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temporarywelcome · 1 month ago

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Home Run - Spencer Reid

Wordcount: 2.6k

Summary: The FBI's baseball team needs a fill in for their game against the Secret Service, Morgan being able to convince Reid to take up the role. However, the boy genius does not have an athletic bone in his body, Morgan recruiting the genius' girlfriend to help.

Warnings: some swearing, Spencer is like a baseball magnet

A/N: my inbox is open! Currently working on my first request right now, and will hopefully have it posted tomorrow! This also can 100% be read as a standalone, though it's kind of a continuation of my first Spencer fic "Smooth Criminal". All information needed is in this fic as well though! ok ill stop yapping

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It might have been the worst day of Spencer’s life.

Trudging along the field as sweat trickled down his neck and back, the sun beaming down at his pale, vulnerable skin. His tongue was dry, throat closing in on him. He could see spots clouding his vision.

This wasn’t good.

“Jesus, Reid, we just got out of the car,” Morgan chuckled, hitting Spencer’s back, “This isn’t a desert,”

It wasn’t a desert, it was actually a baseball field. Which was just as bad to the boy genius.

“You couldn’t ask Hotch or Rossi to do this?” Spencer mumbled nervously, eyeing the field as if some jock baseball player was going to come out of the dug out and murder him.

“You’re young. Nice and nimble. Lots of potential-”

“They said no?”

“Yes, they said no,” Morgan sighed, placing down his bag on a bench in the dug out. Spencer did the same, awkwardly looking around once again. “Look, it’s only for one day,”

“One day too many,”

Morgan shot him a look, taking out his baseball glove and a ball, “We’ll start simple with some catching and throwing, yeah?”

“This is so embarrassing,” Reid grumbled, grabbing his glove as well (which he has never used before, just buying it this morning).

“Did you break it in like I told you to?”

He shook his head, “I got it two hours ago…”

Another sigh left his friend, who walked out into the disgusting sun. Spencer hesitantly followed.

And within fifteen minutes, Spencer was laid out on the ground in a starfish position, his life flashing before his very eyes. He thought this was the end.

“Shit! Reid! Reid!” Morgan sprinted towards the young genius, crouching next to his still figure, “Are you okay?” he touched Spencer’s cheek, already starting to turn red after connecting with the ball.

“Shit, that hurts!” Spencer hissed, slapping Morgan’s hand away. The first sign of life. He slowly sat up, cradling his cheek, “I feel concussed,” his other hand went to the back of his head.

“Be for real,” Derek muttered in worry, “It’s that bad?” Spencer had quite a low pain tolerance, so neither of them could tell how bad this really was. “I mean, you almost passed out just being in the sun.”

“I could feel my cells mutating,”

“Let’s hope you’re just being dramatic,”

_________________

Luckily for them, Spencer was being dramatic, and was back to normal activity the day after.

Like most days, his girlfriend, Y/N, drove into the bureau parking lot and parked, waiting for Spencer to get out of work. She was reading sheet music for her next show when there’s a knock on their window, making her gasp, snapping her head in the direction of her window.

Derek Morgan.

With a sigh, she pressed the button, window inching down slowly, “What the fuck was that for?”

Morgan laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, “Sorry, Y/N. I know Spencer is trying desperately to keep you away from the team, especially after the fiasco last time we saw you, but…”

Ah, yes. Last time. Y/N and Spencer have been dating for a year, but he has kept the relationship extremely secretive from his team, until Garcia was able to finally crack the case and find pretty much everything to know about her, discovering she was a diagnosed kleptomaniac. The team (minus Hotch, who was peacefully in his office during the whole ordeal) was completely eager to meet this kleptomaniac girlfriend, and Y/N had a) admitted to not being able to pronounce JJ’s last name, and b) stole Rossi’s keys.

Yeah, Spencer wanted his girlfriend and friends far, far away from each other.

“I really need your help.” Morgan finished.

“With what?” She asked in curiosity.

“I don’t mean to creep you out, but when Garcia did her whole ‘background check’ on you, or whatever you would want to call it, she found you used to play softball?”

“Yes, I’ve played since I was five,” She confirmed with a nod, “Still do, occasionally,”

“Well, the FBI has this little team I play on, and next weekend we’re going against the secret service, but we’re short one player, one of us has an injury. I convinced Spencer to fill in,” he noticed Y/N’s shocked expression, “Yeah, I know. I convinced him to fill in, really because no one else wanted to, and we went to practice yesterday-”

“Oh, yes! He’s got a huge bruise on his cheek, he said it was from some special training though,” Y/N laughed, “I guess he was embarrassed. He was hit by a ball?”

“Yes, he was on the grass fifteen minutes into our practice. It’s bad. He doesn’t even want to practice anymore, but I need him for that game. We haven’t beaten the secret service in years.”

“So you want me to convince him?” She concluded.

“Not just that. Maybe he’ll be more willing to learn if you’re also there to teach him?”

“Hm,”

Derek frowned, “Please, Y/N?”

She playfully narrowed her eyes at him, “How much?”

“What?”

“How much did you bet on this game?”

“Oh,” he awkwardly cleared his throat, “Five hundred,”

“Damn,” she whistled, “We gotta whip Spencer into shape,”

___________________

Spencer loved Y/N.

He loved her dearly.

However, right now he hated her with a burning passion.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Morgan asked as Spencer ran from home to first base. “What if this just makes him quit again?”

She had Spencer running laps. “He won’t.”

He only did two runs around the diamond before he came back to them, panting dramatically, hands on his knees, “Why… why do I have to… do this?” he gasped.

“Because, drama king, when you hit that ball, which you will, you need to be able to get to the bases on time,” Y/N replied, handing him a bottle of water.

“This is hopeless,” he began to carefully sip the water, not wanting to choke in his desperation for hydration.

“We just started, baby” Y/N sighed, rubbing his back, “Now, c’mon, break’s over. Two more laps and we’ll practice catching and throwing,”

“I hate you,” Spencer huffed, handing the water back to her. However, he went back to running.

“I love you too, darling,” Y/N rolled her eyes with a soft laugh. She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled as he clumsily ran along the diamond.

Morgan glanced at her, “Thanks for this.”

“Of course. I love seeing Spencer suffer,” She joked with a chuckle, watching her lanky boyfriend move. He was so cute, despite the fact he looked incredibly pissed off. She sighed, soft smile on her lips, “I know you guys are all probably iffy about me, but… I do love him. Genuinely, I do.”

Morgan’s lips curled up, “I know.”

Spencer finished his second lap, looking at Y/N and Morgan with an annoyed expression, “Okay,” he panted, “I did it. Now what?”

“Catching and throwing,” Y/N slipped on her glove, grabbing a ball, “Alright, we’ll start with the basics.”

“How hard can it be?” Spencer said, putting on his glove (which Y/N had broken in for him).

“Eh, best not talk, you might end up with two bruised cheeks,” Morgan chuckled, nudging him. He was not amused.

“Alright,” Y/N began, “When you throw the ball to someone, you have to aim for the other person’s chest. As a beginner, you can practice by using the hand you’re not throwing with, so the gloved hand, to aim. Like this,” Y/N faced Morgan, holding out her gloved hand and throwing with the other. Morgan caught the ball with ease. “See?” Morgan threw the ball back at her the same way, which she caught. “You try.” She tossed the ball to Reid, who was, like, two feet away.

He fumbled the ball, scrambling for it as it landed on the ground. Once it was in his hand, he stood up awkwardly. Spencer got into position, following Y/N’s instructions. He threw the ball to Morgan, it landed a few feet in front of him.

“You’re releasing it too late,” Y/N explained, “Try again”

Once the ball was in his hand again, he took a deep breath, throwing it again. It flew way past Morgan’s head this time.

“Okay, at least you got a strong throw,” Y/N said, trying to stay positive, “Now you released it a little too early. We’re getting somewhere. Try again.”

A few tries later, the trio went on to catching. It ended with Spencer thrown onto the grass once again in a starfish position, Y/N and Morgan both running to his side.

“Well, now your cheeks match,” she said, making Spencer groan.

They decided to end the fieldwork, getting Spencer to bat next. He had a helmet on and everything, determined to not actually get concussed.

“Alright, baby,” Y/N began, handing him the bat, “Knees shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees slightly. This elbow up,” she gently touched his arm, bringing up his elbow, “Keep your eye on the ball. The ball should be chest-height when thrown to you. If it’s a bad pitch, don’t swing.”

Morgan goes to pitch, Reid’s brows furrowed as he eyed the ball.

“Hold on,” Y/N stopped him, “I can see the gears turning in your head. No calculations, none of that smart boy stuff. Just put on a mean face, spit in front of you, and hit that home run.”

“Spit?” Spencer gasped, “That’s disgusting.”

“It works,” Y/N shrugged.

“I’m not doing that,” he deadpanned, making her giggle. He faced Morgan, a determined look on his face. “Let’s do this,”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Y/N grinned.

With a grin, Morgan pitched the ball to Spencer, who grunted, swinging the bat as hard as he can.

Losing his grip in the process, the bat flying through the air.

__________________

A week had passed, game day approaching fast. The BAU all sat together to cheer on Spencer and Morgan, Y/N awkwardly with them. Garcia was friendly enough, yapping away, which caused Y/N to yap away as well.

Until it was Spencer's turn to bat.

Y/N rushed to the fence, clapping, “You got this, baby!” He turned his head and gave her a look that resembled a deer caught in headlights. Prior to the game, she said she won't embarrass him. She had to promise it, because he knew how competitive she was.

Spencer gave her a thumbs up, going to the home plate and getting into position.

“Bend those knees, baby,” Y/N called. Members of the secret service glanced at each other smugly, making her scowl.

Spencer did as told, eyeing the ball nervously. The pitcher was a mean-looking guy with a vicious bulldog expression. He pitched the ball, and Spencer squeaked, swinging at nothingness as the ball flew past him.

“Nice try, baby, nice try!” Y/N said. He turned his head to glare at her, before looking back at the pitcher. “Oops,” she said, making Garcia giggle.

Spencer ended up striking out, incredibly embarrassed. He had a girlfriend coaching him at the stands and a team that was completely pissed at his inability to even catch the ball. He was humiliated.

Until he turned his head, seeing Y/N, camera in hand, taking pictures of him with a huge smile on her face. She grinned, doing a finger heart, and Spencer felt his spirits lift slightly, raising his hand and doing one back at her.

And then a ball went flying into his abdomen.

After that setback, the FBI was back to batting. Morgan landed on third, this guy Ron at second. The FBI was at two outs already, losing to the secret service by one point.

And it was Spencer's turn to bat.

He heard some other agents groan from the dugout, making him feel like absolute shit. As he trudged to the home plate, the secret service members were all chuckling to themselves, already knowing they won another year in a row.

Spencer felt awful.

Then he passed Y/N. She had a determined look on her face as she stood in front of the fence. “Baby, he's a shitty pitcher. Don't swing at every pitch.”

Spencer took a deep breath, nodding. “O-Okay.”

She cracked a smile, “You got this. Make them cry. I already don’t like them.”

He laughed, nodding and going to the home plate. Morgan nodded from third, and Spencer clenched his fists around the bat.

Putting on a mean face, he gathered the courage to spit, staring at the pitcher straight in the eye (who looked a tad bit grossed out). He planted his feet shoulder width apart, bent those damn knees, had that elbow raised.

The pitcher threw his first ball, and as instinct, Spencer swung, missing. He cursed under his breath.

“Chin up, baby, chin up!”

Spencer turned his head to Y/N, who was smiling wide. Then his team, all cheering for him in the stands. His family.

The pitcher threw again but Spencer got himself, not swinging the bat.

“Good job, baby, that pitch sucked!” Y/N said proudly. She paused, “I mean, it didn't suck…”

“We're going to get kicked out,” Rossi muttered to Hotch, who chuckled softly in agreement.

The ball went to Spencer again, and this time, with a low growl, he swung hard, bat connecting with the ball and sending it flying.

Everyone gasped, watching the ball descend into the air, until Y/N shouted, “RUN!”

Spencer snapped out of his trance, bolting towards first base while Derek sprinted towards home. Once at first, Y/N shouted for him to keep going, and so he did, rushing to second.

Longues burning, he dashed for home, throwing himself onto the plate.

And saving the game.

The FBI erupted into cheers, everyone rushing towards him and hauling him to his feet, slapping him on the back and shouting in joy. After a few hollers, Spencer was lifted off of his feet, laughing excitedly after their victory.

Once the crowd dispersed, Spencer immediately ran to Y/N who was waiting for him, a big grin on her face. She already had her arms open, which he dove into.

“You saw that, right?!” Spencer asked her, practically vibrating in eagerness.

“I did! I told you spitting works!”

He was pretty sure the spitting had nothing to do with it, but he didn't argue. “I can’t believe I made a home run!” He pulled away to greet his team, but Y/N stopped him.

“Jesus, baby, you’re lucky you didn't trip. How embarrassing that would have been,” She chuckled, gesturing to his untied sneakers. She kneeled down, tying them for him.

Prentiss, who was still sitting with the rest of the BAU, noticed the exchange from the corner of her eye.

Maybe Y/N wasn't too bad.

When Y/N finished tying his shoes, she stood up and kissed his rosy cheeks, red in embarrassment. She then patted his back and nodded, silently telling him to go to his team.

With a grin, Spencer rushed off to them, babbling about his hit.

_______

A few weeks had passed, and Y/N was with some friends at a softball field, getting ready for a game. Slipping on her glove, she turned her head, smiling at Spencer who was seated at the bleachers. He waved, and that's when she noticed Derek and Penelope were sitting next to him.

Y/N's eyes widened and she grinned, waving back at them.

Then, surprising her even more, Emily Prentiss took a seat with them.

It seemed that, little by little, Y/N was winning over the BAU.

#doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg #fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #bau team #spencer reid fic

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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

Note

farmer!price & sweet little girl next door!reader (yes i’m thinking about this pairing in the most perverted way possible)

a/n: here it is. the long-awaited neighbor!price fic <3 Hopefully, you all enjoy these Price crumbs. anon is onto something ;) & thx for the dog name ideas! ⊹。°˖➴ ao3 ver. // word count: 6.9k

// warning(s); nsfw (18+), implied age gap [r is mid-twenties, price is early/mid-forties], dadbod!price agenda, oral (r.), p/v unsafe sex, fem!reader

Price is living out his recluse dreams. Retired and secluded, finally! It was more than he’d wished for, honestly. He always desired a patch of land far from town, leaving out scraps for the critters, finding the simple pleasures.

But here he was, with a small, self-sufficient farm, growing enough to feed himself. It was a quiet, rewarding lifestyle. Entirely the opposite of his years in the service. Right now, he found himself conquering his lost list of mundane tasks. Watering his herbs, then sorting the junk that accumulated in his storage shed.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

After a grueling afternoon of unpacking, you needed to unwind. Right now, you found yourself lounging on your deck, head tilted back as you shielded your eyes from the summer sun. As if moving and assembling furniture wasn't exhausting enough — now you had the sweltering star beating down on you.

Abruptly, you feel something soft brush against your legs. Before you can open your eyes, there's a hefty weight plunged atop your lap. Your eyes snap open, greeted with the hot breath of a smiling golden retriever.

You caress the blonde fur, receiving several licks along your hand. "Zeus! down, boy!" A husky voice shouts, followed by the face to match it. The eager, not-so-small ball of fluff hops off your lap, prancing toward the man walking around the side of your house.

A charcoal gray t-shirt hugging his buff but girthy body. A man who's been in shape for years — arms bulging and tanned from hours of working outside, all whilst his older years have caught up to him a bit on his stomach, which stuck out with just a bit of fat cushion.

"My apologies, he knows better." He rubbed his head and flashed an apologetic look, exposing the faint abs you'd already imagined on him at first glance. Price's eyes wandered you from top to bottom, nearly forgetting to unfurrow his brow.

What a sight for sore eyes, you were.

You peer down at your lap, now stained with dirt in the shape of paws — on your thighs and the shorts you're wearing. "Oh, not a big deal! he gave me quite a scare, but it was a pleasant surprise." You look over at Zeus, his tail thwacking against his owner's leg.

For a few moments, all he did was leer, before he snapped himself out of it. "John," he steps forward as if going to shake hands but retracts hastily.

"—'m all covered in dirt, wouldn't want to get you dirtier than Zeus already has, hm?" He chuckles when he finishes his rhetorical, smearing the dirt onto his denim pants.

You shake your head and chuckle gently, “no room for pleasantries in the countryside, is there?” You case his appearance again, eyes skimming his muscles.

John flashes a polite smile, muttering a reply before hooking a finger around the Golden’s red collar. “Be seeing you.” He effectively leads the sparky dog out of your yard, preventing both any more surprise attacks and more ogling on his part.

Not only was getting a new neighbor a surprise, but her being so damn tempting — an entirely different genre of awe.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Yesterday wasn’t your smoothest first impression. looking rugged and sweaty from unpacking, ending up covered in dirt and in awkward conversation. You wanted a second chance. He was going to be your neighbor after all — and it wasn’t like there were many others. John was the only one within reasonable walking distance, it seemed.

Now, wearing a sundress as opposed to sweat-caked shorts and a tee — you were more confident in your odds of at least being civil with your neighbor. At the very least, a man who would roll up your trash bins before a storm. Perhaps even supply a spare cup of sugar if you were being optimistic.

You trudge down the dirt road, careful not to roll your ankle on the unpredictable mounds of earth. For a few moments, you’re convinced you’ve gone the wrong way. It’s either dense forest, patches of crop, or more road ahead of you.

Lord knows you were exhausted yesterday, maybe the handsome neighbor was just a figment in your fried mind. A foolish thought — but one that worsened the longer you walked.

The tray in your hands; a few oatmeal dog biscuits and some cookies made from the recipe on the chocolate chip bag. It was better than coming empty-handed, wasn’t it? That would just be distasteful judgment.

With eyes glued ahead, you nearly let the handles of the platter slip when you finally spotted the lights in the distance. Golden-tinted and countless, illuminating the updated cabin. In the yard, lay a few scattered chewed ropes and muddy tennis balls. You could safely assume you made it to the suave man’s residence.

You knock on the oak door, seeing the hues of a television flickering through some of the bent blinds. After a few seconds of mumbling, the door swung open.

Price answered with a beer in one of his fists, instantly straightening his posture when he laid eyes on you. The sundress; cherry red with splotches of tiny florals. Dusk sunbeams highlighted your bone structure seamlessly — casting an ethereal glow on your captivating flesh.

Today, instead of gray, his shirt is army green and just as snug of a fit. You can't help but prolong your stare when he leans against the doorway, his bicep bulging even when he stands with nonchalance. He's even more of a knockout when not covered in dirt; though you suppose the same could be applied to you.

"This is a surprise." He glances at the tray in your hands, then at the polite smile on your face as you flash it in his direction.

With a beam, you extend the platter out and wait for him to take it. "I wasn't sure when to come. I hope I'm not intruding." You speak softly, catching a glimpse of his tidy living space.

“No such thing as intrusion around here, eh? ‘m practically searching for chores these days. A little conversation won’t bother me any.” Price chuckles a bit, flicking his head as an invitation for you to join him.

You step inside behind him, engulfed by the scent of tobacco and cedarwood. The cabin's interior walls have been stained with a warm tint, stretching throughout what bits of the space you can spot. Immediately through the front door is his kitchen, likely the most modernized of the rooms.

Distressed, truffle-colored counters in an L shape; altogether enough space for a man living alone. Yet, the countertops are anything but cluttered — nearly spotless, in fact. He slides the tray across the counter, finally unveiling the homemade treats for both human and man's best friend.

"Figured chocolate chip would be simple enough, right?" You speak up, watching him examine one of them. For a few moments, he's lost in thought again, not taking a bite.

You furrow your brows, "please don't tell me I baked the one dessert you don't like."

Instantaneously, a grin smears on his face, then a rumbly snicker. "Nothing like that," he bites the cookie in half and savors its sweetness, "—just not used to having neighbors this deep in the woods, you're my first. And she can bake too, huh? Aren't I lucky?" He teases a bit at the end, rinsing off some chocolate residue from his scarred fingertips.

Well, it was only the recipe on the back of a bag, so you surely hope it would taste decent. You decide it best to leave that out, merely twirling your thumbs as he shuffles around the space.

Finally, he walks back around the counter and holds out the same beer he sipped when he answered the door. Your reluctant fist wrapped around the brown bottle's glass neck, following him as he led you to the porch.

“Weren’t you watching something?” You question, sitting yourself beside him on the cement steps. Zeus’ collar jingle sounded once the back door closed, the sound a signal for him to join his owner out back.

John shook his head, taking another sip of the brew as his achy muscles relaxed again. “You’re doing me a favor; I could cut back on my screen time.” He reached out his free hand and gently patted the dog’s head, giving his fur a few strokes.

“Cut back? By the looks of your land, you’re outside all day.” You retort with a playful scoff, feeling the nuzzle of a wet nose along your leg. Without shame, you glance at his hands, observing their size and condition. “The callouses don’t lie.”

You piqued his interest at the mention of his hands, and he'd noticed just how long you were staring at them. "Suppose you're right, love." On purpose, he caressed the neck of the bottle with his thumb. He takes another hefty sip, which prompts you to take your first.

You didn't have the heart to tell him before how much you disliked the taste. The tangy beer coated your mouth and throat, seemingly sliding down at an agonizing pace just to prolong the torment. Still, the scrunch of your face spilled enough of the fib.

"Faces don't lie, either." Price mocked, taking the barely touched bottle from your grip. His words held double meaning — one harmless and one sinful — though that truth was unbeknownst to both of you.

In a matter of seconds, you'd been caught in a petty lie. You wipe away the bit that dripped between your lips. "Guess you caught me," you chortle, "I don't like beer much."

"Much? Don't be so modest." He screws the top back on and sets it on the wooden deck beside him. "You hate it, don't you?"

The way he spoke had you in some sort of trance. Perhaps it was his age, perhaps it was his obvious past of influence. It was... like being interrogated. Not in the pathetic way an inexperienced civilian would mock his way through, either. The agitation of being put on the spot — feeling as though you'd done something illegal the second you approach airport security.

That is what this felt like; only the words came tender and sportive.

“Alright, I hate it.” You affirm, unable to wipe the simper off your face. “We’ve officially made it through our first lie. That’s a milestone, right? Saves us the sting later.” Unintentionally, you haven’t broken your stare — even when he did to gaze at the sunset in front of him.

Later? Would this company become a routine? How wrong was it for him to hope it would?

Eventually, he nods and turns to face you again, shamelessly taking you in like it was the first time. “Ah, you’re like me. Ten steps ahead, got everything planned out already.” He questions, squinting slightly from the bright dusk, which was actively being snuffed by storm clouds. "Besides, I could tell your lie from miles away. The way you fumbled that bottle."

You waved a flustered hand of dismissal. "Yeah, yeah. Point taken. I'll remember that next time."

John cocked a brow, "next time, eh? With no more fibbing?" He asked you jovially, once again putting you under his spotlight.

But this time you knew how to handle it. Besides, you had learned his ways of meaningless banter — despite only spending several minutes with the man. "Next time I'll make sure it's not so obvious, and you'll be none the wiser."

"It was more than how I held the bottle," you added accusingly. "You don't just afford a place like this with retirement savings. Not without sacrifices."

He was more than someone who once had a mundane, meaningless job. You could tell it from 'miles away' he was a man who had stories to tell. More than his scarred body already did, that was. A fierce career, a position of power — something cutthroat, literally.

Of course, you had no intention of prying. Screwing this relationship up prematurely would be a grave mistake.

Fortunately, he remained untouched by your suspicions; they intrigued him. And John, he knew you weren't wrong about him, either. He was one of the few souls who could confidently declare he'd seen it all — or the closest thing to it.

"Sacrifices... is a way to put it," his lips curled into a polite smile. Finally, he stopped staring holes into you and caught a whiff of musky petrichor in the air. "C'mon, we're due for rain. Get you inside before the mosquitos feast on us."

The same lips pursed, letting out a sharp whistle to recall Zeus. He transformed from a blond dot in the distance into a prancing canine at the speed of light, slowing to a prance when he laid eyes on his owner.

With one hand, he held both bottlenecks between his thick fingers, then opened the back door with the other. Zeus nudged your legs and walked through them, determined to get inside first. The sight made you snicker as you walked inside, hearing the soft creak of the door behind you.

His work boots thudded against the wooden floor as he took them off, setting them neatly beside the door. Yet another unusual trait for men his age living alone, at least in your experience. No clutter in sight, and no grime residue from his tireless yard work.

Now, his steps are a glide instead of thuds when he walks around the breakfast bar. You turned to face him, watching as he ignited a burner for the kettle. "Do you fancy drinking something you'll actually enjoy? Tea?"

You lean against the island, unintentionally allowing a bit of the dress neckline to droop.

“Tea will work.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

In front of you were the only signs of his old self. Metals and ribbons encased behind a glass frame, hung up in the hall as a quaint display of his achievements. Below them, on the hall table, decorative mason jars; most with faux leaves and vines. You made your way up and down, admiring how the rustic, shipshape decor was placed with such intention.

As your gaze panned left to right, you made it to the end of the display. Interest arose when you examined the last jar; a small mason with a bullet inside, littered with indents and some bits chipped away. Your mind swirled with scenarios as you put together the story told in front of you. A career so intense, so all-important; it was difficult to imagine the man in the kitchen enmeshed in one.

In the distance, the kettle whistles, effectively ripping you from your peering. Before he can shout for you, you’ve walked around the corner, ready to claim a drink your mouth will savor.

“Here you are.” Across the marble countertop, Price slid forward the mug.

A green tea of sorts, with a bit of cream on top and a dust of cinnamon. The presentation is nowhere near seamless, with its lopsided spoonful of foam and granules that ended up sprinkled unevenly through his fingers. Still, there was nothing wrong with a drink that looked homemade.

“Matcha?” You ask, wrapping your fingers around the handle of the mug, then using your supporting hand to hold the small plate it’s resting on.

Price glances at the tea box through the frosted glass cabinets then nods. When he presses his own mug to his lips, the tea is ebony and swirling like a cyclone from the sugar he mixed in.

From the corner of your eye, you skim past him and gaze out the window overlooking the deep copper sink. Through its rectangular pane, you see the string of herbs and leaves grown — well-tended and used often in his cooking, surely.

You point a free finger towards the fresh greens outside, “do you grow it?”

He lets out a rumbly chuckle and shakes his head, “if I could. Matcha plants are loads of work.” You now spot the pasty green box poking through the cabinet, which you hadn’t noticed when too occupied with the herb planters.

You mutter a ‘hm’ in response and raise the porcelain rim to your lips, feeling the steam scald the tip of your nose and Cupid's bow. The vegetal fragrance of the green tea soothes your senses — just before the spice of cinnamon gives them a right hook.

To keep your eyes from tearing, you close them and take your first sip. It’s thicker than you anticipated, coating your mouth and throat as you swallow, yet the taste is pleasant and earthy.

Whatever John had done to prepare it, he did it correctly. That much you could tell.

Before your throat can sizzle with aftertaste, the cold foam dollop calms it. From grassy, fresh matcha to a striking sweet cream.

“You have a bit…” Price motions to his mouth, an index pointed toward the left corner of his mouth. The cream is too airy for you to notice any accidental residue. You’ve missed the swear twice before he sighs and raises a crumpled napkin to your lips.

You meet gazes while he dabs at your bottom lip, feeling any confidence seep from you in an instant.

The sweet aroma fleeted instantly with the proximity, now with your nostrils flooded with his fragrance. Smokey and masculine; something rum-adjacent, mixed sinfully with cedarwood and the earthy smell of crisp soil. And then, lastly, there are the pungent remnants of his minty mouthwash, which is slightly diluted by the black tea he swallowed.

This close, you can trace every wrinkle and line with your eyes. While you’re engulfed in his presence, he’s observing. Smothered and suffocating with the weight of diminishing continence. The vermillion sundress, the tray of goodies in the corner of his vision, the twitch of your lips as he dabs and drags with the linen.

Price has yet to notice his other hand, grabbing the tip of your chin with a feather-like hold.

But you have, blinking rapidly a few times while the chalky foam is rid of your mouth, which might as well have been thrown in the trash along with the napkin — because you’ve turned reticent.

“There.” He whispers, mouth curling into a polite glow.

Ultimately, your haze falters. Your senses unfreeze when you’re no longer swarmed by his aroma, or his tender touch when he walks back around the breakfast bar. Warmth coaxes your fingers, still emanating from the tea snug in your grip — even after the milky olive-tinted liquid has gone tepid.

With a perpetually widened gaze, you raised your mug to finish off the rest of your tea. This neighborly visit had played out differently than you expected. You savored about half of the lukewarm brew, letting it mellow the pining that arose when he got close. Sweaty fingers fumbled around the handle when you tipped the cup again, sending a gush of tea down the front of your outfit. The fabric stained instantaneously as the warmth soaked in, whilst the sugary cream made the dress cling in an unsavory, sticky fashion.

You cursed audibly and darted your gaze towards him apologetically, setting the mug down with a clammer. “I’m sorry,” you gasped, feeling an ocean’s wave of dishonor pummel through you at once.

John, who was mid-cleanup, jerked his head to the side when he heard the commotion. When greeted with the frazzled expression, he made an effort to soothe it. It wasn’t your fault; it was only some overpriced, boxed infusion that had collected dust in the back of his cabinet.

Besides, you were in front of him, now in soaked clothing and apologizing profusely.

“Don’t apologize. Happens to the best of us.” That damn smile again. The wrinkles around his eyes, the almost all-knowing look of understanding in them.

He fisted your discarded mug, turning on the sink.

“The washroom is down the hall, in my room. It has a better mirror than the half.” Price wavers through his instructions, overcome with his own helping of uncertainty. Nothing had gone explicitly wrong, per se, but it didn’t mean they went right. But they never do, do they? There’s a reason he decided on a life of recluse, even more, a reason for him to befriend seclusion so closely.

Your footsteps retreated down the hall, passing the picture frames and decor you had been admiring moments ago. John scrubbed both mugs until they were full of suds and then rinsed, placing them on the dish rack afterward. He made it a habit to never leave used dishes to sit in the sink.

Quickly, he walked through the open door of his bedroom. Golden beams peeked out from the gap under the door, where you were frantically blotting the stains. He pulled the string on his bedside lamp, illuminating a majority of the moody, rustic bedroom. His fingers hooked around the handle, gently sliding open the pocket doors of his closet.

His t-shirts hung neatly on the left wall, whilst his fewer button-ups remained on the opposite. With a quick hum, he took hold of his baggiest navy blue tee, draping it over his forearm. From inside his dresser, he grabbed a pair of sweats that were tight on him — enough to prevent them from slipping down your legs.

Inside the bathroom, you alternated between being hunched over the counter in embarrassment, to rubbing your dress profusely. The damp washcloth was doing little to the fabric, which was a few shades darker from the liquid, compressing tighter against you. It wasn’t a flattering look, nor was it a comfortable fit anymore. Akin to the feeling of maple syrup residue on your hands after breakfast, only it was covering the front of your body.

Would it have been better to spill on his authentic wood floors? Was it completely selfish to prefer it, to spare the discomfort of a soaked garment?

Two subdued knocks on the door halted your useless wiping. “I have some clothes.” The gruff voice spoke through the door, yet remained as placid as it was in the kitchen.

“Oh, no need,” you replied dismissively through the door. “I can change at home.” You tossed the wet towel into the small hamper. When you opened the door, Price remained standing there, fresh clothing in hand.

The thought was there, and now were the actions to go along. You didn’t want to change at home or be walking down that dirt avenue at all. At this hour, home would be lonesome and still, regardless of whether your new neighbor was fanciable or not.

But he was; that made him all the harder to decline.

Void of any attempt on John’s part, his gaze scanned the mess that covered you. This time, more obvious than he would’ve liked. It felt wrong; downright distasteful and discouraging, to do so.

Howbeit, he did — and you sensed it this time. The unavoidable gawking at your snug gown, devouring his dwindling abstinence. No unease, imminence, or desire to dismiss yourself ever came. Not like it did with men on the street, who resembled that of depraved, hungry hounds.

John wasn’t corrupted; behind the lust, there was something more, something too complex to daydream.

“Nonsense.” He persisted, the clothes remaining outstretched. “It’s raining. And you’ve got to walk quite a way, don’t you?”

You leaned your head against the thick wood of the door, unable to spit out another worthy excuse. “Thank you. Really.” With a nod, you took the folded clothing, setting the pieces on the countertop beside you. As he accepted your answer and turned on his heels, you mustered the gut to speak again.

“And, John?” You stepped through the threshold of the door, “if I go home in these clothes, you probably won’t get them back.”

“I’ll keep the dish, then.” This time, he didn’t back away after stepping closer. “Do we have a deal?” His breathing picked up subtly but was noticeable against your face. When faced with his proximity before, you fumbled a mug. But now, you were certain of every ache and desire troubling you.

Whoever leaned in first became a fleeting afterthought. It didn’t matter, not while your mouths and noses clashed together. He was the first to give way, to tilt his head to relieve the pressure on your nose, which allowed him more mobility.

Your knees nearly buckled when his hands cupped your cheeks — how the calloused prints of his fingers felt against the opposing texture of your face. It felt natural; a relief to every urge you’ve stifled from the moment he answered his door.

Before you broke away for air, he removed his lips while still maintaining his tender hold on your face.

“Are you sure about this…?” Price posed, pressing his forehead against yours. You exchanged each other's exhales, cloaking your racing thoughts with a suffocating, dizzy effect.

Still, regardless of your thundering heartbeat and draining lungs — you uttered the quickest yes of your lifetime. This time, you turned your head when lips and teeth clashed, back colliding with the door. Your lips parted as you panted, letting his tongue swipe along your lips, leaving them saturated. His beard audibly scraped against your jaw and down your neck, producing goosebumps as you shivered.

Though his movements weren’t theatrical or jaw-dropping, they left you unable to lose focus. His hands wrapped around the sleeves of the ruined gown, rolling the fabric down while he dropped into a kneel before you.

A need to provide, to satisfy, to satiate. No teases, no dramatics; just utter experience. The only terms you would associate with him currently.

The clingy fabric peeled off like a sticky bandage, peeling to expose the damn stain from cleavage to your pelvis. John’s briefly raised to suckle between your breasts, cleaning off every drop of the tea that had soaked through the discarded dress. Down; sternum to belly button, savoring the small remnants of the sweet cream.

“So beautiful,” he muttered, lips pressed to your lower stomach. His hands moved and kneaded your hips in worship. Despite his face hovering in front of your panties, and how he was actively trailing kisses along your thighs — his voice never changed. Not cloaked with blind lust or hesitation.

Admiration, purely; for you, maybe only your body. But you didn’t care about that — or couldn’t — right now. John was utterly too much, From light conversation to huddling in the restroom, then to being backed against the door. One hand rested on your lower stomach, as a means of keeping your back against the door. The other rolled your undergarments down at a sluggish pace, beard and lips following the falling undies.

Your neck craned down, seeing them fall to your ankles, shortly before the cold breeze hit your exposed core — emanating from the bathroom window left slightly ajar. The muscles in your thighs tense when Price’s tongue finally makes brief contact with it, blown pupils still staring up at you.

His tongue lay flat against your clit for a few moments until saliva rolled down his tongue, allowing him to delve deeper. Further on, he would kiss and suckle on the bundle of nerves, and you were sure your grip on the knob couldn’t have been firmer. Experience truly was the right word to describe him, earlier and now more than ever.

Along your slit, he plunged inside, growly breaths vibrating against your sensitivity. Your taste coated his mouth, and your natural scent drove him mad; like no other partner he’d had before.

“Wanna feel you—” Price slurped again, then pulled away to finish, “—clench around my fingers. You want that, sweetheart?” His tongue glistened under the spotty lighting, his buff chest still heavy. He was goddamn distracting in this state, more than he was before.

After a flash of muteness, you nodded your head. As if you could pass up that offer; if it was an offer at all.

True to his word and the desires racing through his head, John slipped his middle finger inside your entrance. Instantly, the appendage glided against the soaked, puffy walls of your cunt, causing him to chuckle with satisfaction.

Even the smallest pump forced a whine from your lips, though you were unsure what you should be pleading for. Tonight, this feeling was already unsurpassed.

“Another, huh? Can’t fuckin’ say no to you, can I?” Next entered his ring finger, the thick digits stretching you out delectably, in ways you could only dream of executing with your own two fingers.

His name slipped out when he curled them against your sweet spot, daring your knees to buckle and send both of you tumbling. His eerily observant nature had him anticipating the sudden weakness, and his other hand holding you in place never once faltered. Finding his shaggy hair, your fingers intertwined with the locks, purely to be holding onto anything of his when you inevitably come undone.

Back to slobbering, his tongue ran laps against your swollen clit, the tip of his nose knocking against it with every pass. Each flick, each thrust making your back arch wildly against the door. And once again, as he anticipated, you ended up clenching around his fingers like he wanted.

So tense, it was any wonder Price was able to keep moving his fingers. His erection pressed against his thigh, the tight denim making him resist the urge to squirm. Oh, how you sounded, how you felt. His years of stamina and strength training will surely be tested once it’s his cock filling you up instead.

The nub throbbed and visibly pulsed when he combined a well-timed lick and curl all at once, plunging you off that cliff of release. Around his head, your thighs clamped tighter than the fingers digging into his scalp. It was clear you’d be reeling this feeling for days to come, probably a climax to forever be unbeaten during your life.

Your heart hammered against your rib cage, your lungs exhausted and working overtime as you sucked in desperate breaths. “Fuck— that was…” You breathed, unable to articulate any one of the feelings assaulting your system.

The leer tugging at the corners of his soaked mouth wasn’t smug, it was pleased; pleasantly. Slowly, he raised himself, holding each side of your face. Price slurred, “You sound lovely when you cum, y’know that?” Before you could lift a finger to answer again, his dangerous tongue swirled around yours, spreading the taste of yourself against your taste buds.

Your sticky inner thighs glided when he blindly led you out of the threshold, collapsing atop you. The frame creaked under the weight of both of you, the mattress now with a crater in the center of it.

“Want you to fuck me, John. Please.” You pleaded between kisses, unconsciously wrapping a leg around his waist for any friction on the mess he caused. The sensitive tip of his cock ached, despite only being rocked against through the thick denim.

As if your sounds of pleasure weren’t divine enough, that fucking word was. Please. So desperate, so distraught. If he had the restraint or the patience, Price might coax a few more begs out of you — but those were the two things he didn’t have currently.

Briefly, his touches ceased when he leaned back. Swiftly unbuckling his belt, he slid out of his jeans and tossed them aside; discarded, now the only clutter in the bedroom. Soaked through his grey briefs, a stain of pre-cum, merely proving how badly he needed you. The same as his jeans, he rid himself of them, erection upright and freed.

Girthy and curved upward a hair, capable of reaching deeper than his fingers. Down his happy trail, which you got a peak of during the first encounter, were his trimmed pubes. The same shade of brown as the hair littering his chest. You examined further, spotting a few prominent veins bound to drive you mad.

Any longer without it, and you were willing to start pawing at him. The stars must’ve been aligned, because pleading wasn’t necessary anymore.

“Spread your legs f’me.” You did, as swiftly as he uttered the command. As wide as comfortable, you exposed the mess of your pussy to him, reflecting off the cool moonlight peaking through his blinds. Glistening and twitching from the first climax, remnants still left around your inner thighs. “Gonna fill you up, fuck you proper, hm? Have you clenching around me?”

As if his fingers weren’t euphoric enough. Gnawing on your bottom lip until it ached, you nodded your head eagerly, hooking an arm around your leg to keep the shaky limb steady.

Price gripped the base of his cock, guiding it toward your entrance. The tip slipped in as smooth as honey, coated in slick and strings of his saliva leftover. With a drenched glide, the rest of him dipped inside, until his pelvis was against yours.

Entirely crammed inside, your head lolled back against the comforter, reeling in the painless stretch of his girth. And how, before the movements began, the natural curve of his cock had him snug against your cervix, kissing all the right places within you. Your fingers trailed downward, beginning to rub circles around your responsive clit, the wet clicks combining with the squelch of his thrusts.

Whatever noises came from you were all-natural and uncontrollable, from a sensual place within you never trespassed. John grunted with every tighten around his length, pumping deeply and with more force. His thoughts earlier rang true, how little restraint you left him with. Already, he could’ve finished inside of you — just from the view of your body alone.

Breasts bouncing, hips jiggling, the sounds of your soaked core, the expression on your face as he got rougher. “Such a good girl, takin’ every inch of me,” his words came out grunts, matching the pace of his jabs.

“You’ll cum for me again, and let me hear those bloody sounds, won’t you? Fuckin’ touching yourself, all needy.” For him, the words acted as a distraction until you came undone for a second time. For you, it enhances your stimulation tenfold — his voice was like nectar, yet it rumbled through the room like thunder.

It mixed with the real thunder outside, which you caught bits of between everything. The rain he said the area was due for, faintly coming down in the distance, and surely headed this way by the time your legs shook.

With a soft nudge, he shimmied closer between your thighs, chest inches from yours, and allowed him to slam against your cervix. Your fingers had gone erratic, desperately teasing the bundle of nerves the closer you got to release.

And John, sure of this, allowed himself to focus on a fraction of his pleasure. You twitched around his length, swallowing every last inch of him. Arousal dribbled from you to the bed, soaking into the navy blue duvet.

When the coil of pleasure began bursting at the seams, his name slipped out again, in between your gasps for oxygen. How his thrusts had turned as sloppy as your fingers, every jerk of his pelvis knocking the wind out of you. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist, feet hooking under his backside to keep him locked in — as if the thought of stopping had ever crossed his mind.

Thighs quivering like your fingers were, you dug your fingernails into his shoulders, leaving crescent indents in his flesh. Yet another string of moans poured out of you, which tipped John over the edge same edge you’d tumbled off twice. His balls contracted while they drained, strings of pearly cum painting you on the inside.

Warmth filled you, from your tummy to your core, his length swimming in his own sloppy release. Your constricted ab muscles slowly eased up as the aftermath of orgasm faded, leaving you breathless and spent. His agape mouth dipped down as he withdrew his softening cock from you slowly, careful to not leave you any more sensitive than you already were.

The kiss distracted you and served as a reminder of what this hookup meant. Not regretful, not meaningless. Something lingered in the air, beyond the smell of sweat and sex.

Though his body begged to collapse atop you and fall fast asleep, you deserved to be taken care of. Price planted a parting kiss on your jaw, making the short trip to the bathroom to grab one of his fresh washcloths.

Silently, you observed his tenderness take over — even though it never left him. With a few featherlike swipes, he wiped away the messy aftermath of arousal, saliva, and cum, disposing of the used towel somewhere in the darkness.

You fought to stay awake, feeling his weight sink beside you once more after some squirming around. Eventually, John successfully got you and himself under the thick comforter, weighted and radiating as much warmth as your bodies. An arm snaked under your head, your back against his chest. The other arm around your waist, keeping you right up against his soft body.

He waited until he saw the rise and fall of your frame, the faint breaths of deep sleep before he decided that was permission enough to do the same.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Insects chirped loudly, enough to stir you awake.

Fresh morning light peaked through the blinds, which had been opened. Through your twitching lids, the intensity made your face scrunch. One hand reached up and rubbed them, while the other palmed beside you.

No sign of your neighbor, if he can have that title after last night.

His side had gone cold, and anything that was askew had been picked up or set back in place. Sitting yourself up, you groaned from hunger and the soreness in your legs. Beside the dresser, were the sweatpants and t-shirt he was going to lend you yesterday. Still neatly folded, placed with care on one of his leather armchairs.

You peeled the comforter off your sticky skin, coated with a layer of sweat from the sunlight on you. Usually overheating would’ve had you lying awake and sizzling, but it was clear that Price had thoroughly tired you out.

In addition to the shirt and pants, he provided a clean pair of boxers — since the ones you came over wearing had been long soiled. And nowhere to be found in the bathroom, where you made your best effort to fix up your appearance.

Aside from the sounds of nature, there was the hum of an appliance when you opened the bedroom door. Down the hall, you passed the dryer; the root of the tumbling sound. Through the small window, was your cherry sundress and underwear, half dry and spinning in circles.

Your bare feet adjusted to the cold wood, taking small, sleepy strides down the hall.

Into the living room, you laid eyes on the shelves around his television. Since you spent most of the visit on the porch, in the kitchen, and obviously the bedroom, you hadn’t had time to inspect this area closely.

Custom-built shelves frame the television. Rustic, meticulous decor placed on them. Some were store-bought, others looked to be souvenirs and memories. Stepping closer, you spotted a few framed photos; four soldiers, with Sharpie written on the corner: 1-4-1.

On the bright side, there is one mystery solved about his past. Military, or SAS, which you spot on their patches. Shuffling along, your gaze sets on the next section. More medals and ribbons, each most likely with their own significance.

Most notably, a plaque displaying his full name and title: Capt. Jonathan Price.

Another mystery solved. Why he had been so observant, so skilled at asking his questions. It all began to make sense, especially the closer you examined the relics. With a slight hm, you decided it best to stop snooping on the man’s possessions and continue your search for him.

No sign of Zeus in the house either, which isn’t shocking since he’s practically sewn to John’s hip.

Through the kitchen you go, finally picking up on the faint voice outside. Through the window overlooking the copper sink, you see Price tending to the herbs you pointed out the previous day, seemingly making conversation with his canine.

You continue on, opening the creaky patio door and shutting it behind you. You walk along the stained wood deck, rounding the corner. He’s in the middle of kneeling down, meticulously planting another herb or seasoning for his mini-garden.

“Looking good, Captain.” You startle him slightly, leaning a shoulder against the paneling of the cabin.

Price’s head perks up, snapping to the side at the sudden sound. And Zeus predictably treks over for your undivided attention, and you’re unable to refuse. The golden walks beside you when you approach further, and John gets to his feet with a small grunt.

“Snooping again, are we?” His lips curl into a harmless smile, dirt-covered fingers playing with the backs of your hands.

You shrug your shoulders, unable to conceal the feelings of fluster. Being put on the spot was something you’d have to get used to, that’s for sure. “Maybe I was. Just a little bit.”

“Careful now, sweetheart.” His voice molds into that of a superior, which you hadn’t heard from him yet. Was it twisted how much it excites you? Price continued, “or I might have you calling me Captain from here on.”

With a light scoff, you muster the last bits of confidence left in you.

“Is that a promise?”

♡‧₊˚✧˖° divider cred. - cafekitsune

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #price mw2 #captain john price #john price #captain price #price #john price headcanons #price headcanons #captain price headcanons #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #price x you #captain price x you #john price x y/n

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pippin-katz · 1 year ago

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6 Little Faces Alex Makes That I Love - Part 1

(not ranked in any order)

No. 1:

There is no other word for this expression than starstruck and it’s adorable. ✨

No. 2:

I’m completely obsessed with the way he watches Henry come closer. It’s so clear that he’s not done something like this, and he’s a little out of his element, but doesn’t care cause he’s so enamored with Henry. There’s just a bit of nervousness and curiosity in his eyes, like he doesn’t know what Henry is going to do next. I think he was already surprised by the way he pushed him.

One of the things that drew Alex to Henry in the first place was the sparks of personality he hadn’t been expecting from a prince. It looks like Alex was genuinely surprised by how forcefully Henry pushed him, like he wasn’t expecting something like that, and he probably wasn’t. Like he told his dad later, “he’s tougher than he looks” and you can also substitute that “tougher” for all the other traits that surprised Alex, like his sense of humor, his authentic and deep compassion for others, and his ability to stand up for himself.

There’s this little trace of awe within the surprise and curiosity. I see that expression and I can feel the way his heart is pounding.

And then of course he starts to get that smile on his face, that somehow still maintains a level of disbelief or admiration. It’s like he just had the brief thought of “I can’t believe how lucky I am”.

I am completely obsessed, how dare you Taylor Zakhar Perez, you adorable, talented, and attractive bastard.

No. 3:

This is like the look he had when Henry first arrived at the dinner, but even more unabashed. You can see the nerves, and the way he takes a deep breath as soon as he sees him. It’s like his mind is going, “wow, he really is beautiful, and now we’re alone”. It’s like he’s thinking “don’t freak out, stay calm” while also being completely blown away by how handsome Henry is.

It is so cute, I hate it.

No. 4:

It’s fast and a bit hard to see, but he gets this quick smile on his face that’s like “oh, okay, we’re doing this then”. He still has that little bit of surprise too, like “damn, alright”, cause Henry pins him hard against that wall.

It makes me think of that moment in the book when they first hook up and Henry tells him why he kissed him on New Year’s, and he mentions being jealous, and Alex says: “You were jealous. You want me.”

And he’s teasing him, so you know he has a shit-eating grin, but also he’s registering the fact that Henry has wanted him for a while, like he’s a bit surprised that he actually wants him, and that the kiss wasn’t just a drunken impulse, or Henry being lonely, but something Henry was wanting to do, with him specifically, even while sober.

That’s kind of the vibe I get from that smile, like “oh, Henry really wants me like this, alright, this is fun, I’m down with this”. I don’t know if I’m making any sense for this one, but hopefully you get what I mean.

No. 5:

This is a sweet moment because you can see the change in his eyes. Henry is explaining why he was a prick to him, so he's still primarily thinking about himself and how Henry's behavior bothered him. But here, you can see the moment he actually registers what he said about losing his dad, and the crown using him, and it's not about him anymore.

Even if you've never experienced the loss of a loved one, you can still understand the gravity of that situation. You may not know exactly what it feels like, but everyone knows it feels horrible.

You can see Alex thinking, and realizing that it had nothing to do with him. He's thinking about the fact that Henry had to deal with the loss of his father, which is already tragic and heartbreaking, but then on top of that, he hears that the crown used him for the attention his grief would bring them. Alex quickly goes from being mad about Henry's attitude to feeling so sad for him.

No. 6:

He laughs a little bit about Henry's quip about him being "ghastly", but it shifts into a small, almost unnoticeable smile. He's so content and happy to be talking to him. Henry probably is too, but both of them are kind of aware that there's no reason for them to stay on the phone any longer. There's a pause before Henry finally says he's going to hang up, and Alex, being the little shit he is, wants to be the one to hang up. Henry lets him, but it takes him several seconds of silence, and Henry making a comment about what the red button was for, before he actually turns over and hangs up. It's so obvious that he doesn't want to, but he subconsciously knows there's no reason to keep talking.

Sometimes when you're on the phone with a friend (or partner), you fall into this rhythm and comforting space of having a friend with you, even if they're not in the room. It's a nice feeling, and when you have to hang up, it can bring about this little wave of sadness. When you hang up, you're suddenly very alone again. I've had it happen to me tons of times after talking to friends on the phone.

The way he smiles softly tells me he's feeling that comfort and relaxation that I described. Then he's reluctant to hang up, because even if they're not talking, they can feel each other's presence through the phone, and that makes him feel like he's not alone.

That's all for now! I might make a part two, we'll see! Thank you for reading if you got this far! :3

Update: If you enjoyed this essay & would like to support me, you can give me a tip on my Ko-Fi! ☺️

part 2 | part 3

#red white & royal blue #rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb thoughts #alex claremont-diaz #taylor zakhar perez #firstprince

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cinnamostar · 11 months ago

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seven dates to fall in love

part two. part three. part four. part five. part six coming soon.

pairing : hyunjin x gn!reader

summary : after a two year long unspoken hatred, hyunjin and you are forced to be costars in a romantic series, but when it comes to filming any of the romance scenes, you both utterly fail and are unable to get through your lines. the director threatens to take your roles away if you two aren't able to get past this within the next week, which spawns the genius idea from both your managers: can you learn to (fake) fall in love in seven dates and save your careers?

wc : 4.3k

cw : actor!au, enemies to lovers ?!, slowburn (?!), cursing, one gorey joke thing, arguing, they;re each other's biggest haters, let me know if i missed anything !!

a/n : this is part one of a possible mini series! not sure how many parts this will be, but let me know what you think <33!! likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated. this is supposed to be an uncomfortable read so i hope i got the vibe down LMAO this is also more to set the scene/story so not much going on in this part...

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Tears rolled down your cheeks as Hyunjin cupped your face, lips trembling as your doe eyes looked into Hyunjin’s. His hands gently rested on your cheek, his palms cool to the touch in contrast to your warm tears. His eyebrows furrowed in concern as his thumb gently caressed your cheek in an attempt to soothe your broken heart, yet his eyes lacked any emotions, no love to be found behind his cold, dark eyes. His body was stiff and uncomfortable, his movements almost robotic as he tried to lean closer to your face, yet all you could do was roll your eyes and sigh, as you braced yourself for what was next.

“Cut!” yelled the director furiously, a frown painted on his face, “This is ridiculous! We are never going to finish filming if you two can’t act out a simple kiss scene with each other.”

Hyunjin and you instantly jumped away from each other, not missing the chance to glare at the other as the director chastised you both.

“You two are amazing actors, that’s why I picked you both for these roles, I’ve seen you both act these kinds of scenes before, but my god, do you two lack chemistry,” ranted the director, his face reddening in frustration, “I get you two don’t like each other, but your entire job is to act like it for a bit. If you guys can’t solve this, then one of you is getting kicked off the project and being replaced.”

The last sentence caused you both to snap your heads towards him, eyes widened in disbelief as you scoffed, “It’s not my fault he doesn’t know how to fucking act properly! He’s the one who is messing up the scenes,” pointing your finger accusingly towards Hyunjin.

Hyunjin crossed his arms defensively, venom lacing his words as he spat with incredulity, “Me? Please, I should be getting paid more for having to pretend to be in love with that face of yours.”

You turned to Hyunjin once more, your hands balling into a fist as you opened your mouth to speak, but you were quickly cut off, “Save it, I don’t have time to listen to your childish arguments anymore. I will give you guys one week to figure this out, and if you are not able to get through this scene, consider it over for one of you,” promptly spoke the director before turning to the crew, “Everyone, go home. We’ll come back in a week from now and hopefully we will have something to work with.”

As everyone began to shuffle off set, you stomped your way to the dressing room, wanting nothing more to get away from Hyunjin at that moment as a rageful fire burned inside of you. You slammed the door open as you slumped in your seat, seething as you remembered Hyunjin’s words and how unlucky you were that he had to be your costar. You sighed as your manager entered right after you, a serious look taking over his features, “Y/N…”

“I know, I know!” you groaned, rubbing your face with your hands out of frustration, “I know a lot rides on this project and I promise I am trying my best to work with him, but he makes it so difficult too!”

Your manager, Chan, gave you a sympathetic look while shaking his head, “Well, you two are going to need to get over your differences somehow. This will look really bad for you if you get kicked off and you will be less likely to get any other roles in the future,” he murmured, “I will… talk to Hyunjin’s manager and see if we can figure something out, okay?”

You removed your hands from your face, your apologetic eyes meeting Chan’s, “I’m sorry, he just really knows how to get under my skin.”

“It’s alright, we’ll work something out. I’m not letting you lose this opportunity,” he promised before stepping out of the room, presumably to meet Hyunjin’s manager.

Sighing once more, you recalled the day you met Hyunjin on the set of another project two years ago. Initially, you both seemed to get along really well with each other and had great chemistry on camera, as you each were playing two side characters that had a small romance flourishing in the film. Yet, somewhere along the line, your relationship with Hyunjin soured out of nowhere, him suddenly being cold with you and making snide remarks every chance he had. It created such an uncomfortable work environment, you almost considered dropping acting altogether, afraid to encounter other similar characters like him. Luckily, Chan had convinced you otherwise, reassuring you he would do everything in his power to avoid any projects with him in it and also insisting your talents would go to waste if you let one guy ruin it all. Besides, you loved acting and you were slowly making your dreams come true. Why would you ever let Hyunjin of all people ruin it for you?

Ever since then, you despised Hyunjin due to his treatment of you and whenever you did have the misfortune of running into him, you did your best to keep it curt and cordial, never lingering around too long. He seemed to be on the same page as you, but the look on his face spoke of every nasty thought he was holding back on, and you hated him for it.

And while Chan did hold up on his end of his promise, it all came crashing down at this latest project. This was an offer neither you or Hyunjin could resist, especially when the writers, producers, and director personally approached both your managers and offered the role to you directly, plopping the opportunity right in your lap. The writers really wanted you both to be the leads, believing you two were perfect for the roles and had even seen that one film project you and Hyunjin did years ago, which unfortunately set their expectations extremely high, which led to the disaster you two are currently in.

It was impossible to say no to them, especially when they went out their way to contact you, and the script was great, it seemed like something you would have so much fun filming it, yet Hyunjin was quick to suck out all the joy from it.

You tried, you really tried to be as professional as possible with Hyunjin, and filming went pretty well the first few days. In fact, it may have gone a little too well that you both left the entire staff speechless after filming an argument scene between the two main characters. So much so, that the director applauded at how real you two were able to portray the scene, even bringing him to tears as he beamed proudly at you two, assuring him that he had made the perfect casting decision. Little did anyone know, you and Hyunjin’s scripted argument was not acting at all, but was a reflection of how you felt about each other. The rageful yelling, the resentful expressions, the improvised insults, and emotions were all entirely real - there was no need for acting when you both loathed one another.

Once it was time to finally start filming the romantic elements, the prospects of this being the next greatest show was squandered instantaneously by the painful awkwardness between you and Hyunjin. And to be honest, it was mostly Hyunjin who was tripping up during these scenes, making anyone who witnessed his weak attempts of being romantic with you cringed due to how much he struggled to even look at you and treat you like a person. Every now and then, you’d find yourself breaking character, but for the most part you were able to get through your lines pretty convincingly. Although, for some reason, Hyunjin was having an incredibly difficult time completing most of his lines and struggled keeping that abhorrent scowl off his face. Yet, even though you had managed to do quite well, you were also being punished by Hyunjin’s ineptitude.

How on Earth was this supposed to all be resolved in one week? This was a two year long feud that was not simply going to disappear over the course of the week, but you knew both of you were too competitive to let this project go. Somehow, it would just have to work out, but it was a matter of how. As you lost yourself in thought, the door to the room opened once more with a nervous Chan standing at the entrance.

You raised your eyebrows in concern as you examined Chan’s anxious body language, “What happened?”

He gently closed the door behind me, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “So… I talked to the producers and Hyunjin’s manager…”

You nodded your head, encouraging him to continue, “Okay, go on. What did they say?”

“They’re really upset and disappointed, as they had really high expectations and now they've decided that they’ll just replace both of you if next week doesn’t go well.”

“What?!” You jumped from your seat in shock, no longer having the possible safety of remaining on the project to back you up.

“And I don’t think I need to tell you how much worse this will be for both your public images,” Chan spoke nervously, almost as if he was dreading to share the rest of the conversation with you, “So, Changbin and I spoke, and as both your managers, we think you two need to do something to get over this bump.”

Your eyes narrowed as you tried to decode Chan’s words, “Uh huh, which means what exactly…?”

“You’re really not going to like this, I’m really sorry, I tried to think of other solutions, b-”

“Please, Chan, just spit it out already.”

Chan sighed, “Well, Changbin and I think the best way you guys can learn to recreate that kind of romantic chemistry is by, well… going on dates this next week? You know, learn to get used to being romantic with each other so it's easier to act it out on camera.”

Your jaw dropped as your eyes bored into Chan’s as annoyance made its way into your body, “No, absolutely not! I want nothing to do with that man, that sounds like a terrible idea!” you exclaimed, your face contorting into a frown as your voice grew louder.

Chan lifted his hands before him in an attempt to fan the flames of your anger, “Y/N, I know, I know, but this is the best we got for now! Do you have any other better ideas?”

Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you shook your head, “No, but… That just sounds like a week of pure torture!” you whined, Chan’s face dropping into an apologetic expression.

“Just promise me you will try your best? It’s only for a week, and then all you will have to do is get through the rest of filming.”

“I guess,” you grumbled, turning your back to Chan as you ran your hands through your hair, “Let’s just hope Hyunjin isn’t too much of a pain in the ass.”

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The next day rolled around as you waited outside of your apartment building with a miffed expression on your face, tapping your feet impatiently as you pulled out your phone to check the time.

7:10pm.

Great, Hyunjin was now ten minutes late to pick you up for your first oh-so practice dates. You felt yourself grow angrier as the minutes passed, your veins burning hot as you contemplated going back inside and calling Chan to yell at him how this idea was never going to work, but before you could, a black car with tinted windows pulled up next to you. The window on the passenger side rolled down, revealing an upset Hyunjin in the driver’s side who called out to you, “Wow, don’t look too happy to see me. Get in.”

This only made your frown deepen as you rolled your eyes, opening the car door to take a seat, “Whatever. Couldn’t even open the car door for me, huh?” you slammed the door shut, crossing your arms as you looked ahead, avoiding Hyunjin’s gaze.

He scoffed while putting the car in drive, “Now why the hell would I do that?”

“Aren’t you supposed to learn how to be all gentlemanly and shit? Isn’t this why we’re doing this?” you snapped, nails digging into your hands as you clenched them in an attempt to hold your anger in.

Hyunjin only shrugged, “Funny you think you deserve that treatment. Just shut up and let's get this over with.”

You held your tongue, resisting the urge to start another quarrel with him in this car ride to whatever restaurant Changbin reserved for you two. It was a 20 minute drive and you refused to waste your breath on some argumentative asshole, and reminded yourself that at the very least you’d be eating something delicious soon enough.The car ride was tense as neither of you dared to speak, especially after Hyunjin turned the music up to hide the deafening silence that hung in the air. As soon as you both arrived at the restaurant, you exited the car in a hurry, desperate for a breath of fresh air and some reprieve from the tension you just sat in. Unsurprisingly, Hyunjin strolled right ahead of you, not making any sort of effort to acknowledge your existence as he marched through the restaurant's front doors as soon as he exited the car, causing you to chase after him just to keep up with his long strides. Truthfully, it felt like Hyunjin was just trying to piss you off, and it was working.

Upon entering the building, you realized Changbin had definitely booked you guys an extremely upscale restaurant, which explains why he was so insistent on making sure you both dress formally. Everyone in here reeked of affluence, and while you and Hyunjin were able to afford these luxuries due to the success of your careers, you still couldn’t help but feel out of place. The other patrons were dressed similarly to you, but there was this extra layer of otherworldly riches radiating off of them. Perhaps it was their mannerism or the snobby, fake, business smiles exchanged amongst them, but something about this place was extremely unsettling.

Hyunjin approached the host with a polite smile, “Reservation for Hwang.”

The host nodded, retrieving two menus before standing in front of both of you, bowing “Mister and Mx. Hwang, please follow me this way.”

Your body physically recoiled with disgust and shock when you heard the host refer to you as Mx. Hwang, wanting to immediately correct him, yet you reminded yourself you were here on a date, so it would be best to try to immerse yourself into the role as much as you can for the sake of your career and the future of this current project. The host led you to your table, which was thankfully located in a more secluded corner of the restaurant, a small candle in the middle of it to help set the romantic mood.

You thank the host as you sat down, graciously taking the menu from his hand with a smile, which dropped into a glower as soon as the host left, “Are you not taking any of this seriously?”

Hyunjin pursed his lips, his eyes scanning the menu in his hand, “You expect me to take you seriously?”

Your jaw dropped, completely flabbergasted at his lack of concern over the situation he put you both in, “What the fuck is your problem?” you growled in a syncopated whisper, trying not to draw any attention to you, “Do you not care about the possibility of both of us losing our roles?”

Hyunjin let out another exasperated sigh, as if you were inconveniencing him, “I am trying to get through his evening with you without wanting to gouge my eyes out,” he dramatically plopped the menu down on the table, “I do care, of course I fucking care.”

“Then can you at least act like it?” you whispered angrily.

“Maybe if you would shut up-”

Before Hyunjin could finish his statement, the waiter came by with an excited and hospitable smile, “Hello, Mister and Mx. Hwang! I hope you both are having a lovely evening. I’ll be your server for the night, can I interest you guys in a bottle of wine before we get started with food?”

You smiled at the server, nodding your head, “Oh, yes, that sounds wonderful. We’ll take whichever one you recommend.”

The server nodded sweetly, blissfully unaware of the tension between the two of you, “Great! I’ll bring out one of the house favorites for you two to try, I’ll be back shortly.”

As soon as the server was out of earshot, you glared down at Hyunjin once more, gripping the menu in hand as your knuckles turned white, “I am going to pretend I didn’t hear you. Do you know what you’re going to order?” you asked, trying to at least make some sort of conversation with him.

Except, Hyunjin just hums a response as his eyes return to the menu, choosing to ignore your question as the chatter of other patrons fills the silence. You let out a heavy exhale, debating on whether you should reach over the table and slap him, play along with him, or continue trying for, once again, the sake of your careers. “Well, I’m going to get the filet mignon. I think it’ll pair nicely with the wine.”

Hyunjin continued to ignore you, now scrolling through his phone which caused your anger to boil up within you as you wondered how on Earth you were going to get through the rest of the night with any sort of progress. “Seriously, Hyunjin? Are you not even going to try?”

He looked up from his phone, an unamused look painting his features, “Please just shut the fuck up. It would make this night a whole lot more bearable if you knew how to keep your mouth shut.”

“Hwang Hyunjin, I swear to f-”

“Alright, here you go,” the waiter returned with a cheery smile, setting down to glass cups while popping open a bottle of wine, “Are you two ready to order?” he beamed as he poured a healthy amount of wine in each of your glasses, and lord knows you need a drink right now.

“Ah, thank you,” you forced a courteous smile, “I’ll take the filet mignon, please.”

“Alright, and what about you, sir?”

“I’ll have the whole grilled snapper, thank you.”

“Perfect, I’ll have those out as soon as they’re ready.”

You felt yourself growing incredibly frustrated as time ticked by, unable to sit still in your seat due to the roaring fury you felt inside of you. You just could not understand why Hyunjin was so hateful towards you, you had no idea what caused him to behave this way with you and you were growing sick of it. Maybe you could confront him about it, but right now, you were way too riled up to even think of having that conversation with him. Your face was stuck in a permanent scowl as Hyunjin wore a blank expression, seemingly not caring about the circumstance you both were in. It floored you that Hyunjin wasn’t taking any of this seriously. He said he cared about the fact he was at risk of losing this role, yet his actions and attitude said otherwise.

If looks could kill, Hyunjin would’ve been dead ten times over, yet as he looked up to meet your eyes, he returned your gaze with a humorless one, “You know, staring is rude.”

It was taking an exuberant amount of self control for you to hold it together, “I just can’t understand how you’re so relaxed about this. It’s like you want us both to get dropped from this project.”

“Like I said, I do care, but this whole arrangement isn’t so easy to do,” he said sternly, “You’re not even giving me the chance to get comfortable. You can’t just expect me to be able to act like we don’t hate each other. And pressuring me isn’t helping much either, is it?”

You bit the inside of the cheek, recognizing that Hyunjin wasn’t entirely wrong in how he was feeling. “I guess so,” was all you could manage to reply, not willing to give him the satisfaction that he was right.

Once more, an uncomfortable, tense silence loomed over as you each waited for your food. You decided it was best to deal with this rather than forcing a conversation, perhaps it was best to let Hyunjin take the lead since he was the one struggling with this disaster. Despite the heavy atmosphere, you found your muscles slowly relaxing as time went on as your focus returned to the environment around you, how decadent each detail of the restaurant was and the false laughters of businessmen filled your ears.

The waiter returned with both your meals in hand, grinning from ear to ear, “Alright, here’s the grilled snapper for you, sir,” he carefully laid the plate in front of Hyunjin before turning to you with a sweet smile, “And here’s the filet mignon for the beautiful Mx. Hwang.”

You noticed Hyunjin trying to hold back a teasing laugh at the waiter’s comment, even going as far to add, “They’re lovely, aren’t they?” But only you could see through the fakeness Hyunjin wore as the waiter politely agreed, causing you to kick Hyunjin hard in the shin from under the table. Hyunjin’s face winced as he thanked the waiter for the food before glaring at you, “What? You want us to act like a couple, but the moment I do something, you have a problem with it?”

You grumbled, annoyance lacing your voice, “Oh, shut up. You were being sarcastic, you asshole.”

“Oh, really? I would say our server didn’t have a clue, I’d say I’m a pretty good actor,” he smirked, picking up his fork and knife, “Let’s just enjoy our food, hm?”

You returned Hyunjin’s smirk with an insincere smile, “You’re right, it’s probably the only good thing that’ll come out this evening.”

Hyunjin only hummed in agreement, choosing to ignore your comment as he dug into his food, you doing the same as the familiar tense silence enveloped you once more. In all honesty, this felt like it was going nowhere, it felt like this whole project was doomed from the very inception of it and Hyunjin’s stubbornness was only making this more difficult than it needed to be. The idea that you had to put your full trust and the fate of your career in someone else was too much, it was ridiculous, yet here you were, with the man you loathed the most having full control on whether this project would be a success or a blemish on your career. His lack of cooperation filled you with anxiety, yet you knew you had no choice. Patience wasn’t always your strong suit, but Hyunjin never failed to test it and you weren’t sure if you were going to survive this entire week if this was how every meeting was going to be like.

You were half way through your meal when Hyunjin cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts, “So, why did you take the project knowing I was going to be the male lead?”

You snorted at his question, “Could be asking you the same thing.”

“Well, I honestly took the role thinking you wouldn’t do it knowing it was me as the lead,” mumbled Hyunjin.

“Wow,” you stared at him with disbelief in your eyes, “You really thought I’d reject a hand delivered opportunity?” you let out a surprised laugh, “Besides, the script seemed fun. Just didn’t realize you’d be so impossible to work with.”

“I see,” responded Hyunjin as he continued to eat, causing you to raise your eyebrow, fully expecting a witty response from him in return.

The rest of dinner went on without a word, that being the only exchange throughout the night. While it was not an enjoyable time, you and Hyunjin seemed to have agreed that the silence was far more welcomed than any bickering you two would engage in, preferring the uncomfortable peace over anything else.

The car ride home went the same, no words other than the loud music that drummed over your incessant thoughts, anxiety crawling throughout you as you began to worry that maybe you were losing out on the biggest role of your career, all thanks to Hyunjin of all people. If this didn’t work out, this would make it impossible for you to find other roles in the industry, as rumors would inevitably spread about how difficult it was to work with you and Hyunjin. You couldn’t trust him one bit, you had no faith in him that he would be able to get over his own differences with you, ones that you still had no idea where they even spawned from.

As soon as Hyunjin pulled up in front of your apartment, you left his car without a word, not even looking back before making your way up to your unit. You pulled out your phone as you unlocked the front door, stumbling as you dialed Chan’s number.

“Oh, Y/N! How did it go?”

“Chan, this isn’t going to work. We’re fucked.”

#cinnamostar writes #fanfic #skz #skz angst #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #skz hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #skz hyunjin x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin x reader

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whereianonymouslypostfics · 5 months ago

Text

Break In

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: How Y/n ends up moving to the compound

A/N: :(

Warnings: blood, violence, injury, sexual assault, angst, hurt/comfort

You’d been alone for hours which wasn’t rare for your day off. It was in the middle of the week, and rarely was Wanda able to spend it with you due to her busy schedule. For this reason, you’d spent the morning cleaning the apartment and going on a walk because of how nice it was outside. You typically went grocery shopping today, but you were too tired when you returned mid-afternoon and decided to take a nap.

You barely shut your bedroom door behind you when you hear the unmistakable sound of your front door being kicked in. Your heart jumps into your throat as you look around the room for anything that can be used as a weapon. The only one you have within reach is in the bag you take to work, and you barely have the knife in your hands when your door swings open with a loud bang.

You can’t stop the surprised gasp that leaves you at the sight of two men standing in your bedroom. You don’t recognize them, not that you’d expected to, and you move without thinking. You grab the lamp on the table behind you and bring the heavy metal base down hard against one of the intruders faces. You miss and it only hits his shoulder, but you still hear a pained curse as you’re tackled onto the bed.

Your breath is knocked out of you and you stare wide eyed up at the brunette who is crushing you underneath his weight. You flip open your knife as his arm presses down against your throat to stop any sound you were about to make. You can’t tell what you’re aiming for, but you nearly sigh in relief when you hear him scream as you stab him hopefully somewhere it really hurts. You drag the knife up as you rip it free, and you’re rewarded with another scream and a spray of blood that covers your clothes and the comforter.

You don’t have much time to celebrate before you’re hit across the face and thrown off of the bed. You manage to hold onto your weapon, but you feel a burning pain in your stomach from where you land on the ground and roll into the wall. You focus just long enough to close the knife and throw it under the bed before you focus on the shadow looming over you.

“You’re going to pay for that you little bit-!”

You’re grateful about many things in life. First and foremost, that when Wanda moved in with you, she didn’t make you clean up all of the clutter in the bedroom. You’d of course compromised and made room for her by relocating some of your books to the spare bedroom. You’d wanted your girlfriend to feel comfortable, but some of your old habits die hard.

Including moving some of your old storage containers from school.

You reach for the bottom drawer that you know if filled with notecards and random pages from your anatomy class first year. You slide it free from the rest and fling it up and toward the sneering face above you. He’s momentarily distracted by the sudden appearance of pink and green paper, which gives you enough time to stand up and drop the container on his head and shove him to the ground. He stumbles into his friend who’s grabbing a knife much larger than yours from his belt. You curse and do the only thing you can think of and charge toward the brunette who’s thrown the plastic container onto the floor, but isn’t prepared for you to barrel into him.

“Fuck.”

You curse at the strain of shoving him into his friend hard enough that they both end up on the floor. You ignore it as best you can as you jump over the duo and run for the front door. You grab your phone where you left it on the counter as you fly by the kitchen on your way out. You are already dialing when you take a step out into the breezeway.

“Oh no you don’t.”

You press the call button at the same time that someone grabs you from behind with an arm around your waist and a hand over your mouth so your scream is only loud enough for your next-door neighbor who’s never home to hear.

You continue to curse him as he drags you back into your apartment despite your protests. He’s much larger than you are and you’re easily subdued when a third hand reaches out for your phone that you’re holding onto for dear life. You realize it’s the brunette that you stabbed when you notice the bloody hand out of the corner of your eye.

You’re getting lightheaded from how tightly you’re being held back against the body behind you, and you realize that if you don’t do something soon, you’re going to be hurt or worse if these two are after you for the reason you suspect.

“Ow, you fucking bitch!”

You throw your head back as hard as you can into the brunette’s nose as he drags you past the kitchen. Your phone falls to the floor when you throw it down, and you scream as soon as you catch your breath.

“Let me go you fucker! You’re going to—”

You’re honestly not sure what you would have said next because any threat felt empty when it was two against one, and you were once again on your back beneath an angry blonde who had blood running down his face. You only have a second to feel victorious about the probable broken nose when you’re hit so hard you see stars. You curse under your breath and try to regain your bearings only to realize you’re on your stomach now. You panic when you feel strong hands twist your arms behind you back and hold you down while another set of hands fall to your hips. You twist and turn and try to break free, but it’s useless and you feel your anxiety peak when you hear the rustling of clothes behind you.

Someone fists your hair and shoves your face into the comforter so you can barely breathe, but this doesn’t stop you from screaming when you feel a hand between your legs. You try to move away but you’re only pressed harder into the mattress and the hand in your hair tightens.

“I’m going to have fun…”

He trails off and suddenly his hand is gone from between your legs and your hair. You realize that you’re no longer being held down a few seconds after you register the two nearly simultaneous thuds. You sit up on your forearms grimacing in pain as you look around for the intruders. You don’t see them immediately but you hear someone move behind you and your gaze falls to your precious turtle paperweight that you keep on the bedside table next to you. You lunge for it and spin around prepared to launch it into someone’s skull, but you stop short when you spot a familiar face.

“Wait! It’s okay, it’s just me.”

You end up shot putting it at Bucky who manages to catch it and set it aside before he takes a second to look you over. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that your injuries appear minor. He reaches out for you when he sees your eyes drop to the two dead men on the ground. Their blood soaking through the carpet and filling the room with a sickening smell.

“Come on, Y/n. Let me get you out of here.”

You don’t think about the dead men or the police that may be on their way, and you just nod numbly as you reach out for your friend and allow him to lead you out of your wrecked apartment.

Wanda’s pacing like a caged animal as she waits for you to arrive. She’d been in the middle of a meeting for something she can’t even remember now when you’d called her. You knew that she was rarely available when at work, and you always texted her unless something was wrong. So when she saw you calling her she didn’t hesitate to answer. She hadn’t been expecting to hear what she did, and the sound of you shouting at someone to let you go sent her running.

She’d told Bucky to keep close to you since she’d moved in, but today he’d been a little farther away running errands for her. She’d had him check in every hour or so by walking by your apartment, and she was grateful that he was on his way back when you called her. He’d called her after finding you and given her a rundown of what happened. She’d been furious and slightly miffed that she hadn’t been the one to kill the two men that hurt and violated you. She’d sent Steve to survey the damage at the apartment and clean up the evidence. He’d sent her pictures as requested and ever since Wanda saw the destruction and the amount of blood in the bedroom, she’d been inconsolable.

Bucky had told her that you had a few minor injuries, but he’d found you being held down on the bed. She luckily didn’t need to ask before Bucky clarified that everyone was still dressed, but that didn’t stop her from seeing red. She had asked for her rooms upstairs to be ready for when you arrived and finished up in medical. You wouldn’t be able to stay at your apartment anytime soon, if ever again, but she’ll figure that out later. Right now her main concern was you.

The sound of approaching footsteps makes Wanda stop in her tracks and turn. She feels her heartrate kick up and her face fall when she spots you in a wheelchair that’s being pushed by Bucky. There are a couple of nurses walking behind you, but Wanda can’t spare them a glance as she studies you and feels a wave of guilt wash over her.

Your cheek is bruised and you have a couple of cuts on your forehead and temple from where you’d hit the wall or been struck. She notices that your shirt’s been cut away and you’re holding some bloodied gauze over your stomach. Wanda wonders if you’re dizzy and if that’s why you’re sitting down, but you clarify as soon as you see her panicked expression.

“I’m okay, it’s mostly my back.”

Wanda cringes at your voice and how rough it sounds. She looks to Bucky for an explanation, but he just shakes his head as he leads you to the closest room. Wanda watches as you’re brought to the bed and she doesn’t realize she hasn’t said anything until she’s standing right beside you. She sticks to the side that the nurses aren’t on as they rush to get an IV in you and hook you up to something. You wince a little as Wanda reaches out to brush your hair behind your ear which unfortunately reveals caked blood that she hadn’t noticed before.

She doesn’t care what you say. You’re definitely not okay.

“I’m so sorry this happened, Y/n.”

She watches as you lift your hand off of your stomach at the doctor’s request and she pulls away the gauze to reveal a steadily bleeding wound. Wanda didn’t even realize a doctor had arrived until she’s being ushered away so they can take care of you. You squeeze her hand before shooting her a nervous look as you bite your lip. Wanda doesn’t care what you’re about to say, she’ll agree to it and more if it will help you feel better.

“Will you come back soon? Please?”

Wanda gets in the way one last time to kiss your forehead before nodding in agreement. She knows she needs to give them time to examine you figure out the extent of your injuries, but selfishly she hopes it doesn’t take long.

“They won’t be able to keep me away.”

Wanda focuses on your smile as she reluctantly backs away and heads to the door. She’ll be back soon, but first she’s going to figure out what the hell happened this afternoon.

Unfortunately, there’s not much else to tell her when she checks in again with Steve. They’ve cleaned everything up and they’re figuring out how to replace some things that were damaged beyond repair. He has several people looking into who could have hired the intruders, but so far nothing. Wanda is frustrated but not enough to leave you and try to find answers for herself. She needs to trust that her friends can figure this out while she focuses on you. She’d thought more about what they could have wanted. If their goal had been to kidnap you, they would have left before Bucky arrived, right? If they’d wanted to kill you, as much as she hates to admit it, they probably could have succeeded before help arrived. That said, their injuries told her that you put up a hell of a fight which has her proud and disgusted in equal measure. She hates the idea of anyone touching you, and she swears that if they weren’t dead, she’d enjoy spending hours tearing them limb from limb.

Wanda’s distracted from her thoughts of murder by someone clearing their throat. She turns to see the doctor who’s been treating you, and she immediately has her full attention. After thanking Bucky for his help, he’d offered to go figure out what he could. This left just Wanda to figure out how you were doing.

“How is she?”

Wanda listens patiently as your doctor tells her of all your injuries. The ones on your face she’d seen and guessed how those had happened. She’s horrified to hear that you’d been thrown against a wall, and she has to push down her murderous thoughts to pay attention to the rest. You’d accidentally cut yourself on your knife, but luckily this injury was already treated and closed. It was mostly your back and head that would bother you. She’d been told that the soreness of your throat from being choked will likely go away in a couple of days. Wanda’s told to watch for any signs of a concussion and if they appear that they’ll run additional tests on you. For now, you just needed plenty of rest and some pain medication.

Wanda opens her mouth to thank the doctor, but she stops when she remembers what Bucky had told her. She forces herself to speak even though her mouth is suddenly bone dry.

“Was she hurt anywhere else?”

Wanda can’t make herself say the words, but luckily the blonde seems to understand and she feels overwhelming relief when her response is a negative.

“Not that I can tell, and not that she mentioned.”

You’re lying down when Wanda comes back into the room, and you immediately smile at the sight of her. You consider sitting up to greet her but Wanda rushes forward to stop you. She kneels before you and reaches for one of the hands that you’ve propped your head on.

“Hey detka. Are you feeling any better?”

She watches as you settle back down and nod with a heavy sigh. All of your injuries feel like a dull ache and you’re glad that your exhaustion has finally kicked in. You could sleep for days, but you wanted to make sure you saw Wanda first.

“A little. I’m mostly just tired now.”

You shift slightly and Wanda notices that your IV line beside your pillow dips down toward the ground before running up to the machine that’s hooked to a metal pole. She figures you’re receiving fluids and pain meds. At least she hopes you are. The glazed look in your eyes confirms her suspicion and she figures she should let you sleep.

She nods before she kisses your forehead again and studies your injuries.

“I bet. You should rest, Y/n.”

You seem to start at this and your eyes open as you look around the room briefly. You aren’t sure what else Wanda has to do today and you don’t want to assume that she’ll drop everything for you, but you really don’t want to be alone. You say this and Wanda shakes her head when you ask if someone’s been assigned to watch you if she can’t.

“I’m going to stay with you. If that’s okay?”

Wanda sees relief and joy in your eyes as you nod only to immediately regret it. You wince but Wanda doesn’t get to comment on it before you try to pull her closer.

“Please. Will you hold me?”

It takes some maneuvering and extra caution on Wanda’s part, but a couple of minutes later she’s lying behind you with her arms wrapped around your waist. You already feel safer and you wish you’d never had to wake up this morning to find Wanda gone.

You think back to what happened and you realize how lucky you were that their goal hadn’t been to simply kill you. Although you got a few hits in, they hurt you a lot more and it will take you days to feel better. You shift underneath the thin sheet and cringe at the memory of how far they could have gone if Bucky hadn’t showed up.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you open your eyes to find them clouded by tears. You take a deep shuddering breath before squeezing Wanda’s hands where they rest low on your stomach.

“I’m sorry.”

You barely whisper this but Wanda hears it and frowns in confusion. She can’t imagine why you feel the need to apologize. She’s the one who feels like she’ll need to grovel for forgiveness for not stopping you from getting hurt. She’d thought about it a little, and as long as you were on board with the idea, she figured that it would be best for you to live here with her. It was safer for sure, and although farther from your work, she knew that she could protect you better.

“Why are you sorry?”

Wanda nuzzles her face in the crook of your neck and kisses you as you continue to cry. Her frown deepens when you start to try and wiggle out of her hold, but she lets you go immediately when you start to cry harder. She barely understands you through your hiccupping sobs.

“I was s-so scared. I want t-to be brave like you, but I thought I--.”

You trail off and shake your head again as you turn in Wanda’s hold so you’re facing her. You hide your face in your girlfriend’s hair as your breaths continue to come as uneven gasps. Wanda holds you tightly and grits her teeth as she tries to figure out how to tell you that you’re not at fault. That you did everything right.

“Y/n, you were so brave. I saw what you did to them, and it’s okay that you were scared. Fear can be useful.”

Your breathing starts to calm and your tears have slowed as you relax in Wanda’s arms. You just wanted to be close to her and have her hold you in the way that makes you feel invincible. That nothing can hurt you when she’s around.

“If being afraid is what keeps you fighting and brings you back to me; it’s not something to be ashamed of, okay?”

Wanda waits as you think about this for a bit, and eventually you sigh before nodding in admission. As much as you hate what happened to you, you’re glad that you have a life worth fighting for. Someone who you desperately don’t want to be without.

You fall asleep a little bit later, and you miss Steve coming back with an update an hour later. He tells Wanda that the two who attacked you were a dead end. They traced any and all contact with who hired them but nothing. Fake names and fake accounts left them with even more questions than they’d had before. This discovery is all the reassurance that Wanda needs to decide that she’ll have you move here with her. If someone is after you, she wants you close to the compound. No one who’s out to get you will be able to touch you here…

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda x reader #mob au #silver springs drabble #silver springs

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afterglowkatie · 6 months ago

Text

back to where it began | k.c.c.

kyra cooney-cross x reader | 2k | a look back into yours and kyra's first matildas camp, the place where it all began

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pair of pests universe. this is a flashback kind of fic. a fun look back to the beginning of Kyra's and r's friendship. From where it began to where they are now and then the next fic will continue from 'i love you' :)

You looked up at Sam watching her mouth move but not processing any of the words actually leaving her mouth. You’d just arrived with Steph to your first matilda’s camp. Your first senior call up. It was both nerve wrecking and a dream come true for you. Ever since you were little you wanted to be just like your older sister having watched her achieve her dreams, you were following in her footsteps. You always worked hard throughout youth national teams, a-league and wsl to be able to get the chance to play alongside your older sister as a matilda.

Now your dream of sharing a pitch with Steph at national level was one step closer to coming true. You’d gone from playing together in the backyard as kids to sharing a pitch together at Melbourne City to now hopefully sharing a pitch together as a Matilda. Though a dream in theory is less nerve wrecking then when that dream becomes a reality.

‘It’s good to have you here, kid,’ Sam placed a hand on your shoulder when she finished speaking, bringing you back to reality and out of your head.

‘Yeah, it’s…it’s good to be here. Excited,’ You breathed out, not realising you were holding your breath slightly to begin with. Anyone could feel the nerves radiating out of you causing your older sister to playfully roll her eyes and laugh.

‘Relax,’ Steph laughed a little, smiling at you while bringing you in for a hug. Steph’s hugs always made you feel better, even if you liked to deny it. It was hard to relax when you knew you had to take this opportunity to prove yourself even more than you already have in your current season with Manchester City. You were genuinely excited to be called up and have the opportunity to gain more experience and develop even further alongside the people who you’ve been supporting and watching from the sidelines for years.

Having been a matilda for a fair few years, Steph had definitely found her place within the team. Whereas you were still finding yourself and where you fit amongst the others both on and off the pitch. You weren’t as chatty as your older sister and kept to yourself a little until you were fully comfortable which made it a bit harder for you to make friends and find your own little group within the team dynamic.

Everyone was welcoming but you found yourself almost glued to Steph’s side. Your sister loves you and is proud of you for how hard you’ve worked and everything you’ve done over the years but you were slowly getting on her nerves. It was midway through your first camp and Steph and the older girls were more than happy to have you around and show you things and all that. But Steph thought you might’ve made friends with the other younger players just like yourself considering you had played alongside and against the other young players.

‘Come sit with us today,’ Alanna slung her arm around your shoulders pulling you to sit at a table with just her and Mackenzie, an attempt to give Steph some space having been on the receiving end of her complaining the other night. They were subtle about it, no one wanted you to get the wrong idea or hurt your feelings already knowing how nervous you had been the entire time.

‘This feels like you’re about to interrogate me or something,’ You joked, laughing with the other two while you had some lunch after the morning training session.

‘What? Can’t have lunch with our favourite Catley without being accused,’ Alanna faked being offended at your comment, while you just rolled your eyes and pushed her arm.

A few tables away Sam nudged Steph’s arm getting her attention, ‘Why don’t you just subtly push her to partner up with, I don’t know, how about Kyra? At the next training session?’ Sam shrugged trying to come up with an idea to help both you make new friends within the team and Steph to have a bit of time away from you.

‘Kyra seems like a good kid, might be good for Tiny,’ Caitlin added in. Steph hadn’t considered trying to push you to hang around the other younger, newer matildas, not wanting you to think she was trying to get rid of you. Steph thought it was important you gain experience from the more experienced matildas but it was also important for you to have fun with the experience.

At the next training session when doing partner drills that’s what Steph did. She, along with the help of Sam, got you and Kyra to partner up in hopes that the two of you would click. Of course you had known of Kyra, playing with her in the youth national teams and also playing against her in the w-league. Though neither of you had really interacted all that much, settling into separate friend groups.

‘It’s cool Steph’s your sister,’ Kyra started talking first while going through the different partner drills, ‘Must’ve been nice to have an older sister like that,’

‘You’d think so but Steph can be pretty annoying, especially growing up,’ You lightheartedly joked around making Kyra laugh. You looked up at Kyra smiling, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed her lips quirk into a mischievous smirk.

‘Wanna get back at her for all the times she was annoying?’ You had half a mind to say no and to stay out of trouble, especially during your first senior camp. But there was something about Kyra that instantly drew you in and so you couldn’t help but agree.

The two of you instantly clicked, everyone thought it was a good thing. Steph felt relieved to have a bit of time back to be with her friends without you around, and everyone found the friendship to be good for both you and Kyra. Both being new they thought you could lean on each other.

What they didn’t know was how when the two of you were sat together away from everyone else, was that you were scheming up ways to mess with everyone. Steph being your first victim.

‘I’ll distract Steph while you set it all up,’ You and Kyra were eating lunch together while going over the plan you had created over the past day.

‘Why do you get to distract them,’ You whined not wanting to be the one responsible if the set up failed.

‘Maybe I should call you baby Catley instead,’ Kyra laughed, making fun of you for whining causing you to punch her in the arm, ‘Ow!’ Kyra dramatically yelled, pouting while holding and rubbing her arm.

‘Maybe I should call you baby Kywa,’ You mocked Kyra putting on your most babyish voice you could muster. The two of you burst out into fits of laughter causing the other girls in the room to look over at you.

‘What’s going on over here?’ Steph came over to the both of you, raising her eyebrow when she noticed you both scramble to hide the paper you’d been writing on from her.

‘Nothing Stephy,’ You sang out, trying to seem as innocent as possible. You weren’t always the best at keeping things from her.

‘Yeah, nothing Stephy,’ Kyra scooted closer to you, linking her arm with yours pulling you in closer leaning in to discreetly whisper into your ear, ‘I’m gonna work my magic and you go work yours,’ A subtle nod and weak excuse from you to leave the pair alone you quickly made your way towards the room Steph was staying in.

You made sure no one saw you go into the room, they made sure you had a key for the room Steph was staying in just in case you needed her at any time. Setting up the vials of glitter above the door and making sure they were set to go off when the door was opened you then got into position, hiding under the bed getting ready with the camera.

Meanwhile Kyra was making sure to keep Steph’s attention until she got the message from you that everything was ready to go, ‘Stephyyy, have I ever told you how cool you are,’ Kyra stood up slinging her arm around Steph’s shoulders and exaggerating all of her words.

‘Kyra…’ Steph’s voice was low and questioning, eyebrow raised while she chuckled at the younger girl, ‘I’m gonna go to my room for a bit,’ Steph wiggled out of Kyra’s embrace looking at her with an amused and confused expression.

‘NO!’ Kyra shouted, panic evident in her voice, causing a bit too much suspicion from the older girl. Steph looked at Kyra expecting her to continue to explain herself, ‘I mean…um…’ Lucky for Kyra you managed to save her from coming up with an excuse, letting her know everything was ready, ‘Y’know what, have a good nap grandma,’ Kyra pushed Steph towards the elevator, walking away quickly but hiding around the corner ready to follow after Steph but not wanting her to see.

Steph let out a deep breath and shook her head, stepping into the elevator on her way back to her room. You were set under the bed, phone on video facing the doorway ready for any moment when Steph would walk in. Kyra was quick to discreetly follow, wanting to at least hear the reaction first hand, watching the video back later will be even better.

Hearing footsteps get closer to the door, the adrenaline mixed with nerves pulsed through your body. You were never scared of Steph’s reaction to anything, you liked annoying your older sister. You got a kick out of it and no matter how mad Steph seemed to be with you, you knew she could never actually stay mad at you for long. Probably why you never cared for how she would react.

‘What the-’ Steph’s voice boomed through the room once she opened her door hearing the little pop noises and noticing she was now covered in glitter. You burst out laughing, keeping the camera pointed towards Steph, her confused expression turning into a glare directed at you from under the bed.

Kyra came running down the hall into Steph’s room laughing, almost knocking Steph over in the process, ‘Kyra!’ Steph yelled, grabbing onto the younger girl to steady herself. The floor and herself were covered in glitter, ‘You…’ Steph turned and pointed at you while you were wriggling out from under the bed.

‘C’mon Tiny, before scary Catley makes us clean up,’ Kyra didn’t give you a moment to steady yourself before she grabbed your hand pulling you out of the room with her.

‘Pair of pests,’ Steph’s voice could be heard, even from halfway down the hall. You both kept running and laughing until you found a quiet spot away from where anyone would be able to find you.

You sat next to each other against a wall. Kyra’s arm around you while you both watched the video over and over, ‘You see Steph’s face,’ You paused the video and laughed at the facials Steph was pulling. Making sure to screenshot so you could both have them for later, knowing you’d be using them whenever you got the chance. Steph’s expressive personality coming back to haunt her for as long as you were both in her life.

‘We’re gonna be the bestest of friends,’ Kyra proclaimed. After one day of properly knowing each other and you’d clicked as if you had been best friends for years and years. The pair that everyone would wish never met in the first place, especially once they had been on the receiving end of one too many of your pranks.

Though it was nice to have made a friend in Kyra, you both helped each other over the years. During your move to England and her move to Sweden, you never lost contact and continued to help each other become the best versions of yourself, the best players you could be. Always supporting and being proud of each other.

#kyra cooney cross x you #kyra cooney cross #kyra cooney cross x reader #steph catley #steph catley x reader #woso x reader #steph catley x you #woso one shot #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso soccer

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