#i think it's called a drinking bird or a drinking glass bird

[arueshalaetablebuildingsociety]

LSTR-512 asked me to tell you that she subscribed for this one. She found it extremely useful

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Choke On The Sun

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd known John ever since the Academy, and even after losing touch, the love you had for one another was never gone. Like a snake, it had stayed hidden in unseen places. But it was always there.

WORDCOUNT: 13.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, torture, detailed descriptions of torture i.e. electrocution, loss of a finger, gunshot wounds, knife wounds, discussion of torture, canon-typical violence, death, near-death experiences, guns, weapons, abductions, betrayals, intended for mature audiences, happy ending, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You remember a story you’d been told when you were a rookie—fresh off the cut and eager-eyed with far fewer scars. A more of a glass-half-full type of outlook on life, unknowing of what you’d experience during your years with the SAS: what choices you would have to make.

It went something like this. 

There was a herd of deer that had jumped over the side of a bridge. On either end of that bridge, there were two trucks with their high beams on—not moving but sitting there; the deer got pressured. Spooked. One by one they just…hopped over and died on the rocks below—no noise above the breaking of bone and the clatter of antlers shattering to pieces. 

You have to wonder if it was the fault of the first one who had jumped over for leading the rest to a quick end, or the drivers of the cars just trying to get where they needed to go; ignorant of the way they’d been ogling to see the panic in wide, black eyes. Either way, a whole herd of ten met their fate and left their bodies to feed the larvae and the birds. 

The story had been told over drinks at a pub, at the time you’d taken an interest in it with no more than a slow comment of ‘poor things’ before you’d brought your glass to your lips. You don't know why you’re thinking about it now. 

The timing could have been more opportune.

You send a bullet into the man’s kneecap, hearing the bone disintegrate and the flesh open like a flower. His scream follows, loud and hoarse—sobbing trapped behind a bitten tongue that drips blood down his chin. 

Hand snapping up, you grasp the lower half of his face with a grunt, head shoving itself forward until you lock onto fluttering eyes and get consumed by a whining sob.

“I asked you a question,” you lick your lips, tasting sweat as it slithers down your skin. Your voice is slow and even, grip tight. With a shove, you push back the man’s face, wrist limp with the Basilisk as you wipe at your nose with it, unblinking, when you get to your full height. 

The room wasn’t anything different from a million other black sites you’d been to. A single chair where your mark sits tied up, a desk that had been pushed to the wall, and a single door placed into the cracking foundations of a concrete wall. No windows. No vents. 

Hotter than hell, too, and that place was something you were acutely in tune with. 

“Anthony,” you say, waving your free hand as the scent of blood gets stronger, pools of it already on the hard floor. “I’m gonna call you Tony, alright?” 

Tony yells, wrenching his arms against the zip-ties and screaming until his voice is hoarse. 

“Damn you! I told you I don’t know anything!” He sobs. “My leg—I can’t feel my leg, oh, God it hurts.”

You frown, glancing at the door. 

“Stop lying to me,” you look back, eyes unblinking in the low light. “You still have one left—tell me where your buyer is and I let you keep the ability to walk upright with a cane.” 

“I don’t know his name—!”

“I don’t need a name, Tony,” you growl, irritated. “I need a location.”

“Copenhagen!” He wails, body spasming and hair dancing atop his head. “The warehouse is in Copenhagen, please, that’s all I know!”

You blink. 

“Denmark?” You mutter, brows furrowing. 

“Fuck!” Tony screams long, his skull tilting forward as he releases his guts to the floor through quick gasps. Backing up a step to stay out of the spray, you watch him silently; thinking. The flood of the man’s crimson fluids ripples. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

“Denmark,” grumbling to yourself once more, you shake your head and sigh aggressively. “Of course.” 

Without another glance, you turn and exit the room, pushing your Basilisk into its holster as the gear on your chest clinks lightly like the sound of rain hitting a metal roof. The door closes behind you, voice calling to one of the guards as he looks up quickly. His face is pale. Tony’s wails still echo out; water filling a bucket. 

“Get a medic,” is what you settle with—slipping past on a fleet foot and new intel to pass on to Laswell. She’ll be intrigued, no doubt. 

One step closer, your mind hisses to you. Just a little bit longer.

It’s too late to gain a conscious now.

Emmett Kinsman had been dodging you for years—dodging the Task Force—but with one of his suppliers giving away a location you’d been unable to pin, there was hope for a swift resolution to this mess. 

The radio on your chest sizzles to life.

“Hart, sit-rep. How’s it lookin’ on the black site.” Kate’s American accent leaks into the earpiece attached to you, the cord looping the back of your neck and inserted into the shell; a device of black metal and plastic. 

“I have a location for Kinsman. Copenhagen,” you ease out, moving a finger to the earpiece and pressing. Glancing at the rows and rows of doors in this endless hallway of dark smoke and obsidian mirrors—you’re eager to get your boots to the ground. Your other hand snatches at the rag swinging from your belt, taking it out and rubbing at your face with it until the stain of oil and flecks of blood smear like frosting on a cake. “Where are the boys? I need to be wheels-up to meet them ASAP.”

“Coming to you.”  

“They’re here?” Your face twists as the words settle in, confused. “Why? Thought they were tracking another lead in Romania.” 

Kate’s voice is smooth in your ear, moving like water as you turn a corner, stuffing your rag back into your belt. 

“Are you surprised?” The woman jokes in a monotone; you’d only taken it as such because you knew her dry state of humor. “Really, Hart, you know he can’t stop until you’re back at his side. I was going to tell you sooner, but you were…occupied.” 

Your feet pause for a moment at the beginning of her sentence, instinctual heat moving the length of your neck until you clench your jaw and continue onward at a slightly slower pace—eyes narrowed on the floor ahead of you. 

“It isn’t like that, Kate,” you mutter. A low hum echoes the line and you fight a scowl as a group of soldiers walk past. Itching at your forearm, you shake your head. “John just likes having everyone together on missions like these. If it had been different, I’m sure he would have told me to fly back to them regardless of the intel. We’re tight on time.” 

“I’ve known you both for more years than I can remember,” Laswell sighs. “Don’t try that with me, Captain.” You frown, clicking your tongue. “They’ll be arriving on the tarmac—get ready for a quick exit. We need Kinsman by month’s end.” 

“Copy,” you utter, removing your hand from the earpiece and glaring ahead of you. A still-air silence envelopes the hallway, the only sound of your boots to the concrete and the reverberation that booms after. 

It was so quiet here. 

John Price—Captain Price—and yourself had a… complicated history. You’d joined up together; gotten through SAS selection neck-and-neck until time and its grubby fingers had forced your lives in different directions. Like two vines of reaching ivy, it had only been three years ago that you’d seen the other again, though you’d heard stories as you’re sure he had about you. 

Hart: not the kind that beats but the kind that bleats, you had to explain to most—you weren’t unknown to the darker side of the job and the people that specialized in it. Your file was stretched with so much black ink that when you’d gotten the call on your phone, an unknown number, you’d recognized the gruff voice behind it and the first question you’d asked was how the hell he’d gotten clearance to track you down. 

“No hello, then, Hart?”

“Not one for pleasantries, John. Explain. Quickly.”

“Business as always.” He’s wasted no time, voice going to a low grumble over the line that day. “Laswell took in a favor. You’ve been busy, Love…Room for one more joint-Op?”

It hadn’t panned out to only ‘one more joint-Op’. 

After the mission was over, it had been raining on base. The sky had shed tears from clouds deeper than the gray shades of your gear, splattering packed dirt and concrete. Above your head, the thin overhang off of the armory door had spared you some of it, but when the wind had shifted your clothes absorbed specks of water like spots on a fawn. Your eyes had been looking out—expression open. 

When the man exited the building and came up beside you, you both didn’t speak for a long time. You had been aware of his form, devoid of vest and gear, while yours was still layered with it to the utmost degree. You’d expected to leave that night—a good old-fashioned Irish Goodbye with a C-17 already waiting for you to board. To carry you off to another hellish deed done with ravaging cruelty for the sake of people who would never even know you existed.

The storm had stopped you…or, maybe something else had.

“Good to see you again, Hart,” John had stated, still not looking over at you as his arms had crossed, feet situating themselves. “Been too long.”

You had stayed silent—watching. The drain across the street was flooded. Sticks and leaves stuck at the drain as a whirlpool formed; only dangerous to bugs and the bits of garbage blown in by the wind. 

Only after the wind shifts again did you speak.

“And what has John Price been up to in that time?” Your eyes had slid to stare, piercing in the low illumination of the armory’s outside light. 

A huff of a chuckle, the one you’d remembered in the days of selection—coated in mud from crawling through man-made trenches and a sharp smirk of a snap when the barbed wire had grazed his back. 

There were too many stories here. Too many. So many it became impossible to wonder what could have been and what couldn’t—all that existed were the little moments of fondness.

The two of you were nothing else but souls long past redemption; stuck on that knife’s edge and waiting for the hand to shake and send you through it. 

You are made of memories. 

“That’s a story told over bourbon,” John’s lips had flickered, and you’d blinked slowly, head tilting. “Not anything worth reliving, yeah?” 

“Everything is relivable, Captain. You just need to find a reason as to why.” 

The man had nodded his head your way, conceding with his blank eyes ahead to the rain. A rumble of distant thunder had flown out, making your ears twitch. You couldn’t stop watching him now that you had the chance—the brunette strands; the fatigues, and that accent. The muscle you don’t remember him having in that specific place all those years ago. The wrinkles on his forehead from age and stress are shown in yours as a mirror. 

Tall; formidable. 

There was a tension in the air that you chose not to dwell on—the same that had been brewing for as long as you’d known him. 

“I want you to join up with me,” the sudden comment had made your body tense, eyes snapping away. In your pockets, your fingers twitch with surprise. 

“Join?”

“Thought I’d catch you before you disappeared again, yeah?” A sheen of slight embarrassment is over your skin. John chuckles again. “Extend a formal offer—Laswell was the one who suggested it.”

“Well,” you’d huffed, licking your lips. “Now I’m surely not accepting.” 

“Let me fuckin’ finish, Love,” John’s lips were pulled in a slight smirk—beard shifting. A pause as the wind whips again, shaking the trees before he grunts. “One-Four-One. My Task Force. Been thinking I’d need someone like you, but I knew you’d never agree to it.”

“Oh?” Your brow raises. 

“Not bloody stupid.” He sighs. “Thought I’d ask anyway. Give you a proper goodbye if you weren’t so keen on handing it out.”

“I don’t like goodbyes,” you mutter, hearing John’s feet shift—his boots scraping. 

“I know.” It’s low and even—not a prod or a dig. An observation. 

A hand is moved out to you, hovering. 

There isn’t any need for words when you glance down at it, and then up at him; staring into those blue eyes that so perfectly illustrate the hues of a roaring river, hidden away in the confines of a verdant forest.

A slow smile pulls at your lips, and you see the corner of the man’s eyes soften.

“Knew I’d get one out of you again,” he mutters as you slip your hand into his, a firm and all-encompassing heat of flesh and care. 

“Don’t get used to it, John.” Shaking his hand, you smirk, legs shifting. 

“Never,” he chuffs, squeezing your limb. 

You don’t know why you stayed under that overhang with him that night. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to explain it as you had looked up and seen the C-17 fly off without you in its cargo hold, hands resting on your vest collar and blue eyes watching you, slightly narrowed. 

You never even verbally told him you were sticking around…it had happened like a stray cat under the porch of your childhood home; taken in and cared for. Just the same, John never mentioned it beyond paperwork. 

Shaking your head, you blink back to the black site, turning that last corner and making it to one of the exits. Pushing the metal-reinforced door open, you shift outside and move a hand to cover the glare of the setting sun from your eyes, grunting. 

Laswell’s voice peaks back in as you jog toward the far-off body of a whirling plane, three figures just managing to walk down the ramp. 

“Hart? It’s Laswell.”

“Copy,” you say, knees taking the brunt of the heavy items you carry in pouches and have strapped to your form. “What is it?” 

“The Task Force is a go for Denmark—when you get there, I need everyone searching; we can’t lose him again.”

“Affirm. I’m on it, Kate.” You breathe. “John and I’ll get him. It’s personal for us, you know that.”

“That I do. Make sure to keep your heads on with this, Hart. Out.”

You lick your lips, nodding even if she can’t see you. 

Slowing as you near the plane, friendly smiles spark up from the two Sergeants. Gaz comes over, grasping at your shoulder and speaking above the engine behind him. 

“Ma’am! Good to have you back.” Soap chuckles, tilting his head your way as you grasp Kyle’s forearm���squeezing in greeting with a twinkle in your eye.

“Surprised to see us?” The Scot calls. 

You scoff. “Laswell gave you up.”

“Damn,” Kyle moves back, fixing the cap atop his head and glancing back at his fellow Sergeant. Simon nods from behind the two to which you respond in like. “She bloody betrayed us.” 

“Not as much as Kinsman,” the mood sours; lips thinning as you speak firmly. “Where’s John?” 

“Right here,” the man in question comes down the ramp, blue eyes meet yours. A second of inspection passes, eyes from both parties flickering up and down forms for any mistreatment—any ailments. “Kate already told me. We’re leaving now that we have you.”

Bumping Simon’s fist with yours as you pass him, you ascend the ramp, Soap muttering under his breath about the flight time from behind. 

Standing beside John, you pause like a bird, eyes half narrowed. “You didn’t have to pick me up, you know? I could have gotten another plane.”

The man the same rank as you hums, making sure the men are all inside and taking one last look out to the black site, eyes missing nothing down to the concrete structure to the lights that will soon illuminate the pure nothingness of the fields of this area.

“Wait time would have put us back.” Tiny eyes blink, a hand coming up to rest on his collar as his face shifts to you. “You good?”

“Always,” you mutter without hesitation. “Nothing from Romania, then?”

He grumbles, clenching his jaw and taking in your words. “Negative.”

A silence settles in which you quirk your brow—a small flicker of a smirk makes him turn away and stalk back into the hull, grunting in annoyance. You follow on silent feet. 

“That’s it? It must have been horrible, then. Care to explain?” 

“Get in your seat, Captain.” 

You hold back a low chuckle, walking beside him until you both come to the back of the plane—easing back into the hard plastic, you huff as you clip in your seatbelt. 

It’s all relative silence until the large metal beast is in the air; everyone's bodies shifting as the floor evens out. John and you take long breaths and, feeling the occasional jostle of the plane, you occupy yourself by picking at the dried blood all over your hands as the flight begins—Tony’s blood. 

Blue eyes blink down at you, watching from the side.

“He know anything important?” You stifle a yawn on your lips, one hand coming up to cover the open-jawed expression of tiredness. 

Glancing, you shrug with a slow response of, “Only a location. Even then I don’t know if it’ll pan out like we want it to, John.”

Everyone had been hoping for more, but they also knew that you were the best at interrogations and information retrieval. If you had called it that the man only knew a city and nothing else, John wasn’t one to question you. He knew better. 

A large hand shifts to grasp your right bloody one, picking it up and bringing it to his lap. You let him do it without protest, shoulders loosening at the roughness of his calluses moving across yours until the familiar ritual begins to take part like a black mass. 

Fingers twitching, you hear a hum as John takes out a rag from his pocket, opening it with a flick of his wrist. Moments later, the water bottle on the seat next to him is taken and the droplets that are left are scattered like rain over the fabric until they absorb. 

“All dirty, Love,” he grumbles as your eyes soften, watching him trace the lines of your palm with the wet rag—dabbing away the beads of red. Watching, you listen as he continues. “We’ll figure it out, eh?”

Blue locks with you, holding your gaze until the permanent set of his brows slowly loosens. “We will,” he reaffirms firmly.

“...I should have shot him when I had the chance,” you whisper to John, words low and tone nothing more than a mouse’s murmur; a small pebble hitting the ground. “Don’t lie and say it wasn’t my fault.”

“You’re going to fucking ruin yourself with that, Hart.” He advises, his cleaning of blood coming to a slow halt. “You did what you thought was best,” John leans in closer, not blinking as you try to move your head away with a half-hidden scoff. A damp hand grabs lightly at your chin, shifting it back as you blink in mild shock into John’s face. He doesn’t falter. “It’s all any of us can do, yeah?” 

As if it were nothing, he lets you go and shifts his focus back to cleaning your hand. You watch for a long moment, oblivious to the elbows hitting sides from farther down the hull, quick glances tossed between Sergeants and a Lieutenant who quirks a brow under his mask, huffing a sound in his throat.

“If I had,” you force back the stutter in your voice. “More people would still be alive.”

“Maybe,” John tilts his head, the rag brushing the length of your fingers. “Maybe not. We don’t know that, do we? No use wasting our breath talking about it then. What matters, Hart, is how we fix this.”

You sigh, repressing a shiver as his thumb brushes scars and blemishes, moving like moss over stone. 

“And we don’t leave our bloody problems for the next poor bastard, do we?” You puff air from your nose, shaking your head at the smirked comment. You watch John’s beard move with it—taking in the crinkling of his eyes and the way his knee hits yours. 

“Wonderful pep-talk, Captain.” You lean your head back against the netted sides of the aircraft, letting your eyes flutter shut; oblivious to the way he watches you. “The service is lost on you—therapist is right up your alley.”

“Fuck’s sake,” John scoffs. “I’d sooner go back to the academy than that.” 

“The food was utter shite, wasn’t it?” You agree.

“No need to bring it up,” John comments lowly, amusement thick in his words. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you do know that the pressure around your limb stayed there for a long while—the rag moving over every sliver of skin until only the base was left behind; like a painter creating an ocean scene, shrouded in mist, every bit of red was gone. 

Your dreams are plagued by Emmett Kinsman. His sharp face; his sly eyes and his knack for being undetected.

He’d been a part of your and John’s class in the Royal Military Academy—when all was done, he’d graduated and begun to serve in the 22nd SAS Regiment just as the both of you had. There was never much interaction there, beyond shared drinks and a few good words, a single operation, but the bonds of brotherhood run deep. If given the chance over any deployment or service, John or yourself would have given your lives for him—for the boy you’d bled and persevered with to a point of utter loyalty akin to beasts; unrestrained by any threat of violence, sharp attitude, or past faults.

And in the end, he’d thrown that all away to get into bed with terrorists. 

Location: London, England

Time: 1718

Operation: ‘Purple Cloth’

Your eyes rest behind the glass of the bookstore, gazing out over the street from the second floor with a level of new-found skill and a surety in yourself. Fresh off the cut, you aren’t overly eager for this, but you’re assured in your abilities. 

There can be no failure.

Emmett is down below, sitting at a café and sipping tea as John is stationed at a building farther down the street; waiting. Another man, directly relaying information to Emmett, is at the café as well, sitting in the corner reading a newspaper and facing the individual you’re supposed to follow. Only the four of you for this, and you’re not overly familiar with half of them. John was your only shining grace. 

“Target’s getting the bill,” you shift your head into the collar of your shirt, muttering. “He’ll move soon.”

“He carrying?” John’s voice slithers in, a soft murmur. 

You stare, expression lax at the large body that shifts and stands with a tight shirt on, waving off the barista when she tells him to have a good day. “If I had to guess? Negative. Nothing big—no bulge at his spine. At the very opposite end, I’d say an X13 could be concealed and accessed via a slit in the pant’s pocket and in a holster at his thigh. They’re baggy enough for it, but the draw time’ll be longer. Drug runners are sloppy.”

John grunts, and you address Emmett. “How are we doing, Mate?” 

A smooth, suave, tone moves into your ear. “Not too bad, Sweet Thing. Else, I'd be better if you were sharing a drink with me before I disappear.”

“Only in your imagination, Kinsman,” John interrupts, unimpressed drawl taking your attention. “Keep on it.” 

“I swear I rank the same as you, Price. Where do you get off ordering me around like your dog?” The comment is so easily dismissed as a joke between comrades that there’s no hostility there.

“Since I was given oversight,” the amusement is easily taken in John’s voice. “I’m the one keeping your arse alive, eh?” 

The other addition to your team speaks up, a voice that in the future you’ve already long forgotten. He says to cut the chatter, and you have to agree. 

Emmett and the target are nearing an alley. 

“I’m heading down,” you utter, already turning and heading to the stairs, swiftly moving down them and exiting the building. 

“Copy,” John’s voice fizzles the line. “I’ll head them off.”

“Emmett,” you move to link up with the fourth member of the team as he joins at your side, both of you sharking a glance and a jerk of your heads. “Keep him away from civilians. We can’t deal with casualties in this populated of an area.”

“He won’t have a chance to shoot them,” the comment makes your brows furrow, the tone not a cocky gloat but rather...quiet. A moment of silence wafts out. “What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Kinsman?” You frown tightly, your gut swirling with something unidentifiable. The X12 in the back of your baggy sweatshirt is heavy—suddenly ten times more so. 

In the corner of your eye, you see John far across the way shift, leaning before on a trash can, now standing upright. You swear you lock eyes with him, both gifted in all sense when it comes to war. Perhaps it was ingrained into both of your DNA—a knowledge of all things deadly; of threats unseen. Some primal and horrible understanding spanning back to when man had first raised a fist to another. 

“Oi,” your voice pushes. “What does that mean?” Feet pivoting, you move closer to the alley where the light shade of hair disappears. 

The line is silent. 

Silent before a loud gunshot rings.

Birds scatter, and you instinctively duck down, hand snapping to your service weapon as your eyes go wide. Head snapping about, you dash to the alley opening above the screaming; pushing past fleeing people.

“Hart!” 

“He’s in the alley!” 

“Do not engage until I get there, do you hear me?!” You’re already at the entrance, X12 ahead of you, and the safety flicked off with a heavy finger. “Hart!”

The body of your mark is on the ground—a bullet in the back of his skull. 

“Fuck!” You shout, feet slapping the concrete as you zoom past. “Price—target’s down, Emmett shot him in the damn head, on his tail now.”

“Fucking hell.” The man is growling out at you, voice heated.

Your eyes snap this way and that, weapon at the ready as you take a sharp turn. At the very end of the opening, you see him. 

Kinsman slips his service weapon back into the base of his spine, pulling at his shirt to cover the grip as a mass of the crowd is just behind him. He rushes quickly on long legs. 

“Emmett!” Your voice makes him freeze. There’s a long pause before anything is spoken; you have your sights trained—a perfect line-up to the roundness of his skull. 

“I had hoped to be fast enough,” the man tells you, head tilting to the side, “but I should have known you’d move head-long into danger without backup.”

“Hart,” John’s voice nearly startles you from the line. “Sitrep, now!”

“Why would you do that, Emmett?”

“There’s more to this than being pawns, Hart,” Kinsman growls at you. “I play my game right, I always come on top. I needed to earn their trust; our target had a price on his head and no one else could get as close as me. Well,” he pauses, “us.”

“I’m taking you in,” you grit your teeth, hands tight on the gun. You don’t even want to think about what he means by ‘their’ or his ‘game’. It was always word puzzles with this man—one second you had the right piece, and the next the entire picture had changed like sand in the waves of a tide.

“Are you really that torn up about a drug runner?” A scoff makes you hold back a snarl, but your resolve is shaking. This was a man you had trusted—now fast can something that was forged with steel break?

“He was just some filthy nobody, Hart.” Emmett starts walking into the crowd ahead of him, and in your mind you know if you take that shot you run the risk of shooting an innocent civilian. “I’ll be more than a nobody. Or a grunt soldier. People are going to know me.” 

Bodies flee quickly—screams. Mothers, children, husbands.

Kinsman smirks, and as your finger tightens on the trigger, he’s already swallowed by the hoard. 

“I’ll be seeing you.”

John and you sit in the safehouse, for a moment, surrounded by quiet and the smell of hot tea. One week in Denmark, and you have no leads. The other three are away, sleeping in the rooms down the hallway. 

“You’re still thinking about him,” John speaks up, eyes on you. It’s blunt, but that was just how he was. 

You peek your eyes open slowly, your body slouching in the chair and feet outstretched under the table. Your boot lightly touches John’s own. A long sigh exits your nose, grumbling on your tired lips. 

“John,” you level, drawing the name out like the years of your life. A thin warning. 

The man clenches his jaw slightly, bringing up his cup and taking a slow slip. You see the flesh of his throat bob with the liquid as it goes down, the overhead light of the kitchen only a single bulb of warm glow. 

“Been chasing him for years, Hart,” he says when the item is back to the woodgrain. Voice a deep murmur—a scrape of vocal chords. “We both have.”

“He knows too much,” you reply. “I can’t let him get away again. Strategies, operators, everything.” Your eyes shift as your head raises, blinking away the sleep in your glinting orbs. “For years he’s been under our nose, getting away with who knows what—”

“Hart,” your rant is interrupted, and you stop with a snap of your teeth. Blue eyes lock a concerned sheen to them. “Breathe.” 

Your face moves away, arms loosely crossed over your chest tensing. 

John’s body shifts to you, leaning forward until his elbows are resting on his knees. He stares, brows a line on his flesh. You send a swift glance, lips pulling. 

“...Stop that,” your voice murmurs, echoing off the walls of the kitchen. John blinks, not speaking as you move in your seat. The man tilts his head, a slow something making his lips go back slightly. Gradually, your face goes hotter, blinking at him a few times; sucked in like a fox to a trap. “John, quit it.”

“M’not doing anything, Love.” 

“Bullshit,” you try and glare at the looseness of his expression, his smirk that makes your gut tighten. Goosebumps move up your arms. “You’re a horror.”

A low chuckle wafts out, John shrugging casually before he leans back. 

He takes up his cup again and takes down the last of the remnants. “Go to sleep,” hits your ears as your pounding heart takes a breather. It’s a grumble on the air—not as much an order as it is a suggestion. “It’s late.” 

You decide to sip at your own drink as well, eyes drooping at the steam that wafts around your face, nose twitching to the scents. 

“You?” John hums, looking you up and down; seeing the fatigue you carry. You’d been relentless for the week you’d all been here, holding the few strings of the lead you had to your chest—five-fingered grasping with a desperate prayer to all things unholy.  

“I’ll be here.” You tilt your head his way, eyes still half-closed in your seat. Your answer is easy, pushed out in a slow sentence. 

“Then so will I.”

John sighs under his breath. It’s a moment before an exasperated chuckle moves through your earbuds. You smile, eyes slipping closed fully. 

Yet, they startle back open as the cup is taken from your hands, your chair moved back firmly. 

“Up you get, then,” John grunts, and his arms snake around you. Blinking quickly, your jaw is slack as you get taken up into a tight carry; John’s chest firm and your nose brushing the side of his chin. 

Air getting sucked into your lungs, you stifle a hitch in your breath. 

It’s only after he starts walking forward, hiking you farther up into him, and his fingers gliding over your clothes, that you start to relax. His heat seeps like a warm fire.

Head sagging to the side, you grumble into his neck as you miss his eyes looking down at you, eyes soft in a way only you would have been able to see. “Can walk, y’know.”

He hums, head shifting back to the hallway as he carries you to the last door on the right, bumping into the wood with his shoulder and shifting to walk in sideways so you don’t let your legs on the frame. 

“Remember Preu? 05’?” John asks you, moving over to the bed and setting you down slowly, a tiny huff exiting his mouth. Your body sinks into the mattress, head to the pillow as your hand comes up to rub at your eyes. The man moves to grab the blanket at the end of the bed—knowing your trained habit of sleeping atop the comforter on operations; not tangled up in sheets just in case. He slips off your boots. “Carried you two miles.”

“I recall it,” you grunt, a tired flicker coming to your lips. “Bleeding out and all.”

“Well,” John hums, quirking a brow. “Wasn’t about to let my Hart die on me. Blood was the least of my worries.” 

Your pulse flutters at the title, even if it’s just your codename and not the beating muscular organ inside of your breast. 

My Heart.

But it’s never that simple. 

A hand moves up your cheek, a kiss pressed to your forehead. 

The both of you already know you love each other. It wasn’t a secret. You were smart; eyes sharper than a blade—you caught the way he watched you, saw the softness of his expression, and felt the drag of his hand. Just as he caught the way you stayed beside him, an ever-present pair of eyes watching his six. The content nature that only you showed him. 

With feet so eager to leave at any moment, it said much that you chose to exist near him simply because you wanted to. 

You loved each other. 

Boil it down, and you’d both known even back in the Academy that it would be the two of you at the end of all things. The rivers said your name. The valleys rustled with the breeze of your breath. You saw John in the bits of water that sloshed the rocks and in the earth beneath your palms. 

Over the years you’d been apart, the yearning hadn’t been any less sharp—any less potent. In every birdsong, the echoes of the other's voice flew and disappeared on wingbeats. In everything that existed, there was a fraction of what should be. 

What should be. 

“John,” your voice is a whisper, nothing more than a rustle of a cloth. He keeps his lips to your forehead, resting there for a moment against all sense and responsibility. John’s eyes droop down, lashes resting on the swell of his cheeks. “You know I love you.”

He takes a breath. Rain is in the air—the movement of a storm’s wind. A leaving C-17. 

It’s a low mutter into your flesh.

“I know.” 

You grasp at his wrist, pulling lightly. Without a noise, John slips in beside you, kicking off his boots with a single clop of the soles to the wood and the movement of your blanket. He grunts, pushing his nose into your scalp, arms going around your middle. Your head slots under his chin, lips to his Adam’s apple.

The house is silent beyond the murmur of the pipes—the buzz of awaiting electricity. 

So many memories. So many lost dreams. It was akin to two skeletons lying in a grave of their own making, forever holding the bones of the other. Duty and honor are etched into the fractures. 

But he still holds you, he still murmurs into your ear, “Sleep, Love.”

“And you?” You ask, mirroring the conversation in the kitchen.

John’s lips move along your flesh, moving into a soft smile as he glances down at you. His beard scrapes you delicately.

“I’ll be here.”

Then it is here you’ll stay, dreaming of deer and the way nothing could compare to how he held you in his arms.

—

“I have eyes on,” your head snaps up, blankly staring ahead as your fingers hover over the hanging beads of a wind chime. You stand outside of a restaurant in the heart of Copenhagen. 

Laswell had sent in more eyes for the Task Force to use—local soldiers that knew the layout of the city better and where would be a good place to look. For days you’d been moving through the streets; far-off storage units and hidden buildings providing fruitless harvests. Anthony had said a warehouse, but that was panning out as nothing as well.

False information? Possibly, but unlikely. The man had been genuine in his pain and pleading, and it only served to confuse you more.

You had Gaz with you and five others, taking over as the leader of this fireteam while John headed the other with Johnny and Ghost. They were on the opposite side of the city, and you can’t help but compare this to the moment Emmett had become an enemy. 

But divide and conquer was the only option in times like these.

Emmett had become someone, just as he said he would. The man was in charge of supplying arms to terrorist organizations all over the world, and with his knowledge of how the SAS operates as well as any number of special forces, he’d utterly disappeared off the radar.

A wraith of lies and murder.

He had locations all over the globe with his goods, shipped out for money and power. 

And now you have a positive ID.

“Where are you,” your voice is hard and stiff, the body already moving back from the chime and leaving its little bits and bobs swinging. 

“Café down the street,” feet nearly locking together, you continue down the street to where you know Gaz’s last position was. “He’s just…sitting there.” A pause. “You want to know what it’s called in English, Ma’am?”

“The café?” your brows furrow, jogging across the street. 

“‘The Warehouse.’” Growling under your breath, you shake your head and send a curse into the air after a pause.

“I think the man thought he was clever,” Kyle’s voice is smooth and teasing. 

“Should have shot his other leg,” you grunt. “You told Laswell? John?”

“Negative, I’ll get on it—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupt. “Tell the others to group up at your position and spread out to create a choke point; we can’t let him get away.”

“Rog. Will do.” 

You patch into John’s frequency.

“We have him,” you instantly breathe out. “Down Holbergsgade—café called ‘The Warehouse’.”

It’s swiftly that an answer hits you. “Get him surrounded, we’re coming.” 

Your heart is moving rapidly, fast in your chest as you pass people and business quickly. You didn’t like this—didn’t like the similarities, the…nostalgic dread that builds. A café of all places? Sitting down? Waiting?

It was so ironic it made alarm bells go off.

“John,” you lick your lips, glancing at faces as they pass. “I think he knows we’re here.”

“Explain.”

“A café?” John’s low grunt lets you know he understands. “Just sitting there? He knows—he’s not dumb enough to throw away all of his secrecy just as we so happen to get here and begin looking for him.”

“How sure are you?” The man takes your words into account, and you hear his breath puffing as he runs to your location. 

“Ninety,” you breathe. 

“Then I’m callin’ it off.” Your eyes widen, feet skidding as you come to a stop. 

You have no clue as to how far John will go to keep you safe—even if it means potentially letting one of the SAS’s highest HVTs go. There wasn’t anything that could compare to the thought of you getting in harm's way. Not you. 

John had spent his whole life watching soldiers die in the worst ways possible; they haunted his dreams and he knew they’d follow him to his grave—men he’d led down paths that they never should have been on. 

Not you. 

Losing you would break what little was left of him, the remnants held on by tape and sheer stubbornness. One of the last old faces he could still look at anymore; could draw comfort from in the thin hours. To hold and to love. 

You both knew you wouldn’t stand for it.

“No,” your voice cuts across, monotone. “I’m not allowing that.”

“Bloody hell, Hart, listen to me—do not,” John growls, making your spine tingle, “go after him. If he knows we’re fuckin’ here, we need to pull back and close off the area.”

You’re walking forward, that same pressure of a gun at the back of your spine. It was almost poetic. 

A thought sparks. Years of knowledge and understanding lighting up. 

Emmett was a snake. 

A snake that liked to play games and prove points; greed stuck into his brain for reasons you can’t quite say for certain. Even if you did catch him, he would never tell the locations of his goods or the buyers.

But there was one way to find out. One way this might turn.

“There’s a tracker in my arm,” you speak, growing more sure of your actions with every fast movement of your body. The café is just up the street, and a head of blonde hair is a knife to your vision. “I asked Laswell to insert and monitor it years back when I had to infiltrate a cell before I joined up with you again. Cautionary procedure since I had to forgo my rig and gear.”

A sharp bark. He knew what you were insinuating. “Hart!” You were going to get yourself taken hostage.

“Get Kate to watch it, John.” You move off his frequency before he can comment again, half of a roaring refusal cut off. Speaking to Gaz with a restricted throat, you say, “Kyle?”

“Right here, Ma’am.”

“Good. Don’t engage—I’m moving in.”

A stiff breath is taken in. “W…what was that?”

You don’t reply, only saying, “Whatever happens, I order you and the others to stay back, yeah?”

Your hand pulls the earpiece out and shoves it into your pocket right as you slip into the chair directly across from Emmett Kinsman. 

“Emmett,” you say in greeting, moving up a few fingers to a barista with a low call of your order. The individual nods and moves off before you lock on green eyes; they nearly make you flinch. 

You can only imagine what Gaz is telling John right now. 

Kinsman blinks at you, but he isn’t surprised. You were right.

“Hart,” the man smiles. His voice is still the same, though he looks older. “Pleasure seeing you again. Enjoying the sights of the city?”

“Not particularly,” you stare at him.

He chuckles, tilting his head before he brings his drink to his lips. He swallows and continues. 

“You always were serious. No fun.” You take the insult without any emotion, blinking at him slowly. What was his play?

“Why?”

“You already know why,” he shrugs, dressed in a nice suit. “I’ve made a name for myself—my name will be remembered for ages.” A twinkle in his eye. “SAS soldier turned weapon supplier; isn’t it exciting.”

“It’s a disgrace,” you lean forward, only stopping your voice from rising as a cup is placed down in front of you by the barista. 

Your face plasters a fake smile and you nod, moving it in front of you. Emmett watches with a smirk.

“I call it a change of heart.” He sighs, smirk simmering to a casual smile. “But I am glad to see you, you’ve been creating a big mess of things and I took it upon myself to have a meeting between us as old friends.”

“I’m not your friend,” you growl. “You’ve killed innocent people for no more than a fucking paycheck.”

“Well,” he snorts. “I don’t kill anyone. I’m the middle man—there’s a difference.”

Rage makes your eyes go to slits.

“And innocents, Sweet Thing?” Emmett leans in closer, face so smug and open you want to pull your weapon on him and worry about the consequences later. “What do I call what you do then?”

“A necessary evil,” you huff. “One I carry on my shoulders just like every other soldier does. One that was far better than supplying terrorists.”

Kinsman shrugs, moving back and picking up his drink, swirling it. “If you say so.” He hums. “You have to try the pastries here, you know. They’re very good.”

“I know you’re here because you expected us to find you, what I can’t figure out is why you broke your cover in the open instead of turning yourself in.” You look around at the faces in the outdoor seating, studying them trying to pinpoint if they’re civilians or in league with Kinsman. “Tell me before I decide to shoot you right here and now and end this regardless of hidden goods.”

“You already tried that, Hart,” Emmett laughs. “Pointing a gun at me didn’t work last time.”

“I’m not going to use a gun,” you ease out. “I’m going to take the butter knife on the table and slit your throat.”

“Uncivilized,” Emmet grumbles, frowning at the silver object near your hands. “It isn’t even sharp.”

“Good.” Green eyes narrow, unimpressed. He sighs, fingers moving in an outward gesture of exasperation. 

“If you must know before the main finale, I wanted to bring you here to say that I’m thoroughly impressed with your drive.” You try to stave off the shock in your stomach at the words coming out like a charmer’s flute. Raising a slow brow, you’re caught off guard. Emmett chuckles. “You nearly caught me at several instances throughout our game of cat and mouse. Many times I forget who the assigned roles were even given to; I’m telling you that I had fun.”

You stare, face tight. 

Emmett hums and his eyes go to slits. 

“But every game has to come to an end. I’m growing tired of it.”

The building across the street erupts into a great ball of fire.

—

John hears the explosion in the air, the shockwave that leaves his body halting to look into the sky in time to see black smoke.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “Fuck!” 

He rushes into the panicked crowd, memories stuck in his head and a bone-deep fear he’d been feeling since you cut the connection in your earpiece. Gaz had been relaying to him what was going on action for action—a football game, only the difference was that your life was on the line. 

“Kate,” John shouts. “Get the authorities down here now! We have an explosion on Holbergsgade.”

“Explosion?” The woman’s voice is sharp and disbelieving. “What’s going on—”

“Hart’s in the bloody crossfire, there’s no time!” John’s face is tight, wind whipping past his ears as screams fly on the wind; crying. “The fool is trying to get herself taken fucking hostage for intel!”

Whatever else was said was lost to the wind—Gaz comes over the line, calling to him in a panic as Johnny and Simon join in. 

“The entire building just went up in—”

“Fucking Christ—”

“Price, what is this?”

“All of you get down here!” John sprints past people on the ground, ripping his gun out of the back of his waistband. There’s no arguing. 

When the Captain turns the last corner, carnage greets him. 

The building across from the café was reduced to nothing but rubble and a still-burning flame. Eyes wide, John only looks at it for a few moments, too preoccupied with you.

Where were you? 

His jaw clenches, eyes burning with rage. Such a perfect soldier yet such a flawed sense of teamwork, he had a feeling you’d try something like this—had left Gaz with you for that very reason. Fuck he should have been at your side. He should have known. 

A low grumble moves through his lips, head snapping all around. There are bodies on the ground. Blood pooling under thick building material—fabric in the breeze. 

“Hart!” John yells, running to the café and seeing the remnants of a fast fight. 

The Captain’s heart drops to his feet, face burning with hellfire so much that a sheen comes to his cheek. His hand moves out to touch the handle of a butter knife that had been slammed into the table now half-fallen over, eyes stuck on only one thing on the ground under it.

Through the wails and the call of sirens, the man stares at the two long fingers sitting in the dust.

Never in his life had he felt a fear like this.

—

“I wanted to be kind about this,” Emmett fiddles with the wrappings of his bandaged left hand, only three fingers remaining. “I was going to make it quick.”

You’re locked in a cell-like room, head to the side and blood leaking out of a cut face. Burns travel up your arm, the sticky puss leaking out only serving to make you shiver. You don’t know where you are—don’t know what happened after you severed Kinsman’s fingers with that knife.

But you know the pain isn’t something that you haven’t already gone through before. 

Your voice is hoarse but firm as it leaks out of you, vision spotty. You’d been thrown in here after a ride in the trunk of a car. The ground is concrete. 

“...Don’t make me laugh.”

Emmett growls, eyes wide with hatred. 

“Pathetic!” He barks eyes looking you over with disgust. “Look at what you did to my hand!”

His other hand connects with the bars of the cage, producing a metal ringing sound as you push yourself up with one arm, eyelids flinching in pain. Sitting up, your body falls back to the wall behind it, and you grunt when the air in your lungs is expelled. You lick at your dust-coated lips, your head ringing and your focus failing. Concussion. 

“Least of your worries,” you roll your jaw, a wave of pain making your body seize up and your hands tense with quivering shakes. Your mouth opens with sharp pants. Bile pools in the base of your throat. 

It’s nothing. 

John will come soon. The tracker. If Laswell can get it working again, you’d be out of here and you would have whatever this location turns out to be and the intel that it can offer you—computer databases would be a one-and-done game. You would get names, coordinates, and buyers. It could all be over. 

Your clothes are melted into your skin, and when you move, they peel away with the remnant of your epidermis. The flesh of your left thigh and arm had taken the worst of it—and the cut from flying debris over your left cheek hasn’t stopped bleeding. 

Blood drips from it, and a loud ache makes your head pound all the worse. 

You’ve gone through worse.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Emmett snarls, the crimson bandages thick over his hand. “But it isn’t a problem,” he says, moving his other hand to slick back his hair. “It isn’t a problem,” the man utters again. “You’re going to help me. Yes…I’ve made up my mind. I need you to understand why I do the things I do.” 

Your brows furrow, but above this burning in your head, it’s hard to understand what’s being said to you. Shadows move and Emmett orders one of his men to open the cell door.

You fight the black dots at the sides of your vision, leaking until you’ve accepted the reality of yourself going unconscious. As your body slouches to the side, hands ruthlessly grasp under your arms and drag you to your feet. 

“Everyone has a breaking point.”

—

“What do you mean,” John glares at Laswell, his arms crossed over his chest; hands tightly grasping at his biceps. “You can’t find her?”

“The tracker was old, John,” the woman tries to explain, furiously typing at her computer that rests on the table in front of her—her spine bent over as the rest of the One-Four-One stay in a limbo of anxious looks. “To get it working again, it would need something to restart it. I don’t know if you can see,” Kate’s eyes are hard as they lock with his, “but I can’t do anything if she’s not here first.”

“Well of course she’d not bloody here Laswell, fucking Kinsman has her!” He shouts, hands moving out in a display of aggression. 

“Captain,” Kate rises to the challenge, hand moving flat to the table and glaring with the heat of a thousand missiles. “Do not take that tone with me.” 

John snarls and jerks his head away, feet on the ground trading weight. 

The man was borderline feral—all snapping teeth and sharp glances. Gaz had seen him like this only a handful of times, MacTavish even fewer. Ghost, of course, knew, but even his brown eyes wouldn’t leave his Captain, absorbed in the way he was unable to stay still for even a moment. He was in full gear, too. Had put it on directly after returning to a local base. 

John was ready to go to war, down to the rifle that swung from a strap at his side, the ammunition stuffed to his chest—sidearm at his thigh. A rabid dog with intelligence and the knowledge of where teeth needed to be applied to a neck for a clean kill. Simon doubted he wanted it to be clean.

John was ready to rip people to pieces. 

“Give me something,” the Captain says in a low growl, beard shifting. “Give me what I need.”

Kate splays her hands. “All we have is surveillance of a car leaving the area—the smoke covers all chances of the drone we had flying picking up a clear picture. John,” Laswell eases, standing up, “there’s only so much we can do. We need to wait—”

“We can’t bloody wait,” Gaz speaks up, “What’ll he do to her in the meantime?”

“Garrick’s right, we need to be on the ground with this.” Johnny nods, mohawk bobbing. “That’s one of our own—we’re not sitting around with our thumbs up our arses, Laswell. Not with Hart.”

Simon blinks, humming. Laswell’s eyes shift to him, near pleading for one to be on her side with this and see sense. Ghost shrugs. “I’m with them. Hart’s one of our own; we’ll do what needs to be done.”

John’s chest swells with pride while his eyes get stuck on your file on the table, your printed picture, and your black ink—he’d never loved an image more, but nothing could beat the real thing. He needed you back. He’d gone through hell with you for his entire life; you’d suffered with him and only locked your hands together and held on tighter. 

That was love—that was duty.

John Price wasn’t against skewing his morals for the sake of your safety. You would always be his most important mission. The man didn’t want to think about what might happen if he found you too late.

“Give me the video of the vehicle,” he grunts, jaw tight and his eyes beady. His body slightly leans forward to Kate, love going lower. “Or I’m going out there myself.” 

Laswell frowns tightly at him. 

“I just sent it into forensics—they’re trying to get a match. Go out if you want, but I won’t be able to stop the firestorm that comes out of it.”

She closes her laptop and moves past him, sending one last comment into the stone man as he towers ever taller.

“She’s strong, John. If you’re smart, you’ll keep yourself out of the crossfire until we have a definitive hit.” 

Her voice echoes from behind him as his hands slowly move to clench into knuckle-whitening fists.

“If Kinsman gets a tip we’re still onto him—you’ll never see Hart again.”

—

Day Three:

Your days start blending. One moment you hear the snapping of your bones, and then the next you’re wasting away in this cell—ears ringing and eyes buggy. So much blood. Blood on the walls—blood on the chair they strap you into in the other room; even stuck in the groves of your flesh. 

You don’t think you can stop closing your eyes and seeing a deer at the bottom of a bridge drop-off. It’s stuck in your head like a virus; those car lights in the back of your mind just waiting for you. 

There’s no sense as to what they do to you—all its purpose is, is to prove a point to Emmett. A sort of broken retribution for your interference and his fingers. 

Vain man, really. You’d told him as much when he was watching you get your own finger torn off my pliers; spit it at him as the blood from your bitten tongue stayed his suit. You remember the feeling of the knuckle popping first, and then the burning heat of the flesh being twisted to the side. Two firm yanks and the flesh had sprung like elastic, fissuring, the tendon snapping. 

You think you blacked out after that, but you can’t be sure. All you remember doing is screaming. 

You woke up with your left pinkie finger completely gone, resting outside in the hallway to mock you from past the bars. Your eyes could see the bone sticking out of it, and all that was left on you was a badly cauterized stump. 

When Emmett had come to gloat, you started slurring out laughter. 

“I’m going to rip you apart.” Your broken body had jerked back and forth like a marionette doll, only succeeding in spreading more red over the floors as green eyes widened and went dumbfounded. 

It sounded like a choking fish.

All he’d done was left, quickly passing the pinkie left limp on the ground.

Day five:

You can’t move your body as they dump you back into the chair—the drain below you flooded over with crimson and bits of hair; vomit and torn-off fingernails. You’re unable to open your eyelids fully. 

A hand grasps at your face, yanking it up into the overhead light until a bucket of water is dumped directly over your head. Your body jerks, coughing and darting forward until you’re shoved to the back of the chair and the rope is tied around the front of your shoulders, the second at your wrists.

Trying to suck down air, you shiver with the strength of an earthquake. Whoever said that they would never be afraid while being tortured was a liar; whoever thinks that they would be able to push through it—a fraud. Emmett was right, everyone had a breaking point.

But you admitted yours would only come after your death.

Your legs are seized, bent up as you hiss as well as you’re able, teeth snapping. 

They’re dumped back down into a bucket of ice-cold water as droplets drip from your nose—wet skin for the moment only holding streaks of gore. Even with your scattered mind, you know what this means. 

Heart tight and eyes widening, you try to push back in the chair; try to fight the rope and the way your body won’t respond. 

A battery is rolled up beside you on a metal cart. Jumper cables. 

There’s a low chuckle at the way your face goes fearful. 

—

John shoves open the door to Laswell’s temporary office, already talking before it hits the far wall. 

“Do we have her?” His hands move beside him, brushing the grip of his sidearm. He hadn’t been out of his full gear for more than five minutes in days. Waiting day and night for any word; sleeping in it, eating in it. The forensics team had been stumped, unable to get more than a model out of the picture. 

But this might finally give him something to act on. 

Kate is moving, grabbing documents and her laptop, speeding past him and out of the door. 

“Kate!” John shouts, following after. “Hey,” he calls, grabbing at her arm to stop her. 

The woman only halts to say, quickly, “We have a hit. Follow me.”

John’s heart is rampaging, pulse wild under his skin as his gloved hands twitch. Finally. He can only smoke so many cigars—only think of so many scenarios until he feels he needs to vomit. You’d been gone for too long. Every moment had been like trying to walk with a cloth over his head; lost. 

He’d grown stiff. Stiffer than normal. Everyone had seen it.

“Where is it, then?” John asks as Laswell pushes open the door to the meeting room, the other three already inside.

“A property outside of Copenhagen—bought through a proxy on a fund that was linked to blood money in South America; it all went directly back to Kinsman. It was found only ten minutes ago.” A pause. Electricity in the air. “But that’s not how we found it.”

“How,” Simon asks, moving closer. 

John gives the woman his full undivided attention, hands moving to rest at his collar in a soothing gesture. 

“Her tracker came back on.” Eyes go wide, all sharing rapid glances as Kate opens her laptop and opens a man, turning the device for them to see. “Same location.”

Johnny blinks, his eyes narrowing. “And what does that mean?”

“That can’t have just done that by itself,” Gaz mutters, brown eyes sliding over to John who’s stiller than a wolf. The Sergeant pauses. 

His eyes are dead set on that screen. His thighs were so tense it was nearly like the Captain was about to sprint out of the room. Kyle’s face goes blank at that, never quite seeing the extent that your disappearance had on the man. His superior had bags under his eyes; far more pale than usual. His apparel was ruffled, too. Even in the more serious of situations, the Sergeant had never seen John so…out of it. He was always the one with the even head, even if he had a short fuse with certain things. Nothing was ever done without thought, he should say. 

But this is something else. 

“Torture,” Simon gives his two cents and John’s cheek twitches at the word. “Electrocution. They jump-started it and didn’t even know.” 

“Bloody Jesus,” John breathes. Everyone had already had a hunch, but no one had wanted to name it. 

It’s a low rumble that makes the rest of them freeze, though. It was so dead in tone that it even made Kyle’s spine lock up; Johnny’s eyes went a smidgen upward. Simon, although his face was covered, felt his lips twitch.

John looks at nothing but that dot on the computer screen.

“Am I green, Laswell?”

Kate looks at John. It’s like setting a hellhound loose. 

“You’re green, Captain.”

—

You’re tossed into the cell and your body rolls along the floor, bouncing and flinching until your back slams into the wall. Air is forced from your lungs, coming out in a loud grunt before you land on your stomach in a heap. Staying there, your nerves are fried. 

Every moment you think the twitching of your fingers will stop—the dance of your muscles responding to the aftereffects of electrocution, it only starts back up again. Your eyes blink rapidly; your clothes have the scent of smoke to them. 

Gasping for breath, you feel like you’re drowning and being set on fire all at once. 

Yet the question in your head was a simple one, one you’d been asking for days.

Where was John?

Emmett enters the cell, clicking his tongue as the metal hinges squeak. 

“I’m not surprised it’s taking this long,” he explains. “But I am surprised you’re still alive, admittingly.” 

A boot comes out and places itself atop your shoulder, pressing down slowly until its full weight is on top of you. Your mouth opens in a shuddering sound of a dying animal, blood dripping from your ears and nose. 

“I know you’ve taken torture before—even taken a part of it,” Kinsman sighs. “But, shit Hart, you really do scare me when I know you’re strong enough to get through th—”

Your body jolts up, grappling Emmet’s leg and twisting it to the side. Regardless of pain—of agony—there’s such primal rage inside of you that what little adrenaline you can bring forth is all that more addictive. 

The man collapses in a heap, gasping, but you’re already on top of him, wrestling your hand to his neck, missing finger and all. Blood moves, staining his precious suit and dripping from your mouth into his hairline. You bare down your weight on him, teeth clenched and eyes wild—one orb holding nothing but red from burst veins and the other full of a vicious gleam of ferality. 

Hands snap up to your wrists, mouth opening in flapping panic. 

But Emmett has grown weak; he’s out of practice. All of those years out of the SAS, giving up on the training of the body to match the mind. The idiot wasn’t even carrying a gun when he walked into the cell of a charging stag, its antlers dripping gore, sharper than any knife. 

When the flaps of his eyes fall there’s no gloating speech—there’s no snort of a tall and proper victor. All you do is take the front of his face, grasp it, and start sending his skull back into the concrete floors. 

Crack.

…Crack.

….Crack.

Only when the sound of his head breaking open meets your ringing ears, do you force your wheezing lungs to take a large breath. 

Emmet Kinsman died as he lived. 

A fucking piece of shit.

“Fuck you,” you spit on his corpse, saliva bloody; his jaw is loose as you release the man’s face, eyes bulging. Falling to the side, you groan in pain, your body curling into itself until you resemble a sleeping fawn. You’re shaking more and more with every second, coughing with the force of an earthquake until your shredded vocal chores force you to stop. 

But the brain is a funny thing. 

In times of danger, survival is the only thing that takes priority. It was why, in a long shove of your hand to the floor, with your bones creaking and your vomit meeting the ground, you’re able to stand. It isn’t enough to help you heal the snapped bone of your right leg, however, and in a steadily failing stupor, you drag it behind you. In this state, nothing else matters to you besides a simple command: get out.

Your shoulder slaps the metal of the cell as you stumble out of it, careening into the far wall and letting out a loud shout. 

Eyes fluttering, you connect your temple to the cool concrete, trying to breathe. 

It hurts too much, your mind says. God, I can’t feel my limbs. 

A long trail of blood follows you down the hallway as you slide along the wall, using it as a brace. 

You want to see John, you whisper inside of your head. You want to be held by him—be taken into his chest; cared for away from all of this fighting. 

A trip back to Herefordshire with him, to go deep into the country together; rest in the green grass where no one can find you for just a few good hours. It didn’t have to be forever, you would say. Just a few hours. A few hours of sky and earth wrapped in a time loop of just your own. 

You want to kiss him there. In the open, out in the wild. You want to stay by his side, your mind thinks as you stumble over the three dead bodies in the left corridor, bullet wounds in their heads. You want to be by his side forever, no more gaps in years, not more longing. It’s so close you can nearly reach out and grasp it—

Your name is yelled on a heavy breath, and hands capture your shoulders as you fall straight into them with no more strength.

Blue eyes lock with yours as you’re hurriedly settled to the ground, body limp and eyes trying to stay open. 

Blue eyes on a grassy hill.

“Hart, fucking hell.” Hands move your body, pressing and sliding—finding every opening and spreading blood like water. “Fucking hell! Hey!”

You’re yelled at, and the ripping of pouches and the familiar sound of bandages being wrapped come to the back of your brain. A hand shakes your head, locked under your chin as you take slow, broken, breaths. 

“Please, fuck sake, please,” it’s a desperate growl, so familiar and yet a world away. Your body is moved and manipulated as every leaking wound is packed with so much gauze it hangs out of you like you’re a mummy. The burns along your flesh are crust and infected, open skin peeling back. 

But the pain is lesser now. Easier to manage. 

There’s such a ruckus that it’s hard to focus on John—the man on the hill. In the grass and the wind. Brown hair moves in the breeze as white clouds roll past. On the air, there’s the scent of rain, and in the far distance, you can see a group of ten deer grazing, ears twitching.

Maybe you’ll ask them if they blame their leader, or the two trucks on the end of a bridge.

“Keep your eyes on me!” You blink into John’s tiny blues, that mist rolling back. You stare for a moment as he frantically screams into his radio; night vision rig on his head and all-black gear covering him from you. His face is pale, his eyes glossy. “Look at me, hey,” he blinks as he notices you watching, surging forward. “Hey, keep 'em open, yeah? You keep them fucking open, Love.” 

Your chest is heavy. 

“John,” you push out a flicker coming to your lips as your vision slightly unblurs itself to the sight of a flood of blood on the man’s body—an unimaginable amount.

“I’m ‘ere,” his accent grows deeper with emotion, one hand holding your cheek and the other at your shoulder, keeping you still to stop any additional damage. “I’ve got you, you understand me? I’m not letting you go, so don’t you think that I will.” 

It’s a double-edged sword.

A smile peels back your chapped lips, red running from the corner of your mouth. You glance at his stained gear again. The abyss swirls at the corners of your eyes.

“Is that your blood, or mine, John Price?” 

You hear him scream for a medic, and then it all goes numb.

—

You dream of deer on a hill, but every time you search for John, he isn’t there. You go past rivers—

“She’s dropping!”

“Get me the defibrillator!”

—past copses. Your voice goes high and low, but all the while you look, there’s nothing but a nagging feeling in the back of your head that you shouldn’t be here.

“Again!”

It’s a strange nagging, truly. Like falling asleep in the middle of the day and waking up in the night without any remembrance of what had happened prior. A displacement of the mind. 

“We’ve got a pulse, Doctor, do we stop and—”

“No, I need to finish off the internal bleeding or else she won’t make it another day. Get me the cauterizer, now.”

You blink and grip your chest, a sudden pain sharp in your heart as the grass moves about your ankles. Coughing, you bend over, your eyes fluttering rapidly. In the deepest part of your eardrum, you hear a murmur of a voice you can’t place.

“The man came back, again. He’s been out there for days. He just…sits there, waiting until someone tells him something. He can’t come in, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sure hearing his voice would help more than mine, but you’re in too much of an unstable condition for that. If you get another infection, you won’t…hm, I shouldn’t talk about that. Everyone in school said only to talk positively to patients when they’re like this. I…I’m sure he’ll be able to come in soon. I think everyone calls him John if that rings a bell?”

“John?” Your eyes flutter open, sharp light above you making you snap them back closed. No one answers. 

It’s a long moment before you find the strength to breathe in the oxygen from the mask over your face, taking a long and deep inhale before a slight cough makes your abdomen tight. You flinch at the pull of stitches, all coming from so many places, that it’s unwise to move too much. 

Gradually, you open back up your eyes, pushing past the sting. Inside of your throat, the skin is so dried out you can feel it cracking at every articulation of your words. 

“Where's…John?” When you shift your head to the side, no one’s there. No one’s even in the room, either.

Blinking through the haze, your lips twitch on your face, skin tight. With a slap of your weak hand, you grasp the oxygen mask and pull it down to your neck, grunting in mild annoyance at the medicated numbness of your form. 

Your leg is in a cast—and your left side is tightly bound by wrappings to hide away the burns where skin grafts most likely live. With a glance, you see the missing pinky and the bandages that cover the strange remnants. 

The facial wound will scar, you know, but right now it’s patched over and healing. That’s all you can ask for. 

Sighing long, you blink slowly at the ceiling, licking your lips. You need water.

Outside, the murmurs are missed to you as your unmarred hand reaches for the nightstand table, where a half-drunk bottle of water sits next to a tray of food. Even if your stomach rumbles, water takes precedence. Your throat was like the Sahara desert.

“Forget something, John?”

“Bloody fork. The bastard gave me the slip. Dropped mine, needed to go back and grab another.”

“Oh, that’s alright—you could have asked one of us to get one for you. We’d hate for you to miss any time for visiting hours.”

“It’s fine; gets me moving, eh?”

“Just grab us if you need anything else!”

A low grunt is accented by the opening of the door; immediately you tense and pause, neck fighting itself to shift forward once more.

Wide blues lock with your own, and it’s like every pain fades away. 

John’s jaw is slack hidden under the layers of his beard bristles, brows going atop his head in an instant. The sound of a dropping metal utensil echoes through the room. 

You both stare at one another for a long time, and the murmur of nurses accumulates to some peaking through the crack; their expressions also going to shock. A few scurry off, probably to get a doctor. 

“What?” Your hoarse voice asks, unnerved by this. 

At the sound of your voice, John flinches forward on his boots. The nurses get shut out with beaming faces as the barrier closes with a small click of metal.

Walking to the side of your bed, John clears his throat, eyes looking you up and down in two glances. A million things are hidden in them. After an opening and closing of his mouth, which you watch closely while squinting, he speaks.

“How are we feeling, then?” You breathe slowly and in tiny puffs. John looks at the oxygen mask as if telling you to put it back on, but you refuse for a moment. 

“Like shit,” you utter, voice cracking.

With a huff, John pushes away your reaching hand and gets the water himself, unscrewing it. Bringing it to your lips, you take it down as he speaks.

“Easy, Love.” 

When you’d had your fill and the ache settled, you brought a hand to your head and rubbed at your injured cheek before John sighed and grabbed at it, intertwining his fingers with yours and lowering the limb back to your chest.

You stare at him, and he stares at you. 

“I don’t know what to ask,” you confess. 

“You don’t have to ask anything,” John mutters, and his face is tight with worry. “You’ve been in a coma for three weeks, all you need to do is ease back into it.”

Your eyes snap back.

“Tell me if it hurts,” He speaks slowly, moving on one word at a time so the realization doesn’t dwell in your brain. “I can get someone to come in, yeah?”

Your hand in his burns, and John pulls at the chair by the nightstand until he’s able to sit down in it fully with a tiny grunt.

“No,” you say, “no, it’s…I’m fine.”

Better now that you’re here, but your body is tense. Three weeks?

“Just need to take it easy,” the man states, thumb running up and down your knuckles. “You’ll be better soon.”

A dry look is sent his way, and he hides a soft quirk on his lips. “You’ll be better, Love.”

You hum, head moving back more heavily into the pillow. 

“When do I get to go back?”

“When you’re healed,” he grunts. “Not a fuckin’ moment sooner.”

“We get anything on the other locations of the—”

“Hart,” you’re interrupted. Blue eyes stare at you heavily, digging past every shield you’d put up and every fear. What happened was still heavy in your mind; it pained you to imagine it, even the way John had found you—even if it was all glimpses. “Slow down. That’s not an order coming from a soldier, it’s a caution from an old friend.” John says, squeezing your flesh. His other hand comes to your shoulder, sitting there heavily. 

“Breathe,” he orders, face gruff. “We always figure it out.” 

You close your eyes and sigh, frowning. 

A low chuckle moves along the air a second later. 

“Never sit down, do you?” A flicker dances over your lips like a butterfly. “Impossible, you are.”

“You’re one to talk,” you huff, eyes shifting back to him. 

He’s smiling at you, and you can’t help but mirror it right back at the sight. Your facial injury pulls and tightens, but you would welcome an ache like that for as long as it stayed. A scar born of the stretch of lips is one well-earned. Only John could ever make it a reality.

The man stares at your lips, his wide build eager to stay over you in this state. He can’t stop himself from caressing your skin; to feel you alive and breathing. Talking.

“Scared me,” John admits under his breath. 

You blink, your smile fading slowly until it was like it was never there. Your body builds with guilt; also something only he could bring. “I’m sorry, John.” 

A small thinning of his lips is what you get, accented by a hum. 

“Hart,” he grunts. “I…”

John’s eyes closed for a moment before opening back up—spearing you with their gaze. Your tired eyes crinkle in confusion.

“What is it?” Over the tingle of your flesh from where he touches you, it isn’t hard to forget the world is around you when he’s here like this. You’re nearly trapped by his eyes, yet you welcome it eagerly. His voice moves out, accent and natural gravel, all. 

“I love you.” 

Your nose lets a chuff exit. Was that all?

“I love you, too, John—”

“No, Hart,” he pushes slightly harder, moving closer and licking his lips as he glances away. “No,” John looks you dead in the eye as you lay here battered and broken within an inch of your life—a risk that you took willingly as if it had meant nothing. The both of you weren’t new to this; you both knew that on any day you or he would do it over and over again until it resulted in death. That was the way of this game; this trial. 

You had both always been content with that, but when had it changed? 

Why was the thought of losing you more fear-invoking than anything else he’d ever encountered?

You watch him as his lips utter the words, lips close to yours and your eyes locked. 

“I love you.” 

Your voice is caught in your throat, stuck in the throws of a quick gasp. Not blinking, the man waits for you—waits for an answer to the earth-shattering confession. But it all came far easier than you would ever admit to anybody besides him. It was already known, after all. 

All that remained was the pesky words.

“I love you, too.” You beam, words low with intimacy. “I think I always have.”

John chuckles, a large smile pushing at his reddening cheeks. “Good,” he nods, clearing his throat. “Good,” he says again. “Well, I—”

You softly connect your lips with his, and you feel him pause, breathing you down for a moment as hearts beat at the same tempo. He sighs, one hand coming up to capture your cheek, holding it there for you as you sag into it and live in this everlasting moment. 

It’s there you had a revelation.

It was never Hart to him. John had never been calling you that. 

He’d always just been saying Heart.

You breathe out a laugh, when you separate, beaming in a happiness you thought was long gone from you—stolen in the dark nights and sold through even darker deeds. Neither of you was worthy of this, of the love that breeds in broken things. Yet, here it is regardless. Here, among blood and the blue eyes of a man you’d known since knowing anything became important. You had always known it was John. And finally, finally, finally.

“I would marry you in an instant, John Price,” you breathe when you separate, not weak enough to stop the words from exiting from the deepest part of your soul.

His crinkled eyes watch, reverently gazing at every blemish and mark; everything he could learn new again. John’s eyes are as soft as you ever imagined them to be, and he gives them over freely to you.

He kisses you again and leaves the taste of his heavy, happy, chuckle tingling across your lips.

“Seems I’d better get on that, then.”

A/N: This fic is strangely nostalgic for me even if I just wrote it - I remember the first ever fic I posted on here was a rescue fic, as well as a John Price fic; it's amazing to see how far I've come in regards to overall content/story building and how my understanding of the character has evolved. This might not be the best work I've posted on my blog, but I'm glad to say I'm proud of myself and how far I've come. It's so wonderful that I can have this feeling for such a big moment and still feel so drawn back to the past at the same time. Totally not tearing up at the thought rn.

Thank you all very much for your support.

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[kissitbttr]

mafia!toji first time meeting stripper!reader

a/n: reader is fem. and since i’ve been hit with biggest writers block known to a man, this one is inspired by one of my old work called gold. enjoy!

-

toji zenin is a ruthless man. that, you can definitely count on.

he’s known to be the one who shows little to no mercy. who’s soul isn’t as clean due to the countless of lives he had taken.

as crazy as it sounds, toji craves for the sound of piercing cries from someone who begs to spare them compassion. he likes to taunt them. mock them. pretending that he would eventually let them go just to see that little flicker of hope lighting upon their gaze.

a sinister smile would play coyly upon his lips before he decides the latter. pulling the trigger and watches the victim face planting the dark tile as their brains scatter all over the walls and floor.

it’s one way to teach people a lesson to not fuck with him. to not fuck with his business. because toji zenin is crazy like that.

he has no time for patience nor pity.

toji fixes the collar of his black sheer shirt, checking himself out in the mirror to make sure he looks good tonight. who are we kidding though? he’s toji fucking zenin,

tonight was supposed to be his day off. he had plans. before a motherfucker who runs a strip club decides to mess with him about the package deal and had almost lost him half of the money he’s supposed to own,

he could’ve let his right hand man to handle it. but this is bigger than anything he had ever done. is this goes to south, then one person’s death wouldn’t be the only thing on his agenda,

he’ll track down every single one of the bastards and kill them with his own hands,

however, tonight needs to be as clean as possible.he’s aware of the reputation he has put on himself to the world, so no point of hiding or camouflage. yet, he still doesn’t want to cause too much of a scene,

stepping away from the full length mirror, he swiftly picks his black velvet coat off the hanger before shrugging it on,

“talk to me, satoru” his heavy voice echoes the hallway as he steps out of the room to walk downstairs, watching a few of his men pocketing their weapons,

gojo satoru. his right hand man, nods,

“he’s there. word from bianco. he appears isn’t expecting you to stop by” he informs, showing toji the message on his phone. “it’s going to be crowded. but bianco is taking care of that right now. he’s got nowhere to run”

toji scoffs, snatching a glass of whiskey off the table before downing the remaining drink. “good. i need him to see me when he less expects it. owes me more than some fucking money” he mutters, tucking the G21 down his holster.

gojo raises an eyebrow. “G21? you’re going soft tonight eh, boss?”

toji shoots him a hard glare, one where the white haired man only chuckle at. “the car’s ready?”

another nod, gojo leads toji down towards the basement. “as requested. Lamborghini Murcielago. your personal favorite. packed with 640 PS and 471 Kw—i think you know what that means— rules around 213 mph if you consider on going hit and run. i packed a standard aeropack wing if you wanna go slow. windows? bulletproof. in case anyone tries to kill you” toji knows for a fact that gojo is only joking about the last part.

no one dares to try to take him down before he does it. it’s a pattern everyone knows by now,

toji lets out a low whistle, head softly shaking at the machine beauty before him. fingers tracing along the hood of the car,

“shit—you know i need to lay low, man? got anything less attractive?”

“i don’t do less. you know that, boss” he winks playfully, laughing to himself when he watches toji rolls his eyes. “besides. this thing right here will for sure earns you a bird. take her out on a stroll, bring her home. women love fast cars” he comments,

humming as a response, toji walks towards the driver’s seat. “i don’t date. were you born yesterday or something?” he speaks in a firm tone before catching the keys that gojo throws at him,

“no I wasn’t. but isn’t ‘she who shall not be named’ is like what? two years ago? and you got to stop with the one night stands. go get a girl tonight” he suggests, watching the dark haired man sliding himself into the car,

toji gives him a half hearted smile. “noted”

“i’ll be right behind you, boss. slow down, yeah?”

-

it takes about thirty minutes prior to arrival. toji blames it all on the traffic and the slow pedestrians crossing the road. cursing to himself every five seconds, each time he stops at red lights.

he parks his car close to the entrance before exiting from the vehicle, tossing his keys at one of the valet but not before roughly grabbing his collar and threaten to kill him if one scratch is prominent on his car.

clearing his throat, he walks into the bar. ignoring the stares and whispers at the sight of a notorious ruthless man who decides to pay the club a visit.

one thing he first to notice, the club is indeed packed. gojo wasn’t lying. as if God knew what is about to happen later on and isn’t going to let him get away with witnesses. he needs to play it safe tonight.

as he strides through the darkened room to find the table he had been reserved for, a few half naked girls walk right pass him. delicate fingers stroking his chest and brushing against his shoulders, making him smirk. he can’t lie, most of them are gorgeous and he’s tempted enough to touch their skin, but he has to hold it. not that he isn’t interested, because his mind changed. he is definitely taking someone back to his place tonight.

fucking gojo. he has to be right every time.

speak of the devil, the white haired man appears by his side in minutes. nodding his head towards the area where the business should be conducted. toji follows him close towards the end of the room,

he gently pulls back a chair for him to sit, as gojo and the two of his other men stands behind to watch over. toji specifically asks for the furthest table, with a glass of whiskey has been prepared for him.

toji feels irritated. he hates doing all of this dirty work just because some fucking bastard isn’t able to keep up with the deal. he should’ve known not to trust alec to do business, yet when the pathetic excuse of a man begged on his knees with a gun knocked against his head, toji thought why not? if he didn’t get to fulfill his demands, he gets to kill him either way.

“alright, alright—fuck! easy man!” alec’s frantic voice causes toji’s eyes to avert from the scene of the crowd. his eyebrows knitted, threatening gaze bores upon the man whose pushed forcefully by his men to sit, “mr. zenin! it’s always a pleasure to see you!”

mind that alec owes him more than fifty grand, and this fucker had the nerve to walk in and act like nothing happened,

he is definitely going to kill him,

“you don’t fucking talk to me that way, alec. i’m not your friend. you owe me something” toji warns, his finger pointing at him as he watches the trembling man gulp. “you remember?”

alec couldn’t feel more terrified as he casts a glance of toji’s gun on the table, facing towards him. “i—i know, man—sir” he corrects himself. “i didn’t forget. it’s just that the money is tight right now. the girls aren’t earning amount of money they—“

toji could only scoff, head thrown back. “i didn’t fucking hire your girls. i hired you. stop being a pussy and own up to that. you should know that me and patience never get along. i have one body bag left in my car and it would give me the tremendous pleasure writing your name on it” he grits his teeth, looking at alec with a dark look in his eyes as he balls his fist,

“i just need more time—“

“one month isn’t enough?!” toji barks, making alec jumps at the booming voice

“i need more. i promise. give me one more month. and i will do whatever you ask me to, sir zenin.” alec begs with hopeful eyes,

toji finds it disgusting and repulsive to see someone like him begging for mercy. or anyone at all. that gesture is weak and vulnerable. “i don’t give out second chances”

alec hears a gun clicks from behind. he doesn’t need to ask, he knows that one of the two men behind him is ready to blow his brains out. “sir zenin, please! just one more chance! please”

once again, toji isn’t a very patient man. he knows enough to understand that it’s a mistake. but he would love to see how this one goes, playing along with this little game of his.

toji isn’t a fool. never was.

he looks over at gojo, as if to ask what he thinks. the answer that gojo could give is ‘your choice, boss’

toji sighs, head shaking. “fine. you give me your best girl of the night, and i’ll give you one more month” he offers, taking a sip of his drink, leaning himself back to relax. “no more than that”

alec nods. though he feels like shitting himself because one month isn’t close enough for collecting the amount of money he owes toji to. still, he thinks this is better than nothing.

“take your pick, mr. zenin. or i could bring one or two here? we have twins in the back and they sure are on high demand, everyone has been begging me to—“

toji could only hum in response, not listening to a word he’s saying. his green eyes scanning over at the scene. the girls are putting on a show, showing off their skills, some are pulling a lap dance on a few customers. he cringes when one suddenly takes her bra off like she costs nothing. seems like none of these girls are his type. gorgeous? yes. but they don’t seem to do enough to make his cock twitch,

he’s about to take back the offer until his eyes fall on her. eyes widening in amusement and toji finds himself freezing on the spot.

a slight curvier woman has her leg hooked around the pole. long dark haired brushing against the marble floor as she arches her back slightly. toji observes the way her body moves so sensually yet gracefully, almost like a feather. the way she bites onto her pink glossed lips and how her eyes manage to flirt with the crowd with one simple look. she has them lured into her presence. himself included.

her body—fuck, he doesn’t even know where to begin. delicious curves cladded in navy blue bodysuit, full breasts supported by the cup of her outfit that bounces each time she moves. soft thick thighs wrapped by a white fishnet stockings and legs decorated in white fuzzy pumps. overall it’s quite revealing, but it still presents the modesty she has on her. he’s not quite sure if it’s the outfit or it’s just her,

but only a fool would assume that it isn’t the latter.

toji feels his pants growing tight when his gaze lowers to how her hips moving in circles. in painfully slow motion too. almost like she knows how to tease and she’s doing it so perfectly. if only he had spotted her from before, he would’ve move closer.

a damn fucking beauty she is.

“her. i want her” toji speaks in a firmer tone, almost territorial. he just can’t take his eyes off the woman. watching every single move and a wink being thrown.

he chuckles when she swats a couple of old hands who seems desperate to try and cope a feel with a dirty look on her face. he couldn’t make out what she’s saying but he knows for sure that she’s telling them off,

‘gorgeous and a fighter’ he thinks to himself

“angel? you want her?” alec asks after he realizes who he’s pointing at,

“that’s her real name?”

“no. she doesn’t let anyone know her real name. she goes by that ever since she starts working here” alec informs, watching toji nods,

so she’s new?

“some calls her birthday cake”

that makes toji’s brows scrunched. he is about to ask why the name until the answer is immediately given to him when she decides to do a side split, making her plump ass bounce against the floor.

oh that’s why

“gorgeous” toji breathes, cocking his head to the side. “not taken is she? not that i care anyway. what a fucking dime she is. you’re going to give her to me, correct?” his voice is threatening enough, dark eyes moving to look at alec who nods.

“yes! of course, sir! if that’s what you want”

“fuck yes i do. bring her to me” he demands before gulping down his drink, watching how alec immediately scrambles off the chair and hurries towards where angel is performing,

toji keeps his eyes set on the mysterious lady. refusing to move. he doesn’t want to miss a single thing. especially when she’s on her hands and knees, ass up in the air for the crowd to see and eyes looking over her shoulder earning cheer, applause and money flown just for her.

gojo lets out a wolf whistle. “good choice, zenin”

he hums, the girl now up on her feet. lifting herself up after she hooks her arm around the pole and give them a twirl. “tell me gojo. have you seen anyone as beautiful as she is?”

“definitely not. you just might hit the jackpot”

indeed he did. toji may have made a lot of mistakes but he’s never wrong when it comes to choosing partners . he’s always careful with it.

there is something so different about her and he’s very sure about it too. from how she’s not afraid to tell the men in the audience off, putting that smart mouth to use. unlike the girls he has seen around where they just take the humiliation. but her?

she fights back. just how he likes his women.

“fuck off alec, i mean it! my shift is almost over. i’m not interested being passed around to your friends or co-workers!”

he hears her protest. toji doesn’t even realize that she’s walking closer towards his table with alec’s grip around her elbow,

“who said anything about passing you around? i just need to introduce you to one of the most important men here!” alec defends,

“weird way of saying you want me to suck their cocks” she comments

a foul mouth indeed toji thinks

alec throws her a hard glare, in which she only scoffs and roll her eyes. “mr. toji zenin, I would like to introduce you to angel. she’s been here for almost a year now.”

toji grins at that, standing up from his chair and looks over at the beauty with a disinterested look on her face. seemingly look like she doesn’t want to be here. yet she smiles at him anyway, and he swears he has never seen something so pretty,

“nice to meet you, beautiful ” toji extends his hand for her to take, giving a soft kiss on it. his eyes aren’t looking away from hers. “hell. you’re even gorgeous up close”

she won’t deny it. this man is absolutely handsome. and she doesn’t see a lot of them working here. most are old and married, which something that she finds disgusting. but this man, toji? he is far from ugly.

first thing she noticed was how broad he’s built. the way he towers over her and he’s not even standing that close to her small figure. even the dark room fails to hide the definition of his muscles through the black shirt he’s wearing. and the thin scar over his pulled lips, showcasing a smirk.

is this man even a man?

as handsome as he is, angel raises an eyebrow, not feeling entirely influenced by the gesture. “so have you been observing me this whole time? that’s creepy”

“angel” alec hisses, gripping her elbow a bit tighter making her flinch a bit and her body to cowers a little.

“sorry” she mutters in irritation, gaze falling down to the floor

the interaction somehow irks toji to the bone. he eyes how alec treats her in front him, it would probably even worse behind closed doors.

he doesn’t even want to know.

“you can fucking let go now alec, you’re hurting her” toji demands, throwing him a sharp stare. alec’s pupils are wide open at that, causing him to release his grip almost immediately and for angel to nurse her reddening skin.

one thing that toji wouldn’t accept, is violence against women.

toji’s gaze beginning to soften yet again when he watches the pretty girl before him. how her long hair cascading down her back, exposing the sharp of her collarbones and valleys of her breasts,

if only her look of fear is replaced with a look of comfort,

“you can leave us be. thanks” toji coldly orders at alec, not wanting to be near his presence anymore. he’s had enough seeing that bastard,

he nods, avoiding his stare but not before muttering a ‘don’t fuck this up’ to angel before one toji’s men escorts him out,

“don’t worry about him doll. he’s gone, yeah?” he comforts her almost immediately, not wanting her to be scared anymore,

“oh—yeah, uhm thanks” she shoots him a smile. a genuine one this time, taking his hand in hers when he offers it. "so how do you want this--''

“if you don’t mind” he puts a hand behind her back immediately to guide her to the couch behind, earning a quizzical look on her face. “i want to get to know you first”

“mr. zenin. with all due respect, this is not a date. i’m working”

he chuckles at her forward response, still she lets him lead to the velvet couch. angel sits first, eyes glancing up for a moment and see a handsome white haired man with his arms crossed. he quickly removes himself from the presence and walk out. his other men following him from behind.

and now there’s just two.

“i just want to take my time with you. is that okay?” toji sits back down, watching her crossed her legs as she keeps the distance between them,

she smiles with a shrug, toying with the strap of her bra, “you could do that while i’m giving you a dance—if you want?”

toji makes a mental note on how her eyes glow under the violet lights when she stares at him. almost like it’s so easy for him to see what goes beyond that. they’re so so pretty. prettiest he’s ever seen indeed. despite the flirty tone lacing under her response, she still has the look of innocence that makes him smile back.

she’s no better too. the way he’s looking directly into her eyes should be a crime. his gaze speaks something. something… lustful and dangerous.

he nods, letting out a breathe of relief as he leans himself back before spreading his thighs as an invitation.

“show me what you got then gorgeous”

angel swears she can hear the beat of her heart getting louder the moment she sits herself down on his lap. still, without him having to suspect anything, she keeps her flirty persona for a show.

“my, my—you really are a fucking dime” he lowly whistles, eyes falling to the curve of her breasts. “i can see why people were loving you back there. hopefully they don’t get jealous when i stole you away”

she giggles, a small blush creeping on her cheeks. “aren’t you a flirt. you do this to every girl?”

toji places his hands on her plump ass, resting it there. he knows that there are rules where it’s forbidden you touch the dancers. but he doesn’t give a shit. and it’s not like anyone had the balls to tell him off anyway.

“only to those who i find interesting, baby” he says, eyes not looking away from the beauty as be squeezes her flesh making himself groan. “fuck me. that’s an ass? right here?”

his comment makes her laugh as she throws her head back. loving how genuine he actually sounds when he said that.

“so—mr. zenin” she begins, giving him a naughty smile as her hands finds their way to his shoulders, feeling how tense they are under his grip. “what brings you to this awful depth of town, hm?”

he clears his throat, wetting down the bottom of his mouth while keeping his hands steady on her hips. finding no desire to move them. “business. your bastard of a boss owes me something. I didn’t think i would actually be here right now, accompanied by a gorgeous woman like yourself”

damn. he sure is charming and cheeky. definitely a player. “you sure are a sweet talker, mr. zenin” she tells him before slowly beginning to grind against his bulge causing him to exhale another deep groan. “are you sure—you don’t make bitches wet talking like that?”

he mutters a low ‘christ’ when he feels himself growing hard under her sultry move, yet she isn’t stopping. and she only had just started. “believe me doll, i’ve had my fair shares with many—but damn, they sure don’t make me hard like you do—cross my heart”

her hips the move in tiny circles, keeping a painfully slow pace but enough to keep him satisfied. “i don’t trust you but okay—anyway, what did you and alec talked about anyway?”

“nosy, huh?”

she rolls her eyes. “i have the right to ask since he practically sold me to you for tonight—my shift was supposed to be over, mr. zeni—“

“toji” he cuts her off, thumb softly stroking against her hip bone

“what was that?”

“just call me toji” he repeats with a small grin. “and okay that’s fair—he has something very important of mine. was supposed to pay a month ago, but that piece of shit isn’t known to be the one who keeps his promises”

she hums in response, leaning herself back slowly and rests her palms upon his knees to keep her body steady. her hips are now moving back and forth.

toji shamelessly let his eyes wander down from her breasts to her thick thighs. “i was going to blow his brains out tonight. right here. on this one spot. but he begged like a bitch and i wanted to see how far he goes” he laughs almost darkly,

it scares her a little by how calm he’s being about murdering someone. with the way his eyes staring at her aren’t really helping too. like a predator eyeing his prey. almost like he knows how to make her weak on the knees.

“looks like he’s in big big trouble, then” she giggles cutely. “not surprised anyway. he owes alot of money to the girls too. mine included”

he cocks an eyebrow, feeling himself tensing. “does he now? how long?”

“can’t count. i had to pull bunch of shitty excuses to the landlord just so he won’t kick me out of the apartment. half of our earnings each night, goes to him. saying that he’ll pay me back but I know he never will” she spills casually, then her movement comes into a halt. “oh fuck, don’t tell him i said that”

with a chuckle, his head shakes. “i won’t. but i could kill him for you, if you want me to. just say the word” he speaks lowly, continuing to admire her body. “mind if i ask how long have you been working here?”

it takes her a while to answer. “almost a year. I quit college for this. not because i love it entirely, but i couldn’t pay for it anymore.” she sighs,

“i’m sorry to hear that. what were you studying?”

“bio-engineering” she smiles, “people tend to be surprised when i told them that”

“count me in as well, sweetheart, damn. not only she’s hot as fuck but she’s smart too?” he shakes his head in disbelief. “you even real, right now?”

she laughs, flipping her hair. “thank you, toji—can i ask you something?”

he hums, callouses hands move towards her back, holding her steady,

“what happened there” she points at the scar, struggling to find the urge not to trace her fingers across it,

he shrugs, “was from a fight years ago. nothing major”

“can i—touch it?” she softly asks him, looking so innocent yet teasingly,

toji smirks, head nodding. “go ahead, baby” he speaks in a low baritone. voice so deep and flirty that it almost makes her squirm,

she ignores the butterflies in her stomach when he calls her that. and without being told twice, she leans closer and her fingers reach out to pad the scar gently. feeling how soft his lips against her skin, paying attention to every single detail of it. wondering how on earth could a scar fit someone so perfectly.

there is no doubt on her mind, that he is the sexiest man she has ever come across to. she can feel the weight of his palm lowering itself down to her plump cheek, squeezing it. usually, she would tell anyone off for touching her like that. but this time, she doesn’t say anything. not because she’s afraid of him but she feels strangely turned on.

“fuck” he breathes out, feeling her ass one more time. hearing him like that just makes her giggle as she gradually picks up the pace grinding on him, catching toji off guard.

“such a naughty little girl—bet you wouldn’t mind having that ass spanked now would you?” he whispers against her ear, biting his lower lip hard.

though she would admit that she wouldn’t, she won’t allow him to win this game. she slowly shakes her head with a smirk, removing herself off his lap causing him to whine. angel spins around, not without swaying her ass side to side, sneaking a glance to make sure he’s watching,

her hand immediately circles around the pole in front of them. “dinner is mandatory if you want to go down to that path, mr. zenin”

toji watches carefully with lust and admiration as she now securing her arm around the golden pole, lifting herself off easily and give her body a gentle spin. eyes screwed shut and head thrown back. coming back down slowly, she re-enacts the movement from where she performed for the audience. legs spread apart, landing in a perfect split. long brown hair covering the side of her beautiful features, tongue licking her upper lip.

he follows the curve of her ass, eager to get his hands on them but he knows that he has to wait. there, he spots a small heart tattoo inked on her ass cheek,

angel is a little teaser. that’s for sure. enjoying herself too much in making a man hard yet refuses to be under the spell of a man’s touch. he likes that actually. likes that a lot. it may be painful to have his cock hard at the moment while she’s not doing anything about it but she’s worth it.

so, so worth it.

“you are so. fucking. sexy.” his voice switches into something darker, a seductive grin slowly forming as he thirsts over her. “must have made a lot of men mad out there”

“so i have been told” she declares with confidence, innocent smile pulling upon her lips as she begins to gently crawl towards him, eyes never leaving his.

she halts in between his open legs, settling on her knees. being the little minx she is, her hands find a place on top of his thighs. “i sense you carry danger everywhere you go, mr. zenin—am i wrong?”

she’s not dumb. she spotted his gun strapped against his holster an hour before she was even being introduced to the man.

he delicately caresses her soft cheek, almost came in his pants when she leans against his palm. “why? that scares you?” he moves a few strands of hair that are blocking his view of her pretty face,

she shakes her head, a smile doesn’t leave her face. in fact, he hears a soft giggle escapes her.

his eyes move from the curve of her breasts and up to her mouth. eyeing the way that pink gloss compliments her pretty skin.

“would love to have a taste—right here” toji whispers, his thumb grace her lower lip. his breath immediately hitches, and a groan rumbles deep in his chest the moment she opens her mouth.

“fuck—what a good girl” he moans lowly when she lets his thumb rest upon her warm wet tongue. the angelic look in her eyes disappears and is replaced with a look of lust. “s-shit” it takes him by surprise when she decides to suckle it, head bobbing her head up and down painfully slow,

“jesus—i wish it was my cock you’re sucking right now, baby” nonetheless, the amount of pleasure she’s giving him is enough to keep him satisfied,

“holy fuck, wow” she pops her lips off his thumb. wiping the saliva from the corner of her mouth before giggling again. the sound makes toji smile. genuinely.

“you’re trouble” he comments with a tsk, chuckling at the way she shrugs innocently as if she has no idea what he’s talking about. “alright. up you get, baby”

she gives him a questionable look, following his movement and rise to her feet. “mr. zenin, we still have thirty minutes left. alec gave me at least an hour and he would be upset if i—“

“if he touches you, you tell me and i’ll kill him. understand?” toji sternly orders, brows furrowing at the thought of that lowlife bastard putting his hands on her,

she’s baffles at that. how could he know what goes behind closed doors? still she nods anyway. “yes, sir”

“toji, baby. toji” he corrects with a smile. “besides, if i stayed for another ten minutes, i’ll l cream in my pants and that would be embarrassing” he shamelessly points out. she blushes at that and it makes toji’s heart skips a bit,

“this doesn’t mean it’s a one and done. i would love to see you again, sweetheart. can’t let you go too far now can i?” he pulls out his wallet from his back pocket and hands her thick amount of hundreds. “here you go, angel”

she gasps softly as her eyes go big, shocked by the bundle of cash in his hand. if she counts it right that’s gotta be at least close to one grand.

“toji this is—fuck this is too much, I—i can’t take these. twenty or fifteen is enough for me”

he frowns. who in the right mind think it’s okay for men to tip a gorgeous woman with a rocking body some loose change? fucking assholes.

“baby, you do realize who you’re talking to? i don’t give out twenty or less” he quirks an eyebrow, watching her adorable expression. “money isn’t a problem to me. a grand isn’t a problem to me. come on, you deserve it”

she stares down at his hand and hesitantly takes the money. flashing him a wide smile. “mr—i mean, toji, oh my god thank you so much. thank you, thank you!” without any second thoughts, she jumps out and wrap her arms around his neck,

“you don’t know how much this means to me. i needed this”

toji stumbles a bit, the sudden movement surprises him but he appreciates it. the way she keeps thanking him, muttering couple of blessings has somehow gives his heart a little kick,

a good one.

“no need to thank me, baby” toji grins, holding her by the waist to keep her secured for a moment before pulling away. “you take care of yourself yeah? don’t be wandering too far. would love to take you out on a stroll” he leans down to peck her cheek,

“I’ll be sure to stop by and see you again, gorgeous” with one last devilish smile, he walks out of the room. leaving her still in complete shock,

he is no ordinary man, alright. it kinda makes her feel a bit weird by all the butterflies that are erupting her stomach by how he acted earlier. has it been.. what? two or three years since she had been engaged in any sort of relationships with a man. and there has been no real man crawling around this city. only rats. she fucking hates rats.

but toji zenin? there’s definitely something about him that makes his whole aura and appearance a lot more sexier. again, she’s not stupid. she has seen the gun. observed his interaction with her boss. and the men he had protecting him suits?

that’s no 9-5 man. it’s dirty work.

and it should’ve scared her. it should’ve been a warning made for her to run and avoid him because he’s a man that carries danger everywhere he goes. toji zenin is a man that would not hesitate to paint the whole town in blood of his victims if one ever crosses his territory.

yet as she glances down at the bills being handed at her and promise from him that he would see her again, it makes her smile. heart thumping at the thought of the beautiful man coming back only for her.

angel clutches the money against her chest, squealing as she does little bounces in her heels with a giggle. overjoyed with the amount of cash that would help her,

she’s definitely making toji her new favorite client

[ventique18]

~ For you, my love, anything. ~

Raverne x Maleanor with implied Malleus x Gender-neutral Prefect

"Why are you so weak?" The princess asked as she magicked her sword away with a flourish. "I am surprised you've not yet died in battle. One blow and your head could be plucked clean off your shoulders!"

She was clearly exasperated, yet her opponent in this mock battle, the young and newly inducted Duke Raverne, only laughed heartily while he sheathed his own rapier. "There are other forms of power, Princess. Have you ever wondered why I've never fallen? It's not because I'm as physically strong as you. Because there are,"

One step.

"a million other ways,"

Another.

"to make anyone,"

Another, and the princess almost took a step back. Danger. If he as much as laid a finger on her...

"surrender."

"Raverne, don't you dare--"

"Like peace talks!"

The man hopped backward; a merry lilt playing in his voice. At him bouncing on his toes like the usual dumb bird that he was, Princess Maleanor let out an exhale of relief. What was she even nervous about? This man was far too...

"Too kind. You are far too kind." She whispered, only audible to herself. Even if he somehow heard that as well, he didn't show.

Sighing, she started sauntering away from the training grounds. She motioned for him to follow, and he did. "By the way, did you hear? Rowland has recently perished."

"Rowland..?" Raverne's gaze fell to their footsteps, as if deep in thought. "Ah, the Earl."

"Yes. Have you an idea what happened to him?"

"Let me think..."

"Raverne! My good man!" The young Earl Rowland slurred; obviously intoxicated from the rows and rows of alcoholic drinks he had generously procured from the pub.

Raverne had accompanied him there at his request. Rowland had apparently decided on something huge that would change his life forever, yet the uncertainty in his mind had him cold in the feet and repeatedly putting it off like a coward. He had invited Raverne, the kindest and most empathic man in the kingdom, out for a drink or two with the intent of consulting his plans with him.

Rowland slumped on the counter. "My good man, my friend. We are both Fae of feathers and flight, so you might understand."

"What's this about?"

The drunk man sat up, as straight as he could in his state. His hands clenched and unclenched. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Hesitation. As if what he was about to say was as blasphemous as it could get. "You're aware my estate has fallen in hard times."

Raverne shook his head, "Friend, if you called me here to ask for financial aid--"

"So," The earl's voice suddenly rang clear; as if the very thought sobered him up. "I wish to ask for the Princess' hand. In marriage."

Silence fell across the room.

Rowland swallowed thickly, "So I wanted to ask what you think. You're an intelligent man, perhaps the brightest in the kingdom. If someone would know what the best course of action for anything is, that would be you."

Raverne's gaze slowly met his, but his emotions betrayed nothing but neutrality. No signs of empathy, but no signs of animosity either. "Does the Princess fancy you?"

"No, no-- I don't know. I've only met her a handful of times."

"Then why?"

"I don't even need to become her husband. I know she refuses to marry anyone. I could just be her... Her plaything. I could even become her pet bird! I just need her attention so other wealthy nobles would--"

"Friend." Raverne cut him off. "You've no need to humiliate yourself like this."

"But!"

"Here's what I think," the duke smoothly drew the earl's glass toward him and he began pouring some more wine. "When it comes to the matters of the heart, you mustn't think too much about it. That's why it's called the matter of the heart, and not the mind."

Raverne raised his own, and Rowland clinked it in reciprocity. The duke brought it to his lips, but before taking a sip, said with a smile, "Just do what you wish to do, as if it's the last day of your life."

Raverne returned from his thoughts. He shifted his attention to Maleanor while they continued their way to her rose garden. "I believe the coroner ruled it as alcohol poisoning, no? He had one too many drinks one night and failed to wake up for the morrow."

"Nonsense! How did 'one too many drinks' induce blood to gush out from all of his orifices?" The princess exclaimed. "My theory is that he was poisoned with corrosives. They said he was drowning in blood from his nose, his mouth, his..."

Raverne bowed slightly, taking a peek at her expression. "Do you... care about this man?"

Maleanor blinked. Then her face contorted into that of disgust, as if it offended her that he even suggested such a thought in her head. "Disgusting! I've no desire for weak men. If he's not as strong as I, then I do not want him."

"If that is your strict requirement, then I'm afraid you shall never marry, Princess. How unfortunate that your bloodline must come to an end."

"Pah! You said it yourself, there are other forms of power. If not in strength or magical prowess, then... Someone who..." Unconsciously, her eyes drifted to him. But when she found that he was watching her intently, so preciously, as if she was the only person to exist in his world-- why, she puffed her cheeks in embarrassment and made a show of loudly stomping away from his reach.

"Anyway, go fetch me some tea and biscuits. My good Sir. Duke Raverne."

He laughed, finding her childish antics positively endearing.

"For you, my Princess? Anything."

~~~

He returned from his thoughts.

He had been thinking of the past more than usual, lately. Did he miss her? Of course he did. But more than that, perhaps his thoughts were more excitement, rather than longing. Because his memories were no longer going to be a thing of the past, but of the future.

Of the continuation of his life with her.

"Please, let me go! Let me go!"

But first, he needed to take care of this irritation.

"Why are you struggling so much? Were you not living a worthless life before I saved you from that hell? Kind as I am, I even gave you shelter. Friends. Adventures. Now I'm offering you a greater purpose! Something only you can do."

The child whimpered. But they were not a child, were they? It was just that he had waited so long, far too long, that everything else in the world felt young to him.

"Bastard!"

The cage behind them rattled. He would have looked behind him, but he was afraid to look into those eyes. Those eyes full of hatred. Those same eyes as hers.

The boy just didn't understand. He was too young, inexperienced. He didn't understand his pain.

"Let them go! LET THEM GO!" The boy cried.

Painful. They boy's trembling voice was painful.

"Or take me-- just take me instead! Let me be useful for once!" The boy cried harder; his voice cracking in desperation.

He didn't dare look at the boy. Instead, he put his energy in carefully drawing the runes beneath them. Just a bit more, just a bit more... "I'd rather sacrifice the world than you, dear."

"Then take the world! Take everyone! Take everyone else! Just... Just not them... Not them..." A sob.

Painful.

"This is the only way." He answered, as emotionless as he could muster. "She needs a vessel with a lost soul. A soul with no connection to this world. A soul with nowhere to return to.

"Your mother needs this child to live, my son."

"Stop, stop this!"

A few more inches.

"Don't do it!"

A few centimeters.

"Please, please stop this!"

Soon, very soon, he would see her again.

"I'm begging you! I'm begging you!"

He would see her smile again.

"FATHER!"

"For you, my love, anything."

------

Commentary: I suddenly had the thought of what if? Raverne is actually a lot more evil than Maleanor ever was. It's just that he was so smart, so clever, that nobody caught on. This fic was just supposed to be a comedic exchange lmao but I liked the idea too much so it turned into a short fic.

[aangelinakii]

aj!!! your work is so beautiful i think i’ve reread it like a million times already!! this is so cliche but i was thinking of oblivious friend!reader dressing up to the nines for a gala and honestly being so fun and charming with everyone but still making time to hang out with jason on the side of the room 🥺 and OOP they both have a crush on each of they’re really hesitant to make a real move 🫣🫣🫣 bonus points if jason says something like you have beautiful eyes when DRUNK at the end of the night 🫢🫢🫢 also on a side note your roy imagine was SO GOOD it hurt my soul i think about it frequently

BIRDS OF A FEATHER.

— we should stick together.

summary : you're the lady of the hour at the birthday party your best friend's family has thrown for you, but you'll always be able to make time for him.

note : THANK YOU SO MUCH OMFGGGF IM LITERALLY CRYINGGGG PLS REQUEST AGAIN 😭😭😭😭😭😭

NOTE 2 : FEMALE READER SORRY IK YOU DIDNT SPECIFY BUT IT FELT EASIER FOR ME TO DESCRIBE AS I AM A LADYY

warning : this May be my magnum opus

jason didn't think you could ever look any more gorgeous than you already looked every day; each day he saw you, even the times you had major bedhead after waking up, or the times you had a bit of vomit on the corner of your lip from puking in the toilet after a night of clubbing — and he was the one holding back your hair.

not that he would say it, but he'd do anything for you. and not that you would say anything either, but you knew he would, and you'd do the same for him. i'm not too sure if he knows that.

but when you began to step down the foyer of the wayne mansion, chandelier overhead causing your hair to shine, the sparkles on your dress to glitter, and your pearly smile to glint, jason can't deny the weakness in his knees, prepared to fall to them and worship.

he'd have to thank stephanie later, who was trailing behind you smugly in her own formal attire, for her involvement in helping you get ready.

from beside him, dick clapped him on the shoulder, causing him to sway, and the drink in his hand to spill a little over the rim. "wow, she looks amazing," he whispered into jason's ear, that cheeky smile on his face already evident in his tone. "everyone's gonna want to have a bit of her tonight, you'll have to reserve a spot to dance with her. you will dance with her, right?"

it wasn't ideal, dick knowing the way jason felt about you; it was like any moment he could, he just trolled him for it, threatened to let it out to the entire world.

"shut it, dick," jason replied discreetly through gritted teeth, taking a sip of his slightly-emptier champagne to disguise him saying anything at all.

sometimes it was fun referring to dick, because you could never tell if you were calling him by name, or insulting him. in this case, i'll make it easy for you — it's an insult.

nevertheless, already used to jason's verbal abuse, dick flashed a grin and stepped forward to meet you at the bottom of the grand red-carpeted steps.

"happy birthday, pretty lady," dick sang as he wrapped a chaste arm around your shoulders, careful to not over-impose, despite his words.

the beautiful song of a laugh brushed past your painted lips, revealing your perfect teeth — even if not straight, or perfect in the dictionary sense, jason adored your smile, revelled in it. it was perfect to him, if nothing else. "thanks, man," you hummed in return, giving him a platonic squeeze around the shoulders, too.

when you pulled away, your eyes met his. jason's. your best friend's, your one true love's, your soulmate's. just best friends, just one unrequited true love, just platonic soulmates. you were sure of that; that he didn't feel the same way.

as soon as those glittering eyes connected with his, jason gave a quick intake of breath, nervous, practically floored by just one look. he placed his glass down on the ledge of the wall behind him and smoothed down the front of his maroon waistcoat with his other hand, mentally calming himself as you stepped toward him.

immediately, despite your usual closeness, an immense chasm seemed to linger between you. it wasn't everyday you saw each other get so decked up; and jason looked great.

contrasting to before, you let out a more uneasy laugh, arms beginning to raise to pull your best friend into a hug. as much time you spent together, not a lot of it was spent in each other's arms, unsurprisingly. it didn't come naturally, but, finally, once you figured out how to approach the action, your bodies fit together like matching puzzle pieces.

chin coming up to his broad shoulder, you made an effort to not smear lipstick on his jacket, but you couldn't help but feel the urge to sink into him.

"thank you so much," you whispered softly against his neck, arms squeezing his torso tightly, causing a laboured chuckle to ache through him.

careful not to squeeze too much, jason reciprocated the affection, unable to push down a smile. "anything for you, (name). seriously."

but as you pulled away carefully from his body, softly inhaling his oud cologne, you wished that was true. however, it didn't go unacknowledged that he was the reason for this party in the first place. maybe he would do anything.

jason todd, event hater, planning a birthday party for his best friend in wayne manor, inviting all his family you'd come to know and love, your own closest family, and the friends he'd met through you, along with his own friends you'd met through him.

when you peered up at him from beneath dark black eyelashes, you could see an expression on jason's face you'd never caught before; smile the widest you'd ever seen it, although his top two teeth seemed to be sinking into the gum on the inside, trying to hold it back — impossible — and his pale green eyes had halved into crescents, the colour of them almost unnoticable now. but he was happy. looking at you, he seemed so happy.

and your expression bled into the same; same smile, same crescent eyes, cheeks aching with how hard you smiled.

"i better go see everyone else," you finally spoke, voice barely above a whisper, almost silent against the music that had began to play overhead. just before you turning away, your fingers grazed the fabric of the jacket cloaking his forearm. "thanks again. i'll try catch you later."

with that, you disappeared into the crowd — so many people here for you, all because jason wanted them to be — and jason was finally able to let out the breath he'd been holding.

over the night, jason found himself searching for you in the foyer of people, you in your dress, so radiant that no one else had chose it in that colour. no matter where you were, who you were with, you always found a way to stand out, even unintentionally. and it was by no means a bad standing out, it was admirable.

in fact, jason found himself admiring you a lot.

a few hours had gone by, and you were making your rounds, always seeming to pass him by. even if you were clearly on your way to him, someone else managed to whisk you away for another conversation. he was selfish to have organised your birthday party, and still expect your entire, undivided attention.

by now, he'd decided to escape, deeply irritated by a comment timothy drake had made about the way he'd styled his hair — "for once," he'd said, "and it looks horrific." jason knew tim was just pulling his leg, as he tended to do, but he'd already had four glasses of champagne and was missing his best friend, so he disappeared to get some air on one of wayne manor's various balconies.

behind him, the door creaked open, and his immediate response was to go to the defensive. "hey, i'm kinda looking to be alone right now." his voice was gruff, slightly slurred, eyebrows furrowed. but everything dissipated as soon as he saw who had joined him.

"even from the birthday girl?" you'd hummed hopefully, the softness of your smile, and the slight haze of your made-up features from a few drinks, thawing his heart.

watching as the corners of his lips began to tip up, you knew you had your answer, and stepped out onto the stone, carefully closing the glass-paned door behind you.

jason's eyes remained on you as you joined him, unable to stop them running down your form. how could he help it when you looked so amazing in that dress?

after a few beats, jason pulled his — what, fifth? sixth? — glass up to his lips and turned away, mimicking you in gazing out to the starry gotham lights.

"have you been having a good night?" he asked, staring down the bottom of his glass as he replaced it down on the stone banister, fingers careful on the base. he glanced over to you, smile absently forming on his lips as he watched your own lips upturn.

nodding, you looked back up at him, eyes twinkling as they set on him. "yeah, it's been amazing. i can't believe you set all this up for me, jace."

that dreamy, slightly alcoholic tone of your words was exactly what drove jason crazy, up the wall, off his knocker — for you.

"anything for you," jason quoted himself from previously that evening, from just a few hours ago. despite his soft smile, his eyes seemed tired; probably the effect of a few drinks, but you'd had some, too. you probably looked the same.

you could only smile at his words, gazing up at him in adoration. a laugh brushed past your lips, and you extended your elbow out to lightly nudge him in the torso, turning back to gotham, but he didn't flinch.

despite having turned away, you could feel his gaze boring into the side of your head; not judgemental at all, but a soft sting in your skin.

"you look just.. unbelievable tonight," your best friend breathed, a nervousness to his voice, invisible to the untrained ear, and he looked away too. this time, when you glanced over, you could see he was the uncomfortable one, the confidence of champagne having dissipated in a moment.

jaw tensing, he glanced over at you, out the corner of his eye, before looking back ahead.

"and you don't look too shabby yourself," you replied, a chuckle to your words. oh, you'd down-played it so bad; he'd given you an uncommon compliment, and you'd replied like that? shocking.

but jason still smiled, a tension releasing from his broad shoulders, breathing a soft laugh.

still, something wasn't right.

careful, you placed your hand on the back of his, causing him to tense up once more, the veins in the back of his hand popping beneath your palm. "you sure you're okay, jace? you seem... off."

not off, lovesick. but he couldn't say that, could he?

with a dismissive shake of his head, jason shrugged. "i'm fine. long night."

despite humming and turning your attention away, to the horizon, your hand, warm against his skin, remained upon his. sighing in content, you shuffled closer, until your side hit jason's, and you craned your neck to the side, laying upon jason's shoulder.

beneath the weight of your head, his back seemed to deflate, and you were unsure if you'd overstepped. until you felt his head upon yours, and you knew jason was just as happy as you were.

whether he liked you back or not.

[zweigsangel]

strike a pose. — frat! boy chris.

pairing: frat! boy chris x fem! reader.

summary: the party takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: mentions of being high and drunk, no use of y/n.

i honestly don’t even know if i like this but whatever, hope you do!!

the music throbbed through the room, a pulsating rhythm that seemed to sync with the very beat of your heart as you danced with your friends at a party. the air was electric, the smell sweat, and alcohol mingling together. your short black dress clung to your figure, the soft fabric accentuating the curve of your hips as they swayed to the music. with one hand, you held a drink, the cool glass sweating against your palm, while your other arm was lifted high above your head, fingers loose. you were slightly tipsy, but you prided yourself on your ability to handle the alcohol well.

suddenly someone stumbled into you, nearly knocking you off balance. "hey, watch where the hell you're stepping," you shouted over the music as you spun around to face the offender.

the guy in front of you was taller than you. he was clearly high, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused, yet they managed to take you in from head to toe. a goofy smile played on his lips, and he let out a small, almost childish chuckle. his hair was messy, and he wore a backwards cap that seemed a little too big for his head, which he awkwardly adjusted with one hand. "sorry, sorry, i'm just a bit— sorry," he mumbled, his words slurring slightly, his apology repeated like a mantra.

you couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him, his unsteady stance and the way he blinked slowly, like he was struggling to keep his eyes open. without thinking, you slipped an arm around his shoulders, steadying him when you noticed the way he swayed on his feet. "hey, you okay?" you asked, leaning in closer to make sure he could hear you over the booming music, taking in the smell of weed that hung around him.

he nodded, but it was a slow, almost lazy movement, his eyes fluttering open and closed a few times as if trying to focus. "doing great my girl.” he replied and your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "don’t think i’m your girl. i don’t even know who the fuck you are."

"christopher," he said, a bit more clearly this time. "but christopher sucks—so just chris." "okay, just chris," you said. "how ‘bout we sit down?"

so you both went to sit on one of the couches, away from the crowd dancing in the middle of the room. his arm draped over the back of the couch behind you, and he leaned in a bit closer, invading your personal space, but you didn’t mind. he was clearly out of it, probably unaware of how close he was getting. the noise of the party faded into the background as you began to talk.

you sipped your drink, the coolness of the glass a stark contrast to the warm atmosphere of the party. chris launched into a series of rambling stories and observations.

“i once had a dream where i was a giant marshmallow. and then i started eating myself. it was wild!” “you know, i’ve been thinking about how birds are like… secret agents.” “y’know that the earth is actually just a giant spaceship? think about it—we’re all just passengers on this huge, cosmic journey.”

and you would just nod along and laugh. and ignore how he called you ‘my girl’ after every sentence.

“girl, we need to go.” you turned to the voice of your friend, who grabbed your arm and pulled you up from the couch. you nodded and turned back to chris, who had already stood up, one hand on your shoulder for balance. “wait, let’s take a selfie,” he said, grinning. you giggled. “okay.” he pulled out his phone, and you both struck a pose as he pressed the white button on the screen, taking a photo that was surely going to be blurry. “my instagram is christopher dot sturniolo. can’t remember my number,” he shouted as your friend began to pull you away. you gave him a thumbs up, laughing, before disappearing into the crowd.

the next morning, you woke up around 11 a.m. after splashing some water on your face and drinking a glass of water, you lay back down on the bed and picked up your phone from the nightstand. you opened Instagram. “christopher dot sturniolo,” you whispered to yourself as you typed into the search bar. you clicked on the first profile that appeared, and it was him.

you began scrolling through his profile, pausing on a few photos and noticing details you hadn’t picked up on the night before. then you opened his story, and your eyes widened. there was the blurry selfie you’d taken together. above the photo, in large text, was written ‘me n my girl’

‘take it down, it’s hideous,’ you typed as a response to the story. within two minutes, you received a reply: ‘ur not hideous, my girl. ur just even more beautiful in person. when can i see you again?’

[lanabuckybarnes]

| Lady Blue |

Falling in love with your best friend wasn't something you ever anticipated, you had a role to fulfil and your hand was sold. Yet your heart longed for him.

✧Pairing✧ Knight!Steve Rogers x Princess!Reader (Fem)

✧Warnings✧ Fluff, A Little Angst, Talks of Arranged marriage, John Walker (ew), Name Calling, like the teeniest bit of violence, Hurt, Brief mention of injury, Sweet ending

✧Word Count✧ 2.1k

✧Author Note ✧ I WROTE SOMETHING THAT ISNT SMUT!! — happy birthday Stevie Rogers 🥳

You don’t know when it happened, when that little crush became something more, when the hugs became intimate and the kisses were on the lips rather than on the cheeks.

Steve Rogers, your best friend. You’d been born beds apart, your mother a queen and her best friend a noblewoman. You weren’t sure if they planned it or it was fate but they both ended up with child and gave birth almost exactly on the same day.

Steve was headstrong, and a leader. He always made sure you were safe and protected, it was cute how doting he was because ‘he was older’. You were quick to comment how it was only by a few hours.

You were inseparable as kids, spending most of your time in the fields of blue flowers that decorated the walk to the large castle. It’s how you earned the name, Lady Blue - a flower crown of blue atop your head always.

Your infatuation grew for him as you aged into a teen, you weren’t around each other as much because of duties taking up most of your time but you remembered something about absence making the heart grow fonder and you could attest to that.

Steve was away most of the time on the other end of the city, training in the ring to become a knight, his dream. You were stuck in the palace, studying history and languages to be a great queen although you spent much of your time staring out of the window and imagining you and Steve doing the same things you did as kids. Living.

You lied.

You remember exactly when it happened.

Steve's graduation, he finally wore his purple cloak and had his royal etched sword around his hip. Drinks flowed left and right, the night filled with laughter and singing, all muffled behind the thick glass doors leading out to the courtyard where you and Steve sat watching the birds bathe in the fountain.

“How was it?” You asked, both hands soothing over his larger, calloused one, running over each scar and healing wound he donned.

He breathed out slowly, as though you were one of the small birds that he had to tiptoe around so he didn’t scare them off. He knew that you would never be scared of him but he couldn’t shake that feeling, you were so dainty beside him. To think that once upon a time you were a head taller than him.

“It was fine, made some friends” he nodded off to a pair of iron-clad men clinging to each other singing an old folk tune. “Sam and Bucky, they’re wild but they are good guys.”

The air around you thickened if it were possible, something going unsaid between you two, a rope pulled taut that threatened to snap. Steve’s eyes studied you, thoroughly enjoying the sight of you by his side. You looked beautiful, eyes twinkling in the moonlight as your eyes returned to the fountain, your hair shining. You had grown up and become such a beautiful soul that he knew you were.

“I missed you.”

“Hm?” You looked up at him, confusion and curiosity carved onto your features.

“I thought of you all the time being out there, when it got tough and I needed some of those princess bear hugs you gave me” You giggled at his words, bringing about his chuckle. Your knees knocked as you leaned closer, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I missed you too Stevie.”

“Princess” he murmured after a moment, taking a few deep breaths to quieten his pounding heart, although when he looked down at you it skipped beat after beat anyway.

“Ser Rogers” you teased with a cheeky smirk, the sparkle in your hues growing as you almost challenged him to speak. I dare you, your eyes cried out to him.

Steve was never one to back down from a dare.

His lips were on yours before you could even think, embracing yours in a way that left you dizzy before shocking you into action and kissing back with the same ferocity.

Snap, that rope between you broke.

After that night you’d both chosen to keep your love a secret, your father was strict and unforgiving, he would not stand for his daughter dating someone lower than a future heir despite it not being your choice. Even years later, both of you adults still sneaked around like you did when you were teens.

Your door shook with heavy knocks, Ser Barnes’ voice booming from the other end.

“My Princess, the King wishes to see you at once.”

You groaned and let your eyes fall shut again until soft kisses trailing up your shoulder and neck brought a smile upon your face.

“Come on Lady Blue, can’t disappoint Father now” he joked, deep voice raspy from sleep, vibrating against your ear.

Even after all these years each moment you spent with him felt like you were falling in love with him for the first time, diving straight off the deep end and into your sheets with him.

You stood, helping him into his gear so he could slink off and allow your handmaidens in to help you dress.

“I love you” he whispered into the top of your head, placing a chaste kiss there before tilting your chin up to slant his lips against your own. Despite the shortness of it, you were left breathless when he parted, turning on his heel professionally and making his exit.

A ball of dread settled in your stomach at the thought of today’s meeting with your father. For months now he’d been adamant that you were to be married by the end of the year and set about finding suitors, each time you rejected them he’d bring up another. But you loved Steve too much.

You knew it wouldn’t last forever, it couldn’t. You were noble, bound to marry a prince and join two kingdoms in matrimony. He was a knight, he swore an oath to protect you from harm, nothing more.

All of that knowledge didn’t help it hurt any less when you stepped into the throne room, your eyes landing on potentially the worst prince your father had brought to you yet.

The king from the neighbouring place and his son, John Walker. A self-proclaimed prophet that was bound to rule all over the land.

“You will marry Prince John Walker” your father announced, the smug sneer on the prince’s face had you wishing you’d had breakfast before coming here so you could have something in your stomach to throw up.

You were bound to marry a pompous, arrogant, narcissistic man and leave the man who’d loved you since day dot.

You wouldn’t stand for it.

“I will not marry John” You challenged, something you’d only done a handful of times in your life. Your father’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching and eyes wild.

“Excuse me?”

“I will not marry him” You repeated.

“You don’t have a choice young lady” he rose from his throne, stomping down the steps until his face was in yours. Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand your ground against your father's presence.

“You will marry Prince Walker, you will join our kingdoms and you will bear his heirs, I am sick of you rejecting everyone I introduce you to so I made the decision myself.”

“I won’t” you yelled this time, hurt and angry bubbling into rage “because I love another.”

The words slipped out your mouth, your hand slapping around your face far too slow to catch them.

The room fell silent. Pin drop silent. Steve stood at the entrance of the hall, head hung low to hide the reddening of his face, his hands clamping into fists at his side.

“Who?” Your father’s hand clamped onto your chin, your jaw throbbing in pain at the hold.

“Ser Rogers” you hissed, falling into a pile of clothes and pain when your father’s hand let you go.

“You wench!” he spat in disgust.

You tried to argue, tried to plead with your father but he shrugged you off.

“Ser Barnes, take my daughter back to her room, I want some time with Ser Rogers. Alone.”

You didn’t struggle as Ser Barnes picked you up from the floor, hoisting you over his shoulder. You couldn’t even look at Steve when you walked by.

Ser Barnes set you down on your bed softly, patting the top of your head as you stared off into space, tears rolling down your cheeks. He left and came back with a small glass of water and a muffin which you refused to eat.

Once Bucky left you crawled up to the head of your bed, stuffing your face into your pillow and staining it with black from your mascara. Your door was on constant watch in case you got any big ideas. The Blue Daisy’s had bloomed but you couldn’t leave, you weren’t allowed to leave.

As day turned into night you shifted to look out at the setting sun. Your dinner lay untouched on your table, your focus set firmly on the world outside, families rushing to pack up their markets before the evening rain.

“Lady Blue” you recognised the voice.

“Bucky?”

“Can I come in?” He asked. You hummed your confirmation and the huge brunette slipped in.

“Steve—he’s being shipped off. Tonight.” He explained his stormy eyes on you, watching you process the information.

“So what? It’s not like I can stop it” You answered bitterly, a shell of the woman you usually were. There was no hint of cheer or teasing in your tone like there once was, it had all been left in that throne room.

You took note of his heavy sigh before he inched further into the room, Only then did you gaze up at him. In his hands was a set of clothes, the kind commoners wore along with a large black cloak and a purple velvet pouch.

“Do you love him?” He asked, eyes searching yours.

“More than anything” you replied without hesitation.

“Then we better move.”

“W-what do you mean?” You stood, head tilted and brows furrowed. You just barely caught the clothes that Bucky threw at you.

“His ship leaves in an hour, if you don’t hurry and get changed we’ll miss it”.

You could’ve kissed Bucky.

The shipyards reeked of fish and shit, but you couldn’t care about that. Not now. Hopping off of Bucky’s white steed you pat its neck before looking up at him.

“Thank you, Buck, I don’t know how I can repay you.”

He smiled, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.

“You can get on that ship and live your life Lady Blue. I’ll see you soon” he flashed you one of his pearly white smiles and turned the horse, setting off the way he’d come.

You darted onto the ship, eyes scanning the faces of workers and guests until they fell on the man that you were doing all of this for. Any doubt that boiled in your stomach melted away leaving only one thing remaining, that deep love that Steve gave you. He didn’t turn until you were standing in front of him.

“Princess?” his shocked voice sounded as he looked up at you. He looked tired, his skin pale and a nasty bruise was forming over his cheekbone. No doubt thanks to your father.

“I’m here” you squeaked as he pulled you down into his arms, his warm body and vanilla scent putting you at ease instantly despite the incessant rocking of the ship.

“You're here” he replied, words vibrating against your hairline before he tilted your chin up and stole your lips in a kiss. Just like he had stolen your heart.

“So you do that…yep and then you twist the stalk around…that’s it!!” You cheered as your son finally wrapped the flower correctly, his big blue eyes almost disappearing behind his lids as he squealed in excitement.

“What’s all the yelling about huh?” Steve emerged, tanned skin glowing, covered in a layer of sweat and dirt, an axe resting over his shoulder.

“Daddy look” your son preened, raising the bundle of blue flowers high in the air so the blonde could see.

“Ahhh is Mama teaching you her old tricks huh?” He smiled, kneeling to place a soft kiss on his forehead before doing the same to you.

“Mhmm gotta make sure he can help me every year, isn’t that right baby?” You plopped your finished flower crown onto Steve’s head before ruffling your son's curly locks.

Despite the running, the fighting and the endless struggle to get to where you were now, you could say you’d do it all again to be sat between your handsome husband and his doppelgänger son—in a field of blue daisies. You would do it all again to be home.

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs, Likes & Asks are always appreciated, although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more.

Thanks for reading~

[r0ttenhearts]

“don’t think that, okay?”

alhaitham x reader

sypnosis: alhaithams distance becomes unbearable

warnings: angst, no comfort, arguments

“you’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight.”

your eyes met his with a glare as he stepped into your shared apartment. he was hours late, per usual.

“is that really all you’re gonna say? seriously? this is so fucking funny.” you scoffed out, blood beginning to boil in your veins. you might have been under the influence, but you weren’t drunk enough to not be upset by his late arrival, once again.

“what?” alhaitham’s stoic expression scrunched up into a face of annoyance as he looked at your form on the couch, bottle in hand.

“are we done?” you asked quietly, grip on the cool glass bottle faltering.

a loud groan escaped alhaithams lips as he stepped forward, talking the bottle from your grip and slamming it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“you just want it to be done, don’t you? you’re foolish to think you can keep me to yourself all the time, i have a life outside of you. we can be done. fine. whatever.” he spat coldly.

your emotions got the best of you. the saddest living in the deepest parts of your heart, your yearning for his words and company once more, clashing with his anger and annoyance. it brought you to tears.

“i’m sorry i just, i miss you so much to the point that it hurts.” you whispered, your eyes closing gently. a headache had formed by your cries, luring you into a restless sleep.

a few minutes had passed as a silence enveloped the room. with a lack of alhaitham’s response, you drifted off to sleep. with a heavy sigh, alhaitham planted a kiss on your head.

“i don’t want you to think that, because it’ll never be true.” he mumbled before the warmth of his hand left your head.

the early chirping of the birds stirred you from your uncomfortable slumber. rubbing your eyes, you noticed the stillness around you.

there wasn’t a single sound in the entire apartment. the gentle sounds of your feet padding around the apartment broke the silence as you walked over to your shared bedroom.

“haitham?” you called out, only to be met with a fixed bed. vacant of any warmth from the mentioned man.

“what?” your blood went cold as you realized just what this could have meant. you rushed over to his closet, throwing the doors open. it was completely empty.

“no, no, no. stop it.” you whispered.

you rushed around the apartment, noticing every belonging of his was now gone.

fumbling for your phone, you check all of your social media just to be met with an “account not found” notification. hastily typing texts out to his contact, you weren’t greeted by a delivered sign. “how could you do this? how could you leave me.”

a/n: my bf of two years left me two days ago nd just like that woke up to being blocked on everything after i fell asleep stoned af. i am coping..

taglist: @sakiimeo o @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @linkookie197 @xiaonscaraswife @foxlover1144 @reblog-crazily @sparklylanddetective @gh0sts0up @darliingyu @maxineslair @kenmabfasf f @samarill l @whorerificstuff f

[semisgroupie]

TWO BIRDS OF A FEATHER

nerdy perv!armin arlert x perv!fem. reader

wc: 2.2k

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of panty stealing and panty sniffing, handjob, armin gets a little rough (he’s pent up, what do you expect?), mentions of non consensual filming and photo taking, mentions of male masturbation, armin is called pretty and reader is called slut, pussydrunk!armin, ruined orgasm (m!receiving), dacryphilia (kinda)

synopsis: the star of your twisted delusions is just as sick as you

You knew this was wrong. He’s your best friend and an unsuspecting victim in your perverted delusions. But you just couldn’t help yourself with him.

Armin was just so cute and just the perfect prey for your predatory mind.

The way a blush always crept onto his face whenever you leaned just a little too close to him, how his fingers looked whenever he turned the page of the book he was reading or whenever they pressed against the dark frames of his glasses to adjust them on his nose, or your favorite: the way he always stumbled over his words whenever he got flustered and had to end up looking away because his face was too flushed.

It just made you think about how he might look as you kneeled between his legs and stroked his cock. Or how he might look as you rode him to the point of overstimulation or edged him. Would he cry? He would look so pretty crying for you, his pretty blue eyes all puffy and his bottom lip jutting out in a little pout as tears streamed down his face.

Little did you know he had his perverted fantasies of you. If only you knew that he was pressing his favorite pair of your panties against his nose while fisting his cock. Letting his glasses get all fogged up due to his heavy breaths until he made a mess all over his hand. If only you knew that whenever he watched porn or read hentai, he imagined you as the female lead. Imagining what it would feel like to make you cum on his tongue over and over or how you would tremble when he sank his cock into you. God, he’d let you do whatever you wanted to him. He’d be at your beck and call, your toy to use as you please.

He was in the middle of his daily ritual, a pair of your silk panties were pressed to his nose as he fisted his cock. He was right on the edge when he received your text. He dropped everything to read it and had to shove his hard cock back in his pants before getting ready to head to your place. You were bored at home and wanted to see if he wanted to come over and watch a new show you found.

After some time your doorbell rang and you got up to open the door. He was taken aback a little from seeing your outfit, one of the shirts you stole from him and a pair of sleeping shorts that were barely visible. He felt his cock twitch back to life and let you lead him in. “So, I put out all of our favorite snacks and got some drinks ready for the show. I saw a lot of good reviews about it and I thought it might be up your alley.” He just nodded along with whatever you said, more focused on how his shirt looked on you and he tried not to let his mind wander too much.

You pulled him onto the couch and stretched your legs over his lap, your calf brushing a little too close to his crotch. He tried his best to focus on the show, to try to focus on anything but how close your legs were to his cock but you made it so difficult. Shifting around too much or adjusting your legs and bringing them closer to his cock. Then you finally did it, you put your leg right on his crotch, actually feeling how hard he was.

Your eyes widened a little before you looked over at him, a deep red blush bloomed across his face but he didn’t bother to move your leg. “Armin, have you been hard this whole time?” It was an obvious question with an obvious answer but you wanted to hear it from him. He looked over at you and adjusted his glasses on his nose. “I’m sorry, this isn’t right. I should just go.” He made a move to get up but you quickly stopped him, now that you were finally able to get your hands on him, you wouldn’t let him leave.

“You know, you can’t go outside like this. Anyone could see your boner through your pants and who knows what they might say?” You moved closer to him and moved to straddle his lap before moving your hands down to his pants. He watched your hands with wide eyes and bated breaths, he couldn’t believe this was happening now. You pulled his cock out and you were impressed, it was bigger than anything you would’ve imagined and definitely bigger than what you fantasized about. You brought one hand to your mouth to spit on it then brought it back down to start stroking his cock. You were hyper focused on it, the red tip that leaked the perfect bead of precum, how it throbbed in your hand as you worked it, it was perfect.

“You have such a pretty cock Armin, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so pretty. Just like you.” You finally lifted your head to gauge his reaction, a deep red blush along his cheeks and his bottom lip was tucked between his teeth. His bright blue eyes were focused on your hand before they finally met yours. “Please keep stroking me.” His voice trembled as he spoke, as if he was unsure of what he was telling you and it just spurred you on even more. You started moving your hand faster, your spit and his precum mixed to lube his cock and slick sounds along with his groans hit your ears.

“Fuck, fuck your hand feels so good.” He shut his eyes and bucked his hips up into your hand, more moans escaping his lips. You leaned in close and pressed your lips against his, slipping your tongue into his mouth as you continued to stroke his cock. He moaned into your mouth and moved his hands up your thighs and gripped your waist to bring you closer to him. His cock still throbbed in your hand as you pumped it. He gripped you tighter, he was embarrassingly close, being pent up from earlier and finally having you touch him brought him closer to the edge.

He broke the kiss and rested his head on your shoulder as he whined. “I’m gonna cum baby.” There it was, the door to the perfect opportunity finally opened. You released his cock and moved back, watching how it twitched frantically and a weak head of cum spilled from the tip. A broken moan left him and he looked at you with wide eyes. “Why would you do that?” He pouted a little and felt some tears brim his eyes as he looked at the satisfied look on your face.

“Why wouldn’t I? You just look so pretty when you’ve been denied like that and I just wanted to see the expression on your face for myself. It’s not like you didn’t cum, you just had a ruined orgasm and look how hard you still are. I can give you my hand again.” He hated the smug look on your face and he wanted to wipe it off — no, he was going to wipe it off.

He gripped your hips tightly and lifted you off his lap to drop you onto the couch, then in a swift move, he moved between your legs and pinned your arms above your head. Your eyes widened at his actions and your breath was caught in your throat. “There it is, that’s a better reaction.” He bit his lip and held both of your wrists in one of his hands and then moved his free hand down between your legs and pressed his palm against your covered pussy. He groaned and looked at you, “fuck, look at that. You’re just absolutely soaking through your shorts. It would be a shame to keep this on don’t you think?” All you did was nod, you couldn’t find the words to string together because your mind was trying to understand the shift in his demeanor. The control was all yours and now it’s all his.

He pulled off your shorts and panties haphazardly and tossed them aside. His cock was still hard and throbbed as he finally saw your bare pussy. “You know, even though you did offer your hand again, I see a perfectly good hole just waiting to be used. What do you think? Want me to fuck this needy pussy?” You looked down at his cock and spread your legs a little more for him, you couldn’t help but be turned on by him and this side he was showing you. You never thought he would have a dominant bone in his body but looks were definitely deceiving. “Please fuck me, Armin.”

He gripped the base of his cock and dragged it along your folds, collecting your juices on the tip before he pressed it against your entrance, slowly sinking into you. A whimper followed by a grunt left him as he started thrusting shallowly, pushing more of his cock into you. The feeling of your warm, wet walls clenching around him made his head all fuzzy. All coherent thoughts left his mind as he sank into you. He released the grip on your wrists and moved both of his hands to each of your thighs to spread them wider for him, letting him sink deeper into you.

His hips slammed into yours and your moans and whines spurred him on. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt about this. I’ve been dying to fuck you. I started to think that I was sick in the head. There’s so many things and there were so many times where I wanted to fuck you. All those nights we spent here on the couch cuddling, I didn’t want anything more than to just bury my head between your thighs and take you. And I know you wanted it just as much. All those times you wore those short skirts and short dresses, it’s like you were begging me to take all those photos and videos of you. I even have them saved on a private album in my gallery.”

His confession poured out of his lips as he slammed into you over and over, the grip he had on your thighs was hard enough to leave a bruise but you could care less. All you did was clench around him and moaned even more. Your best friend was more sick and perverted than you were and all it did was turn you on. “Armin! Fuck!” He was hitting all your sweet spots and he continued to drill into you, it was like he was possessed at the moment. He just fucked you like an animal. “I also have a collection of your panties. They always smell so sweet, just like you. I’m surprised that you haven’t questioned where they went. Are you just that naive? Or did you know that I was taking them the whole time? Hm? Was this what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck you like the greedy slut you are? Was that why you opened the door today wearing my shirt? Knew it would just spur me on?”

Honestly, you didn’t have a plan going into seeing him today. His shirt was just comfortable and smelled like him and then you were bored of just lounging around. “N-no! I just wanted to spend time with you like always!” He looked into your eyes and he couldn’t see a thought behind them, so it was safe for him to assume you weren’t lying. “So just naive then? A naive little slut all for me and a naive little slut that’s getting ready to cum all over my cock.”

He moved one hand and brought it closer to your pussy, your clit was swollen and begged for attention. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked his thumb before bringing it down to your clit to start rubbing it. The feeling of his thumb on your clit was more than enough to set you off, you clenched around his cock tightly and squirted your juices along his hand and cock, soaking him and the cushions underneath you. He leaned down and smashed his lips against your as he continued to thrust and it didn’t take him long to finish after you. Thick ropes of his cum filled you completely, stuffing you to the point where you started leaking out around his cock.

He broke the kiss and panted as he rested his head on your shoulder, his cock still twitching inside you. You weakly wrapped your arms around him and peppered a few kisses along his face. Once he caught his breath he slowly lifted himself off of you and pulled you up with him as he sat up. He rubbed your sides and kept you close to him. “I’ve wanted this for such a long time, pretty boy.” You mumbled into the side of his neck before you lifted your head to look at him. A smile broke on your face when you saw his disheveled state, you brushed some hair out of his face then reached down on the couch to grab his glasses that had fallen off without you realizing it. You adjusted them on his face and caressed his cheek. “I’ve probably wanted this for even longer, beautiful. But just know, this isn’t the last time for us and I will get you back for that ruined orgasm earlier.”

tagging: @delirieum @briefrebelfanalmond @vampgloss

[sorcererofsolitude]

The Nightshades held a party. Wednesday vastly overestimated how much she could drink, insisting she could keep up with Yoko. She failed to account for the fact that she's a 5"1 mortal and Yoko is 5"9 vampire. It didn't help that Wednesday consumed nothing but absinthe.

Wednesday, turning to Enid and slurring her speech: Your face is like sunshine, I intend to marry it one day.

Enid, holding back laughter: You're going to marry just my face?

Wednesday, raising her glass: Yes! Wait... no. The rest of you is... magnis- magnif-... good. All of you is very good.

Divina, from the other side of the room, sitting across Yoko's lap: You should eat something, Wednesday.

Yoko, snickering: Yeah, before you start looking at honeymoon packages and naming your future kids.

Wednesday, hiccuping and swaying into Enid: Silence, fang! I'll... throw you in the... in the bird bath outside.

Divina and Yoko share an amused look.

Enid, collecting her drunken lover by the arm: Alright, Wens, I think it's time to call it a night.

Wednesday, liquor sloshing from her cup: I am not tired. I am... special awake.

Enid, unimpressed: That's called being drunk, babe.

Wednesday, nearly smiling: Enid...I would battle a thousand worms for you.

Wednesday had to be carried back to her room that night. She wouldn't hear the end of her inebriated antics for a month after, though Wednesday refused to believe she did any of those things.

AO3: SorcererOfSolitude

[voidvannie]

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝐓𝐒

☄. *. ⋆ 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 !

𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ｡｡｡ kaelyn takes part in a game of spill your guts alongside james corden and niall horan when she admits to liking hockey more than football.

ੈ✩ ━ ❪ feel free to send an any request of things you want to see in this series, or if you just want to share some thoughts about what your read! i would love that! ❫

"Welcome back, everybody!" James greets the audiance as he sat at the table with Kaelyn, Niall Horan and Ewan McGregor, "Let's take a look at the food that we have. We have salmon smoothie, beef tongue, bird saliva, herring rollmop, scorpion, fish head, hot sauce and finally, bull penis."

"Can I call my brother to come pick me up?" Kaelyn scrunches her nose up at the foods placed in front of her.

Everyone laughs, including the audiance.

"Do you always get your brother to pick you up from nasty things?" Niall laughs at the blonde to the right of him.

"Yes."

"So here's how it works, Ewan and I will be asking questions to Kaelyn and Niall, and vise versa." James explained how the game works. "Now, if someone on your team chooses not to answer their question, you both will have to eat the disgusting food. Have we got it?"

"Yes."

"Legally, and with the remind of my brother, I am required to tell you that I have a sever peanut allergy and I do not have my Epipen on me." Kaelyn informs everyone at the table.

"We made sure before we asked you on." James smirked at the blonde.

"I figured as much." She sighed.

"Niall, you're up first." James calls out the Irish man, "Niall, I am going to give you."

"Please don't do that. My acid reflex will freak out." Niall points to the hot sauce as James spins the trey around.

"Please, anything but the scorpion." Kaelyn whines, brushing her hair out of her face.

"The salmon smoothie.” The chunky pink drink stops in front of the two. “Here is your question. So if you answer the question you don’t have to eat. If you don’t answer the question, you both have to have a big glug of the salmon smoothie.”

“I don’t know what I’m more nervous about, the question or the smoothie.” Niall laughs.

James looks down at the flash card in his hands, “Well, I’ve just seen the question, I think it might be the question. Niall, who is your least favorite member of One Direction?”

“My Directioner heart can’t take it!” Kaelyn dramatically slaps a hand over her heart with a pout on her lips.

The audience screams out at the question while Niall gives off a nervous laugh.

Niall picks the drink off of the table, pushing it towards Kaelyn before sitting it back down as she reaches for it.

“Shit.” Niall laughs, “Um—,”

“As much as I hate this, I think you should drink.” Kaelyn reaches a hand out to touch Niall on the arm, “I am not your publicist. But I don’t know that you should.”

“Don’t think of your teammate, think of your life.” James tells the Irish singer.

“I think I might and just take the daily mail hit tomorrow, and throw out a crap answer.” Niall laughs, “I’m trying to help out Kaelyn.”

“I’ll drink it.” Kaelyn cringed at the thought of the thick substance as she used the green cloth to put around his neck.

“Are you gonna go salmon!”

“Yeah, for future life, yeah, I think I’ll go with this. Sorry, Kaelyn.” Niall picks up two glasses, handing one to the blonde next to him.

“Down the hatch!”

Kaelyn brings the cup up, tipping it but the drink is so thick that it doesn’t even move.

“Hang on, there you go.” James passed Niall a fork as Kaelyn grabs the one from next to her and dips it into the cup.

“No!” Kaelyn can’t help but to gag as she moves to spilt it out, reaching for the glass of water. “Oh, my gos! That’s just nasty!”

“It’s not so much of the taste, it’s the texture, it’s like having a salmon yogurt.” Niall explained the best he can.

“Right, so now is Kaelyn, you will ask your question to me.” James gestures to the singer. “Which would you like me and Ewan to have?”

“Hmm.” A smirk sets on her face as she looked at the question.

“Oh no. I don’t like the look on your face.” James laughs.

“I’m gonna give you guys the scorpion.” Kaelyn turned the table, the same smirk on her face, “James, name one artist you have turned down carpool karaoke.”

“How long have you got?” Niall laughs.

James picks the Scorpio up, “Cheers mate. Ewan, you question to Kaelyn.”

“I think I’m going for the tongue.”

“Fuck my life.”

The crowd and men at the table burst out laughing at the girl.

“Kaelyn, your brother is Joe Burrow, the quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, who is your actual favorite football team?”

The crowed ‘oohs’ as the blonde bows her head, shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

“Aren’t you on a plane to Cincinnati when you leave here?” Niall questioned.

“Yes.” She groaned before looking up, her face twisted if false confusion, “Truthfully, I watch football a lot less than other sports. I love supporting Joe, but my heart is, and will always be, a die hard hockey fan.”

“Hockey?”

“Yes, and not just any hockey team, the New Jersey Devils.” Kaelyn says before looking straight at the camera, “Jack Hughes, if you are watching this, slide into my DM’s. I promise, I’ll reply.” She winks.

“Shoot your shot, girl!” Everyone laughs as someone from the audience yells it out.

“I am!”

James laughed, clapping his hands. “Unfortunately, that is all we have time for today! Kaelyn, I want a thank you at your wedding in a couple of years whenever you married this hockey player you’re obsessed with! Jack Hughes, DM her please!”

[hazbinshusk]

husk x reader. requested by @jazziesanura. husk might be part feline, but his bird-like traits affect him too. so when the object of his affection is around, ever so occasionally, he finds himself singing.

featuring: 1.2k of pure fluff and a bashful husk being a gentleman.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There were countless reasons you liked to linger in the lobby rather than up in your room, despite the chance of being enlisted in any number of tasks by the owner of the Hazbin Hotel. You’d hung more celebratory banners than you cared to count, but still, you often spent your time curled up on one of the lobby sofas with a book or one of Charlie’s latest art projects in your lap.

Sometimes the reason you preferred it was the endless entertainment provided by Niffty’s endless war on bugs.

Sometimes it was that Angel would grace you with his presence before work and you’d find yourselves swapping overly salacious stories that would make the spider demon cackle with joy.

Occasionally Pentious would slither downstairs in order to introduce you to his latest complicated creation, and sometimes his little eggs would find themselves in a turf war with Razzle and Dazzle and you’d be in tears trying not to laugh as you separated them.

But – even though you wouldn’t admit it aloud – there really was one real reason you liked to stay in the lobby.

Because every now and then, if you were lucky…

Husk would sing.

When the bar was empty and the other guests and staff were elsewhere, occasionally you’d hear the soft tenor of Husk’s voice ebb out to fill the space between you. He never sang very loud, just a soft crooning to himself as he polished glassware or wiped down the polished wood in front of him. It would just barely reach your ears, but it relaxed you and filled you with the most addictive feeling of butterflies all at the same time.

The strangest thing about it was, whenever you asked those who also spent time alone with him, no one else had ever noticed him sing.

“What song is that?”

You’d broken your own rule about interrupting him, and you cursed yourself silently as Husk stopped mid-lyric, letting out a small ‘wrrr’ of surprise as he looked up. He looked startled, even embarrassed by the question, pale pink blooming across his muzzle.

You grimaced apologetically as you stood up. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he replies gruffly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Still, you notice his tail twitch almost warily behind him.

“It’s nice,” you continue gently. When his brows furrow you explain, “The song. It’s pretty.”

“Oh.” Husk clears his throat, setting the glass he was holding down on the counter. “You, uh… you want a drink?”

“Sure.”

***

Your smile is softened by the alcohol buzzing in your brain, and you lean your temple on your hand. Husk’s own lips are tilted in a similar smile as he pours the two of you fresh glasses of something he calls a ‘rusty nail’. It burns pleasantly down your throat and against your lips, and Husk hums approvingly as you toss back half the glass.

“Gotta say, sweetness, I never figured you’d be able to handle the booze as well as you do.” he notes, pouring the dregs from the shaker into your glass. “’s impressive.”

“’s not all I can handle,” you reply without thinking, and your face burns.

Husk blinks at you, eyes wide, for a moment before he coughs a laugh, shaking his head. His voice lowers and softens when he speaks next, and it send the warmth from your cheeks down to pool in your stomach. “I don’t doubt it.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, an amused tilt to his lips, before you glance away again to take another sip of your drink. You clear your throat, trying to find a way to change the subject. You couldn’t let yourself focus on the way his expression, his tone of voice, was making you feel.

“So, uh… you gonna tell me what that song was?”

Husk glances down at the bar, rubbing a paw through the fur of his neck. “’s nothing. Just an old… ‘s nothing.”

“I liked it,” you tell him gently, your glass held just below your lips. “I always like it when you sing.”

Husk grimaces bashfully. “You hear that?”

You nod, still smiling. Maybe it’s the alcohol that loosens your tongue, maybe it’s the way that even though his tone is embarrassed, his eyes are watching your every reaction so carefully. Maybe it’s just being with him but you simply admit: “It’s my favorite thing.”

Hush flushes, dithering uncertainly for a moment before he meets your eye again. He studies your face, your expression, and your sincerity before he throws back the rest of his drink and sets the glass back on the counter. Husk rounds the bar and with a moment of hesitation, holds out a paw to you.

“C’mon.”

You raise a brow but take it, letting him pull you gently off the bar stool and lead you towards the middle of the lobby. He turns to face you, your hand still enclosed in his. His other hand comes up to hover near your waist and those butterflies swirl inside you again dizzyingly.

“…Can I?”

You nod slowly, confused, and a thrill runs through you as he touches your hip. His hand smooths over it to let his claws curl carefully against the sliver of skin between your shirt and the waistband of your jeans, and you release a shaking breath. He gives you a small, bashful smile, stepping closer to you, and his smile widens slightly despite himself when your breath catches.

“Relax,” he tells you softly, and when your free hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, he leads you into a slow, surprisingly graceful movement that’s something akin to a waltz.

His body is warm against yours and your fingers curl in the soft fur on his bicep, threading carefully through the silky hair. He hums a quiet tune for a few moments, leading you along with it, and you find yourself settling into his embrace as he begins to sing.

“I ran around with my own little crowd,

The usual laughs, not often but loud.

And in the world that I knew,

I didn’t know about you.”

His voice is honeyed and warm in your ear, his touch tingling against your back and against your palm. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, feeling as though you’ve been dipped directly into the melted caramel of his sweet tenor.

“Chasing after the rain

On the merry-go-round.

Just taking my fun

Where it could be found.

And yet what else could I do?

I didn’t know about you.”

You hesitate for a moment before releasing his hand to wrap your arms around his neck, letting your fingers twine in the fur at the back of his head. Husk’s hands take hold of your hips, sliding around to interlock against the small of your back. You hear him swallow, his voice shaking slightly as he begins the next verse.

“Darling, now I know,

I had the loneliest yesterday,

Everyday in your arms

I know for once in my life I’m living.

Had a good time every time I went out,

Romance was a thing I kidded about.

How could I know about love?

I didn’t know about you.”

Husk pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze with hooded eyes. The two of you are just swaying now, locked together in an embrace you never want to end. There’s an almost rueful curve to his lips.

“I didn’t know about you.”

.

Author's note: for those interested, the song is I Didn't Know About You by Duke Ellington. If you would like to hear a masculine voice singing it (although sadly not Husk's), I'd personally recommend Seth MacFarlane's version. It's absolutely beautiful.

[sometimesanalice]

Like I Can (Part 3)

Summary: After yet another bad date and tired of swiping on apps, the Dagger Squad steps in to help you out by setting you up on a series of blind dates. Much to Rooster’s dismay.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, slight angst. Minors DNI

Length: 7.2K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

(All’s well that ends well❣️ Enjoy!)

You’d been on edge all day. 

Having slept terribly the night before, you’d woken up early and giving up on the idea of going back to sleep had ended up at a sunrise yoga class, hoping that some movement would help you clear your mind. By the end of the hour you were even more frustrated than you were before you arrived, the poses feeling unnaturally forced instead of flowing seamlessly as they usually did. 

So much for some goddamn inner peace.

Work was even worse. You had arrived to find that the espresso machine was broken. And whoever made a pot on the ancient drip machine, that was undoubtedly pulled out of a dingy storage closet somewhere, clearly hated everyone else since it tasted like tar. You could barely focus enough to clear out your inbox, when your work nemesis started breathing down your neck about a proposal that wasn’t due for another two weeks. 

Time was dragging on. And every time you looked at the clock thinking it had been at least an hour since you’d last checked, were continually shocked to see that barely fifteen minutes had passed by. Thankfully it was Friday, so your boss didn’t care when you called it a day and left at lunch. It was better for everyone this way.

You had tried painting your nails, but didn’t have the patience to let them dry and smudged them trying to open a package of crackers. Ignoring the crumbs that got everywhere as you ate them while working the cotton pad over the remnants of your pretty pink polish. Your new favorite show didn’t hold your attention like it usually did and you found yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone, missing most of the plot you’d had to restart it. Twice.

Not even the scenic drive along the coast to the restaurant you were supposed to meet your date at had done anything to alleviate your nerves.

You had been surprised at the choice of location when you had received the text message with the information about this particular date. As much as you enjoyed going to the Hard Deck, you were very much looking forward to drinking something other than a beer. Sure, Penny could make a mean spicy margarita, but sometimes an overpriced aesthetically pleasing cocktail just hit the spot better than anything else. 

But most of all, you were thankful for a change of pace and the privacy this offered you. You had never been one for the spotlight, and dating on display had left you feeling drained.

You’re sitting in a surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker dining chair on the outdoor patio of the new trendy fusion restaurant you’ve been dying to come to. From your spot tucked away in the corner you can see the ocean waves rolling in and back out again. The golden rays already promising a stunning sunset later in the evening.

The foliage of the giant potted monsteras and birds of paradise made the terrace feel like a lush oasis, and contrasted stylishly against the large painted terracotta tiles on the ground. The pergola that covered it was dotted wisteria amongst the other climbing greenery, and numerous oversized hanging rattan sconces. The dainty lights woven throughout reflecting off the wine glasses on the table.

This was exactly what you needed. Too bad you couldn’t let yourself enjoy it, the twisted knots in the pit of your stomach had served a constant reminder of your nerves all day.

You had used this date as an excuse to finally buy the deep green floral dress you’d had your eye on for ages. The gentle drape of the neck was subtly sophisticated, while the high slit on the side added some serious sex appeal. 

There was nothing wrong with a little retail therapy you had told yourself as you’d swiped your credit card. If you looked good, maybe it would help you to feel good.

In all honesty, it probably had a little too much sex appeal since you couldn’t stop fidgeting in your chair trying to get the silky dress cover up more of your thigh that was currently displayed rather provocatively. It felt like the more you tried to get it to lay right the more of your leg was exposed. 

It probably didn’t help that you couldn’t stop the restless bouncing of your leg. You weren’t usually an antsy person, leg bouncing had always been more of Rooster’s anxious habit than yours.

Maybe you’ll feel less exposed once you draped the linen napkin across your lap. You’re tempted to do it now, but you don’t want to disturb the artfully laid out tablescape before your date has arrived.

It had been three weeks of back to back truly terrible dates. You could see the finish line now, but you couldn’t say that it wasn’t wearing on you. It had sounded like fun in theory, but now you weren’t so sure you would said yes again if you were offered a do-over. 

You were tired. 

Tired of going through the motions with men who could hardly be bothered to do the bare minimum. Tired of trying to sell the best version of yourself. Tired of putting on a show when all you wanted to find was an easy kind of love.

And this particular date had you more on edge and anxious than any of the other ones you’d gone on.

Even if you were pressed, you could not remember a single thing about the guy Payback had set you up with on your most recent blind date.

That evening you hadn’t even bothered trying to put together a cute outfit for the meeting. Instead, the only real effort you’d opted to put in was painting your lips a bright red as an attempt to psych yourself up for it. You didn’t usually wear such a bold color, but when you did it never failed to make you feel more brilliant.

And while you couldn’t remember anything about your date, what you did vividly remember was the fight you got into with Rooster that night.

You had been coming back from the restroom and on your way back to your date when you had bumped into him rounding the corner. 

“Sorry, that was my fault,” he’d said as he reached out to steady you with hand going to your waist, dropping it once he realized it was you. “Oh, hey.”

Glancing over to your date who seemed absorbed in some game he was playing on his phone, you figured he wouldn’t miss you if you spent a few extra minutes away to catch up with Rooster.

He had been acting really distant lately, taking a couple days to respond to texts rather than a couple of hours like it usually took him. Natasha had told you about the rigorous training they were being put though, and you had assumed it probably had something to do with that. However, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off between you two.

Rooster was already pulling away from you and taking a step towards the bar when you reached out grabbing his wrist to keep him with you. Looking around for a quiet place to talk, you’d heard him sigh behind you, but still held on to him as you made your way to one of the high-top tables in the corner by the empty stage. 

You’d stopped and let go as you turned towards him, only to find him already looking at you with an expression that landed somewhere between expectant and exasperated. The cuffs of his shirt straining around his biceps as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well?” he grunted out.

Was he mad at you? You couldn’t think of any recent arguments you’d had recently that would explain the harsh tone he was using with you. 

“Is everything ok? I feel like you’ve been really off lately. You know I’m always here for you, right?” Your hand was already reaching out to touch him, but you resisted the urge not wanting to further agitate him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m surprised you even have time to talk to me with all these washouts you’ve been wasting your time on. You’re the one with the busy social calendar, not me.” He was looking over the top of your head avoiding your gaze now, the bitterness in his voice had stunned you. 

“Seriously? What is the matter with you?” 

He’d never been so intentionally callous with you before and it hurt. 

“Listen, if there is an issue me dating the people your friends have been setting me up with, you need to let me know,” you’d said pointing a firm finger at him, your anger rising. “This was supposed to be a fun no pressure situation, but I don’t want to be in the middle of this if things are getting heated between you guys. It’s not worth it to me. But you don’t get to ignore me for days and then claim that I’m the one avoiding you.”

He made a noise of frustration as he dragged both hands through his curls. You could see the flex of his jaw as he’d clenched his teeth together.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he ducked down to that his eyes were level with your, and you could see the remorse in them. “You’re right, that was shitty of me to take it out on you. I’m just… tired.”

You’d simply nodded at him, feeling like you weren’t on the same page as him didn’t sit well with you. “Phoenix told me about your new training program, it seems intense,” your voice sounded small even to your own ears.

“Yeah, the training,” he’d sighed out pausing for a moment as he weighed his words, rubbing at his chest, “It’s taking a toll on me, but that’s my problem. I mean it, I’m sorry.”

“Are we good?” you searched his eyes, your friendship with him was so important to you.

“You and me? We’re good, kid. Always.” He’d reached out and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to where the group was gathered together pretending like they weren’t just watching your argument play out. 

Needless to say, your head was somewhere elsewhere entirely as you made your way back to your date. You’d felt bad being so distracted, but your mind just kept playing the argument on repeat. It was like your brain was trying to pull apart every little word to decode something that you didn’t think was there.

After Payback’s friend had left, you rejoined everyone else around the pool table. You couldn’t tell if the mood was off or if it was just you reading into things, since they hadn’t been prodding you with questions like they usually did.

Natasha was in the middle of giving you a glowing review of the man she had been bragging about since she first offered to set you up, when Rooster came to sit with you both.

“He’s just your type. He’s an engineer, so he’s smart. He’s got that whole glasses wearing and floppy hair thing going for him. And he’s funny. Rumor has it that he talked back to his Rear Admiral one time and got away with it because the guy had found him amusing. I fully expect you to name one of your future children with him after me.”

Rooster had surprised the pair of you when he stood up so violently that he almost knocked over the beers on the table. 

“What the fuck, Bradshaw?” Nat had exclaimed as you both worked to rescue the teetering bottles from becoming casualties from his sudden movement.

You had no idea what he was going to say as an explanation for why he’d jumped out of his seat the way he did, but what he ended up unexpectedly announcing instead of answering Nat’s question had sent you into a tailspin.

So now here you are in a restaurant you’d be dying to go to, fidgety and anxious in a probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative dress for a first date with the guy who Rooster was willing to break his long-standing rules for to set you up with.

To say you were feeling the pressure was an understatement. No one knew you like Rooster did. He’d seen you at your best and at your worst. He wouldn’t just pick any random guy he knew, he would be picking the one who he thought would be the best for you.

The thought should be comforting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness.

You pick up your phone again and double check the time in the text that Rooster had sent you with all the details for your date with his friend. 

It was either that do that again or moving the ever-so-slightly crooked gold salad fork back into place.

You’re about to open Instagram for the third time since you sat down, turning when you hear a throat clear purposely behind you.

“Hey, sweet girl.”

For Rooster, when you’d first agreed to participate in the bet with his friends those dates started off as annoying inconveniences. Just inconsequential disruptions that got in the way of his time with you.

You were his best friend and at his bar, yet he felt like he’d hardly seen you these past couple of weeks- or at least not as much as he would have liked. 

Sure, he got some time with you here and there at the end of the night like when you had late night tacos on the beach. Or when he’d taught you his favorite pool trick, well more like attempted to teach you, he loved how stunningly bad you were at the game. But he felt like he was competing with these idiots his friends had picked out for your time and your attention. 

He wasn’t used to sharing you. In the past, if you had a date that conflicted with something spontaneous he wanted to do or something that the group had planned together, more often than not he could get you to move it or cancel completely.

He’d never been above a little bribery to get his way, he knew what you liked.

You going on dates wasn’t a new concept to him, but seeing them paraded in front of him was a different story. And he was getting really tired of watching you from across the bar while feeling like you were out of reach.

The more of them you went on, and the more he heard Natasha crowing about having the perfect man for you the more agitated he felt. The worse that feeling in the pit of his stomach got. 

The evening of date for Payback’s pick, they’d all seen you walk in through the doors of the Hard Deck wearing that shade of red lipstick. You’d wore it so well. His friends had immediately started speculating about what it meant. Phoenix had called them all idiots, and while he couldn’t claim to know anything about make-up and those things, he did know you didn’t just wear that color for no reason. 

He had vague memories of his mom putting the color on when they’d go greet his dad, at least he like to think those were his memories. Or maybe they were just something he’d created in his head from all the time he had spent looking at old photos of his mom and dad together, her smile always outlined in the color. His favorite was the one where his dad’s cheeks were covered in bright red lipstick kisses as he smiled indulgently down at his mom while a young Bradley was propped on her hip clutching his prized F-14 Tomcat. He had that one framed on the end table next to his couch. 

And seeing that color on you for a date with this random guy had rattled him.

He’d felt so terrible later that evening when he took those feelings out on you. Hating himself as he lashed out at you. Hating himself as he saw your face fall and the hurt in your eyes. Hating himself for being the person who made you feel bad.

And the crux of it all was that you weren’t wrong, he had been deliberately distant by being slow to reply and ignoring texts from you. He wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t know what else to do. He’d hoped by creating some space that it would help him to try and get his head back on straight. 

He’d let you assume that he was tired from the new training program they were being put through. What he didn’t tell you was that he was already outperforming everyone on the team, and that he hadn’t had to do any extra push-ups in a week and a half. 

He was tired because he hadn’t been sleeping, and he couldn’t sleep because every time he tried to close his eyes all he could see was you on these dates. Replaying them in his mind’s eye wondering what the outcome would have been had they not gone so terribly wrong each time.

The what-ifs swarming around his brain day and night like agitated hornets.

While he had been quick to apologize for being a dick, the sharp pain that settled behind his sternum wouldn’t subside no matter how much he had tried to rub it away.

He didn’t know what was more unbearable, the idea of losing you to a chance encounter of circumstance. Some meet cute courtesy of the universe that he couldn’t see coming until it was too late, when it’s already too far out of his hands and out of his control. To see you grinning that smile so bright, the one so wide it made your dimples appear, as you introduced that guy to him. 

Or sitting here night after night analyzing every little thing as you date the people some of his closest friends had picked out for you. Watching and hoping that these dates would just be funny stories you told on drunken nights out rather than the story told at your wedding about the night that everything changed when you met your person. Of having to be happy for you even as you pull away from him.

His ears were ringing and he’d felt his stomach drop. 

He could see it now, a day when your life ran parallel to his rather than entwined as he was used to. Of you with a partner. With children. Of him as ‘Uncle’ Rooster, demoted to the rank of ‘longtime friend of the family’ rather than a core member of it. 

The thought of it making him feel sick. 

All evening he had been moving around like a ghost completely lost to the thoughts in his head, but now it felt like he’d been shocked by a live wire. He’d pretty much jumped out of the chair he had just settled in, almost knocking the beers in front of him off the table completely. 

“I want in, I’ll do it,” he’d blurted out, interrupting the conversations that had continued on around him while he had been spiraling. “This whole thing has been a complete shit show. I can’t watch this anymore. I know a guy, I’ll set it up. I’m in.” 

His hands were sweating as he hoped no one would call his bluff. He’d made it a point to actively avoid looking at you. You had such an uncanny way of reading him. 

“I don’t know, Bradshaw. You’re a little late to the game, aren’t you? I’ve been saving the best for last, and I’m ready to collect my winnings.” He’d expected some shit from Hangman, but he never would have guessed it’d come from Phoenix. 

Feeling his anger flare up, he reached into his back pocket and fished out a $100 bill from his worn leather wallet, double the original entry fee. He slapped it down on the table, leaving no room for any further discussion, “I’m the one setting her up for the next date.” 

He’d caught a look between Hangman and Phoenix, but he couldn’t be bothered to read into it as he tried to keep his temper in check.  

He wouldn’t lose you. Not to someone who didn’t deserve you, especially when he already knew the person who could make you happy.

“Alrighty,” Jake had drawled out, as he pocked the bill. “Looks like we have another player. I look forward to taking your money.” 

He’d extended his hand out and they’d all shook on it, reaching Phoenix last her grip firm and her smile sharp. And that was that. 

Now he was here at the new popular restaurant he’d heard you talking about a few weeks ago, his feet cemented to the tiles beneath him just gazing at you. 

He could tell from where he was standing behind you that you were nervous by the way you were opening and closing apps without truly looking at anything. He knew it was a habit of yours when you were feeling anxious, something for your hands to do as you tried to distract yourself.

He had sweet talked the hostess over the phone into reserving the best spot on the outdoor terrace, and you looked so beautiful sitting there wearing his new favorite color. Your hair is held back by a delicate golden clip on one side leaving the line of your neck exposed, the sea breeze picking up a few wisps.  It makes his teeth ache with want.

He knew you were gorgeous, he’d stared down enough men at the Hard Deck to know that others thought so too. However, he’d never let himself sit with those thoughts for too long, not trusting himself to keep his mind from wandering. 

You were his best friend. 

And best friends don’t think about how the other would look so perfect in their bed, that pretty green dress forgotten on the floor. 

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look under his arm.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you would look with his ring on your finger.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect you are for him.

Best friends don’t think about how perfect he is for you.

Him.

It was a good thing he didn’t want to just be your best friend anymore. 

He’d already done too much thinking, done too much waiting. He wasn’t going to miss his moment. 

Taking one more deep breath, he made his way to you.

“Rooster? What are you doing here?” He was the last person you’d expected to see when you turned your head to see who had been trying to get your attention, “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

Did he get emergency orders? Did your date get in an accident? 

Your anxiousness was quickly morphing into panic, you’re already half way out of your seat when he puts his hand on your shoulder, his thumb stroking the skin there reassuringly. 

He is standing there looking completely at ease, as if he belonged there, “Nothing’s wrong, sweet girl.” 

And there it was again, you hadn’t been sure if your ears were playing tricks on you the first time he’d said it. That simple term of endearment silencing the alarm bells that were going off in your head, the edges of the lush restaurant softening around everything except him.

“Your mom always called me that,” you say softly. 

You cherished all the memories you had with Carole, the woman who had been such a significant figure in your life for so long. You knew your mom still sent Rooster a cake every year to celebrate her birthday from whatever bakery was closest to wherever he was stationed. 

“I know, I remember,” his voice so warm and deep, “She loved you.” 

He says it so simply, so sincerely. As if his presence here hasn’t just completely untethered you and sent you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.

The writhing snake that had made a home all day in the pit of your stomach finally disappeared, only to be replaced with the fluttering of wings that you were desperately trying to ignore. 

You’d been so shocked when Rooster had exclaimed that he was going to set you up with someone, your mind had been whirling so much at the time you could barely focus on anything that had been said in the aftermath of his announcement. Maybe you had missed some caveat he’d come up with for his participation in the bet? That could make sense, considering how adamant he had always been in the past about never getting involved in your love life. 

He was standing there looking so good in his best short-sleeved button up shirt, the one that was scattered with vibrant palm leaves that fit snugly against his body. And wearing the white slacks that usually had you looking anywhere else in the room to avoid acknowledging the way they clung to your best friend’s thighs and ass. If only he knew how weak they made you. 

There just has to be a logical reason for why he’s here, but the soft smile on his face was rendering your brain uncooperative. 

You were getting tired of feeling like you were missing something that should be so obvious, “My date is supposed to be here soon, are you going to hover in the back like you have been at the Hard Deck? Or are you just planning on pulling up a chair and third wheeling up close and personal?” 

“Why would I need an extra chair,” he asks as he pulls it out and eases his large frame down onto the wicker seat, “When mine’s already free?” 

You move to open your mouth when the waitress arrives, asking if you had your drink orders selected. 

“I’ll do the Bourbon Sidecar. You feelin’ like a gin, sweet girl?” You just nodded at him mutely, still desperately trying to catch up. “And the Clover Club for her, please.” 

It’s what you were planning on ordering to calm your first date jitters before had Rooster arrived and sent you into a complete tailspin. He hadn’t even looked at the thick textured cardstock of the drink menus that were strategically placed just to the right of the golden soup spoons on the artfully laid out table. 

The butterflies were threatening to break free from the tightly locked cage you had attempted to shove them in. 

The waitress took down the drinks, and you watched her as she crossed the patio pausing to tap away on the screen of their POS, trying to give yourself a few more moments to collect your thoughts. 

“Bradley. I don’t understand, what’s going on?” He’s sitting there looking so secure, so steadfast, so sure. 

His cheek ticks up, “I like it when you call me Bradley. Why did you stop calling me that when you moved out here?” 

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Why did you stop calling me Bradley when you moved out here?” he asks again, leaning in. How does he expect you to answer a question, when your mind is going 1,190 miles an hour? 

“I don’t know,” you start with a halfhearted shrug. “You’ve made a name for yourself in the Navy, you are ‘Rooster’ to everyone here.” You open your mouth to say more, before closing it quickly.

“There’s more going on in that head,” you feel his foot reach out tapping against yours under the table, before leaving it there a steady presence. “Tell me.”

You know you can tell him anything, but this feels different.

The intensity of his stare has you fighting the flush you feel spreading across your cheeks.

It wasn’t something that you’d ever given much thought to before, but you know if you answer truthfully now that he’s asked you it’s going to leave you feeling more exposed than you’ve ever been with him. 

You sit up more fully in your chair deciding to be brave, “I mean, we haven’t really truly been in the same place since we were teens, and things are so different now. It was easier to start calling you ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ like everyone else, because it didn’t make me feel like I was piece from a different puzzle trying to force myself into a new picture. I wanted to fit into the life that you’ve built here, to feel like I still have a place with you as you are now.”

You’re actively fighting to keep your eyes on his. It would be so easy to look away or to laugh off your confession, but for whatever reason, you don’t want to take the easy out. 

“I never knew you felt like that, but I wish I had,” the look in his eyes is softer than anything you’ve ever seen from him before. “I like being Bradley to you, I want to be Bradley to you. You aren’t just a piece to me, you’re the whole picture. You’ve always had a place here, exactly as you are you are now.”

It’s never been like this between the two of you. It feels like you both are saying too much and not enough all at the same time. As much as you find yourself wanting to sink into these intoxicating yet unfamiliar feelings, you know you’re still holding yourself back.

God, he is so handsome. You had been right, the sunset that was just starting was stunning, but the way golden beams were hitting the lightened strands of his curls was spectacular.

You’re almost too afraid to ask, but it’s unbearable not knowing, “Why are you here right now, Bradley?”

Of course, the waitress chooses that moment to return with the drinks. 

She sets them down in front of you, the skewered raspberries sitting daintily on the side of your glass are suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. You vaguely hear him saying you both need more time and that he’ll flag her down when you’re ready to order. 

He waits for her to leave to attend to her other tables before turning his heady gaze on you once again.

“I thought I’ve been making my intentions pretty clear here, sweet girl.” 

He takes a sip of his Sidecar before continuing, the slight bounce of his leg the only thing giving him away that he might not be as self-assured as you’d originally thought, “I’m here for our date.”

There’s no hope of containing the butterflies now. You’re a lost cause. 

“Bradley.” You can only imagine the emotions he is reading on your face. It would absolutely break your heart if this was some kind of bad joke.

“He’ll never love you like I can.” 

“What?” you ask sounding every bit as dazed as you feel.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says shaking his head slightly, huffing out a little laugh at himself, “I got ahead of myself.”

You watch as he resituates himself in the chair, wiping his hands on the front of his slacks before restarting. 

“Watching you on those dates has been hell, I don’t want to be jealous of some guy you gave a second glance. I don’t want hold back, not when we can be so much more,” he reaches across the table, taking your hand between his two large ones, “I thought having you as a friend was enough for me, but how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that I could be the one who makes you happy and then do nothing about it? That I’m the only one who can love you the way you deserve to be loved?”

You’ve always known he’s cared for you, that was unquestionable, but to be loved by Bradley Bradshaw? It was something you’d never let yourself imagine, let alone dared to hope to for. It had been kinder to spare yourself from the heartache that came with hope. But now? With him sitting right here in front of you saying you could have him like this?

Was this how he felt flying in his F-18 every day?

He gets up and rounds the table coming to your side, hooking an ankle around the tapered leg of your chair pulling you out a bit. You’re suddenly very thankful for the probably-too-expensive-and-probably-too-provocative for a first date dress you purchased when you see the way his rich brown eyes turn molten as he gets a glimpse of your exposed thigh.

He settles into a crouch before you, his warm hands seeking out both of yours, “You don’t need Phoenix or anyone else to set you up, because he’ll never love you like I can. Let me show you how good it can be. Let me be it for you, sweet girl.”

The man in front of you is everything you could have ever possibly wanted for yourself. And to be the one who could get to keep him forever? There’s no doubt in your mind, it’s worth everything.

You’re sure you will have to have a more serious conversation about what this means for the two of you, but that can wait for another time when he’s not in front of you with his eyes so earnest. So hopeful. To another time when he’s not wearing his heart on his sleeve as he patiently waits for any kind of response from you.

It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him right now. 

So easy to learn what that mustache would feel like against your skin. 

To learn how his lips and tongue would feel against your own. 

To learn how his mouth would move with yours.

But what’s a couple more hours when you’ve had years to build up to it.

“Well then, Lieutenant. I guess you better show me how it’s done,” you bring your hand up to cup his face, your thumb gently stroking along his cheekbone. “But I’m warning you now, I fully intended to give you as good as I get.” 

Being on the receiving end of a Rooster smile was something special, but it had nothing on the beaming grin that Bradley Bradshaw is giving you now. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you,” he says as he lands a lingering kiss on your cheek before standing and pushing your chair back in for you. “You’ve always known how to keep me on my toes.”

He returns back to his surprisingly comfortable wooden wicker chair, stretching his leg to rest it against yours. When the waitress comes back you both end up picking your meals at random, having been too absorbed with each other to actually bother reading the menu. 

You’d barely eaten all day because of the knots in your stomach, and now you were starving. Thankfully, Bradley at least had the commonsense to ask the waitress to pick her favorite dish as a third entrée “for the table”.

It feels the same in many ways, he knows what to say to make you laugh and what to bring up to get you fired up. And you know what questions to ask to keep him talking and how to push his buttons just right. 

But it’s also different when he doesn’t bother to hide his knowing smirk every time he catches you looking at his lips. And it’s even better when you don’t bother trying to hide yours when you catch him doing the same.

Afterwards, he takes your hand in his as you slowly make your way to the parking lot, his fingers lacing between your own. He surprises you when he leans against the Bronco, murmuring something about not wanting to let your pretty dress get dirty. His long legs extended wide as an invitation for you to come stand between them, his strong hands stroking the silky material of your dress on your hips as you step closer. 

You’ve been ignoring the pull low in your stomach all evening, the tension between you two the most luscious feeling you’ve ever experienced. The combination of his heat, his woodsy smell, the headiness of his gaze on you almost too overwhelming. 

Almost.

Your hands settle on his broad chest, playing with the button of his shirt now a bit nervous. Your faces closer than you’ve ever allowed them to be before. If what you’re hearing is the sound of the waves or the roaring of the blood in your ears, you couldn’t say.

You know he is waiting for you to make the first move. You see the moment when he’s about to say something, knowing him the words would be wonderfully reassuring and perfectly Bradley.

Why would you want to talk when his mouth was already waiting like a question. Why would you want to talk when you could learn what it’s like kiss him instead?

So you do.

When your lips meet his for the first time it feels like the sweetest kind of devotion. 

bradleybradleybradley

His mustache scratching satisfyingly at the skin of your upper lip. His mouth tasting like the Sidecars he sipped on throughout the night and something that was just fundamentally Bradley. 

Your hand moves on its own to stroke the side of his neck, your fingers seeking out the line of the longest scar that adorns his skin there from that night all those years ago. 

Your heart is beating wildly in your chest as he licks his lips before bringing his face down to yours again. Your other hand tightly clutching his shirt in anticipation.

He’s always been so in tune with you, so when he tilts your head just right before leaning into the kiss it feels like a homecoming. 

thisthisthis

One of Bradley’s hands makes its way up your back, pressing you closer to him as the other bands more securely around your waist. And when his tongue skims your lower lip, you sigh into his waiting mouth thankful for his strong grasp on you. 

Nothing your mind could have imagined would have ever come close to the perfection that is Bradley Bradshaw’s mouth moving against yours. Nothing has ever felt so good, so right.

When he pulls away, you’re both over fighting back the smiles that feel like have been permanently fixed on your faces all evening.

“I’m don’t want to call it a night yet,” he tells you, as he brushes the hair back from your face. His smile turning playful, “What do you say, kid? Wanna go get some milkshakes?”

“Depends,” you reply cheekily, “Can I drink it in the Bronco?”

Wrapping both arms around his neck you draw him back in towards you again.

“Anything you want, sweet girl,” he promises against your lips.

The next night at the Hard Deck, you entered the bar with Bradley’s arm draped your shoulders. 

His team whooping loudly when you pull him in for a kiss as he handed you a Blue Moon. They’d declared the drinks were on Bradley that night as they’d swarmed you both in celebration. Maverick pulls you aside to give you a warm hug, whispering “I knew you’d get here” in your ear before releasing you.

Now that you had let yourselves cross that line from friends to more, the pair of you are entirely too aware of the other. Never content to be too far away from the other. Your eyes like magnets, each seeking out the other to find them already looking back.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he has his hands on your waist. Nothing neighborly in the way his hands rub your shoulders. Nothing platonic in the way he rests one hand on the back of your neck, his thumb making teasing circles.

And there’s nothing friendly about the way you run your hands through his curls when he’s at the piano. Nothing neighborly in the way you slide your hand into his back pocket. Nothing platonic in the way you rest your hand on his chest, your finger tracing the line of his collarbone. 

It has always been so easy with him, even as you explore in this new area of your relationship.

You’d been orbiting around each other all night, when Jake yelled out to heckle you both about indecent exposure, threatening to call his cop friend if Bradley didn’t “get his ass over to the pool table in the next thirty seconds.”

He’d peppered your face with kisses before you’d shooed him away, laughing when you realized he had swiped your beer and had taken it with him.

“So you and Bradshaw,” Natasha states as she settles down next to you.

That makes you smile.

“Yeah, me and Bradley.” 

How could you have possibly thought you’d want anyone else other than him? You were a goner from the moment you’d turned and saw him standing there at the restaurant. Your golden boy.

You turn towards her, putting a hand on her arm, “I’m sorry that you didn’t get a fair shot at the bet. I really do appreciate the effort you all went through. I mean, Bradley would have had it in the bag anyways. But still–”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she waves a hand, cutting you off, “We had a team meeting and changed the rules of the bet anyways. I still won, so it’s all good.” Her smile was nothing less than mischievous. 

“Wait, what?” 

“We could all see from Rooster’s reaction during that disaster of a first date with all the dogs that he was completely hung up on you. We didn’t want to wait for him to figure it out, so we decided to adjust the terms a bit to help him out,” she laughs at your clearly baffled expression. “We reached out to the cringiest people we knew and set you up with them instead. And then took bets on how long it would take Rooster to get his head out of his ass and go get his girl.”

“Oh my god, seriously?” The revelation has you bursting out in laughter.

“Yep, well except for Bob. His date was a genuine accident, bless him. I’ll be honest, I didn’t even bother reaching out to anyone. I was betting on Rooster getting it together before I needed to step in,” she explains while wearing the most self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Of course Natasha Trace had bet on him. On you.

You couldn’t wait to tell Bradley how you had both been so absolutely played by his team. 

You loved these people. You loved your life here in San Diego. 

“I’d apologize for putting you through all that, but it looks like it worked out well in the end,” she says knowingly nodding her head towards him. 

You’re fully watching him now as he bends over the pool table looking amused at something that Hangman says. 

Bradley looks up catching your eye and shoots a wink in your direction, a grin taking over his whole face. You already know you’re wearing a matching one.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

Thank you so much for all the love on this one! I’ve loved sharing this journey with you all! Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone! 

If you want to know what happens next for these two you can check out my masterlist! 

Written as part of @roosterforme’s #Love Is In The Air TGM Fic Challenge!

Song Inspiration Sam Smith’s “Like I Can”.

Thank you Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) as always for being the ultimate hype girl! 

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @artemissunn​ @hey-assbutt35​ @mayempress​ @eddiemunsonreader @averyhotchner​ @caatheeriinee07​ @rileyanntoinette​ @lublycho

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Burning Phoniex Prefix Prefix Flavor

( Stan Pines x reader || 3 AM craving shenanigans )

Stan's newest gripe with himself was that he had a tendency to censor his own words- even when alone in his own kitchen at 3 in the morning, he couldn't bear himself to cuss. Even when he talked out loud, with nobody watching.

"These," Stan coughs loudly, punching his chest. Small orange particles leave his breath and are visible in the dimming light of the kitchen's dining room. "These got a kick to 'em-" He fans his tongue hurriedly, as if that'd help with the burning sensation inside his mouth. Even with his mouth practically on fire, he couldn't bear himself to utter a word of vulgarity. Not even under his breath.

He gets up from his seat, holding the ramen packet he ate out of up in the air so he can see the packaging better. He felt like he was examining a hundred dollar bill and somewhat humiliated for being practically brought to his knees over some snack he was craving in the middle of the night.

"Kick me in the knee." he says subsequently after two solid minutes of adjusting and readjusting his glasses to read the words on the packaging properly. Stan realizes that he grabbed one of your convenience store snacks by accident. Those spicy instant ramen packs with the screaming bird-like thing on them. This wasn't very convenient for him right now.

"Stan?" Your voice calling out to him almost knocks him onto his ass. He steps away from the light emitting from the hallway as you peek your head into the kitchen.

He tries his best to act discreet as he hides the empty pack of spicy ramen behind his back. "Hey, uh," Stan was at a loss for words. He secretly hoped you didn't see him holding one of your snacks behind his back.

"What're you doin' up this late?" He decides to say, directing the topic of conversation to you. "You almost scared the heck outta me. You ever tried knocking before?”

"I was hungry." You reply, stepping one slippered foot into the room. "Besides, what's there to knock on? Other than a door frame full of splinters?" You joke in response, making Stan go quiet for a split second to think of some sort of comeback.

"...you got a point there." He says, pointing at you with his finger. Using the same hand he hid behind his back.

"Is that my ramen?" You immediately ask, no hesitation at all.

"...no?" Stan was sweating now, not from nervousness, but because of how spicy the seasoning packet was. He forgot to drink water. Not milk. Water. He should've gone grocery shopping when he had the chance.

He could feel his eyes start to sting again.

It was unbearable. Trying to hide hide how much eating just a single pack of ramen was affecting him. Just one pack was enough to bring him to his knees, clutching his stomach. He did not have the joints for that.

He can see the concern flash on your face as you stare back at him. "Stan, you look red." you point out. "Listen, I don't really care if you eat my ramen or not. Those things come fifty cents a pack. Are you okay?" He can hear the care in your tone as you speak.

He responds with a cough. And then another cough. You cringe at the sound. "Okay, you don't need to talk." For once in his life, Stan shuts himself up. All because he couldn't tolerate some spice in some ramen. He was glad that you and him were the only ones up in the shack tonight. Guiding him to a chair, you pat his back a couple of times.

"Don't die while I have my back turned, okay?" you pull away from his side to grab him a glass of water. He needed that. Stan had manners, sometimes. If he could, he'd say thank you right now.

He sighs in relief, leaning against the back of his chair. "That hits the spot." he catches his breath, taking another drink from the glass you gave him.

"Please don't tell anyone about this." He says, wiping his mouth on his hand.

Stan quickly points a finger at you. "Don't use it as blackmail either- I know how you people work." He adds, making you laugh quietly. "Woah there, buddy, calm down." You hold your hands up defensively. "Do I look like a narc to you?" You ask, putting your hands down.

You had a point there. You weren't a narc. You knew where he kept his gold jewelry. He trusted you enough.

"...you're right." He says, after a moment of thinking to himself for a bit too long. He needed to go back to sleep.

🎱 : LIKED THE FIC? VISIT GRAVITY FALLS DOT CO FOR MORE!!

As if you could read the thoughts going through his head, you yawn. "We should probably hit the hay. We got a long day of scammin- I mean welcoming people to the shack." His correction makes you laugh again as you help him up from his seat.

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Five:: [Why Do They Call It Love?]

Summary: Jake spends time with his side of the family and your kiddos in Texas. The lies quickly come to an end though when an overworked and overwhelmed nursing student makes the wrong call to your not-so-emergent contact.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Overbearing mothers.

Word Count: 5K

Author Note: The last chapter update before Christmas! EEP! It's one of the moments we've all been waiting for too.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It’s not too late you know—“ Jake watched as his father, the man who had many times throughout his childhood and teenage adolescents put his hands on him, poured himself a drink at the small but decent bar in the room Jake and his groomsmen were getting ready in. “To call this whole thing off that is.” 

All Jake could do was press his lips together in a fine line of disappointment, he’d expected this. Hell if anything he was actually pleasantly surprised Rod had been able to hold off for as long as he could. 

“I wouldn’t have asked Y/n to marry me if I didn’t want to marry her, Dad.” Jake sighed as he watched his father smirk and swirl his scotch around in the glass he held firmly in his ageing hand. 

“You're not afraid of being reductive, are you son?.” Rodney Seresin was a hard man to understand, he showed little empathy towards others or emotion in general. Jake had never even seen the man drink anything beside single malt scotch. “I doubt you have more fear than the average asshole who decides to get hitched.” The almost self deprecating follow up did little to soothe the frown etched almost permanently onto Jake's face whenever he was around his father. “If anything you seem pretty fearless walking headstrong into a marriage that will surely end up on some poor clerks desk just waiting to be stamped as null and void.” Jake couldn’t find the right words to say as he watched Rodney take a swig of the amber liquor that would surely give the bastard liver cancer at some stage. But Jake mustard up the first few that came to mind. 

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough to drink pops, you’re projecting your own fears about love onto me, on my wedding day.” Jake had a lot of big emotions about his father. Deep down Jake wanted him to be proud of the man he’d become, especially on his wedding day. But Jake also knew, after some pretty intense therapy sessions, that his father’s approval never really meant anything. 

“Oh please, everyone’s scared of love dipshit—you learn that in your twenties, or at least I did anyway.” Jake's father grumbled as he went about pouring himself another drink. Only this time he reached for another glass to pour Jake one too. “It takes a special kind of lunacy to not be afraid of happiness and my boy do you fit the bill.” 

“That’s so dumb—“ Jake scoffed, he wasn’t about to stand here and listen to a cranky old man project his beliefs, he’d done that all throughout his childhood whenever his father made comments about his mother only being good for two things. Those two things eventually evolved into three once Jake was old enough for the ‘birds and the bees’ talk. 

“No you’re dumb and that’s exactly why you aren’t afraid of happiness.” Rodney huffed. “The smarter you are the more you know, happiness is a fucking trap that can’t and won’t ever last forever.”

“That woman out there is about to be my wife—“ Jake argued as he tried to contain his rage. The vein in his neck throbbed as he clenched his jaw and balled his fist to maintain his control. This guy wasn’t worth it, he never had been and never would be and the last thing Jake ever wanted was to be any way, shape, or form like his father. “You don’t get to tell me I won’t be happy marrying the woman I love, who I’ve been in love with since the first time I saw her. The woman, who mind you, is one of the most intelligent people I know, loves me for me! Without the goddamn last name or family values, she loves me for me which is something that you wouldn’t understand.” Jake would never forget this, that on his wedding day or all days his father felt it was necessary to get up on his soap box. “You’re unbelievable—“ 

“You really think that some aspiring author who’s biggest accomplishment is working a full time position at the local bookstore is the love of your life?” Rodney asked with enough conviction in his tone that Jake thought for a moment it was a genuine question—but as always it was used to mask a dig at your chosen profession. The real question was if Jake loved you for you, the answer would always be wholeheartedly. 

“I’ve experienced more love knowing Y/n these last few years than you ever had with Ma and as much as I hate that for her I’m glad she doesn’t give two shits about you.” Jake argued, the anger had materialised across his face in a deep shade of red. 

“Jacob, even if you consider this girl to be the love of your life It’s still going to end.” Jake stepped a little further forward to close some distance between himself and his father. The older man reached out to extend the amber liquid to his only son. The disappointment, the mistake. Jake reluctantly accepted the vessel. “It's inevitable, whether it be by the slow pull of disease, or the shock of loose footing on a hiking trail.” Rodney grumbled on as he eyed his son down trying to make a point that this day for Jake would eventually be as meaningless as his existence. “Or perhaps in your case it’ll be the corrosion of two different personalities that reshape each other until they’re no longer compatible.” 

“You’re just a cranky old bastard aren’t you?” Jake couldn’t think of anything else to say to his father as his groomsmen filed back into the room all laughing and ready to lead Jake out to the ceremony. 

“Maybe, but I’m a bastard with a point—happiness always ends.” Rodney smirked. “Think about it, the best case scenario, son, is that you both die at the same time.” Jake felt like he couldn’t breathe as his best man slapped his hands on his suited up shoulders. They’d just gotten back from their own first look with you. Some still had tears in their eyes. You were just that beautiful. 

“You ready man? It’s time.” Jake looked down at the drink in his hand his father had poured him before he took the entirety of the amber liquid he hoped one day would be the reason for his father’s demise in his mouth. The eye contact between father and son never broke as Jake swallowed without a fuss. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

***~***~***~***~***~

The Oncology ward was never your favourite place, hell it was never a place you thought you’d have to frequent, but the copious amounts of Christmas decorations that lined the halls and boarded the nurses station, put a smile to your weary face. Those decorations hadn't been there the last time you met with your oncologist to discuss your treatment plan. That meeting had felt like a lifetime go, but in reality it was only a mere few weeks. 

“Okay so this is your room.” One of the nurses that had helped admit you as a patient to Rhode Island Hospital oncology ward smiled behind you as you and your mum carried your bags into the room. “Try to make yourself at home, we find that the more homely people make their room the easier the stay is.” 

She was young, fresh out of college and still had those brown baby eyes that looked like they just wanted to save every person she came into contact with. High hopes that would soon come to realise that in life you couldn’t save everyone. Lydia was her name, or so the badge credentials that hung from her scrub top told you.  

“Will do.” You smiled, nothing would make this easier. Nothing about this entire situation was or would be easy. 

Lydia left you and your mother alone to settle your things, knowing you were about to spend a your holidays couped up in a hospital room made your heart ache for the holiday memories where your children were opening presents under the tree as you and Jake drank coffee spiked with Baileys at six am in the afternoon. 

The ever looming crisis of impending death always made you wonder if last Christmas would be your last Christmas with your little family. It made you wonder if you’d ever get to spend a holiday like this with them again. Lucy and Lennox would turn seven in February, Samuel would be three in August, it dawned on you as you placed your toiletries in the bathroom, would you get to see your children grow? Watch them fall in love for the first time, learn new skills, develop into adults, get married, graduate. All the things you wanted to see as a mother. 

“Where do you want me to put these?” Your mother called out as you turned around to see her holding up a string of multicoloured Christmas lights. You frowned at the woman who had been there for you through thick and thin with her childlike mannerisms and christmas cheer. 

“Mum, why do you have Christmas lights?” You sighed softly like you were trying to be brave and take all of this on the chin. 

“I thought that the least I could do would be to help decorate your room, you are in here over the holidays afterall, why not spend some time decorating while you can?” She beamed as she took you under her arm and wrapped her arm around your shoulders. “Brought you a little Christmas tree too.” 

“You didn’t have to do that—“ You appreciated the festive atmosphere though and knew over the coming days that you’d appreciate the warmth even more. Right now though all you wanted to do was sleep. 

“I know, but you’re my baby—“ She whispered back softly as you both looked around the blank space, the sterile environment that was about to be your home for the next three weeks at the minimum. “So I reckon we put them all the way around the room.”

“It’s gonna look like the first season of stranger things in here.” You chuckled which quickly turned into a throaty cough your mother frowned in worry over, but you reassured her you were fine once you caught your breath. “I’m fine, promise—“ The world felt off for a split second. Like tunnel vision was threatening to take you hostage out of nowhere–a blackening darkness loomed behind your eyes as spotted fragments came and left in the space of a few seconds. “Woah, that was a little odd.” 

“Sweetheart?” Your mothers eyes nearly popped out of her head when she realised what was happening. “Do you feel okay?” It was a hard question to answer, it always had been. But right now it was harder than ever. 

“I’m a little light headed, why?” It wasn’t anything unusual, but with the way your mum was staring at you like you’d just grown another head from your shoulder made you think it was something more serious. “Mum?” Something was off as you stood trying to figure out what was going on, your body felt weird, like a tingling sensation had tickled its way across your skin. 

“The left side of your face is drooping.” Your mother explained as she put the lights down on your bed. “Your cheek is–”

“What?” You asked nearly in disbelief at her reaction to face slightly drooping opposed to your right. “What are you even talking about?” 

“I’m getting the nurse, I think somethings wrong, I think you're having a stroke.” This couldn’t be happening, what more could life throw at you? First a breast cancer diagnosis and now a fucking stroke? “Stay here.”

“I’m literally admitted! Where do you think I’m going to go!” Your voice followed your mother out towards the nurses station as you tried to take a few steps, that’s when you realised though that the entire left side of your body had gone numb and tingly. “Oh god—“ Panic soon set in as you took a seat on your hospital bed. Tears flooded your eyes as an immense wave of anger and despair erupted out of your soul. 

This wasn’t fair. None of it was. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Dad!! Push me higher!” Lenny laughed as Jake pushed him on the swing set in the backyard of his family’s home. 

“Any higher and you’ll do a loop around man.” Jake chuckled but he obliged by his son's wishes and gave him a little more of a chesty send off when the swing carrying his son came back his way. 

More of the Seresins spending Christmas and new years at home had since arrived and the festivities were well and truly underway. Jake watched as the sun set below the rolling hills along the horizon as his mothers festoon lights illuminated the back deck. They reminded him of Penny’s, the ones that always made the Hard Deck balcony seem so much brighter. 

“When mum told me Y/n wasn’t coming this year I thought she was lying.” Jasmine called out as she made her way across the backyard to where Jake stood playing with his two boys. Sammy sat by his leg fixated on the tonka truck Jake swore was gonna leave the biggest bruise on his shin if the kid kept ramming it into him. “What’s going on with you two?” 

“You know—“ Jake groaned, he was just about over the question as much as you were. Everyone knew, it wasn’t a secret Jake kept close to his chest. He knew he fucked his marriage up, he knew he was the problem. But it didn’t help when everyone asked what was going on between the pair of you over and over and over again. 

It was like opening up an old wound over and over again. Watching the infection spread, watching the tissue decay and slapping a gauze on it hoping that it’ll heal in time. 

But as you pointed out, time didn’t always heal old wounds and you were still very much healing from the damage Jake had caused when he lost focus and sight of the things that mattered most to him. 

He didn’t realise you were gone until you had locked the door behind you and taken the key. 

“I just thought it was a rough patch. I didn't think you guys wouldn’t spend Christmas together.” Jasmine Seresin was the youngest daughter of all the Seresin Siblings and Jake's most fearsome protector. She was always in his corner ready to go into bat for him just as much as Jake was for her. “What’s she doing anyway?” Jake assumed it was because of their close age gap, Jasmine always said it was because Jake couldn't throw a solid punch to save himself.

“Uh she’s going on a trip to Banff—“ Jake continued to push Lenny on the swing set his uncle had built over thirty years ago. It was a ridiculous thing with its over the top attachments and its stainless steel finishing. The slide used to burn the crap out of your ass if you went down the thing in the midsummer Texas heat. But it was still good as it was the first day Jake and his sisters took it for its very first spin. Now he was a dad, pushing his son on that same damn swing he cried on when he scuffed his knee playing tag. “Some friend's trip she was invited on.” Jake wished he knew more but he never wanted to pry. You had a private life now he wasn't privy to. “She hasn’t really told me much about it and I didnt wanna ask in case she thought I was being controlling.” 

“Oh.” Jasmine had to stop herself from saying what she was thinking straight off the top of her head, but Jake knew her better than that. He could practically see the cogs in her brain twisting and turning and working together to formulate her next opinion. 

“Say it—“ Jake encouraged. “Go on, I know you want to.” 

“It’s just Banff can be awfully romantic this time of year and all.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to tell my ex husband about a new fling that’s taking me to Banff for Christmas either.” 

“I wonder how the conversation will go when she tells that guys she fucked said ex husband the night before she flew out then.” Jake smirked as he pushed his son a little higher to hear his screams of joy as Jasmine cupped her hand over her wide open mouth. “I don’t think there’s a guy.” 

“Holy shit you two are so getting back together.” 

“If mum had it her way I’d be divorced six ways till Sunday and have an open day down at the church for potential candidates she approves of.” Jake couldn’t have rolled his eyes any harder as Jasmine groaned and rubbed her temples. 

“You’re her baby boy Jake, she’s obsessed with you—god she never did like Y/n all that much did she?” 

“Nah—and I honestly think this whole separation has just made her delusional self more delusional.” 

“I don’t want you two losing sight of the love you have for each other because of a rough patch.” Jasmine nearly warned as she bumped Jake's hip with her own. “You're too pig-headed sometimes.” 

“Funny, I’ve got a wingwoman who says the same damn thing.”

“Sounds like my kinda gal.” Jake had to scoff at the idea that immediately popped into his mind. Phoenix was very much his sister's type and he knew that. 

“You tell mum about Racheal yet?” What Janeen Seresin didn’t know about her youngest daughter was that she and her husband Eric, who stood grilling away with Jake's father, had recently decided that monogamy just wasn’t their thing. Racheal had started off as a babysitter for the couple's two kids, ten year old Stacey and eight year old Lewis. When Jake found out that Jasmine was bisexual he didn’t blink and eye, but he did spit his beer all over Rooster when she told him she and Eric where both happily fucking the nanny. Sometimes together. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? She’s already on the verge of an eruption over one of her kids on the brink of no fault divorce, could you imagine what would happen if I came out at the family Christmas party?” Jake just chuckled and shook his head pretending like he didn’t already know it would end in disaster. “I’d meet our ancestors Jake, all the way back to pre colonial times my guy, you’re my scapegoat right now.” 

“Happy to be of assistance.” Jake just laughed at his sister's chaos. He watched with a smile half the size of his face as she turned to walk off. Not before she turned around and gave the most obnoxious salute she could have. 

“Appropriate your service, Lieutenant.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Your daughter’s going under for a procedure we call a thrombectomy to remove the suspected blood clot from inside her artery.” Your mother sat in the waiting area of the emergency surgery floor she’d been escorted to once you had been whisked away. “Luckily for her we caught this so early she should have practically no defecates depending on how the surgery goes.” 

First your separation, then your breast cancer diagnosis and now a stroke, what more could you possibly have to deal with. 

“What caused it? She's been rather sick the last few days, throwing up, not sleeping, eating.” Your mother explained to the resident who had come out to update her on your status. “She's already dealing with so much.” 

“Unfortunately this isn't uncommon in young woman who go through severe bouts of stress, i've read your daughter's file and its safe to say that the clot was probably due to her current oral chemo, plus a combination of high stress from the diagnosis, her blood pressure and her bodies inability to sustain proper nutrients, it's a perfect storm for these sorts of things.” It made sense but the explanation didn't make the outcome of the situation you were facing any easier for your mother to handle. “Rest assured your daughter is in really good hands and the fact she was already inside the hospital when the stroke started to manifest itself means her chances of a full recovery are rather high.” 

“But now she’ll just live long enough to slowly deteriorate and be taken by the cancer, won't she?” Your mother wouldn't ever admit it to you, but the phone call where you told her that you had been diagnosed with Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma, was one of the worst days of her life. The first being the day your father and the love of her life died far too young far too quickly. “My daughter is strong, Doctor Phillips, but she's just one woman, how much is she expected to be dealt before she gives up.” 

Doctor Phillips, the resident who had been tasked with updating your mother, just flashed her a look of sympathy laced in professionalism that truly showed a testament to her ability to not let her own feelings get in the way of her patients and their families. 

“Let's take this one step at a time, Miss O’riley.” She added politely before saying goodbye and left your mother to sit in silence watching the clock tick, although she didn't take her eyes off the clock on the wall for a mere second, time still felt like it stood still while you were on that operating table.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

The day had been long, overdrawn, and full of mindless family drama over dinner on the back deck the first night Jake and the kids were in Texas. One night down only.. “Oh God–” Jake groaned as he finally let his head rest on the pillow and realised he would be here for a full two weeks before he could escape the family he never wanted to be anything alike. 

The kids had gone down relatively easy with little to no tears, Lucy was a little upset that you never called like you said you would and Jake was slightly concerned that you never returned his calls or texts. However he also understood you didn't owe him a damn thing and for all he knew, you were still up in the air, on your way to the very beginning of what he hoped would be a fantastic kid tree trip. You did after all deserve some time away. 

Jake had thought quickly on his feet before the tears could start though, he told Lucy that you had said you'd call in the morning because you knew that you'd keep her up far too long. He just hoped as his own head hit the pillow that you would in fact call in the morning. 

Ten o'clock seemed rather early to be heading off to bed but Jake needed to reset his mind in order to be able to handle his family for two more weeks. He needed at least a solid eight hours before his sister Abigail joined in on the festivities for tomorrow with her own family. Jake was the only Seresin sibling this year without his partner present and god did he feel like the black sheep. 

What really cemented that fact he was the family disappointment was when his father had handed him a beer and said the only thing he’d spoken to Jake the entire time he’d been home. A quick, monotone “I told you so son, happiness never lasts.” 

His childhood bedroom hadn’t changed a single bit. As Jake laid in the twin bed he lost his virginity in, he listened to the baby monitor that kept a watchful eye on his three kids just down the hall. Little Sammy was sound asleep, Lucy and Lenny thought they were in the clear but they were up talking about whatever it is young twins talk about late at night while they’re visiting their grandparents place. 

Jake wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep but the sound of his phone going off on the small bedside table surely woke him up in enough of a frazzled state to know it had been a few hours, long enough for his body to truly settle into a deep state of rest. 

“Fuck–” Jake growled as he reached up for his phone. “The fuck is–who the hell is–” Jake grumbled as he sat up in the twin bed and tried to remember where he knew that area code from as the unknown number illuminated his phonescreen. “Hello?” It was a last minute decision to answer once Jake had actually seen the time, two thirty in the morning to be exact. 

“Hi, would I be speaking to Mr. Seresin?” Lydia asked politely on the other end of the line, she sat at the nurses station on the ass end of her double shift. A double shift she wasn't supposed to be working. She couldn't feel her feet with how badly they were throbbing, her eyelids were far too heavy to keep up and she hadn’t eaten since noon yesterday, but her patients came first. Lydia Hudson was determined to be the best nurse she could be and that included updating your emergency contact on your post-op recovery. 

“This is he.” Jake replied rather roughly into the phone as he held it to his ear in the darkness of his childhood bedroom. His voice was an octave deeper than it usually was with how tired he was. 

“Hi Jake, this is Lydia calling from Rhode Island Hospital.” It took Jake's brain a moment to catch up to his heart as the women on the other end of the line spoke, but it caught up soon enough. “I'm just calling to let you know how your wife went in her emergent surgery, it seems as though we were able to retrieve the clot before it could cause any irreparable deficits.” Jake frowned as he ran his hand over his face, he wasn't sure what the hell he was listening to but his heart was hammering inside his chest. “There doesn't seem to be any critical deficits at the moment, she's on some pretty intense pain medication but we’re hoping that it won't interfere with her upcoming Mastectomy and chemotherapy sessions.” 

“Im–I'm sorry, do you have the wrong number?” Jake questioned. “You said my wife?” 

“Y/n Seresin?, I’m so sorry if no one had updated you sooner, but while she was setting up her room in oncology she suffered a moderate stroke we think was brought on by the–” 

“Oncology meaning?” Jake was beginning to break out in a sweat as his heart raced. No, no you were supposed to be on a plane to Banff, you should have been in Calgary by now. 

“The cancer ward–?” Lydia replied. “Mr. Seresin you do know your wife was admitted for stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma, right?” Lydia frowned as she read over your notes again trying to understand why the man she had just called, your husband, didn’t seem to know a damn thing about your situation. “She was just put through admission today when she–” Lydia paused when she saw it, your actual emergency contact. It wasn’t Jake Seresin who was listed as your emergency contact on your paperwork, but your mother who was currently sitting at your bedside watching your chest move up and down post your operation. “Oh my god–” 

“Y/n—“ Jake couldn’t make sense of what he’d just been told. “Has cancer? My wife Y/n has cancer?” Jake had to say it out loud for the realisation to kick in. “She has cancer? My wife had a stroke? What the hell is–” 

“Mr. Seresin I’m so unbelievably sorry but I can’t share any more details with you under HIPAA, I’ve just realised you weren’t listed as your wife’s emergency contact.” 

“She has cancer? My Y/n has cancer?” The vomiting, the flu that Lucy said you had had for weeks now, how tired you looked, it all made sense. “Oh god—“ Jake felt the tears spilling down his cheeks as he jumped out of his childhood bed and hit the light switch. “No, oh god no.” He felt like he was going to throw up as he rummaged through his duffle for a clean shirt and shorts. “How long has she known?” The call, the need for Jake to take the kids, the way you wouldn't even give him a chance to right his wrongs, divorce…. “How long has she known for?” 

“I’m so sorry Jake, I can’t share any more details with you.” Lydia apologised before she began to panic and hung up the phone, leaving Jake in his newest existential crisis. 

Jake had to go, he had to get back to you, why the fuck would you not tell him this? How long have you known? How long did you have left even? What was your prognosis? Jake had so many questions that were left unanswered as he changed and grabbed his wallet. He was booking the next available flight back to Rhode Island as he shoved all his stuff back into his duffel bag. 

The kids would have to stay—oh god the kids. Your kids. No. No this wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. Jake felt his heart racing as he silently cried in the middle of his childhood bedroom. His hand came to cover his mouth, minimising his cries to a silent but painful whale. He couldn’t lose you like this. What did that nurse mean when she said you had a stroke? 

But out of everything Jake had been told he knew one thing for sure as he tried to pull himself together off the floor and get back to you as soon as he could. 

That there never had been a Banff trip planned.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional l @jessicab1991 91 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove ve @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus

[pufflyhallows]

The Tryouts

Pairing: Oliver Wood x reader

Request: @cokecola4211 Harry Potter imagine Oliver flirts with Harry sister at the Gryffindor warm up tryouts. / Harry Potter imagine the reader is Harry sister and Oliver tries asking the reader out to.

a/n: sorry for taking so long!

Warnings: none.

Word count: 1,6k

You were excited.

It was the quidditch tryouts and the Gryffindor team was looking for a new chaser to replace Katie Bell. Your younger brother was already on the team and that made you even more excited. It would be fun to play alongside him, representing your house and also your family. You liked to think your dad would be proud of both of his kids. So, needless to say, this was important to you.

You woke up extra early to have breakfast and meet with Harry, who was already in the Great Hall with the rest of the team and a few other students who were maybe just early birds. Or maybe they were there for the tryouts too. You hoped it was the former.

“Nervous?” he asked as you sat down beside him.

“Good morning to you too,” you said. “And no, I am not.”

“So your sister will be trying?” Fred Weasley asked from across the table. “I reckon it will be a tight dispute.”

“Why? Is there no room for another set of siblings?” you inquired back.

“I’m just saying there will be a lot of people trying this year.”

“Again, why?”

“Well, we always have more than a few contestants,” George Weasley explained. “But this is Oliver’s last season. He’s been encouraging nearly everyone to try their chance. He wants to win the cup.”

You looked over at Oliver Wood, the team’s captain, who was sitting a few seats away from you, drinking from his glass of juice, seemingly clueless to the conversation.

“Oh,” you said, “Then he should let me in. I’ve been training all summer.”

“Some people have been training all their lives,” Angelina Johnson fired back.

“I didn’t have that opportunity,” you answered, leaving her uncomfortable. Harry smirked.

“Sorry”, she said.

“Well, I’m rooting for ya,” Fred said as he and George stood up, “It’d be cool to have another Potter on the team.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at him.

“Don’t get too excited,” Harry warned as the twins left, “There will be a lot of people.”

“That’s a lot of faith you have in me, brother.”

“C’mon, team,” Oliver Wood suddenly said as he stood up, “I would like to practice a bit before the other students get there.”

Harry, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson prepared to follow him.

“Can I come?” you asked Harry, who shrugged.

“Ask Oliver.”

For God’s sake, you thought.

“Hum, Oliver?” you called and the boy, who was already leaving, turned around. He looked at you as if he didn’t expect to see you there.

“Yes?”

“Can I come? I know the tryouts are at 8 and it’s still 7, but I would like to watch you guys practice.”

“You’re up this early for the tryouts?” he asked. You looked at Harry, who shrugged again.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“Hm, I like your readiness,” he said, “Let’s go.”

You smiled, thinking that maybe you had gained a few points already. You grabbed whatever you could to eat on the pitch and followed the others.

It wasn’t too hot outside, and soon you made your way to the stands. The team gathered in the center of the pitch, brooms in hand, and you could see that Oliver was talking to them, probably telling them what they were going to be doing today. You took a bite of your ham sandwich and sat back to watch as they flew away.

Harry was going to practice by himself, as usual, while Alicia and Angelina practiced shooting the Quaffle at Oliver, who was at the goalposts. Fred and George practiced with each other.

Normally, you would watch your brother, but something was drawing your attention towards Oliver Wood. He was the captain. He was the one you needed to impress. And that was his last year at Hogwarts, which meant you really needed to impress him. That finally made you nervous, something you weren’t before.

Angelina managed to grab the Quaffle from Alicia and flew towards Oliver, who had his eyes fixed upon the ball. You felt your heart start to beat faster with excitement to see him defend. Angelina threw the Quaffle at the first goalpost, and Oliver raced to his right, stretching his arm out and touching the ball with his fingertips, just enough to get it out of its way to the goal. You smiled. And suddenly Oliver had his eyes on you. He had a proud look on his face and seemed satisfied to know that you had seen that.

Then, your eyes were back on your brother, your cheeks slightly warmer. You spent the rest of the practice paying attention to him, while he chased the Snitch again and again, catching it every time. You wished your dad could see him now.

Oliver called the team back to the center of the pitch, and everyone got down from their brooms. They talked a little bit and then Harry waved at you, telling you to go there. You pointed at yourself as if to say ‘me?’ and he motioned ‘come here’ again. You stood up and got down from the stand, entering the pitch and walking towards them.

“Practice with us,” Harry said as soon as you approached them.

“Right now?” you asked, surprised.

“Yes. Right now. Go get a broom.”

“Give me a lift,” you asked and he rolled his eyes, but got on his broom anyway. You got on the back and you both flew to the locker room, where you picked a broom to use.

“But hey, why am I practicing with you guys before the others?” you asked, curious.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged for the third time that morning, “It was Oliver’s idea.”

“Hm,” you thought. Oliver’s idea. Maybe he wanted to see if the other Potter was just as good? Either way, you couldn’t not think that you were getting a little advantage over the others.

Once you were back on the pitch, Oliver approached you.

“I want you to work against Alicia and Angelina, okay? You’re on the opposite team. They’ll try to take the Quaffle from you and you won’t let them. Then, you’ll shoot at me. Understood?”

“Understood,” you replied, slightly nervous.

He handed you the Quaffle and everyone got on their brooms, flying high in the air. You followed. When everyone was on their positions, Oliver whistled. It had started. On your left, Alicia came flying fast, Angelina was on your right. You quickly flew down below them, making them almost collide on each other. Before they could recover, you were already flying fast towards the second goalpost, where Oliver was.

You flew as close as you could, and then threw the ball at the first goalpost, but Oliver was just as fast as you, and caught the Quaffle before it could go through.

“Damn it!” you shouted. Oliver smiled, spinning the ball in his hand.

“So close,” he said, “But not close enough,” then he winked at you.

“Let’s do it again,” you challenged, feeling flustered with that wink.

“Sure thing.”

Oliver gave Alicia the ball and told her she would be in your place now, with you and Angelina working together.

He whistled and it started. Alicia went to your left as fast as she could, and you followed, but suddenly she moved to the right, faster than you could tail her. You spun in the air trying to catch her, but she was gone. Angelina was right behind her, though, so you flew towards Oliver, already predicting Angelina’s next move. The chase was spectacular, with both girls going up and down. But much to Alicia’s dislike, Angelina was faster, and soon grabbed the ball from her hands. You were in the right position, close to the first goalpost, with Oliver flying in front of the middle one, but still closer to you. Angelina, then, threw the Quaffle over to you, and you caught it just fine, flying straight to the first goal. As soon as Oliver moved to his right, you shot the ball with your whole strength to the third goalpost, past him, who wasn’t quick enough to try and catch it. You scored a goal.

“Yes!” you shouted, quite happy with yourself.

“Well done,” Oliver said in an admiring tone, “Not bad at all. Let’s do it again!”

This time, Angelina was alone against you and Alicia. Through teamwork, Alicia almost scored a goal, but Oliver was able to catch it. He then called everyone to the center of the pitch once again.

“We’ll do the tryouts as a formality, but I think we have our new chaser right here,” Oliver announced.

You looked over at Harry, who was smiling. The rest of team cheered and congratulated you.

“Are you serious?” you asked in disbelief.

“Of course I am,” he said, “I know talent when I see it. And you definitely have it, Ms. Potter.”

You smiled at him and thanked everyone.

“We can take five to rest!” Oliver said to the team, and most of them left the pitch, except for you and him.

“What happens when we do the tryouts and you realize there’s someone better than me?” you asked sincerely.

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” he replied with the same sincerity.

“How can you be so sure? I mean, this was my first practice.”

“And you scored a goal against people who have been playing competitively for years. Look, Y/N, I see talent in you. And even more, I see potential. I can see a good future for you in this team. With more practice and training, who knows what you’ll be able to achieve? I have faith in you.”

“Wow,” you smiled, “Thank you.”

“But I can definitely tell you more about it over a cup of tea.”

“W-What?” you blushed.

“A cup of tea. Me and you. What do you think?” he asked, hopeful.

“I… Sure. Yeah, a cup of tea,” you smiled.

“It’s a date.”