#oh but even if it ends here... think of all the soldiers that will come home!
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tovarischgrazhdanin · 3 months ago
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a post full of negativity, a post full of negativity!
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due to recent events, which are not being picked up by our mainstream cycle, we are in deep shit! i have been waiting for a stupid moment like "U has invaded R's borders without being met with any resistance"... and it happened
so, is it going to be over soon? or is it going to escalate into something even uglier? we already have our youtube servers slowed down to a crawl, since apparently the people dont need to see the "lies" that are being shown there... even though, the slowing of servers has only affected PC users.
and even then it is circumvented with a VPN. but now, we dont even get to hear what happened near our border through official sources, because it is Embarassing, obviously
and im getting the same feeling i had, when it all started. i prefer to have a realistic outlook on things, so, according to my rational thinking, a bomb will fall on my head soon.
i dont seek sympathy with this post, since im not the one to be paid attention to during these times. all im telling you is that some shit is most likely to go down, and it will come sooner than expected
or maybe not. maybe its just another fluke, like the time when paid mercenaries almost took over the capital a year ago. i do hope that this is something substantial though, since i would like for the horrors for both people to end! preferably in the next few days
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sunni-stuff · 2 months ago
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You who's studying abroad in the UK where you have a one night stand with Ghost at a bar; it's a special night for the soldiers and he gets lucky after making you laugh by telling a shitty joke thanks to the liquid confidence in you. You ask his name, and he tells you there's no need — that you'd forget by the end of the night.
Taking you back home, there was no time wasted. The man practically has you seeing stars. He pumps you full of cum, whispers absolute filth in your ears and leaves bruises on your thighs by the time it's all over. He at least cleans you up, gives you proper aftercare before disappearing while your still fucked out of your mind.
Anyways, a great night. perfect 10/10, you have a story to tell your girls. So, your life continues on track as normal, right?
Wrong!
You dream of him. You have countless dreams of him. They were graphic reenactments of that night. His stubble rubbing against your cheek, his lust-filled eyes burning into yours even in the darkness. And oh, his voice - deep and confident - the very reason why you were drawn to him in the first place.
He creeps into your dreams every single night without fail, so much so that it frustrates you. surely not because you were soaking wet afterwards, no, no, it was only because he was so annoying! Surely it wasn't because you’d end up pumping your fingers in and out your soaked cunt for hours in hopes of recreating that mindblowing orgasm he'd given you only to fail each time.
After your 10th failed attempt to cum, you crack asking the friend who took you out to the bar in the first place if she knew who the soldier was and she claims her boyfriend does. You've met Kyle before, he's a handsome man with dreamy eyes and a gentleman's demeanor.
Kyle tells you he'd pass the word back to his lieutenant, but he's a busy man who doesn't stay in one place. There's no guarantee he'd even respond.
Lucky you, screwing a lieutenant who probably doesn't remember who you are or won't have the time to find out.
The waiting game painfully starts all while the dreams continue. Each torturous night leaves you more and more agitated than before. By the 4th night, you already embraced the restlessness sure to come when the vibration of your phone changes everything.
Directly on the home screen was a text from an unknown number. There was no name, but you had a feeling who it was based on the message.
“Keep the front door unlocked for me.”
A/N I wrote this during hurricane francine when my power went out, I think she gave me superpowers. Idk I'll start flying tmr!!
P2 here
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rynbutt · 7 months ago
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safe. | spencer reid.
You were pregnant but JJ had just left the team and they needed you. You hadn't told anyone; you hadn't even told Spencer.
my masterlist!
cw: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, guns, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of drugs (antidepressants and opioids), mentions of car accident, gunshot wounds, death of pregnant woman, general criminal minds themes.
wc: 6.2k
a/n: bruh this was a looooong one! dw some banging smut coming in the next one with post-prison reid >:3
now playing... Fare Well by Hozier
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This was really starting to piss you off.
You fell to your knees as bile pushed up your throat, your skin paling as you vomited for the third time today. You tried to keep something, anything, down but you would just wind up curled in on yourself and sweating in the corner of the bathroom stall. You ate a couple of crackers and sipped on water to keep your empty stomach satiated– But you always ended up right back here on the bathroom floor with your head between your knees trying to will the pain away.
Emily noticed your pale complexion and how exhausted you looked, offering to get you some medicine or ask Hotch about sitting out of the next few cases. You told her you were fine, that it was just stress. That answer seemed to satisfy her enough, though she wasn’t fully convinced. To be fair, your workload had increased tenfold since JJ was forced to accept the job at the Pentagon, and you missed her terribly but you were proud of her. But you really could have used her advice right about now.
Because you swore this baby had it out for you.
You found out you were pregnant just over a week ago and you still hadn’t told Spencer. You were still wrapping your head around the whole thing because initially, you didn’t think you were pregnant, you just thought your body was dealing with the stress and workload in, frankly, a bizarre way. Hotch had wanted you to take over doing JJ’s job as communication liaison, which were rather important shoes to fill. He had total faith in your ability to do JJ’s job as well as do your own as a profiler, but you weren’t so sure anymore. 
You would tell Spencer when you were ready and right now was not a good time. Everyone was surviving on four hours of sleep a night, far too many cups of coffee and sheer willpower. The absolute last thing they needed was to lose another team member. So you soldiered on like a champion– a champion who still held her head over the bureau’s less than impressive toilet while she threw her guts up.
“Y/N?” You didn’t even hear the bathroom door open, the ringing rattling around your skull distracting you from your surroundings. Penelope’s heels clicked against the tiles as she cautiously peered around the wall of the last stall where you kneeled on the ground. “Oh my god, sweet thing! What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine, Pen,” your voice was hoarse when you finally replied. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and tried to smooth your hair down, attempting to look at least semi-presentable before you left the bathroom to pretend everything was okay.
“No, no, my girl, you are not fine!” Penelope stood in behind you, pulling your hair out of your face as you vomited the last remnant of your soul into the toilet. “You need to talk to Hotch, you’ve got a bug or something, my dear. You shouldn’t even be at work when you’re this sick, let me talk to him for you and you just go home–”
“I’m not sick, Penelope!” You didn’t mean to shout at her, you really didn’t, you just felt awful and felt like a shell of yourself with how poorly you’d been sleeping and eating paired with all the stress of doing JJ’s job as well as your own. It was just a lot.
Penelope went quiet but stayed close to you, still holding your hair as you sat back on your heels, running your hands down your face. She let out a soft sigh, knowing you didn’t mean to shout at her. Penelope was stressed too– everyone was.
“I’m sorry, Pen,” you mumbled, your throat hurting from all the vomiting and coughing you’d managed to do today– it had to be a record honestly. 
Penelope just shook her head at you, reaching her hand out toward you, “you don’t have to apologise, sweet girl, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.” You shook your head, you still felt bad and shouting at sweet Penelope was not the way to deal with all the emotions swirling around in your head.
“It’s not fair,” you replied as she helped you to your feet, gently guiding you over to the basin to help you clean yourself up. “You’re stressed too, I didn’t mean to yell.”
Penelope brushed some of your hair out of your face, her gaze narrowing as she watched you, waiting for you to tell her what was going on. It never came and she knew she would have to push you a little. Penelope thought it was necessary though because seeing you like this was awful and she couldn’t even imagine how Spencer would react if he knew how sick you were.
“What’s going on?” Penelope’s voice was soft; gentle, just trying to get you to talk so she could help. You were stubborn when it came to asking for help and by the time you did, you had hurt yourself more than necessary trying to solve it yourself. Not this time though– Penelope refused.
“I’m okay–” you looked at Penelope and she raised her brows at you, not accepting that answer in the slightest. You sighed, knowing this is a fight you wouldn’t win. “I’m pregnant.”
Penelope’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She knew something was up with you but pregnant? That was not on this year's bingo card. “What?? Y/N that’s–” she gauged your expression and she really couldn’t tell if you were upset or happy about being pregnant. She cut herself off before she finished her sentence, pulling her lips into a line. “Are we happy about this news or are we…?”
“We’re…” you were happy. Honestly, you were. You and Spencer had talked about having kids one day, ideally after you were married but that didn’t seem to be going to plan. You’d been with Spencer for three years, in the BAU for four, it’s not like your relationship was new or in the honeymoon phase, it just wasn’t the original plan and that scared the hell out of you. But you were happy to be carrying his child– the timing was just piss poor. “We’re happy… just scared.”
“Oh, baby,” Penelope cooed. “Of course you’re scared, it’s a huge adjustment. But I know you and I know Spencer, you guys will nail this parenting business.” Penelope managed to prove time and time again why she was your best friend. You often wondered if she knew you better than you knew yourself, which wouldn’t really surprise you given her job.
“I hope so.” You smiled softly, feeling somewhat human again after splashing water on your face and washing your hands. You knew Spencer would be a good dad, he was so good with kids and he was so gentle and patient with you. He was meant to be a dad. You just weren’t sure if you were meant to be a mother. You wanted to be a family with Spencer, it made you feel warm just thinking about it, but you were a person who worried about almost everything, even the things out of your control. What scared you was how in control you were. 
“I’m surprised Spencer hasn’t told everyone, that boy is obsessed with you and you’re making him a dad? God, it must be killing him sitting on this–” Penelope suddenly looked at you wide-eyed, connecting the dots all on her own. You winced as you watched her figure it out, gritting your teeth as she let out a soft gasp. “You haven’t told him?!”
You covered your face with your hands, letting out a muffled squeal of frustration into your palms. You would tell him eventually, just not right now, he was far too busy and was already stressing about his own workload, you couldn’t imagine how much more stressed he would be if he found out you were still in the field while pregnant.
“Pen, please,” you turned to her, “please keep this to yourself. I– We can’t deal with this right now. JJ’s gone and everyone is worked to the bone, I can’t do this to everyone right now, especially Spencer.” Penelope looked at you sympathetically, you knew you were asking a lot of her to keep it to herself, especially when Penelope wasn’t great at keeping secrets.
“Y/N, sweetie, you’re going to have to tell them eventually– You’re an FBI Agent. Being in the field is so dangerous and you don’t just have yourself to think about anymore.” You knew Penelope was right. You carried a gun around for Christ’s sake, you literally hunted down serial killers, active shooters, total psychopaths and everything in between. The field was no place for a pregnant woman. 
“I know, I know,” you sighed, resting both of your hands on the basin in front of you.
“...How far along are you?”
“Twelve weeks,” you said softly, resting your hand against your belly. You didn’t have much of a bump yet but you were sure it would sneak up on you before you even realised. Lucky for you, you wore a lot of baggy sweaters around the office so you had some wriggle room when it came to hiding it.
“...My money’s on a girl,” Penelope was trying to make you feel better. She really was helping because the idea of Spencer hosting tea parties, getting covered in kitten stickers and his hair being covered in tiny butterfly clips made your heart swell.
You let out a soft laugh, “I think so too.”
“Alright, my love, I think we should leave this bathroom before they send out a search party,” Penelope laughed, linking her arm with yours to guide you out of the bathroom. 
You honestly did feel better after talking to Penelope and throwing the rest of your guts up. She made sure to remind you about ten times to call her if you needed anything, you promised you would because it did make you feel better knowing that someone knew about your pregnancy and you didn’t have to bear the weight of the news alone.
You sat down at your desk with a sigh, sipping on your water bottle to soothe your raw throat. You popped a piece of gum in your mouth, willing the taste of bile away. You let out a huff of air as you stared down at all the paperwork you had to do. Doing JJ’s job proved to be intense, especially when you were doing your own work on top of her’s. You picked up your pen when you felt Spencer press a kiss to the crown of your head as he placed a mug of hot coffee on your desk in front of you.
You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. Spencer took the opportunity to kiss you softly, one of his hands resting on the side of your desk while the other rested on the back of your chair. You smiled against his lips, “shouldn’t you be working?” You teased.
“Are you trying to get me to go away?” Spencer looked at you curiously. You rolled your eyes playfully because of course you didn’t want him to go away. If anything, you wanted him to pick you up and take you home right this second.
“Yes, Spencer,” you replied sarcastically, “I’m trying to get you to go away.” Spencer wasn’t great with sarcasm but he had come to understand your humour over the years. He just grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips.
“Sarcasm is rooted in truth, angel,” Spencer retorted with a gentle smile. 
“I am joking, but we both have a lot of work to do, Spence. I don’t know how I’m going to manage doing JJ’s job as well as my own,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair.
“There’s a reason Hotch wanted you to do it. I don’t think he could have picked anyone more capable,” Spencer replied. Maybe it was the hormones and the fact you were carrying a baby, but the comment made you want to cry. Spencer frowned as he watched your face fall, “what’s wrong, angel?”
“No, nothing,” You replied, sniffling quietly. You gave him a genuine smile, “I’m fine, Spence. I promise–”
“New case just came in,” Morgan called to the two of you, gesturing toward the meeting room at the back of the office with a manila folder in his hand. 
You looked at Morgan with a confused expression because now it was your job to decide what cases the team took after JJ’s departure. Morgan told you the case went straight to Hotch this time; an old friend had called in a favour. 
Spencer pulled a chair out for you, taking the seat right beside you in the meeting room. You opened the case file the moment Penelope dropped it in front of you.
“The victims are 20-year-old Evan Miller and 21-year-old Daniel Clark, both engineering students at Caltech. They were shot three days apart outside their family homes in the local area of Pasadena, California.” You followed along with Penelope as she gave a run down of the victims and the circumstances of their deaths.
The killings were straightforward, the UnSub didn’t try to dispose of the bodies and the men were simply shot in the head execution style. It didn’t seem like the doings of a serial killer who would usually seek some kind of sexual release from torturing and killing their victims. If anything, it seemed like revenge killings.
“They were just shot?” Emily questioned, eyebrows furrowed as she stared at the crime scene photos. 
“Once in the head,” Hotch replied, “there were no witnesses around which suggests the UnSub knew the routine of the victims and the neighbourhood.”
“Could be a stalker?” Penelope suggested.
“Stalker victims are usually the object of a stalker’s affection, they rarely act in violence let alone such a blunt killing,” You replied, confused by the nature of such a straightforward murder.
Spencer flicked through the victim’s files, “the single shot to the head suggests the UnSub just wanted them dead. No physical evidence of sexual release or torture… This could be some kind of revenge killing.”
“Did these victims know each other?” You asked.
“According to their parents, they came from the same friend group,” Penelope replied. 
“Wheels up in thirty. Garcia, you're coming with us. Get your go bag,” Hotch said, quickly standing up from his chair. Penelope made a small noise of surprise before quickly ushering out of the meeting room. Hotch didn’t usually have Penelope come along but given you were short a very valuable member of your team, Penelope had started coming along more often. Not that you would ever complain having Penelope around. 
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You pinned up the last of the crime scene photos on the board, standing back with your hands on your hips. Spencer was writing on the whiteboard next to you, jotting down all the things you knew about the victims and possible motives of the UnSub. Hotch and Morgan were engaging in formalities with the local detectives on the case while Penelope got herself settled in the makeshift office they had set up for the team. 
“The parents of the victims are here,” Emily poked her head into the office. “Y/N, Hotch wants you to talk to Ben and Sarah Miller, I’ve got the Clarks.”
“Alright, I got it,” you replied, letting out a dejected sigh. 
“You okay?” Spencer gently tucked some of your hair behind your ear, turning his full attention to you. You let out another sigh, nodding your head tiredly. “You can do this,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting between yours.
“Yeah, I know,” you smiled softly. Spencer planted a soft kiss on your cheek before leaving the office, leaving Spencer and Penelope alone. 
“...I think she needs a break,” Penelope said after a beat. 
Spencer looked at her, eyebrows furrowed, “what makes you say that?”
Penelope tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, “she’s doing JJ’s job and her own. I mean, I think she’s the right girl for the job but… you know what she’s like.”
Spencer sighed, he knew exactly what you were like. You always held yourself and your work to such a high standard and you often overworked yourself to make everyone happy. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to her when we get back to the hotel.”
“I think that’s a great idea, lover boy,” Penelope grinned.
You opened the office door, files in hand. Mr and Mrs Miller immediately stood up as you entered and you gave them a sympathetic smile. Mrs Miller had clearly been crying, still clutching a tissue in her hand while her husband paced around the office.
“Please, have a seat, Mr Miller,” you said gently.
“I’ll stand,” he replied firmly. You decided not to argue and sat down on the chair opposite the couch where Mrs Miller sat.
“Mrs Miller, I’m Agent L/N, I’m with the Behavioural Analysis Unit in the FBI–”
“FBI?” She questioned. “Was Evan in trouble?”
“We suspect he and his friend Daniel were killed by the same person,” you explained. Mrs Miller let out a soft gasp, her hand coming to rest over her mouth. 
“Is it alright if I ask you a few questions about Evan?” You asked. Sarah didn’t say anything but she nodded her head, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “Daniel and Evan knew each other, right?”
“They went to high school together,” Sarah replied, her voice shaking. “They were so excited when they both got into Caltech,” she smiled sadly, fresh tears streaming down her face.
“Do you have any idea who killed our son?” Ben asked, his voice sounding angry.
“That’s what we’re here for,” you said, “we’re here to find who killed your son and why–”
“‘Why”?” Ben repeated, “he was just a kid.”
You sighed softly, “I understand that, sir. We’re just trying to figure out a possible connection.”
“Evan and Daniel were good kids. They would never hurt a fly,” Sarah frowned, sniffling softly as she began crying again. 
“Did Daniel and Evan hang around the same social groups?” You asked, turning your attention to Mr Miller, who was still pacing around the office with his arms crossed. “Maybe in some kind of extracurricular activities?”
“They were both on the college basketball team,” Ben said after a beat. “Why? You think this asshole is going to kill more of these kids?”
“I am just trying to get an idea of the social groups Evan and Daniel were a part of,” you didn’t want to get into the gory details of why you were asking such questions and decided they were both far too emotional for you to keep asking them questions; you would let Hotch handle it. “I need to speak with my team but I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” You rested a hand on Mrs Miller’s shoulder and you couldn’t shake how much you missed JJ doing this part.
You let out a sigh as you left the office, rubbing the tension in the back of your neck. You slowly walked over to Hotch, “Evan was on the Caltech Basketball team, he and Daniel went to high school together and Evan’s parents were adamant he was a good kid. I think he was a good kid, just got involved with the wrong people.”
Hotch let out a breath, “I want you and Prentiss to go to the school, talk to the faculty, basketball team coach, anything you can get.”
You nodded, gesturing to Emily on the other side of the bullpen. She firmly nodded at you and the two of you left for the school.
The team worked the case for two days before another body showed up. Everyone was starting early and finishing late to find the person who was doing this and you worked closely with the detectives and other officers on the case. Hotch gave the profile as soon as the team was certain but given the demographic of the suburban areas he was targeting these boys, it was rather unremarkable. The third body belonged to 21-year-old Oliver Marsh, another Caltech student studying Physics. He was shot once in the head while walking his dog no further than a block from his house. 
You stood in the middle of Oliver’s bedroom staring at the posters and certificates that littered his walls. Spencer rifled through papers on his desk, mostly finding papers related to physics journals and essays for school. Emily and David were downstairs talking to the parents while Hotch and Morgan went to see the crime scene.
You walked over to his bedside table pulling it open. There were a lot of birthday cards and a game boy but what caught your attention was the little clear yellow bottles with white caps. You lifted the first bottle out, reading the label–
“Oliver was taking Oxycodone,” you said softly, catching Spencer’s attention. “...And Escitalopram,” you spun on your heel, showing Spencer the two bottles. Spencer took the bottles from your hands, eyebrows furrowed as he carefully read the labels. “Chronic pain?” you suggested.
“Could be,” Spencer replied. “He could have been taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatories too, they’re typically over the counter.”
You rifled through the drawer again, pulling out a blue box, “Yeah, he was taking Ibuprofen too.”
“We should talk to the parents,” Spencer said. You nodded and the two of you ushered down the stairs to where his parents sat in the living room with David and Emily. “Was Oliver suffering from chronic pain?” Spencer quickly questioned before he even fully made it into the living room.
Oliver’s mother held a tissue to her nose, glancing at Emily with a confused expression. You put your hand on Spencer’s bicep, “Has Oliver injured himself recently? Maybe a fall or injury while playing sports?”
Oliver’s father shook his head, “No, not recently. He’s been on those antidepressants for a few years and takes the codeine when he has– had flare-ups.”
“Flare-ups?” David asked pointedly.
“He was in a car accident four years ago,” Mrs Marsh said, “He was in the passenger seat and was in a coma for two weeks… he hadn’t really been the same after that, got really sad and antisocial… he was in a lot of pain too.”
“He had to stop playing Football and running track, his body just couldn’t keep up,” Mr Marsh added, his eyes glazing over. “He lost a lot of friends, I don’t think I ever saw him hang out with anyone, Physics became everything to him.”
“Do you have evidence of his medical records anywhere?” Spencer asked. “Just so I can look them over.”
“Uh, yeah, of course,” Mrs Marsh stood up, Spencer following her to their home office on the other side of the house.
You sat down across from Mr Marsh, “The accident he was in,” you started, “what happened?”
He looked at you with a pain in his eyes, “He was in the car with some of his friends and they were driving home from a party and it was late. I think they were all…” he hesitated for a moment, “they were all drunk.”
“Who was in the car?” Emily asked, not liking where this was going.
“...Evan Miller and Daniel Clark,” his father began to cry, holding his hand over his mouth. You felt your eyes widen, this was a revenge killing.
“Who was driving, Mr Marsh?” David asked quickly.
“Um, god–” He sniffled softly, “Peter… Peter something, he was older than them, I really don’t remember.”
“Thank you, Mr Marsh,” You stood up, quickly moving to the front door to call Penelope. You pulled out your phone, dialling her number. She picked up after the first ring.
“How may I be of service, oh queen of my country?” she sang, her fingers typing furiously against her keyboard. 
“I need you to look into an accident for me, four years ago,” you said with your hand on your hip. “Oliver Marsh, Daniel Clark and Evan Miller were all in the accident too. See if you can find newspaper articles, news segments, anything– I think we know who the last target is.”
“Right, give me a moment,” Penelope replied. You heard her typing before she stopped, “Oh no…” she mumbled softly.
“What’s wrong, Pen?” You furrowed your brows.
“Peter Harvey,” Penelope sighed, “he’s the last boy… He was driving with three other high school boys; Oliver, Daniel and Evan when they struck an oncoming car and killed a pregnant woman on impact; her husband walked away without a scratch.”
“Shit.” You cursed, “What’s his name?”
“Jonathan Hughes, his wife was Katherine… she was 8 months pregnant, Y/N.” Penelope sounded so pained and you knew she was thinking of you and the small baby you were carrying. “Y/N…”
“I know, Pen… After this case wraps up… I’ll tell everyone,” you replied with a gentle sigh.
“And you’ll take time off?” Penelope sounded like she was lecturing you.
You smiled to yourself, “Yeah, Penelope. I’ll take some time off.”
“Okay… I’ll send Hotch and Morgan Jonathan’s last known address, I’m sending you Peter Harvey’s address–”
Your phone beeped as Penelope sent the address through. “Where would I be without you, Pen?”
“Nowhere good, my love,” you could hear the smile in her voice. You quickly hung up before walking back into the Marsh’s house. 
Emily and David turned to look at you, “We’ve got him.”
“Alright, you guys go, I’ll grab Reid and we’ll be right behind you,” David waved you off and Emily quickly ushered the two of you to the car. 
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Emily was speeding toward the address Penelope had given you while you called Hotch and Morgan, filling them in on all the information Penelope had given you. They agreed to go to Jonathan’s address to hopefully intersect him before he left for Peter Harvey. You were always nervous when it came to these parts of the case because you couldn’t control the outcome no matter how hard you tried. A grieving man was going around killing these young men and while it was awful what he was doing; you could sympathise with him and the pain he was feeling over losing his wife and unborn child. 
You instinctively rested a hand over your belly, your thumb stroking the small curve. You couldn’t even imagine how much pain Spencer would be in if he lost you, let alone your child too. You would tell him and you would ask Hotch about taking some time off later in your pregnancy and sitting out of cases like this. 
“Shit he’s already here,” Emily cursed when she noticed Jonathan’s SUV parked a couple of blocks from Peter’s address. “Call Hotch.”
You dialled Hotch’s number and he picked up almost instantly, “What is it, L/N?”
“He’s already here, his SUV is parked a couple blocks down from Peter’s address. He’s already out looking for him,” You quickly said.
“We’re on our way, units are already on route,” he hung up after that. 
Emily pulled the car up on the gutter, the car skidding to a stop. You immediately pushed the door open, holding your gun by your thigh as you ran across the lawn to Peter Harvey’s house. You knocked on the door and a woman answered after a beat.
“Mrs Harvey?” You asked, panting softly.
“Yes?”
“Is your son Peter here?”
“No, he went to the store down the street an hour ago, he should be back soon… What is this about?” She asked, her hand gripping the door in concern.
“We believe someone dangerous may be looking for your son,” Emily said. Mrs Harvey rested her hand over her mouth, a soft gasp leaving her lips.
“Mom?” You spun around and Peter stood with a plastic bag of groceries in his hand in the middle of the lawn.
It all happened almost in slow motion. You saw a figure wearing dark clothes stalking across the lawn and without even thinking, you darted toward Peter as the UnSub pulled the gun out of his coat, aiming it straight at Peter’s head. You could hear Emily yelling at Mrs Harvey to go back inside before she pulled out her gun and aimed it at the UnSub; but it was too late.
You shoved Peter to the ground as he fired, feeling the shot burn through your shoulder as both you and Peter fell to the ground. You instinctively pressed a hand to your burning shoulder, warm blood oozing from the wound and through your fingers. 
“Jonathan Hughes?” You said, your breathing heavy as you tried to fight through the pain. He held his gun right in front of your face.
“Move,” he grunted, his eyes glassy.
“I know what happened to your wife,” you breathed trying to stall him as more police cars with blaring sirens pulled into the street.
“They killed her,” tears streamed down his face and you honestly felt bad for him. 
“It was an accident,” you replied softly.
“They were drunk,” he almost yelled, his hand shaking as his gun was still trained on you.
“I know,” you said, “It was a stupid mistake that haunted them, Jonathan. I know it doesn’t change what happened but these boys–”
“They’re monsters!” he shouted, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.
You saw David and Spencer get out of the car. Spencer’s heart was in his throat when he saw you kneeled on the ground, shielding Peter with your body while your hand and shirt were covered in your own blood. He didn’t even pick up his gun as he began stalking toward you.
“Y/N?” His voice was soft when he called you at first, then it turned to outright concern and anger, “Y/N? No, no!”
David grabbed Spencer’s arm, pulling him back as Spencer fought against him, trying to get to you. It was irrational and it was dangerous. David quickly picked up his walkie, “An agent has been shot, we need an ambulance.”
“Who was shot?!” Penelope’s voice rang out in the car as she spoke to Morgan and Hotch.
“I repeat, agent L/N is shot, we need an ambulance,” David spoke before putting his walkie away to hold Spencer back, pulling him to the ground.
“Morgan! Oh my god!” Penelope felt tears form in her eyes.
“It’s okay, babygirl, she’s going to be alright,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her as Hotch stepped on the accelerator. 
“No, Morgan, you don’t understand–”
“We’re going to get an ambulance–”
“She’s pregnant!” Penelope blurted out, not knowing what else to say for them to understand the gravity of why Penelope was so upset and concerned. 
Hotch hesitated for a moment, “She’s what?”
Penelope let out a shaky breath, “she’s twelve weeks pregnant, Hotch. She wasn’t going to tell anyone until after the case– and now she’s been shot.” Penelope began to cry, holding her hand over her mouth as tears slipped from her eyes.
Hotch hadn’t sped that fast since he found out Foyet was in his house. He cared about his team a lot and he had a soft spot for you even though he wouldn’t admit it. The tires skidded along the road as Hotch pulled on the handbrake, both him and Morgan training their guns on the UnSub as they approached.
Morgan’s heart hurt at the sight of you, your skin slightly paled as blood bloomed from your shoulder, drenching your arm and your hands. You looked so scared as the UnSub trained his gun on you, unmoving. Emily had her gun aimed at the UnSub, yelling for him to put it down.
“Jonathan Hughes!” Morgan’s voice caught your attention. “Put down the gun!”
“Don’t move!” Jonathan shouted, “I’ll shoot her!”
“No you won’t, man,” Morgan shook his head.
“How do you know that!? She’s in my way!” He shouted back.
“She’s pregnant,” Morgan sighed. Your eyes widened as you looked at Morgan, who looked back at you with a sad expression. 
Spencer stopped fighting against David, his breathing evening out as the words fell on his ears. You were pregnant. You were carrying his baby and you got shot and now you had a gun held up in front of your face. Spencer didn’t even realise he was crying, his tears cold against his warm skin. All he could do was watch, there was nothing he could do.
Jonathan glanced at you as you held your hand over your belly. “W-What?”
Morgan reached a hand out as he got closer. “Just like your wife, Jonathan… You wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman like those boys did.” 
Jonathan seemed to dissociate, staring at you with such a hurt expression as Morgan leapt forward, grabbing the gun from Jonathan’s hands and tossing it across the grass. He pushed Jonathan to the ground, pinning his hands behind his back. You let out a breath as you felt yourself grow tired. Emily caught you before you fell the rest of the way to the ground, holding you close to her body as she screamed for a medic. 
“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Emily gently rocked you, “you’re going to be fine.”
“I’m sorry,” you muttered, tears running down your cheeks.
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Your eyes were heavy as you attempted to pry them open.
You let out a shaky breath as you finally pulled your eyes open, the smell of disinfectant hit you first, followed by the sounds of beeping. You were in the hospital. You glanced down at your arm, an IV stuck in your arm while a pulse oximeter was clipped to your finger. Despite the fact the doctor had prescribed pain medication, you still felt like shit and your shoulder was killing you.
A soft noise caught your attention and you glanced at the chair next to your bed, Spencer sound asleep in a chair with a hospital blanket draped over him. You smiled softly as you saw the flowers, balloons and plushies littered around your room, most likely a courtesy of Penelope.
“She’s awake,” Morgan smiled, standing in the doorway. 
You grinned at him, “Hi, Derek.”
Morgan slowly walked over to your bed. “Feeling okay, pretty girl?” Morgan gently grabbed your hand, giving it a soft squeeze.
“I’m okay,” you replied. You almost didn’t want to ask but you knew you had to, “...is the baby okay?”
“Your baby is fine,” Morgan replied with a soft smile. You let out a breath of relief as you placed a hand over your tummy protectively. “...You scared the life out of everyone though.”
“I know,” you sighed.
“Especially your lover boy,” Morgan said, “he hasn’t left your side.”
“Sounds like my Spencer,” you laughed softly. 
“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was laced with sleep as he opened his eyes. He quickly got up, ditching the blanket on the floor to tend to you.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Morgan quickly said before leaving the room.
Spencer’s warm hands cupped your face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I thought I lost you, Y/N.” He let out a breath, pulling away to stare at your face and stroke your cheeks with his thumbs. You reached a hand up to grip his forearm.
“I’m sorry–”
“You don’t need to–”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Tears formed in your eyes as you stared up at him, searching for any kind of anger or resentment. There wasn’t any, he could never be mad at you.
“I wouldn’t have let you come on the case,” he replied after a beat. “I wouldn’t have let you leave the house.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you… I knew you would be protective– more protective,” you corrected with a soft smile. 
“I’m aware,” Spencer pulled his lips into a tight smile. “You know the odds of… complications are higher in the first trimester, angel. You should have told me,” he frowned.
“I know, Spence,” you sighed. “I just wanted to make sure I was in the clear before I told you… I understand being shot isn’t necessarily helping with that but–”
“I understand,” he replied. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
You stared at him for a moment, “are you happy?”
“Happy?”
“That I’m pregnant? I know we’re not married and our jobs are crazy but–”
Spencer cut you off by pressing a kiss to your lips, he pulled away slightly, “I’ve never been more happy,” he whispered.
You beamed with happiness, a bright smile tugging on your lips. Spencer hesitantly pressed a hand to your belly, his thumb stroking your tiny bump.
“Penelope thinks it’s a girl,” you muttered.
“...What do you think?” He asked curiously.
“I think she might be right,” you giggled softly.
“You know you can’t actually tell yet,” Spencer said and you rolled your eyes playfully.
“You asked what I thought!” you retorted.
He laughed softly, “Yes, you’re right, you’re right.”
“Mmm, did that taste like poison to admit?”
“Are gunshot victims supposed to be this mouthy?”
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a/n: phew! i hope you guys liked it <3 i know i disappeared for a hot minute but here she is!!!
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xinganhao · 12 days ago
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🙇‍♂️ svt when you get jealous.
anon → "Could I request SVT reaction to you being jealous? 👀?"
⌗ ┆love a flip of a good trope d(・∀・○) pls note that the ff. members feature manips/edits, so credits go to the rightful owners: jeonghan, joshua, soonyoung, wonwoo
‧₊˚✩彡 includes: f!reader, established relationship, pet names, jealousy 🤭, fluff/crack/etc., [short] headcanons under the cut.
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🙇‍♂️ headcanons .ᐟ
— "oh, boy, here we go again" ✩ junhui, wonwoo, mingyu, seungkwan, chan.
anyone dating junhui or mingyu have got to be god's strongest soldiers. both boys would be a little exasperated at your jealousy but they also react to it in their own ways. junhui, for his part, will always crack in the end. he may goad you about all his romance scenes but he's quick to switch up when he thinks he's gone too far. mingyu, on the other hand, focuses on making you realize how ridiculous you are for the (mostly) unfounded jealousy. when that doesn't work, he'll try to distract you with something else. it's not often that you get jealous if you're dating wonwoo— if anything, you might be envious about all the time he spends on his games. when it comes to people, though? he's not about to tolerate you thinking that way. he'll shoot you down quicker than any other member does with his. no pickup lines or pleasantries, here; just the straight truth. seungkwan's reassurances are just a little more on the teasing side but they're never any less sincere. he's the type to be very conscious about not giving you a reason to be jealous in the first place. meanwhile, chan may sometimes be a little more on the clueless side, though he'll always get there eventually. does he joke around about it? most definitely. will he be on your doorstep to pick a (playful) about your jealousy until you can do nothing but succumb to his charm? also yes.
— "so help me, god" ✩ jeonghan, soonyoung, jihoon, vernon.
jihoon would be at an absolute loss™️ in the face of your jealousy. it's a rare thing, for you to be envious of anything outside of the time he spends on work, so he will try to tread lightly. the way he fumbles about attempting to reassure you is endearing enough for you to forget what you were so upset about in the first place. jeonghan is one of the rare ones who would try to incite your jealousy; what can he say? he likes poking the bear sometimes. but he's also the image of someone who can dish it but can't take it. if he's met with your petulance, he'll fall on his knees in any/all attempt to get back in your good graces. soonyoung's plenty oblivious when it comes to what might make you jealous. you can expect him to pull out the pout and puppy dog eyes when trying to convince you not to be upset. and, oh– vernon is oblivious to the point where it's almost painful. he won't get that someone's into him until you point it out. when you do, though, he'll do everything in his power to allay your concerns.
— "you're the only one" ✩ seungcheol, joshua, seokmin, minghao.
minghao comes from a family where his parents only have eyes for each other, so it makes sense for him to also be the same. reassurance comes easy for him; he'll never joke about your feelings and he'll talk you through it, even. at any given chance, he makes it abundantly clear that he's spoken for. there's no hiding from joshua, either. he's too perceptive for his own good and he'll know if you're jealous, even if you try to hide it. he never blames you for how you're feeling and his focus is on how he can avoid making you feel that way on the future. seungcheol is the type who'd be a little endeared, even, that you get jealous. he likes it if his partner is a little possessive and territorial. you can tell that he's smug about it, though ultimately he'll play in to your little charade. seokmin, on the flipside, is a big believer of nipping things in the bud. if he thinks anything might make you jealous, he's already keeping you from overthinking before it can start. he's not going to have you questioning yourself; not on his watch.
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lucienne-thee-librarian · 7 months ago
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I think I know *a* answer if not the answer:
If someone is bringing up white women for a reason besides Disguised Misogyny but Make it Sound Radical, they should actually yknow. Follow that up with a solid connection to race and how the women being brought up perpetuate a certain problem to do with it, something substantive about white femininity and how it's treated in our culture, or highlighting a lack of empathy these women might show to people of color, empathy that they seem to have no trouble displaying towards fellow women/queer people when said people are white. Just for a few examples. Idk, if someone has some substantive criticism, something to say about something white women do, they should. Actually say it. Not something that just sounds like garden variety sexism if you tacked a word or two on, words you could snip off and not lose anything from your hot take.
If you don't have a coherent/accurate point to make, or the point you made ends up having nothing to do with race really, just "these women do a thing and that's bad" then yeah, imo you need to stop pretending. At the least it's a red flag that this person might be hijacking the language of legit theorists about race and gender to cover a misogynistic bias or just petty personal grievances that don't actually have a thing to do with social justice.
At what point is the "white woman blogger" joke like, unproductive/helpful. cuz initially it seemed to come out as valid criticism to a trend of white women online with a lot of privledge who just, often ran into doing/saying really racist/sexist/ableist, etc stuff one way or another but now it just feels like the butt end of a joke
#and oh YEAH like prev alluded to for examples of B:#james somerton#most of the time he was just so blatantly being like WOMEN SUCK i mean uh. WHITE STRAIGHT women#but the stuff he was bringing up was almost always unrelated niche fandom bullshit#not that fandoms can't be racist ofc but it was just so transparently about his own petty grudges against fandom#Hot takes he didn't like. 99 times out of 100 it had FUCK all to do with race or anything serious tbh#it was always like. Ppl who (supposedly. Despite little to no evidence) said some anime wasn't gay enough#or women scandalized by fucking red white and union jack or whatever (not what happened)#be so serious my guy you aren't a philosopher you just wanted to yell at women online that you had to make up half the time#to get mad at without *quite* so obviously sounding like a sexist dipshit#there was only ONE time i saw in todd's video where he had something#talking about jeffrey dahmer fangirls but even there he couldn't stick#to the point for long without making it weird#there's a decent point in there just waiting that he stole from others no doubt#about how many of dahmers victims were poor mainly black/brown/indigenous men#usually runaways whose deaths the police didn't care to investigate so the fact these women#are still so comfortable sexualizing and shipping him speaks to their#total lack of empathy for his victims humanity etc etc but he ended up pretty quickly veering off from that#To...focus on how the fangirls mainly ship him with a white victim not one of the others. So like. They were shipping him with#the wrong victim. As if that's at ALL even close to the core issue here which is. It's certainly a take. Jesus dude#way to show you can ONLY ever think of anything even serious heavy topics#thru the lens of shipping and fandom which is something he LOVED to bash other ppl for but like#my brother in christ. Call is coming from inside the house. But I guess things that are admittedly problems#are only problems when women (or ppl you see as such) do them#also on a totally unrelated note remember that time he perpetuated the#gay nazis myth and then invented his own about how nazis supposedly invented our modern body image standards#cause they were so hot and buff our soldiers got jealous?? Unfortunately I do. I can never erase that#knowledge that he said that and PEOPLE TOOK IT SERIOUSLY from my brain. Like. ??!?!?!?@?#yes sexualizing serial killers is weird. But sexualizing nazis isn't???? The hell
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago
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You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !
Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.
Moths Hit the Window
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PAIRING: König x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.
WORD COUNT: 5.9k
WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.
A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 
Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.
If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 
 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 
“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 
“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 
“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 
Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.
No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.
“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.
König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 
This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 
“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”
The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 
“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”
Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 
“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 
“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”
“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 
“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”
You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 
He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.
Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”
It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 
But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 
You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.
König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”
You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.
Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”
“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”
“Great!”
“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 
“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 
Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 
“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”
“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 
“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”
Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.
“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”
“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”
“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 
König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”
“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 
In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.
Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.
But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.
The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.
“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.
König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 
Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.
“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”
“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”
König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.
“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 
Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.
Too far.
Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.
You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.
“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.
Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.
Shame that it’s already too late.
Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”
His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.
“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 
By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 
Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.
Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 
The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 
Evolve, or die. 
“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”
Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 
“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.
“Three minutes.”
“...get to it then. We move in five.” 
So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 
“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 
The Lieutenant is one of them. 
Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 
“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 
But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 
Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.
The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 
The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 
Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  
You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 
Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 
Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 
Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 
Closer now.
Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 
Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 
The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 
Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 
Your finger slams into the trigger. 
You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.
Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 
Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 
You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 
In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 
“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 
Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 
It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 
You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 
There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.
“You are late.” König. 
He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 
Anyone but you, that is. 
König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 
You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 
Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.
“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 
Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 
“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 
Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 
The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 
“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”
“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 
Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”
In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 
Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 
It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 
He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 
“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 
The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 
“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.
“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 
“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”
Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.
“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”
“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 
“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 
“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”
 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.
“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 
He freezes, muscles going taunt. 
“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 
Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 
König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 
“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”
“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”
“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 
“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 
There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 
And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 
König kneeled to you and bared himself. 
Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 
There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 
Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.
The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 
König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 
But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.
You were reckless.
Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 
A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 
“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 
König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 
“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 
Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 
Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 
You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 
You find none. 
“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”
A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 
He speaks with a whispered confession.
“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 
Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 
He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 
For you to come back to him. His partner. 
You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.
König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.
The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 
This time, you’re the one to gasp.
“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”
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obsessedwrhys · 7 months ago
Note
Can we have a part 2 Deadpool reader with the boys and maybe soldier boy too❓❓ if you want to of course
ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Boys x Deadpool!Reader
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t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader's origin will be explained underneath, reader is still an asshole lol that comes with the character, mention about killing,death,gore, weed, drugs, Reader is gn!!!
ᯓ★ here's a version with the seven, kiss kiss <3
Origin:
Quick summary, when you were born, your parents had agreed with Vought to have you be pumped full of Compound V so you could grow up and be a hero working under them, but the problem was when you were around 7, they changed their mind so Vought ended up sending several people to come to your house to settle the matter.
Your whole family was massacred in the living room during thanksgiving and when they tried to capture you. You were able to run away. Homeless and living on the street, you grew up in a life of crime, depending on nobody but yourself. Make sense? No? Good! Let's start now.
BUTCHER
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To him, you were like a fly that won't leave him alone.
How he knew you was through Mallory, she thought you were okay and fit for the job since you hated Vought just as much.
Obviously he didn't like you once you were introduced to him and the two (M.M and Frenchie)
"No way am I lettin' a supe join us"
":("
Though after what happened to Mallory's grandchildren, the gang pretty much dispersed but wherever Butcher went, you followed. Since he was the only person you trusted... and also enjoy annoying the shit out of.
He'd head inside a club, relieved he hadn't seen you for the past few days so he decided to grab a drink by the bar to unwind.
"Whiskey" He said with his eyes looking around, paranoia shown on his face.
Once his drink was served, he would look back to find your eyes smiling at him, you were wearing a bartender disguise over your red suit.
"Did you miss me?"
"Oh christ..."
When you heard word that he was gathering back the team, you had to be there. What kind of friend would you be if you didn't?
Undoubtedly he had to admit, there were times where he was grateful to have you on the team but there were also other times he regretted it.
For example, that time when you guys needed to sneak into a lab to get something and the goal was to stay quiet but even that simple rule was hard for you to follow.
"Room's up ahead. (Y/N) I need you to—"
"Heads up!" You said as you threw a bomb at the metal door.
The explosion causing the alarm to turn on and it had the whole lab now on high alert. You shrug innocently when Butcher glared at you like he wanted to tear you apart.
Also, you enjoy constantly pissing him off. You can't die so you don't really care if he'll kill you for it.
"Maybe, if you didn' press the fuckin' button, we wouldn't have to come bac' to save yer ass from the guards"
"OOH GOD SAVE THE QUEEEN!! Please, cry me a fucking river. I got us the target didn't I?"
"He's dead"
"Well you weren't being specific when you said to capture him"
But it's fine, all his frustration will be solved once he uses you as bait. He knows you can't die but hey, it makes him feel slightly better watching you get shot at.
Despite your ups and downs, he appreciates you. When the team would turn against him on his insane journey for revenge, he always found you the only one still standing by his side. You're loyal and he likes that.
Compatibility? 75%
HUGHIE
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You treat him like a child.
No seriously you baby talk him sometimes and it annoys him
"Awwwww is little hughie angry?"
"Stop..."
"Does baby want his milky?"
Since he's pretty much the only person who isn't that exposed to crime as the others, he's terrified 100% everytime when he's paired up to do any dirty work with you.
"Now listen buddy, you better start talking or I'm gonna shoot" You said, gun raised at the man who seemed to be begging you to spare his life in a language you didn't speak.
"I don't think he speaks English"
"Ah shit... ENGLISH!! SPEAK!! ABCDEFG??!"
"How is shouting in English gonna make him understand?"
"Eh, you're right"
BANG
"WHY'D YOU SHOOT HIM??!"
"Well did you expect me to pull out Duolingo and start taking classes?!"
You had to admit, it was a pain in the ass each time he starts giving you the cold shoulder whenever he gets mad at you for doing something terrible. It was like his way of guilt tripping you so you always try to apologise in your own ways.
"Hey..." You said, handing him ice cream.
"...I uh... I don’t like Strawberry ice cream... I thought I told you that"
"God you're so ungrateful!!"
Since he was such a scaredy cat, you try to tone down your craziness a bit. For the sake of him not going into cardiac arrest.
"(Y/N) STOP!! She has nothing to do with this!! She was tricked" Hughie grabbed you by the arm to pull your gun away from the innocent woman.
You turn your head to look at him, then at the woman, then at him again, then the woman, then him again.
"Ugh finnnne... you're boring..."
However, he does appreciate you trying to be a better person. Even you had to admit, after you met him and became friends. You noticed yourself being less brutal than you used to be. The thought keeps you awake at night and it scares the shit out of you.
But oh well, how could you ever say no to those scared little puppy eyes?
Compatibility? 55%
FRENCHIE
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He's like your hype man which is concerning.
Not because you're not afraid to get the job done but also because you always have his back.
"Well... I need some gunpowder but I've run out of them" Frenchie said, telling Butcher that the plan was most likely not gonna happen.
"Hold on" You said with the typical comical ☝🏻 gesture before heading into a different room. Everyone exchanging confused glances at what you could possibly be doing.
After a few minutes you'd return with a bag of gunpowder while struggling to zip up your pants with the other hand.
"Don't tell me how I got it. It almost tore me apart" You said, rubbing your ass.
On stressful nights, you guys would enjoy smoking weed together by the sofa and share stories of your traumatic childhood. It's how you guys bond and it's oddly wholesome.
Also when he needs a shoulder to cry on, you were always there for him. You two shared a type of relationship that even Romeo and Juliet couldn't compete with. To be fair they're dead so they actually can't fight.
"Hey reader!! If you're gonna keep reading then you might as well give the post a like or a repost. C'mon, pleassssseeee pleasepleaseplease"
"Ma cerise, who are you talking to?"
Although he doesn't mind your behaviour sometimes but he won't tolerate it if you ever cross the line on something. He's like the owner who sprays water at his pet cat when they don't listen.
"What are you mad at me for?!?!"
"You damn near tried to get us killed!!"
"Hey! You're the one who said it would be a suicide mission so I made sure it was a suicide mission!!"
"WHAT?"
There's no way he can deny how curious he is about where you get your guns and things. He once went in your room to find boxes of dynamite and a RPG just placed against the wall like furniture.
Like do you have a supplier or are you your own supplier?
Compatibility? 99.9%
M.M
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Everybody deserves second chances.
He always tells him that to calm himself down everytime you managed to fuck up a thoroughly planned mission.
"What did I say about pressing buttons (Y/N)?"
"Honestly I stopped paying attention after you said 'Listen here'."
M.M has to be the only person you fear to the fact you try very hard to avoid him, this is because his long ass lectures are such a pain to deal with.
"How many times do I have to remind you? You can't just go around doing shit like that. You gotta consider the amount of danger you'll put everyone in..."
"(Blah blah blah... he's still going... uggggh... make it stop...!)"
Unable to handle the lecture any longer, you ended up shooting yourself in the head.
"(Y/N)!" His tone more disappointed than concern since this wasn't the first time you did this to escape his talks.
You know that russian dollhouse he tries to build in season 2? Well you'd constantly be found standing or sitting near him when he's trying to finish the set.
Since you're aware of his OCD, you like to edge him on by sometimes rearranging the parts or stealing some of it so he ends up searching high and low for the missing parts.
You had to admit it was entertaining to watch him accuse other people for touching his stuff when it was you behind all the schemes.
I'd like to think that after every mission when you happen to die, he'd be the one in charge of collecting your remains so you'd grow back.
That's why it comes naturally that his job is to make sure you don't do anything extreme.
"Where are my bombs??!?!" You'd shout, storming around the place looking for them.
"I sold them. Thought it'd do us more good knowing you won’t accidentally blow us up"
"WHAT?! GOD! It's like the writers of the show couldn't afford another explosion for this season so they had to use this DUMB of an excuse!!"
Though he does see some good in you through the messed up parts, he once saw you give his daughter a cute teddy bear when they've been burned by Vought.
She still has the bear and M.M likes to think that maybe you have a soft spot for kids since you never had a proper childhood. That's why he chooses to understand you rather than just being ignorant about your behaviour.
Compatibility? 80%
KIMIKO
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She finds you a little odd but she doesn't mind once she realises how everyone is used to you being like that.
Whenever you're bored, you'd come to see what she was up to. Just imagine you sitting on the sofa like a curious kid as you watch her write alphabets on the book.
She also tries to communicate with you since she thought maybe your fucked up mind would understand her better in a way. Like how in season 2 she was repeatedly writing 'boy' to Frenchie but he didn't understand, so she came to you.
"Woow... watching you try to talk to me is like watching a baby take it's first breath..."
"😐"
"It's beautiful..."
Turns out her theory was wrong, you had a harder time understanding her compared to the rest.
Since you're the only two people in the group with powers, most of the time you two are sent on dangerous missions together. It's a nightmare for her because everybody knows communication is key but one is mute and the other doesn't listen.
"(Be quiet! There's people in the other room!)" She'd sign to you but you were busy humming a song while throwing around the enemies equipment.
"Oooh, what's this?" You held up a Homelander figurine which made you laugh as you show it to her.
"Hey look! 'I'm Homelander, I'm God's favourite. I play golf with Jesus every Sunday."
"(Can you please take this seriously?)"
"You're right, you gotta stop messing around Kimiko! We have a target to kill here" You said and you threw the figurine away which apparently clashes into a stack of boxes that came crashing down. The sound making everyone inside the building grab their weapons and began cornering you two in the room.
"😡"
"Okay that wasn't me that was gravity"
For the boys, you were plan A and she was plan B. That's because you always end up rushing into a fight first which most of the time resulted in you getting dismembered, which she later comes in to save you.
For example when Stormfront had stopped you guys, your bright ass thought it was a good idea to charge at her even though everyone was signalling you to stop. Next thing you know you were just a head being carried by M.M, you ended up watching as Kimiko fought Stormfront with the help of Starlight and Queen Maeve.
"That's my girl!! Now can anyone lend me a hand? I think I lost mine"
Compatibility? 97%
Bonus +
SOLDIER BOY
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You know the scene where he walks out of his containment with the gas surrounding him? You swore when you watched him step out butt naked, you could hear angels singing and trumpets playing inside your head.
Shockingly enough, he was the only person who appreciated your humour. Could be a generation thing. He's just relieved not everyone has gone soft over the years.
In a way, you feel like you've become his babysitter. Everytime Butcher and Hughie left to do some business, you were in charge of making sure he doesn't blow up anyone. You kept him entertained so he didn't mind. That's why on the hunt for his former team members, he immediately chose you to be by his side.
"I'll take red with me"
"Red as in the american flag or the russians?" You asked which had him do the typical boomer laugh.
"I like you, you're funny" He said with a strong pat on your shoulder.
Butcher doesn't mind you with him cause he trusts that you can keep him under control. Hughie on the other hand isn't sure if you can even keep yourself under control.
"Shhh... wait... do you hear that?"
"Ah shit, did I accidentally said my dirty thoughts out loud? It's just you look breedable in that suit"
Another thing he likes about you is that you're okay with killing pretty much anyone, just try not to overstep cause that could potentially piss him off.
"I told you he's mine" He said as he had you pinned against one of the trees, apparently you had shot Mindstorm in the head when he literally made it clear to you minutes ago that was his kill.
"Quite possessive aren't you? I can recommended a therapist I know. Her names Martha—"
"You shut your mouth before I shove my shield up your ass"
"Gasp don't you DARE threaten me with a good time!!"
At the end of Season 3, you would obviously side with Butcher when everyone started to turn against Soldier Boy. He had to admit he was kinda hurt though, he expected you to be on his side.
"So what? You're crawling back to him now? After what we've been through?"
"Sorry big daddy, but Butcher has been my day one and I also happen to love him veryvery much"
Cue Butcher rolling his eyes out of disgust.
Compatibility? 100% but after the betrayal? 0% 😔
2K notes · View notes
0mg-bird · 4 months ago
Note
i would love it if you wrote anything with a shy reader and bob, but no pressure!
Two shy characters? I love it.
Shy Reader x B. Floyd
Summary: At the Navy bar your friends drag you to, you come across an aviator who isn’t like the rest of them.
Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, fluff!, Bob is so cute I wanna put him in my pocket even though I know he’s a grown man.
A/n: I did something a little different than my Jake story, hope you don’t hate it <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I really wish we could have just stayed at the restaurant.” You awkwardly laugh as your friends, Ashley and Steff, pull you along with them.
“Oh come on, it’s my birthday so we’re going to get drunk and find a soldier to take home. One for each of us.” Steff says, already slightly tipsy from dinner.
You hide your frown, adjusting your curled hair and fiddle with your top.
You’ve never been into the Hard Deck, that’s what starts off your unsureness. You weren’t one for public outings, you enjoyed the company of your friends but they were always more adventurous than you.
There’s music playing and lots of people mingling, you’re practically hiding behind Ashley, following the two through the bar.
“You need a drink, you’re too stiff.” Ash says as the three of you sit at the bar.
“I’m always this stiff.” You reply, sitting on your stool. “Well, let’s fix that.” Steff giggles before ordering three drinks.
You chat and your anxious feelings subside, as soon as you get to thinking that bar scene really isn’t that bad, you hit a curve.
“God, they’re all so gorgeous.” Ash practically moans and you follow her line of sight to the group of uniforms behind you. They’re all playing pool and talking, all clad in tan and name badges.
“I like…that one- no! Him, yes, the tall one.” Steff bites her straw, motioning to a dirty blond with broad shoulders and great biceps.
Ash hums in agreement. “I like him too.”
“Well it’s my birthday so pick again.”
They have the argument for another minute or so, then as you finally dissociate from them, they’re telling you they’re going to go say hi.
“What? No just stay here…please?” You beg, not wanting to be left alone.
“We’ll be right back, I swear.” Steff says, kissing your cheek. “Have another drink and you’ll be fine.”
You groan and rub her lipstick off your face, then turn to the woman behind the bar. “I’ll have another Long Island, put it on the party girl’s tab.”
She smiles. “Coming right up.”
You blow out a puff of air, then look around. You must look awkward, sitting by yourself, not chatting like everyone else. When your drink comes, you look sip on your straw and look over your shoulder to see if your friends have gotten any farther with the guys they’re talking to. You smile at the way Steff is feeling her guy up, as you go to glance away, something catches your eye.
Someone.
He’s sitting on a stool, not fully engaged with the rest of the squad. As your eyes catch his stare, he looks away for a moment, then looks back.
A genuine smile he gives you, and then it’s your turn to slightly smile and look away.
Bob’s eyes keep shifting to your seated position across from him, and by the third time of his drifting off, Phoenix is onto his game.
“Are you gonna sit here like an idiot all night or are you going to talk to her?” She asks.
“What? I don’t know what-”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve been staring at her like a puppy for twenty minutes. Go talk to her.”
The thought of approaching you seemed like a death wish. You were gorgeous, and any other previous times he’s approached a gorgeous girl, it ended with some sort of question about what Hangman was up to.
“No, she looks busy.” He says, looking back to the sunflower seeds in his cup.
“Busy doing what? Stirring the ice in her drink? That girl is bored out of her mind, Bob, go put her out of her misery.” She has a demanding tone that makes him stand, still unsure.
“What’s he doing?” Fanboy asks, noticing the way Bob slowly inches forward. “He’s gonna go talk to the girl he’s been ogling for too long.” Phoenix says.
“You go Bob!” Payback encourages, really just joking.
“Get me a beer while you’re at it!” Fanboy calls.
“Me too!” Phoenix and Payback add.
He walks with hesitation instead of determination, the entire time he thinks it’s a ridiculous idea.
He stops at the spot beside you. “Penny, can I get three beers?”
By his sudden presence, you startle, slightly jumping in your seat.
“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare yuh.” He apologizes. You’re more beautiful up close, timid as you tell him it was okay.
“Why’re you sitting alone? If you don’t mind me asking?” He asks and you bite your lower lip, fighting a smile. “My friends are busy groping your friends over there.” You joke.
“Makes sense. You’re not a fan of their antics?”
You shake your head, nose scrunching. Bob takes in a small breath. “Well, I think it’s a real shame that you’re sitting alone. Why don’t you go back to your friends?”
You like his accent, it feels southern but you aren’t sure.
“Really, I’m fine. I’m not exactly a fan of the attention being on me.” You admit.
As Penny places three beer bottles in front of him, he grabs them up. “I think you should join me.” He rushes out, his tone just as surprised as you are.
“Join you?” You ask, looking to the group. Two guys are shoving each other back and forth, seeing who will fall over first. You’re not satisfied with the idea of involving yourself with that. “I think I’ll just wait for my friends to come back.”
He takes a seat beside you. “Can I join you then?”
No guy has ever been so persistent with you before, you’re not sure what to do. You look at his name tag.
“Okay, Floyd, you can stay but I’m kind of boring.”
He shakes his head. “I find that hard to believe and uh, you can call me Bob, everyone else does.”
Having him up close, you recognize how handsome he really is. Not the obnoxiously attractive that the rest of his crew is, he’s more reserved. You like that. His glasses are quirky and different, making him look all the better.
“I’d hate to keep you from your friends, Bobby.”
No one’s ever called him Bobby before, the way it sounds coming off your lips is addicting.
“Trust me, you’re doing me a favor.” He jokes. “You got a name?”
You look at your shoes and tell him. When he tries it out, you blush.
“I like that name.” He compliments.
“I think it’s kind of boring:”
“It’s not boring.”
You like the way he’s being so kind, most guys would have tried a pick up line by now, but Bob sits with utter curiosity in his eyes.
“So, you from here?” You ask, sucking on your straw.
“No, I’ve lived in Lemoore for a while but I’m stationed here until further notice. I grew up in Kentucky actually, then I joined the Navy and haven’t really been back.” He explains, watching the way you rest an elbow in the bar, then lean your head on your hand. “What about you? Are you from here?”
You shake your head. “No, I’m from up North actually. But I went to school down here and fell in love with it so here I am.”
The two of you are quickly immersed in conversation about childhood and travel and Bob watches you come out of your shell.
“You don’t want anything?” You asked, motioning to the bar.
“I don’t drink.” He explains, though he’s distracted by Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin who suddenly is crowding your space.
“Excuse me, is this guy bothering you?” He asks, joking around with Bob.
“Don’t you have a blonde to attend to, Bagman?” Bob questions, making the man drop his smile.
“I’m getting her a drink, her friend too.” He says before ordering two vodka sodas. He looks back at you. “Your party girlfriends are wanting you to join them.”
As you open your mouth to respond, a shout comes from the group. “Bob! What happened to the beers?”
Bob groans, then stands to gather the beers that have been sitting for twenty minutes. “I should get back to it.” He tells you with a smile, walking away.
You look around, confused. Maybe you put him off, maybe you gave the wrong signals. You grab your drink, finishing it quickly, and before you can second guess yourself, you follow after him.
As your presence is recognized, the crew halts in conversation.
This was a bad idea. You could turn back, it wasn’t too late.
As you go to do just that, Bob speaks. “Hi again.”
He’s motioning to the stool he was going to sit on, offering it to you instead.
You slowly sit, deciding on being brave.
You’re introduced to the rest of the group, and as you remember why you didn’t want to be around the guys your friends wanted to, Bob is there, talking to you so the others couldn’t. There’s plenty of jokes made that you force yourself to laugh at, just so you wouldn’t seem awkward, but the tale tell sign of you constantly checking the little leather watch on your wrist showed you were ready for some peace and quiet.
“You wanna go for a walk?” Bob’s voice is low next to your ear, it makes a shiver run through you.
As you look up, his face is surprisingly close to you. You slowly nod. “Okay.”
In the moment that everyone else is distracted by the two girls who adore the attention, the two of you head for the door. You don’t pull away as Bob clutches your hand, keeping you close as he leads you past people.
The music is immediately quieted as you make it to the fresh air, the gentle sound of the waves coming in is relaxing.
“I don’t love the crowds either.” He says as you make your way across the sidewalk. You’re busy looking out to the sand and waves. “Ash and Steff are really more the fun ones, they can have a good time with a group of people watching…I cannot.”
He likes the sound of your laugh, the way the white moonlight is hitting your features makes you seem radiant.
“I always thought the Navy would make me a more sociable person, I guess it has but I think it creeps people out, how quiet I am.” He chuckles.
Completely content with strolling beside you, he gives off an energy you feel utterly comfortable in.
“I like that you’re quiet, most Navy guys aren’t.”
He playfully squints at you. “You talk to a lot of Navy guys?”
Reevaluating your words, your cheeks flush. “No that’s not what I meant, I just meant that- they’re all a certain way- not that I would know! I have never slept with any man of uniform!”
Bob stands in surprise at your ramble, finding it humorous. As he laughs, you cover your face, embarrassed.
“Hey, I was just teasing. I swear, I was teasin’.” He grabs your wrists gently, prying your hands from you so he can look at your red face. “Come on, pretty girl, look at me.”
As soon as he says it, he feels embarrassed himself. The name just slipped out, he should’ve halted the words, he needs to apologize-
You look up at him, doe eyes and a small smile.
Your hearts pounding, your close proximity to him has you feeling hot. As the low crash of waves mixes with the ringing in your ears, you wonder what it would be like to live on the wild side, to do what people do in bars. If you were brave and stepped out of your shy personality, would he let you kiss him?
Bob’s gazing down at you, he’s trying to figure out what’s turning in your mind. One hand lets go of your wrist, it gently cups your cheek.
“I’m going to be bold.” You state with a determination that makes him nod.
“Okay.” Is all he says.
The hand he has a hold on, goes to rest on his chest. You’re surprised at the hardness of it, sure you knew he had to be physically fit to be in the line of work he’s in, but his body is so unsuspecting, it honestly makes him utterly attractive.
He watches you hyper fixate on your touch on his chest, and the warmth of you is enough to make him feel buzzed.
He doesn’t want to rush you, but every second where you don’t pursue whatever thought you have, is killing him.
You start thinking against it, you don’t want him to think you kiss strangers, it’s not who you are at all. You swallow hard, about to call the whole thing off and tell him goodnight. When you raise your head though, he’s lifting your face to his. You’re captivated, he’s embracing you so tenderly, kissing you with an unsure and unfamiliar passion.
You sigh deeply, he holds your hand to his chest, your free one slides over his shoulder. Slowly, shyly, your lips move against his, falling into a gentle rhythm.
Your heavy eyes are shut, the utter feeling of him is making an electricity flicker through you.
After a moment, he pulls away, both hands cradling your face now.
“Please tell me that’s what you were going to do.”
You nod with a fever. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to do.”
He kisses you quickly once more, just to get it out of his system. “What are you doing tomorrow?” He asks.
“Probably nursing Steff’s hang over, but if you call me I’ll do whatever you’re doing.”
He grins, liking the idea.
You continue your late night walk, and inside the bar, Coyote looks to the vacant stool with confusion. “Where’s Bob?”
The crew stops, then looks to the empty space.
“Stealth pilot, I’m telling you.” Hangman says. “This guy is always disappearing and popping back up again.”
849 notes · View notes
bitterrfruit · 9 months ago
Text
you re-enlist
And Captain John Price absolutely doesn't want you to. He begrudgingly takes you to his office to sign the paperwork - and shows you what your decision has brought you.
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18+ MDNI - 5k words
tags: John Price x f!Reader, power play, oral and vaginal sex
a/n: To get some content on here I've pulled this from my longfic Licking Wounds on Ao3. Trimmed/tweaked it a little to make them tumblr friendly :)
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“Just... let me sign what I need to.” You breathed, exasperated.
Captain Price sat behind his desk, leaning back insouciantly in his chair, bouncing his knee in irritation. His cautious and tired eyes flitted between yours, considering his words before he spoke.
“This is your last chance to change your mind.” He grunted.
You sucked your teeth frustration. “I’m not changing my mind.”
“You should.”
“Why? Will my presence really be that fucking draining for you?”
He quickly absorbed your sudden anger, mirroring it as he stood from his chair, leaning against the surface of his desk on white knuckles.
“You know that’s not what this is about.”
His tone was by turn seething and pleading, glowering at you with gruelling severity.
You scoffed. “Oh, so it would be.”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t be childish.”
“Childish?”
Evidently fed up with your petulant bickering, his head dropped from his shoulders as he grunted in frustration. “I just... I can’t understand why you’d come back to this.”
“You can’t?”
“You had the chance to get away from it. You got out.”
“Got out. You think I got out, do you? That once I got shipped back to London I was done with it all?” You groaned, impatient. “Just let me sign the goddamn paper."
There was visible dispute burgeoning behind his lips, but he stayed silent – leaning forward to tug open one of the drawers of his desk. He pulled out a pad of blank paper forms, hesitantly but methodically tearing one sheet free along the perforated line. He flipped it, placing it down on the wooden surface and twisting it so it faced you, pushing it towards the edge in your direction with his fingertips.
He plucked a ballpoint pen from the steel mesh cup on the edge of the desk, before dropping it on top of the paper form with a quiet clack.
Crossing his arms, he stood upright with a huff and watched you scrutinisingly; glare challenging yet reluctant.
You quietly swallowed, stepping abashedly towards the desk and leaning over it, holding the pen between your fingers and pensively clicking the end of it with your thumb.
Jaded eyes scanned each word, the tip of the pen trailing each line as you read. You checked box after box, writing down the answers to probing questions as though you were completing an exam under the shrewdly watchful eye of your professor. Existing health conditions, current medication, family lineage, previous rank, promotable status. It would almost be nostalgic, answering questions such as these again, for the first time since you were promoted to sergeant four years ago – if it didn’t carry such painful weight, and weren’t so rife with sordid history.
The nib of your pen met that dotted line, finally, at the bottom of the form. Your eyes looked at the conditions and implications of your signature, that thick paragraph above the box, though not a single word was absorbed by your busy mind. It didn’t matter – you knew the consequences of that pen meeting the paper. Even if the Captain wished it, signing your life back into the hands of the SAS was not something that could be easily revoked.
He seemed to relish hopefully in your hesitation, his breath slowing as he watched you consider, pen hovering cautiously over the paper.
You briefly glanced up at him, from under your challenging eyebrows, meeting his eye. His stiff gaze wordlessly pleaded with you, his mouth in an austere line.
Steadfast, you ignored his silent dispute.
You signed the dotted line.
There.
Done.
No backing out now.
A soldier again.
You were astonished at the adrenaline a mere signature could pump from your heart, quivering with it, as you dropped the pen to the desk and stood upright.
His steely eyes did not leave you, face replete with a medley of discernible emotions; ire, anxiety, remorse, solemnity. Arms still crossed firmly over his chest, you listened as his heaving lungs drew in a deep, exasperated breath.
He licked his teeth before he spoke.
“That’ll be all then, Sergeant.”
He dismissed you bluntly, coarse voice dripping with derision. A crease formed in your forehead, taken aback by his sudden dismissal, breath hitching at his use of your rank instead of your name; sergeant, a title he hadn’t referred to you by in two years.
It was as though he was satisfied, doing his best to show you what your decision had brought you, to make you regret it. You were his subordinate again. Just his sergeant.
“I knew you’d enjoy it in the end, Captain.” You seethed, tone draped in sardonicism, an immediate retaliation.
His brow furrowed as he looked down his nose at you. “Enjoy what, eh?”
“You finally get to order me around again, don’t you?”
“You-”
“Am I dismissed? Or are you going to command me to drop and give you fifty?” You growled pettishly, scowling up at him. “It must’ve been hard, not being able to command me to do your bidding while I was a civilian. But that didn’t stop you from trying, did it?”
He grunted, an increasingly enraged sigh escaping his chest. “I didn’t want to be giving you orders again.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, I didn’t. Just because you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not being commanded to do it, doesn’t mean I’ve been waiting for the chance to.”
A kick to the stomach, you worried you’d lose your balance with the blow.
Grimacing at him, you stepped your weight onto your back foot in reaction to his venomous accusation.
“Fuck you.”
You hissed it through your teeth, unable to conjure up any intelligent rebuttal, only lashing out with the reprisal that your frenetic emotions scrambled together.
He sniffed irately, adjusting his arms over his chest.
“Can’t talk to your captain that way, Sergeant.”
Your jaw hung loose in disbelief, overcome with a cold rage that made your body quake as it flooded your arteries.
“Fuck you,” you repeated wryly, daring. “Are you going to order me not to talk back to you, sir? You prick?”
He glared at you with challenging contempt.
“You want me to give you an order, do you?”
“I want you to get off your fucking high horse.”
“Yeah? Am I too honourable?”
“Honourable? You’re a sanctimonious p–”
He put his hands on his hips, brashly sucking his teeth before he interrupted you.
“Take off your shirt.”
His hoarse command pierced the thick air like a bullet.  
The wind was viciously sucked from your lungs, then, your racing heart jolted under your ribs with such voltage it felt as though you had been shocked by a defibrillator. You could only stare at him, stupid, waiting for him to relent, to take it back, to say that he was kidding.
His expression, now, was unreadable. You weren’t certain whether he was purposefully keeping his countenance devoid of emotion – or, if, you had abruptly lost any and all ability to understand him or his intentions.
He was a stranger, but a familiar one. A captivating one.
Before you could stammer out a semblance of a response, he continued.
“That’s the sort of order you’ve been wanting from me, isn’t it?” He goaded darkly, seemingly smug at his ability to render you flustered and wordless with one short sentence.
Dumbstruck, still, you could only swallow a pointed breath as you desperately tried to read any clear objective in his shrouded blue eyes.
“Go on.”
He’s not kidding.
“You wanted an order, I gave you one.”
Fuck.
You were completely staggered by the whiplash. Your distended heart thumped so vigorously in your chest you thought it might crack a rib.
There was a conviction within you, somewhere, to question him. To question if he was being serious, to ask him if this was some kind of sick joke to make you regret your decision.
And while you believed that was the case, that it was a derisive retribution, a game to get back at you – there was a stronger urge to play along. To meet his challenge, to execute his dare.
Meeting his indignant gaze with yours, you tucked your fingers under the hem that sat between your waist and hips, peeling it up your torso and stretching it over your shoulders, then past your head. Sweeping your loosened hair out of your face, you held the thin black fabric in the other hand before dropping it to the linoleum floor. You shivered a little in the cool air of the room, your stiffening nipples concealed by the cups of your rarely-worn grey marl brassiere – practical and unsexy.
But the look on his face was telling; he hadn’t truly expected you to comply.
That surprise waned quickly. His dark eyes tried their best to hold your stare, but they failed him – raking over your torso, jaw clenching as his gaze stuck brazenly to your exposed cleavage.
Trembling with adrenaline, you waited for him to say something. Anything.
You expected dispute; you anticipated he’d say, I wasn’t serious. And that would be a satisfying reaction – your effort to make him uncomfortable would prove a success, a victory, you’d have the last figurative word.
He wiped down his face with an open hand, rubbing his beard anxiously as he wrestled with what to say, how to react – maybe some attempt to restrain himself. He leaned against the surface of the desk, resting his weight on his knuckles.
Through gritted teeth, he uttered his next command.
“Bra.”
You swallowed timorously.
It was surreal, really, you worried you were hallucinating – you imagined that in reality he was shouting at you to stop, but you were unable to hear him over your carnal psychosis.
But it was too late now, to stop yourself. You were driven to finish what you started. Changing your mind now, pulling your shirt back over your head and running out the door – would leave you questioning whether any of it was real. You wouldn’t survive in that oblivion, between reality and dream, fact and fantasy.
You needed proof.
You reached behind your back, contorting your shoulders to allow your fingers to grip the clasp against your spine. Your breasts pillowed out of the top of the soft cups as you stretched the band to unhook it, before slipping the straps down your shoulders. It slid from your chest, down your arms, gently – it, too, fell to the floor; you dropped it on top of your abandoned t-shirt.
You drew in a quivering breath, the skin of your breasts tingling as the goosebumps elicited by their exposure trickled across their soft flesh.
He sucked in a heavy breath, deep and slow, rugged and rasping. He took a step, and you retracted slightly; but you watched like cautious prey, as he walked around from the far side of his desk, to the front of it. He leaned on the very edge of the surface, not quite sitting on it, as he insouciantly crossed one boot over the other. His lascivious eyes did not leave you, absorbing every feature, every curve, like he was admiring an artwork.
Despite the metre and a bit of distance from him, you felt the dense heat that hung in the air between the two of you, radiating from him like he was a fucking oven.
“Trousers.”
A brief conflict almost escaped you, but he quickly smothered it.
“Off.”
Whatever reluctance that lingered melted away, then, dripping off of you like a layer of sticky ice cream – by virtue of the unwavering sternness of his command. And that, you realised, was where your comfort lay; where there was no ambiguity, no remorse for a poorly made decision, no culpability for your actions. If you were following an order, the onus was on him.
So you followed it.
Your kittenish fingers went to the button of your grey cargo trousers, popping it undone, slyly pulling down the zip of your fly. You flayed back the open waistband, pushing them down your hips, struggling briefly to pull them past your ass; its recent plumpness made your pants a touch too small. The polyester fabric loudly shuffled in the distended silence as the trousers fell down your legs, into a puddle at your feet; you stepped out of them as though out of a pond.
By the time you looked up to meet his gaze once again, though, he had already charged at you; quickly taking the base of your head with large hands and pulling you towards him. He forced his eager lips against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, such an aggression that your first primal instinct was to resist him with claws against his chest.
But you were quick to surrender to him, relishing in the taste of him, his tongue, his breath hot in your mouth, you sucked it deep into your chest. Your starving hands coiled up and around his neck, scratching at the tense muscles in his heaving back through the fabric of his uniform jersey; hooking into him in some feline effort to make sure he was real, to prevent his escape, to keep him from being stolen away.
His mouth wasn’t on yours for long, though, dragging wetly across your jaw to your neck, the crook of your shoulder; he chewed at your soft, fervid skin, teeth skimming and barely digging into the tendonous flesh. His vicious hands gave you no reprieve, clutching at any part of you that could force you closer, tighter against him – ensnaring the meat of your hips, your waist, kneading at your sensitive breast with the other.
He separated from you only briefly, though his possessive hands didn’t leave you. Crouching slightly, he hooked his arms behind your thighs, under your ass – deftly hoisting you upwards with no visible effort. You clutched the back of his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips to maintain your balance as he lifted you, turning on his heel and carting you towards the desk. He quickly used a free hand to sweep aside the papers, flinging them to the floor in a confetti; he put you down hastily, keeping you close, the cold surface of the varnished wood biting at your bare skin.
He gave you a transitory respite, carefully checking your face before he went any further; likely ensuring you weren’t crying this time, that he hadn’t crossed an unspoken boundary. Whatever look you gave him in return was outside of your control or perception – but it was an invitation, evidently.
He dove down to kiss you again, but fleetingly – his savage lips trailed down from yours, biting their way along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You leaned back slightly on the desk to allow his avid venture, his ravenous mouth biting and suckling wherever it landed; drowning momentarily in the softness of your breast, cupping it with his wide hand to push the pillowy flesh against his face.
That wasn’t his final destination, though. His mouth only brushed over your nipple, sloppily kissing down your tensing stomach as he lowered himself to one knee, clutching your waist with both hands on his journey downward to hold you still. You felt your heart in your throat, in utter disbelief; you could only suck down jagged breaths as his lips grazed against your lower belly, just above your hip, teasing the elastic hem of your underwear. He gingerly kissed your mound through the thin cotton, controlling hands holding your hips by the bone.
Too rapacious to taunt you for long, he tugged sharply at the hips of your panties, leaning back so he could pull them down your thighs, over your knees, off your ankles. Your foot rested gently on his collarbone as he paused in apparent admiration, your exposed, spread pussy mere inches from his face; his breath despite its heat was cold against your wet, feverish skin. You felt embarrassed at his close inspection, his unashamed reverence – but his murky gaze broke away from your intimacy, instead meeting your eye. He wore an expression of unassailable pride, though cloaked in an avaricious hunger; he stared at you cruelly from under his brow, daring you to deny him.
Hitching your legs over his arms so that they rested on his shoulders, he clutched the side of your thigh with his mammoth hand while he pushed his lips into the inside of your leg, high enough, close enough, to make you quiver in desperate anticipation.
Piercing eyes still locked on yours, peering up from your eager flesh, his husky voice murmured deeply into your skin.
“Is this what you wanted?”
He jibed, almost a growl, as though teasing you for your recent behaviour – scolding you for acting out instead of asking for it, causing a scene instead of using your words like a grown-up.
Another kiss, higher, closer, teeth grazing the supple meat of your inner thigh, coarse beard prickling against the burning skin of the edge of your cunt.
You couldn’t think of the right answer, if there were such a thing, to his question – your head was by turn empty and running a million miles a minute. Really, you didn’t even know the answer.
Was it what you wanted?  This entire time? Has it been what you wanted since the last time, in his barrack in Urzikstan? Since the gala? Or, even, since you met him?
Your answer left your wet throat before you had the sense to question it, or rationalise it.
“Yes.”
You breathed, a whisper, barely, almost a squeak. You weren’t certain that it was the truth, either – but it was what you wanted now, so it was honest in some sense.
With firm hands he adeptly tugged your hips so you perched precariously on the very edge of the desk, allowing him ease of access to you.
He cruelly denied you still, placing maliciously soft kisses against the slit of your pussy, torturing you with only a light pressure while you willed him to dive deeper. An ardent whimper fled your chest, quiet and pleading.
Whatever carnivore he was doing his level best to restrain escaped its prison at your sheepish sound; his monstrous hands dug deep into the flesh of your hips, maw lunging forward and pointed tongue parting your slick folds like he was searching for water. It dipped into you only briefly, a momentary taste of the dripping syrup he seemed to take pride in inducing from you – before he used it to glide up to your clit where it was nestled. With ravenous lips he suctioned it into his mouth, devouring you; dextrously chafing your sensitive bud with a flat tongue, maintaining a vacuum that made a dangerously loud and needy moan escape your throat.
He only hastened his torment in response, drinking you like he might die of thirst, breathing heavily through his nose so as not to allow you even a second of relief from the unbearable suction. Feverish claws clasped at the top of his head, running through his short hair and scratching at his scalp, holding his head where you wanted it. Your head hung back off your shoulders, briefly staring at the panelled ceiling before your eyes unwittingly fluttered shut, doing your best to swallow the choked cries that threatened to make the whole army base aware of your depravity.
Your constricting legs inadvertently tried to push him away, your body overwhelmed and desperate for a break from his ruthless consumption, almost too oversensitive to be pleasurable – but not quite. He restrained you tightly, though, not allowing you to flee from him for even a second; his firm hands controlled your hips with an alarming strength, head moving with you as though predicting the direction of your attempts at escape, mouth not separating from you once.
One hand retreated from your side, but to quickly prevent your bucking his constraining arm slithered over your lower stomach, clutching the far hip and using his elbow to hold you down to the desk. His free thumb, then, crept to your cunt under his chin. Despite how slick your skin was, drenched in both your clear sap and his saliva; the clenching muscles of your vagina were squeezed so tightly he had to push his thumb into you with effort, almost popping as it broke past your resistant entrance.
That seemed to weaken his resolve, the tightness of your muscles clamping around him rhythmically, in tune with the burgeoning, forcible orgasm that threatened to crash over you like a tidal wave; he released a ragged, resigned exhalation into your skin. You felt yourself beginning to drown in it, that swirling ocean. The floor, the desk, the room sunk in it, slipping away from you as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, only him keeping you afloat.
But he stopped, then, thumb begrudgingly slipping out from inside you, suddenly releasing his merciless suction and separating his wet mouth from your yearning pussy. You groaned in dispute, cut short, a sharp rush of air escaping your overwrought lungs.
“Not yet.” He grunted hoarsely, barely audible.
Brows twisted in pleading frustration, you looked down at him, meeting his frightening glare as he pushed himself to stand; beard glistening with the wetness of you, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“What?” You whined breathily, panting as you watched him tower upright, looming over you in licentious authority.
“I’m not having you come yet.”
His injunction was authoritarian, uttered darkly, his rumbling voice so hoarse it sounded animalistic; a growl, a threat. He stood between your legs, still, you watched in quiet, anticipating obedience as his livid hands tore at his belt. Ferociously unbuckling it, as though it would fight against him – he tugged open the button of his trousers, ripping down the fly and unsheathing his rigid cock from his straining boxers; menacing, it dropped heavy out of the elastic waistband, the solid shaft landing against your ravening cunt with a hard, wet slap.
You winced slightly at the sore impact, and his humanity seemed to return to him momentarily; softening face inches from yours, his attentive blue eyes scanned your features for reluctance.
“Tell me no.” He urged throatily, “tell me no, and I’ll stop.”
A shaky breath seeped through your lips, your delirious gaze flitting between his eyes, lashes fluttering as you processed his promise.
“I don’t want you to stop, Captain.” You uttered weakly, entreating.
His careful eyes darkened quickly at your bashful plea, watching your lips form the syllables of his rank like you were stroking him with it. His dominant hands returned to your hips, then, clutching at the bone and lifting your pelvis so it was angled right, just where he wanted it.
His clouded glare didn’t leave yours, his fingers dipping into your saturated pussy as though scooping the viscous fluid that dribbled from you; you watched, beguiled, as he rubbed your juices up the thick shaft of his cock, coating the head in it, briefly unable to stop himself from fucking his fist, huffing carnally, while he was lubricated by your watery come.
With a tug of your legs that were coiled around his hips, you grounded him, impatient; his sinister gaze met yours again, watching your wanton expression as he obliged you and dragged the soft head of his cock down your slit, the cruel pressure against your agitated clit making your body twitch. He restrained your spasm with his free hand your waist, keeping your pelvis still, as the tip of his length nestled between your lips, pressing against your clenching entrance.
Gripping himself by the stiff base, he pushed past your tight opening with his full weight; stretching it tautly around the girth of his cock as he stuffed you with it. You let out a pained squeak as it abruptly filled you, ramming against your cervix with a pressure that made you flinch.
The sharp soreness briefly frightened you – you had been deprived of the sensation of that angry thickness inside of you, ever since…
You didn’t let your mind go back there, not for a second; your eyelids shot open, desperate gaze sticking hurriedly to your Captain, his riled and yet gentle expression bringing you back to him, rugged but soft hands holding your hips as he impaled you on the length of him. You clutched the fabric of his jersey tight over his chest, gripping his arms, his shoulders; keeping him real, corporeal, there with you. He let out a strained grunt as he pulled you down onto him, as deep as your insides would allow him to go, to the hilt; he held you there, forcing you to squirm.
Your delicate hands held his warm neck, leaning forward as you pulled his head down to kiss him; mouth open and tongue desperate to taste him again, to feel his hot breath against your face, the soft scratch of his beard on your chin. He returned your kiss, tender, compassionate – a stark juxtaposition to his ruthless incursion; rutting into you powerfully but methodically, slow but hard, deep enough to be painful.
But the hurt was translated by your aroused nerves into a bestial pleasure, using your goading legs to pull him further into you, you felt his cock push against your aching organs. It raked against your sodden walls on its way out, a slight sting as it dragged along your taut opening – before filled you again, abrupt, sharp; it forced a sweet cry from your fevered chest into his mouth. He grinned arrogantly against your lips, a ragged, breathy chuckle taunted you in response.
You separated from him, then, lying back over the surface of the desk; you arched your back, angling your hips so that his length beat your walls more viciously, wrapping your legs around his waist and clutching at the edge of the desk above your head with straining claws. Exposed to him now, on display, his thrusting only increased in vehemence, speed, depth; carnivorous hands digging into the meat of your hips as if you might slip away from him, forcing you down on him with each rut.  
Eager for release, your fingers glided down your stomach, navigating diffidently to your clit; you drew wet circles over it, letting out a soft whine as you pleasured yourself with the rhythm of his accelerating thrusts.
“Shit.”
He groaned huskily at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, his face twisted into an exasperated rapture, forcing himself to slow down slightly so as not to push himself over the edge too quickly.        
He stopped you, hastily; a stern hand tightly ensnaring your wrist and tearing your fingers from you. He pulled your arm upward, pinning it firmly to the wooden surface underneath you, holding your hand by your head. He leaned over you, then, making you watch as he held his free hand to his lips, spitting lecherously into his fingertips; they found your clit without needing to look, stroking the oversensitive spot inexorably, the pressure cruel and unrelenting. His head hung from his shoulders, mouth landing against the hot skin of your shoulder, placing gentle kisses along your collarbone as he ruined you.
The union of the two sensations – his cock, hard as stone, fucking into your stomach, and merciless fingertips tormenting your swollen clit; it surged within you, frayed nerves electrocuting you as your inevitable orgasm loomed, its delay rendering it incensed and sorely overpowering.
He must have felt the muscles of your walls clamping down on the length of him as it dawned on you, the change in the music of your sounds; aching whines growing louder, crawling from your labouring throat.
“You gonna come on me, are ya? Beautiful thing?”
He growled into your skin, only increasing the severity of his torture, relentless in his goal to finish you.
Your delirious tongue was unable to form a word in response, only releasing a high-pitched and arduous cry as your unforgiving orgasm collided with you, waves of carnal heat pulsing from the base of you, the muscles of your bullied pussy clenching tightly around his avid cock.
“That’s it.”
He grinned against your neck as he kissed you there, moving with you, allowing no escape.
“Good girl.”
With no apparent intention of slowing down to offer you a reprieve, he instead began speeding up, forcing you to squirm and shriek in dispute at the overstimulation. Your desperate, animal fingers clawed at his wrist, struggling to tear his stiff hand away from your cunt – but he relented, eventually, falling victim to his own pleasure as he shifted his focus to fucking you harder, deeper.
He scooped an arm under your back, lifting you just slightly from the surface of the desk as he hovered over you; the other hand holding the bone of your hip tightly, keeping it steady while he rammed you. You listened in rapture to his grunts of ecstasy, gentle hands clutching the back of his neck, nails grazing his hot skin as you coaxed him to chase his own release.
You pressed soft lips into his bearded cheek, comforting, reassuring him; and that seemed to do the trick, bringing him too close.
“Fuck.”
He groaned hoarsely in begrudging pleasure as he paused, for just a hesitant second, before reluctantly tugging his cock out of you and slamming the wet shaft of it it against your mound.
You panted heavily, holding your forehead against his, relishing in the sensation of his hot come shooting over your stomach, painting you; it dribbled down your sides, down the creases of your hips, dangerously close to your cunt. He winced against you, twitching involuntarily as he pushed the last of his semen out of the head, drooling onto your febrile skin.
You kissed him, again; he tenderly pressed his lips against yours in return as he took the moment to catch his breath. His mouth left yours after a moment and landed in the crook of your neck, his heaving body hung over you, propped up by his elbows on the desk under you. You felt him kiss under your ear, his warm breath and prickling beard sending a shiver down the nape of your neck.
You wanted to say something, anything – but there were no words you could think of to offer him. Gratitude? An apology? Your brain was fried, fucked into pliable mush.
Instead you lay in silence, embracing him for as long as it would last, doing your best not to consider the consequences that lay ahead of you as a result of such an unbelievably foolish lapse in judgement.
He’d been your captain for only a few minutes, and you had fucked him already.
And yet you wished the moment could last infinitely; savouring his gentle lips as they planted drowsy kisses on your neck, tired hands caressing your waist in what felt like wordless praise, a silent gratitude.
Despite the reservations, the guilt, the doubts that stormed around you, deafening; your thoughts encircled only one thing, one source of comfort.
He was your Captain again.
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marvelwitchergilmore · 3 months ago
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In Sickness and Health
Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> Logan takes care of you when you're sick.
Disclaimer: Mentions of throwing up, getting the flu, flashbacks to exploding boats. Mostly fluff for how Logan takes care of the reader. Couple of swear words. Happy ending. Not Proof Read.
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You never got sick. 
It didn’t matter who you were around, or where you had been or what you had been doing. You never got sick. 
You could help ten puking kids, three more flu ridden ones, walk through a room full of adults who had everything from the flu to fainting from it, and still walk away and not have gotten sick. 
Standing by the kitchen door, Logan watched you. 
In all fairness, he’d been watching you ever since he saw you sneeze whilst he was sitting outside teaching a kid outside of lesson times. Sitting in a classroom didn’t help the kid, but sitting outside on a bench, watching the world go by…well, the kids could recite the whole book by the end. 
For three days, you’d been sniffling, sneezing and coughing. No more than anyone else, but coming from you, it was concerning for Logan. 
He couldn’t get sick, but that was due to his own mutation. Not by some miracle act from God. 
So, standing by the kitchen door, Logan watched you. 
Your nose was a little red from the amount of times you’d used a tissue against it in the last few days, your skin was flushed, your eyes heavy and your steps slow. 
For the third time in four minutes, you zipped your jumper back up and shivered. 
“You’re sick.”
Logan’s voice made you jump. He wasn’t loud but it still made your ears ring. 
“I am not sick.”
“Yes, you are.” Logan pushed himself from the door frame and he walked closer towards you. 
“I don’t get sick. I’m not sick. Just…tired. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
“No, neither did I. I could hear you coughing and sneezing from down the hall.”
“That wasn’t me.”
“Sure.” Logan raised his brows for a second. 
“It wasn’t.”
Then you sneezed. 
“Okay,” Logan practically sang, taking you by your shoulders. “Let's get you to bed.”
“I don’t need to go to bed. I’m making food-”
“We don’t need you making everyone else sick. One kid, fine. An entire school? Even Mother Teresa might struggle with that one.”
Logan stood behind you and guided you out of the door and down the hallways. 
“Why is it so hot in here?” Quickly zipping your jacket back down, you tried your hardest to get it off you as fast as you could. Logan helped you for a moment before pressing his hand to the back of your neck. 
“You’re sick.”
“I am not sick.”
“You’re freezing cold,” Logan pointed out. 
“Then why do I feel like I’m on fire?”
“Because,” Logan said. “You’re sick.”
Helping you down the hall and into your bedroom, Logan pulled the covers back from your bed and made sure you got into it. The minute your head hit the pillow, the pouding just became a dull ache. 
“If I’m so sick, why are you helping me? You’ll get sick.”
Logan shook his head as he tucked you in whilst simultaneously untucking your duvet from the frame of the bed. 
“I can’t get sick. My mutation makes sure I can’t.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’.”
“But what about the kitchen?” 
You went to get out of bed again but Logan practically ran around the bed to stop you. It didn’t take a firm hand to push you back down. 
He sat beside you, his arms caging you in where you lay. 
“Don’t worry about that. I can take care of it.”
“You can cook?”
Logan nodded. 
“You? You, Logan Howlett, can cook?”
Logan furrowed his brows, a little offended. “Don’t sound too shocked.”
“Just…never seen you cook an actual meal.”
Logan shrugged, “When you bunk with seven other soldiers who don’t know the difference between toast and charcoal, you learn pretty quickly.”
“Huh.” You said, slightly shocked by his admission. Though, come to think of it, Logan was full of surprises these days. 
Your friendship with him hadn’t started out on the best of terms given that you had punched him in the face when you first met him, thinking he was on the other team of people who were hunting you. 
You got a good swing in, too. Made his nose bleed. Which was never an easy feat when it came to someone like Logan. 
Of course, for a while, given that you didn’t want to join either team, or any team for that matter, you and Logan were a bit stand-offish to each other. On the rare occasion you did see each other (usually whenever X-Men came to find you), your communication with him was through glares and grunts. Which he gave back in return. 
Then the first couple of times he, technically, saved your life, you were more adamant on fighting him. Like when he pulled you out of the water when you fell in, even though it had been on purpose and you yelled at him for leaving the boat you’d both been on. 
“Oh, well excuse me for thinking I was saving your life!” He had yelled at you as you walked up the bank and found a log to throw your jacket over whilst you wrung out your hair and the bottom of your t-shirt. 
“I jumped, Logan. I didn’t fall. I knew what I was doing. You should be on that boat right now!”
“Maybe, but now I guess we’re stuck together, huh?”
Funnily enough, it was after that day you decided you hated him a little less. But it wasn’t from the water, it was when he actually listened to you and left the boat when you told him to just before it exploded. 
He was the one to find you back at the bank when you dragged yourself up it and collapsed, catching your breath. 
“You blew up a boat.”
You nodded. “I blew up a boat. And saved your life. I guess now we’re even.”
“Even, huh?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He offered you his hand a minute later and pulled you up. 
It still took a while for you to both become friends, but at least from that day forward, you were both civil and talked. 
A few hours passed after Logan had tucked you in, or at least, you guessed they had, considering the sky was less sun-lit and more moon-lit. 
“Hey,” Logan shook you awake gently and you turned over, your entire body hurting as you did so. 
Slowly you sat up and felt Logan’s hands brush the hair from your face until he could see you clearly. 
“Here, take these. Drink this.”
You swallowed down two tablets but made a small groan when Logan didn’t let go of the cup. 
“You’ve already broken two, this is just safer.”
Then you remembered. 
Logan kept his hand on the bottom of the cup as you held it and drank from it before pulling it away and placing it on your side table.
And looked down. 
“Why am I wearing your shirt?”
“Because I found it in your draw. And it’s easier to get you out of it, if you spill something on it again.”
You furrowed your brows. “You got me changed?”
“It was either that or listen to you keep falling around in here.” 
You grunted a small response as Logan went to lift something else from beside your bed. “Here, you need to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.” You tried to push it away. 
“You haven’t eaten in two days. You need to eat something.”
You groaned again. “What is it?”
“Soup.” Logan gave you a small spoonful, the heat from the bottom of the bowl warming his hand. “Careful, it’s hot.”
He managed to get at least half of the bowl down before you rejected it saying you were full. 
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because someone else might actually think you mean what you say while you're sick.”
You were still for a moment, then nodded. Maybe he was right. 
“What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
You just hummed and slowly lay back down in bed. 
“You just get some rest.” Logan told you, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles of your hand before getting up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
You didn’t know if it was a minute, but he was back. 
With his hand against your forehead, and through the blurry vision of your eyes in the dark, you could tell he looked worried. 
“Honey, you’re burning up.” He told you, slowly peeling back each layer of bedding you’d put on top of yourself. 
You hissed as he pulled the final layer back. “Logan, it’s freezing.”
“Come here, sit up for me.”
And you did. 
Crouching in front of your legs, Logan kept his eyes on you until he checked the thermometer was on. 
“Open up.”
You did so and he stuck the thermometer under your tongue. 
“I’m surprised you know how to do this.”
“Stop talking.”
You waited for a few seconds, but then you had to speak. 
“Logan, I don’t feel so good.”
“I know-”
Within a split second, you pulled the thermometer from your mouth, left it on the bed and a momentarily confused Logan behind as you ran towards your bathroom and flipped up the toilet lid. 
“Okay, okay.” Logan was right behind you, pulling your hair back and rubbing your back as you practically threw your guts up into the toilet bowl. 
Eventually, it stopped but you remained where you were. The puking might have stopped for a moment but the gurgling inside your stomach hadn’t. 
“I think I’m sick.”
Logan gave a fake scoff. “See, now that’s just untrue.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” you told him, feeling a small smile on your face before it was wiped away by the wave of a sick feeling again. 
For a moment, the gurgling in your stomach subsided and you dropped to the side of the toilet against the wall. 
Logan quickly ran a fresh wash cloth under the sink before he wiped your face down, removing some of the sick stains and sweat. Once he ran it clean, he gave it to you to place at the back of your neck. 
Then he stood up again and started searching through the draws around the sink til he found what he was looking for. 
“Lean forward a little.”
You followed his instructions before you felt his hands scoop up your hair and secure it with a scrunchie he had found. 
“Thank you.”
Reaching up to the counter, he pulled down the thermometer he was yet to check and gave a small whistle.
“Well, what’s the verdict, doc? Girl or boy?”
“39.6.”
“That’s a lot of kids..”
“I’ve called Jean. She’s still tied up at that conference in Melbourn but she should be back soon.”
“Hopefully she knows how I can give birth to that many.”
“Think you can stand?”
“After giving birth? Hell no.”
Logan sighed, but you didn’t miss the chuckle that escaped him as he helped you up off the floor. 
“You okay?” Logan asked you if you gripped onto him as you swayed on the spot. 
“Dizzysall.” You drawled a little as you spoke, closing your eyes. 
“Let's get you back into bed.”
Logan helped you from your bathroom, back into your bedroom and into bed. You pulled the covers back over you, only to have Logan pull them off again. You whined a little. 
“We still need to get your temp down, bub.”
You gave in, your strength leaving you as tiredness kicked right back in. Again, Logan brushed the stray hairs from your face as you tried your best to fight off sleep. 
“You’re gonna get sick.”
“Can’t, remember?” Logan’s voice was soft. “Mutation stops it.”
You nodded, remembering, letting out a small; “Lucky bastard.”
Logan chuckled but just sat beside you as your hand held onto his while your eyes closed, giving him a little more freedom to let his eyes wander around your room. 
You had a couple pictures round your room, but not many. However, you did have a hefty parcel you were yet to open, on your desk that he could guarantee contained some. Also on your desk you had a small record player, as well as the records lined up beside it. You had everything ranging from Christmas Classics to Movie Soundtracks to 80s rock. Most had been your own that you brought with you when you moved into the school, taking up a teaching position. But some others had been gifts from birthdays, christmases and the last couple had been from one’s Logan had found himself. He thought you might like to add them to your collection so picked them up and brought them back from flea markets and other places he found whenever he went out. 
From what he could see, the last record you had played was one he had found for you. 
When you were sound asleep, Logan stood and walked across your room and opened up your window which let in a cool breeze. 
He was quiet as he moved about your room, shutting the door a little so he could flush the toilet without disturbing you before he tidied up the bathroom a little. 
Then he started cleaning around your room, wiping down any surface you had touched and any that you could have. 
By the time he finished, he woke you up again to make sure you got some more fluids down you all the while feeling your forehead with the back of his hand. 
“You feel cooler.”
“Just what I’ve always wanted to hear.” 
Taking the thermometer from your bedside table, he uncapped it and placed it under your tongue. You stayed quiet this time, waiting for the beep. 
Your temperature had gone down a little, but not by much. 
“Logan? Will you stay with me?”
Logan nodded. “Sure, bub. Lay down.”
You did so and he walked around the other side of your bed, pulling the covers to the floor save for the thinnest and lightest one. 
Almost instantly you curled into him and closed your eyes, his arms holding you close. 
“Thank you for making sure I don’t die.”
Logan smiled. “If you did, who would give me crap from cooking?”
You gave a slight smile before sleep overtook you. You woke a couple of hours later to chuck up the last few remaining ounces of your internal organs, and Logan stayed with you the whole time. 
And when you fell asleep on your window seat, having been desperate for fresh air that didn’t smell like the inside of a toilet bowl, Logan carried you back into bed. 
By the time morning rolled around, you had less of a rough storm inside your stomach but you were no better than the night before. 
So, Logan made you take a shower. 
“I’m gonna keep this door open,” Logan called over his shoulder, between the gap he had left in the door. “Shout me if you need me.”
“Okay.”
Immediately, Logan started stripping your bed covers and sheets, changing them for fresh ones. He was almost done when you came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Saying nothing, you moved over to sit by the window seat and let the fresh air brush around you. 
Logan found you an extra towel and wrapped it over your shoulders so you wouldn’t get too cold, or even sicker, before going in search of some clothes. 
You managed to pull your arms through the t-shirt and lift it over your head. Logan helped pull it down over the rest of your towel covered body and left you to deal with your pants whilst he shut the window so the gap for air wasn’t so big. 
You pulled the towel undone from underneath you and Logan took it from you, throwing it into the laundry basket by your door. 
You managed to twist your hair into a bun as you walked over to your bed, laying on top of the sheets. 
The rest of the day was spent sleeping, waking up when Logan came back to make sure you were getting enough water and medicine down you as well as keeping it down. And by the afternoon, he had found a couple of old movies. 
And when you asked him to stay with you, he did. 
You fell asleep fifteen minutes in, but Logan still stayed with you. And even if he wanted to leave, he couldn’t. Because your hands had been held above his, over your middle since he lay beside you. 
You turned over, half way through the movie, gripping onto his shirt and he just rested his chin on the top of your head. 
You woke up six hours later and felt better. 
Over the next two days, your fever finally went down and you stopped gagging at every smell that was stronger than laundry softener. Until finally, you were sat up in bed with Logan, able to feed yourself without your arms screaming at you to just not move an inch. 
“I mean it, Logan. Thank you. For everything.” You told him, turning to look at him. 
He had made you some more soup and gave you some added crackers. Your appetite wasn’t back but you were thankful that you were actually hungry for once and not feeling sea sick. 
“Don’t mention it. How’s the soup?”
“Tastier now that it doesn’t smell like everything else did.”
Logan nodded. “Still surprised that I can cook?”
“Oh, yeah. I still need to see you cook to believe it though.”
Logan smiled. You were getting better. 
The conversation flowed for a while longer until you asked Logan one specific question. 
“Do you remember when we became friends? I’m not talking about after the boat. I mean like, actual friends.”
“We’re friends?”
You scoffed, hiding your smile whilst he showed his, and shoved him slightly. 
“I’m kidding. But you remember the river?”
You nodded. “Of course. You don’t exactly forget jumping from an exploding vessel.”
Logan waited a moment and then nodded. “I remember when we became friends. You took care of Rouge. She wouldn’t let anyone in to see her, but she let you.” 
Logan leaned his head back and looked up to the ceiling. “God, I remember that. I think you even called me an ass.”
“Correction; A jackass.”
“Forgive me.”
“Forgiven.” You nodded. “You were so worried about her, and I couldn’t blame you. But you were being a jackass.”
“I just remember racing home and by the time I got upstairs, everyone was in bed, except for you. You stayed with her all night.”
“So you made me a cup of coffee.” You finished for him. 
Logan nodded. “I remember all of that. Why’d you ask?”
“Because I’m glad it happened.” You told him. “Not Rouge getting sick, but…the moment. I’m glad we became friends with Logan, because it made me trust you outside of being an X-Man. And, I’m sorry about all the disgusting things you’ve witnessed in the past couple of days but…I’m glad you were the one to help me. I trust you, Logan. With my life. Both figuratively and literally.”
Logan shifted his hand so it held onto yours. “I’m glad, too.”
A few moments passed and you both broke eye contact when a pair of familiar heels were heard coming down the hallway. 
“Here you both are.”
Jean was finally back. “You’re looking better than Logan described.”
You looked at Logan for a moment before looking back at Jean. “Yeah, it’s been…rough.”
“How are you feeling?” 
“Better now,” you smiled a little. “Logan had a lot to do with it.”
“I’m glad you’re okay. I’m just gonna go and check on everyone else. Make sure they’re not coming down with something, too. Are you two okay here?”
You nodded, “We’re fine.”
Jean didn’t fail to spot where Logan was holding your hand, and she gave a brief smile before heading towards the door. 
A week later you were right as rain and was finally getting to see something you had been begging to witness all week. 
Logan cook. 
You sat by the kitchen island, watching him prepare the ingredients, cook said ingredients, all the while creating a delicious meal that wasn’t just soup and crackers, all without burning the house down. 
“So you really know how to cook?” You asked, bouncing a wooden spoon between your fingertips. 
“I really know how to cook.” Logan said with a small smile as he sliced through the pastry. 
“Why don’t you do it more often?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. Pass me that?”
You handed over the wooden spoon and Logan started stirring something. “Come and try this.”
And you did. 
That night, you both sat out on the balcony, watching the stars go by. 
And, as you sat there, watching the stars go by, the music from the record player steaming out from the kitchen, you looked over at Logan and realised something. 
You trusted him. 
You more than trusted him. 
You, in fact, loved him. 
It would be a few months more before something would happen between you both, but you would come to find out that Logan had realised that exact same thing. But rather than realise it out on the balcony, he had realised it for himself back inside the kitchen when you had stood beside him. 
He couldn’t make sense of it at the time. Why, for such a small moment, had he realised then. But either way, he was thankful for it. Both of your lives were lived in higher stakes. 
To have a small moment feels so connected with such a big one…
Looking at you, and having you look back in the same manner…
That meant the world to him. 
In sickness and in health, 
You meant the World to him. 
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holylulusworld · 4 months ago
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Caught Cold - Alternative version
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Summary: Something goes wrong on your latest mission.
Ship/Main Pairing: Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader
Written for @buckybarnesevents “Hot Bucky Summer” - Week 6 - “I won’t be able to stop myself. + Sex Pollen + Gone feral + Fuck or die
Read the alternative version here: Caught Cold. Please consider, the beginning of the story is the same as its alternative version.
Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, chasing, sex pollen, smut, unprotected sex, mating bites, I’ll label this one dub-con due to sex pollen
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A white mist fills the room after you drop one of the vials you found at the old warehouse. You curse yourself, already hearing Bucky nag. He’s not a big fan of you, especially because you are an omega. If you just screwed this mission up, you won’t hear the end of it.
Bucky holds up his right hand. “AGENT Y/L/N, no! What did you do?“ There’s something in his voice you’ve never heard before. Panic, fear, even. “We gotta get out of here.”
He covers his mouth and nose with his gloved hand. “OUT!”
“Out?” You look around the room. Everything was normal a few seconds ago, and now the former Winter Soldier looks like he saw a ghost. “Sergeant, we have our orders. Captain Rogers wants us to secure the information.”
“OUT!” It’s more of a growl than a word. Bucky takes one step toward you, still covering his mouth. “Y/N, stop talking back for once. We need to…”
His whole body suddenly sizes up. The strong and undefeatable super-soldier falls to his knees. He slams his fists into the ground.
“Sergeant?” You step away from him. Bucky is a little broody, grumpy even. But the man kneeling on the ground stares up at you with glowing eyes. “Sergeant Barnes?” Now you panic. He slams his metal fist into the ground. “You’re scaring me.”
“You…” He growls deep and guttural. “You need to run. Go now.” Bucky seems to fight with an invisible force. He rams his fist into the ground to keep himself from getting back up.
“Why?” You are panicking now. “Sergeant? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“I can smell your pussy,” he snarls in your direction.
“What?” You drop your eyes to your crotch. Can he really smell that his closeness arouses you? You heard that alphas could smell when you are fertile, but can he smell your slick too? "Sergeant, we can’t leave. Why do you want to leave?”
“I won’t be able to stop myself.” Bucky groans loudly as he rams his metal fist into the ground again. “OMEGA!” He purrs low in his throat.
“Oh. God.” You step back, shaking your head, when he gets back on his feet. Bucky cracks his neck and flexes his metal arm. He stares at you like he wants to eat you alive.
“RUN!” It’s the last warning you’ll get. Bucky is close to losing his mind. His alpha is taking over, and there is no rational thought left.
You finally set things into motion and run out of the room. While Bucky growls your name, you try to get in contact with Steve and the rest of the team.
“Captain Rogers, this is an emergency. I think something is wrong with Sergeant Barnes,” you pant while looking over your shoulder. “Can you hear me? Copy?”
All you get is radio silence. Crap. This is the worst time to lose contact with your team.
“OMEGA!” You shriek when you hear Bucky chase after you. Fuck, for a man his size, he’s fucking fast and stealthy. “Come here.”
Like a wild animal, he chases after you, growling your name as you start running again. Your heart thunders in your chest, and your brain goes a mile a minute. You’re torn between following his alpha command and the fear that causes you to run faster.
Until now, you believed that Bucky would never hurt you. But he’s not himself, and you fear he’ll kill you if he gets his hands on you.
He didn’t warn you for nothing.
“Stop running from me.” He’s so close you can smell his sweat. Fuck, how can that fucker run so fast without being out of breath? “OMEGA!”
“Sergeant,” you stumble back. “You need to calm down.” You raise your hands. “I know that I broke the vial, but that’s no reason to kill me!”
“Kill you,” he bares his teeth and chuckles. “I won’t kill you.” You swallow thickly as his eyes drop to your crotch. “I only want to claim what’s rightfully mine.”
Bucky dips his head. He smirks, and you swear, it looks like the fucker is having a blast chasing you around.
“Sergeant,” you giggle. “I’m flattered really, but…uh…this is not the time to think about your knot.” You point at him. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”
His eyes darkened at your words. “Stop running away from me. Give up. This is your fault for breaking the vial. You released the sex pollen.”
“Sex pollen?” You release a shuddery breath as the realization hits you. Sex pollen. You heard that term before. Doctor Banner mentioned it months ago. “No…this can’t be. It shouldn’t exist any longer.”
Bucky watches you like a hawk. Every move you make gets noticed by him. He’s an apex predator, an alpha, and a super-soldier with higher senses. Outrunning him won’t work out for you.
“Captain Rogers, can you hear me,” you whisper into the void. Your earpiece is useless. White noise is all you hear. “Fuck…”
Bucky smirks darkly when you lick your lips. He looks like a wild wolf with his teeth bared and his eyes glowing. “They want me to mate you, omega.” He sniffs in your direction. “Lucky me, getting such a nice little pussy today.”
“Hah, yeah…you’re very funny.” You show your palms while slowly walking back. One step, after another.
Bucky cannot know that your panties are soaked and that you’d love to have him on top of you. He’s your supervisor and a fucking super-soldier. You’re not sure if you can take him.
What if he breaks your hips? You giggle at the thought, feeling silly. Bucky would never be interested in mating you. Right? Right…
“I told you to run,” he growls now. “I need to mate you.” Bucky curls his shoulders, eyes glued to you. His eyes flick to your face when you move back again.
“Can you not…jerk it out of your body?” You must sound hilarious because Bucky snorts at your comment. “No?” You frown. Bucky tries to fight the toxin; you can see it in his eyes.
“Come. Here,” he spits while talking. “OMEGA!”
You remember Bruce’s words now. Sex pollen was created to make the alphas compliant. A forced rut and an omega in heat were all they needed to control the soldiers. If they refused to mate, the sex pollen would kill them.
“Sergeant,” you slowly take a step back, and another. “I know you believe you must mate me. Believe me, I like me a good fuck but we’re in the middle of a mission.”
He grins darkly. Bucky watches you turn on your heels to go for a sprint. His growls echo through the abandoned building when you run along the corridor.
You don’t stand a chance. The fucker is fucking thick, and beefy but damn him, that man can run. He goes for a sprint, catching up with you in no time.
You feel his breath before he pounces on you. He tackles you to the ground, immediately burying you under his heavy body. “Sergeant,” you snarl feeling his lips nip at your neck. “This is inappropriate.”
Well, no shit. His erection is pressing against your ass, and you can tell, that man is packing. While Bucky tugs at your tactical suit, you wonder if his dick is another perk of being a super-soldier or if he was packing before Hydra got their hands on him.
“Hey, what,” you whimper when Bucky cuts your tactical suit open. He’s done fooling around. He needs to feel your cunt around him. “I liked that suit.”
You groan, and mutter but it’s no use. Bucky rips the remnants of your brand-new suit down your body before you can call him a jerk.
“Omega,” he hums in appreciation while staring at your exposed body. “Mine.” You debate to get up and try to run again. Bucky is much faster than you, he proved it more than once today. Plus, you always had a thing for the grumpy man.
You hate yourself for it, but you lie still and listen to him cursing and growling. Not because you are scared of fighting him, but to save his life. If the test results Doctor Banner told you about are true, Bucky could die if he doesn’t fuck the toxin out of his body.
“Fuck,” he curses behind you. Bucky is on you again, to cover your body with his large, hard one. He ruts against you, hoping to ease the pain in his groin. Bucky presses his aching cock between your legs, moving against your clit. “Mine…only mine.”
If anything, gets even harder feeling your slick cover his length. “Sergeant,” you wiggle your hips. If he forces you to feel his dick, you want to have him inside of you. “Fuck…” You pant heavily.
He’s growling incorrect words in your ear. You don’t understand a thing, only your name and that he wants to breed you.
His skilled hands, made to defeat any enemy, carefully lift your butt to line himself up with your soaked hole. Bucky fully sheaths himself inside your welcome warmth with one hard thrust. He whines into your neck, ready to pop his knot anytime.
Mine. Mine. Mine. He chants in his mind while slowly starting to rock into you. Bucky never felt so welcome inside a body.
His powerful thrusts make you groan. He’s mounting you like you’re some animal, but your body greedily welcomes him.
Bucky grips your hips, holding you pinned to the ground. “Mine.” His movement becomes erratic when you start to whimper his name. He doesn’t stop. Bucky plunges into you, with only one thought left; to breed and claim you and your body. “Mine…”
“Fuck… Sergeant…” you wiggle your hips, unable to meet his thrust. “I’m gonna…” Shit… fuck… it’s too late. Your cunt grips him tightly, forcing his knot to expand. Bucky sinks his teeth in your neck the moment his release fills you.
“Shit…” Bucky won’t let go of your neck. He grunts against you, feeling his knot lock you together. “What did you do?”
“I,” he finally releases your neck to stare at your now-marked mating gland. He releases an inhuman noise before rutting into you a few more times. “Mine…”
You’re too exhausted to argue. His body still presses you to the ground, and his knot won’t deflate for some time. Lying still you close your eyes and allow yourself to rest for a moment. It’s all too much.
Bucky moves his arms around your body and buries his face in your neck. He nuzzles you while feeling the fog clouding his mind slowly start to fade away.
“Y/N! BUCK!” You stiffen underneath Bucky when you recognize Steve’s voice. “BUCK!”
“Capsicle, can you slow down?” Tony whistles the moment his eyes land on Bucky’s naked ass. He snickers and decides to snap a few pictures. “Buckethead, that’s not how we train our rookies,” Tony tsks.
“Tony,” Steve grunts. He looks anywhere but at his friend and you buried under the heavy alpha. “Can you just not.”
“I told you it’s an emergency,” you mutter from under Bucky. “You didn’t listen.”
“What happened?” Steve tries to find out what happened while Tony snickers behind his back. “Tony, just stop it.” He angrily raises his fist.
“Sex pollen,” Bucky slurs. “She dropped sex pollen.” He huffs into your neck. “I had to breed her.”
“Yeah, can you not tell anyone about our little breeding escapade, Sergeant,” you grumble. It’s worse enough that Captain America and Tony walked in on you.
“Steve, some privacy please,” Bucky wraps his arms tighter around your body to roll to his side to take his weight off of you.
Steve gives Tony a stern look. He huffs and jerks his head toward the entrance. “Let’s give them some time. Sex pollen is the worst…”
Tony furrows his brows. “How do you know, Capsicle?” He follows Steve outside the building. “Did you…you know…experience it too.”
While Steve and Tony fight over his phone and the pictures he took of Bucky’s naked ass, Bucky nuzzles you and murmurs your name.
He worriedly looks at you in his arms, sighing deeply. “Are you cold? I can’t move but I can roll on my back. I’m sorry about…uh…everything.”
“I don’t want Tony to see my naked ass…” You both start laughing at that. There’s a lot to talk about, especially the fact that Bucky claimed you…”
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wintersoldiersoul · 1 year ago
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Bucky x pregnant reader
Bucky started working from home and everything was great! You spend time together and made plans for Baby coming along but the longer Bucky stayed at home the more he hid himself away in his office working, and one day as your hormones kick in, you're feeling very emotional and just wanting cuddles from him, so you go to his office and ask him about coming to bed and cuddling and he just says he's busy he will be there soon and you say that he's been working all day and you haven't seen him and he ends up snapping at you and it makes you cry and you tell him that you don't want to see him for the rest of the night and storm away, after a while bucky can't concentrate on work because he made you cry and he comes to find you and when he finds you aren't in your shared bedroom he panics thinking you left him and he shouts and runs around the full house only to find you curled up sleeping on the bed in your baby's room and he carries you to bed and apologises and tells stark that he won't be working anymore until the baby is here and settled
I wanna carry his children so fucking bad. What who said that?
The day that you told Bucky you were pregnant was the best day of his life. He couldn’t believe that you, the love of his life, was carrying his child. You were going to make him a father, something he thought he’d never get to be. You were terrified to tell him, as the pregnancy wasn’t planned but the second he burst out in a wide grin, you cried. You were hoping that Bucky would be on the same page as you in terms of keeping it.
Within an hour, he had called Tony and asked for permission to work from home for the duration of your pregnancy. He wanted to keep an eye on you 24/7, especially since you were carrying his super soldier baby. He treated you like precious cargo, bringing you everything you wanted, carrying you when you complained about your feet hurting, and constantly giving you stomach and back rubs.
The two of you were in a state of complete bliss, setting up the nursery, picking out potential names, and going on shopping sprees for your future child. Bucky sobbed when you found out you were having a girl. He couldn’t believe it. “I hope she looks just like her mother,” he said, smiling.
You would often wake up in the morning finding Bucky’s lips pressed against your stomach, whispering to your unborn child. “Your mama is so pretty, you know. So kind, too. And oh my god, is she smart,” he would say, not realizing you were yet awake. “You’re so lucky because you have the best mom in the world.”
“Your daddy isn’t too bad either,” you said, announcing your presence. “I hope you have his eyes.” He smiled, moving up to kiss you gently.
Unfortunately, even though he was working from home and not going on missions, Bucky still had to work. He was tasked with a lot of research before the other team members would go out onto the field. He had to do all of the mission reports and put together briefings. And as luck would have it, 8 months into your pregnancy, the team was facing a big threat.
Bucky began to spend hours and hours in his office every day. He was trying to get it done as fast as possible but there was so much ground to cover. You could sense how stressed he was and you didn’t wanna bother him but you missed him dearly. And you were getting to the point where your bump was so big that you couldn’t even put on shoes yourself. You needed him. 
One night, you reached a point where your body was just begging for his touch. Not even sexually, though your hormones wouldn’t protest it, but you just needed him to cuddle you. You missed him whispering to your stomach, something that he didn’t even have the time to do anymore. You still hadn’t decided on a name for your daughter and you didn’t wanna stress him out but you missed sitting and talking for hours about all of the things you would do as a little family. The bottom line was that you were pregnant and you needed him. He could take a little break, right? You walked - more like waddled - to his office and knocked on the door. “Come in,” he called. You stepped inside and he looked at you, smiling. There you were, his beautiful girlfriend, stuffed full of his baby wearing one of his shirts. He looked so tired, dark circles hanging under his eyes. “How are my girls doing?” he asked, placing a kiss on your stomach. Even the small display of affection made you grin. You needed to be in his arms more than you’d ever needed anything.
“We miss you,” you pouted.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, beautiful. This mission is really kicking my ass and I’m not even going on it.” You felt so bad for how much stress he was under. He hadn't really relaxed in weeks and you had no idea when the last time he got more than 4 hours of sleep was. 
“Take a break, Buck. Please. I’m all hormonal and my back hurts and I just wanna be held by you.”
He looked at you with a sad expression. “I-I can’t. The team leaves in a couple days and I’m still trying to find out everything that I can about these guys.” 
“Please? Carrying your damn super-soldier daughter is making me feel all kinds of things. I just really need to cuddle for a little. I’ve been trying so hard to not bother you but I really need you to hold me right now, Buck.”
“Y/N,” he breathed, getting agitated.
“10 minutes,” you begged. You hated interrupting him but you had been so patient for so long. You just needed him right now. 
“I said I can’t!” he snapped, voice raised. “What don’t you get about that?” 
Your eyes welled with tears. “Oh,” you whispered quietly. “Well don’t worry about it cause I don’t wanna see you for the rest of the night anyway!” You walked out of the room as quickly as you could, slamming the door behind you. 
The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He didn’t mean to snap at you, he was just so incredibly tired. He was trying his best to finish all of his work so that he could go back to giving you all the love and attention that you wanted 24/7. He missed you so much, too. 
It took everything in him to not chase after you when you walked out the door. He wanted to hold you, to apologize, but he couldn’t. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could just go back to loving you.
You started crying harder as soon as you left the room. Deep down, you knew he was so exhausted and stressed. You knew he didn’t mean to snap at you and that he probably felt awful about it. But your hormones were so intense that you couldn’t help the crying. You just wanted him. Your whole body was so tired from carrying a growing human inside of you and all you needed was for Bucky to make you feel better. But he couldn’t even do that. 
You went into the nursery, looking around at all the progress you had made. What had started as a blank room with no purpose was now full of life and love. This was the room that you were going to raise your daughter in.
Rubbing over your bump, you sat down on the floor. You felt a kick as you settled, something that had been happening frequently but a feeling that would never stop amazing you. “It’s okay, baby girl,” you said to your stomach, wondering if she could somehow sense your distress. “Mama just misses your Daddy right now,” you sniffled.
You were so tired. Growing a human, while something your body was meant to do, was fucking hard. You hadn’t been sleeping well the past few nights either, pains in your back preventing you from getting comfortable. You let your body relax, eventually curling up on the floor and closing your eyes, surrounded by the decorations that your daughter would hopefully love.
Bucky tried his hardest to go back to work, but it was impossible. He couldn’t believe he had made you cry. “Piece of shit,” he mumbled to himself. 
You were his entire world. You and the little baby in your stomach. His girls were so much more important than any job he could ever have. With a sigh he pushed himself out of his chair, desperate to wrap his arms around you.
“Baby, I am so so sorry,” he said walking into your bedroom. But he was met with an empty bed. He walked back out into the living room, wondering if he had somehow missed you on his way from the office. “Honey?” he called out when he still couldn’t find you. “Y/N?”
When he got no answer, he started to panic. You had left him. Packed your bags and gone somewhere else. You never wanted to see him again and you would never let him meet his daughter. He was a fuck-up and had burned everything to the ground. “Oh god,” he whispered to himself, trying to not fully break down. The exhaustion was getting to him. He couldn’t even think straight.
In a panic, he ran to the nursery, hoping that you hadn’t left it completely bare. He creaked open the door, expecting the worst. The lack of sleep was making him extremely paranoid. That’s when he saw your sleeping frame curled up on the floor. “Oh thank fucking god,” he breathed with relief. He sat down next to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and rubbing your stomach. 
“Bucky?” You said after a minute, waking up.
“I’m here, honey. I’m so so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I should have just gone to you when you needed me, I just-”
“You’re here now. That’s what matters,” you hummed, just happy to be in his arms.
“I’m done with this,” he affirmed. “I’m telling Stark I’m not working anymore til the baby comes. And for a while after that. He can dock my pay if he wants, we’re fine without it.”
“Buck, you don’t have to do that. I just really missed you.”
“I’m doing it. I miss my girls. More than anything.”
More tears fell from your eyes, but they were laced with happiness and love. “Thank you.”
“Let’s get you into bed, Sugar.” With ease, he lifted you up, not even phased by the weight of the human you were carrying. He set you down and tucked you in before changing into pajamas and sliding in next to you. “I love you so much. I can’t wait for our little girl to get here. I’m so sorry again. God, I just can’t express how much I love you.”
“I love you, too.” As you said the words, the baby kicked again, happy to have her parents reconciled. 
Bucky bent down and peppered kisses all over your stomach. “Come soon, Princess. We can’t wait to meet you.”
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marvelouslizzie · 2 years ago
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You're My Desire - Co-written with @notafunkiller
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Summary: Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.
Pairing: 40s Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, first date, public sex, ripped clothing, teasing, rough sex, dirty talk, praise, pet names, no mention of y/n
Word Count: 5.5K
A/N: We really don't have an excuse for this one. We just wanted 40s Bucky to have a good time, you know? This is basically smut with little bit of plot.
Please give my lovely co-writer @notafunkiller a follow. She's also a Bucky Barnes writer and her stories are amazing.
All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.
Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it's hate. That's never welcome.
Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.
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Even though you really didn’t want to, you find yourself on a double date with your best friend. She literally begged you to come because she promised she would bring someone for her date’s best friend and apparently she really doesn’t wanna disappoint the handsome soldier.
You're shocked, though, when you arrive at the fair and see Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes in the flesh waiting for you two at the gate.
You were pretty sure she brought you here for Bucky Barnes but it turns out your date is actually Steve Rogers, aka Captain America himself.
You don't know what to do at first, awkwardly watching your friend hugging Bucky as if they knew each other for ages. Even though they met just a day ago. Steve extends his hand politely, which you immediately shake.
It doesn’t take long for you to go inside the fun fair together while chatting casually. Your friend, Cassie, starts asking questions about the war. She loves front-line stories, but Bucky doesn’t seem like he enjoys telling them.
Steve, on the other hand, is very excited to do it, answering all of Cassie's questions as you quietly watch them. You wonder why you said yes to this date. You've never been into soldiers and even less into war discussions. But you love your friend very much even when she ignores you.
You find yourself looking at Bucky while Cassie and Steve start to chat and exchange stories. He kinda seems amused by this development. You shrug looking in his direction, waiting for him to say something. After all, you are both already bored and your friends don't even seem to care or notice you anymore in the first place.
Bucky just smiles and then tries to change the subject. You think he actually handles that topic change pretty smoothly and it sticks for a while until Cassie gets bored of talking about books.
You remark Bucky's sad face, but you don't say anything. Instead, you subtly start to walk slower, hoping he'll do the same. As Cassie keeps talking to Steve, Bucky notices you are getting behind and just slows down a little.
"You're okay? Are your legs hurting?" Bucky asks concerned while looking at her shoes.
“No, no, I’m fine. Just got tired of the war stories, that’s all.” You keep walking slowly.
"Me, too." He sighs. "It's a never-ending subject at this point."
“Well, where there's life there's hope.” You quote the Hobbit instinctively. You hold on to the hope, one day you won’t have to talk about this war.
Bucky gasps, looking at you in a way you never experienced before. "What did you say?"
“I just said where there's life there's hope.” You repeat, surprised by the way he probably recognized the quote. People usually have no idea what you are referring to. Not him though.
"You're a fan? Oh god!"
That starts your actual conversation with Bucky Barnes. It turns out he’s a big bookworm himself. He reads as much as he can, always buying more books that he manages to read.
You didn't even realize how close you are until your shoulders slightly brush. You blush when he smiles, clearly not minding. Still, you feel very conscious about your closeness and quickly look toward your friend, feeling guilty that you are enjoying the company of her date, but she doesn’t seem to care one bit. On the contrary, she’s actually holding Steve Rogers’ arm while talking and laughing.
"You're very beautiful." You hear Bucky murmur shily.
His compliment catches you off guard. You were about to apologize on behalf of Cassie. Yet you find yourself blushing.
"And you love reading. I am a lucky man. I get to talk to you."
“I could say the same thing myself, Sergeant. I much rather talk about books instead of the war.”
"Then you got the right company." Bucky smiles and looks around. "Should we get some ice cream?"
“That would be amazing.” And that’s how you end up separated from Cassie and Steve. Bucky informs them about their plan and then leaves without waiting for them.
You spend the next hour talking and walking around the entire fair. James even won a teddy bear for you. Once in a while both of you act like you wanna find Steve and Cassie, but you definitely don’t care.
"I don't remember the last time I felt so comfortable and good with someone."
“I’m glad I’m not boring the shit out of you.” You know it’s not ladylike to speak this way, but you feel comfortable around him. It’s crazy when you consider you just met him maybe two hours ago.
Bucky smiles. "I can say the same. Steve says I'm quite boring."
“He’s quite boring himself.”
"Is he?" He snorts.
“Yeah. Who knew Captain America would be into war stories?”
"Doesn't the name say it?" He continues in the same joking tone.
“The name suggests he’s heroic and boring but he’s more boring and less heroic than expected. Stealing his best friend's date doesn’t scream honorable to me.”
Bucky is shocked to see her indirectly standing up for him. "Maybe I stole his date, though."
“His date was uninterested from the start and just being nice to her best friend.”
"Is she still uninterested?"
“In him? Yes.” You act like you don’t understand what he is actually asking.
"Well, the feelings are mutual. About the date and now…"
“You were uninterested in Cassie?” You say it in a way that shows you don’t believe him.
"Wasn't it obvious?"
“Nope.” It definitely wasn’t when they hugged each other the moment they arrived.
"I was trying to be polite. She insisted on this… meeting because I helped her out. I was relieved I could bring Steve."
“She sounded very interested in you until Captain Rogers started with war stories.”
"She was staring at his… back ever since we arrived."
You burst out laughing and he joins you right after. It sets the tone for the rest of the night and makes you notice you both don’t give a shit.
*
"I want to show you something," you say after a few seconds and quickly drag him after you until you reach a darker alley close to the last attraction. You drop the teddy bear carefully at your feet. "Hi."
“Hi.” He still seems a bit confused, but it’s so cute. He looks at the teddy bear and then his eyes turn back to your face. You can’t help but smile.
"You're so cute. Has anyone told you that?" You smile in return.
He acts like thinking for a second. “No, not really. Just cute?” He fishes for more.
"And smart." You touch his chest shily. "And kind."
“Hmm, those are not what people notice first.” He moves a little bit closer. “You have something…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, his thumb brushes the corner of your lips. You wait for him to wipe off whatever you had on your face before opening your mouth and letting your tongue touch his finger shamelessly.
You watch Bucky’s eyes widen out of surprise. He didn't expect that at all. You grab his hand, bringing his finger inside your mouth, and notice how his breathing quickens. Yet he doesn’t stop you.
You let your tongue play for a few seconds until you let his finger go with a small bite. He lets out the lowest moan but not only do you hear it, but you also love it.
"Wow, I…" He doesn't know what to say, all red and excited.
“You what? Do you feel uncomfortable? Excited? I mean, I can stop if you want.”
In response, brave and happy, Bucky kisses you. His tongue is already on your bottom lip asking for permission, which you grant by opening your mouth without realizing it.
The kiss isn’t shy like you expected, and he definitely knows how to kiss. The way his lips and tongue move makes you want more, right then and there.
Your hands go to his neck as you let yourself enjoy the kiss even more. You keep kissing until you feel breathless. When Bucky breaks it, he doesn’t move away. His forehead touches yours as you try to catch your breath.
"This was…"
“I wanna do something if that’s okay…” You say while suddenly getting on your knees. You are wearing your favorite nylon stockings and you're sure they are gonna get ripped, but you don't care.
Bucky thinks he's daydreaming because how can this happen? How?
"What? What are you doing?"
“I think you know what I am doing, Sergeant. Just tell me to stop if you don’t want it, okay?” Your hands move to his belt but you wait for a reaction first.
"Stop. That's not… you don't have to do this. We are having a great time anyway."
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Is that okay for you?”
He can only nod, totally shocked and excited at the same time.
You unbuckle him slowly. Even though you are in a public place, you're in no hurry. You unzip him while looking into his eyes. When you finally take him out of his pants, he seems speechless. He’s already hard, but as soon as you start to move your hand, he gets rock hard after maybe four pumps.
"Jesus, you're so pretty. You look like a doll on your knees."
You smile proudly. “Tell me what I look like when I do this,” you say before taking him inside your mouth.
He closes his eyes, groaning. Your mouth is so wet and warm. You take it slow at first. Your mouth moves gently while you swirl your tongue around the head.
"Please." You hear him whisper, his left hand resting against the wall behind him.
You move your mouth away from him just to ask “Please what?” Your lipstick is already a little smudged.
"Oh god, keep going. Please, you're such a pretty sight."
“Tell me how I look when you're inside my mouth and I'll continue, promise.” You wink and remind him he still hasn’t fulfilled your request.
"Like a dream. Like a goddess."
“Hmm…” You go back to taking him inside your mouth without making another comment. This time, you move a bit faster than before and start using your hand.
"Your mouth will be the death of me."
That makes you smile but you don’t stop, moving your hand and mouth at the same time, hoping for a good reaction. His hand finds its way to your hair, wrapping it enough to pull a little. That encourages you to go faster, in need for a tighter grip. And you get it: soon, he wraps more of your hair around his whole fist, moaning your name.
“I think I'm gonna…” He sounds so breathy. “You should pull away.”
You look at him, acknowledging his warning, but showing him you are ignoring it. You keep moving fast, making sure your tongue flicks around the right spot every time until he spills inside your mouth. It’s a lot more than you are used to, but you still keep going until he completely empties himself. You take your mouth off, looking into his eyes before swallowing.
"No." He covers his eyes while groaning. "You can't do this to me, doll. Jesus…"
“Do what?” You innocently ask.
He doesn't answer you, taking you by the back of the neck and kissing you sloppily. You don’t get a chance to warn him about the taste and he doesn’t seem to care one bit. He groans into your mouth when he feels your hands on his ass and breaks the kiss just to suck on your neck.
Then you feel his hands between your bodies, trying to pull up his pants again.
You break the kiss to ask: “What are you doing?”
"I'm putting on my pants," he sounds like a kid. "And I wanna get on my knees for you, too."
“Maybe I want something else that doesn’t require you to put your pants on.”
He nods, without understanding what you mean. "Alright. I'll just-" He drops his right hand until it reaches her skirt. "Is it okay?" You nod with a smile. Even though it’s not what you meant, it’s fine.
His fingers immediately go to your underwear and push it aside.
"Fuck me. Look at that." You are really wet and his curses don't help either. "Soaked. Is that for me, doll?"
“No, it’s for Captain Rogers, who bored the shit out of me.” You joke.
You feel his fingers stopping on your slit as he lifts his head. "What did you say?"
“I said it’s for Captain Rogers, who bored the shit out of me. You know that gets the girls wet.” You hope he won’t be offended by this. It’s just a silly joke.
In response, Bucky pushes a finger inside you quickly, his lips curling into a smirk. "Should I start talking about war, too? Bet that would get you even wetter."
You let out a deep breath, relieved. Thank God he isn’t offended. “That would get me dry as a desert, Sergeant Barnes.”
"Should I dye my hair then?" He snorts, moving his finger faster.
“Maybe you should get a shield. It would definitely look better on you.”
"A shield, huh?" Bucky adds another finger, trying to scissor them inside you a couple of times. "Is it too much?"
“Nope,” you say after a moan. “It’s not enough.”
"Fuck, you…" he closes his eyes. "You want another?"
“I want something else.” You smile, hoping him to understand this time.
"Yeah? Like what?"
You grab his cock and gently rub it without saying a word. You are not surprised he’s hard because his erection has been pressed on your leg for a while.
"Fuck. You want my cock, baby?"
“Yeah. Why do you think I didn’t let you pull your pants back up?”
"I don't-" He moans. "I didn't think."
“Come on. You are making me wait while I’m soaking your fingers.”
"Wanna make you…" Bucky interrupts himself by adding a third finger, his other hand going to your clit. "Happy."
“Fuck.” You throw your head back, that felt so good.
"You like this?" He rubs a little more, paying attention to your body. His fingers inside you keep the same pace, though. He isn't slowing down now even if it's the end of the world.
“Yeah, that.” You breathe out. You already feel your legs shaking and you're afraid your knees might give out, but it feels so good, you can’t seem to focus on the concerns.
"Hold on to me."
You put your hands on his shoulders and it helps you relax a bit more. After that, your orgasm comes crashing in like a big wave that leaves you breathless. He doesn't stop moving his fingers until you finish coming, then he slowly pulls them out, making sure to lick them before kissing you.
“You are such a dirty soldier, Sergeant Barnes,” you say with a smile.
"What is dirty about this?" He shrugs. "I'm a good soldier, of course."
“Doing this in a dark alley with me and licking your fingers clean like that. Very good soldier, indeed.”
"Ihm." He buries his head right onto your shoulder and breathes in. "Thank you."
“For what?” You find yourself kissing his hair while asking the question.
"For this evening and this. Thank you for trusting me."
“You are something else, Bucky,” you say while caressing his hair.
"Hmm?"
You kiss his hair and his ear, then move your lips to his neck. “You can thank me later. We are not done yet.”
"Changed your mind?" He smiles. "Want me on my knees after all?
“Maybe later.” You wink. “Now don’t act like you don’t know what I want because I know you want it, too.”
He freezes. "Wait, you're serious?"
“Of course I am serious. Just don’t finish inside, okay?”
He looks at you again all serious. "Are you sure? We don't have to, I can use my tongue."
“Don’t worry, it’s not my first time and yeah, I’m sure unless you don’t want to.”
Bucky looks at you with puppy eyes. "Uhm, it's my first time."
“Oh god.” Your eyes widen. “I… didn’t consider… that possibility. I’m sorry.”
Bucky starts laughing at your worried expression and kisses your cheek. "My first time with a bookworm doll."
You punch his shoulder. “You worried me!”
That makes him laugh even harder, and you can't help but smile. Because he's extra beautiful like this.
"Why? Do you have something against innocent boys, ma'am? Shame!"
“No, nothing against it. Absolutely would love to teach and corrupt but wouldn’t want that to be your first time.”
"You don't want to take advantage of me, huh? Such a good girl." He surprises you by suddenly lifting you and helping you wrap your legs around his torso.
“Would you like me to take advantage of you?” You kiss his jaw and cheeks.
"Fuck, yes. Yes."
“Then you have my permission to take advantage of me, too.”
He doesn't ask you again if you're sure. Instead, he lifts his right hand to your blouse and starts unbuttoning it as fast as he can. He's so impatient he even manages to rip a button. You just watch him work and smile, hoping the gentleman side of Bucky finally stops holding him back.
He groans at the sight of your hard nipples and quickly leans in to take one in his mouth.
“Oh fuck,” you whimper while he uses his tongue to play with your nipple. It feels so good you don't even notice when his hand drops under your skirt. Until you hear the ripping sound.
“What the fuck?” You can’t believe he's just ripped your nylon stockings. They are so hard to find and so expensive!
"Whha?" He doesn't even take his mouth off your nipple as he speaks.
“Do you know how expensive those stockings are?” Your surprise is so clear in your voice. “You owe me a pair of nylon stockings, Sargeant.”
"They were in the way, baby."
“Getting impatient?” You mock a little.
He pushes his hips a little more. "Can't you feel?"
“You still owe me a pair.”
"What about these?" His hands are now on her panties. "How many do I need to buy you so I can rip these off?"
“Just one pair, but if you wanna rip that one, too, this cycle might never end.”
He sighs, contemplating, but he finally decides not to, only pushing your underwear aside. "How do you want it?"
“What do you mean?”
Bucky takes another step until your back barely brushes against the wall. "How do you like this? The sex."
“Don’t try to act all kind and push aside what you actually want to do. That’s how I want it.”
"Do you uhm… like it fast or slow? The pace I mean." He's slowly pushing inside you while he asks, trying to be as gentle as possible.
“That’s exactly what I meant. Do it however you want and we will see how I like it. Don’t be too gentle like this.”
"Talk to me, okay?" He's halfway inside you now, staying still for a few seconds as he leaves small kisses on your neck.
“Oh, I will, don’t worry, handsome. No one can stop me from complaining if I don’t like something.”
"Good girl." He tries different types of thrusts and angles at first, wanting to see what you respond to the most.
“Fuck. Why do you keep saying that?” She moves her hips to make him thrust faster.
"Because you're my good girl. Dirty too." He moans when he feels you. "God, you want it faster, baby?"
“Yes, yes, I do. Please. Move faster.”
And he does, his grip on your ass tightening as he starts thrusting just the way you want. "Fuck, you're soaked. You feel so good around me."
“You feel good, too.” You moan in between words. “And you are strong. Really strong,” you remark because he doesn’t look tired while holding you.
But he doesn't seem to acknowledge that. "I'm so fucking lucky, Jesus." He groans when he feels your lips sucking on his collarbone.
“You didn’t think your double date would end this way, huh?”
"Deep inside you? Not a chance." He smiles, speeding up.
“Maybe deep inside someone else.” You tease on purpose.
Bucky immediately stops thrusting. "What?"
“I was just joking about how we were meant to be on a date with other people.” You hate that you can’t shut your mouth sometimes.
"Oh," he nods, restarting to move. "Well, I can assure you, he wouldn't have done this tonight." He jokes back.
“Fuck me against the wall like this?”
"Fuck you at all. But especially like this. And the language?" He laughs. "Never."
“Oh, so honorable of him.” You keep joking. “Poor Cassie.”
His right-hand flies behind your head to protect it as his thrusts become way too quick. "Fuck. You feel like heaven, I swear."
“God, how do you do that?” You are surprised that he can carry you with one hand. “Are you sure you aren’t a super soldier yourself?”
Bucky shakes his head amused. "That will go straight to my ego."
“You're carrying me with one hand while protecting my head with the other, and you keep fucking me at the same time. I think it should go straight to your ego.”
He groans. "Lower one of your hands now."
“Lower it where exactly?” You don’t understand what he wants.
His hand moves from the back of her head for a few seconds just to bring her fingers to her clitoris. "Right here. Can you rub this for me?"
“Ohh.” You finally understand what he’s trying to do, so you listen and start rubbing yourself while his hand goes back to your head.
"Good, good girl. Look at you." He doesn't even realize how deep his thrusts are because his focus is on your fingers.
“Oh god… It feels so good.” You have never done something like this before. No public sex, no touching yourself during sex, no good girl whispers next to your ear. They all make you feel dizzy.
"Yeah? Just good?" His mouth finds your breasts this time, and you just know he's leaving a few marks there by the way he sucks on your skin.
“You wanna hear how good it makes me feel?”
"Ihmm."
“Oh, you are even dirtier than you are showing, aren’t you, Sergeant Barnes?”
He looks up immediately. "Say that again." He demands.
“Sergeant Barnes?”
"Fuck, you need to rub faster."
“You need to fuck me harder.” You say while listening to his order.
"Harder?" He repeats, shocked, not expecting that in the slightest. But he does as you demand in a heartbeat, biting his tongue because it feels so good.
You have a hard time holding back your reaction because it feels just perfect. You can feel your orgasm approaching.
“Shit, you need to cover my mouth,” you say as quickly as possible.
"Just use me. Bite my shoulder," he suggests quickly, keeping the pace exactly the same.
You wanna say no, because you don’t wanna hurt him but there’s no other choice left. You sink your teeth in somewhere between his neck and shoulder and try to muffle yourself. The orgasm hits you so hard that you are afraid someone is gonna hear you even like this.
"Fuck," he groans, the pain feeling amazing as you keep coming, your legs wrapping even more tightly around his ass.
“Please, don’t stop,” you manage to say and go back to biting him, very aware of the hickey you are giving him, but that doesn’t stop you because you don’t want to get caught like this.
"Can't stop." At this point you wonder how no one noticed you by now. The sound of your skin touching and your groans are not quite silent. But even if they did, you know you wouldn't stop. How could you?
"Keep rubbing, I want you to find pleasure again."
“Again?” You sound shocked because you've literally just come.
"Again." He tries to lift one of your legs a little more. "Please."
“I don’t think I can, but keep going, okay?” You already came twice in a short amount of time. How much more can you do?
"Well, I think you can." He smiles. "Gonna mark me up, baby?"
“I think I already did.” You can see your teeth marks on his neck. You are sure it will turn into purple really soon.
"I'm your property now?" The hand he has on the back of your head quickly grabs your hair and wraps it around his fist.
“Are you?” You like the sound of that and how he’s pulling your hair.
"I am." He's frantically thrusting in and out of you. "Rub faster."
“Fuck,” you mumble while rubbing yourself. You aren’t sure if it’s gonna do anything, but it feels good. “Can I keep you then? You know, kidnap you and hide you in my apartment so you don’t have to go back to the war. We can just do this every day.”
"Fuck, do it." He smiles. "I dare you."
“Should I tie you up so it looks more realistic?” And suddenly all that rubbing starts to feel different, more pleasurable.
"On your bed? Go ahead."
You laugh at how easily he’s convinced, but your laugh is interrupted by a moan.
"Gonna come for me, dolly?"
“I am not sure.” You struggle to speak. “It feels like it.”
He pulls your hair hard. "Please, please."
“You beg so beautifully, how can I say no?” It’s not like your body is saying no, either.
When you finish coming again, you watch with your eyes semi-closed as James takes himself out without dropping you even a little and comes right on your thighs and ripped stockings. You feel the warmth of his come while you both are trying to catch your breath.
"This was… wow."
“This is a hell of a first date.” You find yourself giggling. Did all that really happen? The soreness between your legs says yes.
Bucky slowly puts you down. "You think?" He snorts.
“Oh yeah, very memorable.” You notice that your stockings are completely ruined so you have no other choice but to take them off.
"Fuck, you're dripping." He doesn't look like he's sorry and he can't say he is, either. He's actually very proud.
“Yeah, I am aware.” You laugh while taking them off and using them like a washcloth to clean yourself up.
"You have no idea how lovely the sight is." He winks at you while zipping up his pants.
You bite your bottom lip while looking at him. “Likewise. You look satisfied, Sargeant. Did something happen while you were gone?” You pull your skirt down.
"I got touched by an angel."
You laugh. “So cheesy. You are lucky that you are a bookworm. A really good-looking one, who is also good at bed even though we didn’t even need one.”
"Next time. Maybe we'll break it." He sounds so confident, but not demanding at all at the same time.
“When are you going back?” You find yourself asking. If he’s promising you a second time, you are gonna take it.
"In one week."
You make a sad face without realizing then take a deep breath to help yourself focus on the positive side. “That’s a lot of sex.”
He immediately lifts your chin and presses a kiss on your forehead. "I was joking. We got two months."
“You are such a liar.” You punch him in his shoulder.
Which only makes him laugh. "You like it hard."
But your attention is on his neck, on the spot you bit so hard. The purple spot looks really old and mostly faded already.
"No comment?" He snorts. "We're gonna have a lot of fun for sure."
“I have a question.” Your eyes are still on that same spot. “Does Steve heal quickly?”
"Why? You plan on kicking his ass?"
“Just answer the question, please.”
"Yeah, he does." Bucky shrugs. "One of the perks of the serum."
“Even the small scars or purple spots?”
"Yes." Bucky doesn't even think about it. "Which is great. Why? You think your friend will want to know?"
You don’t comment about his question, instead, touch the spot you bit down so hard. “You are nearly completely healed. My mark has vanished.”
"What?" He asks, confused.
“I bit down on your neck so hard, it was dark red. Now it’s gone.”
"I don't get purple easily. Never did. I guess you have to suck a little more." He smiles leaning in to kiss you again.
“I fully bit you,” you say before he does.
"I noticed." He giggled.
Since he doesn’t take it that seriously you let it go. “Fine. I will prove it to you later.”
"Prove what?" He gives you another kiss.
“That you heal quickly.” You try to fix yourself while you kiss him back.
"Oh, I feel healed every time I look at you."
“You are so cheesy.” Yet you can’t help but laugh. “How do I look?”
"Good boy version or?" He pauses dramatically.
“Both.”
"Good boy version first: you look like an angel." He smiles cheekily.
You snort. “I’m asking if I look decent, Bucky.”
"Angel,” he repeats before dropping his hands to your ass and squeezing. "They won't know you've got fucked against the wall if that's what you're afraid of. But you look strangely content and happy."
“That’s because I had a good date.” You scrunch your nose cheekily.
"Me too. The best date ever."
“Should we try to find our best friends?”
"Oh, sure." Bucky leans in to get the teddy bear before handing it to you.
"Ready for more war stories?"
“No, I’m not.” You hug the bear. “I gotta wash this.”
Bucky snorts. "Poor bear. Got traumatized."
“Traumatized and all dirty.” You don’t notice how close you are to Bucky until you feel him next to you. “Should we keep this a secret from our friends?”
"Do you want to?"
“I meant the having sex in a dark alley part. I don’t think my friend needs to know that.” She definitely shouldn’t know all this.
"We should totally keep that part to ourselves." He smiles.
“I could say that you kissed me or something. I don’t know. Is that too forward for the first date?”
"There's no such thing. You can say I kissed you."
“I was genuinely asking.” You smile. “I normally don’t even kiss on the first date.”
Bucky giggles, his hand squeezing your hip. "I am a lucky gal." You smile back at him until you notice a familiar face.
“Oh, is that Steve?” You point to the tall blonde guy.
"Yes, that's him. But where is your friend?"
“Right in front of him. I can see her dress.” It’s sticking on the side.
"Oh, yes. Gonna drive you home after that if that's alright with you." He sounds so casual like he already did that many times, but you notice something else.
“You have a car and you didn’t think of using it until now?”
"Oh." Redness takes over his cheeks. "I got… distracted."
"You are such an idiot." You start to giggle while walking toward your friends.
"Your idiot now. You got stuck with me for at least two months." He laughs.
"Just for two months?" You test his intentions.
"I can't assume you'd want to wait for me, can I?"
"I will tell your best friend to bring you back home in one piece. He's the hero after all. That should be easy, right?"
Bucky looks at her with a soft expression before kissing her hair. "Guess you really got stuck with me."
"Oh shit, Steve saw you kissing my hair." It’s going to be hard to keep this thing between you two.
"Does it bother you?"
“No, no, no.” You quickly try to explain. “It’s just I’m worried that they might think the worst of me. I mean… questioning our closeness.”
"I dare them." She is surprised by how serious and determined he is as he speaks.
“I would kiss you right now if I could.”
"I won't stop you." He giggles like a kid.
“Our friends are,” you whisper and look at your best friend, who is coming toward you. Cassie is holding Steve’s arm proudly.
"Oh, hello," Steve says. "Where have you been?"
"Here and there." Bucky shrugs. "Did you have fun?"
"Yes!" Cass immediately giggles, joining the conversation. "He has the best, best stories. What about-" She cuts herself off when she notices your appearance. "What happened to your stockings?"
“Oh.” You blush a little, thinking about how they got ruined. “I tripped and ruined them. They looked so horrible I had to take them off completely.”
"Yes, they got really dirty," Bucky confirms with the biggest grin Steve has seen in ages.
"Oh, really?" He lifts his eyebrow. "What a shame."
“Yeah. Sergeant Barnes promised me a new pair. What a gentleman he is.”
"A gentleman indeed." Steve shakes his head, well aware of what you two have done.
You bite your lip and give Bucky a look, hoping at least Cassie has no idea. You are sure the three of you can keep a secret. For now…
You may wanna read the next part: Trust In What Tomorrow Brings
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thankskenpenders · 2 months ago
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youtube
At long last, the trailer for Sonic movie 3 is here, giving us our first look at Shadow! It looks like a fun time, though my excitement is probably more tempered than a lot of peoples' due to a few things I have mixed feelings on. Here are my off-the-cuff thoughts about it.
Shadow
Yes, it does seem like they've really nailed Shadow here. Fowler's attachment to the character clearly shows. The action looks cool and really sells Shadow as a serious threat. He's got his bike, he's doing Chaos Control all over the place, it's great. Keanu is very much just doing his regular voice, but it fits well enough. The backstory from SA2 seems to mostly be there, though I'm sure some details will be adjusted. Mostly I'm still just amazed that we're getting a major tentpole blockbuster movie this Christmas starring Shadow the fucking Hedgehog that treats him as a serious character worthy of respect. We've come such a long way...
I mean, just... what an image to see on the big screen.
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I also really like the way they're setting Shadow up as a foil for movie Sonic, kind of his dark mirror image as a Mobian hedgehog whose family life on Earth ended in tragedy and turned him into a vengeful antagonist. It's pretty straightforward, but it works well.
Robotnik(s)
Welp. They put Jim Carrey in a fat suit. I suppose we knew this day would come eventually.
I guess a small part of me is glad that movie Eggman finally actually looks like Eggman in every way that matter, but they're completely playing it as a joke at his expense here. And, yeah, the Sonic franchise isn't immune to fat jokes, the early years of the franchise (particularly Western adaptations) gave Sonic tons and tons and tons of jabs about Eggman's weight. But I thought we'd moved past that. But here we are with a depressed movie Robotnik binge eating and gaining a lot of weight like Fat Thor and the other characters think he's so GROSS and look his clothes don't even fit him anymore, haha! There's so much of this crammed into the trailer. I can only pray they don't do this in every fucking scene he's in in the movie.
I do like the plot of Sonic reluctantly teaming up with Robotnik to try and stop Shadow, though. It's very different from SA2, but we knew it would be, and I think that gives the movie some potential for Sonic to have kind of a dark turn of his own that mirror's Shadow's. I have a feeling that Sonic will try to get back at Shadow for something he does - maybe hurting Tom or something like that - and in the end Sonic sympathizes with Shadow and decides they have to stop their cycle of revenge, teaming up to stop some final threat.
Oh, and, of course... Jim Carrey is also playing Professor Gerald. Who might still be alive? Or maybe it's a hallucination on Ivo's part? I don't know, but either way, I'm here for it. Everyone joked about them doing it and then they went and did it. Yes, it risks playing him as a joke character, but the shot of him and Shadow mourning Maria while surrounded by GUN soldiers makes me believe he won't be a total joke. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the true final antagonist of the film, which would diverge a lot from the games but would work as its own version of the story.
And again, WHAT an image to see on the big screen lmao
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Everyone else
The human cast is VERY downplayed in this trailer, but let's not forget that they're still going to get a lot of screentime one way or another. The Sonic 2 trailer barely showed anything from Hawaii. Where oh where is my best friend Wade?
Speaking of the Wade show, Knuckles... frankly still seems to be mostly a comic relief character heavily influenced by MCU Thor here, getting some jokes in the trailer but immediately getting Worfed by Shadow when it comes time to fight. Tails seems to be flying the gang around in a real-ass helicopter, and his big pilot's helmet is funny, but otherwise he doesn't really do anything here aside from getting stomped by Shadow. I really hope they don't get sidelined too hard, but frankly I fully expect them to, Tails especially.
And, of course... I can't help but think about who isn't here. Namely: the girls. Yes, three movies and one streaming miniseries into this film franchise, exactly zero of the female (animal) characters from the games have made the jump to live action. Please allow me to bitch about this.
Despite her being both 1) a main character in the game this movie is loosely adapting and 2) my fave, I suppose I can understand why Rouge isn't here. Paramount took one look at that bat cleavage and went "nope," cowards that they are. There was some speculation that Kristen Ritter could be playing Rouge, but we now know she's just playing someone at GUN. But, again, I at least get why they'd be hesitant to include her.
But Amy... Amy is such a glaring omission at this point. There's no excuse. She's the female lead of the franchise. She's one of Sonic's closest friends. (Honestly, these days it's more accurate to say Team Sonic is Sonic, Tails, and Amy, not Knuckles, especially in the comics.) And she's also a key player in Shadow's arc in the game. Shadow has his change of heart because Amy reminds him of Maria! And yet, she's nowhere to be seen. It sucks.
(I know some fans are still holding out hope for Amy, but the toys for the movie already leaked and she didn't get anything, so I have to assume she's not in it.)
It's not like I really expected either of them to be in this movie, but that doesn't make it less disappointing that they set up the film franchise in a way that makes it logistically difficult to include 90% of the characters and conveniently managed to leave all of the girls in the "low priority" pile. Yes, I know everyone points to how much Tails was downplayed in the third act of Sonic 2 as evidence that it's just so impossible to introduce more than one new Mobian character in each movie and give them the focus they deserve. Yes, I know having to come up with a story excuse to bring more characters over to Earth is an obstacle, especially when they're gonna have to devote time to Shadow's backstory. But these are excuses. It's a writer's job to figure out solutions to problems like this. They could make it work if they really wanted to. I'd take Amy having a suboptimal amount of screentime over her not being in it at all. It's just not a priority for them. That's what disappoints me. You can justify these absences from a logical perspective, but I just care way more about Amy and Rouge as characters than I do about Shadow, so there's no way for this to not sting.
But, at the end of the day, for what the movie is actually trying to do, it seems to be pulling it off well. Aside from the fat jokes. I don't like the fat jokes. But the Shadow stuff is good. As always, this live action version of the franchise is never going to be my ideal version of Sonic, but it's turned out far better than it had any right to, and I'll probably have fun when I go see this in theaters and hear Live and Learn.
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traveler-at-heart · 9 months ago
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Cat's out of the (super) bag
Summary: Natasha doesn't like going on missions with you. Learning the truth might make her change her mind.
Natasha Romanoff x F!R
Big thanks to @soggy-wet-cat for hearing this idea before I wrote it :)
--
Fury was going soft.
That was the only way to explain your presence on most of Natasha’s missions.
Rogers, she gets. He’s a super soldier and as capable as Natasha is, it doesn’t hurt to have an enhanced individual around.
But you.
Always slow, always too relaxed for Natasha’s liking. Insisting you could do more, but last week you weren’t even able to pick a lock.
Not to mention how much you avoid hand to hand combat. Natasha suspects it’s because your skill level is very low.
“She’d do better out of the field” Natasha complains for the tenth time. Fury smirks. “This isn’t funny. I’m risking my neck to protect her and she’s not even worried about getting better. I’m not doing missions with her anymore”
“Now, hold on” Fury protests. “That’s not for you to decide. And I thought you trusted me”
“It’s her I can’t trust”
“Too damn bad. You have a mission. No Rogers this time. And I better hear it went well, Romanoff”
Natasha rolls her eyes and leaves his office.
It will only go well if she convinces you to sit and wait at the jet.
“What did you do to piss off Romanoff?”
“Morning to you too, Nick” you smile, placing a cup of coffee in front of him. “I don’t know. It’s pretty obvious she doesn’t like me”
“I know that. Have you done anything to upset her?”
“I barely speak to her and when I do she doesn’t answer” you shrug your shoulders, going back to every interaction you’ve had with the redhead. Her intense glare comes back to haunt you. “Do you think she knows?”
“You tell me. Did you screw up?”
“I keep a low profile. Like you asked me to” you nod, knowing how important this is for him.
“Better stay that way. You’re both leaving for a mission tomorrow” the man hands you a folder and you skim it. “Keep your head down and don’t make her angrier”
“Is that even possible?”
“You don’t wanna know”
It’s a mess from the start. You try to stay away from Natasha, but every time your attempts go in the worst way possible. Like when she’s walking down the jet, and you move aside so she has space. Except you end up pushing a few buttons on the console and Natasha has to come back and straighten the ship.
“Stay still” she mutters, glaring. You nod and sit on your hands, more concerned with the woman’s temper than about the mission.
“Wait here” is all she says after landing the jet.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a very simple mission” Natasha says, without looking at you, focused on adjusting her widow bites. “So, if you really want to help, stay out of my way”
“That’s not the plan. I’m supposed to watch the south entrance”
“They’ll never even noticed I inflitrated the building”
“You’re not my boss. Fury is. And if he wants me to stand outside and watch the south entrance, then that is exacly what I’ll do, Natasha”
The redhead finally turns back to look at you, surprised. This is the first time she’s seen you upset. You’re walking past her, not bothering to look her way… have you always been this tall? It always seems like you’re trying to look small.
“Hey” Natasha tries to make you turn, grabbing your arm. She’s surprised by how strong you are. “You better not screw up. Or I’ll make sure you’re on desk duty for the rest of your career, Y/L/N”
“Oh, now that’s funny. I’ve been here far longer than you” you lean forward, whispering. Natasha tries to understand what you mean, her eyes scanning your features for a sign. Aware of how close you are to her, you take a step back and jump out the door, ignoring the ladder.
Ridiculous, to think that you (you!) are an incompetent agent.
Maybe Fury was wrong for asking you to do this.
You’re kicking the ground, huffing every few minutes, still fuming at Natasha’s words. All this time, you thought she didn’t like you and though it sucked, you could live with that. But saying you were bad at your job when it was the exact opposite makes you see red.
“Y/N?” Natasha says over the comms.
“Here” you answer.
“A little help”
Those three words make your stomach drop. Natasha asking for your help?
This must be life or death kind of bad.
“Tell me where you are” you ask, breaking into the building.
“Intelligence room. Surrounded by at least 20 guards”
“Use the vents to go out and grab one of their vehicles. I’ll distract them”
“You’re gonna take down 20 people all on your own?”
“Just do as I say, Romanoff”
It feels good to finally use all your strenght. You practically rip open a door that sets off an alarm, and then you throw a couple of grenades around.
Now, all eyes are on you.
Sure enough, it takes them a few minutes to come find you, but you’re ready to shoot at the first guards, and when the second wave has gone through their ammo, you prepare for hand to hand combat.
“I’m out but there are two individuals after me. Towards the east, away from the jet”
“Got it. Gentleman” you turn to the man. “Change of plans. Let me go or die. Whichever is fine by me”
They laugh, until you send one of them flying across the room, his neck snapping.
“Who’s next, ladies?”
How could this mission have gone so wrong? Now Natasha is navigating the snowy road on a motorcycle, being chased by two of the guards and dodging their bullets.
The cold air is stabbing her hands and face but she has to keep going. She is too far away to communicate with you, but hoped you had the good sense of going back to the jet.
She’d find a way to survive.
Or maybe not, as she notices a third motorcycle joining the chase.
Through the rearview mirror, she sees the new person approaching one of the guards. A fight ensues and an exchange of shots. Next thing Natasha saw was the motorcycles colliding.
“Y/N?” she tries the comms, hoping you aren’t stupid enough to be knocking down people. Whoever those two were, the force of the hit was enough to kill them.
And yet, one of them begins to run after Natasha and the man still chasing her. The figure is fast approaching, which is ridiculous, considering Natasha was going 150 miles per hour.
The brute is clearly scared, as his movements become more erratic, trying to get rid of Natasha and the mysterious figure at the same time. He shoots behind him and then at Natasha, getting to one of the tires in her bike.
She tries to keep the handle steady, but can’t turn on the curve ahead of her. Natasha is sent flying directly to a river, the cold water making her momentarily paralized. The currents confused her, and she couldn’t tell up from down. She swam and swam, until her arms were too tired.
She began to drift, and the last thing she saw was a shadow hovering above her.
“Natasha? Nat?” you plead, doing CPR as gently as you can. You don’t want to add cracked ribs to her list of injuries.
Finally, after what felt like hours but were only seconds, Natasha lunges forward, coughing and throwing up water. You hold her head, helping her until she can breathe again.
“I’m freezing” Natasha complains, looking around. “Did we lose them? How did you…” she then turns to you and widens her eyes. “You’re bleeding”
“Yeah, he shot me. It’ll stop in a second. And yes, we lost them. Though I’m sure HYDRA is sending more people to track us down. Come on” you stand up, offering your hand. Natasha takes it and is once again surpised by how strong you are.
Your body is also warmer than hers, even if you dived to rescue her. On pure instinct, Natasha comes closer, practically melting against your body heat.
“You’re hiding something” she states and you chuckle.
“Now’s not the time. Come on, I’ll carry you. There must be a safe house close to the river”
Natasha climbs to your back, and as if she weights nothing, you walk down the river, trusting she’ll keep an eye for any place to hide.
Sure enough, after ten minutes of walking, the redhead gets your attention and points at the right. There’s a small cottage hiding between some trees.
“Here” you say as you kick open the door, not bothering to find a key. You set Natasha down and go around the place, looking for blankets and anything that will make her warm.
“Did it stop bleeding?” she asks, looking at your abdomen. You nod, placing a blanket over her shoulder and checking for other injuries. “Are you a super soldier?”
You smile, thinking that Fury will be up in arms. But technically, you didn’t tell Natasha. She figured it out.
“Yes”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Who else knows?” Natasha says, pulling the blanket closer, as if it will help her cover from you as well. It’s clear she doesn’t trust you right now.
“Fury asked me to keep a low profile. He’s the only one that knows. I think he’s concerned about the integrity of SHIELD. You know him, keeping an ace up his sleeve”
“How long have you known him for?”
“Thirty years, give or take. My existence is top secret, and I spent some time away from the job. My father died, and he was the last person that I knew before everything, so… it was hard, I guess”
“I’m sorry”
“Me too. I didn’t like lying to you or pretending to be something I’m not”
Natasha kicks herself for not noticing sooner. It’s so glaringly obvious now that she has to roll her eyes at herself.
Your build, the fact that you never seem to be tired or catching your breath. Hell, the fact you never train with anyone else.
Natasha made an assumption and ran with it, instead of trying to see past it.
“Hey, you ok?” you ask, craddling her head in your hands. “Did you hit your head? Feel dizzy?”
“I’m just cold”
“We can’t start a fire” you regret, looking out. “Here” you pull her closer, your arms going around her shoulders. She tries to protest, but whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as soon as she feels how warm you are.
“This suit is all wet” she says, pulling away and taking it off. “Don’t look or I’ll kill you”
“Uh… what is going on?” your eyes dart to the ceiling, blushing. Then, you feel Natasha’s cold skin against you. “Jesus, Nat. You’re freezing”
You bury the both of you in more blankets, and feel her melting against your side. On instinct, your arms go around her waist and bring her closer, to which she responds by burying her face on the crook of your neck.
“So I can’t look but I can touch, huh?”
“Glad we understand each other”
“So…”
“So” Natasha says, landing the jet back home.
“Can we be friends? Friendly, at least?”
“No” she stands up, walking towards you. “Friends don’t look at each other the way you’ve been looking at me for the entire ride home”
“Can you blame me?” your eyes drift to her cleavage, remembering how she was practically naked and clinging to you as if her life depended on it.
“Wine and dine me, Y/L/N. And we’ll take it from there”
“Yes, Ma’am”
“Am I interrupting?” Fury shouts from the hangar.
“Yes” you say, but Natasha leaves, glaring at Fury on her way out.
“I’ve known you for thirty years and you still can’t keep it together around a pretty lady. And now I’m in trouble too” Fury says, clearly displeased.
“Hey, at least you don’t have that problem with Rogers, huh?”
“For now, Y/L/N. There’s always some trouble waiting around the courner”
You laugh and clap his back, leaving the jet. His plan may have failed, but you’re certainly not complaining.
Not when you have a hot date waiting for you.
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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 8 months ago
Text
It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader
[Chapter 17] || [Chapter 19]
Pairing: Soap x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.3K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: Soap is cute.
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Chapter 18: Picnic
It’s 11 A.M. on Sunday when you wake up to your phone ringing. Normally you wouldn’t sleep in so late, but it’s a Sunday and you’ve got no plans, so you’re tucked into bed, lightly dozing off and feeling comfortable.
You roll over and hiss at the cold sheets next to you before you grab your phone from the charger and take it to your ear without looking at the Caller ID.
Clearing your throat, you greet a rough: “Hello…?” and rub your eyes. 
“Oh, someone’s sleepy, huh?” Johnny asks from the other end. “Did I wake ye, sweetheart?” He asks you, amused.
“Yeah… What time is it..?” You ask as you roll back to the warm side of your bed.
“11 A.M..” He tells you with a chuckle. “I’m bored and alone… You mind if I come over?” He asks you.
“Sure…” You reply softly. “Just give me like… 20 minutes to get ready…” You tell him,
“About that…” Johnny replies and then you hear your doorbell ringing through your flat. “I’m downstairs.” He chuckles on the other end of the line.
“Johnny!” You groan. “You can’t show up unannounced like this! The flat’s a mess and I’m not dressed! I need to shower ans all…” You trail off.
“It’s not ‘unannounced’, I called you to announce myself!” He replies and, by the tone of his voice, you know he has a smile on his lips. 
“Besides, I don’t mind if you shower… Hell, I’ll join ye.” He says with a mischievous chuckle. “Get you all lathered up in the shower, soapy skin and all, hm?” He continues.
“You know what?” You say as you snuggle into the blankets. “No.” You say directly. “You’re going to stay down there while I get ready.” You tell him.
“Wha-?” He asks in surprise with a gasp. “But… It’s pishin’ out here.” He tells you.
You turn to look out your bedroom window and sigh at the sight of the cloudy grey skies and rain hitting the panes.
“Well, tough luck! I’m not dressed so I’m not letting you in yet.” You reply. “Hope you’ve got an umbrella.”
“I’ve brought food, mo leannan, it’s going to get cold!” He announces.
“Goddamn you.” You grumble as you toss back the blankets and get up, rushing across the flat to buzz him in at the intercom.
“Thanks!” He adds as he hangs up the call. 
-
“You know, most people would say thank you for getting to have warm food picked up by their boyfriend and spend an afternoon being lazy and having a picnic in the living room.” Soap quips and nudges you with his elbow while watching you eat the soft shell taco he bought you.
You’re sitting on the floor across from each other, using the coffee table to hold your meal and drinks. You’ve noticed that you barely use your actual dining table for what it’s designed… Especially since the boys entered your life.
Johnny sits across from you wearing a pair of navy joggers that cling onto his bulky thighs way too much, and a grey Henley shirt that clings to every muscle of his arms and torso and leaves his collarbone exposed, since the buttons aren't done up.
“Excuse me?” You retort. “A) You’re not my boyfriend,” You begin to say as Soap quips “Yet.” halfway through, which causes you to shoot him a look for interrupting you.
“And B) You didn’t give me time to get ready. I need a shower…” You grumble, to which he, also, has a reply ready. “Ye can shower after. We can even have a nice bath together.” You shoot him another dirty look.
He knows that you’ve noticed that he thinks with his lower head more often than not… And the way he’s smiling at you, all impish and mischievous makes you roll your eyes.
“And C) this hardly counts as a picnic!” You finish as you finish your taco and reach to grab a new one from the box.
“I disagree. It’s food you can eat with your hands and you’re sitting on a blanket on the floor.” He replies. “That’s a picnic.”
“Is not, a picnic is meant to be had in nature.” You retort as you take a bite of your new taco.
“Oh? You’d rather be out there in the pouring rain to make your point?” He retorts with a playful smug on his lips as he points out the window.
Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “No.” 
“Then it’s a picnic.” He retorts. “And my point still stands that you shouldn’t complain so much.” He adds.
“You’re impossible, Johnny.” You tell him.
He smirks at you and continues eating, his blue eyes watching you closely as you eat the meal he’s bought you, a soft smile on your lips despite the fact you’re a bit annoyed at him.
“Ye know…” He says as he reaches for his can of Coke and takes a sip. “Ye make Simon and Kyle really happy.” He tells you.
Your eyebrows rise as you keep chewing your food. “I do?”
“Aye.” He replies as he leans his elbow on his knee to keep looking at you. “Simon doesn’t talk much about it, but I see it in the way he looks at you. The way he touches ye. Never ever seen the L.T. be so gentle with anyone.” He explains.
“And Kyle… He’s usually upbeat and all but he’s more… well… unbothered, ye ken? Doesn’t fuss about things, always relaxed, chill.” He continues. “Haven’t seen him smile as much as he does as when he bounces up from his chair at the end of the day and rushes out to go pick ye up.” He admits.
Your eyes soften a bit and you find your whole face getting hot as you hear him so you shovel the rest of your taco in your mouth so you can’t say something embarrassing.
“And, to be honest, I get it.” He replies. “I see the way ye light up when you see them…” He admits. “Ye’re so bonnie when ye’re smiling… And yer jokes and banter just put a smile on my face too…” He trails off.
Swallowing your food, you take a greedy gulp of your own soda to try and process what you want to say and you just end up blurting out a soft “I’m just me…”
“And ye’re great.” He replies and smiles as he goes back to eating his food, as if he hadn’t just said something so… sweet and deep.
The rest of the meal is spent talking about other things, less important, less deep things. You look at him with interest and intrigue, as if trying to figure him out, as you two talk about inconsequential things and make banter.
He shows you a couple of his art pieces on his phone, causing you to coo at them, especially a page he’s been working on that’s just got little portraits of everyone he works with. Ghost, Gaz, John… But also some other people he introduces to you. An ‘Alejandro’, a ‘Rudy’, a ‘Nik’, an ‘Alex’... And a ‘Farah’ and a ‘Laswell’. 
You come to realize that he’s… interesting, fun, easy to talk to, silly... Despite how stupid and silly and boring his profile on Tinder made him out to be… Soap’s… great.
Once the meal is done, you tidy up the living room a bit. He takes the trash to the bin, while you fix the pillows and blankets and run the roomba over the kitchen and living room… And, once you’re done, you turn to look at him while you both stand by the couch.
Biting your lip, you look up at him. “So… about that bath?” You whisper.
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