#amber getting to fuckin dance

[addictsitter]

this is probably dumb but i really really wish they’d done a full episode of the weird body swap shit from “props” because i would have paid good money to see some of the other theoretical songs from that

[familyvideostevie]

watching you with wonder

joel miller x reader joel claims to have heard something interesting. too bad he keeps insisting he needs more information before he can tell you | 5.4k a/n: same universe as come care about me but not necessary to read that one first! joel is soft, this is my version of him where he and ellie heal and he gets to have a life etc etc etc | domesticity, post-part i jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip but good thing you are too, a fair amount of kissing, fluff, softness, peace and all that good stuff. part 3 here! series masterlist here.

It's been a long day. The supply run you'd been dreading went off without a hitch but you were out of the gate at sun-up and in the saddle for most of the morning and afternoon. Your legs are sore, your back is sore,  and you're dirty from a day outside the walls.

You haven't seen Joel since this morning. Not unusual, not by any means. Most days you're both doing something in town, occasionally one of you out on patrol. You're partial to the plant work and Joel likes to chop wood or check out houses that need upgrades with Tommy. But after a day like today you want nothing more than to go home and complain about how much you miss cars while Joel works the knots out of your shoulders. 

But tonight is Festival Night. Nothing big, just a dance at the barn that serves as the community center with music and drinks and food. And Joel, despite his insistence that he's Jackson's resident grump, will be there, because Tommy will have asked him to go and he doesn't like disappointing his brother. And, though he'll never admit it even to you, he enjoys community events. He gets to see the people he loves having a nice time and feeling safe. 

So you head from the stables to the main hall, not bothering to stop at home. Jackson seems to be lit up extra special, the air a little lighter due to the laughter and music brightening the night. The noise becomes almost overwhelming when you open the door and slide inside, dropping your pack against the wall. It's much warmer in here and you unbutton your coat as you make your way through the crowd, waving to people as you go. 

Joel is here somewhere but you don't try too hard to spot him. You know he'll find you. Someone calls your name and you pivot on your heel to find Ellie waving at you from a...poker table?

"Wanna join?" she asks once you walk over. Next to her is Tommy, who looks significantly less excited than she does. "I'm teaching Tommy how to play poker. Oh, sorry, I'm fucking smoking Tommy at poker."

"I know how to play, you little shit," Tommy growls. "Who taught you? This isn't poker, this is a fuckin' massacre." 

Ellie cackles and tips her chair back so she's balancing on the back legs.

"I'll pass this round," you tell her. "Looks like you've got him handled."

"You just want to find Joel." She looks at you in that uncanny way of hers like she knows all of your secrets. But this is one you have no problem admitting.

You smile at her. "Seen him?"

"Now that you're here I'm sure he'll slink out of whatever corner he stuck himself in," Tommy grumbles. "Girl, you sure you ain't countin' cards?"

You leave them to it and wander over to the bar. Astrid pours you a glass of something amber. You take a sip and let the burn warm your throat, your stomach. The music behind you picks up and there's laughter and you turn to see people pairing up and flocking to the floor. 

You close your eyes to enjoy the sounds that mean peace, safety, home. It never gets old and you never quite get used to it. You inhale deep and -- ah, yes. There it is. A smile spreads across your face as you breathe in wood glue, gunpowder, the soap you make at home. Your heart beats a little faster, even after all this time.

"Hi," you say, opening your eyes. Joel stands in front of you, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass similar to your own. His hair curls at his collar, edges still a little wet from the shower he must have taken before coming here. His shirt is rolled to his elbows, his jacket clearly discarded somewhere. Your gaze trails up his chorded forearms, his watch securely in place as always. This is what you've called his "nice" shirt, a deep green that makes the grey of his beard all the more striking and brings out his eyes. 

Eyes that settle on you in a way that sends heat up your spine.

"Howdy," he says. "You just get here?"

"Like you weren't watching the door for me," you tease. He shrugs and reaches for you, his free hand curling around your hip to tug you close for just a few moments. Joel presses his lips to your cheek lightly, his beard scratching your skin as he pulls away and settles at your side, arm resting on the bar behind you. 

"Well, I ain't seen you all day," he reminds you. As if you could forget. Every second you're not looking at him you sort of wish you were. There aren't many good things left in your life -- all of them are in this town, now -- and you tend to hold on to the ones you still have with both hands. Joel, despite the fact that he'd argue with you over it, is your good thing. Your best thing.  

"Miss me?" 

"Dumb question," he mutters. 

His fingers brush against the back of your bicep, warm through your jacket. "How was the run?"

"Easy. Long." You take a sip of your drink. It's still warming but doesn't measure up to the solid warmth of the man beside you. "I came straight here."

"That would explain why you smell like shit," he drawls. You smack his chest. He doesn't so much as flinch.

"Rude."

Joel watches the crowd and you watch him. That's how it usually goes with you two. You figure he's watching for threats, for any sign of something going wrong. It's a habit most folks here find hard to break. He's watching Ellie, who has left the poker table behind, twirl some of the children around with Dina, he's watching Tommy try to teach a few drunk guys how to square dance like he does every Festival. Joel curls his hand around your shoulder and you lean back into the touch. 

On a night like tonight when joy is more contagious than the fungus spreading through the rotting world, Joel loosens up a little. It's a good look on him and it only ever means good things for you -- he laughs more, he touches you more. But most importantly you know he lets life in. He lets that knot you know is in his chest, the one made of fear and loss and survival and all of the horrible fucked up things he's seen and done, he lets it loosen even just a bit. He lets himself feel the good things, too. How much the people in this town respect him, care about him. How much they appreciate him. How much they love him, how much you love him.

You look at him in the soft light of the barn. There's a tug to his mouth that you know.

He looks smug. It's a nice look on him, a relaxed one. He looks too handsome for his own good. And though you love him, love how he's enjoying the night, like hell you're going to let him stand there and get away with whatever he's cooking up.

"Joel Miller, why are you looking so pleased with yourself?"

"No reason," he says. He takes another sip of his drink, side-eyeing you over the rim. This man. 

You tap the heel of your boot against his. "Don't make me beg."

His eyes flash but he turns into your space, the solid shape of him curling around you as well as his arm. In another world, in another life, he could be a handsome man picking you up at a bar. 

"I heard somethin'," he says, voice low. "Somethin'...interestin'."

"Really?" You look around the barn as if the object of his gossip will materialize in front of you. "Tell me."

He leans back and you have to stop yourself from following. "Don't think so."

"Joel."

This man can be such a shit when he wants to be. 

He holds the hand carrying his glass up in surrender, the brown liquor sloshing close to the rim. "Hey now, don't go shootin' the messenger."

"I can't because he won't tell me the message."

"S'not anything worth tellin' just yet," he drawls. "I need a little more intel. Y'know, make it worth your while."

You sigh, hamming it up a bit by thunking your forehead to his collar. Joel huffs a laugh and fully drapes his arm across your shoulders, warm and solid. 

It's all fun but you know there's a note of truth to it. Joel can lie better than most people but he doesn't lie to you. "Fine. You get away with it for now."

The song changes to something old and slow, something you recognize but don't quite remember the name of.

"Only if you dance with me," you say. You swallow the last of your drink and push off the bar, sliding out from under his arm. You hold your hand out to him and wiggling your fingers. "It's only fair."

He sighs like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. And he is, sometimes. But right now his cheeks are a little flushed from the drink and your flirting and you want to see how far you can take it.

"Unless I smell too much like shit," you goad. You don't actually think he'll go for it. Joel doesn't dance. It feels like the kind of good time, the kind of joy that is forever stuck in the past, left behind twenty odd years ago. Honestly, you think he'll just drag you home and have his way with you in your warm bed. 

But he manages to surprise you.

Joel throws back his drink and grabs your hand. His thumb strokes your skin.

"S'pose it is," he says. "You don't smell that bad."

A delighted laugh spills from you. He leads you to the already-crowded dance floor, pulling you close with a hand on your back. You rest your arm on his broad shoulder and hook your thumb in his collar. 

"Not so bad, is it?" you say. Your faces are so close you're practically cheek to cheek. You feel his breath on the shell of your ear, his beard a little prickly against your cheek. 

"Could be worse." You and Joel gently sway and you toy with the ends of his hair. Over his shoulder you can see Dina and Ellie dancing, arms wrapped around each other tight. You close your eyes and match your breaths to Joel's. 

"We should do this more often," you say. "Bet they'd let you play guitar at the next festival if you wanted."

Joel hums. 

"Don't forget you have to deliver the firewood to the school tomorrow." He presses his hand to your back and pulls you even closer. "Are you listening to me?"

"Mhm."

"Joel --" Your eyes fly open and you try to pull away to goad him but he holds you steadily against him.

"Hush," he says, fingers squeezing yours. "I'm enjoyin' the moment."

You allow it.

___

The gossip Joel mentioned is in the back of your mind but you know he'll tell you when he's satisfied with his information gathering or whatever the fuck he's up to. Sure, it's silly, maybe even pointless but you like to think of it as a display of the trust you have in each other. You trust Joel with your life and you've put that into practice, watched him bloody his knuckles for the ones he loves. You also trust him with your heart, your body, your mind. There's no part of you that his hands haven't touched, haven't loved in the jagged, intense way of his. 

Plus you enjoy seeing him pleased with himself, which you know he will be once he has the whole story to tell you. It's not a mood you see on him often.

You finally have a free night and Ellie asks you to come over to try out a new video game Jesse found for her on patrol. Joel waves you off when you offer to stay in with him instead.

"Means I'll get some peace and quiet to finish my book," he grumbles, handing you your coat even though you're walking across the yard. He's already peeled off his boots and looks half-awake in the dim light of your entryway, glasses tucked into the collar of his sweater.

"More like you're going to sit in bed and fall asleep reading without me talking to keep you awake."

He sends you off with an eye roll and a soft kiss which you turn into two more, just because. Maybe a few years ago he'd sit in the chair downstairs and wait for you to come home. He does like to play his guitar on the porch when it's not too cold, keep an eye on things. But you'll be with Ellie just out back and it's been a long week. It's no small point of pride that, with the help of your reassurance and persistent care and his own conviction, Joel allows himself to relax a little. "Have fun."

You do. Ellie and Joel have a history that is complex and tender, so much so that sometimes it's too much for both of them. After it seemed like she was open to it, you've tried to make sure you and her have a relationship all your own. She's smart and funny and fiercely loyal to the people she cares about. You feel lucky to be one of them.

But she still annihilates your ass when it comes to video games. 

"You know," she says, cracking her knuckles after yet another defeat. "It's embarrassing as shit how you literally lived in a time where you could play these like, whenever you wanted. And yet it's me, who was born after the world ended, who keeps winning."

You make sure to look unamused. "Whatever." You stand, stretching out your spine with your arms above your head and yawn. "It's teenage luck." You have no idea how this girl stays up so late all the time. 

"I guess I'm just good at everything."

"Oh, you sure about that?" She hands you your coat and tugs on the strings of her sweatshirt. "I've seen you in a kitchen. You might want to rethink that one."

"Psh," she says, waving you off. "Who needs to cook, anyway?"

You slide into your boots and shake your head. "I'm actually shocked Dina puts up with you." 

"Hey, fuck you!" she cries, though she's hiding a smile. "No insulting me in my own home. It's Joel's fault, anyway. He can't cook either."

You snort. "Don't I know it." She grins at you fully, the one you call her shark-tooth smile, and you grin back. "Thanks for this, kiddo. I had fun." 

"Yeah, maybe one day you'll win." You tug her in for a quick hug which she allows before squirming away. "Alright, alright. Go make sure he didn't burn down the house without you, or something."

It's late, late enough that you feel yourself getting more tired with each step back to the porch. Joel left the back door unlocked for you. You latch the deadbolt behind you and peel off your outer layers in the dark. A quick glance in the kitchen tells you Joel put your stuff from dinner away and is probably in bed. He's left out your mugs, ready for the morning, and the list he's been making of things you need to do around the house before it snows. You love to see the pieces of your life on display like this -- signs that this is a home.

You don't bother being quiet when you climb up the stairs because you know he'll be pissed if you don't wake him to let him know you're home. The bedroom light is on but when you actually go in you see he's in bed with his book in his lap, glasses sliding down his nose. His eyes are closed and his bare chest rises slowly.

He's probably only half-asleep, probably heard you come in and decided it was safe enough to shut his eyes until you say something. So you get ready for bed quickly, tugging on soft clothes and brushing your teeth before creeping over to his side of the bed and perching on the edge of it, resting your hand on his thigh under the covers.

"Joel," you say softly. "Joel, are you asleep?"

"Yes," he grumbles. His eyes flutter open, the piercing grey a little clouded with tiredness. He reaches for his glasses and pulls them from his face a bit clumsily. "You okay? You n'Ellie have fun?"

"We did. She's so good at video games it's a little scary." You pluck the frames from his hand and fold them, setting them on his bedside table with his book. He grunts and pushes himself up a little more in bed, his leg pressing against your tailbone through the blankets. It's a real show of your restraint that you don't run your hands over the golden and hairy expanse of his chest, the broad line of his shoulders. Instead you reach for his face and he lets you, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tries and fails to hide his amusement as you trail your fingers through his hair. Just being here with him makes you a little sleepy, your body catching up with your mind at how you always feel safest when he's in the room with you. "S'cold, though. I think we might need to put some more insulation in the shed for her."

"Alright," he says. Joel wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your palm to his cheek but quickly flinches away. "Christ," he mutters. "Your hands are cold." He encases both of your hands in his and rubs slowly, throughly. 

"Let me get in bed, then." You make no effort to move. 

Joel blows on your fingers and, in a move that's tender even for him, presses his lips to their tips. "I ain't holdin' you here."

"Sarcasm," you say. "And Ellie claims you're not funny." Joel scoffs and you laugh, rising from his side of the bed and making your way around to yours. Joel flicks back the covers and you slide in, facing him. 

"Light off?" he asks. You nod. He shuffles around to flip the switch and then settles into his side with a groan. It's dark but you know his face with your eyes closed, let alone in the moonlight of your bedroom. The gash on the bridge of his nose, the scruff of his greying beard, the nicks along his cheeks and temples. The age spots, the wrinkles, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, these days more from smiles and laughter than stress and worry. Or so you like to think. 

"Got any gossip for me yet?" 

Joel huffs. "Not quite."

"Jooooooel," you whine, scooting closer. You hook a leg over his and slide your hand over his stomach, fingers catching on the hair above the waistband of his sleep pants. He makes a noise deep in his throat but otherwise allows it. 

"I ain't givin' you half-assed information," he says. "It'll be worth the wait."

With Joel, it always is. You consider dragging it out a little more but you're cold and tired and he's so warm and you barely saw him at all today. "Alright," you say. You pull yourself even closer under the covers, dragging your nose over the hollow of his throat, his beard a delicious scratch on your skin. Your hand curls around his hip and he reaches for you on instinct, warm, callused palms sliding under your sleep shirt to press into your bare skin.

He huffs a tired laugh, chest rumbling with amusement. "What're you up to?"

"You're warm," you say into his skin.

"And you're handsy."

You trail your lips up to his and press them to the corner of his mouth. "You love it."

"Guess I do," Joel says. He catches you in a lazy, slow kiss, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you part them. He licks into your mouth like he's got all the time in the world and you let him. His nose presses against yours and you sigh even further into the embrace, pressing as close as you can, as if you could crawl into him and stay there forever. Any cold lingering in your bones is dispelled by Joel's touch, by the thigh he wedges between your legs. This could turn into something more, and you love when it does, but tonight it's just about being close. His hand trails up your side to cup your face as the kisses get lazier, sleepier. You're slotting his bottom lip between yours when he pulls back and --

Yawns in your face. 

He looks a little surprised and then frowns. You laugh and smooth the crease between his brows before kissing him once more.

"Jesus, Joel," you say. "Bedtime."

"Was sleepin' fine before you got here," he grumbles, but  in the same breath he wraps his arm around you and tugs you with him as he turns onto his back so your head lays on his chest. You match your breaths to his. He presses a kiss to your hair.

___

Two nights later you wake to an empty bed. 

You sleepily trail your hand through the sheets and find they still carry Joel's warmth. He must have gotten up a few minutes ago. You force your eyes to open but don't see a light in the bathroom, find no shadow in your eyesight. You can hear his voice in your head saying go back to sleep, s'nothin' but you know better than to listen to him when it comes to this. It's not like you'll be able to until you know he's okay, anyway. 

So you wrap the blanket from the foot of your bed around yourself and shuffle through the house and down the stairs. 

"Joel?" you call quietly. 

"Kitchen," he replies, a warm grumble in the still of the night. You didn't even look at the clock when you got out of bed but it must be late. 

He sits in the dark at your small kitchen table, eyes fixed on Ellie's garage out back. He's put a shirt on. Of course. Nightmare. This is where he always sits after he has one. His hands are wrapped around his mug. Based on the smell it's chamomile tea -- the only time he'll drink it instead of coffee is on nights like tonight. He had no idea it even grew in the greenhouses here until you presented him with a jar of it for Ellie back when you were still tiptoeing around whatever was between you. Those days are long gone.

"You okay?" You keep your voice hushed. It's rare these days that he'll want to be alone. You're the only one who gets to see him like this other than Ellie. It took a while but now Joel lets you comfort him, he lets you hold him together when he needs it. 

He tears his eyes from the window to meet yours, chin tipped up as he gets a good look at you in the dark. 

"M'alright." You take a few more steps into the kitchen and he frowns. "You cold?" He reaches for you with one hand, beckoning you close. You step into his space and he wraps one arm around you, leans his head against your soft stomach. You untangle from the blanket slightly to run your fingers through his hair. The touch is as grounding for him as it is for you.

"What can I do?" you ask him, ignoring his question. 

You can feel the warmth of his palm through the blanket and your sleep shirt. "This is just fine. Just need a minute." 

"You wanna take that minute on the couch?" He grunts his assent and you step back to allow him to get up. He leaves his mug on the table but catches your hand to pull you with him.

Joel sighs when he settles into the worn cushions, knees spread wide and head tipped back as be breathes. He doesn't look any more tired than usual but you can tell he's still holding onto whatever sent him down here. 

You press into his side, legs curled underneath you. His arm settles heavily on across your shoulders and you rest a palm on his knee. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" He turns his head to face you and his nostrils flare as he frowns.

"Nothin' new," he sighs. "A pretty old one, actually. Haven't had it in a while. 'Bout stuff from when we were on the road."

If he wants to say more he will. You don't know what it's like for him to worry about Ellie -- you only know how youworry. Once the sun rises he'll probably trudge over and knock on her door, ask if she wants to go for a ride. She'll complain about being woken up but she'll agree because she knows him, too. She'll see the tension at the edges of his eyes, in the set of his shoulders. There have been nights when you come downstairs to find her sleeping on the couch, too, just because she wanted to be sure he was okay.

You lean your head on his shoulder and breathe with him. He picks up your hand and rubs his thumb across the back of it slowly, as if he doesn't even know he's doing it.

Sleep is a near thing when Joel eventually clears his throat. "I got that gossip for you." His chest rumbles and you perk up, pulling back to look at him. His eyes have a bit more spark, a bit less of the far-away look he had when you came down the stairs. 

"Oh, do you now? Finally?"

"You're just impatient," he says. "Hadn't heard directly from either of 'em so I wasn't sure. But I tracked it down and got it from the source."

"You sound like a detective from one of those old shows. Got it from the source," you say, pitching your voice low and imitating his drawl. 

He manages to look unimpressed. "I don't have to tell you."

"Joel."

"Alright, alright. Well, it's about Wendy and Fred."

You sit up. "The couple that met on your group patrol?" It's something you and Ellie tease him about -- his accidental tendency to play matchmaker. Sometimes he leads group patrols for new folks or younger community members who are now old enough to join the roster. You think he probably enjoys scaring the shit out of them a little but he's also good at it, teaches them well and makes sure they're safe. Around the time you met you'd heard about a couple who met on a patrol and hit it off. It's happened a few more times with Joel's groups but Wendy and Fred are the only ones who have stayed together. 

"Mhm. Word is they're gettin' married."

You gasp. This is very far from what you expected him to tell you. A lot of the gossip you and Joel share is about people breaking up or sleeping together or moving out of Jackson. Sometimes it's petty theft or in-fighting at the council. But this? This is downright romantic.

"Married?" It's not uncommon these days but most people don't bother. But most importantly it means one thing -- there's going to be a party. "We haven't had a wedding in...forever," you say wistfully.

"Been a few years, yeah," Joel agrees. "Folks'll be excited."

"How did you find out?" 

He shifts on the couch a little and you take control of your clasped hands, holding one of his in both of yours as you trace the lines on his palm, the veins that go up his arm while he talks. 

"Heard from one of the guys at the festival that Fred was lookin' for a ring. Wanted to get the word out to some supply runs but without her knowin'. But I wasn't sure, since I hadn't seen him in a while. Then I saw Wendy at the pantry few days ago and she looked real happy. I didn't pry but asked her how things were and she was chipper as hell."

"And that wasn't enough to tell me?"

He squeezes your shoulder. 

"Yesterday Fred cornered me when I was headin' home and told me flat out. Thanked me for some fuckin' reason and said Wendy agreed to marry him. Kid looked like he was gonna throw up, he was so excited."

Joel's voice is warm. "You are such a romantic when you want to be," you tell him.

He smirks. "Heard that before."

"It'll be nice to have a celebration. If we're invited, you're dancing with me again."

"We better fuckin' be invited," he grumbles. "I introduced them."

"So you admit to being a matchmaker?"

He huffs. "Nah," he says, a little softer. "Dumb luck. S'how you get good things these days."

You shift under his arm a little bit. "Maybe," you reply. "I think we've earned a few of those things."

Joel drags a hand down his face. It's a motion that usually means he's chewing on what to say next. You spare him.

"This --" you gesture between the two of you "--and all of this --" you wave your hand at the room, the house "-- is more than I knew I could want. You, this house, that feisty, wonderful girl out back. This whole town. Waking up every morning and not dreading another day on this hellish planet. I didn't know this existed anymore, Joel, let alone that it was possible for me. And I think we've earned it."

He's quiet for a few breaths. "C'mere," he says softly. You don't know exactly what he means but he pulls you into his lap so you're straddling him, his arm firm around your hips. It could be a heated position, often is, but here it's just to be close. You catch yourself on his shoulders and drag your hands up to his cheeks. You hold his face in your hands, thumbs stroking the soft, forever-bruised skin under his eyes.

"You sure got a way with words," he says thickly, gaze heavy. "Don't know what I did to deserve this but I ain't gonna question it."

You wrap your arms around him and properly embrace him. He presses his palms to your back and hooks his chin over your shoulder. Your breathing syncs up and you swear your heartbeats do, too. Your whole body, your whole being tuned itself to Joel a long time ago. You'd do everything you've done twice over to get here. 

As if he hears the desperate devotion of your thoughts, Joel pulls back so he can lean up for a kiss. It's more intense than you expected it to be, like he's trying to tell you something with the press of his mouth. You know what he's trying to tell you -- you always do. Joel is better at showing you how he feels than telling you. 

He suckles your lower lip and you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. He makes a noise low in his throat and you swallow it. You could touch him forever and never get enough. The firm planes of his back, the knot of tension always present in his shoulders. The scratch of his beard, the press of his nose against yours. You want to stitch yourself to him so that you never have to let go.

"S'your turn," Joel grumbles against your lips, pulling back to catch his breath.

Your brain is a little fuzzy. "Hm?"

"For somethin' juicy." 

It's a funny word coming from his mouth and it makes you laugh. His arms tighten around you and he drags his nose down your neck and breathes deep. You can get some gossip for him. You'd do much worse without being asked. Sometimes you think there are no limits to what you'd do for this man. It's a big thought, a dangerous thought, one that's suited to the world you live in now. You don't mind it.

"I'll get you something good, Joel Miller. I promise."

"I know you will," he says. "I trust you."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[wintfleur]

₊˚ෆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ˖˙ ᰋ ── HEARTBEAT, MY HEARTBEAT!

ophelia’s relationship with jack

━━━ ❛ are we datin’? are we fuckin’? are we best friends?

ᡣ𐭩 BASICS !

how did they meet?  jack and ophelia met in March of 2023 when Ophelia and her childhood friend Amber went to a club in New Jersey, the two girls were visiting Ophelia's brother Curtis and his family when they first moved into their new home after the trade. The two girls – ever the party girls - decided to check out a club nearby. Jack was leaning against the bar talking to a few of his friends when he glanced at the dance floor, he took a double take when he saw her dancing. After some encouraging words by his friends, he finally got the courage and went up to her, dancing with her for a little before offering to buy her a drink. 

their first impressions?

ophelia's first impression of Jack was that she liked his boldness, and his smile. She had felt his stare on her as she danced with her friends and she had motioned him over with his eyes, fully expecting him not to come but he did. He joined her on the dance floor where they danced together for a little before jack offered to buy her a drink. They had some small talk, neither of them really telling each other much about themselves but what ophelia did learn about him made her like him more, he was very carefree and sweet but the perfect amount of flirty and she loved it. She was used to flirting with boys – and girls, and being fine with not seeing them again, but this time was different. She found herself thinking of him for weeks after, her imagination running wild as she would often think about what would happen between them that night if she wasn't dragged away. 

jack was in awe as he watched her dance, the way she moved her hips, the way her hair moved with her, how good her legs looked in that skirt she was wearing – she was stunning. But what really got him was her eyes, the look she had in them as they made eye contact across the dance floor. She had an alluring presence and he found himself stuck in a hypnotic gaze as he watched her. He liked the confidence that seemed to follow her, and the way she would get him all flustered by her flirting, he wasn't used to being the flustered one. She left a strong first impression on him, because she was all he could think about for weeks after, he hated that she was dragged off before they could trade numbers and he feared that was the last time he would ever see her. 

who confessed their feelings first?   jack was the one to confess his feelings first, the two of them had been in their situationship for a few months and it was starting to get to him. It was clear to him, there was no denying it, Jack had feelings for ophelia and he couldn't hide it anymore, it didn't feel fair to continue their ‘friends with benefits’ agreement when he knew he had feelings for her. He couldn't hold it in anymore and confessed to her, it didn't end well, and she ended up leaving his apartment and they didn't talk for two weeks. Jack tried to reach out many times, but ophelia ignored him and his advances – not ready to face her feelings. 

first date?   

surprisingly it was ophelia to ask him out on a date. In those two weeks she did a lot of thinking, and she realized that she really does care about jack, and that she didn't want to be afraid of commitment anymore. Jack made her feel things no one else did and she didn't want to lose something so special, she didn't want to lose him. So, she surprised him at his apartment on a day she knew he had off (she asked Luke). Jack was surprised to see her outside of his apartment and he was even more surprised when she asked him out on a date. He tried to play hard to get (he was freaking out inside and had to stop himself from saying yes immediately) and she had to do a little groveling. But he did end up saying yes because God he really wanted to go on that date with her. 

ophelia picked him up for the surprise date, the drive was filled with them listening to music and him constantly asking her where they were going because he still didn't know, and it was driving him crazy. But he was happily surprised when she pulled into a top golf place. ophelia knew nothing about golf but she knew that Jack loved it and she wanted to try it with him. The date went perfectly, they ate, laughed, smiled and shared a few kisses and touches between it all. She could see that jack was having a great time teaching her how to play, even doing that cliché back hug, he said he wanted to fix her form but they both knew it was just because he wanted to be close to her. Jack ended up driving them back to her place where they spent the rest of their night in her bed. A perfect first date they both would say. 

first kiss?  ophelia and jack shared their first kiss the night they met. They were on the dance floor dancing together, already a few drinks in. Jack had his hands on her waist (basically her ass) and her arms were wrapped around his shoulders as they danced along to the loud music. It was like it was in slow motion, their noses brushed against each other as they kept eye contact, and before they both knew it they were kissing in the middle of the dance floor. 

who asked who?  jack had asked her to be his girlfriend as they were in the elevator leading to her apartment floor ‘so does this make you my girlfriend now?’ ophelia had said yes and jack smiled and followed after her as she unlocked the front door, breaking out into a fit of google of surprise when jack picks her up bridal style, she had asked him what he was doing and he said “carrying MY GIRLFRIEND into her apartment”

first I love you?   jack was the one to say I love you first. They were laying in Jack's bed cuddling, after some adult activities. Jack was overwhelmed with the feeling of love towards her as he held her in his arms while she softly caressed his chest. The moment was sweet and a part of him was nervous to say it, but the other part just wanted to tell her how much he truly loves and cares for her.  So, he quietly confessed. He became scared when he felt her completely go still in his arms, pausing her soft touches on his chest. He was opening his mouth to apologize after a few moments of silence but ophelia cut him off by saying it back. Ophelia smiled when Jack let out a happy giggle before leaning down to place a bunch of kisses all over her face as he said the three words over and over. 

how did everyone find out? 

family + friends: 

ophelia’s parents knew that she was seeing someone, but they didn't know who. Jack and ophelia wanted to hide their relationship until they were ready to tell everyone but that didn't go to plan when Curtis decided to hold a team dinner at his home. It went smoothly until everyone was getting ready to leave, jack pulled ophelia off to a vacant part of the house wanting to say goodbye to her alone. Curtis with the help of nico made his way to the garage to grab a few things but they stopped in their tracks when they saw jack and ophelia kissing. Curtis’s reaction obviously didn't go well, and Nico walked Jack out so things wouldn't accelerate badly. Word was quickly spread about it to her parents and other siblings. 

jack had also told his parents that he was seeing someone and that they weren't ready for everyone to know. Luke knew about them from the beginning, jack told him about the mystery girl from the club and he put two and two together by the way jack looked at ophelia when curtis introduced her to everyone, jack confirmed luke’s suspicions when he whispered frantically to him that ophelia was the girl from the club. Luke was the one to tell quinn about ophelia, calling and asking him to come visit because jack refused to leave his room after Curtis's bad reaction to him and ophelia. Jack told his parents after things got better! 

some of their closest friends knew since the beginning. For ophelia her best friends, amber, seunghan, kat, and intak. For jack, trevor, cole and alex knew from the beginning. But for the rest of their friends, they just slowly found out as they revealed themselves. Well Jack's teammates (the ones who were still at the dinner) found out there while the others (who weren't there) found out over the past few days after the incident. 

the public: the public found out when pictures/videos of the couple were taken of them at the family skate at the stadium series. The pictures/videos soon went viral and after the game ophelia posted a picture of her and jack kissing on her instagram story, the caption being: my smiley ❤. jack reposted the story on his saying: my girl ❤

ᡣ𐭩 DETAILS !

their tropes: he fell first x she fell harder, friends with benefits to lovers, hidden relationship, party girl x party boy, sunshine x sunshine 

love languages: 

ophelia’s: acts of service, physical touch, quality time 

jack’s: physical touch, gift giving, words of affirmation 

pet names: 

jack’s (for ophelia): baby, sweetheart, babygirl, pretty, angel, my girl, brat 

ophelia’s (for jack): babe, sunshine, handsome, angel eyes, smiley, baby boy, love

their favorite sleep position: 

jack’s: jack likes laying on his stomach, his head on her chest or him being the big spoon. 

ophelia’s: phia likes laying her head on jacks chest, her leg thrown over his midsection with his arms around her or her being the little spoon.

songs that describe them: 

a night to remember – beabadoobee x laufey 

meddle about – chase atlantic 

let the light in – lana del rey ft. father john misty 

kingston – faye webster 

k – cigarettes after sex 

heartbeat  – childish gambino 

again – noah cyrus ft xxxtentacion 

bathroom – montell fish 

favorite things to do together: 

late night swimming 

going on trips/vacations together

long drives (jack driving of course) 

late night walks 

party 

play video games 

contact names: 

jack’s (for ophelia): my smiley ❣️

ophelia’s (for jack): phia 💖

contact photos: 

lockscreens: 

jack’s: jack’s lock screen is a picture of phia that she sent to him when they were texting one night while he was out of town for a game, he asked her what she was wearing (hoping to get lucky) but he was happily surprised when she sent this picture instead, he teased her about how cute she looked and immediately made it his lockscreen, despite her begging him not too. 

ophelia’s: jack was jokingly refusing to pose normally for ophelia's lock screen picture so she just searched up pictures of him on tumblr (she had a blast giggling at all the memes) and set it as her lockscreen. He had grabbed her phone to text back her friend for her and was a little confused on where she found the picture, but he found it adorable when she told him how he did. 

ᡣ𐭩 THEIR THINGS !

breakfast in bed

traveling 

late night drives 

following the sidewalk rule

flirting at inappropriate times 

jack always having his hand on her thigh when they sit down

jack always having his hand in her back pocket when they go on walks 

ophelia always holding his arm or hand 

slapping each others asses

jack surprising phia after her classes/practices

buying each other flowers 

taking long relaxing baths 

always going in for a second kiss 

playing with each others hair 

back hugs 

phia playing with his fingers when shes anxious or nervous 

calling each other to just hear each other's voices when they have had a bad day

cuddling on the boat 

calling each other’s places home 

ᡣ𐭩 BACKGROUND ! 

ophelia and jack were in a friends with benefits relationship for 3 months before jack confessed his feelings for her while they laid in his bed after having sex. Ophelia didn't take it well and she left, scared to admit her feelings. They didn't talk for two weeks. 

they kept their relationship a secret for 2 months. On november 6th, curtis and nico found them kissing in the garage, when curtis invited the team to his place for dinner. 

curtis was not happy and walked jack out of the home before things accelerated. In a moment of anger curtis gave her an ultimatum ‘him or me’, ophelia left and didn't talk to either jack or curtis for a week. 

ophelia was so upset by the ultimatum that she didn't know what to say to jack, and jack felt guilty that he caused this argument between phia and her brother that he didn't know what to say to ophelia since he blamed himself. 

But luke was tired of jack being locked up in his room all depressed, so he called quinn had him come visit and talk some sense into jack. 

while quinn was talking to jack, curtis came to see ophelia where he apologized for the way he reacted and that all he wants is for her to be happy, and if she's happy with jack then he supports it. 

curtis was just scared that his sister would get hurt, he didn't necessarily believe jack would hurt her but he still had that fear. He was there to help her get through her last breakup and he hated seeing how heartbroken she was, he just didn't want her to get hurt again, so his fear made him react poorly, and he regretted it as soon as that ultimatum left his mouth. 

later in the day jack showed up at her apartment with her favorite meal, they ate and talked about everything that happened. they ended their night cuddling in Phia's bed. 

ophelia and jack's relationship is exposed to the media on february 16th, when videos and pictures of them at the njd’s family skate go viral.

ᡣ𐭩 FUN FACTS !

before curtis found out about them he had suspicions that ophelia was seeing someone, so he tried to enlist the team in trying to help him figure out who it is, the team turned into a bunch of amateur detectives trying to figure out who it is, and poor jack was just panicking the whole time. Luke enjoyed every minute of it because he knew the whole time. 

jack pretends to hate it, but he really loves it when ophelia ‘forces’ him to join herself care nights (face masks, bubble baths, meditating etc.) 

jack always tries to make it to every single one of her performances, and if he can't he watches them on his phone. He also always gets a copy modeling picture. He could watch her dance and model for hours. 

jack is very clingy/touchy with ophelia always touching her in some way, something their friends, teammates and family like to tease him about. 

one of ophelia’s favorite movies is hotel Transylvania, so jack got ophelia a necklace with the letter z for ‘zing’ . . . she almost cried when he gave it to her. 

jack is the only one who calls her phia 

while they were dating without the public knowing about them, Ophelia's fans started getting suspicious that she was seeing someone. they would see clothes and things in the background of her vlogs that they knew didn't belong to her best friend and roommate, seunghan. It didn't help that she loved to post faceless pictures of jack in her photo dumps. 

her fans would come together and try to figure out who her mystery man was

after their relationship went public, Jack became a frequent guest on phia’s youtube, whether it's just a sighting of him in the background or him actually being involved. 

both of them have a large amount of their belongings at each other's places 

ophelia loves picking out outfits for jack but he's stubborn/superstitious with his suits for games 

jack loves coming along to her modeling gigs/shoots, watching her in her element makes him so happy…also lowkey turned on. 

jack loves coming along to her family get togethers and vice versa

phia and jack are great babysitters to her nephews, they have a habit of spoiling them

the fan’s always look forward to phia’s monthly photo dumps because jack is always seen in them. 

jack is very possessive with phia 

they are both switches 

always cuddling on the couch, the boat, in a hammock. 

they are very attached to each other

phia likes to tease jack and call him her ‘frat boy’ 

and jack likes to tease her for how competitive she is when she claims she's not 

jack likes to call her his nurse because she was there every step of the way to help and take care of him through his injuries

both of them love seeing how well each other get along with their families, like jack gets so happy watching ophelia get along with his brothers and parents so well. 

both get a little emotional when they think about it to hard, they really want to have a family together 

ophelia gets major baby fever wherever she sees jack interact with her nephews or any other kids, like it gets really bad when she's just in bed watching tiktok’s of babies. 

jack loves joining ophelia on her trips that she gets to go on during off season.

ophelia has a instagram highlights just of all the flowers Jack has gotten her. It was started while they were still hiding their relationship from everyone, so everyone was curious who were getting them for her

jack can not say no to her 

seunghan who is ophelia’s best friend and roommate is there resident third wheel but the couple loves having him hang out with them 

jack hates being called pretty boy, people would use the name to tear him down and use it against him, but when phia called him the pet name he realized that she was the only one he likes hearing it come from

jack has called his mom many times just to talk about phia to her

curtis loves teasing jack and phia but he really is happy for them

ᡣ𐭩 INTERNETS FAVORITE MOMENTS !

ophelia’s youtube video of them doing flying yoga, a lot of funny and viral clips came from it. 

when phia was shown on the big screen at one of his games and then the camera quickly switched to jack who was looking up at the screen with a smile as he watched her.

the tiktok of jack doing the voiceover of her makeup tutorial

literally all the tiktok pranks she pulled on him

when jack and ophelia was heard giggling on the background on a devils behind the scenes video 

when luke said in an interview that he's never seen his brother smile so much before meeting ophelia 

the completion that was made of jack’s mood immediately changing positively in interviews when ophelia is mentiend 

all the comments jack leaves on her posts 

jack getting into a fight on the ice because someone talked bad about phia 

the summer vlogs 

when opheila was doing her vogue get ready with me / last look and all the cute moments of jack being in the background and feeding her a few bites of food while she was getting her makeup done. 

the tiktok of her rating outfit’s jack has worn, you can hear jack in the background complaining about the scores she's given him, only making her laugh and tease him more

her vlog of her surprising him for a date night, but she took him to bingo where a bunch of the old woman just complimented him for the whole night, he was so flustered

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( MY LOVES 🥰 PLS I LOVE THEM SM 💔 please let me know what you guys think of them !! and please please please send in some asks/thoughts/requests for them or I will sob (real) this is an interactive au so please interact !!! )

au m.list ophelia

˖ ་ taglist : @yoontwin @toasttt11 @winterbarnesblog @cixrosie @iceflwers

please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!!

[yeyinde]

omg if you could, would you please write literally anything about soap?? If not then would you possibly write some jealous ghost? (,,: maybe the reader and Soap are really close and fuck around together and ghost just watches from a distance until it's taken a little too far and he does something drastic ? Reader and Soap are goofing around and end up in a compromising position and ghost just yanks them apart and at first they're like "that was so unprofessional I'm in trouble oh no" but it turns out ghost was just enraged with jealousy lmaoo

i absolutely write for Soap (and Price, and Alejandro, and Gaz, and "Alex"... honestly, all these COD boys got me simpin something fierce). 

i'm so sorry this took so long—i had a lot of ideas about Soap, but i mostly wanted two pining idiots in a pub! i tried to add elements of the Ghost request as well (messing around, blink and you'll miss it Ghost jealousy), but i really just enjoyed that almost comfortably claustrophobic feeling you get when you're with someone who ensnares your full attention until everything just completely goes away. that "oh, are we still in public?" dazed feeling.

i really hope you enjoy this! 🖤

tw: none, mostly just fluff and banter; gratuitous use of Scottish slang

Ghost’s Version

He slides you a glass filled with amber, eyes dancing in the low, golden glow of the pub. Fairy lights. They catch on the green in his irises; a boscage in hazel. 

There is something warm in the air—the taste of victory, of scotch (Price insists, buys two bottles, and offers up Maduro cigars to anyone who looks at him)—and you cling to it, wrapping your hands around this feeling, and tucking it close to your thudding heart. It's comforting. 

Everyone is together again. Price knocking his hand against Gaz's shoulder, loudly telling anyone who'll listen about the time the kid was hangin' out a helo. Fuckin' nutter. Laswell nursing a glass, pad in her hands. Ghost beside her, eyes drawn to the names of men you'll eventually have to go after flashing in his dark eyes. 

Gaz shoots you a glance. Help me, it says. 

Your return smile, a wave. No way. 

If you get close to Price now, you'll never get loose. You'll end up walking away with the taste of a battle on your tongue, scotch in your belly, and cigar smoke clotting inside your lungs. He always leaves you feeling dazed, whiplash sick. 

It's best to avoid your captain when his voice is a raw scrape, a wheeze, after yelling in the trenches for so long. 

It might, of course, be said bottles of scotch that permeate inside of you; a low heat in your belly. You feel giddy with it. 

"A'right, bonnie?" His voice is a thick fog in the morning. A blanket of white over the pastures. Sun peeking through. 

"Aye," you murmur, riding a very thin line between that confidence only being a shade away from drunk can bring, and coy—coquettish. Teasing. It's been like this all night. 

(Maybe even longer—ever since he knocked his knuckles to your shoulder, bottom lip between his teeth to stem a grin, and said, not bad for a bonnie lass.)

Soap's hand jerks. The glass scratches across the tabletop. 

"Oh, aye?" He thickens his accent, lets the twang of the highlands congeal in the space between you. 

"That's it, bonnie."

He's close—leather, plastic; he smells of polymer and oak—and the flecks of caramel in his eyes remind you of the sun. So close, you can feel the rays scorch your cheeks when he leans in, when his white teeth flash, blinding, in your periphery. 

"That right?" 

"We'll make a Scot out of you, yet." 

It happens in between everything. 

A break in the clouds between rainfall—turadh. 

That's how most things happen with Soap, you find. Small moments here or there; little snippets. They stack up slowly, a steadily filling dam until the levee begins to crack, and crumble. 

It spills over; a splash. A lull.

He's meant to be teaching you cuss words that you can hurtle at your enemies, or a secret language meant for the two of you if you'd ever gotten into a tight spot together. Maybe, even a way to annoy your Lieutenant. It's slipped in somehow—between it’s a dreich day and whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye! —and sits heavy in your chest.

Turadh. 

(Is there even a word out there more beautiful?)

His chin is pointed up toward the arching ceiling when he mutters it softly, a ghost, perhaps, from his childhood. It slips out like it wasn't meant to. Like it was lost somewhere in his mind, his memories, and slowly buoyed the surface, captured between trembling hands. A forgotten piece of home dipped in the evanescence of nostalgia. 

It feels like the end of a storm when his eyes drift to you. A crooked smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

"Heard it from me granny," he says, shrugging, bashful. "Heard a lot more than that, too. Cussed like a sailor." 

He says nothing more. His past, like most of the men whose company you keep, is a secret. Held tight to the chest under a thick bulletproof vest. Untouchable. Unreachable. 

Your fingers itch all the same.

"She definitely raised you well."

"Is that an insult?"

You flash a light smile his way. "If I wanted to insult you, I'd call your haircut naff."

"Cheeky little—," Soap huffs. "No one appreciates the mohawk anymore." 

"Did they ever?" 

He leans down, eyes honeycomb golden in the gloaming, and smells of alder and wych elm. "I happen to think so." 

The fissure splits. Water leaks. You wonder if he'd taste of the highlands. 

"You happen to think a lot of things," tremulous words, barely above a whisper, slip from the seam of your wobbling lips. "Doesn't mean any of them are right." 

"We'll see, bonnie." He motions for you to take your drink. "I'm sure you'll find I'm always right."

"Is the clause in that always ironclad?"

"Aye, and you best know it, lass."

Another word is learned— fadachd —when he smiles at you; a soft crook of his lips, shadows catching on the jut of his mouth. His eyes are warm honey; molasses. If you stare too long, you think you might just get stuck. 

A shudder, then, rolls through you. 

(You've had worse ideas, really.)

"You're not teaching me the good stuff," you pout, thumb brushing over the curve of the cup, dragging through the impression of your mouth left on the rim. 

"I'm not much of a teacher," he shrugs, bringing his glass to his lips. 

Your throat is dry. Eyes locked on the way his Adam's apple buoys with his swallows; on the smooth column of his neck, on the stubble that falls beneath his chin, jaws. 

You can't look away quick enough when he turns to you. His eyes burn into yours. The glass clinks against the table. 

"What do you want to learn?"

"Everything—," you choke, fingers curling over the cup. "I—I mean… what are some, y'know, stuff I can use on a date."

His voice is thick, raw from the alcohol he drank. "A date?" 

You nod. The glass is cool against your palm. You bring it to your lips, and let the sharp liquid sit on your tongue. 

"With who?" 

You mimic his shrug, swallowing. His eyes are on you. You try not to tremble. 

"Anyone. Just—," your voice is a rasp; a shade under a whisper. 

You take another swig—liquid courage—and try not to grimace. The alcohol burns through you. 

(His eyes are suns. Dizzying. Blinding.)

When you turn to him, you flash a slow grin; eyes lidded. Teasing. Kittenish. You feel a little bit like an imposter. "How do I get myself a Scottish man?" 

You can see him swallow. Hear the click in his throat. 

Beside his sternum, you watch his vein tick. Wonder, dazed, what it would be like to sink your teeth into his skin. To mark him as yours for the world to see. 

Soap— Johnny —MacTavish: all yours. 

You shiver. 

"A Scottish man, aye?"

"Well, if you teach me right, I'll know how to seduce one."

His elbow rests on the tacky tabletop, knuckles pressed into his chin. He leans over you until all you can see is him. 

"And if I teach you wrong?"

In the triangle of his arm and jaw, you find Ghost in the corner—sitting beside Price and Laswell (you wonder, for a moment, if any of them ever really stop) as they pour over documents—and tip your chin toward him. 

"I might end up with an Englishman."

Soap raises his head, peering over his shoulder. He pauses for a moment, eyes darting between his Captain and Lieutenant.

It's satisfying to hear him huff through his nose. A heavy exhale. You wonder if he's jealous. 

It makes you think of Madrid. Of that stunning woman draped in Chantilly. 

Aye, lass. It was a pleasure to meet you. 

You turn to your glass, mulling over what he might say in response, your comeback, but his grip on the glass catches your eye. 

His knuckles are white. Nails red, flat against the surface. 

"Soap—"

He turns back to you. The tight grip around the glass eases. 

When he smiles, it feels like a cloud cover, hiding away the blaze. "Lt? Might be good for him."

"Yeah…" you murmur, words quiet in your slurred panic. You don't know how to salvage this. The teasing, the banter—it was bordering on flirting, and now—

Distance. 

He's just Soap. And you're just you. 

(Aye, lass—)

It stings. Prickles between your ribs and your heart, and the ache of it makes the alcohol in your gut churn. 

"I doubt he'd go for it." 

"What? He's been keekin' you all night." There is a divot between his brow. When he turns his head, the fairy lights behind make his stubble look darker. "Yer aff yer heid!"

You blink, a small smile growing. "D'unno that one, yet, professor."

"It means: you're talking rubbish. He can't stop lookin' at you." 

He enunciates the words for you, even adapts a spiteful English accent to go with it, but it's the burn in his gaze that makes you feel like you're floating. Bubbly and light and reaching for the stratosphere. 

You don't want to lose this.

(The ever in that is ironclad.)

"How do you say I'm drunk?"

Soap shakes his head, tension dissipating. It's a relief when humour cuts into his grin. "Too many ways to count, lass."

"C'mon," you slide forward on the barstool, elbows perched on the table, palms cupping your warm cheeks. They feel blistered, sunkissed. "Just one? It'll even be the chef's choice."

"Oh, aye?" He mimics your pose, leaving only one hand to grasp the glass between his palm. He rolls it between his thumb and fingers for a moment, eyes downcast as he thinks. "Yer mad wae' it." 

You roll the words around your tongue. "Mad with it?"

"Aye." 

"I like it."

"Are you?" 

"Am I…?"

"Mad wae it?" 

"Just a little…"

Soap levels you with a look that knocks the wind from your lungs. "You're blootered, bonnie."

"Awa' an bile yer heid!"

Something sits in his brow at the sharp words that spill, unpractised, from your lips. A rumble in the distance warning of approaching rain. 

You think the deluge might drown you. 

"Careful, bonnie," his breath smells of scotch. Tastes like a sunburn. "You might just bite off more than you can chew."

The burn of the alcohol does little to abate the itch in your throat. 

"Bonnie," you murmur, numb. You can't hear much past the thudding in your chest. "Why'd you call me bonnie?"

(Aye, lass—

Bonnie. Bonnie. Bonnie—)

His head drops when he huffs, a soft laugh spilling—almost reluctantly—from his chest. He stays like that for a moment, head bowed and the corner of his mouth twitching. When he raises his head, his cheeks are stained rubescent. 

The alcohol, you think, dizzy. The world spins, and then narrows into a pin-drop where only the ruby smear on the bridge of his nose exists. 

"'Am no diddy, but—"

"Sergeant." 

There is a misty cloud surrounding you; a gossamer spooling over your eyes. You blink the cobwebs away, but they're stuck to your retinas. 

Ghost stands shrouded in the smog. His dark eyes slide to you. Endless black. Unfathomable. 

"Soldier." 

The command is clear. Stop muckin' about.

His voice is a warble when he speaks. Gruff, low. "Lt, comin' to learn some Scottish, too?" 

"Negative." He says, clipped. Then: "can barely understand these pissed Glaswegians as it is." 

"It's a lovely accent," you murmur, grinning. Stupid, dopey. It feels like waking up after a long nap on the beach. 

His eyes are liquid pools of black when they slide to you. "Bloody hell. Must have knocked your head one too many times if you think that's lovely."

"It was more of a smack." 

"Christ. With a rifle?"

You like it when he's loose like this. Relaxed. When he isn't barking out commands, and orders, and keeping a chasm between everyone. 

"No, with a hand." 

"Better see the medic. Don't need you suffering any more brain damage."

It's on the tip of your tongue— aw, you do care —but his words stick to the gummy lining of your scotch-filled head. Any more. 

You pout. "You're a stone-cold bastard, you know that?" 

Somewhere under the mask, you like to imagine that he's grinning. "Never said I wasn't." 

"What do you need, Lt?" 

Liquid eyes slide to him. "We're heading out. You stayin', MacTavish?"

He nods, sharp. "Aye. Might wander around Glasgow for a 'mo."

"And you, soldier?"

Ghost stares down at you. Soap's words surface—keekin' you all night—but you see nothing when you match his stare. When the heavy brunt of his full attention falls on you. 

Soap glances at you, eyes a half-sun. Your hands prickle. You wonder if wandering around might include a trip to the Cairngorms. 

(You imagine you could reach up and kiss the sun. 

Maybe, him, too, if he'd allow it.)

"I—," you tilt your head, nervous suddenly. "I'd like to learn more Scottish. If you wouldn't mind the company." 

"Aye, bonnie." There is victory in his grin. 

Ghost gives a sharp nod, and doesn't wait. 

You watch him leave, suddenly tense. Soap hasn't looked away from you yet. It simmers inside; another fissure. Another crack. The levee wobbles. 

"So…," he says, his voice a tickle in your ear. "About wantin' to seduce a Scot…"

"Not just any Scot," you murmur, eyes low. Framed by the hazy fairy lights, his grin feels like the sun cresting through a storm cloud. 

"Got my heart flichterin‘," he mutters. His hand is warm when it touches your wrist. "Wanna feel, bonnie? Feel what you do to me, hen?"

It feels like you're underwater when you nod. Like you've been dragged below the surface, then spat back up on the sandy shores, drenched in the rays. 

The heat kisses your palm when he presses it flat to his chest. His pulse hums under your lifeline; the grand wings of a bird fluttering in his ribcage. Your nails sink into his shirt, curling over the fabric until it's knotted in your fist. You could hold on to him forever. 

His eyes feel like a dawning sun when they land on you, wrapped in that equinox between day and dusk when you can still bask in the warmth that curtains over you. Liquid honey. Melted wax. It seeps over you, filling the cracks. 

(You, the earth; him, the sun: a perfect perihelion. You bloom under his cosmic heat.)

When you were younger, you'd stand on the hills, and gaze up at it in the aether. Your eyes narrowed into slits, watering from the blaze. The smile on your face was warmed under the rays. 

They warned you, then, when you'd come home with a headache, rubbing your tender eyes, that you'd go blind for it. That the sun would ruin you, that it wasn't meant to be stared at so nakedly. 

You think of it, now, when your eyes begin to crease. When the blistering intensity of him��luminous, bright, blinding –stares, open and raw, back at you. 

—you fucked in the upper car park at the Cairngorms, nestled near the base of a hill. he took you under the setting sun, and whispered how pretty you looked bathed in ochre and desperate for him

—it was Price who bailed you both out after getting slapped with public indecency ("haven't you two ever heard of doggin'?")

—he takes you to a football game for a proper date, your well-won Scottish man, but spanks your ass at home when you cheer for ManU over the Celtics; it's blasphemy in this household

—Gaz doesn't even want to know why you're barely able to sit in the chair, and why Soap looks so damn satisfied whenever you wince

(you tell him, anyway.)

translations (forgot these, oops)

—turadh: A break in the clouds between showers | dry spell

—it’s a dreich day: miserable day

—whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye: what’s meant to happen will happen, or what will be will be

—naff: boring, rubish

—fadachd: yearning, longing

—keek: looking

—yer aff yer heid: acting stupid, someone that's too drunk or talking nonsense

—blootered: drunk

—diddy: coward

—flichterin‘: soft fluttering, as in the wings of a butterfly, or the flame of a candle.

—bonnie: used by older gens; used to describe someone pretty or attractive (is actually gender neutral - could be bonnie lass or bonnie lad)

—hen: used for a younger lady (can also be patronising) but kind of like sweetheart or honey)

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟhanma loves it when you’re putting on a show for him in his club.

♱ warnings — f!reader, exhibitionism [ur both in the vip booth of his club], alcohol + smoking, possessiveness on shuji’s part, reader’s wearing a dress, a bit of teasing between you both. / note. fuuuuck ! i’ve missed him so much <3 i’m so in love !!!

you feel warm underneath the lights in the club, amongst the other bodies on the dance floor as you lose yourself in the intoxicating thump of the bass — air crawling over your shoulders with every sinful sway of your body.

you’re well aware people are keeping their distance from you deliberately, maybe it’s the intimidating men that he’s put on standby to watch you — it is his club afterall — his property, and so are you. maybe it’s because the last guy that tried to get a little too close ended up out on the streets with a bloody nose before he even had the chance to tell you you looked pretty.

every twist and pull of your hips in intoxicating, and hanma knows that you know that when your eyes meets his lidded amber gaze from over the rim of his whiskey glass.

hes exactly where you left him, sat back along the couch in the vip booth with a perfect view of you, just how he liked it. it’s annoying how handsome he looks, he’s opted for his glasses tonight over his contacts — crystal frames as his black and blonde curls frame his face. his dress shirt is dark but complimentary, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and slacks that fit his long legs perfectly as they rest spread — inviting.

he never overdid it with jewellery, but he had in his usual earring with a few rings to match, his fingers tapping steady on his glass when he lets it rest in his lap. his look completed with an expensive watch latched around his wrist — the one you bought him ofcourse.

hanma’s smirk only seems to tug wider when he notices you staring, knocking back the rest of his drink before he’s tapping his lap with an expectant look that draws you closer almost too easily. you recognise a few of the others around him, other executives and coworkers but your eyes never leave his as you approach, sighing as the warm air of the club rolls over your shoulders.

it’s immediate the way his large palms find their place on your hips, sin and punishment finding home on your skin as you slink into his lap. he pulls you close, letting his palms smooth underneath the fabric of your dress — his wrists causing the fabric to bunch and rise as he palms at your body.

“you put on quite a show, babydoll.” hanma teases, his voice low and ragged as it rocks through you and it’s dizzying the effect that alone has on your body. you let your hands smooth up his chest as they explore the topography of the lean muscle beneath, feeling him shudder before he’s pulling you closer to mouth at your throat.

“oh? you think so.” you giggle, pushing yourself closer as you let him bathe you in wet smears of his lips along your skin. he smells expensive despite the hint of smoke underneath his cologne — although you think it makes it more him.

“got my whole fuckin’ club staring, but these bastards know better than to look too long at what’s mine.” hanma’s drawl vibrates against your skin as he answers you, pulling back to rest himself against the couch so he can admire the sight of you sitting pretty on his lap.

“wow so scary.” anyone would think you were crazy for teasing him, as unpredictable and dangerous as he was, but he liked that about you — kept him on his toes, got his dick hard as fuck too.

“i’ll kill ‘em on the spot and you know that. bet you like it too.. knowing i’d burn this fucking city for you.” hanma’s tone doesn’t waver and there’s a drop in his voice that reads as a promise as his amber gaze stays trained on your features. he really was an image of power and dominance — but he was yours and the thought makes your toes curl from where they rest.

“maybe i just like knowing you’ve got a soft spot.” you grin as your fingers trace underneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, pressing against the smooth skin underneath so you can feel the way his chest expands with each breath.

“do i?” hanma goads, too quickly as he cocks a brow at you and you roll your eyes before you try to playfully slap at his chest. but he’s far too quick and his reflexes are too honed, feeling his fingers wrap around your wrist before he’s bringing your hand to rest against his lips.

“heh—i just gotta protect what’s mine. even if you are a twisted little thing.” he rasps as he presses a kiss to your fingers, letting his eyes drop to his belt after before they’re back on you expectantly.

“really? right here?” you ask as you tilt your head but your hands still move to pull at the buckle of his belt, thankful for the dimly lit environment that keeps you both hidden — although people know better than to look at hanma anyway.

“oh? but i thought you liked putting on a show in my club, babydoll.” there’s a sinful drop in his tone as you push through the button of his slacks, taking a languid handful of his cock before you give him a few shallow pumps with your fist. you hear him hiss as he leans closer, lips pressing against your jawline as sin smoothes under the hem of your dress.

hanma’s free hand presses into your lower back as your hips lift, the other working on pulling your panties to the side before you’re grinding your slick folds along the length of him. a breathless croon of a laugh falls from his lips as his head drops back to groan, hands kneading at your body to ease you into him.

it was shameless but fuck— he loved it, the thrill of being able to have you whenever he fucking wanted you, wrapped in your pretty walls knowing he’s got you all to himself. the next roll of your hips makes him hiss as his cock catches on the entrance to your pussy, his fingers twitching into your skin as he pushes you down onto him.

“fuck sake— pussy’s real fuckin’ tight.“ hanma jaw clenches as you spread around him, twitching tighter around him the deeper he goes as he rolls into you. he presses more of his heavy cock into your walls as he pulls you into him, holding you tight against his chest as his teeth sink lightly into your shoulder.

you feel the vibration of his groans against the skin when he finally bottoms out, his gaze drinking you up when he pulls back. it’s like he’s been stuck in a dessert without water for months and you’re his first, real taste as he gives you a look that makes you lean in closer so he can press his lips against yours.

it’s breathtaking the way hanma kisses you, licking into your mouth like hes trying to consume you completely — every grind and press of his tongue against yours is deliberate and it leaves you mindless when he sucks on your own before he pulls away.

you mould into his body like you were made to, although you already look a little fucked out over him — lips swollen and plump from his kisses and the look he gives you is smug at the mess he’s made of you already. he lets his hand smooth through his curls when he pulls back, pulling out another cigarette to rest it between his lips as his other hand rests securely around your hips.

hanma’s gaze is dark when he looks at you, a little wild when he hands you his lighter and watches the way you spark up a flame to light his cigarette. his cock really twitches at that, kisses even deeper along your sweet spots as he takes his first drag — blowing the smoke away from you before he’s leaning in to smear a kiss along your collarbones.

you feel him squeeze at the swell of your ass, holding you still as he grinds his cock into your plush cunt before he’s tracing just as gentle touches along your spine. “shit— you’re somethin’ else, babydoll.” he smirks before he’s taking another drag, chuckling when you meet the next roll of his hips with one of your own.

you continue to meet hanma’s movements with small, subtle thrusts — you’re both still in public and barely covered by your dress, surrounded by his men and its still a club despite it being his. but he was enough to make you lose your self control, your sense of self when your slick folds grind against his pelvis, rubbing your puffy clit against the skin with every slow, languid connection of your hips before his palm comes down heavy on your ass.

“see, babydoll — all mine. but the real shows just about to begin.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[miheartsedthings]

Part Six

SFW ModernBily x FemReader

Summary: After a fight, Billy is drunk and reckless at a party. You go determined to fix things.

Warnings: ANGST, infidelity, fluff

Words: ~2,000

Music is pounding as you approach the house. You’d followed clues from posts of classmates to lead you here, well past midnight and shivering. You’d rushed to sneak out, forgoing the heavier coat you left downstairs. You snatched a hoodie from the closet and threw it over yourself, swallowing the tiny shorts you wore under it. It wasn’t smart, but you weren’t thinking. You’ve never seen Billy so recklessly drunk and that’s saying something for him. As you enter, your ear is drawn to Amber Letty. You see her in the living room, crouched over a mass of shattered porcelain, broom and dustpan in hand. She’s crying, mascara smudged down her cheeks  demanding one of the jocks kick him out. 

“Are you kidding?” One of the football players says. “I’m not getting my ass kicked.” 

Your gaze sweeps the room, looking for Billy’s hair or his leather jacket, but he’s nowhere to be seen. You rush in, slipping through the crowded space and into the kitchen, only to find a bunch of kids you don’t recognize throwing scrutinizing looks at your outfit. You ignore them and keep going, your heart pulsing so hard it rivals the pumping of the bass in your chest. The living room is full of people, minus the space where Amber and a few others are cleaning. How the other were still dancing and crunching around on glass you couldn’t understand, but then, they all looked wasted. You moved through the surging crowd towards the stairs. 

“Have you seen Billy?”

You ask the first face you come to, a guy mid chug who burps and then covers his mouth. 

“Sorry, nah. He took off like, outside I think?”

“No, he went upstairs,” a girl interjected. “With Molly.” 

“Yeah right, it was Rachel.” 

You press on, rushing up the stairs, telling your frantic, sleep-deprived mind that he’s drunk. He’s not thinking straight and you have to get to him before anything happens. Before he does something he’ll regret. Not just in terms of fooling around with some girl. What happens if Amber calls the cops? So you press on. Upstairs, people are leaning against the wall in line for the bathroom. You open the door to one bedroom to find the air clouded with smoke. 

“Don’t let it out,” a voice calls from the haze and you close the door. You squeeze past the line to another door, finding it locked. You beat the door with a fist. 

“Fuck off,” a girl’s voice yells. 

“Do you know where Billy is?” You yell. 

For a moment no one answers, then footsteps approach and the door swings open. Billy’s clouded eyes look down at you, his brows knitted tight together. His hair is messy, and across his mouth is a faded smear of lipstick.

“The fuck are you doing here?” He asks, his foggy eyes scowling down at you. 

You look beyond him to the bed, where an inebriated Molly Kellerman sits, her lipstick smeared onto her chin. You look back up at Billy, anger plain on your face. 

“This is who you wanna be?” 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He asks “What did I tell you about wondering around this town at night? Didn’t I say I don’t want you out at night?”

“You don’t get to lecture me!” you yell, drawing eyes, “You obviously don’t give a fuck!” 

You turn to leave. Your chest feels like someone’s punched their fist into it. Billy grabs your elbow, yanking you into the room. You stumble, forced to catch yourself against him. Molly leaves, grumbling as she slams the door behind her. Your eyes are burning and you turn away so he won’t see you tearing up. 

“What the fuck are you thinking going out by yourself?” He asks, “And you’re fuckin naked.” 

You turn on him, glaring. 

“You weren’t worried about me a second ago, don’t be worried now.” 

You move to leave but it’s no use, he steps into your path, stopping you in your tracks. Maybe he hadn’t been so drunk. He looks sober, full of anger and impatience. Then again, he’s been like that so often lately. He points his finger at you. 

“You’re not going anywhere by yourself. Understand? Hate me or not.” 

“I don’t fucking hate you!” you yell, “That’s the point. That’s been my point this whole time but you’re fucking-” your voice drops out and you plop onto the bed. Sitting right where Molly had been. Your heart officially hurts and it’s taking everything in you not to start crying right now. 

“Look, we can both see where it’s going at this point.” His voice is low, resigned. “We tried, but obviously it’s too fucked up…” 

You glare up at him. 

“Do you really wanna break up with me? Never talk to me again, that’s seriously what you want?” 

He falters, agitation settling into his expression. His jaw tightens and he takes a step back. Then shakes his head. You sit there for a moment catching your breath, adrenaline coursing through you. 

“Me neither,” you say, “So we gotta figure this shit out.” 

“That’s the thing, there’s nothing to figure out. We see what the problem is…”

His voice fades, and his expression deepens into one of intense confliction the likes of which you’d never seen on him. It was like watching someone try to speak a language they barely knew, coming up short of words at every turn. It quels your anger a little, drawing your focus back to the reason you’d shown up. Your care for him. 

“Nothing about you is so terrible it’s not worth working on.” 

His blue eyes lift, and he stares at you a moment. 

“You can’t fix me.”

“I’ve noticed,” you answer with a bitter laugh. “But it’s not up to me, it’s up to you. If you’re gonna change you’re the one who has to make it happen, not me. I think you’re capable of it, by the way.” 

He shakes his head. It takes a moment. A long moment when the distant rumble of the party is the only sound, and you watch him work through whatever mental cloud has him stuck. He stands there wearing a cold, empty expression, but his eyes tell the truth of it. He’s scared. 

“Why’d you come here?”

You sigh. 

“‘Cause I love you.” 

The news stills him, his shoulders going slack. He gets down, as if his body were drained of strength, and puts his head in your lap. His arms loop around your waist. Just like the night you told him there was no baby, you run your fingers through his hair, rubbing his back. 

“We should probably get outta here before Amber calls the cops.” 

Out in the car, Billy's hands are on your thighs, rubbing, trying to bring warmth into them. 

“Still don't know why you're naked.” He grumbles. As soon as he'd started the car he'd cranked the heat, complaining again about you not having a coat. His fretting makes you smile. You can’t help that. 

“I rushed over here. I didn't think about a coat. Or pants.” 

You laugh, still shivering a little. Your mind travels back to when you found Billy and Molly together. “Were you really gonna sleep with her?”

His hands stop, and he looks at you through curly locks which have fallen in his eyes. A cigarette hangs from his lips. 

“No.” He says. Nothing more, nothing less. You watch his eyes. The faded pink on his lips. You drag your thumb across them, wiping away the makeup. 

“Why'd you have to kiss her?” 

He leaned back, taking a deep drag from his cigarette. 

“You always ask me shit like that. Like you don't know.” 

“You're not some hopeless asshole who can't help himself.” He looks at you, surprised by your snippy tone. “You're not hardwired to make bad decisions, you're not some demon boy. You get choices. So why'd you choose that? Tell me right now.” 

He lets down the window, blowing smoke into the night. Looking away, he shrugs. 

“Thought it'd make it easier. Make me forget. Give you something big to drop me for.” 

He looks so miserable when he turns to face you. His expression resigned as if this line of thinking were to be expected. It breaks your heart. 

“I don't wanna break up,” you say “All I wanted was an apology. That's not too much.” 

“Yeah well, if I can't give it what's that tell ya?” 

You shake your head, a laugh breaking through your chest.

“Jesus, I've never seen somebody be their own worst enemy like you.” 

What pops into Billy's head is that he's never seen someone care about him like you. He's watching you, his head leaned against the headrest. He's wondering when you'll get tired of him and run off. He'd rather it happened because he made it happen like he was trying to do tonight. But you're stubborn. You'll hang on until he fucks up without meaning to. He’s not sure when but it'll happen. He knows it'll happen. 

His cigarette shrinks down to the butt and he flicks it out the window. 

It's been quiet for a while. He's been sitting there lost in his thoughts, and when he looks back over you're asleep. He watches you for a minute, maybe two, then reaches into the glovebox. He tears the edge of an envelope and finds a pen. 

You wake to gentle nudging and open your eyes to see your house standing in solemn darkness. You turn to see Billy. He looks tired, but at least he's peaceful. 

“I'm home?” You grumble, rubbing sleep from your eyes. 

“You're home,” he echoes, softly. “Get in there.” 

You look at him, your eyes kissing all over that beautiful face you love so much. Your vision is blurring and you blink fast to clear your view. Don’t cry, don’t cry. Then, you lean over and hug him. An embrace he returns. 

“I love you, you know. I mean it.” 

“I know,” he answers. But his voice sounds so sad. When you pull back, his hand touches your cheek. “I meant what I said about going around at night. Don't do that shit again.” 

You nod. 

“Got it.” 

His lips come to yours, and he kisses you in that tender way you recognize. Later, back in your room, you pull off the hoodie, and a little slip of paper flutters to the ground. You pick it up, finding that it's the edge of an envelope. Written there in Billy's sloppy hand is:

I'm sorry.

The next morning you wait at the gas station, sitting on the concrete bumper in front of the parking space Billy always uses. The slip of paper is tucked into the plastic cover of your binder. It’s a small victory but it makes you feel giddy. He said it, however indirectly and that means progress. You hear the purr of the Camaro and rush to stand, excited to see him. Music is spilling from the windows, and when he pulls up he yells over it, leaning over the center console to shine that fabulous smile at you. 

“Hey,” he says.

You lean with your arms folded on the rolled-down window. 

“Hey.” 

“I need a hottie to ride to school with, and you’re the only one in town. Mind hoppin in?” 

Your smile widens. 

“Not at all.” 

You get in the car and he pulls you into a kiss that blots out the sun. His strong hand cups the back of your neck gently but with so much intention. So much frustration and anger is lost between your lips. So much has already been forgiven and you want to forget it just as quickly. Start over. Better yet, start from now in this perfect place. When you pull apart you touch his cheek to keep him close. You can see a little hesitation in his eyes as one of his brows lift. 

“Yeah?” he asks.

“I’m gonna tell you my dream, but don’t say anything after, okay? Not a word.”

“Fine,” he says, “Now open those pretty lips and talk to me.”

You sigh, a heady peace settling over you. 

“This time next year, we’re in California. We live together, even if it means staying off campus. We spend weekends on beaches all over the coast, including the nude ones.” He grins at that. “Sundays we have friends over and we take turns cooking. When we get bored you take me to your favorite places, and we go on long drives some nights when we can’t sleep. We do this for a long time, and then we get a house, and then sell that house and get a condo.” He laughs, looking at you with unabashed adoration, stroking his thumb against your shoulder. 

You look at him for a long moment, at his cheeks, slightly flushed. He doesn’t say a thing. You head to school on a high, the two of you feeling as fresh as the day you first got together. Everything is right and not even the sight of the drab high school dampens your moods. Billy parks and cuts the music, but you touch his shoulder before he can get out. He turns an inquizitive gaze to you. You lean over and kiss him, putting extra care into it until a little moan sounds from his chest. That’s when you pull away. 

“What’s that for?” his cool eyes focus on your lips a moment. You wait until he looks into your eyes to say the words:

“I forgive you.” 

He seems surprised at first, but then that beautiful, full-hearted smile breaks across his face. You’ll go the rest of your days buoyed by the sight of it.

To be continued...

[carolmunson]

buttercup baby

(soft!eddie x badatfeelings!gf)

a/n and cw: i listening to 'build me up butter cup' on a loop while writing this. this isn't happy, and not totally following the trajectory of the blurbs but i was thinking about how eventually eddie would be so tired of feeling hurt all the time, and badatfeelings!gf just going in and out of the relationship as she saw fit -- like a revolving door. it borders toxic really heavily -- their magnetism to eachother. anyway, i took an amalgamation of fights i've gotten in with significant others where i've been both eddie and bad at feelings gf. 18+, mentions of smut, angst angst angst, hurt/semi comfort, all around frustrating relationship issue stuff. gif by: @theseymourbirkhoff

“You came here to talk, so talk.”

She toys with her fries, unable to look at him when he looks at her like that, talks to her like that. Hardened, a crease between his brow. He's only like this sometimes, when he feels wronged, when he knows she's wrong. When she won't let herself be wrong.

“Yeah but…I — you — You said you wanted to talk about things,” she stutters, head clouding, “Instead of just saying goodbye to each other like I said we should.”

“I didn’t want to do whatever dramatic bullshit you wanted to do,” he crossed his arms and leaned back in the cracked leather booth. Knees splaying out to take up space, making himself look bigger than her. He stared down her down the slope of his nose, eyes shining like amber slits under his eyelashes. The low yellow orange light danced over him, he looked like a painting. A painting that was so disappointed in her.

“I was joking,” she says quietly, eyes falling back to her plate, “Saying it was for 'the dramatics'. I was just joking.”

“Guess you always liked the dramatic parts of it, huh?” he asks, his voice is bored.

“If you’re just gonna be an asshole then I’m gonna go,” she looks up at him, courage shooting through her chest, “I didn’t come here for you to be mad at me.”

He sighs, “What did you come here for then?”

“To talk!” she shrills, “Like you wanted! Like you asked!”

“Don’t yell,” he hisses in a whisper across the table, “People are staring.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers back. Had she been that loud? Was she yelling? Her heart hammers in her chest while he continues to stare down at her. The same silent fight over and over. Her begging him to tell her the right answer but he always responds in a riddle she should’ve already figured out.

"Baby, sometimes I just...I don't get you," he shakes his head, leaning forward on his forearms.

"What's there to get?" she asks.

"You break up with me, for what, the tenth time in the last five years? Telling me I'm better off being with anyone else, a bunch of other bullshit you made up," he starts, "And a week later you're completely off your ass, callin' asking me to see you. To come fix it." A beat passes, his face looks pained.

"And you know I'll always come fix it for you."

Her jaw tightens and he tilts his head, "You can't do that to people, sweet thing. You're always...you always do this."

"Do what?" she grits out. "You just -- ugh, baby, you push. You just push, and push, and push -- and sometimes, I -- I don't know. I don't want to be pushed anymore. You make yourself so hard to reach," he explains, eyes shining, "So I just do what you want me to do: I go. I let you do it your way. It's always what you want and--"

"Always what I want?" she bites back, "Are you kidding me?"

"Let me finish," he warns. She looks back down at her fries, the milkshakes on the end of the table melting to cold chocolate milk. "Y'ask me to meet with you and now you wanna interrupt," he mutters before taking an unsavory bite of his burger. Ripping the bread and beef like an animal. "Eat like an adult, Ed. Jesus," you complain. He flicks his eyes up at you, a vein by his temple pulses. "Why don't you just fuckin' go, then?" he asks -- eyes dark and jaw full, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand -- the smeared grease makes his lips shine, "It's clear you just wanted to come here to show yourself off --" "Stop." "--give your whole schpiel, make me fall for you all over again--"

"Eddie, please, I--"

"--show up in my favorite jeans with that lipstick on. Of course you did, this is what you do." They stare each other down for a moment, the buzz of the lamp above them filling the silence. "You done?" she huffs. He lets out a frustrated laugh through his nose.

"Did you ever think that maybe I ended this because it's better for both of us?" she asks, "Ed, I -- I love you so much, I just want you to be happy. We don't make each other happy."

"Well ya see, babe. That's bullshit," he nods, throat tight, "That's fucking bullshit."

"What's bullshit?"

"That you love me. If you really loved me, you wouldn't do this shit to me," his eyes well with years, "If you loved me, you wouldn't leave."

He sniffs hard before taking a sip of water to steady himself. She looks at him in disbelief, heart hammering.

"That's a fucking manipulative thing to say," she spits. He puts the glass down with a clang, standing up and leaning on the table with his hands to get in her face.

“Yeah, well, who do you think I fuckin' learned it from?” he blurts out with a snide grimace. She swallows hard, teeth grinding. "You know what? Fuck this, man," he shakes his head, fishing into his back pocket to take out his wallet and tossing a few bills on the table, "I'm not doing this with you, again."

He shoves his wallet back in his jeans, adjusting his jacket while he walks out of the diner -- the bell shrills at the door when he opens it. She hears the murmuring of the waitresses, they've seen this fight a thousand times over from other couples, from the both of them.

She gets up to go after him, hustling while he walks towards the van and he can hear her gasping while she runs. The cold Indiana winter squeezing her throat. He whips around and looks at her while she slows to a jog, then to a walk. The Christmas lights in the window of the diner shine off the tears streaming down his face.

"What, baby?" he asks with a defeated shrug, "What more do you want f-from me?"

"I d-don't have anything left to give you," he continues, face crumpling, "You s-said it yourself, that you're not h-happy."

"I said we're not happy," she pleads.

"Speak for yourself," his voice drops to something low, solemn. You watch his adams apple bob while he thickly swallows his crying, "Bunny, you make me so happy. You've always made me so happy."

"No I haven't," she argues, her voice starting to crack. Her chest constricts, the cold dissipates while heat prickles over he body, down her throat and nose, "Steve told me that you felt like -- like I didn't like you anymore."

"Because I don't think you do," he shrugs, "And I was right."

The admission makes his eyes well up again, "And all I ever t-tried to do was make you happy and -- and love on ya, babe. I just wanted to h-help you."

"I don't need help."

"Fine, fucking -- fine," he says, trying to wrap his head around the finality of the conversation, "I can't do this with you anymore. I'm not gonna stand here and watch you lie to me. Stand here and -- and let you break my heart ten times over."

He walks around the van, the door creaks open and slams shut. She winces when the engine roars to life and he wastes no time pulling off into the road. She waits for the lights on the back of the van to fade out before she starts walking home, hands shoved in her pockets.

It's not late, but it's been dark for hours. The streets of Hawkins are quiet, lulled by a dark blue night sky, orange yellow streetlights, blankets of snow. It stretched for miles, the kind of image that you're not sure you're seeing with your eyes -- but with your chest. A place she wasn't sure was really there -- because she was always stuck somewhere between sleep and awake. Between breathing and drowning.

She takes the long way, cursing herself for not wearing the right boots. A heavier coat. His teasing rings in her ears, 'You're not a warm blooded 'Merican man like me, baby. You need a real coat.' He bought her one from the secondhand store two winters ago, still had the tags on it. It just made her sad to wear it now.

Her throat tightened again, thinking about the tree in her little apartment. Him slipping another gift under it every time he stopped by, always writing funny 'to and froms' on the tags.

'To: Valerie B. Love: Eddie V. H.' 'To: Rizzo Love: Kenicke' 'To: Lúthien Love: Beren'

To name a few.

She thought about returning them to him. They weren't going to be doing Christmas together this year...obviously. If he was happy before, he definitely wasn't happy now.

It was the thought of him on Christmas morning that did it. Wayne always worked Christmas Eve night, ever since Ed got big enough to not care so much -- so Christmas morning was reserved for her. Now he'd just -- be alone. When all he ever wants to do is remind her that sometimes Santa is covered in tattoos and wears all black.

She's not expecting it, but she heaves -- chest rattling when the first tear leaks out of her eye. Her feet are soaked and she's not sure if she's shaking from the cold or from the sob she's trying to keep from wracking her body. Maybe he was just trying to help. Maybe she made a mistake.

Lost in her thoughts and the crunch of the snow under her boots, she barely registers the chug of a vehicle rolling slowly along side her. She turns when the engine revs.

"Get in," Eddie suggests, head ducking down to see her out of the passenger side window, "Let me drive you home. S'too cold."

She turns her attention back to the sidewalk, shaking her head and sniffling, "Are you stalking me or something?"

"I -- no," he says, "I shouldn't have just peeled out of there, I should've offered. You're not dressed warm 'nough."

"I'm fine," she snaps, "I can take care of myself."

He stops the van and gets out, hopping awkwardly into other people's footprints to not get his Reeboks wet. His arms outstretched for balance while his chains clinked against his pants -- he steadies, standing infront of her. Two kids with cold feet.

"Get in the van, baby," he asks -- his voice soft and taming, doe eyes shining. The snow glistens back into them -- like sparkles, like stars, "Please?"

The dam breaks for the first time in a long time. It's not the blow out she was expecting. The low hiss of a kettle before the shreik. If she starts -- she can't stop. That's why she's so afraid to feel it. Lower lip quivering before a weak whimper leaves her chest, tears sliding down her face like a leak in the sink.

"Oh, no, no," Eddie coos, reaching for her, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't wanna make you cry."

"S'not you," she shakes her head, hands immediately wiping at her face but it's pointless. The tears continue, a waterfall of feelings she forgot about.

"What is it, sweet thing? What's got you cryin'?" he asks, arms wrapping around her like the coat she left in the closet. The red coat he saw in the second hand store that he knew she'd love. She looks so good in red.

"S'just...it's everything," she confesses into his chest. He savors this for a moment, witnessing her weakness, before his heart breaks again. He's stuck.

Once she gets back in the van, it's another promise he has to keep -- that they both have to keep. Until they do this all over again, until he's hurt all over again. It's making him bitter -- he doesn't want to be.

He drives her home and like a magnet he follows her into the house, clothes dropping off them like it's the peak of summer. He's not gentle, they both shove and bite, the both pull and drag. She begs him to fuck her like he hates her -- he doesn't have to try because he does hate her.

But he loves her more... He swears he loves her... He swears he loves her more.

if you enjoyed this, read more badatfeelings!gf: here

[galaxyedging]

For @movievillainess721

Dark!Jack Daniels x f!reader

WC: 3.4k

Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you try to draw out Jack's darker side.

Warnings: CNC vibes. Rough, degrading sex. Jack takes what he wants, but the reader is into it.

Author's Note: Not proofread or edited. I'm just happy that I wrote a fic.

Careful What You Wish For

The weighty pendant necklace that sits perfectly in your cleavage is the only cool spot on your skin as Jack sets eyes on you from across the room. Even with the dress you wear barely covering your body, the room feels unbearably hot. The skin on show clearly has Jack's attention but it's not for him. You want every other set of eyes in the room on you. You practically float across the dance floor propelled by the music and the waves of admiration coming off of the Stateman's guests.

Before you can fully cross the dance floor and get within Jack's grasp you gracefully accept an offer for a dance Agent Kahlúa. The placement of the handsome agents' hands just skirts the edge of inappropriate as you dance. He's your first dance partner that night, but he is far from your last. Each one of them has happily indulged in the Statesman's finest reserve. Your late appearance was planned to ensure it. The amber liquid makes them loose with their desires. Their eyes linger where their hands don't touch. Time passes in a blur as excitement and anxiety claw at your throat. The temptation to look over at Jack is so strong. His gaze is magnetic, breaking the pull, you force yourself to leave.

The cold night air adds to the goosebumps across your flesh and the stiffness of your nipples. The steady click of your heels speeds up as you lose your nerve. Shaking hands try to retrieve your car keys until they are stilled by larger, stronger ones.

“Now I know you ain't leaving without sharing a dance with me.” Jack's voice is low in your ear as he pulls you flush to him.

The hot hands that were on yours grip your hips to sway you gently. His nose travels down from your hair to your neck, his soft lips skim the skin there until he stops abruptly.

“I can smell them on you.” He lets out a huff of laughter. “I know what game you're playing. Do you think I'm that easy?” His grip on your hips tightens, his short nails start to dig into your flesh. You can picture the little half moons forming there.

“N-no.” You stammer.

Gracefully, Jack spins you out of his hands until you're facing him. His dancer's flare is dropped when he grabs your throat, squeezing the sides gently. “Lying whore. Get in the fuckin’ car.”

With the release of Jack's hand, a full, deep breath makes your head spin. Getting yourself together, you climb into your passenger seat. Jack's profile is set firm as he sits in the driver's seat.

“Jack, I…” you begin.

“You shut your mouth.” You recoil as Jack barks at you. “I don't want to hear any more lies. In fact, come here.”

Your neat updo is destroyed by Jack's fingers winding in the silken strands to drag you across the bench seat. His other hand works on his belt buckle. Once his cock is free he holds the base steady to force the tip past your lips.

“You keep your mouth on that. It'll stop you runnin’ it an’ lyin’ to me.” His breath hitches a little when your mouth settles around him.

The drive isn't long but Jack's grunts, every time you hit a bump or a curve in the road prompting his cock to shift in your warm mouth, makes it feel longer.

By the time Jack has you spread out naked tied to his bed, you're dripping onto his sheets in anticipation.

“Hmmm. See this is why I told you to wax that pussy bare for me. I can see every drop of what I do to you. All this just from holding my cock in your mouth. Dirty bitch.” he'd pulled off his shirt as he spoke.

The soft lamp light highlights the curves and dips of his hard earned muscles. Your mouth that had been parched by your heavy breathing, and makeshift gag, begins to water at the sight. His jeans go next instantly revealing his rock hard cock. Your pussy floods even more than your mouth. With a smirk, Jack gathers some of your wetness on his fingers. His smirk grows to a grin when you whimper.

“Poor baby. Just achin’ to be touched.” A deep groan punctuates his sentence as he wraps his hand around his girth. “Ah. Do you want this? Huh? Want me to fuck you…until you cream over my cock? Until that tight like cunt milks my cum…fuck.” His fist violently jerks his cock. “You love that cunt being filled, don't you? You've always let me take you raw. You take my cock…you take my…oh shit. Ugh.” He snarls through his release. The first spurt of his cum paints the hardwood floor. The next few drip down his fist, his cock and thick thighs. “Mmm. That's better. I can think clearly now. I wouldn't wanna rush through your punishment just because my balls ache. Now, what to do to you first.”

Wiping his hand on his discarded shirt, Jack struts around the bed weighing up his opinions.

“I think I'll start with those pretty tits. Since you practically had them out all night.” The shirt is dropped in favor of retrieving his whip from his dresser.

The bed dips as Jack climbs onto it, swinging his leg over your hips to straddle you. His softening cock lays at the top of your mound.

“Let me get that for you, Darlin’.” Jack smiles as he finally removes your wadded up panties from your mouth now dripping with your saliva as well as your arousal. “I wanna hear all those pretty sounds.”

The first one rings out of you when he drags the ridges of his whip across your nipple. The pain is electric, he repeats the motion a few times before bending the whip until it pinches. The pull of the whip and the arch of your spine draw you to him as you cry out.

“Shh. Shh. Shh. It’s alright. Here.” Jack releases your nipple to suck it into his mouth, his tongue runs soothingly across it. “After what you did, you have a lot of punishment comin’ I don't want you to go passin’ out on me. You need t’ take your pain like the big girl you've been acting like.”

Once your body relaxes Jack nips at the flesh of your breast earning another cry from you. “Music to my ears, Sugar. Let's move on.”

Jack lifts up off you to grab something from his bedside draw. A familiar sweet cherry scent fills the air. Jack turns back to you with a handful of lube before picking up his whip. His brown eyes stare vacantly into yours as he spreads the lube on his whip handle. Your whole body tensed at the thought of what Jack had planned.

“If you tense up it'll be worse. Just relax, like you were about having all those agents hands on you.”

The blunt end of the whip pushing at your entrance had you even more tense.

“Come on, Honey. You know you can take it. Just think of it like one of those other cocks you were nearly bouncing on tonight.”

“Jack, you know that I wouldn't…ahh.” You sobbed as the handle finally slips inside you.

Jack pushed it in to silence you. “No more lyin’. Be honest. If I wasn't in your life, you would have fucked one of them tonight.”

The whip handle slips deeper as his words arouse you. “I know you'd take Kahlúa balls deep. Maybe I should have brought him back to fuck you while you drooled on my cock.” He forces the handle deeper, the painful stretch starts to give way to pleasure as it scrapes along your g-spot. Even without feeling the reaction of your pussy around him, Jack knows exactly how to work you.

“There you go.” The wet sound of the handle pumping in and out of your cunt builds until you come, hard, with a howl of Jack's name.

As the waves of pleasure make your pussy contract it clamps down on the whip and keeps it in place. Jack yanks at the whip mixing more pain with your pleasure before shoving it back in. Setting a brutal pace he forces you to come on the object again. All Jack's sweetness and manners that he shows in public are completely gone. All that remains is a dark shadow of him. There's the odd ‘Sugar’ thrown in but the rest of his words are cruel and mocking. Once the handle slips so deeply on the wave of your arousal and ecstasy that it grazes your cervix you begin to cry at being so full.

“Jack. Please. It's too…much.” the non-waterproof mascara, that Jack had requested you wear, runs down your cheeks as you sob. “Please. Too full.”

A deep bark of a laugh shocks you. It sends a chill through you that shakes you even more than the bone rattling orgasms he has given you. “Too full? No, Darlin’. You don't know what full is.”

Before you know what's happening Jack is uncuffing your feet, wrenching your hips up and pulling your ass against his thighs as he kneels on the bed. The whip is still snuggly inside you as Jack presses a finger tip to your other hole.

“No..no. I can't…” any further protest is detailed by Jack snatching the air from your lungs as he pushes his ring finger in to the knuckle.

“Oh, you can. I'm going to use this tight little hole for my pleasure. And you're going to let me.” One hand pushes at the whip while another finger prods at your rim to punctuate his point. “You know you will let Ol’Jack do whatever he wants to you. Won't you, Honey? Just to keep me fucking you.”

His fingers and the foreign object start to feel like violations. “I can't…” You weep hoping he will take pity on you.

“Oh, it's okay, Sweetheart. I'll make it easier for you.” Jack eases his fingers out and leaves the room.

The beat of your heart in your ears drowns out all the rational thinking you should be doing. Is this too rough? Is he crossing a line? Is this still the Jack you know?

None of it matters when he returns and his naked body is pressed against your as he leans over to undo your cuffs. When you see that he went to the kitchen to get some honey, you relax a little. Which makes it all the more easy for Jack to manhandle you onto your front and cuff you back in place. The whip nudges your g-spot when Jack gathers the other end of the whip. As his thumb slips inside you, his whip cracks against the flesh of your plump ass.

“Jack!” Black tears drip onto the bed below.

“Hush, Baby. I'll take care of you.” A cool liquid drips onto your ass. It soothes the sting for a moment until Jack licks it off. Honey, you think. It's the last coherent thought that you have for a long while. Jack repeats the sting of the whip followed by the balm of honey and warm tongue until you ass is covered in welts and honey drips down to your pussy. It floods your hole when Jack pulls out the three fingers he has managed to work inside of you. Jack's tongue delves in, chasing the sweetness of honey mixed with the taste of your shame. He could feel your embarrassment at letting him play with your virgin hole. His cock was leaking at the thought of pressing through each ring of muscle until you were stuffed full of his big, fat length. He had you crying just from stuffing your pussy. He couldn't wait to hear the sounds you'd make when he had you completely full. He wondered if you'd beg or try to push him off you. His cock twitched at the thought.

“So sweet. I can't wait to fill it.” Jack's hands spreading your cheeks makes your legs shake with nerves. “This is happening either way. You might as well relax. If you're a good girl, I'll make you come while I fill your tight hole with my cum.”

The terrifying thought that Jack might not stop at your safe word crosses your mind. He's right, this is happening either way because you can't risk finding out the answer to that thought. It's better to just try to enjoy it than to have your faith in Jack shattered.

“Oh, fuck.” Jack bites off as he forces the tip of his cock inside you.

His thigh nudges the whip into you, both sensations have you gasping. Jack's fingertips trace the red lines on your soft cheeks as his strong hands keep them spread. The rhythm he sets is off kilter. Is deep and sporadic. It’s purely for his pleasure. He's using you. Even when he grabs the handle in your pussy he only angles it to push against your thin walls to give him another ridge to drag his cockhead over. Another orgasm had been steadily building for you until Jack moved the whip. The new angle is uncomfortable.

“Jack. No. Stop.” Your voice isn't strong but it's loud enough for him to hear.

“Don't say that, Honey Bee. You're so close. Here.” Jack drags you up, flush against his heaving chest. His fingers find your slick clit and begin to rub harshly. “Come on. Come for me.”

“I can't. Please, stop.” There's even less conviction I'm your voice as the pleasure builds around any pain or discomfort.

“Shit. That's my girl. Take it. Take it. Fuck. Gonna blow my load. Squeeze my cock. Fuck. Do it.” Jack's words speed up with his movements.

His cock pounds impossibly deep, stretching out your intimate hole. The whip slams against your cervix and everything builds under his fingers at your clit.

“I…” it's all too much. You're desperate to come but you can't.

Jack's hips falter too. Like he's on the edge but can't get himself over.

“Fuck. Tell me ‘no’ again. Tell me to stop. Tell me I'm a bad man.” Jack's voice quivers for a second. “Tell me you fucking love it. Tell me you know I can take anything I want from you.”

“Jack. No. Stop. Please.” You push back against him.

You can feel him swelling inside you. “Fuck. Yes.”

“Stop, Jack. I want you to stop.” The little game you'd started tonight, goading Jack into giving it to you rough, took a twisted turn and you were secretly loving it. “Please.”

“You want me to stop? You don't want me dick in your ass? Make me.” Jack taunts. His hips pick up speed. His balls are pressed right up against your ass and he thrusts shallowly, enjoying the tight grip of you.

“Stop!” You yell trying to buck him off like a sick, twisted rodeo.

Jack's well built arms wrap around you, trapping you against him.

“That's it. Make me so fuckin’ hard. Gonna make me..oh shit. You can't stop…me…using you. My lit..te..whore. Fuucck.” Jack's head is thrown back as he practically howls through his release.

You own crashes into as his words turn you on even further. Conflicting emotions rise in you once the initial rush of endorphins is over. You feel satisfied? Violated? Safe? Scared? The thoughts can't fully form as your brain is as limp as your body. A body that Jack is manhandling again. His work-rough hands skim your hot skin as he undoes your cuffs. They wrap around your ankles as he slips your feet into dirty panties. Pulling you up to stand he yanks them up over your hips, so forcefully that they slip into the seam of your pussy and send a reminder of the pain there. Next, your dress is unceremoniously dragged over your head.

“Jack?” You brow furrows while he looks back expressionless. “Jack?”

The grip he has on your upper arm hurts as he drags you through his immaculate penthouse to his front door. The no expense spared carpet in the hallway outside cushions your fall as Jack throws you on your ass outside his door. Your shoes and purse are dumped unceremoniously next to your prone form. With your head spinning all you can do is lay there and watch as Jack disappears for a second.

When he comes back he steps out into the hallway with you. “Cover yourself up before the neighbors see.” He swats at your tit left hanging out of your dress before gripping it and shoving it back under the material. His other hand clutches some dollar bills. “Since you give up your whore pussy for free. I thought I'd at least pay your cab fare. I was going to stuff it into your bra but you don't even have one on.” He hovers over you seemingly contemplating, naked as the day he was born. “I know.” In one swift move he shoves the bills down your sodden panties. His knuckle grazing your swollen clit makes you moan quietly. His eyes snapping to yours make you instantly regret the sound. “Look at you. Used and tossed out like trash but still wanting it. Dirty little bitch. Does that hungry pussy need to come again?”

As if it heard him, your pussy clenches. You want him to make you come again but everything is too sore. You feel thoroughly used. There's nothing left for your own pleasure. All you can do is slump back on your elbows, empty.

“Aw. Is that cunt all done for the night?” Jack sinks to his knees before you. “Maybe I've been a little too rough with it. I'm sorry. Where are my manners?” With the most softness he has shown all night, Jack kisses up your thigh until his nose grazes the wadded up bills in your thin panties. Holding them aside he looks at your bare pussy with something akin to admiration in his eyes. “She sure is a pretty little thing.” The end of his sentence is spoken against your lower lips as he prepares to part them with his tongue. The first swipe across your clit has your mewling. “Oh, Darlin’ is that what you need? Jack's tongue?”

He gives a few more licks with the barest tip of his tongue.

“Oh, Jack.” You writhe against the plush carpet.

This was more like the first time. When he'd come back from a mission, pent up and needy. He’d at least made you come on his mustache before fucking you raw over your desk.

“You like that? Come to think of it, a warm wet mouth does feel good down there.” In a flurry of movement he's standing before you where he's dragged you up to your knees. His cock is more than half hard as he pumps himself near your face. “Open up.” He pulls harshly at your hair and thrusts into your mouth when you yelp.

The world spins again. Conflicting feelings are joined by conflicting thoughts. You'd wanted it rough. You'd wanted to play his whore. Were you prepared for it not to be an act? To just be used and degraded for his pleasure. A look in the floor to ceiling windows next to you gave you your answer.

Reflected in the glass against the night's sky was a part of you you'd never see before. She was on her knees, two large hands held her head in place while a thick cock was being pumped in and out of her throat. She gagged now and then as drool and tears ran down her no longer perfectly made up face. Her own hands groped at her tits, playing with her sore nipple to chase the earlier high. Her other hand worked furiously at her clit chasing down her next orgasm. Her juices soaked the cash in her ruined panties. You had never seen her before but you knew exactly who she was. Jack's Whore.

Tags (sorry if this isn't your kind of thing. I just haven't tagged you guys in a while.)

@kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie @faceache111 @elegantduckturtle @manazo @simpingcowboy @pedrit0-pascalit0 @yourcoolauntie @pedrostories @geekrenaissance @its-nebuleuse @sherala007 @vabeachazn

[chadillacboseman]

Summary: Part of the Vampire!Graves AU that @gloombride and I are currently going insane over. My original/first snippet is here. Graves is back from the dead and needs to find you. 141 has taken you for interrogation after hearing reports that the commander might be alive. Graves doesn't take kindly to your imprisonment. Reader is gender neutral, but the pet name "baby" is used.

Word Count: 5.1k!!!

Warnings: Oh boy! Major character death, blood, dismemberment, broken bones, vampirism, consumption of blood. The least offensive part of this is the use of guns lol. The moment Price and Graves interact, some pretty graphic descriptions of injury take place and continue until the end.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

--

"What do you know about Phillip Graves being alive?" Captain Price stood before you, his figure looming above your seated form, hands resting on his rifle.

"Nothing."

That was the truth. You'd spent the last two weeks mourning his death after his second in command had came to your door to notify you.

"Bullshit-" Soap piped up from across the room, his voice tinged with barely contained rage. Soap had been one of the few to know about you- Graves had pulled a weathered photo of you from his pocket to show him the night before they'd taken down El Sin Nombre.

"That's my whole world right there," Graves grinned and ran a thumb absentmindedly over your face in the photo, "Gonna make it home safe just to see that face again."

"Didn't peg ya for one to settle down, Graves," Soap raised an eyebrow, "But I can see why."

Graves chuckled and shoved the photo back into his pocket, "I'm gonna hang it up soon, give the Shadows over to Oz- sit my ass behind a fuckin' desk and call the shots from there."

"I don't know anything!" you hissed; tears were threatening to well up in your eyes now.

"Let me clue you in here," Price knelt down in front of you, eyes laser fixed on yours, "You are not leaving this room until I get an answer."

"Fuck you."

--

"Shepherd told me you were dead," Oz's back was against the wall, eyes following Graves as he paced.

"Maybe I was," there was a new glint in the commander's eye that made Oz uncomfortable. His irises were glowing in the dim light, two halos of amber bobbing just above his shark-like grin, "Now I'm gonna ask you one more time, where are they?"

"Those British fucks came knocking-" Oz paused, eyes screwed up, as if he was trying to conjure the memory up in his mind, "They know you're alive. Took 'em in for questioning. That's all I fuckin' know, Graves."

He didn't need any more than that.

"Do me a favor, Osmond," Graves glanced over his shoulder as he exited the room, "Don't tell Shepherd about this conversation. I'd like it to be a surprise."

--

Your house was deserted. Lights were still on, and your phone was sitting at the table. Graves knew you didn't go voluntarily. He inhaled deeply, letting the scent of the place dance through his nostrils and across his tongue. Each scent was a thread, a way to trace back to the source- a way for him to find you.

He got a lock on it, pulled it from the others that surrounded it until it was all he could smell, all he could taste. From there, it was easy- like a bloodhound on the trail he could retrace your every step.

The other scents made his fangs throb, anger welled up in his chest- Soap, Ghost, and two others he couldn't quite place.

It was easy to follow the trail once he had a lock on you. Graves could see the scent now, like a faint fog that hovered in the air.

You were close. And so were the others.

--

"Do you really think he's alive?" The soldier Gaz was posted with was chatty. He hated that.

"Dunno. Price seems to think so," Gaz traced a circle in the dirt with his boot, hoping to avoid further conversation.

"Yeah, but, they fuckin' blew that tank sky-high, right? No shot he lived."

"Maybe he wasn't in it."

The soldier seemed surprised by the suggestion, "Yeah? That could be. Probably put some low level guy in there, made him get blasted."

Gaz simply grunted in response, praying that the man took the hint. He didn't want to be part of the interrogation, in fact, he thought the whole thing was a farce. As if Graves would be foolish enough to tell you he was alive, let alone where he was.

So, Price stuck him outside on "guard duty" with some chatty nobody until they were through.

"I'm gonna do a walk-around, make sure nobody is up to anything," The soldier had clearly taken the hint, uncomfortable with the silence that was left hanging between them.

"Knock yourself out," Gaz leaned back against the cool metal of the wall and watched as the man disappeared into the darkness.

The night was quiet and Gaz could hear the faint sounds of the highway in the distance, muddled with crickets chirping in the field just outside the gate.

The minutes ticked by and Gaz began to wonder if the other soldier had abandoned him. He wouldn't complain if he had, but Price demanded two on the door at all times.

"Oi, you done fucking around out there?" Gaz called into the darkness.

No response.

"Jesus, mate-" He cupped his hand around his mouth and yelled once more, "If I have to come find you, I'm tellin' Price and he'll kick your ass."

Silence.

"Fuckin' hell," Gaz muttered as he flipped the flashlight to life on his rifle and aimed it into the distance.

He wandered between the shipping containers in the warehouse yard, flashlight beam bobbing from shadow to shadow.

"You out here takin' a piss or are you-" Gaz stopped mid-sentence as his beam fell on something dark pooled on the concrete. From it, drag marks had been formed in the liquid, leading off into the darkness. Gaz knelt beside the puddle and examined it closely; he realized with a sudden jolt that it was blood. A lot of it.

"What the fuck-" He lifted the beam of his flashlight, following the drag marks until the dark overwhelmed it.

A thud in the distance, just beyond the reach of the light made him jump; he lifted his rifle to his shoulder and tried to calm his racing heart.

"Somebody out there? Come out with your hands up." Something to his left rustled and Gaz spun on his heel in search of the source.

Gaz had never met Graves in person. He only knew him from photographs and from a brief glimpse of him during their raid of the Fuerzas Especiales base.

But, the man standing before him was undoubtedly Phillip fucking Graves.

Something was off about his uniform, it seemed to shine in the light. It took Gaz a moment to realize that the fabric was covered in blood.

"Gaz, right?" Graves grinned as he drawled on, "Never had the pleasure of meeting you, but I'm sure you know who I am."

"Price is gonna have your fuckin' head."

"We'll see about that. Now look, I think you know what happened to your buddy," Graves nodded to the pool of blood, "But it doesn't have to happen to you. You answer my questions, you walk away. Pretty simple."

Gaz swallowed, hard, and flexed his fingers on the grip of his rifle, "No shot."

Graves sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth, "I know you're smarter than this, Garrick. Tell me where they're at and we go our separate ways."

"I promise you, I'm a man of my word."

--

"Gaz, we're calling it a night. Everything clear out there?" Price released the button on his radio and waited for a response.

Silence.

"Fuck's sake, Gaz," Price shook his head and made his way toward the entry. Gaz was good at what he did, but he never turned his fucking radio on.

Price flung the heavy metal door open and found the entry unguarded. Gaz's rifle was leaned neatly against the wall, and there was no sign of Krieger anywhere.

Graves watched Price from the shadows, listening as his heartbeat grew more rapid with every passing second, no doubt worrying about Gaz's safety. He didn't have to worry- Graves was, indeed, a man of his word. The kid had left without a scratch on him, but he'd made him leave his radio behind; he knew Gaz would try to warn Price. He'd probably gone to circle back and do it anyway, but Graves didn't care.

It would be more fun if they knew he was coming.

Graves waited until Price turned his back and made his move, lunging out of the darkness and shoving him to the concrete. Price grunted as the air was forced from his lungs, thrashing beneath the other man's weight.

"Hello again, Captain," Graves shoved his knee into Price's back and used his weight to keep him pinned, "Long time no see."

"Graves-" Price growled as he tried to free himself from his grip, "What the fuck did you do to Gaz?"

"Nothing," Graves said simply, "The other one, though," he whistled for emphasis, "Let's just say he retired early, hm?"

"I'll fucking kill you-"

Graves used his free hand to shove Price's face into the concrete, silencing him.

"No, no, I think you misunderstand the situation here, hoss," Graves leaned down until his face was just inches from Price's, "See, your little lapdogs thought they killed me down in Mexico. Hell, I thought they did too. But somethin' out there had a different idea, and now-" he flashed his pointed teeth and Price's eyes widened, "I'm gonna make you and your little 141 regret it."

Graves adjusted his weight so he could wrestle one of Price's arms out from under him, easily overpowering every attempt he made to pull it away.

"I'd love to take my time with you, but I don't want the boys inside to get worried and come lookin'- that'd ruin all my plans," Graves angled Price's arm until he felt resistance, the bones trying to prevent him from moving them beyond their limit, "Doesn't mean I can't have a little fun first."

A sickening crack radiated under Graves' grip and Price cried out through gritted teeth as his radial bone gave way, followed by another crunch when the ulna followed suit.

"Hope that wasn't your shootin' arm," Graves joked as Price panted in pain beneath him, "Not that that matters much."

Graves reached for his other arm, wrenching it back despite the other man's efforts against him. This time he twisted, savoring the way Price cried out in earnest when his bone spiraled into pieces, skin already beginning to discolor as blood gathered beneath the surface.

Graves dropped the now limp limb, feeling Price's heartbeat, erratic and racing, thrum in his ears. Oh, how he wanted to break every bone in his body, to make his death as slow as he could. But he didn't have time for that.

Instead, he reached down, taking Price's head in his hands and lifting his face from the pavement, "Take a real good look at the stars, Captain," Graves grinned as he felt the race of blood just under the skin, "At least die lookin' at something pretty."

Price opened his mouth to retort, but Graves wrenched, hard, twisting his head until he felt a pop reverberate through his fingers. Price's body went limp, and Graves stood up, pausing to dust himself off before making his way to the door.

--

Your back ached from the hard metal chair, and the dim lighting was threatening to give you a headache before long. You'd told Price over and over again that you knew nothing, and yet he still persisted.

He'd left you in the room with Soap, who was watching you from the shadows, a look of pure hate painted across his face.

"You can keep lyin' all ya want, but eventually we're gonna get what we want," his Scottish accent grated on your ears after hours trapped in that fucking room.

"I don't know how else to tell you this, you thick-skulled moron-" you shifted in your chair so he could better see your face, "I don't know fucking anything. You telling me that Phillip is alive is just as much of a shock to me as it is to you!"

"Bullshit."

"If he is alive, I can tell you this much-" you were mad now, some kind of volatile mix of anger and grief that had you feeling bolder than you ever had before, "he's going to tear the place apart looking for me."

Soap didn't respond, which only irritated you further.

"And from where I'm sitting, you look like a prime fucking target right now!"

That made him laugh, which sent a jolt of rage through your chest, "Even if your little boyfriend is still alive, he's not making it ten steps into this country-"

His cellphone began to vibrate, interrupting his tirade; when he pulled it from his pocket, you could see Gaz's name on the screen.

"Gaz- what? Slow down, man. What are you talking about?" Soap's brows were furrowed, and you could hear the other man shouting frantically, "I can't- did you call Price? What do you mean he didn't answer?"

Your heart hammered as you strained to hear what Gaz was saying on the other end, you caught bits and pieces- "killed Krieger" and "I ran"; before Soap hung up, you heard "You have to get everyone out."

Soap hammered the call button on his radio, "Ghost, you got ears on?"

There was a pause before his radio crackled to life, and Ghost's gruff voice responded in the affirmative.

"Listen, Gaz just called me- I dunno if he's off his rocker or what, babbling on about Krieger being dead and-" he paused and looked down at you before continuing, "Just...could you go outside and see what the fuck is going on?"

"Roger."

--

Ghost made his way silently through the hallways toward the front entry. This whole affair annoyed him- if Graves was alive, how far could he possibly have gotten? He wasn't an idiot, he'd have kept his status from you for as long as he could for his safety and yours.

But Price's ego was bruised and you were an easy grab- it didn't matter if everyone agreed or not.

Where the hell was Price, anyway?

Ghost flung the heavy metal door open and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness- the small light that had hung just above the frame seemed to have been broken.

Ghost cursed and thumbed the flashlight on his rifle to life, sweeping it over the concrete.

"Price-" he spotted the man, lying limp on the pavement just a few feet away. There was something wrong with the way he was positioned, something unnerving about his neck, "Captain?"

Ghost crouched low to the ground and approached, "Captain?" Once he was closer he realized what was wrong- Price's neck was twisted beyond its limit. His eyes were wide and bulging, bloodshot and full of ruptured vessels.

"Fuckin' hell," Ghost stood straight and hit the call button on his radio, "Soap, we have a problem. Lock the door to that cell and meet me out here."

"Roger."

--

"Ghost?" Soap turned the key in the lock on the cell door as he peered down the hallway, "Ya there, LT?"

Silence was his only answer.

Soap made his way toward the exit; his heart was hammering- what had made Gaz go into hysterics like that? Where was Price?

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud thrum as the power went out in the warehouse, sealing him in total darkness.

"Fuck!" Soap jumped in surprise and fumbled in the darkness with his rifle until the flashlight came to life.

The bright white beam bobbed as he continued his trek in darkness toward the door, "Comin' LT! The fuckin' power went out," he called, hoping Ghost could hear him through the metal.

The door rattled, hard, and Soap stopped in his tracks, "Soap, open the fuckin' door," Ghost's voice echoed over the radio.

"Locked yourself out, eh, LT?" Soap chuckled.

"Fuck off."

Soap approached the door and swept his flashlight over it, confusion taking root in his mind as he took in the chains that were wrapped around the bar.

"LT, something...something is going on with the door-"

Graves watched from the rafters, feeling Soap's pulse grow more rapid by the second, savoring the thrum of it in his ears. He had wanted to save the Scot for last, but fate had other plans.

Soap examined the chains, running his gloved hand along the metal, "LT...there's chains on the door."

"What?"

"There's chains, keeping the door shut."

"What the fuck are you on about, Johnny?" Ghost sounded annoyed; the door rattled as he put his full weight into it once more.

Graves was tired of the pathetic display below him- while Soap fumbled in the darkness, he was able to see everything in perfect totality. Every finite detail, every color. Another benefit of his new condition.

Graves dropped from the rafters, silent as a predatory cat, moving as if he was one with the shadows until he was behind Soap, close enough to hear his every breath.

"Hey Soap, long time no see."

Soap was quick, Graves had to give him that much. He swung his rifle, nearly connecting with Graves' head, and managed to strangle out "GHOST, GRAVES IS-" over his radio before it was ripped from his vest.

"Soap? Johnny??" Ghost's voice faded away on the abandoned radio as Graves dragged the Scot down the hall.

--

"Wakey wakey, Soap," Graves brought his hand down, hard, across Soap's face, the sound ringing through the empty room.

The Scot's eyes fluttered as he regained consciousness, eyes flitting around the room frantically. He was seated, his wrists bound to the arms of the chair he was in. His ankles were bound as well, held tightly in place with some kind of cord.

The room was dark, save for one single bulb that hung above his head, casting harsh shadows on his figure.

"What the fuck-" Soap hissed as his eyes struggled to adjust to the pitch blackness, limbs straining against his bindings.

"You wanna know something, Soap?" Graves paced around the chair, his Southern drawl echoed off the walls of the room, "I wanted to like you. Hell, I did like you. But you just couldn't let it go."

"You took Alejandro's base!" Soap spat, "You wanted us to just 'let that go'?"

"I'd be willing to let bygones be bygones, too. Bury the hatchet. When I crawled outta that tank, I was just happy to be alive."

Graves reached for the crowbar that hung from the back of his tac vest, wrapping his fingers around the cool metal and snagging it from the loop that held it.

"But then I come home to find that you and your little gang of assholes had the gall to use someone I love to try and hunt me down," he brandished the crowbar, its silver finish glinting in the harsh light, "And I can't forgive that."

The crowbar came down swiftly, connecting with Soap's knee, its clawed head dragging the flesh and connective tissue with it. Blood splattered to the floor and Soap let out a pained cry through gritted teeth.

Graves raked his eyes over the soldier's panting form, calculating where he should strike next. This time the blow came to his chest with the blunt side, taking the air from Soap's lungs with a dull crack.

The Scot coughed, a faint wheeze at the crest of his next breath. Graves grinned wolfishly, waiting for him to recover, the crowbar tapping absentmindedly against his flattened palm.

"Ghost...." Soap wheezed, his head lolling slightly, "Is going to fuckin' kill you."

"Better give him a good reason, then."

Graves brought the sharp teeth of the crowbar down, with his full strength, onto Soap's right fingers. The metal cut through in one motion- muscle, tendons, and bones giving way easily under the blow. The force was such that the teeth lodged themselves into the wood of the chair as blood oozed from the two severed fingers in thick rivulets.

Soap let out a genuine cry of pain, his muscles flexing on instinct, struggling against his bindings. Graves gave him no time to recover, swinging the weapon upward and striking him in the jaw with a wet whacking sound that reverberated through the metal.

Blood gushed from his cracked jaw, spilling down his fatigues and pattering to the floor. He let out a pained groan as more blood rolled over his lips and down his chin.

Another blow landed on the side of his head and for a moment, he danced on the edge of unconsciousness, his skull throbbing in time with his pulse.

"Ghost-" blood clung to his lips as he spoke, weak pleas falling on deaf ears, "Simon, please-"

Graves laughed outright at that, "He's not coming to save you. By the time he gets in this building, you'll be long gone."

"Fuck....you," Soap wheezed. His face was covered in blood now, caked in his stubble and soaked into his uniform.

His other hand took the abuse this time. The crowbar's sharp clawed end ripped through two of his fingers, sending a spray of crimson to the floor. Graves waited until blood had pooled on the metal, then raised the weapon to his mouth and ran his tongue along it, pointed fangs glinting in the harsh light.

Soap could barely muster a cry of pain this time, instead making a pathetic moaning sound as the fresh blood joined the rest on the floor at his feet.

"Aw, come on now, buck up, sport-" Graves positioned the crowbar under Soap's chin and tilted his face upward, "Don't be blacking out on me just yet. I'm not done havin' fun!"

He tossed the crowbar to the side and Soap's head dropped to his chest once more, his breaths coming in shallow waves. Graves unsheathed his combat knife and fidgeted with the blade, contemplating.

"You wanna know something, Soap?" Graves paced around the chair slowly, mapping out his next target, "I really respected you. It's a shame it had to go down like this."

Soap groaned in response, a wet, gurgling sound that fell flat in the empty room. Graves rolled his eyes and slid the knife under the shoulder straps of the Scot's tactical vest, slicing the fabric and letting the heavy kevlar fall away from his chest.

"Let's wake you up, shall we?" Graves laced his fingers in Soap's hair and yanked, hard, bringing his face upward. He gripped the blade tightly and brought it to the Scot's cheek, dragging it down the flesh and leaving an angry cut in its wake.

Soap gritted his teeth, choking back a cry of pain as blood flooded down his jaw and neck.

Graves tutted, unsatisfied, and instead brought the blade to Soap's stomach, "Guess we'll go big then."

The knife pierced through the Scot's skin just above his navel; blood gushed around the blade as Soap thrashed, a new, more urgent sound escaping his lips.

"That's more like it!" Graves grinned, delighted. He pulled the knife upward, shredding the flesh and muscle until he hit the resistance of bone in the ribcage.

"Simon!" Soap cried hoarsely, his mind struggling to comprehend the new pain, "Ghost, please- it hurts."

Graves watched as the blood flooded to the floor, enough to make Soap grow pale, his eyes going in and out of focus.

"Sorry, hoss," Graves cocked his head and took a step back to avoid his boots getting tinged with blood, "I know your ol' pal Ghost has got to be close to getting in. Couldn't have him interrupting."

Soap slumped forward, his form going limp; a few disjointed words still fell from his lips as he faded from consciousness, "Simon", "please" "Help me".

Graves grabbed Soap's dog tags, clutching them firmly in his fist before ripping them from the Scot's neck, "No hard feelings, Johnny boy." He watched, amused, as the Scot convulsed and then went limp.

From down the hall, Graves detected another heartbeat, racing, filled with rage.

Ghost.

--

Graves prowled along the rafters, watching Ghost move through the warehouse. It would be hard to break him- he'd read the files. The man had a psych profile a fucking mile long.

"Lookin' for your buddy?" Graves called down from the ceiling, watching as Ghost pointed his rifle skyward, eyes under his mask narrowed as he stared into the darkness, "Got some bad news about that."

Ghost swung his rifle wildly, aiming into the rafters; Graves could hear his heart hammering, a sweet melody of anticipation that made him grin in the darkness. He took one last look at the bloodied dog tags clutched in his fist before tossing them to the ground.

Ghost spun on his heel at the sound of metal connecting with concrete, eyes widening as they fell on Johnny's dog tags, dented and covered in blood.

"Y'know it's a damn shame, Ghost," Graves drawled from somewhere above him, "Soap died all alone, screamin' your name. Should'a heard him when I cut his gut open-" he paused to chuckle at the memory, "he was beggin' like a dog."

"Come down and fight me, Graves!" Ghost snarled, his rage fighting the overwhelming grief of losing Johnny.

"Careful what you wish for."

Before Ghost could turn to the source of the voice, pain erupted in his lower back. There was a momentary heat as he felt fingers push through the fabric of his gear, then into his flesh. He tried to pull away, but Graves had a hold of something inside him. Instead, he turned as well as he could, swinging the rifle to take aim at the other man's chest.

Graves grinned and clenched his fist until he felt a crunch. Hot, coppery blood ran down his arm and mixed with a viscous fluid that poured from Ghost's now shattered spine.

When he released his grip, the masked man crumpled to the floor, his legs now immobile beneath him. Graves took advantage of the momentary shock to grab the rifle from Ghost's hands and toss it across the room.

Ghost was panting under his mask, trying to process the lack of feeling in his legs.

"You know, I always wondered what you look like under this-" Graves took a fistful of the fabric just above the skull and pulled, prying the mask from Ghost's face and letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

"Now, I don't know what the hell Soap saw in you," Graves paced around the downed soldier, watching his eyes follow him; there was no fear there, just anticipation, "Gotta say, I respect the dedication to the badass bit you've got going here."

Ghost said nothing in return. He could feel the blood pooling beneath him, soaking through the hooded sweatshirt he wore under his flak jacket. He'd been through worse- Graves would have to do better than this.

"Johnny boy, though, he dropped the act pretty quick," Ghost's mouth twitched at those words, "Wish you could have heard the way he begged for you to help him right up until the end."

Graves retrieved his crowbar once more, and Ghost's eyes flicked to the dried blood caked on the hooked claw.

"Just know you won't be very far behind him," Graves lined up his crowbar and brought it down with the entirety of his strength, onto Ghost's right arm, just under the elbow. The bones gave way easily, shattering under the weight of the metal.

Ghost didn't make a sound, and his face barely changed; he merely stared up at Graves, his jaw set.

"Like I said, pretty impressive-" Graves tapped the blunt instrument against his palm. Ghost was lying flat on his back now, unable to support himself with his arms any longer, "Just wish I had a little more time."

Ghost's left arm was next. The crowbar came down, teeth first, the force of it cleaving straight through the flesh and bone and striking off the concrete beneath it.

This time, Ghost made a sound, a guttural groan from somewhere deep in his chest. He was growing more pale by the minute as blood began to spread in a halo around his form on the floor.

Graves was growing bored of the interaction.

"Don't worry, Ghost" Graves moved behind him, shoving him upright and bringing the crowbar to his neck, "Soap won't be alone for long."

The crowbar went tight against Ghost's throat, cutting off his air. He tried to move, tried to thrash away from the pressure, but Graves was stronger.

"Look at that! There is some life left in you," Graves sneered as he pulled the metal even tighter, eliciting a choked gasp from Ghost, whose head thrashed weakly, trying in vain to relieve the pressure.

Graves pulled with more force, grunting against the soldier's struggles, until he felt the man go grow weaker before becoming still entirely.

Graves rose to his feet and let Ghost fall to the floor in a heap, watching with amusement as the light went out in his eyes. He paused to dust himself off and replace his crowbar on the back of his vest before exiting the room and making his way toward you.

--

You strained your wrists against the bindings, struggling helplessly to free yourself in the pitch blackness. The power had gone out what seemed like hours ago, and Soap still hadn't returned.

Was this some new trick? A vain effort to make you talk by playing on fear?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the distinct sound of the door on the far side of the room opening- no light flooded in from outside, which meant the power outage stretched at least into the hallway.

"That you, Soap?" you tried to sound casual, but the darkness and your immobility were starting to wear on you, "Neat trick with the lights."

No response.

"Ever figure out what Gaz was so worked up about?"

You could feel someone getting closer to you- not hear, feel, like the air shifted around whoever it was. The hairs on the back of your neck were on end, your heart banging out a rhythm in against your rib cage.

"Hello?" Your voice sounded very small, dwarfed by whatever presence was hovering near you in the darkness.

"Hey baby," a distinctive southern drawl purred near your ear and you felt as if your heart was going to leap out of your throat. There was a coppery smell to his breath that you couldn't quite place.

"Phillip?" You choked back a sob as he cut the bindings on your wrists and ankles.

"It's me," you felt his hand cup your chin and his forehead touched to yours.

"How-" your voice cracked and you felt tears spill down your cheeks as you struggled to find the words.

"Shhh, it's alright. I'm here," Graves pulled you in close and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. His shirt felt wet, and the metallic scent persisted on him, almost overwhelming, "I'm gonna walk you outta here, okay? But you gotta promise me something-"

"What?"

"Keep your eyes closed."

[h3roisms]

( mason gooding . cis man . he/him ) — blasting slow dancing in the dark by joji down main street we’ve spotted GRIFFIN HAWKHAUSER sporting their favorite pair of garnet earrings. the twenty-nine year old PHOENIX-AVIAN SHIFTER HYBRID who’s been in town for six months often can be seen checking out his own reflection in every window he passes by , schmoozing customers with a flirtatious grin and a lilting purr into buying ' just one more drink ' to max out his tips that night , casually scrolling some form of social media at all times, or working as a BARTENDER at ENVY. people say they display charismatic and deceitful traits, but we rather trust their vibes: brilliant red feathers that glitter with iridescence under the twilight sun, a camera-ready smile that masks something dark and dangerous beneath a veneer of arrogant confidence, russian roulette with a fully loaded gun, glowing amber eyes peering at you through the darkness of an abyss. also, we’ve heard they love A FRESH PACK OF NEWPORTS ! aren’t they fascinating ?

soldiers aren’t born – 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮’𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙙𝙚, fashioned from 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 with 𝒃𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉.

I . 𝗗𝗢𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗘𝗥 ...

name — griffin "griff " hawkhauser ( formerly , kenneth taylor ) // age — twenty-nine // date of birth — april 20 . // astrological — taurus sun , scorpio moon , virgo rising // height — five foot ten inches // language & dialect — american english , california / west coast accent // body modications — lobe piercings on both ears , belly button piercing , multiple tattoos over chest and arms // biological parents — alexander taylor (incarcerated) & amelia aronson (alive ; no contact) // occupation — former federal special ops agent, bartender at envy // build — lean and built, visible muscle definition, even distribution with thicker shoulders and back muscles

II . 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ...

mama's boy - dominic fike // slow dancing in the dark - joji // sugar - brockhampton // icon - jaden // lose - travis scott // rip 2 my youth - the neighbourhood // brand new person , same old mistakes - tame impala

II . 𝗕𝗜𝗢 ... TRIGGER WARNING FOR : FOSTER CARE SYSTEM , SMOKING , DEATH MENTIONS , DRUG MENTIONS.

the thing they don’t tell you about foster care is that no one gives a fuck about you; they don’t care whether you can eat, shit, or piss in peace , whether you’re gonna have a clean blanket to sleep with , or if you od in a ditch like every other sad fuck that ends up in the system. you’re just another number – and the freedom you wanted so damn bad as a kid started to really kick you in the ass. the world was a cruel fuckin’ bitch – and you learned that lesson quick.

the kind were subjugated , the disadvantaged exploited further and further , and those who harbored ill will in their heart always came out the victor. you watched good people get chewed up and spat , left with nothing more than hollow convictions and a laundry list of regrets.

you kept your head down after the first three placements flopped. they called you all sorts of things ; problem child was the nicest one , but you started getting used to the other ones , too. ungrateful brat , a delinquent with no future , a bad influence on the other kids. 

you smoke a joint once and you’re suddenly the antichrist. but the motherfucker who’s tooth you knocked out deserved it. he stole your fuckin’ hoodie – you saved up for months for that damn thing.

another thing you learn is that the systems feed each other ; it was a self-cannibalizing – and it exploited you just like it did the rest. You were just another kid from the wrong side of the tracks , one who looked to the skies for relief – and you graduated high-school with big dreams and not a damn lick of the knowledge you needed to achieve ‘em. so you do the only thing you can. you work dead end jobs – one after another – and the world feels so fuckin’ bleak you sometimes wondered if it’d be easier to just become another cog in the machine.

but , hey , you never gave in that easy ; you disillusioned yourself with the drugs , the booze , the cigarettes. you looked in the mirror and the motherfucker lookin’ back at you looked more and more like a stranger every damn day. you are still good , you told yourself , you can be good.

except you’re not ; you’re rotten to the very core , just like your damn daddy. you were smoking a cigarette at 3 am after pulling your fourth graveyard shift in a row when you saw some shady shit go down. you just couldn’t keep your fuckin’ head down – fatal flaw , achilles heel , ‘cause , really , you want to be good – and you walked in on some shit you shouldn’t have. you witnessed a murder – and not just any murder , some gang-related bullshit that went right over your goddamn head.

next thing you knew , you were bargaining for your life – you live , you owe them a debt. you learned to smooth talk after years in the system. smile pretty , bat your lashes , purr just the tiniest bit … be the pretty boy with the nice smile and they’ll turn a blind eye … they always do. and it somehow fuckin’ worked – ‘cause you’re a damn miracle worker – but they give you a catch : you’re the newest bitch to the underground crime circle and you’re gonna kill some people.

the stint didn’t last long , thank christ ; the feds busted ‘em and you panicked that you were facing jailtime – except lady luck decided to kiss your ass some more. they say they could use someone with the quick thinking and reflexes you showed the night of the raid. ( you were trying to save your own skin so you defected – told the boots where to go and where to find the big boss ) and they gave you a job.

next thing you knew , you signed your life over to become a weapon.

—

they broke you. 

piece by piece , atom by atom – they tore you apart and built their perfect toy soldier from what little remained of your sorry sack of bones. 

they stripped you of your name – kenneth taylor was dead. the identity of griffin hawkhauser was created from thin air and bestowed upon you like a gift even though it would soon become a curse , your personal cross to bear.

they sent you into missions that only the most deranged of adrenaline junkies would ever dare to take on – and you seemed to fit that bill. your life , thus far , had been one fuck-up after the next. now , at least , you lived life on the edge. you let yourself fight the good fight. you stormed buildings with blazing guns , gone undercover , jet-setred around the world to work alongside foreign dignitaries with wire taps and spy gear out the wazoo. you felt like you were finally becoming something – and with it came a false sense of bravado.

an invincible man is what you became ; the high of griffin hawkhauser brought with it a nurtured ego , a curated sense of grandeur that allowed your sly smiles to ooze with sex appeal and confidence despite the twisting maelstrom of chaos that dwelled just beneath the surface. you worked people like tools with a smile on your face – because you , too , were nothing but a tool to the government. you became their weapon – and weapons didn’t weep.

you saw more money than you could have ever imagined ; a ludicrous amount of zeroes inflated your head , made you see stars and revel in the luxury for the first time in your sad , pathetic life. your disillusionment only festered and soon , you grew reckless. they took hold and planted their seeds – and soon , as the roots took deep within , you succumbed to the machine you’ve been fighting with for all these years.

the first time you died , you made peace with it ; you already knew that the bird that soared in your heart wouldn’t be able to save you as you laid in a pool of your own blood , every wheezing breath full of agony. your lungs were punctured and you had more bullet-holes than brains left. you thought to yourself – well , it was a good run , but i guess it’s time to finally say goodbye.

and then the world was on fire.

you were reborn in your own ashes and the hawk within you screeched to life. the government learned two things that night : one , you were not a human being , but something far more mystifying , and two , you were unkillable.

oh , how joyous a night it was for them – and the marker of your second death , and then your third , fourth , fifth … you stopped counting after death two-hundred and forty-eight. they learned you were unkillable and sent you on one suicide mission after the other , knowing you were indispensable. 

you were bleeding out for the five hundred and twenty-first time when you thought to yourself – damn , you’re back in that fucking cage again.

—

you ran away again.

this time , you were going to be free.

you fuckin’ meant it this time.

—

portum opened its arms to you and you found yourself trembling. a world in which you were not a weapon nor a cog in the goddamn machine had felt like a pipe dream after all the years – but now , it felt like a reality.

you dug through your mind and pulled out the part of you that you had relied on so heavily to get you through it all. you wore your cunning smile and erased the past from existence. here , you are griffin hawkhauser , a man that bartends by night and soars the skied by day. here , you will be free – and no one , not a damn thing , will tether you again. you wear your false bravado and sink deep into its familiar embrace.

soon , you hope , you’ll begin to feel the confidence in earnest. soon , you will become the man you should have always been. 

[blowflyfag]

Hi these are my Kane headcannons I wrote a bit a while back. My history of Kane is a bit different than the cannon stuff since the cannon stuff is kinda cringe fail. Also. Only gonna talk about masked Kane. But! Reality is mine to do what I want so here’s my Kane headcannons. I’m more than happy to go in depth on more stuff! Or explain why I think this.

Kane Headcannons

He wore masks even as a kid, it’s a sensory thing.

He grew up in a single parent house, it was both the funeral home and their home, with a mourge in the basement. They lived in a very small town in Death Valley, but they what they lacked in people the area made up with supernatural occurrences

I think he can see ghosts, with how connected his family was the supernatural it’s only natural he can see ghosts.

Kane liked dancing around with his mom as a little Kid. She often would play stuff on the radio while she worked or while cooking or when even just sitting around. Kane liked these moments… standing near her and swaying and humming along.

Kane keeps his hair long cause it reminds him of his mother, he does a lot of things because they remind him of her. He keeps his hair long, looks to deep into his undamaged eye. He listens to music she liked. He just wants to feel close to her. He’s a fuckin Mama’s boy

Kane is mostly burned and scared on his right side, it’s more prominent on his right arm and neck. His right eye is damaged from the fire.

Freckles!!! Kane has a lot of freckles when he gets in the sun. They’re a bit faint since he covers up but if he does loose some of the covering his freckles will really pop out

Bros Autistic guys.

Kane is mostly non verbal. He’d rather communicate with his body language or sign his thoughts. He only speaks if he really must.

He has such a soft spot for animals and kids it’s insane.

When he was younger him and taker found a clutch of snake eggs under their porch. Their mother No whwre in sight so they begged and pleaded for their mom to let them take care of them.

It ended up being a trip to the vets to make sure the eggs were properly taken care of. And a few weeks later their first pet.

It was a corn snake Kane and Taker named Amber.

Amber stayed in Taker's room. Though Mom would let them take Amber out so she could slither around in the living room while they watched movies.

Speaking of Taker’s room. It’s decked out with zombie movie posters. As well as other posters for horor movies and rock/metal bands. There’s Aldo a purple lava lamp. The typical angsty older brother room

Tumbleweed forts! He would beg Taker to play outside with him so the two would make forts and sit in them. Pretending to be bandits hiding out from the law.

He has a fascination with fire. Even though it is the thing that burned him, scared him, traumatized him beyond belief. The sight of someone lighting a cigarette near him brings his eyes instantly to the flame. Watching it flicker and wave with light and warmth. A controllable flame is a huge comfort.

I’d say Kane is Bisexual with a male lean. He’s very inexperienced when it comes to love. Often he finds himself confused with why his heart beats faster around someone he likes. Tilting his head to the side as he watches from afar. The most romance he knows of is watching late night black and white movies from when he was kept hidden in the basement.

A lot of what he knows is from television actually. Most of the time in the cellar hed just watch tv and learn, infomercials, animal documentaries, old cowboy movies. all “boring to most kids” but to kane it was an escape.

At first Kane fucking despised Taker so much with Paul Bearer’s manipulation. (For my reality Paul Bearer is the one who caused the fire) for years his anger festered and bubbled beneath his skin. Originally Taker went missing before the fire. And Kane learning that he became a wrestler, (not knowing Taker was under Paul Bearer’s control) was even more livid at him, for leaving his mother behind, for leaving him behind, for leaving everything behind. He truly hated Taker in those days, of course he’s come around but he struggles sometimes…

Kane has meltdowns very easily, it doesn’t take a lot to set him off. That’s what happens when he curls up and rocks. He’s trying to calm himself down the only way he knows how.

He really likes big cats, tigers, panthers, leopards. He thinks they’re the coolest animals.

So the Katie Vick stuff doesn’t happen in my reality, however Katie Vick is a real person, she was Kane’s childhood friend growing up. They were both kinda weirdo outcasts so they stuck together. They would mess around with ouija boards and try to find supernatural stuff that they shouldn’t have been messing with.

[itsaash]

unsatisfyingly satisfying part 1: Dead End

Today is a different story, a Coops one that starts as ... not Coops. I wrote this maybe 4 months ago, just writing for me as a way of processing, for awhile I really didn't think I'd share this. BUT then, with the prompts of @noots-fic-fests I thought of a parts 2&3. also what's scarier/more of a dead end than Sirius Black with a woman? So this is Sirius' last time with someone other than Remus, and in the next part I'll time skip to present day, so no hard feelings if this isn't for you and you want to wait for the next part. Rated E, 6000 words if you click through to ao3 to read the whole thing. I'm just going to put the first 1300 words, rate T, here on tumblr which is as much James and Sirius banter as anything.

“Your aim is way off.”

“Pardon?” Sirius looked up, part genuinely confused and part annoyed. He had marvelous hand eye coordination. He was good at pool. His aim was not off. 

“It’s not going to go in, that’s all I’m saying.”

Sirius didn’t recognize the voice of this unhelpful spectator, but James was clearly already laughing and joined in on the taunts. So Sirius solidly ignored them and took his shot. And missed. 

“Fuck!” he exclaimed, hitting the end of the pool cue down into the hardwood floor of the hotel bar. 

James laughed in victory as he lined up his next shot. 

Sirius looked around for the source of the “advice”, and oh. There she was. Smirking at him over a tumbler of amber liquid. 

“Told you,” she smirked. 

“It was not way off, it was millimeters. And I’m still going to beat this fucker. All I have to do is steal his glasses.”

“Don’t you fuckin dare, Pads,” James said. He took his shot and sank the ball. “You’d never stoop to cheating. Don’t let our new friend here think such a thing of you.” 

James walked behind the girl and from over her shoulder he gave Sirius an eyebrow wiggle that looked eerily like caterpillars dancing and mouthed talk to her, before turning to line up his next shot. 

Sirius rolled his eyes and took a sip of his own drink, watching James line up his shot. 

“Obviously I wouldn’t cheat , Pots. Taking your glasses would be more of a … prank.”

“A prank,” James snorted. 

“Ouais. And a successful one.”

“Stealing my glasses, that I medically need, is not a prank, man. That would be cheating .” He turned to the girl. “Back me up here.”

She smiled and tilted her head, mock thinking. 

“Yeah, I agree. Taking something medically necessary isn’t a prank. That would be mean . And I know someone invited to this weekend of ‘celebrating the best in sports’ wouldn’t be mean , would they?”

Teasing infused her every word, and although Sirius didn’t usually like new people, her vibe was so chill that Sirius didn’t have his back up at all. 

“No, of course I, who plays hockey for a living and bodychecks people everyday, would never be mean ,” Sirius retorted, a smirk growing on his lips. He stepped as casually as he could towards James’ drink and poured some of his whisky into James’ beer. When James went to take a swig of beer he would get a surprise at the strength of the alcohol content. 

“That’s not a fucking prank either! Tampering with a drink. Tut tut Sirius Black, you are terrible at this.”

“I'm not tampering , it’s Pots!”

James turned back to them after missing his latest shot. 

“Tampering! What’d he do?”

“Put some whisky in your beer,” the girl tattled. 

“Hey, come on, if you tell him he won’t take too big of a swallow, and the prank is ruined!” Sirius groaned.

James laughed and took a cautious sip, smirking at Sirius over his glass. There was no gagging or sputtering. Sirius waved a wrist around towards James, while looking at the girl with raised eyebrows, like he could waft his displeasure at the lack of reaction towards her. 

“Hey! It’s not my fault you're bad at pool and pranks. I'm just telling you what I see,” she said, eyes gleaming. 

“Oh ho, ok then. Come line up this shot with me if you're so good,” Sirius said. 

She stood at the opposite side of the table from him and corrected Sirius on his line, and he made the shot. They did it again, and he sank another ball. 

“Hey! As cute as this is, this also feels like cheating,” James protested. She laughed and mimed zipping her lips, and Sirius missed the next shot. 

“Merde,” he muttered, leaning on his cue. “I am usually good at pool, even without a coach. What’s your name, o pool master?”

“I’m Rebecca. And I’m kind of glad to see you’re not perfect at everything. Makes you more human,” she said. 

Sirius rolled his eyes and James piped up, “oh there’s lots of things he’s terrible at.”

“Pots, come on —”

“Ooh, like what? Other than pranks of course?”

“Well cooking and cleaning are the obvious ones, but also making plans, doing interviews, obviously …”

“Potter, come on, arrêtez ça—”

“… speaking English when he’s upset…”

James had Rebecca laughing behind her glass and Sirius shot them both a mock serious glare. 

“In his defense, I heard some of his interviews today and the way they all asked him the same questions would drive anyone to terrible answers,” she said. 

“I did not give terrible answers!” Sirius protested. 

“Are you here for the ultimate sports magazine special too then?” James asked her. 

“Yeah. I’m on the Olympic rugby team. You probably saw us being awesome and getting a silver medal at the last Olympics, so a few of us from the team are here.”

“Oh, sick. That’s awesome. Yeah, his answers are pretty bad sometimes aren’t they?” James said, looking at Sirius all the while. 

“Oh my god, I’m right here, stop it you two,” Sirius said, going to stand between James and Rebecca, trying to split up their alliance. He secretly loved James’ teasing though. James was the perfect social lubricant. Being around people was just easier, better, when James was there. 

There had been at least a dozen interviewers asking him variations of the same question today, none of which were topics he wanted to talk about. He could’ve given them a whole feature on hockey. On his team. But no, they wanted to know about his family and parents and rivalries and standings and if he’s found a nice girl in Gryffindor yet and he wanted to scream . And there had been a photo shoot. It was awful. So Sirius was 3 whiskeys in and was trying to forget this day had ever happened and was definitely trying to forget that there was another photo shoot tomorrow. At least James was here too. The interviews with him there always went better. 

“How did your interviews go?” Sirius asked Rebecca, wanting to stop talking about himself. 

“Oh, fine. I was with my teammates for all of them, so that helps. Lots of lovely comments that start with ‘so, girl’s rugby!’. After which I’d stare them in the eyes and remind them that’s not actually a question, and that it’s women’s rugby and we are an Olympic sport thank you very much.”

Sirius smiled at her fierce reenactment. “I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of you, I’m glad I’m not a reporter. Or a rugby player.”

“That’s the reason you’re glad you’re not a reporter? I would’ve thought it would’ve been all the reading and writing,” James quipped. 

“I can read and write,” Sirius said, punching James in the shoulder. He turned back to Rebecca. “Ignore him, I can read.”

“Sure, I believe you,” she said. They watched James sink his final ball, celebrate with his arms in the air, and Sirius groaned. 

“Rebecca, I thought you were nice .”

“I definitely never said that. Ok, my turn Black, let’s see what you’ve got. Put those soft hands of yours to use.”

Rebecca and Sirius played a game of pool, and James threw jokes at them and drank, getting louder. Then Rebecca continued her winning streak and beat James, so they switched to darts and then somehow found things to juggle. Rebecca was the clear winner of juggling, but Sirius was very proud to be leagues better at it than James. She fit into their dynamic perfectly, the evening felt as relaxing and fun as a night with James alone would have been. She knew the same sports references they did, she was obviously athletic and competitive, and joined in all the good natured chirping. 

Which was why Sirius was really fucking confused when she kissed him. 

read the rest on ao3

[another-heroine]

9 Ship Songs 2.0

Some time ago I was tagged on this one, and by that time I have had no enough songs for any of my beloved ships.

Now that my brain is spinning Lann and Katya like a rotisserie chicken, I am finally able to list nine songs for them at least lol

(And I just followed the shuffling order of Spotify. Check on their playlist here)

Be There (Seafret)

You've got me surrounded

It feels like I'm drowning

And I don't want to come up for air

I lost everything

I threw myself in and you took me when no one was there

Well you can take what you need, take the air that I breathe

And I'll give away all that I own

Whatever I lose, is put back by you in a way that you'll never know...

Sunlight (Hozier)

I would shun the light, share in evening's cool and quiet

Who would trade that hum of night?

For sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

But whose heart would not take flight?

Betray the moon as acolyte

On first and fierce affirming sight

Of sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

I had been lost to you, sunlight

And flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight

Oh, your love is sunlight

Oh, your love is sunlight

But it is sunlight...

Honeylight (Amber Run)

There's nothing to it

You just exist

Then you die

I'm under no illusion

That things get better

But I'II try

'Cause you know it goes down like honey (honey)

So open wide, open wide

You don't have to say you're sorry (sorry)

You only tried, you only tried

It comes in waves, it's red like rust

And in the stream you see the dust

I would like to bathe in honey (honey)

In honey light, in honey light...

Creep (Radiohead)

When you were here before

Couldn't look you in the eye

You're just like an angel

Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather

In a beautiful world

I wish I was special

You're so fuckin' special

But I'm a creep

I'm a weirdo

What the hell am I doin' here?

I don't belong here...

Hello My Old Heart (The Oh Hellos)

Hello, my old heart

How have you been?

Are you still there inside my chest?

I've been so worried

You've been so still

Barely beating at all

Oh, don't leave me here alone

Don't tell me that we've grown

For having loved a little while

Oh, whoa, I don't wanna be alone

I wanna find a home

And I wanna share it with you...

War (Poets of the Fall)

Do you remember standing on a broken field

White crippled wings beating the sky

The harbingers of war with their nature revealed

And our chances flowing by

If I can let the memory heal

I will remember you with me on that field

When I thought that I fought this war alone

You were there by my side on the frontline

When I thought that I fought without a cause

You gave me a reason to try...

Colours (Billy Raffour ft JJ Wilde)

It's the smartest thing I ever did

Opening my heart to let you in

You taught me that despite the evidence

I'm still worth a damn, you'd still take the risk

Oh, stay with me, don't ever leave

Where I was broken, you made a home in

Where I had nothing, you gave it all

Where I was hardened, you grew a garden

Your love, it hollers down my halls

I've got your colours on my walls...

Golden (Harry Styles)

Golden, golden, golden

As I open my eyes

Hold it, focus, hoping

Take me back to the light

I know you were way too bright for me

I'm hopeless, broken

So you wait for me in the sky

Browns my skin just right

You're so golden

You're so golden

I'm out of my head

And I know that you're scared

Because hearts get broken...

Sirens (Pearl Jam)

Hear the sirens, hear the sirens

Hear the sirens, hear the circus so profound

I hear the sirens more and more in this here town

Let me catch my breath to breathe then reach across the bend

Just to know we're safe, I am a grateful man

The slightest bit of light and I can see you clear

Oh, had to take your hand, and feel your breath

For fear this someday will be over

I pull you close, so much to lose

Knowing that, nothing lasts forever

I didn't care, before you were here

I danced in laughter, with the ever after

But all things change, let this remain...

[amiharana]

For the ask game i love love love! How long and detailed your posts get! You always have so much to say and every bit of it is amazing. It really makes it all feel real and so well fleshed out. I get halfway through something and forget that I'm reading just a regular Tumblr post and not an actual fic lmaooo.

Also love how on brand and correct everyone feels that you write even in things I never would've seen as possibilities. They're YouTubers who do dancing and singing?? Youre absolutely right Revali WOULD be that bitch. Link as a sleepy bitch constantly?? I've never thought of that but by God I see it. He naps everywhere youre right.

Big big fan of all your writing and always happy to see it on my dash. Anytime I get caught up with work I always make sure to go back and see if I've missed anything 😂😂

(ask game from here)

AWHHH HI REVALINK BESTIE you're one of my ogs you were here before anyone else fr 💪💯

hashtag throwback to this long ass piece of work. honestly my answer for 19 is still one of my favorite revalink bits that i've done. there's a paragraph in there where after link's been missing for a while, revali goes to the rito village goddess statue to offer amber and rubies to pray for link's protection and warmth wherever he is. get it. because amber jewelry provides defense up and ruby jewelry makes you warm in cold environments. teehee!

it makes me really happy when people say that all my ideas about revalink are like 100% correct or the gospel truth or something 🥺 like idk guys sometimes i feel like i'm just saying whatever, but when people comment being like YOU'RE SO RIGHT??!@#!?@# i'm like, i am? 🥺🥺 like i'm being fuckin fr 😭 i'm attributing it to the four years of revalink brainrot that must have been building up in the back of my mind while i was gone, the rot is so concentrated that when i harvest and prepare it here on tumblr, it's giving everyone a revalink high /j

[jaxteller87]

The Night Tig Saved Christmas

The clubhouse was a ghost town, just the hum of the refrigerator and the distant roar of a Harley passing by. Ma let me, Opie, and the girls take over the kitchen for a day of sugary chaos.

Opie leaned in, his eyes locked on the mound of ingredients on the kitchen table, “You know we’re whipped, right?” he chuckled, a smirk dancing on his lips. And damn if he wasn’t right. We were whipped, all right. But watching the girls’ faces light up made it worth every second.

“Come on, Ope, that’s just mean,” Donna teased, studying the reindeer cookie that Opie had just finished icing.

“Thank you for doing this,” Amber whispered to me as we tag-teamed an intricate snowflake. Her right hand gave her grief, so I held it while she worked her piping magic. Meanwhile, I worked on my very own masterpiece, the leg lamp from ‘A Christmas Story.’

“Don’t you dare, Winston!” Donna squealed as Ope playfully tossed a handful of flour in her face. “You’re gonna get it!” she warned, retaliating with a handful of her own.

I had just started to laugh at the powdery scene before my eyes, but then Amber caught me off guard, unleashing a flour storm of her own.

By the end of our baking escapade, the kitchen was a battlefield of sugar and flour.

“Well, that was fun, but I’m not looking forward to cleaning this up,” Donna put her hands on her hips.

“And we won’t,” I smiled, “We have prospects for that.”

“Oh! But before we do that, we need a picture!” Amber added.

“Say ‘sugar cookie,’” Donna insisted, camera at the ready. “Sugar cookie,” we all grinned like those kids you see in those cringy family picture Christmas cards.”

Years rolled by like dice on a worn-out table.

Come Christmas, Amber was unpacking decorations, a nostalgic smile on her face. She placed an old picture of us, Opie, and Donna on the table. “This is why we always drag you two into our schemes,” she chuckled. “So we have something fun to look back on.”

“That was a damn good day,” I chuckled, checking out the snapshot on the end table.

Later that night, I rose from an empty bed. Both kids were in dreamland. I found Amber on the couch, gazing at the Christmas tree.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, a soft smile playing on her lips. I joined her on the sofa, wrapping my arms around her as she leaned back against me.

“Tell me a story,” she asked, looking up at me with her gorgeous puppy dog eyes. “Club stories, or when you were a kid. I like hearing them.”

“Well, it was more than a few Christmases ago, and the club had decided to let loose a bit. Bobby was doing one of his first-ever Elvis gigs at a nightclub downtown, and some of the crew tagged along to support him and bust his balls a bit. Opie, Tig, Juice, and I were just looking to have a good time, and we did, right up until close. On our way out, we caught sight of three Mayans lurking in the back parking lot. As soon as they saw us, guns came out faster than you could say, “Ho, ho, ho,” and we found ourselves in a standoff right there in the middle of town.”

“But they were outnumbered five to three,” Amber noted.

“They were, but most bikers are too proud and will sooner catch a bullet than back down, especially in front of a brother. The whole situation was tense, real tense, but then Tig, in a moment of sheer stupidity, which turned out to be genius, starts serenading them with his own rendition of ‘Blue Christmas.’ I couldn’t help but shake my head. Next thing you know, Bobby joined in, still wearing the whole Christmas Elvis getup. I look down the sights of my gun at these Mayans, wondering what the hell Tig and Bobby are doing, and then Juice starts singing, too.”

“No way!” Amber cackled, “You can’t be serious!”

“I’m dead fuckin’ serious. I end up looking out of the corner of my eye at Opie, trying not to take my eyes off the three Mayans with Glocks pointed at our faces, and what do you think Ope does?”

“Don’t tell me he started singing too,” Amber’s cackling turned to full-blown laughter.

“He shrugged at me and then hit the chorus of Blue Christmas almost as good as Bobby did during the show.”

            “Oh my God!” Amber snorted.

“And there we were, a bunch of outlaw bikers, standing in a parking lot at Christmas with guns drawn, singing Elvis. The whole thing weirded the Mayans out so much that they holstered their guns and literally ran out of the parking lot...”

And as the tree lights flickered, I told her more and more tales of brotherhood, chaos, and the simple joys of Christmases past until she fell asleep in my arms.

[tofuxtea]

aaa hi!! can i pls request a chishiya or niragi jealousy drabble, ily ur content so much 🥺❤

a little jealousy

✧ ft. niragi x fem!reader & chishiya x fem!reader

✧ cw. light nsfw, jealous!boys, possessiveness, mean!niragi, cold!chishiya, happy ending though!

✧ notes. HII I’M SO SORRY IT TOOK THIS LONG TO RESPOND!! ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH ILY <33 I wasn’t sure who to pick so I will do both:) also these will be kinda short i apologize!

niragi - outright jackass

it’s not anything out of the ordinary; a man drunk off of his own ego decides to take his chances at The Beach’s bar, occupied by no one else other than yours truly. he slides into the seat next to you, grimy hands plucking the half empty glass off of the table and bringing it to his mouth that had just spewed the corniest of jokes. you didn’t utter any more than you needed to, allowing yourself to make your point loud and clear.

you weren’t interested. and you wouldn’t be in a million years, not even if he was the last man on earth.

but he persisted, leaning closer and meekly attempting to seduce you into changing your mind. he reeked of alcohol, as did his empty promises of ‘ruining you’ and leaving you with his name the only thing you could remember. you would have knocked the lights out of him already, but you knew better than to cause a scene in public. that would be his job, unfortunately.

it wasn’t until you felt that disgusting hand of his slide over the front of your bare thigh that you spared him a dangerous glance. maybe you would break your own rule today. it’s not like rules were made to be followed in the borderlands anyways-

“get the fuck off of her or i’ll blow your brains all over this counter.”

the man froze when an icy barrel found his jaw. he shrunk back, fearing for his life as his wide eyes found the gun’s owner. slicked black hair, two piercings adorning his left eyebrow and nostril and venom in his eyes. The Beach’s very own Number 4.

“s-sorry, i wasn’t aware this was your-”

niragi’s finger pulled the trigger as far as it could go before it shot, his temper seeming to do the same. “didn’t know a woman had to be taken to not be assaulted. get the fuck outta here.” you scoffed rather loudly, stealing the many pairs of eyes that had originally landed on the two men.

you and niragi watched the man run for his life, seeing niragi’s moment of distraction to spare you a raised eyebrow as a means of escape. he plopped into the chair that almost just held a corpse, quickly snagging a sip of whatever amber colored concoction was in your cup.

“god, you’re insufferable, suguru.” you dropped your head into your open palm, finger and thumb massaging your temples. the man threw his arms wildly into the air, indifferent to the fact that he carried a rifle in one of them. confusion masked his face.

“i step in ‘cause some fuckin’ asshole’s feelin’ up on my girlfriend and you’re angry?” the pout was evident in his tone and suddenly you stifled a giggle. niragi sucked his teeth and shook his head.

“no,” your voice danced a little as you raised your head to look at him, “i just wish you’d let me handle it. you’ve always said i look hot when i knock a man out, right?” niragi’s eyes narrowed, clearly not quite amused. though his features have softened, threatening to smile.

“although…” your eyes lowered to his lips, darting right back up to his eyes. deciding to be a bit bold for once, you rested your hand on his leg and drew yourself closer to him, “i can’t deny how hot you look when you’re jealous.” you spoke softly, entrancing niragi until you uttered the last word with a shit-eating grin.

his eyes blew wide and he shouted loud enough to grab the attention of the entire pub, “i wasn’t jealous! i never even get jealous!”

“whaddaya say you put that jealousy into somethin’ else, yeah? like me?”

“oh, and you call me insufferable?” he challenged as you dragged him by his free wrist towards the hotel rooms.

chishiya - silent and deadly

you’ve been hanging around arisu a lot more than usual lately. he says he’s been needing your help around The Beach more often and it was almost a believable excuse, but chishiya wouldn’t buy it. everybody and their best friend on The Beach knew that you were an attractive woman and he knew that arisu knew that, too.

yet there he was, lounging (if you could call it that) at the edge of the pool with kuina by his side as he watched the two of you go at it like dogs. it made his blood boil; the way arisu would grab onto your shoulder when he laughed at something you said or the way he offered his full attention to you whenever you opened your mouth. and what was worse was that you would allow it.

had you any clue in that brain of yours or did you like the attention? it made his skin crawl that he couldn’t read your actions as well as anyone else’s. it made him remember why he never wanted to understand a person’s heart in the first place.

“if it bothers you so much, talk to her. she’s your girlfriend, shun.” kuina broke the tense silence, only to be answered to with a heavy sigh.

they both knew he couldn’t - or, rather, wouldn’t - do something like that.

so you were confused when you came back to your shared hotel room only to be greeted with a glaring chishiya. as far as you knew, there was no reason for him to be upset with you… maybe someone down at the pool made him angry? niragi?

“everything alright, shiya?” the caution in your tone only aggravated chishiya. he said not a single word to you as he picked a book up off of the nightstand and started reading. though you knew he was too upset to focus.

he’d never behaved like this with you often. chishiya was always the quiet type, never one to tell anyone what he was thinking about. “did i do something?”

the book plopped into his lap, his eyes rolling as if the answer was written in the damn sky. “did you? i don’t know, you should go ask arisu.” the sarcasm that dripped from his words made you cock an eyebrow.

“what the hell does arisu got to do with..?” realization. “are you really upset that i’ve been hanging out with arisu?”

“oh, i didn’t realize that feeling you up is considered ‘hanging out’ nowadays!”

“‘feeling me up’? what the fuck are you talking about, shiya? are you jealous?”

chishiya fell into a challenging silence, unsure of how to bite back. saying it out loud made it sound ridiculous. like hell he would admit it.

it was so painfully ironic.

“i didn’t know.” you spoke softly now, gingerly approaching the foot of the bed. “i’m sorry that i didn’t see it before. but arisu’s told me that he sees me as a sister, you have nothing to worry about, shiya.”

even though his arms were folded over his chest and his narrowed amber eyes focused on the window, you could see his stature waver. his features softened momentarily and he hoped you didn’t notice.

“i can’t believe you’d be jealous of arisu, though. never in a million years would i imagine…” you sat on your side of the bed, attempting to get chishiya’s attention. with a chuckle, you scooted as close as you could, resting your chin on his shoulder. you felt him lean into you, letting you nuzzle into him. “as much as i like arisu, you’re the one i’d choose.”

“oh, yeah?” chishiya smirked, bumping his shoulder teasingly. “didn’t sound too convincing.”

“i guess you’ll have to convince me, then.” you pressed a kiss to his jaw, laughing with him.

idk why its so hard to imagine chishiya jealous LOL I HOPE U ENJOYED THIS!! -r