#anyway i had a british person talk about them to me as if they were but a myth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thestoryofusstan · 1 month

Text

I Wanna Be Yours

pairing: boss!ceo!harry styles x reader

request: Omg, can I request a boss!harry fic where he’s mean to everyone except from her??

summary: harry is the notoriously mean owner of pleasing, and he might have a slight soft spot for the new girl in the marketing department.

warnings: cursing, not edited

you were extremely new to pleasing, a very famous brand known for their nail polishes and perfumes. ever since you started (about three months ago), you’d hear literal horror stories about the founder and ceo.

rachel, the girl who trained you, told you that he was just plain rude. it was safe to say you feared the day he came in. thankfully, he wasn’t around much. not at your location, anyway. you were at the los angeles location, but he preferred to stay at the new york one.

tuesday morning, you got ready like every day. put on your usual outfit (a skirt, white button-up, a blazer, and heels), along with some black fleece-lined tights and a headband to push your hair back. it was getting cold out, and you couldn’t get away with just a skirt much longer.

with your iced coffee in one hand, your macbook and a few files you’d taken home in the other, you walked quickly into the building.

“good morning, miss townes,” the concierge greeted you.

“morning, nancy!” you greeted back as you ran to the elevator and pressed the button.

“late?” nancy asked.

“almost! this stupid elevator—“ said elevator dinged, and you let out a sigh of relief. “speak of the devil. see you, nance!”

—

by the time you made it up to the marketing floor (the twentieth floor out of fifty), you were exactly on time.

you moved as quickly as your heels would allow, dropping your car keys, computer, and files onto the desk.

“right on time, y/n,” rachel teased as you sat down. the two of you had cubicles right next to each other.

“long line at the coffee shop.”

“lucky you weren’t any later,” she commented as you sat down and took a generous sip of the iced coffee that had almost made you late, “mr. styles is said to be coming in today.”

you nearly choked on your drink.

“you finished those edits, right?”

“.. uh.. yeah. yeah, finished them last night,” you lied with a nod.

“y/n! he’s ruthless— he will literally fire you! that’s the new launch, and it’s overdue!”

“i know! i know, but i’ve been so busy, and fucking josh keeps making me do his shit—“

“oh shit, shut up. he’s here.”

“what?” you squeaked, quickly cleaning up your desk and opening the new launch photos on both the desktop and your personal computer.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched as what had to be mr. styles strolled through with an assistant who was talking about what you assumed was his schedule.

“you’ll have a meeting with the investors at three, and we have some papers to sign—“

you tuned her out as you tried to speed up the editing— brightening colors and adjusting the text so it fit better.

and suddenly, the footsteps of mr. styles and his assistant stopped. directly in front of your desk.

“you,” a voice spoke, and oh my god, he was british, “i don’t know you. who are you?”

your eyes snapped up to meet his, “oh. uh.. i’m y/n.. y/n townes. i’m.. um.. i’m new.”

he mouthed your name as if thinking it over.

“you’re the one doing the edits for the new launch?” he asked.

“yes, sir.”

he nodded before continuing his stroll. because, of fucking course, his office had to be on the marketing floor.

you let out a breath, sinking into your chair. rachel grabbed your arm with a comforting smile, “it’s okay, babes. he could’ve been rude.”

“he’s gonna see i’m not done and fire me!”

“it’s fine, just don’t think about it.”

—

right as you were about to head out on a quick lunch break, mr. styles’ assistant popped up at your desk.

“ms. townes, mr. styles requested your presence in his office. you, as well, ms. evans,” she said, glancing at you and rachel.

“uh— me? for.. for what?” you questioned.

“you’ll find out. i have to find a.. josh richardson. go on.”

you and rachel shared uneasy looks as the two of you stood and made your way to mr. styles’ office.

“if i get fired, i’m jumping out of a window,” you muttered as rachel pulled the door open.

“ah, ms. evans. ms. townes…. where is mr. richardson?” mr. styles spoke.

“your assistant went to grab him,” rachel answered. “what are we needed for?”

“you’ll see… ah, mr. richardson. so kind of you to join us.”

even you could tell he did not mean that.

“what is this?” josh asked, looking to you and rachel.

“you three were all put in charge of the new launch. correct?”

you all chorused variations of yes.

“and yet… nothing is done. why is that?”

you glanced to your shoes. you knew rachel was done. the whole project was all three of you were to make 300 campaigns and promo photos for the new nail polish launch. you'd devided it to be 100 each, and you all picked however many billboard designs, posters, social media posts, and so-ons that you'd do for the project. however, josh had slowly but surely pushed all of his work onto you.. until you had to do 200, and you only had around 130 done.

“i expect an answer.”

“i.. i finished all my photos and campaigns,” rachel finally said.

“i'm nearly done with.. my things. i was just helping josh before i--“

“so.. what i’m hearing so far, and correct me if i’m wrong, is that mr. richardson hasn’t been doing his job?”

josh cleared his throat, and you could feel the daggers he was glaring at you burning into your skull, “yes, mr. styles.”

mr. styles nodded, and you understood the horror stories now. he wasn’t even trying and he was terrifying. “do you like your job, mr. richardson?”

“yes, mr—“

“so why aren’t you doing it?”

“i— i’ve been.. busy.”

“busy.. right. well, i’ll make you less busy. you’re fired. get out.”

“wh— what? you can’t fire me!”

“i believe i can. and i just did. so get. out.”

“i have worked at this company for eight years! i make one mistake, and—“

“i will not ask you again!” mr. styles shouted, standing up from his chair. you flinched. “because i am not asking you, i am telling you. you are fired, and you will leave this building. and don’t even think about puttin’ this place on your resume, i won’t say a single good word about your ass.”

josh scoffed and stormed out of the room, you and rachel followed.

you turned the corner, yelping when someone grabbed your wrist and yanked it.

“what the hell, y/n? you said you’d do my—“

“i didn’t say that. you just assumed i would. i am not just apart of the valentines launch, josh, and i have fifty other things to do, and i can’t drop that just because you’re lazy.”

“you better watch what you say to me—“

a voice spoke from behind. mr. styles’ assisant, “uh.. miss townes? mr. styles requests he speak with you.. privately.”

you yanked your arm back, rubbing your wrist, “yes. of— of course. sorry.”

you walked back towards his office with your head down, glancing up at him once you entered the room.

you were surprised to see a... calm look on his face.

"miss townes, correct?" he asked.

"ye-.. uh.. yes, sir."

he smiled, which was very odd from what you'd seen of him so far, "you can relax, darling. you aren't in trouble. have a seat."

you hesitantly wandered towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

"what did you mean by.. helping mr. richardson with his work?"

"oh, well... he just.. he kept saying he was busy and asking if i could do.. certain parts of his work. and i--.. well, sometimes i'm a bit of a pushover, so i said yes."

"i see... and how much of his work, in total, did he push onto you?"

"uhm... all of it, mr. styles."

his eyes widened, "all of it? and you didn't tell a supervisor he wasn't planning on doing any of his work?"

"i.. i felt bad," you shrugged, looking down at your hands.

"yes. well... mrs. maruska, can you please bring mr. richardson back in here for a moment, please?"

you jumped when his assistant spoke behind you, not realizing she was even in the room.

"yes, mr. styles."

it was silent for a minute after the door shut, maybe two minutes, until the door re-opened and two pairs of footsteps entered.

"mr. richardson, before you leave, you are going to do something for me," mr. styles spoke. "you are going to apologize to y/n--"

you nearly choke on your own spit at his use of your first name.

"for making her do all of your work. and.. you will also apologize for whatever the hell that was i heard outside. that is no way to speak to any colleague."

josh scoffed, "i'm not apologiz--"

"i'm not asking."

mr. styles gaze switched to you as josh begrudgingly sighed, "i'm sorry, y/n."

"it's okay," you murmured, glancing at him.

"no, it isn't," mr. styles quickly interjected, keeping his eyes on you. you much preferred them on you than on josh. they were a lot kinder when they focused on you. softer. "but.. if ms. townes says it is alright... you may leave now."

you aren't quite sure what happens afterwards, because you keep your gaze away from mr. styles, because you're afraid he'll notice how nervous he makes you.

"how many did you have left?" mr. styles asked quietly. softly.

"i have 130 done. so.. seventy left. but i-- i can get them done soon, i promise. i can just stay late, or.. or--"

"no. none of that. you'll submit the ones you have.. and we'll figure out something for the rest."

"really? i mean.. are you sure?"

"i wouldn't have offered if i wasn't. you can go, now."

"thank you, mr. styles," you mumbled, standing and walking to the door.

right as you grabbed the handle, he called out.

"oh, and y/n?"

you turned around with a furrow in your brows.

"let me know if you have any other problems."

you can't even help the foolish smile on your lips as you nod and leave the room.

a/n: part 1!! i really love this request

#harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry fic #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry #harry styles #boss!harry styles x reader #boss!harry styles #ceorry #ceo!harry styles #ceo!harry styles x reader

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weemssapphic · 4 months

Note

Could I request a fluff fic for Miranda :0?

Maybe the weathers getting colder, cuffing szn etc Miranda falls for one of her neighbors who keeps bringing her baked goods, she’s unaware that said neighbor likes her!!! (unaware queen). Literally anything cute and sweet to get me thru the treacherous winter of Northern Europe HAHA

A/N: Hello! Sooooo a. this became a bit more of a Christmas fic than a winter fic, I hope that's okay, and b. I also failed to finish it before Christmas as I had originally planned 🥴 buuut I do hope you enjoy anyway! HUGE shoutout to @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze and @agathaandgwenslesbian for beta'ing and hyping me up to post this, I love you both 🥺💖

Merry Christmas, Baby

Words: ~6.3k | ao3 link in title Warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking, cigarettes/smoking

You’ve been living in your new apartment for about three months now, after leaving home and moving all the way to Australia for work. You like to think you’ve settled in well: you’re starting to get into a routine, you’ve managed to decorate most of your apartment and make it feel like home, Sydney isn’t as daunting as it was in the beginning - you were even able to give a tourist directions the other day.

The only thing missing is, well, friends. You get along well enough with your coworkers, they’ve been welcoming and have even started to invite you out. But more weekends than not you find yourself exploring the city on your own or hanging out on your couch with takeout, watching Netflix and thinking about your friends back home. You try to FaceTime them as often as you can, but the time difference makes it hard, and sometimes it makes you sad to ‘see’ them and know you can’t just meet up like you used to.

To stave off some of the loneliness you’ve been feeling, you’ve spent the past few weeks attempting to meet more people - and one person in particular has caught your eye: your neighbor, Miranda. You met her in the hallway during your first week in the building - she’d come up the stairs as you were fumbling with your keys, struggling a bit as your arms were full of groceries. She’d immediately offered to help, her eyes wide and her smile bright as she’d rushed over to you and grabbed the grocery bags right out of your hands. The way she looked down at you, watching your every move with great interest as you unlocked your door, brought a flush to your cheeks that only got worse during the subsequent small talk.

Your interactions since then have been a bit sparse - you keep hoping you’ll catch a glimpse of her in the hallway, but you rarely do. Sometimes you’ll hear her apartment door fall shut late at night as you’re falling asleep, or you’ll hear her footsteps on the stairs early in the morning while you’re still getting ready - wherever she works, she seems to have irregular shifts.

~~~

It’s a Sunday evening and you’re spending it alone (again). When your friend back home had canceled your scheduled FaceTime call at the last minute, you’d decided to distract yourself by baking. As you put together the ingredients for blueberry muffins, you find your mind wandering to your tall, blonde neighbor - wondering what it is she does for work, where she’s from (you thought you caught a British accent but you weren’t sure anymore), whether or not she’s seeing anyone…

The sound of the timer pulls you out of your thoughts and you turn off the oven and pull the muffin tray out, setting it on the counter. Your heart sinks when you realize there’s no way you’re going to finish them all by yourself. You suppose you could bring some to work… You bite your lip, your brow furrowing as you stare down the baked goods. Perhaps you could bring Miranda some? Butterflies erupt in your tummy when you picture her opening her front door, her lips stretching into a smile that reaches her bright blue eyes. Perhaps she would invite you in, perhaps the two of you would spend the evening on her couch, getting closer by the hour as you get to know one another. Perhaps…

You shake your head, trying not to get ahead of yourself. You’ll just stop by with a few muffins and see what happens. Maybe she’ll be busy. Or she won’t even be home and you’ll be forced to leave them next to her door.

After preparing a small basket of baked goods and changing from your rattiest sweatpants into a pair of jeans, you slip out of your apartment and cross the hall. Your heart begins to pound, your hands turning clammy as you bring your fist up to Miranda’s door. After a brief moment’s hesitation and a deep breath, you knock.

At first, you’re met with silence - your heart sinks a bit, and you try to ignore the little pang of disappointment that begins to creep up on you. But just as you’re about to turn around, you hear a shuffling behind the door. It opens just a crack - you hear an “Oh!” - and then it swings open fully, revealing Miranda in a navy bathrobe. Her hair is wet, slicked back - one strand falls over her eyebrow and she pushes it back, a smile growing on her lips as she looks down at you.

“Hello,” she says, sounding a little breathless. You feel yourself flush as you realize you must have caught her just out of the shower - perhaps it took her so long to answer the door because she wasn’t dressed yet, and the thought makes you slightly dizzy.

“Hi.” You can’t help but gawk a bit, and the thought of just dropping the muffins at her feet and leaving before you can make a fool of yourself briefly crosses your mind.

Her brows furrow slightly and so do yours, before you realize that you should probably say something else.

“I just wanted to…” You gesture vaguely at the basket you’re holding. “If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” you manage to stutter out, focusing all your efforts on keeping your eyes on her face.

“Oh, you’re alright,” Miranda says, craning her neck a bit to catch a glimpse at what you’re holding. “Are those muffins?”

“Yeah. For you.” You thrust your arms out, holding the basket towards her. Her eyes widen, darting between you and the basket as she takes it from you.

Her entire face seems to light up with excitement - she looks positively giddy. “Did you make these?”

“Yes! Yeah. I like baking. And I made too many. So I thought I would see if you want some.”

The smile that’s broken out across Miranda’s face is one you wish you could save and put in your pocket to look at on your worst days. It lights up her entire face, making her eyes sparkle and her nose crinkle - it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. You’re so distracted by it that you nearly miss her next words.

“Would you like to come in? I was going to make some tea.”

“Sure.”

You blush as Miranda steps aside, allowing you to step over the threshold of her apartment. She shuts the door behind you then walks past you into her kitchen. Even the way she walks is attractive to you - the mesmerizing sway of her hips, the way she pushes her shoulders back and swings her arms, her long strides. Taking a deep breath, you follow her and lean against the door frame, watching as she sets down the muffins on the counter and puts on the electric kettle.

“I didn’t know if you’d be home,” you say, breaking the silence. You’re a bit embarrassed that your voice comes out hoarse, and you clear your throat. “I don’t see you around much. Do you do shift work?”

Miranda glances back at you as she rummages through the cupboards for two mugs. She smiles softly. “Sort of. I’ve been on call a lot lately.”

“Oh.” You cock your head to the side. “What do you do?”

“I’m, uh, a police constable.”

Your eyes widen as you process the information. It makes sense, you realize - and then you feel your mouth go dry as you picture Miranda in a police uniform.

“What do you do?”

Her question breaks you out of your trance, and you can feel your cheeks turn red. “Oh, um, that’s… I work in accounting.” You swallow back your embarrassment at having a “boring” desk job, your eyes darting around Miranda’s kitchen - anything to avoid meeting her gaze.

“Steady work then,” she says - you can hear the smile in her voice and you dare to steal a glance at her face. Her expression is soft, completely at ease, and you can’t help but feel your shoulders relax a little. “How come you moved to Sydney? Did you move here for a guy?”

A sound between a snort and a chuckle escapes your lips and you quickly look away again. “Nope.” You want to say that you’re more into women, but you get nervous and something stops you. “I just needed a change of scenery. I figured moving to an English-speaking country would be easiest, and I thought the weather here would be nicer than in the UK.”

Miranda laughs a full-belly laugh, throwing her head back. “I’m from the UK, you know.”

“Tell me I’m wrong then,” you tease with a grin.

Her eyes flicker briefly over your form, an amused grin on her face. “You’re… you’re not wrong.” She ducks her head in surrender - then the kettle goes off and she turns to busy herself with preparing the tea.

“So why did you move to Sydney then?”

“My boyfriend at the time was Australian.” Miranda hands you one of the mugs, then leans back against the counter, taking a sip of her own tea and observing you carefully. You try not to let on to the way that your stomach sinks when you hear the word “boyfriend” - it doesn’t mean she’s straight, you remind yourself (and besides, even if she did like women - it doesn’t mean she’d like you). You nod and hum in acknowledgment, hoping to come off as casual and unaffected as you sip your tea.

Miranda sets down her mug and reaches over the small kitchen table to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Once again you find yourself mesmerized as long, slender fingers pull a cigarette out of the pack, placing it between her pale lips as she lights it.

For a moment, she seems unaware of your presence - she takes a deep drag from the cigarette, her fingers playing with the lighter as she exhales a cloud of smoke. Then her eyes fall to your face and widen slightly. “Oh, God, sorry. Do you mind?”

You shake your head - it’s not your apartment so it’s not like you have a say anyway, and, if you’re honest, you find it a bit hot. “Go ahead, it’s your apartment.”

She shoots you a grateful smile and takes another drag from the cigarette. “You want one?”

You nod and she tosses you the pack. Once you’ve plucked a cigarette from it, she steps towards you. “Here, let me,” she says, moving to light it for you as her own cigarette dangles from between her lips. She gets closer than would probably be necessary and her proximity makes you feel a little faint - you can smell the shampoo in her still-damp hair, and the smoke on her breath. Your eyes are trained on the lighter - when the flame goes out, you glance up, only to be met with the brightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. They’re even lighter than you initially thought and her gaze is intense - it’s slightly overwhelming.

“Thanks,” you whisper hoarsely, forcing yourself to blink and take a step back. Miranda’s eyes are fixed curiously on your face as she plucks her cigarette from between her lips. She tilts her head, her lips parting into a smile.

“What?” There’s a playful edge to her voice and her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You freeze, your cheeks turning pink. “Like what?”

“You find me intimidating, don’t you?” You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off, gesturing down the length of her body. “It’s my height, isn’t it? I get that a lot.”

“It’s not- I mean…” You shrug lamely, taking a sip of your tea to give yourself a moment to think. “It’s not you, I’ve just had a long day. A long few months, actually.” Okay, so you’re deflecting - but it feels way too nice just to bask in Miranda’s presence, and you don’t want it to end so soon by making things awkward.

Miranda’s face softens in an instant, little creases appearing between her brows. “From the move? It can be so hard to uproot your life like that.”

It’s a phrase you’ve heard before - people trying to sympathize with you, looking for something meaningful to say. But with Miranda, it feels different. With the way she’s looking at you, it feels like she truly understands.

~~~

In the past few weeks you’ve gotten into the habit of bringing Miranda baked goods - always on the pretext of having made extras for work and other neighbors (though you never have any intention of giving them to anyone except Miranda). It’s more than worth the hours spent in the kitchen to see the smile that lights up her face when she answers the door. Sometimes she invites you in for tea and a cigarette, sometimes there’s only time for a bit of small talk before one of you needs to get going - but each time, butterflies erupt in your belly and you find yourself wishing you were brave enough to make a move.

What you don’t know is that Miranda finds herself wishing the same thing. Sure, she loves everything you make her (nothing you’ve ever baked her has lasted more than 2 days at most), but the real reason her face breaks into a splitting grin when she answers the door is because it’s you who’s standing there.

Miranda can’t get enough of you - you’re easy to talk to, you make her laugh, you seem to take her as she is. And you’re damn beautiful. The most exciting part of her week is wondering on which evening you’ll come by unannounced after work, and she finds herself praying she’ll have the time to talk to you.

One such evening, you’ve come over with a tray of red velvet cupcakes - decorated with festive little Christmas tree sprinkles. Miranda’s just gotten off a shift and has the evening off, and she’s never been more grateful as she leads you into her kitchen and turns on the kettle. You make yourself right at home, settling on a kitchen chair and tucking your legs underneath you as you reach for the pack of cigarettes on the table - it’s almost become a routine now, and you look like you belong there. Miranda likes that thought more than she’d care to admit.

Still, despite how often you’ve come by lately, she feels there’s still some sort of barrier between the two of you. Your conversations are the best part of her week, yet they tend to feel a bit… shallow. She’s desperate to get to know you better but she’s holding herself back - the fear of driving you away, of being too much for you to handle, causes her to freeze up. You’re just being nice, trying to make new friends in Australia, and here she is, falling for you one red velvet cupcake at a time.

“Mir?” Your voice pulls her out of her thoughts and she looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. She tries desperately to remember what you were talking to her about, but she realizes quickly that her efforts are futile - she was too busy admiring the lock of hair falling across your cheek, the way you ran your fingers through your hair to push it back.

“Sorry.” She offers you a sheepish smile, her cheeks slowly turning scarlet.

You smile back, and her heart skips a beat. “I asked if you’re staying in Sydney for Christmas or if you’re going back to London?”

“I’m staying here. I work on Christmas, so…” She frowns slightly - she hasn’t gone home for Christmas in a few years. Usually, she works and spends her off-hours curled up in bed watching Christmassy rom-coms by herself. She’s gotten used to it. “Are you? Going home for Christmas?”

“Nah. I blew all my savings in the move, can’t afford the plane ticket.” Something about the way you shrug your shoulders, your gaze dropping to the floor, tells Miranda that your nonchalance is a front.

“Would you like to come over?” Miranda, what are you saying? “We could cook something and watch a movie together.” Miranda, shut up! “Maybe you could sleep over and we could keep each other company.” Oh, great, now you’ve done it! Miranda’s eyes widen as she realizes what she’s saying, but she can’t take it back now - and, to be honest, she doesn’t want to take it back. Her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage as she waits for you to reply. It only takes you seconds, really, but those few seconds might as well be hours as time slows and Miranda begins to find it hard to breathe.

“Oh, it’s fine, you don’t have to take me in! I’ll be okay, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Your words come out in a rush and your cheeks are turning pink - Miranda’s heart starts to sink and she scrambles to find the right words to save the conversation.

“You wouldn’t be imposing, I’d have just had a few beers by myself after work anyway.” She chuckles nervously, before adding, “I could use the company.”

She quickly looks away from you, finding the brief moment of vulnerability too much to handle - she couldn’t bear to see the look in your eyes at the moment, certainly one of pity or judgment.

“Oh… Well in that case, I’d love to spend Christmas with you. If that’s okay.”

Miranda’s eyes widen and she glances over at you to see you smiling shyly - her heart stutters in her chest and she feels her stomach flip pleasantly. She lets out a shaky breath, unable to stop the wide smile that’s creeping up her face. “Okay then.”

~~~

Ever since that evening in Miranda’s apartment, you’ve been buzzing with excitement. She’d ended up giving you her number so that you could plan when to come over, and it’s taken all of your restraint not to bug her every waking second - you wouldn’t want her getting sick of you and regretting inviting you over.

But as Christmas is just a few days away, you decide to shoot her a text as you’re lying in bed at night.

Y/N: Hey there, it’s Y/N! I just wanted to ask what time you wanted me to come over on Christmas? :)

You toss your phone aside, not expecting Miranda to text back anytime soon - it’s already late, after all. When your screen lights up moments later, however, your heart begins to pound.

Miranda: Hey! Miranda: I work until 4 Miranda: So evening I would say

Y/N: How does 6 sound? Is that too early?

Miranda: That sounds perfect :)

Y/N: Great! Should I bring anything?

Miranda: Just yourself ;) Miranda: Wait Miranda: Actually Miranda: Do you remember the cookies you brought me last week?

Y/N: What, am I not enough for you? ;) Y/N: (I’ll make some more)

Miranda: Are you sure?

Y/N: Absolutely!! Anything for my favorite neighbor.

Miranda: You’re too good to me

By the time you’re done texting her, you’re grinning down at your phone like an idiot. The screen goes black and you catch sight of your reflection - you blush and bury your head in your pillow. For the first time since you moved, you’re actually starting to get excited for Christmas.

~~~

Three days later you’re wrapping up a pair of Christmas pajamas (red, covered in little white snowflakes - you have a matching pair) to give to Miranda - you want to give her something for Christmas, but you don’t know her all that well yet to get her something personal. Still, you think (or at least, you hope) she’ll find the pajamas silly and fun.

Armed with the gift, a huge tupperware box full of candy cane cookies, your keys, and your phone, you pad across the hall and knock gently on Miranda’s door. You hear her muffled voice yell “coming”, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps, before the door swings open. Miranda’s eyes flick briefly down your body, over the wrapped gift and the cookies, before she finally meets your gaze. She’s slightly out of breath, and her lips curl up into a smile that meets her eyes. What you would give to kiss those lips…

“Merry Christmas,” you say, smiling back and forcing your eyes to remain trained on her own.

“Right! Merry Christmas!” You could swear you see Miranda’s cheeks turn pink, but before you have time to question it she’s ushering you into her apartment, her hand coming to rest on your lower back as she steers you towards the kitchen. “I did some food shopping the other day. I wasn’t sure what you’d want to eat, I’m not usually big on holiday foods and I didn’t have time to prepare anything because of work.”

Miranda’s rambling has you swooning - you can tell she’s nervous, though you aren’t sure why. If only she knew you’d happily eat frozen pizza or cereal for Christmas dinner, as long as you get to spend it with her.

“It’s fine, I don’t care much about Christmas dinner, we can eat anything.” You hope that you’re coming off as reassuring, though you can’t really tell as Miranda blushes again and lights up a cigarette.

“Maybe a curry?” she asks, chewing at her bottom lip.

“Yeah, that sounds great. Just tell me what you need help with.”

She seems to relax a bit, heading over to the fridge and pulling out ingredients. “What do you drink? Do you want a beer?”

“Please.”

The two of you spend the next 45 minutes side by side in the small kitchen, cooking, drinking, talking - mostly it’s Miranda, telling you about her workday. When she’s done chopping vegetables, she reaches for the pack of cigarettes again - “sorry, nerves,” she says with a faint smile. You still can’t fathom what she’s nervous about but you don’t want to push her, so you shrug it off and turn your attention to the curry that’s simmering in the pan. You dip a spoon into the sauce to try it, humming in delight the second the flavors explode on your tongue.

“This is really good, try it!” Without thinking you bring the spoon to Miranda’s mouth and, without thinking, she closes her lips around it. Her eyelids flutter shut and she lets out a little noise of pleasure that’s dangerously close to a moan. Heat pools in your stomach, your eyes glued to her lips as you slide the spoon out of her mouth - it’s the first time you notice a little scar above her lip, and you swallow thickly.

You quickly avert your gaze as Miranda’s eyes open again, taking a sip of your beer as you check on the rice.

“I was thinking we could just eat in the living room and watch a movie?” Miranda suggests when the curry is done cooking. You agree and help Miranda carry the bowls and a couple bottles of beer into the living room. It’s small, like yours, and a little cluttered. There’s a string of fairy lights above the window and a small Christmas tree sat atop a side table. Miranda’s eyes follow your gaze and she chuckles.

“I actually put that up two days ago, I panicked when I realized I didn’t have any Christmas decorations up at all.”

“You didn’t have to decorate on my account,” you tease, earning yourself a laugh.

“Oh but what kind of Christmas would it be without a tree?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Miranda smiles at you as she settles on the couch, crossing her legs and setting her bowl in her lap. She gestures for you to join her. You tuck your knees underneath you, angling your body towards her. As you eat, you fall into an easy conversation - you find yourself getting even more comfortable in Miranda’s presence, feeling right at home in her apartment. You can tell she’s relaxing as well - she stretches her legs out, her toes (clad in Christmas-themed socks) touching the side of your thigh.

“I got you something, by the way,” Miranda says suddenly, leaning over to place her almost-empty bowl on the table. You follow suit, a smile lighting up your face.

“I got you something, too - wait here!” Miranda looks somewhat surprised as you jump up and rush into the kitchen, returning with the gift you’d brought. She now has a gift of her own on her lap, and she’s picking at the edge of the wrapping paper as you settle back down beside her, a soft smile on her face.

You exchange gifts and Miranda’s chewing nervously at her bottom lip as she watches you tear open the wrapping paper. It’s a cookbook for baking - you can’t help but laugh, and you look up to see Miranda’s cheeks turn pink.

“Is this meant to be a hint?” you tease, and Miranda chuckles nervously.

“Sorry, I-”

“I love it,” you cut her off, setting the book down beside you and leaning over to wrap your arms tightly around her torso. She returns the hug - her arms are strong and comforting and you’re immediately enveloped in her scent. It takes everything in you not to kiss her.

After pulling away, you gesture eagerly to the gift that’s in her lap. She has a look of nervous excitement on her face as she begins to unwrap it - her smile widens when she takes the pjs out of the wrapping paper and holds them in front of her.

“I hope they fit, I guessed your size. I have the same ones and you seem like the type of person who would like them.”

Miranda’s eyes widen as she looks over at you, her expression nothing short of giddy. “You have the same ones? Wear them! We can match.”

Her reaction is exactly what you hoped it would be. The prospect of wearing matching Christmas pjs is both adorable and a little intimate, and you’re filled with nervous anticipation as you head across the hall to your apartment to get changed.

When you get back to Miranda’s apartment a few minutes later, the blonde is sitting on her couch with her legs tucked underneath her. She smiles so widely that her nose crinkles, and she opens her arms to you. Without a second thought, you allow yourself to be pulled into a tight hug.

“Do you like them?” you ask as you pull away.

“I love them!” The smile on her face is genuine, her eyes shining brightly, and you can’t help but blush, your entire body tingling a bit as your eyes drift down her body.

~~~

You’re about an hour into the second movie of the night and you’re already several beers deep (you’ve lost count, to be honest). You’ve scooted closer and closer to Miranda as the evening has worn on, and now you’re practically on top of her - your legs are bent at the knee, tucked against your body and resting on the outside of her thigh, your shoulder is all but glued to her own.

You drain the rest of your beer, then pout at the bottle. “It’s empty,” you say, more to yourself than to Miranda, who chuckles and shifts beside you.

“I can get you another one?”

“It’s fine,” you say with a giggle. “Maybe I should stop drinking.” You’re not drunk but you’re definitely tipsy - you turn your head to face Miranda a little too quickly and, for a brief moment, the room spins, causing you to burst into another fit of giggles.

Your eyes meet Miranda’s, before dropping to her lips and getting stuck there. They’re curled into an amused smile as she chuckles at your inebriated state - though the smile slowly fades as her brows begin to crease. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and your own laughter quickly dies in your throat, your mouth going dry. You can tell Miranda’s breathing has gone shallow, her eyes falling to your lips. The air around you becomes thick and heavy, and Miranda’s gaze darts away.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, scrambling to scoot away - before she can get very far, your arm shoots out and holds her in place.

“What are you sorry for?” you whisper. The only sound you can hear is the pounding of your own heart in your ears as you wait for Miranda to respond. Her gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, a lovely shade of pink rising in her cheeks.

“I-” she starts, cutting herself off as she swallows visibly.

“Do you want to kiss me?” You don’t know what prompted you to be so bold (probably the alcohol), but when a soft, barely audible whimper escapes Miranda’s throat, you can’t say you regret asking.

“Yes.”

You definitely don’t regret asking.

“I want to kiss you, too,” you whisper, leaning in slightly as you fix your gaze on soft-looking, pale pink lips that glisten slightly in the dim light of the living room. Then you stop yourself, hesitating as the room spins again. You’ve dreamed of kissing those same lips for weeks now but something is off.

The alcohol, you realize - you don’t want your first kiss with Miranda to be clouded by alcohol. You want to appreciate and remember the moment fully, you want to savor every second. So, as much as you’re dying to close the gap and absolutely ravage the lovely, beautiful woman sitting next to you, you decide to pull back. “But I’m going to wait until tomorrow. I want to be completely sober for that. And… if you still want to kiss me tomorrow… then I’ll kiss you.”

Miranda nods slowly, looking a bit dazed. “That’s, uh,” she starts, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat. “That’s a good idea.” She shifts in her seat, crossing one thigh tightly over the other. The air is still thick and heavy, and it takes everything in you not to say ‘fuck it’ and push her back onto the couch - but you mean it, you really do want to be sober for that. So you lean back, putting a few inches of distance between yourself and Miranda for the remainder of the film.

You feel yourself becoming more and more tired, and by the time the credits are rolling, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. Pushing yourself up off the couch, you sway slightly as you make it to your feet, and immediately decide to sit back down so that you don’t fall over.

“You sure you can make it back down the hall okay?” Miranda teases, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches you lean back against the sofa.

You roll your eyes and shoot her a playful glare. “I’m not drunk. I’m just tired.” As if to emphasize your point, you yawn widely as you finish your last sentence - Miranda laughs.

“You can sleep here if you want,” she offers - then her face goes pale and she rushes to explain herself. “Not with me of course, but the couch is quite comfortable. Or you can take the bed and I’ll take the couch, that’s fine, too-”

She’s talking a mile a minute and it’s the most charming thing you’ve ever heard - especially since you definitely would sleep with her. You’d just prefer to do it sober. Giggling, you decide to show her mercy and cut her off. “Thanks for the offer. I think I’ll take the couch if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, let me get you some blankets.” She turns off the tv and stands, leaving the room for a minute and coming back with a pillow and an armful of blankets. You get up and try to help her to make a makeshift bed for you, but your movements are a bit sluggish and you realize you’re just getting in her way, so you end up perching on the edge of the coffee table until she gives you the go.

You snuggle into the blankets - they smell like Miranda, and it takes everything in you not to bury your nose in them and moan out loud. Instead, you shoot Miranda a smile and mutter a sleepy ‘thank you’ - she nods, telling you to yell if you need her, then turns to leave.

“Oh, Miranda?” You lift your head off the pillow and crane your neck towards the blonde.

She pauses in the doorway, turning back to face you as she runs a hand through her hair. “Hmm?”

“Merry Christmas.” You beam at her, even as your eyes threaten to close any second. The evening was far from a traditional Christmas celebration, but it was the best Christmas you’ve had in a long time.

“Merry Christmas,” she replies, her smile soft and genuine, before turning around and disappearing into her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

~~~

You’re out like a light the second Miranda is gone, completely oblivious to the internal struggle she faces as she curls up in her own bed. She tries to close her eyes and force herself to sleep, but she’s not tired at all - her mind is racing and her heart is pounding, her entire body responding to the evening she’s shared with you. The laughter, the sense of familiarity and peace, the tension when you nearly kissed her. And, God, does she want to kiss you. But you’re tipsy, and you probably just said that in the heat of the moment - she gets it, sometimes alcohol makes her flirty and a little horny as well. You probably won’t remember that conversation in the morning - and you probably won’t want to kiss her anymore either.

She can’t help the way her heart sinks as she comes to that realization, and it keeps her up for the better part of the night. She feels like she’s just managed to nod off when the morning light starts to filter in through the curtains and she groans, burying her face in her pillow.

Thud.

Miranda freezes for a moment, her blood going cold as she hears a noise coming from her living room. Then she remembers that you’re sleeping on her couch and her body relaxes again. She’s nervous, wondering if you’ll be awkward about the previous evening’s sexual tension, but her curiosity about whether or not you’re already awake wins out and she pushes herself off the bed, smoothing a hand over her hair and wiping the sleep out of her eyes before creeping into the hallway, careful to be quiet in case you’re still sleeping.

There’s a clattering coming from the living room though, and she finds you collecting the beer bottles from last night that are still scattered across the coffee table.

“Hello,” Miranda says, her voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

Your head whips around towards the doorway and your cheeks turn pink. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to clean up a bit. Did I wake you?” The way you’re chewing at your bottom lip is adorable and makes Miranda want to kiss you senseless. She chuckles and shakes her head.

“No, I was awake anyway. Here, let me help.” Miranda helps you clear off the coffee table, heading into the kitchen with an armful of bottles and her empty bowl from dinner. You’re right behind her with the rest of the dishes and you immediately make your way to the sink and start washing them - it feels so domestic that it makes Miranda’s heart flutter, and she has to look away and focus on something else so that you can’t see the blush on her cheeks or the yearning that’s surely shining in her eyes.

“Do you want coffee?” she asks, waiting for your affirmative hum before starting to make some. She’s so focused on preparing the coffee machine that she misses you turning off the sink and padding over to her - she yelps as you press against her back, placing your hands on the counter on either side of her and boxing her in. Her heart is racing, skipping beats left and right as your body heat warms her from behind. Drawing in a sharp breath, she turns around to face you.

“Miranda?” Your voice is low and a little shaky, and your cheeks are flushed - gorgeously so, Miranda finds her mouth going dry.

“Yes?” she croaks out.

“Remember how I said I’d kiss you today if you still wanted to?”

All Miranda can do is nod, her mouth hanging open as all the blood rushes to her face.

“Well, I guess I wanted to ask you if you still wanted to kiss me? Because I’m sober now and I still want to kiss you.” You look just as nervous as Miranda feels - she nods again, afraid her voice will betray how badly she wants you.

“Please, say it,” you plead, your eyes wide and earnest. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Y-yes. I- I want to kiss you.”

Your lips curl up into a soft smile and your hands move from the counter to Miranda’s waist, your grip firm as if you’re afraid she’ll run away from you. You press yourself up onto your toes until your face is mere inches away from her own. She can feel your breath on her face, warm and shallow. Her eyes are glued to your lips, wondering when you’ll close the gap - then you do, your lips soft and plush as they press gently against hers.

She allows her eyelids to flutter shut and kisses you back, her own hands reaching out tentatively to cup your cheeks. You smile into the kiss and she takes the opportunity to deepen it - you groan softly into her mouth as her tongue brushes against yours, and she swallows the sound, groaning back in return.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” she murmurs, her thumb stroking your cheek.

“As if I haven’t been thinking about that since the moment I first met you,” you tease with a seductive grin, before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her down for a second kiss, even more passionate than the last.

@alexusonfire @brienneswife @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69 @Ssappling2004 @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandgwenslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillahofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @niceminipotato @barbarasstar @women-are-so-ethereal @thevillagegay @willowshadenox @lilfartbox1 @larissaoftarthweems @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @lvinhs @sweetderacine @daydream-cement @ilovetlcc @wastdstime @ladylarissaweems @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr

#miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson #top of the lake #top of the lake: china girl #i haven't posted in almost 2.5 months and i'm ANXIOUS #hype a girl up 😭#i also clearly couldn't be arsed to come up with a better title i'm SORRY 🥲

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mossbone · 9 months

Text

The recent Dracula Daily updates are interesting to me. This book is infamous for being about the vampiric Horrors, as defined by their sexual immorality and hedonism; unlike our Heroes who are proper and British and christian. And yet...here we see the horrors being compounded and enabled by the rigid social structures emphasizing morality. And for all Bram Stoker's biases, I think that was intentional.

Firstly, the horror is compounded by the Need for Propriety. Lucy is sleepwalking, in nothing but her nightgown! How awful! So awful it is unthinkable as an option to Mina until she sees undeniable proof Lucy left the house. When that is proven true, "ever growing fear chilling my heart" Mina feels turns to "a vague, overmastering fear obscured all details." She then runs through the streets and finally turns to the cliffs, not fearing like Lucy's mother, to see her in danger of falling of the cliffs, but simply fearing to see her safe in their favorite seat—exposed to all the town.

She in fact sees in shadowy detail, an unidentified man leaning over Lucy. Yet..the whole update is strewn with Mina's massive and unfortunately justified fear for her friend's reputation, maybe more than her safety. Did someone take advantage of Lucy, enact some violence or violation of her while she was sleepwalking? Irrelevant, compared to the question: will anyone see them and assume they were up to some promiscuity? After all, she can't help but be "thinking how the story would become distorted—nay, infallibly would—in case it should leak out." There is the psychological horror on top of the nights events, which were traumatic enough.

An indictment of the present state of late Victorian values and their strict judgments already. But then. The consequence of our young heroines being unable to share their story is that Dracula continues to work unnoticed. He will get more victims, he will continue to grow in power and terrorize Lucy and whomever else he wants. Just like Jonathan being trapped in an increasingly abusive work contract because he feels he must stay to the strict matters of politeness [an imbalance of power that work relationships had then and continue to fucking have], here Lucy and Mina are trapped in very clear physical danger because they cannot share the predator hunting them without surely being accused of being a liar and a whore.

Of course, the loved ones of our protagonists are not of that malicious nature at all. If only they could talk to each other freely, Jonathan and Arthur and Lucy's other suitors would obviously not blame her. And Mina, or likely anyone, would help Jonathan recognize the red flags as what they were. But such close communication is impossible given the heavy expectations of the day.

Social standards were very bad and restrictive in 1897, and I think Bram Stoker consistently criticizes how they are with his novel, even while it serves as a cautionary tale against immorality. The solution to sexual abuse and immorality, in his words, is not punishing people for suffering from them or talking about them. I think he is saying this masterfully, as well, by allowing the audience to feel the visceral fear and helplessness through the perspective of the narrators so closely. Unlike many novels of the time which had people near the protagonist serve as cautionary tales and indictments of society, he forces the reader into those shoes through intimate first person narration.

Anyway. Good chapters, huh. Sadly still relevant.

#dracula daily #dracula spoilers #dracula #jonathan harker #mina murray #lucy westenra #dracula daily spoilers

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thedeviltohisangel · 1 month

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I live for Bucky and Spook and I have kids on the brain after rewatching the scene with Buck and Bucky talking to British kids Billy and Sammy so hear me out: Spook offering to babysit for one of the Brit’s kids and one of the kids sees them flirting and asks if they’re gonna get married

All The Things I Did (Interlude): I Want To Give You The World

a/n: ok this interlude became very important to the story. hints at post-berlin (promise we will see pre-berlin soon) cass and john, cass/lemmons/local children fluff, meeting cass' older brother, and hot times on a blanket in a field. interlude requests always open//inbox and DMs ready to accept screams. see you all soon!

The tip of the pencil snapped under the force she was using to press it into the paper. It was the fourth one in the past half hour. She thinks she was going to lose her mind. That the walls were closing in around her like a personal prison cell. That is almost exactly what it was.

The doctors and the OSS had her grounded post-Berlin. They had offered her two choices. Extended stay at a flak house or operational pause and desk duty. Cass had thought she was making the right decision. The former had meant leaving base and leaving John. After she had just gotten him back. After they had only just spent the night together and discovered the bliss of waking up in each other’s arms. No. She couldn’t leave him after all that. But desk duty. Desk duty was causing her slow decline. And to add insult to injury, John had been tasked with a mission to North Africa anyways.

She was trying to catch up on her reports and her targeting packages but it wasn’t enough. John wasn’t here to distract her. Colonel Harding would just flirt with her. Everybody else was locked in their own offices and working frantically. She was alone on her own boredom island.

----

Assuming some sunshine might do the trick, she found herself walking the runways. They were empty just like her heart. Her mustachioed pilot off in a far away land no doubt enjoying his time in the desert. Cass imagined he was still finding a way to cause trouble. Had asked him to look up her brother while he was there. She hoped Bobby at least ribbed him a little bit.

“Lemmons, what have we got going on over here?” It looked like a plane engine and it looked like he had children holding wrenches and helping him work on it.

“Lieutenant Cooper!” The kids saluted her with a smile. She lifted her hand with a laugh in reply.

“Just teaching these kids how to take apart an engine,” Lemmons answered. “Don’t get a lot of down time.” Cass hummed and reached towards the tool kit to pick a wrench of her own.

“Got room for one more?”

----

“Miss Cass?” One of the little girls had been finding Lieutenant too hard to pronounce the past couple of days so she had given her permission to use her name.

“Yes, ma’am?” They were all sitting together around a bonfire that Lemmons had started. The kids were roasting whatever they could put on a stick and telling stories about all the fun them and the mechanics were getting up to.

“Can you tell the story about Prince Bucky and Princess Spook again?” Spending this time with them was a breath of fresh her. Reminded her of her nieces and nephews back home that she missed so dearly.

“Where did we leave off?” A couple of the other kids gathered around at the murmur that the story was continuing.

“Prince Bucky was using his flying unicorn to kill the evil dragon!”

“Oh please, Miss Cass, tell us if Princess Spook is okay.” She ignored the smirks of the men that were also present. Cass gave them a ‘can you blame me’ look. She missed her man and this was one of the ways she knew how to fill the void.

“Prince Bucky arrived at the castle just in time, the dragon about to breathe fire into the window where Princess Spook was asleep.” They gasped, fully committed to the story. “She woke up and looked out the window and saw Prince Bucky and his sword, ready to kill the dragon!”

“I’m sure Bucky is very proficient with his sword,” one of the mechanics scoffed around his cigarette. Cass shot him a look that could kill him and he quieted instantly.

“He raised it high,” she lifted her arms over her head, “and brought it down right through its scales before it could kill the Princess.” The children breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are they going to get their happily ever after, Lieutenant?” Lemmons asked with a grin.

“What do you all think? Should the Prince and Princess be together forever?” They all nodded furiously, Cass laughing at the chocolate on their faces.

“Miss Cass, they should get married and then Princess Spook can wear a really big dress.”

“Then they’ll be King and Queen!”

“And King Bucky can slay a million more dragons!” Two of the boys turned towards each other with their sticks and began to use them as their own swords. The rest of the kids took their cues and took off into the darkening field to act out their own version of the fairytale.

“They’re good kids, Ken. It’s nice that you’ve taken them under your wing.” Cass bumped his shoulder playfully as he blushed around his sip of beer.

“They are much more into Princess Spook than they are plane engines these days, Lieutenant.”

“Cass, please. No ranks around the fire.” She poked at it gently. The distractions had been so welcome. This time spent away from John had only reaffirmed her feelings for him were true. That they were deep and meaningful and could last a long time. When she had gotten back from Berlin, he had told her he loved her. Had looked her in the eyes and held her steady and said the three words that Cass thinks carried the most meaning the world. And he had fucking meant them.

She hadn’t said them back even though she felt it too. Never one to be held back by fear, she was in this instance. John could be taken from her at any moment and there was nothing she could do about it. In her line of work, lack of control got you killed.

----

Lemmons was teaching her how to properly oil the gears of the practice engine when the first plane was spotted on the horizon. Cass stood and watched them appear one by one through the lenses of her aviators and smiled before dropping her tools and running to the tower.

“Lieutenant Cooper.” Colonel Harding lowered his binoculars to give her a once over, clearly enjoying the sight of her in a jumpsuit rather than her usual uniform. She plucked the binoculars from his hand while he was distracted.

“My forearms are too tantalizing this afternoon, Colonel?” He smirked as she looked out the window, until she spotted John’s plan and smiled with glee.

“Cassandra, I have dinner tomorrow night with my British counterpart. He’s known to talk with the prodding of scotch and a beautiful woman.” She hummed in thought as the plane carrying the man she loved got closer and closer.

“I’ll think about it.” It wasn’t the first time Harding had invited her as his date to a fancy dinner with their partners. It gave her a chance to elicit information of value from them as she played dumb and sipped a glass of water. John had muttered under his breath about it previously but after the most recent change in their relationship, she doesn’t think he would be so subtle about it anymore.

“Best not keep Major Egan waiting.” He took the binoculars from her hand and watched her go with a sad smile on his face. If only he was younger.

She thinks she exercised the most patience she ever had in her entire life as she wanted for his plane to land and taxi to its final resting place. Her entire body was vibrating as she waited and waited for the hatch to open and almost groaned that he would of course be the last one to exit. And then he dropped out of the plane and the clouds parted so the sun could shine on John Clarence Egan and she was off across the airfield like a cannonball.

“C’mere my lovely, lovely angel.” He caught her as she jumped into his arms, her legs around his waist and arms around his neck in an instant. John went for a kiss but she stopped him with a finger to his lips.

“Any new scratches or bruises or wounds of any kind I need to know about?” She had already located one on the bridge of his nose and on his forehead.

“You can do a more thorough check when you take a shower with me later, how about that?” he whispered.

“Yeah, it does seem you need one.” John couldn’t wait to kiss her anymore. He groaned as she wasted no time slipping her tongue between his lips, gripping her tighter against his body. “I missed you. Thought about you every day,” she admitted. He let her legs drop onto the ground but her arms stayed exactly where they had been.

“The men almost mutinied against me for talking about you too much.” She giggled and John kissed her again. “Though it did make me look a little desperate in front of your brother.” Cass looked at him with wide eyes.

“You saw Bobby? Were you able to give him the box?” John nodded.

“You didn’t tell me he was that frightening.” He didn’t mention that his hand was shaking when he was giving him the box. The way the older man had looked at him like ham on a buffet table made him sweat. Gale had loved every minute of it.

“He’s just protective when it comes to boys in my life.” Especially after Sidney Landry.

“Gave me a stern speech about the kind of girl you are and how you deserve to be treated and that he knew what I looked like now so he could kill me if he needed to.”

“He’s doing okay? Seemed intact?” Cass hadn’t seen Bobby since he left for boot camp immediately after Pearl a few years ago. Remembers hugging him with tears that she may not see him again. That he was going somewhere far away where people hated him. He had told her he had to. That he needed to do something to protect his family. Told her he wouldn’t be surprised if she found a way to join him over there. She and her brother Kent followed not too soon after. God how she missed them both.

“Told me to tell you he misses you.” John had been honest with the man about his feelings for Cass. Didn’t know if he would ever get the chance to talk to her father and that Bobby would be the next best thing. Told him he loved her and wanted to be with her when this was all over. That Cass was it for him, he knew it as well as he knew how to fly. Bobby was hesitant at first but watched the way John looked when he spoke about her. Heard the men making jokes about the lovestruck Major. Bobby had even asked Major Cleven for his thoughts on the whole situation. Gale had raved about Cass and how good she was for John. That the two of them complemented each other like salt and pepper.

When John asked for Bobby’s blessing to one day marry Cass, he had given it.

----

That night, they were back where they could always be found. On a blanket in the field of wildflowers a few minutes drive from base. John’s hat and blazer were thrown somewhere in the distance and she was working on the knot of his tie as he hovered on top of her.

“You aren’t allowed to leave me for that long ever again,” she breathed as she threw the offensive fabric over his head and John’s hands moved the hem of her dress around her waist.

“Yes, ma’am.” Cass used his moment of weakness to change the balance of power, hooking her leg around his waist and pushing against his shoulder until his back hit the blanket and she was straddling him. “I like the way you think.” She had only unbuttoned the first few on her dress, John sitting up in a daze at the sight of white lace, kissing her skin as she exposed it to him. Then, over the hill, was the sound of screeching children and it was only getting closer.

“John-”

“Miss Cass! Miss Cass!” She pushed John down as they came running towards her. Her fingers barely locked the last button into place before they were swarmed.

“We didn’t see you today!”

“Sergeant Lemmons said Prince Bucky was back!”

“Is this him?” She went to move from her precarious position over John when his hands on her hips stopped her.

“Not yet,” he cautioned. No need to scar these children for life.

“Yes, this is…Prince Bucky.” She had told John, after he had coaxed her into the shower, about her time with Lemmons and the local kids. About the story of Prince Bucky and Princess Spook and the dragon. He had teased her about their happily ever after all afternoon. “He’s just been back from killing another dragon.” Her look begged him to play along.

“Indeed. A large…gray dragon.” The kids gasped.

“Was he trying to hurt Princess Spook?”

“I would do anything to rescue my Princess.” Cass couldn’t help herself, pulling him in for a kiss by his collar.

“Will you be getting married soon?”

“Oh, please, Miss Cass! You’d look so pretty in a princess dress.”

“Prince Bucky hasn’t asked, little ones.” For his part, John was looking at her like the first sight of land after being lost at sea.

“Will you marry me, Princess Spook?” The kids cheered but Cass was frozen. She knew it wasn’t real, he was placating them and she loved him for it, but hearing the words come from his mouth felt so right. He meant them.

“Yes.” And she meant her answer too.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic #john egan x reader #john egan x oc #answered #cass and bucky

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femoso-seben · 8 months

Text

Immortal Shenanigans

Chapter 2: Bullets and Pots

pt.1 pt.2, pt. 3

You stare at them. And they stared at you. You grow and twist your arms until the rope becomes loose. You really had to remove the bullet from your head. You violently dislocated your shoulder and pulled your left hand free.

You throw your head forward dislodging the bullet in your head. You reach into the hole pull out the bullet and drop it onto the ground. You rotate your neck before freeing your other arm.

“You know it’s impolite to shoot someone from that distance.” You hum as the hole in your head begins to close. “Next time shoot me up close, so the bullet doesn’t get stuck.”

You reach down untie your feet, stand up, and walk toward the group. “What with those expressions? It seems like you're seeing a zombie—“

Bang!

Another bullet hits you point blank in the face. You fall backward as they lay more bullets into your body. They quietly stare at each other before leaving, your eyes open and you stand up in the empty… where were you?

It didn’t matter you picked up your bag and left. As you leave the large room you hear a low voice talking. We’re they still here? Might as well scare the shit out of them.

“Hey,” you round the corner as a bullet hits you in the heart. You stare down at the hole in your chest. “That’s not very nice.” You look up shaking your head.

“How the fuck are you still alive?”

“I’m immortal.”

“We killed you.”

“You tried.”

They stared at you with horror in their eye. You were still alive. I looked down at their map, they were planning something.

“Mmh, colonizing shit, you make your ancestors proud.” You look up at the British military men. They give you a cold look.

Ghost raises his gun, “Don’t waste your bullets on me.” You say not looking at him. “We both know it won’t work.” He slowly lowers his gun and looks down at you.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m Egyptian…. I’m from Egypt. This is my home territory.” You’d rate the obvious.

“How old are you?” Soap folds his arm curious about the answer.

“About 5,000 years old.” You casually stare looking down at your ruined clothes. “I was born a little after Egypt was unified. So about 5,000 years old.” You looked him in the face.

“How are you still alive?”

“I don’t know.”

“How don’t you know?”

“We didn’t have science back then!” I shout at Soap.

“I’m older than your Goddamn country, show me some respect!”

“You act like a bratty child.” Ghost hums looking at you with annoyance.

“I am still 20, there’s a dichotomy, between my age and my mental age. I’ve been through a lot and processed it like a 20-year-old.” You explain. The mustache man nods somewhat understanding.

“You do act your age.”

“What you guys doing?” You stand on your tippy toes trying to catch a glimpse of what they're doing. They move to block your view.

“This is private information.”

“Geez ok,” you put your hands up, “it’s not like I’m gonna retain that information. It’s not important to me.”

“Why do you wanna know then?”

“Because I’m nosy,” you shrug. In this decade you decided to be the most immature person ever, to truly act your mental age. A little dumb and completely insufferable.

“Anyways I need to head back… I’m thinking the lady I’m staying with is looking for me.” You begin to walk off, humming a tune so old it was ingrained in your very soul.

“Where do you think you're going?”

“Back to my Airbnb,” you turn around spreading your arms to the mustache man. “Don’t worry I won’t mention you, all four of you aren’t worthy to be remembered.” You give them a bow and Waltz out.

You have rented the Airbnb for a month. you open the door and set your bag down. If the police are looking for you, you're going to have to call in and clear up the misinformation. You take a shower and change to less damaged bloody clothes.

“Hey is this the police?… this is yn… I wasn’t missing just went on a spiritual journey without my phone… sorry for the inconvenience… of course, I’ll tell someone next time.” You hung up, bored and slightly numb.

You should call in that temple site, and get your pots in a museum; not the British Museum, but a local one. You found the right phone number of an old colleague.

“Hey is mister Renfield there? Yes, this is Sofia, Mary’s daughter. Me and my mother stumble across a hidden temple.” News travels fast and you soon we’re back in your temple this time willingly and unstuck.

“Sofia,” you look up.

“Look at these pots, they are your specialty,” Benjamin said. He was an archeologist from America helping with the dig.

“These are in great condition,” you hum, of course, they are. Nobody touched them but you. “These artifacts might tell us more about this temple.”

“This site gonna be a new tourist attraction.” You smile but deep inside you hate the idea of random people ruining your sacred temple.

You walk the street at night. You didn’t need sleep, you didn’t need food, you didn’t need water. But you like those things, they make you feel more mortal more human. You found it ironic you wanted to be human again when for many years you’ve seen yourself as a god amongst men.

“These pots look expensive.” You froze and looked to your right.

“We can sell this to the British Museum.”

Hell no!

You begin to walk down the alleyway, those pots— must have come from your site. Those were your pots, nobody else but yours. You found three men packing them into boxes.

“What do you think you're doing with my pots?” You coldly asked in Arabic. They turn to you like deer in headlights. One pulls out a gun and threatens to shoot. You stare at them coldly arms folded.

“Back off bitch!”

“Why?” You walk closer and they frown. They turn to each other and begin to speak another language.

You could understand them. They were talking about your looks. They could sell you. Or harvest your organs. You frown if they discover your immortality they keep you as a slave.

“Human trafficking?” They froze and turned to you horrified. You knew the second language too. You pull out your tactical whip and hit the one with the gun. You took the gun and turned it on them.

“Take me to your hideout.” You demand. You will take all the artifacts they have stolen back. They slowly took you to an abandoned warehouse at the end of the city. They tried to take the gun back but your whip took good care of their attempts.

It hurt like hell and it culled their attempts to fight you. You knocked out both men, with one hard punch and tied them up with the rope you carried in your bag. You enter the abandoned warehouse. It was mostly empty, besides the shit tone of guns, but you didn’t care for that.

“Damn, what is this? An incels’ wet dream?” You mutter staring at the boxes of guns.

You walk around taking in all the stuff. Most of it was military, not your problem. You found your artifacts all in a single box with little care put into it. You deer in frustration. You pull out your phone to call in the stolen items and the military-grade gun.

“Hello, police?”

“Price over here.” Your voice does as you slowly lookout to find those four military men. You end the call and stand up.

“Hey.”

Bang!

“Hey, these pots are old!” You yell back trying to protect the box.

“What are you doing here,” mustache man roars in anger.

“Stolen museum pots!”

“How can we trust you?” They all had their guns pointed at you. You roll your eyes.

“I’m an archeologist first, a historian second, and a bitch lastly. I don’t give a shit about your damn mission only these pots!” They turn to each other. Was she for real? They look at you. Yes, she is.

“Alright you're here for pots, how did you get here.”

“Two looters try to steal my temple pot.”

“How did you take out two men?”

“Tactical whip,” you hold up your metallic whip. Soap sighed and the mustache man simply covered his eyes.

“Does it work?”

“Very well.”

“I’m going to call the police—“

“No, we’re going to call the military.” Mustache man interrupted you. You sigh and stretch your arms.

“Alright, when they get here just tell them that box is historically important.” You pick up your stuff and begin to leave.

“Where are you going?”

“You guys got this handle, and I still need to report another problem.” You wave your hand.

“Let’s not meet up again.” You state as you leave the warehouse.

You called in the temple pot theft and your colleagues explained the frustrating situation. Looters are the first enemy of knowledge and history.

Bang!

You fall forward and your world turns black.

#cod x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #cod #call of duty #141 #captain price #kyle gaz garrick #pots because archeology

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hmslusitania · 2 years

Note

Unified theory of Indiana Jones and The Mummy? My interest has been piqued 🍿 👀

Okay so I think it goes without saying that these movies clearly take place in the same universe, just off the bat.

That said, we also know that several of the (unseen) previous generation of characters had careers that would've taken them to similar geographic areas -- notably Howard Carnahan and Abner Ravenwood, who were Egyptologists of roughly a similar age.

So, it would make complete sense to me if, at some point, they were contracted to work on the same project. Whether or not they got along, whether or not they worked well together, is immaterial. The important part is that they both brought their daughters. Now, according to the wikis for the respective franchises, Evelyn (Carnahan) O'Connell was born in 1903, and Marion Ravenwood was born in 1909, and young girls, as Marion would've been, tend to heavily imprint on older girls especially when they're stuck together in a camping situation. And I think Evy, a perpetual baby sister, would've jumped at the chance to get to be the cool older sister type friend.

They would've corresponded after that.

In 1925, Marion writes to Evy about her father's dashing new student who she's fallen hopelessly in love with (and an equally passionate disavowal of the man only a few months later).

In 1926, Evy writes back to tell Marion that she's been part of an expedition to help recover the site of Hamunaptra (leaving out the magic, because that would be just a shade too far; adding the fact she may not have found much treasure but she did find a husband in the post script -- prompting many more questions from Marion).

They write each other about Evy's journey to respectability as an archaeologist and Egyptologist, and her impassioned arguments with another young archaeologist out of the University of Chicago, who Evy pointedly refused to name in any of her letters out of disrespect (the nature of their academic disagreements is simple -- Evy's seen magic with her own eyes and brings a layer of credulity to her interpretation of sites that Indy just cannot fathom. Well. Not yet, anyway).

They write when Alex was born, when Marion moves to Nepal.

In 1933, Evy writes her about the Oasis at Ahm Shere, but she leaves out the part where she died and was resurrected, and the part where the entire oasis was sucked into the afterlife afterwards.

(In 1935, Indy sees Magic in India, and he thinks briefly of his continuing journal publication feud with the British-Egyptian Egyptologist E. O'Connell, and then he locks this information away in a part of his brain he does not touch lest he go mad.)

In 1936, Marion writes her about the search for the Ark, about her father's old student -- a professor now himself -- coming back into her life. She mentions the pit of snakes, being entombed, and the deaths of the Nazi bastards. She doesn't mention the magic, the actual Ark of the Covenant saving their asses. It would sound crazy, after all.

In 1937, they see each other in person for the first time in over a decade by chance at the Cairo Museum. This is before the events of the Last Crusade, so for the moment, Marion and Indy are more-or-less together and more-or-less happy about it. Rick and Evy are there for their standard work reasons, delivering some recently excavated artefacts.

At first, everything goes fine. Evy and Marion recognise each other, and as nearly life-long penpals tend to do, take a moment to remember how to speak to each other in person, but then they're thrilled for the opportunity to do so. The four of them agree to get dinner together and it's at dinner while they're talking about their work that Indy makes the connection between E. O'Connell, academic rival, and Evelyn O'Connell, and Evy makes the connection that Marion's "Indy" is actually that very same Henry Jones Jr who Evy's wanted nothing more than to knock senseless with the Book of Life for over a decade.

In the ensuing loud argument that nearly gets them thrown from the restaurant and during which Rick and Marion decide they're best friends now, both Evy and Indy accidentally reveal their hands as regards magic, archaeology, and the realities therein. They part dinner as wary allies.

The academic detente lasts just until Marion writes Evy about the dissolution of her relationship with Indy and concurrent birth of their son, and then the rivalry's back on.

Frankly, all of them prefer it this way.

(As an additional aside, while he was serving in WWI, Jonathan Carnahan met and befriended {""befriended""} an Australian nurse, who had the mixed fortune to lose all of her father's titled cousins during the war and returned home as the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher)

#the ghost ship scribbles #indiana jones #the mummy #wilddragonflying #with the exception of checking birth years in the respective wikis #this is all just off the cuff #so if there's incorrect continuity don't @ me

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bruhhhh-huhhhhh · 4 months

Text

HEYYYYY

Guess who got permission from @colemorrison to write a continuation of a request I did

ME!

And that's what I'm gonna do. Get ready for the silly fellas cause it's coming

I love him so much guys

I'm mentally unwell

When Junkrat and Roadhog left you, you were practically dead. Hell, you thought you were dead.

Especially when a certain angel came to save you.

Overwatch wasn't even supposed to be there, but Cassidy heard rumors of two certain people being there and he wanted to try his hand at stopping them. Much to Mercy's dismay. She wanted to have her time off and not have any extra side projects. But she couldn't let Cole, Tracer, and D.va go without a healer.

Damn them and their need to be heros.

Which is what leads to now. The gaurds that were previously beating the shit out of you were long gone, being questioned by Cassidy. They pointed him over to you, bleeding on the ground with your life practically oozing away from you. He rushed to get Angela the moment he saw the blood.

"Don't bother! They're practically dead anyway. And besides, the world'll be better without 'em. Filthy criminal," one of the guards called out.

That didn't stop Cole, though. He ran to get Angela, and she ran with him over to you.

When the angel came into your view, you were sure that you were dead. "Huh. Didn't think I'd get into Heaven," you said. Your voice was hoarse and damaged, which shocked you. "Oh. Guess I don't get magically fixed when I die."

"Well, you ain't dead yet, kid," Cole said.

"Roll them over, Cole. I need to see the damage," Mercy commanded.

You couldn't help but laugh slightly, which had pain wracking through your body.

While the doctor, who's name you learned was Mercy through the shouting of a British woman, fixed you up, all you could think of was Junkrat.

Jamison.

He asked you to call him Jamison.

You couldn't help but wonder if he got out. He had to have. Or else your distraction would have been for nothing.

"-with me?"

"What?"

"I asked if you were with me, kid. Look like we lost you for a sec," the cowboy said.

"Oh. No, I'm alive. Just thinking," you responded vaguely.

Mercy shook her head and continued healing you. "Well, try not to look dead while doing so."

The rest of the time spent healing you was in silence. Well, silence from the three of you. D.va and Tracer were busy lecturing the guards for beating you within an inch of your life and then insisting that you didn't deserve medical attention.

For such small women, they were horribly scary.

When Mercy was done, Hana insisted on taking you back to Gibraltar with them. "We can't just leave them here, Angela. Not when these guards might just try and kill them again. We have room on the ship, we might as well take them back. It'll give you time to check on them, too!"

The older woman sighed and looked to Cassidy. "Do we have room on the hovercraft?'

"We always have room, Angela."

Mercy sighed and looked back to Hana. "Fine. But you're going to be the one to change their bandages on the flight back."

The streamer jumped up and down with joy and helped you onto the hovercraft. You didn't understand what made her so excited. Maybe she was just on that post rescue high and would realize that dragging you along wasn't the best idea.

The hovercraft ride was boring. The cowboy slept, Mercy did paperwork, and Hana just played games the whole ride. Until you needed your bandages changed. Then she changed them for you and went right back to her games.

Gibraltar was pretty empty for how big it was. But there was still plenty of people there to talk to you. They were all waiting at the landing pad, greeting Cassidy as he got off. Before too many people could ask him things, Cole spoke up to get everyone's attention. "Listen up, y'all. We got a new person coming through with us. They aren't officially a member yet, so please don't question them about stuff like that. Just give 'em space since they'll be recovering from some pretty nasty injuries."

Everyone nodded and murmured in agreement. When you came out of the hovercraft, partially leaning on Mercy for support, a murmur rippled through the crowd.

Still, they let you go through to the medical bay without issue. You got plently of weird looks, though. Mercy set you up in a private room, connecting fluids to you and changing your bandages one more time before leaving you for the rest of the day.

Your time in that bed was spent thinking of Jamison. Had he gotten back to the safehouse okay? Was he thinking of you? Had the cops caught him and Roadhog?

The last thought made you near hysterical. You didn't want to think about that.

Sometimes Mercy came and checked on you. She would take you to the bathroom and leave you meals to eat. She even let you take a walk around the base.

Lots of people looked at you while you took that walk. It was well known who you were, and why you were there, at that point. D.va and Tracer smiled at you and waved.

You didn't wave back.

All you could think was if Jamison and Roadhog were breathing this same air. If they had the opportunity to do that of their own free will.

The endless amounts of tears that you shed after that thought is what made Mercy take you back to your room.

Even after your injuries healed, you didn't leave your room in the medical bay. You couldn't find the will to.

"Y/N, you need to go and socialize with everyone else," Mercy said from the door of your room.

"No."

"Yes. It isn't healthy for you to stay in here all the time."

"And it's healthy for everyone to look at me weird and question me?"

"They won't do that!"

"Yes they will. That's what they did last time I left."

"They were concerned because you suddenly burst out crying. We still need to talk about that, by the way."

You just turned your back to the door and started ignoring her.

Angela sighed and sat down on the chair next to your bed. "Y/N, I understand that you don't want to. I don't know what's making you act like this, what you went through before we found you, but you need to talk to us. We just want to help."

The two of you stayed silent for a while before you spoke up. "Please leave."

Angela sighed and got up, walking over to the door. Before she could leave, though, you called out to her. "I'll be out for dinner. Could I sit with you and Cole?"

A smile graced her lips and she nodded before leaving and closing the door behind her.

Angela was starting to worry when you didn't immediately show for dinner. Everyone was eating in the cafeteria, having already gotten their food. You were late.

"Calm down, Angie. They'll come when they're ready. Might not be today and that'd be fine," Tracer said as she ate her soup. Mercy sighed as Cassidy agreed.

But then you walked through the door, your hospital gown hanging loosely over your clothes. Everyone stared at you as you sheepishly walked up to the table and sat down next to Cassidy.

The rest of dinner went fine. You ate with other people for the first time in just under a year and things were going smoothly. Until you thought about Jamison.

Was he able to eat like this? Was he even still alive?

Tears started to well in your eyes and you could feel the sob lodging itself in your throat. It was about to escape before Cassidy put a hand on your shoulder and quietly said, "Come take a walk with me."

You obliged and stood up, Cassidy's arm wrapped around your shoulder as he guided you out of the room. Everyone's eyes on you made you want to shrivel up and die like you should have back in that heist.

You hadn't even realized that Cole had led you outside until you felt the breeze against your face. "What's going on, kid?"

"I-" you cut yourself off quickly. Did you really want to talk about it? To tell him about something that could risk Junkrat and Roadhog?

"You can tell me anythin' you need, I promise. Everything will stay between us."

With that, you told him everything. Everything from how you met Junkrat and Roadhog to how you risked your life to save them.

When you were done, Cole pulled you into a long hug. No words were spoken as you walked back to the cafeteria. You ate peacefully, not having the weight of everything that happened finally off your chest.

It took another couple of months for anything else to happen. You slowly started to work your way into regular life, eating in the cafeteria and watch practices and trainings.

Everything was fine. You even started sitting with Hanzo and Genji instead of Mercy, Cole, and Tracer. Until two certain someones came into the base.

Junkrat and Roadhog had been recruited. Somehow.

You didn't even realize it was them. You just thought it was two other suckers who didn't have anywhere else to go. You'd be damned if they were going to be taking your room, though.

Tracer was giving them a tour when he came up to your room. You were the only one who hadn't met them, opting to stay in your room, so Lena brought them to you.

Lena knocked on your door, and you reluctantly got out of bed to answer. When you opened the door, you were greeted by the sight of someone you never thought you'd see again.

"Jamison?"

"Y/N?"

You stared for a second, not knowing what to do. Before you could act, though, the bomber jumped onto you and started babbling apologies.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I wanted to go back for you, I really did. But I didn't and I'm sorry and oh my god I can't believe your alive. I was so scared that they had killed you and when the overwatch agents got there I was so convinced that you were an undercover agent and they had come to collect your body. I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry." Jamison babbled and babbled, not giving you the chance to say anything.

"Does he always do this?" Tracer asked.

Rodhog sighed and nodded before picking Junkrat up off of you. It gave you the chance to get back up and look at Junkrat. "It's okay, Jamie. I gave myself up for a reason. I love you and was willin to die to let you go. Now, why don't you continue your tour with the big guy and we'll talk later?" You pressed a small kiss to his cheek, getting soot on your lips in the process, before shooing him off.

"That's the most I've ever heard them talk," Tracer admitted as they walked back to the main room.

#overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch junkrat #junkrat x reader

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call-sign-jinx · 4 months

Text

Endless Love (Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw) - Chapter 1

summary - Y/N Y/L/N and Bradley Bradshaw have had a rivalry ever since they both attended the same academy. Every chance they took, they always tried to one up each other. One day, Bradley takes the rivalry too far and Y/N ends up in the hospital with serious injuries. Will it make Y/N want to get him back twice as worse? Or will it make her realise that this rivalry between them is childish?

warnings - swearing, enemies to lovers, mention of serious injury, traumatic episodes, reader traumatised from what happened, smut, slowburn, seizures, flashbacks

a/n - hiya girliesss! this is my very FIRST series on here! i rlly hope u guys like it! enjoyyyyyy! xx

Bradley Bradshaw and I have always had a rivalry since we were at the academy. I think I'm better than him, he thinks he's better than me. However, on paper, we were just as good as each other. Same scores on all tests and practical tests. Same amount of medals. Same amount of almost everything. I realised that, but wanted to change the fact that we were the same. Because I earned my place at Top Gun. I literally flew from Greater Manchester to San Diego for Top Gun! I had to work hard enough for the money, enough money for the ticket, visa, small shitty apartment, furniture. Everything.

When I was talking to Cyclone the other day - because of an argument that me and Rooster had - he said that we were actually quite alike. I scoffed at the idea. How could me and Bradshaw me similar? I completely disagreed with Cyclone and voiced my opinions, knowing what the consequences of opposing my superior, but to my shock he respected me for standing up to him as not many people do these days. His words, not mine.

It was now the first official day at Top Gun, well, not really, but everyone was going to be at the Hard Deck to meet each other and celebrate that we got into Top Gun, the best of the best.

I was one of the last to arrive (shit traffic) and my eyes immediately found another female aviator. Thank fucking God. So glad I'm not the only one. I confidently walked over and introduced myself.

"Hi, I'm Vandal. But you can call me Y/N." I stick my hand out for her to shake and I can tell she is just as relieved as me to not be the only woman here.

"Phoenix, but you can call me Nat." She had a confident smile on her face.

She told me everyone's names, Hangman (who she calls Bagman to piss him off), Coyote (basically Hangman's ass kisser, Nat's words not mine), Fanboy, Payback, Bob and then she pointed to the person I disliked most in the world, Bradshaw. Great, I knew he was coming to Top Gun because he tried to shove it in my face when he found out, but I just wish he wasn't here right now. Phoenix obviously saw the way I rolled my eyes with a groan.

"What? You don't like the pornstache?" She has a smirk on her face as she points over to Bradshaw who is most definitely locking lips with some poor blonde girl who thinks he's into her for more than sex.

"Well, on top of that, we went to the same academy. He was a total prick. But so was I. In a way, we kind of have a rivalry going on. About who is better than who." Phoenix raised a brow as she listened.

"Oh so you're the 'British bitch' he's always complaining about!" Phoenix has a happy but surprised look on her face.

"British bitch? He needs some originality with insults." I roll my eyes as my gaze finds Bradshaw, as per, picking up girls after ditching the blonde. Guess he got bored of her.

"Why do you two have that rivalry anyway? I've asked Rooster about it but he never actually answers it." I roll my eyes again and sigh.

"Because we both can't put up with being the same, one of us has to be on top. It best be me though, I don't like coming second." I cross my arms as I glare at Bradshaw. I hate him. Why can't he just put up with being second? I mean, I had to most my life until I joined the academy, so it mustn't be that hard.

"Seems you're quite the competitive one." Phoenix has a smirk on her face as she crosses her arms. "Want a game of pool? Heard Bagman is 'undefeated' so I really hope you can burst his ego."

My ears immediately perk up at the mention of a competition. especially someone who is 'undefeated.' Not for any longer though.

--------------------------------------------

"Oh come on! Beginners luck!" Hangman couldn't deal with the fact that someone actually beat him at pool, let alone a female. I smirk at him as I have just potted the winning ball.

"Come on Jake, you gotta just deal with finally being beaten." I raise a brow, my smirk growing bigger as Hangman's anger is seeping from him.

"What about a game of darts? Closest to... 180 wins." Hangman sticks out his hand for me to shake, I fake thinking about it for a second before eagerly shaking his hand.

"Ladies first." Hangman gestures for me to stand in front of the dart board.

"Age before beauty." I gesture for him to stand there, he stood in front of the dart board in defeat. He threw all 3 darts and scored 175. Now its my turn.

I take a deep breath and focus. I threw my first dart. It landed on a triple 20! Now I just have to get two more. I threw my second dart, landed on a triple 20 again. I could hear Hangman groan. Which only made my confidence grow. I threw my last dart. It landed on another triple 20!

"That's 180 Hangman! I win!" I had a triumphant smirk on my face as Hangman has all but defeat in his eyes.

"Aww don't be so upset Hangman, you're still second best." I had an evil smirk as Phoenix can't help but laugh.

"How? No one and I mean no one has ever beaten me at darts!" Hangman runs a hand through his hair as he gets a better look at the dart board to see if one of my darts was just close enough to the area above or below it. They weren't.

"Guess because I wasn't here." I pat him on his back and gesture to the bartender if I could get two more beers. One for me and one for Hangman.

"Here Bagman, to make you feel better." I giggle as I pass him the beer.

The rest of the night went by like a breeze. Hangman demanding a rematch every 10 minutes, me and Phoenix gossiping, Fanboy, Payback and Coyote playing pool, Bob sat near the wall nearly out of sight, and Bradshaw, at the piano with another girl on his lap as he sings Great Balls of Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagines #top gun maverick #top gun rooster #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw fluff #bradley rooster bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw fic #rooster bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw x you

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bloodynereid · 1 year

Note

graham dunne x reader with right person wrong time💔💔

Here's to the Fools Who Dream

pairing: graham dunne x fem!actor reader

a/n: hiii tysm for the request !! when I read this my mind immediately went to La La Land (one of the many classics in the right person wrong time trope) and so I wanted to do something based/inspired by it so if you see a mix of scenes and some dialogue from the movie that's why. anyways hope you enjoy and as always requests are open!!

tw: angst angst angst, cigarette smoking, swearing, kissing, right person wrong time

description: a struggling actor and a guitarist. what can go wrong?

You first met Graham Dunne out on one of LA’s many beaches, which was coincidentally your favorite surfing beach. And it was one of the most embarrassing experiences of your life.

You had successfully caught a pretty good wave until you felt something weird under one of your feet. So you obviously moved your foot to the side, which resulted with you losing your balance and falling off your board… taking Graham Dunne with you. By the way, that weird thing under your foot was a random piece of seaweed.

“Shit fuck I’m so sorry.” You apologized profusely as you both finally resurfaced, clutching onto your surf boards.

“It’s uh fine. I’m Graham by the way.”

“Y/N.”

“Hey Graham! We gotta go, band practice starts in 30 minutes.” Said a curly haired guy who was lying on one of the beach towels next to a pretty blonde.

“Yeah, be right there. See you around.”

“Yeah.” After he left with his band you sat there contemplating how you could have been such a clutz in front of such an attractive man. And on top of all that you forgot to give him your number. It was idiotic really.

A few weeks later and you were being dragged to a concert of some band your friends had been obsessed with lately. They had been gushing about the frontman and the drummer for days on end. So you reluctantly followed them since you had already canceled plans the last time due to an audition. Which you didn’t even end up booking!

So you grabbed your drinks and made your way to the table that your friends had taken over, one of the closest to the stage obviously. And imagine your surprise when out walked the cute surfer boy from all those weeks ago.

They were pretty good, you wouldn’t lie. You liked their sound and well, it was a plus that Graham was one of the guitarists. You didn’t realize you had spaced out until your friends were waving at you from the backstage door with big smiles on their faces. You just rolled your eyes at their antics before closing up the tab and going outside to wait by the communal car. And just outside the main door stood Graham, lighting up a cigarette.

“Could I have a light?” You asked as you saddled up to him.

“Uh yeah sure.” He took out his lighter and held it up to you so you could lean in and catch the flame at the tip of your cig. “Wait, I know you from somewhere.”

“If you’re talking about the surf incident then I think we should both agree that never happened.”

“Huh… so why are you here tonight? You aren’t a stalker, are you?”

“God no. I swear that I didn’t even know you were in this band.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My friends have a penchant for dragging me places I would rather not be.”

“Wow now I’m offended.” Graham said with a slight teasing smile on his face.

“Hey now, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it then?”

“I just have never listened to your band before. If I go to a concert I like to know some of their songs first.”

“Then why did you allow yourself to be dragged here then?” He asked as you both took drags from your corresponding cigarettes.

“I owed them one, I had to cancel last time since I had an audition.”

“Ah so maybe that’s why your face is familiar, you’re an actor. What have I seen you in?”

“Working at the cafe at the Warner Brothers lot most likely.”

“Graham!” A female British voice interrupted your conversation, it was the same blonde from the beach. “We gotta go.”

“Right, sorry to cut this conversation short once again. I’ll see you in the movies, Y/N.” He gave you a charming smile before heading off to join the blonde woman.

You stood outside the venue for a few more minutes, smoking, until your friends arrived all ready to get back home. That was when you realized you hadn’t given him your number once again. Dammit.

You had taken on one of the busiest shifts at work since your boss had to go to her sister’s baby shower so you were stuck with a barrage of questions about the random things on the menu.

“So is this like all milk chocolate or does it have dark chocolate in it?” A tan girl with twin braids stood in front of you trying to decide what she wanted to order.

“Well it’s a hot chocolate, so you know it comes from a powder…”

“Yes but what kind of chocolate is in the powder?”

“I actually have no idea. Let me go check for you.” You turned around and fumbled around with some jars when you found the hot chocolate one. Taking it down and reading over the ingredients you turned around and were about to answer the lady when you saw an unexpected face.

“Graham?”

“Hey I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop by.”

“Really? How did you bypass the guards?” You leaned down with your elbows on the counter with a smirk on your face.

“Oh I’ve got that famous rockstar privilege.”

“Excuse me!” Right, the hot chocolate lady.

“Do you have a break coming up?”

“Yeah in 10 minutes.”

“Great, I’ll hide in the bathroom then.”

“Oh so you were lying about your rockstar privileges huh?”

“Definitely. I had to jump the fence and run like hell from the guards.” You both laughed as he disappeared in the bathroom.

“So what is in the hot chocolate?”

“It says all milk chocolate.”

“Right… what kinds of tea do you have?”

After 10 minutes of dealing with the most indecisive woman to ever roam the earth you clocked out and met up with Graham outside of the café. He graciously lit up one of your cigarettes as you started to walk around the lot, with all of the chaos that was movie making going around the two of you.

“So how did you get into acting?”

“My aunt I guess. She was with a traveling theater company. Oh god I remember that we used to put on these plays in my living room. She was the one who introduced me to movies. I ended up leaving college after two years and coming here. I probably should have become a lawyer instead.”

“I don’t think the world needs more lawyers.”

“Does it really need more actors?”

“Okay you have a point there.”

“So… how did you get into the band?”

“Well I was trying to get over a girl and then I got my brother to join. We moved out here a few years ago and somehow got Teddy Price to produce us.”

“And how has it been going?”

“Honestly pretty shitty but we’re trying to persevere. We just finished recording something with Daisy Jones which the band is excited for.”

“Wow… actually I have no idea who that is but it sounds big.”

“Not into the rock and roll industry much are you?”

“Well I listen to a lot of everything, but I never really know the specifics.”

“Fair.”

“Hey could you guys just stop there for a second we are about to shoot.” One of the interns from an active set said to the two of you as you turned a corner.

“Yeah totally. You know they shoot movies down my street all the time.”

“Shush.” You said with a little laugh as you bumped your shoulder with his. “Oh my god, wait I love her.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“Not much into the movie business are you?” You echo back to him as you both walk a bit further down the lot.

“Very funny but no.”

“Well I’ll need to broaden your horizons then. Have you ever watched Rebel Without a Cause?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Good cause you’re coming with me to Rialto next Tuesday. Only if you’re free of course.”

“I think I am. It’s a date then.”

“It’s a date. I’ll meet you outside at 6:30.” You gave a smile before you both headed over in the other direction to go to your cars.

It was Thursday. The day for your date with Graham and you were running late. Okay it wasn’t entirely your fault your stupid ex boyfriend Greg decided it was high time to come and try to get back with you.

So of course you told him to fuck off and basically threatened him that if he ever came near an inch of you you would call the police. That man was like a really bad definition of clingy.

You had sped through the streets of LA trying to make it as quickly as you possibly could to the Rialto. Your roommate had taken the car to visit her parents so the only mode of transportation you had at the moment was your own legs. That was when you heard it. Right as you ran next to a random red car that was stopped on the curb.

“And next up we have one of the newest singles from a band called The Six, featuring Daisy Jones!”

That only spurred you to go faster and when you finally arrived in front of the Rialto there stood a slightly annoyed looking Graham.

“Hi… sorry… I’m-” You tried to say as you kept trying to breathe.

“Hey hey it’s okay.”

“I heard your song on the radio.”

“What?”

“Yup just as I was sprinting over here I heard it over the radio. And I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay. I got us tickets.” He smiled as you made your way into the movie theater.

“You shouldn’t have. I was the one who invited you and this is my way of introducing you to the magical world of the silver screen.”

“Well I wanted to be a gentleman that’s all.”

“Hmm.” You hummed back to him as you took your seats and watched as the opening credits played out.

Throughout the movie there was a palpable electricity between the two of you. Your fingers kept inching towards his and you could feel the little looks he kept sending you. A small smile crept onto your face as your pinkies entwined… and then Graham took the initiative and joined your hands together. You turned to look at him as he shot you another one of his little looks.

He blushed but gave a charming smile before slowly leaning forward and softly brushing his lips against yours. You reciprocated it eagerly and soon enough you two were kissing like your lives depended on it.

In all honesty you barely watched the rest of the movie. Instead you continued to kiss like two lovers who were finally reunited. Letting the colors of the projector illuminate the different contours of your faces.

You and Graham had been together for a few months and it was going great. But the other things in your life weren’t doing so well. Your acting career was basically tanking whilst Graham’s band was skyrocketing.

You had met the band a couple of times and they all absolutely adored you, well everyone except Billy but Graham assured you that he didn’t really like anyone anyways. You and Karen got on extremely well and had taken to calling or seeing each other every week, so naturally you saw a lot of Camila as well.

Somehow Graham has gotten you to try writing plays again and so you were currently working on finishing a one woman show whilst the band worked on Aurora. Which you knew was going to be an instant hit. Daisy Jones was a magnetic human being whom you had the pleasure of meeting once or twice whilst you saw the band rehearse.

There was a strange feeling of anxiety though, maybe it was because Graham was starting to come in later and later every night but you convinced yourself it was just the strain that the show was putting on you.

It was the night of the big show and you anxiously twisted your hands together. Okay you can do this. You can do this. You walked onto the stage just as the bright theatre lights turned on. You took a deep breath and started to recite your lines as you had practiced so many times.

Then it was suddenly all over and just before the audience lights turned on you felt a deep seeded satisfaction. But then light flooded the room and the audience was filled with a sparse amount of people. And the most important person you wanted there wasn’t filling his seat. None of the band was either, other than Camila who was sitting there with a concerned smile and Julia who was happily babbling away.

After you had finished getting changed you carefully packed up all the props and started to carry them to your car. Tears streaking your cheeks as a humourless chuckle left your mouth. There standing in front of your car stood a guilty looking Graham. The same Graham who had barely been calling you back while on tour. The one who had stopped making an effort to see you in a long while.

“Hey look I’m sorry. I swear I wanted to be here but the interview ran late and then I realized-”

“Just stop okay. It’s fine, I get it.”

“Okay great. You ready to head-”

“No, Graham. It’s over.”

“What?”

“It’s over.”

“What is?”

“All of it! I’m done. I am tired of humiliating myself and thinking I’m a good actress. Graham… it’s over. We are over.”

“No wait, what can I do?”

“Graham, I'm going back home.”

“Okay we can talk again tomorrow. I’ll give you some space tonight.”

“No, I mean I’m going back to Vermont. It’s never too late to become a lawyer, you know.” He gave you a sad smile but he nodded after a few moments.

“I hope to see you around, Y/N.”

“Goodbye Graham.”

Two days later you were sitting in the comfort of your parent’s house playing chess against your dad, when a sharp ring of the doorbell echoed through the house.

“I’ll be right back.” You opened up the distinctive yellow door and guess who stood there on the steps? Graham Dunne.

“Graham?”

“Hey. I umm well I needed to see you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well for one the band broke up and because Camila told me to relay some big news to you.”

“The band broke up? But you guys were doing incredibly well.”

“Yeah well… anyways Camila wanted me to tell you that she got one of her director friends to come to your play and he was completely blown away by it so he’s offered you a job.”

“WHAT?!” You stood in the doorway of your childhood home with your jaw dropped and it seemed as if your brain had stopped computing.

“Yeah he wanted to have you come in tomorrow so I’ll be picking you up at 10am, not a second later.” He turned to walk back to his car but you tried to go stop him.

“Wait Graham! But…”

“No, no. Not a single word out of you. You better be here at that time or I’m leaving without you.”

“Right, okay.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The talk with the director went amazingly well and he truly did want you for the role. But it was set in France which meant you had to leave everything you had ever known and loved. Including Graham.

“I think you should go for it.” You two were seated on one of the outcrops that overlooked LA, leaving it spread open like a map for the two of you to decipher.

“But what about you? I just got you back Graham. Fuck I’m so stupid.” You leaned your head on his shoulder as his scent engulfed you. That mixture of cigarettes and the ocean that you knew all too well.

“You’re not stupid, I was being a shitty boyfriend, which is why I think you should go. This is your dream plus I have an idea of my own that I want to start up.”

“Oh and what’s that?”

“I want to open a rock bar near the beach.”

“You should call it The Six.” You said with a giggle.

“Oh shush.”

You spent the rest of that afternoon and evening catching up on life and future plans. Graham ended up convincing you to go to Paris and work on that movie. And you ended up convincing him to name his rock bar ‘The Six’.

“You know I’ll always love you right?” You said to him as you both laid in bed with moonlight streaming in.

“I’m always going to love you too. I’m never going to forget you Y/N.”

“I won’t either.”

Years later…

“Hi sweetheart, are you ready to go?” You heard the voice of your husband ask as you finished putting on your earrings.

“Almost. Now where is that little munchkin of mine?” You said as you ran into your toddler’s room in a pair of black heels.

“Mama!”

“I’m going to miss you so much kiddo. Thank you so much for this, Sofia.”

“No problem, Mrs. Douglas. I hope you both have fun.”

“Thank you. See you later my darling.” You gave your little Andrea a kiss on her forehead.

“Goodbye kiddo.”

“Bye dada. Bye mama.” She answered as she waved from Sofia’s arms as your husband draped a coat onto your shoulders before tangling your hands together to step into the car.

“So where are we off to, Mike?”

“I was thinking somewhere we couldn’t get recognized.”

“Hmm so no fancy restaurants?”

“Well I thought since you religiously listen to that Aurora album, I would bring you to a rock bar.”

“Now that isn’t a bad idea.” That was when you both drove up to a little bar by the beach, with the logo in the front reading: ‘The Six’.

notes + details that didn't fit into the main story but i thought up:

To make it even sadder Graham wrote Y/N a song, and that's what he sings when he sees her in the bar. I didn't include this bit because it felt natural to have it end where it did but idk I might make a bonus scene in the future.

If anyone was keen enough to notice they would have seen that Mike is actually Michael Douglas. for context: I was thinking up of men to have Y/N married to and looked up famous actors from the 70s and I've always liked Michael Douglas (I love Basic Instinct and Ant Man - I still have to watch Fatal Attraction) so he was like the natural pick.

The change in format from my other djats fics is deliberate. Y/N in this case is barely mentioned in the history of the band and that's mostly because Graham told everyone not to talk about her. plus when Julia asked her, she basically answered that she wasn't too much part of the band to be considered in their story. I like to imagine that like Karen or Daisy would make an offhand comment about it and the reddit stans would speculate so much.

taglist: @yesshewrites1 @gwensspidey

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yjhariani · 1 year

Text

Strict Rules

Simon 'Ghost' Riley X F!Reader

Word count: 2300± Warning: Profanity. Summary: Soldiers are not allowed to engage in a relationship, especially if they are assigned the same mission and having different ranks. However, this is about the journey of getting to that point.

A/N: This is an alternative, simplified, one shot version of this thing I'm working on of Ghost and a BSAA sergeant.

The first time you worked together would be on a BOW outbreak in Manchester. It was one of the worst outbreaks in your experience, it was another time you returned without any of your squad members alive. That included a squad of local military led by Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley, who was also the only one alive in his squad.

You fought your ass off trying to stick to the mission of eliminating as many infected as possible. At the time, Ghost was all survival mode. There was a lot of arguing in between the two of you. You had just been ranked up to sergeant and, of course, he played ranks. Too bad you kept insisting that you did not answer to him. Yet he never left you alone.

You fought well together. It was as if the two of you had been fighting on the field together for years. You backed each other up well enough. Too well.

By the end of it, you had a newly found a whole other level of respect for him and the other way around. Too bad, you could not stop thinking about him after that. The way he pulled you back from an upcoming danger, the way he shoved you behind his back, the way he said thank you when you shared your canteen with him, the way you fought together like you were the same person.

The second time you met him was at a friendly event between the British military forces and the BSAA. There were a lot of friendly competitions going on and it just so happened that he was there and, though he was not participating in any of the activities, he was watching. Watching you, to be exact. Watching the way people were looking at you, the way your comrades treated you.

Once, he caught someone talking of you in such an unbecoming manner, he kicked them in the back of their knee and made sure that they were reminded that the BSAA was their guests whom they should treat with respect. Oblivious of this incident, you were out and about being friendly, hoping to find him at some point because you had not and it had been a day.

You ended up finding him at the end of one of the activities. He was taking his leave from the field and you simply cocked your chin at him from across the field, which he responded with a light nod. Without realising what you two were doing, the two of you were walking away from the field, but somewhat getting closer to one another. Eventually, you were walking side by side.

"You're not having fun," you pointed out.

"Says who?" Ghost replied.

"You're not participating," you said.

"Too many people," Ghost stated.

"You're here anyway," you shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm haunting in the audience," Ghost casually said.

"Brother, tug of war is next, if you're there, the British Army is definitely going to beat the shit out of the Royal Air Force," you said.

"I don't give two shits about this fucking event," Ghost sighed.

"You're here anyway," you opened your hands.

"I'm here to see you, little twat, face plant in the muck," Ghost said. "So far, you're disappointing."

"Because I do really fucking well?" you questioned.

"Too well for my liking," Ghost nodded. "Mess up next time, it will entertain me."

"Oh, come on, Ghost, I know you're better than some guy who just see me as a piece of entertainment," you replied.

"When you're knocked out and ripped apart, maybe you'll be two pieces of entertainment," Ghost said.

"You're funnier in full uniform," you stated.

"So are you," Ghost said.

You laughed at that anyway.

After that interaction, Ghost was not seen for the rest of the event. He was gone. At least to your knowledge.

The next time you saw each other was in a way, way casual way to put it simply. It was a few days after that friendly event between British military forces and the BSAA. It was late. You were on your way back from picking up a cake for someone's birthday in the BSAA headquarters in England. It was after sundown, quite late, and you were by yourself.

You almost arrived at your car when you were stopped by a group of people who came out as quite hostile. Four of them, one of them seemed to be drunk. Another one of them was flashing you that they had a knife. You were not really in the mood to deal with this right now, especially while protecting a carefully decorated cake.

After insulting you and delivering a bunch of demeaning words, one of the people in that group started approaching you. You stood still until he was close enough and was reaching his hand towards your face. Reacting to that, with your free hand, you smacked his hand away, elbowing him on the chin, and kicking him back until he fell on his ass.

Surprised, the remaining three started taking position, translating the situation as an invitation for a fist fight.

"You better run, mate," an uncanny voice said from behind you. "Because it looks like she's going real bloody easy on your friend there."

It was quite embarrassing how you recognised who the voice belonged to so quickly. Maybe it was how you keep replaying whatever conversation you had with him.

"She'll cut through all of you as easily as she's going to cut through that cake," the voice continued.

"Or else what?" the one with the knife asked.

"Or else I'll stand beside her and increase your chances of getting into the hospital," the person behind you said.

With a lot of shame in their faces, the group moved on. The man behind you now stood next to you.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

You were starting to turn to face him when you noticed that he was not wearing his mask. That itself startled you and you ended up stepping away from him.

"You don't have your mask on, Ghost," you pointed out.

"You mistook me for someone, lass?" he replied.

Scrunching your eyebrows in confusion, you dared looking at the man. He was looking at you, calm and cautious. You were almost convinced that he was not who you think he was, but you recognised those eyes anywhere. Then, you were stuck looking at all that was around his eyes.

It was hard not to look at his face. Handsome, a little bit of concern was painted on his eyebrows. Stoic. Lazy eyes. The kind of face that made you blush just by looking at it.

"Now, you've made me look at your face," you disappointedly said.

"I don't think—"

"Simon," you sighed.

He did not respond to that.

"Don't tell me you're not yourself," you said.

"Fine," he replied.

"Thank you. For that and for telling those guys off," you said. "And why are you not wearing your mask?"

"I'm on vacation," Simon said.

"I thought you'd still be wearing it anyway," you said.

"Attracts too much attention," he replied.

"And that is not attracting too much attention?" you gestured at his face.

"Something on my face?" Simon asked.

You were actively looking for something on his face. Then, he raised an eyebrow at you.

"Just… a lot of charm," you answered finally.

Exhaling, the man looked around the area. He ended up looking back at you.

"Well, go on, then," he said.

"Do you want a ride?" you offered.

"No," Simon said.

"Seriously, it's alright," you continued.

"I'm good," Simon insisted. "Though, it's a surprise to see you here."

"Same," you nodded.

A moment passed when you were only looking at him and he was looking back at you.

"How long you'll be staying here?" Simon asked.

"Just until the weekend," you answered.

"Until the weekend," Simon repeated.

There was a pause.

"You're free tomorrow?" Simon asked.

"Yeah," you answered. "Why?"

"What say you we meet here again? Same time?" Simon suggested.

"You're taking me somewhere?" you asked.

"Maybe," Simon answered.

"Alright," you agreed.

"Get a cab tomorrow. I'm driving," Simon added. "Don't eat beforehand."

"Alright," you said, lightly chuckling.

With that, you walked on to your car. Simon was still close. He opened the door for you, making sure that you were wearing your seat belt before sending you off.

So, the following night, you did as requested. Quite excited for it, actually. Dressed up for it even. Nothing much, just something casual.

When you arrived at the agreed spot, Simon was leaning on a parked motorbike, a cigarette in between his lips. When he saw you, he moved the cigarette from between his lips to between his fingers. A cloud of smoke bubbled out of his mouth. Without saying anything, he tossed you a helmet.

Neither of you were communicating with each other verbally for the first half an hour or so. After disposing of his cigarette, Simon gestured at you to get onto the bike. You waited until he was on it properly with helmet on before getting on it behind him and putting the helmet on.

Soon enough, Simon started driving. He was driving very carefully. You ended up in a twenty four hour restaurant. Once inside, Simon sat you down.

You had dinner. You spent quite a few hours there. Sometimes you did not talk for a few moments at once. When you did, mostly you ended the brief conversation laughing together. Well, you were laughing, he was not showing more than just an amused smile every now and again. There was not a change in his eyes, though.

Was that how he always was behind the mask? If so, it was nice to see him without it. How many people had seen that face? Few. Even fewer who had seen the polite, shy smile.

It was clear that by the end of the night, you were enjoying each other's company so much that you did not return to the barracks. Instead, you went with him to his place. A humble flat that was meant to be resided by one person.

Who knew someone of such stature could be so light handed if needed? Also for someone with a certain horrifying reputation, he was gentle and careful. He was making sure that you were comfortable and comforted on your stay.

The next morning, before leaving his flat to deliver you back to the HQ, Simon handed you his phone with numberpads displayed on his screen. Without saying anything, you did the same to him before inputting your number into his phone. Since then, you were staying in contact. To put it lightly.

Mostly, every now and again, Simon would text you a city and a country. London, UK. Manchester, UK. Verdansk, Kastovia. You would reply similarly and would text him the same thing should you get moved from one place to another for BSAA business. Lanshiang, China. Bali, Indonesia. Louisiana, USA. Eastern Slav Republic. Et cetera, et cetera.

If it so happened that you were within driving distance, you would meet in the middle and spend the night together. It was hard to say that it was fortunate that you had not been sharing objectives. At this rate, you were not sure if you were to be put in the same mission that the two of you could be acting professionally.

Then, today, you received a message from him.

Al Mazrah, Adal.

Instead of excitement, you texted him back the exact same thing with a heavy heart.

Before there was any further discussion between the two of you, you were presented a case by your supervisor. It was of a terrorist organisation leader who happened to be responsible for the latest outbreaks happening all over the US. There was also a brief file about a task force called 141. That would be where you see his name.

That was what you needed to conclude the thing you worried about. Before you could proceed, you heard someone addressed you by Sergeant L/N.

Again, you recognised the voice in a snap of a finger. So, turning to him, you gave him a flat smile. He was in full uniform, a brand new skull mask.

"Are you the officer in this mission?" you asked.

"Excuse me?" Simon replied.

"I saw two sergeants, a lieutenant, and a captain here. Seeing that the captain isn't the one addressing me right now, I'm guessing you're in charge?" you explained.

He took a moment before answering, "Tonight, yes."

"Then, I should not be in this case," you said.

"Why?" Simon asked.

"Because this," you gestured at the two of you, but realising immediately that the two of you never really discussed anything about your relationship.

Embarrassed, you looked down, stepping back from him. You really should not have said that last thing.

"You're saying we're against the rule, love?" Simon concluded.

He had only addressed you as such a handful of times and it was unfair the way he made you feel. It might be the voice and the accent, but also the tone and how he said it.

"Yeah," you said, looking back at him.

For a moment, he was only looking at you.

"Right," Simon said.

That was surprising.

"Yeah," now you said that disappointedly. "I mean, I could—I could argue that we're in different forces and that won't be a problem, but I have to answer to you in this mission and that's against the rule."

"So, what, you want to get transferred?" Simon proceeded. "I'll be this honest, Y/N, you're one of the best SOU in the BSAA and we could use your talent. Would be a shame to lose a soldier as good as you over several stupid strict rules. This is a matter of international security after all."

"You're the superior officer, what do you say?" you asked,

"You stay. We keep things professional. Make sure that no one knows that you're my girlfriend," Simon answered.

Your smile just bloomed out of nowhere.

"I'm your girlfriend?" you asked.

"You are. If I'm out of the uniform," Simon nodded.

"Fair," you nodded.

"We have a deal, then," Simon concluded, stretching out a hand.

"Yes, sir," you confirmed, shaking his hand.

"Alright. Let's do it over," Simon sighed before announcing, "Welcome to the task force, Sergeant L/N!"

"Thank you, sir. The helo stopped whirring some time ago, you don't need to yell," you replied.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #mind dump #cod x re

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nrdmssgs · 6 months

Note

Can you do a soap fic where a new girl gets transferred and she’s also a sergeant and she’s short and really bitchy, soap flirts with her and she never fails to reply within an insult or a snarky comment?

Masterlist Pairing: SoapXReader TWs: no AN: I took forever, I know, sorry.

The first thing, you thought of, seeing how people gather around Soap, how attentively they catch every bit of phrase covered with thick accent, how eager are they to become part of the next mischief, his mind plotting, is a Kelpie. By no means you were superstitious, but you remember well, what your granny told you: these Scottish demons are nothing but deception, temptation and constant shapeshift, hiding under calm water surface and dragging anyone, reckless enough to trust them, to the depths of cold northern lakes.

You had enough of 'shape-shifters': you were fed up with friendly looking lads, being all sweet around you, only to find out your soft spots and use them against you. So when his smile sparkles too close to your secluded corner of a bar counter - you frown automatically

"Oi, wee-one, what are you doing here all alone, while all the fun happens elsewhere?" That shit eating grin is too familiar. It only portends lies and mockery.

"Daydreaming of your smooches, Sergeant." You know, this man will start flirting with you today sooner or later: after all, he always does. So instead of fearing it coming - you decide on leading this train wreck.

"A'm sa-a-a-a-ae flattered." Johnny can speak British, very much so, when he needs it. But he must be too used to everyone falling for his accent. So he decides to torture your fogged mind with his gibberish.

"And a`m sa-a-a-a-ae lying." You can't hold back a little aping to make this moment even more harsh for him. But that'll teach him.

From your very first day on the base, this man decided, that his holy duty from now on was to haunt you with his flirtatious comments and stupid jokes. You ignored him once, then twice... on his fifth 'strike' you decided, you had enough and fought back. None of Johnny's line remained unanswered by you ever since.

Your rebuffs usually helped for some time. Today it won you fifteen minutes of peace. Because after that Soaps face reappears on the horizon with a jolly 'Anyway, Sg, hae any plans for t`night?'

"Oh, I have one plan, buddy. The first part of it is to not share the other part with the people, I don't want anywhere around me. So lemme guess, this is the moment, you are asking me about the second part?" You talk loud enough, so that not only Johnny, but the whole group of dumbheads enamored by him, hears you.

"I guess, nae, but if you want me to... What's with the second part?" Slowly but surely the damned accent leaves his speech.

"I can't, love, I'm tied up by the first part." Any person, not familiar with Soap would shame you for such a strong reaction. But you knew better, and soon he only proved you right.

"So someone is into restraining? Ah kin just happen tae know a thing or twa aboot this..." You are in mere seconds from snapping right back at him, but he manages to switch your attention to some completely unrelated question.

And just like that you lose concentration for a moment only to find yourself walking down the street with MacTavish and his company. His speech is all honey and velvet with notes of cheerful laughter. Man shouldn't possess so much charm - it is simply unfair. Yet, here he is - all bubbly and so tempting and warm.

Your group turns onto a quiet road, lit by one streetlamp. "Hey, look up!" calls the voice of one of the soldiers, and you lift your head. There is a soda can on the flat lid of the lantern. God only knows how it got there. You're not even surprised when Johnny asks right next to your ear who's ready to knock down the can on the first try. You just turn to him and clarify, “If I do this, can I ask you for anything?”

Soap nods enthusiastically, and before he can add something about the fact that you can always ask him for anything and without any bets, you pick up a pebble from the pavement.

"Watch and learn, Sergeant." You smirk and throw a pebble. The sound of an empty can hitting the asphalt echoes down the street.

Others cheer your victory, when Johnny leans closer and nods with a face of a defeated one.

"Sae what shuid it be, darlin'?"

That smirk. He is trying to look happy even after he lost. Lying scoundrel. Oh, you'll wipe that smirk off his face.

"You seem very proud of your country?" You can't help, but smile, as Soap nods and moves even closer, invading your personal space. So you go on.

"And very proud of that hairstyle of yours... How about we combine your two biggest sources of pride, Johnny." Some soldiers start getting your idea and you hear a few muffled laughs. But Soap doesn't get it till you specify, "Lets paint this mohawk. Blue and white sounds patriotic enough for you, MacTavish?"

If anyone asked you to name the highlight of that day - it was it. Shining smile disappearing from Soaps face, his head ducking, his eyes looking for something under his own boots. He looked lost... But only for a moment.

"Aye. Will need yer help though, wee-one."

For some time, you forget about this evening. Work and duty are quite effective at helping you to put aside any life outside debriefs, trainings and missions. That is, however, only until one late evening, when Soap appears on the threshold of your room with a towel and a pair of tubes of hair dye.

"Sergeant MacTavish keeps his word. Always." These words you hear from a tiny bathroom, where you wash your hands.

He welcomes your return to your room with a bare torso. You try to not look, but one brief glance is enough for his sculpted six-pack, ribs covered with a thin web of scars and tanned broad shoulders to be forever ingrained in your memory. Scoundrel. Seducer. Kelpie. You turn away almost immediately.

"Out of my room. Now!"

"Naw-naw-naw-naw, ye got me wrong! Ah juist dinnae want ma tshirt to get goosed!" He started babbling as quickly as if his life depended on it. So you take a deep breath and nod.

"Ok-ok, calm down!" You come closer to him and brush your fingers through Johnny's dark hair, trying to understand, where should you begin.

It's so strange to see his face not somewhere above, not even on your eye level, but somewhere below. For the first time, you notice the faint freckles on his face, the dark edges of his incredibly blue eyes, the small wrinkles. That all brings you a very strange thought: maybe there are people out there, who know soft and vulnerable Johnny, maybe there are people, whom he will never fail, never betray. You personally can't have a luxury of trusting your colleagues so much as to let them be close to you. But maybe there are people, that trust these eyes and find comfort in these arms.

Your hands fall down. "You know what, Johnny, consider the deed done... To hell ruining your hair, your self-esteem. Forget, we even had this bet, it's stupid."

"Whaaa? Naw, bonnie, it is hilarious! I want this! With ye only! And ah trust ye." He catches your hands and eagerly places them back into his surprisingly soft hair, making sure, your fingers drown in the mohawk fully and touch his scalp. There is not a single note of mockery in his voice - only plea to keep going and trust, endless trust in you - the person, who always had a few sharp words ready for any his attempt to approach you.

You feel guilt stinging you from the inside.

"Ok, I'll do it. But I must warn you - I don't have a single idea, what am I doing. And this will probably turn out ugly."

Soap only keeps nodding, not looking away from your eyes for a moment. His eyes shine with obedience and anticipation.

Not knowing it yet, you are slowly drowning in deep waters, dragged by a Scottish demon. Your very own Kelpie.

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