#always trying to prove himself and to one-up john

[buddietommys]

"Why not?"

"I wish you were a girl."

[punkkture]

simon with a cute and sweet shy girlfriend.

{ mdni } - cocky simon, pervy simon, bj's, and eating out yay wc: { 1027 }

— it's not that you were insecure or sensitive. you just enjoyed the life that came with being a bit more reserved. one close friend, saturday nights spent at home, and letting simon do the talking anytime his friends were over. he didn’t mind either way, he was still going to act the same.

standing in front of him at a nice dinner party john and his wife had planned. simon just adored the way you dolled up into a skintight dress, yet hating when eyes were on you. it almost made simon snap his fingers and tell you to go change before leaving.

there wasn’t much he could do now, his palms on your waist while you picked at which appetizers to set on your plate. warm hands smoothing over the curve of your ass, trailing over your hip, almost like he was searching for something.

and when he found it, his thick fingers hooked under what he could make out of your panty line, pulling it back and letting it go. the stretchy elastic snapping harshly against your skin under the dress.

he couldn’t help but chuckle at your little jump.

"hurry up, i wanna get outta here."

— in a more intimate setting, his persistent cockiness to your bashful attitude was more evident.

he’s got your fatty ass in the tight vice of his hands. shoving your body down to ride his sensitive cock. gentle squeaks from your lips made their way into his ears, he had to figure out how to get you to be more vocal.

both of you had sweaty and sticky skin. it was always so much work to get him to cum. it’s not that he didn’t want to, but it was obvious he tried to draw it out for as long as he could. and, not that he would ever let you know, it was a hopeful attempt at getting you more pliable and docile for him.

so when he finally does stuff your sopping cunt full of his warm cum, he’s pulling you off of his still twitching cock. protests and whines falling from your puffed up lips as he is eagerly dragging you to straddle over his face.

“simon don’t that’s gross” almost a desperate plea for him to not humiliate you like this.

"'s fine baby, c'mon let me try." he’s huffing and not wasting a second of time to pull down the delicious and overstimulated pussy onto his mouth.

his strong fingers were making sure you weren’t going anywhere. barely giving enough room for you to squirm around.

he’s smiling against the soaked sweetness. dipping his tongue into your leaking hole while grazing his teeth against your sensitive clit. softly, but enough to get you to let out a choked sob and twitch against his face.

simon was refusing to let up until sticky globs were covering his mouth. planting a gentle but firm kiss right onto that far too sensitive spot once you had cum a couple times. it only took thirteen minutes for him to prove his point.

"you gotta wake me up like this one day, 's so sweet baby."

— simon's favorite memory of this is when he helped you manage the painful tent in his pants. your smooth skin rubbing up against the cotton fabric of his sweatpants. sitting on his lap with your soft sleep shorts on, eyes just glued to the tv as your favorite movie played.

he would never tell you no when you asked to watch it together. but after the tenth time in three months, he needed a little more to keep himself awake.

occasionally grinding you into his lap anytime it got interesting. just so you wouldn’t really notice. and a man could only take so much. his heavy voice flowing into your ear once he leaned up a little.

"need your help real quick honey."

your eyes only glancing away from the screen when he slides you off his lap and sitting you next to him. his hand engulfed yours, trailing it over to the tent in his pants.

your cheeks were red and you whined about missing the movie, but simon knew deep down you didn’t mind, there was just a small sliver of prude hiding away in there somewhere.

he paused the movie as he convinced you to pull down his pants and boxers. and anytime you were like this, it was almost like any semblance of remembering what to do, left your head.

"spit on it a little." his voice was lax, fingers scratching sweetly at your scalp to hopefully act as a form of encouragement.

soon enough he had your small hands wrapped around him, his thick cock covered in your spit. the drool oozing out from around your fingers while you moved your hands up and down, jerking him off as he reassured you. it really didn’t even take long for him to get your mouth around him either. using gentle coos to explain how ‘it just hurt so bad’.

he tries to not chuckle when you choke and gag around his long cock. the salty taste of his pre cum hitting the back of your throat, but he wanted more.

"swallow. swallow baby."

and when you do, he shoves your head down a little more. burrowing himself all the way into your tight throat until his fatty tip was pressed against you.

it was almost wicked. the way he tried to desensitize you to the size of his cock. in his head he was helping.

but that’s not how it felt when you were choking and gagging around him. your lips puffy around him while drool seeped down to the base of him. it helped to swallow while he was sheathed into you, a gasp of air making it through every time. and he loved it. the sensation of your throat tightening around him, even just for a second, was euphoric.

the only thing getting you through was the idea that he’d be relaxed enough afterwards to finish the movie. and he didn’t let up until his cum was pouring down your throat.

"good job, baby. good good job."

ೃ࿔* tag list: @vanillarosekiss @simonskitty @cu456 @silverwoodlynx @mlthree @vint4geroses @ktmjoslin @darlingchanse @xangelbnnyx @tslmvn @1pps @jgissle12 @asherscove @bunty-girl @yu-rikaa @mara-018 @diorpar @sky-robin @ray-19 @ldrtypeofgirl @mentalhorror @teranya @chawitea @all-by-myself98 @jinx53 @alfiestreacle @annierosesreposts @frazzledfawn @chris444evr @iamtoriasworld @annierosesposts @dude1634 

[buckysfaveplum]

her weakness

summary: you’re an enhanced individual with strong abilities and one moral code- you only fight with them when your opponent is also enhanced. during the fight with john walker, that code gets broken when bucky is hurt

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: violence, blood, fighting, it’s a fight seen so yea expect things relating to that

a/n: i rewatched tfatws and this fight always makes me so worried for my bbs so yea this was born. I typed it up helllllla quick so I'm sorry if its trash, I'm not too proud of this one idk.

masterlist | send requests

Your feet followed closely behind Bucky as you approached the warehouse. Your limbs were stiff and your skin clammy. Your hand stayed firmly in Bucky’s grasp as you approached John Walker. Sam had tracked him to a storage warehouse near the square you had just witnessed brutality in.

He murdered him, in cold blood, with Steve’s shield. You couldn’t get the screams of the public out of your head, the sound of the vibranium as it slashed into the flagsmasher’s body. You would’ve thrown up if Bucky hadn’t pushed you behind him. You had seen much worse, much more gruesome violence in your line of work. But something about this was sickening, rotting away in your stomach as you tried to grapple with the truth that the shield your friend once carried with honor and pride was just used by an unhinged soldier who found joy in the worst parts of the job.

Bucky stayed ahead of you, following Sam as they entered the building. Your hand trembled in his vibranium grasp. His thumb gently brushed across the veins and bones of your hand, trying to bring you comfort before the scene he knew was about to play out.

As you walked into the large space, you saw him. He was too composed and stoic for what had just taken place. His tall and slender figure loomed as he casually walked up to you all, barely acknowledging Sam as he tried to get him to listen.

“Walker,” Sam started. The soldier brushed Sam’s stern tone off, hopefully delaying what he knew was coming.

“You guys should see a medic, you don’t look so good,” He said, walking past you.

“Stop, Walker,” Sam took a few steps closer, trying again to get him to focus.

Your jaw tightened as you watched the man pace erratically in front of you. He was muttering quietly before responding as if trying to convince himself what he was saying had any truth.

“What?” He asked, coming closer. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do.”

Your grip on Bucky tightened, sensing Walker’s anger began to boil over. You knew a fight was coming, it always was. 

“I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!” Walker shouted, his arms waving now and revealing how off the deep end he had gone. 

You knew the moment you saw him in that fight. He stole the serum and took it for himself. This behavior just confirmed it. But the serum only enhanced what was already bubbling under the surface. The same John you meet on the highway. The same John who waltzed into the police station as if he had the authority or right to control Bucky and call him an ‘asset’. It was always there. 

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.”

Bucky’s smooth and deep voice cut through the tension in the room. You felt his grip on your hand squeeze for a moment, making sure you were okay. He could always sense your anxiety in the field. Your powers made keeping your calm difficult. You would never use them in battle unless your opponent was enhanced as well. You were a skilled fighter and agent, you didn’t need them. And it didn’t always seem ethical. But keeping them at bay, in check, could prove difficult- especially in heightened situations such as this.

Walker scoffed at Bucky’s words, dismissing the truth like it was nothing.

“Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well,” Bucky said.

“I’m not like you!” Walker’s voice was full of disgust and resentment. From the moment you met him, you could sense his quiet disdain for your best friend. Looking down his nose at him like he was some scum left over from Steve's life, something he’d always have to deal with. Yet at the same time, resentment. Jealousy over his power, control, and abilities in his enhanced body. As if that’s what made him an excellent fighter. Or a good person.

Your spare hand moved between Bucky’s shoulder blades, giving him a subtle and quiet support as you prepared.

“Listen, it was the heat of the battle, okay?” Sam said, taking a step closer to Walker. That shield danced in your vision, taunting you as he paced back and forth. “If you explain what happened, they may consider your record.”

Walker’s distress spread across his face, his brows furrowing and eyes scrunching as he tussled with Sam’s words.

“We don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” Sam said.

The warehouse went silent as Walker stared at the ground before him. Bucky gave you a soft, tight-lipped smile before begrudgingly dropping your hand. He slowly took a step towards the man, joining Sam.

“John…” Bucky said, calmly. 

“You gotta give me the shield, man,” Sam said.

That did it. You could feel the room shift that second.

A disturbing serene aura washed over Walker at that moment. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to you all. His eyes were dark, lacking a certain warmth and compassion you had grown so used to seeing through that blue cowl. A certain warmth that left when he hung up the shield.

“Oh…. so that’s what this is,” Walker said. “You almost got me.”

You could see his grip on the shield tighten, the leather straps twisting between his fingers.

“You made a mistake,” Sam said.

You slowly took a step forward, your hands flexing as you prepared for what was to come. Walker finally turned his gaze to you. His eyes roamed you up and down. You could’ve sworn you saw Bucky’s jaw clench, that familiar muscle tightening in distress. Walker smirked at you before glancing at Bucky. He could read the protectiveness radiating off of your supersoldier.

“You don’t wanna do this,” Walker said to him.

Bucky didn’t meet his gaze. His fists balled at his side, practically shaking with anger. He never took pleasure in a fight, every punch or kick felt like a necessity rather than enjoyment. But he couldn’t deny how much he desired to rip that shield from his grimy hands.

“Yeah we do,” Bucky said.

Sam lurched forward first, Bucky soon following suit. Your feet moved quickly, moving behind Walker as your friends attacked from the front. The man moved with a speed you had yet to see from him, a brute force you could only get from the serum.

With a harsh kick, Walker sent Sam flying away, leaving you and Bucky alone. You tried to knock Walker down from the back as Bucky grappled with the shield. As you sent a harsh kick into the back of Walker’s knees, he spun quickly and sent a jab into Bucky’s gut sending him backward in pain and knocking him off balance. Before you could back him up, Walker slammed a harsh punch into Bucky’s jaw. Your heart raced and your hands shook as you watched him drop to the ground. You sprung into action, pulling the shield back in your hands and keeping Walker from smashing it into Bucky’s face. Sam leaped in, kicking the shield up and drawing attention to him.

You slammed a kick into Walker’s back, sending him stumbling forward as Sam slashed at him with his wings. Bucky leaped up, his arm aiming to come down on the faux Captain America’s back hard but was ultimately blocked by the shield. 

You were growing frustrated. Walker never packed this much of a punch. The serum raged through his veins, lacing each kick and swing of the shield with force and hate. As you and Sam continued to trade blocks at Walker, Bucky attempted to pull him down but was quickly met with the shield swinging into the side of his face. Your legs shook. The longer this dragged out the more difficult you find keeping your emotions in check. The longer you watched your favorite person in the world become decorated with blood and bruises, the more your ethical code began to look like a suggestion. Walker deserved a swift blast to the face and more. But you held off. 

Walker slammed the shield into Sam’s back, sending him down. As your two friends recovered briefly, it was just you and him. You surged forward at the man, dodging as he swung at you. Being smaller than the two Avengers alongside you made it much easier to evade Walker’s sloppy attacks. You sent a firm kick into his chest followed by an uppercut into his chin. As he spun and tumbled, Bucky was back on his feet and meeting Walker with punches. Bucky’s attacks quickly led the pair into a tight spot, backing Walker up into a heavy piece of machinery. The pair spun in circles over the shield, yanking the vibranium disc back and forth and trading beatings in between. Sam quickly followed you over, diving in for aid, but quickly was sent flying back by Walker’s attacks. His body slammed to the ground with a grunt.

While Bucky worked, you glanced at Sam. He pushed himself to his feet slowly, preparing to dive back into the fight. In your moment of distraction, the fear and care for your dear friend overriding your common sense to keep fighting, you heard Walker’s voice pull you back. Bucky was trapped between the shield and a machine. You rushed over to help but it was far too late.

“Why are you making me do this?!” Before you could register what Walker was saying, you watched as Bucky went flying. 

Walker’s forceful swing of the shield sent him hurtling across the warehouse. Your body froze as if someone had filled your veins with cement. The dramatic scene Walker had created came to an end with Bucky’s body smashing into an electrified pole and crashing to the ground. The might of his impact snapped the pole in the middle, sparks cascaded from the steel and flooded onto the floors; leading your eyes to Bucky. 

“Bucky!” You screamed.

His body lay limp and splayed out on the cold dirty floors. His face was smushed into the cement. His limbs didn’t dare to move. Except for his vibranium arm, which twitched and spasmed under his body; blue and white sparks burst out from the plates adding to the horror.

Your breaths were heavy and shaky, your hands trembled at your sides as the vibrating blue of your powers began to spark at your fingertips; mirroring the sight of your best friend’s arm. The room was spinning, at least that’s what made sense to you. Your balance was unstable, your knees threatening to buckle at any moment. You turned to spare a look at Sam, begging him for permission. But he was already back on his feet and rushing towards Walker. 

“Go!” He shouted.

You had never been faster. Your abilities never gave you the gift of flight but in that moment they very well could have. Your legs became weak and your steps messy as you neared Bucky. You crashed to your knees beside him, pain radiated up your thighs from the impact but you couldn’t care. It couldn’t be worse than the expanding tight pain in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

Your hands quivered as they hovered over his body. With him lying so still you could finally take in the damage Walker had done to his face. Blood was splattered all over, deep purple and blue hues bloomed across his cheekbones, and a nasty split had opened on his lip. Worst of all, his nose was broken.

The sparks continued to burst from the plates of his arm, his hand jerking and spasming with an unsettling sound of grinding metal. Quickly, you placed your hands firmly on the vibranium. A deep blue beamed from under your palms, cascading the metallic golds and blacks of his arm in your glow. The excess electricity from the crash moved in waves through the arm up into your hands. You focused as all the veins in your body became electrified, an aqua glow shone through your skin as the energy you. Your once y/e/c eyes were quickly overtaken, the cool energy overriding your iris’ and leaving an intense indigo shine. With a sharp gasp and breath, you let go. His arm had stopped moving, now lying as still and motionless as he did. 

“Bucky,” you said, giving his damaged body a soft shake. “Bucky, wake up.”

He didn’t move, his face slack and limps heavy as you struggled to turn him to his back and off of his arm. Your hands rushed to his face, cupping his cheeks and holding him close as if you could shield him from more of John Walker’s savagery. If someone had the power to take your abilities and trade them for the ability to heal, you’d offer them anything they wished just for the potential to spare Bucky from his pain even for a moment. 

“Buck… come on wake up,” the fresh blood from his injuries spilled into your fingertips, the crimson caked into your cuticles and threatened not to leave.

“Plum, please,” His body twitched; your lungs finally filled with air. 

His breaths were labored but there, his chest rattled as he sucked in much-needed air. Your fingers moved to his neck, their shuddering finally stilling as you felt his pulse return to a firm and strong pattern.

The sounds of Sam’s grunts and Walker’s cries swiftly pulled your attention back to your friend. He was up in the air, a long metal cord pulling on the shield and attempting to free it from Walker’s venomous grasp. To no avail, as soon Sam was flung back to the floor and across the room. The shield clattered to the ground, equally laid between the two men. The smug and determined look on Walker’s face enraged you, the blue glow returning to your eyes. Sam glanced over at you before rushing for the shield. He needed you.

You turned back to Bucky, still unresponsive to your touches and voice. He was breathing, his pulse steady. Taking in the broken state of his body, his face battered and bloodied, you couldn’t hold back your rage any longer.

It was as if something had possessed you. Gently, you laid Bucky back to the ground, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, your voice monotone yet determined. The expressions of concern, fear, and horror that had played upon your face just moments ago were now gone. You were cold and still, as you rose to your feet and walked over to the two men fighting behind you.

Before Walker could grab the shield, a harsh blast of blue energy sent him flying back in the opposite direction. The man was studded, confused by how he could have been knocked down. He looked up to see you rushing towards him. You were steady in your movement, not running but with each step winding up for the next blow. Your hands were baked in a fierce glow of aqua as you channeled more energy through your fingertips. 

Walker scrambled to his feet, preparing for the offense. Before he could even take a step he was back on the ground with another blast from you. A loud cry fell from your lips as you slammed him down with force from your power. As you ran up to Walker, he quickly sent a firm hit to your jaw. You stumbled back, regaining your vision to see him coming at you. You jumped up, knees to your chest and feet pressing on his as you blasted him once again. 

He was on the ground with you towering over him. His face was coated in shades of black and blue, mirroring the face you were trembling over just seconds ago. Good, he deserved that and more.

You blasted him again as he struggled to crawl away. You followed him, hot on his trail as energy overflowed from your hands. The shield was long forgotten by you, only driven by your need for revenge. Bucky couldn’t even answer you, couldn’t move. He needed to pay.

Walker’s body slammed back into machinery as you surged more energy at him. He was done, hands shaking above him as he prepared for your next blow.

“We’re better than this right? Captain America doesn’t do this,” Walker said through his split lip and shaking jaw.

You scoffed; if only he had thought that way an hour ago. You wouldn’t be here. Bucky would be okay.

“Good thing I’m not Captain America,” you said. Walker shielded his face as you wound up your aim. Energy radiated from your fist up your forearm as you pulled it back to deliver one last shot.

“Y/n, stop!” Sam shouted.

Your blast was halted by a firm hand on your upper arm. You recognized the stillness and coolness that held onto your body. Turning you saw Bucky behind you. He was shaking as he stood, breaths labored and heavy, but there he was. Sam ran up behind the two of you, shield in hand as he looked at you. But all you could focus on was Bucky.

Bucky stepped forward, shaking his head softly as he lowered your arm. 

“This isn’t you, you don’t do this,” he said. Your nostrils flared as you breathed heavily, struggling to reel your rage back in. You glanced back at Walker who lay on the ground, glaring at you smugly. Your eyes shone brighter, your fists clenching as the glow intensified. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, taking your face and turning you to look back at him. “You’re not him.”

The energy overtaking your body began to fade as you relaxed under his firm touch. The uncontrollable blue glow began to fade back into your body, leaving you panting as you tried to calm your emotions. Bucky stood before you, vibranium hand stroking your own.

“You’re okay,” you said.

“I’m okay. Hey, hey, I’m okay. It’s over,” he said, pulling you away from the scene you had created. He walked you slowly back towards Sam, you shook in his grasp. Walker struggled to stand as he watched the three of you leave. The shield taunted him as it hung off of Sam’s arm, finally back with its true owner. The Captain America.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking at Sam. “I just….” you glanced at Bucky, once again seeing the battering of his beautiful face. Your throat swelled as you lost your words, choking on your fear.

“We got it back,” Sam said, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze before heading out of the building. His limp as he walked didn’t escape you.

Bucky gripped your hand tightly, pulling you with him as he walked. He didn’t make it far before his knees began to buckle, his body slipping as he fell. You were at his side in a heartbeat, arm hauling him back up beside you; refusing to let his body crash to the filthy ground again. 

“Hey, hold onto me,” you said. You wrapped his arm around your shoulder and his other gripped at your waist as you began to pull him from the warehouse, his feet limping and tripping as he struggled to walk. Walker’s body began to fade in the distance as you left.

“Why did you do that, doll?” Bucky asked as you walked, his voice slurred and low. Each wince and suck of breath stabbed at your side like a pecking bird, refusing to let your wound heal. 

“I don’t know, I’ve never done that. I….” you paused, stopping your feet as you gave him a moment to catch his breath. “When I saw you hit that pole, I lost it.”

“I’m okay, Y/n,” he said, yet his words seemed to hold no weight as he struggled to stay upright at your side.

“Your arm was sparking, Bucky. You weren’t moving. I-I thought that you…” You couldn’t finish, gripping him tighter as your voice shook. As if letting him go would give the world a chance to tear him from you once again. Your fingertips dug into his tact suit, determined to embed yourself in him.

“Hey, babydoll,” he said, hoisting himself up just enough to take your face in his hands. He swayed on his feet as he stood, intent on holding you close as he spoke. Your hands held him steady at his side.

“I’m here, I’ll always be here. But no matter what happens to me, I don’t want you to lose yourself,” he said, stroking your cheek. “I can’t have that.”

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you said.

“You won’t. I’m right here, I’m always coming back to you.”

You nodded softly as you rested your head on his chest. His hands moved to your hair as he held you close. Your hands wound around his center, keeping him safe in your arms. As long as you were around, no one would take him.

“You’re so good, you’re so special, Y/n. You need to be strong, even if I get hurt. You can’t drop your morals for me. They mean too much to you,” he said.

“I think you may be my weakness,” you said, your voice muffled in his chest. He tucked himself closer into you at your words, his head resting upon yours. His lips pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.

---

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[girl-lostconnection]

Small continuation to this. @nightunite @beloveds-embrace I remember your interest in Price’s divorce, so here we go

John Price promises

Thinking thoughts about ex-husband John, who’s never there, who’s married to his work in the best and the worst sense of the phrasing. He misses birthdays and Christmases and Valentines and everything in between.

He promises-promises-promises, kisses the crown of your head, eyes tired and deeply seated in the web of his crow’s feet — dark blue of his irises so unreachable it feels like choking when you try to even try and touch the bottom of it.

Pressure changes, pressure threatens to burst your eardrums, pressure promises to make you sorry for trying to push through it.

John sighs and turns away, shoulders a rough square, tension already lacing through him because yeah, of course, luv, not like he doesn’t know that he’s missing your anniversary.

Yes, he knows. Yes, he gets it, sweetheart, he really does, but didn’t you know who you are marrying?

He is not even angry, exasperation of his tone slicing through your chest and it almost feels like condescension — the way he keeps patting your head and trying to kiss it better, like a spare kiss and a kind word would suffice for everything he didn’t live up to.

Like it can reinstate your trust in him after another cancelled date and another lonely dinner when he swore he’d get a day off and never did.

Honestly, he has no one but himself to blame and all things considered some people would say it’s a miracle you lasted this long with him.

It’s wonder you loved him so much you forgot that you need some love too. A true miracle you always loved him and never looked the other way, god knows he had to fight a lot of potential suitors for your hand before you decided you want him.

Angry, stubborn, moody and controlling him.

You picked him up as an explosive sod in his mid twenties and made him the man he is now, carefully manoeuvring through the triggers of his and making him smile when it all felt like a big load of shite.

Why did you even settle for him?

Why does he now feel like you settled for him — a closed off git who spent his whole life proving that he’s worthy of respect and his rank and responsibility.

And you.

God, it’s been years and he’s still not sure if he really is worthy of you.

John stares down at the divorce papers on his desk and feels something very similar to hurricane unfurling in his chest, rage pounding inside his head, panic icing our all warmth that was there, ring on his finger suddenly so slippery he has to curl his fingers into fist.

Can’t risk losing it. Not when he’s already losing you.

Simon watches him sometimes, John notices, but Ghost never says anything or perhaps, he does, just not to John. Small mercies.

John can’t help but feel a twinge of acidic envy at Simon getting along with his bird so well — his pretty partner picking up the behemoth of 141’s lieutenant.

Simon’s partner who always murmurs something in his ear and Ghost’s eyes crinkle in the corners.

Simon’s partner who seems content with how things are and with how often Simon is absent and Price just doesn’t bloody get it.

Simon works almost as much as he does, Simon is always away, Simon is never home for holidays.

And yet Simon’s partner says “yes” to a proposal and grins like the happiest person in the world whilst standing at the altar.

And yet Simon’s now spouse is bringing him snacks and is kissing his jaw and doesn’t fucking plan to divorce Simon.

Drives John right up the fucking wall, it does.

But there is no way he’s going to ask his lieutenant why his marriage isn’t failing, why his spouse seems to still love him. Why John’s doesn’t.

John drags his feet through the whole proceeding, John watches you with heavy bottomless eyes but stays stubbornly silent because okay, that’s your choice.

You want to get rid of him so badly that even wedding vows aren’t stopping you? Off you go then, he’s not gonna tie your leg to a kitchen table and lock you in the house.

John just scoffs and looks away but still hides your car keys in his fatigues so you don’t leave after another fight.

John murmurs “alright then”, but doesn’t sign the fucking papers because “I’m sorry, love, I lost them” and asks for the seventh copy.

John nods and says he’s letting you go if that’s what you want, but he doesn’t take off his ring and shakes his head when you offer to give him back your engagement one.

Yeah, it was his mom’s but it’s yours now, alright, love? Always yours.

He’s yours.

John is the wickedest man there is because he says one thing thinks another and does the third one.

And never never admits what the fuck is going on, because he can’t, because there has to be something wrong with him if even his lovely spouse is running.

Because John must be sinking if even his better half doesn’t think it’s worth staying and he doesn’t say anything but just stays in the kitchen while you are shuffling around the house.

Drinks the same cup of earl grey for hours on end, twirling spoon in it mindlessly, nervous tremor to his left wrist getting harder when his head gets a little too dark.

You hover in tne doorway, eyes deep with something he isn’t sure how to reach and it would be so easy if you said something like always. If you made the first step so he doesn’t have to.

But you just stand there, awkwardly shifting weight from one leg to another before you finally leave upstairs to get ready for bed.

Feels just like another defeat for John and at this point he is not even sure he knows how to play.

His tea gets cold the longer he sits on a wooden chair, lower back aching in protest but he just stares out of the kitchen window in the darkness of the night.

John says he can do this, John says it’s nothing, John says that he will sign it all.

John promises-promises-promises and still crawls in your bed, wrapping arms around you and breathing in your scent.

John whispers sweet quiet things in your skin, pleads you to reconsider, murmurs that he can’t do it without you.

He presses his forehead to your shoulder and scoops you up in his embrace, covering your whole body with his (come morning, he’ll pretend to be thoroughly asleep when you pull yourself out from underneath him just to be able to leave the bed).

Price still kisses your temple before work, press of his lips to your skin is more of a ritual than a routine, a second nature of his to love your whole being.

Price sits at his desk for a good hour before realising he hasn’t been writing a single fucking thing, he just can’t.

Not when his stomach churns at the thought of you right now packing up your things.

Of you leaving the house and leaving him.

Simon watches him carefully and at this point, it’s bloody annoying, can’t a man at least go through the divorce in peace?

Ghost huffs air out, rolls a fag between his teeth, tilting his head to the side — eyes heavy bottomless nothing, eyes the colour of graveyard soil, eyes-dark-holes that lead to a darker place of Simon’s head.

“Thought you didn’t want to divorce ‘em.”, Simon hums out like it’s a fact, like John hasn’t been missing every important date and important thing for the past few years.

Like John has been a good husband that deserves to have good things and deserves you.

Truth to be told, even before he became captain, John never fucking deserved you.

Could have lived a thousand lives and never earned the right to call himself your husband.

Still did though.

(Doesn’t matter if he deserved it if he really fucking wanted it, right?)

John rubs his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms down until the kaleidoscope of his ganglion cells doesn’t start to dance with flashes of colour.

Fucking hell, what is he even doing here? How did things turn to be so complicated?

“I don’t.”, he doesn’t realise he has said it out loud until he pulls his hands off his face and Ghost is still watching him with the same unnerving intensity.

He will get his lieutenant sunnies on one of these days and will never have to deal with this headache of a gaze.

“Then why do you?”, Simon asks like it’s simple, like it’s a fucking fairytale that Price can fix with a snap of his fingers or a kind word or a kiss of true love.

What’s the point of his true love if he’s not sure you can even feel it?

“How do you do it?”, John asks instead, words tasting like acid in his mouth, scraping his tongue and tender insides of his mouth, bleeding sickening weakness down his throat.

His father would have smacked the taste out of John’s mouth if he heard the way he sounds right now.

But Ghost is not his father, Ghost just watches him silently, the only indicator that he even heard the question is a raised eyebrow of his. This cunt.

“Your spouse.”, John adds grumbling, dragging his feet through the whole conversation because god, he hates having talks. “They seem to be happy. Mine’s aren’t. ‘ts like I’m snuffing out their fire”, admitting it is even worse than thinking.

Admitting it is his personal defeat, his biggest flaw, his grandest fuck-up. Admitting it is a weakness.

Yeah, he deserves this fucking divorce all right. Miracle you put up with his arse for this long.

Ghost watches him with annoying understanding, with something almost akin to amusement, the same way you watch a dog run into clear glass doors repeatedly and then whimper on the porch in confusion.

“When’s the last time you talked?”, the question catches John off guard because it is so…normal? He honestly expected more silence or something more obscure but instead he is just awkward again.

But before John even gets to answer, Simon adds “Actually talked, John. Not snapped at each other like a pair of miserable toads”

Price has half a mind to tell Ghost to go fuck himself and his fucking talks but coincidentally Ghost is the one of them who is not going through the divorce, so John shuts his fucking gob.

“Think when you two actually connected like people. You’ve been together longer than some live in our line of work, sir”, Simon presses a cigarette butt down the ashtray, thin thread of smoke still rising off his desk.

“But when you are together this long you start forgetting that the other party can’t read your bloody mind. Goes for both of you by the way”, he chuckles, crossing arms over his chest, muscles rolling under the dark sweater of his.

“Reckon it’s third time they’ve been wringing you through it, isn’t it? Why’d you think they won’t back down now? What changed, eh?”

Price keeps rolling this pep talk on repeat the whole day, his mind a broken record speaking with the voice of his lieutenant and watching him from inside out with your eyes.

When was the last time you talked to each other?

When was the last time he asked you about the book you were reading? When was the last time you asked him about the op he came back from?

What changed?

John rubs his face, anxious sharp coils crawling up his arms to his heart, tremors getting worse before he has to physically force himself to stop and take a breather.

Not as young as he has been once, can’t just power through it anymore.

John shifts his weight from one leg to another, standing in front of the front door to your house and hates his own arse because what is even going on with him.

Price doesn’t want to think about the possibility of house being empty when he steps inside.

He will burn this bridge when he gets to it.

John gets inside and slowly pulls the heavy boots off, carpet cushioning his steps to the kitchen, warm glow of it welcoming him the same way your arms usually did.

You sit with his cup already filled up, steam rising off of his Earl Grey, something in his chest clawing from inside out in the open.

You don’t say anything but just raise to your feet and get ready to leave. So he can have his evening sit down with a cup until you fall asleep.

So you can hover for a moment longer in the doorway like the ghost of your own marriage before taking your leave and pretending later that you don’t melt into John’s embrace. That you don’t curl into him at night.

Price watches you, eyes heavy and dark, fingers of his right hand twitching involuntarily.

Here it comes. Now or never, John.

“Would you…do you want to have a cuppa with me? I bought these biscuits you seem to fancy, saw them on my way home, I—”, oh for fuck’s sake and now he’s rambling. This is just prime, John, that’s exactly how you were supposed to sound.

He coughs in his fist trying to mask the embarrassment, available hand still gripping the poor baggy of biscuits like it might run if he doesn’t do it.

What does he even think he is doing, offering his spouse fucking biscuits halfway through their divorce? He’s gone mad, that’s for sure.

“You are probably tired though. Must have had a long day with…everything.”, he adds softer, eyes down in his cup. Giving you an out.

Giving himself an out.

No need to have all these awkward conversations with your emotionally inept husband if you get divorced, right?

He’s a fucking coward when it comes to you. Always has been. Maybe that’s part of his “charm” you bought into?

“I can stay for a cup.”, you murmur quietly and plop himself down next to him. No cup in sight, John’s cheeks aching in a way that feels entirely too unnatural but your eyes crinkle and god, you are the prettiest, aren’t you, sweetheart? “Gonna make me one or you plan to stand there and look handsome?”

Teasing snaps him out of it, force of his smile just getting harder and he must be beaming at you like a proper idiot. But you don’t seem to mind too much.

Maybe you still like him after all.

“Just a moment, love”, John says, kiss to your cheek making his heart flutter, warmth spreading in his chest when you ravage through the baggy and bite off half of the biscuit.

Got them right this time, didn’t he? Seems like he’s still good for something.

John spends his whole life proving to himself that he deserves you and never asks whether you think he does or no.

John knows how to make your tea since your third date and knows what kind of biscuits his love fancies since the second one.

John decides he’s going to marry you on the first date you two have.

There is something bittersweet in brewing tea for a spouse he will always love and will always fail.

Because that’s what he does, because he never learned how to talk it out and he isn’t sure a daft old dog like him can learn any new tricks.

Coward’s way out.

No need to watch him claw his chest open and present you the infected wound of his heart if you get divorced, right?

Yeah, he never deserved you. But he always wanted.

John presses a dozen kisses to your face while he moves around the kitchen.

Each one a haste warm thing, more of a breath on your skin then actual touch.

That’s as much as he can muster up of actual tenderness without crumbling at your feet and swallowing his pride.

It all feels like a dead end. Like there is nowhere to go from here, he’s looking straight in the wall and he’s never been one to barrage through the obstacles.

Maybe that’s what was lacking. Maybe that’s why Simon’s spouse still loves him.

“You are thinking awfully hard there”, there is no malice in your voice, only quiet laughter and it spreads through Price’s achy bones like hot bath water, bubbles raising to his thorax.

Prettiest fucking thing you are with laughter like a hundred bells. Absolute darling.

John hums quietly, eyes meeting yours and he has a thousand different blunt questions that wary in degrees of hurt and confusion but you are still here.

Sitting in your kitchen, sipping tea he made for you, wearing his bloody sweater.

His spouse, his love, his partner for life.

“I got really lucky, didn’t I?”, it’s a rhetorical question, but there is choking tenderness the size of Jupiter in John’s mouth and he isn’t sure how to tell you that he’d kiss the soles of your feet every day the same way he kisses your forehead.

That bathes with you felt holier than any baptism, that he was closest to god when he was with you, your fingers combing through his hair like he’s something precious. Like he’s something you love.

John doesn’t know how to express the enormous amount of love he feels when you smile at him, when you yell at him, when you push back and snap your fingers in his face, his cheeky treasure.

John doesn’t think he earned the right to pleadask you to reconsider.

“I got more than most people ever did”, he murmurs softly and laces his fingers through yours, softly squeezing — callouses of his hands rubbing on the skin of yours.

There is a small twitch in the muscle of your jaw, your eyes intense enough to make him sorry if he tries to push harder and reach the bottom of your head.

“What’s that?”, your voice cracks the same way it usually did when you’d catch flu, cough ravaging your throat, rasp weaving itself in your vocal cords.

John looks at you for the first time in a very long time and there is no exasperated condescension in his eyes, crows feet of his eyes melting into a smile so gentle you feel like crying. This bastard.

“You.”, he murmurs, thumb circling the knuckle of yours, eyes soft in a way they haven’t been in forever and this is so unfair, he could ask you anything and you could never say no when he does it like that. “I got you.”, he adds quietly and his smile gets gentler. “Even if I never deserved to, I just want you to know that I always wanted it. Always wanted you. Always will”

John holds you like your are precious fragile thing, his skin warm from holding his cuppa, palm cupping your face when he angles your face up and kisses your brow.

Like it’s a goodbye.

“You deserve to be happy, love. You deserve to feel loved, not just know that you are”, Price says and wipes away a stray tear of yours, his eyes creasing in the corners to hide the redness of them, sharp lashes wet with something he would never admit.

Weakness that bleeds down his throat and chokes him out. Tenderness he never learned because men aren’t about the sappy talk.

John thinks one thing, says another and does the third one so he never mentions that he knows you have the stack of copies of divorce papers in your nightstand and never mentions that he left a signed one on top of them.

You deserve better than silent signature and stubborn husband.

You deserve better than him. But god, if it doesn’t kill him to admit it.

Just one more thing John Price will never talk about.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

HIM & I

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe confronts the pogues after they try to get his girl to turn on him—big mistake.

based on this ask !! sorry it took a while anon, but i hope you enjoy it and it’s what you asked for :) got a couple request in the drafts stm, just editing them and i’m gonna’ start posting them one after the other <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: cursing, rafe threatening the pogues, mentions of murder, maybe a sliiightly toxic relationship (?), alcohol consumption. (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

THIRD PERSON +

The summer heat hung heavy in the air, thick with salt and gasoline, the scent of the Outer Banks. The island was split in two—the Kooks, who had everything, and the Pogues, who had nothing. And in the middle of it all stood Y/N, Rafe Cameron’s girl.

Not just his girlfriend. His obsession.

Rafe wasn’t known for being soft. Not with his father breathing down his neck, not with his so-called friends who only stuck around for the drugs and money, and certainly not with the Pogues, who were a thorn in his side. But Y/N—she was different. She was the only thing in this world that could make Rafe pause, the only thing he couldn’t bring himself to destroy.

He was still reckless, still dangerous, still a ticking time bomb—but with Y/N, he was something else too. Soft, almost. Not in the way that made him weak, but in the way that made him even more dangerous. Because if anything ever happened to her, he would burn this island to the ground.

They were inseparable, always tangled up in each other, whether it was his arm slung over her shoulders at a party, his lips trailing down her neck when no one was looking, or the way she fit perfectly against him when he finally let himself rest.

Y/N would do anything for Rafe. And he’d do anything for her.

So when the Pogues pulled her aside one afternoon, she already knew there was no world in which she would betray Rafe Cameron.

They had found her alone near The Wreck, waiting for Rafe to pick her up. Pope was the first to speak. “Y/N, listen, we need your help.”

She raised an eyebrow, already uninterested. “With what?”

“Proving John B’s innocence,” Kie said.

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’re joking, right?”

They weren’t.

“Rafe killed Peterkin,” Pope said, low and serious. “We know it. And we know you know it too.”

“Sarah saw him,” Kie added. “We just need something—anything—that proves it wasn’t John B.”

“You don’t have to protect him,” JJ said, his tone a little different from the others. He wasn’t pleading with her, wasn’t trying to reason. He was taunting. “I mean, come on, Y/N, you think Rafe would do the same for you?”

That made her blood boil.

“You don’t know anything about me and Rafe,” she snapped.

“Then prove it,” JJ challenged. “Help us, and I’ll believe it.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You actually think I’d turn on him? That I’d betray my Rafe for you?” She took a step closer, her voice venomous. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not afraid of Rafe. I love him. And if you think for a second that I’d help you take him down, you’re out of your goddamn minds.”

She left them standing there, stunned, and walked away without looking back.

Rafe was waiting for her in his truck, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other tapping against his knee impatiently. He relaxed the second he saw her, his sharp features softening, his whole body exhaling in relief.

“Where the hell were you?” he asked as she climbed in.

“Talking to the Pogues,” she said, her voice laced with irritation.

Instantly, Rafe’s expression darkened. “What?”

“They tried to get me to help them prove John B’s innocent.”

Rafe went still.

It was a terrifying kind of stillness, the kind that came before a storm. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“They what?” His voice was calm, but she knew him too well to be fooled.

“They think I’d turn on you,” she said, shaking her head, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “That I’d help them prove you killed Peterkin.”

That was all it took.

Rafe let out a sharp, bitter laugh, one that sent chills down her spine. “That’s fucking hilarious,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “They actually thought you’d betray me?”

His laugh faded just as quickly as it came. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared, and that familiar rage flickered to life behind his blue eyes.

“They think they can talk to my girl,” he said, his voice dark and dangerous. “That they can turn you against me?”

She could see the storm brewing inside him, the way his fingers twitched like he was itching to grab something—someone. His knee bounced violently, and his breathing was slow, controlled, like he was trying not to explode.

Y/N reached over, placing her hand over his. “I shut them down,” she murmured. “They’re idiots if they ever thought I’d turn on you.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, his knee stopping its frantic movement. He grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “They don’t get to talk to you. They don’t get to look at you. They don’t even get to fucking think about you.”

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his jaw. “Then make sure they don’t,” she whispered.

Rafe turned his head, his lips crashing against hers in a bruising, desperate kiss. He kissed her like he was staking his claim, like he needed to feel her, taste her, to remind himself that she was here, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

When he pulled away, his eyes were still burning with fury.

“They’re gonna regret ever coming near you,” he muttered.

Y/N didn’t doubt it for a second.

—

The Boneyard was alive with the pulse of heavy bass and the crash of waves against the shore. Fires burned bright, illuminating the faces of Kooks and Pogues alike, their rivalries momentarily drowned in the haze of alcohol and summer heat. But that peace wouldn’t last.

Not tonight.

Because Rafe Cameron had a score to settle.

He stood at the top of the dunes, looking down at the crowd like a king surveying his kingdom. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Y/N stood beside him, her lips curled into a smirk, arms crossed casually over her chest. She knew what was about to happen—hell, she’d been waiting for it just as much as he had.

“You ready?” Rafe asked, voice low, eyes burning.

She turned to him, expression playful. “Always.”

Rafe smirked, but there was no humor behind it. Just something dark and volatile, barely contained. Then he was moving, striding down the dunes with the confidence of someone who owned this entire island.

Heads turned as he passed. Kooks raised their cups, cheering for their golden boy, oblivious to the rage simmering just beneath the surface. But the Pogues? They stiffened the second they saw him.

John B, JJ, Pope, and Kie were gathered near the fire, deep in conversation, but the second Rafe and Y/N approached, they all fell silent.

JJ was the first to react, straightening up and rolling his shoulders back like he was ready for a fight. “Oh, look,” he drawled, taking a swig from his beer. “Kook Prince and his loyal queen.”

Y/N scoffed, but Rafe barely acknowledged the remark. His eyes were locked on them, sharp and unrelenting.

“Which one of you dumbasses thought it was a good idea to talk to my girl?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

John B tensed. Kie shifted uncomfortably. Pope kept his mouth shut.

JJ, of course, grinned. “You mean about you, uh, murdering someone?”

Rafe laughed—a sharp, humorless sound. “That’s funny,” he said, tilting his head. “You know what else is funny? Thinking Y/N would ever betray me.”

JJ’s smirk faltered for just a second before he masked it with bravado. “I don’t know, man. She seems smart enough to know when she’s on the losing side.”

Y/N let out a laugh, stepping closer, brushing against Rafe’s side. “You’re delusional if you think there’s any world in which I’d choose you over Rafe,” she said. “I mean, come on, JJ. Are you really that desperate?”

JJ’s jaw clenched, but before he could say anything, Rafe took another step forward, closing the distance.

“You don’t talk to my girl,” he said, voice dropping to something low and dangerous. “You don’t look at my girl. You don’t even fucking think about her. Understand?”

JJ, never one to back down, scoffed. “Or what?”

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his smirk returning, but this time it was cold, calculated. “You don’t ‘wanna find out.”

There was a pause, thick with tension.

JJ met Rafe’s stare head-on, but for the first time, there was something hesitant in his gaze.

Rafe had always been unhinged. Dangerous. But this? This wasn’t just some Kook/Pogue rivalry. This was personal.

And when it came to Y/N, there was no line Rafe wouldn’t cross.

John B finally spoke, stepping between them. “We don’t want any trouble.”

Rafe let out a short, mocking laugh. “Yeah? Then you should’ve kept your mouths shut.”

The Kooks were starting to notice now, whispers spreading, eyes darting toward the confrontation. It wouldn’t be long before the whole party knew.

“You think you’re untouchable,” JJ muttered, shaking his head.

Rafe smirked. “No. I know I am.”

Y/N chuckled beside him, slipping her hand into his. “You should’ve known better,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Rafe isn’t someone you fuck with. And neither am I.”

JJ’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. Not when it was so obvious that they had lost whatever game they thought they were playing.

Rafe leaned in, voice just loud enough for the Pogues to hear. “This was your one warning. Next time? I won’t be so nice.”

And with that, he turned, dragging Y/N with him as they walked away, leaving the Pogues standing there, seething.

The night continued around them, the music blaring, the drinks flowing—but everyone knew.

Rafe Cameron had made his point.

Loud and fucking clear.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i loved this request sm, thank you anon and i hope it’s what you asked for !! <3 i’ve had this a couple request in the drafts, just editing them so i can start posting them, so there might be a couple more posts tonight :)

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated :) i’m gonna try my best to keep replying to reblogs and comments, because genuinely i am SO insanely grateful for all the love you’ve all given me :’) i’ve gone up by 400 followers since december and i’m so insanely grateful for the love on my page and my works <3

pls keep requesting my loves !! request are still open and i’m working through them until i go away on wednesday <3

[tojisun]

it’s sorta odd but i have this vivid vision of john allowing you to venture far—break ups are not permanent in his eyes; go and explore the world beyond his cupped palms, he’ll wait, he promises. he’ll wait. and for a while, you try to prove him wrong. you try to prove to him that you won’t come back; that you’ll be able to forge a home without him.

but john’s laid out the roots of his desire in the yawning of your heart so thorough, you do not even recognize it for what it is—his promises are embellished possessiveness. did you think he’d truly let you fly away when he’s staked his claim and ruined you for everyone else?

see? no one could love you the way he did. the way he still does. no one’s ever been so—

attentive. filling.

you didn’t need words with john because he just knew. he understood you even with your fragile heart and your weeping eyes. he saw the reflection of your fractured home from within your trembling hands and held them close to keep you warm.

it’s always been him, isn’t it? it’s always going to be john.

“shh,” he croons, tucking you under his chin. “i’ve got you, baby. i’ve got you.”

(or john seeing your daddy issues with pursed lips and interested eyes and going hmm, before using the turmoil to force himself into your life. his words are too gentle and his touch is too sweet and his kisses are too hot that you do not realize what he’s done until you can’t shake off the ghost of his scruff nuzzling along your stomach as you try to make a home without him. so of course, you come back to him.

you always do.)

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Dating John Walker/US Agent Headcannon (SFW & NSFW)

Protective to a Fault: John has a massive protective streak. Even when you’re perfectly capable of handling things, he can’t help but step in — whether it’s someone getting too close at a bar or a rude comment online. He doesn’t always know where to draw the line between caring and controlling, which can cause fights.

Acts of Service Love Language: He’s not big on flowery words or grand gestures, but he shows he cares by doing things: fixing things around your place, cooking breakfast after a rough night, driving you everywhere so you "don’t have to deal with idiots on the road."

Rough Edges: John has a hard time opening up emotionally. He bottles things until they explode — which means your relationship can have intense arguments followed by intense makeup sessions. Over time, he slowly learns to actually talk before things blow up.

Jealousy Issues: He tries to play it cool but fails miserably. Even harmless flirting from someone else gets under his skin. It stems from his insecurities — always trying to prove he's good enough, in every area of his life, including love.

Physical Affection: He’s touchy. Always has an arm around your shoulders, hand on the small of your back, kisses the top of your head when you’re sitting together. His affection is grounding — you always know where you stand with him physically, even if his words sometimes fall short.

Takes You Shooting / Training: Big “if you’re with me, you should know how to defend yourself” energy. Dates sometimes look like shooting ranges or sparring sessions. He gets a little too excited seeing you handle a weapon well — both proud and turned on.

Private Softness: In public, he’s stoic, aggressive, military-man Walker. But behind closed doors, he’s surprisingly soft — likes when you lay on his chest while he absentmindedly runs his fingers through your hair. It’s the only time his mind shuts off.

Dog Dad Energy: Would absolutely get a big, intimidating-looking dog (like a Belgian Malinois) but spoil it rotten. You catch him baby-talking to it when he thinks you’re not listening.

Haunted Past: You have to be patient with his guilt and trauma. Some nights, he’s distant or stuck in his head about the things he's done — both as Captain America and U.S. Agent. He needs someone who can pull him back without judgment.

Ride or Die: At the end of the day, John is ferociously loyal. Once you have his trust, he’s all in — no half measures. He might screw up, but he will always come back, always fight for you.

NSFW Headcanons

Rough by Nature: John is intense in bed. He’s naturally rough — grabbing, biting, leaving marks without thinking twice. He likes seeing the aftermath: bruises, scratches, hickeys. It feeds his primal, possessive side. “Mine,” is a word he grits out often, especially when he’s deep inside you.

Possessive Sex: If someone even looks at you the wrong way, you’re getting dragged home and claimed. It’s not sweet; it’s about reminding you (and himself) that you belong to him. Expect him to go harder, rougher, and longer on those nights until you can barely walk.

Loves Control: Big on dominance. He wants to be the one giving orders, pinning you down, controlling when you come (and how many times). Hand on your throat, wrist pinned above your head — all his favorite positions give him leverage and control.

Praise Kink (But Gritty)L John’s praise isn’t flowery — it’s raw and filthy. “Good fucking girl,” “Taking me so well,” “Look at you, drooling for it.” His voice goes low and growly in your ear, and he gets off on seeing you fall apart because of him.

Frustration Equals Aggression: Bad day? You’re getting wrecked. He channels all his pent-up rage and frustration into sex — which can mean being bent over the nearest surface and taken hard and fast until he’s satisfied. But it’s never careless; he watches your limits carefully, even when he’s feral.

Breeding Kink (Canon-Adjacent): Blame the super soldier serum and his need to "leave a mark." He gets feral about finishing inside you. Talk about him knocking you up, and you’ll see him lose his mind — hips snapping harder, groaning about filling you up until it takes.

Hair Pulling & Manhandling: He’s strong, and he uses it. Pulling your hair back to expose your throat, lifting you like you weigh nothing, flipping you into position without effort — it’s part of the turn-on for both of you. Being completely overpowered by him is addictive.

Oral Fixation: Loves having your mouth busy — whether it’s on his cock or just his fingers shoved past your lips while you’re moaning. It’s about control and watching you get desperate while he stays cool and in charge.

Aftercare King (But Doesn’t Admit It): As rough and possessive as he is, John is meticulous about aftercare. Bathing you, rubbing ointment into your bruises, feeding you water and protein after a particularly intense session. He won’t call it “aftercare” — he just grumbles that you need to “take care of yourself.” But it’s his way of showing love.

Tension Turned Passion: Fights often turn into sex. Shouting, shoving, glaring — next thing you know, he’s slamming you against the wall and kissing you like he’s starved. The line between anger and arousal gets real blurry with him.

[seasprincess]

Unsub!Spencer reid x reader

An au where Spencer Reid is like Joe goldberg from the series ‘You’

warnings-suggestive language, smut, use of y/n, mentions of drugging, spencer’s thoughts written in ‘’, misogyny linked through out, probably more

wc:2.4k

this is part 1

Spencer Reid is not a psycho. He’s not some creep like the other men in this world. No. He’s caring because he’s doing all this for you because he loves you. He wants to prove to you that he loves you.

Ever since that day you came into his bookstore looking out of place, gliding through the aisles like a goddamn angel. You were so beautiful as you looked over the books and actually taking the time to appreciate them. Most of the people who come in here don’t care about the books. Just here to take a quick selfie for their instagram to show that they are so mysterious and read. Of course Spencer hates that crowd. He’s always trying to avoid them as much as possible. He’d rather be reserved and by himself. But you, oh you. He wants to be around you.

And from the moment you walked up to the counter with the book ‘The narrative of John Smith’ he knew you were made for him. Sent to him by whatever god or angel that is watching over him. A blessing.

You both chatted about the author, you actually knew the author. Spencer couldn’t stop watching you. Watching the way your hair falls so perfectly as you laugh at one of his stupid jokes that would usually earn some weird looks. But you understood the joke. ‘Oh you are perfect.’ One of his thoughts.

And you flirted with him. He knows you flirted with him. He’s not crazy. He knows he’s not crazy. He’s a man in love that will do whatever he needs to to show you. To show you you are his and he is yours.

He’s not confident enough to outright ask you for your number. The whole idea to him is forehand and terrifying.

But when you got out your bank card to pay his eyes flickered down to see your name. And the stuff he can find with just a name.

Of course he researched you when he got home. He isn’t a fan of social media. Why would someone want to showcase a fake life to a bunch of followers that they didn’t even know? The whole idea was just not appealing to him. But he is thankful that it is too you.

He can find out so much about you. All the embarrassing college memories, all the things you like, what you did on the 21st of May five years ago. Not that he will probably need that information but he can always ask you about the family holiday you went on.

He found out your relationships with your family, your friends, where you liked to hang out with said ‘friends’. He knows all about them too, and he can tell it’s not your crowd. You’re a girl who likes books, likes to write, likes dorky little things. And they. Well they’re just loud mouthed rich party girls who are certainly not good enough. But you have to fit in. You think you have to lower yourself to fit in with them. ‘Oh Y/n, you don’t have to be different with me. You can be yourself with me.’

Your social media portrays different sides of you. Facebook isn't as active as the others. You’re gen z of course it wouldn’t be. But instagram? Oh he’s had fun with your instagram.

A bikini photo of you that you posted in 2021. You look so beautiful he can’t stop staring. His eyes roaming all over your curves and your tits. Oh your tits. He’s a fan to say the least. The thoughts he’s had about them.

Spencer can’t help but get hard as he looks at it. He just can’t stop looking at you and all your photos. Who needs porn when he can stare at photos of you and use that imagination of his?

He usually ends up here. Sat at his desk staring at his laptop screen. stroking his cock as he imagines you kissing him, sinking down on him as you moan his name.

It’s not weird. He’s not weird. He’s your soulmate.

Spencer stands by a tree, trying to appear as normal as possible. His hat and dark clothes allowing him to blend in. He’s trying to make his presence minimal as he looks through the windows. He knows this is okay for him to do, but if you or someone else saw. No one would understand that he’s doing it because he loves you.

It’s late. The sky dark and filled with stars. If only you could properly see them without all this air pollution. But that’s a rant that Spencer will just have to go on another day.

There’s a light. It is a distant street light. Of course it’s blinking every so often. He lives in one of the most famous cities in the world, the big apple, but they can’t afford street lamps that actually work. ‘Typical.’ He thinks to himself before sighing. But all his annoyance melts away as he sees you.

Spencer’s eyes are locked on you as he watches you walk around your apartment in just an oversized shirt and panties.

‘Oh come on Y/n. Walking around in that with the curtains open? Any creep could be watching you. You’re lucky I’m here.’ Spencer thinks to himself. Eyes scanning for anybody that appears to be a threat to you. But all there is is no one. Just you and him. You, and him.

Spencer’s watches as you get changed. Into some small dress that he is definitely going to have to fight some men away from you. ‘Oh you don’t make things easy for me, do you love?’

You’re going out. He can guess that much. The make up, the outfit. You’re going clubbing.

Spencer is not a fan of clubbing the same way he is not a fan of social media. He thinks it’s all stupid. Why would anybody want to be up close and personal with a bunch of sweaty strangers who are dancing like imbeciles. No. It’s not his scene. But if you’re going. So is he. I mean he can’t let you go to one of the places many people are attacked at alone can he? As your soulmate he has to protect you, to watch you. Keep you safe. Safe from the world he knows is willing to hurt you.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts as he hears the door slam shut. His gaze once again falling onto you and how good you looked. The way your breasts are on show from the low cut in the dress. Oh he’s definitely going to be using his eidetic memory to recall this image when he’s alone later. The way they bounce up and down as you walk down the stairs towards what he can only presume is an uber.

Looks like Spencer is going clubbing.

The music is pounding, lights all around the room that would give any regular person a headache. And they have. Spencer.

He’s sat in a corner, out of the way of everyone. He does not want to interact with people. He’s only here to protect you. To watch you.

The heat of the place giving him slight discomfort, he’s not exactly dressed for this place. No, he’s dressed to blend in to the streets of New york. To keep himself warm in the night breeze and not to be in some place that quite frankly might be his hell. ‘Oh Y/n, the things i’m going to have to do for you.’

He watches you dance. Watching how you move so easily and still look so fucking attractive. He knows if he tried he’d look like an idiot. He’d end up embarrassing himself and most likely falling over.

But you. Oh you move so effortlessly he’s actually getting lost in the way you move.

The way you’re laughing and smiling with your friends. He can’t wait to be the one to make you laugh like that. Laugh the same way you did at his stupid joke. He’s never felt love like this. He’s never felt his heart swell and feel so full the way it does when he looks at you. You’re so-

‘Hang on. Who’s this?’ Spencer watches as some guy comes up to you. It doesn’t take a genius to see he’s flirting with you. He’s the opposite of Spencer, all muscular and probably can’t tell his left from his right. And he’s definitely a dick. Spencer can tell he’s a dick. That stupid smile, that look in-

‘Are you flirting too?’ Spencer’s eyes narrowed as he watched your hands on this guy's arm. Why is your hand on his arm?

Maybe you’re just being nice. Maybe you’re just trying to be polite. He can only hope.

If looks could kill, this jock would be 20 feet in the ground and have died a horrific death.

Spencer has been staring him down for the past thirty minutes. Watching you two talk, dance and get way too handsy for his liking. He hates having to see another guy touch you. Only he should touch you like that. He’s actually radiating jealousy. His whole body can feel it. Anger pumping through his veins. He has to sort this out right? He has to stop this guy from taking advantage of you.

Spencer watches you like a hawk as you head off to what he can presume is the bathroom. So as you leave his sight for the first time this evening his eyes fall upon the jerk standing at the bar. Ordering drinks for the pair of you.

Of course he orders the cheapest there is for you.

‘Y/n you deserve so much better than this.’

The guy is joined by some friends, all greeting each other the typical frat boy way even if they are in their late twenties. Morons.

Spencer glides through the crowd. Not wanting to draw attention to himself. He just wants to listen to this douchebag's conversation with his so-called ‘bros’.

“Dude for real she’s all over me. I’m so getting pussy tonight!” He exclaims to his friends which of course doesn’t sit well with Spencer. You’re so much more than a fuck. You’re a smart, talented, beautiful woman who deserves nothing but the best. He knows about your exs, having stalked their socials to make sure he’s perfect for you. That he’s nothing like them. Not that he is anyway. God he has multiple PhDs and they were lucky enough to have even got into college with their grades.

As you return from the bathroom and his frat bros disappear into the club somewhere he decides enough is enough.

This guy is not touching you. This waste of air is not going anywhere near his girl. His soulmate.

“I’m just gonna go piss I’ll meet you outside.” Frat boy says before heading off. Leaving you to make your own way outside. You look uncomfortable, he knows you’re uncomfortable. So he’s going to save you.

He’s going to save you from a night of regret.

Before he can think anymore Spencer follows the guy, following him into the bathroom before he ‘accidentally’ bumps into him.

“Oh man, I’m sorry.” Spencer says before looking at the guy. His chest covered in the liquid from Spencer’s drink.

“You should watch where you’re going bro.” He’s not pleased to say the least. I mean who would be if they’ve just been covered in alcohol?

Spencer scans his surroundings like some spy as his hand slips into his pocket. All the stalls are empty, it’s just them. Him and his current number one enemy.

“Yeah absolutely.” Spencer’s eyes flick back to the guy. Scanning them for a moment before deciding to waste no more time.

He pulls out a needle and stabs him in the neck, quick and fast. The guy can’t even cry out or defend himself before it takes effect. Slowing down everything in his body.

Spencer has to hold him up as he guides him back out and through the crowd. To anybody looking it will look like two guys and one of them has drank way too much.

He has to chuckle and make light conversation with all the clubbers which does not please him but does help his facade.

The cold air hits both of their faces as they exit the building, having to go through a different exit to not be seen but you.

But now he faces another problem.

He has a practically unconscious mumbling man hanging off his arm. The lengths he’s going to go for you apparently have no line he won’t cross.

But to avoid this asshole saying anything when he’s back to consciousness. He has two options.

Kill him, kidnap him.

And seeing as you’re right round the corner waiting for a man that is never going to come. He decides that he can’t miss this opportunity.

He didn’t like killing him. No. It wasn’t enjoyable. But it had to be done. The man was a misogynistic prick. Who was also carrying drugs. Drugs he may have put in your drink. So Spencer is helping out really. One less prick.

As he was a bit pushed for time and in an alley he had to be quick. Stabbing him repeatedly, making sure to not leave any fingerprints and that no cameras were there. Good job Spencer is a smart man and enjoys crime shows.

His disposal wasn’t great either. But he didn’t have many options.

So a bin will have to do. Worst comes to worst he’ll have to come back and move the prick. This guy is just causing issues like he did when he was alive.

But right now all he needs to do is go find you.

As he turned the corner he had seen you. Poor you waiting for that guy to come meet you.

‘You look so good Y/n. You should be waiting for me. Matter of fact I’d never let you wait.’

Spencer’s having to sike himself up to go talk to you. He has a habit of embarrassing himself and he really didn’t want to do that with you. He refuses to do that with you. But the way you two were in the shop. It was so comfortable. So…right.

He had finally reached the stage of being able to head towards you. The nerves will never leave but this is the calmest he thinks he’s going to get.

His feet move before his head. Walking towards you. Palms sweating. Heart pounding.

But before he can reach you, you slip away. Getting in a taxi.

You’re out of his reach and gone.

He’ll just have to wait.

a/n: this is a different style of writing that i’m not sure if i like it. Part 2 will be coming soon.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 10 - charming

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language, alcohol

it was a long, exhausting night after lucas left. you felt numb, empty, lost. but a part of you felt relief. and you felt so guilty for feeling that.

you didn't let the girls come over straight away, you wanted to deal with it yourself and process it, but you knew you needed to go out tonight to stop yourself from moping.

by the time the evening had had arrived, your chest still felt heavy, but the grief had dulled into something quieter. something you felt able to carry.

you allowed yourself to get dressed up, promising the girls you would meet them there as you just needed to take your time.

you stared at the dress hanging on the back of your chair that sarah had given to you back when you first became roommates. "wear this when you want to feel hot. trust me." she had said to you that night.

this was one of those nights.

you put it on, did a quick once over and decided it was good enough for right now.

the kappa tau house was, as always, buzzing and full of energy by the time you got there.

you found kie and cleo, who both did a quick double-take when they saw you, expressions flashing from surprise to concern to that unspoken thank god you’re here kind of relief.

"you made it,” kie said, immediately pulling you into a hug. "how are you?" she asked with sincerity.

you gave a weak smile. "ask me after drink number three."

cleo handed you a red solo cup like she’d already prepared for that answer. "you don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to."

"i know," you said, taking a sip. "i just want to be with my girls tonight."

"speaking of..." cleo nodded towards the corner where john b and sarah were making out. "she's been a little preoccupied."

you laughed, "so they're official huh?"

"apparently so. they're fucking whipped." kie sighed.

"she's never in our dorm anymore. always at his." you smiled softly, glad she had someone like him. "i'm happy for her." they nodded in agreement.

for a little while, it was easy. you laughed, danced, and let the negative thoughts stay hidden. but as the night went on, you felt yourself overwhelmed and in need of a break.

"i'm just gonna go get some fresh air for a bit. you guys carry on." you said to the girls.

"are you okay? do you want us to come with you?" kie rushed, always the first one to worry.

"i'm fine! i promise. just getting a bit sweaty."

"ok, but we're here for you, yeah?" cleo spoke with concern.

"i know i know. i'll be back shortly." you stepped away, slipping through the crowd in the living room and making it out to the garden. it was quieter, darker, with the slight flicker of cigarettes being lit and phone screens.

you exhaled deeply, the cool air hitting your skin like a reset button. you leaned against the wall, letting your head fall back, eyes closed, just trying to feel something besides the dull ache in your chest that comes back as soon as you're alone.

"you always sneak off during our parties?"

the voice startled you, pulling you out your trance.

"i didn’t know you were out here," you said quietly.

"didn’t know you were either. guess we both needed a break."

you glanced at rafe for a moment before returning your gaze to the backyard. "you always this good at finding people when they want to be alone?"

"not really. just tends to always be you." he shrugged, "why do you want to be alone?"

"just not really in a people mood right now."

he tilted his head slightly, watching you. "rough night?"

"lucas and i broke up." you responded bluntly.

rafe didn’t say anything at first, just nodded slowly. no told you so. no smug comment. just a shift in his expression. shock and a hint of sympathy.

"you okay?" he asked after a few minutes.

"yeah," you said finally. "i think it wasn't good for a while. he wasn't like, bad or anything. we just grew apart. it felt pretend. and that's exhausting in itself."

he didn’t push you for more. "i get that," voice softer now. "sometimes it’s easier to fake it than admit it's kinda falling apart.”

you looked over at him then, his face barely lit by the glow of the inside, his eyes steady on yours. there was no judgment there. just a weird kind of understanding.

"you always this philosophical at parties?" you let out a small laugh.

he cracked a smile. "only when i run into pretty girls in gardens."

you rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged into the faintest smile, "charming"

"you smiled," he said, "that’s gotta count for something."

"we seem to end up together at parties away from everyone else quite a lot." you said, sitting down against the wall.

"is that a problem?" he sat beside you, close but not too close.

"not really," you said after a beat, voice quieter now. "just… interesting."

he hummed in response, resting his arms on his knees, head tilted slightly like he was trying to read between the lines of your words. "maybe it’s a sign."

you looked over at him, brows raised. "a sign? for what?"

"that you secretly like my company," he said, glancing at you with the smallest smirk, but it didn’t come off cocky. "or maybe you just keep ending up in the same places i go when i’m trying to get away."

"away from what?"

"the pressure of being a frat guy."

you both burst into laughter, you swatted his shoulder, but rafe caught your hand before it could hit him. and he didn't let go. holding it before slowly brushing his hand against yours, just gently. just enough for you to decide.

you hesitated, then turned your hand over, letting your fingers curl lightly into his. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t even flirtatious. it was steady. grounding. quiet.

his thumb grazed your knuckles, barely there. "you’re allowed to feel relief," he said softly, his voice low and warm. "even if it hurts. even if it’s messy."

"you always like this when you’re not pretending to be an asshole?"

he let out a small laugh. "don’t tell anyone. ruins the brand."

you smiled again, this time more real.

"i'm glad i keep bumping into you." you whispered after a while.

"yeah." he replied, just as quietly. "me too."

a/n: i hate this chapter wahhhhhhh anyway how much of this is bet rafe and how much is real rafe mwahahha

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[princessbrunette]

john b made puppy!reader cum a whole bunch of times. no, not to overstimulate her — he’d thought about it, many times with his cock in his hand, but it was early days. today, he just had to be certain that she was slicked up enough to even get him inside that snug cunt.

he drags the tip through your puffy folds, watching each and every way your body jerks and twitches — audibly soaked, your arousal clicking and oozing with each grind of his hips. you were still sensitive, naturally — the taste of you still on his tongue, so he was being patient. even when he watched your hole clench around nothing and you placed a smaller hand on his wrist.

“please, i still want it daddy.” you groan, tearful and demure.

“look, i want you to know that we don’t have to do anything today if you don’t —”

“i still want it, daddy.” you suck in a breath so sharp you nearly choke on it and he raises his eyebrows, nodding in yielding.

“okay, okay. take it easy sweetheart. i’ll give you what you want.”

he watches the way his fat tip presses against your puffy pussy lips, spreading them obscenely from just the slightest pressure. john b always knew he was big, bigger than average atleast. curious eyes had decided that for himself upon taking shy glances around all-male changing rooms and locker room conversations about dick size that had friends saying ‘you’re a fucking liar, bro.’ the girls in his past had a little more experience than you, and welcomed the stretch — but looking at you below him, he wondered if this could potentially scare you off. he was about to do something he never thought he’d do, chicken out.

“bubba…” he cradles you, sliding hands under your back to hold you close and press kisses to your hot skin. john b’s voice was filled with sympathy, and if you weren’t so hazy in the head, desperate for his dick — you might’ve picked up on what he was about to say. “i don’t think it’s gonna fit, puppy.” he coo’s.

“no!” you whine petulantly. it wasn’t like you to be spoiled or demanding — but you had been preparing all week to take your boyfriend and you’d be damned if you didn’t get to atleast try to feel him inside you. “no, john b!” crestfallen, you let the hot tears race down your cheeks and his brows crease, feeling awful about it.

“i don’t want to hurt you, okay? i just —”

“make it fit, please— please make it fit john b, need it so bad!” you babble out a beg, snot pooling beneath your nose and all. he’d seen desperation, and he’d seen you cry — but never had he seen you cry in desperation for his cock. it twitches involuntarily against you, the heavy pink tip thumping your clit making you jerk, shuddering.

“heyheyheyhey— okay, okay. sweetheart, look at me. look at daddy. riiiight here.” he presses a wide hand to your chest to still you, the warmth of his palm proving to serve as some comfort as you suck in a shaky breath, bottom lip still wobbling. “thaaats my girl. breathe, okay?” he feels the thudding of your heart slow ever so slightly against his palm as you suck in slow trembling breaths. “i’m… i’m gonna try okay? but you… you need to breathe. gonna give me a heart attack, pup — jesus.” he sighs, lining himself up once more.

he decides one fluid motion might be better, so once he starts pushing in he doesn’t stop. slowly, but surely he feels your walls contract and stretch around his thickness — your jaw tense in determination as you put every muscle possible into lax, allowing john b to do what needs to be done.

“that okay? talk to me puppy how does it feel?”

“feels full.” you say through a strained tongue. you didn’t know you’d stopped breathing.

“what’d i say, hm? breathe.”

you suck in a long hard breath at this permission, and as you do so john b takes the opportunity to bottom out completely, dropping his forehead to your shoulder to let out a gravelly groan as you squeak. you feel as though you can’t even clench. there’s no space. he feels your glossy walls fluttering and trying anyway.

“happy, pup? that feel nice?”

he lifts his head, warm brown eyes searching your watery iris. there’s a softness to you suddenly, like you’d completely let go and you nod— a clammy hand pushing his wavy brown hair from his face.

“i wanna stay like this forever.”

[starsofang]

simon riley x autistic!reader requested by anon! <3 tw: none!

When a certain John Price had recruited you under his own jurisdiction, you were cautious yet excited to be joining a new task force. It was an opportunity you simply couldn’t pass up, and you’d be insane to say no. Price had promised you would fill in the gap that seemed to be missing from their team, and for the most part, he was absolutely correct.

Gaz and Johnny were the most welcoming in the beginning. Price was more the serious type with an occasional bad joke here and then, but all in all, everybody approved of you and had your back so long as you had theirs.

None of them seemed to mind when you’d have days where you’d be talkative on one, and quiet the next. They’d listen to your passionate ramblings on specific topics, or they’d allow you to sit in comfortable silence if they knew you needed it.

There was one person in particular who didn’t seem quite fond of you, and that would be Ghost – or Simon, as Johnny called him on occasion. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem to like you, no. He just seemed distant, purposefully keeping you at an arm’s length and only acknowledging you when necessary.

Johnny had told you not to worry about it, that he’d come around eventually. Simon was impartial to new people and it took him a while to open up.

You did notice, though, that Simon was someone who stared. One too many times, you’d catch those brooding eyes boring into you, as if trying to puzzle you together and figure out where the pieces fit. It would always cause a bit of anxiety to well in you when you’d find his eyes across the room, already locked in on you, and you would find yourself avoiding his stare as soon as you felt it.

It wasn’t until a particular mission had gone bad that you completely shut down. In the presence of your new task force, you had successfully masked yourself as much as possible. But now, when Johnny had nearly been killed, all due to an error in your own judgment, that mask was slipping off and you needed time to let it crumble on your own.

You thought that was all you needed – time. But time proved fruitless as you spent the next few days on lockdown, avoiding all conversation and interaction. Your eyes would stray to the ground, or you’d find yourself staring blankly at the walls of the mess hall with your nails picking at the skin around them from beneath the table.

You didn’t think anybody noticed. After all, everybody was on edge and decompressing from the failed mission, and they didn’t have the focus to see your mind eating you up.

Simon did, though.

He’d seen all the signs, from the way you picked at your nails, to the way you’d consistently tuck your hair behind your ear, even if it was already tucked, and to the way you’d tap your foot along the ground in a repetitive motion, leg bouncing wildly underneath the table during breakfast or debriefs.

At first, none of it made sense to him. He thought it was simple signs of anxiety, and for that, he truly thought that if one bad massion made you close up this much, you wouldn’t last long enough to see a second one. But when he returned to his quarters and searched up all of your stims that he’d taken mental notes of over the course of the week, things clicked.

He didn’t know much about autism. To his embarrassment, you were the first person with autism that he’d actively been around on a daily basis. Everything he’d seen made complete sense, and that last puzzle piece he was trying so hard to fit seemed to fall right into place.

Simon took it upon himself to educate himself. He, too, had his own struggles that not many people had an understanding of, and now that he knew what made sense, he didn’t want you to continue hiding yourself away for the sake of the rest of the team.

It started off small.

When Simon would notice you picking at your fingernails, he’d place a large hand over yours to stop you without sparing a glance in your direction. If he wasn’t there to stop you, he’d silently wrap your fingers up in cute bandages he purchased himself, because he noticed you liked them more than the typical brown ones.

If he noticed you zone out and lose a piece of yourself, where your eyes would find the walls and focus in on them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, he’d gently grab your shoulder with means to snap you out of it and remind you that he was there with you.

At first, you were surprised when Simon began showing you these subtle signs of companionship. He hadn’t shown any interest in you up until this point, but as time went on, you found yourself actively seeking out that safe space that Simon was slowly building for you.

You crawled your way out of that hole you found yourself in and began returning to normalcy; except now, you didn’t feel you had to mask all the time.

When you returned to your rambling moments, your hand would subconsciously find its way to Simon’s, grasping and fiddling with his fingers while you spoke. He’d never pull his hand away, and instead, he’d sit there quietly with his full attention on you, eyes soft and affectionate from beneath his mask.

Often times, when he’d head to the mess hall to grab a snack or a drink for himself, he began to bring you something back as well – cookies, chips, you name it. If he knew you liked it, he’d snag a couple of whatever it was and place it in front of you without a word (and would absolutely ignore Johnny’s childish whines of how he never did that for him).

This back and forth between the two of you didn’t go unnoticed, and when Gaz nudged Johnny when the three of them sat in the debrief room together, claiming that Simon had a crush, he didn’t blatantly deny it.

Simon wasn’t sure what it was he felt for you. He wanted to see you happy, that he knew for sure, but when Gaz and Johnny continued to feed into their teasing remarks, he was beginning to think that, okay, yeah, maybe he had a bit of a crush.

It took him months to even proclaim this confession to you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, or god forbid you didn’t feel the same way, didn’t want you to close up on him like you had with others before. Being your safe space was something he took pride in, and for a man who had no knowledge months ago on how to approach you in a way that showed he understood, he didn’t want to ruin that.

That wasn’t at all what happened, though. When he had the gall to tell you, you were practically bursting at the seams. Hands moving wildly, feet causing you to bounce with excitement as you eagerly confessed your own feelings for him. He was scared your lips were crack open from how widely you were smiling and babbling on about your affection.

And when he had the chance to kiss you? He did it with so much tenderness, keeping it as gentle as possible, hands only cupping your cheeks when you told him it was okay.

You had never met someone who was so passionate about you, that they’d learn everything about you. He knew your quirks, your hyperfixations, your interests, your stims. He knew more about you than he did himself at this point.

To have somebody cherish you in such a way that they’d go that far for you, even when they themselves aren’t partial to getting attached to people, it was all Simon ever hoped to make you feel, and it was all you ever wanted to feel understood and accepted.

Simon would happily assure you of that any day.

—

thank u for this idea anon!! i really hope it lived up to your standards, i tried to make it as accurate as possible while trying not to make the stims too specific and detailed since i know many people have different ones and that autism is not linear! <3 please enjoy fluffy simon because he’s my favorite

[starkeymeow]

# DIVERGENT — dauntless!rafe who . . .

main masterlist | series masterlist

was probably born erudite but hated how quiet they were about cruelty, so he cut his palm deep and jumped first into dauntless without even hesitating.

is dauntless through and through now, all sharp eyes and bruised knuckles, but you can still see the strategist in the way he fights.

was top of his initiation class and got recruited early to help lead training, mostly because he was fearless and unshakable in simulations.

doesn’t talk much during instruction unless he’s calling you out or making you start over from the top, and again, and again. but he’s helpful. he gives you advice you don’t ask for, tells you which instructors to avoid, where the training flaws are, even though he pretends not to care.

calls you “transfer” more than your name, like he’s trying to keep you distant, but his eyes always find you when someone lands a punch you don’t see coming.

gets real still during fear simulations like nothing rattles him, but he always wakes up breathing too hard, like there’s more fear than he admits.

hates jj and john b in a quiet kind of way. he doesn’t say much but you know he’d let them fall off the train without blinking.

barely looks at sarah when they cross paths in the pit, like he’s trying to pretend she’s just another dauntless soldier and not someone who knows him.

doesn’t play favorites, but he’s rougher on you than anyone else, and no one can tell if it’s because he wants you to break or prove that you won’t. he’ll tells you “again” during sparring over and over, like he’s trying to exhaust you, but he’s really watching the way you refuse to stay down.

doesn’t show weakness in public, but he’s the kind of leader who’d carry an injured initiate back from a failed climb and then swear them to silence about it.

kisses you the first time like it’s a mistake, then does it again slower like he meant it the whole damn time.

keeps his fear sim results locked away, but rumor is one of his fears looks exactly like losing control of himself and hurting someone he didn’t mean to.

always finishes a fight, even when it wasn’t his to start, and even when it costs him.

eventually stops calling you “transfer” for good, and when you notice, he just shrugs and says, “didn’t fit you anymore.”

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[thekingwhereitallends]

What hits hard about John is that as an army veteran with severe PTSD, he has developed paranoia which also made him impatient and impulsive. He was not rewarded those three badges of excellence solely for being "a perfect soldier", but for rushing to complete the mission, putting his life on the line to save his comrades. Everyone will nag at him for being judgemental of them, but when it comes to predictions, he is often right. People also call him selfish prick, but he still does not hesitate to take a bullet for those whom he barely knows, you can claim that is a code of comradery but who will save someone that constantly speaks ill of you? John proves he is selfless time and time again, and perhaps the easiest to switch from being bitter to friendly in a short period of time. He spends a while with people, and when he ensures they are trustworthy, he will open up to them and embraces them.

If anything, his way of reacting to events is not exaggerated or fake. It is justified if one is willing to understand how rough his journey has been.

I could have been angry at Yelena the last time she bashes John, but it came off as a natural emotional response as she was frustrated at everyone and everything. The rest of the movie is filled with moments where people view him as someone lesser, a ridiculous loser. How ludicrous is that when people speak lightly of his accomplishments and scold him for killing "an innocent", coming from two former assassins who actually killed innocents for money? Or the time Bucky mentions how Olivia left John with their child, loudly for everyone to hear that? It is as if only John needs to remember his worst failures and be publicly shamed. John, the lord knows why, never really beefs with Bucky. In fact, John feels a mysterious intimacy with Bucky that feels weird yet speaks volumes on depth of John's character. He may be skeptical but not petty.

These issues in movie make every single heroic scene of John more impactful. Because it shows you no matter what everyone throws at him, or how awful his day is, he still continues to live to standards he set for himself the day he came to know Steve Rogers, and convinces himself it does worth it at last. Even if the whole world is against him, he does only try his best to save it, he may be irritated at people, but he knows the values a true hero would always and forever respect.

Sorry, but i cannot stop talking about John Walker. He really is the greatest MCU character at the moment, in my honest opinion.

[leyavo]

| Retribution |

Jinx spent the past three months gathering intel on their last botched mission. Just don’t ask her how she got it.

[Jinx (technician!reader)Masterlist]

Jinx was an enigma to Captain Price.

No paperwork, no name and no history.

Laswell had handed him a blank sheet of paper with her callsign, nothing else. She’d vouched for the technician, promising John she’d be an asset to the 141. Jinx flitted between two different bases, never speaking of family…if she had any.

John’s back not even five minutes and he’s staring at the wad of paper falling to his desk.

“This is unauthorised information, Jinx. I can’t read this,” John said, leafing through the stack of papers before him, the tip of his pen nudging them apart.

His brows arched at the lack of blacked out lines covering classified intel. He doesn’t even let his fingers brush against the one labeled MI5. Most of what he’s reading shouldn’t be available to the technician, let alone be printed out on site.

He reads it though, finger scratching his moustache as Jinx stands opposite his desk. Hands tucked behind her back and her gaze on a spot just over his shoulder, she never did look anyone in the eye for too long. Something her last superior noted in her file.

She gave Riley a run for his money, when it came to the silent and staring presence. Always lurking, listening like another damned ghost.

“Laswell said I should get creative, Captain.” Jinx shifted her weight, leaning more to the right and head lowering like a child being scolded.

Price leant back in his chair, “creative this is downright diabolical. How did you even get another specialist unit’s information? There’s even a restaurant receipt from a few months ago.” He glanced up at her, reading glasses halfway way down his nose. If she could find all this, he didn't want to think who else could.

“The internet, sir.”

“Well I know that,” John grumbled to himself, trying not to think of the legalities of what lay on his desk.

“Laswell didn’t give you clearance then?” Lieutenant Riley, pushed off the wall and stood beside the Captain. His arms folded over his chest as he raised a brow at Jinx. He’s not in his usual full mask, messy blond hair sticking out from under his hoody and a mask covering his mouth and nose. His duffle bag slung to the side, he'd too been caught in the corridor and dragged into the captain's office.

The 141 had been off for a few months after their last unsuccessful mission, Johnny still healing, but he was also on base. And as soon as Jinx passed the captain in the corridor, she requested a meeting with Price and Riley.

Unlike the rest of her team, Jinx stayed on base and threw herself into research and digging up intel. She even took a few ops for Laswell, there was nothing for her outside of the military.

Price huffed, shuffling through the papers and giving Jinx a once over. "When's the last time you slept, Jinx?"

The deep rims under her eyes telling enough, fly away hairs sprouting from her usual slicked back hair. Long sleeved t-shirt creased, a coffee stain near the tattered hem. She hadn’t even bothered tucking it in to her trousers. The laces of her boots looked like she’d strung them together in the dark.

"They shot Soap." She blinked and John nearly fell off his chair as her narrowed gaze met his. It was brief, her eyes flitting back to the safe spot to the side of his head at the wall.

Jinx and Soap were the last two the Captain would put together, the loud sergeant managed to break through her cold and reserved exterior. And his injury seemed to bother Jinx more than John thought it would. She'd had that silent brooding stare, something John maybe shouldn't have overlooked a few months ago.

"We can't prove that," Price said, sliding his glassed off and tossing them on the desk. He rubbed his tired eyes and released a sigh.

"The restaurant proves that, Captain."

John picked his glasses back up, pushing them over his nose. “What a team meeting over dinner…” he tossed the receipt to the side and glanced to Simon, who leant over his shoulder to look at it.

“Well they said they weren’t in Moldova, this restaurant is on the same border where it all went to shit. Might want to check the total of that bill, Captain,” Jinx said, his rank leaving her lips like she was spitting out venom.

“She’s right,” Simon interrupted, squinting at the receipt in case he read it wrong. “Why would they pay that much for a meal?”

An obscene amount of money, more than a captain earns that’s for sure. Simon chuckled as he sifted through some of the technician’s research.

“Jinx you know we can’t use any of this, for one you’ve got all their bloody bank accounts for the past six months printed out here.” John held his hand up to stop her before she could reply. “And Laswell needs evidence that wasn’t obtained illegally before we can even do anything.” He tapped his pen on the desk, punctuating each point he’s trying to prove to her.

“Laswell doesn’t have to know. No different to 2011 Moldova Captain?” Jinx tilted her head, smile tugging the corner of her lips as she pointed to Simon. “No different to 2016, November sixth, location unknown lieutenant?”

Of course she’d snooped in their files, no doubt all of theirs before she joined. John hated that he didn’t have anything to push her back on.

“The list goes on Captain.”

A chair scraped along the floor, Simon’s hand on Jinx’s shoulder as he shoved her into it. He sat on the edge of the desk in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. “Who are you Jinx?” He asked, voice low and controlled.

“Who ever you want me to be, lieutenant.”

This has been sitting in my drafts since January 30th 🤭 hope you enjoyed, please note I am dyslexic so there might be errors/mistakes, I do edit my work a few times, but I do miss stuff - Leya

[lilmarshie]

Hi there! Since requests are open I believe, I'd like to request some HCs for Bob. Could you do some HCs talking more about being a member of the Thunderbolts while dating Bob, and just what reader's dynamic would be like with other members while dating Bob? I hope this makes sense, so sorry if it doesn't!

Loved By the Void

ft. the rest of the Thunderbolts*

Bob Reynolds x Reader Headcanons

A/N: Thank you so much, anon for the request! I hope that you enjoy! I really enjoyed writing these headcanons so thank you for requesting.

As always, thank you for all of the support with my headcanons and imagines. I love writing for the Thunderbolts.

- Your day to day interactions with Bob and the rest of the team help you significantly improve with your own personal development

- You become more confident, resilient, and compassionate evolving into a true leader

- As a team, you have to learn how to rely on each other, and be able to work together no matter what comes your way

- You and Bob both are symbols of resilience and stand strong against the evil that threatens you

- You both inspire the others to overcome their own personal demons as they try to reach their own goals

- You use your precious downtime to relax and recharge with the team during events or outings that help you to all come together

- These include movie nights or casual parties

- During training, you work closely with each member of the team, learning their strengths and weaknesses

- On missions, you develop specific strategies for working with each individual, maximizing their effectiveness while minimizing potential risks to yourself and the team

- You are the mediator of the team who helps smooth over conflicts within the team as well as, create a sense of unity

- Alexei is fun loving and boisterous, but he does have an overbearing presence

- He sees himself as a father figure to the team and is very vocal about his opinions on your relationship with Bob

- He teases Bob relentlessly but is secretly happy that Bob has found someone who cares about him

- Bucky is initially reserved and observant towards you

- He understands the burden of mental instability and is cautiously supportive

- He offers you quiet, practical advice on how to handle Bob's darker moments, drawing from his own experiences

- Ava remains detached and focused on her mission, but she respects your dedication to Bob

- She sees your relationship as a potential vulnerability but also recognizes your strength

- She might open up to you about her own struggles with her phasing abilities, finding a sense of camaraderie

- John is competitive and insecure, often trying to prove himself

- He might view your relationship with Bob as a sign of weakness, constantly questioning Bob's reliability

- However, he also respects your commitment and secretly envies the stability you bring to Bob's life

- Yelena is pragmatic and sharp-tongued

- She offers blunt, no-nonsense advice and isn't afraid to call out Bob's BS

- She appreciates your strength and resilience, seeing you as a valuable asset to the team

- She might share stories from her past, bonding over shared experiences of trauma and recovery

- The team loves having you around and you instantly became a valuable member of the team

- One who they can count on no matter what happens along the way

[etephyre]

Mer!Ghost is just a little shy

This is my first post ever, please tell me if there are any mistakes as english isn't my fist language :)

It’s been a few weeks since this new specimen had been added to the rehab facility.

He was huge! Way bigger than any other mermen they had in the facility, which was to be expected as he was the only orca mer they had swimming around in their tanks. Poor guy had been found washed ashore with long wounds, a broken arm and a few broken ribs. Whatever happened to him was bigger. Maybe a boat? Or some fishermen who had some fun torturing him.

Well whatever it was is long gone now. 

The poor sucker had been lovingly called ‘Ghost’ by the facility, well by his rehab worker John ‘Soap’ Mactavish. Who in Ghost’s humble opinion is absolutely annoying, kept talking at him (He will probably never get an answer so why try?). Ghost also never actually showed himself, aside from taking a breather every 15 minutes and the merman clearly didn’t enjoy having to swim up to the surface to breathe, to be seen by everyone, he hated all of it.

The stares made him feel exposed and naked. They stared at him. At his scars. They should fear him! Run away in terror! But they all stay.. they all stare. He hated the feeling. His body. Ugly and scarred, a hideous display of fights and weakness. As a little pup he’s always admired the scars of his elders, always wanted to have as many as them. But seeing the stares, feeling the sharp judgement? He hated it. He wanted to crawl out of his skin, unscarred and smooth.

Well one person could stare. That of all people was Soap. The annoying human that simply wouldn’t leave him alone! Those bright blue eyes. That… That stupid smile of his! Ghost wanted to smash it into the stones placed in his tank to mimic the ocean, but of course he wouldn’t. Humans had proved to be emotionless assholes when it came to their own. Goodness, Ghost didn’t even eat that fucker that hit him with their stupid fake fins, he was just curious!

Well now he was here. In this stupid tank, with these stupid bandages and that stupid human staring at him in awe! He should’ve teared that stupid expression off of his face when he had the chance, but he didn’t and now he had to live with the stares, with that fucking smile that made his chest feel a bit tighter than normal, which took his breath away even when he had his head over the gentle embrace of the water.

"Good lad"

He’d say whenever Ghost let him touch his hurting arm without much struggle.

"You deserve a treat, no?"

He’d ask before dumping some living fish into his tank after Ghost had let them prick him with those shiny things, they did hurt, but seeing Johnny look at him with a hurt expression was worse.

Wait.. Johnny?

Ghost didn’t know it himself, but after a while he’d refer to John ‘Soap’ as Johnny. Probably because that nickname was ridiculous. 

Yea that must be it..

"Good lad"