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moonsapprentice · 7 months

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⋆ ✶ ✷ 𝔉𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔩 ✷ ✶ ⋆

Gender neutral reader and Tord find a kitten

All day, you’ve been in bed. It’s very cloudy, the sound of rain pattering on your roof and windows filling your ears. The bed seems so warm compared to the intense storm happening outside. You yawn, stretching out your tired bones. With a sigh you stand up, taking your blanket with you as it’s way too cold to go without it.

Your socked feet walk across the hard wooded floors, which occasionally creak under your weight. Humming quietly, your fingers pry open the fridge for about the twelfth time that day.

“…I need to go shopping.”

You sigh, taking milk out and pouring it into a mug. You put it into the microwave with a soft clatter and set the time for thirty seconds. You look at the aggressive rain storm happening out side. Luckily, it isn’t bad enough to knock out your power. But it’s pretty damn close.

The trees are swaying, the leaves attacked by the water coming too fast at them. The house itself is making loud whoosh noises from the wind hitting it. But all that noise isn’t drowning out an unmistakable noise…Meowing. A high pitched, shrill meow.

Quirking your eyebrow, you lean over your sink to look out the window above it. Scanning your backyard you see nothing. But then it comes again. And again.

“…what the hell..?”

You mutter under your breath. A strong pair of arms wrap around your waist

“What is it?”

Your boyfriend, Tord, says behind you with that pretty accent of his. You turn around, and as you open your mouth to speak the meow sounds out once more. His eyebrows raise and his smug smile gets wiped off his face. He lets go of your waist to look out the window.

Tord’s eyes scan your backyard with a catlike ability. But like you, he doesn’t see anything. He keeps looking through.

“There has to be a cat out there. There’s no way in hell that wasn’t a kitten.”

Tord says, gripping the windowsill. You place a hand on his shoulder

“I’ll go check”

You smile, but he immediately shakes his head. He takes your hand and kisses it

“No love, I will. I don’t want you to get soaked”

Tord smiles and before you can protest he pecks your lips lightly, walking out after. You sigh and shake your head, muttering about ‘that man’. You take your warm milk and sip on it.

Sitting on the sofa, which is one of his inventions, you wait for him to return. Through one of your living room windows, you can see him looking through every possible hiding place a cat could be in.

The unmistakable sound of water hitting your floor tells you that your boyfriend is back inside. You stand up and see him with drenched hair, which tugs a frown on your lips. Although, for some reason, he has a grin

“Why didn’t you put your hood up? You could catch a sickness, or worse, hypoth-“

Then there’s a loud meow. But this time, it’s from his arms. He’s cradling a tiny orange kitten in his arms. You let out a gasp and run over to his side.

“No way! There was actually a cat!”

You get a grin that matches his. The kitten is soaked and it’s eyes are closed. Judging by it’s size, it must be at least a few months old. You take the kitty from Tord’s arms and hold it in your warm arms.

“Go change.”

He laughs.

“Bossy.”

You’re too busy to retort back. A parental feeling washes over your body. You need to protect this baby. It’s tiny eyes open, they’re a gorgeous sage green with small speckles of a lighter color. Though it doesn’t seem to register anything, as it’s eyes close again.

“Oh, honey…hello..”

You murmur in a baby-like voice while scratching behind it’s ear. You take it to the kitchen and start drying it with a hand towel, it seems too sleepy to fight back or even purr. After that you sit on the sofa and hold it close to your chest so it’s nice and warm. The couch dips beside you and a warm arm wraps around your shoulder. Your head instinctively rests on Tord’s shoulder.

He chuckles while scratching behind the cats ear, the fur being surprisingly soft for a kitten who’s been outside for who knows how long. You smile a little more. The kitten seems to be in a state of being half-asleep, it opens its eyes and does a tiny jump when it sees the both of you so close to it. The cat wriggles out of your grasp and jumps down off the couch, backing away with a tiny hiss.

You and Tord’s eyebrows raise, you crawl on the floor and he kneels beside you.

“Hey, hey…shh..it’s okay…”

You whisper, trying hard to not startle the cat again. Tord stays silent, staring at it. He moves a little closer, still kneeling on one knee. With a flourish he extends his finger.

“det er greit lille pus, jeg vil ikke slåss...”

(it's okay little kitty, i don't want to fight...)

Tord mutters in a smooth voice, moving his finger a little closer. The kitten hisses again, but it’s so small it’s really not that scary. He puts his finger directly infront of the cats mouth, which causes it to bite him. Tord doesn’t even flinch though, staring at him. Theres an air of kinship between him and the small kitten. Slowly, the cat lets go of his pointer.

The corner of Tord’s mouth tilt up. He gently scratches under the kittens chin, which causes it to relax a little and step closer.

“…animal whisperer”

You murmur jokingly, although your words ring a bit of truth. Tord snickers and picks the tiny furball up with one hand, bringing it to his chest. You lean against him and gaze at the kitty. Gingerly you reach your hand out and pat the top of its head, which causes it to purr and tilt its head into you.

“It likes you too babe..”

Tord murmurs, looking at you with a soft smile. You chuckle and lean your head against his. You stay there for a few minutes, breathing eachother in while the sound of rain and purring mix together with your hearts.

Eventually, Tord pulls you down on the sofa with a small hum. The kitten rests between his chest and yours. His arms are around you and yours are around him, your bodies warming both eachother and the bundle of joy sleeping between you. His forehead presses more firmly against your head and he kisses your lips.

“…I love you.”

Hope you enjoyed this little one shot! If you sent me in a request I promise I am working on it and it’ll be out soon, I just felt a burst of inspiration and didn’t wanna waste it. I also didn’t do the whole fic in this font because it was harder to read.😓

This isn’t proofread btw lol, if there’s a spelling error or grammar mistake please tell me!

- xoxo, Artemis

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the0racl30fd3lphi · 1 year

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High on Cloud 9

pairing: xavier thorpe x gn!reader

warnings: fullf, established relationship, slight nudity, ouid

summary: you stumble into your inebriated boyfriend, xavier, and have to take care of him.

a/n: once again, written at half past i should probably be asleep i have work and errands tomorrow. y'all love xavier and it feeds my addiction so please enjoy!

word count: 1.2k

•••••

You'd strayed too long in the gardens, feeling the rush of life fill your veins as the plants brighten up a little in your presence. Anything that seemed like it needed a little more care and attention sought out for your touch and influence. You clipped enough chamomile from the nearby pot for two cups of tea. Just enough to refill your stash.

When people said you had a green thumb, they were telling the truth in multiple ways. Could you bring anything to life? Yeah. Did you have an affinity with foliage and plants? Sure. Were your thumbs green? Yes. But so were your whole hands just above your wrist.

Strolling through the halls trying to hide from teachers, you heard the echo of a call from a few halls down. It sounded vaguely like your name. Actually, it sounded exactly like your name because it was your name. As fast as you could you ran towards it while trying to keep quiet.

"Xavier?" You almost whisper yelled. "Why are you not in your dorm?" You approached your boyfriend quickly watching him trip over his own feet and slide down the walls laughing.

"Hi, my pretty lady," he wrapped himself around your legs in a hug, hands sat in the crook of your knees.

"Hi love, you're- oh." You tried to pull him up, but when you got closer to his face, chin resting on your thigh eyes gazing into yours, you smelt something rather familiar. Something similar to the fresh crop you grew for Ajax after he complained about his last one. You told him to use the smallest bit and dilute it for the best experience, yet with the way it was wafting off of Xavier you figured he probably didn't. "Yes come on love, lets go."

It took a hefty sum out of you to drag Xavier to this dorm, since you had to make sure no one caught you. But between his mumbles and drabbles about his fingers, the floors, the ceilings "no one seem to appreciate!"

"That's all fine, just move your hand for me," you could barely entertain his rambles as you fished your hand in his pocket to grab his keys and unlock the door.

"Y'know, this whole place is built so wonderful and gothically," he slumped against the wall when you bent to pull his shoes off. "the ceilings look like something straight out of an architecture.. history book.. or something." You pulled the layers of him and left him in a t-shirt and his joggers to sit him at his desk. "Why doesn't anyone look up and appreciate it more?" He was laid down in the star position now, giggly and admiring the roof of his dorm.

"I don't know darling," you hummed and started heating up some water on the electric kettle you left in Xavier's room a month ago. Next to it was a mug, waiting to be filled. You searched through your bag for the jar of honey Eugene gave you earlier, and the lemons Ms. Thornhill gave you after class. You were known for your obsession with teas so you needed to have the hookups for everything you needed when you weren't at home, in your garden conservatory.

"Xavier, lovely, get up and shower yeah?" You urged him from the side as you pulled out some fresh clothes for him.

"Are you my mother or my girlfriend?" He muttered as he got up and stumbled towards you. He gazed at you from his height with those big green doe eyes as he grabbed your hands, laying a kiss to the back of your hands before pressing his forehead against yours.

"You've called me both," pushing to your tiptoes you planted a quick kiss to his lips before playfully tapping his ass and directing him towards the bathroom shower. He laugh loudly and tipped his head all the way back before floating into the shower and slipping out a "yes ma'am!" before closing the door.

•••••

You'd settled comfortably on his bed, picking up where you left off with your edition of Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, when you heard a knock from the shower, and the soft mumble of your name.

Sliding off his bed and padding to the door, you creaked it open and slipped your head through, "Yes, love?" You called to him. Quickly you found his sitting form peaking out through the curtain, resting on the side of the tub. "Can you wash my hair please?" He pouted and pleaded with you.

"Of course Xavi, one minuet." The shower seemed to have relaxed him even more he almost fell asleep feeling the warmth. You peeled off your sweater and changed into a pair of his boxers in case you got wet. Which, knowing Xavier, he'd probably try to pull you in and you liked your outfit too much.

Kneeling down by the tub was the only comfortable position you could get in without being completely soaked. You put a dollop of shampoo on your hands, lathered it up, and started combing your fingers through his hair and scrubbing into his scalp. "Baby keep your head up, don't go loose on me now," you slipped a wet kiss on his cheek and he smiled.

There's something so intimate about washing someone's hair for them. The head, the scalp, its such a sensitive and delicate place that trusting someone with it blindly feels like such an honor. Xavier had a rough upbringing and some rough trust issues, and how he asked you to do take care of you made you feel privileged.

Carefully, as if he was fragile glass that would shatter at a cold breath, you wove through the knots, tangles, built up tenseness. It was such a wonderful and vulnerable experience. The woody scent of his shampoo and conditioner flew through the air and gave the room such a warm and inviting smell.

You reached for the shower head and softly rinsed all the soap out of his hair and wrapped a towel around his head to keep it all together until you could dry it. He helped you somewhat, drying himself off while you carded through his clothes, that he dumped on the floor with the clean pile, to find what was fresh to put him in.

Helping him into his clothes you than sat him down on the toilet while you grabbed the blow dryer. At this point he got cuddly and wrapped his arms around your middle, head completely buried in your stomach. Barely enough to breath but just enough to live. You kissed the top of his head and chuckled while you started blow drying his hair. It was a feat, he gave you very limited room for motion so it was tough to maneuver but you did it.

The two of you settled into a warm embrace as you put a movie on your laptop to lull you both to bed. Xavier, fresh and warm, drinking his sweet chamomile tea, quickly passed out. You had enough time to put everything away and get comfortable again before sleep quickly claimed you too.

You two always sleep better together, but something in the air tonight felt different, and the sleep was unlike any other rest you'd had.

And just like that night, just like the tea, the morning was just as gentle and loving.

•••••

@animesimp3456 @iovaki @navs-bhat @hellllloooosstuff @555stargirl555 @quinn165 @raeboo @heehooyeslol @leyseyb @aunicornmademedoit @regulus-black-223048 @o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o @pagesfalling @fanfictioniseverything @trickylittlewitch @baziutawrites @mxltifxnd0m @l-3rk @gumballsglassofmilk @bloodyziggy @ur-mom-is-h0t

#xavier thorpe imagine #xavier x reader #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x gn!reader #imagine #wednesday #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe #fluff #xavier thorpe wednesday #wednesday series

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tenaciousduckpoetry · 11 months

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Sure, Next Time.

This is the fic that won the poll by a landslide. I will be writing the other one next just for fun! Actually, I might make a list of them and publish it so you guys know what's coming lmao

Warnings: mentions of blood, a limp, fights, dislocated finger 💀, hurt/comfort, swearing, Hobie and reader are tired af cause it's 2am, I also don't know how to write Hobie's accent so bear with my while I learn <33

It didn't necessarily surprise you when Hobie accidentally let it slip that he was Spider-Punk. You could recognize the sticker abused guitar and stressed leather jacket anywhere. What did surprise you was the amount of injuries he sustained and how easily he could hide them from you. If he had a limp his excuse was, "Tripped in my boots, luv." Any other injuries he used the excuse of having started a fight with some capitalist douchebag. And you believed it. It was only until he came back for you to patch him up after every battle that you began to truly let your anxiety feed into it.

Hobie had climbed through your window at 2am. The sun was no where to be seen and the moon was shrouded in clouds. You had become a light sleeper as of late, the rise in crime getting on your nerves and preventing that precious rest you craved.

You woke up at the sound of those familiar heavy boots against your tiled floor. Squinting, you recognized the familiar shadow of a certain spider-man, or at least the shadow of the spikes on his head. "Hobie?" You reached to turn on your bedside lamp. Tired eyes squinted as the warm light enveloped the room. Your voice was scratchy from having been woken up at an ungodly hour. Your hair was all over the place, strands in front of your eyes and sticking out in ways that you didn't know it could. You thought this was a dream with how Hobie had frozen like a deer in headlights at the end of your bed.

Hobie thought he could just slip in and out, weaving his way to your bathroom and taking a couple of bandages for his trip home. He was wrong, and now look at him. He had barely made it to your house in one place and there was no doubt that he was not making it back to his own. All his weight was on his left leg, he was using a web connected to your roof as leverage to keep him upright. You could see a dark stain seeping through his mask just above where you assumed his left eyebrow to be. You suspected there to be more than what you could see through his mask, but would have to wait until you finally got him to the bathroom sink to find out.

The corners of his lips turned up as he watched you struggle to untangle your legs from the bedsheets. "Need some help, luv?" A shit eating grin adorned his face but you couldn't see it. Even when he was injured he still managed to make your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

You rolled your eyes. "I'm just fine." You huffed, finally finding the floor against your feet and taking steady steps towards the injured man. You didn't see him using your roof as leverage and silently cursed yourself for taking so long. "You better not pull out my roof with that web. Otherwise you'll be the one dealing with my landlord." You huffed only half-joking. Humour seemed to be your coping mechanism. "Don't get all funny on me now, luv." He chuckled, sounding worn out and in pain. You helped him through your mediocre apartment, having draped his arm over your shoulders and letting him rest his weight against you as you walked (stumbled) to the bathroom.

With a slight huff through your nose and grunt that you wished was silent, Hobie was now sitting on your toilet, the lid shut. He was too tall when he sat on the sink (you found that out the first time he came over) and well, you didn't have much room up there to begin with. You crouched to the cupboard below your sink. In a Spider-Punk themed box (made by you to tease Hobie) was a consistent supply of bandages, disinfectant wipes, alcohol wipes, splints, etc. There was everything you could think of that someone would need when injured. You made this box not long after the first time Hobie came back with blood dripping from his forehead and you didn't have anything to help. That night was filled with gentle sorry's and small panics.

"Can you take the mask off, Hobes?" You mumbled, having pulled the box onto the sink. You turned to watch him, tired eyes noticing just how he flinched when he moved his arms to push the mask over his head and tossing it to the floor. His hands were trembling, one of his fingers looking to be the slightest bit out of place. The cut above his eyebrow was bleeding profusely and it looked as if part of his piercing had been pulled on.

"'s not as bad as it looks." His hands gently moved to rest on your hips, eyes glancing towards the worried look on your face before moving to the roof. "Not as bad as it looks? Baby, you've probably got a concussion.. No, you've definitely got a concussion." You mumbled, hands already digging into that spider-punk themed medicine box. You managed to pull out some baby wipes and a few alcohol wipes. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins, heart thumping in your ears. Your hands came up to caress his face, taking a baby wipe to gently wipe the blood dripping down his face. There was a visible wince and a hiss of pain that came from the touch. Hobie's long fingers gripped the fabric of your pajamas.

"I'm sorry, Hobie.." you muttered, trying to be as gentle and careful as possible. Once the cut was cleaned and a bandage was placed over it, it was time to move to his finger. "I'm even more sorry about this. We're gonna need to put it back in place, okay?" You were kind of glad you took that health course in highschool now.

Hobie let out a groan, to tired to respond with words, but it was clear he was not looking forward to it. His hands released their grip on your hips and instead were placed in your palms. "Okay, we're gonna count to three and I'll put it back in. That good, baby?" You asked.

The suspense was killing Hobie, he was already in pain as it was. He's had dislocated digits before so he understood the importance of getting the limb back in it's socket as soon as possible, but that didn't mean he was going to enjoy it. He nodded. "Yeah, okay." He hummed in response. Except you didn't even count. You waited until he spoke up and quickly pushed the digit back into it's socket, earning a muffled (still loud) groan of undescribable pain. "I'm sorry! Fuck, I'm sorry. It's over now." You apologized, wrapping his swollen wrist in a compression bandage. The tears brimming in his eyes and the sick pop of his finger had you feeling queazy. You felt your stomach flip and not in the usual happy way it did when Hobie was around. However, you pushed the feeling aside, hands resting on his cheeks as you leaned in to press a small kiss just to the left of his bandage.

"Let's get you to bed.."

After finally fixing up his injuries the two of you had found yourselves laying in bed. Hobie was next to you, one arm drapes over your stomach, the other resting under his head. His lips brushed against your cheek.

"I worry about you.. About what you're doing." You spoke quietly, glancing back into his eyes for a moment. "I know it's for the greater good, but seeing you come home in the middle of the night half dead every day is- It's not nice." You rambled quietly before finally going silent.

He huffed through his nose, although it wasn't angry. "I know, luv. Gonna give you a heart attack one day.." he joked, pressing his lips to your temple. "I love you." The words came out quiet, barely leaving his lips before you turned to face him.

"I love you too, Hobes. But next time you get a dislocated finger just go to a doctor. I literally felt sick from that." You mentioned, earning a small nod and a deep chuckle.

"Sure.. next time." He mumbled in response, closing his eyes and wrapping his arm around you securely. There was no need to worry about the outside world as long as you were in his arms.

#hobie brown #hobie spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman #hobie brown x reader #astv hobie #astv x reader #astv angst #hurt/comfort #light angst #dewdropwrites #astv headcannons #astv spidersona

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

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Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: This is when things seem to get better with the Shelby family —at least with Polly— that a drunk client crosses the line with you at the Garrison. Haunted by his past insecurities and his burning jealousy, Arthur snaps. And he snaps very bad. For the first time since you've met, he reveals the beast he hides inside... And Tommy obviously uses the incident to blame you.

Words: 5k

TW: Angst, Obsessive behavior, extreme jealousy, graphic depiction of violence, murder, lot of blood, canonical violence, witch trial, allusions to smut, allusions to blood!kink, Arthur being an emotional and slightly psychotic mess

Notes:

✞ I don't condone Arthur's behavior. Also, keep in mind that Heaven is certainly a bit twisted too.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || Masterlist || NEXT

The sound of your heels hammering the cold pavement of Small Heath echoed in the nocturnal streets as you walked to the Garrison. Even though the expansion of the Shelby Company led the family’s interests away from the pub, they still hold the place dear to their hearts and sometimes they liked gathering there for old times' sake. Especially Arthur. Hence, rather than staying at home, reading in front of the fireplace, and dwelling on Polly’s odd behavior at the last family gathering, you decided to occupy your buzzing mind by surprising Arthur at the pub. A raven flew above your head and cawed, its presence stirring interest in you for he had followed you from the moment you had left your house. As you walked to the Garrison, you took a quick glance at the black bird’s silhouette, which was perched on a roof a few houses away.

"Silly boy, want to tell me something?" You told to it, amused. The animal, dressed with dark feathers, replied with another caw. You chuckled and kept walking.

The white dress and fur coat you were wearing contrasted so well with the dull night that the few people you passed were not sure what they had just seen. Indeed, the moon's glow reflected its light on your porcelain skin, adorning your frail body with an almost supernatural aura. That was why some of them thought they had caught sight of an angel, just like Arthur did the first time you and he met.

When the dark wooden door of the Garrison opened, its noise overcoming the laughter, chatting, and sounds of glasses clinking against each other, a soft wave of warmth caressed your cold face. You had barely stepped inside when people almost all turned around, many pairs of eyes weighing on you. Curious and dumbstruck gazes looked at you, wondering what such a holy-looking creature was doing here — but you did not really care. Your petrifying aquamarine iris swept the room to become familiar with the place before you headed to the counter behind which you saw Arthur’s tall frame. The man was back to you, talking with his little boss-brother Thomas. Awesome, you thought, little King Shelby is here. Sarcasm filled your head at the mere sight of him. To be true, you were well aware that Thomas was always doing his best to avoid you, but it did not annoy you. Quite the contrary, you were more than satisfied with never seeing him — you still did not come to terms with him trying to strangle you after all. Nevertheless, you leaned over the counter, arms resting on its varnished wooden surface, and parted your juicy lips to speak.

“Good evening, Mister Shelby. Care to serve me a drink?”

Arthur’s whole being shivered with delight as soon as he recognized the enchanting and oh-so-peculiar tone of your voice — the same voice that had led him to you one bleak and sleepless night. Shaken to the core by your presence, he forgot about Tommy the moment you had started to speak and turned around to face you, the corner of his lips stretching in a genuine and blissed smile. Each time his steel blue eyes fell on you, it was as if God's grace struck him — even though you were living together. The thrills you gave him never left.

“Good evening, love. What is such a delicious little Angel like you doing here? It’s a bad town for such a pretty face ye know.” He almost cooed with his hoarse voice, his hands on the bar and his eyes sparkling with a teasing gleam.

“Fell from the sky and got lost in these streets, so I just followed the light.” Your fingers grazed the back of his hand and went up its skin, leaving pleasant tingles in their trail, until they reached one of the many rings he was wearing. The simple gesture, barely touching him, lit up a blazing fire in his soul. Thomas looked at Arthur and quickly understood that no matter what he would say or do, he held no power over his older brother anymore, “Evening, Tommy.” You said, finally acknowledging him.

“Thomas. It’s Thomas.” He retorted with a voice as cold as an arctic blizzard that could freeze Hell’s inferno itself. He stubbed out his cigarette in the nearest ashtray and left without any single word, his shadow disappearing in the streets as he left the Garrison, for your sole presence seemed to bother him. Well, at least his opinion about you did not change. However, the lack of peculiar reaction from him reassured you: Polly had not told him what happened to the tea party yet.

“Don’t mind him eh,”

You did not.

“I should probably give you one hell of a strong drink if you fell from Eden… Miss?”

“Heaven Lavey.” You winked, enjoying his silly way of hitting on you as if it was the first time you met, “A glass of red wine would do the trick… And the barman’s heart.” Your teasing grin widened, unveiling perfect white teeth. Arthur let out a long exhale through his nostrils, enraptured by your whole being. From your smile to your bratty pout, you got him on his knees. Each time he would dive his eyes into yours, his heart would quicken in his chest and dopamine would rush through his veins — who would want to keep taking drugs after tasting you? Not even himself. He was already high enough by your presence in his life and God knew he never wanted to sober up from you.

“As you wish.” He leaned over the counter to lay a tender kiss on your forehead. The way his mustache gently tickled your skin made you chuckle. How sweet he was, not afraid to lavish you with sweetness even in front of other people. Then, he gathered all his strength to pull away from you and take care of your order — which was nearly impossible to do, for you were both attracted to each other like two powerful magnets. But still, he did and then poured the finest red wine the Garrison had in a glass before putting it in front of you. Then, he leaned a second time over the counter to bring his face close to yours again, “as for my heart,” he paused, his eyes abandoning yours to drop on your full lips he watched with utmost desire, “You already snatched it, angel.”

“You’re incorrigible, Arthur Shelby.” You could not help but laugh when you noticed that, as you spoke, his focus was still fiercely anchored to your lips. The urge he had to devour them was almost palpable, electrifying the air around him. Yet, you resisted the need to kiss him, rather bringing your small hands to his neck to fix his bow tie with indescribable tenderness. The pair of eyes that were watching you since your arrival could not believe that you had managed to tame the brutal Arthur Shelby — how he behaved with you was so different from the way he was with the others it almost scared them, “I hope you like this little surprise.”

“You can’t imagine how much I do.” He purred, grabbing your hands and putting them on his cheeks. How he loved feeling your cold skin against his. You cupped his face, looking right into his fair eyes with a never-ending love, and he instantly melted. His eyelids half-closed, for you had brought peace to his scorching soul again, “Lemme clean a few things and we’ll go back home eh.”

“Take your time. Je t’attends mon amour — I’ll wait for you my love —“

“Yer comfy here?”

“Arthur,” Your eyes rolled, amused.

“Want a cushion to sit on? Want to wait in a quieter room?”

“That’s okay.”

“Mmm’kay”

You freed his face from your sweet grip, leaving him lingering for more. When he reopened his eyes he could not hold the little growl that escaped his lips for you had not kissed him. He blinked several times, trying to chase away the charm you had cast on him with your sole presence, and reluctantly left you. Stars still danced in front of his eyes because of your intoxicating beauty — so hypnotizing he struggled to come back to what he was doing before.

Waiting did not bother you. In fact, you preferred to wait for hours here, in the comforting warmth of the pub and its hullabaloo, rather than being left alone with your thoughts in the quietness of your house. Sipping on your red wine, you were minding your own business when a man sat next to you, his body collapsing on the stool as if walking had been quite a struggle for him. Which was probably the case considering he was drunk. Only a few people were still at the Garrison, the others went home stumbling or dragged away by a fellow friend. The suffocating smell of whiskey and sweat that was emanating from the newcomer made you wrinkled your nose.

“Hey doll, all alone by yourself? ” The man said, bringing the whiskey glass to his chapped lips to gulp what was left in it. You glanced at him and simply nodded, not really wanting to do any kind of conversation, “Your glass is almost empty. Lemme buy you another one.”

“I really appreciate it but that’s fine.” You answered with a polite smile — but even when doing the bare minimum your angelic traits never failed to captivate your audience. The man noticed your strong accent and saw the opportunity to carry on with the conversation.

“You come from France eh? I fought in France! Bloody hell, still got the mud of this country under my nails!”

Maybe he talked a little bit too loud, or maybe Arthur’s senses were as sharp as a wolf’s, but the fact remains he immediately raised his eyes from what he was doing to watch over you. His steel blue iris shifted their attention from you only to cast their furious fire on the drunk man that was talking to you. His woman.

“You know, I always thought it was kind of sad that all the people here only link France with the war. This is a beautiful country.” You answered, taking another sip of red wine. Somehow, you allowed yourself to talk with the man. At least time would probably fly faster that way.

“If France’s as beautiful as ya, I’ll rush back to it by tomorrow, doll. The name’s Jim.”

You silently replied to him with a light smile, gently shaking your head at the fella’s attempt to compliment you.

You smiled at Jim — And Arthur broke the glass he was holding in his hand. It had been crushed by the pressure with which he had tightened his grip around it until it shattered into bits. Sharp pieces of glass had pierced Arthur’s flesh, blood dripping from his palm, but the tormenting anger that was building within him was so overwhelming he did not even feel the pain. As seconds passed, his face contorted with rage and his eyes darkened with jealousy. You. Smiled. At. Him.

That was definitely not okay — the man did not deserve your blissful smile.

Deafened by the sound of his own heart pounding in his tight chest, Arthur swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat in a vain attempt to keep control. To not let his anger issue show. The rational part of his mind was telling him to keep calm, for he knew you loved him and only him. You had told him plenty of times, after all. And he trusted you, really. But the other part, led by his insecurities and his mental instability, whispered foul insinuations to his ear.

Why would she stay with such a criminal like you? You’re sick. You’re old. You’re broken — and no one loves broken men.

You’re stupid, far less clever and charming than Tommy. HE is a real man.

You either scare or repel women. Linda told you. You don’t deserve Heaven.

Useless. So useless… Broken. Crazy, you’re fucking crazy. She’ll see what you are. A monster. Monster. Monster.

Arthur’s jaw clenched as his mind spiraled into a never-ending maze of whipping thoughts and insufferable feelings. Self-loathing was becoming too much to bear — so messy it had started to drown him. He felt his sanity slowly slipping through the cracks of his skull and the only thing he could to do make it stop was to break things. And by things he meant Jim.

“Listen, Jim. I think you should go back home and rest. This is the whiskey talking.” You stated.

“Only if you come home with me, doll.” He ought to say, his grin widening.

Breathless with rage, Arthur felt the heat pooling in his face. A few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead as he shook his wounded hand to clear his flesh from the shards of glass.

“You really should —“

“Come home with me and I’ll make you beg.” He cut off before you had time to turn his invitation down , bringing his hand on one of your thighs to strengthen his point.

Destructive anger flowed through his veins like lava, exploding at the moment the man laid a finger upon you. Agile like a wild cat, Arthur jumped over the counter and rushed toward you, his shoulders tensed and his arms swinging as he walked. Earth shook under his feet, opening the gates of Hell more and more at each of his steps.

“AL-FUCKING-RIGHT THEN,” He blurted out, standing fiercely behind Jim. Arthur’s thundering voice almost made him jump — and it was enough for him to take his hand off your thigh and turned around to meet the Devil’s eyes. You froze on your stool, astounded by your man’s anger.

His face distorted with both fear and confusion at the sight of Arthur Shelby, green with jealousy and maddened with fury, “What the fookin hell did ya say, pal? WHAT THE FOOK DID YOU SAY TO ME WOMAN?” He roared, blue eyes shining with a threatening glow. At this point, Arthur was almost choking with rage.

“Oh my God Arthur, I did not know she was your woman. I’m sorry! I really did not —“ Jim could not finish his sentence for Arthur had grabbed him by the neck and dragged him away from you in front of the few last clients' terrified looks.

“You TOUCHED her! You bloody touched her, ME ANGEL. ME HEAVEN. I can’t fucking believe it,” He spat, his words coated with bitter venom. Swirling in the chaotic vortex of his own fury, he did not hear the man’s bargains. And somehow, he did not care. There was nothing he could say to stop him anymore. Jim tried to utter another apology.

He had barely opened his mouth when Arthur’s fist crushed his nose with such a violent blow the sound of broken bones echoed through the Garrison. The man, almost knocked out by the uppercut, crashed on the wooden floor, a jet of blood gushing from his face, “Oi! Thought you fought in France. Come on, bastard! Fight me!” He snarled, teeth bared like a wild animal.

He’s going to kill him. That was what crossed your mind when you came back to your senses, overcoming the shock of seeing Arthur in such a frenzy state. You got up from your stool, “Arthur… Stop it please.” You called him, trying to be as soft as possible not to fan the flames of his anger.

“I AM NOT GONNA STOP!” He barked, looking at you.

He looked at you

and you saw the Hell in his eyes.

“Heard how he dared to talk to ye? Ah, you wanted to make me angel beg eh?” Arthur kneeled over the whimpering man, almost straddling his quivering body, to grab him by the collar of his coat, “Yeah that’s what you said right. But trust me, you sonofabitch, I’m the one who’ll make you beg!” He yelled, sending another powerful blast to the man’s face with his fists as sole weapons, adorned with thick silver rings. “BEG, YOU BASTARD!”

“P-please—“

Another disgusting sound of torn flesh and cracking skull filled the room. “By order —“ A third punch. Breaking teeth. Jim spat three of them at your feet. “Of the —“ Fourth. Fifth. His knuckles bruised and split under the strength of his blows but Arthur could not care less. All he wanted was to reduce Jim’s face to an unidentifiable slop of flesh. “Peaky —“ Dislocated jaw hanging loosely. The horrible sight was accompanied by the cacophony of bloody gurgles. “Fookin — “ Jim had lost count of the punches that rained down on him. All he knew was that his body was giving up. At one point Arthur Shelby had stopped beating him, only to unstrapped the combat knife he kept in his holster, “BLINDERS!”

“ARTHUR NO!!!” Running to the scene and falling on your knees, you managed to grab his hands and keep him from stabbing the drunk man, “Don’t do that, please I need you. Please, please stop it.”

Please.

Your voice, like a light piercing the thick veil of his darkness, snatched him from his murderous craze. Waking up by the smell of blood mixed with your sweet spring-like perfume, Arthur stopped in the midst of what he was doing and realized he was holding a knife above his head, ready to plunge it into a man’s chest. He took a look at you, noticing the shocked expression on your holy face, and all his anger disappeared into a void. His fingers loosened around the knife, which fell on the wooden floor with a metallic noise, “please Arthur, calm down… Call down, Mon amour.” You whispered, begging him with your eyes. Silence fell on the Garrison, as well as in his mind. The maddening voices had stopped and the buzzing hatred had vanished. Arthur left the unconscious man and collapsed in your arms, panting and shaking. Adrenaline made you shiver too, but you gently hugged his frame, one hand stroking his hair, “That’s okay… I’m here …” You repeated just like a healing chant as a few men grabbed the severely injured victim and took him away from the pub.

“I’m … I’m sorry— Heaven, oh my god —“ Arthur stuttered, slowly realizing what he just did. He buried his face in your breasts, for comfort as well as to hide the blood that had splattered on him. He barely dared to hug your frail body for fear of breaking you. Sometimes, he swore he had hell in his hands and he did not want to bring you down in the flames with him.

“Shhhh… Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do it.” You said with a soothing tone. With divine softness, you ran your fingers through his hair, not minding the blood he smeared on your clothes and bosom, “that’s okay, you’re a good boy..” But as you were trying to chase away your man’s demons, a far too familiar voice echoed in the room.

“What the fuck is this mess?!” Thomas Shelby exclaimed for he had just entered the Garrison, John by his side. His freezing blue eyes looked at you from above. The king was here and he hated what he saw.

“John, bring Arthur home. Everyone OUT.”

This was all it took to empty the Garrison from its remaining clients. When John gently put his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, Arthur’s embrace tightened around your tiny silhouette for he did not want to leave you. “No,” he managed to beg between two heartbreaking sobs. His face still hidden, not daring to look at you for fear of seeing disgust and anger in your eyes, Arthur refused to let you go. Somehow, he was convinced you would not go back home — why would you after what you had just witnessed? “Don’t take me away from her!” He said, a bit more fiercely, which resulted in John taking a few steps back and looking at you, silently begging you to help him. In the midst of the chaos, only you could bring him back to his senses. A brief sigh escaped from your lips before you gently forced Arthur to look at you.

“Listen, chéri. I need you to go back home and calm down. I’ll be very quick.”

“No, no, you won’t come back.”

“ I’ll do,” You wiped away his tears with your thumbs, accidentally smearing more blood on his face doing so, “and when I do, I’ll take care of you alright? I’ll keep you warm and loved.” Punctuating your sentence with affection, you slicked his hair back with a frail but oh-so-loving grin on your face. He finally accepted.

When he left alongside John, your smile vanished and you got up from the floor, legs still slightly shaking. Thomas was still standing in the middle of the pub, towering you with all his height, and looking at you with his cold eyes. His chilling stare followed your movements as you walked to the bar and poured yourself another glass of wine.

“I told you to keep a low profile,” He began. Thomas Shelby’s voice was dressed in an apparent quiet, but something in his tone was threatening — and even though he did not display any sign of emotion, you knew his blood was boiling.

“Oh come on Thomas, all I wanted was to make a surprise to Arthur.” You took a mouthful of wine — the much-needed alcohol calming your anxiety.

Thomas closed his eyes for a few seconds and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop his dawning headache, “ A surprise… I hope you like the result then,” He retorted, before shifting his eyes back to you,

“Listen, I know you don’t like me but — ”

“He nearly killed someone for you. What the fuck are you doing to my brother, eh?” Tommy slightly tilted his head to the side, a spark of resentment lightening up his icy iris. You remained silent, still not believing Thomas was really blaming you for Arthur’s outburst. Of course, you had not reacted immediately, but the shock had petrified you for a few long minutes — but was it your fault if he had beaten the man? Certainly not. At this point, Tommy was just lashing out at you for all the issues his family was facing. It was far easier than admitting his own flaws and responsibility. Visibly infuriated by your silence, Tommy walked to you and stopped only a few inches from you, trapping your body between the counter and his own strong frame. He was close — so close your breasts were almost pressed against his chest, “Look me in the eyes when I fucking talk to you, Heaven.” He spat your name with disgust, as if he had just bitten into an apple filled with maggots.

“Get my pretty name out of your mouth,” You looked dagger at him, anger rushing through your veins at such an unwanted proximity. Yet you did not flicker.

“You fucking white Devil,” He hissed through his teeth, his low voice still calm in spite of his blooming hatred, “Are you happy to spread chaos in our life? What do you want from us ey?” He leaned over you, bringing his face closer to yours. With his brows slightly furrowed, Tommy’s sky blue eyes were probing yours, trying to understand the mystery they hid behind their aquamarine wonders, ”What do you want from me?! After Arthur is this me you want to control??” He growled. Your heart raced in your chest — shivers ran down your spine, and goosebumps appeared on your porcelain skin, for his unpredictable behavior was starting to worry you.

“I don’t want anything from you Thomas Shelby. Whether you like it or not I’m being honest with your brother. You know Arthur’s emotional, you can’t blame me for that. You take away his meds, turn him into a killer, and now you’re surprised he snaps?? How. Fucking. Unbelievable! Do you know what I think? Well, I think you need me to be your scapegoat . You need to blame me for your sins. For everyone’s sins.”

“Fucking burn in hell,” He spat again but could not find something to retort properly. It seemed like the skies gave you the gift of shutting Thomas Shelby's mouth. Instead, one of his hands grabbed you by the neck and forced your face to get closer to his. His breath fanned over your skin, as burning as a dragon’s fire.

“Be careful with the Rule of Three, Thomas. For each spell you cast always returns to you three times stronger.” You whispered. Then you gathered all your remaining strength to push him away from you, his musky and peculiar perfume almost making your head spin. Not wanting to stay here any longer — and also longing for a hot shower to wash away the blood from your skin —, you headed to the Garrison’s door. Obviously, Tommy’s eyes followed you but he did not say anything, muted by his resentment. Admittedly, he was torn between the urge to bounce on you and the desire to see you leave. You were about to disappear, the cold breeze of the night jumping at your face and rushing into the pub as you opened the wooden door. But your instincts kicked in. After a few seconds of hesitation, you finally decided to warn little king Shelby.

“By the way..." You looked at Thomas from above your shoulder.

"You should keep an eye on Charles. You really should.”

He froze. Confused and infuriated.

You left. Hurt and bitter.

When you came back home, you crossed your reflection in the corridor’s mirror. Your body refused to work anymore and forced you to stop in front of it. Facing your own person was something you hated. With trembling fingers, you brushed the blood stain Arthur had left on one of your cheeks.

Mom! Mom, no!!

I’ll fucking kill you all!!

You clenched your jaw at the memory it triggered, but still, you kept looking at your tainted ivory skin as if you were slowly learning to come to terms with what you did and what you were. Your fingers trailed down your throat until they grazed the top of your bosom, where the blood had accumulated the most. Another painful memory assaulted your mind, replaying the aching, almost inhuman screams of your little sister when her flesh had been eaten alive by the hungry tongues of the pyre’s flames.

Only God knew how you managed to keep your mind from spiraling into the darkest pits of your trauma, but you did — maybe that was because Arthur needed you. That protective instinct was stronger than your own pain. That was why you tricked your body into moving away from the mirror and went upstairs to take a hot shower before joining your man in bed. John had probably managed to convince him to sleep. Or his body had collapsed on the mattress, exhausted by the energy poured in his latest outburst.

As the running water of the shower was filling the bathroom with its regular and soothing noise, you slowly let your white dress slip along your body until it fell on the floor, as well as your lace panties. You stepped over the pile of clothes and, without waiting any longer, you hopped under the shower and welcomed its warm water with utter joy. A sigh of relief escaped from your lips as you tilted your head back, water hugging your body and raining down on your long white mane that cascaded down your lower back. You almost managed to empty your mind when, suddenly, one gentle calloused hand brushed your hip. Jumping in surprise, you turn around and saw that Arthur had joined you under the shower. His hands, arms, and face were still splattered with half-dried blood he had not cleaned. To be true, he had been too busy curling up on the bedroom floor, panicking about at the idea of you leaving him after what you had witnessed.

“You’re here…” His gravel voice said, water falling on his naked body whose millions of freckles drew magnificent constellations on his skin.

“Told you I’d come back.”

He smiled, softly. His steel blue had stopped avoiding you and was now firmly anchored in yours.

He took a step toward you.

You stepped back in response until your bare body met the cold shower wall.

Your pulse quickened, fascinated by the way Arthur looked. He had something in his eyes — a mix of limerence and pure madness who, combined with the crimson stains on his face, made your legs weak. His breath was slow but yours soon became erratic, even though he had barely touched you yet.

“You ain’t scared, love? Please, tell me you ain’t scared of your Arthur…” He said, his lower lip trembling as his body perfectly interlocked with yours. A small growl escaped from his throat at the intoxicating sensation of yours curves pressed against his skin. But despite his inextinguible desire, he still looked at you with hesitation and genuine guilt — his puppy eyes would surely break anyone’s heart.

“No, I’m not scared,” You replied, not shifting your gaze from him. The corner of your juicy and honey lips stretched in a small grin, “You…” You paused, bringing one hand to his stained cheek, “you look pretty with blood all over your face.”

Arthur’s eyes lightened with both surprise and ravaging desire, for you had witnessed the beast’s violence but still thought he was attractive. A twisted wave of arousal shook you to the core when he bared his teeth in a vaguely dangerous but oh-so-seductive smirk.

“Oh bloody hell, angel…” Not finishing his sentence, his lips captured yours in a fury kiss for he could not wait any longer. The need to possess you, to feel you, was too devastatingly strong to resist. At first, his lustful kiss surprised you, and even though you burnt for him l, a part of you felt it was wrong to feel this kind of twisted attraction. Last thing Arthur needed was someone encouraging his violence — but your brain soon shut down at the thought he did it for you. Only you. Your arms locked up around his neck to deepen the waltz of your tongues, sending fireworks in your loins. It was far than enough to turn Arthur on who, all of sudden, lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, already suffocating with the hungry way he devoured your mouth and the shower’s steam accumulating around you.

As water rained down on your two intertwined bodies, it washed away the blood from your skins. The tainted liquid disappeared down the drain, leaving pale red stains on the bathtub's immaculate marble.

You kissed him harder. Rougher. Until his flesh dived into yours in an explosion of pleasure and shooting stars.

For you had seen the Hell in his eyes, and loved it anyway.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Each chapter of this series can be read as stand-alones but I advise you to read everything if you want a better understanding of details.

Tagging those who might be interested: @areyenotfondofmelobster @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybrid @shelbyssins @kxnnxyasdfg @adaydreamaway08

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ereardon · 1 year

Text

Friends Don't || Chapter 2

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late?

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid]

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, mention of doctors/illness/crashes, illusion to death, blood

WC: 2.1K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

“Got everything you need, Sunny?”

You turned around. Bob was standing in the doorway to your room, wearing a pair of blue striped pajama pants and a white t-shirt that hung off his lean frame. You smiled and nodded. “Think I’m good for the night at least.”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you crossed your bare legs and looked around the room. It was a mess. You were waiting on the rest of your stuff to get shipped from your Brooklyn apartment where you had been living for the last eight months, so all you had were the two suitcases that you’d taken on the plane, now spread out on the ground, their contents spilled across the hardwood floors.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you said quietly.

Bob tipped his head. “Don’t have to thank me, darlin’. It’s your house now, too.”

It was a sweet little two bedroom house, only a fifteen minute drive from the beach. But it was sparsely decorated. Your room had just a bed and a dresser, no art, no rugs, no lamps. “What are your thoughts on letting me redecorate, in that case?”

He laughed. “What, you don’t like my style?”

“Bachelor chic? You’re about one step above a 20-something guy in Bushwick who has his mattress on the floor so that he’s closer to the Earth but the reality is that he has fifty dollars in his bank account so when he asks you on a date he takes you to his sweaty roof in July and plays shitty guitar music and tries to mansplain to you the difference between IPA and other beers.”

Bob raised an eyebrow. “Tell me you haven’t actually met guys like that.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve met every single kind of guy you could ever imagine.”

“Well, if my options are Brooklyn douche or you redecorate, by all means Sunny, do whatever you’d like with the place. I’ll leave my credit card on the kitchen table.”

You stood up and crossed the room. “No way. It’s on me. I want to do this for you. Make a nice house so one day you can have some lucky girl over and she won’t get the immediate ick when she sees that you still have gray sheets and brown towels.”

“What’s wrong with gray sheets?”

You shook your head. “Trust me, Bobby.”

“Sure, honey,” he whispered. You took one step closer, wrapping your arms around him. Bob immediately folded you into an embrace, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered. “Thank God you’re home safe.”

“Were you worried about me, Sunny?” he asked quietly, his low voice rumbling.

“I worry about you every fucking day,” you murmured into his chest. “When you’re flying and I don’t know where you are. When you’re on the ground somewhere far from wherever I am. All I can think about is the next time we’re going to talk. The next time I'll know for a fact that you’re safe. And then that call comes and I’m elated. But it has to end sometime, right? So when it ends, the second you hang up, I’m back to being worried about you.”

Bob pulled away, his hands folded into yours. “You worry too much, Reid. I’m always gonna be here for you. Always have been.”

How could he forget? There was a reason you were scared all the time. You had almost lost him to the skies once.

You were living in San Francisco and Bob was stationed out of Lemoore. It was the closest the two of you had ever lived since you graduated, four years prior.

That’s when you got the call.

“Reid Coleman?”

You sat up straight at your desk chair, looking out the window over Market Street. If you really craned your neck, you could see the Ferry Building. “This is.”

“I regret to inform you that Lieutenant Robert Floyd has been in an accident. You were listed as his emergency contact.”

“Oh my God,” you whispered, heart plummeting in your abdomen. “Is he OK?”

“He’s sustained injuries, ma’am,” the person on the other end of the line said.

You didn’t even register that the phone had fallen from your grasp until you heard it drop to the floor at your feet. You were out the door in a second, practically barreling down to the lobby of the building, fingers shaking as you tried to search for rental cars nearby.

The three-and-a-half hour drive went by in an instant, and it was the longest car ride you had ever been on. Every single second all you could think of was the fact that Bob could have died out there.

And that the last thing you might have said to him was that you hated him.

By the time you arrived on base it was dark. You barreled through the hospital doors, panting as you made your way to the nurses station. “Robert Floyd?” you asked, panicked.

“And you are?”

“His emergency contact.”

The nurse nodded. “Follow me.”

You trailed after her down the hallway, the clacking of your high heels on the linoleum floor the only noise in the sterile hallway.

She stopped in front of the door. “He’s intubated,” she warned you. “So he can’t speak.”

You nodded and she opened the door. But you weren’t ready for what you saw. Bobby, lying there on the bed, with a thick clear tube sticking out of his throat and mouth, taped to his lips, the whirring sound of the machines as they kept him alive. The way he practically blended into the white linens of the bed he looked so pale and fragile.

You collapsed onto a chair next to his bed, taking his hand, the one that didn’t have an IV in it, into yours, letting your salty tears fall onto his cold skin.

“Bobby,” you whispered, voice thick with tears and pain. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please, Bobby, come back to me.”

He stayed in a coma for three days. You spent nearly every waking moment at his bedside, watching him with bated breath, waiting for some semblance of life to overtake him because the boy lying there in that hospital bed was not your best friend. He was a stranger. He didn't look or feel at all like the boy you had come to love over the last seven years.

And then, on the third day, you heard a familiar voice.

“Sunny?”

It was dry and scratchy. That morning the doctors had taken out the intubation and said he was awake, and you had rushed over from the hotel. There were tears in your eyes as you bolted through the doorway to where Bob was sitting up in bed, his glasses settled on his nose, a slow pinkness coming back to his rounded cheeks.

You bent in half over the edge of the bed, sobs wracking your body, silent tears streaming down your face. Bob reached out one hand, softly patting your hair. “Honey, don’t cry.”

You pulled away, looking up into his familiar blue eyes. He had looked so small before, and that had terrified you. He looked like himself again. Like the Bobby who had picked you up and carried you halfway across campus when you accidentally stepped on a rusted nail and had to go to the ER. He looked like the Bobby who had dared you to go into the caves in Vietnam even though you were terrified of small spaces. He looked like the Bobby that you loved with every cell in your body.

He looked like your Bobby again.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

“Never going to lose me, darlin’,” he murmured back.

You sniffled, gripping his hand.

Bob’s eyes widened after a moment. Then, “Wait. Where’s Denver?”

You raised your eyes to him, unable to say it but knowing that they could convey what had happened without words, and watched as your best friend fell apart right in front of you.

***

“OK Floyd, spill.”

“Spill what?” Bob asked, tossing down a hand of cards. Payback laid his cards down. Two pair. He grabbed the pile of chips in the middle of the table and slid them closer, stacking them up with his own poker chips.

“About Reid, Floyd,” Phoenix said, exasperated. “These two boneheads,” she pointed at Hangman and Rooster, “want to know if she’s fair game.”

“Hey!” Coyote pouted. “So do I.”

Bob shook his head as Fanboy dealt a new round of cards. “She’s not my girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So we can ask her out,” Hangman was practically salivating. “Cause she’s hot as fuck.”

Bob raised his head and glared at the blond. Hangman put his hands up in a defensive maneuver.

“Woah, chill Floyd.”

“She already turned you down, Bagman,” Phoenix chimed in.

“She didn’t turn down Rooster,” Payback pointed out. “Or should I call him Chicken Man.”

All eyes turned to Bradley, who took a sip of his beer. Then, “Never said I was gonna ask her out.”

Bob sighed, trading in three cards from the five card draw. “Sunny is an adult,” he said. “She can do whatever she wants. So Rooster, if you want to ask her out, you’re free to. It’s up to her if she says yes or not.”

Bradley nodded, tossing out one card, waiting for Fanboy to deal him a replacement. “Maybe I will.”

Bob pursed his lips, grabbing for his beer glass, taking a chug and then slamming it down. He didn’t realize how forceful he was until the glass shattered on impact in his hand, sending beer rushing over the table and down the sides. Everyone jumped up in a panic.

“Shit, baby on board, what the fuck?” Hangman called as he rushed to grab a roll of paper towels.

“I’m sorry,” Bob shook his head. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Come here,” Phoenix said, grabbing his arm and tugging him into the kitchen. She held his hand over the sink, pulling out a small splinter of glass from his palm, running the bloody hand under water. She doused it in soap and he winced at the sting.

“Thanks,” Bob said as Phoenix wrapped his hand in a clean dish towel in Hangman’s kitchen.

She looked up at him, knowingly. “You can say no to them, you know.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Phoenix sighed. “Yes you do. Reid. You don’t want those idiots to touch her.”

Bob grimaced. “She’s a big girl. If she wants to go out with them, she can.”

“Just admit it,” Phoenix said. “She is more than just your best friend.”

Bob’s blue eyes bore into hers. “Sunny is, and always will be, the love of my life. I’m just not hers.”

***

You looked through the sliding glass door to where Bob was carefully peeling an orange at the kitchen table, his eyes glued on the TV hanging over the mantle.

“Ms. Coleman, have you found a new physician in the San Diego area? If not, I can recommend one to you. But it’s imperative that you go in for new scans immediately.”

You sighed. “I’m working on it.”

“Ms. Coleman.” The voice on the other end of the line was hard. “This is no joking matter.”

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?” you hissed.

“I’m going to email you a list of five physicians in the area.”

“They’re going to say exactly what you said,” you whispered.

“You need to get a second opinion. And either way, you need a local physician now that you’ve relocated.”

“Fine,” you said. “Send me the names.”

“Ms. Coleman?”

“Yeah?”

“Please make an appointment.”

You clicked off the phone and slid open the door. Bob had moved to the couch, one arm slung over the low back.

“Everything OK?” he asked.

You nodded, walking around the edge of the couch and settling into the spot next to him. Without even thinking, you leaned into Bob’s side, letting his arm fall around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

“Sunny?” he asked softly. He read you like an open book. He could practically see the anxiety and tension radiating off of your skin.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, looking up at him with a small smile before resting your head against his thigh, lifting your feet onto the other end of the couch, lying down so that Bob’s hand was now firmly pressed against the dip in your side where your ribcage ended.

You closed your eyes, breathing in his familiar smell, letting yourself relax, feeling your heart rate slow.

“Everything is going to be fine,” you murmured.

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@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @blue-aconite

@seresinhangmanjake @brehonodea @babyminghao @crthurston

@angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @mizzzpink @wkndwlff @mygyn @sadpetalsstuff @shanimallina87 @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye

@wittywhispers @wildlyobserving @eyesthatroll @localhockeygirl @xomrsalliej4787xo @rosiahills22 @teacupsandtopgun

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@fudge13 @phantomxoxo @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @not-two-shrimp @emorychase @horseshoegirl

@xoxabs88xox @abaker74 @evans-dejong @clancycucumber230 @horseshoegirl

@mygyn @storysimp @interstellarloneliness @bobfloydsbabe

#bob floyd fluff #bob floyd #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun x oc

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

Text

The Barn

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x female/Reader

Summary: Thomas and his girlfriend meet in secret, but the weather gets in the way.

Warning: Fluff to make your day better

Word Count: 1.2k

a/n:. Requests are open!!!/Requested by anonymous.

The bed of straw was uncomfortable, but the lips expressed no discomfort. The lovers enjoyed the closeness and dared not to speak. The rain sang, clashed rhythmically against the roof, and the puddles overflowed like a cauldron touched by flames feasting on chopped wood.

The wind blew, sweeping through the old run-down barn in the middle of nowhere, far from civilisation, tall houses and busy roads, from wicked-eyed people hiding the truth behind a mask of love and smiles.

The rain banished birds from their kingdom, forbade leaves to dance through the air and colour it in screaming colour. The rivers rose, crossed high and low borders, swallowed fields and meadows, drowned withering flowers and filled the holes in the ground.

Y/N had lost herself in his eyes, found no end. She memorised every bump, the light greyish wisps breaking through the sea of darkness. Her hand rested on his exposed chest, above his heart, ignoring the drops falling through the roof. Heat rose to her cheek, realised Thomas had noticed where she was peering. The shirt that had become transparent in places, once clinging to his skin and allowing her a glimpse of his defined torso was gone. His white button-down lay next to his body beside his shoes and his darkened suit jacket covered her trembling form. The corners of her lips were bluish with a violet tinge. Without Thomas realising it, his fingers drifted across her frame, gifting her with the warmth and comfort her body could not give, and clasped her hands resting on his chest above his heart, enjoying the moment of perfect peace. His thumb slid over the back of her hand, feeling the cold slowly fading from her fingers.

"I imagined our afternoon differently. I'm sorry." Thomas breathed.

Y/N didn't answer, smiled at her boyfriend of less than a year, and replied with a shake of her head. The straw left deep pores on her skin. Y/N turned in his embrace, reached out, placed her hand on his cheek and brushed the wet grass away. Thomas smiled, an expression she saw rarely, faced his girlfriend, and adjusted the damp coat shielding her body.

"You have nothing to apologise for. It's not your fault. I enjoyed the day even though it rains. I don't mind. You can´t control the weather but the most important thing is that we are together. You couldn't have known." Y/N answered.

Thomas clasped her hand, brought it to his lips and breathed a feather-light kiss on each of her fingers. The thunderstorm did not pass on, stayed, but the world seemed free and peaceful. The wind howled, piercing the holes of the farmhouse in danger of collapsing.

"Thomas, I enjoyed the date. No. I'm enjoying every moment and it can rain all day for all I care. And if I get sick and bedridden, then you have to call my boss and inform him you are at fault for my absence." Y/N laughed, having to take his mind off things.

Thomas laughed, embraced her, wetting his lower lip with the tip of his tongue and laid his eyes on her, pressing her tighter against him, and heard how her heart skipped a beat.

"Don't worry darling, I'll do it, but I don't think he'll mind. Certainly, he won't arrive at work tomorrow. He will take care of his sick girlfriend and even if she's not sick, then they'll both spend the whole day together." Thomas spoke flatly.

"That sounds wonderful. I wish I was in her shoes." Y/N joked, unable to stay serious.

Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Thomas brushed the strand of once delicately curled hair to the side behind her ear. His eyes glittered like stars, as deep as the sea, reminding her of a gentle swell reflecting the stars painting the dark heavens.

"My love, I'm serious. My cooking is not the finest, but I will make you some soup. I will chase everyone out of the house unless you prefer to stay at your flat. I can stay with you tonight. If you wish.” Thomas assured.

Y/N grinned and coughed. His palm settled on her forehead. Brows almost touched. Thomas hissed and drew back, blew on his hand, had to cool it and shook his head in disbelief.

"You have a high fever, but I will take care of you well. I cannot lose you, my love. Does anything else hurt? Do you need a doctor?", "Thank you, Thomas, but I don't need a doctor. Thank you. My feet are killing me. I think I sprained my ankle and I believe a massage is the only thing that will fix it." she teased.

He tried to stay as serious as possible, looking at her feet, knowing she was joking.

" I will take care of you. And when you are well, I will take you to a restaurant. This time I won't invite you to a picnic." Thomas spoke.

"Tommy, a picnic is lovelier than visiting a restaurant," Y/N interjected.

The stuffed woven basket recalled the idea Thomas had for the afternoon, filled with soggy bread and rewashed apples and grapes, a blanket and a bottle of fine spring wine.

"You read too much, my dear." "No, I enjoy the simple things in life," Y/N answered with a widening smile on her lips once coated in a layer of red.

"Y/N." he whispered.

"You don't need to treat me to a lavish dinner nor invite me to a crowded bar where we have no privacy. If you're not involved in business, someone will notice you and approach us. You are recognised everywhere and if it goes well, they want to do business with you, in the worst-case scenario they want to kill you. And here we have each other.” Y/N breathed.

Lips parted.

“Don't say a word. You know I'm not wrong. Last week we were in the pub and before I could order a drink, men were everywhere trying to talk to you or invite you over for a drink.” Y/N spoke sternly.

Thomas chuckled. The world was forgotten. The words struck his heart, healing under her delicate touch, love, and adoration. Thomas lost himself in her eyes, but he desired no map, speechless, and the man with the silver tongue said nothing, and he realised Y/N was the woman by his side, different from the other women who had lost themselves in the shine of diamonds.

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staaapler · 2 months

Text

Leo’s Song

An upbeat song with pretty dark and sad lyrics, to show off the whole ‘Humor was a good way to hide the pain’. It’d take place as they’re reaching Camp Half-Blood. Everyone is preparing upstairs and Leo is downstairs, working on the ship and fixing everything after they got slapped away by Zeus.

—

The rest of the crew can be heard talking, but it’s all jumbled up and kind off faded out, so it all just sounds like gibberish noises.

Leo is trying to fix something, but his hands keep shaking and sweating. He drops something and lets out a desperate scream and crumbles to the floor with his knees up to his chest and his head hidden in his hands.

The sound of falling nails and screws on the floor can be heard. It starts off like a lot of random noise, but it slows down into a constant slow beat, like that of a ticking of a clock.

A low bass plays, mimicking the sound of the nails and screws. The sound of these slowly fades out, leaving only the bass, whose rhythm now changed. Drums join in, adding a beat similar to “Pink + White - Live at Electric Lady” from Remi Wolf. Slowly, a low trumpet joins in as well.

Leo: Ugh

Leo: [Stands up and brushes himself off. He walks towards the door but pauses just in front of it, looking back at his makeshift workspace]

Leo: That's the way every day goes. Every time we've got no control

Leo: [Walks towards his workspace] If the sky is pink and white. If the ground is black and yellow

Leo: [Takes out tattered and broken picture of him and his mom] It's the same way you showed me. Nod my head, I’ll close my eyes. As I die, be with you

Leo: [Looks around] It's the same way you showed me. If you could live, then you'd feel sad. When I’d die, you’d miss me

Leo: [Walks back to front of door and sits down in front of it] The way it is, we're on bare land. Still, I'm someone to hold true. Kept you warm in your dying breath. I let you down, I’m sorry

Just the same way she showed me…Showed mе. But you showed me love. And thе glory from above. Regard, my dear. It's all downhill from here

Leo: [Stands back up and goes to his table. He opens up a crumbled up piece of paper with undistinguishable words in it] In the wake of an explosion. Dark skin of a winter shade. Walk right into drought lines. Tall tower of monsters.

Leo: [Looks back at picture of mom] It's the same way she showed me, yeah. Cannonball off the porch side. Older kids trying off the roof

Leo: [Slight, sad smile] Just the same way you showed me. If I could die and come back to life. Down for air from the tall, dark skies. I’d kneel down to the dry land. Kiss the earth that carries you. Gave me tools just to go and die. Try and make it out when the sun is comes up

Leo: Just the same way you showed me…Showed me

Leo: [Throws everything away from the table, holds onto a screwdriver] You showed me love! And the glory from above. Regard, my dear, my dear, my dear. ‘Cause it's all downhill from here.

Leo: [Looks towards the door] Remember life, yeah, remember how it was

Leo: [Looks back at picture of mom] I would climb trees. Rolling Stones, yeah, it all ends here. You can say what up to dead fam.

Say what up to Charles

Say what up to Carlo

Say what up to all the dead members there

Bending up my Nikes

Running out of serotonin, all good

Stealing fixing and building

All those materials

Leo: [Gripping screwdriver] Give me somethin' sweet, sweet!

Leo: [Throws screwdriver, tears form in his eyes] Freak, they all lied. Freak, yeah you lied. Yeah you lied about her, deadbeat. Thought I killed, thought she died, all of me

Leo: [Walks towards wall and slides down it, gripping onto picture of mom] That's the way every day goes. Every time we've no control.

Leo: [Tears fall down eyes] If the sky is pink and white. If the ground is black and yellow. It's the same way you showed me…Showed me

#percy jackson #heroes of olympus #leo valdez #pjo hoo #pjo fandom #pjo #pjoverse #percy jackon and the olympians #musical theater

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ceruleancattail · 1 year

Text

Stay.

Jack Howl x reader

Hot chocolate. Mug clutched in shivering fingers, steam curling upwards. Gentle wisps of grey, caressing your cheeks, pressing into the tip of your nose. The roof tiles creaked in protest as you shifted your body. True to its name, the dorm was certainly Ramshackle.

Certainly, scaling the roof has its difficulties, and it’s definitely not the most agreeable drop. Yet, it is a pleasant hiding spot.

The view from above was immeasurable.

The night sky, a great big old blanket hugging the world tightly, tiny pinpricks of light shining through it, twinkling above your head. A million spotlights, shining on the dreams of the people.

Too high for you to ever reach.

Well, it’s nice to look at, at least. Some nights in Twisted Wonderland were harder than the rest. Home seemed nothing more but a dream some days. A memory worn and faded, the frail yellow pages of a fond childhood fable. Clutch it too tightly, it’ll break, crumple back into dust.

Blown away in the wind, as if it never existed in the first place.

You take a sip, the chocolate sliding down your throat, nestling in your gut. Warm. Comforting, in the deadly cold of the night. Perhaps coming here in your nightwear wasn’t too good of an idea, but this had been spontaneous.

Like most decisions of your life. But hey, you were still alive. No complaints there.

The sound of stone striking stone. A dull thud. A stone. Grey, with white flakes streamlined through the material. It was flung at the roof, centimetres from where you sat.

A frown, before you glared down.

A head of white and grey hair gelled back in a hairdo sharp as a knife. A pair of wolf ears stuck up at attention, ready for the hunt. He glared back at you, hands raised up in bewilderment.

A chuckle rumbled through your chest, annoyance shoved aside. Jack Howl. First year, and honestly?

One of the best people you’ve ever met.

Setting down your cup,You shimmy down, offering him a hand.

“Well? Are you going to come up here?”

A frustrated grunt, before he took your hand. Sandpaper rough, calluses hard against your palm. The hands of a hard worker, someone who put their nose to the grind every single day of their life.

You yanked him up with great difficulty, his legs scrambling for footholds alongside Ramshackle Dorm. His tail swished back and forth, nervous about the climb. With your hands trembling, you hissed instructions, trying to help him up.

After a bunch of swearing and cursing, you two lie on the roof, panting. Propping yourself up by the shoulders,you nudge the cup of hot chocolate to Jack. He wrapped his fingers around it, mouthing a soundless thank you. With one swing, he gulps it down. At least he has the decency to look sheepish afterwards.

You gesture to the sky.

“How’s the view? Worth the climb?”

Jack doesn’t even turn to the sky. His eyes stay fixed on your face, cheeks tainted a light pink.

“Yeah… really. Beautiful.”

A huff, before you elbow him in the arm, making him yelp.

“You’re not even looking, jerk.”

His ears flop down, a dejected puppy. Pouting slightly, Jack obliges, looking up at the sky. Bit by bit, his ears rose up, eyes bright. If the way his tail was beating against the roof was any indication , he liked the view.

You take the chance to lean against his arm, sighing in relief. His muscles stiffen, before relaxing again. He leans down slightly, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

“Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Stay here with me, alright? At least until dawn?”

“Always.”

A burly arm comes to a rest on your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

“Forever and always, Prefect.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #Jack x Reader #Jack howl x reader #Jack Howl #Lucky Potion🔹

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sailorshadzter · 5 months

Text

finding happiness.

inspired by a prompt list

She stands in the center of the broken room, stained-glass window shards littering the floor at her feet.

For many reasons, she’s never expected to return to this place, to ever stand in this room again- even if it no longer looked like the room she once knew. It is different, utterly destroyed, the blue sky open above her from where the roof caved in. Gone was the Iron Throne, melted to a puddle that she can see when she turns the other way, but she chooses to continue forward. That throne meant nothing to her now.

Where the beautiful windows once stood, there is nothing but wide open space, the remnants of the town the only sight she can see from where she can stand. From below she can hear the voices crying, those calling out to find the loved ones they were still missing, the sound of it all breaking her heart. The wind whips past, reminding her of that time in the moon door, but somehow there’s no fear of falling. Not anymore.

“Sansa?”

She turns at the familiar voice, a wane smile curving on her lips at the sight of the man standing there. He shaved his face clean once more, his dark curls clean and secured at the back of his head in a knot; this was the man she recalls from every dark night, the man who erased all of her fears, the man who saved her in more ways than just one. “I wondered where you had gone off to,” he continues, closing the gap between them, though he longs to draw her just a little further from the broken edge of the room. They’ve spent the last few days here in King’s Landing, the hours long and hollow, the aftermath of this war far worse than all of the rest. Like her, he hears the cries from down below and it sickens him to his very core.

“I wanted to see things for myself,” she admits, softly, casting her blue eyes around the room, the ghosts within all reaching for her at once. She shivers and when she feels the touch to her hand, it is not a ghost at all, but it is Jon. “Tyrion says the rebuilding will begin at once,” she goes on after she’s let out a long breath. Jon nods, but does not release her hand; that makes her happy. “That’s what they deserve,” softer still, turning ever so slightly so she might look again out past the broken panes of stained-glass, to where down below they hear the wailing of a child. Jon’s first ruling had been to ensure the rebuilding of King’s Landing at once, all the while providing shelter for the commonfolk through the buildings that remained standing, as well as tents provided by the many Houses of Westeros. It would take time, but soon enough the people of King’s Landing would have homes to return to.

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, grief darkening his eyes. He’s not forgotten what it’s taken to get here. His one wish was that things could have been different, that the people of King’s Landing did not have to suffer the consequences of a war that meant nothing to them. In the end, Daenerys and Cersei both had to be stopped, it was true, and he feels no remorse for the blood he spilt in this very room… But the innocents of the realm, they did not deserve to suffer because of a power struggle. He can only hope that from his reign he can please them and ensure they know he will not be the King they are used to having. He can only hope to give them hope once more, just as he’s given it to her.

He smiles then, taking in the sight of her, the warm feel of her hand in his bringing him comfort. She’s lovely in her black gown, her furs left behind, but still yet every in a Northern Queen, every inch a Stark. It was a long time coming, but King’s Landing would finally have their beautiful Stark Queen, but she would walk on the arm of a Northern born Targaryen King, rather than the once golden prince of Lannister blood. “What is it?” She asks, coming closer, noticing his stare.

Jon can’t help but to draw her in, his other arm sneaking around her waist. No longer would they ever have to hide the affection they felt for each other, instead, he could love her openly, he could love her loudly, he could love her proudly, as he’s always wanted to do. “I was just admiring your beauty,” he admits with a grin and she’s blushing crimson beneath his gaze, a soft laugh tumbling free from her rosy lips. Pulling his hand from hers, he cannot help but to touch the curve of her cheek, her skin like silk beneath his palm, his thumb tenderly stroking her smiling lips. The road to this place, to this moment was a long, arduous one, the path carved by grief and love, war and hope. But in the end, they’d found their way.

When he leans in to kiss her, she’s already waiting, knowing that from this moment on, they would only find happiness.

#jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jon x sansa #i wrote this #my writing

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yeastinfectionvale · 3 months

Text

Marc sat at the kitchen table, wringing his hands. Vale told Pecco everything about the couple getting back together and the boy seemed happy enough.

But when they were alone all Marc could feel was guilt. The heartbroken look on Pecco's face that day still burned behind his eyelids. He tore the innocence from his baby and now he sat across from an independent teenager. Marc looked at Pecco, studying the scar on his hand. When did he grow up so much? 'Obviously you missed out on a lot when you rejected him and refused to even be in the same room as him and his father' a voice whispered in Marc's mind.

Marc coughed, clearing his throat. "When did you get that?" He asked, nodding at Pecco's hand where a thin scar ran across his palm. Pecco outstretched his hand, resting it a few centimetres away from Marc's . "Bez and I were hiding from Franky and got caught on some wire." Marc nodded, not sure who Bez and Franky were. "Bez and Franky your friends?" He asked, taken aback when Pecco looked up at him with a mixture of anger, aggression and upset in his eyes.

"You don't have to pretend you know that Marc." Marc's heart panged at Pecco not calling him papa. When was the last time he called him papa? "I know you don't like me but you don't have to pretend. There are no cameras and I don't care." Marc wanted to scream and shout. He wanted to grab Pecco by the shoulders and shake him. He wanted to go back in time and never hurt his boy. But he stayed silent, watching Pecco huff. "I'm going out." He stated, standing up from his chair and walking to the door to put his shoes on. "I do care mi Cariño." Marc said, looking at the wall, his voice cracking. Pecco said nothing, instead slamming the door after himself.

Pecco marched to a secluded corner of the ranch, climbing into a hiding place he made years ago. It was a shallow tunnel he had dug out using a shovel he was gifted years ago. He had made a makeshift roof using an old IKEA bag that was cut to lay flat. His head hit the makeshift roof and his legs were cramped, knees tucked under his chest. Hot tears flowed down his face as he just sat there and cried. His dad would be back in a few days and then he'd be able to go visit his grandparents before he had to start training again.

He hid in his little hole for a few hours, watching the sunset. He planned to fall asleep in the hole but the rain started to beat down heavily, water flooding in. Pecco shivered but stayed in the hole until the roof collapsed under the weight of the rain, soaking him. He closed his eyes accepting that he was going to be wet and miserable.

The rain stopped, or so he had thought. Marc stood above him, out of breath and an umbrella in his arms. His face was blotchy and red. Pecco contemplated being stubborn and staying put, but the idea of lying down his warm bed was too tempting. He stood up, walking beside Marc who held the unbrella above Pecco, letting himself get wet. They got inside the house and Pecco marched into his room, stripping out of his wet clothes and into dry ones before climbing into bed.

Pecco woke up in the middle of the night in pain. His head pulsed and he felt as if he was burning up. He called out for his dad, for his uncle or anyone in desperation. Marc burst into his room, worry flooding his face as he saw Pecco lying there whining in pain. He rested his hand on his forehead, hissing as he felt the heat. Marc left the room, returning with a bowl of cold water, a face towel and some Vicks. "Papa?" Pecco questioned as Marc patted the cold towel on his forehead. Marc hummed, all his focus on his boy. Pecco fell asleep soon afterwards, Marc still sat on the edge of his bed not daring to sleep.

Pecco woke up the next day, his head still throbbing but feeling less feverish. Marc dipped the towel back inside the bowl, placing it back on his head. "How do you feel?" He asked, wiping some Vicks onto Pecco's chest, forehead and under his nose. "Shit." He answered, Marc chuckled. "If you weren't ill I'd have to lecture you on your language."

Marc brushed the curls out of his eyes. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm sorry about everything. I know you think I don't care but I do. I never stopped caring mi cariño. You're my son. You've always been my son, even when I was an asshole and told you weren't." Pecco let out a weak laugh, a few tears spilling out his eyes. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. I know you can't, but I ask for you to give me the opportunity. I've missed out on so much and don't want to miss anymore." Pecco nodded as Marc wiped the tears from Pecco's face and then wiped his own. He pulled his son into a hug, the pair crying together for a while, Pecco falling asleep in his arms as he used to as a baby.

Pecco woke up to his papa holding a tray of food and medicine.

#professional yapper #baby boots and riding suits

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isabella-kr · 1 year

Text

Chapter Seven: Blues and Oranges

This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.

If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.

This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Army.

Synopsis: A well-deserved break was needed after months of hardship, but she never would have expected it to go the way it did.

Pairing: John Price x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, scars, injuries, bruises, mention of imprisonment, mention of traditional gender roles, talk of not wanting children, talk of infertility & innuendo, but overall this is more a fluffy chapter <333

Word Count: 3.8k

Note: We’re gonna see Gaz in the next chapter 🥳

Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

GIF not mine

“You’re going on leave,” was the first thing the captain told her on a Friday morning.

The sun was bright that day, gracing all with warmth that seeped deliciously into their skin. It was comforting; an invisible hug. Although her body was covered from prying eyes – hiding away any scars that littered her body – she had decided to enjoy the sun whilst she still could, before the black clouds took over the blue sky and covered the earth with a thin blanket of cold rain.

She was only ten minutes into her walk when the captain decided to join her and give her the news. He had a smile on his face, and the bucket hat that took place on top of his head shielded his eyes from the bright light. She had to squint when she looked up at him, her hand reaching up above her eyebrows to create a shadowy shield over her eyes.

She stopped in her tracks to face his way, “Why?”

He was taken aback by her response, gesturing for her to follow as they moved to stand under a small roof. The shadow that fell upon them was cool against their skin, and she was glad to finally be able to look at her superior properly; without being blinded by the scorching sun.

“You’ve been here almost a year now. No breaks, just constant work. Now that you have been officially employed, they are requesting you take leave so you can rest,” he explained, “You’ll be taken back home in the evening.”

“Oh...”

Her reaction only confused him, “Oh?”

“Can I not stay here?” she questioned, a certain desperation showing in her eyes.

He tilted his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest, “Why?”

“I will not be authorised to leave that house, will I?” she spoke, her brows creasing, “I have more freedom here, sir. If I go back, it’ll be like willingly going back to prison.”

His shoulders lifted as he took in a deep breath. A thoughtful look took over his expression, a quiet hum rolling from his throat as he scratched his beard.

“It’s fine, sir,” She eventually spoke, “If they need me to leave, then I’ll go. No point causing more trouble. I’ll go pack my bag.”

She was dreading it. The rest of her day, she spent dreading going back to that enclosed, glorified prison of hers. She was not allowed to leave base without supervision, so the chances of them letting her out past the gardens was slim.

The isolation was going to eat her alive, but if that was what they needed her to do, then she wasn’t going to fight them against it.

They’ve done enough for you already. She had to tell herself as she stepped outside into the chilly evening air. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, the strap digging into her skin as she waited for the car to arrive.

She had no doubt the drive back to her ‘home’ was about to be quiet, and perhaps even uncomfortable – tense – as neither her nor the poor soldier who was ordered to take her home would have anything to talk about. And so, when she noticed the black car slowly driving her way, she took in a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the hours to come.

Yet when the car stopped in front of her, and she was greeted with the familiar face of the captain, she couldn’t help but knit her brows in the middle to showcase her bewilderment. He was quick to get out of the car and hold out his arm to take her bag from her.

She didn’t question him, only handing the bag over to her superior, and watching as he placed it on the back seats of his car. He then opened the passenger door and urged her to get in; she wasn’t about to question what this was all about, and so she got in the car without a word.

The first few minutes of the drive were tense, but not in a this is uncomfortable way, but rather in a what the hell is going on type of way. It wasn’t until he turned on the radio that she found the courage to speak up.

“Sir?” he hummed, “What’s happening?”

He briefly turned his head to look her way before redirecting his gaze back on the road, “We are going on leave.”

“Both of us?” she questioned curiously.

“Mhm,” he hummed, “Mine got cut short because of Morris. Still got two weeks left, so I’m going with you.”

“Right...” she spoke quietly, “but where are we going?”

The apples of his cheeks lifted when he smiled, “My home.”

Waking up in something other than a cot, let alone in the spare bedroom in her Captain’s home, was strange. The mattress felt soft beneath her hands, and the floral scent of clean sheets made a certain calmness wash over her.

She had been awake for quite a while now, giving her enough time to make the bed, get dressed a complete her daily morning routine. With one exception, however. After months of slicking her back into a tight bun, she finally decided to give her scalp a break; she let her hair down, with no pins sticking out, or bobbles holding it in place.

She breathed in the fresh air that got in through the open window, watching as the thin curtain moved with the gentle draft. It was nice – calming – to just sit at the edge of the bed and feel the breeze hug the soft skin of her face.

Her arms and legs were fully covered as always, only her hands and neck left unclothed, though the materials differed rather greatly from her regular ones. Instead of the cargos she usually wore on base, she now wore jeans, which seemed to cling tighter to her skin than they did before – perhaps it was due to the muscle build-up over the past months. And her usual long-sleeved, army-green top was now replaced with a white T-shirt covered by a thin cardigan.

She wasn’t sure how long she was sat there before she heard Price moving about in the room next to hers. She tried not to pry – to not listen in – when he began to hum a quiet tune as he got ready for the day. His footsteps were quiet, purposely missing the few squeaky floor panels in the corridor as he made his way to the bathroom.

He emerged barely ten minutes later, and then, a knock.

It was gentle, as if he was afraid she was still deep in slumber. Afraid to wake her up; to startle her.

“Come in,” she said, her voice weaker than she intended.

The door was pushed ajar slowly and silently, and only when he noticed her already sitting up, did he push it open all the way. He seemed to be taken aback by her appearance at first, only staring at her in silence as he took in her unusual look.

She almost looked younger this way. Not as beat up by the world, despite the bruises that still decorated her face. The non-military clothing seemed to bring her comfort, as her brows lacked their usual crease.

“Mornin’” he said, earning a gentle smile in return as she repeated his words, “How long you been awake?”

She hummed in thought, “What time is it?”

He lifted his left hand to take a look at his watch, “Quarter to nine.”

“Almost three hours, then.”

“You eaten anything?” His brows knit in the middle when she shook her head, “Why?”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” was her answer.

He let out a barely audible sigh before he gestured for her to follow. She did so without question, pushing herself off the bed and trailing him down the stairs.

Her socked feet pattered softly as she walked, sheltering her feet from the cold, wooden floor as they entered the kitchen.

He pulled the fridge door open with a hum, his eyes scanning the contents thoughtfully. “Was going to ask my brother to empty the fridge while I’m gone. Good thing I didn’t,” he commented and urged her to come closer, “What would you like?”

She shrugged, “You should pick, sir.”

“You’re the guest,” he pointed out, “It’s only proper I let you choose.”

“But I don’t know,” she said, swallowing thickly. Her eyes were pleading when she looked up at him, and he promptly replied with a small sigh.

“Alright,” he spoke, more to himself than to her, “How about… you ever had an English breakfast?”

Biting on the inside of her cheek, she shook her head.

“You’re in for a treat, then,” he told her, smiling as he took out all the necessary ingredients and laid them out on the counter.

He was quick to then take out the much-needed non-stick pans and turning on the stove, whilst also flipping the switch on the kettle in preparation for their teas.

“While I’m busy with this,” he began, cracking some eggs onto the pan, “Why don’t you think about what you’d like to do today?”

She hummed for a shot moment, her teeth biting into her bottom lip as she considered his request, “I’m not sure what there is to do, sir.”

“Good point,” he nodded, “Well, if you’re tired, we could stay in. We could go to town. We could go to the beach-“

“Can we do that?”

“What?” He spared her a look as he cooked, “Go to the beach?”

She nodded eagerly.

“‘Course. You ever been?”

“I’ve seen it from far away,” she told him, “But never up close.”

He replied with a hum, his tongue wetting his lips as he wordlessly planned for the day ahead. He cooked the food in an expert-like manner, his hands moving as if on autopilot as he moved the food around on the pan before placing it on two plates.

The smell was strong, but not unpleasant as they moved to the dining area, where they placed their breakfast on a table covered by a pretty, white tablecloth. Their teas soon joined them, too, getting placed by their plates as they began taking generous bites of their food.

It was good; tasty. John clearly knew what he was doing when it came to spending time in the kitchen, and she was left wondering when he had the time to learn when he was away on missions most of the time.

They two were mostly quiet as they ate, with only the occasional chatter and huffs of laughter flowing between them. But before long, the plates were cleaned up, their shoes put on, and they were out of the door.

The small town the captain lived in was inviting, with greenery growing in every corner. Numerous trees grew by the pavement, throwing the much-needed shade over their bodies.

“How’s your nose?” The captain’s voice managed to pull her out of her own thoughts as they made their way through the streets.

The pain was much fainter than it was before, only truly reminding her of the broken bone when she moved her nose, or accidentally caught it when changing her clothes. “Better,” she told him, a small smile playing at her lips.

“Listen, people might stare at you,” he told her, eyes scanning the bruises that still painted her skin.

She nodded, “Yeah, I know,” she tried to keep a positive mind, however, “But it’s okay. I’ll try to ignore it.”

“Just let me know if it gets too much, alright?” He looked serious, his eyes showing concern as he looked at her.

“Yes, sir,” she quickly assured him, sharing a sweet smile with her superior before tearing her eyes away from him to admire the nature around him.

The walk to the beach was not long, but it wasn’t entirely short either. It gave her enough time to get used to her new surroundings, and to fully enjoy the fresh warm air that surrounded her.

Her smile only widened, and eyes softened when the large, blue sea came into view. The beach was packed, and although she wasn’t a fan of crowds, she found herself not bothered by the number of people that surrounded her from every side. She was much too focused on the beauty in front of her.

It was like a dream come true; a sight she only ever dreamed of seeing as a teenager. It made her chest feel warm, and heart bloom in her chest.

Her skin was almost shining from the happiness that seemed to radiate off her. Even John, who was standing by her side, couldn’t help but grin at her reaction to seeing the beautiful blue.

“Come on,” he finally spoke, urging her to follow as they descended the stone steps. “Might want to take your shoes off, or the sand will get in.”

As he said so, he leaned down to unfasten his own laces, taking off his socks and standing barefoot on the warm sand. She copied his action, keeping the shoes and socks in her left hand as she stepped onto the sandy beach.

It was a strange feeling at first, the grains digging into the soft skin of her feet. But the longer she stood on it, the more used to it she became. After some time, the feeling even turned pleasant, the warmth welcome against her skin, and the harsh grains almost felt like a soft massage.

It was nice, and she was almost too focused on the inviting feeling to notice the stares that came her way.

Almost.

The beach was crowded. Ridiculously so. Young families with children, men and women with their rowdy dogs, and older couples just taking a stroll flooding the bright space.

She wouldn’t have been as uncomfortable if it wasn’t for the fact she bumped shoulders with three people in the past ten minutes. At this point, she feared she would get separated from her captain, and left there struggling to find her way back to him.

When a group of teenagers emerged in front of them, she – without much thought – reached her arm froward and wrapped her fingers around Price’s forearm. He looked back at her in an instant, worry creasing his brows.

“You alright?” He asked.

She only nodded, though her fingers didn’t let go, “Just… crowds.”

He moved closer to the water, and given that she was clutching onto him, she followed. The number of people was surprisingly lesser near the waves, where the cool water washed over her feet before retreating to the sea.

It felt… strange, at first, the way the foam wrapped around her ankle and wetting the bottom of her jeans. But she would be a liar if she said she disliked it. It felt nice, refreshing almost.

“I think I know a place you’ll like even more,” he said, patting the hand that was clutching onto him, “It’s less crowded, too.”

She smiled up at him, and that was enough of an answer. Changing his course, the two made their way back towards the stone steps, ridding their feet off the sand that stuck to their skin and putting their shoes back on before making their way up the stairs.

The moment they reached the top, and she looked up to him in question of where to go next, she was left surprised – stunned – when he held out his arm for her to take. She, rather hesitantly, reached up and locked her arm with his.

“Wouldn’t want you getting lost,” he mused, leading her to their destination.

They were still walking along the coast, and she couldn’t help but admire the way the sun reflected off the sea; like glitter sprinkled on top of the aquamarine blue.

“Thank you, sir-“

“John,” he interrupted, clearing his throat.

Her brows furrowed, “I’m sorry?”

“When we’re off base, you can call me John,” he said.

She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips. This was progress. An insane amount of progress. She was almost in disbelief, her breathing stuttering lightly.

“Thank you… John.”

He replied with a simple smile, and the gestured at a gate at the end of the walkway, “That’s where we’re going.”

She couldn’t hide her excitement, nor her happiness, and the moment they stepped past the large gate, her eyes lit up, practically sparkling in the sun.

A garden. A beautiful garden, with very few tourists around.

The vast number of flowers that surrounded her almost made her gasp. This time, she was the one leading him, practically dragging him to quicker reach the small pavements arched by flowers of all kinds.

It was beautiful. Magical in a way.

She let go off his arm but made sure to stay close as she approached a bright-orange flower. She was certain to cup it gently whilst bringing it closer to her face, breathing in the gorgeous smell that invaded her nostrils.

She burst into a wide grin and gestured for the captain to come closer. He did as he was told, leaning down to smell the flower when she gently positioned it in his direction.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” She muttered, “I used to grow these in my garden, they can have a variety of colours! I had some that were dark orange, almost red, some were bright yellow, and some were this beautiful, bright orange!”

He did say anything. He didn’t dare cut her off when they began to venture further into the gardens; he only nodded, letting out an occasional hum when she looked his way.

“They have a lot of symbolisms, you know,” she smiled, “But one of them is supposedly ‘the light that lives inside of a person’ which is beautiful; like something a poet in the Romantic Period would say.”

“It does,” he agreed when she looked up to him.

“They’re actually part of the daisy family!”

He tilted his head to the side, “Daisies?” He creased his brows.

“Mhm!” She nodded ecstatically, “I read it in one of the books I was given during my time in the… well… anyway, the books I was given couldn’t include any violence and whatnot, so when they realised I liked botanical books, it became all they gave me,” she laughed.

John hummed, silently moving with her when she approached yet another row of colourful flowers.

“These are chrysanthemums,” she told him knowingly, letting go off his arm to cup the round flower head, “These are so colourful! Some of them red, white, green-ish, purple – I even saw a hot pink one once-“

She watched as his arms reached up, as if he wanted to grab on the vest that usually stayed strapped to his chest. When he didn’t find it there, he pretended to scratch his shoulder instead.

She couldn’t help the gentle giggle that got past her lips at the action, shaking her head in amusement as she walked back towards him.

“Not a word,” he spoke lowly.

She raised one arm up defensively, “I didn’t say anything, s-John.”

“Yet.”

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything either,” she told him,

“Sure you weren’t.”

“I swear!” She let out a carefree laugh, causing his own lips to quirk upwards.

The rest of the day went by quickly – light as breeze – with them arm in arm, strolling through the walls of flowers. She stopped and talked about every single species of flower they passed, and it was as if he could see the passion flowing off her words.

The happiness she radiated was intoxicating, and he found himself mirroring her every smile. Every laugh. Every grin.

Watching her become more comfortable – more open – was something he never knew he would appreciate. He could never have imagined this the previous year – he could never have predicted their relationship would become filled with something other than hatred. He would never have expected she would become somewhat of a friend to him.

But he was glad that she did, even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Their casual conversations continued until late in the evening, when John put on some up-beat music whilst shimmying the frying pan.

“When d’you learn to cook?” She had to ask, her curiosity getting the better of her.

He hummed sprinkling some seasoning on the food, “My mum taught me. Said if I’m not planning on getting married, then I should at least learn to cook for myself.”

“You don’t want to?” She questioned with a tilt of her head, “Get married, I mean. Most men on base seem to be only thinking about settling down.”

“Ah,” he licks his lips and took a sip of cold water, “I used to, but changed my mind as I got older.”

When he looked at her, her expression told him she was listening intently. Urging him to continue.

“My dad was in the army,” he said, “Was gone a lot – like me. My mum wasn’t happy, and neither was I… or my brother. Wouldn’t want to neglect my wife, or kids for that matter, like my dad did me.”

She hummed, sending him a sad smile before nodding, “Makes sense. So, you don’t want kids?”

He shook his head, “No. You?”

She hummed, before mirroring his action by shaking her head, “Nope. Can’t have them anyways.”

He paused for a moment, brows furrowing as he checked on the food, “What do you mean?”

“Did Laswell not give you my file?”

“She did,” he groaned, “Told me fuck all. She said I’ve got to gain your trust myself.”

She almost snorted at that, shaking her head in amusement, “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“Believe me, it was.”

“Right, well, I’m infertile,” she put it simply, “About a year into my imprisonment my, uh, my cycles stopped. They had a doctor come in to make sure everything was alright; he said it was from stress and told me they would return after some time.”

“But they didn’t?” he asked.

She confirmed with a nod, “The doctor came back a few months later, did some tests, told me I’m infertile and left. At least it was one less thing to worry about, I guess.”

“So, if I hadn’t caught you-“

“No-no-no,” she shook her head, “I was in a bad mental state before you captured me, John. It was going to happen sooner or later, whether I got caught or not.”

There was a pause, the mood changing from pleasant to sour in a matter of seconds.

“At least I don’t have to worry about getting pregnant,” she tried to save the situation, “Not that I’m doing anything that could end in that outcome.”

He laughed. Thank God.

“Would be worried if you were,” he told her with a smile, “Strictly forbidden on base.”

She raised her arms in defence, “No rules broken… I don’t think.”

He pointed the wooden spoon at her threateningly, “Better stay that way.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Come ‘ere,” he urged her closer, dipping the spoon in a pan of sauce before bringing it to her lips, “Good?”

“Mhm!” She nodded with a hum, the taste blessing her tastebuds, “It’s delicious!”

(A/N: The ending might seem unnecessary to some, but whenever I write a fic I always get asked the same question. So, I want to make it abundantly clear there will be no pregnancy trope in this series.)

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