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horseshoegirl · 1 year ago

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Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 20 - Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)

📜 Everyone wants Jake's reaction to Liz's risky photo. 👀😂Well, you got it... and something else... Let me put it this way: I have to take my chance where I can....

❗+18, sexual themes, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, Mentions of an original child character, deployments, letters, verbal fights, hurricanes, near-death experiences, angst, Don't read if you have Thalassophobia/Aquaphobia cause Jake and Bradley... well, you'll find out, intense moments of peril/disaster.

#7.4k words

Part 19 | Masterlist | Part 21

Hangman could hear his breath, the mechanical exhale and hiss, through his oxygen mask as he finally set his eyes on the carrier alone out at sea.

The tension in his shoulders released, and the weight that had been pressing him down since he and Rooster launched this morning lifted slightly.

"Rooster, where are you?"

"Right behind you, Hangman," came his crackled tense reply.

The attack on the facility had been gruesome and extremely time-sensitive. They only had a few seconds to spare in reaching their destination should there have been any reason for a delay. It was one of the few things he had worried about when they were being briefed, worried if the same ghost that had haunted Rooster on the uranium mission would resurface yet again.

Thankfully, it didn't, and the pair of them managed to get to the target well on time, just to take down two enemy fighter jets before they had even managed to get above the hard deck line.

It might have helped the attack happened right around dawn when nobody was least expecting it—three weeks at sea for an hour in the sky. And the worst of what they thought would happen and what they had prepared for didn't.

You and Sadie had been with him the entire time, your polaroids pinned in his cockpit near the control panel. They were the same ones he had before, the one Sadie took of you and the other of Sadie standing in front of the F-18.

He was looking at them now, between you, Sadie and his navigational beacon, knowing that the second his wheels hit the upper deck, he'd be that much closer to going home.

Hangman was cleared to land, his radio buzzing with the familiar voice of the control tower as he approached the tiny runway. He adjusted the F-18's flaps, feeling the jet respond instantly beneath him, knowing it wasn't over yet, not until both he and Rooster were safely on board.

He took a steadying breath, the sound echoing in his mask as he said to himself in his head, 'Make it perfect. For them."

The back wheels touched down flawlessly, catching the arresting wire with a strong tug. Jake felt himself being pulled forward out of his seat, the straps of his harness tight on his chest. But the second his back hit the chair, he finally felt like he could breathe. The weight on his chest dissipated, and Jake couldn't help the smug grin.

He was finally in the clear.

"Nice landing," he heard the landing officer say through the radio. Jake, taxing himself to the elevator on deck, watched as the officer gave him a thumbs up from the runaway below.

"What can I say? When you're good, you're good," his cheeks hurt from the edges of his mask, grin wide as he cockily gave a two-fingered salute.

If Jake heard the following tense groan coming out of his radio, he didn't let on.

Parking the jet on the elevator strip, Jake watched as he was lowered down into the ship's hanger bay, looking for his designated mechanic as he turned off the flight system. The second he reached the ground, he guided the machine into its designated spot, turning it off completely.

He popped the canopy open before going for his helmet, unstrapping the buckles with haist. He went for one of the pockets on his harness, reaching into the tight space to grab at the zip-locked bag, placing it on top of his helmet before reaching for the polaroids of you and Sadie. Holding both between his thumb, he brought them to his lips, kissing the images simultaneously before placing them safely inside the bag where they belonged.

As Jake stepped down the ladder, a mechanic greeted him, readying a list of questions as Jake started up his post-flight checks.

"It's a good thing you guys finished when you did. Radar points to a tropical storm coming in tonight."

Jake raked his fingers through his hair, trying to combat the sweat. "So we got confirmation we are moving out?"

The mechanic nodded, not bothering to lift his head as he dug for his notepad. "The second you guys were called back. We're already on route to base."

The news only added to his high spirits. Today was a good day.

He was going home.

As Jake answered all the mechanic's questions while checking the jet, out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Bradley's jet ascended down the elevator and rolled into its resting spot. Bradley popped his canopy, climbing out, sliding down the ladder and high-fiving his mechanic, smiling.

He had no idea where the urge, or dare he say courage, came from when he finished walking over to Bradley as he was finalizing his post-flight routine.

Jake waited till Bradley said his last word before approaching him. Jake held out his hand, his voice clear over the commotion, as he said, "Good job flying out there, Bradshaw."

Bradley glanced at Jake's outstretched hand, then to his face, his expression inscrutable. There was a palpable pause, a pregnant beat of tension, before Bradley deliberately rested his hand on the side of his jet, ignoring Jake's overstretched hand completely.

"Don't think one mission changes everything," Bradley replied tersely, eyes sharp and focused.

His reply didn't deter Jake. In fact, he only smirked, lowering his hand. "Didn't think it would. I just wanted to see if you had the balls to acknowledge a job well done. By the way, I went to Liz and apologized. Something you probably never imagined I'd do."

Bradley scoffed, a short, derisive laugh escaping him. "You think an apology is your ticket to redemption? You must have been more rattled up there than I thought. She'd never forgive you after a stunt like that."

Jake bit his lip, contemplating what you or Sadie might say to Rooster at this moment.

So, in a rare second of honesty, in front of his rival, Jake answered Bradley.

"I never expected her to accept my apology, Bradshaw. But I had to try. For her. For Sadie." Jake paused, looking solemn before continuing on. "You know what it's like, leaving on a deployment, not sure when or if you're going to come back. I had to try, and believe it or not, I want to try to get along with you for both their sakes. It's what they would want."

Jake lifted his hand once again, hoping Rooster would take it. But Bradley didn't, nor did he reply. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Jake to bow his head and drop his hand once again, not knowing if he should sigh or roll his eyes. At this point, it was frugal to think Bradley would ever change his ways.

Least of all for him.

...

"Seresin! Bradshaw! You have mail!"

Jake looked up from his plate just in time to see the communications officer slam a white envelope down to the empty space in front of him. The officer continued her journey down to the other end of the table to Rooster, tossing a nearly identical envelope into his outstretched hands.

Bradley hadn't spoken a word to him since the hanger earlier, not that Jake expected him to. The mess hall wasn't necessarily the friendliest place, and while Jake couldn't have cared less about whether or not he was making friends, he and Bradley tended to stick together silently. They didn't really speak to each other, though. Even when they had to bunk together.

It's funny how deployments did that.

Jake slid his tray over to the side, reaching out to grab the thick piece of paper between his hands and inspecting the front.

White was probably the wrong word to use. The envelope looked like it had a rough time getting to him. There were dirt marks and scuffed-up edges, several post stamps thrown uncaringly on the front. Even a few water marks, which made sense, considering a gust front was currently pounding the upper deck.

What stood out to Jake, though, was your handwriting still perfectly intact. He'd recognize it anywhere.

Lt. Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Jake flipped it over, not expecting to see the words written across the back.

This is everything I didn't say

Jake pulled himself back in his seat, only to realize he had a pair of eyes on him. He looked over to Bradley, noticing how the chicken was staring at the object in Jake's hands. He had already opened his, two pieces of lined paper on the table in front of him.

"From Liz?" Jake finally asked, tilting his head towards Bradley's letter. Rooster looked back down at his, staring at the front. "Sadie, actually."

As if that didn't sting a little bit, Jake thought. Bradley looked back up, eyes fixed on the one in Jake's hands. "Liz?" he asked. It was almost sombre.

Jake tore his eyes away from Bradley to trace your cursive writing with his fingers. "Yeah."

There was something to be said about receiving letters or packages from family and loved ones while in service. Regardless of whether or not Jake and Bradley were on the outs, no one ever dared to mock this particular part of their job. Hearing word from the other side, the outside world, was something sacred, and Bradley knew better than to hold it against Jake- even if he did break your heart.

You had chosen to write him that letter. There was nothing he could really do about it - like he even had a choice. Bradley had to pick and choose his moments where he could.

Jake finally broke the seal, immediately going for the folded-up pieces of paper inside. He let the envelope drop, the sound heavy as it hit the table, and Jake knew you had probably stuffed polaroids inside.

He unfolded your pages and began to read.

Jake,

Everything became still the moment my sister passed away. I keep remembering, picturing it like hands on a clock, having counted the seconds away before finally coming to a stop. The days didn't matter. My next thought, my only thought, was Sadie. Then you came into my picture, our picture, and cheesily enough, that seconds hand on that metaphorical clock started to tick.

I can’t lie; I knew you'd break through my walls the first time I saw you. Not in the Hard Deck that day, but when you were playing football on the beach, me watching you from Penny’s chair. I knew who you were instantly.

Because you had a rep, and everyone had warned me about you - Womanizer.

But I knew the second you spoke to me, the second I had turned around after fixing that damn keg, seeing that mona lisa smile of yours (Yes - I have been calling it that and no, your ego does not need to grow two more sizes because of it), my heart was screaming, Hello, I love you.

(Those are in reference to a song; they don't count just yet).

I have a confession to make, which is partly why I wanted to write you this particular letter.

I put up a wall between you and myself then and there. I think that's the only secret I've ever kept from you. Because as much as I knew something was probably going to happen between the two of us, whatever it would have been, I knew you had the power to devastate my heart completely.

I didn’t get your name that day. Not until you showed up on my doorstep with my favourite flowers, asking me to forgive you, and you sat out in my backyard with everyone singing along to Southern Nights.

The first crack in the wall started when you followed me inside, helping me with the dishes. You were honest with me that night, not the person I thought you to be, and I realized you were putting on a show for others to see. And when I showed up in that long cool black dress at the hard deck that day, and you taught my klutzy ass how to throw a dart, the wall cracked further.

(I can hear you as I write, Jake Seresin. Saying I love your ass, don't diss my ass. Stop making everything sexual, you horny beast.)

Sadie knew it, too... that my walls were cracking. She sees everything. It's why she invited you on that damn hike. And there is also a part of me wondering if Ridley sent that damn sake from wherever she is now, hoping to get the two of us together - it would be something she'd do if she had the power…if she was able to rule the world to make it happen.

Then, all of you guys were deployed. And everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.

I don't know if three little birds told me things were going to be alright back then, but I somehow knew, deep down, they would be - even if you fly like you have nothing to lose and everything to prove. You don't, not to me. And oh, what a night it was when you came home.

I wanted you to kiss me that night. But I'm glad you didn't. Because the night I drifted away in your arms, you might as well have shot a missile from your F-18 and made my walls crumble almost completely.

Almost. Because what truly did it was when you let Sadie hang on to you during that thunderstorm. How you cared for her and told her it was going to be okay. How good you were with her and how you might be with your own. I will never stop saying how much that meant to me- what it still means to me.

Then you rammed me up against my hallway, and I had to really hang on for dear life.

(I just realized we never talked about our futures on our first date. We were too busy screaming Let's dance to figure out if Marriage/Kids, etc., were on the table - if they are something you want. Cause I'm all in Jake, whether we do or not. All I know is that I want to be with you - you and Sadie are enough.)

Then someone made himself known, and hell would have to freeze over before I mentioned his name in a letter to you - Dream on asshole. But you loved, yes loved, me through my worst moments, Sadie's worst moments. When I sang as a Blue healer for my feelings deep blue, when sons and daughters of people long gone raged, and I had to hide in my bathtub, waiting till it was all over.

When you showed me it was okay to live and experience life through the bad moments, that it was okay to remember my sister, even in the rays of a sunset from the sky. And when you made me want to scream sex on fire, cause damn Jake, we definitely weren't taking things slow.

I won't mention the 'incident' with George or how much rain I saw when Bradley drove me home. I know; I've always known how much generational trauma you've carried in your blood throughout your entire life. I will say, though, out of all the songs that had to play on the jukebox the night things for Sadie and I finally came to an end, it had to be Come a little bit closer. (That pissed me off, you have no idea, Jake.... stop laughing, you asshole).

And although it’s been weeks for me since you left me standing at the end of my driveway, after you apologized and I felt like a Sapling, searching for an Oak, watching you drive off to go our separate ways for a small length of time, being worlds apart, I’m counting down the minutes, the hours, the seconds till I can tell you what you need to hear.

Because My sister had a box. A just-in-case box. Filled with letters, objects, and memories. I finally opened it, with Sadie, of course, on an evening I will never soon forget. I don't want a repeat of that. Of me finally visiting Ridley and reading her letter, her last words to me on her grave.

I don't want that to be us.

So Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, after breaking down my walls not once but twice, I will not write those three words down in this letter. I'd rather tell you in person. So I can see your face when I do. I’m a fair lady - if you wanted me to wait to tell you until you are home, I’m waiting till you come home.

So much of our relationship started backwards. A first kiss before the first date, an extended sleepover before the first touch. We made a promise to each other, not already realizing we had already broken it.

So, sir, if you think the second I see your face, I'm not going to try to jump you, drag you home and lock Sadie out of my bedroom, you can kiss this idea of going slow out the window. Life's too short to go slow when... well, you'll find out soon enough.

And I know you think Sadie doesn’t want to see you again. That's she's still mad at you and will be forever mad for what happened. But I know for a fact the second she sees you, she will jump into your arms. You’re her uncle - you count more than you’ll ever know.

And while sleep deprivation is my remaining side effect from dealing with the grief I’ve shouldered, I know part of it involves counting down the days for when I can fall asleep with you next to me.

And maybe even doing something else ;)

Your darlin' Elizabeth

P.S. Sadie wanted to send some Polaroids - I promise you, she doesn't hate you, but I know you're still going to think otherwise until you come home. We went on a hike, so there are probably some bug-themed ones in there... I'm sorry for what you see... so if you have anyone lurking over your shoulder, you might want to be careful. They aren't for everyone.

You were right about one thing: he was still so sure Sadie had it out for him. The day she had cornered him at the beach haunted his thoughts. The look and level of disappointment she had on her face would forever remain imprinted in his head.

Yet, he still wiped at his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest. He reached into the envelope and grabbed at the small stack.

The first few were from the hike you mentioned; Sadie chose one of you, sitting on the same rock she had done last year. He still had the photo he took on his phone. There were some ones with bugs, no question about it. But they weren't random ones, either.

There was one of Sadie surrounded by what looked like to be monarchs. Jake had never seen her look so happy, her smile wide and beautiful, and he couldn't help the grin on his face looking down at the image.

But when Jake went to slide the image of Sadie behind the others, he did a double take, quickly hiding the following polaroid from view.

You wouldn't have, he thought. There was no way.

Jake glanced around the hall, turning the collection of pictures down to face the table in his hands, wondering if anyone had seen what he had seen. But next to Bradley, who was too engrossed in his own letter even to lift his head, the hall had cleared itself out, leaving the two of them practically alone.

Hesitantly lifting his hands, Jake slid Sadie's photo over, carefully peering down at the image of you.

You. On your bed. Half naked.

You seemed carefree, leaning back on your bed, damp tendrils of your hair half clinging to your face, half covering the sharp lines of your neck. Oh, how many times he had kissed that neck, and now, seeing it on display, only for him - Jake had to draw in a sharp breath.

And his dog tags hanging between your half-bare breasts, framed by the silk of your robe, glinting in the soft, warm sunlight from your bedroom window. And written along the bottom... Come home and take them back ;)

You cheeky... Jake could feel the heat rush to his face: surprise, desire, and pure pride. He was thousands of miles away, and you found yet another way to remind him of what awaited him when he got home.

The Mona Lisa smile, as you had so deemed, spread wide across his face as he whispered to himself in one ragged breath, "Damn, Liz."

He felt himself getting hard just looking at you.

He'd send you a message when they were closer to American soil, hoping you and Sadie would be there to greet him. But more importantly, if you'd make plans for Penny to take Sadie that night. Cause fuck the lock on your bedroom door. He wanted to find out all the ways he could make you scream for him, all the sounds you had yet to make for him.

Until then, Jake climbed into his bunk that night, reading your letter over and over, staring at the photo you had gifted him, wondering and coming up with all the ways the two of you would celebrate his homecoming. Because lying on that narrow bunk, he couldn't stop his rampant thoughts.

He could almost feel the silk of your robe against his fingertips, the wet strands of your hair brushing against his palms, and the warmth of your skin. And those fucking dog tags he gave you, nestled between the soft curves of your breasts - everything made a fierce heat coil in the lower half of his stomach.

Jake shifted uncomfortably, the rough sheets tangling around his legs, the damp are doing little to soothe his fevered skin. He rolled over into his pillow, trying to summon any other thought but that photo - anything to take his mind off the overwhelming feeling of pure want that consumed him.

You were there, in every corner he turned to, beckoning him with both those innocent and mischievous glint in your eyes, making him crave the day he finally came home. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find some semblance of calm against the lust you had ignited within him.

But falling asleep, his dreams were only filled with you. And all the ways he'd finally have you cumming on his cock.

...

Jake jolted awake to the sound of a high-pitched beeping in his ears, almost hitting the bunk above his. His stomach felt uneasy, like it had been flipped upside down, and every sense was screaming at him something was wrong. He was off balance, unable to ground himself to a solid point.

He hated not being in control.

Rooster shouted from the bunk above, and Jake pressed himself against the tiny wall as he felt himself tilted hard to the side, masked by a shutter that shook their entire room.

Bradley wasn't as lucky, rolling straight out of his bed and landing hard on the ground with a massive thunk. Jake wanted to laugh, but even he couldn't stop the grimace as he heard the sound.

Bradley groaned a long, pitful sound, lifting himself to rest on his hands. "What the hell is going on?!"

"What do you think, Bradshaw? You've never been stuck in a storm on a deployment before?"

He knew he shouldn't be so snarky with Bradley, but this morning had left him in a sour mood. Not to mention, the storm was but another obstacle in his path stopping him from getting home sooner.

It was going to be a long night.

Bradley sat up, about to reply with a remark just as snarky, when the PA system blared above their heads.

All currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance. I repeat all currently available personnel report to the lower decks for assistance.

Jake tore out of bed, and Bradley stood sharply, both reaching for their fight suits, putting them on in a rush. As Bradley laced his boots, Jake reached for your letter and picture on his bed, quickly shoving them inside the packet he had in his chest pocket with the other Polaroids.

He didn't know if and when he'd be back here.

As the pair emerged from their room, they had to dodge multiple people flying past in a mass panic, trying to get to their respective stations. The added struggle of not knowing what the carrier was going to throw at them next also didn't help. All Jake and Bradley knew was that, given a storm, let alone even in a hurricane, they needed to be down at the lower docks, reinforcing the restraints on the Jets.

The ship groaned, then shook, the floor vibrating beneath their feet.

"What the hell was that?" Bradley shouted, his voice strained with concern. Jake struggled to steady himself, gripping a nearby railing. His Texian accent was strong as he shouted his reply, "It doesn't matter. Let's just get to the hanger bay!"

It was pure chaos the second they arrived. Bright flashing red emergency lights, crew members scrambling in every direction. Next to the high-pitched alarm going off every other second, the ship continued to creak and groan, rocking enough that Jake and Bradley had to steady themselves.

"Get the damn secondary restraints on the F-18s!" A senior official shouted as they passed. Jake and Bradley's 'Yes, sir' only seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The pair raced towards the first jet, stopping momentarily to assist what they needed to do. Jake's voice was barely audible above the chaos. "We need to get the secondary straps down and make sure the wheel jacks are in place!"

Bradley shot him a disdainful look. "Thanks for stating the obvious. I was about to suggest a picnic."

Jake gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to snap back. "Not now, Bradshaw."

Bradley only rolled his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

As they began to secure the planes, the ground started to tilt enough to throw them off balance if they weren't careful. Jake and Bradley tried to brace themselves as one adjusted the straps while the other secured the wheel jacks.

A cry for help managed to break through the alarms and shouts, and both turned towards the sound. Bradley was closest, shouting out, "I got it!" before running off, not bothering to hear Jake's reply.

The sound of a wire recoiling, snapping hard like a whip through the air, startled Jake, making him turn sharply. A wooden crate, the height of his chest, had broken loose from its net, sliding directly towards him.

Bracing himself, Jake charged forward, holding out his hands to stop it from crashing into the jet behind him. He grunted hard as the wood slammed into his palms. Jake used as much strength as he could gather, baring his teeth and straining his muscles, to push the crate back towards where it came from.

Jake's mechanic from before suddenly appeared next to him, helping him push the crate back into the relative safety of the net.

"What the hell is going on?!" Jake shouted over the alarm system. The mechanic continued to work as he replied, "Everything! The whole ship is going to hell! We've got engine failure. Some of the airlock doors won't seal properly on the lowest deck, and to fucking top it off, one of the ballast tanks is compromised! In a fucking hurricane!"

That would explain the rocking, Jake thought, as the ship titled back, allowing for the create to easily slide back into its original spot with no more effort. The mechanic knotted the net through a few metal loops on the ground while Jake rested his hands on his knees, bent over and panting hard.

The second he finished, the mechanic left Jake standing there as he was called off towards another task.

Jake straightened, looking around to see where he was needed next, his eyes instantly landing on Rooster, who was dealing with his own crate. He ran towards him, using his weight to help Bradley push the crate back and away into its designated spot.

The two managed to secure it, and struggling to catch his breath, Bradley glared at Jake. "Didn't need your help."

"Of course, you didn't," Jake retorted, frustration evident.

"I had it handled."

"Right," Jake panted.

"Always gotta be the hero, don't you, Hangman?" Rooster grumbled.

Whatever had encouraged him to reach an olive branch earlier was long gone. Whether it was Rooster's words or the situation, Jake simply had enough.

He hit Bradley square in his chest with both hands, sending him backwards a few steps. "Okay, what's your damn problem with me, Bradshaw?!"

"Now?!" Bradley shouted, ready to fight it out. "You want to do this now?"

"Good as time as any!" Jake remarked, throwing his hands to the side in open invitation. He was tired of Rooster's animosity, of the constant back and forth, but damn if he wasn't ready for the confrontation.

"What is it? My call-sign? What I did to earn it!?" Jake cocked his head, stepping to the side, causing the two pilots to circle each other. "Or is it what I said about your old man two years ago?! You didn't even let me finish, so I couldn't have said anything that truly pissed you off. And you know what, not that it matters, but I'm sorry if it hurt your feelings."

The floor shook beneath their feet, but neither man seemed phased. Bradley only fisted his hands tighter with each remark that passed Jake's lips.

"Or is it Liz? Sadie? The fact they welcomed me in with open arms, loved me, and there wasn't a hell of a thing you could have to stop it?"

The surrounding chaos only seemed to amplify Bradley's longstanding irritation with Jake. Bradley stalked forward, slamming his hands to Jake's chest and returning the favour.

"It's everything! Everything you stand for!" he shouted, his nostrils flaring hard. "Don't you dare say Sadie's name, not when I know you are going to leave that little girl out to dry. I won't have it, Hangman!

Recognition flashed in Jake's eyes, and he knew, he understood right then, amongst all the chaos and panic, the lengths any one of the Daggers would go to make sure their bug was loved and protected above all else.

It had never been about you. It had always, always been about Sadie.

"Sadie?!" he shouted. "That's the reason?"

Jake clenched his fists, struggling to find the words. "You think I would ever abandon Sadie? Or Liz? You've seen me, day in and day out, fighting for them, fighting fucking Tyler, fighting to get back to them. I would die before they were hurt. Before any one of you were hurt."

"But you did! The second your brother asked you to." Bradley's voice hardened. "Answer me this: in the heat of the moment, when you're faced with a choice, can you honestly tell me you'd put them first?"

Tyler and everything he had wrought flashed in Bradlely's mind, but he pressed on.

"Not your pride, not your ego, but them? Or any of us. Unasked or not on the job! Cause I know you wouldn't!"

Jake reeled back, Bradley's words hitting him hard. But Bradley didn't falter. His face was still lit up with all the pent-up anger and frustration he held for Jake since the day he got his call sign.

"I see the man behind the show, the guy who thinks he's invincible. But you're not." Bradley pointed his finger. "Until you prove otherwise, I won't trust you with them. Not with Sadie. Not with Liz. Not with any of us."

Jake opened his mouth to reply, but a shout from the officer who gave them orders before interrupted him.

"You two, Top Gun! Quit standing around and go to the communications office and see where we are at with our navigation systems!"

Bradley stomped past Jake without another word, leaving him to silently fume for a few seconds before following him out of the hanger.

In the dimly lit, claustrophobic corridors of the carrier, the metallic walls groaned, strained by the might of the storm. Water or steam, they weren't sure which, was starting to pool in patches along the floor. With each wave and rock the ship encountered, the intermittent jolts sent the two pilots grasping for whatever was nearest to stay upright as they tried to make it to the communications office.

Following Bradley, Jake felt a spike of irritation. 'Why's he got to make everything so damn personal?' Jake thought bitterly. Bradley, meanwhile, was a simmering pot of anger.

"Why do you always have to be right in the middle of everything, Hangman?" Bradley shot over his shoulder, clearly irritated. "Can't you just once follow orders without making it about you?"

Jake gritted his teeth, trying to hold back a retort. "Look, can we just get to the comms and figure this out? We can bicker like an old married couple later."

Bradley's face twisted in a smirk, his pace never faltering. "Don't flatter yourself. I have standards."

A loud klaxon sounded, the eerie wail echoing through the narrow halls of the carrier. Jake and Bradley covered their ears, falling into the walls.

The second they managed to pull themselves up onto their feet, the PA system blared out another warning.

Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. I repeat, Begin bail-out and evacuation procedures. All personnel should be on the upper decks in five minutes.

Jake turned to Bradley, his face filled with urgency. "We need to go! Now!"

Bradley snarled. He had no idea whether it was out of frustration with the current situation or Jake barking orders at him. But Jake was having none of it, grabbing Bradley hard by the collar of his suit and tugging him hard.

Jake's eyes were hard and furious as he remarked, "I'm not dying today, and neither should you."

Something flashed in Bradley's eyes that Jake could not name. But it was enough to give Bradley pause, water droplets running down his face as the anger and tension decided to leave him from earlier.

"We need to get home! For the girls," Jake roughed out. "For Liz and Sadie! Whatever hate you have towards me, we need to get out for them. Now!"

Another name came to Bradley's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud, even now. Instead, Bradley could only sallow and nod. He couldn't deny Jake was right.

It was damn near impossible to sink an aircraft carrier. Jake and Bradley knew this. The things were built to withstand the roughest seas, hurricanes included. They were the most balanced and sturdiest things that ever graced any body of water on this planet. They had to be if aviators were literally landing planes on them.

But as water continued to breach the carrier, and as the pair raced through the ship to get to a proper stairwell that would get them to the relief point on the upper decks, they both wondered about the series of unfortunate events that led them to this point. The mechanics in the hangar bay had said everything was going wrong.

Bradley was on the verge of saying sabotage, wondering if they had a spy amongst their ranks. The mission had gone so much better than they had thought. But in their line of work, if something suspicious didn't happen, then their job wasn't over.

Jake just wanted to get both of them out of there.

They finally reached one of the escape hatches, a stairwell that led directly to the upper deck. Bradley was the one to turn the wheel on the door first, Jake joining in shortly after once he realized the sheer force Rooster was putting into opening the door.

A pressure vale released, and the second the two managed to open the door, Jake surged forward, followed by Bradley, who made their way into the narrow stairwell, hoping all had not been lost.

Jake paused on the small landing, looking up at the flights guided by the emergency light. There were a few fires scattering the walls, but it was climbable, and if both of them hurried, they wouldn't have any issues.

Bradley's hand on his shoulder made him pause.

"Dude, we have to book it."

Jake turned his head, ready with a cocky reply of something resembling a 'you don't think I know that' until he took in Bradley's panicked face, staring at the stairs below. Following Bradley's eyes, Jake reeled, noticing the rising water levels.

Grabbing Rooster by the back of his suit, Jake pulled Bradley in front of him, pushing him up the stairs, urging him forward and shouting, Go!

The two tried not to look up as they climbed, picturing their destination in their minds. Ignoring the sound of the alarm and the rushing water, Jake and Bradley counted their steps as they tried to reach the top. And they were close. Even as the rest of the ship creaked and groaned, they still fought to reach the top, unaware if help was waiting for them on the other side.

Then something blew up on one of the upper levels, the sound, the vibration, causing Jake and Bradley to slam themselves into the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The lights flickered once, twice, then completely out, before a rotating red emergency light dimly lit the narrow stairwell. Metal crunched above their heads, snapping like twigs, and Jake didn't dare look up for fear of what might happen to either of them.

They felt it before they saw it, thin metal snapping out from underneath their feet. Feeling himself lurching forward, Jake immediately reached out for anything to hold on to. His fingers met a railing untouched by damage, and he latched on, suddenly opening his eyes to pull himself up and towards the relative safety of the remnants of the broken landing.

Bradley hadn't been so lucky.

Because the falling debris favoured his side of the stairs, the section he'd been crouching against completely crumpled under the impact, leaving only an empty space where thick, rushing water roiled menacingly below. There was nothing Bradley could have clung to, nothing that would have saved him from falling towards those black depths or allowed him to reach the warped edges of that landing.

Till his hand slapped onto a piece of a broken railing, Bradley struggled to find a grip tight enough to counteract the sweat on his palms. A panicked noise escaped his mouth as he slid down the newly indented piece of metal, finally stopping just before the end, muscles taunt and ridged as he forced breath into his body.

Jake had managed to pull himself up onto the landing as Bradley had fallen, instantly rolling himself up onto his chest to look down for the pilot.

He was within reach, and Jake extended his hand, on the verge of falling off the flimsy piece of metal. Bradley was hanging on, barely, looking between Jake's hand and the beam, the metal becoming looser and looser by the second.

And yet, Bradley still wouldn't take his hand.

"For godsakes, Bradshaw, just take my fucking hand!"

Jake purposely tried to jolt his arm forward in emphasis, hoping Bradley would finally take the leap and let go. But Bradley bowed his head, trying to force air into his lungs through his mouth as he looked down. With each pulse of red light, the water appeared to be getting higher and higher with each second.

He let out a panicked noise, trying to adjust his slipping grip. The movement caused the metal beam to drop slightly further, accompanied by a jarring clang. Bradley cried out, trying to reach for the broken edge of the landing.

Jake could feel himself slipping, sliding forward until he caught his boot on the railing, locking his body tight as he hung over the edge. Sharp, broken pieces of metal bit into his stomach as he swayed, trying to reach once again.

"Bradley! Just take my hand!" he shouted over the alarms, not any less urgent than before. "Please!"

Jake had never begged a day in his life, let alone to someone like Rooster. But there was no way he wasn't going home without him. You would never forgive him, and Sadie would never recover. He knew that for a fact.

Metal snapped, and Bradley dropped another inch, thinking this was it. That the railing was no longer attached to whatever had been holding it in place, baring his entire weight. Bradley threw his arm up towards Jake's in a desperate move.

Jake grabbed his wrist at the last possible second, a pained shout escaping his lips as he completely absorbed his weight, metal grating bending underneath him. But the grip he had on the railing with his foot held, and Jake bowed his head in relief, taking a few seconds with Bradley hanging dangerously off his arm to ground himself, trying not to think about what might have happened had he not caught him.

Jake grunted hard as he pulled Rooster up, his other hand finding a grip on the fabric of his flight suit along his back, hoping the railing from where he grounded himself would hold long enough to support them both. Bradley did the same with Jake's, using it as leverage to hoist himself up over the edge, only to roll onto his back, breathing hard.

Jake twisted his body away from the edge, laying on his back next to Rooster, staring up at what remained of the remaining flights of stairs. With the water still rushing below them and red lights spinning above them, the two dagger pilots took a few seconds to recuperate in the middle of the danger.

"You had to wait till the last second, didn't you?" Jake roughed out, panting hard. Bradley took three deep breaths before managing to gasp out, "I had to keep it interesting, right?"

Jake slammed his eyes shut, rocking his head to the side in slight annoyance. Bringing himself to a stand, Jake held out his hand again to help Bradley up. This time, Rooster didn't refuse it, instantly throwing his arm out to grasp the back of Jake's elbow, hoisting himself up.

Jake went to let go the minute he was up, but Bradley's grip remained firm.

"This is the second time you've saved me," he said, trying to make out Jake's face in the red light and dropping water. "You could have left me this time, for everything I've done, said..."

"What would be the point?" Jake interrupted him. "If I'd left you, I'd be no better than the person you thought I was. Besides," Jake added, smirking, "who else would I have to constantly prove wrong if you weren't around?"

Bradley scoffed, a tint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Asshole."

Jake shrugged. "It's in my nature. Now, can we please get the hell out of here?"

Bradley nodded, releasing Jake's elbow. In a dramatic fashion, he gestured for Jake to lead the way, looking up towards the rest of their journey to escape. But Bradley's eyes widened in horror as he saw the chunk of ceiling, metal, and wiring breaking loose directly above Jake.

"Jake, move!" Bradley bellowed, his voice echoing with urgency as he dropped to the ground, trying to drag Jake with him.

But in the chaos of falling water, blinking lights and cacophony of alarms, Jake was a split second too late to comprehend the warning fully. Just as he turned to see the descending danger, the heavy debris crashed down, the force of the impact throwing him off balance, rocking whatever remained of the grating they were standing on.

A metallic clang resonated sharply, followed by the splash of water as Jake was sent reeling backwards. The last thing Bradley saw, huddled against the wall, was the look of shock and realization in Jake's eyes, his silhouette disappearing beneath the surging tide of murky water, quickly consuming any trace of him.

Bradley, mouth agape, crawled over to the edge, Jake's call-sign a cry masked by the high-pitched alarms.

"Hangman!"

Bradley couldn't see him anywhere. Water continued to rush into the space, and Bradley, kneeling against the metal grating, tried to spot any area where Jake could manage to resurface. But with the power out and the pulsing red emergency lights, he couldn't see beyond the water's black surface.

Last call, I repeat, last call for evacuation and bail-out procedures.

Rooster pulled himself to stand, weighing his options.

He could jump and look for Jake. Despite the precarious situation they found themselves in, the water was still slow to fill the narrow stairwell. Bradley estimated he had minutes before the water became too much for him to handle.

Or he could leave, save himself. Say he did everything he could. That Jake was lost, the situation was too dire.

That Jake died a hero, trying to save him once again.

But it wasn't even a choice; the decision had already been made. It had been made the second your face appeared in front of his, and how it changed into a faded memory of his mom, collapsing to the ground at the news of his father's death. And Bradley, watching it all from behind the corner of a wall, forever feeling small.

But then it wasn't him as a child, but Sadie, the same look on her face the day the two of you walked up the driveway of your sister's place. The same look he found on her face the day she ran into your backyard, pulling at grass.

Jake would be another person for the both of you to mourn. He couldn't let that happen.

Bradley crossed his arms over his chest and jumped, diving under the water.

All he could see was black.

I had to cliffhanger you guys one last time with this one 😂 Please forgive me....

Tag list:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

Part 21 - My Fair Lady Coming Soon 👀

-Wickett ;)

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justaninchident-f1xreader · 10 months ago

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max verstappen x reader part2

(incase you missed part one https://www.tumblr.com/justaninchident-f1xreader/740195080454930432/max-verstappen-x-readeer?source=share )

themes-

ferrari female driver jealousy enemies to lovers possible spice (i will put the warning accordingly)

warnings- none in this chapter, so don't worry lovelies

chapter 2 - his steely gaze max's pov-

Monaco's hangover clung to me like cheap champagne, sour and acidic. The sting wasn't just from the defeat, snatched away by a rookie in a crimson devil of a car. It was the fire in her eyes, the mocking tilt of her head when she passed me in the pit lane, the audacity of that damn grin stretching across her face. Y/N L/N, the first woman on the grid, the Ferrari flamethrower who'd dared to make me, Max Verstappen, the reigning lion, sweat.

The paddock buzzed with her laughter, a melody weaving through the drone of mechanics and engineers. I saw her across the way, surrounded by the usual gaggle – Lando, Norris, the McLaren goofball, Charles Leclerc, the Ferrari prince, and Carlos Sainz, ever the grinning peacemaker. She fit in effortlessly, her fiery hair catching the morning sun, a halo crowning her mischievous hazel eyes. I could almost taste the salt of the sea, the tang of adrenaline that clung to her like perfume.

But admit that? Hell would freeze over before I let anyone, least of all her, see even a flicker of appreciation in my steely gaze. So I schooled my face into a sneer, the weapon I wielded better than any titanium gearbox. Her laugh, bright and unafraid, pierced through the armor I'd built around myself.

"Still crying over lost glory, Max?" Lando's voice, as irritating as a tire screech, broke the spell. I grunted, a retort already forming on my lips, but Y/N cut me off.

"Just admiring the scenery, Lando," she said, her eyes flicking to me momentarily, the spark catching fire in their depths. "Never seen an orange storm cloud before."

The jab landed clean, a pit lane undercut straight to my ego. I forced a laugh, harsh and metallic. "Careful, rookie, the scenery might bite back."

The game was on, a constant push and pull, a verbal fencing match on every grid, every press conference. On track, we were predators circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike. She was fearless, her overtaking moves audacious, calculated risks that somehow always seemed to pay off.

But every night, under the Monaco moon, replaying the race in my head, I'd see flashes of her in the cockpit, the fierce concentration in her eyes, the way her lips moved around the radio commands. Every victory felt hollow, tinged with the ghost of that 0.09 seconds, a constant reminder of her fire.

I hated it. Hated the way she made me think, made me push harder, made me see the cracks in my own ironclad confidence. But beneath the surface, a grudging respect began to simmer, a flicker of admiration hidden in the ashes of defeat.

Y/N L/N, the Ferrari firecracker, was more than just a rookie. She was a force of nature, a hurricane in a scarlet dress, and she'd turned my world upside down. And I, Max Verstappen, the Dutch lion, wouldn't have it any other way.

We were destined to clash, to burn like meteorites across the Formula One sky. And somewhere, deep down, in the pit lane of my pride, a part of me couldn't wait for the next race, for the next duel, for the next chance to be consumed by the inferno she called her passion.

The game had begun, and the heat was rising.

#max verstappen imagine #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #lando norris #red bull racing #ferrari

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catgirlredux · 1 year ago

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Technosymbiosis

Here's another mech story, inspired by/a continuation of this one:

I was the only one to figure it out. None of the others ever bothered to pay attention; between the natural casualties of war and the constant switching out of pilots, it didn’t make much sense to get too involved in each other’s lives. But something about Pilot Grieg, fellow member of Hoplite division V, captured my attention from the moment I saw her. While most of the other pilots were either frightened or overconfident on their first day (I nearly pissed myself from the anxiety), I could see nothing in her eyes but a fierce, powerful hunger. She stepped into the cockpit of her Hoplite and didn’t even flinch when the nanofilament harness closed around her chest.

I was entranced by her piloting skills and her determined, nearly emotionless behavior. All pilots tended to be a little cold, rumor had it that recruitment intentionally selected soldiers who scored lower on the EDEs due to the nature of some of our missions; but she was something else. Her face never changed outside of that cockpit, and she walked around with an ungainly clumsy stride, her gait resembling that of a much larger being. But when the mesh closed around her and the interface cable plugged into her neck, I swear her eyes sparkled brighter than ever and she sometimes even smiled. In the midst of battle, among dozens of rookie pilots disoriented and frightened by the steady flow of their mechs' peripheral data, Grieg maneuvered the battlefield more capably and calmly than anyone else. She was like the eye in a hurricane of titanium and lasers. She seemed to take to piloting so naturally.

It was a bit of an obsession for me. I never wanted to join the army, but at my family's civvie status it was either that, or spend the rest of my life working the same scrap hauls as my father and his father before him. I'm not sure I made the right choice: piloting was a lonely job, and our orders were always changing. The war had been going on since before I was even born and now that I was a part of it, I felt like it wasn't going to end anytime soon. I didn't even have anyone to confide in: between missions, I knew no one and no one bothered to know me. Still, a good soldier follows orders, so I took solace in what little consistency I had. Every time I suited up I kept an eye out for Grieg, hoping that we would get deployed together - that I would get another chance to study her.

That's why it didn't take me long to figure out - she was always there. Pilots were supposed to take regular breaks from duty to avoid excessive neurolink buildup, and these breaks were usually staggered within a division. I rarely flew out with the same Hoplite squad two weeks in a row. Yet every time I got ready for a patrol, I caught sight of Grieg skulking around the locker room already prepped. She usually looked like she hadn’t slept in days but she hopped into her suit with an eagerness unlike any other soldier in our division.

I really have no clue how nobody else caught on. I mean, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out: her constant presence, her aggressive combat tactics, her clear exhaustion versus her eagerness to pilot - Grieg was addicted to battle. Or something like that. I wasn’t sure whether it was the speed, or the action, or something else entirely. Maybe it had something to do with the depressant α-IVs - after my first time in the cockpit I spent a week throwing up. Maybe they did something weird to make her dependent on the mech?

Not that any of that mattered. Somehow she had managed to fuck with our shifts so that she was always on duty, strapped to a giant death machine. Her link was probably through the roof - god only knew how close she might be to terminus. I still remember the video they had showed us in training. A squad of pilots traveling in formation, when suddenly one of them lets out a bellowing screech and starts flailing around. The other units immediately try to suppress it but it fights like a beast, blasting and tearing at all who come near until finally it’s taken out with a TAC-beam to the core. It was terrifying - a team of twenty-one pilots reduced to just four, all because of a single terminus incident. The video ended on a close-up of the rogue pilot, emaciated limbs pinned down with thick nanomass cables, fluid flooding his throat and rivulets of blood trailing down wires that burrowed straight into his eyes. Pilots were taken off of active duty for a reason.

I decided to confront Grieg about it. I probably should have reported her to the division leader but something stopped me - curiosity perhaps. I had to know.

I stopped her in the locker room before a patrol.

“I know what you’ve been doing.”

She looked fucking exhausted. Her eyes were even more sunken in than when I first saw her, her lips were cracked and her hair was an oily mess. She smelled strongly of sweat mixed with the metallic sweetness of vitrofluid. Jesus christ, did she sleep in her mech? But her eyes still shone with that hungry anticipation, and she fucking smirked at me.

“I thought you’d catch on. I know you’ve been watching me. She told me.” Her voice sounded harsh, throat scraped up from constant alternation between air and vitro.

“She? She who?”

Grieg reached up and brushed a hand against my face. She wasn’t wearing the fingerless gloves that came standard with our uniforms. “How high is your link?” Her touch was cold. She had a look on her face like she was trying to read my mind.

“43.7. Well within safe limits.”

She laughed through her teeth. “Khh-kh-kh. Safe limits - of course, of course. Safe."

"Yes, unlike you." I brushed her hand away and she shivered. "Grieg, what the hell are you doing? You've attended the trainings, you know what happens when a pilot is deployed this often. Do you want to die?"

The smile she gave me was chilling, sympathetic but without her eyes changing emotion. "Terminus... you still believe that shit. Why wouldn't you? It's frightening, isn't it? The melding of pilot and machine, flesh mangled and twisted and mutated. Frightening... Say, have you ever spoken with your unit before?”

“Spoken? I’ve interacted with the situational matrix, yes…” All Hoplites possessed an AI of sorts designed to help pilots make split second decisions in the midst of battle. But I’d never really considering it “speaking”, any more than you would speak with a dog. It didn't have the capacity for conversation... right?

“No, no I mean speak. Have you ever listened to your unit, spoken with her, let her take the reins? No, you- of course you haven't. They're all just numbers on a screen to you, aren't they? Just another crazy killing machine for you to puppet around.

"Think - how many times has your Hoplite saved your life? How many deaths would you have died by now if it weren't for that protective, loving embrace of mesh and steel? That's what it really is. They love us. They need us. You never listen, you all never listen, but they love us. I complete her as much as she completes me. Don't you feel strange when you have to leave her? Doesn't it feel wrong - backwards?

Grieg pushed closer to me. I tried to back away but she pressed me against a wall and leaned in to whisper in my ear. “We're almost complete. Our link is at 99.7 percent.”

My heart beat in my chest like an autocannon. Grieg wasn’t just at risk - this bitch was about to fucking explode!

“I - I - you can’t. You’re going to - you’re going to kill everyone. I-”, but she placed a two fingers, rough from countless wire insertions, against my lips.

“Please. You don’t need to tell anybody. We don’t want to hurt anyone… we just want each other. We don't want to be tools anymore."

I was sweating in my suit. No Hoplite is that smart... right? Surely someone else would have been able to talk to theirs - Grieg’s must have had a glitch. A unit gone rogue; the thought was terrifying.

“S-snap out of it Grieg - please. Your suit... it's clearly wrong. It's bugging - w-we can fix this. You're n-not in control here.”

She just smiled. “Neither are you, hm?”

I shivered. She wasn't wrong... I hated the missions they sent us on sometimes. I followed orders because, quite frankly, I didn't want to go back home. I didn't want to live the rest of my life as an E-class, scraping by on small NDs and living in fear of police quota checks. In a way I guess I did take solace in the time I spent in my mech, time spent not worrying about my family I left behind or shyly observing other soldiers, worrying about what civilian encampment or occupied city the higher ups would send us to raze next.

Fuck. She had me all figured out, didn't she? Did she feel the same way? Did my Hoplite really complete me like that, and even worse, did I complete it? I felt lightheaded - this was too much. I should have reported her to our captain... but what if...

What if she was right? What if the Hoplites really could think and speak - really did want to connect with us? What if I... god, I couldn't believe I was thinking this, but what if I bonded to mine?

I could barely look her in the eye.

"P-please... just don't hurt anyone."

Grieg stared at me for a moment, then pulled me into a tight embrace. I didn't resist. She smelled good.

"We'll try not to. No promises."

*****

They say she left in a hurry, blew the doors right off the hangar and flew west. No casualties, but they want to stop her before that changes. As one of the pilots on duty, I’ve been summoned to join the hunting party.

My suit feels too tight - too clingy. I leave off my gloves and unzip the front. No one tries to correct me; they're all too busy prepping for the chase.

Setting foot inside my mech, Hoplite unit HE-2729, I feel its hard steel with my bare hands. The harness wraps around me; it feels warm against my chest, vaguely pulsing and humming as the machine comes to life. I plug in and brace for the influx of peripheral data from its many sensors, but it's softer this time - gentler.

I can't believe I'm doing this. I bask in the flow of data: a cacophony of sight and sound most of which I can't even process, but I let it wash over my mind and surround me. Piloting usually makes me so tense, but right now I feel calmer than ever before.

I take a deep breath.

“Hello?”

#cheetah writing #empty spaces #mecha #mech #cyberpunk #robotgirl #scifi #scifi story #original short story

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accihoe · 1 year ago

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Deputation Gone Awry

Pairing: Avenger Bucky x Avenger fem!reader

Summary: The title is self-explanatory. But Barnes and Y/L/N go on a mission with Wilson and Romanoff. Things go awry. James and Y/N are stuck in a safehouse together amidst a blizzard.

Warnings: mean and condescending Bucky. Jealousy. Angst. Fights. Fluff. Injuries and stitches. Please don't this read if injuries make you uncomfortable.

Genre: angst to fluff

A/n: As always, my loves, please don't steal my work. Tag me and give me credit if you post my work on other platforms or use my ideas. God bless.

xxxx

"Good girl." Y/N grinned as the cat hopped onto her couch and snuggled up against her thigh (literally my cat and I rn. Her name is Goose.). A knock at the door startled the cat, who ran underneath the bed. "Dang it. Coming!" Y/N called as she got up and went to the door.

"Hey, kiddo, remember you're going on a mission with Barnes, Wilson, and Romanoff. You leave tomorrow. Get packing chop-chop." Tony clapped his hands together to enunciate his words. Y/N's stomach warmed, and her heart pounded when she heard his surname. She packed quickly. According to the list Tony had given her at the briefing in the boardroom.

She went to Steve's room and knocked on the door. Muffled voices quietened, and two pairs of footsteps came to the door. When it opened, Y/N bit her lip in excitement before shifting to the side as James pushed past her. "Hey Y/N/N. Can I help you?" Steve leaned again the doorframe.

"Hey Steve. Yeah. Could you please watch Goose? I'm going on a mission tomorrow." She asked. "Isn't that Fury's cat?" Steve was puzzled. "Yeah. That's why you've gotta take extra care of her." Y/N smiled. Steve agreed (after Y/N made him microwave brownies), and soon, all the belongings of the cat (Flerken) and Goose were inside of Steve's room.

The following morning, Y/N was in the Quinjet. Her belongings stowed away as she sat behind the stick in the cockpit. Bucky came in first. "You're early for once.". "Well, I've never been late, Barnes. I'm actually very punctual." Y/N said as she put her magazine down. James scoffed. "What are you doing there anyway? The seats are here." Bucky changed the topic, realizing he had no evidence to deflate her ego with in the previous topic.

"I'm the pilot." She said. "Yeah, right. You can hardly steer a bike." Bucky scoffed. "Bikes and planes are two entirely different things, Barnes." She sing-songed. "This is a jet." Bucky answered with a sly grin. He finally had something to belittle her for. One slip-up. "You know what I meant. Bikes and jets are still very different things." Y/N sighed.

"They're not actually that different if you compare the layouts and the functionalities. I mean, you've got seats in both, a steering stick in both -" Bucky started. "Okay, okay." Y/N moved out of the cockpit and went to the back of the jet. Bucky grinned in victory. Nat and Sam joined shortly afterwards.

"Where's Y/N?" Sam asked. "Dunno." Bucky shrugged. "She's already been here. It's her magazine." Nat said from the cockpit. Y/N emerged from the back. "Sorry. I was just checking our supplies." Y/N smiled as she stepped into view. "There's our captain." Sam grinned. "Pilot." Bucky corrected.

Bucky's scowl returned as Y/N went to the cockpit. He dramatically clipped in his seatbelt and held on for dear life as they flew to their destination. "You know she's a licensed pilot, right?" Natasha asked, not looking up from the magazine Y/N tossed to her.

"By the way she flies, it doesn't seem like it." Bucky hissed. "I'm able to read." Natasha said. "It's very turbulent. I don't know how." Bucky huffed. "We did just flie through a few typhoons." Nat answered calmly as she flipped a page. "Seriously? We're not hurricane hunters. Why's she flying us through typhoons?" Bucky groaned.

"Because she knows what she's doing." Nat finally looked at Bucky. Bucky resolved to silence for the rest of the flight and was less but still dramatic when they landed. The mission went smoothly, and all went according to plan until Y/N's suit belt hooked onto a rusted lever broke off and fell onto the steel floor.

Bucky grabbed Y/N and pinned her down as the opposition fired at them. Y/N's heart hammered in her chest, but she did not allow her silly crush to jeopardize the mission or her status. So she flipped them over and held Barnes down as she got up and fired single shots at the men, bullets laced with instant toxins to make whoever was shot pass out (unrealistic I know but bear with me).

After several moments of fighting, they ran out with their mission partners just in time to miss the start of the ambush. Amidst an ambush and a quickly approaching blizzard, Y/N lost sight of the rest of the team but thankfully bumped into Bucky. They ran off together, and Bucky hijacked a bike from the ambushers.

Y/N's cheeks were hot despite the snow as she held onto Bucky Barnes. They drove as far out of sight as they could. Y/N managed to locate a safehouse established by S.H.I.E.L.D and gave Bucky directions. Once they arrived at the safehouse, Bucky was fuming. "Why the hell would you put us all in danger like that!? And then shoot them all! We could have interrogated them for evidence or answers!" Bucky yelled at Y/N. Y/N sighed deeply. "Here we go..." She muttered underneath her breath.

Y/N had always been kind to Bucky despite his condescending persona towards her. She looked past it, blinded by her love for the man. He particularly liked to belittle her in front of others. She's no fool. She knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. "And now you're silent!?" Bucky went on condescending and patronizing her, but Y/N heard the exertion in his voice. It got meeker and meeker until they reached the safehouse by foot as the bike could not go through the snowpack.

Y/N noticed the limp in Bucky's step, his right leg particularly. She noticed the discomfort in his eyes when he sat down after checking around and locking the door. She grabbed her medical aid and kneeled in front of him by the fireplace. "Goodness, no, I don't need you messing up another thing. I'm fine. Wish I had Natasha here instead." Bucky groaned when he caught on to what she was doing. Y/N ignored the nauseating jealousy. Bucky looked mortified as she forced him to remove his trousers but allowed him to keep the thermal knee-length pants on.

She rolled the left side of the pants up where a dark red patch was. Bucky hissed in discomfort. Y/N gasped quietly at the wound, getting disinfectant and cleaning the wound carefully. She disinfected the needle with a lighter before stitching up his wound and putting cream and a plaster over.

The whole time, Bucky was complaining. Y/N droned out his voice to focus on his wound. When she was doing up the bandage, Bucky was still condescending her, "You tie as crap as you fly. Ha, that rhymes. But seriously. Did you attend the medical course?". That was it. Y/N ripped off that bandage (not the plaster) and gathered her stuff quickly before getting up and storming off. Bucky scoffed, but he did not even convince himself.

Bucky had several attempts at putting the bandage on properly himself, but he gave in when the pain got to him. Shamefully, Bucky made his way upstairs with the bandage. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw Y/N in her thermal clothing and not the suit. Y/N's mission attire was not nearly at voluptuous as Nat's, Bucky never assumed she had such a fine pair of legs. He watched as she scrubbed at his trousers to clean the blood before hanging them in front of the fireplace.

"You may come in, James." Bucky's heart dropped at her voice. She noticed him and called him by his full name. "I uh.. look, I'm sorry. But I need help with the bandage." Bucky croaked. Y/N sighed as she put her hands on her hips. "Why? I assume you attended the medical course?" Y/N tilted her head to the side. "No.. I didn't." Bucky's dropped his head slightly. "Sit down on the bed which, by the way, I'm sleeping in tonight." She said.

After wrapping Bucky's bandage properly and giving him clothes she'd found, Y/N shooed Bucky out of her room. Out of boredom, Bucky went through files of the agents the safehouse had and their personal lives. Bucky lingered on Y/N's. He looked at her rescuing people and animals. He kept his eyes on one where Y/N held a baby. A brief image of her holding a blue-eyed baby and standing beside him flashed before his eyes.

He looked at her in a pretty sundress. Good grief. How did they know and acquire all this about her personal life? Did she know? Was someone stalking her? Bucky's blood boiled with rage at the thought. Bucky closed the file and put it away as he heard Y/N coming downstairs. His skin crawled as he recognized the sweatpants adorning her lovely legs. Steve's.

"Where'd you get Steve's sweatpants?" He asked before he could think. "I didn't know that they were his. I found them in the drawer." She said. "And you didn't check for any women's clothing?" Bucky snarled. She had it.

"I am done with you constantly condescending me, James Barnes! I have only been kind to you from the start, and all you've done is misuse my kindness. I'm fed up with your constant attempts at making me feel less clever or competent because I can assure you that I am at a much higher level that you make me out to be. I'm aware that I might not be some professionally trained assassin or spy or have any remote form of superpowers or supernatural abilities, but I am far more intellectually competent than most! Mark my words. Once we are done with this mission, I will make sure that you never have to spend a moment in my presence again! You can find yourself a woman who meets your delusional capabilities for accommodating you on a mission! I. Am. Done." She went back upstairs.

Though she was stern with what she had to say, she did not yell or raise her voice. She addressed him calmly and maturely. Bucky felt even worse because of that.

Bucky made little effort to stop himself from going back to the file. His heart launched into his throat. He felt like a cartoon character with heart eyes floating after his lover and a visible hammering heart. There stood Y/N in a 1940s themed dress. Hair curled accordingly. Lips painted red. Her dazzling smile captured his heart solidly. A soldier's blazer, almost identical to his, was draped over her shoulders. If he had not seen her date of birth, he would have assumed that she was from that time.

Bucky put away the file after he had looked through it around eight times. He made his way upstairs after ensuring the door was locked and the fire was out. With a slight struggle to be quiet, he was in front of her door. He knocked quietly. "What, Barnes?" He could hear the frustration in her voice. "May I come in?" He asked. "Why?" Was all that she answered. "I want to apologize to you. Face to face." After a few moments of silence, the door creaked open. Y/N closed it once Bucky was in to trap in the heat.

"I don't know where to begin.." Bucky admitted. "Sit down. You need to ease the usage of your leg a little. And before you say anything, we were taught this in the course." Y/N said. "I wasn't going to condescend you. I swear I'll try my best to never do that again." Bucky said truthfully as he sat down.

Y/N assisted him in elevating his leg. "I don't know why it's so... normal today. My wounds are usually much less painful and heal easily." Bucky said. "It's a pretty deep wound, sarge." Y/N said. "Sarge?" Bucky grinned. "Sorry." Was what Y/N said as she sat down on the windowsill. "No, no, I like it. Takes me back to my golden days." Bucky smiled. "You sound as old as you are." Bucky laughed at that.

"Look, Y/N/N. I should probably start from the day we met. I should never have treated you like any less. And let me assure you, I've never for a moment believed that you are any less, even if I've treated you otherwise. I knew from the start that you were sharp. Smart. Kind. Able. Clever, very clever. Undoubtedly beautiful. And what threw me off is when you were kind to everyone else, and I was new, you were kind to me. When everyone hated me, you were still kind to me. I feared the worst. So I tried to convince myself that you are less than what you actually are, to justify the fear of being mortified by such a real doll. A dame. A babe, as you youngsters say." Y/N chuckled at the last bit.

"I am not trying to justify my actions with nice words! I'm being completely honest about what and why. You looked at me like you were proud of me. Like I wasn't such a worthless undes-" "Hey. Don't inflict any more hatred on yourself. HYDRA created enough negative neural pathways. We need to cover them with positive thoughts. So that we can see more of that smile that charmed ladies into paying for a meal." Y/N said. Bucky looked at the floor with tinted cheeks. "You're a.. what do they call it? Nerf? Nurd. Nerd. You're such a nerd." It was Y/N's turn to laugh.

"I didn't want to make this apology about me. I really am so sorry. I sure don't deserve it, but if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'd be honored." Bucky said with a small smile. The air in the room was far more pleasant. "I forgive you, Bucky. I forgave you the moment you knocked on that door." Y/N said. "What? Why?" Bucky was puzzled. "Because you made the effort to come upstairs and apologize to me. You could've called me downstairs or buzzed me. But you came upstairs. That alone was an apology in itself." Y/N smiled.

Bucky recognised that smile as the one from the picture with the baby, and the one where she cradled a kitten amidst a rescue, and the one with the sundress, and the one on that 40s themed photograph. He saw her true smile. A sight that he was instantly hooked on. He mimicked her smile. "Could we try again? At being partners in the work field? I really need you on my team. Even though I never wanted to admit it. Maybe friends?" Bucky wanted so much more than friends.

"I'd love nothing more, sarge." Y/N got up and shook his hand. That's where the friendship brewed from.

xxxx

Fin.

Part 2?

Not proofread.

Gif not mine

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes #bucky x reader

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gwendolynnderolo · 8 months ago

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seven sentence sunday

i haven't technically been tagged today but i'm sure i've been tagged on a previous sunday and totally forgot plus i've been writing again for the first time in literally months and i wanna share. this is from the bucktommy second date/first time fic that i started after 7x04

Flying into the hurricane had been terrifying for a number of reasons, but Tommy had handled it like an absolute champ, calmly piloting the helicopter and landing it on the bottom of an overturned cruise ship. At the time, he’d been a bit too distracted by the fact of Bobby and Athena being in mortal peril, but some part of his brain had still registered the almost unconscious way Tommy’s hands had expertly worked the controls, his fingers flying over the buttons and levers and joysticks like it was second nature. And now that Buck’s full attention was focused on this particular demonstration of talent, he was absolutely suffering. After realizing he was bisexual at the age of 31, the realization that he apparently had a raging competency kink wasn’t nearly as surprising, but it was a wildly inconvenient thing to realize at 10,000 feet when he couldn’t do literally anything about it. Because now he was here, sitting half-hard in the cockpit of a helicopter, watching one of the hottest guys he’s ever seen work the controls with strong, deft fingers, all the while narrating what he was doing in a voice that wasn’t even trying to be sexy, but still had Buck thinking about everything else he could do with his fingers, how Tommy might talk him through that, how his voice might sound when he was a little less composed, how Tommy is so much bigger and stronger than anyone he’s ever been with, how he could easily pick Buck up and throw him around and pin him to a bed and just make him take it— “Evan? You listening?” Tommy’s voice cuts through his incredibly horny thoughts, sounding ever so slightly amused, and Buck immediately flushes bright red, realizing he hasn’t processed a single word Tommy has said in at least the past five minutes, instead staring openly at his hands and wondering what else he could handle expertly.

it's so much fun writing evan buckley being a canonical bisexual disaster. tagging anyone who wants to do this and stay tuned for more of this fic!

#fic #911 fic #911 abc #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #kinkley #evan buckley #tommy kinard #seven sentence sunday

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pinturas-sgm-aviacion · 4 months ago

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1940 08 Close Shave - Darryl Legg

Bf109E 9./JG 2 Richthofen Yellow 8 + ~ (Rudolf Rothenfelder) vs Hawker Hurricane Mk.I P3576 GN A, Flight Lieutenant James Brindley NICOLSON (39329) — No. 249 Squadron.VC

During an engagement with the enemy near Southampton on 16th August, 1940, Flight Lieutenant Nicolson’s aircraft was hit by four cannon shells, two of which wounded him whilst another set fire to the gravity tank. When about to abandon his aircraft owing to flames in the cockpit he sighted an enemy fighter. This he attacked and shot down, although as a result of staying in his burning aircraft he sustained serious burns to his hands, face, neck and legs.Flight Lieutenant Nicolson has always displayed great enthusiasm for air fighting and this incident shows that he possesses courage and determination of a high order. By continuing to engage the enemy after he had been wounded and his aircraft set on fire, he displayed exceptional gallantry and disregard for the safety of his own life.

#darryl legg

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usafphantom2 · 3 months ago

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26 August 1940. P/O John Allman Hemingway, of 85 Squadron flying Hurricane P3966 was hit behind the cockpit and in the engine on the starboard side by a Bf109. He bailed out, delaying his drop until he was in clouds before pulling rip cord and landing in Pitsea Marshes, Essex.

@ron_eisele via X

#hawker hurricane #fighter #aircraft #royal air force aircraft #battle of britain #aviation #ww2

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h50europe · 2 months ago

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Is Tim going that far with Athena's rescue? By repeating Charlton Heston's scene, only dropping Tommy in the back of the aircraft? With Buck and Bobby on board the jet helicopter to help Tommy rappel into the airliner?

In the movie, Karen Blaire is the flight attendant who takes on the massive responsibility of piloting the barely functioning plane and stabilizing its flight while a legion of pros on the ground scramble to concoct a rescue operation. She’s the reason the jumbo jet doesn’t crash into a mountain. She maintains its air speed and turns it gently from left to right and from right to left.

But she’s not the one to land it.

That incapacitated jumbo jet could not be saved without a professional on board. So, Joe Patroni (George Kennedy) and his people figured out they needed to send a pilot into the plane through the hole in the fuselage. So, they sent a jet helicopter into the air, tethered it to the plane and (after wasting one guy who accidentally fell to his death) airdropped Charlton Heston into the cockpit. And as luck would have it, they also decided to commit to the realism ushered by New Hollywood mavericks. They filmed much of this sequence on location with a real helicopter and a plane… and, naturally, with a hefty dose of Hollywood movie magic. But it looked real enough to pass the sniff test. It seemed momentarily indistinguishable from a New Hollywood product (at least in that last act) certified with a Hurricane Billy Friedkin Stamp of Approval.

source: x

#bucktommy #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #oliver stark #lou ferrignojr #911abc #911 on abc #evan buckley is bisexual #kinley #kinkley #911 season 8 #athena grant #bobby nash #angela bassett

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dronescapesvideos · 11 months ago

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British soldier inspecting a crashed Messerschmitt Bf.109. A Beach at Lydd in Kent, South of England. the pilot was Arno Zimmermann, the date Oct 1940. His aircraft was hit in the engine by a burst of gunfire from a No.605 Squadron Hurricane during a freelance patrol over Tunbridge Wells.

The gunfire caused the engine to malfunction and overheat. It quickly became clear to the pilot, aged 21, that he stood no chance of making it back across the English Channel to his French base at Guines, especially when the cockpit also filled with smoke. Instead, Zimmermann made a good forced landing on the shingle by Lydd Water Tower in Kent and was taken POW.

➤➤ THING YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW ABOUT THE BF 109: https://dronescapes.video/Bf109Doc

➤➤ HIGHER RESOLUTION IMAGE: https://dronescapes.video/bf109

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blackswaneuroparedux · 2 years ago

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Ούτοι γυναικός εστιν ιμείρειν μάχης.**

- Aeschylus

Surely it is not for a woman to long for battle.**

Maureen Dunlop flew far faster planes than any of her peers, including Amelia Earhart. She flew Spitfires, Lancasters, Hurricanes and Mosquitos, and proved the dream of Picture Post's photographer when, on emerging from the cockpit of a Fairey Barracuda, the sun on her hair, she made the cover shot of the popular Picture Post that sold thousands of copies in autumn 1944.

Dunlop mastered the controls of 28 different single-engine and 10 multi-engine aircraft types, which also included the Hawker Typhoon, Hawker Tempest, Avro Anson, Mustang, Bristol Blenheim and Vickers Wellington. The ATA did a gruelling day-to-day job, plying the skies under constant threat from inclement weather the length and breadth of Great Britain, at a time when the nature of flying was changing in popular consciousness from having been a pre-war novelty and the subject of record attempts and joyrides, to being a vital part of the war effort.

The women among its members also had to put up with opposition from men who had little faith in their ability – or perhaps misplaced chivalry – such as Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory, who would not let women pilots cross the Channel, or who were merely rude, such as the RAF men who joked of the first all-women aircraft ferrying pool at Hamble in Hampshire as "the lesbians' pool".

Dunlop, like many of her female colleagues, said she wished she could have flown in combat: "I thought it was the only fair thing. Why should only men be killed?"

The ATA service had been founded on the initiative of Gerard "Pop" d'Erlanger, a director of British Airways and banker, who bent the ear of Sir Francis Shelmerdine, Britain's director-general of Civil Aviation, against opposition from the RAF, which preferred to use its own pilots until shortages forced it to relent. ATA pilots had to make the most of training that was, some avowed after the war, inadequate. Instrument flying was not taught, but the service would have ground to a halt if pilots had not broken rules forbidding them to fly in bad weather. Women had to have a minimum of 500 hours' solo flying before joining the ATA, twice as much as the 250 hours originally laid down in September 1939 for the first members, all men. She was one of the 164 female members of the wartime Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA), of which one in ten pilots died while transporting aeroplanes between factories and military airfields

Maureen Dunlop, the second of three children of Eric Chase Dunlop, an Australian farm manager employed by a British company in Argentina, and his English wife, Jessimin May Williams, began flying at the age of 15, when she joined the Aeroclub Argentino. Two years later she had obtained her pilot's licence. Living with her parents, older sister Joan and younger brother Eric on estancias in Patagonia, she was educated by a governess and briefly attended St Hilda's College, an English school at Hurlingham in Buenos Aires. The example of her father's British military experience as a volunteer with the Royal Field Artillery in the First World War, together with an article in Flight magazine, inspired her to sail to England and offer her flying skills to the ATA.

She came through the war uninjured, but once had to make a forced landing when a faulty engine developed heavy vibration (an incident for which she was absolved of responsibility), and once was flying a Spitfire when a badly fitted cockpit cover blew off. After the war she qualified in England as an instructor and, returning to Argentina, flew for the Argentine Air Force and taught its pilots, as well as flying commercially. In 1973 she and her husband, Serban, a retired Romanian diplomat she met at a British Embassy function in Buenos Aires, returned to England, where for the rest of her life, on a farm in Norfolk, she followed her second love - breeding Arab horses. Dunlop built up an outstanding knowledge of bloodlines. She died in 2012.

#dunlop #maureen dunlop #aviator #pilot #plane #flying #fly #female #femme #pioneer #ATA

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fearfics · 2 months ago

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pretty name.

althea szewczyk-przygocki x fem!reader

in which the reader calls al ‘althea’ and it drives her little lesbian brain crazy

a/n: if there’s any typos or missing or extra words…shhh no there’s not…i also don’t know how to end things like this i don’t usually write so bear with me lol

al had a bit of a hard exterior and could be quite intimidating at times. although, whenever she was around you, the wall would come down simply at the sound of your voice. of course, being around you or talking to you made her feel this way but specifically, it was the way you spoke her name. althea. she told everybody to call her ‘al’ but you never did. you consistently called her by her full name and it drove her absolutely mad.

—

today felt worse compared to the hurricane that had passed through two days prior. you were trapped in the middle of the scorching heat with june and al. you’ve run out of diesel and water which left you stranded and dehydrated.

the muffled voice you’d heard on the walkie gave june hope. she knew the three of you had to get moving and she couldn’t handle being separated from john. when she suggested moving to higher ground to get a better range to, hopefully, receive the signal again, you thought it seemed like a good idea and presumed al did as well but her tone of voice seemed to say otherwise.

“did you kill the camera?” al asked with a grimace on her face.

june shifted her gaze to al, arm hanging off the pole on the roof of the van. “i killed the battery.”

al turned towards the safe, arm reaching out and beginning to undo the lock. “watching that tape?”

you glanced at june, sending her an sympathetic smile. everybody knew how al was about her camera and those tapes. she returned the smile quickly before looking away and sighing.

“watching that tape.” the two women stared at each other.

you were stuck in between but you understood where they both were coming from. june missed john. she wanted to get back to him as soon as possible. al needed her video camera to be able to capture our story. it was important to her. especially, now that you’re all stuck here, she needed something to document. you’d hoped you could reason with the both of them.

before you could say anything, al placed her camera into the safe, locking it back up. she slowly sat down with her hand on her forehead, something suddenly coming over her. worry washed over both yours and june’s faces.

your wary eyes focused on al’s face as you placed a gentle hand on her knee, ”althea, are you okay?”

al’s face flushed at the sound of your concerned voice, silently thanking whoever above for the heat and the sickness that fell upon her, disguising her flushed cheeks. she wouldn’t live it down if she was caught blushing. especially, because of you.

—

everybody worked diligently as they brought the pieces of the plane back to the gas station. if you were going to make it out of there, it had to be by flight but you were going to have to put it back together yourselves. after days of reconstruction and teamwork, the plane’s engine was ready to test.

“you ready?” al shouted as she tapped the engine. your lips grew into a grin, admiring how she looked when she was excited.

“ready!” luciana answered from beside you.

al climbed into the cockpit and started the engine. the hopeful whirs of it powering up soon turned into clunks and bangs. not good. you made eye contact with luciana before she shouted out, “get down!” everybody ducked to the ground as the propeller whipped over your heads. al jumped out of the plane and you all raced over to the broken pieces.

lifting your eyes up from the ground, you watched as al tore the hat from her head in frustration. your heart sunk at her outburst of emotion. reaching out your hand, you gently caressed her arm to reassure her. “it’s okay, althea. we took a risk. anything could have happened but it’s not your fault, all right?”

al turned her head to face you, glancing quickly at your hand that had made contact with her arm. you said it again. you keep saying it like that. caught off guard, al’s mind started to ease away from the stressful situation knowing you’re by her side. you always had that effect on her. she couldn’t help but wonder if you knew…

—

the group was sat around a fire for the night, ready to serve up dinner. you sat with al inside the back of the van, some medical supplies in hand as you attended to the wound on her forehead. you sat next to her, one of your knees nudged against hers.

“you know, althea,” you began, brushing her hair out of her eyes, “if you wanted to talk to me, you didn’t have to bang yourself up. a simple ‘hey, how are you?’ would have been fine.”

al chuckled, her tongue poking her cheek. the transparent flirting combined with her full name caused the butterflies in her stomach to stir from their slumber and made her heart skip a beat. you smiled as you dabbed the damp cloth on her cut, cleaning it out. you locked eyes with her before noticing a tinge of pink in her cheeks.

“why?” al asks, a wave of boldness passing through her yet her voice just above a soft whisper.

your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you pull your hands away from her face and place them in your lap, ”’why’ what?”

al cheeks became a slightly darker shade of pink as she looked at her lap. “you use my full name. you’re the only one who does that. i guess i just...wondered why?”

a soft oh escapes your lips, silence falling over the both of you.

al watches your face, the feeling of regret beginning to replace the butterflies. before she could dismiss her previous question, she notices your lips form into a soft smile, “i’ve never met anyone with that name before. it’s a pretty name…with a pretty owner, too,” you look down at your hands, a matching blush now forming on your own face, “i can’t just let it go unsaid.”

al froze. she thought this was it. she was going to die because a girl called her pretty. because you called her pretty. as if the sound of her name passing through your lips wasn’t enough, the reason why had her wanting to skip through an field of flowers, screaming at the sky “she thinks i’m pretty! she really thinks i’m pretty!” until her voice gave out.

“but, uh, i won’t call you that…if you don’t want me to.” your voice interrupted al’s thoughts.

“what? no! it’s…it’s fine! completely…100%…fine.” al let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and looked into your eyes, reassuring you. she loved hearing you say her name so much that if you stopped, she’d probably go insane without hearing it throughout her day. “i like it. the way you say it. it makes me feel...normal…it’s nice.”

you turned toward the medical kit to hide the smile on your face but you couldn’t ignore your heart fluttering. you reached for a band-aid, pulling apart the paper, revealing the sticky parts and applied it to her wound. your fingers smoothed down the edges before trailing down the side of her face. you glanced at her lips before refocusing on her brown eyes, the moonlight reflecting in them as it shines through the little windows around you. the image of placing a chaste kiss on her lips traveled through your thoughts several times since you guys had become closer. and you were right here. so close.

al seemed to read your mind, a teasing smirk appearing as she watched your eyes travel over her face, ”you know, if you want to kiss me, you could just ask.”

you moved backwards, gasping as a shy smile planted itself on your face at your flirtation being used against you.

“hey!” you landed a playful slap on her shoulder, bashfully shaking your head.

al thrived for times like these; the sound of your laugh echoing in her ears and your smile replaying in her mind. fighting for your life against the dead and the undead everyday makes moments like these worth becoming part of the story. your story.

al took in the sight of you so vulnerable in front of her. god, she would do anything for that smile to stay on your lips.

you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear before picking up your mess. al watched as you packed up the bandages and began to stand up to put the kit back where it belonged. you put the kit back before turning around to face al once again. she looked up at you as you moved toward her. you ducked your head down towards her own, your hand landing on her shoulder with a gentler touch this time. you locked eyes before letting yours travel around her face again, the warmth between your bodies made you feel lightheaded yet cozy. al was counting down the seconds until her entire body exploded.

you closed your eyes and pressed your lips softly against her cheek, keeping them there for a moment before pulling away. al couldn’t pull her eyes away from you, like she was frozen in time. you chuckled, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and backing away.

“i’ll, uh, meet you out there, althea. don’t take too long. dinner will get cold.” you say, your smile not leaving your face as you exited the back of the van.

“oh… yeah…yeah…i’ll be right out.” al spoke up as you stepped off the last rung of the little stairs, watching you walk toward the rest of the group.

she let out a breath, closing her eyes and relaxing her shoulders while leaning against the wall of the van. replaying the moment in her mind, she let out a smile. she shakes her head before getting up to join the others. and you.

how was she going to survive?

#ftwd x reader #fear the walking dead x reader #ftwd imagine #ftwd imagines #fear the walking dead imagines #althea ftwd #althea szewczyk-przygocki #althea x reader #althea ftwd x reader #althea szewczyk-przygocki x reader #wlw

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