.

“Well she does have to fly over her, like you and your dad did sweetie. Why were you over here?” you as her as you fiddle with her IV.

She gasps and says “the game! I missed the game.”

“The arsenal one? Were you guys over here to watch it?” you ask her.

“It was my first game, daddy saved up and finally was able to bring me over to watch my favourite team play. Did I miss it? Can I still go watch?” she asks you with wide eyes pleading.

You sit beside her hip on her bed and say softly “sweetie, your scans came back and I need to go in and fix your belly, we are going to do it now.”

“So i wont get to see the game?” she pouts.

You smile sadly and hold up your pinky and ask “I pinky promise when we’re done, I will come and watch the full game with you right here.”

She smiles and wraps her pinky around yours and says “deal.”

Before you can say anything more the surgical team walks in and you know its time to go, You turn to her and say “We’re going to take you in and put you to sleep and when you wake up we will get to watch Arsenal kick butt okay?”

She nods and says “okay.”

You follow the surgical team push her towards the OR, you help them transfer Kenzie over and you stay with her until she’s out. You move into the scrub room and pull out your phone, texting Leah like you did before every surgery, and told her that you would be in the OR and will update when you are done.

Almost 6 hours later you were sat beside Kenzie’s bedside, it was dark and quiet and you were not expecting her to be awake anytime soon but you wanted to be here when she did. It had started to get late and when your phone buzzed you knew it would be Leah. You saw it was and you turned and looked out into the quiet hallway and decided to take the phone call there.

You had been with Leah for almost 5 years, and it was the best 5 years of your life. You had been still a resident and Leah was gaining popularity and you both decided that you wanted to keep your relationship quieter. Leah was worried that some of her more enthusiastic fans would attempt to contact you through the hospital and she wanted to make sure that you were safe.

It was sweet and when the opportunity came up to be an attending at this hospital in the middle of London you jumped at the chance to be close to your fiancé. You had been at this hospital for 6 weeks and as far as you knew, no one was the wiser to if you were single or in a relationship. Which is why you would make sure no one was around before you answered a phone call from her.

“Hi babe” you greeted her when you picked up the phone call.

“Hi love, are you still working?” she asks with a chuckle.

“I am, I’m gonna stay here tonight actually.” you tell her with a soft smile, eyes on the sleeping form of Kenzie in front of you.

You can hear her moving and she says “Are you going to be in surgery all night?”

“no actually, this patient came in and I operated on her” you tell her softly. “She’s 8 and was here with her dad to watch your game, but she was hit by a car on the way to the stadium.”

“Oh, love, is she okay?” she asks softly. Your heart grows three times the size as she just immediately understands why you need to be here and why you cannot leave her.

You pause on answering when Kenzie moves in front of you, but when she settles you say softly to Leah “she’s all alone Lee and I promised to watch the game with her when she wakes up.”

“You’re amazing and I love you” she says “and I will miss you tonight.”

“I miss you too babe” you tell her with a soft smile.

You listen as she moves around and it sounds like she’s gotten into bed and she asks “can you stay on the line with me while I fall asleep?”

Smiling you move and adjust the chair so you are reclining as you softly ask “Do you have training tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Good, I will definitely be home tomorrow babe” you say softly.

“Mhmm I want you here” she sleepy says.

You stay on the line listening to her breathe evening out and you smile to your self, thinking about how much you love this woman. “Sleep tight babe, I love you.” you whisper when you hear her softly snoring you hang up the phone. Turning in the chair to settle into a light sleep.

It’s early in the morning when you hear Kenzie moving around in her bed in front of you. You open your eyes to see her eyes open looking around. You wait to see if she will fall back asleep but when her eyes lock on yours you says “Hi sweetie.”

“hi” she whispers.

You move to stand up and check her vitals and move your hand to check her incision site and you ask her “how are you feeling?”

“Tired” she answers softly.

“do you want to go back to sleep?” you ask her, and move your hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.

She shakes her head and says “Can we watch the game now?”

You chuckle and tell her “yeah? lets watch.”

You move the table over the end of the bed to be closer and you pull out your phone and find the recording of the game. You always set Leah’s games that you miss to be recorded so you can watch them back. You pull the chair closer and you set the phone up so you both can see. The first 15 minutes are quiet but when Arsenal scores one she gets excited and sits up more.

After the third goal she’s more animated and is excitedly talking about the game and the players. The game has made her feel a lot better and more like a little girl and you are happy that she seems to be doing better.

You are lost in thought watching when she says “holy crap thats Leah Williamson.”

You chuckle without taking your eyes off the screen and say “sweetie she’s been on the whole game.”

“No, she’s right there!” she shouts.

You turn and meet the eyes of your fiancé standing in the doorway of the hospital room with two coffees, she winks at you and says “I heard we had a fan here that wasn’t able to make it to the game.”

You pause the game and move to stand up and step closer to Leah and you say “this is Kenzie.”

“Hi Kenzie” Leah says and she hands you a coffee and brushes by you to stand beside the bed “are you watching the game back?”

“yeah, I missed it cause Dr. Y/N was operating on my belly.” Kenzie says, the smile bright on her face.

“she’s pretty Awesome” Leah says and then continues “Can I watch the rest with you?”

“Yes please!” Kenzie answers quickly with an excited smile.

“I guess you don’t need me anymore” you say with a chuckle.

Leah smirks at you and says “Sorry love.”

“It’s okay, you guys enjoy I am going to shower and change.” you tell them both. “Kenzie please make sure to ask Leah all the questions okay?”

“I will! She’s my favourite player.” Kenzie says with a smile and moves to press play on the TV as she says to Leah “What did the ref say to you there?”

You chuckle to yourself and move outside the room, and you stand on the outside of the window looking in and you feel your heart grow again watching as Leah and Kenzie both talk with their hands about the game and you can feel the smile growing on your face knowing it may be time to have a conversation with Leah about what you want next.

#woso imagines #woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #engwnt x reader #engwnt imagines

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tkwrites · 9 months ago

Text

I can't belive you're here. - Quinn Hughes x ofc

Photo from Pinterest

Title: I can't believe you're here.

Author: Tory / @tkwrites

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah Roberts

Warnings: Unprotected sex - p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!), Captain kink unlocked, oral & fingering (f receiving), squirting, swearing, surprise visit, if I missed anything, please let me know.

Summary: After a very long time apart due to bad timing, Sarah surprises Quinn on the road. Wearing his jersey, she fulfills one of his long harbored fantasies. The night just gets better when he sees what she has on underneath.

Word Count: 6,000

Comments:

Hoo boy. This is by far the most depraved thing I’ve written. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If you did enjoy it, please let me know! Your comments and questions inspire me to keep writing!

To the lovely anon who requested this: I hope it lives up to your expectations. I had so much fun writing it.

Anonymous asked: 'In some ways, he’d love to see his name across her back, but not at a game.' Ohhh, I'd love to see something about this in the future. Later on in their relationship, he's on a roadie and not seen Sarah for 4 weeks due to it and some study trip prior. He has just played either Brady or his brothers who noticed he's really down and missing her, they call Sarah and organise to fly her to his next destination to suprise him after the game. She's waiting in his hotel room, wearing nothing but his jersey to cheer him up after a loss 😉 Or a more wholesome storyline of her first WAG jacket or something aha Absolutely love all your pieces and can't wait to continue reading of their universe xx

I can't believe you're here.

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Fatigue and failure were deep in his bones as he walked into the hotel.

Logically, Quinn knew winning streaks always come to an end. It was impossible to have a perfect 82 game season. No one had ever come close to that.

It didn't matter how much he tried to reason, it still felt like shit to be on the receiving end of a shut out after two straight losses.

The fact that they were still on the road didn’t help. The fourteen day trek away from home was always terrible, no matter when it fell in the season, but having it come right after Sarah had to be at a conference was torture. It meant he hadn’t seen her in over 12 days.

It was terrible timing. The day after he got back from the six day Midwest road trip, she left for a seven day ocean conservation conference in Costa Rica. She got back two days after he had to leave again.

It had been nineteen long days since he'd seen her for more than fifteen hours.

They talked and sent messages and photos, but it wasn’t the same as talking face to face and kissing her and feeling her skin and smelling her perfume.

He’d learned from the past and brought her pillowcase with him, but even that was beginning to smell less and less like her.

He only had to get through three more games and five and a half more days before he'd be back home and in her arms.

One of the team assistants ran up to him in the lobby, “Hughes,” he said, a little breathless, “they changed your room.”

“What?” he asked, trying to pull himself from his misery and back to the present.

“They had to change your room. Something about the heater being broken,” Sean said.

“Okay. Petey still with me?”

“No, they had to separate you,” Sean forced the key into his hand as they stepped on the elevator, “I already moved your bags.”

He’d slept four quick hours in a room that felt perfectly fine before heading to the pre-game meeting and meal. He couldn’t remember if he’d left his stuff all over the bathroom counter. Hopefully, Sean didn’t have to go through too much trouble. Quinn definitely owed him dinner.

The room was dark when he walked in. And it smelled like… it smelled like Sarah’s smoky vanilla perfume.

Fuck. He missed her so much, his mind was playing tricks on him.

At least he would have a room to himself, and could call her in peace without the threat of Petey listening in. They could probably even get some phone sex in, which hadn’t happened for far too long.

Then, he would get a full night's sleep before their flight to Chicago. That, in itself, was a rare luxury he was outrageously thankful for.

When he flipped on the light, the first thing he noticed was the king size bed. The bedspread was mussed, as if someone had been lying on it. Strange for any hotel, but especially one this nice. Rooms he came into often looked so pristine, it was as if no one had ever stepped foot in them before.

He pushed the worry out of his mind and started toward the bathroom.

“Hey.”

Great, now he was hallucinating. It sounded like Sarah was right behind him. He must be more tired than he thought.

“Quinn?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, backpack nearly slipping to the floor. If he turned and she wasn’t here, he didn’t know what he’d do.

A touch grazed his shoulder, and a strong whiff of her perfume made his knees shake. “Sarah?” he asked, hoping against hope. Why would she be here?

“Yeah,” she said.

He turned and felt a strange, strangled sort of gasp escape his throat.

Sarah was in his hotel room. She was here. She was in Boston. How was she here?

When his brain finally reconciled the fact that she was actually in front of him, he noticed she was wearing his flying skate jersey.

“I - how?”

She smiled softly, set his backpack aside and wrapped her arms around him.

His body caught on before his brain did, hugging her against him fiercely.

Coming home from her conference in Costa Rica, which had been lovely but incredibly socially exhausting, all Sarah had wanted was to fall into bed with Quinn. When she came home to a dark and empty house, it had been a rude reminder he was on the longest road trip of the year. The apartment felt too big without him in it, especially for so long.

“I missed you so much,” she said into his neck.

“How did you do this?” he finally asked.

He’d known other players' wives and girlfriends occasionally showed up on road trips, but generally, their partners always knew, and it was usually because they were close by one of their hometowns.

“Brady called me. He said you were so sad and not yourself on Wednesday, he wanted to do something. So he bought me a ticket and called Brock to get the schedule.”

He sniffed and she pulled back.

“Oh, Quinn,” she said upon seeing the tears pooled in his eyes.

“I’m just…” The shock of seeing her brought all his emotion up to the surface.

“I know,” she said, pulling him into her again, feeling a few tears slip down her own cheeks. It felt so good to hold him.

His mouth landed on her neck. It was a comforting thing to taste her skin as they embraced. He mumbled something against her.

“Sorry?” she asked, trying to pull away so she could see his face.

He didn’t want to let her go, not even for a second. Instead, he lifted his lips just enough so he could repeat, “I missed you so much.”

“I know Quinny,” she said, running her fingers into his hair. “I missed you, too, but I’m here now, and we have all night.”

His mouth was still on her neck, though he’d started moving with more intent, licking and kissing. The shock to his system was giving way to relief and desire.

Finally fed up with his teasing, Sarah took his jaw in her hands and forced his head up so she could kiss him.

He sighed into it, and found some way to pull her tighter against him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew she was wearing his jersey, but the shock of her in his hotel room, seeing her face and her blue eyes and her lips - god her lips, he couldn't get enough of them - stole all of his brain power. Now, as his hands splayed across her back, feeling the numbers patched and stitched there, the reality of it hit him.

Forcing himself to break away so he could look at her, his knees threatened to buckle when he noticed she wasn’t wearing anything else - not that he could see anyway. The fabric hit her upper thigh, leaving much of her legs bare.

“I -” he tried to say something, but lost the words.

The idea of wearing his jersey came from Emma. Sarah thought it was cheesy, but Emma assured her he’d love it. She’d surprised Brady at the end of a roadtrip like that, and “I swear his brain, like, short-circuited or something. He just stood there, staring at me for like 30 seconds before he went wild.”

It didn’t surprise her Quinn didn’t have the same immediate reaction. He was so much quieter than Brady, and from what she could tell, they had a much more subdued relationship than the Tkachuks.

The way he was looking at her now, though - like she was the thing he'd been anxiously waiting for on Christmas morning - made it all worthwhile.

“I borrowed it, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah,” he breathed.

When they were apart, the mechanics of an orgasm could be there, but it just wasn't as good. It could never be. She missed feeling him: his skin, his breath, the rigid length of him inside her.

It wasn’t that she’d been hoping he’d ravish her right away (okay, maybe she had been, but she knew Quinn, and knew he would never react that way), but all this looking without any touching was getting out of hand. Impatience was pulling tight through her stomach. The prospect of finally feeling fulfilled was driving her crazy.

She needed to give him a little nudge.

Leaning in, she let her lips graze his ear, down to his jaw and then back. He made a soft, breathy noise, and she knew she almost had him.

Just one more push.

“How do you want me?” she asked, following it up with a slow, open mouthed kiss to the soft spot under his ear.

Blood rushed from his head so fast he felt dizzy.

“I want you to ride me in this,” he managed to say, fingering the stripes on the sleeve.

It was a fantasy he'd harbored since middle school, but had yet to experience. He'd asked his college girlfriend once, and she had scoffed, telling him it would get too hot, which he thought was a strange argument considering a jersey was designed to do the exact opposite.

Sarah didn’t acknowledge his request other than to start popping open the buttons of his shirt, one after the other. That set him into motion, tugging at his clothing. He couldn’t get it off fast enough.

Through a jumble of arms and hands, tangling in their effort to get him naked, they found themselves on the bed. Quinn flat on his back, breath heavy with anticipation, and Sarah astride him, trying to game plan her next move. She had on lingerie he’d never seen before and didn’t want it to go to waste, but he wanted her in the jersey, and she couldn’t take anything off without spoiling the surprise.

He grew impatient as she debated, shifting his hips up, trying to entice her onto him already. “Sarah,” he whined.

Finally, she decided to just move it to the side, and sink onto him. The stretch after so long was a pleasant burn.

His eyes rolled back, and his hips jumped, wanting to fill her more.

“How are you so wet?” he asked. They hadn’t kissed for that long. Usually, it took a little more to get her this soaked.

A wicked smile spread over her face, “I may have gotten myself off while I was waiting, thinking about finally seeing you again.”

“Fuck.”

She was a vision. Riding him after so long? Wearing his jersey? Confessing to touching herself in this bed thinking of and waiting for him? He was the luckiest man on the planet.

She pitched forward to get the right angle, and moaned, loud and earnest. Good thing they moved him two floors up from the team.

He tried to brace himself, but the fantasy of it, of her being here and wearing his jersey - the golden C winking at him, reminding him of all the work he'd done to get here - knowing his name was on her back made him groan out loud. His restraint stretched until it was paper thin.

His hands explored under the jersey only to feel something smooth tied at her hip and lace at her ribcage.

He coughed, “are you wearing lingerie?”

“Just for you,” she said, meeting his heated gaze with a coy smile.

He didn’t think this could get any better. Now, his mind was wild with possibilities.

“Come for me and I'll show you.”

Holy shit.

The little control he had snapped and he flooded her with a loud groan of her name.

Sarah's hands traced his arms, entwining their fingers before guiding them to rest on either side of his head as she leaned forward to kiss him.

His chest pressed into hers, catching the scratchy logo on his jersey as he tried to catch his breath. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Shaking her head, she pushed herself off of him to go to the bathroom. She needed to clean up and readjust before the next part of her plan could move forward.

He lay there and tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. It was almost too fast for him to remember the way he wanted. The bathroom door opened, and he looked over.

“Alright, captain,” she said, leaning on the door frame. She felt incredibly silly, but relished the way his eyes widened at the nickname, “are you ready to see what I have for you?”

Oh God.

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure how he could possibly be prepared for what was coming.

“Do you want to, or should I?” she asked, fiddling with the hem of his jersey, exposing the little heart tattooed on her thigh.

“You can.” His voice squeaked a little as he said it, and he blushed.

Being sexy wasn’t really in her forte, but Sarah tried her best. Lifting the jersey over her head, she thought briefly about tossing it in his face. Deciding that was a step too far, she let it fall to the floor.

Quinn gaped.

Most of the time, Sarah wore cotton briefs - occasionally she switched them for lace or a thong, but this was something totally different than what he was used to seeing her in.

For one, the matching set was so sheer, he could see her nipples through the swirling pattern of the black lace. Then, there was the fact that it was obviously made to be removed. The bra tied in front and her underwear tied at the hips, each with a silky black ribbon, like she was a gift for him to unwrap.

His mind ran away with the thought of tugging the bow on her bra undone with his teeth.

When she did a little twirl so he could see the back, the breath knocked out of his lungs. She looked so damn good, she might just kill him. His heart might just explode.

“What do you think?” she asked, walking closer. She could already see how much he liked it in his wide eyes and panting mouth, but she wanted to hear him say it.

“I -” He didn't know it was possible to get hard so soon after coming.

“Do you like it, Captain?”

His breathing hitched. He never thought he'd have a captain kink, but hearing the title come out of her mouth while she was wearing that? He might just develop one.

Adjusting the bows at her hips so they sat more naturally, Sarah looked at him and repeated, “do you like it, Quinn?”

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Yes. I love it.”

She smiled and climbed onto the bed then straddled him. His hands went to her waist of their own volition.

Her hips ground down.

“You can’t do that,” he said, teeth gritted as he forced the words over a moan. The soft texture of the lace against his cock was incredible.

“What?”

“You can’t ride me again. I won’t last and you haven’t come yet.”

She leaned down so her mouth was inches from his, her breath making him hyper aware of his own mouth and how much he wanted it on her.

“And what are you going to do about that, Captain Hughes?”

He topped her so fast that Sarah grunted and let out a little giggle when her back slammed into the mattress.

“Sorry,” he breathed, only half meaning it as he planted a wet kiss at the base of her throat. He moved down her chest, following the outline of her bra with his mouth. He almost made good on his fantasy of biting it open, but held off. He wanted to watch her fall apart with it on.

“What were you thinking about when you were getting yourself off?” he asked, kissing over her tattoo.

“You,” she panted.

“And what were you imagining me doing?”

She whined.

“What was I doing, Sarah?” he asked, lifting his mouth from where he’d just kissed down to the band of her panties.

“You were eating me out,” she confessed, a blush rising high on her cheeks.

Sometimes, he wished she would have told him how much she fantasized about and enjoyed oral sex before the first time he’d done it. There were four solid months he could have been pleasing her he would never get back.

He smirked a little, “is that what you want now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” he asked, tracing his fingers up and down her thighs.

“Yes, Quinn.”

He tutted, “Yes, what?” he asked as his lips went to her inner thigh.

The bolt of electricity that fractured up her spine tipped her voice into a high, breathy whimper.

When she didn’t answer, he repeated the question again, ghosting his fingers against the lace of her panties.

Her hips jumped. “Yes, Captain.”

Oh, it was definitely a kink now. He couldn’t get over the sound of it coming out of her mouth.

He made a satisfied noise and hooked two fingers under the lace gusset, pulling it away from her experimentally. The ties pulled taught, but didn't seem to want to slide over her hips. He tugged again, a little harder.

Flinging a hand down, Sarah grasped the band, “you're going to rip them.”

“I'll buy you more,” he said, almost off handedly, still pulling.

“Quinn, that's not the point. Please don't.”

The pulling stopped, and he pulled back to look into her face. “Okay. I'm sorry.”

Her face melted into a smile, “thank you.” She reached down to ease the ties over her hips.

“No,” he breathed.

Her eyes snapped to his, questioning.

Before she could ask what he wanted instead, he was knocking her hand away and licking one of the ribbons at her left hip into his mouth.

He pulled it away from her with his teeth, eyes growing darker when the bow unraveled and the pieces fell apart.

Taking his time to kiss and lick his way to the other tie, he repeated the action, and groaned when it also untied so easily.

He pulled on the whole thing and flung the garment away. It sailed somewhere across the room, ties flailing.

Sarah bought this set because it was cute and sort of reminiscent of her black bikini he liked so much. She didn't realize what a fetish he would have for the bows.

Settling back between her legs, she whined as he parted her lips and blew on her hot core. Shivers ran up her spine and down to all her fingers and toes.

“What were you thinking about?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were touching yourself, what were you thinking about me doing?”

“You were eating me out,” she repeated, confused.

His laugh chuffed a burst of hot air against her that had her squirming.

“I mean how. What exactly was I doing?

“You want me to describe it to you?”

“I want to do it for you,” he confessed, voice gravelly.

She made a little squeaking noise that told him how much that idea excited her.

“Tell me how you want me to touch you,” he said before he leaned in to press his tongue against her, just to feel her twitch.

Something inside her broke. Even though she felt depraved at the very thought of telling him this, it was too late to go back. The possibility of feeling it had taken over her body and wouldn’t let it go.

“You had your fingers on my g-spot,” she breathed.

“How many?”

She squirmed again.

“How many, Sarah?” he repeated, circling her entrance, enthralled at the way she flexed.

“Two.” Her mind made her continue and she squeaked, “then three.”

His eyes widened and shot to hers. “Will they fit?”

She nodded. “If you get me off first, they should.”

His eyes were blown dark and full of mischief when he glanced down then back up to meet hers again. “And how was I using my mouth?”

She moaned out loud just thinking about it. “You were doing that suck and flick thing with your tongue.”

He had no idea what she meant.

He'd done it before: the night they'd been eliminated from the finals last season, but she couldn't very well bring that up. I want you to eat me out the way you did when you'd had one of the worst nights of your career? There was no way. Maybe if she demonstrated...

“I can show you,” she said, grasping one of his shoulders, “I need a part of you.”

He toyed for a moment with the idea of presenting her his dick, but if he did that, he wouldn’t want to stop feeling her mouth, which defeated the whole purpose of this. Instead, he crawled over her and tipped his head to expose the column of his throat.

His eyes rolled back as her open mouth connected with his hypersensitive skin. She ran her tongue over his pulse, following it with her bottom lip, before ending with suction, and a flick with the tip of her tongue.

Moaning, he ground against her hot center when she did it again and again.

He wrenched himself away before he could follow through with his desires to sheath himself and take her any way she would let him.

Settling back onto his stomach, he shook his head to get back into the right frame of mind before leveling his gaze with her perfect, pretty pearl again.

He tried to follow the movement of her mouth, and her hips jumped at the feeling.

“Quinn,” she whined as he eased two fingers into her, curling them against that sensitive spot. “Oh my god.”

He continued on. She could feel the movement of his chin, up and down and in and out with each pass of his tongue.

“Harder,” she begged.

He dug his fingers into her soft spot even more.

Throwing her head back, she moaned loudly. “Oh my god, Quinn. Just like that. Don't stop. Please don't stop.”

Like he would ever stop when she was at his mercy like this. Grinding into the mattress, he continued on, moaning at the way her body undulated as she moved with him.

She let out a gasping noise as if someone had forced all the air out of her in one swift hit. Her core began to pulse around his fingers, trying to suck them deeper inside her.

Tipping her chin back, Sarah sighed as wave after soft wave of pleasure crashed over her.

When she stopped contracting so tightly, he waited until one of her aftershocks passed to work another finger into her.

Her voice echoed around the hotel room as she cried out.

He said a silent prayer of thanks to whoever had the wherewithal to separate them from the team. There was no way he wanted anyone, let alone someone who knew them, to overhear this.

“So good, Quinn,” she croaked out. “Feels so full.”

He continued kissing her bundle of nerves the way she wanted, pausing every few passes to suck a little more intensely.

A surge of pleasure coiled low in her belly, winding tighter and tighter until every breath ended in a moan. She felt so full and stretched open. So… Alive. All other thoughts fell out of her brain except Quinn and his silver tongue and wicked fingers.

Feeling as if she might just shatter to pieces if she didn't get some relief, Sarah moaned and panted and begged, “please, Quinn. Please.”

She had no idea what she was asking for, but the waves of pleasure kept coming and coming until it was winding up her spine and pulling so tight, she thought it might just wrench every vertebrae apart and fill each gap with the soft promise of her impending release.

He could feel her high building and kept urging her up the slope. Anxious for her summit, he sealed his mouth to her, milking her clit like her orgasm might just satiate his hunger.

“Quinn,” she gasped, spine arching as her hands abandoned her nipples and rummaged for some way to ground herself. One ended up in his hair, and the other fisted into the bedspread. “Oh my god. I think I'm gonna…”

Her voice dissolved into a noise he'd never heard her make as her muscles locked around his fingers. He forced them to continue, working through her orgasm.

Quite suddenly, as pleasure whirled through her veins, a feeling, intense and ferocious, swelled within her.

As a tsunami of white-hot ecstasy crashed over her, he unlocked a space deep within her she didn't even know existed.

“Oh, fuck! Quinn!”

Something molten erupted in her belly like a long dormant volcano.

Vaguely, she heard him groan as if every fantasy he'd ever had was being fulfilled.

Though he knew women could, he’d never seen it in person, never even imagined what feeling her release gush over his hand would be like.

Sometime last season, Beauvillier had gone on and on about making his girl squirt, and Quinn remembered wishing he would keep it to himself. He didn't want to think about that every time he saw them together.

Now, having experienced it first hand, he understood why Tito wanted to tell everyone he knew.

Pleasure continued to ripple through her. No high had ever gone on this long. It eased away the tension that had knotted up in her body, until all at once, sensitivity and overstimulation set in.

“Too much, too much,” she croaked, trying to squirm away from his touch.

He’d been so mesmerized watching her face, he hadn't realized his fingers were still moving. They uncoiled and stilled, and she melted into the mattress as a sigh melted from her lips.

Her chest rose and fell steeply, the tie of her bra pulling taught with every heavy inhale, making the cups ride up the swell of her breasts. God, she was so beautiful.

It took quite a while for her to come down. He gently eased his fingers out only after she stopped pulsing.

A whine escaped her throat at the sudden emptiness.

Slowly coming back to herself, Sarah registered something wet underneath her.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “Did I -” her eyes darted to his as her face flushed with the reality of what had just happened, “did you make me squirt?”

“Yeah," he said, crawling over her again, "and it was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life.”

The embarrassment she felt at making such a mess ebbed away with his confession.

“No one's ever done that to me before. I haven't even been able to.”

A look of immense pride took over his face. “Did you like it? I mean, it seemed like you liked it.”

She nodded, “I've never felt anything like it.”

He brought his lips to hers, and the taste of herself on his tongue made her passion throb to life again.

“Well, Captain,” she said a little while later, smiling at the way his jaw slackened and eyelids grew heavy at the title. “I think I've got one more round in me. What do you want?”

He twitched against her.

“I just want you,” he brought his mouth to her neck. “Want to feel you come on my cock,” he murmured into her skin.

“I think we can arrange for that,” she said, fingers winding into his hair.

Bracing up on his elbows, his gaze fell to her bra.

Instead of using his mouth, he twirled one of the ribbons around his finger and pulled gently to ease the bow undone. It fell apart, revealing a knot in the middle.

“It kept coming undone,” Sarah confessed, hands coming up to help him with the knot, which had pulled incredibly tight amidst her heavy breathing and writhing around.

“I think it's stuck. I can't get it out while it's on me, anyway,” she said, raising her arms above her head. “Here.”

At least he'd been able to remove her bottoms the way he wanted. He eased the lace over the swell of her breasts and helped her lift it off.

He made love to her the way he did whenever he got home from a long time away - earnestly and full of wonder, compliments falling from his lips like raindrops, as if they didn’t cost a thing.

“Fuck, Sarah, you feel so good.”

“I can't believe you're mine.”

“You're so pretty. I can't stop looking at you.”

“God, I'm so lucky.”

They didn’t cost him anything, but they made Sarah feel like she was worth a million dollars.

“I love that sound,” he murmured when she gasped in pleasure and followed it with a low moan.

As he drove into her again and again, he shuttered and moaned, feeling like she was going to shatter him into a million little pieces

He'd been hot all night. A sheen of sweat had spread over his skin as soon as she'd climbed on top of him in his jersey. The prospect of a fantasy being fulfilled sending his body into a frenzy. Working her up to that intense high hadn't been a walk in the park either. He'd been on edge and so focused. Now, he felt like his body was on fire.

She felt and sounded and looked so good. He couldn't think of anything but her.

When she tipped her face to the side with a loud moan, he attacked her jaw and neck with his lips, desperate to taste her again.

She was here. She was in Boston. She was here, in his hotel, in Boston. He just made her squirt, and he didn't have to be down to the bus until 10 the next morning. He must have been doing something right.

When he felt her fall apart around his cock, he breathed through it and hung on for dear life, twitching with the bliss of it.

Coming down from her high, Sarah was mesmerized by him. The defined set of his jaw, the sweaty sheen to his skin, how his curls fell over his forehead.

“You're so handsome, Quinn.”

She knew he was holding on, hoping to urge another high from her, but she didn't have one to give him. It was time to send him over the edge.

Propping up on her elbows, she traced her mouth along his jaw up to his ear. He let out a panicked little whimper.

“Want to feel you,” she whispered. "Want you to fill me up."

His hips stuttered.

“Come for me, Captain.”

White spots blipped in his vision and he had no choice but to obey.

Her name fell from his mouth like a prayer as she pulled him over the edge.

When they walked back in the room after showering, Sarah realized just how much of a mess she'd made of the bed. There was no way they could sleep in it as it was.

“Oh no.”

“What?” Quinn asked, lowering the towel he was running over his hair.

“We need new sheets and housekeeping is going to know exactly what we've been doing.”

“No they won't.”

She pointed to the bed, “you want to tell me they're not going to know we weren't just having sex?”

He laughed, “fine. So they might know. What does it matter? It's not like we know any of them.”

“It's so embarrassing.”

“What is? That your boyfriend made you come so hard you squirted?”

“No,” she was blushing though, “I mean…no. That was amazing.”

“So what's the worry?”

“I just…I don't want anyone else to see.”

He laughed, “that's fair. I can just ask them to bring some extra bedding. No one has to come into the room.”

She nodded, “okay.”

He called the desk, and despite his insistence he would prefer to make the bed himself, the hotel sent someone up anyway.

Sarah folded the comforter before hiding in the bathroom.

Quinn noticed the housekeeper's eyes lingering in one corner of the room. When he glanced over, he saw Sarah’s panties from where he'd thrown them, ties scrawled over the carpet like calligraphy strokes. So much for being discreet.

After giving the woman a tip, he tucked them in Sarah's suitcase before letting her know the coast was clear.

As they settled into bed, Quinn relished holding her close.

Before sleep could overtake her completely, Sarah needed to set something straight.

“I hope you know that Captain thing is only for special occasions. There is no way I'm calling you Captain all the time.”

“That’s fine,” he said, laughing. “Makes it more special when you do.”

“To be fair, I didn’t expect you to like it so much,” she said.

She’d called him Captain as a kind of joke, and half expected him to tell her not to do it again. Quinn didn’t even like pet names. She vividly remembered the way he grimaced the first (and last) time she called him baby.

He ran his fingers through her soft hair. “I don’t know that I would have either. I’ve never had that happen before. You said it, and it went straight to my dick. I think your lingerie had something to do with that.”

She propped herself up on an elbow. “You liked the lingerie?” she teased, full well knowing the answer.

He scoffed, “I'm going to dream about it for the rest of this damn road trip.”

Giggling, she leaned down to kiss him. “Maybe I'll have it on when you get home,” she said against his mouth.

He groaned, “don't joke about that.”

“Why not? Wouldn't it give you something to look forward to?”

“I always look forward to coming home to you.”

She looked down at him for a long time, memorizing the love in his eyes. “I love you, Captain Hughes,” she said before lowering her mouth to his to tell him that way too.

“Tease,” he chided when she pulled away.

She smiled and settled back, laying her head on his chest.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into her hair before they fell asleep. “I can't believe you're here.”

The next morning, Sarah put his jersey back on and put his morning hard on to good use - slower this time so he could remember it properly.

After room service breakfast and a very steamy shower, he walked her down to the lobby to catch her car to the airport.

“I love you,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“I love you too.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“You're welcome. You should really be thanking Brady, though.”

He watched her pull away before heading back to his room to pack his bag.

On the elevator ride, Quinn did just as Sarah suggested.

Love you man. I owe you big time.

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

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capybaracorn · 7 months ago

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Columbia suspends students after deadline to end Gaza camp passes

The number of arrests has crossed 1,100 since New York police detained first demonstrators at Columbia on April 18.

(April 30th 2024)

Pro-Palestinian demonstrators hold a protest outside Columbia University in New York City. [Michael M Santiago/Getty Images via AFP]

Columbia University has begun suspending student demonstrators after they defied an ultimatum to disperse.

The New York University, the epicentre of pro-Palestinian protests that have upended college campuses across the United States, made the call on Monday.

The move follows almost two weeks of protests against Israel’s war in Gaza, which have swept through higher education institutions from coast to coast, and spread into Europe. The demonstrators have demanded that the universities cease all investment in Israel or companies that are seen as supporting its war effort.

The response of the authorities has been tough, with critics of the protests referring to sporadic instances of anti-Semitism. About 100 protesters were arrested at Columbia on April 18.

In the latest crackdown, authorities at the prestigious university in New York had demanded that the protest encampment be cleared by 2pm (18:00 GMT) or students would face disciplinary action.

“These repulsive scare tactics mean nothing compared to the deaths of over 34,000 Palestinians,” said a statement, read out by a student at a news conference after the deadline passed, referring to the death toll in Gaza.

“We will not move until Columbia meets our demands or … [we] are moved by force,” said the student.

A few hours later, Columbia vice president of communications, Ben Chang, said the university had “begun suspending students as part of this next phase of our efforts to ensure safety on our campus”.

He said students had been warned they would be “placed on suspension, ineligible to complete the semester or graduate, and will be restricted from all academic, residential, and recreational spaces”.

Meanwhile, at the University of Texas in Austin, police used pepper spray as they clashed with protesters on Monday. Arrests were made as they dismantled an encampment, adding to the more than 350 people detained nationwide over the weekend.

“No encampments will be allowed,” Texas Governor Greg Abbott said on social media. “Instead, arrests are being made.”

Protests against the Gaza war, with its high Palestinian civilian death toll, have posed a challenge to university administrators trying to balance free speech rights with complaints that the rallies have veered into anti-Semitism and hate.

Footage of police in riot gear summoned at various colleges to break up rallies has been viewed around the world, recalling the protest movement that erupted during the Vietnam War.

Columbia University president, Minouche Shafik, in a statement on Monday announcing talks had broken down, said, “Many of our Jewish students, and other students as well, have found the atmosphere intolerable in recent weeks.

“Many have left campus, and that is a tragedy,” she continued. “Anti-Semitic language and actions are unacceptable and calls for violence are simply abhorrent.”

Protest organisers deny accusations of anti-Semitism, arguing their actions are aimed at Israel’s government and its prosecution of the conflict in Gaza.

They also insist there have been incidents engineered by non-student agitators.

A protester wears the university's disciplinary warning covered over by support for Palestinians in Gaza at Columbia University in New York City. [Alex Kent/Getty Images via AFP]

The protests have upended university campuses across the US, with the number of arrests crossing 1,100. [Caitlin Ochs/Reuters]

A faculty member holds up a sign as faculty members seek to protect students in the Pro-Palestinian "Gaza Solidarity Encampment" at Columbia University. [Michael M Santiago/Getty Images via AFP]

Protesters at Columbia defied a deadline to disband the event with chants, clapping and drumming. [Stefan Jeremiah/AP Photo]

Columbia University issued a notice to the protesters asking them to disband their encampment after negotiations failed to come to a resolution. [Spencer Platt/Getty Images via AFP]

Demonstrators gathered outside an entrance to Columbia University as the 2pm deadline to disband or face suspension approached. [David Dee Delgado/Reuters]

Students condemned the university’s attempts to silence the protesters and said they were determined to continue. “What trumps our fear is our love for Palestine, and our love for liberation, and our refusal to accept subjugation and censorship from an oppressive institution,” one said. [Nuri Vallbona/Reuters]

Pro-Palestinian supporters continue to demonstrate on the campus of Columbia University. [Spencer Platt/Getty Images via AFP]

One graduate student protester said: "It's finals week. But at the end of the day, school is temporary." [Alex Kent/Getty Images via AFP]

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 year ago

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I'm Irish but work for a UK based company. The English treat us the way that architecture lady did ALL THE TIME. Literally don't bother to know basic things like when our bank holidays are, what relevant laws and industry practices are different in Ireland vs England, we've been assigned HR people who don't know anything about Irish employment law, given 'benefits' we couldn't use because we weren't in the UK, hosted in-person meetings in our offices where English guests keep saying 'here in the UK', we get paid less because instead of adjusting our wages to euro they just changed out the pound sign for a euro sign in our contracts, they refuse to let us use local suppliers for office supplies etc so everything takes longer to arrive and costs more than it does for the rest of the company, during a recent rebrand we were refused a budget for (legally required) Irish-language signage, the list goes on and on.

The irony is that because of the nature of our work we have constant meetings and workshops about acceptance of different nationalities and learning not to discriminate but if we try bringing up how we're discriminated against we get laughed at.

We have colleagues in an office in Scotland who get similar treatment so at least there's some solidarity there, but it's exhausting. It feels like we're fighting a constant battle. And the response we always get to complaints is just 'oh oops silly us' if we get any at all.

English entitlement is very very real and I don't blame you for reaching the end of your rope with that woman.

Oh Jesus Christ that sounds exhausting. And yeah, very familiar. Wales often gets included with the English south west when companies try to do countrywide provision, and what really stands out is the utter lack of consideration or respect for the language and bilingual signage, and Welsh road infrastructure not allowing easy or cheap travel in the same way. "Everyone get to Bristol for this meeting" is far, far harder for mid and north Wales than anywhere else. Plus, getting called a Taffy just casually. Super fun.

My sister used to work for a nationwide charity, actually, based in London. She took over as the organiser for their eight nationwide conferences a year. And the people in the Welsh, Scottish and Northern Irish offices loved her, because she was the first one in years who remembered that they existed, and made an effort to get the conferences to them at least SOME of the time; and the English offices complained each time she did. They thought four should be London (it's easiest to get to!), three in northern England (that's diversity!), and one in Northern Ireland (different landmass so begrudgingly accepted every other year) was reasonable.

Gah. Frustrating as fuck.

#asks #celtophobia

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uss-edsall · 6 months ago

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In a previous post, I spoke of my adoration for ArmA III’s primary campaigns.

The game is ten years old and feature complete, except for “Community DLCs”, that is, third-party expansions given official sponsorship. As such it is unlikely the game will get any further official content. The game’s lore is scattered across every aspect of it - tutorials, challenge scenarios, single-player scenarios (there’s one memorable scene in particular snuck into a free charity event mission), and of course, the campaigns.

Each official DLC added their own singleplayer scenarios, mini-campaigns, etc - aside from the Karts DLC, which started as an April fool’s joke. Some of these campaigns are in and of themselves very neat, if much shorter than the main campaign. I might someday go into detail about them, but for now, I will focus on my favourite, and perhaps, the most important of them all.

Spoilers below.

Preamble

The Laws of War DLC from 2017, four years after the game released and today nearly six years old, came out of a very strange event. The following information comes from this article.

In 2010, the International Committee of the Red Cross began a research project where one man, a Swiss ex-artillery officer, spent two months looking into videogames, and depiction of virtual war crimes. It was not a very important project, not one with priority. Certainly nobody, at the ICRC expected what came next. After he presented his findings at the 31st International Conference of the Red Cross and Red Crescent, news organisations started shitflinging. In attempting to call some small amount of attention on war crimes being portrayed in games (and all too often without the casual player being aware the action in question would be a real life crime), the media took ‘hey, we should be more aware of what we’re depicting’ and went “the Red Cross wants to prosecute six hundred million gamers for war crimes!”

Albeit having to backpedal and go, "no, that's not at all what we meant," the ICRC realised they’d struck a nerve. For the first time, thousands of people were talking about International Humanitarian Law who would otherwise have never touched it. So they sent out letters to major game developers (particularly of shooters) asking if they would like to meet, to talk, to collaborate. Most ignored them. Those that didn’t chose not to reveal they happened; “they think their gamers or their fans will get scared that their games will turn into training courses or that morality, as they say, will take over everything and games will not be about shooting anything anymore.”

One studio didn’t.

One studio was quite interested in collaborating and creating with the Red Cross publicly.

On 3 September 2017, Bohemia Interactive released as a DLC for the military simulator ArmA III…

Laws of War

War does have rules. . . In a firefight, things aren’t easy. . . We just ask you to remember. Actions have consequences.

ArmA III’s Laws of War DLC is the result of that collaboration between the Red Cross and Bohemia Interactive. It adds a fictional Non-Governmental Organisation, International Development & Aid Project (IDAP). Equipment includes a van, a utility drone, press gear, new bags and helmets, and most curiously of all… In order to depict war crimes, they had to add munitions for committing war crimes, in the form of an APERS mine dispenser and cluster bomb munitions for aircraft. ArmA previously hadn't had it, being one of few games to try to avoid including banned weaponry.

“Everyone on the forums says, ‘Yes! Thank you! Give us civilians and humanitarian workers and cluster munitions and we will use these new guns to eradicate as many of the first group as possible . . . But by saying that, it means that they will have consciously been saying, ‘We are going to break the law.’ It means that, even if it's at a very low level, they now have an understanding that there was a law in the first place.”

Those are the bones of the DLC. The meat of it is in the Remnants of War mini-campaign.

Remnants of War

The trailer for the DLC linked at the start telegraphs the intent of the campaign's story. Every side is depicted in the trailer. NATO forces, AAF troops, FIA guerrillas, CSAT spec-ops - they’re all there. All of them are depicted in the midst of conflict, at the cusp of committing a war crime.

The DLC takes place after the end of the primary ArmA campaign. “All’s over but the crying,” right? Not quite, not so. Even now, the actions taken back then have consequences. People are still dying. Questions remain unanswered.

The Brother - 15 August, 2035

The first mission begins with you in the shoes of Markos Kouris, the man on the left above. Five days ago, 10 August, 2035, the short but fierce war 'Altis Incident' that saw Akhanteros overthrown and the nation devastated once more, came to an explosive end. Peace returned to the country, shaky, unstable, but peace all the same. But the memories of the fighting in the fallen rebel stronghold of Oreokastro a year ago remain. The knowledge that your brother Alexis was killed in the fighting only days ago weighs heavily - now that the war is over, perhaps you can enter the obliterated town, find his remains, and bring him home for the last time.

When you step close to the ruined church, a hidden landmine triggers, detonating, and killing you - killing Markos Kouris, one more victim of the destruction of Oreokastro.

The EOD Expert - Several Days Later

You next take the role of a man named Nathan MacDade. A middle-aged American, he is a former marine who fought in Chernarus in 2009 (ArmA II), and after leaving the military, joined IDAP as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) technician. His job is to find unexploded ordnance (UXO) and safely disarm it, or failing that, detonate it safely without harm to human life. He’s good at his job, and has been at it for over twenty years. He’s on a voice call with Katherine Bishop, a journalist pursuing the story of Oreokastro.

As Nathan explores the town, he’ll find mines to defuse, unexploded ordnance to disarm, tripwires and hidden explosives… and several flashbacks. During these flashbacks to earlier events, Nathan MacDade narrates, speaking to Katherine Bishop asking questions, together depicting the various actions you can choose to do. If you take up arms as a civilian he’ll comment on it; if you choose to execute wounded combatants he’ll condemn it; so on and so forth. She'll share a draft of her article at the end of the campaign, which changes depending on the actions you take within it.

From here on out the DLC can be taken in non-chronological order. The flashbacks can be done in whichever order you find them. For the purposes of this post I will write of them in order of events.

The Peacekeeper - 28th May, 2034

Nathan’s been to Oreokastro before. Prior to the ‘Altis Incident’, IDAP had an aid camp within the town. As unrest in the nation grew stronger and bullets began to fly between the dictatorship’s troops and FIA guerrillas once more trying to fight for freedom, it became clear that aid supplies would not get to Oreokastro by land. They’d be ambushed or stolen, by both guerrilla forces and government troops. Thus, you put on the combat boots of an American peacekeeper of Task Force Aegis, Staff Sergeant Adams. The peacekeepers are unable to prevent the conflict, but they do arrange for aid supplies, IDAP priority, to be airdropped in. You drive around to collect aid supplies dropped by parachute, and defending some against a guerrilla attack. This is a short and simple mission.

ArmA is no stranger to the dangers of the remnants of war. Staff Sergeant Adams’ role is swift but deadly in the main campaign; he is your commander in the first mission, leading you to safety when TF Aegis is attacked… until he steps on a landmine, injuring you (Corporal Kerry), and killing him, leaving a terrified logistics driver to make his way alone out of the minefield and find allies in the CTRG.

The Guerrilla - 30th September, 2034

After NATO was pressured to begin withdrawal from the Republic of Altis & Stratis by Colonel Akhanteros (on the orders of his new CSAT puppet masters), the civil war began to truly heat up. Kostas Stavrou, a charismatic leader, took the reins of the FIA guerrillas. He encouraged the citizens of Oreokastro to rise up and take control of the town, with its high ground and natural terrain advantage, and turn it into a fortress.

As the Altis Armed Forces (AAF) lay siege to the town, the guerrillas prepare. One such guerrilla is Alexis Kouris, the brother Markos was searching for. In his flashback he lays mines on the road to Oreokastro - mines that you as Nathan MacDade just disarmed - and search the town for vehicles to use as roadblocks (one of which can be an IDAP van, which is a crime to do in and of itself, using humanitarian aid and stealing from humanitarian organisations for war purposes).

The roadblocks work. The mines work. The AAF’s offensive is frustrated…

… and so Akhanteros orders a brutal measure to gain victory.

The Redacted - 13 October 2034

You take the shoes of a CSAT special forces team - supposedly. Paradropped behind the guerrilla lines into the castle ruins overlooking Oreokastro, the three-man team silently eliminate the guerrilla sentries and set up an overwatch position on the town. They observe - and use a laser designator to call in a cluster bomb airstrike. It matters little who lives or dies, as long as you don’t directly hit the IDAP camp - though there’s an optional objective to try to avoid hitting an IDAP doctor in the town. Akhanteros wants the town obliterated for rising up against him so successfully.

The airstrike comes in and destroys everything. Roadblocks go up in smoke and flame; buildings collapse; men are eviscerated; and the AAF offensive begins.

This mission is the most blatant crime. Over a hundred countries banned the use of cluster munitions in 2008. Dozens die at minimum due to your actions as the faceless CSAT soldier who designated the target.

Faceless… CSAT… or are you so faceless? Are you so explicitly the Designated Enemy Faction?

“Idunno…” goes Nathan. “There were shell casings, found at the castle.” Strange. CSAT weaponry are explicitly caseless, and don’t leave behind brass. “NATO mil-spec.” Albeit you are depicted using a CSAT camouflaged laser designator in-mission, outside of it, the flashback trigger is a NATO sandy brown.

As the flashback ends, the three CSAT troops turn into the forms of Captain Miller and two other members of NATO’s CTRG.

The Survivor - 13 October, 2034

Heavily injured by the cluster bomb munitions, you take control of Markos Kouris from the beginning. The town is rubble; smoke, fire, and fog alike covers everything; the overcast skies fully block the sun. AAF forces and guerrillas fight a vicious and horrendously chaotic gunfight through the streets. Your objective is simply to survive, to escape to the IDAP camp. You are an unarmed civilian and a non-combatant… though you can choose to take up arms from the dead and join the fight. this flashback ends with getting to the IDAP camp for medical aid.

Oreokastro is ruined, depopulated. The rebellion here is over. As soon as it is safe to do so, IDAP too abandons the town, forced to vacate by the AAF.

There is nothing more they can do for the dead, after all.

The Major - 8 August, 2035

Ten months later, the Altis Incident is coming to a brutal end. The U.S. 111th Infantry Division heads NATO’s vengeance, supported by the FIA guerrillas. Two AAF soldiers, Major Gavras and his assistant Kostas Dimitriou, head into Oreokastro. AAF forces across the island are being overwhelmed. Gavras hopes making a stand in Oreokastro will buy time for other forces, drawing NATO units away from Kavala and other AAF strongholds. With NATO owning the skies there is little to no way to get reinforcements; Gavras’ forces are decimated, and the extraction helicopter is shot down. Gavras elects, then, to make a final stand in the church where the IDAP camp used to be.

You are Kostas, and you are faithful to your leader. If this is where you die, so be it - but you’re not going quietly. Knowing it is a cruel thing to do you deploy three APERS mine dispensers as a seperate act. There seems no other way to inflict as many casualties as possible on the attackers. They succeed. Somehow they survive the battle - through a storm of shot and shell, you kill or incapacitate all the guerrillas and American soldiers who attack the church. Surprisingly, the AAF manages to send a rescue helicopter that extracts the two of you.

Major Gavras is the reason the AAF held out for three days against the full might of a vengeful American and NATO force, not just one. He survived the war. He even was part of the peace process. He also gave IDAP the location of the mines he had his assistant plant in that near-final stand at the church.

Gavras and Kostas killed Alexis Kouris in that stand in Oreokastro. So, too, did they indirectly kill Markos Kouris, who stepped on one of Kostas’ mines searching for his dead brother. Their actions had consequences.

Who’s To Blame?

This ends the flashbacks, and little remains of the campaign. Katherine Bishop has one more question for Nathan MacDade.

“Now, there's just one last question I'd like to ask you. It's subjective, so, take your time. In your opinion, who's most to blame for all the suffering in Oreokastro? NATO? The guerrillas? CSAT? The Altis Armed Forces? Or, I don't know, something else?”

Who is responsible for Oreokastro? Who killed this town? Who’s to blame? Who is, if any one can be? Can anyone even be blamed at all?

You choose.

Every option leads to different thoughts from Nathan’s part. Perhaps one faction of them is higher than the rest in terms of blame. Perhaps together they form some sort of collective blame that, in the end, leaves everyone with no clear answer as to who to point a finger at, all dissatisfied, ashamed of themselves and angry at others.

NATO is to blame - “They had the capacity to make a difference, y'know? The airdrops were helpful, but it was never enough. And, ultimately? Their invasion caused more bloodshed. If they'd just had the guts to stay in the first place? A lotta killing could have been avoided…” The peacekeepers of Task Force Aegis failed to accomplish their mission. They didn’t have the influence to peacefully keep the peace without shots fired; they didn’t have the strength to keep peace by force of arms; their leaders didn’t have the guts to stay when demanded to leave. The NATO invasion led to even more deaths, once more devastating the FIA guerrillas (in a friendly fire incident, Kostas Stavrou was killed by a NATO air attack, too). Not to mention the suspicions of NATO spec-ops being responsible for the cluster bomb attack… Oreokastro is a monument to NATO’s sins.

CSAT is to blame - “That cluster strike? It took the whole thing to the brink - and with so little to gain from such a terrifying show of force. The whole thing's felt like a power-play from the get-go. One big pissing contest. It always is…” There was a shaky peace after the original Altis civil war ended in 2030. It held for four years. It only devolved back into civil war after Akhanteros got cozy with CSAT. They looked the other way when the AAF committed atrocities; they were the ones who supposedly carried out the airstrike. Unknown to Nathan, the entire struggle that eventually led to Alexis and Markos Kouris’ deaths are due to CSAT’s testing of the Eastwind Device, and the CTRG’s attempts to capture it.

The Altis Armed Forces are to blame - “It's one thing fighting against a resistance - it's another to make the civilian population pay for it. As they clung on to power, they wound up scarring the very country they'd pledged to protect…” Perhaps the most direct perpetrators of all the violence. Ceasefire agreements violated; their leader being the ultimate authority who called for the cluster bombing; they punished the weak and innocent along with those who chose armed resistance, cruelly harming the populace for the actions of a few. An army of thugs acting on the orders of a thug, caring not about the atrocities committed in the moment, the unexploded ordnance and mines left for generations of Altians to suffer from.

The FIA guerrillas are to blame - “They hid themselves among the population. These guys didn't give a damn about what it cost. They wanted power, and would do anything to get it…” The guerrillas incited the armed conflict. Though they seemingly had a moral high ground, the guerrillas resorted to underhanded tactics that violated the laws of war, even targeting humanitarian aid and taking from relief efforts for their own ends..

All sides played a part - Oreokastro’s destruction was not solely one side, one group, one man to blame. “No one side can be held accountable for the bloodshed here. No one action got us where we are now. And the folks here in Oreokastro? They're the ones that've suffered. This is the reality. This is war.” The citizens of Oreokastro paid that ultimate price, whether they wanted to or not, just more victims of a great power proxy struggle and more local regional conflicts alike.

Choose.

You’ve seen every side, parts of it at least. All throughout, no matter which side you thought was most responsible, the primary theme of the DLC remains consistent: Actions have consequences.

No matter what you think, the dead are dead and will never return.

Nathan MacDade says farewell to Katherine Bishop. The mines and UXOs in Oreokastro have been defused, and it’s time to move on. Oreokastro has become a silent mausoleum, as the IDAP vehicles drive away. A ruined city on a hill for all to behold and contemplate - or to forget, as all things are doomed to be.

There are other Oreokastros in this devastated country. There are more mines to disarm, more UXOs defuse, more potential casualties to prevent from a war long ended - more atrocities left behind in the sands of time.

Just as in Oreokastro, there may never truly be a definitive answer as to what happened in those places.

Real Life Consequences

The Laws of War DLC was made in collaboration with the International Committee of the Red Cross, and thus half the initial sales were donated to the ICRC. That came up to $176,667 USD; pretty respectable for a $10 DLC.

The community has a high number of people who, as was mentioned in a quote early in this post, reacted to the addition of a humanitarian aid NGO and medical vehicles with, "great, more things to commit war crimes on." The comments on the trailer are rife with them. But as a Bohemia Interactive employee put it:

"We knew this DLC's theme might seem a bit unusual, but we also felt that it has a rightful place in a game like Arma 3 . . . what has made it even more amazing to see the immense level of player support for the Laws of War DLC, which really shows again how both games and the gaming audience have matured. If you also consider that some of our players are in the military or might pursue a military career in the future, then we're glad this DLC has been able to increase awareness for this important topic. And being able to also make a financial contribution to the ICRC's efforts is a great bonus."

#ArmA III

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wheeloffortune-design · 3 months ago

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the job that's been completely remote since 2020 decided to do a meet up in september. most of the people are from out of town or province and have never set foot in the premises, so it's a huge organisation of traveling, hotel, etc.

and they hired a guy to do the conference, actually an humorist, which, cool, except they don't seem to realize that this guy has built his career on sexist jokes for the last 20 years.

this is a company that claims to be diverse and open (but the white RH lady said to my face that they couldn't be racist because that's not how they were).

i can't wait to see how bad this is going to be.

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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago

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"On Monday this week [first week of December, 2023], workers in London’s financial centre were met with an unfamiliar sight – and sound. Around 100 chorists, some sporting bowler hats, had gathered at the headquarters of the City’s biggest fossil fuel-backing corporations to sing in protest.

The singers, encompassing a range of generations and vocal pitches, were part of the Climate Choir Movement, a network of choirs that officially launched in January 2023. While world leaders convened at the Cop28 climate summit in Dubai, they raised their voices in support of the Stop Ecocide campaign, which is working to criminalise the destruction of the environment.

The Climate Choir Movement’s co-founder Jo Flanagan first formed a choir in April 2022 with Extinction Rebellion to protest against HSBC’s fossil fuel investments at the bank’s AGM. Dressed smartly to blend in with shareholders, the singers rose up from their seats to disrupt the meeting with a rendition of the Abba classic "Money, Money, Money," the lyrics adapted to urge HSBC to finance renewable energy. [Note: A+ Song choice for this, tbh]

Flanagan had been inspired by a video of US activists singing as a flashmob in the middle of a conference speech to protest against greenwashing. “It made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck,” she recalls. “They walked out of the room in a very dignified way, still singing. I just thought, that’s the way I want to do it.”

Since then, the movement has grown from its first choir in Bristol to 10 choirs across the UK, with around 550 members at the time of writing. The local choirs organise their own rehearsals and protests, while all movement members can attend monthly sessions on Zoom where they learn new songs, to be performed at protests like the one in London.

For Ruth Routledge, who works as a singing for health practitioner and leads the Portsmouth choir in her spare time, taking part in this action was a “wonderful, uplifting” experience. “Singing and harmonising together is a very beautiful way to protest,” she says. “There’s something very gentle, very moving, and very powerful about it. It’s so vulnerable. There’s just a real naked, stripped back humanity that I think cuts through a lot of noise.”

The movement welcomes all new members, regardless of singing ability. Routledge was touched when some passersby – including “a couple of lads” – joined in with the songs.

She is eager for others to experience the sense of hope that singing together brings. “I feel very passionately about the state of the environment. I’m very concerned about my children’s futures, and I’m concerned about the whole world. It keeps me awake at night.

“Joining together means we’re not isolated, worrying that the world is on fire and no one’s going to do anything.”

For Flanagan, what sets the movement apart from other choirs that sing songs about nature is its targeted approach. “We organise very carefully choreographed, peaceful performance protests. We want to change hearts and minds.”

Seeing onlookers in tears illustrates to her what singing can achieve. “It reaches deep inside people in a way that other forms of protest can’t.”"

-via Positive.News, December 6, 2023

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swp2023 · 8 months ago

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SWP Account

TW: transphobia, transmisogyny, SA, gaslighting/manipulation, general trotskyist bullshit

I first joined the SWP as a minor during the Honor Oak demos. When I attended one of the protests for the first time in May 2023, I knew fairly little about the British left and its intricacies. I joined at a time when I was incredibly vulnerable - I was an isolated trans teenager with a poor home and school life and few friends. I initially joined SUTR but was soon syphoned into the SWP and became a formal member around 1.5 months in. After four months I was lucky enough to meet people outside of the party, find my own systems of support, and start drifting away from them. At the beginning of October I formally left the party and rescinded my membership. I essentially speedran the process. I know that I am not the first to come forward about their experiences in the SWP, and that my account won’t be as horrific or traumatic as others’. But the more I sit with the memories of spending time in the SWP, the more frustrated and angry I become with how poorly I was treated, especially as a trans teenager. A while ago, I compiled a list of everything I could recall about being in the party and its impact on me, and I’m hoping sharing it will draw more awareness to the extent that the Socialist Workers Party hasn’t changed and actively poses a threat to young activists.

Structural/Functional Problems

Most people are aware of the SWP’s overt focus on recruitment, but within the party it’s even worse than it looks from the outside. Recruitment processes target those new to activism, especially young women and queer people. On multiple occasions, SWP leaflets were purposefully plastered outside my secondary school and other schools in the area. Once you’re involved with the party in any capacity, there’s a lot of pressure to ensure you formally join - if you’re not a member, within a month you’ll have membership papers being shoved in your face constantly. The worst instance of this was when I attended Marxism over the summer while I was in quite a bad place. I ended up having a breakdown in a corner of SOAS, and someone walked up to me when I was visibly upset and somehow tried to use it as a recruitment opportunity. Although far from the worst of their faults, the recruitment means the party is incredibly stagnant and frankly, boring. The same meetings repeat over and over, the same discussions are held, conferences are repetitive and demos are attended only for the purposes of recruiting or selling papers.

The general attitude towards other, non-SWP activists is extremely condescending and patronising, especially in both formal and informal discussions of anarchism and grassroots organising. I consistently heard anarchists being reduced to a violent, ineffective group of rag tag young un’s who don’t know what they’re doing. I think it must have been in their handbook to describe anarchism as “grabbing 15 of your mates and beating up fascists”, because I heard that exact phrasing used at least twice. The belief that the SWP’s unwritten values and structures are the only correct ones runs deeply, and since I was a teenager my age was often used to dismiss my actions as immature or naive. I was told I was being pretentious for wearing a mask at demos - I’d been doxxed before and was looking out for my safety but apparently this made me appear “hostile and unwelcoming”.

I can’t emphasise enough how much everyone in the SWP is treated as disposable unless you work for them. They don’t care about arrestee support, accountability, or building safe environments. I was a trans teenager so I looked good for their party, but ultimately they couldn’t care less what I had to say and I was often shut down or told my ideas weren’t appropriate. The SWP consistently seizes the politics of individuals’ marginalised identities to create a more appealing facade, while also discarding the same individuals as soon as they are no longer politically convenient.

Lack of Accountability

From the beginning, it was clear that there were zero helpful routes for complaints or conflict resolution. I asked multiple times at meetings what their explicit process was for dealing with internal issues, and at best I got an off-hand mention to the central committee. Mostly I was shut down right away and told it wasn’t the right time to ask - a better time never became apparent. There is zero transparency and it didn’t take me too long to realise that I had no faith in anyone in the party to protect me or listen to me if something went south. You’ll hear them talk about their “disputes committee”, which was established as a response to the Comrade Delta coverup, but despite all the time I spent in the party I still have no idea who’s in this committee, how to access it, or whether it’s ever successfully resolved a dispute.

No one talks about the coverup. This isn’t too surprising but every time I tried to ask about it, I was met with the same awkward dismissal. It’s creepy how everyone who’s been in the party for a while feeds you the same “that was a long time ago and we’ve changed and learned from it” schtick. Even a month in the party would be enough to show you that this isn’t true. The process of covering up the reputational damage from Comrade Delta is very much still active and the more time you spend around them, the more subtly intrinsic it becomes to everything you do. I was walking with a paid member of the SWP and watched him slap an SWP “trans rights now” sticker over one that read “the SWP protects rapists in their party”. No organisation that’s suitably addressed its failures should feel so threatened by the reminder of them.

More widely, there are never any internal criticisms of the party. When I was in, I was in deep. I went to their weekly meetings, their organising meetings, their conferences - I went to fucking marxism. Not once did I hear a natural critique arise, there’s a complete lack of self awareness. It isn’t an environment where you’d feel comfortable expressing criticisms, and this has led to an echo chamber of sorts in which many members are incapable of conceiving themselves or the party as imperfect. It’s a dangerous amount of self-assuredness and this attitude allows for a culture of racism and bigotry to underlie the party’s supposedly anti-racist fronts - microaggressions don’t get called out, racism gets excused especially in the predominantly white spaces. There aren’t any attempts to actually foster anti-racist mindsets or incorporate it into how they organise, it’s largely just for external presentation and again, recruitment.

Any issues that do get brought up are met with absurd amounts of gaslighting and guilt tripping. The party runs on guilt and censorship. If you ask too many questions people start acting cold or frame your comment as needlessly confrontational. Even now, I still struggle to process a lot of what happened because I was constantly told it was normal, that I was overreacting, that because I was relatively new to activism I didn’t know what I was talking about.

Transphobia and Transmisogyny

As I’ve mentioned, my main involvement in the party was based around my identity as a trans youth, but there was very little regard for my safety as it pertained to this. For instance, without any warning a parcel was sent to my house with my chosen name on it. This put me in a bad situation because my parents hated the thought of me going by another name, I had to lie and endure my home life temporarily getting much worse. When I brought it up with someone I trusted in the SWP, it was dismissed without so much as an apology for putting me in a dangerous situation. I spoke to another trans ex-member about this and they told me about going through the exact same thing a few years back - the SWP doesn’t learn or change.

There is consistent, blatant transphobia in the party. There were too many occurrences to list out here, but it’s so profoundly endemic to the party that I spent a considerable amount of time feeling uncomfortable and objectified. I had someone tell me they wouldn’t use they/them pronouns because “it’s too hard”. I was constantly misgendered, and although it was sometimes a careless mistake it was often very clearly intentionally weaponised. Almost every time it happened there was someone in the room who knew me well enough to know what my pronouns were and correct the mistake, but that never happened. No one stood up for me.

There’s explicit transmisogyny. In addition to being generally misgendered and sexualised, trans women are often referred to with they/them pronouns and as a “person”. There was a trans woman quite deeply involved with the party who I spoke with a few times, she often got dismissed when she contributed at conferences and one time, a cis dude fully stood up and started talking over her while the chair of the meeting allowed it to happen.

Contrary to what the SWP would have you believe, there just aren’t many trans people in the party. Certainly not a proportionate amount when compared to the wider left, which isn’t surprising once you’ve experienced being trans in there - there aren’t any attempts to make you feel any less isolated, ostracised, or used. There are, however, plenty of cis people who think that just because they’ve attended a trans demo or two they know more about the experiences of trans people than we do.

I want to note that all the transphobia I experienced and witnessed took place while London branches of the SWP were spending their time at HO trans rights demos, handing out their placards, using it for recruitment, and taking credit for the work that was mainly being done by grassroots activists. Transphobia is just one example of how hollow their ideals are.

Non-Existent Consent Culture

When I was sitting in a conference at SOAS, a man I didn’t know sat next to me and ran his hand down my back while we were talking, and then repeatedly tried to scoot closer to me when I moved away.

A different time, someone tried to get me to sit close enough to them so that our legs were touching.

Both of these incidents were extremely creepy and uncomfortable, and just to be clear: I was visibly/openly a minor during both.

In general, physical contact is heavily normalised and sort of expected. There was always an expectation that you’d hug people, that you were okay with being patted on the back or having an arm around your shoulders or whatever. I always felt uncomfortable with this and although some people were fine with it and people’s intentions weren’t always harmful, there’s just generally zero consent culture and most times I wouldn’t have felt comfortable saying no.

When I was in a transition phase of technically still being in the SWP but trying to spend as little time around them as possible, one of them came up to me at a demo (where, for the record, I’d just been through quite a traumatic incident - not that it should have to matter) and tried to pull me in for a hug without asking. When I flinched away without saying anything other than “hi”, she later commented to a comrade that I was being rude. The persistent entitlement to my body and my consent was disgusting.

Exit Process

When I started spending less time with the SWP and more time with anarchists and antifascists, they were semi-aware of it so I got lots of calls and messages purporting to be “checking in”, but the undertone was very much “why aren’t you standing with us at demos anymore”. No one ever checked in on me when I was properly in the party. One of the calls was particularly lengthy and pretty much summed up to “we feel like you’re drifting away, we really miss you and you’re our comrade” - more guilt tripping. The feeling that I was trapped because I was constantly being contacted and approached at demos was bad enough to make me actively suicidal.

The final breaking point for me was a conversation that happened in the South London SWP group chat that had reached an intolerable level of censorship. Someone, very politely, complained about how the branch had made a commitment to doing hybrid meetings but consistently struggled to actually have working tech/mics/etc. They also suggested a possible solution. They got shut down with a curt “our main focus has to be in the room rather than on our phones”, a comment that rightfully got called out as being explicitly ableist, especially since the following messages implied that attending online was insufficient or lazy. This conversation was concerning enough, but the original person then got told they “sounded harsh” (they didn’t - I’ve seen more lively conversations in my extended family’s whatsapp group), and was explicitly told to delete their message. I finally had a good answer to what happens when you criticise anything the SWP does, and this was a fairly mild criticism too.

Then, a comrade I know very gently expressed their support for the original person - literally just said that they agreed with them and didn’t think they were being harsh. This comrade (also a teen) got two separate DMs telling them that they “misunderstood” what was happening and to delete their message as well. The hierarchies and power structures within the SWP are so obviously corrupt, and this whole incident just made that much more clear to me.

I sent a final message on this chat, calling out the patterns of behaviour I’d noticed and advising people to do what I had - take a step back and look at who actually gets listened to in the party, at the corruption that’s so deeply rooted in it. Then I left that chat. The next day I was removed from every SWP-related chat I was in - fine by me, I was done. I did get sent one DM telling me that I had misread the situation, was overreacting, etc. It was incredibly infantilizing and blamed the fact that I’d been associating with other people as the reason I’d formed these opinions - clearly the SWP was reliant on my isolation.

I was out of the chats but I did get the aforementioned comrade to update me on the aftermath, which was mostly damage control. The upcoming conference got plugged, people talked shit about me for being immature and overreacting. I’ve got screenshots of this incident in particular but I honestly don’t think they’re too worth sharing. I firmly believe that painting the bigger picture of the party and how and why it operates like this is much more important.

I’d say I made it very clear that I wanted nothing more to do with the SWP and its members, but to this day I still have issues with them at demos. I’ve had people come up to me and try to touch me in various ways - hugs, back pats, etc - that I’ve expressed I’m uncomfortable with. There’s someone who winks at me. The general attitude towards me seems to be either glaring me down when I walk by (I don’t mind this honestly), or being overly nice as if I hadn’t been groomed into their cult (this is considerably worse).

I think this summarises it pretty well. It’s not everything - some stuff is hard to talk about, some would involve revealing info about me that I need to be private, and honestly my brain has defensively blocked out a lot of the time I spent around the SWP, so I’m still remembering stuff out of the blue. But please listen to me, listen to everyone else who’s been through their pipeline and made it out the other end. They aren’t just an annoyance with boring placards, they hurt people. They prey on young queers and women and don’t actually give a shit about anyone. Kick them out of your demos, kick them out of your circles, and also - try to get people out! I owe my life to the anarchists who were like “hey, we see you’re in there and you probably don’t want to be - you can hang out with us”. Most of the people the SWP recruits are sucked in before they have a chance to form other networks, and it’s hard as fuck to leave a party when all your activism takes place within it and you’ve got nowhere else to go. The Socialist Workers Party is broken beyond repair and needs to be dissolved, and I would encourage its current membership to resign. Thanks for reading.

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