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papercorgiworld · 6 months

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The Death Eater Drabbles:

Untie me

Mattheo, Theodore, Enzo, Draco and Blaise

A certain death eater ends up being your prisoner and he is being a bit difficult.

Warning: suggestiveness

A/N: Apparently drabbles are supposed to be exact 100 words long, so let’s call this the drabble+ version because you get extra words for free. Yey!

Also, like technically I wrote a part 2, but I don’t really like it cause it’s a tiny bit angsty and feels boring. But then again, I’m pretty sure there’s a braincell working on part 3. So I really have no idea where this is going. But for now this is just a short fun thingy on its own.

I added part 2: Cuts and bruised egos

The war against Voldemort and his deatheaters was lasting longer than expected. Somehow you had ended up in charge of the top secret safehouse of the order of the phoenix. Only a select few members knew about it. It was a place of refuge in case of emergency, you had permanency there in case of medical emergencies and to study books to find out more about horcruxes.

You were brewing wiggenweld potions to be prepared for the next wounded person that might be brought in. Then suddenly you heard a lot of noise and grabbed your wand, pointing it towards the door. Thankfully you heard Harry say the password and the door swung open revealing the golden trio and someone else whose head was covered.

The mystery person struggled as Ron and Harry dragged them inside. It was then that you noticed their hands were tied behind their back. Hermoine saw your confused and worried expression. “Don’t worry I enchanted the ropes. It’s safe.” The mystery person snorted at Hermoine’s words. You nodded but that wasn’t on your mind at all. “Who is it?” You asked with urgency. Ron pushed the person into the guest room and pulled off the bag covering the mystery person’s face.

Your eyes widen.

“Mattheo Riddle.”

It takes a moment before you proces what Hermoine said and what you’re seeing, but it is true. The golden trio managed to capture the dark lord’s son. “Look (y/n), we gotta leave now. You have to watch him. But be careful. You can’t trust him.” You stare at Harry as he gives you your orders. You would much rather have an explanation. However there seems to be no time for that, because they’re already at the front door again. “Be safe.” You whisper and the three grimace before shutting the door.

You turn around and make your way to the guest room where, believe it or not, Mattheo Riddle is still standing with his hands tied behind his back. His face is bloody, clothes dirty and hair messy. Clearly he didn’t go down without a fight. But, apparently he wasn’t slapped around enough since his arrogant smirk was still ever present. “Aren’t you going to untie me?” He asks like you were being a little slow. You frown. “No. Of course not. I’m not stupid.” You say, annoyed with his attitude. He smiles wickedly and licks his lip taking a small step towards you. “So, does that mean you’re going to feed me? And wash me?” You’re baffled and your mouth falls open for a moment. “Looking forward to it, love.” Mattheo adds taking another step in your direction. You huff and turn around, closing the door behind you. Oh dear, this is going to be something.

“Theodore Nott.”

You turn to the trio with a questioning look. “Long story.” Is all Ron says. “We need to leave now.” Harry announces. Hermoine grabs you while Harry and Ron leave the room. “Be careful. He’s a death eater. You can’t trust him.” You nod and watch as she hurries to follow her friends. When you hear the front door close you turn to your prisoner. Some of the cuts on his face still bleed, but what is utmost worrying is the bloodstain on his shirt indicating he might have a serious injury. Theo just gives you a smug half smile that makes you feel like he’s in charge. “Mind helping me out?” Theo asks as he turns his head as a way of motioning to his tied hands.

You raise your eyebrows at his ridiculous question. “Oh yes. And shall I also offer you my wand.” You return sarcastically. He huffs like you're being childish and difficult. He takes a seat at the end of the bed and you turn around heading to the door to get rid of his demeaning presence. “Are you going to hold my dick when I have to pee then? Because in that case I might make some extra suggestions. I bet you’re real handy.” His grin shows how much he enjoys playing with you. You throw him a dirty look, but decide to leave it at that and close the door. He’s clearly not that hurt. I’m sure he can bleed for a little longer.

“Enzo Berkshire”

You frown confused. All his friends are death eaters but Enzo as well, that’s a bit surprising. “He attacked us.” Harry explained seeing as you were clearly surprised. “This is a big misunderstanding. I’m a peace negotiator.” Enzo quipped, taking a pleading step towards you. Ron pushes him back immediately. “The bloody worst one ever.” Hermoine shifts her gaze from Enzo to you. “Don’t believe a word he says and make sure he doesn’t escape.” With a dumbfounded expression you watch the trio leave. Zero explanation. It’s always the same with them.

As soon as Enzo hears the front door close he walks towards you. “This is all a big mistake. I’m innocent.” His sudden closeness startles you. For your own safety you have to assume the worst, that he just like his friends serves Voldemort. He ignores the fear in your eyes and pushes on. “(Y/n), please untie me. You can trust me.” You take a step back and shake your head. “Not happening, Enzo.” His face gets desperate as he continues pleading. “But what if I get an ich? Or other things?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Will you come help me?” Not really realizing how dirty Enzo’s suggestion was, you nonchalantly answer: “Sure Enzo.”.

He’s a little surprised by your answer but he isn’t going to let the opportunity pass by. “I guess in that case I’m most definitely a dangerous man, you can never let me escape.” He winks at you and it is only then that you realize what you agreed to. His cheeky smile gets brighter as he sees your face fall when the realization hits you. “No. Whatever you’re thinking Enzo, no.” With that you quickly exit the room with a tomato red face. Great! I’m in charge of a horny death eater, just my luck.

“Draco Malfoy.”

All your curiosity was instantly replaced by annoyance. “You brought Malfoy here. What a blessing.” The words leave your mouth with a thick layer of sarcasm. Draco completely ignores you. “You will pay for this, Potter.” Harry looks at you and smiles while wiggling his eyebrows. “Have fun babysitting him. I would say be careful that he doesn’t escape, but I’m pretty sure the death eaters will bring him back.” A faint laugh escapes you and you walk the trio back to the front door to say your goodbyes.

When you turn around Draco is standing in the doorway of the guest room, now a prison room. “Fucking untie me.” Malfoy demands with venom in his voice. You push against his chest and make him take a few steps back into his new room. “Since you asked so nicely: no.” You answer with fake kindness. “Who do you think you are?” He snaps taking a step towards you. Though you’re slightly intimidated now that he’s towering over you, you manage to keep your cool. “Pretty sure I’m the one in charge here.” Draco huffs, but before he starts snapping again you push his side. He winces in pain and takes a step back.

Just as you thought, the dirt on his shirt indicates a bad fall on his side, probably some painful bruises. “How about you calm down and I will come back later to check your injuries.” He narrows his eyes at you in frustration. “You won’t untie me and now you’re planning on undressing me. Sounds like a bad date.” You roll your eyes and leave the room. A bad date is an understatement.

“Blaise Zabini.”

A small gasp escapes you as you make eye contact with the man under the hood. “You brought Zabini here?” You ask, not ready to process what your eyes are seeing. “We kinda stumbled into him. He was difficult to catch but having one less deatheater on the streets was well worth the work.” Harry explained. You scan over Blaise’s face, immediately noticing several bruises. When he looks up to you, you quickly look away. “Keep your distance. He’s no good.” Hermoine says as the trio leaves the room. Ron pats you on the shoulder as a way of wishing you luck. You watch your friends close the front door as you lean against the doorframe of the guest room.

You turn to Blaise and offer him an awkward smile. He’s the first one to break the silence. “I’m going to be honest. Normally I would find this all very kinky but right now I would really appreciate it if you untie me.” You roll your eyes at his playful tone. “How about: no. And I suggest you keep quiet or I'll tape your mouth shut.” Blaise looks frustrated with your lack of cooperation for a moment, but then his smirk returns. “Even kinkier. This should be fun.” You regret saying anything. “Nothing kinky is going to happen, since I’m leaving.” Blaise is annoyed that you don’t entertain him and go along with his joke. However as he watches you leave he panics. “Hey, I was being serious! You can’t leave me all tied up.” You ignore his frustrated voice and close the door. Seven years at Hogwarts and now I’m stuck with him again. Absolutely lovely.

#slytherin #theodore nott #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #blaise zabini #blaise zabini imagine #blaise zabini x reader #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #draco malfoy #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo berkshire x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #death eaters #papercorgiworldwritings

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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okay but season 1/2 spencer when you’re wearing a push-up bra and a tank top because it’s the only thing you had left in your go-bag and he’s just 🤯😳🫢 and the team is all like 🤨🤨. spencer is such a boob man and you can’t convince me otherwise

Emily whistles when you emerge from your shared bathroom, the sweltering heat of phoenix mucking up your skin with sticky sweat.

"That's quite an ensemble," She gives you a once-over, eyes tracking your tank top/push up combo, as well as the tiny shorts clinging to your thighs, "You trying to seduce a confession out of these suspects?"

"It wouldn't hurt," You laugh, "But no. I just packed this when I was low on clean laundry. I'll swap them out when we get back."

"Let's go, then." She offers her arm, and you hook yours through hers with a light chuckle, "Ready to go comb through those files?"

"No," You sigh, digging your room keys out of your pocket and locking your door behind you, "But I guess I'd rather read those than poke at a dead body for evidence, like Rossi and Reid."

"What about me?" A smooth voice comes from the door you're passing, and Dave steps out, adjusting his suit jacket on his shoulders.

"I said I'm glad I'm not on your team today, too much blood and guts for my taste."

He gives you an amused smile, something that you return until you hear a thud. You glance up and see Spencer rubbing his forehead, eyes wide despite the scowl on his face.

"Reid," Emily laughs, "Did you just run into the door?"

"No," He huffs, eyes glued to somewhere suspiciously below your chin, "I just- I wasn't looking where I was going, and-"

"I see," Dave chuckles, dragging the young doctor out of his room and shutting the door behind him, "Let's go, loverboy."

None of you care to ask about the nickname, and Reid's thankful for that. What he isn't thankful for is the sway of your ass as you walk in front of him, still arm-in-arm with Emily and scolding her for the way she'd kicked you off of the bed last night.

"I'm never rooming with her again," You spin to face the men behind you, jerking your thumb towards Emily, "I mean, there's only so many times a girl can hit the ground before she stays there!"

Apparently Spencer isn't immune to hitting the ground, either. His shoe catches on the metal track of the elevator doors and he stumbles, Rossi's hand on his shoulder not enough to stop him from toppling. He hits the ground with a thud, a heap of clumsiness and lanky limbs.

"Reid!" You cry, face tugged into a sympathetic frown, "Are you okay? Here," You bend down, offering him a hand, "Lemme help you up."

If he wasn't already on the ground he'd be falling again, the angle that you're leaning over at showcasing the curves of your chest and the fortunate boost that your bra had given you. He keeps his eyes frantically glued to your face, but his peripheral vision is enough so see both your cleavage, and his team members behind you, laughing their asses off.

"I'm okay! I'm okay," He stammers, rushing to stand. In doing so, you're not given enough time to back up before his head is shooting upwards, his legs propelling him straight into your chest.

He grunts as he tries catching you before you tip over, but ultimately it's Dave that braces a hand against your back so that you don't fall. You let out a hot-cheeked, adrenaline-filled burst of laughter, "I guess I'm not good with balance this early in the morning."

"And Reid's not good at focusing," Emily drawls, grabbing your hand to tug you to rest safely against the back of the elevator, "At least not on what he's supposed to be looking at."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

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ereardon · 1 month

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Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Ten

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child?

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Ducky and Jake deal with jealousy; the team meets Bob's new girlfriend

WC: 2.5K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The first time it happened, you were at the library desk, sitting down and pouring over a handful of new returns, typing in their serial numbers to check where they were meant to be shelved.

“Excuse me?” You looked up. A guy, probably in his mid twenties, with blindingly white teeth and perfect olive skin, smiled down at you. “Could I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” You pushed away the book and leaned forward on the desk, hands smoothed down over the cold surface. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a book about motorcycle repairs.”

“Sure, I think that would be over in that back left corner.” You pointed one finger.

He grinned. “Care to show me?” There was something flirty about the way he said it and you felt your blood pressure rise.

“Sure.” You stood up and walked around the edge of the desk.

His eyes widened as he looked you up and down. He cleared his throat. “Actually, uh, I’m sure I can find it myself. Thanks.” He was gone before you could even comprehend what had happened.

And then you looked down and realized you could no longer hide it.

***

“Y/N?” Jake’s voice rang out in the apartment. “Honey?”

You emerged around the corner wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of bike shorts with a frown. “What did we talk about?”

He smirked. “Sorry, habit.”

“What do you want?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Just wanted to tell you I’m going out,” he said quietly.

“The bar?”

He hesitated. Then, “Um, No. a date.”

Your heart squeezed. And even though you had said he should date, you hadn’t really meant it. You hadn’t thought he would go through with it. “Oh,” you whispered. “OK. See you later I guess.”

Jake frowned. “Do you, uh, want to come with?”

You cackled. “You’re joking, right?”

“I don’t know what to do here, Y/N,” he sighed. “You seem upset but you told me to date. You practically shoved me out the door. And now I feel guilty leaving you alone.”

“I’ll call Phoenix,” you said, picking up the phone. “I don’t want to go along on whatever slut date you have planned.”

Jake’s face hardened. “Well OK. I guess I’ll see you later.” The sound of the door closing, hard, made you jump.

You collapsed on the couch and pulled out your phone. “Phoenix, it’s Y/N. Listen, do you want to come over?” You paused. “Jake is out on a date.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

***

“He’s a jerk.”

“I told him to go!”

Phoenix yanked her hand out of the popcorn bowl. “Still. Jerk.”

“Was he like this when the two of you were together?”

She closed her eyes for a moment then shook her head. “Yeah, uh, he’s always been like this.”

“Why do you sound so hesitant?”

“Honestly?”

“Hit me.” You pulled your legs up beneath you on the couch and slapped your knees.

“I thought he would be different,” she said quietly. “With you. With the baby. That maybe this was the wakeup call he needed to get his life together.”

“I guess not,” you replied.

“Don’t count him out yet,” Phoenix added, sipping her wine. “He might surprise you.”

Less than an hour later, you and Phoenix both turned as the key in the lock swiveled and the door opened. She looked over at you, wide eyed, as Jake stepped inside alone.

“Trace,” he called out as he stepped into the living room. “Y/N.”

“Hangman,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re home early. Quickie by the side of the road, no dinner?”

He blushed, a grimace over his handsome and chiseled jawline. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yup,” she said, tossing one arm over your shoulder. “Right here, watching Desperate Housewives.”

“Natasha,” he said and there was something in his voice. Both of you registered it. A pleading.

She turned to you. “Guess that’s my cue. Call me.” Phoenix stood up, her tanned legs unfolding gracefully. As she crossed the room, her eyes lingered in Jake but his eyes were glued on you. He stood in the middle of the room until the sound of the door shutting rattled the wall.

“How was your date?” you asked.

“I told her about you and she walked out.”

“You’re so dumb.” You shook your head. “Why on earth would you tell her that on a first date?”

Jake rubbed his eyes furiously. “What the hell else am I supposed to say, Y/N? If I want to take a girl back to my place, you’re in the next room. In six months, there will be a baby in a crib in the apartment.”

You stood up. “You’re the one who asked me to move in. Who begged me. And now you’re blaming your shitty sex life on me?”

“I, fuck!” Jake tossed his hands up into the air. His face, normally so composed, was angry. He stepped forward and instinctively your hands fell to your stomach. He stopped, his eyes wide. “Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” he whispered, voice shaking.

“I don’t know,” you replied softly. Was he going to hurt you? Was dating someone else hurting you, even if you said it was fine? Was staying out late, flirting with other women, hurting you?

You’d be lying if you said no.

His green eyes bore into yours. “I’m going to bed.”

“Jake!” You called out after him but he was already halfway down the hallway.

You were frozen in the living room as the sound of his bedroom door shutting filled the apartment. Without thinking, you padded down the hallway and flung open the door to his room. Jake whirled around, his chest bare, wearing just a pair of khakis. “Y/N,” he breathed out. “What are you–?”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you whispered, stepping closer.

“Never.”

“Why did you tell her?” you whispered.

“What?”

“The girl. The date. Why did you tell her about me?”

Jake hesitated. “I told you. If I wanted to bring her home –”

You shook your head, interrupting him. “That’s not the real reason, is it?” You stepped closer, so only a whisper of space was between the two of you.

“Y/N.” Jake’s voice was low and dark, it practically rumbled through your body. “What are you doing?”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you repeated.

“No.”

“Do you want me to see other people?”

“No.” It came out automatically.

“Why not?”

“Because.” His breath was warm and smelled like beer but you knew without a shadow of a doubt he was stone cold sober. “Because you’re carrying my child.”

“That’s it?” you asked. “That’s the only reason.” The room was dark and heady. You could feel your pulse racing.

“You think I want other men touching you?” he whispered. “Putting their hands on your stomach, feeling our baby when I've never even felt our baby move?”

You reached out, taking one of his hands in his, your other hand easing up the edge of your sweatshirt. Jake sucked in a breath at the curve of your lower stomach as you pressed his fingertips below your belly button. In the slim sliver of moonlight, you watched his tanned, large hand hold on. “It’s too early,” you whispered. “To feel anything.” You looked up.

Jake was silent, his eyes glued to your stomach, his fingertips warm against your stretched skin.

“I’m asking you,” you said quietly, “not to hurt me.”

Jake pulled his hand away, but you could still feel the heat of his skin on yours. “That’s the last thing I’m going to do.”

You stepped back. Any closer and you would throw yourself into Jake’s arms. You wanted nothing more than to feel his strong arms wrap around your body, pull you in tightly. Feel the whisper of his lips against yours.

But for your sanity, you stepped back, into the door frame. Let the moonlight slip from Jake’s face until he was plunged into darkness.

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

Even in the darkness, you could picture his frown. “Goodnight.”

***

“Tell me everything.”

Bob blushed and you nudged his arm with your elbow. Across the table, Phoenix grinned. “Tell her, Floyd.”

“Her name is Sena,” he replied quietly. “We met on Hinge.”

You squealed. Across the table, Bradley covered his ears while Phoenix cackled.

Bob patted your hand. “Ducky, please.”

“Tell me more,” you begged.

He dipped his head. “She’s pretty.”

“She’s fucking hot,” Phoenix corrected.

“She’s beautiful,” Bob countered and you watched the way his eyes lit up. “She’s a pharmacist. Her family is from Mexico and she likes to surf.”

“So she’s hot,” you said, leaning back and giggling. “Bobby, I’m happy. Are you happy?”

“I’m happy.”

“Why are we so happy?” Jake slid into the spot next to you on the bench, his thigh grazing yours for a second and you felt a flutter in your stomach. Jitters.

“Bobby here has a girlfriend,” you said proudly.

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Shut up.”

“OK Regina George,” Phoenix countered and the group laughed.

“Bring her around sometime, Floyd,” Jake said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You swatted at him playfully. “Don’t tease him.”

Jake caught your hand for a moment mid-air and the two of you paused, your eyes locked. And then Rooster coughed and your hand fell. You turned back to Bob whose blue eyes were watching you carefully.

“Bring her around, though,” you said. “Please, Bobby? I want to meet her.”

He took your hand and squeezed. “OK, Duck. You can meet her.”

***

“A bar, really?” You frowned at the text on your phone. Bob and his new girlfriend were already at The Hard Deck with Phoenix and Coyote. You grunted and tugged at your dress, too tight around the middle. “I look fat,” you muttered to yourself.

“You’re pregnant.” Jake hovered in the doorway and you turned.

“I just look like I ate twelve donuts.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“I should change.”

Jake grinned. “Should I sit down or is it not that kind of show?”

You rolled your eyes. “Wait in the living room, I’ll be five minutes.”

“I grew up with sisters, it’s never five minutes.” His voice trailed off as he meandered down the hallway. Twenty minutes later, you hated that he was right, you emerged in the living room wearing a flowing dress and your hair swept up, a pair of earrings dangling toward your collarbone. Jake stood up and patted down the legs of his jeans. “You look perfect.”

“Are you sure?” you asked nervously. “I can go change, and–”

“Woman.” He stepped forward and grabbed your arm lightly. “No more changing. We’re late as it is.”

“Did you just call me woman?”

Jake opened the door to his truck, shaking his head. “Hop in. Please.”

The ride to the bar was largely silent, punctuated by Jake asking you what radio station you wanted and how you were feeling. By the time you pulled up to the bar, you could sense something was off. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”

“What?” He cut the engine.

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m literally not saying anything.”

“That’s what’s weird!”

“There’s no winning with you, sweetheart.”

“Ugh there you go again with the nicknames.”

“Jesus.” He flung open his door and stomped out. You struggled to chase after him, practically wobbling to catch up with him in the gravel parking lot.

“Jake!” He whipped around as your fingertips closed around his bicep. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You think it’s easy?” he asked. “Seeing you looking like that walking into a place like this?”

You frowned. “I’m pregnant. No one is looking at me.”

“Everyone is looking at you,” he whispered hotly. “You don’t look pregnant at all in that outfit. You look fucking gorgeous and I guarantee that every single guy in there is going to try to buy you a drink.”

“Well I can’t drink,” you spat back. “So unless they want to buy me a ginger ale they can fuck off.”

“I better not see anyone touching you.”

“Well then you better keep your eyes peeled.” You shook your head. “I’m going to find Bobby.”

The bar was crowded and you had to weave your way through sweaty bodies to get to the back. Just as one elbow was about to shoot out and smash you in the face, a hand pulled you back and you felt your back press against a hard chest, Jake’s fingertips smoothing over your side. “Watch out,” he hissed at the guy with the curveball elbow. “You almost hit her in the face.”

“Sorry dude.” The guy barely shifted and Jake shoved him out of the way, using his forearm as a shield to protect you from the masses until the two of you were birthed out of the crowd into the back of the room.

Bob stood up immediately and you stepped closer to him, Jake’s hand falling from your side. “Ducky,” he said and you tossed your arms around his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. “This is Sena. Sena, this is my little sister Y/N.”

She held out one hand. “Hi, so nice to meet you! Bobby has told me so much about you.”

Sena was way cuter than Bob had described. Tall and lithe, with beautiful tanned skin and shiny dark hair that fell past her shoulders with a slight wave. She had a stack of gold bracelets on one arm, and was wearing a pair of shorts and a crop top, a taunt section of skin showing a tattoo curved around her side that you couldn’t quite make out. You grinned. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“Here, sit.” Bob pulled out a chair and you settled in. You turned, expecting Jake to be right behind you, but he disappeared into the crowd. Instead, you shook your head and turned to Sena.

“So tell me everything,” you said and Bob shook his head with a sigh. “Let’s start with your biggest icks about my brother.”

She laughed and you sat and listened as she waxed poetic about Bobby. There was an air about them, you noticed it instantly. The way her hand floated to his thigh, how he would smile at her when she spoke. A spark. Something deep inside of you panged with jealousy, and happiness.

After a while, once the conversation had flipped to Bradley, you swiveled around and squinted. Jake still hadn’t come back to the table. It had been at least forty minutes since the two of you had arrived.

You stood up and Bob looked up, eyes wide. “Have to pee,” you said and he nodded. You weaved through the crowd, now thinning on the edges, toward the long hallway in the back.

But as you rounded the corner, your breath caught.

Jake, with one hand pressed against the wood wall, leaning over a short redhead, her doe eyes trained on him, his free hand tipping her chin up toward him. You watched, mouth agape, as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

You turned and fled, before he could see you. Even if it meant peeing your pants. You would pee in the sand, for all you cared. Anything to get away from Jake Seresin in that moment.

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @withahappyrefrain @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @gigisimsonmars @xomrsalliej4787xo @myfaveficrecs @mycobrakai1972 @sio-ina-bottle @joaquinwhorres @justanothermagicalsara @je-suis-prest-rachel @shanimallina87

@rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me @kmc1989 @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @bbyvanessaa @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @boiolay @sometimesanalice @na-ta-sh-aa @bobfloydsbabe @kmc1989 @rosiahills22 @palepeanutponyshoe @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @mel119g @daggerspare-standingby @grxcisxhy-wp @mrsjobarnes @csmt-m @rockbottompunk-blog @joaquinwhorres @xoxabs88xox @spinning-away

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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 days

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Microsoft pinky swears that THIS TIME they’ll make security a priority

One June 20, I'm live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On June 21, I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On June 22, I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.

As the old saying goes, "When someone tells you who they are and you get fooled again, shame on you." That goes double for Microsoft, especially when it comes to security promises.

Microsoft is, was, always has been, and always will be a rotten company. At every turn, throughout their history, they have learned the wrong lessons, over and over again.

That starts from the very earliest days, when the company was still called "Micro-Soft." Young Bill Gates was given a sweetheart deal to supply the operating system for IBM's PC, thanks to his mother's connection. The nepo-baby enlisted his pal, Paul Allen (whom he'd later rip off for billions) and together, they bought someone else's OS (and took credit for creating it – AKA, the "Musk gambit").

Microsoft then proceeded to make a fortune by monopolizing the OS market through illegal, collusive arrangements with the PC clone industry – an industry that only existed because they could source third-party PC ROMs from Phoenix:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/08/ibm-pc-compatible-how-adversarial-interoperability-saved-pcs-monopolization

Bill Gates didn't become one of the richest people on earth simply by emerging from a lucky orifice; he also owed his success to vigorous antitrust enforcement. The IBM PC was the company's first major initiative after it was targeted by the DOJ for a 12-year antitrust enforcement action. IBM tapped its vast monopoly profits to fight the DOJ, spending more on outside counsel to fight the DOJ antitrust division than the DOJ spent on all its antitrust lawyers, every year, for 12 years.

IBM's delaying tactic paid off. When Reagan took the White House, he let IBM off the hook. But the company was still seriously scarred by its ordeal, and when the PC project kicked off, the company kept the OS separate from the hardware (one of the DOJ's major issues with IBM's previous behavior was its vertical monopoly on hardware and software). IBM didn't hire Gates and Allen to provide it with DOS because it was incapable of writing a PC operating system: they did it to keep the DOJ from kicking down their door again.

The post-antitrust, gunshy IBM kept delivering dividends for Microsoft. When IBM turned a blind eye to the cloned PC-ROM and allowed companies like Compaq, Dell and Gateway to compete directly with Big Blue, this produced a whole cohort of customers for Microsoft – customers Microsoft could play off on each other, ensuring that every PC sold generated income for Microsoft, creating a wide moat around the OS business that kept other OS vendors out of the market. Why invest in making an OS when every hardware company already had an exclusive arrangement with Microsoft?

The IBM PC story teaches us two things: stronger antitrust enforcement spurs innovation and opens markets for scrappy startups to grow to big, important firms; as do weaker IP protections.

Microsoft learned the opposite: monopolies are wildly profitable; expansive IP protects monopolies; you can violate antitrust laws so long as you have enough monopoly profits rolling in to outspend the government until a Republican bootlicker takes the White House (Microsoft's antitrust ordeal ended after GW Bush stole the 2000 election and dropped the charges against them). Microsoft embodies the idea that you either die a rebel hero or live long enough to become the evil emperor you dethroned.

From the first, Microsoft has pursued three goals:

Get too big to fail;

Get too big to jail;

Get too big to care.

It has succeeded on all three counts. Much of Microsoft's enduring power comes from succeeded IBM as the company that mediocre IT managers can safely buy from without being blamed for the poor quality of Microsoft's products: "Nobody ever got fired for buying Microsoft" is 2024's answer to "Nobody ever got fired for buying IBM."

Microsoft's secret sauce is impunity. The PC companies that bundle Windows with their hardware are held blameless for the glaring defects in Windows. The IT managers who buy company-wide Windows licenses are likewise insulated from the rage of the workers who have to use Windows and other Microsoft products.

Microsoft doesn't have to care if you hate it because, for the most part, it's not selling to you. It's selling to a few decision-makers who can be wined and dined and flattered. And since we all have to use its products, developers have to target its platform if they want to sell us their software.

This rarified position has afforded Microsoft enormous freedom to roll out harebrained "features" that made things briefly attractive for some group of developers it was hoping to tempt into its sticky-trap. Remember when it put a Turing-complete scripting environment into Microsoft Office and unleashed a plague of macro viruses that wiped out years worth of work for entire businesses?

https://web.archive.org/web/20060325224147/http://www3.ca.com/securityadvisor/newsinfo/collateral.aspx?cid=33338

It wasn't just Office; Microsoft's operating systems have harbored festering swamps of godawful defects that were weaponized by trolls, script kiddies, and nation-states:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EternalBlue

Microsoft blamed everyone except themselves for these defects, claiming that their poor code quality was no worse than others, insisting that the bulging arsenal of Windows-specific malware was the result of being the juiciest target and thus the subject of the most malicious attention.

Even if you take them at their word here, that's still no excuse. Microsoft didn't slip and accidentally become an operating system monopolist. They relentlessly, deliberately, illegally pursued the goal of extinguishing every OS except their own. It's completely foreseeable that this dominance would make their products the subject of continuous attacks.

There's an implicit bargain that every monopolist makes: allow me to dominate my market and I will be a benevolent dictator who spends his windfall profits on maintaining product quality and security. Indeed, if we permit "wasteful competition" to erode the margins of operating system vendors, who will have a surplus sufficient to meet the security investment demands of the digital world?

But monopolists always violate this bargain. When faced with the decision to either invest in quality and security, or hand billions of dollars to their shareholders, they'll always take the latter. Why wouldn't they? Once they have a monopoly, they don't have to worry about losing customers to a competitor, so why invest in customer satisfaction? That's how Google can piss away $80b on a stock buyback and fire 12,000 technical employees at the same time as its flagship search product (with a 90% market-share) is turning into an unusable pile of shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Microsoft reneged on this bargain from day one, and they never stopped. When the company moved Office to the cloud, it added an "analytics" suite that lets bosses spy on and stack-rank their employees ("Sorry, fella, Office365 says you're the slowest typist in the company, so you're fired"). Microsoft will also sell you internal data on the Office365 usage of your industry competitors (they'll sell your data to your competitors, too, natch). But most of all, Microsoft harvest, analyzes and sells this data for its own purposes:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/25/the-peoples-amazon/#clippys-revenge

Leave aside how creepy, gross and exploitative this is – it's also incredibly reckless. Microsoft is creating a two-way conduit into the majority of the world's businesses that insider threats, security services and hackers can exploit to spy on and wreck Microsoft's customers' business. You don't get more "too big to care" than this.

Or at least, not until now. Microsoft recently announced a product called "Recall" that would record every keystroke, click and screen element, nominally in the name of helping you figure out what you've done and either do it again, or go back and fix it. The problem here is that anyone who gains access to your system – your boss, a spy, a cop, a Microsoft insider, a stalker, an abusive partner or a hacker – now has access to everything, on a platter. Naturally, this system – which Microsoft billed as ultra-secure – was wildly insecure and after a series of blockbuster exploits, the company was forced to hit pause on the rollout:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/06/microsoft-delays-data-scraping-recall-feature-again-commits-to-public-beta-test/

For years, Microsoft waged a war on the single most important security practice in software development: transparency. This is the company that branded the GPL Free Software license a "virus" and called open source "a cancer." The company argued that allowing public scrutiny of code would be a disaster because bad guys would spot and weaponize defects.

This is "security through obscurity" and it's an idea that was discredited nearly 500 years ago with the advent of the scientific method. The crux of that method: we are so good at bullshiting ourselves into thinking that our experiment was successful that the only way to make sure we know anything is to tell our enemies what we think we've proved so they can try to tear us down.

Or, as Bruce Schneier puts it: "Anyone can design a security system that you yourself can't think of a way of breaking. That doesn't mean it works, it just means that it works against people stupider than you."

And yet, Microsoft – whose made more widely and consequentially exploited software than anyone else in the history of the human race – claimed that free and open code was insecure, and spent millions on deceptive PR campaigns intended to discredit the scientific method in favor of a kind of software alchemy, in which every coder toils in secret, assuring themselves that drinking mercury is the secret to eternal life.

Access to source code isn't sufficient to make software secure – nothing about access to code guarantees that anyone will review that code and repair its defects. Indeed, there've been some high profile examples of "supply chain attacks" in the free/open source software world:

https://www.securityweek.com/supply-chain-attack-major-linux-distributions-impacted-by-xz-utils-backdoor/

But there's no good argument that this code would have been more secure if it had been harder for the good guys to spot its bugs. When it comes to secure code, transparency is an essential, but it's not a sufficency.

The architects of that campaign are genuinely awful people, and yet they're revered as heroes by Microsoft's current leadership. There's Steve "Linux Is Cancer" Ballmer, star of Propublica's IRS Files, where he is shown to be the king of "tax loss harvesting":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#mego

And also the most prominent example of the disgusting tax cheats practiced by rich sports-team owners:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#economic-substance-doctrine

Microsoft may give lip service to open source these days (mostly through buying, stripmining and enclosing Github) but Ballmer's legacy lives on within the company, through its wildly illegal tax-evasion tactics:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/13/pour-encoragez-les-autres/#micros-tilde-one

But Ballmer is an angel compared to his boss, Bill Gates, last seen some paragraphs above, stealing the credit for MS DOS from Tim Paterson and billions of dollars from his co-founder Paul Allen. Gates is an odious creep who made billions through corrupt tech industry practices, then used them to wield influence over the world's politics and policy. The Gates Foundation (and Gates personally) invented vaccine apartheid, helped kill access to AIDS vaccines in Sub-Saharan Africa, then repeated the trick to keep covid vaccines out of reach of the Global South:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#gates-foundation

The Gates Foundation wants us to think of it as malaria-fighting heroes, but they're also the leaders of the war against public education, and have been key to the replacement of public schools with charter schools, where the poorest kids in America serve as experimental subjects for the failed pet theories of billionaire dilettantes:

https://www.ineteconomics.org/perspectives/blog/millionaire-driven-education-reform-has-failed-heres-what-works

(On a personal level, Gates is also a serial sexual abuser who harassed multiple subordinates into having sexual affairs with him:)

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/13/technology/microsoft-sexual-harassment-policy-review.html

The management culture of Microsoft started rotten and never improved. It's a company with corruption and monopoly in its blood, a firm that would always rather build market power to insulate itself from the consequences of making defective products than actually make good products. This is true of every division, from cloud computing:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/28/other-peoples-computers/#clouded-over

To gaming:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/27/convicted-monopolist/#microsquish

No one should ever trust Microsoft to do anything that benefits anyone except Microsoft. One of the low points in the otherwise wonderful surge of tech worker labor organizing was when the Communications Workers of America endorsed Microsoft's acquisition of Activision because Microsoft promised not to union-bust Activision employees. They lied:

https://80.lv/articles/qa-workers-contracted-by-microsoft-say-they-were-fired-for-trying-to-unionize/

Repeatedly:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/activision-fired-staff-using-strong-language-about-remote-work-policy-union-2023-03-01/

Why wouldn't they lie? They've never faced any consequences for lying in the past. Remember: the secret to Microsoft's billions is impunity.

Which brings me to Solarwinds. Solarwinds is an enterprise management tool that allows IT managers to see, patch and control the computers they oversee. Foreign spies hacked Solarwinds and accessed a variety of US federal agencies, including National Nuclear Security Administration (who oversee nuclear weapons stockpiles), the NIH, and the Treasury Department.

When the Solarwinds story broke, Microsoft strenuously denied that the Solarwinds hack relied on exploiting defects in Microsoft software. They said this to everyone: the press, the Pentagon, and Congress.

This was a lie. As Renee Dudley and Doris Burke reported for Propublica, the Solarwinds attack relied on defects in the SAML authentication system that Microsoft's own senior security staff had identified and repeatedly warned management about. Microsoft's leadership ignored these warnings, buried the research, prohibited anyone from warning Microsoft customers, and sidelined Andrew Harris, the researcher who discovered the defect:

https://www.propublica.org/article/microsoft-solarwinds-golden-saml-data-breach-russian-hackers

The single most consequential cyberattack on the US government was only possible because Microsoft decided not to fix a profound and dangerous bug in its code, and declined to warn anyone who relied on this defective software.

Yesterday, Microsoft president Brad Smith testified about this to Congress, and promised that the company would henceforth prioritize security over gimmicks like AI:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2024/06/microsoft-in-damage-control-mode-says-it-will-prioritize-security-over-ai/

Despite all the reasons to mistrust this promise, the company is hoping Congress will believe it. More importantly, it's hoping that the Pentagon will believe it, because the Pentagon is about to award billions in free no-bid military contract profits to Microsoft:

https://www.axios.com/2024/05/17/pentagon-weighs-microsoft-licensing-upgrades

You know what? I bet they'll sell this lie. It won't be the first time they've convinced Serious People in charge of billions of dollars and/or lives to ignore that all-important maxim, "When someone tells you who they are and you get fooled again, shame on you."

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/14/patch-tuesday/#fool-me-twice-we-dont-get-fooled-again

#pluralistic #microsoft #infosec #visual basic #ai #corruption #too big to care #patch tuesday #solar winds #monopolists bargain #eternal blue #transparency #open source #floss #oss #apts

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seresinsbabe · 2 years

Text

Drunk Words Are Sober Thoughts

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x f!reader

Synopsis: You're just trying to enjoy a quiet night at home when a less than sober pilot is dropped off at your doorstep. And he's spilling all his sober thoughts in drunk words.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Alcohol, swearing, fluff, drunk jake. Nothing else I can think of. A/N: This is not my first fic, but it is my first fic on here. If this one doesn't flop there will definitely be more! Otherwise I will just retreat into the reader shadows xD

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“And those…god those eyes…” Hangman slurred slightly, a combination of his Texas upbringing and the whiskey in his system.

“Okay! We fucking get it Seresin!” Rooster groaned out in frustration. Frustration that Jake Seresin didn’t seem to notice in his drunken state even with Bradley’s use of his last name. It was supposed to have been guys' night out and to Jake’s defense it had started that way. Only the more liquor he consumed the more his thoughts were consumed by you. And thus had led to Rooster’s frustration when all Jake could talk about was you.

You were the only woman he’d ever gone after that had turned him down for reasons other than having a man. The only one that hadn’t fallen for his southern drawl and charming smile. Jake wasn’t used to that, but he also wasn’t used to the way it made him want you. Relationships had never been his forte. Sure, he’d had one or two, but mostly in high school and college. Nothing serious since he’d joined the navy. But you? The sweet middle school teacher with your perfect smile, curves in all the right places and sweet voice that could make the devil give up his sinful ways? All Jake Seresin could think about was making you his and only his.

Bradley knew from Phoenix that you were more into Jake than you were willing to let the man know. He knew you’d had your heart broken by one too many military men and that you were damned if you were going to let a silver tongued devil with pretty green eyes break it all over again. Normally Brad would have agreed, he would have supported you in your decision to keep Hangman at an arm's length. At first he had, then it became apparent that Hangman didn’t look at you the way he looked at all the other women. In all the years he’d known the Texan playboy he’d never seen him like this over someone.

So by the first hour of Jake drunkenly babbling about how perfect you were he formulated a plan.

It was a typical Thursday night for you. Work had been long and you’d already decided that morning that tonight would be a self care night. Which for you included binge watching New Girl with a stuffed crust pizza and a bottle of wine.

You were giggling uncontrollably as you watched Nick and Schmidt argue over a towel when the first thunk came. It was loud and scared both you and your cat that was curled up in your lap. The time on your phone read 10:41, way too late for anyone to be coming over unannounced. You felt your heart rate increase and as another thunk sounded out you stood up, grabbing the baseball bat you kept stashed by your door for emergencies. Holding the bat in your right hand, up high and ready to swing, with your left you reached out and unlocked the door. Only when you opened it did you realize it wasn’t an intruder at all.

“Jake?” The sandy haired pilot stood at your door and you could smell the whiskey on his breath from here.

He grinned lazily at you and damn if it didn’t make you swoon just the littlest bit. Why was his drunk ass here, though? You knew it had been guys' night, but never before had any of the guys been dumped at your doorstep while drunk.

“Hi sweets,” he lurched forward, losing his stability against your door frame and you reached out, catching him.

“Jesus! How did you get here?” Your eyes searched outside and you didn’t see his truck, but surely he hadn’t walked here. That would have been one hell of a walk from the Hard Deck to your little bungalow.

“Cock-a- cock-a-doodle whooo,” you let out a soft giggle at his attempt to crow. You took that as he meant Rooster had been the one to declare you babysitter. You made a mental note to rip Rooster a new one come morning.

Jake stumbled a bit more and you grunted as you tried to keep the man up. He was much larger than you, taller by at least six inches and definitely carried more mass. “Okay, okay,” you huffed as you slung his arm around your shoulder. “Let’s get you into bed.” It was a struggle but eventually you got him to your guest bedroom. You helped him collapse on the bed and then left in search of water and ibuprofen. Lucky for Jake you still had some packets of pedialyte powder in your pantry from the last time Nix needed a GNO.

When you got back to the room Jake had somehow managed to strip down to his boxers. You were thankful that his eyes were closed because had they not been he definitely would have caught you admiring him. It was like he’d been carved out of marble by Gods. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen him shirtless, but it was the first time you’d seen him in nothing but boxers in your house.

“Sweets,” the Texan drawled out, calling for you. He’d always called you that, from the day he met you, it had never really had much of an affect on you before. Hearing it with that drunken tone of desperation made it hit differently. Your feet carried you over to him and before you had time to react he’d reached out, pulling you to him by the oversized t-shirt you had on.

You let out a surprised squeak as he wrapped his arms around you. The bottle of pedialyte mixture and ibuprofen is still in your hands as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. A familiar heat pools in your cheek and tints them pink. “Jake, come on you’re drunk. You need to drink this and take some medicine.” This was probably the nicest you’d ever talked to Jake. Though every other conversation you’d had revolved around you rejecting him to protect your own heart from his philandering ways.

Jake harrumphed when he felt you trying to pry yourself out of his arms and just tightened his grip on you. It would be a lie to tell yourself it didn’t feel nice, that you couldn’t get used to being held by him, but Jake wasn’t that kind of guy and you knew that. “Mm want you,” he murmured into your neck.

“Jake, I am not going to hook up with you,” you rolled your eyes so hard he could probably hear it. “Especially not when you’re drunk.” You tried to push yourself out of his arms again, but again his arms tightened around you.

“No sweets, wanna make you mine.” You froze, the pills and water bottle slipping out of your hand. “Wanna be with you, my girl.” He slurred softly into your neck. “So pretty…perfect…be a good mama to our babies.” If you were a cartoon you were sure your heart would burst out of your chest with as hard as it was beating right now. There was no way Jake Seresin was drunkenly telling you he wanted to make a family with you. This had to be just the liquor talking. You wanted to get away, to go have this mini panic attack by yourself, but every time you tried his hold on you just tightened. So you waited it out and once he was in a deep enough sleep you slipped out of his arms.

With two fingers on each hand you rubbed your temples and paced in your living room. Your mind was spinning so fast that you just had to convince yourself that it was all the liquor. Jake Seresin didn’t date and he definitely didn’t marry women, least of all you. So far you've been able to keep yourself from falling for his charm by telling yourself that all you are to him is another conquest. Another notch on his long belt. What he’d just said had meant nothing and come the morning he’d be back to his despicable self.

After chugging the rest of the wine in your glass you locked back up. Your self care night had effectively been ruined and it seemed like the best thing to do now was go to bed. Before you settled down in your bed you made sure to send Rooster a not so nice text. To which he just responded with a sequence of mocking emojis.

Jake was still asleep when you woke up the next morning. You just hoped he didn’t sleep the whole day away. It would be much harder to get what he said last night out of your head if he was in your house all day long. Maybe it would be best if you just left to avoid any and all awkward contact. You had some errands to run that day anyway.

“Sweets?” You winced as you heard his voice, thick with sleep in a way that had your stomach flipping. “Not that I’m upset I woke up at your place, but how did I get here?” Finally you turned from where you stood in front of the stove, bacon frying up in a pan. How the hell did he look this good hungover?

“Rooster dropped you off,” you hummed in a slightly irritated tone as you pushed water and pills over to him. “Not sure why I was the one chosen to take care of your drunk ass and listen to you admit fake feelings for me.” You mused, turning back towards the food cooking on the stove.

You expected Jake to chuckle and make some comment about how his lines hadn’t worked on you yet again, but that one day they would. He was sober now and sober Jake was far different than drunk Jake.

“Sweets,” there was a tone in his voice. A tone that you couldn’t quite place but it wasn’t his normal arrogant one. “What did I say to you last night?” You squeezed your eyes shut tightly. This was the last kind of conversation you wanted to have. It was one thing for you to decide in your own head that Jake wanted you for nothing more than your body, but it would be an entirely different thing for you to hear it out of his own mouth. It would solidify that you were just a conquest for him, that you were like every other woman he chased.

You shrugged, trying to continue acting like it was really no big deal. “Nothing I took to heart, just told me you wanted to make me your girl and that I’d make a good mama to our babies.” Saying the words out loud made your stomach fill with butterflies. “You were drunk though, I’m sure it was just the whiskey talking.”

A thick silence hung in the air as you plated the food for him. You’d made enough in case he woke up. With as nice as his physique was you weren’t even sure he ate greasy breakfast like this, but you know they always made you feel better after a night out. With as quiet as everything was right now you didn’t have much of an appetite. Again you had expected him to laugh it off but he didn’t. Instead he looked at you with these sweet eyes. Looking both like your brush off of his admittal had hurt him and made him realize he wasn’t trying hard enough.

Jake swallowed hard and you watched his Adam’s apple bob. “It wasn’t the whiskey talking sweets.” Your hand froze mid air, a piece of perfectly cooked bacon between your fingers.

“Jake you don’t date. You wham, bam, thank you ma’am.” You swallowed just as hard as he had a second ago.

“Those women weren’t you, Y/N.” He used your actual name and you felt your heart skip a beat. Jake never called you by your real name. Hell, he called you sweets so much you sometimes wondered if he had forgotten your actual name. In a few strides he’d moved around to the side of the kitchen island you were on. His hand came up and with his index finger he tilted your head up to look at him. “I don’t remember saying it to you last night, but just know I meant every word.” His tone was so sincere, how could you not believe him? But how could you at the same time?

You turned away from him, trying to settle your mind and your heart at the same time. There was no way this was happening. Thank god you had the day off work, because you would need it to recover from whatever the fuck was happening right now.

“Hey, look at me sweets,” his hands landed on your hips, turning you to fully face him. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.” Resistance felt futile at this point, but you were still trying hard to resist.

“Jake, you can’t be serious?” The aviator cocked an eyebrow at you, coaxing you to continue. “You could have your pick of available women out here and you want me?”

He started to laugh and you felt sick to your stomach. You knew it was too good to be true, Jake didn’t want you in that way. The notion wasn’t as comforting as you thought it would have been and you wished he would stop laughing at the whole thing.

Jake finally took notice of the pained look on your face and his laughter was cut short. One of his arms snaked around your waist and the other hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Sweets, you don’t see yourself properly and I promise if you give me a chance I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how fuckin’ special you are.” You searched his eyes, looking for any hint that this was all fake. Though, you hadn’t found one yet so you weren’t sure why you thought you’d find one now.

On its own accord your head started to nod up and down. It took your brain a moment to catch up and by the time it did you knew you couldn’t take it back. Jake looked like it was Christmas morning and he got the bike he’d been begging for all year long. He looked so happy, there was no way you could take this away from him.

“I’ll give you a chance, but Jake Seresin I swear the second you hurt me even a little it’s over.” You wouldn’t let another pretty boy military man break your heart again. Not after how bad the last one had been.

Jake’s grin only grew and he lifted you up, spinning you around in the kitchen. The action made you giggle and the pilot had to fight to keep himself from getting down on one knee.

“Don’t worry sweets, I got lots of plans for us.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your forehead and you felt like you could melt right then and there.

#top gun one shot #hangman x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fluff #top gun fluff #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader

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jgoddesstarot · 9 months

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Pick-A-Pile: Their Career: What Profession or Field is Your Future Spouse In?

👑Check out my masterlist to see all of my pick-a-card readings😊

✨ Visit my shops at Ko-fi.com or J.Goddess Tarot✨

🔮Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are based upon my intuitive interpretation of the cards and about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

🔮How I read: I use a mix of tarot cards, oracle cards, along with my intuitive abilities of claircognizance, clairaudience, and clairsentience.

🔮How this works: Close your eyes and take deep breaths, pick the pile you are most drawn to. If you aren’t drawn to any pile then that’s okay, these messages aren’t for you.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: 5 of Cups, The Lovers, The Hermit (in reverse), Queen of Cups, The Chariot

Ah, my sultry Pile 1's! Embark with me on an intoxicating voyage to uncover the career secrets of your elusive future love.

Picture a soul who's tasted the bittersweet symphony of life. They've endured setbacks, but here's the allure: instead of languishing in bygone disappointments, they've channeled these lessons, forging a path glowing with promise. Like a phoenix, they've taken their setbacks and used them as fuel, emerging brighter and more determined.

Now, imagine them weaving through a world where harmony and connections reign supreme. Their charm lies in the art of building bridges, mending fences, and orchestrating unions. Their profession thrums with the rhythm of relationships, be it in the hallways of legal battles, the nuanced dance of consultancy, or the embrace of human resources. Their every endeavor is painted with passion, fostering environments dripping with mutual respect.

But, the plot thickens. Rather than being an isolated genius, they thrive in the pulsating heart of collaborative arenas. Their days are painted with group dynamics, team brainstorming, and the infectious energy of collective creation. Every project, a harmonious dance of diverse minds.

In this riveting tale, their heart emerges as their compass—a wellspring of empathy, care, and intuition. Whether in the healing embrace of healthcare, the nurturing realms of social work, or the soulful corridors of counseling, their profession beckons to souls in need, offering solace and understanding.

And as our tale nears its climax, the essence of sheer willpower and ambition becomes palpable. This lover is destined to blaze trails, to dominate arenas with a fierce determination that sets the world alight. They are a force, a whirlwind of goals and victories, and their chosen field echoes with their triumphant strides.

To tie this enigmatic tale together, enchanting Pile 1's, your future lover’s career is an exhilarating blend of resilience, harmony, collaboration, empathy, and fierce ambition. This tantalizing mix promises a partner whose professional life mirrors a journey of challenges, triumphs, and heart. As Destiny weaves its tapestry, these revelations hint at the captivating tale of your shared future.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: 5 of Swords, 10 of Wands, 2 of Swords, Ace of Cups, 8 of Wands

My tantalizing Pile 2's, prepare to embark on a riveting journey, delving into the exhilarating career landscape of your enigmatic future love.

Visualize a realm teeming with cutthroat competition and exhilarating duels of wit. In this world, your future spouse emerges as a master strategist, a maven who thrives amidst the electric tension of challenges. Their arena? Perhaps the high stakes corridors of corporate warfare or the intricate dance of political maneuvering.

Yet, with power comes responsibility. They might be ensnared in a web of weighty expectations, but ah, they wear their burdens like a king wears a crown—regal and undeterred. Every decision, every responsibility is borne with a grace that makes you wonder if they were born for this.

Peering deeper, we find them at the crossroads of pivotal decisions, casting judgments that ripple through time. The gavel of authority, the responsibility of steering ships through turbulent waters, they're at the helm, orchestrating outcomes with a finesse that's nothing short of mesmerizing.

But what fuels this fire? An undying passion, a wellspring of love for their craft. They're not just chasing gold or accolades, but a deeper calling, a passion that lights up their soul. Their realm could be awash with colors on a canvas, the poetic dance of numbers, or the rhythm of heartfelt melodies.

And as the tale unfolds, a whirlwind of motion emerges. Envision them dashing through airports, or fervently connecting with souls across continents, weaving stories, striking deals, or capturing moments at the speed of light. The pulse of journalism? The adrenaline of sales? The world awaits their next move.

In wrapping up our delicious tale, my alluring Pile 2's, Destiny paints your future lover as a formidable force in a world of strategy, responsibility, passion, and ceaseless motion. Their journey promises thrills, challenges, and the sweet taste of fulfillment. As the stars align and tales intertwine, remain receptive, for destiny has its own rhythm, and your dance is just beginning.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: 10 of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles (in reverse), 6 of Wands (in reverse), 10 of Swords, 3 of Swords

Ah, my alluring Pile 3's, immerse yourself as we journey into the opulent tapestry of your future lover's career. Let the tantalizing revelations unravel, revealing a narrative you'll surely find hard to resist.

First, picture a world awash with prosperity—a realm where luxury isn't just a fantasy, but an everyday reality. In this gilded domain, your future partner thrives, perhaps manipulating the strings of business empires, orchestrating the ballet of real estate, or mastering the cryptic language of finance. They've crafted an empire, not just of wealth, but of ambition realized and dreams manifested.

But ah, the plot thickens! Every gold thread in this tapestry was spun amidst trials. In their earlier days, shadows of doubt and walls of disregard might have threatened to eclipse their brilliance. Yet, with indomitable spirit, they emerged, carving a niche where their genius could no longer be overshadowed.

Despite the accolades and the tangible trophies of success, there's an enigmatic humility to them. They waltz through the corridors of achievement, not with boisterous fanfare, but with a quiet confidence. They let their masterpieces echo their tales, garnering silent respect from every corner.

As our tale takes a riveting turn, we find them at a crossroads—a dramatic shift that upended their world but paved the way to their destiny. A switch that might've tasted bitter initially, but ultimately led them to their passion, their true north.

And oh, the finale? A heart so vast, so tender. Their profession might echo with the soft murmurs of comforting words, the healing touch that mends broken spirits. Whether in the embrace of healthcare, the sanctuary of counseling, or the comforting realms of social work, their purpose is clear: to heal, to comfort, to uplift.

To wrap up our sumptuous saga, delectable Pile 3's, Destiny paints your future lover as a beacon of resilience, prosperity, humility, transformation, and boundless compassion. Their career is not just a job; it's a testament to a journey of trials turned triumphs. As fate weaves its stories, savor these revelations and remain enchanted by the cosmic dance of love and Destiny."

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sugarlywhispers · 8 months

Note

Yk that lava girl fix you made? I thought about how she can cover herself in lava..what if rain and water hurt her?

During fighting a super evil villain with bakugou (they're married) he starts speeding out rain and it injured her badly turning parts of her skin that was touched into sort of obsidian?

✨️these are really good questions that made me think of them for a few days so i could imagine the actual answers~

This is mostly what I took as inspiration for Y/N in this drabble:

Her body elevates in temperature to the point were you can see the lava running through her body, and her hair becomes complete lava, long locks or stings of lava she can use as weapon to capture things or villains (if the villain is something like those monsters of metal–she is not that heartless to burn people alive, even if they are villains).

Because she is basivally lava, the general answer is yes, Y/N can't fight in her lava form when it's raining. It actually hurts when her body transforms into obsidian–which is hard rock. I imagine that she becomes really good at fighting in her normal-human body so when this type of weather comes, she actually doesn't need to use her lava–if it's not for forming some kind of refugee or it's actually useful to help other heroes and civilians. She just stays on the helping civilians and rescue team during that kind of weather.

But I also imagined the first time Bakugou saw Y/N become obsidian because a villain threw water at her. He almost lost it when he heard your painful scream as you suddenly became rock. Like a statue, figure laying on the floor, hugging yourself in fetal position because of the pain. And nothing but simple rock.

He saw red. He went on a rampage, vengeance mode, so ready to tear and break and kill, that Deku and Red Riot had to interfere.

The villain was sent to the hospital, with custody of course. And Dynamight... he fell to his knees by your side, tears streaming down his face, body trembling with adrenaline and pain. You have told him water was your weakness, but he had never imagined it to this point. He didn't know it could kill you. He could have been more conscious, more careful of what villains crossed your path. He could have done so many things. He could–

The rock that surrounds you starts to break, the sound making everyone at the scene gasp as it moves. Bakugou doesn't understand what's happening...until it finally breaks completely and you emerge, taking a deep, long breath, in your normal form.

He watches you with big, wet eyes, almost not believing what he's seeing, as you say, "Fuck! Well that fucking hurt..."

People around start to clap and laugh because you're so... you.

And Bakugou feels... like he can breathe again. Like all that pain he felt seconds ago just dissipates in the air like the smoke that came from the rock breaking and making you born again, like a Phoenix rebirth from its ashes, so beautiful and so majestic.

He looks down and sobs, which immediately alerts the rest of the heroes and they start to pull everybody away from the scene.

"Oh, baby, I'm okay..." your arms surround his neck and he instantly reacts, hugging you back and hidding his face in your chest and neck.

Least to say, that image, Dynamight kneeling on the ground crying, with his wife comforting him, were the talk of the month. And what actually gave him the stop of Number One Pro Hero on the list for almost six months, until Deku beat him again with some other bullshit he did. But at this point, no one is concerned about the spots on that list. Dynamight and Deku go up and down between the first and second place all the time.

That is, until Y/N finally gets her breakthrough and wins first place for almost 5 years in a row.

And Bakugou can't shup up about how awesome his wife is.

#mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #mha drabble #mha y/n #bnha y/n #bnha drabble #bnha fluff #mha fluff #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou

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sidthedollface2 · 3 months

Text

A Crown fit for a God (Part 4)

Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Fem Reader

Ch Summary: A glimpse into how you stumbled upon The Autumn Court, your relationship with Eris and how you fell into Luciens bed.

And/or

Azriel’s jealousy might destroy any chances he has in getting close to you.

word count: 7.4k

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, angst, hurt/comfort, war, including injuries, fighting, no use of y/n, nicknames, magic, greek mythology, pining, jealousy, soft Az with a little temper, azriel with other women (sorry), reader with another man (get it friend ; )

A/n: this ch is heavy on the Vanssera brothers but Az does help you towards the end. I'm a daydreamer not a writer so if you see any mistakes that's how I dreamt it. Lol

It was dark when you arrived in the Autumn Court, a blazing phoenix from the sky. Your limbs felt foreign, heavy and unstable like a newborn fawn. Rustling of leaves echoed in your new ears, startling you briefly. Your skin felt unbelievably warm despite the wind chapping your flushed cheeks. This new place had a smell of sulfur and wood. Burning wood. No. Burning flesh. A cough erupted from you as you risked breathing in the air. Your lungs expand with every inhale, followed by another violent cough.

A feminine voice called out to you ‘child open your eyes.’ The darkness soon vanished as shades of orange and amber filled your vision. You sat in the middle of scorched grounds, a ring of fire surrounding you with flames too high to jump over. Your arms and legs blackened from ash and dirt. The ends of your hair burned from the impact along with the threads covering your small frame. A lovely woman stood on the other side of the ring of fire. Panic and wonder in her green eyes, you assume directed at you. She's speaking to you in a language you recognise, but unable to voice your response.

With a wave of her hand she motions you to follow her. Standing on wobbly legs, weak and malnourished from your journey, you stumble towards her. Through the high flame you emerge, unburnt and to her surprise uninjured. “Come inside child. Let's get you bathed and safe,” she insists, wrapping you in her warm words and caring eyes. She introduces herself as Marrian, The Lady of Autumn, wife to Lord Beron of the Autumn Court. You told her your name as well but she quickly decided to keep your true identity a secret and gave you an alias instead. She explains that this cabin is a refuge for her and her eldest son Eris, though his visits have become scarce. After you've bathed and your body temperature has returned to normal, neither hot nor cold, she offers you a warm meal and insists you stay the night.

Throughout the years living in the small cabin became your home. Lady Autumn treated you like the daughter she never had. She taught you how to wield your fire magic and it was through that training that you both discovered you possessed more than just fire. You were omnipotent. Unlimited power surged through your veins just as it had before you fell into these lands. She had warned you, begged you to never show your true powers.

Males of this world were ruthless, lords and kings would take and take till you were nothing but ash beneath their boots. You found out how evil lords could be when Lady Autumn returned to the cabin. Her pale skin littered with purple and blue bruises. Dried blood caked her knees and elbows. Her oldest son Eris carried her to bed, teary eyed and blood stained as well. “I promise I'll kill them all.” Eris' voice cracked as he said those words, his mothers broken body haunting him, leaving a bitter taste of his family in his mouth. He’d do anything for her, even killing his own father for her safety. It wouldn’t be easy killing his father or his brothers. The high lord had an army at his disposal and if any of his brothers suspected Eris was the reason for their fathers untimely death, he’d be killed. And by default his mother as well. “I promise I’ll help you,” you added with fire in your eyes and revenge in your blood. “ A bargain then,” he confirmed. Death was coming for them. Death was here.

Many moons ago

You had met all of Lady Autumn's sons but only one really stood out to you. At least only one you wanted to know on a deeper level. Lucien. He had a way with words that was kind yet sarcastic and witty. His humor being the reason your cheeks always tinted the deepest red. He was incredibly handsome, tall and lean and to your surprise so much warmer than the other brothers. It was warm out when Mirrian requested for her carriage to be well equipped for her outing to the farmlands, where she’d try her way to ease the stressed farmers. This brought you to the outer stables, where the horses were being prepped for their journey. Immediately you took sight of Lucien, a worried look on his brow as he paced back and forth, biting his lips raw. “Lucien? Is everything alright?” you questioned, concern in your tone as you approached him.

Lucien immediately straightened, “Oh it’s nothing to worry yourself over, just…..I promised a friend one of Mist’s foals and it seems neither will make it.” Mist was the mare to Eris' Stallion, Blue. They had bred them as both were of a champion line, hoping to strengthen the lineage. Just as you were going to reply a young stable boy rushed towards Lucien, breathless with how quick he was running, “She’s passed Lord, the foal too I’m afraid.” Lucien sighed as he looked to the ground, a look of sadness on his face. “Perhaps I could help?” Both Lucien and the young boy looked at you with bewilderment. “Don’t be silly, the boys are more than strong enough to dig-”

“I don’t mean to bury them, Lucien.” You looked to the boy then, “take me to them please.” The young boy looked to Lucien for approval and with a nod you both followed. Lucien trailed behind you, letting his eyes admire you without your knowledge. At one point his step fell in sync with yours. His arms swung with each step, often grazing his hand with yours. Each touch earns a flush to your cheeks paired with a shy smile. Lucien takes notice and in an act of courage takes your small hand within his, lacing your fingers together.

The stable is set up in rows, where each stall is supplied with straw bedding for comfort, fresh clean water and auto feeders. Lucien placed his hand at the small of your back, gently guiding you to Mists’ stall. Her and the foal were laying still among the straw bedding, their eyes closed like if they were just sleeping. Kneeling beside Mist, you began to pet her silky golden mane.

Since arriving in Autumn you hadn’t used this particular power, its presence slowly dissipating. You often wondered if you still had it. You gave her a gentle kiss along her muzzle, the first step to bringing her back. Lucien and the boy stared in awe, not quite sure what to make of your actions. You then brought your hands to cup over your nose and mouth, breathing into them the air from your lungs. The same air that you hope would work its way into Mist. With your breath trapped between your palms you began pumping your palms together like the thump thump of a beating heart. For each 3 pumps you’d rub your hands together, creating a spark of blue dazzling light.

Lucien gasped as he witnessed the light orb grow bigger and bigger until it was the size of Mists heart. He wondered what words you spoke into the orb as it grew and grew, he’d have many questions for you after this. Questions he’s not sure he was ready to hear. Once the ancient words were spoken into the orb you held it gently in your hands, its glow reflecting off your galaxy eye.

Lucien took notice that throughout this whole experience both your eyes had changed to the colors of the night sky, shades of blue and violet mixed with sparkling starlight. Perhaps your pale eye had other uses as well. With one hand you carried the orb towards Mists’ chest, right where her heart lay still. And the other hovering over her head. You looked to Lucien and the young boy, “no sudden movements, and please cover your ears.”

Lucien's brows furrowed in question, but he did as you requested. So did the boy.

Once you saw that their ears were covered you spoke the following words and hoped that your primordial power was still alive.

“I am Khaos, creator of the abyss and all that the sun touches. Death has taken your hand but I hold onto the other, for your journey has not ended. Hold onto me like the night holds the moon, and I’ll light your way.”

The orb held in your hand suddenly let out a flash of light so bright it could illuminate up the night sky. The light flickered after that intune to the rhythm of a beating heart. Lucien's eyes almost fell from their sockets as he saw what looked like electrical current coming from your fingertips, sending a signal to Mists head, to her brain. Lucien hesitantly looked away from your magical hands and his gaze landed on your beautiful face. Your brows were furrowed in deep concentration, sweat began to trail along your hairline. Your eyes remained open, the galaxy within them orbiting like the earth revolves around the sun. He could tell something was amiss because your jaw was clenched tight and the force you were using to push the light inside her heart was visible in the tremble of your arms.

Dark heavy clouds had covered the blue sky, bringing a violent wind to blow across the Court. Its roar slammed into the high trees and rattled everything in its wake. You had tried with all your might to push the light orb into the horse's chest to revive her heart, but Death was fighting back. You were fighting back. A battle between life and death when you possessed the power of both. Your Life power was taking the backseat as Death became the forefront. Suppress. You needed to suppress that deathly power. A deafening clap of thunder boomed through the stable; blanketing your scream that ripped from your throat as you forcefully shoved the glowing ball of light into Mists’ chest.

Lucien cradled your weak body as you collapsed from the energy you had expelled. “Mother above!” the boy gasped, “she did it Lord. Her chest rises.” Lucien stared at Mist’s chest as she inhaled and exhaled. “Listen to me boy,” Lucien spoke sternly, “you will not speak of what you saw here or I’ll turn you to ash. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Not a word.”

“I’ll reward you for your silence, now go.” Lucien tilted his head towards the wide doors, signaling for the boy to leave.

His gaze traveled back to you, pulling your body closer as if you’d suddenly disappear. He studied the features of your beautiful face in awe. With a feather light touch he traced over your eyebrow, down the apple of your soft cheek, and over the cute slope of your nose. His thumb gently pulled at your bottom lip, and he wondered how soft your lips would feel against his. It had been easy to fall for you, your heart too pure and kind. Tending to his mothers wounds and encouraging Eris to be better. A better male compared to Beron and his cruel brothers.

Lucien leaned in, his breath fanning over your lips, inching closer. The tickle of his breathing caressed your eyes open, taking in the handsome man holding you, his warm hand cradling the side of your face. “You're incredible,” he whispered, nothing but wonder in the way he was looking at you. Your lips parted in a wide smile as you bathed in his praise. He was the most beautiful male in all of Autumn, and you wanted him, needed him in ways that made you blush. Lucien noted your longing and decided now more than ever that he wanted you too. Without another thought he crashed his lips to yours, groaning into your mouth as you swiped your tongue along his bottom lip. He kissed with the hunger of a thousand wolves, nipping and grabbing at exposed flesh. He wouldn't have you in the stable, where anyone could watch. “I need you now sweetheart,” he growled, as he lifted your body in his arms, whisking you away to his bed chambers in a smoke cloud of orange and gold. It was true what you had heard.

The males of Autumn did have fire in their blood, at least Lucien did. When you told him you had never laid in another males bed before, he slowed down his hunger to devour you. He took things slow at first, stretching you open with his fingers as he peppered kisses and lapped at your clit till you were a withering mess beneath him. When he finally sheathed himself inside you, his length stretching you deliciously- Lucien knew this wouldn't be a one time thing, couldn't be.

What was once friendly chatter and shy glances quickly turned into a romantic whirlwind of horse rides and stolen kisses. Giggles under his sheets as he blew raspberries on your soft stomach. ‘I love you’ whispered in heavy breaths every time he felt you flutter around his cock. Lucien was adamant in keeping the relationship a secret, afraid of what his brothers or Beron would subject you to if they knew. It didn't matter in the long run, all it took was one dinner for the fairytale to come crumbling down.

~~~~~~~

You were allowed in the forest house as Lady Autumn’s ‘Lady in waiting.’ your role was to accompany her wherever she went, and assist her in daily activities. She had introduced you as “Khaos” which quickly turned to “Aos” over time. An orphan to a High Lord from across the continent she claimed. It was all lies.

This role gave you the chance to map out all entries and exits of the forest house, familiarize yourself with all the guards and what times their rotation were to occur and even where Lord Berons bed chambers were. You noted his schedule from early morning till late evenings. Eyes aware of his house guests and sometimes the topic of conversations. No other guest shocked you as much as when the entire Autumn line found themselves seated next to the King of Hybern. You sat between Eris and Lady Autumn, a rare occurrence to be invited to sit with the family. Lucien decided to sit across from you, to not strain his neck while he admired your beauty in comfort, his other brothers followed suit. At the head of the table, Lord Beron and the King of Hybern sat at opposite ends, showcasing their importance and power even at dinner.

Beef ragout and cheese souffle were passed around in the finest flatware. The flame from the candlesticks placed in the center of the table gave off a warm light, casting Lucien in a God-like glow. For a moment you imagined it was just the two of you, enjoying a night out for the world to see. “Try the grey stuff” Eris spoke from your left, spooning into the pudding like substance. Surely he wouldn't attempt to feed…

Lucien's eyes widened slightly as Eris brought the spoon to your lips. There were too many eyes for him or you to make a scene, so instead he looked away as you parted your lips for the delicious treat. It was an honest mistake humming around the spoon as the flavor melted in your mouth, a sweet sound noticed by Eris as he gently thumbed at the corner of your mouth. Wiping away the frosting that was never there to begin with. Lucien had been looking down and didn’t notice the intent behind the action but apparently Lord Beron did.

“Seems like you’ve caught my son's eye, little one. I wouldn't object to a courtship.” Your gaze quickly went to Lucien, had they known of your relationship? Was that why you were invited to dinner, to finally let the secret be known? You were about to respond when Beron addressed his son, “Eris do you find this female attractive enough to bed?”

“Father!” It was Lucien who interrupted, “surely this conversation isn't appropriate for the dinner table?” Lucien attempted to steer away from the current conversation, anger slowly bubbling to the surface. You remained planted in your seat as everything unfolded before you. Being a female in Autumn where even if you voiced your choice in Lucien, you had no right to even speak on the matter. The females were to marry, obey their male partner and breed an army of children if her husband wished. Since the High Lord mentioned it, then his word was law. You’d be tortured if you went against his wishes, Lucien would be beaten for even suggesting the lack of appropriateness of the conversation. Your gaze landed on Lady Autumn, a silent plea for help in your eyes. She merely smiled, squeezing your hand in comfort. You realize there was nothing she could do, as her makeup barely covered a fading bruise beneath her eye. It wasn’t that Eris had been terrible to you, quite the opposite. He just wasn’t the male you had fallen in love with.

“I do find her desirable, and I would be honored to court her.” Eris’s amber eyes met yours, a look that meant he was sorry for the circumstance the both of you were in. “A toast then,” the King of Hybern stood, “ to the happy couple.” He cheered, raising his glass in the air before he threw his head back, downing the flute of wine.

The High Lord followed as well as Eris and his brothers, leaving you, Lady Autumn and Lucien to stare at each other in trepidation. Lucien was going to be sick, his skin had paled at the thought of you producing an heir for his brother. Eris hands all over your soft skin, how dare he desire what belonged to him. Lucien's jaw was clenched so tight he was going to crack a molar. Unable to voice his anger or pull you away to keep you safe, he stood, shooting daggers dipped in faebane at everyone but you. You stared at your lover as he drank from the flute in one fluid motion.

Blinking back the tears as he threw his head back. His eyes met yours once again, red rimmed pools of honey ready to overflow from heartbreak. You were unable to mask the pain you were in as easily as Lucien. It occurred to you that perhaps he meant more to you than you did to him. With a heavy heart you brought your flute up to your lips, and a lonely tear tracked down your cheek. You didn’t want this life. You didn’t want to be a Death God. You didn’t want to marry Eris. You didn’t want other people making decisions for you. You didn’t want to be forced. Yet you agreed, there was no other way.

“Tears of happiness no doubt,” Eris cooed, gently wiping at the tears that followed after the first. Lucien had never looked at his brother with such raging hatred as he did now. Eris wrapped his arm around your waist, settling his hand on your hip as he tugged you close enough to kiss your temple. His gaze trained on Lucien for a hint of a reaction. Lucien swore he saw Eris smirk.

You didn’t stay long enough for dessert, opting to be alone with your thoughts. Walking aimlessly through the halls of the forest house, you didn't attempt to wipe your tears. There was no point in hiding how hurt you were, no reason to put on a brave face. You passed through a stone archway that led to a balcony, overlooking the canopy of trees that fill the forest floor. Autumn was beautiful, but not as beautiful as the stars that littered the night sky. The stars didn’t shine as bright in Autumn, they looked dull and sparse. Not at all what they looked like from home. You missed home, the space beyond the stars.

Hushed whispers floated to your ears and you quickly hid behind the stone railing that curved the space of the balcony. “- we were able to modify vegetables and fruit with faebane. The results were successful in potency and effectiveness. We can use these samples in farmlands for mass production, and give high doses of faebane through modes of consumption without the individual's knowledge.” You could recognize Lord Berons voice even though he whispered. “Once we remove the Night Court's High Lord the rest will fall.”

You attempted to peek over the railing, needing to know who he was speaking to, who else you needed to kill. “You’ll become High King of Prythian and keep your title as King of Hybern.” It couldn't be, you felt panic rising up your throat. The King of Hybern and Lord Beron in an alliance? You needed to tell Eris. Your bargain to assist Eris in killing Autumn's High Lord just became more difficult.

Quickly trekking back through the halls you found yourself in front of Eris bed chambers. You knocked softly at his door, hoping he’d still be awake at this time of night. Shuffling on the other side. you heard him near. Opening the door with a soft click, “what do I owe the pleasure?” he purred as he stared down at you. His chest was completely exposed, toned with a light dusting of freckles, similar to Lucien. Your eyes traced down his carved abs, noticing his narrow hips and how dangerously low his night pants hung. You averted your eyes, focusing on the slight curve of his mouth instead. “I have something to tell you..In private, please.” You don’t know why you were suddenly nervous in front of the princeling. “Is everything alright?” he asked with softness in his tone as his back pressed against the door frame, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by. Still facing the future Heir you walked over the threshold, your chest grazing his warm body as you slid into his room. Eris' head thumped against the frame, ‘control yourself’ he thought, as the brush of your breasts along his chest had left him breathless.

Explaining in full detail what you heard between The King and Lord Beron took longer than anticipated. Eris took every bit of information and wrote down possible outcomes and strategies to counter the mass production of faebane. On top of killing his father another player had entered the game and now Eris' work to bring down his father had doubled to now needing to bring The King of Hybern down as well.

Eris didn’t know how long he stayed hovered over his desk, but when he finally turned towards his bed and noticed your sleeping form, dawn was fast approaching. He didn’t have the heart to wake you, opting to cover your body with his warm sheets. He had no problem sleeping on the couch, respecting you enough to not join you in bed. He’d fallen asleep at the sound of your soft breathing, the sweetest lullaby to grace his ears.

It had been mid day when you both greeted the high sun, bashful in the position you were in. You apologized profusely for falling asleep in the Heirs bed. But he simply waved you off, “nonsense Fawn, what kind of male would I be to rush you off in the middle of the night?” Your cheeks flushed at the pet name as Eris opened the door to his bedroom, letting you pass by easily. You turned to thank him, missing the male that stepped back into the corner of the hall, hiding himself from view. But it was Eris who spoke first, “thank You, for last night. I’d like to see you again.. soon. to talk about,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry about all this,” he gestured at the air around him. “It's not your fault. We’ll figure it out,” you said through a sigh.

Eris wondered if you would ever forgive him for the way things were turning out, he didn’t want to force your hand. Hadn’t even thought about it, but as he pulled you in and wrapped his arms around you in a warm embrace, and inhaling the scent of your hair he was right where he wanted to be. Even though nothing intimate transpired that night, Lucien's imagination planted a rotten seed as he witnessed you leaving Eris bedroom. Eris' hold on you lasted too long to be a friendly hug and the flush on his brother's bare chest told a different story. Lucien decided then that he no longer wanted to be in Autumn, he’d branch out to other courts, and take you with him. But first he needed to speak with Eris.

Present

The rays of the morning sun cracked through the window, and once again you found your side of the bed empty. Loneliness has been a better lover to you than the future Heir. Before you had left to seek out the other Dead Gods; Eris only visited the cottage to see his mother and make love to you.

You hoped things would be different once you returned, but he hardly stayed the night and he was usually gone by morning. You’d never admit his absence made you feel used, causing more pain than you wanted.

After Lucien you vowed to never care for another male again. Never give your heart out willingly. From your experience everything they touched seemed to break, crumble, and wither. They hurt the women they claimed to love and protect, only for them to be beaten and assaulted. Traded to the Highest Lord in exchange for an alliance or merely because the female had the hips and cunt to breed powerful heirs, and that wouldn't happen to you. You wouldn't be touched with careless hands when you so beautifully crafted the very soil they walked on and the fresh air they breathed.

After your morning shower you find yourself searching the cupboards for your contraceptive tea. Placed high above the eyeline, away from Eris and Marrian. You had taken the tea without Eris’ knowledge. He wanted you to carry his child; it would be under your terms and only when you wanted. The decision to bear children would be out of love and with someone whom you formed a relationship organically, not like it had been with Eris.

You found no tea in the cottage. Not even healing salves for your wounded wing from your attack days ago, another injury unnoticed by Eris. You didn’t have the necessary ingredients for either so you traveled through the forest searching for the particular herbs. You could have gone to a healer for your wounds but not for the tea. Loyal to the court, merchants would talk and the last thing you needed was Lord Beron finding out and throwing you in a cell for insubordination. Contraception was hard to come by in Autumn, another rule placed by controlling males.

You were in deep concentration, biting at your fingernails trying to think of the last ingredient for the tea. When a sneaky shadow wrapped itself around your waist, squeezing you tightly just as one would for a hug. You stumbled back at the force in which the shadow had rushed to you. But you were met with a hard muscular surface and gentle hands that held onto your hips for stability. You then felt the cool caress of Azriel's breath across your neck, “You haven't healed your wing yet, any reason why?” He asked. Still in his hold, you quickly turned to face him, a little shocked to see him still in The Autumn Court so close to your cottage. “What are you doing here? How did you find me? Oh my Gods you're going to get killed.” You fire off question after question, glancing behind him and all around in a frenzy of panic and caution. Azriel follows your hurried gaze from left to right, amused in your nervousness.

“Answer my question first and I'll answer yours, deal?” Azriel suggests with a smirk.

“Ughh, fine. Not here though, come on.”

Azriel stifles a laugh as you pull him by the hand, a large overgrown bat following a pretty girl like a lost puppy. You lead him to a giant hollowed out tree trunk, the inside large enough for you both to sit without being seen. Azriel sits on a thick twisted root that's sprouted from the ground, his knees touching yours as you sit opposite of him.

“So what are you doing here?” You begin.

Azriel chuckles, “nope, you answer me first.”

You sigh and roll your eyes, “I’ve forgotten how to heal,” you mumble softly. Azriel scratches at his temple, brows furrowed in clear confusion, “I'm sorry, did you say you've forgotten how to heal?”

“Yes, I have forgotten how to heal, now answer my questions.” you crossed your arms over your chest, adamant in knowing what the hell Azriel was doing in your neck of the woods.

“But how did you forget? People forget names and faces, not how to use their power, “ he prods, striking an exposed nerve that puts you on edge.

“ You know what, forget it. I’m in a hurry, I don't have time to play games with you. I already told-”

“Alight, alright. I’m sorry. Will you at least let me help you?”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious of his intentions. “Why?”

This was going to be harder than Azriel thought, “I just….I’d like to repay the favor to someone who did a good thing.”

You scoff with a shake of your head. He was unbelievable, but you allowed him to help. It would be a stretch to reach your wing let alone change the bandage. You handed Azriel your satchel with all the supplies you had gathered. He took each item out and laid them out, recognizing each leaf and its purpose.

Azriel immediately notices the list of ingredients scribbled on a note paper in your bag. At the top of the list are the three herbs needed for the contraceptive tea. His eyes widen as they shoot to your pretty face and down to your womb. Nightshade, only found in The Night Court was missing from your bag. One of the many herbs imported to the other courts for distribution. You wouldn't find it in Autumn’s forest.

His jealousy flared slightly as he couldn't imagine another male touching you, seeing your naked figure bare for someone else. He shouldn't be jealous, you don't belong to him, but every ounce of his body is screaming for your attention. Any ounce of affection you're willing to give, Azriel would gladly accept.

Azriel doesn't notice when you remove your top. Keeping your breasts covered with your arms wrapped around your chest, you nestle between his spread legs, wings displayed beautifully like angels from the heavens. His breath hitches as your backside grazes against his crotch, the close proximity doing nothing to settle his nerves. Your skin looks soft and delicate, he almost doesn't want to taint you with his scarred hands.

But the urge to touch you overpowers his negative thoughts and he takes the first steps in removing your bandage. He’s about to caress your wing when he suddenly remembers the sensitivity of his own, “Illyrian wings are very sensitive in this area, I’m about to remove the bandage, I just want to make sure you're comfortable.” You peek over your shoulder giving him a shy smile at his thoughtfulness, “they’re sensitive too, based on the type of touch and pressure. But it’s the only way.” He nods in understanding, and the first glide of his fingers against your skin startles you. “Sorry,” he winces, quickly removing his hands. “It’s Ok, I just wasn't expecting..” You weren't expecting his tortured hands to carry such a tender touch. You couldn’t tell him that, not sure what he would think, “you can continue, please.”

Azriel resumes his attempt at removing the bandage, gently pulling back the adhesive holding against your skin. It was a sick kind of torture having this handsome male care for you in a way that no one ever has, his careful touch is delicate and soft despite his rough exterior. Each brush against your skin felt like a sweet kiss between lovers, healing not only your skin but the broken pieces of your soul. You let yourself relax under his touch, memorize the feel of careful hands nurturing you. Making you whole not only physically but mentally. In your blissful state a soft moan slips past your lips when his fingers glide over the space between your wings. Azriel smiles at the sound, wishing to be the reason for every sinful noise out of your mouth.

Azriel fills the silence in hopes to hush any more sweet sounds that may arouse him.“To answer your question, my shadows seem to be very fond of you. And they’ve been able to track you easily. I’m not really sure why or how but they pick up on your scent, and I just… from the last time we…” Azriels cheeks flush as he remembers your last encounter, “Why aren't you happy?” He’d thought about your previous conversation and how you mentioned you weren’t happy. The admission plagued his mind, wondering what weighed so heavy on your heart that happiness was no longer on the table. And the way you said it so casually made it seem you haven't been happy for a long long time.

You’re about to dismiss his question, your life is none of his business but something in the way he's touching you allows you to be vulnerable.

“I’m unhappy because I’ve lost my way home. Each time I die and resurrect, I come back forgetting a piece of myself, powers I once had are temporarily gone, or I don’t recognize the people around me. I’m just trying to find my way back, but I can’t seem to remember. Nothing is keeping me here but my mission to bring Death to this realm, and the many bargains Ive made in search of home. I have no family to keep me here. No worthy lovers. I feel stuck in a place that only sees me as a tool for their personal gain, And I’m tired of the confinement.”

Your voice wobbles, as you explain the depth of your pain. He knows too well the feeling of not belonging, the loneliness weighing heavy on one's shoulders. Your memory loss after each death explains his earlier question; the reason you don’t remember him and the reason you couldn't heal yourself.

He can’t see your face, but he notices your hand coming up to wipe away your fallen tears. Selfishly he doesn't want you to part from his world. His feelings for you are already so strong, he couldn't bear a life knowing you weren't in it. The Mother was cruel in her ways, he had just found you after 500 yrs only to reach you on your way out. But he’d choose your happiness over his every time.

He listens intently as you reminisce about your home. How large the moon looks from your humble throne, its proximity so close you can fly to its surface. The brilliant stars that shine brighter year after year, their vibrancy thawing the coldest of hearts. Sapphire and violet swirls of the milky way, a visual so stunning it leaves you breathless. A longing sigh passes between your lips, shoulders deflate slightly. “I’m sorry for unloading all that on you,” you shake your head, info dumping was never your intention. “Can you tell me what your home is like? I really liked the stars in The Night Court. It’s one of the reasons I stayed longer than I should have.”

“You don’t ever have to apologize for how you feel,” he says, as he continues to apply the healing salve, its cooling properties taming the angry laceration. “The Night Court is very similar to how you describe your home.” A slight blush travels up his neck, “I’d like to show you where I live, See how you like it there. I think you’d find it more home like than any other Court,” Azriel flusters as he mumbles the words out.

“I’m not sure how that would work out. I seem to have angered your High Lord.” You lift a shoulder in a shrug, “but thank you for the offer.” Azriel hadn’t thought how Rhys would behave if he knew you were a guest in the very city you threatened. How the Inner Circle would perceive you. What kind of High Lord would that make him if he did allow you to visit Velaris. Rhys head wasn’t shoved that far up his ass, was it?

“Will you allow me to help you find happiness then?”

His question has you shocked. He feels it in the way your wings have straightened and slightly flared. No one has bothered to ask if you were happy, let alone help you seek said happiness, certainly not someone you barely knew. Something about this male was different. Special, even. In a world where death and violence was in every court, usually brought on by males. This one had a thoughtful heart. Where men took from you, Azriel had given. He’d offered his services to kill for you. Offer his body to worship you. He offered his scarred masculine hands and willed them to be delicate and soft if only to heal the damaged pieces of a goddess. And now he knocked at the gates of your guarded heart willing to weather the storm in pursuit of your happiness for nothing in return. Those wrought iron gates flashed gold with every rap, Its faint pulse crashes against your heart like a violent wave, pummeling jagged rocks along the coast.

Azriel was everything you had ever wanted in a male and it scared you more than anything.

Then you remembered the words spoken by The Suriel, ‘An invisible thread that weaves and winds, binding hearts two of a kind.’

No. You wouldn’t allow your emotions to get the best of you, so you shut them down.

Azriel stilled. His deep heavy breathing suddenly the only sound that could be heard. His hands trembled in his lap. He felt it, the golden pull towards you. It was as if he was watching himself from above, gripping those iron bars so tightly his knuckles turned white, gold spreading beneath his palms coating the iron, bar by bar. But then you pushed. And he watched as your heart frosted over in stone and cold Ice, protecting itself from breaking. The iron gates doubled down, forging a firewall of blue and orange flame. He would need to jump through fire and ice to even get to you.

“There's a book, well two books I’ve been looking for. They contain the spell I need to remember my past and to go home. Book of The Minds Eye and The Book of Breathings.” It was dangerous telling Azriel, but you had exhausted every option. Bryaxis would look In Velaris Library for The Minds Eye, and if he found it he’d give it to you when you both met in the coming war and his bargain would be done. But the book of breathings was impossible to find. If he knew where to look, then it was worth telling him.

Azriel blinked back to reality confused. Did you not feel the undeniable pull? or maybe you did but you closed off, blocked it. Wait. Was that…Azriel slammed his eyes shut, willing to go back to that place, wherever it was, drag his body across glass and gravel, he didn't care. Hell he’d jump through hoops of fire if it meant you got to be his. All he saw was vast emptiness.

“Did you feel that tug?” Azriel longed for that connection, and had been looking for it his entire life. At one point he felt unworthy of such deep love. Jealousy gripped him so hard he began to resent his brothers for finding their mate. But as he saw how happy and whole they were, their joy had bounced off and with time he welcomed their delight. The Mother it seems skipped him or she didn’t deem him worthy. Perhaps it was the manner of work he was in, who would love such a soul who tortured people. Would his chosen one stomach his work and still desire to be in his presence? He had a feeling you were his chosen one, you had to be with how much he thought of you. Even after all these years searching it had to mean something in the end right? There had to be a reason he couldn't get you out of his head.

“I didn’t feel anything at all. I can tell you’ve tended to many injuries, your hands are very gentle.”

“Oh,” Azriel glanced at your fresh bandage, “your wound. Right. It's cleaned and I applied the salve and new bandage.” he couldn't help the sadness in his tone. He was wrong. Of course he was wrong, you were a Death God and what would a God want with him? You kindly asked him to turn around so you could pull your top back on, “good as new I’d say.” You shot him with a wide smile, flexing your wings, showcasing their movement despite the taut feeling of the bandage.

He nodded in agreement, “you were saying something about a book?”

Azriel caught some of the information as you retold what you were looking for, his mind weaving in and out. Thoughts between this book you were in search of and that lingering feeling deep within his chest. He was startled to hear Rhys' voice in his mind suddenly, ‘We’ve been invited to the Day Court In celebration of Helion’s Birthing Day. Wrap up your findings and report at once. With or without the girl, Mor’s returned with her findings.’

Azriel followed you out of the hollowed tree, pacing back and forth anxiously, “There's this celebration in another court. I was hoping you’d attend. With.. with me? They have multiple libraries and Helion he’s a spell cleaver, I’m sure he’d allow you to visit the-”

You cut off his rambling, a clear attempt at convincing you to the Day Court. “Are you asking me on a date shadowsinger?”

The flush across his cheeks was adorable for an illyrian his size, “ Yes!” he confirmed, “I’d be honored to have you on my arm.”

Gods you wanted to accept and forget about your duties even for a night. You’d be working for Lady Autumn, ensuring her safety in secret as well as attending to her needs. “I’ll be in attendance. But I'm afraid I’ll be on someone else’s arm.”

“Someone else? Who?” He asked, trying to calm his racing heart from its imminent break.

“Eris Vanserra.”

He should have stopped and stayed silent as his eyes darted to your bag. But his thoughts came spewing out of his mouth in anger, and once again he’d let his jealousy take over. “You’re fucking him! That's why you’re looking for contraceptive tea, I saw it in your bag.” Not a question but a statement.

“Who I fuck is none of your business!” You spat with equal rage, power surging through your veins clouding the once bright sky in gloom.

Azriel scoffs, and with a nasty bitter tone he landed a blow so low even his shadows recoiled, “how could you say you loved lucien and then fuck his brother? No wonder he left you!”

Immediate.

Regret.

Your face crumbles in pain as his words form a dagger and slice at your beating heart. As if sensing your sorrow, a roar of thunder echoed nearby, threatening to unleash its ferocity.

“Shit! I’m sorry. Please… I didn’t” Azriel inches forward. You step back, eyeing him slowly from head to toe and back up again, nothing but loathing and hurt in your cold stare. You remained silent but all Azriel heard through the agony in your beautiful face was ‘you aren't worth my time.’

“I don't expect you to understand the sacrifices one has to make when you're in love, when no one has ever loved you! And the next time you decide to disrespect me, I'll be sure to remind you how vile a Death God can be.”

You didn’t bother to look back at him as you walked away.

Part 5

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read, I really appreciate it. :)

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hangmanssunnies · 11 months

Text

Helping Hands

Summary: Phoenix has had a long day. She knows the only thing that will make her feel better is coming home to you and getting a little help to unwind.

Pairings: Natasha "Phoenix" Trace x Reader

Word count: 5k

AO3 LINK

Warnings: 18+ only, possessiveness, PWP, Slightly Sub Phoenix, Guided Masturbation, Grinding, WLW.

Authors Note: I am simply a bisexual who would love to worship this woman. Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

It had been a really long day, and Phoenix was exhausted. She felt like she was hardly holding it together. She was stressed and had even snapped at her poor backseater. Her words were so harsh Bob had quietly excused himself from her side, crossed the room, and squarely seated himself right next to Coyote. Bob turned slightly into the broad pilot as if to hide himself. Then because obviously, Phoenix had needed something to make her feel worse or make her even angrier, Hangman had sat himself down on the other side of her WSO, blocking him from her view and throwing an arm over the other man's shoulder.

As if any other pilot had a right to touch what was hers. No one else knew what it meant to have Bob's life in their hands every day. Someone she thought of and was concerned with over herself. Bob was HERS to take care of, HERS to linger near and comfort. The line of thought was only finally interrupted when she dug her nails into her palms, using the stinging pain to clear her head.

Phoenix had thought a distraction might help, but when she turned to find Rooster, he was talking to Payback. He had been doing that a lot lately, talking to Payback. They had even been hanging out on the weekends. And even though Phoenix knew it was ridiculous to be jealous of Bradshaw having other friends, she was. Rooster was HER best friend. Phoenix was on his emergency contact list. She had spent the last ten years making sure he had birthday and Christmas presents, not Fitch. She glared at Payback until he finally got a hint to leave. The moment that the space next to Rooster emptied, she occupied it.

Bradshaw was familiar. He could provide her with easy comfort just by being near. As she thought she might finally have some reprieve for the first time all day, a chance to let down her guard, Rooster opened his stupid mustached mouth with the audacity to ask her if she was okay. Phoenix was always okay; she was the best damn pilot here. She didn't even bother to grace him with an answer. The only reason she didn't move seats again was because Payback might try to reclaim this one, which at the moment was the only thing worse in her mind than the sad confused look Bradley was giving her.

By the time the day was finally over, she was so close to snapping, wound as taut as a bow. Even as she drove home, Phoenix was white-knuckling the steering wheel, trying to keep it together. Her only comfort was knowing what was waiting for her at home. The knowledge that she would finally be able to unwind with you.

The house smelled clean when she got home, and the soft light of candles and some lamps greeted her. She felt instant gratification stepping inside. The strain in her eyes relaxed for the first time since she woke up. After shucking off her shoes, she was moving further into the apartment, looking for you like a moth drawn to a flame.

You were humming, listening to some soft music in the kitchen, and Natasha didn't waste a moment to come up behind you and wrap her arms around your middle. Nuzzling her face into your back, she took a shaky shuddering breath. It only took a moment before you turn and wrap your arms around Natasha, holding her close.

Nat would spend all day step in step with the men around her. Yes, she was in a male-dominated profession, and she had to work twice as hard and prove twice as much as any of those fuckers. She never backed down an inch and always gave just as good as she got. However, being able to come home to you, having somewhere she could shed off that mask, was precious to her. It was a balm to her soul being held in your arms, letting her be as small and delicate as she wanted.

When you pull her hair out of her bun, she has to stop the whiny moan that almost falls from her lips. The relief of her scalp is enhanced when one of your hands tangles in her hair, gently scratching at the roots.

"Hi Tash," you say gently. Her hold on your hips tightens in response, and she shoves her face into your neck, placing a small kiss there. It only takes you a moment to pick up on her mood, and you ask, "What's wrong, baby?"

Natasha doesn't respond. Instead, she just whines and lightly bites your neck, peppering the spot with another small kiss. As she tries to dip lower to the neckline of your blouse, you stop her catching her chin and tilting her face to make her meet your eyes.

"Baby," You say again as your eyes roam her face. Natasha is momentarily distracted by how beautiful you are. Your eyes, your lips, the shape of your nose, it's too much, and the need to kiss you feels a bit overwhelming as you ask, "Did you have a bad day?"

Natasha nods a little pathetically before giving in to her wants, and she leans forward to catch your lips. She does not waste a moment. As soon as your mouth opens for her, she is greedily slipping in her tongue to taste you. Drawing the kiss out for as long as her lungs will allow, only giving up her efforts when you pull away from her. The loss makes Natasha feel like nearly crying, even as she pants, trying to recover her breath. However, it is enough to reassure her when you diligently start unbuttoning her shirt.

"Tell me about it?" You request as you slowly work the buttons open.

"People were touching my stuff all day. My normal parking spot was taken, and I didn't get to sit where I like to sit for this morning's briefing. Hangman put his grubby hands all over Bob. My WSO, my responsibility, my friend! And Rooster stole half my lunch. Now he is going to replace me with Payback, who was my friend first."

"Oh, Tash," you sigh sympathetically to her woes. "No one is replacing you, let alone Rooster."

"How do you know?" She whispers.

"Because you are wonderful, funny, smart, and irreplaceable. Also, because he texted me asking if you were okay and wants to come over and hang out this weekend."

"I don't want to hang out with him. He annoys me. He's just going to come over here and eat all my food and touch all my stuff."

"None of that's new, and you've always loved him anyway. Plus, he always steals half your lunch. That's why I pack extra," you remind her gently. When her shirt is unbuttoned, you start playing with the dog tags that are hanging off her neck, pulling them from her undershirt.

"Well, I didn't want to share," Natasha says, and she feels moments away from stamping her foot.

"Were you just extra hungry today?"

"No, but that doesn't mean other people can just take what's mine."

"I'm sorry people were touching your stuff. Can I help?" You ask tenderly. Natasha sometimes wonders why you bother asking when you already know what she wants. Maybe you just like to hear it from her.

"I want to feel good," Natasha whispers.

"You want to be my good little angel?" You ask her, and the sweet name makes her stomach flip. Just thinking about being good for you causes warmth to seep under her skin.

"I do," she confirms breathily.

"Good girl, Tash. Now can you get out the rest of this khaki by yourself?"

Natasha nods in affirmation, turning away from you to go to the bedroom. However, your hand catches her wrist, stopping her before she is gone. Her breath catches as you press her back into the free wall. Holding your gaze steadily as she can, Natasha's eyes keep falling back to your lips, though. It's clearly not lost on you as she watches your lips quirk up.

"Did I forget something?" Natasha worries.

"You're only going to touch what's yours tonight, Angel. Since you don't feel like sharing."

"No," Natasha whimpers, wondering how you could be so mean to her after all she went through today.

"Real no Natasha? Or are you just being my whiny angel?" You ask seriously.

"Just whiny, I'm sorry." She admits to you. You chuckle and shake your head at her.

"You're wasting time," you have to remind her after Natasha starts staring at you again. The reminder gets her moving toward the bedroom.

Once there, she strips her clothes, throws them in the hamper, and considers her options. She likes to feel pretty sometimes, strip off her sensible undergarments and wear something that is delicate lace with little to no support. Having no reason other than for your viewing pleasure to wear the items. As much as Natasha wanted to feel pretty tonight, she would rather feel comfy, so she finally settled on pulling out a pair of soft green boyshort style lacy panties. She forgoes a bra altogether and instead grabs one of your sleep shirts that was freshly washed but somehow still smelled like you.

After a quick rinse off in the shower and putting on some lotion, Natasha changes into what she picked out. Finally, she lays herself out on the bed for you trying to look as enticing as possible. Laying on her stomach so you will have the perfect view of her ass when you open the door. She hides her giddy smile in her hands, picturing your reaction. She isn't disappointed.

The sharp inhale of your breath when you open the door alerts her, and Phoenix props up on her elbow, half turning to look at you. Your lustful look has Natasha ginning and not even bothering to hide it before biting her lower lip.

"You are an absolute vision."

"Thank you," Natasha says, sitting up and turning so she is sitting on her calves. She parts her lips, waiting for you to come kiss her. However, your breath only teases her lips, and while you are close, you still don't kiss her. After waiting, she frowns and blinks at you in confusion.

"Angel, who's shirt is that?" You ask her in a measured, curious way.

"Yours," she says after a second of consideration.

Your hand lightly wraps around her neck at the answer, and staring into her eyes, you remind her, "Didn't I say you're only allowed to touch what's yours?"

"It was an accident."

"Okay, well, that was your reminder. Take off the shirt, Angel." You say but still haven't let go of her neck. Natasha frowns at you and furrows her brow in consideration. After a moment, she has a plan and gives you an innocent smile.

She slowly moves like she is going to take off the shirt. As she does, you release her neck and lean back to watch. Once she is free, Natasha relowers the shirt and tugs it as low as it will go so it strains against her shoulders. Smirking tauntingly up at you, she says, "I like this. I don't want to take it off."

"I'll make you," you warn her. She wants that, though, so she just grins and shrugs.

As you climb on the bed, Natasha is already scrambling away. However, you catch her ankle before she can get too far. This leads to a playful wrestle that ends with Natasha giggling, laying on her back, and you have caged her down with your knees on either side of her narrow hips.

She tries to wiggle away, but you hold her in place as you tug the shirt up over her head and arms before tossing it away. She reaches out to try and touch you, but you grab her wrists holding them together instead. It's a tight hold but not a cruel one with the soft kiss you place on the back of each palm.

"I know you had a hard day today and that people were touching things they shouldn't. All this pent-up stress isn't good for you, Angel. I'm going to help you feel better."

"I don't need help," Natasha snaps before she can think better, still feeling bratty.

She watches your face process her words. When you do, you release her wrists, letting them fall limply on the bed. After you ease yourself off of her. You take a moment to fold the shirt thrown aside in the playful tussle. Then you are pulling off your own clothes and head to the bathroom, not even paying Natasha another glance. Confused, she has to call your name twice before you give her attention again.

"Yes, Angel?" You ask, and Natasha is immediately reassured at hearing that name from you. She knew it was okay and that this was all still play.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm just getting ready for bed. You said you don't need my help. So go ahead, get yourself off so we can cuddle and go to sleep."

She doesn't like your answer and feels almost as if it's a trick. Not wanting to doubt it too much, she slips her fingers over her clit, giving it harsh strokes. The stimulation makes her feel aroused but nothing close to satisfied.

She tries for a few more minutes and then a few more after she notices you watching her from the doorway of the ensuite bathroom. You are wearing the shirt you pulled off of her as if it was the spoil of war, with nothing but your own panties on. Natasha slows to nearly a stop as she appreciates the curves and shape of your body.

When you realize her appreciation, you freeze for a moment and look away almost shyly, avoiding direct eye contact with her. The moment leaves Natasha stunned. She feels some of the stubbornness in her ease away. She likes knowing she has an effect on you, likes knowing that you enjoy how much she wants you.

You recover from Natasha's appreciation, but the pleased glow about you hasn't disappeared. Casually you ask while approaching the bed, "Are you close, Angel?"

"No, I'm not." She says, pulling her hands out of her panties in frustration, ready to give up. She knows her efforts are futile, and she might as well stop wasting her time. You catch her wrist and slowly suck her fingers clean. Natasha's breath catches at the sight, and she feels her own mouth drop open. Releasing her wrist, it falls limply to the bed, and she whispers, "I need help."

Your eyes are loving and sympathetic as you sigh affectionately, pushing back a strand of hair that had fallen onto her face. "My Angel needs a navigator, doesn't she? Don't worry, tonight with this at least, I can be your guidance system. Do you want that? Me in control telling you exactly what to do?"

Nodding along enthusiastically, Natasha lets go of the reins on her emotions she had been holding in so tightly all day. She didn't have to be in control right now. She knew she could give this orgasm to you, that it was your pleasure and responsibility to take care of. She didn't have to worry or think; all she had to do was feel and listen. So she says, "Yes, I want that."

"That's good," you say, opening the chest where y'all keep the toys. "Now, sit up and make some room, Angel."

Coming back with two of Natasha's favorite toys, a womanizer and a silicone purple vibrator. You set them to the side, but even the sight of them feels exciting for her. You settle against the pillows and headboard behind Natasha and trail your fingers along her shoulders. Once she adjusts to your touch, you suddenly start playing with her hair. Natasha eases back against you. How soft you feel behind her and the slight press of your nipples on her back has her sighing in happiness.

"Comfy?" you ask her, your breath tickling her ear you're so close. It sends shivers down her body, and she nods. And then you tell her, "Touch your tits, Angel."

Tracing her fingers up her own sides, Natasha shivers at the sensation. She immediately goes to roll her hardened nipples, and the moment her fingers touch them, your teeth bite at the back of her neck. The bite isn't too hard but so surprising that she yelps.

"I didn't say to touch there." You say in her ear. Whimpering, she is eager to follow your whispered instructions to softly caress all of the skin before finally being allowed to touch her hardened buds. Natasha's skin is so soft under her own fingers. It only ever feels this soft and supple when she is home with you. At home, Phoenix has her pick of the many lotions and oils you've gotten her. The way you take care to rub it on for the nights she is too tired to do it herself also gives a consistency she can't maintain away from you.

Her fingers have always had calluses from the years of nightly dedication to her viola, then a whole different set she got rowing. Even now, years later, when she doesn't do either activity as often, the marks persist. As they tease her nipples and drag across her skin, she finally can appreciate the marks and the extra sensation they bring to her.

"Pinch them harder," you breathe. Natasha instantly follows the command and squeezes harder, alternating between the sides as she does. Biting back a whimper, she pulls as well, adding to the sensation.

"That's perfect. You're doing so well." She can't fully hold back the sound she makes, and she feels you chuckle behind her. "It's okay. You can be as loud as you want. I want you to make noise and show me how good you feel."

"More please," she sighs.

"Okay, let's go back to soft touches now." She complies and starts just softly cupping her pert breasts. They have started to flush from stimulation, and she can't help but think your hands would look so much better than hers. The thought is interrupted by your next instruction. "Use a hand to touch over your panties. You picked such a pretty pair for me. This color of green makes you glow, even when it's as stained as it is right now."

Wondering how you know, Natasha opens her eyes and looks around. Looking to the left, she suddenly catches eyes with you in the mirror on the vanity in the corner. The mirror is not really for this purpose, normally lined up straight and flush with the wall. However, you had tilted it without her notice, and paired with the way you positioned her on the bed, you have managed to put Natasha on full display. Her legs have already fallen open, and she sees that you're right. The green has started to darken from her wetness. When you see that you have been caught staring at her, you softly kiss her neck. She can't help but whine and arch her neck, allowing you more access to kiss and suck.

"That feel good?" You ask her.

"So good," she whines when you bite, not hard enough to mark her but enough for her to feel it.

"That's right. I know what you like. So, touch that pretty pussy for me, Tash." She is more turned on than she has been all night. She slips her fingers under her panties and pushes past her clit to circle a finger around her entrance.

"What finger are you using?" You ask.

"My middle, just touching and teasing," Natasha describes while making another slow press at the shape of her hole but not pressing her finger in. "I'm so wet and hot."

"Take those off and give them to me," you order her. Wiggling and lifting her hips, Natasha manages to free herself of the item. Handing them to you, she more consciously turns her body towards the mirror, so you can really see her. She lets her knees fall wide open and arches to fully show off. The moan it draws from you feels like a reward, and the sound that you make sniffing the underwear before tossing it towards the laundry is enough that she nearly has to clench her thighs in need.

"Look how swollen and puffy you are, and you haven't even touched the toys." You groan with a hum in your chest. "We don't even need any toys, do we? Here I thought you were going to be difficult and stubborn for me, but all it takes is some encouragement, and you are already needy. Put a finger in now."

Natasha brings that same finger back and starts easing it into herself with a gentle hiss. It's not difficult and doesn't hurt, but there is always something about the initial intrusion in her body. Once it's fully inside her, she leaves it, only starting to slowly stroke her inner walls when you tell her to. The action warms her after a minute or so, and she feels herself getting wetter as the ache in her core increases.

Lifting the vibrator, you put it to Natasha's lips. She sucks into her mouth without hesitation, running her tongue around the toy and letting it muffle her groans as she adds a second finger at your command. When you pull the vibrator away from her mouth, a trail of spit connects her with the dark purple silicone. The whispered "fuck" you release makes up for the loss of having her mouth filled.

The toy disappears from her sight, but she hears you opening a bottle of lube. Part of Natasha thinks that it's a bit unnecessary. She is sufficiently wet now, her slickness audible as her fingers move in her. It's a muffled sound as you turn on the vibrator and hold it in front of her to take. You had set it to the lowest setting, and while Nat wants to complain, she doesn't.

"Inside please, Angel," you tell her sweetly before letting it go. Natasha replaces her fingers with the vibrator. A tingle spreads through her core as the low vibration echoes through her. Her breathing starts to come out in softer pants, and with the toy seated fully, she starts to subtly rock her hips against it.

"Fuck, listen to how wet and needy you are. I can hear it over the vibrator. Rub your clit, Angel. Use that same wet middle finger to tease yourself." Natasha likes how turned on you sound while telling her what to do.

"I'm so wet, all for you," she moans, pulling the vibrator out a little and fucking it back into herself slowly. Her finger dances over her clit, but not applying any real pressure. She is mostly just dragging from the wet seeping out of her hole up around the sensitive bundle of nerves and back down again.

"Good girl, you can turn up the vibrator now." In her rush to do as you say, she accidentally presses the buttons wrong. The toy shoots to a high setting, and she lets out a high-pitched groan. Natasha leaves it, deciding to wait out the adjustment with whimpered whines and circles on her clit. You give her encouragement while she does, kissing her neck and muttering dirty praise into her skin. The tickle of your breath on her neck has Natasha's skin starting to feel tighter and tighter, her arousal burning nearly too hot.

"Rub your clit harder."

"Please, I want to cum. Need to cum," Natasha begs, using her pointer finger as well as her middle to stimulate the pearl. Her earlier ministrations have made it so slick that there is no resistance to her movements. However, it's nearly too wet as her fingers can touch but never hard enough before they slip again.

"You're so fucking hot when you touch yourself. I've never seen anything prettier than your wet pussy. Except maybe your tits. And your nipples, they drive me insane, Tash. I think about sucking them all day. Someday I want to make you cum just from playing with them." Natasha moans at the idea and clenches around the vibrator pressing it tighter against her G spot. "You like that idea, don't you, Angel? Well, maybe next time we play. Now be good and keep touching yourself."

"I want that now, please. I can't. I can't do it." Natasha cries to you desperately. You shush her quietly and actually touch her for the first time in a while. It's not overly sexual but incredibly intimate as you soothingly rub down her arm and back up again.

"Yes, you can. You can have it whenever you're ready. There is no rush, Angel. Don't think about it too hard. It'll happen. You know it will. I'm right here."

Closing her eyes again, Natasha tries to just enjoy the sensations coursing through her, the way the vibrator pulses, and picking another harsh rhythm to work her clit to; however, none of it is enough. It's just bubbling hot at a simmer, but not enough for her to reach the eruption she needs.

"Wait, I just remembered something," Phoenix gasps.

"What did you remember?"

"You said I can only touch what's mine," she reminds you.

"That's right."

"And you're mine, aren't you?" Natasha asks. It's a moment where an unexpected insecurity creeps in, and she doesn't really know why she suddenly feels so small.

"Oh, Natasha. I'm yours and only yours." You tell her. Natasha can't stop the smile that lifts her lips. She pulls the vibrator out with a pitchy sigh and turns it off in the process. She sits up then, not caring about how much she is surely dripping on the sheets, as she turns to face you.

Her lips seek yours, and parting them open in an invitation for your tongue an instant later. When you dip your tongue in to taste her, she sucks on it, not wanting the appendage to leave her mouth. You obliged her, groaning and gripping the back of her neck, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss even more so.

When she does try and pull away, needing a gasp of air, you hold her close for a moment more. It's the tiniest denial of oxygen, which in the realities of Natasha's life means nothing compared to the intensive training and oxygen regulation she has had to practice. In this moment though, even the tease of it feels exciting, has her panting and kissing at your neck.

"No one else can have you. You're mine," Natasha says, biting at the skin underneath the collar of your shirt. The fabric prevents her teeth from sinking in too hard. The urge to bite you isn't fully satisfied though, so she tugs at the bottom of your shirt, pulling it off. You easily let her remove the fabric without resisting at all.

"That's right, Angel, and I am so thankful to have been picked by you."

Natasha kisses you again, pressing her body entirely against yours. It takes a moment of maneuvering, but with a lift of one of your legs and the help of some pillows, she finally has herself slotted as close to you as she can in this position. The angle isn't quite right, but the drag of your panties feels delicious when she grinds her hips down, and that's all that matters to her at the moment.

Continuing on like that, grinding and kissing, you slip your fingers into her hair, occasionally tugging it when she tries to kiss you for too long without taking a breath. The slight pull on her hair makes her grind into you harder.

"I want you to feel good, too," Natasha says, eventually resting her forehead against yours and staring intensely into your eyes.

"I feel very good right now, Angel," you reassure her. "Nothing makes me feel better than helping you, and I haven't quite done that yet have I?"

"No," Natasha says, bringing her hands up to start caressing your chest like you had instructed her to do on herself before. "Can I have more help, please?"

"Of course," you answer and reach for the abandoned womanizer toy that hasn't been touched yet. Natasha knows it will get her off. It's pretty much a fail-safe toy, sometimes too powerful. However, right now, it's not what she wants. So she stops you and reaches for the vibrator instead.

Leaving the toy off, Phoenix positions it so it's nestled between the gaps of your body, pressing deliciously into her clit and yours. She grinds her hips down, which presses the vibe harder into you; it has you both gasping. You fumble for a moment but manage to turn the vibrator back on to a low setting. As it buzzes to life, neither of you can keep quiet even as you start kissing sloppily once more.

Your hands settle on her hips to help her move. Getting closer to the edge, Natasha isn't doing much more than panting into your mouth and ignoring the shaking in her legs as she searches for pleasure. All while pathetically babbling to you, "So close, going to cum. Want to so bad."

"I know, Angel. I got you," you say. Then clicking the vibrator up to a higher setting, you urge Natasha to press as close into you as she can. She follows you easily, and then when you buck your hips up, jostling the toy between you, she shatters.

For a blissful moment, Natasha's brain goes blank. Her whole body shakes as her back arches. The only thing preventing her from falling backward on the bed is your hand still on her waist. She feels more sticky wetness gush from her. The high-pitched moans are beyond her control as she rides the aftershocks.

As her orgasm fades, she observes you through lidded eyes. Watching as you seek your own pleasure, you aren't frantic like she was, though. Lazily rubbing against the vibrator, occasional moans falling from your lips. Leaning forward again, she slumps against your chest and mouths kisses and bites at your neck.

Your arms wrap around her drawing her even closer and holding her tight. The way you hold Natasha always makes her feel so secure and safe. "I feel so good, thank you."

"Did I help, angel?"

"You always help," she whispers into your skin. The continued stimulation has started the build-up of a second orgasm for her. It feels much closer than her first. She doesn't make an effort to chase it this time, instead just enjoying the ride.

She can tell you are getting close with how you start clutching her a little more desperately, less conscious of your nails on her skin. You've had many conversations and laments about not being able to mark Phoenix the way you really want. Always aware of the third person her job acts as in your relationship. She finds the energy to grind with you again, and praise instantly falls from your lips.

"Yes, pretty girl. Fuck, you're so perfect. Just like that," you pant. Phoenix thinks she could do just about anything when you call her pretty.

"Can I help?" She asks you, breathing the question in your ear and then gently sucking underneath it.

"I'm already right there," you warn her.

Working her hand down, she pushes your panties to the side so the wet vibrator can make direct contact with your clit. Natasha's juices and the lube mix with your own helping the toy move easier. One of your hands falls to her thigh, pushing it wider open to try and get your cunts closer together.

Natasha swallows each sound you make, kissing you sloppily. It's a matter of time then for both of you. When you pull away from Natasha's lips, you suck in a few sharp breaths, then cry out and cumming hard. The sounds you make nearly had her cumming for a second time. She can feel it right there but isn't sure what to do to push herself over.

You know what she needs, though, just like you always do. Cupping her chest, you sharply pinch her nipples, and she is falling apart again. Natasha crests the wave of her orgasm, but it just doesn't stop. She whines and shakes, trying to come back down from the high, but her body won't let her. A few tears fall from her eyes as squeaking cries continue in gasps from her. Even for several seconds after you move the vibrator away, her hips continue to rock.

Natasha isn't much more than limp and still occasionally twitching when you untangle her from being wrapped around you. Laying her out on the bed, you pull her close to cuddle with you.

After several quiet minutes where you're whispering to her and softly petting all of her available skin, the random twitching of sensitivity and pleasure finally seems to come to an end. Another few minutes after that until she feels coherent.

Once you notice she is with you again, you push back her hair and trace the features of her face softly. "Do you feel better, Angel?"

"I do feel better. Thank you, don't know what I would do without you."

"That makes two of us. I would be lost without you."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Natasha."

"You're mine, and no one else can touch you." She reminds you. It has no real weight as she is still lying boneless and practically purring while leaning into the soft touches you're giving her.

"I am," you easily agree. "Only yours, baby. You don't have to worry."

"Never leave me."

"I won't. I'm yours, and I only want to be yours always," You say, pressing soft kisses all over her.

After changing the sheets and only eating because you insist she needs to, Natasha doesn't feel anything other than reassured and happy as she snuggles into you and falls asleep that night. She knew you were exactly what she needed to finally unwind, and you hadn't disappointed her. When the relaxation in her body paired with the warmth of yours eased her into dreamland, the only thing she could think about was how lucky she was going to be waking up in the same bed as you.

#phoenix x reader #phoenix x you #natasha trace x reader #natasha trace x you #phoenix smut

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averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

Text

The Doc Is In 🩺 | Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell Imagine

Takes place during TGM

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x doctor!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, slight profanity, mentions of medical operations | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.7k

Requested 📨 yes/no (for @wildellaa 🤍)

Premise: Funny how a routine checkup after a near-death experience can lead to sudden revelations. For the dagger squad, this revelation comes in the news their infamous instructor happens to be quite close to the new base physician…who happens to be a high ranking Air Force personnel.

Note: I’m sorry by how long this took and I apologize if its bad/weak 🥹 I started a new job (my first job every) and it’s been a wild couple weeks but I promise I’m coming back! Also side note- the joke I added about the Air Force Dress Blues is an actual jab the branches use against the Air Force 😂 my mom was in the AF for 24 years and hated the Blues after they changed the uniform.

———————————

“Are you feeling any lightheadedness, nausea, or ringing in your ears?” Nat squinted against the light shining in her eyes, but adjusted before answering.

“No, just a little shaken. That’s all.” She kept her gaze forward as instructed, blinking once the light turned off. A light chuckle left the physician's lips.

“I would expect so after what you just experienced,” her smile was kind, jotting down notes on the pad beside her. “Normal behavior, but if you feel any of the symptoms I just listed at any point let me know. It doesn’t appear you have a concussion but we can never be too careful. And no visible sign of injuries to the chest or torso, indicating you had a more graceful landing than most pilots I see.”

“Is emergency ejections a common occurrence for you, Colonel?”

The woman chuckled, “You’d be surprised. Between the Air Force and Navy, my resume with treating you a lot doesn’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon.” She goes to the computer to enter the report, “Most cases involve broken or bruised ribs. But thankfully you appear in good shape. We just wanna watch out for any changes regarding your head.”

Nat nodded, moving to zip up her flight suit while the physician, an Air Force Colonel, the highest ranking for Air Force officers, with the last name L/n-Mitchell, wrote up the report notes on the computer.

Huh, funny how she shared the same last name as her boss.

“Your vitals are normal, no visible external injuries, and no sign of a concussion,” she repeated, fingers typing away, “but again we’ll keep an eye on those. I’ll get you and Lieutenant Floyd checked in for overnight observation—in the meantime is there anyone I can call to bring you anything you might need?”

“No need,” Nat waved a hand, “They’re all out in the lobby waiting for an update.” Rooster had sent her a text saying they had her and Bob’s things from their locker and food from the base Exchange.

Colonel L/n-Mitchell chuckled, “I’ll go grab them for you two.” She goes to the edge of the curtain, speaks to the person on the other side briefly before moving the fabric away to release the divide between the two spaces. When she does so the curtain reveals a pale-faced Bob on the opposite side.

“You good, Floyd?” Nat asks, untying her boots to make herself comfortable since she was to stay the night. Her answer was a groan.

“I might have thrown up a couple times.”

“What’s the diagnosis?”

“Just the case of my stomach being flipped upside down,” Bob leans back until he’s sprawled out on the bed. “I’m surprised I didn’t crap my pants.” Phoenix cringed, but bit back a laugh.

The Colonel placed her pen in her front pocket, smiling at the aviators, “I’ll be right back with your friends. Hang tight.” She opened the front curtain and disappeared, combat boots echoing with each step.

Bob and Nat waited about five minutes tops when she returned with Jake, Bradley, Mickey, Reuben, and Javy. “They’re in one piece,” she teased, moving to the side so they could all greet each other.

“We got your favorite,” Jake lifted a bag from Subway. Pulling out two sandwiches for Nat and Bob. They thanked them and started showing down when the curtain drew back again to reveal Pete.

“Sorry I’m late,” eyes instantly go toward the physician causing a smile to form on his lips. “Well this is a surprise.” Her own smile appeared.

“I told you I was transferring here.” The statement had all eyes, minus Bradley’s go wide. In fact Bradley mirrored Mav’s happy expression. Indicating he had some sort of familiarity to the Colonel.

Pete shocked them even more when he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I was expecting to see you next week,” he lets his eyes wander her uniform clad figure, grinning from ear to ear. She was in her Air Force ABUs, “Did you get in last night?”

“I did. Got settled at tlf, was planning on surprising you tonight but it looks like fate had other ideas,” she giggled, accepting his kiss causing gasps to ring out. “I take it this bunch belongs to you?”

“Hold the phone,” Javy said what everyone was thinking. He pointed at Mav, “You,” then pivoted to the woman, “And you are….”

She finished for him, “married.”

“Married!”

“I missed some chapters.”

“You never said you were married,” Phoenix stated, not seeing a wedding ring on either of their hands. It was common for military personnel to not wear rings due to their jobs, but surely Maverick would’ve mentioned in passing.

“I thought you guys knew.”

Javy scoffed, “We sure did not. Let alone to the base physician.”

“New base physician,” she corrected, “I just transferred here so really no one would have known. Although,” she turns to Bradley, “I thought you would’ve said something, Bradley.” The pilot just shrugged and mumbled how his thoughts were occupied with Nat and Bob. “Anyway, it is nice to meet you all. Sorry we had to become acquainted in these circumstances.”

The pilots were flabbergasted. First to find out that their instructor was married, and second to discover it was to a full bird Colonel.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Colonel,” Jake began, not used to addressing Air Force personnel. The Navy’s equivalent to a full bird colonel was Captain. Which happened to be her husband's rank. And generally when licensed physicians enter the Air Force they’re automatically ranked Captain or Major. So it made him wonder how long Pete’s wife had been in the Air Force to reach the rank of Colonel. “But where were you before coming to Miramar?”

“Vandenberg.” Ah, the Air Force Base up north in central California. One of the largest bases in the country and satellite home of both NASA and SpaceX.

Not to mention in the last two decades it had several shark attacks on its beaches.

The next hour consisted of the squad asking the couple several questions including the typical, “how long have you two been together?” “Have you always been in the Air Force?” And “Why haven’t you mentioned you were married, Captain?”

“Again, I thought you knew,” Mav reinstated, slightly flustered from the knowing look he received from his wife.

“We’ve been married ten years,” Y/n explained with a smile. “Though we’d been friends for some time. So…” she brought a finger to her lips, “I wanna say it was 2004 when we met for the first time. I had just commissioned.”

“What did you come in as?”

“Captain,” she answered Payback, “well, Lieutenant in your case.”

“And how long have you been a full bird, ma’am,” Mickey’s eyes were full of curiosity. He thought it was so cool his instructor was the highest officer rank for the Navy and married to the highest officer rank of the Air Force.

“About three years,” her face was full of pride, as was Mav’s. “And to answer your question from earlier; no, I hadn’t joined until after six years of being a civilian practitioner following my residency.” If they were to do the math, it would put Y/n at graduating from both high school, college, and med school one year early.

Oh she was smart smart.

One could guess by the John Hopkins and Duke University class rings on her fingers.

“I gotta ask,” Mickey looked between the two, grin already forming. “Do you ever have rivalry?”

“You mean because of Air Force vs Navy?” Y/n laughed. “Of course we do. Especially during college football season.” Pete laughed with her.

“You’re outnumbered here, darling.”

She playfully scoffed, “It’s only fair since you were back in Lompoc.” Turning to the pilots who were holding back smiles she added, “fifteen years and things don’t seem to change. I hope,” she motions a hand between them, “we can find some civility. All things considered.” Of course it was a joke, the branch rivalry and all that. But Y/n loved a good friendly bicker and the squad seemed to also.

“Just don’t wear your Blues around here,” Javy started, “unless you wanna be called a flight attendant.” The entire room erupted in laughter, Y/n pointing a finger as if to say, ‘Good one.’ She hated how the Air Force Dress Blues looked. It was the running joke between the branches and she couldn’t blame it.

Every time she had to wear them when flying she was stopped by people asking where to find their gate.

Hangman let out a whistle after they all calmed down. “When I woke up this morning I didn’t expect It end with meeting Mrs. Mitchell?” The couple shared a look, a smile on Y/n’s face.

“I prefer Doctor Mitchell.”

Pete went into detail of how the two met—which had Nat snapping her head to Y/n only to receive a wink.

No wonder she mentioned chest injuries as a theme when dealing with pilots.

It was a stellar retelling of how the man decided to defy yet another Admiral resulting in him ejecting from a high speed plane over a mountain range. Y/n had recently commissioned and was sent to Langley Air Force Base in Virginia, but was TDY to Oceana Naval Base for a seminar. Seeing she was the most qualified and only personnel available at the time, she was to conduct Pete’s medical examination.

“So,” she mused at the name on the clipboard, not bothering to pay him a glance as he sat on the bed. “You’re the infamous Pete Mitchell everyone has been buzzing about.” Beelining to the computer, Y/n heard a deep chuckle.

“Guilty.”

The response led to a roll of the eyes, focusing on the screen in front of her, “Are you experiencing any nausea, dizziness, lightness of the head?”

“No.”

“Ringing in the ears, distortion of the eyesight, or pain in any area?”

“No, ma’am.”

The clicking of the mouse rang with each check off the electronic list, “It says you made physical contact with the ground when you landed. Are you feeling any discomfort in your chest or abdomen?”

Pete shook his head despite her not looking at him, “just a little soreness and a bruised ego. But other than that I’m good.” Biting back a grin, Y/n grabbed the stethoscope and began to turn.

“Well we can't be too careful now can we?” Upon settling her gaze on Pete Mitchell, Y/n felt an instant ‘Woah’ to her otherwise relaxed composure. Freezing for a bare second as their eyes locked before remembering where she was, stepping to his side to begin her evaluation.

Only her heart was beating a little faster than the average rate.

The nurse had already taken Pete’s vitals. Blood pressure, temperature, and all that. Now it was time for Y/n to conduct a more thorough scan.

“Deep breath for me, please,” were her instructions, the scope on his back, “And tell me if you feel any pain.”

Pete, hoping the skip in his own heart goes unnoticed by the doctor, does as he’s told. A slight wince causes her brows to raise in concern, “Commander?”

He clears his throat, “Yes, sorry. I feel a little tense.” She steps away from him, asking to point out the area. She places the scope lightly where he locates the discomfort.

“Deep breath, slow this time,” leaning in, Y/n pays close attention to the sound thumping against her ears. “Inhale.” Pete draws in a breath. “And exhale,” he winces again. Removing the stethoscope, the Captain instructed him to lean back until he was laying down.

“Would you mind unzipping your flight suit, Commander Mitchell?” Pete was left in his undershirt, suit unzipped to his hips allowing Y/n to lift the material to assess his chest. She was trying not to look flustered at her obvious attraction to the man. He had to have been nearly ten years older than her, probably in his 40s to her mid thirties.

Still, he was quite the looker. And without a ring on his finger.

The light purplish-yellow swelling on Pete’s torso was an indication he sustained more than just a damaged ego. “By my accounts, Commander, it appears you have acquired at least one if not two bruised ribs,” she lifts his shirt back down, helping him sit up, “I’m impressed you’ve managed to hide the pain you’re experiencing.”

Pete flushed, “I’m used to it. Feels no more than a tickle nowadays.” Y/n snickers, returning to the computer to log the report, “Well you certainly live up to your reputation.”

“I try to,” Pete winked, sending a ripple of warmth through Y/n. Quickly she shook it off to remain professional.

“I’m putting you on bed rest for at least three weeks. Considering this isn’t your first rodeo, I assume you know it takes three to six weeks for bruised ribs to heal completely before going about any physical activities.” Taking a pad to write down his prescription, Y/n continued, “over the counter ibuprofen works fine, but I’m gonna go ahead and prescribe you with Naproxen which is basically Aleve. Cold compress for ten to twenty minutes each day and I would recommend you coming back to the physician on duty for a green light before getting back in the box, Commander.”

Pete makes a face, tilting his head slightly, “You won’t be giving me the green light,” eyes flicker to the ranks on her collar, realizing they were indeed Air Force and not Navy ranks, “Captain?”

His question has her smile, albeit sadly, “Unfortunately I will be back at Langley, Commander. I only assessed you because everyone else on duty was occupied.”

Well that instantly had Mav deflate, stomach sinking at the thought of not being able to see her beautiful face again. Already the pilot was becoming smitten. He wanted to learn more about Y/n, like her career and the things that make her laugh and smile. The type of food she ordered and what she envisioned her life would be like.

“How long are you in town?” He couldn’t help but ask. It made her lips curl up.

“Till Sunday.” It happened to be Wednesday. Allowing the two half of week to allow the sparks starting to form to ignite into fireworks.

One can best believe Mav and Y/n took the opportunity once it was in their grasp. It started with lunch on Thursday to dinner on Friday and a late night drink at the bar on Saturday. By Sunday Y/n left with a light heaviness to her chest that was amended with the fact Pete’s number was in her phone and they had made plans to meet again. Langley and Oceania were not far in distance, so there was hope for the two.

And it was very well received.

The next five years were endless bliss. They had done the distance back and forth for some time and were lucky when they got duty stations near each other, but it wouldn’t be until they married that the Air Force and Navy would station them together or within the same state.

With Y/n as a licensed physician she could be sent to any base, be that Air Force, Navy, or Army. Working through the ranks at an impressive rate. Every base wanted her at their clinic then of course local hospitals were fighting to get her on their board. Then there was Mav as the Navy’s best fighter pilot with a reputation they both loath and admire. Sometimes they were at a base for six months to a year. Other times they didn’t even unpack the boxes.

Let’s just say….Pete lost count of the amount of disapproving looks when he fucked up.

“Seriously, Pete? Again?” Her eyes remained on the paperwork in front of her, arms crossed across her chest while her boyfriend pouted on the opposite side of the table. “We haven’t even been here for a year.”

“I know, but……” he paused, unsure if he would make it worse with his defense. “You did say you hated it here and wish to be reassigned.” He was met with a groan.

“That didn’t mean I gave you the green light to piss off your boss! Again!”

On their five year anniversary, Mav made sure it was one to remember. Following a long day at work all he said to Y/n was to change and met him in the car. Overlooking his typical Levis and white tee, she asked, “Any particular way I should dress?”

“Cute and cozy,” he kissed her cheek, “just like you love.”

Say less. Throwing off her Abu’s Y/n put on a sweater dress since it was chilly and simple shoes. Finishing off the look with one of Pete’s bomber jackets knowing he loved when she wore them. Evident by the smirk on his lips.

Driving down to their fav outdoor bar and grill they ordered appetizers and drinks while enjoying the live music and setting sun. Afterwards he took her to one of their favorite spots in the park. It was filled with lights and fountains, stars twirling from the sky above.

When it came time to present Y/n with the ring, Mav took her hands in his, got down on one knee and relayed a speech straight from his heart that brought tears to both their eyes.

“What do you say, Mrs. Mitchell?” He ended with a cheeky smile, the diamond ring sparkling from within its velvet boxed.

Teary eyed and grinning from ear to ear, Y/n leaned down to kiss him on the lips. “I prefer Doctor Mitchell.”

………………

Tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan , @caitsymichelle13 , @poppyalice2001 , @cutelittlepotatofry , @luckyladycreator2 , @americaarse , @elenavampire21 , @back-tooo-black , @wildellaa , @artemissunn , @pinkpantheris

#Spotify #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell x y/n #pete mitchell imagine #pete mitchell fanfiction #pete mitchell x reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #tgm imagine #TGM fluff #pete mitchell fluff #pete mitchell x you #dagger squad x platonic!reader #dagger squad x reader

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 3 months

Text

The Phoenix and the Crow

part thirty-two

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: neutral

el's thoughts: again, thank you for being so patient with meee!! from a writing aspect, i'm almost done with the series! and it's wilddd i'm currently finishing up chapter thirty-five and my heart hurts knowing that i'm kinda almost done..

masterlist

Y/N stared silently at Kaz while he watched Inej intently, his bitter coffee eyes glittering in the light from the dome.

Inej explained how the costumes would be their masks. How the Fjerdans would only see a Suli lynx and a Kaelish mare. Not people, not even really girls, just lovely objects to be collected.

“It’s a risk,” said Kaz.

“What job isn’t?”

“Kaz, how are you, Matthias and Y/N going to get through?” asked Nina. “We might need you for locks, and if things go bad on the island, I don’t want to be stranded. I doubt you can pass yourselves off as members of the houses.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Kaz. “Helvar’s been holding out on us.”

“Have you?” asked Y/N.

“It’s not-” Matthias dragged a hand over his cropped hair. “How do you know these things, demjin?” he growled at Kaz.

“Logic. The whole Ice Court is a masterpiece of fail-safes and doubled systems. That glass bridge is impressive, but in an emergency, there would have to be another way to get reinforcements to the White Island and get the royal family out.”

Y/N and Jesper shared a smirk at the sight of Matthias’ baffled expression.

“Yes,” said Matthias in exasperation. “There’s another way to the White Island. But it’s messy.” He glanced at Nina. “And it certainly can’t be done in a gown.”

“Hold on,” Jesper interrupter. “Who cares if you can all get onto the White Island? Let’s say Nina sparkles Yul-Bayur’s location out of some Fjerdan higher-up, and you get him back here. We’ll be trapped/ By then, the prison guards will have completed their search and are going to know seven inmates got out of the sector somehow. Any chance we have of making it through the embassy gates and the checkpoints will be gone.”

Kaz peered past the dome to the embassy’s open courtyard and the ringwall gatehouse beyond.

“Wylan, how hard would it be to disable one of these gates?”

“To get it open?”

“No, to keep it closed.”

“You mean break it?” Wylan shrugged. “I don’t think it would be too difficult. I couldn’t see the mechanism when we entered the prison gate, but from the layout, I’m guessing it’s pretty standard.”

“Pulleys, cogs, some really big screws?”

“Well, yes, and a sizable winch. The cables wrap around it like a big spool, and the guards just turn it with some kind of handle or wheel.”

“I know how a winch works. Can you take one apart?”

“I think so, but it’s the alarm system the cables are attached to that’s complicated. I doubt I could do it without triggering Black Protocol.”

“Good,” said Kaz. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Jesper held up a hand. “I’m sorry, isn’t Black Protocol the thing we want to avoid at all costs?”

“I do seem to remember something about certain doom,” said Nina.

“Not if we use it against them.” Y/N spoke up causing Kaz to give her a nod. “Tonight, most of the Court’s security is concentrated on the White Island and right here at the embassy. When Black Protocol sounds, the glass bridge will shut down, trapping all those guards on the island along with the guests.”

“But what about Matthias’ rout off the island?” asked Nina.

“They can’t move a major force that way,” Matthias conceded. “At least not quickly.”

Kaz gazed out at the White Island, head filter, eyes slightly unfocused.

“Scheming face,” Inej murmured.

Y/N nodded. “Definitely.”

“Three gates in the ringwall,” Kaz said. “The prison gate is already locked up tight because of Yellow Protocol. The embassy gate is a bottle neck crammed with guests—the Fjerdans aren’t going to get the troops through there. Jesper, that just leaves the gate in the druskelle sector for you and Wylan to handle. You use it to engage Black Protocol, then wreck it. Break it badly enough that any guards who manage to mobilize can’t get out to follow us.”

“I’m all for locking the Fjerdans in their own fortress,” said Jesper. “Truly. But how do we get out? Once we trigger Black Protocol, you guys will be trapped on that island, and we’ll be trapped in the outer circle. We have no weapons and no demo materials.”

Kaz’s grin was sharp as a razor. “Thank goodness we’re proper thieves. We’re going to do a little shopping—and it’s all going on Fjerda’s tab.”

Y/N looked at her strange crew, barefoot and shivering in their soot-stained prison uniforms, their features limned by the golden light of the dome, softened by the mist that hung in the air.

What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking? Maybe Nikolai would send a few troops to search but that was out of duty. Y/N had no one to shed a tear and mourn her life. She had no family, no parents, no siblings, only people to fight beside. And she knew that was always something to be grateful for, too.

It was Jesper who spoke first. “No mourners,” he said with a grin.

“No funerals,” they replied in unison. Even Matthias muttered the words softly.

“If any of you survive, make sure I have an open casket,” Jesper said as he hefted two slender could of rope over his shoulder and signaled for Wylan to follow him across the roof. “The world deserves a few more moments with this face.”

Y/N was only slightly surprised to see the intensity of the look that passed between Matthias and Nina. Something had changed between them after the battle with the Shu, but she couldn’t be sure what.

Matthias cleared his throat and gave Nina an awkward little bow. “A word?” he asked.

Nina returned the bow with considerably more panache, and let him lead her away.

Inej gave the inferni a soft smile and slipped the recognizable pair of black leather gloves into her hands. The Suli nodded towards Kaz and slipped away to wait for Nina.

Y/N turned to face him and walked to his side.

“I have something for you,” she said as she held out his gloves.

He stared at them. “How-”

“I got them from the discarded clothes and gave them to Inej before she made the climb.”

He pulled the gloves on slowly, and she watched his pale, vulnerable hands disappear beneath the leather. They were trickster hands—long, graceful fingers made for prying open locks, hiding coins, making things vanish.

“When we get back to Ketterdam, I’m heading back to Ravka right away.”

He looked away. “You should. You’re too good for the Barrel anyway.”

She hummed and closed her eyes tightly in frustration. She didn’t know what she expected from him but she wanted more.

He reached down to hold her wrist. “Y/N.” His gloved thumb moved over her pulse, tracing the top of a burn scar she got when she miss caught her first flame. “If we don’t make it out, I want you to know … ”

She waited. She felt hope rustling its wings inside her, ready to take flight at the right words from Kaz. She willed that hope into stillness. Those words would never come. Hope is dangerous.

She reached up and touched his cheek. She thought he might flinch again, even pull away from her. He let her hand cup his cheek. His skin was cool and damp from the rain. He stayed still, just barely leaning closer to her warm touch.

“If we don’t survive this night, I will die unafraid, Kaz. Can you say the same?”

His eyes were nearly black, the pupils dilated. She could see his dazed gaze focus back onto her, still not pulling away. She knew it was the best he could offer at the moment and she nodded softly.

She dropped her hand. He took a deep breath.

Kaz had said he didn’t want her prayers and she wouldn’t speak them, but she wished his safe and sane nonetheless.

Matthias stood a few feet away from the pair, grabbing the Inferni’s attention.

“Let’s go, Kaz.”

~*~

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#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagines #ellora.writes

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cowboysandpilots · 2 months

Text

Secrets of a 30-Year-Old Flyboy — ch. 2

Fake Roonix, Secret Hangster | Words: 895 | Warnings: Blood, medical stuff, sickness, miscommunications, and boys being stupid.

Hondo was waiting for Bradley when he landed, having been listening on the comms. He was halfway across the tarmac when he saw Bradley collapse. He hollered over his headset for medics to get out there immediately. Mav ordered the squadron back to base as Hondo informed them that something was wrong with Rooster. By the time they all landed and had climbed from their planes, the military EMS team had gotten Rooster on a stretcher and were headed for the base hospital. They’d left, telling Hondo they would be contacting Rooster’s emergency contact. All of this, Hondo told everyone as they gathered around him, worry evident. Jake hung back from everyone, staying quiet as he listened to what Hondo had to say. He was pale, and his hands trembled as he stared at the blood that was staining the ground near Bradley’s Hornet. He was finding it hard to breathe. Jake should’ve known something was wrong. He’d seen that Bradley didn’t look good when they got up this morning—hadn’t for a while now. This was his fault. He should’ve pushed, should’ve asked. As soon as Hondo was done talking, Mav was sprinting across the tarmac. He was pulling his phone out of his flight suit's inner pocket and fumbling to call Ice.

Ice, unbeknownst to everyone, was already on his way to the hospital since he had been listed as the man's emergency contact since his mom died at twelve. He's too focused on the road to reach for his phone, which was sliding around in the passenger seat.

"We have to go to the hospital," Phoenix said immediately. She didn't care if the rest of them came along; she was really just speaking for herself as Bradley's best friend. She wouldn't go back to work until she knew he was okay.

The rest of the squadron is quick to agree with Phoenix. Despite everything that Maverick had been yelling at them earlier that day, they were a team and moved as such to drop off their flight gear and head to the hospital. Everyone except Jake. He took a few shaky steps in the opposite direction until he was standing beside where Bradley had collapsed. He was shaking, and his breathing was coming out too quickly as he dropped to his knees. “My fault,” he gasped, fingers touching the still-wet tarmac. “I failed. Failed. Failed him.” Logically, it wasn't Jake's fault. Bradley was a grown-ass man, and he could call in sick if he weren't feeling well, but for the last ten years, since the academy, since they started their friends-with-benefits, specifically, their BDSM dynamic. As the dominant, it was Jake's job to take care of Bradley, to read his body language and take care of him even when he couldn't speak for himself. He always felt as if he failed when he couldn't do that.

It took Jake a long time to become aware enough to realize he was alone. Everyone else had left, and he needed answers. Thoughts of doom, that Bradley had bled out. Had died on the way to the hospital. Or was in surgery and was going to die on the table. He kept circling through his head as he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled his way to his truck.

Maverick scanned the waiting room with wild eyes as soon as he got to the hospital. He’d seen Iceman’s car in the parking lot. He felt like he could take at least a small breath when he saw the taller man and made his way straight to him. “Please tell me you are still his emergency contact,” he implored, reaching for Ice. Dimly, Maverick was aware that most of the rest of the squadron was filing into the waiting room not long after he got there.

Ice takes Maverick's hand with a nod. "How many times am I gonna have to answer the phone to 'you're listed as the emergency contact' for this kid?" It is meant to lighten the mood, but he only manages a slight chuckle, not even thinking that the rest of the squad is listening. It wasn't the first time, and as horrible as it was, Ice knew it wouldn't be the last.

Taking a deep breath, Maverick closes his eyes and clings hard to Ice’s hand. Probably too hard, but he’d worry about that later. “Enough that we will both have grey hair,” he groused before he looked up at him. “Did they tell you anything? Do they know what happened? Hondo said he threw up blood and collapsed.”

Jake stopped just barely inside the doors to the emergency room. His heart stopped at Iceman’s words, and he pressed his back against the wall. It was that or collapse. This had happened before. Something had happened before. Something that made Bradley need his emergency contact. Last time, Jake had made it in time. He kept repeating that to himself. He’d shot down that Su-57 before it killed Bradley. And in Afghanistan, he’d taken down an F-111 Aardvark that had a lock on Rooster. Pressing his hands flat against the wall, Jake swallowed thickly. Bradley was going to be okay. Jake saved him. Twice. A man that stubborn wasn't going to be taken out by a training exercise. He was going to be okay. Jake just had to keep repeating that.

——

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ereardon · 6 months

Text

Golden Hour || Ch. 5

[Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, heart attack

Chapter summary: Bob and Olive fight about the partnership agreement for the medical practice; Olive and Bradley attend a Halloween party where one townsperson has a medical emergency

WC: 3K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

“It’s hot,” you groaned. “Halloween is not supposed to be hot. Halloween is supposed to be leather pants and cocktails and a chilly breeze on a rooftop on the Lower East Side.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Leather pants, really?”

You shrugged. “College.”

She opened the fridge, pulling out a container of orange juice and sliding you a glass. You held it out as she dribbled the liquid into your glass. “Halloween ‘round here is kids hopped on sugar and parents chasing them dressed as pirates and it’s still shorts season.”

“Is it too much to ask for one cold day where I can wear sweats and eat cornbread and chili and watch a movie?”

“Sweats, Doc?” she asked.

“Cashmere sweats,” you clarified as Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Besides, what do people even do here on Halloween? People over the age of nine that is.”

“Party at the Flannery House,” she replied. “They throw it every year.”

“And the Flannerys are?”

“Charlotte’s parents.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t run into Charlotte since she walked into Breakers two weeks before, but rumors in town had been swirling about her return. One was that she was here to get Bob back. Another was that she was starting a dance studio in town. You had even heard she was planning to run for Mayor.

“She’s a pill,” Phoenix said, “but the parties are legendary. You’ll be my date.”

You laughed. In a matter of only a few months, you and Phoenix had fallen into an easy routine together. The town no longer despised you, and besides Bradley you even had a few regular patients. Bob was still the doctor of choice at the practice, but he had begun to relinquish walk-ins to you when necessary after the flu epidemic. “Is Bradley going?”

Phoenix crossed her arms over her chest. “Should have known you’d only want to go to see Bradshaw. Yeah, he’s going. Everyone goes.”

It had been a week and a half since your date with Bradley. He dropped you back at the guest house, the two of you lingering a moment on the sloped porch. “I’d invite you in,” you said softly, “but to be honest it’s a mess. Your house is way cuter, so I’d be embarrassed for you to see what I live like.”

Bradley laughed, a deep throaty sound. “Next time, Doc.”

“How about you give me your mother’s name if I need an interior designer?”

“One date and you already want to meet the parents?”

You grinned. “You’re cheeky. I like that about you.”

“There’s a lot to like about you, Doc.”

How long had it been since you kissed someone who wasn’t Peter? Years. How long had it been since you had done that sober? Even longer. You could feel the heat radiating from Bradley’s body. From several exams before you realized he was faking all illnesses, you knew for a fact that Bradley was well built. Surprising, for a lawyer. But then again, nothing about Willow had turned out like you expected. “Goodnight, Bradley,” you whispered, opening the creaky door. You held your breath. It had been years since you’d gone on a date. You no longer knew the etiquette.

Bradley leaned in, sliding his lips gently across your cheek. His scent flooded your senses, and you resisted the urge to grab his collar, pull him in, lock your lips to his. But restraint took hold and as he pulled away, you smiled. “Goodnight, Olive.”

***

“You’re where?”

Lina’s voice was shrill and filled with shock. In all of the chaos you had neglected to tell your globe trotting best friend that you had packed up and left New York on practically a whim. “Georgia.”

“Like canned peaches, plantations, Coca-Cola, hillbilly truck driver, fried chicken Georgia?”

You sighed, walking in a tight circle in the living room that doubled as a bedroom in the guest house. “Like small town Americana. It could almost be Lana-core if only it was set in Rhode Island instead of Willow.”

“Willow?” That was a screech. “Like the fucking grandmother tree in whatever that movie was?”

“Pocahontas,” you clarified. “And yes.”

“Did you have a stroke?”

“Peter left me.”

“What?” You could hear the gasp through the phone. You could picture her perfectly: jet black hair swishing as she stopped dead from where she was doing the stair stepper in front of her window overlooking Fifth Avenue. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope.”

“The ring?”

“East River.”

“Fucking christ, Livvy,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. To think I wasted all those good years on him.”

“He has a pig face you know,” she said. “I stuffed that comment down for years but now that we’re over him and he’s dead to us, I can admit it. He has a pig face and a medical degree from California.” The way she said California made you laugh. The utter disgrace of it. “You’re better off.”

“Thanks, Lee.”

“So are there men in Willow?”

“A few.”

“Tell me everything.” You told Lina about Bradley and his dramatic attempts to get you to go on a date, and the reluctant dinner date at his house. She hummed along. “And what about this Dr. Bob?”

“He’s surly,” you replied instantly. “But there’s something deep down that isn’t so bad,” you added. “I don’t know. He hates me I think.”

“Nobody hates you,” Lina said. “You’re the perfect angel baby.”

“Peter hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she replied. “He just didn’t respect you. And that should be enough to make you hate him. Because any man who can’t respect you doesn’t deserve even an afterthought.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetie,” she said. “I would say I’ll visit, but small town charm is good for some and slow painful death for others. I think you know which camp I fall into.”

“You liked small when it was a village in Tahiti.”

“I like small when it’s half-naked men carrying me on a daybed and feeding me smoothies,” she clarified. You laughed. “Anyways, I should go, Paolo is going to be here any moment. Love you Liv.”

“Love you, too.”

The line clicked and you sighed, tossing the phone onto a pile of silk pillows you had ordered. The room was a disaster, just like you had told Bradley: boxes from Bergdorf’s half opened, a pile of sheets that needed to be washed, your closet spilling out onto the floor in the corner.

A knock on the door stirred you from your stupor. You frowned, gliding down the hallway and opening the door without looking at who it was. Bob stood wearing a pair of chinos and a short sleeved polo tucked into it. You felt severely underdressed in a pair of satin pajama shorts and a thin tank top that you were almost positive showed your nipples. You crossed your arms over your chest defensively. “Dr. Floyd.”

“Dr. James,” he replied. “Is now a bad time?”

“Only if you’re morally opposed to mess,” you said, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Bob stepped into the narrow hallway. Under the dim lighting of the broken fixture, he looked pale, a little drawn. He peered around the corner into the living room. “Sorry to impose.”

“I’m still getting settled,” you admitted, grabbing a cardigan and yanking it on before brushing off a set of towels from the couch. “Have a seat. Want something to drink?”

“If it’s not a bother.”

“If you drink wine then it won’t be a bother. If you want water or something archaic then we’re all out.” You grabbed a mug from the cabinet to your right and the bottle of pinot noir you had opened earlier, slopping a few inches into the mug and handing it to Bob. He took it with an unreadable face, crossing one ankle over his knee. “How can I help you?”

“My father is quite ill,” Bob said and that’s when you realized what was written all over his features but unsaid until that moment.

Fear. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He nodded solemnly. “And as part of his estate, I’m working on finalizing the details for our medical practice.”

“Ours?”

“Mine and my father’s,” he corrected. You nodded. “But it’s my understanding that when he offered you the position, it came with a partnership. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” You had a flashback to the first time you had bumped into Bradley on your first day in Willow. The paperwork that had scattered at your feet, partnership in large block letters across the top.

“Do you have that in writing?”

“No.” You took a sip of wine and folded onto the couch seat next to Bob, feet tucked up beneath your butt. “Just a verbal agreement.”

His lips pursed into a fine line. “That’s what I thought.”

“What?” you asked, eyebrows knitted together.

“According to my attorney, that’s not legally binding in the state of Georgia, so I have no requirement to uphold it.”

“Your attorney?” you asked. “You mean Bradley.”

“Bradley Bradshaw is my attorney, yes.”

“Mine, too.”

Bob frowned. “Not possible. We can’t have the same attorney on a case as plaintiff and defendant.”

“First off, since when is this a court case? Secondly, you can’t call dibs on the only lawyer in town.”

“Go to Atlanta or Macon.”

“You go to Atlanta!”

“Bradshaw has been my lawyer for a decade,” Bob countered. “Besides, he’s handling my father’s estate.”

“What estate?” you scoffed. “Three pencil erasers and an old Lincoln Continental?”

“It’s a Subaru Forester.”

You rolled your eyes. “Seriously, Floyd, are we going to fight over this?”

“If by this you mean my medical practice, then yes,” he answered. “This is my life’s work, Olive. It’s all I’ve ever known. And it’s mine.”

“It was promised to me, too.”

“Why the hell would you want it?” he demanded, eyes blazing. “You’re a New Yorker. You don’t belong here and you never will. Why are you pretending you’re planning to stay?”

His words cut. The truth was, you had nowhere else to go. Three months ago you hadn’t known Willow existed. Now, it was the only place that knew who you were. The only place that might miss you when you were gone.

Bob stood up, placing his mug of wine untouched on the table. “This was a mistake,” he said. “Coming here tonight. I should have just done this at the office.”

You scrambled to your feet, cardigan falling from your fingertips, exposing your sheer top. Bob’s eyes traveled down and his cheeks blushed, hard. You stood your ground. “What can I do to convince you that I’m here for good?”

“I don’t know, Olive,” Bob said softly, turning toward the door. “All I know is I’m running out of time to figure this out. And I can’t wait around to see if you’re going to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Bob opened the rickety front door and stepped outside, one large hand on the knob to stop it from closing. He turned back, his eyes locked on yours. “We’ll see about that.”

***

“I look ridiculous.” You tugged on the hem of your white nurses uniform dress. “I can’t believe you convinced me to wear this.”

“It’s hilarious,” Phoenix said, stepping out of the car in a pair of form fitting jeans. “You’re dressed as a nurse but you’re really a doctor. It’s theatrical.”

“It’s slutty.”

“Sorry to admit it, Olive, but your regular outfits aren’t much better.”

“Hey!”

She laughed. “Sorry Doc.”

“How come you get to wear pants?”

“I’m Beth Dutton,” she said, frowning. “You know, cowgirl shit.”

You shook your head. “I could have worn pants.”

“Be happy you’re hot,” Phoenix said, linking her arm in yours and tugging you toward the front door.

The Flannerys house was what you’d expect old Southern money to look like. It was essentially Tara, minus the carrot. Giant white pillars holding up a roof over a wide wraparound porch. Enormous jack-o-lanterns peppered the stairs on either side, faux spider webs hanging from the pillars, lights illuminating all of the windows inside as music pumped through the house. You looked over at Phoenix with wide eyes. “This is a house?”

“This is Poe’s Run,” she said. “Been in the Flannery family for two hundred and fifty years.”

“Jesus,” you whispered under your breath. “And Floyd gave up marrying into this because?”

“For his sanity,” Phoenix said. “Charlotte is a certified psycho.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

“Just stick with me and you’ll be good,” Phoenix said as the two of you reached the bottom of the long white staircase. You milled around couples and groups, Phoenix smiling and nodding as you passed. The chill that had accompanied your arrival in Willow was dwindling, and there were even a few nods in your direction, a handful of grins.

“Doc!”

“Marvin,” you said with a smile. “How’s the leg?”

He pulled up the hem of his pants from his pirate’s costume to showcase a five-inch scar. “All better.”

You bent down, examining it visually. “No swelling or redness. No infection.” You straightened up. “Looking good. You’ll come see me if you see any changes though, right?”

“You got it.”

A hand skimmed over your low back. You turned, eyes wide. Bradley tipped his cowboy hat. “That’s a mighty short dress you got on, Doc.” You blushed. “Almost saw something only an OBGYN should see when you bent down there.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you muttered under your breath. Phoenix laughed.

“I see you’re in good hands,” she replied with a wink. “Going to get myself some of Lacey’s famous punch.”

“Watch out,” Bradley warned as Phoenix made her way through the crowd, “don’t forget about Halloween 2013!”

“Shut up!” she cried, disappearing into the crowd.

“What happened Halloween 2013?” you asked as Bradley led you to the outskirts of the room and plucked a glass of champagne off of a tray.

“Phoenix got so drunk she ended up serenading Mr. Flannery on top of the grand piano like Marilyn Monroe to JFK.”

“God, I’d pay money to see that.”

“Just slip her some vodka and you’ll see it.”

“Deal.” Bradley’s hand didn’t move from your waist as you looked up at him, sipping your drink. It fizzed on your tongue. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He said it in such a sincere way that it made your heart squeeze.

“Bob came to see me the other day. About the partnership.”

Bradley’s hand fell from your waist. You watched as his professional persona washed over him, like a transformer, bit by bit until he was in a plastic shell of an attorney.

“He said the deal I had with Dr. Floyd Sr. isn’t valid.”

Bradley sighed, setting down his glass onto a nearby table. “That’s correct. In the state of Georgia, verbal contracts are not binding.”

“Bradley,” you whispered. “I moved here for this job.”

“I know you did.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

He shook his head. “I can’t provide any guidance because I’m not your counsel.”

You set your champagne glass down, pulling out your purse and yanking a twenty out of it, shoving it into your hand. “There, now you’re my lawyer.”

“Not that simple, Olive,” he said, pressing it back into your palm. “I’m already retained by the Floyd family. I can’t represent you both.”

“You’re the only lawyer in this whole fucking town, Bradley!” Your raised voice and the cursing caught the eye of a few nearby people who craned their heads at the commotion.

“I’ll find you someone,” he promised quietly. “A few of my friends from law school ended up around here. I’ll find you an attorney, I promise.”

You frowned. “OK.”

“Let’s leave this for Monday,” he said. “It’s your first Halloween in Willow. Don’t you want to see what all that small town charm is about?” He held out his hand and you took it reluctantly, letting him pull you out into the middle of the room that had turned into a makeshift dance floor. It was easy with Bradley. He folded you against him, one large hand spread across your lower stomach, his other pressed against your hip as you swayed against him, the curve of your ass molded softly to his front. He was tall, so damn tall, and you could feel the heat from every inch of his body. And even though you had resisted his charm for months, the walls were starting to crumble. “Doc,” Bradley whispered in your ear, his fingertips gripping your waist tighter, pressing you against him so close.

“Hmm?”

Just as Bradley was about to spin you around, a commotion broke out at the far end of the room. Bob appeared dressed in a flight suit, a look of calm panic on his face. His eyes scanned the crowd before zeroing in on you and he stepped forward, taking in the way you were pressed against Bradley. “Dr. James,” he said and you could hear it in his voice.

You stepped forward, out of Bradley’s embrace. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Mr. Flannery,” he said quietly. “He’s having a heart attack.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, already mentally preparing yourself.

Bob held out his hand. “This way.” You allowed him to press his hand to your back softly, propelling you forward through the crowd, leaving Bradley in your wake.

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