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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year

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Rigor Mortis (part 1)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Prologue, Part 2

summary: After the breakup, you move into a new place.

warnings: no warnings! cheeky bit of angst at the end

a/n: this is me admitting that realistically, miguel would be sick of our shit.

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here <3

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

or in the cold, crisp morn:

"These are the keys," Your new landlord hands you the copies, clinking against each other as you transfer them to a dish by the door. Your first thought is that there seem to be too many for this modest apartment: of varying shapes and sizes, and at least half a dozen. He steps through a wide archway to the kitchen, eerily clean. It's not modern by any means, the top half of a hulking brownstone some time away from college.

It’s been… a trying summer. Moving halfway across the country with your boyfriend had seemed like a great idea at the time. Younger you (barely 2 years ago) had been enamoured with the promises of city life: fast-paced, bustling, and never a dull day. Naivete and big ideas that you'd been too stupid, or maybe too desperate, to let go of. After being locked in a loop of the same 3 or 4 places, the same dozen faces - in a place as big as this, mind you - maybe your ex-boyfriend had freed you. Forced you from that halfway-home; as cold and empty as it had become; and back out into the world.

The reality was less than ideal - apartment hopping across the city for the past 4 months or so. You’d seen it all: glorified shoeboxes, fancy duplexes, viewing sublet rooms that were at least a little illegal. A box within a box within a box; coat closets rented out for double your monthly take home; and you had just about given up.

So this place seemed like a godsend: a brownstone, tucked away. Its interior is dated, but gorgeous. It had character: quirks and rich history in the brick and mortar. A fireplace tucked into the corner, window alcoves, wood panelling. Yes, the wallpaper was slightly warped with damp but it’s affordable - a reasonably priced gem that had made you jump when you saw the ad. With the overexposed and pixelated images, they didn’t do it justice.

You pad into the kitchen, running your hands on the smooth countertops. They’re bare and spotless - suspiciously so. Not many personal items, no fridge magnets, photos; nary a blanket on the sofa or half eaten plate of toast on the worktop. It’s so clean it feels staged, and it makes you squint. Isn’t there meant to be…

“I let Miguel know… he must’ve cleaned up the place-”

“Miguel?”

“The other tenant.” He pauses, boots clicking on the grain of the floorboard. “I don’t think he’ll be back until later tonight. Should give you some time to settle in.”

Nodding, you give him a small smile, and he steps out of the apartment. Your apartment.

~~~

You fill the rest of day with unpacking, putting some life into the place. You’d visited not long ago, fantasising about how you’d decorate. Something about sharing an apartment with your boyfriend for the past 2 years had done something to you: flattening and squeezing into a space not built with you in mind. How Jamie didn't like things on the walls, or how he needed the space for his textbooks, so why don't you find somewhere else to put your little stories? If his desk took up half the front room, then that makes sense, he needs it for work. But God forbid you needed a quiet space to study; what if the guest bedroom has your shit everywhere when his friends come over? A million compromises that didn't seem much like compromises: you'd give an inch and he'd take a mile. And so, the space to spread your wings without knocking over a gaudy plaque or two was very much appreciated.

You want to walk around the neighbourhood, map out the convenience stores, bodegas, community hotspots and hubs. Where's the best place to get a drink? The cheapest meal? Your usual haunts were a fair distance away, so maybe you'll make the trek and pick up waffles from Pam's, as a treat. Tired already, you slump on the sofa - a tattered old thing that can clearly take a beating. Looking around the place, something settles solidly at your chest. Contentment, maybe, a strange feeling considering the past few months. This will do, you think. This will do.

Perhaps it's not a very feminist thought, but you're not thriving . Thriving felt presumptuous, and yet coping seemed too complete a word - its implication too tidy, too neat. A mess, before; better, now…? And it didn't quite span the width and depth of the past few months; how long it had taken for the numbness to make way to anger, hot and intense - its flame fueling many a long night. And yet, maybe coping was just the way to describe your foray into this new chapter: a new year, new apartment, and whatever that brings. You had forgotten what it felt like to be alone; not lonely, but with only your own self for company. Without the ache of another person, for the first time in a while.

…except, you had a roommate. Which you had known when signing the lease, of course, but it's taken some time to sink in. What that means for you - a new person to tiptoe around and appease - you're not too sure yet. What is he like? He's out late, so maybe a chronic partygoer - sloppy drunk and vivacious, the life of the party. He might clatter into the apartment, chattering and bubbly. What do you know about him? From the apartment, as is, it doesn't tell you much. At first glance, it had looked too clean, but not unreasonably so if he had anticipated your arrival. No, it was the lack of personal effects that confused you. How long has he been living here and there aren't any pictures or knick knacks? To clutter is to be human, you think. And with the front room as blank as it is, you wonder just what kind of man he is.

It's getting late. Naturally, you do some snooping, lazily padding around in search of life. Onwards and upwards, to new frontiers: the cupboards and drawers in your new apartment.

He likes coffee, you learn. There's a fancy machine on the kitchen counter, glossy and shiny and clearly taken care of. Little packets of beans and filters line the cupboards, all with names you can't quite pronounce. The fridge is similarly well-stocked, with none of the junk food you've gotten accustomed to in the past few months. Its innards are leafy green and plush; labelled tupperware with leftovers notwithstanding. All the spices in a tray above the oven and fancy knives on the wall tell you he likes to cook, or rather, he likes to eat well. The lack of junk would take some getting used to - maybe he's a health nut? The type to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, to blend oddly coloured smoothies, and "reflect" after a long day of… dog walking or something.

You move on to the living room, running a light hand over the deep walnut of a side table behind the sofa. Again, it's oddly bare. When you tug at the drawers, it's brassy handles are solid. Locked. Kneeling, you run a hand across the larger cupboard door at its base. You pull at it, and it pops open with a click. Inside, it seems empty, save for a dusty box nestled in the back corner. With your top half almost completely inside its depths, you move it into the light.

It's old, a battered shoebox adorned with coloured sharpie - shaky drawings of flowers blossoming from its sides. The cardboard crackles when you open it. It's full of junk, mostly: half-dead pens, broken crayons, dried flowers, and little plastic toys - the kind you get from cereal boxes and happy meals. And, there's something peeking out. Confused, you dig a little deeper, to uncover a pair of… soccer cleats? They're tiny, clearly for a kid but seem barely worn, with minimal scuffing on the plastic blades.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A voice from above rumbles, and your head snaps up like a rubber band. You hadn't noticed the door open, and you are met face to face with, who you assume to be, your roommate.

He doesn't shout: tall, broad, and back straight by the door. He's got a backpack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a crisp white shirt and slacks. His name was… Miguel? Miguel crosses his arms, brows furrowed in quiet rage. Fuck.

"I was just looking for.. uhh…"

You know how it looks. It's the worst time for your brain to go blank, and you're left holding the hypothetical bag. You stand up a little too quickly, and smack your knee on the lip of the table. Half of the box spills onto the floor and you dart downwards, embarrassed.

" Shit. Sorry, let me-"

He leaps towards the floor, and you're forced behind him, as he scrambles to put everything in its place. You start to help and he stops, stock-still. As if in slow motion, his head turns to the side and he gives you a look that could kill thousands. Retreating, you shrink back, only able to watch helplessly.

" Chica tonta... ¿se crió en un rancho? ¿qué clase de persona entra en casa de alguien y toca todas sus cosas?" He's muttering something under his breath - too fast and not saying anything you can understand. Pausing, he throws you a look. "...y luego me ve como si yo fuera el que está mal- ojos grandes y bonitos como de perrito pateado...oh dios mío.-"

[silly little girl… was she raised in a barn? what kind of person walks into someone's house and touches all of their stuff? // and she looks at me like I'm the one in the wrong - big, pretty eyes like a kicked puppy… oh my god-]

He's gentle with the box, the way he puts it in its place contrasting his mood a couple of seconds before. He closes up the door and you stumble to your feet. In the glow of halogen bulbs, he follows, arms crossed like a mother hen.

"I think… I think I'm your new roommate?" You say your name and stretch out a hand, but Miguel doesn't move. You watch as his eyes sweep over your body, shameless.

"Are you asking, or telling me?" He sighs, pinching at his temples.

"...Telling?" You offer him a weak smile, and he cracks.

Softening, ever so slightly, he grumbles. "I know. I know. Mr Estévez said you would be in tomorrow, though."

"I like to be early."

"Right. Well… don't do that. Again, I mean." He clears his throat. "Don't touch my shit either. It's too… fuck , it's too late for this. I'm going to bed."

He kicks off his shoes, and all you can do is watch as he saunters off; the door to his room shutting with a resounding slam .

~~~

His name is Miguel O'Hara - not that he told you that, or anything. He hasn't spoken to you much at all, leaving you to figure out who he is and what he does from vague clues around the apartment. You don't go snooping , learning quickly from previous mistakes; but his full name on a letter slotted through the mail was fair game, you think. The most you've gotten out of him were grunts and frustrated requests to keep to your shelf in the fridge.

Passive-aggressive wasn't in his vocabulary, you’re convinced. A plethora of dirty looks in his arsenal? Sure. Plenty of vulgar swears in Spanish? Absolutely. Miguel was not, however, passive-aggressive. Just… aggressive. Not angry, of course. Upfront. Abhorred any passivity and indolence: umm-ing and ahh-ing for the sake of it.

So naturally , you were sent to kill him.

You tiptoe around the apartment, avoiding him at all costs. At first, it wasn’t on purpose, just the awkwardness of your first meeting bleeding into the next week. But you dodge and weave like an expert boxer - particularly impressive in the small space. Miguel’s in the kitchen? Suddenly, you’re not very hungry. He’s curled up on the couch for a movie? Wow, look at the time: and you're heading to bed. You can’t read him very well, and don’t trust yourself enough to look him in the eye without fear of melting under his gaze. The few short interactions you have, you crumble; a brush against his shoulder in the kitchen, or legs against his on the dining table. Not that Miguel offers a peace branch, pursing his lips when you’d make eye contact, somewhat frustrated at your theatrics. Call it cliche: you’re avoiding confrontation at all costs. It manifests itself in peculiar ways: the Shower Incident being the most memorable.

The Shower Incident, aptly named, happened not too long ago. The apartment is old , as you soon learnt, coming with its own plethora of quirks. What you had first taken as character and charm - window seats and wood panelling - also came in the form of a building half falling apart. Creaky floorboards, leaky pipes, and a distinct lack of central heating. The discounted price, that had seemed like a bargain before, clearly lacked some creature comforts… like heating. And a working shower.

As you’d been in a rush, you clattered into the bathroom; stripping in no time at all. Bare feet on the tile, and you turn the knobs at the base of the shower unit. You’re not going to pretend you know how it works, just yet, but… it’s not rocket science, is it? The brassy spout sputters; but with no luck. Groaning from the pipes makes you jump, before huffing in frustration. This is not the time; late to yet another 9.00am? You want to be different this year: organised, put together, and on time to your lectures. On your tiptoes, you peer down the shower head hesitantly, like it’s the barrel of a loaded gun. With cruel irony, it sputters to life, sending a face-full of ice-cold water your way.There’s a scream, as you scramble at the handles, scurrying out of its brunt; desperately trying to turn it off.

Unbeknownst to you, Miguel leaps out of his room towards the shouting, with a fumble and clunk of his feet on wooden floor. He’s quick , hand hovering on the bathroom door before you can register it; his voice echoing outside.

“Are you…” There’s scuffling, which you can just about hear over the pounding of the water against tiles. “Are you okay, in there?”

You wince, stepping out of the shower – legs shaky like a baby deer – as you gurgle. “...Yeah?”

“Can I –” He clears his throat. “Are you.. clothed ? Can I come in?”

You scramble for something to cover yourself, settling for a plush towel on the rack. Wrapping yourself up, you brace yourself for the grimace that's sure to be on his face. Tentatively, you crack the door open. There Miguel is, face knitted with worry.

There's a flash of confusion at the scene, and then, what you think is relief. Relief you haven't cracked your head open, most likely: the blood would be hard to clean from the grout. You feel guilty, as you've probably broken it, or touched something you shouldn't. The shower is still on; sputtering, starting, and it becomes a strange sort of background music to your silent exchange.

"I don't know how to use the shower." You say with a small voice, guiltily.

" No me digas…" No shit, he mutters, face back to the furrowed brow you're starting to become more familiar with. He sighs, easing up. "You hurt?"

You shake your head, and swear you see a small smile on his face. You looked like a waterboarded rat, probably: big watery eyes and shaking with the sudden cold.

A mess , he thinks. But not a bad view.

He's still in workout clothes from his morning run, compression shirt and lazy shorts that hug his ass on; as he turns towards the shower. With some sense of shame, you try not to stare, to not watch the muscles of his back and arms flex as he angles the shower head away from his face. It's not enough that you've embarrassed yourself – twice, in the space of a couple of days – but the fact it was in front of your roommate, who is maybe the most beautiful person you've seen up close. Which, granted, narrows the field; but Miguel is gorgeous, a flash of pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates, wide palms toggling the dial.

"You need to be careful… push it in slightly when you turn the-" You crane your head towards his movements. "Come closer, or you won't see what I'm doing."

You move towards him, half naked and shivering, trying not to buckle with the heat of his body next to yours. This is what you get for not having spoken to a man since your ex: a tight coil at the base of your stomach for someone that you've done nothing but unwittingly terrorise for the past week.

He explains, patient and even-tempered; how to use the shower and you half-zone out to the low tone of his voice. There's no malice, or pomp in his words when there are a million things he could make fun of you for - that Jamie may have made fun of you for. You look up, at the sharp lines of his face, and chew at your lip, deep in thought.

"...and this side is for hot water. Next time, just ask me – instead of almost drowning."

You nod, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"...For what?" He says, softly. "Place is falling apart, anyway. It's not really your fault." You're convinced everything you touch in this house breaks, but with the way he looks at you, you believe him.

"Just ask me, next time." He echoes and makes for the door, stopping to drag his eyes up and down your frame. Oh… oh. You like that, the way he looks at you shamelessly, practically undressing you.

He smiles, amused at your deer-in-headlights expression.

"...I think that's mine."

He nods to the towel wrapped around your body and your eyes bulge out of their sockets. " Fuck , I didn't realise-"

He shrugs, noncommittal.

"...Seems like you need it more than me, anyways."

~~~

It's a rough first couple of days, and then a week, and then two. The rhythm is all off: like the jerky stop and start of an old car. He wakes up early to go on runs at the ass-crack of dawn, and you stay up late to finish papers and assignments. He has a job, you think, darting out at the same time once or twice a week in smart clothing and a backpack. Sometimes, you catch him hunched over a laptop or scribbling something in a beat up old notebook. Maybe, he’s a student - even if he doesn’t seem quite like the fresh-faced 19 year olds you see around campus. Although, you suppose it’s not implausible; you were one of the older people in your classes, after all. It’s hard to imagine O’Hara, stony-faced and serious, at a… dorm party, or something. To be that carefree, he’d need to get rid of that stick up his ass, first.

You’ve got a day off from lectures, using the time to catch up on the reading you should’ve done over a hectic break. The list seems to go on and on, already, this early into the year. Internally, you’ve made a promise to be on top of it all - the little hiccup with Jamie, notwithstanding. You’d knuckle down this morning, reading ( scanning) and summarising ( liberal use of the copy-paste function) in preparation for the rest of the semester. Miguel’s locked up in his room, somewhere, so you use the opportunity to spread out onto the dining table.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you look up from the muddle of words on your screen.

When you open the door, there’s a woman there with a notebook in hand. She’s pretty, in a classic sort of way, ginger braids cropped to her shoulders and lips slathered with gloss. Her outfit is relaxed, but carefully curated: a tight jumper and long brown legs stretching out from a black skirt.

“Hi.” She says, visibly keening. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting you, but she quickly recovers and gives you a blinding smile.

“...Hi,” Honestly, you’re a little confused. You haven’t seen her around the complex before; so who she was, you hadn’t a clue. Too pretty to be a door-to-door salesman, and too hot to try to convert you to Mormonism, you think. Whatever that means.

You wait expectantly, as a beat passes.

“Oh!” She laughs, and it sounds like puppies and rainbows, much too bright and airy considering the time of day. It makes her next words even more of a shock. “I’m looking for Miguel.”

With her last words, she steps a little closer; scanning the apartment from her vantage point. Something in you bubbles up, but you try to choke down the laughter.

“You’re looking for...Miguel?” Even out of your own mouth, it sounds absurd . The man had no friends, as far as you could tell. He seemed like the type to lock himself away in his enclosure, only stepping out for work, school, the bare minimum. In the short week that’s passed, his ‘enrichment time’ had consisted of a dry documentary on spider mating cycles - which had been a shock to walk into, the first time.

So someone here, at the apartment? Looking for him? Fidgeting, you scratch at your neck. “Uhh, I ca-”

“Sorry about that, Jia. You can have a seat.” His voice comes from behind you, and Jia breezes into the apartment, perching on the sofa. Legs crossed, she reaches into her bag, taking out a laptop and a pen and paper. He’s changed out of his workout clothes, donned in a loose white sweater and casual trousers - relaxed, for once. With a limp thud, you close the door. There’s an odd feeling as you look around at the scene: tension, and you feel like you’re interrupting. Miguel clatters around in the kitchen, fumbling for mugs and coffee filters and God knows what else.

“...was it two sugars, or three?”

“Three!” She throws over her shoulder, tapping away at her open laptop. “I like it sweet, Miguel.”

You squint. He laughs : a small chuckle that comes with a heat at the base of your stomach. Your head almost aches, trying to recalibrate; reconcile with the version of the person you’ve barely seen around the apartment to now - present, engaged, and personable. Exasperated is the only word for it. Miguel O’Hara was, in fact, capable of joy. Dickhead.

He barely acknowledges you, but Jia does; batting her wispy eyelashes in your direction, curious. The tapping stops, and she curls the corner of her mouth up with a hint of a smile.

“You gonna introduce me?” She calls out to Miguel, and then smiles to you; warm and genuine. It makes you feel a little more at ease. You catch the end of a sigh coming from the kitchen.

“Jia, this is my roommate.” He glances up to gesture towards you. “...this is Jia. I… help her out with work, sometimes.”

From the couch, she rolls her eyes. “He’s too modest. He’s my tutor, technically.”

With that, your eyebrows shoot up. Of everything you’d imagined him doing, tutoring students wasn’t one of them - especially considering he seemed barely out of college himself.

“...Technically?”

“He doesn’t like to advertise it, because he’s picky with his clientele.” She giggles and he scoffs. You get the feeling there’s a joke flying over your head, just out of reach. “Word gets out on campus that Miguel’s tutoring again…”

“ Vale, vale ,” He grumbles, but his tone is good-natured and light. “S’enough, Jia.”

She gives you a wink, before turning towards her work.

You walk towards your things, still on the dining table. He’s got his head buried in a kitchen cabinet and you look on, wanting to ask a lot of things. The words seem to die in your throat: too big, too small, not the right shape. She's a stranger; that knows where the coffee’s kept and the best spot on the couch. That makes Miguel laugh . You want to ask him about the stranger in your home; but you’re too scared he’d turn and point the finger at you.

He walks to the couch, balancing two cups of coffee. You look back. Next to him, her presence is an oddity - a blip in his carefully crafted universe. With the warm sheen of familiarity, she nudges his shoulder. Taking careful sips, he pointedly ignores her, tapping a finger at her screen - as if to say, pay attention. She smiles, wide; an asteroid across the depths of space, dazzling and brilliant in the night sky.

The exchange… it makes you think. If Miguel is the Sun, and Jia, a bright body in orbit: what’s your place in this four-walled cosmos? Where do you belong?

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka @delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs

@teacoffeeflavored @chuuyara@qiapia@rotten-zombi3@bonbyon @tianyhi @noelsilly @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @peachsteven @thesquidni@fatenpara @verr-uckt @kurakasabe @kamiko32 @mushy-mushroom04@izzys-hawttea@theandromedastar @wicked-futures @truthuntolddd @prettygirlpattinson @hellokittylover202 @angel-eyes05 @lacedinweb22 @starguiders @buggiecrawls @eugeab @tarjapearce @whoreloll @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @ancientbeing10 @shartythefarty@royalhearts

@bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #eventual smut #angst #kat_writes😼

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mphoenix-7 · 4 months

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Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 1: The Mission

Book Summary: John "Soap" MacTavish has hated you since the very first day you arrived on base and joined their Task Force. You argue all the time, and one day, it pushes Captain Price to his absolute limit. He sends you both away to an isolated cabin in the woods for a week in hopes you can put aside your differences and bond. Will it work? Or will you two just end up hating each other even more?

This is a slow burn enemies to lovers fan fiction featuring Soap and you, the reader.

Word Count: 5,585

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Soap is mean, like really mean, smut later to come, rough smut, lots of swearing, violence, descriptive, blood, angst, fluff, slow burn, (more to come as I write)

A/N: Just a reposting of my story on Wattpad to help generate attention for it! Please go give it some love if you’re liking it so far. My user name is Emily7love or just look up the title.

Master List | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 1

"Bravo 7-1, this is Bravo 0-7, give me a sit rep on your position, over."

Soap is currently kneeling in some brush, staring at the small military camp in front of him when the radio call comes through. Despite the fact that he'd most likely need to be adjusting the volume up soon on his ear piece, he still turns it down a little for now.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass." He all but growls back to Ghost. His hand tenses on his rifle at even saying those numbers. Bravo 7-4.

You were Bravo 7-4. Also known as (y/n) "States" (l/n). The all too grumpy Sergeant by the callsign Bravo 7-1 was John "Soap" MacTavish. Also known as the biggest pain in your ass since you joined up with Captain Price's Task Force about six months ago.

Now anyone who knew Soap would be shocked to hear you say that you thought he was literally the worst and most insufferable human being to ever stain the Earth. To everyone else, Soap was a funny, charismatic, rather easy-going, and quite friendly guy. Everyone loved Soap. He was the golden boy of the Task Force, of the entire base. People were just naturally drawn to him, and his warm personality.

You can't say you blame people for being shocked when they learn just how much you can't stand him. Cause all those things about Soap were true. He was funny, and friendly, and relaxed, and just a great guy to be around. He was all those things when he wasn't around you. The second you stepped into the picture, his amused grin turned into a stiff scowl. His sparkling eyes turned hard. His relaxed posture turned rigid.

Yeah, John "Soap" MacTavish hated you. And you hated him.

Why did he hate you? You weren't entirely sure. It just seemed like it has always been that way since day one.

You transferred into the Task Force at the request of Captain Price himself. Originally, you had been stationed at a military base in the United States, where you were from. Then one day your commanding officer called you into his office and told you that you'd been given a new assignment. You would be working with a British Task Force across the pond for the next year. A group of four SAS men. If things worked out, then you'd be staying there indefinitely.

You'd been thrilled at the news. You didn't join the military only for the benefits and the opportunity to serve, but for the opportunity to travel and to potentially live somewhere else in the world. Getting to be that while also being SAS was the dream. You worked so hard to get to where you were today. Sleepless nights of studying, hard days of working out and trying to improve and hone your skills, and now it was finally happening. You were being sent off to a new base and a new team. And not just any team, an elite task force. You'd finally been selected.

You met the whole team day one of your arrival. The first person you met was Captain John Price. He was a friendly but very stern man. The no nonsense type of guy. He gave you a tour of the base, and showed you to the female barracks. Once you were semi-settled in (all your belongings piled into your room) you went to meet the other members of your new Task Force.

Price introduced you to each teammate. They'd all been in his office by the time you and Price showed up. Two had been seated, and one was standing despite there being enough chairs. That had been Soap.

"Alright you lot, here she is. This is (y/n) (l/n). Straight from across the pond." Price introduced you. "(Y/n), these are boys of the 141. This is Sergeant Kyle Garrick."

"You can also call me Gaz." Kyle fills in, giving you a nod and a handshake. "It's nice to have someone from the States joining us." He was the one responsible for your callsign being States.

"This is your Lieutenant. Simon Riley. He goes strictly by Ghost." Price continues. Ghost doesn't make a move to shake your hand. He just stayed quiet. Didn't even give you a nod of any kind. Quite intimidating coming from a guy wearing a skull over his face. "And lastly, this is-"

"Soap." The man barks out before Price can say anything. You remember hearing Price sigh before finishing his sentence. "Sergeant John MacTavish."

"You can call me Soap though. Nothing else." His voice was harsh, and carried a tone of warning. If you to call him by anything else other than his callsign, there were going to be harsh consequences.

His arms were folded across his chest, and he'd glared at you during the whole introduction. It made you so nervous, the reactions you got from both Soap and Ghost. Price assured you later though that they would come around. They just needed to warm up to you. He'd been 50% correct.

At the time, Ghost had been the most terrifying of three, and the one you worried you wouldn't be able to connect with (boy had you been foolish). At the time though, Soap had at least said something to you. Ghost never said a word or even acknowledged you. And when Ghost did talk to you, it was always in a gruff voice like you were annoying him. But over time, you came to realize that was just who Ghost was. It wasn't anything personal. He was like that with literally everyone. It was rare to catch him laughing or to hear his gruff voice become lighter.

Soap, on the other hand, also spoke to you the way Ghost did, but he only used that tone with you. He was so cheery and light when speaking with the guys. Even with strangers, his voice may have been slightly more gruff, but never as harsh as when he spoke to you.

His personality was vastly different around the others as well. Whereas he could joke, laugh, and relax around them, he was the opposite around you. You thought for a moment that maybe he was sexiest and just didn't like women, though every woman he spoke to around base, he was the kindest and most respectful guy.

Now six months later, not much had changed. Soap still spoke to you in a gruff voice. He still scowled when you entered a room. He still glared at you any time he needed to look at you. He had gotten more "comfortable" around you. But really that just meat he was far more comfortable with insulting you directly. From the way you shoot to the way you eat, he could find anything to gripe about. And eventually, you decided that if he was going to be difficult, then you'd return the favor.

The first time you insulted him back, he looked shocked, then just flat out angry. Your encounters went from quiet insults being thrown back and forth and dirty looks to all out yelling at each other. Never physical fights, but Soap had punched a hole in the wall during one particularly bad argument.

The others couldn't stand you fighting. Gaz would do everything in his power to keep you separated and distracted from each other so you wouldn't start. Ghost tried to never be involved, but he would sometimes break up the fights by using his scary lieutenant voice and sending you both to different parts of the base to cool off. Price... he got the most upset. He was normally so calm under pressure but hearing you and Soap bicker pushed him to the limit. He'd yell at you both until he turned red and then normally punish you by making you do extra cleaning, harder workouts, or something else just as labor intensive.

You lost count of how many times you'd been in his office with Soap, getting reprimanded on your behavior. One of the worst had been when Soap actively tried to get you kicked off the team while you were sitting right there.

"She is a right pain in the arse, Price! I didn't even start it this time!" He claims, doing everything he could not to look at you.

"Oh blow it out your ass, Soap. You were giving me a look."

"Then don't fucking look at me." Soap growls through his teeth.

Price slams his fist onto the table, making you both jump a little and halt your bickering for a moment. "Can you two shut the hell up? It's just constant with you. I have had a headache for five fucking days cause of you idiots. What is it going to take for you two to get along?"

Soap is quick with his answer. "All this could be solved if you just deported her little ass back to the US. Seriously Price, she's caused nothing but trouble since she got here."

"I am right here, Soap." You huff out a laugh, not too shocked he'd say something like that though.

"I wish you weren't." He throws back, making Price intervene again.

"Enough! She's not going anywhere, Soap. Whether you like it or not, she brings in a skill set we are missing in this team."

"Like hell she doesn't! We can find someone else." He argues, earning a glare from Price.

"She is staying. I signed a contract that she stays for a year. If we break that, we lose our funding, our reputation, and a whole lot more." Price says, making Soap cross his arms and sit back in his chair.

"So after however many months she has left, we can get rid of her?"

"You'll be lucky if I keep you once your contract expires!" He shouts at Soap, which shuts the Scot up. Sighing, Price continues. "I will reassess at the end of year once States' contract has expired." He says more calmly, which makes your heart sink and Soap smirk.

You were dismissed then, but Price had you stay back. Probably to keep you and Soap from walking with each other, but he also has a few words for you. He reassured you that you were doing great. That you truly did bring a lot to their team and that he was happy to have you there.

"Are you going to send me back at the end of the year?" You'd asked him before you left, looking over your shoulder by the door while he stayed seated at his desk.

"Don't worry about that now, States. But know, I like having you here, and remember, it takes both of to sign the renewal contract."

That gave you hope. Price most likely would want to keep you, but he was also going to leave it up to you to decide whether or not you wanted to stay. At the same time, if things continued the way they were, it wasn't going to be good for team morale. If Price had to pick between you and Soap, you were sure he'd pick Soap. He'd been with the team longer and knew them far better than you did. This was your dream though. Being SAS. It could take years before you got another team. You liked Price, Ghost and Gaz. Could you live with Soap?

That meeting was only three weeks ago. You'd been with the Task Force for almost six months. Halfway through.

Your current mission landed you in Naryn, Kyrgyzsta. You were hunting down a military leader, General Azamat, who was accused of doing an illegal arms deal with Russia. Photos and weeks of gathering intel suggested he was guilty and currently at this military base in Naryn.

This was purely a stealth mission first. You and Soap were tasked with infiltrating the small military base while Ghost provided overwatch. There were three security stations. One on the East, what Soap was in position for, the South, the one you were headed towards now, and the West, where you and Soap would meet to take out the last one.

The East and South stations were backup generators and needed to be taken out first before the main one to the South was. That way you kept the element of surprise and didn't need to worry about the backups going online. After that, your troops would push in and secure the base, capture the military leader, and you could all go home.

Soap had given the update on his position, saying he was where he needed to be, about two minutes ago. Two fucking minutes ago. And he was already griping that you weren't to your position yet. His words rang in your ear through your comm earpiece.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass."

"Calm down, I'm almost fucking there. Don't be so impatient." You growl back. "Seriously Ghost, how do you even deal with him?"

"Haad yer wheesht." Soap growls at you, some Scottish slang you don't understand. No doubt he was telling you to shut the fuck up or something along those lines.

"Either speaking fucking English or don't speak, MacTavish." You bark, voice getting a little too loud for a stealth mission. Even if you weren't too close to the camp yet, there could be patrols you needed to be mindful of.

"How about you fucking learn about other's cultures and then we wouldn't have this problem. And don't call me MacTavish."

"I do know about other's cultures! I just don't care to know about the one that you came from." You throw back before Ghost gets involved.

"Shut it. Now. Not another word. Fuck's sake." You could practically see Ghost shaking his head. "States, how long till you're in position?" Ghost asks, directing attention back to the mission.

"Give me two minutes."

"Bloody fucking Jesus." You hear Soap mummer through the comms.

You take a deep breath to try and focus your energy back on your current tasks. Soap was not going to get in your head and mess this up for you. For anyone else, he would have stayed quiet. In fact, it probably wouldn't have even bothered him.

"Hold up, 7-4." You hear Ghost say to you after about 30 seconds of creeping your way to your position. "You've got a small patrol further up from your position. Just over the hill. Two men, I don't see anyone else. When you're in range, get a good shot of one, and I'll dump the other for you."

"On it. Thanks Ghost." You whisper back, readying your rifle and trying to be as silent as you can while you approach the men.

"You telling me it's gonna be even longer now." Soap complains, making you roll your eyes.

"I'm sorry your side didn't have rough terrain or anyone to fight off, Soap." You tell him sarcastically. "Some of us didn't get the easy baby route to take."

"I'll have you know I took down two fucking patrols all by myself while I made my way over here. And I didn't have Ghost's help to do it either."

"Fuck you." You growl at him.

"What did I bloody fucking say?" Ghost growls, his lieutenant voice coming out. You curse yourself as you let it happen again. Just ignore the Scot and focus on what's ahead.

"In position, Ghost. I see them. Clear sight on both, your call."

Ghost does the quick calculations in his head as he prepares his shot, trying to determine which of the two men he had a better chance of taking out. "The one with the flashlight is mine. Dump is mate. In three, two..."

You both took the shot, Ghost pulling his trigger just a millisecond before you to account for the distance. He landed a clean headshot while your first bullet landed more in the shoulder of your guy. You took a quick second shot, which finished the job with another headshot.

"He's down. Clean shots. Though try for the head first next time." Ghost quips. There was no malice in his words. Just Ghost joking around to ease tension. Soap clearly needed to take lessons from Ghost on how to tell a joke without being a total ass about it.

"Noted. Thanks for the advice, 0-7." You banter back, earning a scowl and an eye roll from Soap.

"Less talking, more getting to where you're supposed to be." Soap cuts in, ending the fun you'd been having with Ghost.

"Don't get your skirt in a knot. I'm in position." You huff, pulling out your binoculars and scouting the area. Despite this base housing a military leader, and having two back up generators, they really didn't have much security. No walls, no floodlights. Just a few patrols outside. They weren't expecting trouble.

"It's a bloody kilt. Not a skirt." Soap seethes, his jaw clenched. At this rate, he wasn't going to be able to finish this mission. Everything about you was just pure annoyance to him.

"Yeah whatever you want to tell yourse-"

"Are you two going to be able to finish this mission or am I going to have to pull you both from it?" Ghost barks over the comms, clearly fed up now.

You feel your face flush hot in embarrassment. Ghost has never threatened to remove you from a mission before. You've always been good and reliable. You can't fail and have it on your record that you were pulled from a mission due to not being able to get along with others. That was a death sentence for your career with the SAS.

"No, sir. Sorry, 0-7." You apologize, not hearing anything from Soap's end. He was probably pouting and internally cursing you for getting him in trouble, even though this was all his fault. "Going to head out for the South station. Bravo 7-4 going dark." You turn your radio from the public channel between you three to a private one used only for emergencies. At least now you wouldn't be able to hear Soap for a little bit.

Soap hears your radio beep once, signaling to him you'd disconnected for a moment while you advance towards your target goal. Once you had, he huffs and takes a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and collect himself.

"I can't fucking stand her, Ghost." He complains to his friend. "Why the hell did Price ever think it was a good idea to put us together on a mission?" He looked out into the field, making out the little shadow of you making your way slowly to the base.

"She's part of the team, Soap. Price has his reasons. Just focus on the mission and make it work." Ghost replies, not offering too much help aside from stating the obvious and putting Soap's mind back in the field. "Better get going. Your path is clear right now."

Soap sighs heavily and stretches out his neck a bit by tilting his ears toward each shoulder. One side pops a little, only relieving a little tension. "Alright. Bravo 7-1 going dark." He clicks his radio to the private channel and begins to make his way to the East backup generator's building.

By the time Soap reaches his building, you are already working your way inside the South building thanks to the small head start you got. You stick to the shadows as much as you can, thoughts wandering to Soap from time to time. Wondering if he's cleared his building already or if he ran into trouble. Then again, if it was really bad, he could have contacted you or Ghost and there would have been alarms going off. And as much as you hated him, you had to admit he was really good at this kind of stuff. Sweeping through a place and clearing it out. Quick and clean. Of course he'd never ever hear you utter any praises directed at him.

Your building wasn't too heavily guarded. You assumed most of their men were either asleep in the barracks, standing guard of where the military leader was staying, or off patrolling areas they deemed more important than the backup generators. The main building to the West would have most of their patrols since it was the more important building. That was the reason you and Soap needed to work on clearing it together.

You managed to clear your building fairly quickly with only one close call. One guard had seen you shoot someone else, but you managed to take them out before they could radio for backup, and no one seemed to have heard him yell. Once cleared, you plugged in the flash drive and uploaded the virus it contained to make the generator go offline.

You bring a hand to your radio and speak into it. "This is Bravo 7-4, generator down, South building secure. I repeat, generator down. Heading to the West building to the rendezvous now." You begin to head out the way you came in as Ghost speaks to you over the comms.

"This is Bravo 0-7. Confirm. You're all clear." Ghost responds.

"You got a sit rep on our precious Bravo 7-1?" You ask, forgetting to switch over from the private channel. You duck behind some ammo boxes and sneak along them, not expecting to get an answer from Soap. You expected him to be busy still and not on the public channel that you thought you were on. Before Ghost can answer, 7-1 graces you with a response.

"States, shut your fucking mouth and switch your radio over to public. How the hell did you get selected when you can't even use a damn radio." He snarls, making you pause. Soap's words always kinda stung a bit, but some more than others.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I not allowed to have a sit rep on you?" You ask, ignoring your slip up of being in the wrong channel.

"No." He answers flatly, making you sigh and roll your eyes. So much for working as a team. "And switch-"

You switched over while he was mid sentence, not wanting to hear his grating voice anymore. You were getting a little worn down at this point. It wasn't like you enjoyed arguing with Soap as much as you did. It was exhausting. Being out in the field where you were already stressed was making it a lot worse.

"He's almost done." Ghost answers you, keeping you updated since Soap clearly wasn't going to. "Just head to the rendezvous, States."

You grumble softly but do as you are told. You mutter a "copy" into your radio before slowly and carefully making your way to the rendezvous. You hear a soft beep shortly after, signaling Soap had reconnected to the public channel. You try to avoid using your radio after that, even skipping check-ins since it seemed that Soap was going to make any use of your radio an unpleasant experience. Though eventually you do need to give an update that you were at the rendezvous, that way Soap wouldn't shoot you.

You move to the side of a building and crouch down. "Bravo 7-4 approaching rendezvous." You sigh to yourself before adding, "Bravo 7-1, please let me know when you are on your way."

"I'm already here. Look to your bloody right 7-4." You look almost directly to your right, which is met with an annoyed sigh. "Not that far. Back to your.. straight.. just- Fucks sake, by the crates!"

"You're not giving me good directions!" You silently yell back, still looking for him.

"By the crates! The only crates in the area! I'm practically in the open."

You see him then. His stupidly handsome face turned into a scowl and his piercing blue eyes glaring at you. He was not in the open, only his head poking up from the crates. You sent the same look right back to him and make your way over, looking around and making sure the way was clear so you wouldn't compromise your position. He was kind enough to at least raise his gun and cover you as you made your way over. Once behind the crates, back pressed to them, he relaxes his position and ducks behind them with you.

"States, look at me," Soap says, his voice deep and gravely. The only tone he ever seemed to use with you. "I want this done clean and easy. No fuck ups. You're going to follow my lead and stay out of my way. And I don't want to hear a single word from you unless it's mission related. You got that?" He lectures you.

You are so, so tempted to roll your eyes at him. He was talking to you like you were a marine fresh off selection. Not a five year veteran who was selected for an elite special forces team. He didn't even outrank you by that much. Not enough to make a real difference. The only thing he had up on you was experience and maybe two years in age.

You're silent for a long moment, glaring at him until he repeats himself a little.

"Do you understand?" He annunciates each word, and you swallow down the choice of words you had for him. This wasn't the time or place for that. You were in the middle of a mission that could go belly up and turn dangerous. You didn't need to be fighting the sergeant on this.

"You got it." You say tightly, mustering up all the strength you possessed not to say more than that to him.

Soap seemed surprised you agreed so easily, but he eyes you suspiciously for a moment before nodding. "Good." He nods before reaching for his radio. "Bravo 0-7, this is 7-1. Going in. Rest of the troops be ready in five minutes and wait for the signal."

"Copy, 7-1." Ghost confirms. "Be warned, I see multiple troops in the vicinity of the West security building. Some men have different uniforms. They look to be General Azamat's men. He could be in there."

You furrow your brows at that. You were expecting a lot of troops in that area, but the military leader you were after wasn't supposed to be in there. There was a bunker in the middle of the camp that he was supposed to be in. It wasn't going to be a significant change the mission though. It just meant your job had become a lot harder. More men to clear out without raising alarm.

"This is Bravo 7-4, 0-7 what's the best way in?" You ask, refusing to look at Soap. You saw his head turn to look at you from the corner of your eye.

"If you wanna come home looking like Swiss cheese I'd go with the front door. Around the back might be your best shot, but I can't get a clear view from my area." Ghost informs you.

"Can you reposition and-"

"No." Soap immediately cuts you off, making you glance to him. "We don't have time for a reposition. We need to move before they realize their backup generators have been breached."

"You just don't like it cause it was my idea." You accuse, watching as Soap visibly becomes agitated.

"I don't like it cause it's a bloody stupid idea!" Soap says through clenched teeth. He was getting right in your face. You were about to tell him off until Ghost's voice filled your left ear.

"Soap's right. There's no time. Head to the back and make due with that entry point. We'll go loud if we need to."

Soap wore a smug look as Ghost sided with him. You despised it. "See? Told you it was a stupid idea." He reiterates, still way too close for comfort.

Your anger flared, and you shoved him back with a forearm to his chest. He reacted instantly, grabbing your arm and flinging it away as if it had burned him. The movement was so quick, it surprised you a bit, and all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes.

"Touch me again, and you're going to regret ever signing up for the military," he growled, his finger jabbing the air between you before standing up and storming off without attracting too much attention.

You're left stunned for a moment, though you're not sure how you thought he was going to react to you pushing him. Within a matter of seconds, you gather yourself, reminding yourself that you were still in enemy territory and needed to focus. With a reluctant sigh, you followed after him.

You managed to make your way to the back of the West Building with Soap without too many complications. The most you needed to really do was duck behind some parked trucks as a military jeep rolled by. It exited the compound, likely heading out to meet a patrol for a shift change.

You and Soap didn't say a single word to each other the whole way. For a stealth mission, that was preferable. However, you could feel the tension between you and Soap. Disdain was radiating off him, and you didn't want to get too close to him in fear he was going to blow up at any second.

There's a line up of vehicles that serve as your cover for the time being as you sneak along one side of them. Suddenly, you nearly collide with Soap when he abruptly raises his hand, signaling you to stop. There's a group of four men all standing in a small circle, talking and smoking together. They're isolated from other groups but taking out a group of four could be very difficult to do.

Soap takes a few steps back, waving for you to back up as well. "We can't take that group out by ourselves, we're going to have to go around." He tells you in a hushed voice as you attempt to peak around him to get a good view of the targets blocking your path.

"It's only four. We can both take out two." You suggest, but, just like all your other ideas, Soap is fast to shut that one down too.

"Not a chance. You suck at hitting multiple headshots." He accuses.

That makes your blood begin to boil. You were not the God awful shot he made you out to be. In fact, back on your base in the US, you were considered to be one of the better shooters.

"I don't suck at making headshots." You glare, making him huff at you.

"Oh really? You missed the one earlier. Ghost managed to hit it from hundreds of meters away, and you bloody miss from a few feet. Your aim is absolute dog shite, States. I'm not going to have you mess up this entire mission cause you think you're better than you are."

His voice was harsh, as always, and his glare was biting. You felt your eyes burn as tears formed, but you refused to let Soap see you cry. He'd only roll his eyes and call you a baby. Crying would only give him more reasons to think you didn't belong here, that you weren't as good as the rest of them.

There were so many things you wanted to say to him in that moment, but you couldn't. The words got caught in your throat, and you feared that if you opened your mouth, a sob would escape. All you could do was look away and clench your jaw, masking your hurt feelings as anger instead.

Soap seems to take your silence as you submitting. "Come on. We'll go around that way."

He was motioning to a camp-like area that seemed mostly deserted, though there were probably men sleeping in the multiple tents that were set up. Along with the tents, there was some campfires and some small boxes of what looked to be filled with MREs.

As Soap quickly moved to the new area to bypass the group of men, you glanced back at them. You knew you could land those headshots. If Ghost had been with you, you would have taken them down already. You were tired of Soap thinking you were inferior and wanted to prove him wrong so badly. You knew you could land those headshots...

Raising your rifle slowly, you lined up the shot for the first target and mentally mapped out the sequence. One on the right, then left, then back right, and then back left. A simple zig-zag pattern. Easy enough.

Right as you're about to pull the trigger, you hear Soap's voice crackle through the comms. His voice was deep and full of warning and venom.

"Don't you fucking dare, States."

But you dared. You wanted more than anything to prove him wrong. You slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger.

265 notes · View notes

delfiore · 1 year

Text

—MY DEAREST FRIEND AND ENEMY. (1/5)

pairing: ona batlle x fem!reader

synopsis: you were ona’s biggest headache at man united, until you both move to barcelona.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i’ve been watching the men’s game for years but i’ve finally sobered FINAL TODAY LET’S GO ENGLAND LET’S GO SPAIN (MOSTLY SPAIN)

PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V

It started four years ago when Ona first signed for United. She didn’t notice at first the way you were always gunning for her, she was just doing her job.

But now, you were here in Barcelona with her. As she looked up at you, a soft smile on your face, everything she had buried in the past year all came rushing back.

Everyone was aware of the new signing from the States for her rival club just a couple of weeks before, a dragged-out saga of whether you were going to choose City or United. Unfortunately for her, you chose the Sky Blues.

If things had been different, maybe she wouldn’t have despised you as much as she did.

The first Manchester derby you played, she thought marking you would be easy until you dribbled past her several times to register a goal and assist. She must have been glowering at you when she walked back to the midfield line, because you shrugged before grinning at her, saying: “All in a day’s work.”

“Could I just ask what put Man City above all the other contenders for your signature?” “Well, I mean, it’s a great club with a great history, amazing players too. I’ve spoken at length with the new manager and he gave me a rough plan for next year’s project. So I’m really excited and confident that it’ll be a great destination for me.” “What do you say to the people who think you’ve chosen City for the money?” “People can think whatever they want to think. I’ll just play my game, and they can judge me all they want. It’s all anyone’s good for.” “You’ve just transferred from Portland, you’ve got an enormous price tag for the women’s game, tons of big clubs in Europe wanted you. There’s a mounting pressure on you, it seems. Do you think you’ll be up for the challenge of the Women’s Super League?” “It’s no fun if it’s not a challenge.”

Ona Batlle was what people considered a modern full-back, dangerous in attack just as she was solid in defense. But when playing against Man City, she usually has to stay back to avoid a dangerous winger finding their way into the box; you. It wasn’t her way of playing, and it frustrated her that that was what her role was while her team was struggling to create chances, especially when she knew she could help.

“I want you to stay back and mark Y/L/N. Whatever you do, do not let her out of your sight,” Casey had told her.

She hated you for caging her in, and the worst part was she wasn’t sure if she can stop you sometimes.

The night before her next game against you, she watched how you played the previous match, studied your movement carefully, and took notes. She liked that she had found a pattern. You liked to use your speed, but you also liked to taunt your defenders; a pace of prime Thierry Henry’s, and showboating tendencies like that of Neymar. It’s why you were so entertaining to watch, because every defender you faced ended up a sort of decoration to your parlor tricks, her included.

Ona never liked being second best to anybody, and certainly not to you.

And so when she was on the pitch, zeroing on you like a hawk, there was nothing stopping her from getting away from you. She didn’t need to resort to any risky challenges, she just needed to stick with you, keep you at arm’s length, and stay between you and the goal at all costs.

You may be a skilled player for your age, but controlling your temper is something you haven’t been able to achieve. She heard you cursing a few times, eventually earning you a yellow card when your insults were directed at the referee.

The ball had only left the City’s goalkeeper, Roebuck, yet she already felt you pushing back against her.

The game ended 3-1 for United, but she was secretly much happier that she had managed to piss you off so much, that you didn’t bother shaking hands with her afterwards.

“Congratulations, Ona. A huge victory for United. What do you think went well today?” “I think that our plans worked because we practiced and showed what we’re able to do. We didn’t have a lot of possession, but we focused on the counterattacks, and I think that definitely was a very effective tactic today.” “I have to ask you about Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been a formidable player in the league until now, and notoriously difficult to defend against, but she was practically silenced today on the left-hand side. Do you think you had something to do with that?” “I think what I’ve prepared in defense has worked out, for sure. I’ve also got my teammates to thank for covering the grounds for me. Y/L/N is a good player, and it’s always a joy to play against her.”

Her rivalry with you continued, and soon even the press was picking up on it. Manchester derbies now included Y/L/N v. Batlle, and everyone was predicting what crazy thing would happen next. It wasn’t common for defenders to make waves in the paper compared to superstar strikers or even midfielders unless they were linked with a big move. But soon Ona was reading about herself in the news, how she has defended Manchester United’s left wing with an iron grip, how they started calling her la matadora, for her ability to hold off forwards and tame them like bullfighters do.

One bull remained to be tamed though, and her conundrum continued into her second season at United.

Unlike her, you seemed to take the new breath of fame easily enough. Day in and day out, there were news of you scoring goals and bringing Man City to the top of the table by November.

You were born to be a star.

But Ona knew from shooting stars in the game that burned out too quickly; if you let what’s outside the pitch get to you, you might as well just leave it altogether. You might have been a good player, on your way to becoming a great one even, but you did have a flare for the dramatics which riled up the press quite a bit. If she was lucky, maybe the pressure would take you out of the game before she does.

International breaks were times she always look forward to, being able to represent her country. Even if they were friendly matches, she knew Spain was always being watched, as a team’s form was important on the world stage. The team would play two friendly matches, the first one being against Brazil and the other against the United States. Some friendly fixtures . . .

Brazil was a breeze, mainly because she wouldn’t have to face her biggest adversary. Naturally, you were called up to your national team, and the back-and-forth game persisted.

She had played against you many times at club level, but the way you played for your country was something else. There was more passion to the way you weave your way through defenders, more flare to your shots. It could also be the adrenaline of being called up for the first time, and wanting to prove yourself—she knew that feeling well.

It didn’t come as a surprise, then, that when a long ball was played over the defense line and Marta Cardona was on her way towards goal, you’d be there to strike her down right at the edge of the box. Her teammates appealed, and the referee paused the game, but all Ona saw was red. With a speed she didn’t know she had in her, she sprinted to you and shoved you away as you were bending down in a show of checking on Marta.

“What was that?! You could have broken her ankle, cabrona!”

“Watch it.”

You had never seen her so angry before—her jaw locked as she continued to hurl insults at you. If she wasn’t your mortal enemy maybe you could have found it attractive. So you pushed back, and soon both your teammates and hers crowded around you, trying to separate you. Kelley put her arm around your neck and walked away, telling you to “keep your cool, this is only a friendly”.

Never, you thought. Never while I’m playing against her.

You apologized to Marta eventually, and she was cool with it. “Heat of the moment”, she said, and you were grateful. You never meant to hurt anyone. Sometimes you just couldn’t control your adrenaline spike.

As expected, Ona didn’t even look at you after the match. So you went home with Marta.

The next morning at breakfast, Ona heard laughing from the girls surrounding Marta.

“How was your American late-night snack, Marta?” Leila laughed.

The girl only shook her head with a grin. “It was delicious, alright.”

Ona didn’t know what that twisted feeling in her gut was when she heard what Marta said, as she walked back to her hotel room after breakfast. She just knew that as long as she was alive, you were the most despicable person she knew.

ESPN: Y/L/N-Batlle Feud Continues, Bonmatí Controls Midfield in Spain-USWNT Clash “LOS ANGELES -- Thursday night saw a friendly match between Spain’s women's national team and the USWNT at the Snapdragon Stadium that ended in a 2-2 draw. Several debutants started for both teams, including Man City powerhouse Y/N Y/L/N. After a stunning cross into the box from the left for Mallory Pugh to tap in, a dangerous slide tackle on Marta Cardona ensured Y/L/N to be the heart of a confrontation between several players, including Ona Batlle. It seems their club rivalry persists as they were seen giving each other a very clear piece of their minds, and several clashes succeeded the Cardona tackle. It would have been a good performance for both if not for the slip of attitude. One thing is clear, though; the mentality is there, and it sure is entertaining to watch. […]”

The end of the season was fast approaching, and while you had become a thorn in her side, it came to a point in which she would not think about you until a week before a clash. This one in particular was crucial in the race for a Champions League spot that both Manchester clubs were vying for. She knew what it meant for the club to secure a UCL spot for the first time, and you were not about to ruin it for her.

Tooney and Millie invited her out for dinner the night before the derby, but she turned them down, opting for a quiet night in instead. After a few hours, however, she suddenly felt antsy, the anticipation before the game nipping at her. It was only 7pm when she checked and she decided to go for a run. She followed the familiar path she always takes to the nearby park, and she was glad she did because the sun was going down, leaving a glorious trail of orange in the sky. She loved these peaceful moments, away from adrenaline, away from the constant pressure, away from constantly having to push herself or she’d be called ‘lazy’.

A constant huffing sound appeared next to her, and when Ona looked down she saw an adorable corgi looking up at her while wagging its tail.

“Hello,” she bent down and pet the dog. Loving the attention, the little corgi jumped up in an attempt to lick her face, to which she let out a laugh.

“Bratwurst! Come back here!” She heard a voice call in the distance, which she assumed must have been the owner. “Sorry, he loves people.”

Ona looked up, and her face dropped. You did the same, standing frozen in front of her. Bratwurst was jumping up and down before you, probably excited that he received pets from someone else today.

She had never seen you in plain clothes before. You clearly knew how to dress yourself, because she might have admitted that you looked good if she didn’t hate you so much. But it was difficult to see you as anything else other than Y/N Y/L/N, Manchester City winger, and potentially Golden Boot winner this season by the looks of it.

And yet, she sat down on a nearby bench with you anyway, watching Bratwurst stick his butt in the air, attempting to catch a squirrel.

“I named him Bratwurst ‘cause he’s . . . long, you know?” You chuckled. ”Short form is Brat too, that’s kinda funny.”

In a sea of northern Englishmen, she never got to hear your American accent properly as she’d only heard you speak no more than two words to her, and most of the time they weren’t pleasant.

“How do you have time to own a dog?” She asked.

“He’s a foster. I just got him a couple of weeks ago.” You looked down at your fingers. “It’s nice to have him to come home to.”

The conversation died down, and suddenly Ona felt like this was a mistake. Maybe she should just leave, and continue her run. But she saw a different side to you—a gentler, quieter side unlike the boastful player she knew you as—and she wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not.

“Are you planning on adopting him permanently?”

“Maybe. I just want to make sure that I’m settled before making him move.”

You leaned back, placed your arm on the bench, and closed your eyes.

“You don’t want to stay in Manchester?”

“I don’t know yet. Why, would you be happy if I did?” You smirked, and she saw a glimpse of that player again.

Yes. “Your presence doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bring me any joy either.”

“Just face it, Batlle.” You turned your body to her. “I get under your skin, don’t I?”

Ona blinked, her jaw clenching. “You don’t intimidate me, Y/L/N. You might be used to people bowing at your feet, but I won’t let you walk all over me. We will win tomorrow, and you might think to show some respect for others in the game.”

“Sorry, Batlle, can’t let you win. We’re playing Champions League next season.” You really enjoyed taunting her.

Ona huffed and stood up. As she walked away, she heard you call out to her. “See you on the pitch tomorrow, la matadora!”

There was nothing you could ever do to make yourself less hateful in her eyes.

It was matchday, kick-off time. Ona saw you on the other side of the midfield line. “Remember what you came here to do, and finish the job,” Marc had told them in the dressing room. He was right. She had a job to do, and she wasn’t about to let you ruin that for her.

They were to play with a high line today, which required Ona to stay near the midfield line and run back, should a forward slip through. About halfway through the first half, she had a startling realization; you were dropping back too, playing a number-10 role. It meant that she couldn’t do what she did last time you met, because there would be a gaping hole where she covers.

United was leading 1-0 by halftime, and while they had the advantage, the fight was far from over.

“Okay, ladies. Have a drink and take a seat,” Marc stood at the front of the dressing room. “We’re doing good, we’re holding them off. Keep up the pressure.”

Ona sat back to catch her breath. You were much more versatile than she thought, and maybe that was her mistake for underestimating you. It seemed too easy that you were giving her exactly what she wanted, playing high at the flank like she always does. There was more to it, but she needed to adapt.

Ona held your gaze for a moment across the field. You weren’t giving up. It seemed you were confident enough in whatever wicked plan you still had up your sleeve, that you sent her a smirk back.

It was the 70th minute of the game and they were so close to achieving it. Katie was looking for a pass, so Ona made herself available.

There was empty space near the side of the box, and she wanted to utilize it but it meant having to get past a couple of defenders.

“Vilde! 1, 2!” She called, passed the ball to her teammate, and started running. Her momentum was halted when Vilde’s ball was cut off and instantly launched forward.

The counterattack came so quickly, it must have been what you practiced. 1-1.

Suddenly, the tides have shifted. The momentum was with City. Time was running out, and the sudden goal disoriented her team. It took about five minutes for everyone to get their head back into the game, but Ona could tell City were used to having possession by then.

And then, in the 88th minute, you were given the ball from the left. Everyone except Alessia had dropped back to defend a series of dangerous balls up until now. You didn’t have anyone to pass to without getting intercepted, and you were outside of the box. So you took the shot. She watched helplessly as the ball flew past Mary into the top right corner.

1-2.

Ona’s body ran cold as she watched you celebrate with your teammates.

When the final whistle came shortly after, she collapsed on her knees.

Some of her teammates were there to console her, but she let their comfort pass through her. She needed to break something.

She needed to get away from everyone and found a spot near the bathrooms where she could catch her breath. Her boots were dangling from her hand by the laces. She slumped against a wall and began to cry, the boots clattering next to her on the floor.

It wasn’t that she was sad to have lost—she blamed herself for letting you get to her head. The interaction of the day before got her thinking what ifs. What if we didn’t meet under these circumstances? What if I could have just gotten to know you without wanting to rip your head off every time I see you?

You heard quiet sobs down the hallway and knew it was her. You had quickly gone into the tunnel when you didn’t see her anywhere on the pitch, but you certainly weren’t expecting to see her cry.

“Batlle?” You called.

She didn’t seem to notice you, sitting against the wall and wiping her face with her shirt.

“Hey, it’s okay.” That was a stupid thing to say considering you just beat her out of a Champions League spot, of course it’s not okay.

“I’m really not in the mood,” she said, looking away.

“You did good out there,” you said, watching her anxiously.

“Don’t act like you care,” she sniffled. “You got what you wanted.”

“I’m not as heartless as you think, Ona.” You quipped back. “I’m not sorry that we won, but I am sorry that you’re hurt.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” She sobbed and glared at you. It sent a chill down your bones. “I wish we had never met.”

How do you tell her that you never meant for things to go this way? That every word you had ever said to her didn’t stem from malice but from fear? You had wished to push her away so that you don’t collide with her head-on. How do you tell her that no matter how hard you tried, you still gravitated toward her?

“I’m sorry.” You repeated, like a fool.

She was hurting because of you.

You snuck a glance at the form of the girl in front of you, like you would be penalized if you were caught looking at her. You took a step back to go, but she held onto your arm and pulled your body against her.

You had been fantasizing about having your mouth against her for months, usually in absurd circumstances, like you two making out in a bed of roses or you giving her a kiss after she, a masked superhero, saved you from danger. Never like this, muscles aching, sweat coating your foreheads, wearing your respective uniforms—being so you doing this.

You wanted to enjoy it. Her lips were soft and salty, and she might have secured you by the waist against her. Your knees trembled as you sighed into her lips, pushing her against the wall gently. Your hesitancy soon turned into hunger, as you pressed your body into hers, desperate to feel her.

Murmurs in the distance snapped you out of it. “Where’s Ona?” You made out one of the voices saying.

You looked back at her, your faces just inches away. You never noticed, but she had so many beautiful freckles adorning her face.

“Ona—“ You said, but she quickly picked up her boots and left towards the voices.

Chest heaving and head spinning, you slumped against the wall with a small grin, bringing your fingers up to touch your lips where she had been.

“Where have you been?” Keira asked in the dressing room, but you just shook your head.

“Just to the bathroom.”

Sky Sports: Man City’s Talisman Y/N Y/L/N Nets Stunning Late Goal Against Man United To Secure UWCL Spot […]

a/n: this gif is so y/n and ona coded

#ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle imagines #ona batlle #woso #woso x reader #woso imagines #wwc23 #spain wnt #man united women

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aineryeo · 2 months

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The Legend of the Blue Sea Episode 3.1: Maybe This Time

Chapter Synopsis: The second time Kenji Sato met you was during his junior year of high school. Newly transferred and still getting started on being varsity for the baseball team, he overhears his high school crush talk trash about him. Determined to get back at them, he convinces you, the girl who managed to smack him mid-run with a whiteboard, to be his fake girlfriend for 7 days.

In present time, Kenji and Mina discover how to wake the sleeping beauty up from the magic needle. But when this finally happens, Kenji now has to deal with the realisation that the princess... was a gremlin.

Themes & Warnings (Chapter):

Author Notes:

I had to cut Episode 3 to two parts because I kept wondering why I'm taking so long to write but then I scanned the chapter and realised I was going 11k and there was still a hefty chunk left from the outline 😭 It took a while to flesh everything out since I spent the past week also adding more details to the other chapters to deepen the flavours 🫴🤌 This is still fluff but the next part is where things start going on the jealous and angst start, the fairytale era bout to transition out!!!

I also found a really cool song that pairs with the theme of the high school memory, it's linked on the title! It's super fitting the vocals are amazing aghhjjr!!

The Legend of the Blue Sea: Masterlist

Episode 3.1: Maybe This Time ⇾ Episode 3.2: Fish on Land

Westwood Academy, otherwise known as Westwood University, situated in Los Angeles, is one of the many renowned schools along the state. It hosts preschool to elementary to high school up ‘til college. It's one of the major league schools but is typically known for its.. extravagant prices. Often, along with a list of other universities, they allow for student exchange programs for exceptional scholars, selected around the world, to tour the litter of schools’ labs, attend special classes, or participate in small collaborative projects. Most of it was to allow these one in a million group of children to choose between potential university options.

Of course, even though this prestigious academy offered a massive field for different types of sports and had a pretty amazing reputation for its academic endeavours, for a guy like Kenji Sato, he knew that in the future, he’ll be transferring to the University of Los Angeles, where most athletes start to get drafted into the Major League Baseball drafts.

But that’s not the reason why he’s bursting his way through the halls right now, no.

Kenji’s running down the hallways because he stayed up too late last night trying to perfect his swing so he can finally get off the bench and play as one of their schools’ main batters. However, it definitely did not help that he spent the days prior studying for his exams too. And now, he slept through majority of his classes, waking up only to find out that in T-minus ten minutes, his Biology class will start, and he’s not too keen on facing the wrath of his teacher chastising him for that Plant Growth Experiment they’ve been rambling on and on about for the past three weeks.

“Out of the way!” Kenji dashes, jumping to avoid the group of students in the hall sitting.

“Sorry, in a rush—”

“Woah, watch those burgers, man.”

So far, he’s been barreling through the hallways great. It’s almost like his athletic instincts are on the high, the adrenaline pumping through his veins being the apt proof needed.

Jump, duck, dash, side, shwuck!

Kenji can see it, the greenhouse! It’s so close— But the sudden options in his head turn from swerving left, or jumping, to… (a) Crash right into this person rolling out a whiteboard all of a sudden in the middle of the hall without even looking at any passersby, or (b) CRASH but in capital.

The next few seconds, safe to say, were unpleasant.

“Shit, shit, shit!!!” Kenji yells, unable to stop his momentum, all but perfectly rams his face on to the rolling whiteboard.

Overcome with blaring pain on his forehead and nose, Kenji laid on the ground, chest uncomfortably resting on the similarly thrown down whiteboard who was unable to withstand his force. A myriad of groans and repeating ow’s overtook the once silent air. The sound of padding footsteps and a bleary voice soon adds on.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Kenji’s vision was blurry, still trying to adjust to his surroundings, eyes squinting and blinking as he realised that even his torso felt sore from the impact.

“Ugh…”

Suddenly, he feels gentle hands turning him over, pulling him away from the fallen board beneath him, albeit with some difficulty.

“God, you’re heavy.” He hears, moments before feeling his head plop down on pillowy skin.

Soon, his vision adjusts itself, enough so he can see the person holding him by the cheeks right now. And boy, when Kenji says he never felt like his anger dissipated so fast like a balloon deflating upon seeing your face, you best believe him.

“I think you'll be forming a bruise right here,” You say, all furrowed brows as you turn his face side to side.

“Oh no, your nose is bleeding now.”

Feeling your soft hold on him disappear, Kenji, all clad in his disarrayed highschool uniform, watches as you try to check your pockets for a handkerchief.

He watches you for a good minute or two trying to figure out where you placed your damned handkerchief, or so you say. Groaning as he picks himself back up, supporting his weight from the back, he distantly hears you say ah! Before he felt you practically shove the thing in his face.

“Here! To wipe your… blood.” You say awkwardly, the bell had rung a minute ago while Kenji thought it was just the ringing in his ears, the more desolate surroundings proved otherwise. He gracefully accepts your offer, lightly tapping the fabric on his nose that gladly did not crook from the impact. Still, it hurt.

You stood up to get the empty whiteboard back on its feet as Kenji stayed seated on the ground in the middle of the hallway that led to the greenhouse. There were no words spoken as both you and him got your bearings.

At least I got a good excuse to miss Biology now. Kenji randomly thinks as he sighs.

But it isn’t until he hears distant footsteps and voices did his instincts rear in. In hindsight, there was probably no reason for him to have felt so nervous to get caught or anything, it’s not like his nose bleed was fake to not garner a visit to the infirmary. Even so, he felt nervous to get caught. Enough to haphazardly drag you inside the room you came in, bringing the whiteboard along before the door slammed closed. Getting into trouble was not in his to-do list today, not after almost getting into a fight with a basketball player last week.

Your handkerchief was lying on the floor, the surprisingly soft hands of the boy you just met were muffling your surprised yelps with his palm, the other hand shushing you, his pointer finger pressing to his own lips. When the voices come closer, Kenji finally realises that it wasn’t a teacher that was walking towards them. It was his first crush ever since he transferred in Los Angeles when he was 8.

“So, are you going to respond to Ken-Ken anytime soon, Ash?” A litter of giggles follow as Kenji felt the heat rising up to his ears from the embarrassing nickname.

“Stoppp, you know I have to be nice because I’m class rep.” Ashley whines, stomping her foot and stopping just in front of the door of the classroom where you and Kenji hid. The action made you and him duck to the floor, nervous to get caught.

“Have you seen his eyebags lately? He looks horrible! I can’t believe he even asked for my help with Chemistry earlier, seriously. Aren’t you supposed to be the smarter one?”

"I know, right? And what’s with his accent? It’s like, get over yourself. He tries too hard sometimes. That’s probably why he’s just benched in the baseball team." Her friend snickers.

"And don’t get me started on his lunches. So gross!" Another one pipes in. “He eats raw fish and even eggs sometimes. Eugh…” She lurches.

Kenji hears a sigh, before the familiar voice of Ashley cuts through her friends. “Anyway, let’s go finish fetching the plants,”

“Didn’t Ken-Ken forget his project?”

“Talk about going against his nature, haha.”

The whole conversation made his shoulders and hands drop once their footsteps disappear. His demeanour immediately went from running through the halls to lying on the floor, and this time, it’s not because of a rolling whiteboard. Kenji sighs as he sits back on the floor, hands behind him as he looked up, the classroom was relatively dark, it was one of the extras, after all. His eyes close as he breathes in heavily, contemplating; ignoring the continuous trickle of red down his chin.

You, on the other hand, were perplexed. But seeing the situation, you can guess at least that much. After all, you were entering college at the ripe age of fifteen. In a tongue that Kenji hadn’t heard in a long time aside from phrases from his mom, you spoke. Quietly. Afraid to topple the fragile pieces that was the boy you just met.

“Was that you they were talking about?” You get the forgotten handkerchief on the floor, dried blood on some parts as you try to pat the dust away.

Kenji’s eyes open. And they meet yours. Worried yet curious, shimmering orbs, and gentle delicate hands that dabbed on his nose.

“Yeah.” He replies meekly, forgoing the language his peers spoke in, now matching yours. He didn't miss a beat in his language class, and his mom would definitely chastise him if he didn't know how to speak his mother tongue at all.

You give him a lopsided smile. “It would have been really awkward if you didn’t speak Japanese.”

Kenji chuckles at this. “Had doubts? What, not Japanese enough for you?”

You hum. “Does it matter? Being enough of one or the other.”

“...Well, no..”

Kenji huffs, laying on his back. “But it sure would make my life a hell of a lot easier.”

“Laying down isn’t good if you’re having a nose bleed.” You frown, about to reach down so you can pinch his nose.

As Kenji rummages through his brain, talking about how love, even though it was only a minor crush, absolutely sucks; his mind runs over what you said.

Nose bleed…

Then like a lightbulb; a sudden, stupid idea pierces through his blinded teenage head as he grabs your wrist and sits upright.

“You gave me this nose bleed.” Kenji starts, pointing to said appendage. And you were about to apologise, but he continues far too fast. “So, you have to do something for me.”

“What? Isn’t my handkerchief and recommendation to go to the infirmary not enough?”

“Wasn’t the one hogging the middle of the hallway.”

“Well I wasn’t the one running in the hallway. Section 5.8 of your school’s student handbook said no running in the halls.”

“Your sch—” Kenji’s eyes drift down to see that you aren’t wearing the standard uniform for the academy. Instead, you were in civilians. “Ohhhh,”

“Hah, can’t believe an exchange scholar like me know more than a veteran.”

“Never said I was a veteran.” Kenji shrugs. “And even if I was, what kind of normal person just rolls out a big whiteboard without looking outside?”

And just like that, it felt like there was some sort of.. mischievous jazz in the background, the words kept coming out, and out. Your arms and his start crossing, and you both inch closer and closer, with every retort.

“Have you ever heard of speed limits? You should stop dreaming about getting a driver’s licence at this point, Sir.”

“Getting this show on the road, huh? Well… ever heard of mid-lane hogging, Ma’am?”

“Oh? Did you just use an idiom literally? Cheesy.” You roll your eyes.

“Actually, that was a double entendre. I used it literally, and as intended. Too bad my ingenuity went over your head. Aren’t you supposed to be one of those exchange scholars? Did they get you mixed up with someone else?”

“I wish ingenuity was an antonym for genius right now.” You shake your head with a faux frown.

“Running out of fuel? ‘Cause that was pretty lame.” Kenji harrumphs, not noticing his nose bleed had stopped minutes ago. “Admit it. Your car crashed.”

“Is it my fault if your car crashed into mine?”

“Flat tire.”

Huh?

What was he— your eyes follow his, and it stares from your chest, back to your eyes. Still confused, something Kenji is quickly able to notice, he repeats what he said with a smirk.

“I said… you’re a.. Flat. Tire.”

Realising where he was going, you felt blood boil up to your head as your hand begins to raise. “Ohoh! You monster! I’ll give you more than a nose bleed when I’m done with you—!”

“I’d be… flat-tered.” Kenji pipes up one more time.

You were not flat! You were just… a late bloomer! That’s it!

Unbeknownst to you, Kenji had no qualms with your chest at all, no. And you were definitely not lacking in that department. He just thought that it was a metaphor for someone being so damn… disagreeable. It wasn’t his fault that your shirt was pulling down and he spared but a minute glance.

In all honesty, both of you, stuck in that moment, forgot what you were arguing about in the first place. When your hand was about to land smack on his cheek, he grabs it and pulls you closer to him, a wide grin on his face.

“Come on, help a victim out. We’ll just be giving them… something else to talk about.”

You did not know why you’d agreed to this.

But you did.

“No, no. Absolutely not! Plus, I’m not even popular or something, what statement are you really making there?”

“Well… you’re really pretty.”

He was incredibly insistent, and you felt like you owed him even though you gave him your handkerchief because it had his blood on it. Definitely not because your brain fried when he casually called you pretty with such an earnest face, like arguing would not even make sense to him. You would’ve called him dumb, stupid, or… or something! If he wasn’t speaking so smoothly earlier. Clearly, he does his homework and then some.

At the time, while he decided to skip Biology to head to the clinic with you in tow, you got to know each other just a little bit. Your new.. friend, knew that you’ll be going back to Japan in a few days, so he had to be bold to really make his statement. The stakes were low, and the rewards, at least for Kenji, could be high; enough to save face and show everyone that he does not care about the squeaky class representative.

Kenji preferred to speak to you in Japanese so that only few, if not anyone, could really overhear what you two were talking about.

Eventually, you really had to go and promised to meet in front of the empty classroom where you two hid the morning next day, when your group would have to do some collaborative projects.

And when you separate and return back… Imagine your group, mixed with different ethnicities, academic nukes as you would like to call them, sees you with no whiteboard in hand after being gone for almost an hour or two… embarrassing.

Even more so, when he comes to school the next day, not even waiting to go to your designated meeting location so he can hug you in the middle of their field, catching your group off guard. He’d talk to you and call you a slew of nicknames, most notably…

“Sweetheart! Got you some sandwiches that my mom made. Wanna go eat lunch together at the cafeteria?” Emphasis on the cafeteria, his thick brows wiggling at the word.

He’d hold your hand, and if there was free time for his practices and your little assigned activities, he’d be sitting next to you by the bleachers as you read through the material your temporary mentors recommended. He was sweaty, and he’d be gasping for air, but a wide grin was on his face as he told you he’d stolen so many bases this time. And that he’d hit a few good home runs, how he’ll definitely get a spot on the main team today, all before his coach would call him back with a loud, stern voice.

“Sato!”

He’d leave, yes. But not before he gives you a kiss on the cheek before waving you off as he jogs backwards with a stupid grin.

“What’re you reading?” Kenji would ask.

You’d look up from the cafeteria table, and he’s leaning closer to you to try and get a read in.

“Advanced Robotics: Pioneering Techniques and Applications by Robert Callaghan.” You reply, not missing a beat in your reply.

Kenji would whistle and then proceed to sit beside you as he takes out his lunch. A bento box.

“Want to do a lunch switch? I always wanted to do that.” He asks with puppy eyes matched with a big smile, hands clasped together as he pleaded.

“And I loveee curry!” He adds on.

You notice that he was easy to change demeanours when it came to you. Whether it was because you were from Japan too, or because he knew you'd be leaving, allowing for him to continue acting how he wants to without any true repercussions— you.. would never know.

You smile before sighing out a sure after popping out a deal that he had to buy you ice cream after though, to which he hollers and fist bumps the air as you exchange boxes with an eager face.

You’ll both be in sync when you pick the food with your chopsticks, sighing out a satisfied puff of air while both your cheeks were lathered with the comforting flavour of home.

He never asked for your number. But he’ll wait out of the lecture rooms you’d be in that day, saying he’s just asking the teachers around where the scholars were so he can rush over; offering to carry your bag and walk in step with you.

All in the name of getting back at his ex-crush, of course.

And every time he catches a glimpse of the angered look on his ex-crush, he attunes it to the blooming joy in his chest when he glances back at you, going on a rant about how no, they should have planned the encoding before building the robot. So now, we lost!

You’ll feel a ruffle on your head and a laugh from the taller boy beside you.

Then, you’ll arrive to the front gates. Kenji standing still as you say: “You don’t have to act here anymore, you know? I doubt anyone’s watching anymore.”

Kenji clears his throat, coughing a little, avoiding your gaze. “Well… You might get kidnapped for all I know. I won’t have a sweetheart by then, wouldn’t I?”

“Pfft.” You fail to conceal the bubbling laughter from your throat.

“You’re cheesy as hell,” You tease back, taking your clasped hands away from his so you can lean sideways as you grin. “...sweetheart.”

Kenji could barely get a stuttered reply out before the familiar black car that was from the exchange program drives you to your shared hotel with the other scholars and professors. That day, and the following would go by the same. With him simply giving a lame wave off before the escort drives you away.

All until you finally had to return to Japan; your last day. Like clockwork, however, even on your last day, Kenji would walk with you to the front gates. His steps slow every second, and you would mirror him, you’d go slower, and slower, and even more so; still, you arrive at the front doors.

When Kenji placed a heavy hand to open them, it revealed a slew of raindrops falling from the stormy sky.

“Ah, it wasn’t raining earlier.” Kenji notes. “Got to practise and everything…” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Really? Seems like it’s been going on a while.” You appraise quietly, Kenji only hums in reply.

Like the rain falling in the sky, there was a heavy downpour that neither of you could ever place in the meagre age of highschool, even if you were advancing to college much faster.

“So, you’re going back to Japan today?”

“Yup.” You awkwardly reply as you sway on your feet. Back and forth. “Still have to actually graduate high school before picking my college, you know?”

And it’s quiet again as you both try to think of what to say. It was only a week, and yet… Kenji had never had such a true friend since he moved to Los Angeles when he was a young kid.

“Well, if you wanna see me again, since I know you’ll miss me— oof.” You punch his chest lightly, making him puff out air, as you both eventually chuckle.

“Who says I’ll miss you? You just coerced me into getting chummy with you. Never again.” You huff, crossing your arms and raising your chin indignantly.

“All I’m saying is… if you pick a university close by, I’ll be at ULA soon. I’ll get into the Dodgers for sure.” He’s told you this in one of your many little conversations. The University of Los Angeles, home of the LA Dodgers and the Dodger Stadium.

You look at him and you share a genuine smile as the breeze from the rain sends a peculiar sparking chill down both your spines.

“Sure. I’ll come visit when I’m nearby… hopefully.” You trail off.

Even with the laughter and the once more inevitable silence, there was always something on the tips of yours and Kenji’s tongue. Something to say, some things to ask. And yet, you ball on your feet and he thinks of letting go of your hand that he realises he was clasping too tightly in an embrace with his own fingers.

However, when the recurring black car arrives, you let go before he does, as you dashed through the rain. You turn back, and Kenji’s watching from the safety of the school entrance as you get drenched even though you try to put your bag over your head.

You want to say something, anything. Yet all you could do is give a solemn wave and a smile.

He waves back and you turn away to jog closer to your ride back home, a few steps away from the gate, form stilling as you contemplate getting into the car.

You glance back, and he’s turned away, walking deeper into the school, probably so he won’t get wet. And your mouth opens, but it says nothing; calls out no one.

Your eyes flit to the black car; one last chance.

You can’t help it. You want to tell him more.

You want to tell him how you wish him luck on his career, maybe wish he could find better friends, find a better girl to crush on— and you turn back, one last time, words burning on the tip of your tongue.

But it dies down when your vision meets a familiar uniform.

Kenji’s chest, heaving, as you both get wet in the onslaught of the rain; his hand on your wrist, willing you to stop, as he opens and closes his mouth. The words were on the tip of his tongue; unknowingly mirroring each other in ways you barely had the time to think about after spending only seven days within each other’s presence.

But before you could even squeak out a word, you feel his bigger hands wrap around your now cold cheeks, and in no time…

His warm, soft lips on yours.

Your eyes close, following his tilted head as your hands reach up to hold the hands caressing and holding your face in place. It felt like a sun in the rain, unlike anything you’ve ever felt; and it distantly reminds you of an old childish memory back in the old playground in Odaiba before you and your brothers had to move away to your Aunt’s cafe.

It felt like an eternity of your inexperienced lips melding into each other, and suddenly all too fleeting when you finally pull apart. The honking of the horn from your driver finally takes you both out of your trance. The sudden shattering of the scenario made you glance back to the school entrance, where Kenji’s crush, the reason why you started all of this with him, was standing and watching; and suddenly, you feel your heart pull back the same way that you pulled your body away from him, lightly pushing his chest away.

“I’ll see you.” You whisper, a hint of sadness that Kenji picked up on too late; eyes trained on your similarly drenched figure rushing to the front seat of your escort.

He was too dazed, trying to sculpt the image of his first kiss into his brain. That is, if he forgoes the girl who kissed him when he was seven.

“Good luck, Jiji! I’ll see you.” You wave with a forcibly mischievous tone, as if you didn’t feel anything from that kiss, you close the door to the black car whose engine was finally preparing to take off from the high school.

Kenji stands there, wordless, ears red not just from the kiss, but now from that… cute nickname.

“I’ll… see you.” He replies, raising his hand weakly, not caring if the rain still poured heavily on him.

It took a minute after the car left did he realise.. Wait, what was her name again?

“Wait. She knows my name. She knows my name—?” He must be the stupidest guy alive for not even asking anything about you… your number, or… or, or your damn name.

Kenji grasps his hair, berating himself inside for his stupid decisions. Of course, you know! He never asked yours because he resorted to calling you those cheesy pet names. He didn't think it would matter.

But then he kissed you and now, suddenly, he knows it matters so much.

Fuck.

Fuck!

The car was already driving away, and— and Ashley, who seemingly came out of nowhere for Kenji Sato whose mind was only running with thoughts of you and his stupidity, was talking about something, something getting her jealous and she knows, and—

Kenji doesn’t get to hear the rest of her statement as he begins running into the rain, trying to not lose sight of the car where you sat. Neither you whose face was currently buried in your hands, willing yourself to forget of the meaningless kiss, nor the driver who was focusing on the road ahead, was able to see the boy trying to catch up as the engine simply revs faster along the empty road.

He borrowed a bicycle just laying on the sidewalk, the owner, who looked away for a second, yelling at him.

“I’ll give it back, I promise!” Kenji yells as he tries to pedal through the storm like his life depended on it.

As he rides through the rain, he tries to yell after the car. “Wait, sweetheart, come back!”

“I didn’t do it because of her, I—” He heaves, losing his breath and feeling cold as the car goes faster, the rain falling heavier in turn; rumbles of thunder following suit.

I didn’t kiss you because she was there. Was what he wanted to say.

Could we keep in touch? Was what he wanted to ask.

Please pick a university close by. Was what he wanted. Really, really wanted. From you.

Kenji pedals harder, his muscles burning as he pushes against the heavy downpour. He can see the car’s taillights glowing dimly in the distance. He’s gaining on it. Just a little more…

“Sweetheart!” He yells out, his voice barely audible over the roaring storm. For a moment, he thinks he sees the car slow down, as if you heard him. His heart leaps with hope. He pushes harder, the distance between him and the car shrinking.

But just as he gets within a few yards of the car, it speeds up again, the taillights growing fainter. Kenji’s legs are screaming in protest, his lungs burning from the effort. He’s so close, yet so far.

He reaches out a hand, as if he could touch the car, as if he could make you hear him. But the rain obscures his vision, and the car speeds away, disappearing into the distance.

Kenji finally stops running, the bicycle falling to the ground as he bends over, trying to catch his breath. He’s soaked to the bone, every part of him aching, but the worst pain is in his chest.

In the distance, the car disappeared from view, taking you along with it.

“Sweetheart…” he whispers to himself, feeling the sting of regret seeping into his being.

Even with all his developing athletic might, Kenji Sato, who was still barely entering the cusps of his future stardom, could not catch up to his first crush. Thoughts forever unvoiced to the person that mattered enough for him when he was still a junior in high school.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was hard.

Kenji’s day would start at around 5 AM, and end… its end was dependent, really. He would feed the baby, research more about kaiju, study whatever form or strategy Coach Shimura would give, clean the baby's poop, entertain her, and generally stop her from lashing out. Then train and look stupid in this season's games because he wasn't getting some apt sleep. Sometimes it was paranoia that the baby would cry or need something, most of the time it's because the baby did cry and needed something.

Aside from his baseball, baby, and Ultraman responsibilities, there still was the unknown variable that was… well, you.

The half-kaiju human.

The giant mermaid.

You were silent a lot of the time, and often it would pass in Kenji's mind that you were either a ghost or a living fairytale. Maybe a witch cursed you and took away your voice, or maybe a witch cursed you and forced you to sleep for long periods of time. Because after you.. took that ice bath with him, you laid still in bed for the next two days.

Kenji would thank the damn heavens when you were awake, even for just a day before you slumbered for abnormal periods of time again. Whenever you were awake, the baby would be easier to tend to. Less hungry, more happy; she'll make grabby for you when you go down, and you’ll lay there, your head on the glass container as that familiar tune keeps the baby in a state of calm for the rest of the day. Often, you would forget to go back to the bedroom and Kenji would come home, sweaty from ball practice to see you asleep in the basement, the giant kaiju baby curled up where you were. Those were the days when you’d wake up when he wasn't home.

When you did wake up and he was home? Well, let's just say that Kenji… could never complain. He’ll get shit from his team and his Coach, but then he's home early that day and you just happen to be awake? You're bounding to him like a magnet on a metal pole. A warmth blanketing his chest, enough to let him sigh out his grievances for the day as he opens the front door and sees your happy face.

He may not understand what he's doing to make you feel overjoyed, but he'll take it. He’ll take it, like how he takes your simple pleas for a hug, like how he takes your face burying into his neck. And he’ll take your open arms, willing him to lay down in bed with you when all things are done, your hands combing through his hair as you coo the familiar sounds of the ocean in his ear. Maybe that's the reason why he’d always carry you back to his room when you fell asleep with Baby even though the guest room had been available for a while now.

“I have now gathered 3 weeks worth of data on the woman, Ken. Would you like the analysis?”

Ah.

Kenji grogs his way up from his bed, your arms back to laying limply, sliding down his naked torso; he preferred sleeping with no shirt on, and he would have been more embarrassed sleeping with a girl he didn't know if he wasn't sure that you were just.. an affectionate creature, person— still figuring that part out.

“Sure, go ahead, Mina.” He yawns, rubbing his eyes as he slouches on his mattress.

“Her last steady transformation into her kaiju form was the time when you took an ice bath with her. A significant difference in her injuries were found compared to her injuries the day before. However, it seemed to have slowed majorly since. Her body seems to prioritise external and surface-level injuries, however as is, she is having trouble truly healing her leg fractures in kaiju form. What I have gathered from my scans is that her severe tail fracture presents differently, or rather, not at all when she inevitably transforms back into her half-human self. She has attempted transformation a couple of times when in proximity of the baby, all of which only lasted less than 3 minutes.”

Kenji nods, taking it all in. However, he can't help but snort when the thought pops in his head. “So, what? I should take a bath with her again and see if that makes it better?”

The robot remains silent, and Kenji basks in the awkward bliss of forgetting that Mina is not exactly programmed to be the best buddy in terms of jokes landing.

“If you wish so, Ken.”

Kenji sputters at this, but he realises he might have been too loud as he looks back. Though futile, considering the information he just heard, you would probably be asleep for days even if he screamed all he wanted, considering your everlasting affection for him last night; the pattern was undeniable. The reminder of your comforting caresses sends an involuntary.. pleasurable shiver down his spine.

So Kenji, in turn, whisper-yells to Mina. “It was a joke!”

“Ha-ha.”

“I should tell dad to install a comedian chip in you.” He crosses his arms. “So? What should we do? We can't have her sleep forever. If we can get her up and going, raising the baby would be ten, no, a hundred times easier! Have you seen how much the baby likes her mama?”

“While she is not her biological mother, yes, I have observed the phenomenon. My theory is that she has connections with Gigantron prior.”

This makes Kenji perk up. “Really? How’d you know?”

“She has lingering scales and residue from the passed kaiju.”

“Wait..”

“No,” Mina immediately interjects. “I’ve discretely gotten samples from her tail when she transforms; quite easy to gather due to their wide difference in colour. I believe their relations are similar to the idea of companionship. They must have been friends. Especially considering Gigantron is oviparous and that they are both Female.”

Kenji lets out a sigh of relief that he didn't know he was holding. It was just.. an unpleasant thought. He didn't even see it as possible, considering your kaiju was a mermaid. But what did he know? That's why he was flipping textbook over textbook in hopes of understanding both you and the baby some more.

“On the course of that line of thinking, I am sure she's not taken, Ken. Rest assured. She, like Gigantron, seems to be the sole of her kind. And since she looks to be predominantly human, I doubt animals were attracted to her.”

“Okay, getting a little graphic here. I did not need to know any of that.” He shakes his head, putting his hand up towards the floating ball.

Today was a weekend, he just flunked his game again yesterday, and everything was going awful as it usually did. Until he went home and realised it was one of his lucky days. Slept like a baby last night, and today, he can sleep in because when you tuck the baby in, normal wake up time is moved. Plus, she won't fuss if Mina is to serve the school of fish for breakfast that day.

So now, as Kenji stretched his bare arms back, he looks to you and then back at Mina.

“So, how do we get her better?”

[...]

“I have deduced that water may be the primary factor in her physical healing process. Since she is waterborne, it could only be natural.” Mina explains, floating next to Kenji's shoulder as the man, dressed in only his sweats, carried you in his arms all the way to the tub in the bathroom this time.

“Alright, water makes her better.”

You, right now, kept to your iridescent appearance. However, your litter of scales and the webs between your fingers were disappearing. The only semblance left that Kenji would ever deem inhumane is how silky your skin was, much like your unusual hair, and eyes, if you opened them. His mind briefly flashes to when you got in the ice bath with him, when your features sheened a bit more natural than it usually was. A lot of questions lingered on Kenji's tongue.

“Remember when she healed me that night, Mina?”

The bot whirrs and affirms. “Yes. I remember your recount of it. Since I did not witness the act, I do not have much information. Perhaps her innate regenerative capabilities can be conducted. Did you notice anything strange at the time?”

Kenji thought hard. But who was he kidding? He went stupid the moment you dipped into the bath with him. He could've left but he didn't, not when you had him in this sort of.. chokehold. Finding himself wanting your affection, your acts of spoiling him, while he’ll have this forming desire to please you.

“...No.” He meekly replies, not really wanting to spare Mina any more details of the day; even though Kenji was sure that the AI knew he just melted into you that night the same way he would whenever you waked to coddle him and the baby… It just always seemed to work so well.

Kenji places you into the tub gently.

“Mina, one last thing before you handle the bath. Research more about my symptoms, tell me if you find anything, alright?”

“Yes, Ken.” Mina replies, allowing Kenji to walk out of the large bathroom as Mina undresses you from Kenji’s clothes, changed daily by the bot as well.

[...]

“I believe it is your body's natural response to avoid the physical pain you feel in your kaiju form.” Mina’s voice was slightly muffled by the closed door that led to the bathroom.

Kenji came barreling back in while preparing his special shake when he felt this inexplicable wrapping of panic in his chest. It's familiar, and he knows it's not his.

“Mina? What's going on?” His stern voice cuts through the whimpers and the soft cries in the bathroom.

“Ken.” Mina acknowledges his presence as his eyes dart to the tub.

You were about to transform to your kaiju. Slowly getting bigger. Kenji notices this, taking you away from the tub, as you slowly but surely developed your kaiju features with each whine from your lips.

“We gotta get her to the basement stat.” Kenji almost barks the order out, wide strides as he ran to the elevator.

“And the baby?”

“Baby will have to wait for a bit.” Kenji replies, tapping his foot as the elevator took him and Mina down. The pink kaiju still wrapped in her own self, dozing.

“Uhhh, water, right?” The elevator dings, and by now you were getting a little too big even for Kenji’s better strength. He doesn’t waste time transforming into his counterpart, allowing you to lay on his palms as you grew, and with your size, came your more prominent wounds.

“Open the water gates, Mina. And extend a platform around the window.”

By now, your tail was in full display and you size was enough for him to carry you in his arms while in Ultra. Your eyes still closed in pain as you let out soft, vulnerable cries. It grasps at Kenji’s heartstrings more than you’d ever know. Finally, Ken managed to get settled on the extended platform just on the other side of his wide underwater window, where the baby was slowly but surely rubbing her eyes awake.

“Mina, are you sure she’s okay?”

“She will become better when she is in water. It stimulates her natural DNA, she will heal faster there.” Mina assures.

Kenji nods slowly, eyes never leaving your forcefully closed ones. Your hands were clutching yours and his chest simultaneously. Looking closer across your scale-addled body, conveniently covering the swells of your breasts before lightly avoiding the area of your tummy, only to connect to your magnificent tail— that he notices only now, was bent in a slightly awkward shape. When he reaches out a hand to assess the damage, even the smallest touch made you jolt and open your eyes with downturned brows.

“Hi…” Kenji whispers. “Sorry… Uhm,” He never did call you much of anything, did he? So he blurts out the first thing that came to mind. “— Sweetheart. Did it hurt? Hm? It’s okay, you feel better here, right?”

Surprisingly, you nod, as if you understood him. The whimpers die down as you suck in a breath. Seems like you liked your little nickname.

“Good girl.” Kenji praises, and he feels that familiar blanket around his chest; joy. Oh, you liked that too? Could you actually understand? “Keep taking deep breaths, okay?”

Amidst the seawater where the island rocks and the school of fish would provide the blue atmosphere its renowned ambiance, you did something that actually did blow Kenji and quite possibly Mina’s, minds.

“Thank you.” You’d said.

Kenji would look at you, his Ultra’s glowing eyesight mixing with the bioluminescent glow of the water, aquamarine and sky blue against the monochromatic shades of blue from the once undisturbed waters.

“Kenji.” You’ll add, not breaking eyesight against the Ultra who held you close to his chest.

The man in question was speechless. Your voice catching him off guard, he’d heard it in small hums and coos, and cries— but now, you’ve actually said something. He was still unable to speak, but the yawn of the baby and the familiar shrieks as her tubby hands banged on the glass container to face you and Kenji, begging to be part of the circle.

“It seems the baby has awoken. What would you like to do, Ken?”

You notice this, and peer off his shoulder to look the baby in the eye. She pouts and cries, and your hand moves to beckon her over.

“Baby, come.” You said simply.

“Open the container, Mina, and let her out.” Kenji instructs, finally broken out of his self-induced trance.

When the AI does as it was told, the tiny pink kaiju, tiny in comparison to her step-in parents that is— had begun its steps out into the water, Kenji almost yelps as he forgot that the added extension didn’t reach the gates. Baby who didn’t know how to swim yet, made Kenji inwardly panic when she sank for even a quarter of a second. All before she seemed to be wrapped in a bubble of water that made her float all the way to both you and him, with it popping so she landed in between the closed space of yours and Kenji’s torsos.

She squeaked happily.

It was almost what one could consider a picture-perfect family moment. And Mina was sure to capture the moment in question; if not but to send it to Professor Sato. Taking a vial of a sample from the now luminescent water was also one of Mina’s agendas, which she does discreetly.

“You can talk?” Kenji asks once you three got settled, with papa being the carrier of the brunt. He's deeply fascinated.

“How?”

[...]

Two weeks had passed since Kenji and Mina found out that you were able to understand and communicate because you were listening in to both him and the AI in your sleep or the few times you’ve been awake. Since then, the routine changed up once again, now that you were more frequently awake.

You still couldn’t do complicated schedules, but there were a mix of positive and negative setbacks, as all things are. The most positive side is that you’re there now for the baby, you’re eager to learn from Mina who’d play you educational videos or give you books to read after you relearnt your basic language, of course. And life seems to be doing slightly better for Kenji now that you were truly taking on the mom role.

“Well done, Sato.” His coach grunts, arms crossed. “Your plays suddenly got better this week. Whatever you're doing, don't mess up like last times.”

Now, you might be wondering: Okay, so what's the downside?

Dishes cluttered as sounds of footsteps throttling wake Kenji up in the middle of the night. And if he hones his listening, sounds of a left-open TV show and some uncontrolled laughter was coming from the living room. He’d move his arm to pat the— you guessed it— empty space beside him.

Of course you were still up.

When your hunger bout started the same day that you began taking regular rests in the seawater platform by the basement, Kenji taught you that there was food more delicious than Baby's diet. Which was raw, slimy, uncooked, alive fish.

So, he started you with the next best thing: Sushi.

“See? Better than raw— better than live fish, right? Mmmm~” Kenji watches as you take hold of a roll cautiously, looking at him with an unsure face.

You were so enamoured by the taste. So much so, it was endearing at first. He says at first because he didn't know he just unlocked a major foodie within you. You're morbidly curious, and you have an insane appetite. Mina had to work double-time to answer all your questions once you got started on your Language lessons.

Do these little… creatures—

“Ants.” Kenji inserts for you.

“Do they have feelings? If I take away this grain of sugar, will they get angry? Sad?” Your way of speech was still… developing, clearly. You tended to speak more formally because of the educational material.

He wishes he can read your thoughts to that extent, but he’s stuck with… whatever you did right now.

Sometimes, he’d feel when you were happy, most of the time it would be when he opens the front door; your bare feet pit-a-patting on the solid ground of his private home before you jump in his arms. He’d feel when you’re sad, whenever a favourite character from whatever TV show seems to get sick, or worse, die.

Oh, he’d feel you sad, alright.

He’d have to deal with it in bed when you’re wetting the pillowcases with your tears and small sobs. Rarely does he feel you getting mad. The only other time he can remember is when he brought the baby home with him the first time.

And all those little things. The distance doesn’t seem to matter, he’ll feel a distinct mirror of what you did permeate through his chest. He won’t know from what, but he’d be left to speculate whenever Coach Shimura scolding him, or his teammates were talking behind his back for his recently shitty performance. It was a nice distraction, and since, he notices, that your most common emotion seems to be happy, it lightens him up. Wait, what was he saying again?

Aside from that, scratch a good half of what he said— if you considered your massive amounts of food intake, there was the issue of you actually eating. It was a hefty job teaching you table manners and Kenji was running out of shirts.

“Minaaaa,” Kenji calls out with an exasperated tone, bounding into the living room, hair messy and body heavy with you clinging on to his form like a backpack while giggling.

“I am running out of clothes to wear. We need to get her,” He points to you and bite his finger lightly. “—her own things.”

“Of course, Ken.”

“And you,” He jumps, and your hold around his neck tightens, much like your legs around his torso. “Get off!”

It’s a minute of Kenji trying to get you to let go of him, with you eluding his touches to the side of your stomach that he recently found out you’ve grown ticklish to.

“Ohoh, you want to make this difficult, princess?”

“But I do not want to!!! Stop!! Stop— HAHAH— Noooooo!!!”

He managed to tackle you to the couch as your laughs and heaving wheezes filled the air; not noticing that he started laughing along, hands unyielding from trying to rub over the sides of your sensitive stomach.

“Ken, I apologise for interrupting such a precious moment, but what in particular do you wish for me to order for her?”

Snapping out of his daze, he’s suddenly made aware of how he was leaning down on you; shirtless. You wore one of his dark blue long-sleeved shirts along with his boxers, shirt slightly riding up, the other slowly riding down in contrast. Your legs were loosely resting around his waist with you still looking up the ceiling while you tried to catch your breath. And when your eyes meet his, it feels like his heart jumped to his throat, his nerves getting the best of him made him immediately jump off the couch.

Kenji clears his throat, hand on his hip while turning away from you to respond to Mina who he dearly hopes does not make another comment about—

“Your temperature is rising. Shall we continue this discussion another time? You might develop a fever.”

“Aha, no, Mina.” He saves face. “I’m fine, I’m not sick. It’s just— it’s hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Sick? Fever?” You pipe up as you begin walking slowly towards Kenji who flinches as he senses your oncoming presence. “You are sick, Kenji? I have seen characters become sick on TV. Are you going to die? Kenji!?”

Your hands were gripping his shoulders so tightly with every word, your face scrunched in so much worry as if he had Stage 4 Cancer. You started shaking him haphazardly in your bouts.

“Answer me!”

“You are not allowed to die!”

“Come to the water with me. I must heal you. Immediately.”

Kenji, a little dazed from the back and forth of your earlier shaking, finally finds a reply when you determined that you can most likely heal him, moving to drag him to the bathroom; presumably back in the bath tub.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, sweetheart. Calm down.” Your tight grip on his hand reminds him of another fact that he and Mina has learned.

Somehow, you’re able to retain a semblance of your kaiju strength in half-human form. He finds this out in an instant when he tried to deny you ramyeon once when you were still prone to tantrums. Kenji hisses when you let go of his right wrist, his other quickly rubbing against the area on instinct.

“Oh no, did I… hurt you?” You say, timidly. A wild contrast from your earlier and regular demeanour. Another thing he noticed is that apart from you being extremely clingy with him, you.. oddly care for him; what he thinks, how he’s feeling.

Kenji sighs and pats your head right after. “No, princess, I’m all good. No bruises, see? It’s okay.” He reassures you, remembering that last time when you found out you injured him, you bawled and apologised for the whole night.

“I’m okay.” He pinches your cheek to get you to look at him, knowing that you’re beating yourself up in your head. If your sudden silence wasn’t enough of an indicator, he didn’t know what is.

“Ah, Mina, so about her stuff…” Ken starts, looking back after sensing the presence of the AI bot silently hovering behind him. “Just get her whatever essentials you think she needs and might need.”

“Got it, Ken. As for her clothes, will we have a set budget? Preferred brands?”

“You kidding? Just buy anything. Whatever’s popular these days.” Kenji shrugs as he looks down at you who was trying to dissect their conversation. He’ll look down from his shirt to your bare feet.

“Shoes, sleepwear,” Kenji tries to list.

“How about her underwear, Ken?” Okay, at this point, the robot was probably teasing him.

Kenji sputters, feeling heat crawl up to his face again. Of course, why didn’t he think of that?

“I was just about to say it, Mina.” He sassily remarks.

“Any preferred design?” Okay, at this point, the robot was definitely teasing him.

“Shut up.” He spares you a glance and you simply looked clueless. Thank God.

When screeches started to emanate from the basement, all three of you perked up. But you suddenly cut them off. “Oh! Baby!”

“I will go down.” You offered, not really giving them respite as you cheerfully jogged to the elevator.

This brings up another topic for both Kenji and Mina.

“Soon, we will be able to ask her about Kaiju Island.”

“Uhuh,”

“What are your thoughts about it, Ken?”

“I mean… it would be convenient to know the place. But even if we do, we can’t just leave the baby and her there alone. Without a mom, the baby would die.” And…

“Of course.” The bot responds with a tone that suggests she knew that Kenji wanted to say more.

“And we can’t just leave her in Kaiju Island now. It’s just— we haven’t found a case yet, and I’m still practising for baseball… you know?”

We can deal with it off season, a hidden voice within a deep compartment in his brain says.

“I perfectly understand, Ken.” Still with that cheeky tone. For a robot, Mina can get quite expressive, much to Kenji’s dismay.

Kenji groans, ignoring the bot’s teasing while running a hand through his morning hair.

“Have all her things delivered by tomorrow or as early as possible to the drop-off point so I can pick it up in my car after practice. And help her understand how some things work, I know she’ll be confused with… some stuff.”

The robot hums. “I have a suggestion as well, Ken. I believe if our goal is to help identify her and get her acclimated to human society, it would be best if she knew places outside of the house. And perhaps other people outside of—”

“Outside of me?” Kenji squints, crossing his arms. “What are you suggesting?”

“If you want to expand the possibility of her regaining her old memories by chance, if our theory is correct that she was a past human — based on the articles that dated first sighting of her three years ago— then it would be helpful if she is reminded of the society she grew up in. And she might develop her original traits more if she interacts with other people in a controlled , yet natural environment.”

Kenji remained silent. He knew Mina was right, but… “I don’t know… It’s still a little risky.”

However, it is true that Kenji feels a little bad now that he thinks about it. How you were also feeling indebted enough to take care of a baby that wasn’t your own, while he and Mina occasionally wrote notes and shared minute observations about you like you were a lab rat…

“Okay, fine. I’ll take her to Roppongi once I’m free, she’ll probably love the food there. Lots of people.” He shrugs, walking backwards to his room as he faces the hovering bot.

Taglist: @moonjellyfishie @mochminnie @lovingyeet @vrxouei @secretyna @misdollface @emosakumas @bol0-de-morang0 @n4muqr @blooscool

#ken sato #ken sato x reader #kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #ultraman #ultraman emi #ultraman ken #ultraman rising

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gofishygo · 15 days

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i know this is pretty niche in terms of topic, but i just want a strings orchestra conductor! john price n first chair violinist! reader.. (definitions below bottom banner)

price of the burningham royal string orchestra has the unfortunate habit of losing his first chair.

his first victim was johnny mactavish- an ex military- just like him. sharp mouthed and witty, with an obnoxious mohawk that the man had sworn he would tear right off of his head. but what had stuck out to him the most was his passion for his arts running far less silently than price's had, even in the old days from before he had started conducting. but after an incident dug out from his sas days had left him half deaf, with a starburst shot on the side of his head and bad blood to be cleaned, he had bid farewell to soap.

and next in line was kyle garrick, who had shared a desk with johnny. unlike soap, who was sharp, loud, a serenade written in baroque times, kyle was much more snide with his work. charming, and gentle, in all the right ways- he'd guided you to your desk with a gentle hand on the small of your back in your early days- but as price's successor, had coined his conductor's ability to lay a heavy hand, a sharp look when needed. but kyle, he has his own fatal flaw; he often finds himself entangled in brilliant melodies, lost in his own interpretation of every piece of repertoire. and soon, that leads him to conducting an orchestra of his own, taking on the studies of a musician like price had, and leaving the first chair cold.

but unlike other fleeting faces, johnny and kyle only fill out two of the four he'd bothered to remember. because he remembers bringing out a hand to first cellist simon for a few months since kyle's transfer, the shadow and backbone of his orchestra.

and he also remembers you.

you, with your pretty face and nervous expression as you had ducked your ways through the chairs and stands in your first days as a violinist under the burningham's string orchestra- and the sparks that had flickered behind doe eyes. even then, you had always had some sort of bratty rebuttal hidden under the tonal qualities of your violin- the way you would glare at him with quiet concern when he would slip marlboro cigarette between his lips in the small breaks during rehearsals, how you would look up at him and promptly play your own, quieter interpretation of the repertoire you gave him. your silent determination- it takes up space in the sounds of his own viola, fills the gaps of what he has longed for during lonely nights. it is your quiet, ingenious spark, and the wisdom behind your eyes that makes him offer you the first chair with a firm tap of your shoulder after rehearsal, the quiet liverpool drawl of his voice inviting you to his office for a chat. it is not the sparkle in your eyes when you focus, the fluster that you try and fail to hide when he attempts conversation with you, how perfectly he imagines your face would fit in the palms of his hands. it is not that at all, he thinks, he lies.

but behind the closed doors of his own office, whatever bubbles in his chest can no longer be fought off by the low hum of whiskey or the pleasant fuzz of tobacco in his veins with you- such a lovely songbird- trapped in his cage. and he simply cannot help it, with the melodies that escape your lips in between his kisses.

so now, you finally sit in the first chair that he knows you have worked so hard to deserve- and you also lay in the arms of the man who has managed to entangle you- wholly, truly, melodically.

first chair- usually, first chair in violin 1 is considered a very prestigious seat in any string orchestra. they act as musical leaders, tune the orchestra, and work very closely with the conductor. them, and the conductor (and guest of honor), usually take bows at the end of a performance.

conductor- a person who directs an orchestra. i dont know what else to say girl

*a strings orchestra will usually consist of instruments: violin, viola, cello, and double/alto bass.

#just a little writing exercise to try subliminally transfer myself into a better string group 🙏#got a new desk partner and i honestly... dont like him :(#i dont care that this is a 13-18 year old orchestra HOW CAN YOU NOT STAY IN TUNE FOR MORE THAN 2 SECONDS #i swear i will eat his fuckass violin if he plays 30bpm above tempo one more time #kind of hate this but make bad art !!!!!!!! not everything can always be perfect #୧ ‧₊˚ 📧 ⋅⸜#call of duty #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod x reader #call of duty fanfic #john price #john price cod #captain john price #captian price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x you #cod price x reader #price x reader #price x you #captain price x you #captain price x reader #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x gn reader #call of duty x fem reader #call of duty x reader #taskforce 141

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marsplastic13 · 2 months

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'Complicated' (part 12) - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Idea - Kaz Brekker hires a prostitute to overcome his touch aversion, and be a better man for Inej, but things take an unxepected turn. Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Prostitute!Reader, (had to use y/n because I'm bad at names) Genre: modern AU, slow burn word count: 7.4k notes: didn't realize how many things happen in this part until right now, take a long breath

@millercontracting @coldmermaidhologram @syd649 @luffysprincess @cryptidghostgirl @beekeepingageissome @hufflepuff-16

tw: panic attack, mention of past abusive relationships, mention of past abuse

The next few days were chaotic for Kaz. He was working around the clock on a crucial deal, frustration mounting as complications arose. The thought of kidnapping everyone involved and locking them in a room until they reached an agreement crossed his mind more than once. His phone buzzed constantly, mostly with messages from Inej, urging him to join her in some remote corner of the world. Meanwhile, Jesper was relentless in his demands for attention, insisting on planning their joint birthday party. If being best friends wasn’t enough, they even shared the same birthday.

In the midst of this whirlwind, a message from Y/n made him pause. She had sent him two pictures of herself in different swimsuits, asking, 'Can’t decide the color'.

Kaz took a moment to study the images, appreciating her form and the swimsuits that highlighted it. The first one, a sleek black number, hugged her curves in all the right places, exuding a sense of sophistication and allure. The second, a vibrant red, contrasted beautifully with her skin, giving her a playful yet seductive appearance. His eyes traced the lines of her body, lingering on the way the fabric accentuated her waist and the gentle curve of her hips. He could almost feel the texture of the swimsuits under his fingertips, the thought sending a shiver down his spine.

Without much thought, he transferred 800 kruge to her, labeling the transaction ‘Both.’

Almost immediately, she replied, ‘I don’t think you know swimsuit prices.’

Kaz smirked at her response, typing back, ‘Do you need more?’

‘It’s too much!’ she protested.

‘I’m sure you’ll find something else to buy,’ he replied, feeling a rare sense of lightness.

‘:)’ was her only answer, but it was enough to make him smile.

He leaned back in his chair, momentarily forgetting the pressures of the deal, Inej’s incessant texts, and Jesper’s party plans. The thought of Y/n in those swimsuits lingered in his mind, a welcome distraction from the chaos.

With a sigh, Kaz returned to his negotiations, determined to push through the obstacles. But the images of Y/n, and the playful banter that accompanied them, stayed with him, a reminder of the choices and feelings he needed to confront.

***

Finally, after days, the deal was closed, and Kaz could breathe. As the car started moving, he undid his tie, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. The pressure had been immense, and now he just wanted to share this victory with Y/n. He dialed her number, anticipation buzzing in his chest.

“We fucking did it, love, I’m free,” he announced, his voice filled with excitement.

“I’m so happy for you, baby,” she replied, but her voice was strained.

Kaz immediately picked up on it. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Due to poor scheduling, I had two very… demanding clients one after the other, and I’m exhausted.”

Hearing her talk about her job always stirred a rush of jealousy in Kaz. He hated the thought of her with other men, even if it was just for work. He clenched his jaw, trying to push the feeling aside.

“I wanted to take you out for dinner,” he said, hoping to distract himself with the idea of spending a relaxing evening with her.

“Can we do tomorrow, baby? I can’t move,” she sounded genuinely worn out, and his heart softened.

“Sure,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment. “Come here?” she asked, her voice softening.

“Already on my way,” he replied without hesitation.

Y/n was wearing his underwear and a white crop top with ‘Virgin’ written on it. Her hair was up, and her eyes were half-closed, and Kaz thought she had never looked more beautiful. She got on her toes, linking her arms behind his neck to kiss him. “Hi,” she murmured against his lips, and he felt his knees ready to give in.

“I got you pizza. I think it’ll be here in 10 minutes,” she said, leading him to her room.

“Thank you, love. You didn’t have to,” Kaz replied.

Y/n shrugged, collapsing on her bed. Only in contrast with the white sheets he notice the bruises around her body. “What happened to you?” he asked, concerned.

“Very demanding clients, I told you.”

Kaz sighed, torn between wanting to know more and not wanting to know anything at all. “Y/n, did they hurt you?”

“Well, not intentionally. Don't worry, Kaz; it was really good,” she said, closing her eyes and resting her head on his lap.

His hands gently brushed against her bruises, trying to keep his thoughts in check. “Were you enjoying it?” The question came out harsher than he intended.

“Yes,” she said simply.

‘More than me?’ The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to dangerously roll out, leading to really uncomfortable conversations. He sighed; they were both too tired for meaningless fights. Yes, he could get mad about her job, but then what? There was no point.

“Were you safe?” he decided to ask.

“Of course. I trust them. I don't do certain things with strangers or with new clients.”

Kaz hummed, stroking her hair. “Tell me about your deal, come on,” she encouraged him without opening her eyes.

He told her a summary of what had gone down in the past days, and she looked genuinely interested. They opened the pizza in bed, accompanied by a very expensive bottle of wine that surely deserved to be tasted on other occasions rather than with greasy pizza, on a bed, drinking directly from it.

“There's cheese on it. What are you going to eat?” he asked, shoving half a slice into his mouth.

“I'm just going to inhale deeply the smell and drink wine.”

"Y/n, cut the bullshit and eat," he said firmly, his concern for her health evident in his voice.

"Rude," she retorted, but he could hear the weariness in her tone.

He leaned forward slightly, meeting her tired gaze. "Y/n," he began softly, "I know you're tired. But you need to eat."

"I'm not hungry," she insisted, her voice quieter now, almost defeated.

Kaz pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration and worry mingling within him. "Don't make a scene, love," he murmured.

Y/n sighed, exhaustion and resignation crossing her features. "I won't eat that; it looks disgusting," she protested weakly, avoiding his gaze.

"Just get something from your fridge," Kaz suggested, trying to keep his tone gentle despite his growing concern.

He watched as Y/n finally relented, disappearing into the kitchen. When she returned with a banana, Kaz felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Happy?" she asked, her tired eyes meeting his.

"Very much," Kaz replied, smiling softly.

After finishing their meal, Kaz and Y/n settled back into bed, finding comfort in each other's presence. Y/n lay on her back with Kaz's chest as her pillow, both absorbed in watching an episode of House on her tablet. Kaz absentmindedly traced patterns on her body, his mind finally relaxing after the past long days.

Lost in his thoughts, Kaz slid one hand under Y/n's shirt, a gesture that had become familiar between them. But this time, unlike before, he felt her flinch, a subtle but unmistakable reaction that instantly brought him back to the present.

“Y/n, is everything okay?” he asked gently, withdrawing his hand immediately.

“I… I won’t be able to have sex tonight, or anything else,” she blurted out quickly, her words rushed and tinged with anxiety.

Kaz remained calm, his concern growing as he sensed her distress. “It’s fine, Y/n. I’m pretty tired too,” he reassured her, trying to keep his voice steady despite the unease stirring within him.

But Y/n's breathing quickened, each breath coming in shallow gasps as if she couldn't get enough air. Kaz's worry deepened. “Hey, what's going on?” he asked softly, reaching out to gently touch her arm.

“I’m sorry, I can try if you want, but I-” Her voice trembled with panic, her eyes darting away.

“Are you listening to me? I said it’s fine, love,” Kaz insisted, shifting slightly to try and meet her gaze. He could see the fear in her eyes, as if she had seen a ghost.

Y/n suddenly moved away from him, her eyes fixed on him but seemingly unfocused. She started repeating apologies frantically, tears streaming down her cheeks uncontrollably.

“Everything is fine, you’re with me,” Kaz tried to reassure her, his voice soft and soothing, though uncertain of how to handle the situation.

“I know what you want from me, and I can’t… I can’t-” Her words were choked with emotion, her distress palpable.

“I don’t want anything, Y/n,” Kaz said firmly but gently, reaching out to hold her hand. “Just try to breathe. You’re safe here.”

Her panic seemed to intensify, her breaths erratic and shallow. Kaz's heart sank, feeling utterly helpless as he watched her struggle.

“Y/n, you’re not breathing properly. What is going on?” he asked urgently, his concern deepening into a knot of worry in his chest.

Finally, she managed to focus on him again, her tear-streaked face etched with anguish. “I… I can’t do this,” she managed to say between sobs.

Kaz's mind raced, trying to piece together what could have triggered such a severe reaction. “It’s me, Y/n,” Kaz said softly, his voice unwavering despite the turmoil inside.

Tears continued to fall from her eyes as she struggled to regain control. “I am nothing for you,” she muttered, her wide eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. “You just want me for sex and tonight I can’t-”

Kaz's heart raced as he watched Y/n struggle through the grips of her panic attack. Her words cut through the air with a sharpness that betrayed her fear, leaving Kaz feeling utterly helpless. He knew that touching her might worsen the situation, but he couldn't bear to see her in such distress.

“Y/n, you’re having a panic attack,” Kaz interjected gently, hoping to ground her in reality. His voice, usually steady, now quivered slightly with concern as he tried to reach for her hand again.

Her breathing remained erratic, each gasp tearing at Kaz's own nerves. “Don’t touch me. Please, let me go,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Kaz withdrew his hand immediately, a pang of guilt and worry twisting in his chest. He felt a surge of anxiety rise within him, unsure of how best to support her through this overwhelming episode. The sight of her pain, both physical and emotional, weighed heavily on him.

“I won’t hurt you, Y/n,” Kaz reassured, his voice a whisper amidst her sobs. “You’ll be okay. Just breathe.”

Her panicked words continued to spill out, trapped in a loop of distress. “I can’t give it to you, I can’t- I'm so tired, please,” she repeated, her gaze unfocused and terrified.

Kaz's mind raced, desperately trying to understand what had triggered such a severe reaction. He knew Y/n's job was demanding and often brought emotional challenges, but this level of panic was new and alarming.

“I know I’m nothing for you, but please, I don’t want to-”

Before things could escalate further, Kaz made a quick decision. He needed help, someone who knew Y/n well. Without another word, he left the room swiftly, his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he sought out her roommates.

He found one of them in the living room, concern etched on her face as she saw Kaz's distressed expression. Without hesitation, he explained the situation, his voice urgent yet measured.

“It’s Y/n,” Kaz began, his voice catching slightly with worry. “She’s having a panic attack. I don’t know what to do.”

Y/n's roommate nodded understandingly, her face softening with empathy. “I’ll come with you,” she said firmly, leading Kaz back towards Y/n’s room.

Together, they entered the room where Y/n lay curled up on the bed, hugging her legs, her breathing still uneven. Kaz hovered anxiously in the doorway, feeling both relief and apprehension at having someone else there to help.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Y/n's roommate spoke softly, her voice a soothing balm in the tense atmosphere. “We’re here for you.”

Kaz stood back, grateful to see Y/n in the care of someone she trusted. He was about to speak, but his words caught in his throat when Y/n's tear-streaked face turned towards her roommate. There was a mix of fear and relief flickering in her eyes.

“Please let me go,” Y/n's voice was weak and shaky. “I am not an object.”

Kaz felt shock ripple through him at her words. He hadn't expected this plea, hadn't realized the depth of her emotional turmoil. His heart skipped several beats, feeling guilt and concern pressing heavily on him. He stood frozen in the doorway, feeling helpless as he watched Y/n's tear-streaked face, her distress palpable.

“No, you’re not, baby,” her roommate's gentle voice broke through the tense air. “You’re home now, it’s safe. No one wants anything from you.”

Gradually, Y/n’s breathing began to steady, the intense panic subsiding as her roommate guided her through calming breaths. Kaz remained by the doorway, silently observing, his worry for Y/n still palpable. He felt like an intruder in this intimate moment of vulnerability.

“Are you coming back to us?” the roommate asked softly, and Y/n nodded faintly.

“Kaz is here, do you want him to stay?” Y/n turned towards him, her eyes searching and uncertain. She nodded again, and Kaz felt a mix of relief and trepidation at being allowed into her space during such a fragile moment.

“Can I leave you alone with him? I’ll be just outside,” the roommate offered, and Y/n nodded once more.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming out of it,” Y/n murmured weakly, her gaze still distant but slowly regaining focus.

Kaz stepped cautiously into the room, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He approached Y/n slowly, unsure of how to comfort her but wanting desperately to do something. He sat down gently beside her on the bed, keeping a respectful distance but close enough to offer support if needed.

He could see the embarrassment etched on her face, her cheeks flushed with shame. She avoided his gaze, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.

“Hey,” Kaz began gently, breaking the uneasy silence between them. “There’s no need to feel embarrassed. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

Y/n let out a shaky breath, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kaz,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to... I just lost control. It was such a stressful day.”

Kaz reached out tentatively, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Y/n, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m just really worried about you.”

She finally looked up at him, tears still lingering in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice cracking with emotion, “My ex-boyfriend… he wasn’t the only abusive relationship I was in. I’m not used to people wanting to stay with me for more than sex.”

Kaz's heart sank even more, the weight of their complicated relationship pressing down on him like never before. He couldn't bear the thought of Y/n feeling used or undervalued, especially by him. The realization hit him hard, making him confront his own shortcomings.

Every promise he had made about leaving Inej, spoken in moments of vulnerability and passion, yet never followed through—each one now felt like a betrayal. He saw now how those empty assurances could have chipped away at her trust. Each time he had let Jesper's jokes about her job slide, dismissing them as harmless banter, he had unwittingly contributed to her feeling like she was only valued for her body.

The guilt was suffocating. He had been so caught up in his own struggles, his own fears, that he hadn't fully grasped the depth of hers. It wasn’t just about his complicated relationship with Inej or his clandestine meetings with Y/n. It was about seeing Y/n for who she truly was, beyond the surface, beyond the physical.

“Y/n, if I ever-”

“You didn’t, don’t worry.”

Kaz took a deep breath, steadying himself as he looked into her eyes. "I care about you. It's really important that you know that. For me, it's not just physical, Y/n."

"It would be so much easier if it was," she replied, her hand gently caressing his cheek. "Then you would hurt me, and I'd forget about you."

"I don't want this to end," he whispered back, his voice raw with emotion.

"Can we sleep now?" she asked, her voice small and tired.

"I just want to make sure you’re okay," Kaz insisted firmly, his concern unwavering. Y/n nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly under his touch.

“Are you sure nothing happened today?” Kaz pressed, his worry evident.

“Yeah, it was just heavy. I pushed too much, triggered old memories,” she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?” he asked again, his eyes searching hers for any signs of distress.

“Yes, Kaz, they were just both into violent stuff, and I screamed my lungs out all afternoon,” she explained.

Kaz frowned, puzzled. “Are you into it?” he asked, trying to understand.

“Sometimes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you sure that you like sleeping with me?” He couldn’t hold it in any longer. “You’re used to all these weird things that I don’t know anything about.”

“Of course I like it, love,” Y/n finally smiled at him, her expression softening. “It’s totally different having sex with a client and doing it with—” she stopped, uncertainty written all over her face.

“With?” he encouraged her, pulling her into his arms, hoping to give her the reassurance she needed.

They stared at each other for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words. “With a friend,” she offered softly, her voice filled with sincerity.

Kaz nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Bet they don’t cuddle you after.”

She laughed, the sound like a balm to his worried heart. Tracing his jaw with her fingers, she continued, “You’d be surprised at how many of them just want simple things. Take all those men that take me on trips—they don’t have time to have an actual girlfriend, be there for her, build a family. So they just pay me to do it. Laugh at their jokes, praise them in front of their colleagues. They just want a wave of fake normalcy. And I like being a girlfriend for a week or two; it’s all I can handle.”

Kaz listened intently, his heart aching for the life she described. He realized how different their worlds were, yet how much he wanted to be a part of hers. "I get it," he said softly. "But with me, it doesn't have to be fake. You deserve more than just a week or two of normalcy."

Y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with hope and fear. "I don’t know if I can handle more," she confessed, her voice trembling slightly.

Kaz held her closer, his resolve strengthening. “Nothing to decide right now.”

“I'm too tired to remind you how stupid this is.”

“Then shut up and go to sleep.”

Kaz woke up to what must have been the twentieth message she received. “I swear, I’m going to break your phone,” he muttered. Y/n had been awake for some time already, and he was resting his head on her stomach. With every new message, she giggled, making his head move slightly.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice full of amusement.

“Who is writing you all these messages at fucking sunrise?” he asked, annoyed, without opening his eyes.

“First of all, it’s 9 a.m.,” she corrected him. “Second, it’s Mother’s Day.”

“And you have a lot of children or a lot of mothers?” Kaz’s sarcasm was evident, his annoyance clear.

“Neither of them, actually. I have a lot of clients,” Y/n replied, playfully.

Kaz made a disgusted face, raising his head to look at her. “Hey, gorgeous,” she said, tilting her head to look at him before getting her attention back to her phone, giggling again.

“They’re really wishing you a happy Mother’s Day? It’s gross,” Kaz said, his tone laced with incredulity.

“It’s kind of sweet that all the men who sucked my tits feel the duty to wish me a happy Mother’s Day. You have no idea of the tips they’re sending me.” Y/n turned her phone to let him see the pile of notifications—messages and money transfers, one after the other.

Kaz stared at the screen, a mixture of shock and jealousy coursing through him. “It’s still weird,” he grumbled, resting his head back on her stomach. “And annoying.”

Y/n laughed softly, running her fingers through his hair. “I know it’s strange, but it’s just part of the job. They feel a connection, even if it’s superficial.”

Kaz closed his eyes, trying to block out the steady stream of notifications. “I don’t like it,” he admitted, his voice muffled against her skin.

“I know,” she said softly, her tone comforting. “But you don’t have to worry about them. They’re just clients.”

Kaz’s grip on her tightened slightly, his fingers tracing small circles on her side. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that,” he confessed.

Y/n put down her phone and cupped his face, making him look up at her. “You’re not just a client, Kaz. You’re my friend, and you mean a lot to me.”

He nodded, feeling a bit reassured. “Okay,” he said softly, leaning into her touch.

“Good,” she replied, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Kaz agreed, a small smile playing on his lips. “But if that phone goes off one more time…”

Y/n laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll put it on mute, just for you.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again and settling back down, feeling a bit more at ease.

“Come on, Kaz, wake up. It’s already past 11. How much are you going to sleep?” Y/n asked, her voice carrying a blend of impatience and amusement.

“All day,” Kaz mumbled, burying his face deeper into her abdomen.

“Oh, you’re even drooling on me. Disgusting,” she said, shoving him away gently.

“Sorry,” he replied, sitting up and wiping his mouth, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“You know I have a life other than spending time with you, right?” she teased, getting up and disappearing into her wardrobe.

“I thought you spent your days waiting for my texts,” he retorted, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, you wish. I have lunch with a friend, then I have to throw paint to a monument to protest against climate change, throw tear gas at the police, and I start work at 5,” she listed off, pulling out clothes and holding them up for inspection.

“Please don’t get arrested,” Kaz said, his tone carrying both genuine concern and exasperation.

“I can’t, I have to work. Are you listening to me?” She picked out an outfit and turned to him. “Do you think this works for lunch and saving the world?”

“Sure,” he replied absently, not really paying attention to the clothes but rather watching her with a fondness he didn’t often show.

“Do you want to come to the protest?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely not,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Climate change is not my problem.”

“What about your children? Or the children of your children?” she countered, raising an eyebrow at him.

He chuckled again, getting up and moving closer to her. He kissed her temple softly. “I’ll make sure not to have any.”

“Selfish,” she commented, rolling her eyes but smiling.

“What time are you off?” he asked, watching her as she finished getting dressed.

“Eight, I think,” she replied, checking her reflection in the mirror.

“Great, don’t make plans,” Kaz said, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

Y/n turned to him, a playful smirk on her lips. “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see,” he said cryptically, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

***

‘I’m outside,’ Kaz texted her at 8 sharp, and waited, leaning casually against his brand-new bike. A smirk played on his lips as he heard the sound of her footsteps descending the stairs.

When Y/n saw him, she stopped in her tracks, her mouth falling open. “What in the mid-life crisis is that?” she exclaimed.

Kaz’s smirk widened. He stood proudly next to his bike, a sleek, black Ducati with gleaming chrome accents and a matte finish.

“Kaz, you’re too young to have a mid-life crisis, you know that?” she teased, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/n circled the bike, taking in every detail. “Yeah, it’s so beautiful,” she said, admiration evident in her voice. “Oh, you even got the thing to hold your cane. I think we’re watching too much House, baby.”

Kaz made a crooked smile, appreciating her attention to detail. “Just an early birthday present from myself,” he shrugged nonchalantly, then offered her a helmet. “Want to go for a ride?”

Y/n looked at the helmet, then back at Kaz, her expression a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Yeah, but I’m fucking scared,” she laughed nervously. “Are you sure you can drive this thing?”

“Of course I can,” he assured her, his confidence unwavering. “Come on, trust me.”

She hesitated for a moment, then took the helmet from him, her fingers brushing against his. “Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

Kaz helped her with the helmet, making sure it was secure before putting on his own. He mounted the bike with practiced ease and extended a hand to her. “Hop on,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

Y/n climbed onto the bike behind him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. She could feel the powerful engine rumbling beneath her, the vibrations sending a thrill through her entire body.

“Ready?” Kaz asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Ready,” she replied, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

With a rev of the engine, they took off, the wind whipping around them as they sped through the city streets. Y/n’s initial fear melted away, replaced by exhilaration as they wove through traffic and took on the open road. Kaz’s confidence and skill were evident in every turn, every acceleration.

They rode for what felt like hours, the world blurring around them, a sense of freedom and adventure filling the air. Finally, Kaz brought the bike to a stop at a scenic overlook, the city lights twinkling below them.

Y/n removed her helmet, her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed with excitement. “That was amazing,” she said breathlessly, her eyes shining.

Kaz smiled, his own heart pounding with exhilaration. “Told you it’d be fun,” he said, leaning in to kiss her softly.

She kissed him back, their surroundings fading away, leaving just the two of them in that perfect moment.

Kaz wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as they both took in the breathtaking view. The city lights below twinkled like stars, casting a serene glow over their moment of quiet togetherness.

“Will you come to our birthday dinner?” he asked, his voice soft but hopeful.

Y/n glanced at him, then away, her gaze settling somewhere distant. “It would be weird, Kaz,” she said softly, her tone tinged with uncertainty.

“Why?” he pressed gently, not wanting to let the idea go just yet.

“Well, Jesper doesn’t like me, and it’s his birthday too. All of your friends will be there… I just don’t fit in the picture,” she explained, her voice carrying a trace of sadness.

“We’re friends, and it’s not true that he doesn’t like you,” Kaz tried, though even he knew his argument was weak.

Y/n raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in her eyes. “Come on, Kaz. You’ve heard the way he talks about me.”

Kaz sighed, knowing there was some truth to her words. “Jesper can be... opinionated. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you.”

“He thinks I’m a distraction, that I’m not good enough for you,” she insisted, her voice tinged with frustration.

“Jesper has his own issues,” Kaz said, trying to placate her. “He doesn’t always understand other people’s choices. But that doesn’t mean he dislikes you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know anyone apart from you and Jesper. It would be weird,” she insisted, the hesitation clear in her eyes.

“I won’t leave your side,” Kaz promised, his grip tightening slightly, a subtle plea in his words.

“It would be even weirder. You’re still in a relationship, Kaz,” she reminded him gently but firmly.

He sighed, frustration mingling with resignation. “Me and Inej haven’t talked in days,” he said dryly, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Come on, you know it too. They would start asking questions we don’t know how to answer, and it would be embarrassing. They’ll make me feel like shit,” her voice became smaller, a hint of sadness creeping in.

Kaz felt a pang of guilt and frustration. He didn’t want her to feel like an outsider, but he couldn’t deny the truth in her words. The complexities of their situation, the secrecy, the unspoken feelings—all of it created a tangled web that made simple things complicated. But he really wanted her to be with him on his birthday, to share that day with her.

Kaz pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. “I wish things were different,” he whispered, the words heavy with unspoken emotions.

“Do you really?” she replied softly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Admit it, love. The lies, the sneaking out, the secrets—you’re enjoying it.”

Her words struck a chord within him. He opened his mouth to protest, but a wry smile crept onto his face. She knew him too well. The thrill of their clandestine meetings, the adrenaline rush of stolen moments—it was intoxicating, and he couldn’t deny it.

“Okay, you caught me,” he admitted with a chuckle. “There’s something about it that makes everything more intense. But it’s not just that.”

She tilted her head, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “I know. I feel it too. It’s exciting, and I like that it’s not serious. It takes the pressure off.”

Kaz felt a pang of frustration. “At least think about the party,” he urged, trying to keep his tone calm and persuasive.

“Kaz, your birthday party with all of your friends is a girlfriend-kind-of-thing, not a whatever-we-are-doing thing,” she replied, shaking her head. “If you broke up, I might have considered it, but come on, it’s too much even for me. And one time I babysat the kids of the married man I was hooking up with.”

He winced at her bluntness, but he couldn’t deny the truth in her words. “I know it’s complicated,” he admitted, his voice softer. “But I want you there with me. It would mean a lot.”

She sighed, her expression softening a bit. “I get that, Kaz. But I’m not ready to be paraded around in front of your friends, pretending everything is fine. Especially not when things between us are so... undefined. What are you going to say? Who am I?”

Kaz hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’re someone I care about deeply. Someone who means a lot to me. Isn’t that enough?”

Y/n shook her head, her eyes filled with doubt. “It’s not that simple. Your friends will want details. They’ll want to know who I am and why I’m there. I don’t want to be put on the spot, and I don’t want to be judged.”

“I’ll handle it,” Kaz promised, his voice firm.

“Baby, please, it doesn’t make any sense. You know it, I know it, just let go,” Y/n pleaded, her tone gentle but resolute.

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and disappointment evident in his expression, “Fine.”

***

The day before his birthday, Kaz waited outside Y/n's apartment, glancing at his watch every few minutes. There was no sign of her car, and she was already pretty late. After a while, her familiar Mini turned the corner, and she parked almost straight, skidding slightly to a halt.

As soon as she got out of the car, Y/n started apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry for being late, Kaz.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a tennis racket?” he asked, puzzled.

“Oh, yeah. I’m seeing this guy who thinks tennis lessons count as dates. I'm pretty good too,” she replied nonchalantly, though she was still catching her breath.

“You’re pretty late,” he noted, trying to keep his tone light but failing to hide his annoyance.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” she said, taking his hand and leading him towards her flat. Once in her room, she started rummaging through her wardrobe, pulling out various outfits to find the perfect one for dinner. “I’ll be super quick, I swear.”

Kaz smiled as he reached into his jacket and pulled out four concert tickets, holding them up proudly. “Look what I found.”

Y/n’s eyes widened in delight. “Oh, saints, you found them? I’m going to kiss you!” she exclaimed, rushing over to him. She cupped his face, planting kisses all around it. “You’re amazing,” she kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” another kiss. “Fantastic,” she kissed his forehead. “I love you,” she kissed his lips.

Y/n turned to leave, Kaz gripped her wrist, pulling her back gently but firmly. “What did you just say?” he asked, his voice betraying curiosity and surprise.

The girl froze, slowly turning around, her eyes wide and her lower lip caught between her teeth. “What?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high.

“Care to say that again?” Kaz’s tone was gentle, but there was a serious undertone that made her heart race.

“Uh, thank you for the tickets?” she tried weakly, her eyes darting around the room, avoiding his intense gaze.

“Y/n,” Kaz repeated, his tone firmer, drawing her attention back to him. His eyes searched hers, filled with a mix of curiosity and determination.

She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Oh, you know what? I was lying, 100%. Can't stand you,” she said, the words coming out in a rush. “Can I go have a shower? We're late,” she added, turning to leave again.

Kaz tightened his grip on her wrist, not letting her escape so easily. “Y/n, stop,” he said softly but insistently.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Kaz, please. Can we just drop it? It was a slip of the tongue. I didn't mean to say it.”

“But you did say it,” he countered, his eyes never leaving hers. “And I need to know if you meant it.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, clearly conflicted. The usually confident Y/n was visibly shaken, and for the first time since he had known her, Kaz saw her properly blush. “No, not as you think,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It was just a slip up.”

Kaz let go of her arm, still in shock. He watched as she hurriedly gathered her things, her movements quick and deliberate. Y/n really did get ready in record time, disappearing into the bathroom and emerging not much later with her usual confident demeanor restored. It was as if the vulnerable moment had never happened, and Kaz knew better than to push her with uncomfortable questions.

Hours later, the conversation was just a blur in the back of Kaz's foggy mind. “Stay on your knees, lift my hips,” Y/n instructed, arching her back in satisfaction. “Fuck, how can this feel even better?” he said, following her guidance.

Y/n extended one of her legs to rest it on his shoulder. He barely registered the shift, too focused on the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. “Come closer, love,” she said between moans. Kaz immediately leaned in, marveling at her flexibility when her knee and shoulder almost touched under his weight. “Pilates is paying off, right?” she teased, noticing his amazed expression.

“Fuck, Y/n, please be mine,” he groaned, desperation lacing his voice.

“Yeah? I—” her smart reply died in her throat as his tongue began playing with her nipple.

“I want to be with you, every day,” he murmured against her skin.

“Every day?” she echoed, her voice trembling with pleasure.

“Every damn day, Y/n. Please, let’s try it.”

“Why do you become so needy during sex?” she asked, her breath hitching as he continued.

“Because you deserve all of it. Move in with me,” he said, assaulting her neck with kisses, his pace never faltering.

“Sure, baby, whatever you want,” she replied, her voice heavy with lust and affection.

“I want everyone to know you're mine.”

“Am I?” she challenged, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Did I agree on that?”

“Since you can't make a decision, I'll take one for you,” he said with a possessive growl, his hands gripping her tighter.

Y/n smiled between quick breaths, cupping his face and kissing him deeply. “Then what?” she teased.

“Then you'll leave your job and spend the days throwing my money away,” he said, his voice low and intense.

“I don't know if it feels better what you do or what you say,” she admitted, her body arching into his touch. “Harder, love. Don't be scared, I won't break.”

Kaz obliged, increasing his intensity, his mind and body completely consumed by her. Every touch, every word, every shared breath solidified his desire to make her his in every way possible. He moved with purpose, his grip tightening on her hips as he thrust deeper, his eyes locked onto hers, drinking in every expression of pleasure that crossed her face.

“More, love, please, don’t stop talking,” she pleaded, her voice a mixture of desperation and ecstasy.

“You're everything to me, Y/n,” he murmured, his words punctuated by the rhythm of their movements. “I need you, every day, every night. I want to wake up next to you, fall asleep holding you.”

Her hands clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin as she pulled him closer, urging him to go harder, faster. “Yes, baby, just like that,” she moaned, her head falling back against the pillow, lost in the sensations he was giving her.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough with emotion.

She responded with a cry of pleasure, her body trembling beneath him. Her voice hitched as a wave of ecstasy washed over her, her muscles tensing and then releasing in a shuddering climax.

He watched her, mesmerized by the sight of her unraveling beneath him, and it pushed him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, he followed her into bliss, his own release crashing through him with an intensity that left him breathless.

For a few moments, they lay tangled together, their breaths mingling as they came down from the high. Kaz’s hands caressed her skin, his touch gentle and reverent. His mind was a mix of intricate thoughts, emotions swirling within him like a storm.

“Y/n, I—” he began, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

“Don’t,” she cut him off harshly, her tone sharp enough to slice through the intimacy of the moment.

Kaz sighed, looking at her. Her hair was a wild mess on the pillow, a halo of disarray framing her face. Her neck bore a small constellation of his bites, each mark a testament to their passion. It was really difficult to concentrate on rational thoughts when she looked so utterly captivating.

“But—” he tried again, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

“I’ll run away if you say it,” she warned, her eyes flashing with fear and determination.

Kaz paused, his heart pounding in his chest. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the war between her desire to stay close and her instinct to push him away. He knew this was a delicate moment, one that required careful handling.

“Alright,” he conceded softly, his hand tracing a soothing path along her arm. “Would you? Move in with me?”

Y/n sighed, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Why do you want to rush things?”

“We could be roommates,” he laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “I promise I’m not that messy.”

“Yeah, sure, let’s complicate things a bit more,” she replied, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

“That’s the spirit, love,” he said, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “I won’t leave my job, Kaz. You know that, right?”

“I’ll keep checking,” he replied, his tone serious despite the playful banter. He wanted her to know that he was committed to supporting her, no matter what.

Y/n hummed softly, resting her head on his chest. “I can’t stop thinking about all the fun things I’m going to teach you. I’ll make you my perfect toy boy.”

Kaz chuckled, running his fingers through her hair. “Toy boy? I’m older than you, you know.”

“Shut up,” she retorted, smacking his chest lightly. “Age doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’ll learn.”

“Learn what, exactly?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, so many things,” she purred, her voice taking on a teasing edge. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Kaz felt a rush of excitement at her words. Despite the complexities of their relationship, the idea of exploring new experiences together was undeniably appealing. “I’m looking forward to it,” he admitted, his voice low and sincere.

“I am crazy for how talkative you become once you start to get loose,” she said, tracing patterns on his chest with her finger.

Kaz laughed softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I suppose you bring that out in me.”

“Good to know,” she replied with a playful grin, leaning up to press a kiss against his chin.

He captured her lips in a gentle kiss, savoring the taste of her.

***

Kaz waited anxiously through the entire birthday dinner, hoping that Y/n would change her mind and show up. Even that morning, she had assured him she didn’t, but still, he held onto a flicker of hope. Throughout the evening, everyone kept asking about Inej, and Kaz did his best to dodge the questions. Their texts had grown increasingly sparse, and she had only called briefly to wish him a happy birthday while Y/n was still asleep next to him.

After dinner, the plan was to meet at the Crow Club. Naturally, the birthday boys went together, and that year it was Kaz’s turn to stay somewhat sober and drive. They were halfway there when Y/n called him. Kaz answered from the car, his heart skipping a beat. “Y/n, you’re on speaker. Jesper’s here.” He really hoped that she had changed her mind and was ready to join the rest of the party.

But her voice trembled, sending a chill down his spine. “Aleksander, where are you taking me?”

Kaz and Jesper exchanged puzzled looks. “Relax, doll, it’s just a drive,” the unfamiliar voice replied.

“You kidnapped me, you’re pointing a gun at me and driving like a madman. I tend to worry in these situations,” Y/n’s voice quivered with fear.

Kaz’s blood ran cold. He exchanged a worried glance with Jesper, who was now just as tense.

“You know I would never hurt you, doll,” Aleksander said with a sinister calm.

“I’m pretty sure you already broke two of my ribs,” she shot back, the fear barely masked by her sarcasm.

Kaz and Jesper paled at the sound of a sinister laugh on the other end of the line. “I did it for you, so maybe you’ll stop being a stupid slut.”

“Where are we going?” Y/n asked, her voice a mixture of fear and defiance.

“To our place, of course.”

“Maybe I need a reminder. You know, I have so many boyfriends to keep track of,” she said, trying to buy time.

“You know where,” Aleksander responded ominously.

“Alex,-” her voice cut off sharply.

“Are you on the phone with someone? You fucking whore,” Aleksander snarled.

They heard the noise of a commotion, then Y/n’s piercing scream, “It’s at the old lighthouse, Kaz, please help me!”

The phone call ended abruptly, leaving a deafening silence in the car.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #soc #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker angst

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http-prettycupid · 2 years

Text

Sweetness

Alejandro Vargas x fem/reader(18+)

COD/MW2

[Slight breeding kink,]

Your back is straight, your legs are crossed, your smile so sweet under your circumstances it looks sick. Encased in a metal confine, surrounded by men who can kill you in a few seconds, you’d have to play in their game. So you continue your streams of enigmatic answers to their interrogation.

“Valeria’s right.”

Your objective in this whole missile mishap, mission, or whatever the hell people would call it is simple. Everyone just seems to think other wise. Money talks and you keep the conversation going. It just so happens that your morals revolves around dollar bills, in pesos, pounds, or any forms so long as you can cash it in the bank.

“ That’s it. Hmph! You’re working for her? Over her? With her? Cual es?”

Alejandro who’s growing tired of your answers, breaks in a huff of frustration. He grew sick of Valeria’s taunt and now he has to deal with a new face that’s somehow less mouthy but much more vexing. Although his growing curiosity about who this vixen is maybe the real cause of his pent up anger.

“Guapo, if you want me to keep talking you’d have to pay me.”

You literally have to bite back a laugh at how the brunette you heard the men call, Alejandro turn slightly pink at the nickname. He honestly could not begin to comprehend why the way you called him handsome made him so flustered.

Flirting to safety wasn’t the first plan but if that’s what it takes, you know now how to begin. You couldn’t fully speak Spanish but even if you don’t speak at all you’d still have his eyes on you.

“How about this. Since this is most important to you…I’ll tell you first.”

That sickly smile now completely focus on Alejandro as the rest of the men seem to uncomfortably shift in their stance while waiting for you to continue.

“I’ll even discount my answers, if everybody else scrams.”

A chuckle slips through your lips as they somehow actually begin to consider your terms with quick glances at each other. Then letting out a huff, Graves orders everyone out of the metal container leaving only you and Alejandro.

Oh how easy it is for you to bust out of here.

They actually left. Although they may be outside, they left you alone with no restrains, unarmed but gifting a delicious man fully equipped.

You don’t know how to put your finger on it but every since meeting him on the roof of the cartel lieutenant’s mansion, Alejandro made you want to tease him. Getting captured with Valeria wasn’t part of the plan but staying that long in the Mediterranean home wasn’t either. Who could predict in the midst of your side hustle a whole ass swat team would ransack the place.

They’ve probably also figured out that you don’t have much loyalty towards Valeria and work for someone else completely, seeing how much authority you had in a house full of cartels. Even the mafia don’t treat their guests like royalty but they most definitely wanted your blessing. Now it was their job to decipher why and why not also ask about the missiles since you seem to know plenty.

And that’s what led you here, under interrogation in a metal container. Although with your skills you could walk away free, you’d be a little disappointed having to end your fun here.

“Well-”

“Ah! My price first.”

Pressing your index finger on Alejandro’s lips seemed to startled him just a tad. But that might be him not realizing how close you were to him.

“I’d have to see about transferring you pesos-,”once again the man is hushed by your finger. He’d be so entertaining to break, you’d just have to get closer. With his rifle out of the way…

“Aww, sweetling. I never said you’d have to pay me money,” taking a chance you stepped closer. Your front now pressed against the gun, you look up to study his face. His eyes are heavy, pupils blown, kissable lips slightly parted as he took a sharp intake of air. Oh and the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he gulped down his nerves. You knew he’s guard is on the edge of a drop.

Ugh! Who knew a man could look so appetizing that your the one feeling like there’s a 70ft drop before you. Come on! This is no time to be a pussy.

“Uhm…no?” Gosh the way his accent soaks into the smallest words that he lets out soaks your panties. Your starting to question if you’d break first.

“No. Do you want to know what my price is, Alejandro?” You keep your voice as light as your right hand when it reached his gun and sweeps it seamlessly out of the way. Fuck! Why are you getting so nerved.

Finally standing on your tippy toes you move to his left ear, leaving light breathes that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. As smoothly as it went your right hand delicately traces its way from his chest, shoulders and then to gingerly rub the stubble along his jaw and upper neck.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t hear the heart beat bashing on your chest.

Come Y/N! Swallow those timid valor! You never had them before today.

With your mouth tracing his earlobe you continue the teasing. “Alejandro…fuck-please touch me.”

Aight, it’s up.

You knew the butterflies in your stomach at the start should’ve been a sign to take caution. Flirting your way to safety would’ve been easy if you weren’t getting wet feeling the hardness pressing on your stomach.

Your statement should’ve been confident and alluring but it escaped you sounding way too desperate with the airy whimper.

On top of that the soft grunt he made when you pressed your front harder on his cock had you rolling your eyes. Fucking hell! There’s no way a man can have this much affect on you!

“Ah-fuck. Alejandro, I want you to touch me. Mmhp…wanna feel you inside me, fuck your cum into me. Oh god, please. I’ll tell you anything. Just please, please fuck me-

You couldn’t even finish before he lost his senses, dropping the gun and dug his big hands into your waist. Sliding his gloved palms downwards, the brunette then lifted you into that solid body of his and rushed to press your back on the metal wall.

Your hands weaving into his hair as his mouth went to work on your neck. His chest pressed so tightly against yours that your breathe heaved even more and oh did those heavy pants and small whimpers egged him on.

The self-assured and flirtatious vixen now starting to melt in his palms and she looked so enticing all the while. Her cropped black tank top strap had fell off her shoulder, leaving more room for him to kiss and gnaw at. Her also black spandex they had left her in after ridding her cargo pants full of weapons and ammo was not doing a good job covering her neediness. Taking a quick glance he could already see her leaving wet patches on the front of his jacket. The sight alone made a moan slip out of him. If that wasn’t enough his hardness was aching in his pants, begging to be relieved.

“La hostia! Muñeca-my cremalle-mi zipper princesa”, even with his rushed sentence you understood. Hands leaving his hair, you reached his belt buckle. Then with some shuffling it came loose with sufficient room for you to unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, pulling it down just enough to also bring his boxers with it.

His tip immediately bumped your lower ass before you started to take him in your palms. With steady strokes, feeling the veins along his length, his girth that your fingers and thumb barley touched, you knew he was just a size too big. His pre-cum ran down to your palms making you instinctively lick your lips and pant. This might sting but you can already feel your girl pulse and drool for him.

“Alejandro,” with a whine you unhook your legs form his waist. Your feet meeting the ground again before you began stripping for a man you met just a few hours ago. And he absolutely ate up the sight before him.

Left in only your panties, damp skin kissed by the hot sun of Las Almas. The man wanted to ask what did he do for The Lord to bless him with you? Or perhaps it was the Devil that sent you to him. You just looked so heavenly and sinful. Hair now loose from the braid it was in, the stray strands framed your beguiling face. He had a thought you might’ve just been playing his heart strings to get your way but your doe eyes and pouty lips that are begging him to continue throw those thoughts away. He wanted to know about your stories, what made you came to Las Almas. Beyond the stories of missiles and the cartel, why you’d put yourself in such danger. But that would have wait for another time.

Alejandro rushed to hike you back up, this time roughly pressing his hot lips to your pillowy ones. Heavy breathing bounced off the container’s walls as the two bodies take in as much air as they could while devouring in each other’s rousing scents, electrifying touch and the thrilling environment they were currently in.

This was supposed to be an interrogation…

You flirted often, yes. But you definitely weren’t the most experienced with intimacy and with the pace Alejandro’s tongue moved into your mouth, you knew the footing on your plan had completely crumbled away.

He pressed his body harder on yours, gripping his right hand on your hip, taking in as much of you he could. Your small mewls that left your lips. Along with the strings of sounds, the smell of vanilla blended with coconut and some florals. It’s like the man couldn’t pick up on the musky scent of sex as his left hand made its way to your panties.

“Mierda. You’ve runined your panties Muñeca,”

You moaned in his mouth as he reconnected your lips. Pushing your panties to the side before he rather impatiently inserted his middle and index fingers, as if to test your readiness for his cock. With a gravely grunt Alejandro began working in your pussy that was now making a mess all over his digits. He reluctantly paused his ravaging in your mouth once more to look at his work below.

“ Fuck Muñeca! Your pussy’s already in love with my fingers. Imagine how much she’ll love my cock stuffing her full, hm.”

All you could do was mewl and curse into his shoulders as he stuffed your throbbing womanhood. This smug man then begin to laugh at your current state.

“Que pasa, Muñeca? What happened to that assertive vixen telling my men to scram so she can bargain for her safety?”

It was now your turn to blush. You couldn’t for your life begin to think anymore. His scent was intoxicating you, hints of cleanly soap, gun powder and musk was enough to make you lose your mind. What else? His voice and accent. God have mercy you could cum with just his talks alone. AND don’t even get started on his long fingers working in and out, now pairing with his thumb on your clit.

You can feel a certain knot tying itself in your stomach, the twisting feeling caused your body to tremble and your eyes to brim with tears. The increase in volume and movement was a dead giveaway that you were close. Even so, Alejandro removed his hand from you core, cutting off the high that had been peaking thus far.

“N-no, please. Please, Alejandro.” Fuck. Your watery eyes with those lips that he made red and swollen caused his cock to drip. Such a pathetic plea and face along with a moan of his name.

“Aw, I know guapa. I just wanted to give that needy pussy of yours something bigger.”

With a taunting pout, Alejandro then gripped your sides before a hand left to guide his cock to your messy hole. He then let your body slowly slid down his length.

“Mierda! Your so tight. And what a fucking mess your making of my pants, princesa,” he couldn’t help his strangled moans as you took him in so willingly with the most welcoming clench on his manhood.

“Alejan-fuck! Too much.” You whine with hazy eyes as tears fell from the sting as well as the delight of him bullying his way inside.

Alejandro the tease only chuckled at your words, “your doing so well princesa, taking in my cock. Come on, you can take all of it.” He sang praises as he continue to slowly sink into you, kissing away the tears that had fallen on your flushed cheeks.

When he finally bottomed out he pulled back up to the tip before refilling your sloppy pussy and setting steady pace. Your volume now becoming alarmingly loud so as to prevent his team from hearing, his lips were back on yours.

Of course if the team hadn’t heard your voice already they probably hear the wet squelches as Alejandro’s cock picked up the pace. Feeling you flutter around him and hearing your increase in volume he began slamming so hard you couldn’t help but drip down his balls and to the floor.

Legs wrapped tightly around his waist, armed draped over his shoulders while he worked you up and down his manhood. You dissolved into putty in his arms, only able to babble incoherent words into his mouth. Saliva was slipping from the edges as he continued his assault in your hot cavern. Every audible cry you began to muster with your lips parted and connecting to his with a string of wetness would dissipate as he ate them up.

Ya, as if the team could hear…

The team catching on to Alejandro’s ‘special interrogation’ was the last thing he cared to pounder about anyways.

“Mmm, princesa. Your pussy’s a real fucking treat.”

And his cock is making you drunk.

“After this I’m never letting you leave.”

And you didn’t want to.

“You gonna let my breed your pussy, hm? Cum deep inside your filthy hole?”

“Fuck Yes! Please, please! Give your cum please.”

Alejandro’s pretty done keeping your voice down. Besides, he may as well give his men a treat hearing your pretty cries for his cum and cock that they would never indulge in themselves.

“Cum on me then, Muñeca.”

Just like a magic command, the build up in your core since Alejandro’s fingers fucked your pussy snapped.

Your high came crashing down in tremors and sniffling sobs. So out of breathe you barely finish chanting his name, whiteness covering your vision you’d think you were going to heaven. And what’s an even better feeling then this high heaven? His cum pumping into you as he groaned and thrusts it in deeper. More moans pass through you as Alejandro couldn’t help but grind his seeds into your hot mess, now leaking with his cum.

“Ugh, mierda. Your going to get me in trouble guapa.” With a soft laugh Alejandro peeked at the mess you two made below before his gaze carried back to your fucked-out face. God, just your face alone was making his length stir again.

BANG BANG!!

“Fucking hell! There better good intel after you guys clean up whatever mess y’all made in there!”

Ghost’s voice could be heard from behind the container door as strings of snickers followed. Keeping his gaze on your heavy lids that were now blown wide from the sudden startle, Alejandro knew he’d have to continue this later.

“Ya, ya.”

Yup. You weren’t leaving even if you spill your whole life story to the Spanish man.

#alejandro vargas #interrogation #enemies to lovers #military #smut #x reader #simon riley #john soap mactavish #alejandro vargas x reader #fem reader #fanfic

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shelyue99 · 3 months

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A timeline re the friendship between Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon, in Dick’s own words.

Officer Candidate School(OCS), Fort Benning, April 1942

During my time at OCS one of the officer candidates caught my attention. Lewis Nixon was the son of privilege and wealth. Born September 30, 1918, Nixon was the grandson of the last man to design a battleship as an individual. Educated at Yale and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, "Nix" was far more educated than most of the members of the class. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Toccoa, August 1942

Later we served as platoon leaders under Sobel's command. A special bond always exists among the platoon commanders in any military company, particularly when they perceive their own commander as 'the enemy.' I stayed in Easy Company, but Nix was transferred to higher headquarters. He drank too much, but he was also very conscientious. He was conscientious in his own way, on a man-to-man basis, and he always looked at what would best benefit the battalion. —Conversations with Major Dick Winters

Camp Mackall, February 1943

In addition, a number of Easy Company's officers were transferred to battalion staff, including Lewis Nixon, Clarence Hester, and George Lavenson. As I had grown quite fond of Nixon, I was sad to see him leave Easy Company. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Normandy, June 1944

"Nix" and I completely understood each other. We possessed a common understanding about leadership, of how troops should be employed, and how battles should be fought. On reflection, Nixon always seemed to be around. We had known each other from our days in Officer Candidate School at Fort Benning and at Toccoa, but our friendship was not cemented until Normandy.

After the fight at Brecourt, I had requested additional ammunition for my men. When none arrived, I went to battalion headquarters myself, where I saw Colonel Strayer and his staff studying the map that I had found on one of the guns. I blew my top, which was totally inappropriate considering my rank. Nixon, however, was instrumental in obtaining that ammunition. Later, when we aboard the LST returning from France, he approached me and asked that I deliver a lecture on leadership to the rest of the officers at battalion. That caught my attention. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Holland, Septembre 1944

By the time we jumped into Holland, I was so lonely that I needed someone in whom I could confide my inner thoughts. That someone was Nix. Whenever the bullets began to fly, I could turn and there stood Nix. He always walked on my left side, one or two steps behind me. This was his token of respect for me as a commander. —Conversations with Major Dick Winters

From a personal standpoint, I would have been devastated had Nixon been killed. As a leader you do not stop and calculate your losses during combat. You cannot stop a fight and ask yourself how many casualties you have sustained. You calculate losses only when the fight is over. Ever since the second week of the invasion, casualties had been my greatest concern. Victory would eventually be ours, but the casualties that had to be paid were the price that hurt. In that regard Nixon seemed a special case.

As different in temperament as Nixon and I were, he was the one man to whom I could talk. He provided an outlet that allowed me to unburden myself as a combat leader. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Mourmelon, March 1945

Nixon's return to battalion staff was the result of his repeated drunkenness. Colonel Sink recognized Nixon's tactical brilliance, but he was fed up with his excessive drinking. One day Sink visited me and asked me point-blank, "Can you get along with Nixon?"

"Yes, sir, I can get along with him."

"Can you get something out of him?"

Again I responded, "Yes, sir, we work together very well."

"Would you like to have him back?"

"Yes, sir, I would."

"You've got him."

And that is how Nixon returned to battalion staff. From a personal perspective, it was nice being reunited with Nix. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Mourmelon, March 23, 1945

The 101st was allowed to send observers, so I dispatched Captain Lewis Nixon. Fortunately, for Nixon, he was assigned to be jumpmaster of his aircraft. As he approached the drop zone, his plane was struck by heavy antiaircraft fire. Nixon and three other men made it out of the plane, but the rest were lost when the plane crashed.

Nix remained with the 17th Airborne Division for one night and was then returned to 2d Battalion at Mourmelon on a special plane. Nix's brush with death left him visibly shaken, particularly when at this stage in the war, no one intentionally put himself in danger now that victory was at hand. Captain Nixon found his usual retreat in alcohol that evening, but I was glad to see him safe. —Beyond Band of Brothers

Joigny, September 16, 1945

Capt. Nixon left this week, which makes everything just dandy. I am about as lonesome as a lovesick swab who married a Wave on an eight hour pass. —Hang Tough

On reflection:

On the surface no two individuals were more diametrically opposed in temperament than Nixon and I. I was a confirmed teetotaler and never swore. I preferred a quiet evening in the barracks to the nightlife of Columbus, Georgia, or neighboring Phenix City, Alabama. Despite the differences in lifestyle, I sensed we shared mutual feelings and ways of looking at life. I could understand him and help him understand me, as well as understand himself. Our friendship evolved naturally, and he soon became my closest friend. Lewis Nixon was the finest combat officer with whom I served under fire. He was utterly dependable and totally fearless. —Beyond Band of Brothers

In hindsight, Nix probably needed me as much as I needed him. He was undoubtedly the coolest man under fire whom I ever encountered in combat. —Conversations with Major Dick Winters

#dick winters #lewis nixon #band of brothers #winnix

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

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Fintech bullies stole your kid’s lunch money

I'm coming to DEFCON! On Aug 9, I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On Aug 10, I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Three companies control the market for school lunch payments. They take as much as 60 cents out of every dollar poor kids' parents put into the system to the tune of $100m/year. They're literally stealing poor kids' lunch money.

In its latest report, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau describes this scam in eye-watering, blood-boiling detail:

https://files.consumerfinance.gov/f/documents/cfpb_costs-of-electronic-payment-in-k-12-schools-issue-spotlight_2024-07.pdf

The report samples 16.7m K-12 students in 25k schools. It finds that schools are racing to go cashless, with 87% contracting with payment processors to handle cafeteria transactions. Three processors dominate the sector: Myschoolbucks, Schoolcafé, and Linq Connect.

These aren't credit card processors (most students don't have credit cards). Instead, they let kids set up an account, like a prison commissary account, that their families load up with cash. And, as with prison commissary accounts, every time a loved one adds cash to the account, the processor takes a giant whack out of them with junk fees:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

If you're the parent of a kid who is eligible for a reduced-price lunch (that is, if you are poor), then about 60% of the money you put into your kid's account is gobbled up by these payment processors in service charges.

It's expensive to be poor, and this is no exception. If your kid doesn't qualify for the lunch subsidy, you're only paying about 8% in service charges (which is still triple the rate charged by credit card companies for payment processing).

The disparity is down to how these charges are calculated. The payment processors charge a flat fee for every top-up, and poor families can't afford to minimize these fees by making a single payment at the start of the year or semester. Instead, they pay small sums every payday, meaning they pay the fee twice per month (or even more frequently).

Not only is the sector concentrated into three companies, neither school districts nor parents have any meaningful way to shop around. For school districts, payment processing is usually bundled in with other school services, like student data management and HR data handling. For parents, there's no way to choose a different payment processor – you have to go with the one the school district has chosen.

This is all illegal. The USDA – which provides and regulates – the reduced cost lunch program, bans schools from charging fees to receive its meals. Under USDA regs, schools must allow kids to pay cash, or to top up their accounts with cash at the school, without any fees. The USDA has repeatedly (2014, 2017) published these rules.

Despite this, many schools refuse to handle cash, citing safety and security, and even when schools do accept cash or checks, they often fail to advertise this fact.

The USDA also requires schools to publish the fees charged by processors, but most of the districts in the study violate this requirement. Where schools do publish fees, we see a per-transaction charge of up to $3.25 for an ACH transfer that costs $0.26-0.50, or 4.58% for a debit/credit-card transaction that costs 1.5%. On top of this, many payment processors charge a one-time fee to enroll a student in the program and "convenience fees" to transfer funds between siblings' accounts. They also set maximum fees that make it hard to avoid paying multiple charges through the year.

These are classic junk fees. As Matt Stoller puts it: "'Convenience fees' that aren't convenient and 'service fees' without any service." Another way in which these fit the definition of junk fees: they are calculated at the end of the transaction, and not advertised up front.

Like all junk fee companies, school payment processors make it extremely hard to cancel an automatic recurring payment, and have innumerable hurdles to getting a refund, which takes an age to arrive.

Now, there are many agencies that could have compiled this report (the USDA, for one), and it could just as easily have come from an academic or a journalist. But it didn't – it came from the CFPB, and that matters, because the CFPB has the means, motive and opportunity to do something about this.

The CFPB has emerged as a powerhouse of a regulator, doing things that materially and profoundly benefit average Americans. During the lockdowns, they were the ones who took on scumbag landlords who violated the ban on evictions:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/20/euthanize-rentier-enablers/#cfpb

They went after "Earned Wage Access" programs where your boss colludes with payday lenders to trap you in debt at 300% APR:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/01/usury/#tech-exceptionalism

They are forcing the banks to let you move your account (along with all your payment history, stored payees, automatic payments, etc) with one click – and they're standing up a site that will analyze your account data and tell you which bank will give you the best deal:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

They're going after "buy now, pay later" companies that flout borrower protection rules, making a rogues' gallery of repeat corporate criminals, banning fine-print gotcha clauses, and they're doing it all in the wake of a 7-2 Supreme Court decision that affirmed their power to do so:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

The CFPB can – and will – do something to protect America's poorest parents from having $100m of their kids' lunch money stolen by three giant fintech companies. But whether they'll continue to do so under a Kamala Harris administration is an open question. While Harris has repeatedly talked up the ways that Biden's CFPB, the DOJ Antitrust Division, and FTC have gone after corporate abuses, some of her largest donors are demanding that her administration fire the heads of these agencies and crush their agenda:

https://prospect.org/power/2024-07-26-corporate-wishcasting-attack-lina-khan/

Tens of millions of dollars have been donated to Harris' campaign and PACs that support her by billionaires like Reid Hoffman, who says that FTC Chair Lina Khan is "waging war on American business":

https://prospect.org/power/2024-07-26-corporate-wishcasting-attack-lina-khan/

Some of the richest Democrat donors told the Financial Times that their donations were contingent on Harris firing Khan and that they'd been assured this would happen:

https://archive.is/k7tUY

This would be a disaster – for America, and for Harris's election prospects – and one hopes that Harris and her advisors know it. Writing in his "How Things Work" newsletter today, Hamilton Nolan makes the case that labor unions should publicly declare that they support the FTC, the CFPB and the DOJ's antitrust efforts:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/unions-and-antitrust-are-peanut-butter

Don’t want huge companies and their idiot billionaire bosses to run the world? Break them up, and unionize them. It’s the best program we have.

Perhaps you've heard that antitrust is anti-worker. It's true that antitrust law has been used to attack labor organizing, but that has always been in spite of the letter of the law. Indeed, the legislative history of US antitrust law is Congress repeatedly passing law after law explaining that antitrust "aims at dollars, not men":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

The Democrats need to be more than The Party of Not Trump. To succeed – as a party and as a force for a future for Americans – they have to be the party that defends us – workers, parents, kids and retirees alike – from corporate predation.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/26/taanstafl/#stay-hungry

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #fintech #ed-tech #finance #usury #payment processing #chokepoints #corruption #monopoly #cfpb #consumer finance protection bureau

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nat-the-sleepyeth · 2 years

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Your eyes are beautiful :)

pairing: König x reader

warning: none just a bit of fluff, cozy lil fluff :3

word count: 2100-ish

(A/N: This is my first time writing, so please be kind. I tried my best ;w;)

summary: könig was transferred into your team recently, and already, he thought you dislike him, but all you thought is you'd like to know him better.

Nothing feels like a cloudy Friday with a small cup of tea, it was drizzling outside. You have the shared space all for yourself while the others are out hunting. Your hands on the warm cup while you look out the window to the field of grass, wondering how the men are doing, have they found what they're looking for, are they even there yet. A part of you wants them to come back late, you do enjoy the company of your teammates of course, but sometimes Gaz and Soap together can be a bit too much, guys are so energetic at times.

You and the team have to stay at this safehouse for a couple of days, waiting for the details on the next mission. Price is away working on his operation somewhere far from here, and without the captain we can't really do anything much. They specified that Price has to present in the mission.

Ghost planned to go hunting a while ago, and you try to encourage the boys to go with him so you can spend your time alone in the quarter, tidying your space and the common room. You don't like to clean the place when they're around for it would make them feel like they've made a mess and you had to clean up after. You just like things a little organized for easy access, and it's not like they're going to notice that things change places anyway. Soap practically begged Simon to let them join. You remember the puppy eyes the Scottish man made and Ghost's glare on you as if he knew that it was your idea -which it was- you are prepared to face the consequences of that when he's back. Soap tried to ask König to join too, though you didn't stay to find out if he accepted, and after not seeing anyone when you woke up, you thought he'd join.

You heard the door open quietly. It's too soon for them to come back, and not hearing Soap's voice you thought it might be someone else.

“Back already? oh... Hi” You turned to the door and -to your surprise- König was standing there with a pen and a notebook, looking at you like he didn't expect to find someone else either. “I thought you were out with the others?”

“No,” He shook his head, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don't like hunting.”

You tilted your head in wonder, a man this size, a soldier who sounded so excited after killing an enemy in the field, not a fan of hunting. You thought he was going to say something different, something like not wanting to go because he doesn't want to socialize, or because he feels intimidated around Ghost. He's quite new to the team after all.

König was recently transferred to your team after joining temporarily for a mission, about a week ago. You guys get along alright, apart from mostly spending time around each other in silence. He is always a bit quiet around you all, you feel the heavy atmosphere when you are alone with him, this man is huge and can be scary, and you're not scared to admit that.

You found yourself drawn to him somehow, always paying him small glances from the corner of your eyes when he doesn't notice. You like to watch his eyes, how he looks at things like he's studying them, memorizing them. At the same time, you are curious if it's because he's thinking about something so constantly and intensely his eyes stopped moving. You wonder if he likes taking pictures, if he likes to spend his free time capturing photos of things.

Little do you know, he's more observant than you think.

He knows that you are looking at him, feel your eyes on him like it's drilling into the side of his head. He felt the uneasiness under your stare and yours only, no one else here stares at him after all, not with the corner of their eyes like that. Feeling like there's something wrong, like he'd done something wrong, the man low-key tried to avoid you as much as possible. When he heard the team is going out today, he thought he could have the room for himself for once. He planned to sit down with his sketchbook and a cup of coffee, draw anything that comes into mind. But there you were, sitting there with your own cup, the very same one he planned to use.

“Want some tea?” You ask, trying to break the silence. The man is not moving, eyes darting around the room like he's afraid of looking at you. He nodded quietly, walking slowly to the couch you are sitting on.

“Sure.” The corner of his lips tug into a tiny smile. He doesn't often wear his sniper hood when he's off duty, still, you don't get to see much of his face enough to get a good look. His blue eyes are soft, not showing any glimpse of violence like the time he’s in the field, just innocent eyes blinking slowly at you. Dark brown hair looks a bit messy like he's just woken up. You can see a tiny bit of his facial hair, like he shaved recently. You stop your eyes from wandering down his figure before he notices. You stand up, walking to the counter.

You were a bit too late though.

“Milk or no milk?” You turn back to the man who's still standing right in the same spot you last saw him.

“Milk, please”

“You can sit down, you know” You chuckle, he let out a small 'oh' before lowing himself down on the couch next to your spot. You continue making a cup of warm tea for him, moving around the counter like you own the place, which you do. You are mostly the one who uses this space, occasionally Ghost will come and help you around quietly. Picking stuff and cutting veggies for you when you cook, you always impressed how the man can do such domestic things so very well.

“You don't like hunting too?” The raspy voice of his almost makes you jump. You turn back to him with a cup in your hand. König in his oversized black sweater makes him look so small from where you are standing, you wonder how he finds oversized clothes for his size.

“Yeah,” You sat down beside him, handing the cup to his hand which he accepted with a small 'danke' “I see no need for hunting for some wild rabbits or chickens when we already have supermarkets.”

“You like animals?”

“Yeah, I used to have time to walk in the forest and look around.” You sip your tea, looking up at him. “What about you?”

“I like them,” You swear you can almost see a smile on his face when he speaks. He brews the cup softly and takes a sip of his tea, looking up at you like he's about to say something, but he doesn't. Then his eyes darted away.

“Is the tea bad?” You said jokingly. A soft breath sighing off of his mouth, he eyed you for a second then looked back to the cup in his hands.

“Oh- nein, nein, it's nice, smells sweet.” He took another sip. You kinda thought he’s not a tea guy, he smells like coffee, a whole bunch of coffee. It's so strong you wonder if it's his scent or just in your head. In fact, you can smell it right now, making you want to just press your face on his sweater arm to inhale those coffee smells, but that's going to be weird. You don't really have to keep your distance between the others in the team though, you trust them enough to squish between them on the couch watching movies, or in the Humvee seat occasionally. But König and you are not yet that close. “Though I prefer coffee.”

“You could've told me” You replied to him, chuckling. Now you know that he's really a coffee person, not just your nose messing with you.

“How could I turn down your generous offer?” König replied softly, thinking to himself why you would talk so sweetly to him. After all that side-eyeing, he expected you to be cold to him, at least colder than how you are right now.

“How sweet of you.” You smiled softly, then the uncomfortable feeling crept up on you. Suddenly your mind thinks you should've said something more, something nicer. You are not the type to start a conversation, but continuing it never was a problem. At least not until now.

Your eyes moved to the sketchbook on the table in front of him, the cover is brown, you can see a small word written down on the bottom right corner, könig. You smiled to yourself before looking back outside, raising the cup to your lips. You try not to look at him, pretend to focus on something else thinking he might be comfortable not sharing a conversation. When you hear the sound of the paper flipping, you couldn't help but move your eyes back on him slowly, thinking he wouldn't notice.

König flipped the book to an almost empty page, one hand grabbed the pencil and started making outlines vaguely. The curve made by his skilled hand is flawless, you watch him continue on his work. He, once again, looks so peaceful and calming, just like when he spaced out while resting his eyes on something.

“Why do you keep staring at me like that?” The sudden voice of his made you almost jump. König stopped his hand from drawing, eyes still locked down on the paper in his hands.

“I'm sorry?”

“Why do you glance at me like that?” He repeated, this time with a quieter tone. He dropped the pencil on the sketchbook, tossed them on the table. His eyes still not on you but on his hands, which are now clipped together between his parted legs. You were taken aback with the sudden change of gesture. König doesn't look like how he was anymore, fingers fidgeting together. It's like he took all his courage to burst out that simple question, now he just wants the answer. “If my presence makes you feel uncomfortable, just tell me.”

“Why would I be- Oh…” You paused, realizing that he might have taken your stare in a negative way, had he noticed it all along. “Oh, I'm so sorry König-”

“Please do tell me, so I know if I should leave.”

“No, please, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that, it’s just-” You paused, thinking over and over about words you will say. The man is already upset, you are worried that if you don’t think carefully, this might be a bad start for you both. “I was scared to confront you.”

“Oh...” The man says softly, his body seems to soften up a bit, his shoulders are not tense anymore.

“I was scared to talk to you, so I thought I can just sneak a look at you and maybe I will know something more about you I- I- I don’t know.” You blurted out everything in your mind in a fast, confusing sentence. You hide your face in your hands, attempting to hide the blush on your cheeks, this is so embarrassing. You wanted to look calm and cool in front of him, now you are just stuttering like someone caught you stealing or something. “Not every day that you get to know someone new in this situation. Plus, your eyes are beautiful.”

“Oh, danke.” König sighs softly, hands rubbing up and down his thighs. You can almost see his face turning brighter, you didn't want to get ahead of yourself, but you can see his face turned red.

“How about we start over?” You asked enthusiastically, smiling and sitting up straight, like you didn't just give him the sweetest compliment he's ever got. König looked taken aback by your excitement.

“O-Of course.”

You both spend some time talking after that. It started with what you know, his interest in drawing. You asked him what he likes to draw, how often, has he ever drawn anything from memory or imagination. He asked if you draw too, you told him you did when you were younger. He is also a cat person, and he loved cuddling with his cat when he was younger.

The time passed so fast, the sun is beginning to set. You realize when the orange shade of ray touched his blue eyes. König seems to notice that you are staring. He stopped talking, tilted his head and his lips formed a small grin.

“You are staring again.”

“Oh, sorry,” You collected yourself. He shook his head in a fake-disbelief way. “You were saying?”

“I said,” He spoke the next part of the sentence so quietly you almost didn’t hear. “I might not like the way you looked at me before but, the way you just did wasn’t so bad.”

#konig x you #konig imagine #konig x reader #konig call of duty #könig x reader #könig imagine #könig x y/n #könig x you #cod x you #cod x reader

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mariacallous · 1 month

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CAIRO—Although Egypt has refused to accept refugees from the Gaza Strip, more than 100,000 Palestinians have crossed the border into Egypt since the start of Israel’s offensive in Gaza following Hamas’s attack on Oct. 7, 2023.

Khaled Shabir, a 29-year-old man, is one of the Palestinians who managed to flee. He entered Egypt in March, four months after the Israeli army bombed his house in the southern Gazan city of Khan Yunis. The attack killed his parents, but he survived with crushed bones in his foot, thigh, and hand, which landed him in a hospital and then a field medical facility.

Some Palestinians are able to get a free medical transfer to Egypt for life-threatening conditions. But Shabir had to go the route of most who have fled: paying Hala Consulting and Tourism, the only company that secures passage from Gaza into Egypt. Hala, whose owner reportedly has close ties with the Egyptian authorities, charges $2,500 to $5,000 per person crossing over—much more than most Palestinians can afford.

Shabir did not have the money. But with a crowdfunding campaign, he was able to raise $5,000 to cross into Egypt. “Doctors at the hospital were sympathetic to my condition and waived their financial fees for my surgeries,” he wrote in a text message from his hospital bed in Cairo on June 4.

Like most Palestinians who have recently arrived in Egypt, Shabir has found himself in a strange position: Because he is not technically a refugee, he isn’t eligible for most international aid for refugees, unlike his counterparts back in Gaza. Eight Palestinians in Egypt interviewed for this story said they hadn’t received any humanitarian relief from international organizations. This has left them dependent on the goodwill of others—and increasingly at risk of being unable to get by.

Palestinians who have fled are reaching Egypt at a time when the country is experiencing its worst economic crisis in decades. In recent years, Egypt’s inflation rates have reached all-time highs, rent and food prices have soared, and millions of people have fallen into poverty.

It is especially difficult for Palestinians to navigate Egypt’s crisis. The majority of recent arrivals do not have official residency documents, so they cannot enroll their children in public school, apply for jobs, or receive health care and other benefits, according to an official from the Palestinian Embassy in Cairo who spoke with Foreign Policy on the condition of anonymity.

The official said on June 30 that just three international organizations have provided assistance to Palestinians who have fled to Egypt, and it has only reached a small portion of them. This aid includes $200 from the Islamic World Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization for 500 students, as well as medical and psychological care from Save the Children and UNICEF for a few injured infants.

Even for those with more resources, life has grown tough as their savings have run low. Nagham, a 23-year-old college student majoring in commerce, left Gaza at the end of January to stay with relatives in Cairo after the Israeli military destroyed her home and her husband’s barber shop. Because she had residency papers and was already enrolled at Cairo University, Nagham—who preferred to use only her first name—did not have to pay for entry. (Before the war, she studied online and only went to Cairo for exams.) But after arriving in Cairo, Nagham had to sell her wedding ring and other jewelry to raise the funds needed to pay transit fees to bring her husband to safety.

Now, she said, “we’re in a really bad financial situation.” As of April, she was being treated for a cervical infection she contracted from contaminated water in the first few months of the war. In May, Nagham sought financial aid from the Palestinian Embassy in Cairo, but it did not provide any help. The United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA), meanwhile, included her name in a registry tallying the number of Palestinians in Egypt, but she is not sure whether this implies any forthcoming aid.

“We’re starting over from scratch,” Nagham said. “I feel like we are in a nightmare.”

Kamel Mohamed, a 23-year-old who left Gaza in April, said that the majority of university students he knows from Gaza are running out of money, especially after paying the transit fees. He is currently applying for scholarships to study at a university in Egypt or other Arab countries. But in the meantime, international organizations have not provided any support, leaving him dependent on monthly aid from two local charities in Egypt.

“We are from a region devastated by war, and the people there have lost everything,” Mohamed said. “International organizations need to play a part and provide assistance.”

Jeff Crisp, a visiting research fellow at the University of Oxford’s Refugee Studies Centre, echoed this sentiment. “It should be the responsibility of the UN as a whole (UNHCR, WFP, UNICEF, IOM, etc.) to step in and support the Palestinians,” he wrote via email.

One major problem is that those who have fled Gaza are not considered refugees. This means that the two U.N. refugee agencies—the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), which protects non-Palestinian refugees, and UNRWA, which is solely responsible for Palestinian refugees—can’t support them.

UNRWA spokesperson Tamara Alrifai wrote in an email to Foreign Policy, “UNRWA does not have programs in Egypt, in the way it runs schools, health centers and social support in the areas where it has a mandate to operate.” She added that UNRWA, unlike UNHCR, “does not have a mandate to resettle refugees into new countries.”

The Egyptian government has refused to recognize Palestinians as refugees since 1978, instead referring to them as “our guests” or “our siblings.” It has long opposed both the establishment of a UNRWA operational office in Cairo and the displacement of Gaza’s population into its territory, citing potential threats to regional security and fears that Israel would not allow displaced Palestinians to return to the coastal enclave.

But many experts, including the U.N.’s special rapporteur on torture, argue that Egypt has legal obligations to accept refugees. Crisp stated in his email, “Egypt is a signatory to the UN Refugee Convention and should do what it can to support any that arrive from Gaza.” He added that Palestinians who fled war should be treated as displaced people.

For now, without residency papers, most of the Palestinians who recently arrived from Gaza are at risk of deportation. The Palestinian Embassy in Cairo is urging Egyptian authorities to provide papers as soon as possible so that children who have left Gaza can attend school in the fall, according to the embassy official.

The Egyptian government has, however, supported some Palestinians who have been injured in the war. Health Minister Khaled Abdel Ghaffar said in May that around 5,500 injured people had been evacuated from Gaza for medical care in 160 hospitals across Egypt since the start of the conflict. These individuals are treated at the Egyptian government’s expense.

The process, however, is not easy. “It was a torture journey,” said Um Qusai, who was able to leave Gaza so that her six-year-old daughter, Noor, could get eye surgery. One of Noor’s eyes had fallen out after debris from an Israeli bomb fell onto her bedroom in October.

After six months in the European Hospital in Gaza, Um Qusai finally secured a medical transfer for Noor, making their entry to Egypt free. But because they did not have passports, she had to wait with Noor and her two other children for 12 hours at the Rafah border crossing, while Noor was in agonizing pain, before border authorities let them in.

Once they arrive in Egypt, many Palestinians who received free medical transfers are not allowed to leave the hospital. A number of those patients, along with family members accompanying them, told Foreign Policy that they felt trapped inside hospitals and would only be permitted to leave if they returned to Gaza.

Egyptian volunteers have arranged trips to bring Palestinian patients food, medication, and clothing. However, some volunteers, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, said they had to undergo lengthy bureaucratic procedures to obtain authorization from Egyptian officials to visit the patients due to strict hospital security measures.

For now, many Palestinians in Egypt must rely on the support of local charities and grassroots initiatives to get by.

In November, Sherif Mohyeldeen, an Egyptian researcher and nonresident fellow at the Carnegie Middle East Center, launched For the People, a grassroots group with about 60 members, to support injured Palestinians and their families in Cairo and Alexandria, Egypt. So far, he said, the initiative has collected donations to support more than 1,200 Palestinians with food and cash assistance for rent.

“People have come here with only their clothes,” Mohyeldeen said. “There is a huge amount of psychological and physical suffering.” The Palestinian Centre for Policy and Survey Research has reported that more than 60 percent of people in Gaza have lost family members since Israel’s war—which has killed more than 40,000 people in the territory, according to the Gaza Health Ministry—began in October.

Sherif added that his group has yet to find solutions for families who need prosthetic limbs or chemotherapy, both of which are extremely expensive, as well as Palestinian students whose annual university tuition in Egypt exceeds $4,000.

Abdullah Abu al-Aoun, a 26-year-old man from a wealthy family in Gaza, is also trying to help others who have fled. His family owned many buildings and two restaurants in Gaza’s Remal district, all of which were bombed by the Israeli army. After fleeing Gaza with 22 members of his family in February, he opened a Shawarma restaurant in Cairo. His mother’s Egyptian passport and the family’s savings of more than $100,000 helped him establish the business.

Aoun has hired three young men from Gaza in his new restaurant and has been helping other Palestinian families in Cairo with cash assistance. “Although there is still war in Gaza, some aid is getting in,” he said on May 25 while sitting in the restaurant, where four men from Gaza were dining. “Here, the families who left for Egypt are not getting any support.”

But individuals and small charities can only make so much of a difference compared with international organizations—and many Palestinians, including Aoun’s family, know that they may have to stay in Egypt for years to come due to the scale of destruction in Gaza. According to the Palestinian Embassy official, many more Palestinians are expected to arrive in the coming months. With no humanitarian relief on the horizon and Cairo so far refusing to provide residency permits, they sink deeper into uncertainty with each passing day.

“What really scares me is the unknown future,” Naghan said. “When will the crossing open again? If we return, will we live in a tent or on the rubble of our house?”

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