#I crave a proper team up

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Mine. || Simon "Ghost" Riley

For @glitterypirateduck's “GhostChallenge” writing challenge! I used the following prompts:

9. Alternate universe 100. You're Price, Gaz, or Soap's sister/brother 12. Brothers best friend trope 71. Reader or Ghost rescues the other from a bad date (but 'bad' is used very loosely) 34. Ghost in gray sweatpants. Just. Gray. Sweatpants. 90. Thigh riding 13. Car sex (also loosely) 48. "Is that the best that you can do?" 99. "You're mine."

Rating: E Words: 3.2k~ CW: smutty, thigh riding, no piv, no kissing, mean!Simon, toxic!Simon, fuck buddy!Simon, jealous!Simon, stalker(ish?)!Simon, possessive behavior. Tags: afab!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, rugby AU, friends with benefits/fuck buddies, unrequited feelings (or are they?), toxic-ish relationship?, lying, manipulation?, secret relationship, brother's best friend, creating/baiting jealousy. Summary: Ghost is a cocky, mean rugby player that you can't help but be pining over. But maybe it's not completely unrequited. OR Simon ruins your date with someone else because he's jealous. a/n: I had a plan. I executed said plan. Profit?

Having grown up in a rugby family, you were given little choice but to attend all of your brother's games, both as a wee lad, a young man, and, now.

You were there, with your remaining sisters and your mam, for every single one of Johnny's games, back from when he was a wee one that couldn't even do a proper tackle and would fall in the mud, to now, picked to join the national team.

This means, however, that you've spent your entire childhood, teen years and now young adulthood, surrounded by the lads from your brother's many teams, but, especially, the ones he met as a teen and made a lasting friendship with: John "Cap" Price, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, and Simon "Ghost" Riley, the bane of your existence.

Johnny's had them over for birthdays, holidays, sleepovers... Not to mention the times you've gone to pick him up from training and were allowed into the locker room, only to get an eyeful of too much bare skin on all those men as they paraded around half-dressed; in towels; in underwear, or even in less than that.

It became a matter of time until you gained someone's attention. No wonder, pretty lass like you, with your sweet smiles and playful quips... coming to pick up your bulky winger brother, of course you'd catch someone's eye.

Kyle Garrick is the team's Hooker... but he's also known as a manwhore, the town bicycle, or whatever you wanna call him. The lads all know that if they go out drinking, Kyle is not going home alone, and, worse, they know that Kyle could and would seduce their cousins, sisters, mothers, and girlfriends, if not kept in check.

That's part of the reason why Johnny nearly had a fucking aneurysm when he caught Kyle outside the locker room three days ago, with a hand pressed against the wall beside your head, looking down at you with a smug little smirk on those perfect lips of his.

He knew what was happening, the way Kyle was looking down at you, the way you were looking up at Kyle, smiling all cutely, backed up against the wall, while his own teammate put the moves on you and talked about taking you out, his free hand gently playing with the strap of the dress you were wearing.

Johnny, however, missed the way Simon, who was standing right behind him, stiffened up and bristled at the sight of Garrick flirting with you. You didn't though. You caught it as soon as Johnny cleared his throat next to you with a "Should I pull up a chair and wait fer ye to be done?". Simon's eyes were glued to you, his brow set, his jaw clenched...

That's what he gets.

Simon, whom you've had a massive crush on for years now, who you pine for, whose attention you crave... and who only ever comes to you for a quick lay...

Simon, who rolls over after sex and tosses you a towel while he's putting on his clothes, telling you to 'hurry up' so he can take you home.

Simon, who always stares at you like he's going to eat you whole every time he lays eyes on you.

Simon, who chugs half of the ice cold water bottles he's given during breaks in practice, and uses the rest to douse himself in water to keep himself cool.

Simon, who knows how your eyes always get drawn to his legs and his bulge in his uniform, and rolls up his shorts before doing lifts, just for you.

Simon, who comes to pick you up whenever you call him, tipsy, from some bar or club when going out with friends.

Simon, who sends you 'u up?' texts at 2 in the morning when he's drunk.

Simon, who scoffs and chuckles whenever you breach the 'us' topic.

Frankly, you're not even actually trying to get with Kyle, especially not with his reputation (nothing against him, it's just not for you), but you needed to do something.

You're tired of waiting around for SImon to get his head out of his arse. You're not a toy, you're not going to stick around and be 'friends with benefits' with him, except barely friends, and with little benefits.

He's getting what he fucking deserves.

You didn't anticipate, however, how upset Johnny would be at the idea of Kyle taking you out. In fact, it was poor planning on your end because from the moment Johnny saw you with Kyle, he attempted, multiple times, to convince you not to go out with him... And if the DMs Kyle sent you are any indication, he also tried to talk Kyle out of it.

On the other hand, Simon didn't once try to intervene. Despite the look he shot you on Tuesday, he did not in fact reach out to talk to you, even now, as Friday comes along and you stride into the restaurant, hanging off Kyle's arm...

There's nothing from him. No texts, no DMs, no calls, nothing... So you guess that it's done, over. He got the memo, finally...

Your phone starts buzzing inside your bag while you and Kyle are halfway through sharing your appetizers. Looking down at your phone, you narrow your eyes when you find Simon's number ringing.

Really? Now? You don't think so.

So, you hang up.

Only for it to start ringing again immediately after. Simon. Again.

Grunting, you end up picking up. "What?"

"I'm outside. Let's get out of here."

You're hyper aware, suddenly, that the host has sat you and Kyle by the windows overlooking the car park... And you can see a car with its headlights on pointing right at you.

"I don't think so."

"Then don't think. Just do what I'm telling you."

Bossy, as always, that's how Simon is. Everything is on his terms, never on yours.

"I'm having dinner." You fight him, as always. This push and pull of yours has been going on for three years now... And Simon always wins. It makes him cocky.

"Not with him you're not. So you better get out here before I go in there and embarrass you."

With a sigh, you nod. "Fine, I'll be right there."

Turning off the call, you turn to Kyle, explaining you have to leave. His brows knit together and he looks at you with puppy eyes, asking why, and, short of a proper explanation, you do the same thing you've been doing to Johnny for the past three years: you lie.

"Johnny said he got a bizarre text from our mam and he tried calling her and she isn't replying."

"She's on these new sleeping pills, so she might have just knocked out while watching telly..."

"But he's worried, and he's on the other side of town, so he asked if I could go home and check on her..."

And Kyle, as much of a manwhore he is, he's also a gentleman, and is one of your brother's best friends. If your mam might be feeling sick, he's, of course, driving you home and helping! He was raised right.

As you leave the car park on the passenger seat of Kyle's BMW, you're hyper aware of the familiar Range Rover trailing you down the road, always a couple of cars behind, but always there... always lurking.

You reach your childhood home in record time, and start fumbling for the keys inside your clutch while Kyle trails up behind you to the front door. "I think I've got this from here, Kyle."

"No way, I love your mum like she's my auntie, if she's not doing well, I'm here to help,"

"No, really, it's okay, I'm sure she's fine..."

"Love, really, I'm not leaving you like this, not before I make sure that she's alright-"

Suddenly, a large, pale hand comes to grip Kyle's shoulder from behind, Simon's eyes shining in the darkness of the night, barely illuminated by the light by the front door, before his full face reveals itself.

Like a Ghost. That's his nickname. Fast, stealthy, there when you least expect it. Both in the rugby pitch and out of it.

"Don't worry, mate, I've got this." Simon announces, causing Kyle (and you) to freeze.

"You're here too?" Kyle asks, seemingly surprised, just as the taller fullback player removes his hand from his shoulder.

"Johnny called me too. Was worried about her being alone if mam wasn't doing well," Simon says naturally, as if he isn't also lying through his teeth, though his eyes never leave yours, catching and not planning on letting it go.

"Okay... well..." Kyle says and looks back and forth between you and Simon, seemingly catching the weird vibe between you, before he nods. "I'll go home then. Text me?" He asks you. "We can have a rain check."

Gulping thickly, your gaze slowly moves back toward Kyle, and you nod with a soft smile. "Yeah, yeah. Of course." You say softly and move over to kiss his cheek, before watching Kyle go back to his car and pull off.

You're turning, keys now in hand, to unlock the door when one of Simon's large hands grabs yours, stopping you. "What are you doing?" He asks you.

"Going home?" You retort as you look up at him, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrapped around yours, clutching lightly. "Ye can go now. Congratulations, you ruined my date. Yer work is done."

Simon chuckles and takes a step closer to you, tilting his head at an angle and regarding you with those dark, deep brown eyes of his, the same ones that always make you feel like he's trying to burn you with his gaze.

"That's cute that there, sweetheart." The Mancunian tells you before he lets go of your hand and pushes you along with a hand on the small of your back, away from your front door. "Get in the fuckin' car." He orders and uses his eyebrows to point at his jeep, his voice carrying the same strong tone that he reserves only for bossing his teammates around during practice.

You know better than to defy him. So you tuck your metaphorical tail between your legs and you nod, moving over to his Rover. He opens the door for you and helps you up by gripping a hand around your forearm, the other bumps you up by the back of the legs.

"How'd ye know where we were?" You end up asking once Simon has driven away from your street, your eyes locked on his as he drives, finally daring to take a proper look at him under the orange light of the street lamps you pass by.

Black hoodie, grey sweatpants, and some kind of running shoes. Those stupid bloody sweatpants... The same ones he usually wears when he shows up at your door, or you at his, or when he goes to get you from work or nights out...

You know he did it on purpose... To pick the most slutty outfit he has as he comes to break up your date with Kyle. The annoying grey sweats that hang off his lip, that hug his thick, muscular thighs, the ones that he never wears boxers under, to make sure you can catch the dick print in the fabric...

And his stupid blonde hair all spiked up with hair gel... It used to be brown, matching his eyes, but he bleaches it now, the idiot... You want to be mad at him, you really do... But when he glances over at you while he's driving, you can't really.

"Garrick's predictable," Simon says, his tongue spitting vitriol as he utters his teammate's name. You'd think he hates the bloke... and right now he might as well do. "Takes birds to the same 5 or 6 places every time. Your brother and I split up to cover half of them each." He explains.

Scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest. "The two of ye have no right." You tell him, scolding him over interrupting your date. "I'm a grown woman."

"Right. That's what you told Johnny. Don't try to use that shite excuse on me." Simon tells you as he turns on the blinker and pulls over.

You haven't driven long. Less than 2 minutes. You could climb out of the jeep if you wanted to and walk home.

"It's not an excuse." You retort as you glare at him, keeping your arms tightly crossed over your chest.

"Right, because you want me to believe you really want to go out with Kyle? Or, let me guess, you 'can change him'?" Simon asks sardonically and laughs as he pulls off his seatbelt.

"I didn't say that." You retort. "I simply said that I can do whatever I want because I'm a grown woman.'

"No..." The blond says in a sarcastic tone. "You... did it because you wanted my attention... And you got it, sweetheart." He replies as he reaches over and unbuckles your seatbelt for you, his hands wrapping around your hip and back, tugging you over the gearshift onto his lap.

"I weren't trying to-" You reply, pushing back against his chest, but only half-heartedly, allowing yourself to be dragged onto him.

"Sure you were. But Gaz, really? Is that the best you can do when it comes to making me jealous?" Simon quips as he makes you straddle his left thigh, bringing you down to sit on it, the gusset of your panties pressed against the warm material of his sweatpants.

His stupid, muscular, hard thigh, the same one you can't help but drool over when you watch him in his tiny rugby shorts during practice and in the proper pitch...

You can feel the taut muscle, even through the fabric, the wait his leg flexes as you straddle it, the way he presses the weight of it against your core, and his fingers dig into your hip before dragging you back and forth.

You bite your lip hard to contain a moan, though he notices the way you're trembling, enjoying the look in your eyes, the way your body warms up, the way your back arches up. It puts a sick smile on his lips, one you wanna wipe off.

"It worked, didn't it?" You reply, trying your best to suppress the pleasure from showing on your face, and instead trying to seem smug. "You're here, right? Came to break up my date for a reason..." You say, clinging onto your little 'gotcha' moment...

Only for Simon to ruin it. "Oh that weren't jealousy, darling." He replies, his smirk beginning to grow into a proud, mocking grin, his dark brows rising and his cheeks puffing up with his smile. "I have no reason to be jealous."

Simon begins rocking you faster and harder against his hard thigh, causing you to whine and mewl, the pleasure building from the friction between your cunt and his thigh.

Your clit is slowly and steadily catching on the fabric, making you tremble and twitch atop him, feeling the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten as it always does whenever Simon starts playing with your clit like this.

"No, actually... Don't have a reason to be jealous about anyone." Simon replies as he leans toward you, pressing his nose against yours so he can properly look you in the eye. "Not Garrick... not Price... not any of those coworkers you're always talking about... nor your old uni mates..." He trails off.

"Simon..." You grumble, bucking your hips against him, wanting to chase your orgasm. How does he do this to you every time? Make you so horny, make you throw away all rationality, make you give in to him?

"I know, sweetheart, I know... Feels good, don't it?" The large man coos at you as he helps you rock against his thigh faster and faster, your hips stuttering and your legs beginning to tremble on either side of him as you steadily grow closer and closer to coming.

"You know what else I know?" Simon teases as he leans over and uses his teeth to nip at your neck and earlobe. "I know that I'll never have a bloody fucking reason to get jealous over you... because You're Mine." He tells you, his tone surprisingly authoritative.

There's something in that claim... the way he finally says the things you've wanted so badly to hear him say... Your climax crashes into you and you go limp against him, your head falling onto his chest and your jaw going slack as you moan incoherently.

"That's it..." Simon coos at you and gives you a couple of pats on your thigh, sliding his hand up over your ass, covered in a new dress you bought on purpose for your date with Kyle. Your cunt is throbbing inside your panties, your walls clenching around nothing and you know you've left a bit of a wet spot on Simon's sweatpants.

"You got off on that, huh?" He teases you in a mocking tone. "Been wanting to hear that for a while now, have you?" You can hear the smirk on his lips as you try to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. He's so fucking mean...

"Piss off, Simon." You retort and pull off him, pushing against his shoulders with both hands and moving pack to the passenger's seat. "Take me home." You say in a huff.

"Of course, sweetheart." Simon replies, his voice still smug and a large shit-eating grin on his lips as he bites his tongue, turning back onto the street.

After Simon pulls over in front of your house again, you hop out, fixing your dress and stomping back toward the house, displeased with his behavior. With him using your feelings for him against him. With him.

His phone rings, echoing through the speakers in the Rover. The small screen on the dash displays Johnny's contact name as Simon is watching you frustratedly fumble for the keys inside your clutch again.

"Been to all three spots. Did you find her?" The Scot's voice comes through the bluetooth speakers as the Mancunian watches you, running his fingers over his thigh where you left a wet stain on his sweats.

"Yeah, mate. Been keeping an eye on them. Kyle didn't try anything and he just dropped her off at home." He replies, watching you for a moment longer.

"Thanks for lookin' out, mate. 'm going for a pint right now..." Soap announces.

"Cheers," Ghost says in a nonchalant date, watching you finally find the keys and open the door, heading inside and turning on the hall light. "You owe me one, had a date planned but spent my evening going after your sister."

"Yeah... yeah... I owe ye." Soap retorts. "Come out me with me, then, 'm sure ye can find a bird at the pub." He offers.

"Nah, mate, 'm knackered. Going to get a good night's sleep." He says and watches you turn to glance at him (or more so his car) through the open door before you turn away again and visibly huff, closing the door behind yourself.

Simon shakes his head, snickering under his breath and saying goodbye to Soap before hanging up the call and grabbing his phone to shoot you a quick text.

"Ur brother is @ pub. Let me in."

Then, he stashes his phone back in his pocket, not even waiting for a reply.

His eyes return to the door and wait patiently, just a couple of seconds go by before you're opening the front door again. Simon smiles seeing that, turning off his car and hopping out.

His girl is so obedient.

[ Ghost Challenge Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

#ikea writes 💚 #GhostChallenge #cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #call of duty #cod fandom #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley #simon riley #ghost #cod ghost #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #cod smut #smut fic #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon “ghost” riley smut #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #rugby au #smut #simon ghost x reader

[luveline]

Missing my zombie!steve husband 🫶🏻

quiet day at the camp… hope something bad isn’t brewing… zombie apocalypse au <3 fem, 2k

Steve loves the sound of the river, but he only allows himself a moment to lay down on the riverbank during laundry hours. 

You stand knee deep in the water with your pants and sleeves rolled up, the corrugated metal of an old shed roof that’s been repurposed into a washing board held to your chest. It was pointless to roll your sleeves up, you’re soaked to the bone, even your hair, but the summer sun keeps you warm. 

“Don’t get too hot!” you call. 

“I’m fine,” he says, unwilling to shout. 

“He’s fine!” Robin shouts from beside him. “Numbskull.” 

Steve stares at you, locking you in, so to speak, the nice shape of your hip and stomach, the mess of your wet hair. Tonight, he’ll help you fix it, but there’s no rush and no hurry to dry off while the sun is out, and the fences are up. He turns onto his stomach. Grass tickles his cheeks. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Robin asks quietly. 

“Fine. Can you tell me if she needs help?” 

“Sure.” He listens to the sounds of her moving, likely pulling the slim lengths of her legs against her chest to hug herself, the tan leaves of a book spread out just in front of her. 

Steve could really go for a cigarette. You swapped the last box you found for toothpaste, isn’t that how it always goes? You and Robin found a cheat code in the apocalypse, nicotine with a capital ‘N’. You swap Arctic chewable for socks without holes and boxes of Marlboro’s for the bathroom essentials. Everybody wants them, and you’re great at finding them. Steve never thought he’d crave a cigarette again considering he wasn’t addicted, having smoked for a couple of months in high school to feel cool with his friends, stopping when his mom asked him to. He doesn’t remember why. She’d asked, and he’d listened, as he used to do. Swim team, cross country, basketball, lifeguard training, mowing the lawn, not upsetting his father, taking out the trash, vacuuming, no drinking and driving; task after task after task. Some of it was easy. He liked doing the dishes, and he loved taking care of his mom even if she didn’t feel the same. 

Not that it matters now. Does it matter now? He’s never gonna see her again. She’s a memory. She’s a bad memory, most of the time. 

The more he reflects on it, he decides. She was a bit shitty, but she’s his mom, and she’s likely gone, so he’ll try to remember the cookies they made together and the way she’d smile at him after she tied his shoelaces before school. And also the mean fucking bitch she’d turn into when she drank two glasses of wine. 

“What are you thinking about?” Robin asks.

“That’s the wrong soap,” you say from the river. Your voice floats over the breeze. 

“Fuck off, soap is soap,” Eddie says, your not-so-new friend, Steve’s sworn enemy. 

“I’m just saying,” you laugh. “Look, I’ll wash, you rinse.” 

“I’m thinking about that time,” Steve begins, holding his hand out toward her, open but not expectant, “when my mom and dad came home early from his business trip in Missouri and found us sleeping together.” 

“I’d never heard your dad laugh before,” Robin says. 

“My mom really didn’t like you after that.” He smiles as she takes his hand. They were a lot more touchy, pre-apocalypse. He misses that sometimes. 

“I don’t even think she thought we were dating.” 

“She was disgusted.” 

“She said we were being weird teenagers.”

“I guess we were. I never had a friend like you before so maybe I can’t blame her,” he says. He has something special with you, you’re a best friend because you’re half of his heart, but Robin was his first proper best friend, and remains it. “I missed you a lot when we were stuck in Indiana. There were a ton of times where shit would go wrong and I would get mad at you because I knew you’d know how to fix it, but you weren’t there.” 

“You’d get mad at me?” Robin asks, squeezing his hand. “You jerk. Be mad at yourself.” 

“Can you wait for me next time?” he asks.

Robin’s quiet, then she laughs, “I’m nodding but you can’t see.” 

He wonders how she’s feeling. He admits to not doing that much in the past. Not that he didn’t think about how he made others feel, he was always worrying about that after Nancy, but he can’t say he thought of it in the moment. Steve forces himself to sit up and offer his arms for a hug, which Robin gladly accepts, her frazzled laugh on his neck as he pats her back. 

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“You know Y/N says I’m possessive?” 

Robin leans away, fingers curled around his elbow. “You’re fighting?” 

“No, just. She says I’m possessive, that I get mad about, you know, my people.” 

“Right. Isn’t everybody?” 

“I never thought I did. I’m not, like, too proud most of the time.” 

“Steve, this is super introspective,” she says, frowning, smiling, a weird expression somewhere melding in the middle of happy and concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay? It’s fine if you’re not.” She laughs shrilly. “I woke up the other day and cried and then ten minutes later I felt fine. I’m far from okay.” 

Steve glances past Robin’s head to watch you in the river. You’re sitting down amongst the stones. It really isn’t too deep, water to your ribcage washing suds down to Munson, who’s smiling at you kindly, not smarmy or flirting, just smiling. 

“Why did you cry?” he asks quietly. 

“I missed my cousin, I think.” 

Steve curls his arm behind her head and encourages her in for a fiercer hug. 

“Think we should probably go help them,” she mumbles. 

He takes it for the brush off that it is; sincerity is too much to take, sometimes. If she wants to be evasive about it that’s okay, she already took the leap and admitted to getting upset. 

“I cried thinking about Y/N’s hands the other day,” he says. 

“Steve.” Robin rubs her eye with the heel of her hand. “I don’t even know what to tell you.” 

“What? I’m trying to show you I’m pathetic so you don’t feel bad.” 

“I know you’re pathetic, and I don’t feel bad.” She climbs off of the ground and brushes broken grass off of her legs. Steve climbs up next to her, nudging her with his elbow. “You’re mucho pathetic. It’s kind of crazy.” 

“I think I might try and drown him,” he says conversationally. 

“Why now?” 

“Why do you think?” Steve asks, toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, nearly pitching forward on the wet bank closer to the river.

You and Eddie look up as they approach from different spots of the water. Your smile at seeing him winds him for the thousandth time, just so happy to see him, so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do for a few seconds. “Hey, honey,” he says, “can I help?” 

“Now you wanna help?” you ask, gesturing to your soaked front. 

You’re messing with him, and he doesn’t care anyways, you can talk to him like crap if you want to. He shuffles down from the mud of the riverbank and into the water, cold and wet like a shock against his ankles, softer as it climbs to his knees. You’re sitting where it’s more shallow, opposed to Eddie on his knees and almost drowning further down. He puts his hand on your wet shoulder and kneels down in the water beside you. “Wanna hug?” you tease. 

Steve hugs you. Doesn’t care that you’re soaking or that the water is freezing against his crown jewels, though he shivers by your ear, prompting your laugh like bubbles in his own. “It’s cold,” he says. 

“Freezing!” 

Not to be a freak, but he can feel your chest pressed to him, and he knows you get achy in the cold. He wraps his arms doubly behind your back and rubs at your sides. “How much laundry’s left?” he asks. “We’re gonna get hypothermia. Again.” 

“You didn’t get hypothermia,” you remind him, folding into his space. “Steve… is everything okay?” 

“Do I look mopey today? Robin just asked me the same thing.” 

“You don’t look mopey, but you’re being touchy. You’re cuddling.” 

“How am I not supposed to cuddle you, dummy? I’m keeping you warm enough to function right now. Without me you’d be an ice cube floating down the river.” He leans back to hold your face in one hand, your cheek under his thumb, water racing down his wrists and your neck. 

You push against his hand gently with your cheek. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

“What for?” 

For lots of things. “I didn’t realise how cold the water was. I would’ve come to help you.” 

“It’s fine. I scrub everything and then Eddie catches it. We’ve only lost one pair of underwear,” you say. “The river’s like a long washing machine.” 

“How much do you have left?” he asks. 

“Nothing. I was just about to get out.” 

“Couldn’t have told me that before I came to get you?” 

“No,” you say, lifting your chin. Not challenging, but close. It’s an offer, Steve decides, kiss me or don’t kiss me. You don’t seem to realise he doesn’t decide, he needs you. If you always wanted to kiss him, you’d always be kissing, all the time, everywhere. 

Steve gives you a quick peck. “Come on, let’s go set up the line.” 

You somehow, together, make your way back to the tents without freezing to death after throwing your clothes on a drying line between trees. It’s warm enough that stripping down to your skivvies is mildly pleasant (away from the eyes of the other campers). You get dressed in the softest clothes you own upon Steve’s insistence, sweatpants and a dark hoodie, three pairs of socks and the tent door left open, before he lays you down on the sleeping bag, and settles between your legs, his full weight bearing down on you, his face nestled in the damp crook of your neck. 

“I couldn’t kiss you the right way,” he confesses. 

“Why?” You pull mildly at the ends of his hair. 

“‘Cos I always want more than one kiss.” 

“That’s a strangely romantic way to say you wanted to make out with me,” you whisper. 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, even though he does want to, and he did in the river, and he does all the time.

“You’re getting kinda heavy, Steve,” you mumble. 

“What?” 

“It’s a good thing.” 

“How dare you.” 

“We got sorta frail for a bit.” You wrap an arm around his head, tip of your nose to his forehead. 

“Yeah. Lucky we’re in camp Eddie now,” Steve says. 

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” you murmur, so close to sleeping Steve can tell. You just need a feeling of security to nudge you over the edge. 

“Lucky we’re together.” He climbs off of you slowly so as not to rouse you too much, kissing your slack cheek as he settles on your shoulder. “You and me. I don’t care where we are.”

He ends up falling asleep not long after you, lulled by the rhythm of your light snore. 

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[gremlingottoosilly]

Hello gremlin!

I’ve read most of your monster!141 and I absolutely love how you write these stories!

I was wondering if you could do something with a barn owl reader! Barn owl are my favorite animal in general and i would love to see how the monster!141 boys will react to such a cute but deadly hybrid.

I think it will be hilarious how easily you can sneak up on them! After all silence and stealth is a common trait amongst owls. Also it’s not like your a tiny hybrid either you are pretty big and strong but not taller of stronger than the boys

-again i love your work, it’s simply amazing ( i also hope this ask isn’t too weird) 🦉🦉

You weren't even a pet at first. One of the scouts, the flying patrol for the base - the deadly one, really, although the fact that you're only active at night makes you a bit less of an effective soldier than you should be initially. It's fine, you thought, it should be fine - you're flying under the radar, you don't catch attention, you do your job. Then you are accidentally caught in a full moon with Soap and Ghosts. You learned the secret of the most mysterious operator on the base - and you wish you didn't. Stuck on a night patrol with two horny dog and dog-ghost hybrid was...something. Something that got you squished between two of your superiors, your wings petted and stimulated relentlessly and your pussy and ass squeezing their knots. The two of them truly are just dogs at heart - refusing to separate from each other and from you, you could only hoot in pleasure as they were using your body like you were one of pets and not a fellow soldier. You knew what that would mean, obviously - you're strong, yes, but not to the point of their strength. You're not breedable or soft or small, but they are still stronger and you're still cumming around them like a lowly creature you are. Soap marks you with his bites and Ghost pushes his hands around your waist, squeezing you into the shape of a mate. You know your service as a soldier is over. It's not that bad with others - Gaz still respects another flying hybrid in the team, going on patrols whenever you are not being bred, and enjoying flying with you. Even if that means he is only doing this so he could fuck you up on some high mountain or the watching tower, so be it. You want freedom, you crave it, and if spreading your wings also means spreading your legs a bit later than fuck it - Kyle is making you cum, after all. Almost treating you like an equal, this is refreshing after the treatment you're getting from his fellow teammates. He loves to kiss you, to cover you in soft smooches and little pecks, and you never felt so utterly loved. Price is...a bit conflicted. He still treats you as a soldier sometimes. sending you on patrols and when you're all too eager, he is reminded that you're their pet - even though you look and act like a proper recruit. He knows how predator hybrids are, how you need work to do because just laying with your legs spread in your nest won't cut it for someone like you - so he sighs and gives you paperwork, at least, it's something to do whenever you're not filled with their pups. Price is softer with you, he is forcing himself to be. Being strict and acting like your captain is a second nature to him, but you're changing your circumstances really quickly and he just wants you to be good. Just wants you to feel alright even though he understands that the transition was harsh.

#cod #cod x reader #yandere cod #tw: monster fucking #monster!gaz #monster!ghost #monster!soap #monster!price #price x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #yandere ghost #yandere price #yandere gaz #yandere soap #soap #soap mw2 #price cod #john price #ghost #simon ghost riley #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick

[mylovelies-docx]

Love Bites (But So Do I)

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN TO ALL MY SPOOKY, HORNY BITCHES 🎃

I'm finally participating in Kinktober, but it's literally the last day and it's whatever the fuck I wanted to write.

Pairing: Innocent!Vampire!Reader x Werewolf!Bucky

Plot: Reader is suffering from hunger pangs due to national blood shortage. Bucky offers a solution.

C/W: 18+ MDNI!!! (I am so for serious). Loss of virginity, age gap (Reader is late 20's), what’s the name for blood drinking?, fingering, praise kink, unprotected sex, slight dom/sub, knotting, cock-warming, fluff, resolution of mutual pining.

Vampirism is cool and all, but it also fucking sucks sometimes.

Like during a national blood shortage.

You’d been turned only a couple of years ago around the time of your 25th birthday. You can’t quite recall what happened, as everything around the event is distorted in your memories. All you know is that you were on a mission with some of the other Avengers one second, and then the next you were lying in the med bay with an intense craving for blood.

Everyone was surprisingly accepting of your new ‘condition’, with the exception of one person.

Bucky.

Bucky wasn’t on the mission where you were turned into a vampire, so he had no idea what he was walking in on when he stopped by to visit you in the med bay. You distinctly remember the look of worry and confusion on his face when he peered through the window and saw you strapped down onto the bed. You’d given him a forced, awkward smile and turned your head away, not able to look him in the eye.

You heard the door to your room click open and Bucky began to call your name, but then he inhaled sharply, unable to finish his question. You turned your head slightly and peeked back at him. You could tell immediately that Bucky’s werewolf senses had picked up on the change in your DNA, his instincts telling him that you were now his enemy.

You leaned your head back against the bed and closed your eyes, devastated that Bucky hated you before you could even have a proper conversation with him. You’d been on the team for a few months at that point, only really developing surface level friendships with everyone. They were all welcoming enough, but your anxieties prevented you from letting anyone in.

With your eyes closed, your other senses were able to accommodate for the loss of sight. The gust of wind from Bucky opening the door rushed up your nose, and a heady, intoxicating scent lit up your brain. Your eyes popped open and you stared at Bucky, noticing his heavy breathing and his pulse pounding against the arteries in his neck. Your mouth watered at the smell of him, divine and irresistible in a way that no one else had been up to that point.

A choked keening had erupted from your throat, your wrists and ankles straining against the bonds holding you down. You twisted and pulled, trying to break free and make a run for Bucky, but he’d immediately sensed your desire to drink his blood. A shutter fell into place over Bucky’s face, masking any expression that might have been there. He sucked in one final deep breath and slammed the door to your room, storming down the hallway and away from you.

As soon as you could no longer detect Bucky’s scent in the air, your mind cleared somewhat and you were able to realize just how out of control you had acted and how embarrassed you were at your actions. But you were also unable to stop imagining running after him and sinking your teeth deep into the flesh of his throat. 

Slamming your head a few times onto the bed underneath you, you cursed yourself. Bucky barely even liked you before, but now he probably despised you – not just for what you were, but for how you acted, as well. You’d gotten off on the wrong foot with him to start, but then you’d stumbled hard and crossed a line by almost ripping your arms to pieces in order to get to him.

You’d never been able to look people in the face or hold eye contact for very long, but it’s especially true when it comes to Bucky. You’re not exactly sure why it is that your heart races and butterflies fill your stomach, but the feelings bubble up and prevent you from speaking and make you uncomfortable in your own skin. This happens every time you meet someone new or are with people you don’t really know, but the sensations that flood your body when Bucky is around are 100x worse than anything you’d felt for anyone before.

You’d realized in that hospital bed that whatever you’d felt for Bucky prior to becoming a vampire had changed, had become almost unbearable. His scent never left your thoughts and your mind always drifted off to think about Bucky: what he was doing, where he was, who he was with. Your eyes would darken and turn red, fangs lengthening when you imagined him with anyone other than you. 

It’d taken you weeks to recover your sanity completely. You’d drained bag after bag after bag of blood, never feeling completely satiated, but unable to find out why. Some members of the team visited in those weeks to determine if you were safe to be around, and although the aroma of their blood wafted through the air and surrounded you, you never reacted to any of them the way you had to Bucky that first day. Dr. Cho had decided that you were no longer a threat after your successes, so she’d allowed you out of your restraints. You were finally able to walk the halls again and explore the compound. 

Though the sunlight wouldn’t kill you (discovered during Dr. Cho’s studies), your skin would prickle and start to burn after prolonged exposure, so you tended to avoid the daylight. You’d wander the halls after everyone had turned in for the night, lamenting the fact that you could really only spend the evenings with them all before they needed to sleep. 

You’d catch whiffs of Bucky as you stalked the night, your pulse racing and endorphins fizzing through your veins, but he never appeared. Bucky kept his distance from you for nearly a full year after you’d nearly attacked him. You couldn’t blame him. He’d been tortured enough in his life, he didn’t need the added stress of you trying to suck him dry every time he entered the same room as you.

It took some time, but you were finally able to cohabitate the same spaces with him again. Even though your mouth watered and your hands longed to reach out and grab him, you refrained. You kept yourself distant in order to make him more comfortable with your presence even though nature meant for your two species to hate each other.

You understood why Bucky had such a vehement reaction when he smelled you for the first time after your transition; walking the streets of New York, you’d catch of whiff of wet dog and dirty sock, immediately identifying werewolves as they prowled the streets, their stench clinging to your nostrils and turning your stomach. You’d grimace and walk away as fast as you could in search of clean air not polluted with the presence of werewolves. If grody socks and dirty mongrel was what you perceived werewolves to smell like, you can’t imagine what Bucky must smell emanating from you.

The only thing that doesn’t make sense is that you’d never found Bucky’s scent displeasing: in fact, the fresh, pine scent drove you crazy and had your body begging to be near him despite knowing that he’s a werewolf. You feel insatiable whenever he’s around, needing to consume blood soon after in order to calm the raging hunger within you.

Your mouth waters at the thought of the hot liquid filling your mouth and sliding down your throat, warming your insides and sending shivers all the way down to your toes. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d last tasted the savory red substance. 

A nation-wide disaster the Avengers had handled yesterday required the hospitals to use up most of their stores of blood, leaving you feeling guilty for even thinking about taking the life-saving liquid for your own benefit. All the Avengers were out celebrating a job well-done and the prevention of more death and destruction that would have occurred had you all not been there to help. 

The fight yesterday had taken everything out of you, and you were unable to drag yourself from the couch where you had collapsed earlier in the day. Your head is spinning and your muscles are weak from the lack of  blood in your system. Some of the others had offered you their blood to help you feel better, but you’d declined and told them to go out and donate it to one of the blood banks that were in desperate need.

You’d never drank directly from a person in the years since you’d become a vampire, choosing instead to avoid the intimacy that must come along with the action. Holding someone’s wrist in your hands as you clamp down on their radial artery, nuzzling your face into the crook of their neck and sucking a mark around the two perfect puncture holes from your fangs – it just felt overwhelming.

And besides, the only person you could even imagine suckling from was Bucky and he’d never offer you his blood, regardless of whether it was in a bag or straight from the source.

You groan as your stomach contracts in on itself, the emptiness feeling as if there’s a black hole inside of you and you’re going to be consumed from the inside out. You feel foolish for turning your friends’ offers away, but there’s no way you’d have kept them from enjoying themselves after everything they went through yesterday. You can only hope that Dr. Cho is able to procure something for you in the morning or else create some alternative to the human blood that sustains your life force.

You’re curled in the fetal position on the couch, clutching your stomach and trying to think of anything else besides this nauseating hunger you feel. Your eyes squeeze tightly shut and your face scrunches in agony. You moan once more, unable to hold it in.

All of a sudden, your senses detect the presence of another person in the compound – a door in the residential wing swishing open and the pad, pad, pad of socked feet walking towards you. The sweet, fresh smell of a pine forest after a spring shower wraps around you, easing the pain enough for you to open your eyes and witness Bucky walk into the living room and find you lying there. His face contorts momentarily, but then smooths back out.

“Y/N?” he questions. You whine at the timbre of his voice, the rich sound penetrating your eardrums and burrowing into your veins. “What’s wrong?”

You wince as another hunger pang claws through your gut.  “I’m –” you whisper hoarsely. “I’m hungry. So hungry.”

“Hungry?” he asks. “What about the blood you keep in stock?” Bucky walks over to the hospital-grade equipment in the kitchen behind you, looking for a blood bag you know isn’t there. You hear him open and close the door, quickly ascertaining that there is nothing to be found within. Bucky quickly walks back over to you and crouches a few feet from the couch. “Where did it all go?”

A red-tinted tear falls from your lower lashes, leaving a pink streak along your cheek. “The… the civilians,” you murmur quietly. Even with Bucky’s enhanced hearing, he has to lean closer to hear what you say. “They n-needed it more th-than me.”

“Shit,” Bucky mutters under his breath. A determined look comes over his face as he rolls up his sleeve. He holds his wrist in front of your mouth and barks out a command. “Drink.”

You barely find the strength to shake your head at him in refusal. “No,” you whine. “I’ve never… I can’t…”

“Yes,” he growls, “you can. And you will.” Bucky stretches his mouth wide and rolls his head on his neck, transforming his normal human teeth into the incisors of a wolf. He bites down onto the center of his wrist, tearing open his vein and shoving it back in your face. “Drink.”

Your bloodlust overtakes you at that moment. The warm, coppery blood seeps down his wrist and beads onto the sofa beside your head. Your hands move of their own accord, your mind fighting a losing battle with your instincts. You grasp Bucky’s wrist and wrap your parched lips around the gaping wound. You lick and suck where Bucky’s teeth had torn apart his own flesh. At the taste of Bucky’s blood hitting your tongue after years of craving it, a pleasured whimper crawls up your throat and forces its way between your parted lips against his flesh.

Buck’s metal arm reaches around and cups the back of your head, holding you in place as you continue to feed from him. “That’s right, doll,” he says. “Take as much as you need.” You feel the cold pressure of his hand as he strokes your hair away from your face. “Fuck. Been waiting for this. For you.”

The words send a shiver through you and you would have happily stayed right where you were for the rest of eternity, but the mouthfuls of blood have quickly turned into a trickle. You whine at the realization, running your tongue over Bucky’s wrist to confirm that his wound is healing too rapidly for you to continue drinking. You cry and raise your eyes up to Bucky’s, tasting his blood that had dribbled down your chin as you lick your lips.

“It’s –” you try. “You’re not…”

Bucky curses once again. “I heal too fast and the vein is too small for the amount of blood you need.” 

He takes a hair tie from his pocket and quickly runs his fingers through his hair, gathering it all into a bun at the back of his head. Bucky rises swiftly and picks your body up into his arms. He cradles you against his chest as he settles quickly on the couch and places you in his lap. He circles one arm around your back to hold you upright and uses his other to guide your mouth to his throat.

“Bite,” he commands.

You whimper at the authority in his voice, but shake your head. “I’m okay,” you plead. “I – I don’t know how –”

“It’s instinct,” he replies harshly. “You do know how.” He takes your head and pushes your face further into his neck. “Bite me. Now, Y/N!”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you cry, resting your forehead against his skin and struggling to maintain the hold you have on your sanity when Bucky’s pulse is thrumming just under his skin. It’s right there. So close you can hear the blood as it rushes through his veins. This is the closest you’ve ever been to Bucky and his scent is beginning to drive you insane. You pant heavily against his throat, exhausting yourself from the effort of holding back.

Bucky releases a sigh and a sliver of tension leaves his muscles. The hand against your back strokes up and down, settling your body as it shivers against his. 

“You won’t hurt me,” he says. “If I use my claws, the cut will be too big and I'll bleed too fast. Your teeth are so small, I won’t even feel them,” he soothes.

You hesitate for a moment before saying, “... you promise?”

“I promise, baby,” he hums.

The softness of his words is all it takes to tear down your defenses. You suck in a breath and bare your fangs. They sink into the skin right above his jugular and you feel the slight pop as you pierce its wall. Blood gushes into your mouth and you feel something inside you pop open just like Bucky’s vein. 

All of the sudden, you become acutely aware of everything Bucky.

The rhythm of his heart as it pumps blood through his body and into yours, his breaths as they leave his mouth, the sounds he makes as you suckle at his neck – as if he’s enjoying every second of having your lips at his throat and sucking the blood as it floods into your mouth in time to the pulse of his heart. You can feel your own heart race to match his, beat for beat.

You moan at the sensation and pull harder against Bucky’s neck. Needing to be closer, you swing a leg over his lap to straddle him, hooking one arm around his shoulder and the other around the back of his head.  You feel Bucky’s hands grasp your hips as he holds you tight to his body. 

Involuntarily you roll your hips against him, rubbing your covered core over the bulge in his jeans. The action elicits a groan from Bucky and the contact sends an electric current through your body, forcing your hips to seek more friction. You continue to grind against Bucky’s crotch, your panties becoming soaked and leaking through your shorts and onto his jeans. 

You continue to draw from Bucky’s neck as he begins to thrust against you in response to your motions. You moan at the extra pressure against your mound and work harder to match his rhythm. 

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Bucky groans. “Using me so well to work that sweet little clit.” You whimper against his neck and brace one arm on the back of the couch, gaining leverage and moving your hips faster against him. “You gonna cum like this, darlin’?” He pants into your ear. “Gonna cum when I haven’t even touched you yet?”

At his words, you release your fangs from his throat and take big, heaving breaths. You pull away and stare down into Bucky’s eyes, his pupils dilated and staring deep into your own. You lean down quickly, capturing his lips with your own like you’ve dreamed of doing for so long. Bucky returns the kiss feverishly, working his tongue between your lips and delving into your mouth. You continue to grind yourself against Bucky until you’re nearly delirious with lust and feel a tight knot forming between your legs.

Bucky’s fingers snake between your bodies and pull the fabric of your shorts and panties aside so that he can run his fingers along your soaking slit.

“What a good girl,” he growls. “Already so wet for me.”

He nudges one finger at your entrance and you keen at the pressure of his thick finger trying to enter you. You huff against his mouth, trying to relax and allow his finger entry.

“’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes against your throat as he trails wet kisses from your lips down to your shoulders. “’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You nod your head feverishly and lean backwards, changing the angle of your hips so that his finger has more access. It slips inside and your pussy clenches hard around it, not used to anything filling you so full. You cry out in pleasure as he crooks his finger against your walls with what little room he has.

“Goddamn, you’re so tight,” he huffs. “Have you not done this before?” Bucky questions you, using his free hand to pull your face back towards his so that he can kiss you once before letting you respond. 

You shake your head no and cry out again as he withdraws his finger and plunges it back into you. He continues to massage your walls while he pulls his finger in and out, in and out.

“Then is this okay, baby? Do you like this?”

“Yes! Yes, Bucky! I – I love this.” 

He sucks your bottom lips between his teeth and holds it there for a second before letting go. “Let me see how much you love it, Y/N. Come on, cum for me.”

“Uh, ah, I’ve never –” you half confess before stopping yourself by biting your lip and throwing your head backwards.

“You tellin’ me you’ve never let yourself orgasm, pretty girl?” he asks you. “What a tragedy,” he growls against your neck, finger still working between your legs as he slowly tries to fit another one inside you.

“Unh,” you whine in time with his finger thrusts, feeling the stretch of your hole as the slick from your core coats his hand and allows his second finger entry. You gasp at the sensation of his two thick fingers inside of you and the heel of his hand against your clit. The knot in your stomach feels as if it’s stretching as tight as it can go, pulling and straining to be undone. You work your hips in time with Bucky’s hand, trying to get him deeper inside you where your body screams for more.

“But don’t worry,” he whispers against your ear. “I’ll take care of that right now.”

Bucky’s other hand comes up and pinches your erect nippled through your shirt. The sharp sizzle of pain morphs into pleasure as he surges through your nerves and rips the knot in your core apart. Your hips freeze and your knees lock tight against Bucky’s hips, every muscle in your abdomen clenching and your walls bearing down on Bucky’s fingers. 

“That’s a good girl,” he breathes. “Look at you cumming all over my hand.” His words send another blade of pleasure to your core and you squeeze his fingers tighter. “You like when I talk to you, baby?” Bucky asks. “You like when I tell you you’re a good girl?” Bucky chuckles at the realization that his words cause your pussy to work his fingers harder.

“Does my sweet, pretty girl want to cum on my cock?” He wonders, tracing a finger down the side of your face and then slipping it into your mouth. You instinctively suck on his digit, lathing your tongue around the tip. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath when you nip at his finger with one of your fangs.

“Dirty girl,” he teases as he takes his finger from your mouth. He grabs your chin and looks into your eyes again. “Will you let me fuck that tight little pussy of yours?”

You moan and nod your head. “Yes! Yes, Bucky – please!” you cry out.

With a wolfish grin, Bucky grabs the back of your thighs and holds you up as he carries you out of the living room and towards his bedroom. You notice two little pinpricks of blood where your fangs had been earlier, the skin already healing over. You lower your mouth back to Bucky’s throat and lick his skin clean. Bucky bounces you in his arms and kisses your lips forcefully as he finally arrives at his room.

He crawls with you up the bed until your head is nestled on his pillows and his body covers yours completely. The warmth of him encompasses you and his scent surrounds you where it pours from his sheets and clothing scattered around the room. Bucky’s bedroom smells just like him, like being sheltered by a grove of pine trees as the sun rises in the sky after a long, dark night. 

 Bucky slides his hands under your shirt and pushes it up your chest, kissing your breasts as they’re exposed. You hum at the warm, wet kisses he places on your nipples before he pulls the shirt over your head and up your arms. Next, he kisses your lips and slowly makes his way down your body, leaving a trail of warmth in the wake of his lips as he reaches the waistband of your shorts.

His fingers curl around the elastic and tug them down, down, down, your legs. Bucky sits back on his haunches, your shorts and panties dangling from the end of his fingers. You reach to cover yourself with your hands, never having had anyone look at your naked body before. 

His glacier blue eyes lock onto yours and freeze you in place. Bucky shakes his head once, telling you to stop hiding yourself from him. You slowly pull your hands away, not exactly sure what to do with them now that they don’t have a purpose.

Bucky hums in content at seeing your naked body lying on his bed, wet and ready for him. He slides backwards off the bed, keeping his eyes on you the entire time. Your face heats as he whips his shirt over his head, exposing his solid chest and torso. He reaches for the button of his jeans and slowly undoes the fastenings. He watches your eyes widen when his cock springs free, finally relieved of its confinement. 

You can’t take your eyes away from Bucky’s dick as it stands at attention, the pink tip weeping liquid. You quickly glance up at Bucky’s face, and see amusement flicker in his eyes.

“I don’t th-think…” you stammer.

“Oh,” Bucky rumbles. “It’ll fit.”

Bucky positions himself on top of your body again, pulling your legs apart so that he can nestle his hips between yours. You feel as his warm, hard length rests between your lower lips and up onto your mound. He’s so big that you could wrap both hands around him and there would still be leftovers. You swallow hard and look up into Bucky’s eyes as he hovers over you. 

“Are you sure?”

He leans down and presses a hard kiss to your lips. “I’m sure.”

Bucky guides his tip to your entrance, coating the head with your juices. He slides it up and down your slit, notching it against your clit and sending shocks to your core. You slowly bring your knees up and wrap your feet around the small of Bucky’s back, reaching your hands to grab onto Bucky’s metal wrist where he has it placed above your head. You look into his eyes as a smile graces his lips.

“Good girl,” he praises. Your body shivers at the compliment and you smile shyly back at him. Bucky takes the head of his cock and slowly notches it into you, pausing at your gasp of air. “Relax, doll,” he says as he leans down to kiss you. You melt into the kiss, allowing your legs to relax slightly and your walls to open enough for Bucky to slide in a couple of inches.

His cock is thicker and longer than his fingers and your body is unsure what to do with so much of it inside you. You whine against Bucky’s lips, the stretch and pressure unfamiliar. 

“It’s okay, baby; you can take me.”

You nod and consciously relax your pelvic floor, imaging the muscles loosening up and allowing Bucky inside. You can feel the effects immediately, Bucky’s hips closing the gap and the tip of his cock lodging deep inside you, the notched head putting pressure against a point inside you that forces all the air to leave your lungs. You suck in a sharp breath as Bucky fully sheaths himself inside you, barely believing that his entire length rests within your walls.

“That’s it, doll,” Bucky commends your efforts. “Told you you could do it.”

You smile at him earnestly, proud of yourself for taking all of him inside of you at once. He brings his flesh hand up to your face and pulls your bottom lip down with his thumb. “I’m gonna move now, okay? You ready?”

“Yes,” you breathe. Your heart pounds in your chest as Bucky slowly slides from you until he’s almost completely out. Then, in one smooth motion, he presses back inside, the head rubbing against the spot that made you lose your breath when he entered the first time. You stare into each other’s eyes as Bucky continues to rock into you, his hips meeting yours with every press forward.

You can’t help but sigh at the sweet pleasure that builds from Bucky’s measured pace. You unwind one hand from Bucky’s metal wrist and reach for his face, closing your eyes and capturing his lips in an ardent kiss. The feeling of him moving inside you is nice, the coil from earlier returning to its place inside your core.

You cry out suddenly when Bucky’s next thrust enters you with more force than his previous ones. He opens his eyes and looks down at you, seeing the heat of your cheeks spread down your neck. He smirks and slams into you again, harder. Your eyes widen and your breath rushes out with the thrusts, your walls constricting around him with the repeated motion.

“You like that?” he questions, thrusting hard into you again. You gasp when he picks up speed and force, slamming into you over and over again. “I said: do you like that? Answer me.”

“Uh”-thrust-“huh”-thrust- you answer, your affirmation being knocked out of you as Bucky slams into your core. The rapid, harsh thrusts have the ridges and veins of Bucky’s cock sliding against your walls, and you can feel every single one of them tightening the coil inside of you until it is stretched tight once again. Bucky continues to thrust, taking you higher and higher and higher until there’s no room left inside of  you that your emotions seep from your eyes, your pink-tinged tears from pleasure rather than pain this time.

You gasp for breath repeatedly, listening to the wet sounds of Bucky thrusting in and out of you, the moans and muttered praises falling from his lips. 

“So good for me.”

“You take me so well.” 

“Look at you, crying over my cock because it’s making a mess of your sweet little cunt.”

The praise sends you soaring, you can’t help but whimper and sob into Bucky’s mouth as he keeps his face close to yours, making sure that you like everything he does to your body, monitoring your cries of pleasure to make sure he’s doing the best he can.

The coil begins to fray and snap. You begin to tense up, the sensations becoming too much.

“I think,” you moan, “I’m gonna…!”

Before your body completely lets go, you feel Bucky snarl into your neck and bite down hard with his incisors. You feel a flood of endorphins rush from Bucky’s mouth and travel through your body, pooling in your core and lighting the coil on fire. You cum hard on Bucky’s cock, liquid gushing from you. Your mind goes completely blank as your body shudders and shakes against Bucky’s, your pussy sucking him in as if it will never let him go. Buck retracts his teeth from the mark on your neck, licking his tongue over the puncture wounds. 

“Oh, fuck yes, baby girl. Look what I did to you – no one else will ever make you squirt like I do. No one will ever touch you. You’re mine, baby. No one else’s. I’m never letting you go.”

You stare down in enraptured surprise as you feel Bucky’s cock suddenly swelling inside you, locking him in place. He’s buried to the hilt and you feel a bulging just inside your entrance, preventing him from thrusting any more. Bucky groans loudly in your ear and you feel warmth and extra pressure against your walls, filling you to the brim with Bucky’s cum.

 Bucky leans down and nuzzles into your neck, placing tired kisses against where he’d bitten you. “Mine,” he growls. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine,” he commands.

Your eyes drift closed as the after effects of your orgasms and Bucky’s mark leave you breathless and blissed out. “Yours,” you murmur. “Always.”

Bucky flips you both over, his knot keeping you firmly locked together, unable to separate even if you wanted to (which you don’t). He lays you gently on his chest and holds your face in both of his hands. He wants you to look at him, but your eyes are so heavy that you can barely lift them.

You hear Bucky’s low voice as you drift off to sleep, but the words don’t make any sense.

“My mate.”

***

Your eyes snap open at the feel of soft lips against your forehead, then your nose, then eyelids and cheeks, and finally against your own lips.

You pull away immediately, hands covering your mouth in absolute horror. The previous night comes rushing back to you when you sense the heaviness of a mark on your neck and the aching pulse between your legs. Bucky looks up from where he lays beneath you, his expression turning puzzled and then quickly alarmed at your words.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t mean to. I can’t believe –” you gasp out, placing your hands over your entire face and scrambling away in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me. I told you. I’ve never done that before, I didn’t know that would happen. I – I must have hypnotized you or something!” you cry out. “I didn’t know that was something I could do! I'm so sorry. I never should have –”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he calls, rushing to sit up and pull your hands away from your face, tilting your chin up until you’re looking at him. There’s a tender look on his face that you’ve never seen before, as if he’s dropped all of his walls with you. Your heart shatters at the realization that you’ve made him do things he never wanted to.  

His eyes soften, almost as if he could understand your thoughts just by looking into your eyes. He tries to get you to calm down, to regulate your breathing by taking in deep breaths of his own, but you’re too full of anxiety and self-loathing for it to work.

“It’s okay,” he consoles you. “We didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.”

“How is that possible?” you sob helplessly, trying your best to divert your gaze from his. “You don’t even like me. You’ve never liked me and especially not after I became a vampire. I mean, you’re a werewolf! You hate me. You couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as me for a year.” 

“Shhh,” Bucky soothes. “When did I ever say I hated you?”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your breaths continuing to heave in and out of your chest, but your heart somehow calms of its own accord. You feel its beat echoing around you and you realize that Bucky’s heartbeat is working to calm yours, his eyes peering into your own while his hands rub up and down your arms in a soothing motion. “I – we’re enemies,” you say quietly. “Vampires and werewolves have always hated each other.”

“Do you hate me?” he questions, turning your face so that you’re looking at him once again.

You hesitate for a moment before shaking your head softly. “No.”

“And I don’t hate you,” he states, raising a hand and softly stroking your hair.

“But you…?” You try to make sense of what Bucky’s saying. “You can’t stand me. You avoided me after – after I…”

“Because I didn’t want to scare you,” Bucky murmurs. “I knew that if I was around you, I would do something I would regret.”

“...like kill me?” you wonder.

Bucky’s lip quirk into a small smile and he chuckles at your question. “No, Y/N. Not kill you.”

“Then what…?”

“After you were turned,” Bucky begins. He pulls his hand from you and clasps your hands within his, gently stroking your skin with his thumbs. You watch, entranced, as his fingers move over your skin. “I realized something as soon as I walked into your room in the med bay and scented you for the first time.” He tugs on your hands until you look up into his face. He smiles softly down at you with a look of pure adoration and love. “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

You stare at him in confusion. There’s no way – that’s not possible. “How… How is that possible? Are you sure I didn’t hypnotize you into thinking that?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs. “You didn’t hypnotize me – that’s not real, and you know it.” He moves one hand to your throat, where he caresses his bite mark on your skin with his thumb.  “I don’t know how it happened or why the universe saw fit to bind us together, but it did.” Bucky bends his head and smiles ruefully at you as he continues. “I knew you were going to be special to me the first time we ever met, but you were so quiet and you avoided me like the plague, so I thought you were afraid of me.” 

You feel the anguish coming from Bucky as he thinks back on how you treated him these last couple of years. How your inability to meet his eyes or hold a conversation with him led him to believe that you were frightened to be near him, frightened of him. 

You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on your folded arms. You glance away and say softly, “I’m… I’m not good with people. Sometimes it’s okay, but others… it’s like I forget how to talk to people.” You flicker your eyes to his quickly, but look away just as fast. You raise your fingers to your lips and rub back and forth, a nervous habit you’ve had for years. “If…if I… like someone. It makes it worse.”

“And that’s why you wouldn’t talk to me?” Bucky questions, pulling your hand from your mouth and placing a kiss on the center of your palm.Your face flushes and a small smile flits to your face. You nod your head while looking down at your knees.

“Well,” he says, “I like you,too.” You raise your eyes to see a smile lighting up his face and brightening his eyes. “I always have.”

“You do?” you ask, checking to be sure that Bucky isn’t just saying these things because you slept together after feeding from him. “It’s not because of what I did last night?”

“No, sugar,” he replies. “I’ve wanted to be with you this whole time.” You watch his eyes scan your face, watching your reactions and feeling your emotions through your new bond. “Do you want to be with me? I wasn’t going to mark you without asking first, but my instincts wouldn’t allow you to be so close without claiming you.”

You shyly pull your hair over your shoulder where Bucky’s mark resides. You worry a strand between your hands and look up into his eyes. “I… I like it,” you confess, feeling your heart beat faster in your chest at your bold words.

“Good,” Bucky states. He leans into you and brushes your hair back away from your shoulder, exposing your mark and placing a tender peck against the raised edges. “Because you’re mine.”

You nod and tilt your head to the side, allowing Bucky to trail his lips up and down your throat before he makes his way to your lips. He kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth and meeting with yours. You hum and unfurl your body, climbing into his lap as his hands guide you into straddling his waist.

“I’m yours,” you agree.

“And I’m yours,” he echoes.

________________________________________

So I didn't have time to make the part 2 I was thinking about for this, but it was never a direct continuation anyway.

Hope you enjoyed! 🎃

#kinktober #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #smut #bucky barnes fic

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 6 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley has second thoughts about what it would really mean to date a single mom. Meanwhile, you try to get your sister to watch Everett so you can have a night with Bradley. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst and swearing (eventually 18+)

Length: 3100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Bradley was up early on Thursday morning. In an effort to stay in his warm bed for a few more minutes, he was scrolling back through his text messages with you. After a moment, he was grinning. 

Was there always an undertone of flirtation? Yes. Did he also feel like he was getting to know you better? Yes. 

When he reminded you last night that he wanted to take you out on a proper date, you promised him you would try to get your sister to watch Everett one evening soon. Bradley didn't mind taking you and Everett out to a movie or the park, but he definitely wanted a few hours alone with you. He was craving it.

And then he couldn't help himself. He tapped the thumbnail of your Kitten photo and groaned. It was too sexy. You were so real. He would be seeing you later today, probably back in one of your usual suits, which was also sexy as hell.

He walked to his shower with a hard dick. Better take care of this now before it became a problem later today. So he jerked off with one hand braced against the wall and the warm water cascading over his body. He thought about pressing his lips to your neck and begging you to show him your claws. He thought about you in that black pencil skirt. 

He came, hard. With one final stroke of his hand, he started to clean himself up. 

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

You bounced a bit at your desk. Your sister was coming to watch Everett's practice today. Once Molly caught sight of the coaches, she was going to lose her mind. And once you told her that Coach Bradley already asked you out, she was definitely going to volunteer to watch Everett one night for you. She was predictable like that. 

Plus, she had always hated Danny, and she had taken to calling Frank 'that boring guy with the receding hairline.' She would consider Bradley an upgrade with just one glance. 

And he was. He really was. You thought it was the way he was so effortlessly good with Everett that had you going all gooey. 

You couldn't wait to get to the ballfield later today. 

It was a miracle that you had been able to avoid Frank for most of the week, but when you got called into one of the conference rooms for a team meeting, unfortunately he was there as well. You lunged into the one of the two remaining seats that wasn't next to Frank. George gave you a strange look as he was about to sit there, but you just yanked it away from him. 

When the meeting was over, you really needed to leave to get Everett from school. But of course Frank tried to follow you to your office.

"Baby," he whispered, following you like a lost dog. "Wait."

"Don't call me that, Frank. Please." But he followed you into your office as you started grabbing your bag.

"Come on. We were having fun!"

You scoffed. "Maybe you were having more fun than I was. I'm not into it now, okay?" you said, ushering him out and heading for the elevator. 

You didn't want to get to the field late; as ridiculous as it was, you didn't want anyone else to get the opportunity to park next to Bradley's Bronco today. 

"Come on," you muttered, eating a granola bar while you waited in the parent pickup line. Finally you moved to the front, and Everett hopped in.

"Tee ball day!" he cheered as you pulled back into traffic. 

You had to laugh as he pumped his fists in the air. "Aunt Molly is coming today, too," you told him.

"Yes!" he cheered. "Can we see if Coach Bradley can teach me how to throw a slider one day?"

You bit the inside of your cheek to try to suppress your giggles. "Sure. We can ask." The idea of Bradley and Everett playing baseball at the park while you watched and cheered them on had you practically giddy. You'd treat them to ice cream afterwards. Maybe you'd treat Coach to even more than that.

You pulled into the parking lot and slipped your car into the spot next to the Bronco. Take that, Sandra.

Then to Everett's delight, Molly parked on the other side of you. "Aunt Molly!" he called through the closed window, and your younger sister was out of her car and opening your back door before you had your car turned off. 

"Ev! I heard you're some sort of tee ball wizard!" 

"I'm a power hitter," he informed her very seriously. "And I'm probably going to learn how to throw a slider in a few days."

She whistled. "I am impressed. I came to watch you show off today."

"Let's go get your cleats on," you said, ushering them toward the bleachers while you changed out of your heels. 

"He's loving tee ball?" Molly asked, offering you a hand while you hopped into your sneakers. 

"He's in heaven. So happy I signed him up for this. I'm trying to get Danny to come one day and watch him."

Your sister gave you a disgusted look. "You don't need him around you and Ev. How many times do I need to tell you that? He's a fucking asshole, and he's not good enough for either of you."

"He's still Ev's dad," you said softly, but your eyes connected with Bradley's. He smiled at you and nodded once before letting his eyes drift over your body. 

Of course Molly noticed right away where you were looking. "Holy hell. Who is that? Oh my god, are those the coaches?"

"Uh huh," you whispered, watching Bob high five your kid while Bradley still smiled at you. 

"Please, sign me up for tee ball. Oh shit, now I can't stop thinking about balls. That one coach is hardcore checking you out."

"I know," you told her, nudging her toward the empty spot on the bleachers. 

She gasped next to you. "Please tell me that's why you asked me to watch Ev for you one night."

"Mmhmm," you hummed, kneeling to tie Everett's cleats for him. And when you stood up, Bradley was heading toward you in his backwards Phillies hat. 

"Hey," he whispered. You thought maybe he wanted to call you Kitten, but didn't want to do it in front of a crowd.

"Coach," you said with a smirk. 

"Can Bob and I talk to you after practice for a couple minutes? Regarding the pool party this weekend?" he asked, watching you bite your lip. 

"Of course," you told him. "Team Mom duties."

"Coach! My Aunt Molly came to watch me be a power hitter," Everett told him, pointing at your sister. People frequently told you that the two of you looked like twins, but Bradley just politely held out his hand to her. Your sister on the other hand looked like she was going to burst from excitement. 

"I'm Molly, and it's a pleasure to meet you," she said. "I'm really good at watching Everett for my sister when she needs a night off to have some fun." You glared at her as subtly as you could.

He just laughed. "I'm Bradley," he said, releasing her hand. "And that's good information to know."

He glanced at you again before leading Everett out to start warming up. 

"That's what you need in your life. Not Danny. Not Frank. Bradley." 

Your sister wasn't wrong. 

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

Bradley was surprised that after just three weeks as a team, the Tiny Eagles were already practicing fielding with some success. Since there was no pitcher for tee ball, Bob had put Everett at second base, and he was doing a surprisingly good job. Even when he jumped up to try to catch a ball and ended up scraping his arm on the base, he didn't cry. 

But Bradley ran out to him when he saw some blood, and Bob rotated another player to second base so Bradley could get him cleaned up. 

"You okay?" Bradley asked, tilting Everett's arm back and forth as he led him to the bleachers for the first aid kit. 

"Yeah," Everett said mildly. "Baseball injuries are cool."

Bradley just laughed as he glanced over at your worried face. He gave you a thumbs up, and you sat back down next to your sister. 

"Well, let's get it cleaned up anyway." Bradley knelt down and cleaned the scrapes, and he added some first aid ointment before rooting around for an oversized bandage. 

"I thought only moms knew how to do stuff like this," Everett said, watching Bradley open the band aid and center it over the cut. 

Once again it broke Bradley's heart to see how easily he could relate to Everett. "Well, moms are clearly the best kinds of people. Most of the stuff I know how to do, I learned from my mom."

Everett nodded like that made a lot of sense to him, but he said, "Sometimes it would be cool to have a dad, too."

Bradley nodded like that made sense to him. "I know what it feels like to not have your dad at your tee ball games. It sucks, kiddo."

Everett just shrugged and bent his elbow to see how the band aid felt. "My mom's cool. She's probably better at the dad stuff than most dads."

"Yeah, she's really cool," Bradley added, standing and leading Everett back to the outfield. 

Bradley spent the rest of the practice considering what it would really mean to get involved with you. Dates would be sporadic and would often include Everett. Sleepovers would happen once a week. Maybe less than that. Bradley would come in second place to your kid 95% of the time. 

Now he kind of had a better understanding of why he never ever caught wind of Carole dating anyone after Nick died. She either hid it very well from Bradley, or she just didn't partake. 

Bradley felt himself hesitating inside. He didn't think he could do this. But fuck if you didn't make him feel so damn good when you were around him.

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

You watched Molly run around with Everett while you waited for Bradley and Bob to chat about the swim party. It was comical the way the other moms shot them longing glances as they made their way to the parking lot. 

"Hey, Team Mom," Bob said with a smile. "Can we put you in charge of ordering the pizzas for the swim party after the game on Saturday? We have the pool reserved from noon until five."

"Of course," you replied. "What else do you need?"

Bradley took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. "Sandra insisted on making a bunch of homemade cookies and cupcakes and shit," he said with an eye roll which you mirrored. "We just need some juice boxes and chips."

"Here, use my credit card," Bob said, handing it to you. "I can get reimbursed for everything. Just call in the pizza order right when the game ends, and they should have plenty of time to make the delivery for around one or two in the afternoon."

"Just have them deliver it to the pool?" you asked, watching Bradley replace his cap, but now he was avoiding your eyes. 

Bob nodded. "Yeah, there's a kitchen in the small clubhouse we can use for the afternoon. Everyone can grab food from there. Should be simple enough. I'll pick up the keys tomorrow night, and I'll give them to you before the game starts on Saturday."

"Sounds good," you said, tucking Bob's credit card into your wallet. "I'll take care of the chips and juice boxes, too."

"Thanks, Team Mom," Bob said with a grin. He gave Bradley a look before heading toward the parking lot. 

"Walk you up?" Bradley asked softly, finally looking at you the way you'd gotten used to. 

When you nodded and turned, you gasped as you felt his hand at your lower back. You didn't tell him to stop, rather you walked a bit slower toward Ev and Molly, enjoying the feel of his warm palm through your work blouse. 

"Everett really wants you to show him that slider," you said, unable to think of anything else to converse about. 

Bradley chuckled but didn't answer you for a few seconds. "Are you two free on Sunday?" His voice sounded hesitant.

"Yes," you confirmed. 

"And how are you at catching?" he asked, finally grinning down at you. 

"I don't even have a glove," you told him, eyes wide. "And how fast are these pitches we're talking about?"

He laughed, head tipped back to the setting sun. "Catchers use mitts, not gloves, Kitten. I have one you can use. And nothing too fast. I would promise not to hurt you."

You liked the idea of that sentence having multiple meanings. But you just kind of hummed and pretended to be thinking about it. "Okay. Sunday works."

He rubbed his hand up higher on your back as you approached your son and your sister. "I'm also beginning to see that you need a better baseball education," he said, giving you a pointed look as he removed his hand from your back. "Hey, Molly. I'm going to need a favor."

Molly stopped tickling Everett and eyed Bradley with intense interest. "Yes? What can I do for you?"

"Any chance you can let your sister know which day you're free to spend some time with your nephew? She's in dire need of a night out." 

"Am I?" you asked with a laugh. 

But two sets of eyes landed on you at the same time. "You are," Bradley and Molly confirmed at the same time.

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

Bradley was fucked. He parked at the Hard Deck and went inside, still wearing his Tiny Eagles jersey and Phillies cap. He found Bob and Nat back by the pool table and joined them.

"I'm a little surprised to see you so soon. Thought you'd still be chatting up the Team Mom," Bob said with a chuckle. 

Bradley ran his hands over his face. "I'm notorious for making poor choices when it comes to women, aren't I?" he asked Nat.

She laughed and sipped her drink. "What choices? The most pertinent decision you make about women is whether or not you're going to sleep with one."

Bradley rolled his shoulders and took her drink out of her hand. He took a long sip and tried to hand it back to her. "Just keep it. Jesus, you need to stop doing that. Now, what is this poor decision you've made?"

Bob was still chuckling as he told Nat, "He's into one of the moms. You should see the way he looks at her. He's all soft for her."

"You finally slept with her?" Nat asked.

"No! Nat, please! I need some help here!" He was already irritated and thinking about just going home when he saw Hangman out of the corner of his eye. 

"What's got you all pissy?" he drawled.

"A woman," Bob and Nat replied in unison. "A mom, no less," Nat added with a smirk. "Apparently she makes him soft."

"Moms are not even my thing," Bradley managed to say through clenched teeth. "Too complicated. So much baggage, you know? That's why it's a terrible decision that I've made. I agreed to go to the park with her and her son on Sunday, show him how to pitch a baseball. And then I accidentally set up a date with her. And I bought Phillies tickets for the three of us."

Jake cocked his head. "That sounds intentional."

Now Bob looked angry. "You can't just jerk our Team Mom around like that. She's really sweet. And she volunteered because of you in the first place."

Bradley's eyes fell to Nat, because he knew she'd take him seriously now. "Do you like her?" she asked him. Bradley nodded immediately. "You're attracted to her? She seems attracted to you?"

"Hell yes," Bradley confirmed, his mind flooded with images of you dressed as a Kitten.

Nat just shrugged. "Sounds like a match. Give it a chance."

"But she's complicated!" Bradley tossed his head back. "I don't do complicated."

Nat just snorted. "You're an adult now, Rooster. Sometimes complicated can't be avoided. Sometimes complicated is worth it. And you're probably overthinking this. How complicated is it to get to know someone? Kiss them? Enjoy spending time with them and maybe their kid, too? It's not that complicated."

"I need a drink," he rasped, heading for Penny. 

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

"Everett! Move faster!" you called up the stairs. "Your game is starting soon, and we need to leave!"

"I'm coming!" he yelled.

You had packed a bag with your bathing suits, towels, and other pool essentials last night. You were going to change into your leopard print bathing suit at the pool; a cat print, just for Coach Bradley. You smiled in the entryway mirror, your waterproof makeup looking good. Bradley hadn't been very talkative over text the past two days, but you were really looking forward to seeing him in person. 

"Get your sneakers on," you told Everett as he came tearing down the stairs. "Or we'll be late, and the Tiny Owls will beat the Tiny Eagles, because you're a power hitter!"

That had him moving at double time. You got him in the car and made it to the ballfields in record time. Everett took off across the grass, headed for the other blue uniforms as they were just starting to warm up with Bob. You set your things down on the bleachers, and when you looked up, Bradley was right in front of you. 

"Hi, Coach," you said with a big grin. But he was looking at you intently. "Everything okay?"

He was staring at you, so much so that you thought maybe you had some granola bar on your face. You were about to swipe at your mouth when he smiled at you. "Everything's perfect, Kitten. Just thinking about how much you and Ev brighten my day."

You gasped softly as his lips brushed against your cheek so quickly, you weren't sure it even happened. But the color in his cheeks and the way he kept turning back to look at you had you convinced it really did.

As the game started, you texted Molly, absolutely begging her to free up her schedule next weekend.  

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

A swim party and a date?! The next part will get a little spicier for these two, but I'll label it when it's 18+. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

PART 7

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine

[ghostlythunderbird]

Omegaverse ~ Task Force 141+ Alejandro, Rodolfo, König

Warnings: Mostly SFW with a dash of NSFW (MINORS BEGONE)

Author Notes: These are gonna be short and I apologize for it but YALL THE WRITING JUICE IS DRYING UP, so once again I'm sorry. These are also my own interpretations of these characters but feel free to add on top of them. I also wanna thank @l-lend and @kelpiesummer for helping me with these, your honor I love them both.

Before we begin I would like to go over some baseline stuff to this:

In Military pack dynamics there is a Lead Alpha and a Lead Beta, and if the Alpha isn't present it is the Beta’s duty to oversee the safety of the pack.

Apex Alphas do exist here but they only make up 10% of the population, and are often ridiculed due to them being able to control a vast majority of Alphas. They are also much stronger and much bigger than regular Alphas with much stronger instincts. In modern society it's often damning should one be born an Apex because they often have to wear muzzles in public because of their unpredictability.

An Apex’s muzzle is only taken off when they are alone, mated, or receive immunity by extended military service to prove they are not a danger to anyone.

To add on about an Apex, their Ruts become stronger the longer they don't relieve built up tension over time. It has even been recorded that Apexes with no outlet have often become feral and cannot be helped out of a feral state. All Apexes MUST have a physical outlet to reduce built up tension.

All dynamics are able to become Feral, and in this universe there is not enough data to help an individual out of said feral state and will have to be sent to a designated center for proper care.

Apexes, Alphas, and Omegas are able to control themselves decently should a Rut or Heat arrive. Should one help out with these times, consent must be given beforehand and with a trusted individual. Not everyone here is driven to wackiness because of hormones

In the Military, there are often teams that are used for Ruts and Heats of all calibers, they are made up of trained Betas and are the only ones allowed to handle single Apex, Alpha, and Omega dynamics who are in a Heat or Rut.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Simon I feel like would be an Alpha, simply because of his size and his ability to lead soldiers like a well oiled machine. He didn't start feeding into his alpha nature until he joined the Royal Army after the attacks on 9/11, mostly because his father would punish him and his family should anyone try to stand up to him. Once Simon completed his training he shows his father what a true Alpha is and acts like, and ends up kicking him out of the house before assuming the role as the protector of his family.

After losing his family and “Simon Riley” being now pronounced dead he started to hide his true nature and his scent. While his scent is practically nonexistent it didn't stop him from the commanding and somewhat protective nature of his inner Alpha. In the Ghost’s mind, no scent and repressing that inner Alpha, is the best way to begin a nonexistent life; to become nothing more but a living shadow.

In a Rut:

To describe Simon in a rut would be a very self protective Alpha, not wanting anyone with a 5 mile radius near him to ensure no one discovers his identity. And in order to safeguard that fact he ends up going to a secluded safehouse far from base to ensure not a single person can find him in such a vulnerable state. During this time he does believe it's better for him to be alone as the worry of losing himself after being pent up for so long could only cause him more trouble on top of someone finding out Simon Riley isn't as dead as they claim.

But to say he's a virgin would be a complete lie, he’s been with omegas before and many were in heat so he understands a little about omegas but nothing really outside a heat. With that being said he often craves an omega during his ruts, but after becoming the Ghost he doesn't actively seek them anymore. But if he did have an omega (maybe even you) helping him out he would definitely be very dominant, constantly on lookout after having sated both his needs and whoever is helping him. If you're close with him, he begins to show a more doting characteristic that he claims isn't there such as getting you what snack you're craving or bringing in more blankets for your heat nest.

John “Soap” MacTavish 

Now this Scott probably doesn't strike you as an Alpha, but I assure you he is 100% Alpha blood though and through. Johnny is definitely a more playful alpha compared to the rest of his team but that doesn't stop him from trying to get them to loosen up and have fun. He's even been told many didn't think he was an Alpha at their first introduction, with his fun and very caring personality he's been more mistaken as an Omega rather than an Alpha.

But that never once hurt his feelings, and has even offered to show he’s the real deal if you catch my drift. It also means he loves to show off to whoever might be watching whether they are Male, Female, Omega, Alpha, or even a Beta. His only hard NO would be an Apex of any gender, he may not have met any but there is definitely a stereotype amongst Apexes.

In a Rut:

Before anyone starts to make assumptions that he's pretty dominant in bed and during a rut that's only a half truth. While yes his body is telling him to dominate during that time he isn't fully into it, he is actually more of a switch and can be pretty needy during this time. He wants to cuddle about 90% of the time because the skin on skin helps bring his brain back to a safe place where hormones don't dictate his every move.

Johnny definitely isn't a virgin and has actually had many partners of all second genders besides apexes in his bed at least once. He can definitely say he knows his way around anybody that decides to help him in a rut but once he's sated it's straight pampering for his partner. Once you get to know him better he actually wants to play fight with you more after you're both satiated for a bit, Johnny claims it's to help build a bond between the two for you.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick 

Before anyone yells at me for making Gaz a Beta hear me out. In a pack like Task Force 141 there needs to be a Lead Alpha and a Lead Beta that takes up for the Lead Alpha should they not be present in a situation. But our sweet Kyle definitely is the voice of reason between the original four, should the Alpha’s hormones and instincts cloud one's judgment Kyle would help set the record straight and see both sides to the coin. He’s definitely the more laid back one of the group but he can get a little wild should he need to, I mean the guy was hanging upside down under a helicopter while going down an active highway.

While he might be the more laid back one, that doesn't exactly mean he isn't a little trickster. He likes to rile Soap up before he gets told to stop which often leads to someone getting sent to the medbay, while he does mess with Ghost and Price he doesn't take it too far because not only are they Alphas they also happen to be higher in the chain of command. Kyle has stated before that it's just easier to pick on Johnny because they are both the same rank, and that Soap is the one who actually wants to up the intensity or stakes to whatever they are doing.

I'm just gonna add this in on this part to say since Betas don’t have Heats or Ruts I won't have a Rut part for Gaz. But that doesn't mean that this man doesn't get any. To anyone who has ever met him, they can say he’s super helpful during those times and has even offered to help should they need it. But that is only to a select few, he mostly just makes sure you don't die from starvation or dehydration and will even run messages and updates back and forth on whatever you want to know or need during that time.

John Price

Our captain in tight fitting camo is not just an Alpha he's The Alpha of Task Force 141, his presence is calm yet demanding attention from anyone who crosses his path. That being said, he isn't one to outright snap at anyone who gets on his nerves, but rather lets them make a fool of themselves. He will only ever step in if his team or his own safety starts being questioned around an individual or in a certain area. He is always aware of everyone under his charge and does the best he can to ensure they all make it back home safe, although they aren't scratch less sometimes but alive nonetheless.

While John is a leader and an officer he makes sure he has an end time to the mountains of paperwork on his desk. Should he have someone at home waiting for him, he makes sure to keep them updated on his whereabouts but once he's in the security of his own four walls his top priority is only them. John has been known to go off the radar sometimes while at home, but it's mostly because when he's home he doesn't want work knocking at his door when he's got other priorities. Overall this man is sweet as he can be, in his own rough way, and all he ever really wants to do is just love and pamper his mate like it might be the last time.

In a Rut:

Right off the bat he tells you he might be a bit much during this time of the year, but it's much more different than what you'd expect from an Alpha of his standing. While most of the time he's peachy with being the dominant one in bed, if the Rut is strong and he just came home all he wants is for you to take control. He will mostly complain that it's because he's “Getting old as crap” but you set that aside and simply say it's ok to let someone else take control. John just wants to be pampered in his Ruts mostly because every other time he has to be taking care of someone else.

Now if he goes into Rut while he's on extended leave and has the energy of a young buck, better buckle up then honey cause you're just gonna have to ride it out. The easiest way to say what he is in bed would be a switch but personally it isn't that simple. Personally I do believe that John can be dominant but with his line of work and his responsibilities it takes it out of him even with a rut, he wants to be dominant but simply put the man is tired most of the time. So in order to make up for it he is very caring of his partner, he wants to provide and protect his partner. John is by far one of the sweetest Alphas out there but don't tell anyone that, he has a reputation to uphold back on base.

Alejandro Vargas

This FINE Latino man is without a doubt an Alpha, with his ability to be both cunning and devious in his line of work he can make sure the job is done. While he might be unforgiving to his enemies, anyone that is a previous lover or his mate can say that he is a hopeless romantic. He showers and pampers his lovers with anything they could ever desire, Alex wants to show that he is a perfect caregiver and provider to their needs.

While he might not be a stereotypical Alpha, he can still effectively protect his mate and his pack should some catch the wrong side of him. He’s a protector and has even said that he “Will fight to his very last breath as long as it means you are all protected in the end.'' With that it's easy to say Alejandro is a very selfless person to those he trusts and will ensure all are properly protected and provided for should they come under his protection and care as the Lead Alpha.

In a Rut:

Imma say it now, Alejandro actually feeds into that inner Alpha during this time. He wants to release all that built up tension into the form of rough sex should anyone help him out. He only ever has someone with him if he knows it's bad and has no mate or anyone special, but if he does have a mate they are gonna be covered in bruises and love bites and probably bred after it. Also without a doubt he's bound to become more aggressive than normal, but again he is simply acting on instincts. However that aggression will never be used against you that could potentially hurt you.

Maybe after a few rounds Alejandro does feel like he's able enough to check on his partner, he goes to town should they need aftercare, snacks, or a shower. He kisses on deep bruises he's left along your skin, helps wash your hair and body, even makes sure you're properly fed even if he's the one who is in Rut.

Rodolfo Parra

Once again please no one yell at me for this decision, but I do feel like Rudy would also be a Beta as he works closely with Colonel Vargas as his second in command. After growing up with Alejandro, they both decided to stay together after their basic training and fight for justice in Las Almas. Wherever you see Alejandro, Rodolfo is never far behind updating the Lead Alpha should news come up over the radios from their team.

Rudy is also more alongside the more nurturing nature, he wants his team safe and will do anything to protect them. His team is his Pack and without them Rudy has nothing left, that being said he tries to improve whatever he can as the Lead Beta for Los Vaqueros. I can also say without a doubt Rudy is also the most loving person to whoever is his mate, but this isn't one sided as he also wants all the love and adoration from his mate just as much. He is a lover by nature but he also wants to be bathed and be told that he is doing a good job and a lover and a mate.

And while again Rudy may be a Beta and doesn't have a Rut it doesn't mean he is inexperienced, He chooses to wait and is actually very selective of potential partners that he shares such intimate moments with. But if you ask Alejandro he can tell you Rudy has had some drunken one night stands that makes the Beta beat red at just their mentioning.

König

Our lorge Austrian man here is one of the lesser known dynamics that makes up only 10% of the world's population; An Apex. Truly it's no surprise that this man right here would be anything less, but in König’s personal opinion it's nothing but a curse. Ever since he presented he was mocked and shamed for his second gender, it was much worse when the government sent his family a muzzle for him to wear in public. It was nothing short of humiliating, it even was something else for him to be bullied for. The bullying was also the reason why  König has deep scars around his face from the muzzle digging in, some of them because his bullies often pulled on the straps to where it was too tight.

Over the years König became more and more anxious around others, there were very limited times the large man would go out into public because he knew people would turn him away simply for his second gender. And due to the large amount of prejudice it was hard to find both a pack and a mate that would accept him, that was until you barreled into his life (literally) that he felt like someone would love him. He's a very caring Apex that goes above and beyond for his mate, there were often times he would stay on his knees and would hardly make eye contact with you. His worst fear is you realizing you don't want an Apex as a mate and leaving, he honestly thinks his heart would stop beating if you did.

In a Rut:

Now this is where he really fears himself most of all. His ruts were strong and they only continued to grow the longer he kept denying himself release with someone else. But when he was assigned to KorTac they allowed him an alternative way to help him during ruts, by sending him on solo operations to let loose on the supposed targets. But again all this was before you showed up.

After you started to share Ruts and Heats together you realized that an Apex was really just a bigger Alpha, and one who wanted nothing more to provide for you. Now while I love König being an absolute sweetheart, that's not how he is during a Rut. König is demanding and can often be rough the first few times but it's only because he never had someone to spend it with, he does end up becoming much softer and sweeter after a while. You thought König was a big soft boi during this time for your first few couplings, nope his brain is empty besides the words Mate, Breed, and Protect for an entire week (good luck walking after that). And if anyone thinks otherwise y'all meet me in the Burger King parking lot at midnight.

#rodolfo cod #konig cod #ghost cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #konig x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #john price #john soap mactavish #simon riley #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #konig mw2 #omegaverse

[katiexpunk]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice | Pairing Neighbor!Joel Miller & Fem!Reader

Summary:  Part 3 of @sydneyinacoma's Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice series. Joel is your new hot neighbor and after a sexy night alone with him on Halloween (where he literally makes you squirt (!!) on his couch, you run into him after a long week at work and you two finally go on a proper date. You two eat burgers; go to a fair, and then he fucks you like it's his last day on earth. Yep <3

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.7K Warnings: Pining, flirting, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), Joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, Joel spits in readers mouth, fair date, eating, did I already say flirting, bobbing for apples. Listen, these two are just down so bad for each other. There are no descriptions of reader except for clothing & wet, curly hair. Authors Note: I legitimately feel so honored to have been part of this chapter with my Slutty Smutty Sister @sydneyinacoma -- writing this version of Joel has me creaming, and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops how much I want everyone to read this fic. This version of Joel is all her brainchild and I could cry at being part of it. Pls go follow Syd, she's seriously such a gem and probably the best Moot and friend a girl could ask for. ILY, bb. Sydney's Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.7K Warnings: Pining, flirting, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), Joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, Joel spits in readers mouth, fair date, eating, did I already say flirting, bobbing for apples. Listen, these two are just down so bad for each other. There are no descriptions of reader except for clothing & wet, curly hair. Authors Note: I legitimately feel so honored to have been part of this chapter with my Slutty Smutty Sister @sydneyinacoma -- writing this version of Joel has me creaming, and I wish I could scream it from the rooftops how much I want everyone to read this fic. This version of Joel is all her brainchild and I could cry at being part of it. Pls go follow Syd, she's seriously such a gem and probably the best Moot and friend a girl could ask for. ILY, bb. Sydney's Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

NOV 2005

You can’t stop thinking about that night at Joel’s a week ago. The way he touched you, pleasured you in a way that you've never experienced before. The way he kissed you, fervently yet soft. You could kiss him for hours and never tire. 

Not only are you craving his touch, but you also find yourself wanting to learn more about him. You want to know him. The things you’ve learned about him through Sarah and what you’ve picked up on are tiny crumbs, leaving you starving for more. 

You hope he feels the same. 

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Joel since that night, as you’ve been drowning at work. You started working for this publishing firm in college, first, as an intern, and now that you’ve finished school, you’re an editor. You agreed to take on extra responsibilities due to your coworker being out on maternity leave, which has exponentially increased your workload, on top of your boss being a micromanaging asshole. Joel’s been burning the candle at both ends. He’s working against a tight deadline on a big project for a persnickety client and Sarah’s soccer team is in the playoffs for the district championship; he’s incredibly proud but attending her neverending roster of games has left him a bit preoccupied. He never thought he would end up being a soccer dad, but life has a funny way of keeping him on his toes. 

Much like you, he’s replayed you squirting on his leather couch in his mind over and over, a never-ending lascivious reel that plays in his head as he fucks his cock at night. Joel longs to hear those saccharine sounds you make while you ride his cock, your tits bouncing in tandem with your movements. He’s kicking himself for not getting his hands, or mouth, on your pillowy breasts. The cheekiness of forgoing a bra in your bunny costume revealed a side of you that he wants to unleash. 

He wants to know everything; what keeps you up at night, what makes you double over in laughter, your ticklish spots, which movies make you cry without fail, all of your little quirks. Hell, he even wants to know if you believe in aliens. 

+++

You pull into your driveway after a long, grueling day at work. Your brain is so fried you didn’t even turn the music on for the drive home; a rarity for you since you always have music playing in your car, whether it be the FM radio or one of the various CDs you’ve collected over the years. A true indicator of your current state of being. You can’t wait to veg out on the couch, rid your mind of this shitty week, and huddle into an antisocial ball. 

After a few moments of idly sitting in your car, you peel yourself from the driver’s seat and go to retrieve your work tote from your trunk when you hear a deep voice calling out to you, one you’d recognize anywhere. You turn in the direction of the sound and find Joel. He’s clearly working on a renovation project; a miter saw, lumber and a plethora of other tools are set up in his front yard. There’s another man with him, bearing a slight resemblance to Joel. Brothers, maybe? 

“Hey, neighbor!” Joel immediately regrets his word choice, finding it oddly stiff — considering he’s had his face between your thighs. 

“Hey Joel!” You manage to shout back, despite your energy battery being crucially depleted. 

He waves for you to come over. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’re unable to resist him. Not when he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tousled, and coaxing you across the street. 

Though you feel drained, being in close proximity to Joel makes your body thrum in nerves. You’re being energized by anxious attraction. 

Joel and the mystery man greet you at the edge of the yard. 

“This is my brother Tommy. Tommy, this is my neighbor.” 

“So, this is the pretty neighbor you were tellin’ me about,” Tommy says, his southern drawl identical to Joel’s. 

Joel glares at Tommy. If looks could kill. 

Tommy holds out his hand, you tell him your name and give him your hand for a brief shake; much like Joel’s does, his palm size is large in comparison to yours and envelops your full hand. You survey the man in front of you; handsome, dark curly hair like Joel, slightly longer and free of the grays his brother sports, deep brown eyes, similar to Joel’s. The Miller genes are super fucking strong. 

“Nice to meet ya, sweetheart,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes dragging over your figure just a second too long. 

“I’m gonna start packin’ these tools up,” Tommy announces to Joel and then shoots him a wink. It’s obvious he wasn’t aiming for subtlety, clearly wanting to give you and his brother a moment alone. 

Joel shifts his broad frame to face you directly. You wish you didn’t feel so bashful in his presence, but it’s hard to breathe evenly when he is standing so close you can smell him - earthy and a hint of his deodorant wearing off. It should be gross to you, but you want to put his scent in a candle. You’re fucking deranged. 

“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty…” Joel apologizes, looking down at himself, remembering that he probably reeks like a locker room. 

You wave off his apology, giggling at his self-awareness. 

“I wanted to ask you somethin’,'' Joel says, gently wrapping his hand around your arm right above your elbow. Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the touch of his calloused fingers. 

“Okay…” 

“I was wonderin’...” Joel pauses, his fingers now grazing over the soft skin of your arm. 

You gulp in anticipation. “Yes, Joel?” 

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to go on a date with me,'' he asks, his eyes dropping to his boots for a second before coming back up to meet yours, “a proper one.” 

You’re so giddy at his proposition you think you might burst.

“Well, you know…I’ve gotta check my calendar,” you say, a big grin plastered on your face. You see his face drop, but before he can sulk too much you wink at him and say, “yeah, I’d love to,” you exhale and try to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away how excited you actually are. A date. With Joel Miller. 

“You free tomorrow?” he asks, beaming, revealing the dimpled smile you’re so fond of. 

“Lucky for you, I am,” you say, feeling your skin warm. 

“Pick you up at 7?” he asks, dipping his face closer to yours, his hand now on your waist pulling you into him. 

“Works for me,” you confirm while planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, “see you then, neighbor!” you conclude, being sure to emphasize the neighbor in your words, and before he can convince you to stay, you’re sauntering across the street back to your house.

+++

It’s finally here. Your big date with Joel.

The day went by torturously slow, anticipation pulsing through your entire body. You spent almost two hours getting ready, the majority of the time trying to pick an outfit. You probably changed 30 times, trying to find the outfit that conveyed the perfect balance of sexy, yet subdued. 

You decide on a pair of dark wash flares and a lacy top, both accentuating your figure heavenly. You spritz on a little perfume you save for special occasions. If this ain’t a hell of an occasion. 

Joel, with impeccable timing, rings the doorbell right as you tug your black cowboy boots on. It’s sill relatively warm in Austin, so you decide to forgo a jacket. 

Opening the door, you and Joel take a moment to check the other out, neither of you trying to hide it whatsoever. Joel’s wearing his signature jeans and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veiny, strong forearms. You’d hump his arms given the opportunity. 

“Absolutely stunnin’, sweetheart,” he licks his bottom lip while his brown irises roam over your entire body, paying special attention to your waist and tits. You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for your outfit choice. 

“One could say the same for you, cowboy,” you quip back, a smug grin plastered across your face. 

Your smile shoots blood straight to Joel’s cock. 

He swallows as he realizes the night is just beginning. 

+++

Joel takes you to a quaint diner for your date. From the outside, it’s unassuming; an older building in urgent need of a pressure wash, adjacent to a virtually empty shopping center. A true hole-in-the-wall in the middle of downtown Austin. 

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise ya, they got the best damn burgers in town,” he assures, seeing the questioning look on your face when he pulls into the parking lot. 

You and Joel slide into a booth in the far corner, Joel insisting that booth seating is part of the experience. You both order burgers, per his recommendation and boy, it does not disappoint. 

Between bites of food, you and Joel learn more about each other. The conversation flows easily, both hanging onto each other’s every word; no awkwardness or feigning interest. You both share parts of your childhoods and you share stories from your college days. Joel recounts the mischief he and Tommy got into when they were younger, earning several belly laughs from you. 

Joel loves the way you laugh; candidly, throwing your head back, your shoulders jerking uncontrollably as you try to catch a breath. 

You’re pleased to learn that both you and Joel have a fondness for 80’s action movies, especially the over-the-top-borderline-cheesy ones, and 70’s artists like Fleetwood Mac and Electric Light Orchestra.

Joel asks about your job as an editor. You tell him the different types of manuscripts you have to read; some you drudge through, others you enjoy. “I love seeing how the story progresses from the first rough draft up until the final copy,” you tell him,” a lot of authors are really full of themselves, so you have to boil down a lot of the flowery language and hubris.” 

In return, he tells you about how he got started as a contractor, hard work rewarded him with promotions until he opened up his own contracting business six years ago. “It’s priceless gettin’ to be your own boss,” he says, “not havin’ to answer to anyone, can be more selective in projects you wanna take on,” he continues, and you swear you’re listening but you’re secretly caught up in the sound of his voice and the way his lips move when he’s talking; hypnotizing you with every word.

Joel opens up about when Sarah came into this world; the happiest day of his life while simultaneously being scared shitless — he was wild and ungovernable, definitely not ready for fatherhood.  

Through the years he’s found his rhythm. He doesn’t talk about her mother and you don’t ask; you’re not looking to dig into that lore on the first date. He tells you what Sarah was like as a baby and the subsequent years. Your heart melts at the adoration and pride that glow in his eyes when he talks about his daughter. 

You both sit in the overused booth, totally absentminded to the world around you. You’re both locked into one another, afraid of missing even the faintest shift in facial expressions. You might as well be the only two people here. 

Taking the final bite of your burger, you tell Joel that you’re inclined to agree that these are the best burgers in town. 

He mumbles something to the effect of “told ya,” before finishing his last bite. 

On the ride home from the diner, you spot an illuminated Ferris wheel, glowing in the distance of the Austin night. 

“Oh, I didn’t know the fair was still in town. I haven’t been in years!” exclaiming a little loudly for a woman your age, “can we…..?” 

Joel can’t say no to you, not when you’re giving him a pleading, pouty look. 

+++ 

Once inside the fairgrounds, you both walk through the selection of vendors, and it doesn’t take long for the funnel cake sign to catch your eye; Joel purchases you one and you continue on your adventure together. 

“Here,” he says, offering you a paper napkin. 

You gently shake your head, shoving another bite of funnel cake into your mouth, “don’t need one.”

He laughs. You look like a stubborn child learning what sugar is for the first time, “you’re gonna get all sticky,” he says, a big grin enveloping his face, your eagerness for the sweetness of the battered dough reminds him of Sarah’s sweet tooth. God, you’re cute – it makes him wish she was with you both tonight. 

Well, that is until he notices it. It’s subtle, but it��s there – a sprinkling of powdered sugar on your cheek and exposed chest.

He knows this is a family event, but he wants to do anything but PG-rated things with you right now.  

He stares at the white dust on your skin until your voice catches his attention again. 

“Maybe I want to be sticky,” you reply, “gives you more to lick off of me later.” 

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on. 

The thought of his tongue on you sends a flood of impure thoughts to his brain; much like the ones he had when you first showed up at his door, covered in remnants of flour, all sugar and sweetness. 

He knows now.

You may be sugar, but fuck, if you haven’t got some spice in you, too. 

+++ 

As you stroll, your eyes grow wide when you see it; a yellow wooden sign with the words “bobbing for apples” in Comic Sans engraved into it. 

“Ah! Joel! Bobbing for apples! I haven’t done that since I was a kid – we have to do it!” you say, your voice is a little too eager and a little too high-pitched, but the childlike wonder on your face is all the convincing that Joel needs. He might not admit it, but he’d give you anything you want. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it, letting you lead the way. 

You and Joel make your way up to the station, and a fair worker in an apron and a straw hat shouts to the crowd, “Come one, come all! Test your skills at an apple grab; the winner gets a prize,” his voice is low in octave but loud enough like he’s speaking through a megaphone. 

A line of fair-goers of all ages quickly forms around the barrels filled with water and apples, and you look at Joel with eager eyes as you step up to yours.

The rules of the game were explained by the worker with a chuckle, “Alright, folks, no hands, just your teeth. Lean in, and bob for an apple, and what you catch is yours to keep plus a prize from the booth to the right.” 

“You sure about this, sweetheart? You’re gonna get all wet,” Joel asks, probably just a smidge too concerned about your well-being considering it’s just bobbing for apples. 

“You gonna act like you don’t know that I’ve been wet this entire night?” you say, not waiting  to hear his response as the worker calls out a loud “GO!” 

Giggles and cheers fill the air as you and your fellow participants lean over the barrel. Your face disappears into the water; your competitiveness in overdrive  – edging yourself deeper and deeper into the water; so far that your shirt gets soaked. You don’t care, though, and you gleam from satisfaction as you resurface with a gleaming red apple held triumphantly between your teeth. 

The crowd erupts in applause at your efforts, and Joel stands watching you with his hands on his hips, a smile plastered on his face. As his gaze drops from the apple in your mouth, he notices the wetness of your shirt and shit, you’re positively drenched. 

It takes Joel all of .0002 seconds to notice the silhouette of your nipples peeking out from your shirt, the goosebumps littering your skin, and the tail ends of your hair wet and starting to curl under the weight of the water. 

You drop the apple from your teeth and catch it in your palm. “Well, well…looks like you’re on a date with a prize-winnin’ apple picker. Feeling lucky yet?” you tort, attempting to flirt through the uncomfortable press of the damp fabric on your skin. 

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen that mouth in action, I already knew you were going to win,” he says, “but you know I’d never thought I’d see the day…” he trails off. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused. 

“Never thought I’d see the day that I was jealous of a fuckin’ Red Delicious apple,” he says, humor behind his voice, “s’ashame I wasn’t the one you were bobbin’ for in that barrel.” 

“Listen, if you want to get wet and let me put you in my mouth, I am more than happy to accommodate,” you reply back, your voice flirty and suggestive. 

Joel doesn’t respond, but you see him palm himself through the denim of his jeans at your suggestion, interjecting his thoughts. 

You can’t hide the shivers that take over your body from the chill of the night air and the wetness of your clothing. 

“C’mere, baby, you’re freezin’,” he says, brow furrowed, and arms wide open stretched out to you, beckoning you into his large arms. You take a step forward and step into his brace, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his arms and the aroma of his natural scent. 

You stand there, wet in more ways than one, and let him hold you. Your arms wrap around his thick middle, and he rubs up and down your back with both palms in an attempt to warm you up. He releases you momentarily before saying, “Here, take this.”

You step away from him for a second, giving him space to slip off the flannel he’s wearing, revealing nothing but a white t-shirt underneath; the little tufts of hair peeking out through the collar of his shirt almost send you into a tailspin. 

He holds the flannel open by the collar to face you, encouraging you to put it on. You turn your back to him, allowing him the privilege of holding  it as you slip your arms into the sleeves. The fabric of the shirt is warm from his skin, and the moment you put it on you’re flooded with the smell embedded deep within the fibers; all musk, whiskey, cinnamon, wood, and Joel. 

“Come on, now, you little bobbin’ minx,  let’s go get you your prize,” he says, tilting his head to the prize booth. You grab his hand and let him lead the way this time. 

You and Joel make your way to the prize booth, the smell of kettle corn invades your senses; sure, you were already stuffed with funnel cake and your dinner, but the sweet aroma makes your mouth water. Or maybe it’s just Joel, you’re not quite sure, but you don’t really care. 

In the small structure of the prize booth, the shelves were adorned with a colorful array of stuffed animals of all sizes, trinkets, and games. You carefully assess your prize options while the attendant tries to convince you that of all of the random assortment of prizes, you absolutely need the goldfish. Right. 

You look over the options in front of you for what feels like a good ten minutes before the attendant not so subtly grows tired of your indecision. You sigh. You decide on a small puppy dog with beady plastic brown eyes, and you nod in thanks as he hands it to you, and you and Joel walk away from the booth. 

“Had a tough time decidin’ there, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” Joel asks, not really questioning. 

“Well, to be honest, none of the prizes were really appealing to me,” you respond, playing with the fluffy ears of the stuffed plush in your hands. “I only picked this one because I thought Sarah might like it,” you say. Your consideration for Sarah, and your accepting demeanor to her, warms Joel’s heart. 

“But I can think of one I’d really like to claim,” you say, catching his gaze. You see his jaw clench at your words. 

“Oh yeah? And that would be..?” 

“You,” the word comes out breathy. 

You both stop walking and the crunch of the dirt under his boots and the distant sounds of the fair in the background all but freeze as you stand there, seemingly paused in your own little private moment. 

“Take me home, Joel,” you say, planting your palm on his broad chest and stepping closer to him, your chest nearly flush against his. His hands skate down to your waist, and he closes the gap between your bodies, holding you close enough that you feel the growing bulge between his thighs. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, leaning down, planting a kiss on the top of your head. 

And it’s sweet. 

Just like the funnel cake. 

And just like he thinks you are. 

But you have other plans for him tonight. 

And he has the same for you. 

+++ 

You and Joel make your way out of the fairgrounds and to the lot where Joel parked his truck. 

Still wearing his flannel, the stuffed puppy dog intertwined between your crossed arms, you wait for him to open the passenger side door. You all but eye fuck him as he reaches into the depth of the  front pocket of his jeans and grabs his keys. He unlocks the door, and opens it for you; offering you a hand to help guide you in. 

“Always such a gentleman,” you say, placing your hand in his, accepting his offer, using the strength of his arm to help lift yourself into the bed of the truck. 

Joel rounds around the front of the vehicle, unlocks the driver’s side door, and slides in. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life and the radio turns on, “Come a Little Closer” by Dierks Bentley plays over the speakers. 

Deciding to take a note from the lyrics, you don’t bother to buckle yourself into the passenger seat, and instead slide over into the middle seat of the truck, positioning yourself tightly against Joel’s side. You lace your arm through the underside of his and interlock them, your hand curls around his firm bicep. You lean your head into his shoulder, and close your eyes, taking a moment to bask in the solitude of the strong man beneath you. 

He looks down at you for a moment – god, he could get used to this. He dwells on the thought for a moment longer and then begins to drive away. 

You’re clinging to him and you both ride like that in an easy silence, apart from the faint music and the hum of his truck. It has been so long since you felt so content, so at peace with the moment and yourself; not worried about work or life, or anything. It was just you and Joel, and you like it that way. 

Nearly back to your house, and your shared neighborhood, you let your left hand wander on the expanse of his thigh. The time for sweetness is over. The events of the night, your combined obvious want, and the flirtatious taunts catch up with you. 

Joel keeps his eyes on the road, but you don’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens as your hand makes its way closer to his belt buckle. You begin to toy with the cool metal there, and his large palm comes down to cup yours. 

“We’re almost home,” he says, holding your hand tight against his stiffening cock, not letting you move. “But I want to feel you now,” you whine. 

“I know, baby, I know you wanna get your hands on this cock, and I would like nothing more,” he says, “but you’re gonna have to be patient, we only have a few more minutes until we’re there.” 

“And why do I have to be patient, neighbor?” you ask, pulling your hand away, slightly keyed up. Greedy. Horny. 

“Because I wanna give that needy little pussy the attention she deserves,” he says, “and because once I get started, I know ‘m not gonna be able to stop.”

“And neighbor ain’t gonna be what you’ll be calling me,” he says roughly, “I’ll fuckin’ make sure of that, sweetheart.”

He takes a turn and pulls into your neighborhood. You catch a glimpse of Mrs. Morrison taking out her trash. She glares at you in disapproval as you drive past in Joel’s truck. 

You sometimes wonder what your neighbors might think; a pretty little young thing like you, the youngest daughter of their good friends, a.k.a your parents, hanging out with the older, single-father neighbor across the way. 

But truthfully, you don’t really give a fuck. 

+++ 

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent.  You both pause in silence. 

Joel turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of invite me in behind his voice. 

You glance out the window, your house bathed in the soft glow of your porch light. You turn back to Joel and say “Thank you for tonight, I really had a fun time. But to be honest, I just realized I never got to thank you properly…” 

Joel looks at you and something dark flickers in his gaze. “And what would you need to be thankin’ me for, sweetheart?”  As if he didn’t know. 

“For the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Come in and I’ll return the favor,” you say, conjuring your sultriest voice, knowing he doesn’t need an invitation.  

You step out of the truck, and the night air is cool, a  gentle breeze whispers through your hair;  your features are illuminated by the street lights in your neighborhood, and the warm glow casts an inviting aura around you. Joel appears at your side of the truck and helps you exit. 

The gravel under your feet crunches as you walk toward the front porch; the air is charged with electricity, a livewire, a magnetic pull drawing your bodies together. 

The porch light by your door casts a warm yellow glow on your faces. You pause at the front of the step and reach for your house keys in your purse. Your porch swing sways gently in the breeze, its rhythmic creaking adding to the undertone of the moment. 

You insert the key into the lock, but before you can fully turn the doorknob to open the door, Joel already has his large palm on yours, opening the door,  pushing you through the door frame and into your house, his hands cradling your face before he crashes his plush lips into yours. 

The second you’re both fully in your house, Joel's hands are on the hem of your shirt,  silently begging for you to take it off. You let him work on getting you topless, meanwhile, your hands are hastily working to undo his belt buckle, the excitement of finally being able to touch him and him not being able to stop touching you has you worked up.  Joel presses his thighs together against yours, drawing little moans from you while he nips at your neck. 

As much as he is trying to distract you, he’s no match for your determination. In record-breaking time you have his buckle undone and the zipper of his jeans is down; you gracefully fall to your knees before him, tugging his pants and his boxers down with you to the floor. Joel’s cock releases from the confines of his clothing and slaps against his tummy, leaving a little trail of pre-cum in its wake. You already knew he was big, but having him in full view makes you realize just how big he really is. 

You lick your lips and reach out to grab his thick cock, affectionately kissing the tip of it; you run your tongue through the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum that drips out before you circle your tongue along the underside of his head. You let your jaw go slack, and you begin to dip down on his length; a gurgling sound escapes your lips as you pull back up again. You do this a few times before letting his hard cock fall from your lips, now puffy and coated in saliva, some of it dribbling past your chin. 

You pull off momentarily and smile up at Joel. He thinks you look far too sweet and innocent for someone who is absolutely taking his cock deep in your throat like a champ. He intertwines his fingers through your hair and groans, before gently urging you back down onto his length.

“Fuck, sweetheart – can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about having that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock,” he says slightly breathless. 

The thought of him thinking about you goes straight to your core and makes you want to mouth fuck him harder. 

You wrap your lips around him again, and he thrusts his hips to glide himself inside of your mouth to the back of your throat. 

He begins to pick up his pace, holding your head steady by your hair as he fucks into your throat, pressing deeper and deeper until spit pools at the corners of your mouth and slight tears form in the creases of your eyes. He presses you down onto him until your lips are wrapped around the base of him and the course hairs that reside there. You’re drowning in the taste of him, hardly able to breathe, but you don’t care; you want him to chase his high, to use your mouth for his own pleasure. He made you come harder than anyone ever has before; this was the least you could do for him. 

“Jesus – look at you, pretty girl, fuck you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grits out, “takin’ it so well, baby.”

His words go straight to your cunt, the ache now insufferable. 

You begin to work him harder with your tongue, struggling for air, and he inches closer to the back of your throat and you begin to gag. Joel pulls out, not wanting to hurt you, and a strand of saliva trails between your lips and his cock. You blink back tears and look up at him, your mascara now a mess on your face, and your eyes glossy. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern. 

You swallow, and reach up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You are okay. More than okay.  “Peachy. I'm relieved I finally got to return the favor,” you hum, standing to rise to meet his face. 

He wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you tight against the front of his body; you feel the warmth of his tummy, the hardness of his cock, and the strength of his back behind your grip and it makes your legs turn to Jell-O. Fuck, you need him. 

Joel kisses you for a moment, before pulling away and bringing his lips to your ear “Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.” 

You feel your stomach swoop and your folds tingle; you have thought about this moment for so long and you yearn for the stretch of him; to know what it’s like to be filled to the brim with Joel fucking Miller. 

He kicks off his boots, steps out of the clothing bunched around his ankles, and takes your hand to follow you down the hallway into your bedroom. 

Part of him wants to take his time; to make you feel good, to taste you again, and feel you come and come on his fingers. Part of him wants to shuck down your jeans and put your pretty pussy in his face. 

Joel doesn’t particularly think of himself as a selfish man, but he has waited patiently, and he needs you. Now. 

As much as he wants the taste of you on his lips, the part of him that wants to shove himself into your addictive cunt until you forget your name until you forget every other name except for his is the dominant one right now. 

Once in the bedroom, he crowds you back until the back of your calves meet the edge of your mattress. He grabs both of your hips in a bruising grip and pulls you tight against his chest, his hips grinding into yours, and you lean your face up to kiss him. You think he might kiss you, but instead, he ghosts your lips and leans forward until your back meets the soft fabric of the mattress with an oof, and he’s on top of you. 

He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle. You’ve seen his brute strength in action and the fact that he could overpower you sends a shiver to your clit. 

“So beautiful, darlin’ – you know that?” he kisses your nose and trails a slew of them down your cheek, jaw, chin, and neck. Once at the nape of your neck, he nibbles on your earlobe and whispers “You ready for me, sweetheart?” his breath is heavy in your ear. 

You can’t nod fast enough in agreement. 

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he practically purrs the question. 

You want nothing more than to be a good girl for Joel. You nod almost aggressively to make up for the fact that you’re unable to construct a single sentence right now. 

He lets out a satisfied moan and drops his grip on your wrists, and drags his heavy hands down your body to the center of your jeans and undoes the button of your pants, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both your jeans and your panties and pulls them down in one fell swoop. 

He dips down to place a delicate kiss to your tummy and lets the weight of his head rest on the softness of you. He inhales deeply, the aroma of your perfume comforts him, and he fights the urge to dip his face lower and bury himself in your pussy. 

You drop both of your hands and grab his head, your fingers carding through his hair, and he groans. 

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” he says, not really questioning. 

“I am being a good girl,” you respond back, not really sure what prompted his statement. 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. When I put you in a position, I want you to stay there, until I say you can move. Got it?” 

And holy fuck, bossy Joel turns you on. 

You only hum in response. 

“Need you to use your words, sweet girl. Answer me, or I’ll make you,” he says, voice low, his head closer to your center now, almost to exactly where you need him but not quite. 

“Ye - ah, yes, fuck I understand,” sending all of your energy to string the words together. 

He hums in acknowledgment and pushes your hands back up overhead, telling you to keep them there, and only to touch him when he says you can. When he releases your hands and sees that your arms stay put, he rasps out a “good girl.”

He then reaches down and notches his tip at your entrance, and drags the weight of his thick cock through your glistening folds.

“Mmmm so fuckin’ wet, this all for me?” 

“All for you, J-oel,” you’re trembling, desperate to feel him deep inside you. 

He pauses momentarily, only the tip of him inside you, and god, it’s such a tease. 

You know it’ll sting, but you want him to just fucking bury every inch of himself inside of you. You don’t care about the pain; you crave the stretch of him. 

“Joel – ah, need more,” you moan, “need all of you.” 

“You sure, sweetheart? I ‘don wanna hurt you,” he says, once again concerned about you. 

“Joel, I want you to fucking wreck me. Need you to move, please.” 

After your plea, he obliges. You feel every inch of him, the way he throbs inside of you, and the tip of his head drags against the spongey spot inside of you. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to move in and out of you, he feels so fucking good, and you’re so perfectly full. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gruff, still continuing to saw in and out of you. ‘’Want you to look at me while I fuck you.” 

And his words are like music to your fucking ears. He’s the perfect balance of gentleman and fucking filth. 

He brings a hand down to circle your clit, and with the added sensation you’re not far off from your orgasm. You can feel it growing in your stomach with every circle of his thumb and every thrust of his cock. You open your mouth, your jaw slack, and you begin to moan. 

“Fuck, baby – you shouldn’t open your mouth like that,” he moans. 

“And – fuckkkk, why not?” You respond back, breathless from each of his thrusts. 

“Just a reminder of another hole I need to use,” he responds, and then gruffly says “Open,” while pressing his thumb and index finger into your jaw, holding you in place. 

You do as he says, and he spits into your mouth. Your eyes wide as saucers. It’s hot, dirty, filthy. 

“Taste how perfect we are together, baby” he says, still pounding into you and circling your clit. 

His words send you into fucking oblivion, and you’re gone. Your vision goes white, and despite his order to keep your eyes open, your eyes fall closed and he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Your tight, slick walls pulse and squeeze around him. His hands squeeze your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin as he rocks your limp and shaky body against his cock, chasing his own orgasm. 

Not long after you’ve come, he’s finishing too. He fucks into you at an erratic pace and then shoots his seed deep into your cunt. 

“Fuckkk, baby” – he trails off, letting the final spurts of his cum paint your walls. 

You let out a sigh, and once again drop your hands to his head, intertwining your hands with the hair behind his head. 

You both lay there in your fucked out bliss and then he pulls out of you, taking a dribble of his cum with him, a glob of it landing on your thigh. 

You’ve never felt so satisfied, to be laying there, content and full of Joel Miller. 

He rolls over onto his side and puts his hand on his chest. 

“Shit, baby. You’re perfect,” he says. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.” 

You hum in delight and roll over onto his chest, melting into him. 

“You in the mood for some cookies?” you ask, and he grins in response.

He hit the fucking lottery with you. 

END

Tagging some Joel-lovers: @endlessthxxghts @survivingandenduring @darkheartgatita @joelmillersblog @joelsgreys @dins-riduur-anthe @joelmillers-whore @pedroswife69 @hearteyesforjoel

As always, feel free to let me know if do or don’t want to be tagged!xx

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedrohub #pedro pascal character #collaboration fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller series

[multi-fandom-imagine]

A/n: I’m doing it!

When you first told Simon that you were pregnant the man froze, he went silent and stepped into the other room. You couldn’t blame him, you two never discussed children and you knew of his past, of the abuse. You were sure that it would take a little for this to hit him. For him to get used to the knowledge about being a father.

It took him a few hours to finally talk to you, for him to apologize and hold you.

“I’m scared….I’m scared I wont be a good father. That I’ll some how be like my father.”

Heart clenching, you hated the thought of the man thinking that low of himself. That he could ever think that he’d be such a terrible father. Placing your hand on his cheeks you smiled. “Simon, you are nothing like your father. You will never be like that horrible bastard. You are a good man, a wonderful man that is a wonderful husband, a man that cares about his team and I know you’ll be a loving father.”

Closing his eyes, Simon slowly wrapped his arms around your waist tugging you in close, your words calming him down.

+•+

Simon seemed to become more protective of you once you became further along in your pregnancy. The man doting on you, taking care of wherever needs you have, going out to grab whatever you might crave.

He loved taking care of you, his fingers now messaging out any knots you might have in your back. “How’s that love?” Waiting for a response, Simon then tipped his head forward to see what was wrong though a chuckle escaped his lips seeing that you had fallen asleep. “Let’s get you to a proper bed.”

Lifting you up, he then carried you off to the bedroom. Gently laying you down he placed a kiss to your cheek then gave your belly a kiss. “Daddy loves you. I do hope you’ll be like your mother.”

Getting himself comfortable, he let his arm wrap protectively around your belly as he slowly fell asleep next to you.

+•+

“Simon”

While he may be on leave, Simon was never one to stop from working as he read out a few reports for Soap to take care of. “Yes love?”

“I want sex.”

Blinking, he placed the reports down. He pinched the bridge of his nose then ran his fingers through his hair. “Again?”

“Yes again! It’s not my fault I’m horny all the time.Bedroom! Now!”

Pushing away from his desk he nodded his head watching you walk though it was more of a waddle now away. “Yes love.”

+•+

It was a long birth, the man never leaving your side.His hand holding yours, know matter how much you screamed he did his best to stay strong, he did his best to reassure you how well you were doing. Though he finally felt like hr could breath again hearing his child cry.

A girl, a beautiful little girl, Simon has cried only a handful of times in his life and once his newborn was placed on his arms he couldn’t help but shed a few tears.

“My little girl, you’re finally here.”

+•+

Simon did his best to make sure you took it easy at home. He would change the diapers, feed her at night because he did not want to wake you. He felt like he was doing a good job at being a father.

Stepping near his daughters crib he slowly lifted her up, she was crying and not wanting to wake you he smiled for a moment cradling her to his chest. Sitting down in the rocking chair she let him grab a hold of his fingers, little sobs escaping her lips.

“Hush now bunny. Pop is gonna sing to you, now I may not have a beautiful voice like your mother but…we’ll my own mum used to sing me this song.”

Waking up to singing on the baby monitor was something you didn’t expect to happen, seeing that it was your husband was the one that was singing. You couldn’t help but melt watching him cradle her close.

Not wanting to interrupt the sweet moment you fell back asleep.

Simon Riley was nothing like his father, he was someone even better.

#drabbles #drabble #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare x reader #call of duty modern warfare x you #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare ii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #moderner warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #ghost x you #ghost x reader

[reminiscingtonight]

Sisterly Love

Leah Williamson x Morgan!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Pt 1 of ?

[WOSO Masterlist]

Blowing past your teammates, you make a beeline for your fiancée. Leah doesn’t even have a chance to properly greet you before you’re dropping yourself right into her lap. 

“Hello,” she chuckles, amused at the way you instantly mold your body against hers.

“There’s too many of them,” you groan into Leah’s shoulder.

“Too many of who?” she laughs, hand coming up to rub soothingly at your back.

“The Alexes.”

If you had known letting your sister plan your wedding would lead to her nitpicking every detail of your life, including the way you liked to start off your mornings, you wouldn’t have let her stay at your place during the NWSL off season. 

The day started off to a strong start when you rolled over in bed to find your fiancée already gone, a note left on her pillow about a media thing she had this morning. Deprived of your morning cuddles, you trudged into your kitchen… and straight into the waiting arms of Alex (Morgan), who seemed as if she was waiting for her prey to arrive. You couldn’t even drink your coffee in peace, your sister whipping out a couple wedding brochures and instantly talking your head off about the proper color scheme you needed to “really make your wedding pop.”

You only managed to slip out of the room undetected when Charlie started whining about wanting her mom’s attention. While Alex was busy making Charlie pancakes, you took the opportunity to grab your bag and slip out the back door, intent on getting some extra time in the gym… only to run right into Alex (Scott), who then promptly ushered you back inside to talk weddings with your sister.

Dating Leah has been nothing but bliss. Her family welcomed you with open arms and you the same. The more the merrier, you always like to say. But lately, you wanted to draw the line right where her bloodline ends. You always knew what getting involved with Leah entailed. It meant daily calls with her mom, weekly brunches with her dad, biweekly FIFA game nights with her brother. 

And it also meant becoming wrapped up in all things Alex Scott. 

Alex was the older sister Leah never had. Leah looked up to Alex in all the ways you looked up to your own Alex. 

And don’t get anything wrong, you love her. You really do.

You love the way she helps Leah loosen up when you’re all having a night out together. You love the way she’s Leah’s personal hype man, always cheering her on from the sidelines. You love the way she cares for the love of your life, never hesitating to drop things if Leah needs her.

And since you’re such a big part of Leah’s life, it almost seems logical that Alex’s care has extended to you. She’s always there to pick you up when you have bad games. She’s always there as an ear when you’re craving advice from anyone other than those you share a last name with.

So really, there’s nothing wrong that you can find with Alex Scott.

Except. 

Except you’re really starting to get tired of what happens when she teams up with your sister and becomes the honorary fourth older Morgan sister you don’t need.

When Alex (Scott) and Alex (Morgan) start scheming together, there’s nowhere safe you can hide. If you could only pick one thing about the whole wedding planning that’s been annoying you the most, it would be exactly that. The fact that both Alexes have seemingly found common ground in making your life a living hell.

“Oh come on, your sister babies you because she cares about you. Scott babies you because she cares about Leah.”

“Says the person with a surplus of siblings,” you grumble, flipping Katie off without turning around. “Trust me when I say three sisters is more than enough. Can you take Scottie? Please?”

“You literally just said I have a surplus of siblings. Why would I want Alex?”

“So your family will finally have a soccer star in their ranks, obviously.”

Leah gives Katie a hard stare before she can round on you. And then she’s tightening her arms around you before you can try running away so she can properly chastise you herself.

You bat your eyelashes at her, hoping to get away with your comment, but Leah rolls her eyes goodheartedly at you. “First off, it’s football. Second, we will not be giving away any of our Alexes.”

“But--”

A raise of her eyebrow has you shutting your mouth dejectedly.

“Baby, they’re only bothering us because they love us.”

“‘Us?’ Leah, I think you mean ‘me’.”

It’s no secret that both Alexes treat you like you’re a walking hazard sign. Your sister’s been treating you like that ever since your birth, and Scott has picked up on it ever since you came into Leah’s life. If your own flesh and blood misses something, Scott’s quick to catch it and take charge of you herself. 

And it would be okay, really, if you had Leah to help shoulder all of the smothering. But you don’t have her. Because the two of them pamper your fiancée almost worse than you do yourself. If anything, Alex (Morgan) almost seems to prefer your fiancée over you --- not that you could really blame her because, let’s be real, who wouldn’t.

So when Leah says “bothering us,” she really means “bothering you,” because you could count on one hand the number of times they’ve harped on Leah since the two of you got together. (Spoiler, the answer is zero)

“There’s no ‘I’ in team, babe.”

“Well good thing I said ‘me’ and not ‘I’ then, huh.” 

Your quip earns you a pinch to the side, to which you playfully swat Leah back in return.

“She does have you there, Leah,” Katie chuckles.

A pointed look from the blonde has Katie instantly putting her hands up in apology. 

Leah turns her attention back onto where you’re still pouting in her lap.

“We’re in this for the long run, and the Alexes just happen to come included in this deal. I love you, you love me, they love us, and we love them back. It’s always been like this and will probably always be like this, so we might as well roll with the punches, right?”

Sighing, you can’t help but grumble out an agreement. It isn’t like Leah’s wrong. While overbearing, the two Alexes only act this way because--

“If you’re giving away an Alex, can I have Morgan? I kinda want her to teach me how to--”

Leah gives Caitlin an unimpressed look when you instantly perk up at her request.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

[mauvecherie-writes]

winding down: j.koundé.

pairing: jules koundé x black!reader

summary: a headcannon about what it would look like after a bad game and comforting jules.

tags: 18+, minors dni, nsfw, edging, handjob, brief oral sex (m receiving), slight dominant dynamics (squint my sista and you’ll see it), aftercare.

w.c: 1.1K

- Jules didn’t even bother spending any more time with the team as he was too livid. They had lost their game today because no one seemed to be getting their shit together and Jules would much rather go home than hear Coach ripping a new one into them.

- He doesn’t go back to his place though, he re-routes to yours once you call him to check in on him. Your sweet and soothing voice had him craving to be in your presence.

- It doesn’t take him long to park inside the garage of your building beside your car. You had reserved the spot for him once things became official.

- When he gets to your apartment and opens the door, the scents of white magnolia fill his nostrils and it makes him smile because he knows you’ve brought out the things that’ll help him relax.

- As he’s taking off his shoes and dropping his bag in the hallway, you appear.

- You’re not wearing any makeup, a black headband is keeping your braids away from your face. Dressed in a faded worn out t-shirt, falling off your shoulders, black biker shorts and pink fluffy socks.

- You lightly jog to him, wrap your arms around his neck and give him the softest kisses which lights his body on fire. It’s meant to be an innocent but feeling your body against his quickly ignites him and holds onto tighter as he pushes his tongue into your mouth.

- But you quickly pull away laughing and entangling your fingers together “Let me feed you first.”

- “I’d rather eat you up instead.”

- “Boy hush.” You roll your eyes playfully as you pull him further into the apartment.

- And you feed him a proper meal. You had made dinner earlier and had some left overs. After seeing the outcome of the match, you had rightly assumed Jules would come to you instead of being on his own.

- Once he was done, you take him to your bedroom and on your bedside table was a towel, body oils and a bottle of lube.

- “You’re not going to tie my hands this time?” He asks when he doesn’t see the bondage ties amongst the things.

- “I trust you to be good but don’t tempt me.” You kiss his jaw line and it sends shivers down his spine.

- When you tell him to take off his clothes, Jules doesn’t waste any time to strip to his bathing suite. You also take your top off but keep your biker shorts as Jules likes the way your breasts feel against his skin.

- He lays down on his stomach and you pour the body oil into his palms and rub them to warm it up. “Just relax for me baby.”

- And you spend the next 30 minutes massaging his body, kneading into his muscles and undoing his knots. A full body massage after a stressful game was what he needed.

- And it never failed in making him horny. He was hard.

- You turn him around and Jules takes a deep breath when he sees your plump breasts with your hardened nipples. His mouth salivates but he knows he can’t touch you now.

- You smirk down at his leaking tip but you don’t pay attention to it, in fact you sit on it, your hot pussy pulsating against the underside of him which causes him to curse and breath harshly.

- “Fuck!” He hisses as the sensation of the warmth of your pussy seeping through the fabric of your shorts had his body reeling.

- Jules had to endure 30 minutes of your soft fingers touching him and now, you were on top of him working on his neck and shoulders - your movements causing friction and his dick was twitching beneath you.

- The noises came when you began to play with his nipples. He was groaning, breathing heavy and squirming beneath your touch. It was getting you so wet.

- But you were not done with him. “You promise to be my good boy?”

- “Yes bebé.” He sighs. You then place his hands above his head and you turn back to the side table and take the lube into your hand.

- It’s cold against his skin but you quickly begin to work him over but at a slow pace. Up and down, again and again until he’s leaking.

- The edging had gotten to him and it was forcing his orgasm to rush to the forefront and from the way Jules’s chest is heaving, you could tell.

- So you gripped the base of his cock and push down on his chest, your hand slipping up to his neck and Jules’s eyes shoot open as his pupils dilate.

- “Not yet.” Your words cause him to growl and then roll his eyes. “Okay.” He answers.

- You begin again, working your hand, stroking him fast and softly fondling his balls - the juxtaposition was wrecking him.

- You love working him like this, getting him riled up, tugging him to the edge and then stopping just in time to see him relinquish his control to you.

- It was only when Jules begins to beg, do you shift your position and get in between his parted legs and you take his tip into your mouth, it makes him lose his mind to the point of tears.

- You swirl tongue around the head as you continue stroking and your other hand cupping his balls to massage them.

- Your eyes watch as he struggles to not touch you, his hands pull at the pillows around him instead as he cries out as you overwhelm him.

- As you suck harder and fasten your pace, Jules thrusts upwards into your mouth as his body begins to vibrate. “Baby ….. I’m gonna cum.” He chokes out.

- You don’t let up, you don’t release him. Jules tosses his head backwards as he lets out a cry that was something between a grunt and a whimper as he comes into your mouth.

- Jules lets out soft hums as you keep your lip locked around him as he fills your mouth with his come.

- You swallow his release and trail kisses up the length of his body before you take the towel and wipe away the oils and lube from his body. Giving him soft praises along your kisses.

- It almost lures Jules to sleep but you drag him towards the bathroom and into the bath tub. Your body behind him as you take a bathing sponge to his skin and wash him.

- “Merci, mon amour. Tu es si gentil avec moi” [Thank you, my love. You’re so good to me.]

- “De rein mon cœur.” [You’re welcome sweetheart]

reading list: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @emjayewrites @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @sapphireheaven @olyvoyl @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly @scorpiobleue @qveenmelanink @tremendousstarlighttragedy @bekindbecoolbeyou @greedyjudge2 @itsapurrfectstorm @createdbylivingclocks @samiwzx @omgsuperstarg @peyiswriting @miyuhpapayuh @blowmymbackout @purplelewlew

#mauvecherie writes #jules koundé x black!reader #jules koundé x black reader #jules koundé x reader #jules koundé fanfiction #jules koundé fanfic #jules koundé one shot #jules koundé headcannon #jules koundé smut #jules koundé #jules kounde

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

Something There (Chapter 1)

Ahh I'm excited to start this story! I hope you enjoy!

8.0k words Roy Kent x Reader Warnings: Language, brief references to breasts, enemies-to-lovers totally not taken right out of Pride and Prejudice, mentions of alcohol, me not knowing a thing about the Women's Super League and not letting it ruin my fun, Roy not being super excited about women's sports (but it's only because he's grumpy), Reader has a nickname

Series Masterlist

“What the fuck is a whippet?”

Rebecca stared at Roy as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a dog very similar to a greyhound, but smaller,” she explained simply. “And it’s the official mascot of W.F.C. Richmond.”

Roy, Beard, and Nate sat across from Rebecca, who was flanked by a very excited Keeley. Nate’s expression was wide-eyed and intrigued, while Beard looked pleased and almost proud as he listened to Rebecca’s news. Roy, on the other hand, sat there with his brow furrowed and arms crossed.

Not that the manager’s body and facial language deterred Rebecca; on the contrary, she was far too used to his sulky disposition. However, considering this was a project near and dear to both her and Keeley’s hearts, she had very little patience for his lack of enthusiasm today.

“Where’ll they be playing then?” Roy asked, doing his best to show the support that he knew Rebecca was craving from him. He respected her far too much- both as a boss and a, dare he say, friend- to let her think he didn’t care, not after she and Keeley had done a whole song and dance to present the news to the gaffers: a women’s team. A women’s team for Richmond.

Keeley and Rebecca exchanged looks. Keeley’s expression was one that involved raised eyebrows, as if to say You tell him. Rebecca’s, with her mouth in a straight line, communicated something more along the lines of Shit, do I really have to tell him?

With a deep breath, Rebecca turned back to Roy. “Here, of course,” she answered, her voice steady and nonchalant, seeming to presume her response was obvious to everyone in the room.

Roy furrowed his brow, the corners of his mouth dipping downwards. “But we play here,” he said dumbly. His mind raced. Holy shit, is Rebecca selling us? Is it because we didn’t come in fucking first last year? It was my first fucking season managing, no one could have expected-

“We’ll be sharing the facilities,” Rebecca answered, interrupting the thoughts racing through Roy’s head faster than he used to run on the pitch. Her voice reminded Roy of the voices of Phoebe’s teachers: patient, calm, explanatory. It made Roy feel small.

Coach Beard leaned forward. “I can help Higgins set up a schedule of who gets to use things at certain times, so we don’t have to worry about being on top of each other,” he offered helpfully. Roy knew his assistant coach was trying to distract Rebecca from Roy’s less-than-excited response to this news.

Nate quickly got on board. “Have you hired a manager then?” he asked with a smile.

Rebecca’s shoulders relaxed. At least two of the Richmond coaches were reacting the way she’d hoped. “I have. Another American, actually,” she chuckled, winking at Beard. “Feels like we need at least two of you running around Nelson Road.”

Roy decided to do his best to follow the other men’s examples. “What’s his name? Maybe Beard knows him,” he joked.

“You can read all about her here,” Keeley quipped, handing Roy a folder branded with that familiar red and blue rearranged around an outline of what Roy initially thought was a greyhound. Internally, he quickly corrected himself; it was a whippet. “This is a little report on W.F.C. Richmond just to give you boys some more info,” Keeley continued, passing identical folders to Nate and Beard. “A bit about the manager, her assistant coach, some of the players, things like that. Just so you all don’t look like proper fools in front of her when she pops in tomorrow. Reading it would be a grand idea.” Keeley gave Roy a scolding glare; they both knew that Roy was not one to read reports, even as manager, a fact that drove everyone insane.

With a huff, Roy nodded. “I’ll read it, I’ll read it.”

Everyone knew that was a fucking lie.

~

I looked around my new apartment- flat, Keeley Jones kept calling it in that accent I had to stop myself from grinning at- and smiled. It was definitely bigger than my old place, and I wouldn’t have to share it with any roommates. Sure, it was in a whole new country where I didn’t know anyone, but that was fine. This was fine.

Alright, so I’d sort of miss being on the same continent as my friends and family. But this was such an incredible opportunity that I simply couldn’t pass up. Rebecca Welton was wealthy, and the salary she’d offered me was more akin to what the coaches of men’s teams made back in the U.S., not what we made in the women’s league. The chance to build a program from the ground up was a thrilling challenge I was dying to sink my teeth into. England’s passionate soccer culture- football, I reminded myself- was something I’d found lacking back home, even amongst my own family and friends. And, more than anything else, I jumped at the opportunity to leave and not look back. I was ready for something new, and different, and far away from the places I’d called home for the past few years.

The vibration from my phone tore my attention away from the redecorating I’d spent the afternoon doing, enjoying my last day of normalcy. I grinned when I saw the name on my phone.

“Coach Lucas,” I greeted. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” the familiar voice on the other end answered. “You settled in alright?”

Lucas Austen was the one piece of home I’d brought with me. We’d been pals since my days playing college soccer, when he was our brilliant assistant coach. While he was the first to admit he wasn’t much of an athlete, the man was a great coach, who’d found himself promoted to head coach of our college team a few years ago and even had the men begging him to switch to their side but declined in favor of leading my alma mater to multiple national titles. When Rebecca Welton had asked me about potential coaching staff during one of our million Zoom sessions, Lucas was the first name out of my mouth. She didn’t hesitate to sign him after hearing my gushing reference. And, incredible friend that he was, he didn’t hesitate to say yes.

I could picture his smiling face as I plopped onto the couch. “All good. Yourself?”

“Peachy keen,” he assured me. “Want to do something tonight? Not too tired to go out?”

“Let’s see.” I leaned back and hugged the fluffy pillow I was positive Keeley Jones had selected herself. “Sit inside all night and fret over starting a new job in a new country or go out and actually enjoy that new country? Tough choice.”

His laugh eased some of the anxiety in my chest. “Pick you up at six.” He paused. “Six London time,” he added jokingly.

We hung up, and I gave a little stretch, thinking about how insane we were for doing this- something we’d heard a lot in the last few weeks. If nothing else, Lucas and I were going to have a grand old adventure.

~

Roy sighed and gripped his beer tighter. He’d really let Jamie talk him into going out with him. Even worse, he’d let Jamie talk him into going to a club. Roy hated clubs; but to be fair, Roy hated most things, including Jamie. But the young player had promised his coach they’d have a good time and, more importantly, that there would be alcohol, all paid for by Jamie.

And sometimes, free alcohol was all Roy needed to hear.

So, there he was, leaning against the bar, pretending it was because he looked cool and intimidating and not because his fucking knee was bothering him. Again. He wondered how much longer he’d have to stand here before he could leave without Jamie turning into a whining twat.

“Excuse me.” A woman squeezed by Roy and gave a little wave to get the bartender’s attention. She let out a frustrated little huff when she was ignored. “Dammit.”

Annoyed at how close she was to him, Roy cocked his head. “Oi!” The bartender quickly turned in their direction. “She’d like some fucking service!”

In a flash, the bartender was getting the woman’s order and set to work making it. While she waited, she glanced up at Roy.

“Thanks for that,” she called over the music. “I’ll have to learn how to use my voice like that. Might come in handy at work.” There was a joking lilt to her voice.

If Roy had been paying attention, he would have been caught off guard by her distinct way of speaking, and if he’d been in a good mood he’d have even asked where she was from. Instead, he gave a little grunt and a nod, turning his gaze back to the dance floor, where Jamie had disappeared with some gorgeous girl.

Drink now in hand, the woman nodded to Roy. “Thanks again.”

Roy ignored her as she walked away. He glanced at his watch. 9:30. About his bedtime, and Jamie’s too if the prick knew what was good for him. He was in training, after all.

As if he knew his coach was looking for him, Jamie appeared, adjusting the stupid pink headband he’d worn because it matched his fucking shoelaces.

“Oi, don’t you think the bar can hold itself up, Coach?” Jamie asked good-naturedly, nudging Roy. Roy only grunted in response, so Jamie continued. “Get yourself out there. Dance. Live a little.”

Stuffing his free hand into his pocket, Roy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, me, dancing. Sounds fucking right,” he huffed. “Just let me sit here and drink my beer, yeah?” He spotted Jamie’s dance partner, who was clearly waiting for the young footballer to return to her. “Go on, poor girl’s waiting.”

A smile crossed Jamie’s face. “Cute, eh?” He nudged Roy again. “Go on, let’s find you someone. What about that girl I saw you talking to right now? She was fit. Ask her to dance.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “No fucking thank you. I don’t need some young thing in a tight outfit trying to grind on me just so she can go tell her friends that she danced with Roy fucking-”

“Who said I wanted to dance with you?”

Unnoticed by Roy, the woman had returned to the bar, her face and voice both sour now.

Jamie put on his best smile, clearly trying to diffuse the thick awkwardness that even he could feel. “Hi there!”

The woman paused, quirking an eyebrow at Jamie. “Hey yourself.” Her eyes flickered to Roy for a moment before returning to Jamie. “Your buddy always this friendly?”

Jamie nodded towards Roy. “He’s just awkward around pretty women,” he tried. “He really does want to dance with you.”

“No, I fucking don’t,” Roy blurted out before thinking, thankful, for once, for the stupidly dark lighting in this club for hiding his slight blush.

The woman’s eyes lingered on Roy’s face for a moment, something turning behind her eyes, before wheeling back to Jamie. “As charming as your friend is, I’ve got someone waiting for me. Maybe teach him some manners, hmm?”

In the back of his head, Roy noted that she was pretty. Really fucking pretty. Her eyes sparkled with a teasing gleam, even with her annoyed tone, and her red lips formed a perfect smirk that a younger Roy would have tried to kiss after buying her a drink.

 But he was too embarrassed and annoyed to think about that right now.

Roy sighed, damning himself for how fucking rude he could be sometimes. “Listen, I just don’t want to fucking dance-”

She shook her head and waved him off. “Hey, it’s not like I was dying to dance with someone trying to dress like Johnny Cash,” she quipped, gesturing towards Roy’s totally black ensemble. “I was just grabbing some water. Not every girl walking around a club is dying for some guy to hit on her.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Even if he’s-” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Never mind.” She nodded to Jamie. “Have a good night.” She glanced back at Roy. With a small hum of amusement, she grabbed a water bottle off the bar and was off.

Roy watched as she approached a guy, probably about his own age, and whispered something in his ear as she handed him the water bottle. The guy, his eyes widening for the briefest moment, looked over at Roy and Jamie, then back to the woman. They both broke into fits of laughter as they went off, probably to find somewhere far away from Roy and Jamie. Mostly Roy.

Jamie clapped his hand on Roy’s shoulder. “Looks like she’s got a fella. Tough break, Coach,” he said with a sympathetic click of his tongue.

Roy glared at Jamie. “Fucking asshole,” he mumbled, taking a swig of his beer.

~

“Alright, here we go, it’s just the most important day of your life so far,” I murmured to myself as I stared at my reflection.

Lucas and I were due at Nelson Road, our new home, within the hour. We’d finally meet Rebecca Welton face-to-face after hours of Zoom meetings, get a tour of the ‘Dog Track’, see our new offices that we’d be sharing with the men’s side, and get to meet the men’s team, the Greyhounds.

Considering that this was the first impression I’d make on everyone, I opted to dress up a bit. Some nice black slacks, a dark blouse my mom had bought for me as her own misguided way to wish me luck before playoffs one year, and a pair of heels. As I put on some bright red lipstick and pondered whether I looked badass or clownish, I heard a knock at my door.

Lucas raised an eyebrow at me as soon as I opened the door. “Shit. I should’ve known you’d be dressing up.” He wore a pair of Dickies and a button-down shirt; not sloppy, but definitely a step down from my style choice.

“You’re fine,” I assured him with a huff. “I’m probably overdressed if we’re being honest.” I took off the blazer I’d been debating all morning. “There, a little more casual?”

He shrugged, an amused grin on his face. “I mean, you look great. You’re the head coach, not me, you should look professional on our first day. They’ll all see you in sweatshirts and shorts soon enough.” He gave a small nod. “Nice color by the way.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “It’s not too much?”

“Nah, it’s just enough.” He gave a little nod towards the door. “Shall we?”

Not wanting to deal with walking directions on our first day, we opted to take a car to Nelson Road. The ride was much quicker than I expected, and I felt my stomach knot up as I grabbed my messenger bag while Lucas paid the driver.

I’d seen photos of the stadium, having made countless Google searches as the big move got closer. But now, being there in person, everything suddenly felt so real. This was it; my new home, where I’d get to help make history- hopefully a history we’d all be proud of.

A man in glasses waved to us from the entrance as soon as our car took off. “Good morning!” he called excitedly.

The moment I realized who it was, I couldn’t help but smile. “Leslie Higgins,” I laughed. As we approached, I resisted the urge to hug him. We’d seen Higgins in almost as many meetings as Rebecca Welton, and I loved him. He was kind, silly, and went above and beyond to make sure Lucas and I would be comfortable during the transition we were about to face. I knew already that he’d provide a father’s touch as we settled in.

Lucas high-fived Higgins as we approached. “Leslie, what’s shaking?”

Higgins chuckled as he shook my hand. “We are so excited that you’re here,” he gushed. “Honestly, we’ve been twittering like little birdies all morning. Tweet, tweet!” He nodded towards the entrance. “Let’s head on up to Rebecca’s office first, hmm? She’s so thrilled to finally meet you.”

We made our way inside, with Higgins cheerfully asking us about our flight, our new living arrangements, how we were adjusting to the time change so far. It felt like chatting with an old friend, and I was so engaged that I barely even noticed we’d arrived at Rebecca’s office. The door was wide open, so Higgins gestured for us to go on in.

Dear Lord, she’s freaking tall,I thought to myself as I finally stood in Rebecca Welton’s presence. She was exactly who I’d met on all those Zoom calls: gorgeous, poised, dignified, confident, and, more than anything, warm. Before I could extend my hand to her, she’d already wrapped me in a hug.

“Welcome to Richmond!” she gushed before letting go. She cleared her throat and straightened her skirt, furrowing her brow. “That wasn’t weird, was it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Just a smidge. But it already feels like we’ve known each other forever, so it’s fine.”

It was true. We’d spent so many hours talking on video calls, and on the phone, and even more emailing and eventually texting back and forth, plus I’d done some light online stalking, so that Rebecca felt like a dear friend at this point. Each time we spoke, I felt more and more excited to come to work for her and help her build something special.

“My turn!”

I was smothered by a blonde vision in pink and squeezed like a teddy bear. “Hi, Keeley,” I sputtered out, returning her embrace.

Keeley Jones had been the first person I’d spoken to about any of this. She’d called me, seemingly out of the blue, and gotten straight to the chase, telling me all about how impressed Richmond was with my career as both player and coach and oh would I be interested in leaving the United States, moving to England, and helping build their brand-new women’s team? Her bubbly charisma and enthusiasm had stopped me from laughing into the phone and hanging up, chalking it up to some joke. Instead, I let her reel me in until I was walking into work and handing in my resignation, saying tearful farewells to the incredible athletes I had come to love like sisters, those goodbyes even harder than the ones I said to my family and friends. But the tiny blonde with the fast way of talking had charmed and emboldened me to do this terrifying, thrilling thing.

Lucas quickly shook hands with the two women, escaping the displays of affection that they’d shown me. I glanced at the chairs behind the women, assuming we’d sit and chat for a bit before anything else.

But Rebecca had other ideas.

“Does anyone need a water before heading downstairs?” she offered, gesturing towards her fully stocked bar. “Or tea? I know it’s not your country’s favorite, but…” She trailed off, waiting for an answer.

“I’ll take water,” Lucas said, filling the silence.

“Uh, I’m good,” I murmured, shaking my head. The only thing I could focus on was getting started.

Rebecca quickly handed Lucas a bottle of water and gestured to the door. “This way.”

She led us out of her office and downstairs, excitedly chattering about the men’s team, about the amazing coach who helped build the club into what it had become (a fellow American, she was excited to tell us), how much she adored the current coaching staff, and how she knew they’d be very helpful to Lucas and myself.

“Now, I know it’ll be a bit of a squeeze, having two clubs in the same facilities,” she went on as our little group continued its stroll. “But I know we’ll all just do our best, hmm?”

Lucas spoke up, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Oh yeah. If it’s anything us Americans are known for, it’s sharing and selflessness.”

Everyone gave a light chuckle as we entered the locker room.

Two men stood in the middle of the room, decked out in A.F.C. Richmond gear. Rebecca quickly introduced Lucas and I to them.

“And this is Coach Beard,” she said, pointing to the one wearing a baseball cap. “And Coach Nate Shelley,” she continued, gesturing to the other man. “Coach Beard is from America as well,” she added with a tiny smile.

It took a moment for everyone to shake hands and offer awkward hellos and nice to meet yous.

Rebecca looked around, frowning. “Where’s-”

“Fuck, fuck, sorry, I was-”

A bearded man in dark clothing jogged in, looking absolutely ragged. His gaze darted around the room at everyone as we all stared back. When his eyes landed on me, they widened.

“Oh fuck.”

~

It was her. It was fucking her.

Roy felt like crawling into a hole and dying. He felt like turning around and running out of the room and not stopping until he reached Scotland, or he collapsed, whichever happened first. He felt like his knees were about to give out, and not because he’d just sprinted through the building, which he knew was a stupid idea. More than anything, he felt like a fucking idiot.

Standing in front of him with one eyebrow arched in amusement was the girl he’d talked to at the club. The one he’d been admittedly rude to. She looked so put together in her outfit and heels and red lipstick, while Roy was in his Richmond shirt and slightly sweating from dashing in from the pitch after he’d finally seen Keeley’s text to come to the changing room. He felt like an even bigger arse than he did the night before.

Rebecca cleared her throat, cool look on her face. “And this is our manager for the men’s side, Roy Kent.” She gestured to the woman and man- who Roy now recognized as the one she’d been giggling with at the club- and told Roy their names.

The woman stepped forward with a small smirk on her lips. “Roy Kent. Nice to officially meet you.” She extended her hand towards him.

Furrowing his brow, Roy reached out and shook her hand. “Right. So, you’re the-”

“First-ever manager of W.F.C. Richmond, yes,” she finished for him. She gave his hand a small squeeze before letting go. “I’m glad to report that I survived the pain of being rejected,” she half-whispered.

Rebecca’s eyes darted between the two as the man- Lucas, apparently- held back laughter. “I’m sorry, have you two already met?” Confusion filled Rebecca’s question.

“Hmm?” The new coach turned to Rebecca. “Kind of. We bumped into each other last night while out on the town. I received a very warm welcome.” She raised a mocking eyebrow at Roy before looking back at Rebecca, all friendly smiles. “Should we continue?”

The group- Rebecca, Higgins, Keeley, and the Americans- exited the changing rooms through the offices, with Rebecca explaining how they’d be sharing: the Greyhounds in the larger office, the Whippets in the smaller one, since there were only the two of them. As their voices faded and left the offices, Beard gazed at Roy’s pale face carefully.

“Alright there, Coach?”

Roy grunted. “Was a bit of an ass when we bumped into each other at a club last night,” he admitted. “Didn’t fucking know it was her.”

Beard’s brows furrowed. “So, you didn’t read Keeley’s report.” Not a question; a statement. He gestured for Roy to follow him into their office, now holding three desks, and handed him the W.F.C. Richmond folder Keeley had given them, Nate trailing in after them.

Roy flipped through a couple of pages before finding the manager profile Keeley had probably worked hard on writing. Sure enough, there she was: the woman from the club smiling up at him, her name in big letters at the top of the page. The profile contained information on her college career, her time as a professional player, her success as a manager in the American women’s league, even her Olympic and World Cup appearances. Definitely not just some “young thing” trying to get five minutes of fame by flirting with him. Roy felt like a right prick skimming her remarkable career.

“She’s really impressive,” Nate chirped, as if it needed to be said. “We could probably learn a lot from her, hmm?”

Tossing the folder back on Beard’s desk, Roy gave another grunt, refusing to admit his embarrassment. “We’re fine,” he responded in a short tone. “Let’s get back out there, alright? I left Isaac and Jamie in charge, so they’re probably having a fucking break-dancing contest at this point.”

~

Lucas and I sat at my dining room table eating the dinner he’d brought over. It had been a busy day; touring Nelson Road, meeting the staff, making sure contracts were signed and players were ready to start training at the end of the week. The next day, we’d be going in for a press conference to introduce ourselves to the public. To prepare, I was drinking the largest glass of wine I could pour.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” Lucas raised his eyebrows at me.

I put down my glass. “Talk about what?”

Lucas rested his face on his hands, gazing at me like a gossiping teenager. “Roy Kent.”

“What about Roy Kent?” I took another gulp of wine. “It’s not like we’re going to be coaching together. Does it really matter if I like him?”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” Lucas hummed, earning a glare from me. “Hey, I’d be pissed too if he was rude to me.” He took a bite. “Can’t believe he didn’t know who you were.”

I shrugged and went back to my food. “Clearly the man didn’t read his report. I mean, he had to get one about us, right? We got one about them.”

I’d spent about half my flight to England reading and rereading the packet Keeley had sent us about A.F.C. Richmond. It was great: a short history of the team, a bit about each member of the coaching staff, brief player profiles. A perfect way to get to know our new neighbors before moving into Nelson Road. Not that I hadn’t done a little research on my own as soon as Rebecca sent me an official offer to lead the Whippets; indeed, I’d done a particularly deep dive into Roy Kent’s Wikipedia page and watched more than a few clips of him on YouTube, fascinated by his career and transition into coaching. Heck, I’d even pondered if maybe we could become friends eventually.

But he’d put a nail in that coffin at the club.

Whatever. Like it even mattered, I told myself. All I had to do was exist in the same space as the man, no more, no less. And I could handle that.

Right?

I’d get to find out the next morning. Again dressed professionally and deciding to continue rocking that red lipstick, I carried a small box of things into Nelson Road. Since the press conference wasn’t until late in the morning, I had decided that I could take advantage of what would probably be my last bit of free time to set up some things in my office, while my assistant coach opted to relax and take his time getting ready.

As I entered the locker room, several players were already in there, in various states of undress. All of them nodded or waved in friendly greetings, having been introduced to Lucas and me yesterday. They had been extraordinarily enthusiastic, especially considering they now had to share their stadium. I waved back, noting the big smile on one Jamie Tartt’s face- the one who’d been with Roy Kent at the club, the dreamy star player I’d read all about. I grinned at the men, relieved that at least they were friendly.

On the other hand, when I entered the coaches’ office, all talking ceased immediately.

From his seat, with his feet atop his desk, Roy Kent glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his mouth in a perfectly straight line beneath his beard. He’d been saying something to the other two but had halted as soon as I entered. I raised my eyebrow at him in response, feeling like those muscles in my face would be getting a good workout in the coming weeks.

“Morning,” I hummed, mostly to Beard and Nate. Nate waved cheerfully while Beard gave a friendly salute. Only Roy continued to ignore me.

Before I could step through into my new office, Nate’s voice called out, “Got your press conference today, right?”

I turned over my shoulder and looked at him, a little surprised by his friendly tone and the genuine interest on his face. “Yeah, not til later this morning though. Figured I’d set up some things in the office, make myself at home.”

Beard leaned back in his seat. “If you need help with anything, just ask. We’ll be in the weight room this morning.”

“Thanks,” I said with a nod. Okay, so not all the Greyhound coaches sucked. That was good to know.

I strolled into my new office, wrinkling my nose when I realized my desk had a direct view of Roy Kent’s desk, where he continued to avoid looking at me. Ignoring my observation, I set down my box and started pulling things out, arranging them the way I’d had them in my old office: soccer ball-shaped pencil holder a friend had bought me back in high school, framed photo of my family, my first ever AYSO trophy.

My heart skipped a beat when I pulled out a frame. It held my prized possession: the Sports Illustrated cover featuring Brandi Chastain, on her knees, black sports bra exposed, celebrating her penalty kick that won the 1999 World Cup, signed by the woman herself. It had hung in my bedroom, my college dorm, and eventually my office. It had served for many years as motivation, as something I aspired to. Now, it was my daily reminder of why I loved coaching- to help others achieve their big dreams.

I looked back in the box. Crap. I’d tossed in a couple nails but had forgotten to grab a hammer.

“Hey, Coach Beard?” Clutching the framed magazine, I poked my head into the Greyhounds’ office. The only one in there was Roy, who was thumbing through a notebook and mumbling to himself.

His eyes flickered up at me. He gave a small grunt of acknowledgement and went back to his notebook.

I sighed, not surprised by his lackluster greeting. “Do you guys have a hammer? I’m trying to put something up.”

Still not even glancing at me, Roy walked around to one of the other desks, yanking open a drawer, and pulling out a hammer, slamming it on top of the desk. “There,” he muttered.

“Thanks.” I stepped over and grabbed the hammer. Deciding to play his game of not looking at each other, I let my eyes flitter over to the wall behind his desk. I choked a little trying to hide my laughter. “What the fuck is that?”

Roy’s eyes followed mine to the… anatomical drawing behind his desk, a black strip of tape over it. “My niece drew it,” he answered matter-of-factly. “She’s eight.”

My eyebrows flew up. “Your eight-year-old niece drew the best tits I’ve ever seen in my life?”

A snort flew out of Roy’s nose, the friendliest noise I’d heard from him. “And just how many tits have you seen?”

Unable to help myself, I smirked. “I was a professional soccer player,” I reminded him. “I’ve been in plenty of locker rooms with other women.”

“Is that why you’re hanging that thing in your office?” He gestured to the magazine in my hands.

I raised an eyebrow at him and scoffed. “That’s Brandi Chastain,” I answered plainly. “She’s an Olympic gold medalist.”

“Right.” His steely gaze finally met mine, sending a jolt to my system that I did my best to ignore. “American, I assume?”

“Obviously,” I answered, feeling that defensiveness I had as a kid, arguing against the boys on the playground about whether I could play sports with them at recess. “Only the best women’s soccer team in the world.”

He snorted again. “Can’t be that great if you can’t call it the right fucking name.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, unsure if my tone was friendly or defensive. “Oh, I’m sorry, where’s your Olympic gold medal? Because mine’s in my living room, but I could bring it in if you’d ever like to see one in person.”

Something in his face changed, effectively ending the almost-nice interaction we were having. “Leave the hammer when you’re done,” he mumbled, turning and trudging out of the room, not looking me in the eye.

“Alrighty then,” I mumbled to myself, twirling the hammer in my hand. With a shrug, I turned back to my office, wondering if Roy Kent was capable of having a civil conversation.

~

Roy lumbered into the weight room, where Beard and Nate were supervising various workouts. His body felt heavy, and his chest felt tight. The Dog Track suddenly felt too crowded, too filled with her and her ego. That was it: her cockiness. Roy found it off-putting. That’s what had him feeling so twisted. The feeling in his stomach had absolutely nothing to do with that red lipstick she wore or the fact that she smelled far better than any other coach he’d ever met. Like fucking vanilla.

Both coaches nodded to Roy as he approached.

He grunted in place of a greeting. “Sorry, someone needed a fucking hammer. And then couldn’t shut up about her fucking Olympic gold medal.” Roy ignored the fact that, if he had one, he’d never stop talking about it. Hell, he still managed to bring up his time playing for England in casual conversation whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Beard continued to observe the workouts, only half interested in Roy’s complaining. “What’d she need a hammer for?”

“To put up some poster or some shit.” He folded his arms, scowling. “Didn’t know we were allowed to nail things into the fucking walls. Thought we were supposed to use that putty shit. Not leave holes in the walls.”

Now he had Beard’s attention. “Roy, you’ve punched holes into the walls.” To punctuate his point, Beard nodded towards the patch of recently fixed wall that still needed to be painted over.

Trying to keep things light, Nate piped up. “What was the poster?”

Fucking really? “Dunno,” Roy grumbled. “Some lady footballer.”

Beard raised an eyebrow. “Mia Hamm? Megan Rapinoe?”

“Fuck if I know,” Roy muttered, secretly racking his brain for the name she’d mentioned. “Didn’t really care enough to fucking listen.”

Pulling his cap over his eyes, despite being inside, Beard let out a little hum. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Oi! Turn up the volume, bruv!” Isaac called from his treadmill. “Wanna hear this.”

The guys paused their workouts to turn their gazes to the television, where the W.F.C. Richmond press conference played on the screen.

Roy narrowed his eyes as he observed the way she was dressed, in her blazer and red lipstick. She looked professional. More professional than he ever looked at press conferences. He found himself wondering if that’s how she dressed for matches, and whether that meant he should dress better on the pitch too. And fuck, she looked confident in front of all those cameras. He had yet to figure out how to look that comfortable.

A reporter’s voice filled the room. “You just made a big move, leaving the NWSL to come start a brand-new team. Why’d you do it?”

She looked thoughtful. Almost pretty with the way her eyes lit up before she spoke. “Well, let’s be really honest. The United States has the greatest women’s soccer team in the world-” The reporters hollered playfully at her. “Hey, sorry, it’s true!” She chuckled. “So, we’ve got the best team in the world, World Cup and Olympic champions how many times over, incredible athletes. But no one cares. Over here, though, soccer is a freaking religion. It’s everything. I’m excited to be in a place where people love the sport as much as the players on the field do. Who love it as much as I do.”

There was a murmuring of approval among the guys in the weight room.

Except for one person. Roy scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Fucking soccer,” he muttered. “It’s football, fucking Yank.” He glanced at Beard, who shot him pointed look, reminding Roy of his own nationality. “Sorry,” he mumbled, properly shamed.

“What do you think you’ll bring to the new club? Why are you worth importing from the States?”

Roy snorted. Great, an opportunity for her to brag about herself.

Sure enough, a cocky expression crossed her face. “Is it cheeky or just plain arrogant if I say my gold medal and World Cup title?” There was good-natured tittering both from the journalists on television and among the Richmond players in the weight room. “No, actually I think in this case my coaching record really speaks for itself more than my time playing. I’ve been fortunate to lead my team back home to some great successes, and I’m looking forward to doing the same with Richmond.” She looked reflective for a moment. “And I’m young. I started as one of the youngest coaches in the U.S., in both men and women’s soccer. So, I can only keep growing as a coach. I’m only going to get better, get smarter. And this guy here?” She gestured to Lucas, who sat beside her, pride shining in his eyes as he watched her. “Incredible coach. Coach Lucas Austen has been the best kept secret in college soccer for years. I’ve played for this man myself, so I speak from experience when I say he’ll bring out the best in each and every player, as well as everyone lucky enough to watch his magic, most especially myself.”

Nate gave out a low whistle. “She’s fabulous to listen to. So at ease.”

Not willing to acknowledge Nate’s praise, Roy turned to Beard. “Are she and he… are they…?” He nodded towards the television, where the two Americans exchanged smiles as Lucas now sang the young manager’s praises, telling some charming story from his time coaching her.

Beard scoffed. “I doubt it, she’s not exactly his type.”

It took Roy a moment. “Oh. And is he… her type?” Roy couldn’t figure out why he was asking. He didn’t really care. Right?

“She’s dated men, if that’s what you’re asking,” Beard said, looking at Roy with skepticism. “There are straight and bisexual women in sports, you know.”

“I know.” Roy hated the way Beard was looking at him.

But apparently, Beard wasn’t done educating Roy. “And men and women can be just friends. Look at Ted and Rebecca. You and Keeley. Leo and Kate.”

“Leonardo DiCaprio is absolutely in love with Kate Winslet,” Colin shouted across the room, where he was leaning against a wall with Sam, eyes still glued to the television.

Roy scowled. “Back to your fucking workouts before I have Will shove all your boots up your arses!”

Poor Will, who happened to be strolling by the open door on his way to the boot room, picked up his pace, unsure if he preferred doing as Roy demanded or telling the manager “No”. Both sounded horrifying.

With the workouts resumed, Roy turned back to the screen, scowl deepening when his eyes lingered a moment too long on her smiling red lips.

“Are you bringing that nickname of yours over to this side of the pond?”

Her smile widened. “Only to make your jobs easier. ‘Coach Bucky gets lucky’ is a great headline.” She winked, a sight that caused Roy’s breath to stop for a moment. “Although I’d hate to think what else you all could find to rhyme with Buck.”

“What kind of fucking nickname is that?” Roy mumbled to himself, eyebrows furrowed.

As if reading Roy Kent’s mind, a reporter called out, “Where’d the name come from anyway?”

Wistfulness crossed her face as she paused for a moment. “My grandfather,” she answered quietly. She spoke slowly, hesitating for the first time. “When I started playing, he kept calling me ‘Plucky Bucky’, because of my positive attitude. Said he liked the way I never gave up when things got hard.” She let out a soft breath. “Silly. But my teammates and coaches picked up on it so….” She shrugged. “Coach Buck remains. It’s a nice reminder of the man who made me fall in love with the sport.”

Something tugged in Roy’s stomach at the word “grandfather”. Maybe it wasn’t such a stupid nickname after all.

“I think we’ve got time for one more question.” Keeley’s bright voice brought Roy’s attention back to the television.

A reporter piped up. “What’s your goal this year? Brand new team, are you just looking to get comfortable, get your bearings?”

The manager grinned, that cocky look in her eye again. “We’re not here for comfortable. We’re here for greatness.” She cleared her throat, smirking at Lucas before facing the cameras again. “We’re looking to be the first Richmond team to win the whole damn thing.”

~

Keeley, Lucas, and I exchanged high-fives as we walked out of the press room. Doing press conferences wasn’t unusual to me at all, but doing one in a new country was a bit overwhelming. But Keeley had prepared me well, and the journalists weren’t as intimidating as I’d expected. Of course, we’d see how they were once the season was underway and the Whippets were actually playing.

“You were great, babes!” Keeley assured me as we made our way to the coaching offices. “Seriously, if you do that in every press conference, you’ll make my job so easy.” She attempted an American accent as she continued, “We’re not here for comfortable, we’re here for greatness.” She shook her head. “Perfect soundbite!”

Lucas nodded. “Especially that part about being the first Richmond team to win the whole thing? Excellent. Not sure if the guys’ll like it, but I loved it.”

I cleared my throat as we passed the weight room. “We’ll see,” was all I could manage. I hadn’t thought of whether those words would offend the men’s side.

“Oi! Coach!” Jamie Tartt poked his head out of the weight room. “Great job in your press conference!”

“Thanks,” I replied, unable to stop myself from returning his bright smile, which assured me that I’d at least avoided insulting him. “Glad you guys caught some of it.”

Another man joined him, his hair tied in a bun at the base of his neck. Dani, if I remembered correctly. “May we call you Coach Buck too?” His eyes shone with excitement.

His boyish earnestness made me laugh. “Um, yeah, if you guys want to.”

“Sick!” Jamie interjected, sticking his tongue out. “Roy never lets us give him nicknames. Although I like to call him-”

“Oi!” I ignored the way Roy Kent’s gruff voice made my heart skip a beat. “What the fuck are you two doing?” He marched over, his scowl only growing when he saw me. He turned to his players. “Is our fucking training interrupting you two ogling over the shiny new toy?”

My own brow furrowed as I stepped closer to him, our quickly reddening faces inches away from each other. “Shiny new toy?” I sputtered, feeling his breath against my face and not caring that he could feel mine or if he could hear my heart slamming against my chest. “Wait a fucking-”

“Stop distracting my players,” he continued, his eyes dark. At this proximity, I could see the laugh lines on his face, evidence that he actually knew how to smile. “Worry about your own fucking team.”

Before I could say another word, Keeley hooked her arm through mine and gave a tug. “Alright, coaches, lovely chat but we should get going,” she hummed, clearly trying to diffuse whatever the fuck was happening between me and Roy Kent. “Greyhounds, we will see you later, yeah?”

With a deep grunt, Roy turned back to the weight room. “Whistle!” he bellowed. “Everyone on the pitch! Jamie’s leading you in fucking burpees!”

The sound of groaning filled the halls as Keeley yanked me away, Lucas on my heels looking amused. Keeley didn’t stop pulling until we were back in my office; the walk had done nothing to calm me down as Keeley leaned against my desk. Lucas sat in his chair, watching me with raised eyebrows. My pounding heart felt as if I’d just sprinted from one goal to another.

“Well, that was fun,” Lucas finally said in a light tone after watching me pace silently back and forth for a minute.

“Yeah, what was that?” Keeley squeaked. “I know Roy can be a bit rough. But that was…. interesting.”

Lucas smirked now. “I think someone’s still mad Roy Kent didn’t recognize her at the club. And didn’t want to dance with her.”

That broke my silence. “As if,” I scoffed, folding my arms across my chest indignantly. “I wouldn’t dance with Roy Kent if he was the last man on earth, with his fucking black clothes and fucking growling and-”

“Wait, wait, what’s this about a club?” Curiosity covered Keeley’s face.

Before I could answer, Lucas spoke up. “Alright, so we went out the night before we started here, just to relax a bit. And this one went to grab a drink and ran into none other than Roy Kent himself.” He chuckled. “And Kent had no idea who she was, he thought she was just some girl who wanted to dance.”

I cleared my throat. “To be fair, it took me a moment to realize who he was too. Stupid dark lighting and all.”

Lucas continued. “Then she overheard him tell Jamie Tartt, that, oh what was it?” He looked at me expectantly.

He’d finally gotten me to crack a smile. “I don’t need some young thing in a tight outfit trying to grind on me just so she can go tell her friends,” I growled, doing my best impression of the man I now officially couldn’t stand.

Even Keeley snickered. “Shit, that’s pretty good!”

“And he just kept digging himself into this hole,” Lucas went on. “Until finally, she compares him to Johnny Cash, says she’s not interested, almost tells him she knows who he is but decides not to give him the satisfaction, and struts off.” He wrapped an arm around me. “Then of course she surprises the hell out of him the next morning. Leaves him with his jaw on the floor while she’s cool and collected. It was stunning, truly.” He gave me a squeeze. “Plucky Bucky indeed.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, fun story, but no, I’m not bitter about not being recognized. I didn’t even get recognized back home when I was on a World Cup winning team, it’s hard to expect people here to give a shit who I am.”

“They will,” Keeley piped up. “You start winning, they’ll care. You’re gorgeous and charming and a world champion. And an American to boot, that’s always amusing. All you need now is a winning record on this side of the pond. Rebecca and I think you’re going to put W.F.C. Richmond on the map, and hopefully raise interest in women’s soccer in general while you’re at it.”

“No pressure,” Lucas added with a chuckle.

I sighed. This move was hard enough; leaving behind my home, my country, my family, my team. Leaving behind things I’d spent years building. And now, I was in a brand-new country, building something from scratch with wonderful strangers and the one person who knew me better than anyone else. Add to all of it the burden of being a woman in sports and the desire to have people take it seriously, and I was already feeling the pressure.

And Roy fucking Kent wasn’t helping with any of it.

#Roy Kent Something There #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fic #roy kent fluff #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso imagine #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fluff #ted lasso fanfiction

[a-sleepy-raven]

💙 coworkers to lovers with leon??? ☺️

Thank you for your request, dear anon, and my apologies for the long wait. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. :)

prompt: 💙 coworkers to lovers

Leon Kennedy x gn!reader – coworkers to lovers (HCs)

Given the line of work Leon is in, he spends a lot of time with his coworkers. He might not be the most social person after everything that’s happened to him but he still makes an effort to actually remember their faces and names because he just spends so much time around them. That being said, he wouldn’t exactly consider them his friends – and he definitely can’t see himself getting closer to any of them.

However, his whole attitude about this changes the moment you join the team. There’s just something about you that draws Leon in, no matter how much he tries to fight it. And he really tries to fight it because you’re in the same team and it’s heavily frowned upon to get involved with each other under these circumstances. So, no matter how much he likes you or how interesting you are, Leon will most likely push you away at first.

He also tries to convince himself that working together with you is more than enough for him because, at least, that means you can spend some time with each other. However, it doesn’t really help with the growing attraction between the two of you, and he considers asking the higher ups to transfer you to a different team, just to get some peace of mind, but then he’d have to explain why he’s asking for the transfer and that would make things even more complicated. So, he just sucks it up and hopes that what he’s feelings for you is just a stupid crush that will go away soon.

It doesn’t go away, though, and Leon finds himself more and more drawn to you as the time goes by. He also starts to be less reserved around you and actually strikes up conversations with you and laughs at your jokes and teasing remarks. He feels oddly at peace around you, like nothing else matters when you’re there – a feeling he’s been craving for quite a while now if he’s being honest with himself. 

The more you grow on him, the more Leon wants to be around you. He finds excuses to stay at the office longer, like a report he needs to finish (though it’s already been handed in), just to spend more time with you. Sometimes, when he notices that you’re once again working without taking a proper break, he brings you tea or coffee to cheer you up a little. It’s also quite obvious to your other coworkers that Leon likes you, based on the little things he does for you and the way his gaze lingers on you when you pass him by.  

Better be prepared for the infamous invitation to dinner sooner or later. As much as Leon is self-confident and stern during missions, he’s an awkward mess when it comes to casual interactions, even more so when it comes to you. Of course, he tries to play it cool but it’s quite obvious how nervous he is about asking you out. (Every time he thinks back to this moment he can’t help but wonder how he got you to say Yes. It’s beyond him why you agreed to go out with him.)

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider reblogging, liking and/or leaving feedback. I'd really appreciate the support! &lt;3

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #Leon Kennedy x you #Leon Kennedy headcanons #resident evil x reader #Leon Kennedy fluff #resident evil fluff #reader insert #gn!reader #gender neutral reader

[hellcifrogs]

I like the idea of orochimaru just sweeping up all three of them and becoming the worst mother hen ever

it starts easy with sasuke bc what??? you want him to Not look after his future vessel??? that boy needs to eat his vegetables and take proper care of his injuries

naruto starts as an attempt at manipulation, the boy grew up hated by the village and with a bare minimum of care, a hair ruffle here and there, the occasional kind word, and tasty snacks should get him onside pretty quick right? but then oro starts doing these things without thinking about future pay off (omg do you think he'd break into konoha to get naruto a bowl of ichiraku ramen when naruto did something he was really pleased with)

sakura is actually the one he spends the most time with, she has brilliant chakra control and can actually understand theory! and science! and has the patience for research! and will sit with him and discuss it while the boys are off in the background hitting each other with sticks or smth! she also craves validation, and you want him to not give it to her after she looks at him with those big green eyes, and adorable pink hair, after finally nailing a tricky jutsu??? ridiculous

maybe he also steals sai for them as a treat after the first time they meet him and subsequently develop the most embarrassing crush on him, he wouldn't be himself if he let a little thing like the law/danzo/konoha stand between his monsters and expanding their polycule

so now orochimaru is mama-bear to three terrible little gremlins, and kabuto is their weird but adored cousin ig

jiraiya and tsunade are stunned the first time they see their still-a-horrible-war-criminal ex-bf fussing over the three kids that he stole

When I say half of this fandom shares a braincell! This is what I made him do in the NaruFox too 🤣😭 deep down we all wanna see good old murderous Orochimaru be turned into a soft parent by team 7 and taka!

#ask ffrogs

[chaoticgoblindev]

Pop Bottle Struggles -141

A/n: I was just struggling to open a cola bottle bc I didn’t have one of those bottle cap openers. I sat staring at the bottle just trying to plan a way to open it without breaking it or shattering bc I am a clutz….SO of course I thought of the 141 squad and had to write something :) I hope you enjoy!

Fem!Reader, Hacker!Reader, Fluff, sfw, 141 x Reader, Platonic if you squint.

It was like any day for you. Wake up, do some reports and intel gathering, take your designated breaks for food or water (if you remembered), play some games in your free time, and more work. However, today you were craving a nice bottle of coca cola. 

Your thoughts drift to the cola that you had seen earlier in the common room refrigerator. Making your way out of your office (which was just a fancy term for your tech lab filled room but ‘office was easier) you head to the lounge. To no surprise you weren’t alone, a few voices spilling from the doorway which indicated that your team was there as well. You gave them a simple wave, your mind set on getting soda/snacks and retreating back to your den.

Upon grabbing the soda you explored the nearby drawer expecting to see a bottle opener, yet to your dismay there wasn’t any. Attempting to twist the bottle only earned a wince from the slight pain the sharp cap had caused. Staring at the bottle, you mentally cursed and tried thinking of a way to open the savory drink without accidentally shattering the glass bottle and making a fool out of yourself. Unbeknownst to you, someone had taken notice of your predicament.

Price

The Captain raised an eyebrow when you came into the room and hadn’t bothered responding to his greeting with more than a simple wave. You hadn’t even glanced over, it was like you were in a daze. He kept his previous conversation going, but his eyes watched you, curious as to what you were up to. When you had gotten the bottle of pop and struggled, he couldn’t help but smirk and hold back an amused chuckle. He was quiet while watching your brain wheels turn and try to figure out a solution. Yet like the oh so gentleman he is, he approached behind you and grabbed the bottle from your hands.

“Need some help, Sweetheart?” He called in a soft tone, his eyes crinkling with that charming smile of his. 

You froze, face heating from embarrassment that someone noticed you struggle opening a damn BOTTLE. “No.. no I can-“ but before you could finish that sentence Price had simply tapped the bottle against the counter and the cap came off with a satisfying pop.

“Here you go.” He smiled, handing back the cola and walking away.

Gaz

Gaz was talking with Soap, arguing about some damned game when you walked in. He immediately took note of your tired and dazed self and assumed you had another all nighter and were barely functioning on actual food. That was one of the traits he prided himself in, being observant, especially when it came to you. He was about to fuss you about getting a proper meal with a light hearted joke when he watched as you struggled with a soda bottle.

Soap noticed Gaz’s gaze and was opening his mouth to make a witty comment before his friend stood up and walked over to their beloved hacker teammate.

“You need help with that?” That familiar rich tenor rang out to you. Gaz slid beside you, acting like he was grabbing a soda as well, his eyes glancing to you to see your flustered and embarrassed expression.

“No, I am fine.” You smiled, refusing to admit that you couldn’t open a simple bottle. He seemed to understand as he nodded.

“Well then you can help me open mine, ya?” He smiled and before you could retort, Gaz had grabbed your bottle of cola and flipped his, angling the caps below one another and giving a firm tug. The cap popped off easily and he handed you the bottle with a goofy grin.

You muttered a thanks and quickly gathered a small snack and retreated back to your office just as Gaz put back the cola bottle he had grabbed for himself. He wasn’t thirsty to begin with, not for soda anyways.

Soap

Soap was in a heated and passionate debate with Gaz about the game they had seen in the pub the night before. When you had walked in he hadn’t noticed you at first, a bit wrapped up in his conversation. Though he did notice when he heard the fridge open and glanced to the side quickly, doing a small double take when he was it was you. 

“Hey there, lass.” The Scotsman brightened as he saw you flinch a bit, just as his eyes caught on your struggling with a bottle cap. “Need help with tha’?” He smirked, leaning into his propped up hand and enjoying your embarrassed and slightly annoyed state. You were always so stubborn, it was too fun.

“I am fine Johnny boy, continue your lovely conversation about balls.” You waved the man off with a laugh which earned a few chuckles, Soap included.

The next thing you know Johnny was beside you grabbing the bottle from your hands. “It’s fine to ask for help ya know.” He smirked. Johnny put the bottle to his lips and opened the cap by using his damned teeth, all while looking you in the eyes, enjoying the surprise splay out on your features and the rush of red in your cheeks. 

“That- ya fucking idiot you’ll hurt your tooth like that!” You smacked his arm, grabbing the bottle from his grasp with a small glower. 

Soap simply laughed with a grin, “Oh come on bonnie, it’d take a lot more than that to hurt me, ya know that.” His chest puffed up as he straightened his posture and smiled. 

You just rolled your eyes sipping your drink, momentarily hesitating thinking of Johnny’s lips being on the same bottle just moments ago. You shook away the school girl's thoughts and headed back to your ‘office’.

Soap watched you walk away with a smile and licked his tooth to soothe the slight ache he felt. Was the pain worth it? For you, yes. He’d do it anytime if it meant getting that reaction from you again and again.

Ghost

He sat across from Price and in a light conversation when you walked into the room and headed for the fridge immediately. He watched you silently, not even having to actually face you to be aware of what you were doing. When he saw you pull out the bottle of pop and couldn’t find the opener he assumed you would just pop open the cap against the counter. However, when you just placed the bottle on the counter and stared at it like a math equation he couldn’t help but feel a small smile tug at the corner of his lips. 

Ghost grumbled a silent ‘one second’ to Price before walking up behind you and grabbing the bottle. He watched as you flinched and turned around to face him with wide eyes, clearly surprised at his sudden appearance. A simple twist and tug with his hand and the cap popped off. He handed the bottle to you and walked away, lingering just long enough to hear your shy and hushed thanks.

He wouldn’t admit how that simple word made him feel warm, just how you wouldn’t admit you needed help opening the cola.

#please tell me i am not the only one that struggles opening bottles and cans #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #modern warfare #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #cod 141 #141 task force #task force 141 #141 x reader #tf 141 #mw2 141 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod x female reader #john price x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley

[missmoonfrost]

Extra number - a wolfstar AU

I tried to write a microfic for today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt performer AU - it ended up over 1300 words = not a microfic at all. Enjoy!

Sirius was getting ready to head for makeup when the director came in.

"Paul's ill. Thankfully we've got a backup for his part. There's no time for you to repeat the whole thing together, I'm afraid. I hope it won't be too much of a problem."

Well, Sirius wasn't happy about it. But he was a professional, he'd make it work.

"He'll be here any minute so you can at least go over the duet and -"

The door opened again.

"Ah! Here he is. I believe you've worked with Mr Lupin before?"

Oh. Him. Mr prim and proper, all facade. Mr "I'll shagg you in the bathroom, then not even walk too close if there's the slightest chance of a camera". He had thought he had left those heart-wrecking months hoping there would ever be something more behind him in New York.

"Yeah, we've met", he admitted wryly.

Remus gave him a crooked smile. Sirius reluctantly shook his outstretched hand. His big, warm, and pleasantly steady hand. Met his inviting amber eyes and broadening smile. Nope. He was never falling for that again.

They really had a very short time to repeat. And Remus called them done early, wanting plenty of time in makeup.

"Are you really that worried about your looks?" Sirius mocked even though he'd seen the scars before. He knew Remus always wore long sleeves and high collars when they weren't covered up neatly. Of course, it took ages.

"If you don't care about your appearance, why the piercings? Why the hairstyling?" he replied calmly.

"Different thing. Different reason."

"What do you know about my reasons?"

"I’m well aware of how desperate you are to not let anyone see the slightest crack in your perfect facade."

Sirius left before he could reply. They could not get into an argument now. He had to stay focused.

When Sirius went on stage the thoughts of Remus were stored away where they didn't hinder him from opening the show as big and bold as always.

The second part was mostly Remus'. He did it well with only a few mistakes that the audience hardly noticed, despite his minimal time to prepare. He was nothing if not a good performer. On and off stage, that was.

For the third part, they worked together. Remus was taller than Paul, and Sirius had to take slightly longer steps to keep up, but it was alarmingly easy to fall into the same rhythm. Sirius remained focused, remained in character. It worked until the duet. Remus' eyes had him losing his stage persona and craving him for himself.

He might regret it later, but he was a professional and the audience deserved that he did his best. To deliver feeling you needed to feel. So, he looked into Remus' playful eyes again and let himself yearn. The passion in his voice came effortlessly.

They locked hands and bowed to the applause, as expected. They walked out, still hand in hand, and Remus' thumb brushed his knuckles. They hugged behind the curtain, as colleagues might. The sudden closeness so soon after the adrenalin still broke Sirius' resolve. His breath stuck in his throat as he breathed in the familiar scent. He needed him closer. His hands moved up his back under his shirt. His lips hungrily pressed against his. Until they disappeared, Remus quickly pulled back, leaving Sirius struggling to reorient himself. Right, they were still backstage.

"That was amazing!" The director handed them each a glass of champagne.

"Maybe we should team up again?" Remus said looking directly at him with a wanting expression that sent shivers down Sirius' spine. His body betrayed him again. He knew he had fallen too easily.

"Are you sure that would fit your image?" he asked icily.

The look of hurt in Remus' eyes shouldn't make his heart ache. It should be just what that bastard deserved.

"As if you don't have an image?!" Remus put the glass back in the confused director’s hands and took a step forward. "Wild and crazy. On the front page with a new conquest every week", he mocked.

"If people wanna interpret a kiss on the cheek as me having slept with someone that’s on them." The director hastily excused himself and Sirius dared to add "At least I'm open with my sexuality."

Remus pursed his lips furiously.

"What? Are you jealous?"

"Is that so hard to imagine? I thought we had something special."

"So did I, until you didn't want to be seen with me in daylight!"

Remus looked at the floor. When no replay came, Sirius quickly gathered his things and stormed out. He spent a very lonely night at the hotel room, and the next day ignoring phone calls and texts from both Remus ("I just want to talk" - bullshit) and the director (he would be working with Mr Lupin this evening as well, a thousand apologies).

That evening he met a very quiet and subdued Remus in makeup. When the girl asked to start on his arms, he refused.

Sirius looked up "What are you doing?"

"Apparently being open is very important to you."

The pain in his voice made Sirius' heart ache again. "I don't want to bully you into doing anything. Just don't think you can use me as... just don’t use me."

Remus smiled meekly and tried to sound reassuring "I know. This is for the best."

Despite everything, Sirius melted. It was true that he didn't know Remus' reasons for keeping his scars hidden, but he recognised fear when he saw it. He pressed Remus' hand. "Look, don't do anything rushed. Don't do anything you don't want to do."

"I've had plenty of time to think. After New York... I really missed you. And I've realised that for things to work out, I need to do this."

Five minutes before the start, he borrowed a microphone.

"Good evening, everyone. The show is about to start. But first: story time!"

"Those of you sitting close can see that I have scars on my arms and neck. They are 15 years old. You've never seen them, because I've always covered them up. But not anymore. Today I want to tell you what happened."

"Once upon a time, when I was a young aspiring singer, I met a bloke in a bar. We caught a liking for each other and headed home together. Holding hands. Kissing. We ran into a gang that..." he closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands for a second, "didn’t share our view of love. I woke up in the hospital."

Sirius held his breath.

"My friend didn't wake up at all."

The audience was dead silent.

"Respecting everyone is the most important message I could give you. But what I really wanted to talk about today is meeting your fears. You see, the problem with being gay and not letting anyone know is you get very limited. There's a lot of things you can’t do. Like asking your crush out, for one thing."

He stage whispered to the audience: "Guess who my new crush is?"

The crowd murmured excitedly.

"The very handsome, very talented Sirius Black."

The audience cheered and whistled.

Remus stage whispered again: "Do you think he'll say yes if I ask for a kiss?"

The audience cheered again. He was an excellent performer. But Sirius caught the tremble in his voice.

The director pushed Sirius on stage. He slowly walked up to Remus, meeting wide honest eyes.

"I had no idea" he whispered apologetically.

"How could you? I never told anyone." Remus' fingertips gingerly brushed his cheek. He reached forward, raised on his tiptoes, and smiled as their lips pressed together. Soft, lovingly, unrushed.

The audience went crazy.

That show Sirius made a few embarrassingly basic mistakes. But the audience probably forgave him, they got an extra number at the beginning after all.

More importantly, he and Remus left holding hands and didn't let go of each other until Sirius pushed him down on his hotel bed.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius × remus #wolfstar performer au

[starryficsfinishwen]

inspired by this and this

The smell of something fragrant fills your nostrils.

Sautéed onions, scallions...it roused you from your short nap. Fumbling through the comforts of your duvet, you try to find the source of that delicious smell. It makes you imagine your favorite fried noodles, or buttered chicken, or even your katsudon—

But wait: who was cooking in your base?

You hope to God it's not Lucia.

As much as you loved your teammate, you could hopefully give her proper cooking seminars in order to fix her rather...peculiar cooking habits.

Forcing yourself awake, you quickly stumbled through the covers and rushed to the kifchen. Upon rushing out of the room, sudden bright lights nearly blind you— before adjusting to the light, you find the kitchen occupied.

And a certain blonde man with turquoise eyes greets you awake.

“Hello, Commandant,” Chrome's soft voice echoes through the room, “I'm sorry, did I wake you?”

Under the golden light of the kitchen bulbs, Chrome's figure is ethereal in your eyes— his softened features, shoulders relaxed, and his tall figure over the stove. You couldn't help but notice how nice he looks, a white turtleneck and slacks, with a black apron over it. You rub your eyes; Strike Hawk's Team Captain is really standing and cooking in the Gray Raven base.

“...Chrome?”

“Yes, it's me.” He said, placing a cup over the glassware, “are you surprised to see me?”

Curious, you tiptoe over to where he is cooking. On the stove, a recently finished cooked scallion and garnish is on the pan. On his side, six cups are placed on the glassware. You look up to him, wanting for an answer.

“You were talking in your sleep,” He said, reaching over to caress your cheek with his index finger, “I figured I could have cooked it for you, and maybe wake you up after. But since you're already here...”

Oh, you now remember that you invited Chrome over for the night. A blush creeps to your cheeks, flustered to find out about your midnight cravings. “I'm so sorry, I didn't think I'd disturb you with that instead...”

“Don't be, [Y/N],” Chrome speaks of your name in such a differently soft tone that it makes your heart skip a beat, “I want to do this for you.”

He picks up another cup that you didn't notice, pouring it to the cups on the glassware. Not wanting to sit and stare, you decided to look around and see if there was something else you could do.

“It's okay, [Y/N], you can just wait for me in the dining area.”

“I want to be of help at least,” you cough, “after all, it was me who made you do this in the first place.”

So that was how your early morning went: helping around Chrome as he cooks for the both of you. Watching the way he prepares the noodles, helping him chop the needed ingredients, as he towers behind you, skillful hands on yours to guide you, a few quips and teases as you both worked— you never felt so hungry for something that someone made for you, something you've always wanted to feel. And now, the man is setting your food on the kitchen aisle, the both of you not bothering to move to the dining area.

The moment is raw— your bare feet on the kitchen floors in contrast to his own, the kind light shining over Chrome's handsome face as he laughs at your antics, his hands that gently gives you the plate of food. How pretty. How intriguing.

“If this is a dream, I never want to wake up.”

“It's not a dream,” Chrome assures, sliding over the mouthwatering soufflé to you, “this food is for you.”

Scallion oil noodles and soufflé. Seems like you didn't have to watch your mukbang videos at 3 am anymore. You laugh at your situation, to which Chrome looks at you with affection.

“What's so funny?”

“You didn't really have to wake up and cook this for me, y'know.” You smile at him, taking a bite out of your noodles with the chopsticks, “we could have done this in the morning.”

Chrome doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches out, touching your cheek with his palm. As you lean into his touch with a hum, he could only move a little closer to you. No word could describe the way he looks at you in this ungodly hour— it is nothing but affection, a warm kind of expression that could only make your stomach turn into knots.

“[Y/N], I wish to do this for you whenever you want. You could ask me to make a cake at 3 am, or pick you up some tarts at 11 pm.”

He leans toward you, forehead touching, “Let me do anything you want. This is how I want to show my unwavering loyalty and love to you.”

Ah, it always makes you wonder what you've done to be blessed with such a kind, loving man. Amidst all the dangers and perils that await you, you were thankful to the gods that always listened to you—

You wanted Chrome to unravel the knot inside of you, tugging it away, wrapping yourself in his embrace and hopefully keeping yourself hidden there. Chrome's love blankets you in ungodly hours of the morning, and he is always there to welcome you awake.

And so, you kiss him— tasting the savory taste of the noodles and the sweetest chocolate in his lips, breathing in the air he has, grasping into his clothes and hair and wherever your hands could reach. It's warmer this way, that makes your toes curl, that makes the kiss deeper, evident in the way Chrome's hands were tightly holding your hips.

When he reluctantly pulls away, noses touching and lips refusing to fully pull away, seems like a different hunger begins to gnaw inside of you.

“Mmn, Chrome...”

“...yes, [Y/N]?”

“...stay a little longer?”

His hands on the lower part of your back is his answer.

“...as you wish, [Y/N].”

look I just want a guy who is willing to cook me breakfast and lunch and dinner too so he can be my dessert for all of those times :D

— starry

#punishing gray raven #pgr #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr global #pgr chrome #pgr chrome glory