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whatislovevavy · 11 months ago

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Tia Maria and Whiskey on the Rocks

Pairing: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OC (Cherry)

Masterlist

Author's Note: hey y'all, apologies for the extremely late posting, I've been going through some life transitions and finding time and motivation to write has been difficult, but here it is now :) This is part two of Most of Freedom and Of Pleasure, and is apart of @thedroneranger 's Pick Your Poison Writing Challenge with the prompt being Espresso Martinis I'm glad I got to include one of my favorite drinks with one of my favorite songs with a character I love writing for <3 I'm most likely going to do a third part with smut in it, so let me know if that would be something you lovely people would like to read :)

Warnings: Mentions of Smut, Fluff, Alcohol, Pilots catching feelings

WC: 5.2k

All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.

Goddamn it.

You slid the end call button as Phoenix didn’t pick up, fighting with the raindrops that fell and streaked down your phone screen, and trying to keep your jacket secure around your frame that didn’t seem to be saving your red dress from being soaked by the rain. The overwhelming damp and cold feeling seeped into your scalp and made the floodgates that held your tears back crack and crumble all the more.

You regretted this date, much more than all of the others.

A shaky sigh left your lips, frustration, and anger forming its potent mix in your mind.

You tried to keep your eyes on your phone and to stay calm; you didn’t need the people eyeing you on the sidewalk feeling sorry for you. They had nothing to feel sorry for anyway. You were just a person that had a disaster of a date and was stuck out in the rain trying to get home. Absolutely nothing to feel sorry for. You huffed, tensing your jaw as you found cover under an awning of a bookstore. Trying not to look at anyone that gave you that characteristic look of pity as they walked by. Biting your lip, you contemplated calling the last number you wanted to be calling late on a Friday night.

Just get it over with, you thought.

You quickly tapped the call button next to the infuriating little contact icon. Biting into your lip harder, finding the puddle reflecting the San Diego city lights more appealing than attempting to meet any passerbyers gaze as each tone brought you closer to a ride home. Or the teasing of a lifetime. Maybe both.

“Cherry.”

That familiar silk laced drawl made you shut your eyes and wish anyone else had picked up when you called. But alas, here you were.

“Wasn’t expectin’ to hear from you. I thought you were busy entertainin’ what’s his name, Dylan? Derrick?”

The humor in his voice brought a hot surge of frustration to the tips of your fingers as you gripped your phone harder, jaw tensing.

“Look, I’m not in the mood for this right now…” Your voice losing its bite, but only by a little, “I’ve had a really shitty night, and,” you took a shaky breath, the frustration of the evening coming in full force on your psyche, “I need a ride home.” Jake's teasing grin wilted. You never would have called him, unless it was serious. He licked his lower lip, turning to look back at his friends finishing up a game of pool from the corner near the bathrooms, the steadily growing chatter in the bar making it more difficult to hear you as the seconds passed. He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing. “Ok, sit tight, sweets. I'll come get you, you're still at Benny’s?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. That’s…odd. You never told him where you were going. The wind and rain made you pull your jacket tighter around yourself. The evening rain makes you shiver, jaw chittering. Taking a deep breath, “yeah, I'm outside,” eyes diverting from the passing traffic to the worn, gold tinged cursive on the window, “Clara’s bookstore.“Your eyes trained on the rain soaked overhead awning dripping to the sidewalk in front of your painted toes peeking from your heels as you waited for his response.

Jake's eyebrows furrowed, eyes diverting from his phone screen to the rain streaked windows facing the beach. That's a decent walk from where you ate, he thought, eyebrows raising. Must've been quite a guy to make you leave early. And in the pouring rain, no less.

“I'll be there soon, Cher. Are you somewhere safe? Somewhere out of the rain?”

If you didn't know any better, you'd say the insufferable, look-out-for-number-one-only, selfish, arrogant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, who spent each free moment he wasn't peacocking around base, making your nerves burn and fray, sounded concerned about your well being.

As soon as Jake heard your dreary, evidently rain soaked confirmation, he opted out of the game, forcing Bob to take his place with little to no explanation besides that a commitment came up,” striding down the Hard Deck steps to his parked truck.

He's not ditching you. He wouldn't do that. You repeated what felt like mantras as the minutes ticked by. Hot tears started to brew at the corners of your eyes. You clutched your now soaked jacket over your dress, your toes sinking into the soggy faux leather of your heels as you leaned back against the concrete column of the closed store. The amber overhead lights making warped reflections in the puddles of the buildings and cars passing by.

Your breathing was ragged as you felt the familiar flames of frustration lick at your brain, something that had only stopped when Jake said he was going to go come get you.

You felt so stupid. Wearing this dress. These heels. Your smudged make-up that, at one point, looked presentable. You just wanted to go home and eat a pint of ice cream.

God, why hadn't Phoenix picked up?

You clenched your eyes in frustration, a rigid breath leaving your throat as you leaned your head back against the column.

The familiar hum of Jake's truck brought your teary gaze up to the almost barely visible silhouette in the driver's seat.

Jake's door flew open, jogging with a jacket clutched in hand. Your eyes widened as he got closer to you, wrapping you up in his jacket.

By the time he reached you, his hair was drenched, now a more dull golden hue. His charm remained, unfortunately, in the city’s downpour.

“Come on sweets, let's get you inside.” Your mouth parted slightly. The sight of his shirt clinging to his biceps and broad shoulders, and the subtle scent of sweat, his natural musk, and rain almost made you miss his statement.

His rich jade eyes traced the soft reflection of the street light off of your soaked hair, to your smudged make up, to the drenched portions of your dress and jacket to your slight shiver you were evidently trying to repress.

His lips curved into a slight frown. You didn't deserve to be treated this way on a date. Especially not when you looked so-

His eyes returned to your deep brown ones, undertoned by your smudged mascara, finding them already on his; sharper than a moment ago, daring him to pity you.

He carefully wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders, guiding you to the passenger door of his truck, headlights still blinding, and refracting with the incoming rain.

The car ride was silent except for the quiet sounds from the radio. Jake would take occasional glances your way at stop lights, but your gaze remained on the road ahead; head leaned against the side rest of his car, body still wrapped in his jacket. You had to stop yourself from unintentionally cocooning yourself deeper into it.

“You want me to drop you off at your apartment?”

You glanced at him, “yeah.”

His frown curved deeper. Your tone lacked the usual spitfire attitude you always bared him, instead replaced by a sense of accepted defeat. A few beats of silence passed before Jake cleared his throat. “This Dylan guy must've been some date…you want to talk about it?” Your lip quirked up a bit. His name was Derrick, but you didn't have the heart to correct him.

You adjusted closer to the side of the passenger seat, leaning your head on the window.

“Not really.”

There was that same defeated tone again, the one that made Jake's heartache in a way he had never felt before for you. Or for anyone for that matter.

Jake brought his truck from a coast to a stop in front of your apartment building. His comforting gaze settled on your face, gaze still avoiding his. “Thanks for the ride home.” Your cherrywood eyes met his, giving him a tight smile before grabbing your purse, soaked coat, and leaving his jacket on the leather seat. His frown deepened, jaw tensing a bit as he watched you open his truck door. How dare this pathetic excuse of a man bring you to this state, a complete 180 to how he saw you every day since he met you.

“Wait,” you looked back towards him, expecting some usual hangman-esque comment that would surely make you throw your soaked shoe at him. “Look, Hangman, I appreciate the ride home, but I'm not in the mood to sleep with you as a ‘thank you’.” His eyebrows pinched. Did you really think that low of him? And in that same defeated tone? “That,” he sighed, “that’s not what I was going to say,” he reassured, pushing his hair back with his hand. Opposing hand still on the steering wheel, watch gleaming in the glow of the radio.

“Let me buy you some food and a drink, I know you like the Cajun fries at that bar downtown.”

You were taken aback by the offer. Frankly, you weren't in the mood if this was a joke. “It'd be my treat,” he lightly pressed with a comforting tone. You bit the inside of your lip, examining his face for any sign of ill intent, but you found nothing in his warm sea glass eyes or the defined features of his nose and jaw.

Cajun fries sounded nice.

Really nice.

And a drink sounded even better.

“Plus, I heard your stomach grumbling so you can't lie to me.” A smile almost broke out across your lips.

Almost.

“I don't know, Hang,” you sighed. The thought of snuggling up on your couch in a warm blanket, with a pint of ice cream and watching some trash reality show sounded appealing. But you were hungry and you had yet to go grocery shopping. And you had no booze.

“I promise, I'll make it worth your while…”

You bit your lip, “a drink does sound really nice…”

His lips twitched into a smile, eyes twinkling.

“Don't make me regret this, Hang…”the familiar spark in your voice slowly returned, making his heart skip a beat, “let me just change shoes first.” You grimaced as you remembered just how soaked your shoes were as the rain finally let up.

“Wouldn't dream of it, Sweets,” he reassured as you left him towards your front door, a concealed smile on your face that cracked with each stride to your door. He let his eyes skim from your bare back to your concealed hips with an appreciative gaze as the red material of your dress flowed around your bare thighs. His view closed off as you shut your front door.

You let your eyes drift across the interior of the bar at your booth, leaning your cheek on your hand. Jake had left you at the booth to get you a drink. You tried to give him a request, but he left before he could hear you. At least whatever concoction he brought you would be free. You let your eyes drift shut, listening to the sound of the bar top and the music player in the corner.

“One Tia Maria Espresso Martini for the lovely lady, and the fries are on their way.” You opened your eyes to see the almost onyx colored elixir with a layer of frothy foam in the glass, a triage of espresso beans that looked almost weightless on the foam layer.

How did he know this was your favorite? You had never ordered them at Penny’s since she didn't have Tia Maria. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, expecting some sort of explanation for how he knew about this.

“I remember you tried to order one of these at Penny's and thought you'd like it,” he said with a subtle tone of shyness, like he was apprehensive that he had overstepped, making your eyebrows knit together.

“I don't fully understand why you like them,” he teased, stirring his whiskey on the rocks in his glass, an effortlessly charming smile beginning to form on his lips, “but it makes sense.”

Your eyes narrowed at his playful ones, “what's that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back against the booth, eyes tracing the pretty features of your face and caramel skin tone, the neon lights above your seat adding to the gleam of your wavy, soft, dark hair.

Taking a sip from his glass, you tried to focus on his face and not the subtle bob of his adam’s apple as he took a warming sip of the amber liquid.

“You're kind of an acquired taste,” he took another sip, “bitter, but have a sweet side deep down.” Your eyes narrowed, “I'm not an acquired taste, you're just annoying and insufferable 99% of the time, so you never see my sweet side,” you clipped, eyes slowly sharpening. His lip quirked. To anyone else it would seem like you hated his guts. But he knew better, knew you better. He playfully put his hand over his heart, “Oh, Sweets, annoying and insufferable? You wound me.” You rolled your eyes, a smile slipping around the rim of your martini glass. The bittersweet elixir flowing down your throat. His grin widened, “there's that smile,” he teased. Before you could quip him back, the root of your culinary desire was placed on the table with a soft tap and a gentle "enjoy" from the waitress. The savory, warm smell of the spices and fries almost made you moan, only now realizing just how hungry you were. You had left your date just as you were barely through your starting salad.

“Easy there, Sweets, don't want you to choke,” he teased, giving you a wink.

You rolled your eyes at the poorly disguised innuendo, “don't tell me how to eat my fries, Bagman.”

He barely held back his laugh at what was essentially a growl. He contemplated telling you that technically they were his fries, but he opted to keep them to himself. If having three sisters had taught him anything, it's to never get between a woman and her food.

A comfortable silence fell over the table as he glanced around the bar and back to you, still picking at your fries. Eyes tracing over the defined round edges of your sinful red colored nails that he tried to not think about how they would feel pressed into his shoulder blades, to your necklace that dipped teasingly between your breasts. The subtle rise of your chest. The sprinkle of freckles and gentle flutter of your eyelashes on your cheeks. The touched-up mascara on your eyelashes. The soft flush of your cheeks. The cute curve of your nose. The gentle slope of your lips.

“You listening?”

His eyes shot to your own, his face a bit pink after having been caught.

“Of course, Sweets,”

Your eyes narrowed as you put your fry down in the basket, scoffing.

“I asked,” you leaned forward, arms crossing on the table, his eyes doing their damnedest to not dart down to your cleavage, “why you brought me here, because I don't buy it was only because my stomach was making noises.”

Your tone wasn't sharp or accusatory, but it still put him a bit on edge.

He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to get comfortable in his seat. You had a habit of putting him on edge, but in a way that made him crave more. It was almost adrenaline inducing.

“Just wanted to treat you a little, that not allowed?”

His collected, charismatic answer made you narrow your eyes.

“You're not a very good liar.”

His lip quirked into a grin, diverting his gaze down to his empty glass before bringing his warm eyes up to your own again. His grin settling into a thin line. It wasn't exactly a lie.

“I didn't want you to wallow on your couch thinking about that Danny guy. You don't deserve to feel that way.”

Your eyebrows rose, lip quirking. That definitely wasn't the answer you were expecting and it was still the wrong name, again.

His eyes dart away from yours to the bar top. Clearing his throat, “you want another martini?”

You blink, breaking your thoughts, toying with the empty glass, “yeah, I'll take another.”

Your eyes followed the way his body moved under his button up shirt that exposed a delicious amount of chest hair, and his worn, rich burnt sienna leather jacket. The way his stride exuded a rare sense of carefree confidence. The broadness of his shoulders under his jacket. The thickness of his fingers around the delicate glass of your martini. The way his golden locks of hair reflected the overhead lights of the bar and various neon signs on the wall you both were seated at.

It made you almost forget that you knew what it felt like to have his bare skin against your own. It made you forget, for just a moment, that you’d been fucking this man with no strings attached.

“Here you are, Sweets,”His smooth drawl derailed your train of thought that would have surely made you clench your thighs.

He placed the martini on the table with an almost silent clank against the table, eyes bright and playful, the rich green color added by the neon cloverleaf above his head.

Your lip quirked, “thank you…. You know I don't like it when you call me, Sweets, Hang.”

A smirk grew on his lips, “I think it suits you,” his gentle gaze on yours.

You scowled, trying to repress the smile that threatened to break through. He didn't need more encouragement to call you these…you wanted to say demeaning titles, but that felt a bit cruel. It was more like a pet name, a source of teasing that wore your nerves down faster than any other trick he had in his well developed arsenal. He'd always been something akin to a wart. Once you caught him, he was hard to leave.

“Fries any good?”

You looked down to the near-empty basket to his teasing features. A small smile broke through as you gently pushed the basket to him. After all, he did pay for them.

You watched as he took a few and brought them between his perfect teeth, eyes darting between the sight of him dipping a few more in ketchup, to picking at your red manicured nails. A comfortable silence fell over the table and quiet conversation followed, from what plans were set for their work colleagues to hang out next, to whether Bob was going to ask Admiral Simpson’s new secretary out.

“I don’t think he’s gonna do it.” Jake said confidently as he leaned back against the booth, his arm over the back, his other hand holding his near empty glass of whiskey. Your eyebrows rose, feeling a bit more loose and warm since first sitting down, mostly attributed to the fact you were finishing up your third martini. You cracked a smile, eyes comfortably heavy, “you don’t know Floyd very well then.” His eyebrows rose, encouraging you to go on. You leaned forward, eyes bright and intense, just how Jake liked them, “you do know what Bob stands for don’t you?” His lip quirked, eyes bright and mirthful, “of course, baby on board.” You took a sip from your glass, rolling your eyes at his typical cocksure tone, “No, it stands for…” His brow quirked waiting for you to finish, his grin starting to form as he watched your eyes dance across the ceiling looking for the words in your impaired state.

You leaned forward closer across the table, putting your pointer fingers up, biting at the inside of your cheek, losing your battle with the grin that wanted to gleam on your face, “it stands for Big Ol’ Balls.” His own laughter bubbled up in his throat as he watched you crumble into near hysterics at what had just left your mouth.

His laughter settled while yours continued, failing to do anything else but just listen to the sweet noise. He had heard your laugh before, but he’d never had any significant part of bringing it out of you. He let a smile grace his lips at the sweet noise. As your laughter died down, he let his eyes wander to the jukebox in the corner and the thinning out crowd at the bar. He bit the inside of his cheek, the creases of his forehead showing as he listened to the song emulating from the speakers.

“Do you wanna dance?” Jake asks, not fully thinking about the question.

Your espresso martini almost did a full stop in your throat. Tonight had been a series of firsts with Hangman; sharing fries, him buying you drinks, and seeing you in your romantic element. Dancing together was an oddly intimate first. Sure, you’d both fucked each other’s brains out almost every other day, but dancing, well, dancing was something that seemed to be a step further than that. It didn’t involve a physical closeness attributed to taking your frustrations out on each other; it was two people flowing together, not trying to wrack each other’s physical resolve. It completely contradicted the original purpose of getting physically close to this insufferable, arrogant man; an outlet for pent up frustration through deeply satisfying, carnal escapades.

Before you could stop yourself, you nodded.

He rose up out of the booth first with a squeak, offering you his hand. Your deep brown eyes looking up at him, then darting to his outstretched hand, your lips parting.

This was new, uncharted territory.

“I promise I won’t bite,” he reassured with a smile. He tried to not think about the way your red dress hugged your curves so deliciously, or how your cleavage almost spilled over the top of your garment. You had already had three martinis, and were definitely feeling the effects of them. He didn’t want to make you feel pressured into anything that you both typically took part in when you were this close physically. But he still wanted to be close to you.

You bit the inside of your lip and, for reasons only God could tell you, you took his hand.

He led you to the corner near the jukebox that was otherwise mostly emptied out. The beginning of England Dan and John Ford Coley’s I'd really love to see you tonight flowed from the speakers as Jake settled his hands on your waist, your own apprehensively around his neck, keeping your body upright as you let the initial beats flow through you in your relaxed state. His evergreen eyes traced over your melted brown ones, admiring the subtle flush of your cheeks to your low, lidded eyes.

Hello, yeah, it's been a while

Not much, how about you?

Your eyes darted around his face, avoiding his eyes that seemed to solely focus on your own. His hands squeezed your hips. In attraction or comfort, you couldn’t quite tell.

I'm not sure why I called

I guess I really just wanted to talk to you

You should have felt more alarmed by the close proximity and unorthodox reason behind it, but, and you didn’t want to admit it, the proximity felt nice. Maybe it was because of the drinks? It had to be because of the drinks.

And I was thinking maybe later on

We could get together for a while

One of his hands left your hip to softly, ever so softly, to lift your chin up to meet his eyes. “What are you getting shy about?” The gentle smirk on his lips paired perfectly with his rich green eyes.

It's been such a long time

And I really do miss your smile

You swallowed, eyes trapped in a jade coated trance. “I think I just had too much to drink.” His lip quirked at your soft, almost whispered tone, holding you as you both swayed to the music. He knew you could hold more alcohol, but didn’t press.

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

He brought you closer to him, resting his head against the side of your own. Savoring the soft smell of citrus from your hair and the warm skin of your lower back against the palm of his hand, and the silk texture of your hand in his own.

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

This felt like the most alien and natural thing he had done with you. It almost made him forget that within only the last few hours, he was fucking you against the hunter green lockers, feeling you cum on his cock.

We could go walking through a windy park

Or take a drive along the beach

He tried to not ruin the delicate moment he was having with you, and he figured his dick pressing into you might make you forget about all the good the night has brought between you two. A larger part of him than he cared to admit didn’t want to go back to the no-strings-attached arrangement he’d had with you for the past few months.

Or stay at home and watch TV

You see it really doesn't matter much to me

He wanted more moments like this with you. But he could feel the apprehension that, as much as he didn’t want to admit, was mostly attributed to his reputation. In the months since first feeling you fall apart under him, he hadn’t slept with anyone else. Not even the desperate tag chasers in form-fitting maxi dresses at the Hard Deck. And that had to count for something.

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

He couldn’t help the pang in his chest; you were definitely open to dating other men. Could he really change your mind about him?

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

You had to admit, if someone had told you months ago that you would be slow dancing with Hangman in a nearly empty bar, and you wouldn't be trying to claw his throat out, you would have told them they’d been breathing in too much jet fuel. As much as you hated to admit it, it felt nice and, dare say, comforting being here with him.

I won't ask for promises

So you don't have to lie

The soft texture of his jacket, warm hold, and soothing scent around his neck made you sigh. It was different from his usual mix of jet fuel, sweat, bergamot, and cedarwood. A part of you really hated how anything looked good on him and that he smelled amazing in whatever scent wafted off of him.

We've both played that game before

Say I love you and say goodbye

“I’m sorry your date didn’t go well tonight,” You gently leaned back from his head, eyes meeting his own. Your eyes drooped comfortably as you looked over his face, trying to detect any sense of pity or ridicule. But all you found were warm, soulful, malachite eyes looking back into your burnt sienna ones under the neon lights. If your mind was clearer, you’d say it was romantic. But this was Hangman, and what he did best was no-commitment hookups in the dead of night. Not romance. It would take more than three martinis to make you forget that.

I'm not talking about moving in

And I don't want to change your life

“Yeah, me too,” you muttered before leaning your head back on his shoulder. He swallowed gently, afraid that the movement would disturb you.

But there's a warm wind blowing, the stars are out

And I'd really love to see you tonight

Jake continued to hold you close as slow songs continued to ebb and flow from the speaker, one after the other; trying to not let his mind drift to how this would play out tomorrow in your more sober mind, until he could feel your weight grow heavier against his body as you swayed gently.

“Hey, Sweets,” he whispered against your hair. You hummed, eyes fluttered closed. “I should get you home.” You hummed in agreement, not having the strength to fight him on the pet name. Your sequoia-colored eyes peeking open, making him smile.

He settled the tab, placing his leather jacket around your shoulders that wrapped you in warmth and the soothing smell of cedarwood and cinnamon.

He walked you back to his truck, opening the door for you and making sure you were settled before closing the door.

The car ride back was silent as you tried to stay awake, listening to the slow country song on the radio, your eyes drifting shut. The smooth stall of the truck made your eyes flutter open. Jake gently reached out to you, gingerly rubbing the knuckle of his forefinger against your exposed forearm to get your attention. You flinched at the unexpected, soft, almost non-existent contact, body tensing. “We’re here, Sweets,” his gentle tone letting your body ease back into the seat.

Before your mind thought to open the door, he was already on the other side opening it for you, and offering you his hand to step down. It was truly unfair how good he looked under the streetlights outside your apartment, with his unbuttoned shirt, sunglasses hooked in the front, and slightly disheveled hair. It made you wonder how you came to hate this man in the first place. But then again, hate was a strong word and maybe he didn’t deserve to have it placed on him. Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis he bought you, tinting your vision of who he was tonight.

Jake didn’t ask if you wanted him to walk you to your door. He held your hand gently in a way that seemed unusual for him as he walked with you up the stone steps to your front door. “Thanks for tonight. I really needed it.” His face broke out into a soft, sincere smile, “anytime, Cherry.” Your lips tugged into a smile, diverting your eyes to the house keys in your hand. His eyes couldn't stop drawing to the strand of dark hair that kept getting in your eyes. Your gaze shot to him as he let his forefinger sweep the hair behind your ear.

“You deserve to have fun every once in a while.”He murmured, eyes tracing over the fine features of your face and the rich color of your hair under the porch light. His soft eyes brought a certain warmth that you'd never experienced with him.

You gave him a smile, as you fiddled with your keys, fighting off the blush that threatened to break through.

“Do you think,” you swallowed, “that you could not tell anyone about my really shitty date?” Jake, putting on a small smile, nodded, “yeah, of course, Sweets. I mean, I think I did a pretty good job at rectifying the experience.”

His gentle, carefree smirk made your lip tip up into a small smile and shake your head.

You let go of his hand, resisting to admit that you missed the contact already.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Hang,” you bid farewell.

He watched with a gentle smile and warm eyes as you closed the door behind you, giving him a soft wave.

His lips pursed, morphing back into a smile as he walked back to his truck. The night seemed to fulfill him more than all of your trysts combined.

It had to count for something that you didn't ask him to never mention your... date? if he could even call it that...

You leaned back against your shut front door, a smile on your lips that he had never brought past your lips.

Maybe it was only because of the three espresso martinis and this haze would lift in the morning, and he’d go back to being Hangman.

Or maybe, just maybe, he truly wasn't as bad as you thought.

People who may be interested <3

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beyondthesefourwalls · 1 year ago

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The Great Escape

Summary: All you wanted on your wedding day was some time alone with your new husband. Luckily for you, Javy was more than game to make an escape and has just the hiding place in mind.

Pairing: Javy Machado x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Suave Javy and fluff for days.

Notes: Back on my Javy agenda. Written for @thedroneranger's pick your poison challenge, with one of the prettiest boards I’ve ever seen. I’m so excited to be able to post it on her birthday of all days!

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You couldn’t contain your giggles as you slipped out of the ballroom, the sound of laughter, clinking glasses, and early 2000’s hip hop quieting as the ornate doors closed. All of your loved ones remained behind it, celebrating and more than halfway drunk from the open bar. But you and Javy craved a moment alone, and you were determined to get it, even if it meant sneaking out in the middle of an orchestrated dance battle Jake had agreed to start on your behalf.

One hand held the skirt of your dress up as the other was held firmly in his as you hurried down the long hallway, the sound of your heels clicking against the pristine granite floors mixing with both of your laughter.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” you urged, picking up your pace. Your mother hadn’t been far away from you all night, and you knew without a doubt she would notice you missing immediately and go looking for you. Like you thought it into existence, the door to the hotel ballroom opened just as you rounded the corner, Javy skidding in his shiny black shoes as he tried to keep pace with you without losing his grip on either your hand or the chilled bottle of Prosecco he had swiped from the bartender on your way out. You picked up into something closer to a sprint as she started calling your name.

You made a split-second decision and veered off into a stairwell, the heavy metal door hitting against the walls and echoing in the space. Javy’s body pushed yours into the cold, tiled wall, shushing you quietly even as he struggled to contain himself. You tried to stifle your echoing giggles, hoping to remain hidden. You both held your breath at the sound of clicking heels right outside the door, but once they passed by and didn’t return, you burst into more laughter.

“Wanna hang out here for a minute?” you asked, leaning against the wall as you caught your breath. Javy looked at you with a warm glint in his dark eyes, his lips curved into a smile just for you. The dim light filtering through the narrow windows cast gentle shadows on his face, and you could see when the look turned mischievous.

“I have a better idea. Come on, Mrs. Machado. Hike up that skirt, we’re going up.”

You squealed when he slapped your butt playfully, but the name sent a thrill through you that you didn’t even try and hide. You followed him up the stairs, your dress once again bunched in your hands. By the time you made it to the top, there were tears in your eyes from how hard the two of you laughed as you tripped over the material more than once.

“Why did I wear a ballgown?” you panted as Javy pushed open the door to the roof. He snorted, and the two of you spoke at the exact same time when you said:

“Your mother.”

“My mother.”

You laughed again as you stepped out onto the rooftop terrace, the cool night air hitting your flushed cheeks and providing a welcome respite from the chaos of the wedding reception. The San Diego city skyline twinkled around you as you took a deep breath of fresh air, taking it all in. The night breeze tousled your hair as you stood there, reveling in the stolen moment of solitude and embracing the peace that came along with it. It was the first time you had been alone with Javy since you slipped the new piece of hardware on his finger and said I do just a few short hours ago.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, the cool bottle of the prosecco still clutched in his right hand chilling you when it bumped against your arm. "Mrs. Machado," Javy whispered against your ear, his voice filled with tenderness. He peppered gentle kisses along your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You tilted your head to the side, savoring the sensation as he continued to shower you with his affection.

“I love the sound of that,” you admitted freely.

Javy hummed in response, turning you in his arms so that you were facing him. He looked down at you with that same devastatingly handsome smile you fell in love with the moment you met him. He brushed a kiss across your painted lips, soft and sweet and not nearly enough for what you wanted. “Me too.” He leant his forehead against yours for just a moment, savoring the feeling. When he pulled away, he smirked at you and held up the bottle in his hand.

“Feel like popping this with me?”

“God yes,” you nearly moaned.

His eyes were fixed on yours as he carefully twisted the wire cage off of the bottle. The anticipation in the air was palpable as he held it at an angle, and with a swift motion, he twisted the cork and a loud pop echoed through the night air. Neither of you had taken into account all the running you had done to get to your rooftop destination so when the bubbles frothed over the rim, cascading down onto your hands and his, you both laughed in surprised delight, jumping away from the overflow.

“Smooth,” you joked, “you’re a regular casanova.”

Your husband winked dramatically, shaking off some of the excess liquid from his hand. “You know it, baby. To us,” he toasted, taking a swig before handing you the sticky bottle.

“To us.”

The taste of prosecco danced on your tongue as you took a sip, savoring both the sweetness and the moment you were having it in. You passed the bottle back and forth as you leant against the railing of the rooftop. Javy pulled you closer, his arm draped around you, pressing your body to his.

"I can't believe we did it," he said, his voice filled with awe. "We're married now."

You smiled up at him, feeling your heart swell. You couldn’t quite believe it either. "I know. It still feels surreal."

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, sighing. "I couldn't be happier, Mrs. Machado."

"Me either, Mr. Machado,"

His eyes sparkled with a mix of love and adoration as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing caress. The taste of bubbles lingered on his breath, intoxicating you even more than what was in the bottle. You melted into his embrace, wrapping an arm around his neck and deepening the kiss. Javy’s hands wandered down your back, his touch igniting a fire within you. You gasped against his lips as his fingers traced the delicate curve of your spine, sending electric currents through your body. The taste of the wine mingled with the heat of your kiss, creating a heady blend that you wanted to bottle up and keep forever.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, the world around you fading away into a blur of lights and distant laughter. It was just the two of you, the way both of you preferred.

When your lips finally parted, Javy's eyes locked with yours, full of an intensity that took your breath away. His voice was husky as he whispered against your mouth, “What are the chances we can go down and say our goodbyes and ditch the rest of the party?”

Your heart raced at the suggestion, unable to resist the allure of being alone with him. But you huffed out a laugh, absolutely knowing better. “You’ve met your new mother-in-law, right? We probably have ten more minutes max up here before she threatens to call the police and send out a search party.”

He groaned, cursing under his breath, though you knew it was playful. “Well, you know what that means then.”

You arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, scratching lightly at the back of his neck as you waited for him to elaborate.

A mischievous smile played on Javy’s lips and he pulled you impossibly closer with a hand on your back while the other covered the one holding the bottle of prosecco, raising it. He took a sip before speaking, the look in his eye wicked in the best of ways. “We have ten minutes to finish this bottle, and I have ten minutes to kiss your lipstick off so that everyone knows exactly what we’ve been up to.”

You giggled happily just as he kissed you, and you thought the taste of the sparkling wine would never taste as good from a bottle as it did from his lips.

--------

Main Masterlist

Notes: Happy Birthday, Jay! I hope I did Coyote Casanova justice for you💚

Thanks to @roosterforme and @mak-32 as per usual!

#alli writes #pick your poison challenge #javy machado #javy machado appreciation #javy coyote machado x reader #javy machado x reader #javy coyote machado #javy machado fic #javy machado imagine #javy machado x you #javy machado x oc #javy machado fluff #coyote x reader #coyote x you #javy coyote machado x oc #javy coyote machado x you #tgm fic #top gun fanfiction

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blujaydoodles · 6 months ago

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gotta admit, she wasn't expecting that 🥰

#dnd #dungeons and dragons #mistletoe #character art #illustration #satyr #faun #goliath #this is everything to me #look at them.... 🥺💕#mistletoe crown infinite kisses hack meets challenger in stoic lawful neutral paladin: what happens next will shock you!!#this was one of those 'justin and I goofing around roleplaying in the living room for funsies' conversations #I in real life was ALSO very much not expecting to get interrupted with '[picks her up and kisses her]'#you'd better believe she's going for the kiss on the lips now that she's up there though hehe #andurath #my OCs #nyssa #dungeons and doodles #erelan

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carewyncromwell · 5 months ago

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Easiest choice you’ll ever have for the make me choose ask: Carewyn Cromwell or Charles Cromwell

Hahaha, for sure!!

make me choose: Carewyn Cromwell or Charles Cromwell

“You said it yourself, Merula – for someone who hated her so much…I did sound a lot like [Rakepick]. I did think a lot like her. At the time I pushed it away, not wanting to think about it – but it’s true. We’re both people who…gather others around us…who put on this caring mask, and encourage and inspire others…while never truly trusting them with the truth of who we are…or what we think. We both have done anything we had to, in order to get at the Vaults. We both have manipulated the people who relied on us and led them into danger for our own benefit. …We both…are liars, through and through. But for all the things we have in common…I have no intention of following her path. I told her once that I didn’t need to use the Cruciatus Curse, or any other Unforgivable Curse, in order to save Jacob, and I meant it. I will not let her prove me wrong in that. I will not treat her life as disposable, the way she did Rowan’s. And I will not give her the satisfaction of escaping the consequences of her actions – not even by dying. I want her to live a very long, lonely life – locked up where she can never hurt anyone again, with only her own failure as company. Just as I want Rowan to always be remembered…I want her to be completely forgotten…for no one to speak her name, with hatred or admiration. At least in Azkaban, her life can be a reminder. A reminder…that there is no glory for people like Patricia Rakepick.”

make me choose between two of my ocs and i’ll make an aesthetic for them!

PSYCH! My Charles Cromwell muse made me do one for him too. >>

make me choose: Carewyn Cromwell or Charles Cromwell

“I will not be so patient the next time you consider disobeying me, young man. My kin you may be…but remember that wording. My kin. Therefore your fate – your future – your continued place in this world – just as those of your mother and sister – are just that. Mine. And I aim to reclaim what is rightfully mine.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #carewyn cromwell #charles cromwell #aesthetic #moodboard #pick an oc challenge

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sentientcave · 4 months ago

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Sparrow

Chapter 3 - Funeral Rites

Read on AO3

Contains: Alcohol, Flirting, John Price POV, non-canon character death (it's a funeral), smoking, Nothing too wild

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~4.4k - MDNI - 18+

John surveyed the cemetery, watching the crowd of mourners in funeral blacks or military jackets mill around, making conversation amongst themselves now that the service was over. The sun sat in an awkward spot in the sky, too low for the tall trees to provide any shade, but still many hours from setting, this time of year. The funeral had been meant to be a small one, a simple late-afternoon graveside service before they lowered the casket into the ground. Half of the local base looked like it had turned out to bury their once quartermaster, although, from what little Nikolai had told him, the man had retired from the military many years ago, to manage his late wife’s company. Maybe it was just the nature of small towns for all to turn out for anything. John had spent much of his life in London, and the only event that could really bring the city together was a football match. Even then, there was always a good chance that the city would be divided on who they wanted to win.

This was a far cry from London in every respect. A little town a ways from the nearest ‘city’, a cemetery by a lake, the smell of fresh water and pine trees on the breeze, warm and sunny in the summer rather than the drizzling, grey and wet weather that seemed to hang over both London and Hereford no matter what time of year it was. He had expected it to be quiet out here, but the buzz of cicadas and chatter of squirrels and birds seemed louder than the rush of traffic.

“Which one’s your niece?” he asked, nudging Nikolai. He looked tired, and had been smoking non-stop since he met up with John around noon, soothing some inner demon with cigarette after cigarette. He wasn’t exactly sure that the young woman they had come here to see was Nikolai’s niece, since the man had never mentioned any of his family before, but he had overheard her voice on the phone once when Nik had called her, and she had called him Uncle Kolya, so it was as near as he could guess.

He didn’t really want to be there, even if Nik’s niece was the most talented pilot in the world. He wanted to find Morgan, apologize, beg for a second chance.

“Speaking to the priest, dark hair, long sleeves.” Nikolai exhaled smoke, tossing his cigarette to the ground.

John zeroed in on the young woman Nik indicated, his heart lurching at the familiar waist length, nearly black curls. “What did you say her name was, again?” he asked, knowing damn well that Nik hadn’t given him a name to begin with.

“I didn’t. You would have looked her up.”

“Would that really have been such a problem?”

“Perhaps not. But I did not want you to decide who she is based on what Kate could dig up. Better to meet with no preconception.”

Too late for that. Although he suspected now that many of his preconceptions were wrong. “Should we go talk to her?”

“She will come to us. My sparrow does not like crowds. She will be glad to get away.” Nikolai shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, at a loss for something to do with his hands now that he wasn’t holding a cigarette.

“You really think she’s cut out for our kind of work?” John had seen a hint of fire in her, but he wasn’t sure that it was enough.

“Of course. I would not recommend her if I did not.” He shrugged lightly. “For the same reason you have use for me. Military is rigid. She can operate any vehicle and fix any engine. Quick, clever, learns on her feet. Well connected.”

“Still, she’s a civilian. There’s no reason she would want to risk her neck working with us.”

“She is much like her mother. Not a woman to sit behind a desk. If I thought she would be happy with a quiet life, I would encourage her.”

“Maybe she just needs some persuasion,” John murmured, watching the young woman weave her way toward them, stopping to have quick conversations with clumps of people, exchanging sombre words and clasped hands. She was close enough now to confirm his suspicion that she really was Morgan, and even more beautiful in the daylight, wearing a modest dress with lace sleeves to her wrists, although it hugged her curves all the way down to her knees in a way that made his mouth water. He could sense Nikolai giving him a sharp look, but he ignored him, unwilling to look away.

He’d thought he’d have to work hard to arrange a second meeting, but here she was, delivered to him on a silver platter.

Well, perhaps not a silver platter. She refused to look at him as she approached, reserving her wide, pretty smile for Nikolai. “Uncle Kolya, you came!” she said, throwing herself into Nikolai’s arms. “It’s good to see you.”

He folded her into a tight hug, smiling back just as widely. “Of course. I am sorry I could not be here sooner.”

“No, it’s alright. I know you’re busy. I’m just glad you made it.” She took a step back when Nikolai released her, finally glancing at John, her dark eyes sharp, but expression guarded, unwilling to show her hand until he did.

It would be better not to tell Nikolai about their meeting last night. “John Price,” he introduced himself, offering her a hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly (he recognized it now as a trait of Nikolai’s), but she stepped forward to shake his hand, willing to pretend they hadn’t already met. “Thank you. Morgan Renard.” She withdrew her soft little hand from his grasp quickly, not giving him the chance to hold on tightly as he wanted to.

“You look tired, varóbushik. Not sleeping well?” Nikolai asked.

“I’ll sleep better once this is all over.” She waved a hand toward the funeral dismissively. “I was hoping for something quiet, but some of Dad’s friends got wind of that and have a whole ‘celebration of life’ planned at the Legion after this, and as soon as there’s any mention of drinking involved, everyone shows up. I’ll have maybe an hour to myself before they’ll start looking for me.” She glanced at John again, and her expression turned a hair guilty. “God, I sound heartless, don’t I?”

“Oh, I very much doubt that you could be described as heartless,” John said, a purr of reassurance in his voice. She was just guarded, careful about letting anyone in. Something like this, with so many people making demands of her, was probably exhausting. He wanted to offer himself up as shelter, put an arm around her shoulders and hold her close. “Everyone mourns in their own way.”

She hugged herself, one arm across her ribs and the other on her shoulder, rubbing a spot there like it ached. “I feel like I did all my mourning months ago, and I’ve just been waiting for this to end.”

She looked vulnerable for a moment, impossibly soft. He’d already decided he liked her round face and stubborn chin, already knew how those soft lips felt against his own. She didn't look like the kind of woman that got her hands dirty, despite the strength in her grip. She just seemed too sweet to belong in John's world of gunpowder and blood. If he hadn’t already seen the fire in her, he would have dismissed her wholesale, would have thought Nikolai crazy for even suggesting working with her.

Although he rather liked the idea of coming home to a woman like her, of having her around, close at hand, he didn’t really care for the possibility of putting her in danger.

"What will you do now?" Nikolai asked. "Back to flying cargo?"

“Maybe. I don’t exactly need to. The company chugs along just fine without me having to do much, but I’m a bit young to retire.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, sneaking a glance at John, and away again when she realized he was studying her openly. “I’m going to take a few months off, check through the books. Maybe start getting the house ready to sell. It was too much space when it was just me and dad, now that it’s just me…”

She looked sad, left to drift, directionless. The captain in John knew he could give her guidance, could take the fire and steel under that soft exterior and forge her anew. The man in him coveted that softness.

“You’re really a pilot?” he asked, angling to get under her skin with the question.

Her eyes flashed, dark and flinty. “I am. And a good one. I’ve yet to meet a bird I couldn’t fly.” She hesitated, like she regretted the boast. “But I mostly run cargo up North. The occasional charter for hunters. Nothing too exciting.”

John tipped his head to the side, studying her. He sensed that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Perhaps she’d done work with Nikolai before. Things she would hesitate to tell someone attached to the military, friend of Nikolai or no. “What do you usually fly?”

“A Mallard. She’s pretty heavily modified, but she’s still a beauty. The model is from the late forties, so she didn’t have the range and speed when my mother first got her.” Morgan lit up a little, brown eyes sparkling, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “She’s a reliable old girl.”

John couldn’t help but smile at her restrained enthusiasm. “Hope you get plenty of chances to take her up while you’re takin’ your break.”

“Oh, I’ll be back up there before long. Wasn’t built for life on solid ground,” she replied, hiding behind a blithe smile. “If I don’t have an engine humming through me I get antsy.”

"Perhaps you should visit me more, yes? It has been a little while since you flew a helo. Wouldn't want you to get rusty." Nikolai had an odd look on his face, a mix of pride and sadness. "I remember the first time you went up. Had the thing bucking like horse."

She laughed. “It was very different than a plane! Took some adjustment.”

“Still better than me! When your mother first took me up, I nearly crashed us into Køge Bay.”

“Really? You never told me that.”

“Well, I did not know how to speak of Lena then. It is easier now.”

“I know there are a lot of stories I never got to hear. But I would like to. I’ll bring Laika.”

Nikolai raised his eyebrows. “Laika? Don’t tell me—”

“My dog! Not a child. Jesus, Kolya, I would have told you if I’d had a baby.” She shook her head. “Got her a couple years ago, when dad first got diagnosed. I was spending a lot more time grounded, needed a project. She’s a good girl.”

Nikolai exhaled, looking relieved. “I’m glad. I worry, sometimes, that your ex-husband has wormed his way back into your life.”

“That’s why I got Laika. She’s not the guard dog I hoped she’d be, but she hates Danny.”

“Then me and her are kindred spirits.” Nikolai nudged John with his elbow. “My varóbushik is beautiful girl, but she married too young, to a—”

“Kolya,” Morgan said warningly. “It doesn’t matter now.”

"Is she looking for better?" Price asked, switching to Russian for a hint of privacy, although he wasn't sure why he bothered. By the look on Morgan's face, she understood just fine.

"Ask her yourself," Nikolai said, raising his hands slightly and backing up a step.

"I doubt you’ll be here long, English," Morgan snapped. "There’s no point in asking."

John raised his eyebrows, hiding his grin. ““Maybe you could give me your number. I’ll make sure I’m in town longer, next time.”

She crossed her arms, her stance widening automatically, defensively. “You’re planning on coming back?”

It was hard not to grin. Beside him, Nikolai lit another cigarette to hide his own amusement. “I get leave. Seems like a nice place to spend time.”

“You’d be wrong, unless you’ve got some sort of hard on for camping. But maybe that’s what this whole pseudo-military get-up is about.” Morgan unhooked one arm and waved at his outfit, indicating everything from his boots to his hat, her expression flat, unamused. She was still upset about what had happened the night before, by that look. Trying to drill the no that she didn’t really mean through his head. She was on the defensive, guard all the way up again. “There’s a provincial park nearby, but if you’re looking for something spectacular, you’d be better off going to Algonquin, or better yet, Banff. Go see the Rockies.”

He resisted the urge to tell her that he’d already found something spectacular. “Wouldn’t mind that. Maybe I can charter a pilot to take me. Get the lay of the land from up high.” He crossed his arms too, mirroring her stance, biting back a grin.

Her eyes narrowed. “Nikolai’s a pilot. Ask him.”

“Nikolai isn’t as likely to improve the view.”

“Does that sort of corny-ass line usually work for you?” Morgan asked. She was well and truly mad now. “Or are you breaking that out special for picking up a girl at her father’s funeral?”

Nikolai covered a laugh with a cough, clearly enjoying watching Morgan react to John’s attempts at flirting with barely-restrained hostility. Not that John could blame him. He was enjoying himself too. Maybe there was something of a schoolboy in him still, tugging on a pretty girl’s braids for attention, hoping that she’d chase him across the playground and wrestle him into the dirt.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was getting harder and harder not to grin outright. “Sure makes me sound a bit brazen. But I was breakin’ it out special.”

She glared at him. “Well put it back. I’m not interested.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.”

Morgan didn’t seem to know what to do with the cession. She had all that fight in her body still, and now nowhere to direct it. “Well. Good.” She turned back to Nikolai. “Are you staying long? There’s a bit of a to-do at the Legion tonight, but if you can’t stick around, maybe we can do something tomorrow? If you come out to the house you can meet Laika.”

“We will come tonight. Or I will. I cannot speak for Price.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He had been lucky to get extra time with her, he’d take every moment more that he could get.

“I’m gonna go. I have a bit of time before anyone’ll come looking for me, and I need to clear my head before I listen to another old guy tell me about the Gulf War.” She gave Nikolai a hug and nodded stiffly at Price, walking away as quickly as she could, hindered by the cut of her skirt. She stopped a little ways away and unzipped a side seam in her skirt so she could take proper strides, revealing one leg all the way to mid-thigh. The slight modification was undoubtedly practical, but it also changed the tone of the dress from modest to enticing. It was not difficult to imagine sliding his hands underneath and getting a handful of her round arse, or kneeling down and hooking that long leg over his shoulder while he tasted her pretty cunt. Things he could have had already if he’d shut his damn mouth.

“You look like a wolf who has spotted supper,” Nikolai said. “Behave yourself, Price.”

“I’ve hardly said anything,” John protested, but he still didn’t look away as Morgan gathered her hair back into a low ponytail and crammed a helmet onto her head. He didn’t look away until she had climbed onto a motorcycle and gunned it down the street and out of sight. By clearing her head, it seemed that she actually meant speeding over pavement with a rumbling engine between her legs. He’d never been so jealous of a vehicle before.

“You have said enough.” Nikolai lit up yet another cigarette. “She is my family. Try not to break her heart, da?”

John made a small attempt to look contrite, but by Nikolai’s unimpressed expression, he failed to convince. “Not worried about my heart, eh?”

Nikolai snorted and clapped John on the shoulder. “No. You aren’t good enough for her anyway.”

If Nikolai really didn’t want him pursuing Morgan, he wouldn’t have introduced them at all, and certainly not like this, springing John on her rather than warning her ahead of time that he was bringing a friend. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the work yet either, leaving it to John to broach the subject. The problem was that he no longer wanted to broach the subject— Skilled pilot or no, Morgan seemed too soft and too sweet (despite her defensive prickles) to belong on a battlefield. She belonged in a nice house with a white-painted fence and a garden, giving John a smile and a kiss when he came home from deployment. It was far easier to place her in an idyllic daydream than imagine her sparring with his boys in the barracks or practicing her shooting in the range, let alone steering a helo through a hail of bullets during a tricky exfil.

No, it wouldn’t do to put her in the line of fire. But he did have the opportunity ahead of him to charm her into giving up her phone number, at least. And then, from there, he could work out the rest. She was already thinking about moving, so it might not be all that tricky to convince her to go somewhere more convenient for him to drop by more often. Maybe even tempt her all the way overseas, if he went about it the right way.

Figuring out what the right way to go about it was would be the trickier bit. He didn’t know enough about her yet, aside from her name and the little that Nikolai had told him. She was had money, so she didn’t need someone to take care of her, at least in a material sense, her previous marriage to some bloody muppet had made her distrustful, and she balked at any indication of commitment or deeper interest. She would be a tough nut to crack.

He mulled it over, half his mind dedicated to Morgan, the other half paying attention to Nikolai.

Nik probably noticed his distraction-- Few things got past the man-- but he let John get away with it. There was a lot to consider.

The Legion was a low brick and concrete building, with a bar and cheap tables and chairs that could be folded up and put away if the event in question called for it. The floors were linoleum, scuffed up and stained, and the fluorescent lights buzzed a bit under the low hum of conversation. A place somewhere between a rec hall and a cheap bar, nearly identical to the one back home in Hereford.

It was a laid back kind of affair, a slideshow rotating through pictures on the wall, a few people getting up to tell stories about Michel Luc, including Morgan, who told a funny story about a family trip to France, where he had gotten increasingly irate at the locals insistence that they couldn't understand him even though he'd spoken French from the cradle. He didn't pay attention to the other speakers, but he did watch the slides for every trace of Morgan, slotting more information into the dossier he was building in his head. A few stood out to him, one where she was squinting down the scope of a hunting rifle, her father beside her, pointing forward, and the following one, where she held the rifle with two hands like a little soldier, a serious look on her face while her father and a teenage boy that must have been her brother carried a buck between them. Lots with a woman that looked a great deal like Morgan, pretty, but sharper around the edges, sporting signature sunglasses and a red-lipped smile in most of her pictures.

"Lena," Nikolai said with a nod toward the slideshow. "Morgan's mother."

She disappeared from any pictures where Morgan was a teen. The brother disappeared as well.

"What happened?"

"Luke was killed in the middle east. He was a soldier, like Michel."

"How come Morgan decided not to serve?" John asked. "Whole military family except her."

Nikolai hummed. "I do not recall her mentioning that her mother was military to you."

Busted. "We met last night by chance. Managed to piss 'er off."

"I wondered why she seemed to hate you."

"She doesn't hate me. She hates that she likes me."

Nik gave him a disbelieving look. "Ah, of course. Good luck with that." He clapped John on the shoulder, still amused. “There is a woman who has been making eyes at me for fifteen minutes. I’m going to say hello. If you talk to Morgan again, watch out for her left hook, yes? She is stronger than she seems.”

John waved him off, laughing. Optimist that he was, he hoped for a better outcome than getting punched. He watched her make the rounds of the room, fascinated by the way she flowed through conversations, body language and expression changing rapidly as she became whoever she needed to be to ease the conversation along. It looked exhausting.

She glanced his way a few times, cheeks turning slighty pink when she found him watching and still watching. His presence flustered her, set her off balance.

When her smile started straining around the edges, he stepped outside for a cigar, leaning against the side of the building, out of the way. Predictably, she stepped outside for some air not long after, not looking for him, but for a moment alone. Still, she walked right up to him when he waved her over, like she just couldn’t help herself. She sighed, leaning into the wall beside him.

“A cigar guy, huh?” she observed.

John hummed, offering it to her.

She shook her head. They stood in silence for a long moment, the high-pitched song of crickets filling the air, a cool breeze breaking the humidity of the day. Morgan tipped her head back to look at the sky, filled with bright stars, more than John could see from home. He remembered the first time he’d really seen the stars, up near the Northern tip of Scotland, on a fishing trip with his dad and granddad. They’d been so bright and close, it was almost as if he could reach up and touch them, catch a star and bring it to earth, to keep in his pocket like some heavenly souvenir.

Morgan looked worn down, like she’d spent everything she had shuffling through the masks that got her through the day. Now she had none left, and he could see her, watching the stars with sad eyes.

“You look tired,” John said at last.

“I am. It’s been a long day.”

“You took a lot on.”

“Yeah. I feel like I haven’t had a real break from anything in years now. I think I’ll sleep for a week after this.” She looked over at him. “Did Nikolai leave?”

“I’m not sure. Last I checked he was introducin’ himself to some woman.” He grinned around his cigar, hooking his thumb through a belt loop. “Have to admit, it wasn’t him I was watchin’.”

“I guess they don’t teach subtlety where you come from.”

“They do. Just don’t always have the time for it. Wanted to make sure you know I’m interested.”

That made her laugh. “Don’t worry, English. You’ve been more than clear. It’s just not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have to give you a reason.” She fiddled with her necklace, pulling it out of her collar and holding it tight in her palm.

“You don’t,” John agreed. “Shouldn’t have been so pushy with you last night. I’m not that good at lettin’ things go.”

“It’s alright. I kind of freaked out, especially when you got between me and the door.”

“Hope you tell me the reason for that someday.” He tossed the spent cigar down and ground it under his heel, the movement bringing his knee close enough to brush her skirt. “Can I take you home?”

“Still not going to happen.”

“But you want to.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, English.”

“How about a kiss, then?”

“You don’t like hearing no, do you?”

John laughed softly. "We'd both enjoy a yes. No sense denyin' it."

"Maybe next time." She said it dismissively, like she didn't expect there to be a next time. Worse, she shifted away, almost imperceptibly.

A new tactic was needed. He’d have to put it in her hands."How about I give you my number? We can get to know each other a little better before next time comes around."

"You can give it to me, but I can't promise I'll call you. Got a pen?"

He fished one out if his pocket. She rolled up her sleeve and offered him her forearm. "Could just give me your number," he said, gripping her wrist with his left hand to hold her steady as he carefully printed his initials and the number of the burner phone currently in his pocket. He rather liked the look of his initials inked on her skin.

"If I do that you'll call me tomorrow morning and try to change my mind before you leave."

He had to admit, that did sound like him. "Alright. When can I expect you to call?" He blew on the ink to make sure it was dry. He didn't want it to smudge, but he really didn’t want to let go, and it gave him an excuse to hold on a little longer, feeling the way her pulse leapt against his fingers.

"Between three days and never," she said, tugging her arm out of his grasp, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"Hope it's not never."

"Me too,” she admitted, surprising him. “But no promises."

Maybe she wasn't going to make any promises, but he was. He would see her again soon whether or not she reached out. If there was one thing John Price was no good at, it was letting things go once they’d caught his attention.

He wasn't about to let her slip away.

#cave writing #Sparrow #John Price x OC #x OC #This story starts a little slow but it'll pick up #I still enjoy all these slower set up bits #John stop being annoying challenge (Impossible)#OC: Morgan Renard

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