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cosmos-coma · 10 months ago

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My Sun, My Star

A/N: I'm so weak for Winter soldier Bucky. I cant wait to write more of him, I love this sad guilt ridden man.

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader

Words: 6756

Warnings: Breaking and entering, Minor violence, Injury and Blood, Winter soldier Bucky, GN reader but also Pregnant reader, mild language, I'm not sure if this is fluff or angst or both??

Summary: You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue | Bucky Masterlist

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Your eyes blinked slowly, heavier with each passing second, yet you still managed to open them once again. Glancing at the bright white numbers of the digital clock you watched it change to 1:46 AM, causing a groan to pull from your lips. Bucky was supposed to be back tonight (yesterday technically) from his latest mission, but he still had yet to show up at your shared flat.

You checked your phone again, the lack of notifications mocking your tired eyes. You let out one more sigh before you turned off the mindless babbling of the TV and stood up to get ready for bed. You were sure Bucky wouldn’t want you waiting up so late in your current condition anyway, he had been harping you about getting enough sleep and water and everything in between.

“I’m only four months pregnant, Bucky. I’m fully capable of staying up late” You had said to him.

“Five months, Doll, and it’s about your cortisol levels. It’s not good for you or the baby, and it could lead to them being underweight” he said, reciting exactly what the doctor had told him during your last checkup.

“Four and a half,” you argued as you stuck your tongue out at him, “and she was talking about getting chased by a bear kind of stress, not staying up to watch Bake Off.”

You snorted at the memory of just earlier that week, a small smile coming to your face as you went through your nightly routine. You continued to check your phone here and there as you went, “Did you get back safe? How’d your mission go?” you had texted two hours ago, yet it still remained unread and unanswered.

‘Maybe one more quick text wouldn’t hurt,’ you thought to yourself as you typed out the simple message and hit send.

“Stay safe, okay? I love you.”

You sighed as you set the phone down, “it’s okay, everything is okay,” you assured yourself as you pulled one of his large hoodies over your head, enjoying the way the hem brushed against your bare thighs and the sleeves threatened to swallow your hands. “He’s a former assassin and a super soldier! Nothing is going to happen that he can’t handle,” You stated firmly to your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes remained unsure despite your voice’s conviction, but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on the achingly tired look they held.

“Yes, I know. It’s finally time for bed, little one,” you mumbled sleepily as you felt your baby kick against the walls of your protruding belly, being quick to climb between the layers of blankets and lonesome sheets. “Fuck, that's cold…!” you swore quietly as your bare legs hit the icy fabric- having gone unwarmed by your personal space heater and super soldier.

Thankfully sleep came easily, the thought of waking up to Bucky’s sleepy, scruffy face only further urged your body to wind down so the moment would come sooner.

----

Bucky’s phone buzzed again in his bag, lighting up with your smiling face as your text displayed on the screen, but nobody reached down to check it, as everyone found themselves in a far more urgent situation.

“Keep him busy, Rodgers! I just need one more minute!” Tony yelled as he dug through the equipment in the quinjet, “For fuck’s sake, who organized this last?”

“What do you think I’m doing…!” The blond grunted with a justified hint of frustration,” Sam? Any help??” He shouted with a pointed look, telling more than asking as he struggled to restrain his thrashing friend. A swift metal fist flew toward his already battered face, barely giving him time to duck out of the way and attempt to restrain it again.

“Honestly? Seems like you’ve got this one,” Sam said, holding up his hands.

“SAM.”

“I’m coming..! God, can’t either of you old men take a joke?”

No one knew exactly what happened, Bucky had gone off on his own in the Hydra base they were exploring. It was supposed to have been recently abandoned, something about the agents leaving in an urgent rush that left files upon files sitting out in the open. It was supposed to be a simple mission; everyone goes off in teams, gathers what they can, and makes sure there are no surprises. But Bucky assured them that he would be fine to go on his own, he hadn’t had a sign of relapse in over a year, and he would only be picking up what looked important. A simple job.

He should’ve listened.

It was when he didn’t return to the jet with the rest of them that they started to get worried.

“So, where’s the Manchurian candidate?” Tony jested, looking at his watch. They were supposed to leave maybe 10 minutes ago, not terribly late by any means, but enough to start getting worried about Bucky’s quietness over the coms.

“Man, come on.. ” Sam sighed at Tony’s joke as he crossed his arms.

“Bucky?” Steve tried calling over the coms, ignoring both of his teammates, but the line remained all too quiet.

They found him finally in the basement level of the office building, old discarded computers lining the walls along with cabinets upon cabinets of old files and other equipment. He hadn’t even realized it was a trap until he stepped right into it, triggering a switch that had the computers and hidden speakers flashing images and sounds that assaulted his senses with fragmented memories long forgotten.

He should have listened.

Sam had found him first, on his knees in the middle of the floor with hands desperately covering his ears, trying to block out the incessant noise. Hauling his teammate to his feet, he rushed back to the jet, calling everyone off from their search before anything else could be sprung.

At first, they thought he might be fine- quiet, but fine. He had given them a small smile and a wave of his hand as everyone tried to check in with him, taking a seat as the jet took off to go home. It had all seemed relatively normal until they were halfway back and the unseen battle inside him must have taken a turn.

“Got it!” Tony yelled as he pulled out the dart gun, aiming quickly as he fired two shots into Bucky’s chest, readying a third as he waited and watched for the tranquilizers to finally take effect. It was slow as Bucky continued to struggle against the drug’s drain, his body and mind turning into slow-moving molasses. Low grunts emanated from his throat as the last of his strength ebbed away, leaving nothing but forced sleep in its wake.

“Was two really necessary?” Steve asked as his shoulders finally relaxed, the strain and worry now temporarily over.

Together they dragged the drugged-up assassin into the jet’s small quarantine area for the remainder of the trip, satisfied only when they heard the mechanical locks slide into place. It wasn’t much, and they knew that and if he really wanted to there would be no stopping him from getting out, but it was something- enough to give them a few seconds of preparation if nothing else.

“I’m not giving a super soldier only a single dose, you two metabolize things like this way too fast and I’m not taking any chances with the Tin man over there.”

Bucky- no, the Winter Soldier, seemed to still be out of it when they finally landed, sat up and leaning against the wall, head slumped forward just as they had left him.

“Alright, let's just get him into one of the holding rooms for the night. We’ll work on resetting him-” Tony lifted his hands as the two men glared in his direction, “- on ‘fixing him up’ as soon as he’s been secured.”

Sam shook his head as Tony corrected himself, taking notice of the lit-up phone in Bucky’s bag, buzzing with an only recently delivered message. Sam had quickly become one of your closest friends after you were introduced to the team. He was one of the few people Bucky trusted with his life and between his sarcastic jokes, his incredibly loyal nature, and his willingness to give Bucky shit whenever he deserved it, you knew very quickly how great a friend he would be.

But now his stomach twisted as he saw your name flash across the screen, the alert quickly minimizing itself as it joined the other messages you had sent that night. How was he gonna break this to you? The last thing you needed was a bunch of unnecessary stress on your shoulders, but it’s obvious you were beginning to worry over their late return. Sliding the phone back into its rightful place Sam told himself that he’d call you once they had things more figured out.

“Heart rate still seems to be resting. With any luck, he’ll remain knocked out until we get inside,” Tony relayed as he monitored the Soldier’s vitals and pressed the button to open the heavy quarantine doors.

The doors slid into their resting positions with a soft click.

As soon as that click landed on sensitive ears, vibrant blue eyes shot open. Sparing not even a second, the Winter Soldier surged forward from his seat, not nearly as far gone as he left them to believe. With the element of surprise, the Soldier easily knocked past his teammates, throwing his body weight against them and knocking Sam and Steve off balance, leaving him a good headstart as he dashed out the jet’s open door.

“Fuck, Bucky- Wait!,” Steve swore as he stumbled out behind him, having to use his super soldier speed just to keep pace. But between the settled darkness of the night, and the winding alleyways the brunette stuck to, Steve was left falling behind in no time. “Shit,” Steve swore as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of his compromised friend.

However, the streets lay barren, the fluttering of moths in the streetlights the only sign of life on the entire block.

---

The heavy thud of his boots echoed against the alleyway’s pavement. He wasn't sure where exactly he was headed as his silhouette slunk between the warm light of the streetlamps, but part of him- a currently repressed part of him- knew that safety was bound to be just ahead.

His heart beat smoothly as he kept his pace, every other step falling in time as he rounded the corner. Blindly, he let himself be led by instinct and his feet maneuvered the city’s countless paths with a mind of their own. They slowed before a little apartment building and as those emotionless eyes looked up, he knew this was it.

The lateness of the hour had almost assured that no one was around as he slipped inside, footsteps padding up the stairs before stopping at the third floor. His heavy boots left nothing but wet prints in their wake as he wandered down the hall, impossibly silent, as even the notoriously creaky boards dared not announce his presence.

The closer he got, the more the back of his mind itched, as if something- someone- was begging him not to go any further, but he refused to listen; he knew this was where he was meant to be and where he would find what his body was so inexplicably drawn to.

With each step his head turned on a swivel, looking for the sense of safety and familiarity that the other half of him seemed to find here- and desperately wished he wouldn’t discover. Just as his foot was about to take another step he stopped. ‘No. Here.’ His gut told him, turning to the door.

His door.

Your door.

The former assassin bypassed the lock with ease, quickly slipping in before shutting the door behind him. A dim light illuminated the living room, the little lamp you left on for him casting its orange glow over his surroundings as he surveyed them.

A few mugs stand beside the sink, framed photos dot the wall and side tables, and a veritable nest of blankets lay across the couch. It was obvious someone had been here, and recently. A deep breath pulled into his lungs, causing his head to tilt to the side in contemplation as an unfamiliar scent hit his nose, something just as earthy as it was sweet and speckled with distant notes of… him?

“Hmmph”

His sensitive ears picked up the soft grunt from down the hall immediately. His shoulders squared and tensed as his body leaned into a defensive position. Cautious fingers pulled the knife from his boot, ready for whatever may come at him as he approached.

The sounds of soft breaths lead him to a door left ajar. Light just slipped past the curtains into the darkened room. Badum… Badum… Badum… a heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he took a step closer, leaving the door open and letting further light fall onto the source of the noise.

His wolfish gaze ran down your form as you lay there on your back, swallowed in the extra fabric of the old sweatshirt. Your hand rested casually over your stomach as your other one squished gently against your cheek. Your legs lay bare to the world after having kicked the overbearing sheets away, leaving just a glance of your underwear for him to take in.

“Mmph” You grunted again as you shifted, your face now turned to him as that earthy scent of yours gripped him like a vice and refused to let go.

Your sweet sleep became interrupted though- much to his dismay- as the phone on your nightstand began to light up and buzz incessantly. Still, as a statue he watched as you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows as you went to check what your device could possibly want at this ungodly hour.

With one loose fist, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes away, blinking consciousness back into them until you saw Bucky’s illuminated figure before you, standing tall and quiet as he watched you intently.

“Bucky..?” You couldn’t hide the grin that spread across your face as you saw the familiar face of your lover lit up by the bright light of your phone screen. But the longer you looked the more you noticed.

His eyes were all wrong, his gaze was devoid, that’s the only way you could put it. Devoid of meaning and humanity, it seemed every gaze- every movement- was a means to an end. Empty… save for a flicker of fear; It was probably the only thing in those eyes right now that registered as human. The fear of someone who was lost, unknowing of their purpose, and confused as to why your gaze was made his cold heart falter.

His expression was flat and stoic, save for the knit of confusion that pulled his brows together. His stance was tense and prepared, the discrete knife still glittering in his hands as he took another step forward, his head slowly shaking in response to your question.

A gasp caught in your throat as you finally understood. Glancing at your phone you saw it was Sam who was calling, undoubtedly trying to tell you what you now already knew.

“Soldat…” You whispered, trying to hide the way his name sent shivers across your skin. Your phone went black then, as you didn’t pick up in time and you were left blind by the sudden darkness.

You and Bucky had talked about what to do if you found him like this, “You call Sam and Steve, Okay? You find a place to hide and you stay far away, no matter what you hear. There’s no reasoning with him,” He had told you.

So much for that

Your phone lit up again with Sam’s urgent call, its revealing light sending ice down your spine as you saw the man nearly standing over you now, just a hair’s breadth away.

Your hand rose slowly, shaking as you tested a reach for your phone, stopping dead in your tracks as he let out a disapproving grunt. Your head nodded slowly as you gulped, returning your hand to your stomach as you watched his gaze finally shift away.

With unbothered calmness, he looked toward your phone to see Sam’s face and name scrawled across your screen. Wordlessly he reached over and pressed the ‘decline call’ button, cutting the call short and leaving you two in perfect silence once more.

Panic began to rise in your throat as his gaze turned back toward you, darkened now only by the lack of light. With slow movements the Winter Soldier reached out, putting the knife away as he crouched down, as if trying to attract a skittish animal.

Your whole body tensed as his reach came closer, eyes screwing shut as you waited for the worst, “Please… Just don’t hurt her…” You whispered, fear and desperation rattling your voice, just as it did your anxiety-filled body.

But the pain never came. Instead, the cool touch of metal fingers ran down your cheek, barely denting your flesh as he relished in its softness. Your eyes peeked open cautiously, as his fingers moved along the slope of your jaw, tilting your head up as he came to your chin.

His eyes had changed, you noticed, instead of being a harsh blizzard, they had now settled into something more human, something warmer and… yearning?

“Soldat..?” You questioned as you watched his lips part, his senses focused only on the way your body reacted to his touch. You were sure he could hear the rapid pattering of your heart beneath your ribs, its pace only increasing as his fingers moved down your neck and to the exposed collarbone in your loose neckline.

“Красивый [Beautiful]...,” was all he could reply. It came out so soft you weren’t sure you heard it at first, it’s quiet reverence meant for your ears and your ears only. “Из-за тебя он чувствует себя здесь в безопасности...? Замки дерьмовые, видимость слишком высокая, но ты… [Are you why he feels safe here…? The locks are shit, the visibility is too high, but you…]” He continued, quiet and unbothered as if he assumed you couldn’t understand him.

“He’s been bugging me to get better locks all week…” you replied with a huff, quickly shutting up as his stare found your eyes again. Between Bucky’s ramblings in the night and Natasha’s tendency to only gossip in Russian, you had made an effort to learn it; You were still learning, and your pronunciation was shit, but your understanding had gotten far better.

“And you have a good ear…” He spoke in English this time, the vague hint of an amused smile pulling at the assassin’s stern lips. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever done that before. If that odd little smile had been seen by anyone else- anyone still living that is.

A breath of relief left you as your lips stretched to mimic his, the tension easing out of your body a little by little.

His metallic touch continued to linger, running down your covered chest until it settled on the waistband of your underwear, the cool metal trailing across your ticklish skin.

“Ah, wait, Sol-” You jumped at his touch, grabbing his wrist, despite knowing you wouldn’t have the strength to stop him if it’s what he wanted.

But instead of dipping his fingers lower, he simply tugged the oversized hoodie up, gathering it over your chest and exposing the firm baby bump concealed below. His head tilted to the side as he listened to the tiny heartbeat that fluttered in your belly as well as the thuds of its little movements against your skin. Slowly, still with that inkling of a smile, he turned to look at you, his hand hovering just above your vulnerable midsection as if awaiting permission.

Heat rose to your cheeks as you hesitated. On one hand, you felt a surprising amount of calm under the assassin's touch, his need for your approval only increasing your sense of security. But on the other hand, Bucky would never be able to live with himself if something happened to you or the baby, accident or not.

“Oh. I-”

CRASH.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as were cut short by the loud noise. The door to your apartment slammed open, surely breaking the hinges with the sheer force of it. Over a dozen heavy boots stormed into your apartment as the lights turned on, flooding your senses and forcing the Soldier’s attention elsewhere.

Your hand found his instantly, the heat of his calloused skin a comfort to you just the way Bucky’s was, especially as it squeezed around yours just the same. Sitting up properly now your sweatshirt swallowed your pregnant form once again and you peeked out to see just what was going on.

Through The Winter Soldier’s defensive stance in front of you, his knife is now drawn once more, you watched a small armed group, covered in black tactical gear raid your home, all guns pointing towards you- or more accurately- the former assassin attempting to shield you. You recognized the symbols on their vests as the team’s secondary security force, having even met a few of them over the years. But where was the rest of the team? Where was Sam, and Steve, and Tony?

“Step away from the civilian!” “Put your hands in the air!” “Sir, drop the knife!” They all shouted, overlapping with each other as each of them rushed out their demands.

“Don't shoot! It’s okay! It’s okay!” You rushed.

You tried to slip your hand from his, but he only held fast, “Soldat, please… It’s okay, just do what they say… They don’t want to hurt us. Please,” You urged, giving his hand a gentle squeeze,

His defenses faltered as he listened to you beg him to stand down. It wasn’t the usual begging he heard in his line of work, and coming from your lips had his walls cracking in an unprecedented way.

He shouldn’t have looked back at your eyes, wide and pleading, as they shook his walls further. Moving slowly he turned, kneeling before you despite the way the armed group yelled at him not to. You just held up your hand to them, pleading for them to be as gentle with him as he was with you.

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” The warm flesh of his hand came up easily to cradle your face and a small smile pulled at him again as you leaned into his large palm. “Я только что нашел тебя. Я не потеряю тебя снова так быстро[I’ve only just found you. I will not lose you again so quickly]. ”

Your heart both swelled and pained for your Soldier. You looked into his eyes and saw a sense of certainty, a sense of knowing, you hadn’t seen from him earlier. “Oh… my soldier, my star,” Your fingers entwined with the hand holding your cheek, ”You can not lose me in any way that would last…” You whispered to him past the shouts, the commotion, and the tension, like you were the only two in the room.

“Sir, put the knife down!” A young squad member called again, his voice far more concerned than his superiors. You didn’t recognize him or his number and you figured he must’ve been new. His gun trembled in his hands as he shouted again, but as the Soldier failed to move and the kid’s finger unexpectedly twitched, there came a sudden-

BANG.

“Ah-!” Your face twisted with pain as you pulled away, “Fuck…!” Your hands instinctively grabbed your leg, clamping over the shooting pain in your calf that hit you- well- like a bullet.

You winced again as you pulled one of your hands back, the raw skin of your leg angrily letting you know that it did not like being brushed against. Warm, wet crimson covered your fingers as you looked down, becoming slightly dizzy at how much had already covered your palm. You were thankful it only seemed to be a graze, but the burn you already felt and knowing you were losing blood had your stomach lurching in uncomfortable ways.

Concern painted the assassin’s expression as you recoiled away from his doting touch, but as the unmistakable warm, metallic smell curled into his nose, his expression darkened dramatically. What was once kind, curious blue eyes now saw nothing but red as he caught sight of the wound slashing across your skin. His jaw set firmly, almost audibly grinding his teeth as he stood and turned to the young kid.

You looked back at the newcomer as you tried to breathe through the pain, the horrified look on his face telling you that he knew he was a dead man walking. His face went ghost white as the super soldier stalked toward him and through even worse trembling hands he raised his gun to shoot again.

“No…!”

A sickening thud rang out as the bullet hit the assassin square in his good shoulder, getting lodged in the muscly flesh. His shoulder jerked back at the force, but it wouldn’t stop his stride as he closed the gap. Another shot rang out, but with the solid vibranium arm now covering the barrel it did little to help this poor dumb kid. Snatching him by the neck, you watched as your assassin held him up until his feet kicked uselessly in the air.

Every gun immediately trained on him and with their proximity you knew they wouldn’t miss a fatal shot if it came to it.

“Stop! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Soldier, put him down!” You yelled as you maneuvered towards the edge of the bed. “Please, don't shoot, I can fix this!” you continued, trying to convince yourself as much as you convinced them. Familiar voices joined in on your plea as Sam and Steve finally entered the picture, urgently trying to talk down both the Winter Soldier and the secondary security team.

“Bucky, It’s okay... Just put the kid down, alright?” Steve tried to reason with him, “He’s new, he doesn’t know what he’s doing yet.” Steve tried his best to stay calm and patient, but the young man was beginning to change colors now. “Bucky, put him down before you do something you can’t come back from.” But Bucky’s ears were deaf to the outside pleas and the Winter soldier refused to listen.

“Ah..!” You whimpered as you tried to stand and approach the commotion. The pain in your leg reached new heights as you tried to put weight on it, causing you to tumble to your knees almost immediately. You clutched your belly, hoping the sudden jostle wouldn’t upset the baby too much as you tried to get up again.

“Hold on, Y/n. Stay down for a minute so we can wrap your leg…” Sam asked of you, moving over to help as soon as he saw the blood on your hands, “You’re losing plenty already.”

“No, I have to…. I can’t let him get hurt,” you argued, pushing away his helpful hands as you tried to stand again. You heard the crashing thud and rushed voices as you shakily got to your feet, leaning all your weight on your good leg. As you looked up again you came eye to eye with worry-filled icy blues.

“Sol-”

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” He interrupted, his metal arm snaking around your waist to pull you in possessively and away from those who threatened your safety. On the other side of the room, the nervous kid now coughed and wheezed for breath, but you were just happy to see he was still alive.

“Please just listen to them. You’re already hurt, don’t get yourself killed…” you pleaded, your hand barely brushing over his bleeding wound before pulling his hand to your rounded belly. He tried to keep his expression steady, but you saw the way his eyes widened slightly as he looked down. “She needs someone looking out for her and I can’t do this on my own. I can’t keep away all the dangers of the world…” Your forehead rested against his as you tried to shift your weight, whining as you gave up and moved back. You couldn’t deny that this part of Bucky was her father too, even if he had been hidden away for ages, she was still his too. Whether Bucky would see it the same way you weren’t sure, but right now you were just concerned with making sure he got out of this alive.

“I can’t do this without you…”

The silence felt deafening as he considered. He never had to think about other people relying on him, not like this. His orders had always been to leave no threats, to finish his job and move on, no matter the cost to him. But the pain in his soft, fleshy shoulder was getting harder to ignore. The way his blood-soaked shirt clung to his arm now climbed to the forefront of his mind as he watched your big eyes stare back at him, desperate to understand. He was between a rock and a hard place.

“I’ll be right beside you the whole time..” You assured him, “We both will, but please let everyone get us some help.”

A gentle nudge pushed against his palm as his thoughts swirled around him, snapping him back to a single line of thought and he knew then. Defeat laid heavy on his shoulders as they slumped, accepting what must be done., “Мое солнц [My Sun] …”, He said, “Если вы так хотите, то я не буду жаловаться [If it is what you wish, then I will not complain].”

You couldn’t tell just how long you had been holding the breath you let out, your muscles relaxing as he finally held his hands up. The security squad began coming forward with an array of cuffs, but it was Sam who stopped them this time, glancing back at you for confirmation as he assured them that they could take it from here. Despite the arguing and the hesitation, they seemed to relent, shifting their focus now to their injured colleague.

Both Sam and Steve looked tired but relieved as they turned to the two of you, bloody and pained in your current state. Though they weren’t quite better; both of them looked like they had been the unfortunate punching bag of a certain super soldier mere hours before. Sam had bruises lining his arms from where he was surely blocking blow after blow and Steve smiled a bit with his busted lip, dried blood still stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s get you two to the tower…”

----

The journey to the tower was quiet, your soldier never letting you out of arms reach as you all boarded the armored truck, and made your way up the tower and to the lab.

Doctors tried to treat the both of you, but as soon as anyone dared to come close your assassin was right there to growl them back. They’d hardly be able to get past his possessive hands even if they could manage to get close, his touch keeping you pulled beside him at all times.

“Soldat…” you warned him, but he was too preoccupied gathering the medical bag they had been dropped. Coming over to you, there was no warning as he scooped you up from the ground and set you on a table to get to work.

“Oh-!” You exclaimed as you held onto his strong shoulder, quickly getting plopped back down on the corner of the cold metal table. A shiver ran down your skin as you shifted against the sleek table, watching as practiced hands scoured through the medical bag, producing everything he needed as he went about fixing up your leg wordlessly.

You were beyond thankful for the haze of the (baby-safe) painkillers as his fingers slid over the raw flesh. Despite the gentle numbing of the painkiller your fingers still lay tangled in his hair as he worked, only tugging in discomfort as the gauze wrapped tightly around your leg.

"Thank you..” You said when he finally finished, moving back to appreciate his work before giving it a satisfactory nod. His eyes had grown distant again, bits of confusion and uncertainty swirling in the storm of his eyes, and you reached out to stroke your thumb across his cheek. His stony cool expression remained as you touched him, his mouth staying a firm line as he instinctively leaned into your palm. You watched him for a moment before you continued, knowing that his thoughts must be far away.

“It's your turn now, big guy.... your shoulder is still seeping and you can’t keep losing blood like this," You urged him just as you had on the ride to the tower. He had refused to listen then, letting nothing else occupy his mind until he knew you were fully taken care of. But now as you sit safely before him, the only looming threats being Sam and Steve who seem to haunt the hallway outside, he finally relented.

You moved to stand, needing the angle to effectively dig out the bullet still lodged in his muscles, but he held you still with a single large hand on your shoulder, "Stay," he urged you with that low rumble of his. His eyes lingered on yours, ensuring you would do as he asked before he began to move again, gathering the supplies you would need.

He slid his bloody shirt off, revealing the weeping wound beneath and the scars of many wounds past. You expected him to stand in front of you, maybe sit so you could take care of him, but that didn’t seem to be the important thing right now.

He climbed up onto the cold table where you sat, curling onto his side with his back facing the door so his wounded shoulder sat closest to you. His head lay in your lap with a look of unmatched serenity as he pressed his forehead against your rounded belly. And there he rested, quiet and unmoving as he took his quiet moment. But he was far too exposed like this, far too trusting of “threats” lurking outside, and he almost reminded you of Bucky again. Was Bucky fighting to come back…? Was the Winter Soldier trusting you to watch his back? … or was he accepting of something you weren't sure he knew yet?

"Are you sure? It's going to be harder to take the bullet out this way. I don’t want to hurt you more than I have to," you tried to explain as you pulled out the forceps.

But he simply shook his head, "I know my time here is short, my Sun..." he said with an even tone, no semblance of fear to shake his voice, "Please let me enjoy it like this…."

Your voice caught in your throat as he answered, his blunt acceptance and knowing catching you off guard. You wished beyond anything that you could soothe him, to tell him no one was going to hurt him or take him away again. But you wouldn’t lie to him, so instead you said nothing, Your words rasping as you replied, "Of course, My star…."

The room was quiet as you worked, the only noise the sweet mumblings from your boyfriend's lips as he filled your baby’s ears with loving promises. His body let out a grunt and a soft squelch as you finally tugged the crushed bullet out. Pain creased his brow but his words never faltered and neither did the nudges or kicks he got in reply.

Carefully you cleaned up the blood, packing the wound as best you could, but you were sure Tony and his team would be redoing it soon nonetheless.

A sigh escaped him as he heard you putting away your tools, "My Sun?" he asked.

"Yes?"

“Is it time…?”

You cast your eyes downward, looking into those confused and swirling blues as they watched you with unbridled hope.

You nodded, wiping away the tears that welled in your eyes, “It’s time…” you whispered.

He nodded, thinking quietly as he looked down at your belly again, his hand smoothing over the skin he’s exposed, “Will I see you two again…?”

Your heart broke at the slight waver in his voice, “Oh, my star…” you said, resting your palm against his cheek, “It’s just like I said, ‘you can not lose me in any way that would last’. I’ll see you again and again, in this life and the next,” you assured as you leaned down to kiss his temple, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Tears blinked from your eyes as you continued, “I don’t know when, or for how long, but you will see us again. You can always come home to me, and I will always be there to welcome you.” You leaned, slow as not to scare him, and kissed him gently as he turned again to look at you.

It was awkward at first, but you didn’t mind, you couldn’t imagine the last time the Winter Soldier had felt such gentleness, let alone a kiss.

But the moment was ripped away as the door opened, Steve, Sam, and Tony all standing in the doorway. “We’re ready for him,” Tony said simply, “Let's get this started so my lab techs can go home….”

-----

You watched behind thick glass as Tony and his team of technicians attached various wires and machinery to Bucky’s body. Sam and Steve’s hands lie on your shoulders, trying to comfort you as you watch them finish tuning and placing everything. You watched as his blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, as still as a statue as he let them do their work.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to watch this…” Steve tried to comfort you, but you only shook your head.

“No… I promised I’d see him off,” you replied, then thought with a pause, “Despite all the warnings Bucky gave me I’m happy I got to see him face to face…”

“Well, it helps that he wasn’t trying to beat the shit out of you…” Sam mumbled, getting an immediate nudge from you right in one of his bruises, “ Ow…okay, point taken.”

You smiled and shook your head. It was true though; despite the fear, blood, and death that dripped from his moniker, despite the pain you endured in his presence, you would do it all again. Bucky had hidden this part of him from you for so long, only ever showing you half of his face. And though you know he wouldn’t like it, you’re happy to finally see him in full light- to know and love him completely as he’s meant to be.

Tony says something that’s hard to make out through the glass, but you see him give a thumbs up to you all so he must have been ready. He moved to the switch, hesitating for a moment to let you say a quick goodbye.

Your Soldier’s eyes found yours right away, but there was no trace of sorrow for you to see, no discomfort or fear. In fact, he seemed almost excited; excited and hopeful that when he saw you next he’d have a bundle of joy to look forward to as well.

“Мое солнце [My Sun]...” you watched him say beyond the glass.

“I’ll see you again, My stars. I’m sure of it…” You replied with a soft smile.

He had just enough time to smile softly back at you, an image now pleasantly etched in your brain before Tony flipped the switch and the reset procedure began.

You covered your eyes quickly as Bucky’s body began to convulse, his strained grunts and shouts breaching containment despite the way he tried to hold it all back. The sounds of pain continued for minutes, but it felt far longer. Though, it wasn’t until it got quiet that you began to worry.

“Is it done? Is it over...?” You asked the men on either side of you, afraid to peek past your hands for fear of the worst.

“Doll…?” you heard the familiar voice call, gritty and rough from its recent use but still carrying that same soft tone he used with you.

Your heart swelled, “Bucky...?”

_____________

Taglist: @writingmysanity @simpxinnie (sorry I forgot to tag!)

It's been a while since I've written for our favorite sad man, so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!

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princessbrunette · 9 months ago

Note

Mid argument with rafe and you tell him “Fine, i don’t care anyway, cause you’re not invited to my birthday party.” even though he’s literally funding the whole thing, and he’s just like “i really don’t give a fuck.” and now you’re crying cs wdym you don’t care about my birthday party ?!?? - 🍄

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🐼🎀˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

you’re hot, overstimulated, pissed off — there’s clothes all over your bedroom floor as you rifle through them — looking for that one specific top and rafe has the audacity to just stand there, being so rude and then checking his phone mid argument whilst you talk to him.

“sorry was i meant to ignore the text from my dad just to stand here n’listen to you whining?” he drawls, gum smacking as he chews— fingers typing away at his screen. you sigh, heat rising in your chest from your own anger.

“you’re just being so mean and so unhelpful!” you yell, half turning around to look at him.

“so mean and so unhelpful!” he whisper yells mockingly albeit distractedly, fingers still not quitting their incessant typing. his attention is finally regained when a balled up pair of socks just miss him from your poor throw. he snorts, glancing up at you. “oh we’re throwing shit now? okay.” he nods in faux understanding, lips turned down.

you scramble to your feet, panting — clearly enraged. your brain rifled for the most hurtful thing you could think of in that moment, to try and get a reaction.

“you’re not coming to my birthday party anymore!” you explode, eyes wide and fists clenched at his sides. he stares blankly at you for a moment, still chewing but he doesn’t even seem fully there, brain somewhere else.

“the… the party that i’m paying for?” he raises his eyebrows.

“you’re not. coming. uninvited.” you spit, begging for some kind of emotional reaction. the final straw is when he continues to type, shrugging a shoulder.

“yeah uh, i think i’ll survive.”

devastated, you burst into tears. he really seemed to not care for your outburst — and the one time rafe wasn’t having an emotional reaction was the time you were trying to press for one. you were disappointed in yourself, but over everything just tired and overwhelmed. surprisingly, you hear him sigh and he steps through the mess of clothes scattered around you in piles.

“jesus.” he mutters before squatting down to your side. “hey, what— what is this? what are you crying for huh?” he dips his head, trying to catch your eye.

“you’re mean! and you don’t even care about my birthday party.” you sniffle into your hands, undoubtably a snotty mess. he presses his lips together, shuffling to a more comfortable spot before pulling you against his side.

“i do… i do. just figured i’d let you have your little tantrum. not tryna be the bad guy here, a’ight?” he exasperated, finally catching side of your damp cheek and wiping at it lazily with his thumb. “you don’t need to be doin’ any of this shit right now.” he gestures around you. “what you need, is to go lie down n’have a nap. you’re tired.”

“what i need is for you to be nice to me for once.” you sulk, sparing him a glance through wet spiky eyelashes.

“i’m being nice… okay? i’ll — i’ll come with you. just… chill. yeah?” he gives you a friendly little jostle with his hand on your waist and you sniff, not totally hating the idea of a nap with rafe. “alright. c’mon.” he stands up, and pulls you up by the hand before instantly lifting you beneath your arms to carry you on his hip. “s’like looking after a toddler sometimes. jesus.”

˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🐼🎀˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

#🍄 anon #rafe cameron prompt

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mncxbe · 6 months ago

Text

# pm!dazai who has a crush on his partner/rival ݁ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: jealous, slightly posessive dazai, mild enemies to lovers, dazai and his complicated feelings

"i can't believe you actually have a crush on Chibi. what's so special about him?" huffed the brunette, leaning against the lamppost behind him. the dim, golden light bounced off his brown curls, illuminatung his downcast expression.

"what, are you jealous?" you retorted, earning a scowl from Dazai. "don't be ridiculous."

it was mere hours ago that your archenemy found out that Chuuya asked you out on a date. an insignificant thing, really, but it vexed him. what on earth could you possibly see in that redhead midget? he just had to know, and as petty as it might be, he was dead set on changing your mind about going on that date. even if it meant following you back home and talking things out with you in front of your apartment at 9 p.m.

"i'm just saying, Nakahara isn't your type. i know it" argued the brunette, crossing his arms over his chest. "he's temperamental, immature, totally unfunny and shorter than you"

"maybe i'm into guys like that" you shrugged absentmindedly, applying an extra layer of gloss on your plump lips.

Dazai had to admit you looked absolutely stunning in that outfit. he felt his cheeks warm up as his gaze lingered on your lips but he quickly looked away, shaking his head. "that's not possible. are you really that desperate to get a boyfriend?"

"well, summer's coming soon. i need someone to take pretty pictures of me at the beach and to buy me flowers" you smiled, fully turning to face him "you got a problem with that?"

"you bet i do. that's just vain and i don't see where Chuuya comes in. you could date any other guy."

"yea, but i like Chuuya. besides, we get along well and he actually knows how to treat a woman"

and I don't? Dazai wanted to ask. his blood boiled, jealousy clouding his judgement as he peered down at you. imagining you and Chuuya together holding hands and walking down the halls of the Port Mafia's headquarters, kissing and cooing at each other like a lovey dovey couple made his stomach churn. it felt wrong in so many ways, yet here you were, waiting for the redhead to pick you up for a date. with each minute that passed Dazai's irritation grew.

"for someone who knows how to treat a woman he sure is late for your date" he scoffed, rolling his eyes. you took a step closer to the brunette, a mocking smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"you're acting so petty right now. damn, you must be really jealous"

"i'm not jealous" Dazai's sharp glare returned to you, clenching his fists as he leaned closer to you. "i just think it's stupid. you two would never work out"

"how do you know that?" you pressed, chuckling at his unfounded claim. you weren't used to seeing Dazai like this, so worked up about something so insignificant.

"because i know you and i know Chuuya and you're a recipe for disaster. i'll be damned if i let you get heartbroken by that idiot" without realizing, Dazai leaned closer to you, his body towering over yours. he was seething, glaring down at you. his chocolate brown eyes seemed almost black in the dark, menacing, a warning of his bad mood. you knew you should stop pushing him, but you just couldn't help yourself. you wanted him to say what he truly had on his mind.

"and who are you to say who gets to break my heart and who doesn't?" your words struck a cord and Dazai's features darkened. it was a damn good point: he wasn't your friend, just a colleague. no, your self proclaimed archenemy. although you've known each other for years, he knew there was no deeper connection between you than the childish rivalry. but that was enough to make Dazai grow attached and develop a sense of ownership over you. or maybe feelings? in any case, how could he possibly allow Chuuya to take you away from him? he swore he could see red before his eyes when your phone's screen lit up and he read Chuuya's name on display.

before you could answer Dazai seized your wrist, wrapping a hand around your jaw to tilt your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. he brought his face mere inches away from your, so close you could feel his hot breath against your lips as he spoke. "who i am? i'm the one who's been by your side all this time, though thick and thin. yea, you're an annoying brat most of the time and i hate your guts but i'll be damned if i let Nakahara take you away from me. you're mine, got it? i'll take your stupid pictures at the beach and buy you flowers if that's what it takes for you to drop this stupid date"

your breath caught in your throat at his sudden outburst. did he actually confess? it didn't quite feel like it. your gaze mused on his features as you searched for answers, but you didn't find any in the sharp line of his mouth or the furrow of his brows. "so... what are you asking me to do?" you breathed out, a mere whisper that sent shivers down Dazai's spine. he let go of your wrist, wrapping a steady arm around your waist.

shit, he really didn't think this though. he's never been good with his words and now that he had you in his arms, so close he could smell your intoxicatung scent and feel the warmth of your breath on his skin his brain short-circuited. "i... i'm asking you to stay with me tonight. and from now on. i'll take you to dinner instead" he said softly, his harsh features melting away when you nodded. "thought you hated my guts" you chuckled, gathering the courage to cup his face with your hand. his skin was surprisingly soft. Dazai leaned into your touch, a shadow of a smile etching itself on his features "well... i wasn't lying. but i hate the idea of you dating Chuuya more. can't let him put his hands all over my pretty girl" sighed the brunette, his lips ghosting over yours "so? will you stay with me?"

goosebumps raised on your skin as you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips against his. the kiss was heated, desperate but oh so loving. threading his fingers through your hair, Dazai gently tugged at your roots, making you mewl into his mouth. when he pulled back, his signature smirk was back in place. "i'll take that as a yes then?"

"yea, idiot" you giggled, looking down at your phone to hide your blush. "just let me text Chuuya not to come then we can go grab some food"

Dazai nodded, taking a few steps back. he was beyond pleased with himself. though he didn't necessarrily planned to confess, things went smoother than he thought they would. and he finally got a date with the girl he liked and snatched her from Chuuya. there couldn't be any better turn of events. you watched Dazai lean back against the lamppost with a content smile and you could barely suppress a laughter.

opening Chuuya's chat, you quickly typed in a text.

AAGHHSJSJ!!! your plan worked Dazai asked me out. Chuuya you're a fucking genius thanks for this. i owe you big time bestie.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #dazai bsd #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai #dazai bungou stray dogs

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bluelinen · 7 months ago

Text

My Camboy

Pairing: Cam boy!Choso x AFAB!Reader Content/Warnings: smut, masturbation, no penetration, female anatomy, no use of y/n, porn no plot, well.. very little plot at the end

MDNI

Ting~*

You've always had this guilty pleasure for as long as you could remember. Since your very first time stumbling across that incredibly risqué audio.

You loved noises. Loved hearing the hoarse animalistic groans of pleasure as one grasped desperately for a release, strings of uncouth words and phrases dripping from a yearning mouth.

The carnal coarseness of such a voice, uncontrolled, unrestrained. It's what's led you down a path such as this, where that ting that notifies you of when his stream begins is the one thing you look forward to almost every week.

You don't see his face on stream, if you did you wouldn’t know what you’d do. It’d probably scare you shitless.

Not that he’s an ugly guy or anything. Quite the opposite really, you found the view of his face quite pleasant to look at every morning you saw him in your shared apartment.

See that was the thing. He’s your roommate.

Which meant that if you were brave enough or, you suppose, just plain crazy you could open the door from across your own and fully witness the complete uncensored revelry of Choso’s bare chest as his fingers brush across the button which makes your screen as well as your eyes light up.

A flurry of messages roll through the side bar proclaiming their greetings. A bunch of ‘hey's’, ‘hi’s’, ‘omg you’re so fine’s’. Even a few small gifts.

Yours was the largest of them, you made sure of that.

The bottom half of his face quirks up in a small smile as he whispers into the camera, his voice deep and airy. “It’s so nice to see all of you here..”

He reaches a hand up into his hair, out of sight from the camera, and a set of snaps from elastic releases his raven locks from the signature spiky style they usually were in, strands languishing comfortably along his shoulders. “I really hope that all of you have had a nice day today..”

He starts trailing a hand from his neck slowly down his broad chest. “Cause it’s been such a long.. long day for me y’know.”

“My muscles feel so tense..” His voice is a hypnotizing lull. “Tired too. I've been needing to find a way, a good way, to sooth this dulling ache.”

You yourself smile knowingly towards your screen.

He smiles back. “I’m sure you could help me with that though, couldn’t you?”

“Tell me you’ve had such a long tiring day too.. “ His sultry voice murmurs as his fingers inch down further towards his waist, his touch achingly slow, seamless as silk.

A spry fleet of comments surge in answer.

“The day is so hard isn’t it? So demanding..” He palms a growing bulge covered by the thin fabric of the shorts he’s wearing.

“We deserve a good release, don’t we?”

He fingers the edge of his waistband.

The chime of several gifts being given causes him to smile.

“Mm.. that’s what i like to hear.”

A low hum leaves his throat as he continues his faithful touch along his crotch and you watch with anticipation, waiting for the very moment he's decided, as you have already, that enough is enough.

It only takes a few minutes before he reaches his waning limit, a soft moan and quick snap of the waistband reveals the honest erection. Large and familiar it stands from it’s restraints proudly, clear substance already glistening from the sore crimson tip.

Choso smears the clear liquid along the head of his cock like a lubricant and you wonder how there's already so much, a small somewhat delusional part of you desperately wants to think that it's from the thought of you.

He begins moving his long fingers along his length, gentle smooth strokes coaxing a light train of moans to leave his lips. Each lithe sound causing an increasing tension to form between your legs.

“Ah.. i really wish you were here to help me with this..” He says to the camera, his voice light as he steadily increases his pace. “Fuck.”

He slides his fist from base to tip to base— and back again, low strained little whimpers following every stroke of his hardened cock sending a burning feeling of arousal to your core, little sparks of lightning dancing along the surface of your sodden clit. It’s only a matter of seconds before your hand reaches down to sooth your own aches, the onslaught of sounds desperately attracting one to the other like some burning magnet.

Sliding the pad of your finger along the soaking slit, building up your pace slowly, softly as you try to match the increasing intensity of his touch with your fingers upon your own wet cunt.

“Can you.. Mm.. Can you see how hard I am for you?” He groans as he suddenly stops to display the veiny painfully hard erection. He sits back lounging in his desk chair and it throbs and jerks impressively, engorged at the tip, almost pleading for release. Each involuntary jerk sends a flutter through your core and with a finger on your clit you pause, desperately wishing for him to continue so that you could also.

“I need.. ugh.. I need you- fuck.” He whimpers gingerly, smiling into the camera.

A dastardly scheme of course, but one you fall for every time. A click of the button with your free hand sends the swift notification across the screen notifying him of your donation as well as the donations of many many others, giving up your hard earned coins just for the man to continue stroking his hardon. It’s an awful cycle. But it's one you seemingly can’t stop. Audios, videos, they just didn’t cut it anymore, not in the same way.

Maybe it was the interactiveness, the control.

It was something magical about the way his cock twitches and how his veiny painted hands do something sinful about it while he whines and moans into the mic. You felt like you’d honestly sell your very soul just to see to it that the red rosy tip on your screen chases its unrelenting release every single time.

It allowed for you to do the same. And it felt so good, so damn good every single time.

Barely a minute and the flow of gifts had his fingers find firm fit around his shaft again, continuing the erotic train of degenerate touch. “Aah you always come through..” A chain of hitched sighs. “I Mm.. always know I can count on you.”

His pace only becomes faster and so does yours, his lovely voice, groans and ruts pulling you closer and closer to your peak as he chases his.

“Fuck i’m close.." He moans. "so so close.”

You can tell. The way his sweet lips part and quiver, wisping breath letting out those saccharine sounds.

The sticky head of his twitching cock ready to spill rich fluid.

It made your tongue swipe across your bottom lip in anticipation.

“Mm yeah.. I know you love this, you love.. ah.. you love watching this.” He releases a sequence of pitiful little haggard breaths. “You close? You about to c-cum? fuck.”

You sync every last stroke along your clit with his on his dick. Sharing every lewd moan and sigh, it’s just you and him in this dark little room.

A string of ineligible words fall from his sweet lips as he continues.

“Let’s cum together, ‘k-kay?”

You were getting there, a sheen of sweat forming across your damp forehead. You wanted to release, to come undone but not without him. You wanted.. no needed to hear him before you finished, it made the end all the more divine.

“Come on..” Your lips mutter softly under your breath. “Come on..”

“Oh God- oh fuck-”

He exclaims with a jerk of his hips before he comes undone with a final forceful tug, a delicious cry, thick milky spurts of cum wastefully flowing from the tip and pooling onto his thigh.

A dear part of you wishes you were actually there to put it to some good use.

Your brows pinch, nose scrunching as you let out a final moan. The good shivers running through you in great waves through your orgasm. You smile towards your screen, rush of honey swelling in your chest.

As you look down at your own mess, clear pearly liquid languishly dripping from the tips of your fingers you think.

Oh..

'this is becoming a bit of a problem, isn't it?’

*-*-*

Your teeth clink against cool glass as you promptly gulp down cold liquid, the crisp clear swill of the water that slips down your throat revitalises your body, clearing your mind.

A clear mind, god you needed that.

The glass is soon emptied and you rush to the sink for another one, you’re twisting the tap open when you hear the familiar footsteps of your roommate walk into the kitchen with a mumble.

You turn your head to find the man approaching you and you blank, panicking a little. It wasn't usually you found yourself face to face with the man you had just fucked yourself to a few minutes ago. It wasn't exactly the best scenario to find yourself in.

Fuck.

It was only a moment ago that Choso sent his goodbyes to the chat and it looks it with the light pink hue roaming the warm skin of his cheeks, the relaxed haze over his lazily lidded eyes. He looks so dazed.

Despite your dismay at his sudden appearance you can't help but appreciate the expression so honest on his face. The one thing about his streams was that you'd never witness the aftermath of those escapades, truly it was a shame.

He looks so fine after being fucked out.

Choso strolls into the kitchen with the cover of his usual cool look of indifference but you were very well aware of the many other expressions he was capable of making. From the nose down anyway. The sounds he was capable of making. It makes you have to stop from audibly swallowing as you hurriedly look away. You were going crazy.

Your breath catches when he comes ever closer, leaning towards you, dishevelled black mane of hair brushing forward as he does. You swallow. Do you look suspicious? Does he suspect anything?

You feel a rush of water overflowing from the forgotten glass, drip dropping along your fingers and into the kitchen sink, almost jumping as his arm reaches out— and passes you to reach the empty glass on the countertop behind you.

He narrows his eyes slightly at your flinching. “Something wrong?”

"No!" You exclaim immediately before realising you've overreacted a little.

You gave a false little cough before repeating the word. "No. I'm good." A little suave this time.

"Good?" He raises a brow.

"Yeah-yeah." You insist as you hurriedly turn off the tap. Taking your glass and swigging a sequence of urgent gulps. "Just a little jumpy today."

"Right.." Choso looks a little unsure but chooses not to press further as you cleared way for him to get to the sink.

As the water pours into his glass he suddenly remembers something and is about to say whatever that something is to you before you make like a magic trick and disappear into thin air, retreating immediately to your room before you can make a further fool of yourself.

Curling up into a ball upon your many blankets and hugging your favourite pillow underneath your chin you thrash around in your shame for a while before sighing and burying your head into the pillow.

God one day.

One day you really were gonna get caught.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: First post here rawr👹 genuinely think i'm tweaking, hope y'all enjoyed it though ^^

Art drawn by @//Umbra3terna on tumblr & edited by me :33

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withwritersblock · 14 days ago

Text

Halloween

~Halloween by Phoebe Bridgers~

Author's Note: requested! thehehe blurb :) Summary: Cole and Y/N figure out their Halloween costume for the annual Habs party Warnings: implied smut, Word Count: 769 Cole Caufield x fm!reader

“No, no, Cole we are not dressing up as that, who do you think I am?” she explained while laughing. He tilted his head back chuckling as he continued to scroll through Google photos.

“Okay fine, what about like Peter Pan and TinkerBell? That could be fun,” Cole mumbled as he tilted his head back. She shook her head.

“Why is this so hard,” she groaned as she ran her fingers through her hair. “We did Disney last year, we can’t do it back-to-back,” she turned and met his gaze. He smirked as his cheeks pinked up.

His gaze lowered towards her lips. “Does that really matter?” he asked. Her lips fell into a pout. Cole rolled his eyes playfully as he chuckled, “I guess it does,” he mumbled. He took in a deep breath. “What do you have in mind, my love?” he questioned as he leaned back, resting his hands onto his thighs.

She leaned into him, peaking towards the computer. She scrolled for a few seconds, looking at all of the couple costumes on the screen. Many were too sexy and filled with innuendos.

“What if we were Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce?” she asked hopeful.

“No! No, we’re not doing that,” Cole shut down instantly.

“Cole,” she whined.

“You expect me to put on a Cheifs jersey? Really?” Cole said while shaking his head.

“It’s one Halloween party, baby!” she whined, she rested her hands onto his shoulder, turning him towards her. He continued to shake his head.

“I am a Packers fan and you expect me to wear a Cheifs jersey, that’s like asking me to wear a Bruins jersey,”

“It is definitely not the same thing as that,” she mumbled. She stepped toward him, he opened his legs, allowing her to step closer to him. She slowly wrapped her arms around his neck. He continued to shake his head.

“I’m sorry, baby, my blood bleeds green and yellow, I can’t with good faith put that jersey on,” he explained as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her lips fell into a pout, as she tilted her head to the side.

“Go Pack go, go Pack go, go Pack go-” he whispered as he raised his fist up in the air, pretending to chant. She rolled her eyes playfully as she tilted her head back giggling.

“Stop it,” she let out laughing.

He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip before he pressed them together. He pulled her closer to him. He leaned towards her, kissing her softly for a moment before he slowly pulled away, keeping his eyes closed.

She pecked his lips a few times before she fully leaned away from him. His hands subconsciously slid up her shirt, resting his cold hands onto the small of her back. He tapped his fingers delicately against her skin.

“Then give me other ideas,” she whined as ran her hands along the base of his neck.

“Okay, rapid fire?” he let out. She nodded encouragingly. “Okay, Barbie and Ken or Batman and Batwoman, or Mario and Princess Peach, or Stu and Tatum-”

“Wait really?” she asked excitedly. He pulled his head back slightly, a smirk toying to his lips. Slowly, he wrapped his hands onto her hips, squeezing her skin tightly for a few seconds.

“What, are you into that or something?” he asked teasingly.

“We’re not-no we’re not going to talk about that,” she let out, lowering her gaze towards the logo on his hoodie. “That could be really fun! I gotta find a wig,” she said excitedly as she slipped away from his grasp.

“Can’t you just do the-ya know-those pigtails,” he offered, he nervously ran his hand across the base of his neck. She spun around meeting his gaze suspiciously.

“What, are you into that or something?” she said mocking him. He rolled his eyes as he followed afer her.

“Do I get the mask or do I just go with the sweater?” he asked as he ran his hands together.

“Is that even a question, baby?” she offered as a giggle fell from her lips.

“So you are into it!” he teased.

“I didn’t say that!” she called out as she jogged away from him. He reached towards her and took a hold of her waist, pulling her towards him. “I didn’t say that,” she whispered. He leaned towards her, pressing his lips against her neck.

“I guess we’ll find out after the party, huh?” he whispered.

“Oh whatever,” she mumbled as she spun around, she rested her hands onto his cheeks. He leaned towards her kissing her urgently.

#cole caufield fluff #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield imagine #cole caufield imagines #cole caufield #nhl imagines #nhl #nhl x reader #nhl fic #hockey #montreal canadiens x reader #montreal canadiens imagines #montreal canadiens

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woso-dreamzzz · 11 months ago

Text

Proud

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your mothers come to support you at your Arsenal debut

It was to both of your mothers' annoyance that you did not, in fact, follow fully in their footsteps. You'd attended the Linköping academy, rising through the ranks on the youth team until, out of nowhere, you got a call from Jonas Eidevall asking if you were interested in playing on the Arsenal first team.

However, it took a bit of convincing on your part to get your mothers to agree to let you take the offer. You were sure that they had been convinced for years you would somehow end up at Chelsea despite not supporting them on the principle of it being the club your mothers played at.

You pulled your socks up one by one, bouncing your leg as you stared at your cleats.

"You'll do fine," Lina said to you, a hand coming up to pat your shoulder," We're facing Bristol City. Keep your head up. Don't trip. You'll do good, kiddo."

"My mums are in the crowd," You said, your voice barely above a whisper," They're here."

"Magda and Pernille aren't going to be annoyed if we don't win," Lina said," They're just here to see you play."

"That's worse." Your voice was trembling now. "They were annoyed when I signed for Arsenal. I...I don't want them to think that it's a waste for me to be here."

Stina, who had been lingering nearby, knelt in front of you. "Your mums would never think that about you. They're very proud of you. Make the most of this kid because, in a few weeks, we're going up against them."

You rolled your eyes. You didn't need to be reminded of the upcoming match against Chelsea. You just needed to focus on the present - though it wasn't exactly something you wanted to do.

"Get your shoes on," Stina said," Let's go get warmed up and have a good game. There's no need to stress."

●～●～●～●～

But, apparently, there was a need to stress because it seemed that the Bristol girls had decided you were somewhat of a threat from your position in the midfield.

You crashed to the ground again, just managing to get your leg out to kick the ball towards Katie, who started her run towards the goal.

You held back a groan of annoyance as you stood, pulling your socks back up and dusting off your shorts. You didn't bother to look up into the crowd, towards where you knew that your mothers would be watching.

You were terrified of disappointing them.

They didn't have to let you join Arsenal. They could have told you that uprooting your life in Sweden was a bad idea and you would have to wait until you were eighteen. They could have easily told you that Arsenal wouldn't be a good fit for you, that if you waited just a bit longer you could join them at Chelsea.

But they didn't.

They let you join Arsenal even though they detested the club with all their might.

They let you wear the red jersey with pride.

You didn't want to let them down.

You lined up for the corner, right by the back post near Leah. You were sandwiched between two much bigger defenders and glanced around nervously, playing with the hem of your jersey as Katie got set up.

It was a decent cross in from Katie and you jumped. You got about a head and a half higher than your defenders. The ball hit your head and soared over the goalkeeper's outstretched hands, landing smoothly into the net.

A grin lit up your face as Leah bounded over to celebrate, almost completely crushing you in her arms.

"Come on!" You vaguely heard Katie yell in celebration as Stina and Lina hugged you close, hands coming up to mess with your hair.

You snuck a look at the big screen, feeling emboldened by your goal, to see your parents screaming in celebration.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Your Momma was on her feet, clapping as your Morsa pumped her fist into the air. The camera picked up that she was saying something but not the actual words.

But you weren't focussed on that.

Instead, you were focused on how both of them were wearing an Arsenal jersey - your Arsenal jersey. Your Arsenal jersey with your name and your number.

"Come on, kid," Katie said, throwing an arm over your shoulder as you both walked back to your position," We've got a game to finish."

●～●～●～●～

For your debut for Arsenal, nothing could have gone better than the win that you got.

You were riding high as you scampered over to the tunnel just as your mothers walked through, having been escorted down to see you by security.

"y/n!" Momma said warmly, opening up her arms for you to crash into.

"Did you see?" You asked excitedly," Did you see? I scored!"

"You did score," Morsa said as she approached, kissing the side of your head," I'm so proud of you, baby. You did such a good job."

You grinned up at her, eyes darting between her and Momma. "You must be..." You tugged at the bottom of their shirts. "Because you're wearing an Arsenal jersey. I never thought that I would see the day."

Morsa rolled her eyes. "Well, our love for you supersedes our hatred of Arsenal."

"Did Momma tell you to say that?"

"No comment."

"Magda was very willing to put it on when she found out that I bought some," Momma said, pinching at your cheek like she did when you were younger," How could we not want to support this cute little face?"

She laughed as you tried to squirm away. You didn't get very far before you were wrapped up tight in your Momma's arms again, easily sagging against her.

"No, but seriously, how much did you have to pay her?" You asked," There's no way Morsa wore that willingly."

Magda gasped dramatically, a hand coming up to rest on her chest. "Honestly, I don't know how we've raised such a disrespectful young lady, Pernille," She teased," To think that our own daughter, thought that we wouldn't wear her jersey to support her."

You rolled your eyes. "Just last week you told me that you wouldn't be caught dead in an Arsenal jersey."

Magda scoffed, hand coming up to mess with your hair. "Don't make up lies!" She exclaimed," I believe I said that I would wear an Arsenal shirt over my cold, dead body."

"That's the same thing! Momma, tell her that's the same thing!"

Pernille just laughed though, squishing you between her and Magda. "Stop fighting you two," She said," Let's just be happy, alright? y/n did a very good job today. Keep it up. We're so proud of you."

"Yeah, kiddo," Magda said, pressing another kiss to your head," So proud of you. You debuted and scored and won on all the same day." She pulled you a little closer. "We're so proud."

"Proud enough to wear my jersey?"

"Always."

"Well, well, well," Came a teasing voice from behind you as Momma laughed and Morsa groaned as Stina wandered closer," Is that Magdalena Eriksson I see? Wearing an Arsenal jersey?"

"Shut up."

"Why don't you ever wear my Arsenal jersey, Magda?"

You stuck your tongue out at her. "She's not as proud of you as she is me."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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peachesofteal · 2 years ago

Text

First Sight

Chapter 1 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. Reblogs, comments, likes, interactions, etc are cherished by me. 🖤

Simon Riley/female reader 5.9k words - AO3

Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, pregnant reader, PTSD, thigh riding, Simon talks you through it, praise kink, explicit sex, jealousy, possessive Simon, angst, tenderness, mentions of blood and violence, nightmares, childbirth, medical procedures, Simon is bad at feelings; Simon is learning how to have his feelings. Simon has felt this before.

“And you are?”

“I’m her… I’m the baby’s father. We had her information updated two weeks ago, at the office. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The doctor looks skeptical but taps a few keys on her laptop before she glances back to him.

“Last name?”

“Riley.”

“Sorry, Mr. Riley. She’s been my patient for nearly seven months, and I’ve never seen or heard of you.” Bloody hell. His jaw clenches together so hard he thinks his teeth might shatter.

“I’ve been overseas.” The lights and sounds are scratching under his skin, making him tense, priming him for a fight. “I came in on the ambulance with her... I have to be with her. She can’t be alone when she wakes up. She’ll be scared. She won’t… she has P-.”

“I am aware of her history.” The doctor snipes and his fist tightens, tendons curling until his hand becomes a weapon, not thing the of comfort it was a mere ten minutes ago.

“Look. I’m on her list. So you can let me back there or-“ She holds her hand up to silence him and the vein in his forehead pulses.

“I’ve already paged a tech to bring you to her room, Mr. Riley. It’s just going to be a few minutes.” She gives him a reproachful look before she says something about coming by to check on you shortly, and he lets out a long breath.

You’re somewhere else. Your eyes are trained on the e-reader in your hand, but they’re not moving across the screen. You’re not blinking. Your breathing is even, and deep, but your fingers are fisted in the blanket, and your gaze is burning a hole through the bed, through the floor, possibly right down to the core of the earth.

It makes Simon nervous.

Not because he is afraid of your PTSD.

He is afraid of you slipping away. Sometimes, you leave and come back a different girl, the guarded one, the one that hasn’t tried to forgive him, the one who is reliving the pain he caused her every second. The one who takes your place when you disappear right in front of him, who’s memories burn too bright.

He knows he may never be fully absolved in your mind, but you still show him mercy. You still let him in, still let him have you, except in the moments when you fall through his fingers like tiny grains of sand. Those moments may have been earned, but it doesn’t make their sting any less painful, and he struggles in throes of them.

“Sass?” He calls, cautiously, reaching for where your hand is clenched. His fingers graze the sheets, the softness of the fabric much like your skin. They must be expensive, he figures, the cotton luxurious against the rough scrape of his palm. He thinks he likes the color, the soft green that matches the chair and the trim in the baby’s room. “Glacial green,” you correct him every time he calls it light green, or blue green, or pea soup. It’s a natural tone, earthy, and you seem to gravitate towards it, always telling him you think the color is ‘soothing’ or ‘calming’. You have a few shirts and sweaters in the same palette too, and an old, faded sweatshirt that you used to wear when you were with the 141, worn out lettering stitched across the chest. It was too big for you then, always drooping below the flare of your hips, the hem stretched out and curled. Now, it pulls snugly across your middle while you lay in bed beside him, where the e-reader sits in your dainty fingers. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, keep your fingers so velvet and smooth, even after your years in the desert. “Sass.” He tries again, louder, squeezing with the lightest bit of pressure until you blink.

“I’m here.”

“I know.” You turn your face up towards him with a sleepy smile, and he reaches for you without hesitation. “Tired?” He murmurs into your hair, your nose just slightly smashed into his neck.

“Mmm. Yeah, sleep sounds nice.” He finds the light easily, pulling the room into darkness with a flick of the chain, and returns to press his face to yours before succumbing to the pull of sleep.

“I mean, did you get a good look at her?”

“Shit. I’d bury my face in that ass. EOD is air force, right? Think she’s got a landing strip?”

“Dunno but I’d be coming in for a landing all the time if she was on my squad.” The table of privates laugh to each other, and Simon’s fingers curl around the bottom of the beer bottle in front of him. He briefly considers, for a moment, if Price would dismiss him if he broke it over one of their heads and then used the shards to slit the rest of their throats. Bleed ‘em out right there on the table.

He shifts on the stool. Johnny gives him a skeptical look. One of them, says something else. Sounds a little like ‘tight’ and ‘pussy’ strung together. Another one snickers.

He’s on his feet behind them before anyone realizes. The low drone of rage pressurizes inside his skull.

“Want to share what’s so funny, private?” The table falls silent immediately, all of them staring up at him, dumbfounded.

“N-nothing’s funny, sir.”

“Ya sure about that?” Johnny chimes in before Simon can say anything.

“The bomb tech, we were just… appreciating her. Saying how nice it must be nice, having something like that to look at all the time.” Simon can feel the heat of Johnny’s gaze on the nape of his neck.

“The bomb tech outranks you, private. You will address her as Sergeant.”

“Y- yes, sir.”

When he gets back to the base and little house the 141 is crammed into, you’re already asleep in your room. Sprawled across the shitty thin mattress, your shirt rucked up around your stomach, little boyshorts riding the curve of your hips. The scar from Belize is still shiny across your ribs, peachy and puckered. The sight of you safe and sleeping soothes the raw buzzing of anger in the back of his head.

His girl. His.

He’s already got his hands all over you by the time he gets his boots off, and you shift a little when he presses his face into the top of your ass.

“Simon?” you mumble. “Y’okay?” Simon, Simon, Simon. It’s always Simon with you now. You’re constantly stripping him bare with it, and he doesn’t even know your name.

He teases a hand across your skin, over the scar and up under the peak of your breast to your nipple, where he rolls the already hardening bud between his fingers. You shudder with a moan, shoulders twisting to turn yourself on your back, but he stops you. His teeth find the swell of your ass, and he sinks them deep. You squeak.

“Can you hold still?” He says, your body answering for you with a shiver. The bite woke you sharply, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye.

He pulls the underwear down your legs until they disappear, and then sinks his fingers into your cheeks. The glisten of your cunt shimmers, already wet, already waiting for him.

“Scoot back, sweet girl. Up on your knees.” You do as he says, shimmying down until you’re pressing against his thigh, clit ghosting against the fabric of his jeans, just barely. Your hips are shifting, slowly, and he knows you’re trying to get just a little bit more friction. He leans over you, gloved hand in your hair. “Now be good for me and rub your desperate little clit on my leg until you come.” You shake your head no and he rears back, pulling off his shirt and gloves, leaving the mask and his jeans the only thing on his body. He slaps you across your ass, just hard enough to watch the skin turn under his palm, and you jolt with a moan, cunt pushing back against his leg. “Do you want me to give you my cock, Sass?” you nod frantically. “Then ride my thigh until you’re coming on it.” The curve of a smile, a smirk, pushes at your cheek, and you start to move your hips, slowly at first, and then fevered, chasing your high while he watches. “That’s my girl, just like that.”

You start to jerk erratically, your face screwing up into the little pout and he knows you’re close. “You going to come Sass?” You mewl pathetically, mouth making desperate sounds and he watches you rub yourself all over him. “Sweet girl. That’s it, just a little more. There you go.” Your gasps reach a fever pitch, and he groans. “Ride it out, good girl. Come all over me.” His jeans are smeared with you, but he praises you, telling you how good you were, how much he likes that you made a mess on him. Once you come down from it, he strips and presses himself along your back, rucking the balaclava up to his nose to pull the skin beneath your ear between his teeth. He wants to mark you, hard. Leave an impression of himself on your body, brand you down to your bones. Tomorrow, when those fuckwit privates line up for brief, he wants them to know.

He sinks into you as deep as he can, little noises coming from your mouth as he splits you open on his cock, your cunt so tight it feels like it’s choking him.

“Si-Simon.” It’s his name, again. You’re flaying him alive with it. When you say it, it feels like he’s not wearing the mask, it feels like he is Simon, and not Ghost. He’s becoming addicted to it, consumed by it. It makes his head foggy, makes him do things that he’s never done, like approach a table of infantry and scare them out of running their mouths, or mark you like you belong to him. You cloud his judgement. You make him want things, things he doesn’t deserve, things he could never have. You make him soft, and desperate, and when you turn and look over your shoulder as he slams himself to the hilt, your gaze burns into him like you’re seeing him. Like you know.

“Please, don’t.” Your voice breaks as you beg, clutching the baby to your chest. Your face is bruised, nose probably broken, and tears stream down your cheeks. You’re trembling, eyes desperate as you plead. “Simon. Simon, get up. Please, get up.” He tries, but he can’t. He is beaten. His body is broken, bones shattered, organs bleeding out slowly inside him. The cool metal kiss of a barrel presses to your temple and you scream at him, for him, he’s not sure anymore. “SIMON GET UP.” His body weighs a thousand pounds, and cannot lift himself to help you, to save either of you. The gun cocks, and you close your eyes right before the finger on the trigger moves, the bang echoing across the room and your-

He jerks awake, immediately seeking the warmth of your body next to him in bed. When he feels you, his chest loosens, and you shift onto your side, cracking an eye open.

“Hey.” Your voice is thick with sleep, but still sweet as honey, and he takes your hand in his. Your pulse flutters under his palm. Strong. Stable.

“Hey.”

“Nightmare?” He nods.

“Go back to sleep.” You roll your eyes, flicking on the light that sits at your bedside table.

“I’ve been sleeping forever, I am practically sleeping beauty at this point.” You stroke through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. “Wanna talk about it?” you whisper, and he shakes his head. Yeah, Sass. Want to hear all about how I keep dreaming of your bloody corpse? Or about how I keep seeing you and our son being murdered right in front of me, over and over and I’m powerless to stop it? That’ll do real well for your stress level. Instead, he smooths his hand over the swell of your belly, where the baby sleeps, warm and protected, safe from everything out here that might hurt him. “You promised.” You needle, and the slight push is all that’s needed to relent.

“I keep… dreaming of you dying. Or being killed, in front of me. You and the baby.” You sit up a little and he immediately pulls the second pillow down behind the small of your back for support.

“Dying how?” He swallows.

“Someone’s holdin’ a gun to your head and you’re begging me to save you, but I can’t. I’m lying on the floor, bleeding out.”

“Sounds pretty scary.” There are a lot of things, that he hasn’t found the courage to say out loud to you yet. Promises and pledges, thoughts about being grateful and feelings of adoration. He wants to tell you how much he appreciates that you listen to him, that you validate him, but the words never come out, so he presses a kiss to your forehead before sliding down so his head is resting on the side of your belly.

The memory of the dream skips across the forefront of his mind, and he can still see you lying in a pool of blood, little boy lifeless in your arms. The blood, that looks just like the blood that covered the walls and the floor of his family’s house. His mom’s blood. Tommy and Beth’s. Joseph’s. The blood, that looks just the same as it did when he found you unconscious a few weeks ago, smells the same as when it poured out of the wound in your stomach in Belize. The blood, the blood, the-

“Simon.” He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing harshly until he hears you saying his name. “Hey, Si. Simon, it’s alright.” You stroke up and down his arm, tracing a faded pattern in his sleeve. “You’re here, in my house. In my bed. With me. There is no danger.”

“With you.”

“With me. And the baby. We’re here, together. We’re safe.” He turns his head, pressing his ear to your skin. Swoosh swoosh swoosh. The heartbeat soothes the frayed edges of his nerves, and the two of you sit just like that for a while, content. “Shit.” You groan, the sound a low whisper, and anxiously rub your belly. He waits for what he knows is coming, the pure, sweet melody that you hum when you try to settle the baby. The once guilty pleasure, when he would stand just out of sight so he could hear it, is now a full indulgence, as he’s able to lay beside you and rub circles into your skin while you hum softly.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you gasp in surprise.

“Sass? What is it?”

“I… I think I peed myself.”

“Hey!” No. How did you find him so fast? “Simon, wait.” When you say his name, it jams into his brain, scrambling the signal, and forcing his steps to falter. It’s just enough for you to catch him. “Look. I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up.” You’re breathing heavily, probably from sprinting down the row of tents that he had ducked past, and you push your hands out in front of you like you’re trying to cage him in. “But I made sure Gaz was alright, and I still had a job to do! Those charges were my priority, I wouldn’t have split up otherwise. Simon, I understand-“ He cuts you off swiftly.

“You can address me by my call sign, Sergeant.” You startle. He looks away, looks anywhere else but your face, where your gaze waits to peel him open.

“What?”

“You will address me as Ghost, or Lieutenant.”

You’re guarded now, expression wary, but there’s still something hopeful in your eyes, something that’s calling him home to you.

He has to get away. Now.

You take an uneasy step forward, hand extended like you’re going to touch him.

“Simon.” You whisper.

He steps back.

Your face falls.

He’s tactical about it. The bag, the extra pillow, your shoes. A phone charger, the collection of snacks you’ve been hoarding recently, like a dragon hoards their gold. He remembers everything.

Almost everything.

His phone rings when he’s buckling his seatbelt.

“So, should I like, call an uber or are you going to help me get in the truck?” Bloody hell. He nearly beats his head against the steering wheel before he’s unbuckling and running towards the door. You’re standing in the living room, hands on your hips, unimpressed, with a hint of a smile on your lips.

“I’m sorry, I-“ you wave him off, reaching for his arm.

“Come on, you gotta boost me up.”

His eyes dart back and forth from the road, to where you sit, stone-faced in the passenger seat. You’ve been quiet since he pulled out of the driveway, the silence an uneasy thing that rests heavily between the two of you, and he reaches for your hand that lays limp on the seat.

“How’s the pain?”

“Not too bad.” You’re chewing on your lip, still lost in thought for a moment before you speak again. “Simon. If something happens…” his blood freezes.

“Nothing is going to happen.”

“We’ve never discussed it though. What to do if something goes wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Something has already gone wrong. Everything has gone wrong. It can’t get worse. It can’t.

“Well, if there are complications and we have to choose…” He almost pulls the truck over, his heart seizing in his chest like he’s been electrocuted. A million scenarios slam through his brain at record speed, flipping open in front of him like a picture book. Everything he’s imagined before, but worse. This time, it’s not mercs, or a stray bullet, or shadowed government assassins that take you away from him, but your own body, or a doctor, or-

No. He would not be without you if there was a choice. Not again.

“There is no choice, Sass.” His voice is gruff, and you palm your belly with a gulp. “We… I, would choose you. A million times. A million and one. There is no other choice… for me.”

“Okay.” You whisper. A tear rolls down your cheek before it’s hastily wiped away, and you turn to him with wide eyes.

“Okay.” He echoes, taking your hand in his.

You almost died. You almost died, and he wasn’t there. Johnny almost died, and you almost died, and he can’t stop thinking about the two of you wandering around trying to find the 141, trying to escape without a weapon, or comms, or anything. He can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable you were, how close you came to being dead. Being gone. Like everyone else. Like his family.

The feeling fills his body with ice. It paralyzes him before panic seizes his nervous system, pouring fear into every synapse flitting through his brain.

His family. You could have been lost, like his family.

He barges through the door of the office, eyes wild behind the mask.

“I need her gone.” Price looks up at him, perplexed.

“Who?”

“Sass. Transfer her. Put her on leave. Anything.”

“What are you on about?”

“I can’t… I can’t have her here. She’s fuckin’ with my head.” His chest feels tight, like there’s a thousand pounds sitting on his ribcage. It’s terror that is pumping through his veins right now, unbridled, and raw, threatening to wreck him where he stands.

“Ghost, calm down.”

“I can’t!” It’s practically a shout. He’s losing it. The empty echo of the dead radio replays over and over in his head. The image of Johnny, bleeding out, slumped against your small frame, the panic on your face, the two of you covered in blood loops repeatedly every time he closes his eyes. It melts into the memories of finding his family dead and then twists together, over and over until he thinks he might be hallucinating.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Price is standing now, voice calm, gesturing to the other chair. He’s not a loose cannon, not anymore, but it’s been a long time since he’s raised his voice at the captain. Guilt swells inside him.

“I’m fuckin’ her.” He paces in front of Price’s desk. “And it’s… She’s messing me up. Can’t think clearly.”

“You’re what now?”

“I’ve never… I’ve never asked you for anything-”

“Simon-“

“and I know this is unfair. She’s great at her job, Price I know that. But I have the seniority. And I need ya to do this for me.”

“I can’t just dismiss her. I brought her here, asked her myself.” He grits his teeth.

“Price… she….” His lungs are screaming now, his breath coming in short gasps but there’s no oxygen in this room. “It’s not… I can’t. It’s not safe.”

“Simon, sit down.” It’s an order, and he complies, slumping into the chair and cradling his head in his hands. “Now. Start from the beginning.”

“I know you’re disappointed.”

“You said I would be able to try.” You doctor is sitting on a chair at your bedside, across from Simon. She’s wearing a very serious expression, and you’re wearing your ‘don’t fuck with me face’, the one he’s seen time and time again, before and during ops. You open your mouth to argue with her again, but a contraction steals your breath, your nails sinking into his skin like tiny razorblades.

“Just breathe.” He soothes, stroking over the crown of your head until you fall back onto your pillow, tense lines of your forehead relaxing as your eyes close.

“If the placenta separates any further from the wall of the uterus during the rest of your labor, it could be life threatening for both you and the baby.” She doesn’t handle you with kid gloves, and you lift a lid to glare at her. He swallows the chuckle in his throat. Surefire way to catch a fist in the jaw.

“Fine.” The word is hissed through clenched teeth, and she pats your hand reassuringly.

“They’ll be some paperwork to sign, and then we’ll get you prepped. Nothing to eat or drink in the last six hours, right?”

“I’ve been in labor for the last seven and a half hours, so no.” you deadpan, before looking longingly over to your bag of snacks. The doctor glances at him with a gentle smile.

“Mr. Riley, you’ll need to change, we can… hopefully, provide you with scrubs that fit. We’ll also give you a surgical mask, and a cap. Sound good?” He nods in thanks as she leaves, and he turns back to you, pulling the mask down to his chin to rest his cheek against your palm. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not gonna pass out in there, right?”

“Me?”

“Well, they are going to pull my guts out.” What? You giggle, just a little, and heave a sigh. “But seriously. Don’t faint. I don’t think they have gurneys big enough for you.”

“I’ve seen plenty of guts, Sass.”

“Yeah…but not mine.”

Price announces his presence with a knock. “Heli’s almost here.” Simon says nothing. His elbows dig into his knees, fingers rolling the elastic band between his thumb and forefinger, strands of your hair wrapping around and around the tie until they become tight, little strings that make indentations. “Ghost.” He knows what Price wants. What he wants to hear. He still says nothing. “I did this for you against my better judgement.” Price says, like he doesn’t already know. When Simon looks at him, he sees the weight of their decision. The shame. The guilt. And he feels it, too. “You should say goodbye, Simon.”

His voice is rough, on the verge of a scream, or something worse when he finally speaks.

“I can’t.”

“So, when you get in the room, you’ll notice she’s lying on a table, and there’s a drape that’s a visual barrier between her chest and the rest of her body.” The nurse, the super friendly one that you said you liked, is talking him through what’s happening while he walks down the hallway next to her. Her shoes squeak a little bit against the linoleum, and he focuses on the pattern of the sound. Step squeak, step squeak, step- “Now, she can’t feel anything, but C-sections can be nerve-wracking, and she got a little anxious when we got into the OR.” He nods. Of course you’re nervous. You’re strapped to a table where they’re about to cut a hole in your abdomen. “She’s asked for you a few times, I promised I’d deliver.” She gives him a wink and pushes open a door. “Here he is!” She calls cheerily, and you turn to look, eyes finding his within a second, like always.

“Simon.” You wiggle your fingers towards him, and he wastes no time, sitting in the chair that the nurse pointed to and bringing your hand to the mask, right where his lips are.

“Hi sweet girl. You alright?” You nod.

“I think I’m a little high.”

“She had just a bit of midazolam, for the nerves.” Your doctor says from the other side of the drape.

“That’s alright.” He smoothes some hair from your face and tries to remember to breathe. Everything about this room sets him on the edge, and there’s a live wire running through his bones, all the way down to where his hand holds yours. There are too many people, too many lights, machines, and his skin is crawling, the desire to snatch you from the table and disappear down the hall repeating in the back of his mind, again and again. He can’t stop thinking about what could go wrong, terrible scenarios that leave you dead or the baby dead, or both. They push and pull at the logical side of his brain, fighting to get through, desperate to derail him, insistent and-

You smile up at him, all sweet, a little daft from the drugs, and everything feels quiet again. The tension between his shoulder blades lets out like air from a balloon, fast and easy.

“You ready?” He thumbs at a tear escaping from the corner of your eye. You’re looking at him, looking beneath the mask, kicking and tearing past the pieces of Ghost until you strike true, until you reach Simon. You always do.

He pushes his forehead against yours, and breathes you in, the stench of sterile hospital and all.

“Yeah, Sass. I’m ready.”

He’s pulling the balaclava back over his face when you bust through the door and ram right into him. He recoils, the reaction second nature, and his eyes find yours in the little bathroom mirror immediately. You step away, the room stretching too big all the sudden, the distance between his body and yours too far, and his brain stumbles over the realization. Something stutters in his chest, his breath catching when he looks at you, watching as you flail before you look away.

“Shit! Fuck. Sorry.” You glance at the wall, then the floor, then turn to run before he figures out how to make his mouth work.

“You’re alright, Sass. I’m finished.” You’re standing half in the hall, half in the bathroom, bleeding, and something twists in his gut. Blood and injury are not uncommon in the 141, but he’s surprised at how unsettled he feels when he sees the trickle of red on your shoulder.

“Get that cleaned up.” It comes out rough, like an order, and your throat bobs with a swallow.

“Okay a little bit of pressure and then you’re going to feel a lot of relief.” The doctor says and you nod, fingers pressed into his palm.

“Simon.” Your voice wavers.

“I’m right here. I got you.” He keeps his eyes trained on yours, willing himself to get lost in the hue of your irises, tuning out everything else in the room until-

A baby cries.

“Congratulations mom and dad!” Someone calls and the room spins. Mom and dad.

“Can I see him?” your fingers are still entrenched in his, the words watery and light.

“Breath sounds are good.” A voice says, and then there’s a squalling baby next to him. A baby. Your baby. His.

“Oh. Oh.” You’re in shock, he thinks. He’s not sure, because he might be too, and he blinks rapidly as you place a few fingers on the baby’s cheek. “Hi, Theo.” You coo and cry, smiling through the tears that dot your face. The nurse says something to you, and then she places the baby on your chest, where you cradle him with your other arm, pulling Simon’s hand up towards Theo’s back for support, holding it against his skin. You glance up at him for a second, teary happiness morphing into concern, and then back before your finger lifts from Theo’s cheek to his, swiping along his cheekbone. He presses your palm to his face with his free hand, over the mask, and closes his eyes for a second.

When you pull away, your fingers shimmer under the white lights of the operating room, and the tips of them shine with something wet.

His tears.

“I don’t see cabbage. What about romaine?”

“No. It has to be cabbage. Or kale! But I really prefer cabbage, and so does your kid, you know. Romaine is totally different.” You babble, and he stares at the heads of green leafed things underneath the misters, eyes scanning for the label that says cabbage.

“I don’t see any cabbage, Sass.” A woman who’s inspecting a shiny red pepper a few feet away from him looks over, curiously.

“It’s a staple food, Si. It never sells out; it has to be there.”

“It’s not.”

“Ask someone.” Irritation is bleeding into your voice now, and the idea of approaching a store employee makes his skin itch. Maybe he can just buy the romaine and ask for forgiveness, or go to a different supermarket. It’s not quite midnight yet, something else could be open.

The woman inspecting the peppers has sidled closer to him, close enough that he can see her face turned upwards towards his, eyes studying the balaclava before she clears her throat.

“Excuse me?” He turns, eyes narrowed.

“Who is that?” your voice rings through the speaker. “Is that a woman? Ask her where the cabbage is!” He pulls the phone away from his ear and blinks down at her.

“The cabbage is up here.” She says politely, pointing to the top row of light green, rounded vegetables. Nearly in front of his face.

“Thanks.” He says roughly, but she smiles at him all the same, while you call his name over and over on the phone. “I got it.”

“Yes! Oh my god thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bloody lucky I love you.”

The line is silent. His heart lurches, thundering into a frantic beat that thrums through his entire body. His limbs feel numb, and he doesn’t say anything else, just holds his breath. He can hear you breathing, just barely, through the phone, but it sounds like you’re trying to hold your breath, too. Like you’re listening for him.

“Simon-“

“I still gotta get the potatoes. See you in a bit.” The line goes dead.

“Okay, sit here.” The nurse instructs and he forces his legs to move, makes his knees bend so he can lower himself in the chair. He can’t look away from what she’s holding in her arms, the infant, the baby that is his and yours. His kid. “Skin to skin is very important for newborns. It helps regulate their heartbeat and breathing and can help maintain their temperature.” She continues, motioning for him to relax against the backrest.

“Skin to skin?”

“Yes. You’ll need to take off your shirt.” He shakes his head. He can’t do this. You should be doing this. You’re his mother. He’s… he’s not you. Theo won’t want him, he’ll want you. He- “Mr. Riley? You don’t have to, but while we wait for her to get back, it’s a good opportunity for it.”

“What do I do?” The idea of holding Theo to his scarred chest makes him feel sick.

“Once you take off your shirt, I’ll put Theo in your arms and cover you both with a blanket.”

“I don’t think…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you how to hold him if that’s what you’re worried about.” Theo cries out, a sharp, shrill sound that draws her attention downwards before she looks back up at him with an expectant expression. Skin to skin is very important for newborns. He knows you would want him to do this. He knows that you would understand too, if it was too much, if he felt too exposed. But it’s important. Theo needs this. He needs… his dad.

He pulls the scrub top over his head, careful to keep the mask in place, and leans back slowly against the chair.

“You’re going to support his head just like this-“ she moves him into the crook of his elbow, positioning his little legs and arms so that he’s laying flush against his chest. “and his body will just rest right here in this space… and there you go.” Simon doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t move, he can hardly think. He doesn’t even feel her place a blanket over his body, curling it beneath where he cradles the baby. All he can see is Theo in his arms, so tiny, his eyes scrunched shut and small hand curled into a fist.

The lights in the room go dim, and he looks up, realizing that the nurse is by the door. “I’m going to give you some privacy. They should be finishing up with mom soon but there’s a button right there, next to the bed. The red one. Press it if you need anything and one of us will be here right away. Okay?” She gives him another encouraging smile and he nods.

“Okay.” When the door clicks shut, he finally lets out the shakiest breath of his life and reaches up to pull the surgical mask from his face. Theo’s eyes aren’t open, but his chest rises and falls, soothing some of the fear that has a grip on his heart. He gently touches Theo’s hand, and his tiny fingers curl around Simon’s giant one. He gets lost, staring down at the small boy. Looking at every single feature, his ears, his nose, the bow of his lips. He tries to memorize it all, the way the tuft of his hair sits, the creases of his skin around his elbows and knees, the soft pant of his breath. It fills him with emotion, so much he’s afraid it might overwhelm him, bury him beneath its weight. He knows this feeling, has felt it grow inside him since the very first day he laid eyes on you. Has watched it fight through a forest of dark and snarled roots, cutting and biting away at the things that have died and festered inside him. He knows it better than he knows himself now, knows the truth, cannot deny this knowledge that he would lay down and die for you, for Theo. He understands the pure terror that has blazed within him since that day in Belize, and he knows that he would spend the rest of his life, waiting in agony with bated breath, just to kiss you once more, or hold his child in his arms.

It terrifies him, but he knows its name.

He knows it’s love.

Simon leans down and brushes his lips across his son’s forehead, gentle and light, before murmuring to him as softly as he can manage.

“Hey, Theo. I’m your dad."

The next fic in this series is here.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader #sassy series #simon riley #pregnant reader #simon riley x you #cod mw22 fanfiction #cod fanfic #tw pregnancy #peaches writes #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x female reader #dad Simon Riley

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beiibeiii · 7 months ago

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I'm a sucker for reverse isekai, yet I know fully well that none of the hot sugar mommies would find me physically attractive.

So here's a bit of a delusional thought. Once they find out that you're so pathetic for them that you write/read smut of them, they start to find it cute. And who knows, maybe they'll be willing to make your fictional ideas a reality?

I was thinking of Kafka/Yelan/Shalom when making this.

They wouldnt even be shocked they already know how down bad ppl are for them 😞😞

kafka would take your phone and read it out loud, then she would start copying the actions and the words said aloud in the fic. shes ramming you down onto her cock into your soaked little hole, its just so big, like stated in the fic, you can't keep up. your panting and moaning like a bitch in heat as one of hands on your hips guide you up and down her hard dick like a personal fleshlight. the other with your phone in hand, reading out your fic of her. you hands clawing at her shoulders like your life depended on it. she whispers pure filth into your ears with that hot, sultry voice.

"look at you, your pussy swallows my cock so easily baby.. keep going.. you can do it.."

your sobbing, nodding quickly as you let out another whine. your gummy walls just welcome her right in, like you were made for her. kafka sees that creamy ring around the base of her cock as she makes you reach your high once more. your cum leaking out onto her lap despite her stuffed into you. she starts her relentless pace again. the sloppy noises of skin slapping together and your desperate moans heard. shes so rough with you but shes only just making your fantasies come true <3

yelan has you tied up with her hydro ropes. they feel slightly cool, a big contrast to how hot you feel right now. your phone was somewhere on the bedside table. she leaves you on the bed with a vibrator, 'punishing' you for writing such filth. she presses the vibrator down onto clit. making you moan out, begging for more. your back arches so beautifully as your wrists tug on the ropes. it feels so good, your just blabbering out incoherent sentences. shes tease you, making the vibrations the highest level before turning it off the second you feel that knot forming. you whine as she rips yet another high away from you. she smirks and laughs softly at your pouty, desperate face.

"don't look at me like that pretty girl, isn't this what you wanted?"

she continues the cycle over and over again, you rub your thighs together and its so frustrating! maybe you shouldn't of written her teasing you so much. you just want to cum :(

shalom smirks aas she peers over you shoulder, seeing the dirty words on your screen. she whispers into your ears, her hot breath on your ear.

"is that what you really want? you needy girl.."

shalom is down on her knees. you legs are dangling off the bed as her hands hold soft thighs wide open. shalom spits onto your wet cunt, smearing it all over your sex. your body shivers as her slim fingers rub all over your folds. you can't remember how many you've already came. it isn't soon before she's eating you out again at such a merciless pace. who knew such a 'frail' girl was so capable of such things? you throw your head back, moaning. her tongue is soo long. shes got your cum all over her face, shes so messy and sloppy with her tongue. your have a fistful of her hair, tugging her close to your wet hole. her nose rubs at your clit. she keeps eye contact with you as her wet muscle laps at your wet cunt, ripping another erotic moan from you. she sucks on your clit, the slurping noises are so loud. (and hot) your thighs tremble as she gets another orgasm from you. you definitely will not stop writing some more after this long night.

#bei randoms #bei replys #kafka smut #kafka x reader #ptn #yelan x reader #yelan smut #ptn shalom x reader #shalom smut

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insuke69 · 9 months ago

Text

Imagining Hobie being so fucking clingy when you’re gone on a vacation or something:(((

★ Headcannons with Hobie x Latinx reader <;33

☆ Warnings: fluff, ‘implied’ smut (yes, they fuck in a memory), explicit words.

__________________

——————

You’re off visiting family, away from Hobie just for a short visit since it’s a younger cousins fifteenth birthday.

You aren’t close with her but she adores you like an older sibling so why not? Two weeks isn’t that long anyway since you also would like to catch up with the very little non-toxic Hispanic family you have.

The flight is smooth besides the fact that it was over two hours of no service, songs on repeat in your headphones, and the book you’re so happy you remembered to pack.

______

You forget the time difference between Hobie in Camden and you over here, for you it’s midday and for him it’s the middle of the night and he seems so.. desperate.

His texts are slow and it’s obviously being done by his singular non dominant hand.

“Hi can you pls send a pic”

“2 me”

“Please??”

On your end, it’s almost so clear that he wants to see you like the good adorable partner he is, already missing you. You send him an innocent picture where you’re holding your phone at an angle above you and smile up at it through your lashes.

Meanwhile Hobie..

Hobie always would have an arm around you, or holding your hand, or his lips on any part of skin he could access on you.

He was alone on his houseboat, laying on only his side of the bed even if the usually warm and used spot beside him was empty and void of his lover.

He didn’t like the idea of porn, even if he was ‘living the dream’ of most men where his partner wasn’t around to stop him, he still hated it. It was fake and unrealistic with plastic or disgustingly young looking actors, so he settled for closing his eyes and thinking of the one who’s truely his.

Remembering how pretty the little whines were as they escaped your lips when he slowly eased himself into your tight warm hole..

And before he knew it; he was palming his erecting and fumbling his phone to text you.

His breath shudders slightly at the sight of you and he began imagining how your adoring hand would look around his length, his own fist trying to imitate his imagination tightly.

How your lips would wrap around the head of his weeping cock, how your cheeks would hollow out and make it all disappear, those cute gag sounds and tears that threaten your eyes when your nose reaches the small trimmed bush at the base of his member.

You fully expect a normal response from Hobie in a way. Anything ranging from “You look nice td” to something dirty, hence why you’re positioned in a way where nobody around you could see your phone screen.

Instead, a voice message pops up and a part of you wants to hesitate in checking what it is because you know that Hobie doesn’t really send voice messages unless his hands are really busy.

You play it against your ear quietly and your heart bangs against your chest at how needy his voice is, his gulps and whimpers and you can only imagine how beautiful he looks right now.

“Oh my fuckin’.. you’re so good lookin’ for me, I need ya so bad righ’ now.” You can hear his heavy breaths in the message and slight rhythmic sound, fap fap fap fap.

It immediately makes your heat grow warm between your legs and you adjust yourself in your seat with your thighs together tightly as an attempt to ease this, knowing that you’re at a nice fancy restaurant for your cousins ‘birthweek’.

You decide to excuse yourself to the bathroom and be a little more generous with Hobie, locking yourself into a stall and sending him a better picture where you’re topless and your chest and abdomen in perfect sight, pointer finger and middle finger holding a nipple between them.

“Here’s your damn meal <3” you captioned it before sending, putting your shirt back on as you awaited his response.

It was a video this time, angled so you could see his pretty dick being desperately fucked in his ringed left hand.

his eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth is dropping the cutest curses and whimpers before he cums, his seed spurting out onto his abdomen and hand before his lips move to utter a whisper.

"I need ya so bad, can't wait 'till you're back, love."

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown #insuke #fanfic #spiderman #hobie brown fanfiction #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x reader #spider punk #{☆insooks ☆}#gn reader

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tojjist · 1 year ago

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𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘁 - 𝗝. 𝗘𝗴𝗼

jinpachi ego x f! reader

tags: pwp, unintentional exhibitionism, semi-public sex, ego being an asshole, degradation, reverse cowgirl (kinda), mentions of masturbation (third person(s)), dacryphilia if you squint, marking/bruising, humiliation, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal sex, slight objectification of reader.

note: this is my first ever fully-written smut so uh yeah forgive my lack of description and experience. also kinda rushed write it at like 3am in maybe an hour. Likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! minors, ageless & blank blogs dni

“ego-san! eguhh—!”

your hips thrust; up, down. up, down. moving against his length. ego’s long fingers were digging into the soft skin of your hips, forcing harsher movement as your walls swallowed him whole.

“such a fucking slut,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. “taking my cock like a champ, that’s how you like it, huh? wanna get fucked ‘til ya can’t see?”

you don’t respond to his harsh words, too focused on the pleasure. your hips kept thrusting but you weren’t doing all the work; ego knew you wouldn’t be able to move on your own when he’s balls deep inside you.

but, jinpachi ego doesn’t take well to being ignored. if he asks you a question he expects you to respond.

one of his hands curls in your hair, harshly fisting it as he stops helping you move. naturally, your movements become sloppy and sleazy over his cock, still attempting to enjoy his length despite the way he’s gripping your hair and turning your face, forcing you to look at him.

“answer, sweerheart. wanna hear my little doll’s response, hm? don’t leave me waiting, whore.”

it was so astonishing how easily his vocabulary swapped. to him you were but a little fucktoy for him to enjoy. he didn’t have to make you feel good, which he did. you at least owe him an answer.

“y-yes, egoh-san,” you blabbered, barely able to keep your sanity together.

it is embarrassing; you’re a strong woman of a high position, yet the highest position you can get with this man is riding his cock like a slut. how he knew all your weaknesses you don’t know. jinpachi ego is a wonder and as much as you’d like to explore him, it’s clear he’s the only one getting any exploring here. you’re only there to serve, to drool and moan as he fucks you stupid.

but unbeknownst to either of you, it is broadcasted all over the blue lock.

you knew having sex right in front of the the controls was a bad idea. god, you begged him so much to just drop it and have sex somewhere else.

but ego insisted to do something he’s seen in some porno, sitting on his chair while you’re on top of him. the leather chair was whining under you two as you moved. you would have been worried about it breaking if you weren’t too busy getting fucked.

and now you’re both paying for ego’s selfishness. it was you, huffing and moaning, your breasts jiggling up and down as he had lifted the shirt off them. one every screen of every room. everyone was watching now.

and the boys? oh, they were devouring the broadcast. how could they not when your soft begs echo through almost every room of the pentagon shaped building?

seriously, these controls should be more complicated. yet one wrong move is all it took you and now 300 young men are watching you sob.

“ego-san—! ‘m close! close!!”

your tears weren’t many, but the ones that fell were fat, blurring your eyesight and arousing jinpachi oh so much.

“feels good-“ he groaned slightly at the way your hips move faster, teeth clenching agaist each other. “feels good, slut? ya like my c-cock in you— fuck-“

the way your face reddened and your moans became even more pitched was definitely the finishing line for most of the boys, watching as one of ego’s fingers rubbed at your pretty nipple, squeezing your breast then pinching the darker skin in the middle.

with a final sob, a final thrust, and a final breath, your release came. your head jerked back as your spine arched, moaning especially loud now. ego groaned as your gummy walls tightened around him, teeth clamping against the plush skin of your neck. he made sure to leave his mark on you; dark bruises on your neck as he bites so hard it almost draws blood.

one would be a fool to think that jinpachi was helping you ride out your orgasm. his name is ego. no one matters, not even you. he was only chasing his own release, wearing you out until his cock twitched under the pleasureful pressure, shooting white paint across the walls of your tight cunt. the lewd noises of skin slapping against each other remained loud, echoing across the monitor room as jinpachi rocked your hips back and forth until he couldn’t anymore.

“get up.”

“what?” you squeak innocently ant his harsh demand. you were barely just catching your breath.

“ya heard me, don’t make me say it again. get up.”

if there is one thing you learnt from being ego’s personal stress reliever, it’s to obey. no questions asked. he demands, you answer.

and you are one good lap dog. you allow him to mush and shape you however he likes because, for some reason, it felt so fucking good.

you didn’t have to be told another time, twice is a lot. you stand up without question, back facing jinpachi as you wait. was it anticipation or dread pooling in your stomach? you weren’t sure.

“bend over.”

his words were absolute. but this time you went rigid, not moving an inch.

“did you not hear me?” “ego-san..”

ego stands up, hand finding your head roughly as he begins to push it down. “when i tell you to bend over you fucking-“

he noticed it too.

there was a small red light, coming on and off, indicating that this is in fact getting recorded.

“shit…”

#Jinpachi ego #Ego jinpachi #Syd.writes #Syd.nsf #Blue lock #Blue lock smut #Ego x reader #Ego smut #Jinpachi ego smut #Bllk #Bllk x reader #Bllk x you #Bllk smut #Ego x reader smut #Blue lock x reader smut

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loganjameshowlett · 1 month ago

Text

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

02: FACTS DON'T DO WHAT I WANT THEM TO

pairing: peter parker/muntant!reader summary: you're getting good at pretending everything is normal. peter's getting less good at the very same. word count: 3.2k+

series masterlist | previous installment | next installment

When you woke up on Thursday, the bizarre scars were still uncomfortably present on your shoulder blades, and you kind of wished the SUV had finished the job.

It was 3:07 PM when you rolled over– an action accompanied with a certain measure of full-body agony– and squinted blearily at your phone screen.

“Shit,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes and checking the time again. You had missed both of your classes for the day, and had to be over to the bodega in just under two hours for a shift. It was unlike you to oversleep, or to ever miss a class, and you tamped down the anxiety already bubbling in your chest about falling behind or missing something crucial. It was also unlike you to get fully run over by an SUV and live to tell the tale, you supposed. And it made for a hell of a good reason to have missed class, anyway.

Your body felt like it belonged tucked into a bed in the ICU unit over in Bellevue. When you finally dragged it out of bed and in front of the mirror to check, the line of unsightly, discolored tire track bruises had bloated to cover most of the skin from your ribs down to your hips. The same wave of questions from the night before welled up in your mind, and just as the night before, you pushed them all away just as fast. You had enough sense to know you weren’t going to come to any meaningful answers standing on your own in the middle of your bedroom, and you had to shower and get ready for work, anyhow. Another place where you were not likely to get answers, so best not to think about the questions.

By the time you were done with a near-scalding shower, your body was actually feeling mostly okay and you were well on your way to convincing yourself that whatever happened last night was a fluke. A one time thing. Yes, it was completely bizarre and should have been impossible by all accounts, but those were things you didn’t have to concern yourself with if it never happened again. A few decades from now, you’d probably think it had all been a particularly vivid dream, the way most people who glimpse one unexplainable thing in their lives and then nothing ever again do, and that was alright by you.

***

“You’ll never guess what happened to me last night,” Mickey says, grinning and coming around the counter as soon as you came through the door.

You stole my line, you wanted to say, but you were making a valiant effort at not devoting large quantities of brainpower to thinking about last night, so you didn’t. Instead, you walked behind the counter and shed your jacket on the plastic chair in the tiny storage-closet-turned-office, tossing a look Mickey’s way to show her you were listening to her story.

“Two minutes away from my dorm, I ran into fucking Klara,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a roll of her wide brown eyes. “She has somehow gotten more fuckin’ unbearable than ever.”

“In other news, the sky is blue,” you interjected, and Mickey waved a hand dismissively.

“That is not the point of the story,” Mickey said. “She stopped me on the path with her bullshit smalltalk for about thirty seconds before dropping that fucking Spider-Man had just swung through campus five minutes earlier!”

“He has been known to do that,” you nodded. “Couple weeks ago he webbed up some finance frat loser who was trying to start fist fights with everyone who walked past him.”

“Yeah, I know he’s around sometimes, but I have never seen him! And there I was last night, missing him by a matter of mere minutes.” Mickey huffed, dropping her chin onto her hand.

“Your time will come, Mick,” you assured her. “And then you can try to flirt your way into his spandex, or whatever.”

“I will succeed in flirting my way into his spandex, thank you very much,” she responded haughtily, and despite your mood and the soreness still ebbing its way through your body, you laughed.

Gary hopped up onto the counter, wending his way through Mickey’s arms, and then crossing over to do the same to yours. Absently, you sunk your fingers into his soft orange fur, gently scratching his little head.

“Hey, you kinda look like shit. Did something happen?” Mickey asked, startling you out of the blank-gazed factory reset your brain was trying to accomplish. When you looked up at her, her head was tilted to the side, eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

“If staying up most of the night doing homework counts as something happening, then yeah,” you shrugged. “This is just what a me approaching midterms looks like.”

“Yeah… I guess that’s true,” she drawled, but you could tell by her voice that she wasn’t totally convinced. Mickey was your best friend, and years of telling each other everything without a second thought had culminated in both of you being able to easily tell when the other was, on those rare occasions, hiding something. And usually, as soon as Mickey seemed even marginally onto you, you would spill everything to her. But this time, you couldn’t say a thing. What even would you say? Nothing good could come out of telling her that you’d been run over by a car and then just… walked home.

“Can we finally talk about how Josh McClellan is clearly coming in here several times a week just to see you?” you asked, trying to change the subject as smoothly as you were capable of.

“Okay, so it’s not only me who was thinkin’ that?” Mickey launched into a play-by-play dissection of her interactions with the guy immediately, and you sank onto the stool behind the counter in relief of the attention no longer being on you.

The rest of your shift passed mostly without incident. Mickey followed Gary around the bodega, harassing him with pets and occasionally fixing up or restocking a shelf or two. The after-work crowd even seemed a little less disgruntled than usual, which your hourly deteriorating people skills appreciated greatly.

“Think we can bump off early?” Mickey asked, as the clock reached eleven. “It’s only an hour.”

“I wouldn’t do Mr. Browne like that, and neither should you,” you said, aiming a scolding look at her over the shelves as you idly pushed a broom back and forth in front of the coolers. “And, ‘sides, this is the easiest hour of the shift. Basically nobody comes in between now and closing.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, the bell above the door chimed. Mickey shot a told ya so look at you, before turning around to see who came in.

“Oh– hey, Peter,” you greeted, eyes widening slightly as you realized it wasn’t just some random schmuck looking for mixers for their pregame. You knew this schmuck. Kind of.

For his part, Peter froze in the door, looking a little too much like a prey animal for someone simply being recognized when they didn’t expect it. His eyes met yours, and he forced an awkward smile onto his face.

“Hey,” he said your name, accompanied by a small wave. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Didn’t come up while we were discussing your essay?” you asked, and Peter’s smile grew into something a little more embarrassed, cheeks pinking slightly as he ducked his head.

“Sorry, that was stupid,” he said, wending his way through the aisles and clearly searching for something specific. You brought the broom back into the office and situated yourself behind the register for when Peter was ready to check out. Mickey met your eye from across the room as she hoisted Gary into her arms, giving you a look that was clearly asking what the fuck? You shrugged almost imperceptibly and looked away, but you could still feel her eyes on you.

A few minutes later, Peter ambled up to the counter and set three different flavors of Celsius and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos down in front of you. Fascinating snack for this time of night.

“Still on for tomorrow afternoon?” he asked as you began scanning his items.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you said, looking up to offer him a small smile. Up close, the bags under his eyes were so pronounced they looked like true bruises, and there was a pretty fresh cut almost completely hidden in his hairline.

“You okay?”

The words came out of both of your mouths at the same time, followed by twin looks of confusion.

“Me?” you asked, brow furrowing as you finished ringing him up. “Total’s $13.50, by the way.”

“Yeah– uh, sorry–” Peter said, fishing a couple of bills out of his jacket pocket. “You just… it seemed like something might be wrong.”

You blinked at him for a few seconds, frankly dumbfounded that he– a virtual stranger– was able to pick up on the general wrongness of the current state of your existence. Realizing you’d been quiet for a weird amount of time, you sucked in a breath and responded, “Oh, yeah, no, I’m good. Just exhausted, s’all– you know, finals coming up and everything.”

“Oh, sure,” he nodded, like it made complete sense. “Right there with you.”

“And, uh, what happened up–?” you asked, gesturing toward the cut along his hairline. You noticed then that the skin around it was starting to bruise.

“Oh, that,” Peter said, bringing a hand up to ghost along the offending injury. “I was in the lab earlier for my, uh, my internship and there was a little accident. You know how labs are.”

“I really do not know how labs are,” you said, and the same embarrassed smile from earlier grew on his face.

“Right. Yeah. Accidents are par for the course.”

“Well, make sure you dress that properly when you get home,” you said, fighting the urge to fuss over the wound.

“First thing when I walk through the door,” he promised, and you nodded, satisfied, as you handed over his purchases.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, ‘night,” Peter said, waving as he took a few backward steps from the counter, before disappearing through the door.

As soon as he was out on the sidewalk, Mickey materialized on the other side of the counter, red curls and freckled expression of shocked interest taking up your entire field of vision. “What the fuck was that?”

***

You spent Friday morning valiantly trying to finish your biology work so that you actually had something for Peter to look over that afternoon. You figured that, honestly, bringing a blank lab worksheet to him would be just as useful as bringing one you filled in by yourself; it was like the synapses stopped firing in your brain when you opened up this stupid lab’s Canvas page.

And anyway, your lack of ability to concentrate on anything that looked even remotely like STEM homework had become a hundred times worse since the Incident (you had taken to thinking of it as this: capitalized so as to be given proper weight, and named so that you never had to dwell on any of the details). Suddenly learning about plant tissue culture seemed entirely meaningless in the greater context of your increasingly bizarre life.

Meaningless or not, you still had to pass the class. The universe worked in mysterious ways, and as you skimmed the same textbook page for the ninth time, absorbing not a single word, you thanked it for sending Peter Parker your way.

When you reached the second floor of the library at five minutes to two, Peter was already sitting at the table the two of you had occupied the other day, general backpack detritus spread haphazardly across half the surface. He had a fresh printed copy of his edited essay in front of him, partially obscured by his arm resting on top of it, which was, in turn, supporting his head while he napped.

You approached the table, dumping your bag in one of the empty chairs as gently as you could. Peter’s hair stuck up in all directions, and you noticed that the bruise blooming out from the cut along his hairline had matured into something nastier looking since the last time you saw him.

For a moment, you stood awkwardly at the side of the table, waiting to see if he would wake up. You felt bad about the prospect of waking him– he clearly needed the sleep badly– and you briefly thought about just leaving and emailing him to set up a different time, but you knew he’d feel bad about it and selfishly, you needed to submit your lab by midnight.

“Peter?” you asked, voice pitched low for the library. Hesitantly, you reached a hand toward his shoulder, unsure still of what you would do with it once it reached its destination, but just before your fingers brushed his sweatshirt, Peter’s head bolted up as if electrocuted.

He took a few seconds to gaze, confused, about the room, before his eyes landed on you and a blush that was quickly becoming familiar pinked his cheeks.

He said your name, half confused question and half surprised exclamation, and blinked up at you a few times as if trying to orient himself.

“You alright?” you asked, moving to sit in the seat catty-cornered to his own.

“Yeah, I’m all good, I– honestly, I can’t believe I fell asleep here,” Peter answered, reassuring smile an afterthought. You watched how the smile dropped quickly and his brow furrowed, skin creasing above the bridge of his nose; he seemed far too concerned about accidentally falling asleep in the library.

“I can’t tell you how many naps I’ve taken at this exact table, let alone the rest of the building,” you told him, tone light. You weren’t quite sure what about the situation had him so worried, but you hoped you could reassure him a bit anyway. “You wanna start with your essay, or my lab?”

“Your lab deserves to go first,” Peter decided quickly. “What’s this one on?”

You attempted to explain the lab to the best of your ability, eventually giving up and handing over your entire biology folder so Peter could read it himself. For the next two hours, he talked you through each aspect of the lab– it felt like finding God, finally being able to understand something for this fucking class.

Peter perked up with every question you asked him, as though getting the opportunity to explain biological concepts was literally reinvigorating him. His eyes brightened, his posture straightened– he was more confident than you’d ever seen him now that he was given the space to ramble about something he knew well. You were embarrassed to have to forcibly stop yourself from openly staring at him about half a dozen times.

“Sorry, we got way off track at the end, there,” Peter said, suddenly cutting off a tangent about some research on chloroplasts that one of his internship colleagues was conducting.

You waved him off, a genuine smile on your face. “Don’t be, I like listening to you. ‘Sides, I learned more from you this afternoon than I have from Dr. Katz the entire semester,” you said earnestly.

Peter grinned, ducking his head a bit. “Well, I aim to educate and entertain, so I'm glad I hit on both of those today.”

“I really think you could have a future as Bill Nye’s successor with these skills, Parker,” you said solemnly, and Peter laughed.

“With this kind of unwavering support, maybe I will be conducting science experiments on direct-to-videos being played in seventh grade biology classrooms all over the country very soon.”

“Maybe,” you nodded. “If you’re lucky.”

***

Three years into college, and Peter still hadn’t quite mastered balancing the student and hero halves of his life.

Submitting work late and having no consistent social life were just, he guessed, par for the course. His entire life seemed to be made up of excuses, and he was helpless to change it. Mostly, it didn’t bother him. Being Spider-Man was just who he was; he wouldn’t give up any part of that for “the traditional college experience” or “having friends”. He shuffled his half-dead body between chem lectures and getting 18-wheelers thrown at him by the Rhino, and in the exceedingly rare moments of quiet between the two, he kept his head down. And that was that. He was good with that.

And then he met you.

He’d never needed a tutor before Professor Liu, and when he finally bit the bullet and asked her for help, he expected to be paired with some pretentious, Moby Dick reading, flowy blouse wearing poet who would eloquently tell him exactly how much of a dunce he was when it came to literary analysis. This probably wasn’t a fair assessment, but he didn’t know many English majors, and anyway, anyone who was held in such high esteem by Professor Liu was somebody whom, he assumed, he would never get along with in a million years.

And then he’d shown up to tutoring, and there you were at the table in a giant sweatshirt, dog-eared book held open by one errant finger as you tapped at your keyboard, and you’d remembered his name right off the bat and smiled at him– one of those patient, encouraging smiles that could make anyone open up about anything– and somewhere between breaths the tutoring session had become the highlight of his week.

He’d left with the guarantee of seeing you again in a few days, and then it was like his brain got the flu because all he could think about, any time he idled, was you, and how you laughed at all his stupid jokes and were so casually witty and– honestly, the torrent was never ending (not that he was trying to end it very hard) and maybe worryingly distracting (he’d only missed the broad side of a building with his webs once, and he rebounded before he became a stain on the pavement, so really, no harm no foul).

He thought he was hallucinating when he walked into a bodega at random after a surprisingly nasty spat with a would-be car thief, spandex still on under his jacket and a pair of sweatpants, and there you were, too, name tag pinned to your sweater and broom in your hand, existing in your own right away from the library, which was, for some reason, a shock to him. He said something stupid (a curse he was sure he would never get rid of) and had to fumble his way through normalcy even when you, through what you claimed to be exhaustion but was pinging his spidey senses as something much more, noticed his little bump on the head and asked if he was okay. His heart had done a painful, spasmodic little dance at the thought that you cared enough to ask, and he didn’t really know what to do with that.

Sitting on this rooftop was becoming frigid, and all he could think about was your hand touching his when you handed him back his change, and your voice so earnestly saying I like listening to you.

God, but he was fucked.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #spider-man x reader #spider-man #marvel x reader #marvel #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield #marvel comics

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youryanderedaddy · 11 months ago

Note

Are you still writing about Edgar?

Yeah but I yassified him (he's evil now) (well, more evil)

tw: female reader, non - con, cockwarming, snuff (watching), threats, captivity, abuse, hinted murder (not reader), degradation

My Ko - fi <3

You shudder, leaning back against his hard shoulders. You can feel the hot sweat sticking to your skin and you want to scratch at your body in a desperate attempt to feel yourself clean and proper again - but this isn’t an option when you’re so stuffed you feel like your insides are going numb. Of course this doesn’t stop the killing machine taking the appearance of a man from pounding into you even harder, short staccato thrusts that leave you breathless. You’re starting to notice the pattern - he’s slow in the beginning while you still have energy to keep up and gets meaner and meaner, bullying his way into your cervix as you get tired and sloppy.

“Keep your eyes on the fucking screen.” Edgar hisses in your ear with one meaty fist wrapped around your throat tight like a leash. Your legs are spread as far as they can go without dislocating, and despite all his hushed threats that leave you gagging, you still want them intact at the end of the torture session. You blink through the thick tears glued to your eyelashes and make an effort to focus on what’s happening on the small black and white TV. There is a girl. She’s screaming. She’s bleeding. A big buff guy with a chainsaw is taunting her - and you tell yourself it’s just a movie; it’s all fake. The blood, the cruel laughter, the scorching screams, the shivers they send down your spine. Such good actors, you think. Certainly better than you would be had you been in their shoes.

“That’s the best part.” The killer whispers down your ear as his hand tightens around your neck, cutting your air supply for a good few seconds - and while you’re choking on your own spit, you can feel his member throb inside you, wet with pre - cum. Suddenly your heart starts beating faster inside your chest as if trying to break out of your ribcage, and you make the mistake of looking up. Perhaps you’re looking for some type of human warmth, for a smile, a reassuring glare, a dimple or even an automatic twitch of approval at the corner of his lips - but all you’re met with is the same old black porcelain mask along with a pair of cold dead eyes staring back at you, completely empty. Devoid of anything, but sadistic animal pleasure at your expense.

“You’re not fucking looking, slut.” The man growls, agitated, reaching to slap you across the face. It stings, but you barely feel it, too overwhelmed to care about pain at this point. But eventually his deep, domineering voice registers in your head and you obey automatically, turning your head back at the screen. “That’s a good girl.” He coos at you, but such gentle words sound unnatural coming from him - he twists them. He fucks with them and messes them up, making a mockery out of the sweetness, manipulating intimacy in the way he knows would hurt the most, so when he hits you again, you can actually feel it.

On the tape you can make out certain blurry moments - there is a rather artistic close - up of the woman’s eye being torn out, making her chapstick - red lips curl up in an almost theatrical fashion, and if you didn’t know the creator of the film yourself, you would have fully believed it was just an overdramatic slasher movie meant to scare over - curious teenagers, locked in their mom’s basement. You can recall a long forgotten essay you had just started way before you were stolen away never to be seen again, about the objectifying sexual gaze in old horror flicks. You want to laugh, because it’s funny - but you don’t, because it’s also incredibly fucking sad.

In the next moment his left hand is entangled into your shaggy, loosened locks, pulling at your scalp, and you moan, even when you know that to Edgar pain and pleasure mean all the same, look the same, sound the same - so how could he ever make out a difference? So you don’t blame him when he sinks his teeth into your throat and pumps himself inside you, bouncing your body up and down on his cock just like a toy, only slightly more human than a fleshlight. You can feel yourself growing wet and you look down just to make sure you’re still capable of such devine human feeling, but it’s yet another trap.

It’s his fingers. They’re long and bloody, curling up inside your tight slippery hole. You hold back the sigh of relief, because it’s obviously not your blood - yet your eyebrows narrow. You can’t help but wonder who was the miserable fucker who died for you to not have a painful dry fuck for the first time in weeks, but you don’t let yourself dwell on the topic, because you’d rather die than let your captor see you cry for the second time.

“K-keep looking.” The murderer groans, short of breath, growing soft inside you - but of course he doesn’t pull out or even move away like the sadistic fuck he is. You’re not sure if he’s looking at you looking at the woman with her head decapitated and the knife sticking out her naked chest, or if he’s just blissed out and dissociating into space. Edgar pulls on his sweaty white shirt, and the only evidence of his humanity left - his lust, manifests as redness on his neck and white stars in his empty eyes.

“You just twitched.” He purrs with a certain boyish giddiness to his usually husky voice, letting his hands grope at your open trembling thighs, caressing the old healed scars on your battered skin. “It’s because I’m fucking scared–” You try to argue, but the panic settles at the back of your throat like a massive, sticky lump of fear and you just can’t continue with whatever you wanted to say. Your voice is hoarse and tired anyways - why even try at this point? It always ends the same.

“That means you’re getting used to it.” Edgar grins, stroking his chin as if he is deep in thought. Then he laughs with that nasty little chuckle that you now associate with pink razors and pins, and sometimes needles. “You used to fucking piss yourself at those helloween movies for kids.” He kisses your neck, pulling you closer into a bear hug, and you wonder if he’s intentionally squeezing all your vital organs in. “Now you’re getting off to my old tapes like a fucking snuff bunny. I’m proud of you, baby.” His mask falls on the ground, revealing his face. It’s the same as usual - evil and bloody.

“Just don’t get too used to it, m’kay?” The killer smiles coldly, but his eyes remain just as lifeless as five seconds ago. He pinches your nose playfully, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Because soon enough you might just find yourself at the other end of it all.” He squints, his sides heating up with perverse excitement. “And I’d hate for you to make a boring actress.”

#yandere #yancore #male yandere #yandere smut #male yandere x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere male x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #tw non con

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fanficfanattic · 1 year ago

Text

Just watched the Wembley confrontation approximately 30 times so I could write down the exact dialogue. And to get more of the body language and gestures down. The scene lasts for precisely two minutes. (37:07-39:07)

James pokes his head into the room asking, “Are you decent?” Laughs as he crosses the doorway.

James walks past the security guard to enter the room, puts his thumb to his nose, before saying to the guard, “I told ya” and then to himself, “prick.” Laughs.

James is only a bit into the room before he says to the room, “Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen.” He throws his arms wide and mockingly groans before laughing again.

James is now fully into the center of the room and turns a bit to try and address all of the team. Says “Hey, it’s a tough one lads. It’s a tough one, but no shame to it.”

“Cause, you know, we only ever” pretends to tap his temple like he’s trying to remember something: “beat,” does a few feet bounces and fake little punches, “uh, everybody we play.” Laughs again.

James turns to Lasso who does the quickest fake Midwestern polite smile while Roy stands next to him stiff and angry. Will is looking over his shoulder, between the two coaches, stocking or taking out bottles from a mini fridge maybe?

“So you pups had no chance,” while once again spreading his arms. He finally looks right at Jamie and lets out a fake gasp before saying “Oh.” As though he is disappointed to see Jamie is actually standing there.

He points double finger guns at him while adding, “And there he is, my son.”

Says “My own flesh and blood” with mock grief in his voice. He stares at Jamie from half a room away, and bounces on his feet again.

“Poor Jamie, my son.”

He rocks his hips loose even as he brings his pointer finger to his nose. Does an exaggerated sniff. Then he goes back to addressing the room at large. Faces one way as he starts to talk.

“Now,” and he gestures with his right hand, then turns to take in the other side, “maybe I’m thinking his heart’s still in Manchester” and he gestures with both hands slightly towards his own chest “and that’s why he missed that sitter in the first half.” He points a finger into the air like he’s having a eureka moment.

Chuckles. Does another of his fake sympathetic groans.

“Oh ho ho.” And then lets out a little “Whew!”

Then starts tiny jogging towards Jamie while sing songing “You absolutely bottled* it.” He stops to throw his head back, arms wide, and then straightens up to slow walk closer. He laughs while saying, “You bottled it!”

Then he’s only a few steps away from Jamie and starts pantomiming some boxing moves. Ducks just a bit, has his hands in fists doing small jabs. “What were you thinking?”

Then he is right at Jamie and continues to do the small jabs, not hard, but landing like small pokes right against Jamie’s stomach. Jamie ever so slightly steps back. James pauses for half a second and then does an extra jab pushing Jamie another half step back.

James lets out a teasing “Ah ah ah.” Then “I’m only kidding, hey.” Before laughing again with a bit of a cough in the middle.

Ted does not look impressed and Roy has titled his head back a bit to squint at the man. Will is focusing on the mini fridge until James starts talking again. This time more quietly and just to Jamie.

“Hey, look, uhh…do us a favor…” and he comes back on screen as he moves his hand from his face, while sniffing, but like he’d just gestured Jamie closer or perhaps had gestured to his ear to indicate Jamie should listen to him. He continues “and get Denbo and Bug past security.”

James moves his right arm to indicate the stadium on the other side of the wall. “They wanna go on the pitch-” then he mimes raising a camera and clicking it. Jamie’s mouth turns down into a frown while his head gives the smallest shake. “-take a few snaps and all that, yeah?” Before licking his lips, letting out another sniff, and bouncing on his feet 2-3 times.

Jamie finally says something, which is to answer his dad with “I’d rather ‘em not.” He stares a hair over his father’s shoulder, not making eye contact with anyone.

James looks a bit to the side, not in embarrassment nor seemingly worried what people were thinking about his son turning his request down. More like he didn’t actually need to look at Jamie anymore.

“Yeah, they only want to look around.” And he looks back to Jamie again but it’s because he’s miming a guy jab with his left hand while saying “It’ll only take a second.” Then mimes punching him right in the jaw with a weird sound effect noise. “Doosh(?).”

James mouth drops open into a wide grin and chuckle.

Jamie repeats himself word for word, “I’d rather ‘em not.” But he is slightly louder this time and looks right at his father. He nods his head ever so slightly.

Offscreen James responds with, “What?” Then focuses on his face returning to mockery.

“What, you’re not gonna all go moody little bitch” while looking Jamie up and down, continuing, “just cause you got your arse served to you on a plate, are ya?”

Jamie is quieter again when he responds with “Don’t speak to me like that.” Jamie is back to not meeting his dad’s eye even as James starts bouncing on the balls of his feet again.

Then he pushes a little closer in to Jamie, face seemingly open to hearing what Jamie has to say, before going “ahuh?”

Jamie repeats himself word for word for the second time. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

James repeats his “Huh?” while pressing closer again, head tilted as though to hear him better. Jamie tries to repeat himself for a third time but his dad interrupts with his own third “huh?”

When Jamie finishes, his dad says “Huh?” a fourth time and then pulls back a minuscule amount to look Jamie in the eye.

James says to him “Okay, well,” and James lifts his right hand to flick up in the air. “-let’s see if you can hear this, hmm?”

Beard is shown in the background seething. James is still right in Jamie’s face, where he sniffs again, before leaning a bit closer as though to whisper.

“You know that ‘ickle tv show’ you made?” And makes broad gestured quotation marks even. “You just made it easier for Manchester City” He flicks the first finger of his left hand up like he’s about to count off things but instead uses it to point at Jamie while adding “to kick you to the curb!”

Then he leans back with a grin to continue mocking Jamie. He even adds a tongue waggle of his own.

“And look where you are now.” He laughs in his face. “Twaddling about with a bunch of…”

He spreads his arms wide and spins 180° to address the whole room. “…amateurs! No offense, no offense.”

No one responds to him, so he gives more of a belly laugh, and scratches the side of his nose with his right forefinger. Then turns around, leading with that finger pointing at Jamie. Who is not only not looking his father in the eye, he’s truly looking downwards for the first time.

Then he flattens his mouth and starts to turn away with his dad going “Huh?”

James grabs Jamie’s left bicep with his own left hand, to swing him back to face him yelling “Don’t turn your back on me” then pushing Jamie while finishing with “you pussy.”

Jamie pushes off from the foot he’d stepped back from his dad with to throw his punch.

James hits the floor, palms stopping his fall, with a groan. He pushes half up onto his hip and puts the back of his hand to his face.

Jamie’s face is in a pained grimace.

He pants out “Jesus god” while glaring venomously up at his son. Which must be when he notices that Jamie is wild eyed and terrified. The grimace is gone and instead he looks stunned.

James laughs before pushing himself up to standing, Jamie’s mouth parts while his dad is saying “Oh, yeah. Okay.”

Once standing, James says “You can have that one for free.” And gets one bounce in while readying his own fist.

Which is when Beard grabs him and says “Time to go.”

While being dragged towards the door, James is still trying to fight Jamie. “You wanna go, big time. Hey? Let’s have it, Jamie!”

Beard almost has him to the door when James screams “Don’t you forget where you came from!” Then Beard gives his “watch the door” warning while pushing James’ head against the door.

Edit 2: @kaph123 asked if James said “balled it” (what cc says and I originally posted despite some questions) or “bottled it” (a more common expression). I did a relisten and it sounded like balled BUT also like the accent might be in play. @itsjustpoopeh listened with better headphones and revealed there was a bit of a stutter which indicates its most likely Mancunian consonant dropping and should be bottled. I changed it above!

Edited to add the comfort we all needed at the reminder of our tender human hearts from @thetarttfuldickhead 🤣

#jamie tartt #james tartt sr #james loosens his hips to prepare to fight the same way jamie does to prepare to train #thanks i hate it #ted lasso #roy kent #coach beard #willis beard #will kitman #abuse of an adult child #child abuse #verbal abuse #self defense #trauma

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