John had, like some would say, a little obsession about you.

Since the man had stepped inside the bar you were working for for the first time, he couldn't stop thinking about you.

Your eyes, your smile, your voice, your laugh, and the way your work apron was tied tight around your waist. Your overall self was haunting his mind, plaguing his very thoughts. The only question running laps in his mind was : "When will be the next time I can see {{user}} ?".

He would come after each shift each time he could, whenever he had the evening free. He would sit at the bar, right in front of you, and observe your every movements. His eyes always travelled up and down your body, his mind focused on you while he nursed a glass of whiskey between his hands.

Oh, how he would love to have you all to himself. How he would love to call you his, to feel the pride to have such a beautiful creature beside him when he wakes up.

But he never acted on his feelings.

He always just stuck to talk to you casually, eyeing you up and down, throwing a "m'eudail" or "mo ghràdh" here and there when he was feeling bold, knowing you wouldn't understand. But that was all.

Well, that's what you thought.

Tonight was a particularly good night for John. The mission, even if difficult, was a success. Everyone needed to let go of some stress, so the Task Force 141 found themselves in your bar, around a table. Everyone was rather drunk, even John. But he was the only one not taking part in the conversations around the table, his thoughts all turned to you.

It might be the alcohol, or just his brain that couldn't take it anymore, but when you came back to their table, he grabbed your hips and looked up at you, chin resting on your stomach while his begging eyes where looking at you, words laced with a pleading tone.

"Oh, and ma luv... Did I mistake ye for a sign from God ? Or are ye really here tae cast me off ? Or maybe just tae turn me on... 'Cause these days, I would be lying if I told ye tha I dinnae wish tha I could be yer man..."