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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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Batting Practice Part 19 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: All week long, you and Everett were enjoying some quality time with Bradley. The Tiny Eagles were still undefeated, and you were starting to think about how nice it would be if Bradley moved in with the two of you. But on Sunday, when Danny is supposed to be spending the day with Everett, you get an upsetting call.

Warnings: Smut, fluff, angst and swearing

Length: 4300 words

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

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

The further your week progressed, the more loved up you were feeling. After practice on Monday, you watched Bradley carry Ev up to the parking lot on his shoulders while they sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame.

On Tuesday, Bradley came over for dinner. He helped you cook, and then he helped Everett do his homework while you lounged on the couch with a glass of wine.

On Wednesday, you and he had a quickie on the stairs after Everett was in bed. That was something you had never done before, but also something you definitely wanted to do again.

But on Thursday, a rare thunderstorm moved in, and Bob decided to cancel practice. "Want to come over and watch a movie instead?" you asked Bradley when he called.

He scoffed and asked, "Are the Phillies the best team in baseball?"

You laughed as you looked outside at the dark sky and pouring rain. "That's definitely a yes."

"That's a hell yes, Kitten. I'll be there soon."

When he arrived, Everett opened the door for him and said, "We're going to watch Toy Story!"

Bradley tousled Everett's hair and laughed as he removed his wet baseball cap and jacket. "How did you know that's my favorite movie?"

Everett's eyes went wide. "Is it really your favorite?"

"Top ten, easily," Bradley replied, and as he made his way into your living room, he pulled you in for a kiss. His mustache was wet from the rain, and you had to reel in your need for him in front of Everett.

"I'll make popcorn," you whispered, and when you returned with it, they were both already cozy on the couch.

"Ready?" Everett asked as he held up the remote.

"Yep," you replied, eating some popcorn before you passed it to Everett where he was perched between the two of you. And you had to laugh, because apparently Bradley hadn't been lying. He had most of Toy Story memorized, and the two of them kept quoting parts together and laughing.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Bradley asked, tossing some popcorn at you. "This movie came out when I was like eleven. I was obsessed with it."

"You are adorable," you replied, catching some of the popcorn in your mouth when he threw more at you.

He just sat there looking smug for a bit, and then when the part came on that always scared Everett, Bradley let him cuddle up against his side. "It's okay. The ending is happy," Bradley murmured, and you took the empty bowl so he could rub Everett's back.

"I know," he whispered. "But getting to the end is scary."

Bradley met your eyes, and you wanted to say something while Woody was about to get blown up by dynamite. But nothing seemed adequate. Everett was going to be spending the day with Danny on Sunday while you and Molly went wine tasting a few towns away. But you just had a feeling that Everett was going to come home upset or maybe even in tears, and it hurt your heart. But you didn't know what else to do. You just wished Danny cared about Everett even just a fraction of the amount that Bradley obviously did.

"Scary parts over," Bradley whispered, and you realized that Everett had been hiding his eyes. "Almost time for the happy ending."

"That's the best part," Everett said, once again vividly interested in the movie. He sat perched on the edge of the couch with rapt attention.

You swallowed your guilt down and let yourself enjoy the rest of the movie as Bradley's hand found yours along the couch.

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

Bradley carried Everett upstairs by his ankles, letting him dangle in the air while he absolutely screeched with delight. When Bradley set him down on his bed, Everett said, "That was so cool!"

"That was your reward for not getting too scared by the movie. And for helping your mom clean up all the popcorn we threw at her."

Everett laughed more before he stood to go brush his teeth. "Hey, Bradley?"

"Yeah, Kiddo?"

"I like it when you're at our house. Do you have a house?"

Bradley smiled and said, "No. I have an apartment. And it's not as good as your house, because your mom doesn't live there. And you don't live there."

Everett looked at him very seriously before he walked to the bathroom. "We have an extra bedroom. You should move in here. And you could bring the rest of your baseball cards and stuff with you."

Bradley pressed his lips together and tried not to laugh. "Something to consider, I guess."

Once Everett was in bed, Bradley went back downstairs where he had left you relaxing on the couch. "Come here, Coach," you said softly as you lifted up the end of the blanket for him. He slipped underneath it next to you, and you wrapped your arms around his neck and straddled his hips. "I was just listening to the storm."

Bradley sighed and ran his hands along your thighs to your butt as you kissed his cheek and let your fingers sink into his hair. "Thanks for inviting me over for the movie."

"Well, Everett insisted. And I had no idea you were such a Toy Story fan," you said with a giggle that made him feel a little weak.

"I used to watch it with my mom all the time. She liked it, too," he whispered as your lips found his neck. "You're a good mom, Kitten." You paused and looked at him, and Bradley was suddenly trying to figure out what he did wrong.

"Everett is spending the day with his dad on Sunday."

Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "Danny? He made Everett cry. That's all I can associate with him. The fact that he made Everett cry and he wasn't good to you."

You swallowed hard and hid your face against his shoulder. "Maybe I'm not a good mom. I keep trying to give him a chance, and he just doesn't seem to take it."

"Shhh," Bradley whispered, coaxing you to look at him with his fingers on your chin. "That's just because you care so much. You want Everett to have everything. Even if it's hard for you."

You sniffed and kissed him as you said, "I love you." Then Bradley carried you up to bed after you fell asleep.

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

The weather in San Diego was never bad for long, so Friday evening, you agreed to a date with Bradley. A date for the three of you.

"Somehow I ended up being the one left out here," you complained with a smile as Bradley held your hand and just shook his head at you. He had taken you and Everett to the flea market near the beach to look for baseball cards.

"If you stop whining, I'll buy you a three dollar burger, Kitten."

"Oh!" you said perking up and helping them look through the tables of cards. That damn burger had been delicious when he bought you one last time. "What am I looking for?"

"Phillies players," Bradley and Everett mumbled in unison, and your heart clenched. Then you pulled a card out of one of the boxes and held it up, and Bradley's eyes went wide.

"Don't set that one down," he said, kissing you hard on the lips. "I've been looking for that one."

After he had purchased a few cards, including a novelty Phanatic card for Everett, he took you both for burgers and fries. "It's getting a little late," Bradley said as he checked the time on his phone. "Think we have time for the batting cages?"

Everett gasped so loudly, and the smile on Bradley's face had your heart pounding. "Yeah," you replied. "I think we have time." Because now there was no way you could deny either of them.

Bradley took both of you back to the location of your date. That date that he insisted wasn't your first date but was instead your third date, because he counted the snack bar and park outing as real dates. Then he got you and Everett outfitted in helmets and helped you pick out bats. He took the care and time to teach Everett how everything worked, just like he had done for you.

"Safety first," Bradley said, kneeling in front of Everett. "Keep your helmet on, and don't stand directly in front of the machine. Got it?"

"Got it, Coach!" Everett nearly shouted, practically vibrating with excitement. And then you watched from the corner of the cage with amazement as Bradley started the machine. By the third pitch, Everett was hitting every ball, and some of them looked like they were hit well.

"Yes!" Bradley cheered. "Now move your right foot back a bit. Right there. Watch for the pitch."

He was good. Much better than you had been. And he only needed minimal help from Bradley. You watched your son hit dozens of pitches while you took some photos and videos. And when he turned to look at you while you were recording him, he looked absolutely delighted.

"You're up, Kitten," Bradley said, turning off the machine and reaching for you.

Everett came over and pushed you into place when you protested. "I'm not as good as the two of you!"

"You just have to practice," Bradley murmured, bending to kiss you before he handed you a bat. "Remember how to stand?''

"I think so," you replied, but his hands were already on your hips and waist, gently but firmly getting you into the proper position. He let them linger. You wanted to do this every Friday night. He squeezed you with both of his big hands, and then he turned the machine on.

You managed to hit a few of the pitches while Everett cheered for you. "Mommy! You're good!"

"Thanks, Ev," you said with a laugh. But after a dozen pitches, you said, "Come on, Coach, show us how it's done."

"Yeah! Please, Coach?"

With a soft groan, Bradley took your bat from your hands and kissed your cheek. And when you stood in the corner with Everett, you realized that this was the first time your son ever got to see Bradley batting. And it was just as impressive as the last time you were here. With the speed set to high, Bradley hit every single pitch like a pro. Dozens of pitches flew up into the mesh, but they looked like home runs to you.

You couldn't take your eyes off him, and neither could Everett. He stood in front of you with your hands on his shoulders, completely transfixed. "Wow," Everett muttered.

"He's good," you whispered as Bradley nailed another hard pitch with ease. When he turned the machine off, both of you were still gaping at him. "You better play in that summer league, Bradley."

His smile as he swung the bat over his shoulder made your insides melt.

"You have to!" Everett said, jumping up and down. "And you can pitch and Coach Bob can play in the outfield. And Mommy and I can watch and we can keep your stats if you teach us how."

When Bradley responded to your son by putting his hand gently on Everett's shoulder and guiding him out of the chainlink cage, you were prepared to beg him to play in the summer league. But then he said, "I already sent in my application, Kiddo."

"Why didn't you tell us?" you asked as he held the gate open for you.

"I haven't been selected yet. But I think they'll call me to try out."

"They'll pick you! They have to!" Everett insisted. And you could picture it so clearly: sitting on the bleachers at the Navy ballpark, you and Ev wearing matching Bradshaw shirts with Molly in a Floyd shirt. Instead of feeling embarrassed, you just wanted that more and more.

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

"I think he's asleep," you mumbled against Bradley's lips, grinding down on his thigh on the couch. Bradley had collected you into his lap to talk after Everett was in bed, but he wasn't mad about where you decided to take things instead. "But we should go out to your Bronco just in case."

Without a word, Bradley hauled you to your feet and practically dragged you out to your driveway in the darkness. "You can get a little loud out here, Kitten." He opened the back door and helped you climb in, and you were peeling your shirt off before he even had the door closed behind him. "Up here," he coaxed, rubbing his thigh, and you were on him immediately.

"You should sleep over tonight," you groaned as Bradley tossed your bra across the seat and put his mouth on your tits.

"Mmhmm," he hummed against you. "Just need to leave early before the game to go get my stuff."

"Would be easier if your stuff was here."

He paused, popping your nipple out of his mouth, but you were already so far gone, you were guiding his mouth back into place. He got you completely naked while he stayed mostly clothed, and you rode his dick nice and slow. You put on a real show for him, your hands touching yourself everywhere as your eyes went hazy.

"You're so fucking pretty," he growled when your fingers dug into his hair as you rode out your orgam with your head tipped back. "Jesus, Kitten." He sucked on your tits until your cries quieted, and then he stretched you out on the seat with your back against the soft leather.

You pulled him down for more kisses while he fucked you into the seat. When he came, it was to your voice softly telling him that you loved him. His fingers tangled up in your necklace chain as you pulled his sweaty forehead against your shoulder. "I love you, Bradley."

He kissed your collarbone and let his hand settle against your belly. "I love you. And I love your son." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

When he finally got you clothed enough for you to walk back inside, Bradley set an early alarm on his phone and then took you up to your bedroom. While you got changed, he checked on Everett, lingering in the doorway while his tiny body rose and fell with each breath. Today was another perfect day.

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

After the game on Saturday, the whole team was buzzing. "One more game to go, and still undefeated!" Everett said as he hugged you afterwards. He and Piper had both scored in the last inning to win the game for the Tiny Eagles, and now you almost lost your voice from cheering.

"Her kid does well, because the coaches give her special treatment," Sandra said. But you just ignored it because not only was Everett a better player than Henry, but you were actually dating Bradley now. You didn't want to start a fuss.

When Bradley and Bob were finished talking to the other team's coaches, they both came over. "I was hoping Mo would be here today," Bob told you, still glancing up at the parking lot.

"Mo?" you asked, gaping at Bob. "That's the cutest thing I have ever heard! I think Mo stayed to work some overtime this morning."

Bob blushed a deep pink while Bradley chased Everett to try to get his clipboard back. They ran around the bleachers laughing while Bob said, "I'm going to ask her to move in with me, even though it's moving really fast. But I think she's going to say no, because of her work hours."

"There's no harm in asking," you replied, making a mental note to tell Molly she better move in with Bob or else.

He looked at the ground. "We haven't really talked about that kind of stuff yet or my deployments. Do you think... If I get deployed for six months, is she going to break up with me?"

You burst out laughing so hard, he looked like he was going to cry. Meanwhile your little sister had asked you the other day if you thought Molly Floyd sounded cute. And when you told her it sounded adorable, she said she really wanted her initials to be MF which made you both giggle.

You managed to reel in your laughter. "No, Bob. I don't think she would break up with you, even if you were gone for a year." You patted his cheek gently, and he finally looked like he believed you.

"You're too fast, Ev," Bradley called, chasing after him and panting. "Shit, I'm actually worn out. That kid is fast as hell."

"He needs to play real ball next year," said Bob as the flushed pink color started to fade from his cheeks.

"Yeah, I'm gonna work with him this summer," replied Bradley nonchalantly as Everett finally ran back over with his clipboard. And the casual way with which Bradley talked about the future made you smile.

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

"I don't want to go!"

Everett was practically in tears the next morning when you packed up some snacks and his ipad in his backpack. And honestly, you were barely holding back your own tears.

"It's just for the day, Ev. And your dad is excited to see you!"

"No, he's not," he whispered, kicking his shoes across the living room and running back upstairs.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the feeling of panic rose inside you. But you were doing the right thing, weren't you? Spending time with his dad should have been beneficial to everyone. You just needed Danny to get used to this or alternately pay child support. And since there was no way he was going to be paying you anything, this would just have to do. He'd come around after a while. Maybe you'd even eventually work up to some sleepovers for Everett.

"Ev, Sweetie, I'll be back around dinner time. I promise," you called. And a second later, his head poked around the wall at the top of the stairs.

"You better," he whispered and stormed down the stairs with a scowl on his face.

When you got him in your car, he was silent for the entire drive across town to Mission Beach and Danny's townhouse. For someone who couldn't pay child support, his neighborhood was a lot nicer than yours. You sighed and looked at Everett in your rearview mirror after you parked, and he was still scowling.

"You can play on your ipad," you reminded him. "And maybe your dad will let you use some of his paints like last time."

"That was months ago," Everett mumbled. "And he got mad when I spilled some on the kitchen counter."

You pressed your lips together and thought about calling your sister to cancel the outing and going back home instead. But then Danny opened his front door and looked at you expectantly.

"Okay, there he is," you said brightly, and when you walked Everett up the sidewalk, you felt a little better.

"Hi," you called out to Danny as he opened the door wider for Everett to slink past him.

"What time will you be back?" he asked, not bothering to greet either one of you.

You just shook your head and swallowed your guilt. "Around five."

He gave you a severely annoyed look and then mumbled goodbye as you called out, "Have fun, Ev!" And then the door was closed and you walked slowly back to your car.

When you picked up Molly, she rambled on about Bob and work, and you were thankful that you didn't have to say much. The wine tasting was a treat from Bob, and since he wasn't a big drinker, he told Molly to take you.

"He's such a sweetheart, Mo," you said with a chuckle.

"He's not always sweet in bed," she replied, looking out her window with a smile.

"Oh my God, Molly," you said, smacking her arm as you headed out of the city and toward the vineyard. "Please don't elaborate. I like being able to look him in the eye."

"All I'm saying is Coach Cute Glasses has got moves. And a bit of a dirty mouth."

"Please stop," you mumbled, seriously ready to blast the radio if she kept going.

"Okay, fine. I'll stop. But just know, he's so much bigger than Casey was."

"Molly!" you screeched as she cackled. When you threatened to leave her on the side of the road, she finally changed the subject to Everett's birthday and the Padres game. And she asked you how things were going with Bradley, and you thought about mentioning the backseat sex as revenge for being told too much about Bob, but you didn't. And then you had reached the vineyard.

After a tour, the two of you tasted every wine that was offered, and then you argued for a long time while you put them in order of favorite to least favorite.

"This red one was disgusting," Molly told you, moving one that you liked to last place. "You have questionable taste."

"No, I don't!" you complained.

"Two words: Danny. Frank." She kept rearranging the wines in her preferred order while you scoffed.

"Thank you for not grouping Bradley with them."

"No. He's alright now," she said, sounding more impressed. "God, he was dumb for a bit there, but he sorted himself out. And it was fun to make him sweat about losing you and Ev."

"Fun?" you asked. "That was not fun."

She shrugged and ordered two sangrias. "It was kind of fun for me," she said apologetically. "Plus it let me know he really cares about you."

"I might ask him to move in with me and Ev soon," you blurted out. And now you were thinking about what Bob told you. And you started rambling about something that happened at work, and you realized you'd already had a lot to drink.

"Let's order food," Molly suggested. And you sat outside in the sun with your sangrias and your lunch and got very tipsy.

Molly took about a million selfies of the two of you, and when you saw one that actually looked cute, you said, "Send me that one. I want to text it to Bradley."

She rolled her eyes. "Who do you think I've been texting them to this whole time?"

"Bob?" you replied as your waiter dropped off more drinks.

"And Bradley," she said with a smirk. You took her phone from her hand and looked at the thread she had with him.

"Oh my goodness," you whispered. She had sent your boyfriend about a dozen photos of you in varying degrees of ridiculousness. "What is wrong with you?"

"Look what he said!" Molly urged, moving her phone closer to your face.

Your sister is gorgeous.

I miss her, do you know what time you're heading back?

Everett looks so much like her, what a lucky kid.

You handed the phone back to her and pretended to melt off of your chair while she laughed. "You're drunk!" she accused.

"Yeah, so what?" you asked as you laughed at her.

"I love it!" she chanted. "You never do this kind of stuff with me!"

You groaned. "Gotta always be alert for Ev," you mumbled, checking the time on your phone. You'd have to wait a bit before you could drive.

"I didn't mean it like that," Molly said. "But if Bradley moves in with you, he'd be around so we could go do fun stuff like this."

"That's true," you told her as you stared up at the passing clouds. Then your phone rang and when you reached for it, your heart sank.

You accepted the facetime call from Everett's ipad. "Ev?"

"Mommy?"

"Yeah! I'm here. Are you having fun?" Molly helped you block the afternoon sun so you could see the screen more clearly. And then you saw his face. "What's wrong?"

He looked to his right and then turned back toward the screen, his sweet little forehead scrunched with worry. "Are you coming to get me soon?"

You could feel the wine coursing through your body, and now you wanted to throw up. "Pretty soon. Is something wrong, Everett?"

"I don't know."

"Where is your dad?" you asked him, scooting to the edge of your seat.

"In his room with Tori."

Your eyes went wide. "Who is Tori?" you asked at the same time as Molly.

Everett kind of shrugged. "She got here a little while ago. She said she was his girlfriend."

"What the fuck?" Molly muttered, reaching for her water glass, and then she immediately started drinking. You were too drunk to drive, and so was she. And you weren't even in the city anyway.

"Are you okay, Ev? Can you sit on the couch and play more games? The charger should be in your backpack if you need it."

But he still looked nervous.

"Just tell me what's wrong," you prompted as your heart pounded.

"Well, it smells weird in here now. It smells gross."

You froze and looked at Molly who looked like she was going to rage. Danny was smoking pot with his presumably barely legal girlfriend while he was supposed to be spending the day with his son. Now you really were going to throw up as you stood and walked out toward the vineyard, afraid you were going to have a panic attack.

"Just sit on the couch, okay? I'll come get you as soon as I can." But that would be hours from now. Your hands started to shake as Molly ran up behind you with two glasses of water.

"I just paid for everything, but we need to sober up," she said.

You took one glass from her and sobbed as you asked for her phone. "Here, talk to Ev, okay?"

She nodded and traded phones with you and started to ask her nephew a series of riddles. When you called Bradley from Molly's phone, he answered on the third ring.

"Hey, Molly. You two having fun?"

"Bradley!"

"Kitten? What's wrong?"

You took a deep breath to keep from crying. "I need your help."

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

If Everett cries again, so help me..... Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

PART 20

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literaryvein-reblogs · 2 months ago

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Writing Notes: Wine-Tasting

for your wine-tasting scenes

Enhance your wine-tasting experience and better identify different wines with these tips:

Cleanse your palate between sips. When tasting for flavors of the wine, you must cleanse your palate by using a spittoon and drinking water. “I regularly cleanse my palate with water. I like to use high-pH water, eight or above . . . . I find that alkaline solution of water cleanses my palate much better and reduces the acid in many wines,” James Suckling, a wine critic, says. “I also might have some bread, or olives are great with red wine. You want things that refresh your palate.” Cleansing your palate helps your taste buds enjoy more subtle flavors.

Do a blind tasting. “When I was starting as a taster in the ’80s, when I studied to be a master of wine, I was always blind tasting,” James says. Tasting blind means not knowing the kind of wine you are tasting—be it a zinfandel, rosé, pinot grigio, or syrah—so that will not influence your tasting. Moreover, tasting blind means not looking at the label; sometimes, a label plays up the fruit flavors or connotes an older wine, which can impact your interpretation of the varietal while tasting.

Get the wines to the right temperature to rate. Temperature is critical for wine tasting. “I think it’s important for whites to be between fourteen and sixteen degrees centigrade—not too cold but cold enough to be fresh. If it’s too cold, I’m not going to be able to discern the aromas, taste, and texture,” James says. “The reds I also like a little bit cooler than normal. A lot of people serve their reds at twenty-two or room temperature. I like them around nineteen or twenty.” Using wine glasses with a stem is essential, so you can adequately hold the glass without warming the wine.

Pay attention to scent. Articulating scent is an essential tasting skill. In trying one wine during a blind tasting, James notes “some warmth. Aromas of lemon curd, maybe some fresh basil. And I get a sensation of ash. Like, ash from volcanoes; there’s a number of white wines made in Italy that are coming from volcanic soils such as Etna in Sicily, Campania near Naples, and Soave near Verona.” Quality wines give you primary and secondary aromas, sometimes even tertiary ones. Breathe in your wine with your lips slightly parted to anticipate a wine’s flavor and notes. Take a small sip of wine and see if you sense wooden notes from oak barrels, high acid from citrus fruits, or sweetness from red fruits or tropical fruits.

Swirl your glass of wine. Getting your wine to move around enlivens its scent. “When you’re tasting, it’s really important to swirl the wine to get some air in there to bring out the wine aromas,” James says. “Also, it’s important not to have too much wine in the glass. I like to have about thirty or fifty milliliters in the glass. Then you can really give it a good swirl.” After swirling, note the viscosity and the tannins, the sediment along the bottom or sides of the glass. Use a new wine glass for each new bottle of wine in a blind tasting.

Taste in a clear space. Sometimes, you might taste wine in the cool climate of winemakers’ cellars or a busy room full of people as part of a wine club. To concentrate on the wine’s color and qualities, try to taste the wine in a well-lit, not-too-noisy tasting room. Light is essential when applying the [wine point] scale to red, orange, or white wines. “It’s important that the environment’s clean [and] well-lit,” James says. “I can concentrate on the wines. Sometimes that’s not possible if I’m in a cellar, traveling at dinner, or in a restaurant. But ideally, when I’m tasting, especially blind, it’s important to have a place where I can concentrate.”

Use the wine point system. Following the 100-point wine system can help you determine a good wine. The 100-point system is a rating scale for wine quality. Wine scores go up to 100 points, with 100 points going to the best wines. Whether you’re trying a dessert wine or a dry wine, this scoring system helps you better break down and comprehend the quality of a wine. “I think it’s an easy way to communicate about wine,” James says. “It's an easy way for you to understand quality.”

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

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hannahbarberra162 · 3 months ago

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Who the Deuce?

Hi! It's my first canon x canon attempt! It was harder than expected. I have many more Deuce Thoughts (tm) that didn't make it here.

Beta'd by the amazing @maskeddeucelover thank you for all your work!

Ace X Deuce, angst and fluff, no smut.

Word count: ~5k

AU where Deuce begins his writing career while with the Spade Pirates and continues when they join the WBP. He is a published travel / adventure columnist with a regular column in the WENP.

Overview: Ace won’t put a label on his relationship with Deuce. He wants to keep their relationship non-exclusive, to Deuce’s chagrin. Deuce begins getting recognized as a rising star in the writing world, and taken on dates by attractive fans. Can Ace tame his jealousy and reclaim his lover? Or has Deuce finally moved on?

~~~

DEUCE POV

Deuce sighed as he felt overly warm arms embrace him from behind, wrapping around his waist as he finished rolling up clean bandages. He knew it was Ace, seeking comfort and connection at the end of a long day. Deuce quickly calculated how much work he had left in the infirmary, since it was obvious Ace was done for the day.

“Hi, Ace,” Deuce greeted tiredly.

“Mmmmphhh,” Ace didn’t reply with words, just buried his face into Deuce’s neck. The nuzzling felt pleasant, but Deuce had to remind himself that it didn’t come with anything deeper. He and Ace had been fighting recently over their relationship. Or rather, the lack thereof. Deuce wanted to make things official and be exclusive with one another. On the other hand, Ace wanted to keep things as they were, nothing defined and a more open relationship. It made Deuce feel that Ace was just stringing him along until Ace found someone better. Ace felt that they should keep their options open during their high seas adventures, while also casually enjoying each other’s company. Neither opinion was wrong, but they were at an impasse.

Deuce had been thinking of breaking things off completely. He didn’t like seeing his partner with other people, it just hurt him. He didn’t feel inclined towards dating others either, so maybe it would be best to part ways before he got hurt even further. A few years prior, he would have taken anything Ace had offered at the expense of his own heart. But he’d grown a little and was prepared to suffer heartbreak now if it would hurt less in the long run.

“Ace, don’t.”

“But I’m worn out. I wanna cuddle.” Ace started peppering wet kisses on Deuce’s neck. Deuce had to decide, and quickly, what he wanted to do. He could tell Ace to stop right now and reignite the argument they’d been having, or he could enjoy the moment. He looked behind and saw Ace’s sweet freckled face. His choice was made. He could never deny Ace for long, his love for his former Captain was too strong. So even though it hurt him, he’d allow it. For one more night.

“C’mon, let’s go to my room,” Deuce offered. Ace smiled and threw Deuce over his shoulder, carrying him off to Deuce’s (much cleaner) room.

~~~

A few days later, the Moby anchored near a large island to restock supplies. Marco had granted Deuce shore leave after their work was complete, which was an exciting prospect. Deu wanted to get a copy of the latest newspaper and see his travel column in print. Ace, being a Commander, didn’t have to ask permission from anyone, so they made plans to explore the island together. After meeting up on the island, they set off to get the feel for the island. At first, it felt like old times, just the two of them investigating somewhere new. They walked around the island a bit, and found a restaurant that seemed like it would have an adequate supply of meat to keep Ace full.

Deuce was enjoying some quality time talking with Ace - while he ate plate after plate. Ace was telling Deuce about some rare variety of beetle he wanted to look for on the island. Deuce had heard a lot about Ace’s brother Luffy, including his love of insects and beetles in particular. It was endearing to Deuce that Ace continued to look for the ugly bugs as a way to maintain connection with his sibling. He enjoyed hearing about the local flora and fauna of islands and sometimes included Ace’s tidbits in his writing.

But like always, someone recognized Ace from his posters and wanted to talk to the handsome outlaw. And Ace, like always, responded and began a conversation with the stranger. Deuce sat at the table, feeling shunted off to the side as Ace began telling stories of being a Whitebeard Commander. He listened in silence for some time before he decided to leave and find a newspaper. At least he would meet one of his goals for shore leave. By that time, Ace had gathered a small crowd of adoring women - and a few men - who were hanging on his every word. Deuce cast one last glance at his love, who already had his arm over the shoulders of some woman, and left.

Deuce decided his best bet to find a recent paper would be in a bookstore. He could also pick up a few novels to entertain himself, since he had a feeling Ace wasn’t going to be available for the rest of the afternoon. Stewing in his own thoughts, he walked back towards the bookstore they had passed in their quest for a restaurant. Deuce entered the shop and went to look for the periodicals.

Quickly finding what he needed, he looked for the most recent issue of the World Economy News Paper. Scanning through the pages, he found his article and skimmed through it. He was disappointed but not surprised it had been edited. He was thinking of comments to send to Morgan about the next one when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, I hope I’m not bothering you. May I ask you a question?” An attractive young man stood next to Deuce, awaiting his response.

“If you’re looking for Ace, he’s at the restaurant down the street.” Deuce answered, looking back down at the paper. He had answered this question many times before, on many different islands.

The man tilted his head to the side, looking slightly confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not looking for an Ace.” Deuce looked up once more and gave the man his attention as he continued. “I couldn’t help but overhear in the restaurant that your name is Deuce. I know this is a long-shot, but are you the author of the travel column in the WENP?”

Deuce’s eyes opened wide. He’d never heard his column referenced…well, ever. No one talked about his writing with him, not even on the Moby. It might endanger his column if his readership found out he was a pirate on a Yonko crew, but he wanted to know why the man was asking.

“Ah, yes, actually. That’s me. May I ask why?” The man positively beamed at Deuce.

“Why? Why? You’re the most popular columnist in the newspaper! Everyone reads your articles before the rest of the paper! I can’t believe you are here on our terrible island! Are you going to write about it? Oh, I can’t wait to read what you have to say. I hope you rip this shithole to shreds!” The man was gushing at Deuce, who took a step back at the emphatic statements being declared by the stranger. The man realized his error and looked sheepish.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you when you’re such a busy person. I’m just a huge fan. I’ll leave you alone now.” The man bowed his head slightly, turning his body to leave.

Deuce waved off the man’s comment, and replied with a kind smile “no, no, it’s OK. I’m simply surprised. No one has ever recognized me before.”

“I’m Raoul,” the man said, sticking out his hand. “My friends and I are all obsessed with your writing. Well, everyone is, but us in particular. We read everything you publish. And oh my god, I’m fangirling again. I’m sorry, Deuce.” Raoul was blushing, a cute look for him.

Deuce laughed lightly, and replied “I don’t mind at all, it’s nice to hear that someone out there is reading it. You’ve made my day. And you can call me Deu.”

Raoul took a deep breath, and said “I hope this isn’t too forward, but I’d really like to make your night too. Would you like to come out on a date with me tonight? I’m sure you’re busy, but I know I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t ask.”

Deuce looked at Raoul, who was watching him with hope in his eyes. Deuce hadn’t felt so wanted in a long time. He thought about Ace, flirting and whatever else, right down the street. Well, Deuce didn’t have to wait around for Ace. He could live his life and enjoy it on his own terms, just like Ace wanted them to.

“I’d love nothing more, Raoul. Pick a place and time and I can meet you there.”

Deuce and Raoul coordinated plans for a date later that night and parted ways. Deuce covertly saw him skipping down the street in excitement. Heart lighter, Deuce paid for his newspaper and left the store with a grin.

A few hours later, as he was sitting and reading at a cafe, Ace slumped into the seat across from Deuce. He leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head, and put his hat over his eyes. It looked like he’d tried to wipe lipstick off his face, somewhat successfully. Deuce ignored him.

“Whew, I thought I’d never get away from there! People, man. They just wanted to hear more and more. Had to run away to find you.”

Deuce hummed but didn’t reply, continuing to read. Ace was undeterred.

“Anyway, some of the guys are going to the local pub in a bit. Do you want to join? I’m gonna. I think it could be a fun time.”

“Oh, I can’t. I have a date,” replied Deuce casually.

Ace immediately sat up and leaned forward in his chair, putting his hat back on his head. “A date?! With who?”

“With Raoul.”

“Who’s Raoul?!”

“A fan. We’re meeting up soon actually, I should get going.”

“Your fan? Fan of what? And you don’t know him - what if he’s from another crew? What if it’s a trap and he’s a bounty hunter? This is a bad idea.” Ace had his arms crossed across his tan chest, drumming his fingers against his arm.

“He’s a fan of my writing. I can protect myself. I’m going. See you later, Ace.” With that, Deuce finished the last sip of the coffee in his mug, folded the newspaper, tucked it under his arm and left. It took everything in him not to turn around and see the look of jealousy he knew was on Ace’s face. He could feel the waves of heat coming off of Ace, but that wasn’t his problem. After all, Ace was emphatically not his boyfriend.

~~~

Deuce spent a perfectly wonderful evening with Raoul. They dined, had a few drinks, and engaged in thought provoking conversation. Deuce enjoyed his time on the Moby, but he would be lying if he said he was always intellectually stimulated. Sure, he could talk to Marco, but the first Commander was usually busy and preferred medical literature over everything else. Deuce had dropped out of medical school for a reason - he didn’t want to spend his free time talking about viruses of the Grand Line. There were many other intelligent crewmates to talk to, but he seemed to be the only one interested in writing.

Talking to Raoul was like entering another world. A world in which he wasn’t a pirate, wasn’t a former first mate, wasn’t a healthcare provider, but a journalist. The way Raoul described his columns made Deuce feel fulfilled in a way that he had been searching for his whole life. He wanted to know that people read his work, that they enjoyed it, that they found entertainment or solace in his words. That was what made his heart sing, not fighting or drinking. Deuce didn’t care how many readers he had, just that someone out there was reading what he wrote.

It felt strange to be on a date with someone new - the overwhelming majority of Deuce’s romantic experience had been with Ace. He would be lying if he said he didn’t think about Ace during the date. With Ace, he was always the secondary to Ace’s primary. Ace led them on adventures, and Deuce followed. Ace found places to go, and Deuce joined along. He had even taken his nom de plume as a nod to Ace’s name, erasing his own identity to match his lover’s. Their dynamic usually worked well, with both men filling roles they enjoyed. Ace never treated Deuce like he was lesser, but being out with Raoul made Deuce realize he did carry some resentment towards his former Captain.

With Raoul, Deuce was his own complete person, not defined in relation to someone else. It was boosting his self esteem to be taken seriously as a man of words, something he found himself enjoying. He didn’t know if it was Raoul personally that was causing the feeling, or just the fact that someone was as full of admiration for him - maybe as much as he had for Ace. With that thought, Deuce realized he’d been ruminating on Ace for too long, and focused his mind on enjoying the present. The night went by quickly, and they talked until the restaurant informed them they were closing.

Deuce and Raoul finished their meal and started walking in the moonlight, hand in hand. Deuce walked Raoul back to his house, and was invited in. He thought about it, but gracefully declined. He did, however, take the opportunity to kiss Raoul. Raoul asked if Deuce would be around the following day, and they made plans for another date. After a final goodnight kiss, Deuce left his eager fan.

It was nice, thought Deuce. Kissing someone new was nice. It wasn’t electrifying, or exhilarating, or intoxicating like kissing Ace was. It didn’t consume him whole, leaving him lost in a haze of desire. It didn’t overwhelm his senses until there was nothing in the world except Ace’s lips on his own. It was just nice. He supposed that was good enough for now.

~~~

Heading back towards town, he wanted to see if everyone was still at the bar, drinking. He found the pub and heard familiar voices coming from the inside. He entered and saw his friends carousing together. Joining the fray, he ordered a beer and sat with the others. Apparently, news of his romantic outing had made the rounds, and several crew members asked him about it. Noticeably absent was Ace, who was giving him the stink eye from across the bar. Ignoring the Commander, Deuce shared information about his enjoyable night, including the invitation for another the following day. He drank a few more beers with his comrades, and decided to head back to the boat for the night.

On his walk back, he heard running footsteps catching up with him. He sighed - he knew where this was headed.

“How was your date?” Ace spat at him.

“Lovely. Have another tomorrow.”

“With Raoul?” Ace spat. Ace was being childish and Deu had no patience for it. Deuce gave him a cold look.

“Not really your business.” Deuce wasn’t going to engage in Ace’s jealousy and insecurity. He had set the rules for their non-relationship, not Deuce. Ace couldn’t eat his cake and have it too. Ace was fuming but didn’t say anything else. They parted ways once they were on the ship, still not talking. It was hard - something in Deuce wanted to apologize, even though he had nothing to apologize for. One day at a time.

~~~

The next day, Deuce went back to the island to meet up with Raoul. This time, Raoul had brought his friends, all of whom were excited to meet him. They raved about his writing, his wit, his creativity, and his ability to make or break the reputations of islands with a slash of his pen. They had copies of his columns, which they wanted him to autograph. It was overwhelming, but also quite fun. Some of them were aspiring authors themselves, and begged Deuce to edit and make suggestions on their pieces. Deuce felt a little dazed by all the attention, he wasn’t normally one to favor the spotlight. Raoul’s friends left after a few hours, leaving the two men for their second date. Deuce enjoyed his evening, and this time did accept the offer to continue his conversation with Raoul in his home. He did not return to the ship that night - for the first time since he became a Whitebeard Pirate.

Early the next morning, Deuce left a sleeping Raoul and made his way back. The Moby was leaving soon, and he needed to be on it. The two had parted on good terms, with Raoul promising to save every one of his columns in case Deuce ever wanted them. As the dinghy he was on made its way back to the Moby, he heard Ace yelling. Not a great sign, he thought to himself. He was guessing Ace was also on fire, though he couldn’t see it.

“....CAPTURED BY MARINES!? HOW DO YOU KNOW?”

Deuce heard Marco reply calmly to Ace’s outburst. “I don’t think he was captured by the Marines, yoi. There aren’t any on the island.”

“THEN WHAT IF HE’S HURT?! FLY AROUND AND FIND HIM!”

“He’s not hurt. Look, he’s right there. Safe and sound yoi.”

Ace, who was indeed on fire, quickly looked over the railing of the ship. Deuce waved. Ace glared and stomped off, still aflame.

After coming aboard, Deuce headed to the infirmary for work. Deuce started his day by checking the updated patient charts, browsing through everyone’s progress. Deuce was flipping through a chart, reading about a patient’s improvements when Marco sidled up to him. Marco, ever the busybody, was quick to find him and ask about the previous night. For such a mature man, he thought, Marco sure wanted to have his beak in everyone’s business.

“So, interesting night yoi?” Marco asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“You could say that,” Deuce replied, not putting down the chart. He knew the Commanders were the biggest gossip mongers on board, so he didn’t want to say too much in case it got back to Ace.

“I’ve never seen you spend the night off the ship before.” It looked like Marco wasn’t letting Deuce go without some information.

“A date invited me to stay over, it was nice sleeping on land for a change.”

“Hmm. I thought you and Ace were…staying over together.”

Deuce just shrugged one shoulder with a small frown. He didn’t want to describe to Marco the mechanics of his non-relationship with Ace. Deuce put down one chart and picked up another. Marco looked at him with something akin to pity, ruffled his hair, and walked away.

MARCO POV

Marco watched Ace spontaneously catch fire throughout the day, usually after glancing at Deuce. Deuce, for his part, was ignoring Ace altogether with much more success. Marco was sitting on the deck next to Izou, drinking their afternoon tea together.

“Should we help him? It’s hard to watch,” asked Izou.

“No, this is a good lesson for him to learn,” replied Marco. It was painful to watch Ace make such obvious mistakes, but there was nothing to be done. Some things had to be learned through experience alone.

“And what lesson is that?” Izou said with a sly smile.

“Never take love for granted yoi,” Marco replied, taking Izou’s hand from his tea cup and gently kissing it.

ACE POV

It became a repeating pattern, much to Ace’s dismay and anger. They would go to new islands, someone would recognize Deuce, and talk to him endlessly about his writing. He was asked out for many dates, dinners, drinks, and more. Ace didn’t know how people recognized him, since Deuce’s picture wasn’t printed in the papers, but he was rising rapidly in popularity. Deuce suddenly didn’t have time for Ace, for explorations or adventures, or for their relationship. Truthfully, Ace was jealous of all these fans who were taking up Deuce’s time.

The first time Deuce left the ship for an island without telling Ace, he almost burned the ship down with his untamed feelings. He didn’t know where Deuce was, and it didn’t feel right going to a new location without him. He asked around, but no one knew where Deuce had gone either. Getting increasingly annoyed and worried, he burned hotter and hotter, unable to stop his spiraling emotions. Finally, Marco told him that Deu had left for a date and to calm down because he was scorching the deck with his pacing.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he had tracked Deuce down on the island. Spying on Deuce from afar, he saw Deu laughing with an adoring fan - who had an autographed copy of Deuce’s column in his hand. He realized he hadn’t seen Deuce that joyful since they’d joined the Whitebeard Pirates. It made him feel guilty that he hadn’t noticed Deuce was so unhappy before. He knew medicine wasn’t Deuce’s true passion, but he hadn’t seen that bright look in his eyes for months. Ace knew he wasn’t an intellectual match for Deuce - he never had been. He felt envious of the people who could talk to Deuce about his writing and engage him in that way.

Ace started avoiding Deuce, not out of maliciousness, but because he couldn’t bear seeing him. Seeing Deuce just reminded him of his own failures. Every time he saw Deuce, he thought about how he had messed up their relationship, how Deuce was moving on, and how he had squandered his opportunity with the most significant person in his life. Seeing Deuce reminded him both of the good times they had shared, and that they were no longer having those kinds of adventures together. Ace had even asked Marco for advice, but it only made Ace feel worse.

“Do you think I can get him back?” Ace asked, feeling insecure. He’d found Marco in the Commander’s lounge, reading some book about Grand Line viruses. Marco was in the loop about everything on the ship, so Ace didn’t need to explain who or what he was talking about.

“It depends yoi,” answered Marco cryptically, closing the book to look at Ace.

“Depends on what?” Ace gritted out. Ace never liked word games or mysteries, especially when he was asking for help.

“It depends on whether you’re someone he would want to come back to. Deuce’s most enduring trait is his loyalty. You’ve taken advantage of that and now he might be done. You’ve always acted like he’s a sure bet, someone you can treat as you want but always rely on. But he hasn’t been able to rely on you yoi. So, like I said, it depends.”

Marco’s words hit Ace hard. Ace thanked Marco automatically and left to go think over his words privately in his own room. Laying on his bed, Ace ran his fingers through his hair, trying to relieve his stress. Marco was right, Ace relied on Deuce so much, in so many ways. Deuce was his voice of reason, his cool head, his external source of confidence. Deuce was logical and analytical, able to see alternatives Ace would never think of on his own. When he was uncertain or unsure about any decision, he bounced his ideas off of Deuce. Deu was non-judgemental and thoughtful, kind and reflective. Ace always thought they balanced each other well.

Ace always felt lucky that someone like Deuce would want to talk to someone like him, much less be his lover. Someone as smart as Deuce could do anything, he didn’t have to be a pirate. Deuce had chosen life as an outlaw over a normal civilian life, and Ace felt he owed a lot of his success to Deuce. Ace showed Deuce parts of himself that few people saw - his insecurity, his depression, his issues with self worth. But the reverse was true as well. Deuce was witty, funny, and perceptive. He was reserved, you had to know him well for his true nature to be revealed. Though, Ace supposed, it was now being revealed to the world via his writing. No wonder so many fans wanted Deuce’s attention - they got to see that amazing side of him that had attracted Ace to him in the first place.

He thought back to his arguments with Deuce about their relationship and realized Deuce was right - Ace wanted the emotional and physical connection with Deu, but didn’t want to have to give up anything in return. It was selfish, and it was no wonder Deuce didn’t want to accept it.

Ace didn’t know what to do. He was the one who had rejected an exclusive relationship and was regretting it. He didn’t want to try to close the relationship now, that wasn’t fair to Deuce. Deuce had waited for Ace patiently in the shadows for years, never complaining when Ace got attention. Now that Deuce was the one getting noticed, he didn’t want to seem bitter and spiteful. If Deuce needed other people for his fulfillment, Ace wouldn’t get in his way.

Deuce POV

Deuce knew Ace was avoiding him. Before, even on a ship as large as the Moby, Deuce could always find Ace. They ate meals together or caught each other for a few moments on the deck to chat. Now, it was like Ace had vanished into thin air. Deuce didn’t have the time during the day to go find him, and was too upset to try at night. It seemed like they were going to go their separate ways, without so much as a goodbye.

A few days later, Deuce was taking a break, finishing a draft of a column in Marco’s office. Marco would let Deuce use the cozy room if it was unoccupied, which Deuce greatly appreciated. He felt someone watching him, and looked up to see Ace leaning against the door frame. He waited for Ace to speak first. Ace took off his cowboy hat and fiddled with it in his hands.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” There was awkward tension between them, something Deuce had never felt before.

“I just wanted to say that I’m…I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like an asshole. I, uh, I’ve been jealous.” Ace was uncomfortable expressing himself, and Deuce was surprised to hear the honest confession.

“You’ve been jealous of the attention I’ve been getting?” Deuce asked.

“No, it’s not the attention exactly. I’m happy you’re finally getting noticed. You’re a great writer.”

“How do you know I’m a great writer?” Deuce knew it was an antagonistic thing to say, but he couldn’t stop the acerbic remark from coming out.

“I always read your column. It’s wonderful.” Ace was still fidgeting, but was starting to open up a little more. Deuce hoped that they could have a productive conversation and stop the bad energy between them.

“I didn’t know you read them.” Deuce had never seen Ace look at a newspaper, much less his writing.

“Of course I do. You make our adventures sound so fantastic. It’s like reliving it all over again. You just skip the parts with me in ‘em.”

“Well, yeah. I can’t say that the reason I travel to these places is because I’m a Whitebeard pirate. I wouldn’t get published. But I include what you tell me sometimes, usually about the local bugs.”

“Guess so.” Ace entered Marco’s office and sat on the couch, closing the door behind him. He sat on the couch across from the desk, looking everywhere except Deuce’s face.

“So why are you jealous then? If it’s not the writing, is it the dates? You get tons of attention everywhere we go, and I never say anything.”

“Yeah, I don’t like all the dates and hookups and stuff people invite you to.” Ace was kicking at the rug on the floor of the room, still avoiding Deu’s eyes.

“But, isn’t that what you wanted? To be free to have adventures on the high seas?”

“No. Well, yeah. I thought I wanted that. But I don’t.”

“What do you want then? I can’t read your mind, and I don’t like the way you’ve been acting.”

Ace stood up and crossed over to where Deuce was. He sat slouched over on Marco’s desk, facing Deuce, finally looking him in the eyes. “I just want you. I want you all to myself. I know it’s selfish. I know it’s too late for me, for us. I know I’ve been bad for you. I thought I wanted to have lots of different experiences, with lots of different people. But I don’t. I only want you. Watching you go out with other people has been killing me.”

“...Ace…”

Ace deflated and put his forehead against Deuce’s. Speaking softly now, he continued “No, I know. I don’t deserve to have you back. I wasn’t treating you right. I always thought you’d be there for me, waiting for when I needed you. And when you weren’t…I couldn’t handle it. I know we’re over. You deserve better. And I know you need someone who can talk to you about your work. I know the kind of stuff you want to talk about and I know I can’t give that to you. I just…wish I had realized what we had before. You can go out and do whatever you want. I’ll stop bothering you so much.” Ace started to move away, but was caught by Deuce pulling him back.

“You’re an idiot,” Deuce said flatly.

“Yeah,” Ace said dejectedly, looking down.

“You hurt me a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” Ace whispered.

“I missed you.”

Ace looked at Deuce, searching his face to determine if Deu was lying. “You did? You always looked like you were having so much fun on your dates.”

Deuce tilted his head in curiosity. “And how would you know? Were you following me?”

Ace turned bright red, and said “uh, no, I just…happened to be in the same area a couple times.”

Deuce lightly laughed and said, “You’ve always been such a bad liar. I saw you skulking about, on two different islands. You could have just talked to me about all this. Even the jealousy stuff. You know, communicate.”

“I didn’t know what to say. I want you for myself, but I…I want you to be happy even more than that. I don’t want to hold you back. You’re going to do great things, I can feel it. Even if they’re not with me.”

“They could be.”

“What do you mean?” Ace looked at Deuce skeptically.

“Adventures aren’t as much fun alone or with strangers. I missed you a lot. Not one of those dates was as fun as a single afternoon with you.”

Ace looked up at a softly smiling Deuce. “Would you…take me back?”

“I could be convinced.”

Ace gripped Deuce’s chin with his fingers and angled his face down towards his own. “You won’t regret it. I’m gonna be with you only you… I’ll be… boyfriend…the best boyfriend…I can’t believe you’d let me…I’m so lucky….thank you, I’m gonna -” Ace was babbling, thinking of all the promises he wanted to make to Deuce. Deuce looked fondly at Ace.

“I know,” said Deuce. With that, he closed the distance between them and kissed his lover. His Captain. His partner. His.

#ace x deuce #masked deuce #deuce x ace #ace op #portgas d ace #i'm trying #its a little stiff #that's what he said #angst with a happy ending

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captain-mj · 2 years ago

Note

Can we get a part 2 for that Ghost and Soap muzzle fic I think I started drooling

Of course! Previous part though its not necessary to understand this one

Despite taking the original muzzle with them, Ghost refused. At first, Soap thought he had backed out and he understood. Even if Ghost promised, he'd never ever force him to do anything. Of course he was disappointed, but he let it go.

Ghost asked him to come to his room one night, which wasn't unusual, but he seemed a little nervous.

Soap walked into the room and froze.

Ghost had a new muzzle on. Different leather, black instead of brown, clearly higher quality and it fit better. The studs on them were silver and Ghost was undressed to his underwear. Black boxers that hung to his hips. Pale skin covered in pale pink scarring. He was laying on the bed but propped up on his elbows so they could still make eye contact, as if Ghost was not avoiding it.

"Making good on my promise." Ghost fluttered his pretty eyelashes. The muzzle had fabric that kept the bottom part of his face covered which was devastating before Soap realized that meant it would be used multiple times. "I... just couldn't stomach the old one."

"Simon, if you're uncomfortable," Soap started but Ghost cut him off.

"No, I... I kinda..." He didn't look at him but Soap got it. Maybe other times, he'd tease him for it. Hell, Ghost would definitely tease him for it. But right now, Ghost was undressed, vulnerable and looking very pretty. His hair had grown out recently, but it clearly looked freshly bleached. Soft, almost platinum hair curling around his ears.

Soap moved closer and gently pushed him down into the bed. Ghost looked up at him, skin turning pink.

"You know my boundaries. I trust you." He put his hands above his head like before.

Soap hummed and reached down and off the bed. He found the ropes Ghost usually used to tie him up and grabbed the silk one. "Just your wrists, okay? I love testing your self control, but I'm planning on making you lose it."

Ghost shifted higher up the bed and put his hands next to one of the posts. Soap pretended that was his original idea and quickly Ghost's wrists to it, double looping it a few times to make absolutely sure he couldn't just snap it. The knots were sturdy, but not complicated. Enough Ghost couldn't brute force it but could easily untie.

Ghost stayed silent until Soap pulled his attention back to him. The tiny shuddering breath that came out of him was addicting.

Soap leaned down and kissed his neck, grabbing the muzzle and forcing his head back. Soft, open mouth kisses before he bit down. "Always bruise me up yet you never let me. Rather unfair of you, Lt."

"Johnny..." Ghost sounded entirely to... together. Soap sucked hickeys on to him before moving down, biting at his pecs and feeling him tense. His mortuary scars were sensitive, usually Soap wouldn't touch them at all, not because Ghost would mind, just because he had better places to put his hands. But he had so much time.

He slowly ran his tongue along them and Ghost whimpered. It made Soap's head spin. Still gentle, they were scar tissue after all, he sucked a few hickeys along the large scar on his ribs. Ghost trembled, body arching just a little before he quickly relaxed and went still again.

"Simon."

Soap felt the shuddering breath underneath him, even though he didn't hear it.

"Yes?"

"You're gorgeous."

"Johnny..." Much better. He sounded breathy, bordering on whining.

Soap continued. Not just on Ghost's scars. Any sensitive place he could find really.

Once Ghost's chest felt adequately ravaged, Soap moved down to his thighs. Ghost clamped his legs together as if to keep him from touching him, but as soon as Soap put his hands on him, he spread them again. He ran his nails along his inner thighs, reveling in the soft sound that got from him.

Soap slowly pulled off his boxers, noting how damp they were. Good to know Ghost really was enjoying this. He leaned down and gently kissed the tip of his cock, feeling him jerk just a little. Soap trailed kisses down his cock and darted his tongue out to trace a few of the veins he could see.

Ghost groaned and relaxed, in much more familiar territory. His hips stayed pressed to the bed but there was a strain in them now, a desperate need to stay down. Soap rewarded him by taking all of him and holding him in the back of his throat, sucking softly.

He pulled off with a wet pop. "Simon, shift up on the pillows a little." It was a bit difficult for him but like always, Ghost managed. Soap could now see his face and more importantly, his eyes. Pupils blown and they kept shifting around. Focusing anywhere besides Soap.

"Look at me." Ghost slid his gaze to him, making eye contact. Soap dragged his tongue up his cock, careful to keep it. Well, until Ghost's head tilted back and he came. Soap trailed up and down using his fingers. "Huh. You must've been pent up. Or are you just that sensitive?"

Ghost turned bright red. "My uh... My thighs have always been a bit of a... sensitive area."

"And you never thought to tell me? How mean." Soap grinned ferally. He could see Ghost trying to squirm, either from embarrassment or because Soap was still touching his cock. He leaned down and sucked dark hickeys into his inner thighs, scratching down until he felt Ghost start to pant again. Worked like a charm, he was soon back to being hard and flushed.

"This is why I didn't tell you." Ghost panted out but Soap paid him no mind. He grabbed lube and glanced at Ghost. After a second, he timidly shook his head and Soap nodded. He straddled Ghost and slicked his fingers to start working himself open. Unlike before, he took his time, hand splayed on Ghost's chest. They kept staring at each other and he could see the tendons in Ghost's neck from how hard he was clenching his jaw. Every muscle in his arm tensing and for a brief moment, Soap thought he might just snap the post. But it held firm.

Soap pulled his fingers out, wiping the lube on Ghost's chest who immediately huffed at him. He slid down on him, groaning at the delicious stretch.

"Wish I could kiss you right now."

"You could take it off?" Ghost grumbled.

"Nah. I like this too much. You, unable to do anything other than take. Finally letting me take care of you, ya bastard." He took his time. Careful to keep control. It took a longer amount of time than he was expecting, betting on overstimulation and desperation to get to Ghost, but Ghost did start to crack. His hips jerked up and he let out more of those adorable whimpers. At one point, he even yanked the ropes as if they'd snap.

Soap slid his hand up and then around his throat, watching Ghost's eyes widen as he stared at him. He didn't apply pressure at first. But then Ghost bared his throat to him and gave the smallest nod and Soap put both his hands there, squeezing just enough for Ghost to feel the pressure. Ghost swallowed and Soap could feel his throat bobbing under his hands.

Ghost growled and tried to press into him more. Into his hands, into his body, into him. Chasing what Soap was dangling in front of him. He taunted him a little more, lifting up slightly so he couldn't do much. Soap laughed at the snarl that got out of him.

"Feral huh?" He leaned down and kissed Ghost's temple. Ghost stared at him helplessly. Both so angry and so desperate and so wanting.

Soap couldn't help himself. He started to ride him hard and fast, squeezing his throat every time he felt him bottom out. Ghost's eyes glazed over and all the tension relaxed but he never quite took his gaze off Soap.

Soap finished first, all over Ghost's pretty chest. He made a gorgeous picture. Pale skin covered in red and purple bruises and teeth marks now marred with white. He'd need to draw this later. Maybe now. Ghost would probably let him. He completely ignored that his own thoughts were getting fuzzy and that he was struggling to keep a rhythm, focusing only on how gorgeous his lover looked.

Ghost came silently, the only real indication being the feeling of it inside Soap. He looked at him lazily and Soap quickly cut the rope. He slid the muzzle off, noticing it didn't leave marks like the last one. He rubbed at his skin anyway. Ghost made something akin to a purring noise.

"Absolutely perfect."

"Johnny." Ghost said sweetly.

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #soap call of duty #johnny soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #simon riley

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starsinmylatte · 1 year ago

Note

Could we please get Q, S, Z for the smut headcanon game? Thank you!! -💌 (shy anon)

Of course, my darling!

Original smut headcanon post here

Other Letters I've answered here: E, M, and W

Warnings: size diff if you squint, pred/prey dynamics

Q: Quiet (Reaction to a quiet partner)

Oh, I could so see Thrawn teasing a quiet partner with things designed to draw small gasps and whimpers from their kiss-swollen lips. He would love a quiet partner just as much as a more vocal one, relishing any and all of their reactions, no matter how faint.

There are times that he does try to see how loudly he can make them call his name, though.

He feels so large, so solid and strong beneath his lover that it's practically unfair. Thrawn's thick cock stuffs them so well that it should be a sin. They bite their lip to muffle a moan as he rocks his hips slowly, but deliciously. "thrawn...." Their head lolls back in bliss as his strong hands move their hips in time with his thrusts. "What was that, darling?" He teases, voice low and husky as he repeats the motion. In no time at all, they are practically singing his name.

S: Safe Word (How often is the safe word used? Why?)

So, I do think Thrawn gets up to some kinky shit, but it is always 1000% safe, consensual, and adequately discussed beforehand. The very last thing he wants to do is actually hurt his lover or do something they wouldn't enjoy.

There would absolutely be an established safeword, but it's probably rarely used, if at all, because he's so thorough with establishing soft and hard limits.

However, if the safe word is used, everything stops immediately with absolutely no questions or protests whatsoever.

Z: Zoo (Their animalistic qualities in the bedroom)

I am incredibly excited about this one because, BOY, DO I HAVE OPINIONS ABOUT THIS.

When I say Thrawn can go feral, I mean feral. He was stranded on a planet more than once, and the first time had to hunt and literally fight nature for his own survival. At times, there's a wild, untamed man vying to break through Thrawn's collected, pristine demeanor, and that side of him longs to hunt and claim and fuck.

If you were into it, he'd get up to some true predator/prey dynamics and literally hunt you through a forest. It would be a game to see how long you can hide from him, and how your survival skills stack up against his own.

Of course, it will be the sweetest prize when Thrawn inevitably pins you against a tree. He growls, nipping the tender pulse point of your neck as he shreds your clothes. He absolutely ravishes your body, pinning you against the tree to take you once and then fucking you again on the forest floor as your hands claw for purchase against the leaves.

His voice is so thick with his native accent that at one point he fully reverts to speaking Cheunh, growling it in your ear as he wrings every drop of pleasure from your body.

#lyria responds #💌 anon #blue man hot #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #lyria rambles #star wars #thrawn x reader #chiss #mitth'raw'nuruodo #star wars fan fiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut

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animezinglife · 2 months ago

Note

Sending this here because I didn't want to clutter that post.

I won't get mad at you for having an opinion different than mine 😂 don't worry.

I guess your opinion of Hazelwood is like mine with Colleen Hoover. She's just not for me.

Also my main issue with SJM is that she seems to have no idea where Acotar is going anymore. She takes too long between books and then forgets the original thought she'd had. She keeps changing her mind and retconning things.

Also if you have any romance book recs , I'd love to take a look.

I'm glad, and likewise! I've gotten a lot better over time in terms of pickiness towards books, and I fully acknowledge that there are two different types of "good" books: books that someone loves and enjoys, and books that are genuinely well-written. Ideally, those overlap, but not always.

I think my issue is more with the idea that seems to be prevalent that SJM somehow "is" fantasy, or that her books are at all an accurate representation of the genre when that simply isn't true. There's room in the genre for different types, but I personally can't look at someone who's only ever read SJM and call them a fantasy reader--they aren't. They're a Sarah J. Maas reader.

I had to switch to audiobooks to overlook her grammar and punctuation errors. Again, that's something an editor should be helping with, and I can't understand why better quality work isn't being done. All writers make errors--none are perfect. Yet there isn't an excuse for the volume of them in her books given the resources at her disposal and investment publishing companies have made in them.

The lack of consistency also frustrates me. I don't understand why she "undoes" so much without providing appropriate context or reason, and for me, that even comes down to the fundamentals of the story. This could be helped somewhat with adequate worldbuilding, yet when it comes down to it, even the Night Court could at best be described as, "Whatever Feyre and Rhys want it to be." Or, it's culturally/politically whatever the plot needs it to be at that specific moment.

ACOWAR felt like the end of the series to me, so I think you bring up a good point with her not knowing where to take the story anymore. Maybe she does, and maybe she doesn't. There's always been a lot of aimless writing throughout the series, and each book could easily be cut down about two hundred pages without losing any substance or necessary detail.

There's a lot of room for complexity and intrigue she simply never digs into.

What are the consequences for the bargains being made (besides the short-sighted death pact)?

What do the people of Night truly think about a twenty-one-year-old human girl who became High Fae yesterday being made their High Lady?

What is the depth of the impact of Feyre's and Tamlin's actions to the survivors in Spring? Their lives were uprooted because their High Lord made stupid decisions and their lives were worsened because of a messy breakup.

SJM does deliver on the romance between Feyre and Rhys. I wasn't as sold on Nesta and Cassian (even if I love Cass). I'm curious to see what she will do with either Elain and Lucien or Elain and Azriel (or Azriel and Gwyn).

Aside from the first book (which, let be real, was completely unnecessary given the direction things took), the romances aren't at all my issue with her writing. The worldbuilding has always been an issue: there's no grounding, technology makes no sense, and fashion seems completely random in Night.

The retconning is inexcusable. It's very clear to me that regardless of what she says, she had very different plans for Tamlin at the start of the series. I always thought he and Feyre had no chemistry and that the whole thing felt forced, but she gave no such indication of awareness in the book. Feyre, in my opinion, immediately had more chemistry with Rhys, and while I think it was obvious something was inevitably going to happen between them, SJM took the easiest routes possible for herself (story be damned) and made Tamlin a mindless villain.

Did I ever like Tamlin? No.

Did I think he and Feyre needed to be together at any point? Definitely not.

Do I think he deserved to be written better and for his character to be given more nuance after spending an entire book with him? Absolutely.

I'm worried about what she'll do with Lucien, Elain, and the Autumn Court. Lucien has been my favorite from the beginning--I joked early on about him being exhausted from carrying all of Prythian and the entire first book on his back. Elain has tremendous potential in her own right, and so does the Autumn Court.

I would actually rather see SJM slow down in her writing. I think the speed shows when the story and characterization becomes messy and careless.

Recommendations

It depends on the type of romance you'd want. Carissa Broadbent is the complete opposite and not only digs into multifaceted characters, complex political systems, and intricate psychology, but she pretty much never comes up for breath. Each book in every series she writes gets better as it goes along. My favorite is her Crowns of Nyaxia series, but The War of Lost Hearts (an earlier series of hers) certainly checks the high fantasy worldbuilding boxes on a entirely different level. Every point that I feel SJM misses, Carissa nails.

Be warned: she will gleefully make you question quite a bit about your own morality.

It's not strictly fantasy romance, but Katherine Arden is also excellent in both prose, character complexity, nuance, and worldbuilding (the same strengths Carissa shares). I recommend The Winternight Trilogy.

If you're looking for something quirkier with a wildly twisted sense of humor, T. Kingfisher's Paladin's Grace is a great option. Her characters are also in their thirties/early forties in The Saint of Steel series. There are a few typos I recall seeing and the (obviously) intentional use of run-ons during humorous action scenes. The first two books are great. I did want more out of the third one, personally.

I recently read The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst and can say I will gladly pick up more of her books in the future. She has a lovely, gentle command of language, and this book in particular is the definition of cozy. The romance is light, but it's very sweet. This is a whimsical read perfect for a cottagecore crowd. I will say while I felt the last act wasn't as strong as the rest, it was still more than worth the read.

I haven't yet read Hoover, but I've heard quite a few similar opinions. At the end of the day, something not being for us doesn't mean we're against the author's success or bashing anyone else's opinions. It often means we either value different things in books or our opinions have been formed through different experiences.

#answered #thank you for being so civil #I hope this reads the same way #none of this is hate

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illegiblewords · 5 months ago

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Current on MSQ for Dawntrail! No spoilers, I did enjoy it a lot and actually think it's structurally stronger than Endwalker.

Not perfect--imo the Scions and WoL in particular seriously lacked development. Two pitfalls I've seen in characterization with more experienced creators have been treating characters like 'voices of reason' (so they're presumed right about basically anything they say) and defining characterization off of external conflict. So when that conflict isn't there, the person has no idea who the character is or how else they could possibly grow and change. It looks like that may be happening with WoL and Scions imo, and shit's frustrating because it's not necessary when they all have underutilized angles to explore. I am still very sure Lahabrea is returning imminently so it's not like I don't have any idea where the story could go in the future lol. I do think Square Enix has been pretty bad about pacing that overall though, contributed mainly by Endwalker. As a follow-up to defeating the cosmic incarnation of existential despair, saving a person and going more intimate would be a beautiful follow-up imo. But in the meantime, it feels like there are some insane missed opportunities with the Scions and Warrior of Light like I said. Endwalker felt like SE was rushing on the one hand, and on the other didn't know how to organize to have enough time to adequately address everything they wanted to at the quality level they wanted to. Dawntrail I think they told a really lovely story for Tural (and everything around Plan 9), foiled phenomenally with what preceded and sets the stage for what I anticipate. I really love everything surrounding Mamook. I like Wuk Lamat and think she radiates shonen hero energy lol. I'm not surprised some people don't like her but also you can't please everyone and I think she's very well constructed as a character so fuk da haterz. While I'm still living in Lahaland, if people don't do Wuk Lamat/Sphene what is even the point of fandom really? I have seen the Bakool Ja Ja thirsting. I am not thirsting, but find it hilarious and say godspeed to people who are. Do think Bakool Ja Ja is a good character.

When a certain character was killed because their opponent had a spare life, I was basically screaming at the screen LET ME FIGHT I CAN TAKE HIM. DON'T JUST STAND THERE LET ME DO IT I'VE KICKED THE ASS OF EVERY GOD. THIS IS AN INVASION YOU DON'T NEED ME IN RESERVE JUST LET ME NAIL THIS RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW. I weep for Lalafell mothers everywhere giving birth to human-sized babies.

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lemonhemlock · 7 months ago

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now i will preface this by saying i want to have better quality costumes as much as anyone & i always enjoy seeing ideas for redesigns, but i wish people would stop blaming the costume department for anything they don't like. you have no idea about their working conditions, how many costumes they had to produce in a short amount of time, from sketching to execution to fittings, what materials they had available etc. hotd having a big budget doesn't automatically translate into the costume department having the necessary money or staff to fulfill those expectations. seeing a dress that isn't fitted to perfection and assigning that blame completely in the costumers' direction is a little short-sighted, i think

before you open your mouth to slag off someone's work, think:

are these craftspeople even getting paid enough? are they even adequately staffed?

do they have a reasonable amount of time to produce these many costumes, for principal and background actors, or are they working round the clock and trying to meet impossible deadlines?

do they have the money to order the materials they need or the time for said fabrics to be shipped?

do they have time to get them perfectly fitted on the actors' frame or are they working based on communicated measurements and a dream?

do they have the opportunity to do screen tests, to see how the materials and colours look on screen and change them if it's not giving the desired effect?

#i get criticism when the show is set in one time frame and the silhouettes are completely off for that time and place #or if the designs have no logical connection to the setting in a fantasy work for instance #i'm not saying you have to pretend to like the results #but for cost/time-cutting shortcuts you're gonna have to blame the executives not the workers #same with animation #house of the dragon #hotd costumes #costumes

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justalonelyslytherin · 1 year ago

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Legacies | Eleven

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Kazansky!OC

Summary: The time for the mission has come. While the team risks their life, coming too close to death, Jake is left to deal with the guilt his reaction left him with.

Warnings: military inaccuracies, mentions of dying, mentions of parental death/parental loss, mentions of killing someone in combat, air combat, dealing with the aftermath of it

Wordcount: 3.1k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don’t allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. I ALSO DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR THE USE OF AI IN ANY OF MY WORKS! Please don’t steal my work.

A/N: I already mentioned it in another chapter, but I think now the time has come to permanently implement and switch to a bi-weekly update schedule. One week is just too little for me to adequately write the chapters (to my standards) without stressing myself out. I'm going to try to stick with the update times but if needed I'll postpone it for the sake of good quality content.

Taglist: open, message me or comment to be added, will be put as reblog

True to his words Ana didn’t return to the base following the funeral. But contrary to them, Hangman wasn’t happy with the situation.

It bothered him.

His anger toward her had long vanished, leaving behind dread and a new annoyance focused solely on himself and his stupid actions.

Mixing with it was the feeling of irritation he felt now that she was missing. It felt different without her there. They were missing one person in their group and everyone was well aware of it. Hangman perhaps most of them all.

Never before in his life had he been so affected by the lack of one's presence. The moment she’d been officially taken out of the lineup for the mission he’d nearly stormed out of the room. Guilt and shame fought to overtake him. To no little part he’d been at fault for her absence, he was well aware of it.

Even though his rational thinking wanted to tell him that the loss of her father was reason alone to sit out a mission with such dire stakes, where even one millisecond of distraction could cost one’s life, the other parts of his brain screamed at him.

Your fault.

It bothered Hangman. More than he’d ever admit and more than he could ever possibly hide. Her absence left a gaping hole unable to be otherwise filled. It felt different without her there. Empty.

In the days to follow he’d been an emotional wreck. Constantly irritable, tense, and snippy. A fuse so short anyone breathing in his direction was bound to set him off. He dangled on a dangerous path toward exploding at any moment.

Not even his otherwise impermeable cocky attitude, the mask he had built up so meticulously, could hide his true emotions. For the first time since he became Hangman, his walls weren’t enough.

None of the others could be blamed for his irritability. Once more it was his own fucking fault. He, all alone, was to blame for it. And perhaps that was what made it this bad. Well aware of his role in the dilemma, Hangman couldn’t help but still be upset about it.

If he was honest with himself he had never been angry at her, not directly. He’d been angry with the situation. Not understanding it and on top of it misinterpreting it. On any other occasion he would have forgotten it, let it be, and moved on. But he couldn’t.

He could not move on from this.

Not with Ana.

He couldn’t do that to her and he couldn’t do it to himself. But there also wasn’t any way for him to fix it. Not right now.

Not when he was in the middle of the ocean, stuck on an aircraft carrier, bound for the most dangerous mission of his life.

Yet all he could think about was the woman he’d wronged so horribly.

“It's been an honor flying with you.”

It was an entirely new experience for him. Being distracted. Unable to focus solely on the mission. Never once in his entire career had that happened to him. No, that wasn’t entirely true. It had happened once, early on, and nearly cost him the career that had been just in the wings.

That’s when he’d been still Jake Seresin in the navy, not yet Hangman, which had soon after changed. He’d made up his mind. Nothing and more importantly no one would ever distract him from his dreams, from the career that had almost ended before it had even started.

“Each one of you represents the best of the best.”

For nearly ten years, he’d lived after this principle, becoming Hangman but also becoming perhaps the best naval aviator of his generation and the only one on active duty to have a confirmed kill.

“Choose your two foxtrot teams.”

As new and unusual the sensation was, he’d tried to keep on track. Stubbornly he’d commanded his thoughts back to the mission, punished himself for any stray thought by reading the mission briefings, the F-18 manual.

“Payback and Fanboy. Phoenix and Bob.”

It didn’t work. Not as good as he’d liked for it. He was distracted enough for it to be noticeable.

“And your wingman.”

Green eyes focused forward as he braced himself for the pick. He’d been sure to have the spot in the pocket the moment he’d set foot in San Diego. The moment he’d seen them, first Rooster waltzing into the Hard Deck in civilian clothes and then shortly after Ghost at the bar, he’d known they were his competitors. The three of them.

They’d been the frontrunners for the position of mission leader. And had it been him from that night in the Hard Deck two-ish weeks ago standing here in the hangar now, he’d been just as sure of having the spot of wingman too. Present-time Hangman wasn’t so sure of it.

Maverick stared straight ahead, jaw tense and eyes full of a sadness and misery he’d never seen in their instructor's eyes. Not even on the day of the funeral. Maverick had been filled with sadness, grief, and loss. There had been an acceptance in his eyes that day, now he looked torn, refusing to acknowledge the present, the reality of what lay before them but more importantly the difficult decision that lay immediately before him.

“Rooster.” Mavericks' voice was dismal as if he’d predestined an awful fate over them.

To his great surprise, Hangman wasn’t surprised not to have been chosen. In a way, he’d already known it. He wasn’t ready, wasn't good enough for it.

Not in the technical sense. Ana’d been right. He wasn’t enough of a team player for the mission. It was where Rooster excelled, surpassing him miles ahead.

The Hangman – the Jake – at the beginning of the training, not even three weeks ago, would have reacted differently. Disappointment still filled him, but the Jake then would have not been able to accept it. He wouldn't have been able to see the fault in his ways, to admit his fault.

A small and twisted part of his mind hollered that he’d deserved it for wronging Ana.

He knew that Maverick hadn’t chosen him for apparent reasons. His inability to be a team player and the lack of attention in the last days more than clear to see for everyone had cost him the spot, had he ever had it at one point. Maverick had said it himself: My choice reflects that and nothing more.

Outside on the deck the blonde waited for Rooster. They weren’t friends, yet Hangman didn’t want to let him leave for the mission without having spoken to him first.

He hoped that the brunette was ready. That he and Maverick could work together, jump over their shadow to fly the mission. Both had been limited, held back by their shared past – whatever it entailed – too caught up with their demons to realize what was needed for the mission.

Rooster was surprised, coming face to face with him. Stopping in his stride the two men stood across another. The brunette looked at him questioningly. Under the observant, guarded look all words Hangman had carefully laid out in the last couple of minutes left him all at once.

His tongue was tied, clued to the bottom of his mouth. Suddenly his lips felt dry and his throat had closed down entirely.

“You give ‘em hell!” He managed to utter, voice strained and close to cracking. Hangman wasn’t even sure if Rooster had heard him over the noise of the jets. Rooster’s eyes followed him, burning into his side until he was past the brunette.

“Dagger one is hit! I repeat, Dagger one is hit!

Maverick is down.”

Phoenix’s crackly words coming over the radio comms sent a shockwave similarly big to the blast of the SAM hitting, through Hangman’s body. A shot of pure electricity raced up his spine, culminating in a deafening, mind-numbing sensation as the shock settled over him.

Over the comms followed Rooster’s stricken and panicked calls, requesting for their team leader to respond, to show any sign of life.

There was no response.

This couldn’t be happening. Maverick was the most qualified out of them all, the one with the least chance of crashing or getting hit, yet out of all of them it had been him.

No, actually it was him who was most likely to be hit. Maverick made it clear from the beginning that he’d protect his wingman, that he’d protect Rooster just as much as he would every other aviator under him.

For it to actually happen was entirely different from the possibility of the scenario.

“Comanche. Bandits inbound. Single group, hot. Recommend dagger flow south. One minute to intercept.”

Still no sign of Maverick, not even a parachute. Jake's teeth were grinding on another, back ramrod straight, hands balled into fists. Here he sat, strapped into his jet, on short standby to aid them. Why wasn’t he in the air with them?

His breath came in uneven, short bursts. Entirely contrary to how he was taught to stay calm and unaffected. Entirely opposite to how Hangman should act. How everyone expected him to act. Damn them, damn everyone. Damn the stupid fate.

Jake refused to believe that they could lose Maverick this easily. If his legendary exploits were anything they showed that to get rid of this man, death himself would have to step up and lead him to the gates of the afterlife. He refused to believe that they wouldn’t come back with everyone on their team from this mission. He refused to accept Maverick being gone.

They hadn’t lost him.

She couldn’t have lost him. Not another one. Ghost had just lost her father. If she now lost Maverick too, how would that wreck her?

She’d already suffered too much, much of it at the hands of him and Jake wouldn’t let her suffer even more, wouldn’t let her have to grieve another person. Even if that meant he had to go get Maverick on his own.

Jake scrambled, reaching for his mask.

“Dagger Spare requests permission to launch and fly air cover.”

With bated breath and furrowed brows, hands ready to clasp his mask on entirely and get ready for take-off he waited for a response from the control room.

“Negative, spare.”

Disappointment and anger flushed him. Jake scrunched his face in annoyance, mask dropping to dangle down his side.

“Damn it.”

His balled fist hit the top of his thigh in anger. Sinking down back in his seat, the straps strained against his chest. It hurt, the space tight as his heart clenched in pain. Pain for Maverick and Ana.

Touching down with the jet back onto the deck felt great. But not even the euphoria and the adrenalin kick after the successful albeit close-cut mission could keep his thoughts of Ana away.

The high that had swept over him after shooting down the fifth-gen fighter and thus saving Maverick and Rooster came to a plummet the moment Hangman climbed down his jet.

His feet hit the deck, flight crew rushed all around him to aid Maverick and Rooster for their return. Eyes scanning the moving crowds where the duo seaters had gathered after coming back with the rest of the team, he stopped abruptly, a deep frown forming on his face.

Too late did he realize the person he was looking for wasn’t even on the ship. He was looking for her – subconsciously – to share the excitement, the high of the win, the success they had worked so hard for.

She wasn’t there and it may well have been his fault entirely.

All at once the euphoria of the mission, the relief that Maverick had survived the crash and both him and Rooster the following chase back to the carrier, his second shot down, it all seemed hollow and meaningless. None of it brought joy anymore.

Hangman felt guilty, he felt angry, and sad. And on top of that the realization, just as it had happened the first time, that he had taken the life of another person – another human – perhaps a guiltless one and for certain a life the same as those of his colleagues, like his, swept over him. The weight of it crashed into him full front, nearly taking him off his feet.

His breath grew heavy and labored, each intake harder than the last as a mechanical vice wrapped around his torso and squeezed him tighter and tighter. He couldn’t breathe and it made him dizzy.

Smoke from the wrecked F-14 drifted over the deck, the flight crew littered the space around the jet. Maverick and Rooster. He had to make sure they were actually alright. With shaky, unsteady legs Jake started to march, quickly transitioning into a jog toward the crowd, weaving his way through the cheering figures until he stepped up to Rooster.

With every step from his jet he’d gradually forced himself to appear calm and collected, even though the sweat trailed down his skin in heaps, it stung in his eyes and left a salty taste on his lips. By the time he stood in front of the brunette nothing but the slight flaring of his nostril indicated his troubled mind.

Jake was genuinely glad Maverick and Rooster appeared to be alright. The brunette, even with what had happened shortly before the mission with Ana, grinned at him. It was a grin that – for the short moment of it – made him forget the horrible guilt running through every cell of his body.

A relieved grin brightened atop his face as they looked at each other, Jake ultimately holding his hand out to him to shake. In congratulations. Rooster took the hand, shaking it.

“You shot yourself another kill.”

Although well-meaning, the words left an aching pang in his chest, his grin momentarily dimming.

Remember who you are.

And so, with another grin, even brighter now and entirely Hangman, he answered “That makes two.”

While everyone else was still swapped up in the celebration of the successful mission, Jake had withdrawn inside. Somewhere quieter, somewhere he could be alone.

In his hand lay his phone now. All his thoughts had centered on Ana once more after he quelled the rising panic in him. Her contact opened on the dim screen in front of him, he had his thumb hovering over the call button.

For the last ten minutes, he’d been stuck in this position. Going between hovering over the icon and changing his mind. To call her or not to call her. What would he say if he did?

Before he could pull through or back down Jake was startled. Rooster appeared along the hallway, coming towards him. He quickly put his phone down, locking the device, its screen turning black. Not fast enough.

“If you think she’d even answer you are mighty stupid.”

The words were clipped and strained. Nothing of the friendliness, the truce between them, was left. Rooster now eyed him with open animosity, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“The only reason I haven’t killed you for what you did to her was the mission. Regulations may keep me from doing anything right now but don’t think I won’t take the chance once we are off this damn ship.”

Gradually Rooster’s voice had become more furious and resentful. Not that Hangman could blame him for it.

“You had no right to say this to her. Who the hell do you think you are, to accuse her of something that doesn’t even concern you–”

The realization came over him like a wave. Of course, how didn’t he realize that Rooster must have known from the beginning? As close as the two of them were.

“–Not like you are going to have anything to do with her after this mission. You like shooting people down, don’t you?”

Seething jealousy filled him at the thought that Rooster had known all along. “You done now? I get it. I was an asshole and I made a huge mistake. I was already regretting it before you had to rub it in.”

Jealousy was an ugly thing, almost as rotting as his hurt had been at the funeral, he added as if it was entirely blasé “Why do you even care so much?”

“Because she is family. The Kazansky’s have been there for nearly my entire life. I’ll be damned if I let you hurt her even more.”

With every word, Rooster came closer to him. Dangerously close. Now they stood nose to nose, with the slightly taller brunette staring down at him murderously.

For a moment Jake wasn’t sure if Rooster would do something more, go against regulation, and beat him up here and there. Instead, Rooster walked past him, shoulder bumping harshly into his.

That night, long after the mission when they were already on their way back to home port, Jake was lying in his bunk.

The dim, blueish glow of his phone lit up the confined space. Opened was a chat window. An empty one.

A lengthy message was already typed out in the little box, the obnoxious arrow taunting him to send it off. Just as with the call button, his thumb hovered over the arrow.

It would take little effort for him to send the message off. His eyes jumped up to the name on top of the window.

Ghost.

In the end he deleted the message.

#legacies #hangman x oc #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x oc #hangman x reader #jake seresin x kazansky!oc #jake seresin x kazansky!reader #hangman seresin imagine #jake hangman seresin x oc #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman top gun #hangman seresin #top gun maverick fanfic

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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 years ago

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Love to Spare - Part 5 (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Fluffy, friendship, angsty feelings! GIF by me Word count: 2k Part 4 Part 6 Masterpost Author's Note: Am I the terrible person that wrote Part 5 to be so long that I had to split it in half and now this will be 7 parts? Yes, I am that person. But it's all written - it's done. For real. 7 parts.

Summary: A season of suitors and a night at the opera.

You were an hour late in meeting Sir Edgar, having lost yourself in conversation with Benedict. You told him about your plans to teach and write and how they had been dashed by your family’s financial situation. He was sympathetic and supportive, his kind eyes sparkling as you spoke. When you asked him about his dreams in turn, he told you of his love for art, his penchant for sketching, and his hopes to distinguish himself with some kind of career. He was funny and inquisitive, listening so attentively that it was easy to open up to him despite barely knowing him. Where Anthony listened to you with all the insights of a clever colleague, Benedict seemed to listen with his whole heart.

Your subsequent conversation with Sir Edgar while strolling through the park was comparatively less stimulating. You spoke about your mutual acquaintances and the latest gossip of the ton, but neither of you turned inward to speak about yourselves in any meaningful way. You had the impression he was not the sort to even think to ask. Everything seemed very simple about him; simply pleasant, simply adequate, friendly and polite but lacking in passion. You convinced yourself that this could be a good quality in a husband. Someone who was quietly dependable, stable and calm, not prone to anger or jealousy or strong opinions.

Two days later you received a parcel containing a small note and scroll of canvas tied with a blue ribbon. The note read:

I’m sure your home is filled with bouquets from suitors, but here is something to enjoy once they all wilt.

It was unsigned. Unfurling the canvas, you saw it was an oil painting of blue hydrangeas, bursting with color. Lining one stem were small, squiggled initials, ‘BB’. You displayed it beside Sir Edgar’s bouquet of roses, which were already turning black and shriveled, and felt something odd in your stomach each day when you admired it. But you didn’t send any reply, or acknowledge the gift when you later saw Benedict. You didn’t want to entertain any advance he may have intended with it.

Over the next several weeks, your parade through the ton and its annual events continued. You were guided through balls and garden parties, concerts and promenades, steered by Anthony into the company of Sir Edgar whenever he was present. You danced and chatted with other gentlemen who showed interest. Three of them even called upon you at home and left trinkets of affection, but Sir Edgar remained the least objectionable. You surmised that there wasn’t much objection because there wasn’t much of anything really. When a man said so little, there was little to take issue with.

Always on the fringes of your outings were Anthony’s brothers, Benedict and Colin. As your acquaintance deepened, you found that despite their similar appearance, their personas were very distinct. If Anthony was strength, Benedict was beauty. He always found ways to inject moments of joy into boring affairs; sneaking you glasses of champagne, or pulling you away from Sir Edgar to show you a vivid painting around a corner, or introducing you to acquainted academics, writers, and artists. You noticed that Colin often preceded him, calling Anthony away on some urgent matter just before Benedict appeared. You followed along in good humor, laughing on the edges of ballrooms, joining the Bridgertons at their picnic spot in the park, and debating artistic license with Benedict at each gallery opening.

You consistently had to remind yourself that this was a friendship, just like the one you had with Anthony. But you couldn’t deny that each time you saw Benedict, something tugged within you, like a magnet within your chest pulling you in his direction. Try as you might to ignore such feelings, they could overwhelm you when your guard was down. Sometimes at night when you were falling asleep, hovering on the edge of consciousness, you would find yourself saying his name. You savored it on your tongue like a sweet you had stolen just for yourself to enjoy. Then in the morning you would chastise yourself, reminding yourself of all Sir Edgar’s good qualities and how he met your and Anthony’s criteria for a practical choice of husband.

Things progressed this way through the first half of the season. You knew matters with Sir Edgar were escalating when he insisted on holding your hand throughout an entire performance at the opera. It was the greatest affection he had yet shown and though perhaps a bit awkward, you supposed it was sweet in its own way. But you were distracted by the fact that the singer on stage was Anthony’s paramour, and you had a clear view of him in his family’s box above, looking as if he wanted to eat her alive. Whether that was passion or anger you couldn’t be sure, they were so entangled with those two. Just before the show ended, you saw him slip out of the box and disappear.

When crowds began to mingle in the foyer, Sir Edgar gave you a wide smile and stepped away to speak with your mother. You knew, without a doubt, that a proposal was imminent. Even though this was the intended outcome of your courtship, you suddenly felt yourself gripped with nerves. You wanted to speak with Anthony while your mother and suitor were planning your future nearby. His reassurance would put you at ease. You began to search for him in the hallways leading back toward the stage.

You heard Anthony before you saw him, one of three shouting voices echoing around a corner. Turning, you saw that he and the singer were yelling at each other over the shoulders of a large stagehand positioned between the two of them like a wall. The giant of a man was barking at Anthony to leave and looked about ready to trounce him. You felt certain that your presence was the only thing that stopped him because once the group saw you, they fell quiet. With a snarl, Anthony turned on his heel and began marching back toward you, nostrils flaring as he heaved with anger.

“Anthony,” you chased after him.

“Not now, dammit!” He snapped. You both rounded the corner into an empty hall and he paused, looking at you with remorse though he was still panting with frustration. “I’m sorry.” His voice was anguished. “Y/f/n, I’m sorry.”

He was in no state to counsel you about your engagement, that was clear. You hated seeing him like this. You hated that his dalliance caused such maelstroms of emotions within him. But you had grown used to these moods, and you knew how to treat them.

“Anthony,” You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Take a breath and take yourself home. And don’t open a bottle until you get there.”

Exhaling heavily, he nodded in gratitude. “Will you come and join me, once you leave here?”

You almost reflexively said yes, but stopped yourself. The consequences of being seen alone with him at his home were significantly greater now that you could no longer be dismissed as just his solicitor’s daughter. You were a lady in society, and you had a serious suitor no less. A suitor who was waiting for you in the next room. You just then began to consider the impact your marriage would have upon your friendship with Anthony. Your meetings for brandy and banter would have to decrease if not stop altogether, as your time would be devoted to your husband. You didn’t know how you could continue to seek the comfort from each other that had become so reliable over the years. Now you felt even more conflicted about a proposal, a layer of sadness added to your nerves.

“I don’t know that it would be appropriate now, my lord.” You said sadly, reminding him of your stations. “I am spending the evening with Sir Edgar.”

He looked up at you, all of the same realizations clearly sinking in as his eyes grew somber. He nodded tightly. “Of course.”

“I will see you at tomorrow’s ball. Please take care of yourself.” You released him with a weak smile. His eyes full of pain, he returned a small bow, then walked briskly to a side door.

You wanted to stay with him. To try to convince him, once again, to find a new mistress and leave the drama of the opera singer behind, even knowing he wouldn’t do it. But your own love life and future were taking precedence that night. You each had your own feelings to sort, and could not do so together. You knew you’d have the opportunity to speak with him the next day.

Crossing the foyer back to your mother, Benedict suddenly emerged beside you.

“Miss y/l/n! Have you seen my brother? Our mother is looking for him and naturally I am the one dispatched to retrieve him.” He flashed his tireless smirk.

You fought the little jolt within that you felt every time you saw him. “He has left for the night. I believe you’ll find him at his apartments.”

He frowned as he read your expression. “Is something wrong?”

You knew he was asking about Anthony, but you wanted to divulge all of your own feelings. You knew he would have listened. But with him being part of the reason you felt so odd about an impending engagement, you couldn’t say anything. “It’s not for me to say. But you should go to him.” If you could not be with Anthony, at least he could. “Be gentle with him, Mr. Bridgerton. Brandy and indirect questions should do the trick.”

His brows arched playfully. “Ah, you know the formula.” His grin brought one to your lips too. Then his face screwed up with confusion. “Wait, does that mean you visit him at his apartments?”

“Sometimes. Perhaps not anymore.” You sighed. “Why do you ask?”

His eyes grew intense, deeper somehow. “It’s just…I can’t believe our paths haven’t crossed before now. Or that he never said anything about you.” He was looking at you as if you were a precious artifact, something to marvel at. It rooted you to the spot, something buzzing down your spine. He stepped closer, and you looked up to hold his gaze as he towered over you.

“Remarkable.” He whispered, so close that you could feel his breath on your skin. Then he murmured, almost as if to himself, “Can’t believe it’s taken so long…”

It was the warmth of his fingertips brushing yours that snapped you out of the spell and you all but jumped. “I must go.” You squeaked, then marched into the nearest cluster of people without a look back.

You barely managed to catch your breath by the time you rejoined your mother and Sir Edgar. Your suitor smiled at you knowingly for the rest of the evening as you mingled with the theatergoers and slowly made your way home, walking under the lamplight. He deposited you at your doorstep and dropped a kiss on your hand before taking his leave. Your mother, eyes full of both hope and relief, confided that he had indeed declared his intentions to propose to you at the next night’s ball.

It was settled then. In one day’s time, you would have a fiance, and your family’s future would be secure. You should have felt happy. You should have felt relieved. But all you could think about that night were Anthony and Benedict's eyes. Anthony’s so full of sorrow, a sorrow your marriage wouldn’t let you soothe any longer; and Benedict’s, glittering with some odd fascination. Surely you were reading too much into it with your silly infatuated emotions. You were an overeducated, undersocialized, secret friend of his brother and that made you an anomaly. It was time to stop thinking about him altogether. It was time to start distancing yourself from the Bridgerton brothers. You needed to prepare for the next chapter of your life as Lady Graham. That night, you stowed away the painting of the blue hydrangeas.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #female reader #regency #regency era #fluff and angst

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cutest-bunny-writings · 4 months ago

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The Missing Paper Clause; Chapter 1: New Arrival

Warnings: people being referred to as specimens, discussion of skipping a meal, MC is pretty invested in finding out everything about the subject in question, mentions of creepy and rude coworkers

The Missing Paper Clause Chapter Index

"Did you hear? They're going to bring in a new guy for one of the programs! I can't wait! A brand new specimen to enjoy!" You squeal to your friend, your assistant.

"Don't get too excited about this, Dr. L/N. There's no guarantee that he'll be put under your jurisdiction." She smiles and makes some more marks on her stack of papers on her clipboard. "He's scheduled to arrive around the end of your lunch break today."

"Screw my lunch break, this is more important!" You beam and yank her clipboard into your own hands. "Do you know his name, age, exterior and interior physical qualities? Any interesting medical history?"

She laughs as she grabs her clipboard back from your excitedly flipping fingers. "Nothing yet other than the gender. I'm sure you're going to have a field day with his genealogy charts and medical history inspection," she side-eyes you playfully. "Even if that technically isn't your job."

"Oh please, it's not like my actual purpose here is adequately acknowledged anyway."

It's always bothered you that no one seems to actually take your purpose of participating in these programs seriously. You're treated like more of a secretary than a person with several master's degrees over various fields and subjects. As far as most of the men around here are concerned, you're just a really pretty forty-two-year-old woman.

They'll learn their lesson soon enough when their experiments blow up in their fave for not following your advice.

"Dr. L/N? Don't you think you should eat something before you meet the new specimen? It doesn't have to be lunch exactly. I can get you a protein cookie or something?"

"You mean those vegan ones from the brand Lenny and Larry? Because absolutely! I love those things! And they're huge! Get me the white chocolate macadamia nut one."

"Can do."

You hear her pen flying across what you assume to be scratch paper or a sticky note on her clipboard as she scribbles a note, probably about your cookie.

"To my office!" You practically sprint down the hallway in excitement to prepare all the paperwork for the incoming specimen and wait out the hours.

The time passes and you continue to pull various papers from different filing cabinets to build a blank file to be filled out during the initial screening process and hopefully the induction process.

#kim namjoon x reader #kim taehyung x reader #min yoongi x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jung hoseok x reader #kim seokjin x reader #park jimin x reader #sci fi fic #bts fic #bts ot7 #ot7 x reader #ot7 x you #reader insert #x reader

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not-quite-there-myself · 4 months ago

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BRAIDING HAIR—BOYS COMPILATION

Small drabbles on a master attendant who wants to braid their Food Soul's hair. How do the boys react?

Feat. Beer, Zabaione, Wuyi Da Hong Pao, Mashed Potatoes, Red Wine

Girls version here!

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Beer

" You want to braid my hair? Oh, well go on! Don't be shy, you should've said so sooner! "

He absolutely loves the idea of you braiding his hair—he's definitely let others play with his hair before, so the fact that you've shown interest as well makes him smile. He eagerly sits in front of you, whether on the floor or in a chair, in front of a mirror or not. As you braid, he hums a little tune, a song you recognize. It doesn't matter how good your braiding skills are, because to Beer, he thinks any effort from you brings wonderful results. When you're done, he feels the braid gently with his fingers, thanking and complimenting you with a big grin on his face.

" One braid is wonderful, but Attendant, you know what would be more great? Multiple braids! If you don't want to do all of it alone, let me help! "

Zabaione

" Oh? Would that interest you? Sure, let me take a seat so you may begin. "

He certainly doesn't mind it. Entertaining your idea, he closes his eyes and relaxes, almost instantly, when you start. His hair is rather thick but well kept, so you find little trouble in fixing up a braid. Your hands combing through his hair feel surprisingly good, but he ends up lightly teasing you about this affair instead of the other way around. At times when he can see your focused expression, Zabaione lets a small quip about it slip through, chuckling when you stop braiding for just a moment.

" If touching me like this brings you pleasure, then I'm more than willing to indulge you. I won't deny it feels rather nice for me, too."

Wuyi Da Hong Pao

" You wish to braid my hair? Hehe, of course. It is rather long, isn't it? "

He welcomes it with an amused smile as you reach out to start braiding. The feeling of your fingers weaving the thick strands of his hair is something he hasn't felt in some time, and Wuyi can admit to you that he enjoys it quite a lot. To him, it's like a gentle wind coming up to push the hair covering his face. He lets out a small sigh of contentment, enjoying the feeling and finding it satisfying, comparing it to when he's mixing medicines or other concoctions. There's a kind of easy harmony that comes with this moment, a peace he likes... And he seems to smile at the thought that you might be liking this just as much as he does.

" This looks lovely, Master Attendant. Perhaps next time, I could trouble you to fix up my hair again when I go out to get more herbs? "

Mashed Potatoes

" Ah, really? How nice of you to offer! "

He thinks it's cute that you ask him for such a simple request. How could he reject such a thing, especially from his dear master? He lets you do whatever you want in a heartbeat, and he probably makes a point to find some hair ties for you to use as well! Mashed Potatoes would prefer it if there was a mirror nearby so he could watch your progress. He sees the action of braiding his hair as a lovely gift from you, and even if you aren't particularly skilled at it, the Food Soul will still thank you for it with a smile.

" All living things grow at their own pace. Master Attendant, I think it looks wonderful! If you aren't satisfied, you're welcome to practice on me again in the future. "

Red Wine

" Master Attendant, don't do anything distasteful. "

As expected of him, this hair is well kept if not a little short. Unfortunately, if you're just starting out and have no idea how to braid, he's probably not be the best person to practice on. If your skills aren't adequate to his standards, he'll definitely berate you on poor braid quality. You may very well find the tables turning on you in the end. If your hair is long enough, Red Wine will stop you from braiding his hair and instead prop you by the nearest mirror and demonstrate on your hair instead. His teaching method is a bit strict, but that's because he prefers quality over quantity when practicing with you.

" Here, take a seat and watch as I do. Play close attention, I'm not going to repeat myself more times than I have to. "

____________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ Please do not copy, repost, or translate, thank you !

#nqt writing #food fantasy #ff beer #ff zabaione #ff wuyi da hong pao #ff mashed potatoes #ff red wine #gender neutral reader #gn reader

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blonde-love · 1 year ago

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The warmth of waiting... Day 1.

Summary: You try to strike a deal with the Murdstone brothers to improve the quality of the work of the children in the factory. While you are waiting for Mr. Edward, careless touches become deep actions, discovering the softness in that cold and metallic lady.

The bitter smoke of the first morning.

Warnings: Nothing for now. [You will have to wait for the rest of the chapters].

Parts of the story:

The warmth of waiting...

The warmth of waiting... [Day 1].

The warmth of waiting... [Day 2]. Soon.

The warmth of waiting... [Day 3]. Soon.

The warmth of waiting... [Day 4]. Soon.

The warmth of waiting... [Day 5]. Soon.

The warmth of waiting... [Day 6]. Soon.

The warmth of waiting... [Day 7]. Soon.

Autor’s Note: I think it took me a while to update, my apologies for that, I've been a little busy studying some things I need at university, but there are some advance chapters and some Gwen from In Fabric content coming soon if you're interested, so wait will be worth. If you'd like me to tag you in the next parts of this story you can leave a comment about that - although I'm still learning how to use this platform, I really feel like an old woman with social media sometimes -. As in all my stories, I like to remember that english is not my first language, so any constructive criticism is really appreciated!

That morning you woke up under the shelter of blankets with a very different aroma from yours, soft under your fingers, the light streaming in from the window in a way it wouldn't in London, this time warmer, softer.

With a groan of slight annoyance you sat up, taking some time to process where you were, remembering that you were not in your hometown, but somewhere quite far from there.

Although the room was not ostentatious, it had an endearing touch contrary to what you believed because of who it belonged to…

That woman with long black hair, as you were promised, with a skin as white as cheese, always dressed so neatly, the very embodiment of what was expected of a proper woman.

Although that was very far from the truth…

You couldn't help but think of the image of such a sinful book between her fingers, knowing very well the forbidden romance that lay between its pages, wondering how much she would enjoy it, if she would feel that warmth like you did the first time you read the work.

If you saw her just once, you wouldn't imagine that the lady would read those things, considered dirty and depraved by many, even more so if you put it into practice as she did or at least that's what she wanted, you assumed.

Another thought in your mind.

Jane Murdstone, as a lover. What a scene, but even more so if that recipient was a woman, it would be a scandal for sure, but something that caught your attention in a certain way.

You couldn't deny it, you had rarely seen people as beautiful as her; tall, imposing, dominant, with blue eyes that were as cold as ice but with a shine that could make anyone melt and…

"She is the embodiment of evil itself, a ruthless woman with no love for anyone, I tell you". Again some of the words of your friend from your youth echoed in your mind, releasing a soft sigh, putting your feet back on the ground.

If only that woman was a little different…

Finally you put aside the warmth of the blankets, placing your bare feet on the wood of that room, smiling softly as you observed that your clothes were already well ironed at that time of the morning.

You always appreciated those details, usually requesting that the maids not come into your room in London because it could affect your work, doing things as simple as moving a paper or two that could get lost and cost thousands, but you always appreciated that they left your things well ironed as it was something you never learned to do correctly.

You dressed, an outfit perhaps not as perfect as that of the lady hosting you, but certainly still adequate enough.

You hummed as you saw your reflection in the room's mirror, after that, tying the curtains to allow the light to flood the place completely, also opening the windows to let some air circulate.

Once everything was done, you took out a couple of papers that you had brought since you had them pending, the rest would arrive by mail within two days if everything went properly, praying inwardly that the idiots at the postal service would not lose it along the way.

You signed a couple of things, discarded a few others, satisfied with your own work before looking at the time, seeing that it was a little early, but your back crying out for you to get up from the chair you had been in for a while now.

A sigh left you, taking the box of cigarettes you had with you between your fingers, opening it to count the few that were left. Perhaps you would have to ask one of the maids to buy you a new one soon.

You left your room, once again realizing the very neat work that the maids did in that place, no trace of dust or cobwebs, no matter how minimal. That mind of yours could actually imagine the woman in black blatantly yelling at them if they didn't handle it properly. However, despite it being such a good job, you didn't see any people working at that time of the morning, looking rather… lonely…

Cautiously due to a strange nervousness about breaking the very calm aura, you walked down the stairs, pondering if maybe you shouldn't have stayed where you were...

You looked around the quiet room, walking down the hallway to another room, where you tried to open the door, realizing it was locked, letting out a sigh, thinking that maybe you were a much earlier riser considering the fast pace you had to keep up in the city...

You remembered the small detail that you were in a very remote area once again, thinking for a moment before deciding that some fresh air would be good for you.

The path of the previous day in your mind guided you to the entrance, where you opened the door, finding that it didn't have as many locks as your own house in London, probably not needing them in the quiet countryside.

Field…

Just by setting foot outside the house you noticed the difference, now closer since you were not in such a hurry to sign a contract, realizing that the air was much lighter, fresher, liberating, the green grasslands moving in small waves because to the cool morning breeze.

Your little appreciation ended quickly due to the sound of a woman clearing her throat, realizing it was the black-haired one, quickly closing a book, placing it on her lap and covering it with her hands, giving herself away about the fact that it was the same sapphic literary work that you had encountered the first time.

A small giggle left your lips at that, closing the door behind you, the woman raising an eyebrow at the interruption, somehow waiting for an explanation.

"Good morning". You greeted with a smile, a silence stretching between both of you until she finally returned the greeting.

"Morning". She let it out dryly and plainly, although her not-so-good mood characterized her, it seemed worse at that moment, not exactly being the most cheerful person during the mornings.

"I'm pleased to see you continued with your reading." Your tone of voice came out a little more amused than you expected, but you certainly couldn't quite stop the small giggle that threatened to escape.

"It's rude to snoop into other people's things so blatantly, I thought it was an accident the first time, but apparently it seems to be one of your bad habits". Was what she responded to you instead of denying or affirming anything, to which you shrugged.

"It's funny you say that, pretending to be someone so upright, with unwavering morals while… you read this". You whispered softly, moving closer to her and letting your hand glide in the air over her before your index finger lightly caressed the tips of her fingers before settling on the book.

The woman felt a small shiver run through her at your actions, the small discreet flirtation, but she remained impassive.

"It's just literature, a point of view of sinners to search for something completely different from me, it's… educational…". She lied, to which she could tell by your expression that you didn't believe her at all.

"Then you actually consider it a sin like many". You whispered before standing up completely, taking out a cigarette and lighting it, realizing that her look showed that she expected you to offer her one like the previous time, putting the package away on that occasion without doing so. "And here I thought you had understood the art of the story between the seamstress and the florist".

"You shouldn't smoke so early in the morning". She criticized you when you didn't share like you did last time, to which you let the smoke rise, the wind blowing and taking it in the opposite direction of where the blue-eyed woman was.

"Does it really make a difference if I consume it now or later? My lungs will pay the same bill anyway and you're not one to judge". You commented as you shrugged. "You were quite interested in the cigarette smoke yesterday too". You moved closer to her, your lips so close to hers. "Especially the one that came out of my mouth".

"That was not like that...". She moved slightly, looking away.

"You have to admit that you don't read these things for the educational side, or because you want to see a different point of view, but that you share theirs, am I wrong?". You asked what you already knew, it was too obvious not to be so. "You really are just as sinful as the rest of us".

"Just because you read this and are also one, doesn't mean that I am too". She said, a certain harshness in her voice, but if you looked closely enough, there was a certain shame.

"Maybe that would have been more credible if you had denied it yesterday instead of evading the question". You pointed out her small mistake, people would usually be shocked and seek to abruptly deny it if you even proposed it as an idea. "Be honest, you're interested in a member of the fairer sex giving you a lavender, aren't you?".

You took her chin between your fingers, that insatiable curiosity, that desire to obtain the answers that you even already knew always intense in you, always like a flame impossible to extinguish, without caring many times how invasive you could be, one of your weaknesses to the time to socialize with people, but at that moment you didn't care in the slightest.

"That's why you let me stay, isn't it? Why else would you let a seeker of the forbidden fruit stay in your house?".

The iron Lady usually had no problem with eye contact, being the other people who feared her and looked away, but right now not knowing exactly what to do with her mixed feelings, blaming her impulse from the day before for not throw you out when she had the opportunity to avoid this situation, but at the same time that desire in her to admit it, to just let herself go.

Her facade faltered for a moment, trying to look as if none of this affected her as she thought of a witty response, but her intentions had been exposed so easily.

"She is cold and metallic lady". At this rate you would charge David rent for spending so much time in your mind with the anecdotes he told you about her, although partly enjoying it to see how you were able to cause small cracks in those schemes.

"I would be lying if I said I didn't find you interesting, the angelic woman, cruel in the terrifying stories of many, but… with curious secrets". You said softly, the woman finally placing a hand on your wrist to move away from your touch.

"I'd tell you it's not appropriate, but you already know that, and I know you don't care anyway, so I won't bother pretending to talk some sense into you". That even tone of her voice had returned again, managing to remain as calm as ever, her free hand removing the cigarette from your fingers, bringing it to her lips, rising from her chair as she let the smoke fall onto your face. "It seems to me that the one desperate for the smoke from the other's lips is someone else".

She threw the cigarette on the floor after that, stepping on it in order to put it out, her attention was drawn to the entrance of the house when she heard someone open the door; a redheaded maid peeking out timidly.

"My ladies". She looked at the woman in black before looking at you and smiling slightly, Jane hastily releasing you and taking her book between her fingers again, making sure the maid didn't notice any part of the text. "Breakfast is ready".

"It's rude not to announce yourself before opening the door where you know a lady is". She scolded sharply, heading towards the entrance before stopping to turn to you with a frown. "That goes for you two, and I repeat, no smoking in the morning, I have nothing against you doing that, but if you are under my roof even as a guest, you follow my rules and that's one".

The maid tensed up as she heard her scolding even reach you, relaxing a little when the woman walked out of her sight, turning to look at you without knowing exactly what to say.

"Thank you for letting us know, you can take my portion to my room if it's not too much trouble". You said with a small apologetic smile.

"You won't eat in the dining room?". She asked innocently, to which you shook your head.

"I don't get used to it". You responded simply, her noticing your slightly dull smile, watching you pick up the cigarette butt, a look of pity crossing your face when you saw that it wasn't even halfway done. "And a glass of Whiskey". You asked in defeat, the young woman nodding, quickly entering to comply.

You weren't exactly the biggest fan of being talked to like a little kid who didn't know what to do, even if you realized that it was Jane's way of not showing weakness, especially in front of her staff, it bothered you.

Although maybe you deserved it for having put too much pressure on her thinking that you would be an exception to her bad character just because she let you stay as a guest.

You looked at the cigarette butt between your fingers, then at the place where she had been sitting before entering the house, lightly rubbing your wrist where she had kept her grip firm, remembering her words.

Maybe you should do a reevaluation of the information…

#jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #fanfic

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