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roosterforme · 1 year

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Two to Tango Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley isn't afraid of a little competition between the Naval aviators and Air Force pilots. And when you prove to be as good as you claimed, he refuses to back down.

Warnings: Adult banter, swearing

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This fic was written for a request! Thanks for reading! And please check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun.

"This is the worst fucking week of the whole goddamn year," Bradley muttered to Phoenix, Hangman, and Coyote as they stood on the blazing hot tarmac in southern Nevada.

"Seven days of training with these assholes," Phoenix added, lowering her sunglasses to the tip of her nose and glaring at the four US Air Force pilots standing a few feet away.

"I love how Maverick told us we were lucky to be the four who were chosen, when honestly nobody wants to be here," Coyote complained, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his flight suit.

"Let's torch these losers and get back to San Diego," Hangman said with a devilish grin.

"Doubt any of them can even fly well enough to compete," Bradley said, eyeing up the pilot who just spun around to face him.

"Excuse me?" you said, strolling confidently toward him with your chin in the air. "What did you just say?"

Bradley smirked. He didn't care if you were going to call him out; he and the other Naval aviators were the best, and he could back up his words any day of the week. Plus you were kind of cute, and getting you all flustered could be fun for him.

"We were just discussing your ineptitude. Well, not yours specifically, sweetheart. Just the general incompetence of Air Force aviators in general," Bradley said, and he heard his friends hooting with laughter around him.

He had expected you to blow up at him, but your placid smile was almost more alarming. "It's really cute, sweetheart, how you think you're better because you can land on a boat. When really, nobody gives a fuck about you at all," you stated calmly.

Bradley would never admit that he was the one who was feeling flustered, so he just crossed his arms over his chest and said, "It takes real skill to land on an aircraft carrier. Runways are for amateurs," he said, inching closer to you.

"It's almost cute how stupid you are," you told him. "What's your dumb call sign?"

"Rooster," he told you, and you smirked. "What's yours?"

"Tango. As in you don't want to tango with me, sweetheart. So since you're running your mouth, why don't we make a little wager?" you asked, standing your ground as Bradley and his cohorts laughed at you.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked.

"Two hundred bucks says Air Force ends the week with more points than Navy," you told him, glaring at him over your sunglasses.

Bradley nodded slowly. "Okay, sounds good. But, if I end up with more points than you, you've gotta say something nice about me in front of everyone."

You chuckled. "And if I end up with more points than you, you'll be the one saying something oh so flattering about me."

Bradley stuck his right hand out and you took it in your smaller one. "Deal. Sweetheart," you told him before turning and stomping away in your boots, back to the other Air Force pilots.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Phoenix said, patting Bradley on the shoulder. "We're gonna smoke them."

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The following morning, Bradley was awake at five and stretching. He'd have a full day of long distance running and obstacle course races ahead of him, and he was determined to take a massive lead in points right off the bat. No way he was going to lose money to a bunch of whiney Air Force pilots who wouldn't be able to cut it at Top Gun.

He was the first one in the cafeteria, and he selected his breakfast very carefully, trying to get the maximum amount of calories he could. When he turned to find a seat, he saw you breeze into the room. Out of your flight suit, you looked hotter than hell, and Bradley almost dropped his tray of food.

"Morning, sweetheart," you crooned, barely glancing at him as you grabbed a bunch of random food. Your athletic pants were skin tight, and your matching shirt left very little to the imagination and showed off an inch of skin all the way around your waist. Your hair was pulled back showing off your neck and upper back, and Bradley was so mad at himself for picking a fight with you. Because now you automatically found him annoying, while he was thinking about how much he'd like to touch you.

You turned away from the food, leaving him in the dust while he stared at your ass. Now he was distracted. A distraction would be very bad. Especially when his reputation was on the line. "Fuck," he muttered.

He went to sit down at the table where you were already eating alone. "That seat's taken," you told him when he pulled out a chair. When he reached for the one next to it, you told him, "That one is, too."

"Let me guess," he rasped, setting his tray down anyway. "They're all taken."

You smiled at him while you licked your lips. "You're not as dumb as you look."

Bradley just smirked and sat down directly across from you. "And you're not as sweet and friendly as you look," he said before shoving half of a breakfast sandwich into his mouth and chewing it up.

"You think I look sweet?" you asked, leaned a little closer to him across the table.

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your mouth and then your neck before sweeping back to your eyes. "I didn't mean it as a compliment."

Your smile never wavered. "That's fine, because I lied to you."

"About what?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

"You are as dumb as you look," you told him, nodding at someone behind him. "The seats really are taken."

Bradley turned to see your Air Force teammates looking at him like he'd lost his mind. "You're sitting with us? You know this is a competition, right?" one of them asked.

"This asshole bothering you, Tango?" asked the biggest guy, and Bradley turned back to look at you, your face shining with mirth.

"Nah, Killer," you replied, looking right at Bradley. "He's just a dumb pussycat. Couldn't hurt a fly."

Bradley desperately wanted to keep teasing you, but not with company around. "Should I go then?" Bradley asked as he started to stand.

"No, why don't you stay and get to know the guys. They aren't as sweet and friendly as I am, sweetheart," you told him, walking away without a backward glance.

And then Bradley had to endure the most uncomfortable breakfast of his life.

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

Bradley was two miles into the ten mile run, and he was feeling great. He was keeping pace with Hangman, saving as much energy as he could for the last mile. He ran side by side with Jake, neither of them talking. The sun was intense, and he had already soaked through his compression shorts and his US NAVY TOP GUN tee shirt. But he was determined to win.

At mile six, you came out of nowhere and caught up with Bradley and Jake.

"Hey, boys," you said casually. You barely sounded winded at all, and instead of pouring sweat, you looked as good as you had at breakfast. "You guys look a little warm," you said, taking in Bradley's sweaty form from head to toe. "See you at the finish."

Then you tore off ahead of them. Bradley was impressed and once again distracted by your ass. He tried his best to keep up, but it seemed like you kept gaining on him.

"Damn. She's fast," Jake huffed next to him, and Bradley just grunted. "How much money did you bet?"

"Shit," Bradley gasped, trying to pick up the pace.

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

You had been waiting for him at the finish line, cheering him on by chanting "Rooster!" very loudly and looking like you'd barely broken a sweat. Meanwhile, Bradley had a horrible stitch in his side and was doubled over. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage doing the obstacle course after this, let alone try to beat you at it.

"You okay, old man?" you asked, crouching down next to him and smirking.

Bradley turned to look at you. "How old do you think I am?"

"Too old to beat me," you replied, shoving a water bottle in his face. "Drink up. It will be more fun for me to destroy you in the obstacle course if you're properly hydrated."

Then you walked away, and Bradley had to admit he kind of liked your smart mouth.

Once the points were tallied after the ten mile run, the Air Force team was leading by a small margin. Bradley was angry as he confronted his teammates. "Okay, who dropped the ball?" he asked, eyeing Coyote with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm not a runner! I'll destroy them on the obstacle course," Coyote promised, and Bradley knew he would.

Bradley also knew he was exhausted while you looked like you were ready to tear up every obstacle in your way. "Yeah, Tango," the guys on your team all said, giving you high fives.

It was one thing to be the best on the ground, but being the best in the air was where Bradley would shine. So he would try to get a good time on the course and then focus on the rest of the week.

Everyone groaned when they got to the course after lunch. It looked like a mud pit that was now baking in the sun, and Bradley thought he would rather run another ten miles than have to do this shit.

"Let's work as a team to start," Phoenix told the guys. "I am going to need help getting over the second and third walls quickly." So they came up with a game plan to boost Nat over the walls since she was much shorter than they were. Then she would have no trouble crawling under the ropes that came next. Each of them had their strengths, and they would stick together when they could.

Both teams lined up, and when the whistle was blown, they were off. Bradley watched out of the corner of his eye to see that the Air Force team went with the same game plan. They were boosting you over the wall at the same time Bradley was practically throwing Phoenix over. Then he used all of his upper body strength to pull himself up and over. The next few walls were taller, and Coyote had to have Phoenix practically stand on his shoulders so the guys could use her body to pull themselves up.

"Fuck!" Phoenix yelled. "You weigh a shit ton, Bradley!"

"I'm sorry," he gasped, pulling her over the wall with him once he had reached the top. Then he reached down to give Hangman a hand to grab.

Navy was pulling ahead of Air Force, but Bradley was determined to keep the lead. Now everyone was starting to work more independently, and he could see that you were ahead of him going through the tires. Bradley forced himself to move, shoving his larger form under the ropes and diving into the mud when necessary.

Coyote, Phoenix and Hangman were all close behind him, and he tried to encourage them along. But when it came to the mile run back to the starting line, Bradley went full force. He was gaining on you now, each of his strides counting for two of yours. Pumping his arms and gasping for air as his chest and throat burned, he caught up to you just as you crossed the line.

"A tie!" the officer with the stopwatch said. "And the best course time this year!"

Bradley watched you walk in a circle before you bent in half with your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. Much less gracefully, he plopped down into more mud and rolled onto his back, baking in the sun and sucking in air.

When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, you were making your way toward him with your hand outstretched. Bradley gave you a high five and let you help him to his feet.

"Impressive, old man," you told him. Bradley rolled his eyes as he stood, massaging the stitch in his side.

"Yeah, well..." he started, just as he saw his teammates in the distance. "Age comes with experience."

You narrowed your eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bradley just shrugged as he looked at you. "I'm just saying, it must be nice to win races because of age and stamina, but that has nothing to do with your flying."

Your eyes went wide and you took a step closer to him. "Listen up, sweetheart. I've worked my ass off to be the best. And you don't know anything about me or my experience. So why don't you stay in your own lane and watch me destroy you and everybody else." You were practically touching him now, seemingly just seething in your anger.

Bradley's heart was pounding. You were covered in mud and yelling at him. And embarrassingly enough, he was kind of turned on. He didn't even mind you calling him old man. But now he felt a little bad about what he had said.

"Listen, I-"

But he was cut off by you planting your hand on his chest and pushing yourself away as your teammates and his all crossed the finish line in a large group. You raised your middle finger up behind your back and aimed it at him when you walked away.

"Shit," Bradley muttered. He hadn't meant to piss you off even more. Honestly, he liked you. You were smart and quick witted. Cute too.

He was going to have to apologize when he had you alone again. Hopefully letting you call him old man for the rest of the week would help smooth over what he'd said.

"We just barely beat their combined time," Coyote said, panting to catch his breath.

Hangman was walking in circles chugging water while Phoenix patted Bradley on the shoulder. "I'm never letting you use me as a human rope again. That was painful," she said.

"I'm sorry, but at least we won this round," he told her. "We'll get up in the air tomorrow and kick their asses."

As everyone made their way back toward the locker rooms to get cleaned up before dinner, Bradley cut you off in front of the ladies' locker room door.

You planted both hands on your hips and looked up at him. "You lost, sweetheart? Mens' showers are that way." You nodded your head to the side where Coyote was disappearing through the door. You had a streak of dried mud running across your forehead, and your hair was an absolute mess.

"No. Listen, I just wanted to apologize," he said, running his hand through his muddy hair. "I'm sure I came across as a bit of a sore loser when I insinuated that you lack experience in the air. You're right, I don't know anything about it. Sorry."

There was nobody else around as you closed the distance between your bodies and tipped your head up to keep your eyes on his. "Yesterday you called me incompetent. Today you called me inexperienced. What are you planning on calling me tomorrow?" you asked in a controlled voice, but your eyes were angry.

When Bradley didn't respond right away, you let your fingers rest on his abs before flattening your palm there. Slowly you dragged your hand up the front of his mud soaked shirt, teasing the hard planes of his body. Bradley didn't dare move as he watched your eyes which were focused on your own hand. He wanted to kiss you, but chances were you actually hated him and were just trying to get a rise out of him for your own entertainment.

But when your hand traveled over his pecs and up around the scars on his neck, you stroked your thumb softly there. His pulse quickened as his dick throbbed. "Oh, so now you're quiet, old man? Gotta say, I like this version of you much better."

Bradley didn't dare move as you pressed up onto your toes and kissed him hard, pushing your fingers up roughly into his messy hair. He wanted to turn you and push you up against the wall, press his hardening length against you and make you moan.

But as soon as he had his hands on your hips, you pulled out of his grasp and slapped him lightly on the cheek.

"Apology accepted. For now," you said, pointing at him as you turned to walk into the locker room.

Bradley stood there for a moment in shock before he crept quietly into the men's room with a boner.

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

Thanks for reading this one! It will be four parts total! And thanks for all of your help @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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scribbling-dragon · 6 months

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nighttime hauntings

summary:

(ao3 link)

(4,317 words)

heyy! happy halloween! as a gift have my personal little silly thing that i had a bunch of fun writing, don't question the worldbuilding too much! (you want to reblog this soooo bad and leave me nice little comments in the tags, soo bad <3)

The tarmac is cool beneath his feet – well, paws? They're paws right now, but they're feet a majority of the time. And ‘feet’ refers to anything you stand on, probably, so till feet…just paw-shaped right now – as he waits patiently. Maybe a little impatiently, hopping from one foot to the other, claws clacking against the cool ground.

The bell jingles and he jerks his head up. He almost smiles, before remembering that such an expression is truly horrifying when he’s like this – Scott had made sure to tell him as such when Jimmy last did it to him, and the siren usually prefers to coat his words in much more honey. The insult wasn’t even thinly veiled, it was just an insult.

His tail begins wagging, almost on its own, as the person he was waiting for steps out onto the darkened street.

He lets out a small bark as greeting, watching as his friend looks up, before smiling at him as well. He stops to check the road before bounding across, skidding to a stop at Tango’s feet. The barista is still smiling, that oddly restrained smile that only just shows a peek of his teeth.

“Hey, buddy,” Tango crouches down, reaching out a hand to stroke along the top of Jimmy’s head. “I’ve only got a few things for you today, but I'm sure it’s more than enough.”

Jimmy can’t respond to him right now, but he hopes the wagging of his tail is enough to communicate that even the smallest of scraps are always enough for him; as long as Tango is the one bearing those scraps, he’ll happily take whatever is given to him.

He takes the piece of food – some kind of croissant? He’s not sure what exactly it is, but it’s tasty, even after sitting on a shelf for most of the day – carefully between his teeth, making sure not to accidentally nip Tango. He’d never forgive himself if he did that, even went so far as to refuse taking food from Tango’s hand for the first few months of their little arrangement.

Tango smiles down at him as he finishes chewing, before standing up straight. The small box the scraps came in is neatly folded into a cardboard square and disposed of in the nearest bin they pass by.

Tango walks quite briskly, as though he has somewhere to be. He doesn’t, Jimmy knows. Not in a weird way! Or a creepy one! He just never leaves the house after Jimmy walks him home, choosing to stay inside. He doesn’t think Tango has very many friends, otherwise he wouldn’t be choosing to take the closing shift at a café that operates on disgustingly early and late hours. He would probably also be leaving his house between shifts.

Again, not in a creepy way! Jimmy is just slightly worried about Tango…they may have only had a few conversations in passing when Jimmy has chosen to visit the café as a human-shaped patron, but he likes to think he has a pretty good feel for the man next to him.

Tango’s hand rests on his head as they wait to cross the road, the flickering orange lamp only briefly illuminating the zebra crossing. Jimmy sits dutifully at his side, scanning the darker corners that Tango wouldn’t be able to see into with his subpar night vision.

Only when Tango lifts his hand from Jimmy’s head does he begin to move again, trotting at his heels.

It’s only a short walk to Tango’s apartment building, but it’s a rather dark one. Tango chooses to take more risks than he really should, crossing through darkened alleyways with little fear. The absolute lack of self-preservation has Jimmy’s heart going a mile a minute, jumping in his chest at every flickering shadow or small sound.

He growls at a rat that startled him, an entirely embarrassing encounter that has Tango cooing over him and stroking his ears; he feels hot under his fur, mortification sliding heavy down his spine as he resists the urge to hide his face. He’s only lucky he can’t blush like this, or any blush he would have is hidden beneath a thick layer of fur.

And, as always, the moment of parting arrives with the looming of Tango’s building.

He can’t help the way he slows his steps as they approach, mourning the end of their small journey for the evening. It would be far more convenient to start an actual conversation with Tango, either inside of his workplace or outside of it, the way his brothers have been telling him to. But he’s far more comfortable with everything as it is right now, and these small walks don't give him the opportunity to ruin everything with a blurted sentence that should have stayed internal.

A hand lands on his head, its weight comforting and familiar.

“See you soon,” Tango gives him that same odd smile, lips barely pulling back from his teeth. “Stay safe, alright? I’d be sad if my little buddy stopped showing up to greet me.”

Jimmy would equally be upset if he was no longer able to accompany Tango on his walks home. The city is dangerous at night, especially with all the creatures living within a small radius of each other. Jimmy can name three different vampires that live within a mile of Tango’s home. And those are only the ones he knows. Goodness knows what would happen if Tango chose to walk home on his own down those dark and disgusting alleyways.

Jimmy makes a small noise, ears drooping slightly as he presses his head forward for a final goodbye. The smell of coffee and sugar invades his senses briefly before he’s pulling away again, watching Tango let himself into his building.

Only when he sees the door click shut behind Tango and automatically lock does he turn to leave, trotting down a different alleyway in order to return to his own home for the evening.

=== === ===

Tango’s not entirely sure when the semi-regular routine began. Only that the habit is well-worn at this point, meaning it’s been at least two months. It takes two months to form a habit, apparently, though some people do it quicker than that. He, however, is a creature of habit and takes a while to adjust his routine.

Which is why it comes as a surprise to him when he finds that he’s already packed away several scraps, and bits of food that would go to waste at the end of the day otherwise, into a takeaway container, ready to give to his nightly companion.

He locks everything up inside first. He’s not going to rush out the door and become an incompetent employee just to go and see his furry friend quicker. Even if said furry friend is incredibly cute and really quite endearing, especially when he does the impatient little tippy-taps with his paws as he waits outside.

A normal person wouldn’t be able to pick up on such a tiny sound, but Tango strains his ears as he does one final sweep of the café, listening for the almost inaudible sound of claws clacking against the tarmac.

He smiles a little when he hears it, making his way towards the door, container tucked carefully beneath his arm. The keys jangle as he takes them out to lock the door, turning around in the small porch and locking the doorway.

He gives the handle a small test, finding that it resists, before finally turning to greet his friend.

“Hello, hello. Yes, yes, I'm sorry,” he crouches down to be more on the dog’s level, smiling at it as he reaches out to give it a quick pat on the head. “I didn’t mean to be so late, but, ugh, Tiffany- I've told you about Tiffany before, right?” The dog tilts its head to the side, though its ears perk forward as Tango speaks.

Tango knows full well that he’s currently having a conversation with a dog, but he can’t help it! He works the closing shift on his own most of the time, none of his co-workers choosing to stay past six p.m., when it starts to get a little bit too dark, or too late at night. Most of them are students at the local university, and they all have early lectures. Tango doesn’t mind taking the later shifts – much prefers taking them, actually, seeing as he doesn’t have to lug his stupidly old and stupidly heavy umbrella around with him– especially not when it helps out those he works with so much.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nods along like the dog responded to his earlier question. “Of course I've told you about Tiffany before, she’s, honestly, sorry for what I'm about to say, but she’s such a bitch. She came in, five minutes before closing. I’d been cleaning all the tables ready for closing and begun to stack the chairs, and she comes in and is all like, oh, so sorry darling,” he drags the darling out, “yeah. She says it just like that- and she comes in so sorry darling, but I've just got to have this coffee right now. You’d understand wouldn’t you? Working so late all the time, ugh, it must be so hard. Like, God, yeah, imagine not living off your husband’s money, Tiffany – I know far too much about this woman’s life, like, no, I am being paid minimum wage to sit and listen to you complain about your third husband’s spending habits, I don't actually care.”

He huffs out an exasperated breath, sagging forward momentarily. Still crouching right in front of the dog means he leans forward and directly into the dog, which does a rather valiant attempt to keep him upright.

“Ugh, sorry, I don't mean to complain. You're here for the scraps, I'm sure,” he pulls the box out from beneath his arm, setting it on his lap as he begins opening it, folding the cardboard edges away from each other. The dog whines, scraping its foot against his leg, before looking up at him with its incredibly sad and watery eyes.

He’s not actually sure what kind of dog it is. When he’d first been approached by it, he’d been taking the waste food out to the bins behind the café. He was certain he was about to be attacked by a rabid wolf, or something. As far as he knows, the only werewolves currently living in the city is a tiny pack of three, and all of them live on the opposite side of the city to him. But in that moment he’d been certain that he was going to be mauled to death by another creature of the night.

Instead, the hulking beast of an animal had sat down at his feet and given him the saddest little look ever, eyes large and watering until Tango had offered up a rather squashed croissant to it.

After that small encounter, he’d tried to find out what kind of dog it was, searching for it first online, and then resorting to a dog breeds guide at the nearby library, in the hopes that he might find what kind of dog was walking him home most weeks.

The most he’d been able to conclude was that it was probably at least half-wolf, though the other parent is unknown. Dog and wolf – both dolf and wog had sounded incredibly dumb, and the dog looks more like an overgrown, slightly shaggier family golden retriever than a wolf.

And it still doesn’t have a name.

He offers out the half-croissant he’d saved for it today, watching as it takes the treat carefully from his hand. He’s fed a few street dogs before, though none of them this consistently, and all the street dogs in the past had bitten at his fingers as they snatched the treat from him, desperate and starving, and willing to rip out someone’s throat to make sure they got the treat.

The delicacy with which this dog takes the treat only reinforces the idea that this dog was a family pet, one that was left behind when it only continued growing and the family could no longer cope with having such a large dog.

It licks his fingers for the last crumbs of the croissant before pulling back and looking at him with those same sad eyes.

“On better topics,” he begins, watching how the dog perks up at the sound of his voice. He almost wishes it were smaller, so he could at least try to sneak it into his apartment. “The cute guy came back today,” he strokes a hand absently over the dog’s head as he talks, “I still didn’t manage to get his name, oh, it’s so embarrassing. Joe – co-worker Joe, Joe that we like – makes fun of me for it every time, says it makes me incapable at my job the moment he walks in. I just can’t help it! He always sits at the window, and gets the same thing every single time. I mean, I get the same thing every time, I can respect that, but I still don't have his name.” He buries his face in his arms, ceasing the absent pets he was giving the dog. “Man, it’s embarrassing. I don't even know his name and he’s a regular. He comes in nearly every evening, and just sits in the window, perfectly aligned with the last bits of sunlight in order to make his hair turn golden.”

A wet nose presses against his arm, before an entire head forces its way through his crossed arms. He pulls back with a short laugh, pushing the dog backwards, hands on its chest.

“Ugh, just ignore me. I'm tired,” he sighs, hauling himself to his feet. “I forgot to have something to eat before I left for work, and now I'm starving.” The dog continues to look up at him as he walks, eyes fixed on him, wet and glittering under the occasional street lights. Despite it’s overall air of patheticness, it seems to be doing rather well for itself. It’s certainly not skinny, despite living right on the edges of the city, and it hasn’t been attacked by one of Tango’s hungrier neighbours yet.

…Though, that might be more to do with Tango than sheer luck.

He’s one of the older vampires in this part of the city, and most of the other ones are content to stay out of his way as long as he stays out of theirs. And he may have been rather unsubtle in his fondness for this particular dog, even going so far as to mark him with a small sigil – one only visible to other vampires, letting them know that they should keep their hands off. The sigil is small and unnoticeable when he doesn’t look for it, fading into background noise.

To other vampires, though, it’s like a blaring light that screams at them to stay away or face his wrath. A rather effective deterrent, if he may say so himself.

He crosses into the shadowed alleyways quickly, feeling far more relaxed here than under the pools of lamplight. The dog, however, presses closer to his legs worriedly, a low whine building in the back of its throat for the first few seconds, before cutting off rather abruptly.

Tango hums to himself, reaching down to pat the dog on its head, stroking a hand over the unruly tufts there in an attempt to smooth them down.

He moves quicker through the dark alleyways. The dog doesn’t like walking through them, but it’s far quicker than taking the main streets, even if these are darker and a little more…disgusting. Still, the dog seems happier when they finally emerge from the twisting maze of brick and crawling moss, wagging its tail again and straying a little further from his side.

Still, he feels more than a little bad when he turns to face it on his doorstep, crouching down again to bid it goodbye.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” The dog tilts its head at the exact same time he does, looking even sadder than it had when he first stepped out the café. It would almost be worth it, getting kicked out of his apartment, just to smuggle the dog inside for an evening. “And I’ll have something better than half a croissant next time, I swear.”

The dog wags its tail twice before stopping again, watching from its spot as Tango backs up towards his apartment building. He gives it one last wave before he pushes through the doors, pulling it shut behind himself.

When he glances back through the glass, the dog is already gone.

=== === ===

Jimmy waited patiently, tail curled neatly around his paws as he watches the door carefully. There’s been movement inside for the past few minutes, despite the closed sign already being flipped. Meaning its almost time for Tango to emerge from the darkness and come greet him with a smile.

He’s been worried about Tango recently. His apparent lack of friends aside, he’s been looking paler than before, almost sick with it, and he’d been stumbling yesterday when Jimmy went in for his usual coffee. He wasn’t able to get close enough to check on him then, standing at the respectable distance that humans normally choose to keep between themselves. But now, shifted and covered in a layer of fur, it’s far more acceptable for him to get that close.

He perks up at the sound of jangling keys, hopping to his feet and crossing the road before the door even finishes closing.

Only to skid to a halt before he can reach the person- because it’s just a person, not Tango.

He begins backing away, only to be caught in the act as the person turns around to face him. Another co-worker, one that Jimmy vaguely recognises as Joe, both from his visits to the café and Tango’s stories about his day.

“Heya there,” Joe waves to him, wiggling his fingers slightly at the end. “Didn’t think you’d be here tonight, looking for your buddy?”

Jimmy doesn’t make any response that would indicate understanding, simply continuing to stare up at Joe. He doesn’t know what to make of Joe, something uneasy prickling along his spine as he stares up at him. He’d never been able to get a read on the guy, but something about him just made Jimmy feel…off. Uneasy. Not unsafe, never unsafe, but healthily wary.

“Aw, well, he’s out sick today. He’s not been looking good recently, so you might not be seeing him for a bit.” Joe locks the door as he talks, turning his head over his shoulder to face Jimmy. He’s still smiling, oddly enough. “I'm sure he’ll be back, right as rain, soon enough! Nothing keeps Tango down for long. Nothing can keep Tango down for long,” Joe laughs. Then stops laughing nearly as quickly as he had begun. “You’d better run along, I've got no scraps for you tonight. Not that you’d take them from me, I don't think.”

Joe watches him for a moment longer, before making a gentle shooing motion.

Jimmy feels as though he's been broken from a trance, abruptly backing up before turning away, beginning a slow trot away from the café as he thinks. He still doesn’t feel good around Joe, and that right there was creepily similar to the time when Scott wanted to show him what a siren could really do with their voice. But there was no urge to offer himself up to the man, only a need to stay and listen to whatever it was he had to say.

Whatever Joe is, Jimmy has no interest in finding out.

Disappointed in how his evening has turned out, he slips into the forest rather than making the trip back across the city. He’s not looking to be teased by his brothers about this when he’s not even managed to see Tango. He’d much rather kill a rabbit, or something.

Or, he turns his head, the iron tang of blood filling his nose, perhaps he doesn’t even need to hunt down an entire animal. There seems to be some kind of injured creature out here that would be far easier to catch than the effort required for digging into a burrow.

He follows the scent deeper into the forest, only pausing to make sure he orients himself correctly and can find his way back to the city later.

The path zig-zags, as though the prey was desperately blundering its way through the undergrowth in its panic. Several leaves are dotted with crimson beads of blood, and the trail is laughably easy to follow. He keeps his nose to the ground anyway, snuffling along the small path of broken twigs and crushed underbrush.

A snapping twig has his ears pricking forward, a pained sound following afterwards.

He leaps forward, crashing through the bush ahead of him and ignoring the thorns that scrape along his sides as he lands. He almost slips on the leaves, skidding a little further than he had expected to.

The scent of blood is incredibly strong here, and it only takes him looking up to realise why.

Tango leans against the tree, another body beneath his own a dark shape. The pained sounds are coming from said body, though Tango seems to be ignoring them entirely, in favour of- in favour of…

There’s a wet sound as Tango pulls away from the person, turning to peer over his shoulder with squinted eyes. Those squinted eyes then rather quickly widen- and it’s the first time that Jimmy notices the red sheen they have to them, almost bright enough to glow.

What catches most of his attention, though, is the blood dripping down his chin, staining most of his lower face with it.

His heart in his throat and feeling as though he’s about to be sick from stress, he skitters back when Tango turns fully to face him. Somehow, he’s managed to not get any blood on his clothes.

He bursts back into a human, clothes settling heavily over him as he staggers to his feet, reeling backwards. “Holy shit!”

“Holy- what the hell!” Tango leaps to his feet as well, wide eyes now even wider. “You're- what!”

“You're a vampire!” He shouts back, confused and also more than annoyed with himself. “What- how didn’t I know? How the hell did you do so well at hiding it?”

“You- I didn’t know that you were a werewolf! Weredog- whatever!”

“I'm a werewolf,” he snaps back. “Not a dog.”

“You sure look like a dog,” Tango plants his hands on his hips, far too confident for someone that looks like he got dunked into a can of red paint. “A big dog, sure, but still a dog.”

“I'm a wolf, thanks,” he bristles. “And you're a vampire! You- is that guy gonna be okay?”

Said guy makes another pained sound.

“He’ll be fine,” Tango says. His voice is more than a little dismissive, only sparing a singular backwards glance over his shoulder. “He’ll just think he had a little too much to drink and ended up somewhere he doesn’t remember going.”

“And he’ll be fine?”

“He might need to eat a little more, replenish his blood. I don't know, man, I'm not a doctor.”

“If you're regularly draining people of their blood, then you need to be a little more careful.”

“I don't- this isn’t a normal thing,” Tango sighs. “I just haven’t been able to make time for the past few weeks so I was…a little more hungry than usual. This is a worst-case scenario.”

“Just, ugh, how didn’t I know?”

“How did neither of us know?” Tango turns the question back around. “God, we must be some pretty tremendous idiots to not have realised. C’mon, don't I smell like blood to your super sensitive nose?”

“No?” He blinks, “You smell like coffee, and sugar.”

“Oh, uh, alright,” Tango’s brows furrow together. “Mind if I get your name, by the way? You kept avoiding me at the café when I tried to ask. Makes a little more sense now, I guess.”

“I, yeah? I'm Jimmy, nice to meet you?” He groans, “This is weird as hell. You're covered in blood and I'm telling you my name.”

“Hey, hey, I've been trying to get that name for a while now.” Tango wags a finger at him, “Don't be weird just ‘cause this is weird- could be weirder, let me tell you.”

“Uh-huh, how could it be weirder?”

“I could ask you on a date now rather than tomorrow,” Tango smiles at him, small fangs poking over his lips as he watches. Waiting for a response. “It wouldn’t be to a café, for obvious reasons, but there’s a nice museum nearby that-”

“You want to ask me on a date?”

“…Yeah?”

“I just, ugh, why? I was going to ask you on a date months ago and decided against it!”

“Aw, you shoulda asked me,” Tango frowns. “There was an even better museum exhibit a few months ago.”

Jimmy opens his mouth to say something, but just starts laughing instead. He can see Tango watching him, from behind the tears forming in his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to stop laughing for another while yet.

“You're an idiot,” he manages between laughing.

“In a good way, or…?”

“Yeah, sure, in a good way.” He sighs, “What the hell, yeah, I’ll go on that date with you.”

“Wait, really?” Tango seems to light up, completely ignoring the blood on his face and the guy slumped over behind him. “Oh, how would you feel about dinner afterwards? On me, I swear.”

“As long as I'm not dessert,” he laughs.

Tango giggles alongside him, “Only if you offer, sweetheart.”

#juno.writes #solidaritek #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #trafficshipping #life series #traffic smp #traffic series #tango tek #team rancher #solidarity gaming #trafficfic

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amethystfairy1 · 1 month

Note

Hi there, new anon here bc I don’t use tumblr like, almost ever. apologies for the rambling about how I love ur AU’s that’s incoming. Or if I did this wrong. Idk how to use tumblr.

Ok SO, I’ve been following your AUs on AO3 for the past few months and first of all, love it, I love your continuity with metaphors or specific descriptors that span across works, like Grian’s banded wings, glamor as heat haze on tarmac, scott having hair like spun sugar, just AUGHHHH so good I love. Little details like that make me as a writer and ofc fanfic enjoyed foam at the mouth. It’s so vivid I can picture it in my mind, I love the eclectic feel of the undercity, the mechanical lore things like wagons in Traveling thieves or rail carts and labs in TTSBC! Don’t even get me started on the peice about Doc and Etho in the depths, that one is so so good.

And your phenomenal foreshadowing? Like first read through never guessed that avian at Fremeere’s was skizz, but I went back after your recent upload and wow it totally is! Or how first read of TTSBC I never thought the two directors were the same because I hopped around in the reading order, but now it’s wayyy too similar! And now I get why a past and long dead antagonist would have such a specific and recognizable speech pattern… eerie. I love it. Can’t wait to learn more about that storyline!! I wonder how much Tango knows about Doc’s history with the labs and if he realizes the connection after talking with Zedaph. Zedango my beloved! Or just tango content/lore in general hehe. (Also, I find it humorous that Grian and Tango’s boyfriends have almost the same trauma as their dad, lol) Also, love how close the characters are to being reunited in Traveling Thieves!! They’re so close!

Anywhoo, just stopped by to say that Cub is litterally providing scar/Hot Guy with weapons in Scar’s new episode, only to see that you already saw that ofc. I was litterally kicking my feet and squeaking about it bc it’s just like TTSBC and your AU makes me so genuinely happy to read and has me in a chokehold. But the rocket arrows?? That are Hot Guy brand color coded! And expensive and I can see character!Cub being exasperated about scar’s trigger happy use of the rockets in the same way he doesn’t call the lab the Hot Cave, hehe. Or Scar showing off to Grian that he’s not the only one who can shoot sparkly projectiles!

so yeah, ik you already saw that, but i wanted to share that it’s so perfect for TTSBC or else my brain would not leave me alone lmao

DON'T APOLOGIZE FOR THE RAMBLES

I LOVE RAMBLES!!!!

I'm so glad you love my little tells for the characters! Heat haze on tarmac, hair like spun sugar, stuff like that just feels like it helps make a certain trait pop and so I try to make sure every character has at least one of them! I'm so glad you enjoy the mechanical ascept of the AUs! Both TTSBC and TT have their own little things, moving parts that keep the worlds going!

I love trying to layer in foreshadowing when I can! Skizz appearing, but I purposefully didn't tag him as a character because, thanks to avian culture, he doesn't use his name, and so it's not until we get to see from his POV that we actually get confirmation that's him!

I have no idea what you're talking about with the director, tho, because she's totally dead! She died 24 years ago during the Anarchy! Any odd vocal ticks and specific dislikes for hypothesis is completely coincidental and should be, should be, should be disregarded. 😑

They do, don't they? Whoops. I guess Doc has a lot to relate to when it comes to his future sons-in-law, huh?

CUB IS THE GUY-IN-THE-CHAIR CONFIRMED!!!! AGGGH!

Thank you so much for your rambles I absolutely loved reading them!!!! 💖

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #through the sky blue cracks #traveling thieves au #worldbuilding

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instructionsnotincluded · 1 month

Text

True North

Chapter IV

Excerpt:

“Thorpe Abbotts Tower, this is B-17 Flying Fortress, Alpha Tango Alpha One-Five, approaching from the east at about 3,000 feet. Requesting permission to land, over.”

Frank waited for the staticy response over the radio, eyes flickering out the windshield of the plane. It was foggier today than it had been the last time she landed in East Anglia, and she couldn’t see anything other than gray. “B-17 Flying Fortress, Thorpe Abbotts Tower, roger. You’re cleared to land on Runway seven. Wind is two-hundred forty degrees at fifteen knots. Altimeter setting 29.92. Report on final approach, over.”

Frank nodded, fingers moving to follow the instructions before she radioed back, “Flying Fortress to Tower, Runway seven—altimeter set. Will report on final. Over.”

It wasn’t long at all before Frank came in for her final approach. The fog was still incredibly thick, but she managed to line up correctly, exhaling slowly as she mentally prepared herself for a landing. Her fingers tightened and she gave herself a handful of moments more to get any pre-landing jitters out before she connected back to the Tower, “Tower, Flying Fortress. On final for Runway seven.”

There’s a bit more static before an unknown voice replied back, “cleared to land, over.”

Frank did just that and it’s only a few moments until she heard the familiar clunk of the landing gear as it touched down, the whooshing of the air moving past her as the plane immediately dropped to a slower speed, her propellers slowing as she continued down the long stretch of runway. It’s still foggy, but she was able to make out a few buildings surrounding the airstrip, the tall tower peeking out through the fog. She didn’t see any of the ground crew until they were coming out of nowhere, escorting her in as she taxied into her correct space.

“Flying Fortress is clear of the runway,” Frank informed the Tower once the plane was out of the way, hands moving as she continued to bring the plane down from its own adrenaline rush, engines cooling into submission.

“Welcome back—Tower, out.”

Frank’s helmet slipped off not long after and she unbuckled herself before going through the motions of grabbing her bag and walking through the belly of the plane. it wasn’t as new as the one she flew in earlier in the week, but she’d definitely been fixed up. Patched holes only visible if one knew what to look for.

Frank’s fingers skimmed the side, gently stroking the plane before she reached for the hatch and slid out. The bag landed onto the tarmac with a thud before her boots did, and she pushed herself back into a standing position. A few trucks had already approached and she recognized some of the ground crew members from last time. Winks, she’s pretty sure that was his name, waved to her and she smiled back in return, another guy nudging his shoulder in jest. Frank was used to it—the ribbing the guys gave one another when the girls flew in was always there, as was the occasional bet to see who could take them to bed first.

She lifted her eyes up to the plane, checking over one of the wings as her ears attempted to return to normal, popping as she worked her jaw expertly, when a final jeep approached from the left. He was without glasses today, but his sheepskin jacket sat firmly across his torso as he greeted her with a wide grin, drawing out the first vowel in the word morning, “good morning, Captain.”

#john bucky egan fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #john bucky egan smut #john bucky egan x oc #john bucky egan x reader #john egan smut #bucky egan smut #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic

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honeysucklewriting · 2 years

Text

Restoring greatness to Rome.Simon Riley x afab! Reader!

AN: The new campaign got my juices flowing and I’ve literally had no thoughts other than this man I hope you all enjoy, Honey.

“Ghost get out of there you have five heavily armed tangos closing in on your position” you heard price over the comms taking a

“Sir I have a clean shot” you said scoped in on your husband and the man who had him pinned against the wall

“Don’t” Ghost barked down the line, which stunned you as you sucked in a breath turning to another enemy and two simultaneous shots rang out.

“Good kill Brutus” you heard price say a smile evident in his voice “same to you captain” you smiled looking for the last enemy and saw him rounding the corner as you zoomed in and lined up the crosshairs with his head “bullseye” you whispered squeezing the trigger and by the time his body hit the ground you realised Simon was nowhere to be seen

“Anyone have eyes on him” you called desperate to find your husband through the scope

“Negative” you heard Gaz, price, and soap call out

“Motherfucker, tell a man one thing and they throw caution to the fucking wind” you griped putting the sniper to your side, you stood up wiping the dirt off you making sure your pistol was loaded and ready to go.

“Lieutenant, where are you going?” You heard soap ask as you looked to his spot on the ridge

“To get my fucking husband back” you stated making your way down to where Simon was.

“I like her captain, can we keep her?” You heard Kyle giggle down the line

“Sir shouldn’t someone go with her?” Soap asked a little panicked. The last words from Simon he heard were “if anything happens to me, keep her safe.” and he wasn’t too keen on doing that to Simon.

“That’s a negative sergeant, she’s a big girl” price called knowing damn well the woman they watched crouched at the doors could handle herself

“Welcome to Credenhill Lieutenant” Price called over the roar of the helicopter extending his hand

“Pleasures all mine captain” she said her heavy boots hitting the tarmac slinging her rather large duffel bag over her shoulder as she shook the older man’s hand.

“Shepards told me a lot about you, sniper expert, amazing hand to hand combat skills, numerous successful covert missions,” he continued, naming off what he read from her file.

“We’ll just have to see how good in hand to hand you actually are, see how you fair against Ghost and see how well the military over there is training their soldiers” Price laughed as he led the small woman through the base, she was ready to show just how skilled she was It felt like an hour before they arrived at the barracks, Price showing her where everything was on the way.

“Well lieutenant if you have any questions just ask around most of these men are scared to even look at a woman” Price said before turning around and seeing soap looking at him with a bewildered look to which Price only responded “ she won't last a week here” little did he know she was about to become part of his small family.

“Ghost if you can hear me,if we make it out of this alive I’m going to kill you my damn self” Y/N whispered, your southern accent flaring at each word, which sent a shiver down his spine, he loved it when you got mad,as he heard her through the comms.

“Sorry LT couldn’t stop her” he also heard Soap say

“No last time I checked no one attempted to stop me,” you seethed “it was supposed to be a quick intel run easy in easy out” you said scanning the area Inside for Simon as you snuck around you finally saw him and the man that earlier had him pinned, you had to be quick and strategic, as you quickly looked for some form of distraction because if you threw the smoke in he’d be blinded but he would call for backup,only finding a rock to which you threw behind him which caught his attention and it gave Simon enough advantage to slip out of the man's grip taking him down with ease. You heard heavy footsteps near you forgetting you and price only killed two out of five, looking around to see from which direction he was coming from taking your knife from the front of the vest you wore honing in on the obnoxiously loud footsteps coming in closely from your left side, as you pinched the tip of the blade ready to launch it

“If you’re going to throw that knife I suggest you do it now and do it quick” You heard Simon whisper down the line as you raised it above eye level and threw it directly into the man’s jugular.

“And this is why we don’t play darts anymore” you heard simon from behind you as you went to retrieve the knife Wiping the blood on your leg putting it back in the pocket walking over to Simon

“Swear to god you pull this shit again I will be killing you myself” you said grabbing Simons dog tags playing with his wedding band that hung right there with them as he enveloped you in a hug which seemed to be normal for you two

“There’s my girl,”he said, staring down at you.

“I could have lost you and I don’t know what I would’ve done had I lost you while I was here to protect you” you said choosing to play with his wedding band not daring to look up knowing you’d lose it.

“Eh it’s gonna take a lot more than that, but you did save my ass” he chuckled grasping your chin as you pulled his mask up just above his lips

“Shut up and just kiss me” you said as he connected your lips

“Um guys?” You heard soap call over the comms

“You lot still alive in there?” Gaz giggled

“Sergeant” both you and ghost growled parting lips

“Yup right sorry” he said

“I guess we should get going” Simon said as you composed yourself getting ready to leave

“Yeah I guess we should get back to the others before they think we’re fucking in here” you giggled walking ahead of him

I Fucking love my wife Simon thought and he stared at your ass.

Taglist:

@redpool

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley

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princessdimondheart · 1 year

Text

It’s The Dog | Chapter 2 | Ghost x Dog Handler! OC

Pairing: Ghost x f! OC

Warnings: None really, language, is dog poop a warning??

Edited: No

A/N: An extra long chapter for the wait. ~3k+! I'm finally on Spring Break!! I’m not certain what to name my OC so I’m just gonna leave her nameless (for now, maybe idk). However, she is a Latina (Mex) so her name is of Hispanic origin. She's 21, and Ghost is 30-32, so... age difference. As for her rank of Sergeant, she's freshly pinned. Debating whether I should name her dog Riley…. I did in the end lol

Masterlist

Ch.1 | Ch.2 [Here] | Ch.3

Title banner ©️ Me

The last mission was long and hard, but Sergeant Canis was certain that she and her dog were going to be fine after a good rest back at base. They were waiting on the other side of the huge hill again for an exfil. She had just called over her radio and was waiting a response back. Although their work was done for the time being, both she and her dog were actively searching the top of the hill for any signs of enemies that they may have missed. She glanced to her dog. He had his ears on a swivel and his nose was twitching as he tried to scent out any bad guys to bite.

Without a doubt was Canis proud of her doggo. He’d been working extra hard this mission and rightly deserved lots of treats and pets.

Hmm… maybe I’ll cook him up a steak-

Her train of thought was cut off by the grainy- yet somehow clear- sound of her radio going off.

“Charlie-04, what’s your status? This is Tango-06”

“Tango-06, this is Charlie-04, requesting exfil to RTB. The LZ is clear.” Canis provided their coordinates to the pilot.

“Received. ETA in 6 minutes.” The helicopter pilot responded.

Not long after, the helicopter was landing nearby and blowing hot air and dust all over the place. Luckily she was wearing sunglasses and her dog had to funky goggles that sometimes made her giggle at the sight of him. Both quickly made their way into the helo and they were off back to base. But just before they could properly settle in one of the exfil crew was calling her name.

“Sergeant Canis, sir, you have an incoming call. Permission to switch to private comms?”

“Go ahead.” She was a bit confused.

Who the hell’s calling me at a time like this??

Once the comm was switched it was then that she heard him.

“Sergeant? How’s it goin’, love?”

“Well, hello there, Captain…”

This was going to be a long day for Canis, she was sure of it.

~~~~~

Ghost was waiting next to Soap a little ways off from the tarmac, when a C-130 Hercules transport aircraft landed on the runway. It began to taxi towards their standing location. Several minutes later the plane began to unload its cargo. If he was to be honest, Simon was excited for a dog to join the team. He had always liked them when he was younger but was only ever able to admire them from afar. His father would have never allowed one in their home.

He could hear dog barks getting closer as the crate transporting the dog was unloaded. Ghost spotted the crate and could just make out the silhouette of a German shepherd dog. His eyes moved up when he saw a figure walking up next to the crate. The person placed their hand on top of the crate and pat it a few times, most likely to calm the canine down. It didn’t seem to work.

When they got close enough, Johnny voiced his concern.

“Is the dog good?” He was worried the dog was going to bark itself to oblivion. Even with the muzzle the dog had on, he kept barking.

“Riley? Oh, yeah. He does this when he notices we’re not at the same base as before. He’ll get used to this base eventually, so when we comeback from missions in the future he’ll just be sleeping.” Riley? “I think he does this to freak everyone out. So are ya?”

“Freaked out? A bit, lass.” Johnny chuckled, then remembered the dog’s name. “Did you say, Riley?”

“Yeah. It was his name when I got him as a two-year old. Why?” She looked between the two men. Mohawk guy was giving a knowing look to Mr. Broody. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the skull-clad man in the eyes. His presence was intense. He didn’t acknowledge his younger teammate.

Johnny grinned, “No particular reason. Just glad to have you and Riley on the team…”

“Oof, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself there.” She gave them her name. “But you guys can call me Canis.”

Canis and Soap shook hands. “Name’s Johnny MacTavish but you can call me Soap since we’re the same rank.” Letting go of her hand, he gestured to Simon. “This here is Ghost. I just call him L.t.”

The lieutenant grunted in greeting before reaching out his hand for a shake. His hand was warm against her cooler fingers. They were definitely much larger than hers, but given her height, everyone’s hands were bigger than hers anyways. Canis steeled herself and looked him in the eyes. His lids drooped and she couldn’t see his pupils in the darkness, but she could see that his eyes had a softness in them yet not completely. He was still wary of her being there, all new and whatnot. Her cheeks began to warm as the stare held on. His hand was in hers for a few seconds longer than normal, and when Ghost noticed he immediately let go. His mind had wandered off like hers did. Her eyes drifted to Riley who had finally relaxed his barking during their little introduction. She didn’t see Ghost flexing his hand behind his back.

Ghost’s own cheeks had warmed, but he shook the feeling away. “Let’s go. The Captain is waiting for us.”

He turned and led them to the building, not turning to see if they were following them or not.

~~~~~

Once in the cargo bay of the main building, Canis clipped the leash onto Riley’s collar which clearly read: DO NOT PET; and let Riley walk out on his lead, letting him quickly do his business on a grassy area just outside, then cleaned up after him. She had trained him to go on command, which was convenient for her whenever they were on time sensitive missions.

They walked for a short while until Ghost stopped in front of a frosted glass top door. Canis could make out that the lights were on but she couldn’t see if anyone was inside already. Ghost knocked on the wooden part of the door and waited until a muffled answer told him it was okay to enter. Upon hearing it, he opened the door and held it open for his two sergeants. Soap pat his thanks on Ghost’s shoulder, while Canis whispered her thanks. Ghost could just hear it but his hand gripping the door began to sweat. Riley took a moment to sniff the tall man. Curious.

Captain Price was sitting behind his desk like usual. A young man closer in age to Canis was sitting across from him. Both looked over to them as they came inside the decent sized office. Extra chairs lined the far wall, which Johnny was taking the time to move them in front of the desk.

Price called her name. “Or should I call you Canis now?” One of his thick brows twitched upwards in question. “Running with the wolves now, love?”

Canis grinned at her new Captain. “You know me, Old Man. I’m always one for having a pack.” She gave him a little wink. A short laugh escaped her blush pink lips.

“You two know each other well?” The only person Canis did not know looked between them. Johnny also had a slightly confused look to his face.

“Quite, Old Man and I go back since I was in the womb to be honest.” Canis looked at him. “Umm…?”

“Oh! Gaz on missions and Kyle while on base.”

“He’s like an uncle to me, Kyle.” Canis sat down. Riley and the other two doing the same.

“Her father and I used to run missions together.” Price gave his two cents. “He’s an Army Ranger. Good man. Retired now.” The others looked at her in awe. The Army Rangers were the elite of the elite and were definitely people that any military man should inspire to be. His face turned contemplative.

“Any reason why you’re in the Air Force and not following in your father’s footsteps?” It was a legitimate question, but it made Canis tense at the words.

“Well, you know him, Old Man. I wanted to piss him off… He’s a better Ranger than he ever was a parent.” Price’s brows furrowed, then she mumbled off a, “Chair force my ass…”

The situation with her father still made her upset so she said nothing more. She did not want to dampen the mood any more than it had already had.

It was quiet for a second until Johnny broke it, asking her a simple ice breaker question. “So, your doggo know any tricks, lass?” Johnny flashed her a grin. His eyes darted to the diligently sitting German shepherd.

“A trick, Soap?” She smiled back.

“Yeah.”

“Salute your superior, Sergeant.” She grinned at Soap while his face flashed a look of confusion at the other three. Gaz looked equally confused but Price had a small smile on his face, and he couldn’t gauge Ghost’s reaction because of his mask.

“Umm… the Captain?” He wasn’t sure what she meant. His fellow Sergeant shook her head and tilted it towards her four-legged partner. Riley sat perfectly still, his brown eyes staring at the man. “The dog?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ah… okay, then.” Soap then brought his hand up in a salute and waited, but only for a moment.

Riley lifted his large paw as high as he could and placed it in front of his eye before setting it down. A doggy salute.

Soap blinked and yet still couldn’t believe it. Riley had saluted back at him. Captain Price had chuckled at the antics going on and Gaz let loose a “Woah!” Ghost only titled his head a bit but he was definitely amused by this. If anyone had looked closely, they would have seen the skin by his eyes crinkle just a bit.

Riley wagged his tail and turned his head to his designated mother as if asking: “I did good right? Okay, now where’s my treat, human?”

Canis tossed him a piece of chicken she had in her pocket. Riley snapped at it mid air with a sharp snap of his jaws. She was proud of her friend. This was not something that was explicitly taught when going through handler training, but was a trick that Canis taught Riley to do as a way to boost morale on long haul missions with her previous teams. The boys had loved it so it stuck. “Good boy.”

“Wait, why does Johnny have to salute Riley? He’s his superior?” Gaz almost raised his hand to ask, his upper body moving towards her. Soap leaned closer, too.

“Well, any MWD is a rank higher than their handler.” Canis replied, her face turned serious. “It’s like that to prevent any handler from abusing their dogs. Imagine punching your Captain… yeah, it wouldn’t go down well.”

“Well said. Now, get settled. Tomorrow we’re going to do a mini training session with all of you and with Riley. I want to see how well you perform.” Price stood from his chair. “I also want those of you who haven’t worked with a dog before to get used to them and see what they are capable of, at least in principle. You’ll get the idea once we’re out in the field.”

A chorus of ‘yes, sir’s and everyone stood up.

“Did’ya bring any special equipment with ya that we could use for tomorrow?” The Captain continued. His attention focused on Canis.

“Equipment?” She believed she knew what he was talking about. “Yes, sir. I’ll have it prepped in the morning.”

“Good, miss.” Then he exited first.

Canis grabbed a hold of Riley’s lead before he could wander off with the rest. Riley began sniffing everyone as they walked out the door. He sniffed the longest at the person who stayed behind.

Ghost let his hand be sniffed by Riley. The dog was taking lots of breaths, his nose twitching with each inhale and exhale. His lips twitched when he saw Riley’s tail move side to side. It was 100% a pleasure making a dog happy. Taking Riley’s friendly posture as a queue, he pats him on the head. Riley’s butt wiggled with his tail wags, and he tried to lick Ghost’s hand even through the muzzle.

Canis stood there and let the interaction happen with no interruption, despite the ‘DO NOT PET’ in bold on his collar. This would be the only exception. It was good for Riley to interact with the team as soon and as often as possible. It would help them trust her dog more while on a mission. She smiled at the two. It was sweet.

Ghost looked up sensing eyes on him. His cheeks burned again. He felt a little silly forgetting that Canis was still there waiting on them. And here he was loving on her dog. A good dog, but still. He coughed lightly and with a final pat on Riley’s head, Ghost turned and left the room.

Canis shrugged and smiled knowingly once he was out of the room. Then she led Riley out as well and made their way to their designated barracks.

~~~~~

The following morning Canis woke up early due to Riley licking her hand. His whine to be let out had her shooting out of bed. She did not want to miss his queues to be let out like before when they were first partnered together. Those were not good moments for them both.

Canis dressed in her combat outfit sans her heavy gear load out. She attached the leash to his collar, not forgetting to grab his favorite ball- foregoing his muzzle, and led him from her room to an inner courtyard she saw in passing the night before. Now that the sun was rising, she could see that the courtyard was open with a few benches along the wall. The middle had green grass that was in need of a cut soon. The grass was wet so it must have rained in the middle of the night. There were a few bushes that appeared to have flowers on them but since it was early fall, they had begun to shrivel up and a few had already fallen.

Canis led Riley to a corner of the yard to do his business. She didn’t want him going all over the place- and not wanting to be discourteous to others. Riley did his business and she cleaned up after him like a responsible handler would and deposited the bag in a trash bin. Then she let him loose and threw his ball to the other side of the courtyard, slowly making her way after it. Riley bolted after the ball, mouthed on it where he got it and ran back for her to throw it again. They played like this for a few minutes.

She should have realized that he was somewhere behind her before Riley ran past her with a yip. Ghost would always be silent, under all circumstances. Canis made a quick turn to see Ghost sitting on a small bench with Riley’s ball firmly clenched in his skull-gloved hand. Riley’s backend wiggled with the intensity of his tail wagging. He barked a few times, urging Ghost to ‘throw the ball already!’

Ghost looked at her. A beam of sunlight passed over the courtyard, illuminating Ghost’s brown eyes into a deep honey. Their identical colored eyes locked in a way that had her taking a deep breath. She nodded her approval to him with a smile and he chucked the ball. Riley was like a bullet trying to get it.

Canis made her way to where Ghost sat. He scooted over just enough to let her sit next to him. He was manspreading so her knee was lightly touching his thigh. Both of their legs twitched but settled against each other when neither of them said anything. Riley bounded over with his happy self, ball in mouth. He plopped the ball back into Ghost’s open hand again then took off once more when he threw it.

“He really likes you.” Canis chuckled. “It usually takes him longer to warm up to new people on the teams we’ve joined up with.”

“Mmm…” Ghost fiddled with a loose string on his black sweater. “I guess I have a way with dogs, then.”

He was teasing her. She looked up at his much larger frame. “Oh, Lieutenant… Riley here can turn at the drop of a single word.”

He didn’t doubt her there. Ghost’s stomach twitched at her unknowing use of his name. He’d definitely have to get used to that.

When Riley came back with his ball, Canis had him heel between her legs. “Watch the door, Riley.”

Riley’s ears perked up at the order and his head turned on a swivel to the door. His hackles rose and his lips curled in a silent snarl. Ghost could see that his eyes had an intensity that wasn’t there before while they were playing ball. Riley was a serious dog and he could turn so easily.

“Release!” After a few seconds, Canis threw his ball into the air and Riley lunged at it breaking his command. He was back to his happy tail-wagging self. It amazed Ghost how easily he transitioned between his working mode and calm mode. Although, he hadn’t seen the full extent of Riley’s abilities, yet.

Canis looked at her watch. “I should be getting our gear ready for our training session soon… I still need to feed Riley.” She went to stand then turned to Ghost, “I’ll see you later, sir. It was nice seeing you interact with Riley. We can do it again if you want?”

Ghost looked her in the eyes, “Yeah, I want to.”

She gave him a small smile then returned her attention to Riley and reattached his leash to his collar. As they walked back inside, Ghost lowered his gaze to a large paw print imprinted into the wet dirt a few feet from him. The blades of grass glowed as the sun moved higher into the sky.

Ch.1 | Ch.2 [Here] | Ch.3

🔖 Taglist:

@missroro

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uroborosymphony · 2 years

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The rebirth.

september, wednesday 28th, 5:03am. Paris.

ft. @darkepithymia

Folie à deux” - "shared madness," or "madness for two". Psychiatrists describe it as the presence of the same psychotic ideas in two persons closely associated with one another, under the schizophrenic spectrum.

What if we’re the sane ones, what if the world has lost its mind and we’ve been manipulated, lied to all along, and so we’re convinced that we’re the mad ones, when we’re not?

We’re running, and running and running in the streets of Paris. My hand in his, the sound of our steps hitting the wet tarmac in a symphony of euphoria. It has rained, droplets like pearls cascading down the leaves of the trees that watch us in silence. The gods have left us, the gods have abandonned us and their thrones are free to claim.

The street is empty, nothing is chasing us - would say any pedestrian walking by - but we know they’re after us, the ones who saw, the ones who saw what we just did and so we just keep on running. I’m breathless, not from the race against shadows but from the laughing. Oh I can’t stop laughing as I’m possessed, possessed by this fatale fever that runs under my skin, fuels my veins, feeds my soul. He stops running in the middle of the road and he turns around, to seize me by the waist; to watch me laugh, to laugh with me. Our eyes meet, our souls are in a tango. Slow, and intense. He can see it, the inferno dancing inside my dilated pupils, the cursed edens in my irises as I smile to him. His large hand cups my jawline in a firm hold, his fingers adoring my skin while the blood on his phallanxis is now tinting my apple of my cheek, the pulp of my lip as the tip of my tongue lace with his thumb.

We can be God, Gabriel.

You will be god Dahlia, I will be your Cerberus, your hell hound.

Kill for me, if you want me, to dit, kill for me.

Anybody who dares to cross our paths.

We dance, in a demonic watlz, a macabre pas de deux. My dress, crimson tainted by our little games is flying around my legs as he makes me spin. The lightness of my giggles echoing under the slumber of the moon, and he smiles like he always does to me, our demons making one, as their own shadow are brought to life, embracing the warmth in violence.

Let’s celebrate.

Where will your take me?

To a place where our myths, our stories, our past lives and the world awaiting for us when this is all over come to life.

I remember nine months ago, the two men I’ve almost left to die in the mansion in the south of france after I set it all on fire - two men who had nothing in mind but to disrespect me, two men who took the Dahlia for something she was not. Today, they have paid the price. No crime should be left unpunished.

We’re the answer, Gabriel, my Gabriel.

I see it, in my dreams, the ones I have when i’m fully awake. I see a holy war we will march for, I see the purge of all evils we will make of this world. And finally, finally, when the persecutors are no more, it will be our time to ascend. It’s not just the revenge of the loss of my family I want, this will just be the first step to something bigger. I want it all purified, all the souls who have wronged me, in a way or another - I will purify you.

#main verse ⚕ The Songstress.#chapter three ⚕ Little murders in Paris.#tale ⚕ The rebirth.#solo para.

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pearllemon-classics · 20 days

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The Grand Tour: Unveiling the Elegance and Exhilaration of Vintage Racing

Ah, the allure of the bygone era. A time when gentlemen racers, clad in tweed jackets and cravats, wrestled with temperamental machines down dusty tracks. A time when the roar of an engine wasn’t just noise, it was a symphony composed of pistons and carburetors. This, my friends, is the world of vintage racing — a realm where elegance and exhilaration tango on a finely paved (or perhaps occasionally gravel) road.

But vintage racing is more than just a nostalgic trip down memory lane. It’s a vibrant community pulsating with the passion for meticulously restored automobiles and the thrill of pushing them to their limits (well, within reason — safety first, after all!). It’s about the camaraderie forged in the pits, the shared love for the finer points of internal combustion, and the sheer joy of witnessing automotive history come alive on the track.

A Canvas Painted with Chrome and Curves

Vintage race cars are rolling works of art. Gone are the sleek, aerodynamic blobs of modern Formula One. These beauties boast curvaceous fenders, glistening chrome accents, and grilles that seem to scowl with a hint of playful defiance. Each car tells a story — of groundbreaking engineering feats, daring design choices, and the triumphs and heartbreaks of legendary races. Imagine yourself piloting a Jaguar E-Type, its sleek lines a testament to aerodynamic innovation, or a fire-breathing Shelby Cobra, pure American muscle thrumming beneath the hood.

The Thrill of the Chase (Without Modern Safety Features, But We Don’t Talk About That)

Let’s be honest, the raw, unadulterated thrill of vintage racing is undeniable. These cars lack the mind-numbing acceleration and G-forces of their modern counterparts. Instead, they offer a more visceral, connected experience. You feel the engine working, the car responding (or not responding) to your every input. It’s a thrilling dance between man and machine, a test of skill and finesse on the open track.

Beyond the Finish Line: A World of History and Camaraderie

The vintage racing scene isn’ t just about chequered flags. It’s about immersing yourself in the rich tapestry of automotive history. Imagine yourself strolling through the paddock, each car a time capsule whispering tales of legendary drivers and epic races. You might find yourself rubbing shoulders with passionate collectors, mechanics with grease-stained hands and encyclopaedic knowledge, and fellow enthusiasts who share your love affair with all things vintage.

Tailoring Your Grand Tour: From Weekend Warrior to Bespoke Adventure

The beauty of vintage racing is its accessibility. Whether you’re a seasoned gearhead or a curious newcomer, there’s a way to get involved. Weekend club events offer a taste of the action, allowing you to test the waters (or should we say, tarmac?) behind the wheel of a classic car.

For those seeking a more immersive experience, companies like Pearl Lemon Classics curate bespoke tours that take you on a journey through the heart of vintage racing. Imagine yourself traversing the hallowed grounds of Goodwood Revival, the roar of vintage Ferraris and Maserati’s echoing through the air, or witnessing the spectacle of Le Mans Classic, a celebration of endurance racing’s golden age.

A World Waiting to be Explored

The world of vintage racing beckons. It’s an invitation to a bygone era, a chance to connect with the history of the automobile and experience the unadulterated joy of piloting a piece of automotive heritage. So, dust off your tweed jacket (or metaphorical equivalent), put on your most adventurous spirit, and embark on your own Grand Tour of vintage racing. You might just discover a hidden passion, forge lifelong friendships, and create memories that will leave you breathless, much like the snorting exhaust of a perfectly tuned vintage engine.

Ready to Shift Gears?

The world of vintage racing awaits. Delve deeper into this fascinating realm by exploring online forums and communities dedicated to classic automobiles and vintage racing events. There are countless resources available to help you navigate this exciting world, from event calendars to restoration tips and historical accounts of legendary races. Remember, the journey is just as important as the destination, so buckle up, embrace the spirit of adventure, and get ready to be enthralled by the elegance and exhilaration of vintage racing.

#vintage cars #luxury cars #car show #cars #classic cars

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chicagofanfictionfan · 2 years

Text

Birdman Part 5

Tony was standing at his desk changed into his flight suit, leather jacket and aviator shades. There was a dangerous air around him that fit him like a glove. McGee noticed the Silver Eagle insignia and felt a bit in awe of his team mate, he’d have to have his father tell him the stories again.

He pushed his glasses down his nose and smiled. “I’m headed out to the hanger, I called the Admiral and had him put a silent lock down where our three target jets are hanging out. No one will be going there until I give the ok. Not too hard as the other two belong to my Squadron and I already called Flash and Rainman and told them to stand down for a bit. We’re not on deployment right now so it won’t draw attention to anything. And I’ve been known to take to flight, a perk I had put into my SO contract.”

McGee smiled. “Flash and Rainman? And you had a perk put into a government contract?” He laughed, “Only you Tony!”

“You want my skills you have to pay.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And I like to fly. I’ll tell you about the guys after this is all over. We can have a Q & A as I’m sure you both have lots of questions. I’ll even let Gibbs, Ducky and Abby tell you some of my embarrassing stories. And if you meet my Squadron all you have to do is offer beer and pizza and they’ll tell you anything.” He laughed. “But for now let’s head out. Abby brought you a bunch of stuff in that box McProbie. I’ll meet you both at hanger bay F. Here’s a drawing of where I want the ones in the hanger placed, they won’t be noticed but afford the best view. See you when I land.” Tony placed his glasses back up and headed out.

McGee and Ziva smiled at each other and grabbed the box and Tony’s drawing.

Ziva laughed. “Let’s hurry, I believe we will get to see Tony’s Tango was it?”

McGee corrected her. “Abby said it was Ballet. Let’s go.”

Vance and Gibbs watched from the balcony as the two Agents headed out. “I think that went really well, they seem very accepting of the omission. Puzzled I’m sure, especially Ziva in regards to the dossier that was done on the team. McGee simply because of his naivety regarding DiNozzo and what he perceived he knew. A learning experience for the two of them, it should help them grow.” Vance then added. “Now they’re going to see him fly, what do you think that will do to them?”

Gibbs laughed. “It will blow their minds Leon. Are you coming to the command center?”

Vance nodded. “I need to wrap up a couple of things here and I’ll be there to help oversee things with the Admiral. I may be the big boss here, but on the tarmac it’s all DiNozzo’s show. And frankly I don’t want to miss it.”

Gibbs waved as he headed out. “I understand completely, see you there.”

#ncis imagine #jethro gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs #anthony dinozzo #ziva david #timothy mcgee #abby scuito #ducky mallard #leon vance #tobias fornell #jackson gibbs anthony dinozzo. sr

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mafaldaknows · 9 months

Text

Like this

But with cars

[Meanwhile … ]

#car and driver #tales from the 405 #range rover rodeo #tarmac tango #photos from potatoes #bigfoot backyard bbq #imaginary lovers #the math’s not mathing #DIY romance #glad that's over #not a good look #bad business

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roosterforme · 1 year

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Two to Tango Part 4 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is ready to up the ante on your wager, and he finds he doesn't mind the idea of you winning.

Warnings: Adult banter, swearing, smut, fluff

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun.

Part 3

Bradley was unsurprised when you took the lead in points by a small margin at the end of Thursday. He had tried his best to rattle your nerves by whispering to you that you looked like a pretty princess during the lecture, but it backfired on him terribly.

You had started laughing, trying your best to hold it together, but Killer turned around and glared daggers at Bradley from his spot right in front of you.

When the lecture ended, and everyone made their way out onto the tarmac, Killer came up behind you and asked, "He's giving you a hard time, Tango?"

Bradley watched as the enormous man glared at him again, and then he watched you rub your chin like you weren't quite sure how to answer.

"Do you want me to get my ass kicked?" Bradley whispered, pleading with you.

You laughed again. "Nah, he's alright, Killer."

The only response was the sound of Killer snorting like a bull before he strolled over to Phoenix. His expression changed from pissed off alligator to lovesick puppy in an instant when Nat looked up at him.

Bradley would have to interrogate his friend about her taste in men later, because right now he had something to ask you before he climbed up into his aircraft.

"Tango," he called to you as you were walking away. "How about we up the ante on our wager?"

Your smile was instantaneous. "What did you have in mind, Rooster?"

"Loser takes the winner out for drinks. Back in California." He knew he was making a bold assumption that you would be interested in going out with him after this week, but he couldn't help himself.

"Let me get this straight, sweetheart.... when I win, I get two hundred bucks, you have to say something nice about me, and I get free drinks? Sounds great."

You stuck your hand out for him to shake, and then Bradley pulled you a little bit closer to him. "You're beautiful."

You smiled and looked at your boots, and Bradley loved how flustered this made you. "Just make sure you come to my room later and not Killer's, okay?"

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

Bradley couldn't believe himself. He honestly didn't care if he won the bet or lost. It didn't matter to him if you were better than he was. And when he arrived at your room on Thursday night, and you started listing off your favorite cocktails, he just laughed.

"I want you to know what I like. For when you take me out for drinks," you informed him as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

Bradley really thought you and he would just get down to business and start undressing right away, so he was a little surprised to find you snuggling up to him. He folded you up in his arms and kissed the top of your head.

"I'll buy you as many drinks as you want. Maybe we can even go out more than once," he whispered as you started slowly working on the buttons of his shirt.

You looked up at him, and Bradley braced himself for rejection, but instead you told him, "For some reason beyond my comprehension, I really like you. And your mustache."

"I really like you. And your smart mouth."

You smiled at him as he scooped you up into his arms.

"Tomorrow's our last day here. Are you gonna miss me?" you asked as Bradley dropped you down on your bed and climbed on top.

"Why do you think I tricked you into agreeing to meet up with me for a date?"

You laughed as he kissed your neck and hiked his hands up under your shirt. "I guess I fell for it."

"I'm so charming, you didn't stand a chance," Bradley told you, digging his fingertips gently into your sides.

"Yeah, yeah, age and experience and all that shit. Come on, old man, I want you to earn your walk of shame."

Bradley took his time and made you cum on his tongue, your thighs squeezing his face as you whined. He stretched out on the narrow bed and pulled you on top of him. His dick was rock hard as you started to ride him, your movements languid, a hazy look in your eyes. You already looked a little fucked out, and now you were enjoying his body slowly, rubbing your tits against his chest and rolling your hips.

"Nice and slow, Tango. Make it last," he whispered, and you stilled your motions with him fully seated inside you.

"So slow," you murmured, moving just ever so slightly. "God, you feel good."

Bradley basked in your words as you praised him. "Tango," he moaned as you moved your body up and down his length a little faster. Bradley gripped your hips and enjoyed the way you were looking at him, the way you were working him closer to the edge.

He watched you cum for him, all of your little gasps growing louder as you ran your hands along your breasts, teasing yourself as your eyes drifted closed.

"Fuck," you moaned, and when you squeezed around him, Bradley thrust up into you until you got loud. Then he came too, and held you as you smiled at him.

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

When your alarm went off on Friday morning, Bradley reached for your phone and silenced it.

"Tango," he whispered, playing with your hair. "Let's get up, baby." You barely stirred, so he added, "So I can kick your ass and win this thing."

You rolled out of your bed, alert and ready to go. "Like hell, sweetheart. Come on."

Bradley laughed as you started to get your flight suit on, still determined to win. You narrowed your eyes at him as you tied your boots.

"Maybe I'll just stay here and skip the competition," he said with a yawn, pulling the blanket up higher. "Let you have it."

You shook your head and stomped back across the small room. "Get up, Rooster! I'm winning this thing fair and square! I can't wait to hear the nice things you have to say about me. And I can't wait to hear you say them in front of everyone."

But all of the nighttime activities had started to catch up with Bradley, and the day was not working out in his favor. You destroyed him and everyone else in the ten mile run. You took the lead early, and you were unrelenting. But this time when Bradley and Jake came huffing across the finish line together, you handed him some water and let your fingers linger on his hand.

"Thanks," Bradley mumbled before downing all of it in one go. "Damn, you're fast, Tango."

Then Bradley thought he was going to faint during the obstacle course; the temperature was nearing ninety five, and he barely managed to beat you.

He was exhausted, laying on the ground, looking up at you as you blocked the sun for him. "Comes down to the five mile run," you told him, placing your hands on your hips.

You were sweaty and muddy, and Bradley wanted to take you into the locker room with him. He could feel his body humming as he looked up at you and thought about his hands all over your body.

He thought about asking you to come spend a weekend with him in San Diego; he had an enormous walk-in shower at his place. But he thought better of it. He would give it more time.

"Five mile run. Fuck. Just take your two hundred bucks now. You win, Tango," Bradley groaned, still on the ground when the rest of his team crossed the finish line. You reached out and helped him to his feet. He staggered around rubbing the stitch in his side, and you grinned at him.

"I'll see you at the finish," you told him, leaning in to kiss his sweaty cheek, right in front of everyone. Bradley watched you walk away as Killer glared at him, but Bradley couldn't stop smiling. Maybe you wouldn't say no to a weekend with him after this.

He smiled as you immediately passed him and stayed well ahead of him during the five mile run. And he was still smiling when he finished in second place for total points on the week.

"Congratulations," he told you, sticking his hand out and shaking yours.

"You are so slow, old man. I can't believe your only claim to fame is landing on a freaking boat. How embarrassing." You kissed his lips softly before you added, "Now, I want my compliment as soon as everyone else finishes."

"Nah, I'm going to start now. You're beautiful. You're funny. You're smart and charming and competitive. You make me want to get to know you better."

You were trying to hide your face behind your hands as the final stragglers finished the five mile race, and Bradley loudly announced, "Tango is more talented than I am. All I have is experience from being so old."

You started cracking up, and you wrapped your arms around him. "I tried to tell you that on Sunday."

"Yeah, well, you were right and I was wrong."

You kissed his sweaty cheek and told him, "I'll see you in Cali, sweetheart."

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

Bradley picked the spot, a cute restaurant halfway between Edwards Air Force Base and Top Gun on North Island. He'd dressed up a little bit, anxious to see you again. It had been a week since you beat him at his own game, and Bradley had talked to you every day since.

You had refused his two hundred dollars, but Bradley would insist on paying for everything tonight. And he was hoping to score a second dinner with you in the process.

"Old man."

Bradley spun around from his spot at the bar to face you. You were wearing a dress and some makeup, and he was at a loss for words.

"You okay, sweetheart?" you asked softly, eyeing him up and down. "You look nice."

Bradley leaned down and kissed you, pulling you against him. When you took his face in your hands, Bradley used his lips to separate yours, and he briefly tasted your tongue.

"I missed you," he whispered against your mouth.

"I missed you too, Rooster. I hope you remembered the list of drinks I like."

Bradley chuckled. "I remember everything, Tango. Now let's eat and drink so we can spend more time catching up and making plans."

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

Thanks for reading this one! I hope you enjoyed this final part!

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

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missluckycharms · 3 years

Note

Could you do a smut at anne's house(harry's mum's house)????

Three Taps.

Summary: in which Y/N has to sneak into Harrys house at night to be alone with him and Harry loves hot chocolate with pink marshmallows.

A/N: this is a high school Harry x Y/N fic, both are eighteen in this, just keep that in mind as they are in high school but they’re of age.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Dom!Harry, oral sex, praise kink, size kink, gagging, dirty talk, Harry tends to be a sarcastic asshole even when they’re doing the devils tango.

Word count: 3.4K

—

Three taps.

Thats what Harry told Y/N to do, tap three times on his bedroom window and he’d let her in. It’s been their code every few nights when she would sneak over to his house, or he would sneak into hers. Sure, they’re both eighteen, but as all parents say “my house, my rules” so they have to abide by that, kind of.

The pair have only been dating for a little over six months now, both of them graduating soon and moving away for college, but they’ll work around that when the time comes, for now, they have have to work around how Harry can fuck his girlfriend just the way they like, without his Mum waking up and finding them both in bed together, that wouldn’t be a pretty picture Harry thinks.

He’s on red alert, Y/N texting him nearly ten minutes ago saying she successfully snuck out and is now on her way over, the walk to his house is usually fifteen minutes, but she doesn’t mind, she’ll do anything to spend time with Harry — the same Harry who would fold someone up like a pretzel and shove them in a locker if they called him a name, but if Y/N did it, she would get a small smirk and a wink, knowing exactly what hers and only hers punishment was for that.

Harry is a complicated person, to his friends he’s nice - ish, to strangers he looks cold and like he would use you as his skateboard face down on the tarmac if you looked at him wrong, sure he would do that — but he’s not like that under all his rough exterior, he has a warm heart and loves squishy cuddles, and he also loves marshmallows in his hot chocolate, but only Y/N sees that side of him — he only allows her and his Mum to see that side of him. It took him a long time to actually soften up to her, the girl being persistent that she knew what he was really like, he’d shrug and laugh it off saying she was crazy, but when him and his Mum got into an argument and he showed up to Y/N’s house at nearly two in the morning, soaking from the rain and his cheeks tear stained — she knew he finally let down all his walls, he needed her and she gave him what he needed in that time, a hug and a mug of hot chocolate with pink only pink! Marshmallows.

Ever since he opened up to her that night, sipped on her heavenly made hot chocolate, he knew that he could always be safe with her, he would always know that she’s there when he needs her most and visa versa. They’re deemed the “odd couple” in school due to Harry being so cold and Y/N being the slightly quiet and lovable girl who would rather hug someone to death than shove them in a locker and leave them there, but somehow their differences only draw them together and make them one of the best couples there is, they balance one another out — Harry brings out Y/N’s crazy and adventurous side while Y/N brings out Harrys soft and calm side, opposites attract, and they’re living proof of it happening.

He jumps when the small three taps are heard at his window, his body immediately kneeling up and pulling across his curtains, looking down at her stood in his front garden with a hand full of small pebbles from his Mums flower garden (she always returns them) she’s smiling up at him, his own body on his bed right next to his window as he peers down at her, clad in his red baggy hoodie and her black leggings, her hair poking out from the hood of the hoodie as she waits for him to open the window.

“Ladder is by the gate baby” he whispers loudly down to her, she barely hears as she nods, making her way towards the back gate leading to their garden. She grabs it, making sure to not fall or it will wake his Mum up. Harry is practically hanging out the window when she rests the ladder against the wall, looking up at him as she wipes her forehead ridding the sweat.

“Sometimes, I think you only do this so I’ll get off my ass and actually work out” she grumbles falling in through his window and onto his bed, his laugh low as he pulls her jelly like body in, her laughs coming out as pants as he rests her down onto his pillow before shutting his window quietly, his ears on high alert for any movements from his Mums room across the hall.

“You’re just a lazy bum, sometimes I think you may pass out if you walk too much” he jokes looking down at her as she rolls her eyes, pulling down the hood and freeing her hair.

“I hate you. Fuck me, is your heating on?!” She says pulling his hoodie from her body, throwing it onto the floor and leaving her in only a sports bra and leggings, Harrys eyes widening at how easily she slipped it off and laid back down with no care in the world.

“Mum likes to keep it on, apparently her toes get cold in the night no matter what time of year it is” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to hover over her, forearms on either side of her head as she bites her lip smiling up at him giddily.

“No wonder you sleep naked, feels like a furnace” she jokes as Harry hums kissing her neck, her eyes rolling back at the feeling as she wraps her legs around his waist, their crotches grinding down on one another’s as they breath heavily trying to avoid moaning loudly — they both found out they love being vocal in bed, one day Harry was home alone and him and Y/N practically screamed down the house, he’s surprised Mrs Walker next door didn’t ring the police.

“Need to be quiet for me baby, okay?” He says whispering in her ear, her breathy moans being masked by his neck, her lips all over him as he rolls his head back, allowing her more access as she bites and nips at his skin, leaving behind marks that he’ll have to steal some of his Mums makeup to mask over when he’s walking around.

“Should be saying that to you, mister loud mouth” she jokes in a whisper by his ear, her lips sucking on his lobe is what causes him to bury his head in her neck to groan lowly from his chest, his hips rutting down into hers as they both roam one another’s bodies with their lips and hands.

“Very smart mouth for a girl who prefers it to be stuffed full of m’cock” he moans back, her lips now sucking and licking over his sweet spot just under his ear lobe, her own moan muffled by his skin as he shuts his eyes and looks up to the ceiling allowing her to kiss him further, her lips leaving a burning trail down his neck and over his collar bones — his favourite place to give and receive hickies on.

“Harry, shut up and just do something” she says annoyed, frustrated at her boyfriend who always choose to tease her with sarcastic remarks, he knows it riles her up and he loves that, he loves how needy and angry she gets when he grinds his clothed cock down onto her making sarcastic remarks and softly degrading her slowly as she grows wetter and wetter at his movements and words.

“Don’t have to ask me twice baby” he laughs kissing down her torso, his hands immediately shrugging off her bra with her help, and then he slowly pulls down her leggings along with her panties, leaving kisses on the spaces he makes bare and small hushed complements against her skin as he takes her all in under the light of his ten year old soccer ball shaped light hanging from the ceiling above them.

She’s a squirming mess under him, his lips instantly attaching to her clit as she bends her legs, resting her legs over his shoulders as he holds onto her outer thighs, the grip probably marking her skin as he devours her on his bed, his eyes looking up at her biting down on her lip, her hands grabbing a pillow and shoving it over her face to muffle her moans, Harry can hear them slightly, his eyes rolling back into his head as she shakes and squeezes her legs around his head.

“Come on baby, need to see you” he says slipping two fingers into her but not moving, the pillow coming away from her face as she looks at him in her usual fucked out state, glassy eyes and messed up hair.

“H, I can’t, I need to have it over me” she says referring to the pillow, her body shaking as Harry begins to slowly move his fingers in and out of her, stretching her as she drips down his fingers, the sound of his movements in her cunt causing him to press down his hips onto his bed to relieve himself a little.

“Put y’pretty panties in y’mouth baby” he says slurred from pleasure, his own hair a curly mess as his lips become more swollen and spit covered from how harsh he’s eating her out. He takes her panties in one hand, reaching up and rolling them into her mouth, instructing her to bite down on the white lace fabric before he’s back between her legs eating her out.

She’s moaning around the fabric of her panties, her drool wetting the lace as she tugs on Harry’s curls, his moans deep and raspy in her cunt as he keeps his eyes on hers that are threatening to close every second, the slaps he sends to her thighs cause her to open them back up and keep contact with him, his smile devious as he purposely sucks on her clit when she’s close, knowing it ruins her when he does that — he loves to watch her struggle to bite back her moans, the pair of them feeling the rush of nearly being caught everytime one of them make a loud moan or move too quickly which causes his headboard to slap a little off the wall behind it. He’s lapping up all her juices and her moans she’s muffling, her body shaking as he finally brings her to her first high of the night, his fingers not stopping as he rides her through it, kisses being placed to her thighs as she finally calms down, tears brimming her eyes and a lazy smile around her panties that are clutched between her teeth.

“Doing okay baby? Need me to take these out?” He asks crawling back up her body her hands immediately tangling back in his hair as she nods, letting him pull the soaked panties from her mouth, his mouth drooling at the sight of them in his hands.

“Gonna be able to take my cock without being gagged? Or will ya need to have your pretty lace panties back between your teeth?” He teases her, her eyes hooded with pleasure as she scratches her nails down his chest and stomach making the muscles under his skin flex with the slight burn of the marks she’s leaving behind.

“Want you to ruin me, may need them back in between my teeth” she says breathlessly, a slight smirk on her lips as he groans at her words, grabbing the panties and placing them in his own mouth, bending down and feeding them into her mouth, her own teeth clasping them as they leave his mouth, his tongue licking over her lips as she looks up at him with her glassy doe eyes.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #dom!harry #harry styles au #harry styles one shot #smut #harry styles fandom #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #answered asks #anon ask #writing promt #harry styles blurb #fanfic writing #fanfic authors #fan fiction

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Long Way From Home: Chapter 8

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

I’m back! Including this one, I’ve now got another five chapters written so we’ll be doing weekly updates again at least for the month of February. For those that haven’t been subjected to my chatting about it in discord or DMs, I write this particular fic in chunks that could almost be called arcs, before chopping it up into chapters, hence the sudden backlog. This section was only supposed to fill a small moment, not be an entire arc, but the boys disagreed with me on that so here we are.

Therefore, we have more playing around with the differences between the universes - particularly fashion, the TOS ideas of which are loosely based on the 1960s - a couple of familiar namedrops, and there’s a warning for a panic attack in this chapter, so watch out for that if it might give you trouble! I also know basically zero about Auckland, New Zealand, or correct communications between planes and airports, so sorry if there’s any inconsistencies here. Let’s just call it future advancements and an alternative universe!

<<<Chapter 7

The coastline of New Zealand looked more or less the same as Scott was used to when they finally arrived. The analogue dial of Other-Scott’s watch continued to taunt him, but if he had to guess, the journey had taken somewhere between one and two hours, and had largely passed in silence. Whether that was because Other-Gordon needed to concentrate on piloting, or simply because he was still holding up his promise of no more questions, Scott wasn’t sure, but he appreciated it regardless.

Being a passenger instead of the pilot was always an odd situation, and more than once he’d caught himself trying to shift imaginary controls in response to the clouds and air streams they passed through. If Other-Gordon had noticed, he hadn’t commented.

“Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control, requesting permission to land, over.” Beneath them, the city sprawled almost coast to coast, and Scott peered down, looking for familiar landmarks. Some of them were there, some of them were not. As low as they were flying – heading for the airport, no doubt – the Sky Tower should have been easily visible, but its distinctive shape was absent.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. Sky Tower was a telecommunications tower, and he’d already discovered that this universe didn’t use the same type of technology that he was used to, so its lack of presence made sense. But it had always been there, built sometime before the millennium and a major aspect of Auckland’s skyline. He’d flown past it many times, and even used it as an unofficial navigation point.

For it to be not there, either destroyed or never existed in the first place, reminded him that no matter how familiar some things might be, he really wasn’t home.

I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, was a line famously quoted from an old movie. Scott had a bit of a soft spot for the Wizard of Oz – old fantasy films in general – but he’d never imagined he’d ever be playing the part of Dorothy.

At least Dorothy still had Toto, he mused sadly. If only he’d taken Mini-MAX with him on that mission, then maybe he wouldn’t be entirely alone… if Mini-MAX would even have been able to operate without a network to link into. Most likely, he’d have had nothing but the inactive husk of the small bot. Scott wasn’t sure if that would have been better or worse.

“Auckland Air Traffic Control to Tango Alpha Ladybird, clearance granted for runway four-bravo, over,” the radio crackled, yanking him back to the present.

“Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control, copy that, over,” Other-Gordon acknowledged. Scott watched him adjust their angle of approach accordingly and kept his mouth shut as the landing gear engaged and they gently touched down onto the tarmac scant minutes later. Other-Gordon visibly relaxed as soon as they were safely down, taxiing his way carefully over to a hangar emblazoned with a large T.A. As they entered, Scott could see several planes inside of various sizes and designs.

The one thing they had in common was the T.A. on their tails, identical to the letters on the hangar, and Scott found himself wondering what it stood for. Other-Gordon had used the same two letters as a callsign, and he eyed the nearest plane – a much larger one than the Ladybird – as Gordon rolled them to a gentle stop.

“What does T.A. stand for?” he asked, suspecting that Other-Scott would know that and having no wish to get caught out and face awkward conversations. This was the sort of information he’d tried to get out of his doppelgänger, but either he’d thought he would already know, or it was so basic he forgot about it.

The incredulous look he got from Other-Gordon as the man paused his post-flight checks suggested it was the former.

“Tracy Aerospace,” he said. “Dad’s company. Doesn’t it exist in your universe? I thought you said you were a billionaire!”

“I am,” Scott grumbled, “and it does, but it’s Tracy Industries.”

“Right,” Other-Gordon said, going back to the post-flight checks. “Rule number one: no talking.”

“Wha-”

“You look like Scott but you don’t sound like my brother and that’s something folks’ll notice, especially around here. The fellas on the ground know Scott well, so you’ve lost your voice. That’s the story.”

That made sense, but how was Scott supposed to tell Other-Gordon what he was looking for if he wasn’t allowed to talk? He asked as such as the younger man finished up the last of the checks and undid his harness.

The aquanaut just shrugged. “What are you after? Underpants… what else?”

Scott chose to ignore the not so subtle dig; it was getting old, but no doubt Other-Gordon wouldn’t let it go until he’d got changed, and likely not even then.

“Casual shirts, jeans and sneakers.” He repeated the list he’d given Other-Scott earlier and watched Other-Gordon’s face at the word ‘jeans’. He didn’t look particularly pleased, but Scott wasn’t going to back down on those. “Should probably pick up a hoodie or two as well. Pyjamas and shoes, too.”

“There is no way Scott said yes to a hoodie,” Other-Gordon frowned. “Hoodie and jeans? Those are workshop clothes; do you fellas really wear those?” Scott bristled, and he raised his hands. “Look, I am all for getting items that’ll make Scott go crazy, but I don’t want to be murdered in my sleep because the media thinks he’s gone cuckoo, so give me a minute to come up with a reason that won’t wreck his public image for the next decade.”

Scott frowned, but before he could say anything else, Other-Gordon grinned and pushed at his wrist watch. There was a dial tone for several moments before the string of numbers was replaced by Other-Scott’s face. The other man looked concerned and a little suspicious. Scott supposed he hadn’t been expecting the call, and an unexpected call from a younger brother was definitely cause for concern – especially when it was a Gordon.

“Hey there, Scott!” Other-Gordon chirped in a tone that immediately had Scott on edge, even though it wasn’t aimed at him. The faux-innocent, sing-song voice meant trouble, and he felt slightly guilty for whatever chaos was about to fall Other-Scott’s way.

Other-Scott dropped all pretence of concern and frowned at him in full-blown suspicion.

“You’ve only just arrived,” he said slowly. “You can’t have got in trouble already.”

“You underestimate me, brother dear,” Other-Gordon scoffed, before pulling a sickly-sweet grin onto his face. Other-Scott’s expression went from suspicious to mildly horrified, and Scott couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Gordon,” he warned, loud enough for the watch to pick him up. While he was all up for pranks, he couldn’t quite bring himself to let his counterpart be on the receiving end of one he was involved in. It felt uncomfortably like pranking himself.

Other-Gordon huffed. “You’re no fun,” he sulked, before turning back to the watch. Other-Scott, Scott was pleased to see, had lost the look of horror and was back in the realms of confusion. “Say, Scott, how do you feel about being a trend-setter?”

And the look of horror was straight back.

“What?” Other-Scott demanded. “Setting what trend? I’m not a fashion icon, Gordon! Set your own trends.”

Other-Gordon hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a fine plan, Scott, except anything I buy will be too small for him to wear, which somewhat defeats the objective.”

Other-Scott made a noise of frustration. “I told you, Gordon. Anything that ends up in the media is your fault.”

“Did you say that knowing your clone here wants hoodies?” Other-Gordon asked, eyebrow raised. Other-Scott choked. “Because he does and I know better than to try and talk him out of it.”

“Hoodies?” Other-Scott looked bordering on mortified. “Dad would kill me.” Something that could be guilt coiled in Scott’s gut; no matter what his feelings were about Not-Dad’s existence, the idea of Other-Scott getting in trouble with him on his behalf didn’t settle well. Other-Scott shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, Gordon, but what’s your plan?”

“I figured we could pass it off as experimentation,” Other-Gordon shrugged. “But you’re not well known for that so it would cause a stir.”

“You’re right about that,” Other-Scott mused, and Scott shook his head.

“I guess I don’t need one,” he offered reluctantly – he wanted one, but there was mildly inconveniencing someone and there was ruining someone’s reputation.

“No.” Other-Scott shook his head firmly. “We’ll make this work.”

“Well, it’s your funeral,” Other-Gordon muttered, before a grin slowly spread across his face. “You know, fellas, I think I’ve got it!”

“Do I want to know?” Other-Scott asked dubiously.

“It’s simple,” Other-Gordon continued as though his older brother hadn’t spoken. “We all know you wouldn’t willingly wear one, so we make it unwilling. Scott, you lost a bet.”

Other-Scott ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose that would work,” he conceded reluctantly. Scott could see the logic – short term embarrassment at the hands of a younger sibling would barely interest the media, but still explained why he was still in possession of a so-called workman’s outfit. “But I’m insisting on custom made. You are not coming back with some cheap off the shelf monstrosity.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Other-Gordon chirped in a tone that said he had been considering doing exactly that. “We should start moving now, though. Jones is coming over and I think he wants to know why we haven’t left the cockpit yet.”

“I can’t say I’m in a hurry to have you wrecking my reputation but you probably shouldn’t make Jones suspicious,” Other-Scott sighed. “Hey, wait – what is this bet I’ve supposedly lost, Gordon?”

“If you don’t know, Dad can’t yell at you for it later,” Other-Gordon grinned back at him.

“Gordon.”

“What, don’t you trust me?” the ginger asked, pulling a face of fake hurt. Other-Scott scowled at him.

“With my life, yes. Not with my dignity.” Scott could relate to that.

“We’ll see you later, Scott.” Other-Gordon didn’t bother responding to the veiled accusation before signing off, returning the watch to actually looking like a watch just as a young man crossed the distance between the neighbouring plane and the Ladybird. “Here we go, remember you’ve lost your voice and let me do all the talking.”

Scott had a sinking feeling that was going to be easier said than done, but obediently followed the other man out of the cockpit just in time for the man on the ground to stride over to them.

“Gordon Tracy, is that you piloting a plane?” said man called, shaking his head in amazement. “Why, I couldn’t believe my ears when they told me it was you of all people coming in to land that red beauty of yours!”

“Gee, laugh it up why don’t you, Jones,” Other-Gordon commented dryly. “I didn’t fly all the way here with the worst backseat pilot in the world to get flack from you, too, fella.”

The man – Jones – squinted at Scott and for a heart-stopping moment he thought the man had realised he wasn’t this universe’s Scott, before he burst out laughing. “Scott Tracy letting someone else pilot? Now I’ve really seen it all. Say, how you been, old chap?” He stuck out his hand and feeling rather like a deer in headlights, Scott took it for a firm shake.

“Ah, Scott’s not so good,” Other-Gordon intervened before the silence stretched long enough to be awkward. “He’s only gone and lost his voice, but there’s shopping to be done so yours truly got the short straw.” The ginger gave a theatrical wince. “Turns out not having a voice doesn’t stop a fella from backseat piloting like crazy. He insisted on checking over all my post-flight checks! I ask you; you’d think he didn’t trust me with a plane.”

Scott shot him a look. While no doubt if Other-Scott had really lost his voice that all sounded perfectly feasible, he thought the ginger was laying it on a little thick. Other-Gordon caught the look and rolled his eyes.

“Well Mr Just Because I Can’t Talk Doesn’t Mean I Won’t Be A Pain here seems like he wants to get this over and done with,” he told Jones. Not strictly inaccurate, Scott supposed, although that hadn’t been what he’d meant. Other-Gordon lowered his voice. “Truth be told, he doesn’t want to be here; lost a bet and doesn’t like the forfeit.”

Scott put a warning hand on his shoulder and Other-Gordon laughed. Jones joined in politely, almost as though he wasn’t certain what the joke was, or if he should be responding to it.

“I’d say that means ‘hurry it up, oh favourite brother of mine’,” Other-Gordon translated. “Lock her down for me, would you? There’s a good man.”

“Yessir,” Jones agreed. “Your usual car’s been prepared for you. Mr Tracy said you didn’t want a chauffeur today?” A chauffeur? No, Scott absolutely didn’t want one of those – it was bad enough being piloted by a brother, or brother from another universe, as it happened.

“Not today, Jones,” Other-Gordon confirmed. “I wouldn’t inflict Scott in this mood on anyone,” he winked, and the man gave another awkward chuckle. “I’ll handle it all today.” Scott jammed his hands in his pockets impatiently. “See you around, Jones.”

“Likewise, Gordon, Scott.” The man nodded at both of them and Other-Gordon led the way through the hangar unerringly to where a classic vintage-looking convertible was waiting for them. With the roof down, he could see it was a right-hand drive – of course, New Zealand drove on the left; at least that was the same – so without prompting he let himself in to the front left seat and tried not to be too obvious about staring.

Plane controls might have been the same, but cars apparently weren’t. If push came to shove, he could probably figure it out – the car was at least an automatic, not stick-shift – but he was quite content to let Other-Gordon take the wheel. Hopefully he wasn’t quite as chaotic as his Gordon behind the wheel.

He wasn’t. At least, not by Scott’s standards. He was, however, still the fastest car on the road, overtaking other cars with manoeuvres just shy of being classified as swerves, with a delighted grin on his face. That, at least, was typically Gordon, and the ache that blossomed in his chest whenever any of the Other-Tracy family did something that reminded him of their counterparts – his Tracy family – made itself known again. Scott fought the instinct to clutch at his chest, instead clinging to the door with a grip far too tight for the situation.

Behind amber-tinted shades, equally amber eyes glanced over at his death grip, but Other-Gordon said nothing. Scott wasn’t sure if that was a relief or not – the younger man knew enough to know that these speeds wouldn’t phase him in the slightest, which meant he was drawing his own conclusions. Scott had no idea what those conclusions might be, and any desire to ask was quashed by the knowledge that that would open the topic up for conversation.

He’d chosen Other-Gordon to avoid more of that sort of conversation.

“What are we getting first?” he asked, turning his head away from the streets to look at Other-Gordon. With the wind whistling past their ears, the natural inclination was to raise his voice but he consciously kept his voice at normal levels. Other-Gordon should still be able to hear him, if with a bit of difficulty.

The ginger sent him an assessing look before the grin was back, and that look was too much like Gordon’s devilish grin for Scott to not know what he was going to say, despite the man not being his Gordon.

“You can’t stay in the same underpants forever!”

Scott groaned, the hand not gripping the door catching his face – ow, he forgot about the shades. He left it there, acutely aware that with any Gordon around in a non-professional setting, the facepalm was never far away.

“Okay, new underpants. Then what?”

Other-Gordon laughed, looping them around another car as the bulk of the city approached, before settling into something that seemed like he might, vaguely, be taking the excursion seriously. Whether that was due to Other-Scott’s threats – which he did seem to be wary of – or because he was actually mindful of Scott’s own wishes, he had no idea. If he had to guess, probably the former. Scott wished his Gordon respected his threats against causing chaos.

Then again, he’d never had a doppelgänger, let alone one subsequently left in the hands of his prank-loving brother.

“Francois Lemaire has a new men’s range out,” he shrugged. “Might as well start there.”

“Lemaire?” Scott asked, his voice strangled. Other-Gordon gave him a sharp look.

“He’s Tin-Tin’s favourite designer,” the younger man said. “She suggested him.”

Lemaire? Designer? Admittedly, Scott didn’t know what the rich airhead did when he wasn’t throwing himself in mortal danger and complaining loudly when they had to rescue him from his own stupidity, but he found it hard to believe that between birthday parties in the Mariana Trench and throwing himself into the coma of a comet he was designing clothes.

“Problem?” Other-Gordon asked, and Scott realised he was scowling. Taking a deep breath, he forced his expression to smooth out again.

“He won’t be there, will he?” he asked. “If he’s anything like the Lemaire I know, there is a high chance I’ll be losing my temper.”

“What’s wrong with Lemaire?” Other-Gordon actually sounded confused, which was enough for Scott to cling to the hope that maybe, maybe, the man wasn’t such an idiot here.

“Birthday party in the Mariana Trench,” he groaned. “Flying into a comet. Hunting mermaids.” And that was just the tip of the iceberg. “He calls us International Babysitting Service now.”

The hiss Other-Gordon let out implied the other man found that all as ridiculous – and insulting – as Scott did. “I guess that fella’s not your favourite human,” he observed. “We’ve not had those sorts of problems with him.” That was a relief. “I doubt he’ll be here, though. Fella lives in France.”

That was another relief, although Scott wasn’t going to relax entirely until they were done with the man’s shop. It would be just his luck that this universe’s Lemaire would be dropping by for a visit when he was there, and that was not a meeting he wanted.

“Then we might as well see if his range contains anything I want to wear,” he shrugged, realising that he hadn’t actually agreed or disagreed with Other-Gordon’s suggestion. The younger man groaned as he pulled into a parking lot tucked behind a large building emblazoned with Lemaire.

“You’re not going to be too fussy, are you?” he asked. Scott detected a tone of dread behind what was clearly supposed to be a rhetorical question.

“Not if they have decent clothes,” he answered, and Other-Gordon made another disgruntled noise as he killed the ignition.

“Sure. Now, remember: you’re my brother, you’ve lost your voice, I’m doing all the talking.” Scott rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. “Underpants, shirts, jeans, pyjamas, shoes and a custom hoodie.” Other-Gordon still didn’t seem too happy about some of those things, even with Other-Scott’s blessing, reluctant though it had been. “Am I forgetting anything?”

Scott shook his head and Other-Gordon jumped out of the car, casually circling around to open Scott’s door before he realised the lever needed to be pulled, not pushed. What happened to doors opening at the touch of a button? He was really starting to miss familiar technology.

Maybe he could persuade Other-Gordon to let him pilot back to the island.

First, though, he had to get through this shopping trip so he could stop having to borrow Other-Scott’s clothes. Stepping out of the car, he followed Other-Gordon into the shop.

It was exactly the sort of ordered chaos Scott expected from clothes shopping. Mannequins flanked the entrance, decked out in what was presumably the latest fashions but looked totally bizarre to Scott, while a woman decked out in equally outrageous clothes – not Gordon-outrageous, but so much fabric outrageous – bustled forwards to greet them. Behind her, equally awfully dressed men and women were guiding around customers who just screamed ‘I’m rich’.

Scott was immediately reminded exactly why he did as much clothes shopping as he could get away with online.

“Monsieur Tracy, Monsieur Tracy,” the woman greeted them. “My name is Madeleine; how may I be of assistance today?”

Automatically, Scott opened his mouth to answer, but Other-Gordon jumped in before he managed to make a sound. “Scott’s looking for a new wardrobe,” he said smoothly, drawing the woman’s attention to him and away from Scott, who inwardly scolded himself for forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to talk. “Could we see your shirt selection?”

“Of course, Monsieur,” Madeleine replied. “If you would follow me?” She posed it as a question but began to walk further into the shop without waiting for a reply. Scott and Other-Gordon stepped forwards at the same time, following the woman through a maze of clothes and other customers before arriving in a booth lined with lavish couches. “Please, take a seat.” Madeleine gestured to one of the couches and Scott took the invitation. Other-Gordon settled down beside him and immediately reached out for what appeared to be a physical, gloss-paper, brochure on the table. He flipped through it for a moment before passing it over.

Scott accepted it and saw that Other-Gordon had already opened it to the shirts for him.

“Did Monsieur have a particular style in mind?” Madeleine asked after a moment. Not knowing the jargon as well as perhaps Grandma would have liked, and unable to speak without inviting awkward questions anyway, Scott shrugged.

“You’ll have to forgive my brother,” Other-Gordon jumped in before she could take offence. “The fella’s lost his voice.”

“Oh,” she gasped softly. “My apologies, Monsieur Tracy.”

Scott shot her a reassuring smile even as Other-Gordon waved off her apology. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here to work as a translator.”

Leaving Other-Gordon to keep the woman occupied in conversation, Scott leant back and flicked through the brochure, eyeing the various outrageous shirts – apparently this universe’s Lemaire liked to design clothes with far too much excess fabric – before finally locating something that looked simple enough. He’d still have to roll the sleeves up and worry at the collar until it sat comfortably, but it definitely looked like something he could wear comfortably enough.

He prodded Other-Gordon in the ribs; sharp amber eyes snapped over to him, wide in surprise for a split second before narrowing.

“You found something?” the younger man asked, after a pause that felt just a little too long. Scott nodded, belatedly realising he had no idea if that sort of thing was acceptable sibling behaviour in this universe. Realising he couldn’t clarify anything while he was pretending to have lost his voice, he pushed the thought aside to deal with later, and prodded at the picture on the page.

Madeleine made a motion to look over, and Scott swivelled the brochure so that she could see the one he’d chosen.

“A wonderful choice, Monsieur Tracy,” she beamed, while Other-Gordon made a sound that could be amused. He didn’t say whatever it was he was thinking, though, instead joining in the conversation when the woman asked how many and pulled out another brochure of fabrics and patterns.

“I dare say a few wouldn’t go amiss,” Other-Gordon told her – although Scott suspected it was a prod at him as well. He zoned out the rest of the conversation as he stared at the ridiculous variety of colours and tried to find the sensible blues. He had no desire to adopt Gordon’s sense of fashion, or John’s for that matter.

He suspected John might quite like some of the horrors he was hurriedly passing by. He’d never understood his immediate brother’s taste in clothes.

Finally, a nice plain blue, not too far off his favourite shirt at home, caught his eye, and after inspecting it to make sure there weren’t any hidden patterns he tapped at the glossy paper to draw their attention.

“The fella likes blue,” Other-Gordon shrugged at Madeleine as she pulled out a notepad and pen from somewhere and started scribbling down. “But Scott, are you really only going to get the one design? That’s a lot of identical shirts.”

Regretting zoning out the conversation about exactly how many Other-Gordon had decided he would be getting, Scott instead raised an eyebrow at him, a look his younger brothers all knew meant don’t try me. From the grin Other-Gordon gave him, he understood exactly what it meant, but was also as unimpressed by the warning as Gordon ever was. With some reluctance, because yes, variety was nice and he suspected Other-Gordon was actually telling him that buying many identical shirts was not an Other-Scott-like thing to do, he returned to the sample images and tried to find some others that didn’t look like something John would wear – or worse, something not even Gordon or John would be caught dead in.

Fashion was ridiculous here.

He was certain his choices were being memorised by the too-sharp ginger next to him as he dug out the designs he was willing to wear and had them scribbled down by an eager to please Madeleine, no doubt being added to whatever mental databank Other-Gordon was compiling about him. Maybe it would be worth dragging the differences between him and Other-Scott out of the aquanaut at some point on the flight back, if only to try and get a better understanding of what he was – temporarily, he hoped – going to be dealing with.

None of his training – Air Force, International Rescue or business – had ever covered what to do when faced with a doppelgänger of himself that wasn’t the Hood in disguise, and while Not-Dad was proving to be a problem, he didn’t have any plans to alienate the family. They were his only way home; that, he knew for certain.

“Will that be all, Monsieur Tracy?” Madeleine asked when he finally decided there was nothing else he could even consider wearing and shut the samples brochure. He wasn’t sure how many he’d selected in the end, but there was a satisfied look on Other-Gordon’s face, so he decided to call that torment to a close and nodded. Beaming what had to be a fake customer pleasing smile, she elegantly made her way to her feet, apparently not impeded by the ridiculousness of her dress. “Then if you’d like to follow me to the fitting rooms?”

What.

Fitting rooms?

Had some formal clothes snuck into his selection or something?

Other-Gordon nudged him seemingly accidentally as he stood up. Scott assumed that was another signal to just go along with it. Reluctantly, he found his way to his feet and followed Madeleine’s swirl of fabric, raising an eyebrow at Other-Gordon when the other man followed. He got a grin in return.

At least someone was having fun. Scott missed online shopping. He really hoped he wasn’t going to have to go through this rigmarole for every item they were buying.

The fitting room really should be called a fitting chamber. It was at least as big as his bedroom at home, if not bigger, with plush seats and an area designed to be screened off, presumably for changing. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be unusual for Other-Scott to use the curtains, because Scott was well aware how many scars he had from rescues, and while Other-Gordon had already briefly seen him shirtless he wasn’t sure Madeleine would be expecting that many scars on a lazy billionaire’s son.

“Please, make yourself comfortable while I collect the shirts,” the woman said, gesturing to the chairs. “I will only be a few moments.”

Then she was gone, and it was just the two of them in the room.

“You don’t get your clothes fitted?” Other-Gordon asked, quietly, a beat after the door slid shut. Scott took that as an indication that no-one would hear him if he spoke, and leaned forwards with a sigh.

“I normally shop online,” he grumbled. “Much less hassle.”

“On… Line?” Other-Gordon parroted the word with clear confusion in his voice, and Scott rolled his eyes, half at the other man, half at the world in general. He should have known that would be another difference.

“Different technology,” he dismissed. “You’re not telling me I have to go through this for everything, are you?”

“You’re getting a custom hoodie,” Other-Gordon reminded him. “And designer jeans.” Scott groaned. “But they won’t measure you for underwear.”

“You’re never going to drop that, are you?” It was so old it was ancient at this point, but from the grin on Other-Gordon’s face, that clearly didn’t matter to him. Amber eyes flashed with amusement before turning serious.

“Don’t forget the curtain,” he warned. “Scott’s scars aren’t the same as yours.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Scott assured him. He probably shouldn’t be surprised that Other-Gordon had gleaned that from when he’d borrowed Other-Scott’s clothes, but hearing a comparison still startled him. “I-”

The door slid open and he cut himself off.

“Sorry for the wait, Monsieur Tracy,” Madeleine greeted, an entire hangar of shirts trailing behind her on wheels. “According to your previous custom, these should be of an approximate fit.”

Previous-? Other-Scott also shopped there? He supposed that made sense, even if he suddenly felt the pressure to absolutely not slip up, because Madeleine probably knew Other-Scott. That might have been useful to know earlier.

There was a lot he hadn’t been told before this trip, and he was starting to wish they’d spent a little more time talking before leaving the island. The sensation of being out of his depth was starting to make itself known again from where it had settled in the relative familiarity of the flight over.

“All looks that way,” Other-Gordon said suddenly, and Scott realised he hadn’t given any sort of response. He really had to get his head in the game. “So, which one first, Scott?”

Resisting the instinct to take a deep breath in front of Madeleine, he stood and gestured at the blue one he’d picked out first from the catalogue. She took it off the hangar for him with a large smile.

“Take your time, Monsieur Tracy,” she told him. “Come out when you’re ready.”

Scott barely made it to the curtained off area, drawing the thick material across and shutting himself away from the other two, before slumping against the wall and taking a deep breath. Now was not a good time to get overwhelmed. If it was just Other-Gordon-

No, he’d done more than enough breaking down in front of other people already. He took another deep breath, looking down at the shirt gripped in his hands. His hands were trembling, the bandages over his knuckles suddenly stark against his skin. Visible. How was he supposed to explain away bandaged knuckles when he was pretending to be a lazy billionaire’s son? Madeleine must have spotted it.

He tore his gaze away from the fabric and instead looked up at the ceiling, feeling the hat on his head dig in awkwardly as his head leant against the wall. More deep breaths, each shakier than the last, and somewhere in the back of his mind he realised he was headed for a full panic attack.

No. He couldn’t do that. Not with Madeleine a single curtain away. Other-Scott had an image to maintain and he couldn’t ruin it. He had to-

“Is everything alright, Monsieur Tracy?” Madeleine’s voice was close, too close. She could probably hear his messed up breathing, knew something was wrong, knew he was falling apart the other side of the suddenly too-thin curtain, and-

“I’ll check on him,” Other-Gordon said. “Scott? I’m coming in.”

He’d slipped around the curtain before Scott registered his words, amber eyes falling on him and widening for a split second. Then, like a switch had been flicked, his whole demeanour changed. It wasn’t the jovial man that had been teasing for most of their time away from the island, but nor was it the sharp, military-like edge he’d held when he was being serious.

Instead it was calm, reassuring, and with slow, obvious movements the shorter man was taking the shirt from his hands, folding the fabric over one arm. “Sit,” he instructed, quietly.

This was his International Rescue façade, Scott realised dimly as he sank down onto a stool he hadn’t even registered was there. Other-Gordon crouched down in front of him, gently removing the shades he’d forgotten he was wearing and making firm eye contact.

“Breathe in,” he said, voice still low. “Do you want me to count you?”

Scott took in another breath, inwardly wincing at how shaky it was, before exhaling again. Slowly, deliberately choreographing his movements, Other-Gordon rested a single hand on his knee. The touch was light, but grounding, and Scott’s next attempt at a deep breath was markedly less shaky. Another, and then another, with Other-Gordon almost silently guiding him with words too quiet to be heard the other side of the curtain.

Once he had enough of a grip of himself that panic felt no longer imminent, he leant back, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

“Better?” Other-Gordon asked, and he nodded, opening his mouth to speak before a raised eyebrow reminded him otherwise. “Should we call it? You can come back-”

“No,” Scott cut him off, clamping his mouth shut when he realised his mistake. He shook his head. If they left now, he’d have to come back later, and he wasn’t sure he could do that. He certainly didn’t want to have to face Not-Dad and tell him they didn’t finish because he panicked. Better to get it over and done with now.

Other-Gordon eyed him dubiously for a moment before sighing and pulling himself to his feet. “If you say so,” he said. “Let me give you a hand.”

Give-? The blue fabric still draped over the aquanaut’s arm caught his eye. Oh yes, he was supposed to have been putting it on. He didn’t want help getting changed, and certainly didn’t need it, but there was a look in amber eyes that said quite plainly that Other-Gordon wasn’t going anywhere.

Then again, if their roles were reversed, Scott wouldn’t be going anywhere either.

Deciding the best route was to ignore him as best he could, Scott shrugged the waistcoat off, before plucking at the buttons on the shirt he was wearing. To his credit, Other-Gordon didn’t try to actively help, only taking the clothes once he’d removed them and holding out the blue shirt for him to take.

“Monsieurs?” Madeleine called just as he was fastening the last button. “Is there a problem?”

Other-Gordon pressed the sunglasses into his hands and readjusted the hat on his head before slipping back outside.

“Nothing to be worried about,” he assured her. “Whatever he’s caught that’s gone and taken his voice gives him dizzy moments, too. Fella just had a spell, but it’s passed now.”

So now he was ill instead of just having lost his voice? Scott wanted to be amused, but in reality he just felt thankful that Other-Gordon was quick at thinking on his feet.

“Oh, I understand,” she said. Scott hurried to put the sunglasses back on and took one last deep breath before pushing the curtain back. “Monsieur Tracy, we can hold the items for you if you’d rather come back at a later date?”

Remembering in time not to talk, Scott waved her off with a small grin. It was forced; smiling wasn’t something he felt like doing but the last thing he wanted was to have to come back.

“He’ll be fine,” Other-Gordon assured her. “This won’t take long, will it?”

“Oh, not at all,” Madeleine hurried to promise, and Scott’s grin felt just a little less forced at that. “If you would stand here…” She gestured to a small step and Scott obeyed, watching as she bustled around him with pins, tugging at the fabric until it lay flat across his shoulders and hung just right. Compared to some fittings he’d had, it certainly didn’t feel like it took too long; after what had to have been only a few minutes, she was nodding her approval and handing him the next shirt to put on.

Other-Gordon followed him behind the curtain this time, not giving him the opportunity to refuse the company. Scott got the feeling he wouldn’t be letting him out of his sight again until they were back on the island, but where before he might have bristled at the lack of privacy, now he found himself reassured by the other man’s presence. If nothing else, it helped keep his mind on the task at hand as he peeled the pin-infested shirt away from his body gingerly and accepted the new one while Other-Gordon hung the first on a hangar.

The rest of the fitting went in much the same fashion, Madeleine working quickly but efficiently and Other-Gordon shadowing him in a way that should have been bothersome but was somehow comforting, and before long all of the shirts – eleven, apparently – were stuck through with pins and back on the rail.

“Is there anything else you would like to order, Monsieur Tracy?” the woman asked once Scott was once again dressed in Other-Scott’s borrowed clothes. She was clearly addressing him, but her eyes were on Other-Gordon, much to Scott’s relief. While he knew what he wanted, he didn’t know where he could get them. For that, he was reliant on the other man.

“Not today,” Other-Gordon answered. “When will they be ready to collect?”

“For you, we will have them done by Tuesday,” she replied. Scott realised he had no idea what the day was.

“Perfect,” Other-Gordon grinned, before fishing out a card from his pocket and handing it to her. She beamed and scurried off, presumably to take the payment.

Scott had absolutely no idea how much that had just come to.

Whatever the damage was, Other-Gordon seemed entirely fine with it, keeping his grin on his face as she returned with the card and a paper receipt, so Scott assumed it was within expectations.

Other-Gordon and Madeleine finalised arrangements for the shirts to be collected on Tuesday, leaving Scott with the sinking feeling he’d likely be stuck borrowing Other-Scott’s clothes for however many days away that was, before bidding farewell. Following suit, Scott offered his own nod of thanks and farewell before finding himself being subtly guided back out of the shop and towards the car by the ginger.

Chapter 9>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #long way from home #gordon tracy

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cali-holland · 4 years

Text

Golden Hearts, Ch. 2: Martinis, Girls, and Guns

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond AU ~ Sequel to Golden Bullets

Following a messy split, Harrison, Agent 007, resumes his role as an elite womanizer, after his recovery from his previous mission; meanwhile, you’ve stepped back from your 00 status, taking on cases as MI6’s assistant director from your office. When a new threat emerges to MI6 and a dear friend gets kidnapped, can you and Harrison set aside your differences to save special agent Q, better known as Tom? Or will the stakes- and your love, push you two further apart?

Word Count: 3800

Gif is not mine

Golden Hearts Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: sexual themes, maybe some swearing, harry and harrison and reader all being jealous idiots

Featured Song: “Tomorrow Never Dies” by Sheryl Crow from Tomorrow Never Dies (1997)

~ “You're not the only spy out there, It's so deadly my dear, The power of wanting you near”

A/N: Special shoutout to @duskholland for helping me come up with ways to write “sensual” scenes and to @allegra-writes for helping me learn more about the tango (which idk if this even counts lmao, don’t hate me yall it’s just a steamy dance). Also, the tango sequence was inspired by an episode of Chuck... but idk if anyone’s seen that.

~~~

“She’s not coming.” Harrison said, irritation clear in his voice as he stepped out of his BMW. Leaning against his own car, Harry grabbed his duffel bag from his feet with a frown.

“But you said you could convince her.” Harry answered, and the blond shrugged, running a hand through his hair. He went around to the back of his car and opened up the trunk for him to get out his two bags.

“I thought wrong.” He muttered. With their bags slung over their shoulders, they made their way across the tarmac to the jet that they were absolutely legally borrowing from MI6.

“We’ll just have to go on without her.” Harry paused, “I still think maybe I could’ve-“

“Harry, don’t take this wrong, but if I couldn’t convince her, then no one could.” Harrison stated definitively.

“Why’s that?” The younger agent asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to understand the sudden irritation in his friend.

“No reason.” He replied, biting his tongue. With Harry following him, he entered the jet’s cabin. Harrison shuffled to put away his two bags, one full of weapons and one of his actual things.

“I’ll get the jet ready.” Harry stated, setting his bag in a seat. As he made his way to the cockpit, Harrison noticed a fourth black duffel bag in the cabin. He eyed it suspiciously, but, before he could question it, he heard his friend speak again. “You’re here!”

“You think I’d leave saving Tom to you two divs?” You questioned with a laugh from the pilot’s seat as the surprised Harry took a seat in the copilot’s seat.

Harrison stepped into the doorway of the cockpit, looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face; like he too was surprised you were here, but also like he was proud that you had come. You smiled softly at him, “I thought I should save the person who’s the reason that we’re alive today.”

Registering your words as a repeat of his own, he couldn’t help the fond smile that crossed his face. “Get this thing in the air, yeah?”

“Prepare for takeoff.” You told him, before turning to the controls before you. With your back turned to him, you missed the bittersweet look on his face as he eyed you over one last time before he left for the cabin.

The air was silent between you and Harry while you two got the jet ready for takeoff. You weren’t quite sure what to say about the delicate situation that was this new, top secret mission, so you did your best, “We’ll find him, Harry.”

“I hope so.” Harry mumbled, trying to keep his focus on the jet and his emotions under control.

“He’ll be alright. He can handle himself out there.”

With the jet cruising on autopilot, you followed Harry out of the cockpit to find Harrison hunched over his laptop, checking Tom’s encrypted message again. You weren’t sure how many times he’d examined the message, but yet again you weren’t sure how many times you repeatedly looked at the images until you stumbled upon a discovery last night.

Seeing him look at the one image in particular of the one man who the database could not identify yesterday, you sat down across from him, simply stating, “His name’s Mr. White.”

“Mr. White? Didn’t 009 detain him three years ago for involvement in S.P.E.C.T.R.E.?” Harrison asked, glancing up from his computer to look at you. Whether subconsciously or not, he sat up straighter, his shoulders back with meaning.

“Yes, and, since we had little to no evidence of major involvement, MI6 released him on parole. Last known file was that he was dying from thallium poisoning, and guess where he went to live out the rest of his days.”

“Spain.” Harry answered.

“Barcelona to be exact.” You stated. “And, according to MI6’s database, Mr. White’s back profile matches that of the mystery man in Tom’s photos.”

“So you think White took Tom?”

“Yes.” You nodded, definitively. “White’s our best lead right now. Besides, M has suspicions that Oberhauser has returned, and, if he has, then he’ll be looking to regroup S.P.E.C.T.R.E. with White.”

“Oberhauser’s dead.” Harrison argued, his eyes narrowing at you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time MI6 has mistaken a case.”

“This Mr. White,” Harry trailed off, “How do you suppose we find him if he is in Barcelona?”

“He has a mansion just outside of the city.” You replied, a proud smile on your lips. “I hope you two brought your dancing shoes because we’ve got a party to crash tonight.”

~~~

Light streamed in through the open window, perfectly angled to strike in your sleepy eyes. You shuffled awake, rolling over away from the window. Your eyes peaked open, and you smiled at the site before you.

With his hair a mess and his lips parted enough that a bit of drool was slipping out, the fast asleep Harrison was your favorite thing to wake up to. Feeling your shift in the bed, he subconsciously tugged you into him with his arm wrapped around your waist. You smiled to yourself, feeling his feet nudge your legs; even asleep, he wanted to be as close to you as possible. Ever so gently, you reached a hand up to run through his hair as you tried to memorize every detail of his face. Your hand slowly shifted downwards, running over his puffed out lips.

“Why are you staring at me?” He mumbled against your fingers, eyes still closed tight.

“You’re drooling.” You teased, your finger running over the small wet spot in the corner of his mouth. Blindly, he puckered his lips out to kiss your hand, making you laugh.

Harrison chuckled as he opened his eyes and shifted closer to you to give you a proper good morning kiss. Caving into him, you rolled onto your back and his lips chased yours, never breaking the kiss while he climbed on top of you. You let out a moan, one of your legs wrapping around his hips.

The moment his fingers began to lazily tug on the hem of your t-shirt, which was really his, his phone began to buzz with the sound of his alarm. At first, neither of you made an effort to turn it off, enjoying the simplicity of each other’s embrace, but, as it continued, Harrison regretfully pulled his lips from yours.

“I need to get going.” He mumbled, moving off of you to reach his phone.

“Do you really have to go?” You asked, and he let out a small laugh.

“Duty calls.” He leaned over and gave you one last kiss before he climbed out of the bed. You sat up against the pillows, white bed sheets falling around you. You watched with a small frown on your face as he moved about your room, collecting his clothes for the new day. Your eyes drifted over to the luggage at the front door. He was off on another mission in Luxembourg this time… or maybe it was Switzerland. Ever since you stepped back from your 00 position, you had a hard time keeping up with it.

“What if you didn’t go?” Your voice was so quiet that Harrison almost thought he had imagined the whisper. Tugging on his white button up, he looked at you with a lopsided smile.

“Love, you know I have to. Besides, it’s only a week. I’ll be back from Austria before you know it.” He answered. He could sense that there was something unsure in your voice, and he gingerly sat on the bed beside you, his blue eyes searching for an answer in yours.

“Runaway with me.” You said faintly, but definitively, as your hand clasped his, “Let’s go somewhere, somewhere where it’s just us. No more sneaking around, no more MI6, no more missions, none of it.”

Harrison looked at you for a moment, and you could see him going through his options in his head. Instead of saying anything, he just pressed his lips to yours tenderly. He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours, “I’d follow you anywhere. Just let me do this mission first.”

“I love you.” A small smile slipped past your lips as you tried to contain the eager feeling inside you.

“I know.” He answered, flashing you that signature smirk.

“Y/N, come on, you gotta wake up.” Harry’s voice pulled you from your dream, or rather another memory, as he shook your shoulder lightly.

“Yes?” You mumbled, blinking your eyes open.

“Harrison’s starting the descent now. We’re here.” He explained. As you took a moment to clear your head, he studied you curiously. “Were you having a bad dream?”

“Not at all.” You gave him your best smile, but he could still register the uneasiness in your figure.

You wouldn’t call it a bad dream, per se. It was just a rather sad thing to think about now. That morning two months ago was the last morning you were truly happy and it was the last morning you spent with the one person that you wanted to wake up to every morning.

Figuring it’d be best to change the topic, Harry did just that. “While you were sleeping, I got the three of us rooms at the hotel closest to White’s mansion. MI6 has no blueprints of his house, but it’s secluded enough that-”

“That Tom might be there?” You finished his thought for him, and he nodded, biting his lip nervously.

“That’s the hope.” He replied.

“Did you two come up with a plan too?” You asked, and he nodded again.

“White will most likely have cameras everywhere and guards in areas where we can’t go. If I can get to his computer, I can hack the security system to search for Tom.” Harry explained.

“And what would Harrison and I do?”

“Keep an eye on White and watch for any trouble in the ballroom.” He stated. At his words, a smile of admiration came across your face. He didn’t sound like the cocky wannabe 00 agent anymore; no, he sounded like a true MI6 special agent. “What’s that look for?”

“You’re really coming into your title, 003.” You teased, making a small blush hit his cheeks.

“I learned from the best.” Harry winked cheekily.

Just a few hours later, the three of you were settled into your individual hotel rooms that Harry had acquired. You busied yourself with getting cleaned up for tonight, trying your best to not think about the fact that Harry’s plan ignored the very fact that it’d entail for you and Harrison to spend actual time together. You couldn’t really blame him though; he was oblivious to the history between the two of you. All he knew was that he was on a mission to save his brother with MI6’s best. And, for the sake of Tom and Harry, you needed to remain focused tonight.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you out tonight?” Harrison asked as soon as Harry stepped out of his hotel room.

“I don’t need help. Tom taught me how to hack; it’ll be a breeze.” Harry reassured his friend. He adjusted his cufflinks while they made their way down the hall to your room. Laughing a little, he inquired, “Why do you keep asking? Do you not want to be on White watch with Y/N?”

“I wouldn’t say-” He started, but the curly haired boy walking beside him cut him off.

“You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?” Voicing the speculation that had been brewing in his mind for the past few hours, Harry had an accusatory sense about his words as they came to a stop in front of your door. He looked at Harrison with questioning eyes.

“No, definitely not.” Harrison just about scoffed in response. Defensively, he turned to Harry, “Do you have a thing for her?”

“No.” Harry answered too quickly for his own liking. They stood like that for a moment, staring at each other with suspicious eyes, as if they were silently daring the other to move.

It was Harry who caved first, turning to open your door with the keycard. With the door wide open, Harry and Harrison stood frozen staring at you as you had a leg up on the footrest, strapping your heel in place. You looked over at them, questioningly, “Is there a problem?”

Both boys shook their heads and stepped inside, the door shutting behind them. You switched your feet to put on your other shoe, trying to pay no mind to the two sets of prying eyes across the room. You completely knew you were showing a little in a dress perfectly tailored to your body, cutouts along your torso to emphasize all the right places, complete with a deep v neck and a high leg slit. With your heels on- specially equipped with your favorite secret knife stilettos, you stood to your full height to look at Harrison and Harry properly. You’d be lying if you said your eyes didn’t immediately catch onto Harrison and his tight, yet perfect fitting tux. The dark navy blue ever so slightly highlighted his eyes even more. Noticing your gaze on him, his lips twitched into a small smirk, and you immediately turned around to the set of ear pieces on your hotel desk.

“Here.” You handed them their ear pieces, and all of three of you put them in.

“Are you ready?” Harry asked you.

“Just about.” You said, slipping a couple lipsticks into your bag.

“I’ve missed those.” Harrison stated. He’d recognize those gold and silver lipsticks anywhere. Harry looked at him, raising his eyebrows curiously. “Gold are grenades, silver are tranq darts.”

“Genius.” He replied in awe.

You quickly applied one final touch up of your own lipstick, nothing special, before looking at them with a nod. “Ready.”

Riding in the classically styled Aston Martin DB5 from MI6, the three of you arrived to White’s party and easily blended into the crowd of people. The ballroom was busy, packed with people dressed to the nines. Splitting up, you all mingled your way around the room, taking in as much surveillance as you could.

“Two guards at the south exit.” Harry murmured into his ear piece.

“And two at the east exit.” Harrison added quietly.

“The west exit has three.” You mumbled. “Something’s got to be hiding back there.”

While you stationed yourself by the live band, pretending to be interested in their music, Harrison made his way to the bar, his personal favorite vantage point. He slid into his seat, eyes scanning the bar as a bartender approached him.

“Martini. Shaken, not stirred.” He ordered and you bit back an eye roll at his words.

“Keeping it classy, I see.” You said through the ear piece.

“Love, you know I can’t say no to a martini.” He replied, a cocky smirk resting on his face.

“Champagne?” Harry asked, holding out a flute of the golden liquid to you as he came to stand beside you, effectively drawing your attention away from Harrison.

“Thank you.” You took the flute from his hand and swirled it lightly.

“I didn’t poison it.” He joked before taking a sip of his own.

“She’s not a fan of champagne.” Harrison’s voice came through your ear piece. You glanced over at the bar to see him watching you and Harry, his fingers wrapped around his martini glass. Never breaking eye contact with him, you drank the bubbly champagne down in one quick motion.

“There’s White.” Harry pointed out, spotting the host across the room. “He’s out here, so I’m going in.”

“Be careful.” You said quietly. You watched him as he disappeared through the crowd. While you had faith in your former trainee, that didn’t mean you couldn’t still be concerned about him.

“Don’t worry about him.” You heard Harrison say through the ear piece and also behind you. You turned to see him standing there, half- full martini glass in his hands.

“I thought you were staking out by the bar.” You motioned to the drink in his hand, and he smiled before finishing it off.

“The view’s much better over here.” He took your empty flute from your hands and placed it on a waiter’s tray, right beside his own now empty glass. The waiter moved along swiftly. “You know what the best way to survey a room is?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, shaking your head at him, already knowing his suggestion. “Not here.”

“Dancing.” Harrison sent you his signature smirk, his hands reaching to unravel your arms. “Come on, remember Argentina?”

“I do remember, but we can’t exactly tango in Spain.” But it was too late as he pulled you out onto the dancefloor, just as the musicians picked up their tempo with a new song.

“Sure we can.” He winked. Despite your protests, you still let him take one of your hands in his and rest his other hand on your waist, holding you close enough that you could smell the martini in his breath. To prove his point, he spun you in time with the music. He tried to take the lead, but you wouldn’t let him off that easily as the two of you danced and spun around the dancefloor; hips, feet, arms, all of you moving together in a fluid motion. With his warm hands trailing over the open slits in your dress, he quietly breathed out, “I see you’re still a great dancer.”

“You’re a little rusty.” You answered, your chest pushed against his. Your eyes briefly scanned the room, looking at the security guards at the exits and White. “Aren’t we supposed to be observing the room?”

“I am observing.” He argued, and you narrowed your eyes at him, stepping with him in time to the musician’s beats, your legs brushing against his sensually.

“Observing White, not me.”

“He’s not nearly my type.” He joked, his smile beaming as he looked at you. You went out for a spin again, but when you came in this time, you brought your leg up, hitching it to his waist with ease, thanks to the slit. Instinctively, Harrison’s hand grabbed under your thigh, his calloused fingers running over your smooth skin. His other hand splayed across your bare back, holding you up as he dipped you down quickly.

“White’s on the move.” You whispered to him when you were brought back up, your leg still clinging to him tightly.

“I’m watching him.” Harrison mumbled back to you, before dipping you again. This time, he dipped with you, drinking you in with his nose tickling your collarbone and trailing up your neck until his eyes were level with his. It wasn’t until then, under his electrifying stare, that you realized just how fast your own heart was racing. Still holding you tightly in the dipped position, Harrison darted his eyes down to your lips, and, for a split moment, you weren’t even sure if you’d mind if he kissed you right then.

“Harrison?” A voice asked from in front of him. His head darted up to see the stranger that somehow knew him.

“Madeleine?” He brought you back up to a standing position. His hands immediately dropped from your side, and you stepped away from him to see the stranger. You felt yourself stand a bit taller seeing the other woman before you. This Madeleine was by all means a standard model looking woman- tall, thin, fragile features, and a beautifully simple periwinkle silk dress.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here. How are you?” She asked with a genuine smile, and you quickly picked up on a slight French accent when she spoke with a hint of an Austrian accent.

“I’m good, yeah. And you?” Harrison replied, almost nervously. You glanced between him and Madeleine, confused by the exchange occurring, and that’s when you saw it. The small spark in Harrison’s eyes as he looked at her, a spark that was once reserved for you. You felt an unfamiliar feeling begin to twist in your gut.

“Never been better.” She smiled, and even her smile was perfect. She looked over at you, laughing a little. “I’m so sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Madeleine Swann. I met Harrison back in Austria.”

“Y/N.” You answered, shaking her hand gracefully, despite that feeling growing inside you. Austria. Of course it had to be that mission.

“What are you doing here? In Spain?” Harrison asked her with a smile.

“This is my father’s party.” Madeleine explained and you bit back your surprise. “We haven’t talked in years, though, so I’m not quite sure why he invited me tonight.”

Before the conversation could carry on further, Harry’s voice came through the ear piece that you almost forgot was in, “I’m coming back out. I checked every bit of his system and Tom’s not here.”

“I’ll let you two catch up. I really should be going.” You told Madeleine and Harrison, who sent you a quick nod.

“It was lovely to meet you.” Madeleine called after you before you could fully walk away. You gave her one last fake smile and turned to go find Harry in the crowd. Just as you saw the familiar head of curls through the sea of people, you heard a sharp scream from the other side of the room, sending the civilians into a frenzy as they tried to run away. Through the commotion, Harry managed to reach you.

“What happened?” You asked him, and Harrison ran up to the two of you with a distressed Madeleine behind him.

“White’s dead.” Harrison stated. “We need to leave.” You glanced over at Madeleine, and he reached to grab her hand, “We can trust her. She comes with us.”

“We don’t have time to debate it.” Harry said, pointing towards the armed security as they drew their weapons. Quickly, the four of you ran with the crowd of terrified guests back to your cars.

“I’ll go with Madeleine to get her car. Rendezvous at the hotel.” Harrison announced, not giving you or Harry time to react before the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

You and Harry ran back to the DB5 as fast you could. He slipped into the driver’s seat, and you took one last glance back at the chaos leaving the party. You felt your breath catch in your throat as you saw the one person you thought you’d never see alive again.

“Y/N, come on!” Harry urged, pulling you from your thoughts. Shaking your head, you got into the car.

No. There was no way you just saw him.

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @hollandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh @gorillaglue23 @petersoftboyparker @musicalkeys

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Original Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo @duskholland

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x y/n #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield fic

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