#ex-bourbon finish

[dram-tasty]

Starting whisky of the evening. Paired with a Pacific Ale for a delicious Boilermaker.

[certifiedyapperx]

Captain John Price • broken.

PAIRING: John Price x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: the result of my poll. in short, you tell your captain that the reason you’ve only dated one man is because your ex said you were broken due to your inability to orgasm; and price offers to show you that the only thing broken was your confidence.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k (got carried away.)

TAGS: 18+, PURE FILTHY SMUT MDNI, Slight Degradation, Praise, Multiple Orgasm, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Absurd amount of swearing, Fingering, Price being daddy as fuck.

"What about that ex girlfriend of yours, Gaz?"

As soon as those words left the Scottish lads lips, everyone in the room was giggling like a lot of fucking schoolgirls. You'd be lying if you said that didn't include yourself.

"You want to talk about ex girlfriends now, Soap?" Gaz sat forward in his chair, eyeing his grinning teammate from across the room, the grip on his glass so tight you were worried it'd shatter between his fingers. "What about that woman you boned in Prague? The one that wanted, oh--how do I say it...a little ride on train 141."

"Nuthin' little about that train." Ghost added through a choked chuckle, barely able to get the words out.

Your fucking abdomen was starting to get sore from the amount of laughing you'd done tonight. These men were absolutely ridiculous. You'd never heard more obscene sex stories in your damn life, and they've got a bloody abundance of them--the back and fourth taunting over who fucked who and who did what never seemed to end. It was almost three in the morning and they were still going strong.

"Aye," Soap leaned back in his chair, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a slow sip, wide eyes gleaming as he reminisced. "Fuckn' wild one, that one. Had her nice and tamed for me by the end of that deployment.”

"Aye, the fucking woman whisperer, this one," Ghost chimed in again, his balaclava half pulled up, exposing his stubble-donned chin and grinning lips as he took a hefty swig of bourbon. Not even fazed. "Almost as smooth as Price."

Everyone in the room chuckled, nodding and muttering words of agreement, but you were stuck in place--still absentmindedly staring at Ghost while turning the words over in your mind, curiosity piqued.

"Price?" His name left your lips before you could even attempt to prevent it.

All eyes in the room shifted toward you, and Gaz cocked an eyebrow. "You've never heard any of his stories?"

Ghost shot him a look. "Clearly not."

"I mean, I've heard some..." you mumbled, awkwardly trying to fix the mess you've just made. Your gaze darted between the three men staring at you, each set of eyes glazed with confusion, clearly trying to figure out why you were so taken aback. "Captain is far more secretive than the rest of you."

You'd been on the team for a solid eight months. Since recruitment, you'd worked alongside Price every single fucking day, yet the man hardly ever spoke about his personal life.

Unlike the others, who seemed to never stop.

"Around you, yeah." Soap mumbled with a smirk, shooting a knowing glance toward Gaz who instantly returned it.

Your brows knit in confusion. "Around me?"

"Aye." Ghost replied for Soap, and you were practically sitting on the edge of your goddamn seat as you knew he wasn't finished. He shifted lower in his chair as his eyes traced up and down your form. "You're new. You're hot. You've never spoken a word about your own personal life. The man's a bloody nutcase, but he hides it well when he needs to--he probably doesn't want to scare you off."

"Scare me off?" You had to fight to keep your jaw off the floor. Trying to mask your confusion, you cleared your throat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

At your reaction, everyone chuckled again, and your face immediately flushed with blood--shading you the same crimson colour found on a ripe fucking tomato. If there was some joke happening here, it'd clearly flown way above your radar.

And yet, before you or anyone else could even consider speaking again, the man of the hour appeared in the doorway, and you nearly fell out of your chair.

"Valid question." He didn't even acknowledge you as he spoke, eyes fixed on Ghost as he took a step into the room.

Gods, he was fucking attractive—every molecule in your being screamed at the sight of him. You'd done everything you could to ignore that fact for the entirety of your time here, ensuring your focus was trained on keeping things professional--but after two glasses of whiskey and the current topic of conversation, the flood gates were wide fucking open.

"Go on, Ghost," his voice was low, deep as the depths of your desire as his ocean eyes slowly danced around the room. "...I'd like to know the answer as well."

Price took a seat across from you, slouching slightly and nodding toward Soap who promptly poured him a glass of burning brown liquid and slid it across the table. Ghost pulled down his balaclava in attempt to hide his cheeky fucking grin, shrugging as though he had no idea what his Captain was on about. 

"Not sure what you mean, Cap." Ghost quipped, and you could practically hear the beaming delight in his words. "We're just talking."

"Hm," Price side-eyed him, humoured. "You always talk about me?"

"Only when you're not around." Soap chimed in, snuffing a groan in his throat as he'd downed the rest of his drink and stood up, shooting an inebriated nod to each of you. "Well, would you look at the time--I'm gonna' hit the sack. Duty calls, y'know."

Your stomach churned with confusion, your eyes glued to the Scottish bloke who decided it was convenient to make his exit the exact moment Price entered the room. You almost wanted to reach over and yank him back into his seat.

"Keep it classy ya filthy bastards."

He shot you a cheeky wink from beyond the door frame before disappearing into the abyss, only for Gaz and Ghost to rise from their seats as well, seemingly following Soap's lead, muttering excuses about how late it was and how exhausted they were.

Your mind raced at lightning speed, trying to make sense of the sudden exodus. You were going to kill those fuckers in the morning.

Price broke the silence before it had the chance to linger for too long. "It's not personal, you know."

Your heart slammed your sternum. You sucked in a breath and trapped it there. You needed to calm the fuck down--though that seemed like a goddamn impossible task at the moment. Prices' voice was the hypnotizing depth of a black hole. It stirred every last atom within you.

Avoiding his eyes, you straightened in your seat, clearing your throat. "I know."

"Do you?" He cocked an eyebrow, two fingertips tracing the rim of his glass. "I'm not so sure."

You looked up now--almost immediately regretting it as your eyes caught his. You forced words out of your mouth before you could acknowledge how the way he was looking at you made you feel.

"It's because I haven’t opened up to you..." you murmured. "Yeah?"

Price nodded, choosing to remain silent, his gaze anchoring you to the floor—every muscle stiff as stone.

You cleared your throat again. "Well. What do you want to know? My family? Where I grew up-"

"No." He cut you off, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table as his stare intensified. "...I already know all that. You're my recruit, I know everything about your past..." his head tilted, his eyes narrowed, and he pushed his glass to the side, clasping his hands together infront of him. "What I don't know, is why a woman as skilled, as smart, and as undeniably attractive as you, has only ever been with one man."

Blood crystallized in your veins, every ounce of your skin vibrating with an emotion you couldn't identify. He was so close—closer than you'd initially gauged—and that closeness ignited dormant desperation, one you'd nearly forgotten existed.

Your throat was thick. Saliva lodged inside it. "I..."

There was a reason. There was a very good reason as to why you've only been with one man, why you promised to never put yourself through that shit again. But you couldn't bring yourself to say it, you couldn't bring yourself to speak the words aloud. That would mean being vulnerable, humiliatingly vulnerable--one of the many things soldiers were trained not to be.

Captain Price hummed, leaning back slightly, and a swarm of unpreventable desire roared alive in your chest. His attention flicked over you. Like he'd felt it.

He remained silent. He was waiting for an answer.

"It's...um..."

Your brain filtered through pages of plausible excuses until it landed on one. Inhaling a breath, you forced the fibbing syllables past your teeth, shrugging in an attempt to make it believable.

"I just...never found anyone I jived with.”

Price paused, his scrutiny skinning you raw. It was like he knew what was waiting on the edge of your tongue, like he could smell the smoke swirling off the fire below your waist. He wasn't buying it.

"You can't lie to me." His words only confirmed your thoughts. "I mean, theoretically you could, though I'd advise against it."

You swallowed, forcing your eyes to your hands. "I'm not lying."

"Perhaps not," he replied, voice cool as ice. "But you're certainly omitting."

Fuck, he was good. And of course he was--there was a reason he was Captain. He was fucking bred for this. You were certain he could detect a lie from light years away.

"It's embarrassing," you replied, ignoring the thrilled leap your heart made that he'd read you so well. "You'll think less of me."

John Price leaned further across the small table, nibbling the distance between you. The intensity of his focus made your insides tangle, something was undoubtedly churning within his mind. A breath caught in your throat as his eyes held yours.

"I don't care," he stole another inch, and you could now comfortably say that he was well within your personal space. "If this is going to work, there has to be trust. Because you should trust me—as your Captain, and as your friend..." in a single abrupt movement, he stood up, towering over you, eyes boring into the top of your head until he shifted toward the door. "...when you're ready to open up to me, I’ll open up to you."

Ice braced your veins. This was the most conversation you'd had with your Captain since you joined the team, and you were about to blow it with your inability to talk to him. To just telling him the fucking truth. He took a step back from the table, began moving toward the door, and you panicked.

You let him get two steps from reaching it before you jumped up, out of your seat. "Wait!"

Time was a relative concept. But as your Captain spun, and as you linked eyes with him, it slowed. Stopped.

You cleared your throat for the millionth time. "It's because...it's because I'm broken."

Price's eyes widened, only momentarily, before they narrowed--out of curiosity or skepticism, you couldn't tell.

"You’re broken." He said, drawing the words out on his tongue while taking a slow, lengthy step toward you. "Elaborate."

You dropped your eyes to the floor again, catching sight of his brown, rugged combat boots as they stepped into your line of sight. Heat flashed your face, and you shifted on your feet.

"My...my ex...um," your voice was barely above a whisper. Something felt gut-wrenchingly humiliating about having this conversation with your fucking Captain. "He, he kinda fucked with my head, I guess. Made me never want to date again."

You heard an exhale, a huff of enticed breath leaving lungs.

"I think," Price eased closer, and you caught whiff of his cologne--the scent engulfing your senses, sending hunger snarling and snapping for relief. "...you're omitting again."

"Why?..." you blurted, trailing your gaze past the vast expanse of his strong chest and up to his gleaming eyes peering down at you. You blinked. "...do you think that?"

Price raised a brow. "Am I wrong?"

"No, it’s just…” you closed your eyes, took a breath. Let it out. No point in lying. Just rip off the fucking bandaid. "He broke up with me because I couldn't orgasm. He said I was broken because of it. It’s dumb, but it hurt.”

Gods, it felt so fucking stupid that you had to smile, had to damn near laugh at yourself. As much as it sounded so foolish, you'd always just considered that maybe something was actually wrong with you. After all, he was your first, and your only—and the fact that you could never orgasm bothered you, too.

However, when you finally reopened your eyes, swallowing whatever ounces of pride you had left, you found a depth to your Captain's ocean irises that was not there before.

There was something floating inside them, now--something primal, something depraved.

"Interesting." His hand raised from his side, grazing over your cheek and coming to a slow on your neck, the tips of his fingers skimming over your racing pulse. "Broken."

Any blood that had been left in your head was now plummeting to your core.

"Broken." You whispered.

Price exhaled, his breath caressing your face, and you bit your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to thrust itself past your teeth. Never once would you have considered the thought of actually fucking your Captain--but right here, right now, with the way he was touching you, analyzing you, palpably tempting you--it was becoming more difficult to deny the physical need steaming from your pores.

"This,” his voice was so deep it made your blood sweat, his thumb stroking your pulse. "Doesn't feel broken at all."

Adrenaline surged you, ambushing your lungs with rapid breath, flares of lust sparking over your skin. You leaned into his touch, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a hum and a straight up growl.

Your pulse soared, your hand finding his wrist. “Captain…”

It would be lying to say you thought this was a good decision. But you couldn't find a fuck within you. After years of denying yourself any sort of physical touch due to the shame that consumed you, Price had perceived it without effort and ordered you strip yourself of pretense in his presence.

"Let me show you...." Price wedged a boot between your feet, his hips brushing yours, other hand finding your hip. "...that the only thing broken is your confidence."

You nearly whimpered. "Please."

Without further contemplation, your eyes darted to his lips the same millisecond his darted to yours, and you both moved at once. Price groaned, one hand shooting into your hair, the other supporting the small of your back, tugging you close. His hungry mouth captured yours, teeth nipping your lower lip as he spun you around and pushed you back against the table.

You groaned into his mouth, your ass hitting the cool metal with abrupt force. His lips attacked your jawline, moved down to your neck, and another groan escaped you, this time in bliss.

"Fuck," you cursed under your breath, throwing your hips into his, allowing desperation to guide you. "Captain..."

A low, menacing noise reverberated in his throat and he seized your neck again, bringing his mouth to your ear.

"My name," he took the lobe between his teeth, earning a squeak. "Say it."

"John—" You gasped, clawing at his back. "Shit."

"Mm. Good girl. So obedient..." he purred, tracing his mouth along the curve of your ear. "So responsive."

"Fuck." Every new beat of your heart brought a desperate pulse to your cunt. His fingers found your hair again, curling into a fist. "John...please..."

Your Captain hummed, just as his lips moved back to your pulse and attacked it, sucking rough rabid marks to the surface, his hips grinding against yours. Your eyelids fluttered shut, and he moved lower, releasing your head to work on removing your clothes.

Before your belt even hit the floor, he was tearing off your shirt and tugging off your bra--exposing your breasts to the cool air of the dimly lit room, surging goosebumps to life that he was quick to cover with his hands, taking the fresh tissue between them and kneading it.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, to himself you presumed. "You're fucking perfect."

There was one brief second of thought surrounding the notion that any one of your teammates could walk in and find the two of you here—but that thought was quickly lost as Price leant down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. You squealed, squeaking in pleasure, and his grip possessed your hips.

"So sensitive..." he said with a grunt. Your Captain wasn't just hungry—he was starved, more voracious by the second, spurred on by your reactions. "Fucking hell."

He leaned back, hooked his fingers under the waist of your pants and pulled, unconcerned for the ripping seams as he forced them down the curve of your thighs. Your head rung, entire body tingling. Paralyzed, you watched your Captain tear off your boots and rip your pants free, tossing them all to the side.

"Fuck me." He muttered again, returning his sights to your figure. "Look at you."

Price examined you like a meal, gaze traveling from your collarbone to your breasts, down past the curve of your belly to the swell of your hips, coming to a slow between your quivering thighs.

Adrenaline had got you this far. Reality was setting in. "Captain..."

"Shh," calloused hands found your hips, urging you back against the desk, spreading your legs further apart as he inserted himself between them. "I already told you what to call me."

You shuddered, twitching from his touch, and the corner of his lip quirked. Smouldering blue eyes searing into your skin. "John, I—"

His thumbs slid close to your heat, dipping into the crease and teasing close to the edge of your thong. Reality was a plummeting star, crashing down into your mind without regard. Nerves were consuming you, fingers digging into his biceps in attempt to stop them from shaking.

"You...what?" His voice was practically a lullaby. How something so deep could be so soothing was beyond your comprehension. "Go on, pretty thing..."

"I just..." you shifted your hips, trying to balance fear with desire. "I'm just...I don't want to disappoint you..."

Price assessed you, only for a moment, gracing your thigh with a stern yet gentle smack before trailing upward.

"Enough." It was an order. "I want you out of that beautiful mind."

He brushed his finger across your cunt, grazing over your swollen clit, and you choked, hips snapping toward him.

"Don't think..." the power in his words was intoxicating, a command given with the confidence of knowing you'd obey. He teased your clit again and you whinged, gripping him harder. "...just feel."

Before a coherent thought could enter your head, he pulled your panties to the side with two thick fingers, not giving you a second to brace for it before he used those same fingers and sank them into your tight, aching cunt.

"Oh—fuck-"

You groaned, head tossed back, walls tightening around the delicious stretch as he pried you open with slippery ease. The intensity, the fullness from just his fingers stole your breath, dizzied your mind, and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the growling breath escaping his lungs, trying to ground yourself as much as you could.

"Christ...tight little cunts just soaked..." he was right, you were dripping. You couldn't ever remember being this wet. In truth, you couldn't ever remember being this turned on, this desperate for touch. "Tell me how that feels."

"G-oh, fuck—" any additional words you had planned on using instantly died on your tongue as Price curled inside of you, pushing deep, every coherent thought fleeing your mind with a moan. Your entire body pulsed for him, like he'd shaken every cell awake and enthralled it under his possession. "John—oh, Gods!"

It wasn't like you'd never been fingered. It'd just never felt like this.

Something about the trained motion of his hand, the skilled curl of his wrist, the attunement to your body was consuming you--the need for more only increasing as he found a perfect rhythm, fucking slow, reaching to your belly while his thumb circled your sensitive clit. Your cunt throbbed, squeezed around him, as if to coax him deeper inside of you.

"Needy little thing," an amused huff at the corner of your consciousness. You forced yourself to look at him—he was smirking. "Tell me how it feels."

Desperation was throbbing at your temples, growling and coiling in your belly—unfathomable, incredible desperation stalling your lungs. Unfamiliar, but entirely absentmindedly as Price stroked your walls, stroked your clit, and you were gasping, you were—

"So fucking good—" you were practically screaming, brain a mangled mess of aimless words. "Cap—John, I—I'm-"

His free hand seized your jaw, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his fingers still keeping their pace, your vision blurring to bliss. "You're?"

You gasped. "I’m-"

"You’re close." Fire flooded your flesh, and you mewled like a nervous, helpless animal. His grip tightened. Intensity and power radiating off him in waves. "S’ that what you want, little slut? Hm? You wanna’ fuckin’ cum for your Captain, don’t you?”

“Yes!” No thought required. “Pleasepleaseplease-“

“Mhm. That’s right, that’s right—“ he was just as gone as you were. Air rattled in your lungs like rocks. Your vision blurring as you held onto him like your life depended on it. “Cum on my fingers, darling, let me feel you.”

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the gates of heaven themselves. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunting for air while he worked you through the receding tide of your release.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He growled, the arrogance in his tone palpable. “Look how easy that was, hm?”

Your Captian pulled his fingers from cunt and yanked you off the table by the hold on your jaw—you stumbled into him, wetness seeping down your thighs, brain given less than two seconds to process the slew of events before his slick covered fingers were at your lips and pushing past your teeth.

"The way I see it, soldier—there are two possible explanations here." He shoved his fingers deeper, reaching for the back of your throat. "Either you somehow managed to lie to me..." he pressed against you, his desire evident in the way it was jabbing against your stomach. "Or this tight little cunt has never been properly sated."

Your heart was in your feet, your lips sealed around his fingers as you held his eyes, a shade of blue so deep you'd almost thought you were staring into the depths of the ocean. His pupils were blown wide with lust, it was clear what he was getting at—and judging by the way your cunt clenched in response to his words, it was clear that you felt the same.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, looking for a response. You gave the only words you could think of. "I didn’t lie…I’ve had sex, Captain...I’ve just never done—that.”

"Well I think I've just proven that it wasn’t due to any fault of your own." His words were backing you into a corner, an explanation that was challenging to draw yet completely impossible to now ignore. "I got you there in seconds."

Your face grew hot. “So..what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he assessed you, eyes looking past you, through you. “Your ex didn’t know what he was doing.” he leaned in closer, plush lips curling into a mischievous grin. “All you needed was someone who knew how to handle you.”

"Hm." The arrogance was stifling, setting you ablaze. It only made you want him more. "Cocky bastard."

"Cocky," he repeated with a raised brow. "You have no idea, princess.”

"You know what, Captain," you teased with a smirk of your own, unable to tear your sights off him. His eyes. His lips. "I think you just got lucky."

“Luck.” He chuckled—a deep, growling thing. "I don’t do luck, soldier. I do facts.” Price shifted a hand to his crotch, palming his erection through his pants as he pressed against you. “Fact one, I just gave you your first orgasm.” He was possessed, hungry, borderline rabid. “Fact two, I could do it again on my cock. If you’d like.”

And you, you were his eager, willing prey.

"Shit," you muttered, the words shooting straight to your cunt. You didn’t need any further discussion. You wanted him, and nothing could stop the next words from leaving your lips. "Please...please fuck me..."

Your Captain growled. The sweet desperation of your pleas sending him past the point of salvation. He sucked in a breath. Trapped it there—internally clutching whatever ounces of restraint he had left.

"You sure you want this?" His voice was so fucking low you almost missed it. His fingers moved to his belt, and his lips moved to your ear. "I'm not so sure you can take it."

"I'm built for combat, Captain..." you murmured with a grin, spurred on by the evidence of his throbbing desire, fingers trailing toward his belt to help him along. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Price huffed against your jawline. Amused.

"You’re built for combat, undoubtedly..." you watched as he pulled free his thick, heavy cock. Your jaw slackened, your mouth watered. "But by the time I'm done with you, darling..." he seethed in relief as he guided his hand back and forth along his length, other one directing you back against the table. "You'll be built for me."

A sharp intake of breath found your lungs and then you were lying flat against the table, cool metal biting your backside and ripping goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You shuddered, seething in discomfort, but two strong hands made quick work to soothe them, coasting up your thighs until they found your hips, and then he stepped forward.

"Christ..." you whimpered as he loomed over you, the warm head of his cock rolling over your clit, teasing you with false thrusts, making sure you were well aware of just how long and fucking thick he was. "John..."

"Quiet." He purred, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Just let me break you open."

His heavy, smooth tip pressed against your entrance and then pushed in, head just barely spearing you yet somehow still splitting your cunt with a girth that stole your breath and forced a cry from your throat. With a breathless groan he pulled out, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing.

He smacked your thigh again. “Look at me.” He hissed, teeth sinking into the plush of his bottom lip as you instantly obeyed. “That’s it. Eyes on me.”

There was a mere second of silence before he sank in again, entirely this time—and though you were fucking sopped and pliant and voracious, he tore you wide with a sting.

"Oh—fuck-"

You fought for air, your body trembling, fingers clawing at anything that might steady you. He’d stuffed you full with ease, lungs heaving upon impact. Both big hands tightened around you, and he slid out, driving into you again with a hidden hiss of air, earning a loud, shameless groan from your lips.

"Fucking hell.” A dark, low voice rumbled from his throat. "Tight little whore. So fucking tight—"

"You're—oh, fuck—" words died on your tongue as he pulled out, pushed in again, sucking in air through his teeth, working you wider with each plunge into your pussy. You clenched around him, and he snuffed a moan, snapping his hips. "You're fucking huge."

"Mhm, yeah," it was a shameless admission. He placed a palm on your pelvis, pressing down, feeling himself fucking into you. He leaned back slightly, drawing long, slow strokes, forcing you to quake around every inch of his length. "That's how fucking deep I'm in you."

And deep he fucking was. Every centimeter banishing the ability to do anything other than exist as a stammering sheath for his cock. It wasn't penetration—it was pervasion, it was domination. Sex had never felt this intense. Sex had never felt this fucking tranquilizing.

"Christ—Cap-John—fuck—"

Price slid out and rocked in, driving to your stomach with a stab of blissful pain. Eyes snapping shut, you gripped his arms, seething when he thrusted again, and again. Each stroke shoved a cry from your chest, tightened your walls, and this only seemed to entice him, his cock splitting you apart. You scratched at his shoulders, fighting to find yourself in the bewildering delirium.

"There we go." His voice was distant in the sea of pleasure. "Look at you. Brainless on my fucking cock."

Your response was a moan, loud and shameless, gripping onto his arms and matching his rhythm, forcing your hips to his, a plea—faster, harder, more, more. Your Captain hissed in satisfaction, and his hand snaked between you, rolling and teasing your clit.

Your vision blurred for the hundredth time. "Oh, fuck—"

Delirium ascended into ecstasy, pleasure amplified by the stretch of his dick. He fucked into you, his skin smacking yours, his breath heaving in feral huffs.

"Fucking perfect pussy," he growled through his teeth, shifting your legs together and directing both ankles over his left shoulder, his thrusts slowly slightly as you gasped and whimpered, clawing at his hips, the new position causing the head of his cock to kiss your cervix with each thrust. "Mm, fuck...this is what you needed, darling. You needed a proper fucking."

"Fuck," you replied, brain numbed by bliss. Words didn't even make sense. "Deep. So fuck—deep—"

"Fuck—take it, take it little slut." His thumb was back on your clit, swirling it in tight, fast circles, his cock fucking deep into you. "I warned you."

"John—" You needed to scream, fingers clawing at anything they could find. If you weren't broken before, you’d certainly be broken when he was done with you. "Fuck—"

Bliss burned to burst, stars swarmed your sight entirely, and you knew it, knew it was happening, knew that you were about to break. The feeling was so intense you didn't know what to do with yourself, you weren't sure if you could even get the words out to warn him.

Your eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck—I'm—I-I'm..."

"Yeah, that's right." He hissed, teeth barred, hips snapping. He already knew. "Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock."

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt milked his dick, your thighs spasming, your back reached for the ceiling, pleasure possessing your nerves.

"There we go—good little fucking slut—squeezing me so good," it seemed an eternity--he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, until he edged his climax. "Fucking hell."

He sputtered, pummelling your cunt with sloppy final thrusts, pouring his cum inside you, grip gouging your flesh until he descended, meeting you in the receding tides of your peaks. Both of you twitched with aftershocks, both of you seeking air.

Once he stalled, you sucked in a long inhale and peeled your eyes open, taking in your surroundings for the first time in however many minutes it had been. The room was still as dim and dreary as it was prior to your mind shattering, the only thing now different was your Captain—who remained looming over the table, cock still buried inside you, precipitation lining his forehead and chest still heaving for breath, piercing gaze perceiving you like a sated predator.

With a glance at your lips, he finally moved, pulling back and out of you, tucking himself away. It was then that reality struck you hard—you'd just fucked your Captain. And he'd just shattered the preconceived notions of everything you thought you knew.

You were not broken. You were perfectly fucking fine.

Price cleared his throat as you pulled yourself off of the table and stood. "Y'alright?"

You nodded, grabbing your pants off the floor. "Yes, Sir."

Shame engulfed you, for reasons you couldn't explain. Embarrassment threatened to swallow you whole.

"Hey." Sensing this, Price stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Don't do that."

Your eyes fixed on his. Outlining his perfectly tamed facial hair, his striking blue eyes. "Do what?"

"Avoid me." He simply stated, his voice hardly above a whisper. "All this was, was me proving to you that you're not broken. You're the furthest from. It doesn't have to be any more than that."

"I know…just feel stupid, I guess.” Your face was in flames. You swallowed your pride until it was digested. There was no room for that here, not after what’d just happened. “I, uh, I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

Price regarded you with eyes warm as the summer sun, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. “I wanted you to open up to me. Willingly. I never pry.”

You cracked a smile, slipping on your shoes. “You got your wish, then. Emotionally and physically.”

“Aye.” Your captain chuckled, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and plopping himself into a seat, sliding a glass across the table toward you. “My turn, yeah?”

[badgerbl00d]

hey I've fallen down a rabbit hole of reading your fics and it's 3am here but they're so good!!! I'm in love ✨✨✨💕💕 i was wondering if I could request a story with Zoro but the reader's ex is there and she doesn't miss him but she runs into him for the first time and she's hurt after he disappeared on her, maybe he's with a bunch of his friends. Zoro comforts her, maybe even embarrasses the ex while they fight off some enemies and stuff. Sorry i know I'm rambling on, but ahhhh i would love to see this come to life! thanks again! :)

hands off

☆ characters: roronoa zoro

☆ up next: captain's girl; shanks x reader

☆ summary: you have an unexpected run-in with your no good ex boyfriend but unfortunately for him, you have zoro with you

☆ a/n: lovedddd writing this! i love writing protective zo :3 thank u for this ask! requests are still open

☆ key: e/n = ex's name

It was a busier night than you and the crew had seen in a while. You were all desperate for a day off of chores and the open ocean so Nami suggested a brief stop at the closest island. 

You’d broken off in groups to spend some time on land and you Zoro and Robin had made your way to a dive bar in town. 

It was a welcome stop– the ship only had sake on it. Franky and Brook had finished the gin during a card game and Sanji had finished off the bourbon in a recipe. 

The three of you found a seat and you took a moment to sink into the torn leather cushion, breathing in the smell of old cigarettes in ashtrays and beer. The neon lights washed you in a warm hue and Zoro couldn’t help but stare at how the blinking lights shifted on your face, changing the shadows of your eyelashes danced on your cheeks. 

He got up, realizing Robin had taken note of his staring and made his way to the bar ordering a drink for himself. 

You and Robin were talking, he could hear your giggling and tried to drown the warmth that erupted in his tummy by downing the drink.

You walked up behind him and hugged him from behind, “Zo-ro!”

He loved the way you said his name, stretching out the first syllable and emphasizing the second. Zou– ro!

“Hey, Y/n,” he said, biting back a smile.

“What’d you order?”

“Sake.”

“Shocking! Gimme a sip.”

He handed you the small bowl, his heart beating faster when your fingers touched.

He watched you sip it and wince as it went down.

“Still gross.”

It was too much to be around you, you were intoxicating and he knew if he spent too much time around you after having had a few drinks he’d most likely say something stupid and embarrass himself. 

He started getting up, awkwardly trying to get you off of his shoulders. 

You let go and took his seat. 

“Here,” he dug around in his pockets and handed you a few bills and several coins.

You shot him a puzzled look.

“Get yourself a drink, since you didn’t like mine.”

“With…” you paused and counted the money, “Three berries and sixty-four.. no, sixty-five cents?”

He shot you a look and snatched the money up, grumbling as he went back to the table. 

A man in the bar quickly took Zoro’s place once he’d walked away and started up a conversation with you, much to Zoro’s irritation. He went and sat with Robin, sipping his drink and playing a game of checkers with her. 

An hour or so had passed and you, sociable as ever, had talked to almost everyone in the bar. 

Robin playfully nudged Zoro in your direction, who was absorbed almost entirely in his sixth cup of sake of the night. 

You were sitting alone at the bar now, ordering yourself a drink. 

Zoro furrowed his brow and took another big sip of his drink, pretending not to understand what Robin was hinting at. 

“Hmph,” he muttered, still not wanting to admit to Robin that his crush had been found out. 

A sudden impulse to go to you and declare his feelings bubbled up in his chest and against his better judgment, he stood up trying to gather the courage to go up and sit with you. It’s not like it would have been weird–he was closer with you than the rest of the crew and he knew you better than anyone (at least that’s what he let himself believe). But tonight, for some reason, he had been feeling nervous around you. He told himself that maybe it was your new perfume, floral and saccharine, and dizzying every time he caught your intoxicating scent or the dress you were wearing that hugged your body in all his favorite places, not that he looked, of course, or maybe it was your hair which was framing your face, now glowing in the soft light of the bar and pink with the warmth of alcohol that was driving him absolutely mad at the thought and sight of you. 

“Better hurry,” she said, getting up to leave, “Looks like a few other people already want to take the open seat next to her.”

A group of younger boys in the corner pushed one of their group toward where you were sitting, sending flirty remarks your way. 

“I’ll see you two back on the ship tonight.” 

You ignored the boys behind you, rolling your eyes at their antics. 

“Mint gimlet, miss,” the bartender said, handing you a drink, winking, “The gentleman over there sent it.”

“Oh? Well, thanks,” you said, looking to see who had guessed your favorite drink. 

Your heartbeat picked up, thumping with a quick, erratic beat against your chest. You felt goosebumps cover your skin and your stomach churned. 

Him. 

It had been two, or was it three?, years. God knows you’d tried contacting him; dozens of letters, calls, messages, just wanting to know what happened. Had you done something? Was he in trouble? Did a year of your life mean nothing to him? All that time, all those kisses and conversations and messy beds and lazy mornings. All the petty arguments and fights and the tears you’d cried in front of him. You had told yourself that there was no way he’d have thrown it all away. But six months after you’d last seen him, leaving your bed in the early hours of the morning, kissing your forehead and promising you dinner that night, he’d responded to one of your letters. 

It was some shitty, half-assed excuse—something about new opportunities and not wanting to tie you down, being your own person. 

A lump in your throat began forming at just the thought of it. 

You looked away from him, blinking back tears, but it was too late. He was headed your way. 

Well, you thought, the least you could do was ignore him. 

He sat one seat away from you, smiling at you like a schoolboy in love. You wanted to break your glass over his head. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, placing his hand over yours, “How are ya?”

He was halfway through a beer, a drink that you now associated with his memory. 

You clenched your jaw and looked straight ahead, ignoring him entirely. 

“At least taste the drink, I know they’re your favorite.”

Zoro, who had been closely watching this entire interaction noted how you tensed up the moment he sat down and placed a steady hand on the handle of his sword. He paused for a moment, closely observing the scene that was playing out before him. He watched you push the drink in front of you away and your soft smile fall into a frown. 

“Leave me alone.”

The man reached over and placed his hand on your thigh and gently squeezed, eliciting visible disgust from you. 

Pushing his hand off you repeated yourself, “Leave me a-lone.”

Zoro was already making his way toward you from the other side of the room, his blood starting to simmer at the sight of your unwanted visitor. 

He stopped at a table about twenty feet away from you, deciding he would wait a bit more before taking any action– he was, after all, somewhat intrigued. 

The man was laughing, but you had never looked so angry.

“I am sorry, sweetheart,” he heard him say, “Let me explain what happened, just hear me out.”

“I don’t care what happened, and I will not hear anything out so long as it’s you speaking,” you responded.

“Did ya miss me? At least answer me that.”

Your hands were balled up into shaky fists, “No.”

The man laughed again, grabbing your drink from in front of you and taking a sip, “Yes, you did. Look how worked up you are! Don’t know how to respond to the sight of me, huh? Am I as handsome as you remember?”

You suddenly felt a large hand on your shoulder and turned to look up and see Zoro, relief sweeping through your body. 

“Hey, Zo,” you said, smiling at him.

“Mind getting me a beer?”

“Not sake?” you asked. He laughed, a lot more than normal, but insisted it was the beer he wanted. 

Tension between you and your ex was already at an all-time high, and your apparent closeness with Zoro wasn’t helping.

The bartender placed the beer in front of you and you pushed it over to Zoro who grabbed it and sat in the empty seat between you and your ex. 

“You know him?” Zoro asked, taking a generous sip of beer. 

You didn’t respond for a second, but eventually nodded, “Yeah.”

“Want me to move?” 

You could see E/n glaring at Zoro. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and looked up at Zoro who had an unreadable sort of expression on his face, something between irritation and apathy. He looked straight ahead and didn’t look at either you or the man to his right. 

Several moments passed without an answer and he turned to look at you, “Didn’t think so.”

“We were having a conversation,” your ex nudged Zoro’s arm. 

You knew the look on Zoro’s face, it was that sort of glazy-eyed focus he fell into before fighting. 

“E/n, we’re done talking.” 

“Are you sure this guy isn’t bothering you, Y/n? I felt like we were close to… reconnecting.”

Ugh, go away.

“Well, we weren’t,” you said.

Zoro stayed silent, sipping his beer, but you could tell he was very aware of everything going on around him. 

“Alright,” he said, getting up. He grabbed his coat and walked over to you, leaning over your shoulder, his chest to your back, and pressed a kiss to your cheek. You watched Zoro’s fist clench out of the side of your eye.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, “Get off.”

As much as you hated the man, you knew Zoro was very capable of escalating things very quickly and you wanted to avoid causing a scene. 

You felt a small rush of wind on the back of your neck and the cool edge of a blade settle there. 

Uh-oh.

So much for staying calm. 

“Step away from her,” Zoro snarled, “Now.” His sword was extended behind your head and the point was resting on E/n’s chest. 

He put his hands up and smirked at Zoro, “Let’s not get too confident here, buddy.”

He pushed his jacket to the side and rested his hand on the gun that sat on his hip. He drew it slowly and dragged his finger to rest on the trigger.

You remembered that stupid gun and the fight that had ensued when you’d accidentally touched it.

Zoro laughed, loud and bold.

“I’ll have your hands cut off and skinned before you can pull the trigger. Make this a lot easier for yourself and leave.” 

Zoro didn’t look anywhere other than his face. His arm was steady and the sword didn’t waver even an inch. Confident and unwavering, he resembled a tiger before it kills. 

Your ex placed the gun back in its holster and turned to shoot you a pathetic smile, “Are you sure you want me to leave? You won’t see me again.”

You won’t see me again.

For a moment, all that hurt resurfaced. The striking realization that this was it. Your relationship was done and would never be what it had been again. This moment, right now, was truly it. You prepared yourself to say something, anything. But there was a growing lump in your throat so you stopped yourself from answering. You’d never forgive yourself if your voice broke now. 

Zoro moved in front of you, blocking you from his view, “You’re conversation with her is done. You can talk to me and lose your life in the process or you can leave.”

“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, still looking at you and turning to leave. 

Before he’d even finished saying the word you watched Zoro’s sword cut through the air quicker than you could process, leaving him standing over your ex-boyfriend who was now clutching his bleeding chest on the floor. 

You shot up, suddenly nauseated by the exchange and the unnerving satisfaction you felt. 

Blood was soaking through his shirt and puddling in his palm, his breathing heavy and ragged. 

You grabbed Zoro’s arm and he turned to look at you. His complexion completely changed the moment he looked down at you, concern pouring from all of his features. 

Are you okay? he asked, his eyes speaking for him. 

“Let’s go, Zo,” you said, tugging on his arm, “There’re marines in town.”

He nodded, lowering his sword but he didn’t sheath it. 

“Just give me one more second.”

Zoro crouched down and nudged him with the handle of his sword like a cat playing with its prey. 

“I know you’re alive, so listen ‘cause I’m not gonna repeat myself,” he drew his sword and brought it up next to his ear. You watched silently as he visibly flinched. Zoro brought the blade down to rest on his shoulder, and slid it toward himself, wiping the blood off of the sword and onto his shirt. 

“If I ever see you again. Any time, any place- I guarantee that I will be the last thing you see on Earth. Understood?”

Zoro didn’t move at all, not a muscle, not an inch. He stayed watching the man like a hawk, clutching his bleeding chest until he gave a slight nod. Had you blinked you would’ve missed it. 

Zoro stood up, dusting off his knees and sheathing his sword. 

He turned toward the door and grabbed your hand on his way out taking you with him. 

The urge to turn around and look bubbled up inside you—to see him as devastated as you had been, to see him experience the pain you had felt. 

And as though he had read your mind Zoro gave your hand a squeeze.

Keep walking, he told you. 

You steeled yourself and walked out hand in hand with Zoro, whose hand was warm with speckled blood. 

He led you around the side of the bar, stopping only when you were tucked away in the alley. 

It was silent, neither of you saying anything. 

You looked up at him, making eye contact finally. He seemed somewhat embarrassed, his cheeks were fairly pink. 

You figured maybe he was regretting his rash actions but he was only really freaking out about having held your hand for so long. 

“Zoro…” 

“It’s nothing, really. He was a dick. Ex-boyfriend?” he said, trying badly to hide his jealousy.

It was funny– how he could go from quasi-murderer to shy schoolboy in minutes.

“Something like that,” you replied, looking away from his face, messing around with the hem of your shirt. Your eyes were starting to water again. 

“Hey, hey,” he said, leaning down to take your face between his thumb and forefinger, “What did he do? I’ll go back and kill him.”

You laughed, sniffling in between, “He just… He left me with no explanation and showed up out of nowhere today. It was so long ago I shouldn’t care. I don’t! But seeing him all of a sudden was just-”

Zoro wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest where you let several more tears flow, staining his shirt.

He petted your head, holding you close to him with his free arm unsure of what to say. 

“‘m sorry, Y/n,” he muttered, shuffling his feet, “I shouldn’t’ve asked.”

“It’s okay!” you insisted, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hand. 

Zoro, who’d only known you for a few months, had defended you and your honor without a second thought. And though he’d probably been a little excessive your heart swelled at the thought of how he’d stood up for you. 

““Sorry about your shirt,” you muttered, patting the stains on his chest where you’d soaked his shirt with tears, 

He looked down and smiled, “It’s ok. It’s an old shirt anyway.”

You laughed, “Yeah and it’s not super clean either.”

His cheeks grew pink and he lightly punched your arm.

You suddenly grabbed his hands in yours, surprising him.

You squeezed his hands extra tight and looked up at him, “Thank you, Zoro. Seriously. I don’t know why I didn’t knock him out myself and I never shut down like that but I– Thank you.”

Zoro nodded, giving you a small squeeze back. 

“I would do anything for you,” he admitted. More to himself than you. 

Warmth crept up your neck and into your face. 

“I mean– ‘Cause you’re my crewmate! I’d do anything for any of you guys, obviously. Maybe not Sanji but, well, yes him too just don’t tell him I said that.. But I meant, as in, like,” he rambled suddenly realizing what he’d said. 

His hands still in yours you pulled him down, crashing your lips into his. The sudden addition of his full body weight on top of yours sent you both falling backward, stumbling until your back hit the brick wall behind you. 

“Oh, shit– sorry! Sorry,” he said, pulling away from you.

“No, don’t be! I shouldn’t have….”

“Kissed me?”

“Pulled you so hard,” you responded, your hands still holding the other’s, “Thank you. I hope that shows I really mean it.”

His eyes were looking anywhere but yours and his cheeks were a furious shade of pink. 

His hands were still in yours and he gently shook yours off.

“Zoro?”

He stayed silent, embarrassed and unbelievably happy, and wrapped his arms around you again. You were pulled into his chest and he stayed quiet, hugging you tight. 

Ah, you understood, he didn’t want you seeing him so vulnerable. 

“You know,” you said, your voice muffled by his chest, “I can’t kiss you again if you hold me down here.”

You felt him tense up and his arms stiffen around you. 

“Fine with me,” he grumbled.

“You’re blushing, huh?”

“.........No.”

“Then let me out.”

“Will I get a kiss?”

“Thought you didn’t want one.”

He pushed you off his chest and started marching back in the general direction of the Thousand Sunny, grabbing his bandana and wrapping it around the lower half of his face, leaving you behind.

You laughed and ran behind him trying to grab the bandana away from his face which he was holding out of your reach. 

You could see the ship in the distance and Zoro had started laughing too, getting more and more comfortable with the pink hue of his face. 

Sanji and Nami were a little further down the way yelling at Luffy who’d ran off with a bag of groceries. 

You paused for a moment, looking at all these people who loved you and, all of the sudden, the past wasn’t all that important. 

Zoro turned, noticing your absence. Nami had spotted the two of you and was waving. 

“Coming?”

[xmalereader]

Simon Riley x Male Reader x Leon Kennedy

-

|| Masterlist ||

-

Authors note: Here is another twin series shot! More to come soon and thank you for 6.6k followers!! This idea came to mind because Leon is my other husband but in this one so is Simon.

Summary: An old friend and Ex makes an appearance back at reader and simons home town. The twins seem to know him very well and Simon isn’t too fond of the man.

Warnings: Fluff, jealous Simon, menacing twins, past lovers, Leon is a great man, overprotective Simon, twins track down there dad, past memories, catching up, twins are both 15 years old.

Word count: 2.5k

—

—

Y/n was running errands. The twins had begged him to buy snacks after finishing up their last stash and wanting him to stock up. He knew not to argue with his kids, knowing that the will fight back if he declined the idea of getting more snacks.

And so, he had no choice but to get changed and take his car keys and wallet and head to the nearest market. He carried a list of things the twins requested, including Simons small request of wanting something sweet. It always surprised Y/n that someone so deadly and dangerous could have a craving for something so sweet.

He chuckles at the memory of Simon devouring their wedding cake alongside the twins who ate next to him. There wedding wasn’t anything huge, just them three and a witness or two but that was all.

Upon arriving to the store he makes sure to take a cart, going up and down the aisles in case he wishes to get anything else but snacks. He reached the alcohol isle and grins to himself. One drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

He hums softly to himself as he searched the shelves, looking for his own favorite drink. He makes sure to add Simons on the list too in case he wanted a small drink. It takes him a few minutes to find Simons.

“Bourbon…bourbon—Ah!” He mumbled under his breath until he finally finds the bottle, smiling in victory as he takes the bottle in hand, checking to make sure that it was the right one.

“Never thought of you as a bourbon type.”

Y/n furrows his brows, looking up from the bottle to come face to face with an old friend of his.

“Leon?” Y/n stares at him with wide eyes as Leon gives him a faint smile in return. “Y/n.” He says in return, getting a small laugh out of the other.

“What—how—what are you doing here, out of all places?” Y/n finally asks, too in shock to let out a proper question. He couldn’t stop staring at Leon, he’s changed so much. His blonde hair no longer blonde but a dark brunette color and his eyes were brighter. The man aged like fine wine due to his appearance looking the same when he was younger but with hints of maturity and a faint stubble on his face.

Y/n couldn't stop staring at the man standing before him that Leon’s words go through deaf ears.

“—Y/n?”

He’s finally pulled out of his thoughts and blinks his eyes. “I’m sorry, what?” He coughs out, blushing softly as he placed the bottle of alcohol in the cart he had with him.

“I asked if you were alright? You seemed a little out of it.” Said Leon.

“Sorry! It’s Just—It’s been awhile.” He admits with a faint chuckle escaping his lips, trying to focus his attention on anything else but Leon. It wasn’t until the older man eyed his cart and smirks. “Snacks and booze? Having a party or something?”

Y/n flushed and laughs. “Actually the snacks are for the twins, you remember the twins right?” He’s quick to ask, disregarding Leon’s second question. “How can I forget the twins, I remember when they first started school. Is Briar still causing you trouble?”

Y/n groans at the mention of his troublesome daughter. “Always.” He answers, taking the end of the cart in hand and pulling it behind him as he walks down the aisle, alongside Leon as the two did some shopping together. “Briar and Ren are fifteen.” He blurts out, getting a surprise look from Leon who scoffs.

“No way, I remember them being kids. Has it really been that long?”

Y/n nods his head. “Time goes by fast.” He states, warning a chuckle from Leon as the two approach the register, standing in line to check out their items. Y/n had looked into Leon’s basket, raising a brow at the amount of alcohol bottles he has.

“Is that all your getting?” He points out, causing leon to chuckle nervously. “Yeah…”

Y/n hums and decides to keep quiet, turning his attention back to his one items and makes sure that he got everything for the twins and Simon. The thought of missing anything could get him into trouble, the last time he forgot something he got a dramatic Briar and a whinny Ren to deal with until he finally got them their favorites snacks.

It wasn’t until he stepped up to the registrar to finally get his things scanned and paid for that Leon calls out his name before he exits the store.

“I was wondering if you wanted to get some dinner? That’s if your not busy.” Leon quickly says, getting Y/n’s attention who stared at Leon with wide eyes.

He knows that he shouldn’t accept the dinner date he already had plans to cook dinner for his kids and husband, but it’s been years since he’s last seen Leon. His friend his first partner, they were simply catching up what could go wrong?

“Sure.”

—

“He’s taking forever.” Ren groans into the couch pillow, lying on his stomach as he continues to whine while Briar paced the room at a slow pace. She would glance out the window in hopes of her seeing Y/n’s return only to find nothing. Then she would look at the clock hanging on the wall.

“It’s been more than 30 minutes.” She mumbled.

“Be patient.” Simon finally speaks up from the couch, sitting on the far end next to Ren while the teen sulks into the pillows. “He told you two that you shouldn’t be eating too many snacks, perhaps this is his way of punishing you both and making you wait.”

Brair frowns at Simons words, doubting them. She knew her father well enough and she knew that area she lived in. The nearest grocery store was fifteen minutes away, she knew that her own father was someone who goes in to get what he needs and is out in seconds. He never took his time to check everything unless he had a long list of groceries to get.

“Something’s not right.” Briar finally says, getting Ren and Simons attention. “The store is close and he should have been back a few minutes ago.”

“Traffic?” Ren says with a shrug.

“No…” Briar tries to think over reasons as to why her father wasn’t home yet. Simon knew that she was overthinking the situation and comes to a stand, making his way over to the teen and placing a gentle hand on the top of her head. “Easy kid, Y/n will be back soon and if anything happened to him we would know.” Simon tried to reassure Briar but can still see the worry in her eyes.

Simon sighs. “How about we drive by to see if his car is still at the store?” Simons idea gets Briars attention, lightening Briar as she nods frantically.

“Go get your shoes. Both of you.” Simons instructs the twins as they quickly move to get some shoes on while Simon gets the keys to his own car, waiting outside for the twins as they rushed out of the house and into his car.

“Come on! Hurry up!” Briar exclaimed, getting an eye roll from Simon. “We are only doing a drive by, that is all.” He reminds the twins as he gets the car started and driving then towards the nearest store. Briar is bouncing on her seat, staring up ahead in hopes of seeing anything that could be causing her fathers delay while Ren sat in the back seat staring out the window.

It wasn’t until they stop at a red light that Ren speaks up. “Holy shit.”

“Language.” Said Simon while Briar turns around in her seat to face Ren. “What?” She takes notice of Ren staring out the window with wide eyes, frowning. “What are you looking at?” She finally turns to her own window, looking in the direction her brother was staring only to spot her father eating outside a fast food with another man. The two laughing together without a care.

Briars mouth is open in shock. Rens eyes are wide and Simon. Oh, Simon wasn’t someone who easily got jealous but the grip on the steering wheel caused his knuckles to go white, clearly upset about the situation but not saying anything about it. Before the twins could say anything the street light turns green, Simon hits the gas and drives off.

The twins sit in silence while Simon finds a longer way back home. The tension in the car gets the twins uncomfortable, feeling Simons anger and jealous radiate off his body. The twins felt like kids again who got yelled at for doing something wrong, getting their father really angry to the point where the car rides were full of silence and only tension. Even though the twins knew they weren’t in trouble they can’t help but feel like they were.

When they finally get home the twins both glance at each other, communicating in silence. Ren is the first to break the tension. “Maybe it’s a friend?” His voice is soft.

“Or he’s cheating.” Briar blurts out, blunt and honest.

Ren smacks her shoulder, glaring at his sister who glared back. “I’m only being honest,” She hissed out, rubbing her shoulder.

Simon is sitting in silence, listening to the kids bickering but is quick to shut them out. Simon wasn’t someone to get upset over stuff like this, he trusted Y/n. He married him, he wouldn’t throw everything away for someone else. Even though Simon and Y/n have been married for a few years he knows his partner well enough to communicate with him regarding anything and so far things have been going well.

Y/n would tell Simon everything that happens at work, let out his frustrations when he’s dealing with something hard. He tells Simon how he feels about curtain stuff without being afraid or embarrassed about it.

Simon couldn't say he was the same. He struggled at first when it comes towards talking about his feelings. He always kept everything bottled up. After Y/n came into his life he slowly started to learn.

“He’s not cheating.” He finally speaks up, startling the twins with his deep voice. “Y/n wouldn’t do that.” Simon adds, turning towards the twins and giving them a reassuring smile.

“Come on, let’s wait inside.”

His last words get the twins moving, jumping out of the car and rushing inside, jumping on the couch and fighting over the remote while Simon tossed his eyes on the coffee table and plops down between the twins, taking the remote from the two and deciding what to watch, getting a look of disbelief from the twins.

It wasn’t until an hour later that Y/n finally gets home, stumbling inside the house with bags in hand and sighing deeply. “I’m back!” He calls out, kicking the door shut.

He raises a brow in confusion when he doesn’t hear a greeting back. The twins usually come running to him when he comes back from the store but no one comes to him. “Kids?” He calls out, walking further into the house. “Simon?” He approached the living room where he finds both Briar and Ren, sitting side by side with arms crossed while narrowing their eyes.

“Uh, I’m back?” Y/n says again a bit concerned by the twins attitude as they watched him.

“You’re late.” Said Ren.

“Yeah, thats because I was getting your snacks.” Said Y/n as he walks over to the kitchen, to set the bag of snacks on the counter, taking it out of the bag. “Getting snacks should only take a few minutes you were gone for an hour.” Briar says this time, getting off the couch and walking to the kitchen, following her dad around as he puts the snacks away.

“So? I was taking my time.” Y/n shrugs his shoulders. The twins are slowly getting irritated and it’s Ren who blurts out the question they really wanted to know the answer too. “Are you going to divorce Simon?”

Y/n’s eyes widen, whipping his head to face the twins properly. “What—? What makes you think that?!”

“We saw you…you were having dinner with some guy and you seemed pretty happy.” Said Briar, shrugging a shoulder as she lowers her gaze. Briar could be loud and blunt but the subject of Y/n and Simon possibly divorcing set her into a panic where she shuts down, closing up and becoming afraid.

Y/n had noticed this when raising the twins on his own before Simon came into the picture. He’s quick to shake his head, approaching the twins and pulling them into hugs. “God no—I could never leave Simon and I would never ask for a divorce, do you know how long it took me to finally find someone who actually cares for me and you two? Because I’m not throwing that away.” He shakes his head.

Ren lifts up his head from Y/n chest. “Then who was the guy you were having dinner with?”

Y/n lets out a soft chuckle. “He’s—well, he was an ex of mine but, what we had back then wasn’t serious it only lasted a few weeks before we decided to remain friends. I haven’t seen him in years and I was simply catching up, nothing else.” He explains to the twins.

“You guys met him once!”

“We did?” The twins said in unison, confusion written on their faces as Y/n rolls his eyes. “Yeah, when you were seven years old. His name is Leon Kennedy? Tall blonde hair, blue eyes—?”

Briar is the first to gasp, pulling away from her dad. “The really hot cop?!”

“He’s in his thirties and not a cop anymore.”

“But he’s still hot?” Briar questions with a mischievous grin on her face while wiggling her brows. Y/n sighs deeply, knowing that his daughter was going to force him to admit that Leon was still good looking.

“Yes, he’s still attractive but, I love Simon more. He’s—“ Y/n looks up from the twins to see Simon standing near the stairway, leaning against the wall as he grins. Clearly the man had heard everything, listening into their conversation as Y/n gives off a soft smile before looking back at the twins. “Simon has the muscles and strong—God, the way his hands wrap around—“

“Ah! Stop no more!” Ren shouts, covering his ears as Briar faked a gag, looking at her dad in disgust. “No details!” She shouted too. The twins growing dramatic while Simon approached the twins and Y/n, smiling at his husband as he wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him into a deep kiss, Y/n wrapping his arms around his neck as he deepens it.

The twins scream in horror at the sight of their parents making out, running out of the kitchen and upstairs. “Get a room!” Ren shouted, causing the two to break apart from the kiss and laugh.

“Oh, we have one.” Y/n smirks at Simon.

[doggone-devil]

How (Not) to Summon a Demon: Chapter 8

...and so it begins, my dear Readers. So it begins. Pairing: Alastor x fem!Reader Warnings: mentions of abusive, r/p/e, exes being absolute assholes, Alastor ready to kill, threats, stalking

Word Count: 2, 525

The day had gone surprisingly well, despite the horrible way it started. You had spent it with Alastor and Veronica, but mostly Alastor since your roommate decided she wanted to go do other things. Alastor had been a wonderful gentleman, holding doors open for you, letting you hold his arm as you walked. He even had you on his right side, away from the road. He was so old fashion it made you swoon, but you fought off the butterflies and kept a cool head.

Now you sat on the hood of your car, waiting for Veronica who said twenty minutes ago that she was just finishing up at a store and would be on her way. The sun was setting, turning the sky orange and red, little stars starting to shine through overhead. You glance at Alastor who stood by the car, his eyes watchful around the parking lot.

"Sorry she's taking so long," you apologize again, holding your head in your hands as you prop your elbows on you knees.

"It's alright. I'm sure she's just having fun," he says. "I hope you did, as well." You can't fight the large smile as it comes.

"Yeah, I did. Did you?" You watch his face carefully, trying to see if you can read him. It's hard, what with his constant smile. Why was that?

"Indeedy! Might be the most fun I've had since 1933!" You giggle, watching him spread his arms out and swirl his cane. He stops and faces you, dipping low. "Was a pleasure, my dear, thank you."

"Don't thank me," you say, crossing your arms. "Veronica was the one who mentioned it." You initially were going to stay in your room today and worry if your ex was coming to kidnap you. Oh no. Now you were thinking about him. Great. Way to ruin your own mood.

Alastor must notice how your shoulders drop as he steps forward. His body is blocking your view of Bourbon Street and you have to crane your neck to see him properly. Damn, you forgot how tall he is. "Everything alright, darling?" he asks. You note the way his smile is lowered, still there but now with pressed lips, like a frown.

"I'm ok," you lie. You don't want to burden him with your troubles. He's a demon, you're sure he won't care. No matter how much fun you had today, no matter what he says or does, he's only here cause you summoned him. Once you make your wish, he's gone. There's no point in letting your heart melt like it's doing now, no point in gasping when he leans close to you. Why is he so close?

"Darling," he says softly, tilting your chin to make you look up at him again. There's no point falling for him, so why is he making it so hard not to? "If there's anything bothering you, you can tell me. Let me help you." Fuck. Yep. You're screwed. Demon or not, your heart drops like an anchor out in the ocean, falling fast and hard to the sea floor.

"I -"

"There you guys are!" Veronica's voice pulls you back and you lean away from Alastor. You swear you see his brows dip in anger, but it's gone as he straightens up.

"About time you show up," you joke but the smile fades when you see Veronica. Her face is pale, like she's seen a ghost, panting as she catches her breath. Had she been running? "What's wrong?" Veronica looks up at you, clearly worried.

"What does your ex look like again?"

No.

No, no, no.

It can't be.

You feel your body growing cold, your hands shaking. "W-What?"

"It could've been someone else," she backtracks, shaking her head and reaching for your phone. You let her take it, fingers too numb to move. She goes through your photos until she stops on the only recent one you had of your ex. "Oh my god."

Your heart drops again, for a different reason this time. Fear crawls up your spine, wrapping itself around your throat.

Please, it can't be.

"Girlie, we need to leave," Veronica says, trying to hand you your phone back. You don't grab it, you can't move. You're stuck, tears forming.

He's here. He's found you. It's all over.

You hear Veronica shout your name, but it's lost to the rush of wind in your ears. You can't hear anything.

"What's wrong?" Alastor asks. Veronica shows him the photo.

"This douchebag is her ex and he's here. He's like, stalked her or some shit!" Veronica explains. "I know it's not my place to say, sorry girlie -" she sends you an apologetic look "- but this asshole abused her. It's why she left him."

Now you hear your name. It's Alastor this time. He has your head in his hands, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are glowing red as he peers into yours. You gasp, the damn breaking as you begin to cry. "H-He can't…H-He's going to hurt me!"

"Not while I'm here, he's not," Alastor states, voice hard as he scoops you into his arms. You let him, too scared to move on your own. Veronica's eyes widen, pointing between the two of you.

"Ok, we're going to revisit this later, but right. Let's leave." She takes your keys and gets in the driver's seat, Alastor placing you in the back with him. He buckles you up as Veronica begins to skid off from the parking lot and back to your apartment.

"Does he know where she lives?" you hear Alastor ask, clearly talking to Veronica.

"Not that I know of?" she answers. "I mean, if he showed up there, chances are it's a yes." She hits the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. "God! Why are men such pigs? No offense."

"None taken," Alastor says, looking back down at you. You're shaking like a leaf, eyes unfocused, no doubt lost in your thoughts. He tugs at your chin again but you can't see him. Not clearly. Everything around  you is buzzing, memories of your past clouding your mind. The arguments, the fights, the bruises. You absently rub at your thighs, the scars throbbing. You feel sick.

"Stop," you whisper but it's unheard. You say it again, louder. "Stop!" Veronica slams on the breaks, a car blaring its horn behind you. You claw your way out of the car just as the bile rises. You puke violently, your stomach lurching in disgust as your mind plagues you with the memories of that night. His hands on your body, on your throat, ignoring your cries and pleas for  him to stop. You had begged him, even praying for death when he wouldn't stop. You puke again, couching. A hand rubs your back, but you can't tell who.

"We need to get her back to the apartment," you hear someone say. "It's not safe out here."

Your name is called, faded and faint but you hear it. Then it's in your head, beckoning you. You feel yourself calming down, the sickness in your stomach ebbing away. You stand on weak legs, wobbling and swaying. The hand on your back comes to rest at your hip, steadying you. It's Alastor.

You whimper and lean into him. He picks you back up in his arms, carrying you back to the car. This time, he doesn't bother to buckle you, keeping you in his arms, tight against his chest. You hold on to him, needing him like a lifeline. Veronica gets back in and continues the drive.

It doesn't take long before you're being carried into the apartment, Veronica deadbolting the door behind you. Alastor takes you to your room, setting you on the bed. He goes to move away but you clasp tightly to his shirt. A silent hint for him to stay. He sits down by your side, his hand grasping yours to hold. You don't want to be alone. You can't.

Veronica joins you two, your phone in her hand. She looks pissed, angrier than earlier as she holds the screen up to you. It's opened to your messages and you see the new number, the letters making you feel sick all over again.

'Thought you could get away?'

You grab the phone, deleting the message instantly, but another appears.

'I'm coming for you, little rabbit.'

You throw the phone against your wall, the screen cracking. It goes off again with another notification, then another. You cover your ears, begging it to stop.

"Geez, this guy can't take a hint!" Veronica says. "Should I call the police?" You shake your head violently.

"No!" you shout. "No cops. Please. It'll only make it worse." You remember the last time you got the cops involved. He had charmed his way out of the dispute so easily and the consequences afterwards had nearly killed you. "No cops."

"Ok, ok. No cops." Veronica shifts by your side, kneeling down. "But, girlie, we gotta do something. I've seen the aftermath of this asshole. It took me a year just to get you out of the house. I'm not letting him ruin you again."

"You don't understand," you whisper, rocking back and forth now. "He won't stop. He won't stop coming for me. Not until I'm dead."

"I doubt he'll kill you. Stalk you? Sure. Threaten you? What abusive ex doesn't?"

"Veronica," you interrupt her. It's time to come clean. To tell her everything. "He almost has." Veronica's eyes widen.

"What are you talking about?"

"John almost killed me," you confess, hating the way his name bites at your tongue. "The last time I tried to escape, he nearly killed me, telling me if I ever left him again, he would finish the job. He even…" you trail off, not able to say out loud the horrendous things he did to you. Instead, you sit upright, turning your torso as you lift your shirt. On your lower back at marks, scars from his doing. You don't show her the others, already feeling like you're going to puke again.

"I didn't know." She lifts her hand, as if to touch them, but stops. You lower your shirt back down.

"I didn't tell you," you say. "I didn't want you to know. It's something I've been trying so hard to forget." You glance now, to Alastor. He's been silent the whole time and when you look at him, you know why. His body is vibrating with anger, his eyes cold and dark. The smile he always has, the one that's come to comfort you, is stretched so thin you're worried his skin will crack.

"Alastor?" you call out. His head snaps to you, the anger dissolving only a little. He forces his smile to relax some, for your sake. "Veronica, could I have some time with Alastor? Alone?" You know she's going to question you about it later, but thankfully, she does as you ask. Once she's out of your room, the door shut, you grab Alastor's hands. His finger lengthen, the skin darkening as claws appear. His human form fades away as the demon he is shines through. You gasp.

His horns are large, doubled in size and nearly reaching your ceiling. His eyes are pitch black save for two tiny, red dots. Blood drips down his chin as his sharp teeth bite into his lip, strained from how tight he clenches his jaw.

You should be horrified, terrified, absolutely appalled by his appearance, but you aren't.

Your hand reaches tenderly up to him, turning him to look at you. "Al," you softly speak his name. He leans into your touch but doesn't speak, not at first. A low, guttural growl resonates from within his chest.

"I won't let him touch you." His voice is deep, static dripping on every word. Your startled when he quickly leans over you, his upper body caging you in as he places his hands on either side of your head, forcing you to lay back. "He can't have you."

"He won't." You keep your voice gentle, letting Alastor know that you trust him.

Trust him?

You can't trust him. He's a demon.

No, you disagree with the voice in your head. He may be a demon but you can trust him.

"You said you'll protect me, right?" you ask, watching as Alastor's body slowly begins to relax. You place a hand on his neck, fingers rubbing at the underside of his hair. His antlers shrink back down, the black of his eyes gone with a blink, those warm, red orbs back to normal. You smile up at him, "There he is."

"Sorry," Alastor breathes out.

"It's ok." You don't feel any fear like you did earlier, only warmth and security. You knew that, no matter what, Alastor was here. He was with you and he wouldn't let anything happen to you. Demon or not, you knew the moment he vowed to protect you, you were in love with him.

"I should," Alastor says, moving away from you. He sits at the end of your bed, putting space between you. It makes your heart ache, but you understand. He doesn't want to scare you.

"Girlie, I'm coming in!" Veronica opens your door. "I brought you some water." You panic for a second, looking to Alastor, but he's back to his human form. How quickly he could do that never ceased to amaze you.

She hands you a glass and you thank you, gulping it down. You hadn't realized your throat was so dry, the cold liquid soothing. You set the glass down and stand up, feeling a renewed strength. You walk over to where your phone laid, bending over to pick it up. The screen lit up, thirty new messages unread. You opened them, anger building as you read each one.

"That does it." You turn on your heel, looking at Veronica and Alastor. "If he wants me, I'm not going down without a fight."

"Hell yeah! That's what I'm talking about!"

"You're not confronting him," Alastor states and you shake your head.

"No, but I am going to lure him into a trap. This bastard thinks he can get away with this, he's got another thing coming." You walk back over to your bed. "Here's the plan. Veronica, you'll be my 911 operator. I'm going to get him to think I'm meeting up with him -"

"No."

"- and then once he shows up, I'm gonna have my phone recording everything. Once he starts acting up, you'll call the police -"

"No."

"- and when they get there, I'll have everything on video. Evidence to prove my case against him."

"That's not happening," Alastor repeats, louder this time.

"Don't worry," you say, "you're going to be my backup. If he gets out of hand, you'll jump in and save me. I'll be fine." Alastor doesn't look like he believes you.

"Ok, so when are we doing this?" Veronica asks. You look at your phone, reading the last message John sent you.

"Tomorrow." You swipe your thumbs over the keyboard, typing out the text and hit send. It doesn't even take a second before he's responding, putting  your plan into action.

"Tomorrow, I'm making this bastard pay."

AN: Whew... this is. Yeah. Till tomorrow, my dear readers.

taglist: @i-like-potatoes12533, @girl-nahh-two, @mcntsee, @projectdreamwalker, @sassmasterxx, @alsemain, @yunimimii, @noraunor, @justneo11, @dragonlover123a, @falsemain, @ephemeralxv, @theshello, @wonderlandangelsposts, @weirdflower2024, @yourworstgf

Masterlist , Ao3

[lostgirlfandom]

Fun and Games

Pairings: Duncan Vizla x GN!Reader

Warnings: mentions of bed time fun times, use of weapons, swear words

Words: 963

After living with Duncan for years by now, you would think he’d be use to your shenanigans.  

But he’s not.  

And that’s fine, because he likes how unpredictable you are. Sometimes, it’s you trying a new recipe.  

Others, it’s the weird times. Like now for instant.

Duncan had stood in the doorway to the living room with a paper bag full of food from the store, staring at you.  

Sitting on the floor with one leg pulled into your body and the other extended out as you leaned down to the floor with scissors and multiple pieces of paper spread out. The floor was cover with uncut photos and some cut photos with bits of edges all over the floor in a mess. The sound of your record player in the background softly echoes in the room. You were very concentrated on your task with your brow frowned and your tongue peeking out from your mouth.  

Duncan very slowly walked over to the kitchen next to the living room and sat the bag down on the table, never taking his eyes off of you.  

“What are you doing?.... and why are you on the floor?” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at the scene in front of him.  

Without moving or taking your attention from your ‘project’ you speak. “Cutting out faces of all the people I think need to go.... and sticking them to the target practice boards.” Your words are slow as you finish cutting a photo.  

Duncan stays silent but slowly feels more confused but amused at your train of thought.  

“Look, this one gets bonus points if you get them in the dick!” You smile as you show a full body photo of your ex-boss who use to use you before you retired as an assassin.  

You lock eyes with Duncan, who still had his eyebrow raised at you. You smiled ‘innocently’ at him and after another pause of silence. “Wanna join?”  

His face goes back into its usual stoic nature and looks at you. His lip twitch for a moment and then sighs. “I’ll get the wine.”  

-

Twenty minutes later.  

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.  

The sounds of a .9mm hand gun goes off in the middle of the snow-covered land.  

Duncan and you had moved a little way from the house, each using your chosen weapon to aim at the targets about 50 yards from a table with bullet boxes and pictures waiting to be used and some pictures already used.  

Duncan put his gun down and looked at the target and swears under his breath as he is now behind by 10 points.  

You giggle as you wrap your arms around one of his, pressing your forehead into his arm.  

“Getting drunk, old man?” You tease as you reach over and take some sips from your bourbon glass. Having moved on from wine and to harder liquor, you both had finished each a bottle of wine and onto bourbon and whiskey.  

He sighs and shakes his head, but his lips twitched into a half grin. “No, darling. Just a slight buzz.”  

You give a hearty chuckle and go to pick up the next round of photos to go and pin them to the targets. Also having a slight buzz, but just enough to feel giggly.  

“Alright, this one has some bonus points.” You say semi-seriously as you walk back.  

You take your clip out and reload some bullets into the mechanism and then putting it back into the butt of the gun. Then taking the safety off and aiming, making sure your hands are in a good position and then squeezing the trigger when you were ready.  

After emptying the clip, you lowered your gun and looked at the target, only gaining another 10 points. You pursed your lips as you looked over at your lover.  

He tilted his head and nodded. “Not bad, love.” He then did the same process as you did and emptied his clip into his target. Gaining 15 points, he grinned as he looked at you.  

You both finished your glasses and then filled up again. You then clipping the next targets to the stands. Sighing, you turned back to him and found him staring at you as he leaned on his hands on the table.  

You smiled as you walked back to him and kissing his cheek briskly. His eyes shined softly as he watched you.  

You paused as you slowly put the clip back into the gun. Your eyes distant as you lost in thought. “Lets... make a prize for the winner.” You smirked at him playfully.  

He stoically leaned against the table and crossed his arm. “... Continue.”

You smiled and leaned forward. “If I win... you have to do that think I like in bed.... and if you win...” You pause to think, zoning out slightly and biting your tongue in thought.  

“You have to submit to me...” He speaks slowly but a very small smirk grows on his lips.  

You break out of your thoughts and stare at him for a moment. “Deal.”  

You both lean forward and shake each other's hands.  

Turning back to the game with renewed enthusiasm to win, you both glare in determination.  

-

Thirty minutes later... you both are walking back into the house. You have a pout on your lips and your feet are dragging. He is walking with a confident stride and a grin on his face. Both of your cheeks red from drinking and the cold.  

“Can’t believe I lost.... Shit!” You say as you move to the kitchen to make you both hot chocolates.  

“Shouldn’t have doubted me, elskede.” He told you as he sat at the table. 

You sighed.  

Tonight was gonna be long.  

[nocturni3]

Bruce Wayne x male reader: Late Night worries

Tw: SFW, soft, comfort, missing Jason, Bruce Wayne inner turmoil, husband reader, slight angst, worrying parents, Tim being worried and frustrated, grief

There are things that a married couple will learn together. Be it giving each other their own space to express themselves, to support them in their struggles and hardships. And yet there is much you can’t learn from the other; something’s you must learn for yourself.

M/n had learned this throughout the years of being married to two different sides of his husband.

The billionaire ex playboy, prince of Gotham…and Batman, the dark knight, savor of Gotham. Both parts of Bruce Wayne as a whole; parts of Bruce that m/n loved. Be it his husband's confidence in showing the city of the good behind his endless pockets of cash. Repairing the city that through the years of the rogue gallery deemed as the prime battle ground to face off with Batman…with Bruce.

Or seeing the Justice his husband brought to Gotham; his endless crusade against crime families to crazed maniacs had M/n worry and prideful as he attended the galas Bruce couldn’t attend knowing his husband was doing far more important things.

And no matter how much he tried M/n couldn’t help but fear the worst every time his husband went out on patrol. Alfred had tried repeatedly to assure him of Bruce’s skills and complete capability to defend himself from the insane masked rogues and petty criminals of the city.

Yet none of the older man’s efforts had worked to ease M/n’s fears as he laid in their shared bed staring out into the stormy skies of Gotham city, staring out at the silhouette of the crime ridden city.

The massive mansion was always the coldest and lone year when Bruce was gone; the bed far too cold to fall asleep alone in, the once comforting silence became deafening.

Even with Barb,Tim and Alfred in the house aiding Batman in his missions wasn’t a comfort to M/n as he laid in the large plush bed alone once more.

Letting out a shaking breath M/n turned in the bed pulling one of the many untouched pillows to his chest, smothering his face into the clean case of Bruce’s pillow and yet there still managed to be a slight hint of his husband's cologne.

For years now M/n had only the reminders of his husband's smell to sleep too; at least until the early morning sun woke the couple up, both tangled in each other's limbs to start their morning together.

But tonight wasn’t one of those nights…if felt just like the night Bruce got trapped on Arkham, and tonight felt worse. Throwing the blanket off from his sweating body M/n slipped on his slippers and night robes making his way to the living room. Switching on the TV to Gotham city news; pouring himself a small glass of bourbon as he stood watching the TV tirelessly.

“Can’t sleep like this; can’t keep worrying like this, he’s going to be fine, he’s always fine-“

-BREAKING NEWS! Billionaire Bruce Wayne thrown in Arkham City!-

🦇~~~~~~🦇

Alfred was in the kitchen finishing up washing the dishes from dinner when a loud sound of glass shattering erupted the once deathly silent manor.

Dropping the dish in his hand allowed it to fall and shatter as he ran to the source of the sound. Only to come across a scene he’s seen far too many times to count.

M/n Wayne on the floor grasping his mouth with one hand as his shoulders shook with each wrecking sob as the replay of Bruce’s ‘kidnapping’ played on the large flat screen. The glass of bourbon shattered and spread all around M/ns now bloodied hand.

“Master M/n! Sir your hand!”

Alfred rushed towards the sobbing wreck of a man. A man who was always withstanding so much from the emences fear that came with master Bruce’s attention being elsewhere as Batman. Fears that would shatter what little resolve would be left after each night.

Crouching to M/n’s level Alfred gently took hold of the shaking and bleeding hand; aiding m/n Wayne to the couch.

“Up you get master m/n, you didn’t get cut elsewhere sir?-“

“B-Bruce-“

Alfred’s eyes softened seeing the desperate look in those once shining e/c eyes. The worried lines that seemed to become a permanent placement. Alfred always knew things would get worse the farther Bruce delved into his crusade on crime in Gotham. That his mission would hurt those around them and it had. It all started with M/n then…Jason.

They lost a son be it through him simply running away or worse no one knew what happened to Jason only that he was gone and the mansion was far to quiet without his and master Dicks arguments during dinner over small differences in plans.

But looking away from the new outlet on Bruce Wayne being trapped in Arkham; Alfred knew as he patched the now cleaned wounds on master M/n’s hands that M/n was hanging on a rope of desperation as he listened to the new outlet speak on the low survival rates of Arkham city…the city with in the city filled with criminals.

“Master Bruce is quite capable of surviving in such a place master M/n; as we both know”

Sparing a glance up at the man in front of him, the bags under his eyes, the paleness of his skin from the lack of sleep had M/n Wayne look more dead than alive with each passing major event like this very one.

“I-I know…but I know Bruce too. And that I know that man won’t simply leave; he’ll investigate which will only lead him deeper into danger-“

“That he will and yet we both know he will always find a way to make it through against all odds sir… would it make you feel more at ease if we both help master Bruce on his mission”

M/n would once in a while help his husband on his missions; give Barbara a break away to rest once in awhile. That was before nearly witnessing his husbands death far to many times.

And yet deep down M/n had to make sure Bruce was safe! That he was even still alive-

‘No he’s still alive damn it!’

Looking down at his well bandaged hand M/n watched as Alfred clean the shattered cup up as he awaited an answer.

“I think that’s a good idea…even if it’s just for a short while, can't let you deal with all the hard work now can I?”

Alfred let out a light hearted chuckle turning his body towards the nearest trash can then to M/n.

“Oh believe me master M/n I’ve handled far worse than master Bruce’s rather common nightly actives; though the help would be much appreciated for both our sakes after all I’m not getting any younger”

Smiling M/n tightened his robe against his body before turning the large flat screen off before following Alfred down to the batcave.

“What are you saying Alfred you’re as young as ever”

M/n joked looking over to the far older man who scoffed at his joke.

“We both know that’s a load of poppycock master m/n”

Laughing as they stepped out from the elevator m/n made his way to the bat computer grabbing one of the ear pieces.

“And Alfred this is why we love you, you don’t take shot from no body”

M/n smiled as Alfred took a seat next to him, his fatherly energy filling the cold cave.

“Well I wouldn’t be a very good butler if I did now what I”

“Oh I don’t know your fighting and medical skill would’ve made up for it, alright let’s get started looks like Bruce is…of course he’s getting into a fight with Cobblepot”

🦇~~~~🦇

“So Brucey I see I can’t leave you alone for a night without you getting into life threatening trouble now can I?”

Upon hearing his husband’s joking voice Bruce nearly slipped during his climb up to the Ace chemical building. Before regaining his grip, scoffing as he spoke.

“Oh I would’ve thought you’d get used to my troubling behavior by now”

“Haha, I have…until recently I mean there was the black gate break, than Arkham asylum, now Arkham city I’m seeing a pattern of places and galas I’ve gotta keep your batty self from”

Laughing Bruce pulled himself on top of the roof looking out over the chaos that was ‘Arkham City’.

“Now where’s the fun in that, besides we both know I can’t just let these people run free. Let alone be placed practically in the middle of Gotham”

M/n smiled upon hearing the passion in Bruce’s voice, the strong morality of his husband and the love he had for the city of Gotham. The kind of love and passion he showed M/n in his protective and loving nature out in public or in their manor.

Yet a part of M/n knew there was far more to Bruce’s more protective nature… to a point that M/n couldn’t help his thoughts from drifting to the missing member of their family…Jason.

Ever since Jason had gone missing; practically vanished off the face of the earth had Batman work non-stop in his crime fighting and his search for the second member of their family of crime fighters. Bruce never forgave himself for Jason going missing, blaming himself for the fight they had before Bruce suited up to take Joker back into Arkham.

And argument M/n had to get in the middle of, it was the last night he spoke to the kid he considered as much his son as any one of Bruce’s adopted sons. And yet this sort of lose had the couple continuing their circle of non-stop fearing for their other half's safety.

More reason why both couldn’t stop the other in their duties. Batman was needed in this crime ridden city the two called home. Gotham but even more so Bruce needed Batman, needed a reason to hope for better.

“That’s putting things mildly; after all, me and Alfred have been looking through the schematics and radio channels and it’s all referring to a ‘Protocol 10’. Sent what data I could grab before the firewalls caught on to Barb…Bruce Tim could be a-“

“No”

Sighing M/n looked over to Tim who was in his Robin uniform upon hearing the news, ending his patrols to check on his tired father.

“Bruce we both know I could help you-“

“I said no Jason! I’m sorry it’s just-“

“Just something you have to do yourself yeah I get it; aye pops I’m heading back out call me when…you know”

Nodding m/n smiled sadly to Tim who’s own worried eyes stared at the bags that sat heavy under his pops e/c eyes. As Tim left the batcave to silence was nearly deafening if it weren’t for the few stray bats flying over head.

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I know babe, Tim knows too”

Alfred took this opportunity to go make them some tea for the long night ahead. Leaving the couple alone on call as Batman read over the few documents on encrypted documents M/n had found.

“He reminds me of him sometimes…always pushing, always-“

“Stubborn, headstrong, always willing to push your buttons to get any mission, training, or patrols you can give him?”

“Yeah”

A mournful silence filled the batcave as the couple focused on the work of the impending arrival of yet another long, exhausting night of crime fighting and investigative work.

“Brucey…at some point whether or not we want to admit it…Tim isn’t a kid anymore…he’s not weak, and at some point you have to let Robin spread his wings”

Bruce knew that everything his husband said was true; no matter how they felt Tim wasn’t Jason…Jason was gone; missing or dead for all they knew he could’ve just took off and didn’t look back. Tim wasn’t some kid anymore, he was trained by the best, his future looked bright even past being a crime fighter.

Sighing Batman took off towards the courthouse, the best place to start his investigation was to ask the best thief in Gotham.

“Tell Robin to keep his coms open to any calls of backup…if this nights anything to go off of right now…there more going on here”

Smiling as Alfred handed him his tea , M/n smiled at the screen of countless radio channels between the TIGER guards.

“It’s going to be one long night; be careful, l don’t want Tim to have to bring you back home in a body bag”

“ that’s not going to happen, I’ll make sure if it…love you”

“Love you too…going on stand by”

I hope you all liked a small taste of this one shot! I’ve loved the Arkham series ever since I first played it! Best games ever shocked there aren’t many of the Arkham series based oneshot out there hope I did a good job for the first of many in this new hyper-fixation of mine!

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Thanksgiving with gentle giant! Jason?

Jason set the pan you'd sent him with down in the kitchen, "Need any help?" he asked.

"You didn't bring-"

"She's working for Charlie until his ex's mom picks the kids up," he said, "Then she'll get cleaned up and-"

"She doesn't have to dress-"

"She had a keg like explode or something when she was setting up for the Straggler's Dinner at the bar," Jason snorted.

"Ah," Alfred said, "Well then that makes perfect sense. What did she send?"

"I didn't look," Jason admitted, "But I think she made some bourbon balls and a couple kinds of fudge?"

"Bless her," Alfred said, "You did tell her-"

"In her house you don't show up to dinner empty-handed," Jason said smiling a little.

________

Jason opened the door and exhaled slowly, relieved that you made it. The roads were getting slick and- even if you'd told him you were running late when you called him, flustered and panting as you struggled with a bra on wet skin- it didn't mean he wasn't watching the clock and fretting.

"I'm so sorry I'm late-"

"It's alright," Jason interrupted, kissing you quiet as he ushered you inside out of the chill. "Dinner's not late or anything. I let Alfred know when you called."

"I still feel bad I hate being late-"

"Not to worry," Alfred said coming to take your coat, "In this house getting everyone in one place at an appointed time is a minor miracle."

Jason helped you out of your coat and smiled a little, "Y/N, Alfred, Alfred this is Y/N."

"Pleased to meet you," you tell him, smiling breaking off just briefly to make a noise suggestive of strangulation when Jason's attempt to untangle your scarf only resulted in more tangles.

"As soon as Jason is done strangling you, Miss Stephanie is demanding I let her get into your Candy," Alfred said smiling, "I've been told it's 'life-changing."

"I don't know about that but-"

"Shut up it's good," Jason said kissing your head.

"Listen my candy thermometer got put in the dishwasher and it was very stressful yesterday-"

"Miss Y/N." Alfred said winking, "If you don't tell them, they'd never know. Just pretend you meant to do it like that."

"If Y/N is here can I get the Bourbon balls out?" Steph called down the hall.

"Lord," Alfred said, "If you'll excuse me-" And before he could finish that sentence, he'd strode off to keep Stephanie and Dick from ruining the way he'd arranged everything to be served.

"Ready for this?" Jason asked, kissing you.

"Ready as I'll ever be- I haven't done a normal family dinner in... god 6 years? Maybe longer. Mom stopped doing real dinners when Ty left for college."

"Well- if worse comes to worst you can always have Charlie call and tell you the ice machine caught fire again."

"That damn ice machine," you snort, taking the arm he offered to let him lead you into the dining room.

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

LAPHROAIG HONOURS IAN HUNTER IN NEW SERIES 📘🥃

One of the most richly flavoured of all Scotch

In the whisky industry, it's important to enter the market with innovative production techniques to create unique flavour profiles that appeal to a younger demographic. The use of different cask finishes demonstrates how innovation can be a strong advantage in the competitive whisky landscape.

Laphroaig Distillery honoured the legacy of one of its former owners with The Ian Hunter Series, a ‘rare and collectable’ range of whiskies. The Ian Hunter Series is a 30-year-old single malt matured in first-fill ex-Bourbon barrels, which is titled ‘Unique Character’ to reflect Hunter’s decision to introduce American oak casks to Laphroaig’s maturation regime.

The fifth and final instalment in this iconic series is a 34-year-old single malt whisky with intriguing flavours of classic Laphroaig peat combined with accents of fruity blueberry, sweet, and rich butterscotch. This combination of classic and modern flavours showcases the evolving vision and individuality that Ian Hunter had in mind for Laphroaig whisky, making it certainly a legacy of spirit that will endure. Whiskies released as part of The Ian Hunter Series are presented in a ‘collectable’ hardback book.

The Laphroaig distillery was established in 1815 by Donald and Alexander Johnston. The Johnstons who founded Laphroaig were from the Clan Donald and are likely to be from the MacIain of Ardnamurchan branch of the clan.

Ian Hunter was a distant relative of the brothers who founded Laphroaig in 1815 and He took over the operation of the distillery in 1908. During his ownership Hunter launched Laphroaig as a single malt, began distribution in the US, and increased output by building two additional stills.

Hunter passed to Bessie all of Laphroaig’s secrets over the years. This included the idea of maturing Laphroaig’s spirit in ex-Bourbon barrels.

Today, it's clear to see the impact of Ian Hunter at the Laphroaig Distillery through the practices and innovations that are still followed. Ian is credited as the pioneer and innovator of this incredible whisky. Without him, the Laphroaig we know today would not exist.

He ran the business until his death in 1954, leaving the distillery and operating company in the hands of his secretary, Bessie Williamson.

Bessie Williamson, Laphroaig - First lady of Laphroaig. Bessie proved Scotch was not just a man’s world. She became a distillery owner in 1954 after Ian Hunter’s passing and was a pioneer of women in whisky.

The distillery has also released The Bessie Williamson Story, a 25-year-old Laphroaig, into global travel retail in honour of another manager and the only woman to own and run a Scottish distillery in the 20th century.

@laphroaig

#Whisky #Laphroaig #Book5 #singlemalt #peat #IanHunter #newseries #BessieWilliamson

Posted 15th September 2024

[the-hinky-panda]

I know what you've got something buried

Part I

Part II

Part III

“No partying tonight, C.” 

You address him before he’s even sat down. That was slightly impressive. He orders a bourbon and takes the barstool next to you. “Not chasing after ya tonight, luv.” 

“No chair treatment this evening? How gracious of you, kind sir.” 

“I told ya-“

You raise your glass of whiskey. “I know. There was a lot riding on this deal. You were afraid I wasn’t going to do my part. I do get that. Everything go well on your end?” 

“Aye. And yours?” 

You nod. “Yup. Have two beautiful horses for a client so everyone is happy.”  

“Good. Cheers.” He raises his glass and you reluctantly tap it with your own. It’s a start. 

“I know I flippantly say that I’m a professional, but I am. I grew up on the back of a horse. I was jumping five foot fences at ten. Traveling the eventing circuit at twelve. These two horses that I got today? My client is going to pay $65,000.” 

“For both of them?” 

You smile. “Each.” 

He lets out a low whistle. “That’s some serious cash for you.” 

“It is. So I’m glad it went well.” 

He releases a sigh of relief. “If it goes smoothly stateside, this may be a route we use again.” 

“Don’t lose my number then.” 

He wouldn’t dream of it. “So, what are you going to do with all this cash? Sex, drugs, and rock and roll?” 

You give him a small laugh. “I see why you would think that, but no. The woman who hired me as the trainer is getting ready to retire and move to Florida. She’s going to sell the farm next year and I would like to purchase it. Make the business my own.” 

“A noble cause then.” 

“One can hope.” 

“Business owner,” he takes a sip of bourbon. “Gonna have to curb that drinking lifestyle, professional or not.” 

You shrug. “Yeah. I’m going to slow down a bit.” 

“Bet your parents will be happy to hear that. What do they do?” 

You run the tip of your finger over the rim of the glass. It emits an eerie tone. “Both my parents are dead. My mother got on a dangerous horse when I was eight. He threw her into a jump and broke her neck. My dad drank himself to death when I was 19. I guess it’s in my DNA to die by horse or drink. What about you?” 

“Both my parents are gone, natural causes though. Stroke and cancer. I have an ex-wife, daughter who’s about 19 now.” 

“Do you get to see her much, your daughter?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

You nod at his silence and don’t press the topic of conversation. The quiet is companionable between the two of you. It’s nice, he realizes, to just be able to sit next to someone and just be. You speak his language: direct, no bullshit. Which is why the silence is relaxing; if you had something to say, you would say it. He finds he could get used to being in your presence, like this, quite easily. 

When your drinks are finished, you both head back to the hotel. When your hands accidently brush on the way out of the pub, he takes the opportunity to slip your hand in his. He can see the hint of a smile on her face when you pass under a streetlight. 

Yes, he could definitely get used to this. 

[wardenparker]

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - ch 2

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Marcus unexpectedly runs into his ex-wife he is plunged into a world of complications where rekindled attraction and deep-seated insecurities reign. Unfortunately for him, it is also a world where his ex-wife is not the only ‘ex’ around, as a new case crosses his desk that will require all hands on deck. ✨💖Inspired by and based upon absurdthirst’s Tequila💖✨

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: Mentions of: divorce, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption. References to sex and attraction. Summary: Dual attempts by you and Marcus to avoid drinking alone lead to you drinking together. Notes: The tension is building bit by bit! Please enjoy this chapter with a dose of “Tequila” by Dan + Shay 🥃

If things at work are relatively normal after having talked to Silvia yesterday, they have gone haywire at home. You had ended up spilling the whole story to your sister on the phone last night when she called to catch up and finished the night with too much alcohol and too little to eat all over again. And if that wasn't bad enough? It culminated in every dream you had last night starring Marcus in different ways. Because of that, tonight you decided to take yourself out after work. Being the last to leave the office, you had grabbed your sweater and headed down to your favourite restaurant with weekly live music to see if you could snag a table. Proper 21 is always busy but tonight it's packed, leaving you to happily accept the small high-top table in the bar area where you can watch the live band play and enjoy some indulgent food - and not drink an entire bottle of wine just because no one is there to stop you. It's craft cocktails and gourmet eats, or as you like to call it: self-care.

Marcus sighs as he bellies up to the bar, his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie loosed with the top two buttons blessedly undone. He doesn't want to go home just yet, the prospect of a lonely weekend not appealing. The dreams he's had for the past two days have been vivid. Making him plunge into the past and even pull out the album that had been carefully stored away in a box in his closet. Last night had been too much scotch and too many memories to make his couch a safe retreat. The live music and generally ready to greet the weekend atmosphere of the bar was just what he needed. The bartender walks up, lifting his chin in greeting as Marcus slides his card across the wood top to start a tab. "What'll you have?" He asks as he snaps up the card to input into the system. "Uh...give me a Blanton's on the rocks with an orange twist." Marcus decides as he looks over the options available. "Thanks."

"Sure." The bartender nods and moves away, only to get pulled aside by a waitress a second later. She whispers in his ear and points out the table she's taking care of, and he nods - returning to Marcus a minute later with the ordered bourbon as well as a shot of Don Julio with a slice of lime wedged expertly onto the rim. He sets both down in front of Marcus and offers the man a smile. "Can I get you something to eat?"

Marcus's mouth goes dry, the scent of the tequila invading his senses and he's instantly transported back to his favorite memory of you. Wearing nothing but your panties and that t-shirt. That gorgeously faded Chi Omega t-shirt that he had insisted you keep. His socks, large on your feet and pulled up high as you tilt the bottle back and take a healthy swing of Don Julio, straddling his waist as the two of you lay back in his bed at the frat house. "I'm sorry." Marcus shakes his head and pushes the shot back towards the bartender an inch. "I didn't order this."

"Lady did." The bartender tells him, nodding behind him to where you are sitting - alone at a table for two with your own shot of tequila beside your cocktail. It's an olive branch - or maybe an agave branch, except agave plants don't technically have branches. Either way, it's an offering. One that you couldn't resist sending when you saw him walk into the bar.

Sighing, Marcus nods at the bartender. The first damn woman to buy him a drink in two years and it has to be tequila. He picks up the shot, ready to turn around and bring it over to the lady for her to enjoy, to explain that he didn't drink tequila but he stops short when he sees that it's you. Pausing for a moment, he swallows and gives himself a small nod before he continues on to your table. "Second time in three days." He hums as he sets the shot down on the table in front of yours.

"I think I'm supposed to say something about gin joints, but I have to admit I never really developed a taste for gin at all." It seemed like fate to you when you saw him walk in the door. Like the universe was trying to let the two of you be as mature as Silvia had been when she walked into your office yesterday morning. Maybe if you got a little closure, you wouldn't be constantly looking over your shoulder any time you went out around the city. Waiting for the other shoe to drop could be exhausting. "Do you...maybe want to sit? We could have dinner together if that's not too weird for you."

Marcus loses the ability to speak for just a moment before he nods, turning back to get his whiskey and his jacket to bring over to your table since it makes more sense to not be at the bar. It's only a few steps, a few moments away from your presence but he's quickly back at your table. He pulls out his chair and sits down. "I have a confession to make."

"Well shit, alright, let's get down to the nitty gritty." What else can you say? You're the one who invited him to join you, after all. "What is it?"

Marcus shoots you a grin, appreciating the way you could always cut through the bullshit. "I was going to turn down this drink. I don't drink tequila anymore."

"Neither do I." You can admit that freely, only pausing when the waitress brings over a menu for Marcus and drops off the order of Poke Nachos that you had gotten for an appetizer. Once she's gone again, you shrug a little. "It reminds me too much of you. Too many memories."

"Same." He admits it readily. "Every time I see you." His finger toys with the shot glass before he picks it up. "To seeing you for real." He offers as he holds it up to touch to yours.

"As weird and unexpected as it is." Tapping your glass to his, you both down your shots and reach for your lime slices as if drinking tequila were comparable to riding a bike. "Well shit," you laugh, shaking your head at the sour bite of citrus on the end of the stinging liquor. It's delicious, and better for the fact that he's actually there. "I really forgot how good tequila is, I guess."

"I didn't." He murmurs softly, plopping the lime down into the empty shot glass and swallows as he looks back down at his other drink. He's never forgotten how good it was, just like he's never forgotten how fucking gorgeous you are. Seemingly even more so now.

"I don't know why I said that." You really don't, and you shake your head at yourself a little before reaching for your cocktail. "I haven't forgotten anything. I just..." A sigh-groan hybrid escapes your lips and you avert your eyes, barely able to look at him at this point. He had been positively dreamy as a young man, but now that he was grown and matured? Somehow he's gotten even more attractive. "I was hoping to make you smile, I guess."

It's surprising that you want him to smile, but your confession makes it happen. Warming him that you still care. It's slow and subtle as he watches you squirm slightly. "That's easy for you to do, sweetheart." The endearment comes easily and now it's his turn to squirm as he realizes it's not entirely appropriate anymore.

Sweetheart. Between that and the tequila, you're nineteen years old all over again. "So..." Nudging the plate of nachos toward him a little, you pick one up and try to pretend like this isn't the most unexpected meal you've had in your entire life. "How have you been, Marcus?"

He snorts and shakes his head, leaning forward and plucking a chip up and looking over at you. "I'm the Director of the Art Crimes division for the FBI, so professionally, I'm doing great." He tells with a proud smile. "But I don't have Doctor in front of my name like you do."

"Well, I liked school a lot more than you did." Marcus had never been a bad student, but you definitely enjoyed academics whereas he had merely tolerated them. "Art Crimes, huh? I guess you didn't hate that Art History class you took with me, after all." Director of an entire division, wow – and yet, of course Marcus would have succeeded when he put his mind to it. He was, and apparently still is, an unstoppable force.

"It's interesting." He gives a small shrug, as if it's no big deal. "I always did like paying attention to the details."

"Director of an entire division? I'd say you're very good at the little details." You shiver a little despite yourself and hope he doesn't notice - Marcus's attention to detail was relevant to everything in his life. Especially the bedroom.

He flashes you a grin, shrugging his shoulders again and only allowing himself to preen slightly at your praise. "I have my moments." His voice dips down slightly, remembering the times he had been very detail oriented with you. It had made for some very vocal nights. Vocal enough that he had been encouraged to move out of the frat house so the others didn't have to hear you scream his name.

"Your family's good?" His parents were sweethearts, always supportive of their kids even if they didn't necessarily agree with their choices, and that had definitely included his decision to marry you. They hadn't tried to talk the two of you out of it but they had counseled a long engagement, ultimately deciding to just go along with things when you and Marcus were too blinded by young love to wait. It was encouraging when they had finally embraced you fully, and his mother had turned out to be a good friend while you were together.

Marcus sighs slightly, picking up his drink and taking a large sip before he answers your question. “Dad had a stroke about five years ago.” He tells you. “He’s – they live in a community where they can help mom with him.” He feels guilty that he doesn’t visit as often as he probably should, but D.C. was closer to Florida than Texas.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry to hear that." The immediate instinct to feel like an idiot for asking has to be tamped down. This is basic catch-up stuff. Questions that have to be asked. It's not like all of your news to great stuff, either. "Your brother and sister?"

“Good. Mandy got married about six years ago.” It had been a bittersweet event for him, but he had plastered a smile on his face to keep everyone from bringing up his own failed marriage. “Already have a niece and nephew. Twins.”

"Congratulations." The two of you are slowly eating your way through the nacho plate when the waitress comes back to take your dinner orders. Once dinner is decided on, you take another sip of your drink and continue on. "My sister got married, too. Three years ago. My nieces are two years and six months." If he had managed to escape the comments and snide looks at his own sister's wedding, you'll be envious. You had months and months of passive aggressive crap and shitty comments whispered behind your back to deal with.

“I bet your mother was in fine form.” Your mother hadn’t cared for Marcus, or you getting married, but she hadn’t liked the idea of you divorcing more.

"She actually tried to talk Leah out of having me as a bridesmaid," you snort, rolling your eyes at the memory. "So that I wouldn't jinx my baby sister's marriage. Obviously Leah told her to go to hell, but that was an ugly series of conversations."

He rolls his eyes and snorts. “Well, if it makes you feel better, my mother still asks if I’ve heard from you when we talk.” He huffs. “I think she prefers you over me sometimes.”

"Well shit, next time she asks, you can actually say yes." Annie Pike was - despite any reservations she may have had - an absolutely lovely woman and the best mother-in-law you could have asked for. "Actually, will you tell her I said hi? I still make her cheesecake recipe a couple of times a year and it..." It was bittersweet, reminding you of such good times and making your heart hurt at the same time. "It's always a big hit."

He groans at the thought of your cheesecake. He would never admit it to his mother, but yours was better. “I will.” He promises, shooting you a grin. “She will ask how you’ve been. Want to know all the details.” He taps the table. “So for her sake— are you seeing anyone?”

"Ah...no, actually. The last guy ran for the hills about...eight or nine months ago?" Straight for the big guns, that was typical of Marcus even if he claimed to be collecting tidbits for his mother. "Let's see...after we...well, you know what happened. I came to DC for grad school. Then Paris for a few years to get my doctorate from the Sorbonne, and now I've been at the Smithsonian for about six years."

“Wow.” He shakes his head, surprised he hadn’t learned you were here. It had taken a lot of willpower to keep from misusing government resources to see what you were up to. “That’s amazing. I know you always wanted to study in France.”

"Yeah, it was—" Stunning. It was an absolutely beautiful experience that came with a freedom you had never felt before and gave you more confidence than you had ever known you were missing. And yet? Every single day, there was always something that reminded you of him. "It was pretty extraordinary. Y-you would love it there."

Marcus’s smile is bittersweet. “I was in Paris five months ago.” He admits. “A symposium for art crimes hosted by the Louvre.” It had been stunning and it had taken a lot of effort on his part not to think about you. He had chosen to focus on his failed relationship with Teresa. It was almost easier.

"So then you know." The number of times you had wandered the crowded galleries of the Louvre wishing he was beside you was too vast to count, but that was years ago. You had tried to convince yourself that you had moved on from all that. Apparently, you are an even bigger liar than you thought you were, but you keep the smile plastered on your face. "What else will Annie want to know?"

He chuckles and reaches for another nacho. “I don’t know, you tell me.” He doesn’t mention kids, knowing that if you didn’t have a boyfriend, it was unlikely you had changed your stance on kids.

"Let's see." Humming to yourself like you're pondering the secrets of the universe just hoping that he'll laugh at your overly serious expression, you're rewarded with a cracked grin and another soft chuckle. "I'm a much better cook than I used to be, she'll be glad about that. And from time to time I lecture at George Washington University." Your life is your work, and you did that fully intentionally. There's no use updating him on the random seasonal illnesses or the fact that you still wish you could have a dog. And there's really no point in talking about the change in how you look at relationships these days. Things are a lot different on the other side of thirty.

“It sounds like you have everything you want.” Marcus is proud that you’ve accomplished what you wanted. You have the life you imagined. The one that didn’t have a place for him in it. “She will be proud of you.” He hums, finishing his drink and when the server comes back over, he orders another.

Following his lead, you order another cocktail as well, and swallow a uniquely remorseful sigh. "I'm sorry about Silvia," you tell him honestly, wishing that second Aperol Spritz was already in your hands. "She told me what she decided to do."

Marcus shrugs, there was nothing he could do about it. “It’s fine.” He cracks a sardonic smile. “Just another page in the woe begotten tale I call my love life.” He jokes.

"I'm sorry." It's repetitious, but at least it's honest. Marcus only used to use that tone when he was particularly hurt about something and didn't want to show it. "If it makes you feel any better, my love life is in shambles, too. But for me I guess it's karma."

“No.” He shakes his head and wishes he had his drink in his hand. “You don’t have anything for karma to come back on you. Unless you were a bitch to the last guy? But I can’t see that happening.”

It shouldn't surprise you that he's still so nice even after you pretty much ripped his chest open with a divorce-papers-induced paper cut, but still you have to wonder at it a little. There's no one in the world like Marcus Pike - and no one knows that better than you. Since you're the asshole that let him go. "The last guy was military. Couldn't wrap his head around the fact that I wasn't willing to follow him base to base."

He snorts, his smile slightly brittle. “You’ve never been one to follow.” He reminds you, the arguments about ‘where to go from here’ seem like they were yesterday as the rose-colored glasses gave way to post graduate reality. It hadn’t mattered that Marcus had put his own dreams on hold for a year to get a job while you finished college, there wasn’t room for compromise on your future.

"Yeah." You huff, nearly snatching up your drink when the waitress comes over and sets it down along with your dinner and Marcus's refill and food. "Look where it's gotten me," you add, the hint of cynicism distinct in your voice.

“Thank you.” Marcus thanks the woman and turns back to you. “Yeah. Because being a director at the Smithsonian is nothing.” It’s slightly ironic that he’s arguing for your decisions, but he had always focused on the good. Maybe that was why things never worked out for him, but he can’t help who he is.

"It's about as nothing as being a director at the FBI." But the real nothing about it is that you go home alone every night to your apartment wishing that you didn't have a horrific habit of pushing away everyone who tried to get close to you. "I—I'm sorry. We can talk about something else. I'm sure you didn't plan on having dinner out tonight so that you could listen to your ex-wife wax philosophical."

Marcus snorts and picks up his glass. “To be honest, I was avoiding going home like the plague. It’s why I was here.”

"At least we match in something," you try for the joke, realizing secondarily that you also match in job titles. Director Pike and Director Pike. It's silly and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

He’s always liked your laugh, reminding him of the times he would hear it. Your leg wrapped around his hip, fingers brushing that sensitive spot just under your right breast. His cock twitches and he reminds himself that all of that ended years ago. He takes a bite of his dinner to ground himself, looking up at you again. “Hopefully Silvia didn’t scar you too much with her girl talk now that you know it was me she was seeing.”

“No.” The smiles come a bit easier as the two of you dig into your dinners. Some of the awkwardness has begun to dissipate and you’re left with a feeling of nostalgia and warmth in your chest. And a little bit between your legs, too. Because Silvia hadn’t held back on details. “You got rave reviews, by the way,” you tell him with a smirk. What you hadn’t told Silvia since the revelation of her beau’s identity was that most of those things that she loved were things you were around for the origin of. Most of…there were a couple of things mentioned that now have you intrigued.

Marcus flushes, feeling the heat creep up his cheeks and tries to tell himself that if his girlfriend - former girlfriend - had to gossip about how he performs in bed to his ex-wife, he can only be grateful that it was bragging. “I’m sure it was not as intriguing when you found out it was someone you’ve taught.” He huffs, still rolling his eyes at the irony.

“Technically I’ve taught both of you.” It makes you chuckle again, the breathy sound swallowed up by a grin when you glance up and see how red his cheeks are. Marcus could never really pull off a poker face when he was embarrassed - blushing gave him away. Twelve years later and it’s still cute as hell. “I mean, she was academic lectures in a classroom, but still.” You shrug as if it’s nothing, but can’t resist adding: “Besides, she definitely mentioned a couple of things that you must have picked up after me.”

Marcus bites his lip, the only thing preventing him from offering to show you those things. The two of you had always been very sexually compatible and he had never had a moment where he was uncomfortable in bed with you, even during the inevitable embarrassing moments that can happen. The two of you had just giggled like only those completely in love can and moved on. “Yeah, well….”

“Hey, no, I’m glad you’ve had good things in your life and made good memories.” It would be hypocritical and dumb to be jealous about. After all - you were the one who ended things. There’s no reason for the small pangs of jealousy in your gut right now. They’re there, even though they shouldn’t be. But thinking that all those years could have been filled with you and him makes you ache even more now that he’s right in front of you. “You deserve to be happy. Th-that’s half of why I did what I did.”

Marcus’s jaw clenches slightly, and he looked down at his plate. There’s a sarcastic retort on his tongue that, while you might deserve it, it would ruin the friendly atmosphere. Instead, he exhales slowly and flashes you a grin. “You know me, always happy.”

“Right.” Having dug your own hole, you can’t be upset that you no longer have the privilege of seeing into Marcus’s second layer of emotions. You gave up the right to being his confidante when you gave him back your rings. You did it to yourself. “They probably still tell stories of the Sunshine Frat Boy of Kappa Sigma.”

“Yeah.” He lets out an amused chuckle. “What other couple went into their divorce together?” He asks as he cuts another bite of his steak. “Or go home together for one last night before leaving?” There hadn’t been sex that last night, he couldn’t do it, but there had been a lot of hugs and reassurances. The false promises of staying friends, keeping in touch. Things that both of you had needed at that time.

“If I tell you something, can I ask you to be honest in how you reply and not just polite?” He had almost been honest with you, but you don’t know if you might have lost that privilege as well. Either way, you’re feeling the need to be extremely honest with him right now and you don’t exactly know how it’s going to go.

“Okay….” He’s slightly wary of this, but if you ask for honesty, he’s going to give it to you. Marcus isn’t deceptive by nature for the most part, but sometimes he doesn’t say what he’s thinking. Apparently that had been one of the issues you had with him towards the end. “Go for it.”

“I—” Pinching your eyes shut for just a moment, you look back up at the broad shouldered, gentle giant of a man that Marcus has grown into and sigh, nearly laugh at yourself for finally admitting it. Words you’ve never even said to your therapist, let alone to yourself or a friend. “I’ve really missed you. That’s all. I just want you to know that.”

He almost laughs, but he catches himself. Because your eyes are earnest and you would think he was laughing at you, instead of laughing because he’s felt the exact same damn way since the day you packed up your car and drove away. The morning after the papers were filed, the morning after you were no longer his wife. “I’ve missed you too.” He admits huskily. “I’ve had to— I’ve thought about looking you up several times, but I couldn’t do it.”

“Same.” It’s a goddamn relief to get off your chest, and hearing that he isn’t angry anymore is like a gift you don’t deserve, but it’s clear in his voice. “I figured you’d be remarried with a couple of kids by now and I didn’t want to interrupt your life.”

Marcus huffs and shakes his head. “Haven’t been too lucky. Was engaged about a year ago.” He confesses, thinking about the entire debacle with Teresa. Part of him – and his therapist – thinks it’s because he saw a lot of your spirit in her. “For a week and a half?” He nods. “Yeah.”

“A week and a half?” Your eyes open wide in surprise and you sink a little, feeling like you’re exactly what your mother always said – a jinx. “Fuck. I—I’m so sorry, Marc.”

"Not your fault." He shrugs, reaching for his whiskey glass. "I jumped in too far too fast like usual and ignored the neon light red flag that was being waved." He huffs to himself about everything he had talked over with his therapist. "She chose the guy she needed to be with and I came to D.C. Well, technically I was already here when I got the message."

“Any woman who lets you get away is an idiot.” You huff, sighing slightly. Full disclosure – complete honesty – was something you believed in wholeheartedly and always had. Marcus’s tendency to just leave out details so as not to upset people had been one of the only things that really bothered you in your marriage. Aside from the larger problem of realizing that you were far too young to settle down and give up your career dreams to start having kids. So tell the truth is exactly what you’re going to do now. If it’s the last chance you ever get to be honest with him, you want it to count. “Trust me, I’m the biggest idiot of all of them.”

"You were just doing what you thought you needed to." It's a defense he's used a thousand times to his family, to the friends that you had together when they found out that you had left him. Even as hurt and upset as he had been, he hadn't let anyone talk bad about you. Not around him. "As long as you're happy, that's what is important."

“You’re a good man.” He always had been, of course. Even as young as you were. But that doesn’t stop your heart from hurting knowing that you are your own worst enemy. You’re the reason you lost him, plain and simple. No one else to blame. “You always have been. I just hope you’re happy, that’s all. You deserve it.”

He snorts slightly. “Apparently not good enough.” He replies flippantly before he can stop himself. There’s a three second pause where he’s completely silent before he speaks again. “Sorry…. you don’t deserve that.” He offers, lifting his napkin out of his lap and wiping his mouth and setting it on the table. “I’m going to the bathroom before I manage to shove the rest of my foot in my mouth.” An embarrassed flush is on his cheeks as he stands up.

“I absolutely deserved that.” The correction is gentle, but you shrug when he stands up. There is nothing you deserve more than to be put in your place by the man you walked out on. “If you want to leave, I understand. You don’t have to excuse yourself politely and then slip out.”

“I’m not—” Marcus shakes his head, unable to put into words his feelings and simply turns and walks towards the bathrooms. His suit jacket is still on the back of his chair.

You sigh when he walks away, looking down at your plate and force yourself to eat. Looks like it’s going to be another bottle of wine alone with your feelings tonight and you should eat something before that happens.

In the bathroom, Marcus splashes water on his face, staring at the reflection in the mirror critically. “Fucking cut it out.” He hisses to himself. “She’s being polite.” The truth is, it hurt to see that while you had your career, that was it. That your job could satisfactorily replace the amazing relationship that he thought the two of you had back then. Shaking it off, he strides back out and sits back down quietly. “Sorry, I’m back.” He murmurs.

“I’m sorry I got sentimental.” It’s half-assed, and you hate yourself for it, but seeing him again has made you feel things you never thought possible. That you never let yourself think were possible.

"Nothing for you to be sorry about." Marcus ignores his whiskey and reaches for the wine glass filled with water. "I – it's issues with me."

“Who says people don’t get more fun after thirty?” It’s a horrible joke, but it’s all you’ve got right now if you’re going to do anything but still your guts to him at this table. It’s like you lost your filter somewhere along the way.

"Yeah." It's horrible, but he can't help but crack an ironic smile. "Heartburn, creaking joints, hangovers and the sinking realization that you will die alone." He takes a large gulp of his water. "Just a barrel of laughs."

“You’ll find someone.” He will, because it’s Marcus and he’s amazing. He’s sweet and handsome and genuinely a good man, and apparently really fantastic at his job If they went and made him director of a whole department. You, though? It’s relationship purgatory for you. Because you’ll never find anyone as good as Marcus Pike ever again and there’s no way he’ll ever take you back. So maybe it’s about time to get some plants and call it a day.

Marcus sighs and shakes his head. "I found someone." He knows he should shut the fuck up. You don't want to hear about his relationship woes, he needs to talk about this with his therapist. His sliver of rationale is that you opened this door when you admitted that you missed him. "I found her when I was fucking nineteen and I fucked it up and lost her." He looks up from his water to look into your eyes, his own shimmering with emotion.

“Well shit.” That takes the wind out of your sails in a way that nothing else really can and if you didn’t have a personal rule against crying in public you would probably be in instant tears. As it is, you kind of feel like you’re shaking a little, but you’re going to blame that on the chill in the air tonight even though you’re nowhere near the door of the restaurant. “I—d” Breathe, goddamit. “You didn’t fuck it up, Marc. I did.”

"No." Marcus shakes his head. "I must have fucked up. I must have made you feel like it had to be me or your dreams. Somehow. Because all I knew was that I was dreaming about our future together and you were dreaming of yours and it didn't include me." His voice cracks slightly and he swallows down the urge to ask you what he did. It's probably what he always does, move too fast – take over and make plans.

It’s a gut punch, and you absolutely more than deserve it. But that doesn’t stop you from wishing you could evaporate into thin air right here in the bar. “I didn’t—we were so young,” you murmur, eyes dropping to the table when you can’t even look him in the eye. “I heard you saying all these things you wanted and I just…I didn’t even know what I wanted. It was like I hit panic mode when you started talking about kids and I didn’t think I could have both.” As an adult in therapy, you’ve worked through a lot of your hang ups and misconceptions from growing up. Realized that you were wrong. That you hurt him and yourself because you didn’t have the emotional maturity to all the hard questions and only jumped ahead to incorrect conclusions. “You were dreaming, but I heard plans. And I just— I should have talked to you. So when I say it’s not your fault, I mean it.”

“I lied to you.” Marcus admits softly. “When you left—I told you I had plans to hang out with my frat brothers and shoot some pool.” He huffs slightly and picks up his drink. “I crawled inside a bottle of Don Julio for three days and had to delete your number so I didn’t call you to beg you to come back.”

“I pulled over on the drive to DC to cry so many times that I arrived in commuter traffic.” Your own voice is as quiet as his, since he knows exactly what that drive should have been. Three hours from the apartment you had shared outside the UPENN campus turned into more than seven on the road because you just couldn’t see two feet in front of you through the sheets of tears.

Marcus sighs and shakes his head, wondering why the hell you had even left if it had been so hard for both of you. "We make perfect sense." He jokes, wanting to make smile.

“At the risk of being incredibly cliched, do you want to get out of here?” You’ve finished your meals and most of your second drinks, and it’s obvious that this conversation is a lot more personal than just two people catching up after years apart. “I live pretty close, and…” Shrugging, you hope you can make it sound friendly instead of like you’re trying to get him alone. You’re hopeful, not delusional. “I have cheesecake in the fridge.”

"You know how I feel about cheesecake." He offers as he nods, reaching for his glass to drain the last swallow of Blanton's from it and set it down. "Let me pay, since you're providing dessert?" It might be old fashioned, but he wants to buy you dinner.

“Yes, but!” The smile on your face is small but glowing, feeling that forbidden hope somewhere in your chest that you know you don’t deserve but you can’t ever seem to banish. “If we survive tonight without deciding never to speak again, you have to let me pay for whatever we do next time. Deal?”

"If you insist." He can't help but grin as he pulls out his wallet so he can pay for the meal the two of you had managed to muddle through.

Outside on the street you stuff your hands in your sweater pockets and actually let yourself smile. “Did you drive? I can give you my address for your gps or you can follow me back. Whatever you prefer.”

"I—" Marcus rubs the back of his neck and looks around. "I took a cab." He admits with a grin. "I had planned on needing an Uber to get home if I'm honest."

“Ah.” He was planning on doing his heavy drinking out, while you had planned on doing yours at home. “In that case?” You nod to your left and turn in that direction. “My car is parked a block away.”

He gives you a small smirk and a half shoulder shrug. "I really didn't want to go home." He reminds you as he walks alongside you towards your car. It's gotten dark out, the streetlamps making it a pleasant walk along the sidewalks.

“I get it.” He’ll see the empty wine bottles in your recycling when you get back to the apartment so there’s no sense being coy about it. “What do you drown yourself in these days? Since it’s not Don Julio anymore?”

“Whiskey, red wine. Hell even champagne is fine, scotch on the rocks.” Marcus shoves his hands in his pockets. “I— fuck, I wrote a song about it.” He confesses.

“You did not?” Your head pops up from digging through your purse for your keys in surprise. “I—I didn’t know you were still with your band.” Those cheaply recorded CDs are still in the bottom of your Marcus Memory Box, neglected but not forgotten. He was an amazing musician, and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t contemplated popping up at a show several times over the years.

“Not anymore.” He doesn’t have time anymore, although he misses it. The song had been written on a whim, during one of those moments here he needed to get his feelings out and when he showed one of his frat brothers who had loved it enough to pass it along. The fact that it had become an actual track on an album was still surreal to him.

“That’s a shame. I know I’m biased, but I always thought you were great.” Coming up with your keys, you unlock the city-appropriate-sized forest green Mini Cooper a few feet ahead of you as you and Marcus walk side by side. “It’s a short drive. Only about fifteen minutes from here.”

“That’s convenient.” He walks around the car and opens the driver’s side door for you. Something that his father had taught him to do no matter who was driving or who the lady was to you. Old school manners that he enjoyed.

“Still a gentleman.” Not that you ever doubted it. Some things never changed – and this is just basic to who Marcus is as a person. You thank him and tuck into your little car, only having to wait a few seconds before he gets in beside you and you’re pulling into nighttime traffic with ease.

Marcus looks around your car, smiling at the necklace that is around the rear-view mirror. It had driven him crazy when you would do that because it would invite someone to break into your car, but you always insisted it was because you had forgotten to take it off.

“At least there’s no bumper stickers on this one,” you defend, smirking slightly when you see Marcus eyeing your necklace and trying not to laugh. He was a stickler for safety – and always insisted that the stickers gave away too much information about a car’s owner to potential criminals. He had given you so much grief about the huge amount of bumper stickers on the rear of your first car that you never put them on your second. And by the time you got your third - this one - you’d realized he was right. They really can give too much away unintentionally.

“Small steps then.” Marcus laughs and looks around the neighborhood, noticing that you aren’t too far away from his own. Only about twenty-five minutes away. “It’s an easy target.”

“Good thing my building has impeccable security, then.” Pointing it out before you turn into the side street, you immediately head into the underground parking for your building and punch in your unique renter code. There are a fair few government employees in this building, and you pay a decent premium for the extra security, but it’s worth it to feel safe.

“That’s good.” Marcus heartily approves of you making sure that you are safe. He had honestly worried about it when you two divorced but had realized it wasn’t his concern anymore. It hadn’t stopped him from putting pepper spray in your bag before you left. It hadn’t stopped him from worrying. From wanting to take care of you.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear 

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[peashooter85]

Whisky Review Time --- Paul John Select Cask Indian Single Malt

India is not known as a whisky producing country. Scotland, sure, Kentucky, definitely, but India hasn't exactly earned a reputation for making great whisky which is unfortunate, because I will say up front this is a great whisky. India actually has quite a long history of whisky making going back to the 19th century when India was a British colony. The Scots brought whisky to India, setting distilleries all over the country to supply British soldiers and merchants with their daily drink. The Paul John distillery is located in Goa which is on the west coast of southern India.

John Distilleries is a very new business relatively speaking, first making blended whiskys upon opening in 1992 and not making a single malt until 2008.

Paul John Single Malt Select Cask is made with a mash bill of malted barely, aged in ex bourbon barrels for 7 years, and has an alcohol content of 55.2%. Being a select cask means that it is specially bottled from what the master distiller believes to be the best casks after sampling, which are then blended.

When I bought a bottle of this it had a retail price of around $100 but it was on clearance sale for $40. This made me wonder if I made a mistake as I purchased this as a Christmas gift for my father. Fortunately this turned out to be a good purchase because this whisky is fantastic! Upon nosing I get very delightful aromas of fresh fruits such as apples and pears with some dried fruits like raisins and prunes. It is very sweet smelling, and like it's smell it is also very sweet tasting. Upon tasting again I get notes of fresh apples and pears, sherry, honey, some oak, maybe a little cinnamon, and a good amount of bready flavor from the malted barley. The flavors of it are very rich, very bold, and very complex which is something that I like when it comes to whisky or whiskey. All around it's flavor profile is very delightful. It finishes with a nice peppery burn that warms the mouth all the way to the stomach. That would be the 55.2 % alcohol, which is a bit higher than most whiskies. Regardless the burn is not overwhelming but very pleasant and mellow, which is a sign of a good whiskey. I know in other reviews I complained that a whiskey was too boozy, but in the case of bad whiskies the alcohol overwhelms any flavors, making it just burny cheap alcoholic nastiness. With this whisky the higher proof complements and enhances the flavors. I rate it 4.9 out of 5. My only complaint is that it is hard to find, and if I do find it, I'm probably not going to be able to buy it for $40 again.

[whiskyblog]

Glen Scotia Whisky Icons of Campbeltown No.2 - The Dragon 14 y.o.

Cask type : Ex - Bourbon barrels, finish in Barolo red wine casks (6 months)

The Glen Scotia Whisky Icons of Campbeltown No. 2 - The Dragon 14 y.o. is a limited edition bottling from the renowned Glen Scotia distillery, located in Campbeltown, one of Scotland's most famous whisky regions. This edition is part of the "Icons of Campbeltown" series, which aims to celebrate the history and cultural heritage of Campbeltown and its distilleries.

[sylvaridreams]

I think it's time to 📌PIN a new POST

Dama, 30 -ish, he/him I've been playing GW2 off and on since mid 2014 (end of LWS1.) I came back December 2022 after finally getting a PC that could handle games again. My main blog is @damazcuz and that's where I'll follow and interact from (so if you see a tiger in your notes. Hi.)

My art tag My Ao3 My Toyhou.se link (a few filled out profiles but not many!)

If you ever happen to see me running around feel free to say hello! (NA Server, damazcuz.6892) Below is a masterlist of my 20+ characters with info on each. Some don't have pictures, I'm working on it. This post contains some SotO spoilers!

Alba Moonseeker - he/him, 13. Commander-- RETIRED. Wayfinder-- EX. At the end of SotO, Alba will be forced to step DOWN from his titles and retire to the Isle of Reflection to live safely and comfortably with people who care about him! In the meantime he bears the world's burdens. Canach and Auruim are his current life partners. #alba

Auruim - he/him, 11. A close friend of Alba's before HoT, he was lost in the Breach of Maguuma and presumed dead for years. Actually became Mordremoth's champion, and after the dragon's death, continued leading his forces against the Pact to try and reclaim the jungle. Captured by one of Taimi's krewes shortly before Icebrood Saga, he was forcibly rehabilitated and put through an agonizing reformation process. Blamed Alba for his trauma for a long time. During SotO, had his arm torn off and fell into a demon coma. He's very much like a dog that doesn't know why it bites. #auruim

Bourbon - he/him, 35. Ex-aetherblade, ex-bandit, raised by Dredge in the far shiverpeaks. Set out on a quest of revenge after digging two graves, ended up commiserating with the man who ruined his life (Alba) and joining him. During SotO, saved Auruim from the demons that ate his arm, and became imprisoned in the Tower for a year or more waiting for him to heal. Re-lost his best friend during the waiting period. #bourbon

Aeris - she/her, 13. Ex-Priory, dishonorably and involuntarily discharged. She dreamed of a crystal dragon and awoke shortly after Alba. In all the excitement, her dream was misinterpreted, and she was sent to kill Kralkatorrik. Her assumed purpose consumed her, and she was fully obsessed with Kralk, with killing him, with putting a finish to her quest -- long after Alba had finished with Zhaitan, and Mordremoth. She came to see Alba as her rival, as making her look bad. After years of funneling Priory funds into trying to kill Kralk, she joined Alba's forces at Thunderhead Keep, where they failed to end things as they'd agreed upon. She went searching for answers and finally found the true meaning of her dream: she'd been meant to be Vlast's champion, but had never arrived. Her scion had died without ever knowing a mortal's love. As she mourned, Alba killed Kralkatorrik in her stead. She has crazy bad beef with him now, but can't keep herself from tagging along after him like an unwanted shadow. #aeris windkin

(More) mordrem:

Venasis - she/her, 23. Ex-Nightmare Court. Reformed mordrem. She was a cavalier in the mordrem army. Captured alongside Auruim and Darlio, plus two others, by Taimi's krewe. Venasis has become a pacifist, believing that she'd harmed too many as a courtier, and then plenty more as a mordrem. She sees Auru and Lio as her family, and cares deeply for the bond the three of them share. After Auruim vanishes during SotO, she leaves with Aeris to go travel. #venasis

Darlionia - he/him, 18. Ex-Vigil. Reformed mordrem. He was Auruim's first organically-made friend in the Vigil, one to protect him against being ganged up on. Witnessed Auruim's fall to Mordremoth and ran into the jungle, where he was hunted down and blighted to be Auru's knight. He has no memories prior to blighting, and died briefly during the process. After the Maguuma campaign, he began hearing the voices of Mordrem legends from the Mists, which scream at him near constantly. (Diarmid, Hareth, and Adryn.) He also hears Trahearne's voice, but doesn't recognize him. Darlio is incredibly aggressive and opposed to anything changing within the mordrem "pack" that Auru lead(s) as it's all he's ever known. At his revenant legends' urging, he sabotages Auruim in his reform progress and relationships to try to maintain the status quo between them. Meisi, Rytlock, and Bourbon all eventually work on helping him deal with his Mists voices. He plays the drums thanks to Bourbon. Abandoned during SotO when Auru vanishes, he turns to painkillers to sleep the screaming away. When Venasis leaves too, he has no one to steal pills for him and has to face his spiral. #darlio

Siraz - he/him, 19. Escaped mordrem-- he left the jungle dragon's territory through sheer force of will. He's a hater. He hated being part of a hivemind, and hated Auruim more for being a moron among morons. Made a home in the Horn of Maguuma, where he chased off and maimed adventurers for years, and eventually caught Mabon fucking with his traps. The two became close, and Mabon was his only link to the outside world for ages. Mid-way through SotO, after Mabon had suddenly stopped coming to see him, Siraz travelled to the Tower to confirm that he was dead. Stayed in the tower for a while, beat the shit out of recently-out-of-coma Auruim when they crossed paths. Gave Alba some free therapy. When Alba is forced to step down as Wayfinder after SotO, Siraz will be selected to take his place. Between missions, he pays visits to Alba and Canach's home on the Isle of Reflection to give them psychoanalysis/guidance. It's his hobby. #champion siraz

Alternate Realities?(?)

Laerling - they/them, 26. Jormag's treasured apprentice and… more? Trapped Alba and Auruim in a looping fractal for an unknown amount of time to prove a point about killing their beloved elder dragon. It's a whooooooole thing. #laerling

Kiva Sunchaser - he/him, 13. Alternate-world Alba who never became the Commander. The entire timeline shifted as a result. #kiva sunchaser

Nemeos - he/him, 13. Alternate-world Alba who had a really bad time and turned evil. His version of Aurene died at a botched Dragonstorm, and by the time he faced Soo-won alone, he was so badly corrupted, he was barely recognizable. Began maiming and killing anyone who dared to speak against him. His one-time friends and lovers (those that were able) fled his reach and formed a resistance group against him, seeking to end his reign of destruction and terror. Alba is briefly flung into Nemeos' version of Tyria after SotO ends. #nemeos

Iracynth - he/him, 13. The "Commander" in a Wizard-run fractal build to determine what would happen if Alba failed to kill Zhaitan. The world became overrun with Risen, the Pact crumbled to dust, firstborn Traenard (his version of Trahearne) died sooner, and everything went to hell in general. After years of being half-recognized as "that failed Commander" who "ruined the world," Iracynth's fractal crashed into another (at the beginning of SotO) and he escaped into Tyria proper. How is he coping with knowing his life was a fabrication, that his ultimate failure was just the first of another Commander's countless victories? Yes! Currently on the run trying to keep hidden from Astral Ward and see the REAL world. #iracynth

Roseate Canaries, Nightmare Court, Whispers, Podtwins

(this whole thing…)

Lacrimosen - he/him, 28. As a dreamer, he dreamt of Eldulis, and was introduced to him as a sapling. At this point, Eldulis was a recluse, and didn't look at people at all out of fear of hurting them. They became close regardless. When Eldulis left the Grove to join the Nightmare Court, Lacrimosen took it INCREDIBLY personally. At the advice of reclusive secondborn Soundless Lychen, "why don't you fuck off and build your own house then," Lacrimosen realized that the answer was to create a place where ALL Sylvari could prosper together. It became his goal to reunite dream and nightmare, to see the value in all parts of the experience of life, and then he and Eldulis could be together and happy. But dreams are hard to achieve, and within a few years, Lala was bemoaning to Lychen that he felt stuck in his job as Laranthir's second in command of the Pale Reavers. At Lychen's snapped advice "fuck off and make your own army then," Lala realized that the answer was to steal the infantry and armory. So he did! Half the Reavers and their gear was gone by morning, and Lacrimosen found them a place to set up camp. He used his networking skills to secure a base, and soon he had a castle, a sylvari sniper army that adored him, a long-suffering best friend and lover (Lychen will deny all of this) and an end goal in sight. The Roseate Canaries will take in any Sylvari or ally. They see value in the dream and nightmare, but don't see either as a full path. A lot of Soundless gravitate towards the Canaries, largely because they're very welcome there. #lacrimosen

Lychen - he/him, 32. A Soundless secondborn. The FIRST Soundless, if we're keeping track. He doesn't care if we do. Described by critics as as "apathetic at best" and "I liked him better before he spoke to me" and "that rude little thing." All of his advice to Lacrimosen over the years has been rude remarks and sarcasm. He sticks by Lala because he does like him (he will deny this) and he believes in his vision of uniting Sylvari-kind and ending the war between the two halves of their nature. #lychen

Eldulis - he/him, 32. One of the secondborn kidnapped by Inquest, he was among a group of 20 that were tortured. Four of them came home -- himself, Canach, and two others. What Eldulis was shown in the Inquest lab (the Eternal Alchemy) allowed something to peer into him in turn, and then out through him. He was forced by this to develop a unique ability refered to as mind peeling. Upon making eye contact with another person, he forces them to relive with him their most horrifying, agonizing experience of truth-- what this means varies from person to person, obviously, but it has always been traumatic and horrible. He was unable to control it for years. Faolain invited him to the Court before she was ousted from the Grove, but it wasn't until after he had befriended Lala that Eldulis chose to take her up on it. He learned to control his mind peeling by using it within the Court, and moved up quickly. He was one of Faolain's favorites, named the Duke of Torment, and was given his own camp in the Steamspurs- Lionsbane Copse. Years after Faolain's death, and after several replacements had been appointed and disposed of, Eldulis was chosen to take Faolain's seat. He traveled back to Twilight Arbor with Inoxiam to undergo his Dark Vigil, where he was poisoned by a dissenter and nearly died. Inoxiam snuck him out of the Arbor and tried to hail for help. Audden would be the one to save Eldulis, and then waypointed both of them to Lala's castle. After a few days recovery, Eldulis chose to return to the Court, where he would be cornered to be killed again-- this time, he called for help himself, and willingly left the Court. He and Inoxiam are figuring things out right now, during SotO. Post-SotO, they might accidentally kidnap Auruim briefly. #eldulis

Inoxiam - he/him, 15. An Order of Whispers agent stationed within the Nightmare Court. He's deep undercover; even his podtwin couldn't know why he was joining the Court, and so they've cut ties as saplings. Inoxiam has torn down many Nightmare camps from within-- he changes his name and identity with each move. His name at Lionsbane Copse is Datura; prior, he's been Natila, Lausica, and countless other identities. He was tortured at Twilight Arbor upon being identified (by a lucky guess) as a Whispers plant, and then disposed of in the woods. Rescued by his Whispers Keeper, he recovered for months at the Whispers HQ before being reassigned. To avoid Eldulis' truth-seeking mind peeling ability, he allows himself to disassociate into a foggy sub-ego; he becomes Datura, believes himself a true Courtier, and knows nothing of Inoxiam. He has no idea what he might be doing during his foggy hours as Datura, as Eldulis takes more interest in him. Eldulis corners him on the way to Twilight Arbor and peels him, sees his torture at the Arbor, and backs off, believing Inoxiam to have been "mistakenly accused." As they travel together, Inoxiam's feelings for Eldulis become complex; he sees sides of the Duke that others have never borne witness to, or not in decades at least. He wants to help Eldulis leave, to survive; he's not disloyal to his mission, but he doesn't want to succeed at killing Eldulis. By SotO, he is MIA from the Order of Whispers; they do not know where he is, and he may be presumed dead at the Arbor. He and Eldulis are getting to know one another more closely and exploring their feelings. And kidnapping Auruim for a bit. #inoxiam

Tryllwenn - he/him, 15. Inoxiam's podtwin. His Wyld Hunt called on him to protect Inoxiam as his knight. But as Inoxiam turned to Nightmare, Tryll could not stand by and say nothing. He confronted Inoxiam, who confirmed his fears were true, and the two parted ways on bad terms. Tryllwenn spent over a decade putting distance between himself and his twin-- they could always "feel" one another in the world, but it was easier to ignore from far away. Travelling Elona while Inoxiam was in Twilight Arbor, Tryllwenn felt the first flutter from his twin in years-- a feeling of absolute dread, pain, and fear as Inoxiam was tortured. By the time he came to in the sands, he was certain his twin must be dead. But he'd feel something again, over a year later, when Eldulis peeled Inoxiam's mind during their travels: that same feeling, with another layer of horror. Tryllwenn realized his twin was alive and in danger, and set out to find him. He's returned to Tyria, and is playing a game of warmer/colder with Inoxiam's emotional responses, always just a few steps behind finding him. His trail goes cold at Twilight Arbor… Tryll transitioned after Inoxiam left for the court, and would not be recognizable to his twin were they to cross paths. #tryllwenn

Audden - he/him, 8. Audden awoke as a strange case. He had no dream and no bond to the Tree-- he seemed Soundless from the start, and his perplexing origins led him to be prodded and studied by sylvari for countless months. Annnoyed and othered by sylvari who wanted to understand him, he came to believe he was not sylvari at all, but some parasite, like a cuckoo egg left to be hatched and fed by another mother. The fear that the Nightmare Court had planted him as a blight made him afraid to leave the Grove himself, for fear the Court would swoop in and pick him up. But he could not stay in the city; the intense Otherness he felt was unbearable, and so eventually he slipped out the back and tried to flee into the south. Having no street smarts, he was swiftly cornered by ne'er do wells, but saved by Arbiter Lychen of the Roseate Canaries. Lychen, realizing who he was, invited him back to the castle, where he quietly convinced Lacrimosen to let Audden stay as a a Soundless, but leave him alone. Lychen believes Audden is the true, untouched and natural form of a sylvari, without centaur or human influence, and Lacrimosen thinks he is sooooooooooooooo cute! Audden spends much of his time perusing the Canaries' massive library, safely exploring the world, and training with his rifle. #audden

Dead People (who won't stay dead)

Alixandira - she/her, 38. A devotee to Balthazar, she spent a decade after her friend was kidnapped by centaurs razing a path of hell after her. She became the Hero of Shaemoor, killing and blazing a trail in her god's name, praying without a doubt that Balthazar would reward her for piety. When she finally found her friend, long dead, she found she had lost her purpose. She continued to pray to Balthazar for months, deeply depressed and confused. Why did he fail to answer her? Why had he failed to reward what she had done? She determined that the gods had left Tyria, and that no one was listening-- so when news reached Tyria that Balthazar was around, she made a beeline for Elona to confront and kill her god. He found her attempt kind of funny, if a bit disrespectful, and banished her to the Mists without delay (literally minutes before Alba would arrive to be killed in The Departing.) She spent a solid decade trapped and wandering the Mists, seeking a path back out. When she re-emerged at last, much to the confusion of the humans who had summoned her, she found that she had some portion of Balthazar's power, torn off him when she'd been thrown into the Mists. She's lying low right now, figuring out the extent of her power. #alixandira

Chesha - she/her, dead at 23. Mute, used Tyrian sign language. The Aetherblade who recruited Bourbon, they became best friends. Feelings developed. Everything was a lot of fun until she died. She's been kickin it in the Mists. Eventually she WILL make it back to Tyria and tear Bourbon a new one for palling around with the Commander WHO KILLED HER. #chesha

Glaz - he/him, dead at 41. Bourbon's bandit mentor. He took the kid in at 14, despite his reservations about taking some teenage runaway into his camp. Died in a Vigil raid on the bandit camp. Years later, when the Aetherblades were first traveling the Mists, Glaz's voice stuck out to Bourbon, and he latched onto his rifle that his protege had kept all that time. In addition to the rifle, Glaz can possess Bourbon if he wants to-- he just doesn't, he thinks it would be rude. The fact that he can is enough to get most points across. Glaz is confiscated by the Astral Ward during SotO, for containment and safekeeping. Talks to Auruim from within his coma dream. When the rifle is returned, Glaz's spirit is gone. BUT WE'LL SEE HIM AGAIN SOMEDAY! (*Glaz does not exist in-game except as a rifle skin.) #glaz

Misc (Aka oh my god there's more?)

Thiiyfadora - she/her, 27. A progeny of Inquest parents, she was rescued from her lab and brought back to Rata Sum, where she was raised by her aunt Laz. Suffering physically from her treatment as a progeny, and with several undiagnosed learning disorders, Thiiyf never joined a school of study or a krewe. It was assumed she would never amount to being much more than a NEET. She spent much of her time mapping Rata Sum's hidden passages and back cooridors. When her primary map was confiscated, she felt her life was over-- but it opened the door to the world for her. Her intensely detailed map, which uncovered passages Rata Sum authorities had otherwise been unaware of, had led to her name making it to Trahearne's ear. He invited her on the Orr mission at 15, knowing that skilled cartographers would be needed to make the assault on Zhaitan a success. They struck Zhaitan down when Thiiyfa was 16, and she stayed by Alba's side through the Maguuma mission, at one point reaching Head Cartographer of the Pact. It was after the 43-day assault against Mordremoth, in the aftermath as Alba mourned everything he had lost, that Thiiyf had to step back, step down, step away. The experiments she'd gone through as a progeny had left her with certain physical degenerations-- she had a limited amount of time left to live. Could be a year, could be ten. She could go on adventuring with Alba, who she was realizing was a self-destructive person to be around, watching him wither and wilt, or she could go home and resolve some things. Thiiyfa chose to leave during Alba's lowest moment. She currently lives in Brisban with her aunt Laz, who retired from her Krewe to act as a caretaker. Though Thiiyf no longer adventures, she continued to make maps-- for fantasy books, and occasionally she's able to travel. Recently she visited Cantha with Snargle Goldclaw for promotion of his last book, which she drew the maps for. She and Alba haven't spoken in years. #thiiyf

Tego - AKA Gunpowder Gelatine - AKA Briza Silkburner -she/her, 40's. Briza was involved in (framed for) an explosion which murdered her warband. Realizing that things were Not looking good for her, she vanished and has been running for a solid 20+ years from the horrors. Worked as an assassin for Ash Legion for some years, under the Gunpowder name, until evidence from That Day started dropping into her lap from someone who knew she was Briza. Vanished again. Before the Zhaitan assault, she trained Thiiyfa as a mesmer, but once the past started chasing her again, she had to cut and run. She's changed her hair, her scarred face, her name and identity over and over, but someone is persistently trying to pin this tragedy to her like a badge of honor that she doesn't want to wear. By LWS4, she lives in Elona, in the middle of nowhere with Tryllwenn as an occasional companion. Aeris stays with them for a while, whilst processing her grief for Vlast. Tego is not one for long-term friendships anymore, but she doesn't turn people away either. She's made peace with what happened in her past, and at this point is ready for whatever is going to be served to her as comeuppance for it. #gunpowder gelatine

Kuiltro, Dog-of-Many - he/him, 47. A dog of many names. A bandit from Bourbon's old gang. He's also well known by Krytan authorities at this point, where he's known as Mongrel or Mutt. He takes great offense to being called either by someone he doesn't like. Kuiltro left the shiverpeaks gang several years after Bourbon was ousted from it, travelled to Cantha where he was briefly possessed by an oni, tried to slip through Lion's Arch for a quick trip, and was captured by Lionsguard and handed over to Seraph. Currently, Logan holds the chain to his yoke, and is putting him to work. Kuiltro wants to tear his face off so fucking bad. He HATES Bourbon though. He sees Bourbon as a volatile mess that can't help but get people killed-- he blames Bourbon for Glaz and Hypocrite, and knows enough about Bourbon's history since the old gang to blame him for Chesha and others. Eventually I will let these two meet up and punch each other to death. #dog of many

Tzuuya and Buulma - 33 and 23, she/they and he/her. A pair of siblings. Tzuuya (older, teal braids) had to step up and raise Buulma when their parents suddenly died in an accident, which limited her own horizons. They've tried hard not to resent him for it, but the two have been known to butt heads. Buulma grew up alternating between being dragged to Tzuuya's boring lectures (yawn) and running wild and free through the Metrica swamplands, picking up frogs and murellows and probably diseases from all the muck. Tzuuya was passed up by krewe after krewe because of their responsibility to the progeny she'd felt she had to raise. They took a position at the Priory as a recruitment officer in Rata Sum, but felt unfulfilled with that, and Buulma still took their focuse off the job more often than not. On Buulma's end, he resented that Tzuuya cared more about their career than him, and sought friendship in animals rather than asura. Eventually, Taimi recruited Tzuuya onto one of her krewes, studying dragon minions, and got Buulma as a package deal. Since the two began working together as a team, their relationship has solidified and strengthened; they respect each other a lot, even if there isn't a typical familial bond between the two of them. #tzuuya #buulma

[velvetrogue]

Open Starter

Walt McAllister - 42, heterosexual, private eye

Open to mutuals and non-mutuals

Connection Ideas - Partner / SO; client; ex; rival; bartender; patron

++

“You’re right. Technically I’m not a bartender… but I could be,” Walt mused, holding their gaze as he finished pouring a neat bourbon for himself. The hour was late and well past closing time, meaning the private eye had full reign of the bar, a privilege he assumed he’d indulge in alone until the other had arrived unannounced. Before they could ask, Walt said, “Let me guess… you’re wondering what I’m doing here so late and how I got in? Well, I could ask you the same question… but how about we have a drink first?”

[puppy-t337h]

EXULANSIS - II

GHOST X READER X SOAP

AO3 LINK - OTHER CHAPTERS

TAGS: drunk one night stand, reader has a military ex, johnny is a switch u can't convince me otherwise, mostly foreplay, smut obv, teasing, brief head (f! recieving)

A/N: gonna release chronological parts of each chapter here as I write, complete chapters will go up on ao3 as I finish them. also this chapter is all Johnny but Si will be in the next one, promise

~~~

You only remember fragments of the rest of the night.

There's a missing gap between leaving the frat and staggering up the steps to your shared apartment building. Then, a misplaced memory of a happy dog—a German Shepherd, maybe—that Soap trips over and curses at whenever he stops into his apartment. Something about an arm brace and some medication he forgot to take…you don't really care. Then, after that, the memories get clearer; more streamlined. Soap is sitting on your bed. You're biting the shoulder of his neck, whispering sweet, filthy things against his ear. You're lost in a haze, of course—it had been far too long since you had been this intimate with another human. Months, if you remember correctly, before you moved out of the house you shared with your last partner.

And even then, it had been a while since it felt so good. So new.

Soap is experienced. He knows what he wants, how to get it, how to ask for it—and how to know what you want. He playfully pushes you off of him so that you fall back against your pillows with a laugh. There's a glint in his dark eyes as he climbs over you, effectively pinning your wrists to the headboard with one careful hand. Something you said must've struck something in him, because he's already panting.

"Call me that again."

Confused and dazed, you chuckle, "what?"

"You know what," he rasps, lips near your ear. His breath smells of faint mint and shitty beer, mixed with the bourbon and wood of his cologne that fills your senses. "Say that again."

You wrack your memory. Your stomach dips in horror, for a moment, realizing you've slipped up somewhere along the line; called him the wrong name—but jesus, his face is flushed and his soft eyes are hooded as he looks down at you. A silver chain hangs from his neck, the end of which caught in his shirt. If you were sober, you may have put the pieces together; what his job was and why he reminded you so much of him. You could have put a stop to it and ushered him out upon realizing who you still had in your mind—but, alas, you're only thinking about how the bulge in his jeans feels against the warmth between your legs. About how if only you could just shift a little…

You grind up against his clothed cock, whispering near his ear. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Captain."

"Jesus fucking bloody hell," he groans, voice slured just a little. His hips shift; and his hands fall on your waist—tugging you flush against him, keeping you there; and the friction sends sweet pleasure rocketing up your stomach. His lips lock on your neck as he talks between bites and kisses. "You're gonna kill me."

The rest was a blur. You remember his voice, the sounds he made mixing with your own. The sweet, hot feeling of his tongue on your cunt and his breath between your legs. All of which blur with memories of a life with another serviceman. A life you left behind.

Suddenly, what you're doing comes to you in a surge of post-orgasm clarity. Panting, sweaty, tired—Soap lays on you, his face nuzzled in your shoulder and your arms around his waist. You stare at the ceiling, blinking, mentally palming your forehead.

Jesus, what am I doing?

You thought you were doing fine. For months, you were doing fine—going through the motions, moving things back into your hometown as they were shipped from his house in Camp Hansen. Trying not to think about it even as people's words, their soft whispers behind your back, sent another arrow straight through your heart every time.

You had it all, they'd say. And you threw it away for what? You had everything you had ever dreamed of at such a young age; you should've been happy. You hated yourself every day that you weren't.

It was unfair to him for you to leave, six months of marriage down the drain.

But it was even more unfair to force yourself to stay. Away from your family, your friends, the career you wanted but couldn't get moving from base to base…forced into the life of a housewife surrounded by his friends, his family, his work; but isolated from your own. You loved him---you're sure as hell you did—but you weren't happy. The house with him you longed for as a graduate fresh out of high school quickly grew suffocating.

Like a dream---Soap is gone when you awake, and you're snuggled up in bed, alone, with a slight headache that heightens with the light that streams in through the curtains. He left after you fell asleep, and you're infinitely grateful---because you're not sure you hold the emotional capacity to wake up next to someone without falling in love just a little. You're still moving on, still grieving, and a large part of you hates yourself for the night before. For letting loose, for drinking and carrying on, for sleeping through the class that you were supposed to be at twenty minutes ago.

But goddamn did it feel good.

Not to think—not to worry.

To start over in a town where nobody knew your name. To reinvent yourself and do all the things you missed out on in your early twenties.

That small tinge of regret is still there, still real, but you find yourself fumbling for your phone on your dresser, anyway.

Your fingers are dumb and useless with the hangover that drums faintly in your temples as you squint at the screen, finding the contact you had hastily typed his phone number into at some point the night before. Half-asleep still, you send him a text you're sure you're going to regret later.

Same time Wednesday?