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writer-freak · 3 months ago

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Asking you out | Valo men x Gn reader

Characters: Gekko, Chamber, Sova, Yoru, Phoenix, Cypher, Omen, Brimstone, Kay/o and Habor

Warning: Gn reader, fluff, maybe ooc, english isn't my first language

A/n: I decided to go back to my roots and write some headcanons for Valorant. Haven't written for them in some time and I'm not up to date with the current lore so sorry for inaccuracies

Thank you for reading and Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

Gekko

Gekko is usually chill, so he’d be more low-key when asking you out.

One day you’re hanging out, Wingman chilling on your lap, and he just casually drops it

“Yo, maybe we should, like, go out on an official date?”

He’s trying to seem nonchalant, but the way he scratches the back of his head gives his nervousness away

When you agree, he lights up, his eyes wide with excitement and a big smile on his face

“Sick! Let’s grab something to eat!”

He’d definitely text his mom right after and would update her on how everything went

Chamber

Chamber has always been smooth, always flirting like it’s second nature

But when he asks you out, it’s a bit different

You’re used to his flirty remarks, but this time, after a successful mission, he walks up and asks

“If we succeed today, how about we celebrate together? Maybe dinner, just the two of us?”

His usual cockiness is a bit toned down, and there’s a vulnerability showing in his voice making it obvious he actually cares about your answer.

When you say yes, he recovers quickly with a grin, “I’ll consider that a victory, then.”

Sova

Sova is more straightforward and doesn’t really beat around the bush

After a long mission, he’d find you alone, pulling you aside. “You know I value you more than just a teammate, right?”

He’s nervous, but he says it calmly, watching for your reaction

If you tease him about being a softy, he’d chuckle, cheeks flushing slightly, before responding

“Perhaps I am soft… but only for you.” He’ll suggest something outdoorsy as a first date, like a quiet night under the stars, just something close to nature

Yoru

Yoru’s got a reputation for being cocky, and he’d play into that even while asking you out

“I heard you’ve been into me for a while now?” he’d say, smirking, trying to act cool

He’s testing the waters, but there’s a slight hesitation as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll reject him or call out his bluff

When you agree, he’ll act like it was no big deal, “Yeah, thought so,”

But then, his smirk softens slightly, and he looks at you more seriously. “So, how about we make it official? I’m asking you out—me and you, a proper date.”

If you agree, he’ll play it off cool, but you’d still catch the pink on his cheeks before he quickly changes the subject

Phoenix

Phoenix doesn’t like wasting time, so he’d ask you out while you’re the two of you were joking around together.

“Hey, let’s stop messing around and go out for real,” he’d say, flashing that bright grin.

“I’m serious though. Gonna be the best date of your life, I promise.”

His usual confidence is there, but you can tell he’s nervous from the way he messes with his jacket collar

When you say yes, he practically lights up—“Aight, bet! You won’t regret it.”

Cypher

Cypher’s approach is more subtle

He waits for a moment when it’s just the two of you, maybe working on something together

He’ll lean in slightly and say in a low voice, “I’ve come to enjoy our time together... Perhaps you’d also like something more?”

His tone is cautious watching for your reaction, but you can sense the warmth behind his words

When you agree, he smiles behind his mask

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” he’d say, his voice softer. “How about dinner—just us?”

Omen

Omen is less direct when it comes to asking you out

One evening, after sitting together in silence, he'd hand you something small that he knitted himself

“This is for you.” he’d say in his usual low voice

If you ask him why he was gifting you this, he’d simply reply, “I want to be together with you.”

When you agree, there’s no visible smile, but you’ll feel the shift in his energy, warmth that shows that he is happy you accepted

Brimstone

Brimstone is all about professionalism, so he’d be more cautious about showing public affection.

If you’re already close, he might approach you after a mission, saying, “I’ve been thinking… maybe we should spend more time together outside of work.”

He’s straightforward, and his voice is calm, ready to accept your rejection

If you agree, he will give you a small smile.

“Glad to hear it. Let’s keep it between us for now, though.” He’s the type to plan something simple but meaningful—dinner at his place, maybe

KAY/O

KAY/O is logical, and while he’s sentient, human emotions can be tricky for him

He’d approach you one day, saying, “I have observed our interactions. I believe it would be beneficial to further explore this connection.”

It’s a bit robotic, but you can tell he’s trying

If you agree, he’d probably show a small heart symbol on his display, acknowledging the sentiment behind it

“Thank you. I will strive to meet your expectations,” he’d add, with a surprising amount of sincerity

Harbor

Harbor’s positive energy is contagious, and he’d be warm and positive when asking you out.

“You know, we always have a good time together,” he’d say with that bright smile of his.

“How about we make it official? Let me take you out properly.”

He’s all about showing affection, and if you agree, he’ll be beaming.

“You won’t regret it. I’ve got some amazing plans for us.”

He would make sure your first date is filled with fun and laughter

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

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onebadassunicorn · 13 days ago

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His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: talk of mutilation (clipping of wings)

word count: 4.7k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho, @tiredsleepyhead, @tele86

***************

Chapter 4

Y/n POV

The morning sunlight bathed Velaris in a soft golden glow, illuminating the city’s vibrant streets and sparkling waters. I stood at the front of the House of Wind, my dark, feathered wings tucked neatly behind me as I waited for Azriel. A faint breeze tugged at my hair, carrying with it the faint hum of the city waking up below.

I must admit…it was nice not to have to glamour my wings while in Velaris. I felt a sense of hope, like I could be myself without having to worry about what others might think of me and want to take from me.

I glanced up when I heard the sound of boots against stone, my eyes meeting Azriel’s as he approached. He was dressed simply, his wings tucked against his back, but there was an unmistakable air of quiet confidence about him. His hazel eyes locked on mine.

“Good morning,” Azriel said, his voice low and steady.

“Morning,” I replied with a small smile, adjusting the strap of the satchel slung over my shoulder. “Ready when you are.”

Azriel nodded, gesturing toward the cliffside path that led down into the city. “We’ll start at the Sidra,” he said, his tone businesslike. “It’s the heart of Velaris. From there, we’ll see the Rainbow and the markets.”

I followed him as we began our descent, the city sprawling out below them like a painting. The air was crisp, the sunlight catching the rooftops and cobblestones in a way that made everything seem impossibly vibrant. I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of it, my wings twitching slightly as I took it all in.

“It’s… beautiful,” I whispered, taking in all the sights and sounds of the city.

Azriel’s lips twitched slightly, the faintest hint of a smile. “It is,” he agreed, his hazel eyes flicking to mine briefly before returning to the path ahead. “Velaris is more than just a city. It’s a sanctuary. A place where people can feel safe.”

As we reached the Sidra, the river sparkled in the morning light, its gentle currents reflecting the colors of the sky. I paused, my gaze sweeping over the water and the bustling streets along its banks. Vendors were setting up their stalls, the scent of fresh bread and flowers filling the air.

“This is the Sidra,” Azriel said, stopping beside me. “It runs through the heart of Velaris. A lot of life here revolves around it.”

I nodded, my eyes lingering on the water. “It reminds me of the Summer Court,” I said softly. “The way the water seems to hold the light.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to me, his expression softening slightly. “You’ll find that Velaris has its own kind of light,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s subtle, but it’s always there.”

They continued walking, Azriel leading me through the winding streets of the Rainbow. The colors of the artist’s quarter were vivid and lively, the walls adorned with murals, and the air filled with the sound of musicians tuning their instruments. I stopped to admire a mural of a phoenix, my lips curving into a faint smile.

“Do you like art?” Azriel asked, his tone neutral but his eyes watchful.

“I do,” I replied, tracing the edge of the mural with my gaze. “My mother used to paint when she had the time. I always found it fascinating—the way colors can tell a story.”

Azriel nodded. “The Rainbow is where Velaris’s artists thrive,” he said. “If you ever want to explore it further, you’ll find no shortage of inspiration here.”

We moved on to the markets, where the lively chatter of vendors and shoppers filled the air. My gaze darted from one stall to the next, my curiosity evident as I stopped to examine a table of intricate jewelry. I picked up a bracelet made of woven silver and tiny sea-blue stones, my fingers brushing over the delicate design. A wave of memories of home and my brother, Tarquin, swept through me.

“It suits you,” Azriel said quietly, standing just behind me.

I glanced at him, my cheeks warming slightly at the unexpected compliment. “It reminds me of home,” I said softly, setting the bracelet back down. “The ocean.”

Azriel’s hazel eyes lingered on me for a moment, something unspoken passing between them before he looked away. “There’s more to see,” he said, his voice steady. “Come on.”

As we continued our tour, I found myself relaxing more, the beauty of Velaris and Azriel’s quiet presence easing the tension I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. And though Azriel kept his tone professional, there was a softness in his gestures—a subtle care in the way he adjusted his pace to match mine, in the way he answered my questions with quiet patience.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel had never been one for crowds, but as he stood beside Y/n, he couldn’t help but feel the magnetic pull of the city’s warmth. Velaris, the City of Starlight, was a place of beauty and magic, and even though it was filled with people, it felt intimate with the right company. Today Y/n was that company.

The soft breeze ruffled his dark hair as they walked side by side, and he noticed how she seemed to light up whenever they passed a shop or a stall. Her eyes sparkled with a quiet wonder, a stark contrast to the tension that had often marked her presence before.

Azriel could sense a subtle nervousness in her. He figured she had not been truly this close to people she didn’t know very well. He had always been the quiet shadow, the one who lurked in the background, never quite allowing himself to show the depth of his feelings. But now, with her beside him, he wanted to do more than simply accompany her; he wanted to know her.

“I can see why my brother has fought to protect Velaris and its people.” Y/n murmured, her voice quiet but filled with awe as she looked up at the mountains and sky. Her Illyrian wings fluttered slightly, almost as though they too were entranced by the city’s magic.

Azriel glanced at her, unable to ignore the way the sun seemed to reflect in her eyes, or how her long black hair seemed to shimmer as it caught the sunlight. He could see how she stood taller here—more at ease, more herself, and it made something inside him stir in response.

She looked at him then, her gaze meeting his with a vulnerability he hadn’t expected. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to say something, but instead, she just smiled. Azriel could feel the weight of her thoughts, the storm behind her eyes that she had yet to share with him. He wondered if she had any idea how much he wanted to hear them.

As they moved deeper into the city, they passed an artist’s gallery, and Y/n paused, drawn to the paintings displayed in the window. One caught her attention—a painting of a landscape with sweeping hills and a crashing ocean. She stood there for a moment, her eyes soft and reflective. Azriel watched her in silence, wondering what memories the painting stirred within her. He could sense her hesitation, the guardedness she wore like armor, and he couldn’t help but want to unravel it, piece by piece.

“What is it?” he asked gently, his voice almost too soft, careful not to break the moment.

Y/n glanced at him, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile. “It reminds me of home,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Of the cliffs by the sea. The waves crashing against the rocks… the sky always so wide. It was where I felt most... free.”

Azriel didn’t speak for a long time, letting her words hang in the air between them. He only knew things about her past that Tarquin had mentioned, but nothing beyond that. But in that moment, he understood something important. Her beauty wasn’t just in the way she looked, in the way her wings spread so gracefully behind her. It was in the quiet depth of her experiences, the things she had lost, the parts of herself she still carried with her.

“I didn’t know that about you,” Azriel said softly, stepping closer, his voice uncharacteristically open. “But I think I’d like to know more.”

Y/n turned toward him, her eyes searching his face, as though she were trying to read him in the same way. “You’re not what I expected,” she said, her tone thoughtful, as if she were still trying to reconcile this new version of him. “I always thought you were just... shadows. But you’re not like that, are you?”

Azriel gave a slight smile, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “No,” he admitted quietly. “I’m not. But I’ve spent so much of my life hiding, I’m not used to letting people in.”

She nodded, her expression softening as if she understood, and for a moment, there was a shared understanding between them—a recognition of the walls they both carried. It made Azriel feel both vulnerable and exposed, but also strangely at peace.

“I get that,” she said, her voice steady, yet there was something deeper in it, something that felt like a promise. “But sometimes, letting someone in is the only way to heal.”

***************

Azriel POV

The quiet walk through Velaris became something of an unspoken conversation between them. They didn’t need to fill every moment with words. Their shared silences, the way their steps fell in sync with one another, said more than any conversation could. Y/n’s presence, her beauty, the vulnerability that she wore like a second skin, all seemed to pull him closer, as though every step brought them just a little bit closer to understanding one another.

And when they finally reached the Heart of the City, standing near the glowing fountains, Y/n turned to him with a quiet smile, and for the first time in a long while, Azriel felt a sense of peace settle in his chest. They hadn’t spoken much, but somehow, in this place, with her beside him, he felt as though he had finally started to understand her—and perhaps, she was starting to understand him too.

Y/n broke the silence first.

"Summer Court," she began, her voice softer now, almost as if she were saying the words out loud for the first time. "Is always warm. The sun never truly sets, not in the way it does here." She paused, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. "The air smells like saltwater, flowers, and sunshine. And the beaches... the beaches are golden. Endless stretches of sand where the sky and the sea seemed to melt together. It is a place of peace. My peace."

“I decided to accept Rhysand’s offer to come to Velaris because I was scared,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion. “I was scared of being trapped in a world where I couldn’t be myself. But even now, I wonder if I made the right choice.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I don’t really know if I’ll ever be able to return there—if I even want to. I just don’t know where I truly belong, Azriel. My family, my being an Illyrian female with different wings and strangely-colored eyes... it’s just not simple.”

Azriel stayed silent, letting her words settle between them. He could feel her heart laid bare before him, the raw vulnerability she had never shared with anyone else.

Azriel’s gaze softened as he reached out, his hand brushing against hers in a gesture of quiet comfort. He could feel the weight of her emotions, the complexity of her feelings for Tarquin, for her home, and for the place she had left behind. It wasn’t just a story about a family divided; it was about the struggle between who she had been and who she was still becoming.

"You don't have to return to Summer Court. You can stay in Velaris with your family if you choose. Azriel said softly, his voice carrying the depth of his understanding. "And you don’t have to carry this alone. Whatever it is, whatever is weighing on you, you don’t have to face it by yourself. You have a family here now too that will help you with that decision whenever you’re ready."

Y/n’s voice dropped to a whisper, as though the very memory of her past had the power to unravel her. Azriel, always patient, stood silently beside her, the weight of her words pulling at him.

“My mother...” she began, her gaze distant, her tone weighted with grief. “She did what she had to do to protect me.”

Azriel didn’t press her to go further, knowing she would share in her own time. Instead, he gave her the quiet space to breathe, to find her voice.

“She knew what they would do if they found me in Illyria,” Y/n continued, her voice trembling slightly.

“They didn’t know what to do with me when I was born,” Y/n stated, her gaze fixing on the ground as if she could still feel the weight of that rejection, that fear. “My wings... my wings were nothing like theirs. Theirs were strong, broad, designed for battle, but mine... mine were different. They were smaller, more fragile. My mother told me they were feathered, delicate—like the wings of a bird, not an Illyrian warrior. I could never fly the way they did.”

Azriel could hear the pain in her voice, the hurt of being different, of having something so beautiful and yet so feared. There was nothing wrong with her wings, but he knew the truth of the Illyrian males—they feared what they didn’t understand.

“They thought I was weak,” she continued, her voice hardening with the bitterness she had long kept hidden. “They were afraid that I’d be a liability, something to be ashamed of. There were whispers... about how I wouldn’t be able to fight alongside them. I was just a baby at the time so I don’t recollect it, but my mother told me what was said later on when she came to visit me.” She shook her head, as if the memories were too painful to relive. “My mother, she could see it—she could see the way they looked at me, the way they treated me like I wasn’t one of them.”

Azriel’s fists clenched involuntarily, the surge of anger building within him, but he held it back, not wanting to push her. He could feel her emotions like a shadow, pulling at the edges of his mind, and the truth of what had happened to her—how her very existence had been rejected by her own kind—made him ache for her in a way he hadn’t expected.

“She couldn’t let them hurt me,” Y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper. “So, she did what she thought was the only thing she could. She took me away. Snuck me out of Illyria.”

“She took me to the Summer Court,” she continued, her voice softer now, filled with a kind of reverence that Azriel hadn’t expected. “I was told about my father, the High Lord of the Summer Court and met my half-brother, Tarquin. He was young then, but he was kind. My father along with Tarquin promised her that I would be safe there, that no one would hurt me. And she believed him.” Y/n’s lips trembled slightly.

“My mother had been with him—Tarquin’s father, when he was a High Lord," Y/n said, her voice thick with the pain of the past. "I didn’t know him, not really. He was... well, not the kind of man my mother ever spoke of with affection. She never told me the truth about him, not about the way he treated her, not about anything that had really happened between them. Nothing about him actually, but she kept the secret for years. And she kept me—me, her daughter, from him—so that I would never know who he was until she decided she no longer had a choice. She was terrified of what the Illyrian males would do to me once they saw what I was. She couldn’t risk it. The truth was, they had no place for me, not with wings like mine. They would have taken them from me if they had the chance. It wasn’t just fear—it was what they had done to others who didn’t fit their mold. My mother was afraid that my wings, my difference, would make me a target. And so, she gave me away... sent me away for my own safety. And I grew up for many years without her, only seeing her on visits as she would travel through Summer Court with rescued Illyrian females…”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with a pain Azriel could only imagine. He knew all too well the violence of the Illyrian males, the way they looked down on anything that didn’t fit their strict, unyielding expectations. It was why he, too, had been forced to live in the shadows. But hearing her speak of it—hearing how it had been her wings that had made her a target—cut deeper than anything else.

“You don’t have to explain,” Azriel murmured, his voice gentle as he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over the back of her fingers. “You don’t have to carry this anymore, Y/n. Not alone.”

Y/n gave him a tight, almost fragile smile, and for a moment, Azriel thought she might cry. But she didn’t. Instead, she simply nodded, grateful for his understanding.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she spoke of the next revelation, her voice soft, almost in disbelief as the memories came rushing back, each word wrapped in the quietest sorrow.

“It wasn’t long after I learned about Tarquin’s being my half-brother that my mother... she told me the rest of it on her last visit to Summer Court,” Y/n said, her gaze distant, as though the very memory of it still had the power to freeze her in place. She paused for a moment, gathering the words she’d never thought she would need to say aloud.

Azriel stayed silent, his focus entirely on her, his presence a quiet reassurance as she shared this deeply personal part of herself.

“My mother had always been so careful with her words when it came to Rhysand,” Y/n continued, her voice wavering slightly as if speaking his name caused something ancient to stir within her. “She never spoke of him much. She always referred to him as ‘the prince of the Night Court,’ or ‘the High Lord of the Night Court’—never his name. But one day, when I was older... she couldn’t keep it from me anymore.”

Y/n closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if reliving the pain of that moment. Azriel could see the hesitation, the uncertainty still present in her every movement. The weight of what she was about to reveal was not lost on him.

“My mother... she told me she was his mother. That Rhysand was my half-brother. That she had given birth to him before me.” Her voice grew quiet, almost a whisper now. "It didn’t make sense at first, not to me. When she spoke of him, it was with a quiet reverence I couldn’t understand. But then she told me... she told me that he was born before me, that his father had been the one she had loved—the one she had kept close—and that she had come to love my father, the High Lord of Summer Court, in a different way. And somehow, from that, Rhysand was her firstborn, and I... I came second."

“She told me Rhysand was always meant for greatness, but that he was so much like his father—but also different in so many ways. And when I came along, it was like I was... an afterthought, a piece that didn’t fit. That’s why my mother had to take me away, keep me safe from what would’ve happened to me had I stayed with them.” Her voice dropped lower, as though the memories had become too heavy to bear. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How fate works. To be born of the same mother, to share the same blood with someone you’ve only met later in life, only to find out you’ve always been connected in ways you never understood.”

Azriel could feel the depth of her emotions, the confusion, the pain of having grown up without truly knowing the full extent of her family. The way Y/n spoke of it—as though she had never truly belonged to anyone—cut through him like a knife.

“I couldn’t help but wonder,” Y/n continued, a bitter edge creeping into her words, “if my mother had kept that truth from me on purpose. If she had been trying to protect me, or if it was just too painful for her to speak of it. She and Rhysand’s father, they had... their own history and lives together.”

"How did you feel when you learned the truth?" Azriel asked gently, wanting to understand the depth of what she had endured.

Y’n's gaze softened as she looked at him, though there was still a veil of sadness in her eyes. "At first, it was... too much. I didn’t know how to process it. I was just a baby when my mother sent me away, when I was taken to Summer Court for protection. I had never known about Rhysand or any of the other complexities of my lineage. And when my mother told me the truth, I didn’t know how to reconcile it. To think that I had been so close to him—so close—and never even realized it. To find out that my half-brother was someone so... important. So vastly different from me.”

Azriel nodded, understanding the hurt behind her words. "It's hard, when everything you've known about your past, your family, is turned upside down. It feels like a lie. Like it was all kept from you for so long, and now you're just supposed to accept it."

"Exactly," Y/n agreed, a quiet resignation in her voice. "To know we share the same blood but nothing else, and he never even knew about me until... until recently. It hurts."

“I think that’s why it’s always been hard for me,” she said softly. “I know I’ll never belong there. I’ll never be one of them. I’ll always be... different. I don’t really belong in Summer Court either. Sure, I have the same abilities with manipulating water that my father has, but I’ve never had the courage to show anyone who I really am. Not until now.” Her voice caught on the last words, but she steadied herself. “My mother wanted to protect me, to keep me safe. And I... I don’t even remember if I ever thanked her for that.”

Y/n’s eyes met his then, something raw and unspoken passing between them. She hadn’t been sure about him at first—hadn’t known if she could trust him—but the quiet honesty in his eyes gave her a strange sense of comfort. Azriel wasn’t perfect, and neither was she, but in this moment, it felt like they didn’t have to be.

As she continued to gaze at him, Azriel saw the faintest glimmer of relief in her eyes. She was starting to let the weight of her past settle, not because it was gone, but because she wasn’t facing it alone anymore.

And for the first time, Y/n felt a sliver of hope—that maybe, just maybe, she could start to heal.

******

Azriel POV

As they wandered onward, the knowledge of their bond lay heavy and secret within Azriel’s chest, both a blessing and a curse. He felt the tether that joined him to Y/n humming quietly beneath his skin, a silent vow inscribed in his very bones. However, each time another male’s gaze lingered too long on her face, on the graceful line of her neck, Azriel’s senses sharpened almost painfully. He knew this feeling—primal and protective, as old as the magic that made them mates—yet she remained unaware of its true nature.

He couldn’t resent these strangers for seeing her beauty. She was radiant, a steady light who’d guided him from solitude into quiet joy. He had no claim on her beyond what his heart and soul had forged in secret. The bond remained concealed. He hadn’t spoken of it, not yet. Perhaps he feared how that knowledge might burden her. Perhaps he worried that naming it aloud would demand a response she was not ready to give. He had promised himself that he would not force the bond upon her, that he would not use fate’s decree as a chain. And if she ever learned of the bond between them - if she chose him, it must be of her own will, not because the Cauldron or Mother decreed it.

But the truth weighed heavily in moments like this, when hunger or interest sparked in another’s eyes. Mates were drawn to one another beyond logic or reason, and while Azriel fought to keep his outward composure, inside something raw and protective snarled at the attention Y/n received. He tried to soothe it with reason: she was free, she deserved to be cherished. He would not become a cage around her. He would respect her freedom, always.

Still, the lack of her knowledge pressed at him. If she knew they were mates, would these lingering glances bother him so profoundly? Perhaps then he might stand at her side with quiet confidence, assured that no passing admiration could shake the foundation they shared. It would eclipse any casual interest others displayed, rendering it harmless.

But she didn’t know, and so he bore the weight of uncertainty alone. Each admiring look from a stranger chafed at the fragile hope he carried that one day she would see him as he saw her—part of her soul, although he knew he didn’t deserve such a gift. He kept his silence, not wanting to push, not wanting her to think her choices were predetermined. He had promised himself that when he told her, it would be at the right time, with the right words, so she understood that he wanted her happiness more than anything else—even if it meant risking that she might not return his feelings in full measure.

Now, as they paused in front of a tailor’s display, he studied the line of her face reflected in the glass. She held up a swatch of deep blue fabric, her eyes gleaming with appreciation. He smiled softly, meeting her gaze in the window’s mirrored surface. She offered a small grin in return, and something in that expression was both comforting and painful. Comforting, because the bond thrummed with quiet delight at her presence. Painful, because there were truths still left unspoken, feelings yet to be laid bare.

When another male strolled by and cast an admiring glance in Y/n’s direction, Azriel merely tightened body, careful not to let tension show.

Inside, the bond pulsed. Inside, a quiet storm of possessive love and longing raged. Outwardly, he remained committed to her freedom, committed to her choice—whatever and whenever it might be. For now, he would let the world admire her, let them see the gifts that fate had hidden in her beauty, laughter and strength. And he would stand guard over his secret—that he was her mate, forever changed—even if she remained blissfully unaware.

By the time they returned to the House of Wind, the sun was high in the sky, and Y/n’s heart felt lighter than it had in days. She glanced at Azriel as they reached the top of the stairs, her eyes meeting his.

“Thank you,” she said simply, her voice earnest. “For the tour. It was… more than I expected.”

Azriel inclined his head, his expression calm but his chest tightening slightly at her words. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice quiet. “If you ever want to see more, let me know. Grab yourself some lunch and I’ll see you in the training ring in afterwards.”

Y/n smiled faintly, and for a moment, the bond between them seemed to hum louder, though she didn’t seem to notice. Azriel, however, felt it acutely—the quiet connection, the growing pull he couldn’t ignore. And as she walked away, he found himself already looking forward to training with her in the afternoon, no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise.

Chapter 5

#azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel spymaster

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escyn · 24 days ago

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So, it's a surprise then, the day Sokka comes across Zuko in a shallow pond, fully nude, his pale back translucent in the dappled light of the waning afternoon sun. It's a surprise when after months of Zuko's insistence that he not be bared, Zuko only looks back at him, a small smile ghosting his lips and asks if he is coming in, the gruff tones Sokka has become accustomed to barely understanding, softening around the offer. The question is almost lost to the space between them as Sokka is overcome by the need to touch, to map, to feel the new expanse of skin given freely—wants to know the puckered valleys and ridges of the ashes the glorious phoenix on Zuko's back rises from—wants to taste the sweet peonies on Zuko's shoulder— —He wants, he wants, he wants— And here Zuko is offering—and Sokka wants to offer whatever supplication he can to the man in front of him— —but Sokka isn't sure what this offering means—doesn't know how best to hold it in his hands, afraid that it will flow just like the water around them— —because even unsure Sokka has stepped in the water, drawn ever closer— away. away. away, at the slightest touch

are you living in the real world? Chapter 3 of "You are going to carry that weight" is up ft. an offer that Sokka cannot refuse, a pond, and my obsession with full-back tattoos

#zukka #zuko #sokka #escart #shoutout to both ash and I deciding that Zuko needs to be looking over his shoulder seductively in a shallow body of water #cleaning up the drafts before the new year #got a couple more old things on q i guess #id in alt

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aventurineswife · 10 days ago

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Stars, Spices, and Shared Silence

Summary: You, a colleague of Jiaoqiu with backgrounds in both cooking and the Alchemy Commission, share a quiet evening with Feixiao, the Vanquishing General of the Xianzhou Yaoqing. As you present her with an experimental dish and share a heartfelt conversation, the imposing warrior reveals her softer side. Amid the tranquil setting of her garden, you find a rare connection in the simplicity of good food and shared silence.

Tags: Feixiao x Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Soft Moments, Food Bonding, Quiet Evenings, Emotional Vulnerability.

The quiet hum of the Xianzhou Yaoqing's bustling cityscape faded as you entered Feixiao's private garden—a tranquil haven nestled amid the grand halls of the ship. A soft breeze rustled the delicate golden leaves of the woven bamboo canopy, carrying with it the faint scent of tea and herbs.

Feixiao sat cross-legged by the koi pond, her imposing figure softened by the serene surroundings. Her hair, tipped with teal, shimmered in the dim lantern light as she skillfully tied one of her ornamental teal orbs back in place. A faint smile curved her lips when she saw you, her eyes with their striking white rings alight with warmth.

“You’re late,” she teased, her straightforward tone laced with a playfulness you’d come to expect.

“Perfection takes time,” you replied, holding up a neatly wrapped parcel. “Especially when it’s Jiaoqiu's experimental recipe.”

Feixiao’s eyes gleamed with curiosity as you set the parcel on the small table beside her. She leaned forward, the fabric of her white trench coat glinting in the lantern light. “Experimental, you say? Should I be concerned?”

“It’s safe,” you assured her, laughing. “This one’s a twist on your favorite—braised phoenix talons, infused with spiritvine elixirs from the Alchemy Commission. But, full disclosure, Jiaoqiu insisted on adding a pinch of something...unusual.”

Feixiao raised an eyebrow. “Unusual? From Jiaoqiu, that could mean anything.”

Unwrapping the parcel, you revealed the dish—phoenix talons, lacquered in a golden glaze, their delicate aroma mingling with the earthy tang of spiritvine. Feixiao's nose twitched, her martial precision evident even in how she assessed food.

“I’m impressed,” she admitted, lifting a talon delicately with her chopsticks. “It looks like a meal worthy of the Arbiter-Generals.”

“Flattery won’t save you if it’s too spicy,” you quipped, taking a seat across from her. “Shall we?”

Feixiao nodded, her sharp features softening as she took her first bite. A brief silence fell, save for the trickling of water from the koi pond. Her expression shifted—a flicker of surprise, followed by appreciation.

“Spicy, yes. But balanced,” she said, savoring the flavor. “Jiaoqiu may be eccentric, but he outdid himself this time.”

You grinned, relieved. “High praise from the Vanquishing General herself.”

Feixiao chuckled, setting down her chopsticks. “You’re more than a worthy rival in the culinary arts. But I’d expect nothing less from someone with your Alchemy Commission background.”

“Alchemy isn’t so different from cooking,” you mused. “Both require precision, patience, and the willingness to experiment.”

Feixiao leaned back, her gaze turning contemplative. “True. But cooking carries something more—connection. It’s about sharing moments, even fleeting ones, with others. Like this.”

Her words lingered in the air, weighty yet comforting. You reached for the teapot, pouring her a cup of steaming herbal tea. “Then let’s share this moment.”

She accepted the cup with a nod, her teal eyes meeting yours. “Thank you, truly. It’s rare to find someone who makes me feel at ease. The battlefield demands strength, but moments like this remind me what we fight for.”

Your heart warmed at her honesty. Feixiao wasn’t just the fierce warrior admired by all; she was a person burdened by her own struggles, yet determined to embrace life’s simple joys.

“Anytime, Feixiao,” you said softly. “Whenever you need a reminder—or just someone to share a meal with—you know where to find me.”

Feixiao’s lips curved into a genuine smile, her usually commanding presence tempered by a rare tenderness. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The night deepened, the stars of the Xianzhou glinting faintly through the garden canopy. As the two of you lingered in comfortable silence, the koi pond’s gentle ripples mirrored the quiet understanding between you—a bond forged not in battle, but in the shared solace of stars, spices, and unspoken gratitude.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #feixiao x you #feixiao honkai star rail #feixiao hsr #feixiao x reader #feixiao #fluff #hurt/comfort #soft moments #food bonding #quiet evening #emotional vulnerability

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itsphoenix0724 · 10 months ago

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Dancing With Shadows (Azriel x Reader)~Chapter 1

Summary: Living your life with a long-distance relationship has never bothered you before, but when you surprise Az with a plane ticket you finally get to see how it works in person.

Warnings: SMUT, phone sex, mutual masturbation?, toys

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Bad Phoenix for starting another series while still having an incomplete one. I'm sorry (I'm not)

The morning light is just starting to creep through the gap in your curtains as you roll groggily over to the other side of your mattress. The Facetime call crackles over the end of the receiver as the brightness of your phone blares 7:00 am into your still sensitive eyes. You can hear Azriel vaguely fumbling with something over the other end, followed by a curse and the line quickly muting itself. You laugh silently, opening the camera and calling a good morning. It’s around noon across the ocean, and your slow rainy Saturday seems chaotic for Az already.

“Did I wake you?” He asks, face now lighting up your phone screen. You’re taken aback by his beauty for a second, hazel eyes boring into you through the camera. He’s wearing a tight compression top, and his black hair is slightly tousled and damp with sweat. He must’ve been working out.

“No not at all. I heard a crash, are you okay?” you ask, voice still crackly with sleep. A delightful red color sweeps the highs of Azirel’s cheekbones.

“I dropped a weight.” He supplies and you can see his shoulders move with a shrug. He sets you back down, now propping up the phone so you can watch him continue to lift. Your mouth almost waters, but you manage to reign yourself in.

“I wish you would wait for Rhys or Cas.” You can’t see Azriel’s eyes while he’s reclined on the bench, but you’re sure they’re rolling at the mention of his roommates. You move about your own apartment, getting ready for the day. Changing into a comfy set of pajamas you settle in to read comfortably on your couch.

You never minded the distance between the two of you.

Maybe that’s because it’s always been like this. You’d met Azriel on a dating app after you and your friend got wine-drunk one night and you switched the location to London. The two of you matched and it’s been the best six months of your life. He’s been kind, caring, and better than every guy you’d ever met in New York City.

Obviously, you want to be able to kiss and hold your boyfriend, hopefully, soon you can accomplish that. You bought Az a plane ticket so he’ll end up here for a week over Valentine’s Day. You just hope he’s able to make it, you did opt for a cancelable flight just in case he can’t get time off work, but he works in cyber security so he should be able to take it with him if needed.

You’ve finished your book, and Azriel is cooking dinner on his end of the line. The phone propped up against something on his counter, Cassian walks into the kitchen, clapping him on the shoulder before noticing you.

“There she is!” Cas steals the phone focusing on his face as he greets you with a broad smile. “How are you, princess?” Azriel snatches the phone back, letting a jealous stream of curses spew out of his mouth.

You can see him glaring at Cassian but as your laugh echoes back his eyes soften.

“I’m good, how are you.” Cassian gives a noncommittal shrug, stealing a piece of something off the cutting board before calling his goodbyes.

“He needs to learn to mind his business,” Azriel mutters but shines a bright smile when you laugh again.

“You’re such a baby.” You reply, still trying to fight laughter down at his pouting.

“I’m not a baby, I just don’t enjoy when Cassian flirts with you.” Az supplies moving about the kitchen.

You enjoy watching him cook.

You shamelessly ogle his back when he turns to the stove, loving the way the fabric of his shirt accentuates his broad shoulders. He moves like smoke. Gracefully gliding around the kitchen, pulling different spices and chopping different ingredients for some kind of stirfry.

Azriel being so good with a knife probably shouldn’t turn you on so much.

He has to hang up the phone to eat dinner with his roommates, so you blow him a kiss as he promises to call you back when he can. This leaves you to get ready for the little surprise you have planned for him.

You shower, styling your hair to perfection and applying some makeup before changing into the midnight blue lingerie set you picked out for him. You tie a barely-there black robe around yourself, make your bed, and light a few candles around the room to hopefully set the mood. A wicked idea flashes across your mind, so you make your way to the bathroom and slip a shoulder out of the robe snapping a picture quickly and sending it to Azriel’s contact.

“A little surprise to unwrap later ;)” It says that the message has been read at the bottom of the screen. Dots line the bottom of your screen, and you bite your lip as you await his response, heat coiling in the pit of your stomach already.

“What’re you trying to do to me, Sweetheart? I practically choked on my dinner” comes his response, and the previous heat turns practically boiling. A second text comes through a second later “I’ll be done in five minutes. Don’t you dare even think about touching yourself. Wait nice and pretty for me okay?” You double-check to make sure all your toys are charged, waiting patiently for Azriel’s Facetime call.

You can practically feel yourself dripping down your thighs in anticipation.

He calls four minutes later. Setting your phone up on your dresser you answer strutting over to the edge of the bed so he can see all of you. All you can hear is the sound of Az’s breathing and the lock on his door clicking shut.

“Take it off,” he practically growls and you play with the tie before you pull it apart and let the black silk pool around you on the bed. “You look absolutely fucking beautiful.” His pupils blow wide as he looks at you feeling like a goddess with his attention.

“Do you like it?” You tease, fluttering your eyelashes and sending him a sugar-sweet smile.

“That’s a ridiculous fucking question, I want to devour you.” His voice is like midnight water, ripples feel like they’re caressing down your spine as you shiver. Even now, even over the phone, it thrums through your chest like guitar strings, reverberating and ricocheting around your rapidly beating heart.

“Tell me what you want me to do Az,” you gasp out, waiting for him to give you some direction, eager to be obedient. Az takes a moment to admire how the blue lace clings to your skin, delicate gemstones glittering like you’d ripped the stars straight out of the sky.

“Lay back on the bed.” He rumbles, shamefully stealing an eyeful of your ass as you turn to crawl up to your pillows. “And as much as I love this outfit, I need you to take it off. Right Now.” You strip yourself out of the lace set, tossing it onto the carpet. His eyes blow out as he admires your naked form. You hear Az settle himself on his own bed and the sound of his belt unbuckling makes your mouth water. You’ve seen his dick before, obviously, but you wish that you could wrap your mouth around him right now.

“Are you touching yourself?” You mutter into the quiet, the sound like a bomb exploding around your buzzing anticipation.

“Not yet.” he grinds out. “I’m waiting for you.” his jeans and shirt hit the ground moments later. You eagerly drink in the dark ink you can see swirling around his collarbones.

“I wanna suck you off so bad.” Your brain goes into that empty fuzzy space that only happens when you and Az do something like this. A pained sort of noise falls out of his mouth, a mix between a whimper and a groan.

“Are you wet for me?” He questions, quirking a dark brow. You hum your difference, shrugging a bare shoulder. “You don’t know? Why don’t you find out for me?” You skate your fingers down your body, gliding them through your center. Your fingers come away slick with your arousal, and you circle your clit once letting out a breathless moan that makes Azriel’s eyes roll.

“I want you.” You mumble as you continue to toy with yourself and let your mind run wild. Images flash behind your eyelids, thoughts of Az between your thighs and him pounding you into the mattress so hard his hands leave bruises on your hips.

“Get your vibrator.” He orders and you slip your hand into the drawer of your right nightstand. You find the pink bullet and flick it to the lowest setting. “Run it down your body, slowly.” Following his instructions you drag the toy down your body until you reach your center. You can hear Azriel’s labored breath as he exhibits self-restraint. He wants nothing more right now than to make you cry with pleasure instead of that toy. “Give me a show now, Sweetheart.” He kicks off his underwear, finally palming his rock-hard cock.

You do exactly as he asks flicking the vibrator up another setting as you finally allow it to touch your clit. You throw your head back with a moan, fisting your other hand in your bed sheets. You imagine it’s his tongue or his fingers. A thousand fantasies flash in your brain as you push down a little harder, hips canting up to meet the toy, grinding yourself into it. Azriel jerks himself, his own fantasies playing on a loop. He keeps his eyes open though, refusing to take his eyes off of you for even one second.

He doesn’t even think he’s blinked since the moment you answered his phone call.

“Az, I wanna hear you cum. Please.” You beg, you need to hear him to get yourself there. Azriel bites back a guttural moan, he’s still having trouble wrapping his brain around the fact that you actually want to hear him be loud. He’s been quiet his whole life, not quite used to having someone who never wants him to stop talking. “Please,” you beg again and he snaps letting a whimper escape out of his lips. All of his moans slip out after that. It’s music to your ears as you turn the vibrator up another speed and slip a finger inside of you, curling your fingers so you can barely skim the spot that makes you see white.

“I’m close,” he promises and that helps you push yourself toward a blazing crescendo right as Az explodes alongside you. You stand on shaking legs and collect your phone from the dresser before slumping back against the pillows. “You’re amazing,” He mutters into his pillow, eyelids drooping in his state of bliss.

“I bought you a plane ticket.” you can’t control it as you blurt it out. “For over Valentine’s Day…if you want to come.” it tumbles out, suddenly insecure.

“You what?” Azriel shoots up shock straight, looking at you with wild eyes. “Are you joking?”

“No, I’m not joking. I’m sorry if it’s too forward–I can cancel it, I should’ve talked to you about it first.” You curse, already pulling up the airport's website to cancel the ticket.

“Don’t cancel it.” Azriel cuts in, “Of course I want to come. I’ll be there, whatever it takes.”

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel imagine #azriel #acotar au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel au #azriel x you

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crimsonbubble · 2 years ago

Note

WAIT, YOU DO VALORANT REQUESTS?? OKAY OKAY. CONSIDER THIS ONE :

Reader (they/them) is in a situationship with Yoru (it's pretty clear they both like each other, but no one has conffessed yet).

We all know how cocky Yoru can get. What if one day Phoenix was teasing Yoru for liking Y/N and Yoru just gets tired and lies to Phoenix that he actually hates Reader or something like that?

AND WHAT IF READER OVERHEARS AND TAKES YORU'S WORDS TO HEART? DISTANCING THEMSELVES AND JUST RETHINKING EVERYTHING?

WOULD YORU APOLOGISE? HOW WOULD HE DO IT?

FLUFF ENDING PLEEEEAAAASSEEEEE

If you can't write this prompt, it's okie! Take care! 💖

cw. hurt/comfort, gn!reader, yoru being emotionally constipated *not proofread, just pure brainrot

[yoru my beloved <33 i hope this suits your tastes ��🤞]

you were too caught up in your head as you listened to your footsteps echo quietly in the empty corridor. you made you way into the main room, quietly slipping into the kitchen as you listened in on the rant that phoenix had started with yoru. you rested your hand on the tap, trying to keep quiet as you listened.

"oh come on, you know you like them. admit it." yoru grumbled, running his hand through his hair.

"phoenix, this is the last time I'm saying this. no, I don't like them. they're fucking annoying and not my type." upon hearing that, you hurried to fill your water bottle and make your way back to your room.

yoru heard you slam the tap down, sitting up as you rushed back down the corridor. his eyes followed your figure as you walked away, a sudden tightness spreading across his chest. he fell back against the couch, his head in his hands as he can't believe how badly he fumbled with his words.

phoenix smacked yoru upside the head, shaking his head disapprovingly. "this is what happens when you don't watch your mouth. this is your problem, fix it."

you slammed the door closed behind you, trying to take deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your bed. your lower lip wobbled, a stray tear cascading down your cheek. you lay down in bed, hiding your face in the pillow as you attempted to steady your breathing.

you spent the next few days avoiding him and you were doing a damn good job at it, it made yoru frustrated. over the days you've spent ignoring him, yoru spent his free hours creating a gift basket.

with that, he bid yoru goodnight, walking down the hallway just like you did. yoru felt tears burn in his eyes as he sank further into the couch, he let out a huff before making his way to his room.

he managed to fill it with your favorite snacks, candy, drinks, and a handwritten letter. the basket sat in his room, a constant reminder of how hard you're working to avoid him. yoru sat at the foot of his bed, fiddling with the letter.

he felt stupid writing a letter but it was the easiest way to say the things he was afraid to. he put the card back in the basket, carefully taking it with him as he made his way to your room. sage will kill him if he finds him in the girl's dorm after hours, so he had to be quick.

just as he approached the door, a soft voice called for him. he nearly dropped the basket as he jumped back. "I can explain-" yoru carefully set the basket down.

"go on then." sage crossed her arms, staring at him deadpanned as yoru stumbled over his words. she eyed the basket, seeing the letter with your name and a heart on it. "yknow what? nevermind, just make it quick." sage gave yoru a small wink before making her way to her room. sage let out a breathy laugh as she saw the array of snacks, all of the ones you liked.

yoru quietly knocked on your door, carefully pushing it open. his eyes softened as he saw the small collection of arcade machine plushies he's won you, sitting on the empty side of your bed. yoru set the basket on your desk, his eyes tracing over your features. he made his way to your bedside, crouching down to push the hair out of your face. he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, trying to make his way back to his room before he was caught.

you grabbed his sleeve, tugging him back. he stumbled a bit, watching with questioning eyes as you tugged him closer, peeking up at him through sleepy eyes. yoru smiled softly, caressing your face. "don't worry, you'll see me tomorrow. go back to sleep."

you sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes as you looked around the room, spotting the basket yoru had put on your desk just hours ago. you felt arms tightening around you, freaking out for all but four seconds before you recognized the tuft of blue and black hair against your pillows.

he tried to stand again, but you tugged him down harder, shuffling back in bed to give him space. he watched as you only tugged at his shirt, a soft pout playing at your lips. his heart warmed as he finally laid down in bed beside you. you immediately snuggled into his warmth, wrapping yourself around him. yoru kissed the top of your head, rubbing your back as he finally fell asleep with you in his arms.

sage quietly knocked on your door, peeking in to see that you were awake. a smile made its way onto her face, watching how you combed your fingers through his hair as you sat against the headboard. "I suggest you read the letter. I'm sure yoru put a lot of effort into it." sage left quietly as you peered over at your desk.

you watched as sage closed the door, slowly climbing off your bed to pad over to the basket. you sat down in your desk chair, scanning over the large selection of snacks and drinks. you picked up the letter, looking back at him as he slept in your bed. you lean back in your chair, wincing as it squealed under your movements.

your heart is pounding in your chest and your smile unable to leave your face as you read the letter. by now yoru had woken up, freaking out for a second at the unfamiliar surroundings, until he saw you at your desk. his heart is pounding in his chest and he almost thinks it's loud enough for you to hear it.

you spun in the chair, looking at him with such a soft smile and watery eyes it made his heart clench. he got out of bed as you stood from your chair. you leaned up, wrapping your arms around his neck and planting a quick peck on his cheek. "I love you too."

yoru's heart was soaring as he wrapped his arms around you, eyes lining with tears. "I'm sorry. please don't ignore me like that." you pressed a kiss to his lips, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "as long as you don't act like an idiot, again."

"I'm your idiot, now."

#bubbly speaks <3 #bubbly writes <3 #ash answers #valorant x reader #valorant yoru #yoru x reader #valorant yoru x reader #valorant imagines #valorant #valorant headcanons #valorant yoru imagines

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fabricated-misslieness · 5 months ago

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: phoenix x valorant agent male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: spending time apart is never acceptable to him.

mailmango: I wanna see Phoenix not letting reader out of his cuddles after a particularly long time apart (two days as opposed to one) because that his water boyfie

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 908

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: for me none, lmk

☾⋆☆⋆☽

"Shaanxi's mayor called and asked for help, so seeing as it's Sage's home turf, she's leading the mission. She's your captain, aye, Phoenix?" Brimstone's eyes are pointed heavily on Phoenix, almost like he's pinning the man down with a look.

Phoenix takes it all in stride, despite how threatening it seems to be, "No need to question me, boss man. I got it!"

Brimstone then turns to you, his eyes softening substantially. "On the other hand, we got reports from Raze that Brazil's bay state is in a bit of a pinch. Lotta water 'round for you to play around with, Downpour."

Phoenix immediately objects, stepping between you two and covering line of sight with a raised finger. "Hold on, Brim, we not goin' together?"

The commander sighs in turn, "We've been over this, Phoenix. You two don't exactly go well together–"

"We go amazing together."

"Fire and water, Phoenix. You create something, he'll," He points his hand at you like you're suddenly a culprit, even if you are in this hypothetical situation, "just smother it."

"I–"

"It's final!"

☾⋆☆⋆☽

He should've argued harder, Phoenix thinks while he's on the mission. Even afterwards, when the agents take a little break before returning home, he's regretful. Shaanxi's beautiful and all: nice weather, respectful people–if a bit amazed by his foreigness–lotta fun with a local (Sage) as your tour guide.

Phoenix never has his way when the two of you are split. The logic is sound and clear, and everyone in the team agrees fire and water don't mix. Jett or Gecko might argue for chemistry reasons, but it never helps. None of it will ever stop him from trying, anyway.

When Phoenix steps back into HQ, he's never been happier before (even if he says that every time).

Cypher often says the Radiants' powers match them. Jett's cool and a lover of speed, so wind fits great for her. Sage is calm and caring, and so is her healing power.

Phoenix is definitely a fire. He's always flickering with excitement. He can't stay idle, he's always rushing to grow larger in some way or other. You know how flames cling and spread to anything flammable near them? That's you.

Even if you're water, he clings to you like a flame engulfing you in its warmth. You're calmer on the other end, but you still rest an arm over the small of his back and cradle the back of his head.

He's got his head in the crook of your neck, like he's trying to inhale your very being to store you in the forefront of his mind.

Besides the fact it's cute, it tickles...

"Phen," You chuckle, both from the tickling and the situation. "it's been two days."

"That is not an okay amount of time!" Phoenix pulls away, sitting up on your laugh to pound your chest harmlessly. "Seriously, it's like you don't even love me."

You huff, sitting up to meet his eye. "You don't mean that."

He wants to say he does, to tease you, to play, but he can't, not to you. "No, I don't." He says, utterly defeated.

"Good." You lean closer to steal a quick kiss. Tender and soft, and Phoenix would usually want more, but there are always other ways of closeness.

He collapses against you, forcing you back flush onto the bed to press himself against you. When every part of him is against a part of yours, legs tangled, arms around your neck, side of his face against yours, he sighs like he's complete. "I missed youuu!"

"I know." You say, and though you might've rolled your eyes at the repetition, you don't. Instead, you place your hand on his cheek and smooth your thumb over his cheekbone.

He positively melts into the touch with a blatant groan. "Say you miss me."

"I missed you." You reply easily.

"Say it like you mean it." He demands with a pout, and how could you deny him?

"I missed you."

"Aaaah...you're my boyfriend!" Phoenix drawls, like he's drunk, like you're fresh into the relationship in your honeymoon phase. "My one! Loml!"

"Loml?"

He clicks his tongue disappointedly. He sets his eyes on you with a deadpan glare. "LOML, like love of my life, you know."

"Ahhhh." So that's what that means.

Phoenix pats your cheek playfully for it. "No way you've been seein' LOML, LOML, this my boyfie, the LOML, on my insta stories that you always like n' never questioned it."

"I kinda learned to ignore it, I don't know." You answer truthfully.

"You stupid, stupid man." He teases in that silly little accent of his, stewpid. You have to hold in your laugh to tease him next.

"Heyy!" You all but pout at him.

"I'm sorry," As expected, he falls for it instantly, surging forward to press apologetic little kisses to your face, muttering a new "I'm sorry," with each one.

"Aw, you're okay, big man." You finally let go of your laugh and redirect his kisses to your lips. "C'mere."

They say water smothers fire, but whenever you're around, Phoenix is more motivated than if he were anywhere else in the world. He's more excited than when he's on stage, more focused than when he's on mission, happier than he's ever been. You can say the same thing, that he's the one to turn your lazy rivers into rapid streams.

Neither of you would have it any other way.

#phoenix x male reader #phoenix x reader #valorant x reader #valorant x male reader #🌸 // success!#🎫 // phoenix #🎟️ // valorant

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makethatelevenrings · 2 years ago

Note

Hi can I request I feel safe with you, with Hangman? Thanks

TW: f!reader, alcohol, reader is drunk, slight angst at the end bc Hangman is an emo baby this is canon because I said so

When Jake entered the Hard Deck, he was met with Penny’s amused, half-hearted glare and a grinning idiot practically leaning off of one of the stools at the bar.

“Thanks for coming,” Penny said. “Phoenix challenged her to a shot competition and, as we all know, Natasha Trace can handle her alcohol. She can pay next time she comes in.”

Jake sighed as he bracketed you in with his hands on your hips to ensure you wouldn’t tip off the stool and face plant into the wood. He handed his card to Penny and she smirked, but didn’t say anything as she passed it back to him once she closed out your tab.

“Jaaaake!” you cried when you turned and saw him. Your eyes were glassy and a loose smile clung to your lips. A bottle of water was clutched loosely in your hands and he snagged it from you, twisting off the cap and putting it to your lips. You dutifully took two long sips and he pulled it away from you, placing the cap back on it, and then shook his head.

“C’mon, Piggy,” he sighed. “Remind me to ream Phoenix out tomorrow for letting you get this drunk.”

As if the aviator heard him from across the packed bar, Phoenix and Halo waved. Jake smiled at his friends and raised his middle finger in response. Natasha blew a kiss and he pretended to catch it before pressing his palm gently to your forehead and then jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. She replied with two thumbs up.

“Alright, let’s get you home. You’re going to finish that whole bottle and eat some toast before bed,” he ordered. The last thing he wanted was to wake up to you heaving over a toilet because you always cried when you threw up and he hated seeing you cry.

For fuck’s sake, the two of you weren’t even an “item” and yet here he was, being called to pick you up from girl’s night. He didn’t understand why you kept flitting around him. He was cocky, self-centered, and a dick. You were plain sunshine and daisies with a smile that lit up the whole damn room. Yet, the moment you had met him courtesy of Bob bringing his “friend from knitting club” to the Hard Deck, Jake Seresin found himself drawn to you.

“Thank you, Jakey,” you hummed as he scooped you up and began to carry you out. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder and he almost shivered at the feel of your soft breaths brushing across the exposed skin of his chest, courtesy of the baseball jersey he had on.

“If you throw up in my truck, I will leave your ass in the sand,” he threatened, but there was no real heat behind his words. You giggled and pressed yourself impossibly closer.

“You wouldn’t do that, Kermit.” God, that stupid nickname shouldn’t warm his chest as much as it did. Your eyes widened as your alcohol-addled brain slowly processed words. “That would be dangerous. But you won’t let anything happen to me. You’re too good.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, Piggy.”

You nuzzled your nose against the column of his throat and let out a soft hum. “I feel safe with you. Always have.”

His heart lurched into his throat at your admission. Jake Seresin had been labeled a lot of things in his life. A pain in the ass, selfish, arrogant, but never safe. This had to be your tequila-soaked tongue talking and not the rational, brilliant woman he knew you to be.

But you continued talking, even as he maneuvered open the door to his passenger seat and gently set you down. He slid the seatbelt over your shoulder and stomach before clasping it into place and testing it was secure. His hand slid up to rest on your jaw as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Like the night Bobby brought me here and that guy was making me scared, you knew what to do. You bring me soup when I’m sick and you help me when there’s storms.” Your smile softened and your eyelids drooped. “You make me feel safe, Kermit.”

Jake couldn’t help himself. He pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead and then stepped back. “Let’s get you home, Piggy, before you fall asleep for the night.”

Surely you would forget everything you had just said. He would make you breakfast in the morning and drive you to the Hard Deck to collect your car before you two parted ways and never spoke about the constant brewing tension between you. Because someone as kind and loving and caring would only be disappointed in the reality of who he truly was behind this veneer of arrogance. He was a broken man and he wouldn’t subject you to the jagged shards of Jake Seresin.

#jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman imagine #hangman x reader #honey's 3k celebration

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proskillservices · 8 months ago

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#water softener in phoenix

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lottespics · 1 year ago

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Why Me? - Part 1

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Mitchell! Female Reader

Warnings: Drinking, cursing, insecurities, pining (if I do end up writing more I will put more chapter warnings)

Word Count: 700

Summary: Bob is a total simp, and he is too caught up in his own insecurities to ever think about the possibility you may very well like him back.

A/N: Ok, so this is my first attempt at writing in a VERY long time, so pls be gentle to me, thank you. But if anyone comes upon this I hope you enjoy it! I'm hoping to write more and have it become a series but we'll see what happens. Also I suck at summaries so sorryyy.

For the twenty-nine years Bob had been alive he had never felt this way before. It took a single stare. A look. A glance really, to know that he had been blessed in this life. You’d think he was admiring a masterpiece carefully handcrafted by a tortured artist who had dedicated his life to his craft, or perhaps the sunset over the cliffs of La Jolla that reflected off of the water just right. But no. Because nothing in this moment could compare to the sight before him. It was simply you, holding a hand to your chest, throwing your head back in a laugh over some wild story Phoenix was telling you about her family back home.

Everything slowed down around him as the light from the bar cast a halo around your head. The way your cheeks flushed from the rowdy atmosphere of the Hard Deck. The way your soft hand slid from your chest to Phoenix’s shoulder in an attempt to catch your breath. He knew he was staring at this point, but he just couldn’t tear his eyes from you. Even gazing at you in awe from behind the pool table he found himself blushing at the thought of you and your inviting smile.

Just as you take a sip from your glass, your eyes scan the bar and land on his, already staring right at you. Your eyes widen at first at how intently his eyes bore into yours, until they soften and a crooked smile makes its way to his lips. You smile right back at him and raise your hand in a small wave. Bob’s heart beats faster as you continue to smile at him, he picks up his hand and gives a wave back. Your smile widens as you stare back into your drink.

Even in your khakis Bob thinks there is no way you could get more beautiful. He should go over and talk to you. But he thinks better of it as you’re still in your conversation with Phoenix. That is until Phoenix gets up and heads to the restroom. Oh god. This is his chance. He should take it right? No, he’ll just end up making a stuttering mess of himself like the last time he tried to have a one-on-one conversation with you. The team still held that over his head, as they only thought he was nervous to say something wrong and have you go running to tell your dad what a dumb-ass he was.

Your father of course being their Captain, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell. That was its own obstacle. Other than the fact that the thought of you had him stumbling over his own words, your father was one reason why he was hesitant to approach you. You had mentioned to Phoenix before that because of this every aviator either kept their distance from you, or had made a game of trying to hook up with you. This detachment had been different this time. Everyone has been friendly to you for no other reason than to be friendly. Of course, Hangman tried his hand at you, but that was before he realized who your father was. Bob remembers it quite well. The way Hangman sidled up to you to introduce himself. Giving you his best lines, eventually asking how you got the call sign of “Mantis” only for you to stare at him and casually say, “‘Cause I’ll bite your fucking head off if you try anything”. You gave him your best smile and walked off after Hangman promptly choked on his drink.

Lost in his daydream, Bob barely notices Phoenix coming back and reclaiming her seat next to you. Another opportunity slips out of his hands. He looks back to his empty cup of peanuts and decides to call it a night, heading out without saying goodbye to anyone, not like they would notice anyway. Besides, if you ever were to take a chance on anyone in the squad why would it be him? He makes it to the front of the bar before you look up smiling, hoping to see him again, he was too far gone to see it slip from your face. You let out a dejected sigh before asking Penny to close out your tab.

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd x female reader #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #mavdad #top gun fandom

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rheanyraaaa · 5 days ago

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Water Lilly Part 10

Enemies to Lovers

Robb Stark x Frey Reader (F)

a/n: im probably going to post a lot more since the holidays started, also i need to feed the robb stark fans because somehow everyone’s randomly disappearing or has disappeared (no hate) so i’m here :)

disclaimers: attempts of suicide

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🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

The days following the ambush passed slowly, marked by long hours in bed and the steady, unwavering attention of the maester and Robb. You healed steadily, though your body was sore and your spirit was restless. Every time you tried to get out of bed, Robb was there, either coaxing or commanding you to stay put.

This morning, he sat beside you in the tent, his presence familiar now, though it hadn’t always been comforting. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching you as you slowly peeled an apple with trembling fingers.

“Water lily,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You paused, looking up at him in confusion. “What?”

“You,” he said with a small smile. “You’re my water lily.”

A flush crept into your cheeks. “A water lily?”

He nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know what a water lily does? It grows in the harshest conditions muddy waters, dark ponds. Yet it blooms, pure and strong, despite the filth around it. It rises above it all. That’s you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his words. “Robb… I—”

He held up a hand, shaking his head. “Let me finish. I almost lost you out there, and I realized how blind I’ve been. You’ve endured so much, things I didn’t see because I was too consumed by my own anger and grief.” His voice softened. “But you’re still here. You’re still standing. And I don’t want to lose you, not now, not ever.”

The sincerity in his tone left you speechless. All you could do was nod, your throat tightening with emotion.

Weeks later, you were physically healed, though the scars ran deeper than your skin. The nightmare had come again the same one that plagued you ever since you learned of Talisa. You dreamt of her name whispered in Robb’s voice, of her shadow in his arms, of his love that wasn’t yours. It was unbearable.

This time, the dream left you gasping for air, your chest tight with panic. You stumbled out of bed, your feet carrying you to the river on instinct. The cool night air prickled your skin as you reached the water’s edge. The surface shimmered under the moonlight, calm and inviting.

You stood there for a long moment, tears streaming down your face. The name Talisa echoed in your mind like a cruel taunt, and the pain of it felt too heavy to bear.

Without thinking, you waded into the water, your gown clinging to your legs as the river embraced you. The cold was shocking at first, but it quickly numbed the ache inside. You let yourself sink deeper, the water rising to your chest, then your shoulders, until your head tilted back and the river threatened to swallow you whole.

“Stop!” Robb’s voice shattered the silence, sharp and frantic.

You turned, startled, but before you could respond, he was in the water, grabbing you by the arms and pulling you back to the shore. You struggled weakly, but his grip was unyielding.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice raw with emotion as he dragged you onto the bank.

“I can’t,” you sobbed, your hands clutching at your soaked gown. “I can’t do this anymore, Robb. I’m not enough for you. I’ll never be enough. Not with… her.”

His expression shifted, a storm of anger and anguish crossing his face. “Her? Talisa?” He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. “She’s gone, do you hear me? She’s gone, and she doesn’t matter. You matter.”

“But you loved her,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He shook his head, his grip tightening. “I thought I did. But I didn’t know love until I almost lost you. Until I saw you lying there, bleeding, and realized that you’re the one I can’t live without. You’re my wife, my water lily, our love is of a phoenix and I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

The weight of his words washed over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe him. You collapsed against his chest, your sobs muffled by his tunic as his arms wrapped around you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

“Don’t ever apologize for this,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But promise me, promise me, you’ll come to me next time. No more running to the river.”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “I promise.”

And in that moment, for the first time, you felt truly seen.

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🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

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tags!!!

@samieree @maysileeewrites @nervouschaosgladiator (won’t let me tag you for some reason edit: oh it worked) @yeahnohoneybye

#asoiaf #robb stark #robb stark imagines #robb stark x reader #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x frey reader #robb stark x oc

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snailor-bee · 1 year ago

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Marco x NB!Reader / SFW / 2.1k Summary: Marco is finally going to confess to you! If only it would stop going wrong... Notes: Written for @op-xreader-zine! All the art is done by the amazing @issatheartist thank you for working with me on this! ;w;

This was it! Marco was finally going to do it. He was going to walk up to you and confess.

He'd been crushing on you for a while now and it was time. He'd dealt with the teasing from his brothers and the nurses for far too long. Originally Marco had held himself back because he hadn't wanted to ruin what the two of you already had.

Friends, nakama, family.

Still, everyone had insisted that he go for it and had completely ignored his reasonings for maybe why he shouldn't—"Marco, you can't seriously use your rank as an excuse; the only person higher than you is Pops"—so that's how he found his hands sweating, wrapped around a bouquet of flowers.

Maybe it was a bit simple but at this point, Marco figured it was better than nothing. His head felt like a jumbled mess and he hadn't really planned out how he was going to do this but he'd wing it as he went along, all Marco had to do was find you and—

So distracted by his thoughts, he bounced off someone's body made a little oof of pain.

"Marco!" Izou's voice broke through his thoughts. "Watch where you're going. What are you doing?"

"I, uh," he couldn't bring himself to say it. Izou was the ship's gossip and if Marco said he was looking for you in order to confess then you'd hear about it before Marco even got to you. Sweat beaded at his brow as Izou's sharp gaze took him in. Uncharacteristically, Marco knew he looked nervous.

Which might as well have been blood in the water for a shark, when one was dealing with Izou.

Then all at once, Izou's posture softened and he smiled. "Are those for me?? For my birthday!? Oh, you shouldn't have, these are my favorite too!" Still gushing, Izou grabbed the bouquet and Marco was too stunned to stop him.

"A-ah, yes. I was worried you wouldn't like them, yoi," he said, going for a smile. It was a bit strained but Izou didn't seem to notice. Marco cursed himself internally. He'd been so focused on the almost-not-quite-confession, Izou's birthday had completely slipped his mind.

"No, they're perfect ," Izou enthused happily and Marco sighed fondly, letting the anxiety of confronting you fade. He could always do it later.

The next 'attempt' wasn't really an attempt.

Marco had been walking down a street when his inner phoenix noticed a section of smooth rocks. Without too much thought, he reached out and snatched one up. He frequently did this; the drawers in his office were filled with random bits and bobs, shiny pieces of metal, rocks, and other random things that appealed to his phoenix half for whatever reason. Marco never mentioned it to anyone but a few of his brothers who had been around him for years had picked up on it, though they were kind enough not to point it out.

So, without much thought, when he saw you chatting with some other shipmates, Marco ambled over and handed you the rock. "Here, for you."

You raised a brow and looked into your palm before running your thumb over the stone's surface, feeling out the texture.

Inside, his phoenix cooed and Marco was grateful he wasn't in his half-form. He could tell that his tails would be going wild right about now, watching your reaction.

"...Thanks," you said at last, sounding confused before you pocketed the rock and turned back to listen to the story that Ace had been in the process of telling. It didn't deter Marco at all, you had accepted it!

Feeling thrilled somewhere deep in his bones, he barely felt the jab to his ribs.

"Hey," Thatch whispered, "you know they aren't a bird, right?"

Confused, Marco cocked his head. Thatch gestured at you with his chin. "They probably don't know why you just handed them a rock. Shouldn't you be doing more, uh, human courting stuff?"

There was a few seconds of incomprehension before the meaning hit him and Marco felt like dissolving into dust and disappearing forever. He leaned over to bury his head into Thatch's shoulder to cover up the sound of his groan of pain as his brother laughed and patted his back.

"Don't worry, you'll get them next time, birdie."

Next time ended up being a love letter.

Old fashioned? Maybe. But Marco was getting desperate. At least this would be crystal clear.

He'd gone through numerous editions. The trash can in his room was overflowing with failed attempts, bunched up balls of paper scattered around his desk as he tried again and again until he finally felt he had it all down.

Exactly what about you that made him smile, how the simple sight of you lifted his spirits and the sound of your laugh made his chest tight. He'd bared it all.

Walking across the busy deck, the night breeze ruffling his hair, Marco was barely able to return the greetings he got as he passed by scattered groups. He'd locked eyes with you right away and once you noticed him coming, you'd said your goodbyes and were coming to meet him halfway.

The closer and closer the two of you got, the more and more nervous Marco became. The butterflies in his stomach were making him feel like he might throw up. What if you didn't return his feelings? What if you thought the letter was lame?

What if you went to read it right away? Oh fuck , he hadn't thought this through. He didn't want to watch your face as you read the confession, heartfelt though it may be. If you had to turn him down after he poured his heart onto the parchment, Marco really didn't know how he was going to take that.

Saying it to your face, letting you turn him down gently without realizing the true depths of his feeling was way more appealing.

His step faltered before a rush of heat flashed beside him. On instinct he tossed the letter into the roar of fire. Ace was likely showing off and didn't even notice the slight disturbance.

"What was that?" you asked, finally having made your way to him.

"Nothing," Marco said quickly. "Someone did their report so badly, so I had a bunch of corrections but thinking it over I realized I'll just have them redo it. Makes it easier, yoi."

You laughed. "Harsh. I'd hate to be them, putting in all that work for nothing."

Marco shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "Yeah but I'm sure they'll get over it."

"Wow, Marco, you're not very good at this are you?" Ace asked with a snicker. Marco glared, fork paused midway to his mouth. Thatch elbowed him good-naturedly from his side. They were sitting in the galley, the shipmates talking around them creating a symphony of noise that easily hid the conversation from others.

"Good at what, yoi?" Marco asked, placing the fork down. Thatch threw an arm around his shoulders and shook him lightly as Ace's eyes sharpened with glee.

"Now Ace," Thatch said, mockingly sweet, "don't go teasing our resident birdbrain here. He's trying so hard, the poor thing."

"Get off," Marco said, irritated as he pushed at Thatch until he let him go, laughing.

"Think they've even noticed?" Ace asked thoughtfully before shoving something into his mouth and chewing loudly.

Marco opened his mouth to answer but Thatch beat him to it. "Hopefully not, though Marco looking so pathetic has been quite amusing." Thatch batted away his hand before Marco could punch him in the ribs, the bastard.

Grunting with annoyance, Marco looked away just in time to catch you several tables away leaning your head back with a laugh and he stared, heart suddenly in his throat. He couldn't help it, you were just so—

"Plus the whole ships been taking bets at this point," Thatch tacked on and Marco tore his gaze away from you.

"What?!" Marco demanded as Ace hooted joyfully. Thatch shrugged, grinning all the while.

"Maybe you shouldn't look like a lovesick bird all the time and we wouldn't have to take bets on when you finally get your act together. Do not" —Thatch pointed a steak knife menacingly in Ace's direction after a garbled noise had started— "talk with your mouth full. Swallow."

Dutifully, Ace swallowed his barely chewed food and took a second to catch his breath before barrelling on, "Whatcha got planned next, Marco? Anything good?"

"Excuse me? All my ideas have been fine so far!" Two blank looks had his hackles raising but before he could argue more, your voice rang out.

"Hey, Marco!" Immediately he whipped his head up and caught your eye. You waved before you arrived behind Ace, patting him on the shoulder. "I was wondering if we could spar later?"

Quickly, he nodded back. "Yeah, that sounds great!" Embarrassingly, he heard his voice hit a slightly higher pitch, almost as if his voice had cracked. Ace and Thatch did a terrible job at stifling their giggles as Marco felt his face flush traitorously.

"Great!" you enthused, apparently having not noticed. "See you after lunch?"

Not trusting his voice, he nodded and you skipped away happily. Once you were far enough away, Ace and Thatch collapsed into loud laughter, Ace banging on the table as Thatch wheezed out between his laughs, "What are you Marco, twelve ?? What was that?!"

"I hate both of you," Marco grit out between clenched teeth before shoving his half finished tray of food at Ace. "Finish this, I'm leaving, yoi."

"Good luck on your dateeee," Ace managed to yell out before he got too far away. Marco flipped him off over his shoulder.

"So, Marco." You looked uncharacteristically anxious as you fidgeted and looked at everything except him. Marco felt his stomach drop to the deck. What was wrong? You hadn't... noticed had you? Fuck, this was not how he wanted you to find out.

He'd come to find you for your spar after Ace and Thatch had literally laughed him out of the galley. You'd seemed eager enough to see him before dragging him to a quiet part of the deck, mentioning you had something to say first.

Seemingly steeling your nerves, you looked into his eyes and they burned with determination.

"I've liked you for a really long time now. You're literally one of my best friends and more than that you make me feel like I can fly, like nothing could ever hurt me. I didn't really want to mention this and have it ruin our friendship but I can't keep it to myself anymore. Please go on a date with me!"

Time seemed like it stood still as he gaped at you. He could see your cheeks flush, likely with embarrassment at your proclamation but he was still reeling.

Finally, you swallowed. "And if you don't feel the same—"

"No!" he cut in, finally finding his voice. Marco grabbed up your hands, cradling them close. "No, don't. Just, I—" He chuckled with wry amusement before pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles. "I'm just a little shocked. I've been trying to ask you out for ages now."

"Wait, really?" you asked, mouth dropping open. He nodded with a smile. There was a strange buzzing in his body, from his toes up to the tips of his ears. Everything felt a little fuzzy, a little warm. He wanted to run around the deck like a teenager again, grab you close and never let go, scream over the railing until he ran out of breath. So many different emotions were raging through him, he was beginning to feel dizzy from the weight of all of them.

Deciding to just pick one, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into his chest, breathing in your scent as he began to chuckle lowly. You joined in and soon the two of you were full-out laughing. When you separated, he brushed a hand against your cheek reverently, giddy that he was able to do so.

"To be honest," Marco began, "I don't think I can spar right now, I feel like my knees are made of jell-o."

You laughed again. "That's okay, I'm feeling the same. Wanna go tell Pops instead?"

Marco ran a hand through his hair, before smiling at you. "Sure. We're about to get the teasing of a lifetime."

You held out a hand and he took it, fingers twining together with yours like they were meant to be.

"We may as well get started," you said back, fondness shining in your eyes and maybe, just maybe, a hint of something more.

#one piece #one piece x reader #marco the phoenix #marco x reader #marco the phoenix x reader #bee writes #bee writing

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the-ace-with-spades · 8 months ago

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just hold my hand

(based on this and this post) (hangster kids, mpreg, sad grandpa Mav, protective Hangman and the angsty hours followed by fluff hours)

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Part 2/3? | read on ao3

Mav really doesn’t know what to do. None of the lieutenants seem to be taking the training seriously — if anything, they treat it like a competition, like an opportunity to outrun the other person and prove they’re better.

He knows it’s ironic to say given his history, but he wishes they’d actually focus more on team-building than proving who has less skill issue.

The worst part of it is, if he needed to decide today on the pairs, both Rooster and Hangman would be chosen. He regrets letting them train at all because everyone has seen how well they work together — Cyclone included, who can just override his judgment and choose them both for the mission anyway — they fly a bit too aggressively to his taste and still didn’t manage to make a swing at him, but they were close, really close. Rooster seems to be taming Hangman down, enough that he thinks about who is there with him in the air — his husband, Bradley is Hangman’s husband and he’s in the air with him — and Hangman seems to bring out of Bradley the worst; the overconfidence, the rushness, the unquestioned trust in his wingman.

Mav really feels the irony.

He’s still against them both being sent off. Right after the two of them, Coyote seems to be following the lead, and he and Hangman work the best as a pair, Bradley excluded. Bradley works better with any of the foxtrot teams than Hangman and it’d make sense to group them by compatibility with foxtrot teams rather than the individual pilots' compatibility.

If he could, he’d choose no one.

Mav knows that if he chooses Bradley and he dies, he'll feel guilty forever — another Bradshaw gone from the world too soon due to Mav’s choices, another dad he’d take away from a Bradshaw kid — their Baby Goose, the kid Mav has known since the day he was born.

But he also knows that if he chooses Hangman and he dies during the mission, Bradley will never forgive him. Mav’s been lucky enough to have been given that kind of forgiveness once already, from Carole, who had always claimed she hadn’t blamed him at all, not even for a second, and he’s not lucky enough to earn it twice.

This training is a last, and slightly haphazard, attempt to make all of the aviators work better in a team, no matter who is in that team.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he watches them all do warm-up stretches on the beach, Hondo running them ragged with the whistle.

They’re catching a break, each of them with a cooled water bottle, and still scattered in the same small groups they seem to favor in the air.

Bradley and Hangman are standing close, sharing a water bottle between themselves. Hangman dries off his face with the hem of his t-shirt and opts to take it off completely, throwing it onto the floor.

Bradley rolls his eyes and handing him the water, leans forward to pick it up. Mav sees him hiss, staying hunched over for longer than expected. When he straightens up, he rubs his spine a little, blinking.

Hangman reaches his hand to Bradley’s waist. “Is your back still—”

“I’m fine,” Bradley replies, so sharply and so loudly that it turns heads. If it was anyone else, Mav’d have joked about trouble in paradise, but it’s Bradley and Mav’s been watching his husband hover around him, clutching onto him, to an annoying degree.

Mav watches again, ready to interfere, as Hangman tenses, his jaw clenching.

Bradley softens, just a bit, palm wrapping around Hangman’s hand, squeezing and letting go as he says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m fine, Jake, I promise.”

His voice sounds so gentle, so intimate that Mav has to look away from them. Phoenix meets his gaze, shaking her head a little.

“It’s really weird, isn’t it?” she tells him, quietly, and she doesn’t know the half of it. “You’d think they hate each other but they actually work together better than most.”

He’s not sure what to tell her — he can see how it could look like that, on the outside, that they’re good for each other, the way they complement each other, but Mav has more than just reservations. He’d have never taken Hangman for the type Bradley would choose and Hangman seems not only arrogant on the work level but also seems like he is too assured he knows what Bradley wants or needs, a bit too possessive.

The behaviors Mav knows people would call cute seem a bit too controlling, for Mav’s liking. Even just now, in the corner of his eyes, he can see Hangman rubbing sunscreen into Bradley’s face and neck — he’s always had such sensitive skin, turning lobster red within an hour out in the sun — and Bradley stands there idly, letting Hangman do as he pleases, and he looks so passive to everything that’s happening.

He’s not seen this relationship develop, Hangman is not someone he’d have wished for Bradley, and just from their files, he knows they had the twins first and only then got married. It looks the way it looks — like they only got married because they had kids together.

He’s—He’s a little bit scared, that Bradley got trapped, and he hasn’t been there to prevent it. He hasn’t been there for so much.

When he lets himself look again, most of the training group has piled closer to the water, just Bradley and Hangman staying behind and Halo and Harvard idling around the cooler.

He takes a deep breath at the sight, telling himself to not explode, to be professional, for once, even if Hangman isn’t giving him the same courtesy, pushing his hands under Bradley’s t-shirt shamelessly.

Bradley isn’t exactly better, swatting him away but not really putting much effort into it.

“No one is going to say anything,” he hears Hangman say, his voice a bit too—too sultry for Mav’s liking, one hand now on the small of Bradley’s back, too low. Really too low. “They’re not going to even notice.”

“I’m going to notice,” Bradley replies, squirming a little.

“Sweetheart,” Hangman—it almost sounds like he’s pleading.

“Don’t you sweetheart me,” he protests but even to Mav’s ears, it sounds half-hearted, more amused than anything. “I’m not taking it off, end of it.”

Mav stands there a bit horrified — he should do, say something, but he can’t stop looking. It’s like watching a train wreck or even worse than that.

“But you look good,” Hangman, hands still fisting the hem of Bradley’s t-shirt, both at the front and behind, but pulling him in closer by bending his elbows, says. Mav can barely hear it. “So, so good.”

He can see an arm slipping down even lower, Hangman is getting a bit too—handsy, for Mav’s liking, so he clears his throat, loudly enough that it makes them part.

Bradley crosses his arms over his chest again, but he’s red in the face and he knows it’s not a sunburn. He awkwardly avoids Mav’s gaze, swatting Hangman’s hands away, and walks off to the group that’s already jogging back and forth along the waves.

Hangman has the nerve to glare at him, like Mav was in the wrong for interrupting this wildly inappropriate display of affection.

“Is, uhm—Is Rooster okay?”

“With all due respect, sir, but you don’t have the right to ask that,” he replies and by the tone he uses, Mav can guess all due meant zero.

“This is still mandatory training, lead by me,” he points out. If nothing is working, at least his rank should — maybe Hangman needs to be reminded.

“And Rooster is fit for training, the same way he’s fit for flying,” he says, tone short.

Mav still doesn’t get it. “What was that about then? Why does he not want to take his shirt off?”

Hangman puts his sunglasses on, the corners of his mouth quirking, but not making him seem amused at all. “He’d been pregnant three times — take a wild guess, Captain.”

***

Warlock said Lieutenant Bradshaw was still at the base and Mav let himself hope for a moment alone, finally. He was sure Hangman would stay behind with Coyote at the hospital, they seemed closer than the rest of the lieutenants had been with Hangman.

The last hop was a nightmare. He’s almost lost three people in one flight session, everything going horribly wrong and then getting worse the longer they stayed in the air. Mav has stayed with them throughout the medical transport, escorting the medevac to the hospital and then driving there on his bike with the rest of the aviators who wanted to check on them, Bradley and Hangman included.

The surprise he’s met with as he steps into the rec room is a bitter reminder — there are two Lieutenant Bradshaws and the one who is at the base is not the one Mav wants to see.

Hangman is kneeling beside one of the desks — Bradley’s — three packed bags already at his feet, and he doesn’t even attempt to stand up as he notices Mav enter the room.

“Captain,” is all he says to acknowledge his presence.

“Hangman,” he says, biting down his tongue not to add something too snarky. “Not at the hospital anymore?”

“My husband stayed,” he replies and Mav is sure he’s taunting him with it. My husband. Like he hasn’t been Mav’s kid first. “I’m only grabbing everyone’s things.”

Bradley must have stayed with Phoenix, then, or Coyote decided to not get admitted and come back for a check-up in the morning after all.

It’s getting late. The sun is already turning the sky orange and even with the summer being almost done, San Diego always has quite late sunsets. It’s been a long day.

“Shouldn’t you be home then,” he notes and it comes out flat and bitter, to the point his voice wavers, “if he’s not, that is, because the—the kids—”

Hangman stands up and even a few feet away, Mav feels the way he towers over him badly. He finally meets Mav’s gaze, his eyes working like spikes on Mav. “I don’t need advice on our parenting, especially from you, sir.”

“I know Bradley is still mad at me—”

“You don't know anything.”

“Hangman,” he warns.

“Hurting. He was hurting and he still is and you're the cause. There’s a difference.” He makes a humorless sound, shaking his head at Mav and Mav wants to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Mav closes his eyes, trying to keep it all inside — the anger, at Hangman, who is the one who doesn’t know shit, the guilt that’s been culminating in him for over thirty years, and all the regret and bitterness he’s brought onto himself and that still feels unfair.

“It took me years to fix what you’ve done to him,” Hangman says and it sounds to Mav’s ears too much like he’s calling Bradley a problem. “Years of trying to make him believe he deserves to have a family, that he can trust the people he loves, that he’s worth his place, worth the care, that he’s worth being loved.”

Mav has many faults, has made many mistakes, but this one thing he is sure — this is absurd. “We loved him. We still love him.”

“Funny way you showed it,” he snarls. “I’m not losing my husband to your mistakes again and I don’t care what you think you’re doing. Stay away from our family.”

“Bradley deserves to make his own choices,” he tries, feeling again like Hangman is letting himself interfere with Bradley’s life too much, like he’s already decided for Bradley what Mav is and isn’t going to be to him.

Hangman snorts, an unamused laugh souring his voice. “Says you. Ironic, ain’t it.”

He’s grabbing all the bags and Mav takes a step, something inside him boiling—

The door opens and Warlock stays in the entrance until he turns toward him.

“Maverick,” he says slowly, eyes painfully blank. “The admiral has been hospitalized.”

***

Mav’s been staring at the obnoxiously gray walls of the waiting room for what felt like hours — it’s only been forty-five minutes — sat in the plastic chairs.

By the time he had arrived in the hospital, again, Ice was already being prepared in the OR. Mav had only passed a few words with the nurse in charge of the theaters, who explained what was happening and why, and the anesthesiologist, who asked Mav the standard questions again, and then he was left alone behind the glass door.

It isn’t the first time he’s waiting there, but he has never waited there so suddenly — all of Ice’s operations and procedures so far have been carefully planned and scheduled in advance, never an emergency.

Ice’s oncologist warned them it might be a possibility, he’s just never let himself think about it. Denial kept him calm and that kept Ice calm.

Someone had come by and left a jug of water on the plastic table next to him, asked if Mav wanted anything else to drink, but that was it.

He is alone. He is alone and he can only wait.

The door on the other end opens and Mav stands up instantly, expecting someone to come and update him — he’s met with Bradley, still in his flight suit, just like Mav, tired but with a blank expression on his face. He quietly closes the door behind himself and rubs his hands over his thighs, not looking fully at Mav.

“Bradley? How did you—”

“Jake called me,” he says only, not explaining anything else.

Why did Hangman tell him? What? Why is he here? Who let him in, who told him where to come?

Mav’s brain feels like a pulp. It’s too late for this, he’s too tired, he’s—He knows Ice thought it was time, to face it all, but he can’t.

“You’ve got better places to be, Bradley, kids waiting at home for you,” he says, trying to sound genuine. Bradley doesn’t have to sit here, worrying, he’s got his own family to take care of. “I can let you know if—if anything happens.”

“I’m not here for you,” he says pointedly, voice cracking a bit. “Besides, Jake’s got them.”

He sits down on the chair on the opposite wall, the farthest away he can from Mav — he fidgets a bit in the seat, face cringing, and does a couple of small stretches with his back. His legs are too long, too, folding over the same he’d sit on the couch when he was a teen.

Mav wants to say something about crappy hospital chairs, even just to fill the silence, but he doesn’t want to start an argument, not now, and he isn’t sure Bradley would hold back.

He sits back down and shuts up, his eyes itchy. He really wants to cry right now, he does, but he doesn’t want Bradley to take it the wrong way, doesn’t want him to think he’s playing on his empathy.

Bradley takes out his phone, leaning on his knees, and Mav can only guess he’s texting someone. He flips the phone in his hand and Mav tries not to look at his face too closely, not to search for anything — his expression is cold and emotionless and it’s so weird to see it, to see a mix of Goose’s face and Carole’s round eyes showing nothing.

Mav stares at the ceiling, the off-white shade of it daunting but better than staring at the OR door.

He doesn’t know how much time passes — his eyes close from time to time, it’s late, he’s drained and he feels so stiff. The door from the outside corridor opens again but he doesn’t get up.

Slider, still in his airline uniform, steps in, looking between the two sides of the room. He takes his hat off and the door slams behind him, echoing between the walls.

“Slider,” he says, suddenly so much more awake.

“Mav,” he says back. “Baby Goose? What are you doing here?”

“I’m on training detachment in San Diego,” he replies.

Slider blinks, mouthing at Mav, and Mav can only shrug. He isn’t going to be able to explain more.

Slider opens his mouth again but the vibration sound pops in the silence, turning all their attention to Bradley, who takes his phone out of his pocket.

He leans away from them as he picks up, but they can all hear it clearly anyway. “Jake? Yeah, I have a minute, just—give me a second.” He covers the phone with his hand and addressing them, says, “I’m going to say goodnight to the kids and will be back.”

“You should go home,” Mav attempts again. “Ice—Ice wouldn’t like you to get stuck here and neither do I.”

“Good thing I don’t need to listen to either of you anymore,” he replies only, and with that, he passes Slider and steps out of the waiting room, the doors swinging behind him.

Slider’s eyes follow him until he’s gone and stay on the door for a minute. Finally, when he turns to Mav, he questions, voice a bit breathless, “Kids?”

“Hasn’t Ice told you?”

The way he falls numbly into the chair next to Mav tells him the answer before he can vocalize it.

“No,” he says. Then, still sounding so confused, he asks again, “He has kids? Plural?”

“Four,” he supplies. “Twin girls, another girl, and a boy.”

Mav doesn’t even know their names, he’s not sure if Ice did either. Maybe the full files had access to his insurance policy, they’d have been named there.

“That’s—Well.” He can tell Slider is trying to stay—some sort of positive and Mav, he appreciates it. “Good enough reason for Ice to turn back around, isn’t it? Gotta meet them.”

He doesn’t want to think about it, especially not right now, but he’s not sure Bradley would ever let them meet them. Even if this, if Ice being—if this would bring him a change of heart he’s sure Hangman wouldn’t let them meet them.

Despite that, Mav just says, “Yeah.”

Slider nudges him with his elbow. “It’s going to be alright, Mitchell.”

“It’s Mitchell-Kazansky.”

“Not like you use it.”

Maybe he should start.

***

Mav still can’t believe they’re mostly in one piece. They’re mostly in one piece and Bradley is talking, joking, smiling with Mav, around Mav.

He looks so much younger like that, even with the dried blood around his neck, the tiredness in his eyes, like the bright boy Mav remembers.

And then his face changes shades and his smile falls, and Mav can swear he has a bit of a green edge to his complexion.

He slides off the cot he’s sitting on, steps rushed, and asks, “Bradley?”

Bradley blinks and slouches, the telltale sign he’s going to throw up in the upcoming minutes, just like when he was twelve, arm reaching for Mav’s shoulder, and says, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

The medical officer who has been checking them so far barely manages to grab a bowl and pop it under Bradley’s chin. They haven’t eaten anything in hours so he’s mostly just heaving dryly, griping Mav’s flight suit.

When it finally stops, the officer hands Mav a towel and sets the bowl on the nearby table with paper towels inside. Mav lets Bradley breathe for a few seconds, long, deep breaths that seem to never stop, and when Bradley finally opens his eyes again, he cleans his face with the towel. He could probably do with a drink of water or something to brush his teeth, but it has to wait.

“Why didn’t you say you might have a concussion the whole time?” Mav asks, brushing hair off his sweaty forehead.

“I don’t think it’s a concussion,” Bradley says, a bit wide-eyed, as he takes the offered plastic glass from the officer.

He gulps the whole thing down and Mav blinks, feeling like he’s missing something, like the face Bradley is making means something.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I just realized I’ve been nauseous the past couple of weeks,” Bradley explains and Mav still doesn’t get it, but he hears the medical officer take a deep, sharp breath. “I thought it was just stress, but—”

But what? It could’ve been stress. Bradley’s always been a stress puker, every school play, every new first day at new school, every bigger exam — he’d puke before and after, up until he mostly grew out of it at the end of high school.

“I think I might be pregnant again,” Bradley says, quietly but it echoes in Mav’s ears.

“That’s—” He doesn’t know what to say — that’s one of the scenarios he’s never imagined before, Bradley staying in his head seventeen and not really ready for more than hand-holding and cheek kisses. He turns to the medical officer, but the young lady doesn’t look any less caught off guard. “They’d have tested for it, wouldn’t they? Before they send him. He couldn’t have—”

“Not necessarily, only women are—”

The lieutenant bites down on her lip and Mav can tell she’s deeply unprepared for even the possibility. Pregnant people should not be present on the aircraft carriers, or any battleships.

“Let’s just have a look,” she decides, nodding to herself. “I’m going to grab a portable ultrasound, sir.”

She leaves, disappearing somewhere behind another curtain, and Mav doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Bradley unzips his flight suit, getting his arms out of his sleeves, and pushes it down so it rests below his waist, staying only in his black cotton top. Mav grabs him another cup of water and then refills it, handing him the bowl, and watches as Bradley rinses his mouth, still looking a bit pale.

“You’re weirdly…calm,” he notes.

“Someone has to be,” Bradley says and it sounds like something he’s said many times even though Mav’s only heard it just now. “I’ve been through this three times, Mav, now that I had a minute to think about it, I’m pretty sure this is happening.”

“Just like that?”

“Aside from being nauseous, my back’s been killing me, which is not that unusual since pregnancy number three, so I just ignored it, the tiredness I put up to the house move and the whole ordeal just being one big nightmare,” he explains and Mav blinks, the amount of new information from Bradley’s life feeling almost sacred. “I’ve also been peeing like crazy, which is not that unusual since the twins, but also kinda been going away lately, so I just thought, you know, coming back after all.”

He and Goose were deployed for a large portion of Carole’s pregnancy, months three through six spent on the ship, but he remembers how much she’d slept at any given moment at the beginning, and how her back and stomach always felt overstretched, no matter if the bump was or wasn’t getting bigger.

Bradley says it all so nonchalantly — he looks thoughtful, eyes absently going over the missed memories.

“The moodiness should have been a clue, even with stress,” he realizes. “I’ve been really snappy.”

He’s pretty sure he doesn’t mean with Mav — he’s pretty sure he mostly means his—his husband, Mav still can’t get over it, husband, kids, now pregnant, again — but he almost feels a bit better about how hot and cold Bradley’s been with him the past couple of weeks.

“You’ve been flying under so much stress the past few weeks,” he notes, horrified. They’ve been flying at a G force that isn't recommended for people at their fittest and healthiest, burning through tons of jet fuel, and they’ve both destroyed their planes less than a day ago. “This mission alone, you ejected—”

“I’m worried, a bit,” Bradley says and he doesn’t sound it a bit and — oh — he lays his hand over his stomach. “But, well, it is what it is. We’ll—we’ll manage. Always have, always will.”

We.

Mav probably should offer to go and grab—grab Bradley’s husband from the debriefing. He doesn’t want to — he wants to be the one who is there for Bradley, this one time.

Before he can ask, the lieutenant returns, an old-looking, clunky machine trailing behind her. She pulls the curtains around them

“Do you want me to explain what I’ll do, Lieutenant?”

“No, I know the drill.”

Mav doesn’t know the drill. He had gone to one OB appointment when Carole was pregnant, but the times were different back then — ultrasounds weren’t that popular and expensive and most of the time, there was one or two done through the whole pregnancy.

He stands there like a sore thumb as Bradley lifts his t-shirt, bunching it up on his chest lets the lieutenant squirt some gel on his abdomen.

“Do you have an estimate?” she asks.

“Not really, we’re—it’s spread out all over,” Bradley says, cheeks pink as he gives him a glance. “Usually, I don’t have any symptoms until around the middle or end of the second month so probably at least that.”

Usually. It still doesn’t register in Mav’s head, that it’s been three times already. When he looks down, he tries not to stare — Bradley’s stomach looked flat in a t-shirt, but he can see the white lines on his sides and his skin is a bit floppy, the way Carole’s belly stayed stretched out the first year after Bradley came into the world.

It seems—unreal. Bradley, he knows, has a husband and kids, but somehow, all Mav can see is the seventeen-year-old boy who couldn’t keep a goldfish alive.

He blinks when the probe starts smearing the gel all over the skin, Bradley hissing a little bit. He resists the urge to hold his hand — Bradley’s both hands are holding the fabric up, clenched up, and it feels like overstepping to unroll his fists and take them over.

“I haven’t done any ob-gyn work since my intern days, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to—”

The lieutenant stops, frowning, and clicks something on the machine.

“What? What’s happening?” Mav asks. He steps to the left, stretching his neck, and he’s met with a mostly black screen with a white blob in the center. “Is that—”

“I’m going to grab someone who has, uhm—a bit more experience in this area, sir,” she says, taking the probe away.

She doesn’t turn the picture off so it just stays there frozen.

Mav makes himself blink and when he turns to Bradley, he looks almost amused.

“Do you want a towel?” he manages to ask because Bradley is still lying there holding up the t-shirt, the area around the zipper of his flight suit a bit wet from the gel.

“No, I’ll just wait, at least it’ll warm up this way.” Bradley tilts his head at him, contemplating something. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” he says instantly.

“Hold off Jake from coming here for a minute,” he says. Carefully, he adds, “He’s going to be—a lot. I don’t need him to explode right now.”

“Is he going to be…angry?”

It’s—well, if Bradley is pregnant — he’s still holding out hope that he is and he hasn’t been pulling ten Gs and ejecting from planes while pregnant — it can’t have been a planned pregnancy. They already have four kids and he can imagine not being unconditionally enthusiastic about this.

If Hangman is angry, that will be a whole other thing. There’s a difference between worrying about how you’ll manage with another kid and being angry another kid is on its way.

“Oh, he’s going to be pissed,” Bradley snorts. Something on Mav’s face must still be showing because he softens, explaining, “Not with me. Just, everyone else on this ship. Or the whole Navy.”

“This includes me,” he guesses.

“Look, Mav, I was messed up after you—” Bradley takes a deep breath and starts again, “I was a fixer-upper when we met, Jake was a whole construction crew, and he doesn’t like being—Jake loves me, more than I could’ve ever imagined, which means he’s always on my side, even if I don’t want him there.”

Mav doesn’t know what to say to this — he still has mixed feelings about the way he words it. Quite frankly, he doesn’t like the way he’s talking about himself, the way he’s putting himself down and into Hangman’s arms.

They haven’t really talked, about what Mav did all those years ago and what followed, and he can’t imagine it being easy for Bradley. He had been there, too, alone in the world, trying to navigate adulthood, college and a job, and he had never wished for Bradley to go through.

Saying sorry doesn’t feel enough now.

The lieutenant returns, bringing another medical officer with her — a commander this time. He takes one look at Bradley, then one look at the frozen screen on the machine, and blinks.

“Well,” he says. “That’s definitely a fetus.”

Mav can’t breathe for a few seconds, feeling—something. Bradley, their baby boy, the kid he had used to sing to sleep, who used to fit in his arm, who would shy away from people into his side or hide away behind his legs, is pregnant.

He knows Bradley already has kids — but it only just solidifies in his mind. This Bradley is an adult, a husband, a parent, and Mav hasn’t seen him become any of it.

He turns his gaze to Mav and he even sounds a little smug as he says, “Told you.”

“I’m going to conduct a full exam, we need to decide if you have to be transported to a maternity hospital, Lieutenant,” the commander says. “If you could wait outside, Captain Mitchell.”

Mav looks to Bradley, unsure if he should leave him alone right now. He doesn’t want to, but Bradley nods at him and promises, “I’ll be okay.”

Mav steps out from the curtain, pulling it back together as soon as he can, and hears snippets of questions the commander has.

He’s contemplating what to do now — Hangman surely will show up after the debriefing, he just doesn’t know how soon. The best action would be to wait in the little waiting area outside the med bay, but he isn’t sure how that would actually help.

Distracting Hangman with something is another option, but he’s pretty sure if he gives Hangman some order, he’s just going to ignore it and come straight back here.

In the end, he doesn’t need to decide on anything, because Hangman enters the med bay before he can leave it. He’s looking like a man on a mission and he supposes his mission is finding Bradley and making sure he’s in one piece after the heart attack their little stunts from early that day gave everyone.

“Hangman,” he speaks up, catching his attention, even if reluctant.

“Captain,” he says curtly. “Where’s my husband?”

“Not even a glad to see you in one piece, sir?” he tries. He’s met with an unimpressed silence. “Look, he needs a minute, they’re still checking him up, just wait outside.”

“Like hell I will,” he spits out. He tries to take a step past Mav’s right, but Mav pivots, catching him with his shoulder before he can go through. If Bradley doesn’t want him there, Mav will try to keep him away. “If you think this mission solves everything, you’re wrong, I’m not going to let you—”

Suddenly, he stops completely. His eyes widen, focused on the curtain behind Mav's shoulders.

“Lieutenant?”

“I know this sound,” he says and Mav registers the rhythmic, rustling sound, mostly overshadowed by the Commander's voice talking quietly.

He doesn't understand.

Mav barely has a second and he's barging through him, completely avoiding Mav's barricade of a body.

“Hangman—” he calls out, catching him by the arm, but he gets an elbow to his stomach and Hangman slips through. “Hangman—”

He grabs his flight suit, pulling him by it, by the waist, to no avail. Before Mav knows it, they’re at the hidden bed, Hangman pushing the curtain away, just a little, and stops moving.

He hears, from behind Hangman’s body, exclaims gently, “Jake—”

Hangman’s body flops, back relaxing under Mav’s hands. He sounds both awed and horrified, as he says, “You’re—”

“Just hold my hand,” Bradley says, softly, like it can stop a hurricane from coming. “Please.”

Mav doesn’t try to grab him again — Hangman steps in through the small hole in the curtains, and with a tunnel vision, moves to Bradley’s bedside.

As Mav closes the curtain back up, he sees him reach for Bradley, one arm going towards Bradley’s hands, still clenched on his chest, the other to Bradley’s shoulder.

#hangster #tw mpreg

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