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the-californicationist · 4 months ago

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Cali's Kinktober: Day 04

Kinktober Masterlist felix culpa - "fortunate fault" Gaz x f!reader Kinks > dubcon, stuck kink, anal sex Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

You were born to be a mechanic, and working on fancy, top-secret vehicles is one of your favorite things about your job. However, when you crawl into the belly of a broken down tank and can’t get back out, one of your fellow soldiers takes advantage of your (un)fortunate situation.

When the order rolled across your desk, you couldn’t believe your luck. You’d been selected by an elite task force to design a very custom, very deadly tank mod, and you were out of your mind with excitement. This was your dream job, and you were giddy the whole drive down to the site.

Parked out front on the concrete pad, you saw what looked like a Challenger 3, but something was… off. Yes, the paint job was different, and they’d chosen to go with a wider tread for the desert terrain they were in. But, that wasn’t all. They’d done something underneath, something secret and hidden.

You didn’t waste any time. You were agile and you could always wriggle yourself into small places, perfect for a mechanic. And your brain loved puzzles, so this was going to be an amazing project.

You were instructed to boost the navigation system to an incredible degree. But, if they needed desert-style mods, you were going to give them an intense aircon and liquid cooling unit as well as the mother of all filters. In order to get started, you had to work around this… contraption they had installed at the base of the tank.

When you got a closer look, you realized what it was. It was a wheel! They’d fitted the bottom of their tank with speed boosters and a three-sixty wheel to help them turn on a dime. This was insane. If only you could get a little closer to see if…

Oops…

You moved your hips backward, trying to free your body, but you were stuck. When you tried to move forward, your belt loop had caught on a long screw, wrapped around it so tight that you couldn’t free yourself with your hands.

Fuck.

“Hey!” You called out, trying to see if anyone was around to help you.

You tried again, a little louder this time,

“Hey! Is anybody there?”

Nothing. You waited for a while, trying not to panic, and then you head a large warehouse door slide open, its metal wall clanging and banging as it slid up into the railings.

“Hey! Help me!”

“Well, well,” a smooth, deep voice teased you cruelly, “Wha’s all this, then?”

“I’m… uh, I think I’m stuck. Can you pull me out?”

“And you are?”

You told him your name and he offered his own,

“You can call me Gaz. In fact, you…” He bent down to the side of the tank and met your eyes, “You can call me anytime.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but he was cute enough to make you smile at his terrible joke.

“Can you help me or not, Gaz?”

“That depends,” you watched his boots march their way around the front of the machine, settling back behind you, “Wha’s in it for me?”

“Um…” You tried to think about what you had to offer, but you came up empty, “My eternal thanks?”

“I think I want somethin’ else.”

You felt his hands wrap themselves around your thick ass cheeks, giving them a rough squeeze.

“Hey!”

“Thought you wanted out, babes. I’m just tryin’ to help you, ain’t I?”

You had to admit, his hands did feel pretty nice. He seemed singularly obsessed with your ass, massaging your flesh through your canvas work pants, using his knees to spread your legs wide so that he could dig his fingers roughly between the join of your legs.

“Mngh… wait. Someone’s gonna see us,” you protested, trying to hide your pleasure.

“Nah, don’t think so. Not while they’re in Cap’s briefing. Long-winded, him.”

You squirmed, trying to free yourself again, and you heard his silky laugh.

“I could leave you here, lovie,” Gaz threatened, “Let them find you in an hour or two.”

“Don’t go… Help me out, Gaz,” you begged, “Please?”

“Then stay still,” he purred, “And let me get you out.”

You heard the soft whisper of a knife coming out of its sheath, and you felt him cut your belt loop. Then, he went further, slicing your belt and raking it out of your pants. Without the leather strap holding up your slacks, they began to slip down your hips, slowly revealing more and more of your body to your “savior”.

“Wow… look at these,” his fingers played in the lacy strap of your thong, “Definitely not regulation, huh? Naughty girl…”

You whimpered, hearing your own desperation echo against the belly of the tank, letting this gorgeous man have his way with you. You rationalized it in your mind. He was helping, he deserved to touch, right?

In one fell swoop, he yanked your pants the rest of the way down, letting them get caught on your knees, trapping you even more than you already were.

“Holy shit, this arse is a fuckin’ dream.”

His mouth was on you before you could take your next breath. You felt his strong tongue writhe its way towards your hole, licking you and suckling at your skin like a hungry beast, as if you were a fresh fruit, as if he were starving. You could feel the drool from his lolling tongue drip across the underside of your ass as he ate you out, moaning as he feasted on your pliant flesh.

“Gaz, please…” You whined, trying to keep your voice down but feeling yourself beginning to spiral out of control.

“Patience, lovie. Wanna taste you, first.”

“If someone sees us, they’ll… unghf–fuck… they’ll throw us in the glasshouse! I’ll lose my job!”

He sighed, annoyed,

“Fine, a quick one, then, hm?”

“No, wait! That’s not what I… ohhh…” You tried to protest, tried to get him to listen to reason, but before you could state your case, he was pressing his thumb against the rim of your hole, stretching you open until you gaped for him, and you could feel his eyes bearing down into your darkness, imagining the suffocating warmth that awaited him inside.

He laughed softly, letting his thumb delve a little deeper. Then, he replaced it with his thick middle finger, and he began to writhe his way inside of you, stretching you out as he explored your body.

“So tight… Gonna be a rough ride if you’re tryin’ to rush me, baby.”

“Mmngh. Ngh. Nuhhh… No, just… let’s meet up later. Tonight… Won’t have to rush…” You were struggling to stay on the right side of sane because his fingers knew exactly how to twist and pry and press you open.

He made a nasty little groan, a vote against your idea,

“But, if I don’t try to get you unstuck now, my mate’s will come ‘round the corner and find you like this. They’re not as gentle as me, you know, lovie.”

Another finger slipped into your body before you were ready for it, and his knuckles made your asshole ache from the soreness of his touch. You cried out, and you had to listen to another devilish laugh as he fucked you on his hand.

Your hole was making slurping, wet noises as he coated you in his spit, using it as lube so it would ease his way. You could also hear the tell-tale sound of him jerking his cock, the rhythmic slapping giving him away.

“We’re outta time, babes. Need you to breathe for me, yeah?”

When you felt the soft tip of his prick, your whole body responded to him. Gaz was prying your cheeks apart with one hand and guiding himself in with the other. You began to stretch, and you held your breath, bracing for pain.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed at you, “Relax, baby. Gonna hurt you if you don’t let me in. There’s my good girl.”

You let out a trembling exhale, shaking uncontrollably as he forced himself to fit, his hard length twice as big as his fingers had been, making you see stars from the pleasure-wrapped pain.

“Too big… it’s too much… I can’t…” You tried to protest, your hips grinding towards him, betraying your true desire.

He rocked himself forward and back, popping his thick cockhead in and out of you, watching you shudder with every thrust.

“You can, baby. I’ll help you. That’s it. Breathe for me.”

You tried to steady your heart, and every time your breath left your lungs, it shook with a nervous vibrato, culminating in a high whine.

His cock dipped further. He was nearly halfway, and you felt like he would be in your throat if he took you any deeper.

“Gaz, holy fuck!”

“Mmm, I know, lovie. But, you’re takin’ me so bloody well. Love watching your tight little arsehole stretch itself for me. When it twitches like that… yeah, that’s so fuckin’ hot.”

You couldn’t help the twitching. You were pulsing for him uncontrollably. Your body wanted to come, and it was ready for him to make you. But, he was going too slowly, trying to be careful with you. It was driving you out of your mind.

You jerked your hips onto his cock, trying to fit more of him into your body with each thrust, listening to the huffy, gasping noises you were dragging out of him.

“Oh, fuck me. That feels so good. You ready for more, love? I’ll give you more,” he snarled. You could hear the venom in his voice as he quickened his pace.

Gaz abandoned his plan for a slow entry and shoved himself forward, rocking your body and making you cry out in an aching peal of pleasure. Then, he began to fuck himself into you, holding your cheeks apart so he could watch his invasion.

You were a babbling mess, incapable of words or thoughts. All you could feel was the fiery bliss that sparked through your core as he rutted you into the filthy concrete.

Your pussy was exposed to the rough ground, and it rubbed back and forth as he thrust his cock into you. You reached down to play with yourself, and you found out that you were soaking with thick, creamy slick.

Spreading it liberally across your folds, you began making small, fast circles around your clit, eager to feel it swell and harden under your hands. You were so close; just a little more and Gaz would send you careening off the edge.

“Touchin’ that greedy little quim, huh?”

“Yeah,” you moaned, confessing your sins to him.

“Good girl,” he rasped breathlessly, fucking you at a brutal pace now, unable to control his lust.

That was the phrase that pulled your trigger, apparently. You listened to his lascivious praise and felt yourself rattle across the line, tumbling and whirling through a destructive orgasm, wetting yourself with pleasure, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing but air.

“Tha’s it. Tha’s so fuckin’ good, baby. Come for me just like that…” Gaz let his hand strike down on your exposed ass cheek, and you screamed even louder, keening and rolling in the overstimulating sensation of his sex.

His movements became frantic, and you could hear him grunting with a joyful rage. Then, silence. Everything went still. He froze, buried deep inside you, sunk to the hilt. He was coming in you, dumping load after load of hot spend, letting it pool at the furthest point he could reach, letting his prick paint your asshole white with his cream.

Without saying a word, he pulled out, backing away from you. You heard him rustling around in his pockets, and then silence again when he found what he was looking for.

“Fuck. Holy fuck… Gaz, are you gonna help me out of here?” You asked, panting and well-used, wondering about his promise.

“Mmm, I dunno, baby. Looks like the meeting just let out. Give the lads a note, will ya?”

You felt the cold tip of a marker slide across your ass cheek, and you called back to him,

“Hey! What the fuck?”

“Gaz… was… here… There we go. All set. Good luck with your situation, lovie. When you get free, come find me for round two, yeah?”

“Are you seriously gonna leave me here?” You asked him in disbelief.

“Yeah, the boys look pretty eager to help you, so I’ll let them have a go at it. I’m sure they’ll get you out. Ghost’s got a thing for puzzles. Oh, here. Hold onto this for me, would ya?”

You felt him slide the body of the thick Sharpie into your asshole, plugging his come inside of you, ready for the next man in line to leave his mark.

#cali’s kinktober #kinktober 2024 #cod kinktober #call of duty kinktober #graviora manent #by the californicationist #x female reader #x fem!reader #gaz smut #gaz x reader #gaz call of duty #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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topgunruinedme · 4 months ago

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Bite me (Bruise Me), Fight Me (Loose me Too)

Whumptober: Day 15, Pained hugs/“I did good, right?”

Word count: approx’ 10.7k

Character: Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Rating: Mature

Summery: Jake had had a lot of uncertainties in life, but love was the one thing he did know.

Ao3 account: TopGunRuinedMe

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mention to medical disorders, Undiagnosed Medical Issues, Poor lifestyle, Neglect, Child Neglect, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Forced Prostitution, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Jake is not the prostitute, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Jake is struggling to adapt, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Jake just wants to be loved, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Needs a Hug, Hurt Jake "Hangman" Seresin, POV Jake "Hangman" Seresin, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Bad Parents, Jake "Hangman" Seresin Has Mummy Issues, misconception of love, Mental misconception of Love to avoid trauma, Author may be a little tipsy writing this, Normal people become alcoholics to cope:Jake seeks out fights, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Mainly Hurt, Little comfort, I Have No Idea How This Got So Long, NO Spell Check, I've been writing so long i'm now sober, Physical Abuse, Not for the character you think, We Stan Yote, We must pay for his therapy, Miscommunication.

~~~~

Jake had had a lot of uncertainties in life, but love was the one thing he did know.

He grew up in a hole in a wall, one bedroom apartment just shy of the ghetto, his family, small only a member of two, were food stamp users, and he was only in school due to the tax payers dime. His mother worked two jobs, day shift at the supermarket and nightshift at the petrol station where she would occasionally let him sleep in the backroom on the couch until he was eight years old and finally deemed responsible enough to stay home, although he still preferred the store in summer because they had aircon, and heating during winter. But despite his mother working herself haggard to make barely enough to keep a roof over their head always managing to get enough money to scrap together rent, even if she went out at night and came back at odd hours a bruise or two with a cracked smile, she always made it happen. Just like when she tried to put food on the table, sometimes his only meal would be a bag of skittles if she could spare the change, or if they rationed enough they could make a loaf of bread for two weeks, if they eat around the fuzzy green spots. He had eaten it once, so ravenous not realizing it, and had spent the whole next two nights paying for it, weak and shaky over a toilet bowel vomiting up more weight than he could risk losing in his mother arms who cried softly as she rocked him whispering her prayer into his skin.

But even when he went to school in thread bare clothes, a bag his mother had found in a dumpster still relatively usable even if one strap was broken and had to be tied back together every so often, and a hole or two in his old sneakers; that had dried blood strained on the inside from where his feet had rubbed them raw last summer when his socks finally gave out and he had been to afraid to mention it to his mother until she had spotted the sores and cried herself to sleep that night. He still managed, despite his hindrance, he had the reading skill of a high schooler, math of a 4th grader, and an active sport level in intensive sports despite the fact he was skinny, thin and all but looked like wind would brush him away, his lungs burnt under each long sprint and bones aches after each tackle, but he loved it.

No one cared if he was skinny or weak, no one cared if he looked like a ghoul or worse barely functioning clothes, just that he could catch the football and sprint with it fast enough that people rarely caught him before he reached the touchdown line, or that he was able to take off from the start line with such a steady pace that he could outrun most of the older kids in a 200m race.

He had potential his coach had told him; he could very well become a professional runner or player if he put in the effort. He had simply nodded along knowing it wouldn’t happen, he couldn’t afford it, and he wouldn’t dare ask his mother. He had to be smart, he had to be active, he had to be healthy; because he needed the skills for a decent job, he needed to be fast to get between jobs quickly and on time, and he needed to be healthy so someone can take care of his mother when she got sick and tried to work through a fever again like she did last winter. Someone had to do something because she was working herself into the grave and he knew it.

But despite it all, the long hours, the mood swings, his school accomplishments and little to no encouragement at his mother’s numb subconscious he knew she loved him, even when some days she laid in bed with no energy to get up, or when he had to help her to the table and cradle his palm to his chest after burning it on the stove, even after the countless times his mother had told him it was hot, to make breakfast because it was the least he could do. At least until he was old enough to do some work, he knew Mr. Martian needed his lawn moved, maybe he could ask the man. He was sure he’d let him borrow the machine and do it for him, he could he was sure of it, if he reached up high enough to grab the bar.

He had heard the other kids the other day talking about how they get money for doing chores, things like taking out the garbage and clearing their rooms, washing dishes, and washing clothes, but he had never gotten any, and he did that daily between his own studies. He always had to sneak out of school and run home just so he could drag the tied off bag of garbage down the two flights of stars past 6B who always stood on the stair landing to watch his pass day in and day out, gaze roaming over him but never asking to help so maybe he was just supervising him so he could tell mummy he did his chores. He had never earnt anything for it so maybe he wasn’t doing enough, he could do it. Get pocket change, that’s what they called it, he could give it to mummy to help. It would help, he was sure of it.

He had been slightly older, when his mother had been fired from the store after falling asleep too many times and had been employed at a mum and pop diner, who allowed them to come in early to eat pancakes for breakfast on the house three times a week, when 6B spoke to him for the first time.

“Hey kiddo, Why don’t you do that before you go to school?”

He blinked pausing mid pull to look up at the man who had overlooked his task for the last two years, now at 10 years of age, having grown slightly taller and more lanky but his baby checks finally starting to fill in with one semi-stable meal in his life, the older man’s lips tugged up in amusement at his own question.

“The racoons” he replied simply, “If they go out too early then they get into it and open the bag and fight over it then it just makes a mess and they wont take it away. But if you take I just before then they don’t get the chance because that’s when Miss Whennies cat Tinkles is watching guard, he always stands right next to it and warns them off”.

“The racoons” the man nodded along as If it made sense, “You know I could always use some help” the man cocked his head, “I’ve got a bad back you see, and a big strong boy like you would be able to do it nice and quick”.

He hesitated, grip tightening on the bag, “I uh- I have to go back to school sir-“

“It would only take a moment” 6B assured, “I’ll give you $5 for it, for being such a good boy”.

Five dollars? It would be easy money and it’s almost three times his spending money, it would allow them to buy milk for once, and he missed milk. He bit his lip slightly contemplating it before sighing leaving the bag on the landing before jogging back up the stairs towards the man whose smile grew wider.

“See I knew you were all grown up, a big boy now aren’t you?” 6B asked with his smile, and he shifted, a weird feeling blooming in his chest at the sharp smile trying not to flinch at the weird itchy feeling he got when the man reached out slapping him on the shoulder. Hand lingering as it drifted down to squeeze his arm before settling on his lower back tugging him closer leading him back towards the man’s still open apartment door. The man’s hand was warm nudging him forward, resting down on his lower back like Santa did when he used to sit on his lap at the mall; 6B hummed happily, “Growing some muscle on you boy”.

The door was closer now, held ajar by an old wooden chair wedged under the door handle, which sat under a small sign painted onto the door. The letters were faded and scratched off but he had been reading for a long time and he was really good at hangman so figuring out words with missing letters was his special skill, he squinted slightly trying to make sense of the white lettering.

Sper.

No Supr

Wait… Super.

He frowned slightly, that’s weird, Super, he wondered what it meant. He of course knew about comic books and superheroes, but the whole point of being a secret hero was to not have the word painted onto your door.

“I play football now with the bigger kids” he offered in response to the man. They were much rougher when they play so he had to train with them more often to get stronger, he liked some of them though, they helped him. Sitting beside him counting when the other two stood on either side of the bench hands hovering on either side of the bar with the black bits encouraging him to lift them, ensuring him again that they were right there in case it got too heavy.

“Hmm, I bet that makes you nice and strong. All sweaty and warm when you play too. Do they still make you wear those shorts? The little stripped ones?” The man asked.

He didn’t get a chance to answer.

The door to the stairwell opened and he jerked to the side frightened as feet raced up the stairs in a hurry, almost tripping over his abandoned bag looking startled, his mother's wild hair, purse thrown over her shoulder, hand holding the rail for support as she looked down at the bag confused then up to them, her eyes lingering on his started expression then the warm hand on his back.

“Jacob,” her tone was sharp, and angry. “Come here”.

But he hadn’t done anything wrong. Truly. He was going to go back to school, he really was. “Mum, I was just going to help him with his trash then I was going back to school I promise-“

“Now Jacob” she warned sharply.

He felt uneasy, stepping back away from the hand that seemed to drop reluctantly as he stepped down the stairs, between the two tense and glaring adults, into the safe embrace of his mother, who reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist, tugging him close the moment he was within range, almost tripping him down the stairs in her haste to hold him close.

“Benjamin,” His mother hissed angrily; one hand cradling his neck holding his face to her stomach, the other resting on his back desperately holding him close, the pressure half muffling the conversation as if shielding him from it. “What the hell do you think you are doing”.

“Your late on rent”, 6B replied calmly, “The boy’s just picking up your slack”.

The arms around him tightened and the whine left his lips before he could stop it as the pressure grew and he bit his lip sharply, 6B chuckled, although he didn’t know what he found so funny.

“Don’t ever come near my boy again” his mother warned sharply, her voice low and it gave him goosebumps, he hadn’t heard it like that before, not since she yelled at him for knocking over one of their rare drinking glassware, causing it to break and she had yelled at him not to move until she cleaned it looking half between wanting to throw him down the stairs herself or cradle him between her arms.

“Pay rent on time then, that way that sweet little face of his won’t pay the consequences, because I don’t know about you but I am just dying to see what they look like filled”.

“Jacob”, his mother’s voice trembled, he hummed not able to shift enough to look up at her and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, “Go to school, I don’t want you to leave until I come and get you after work alright?”

“Okay” he muttered quietly into her stomach, half disappointed he wouldn’t be able to get Mr.6B’s trash for him and earn that $5, but she didn’t release her grip when he tugged back. “Mum-”

“I don’t want you coming home during school anymore, do you understand me?”

“I-“

“Do you understand?”

“Yes Mum!” he huffed finally breaking away, slipping out of her arms and she looked crazed, lips bitten bloody, gaze wild looking half like she wanted to lung out and grab him again, “I'm going” he hastily assured making his way down the stairs not looking back as he caught the end of the conversation as the door swung shut and he took of racing to get back on school grounds before class started back up.

“What do I have to do to make sure you never touch him again?”

“You know what you have to do, with tax”.

~~~~

He loved his mother, and he knew she loved him. Even when she grew closer, more obsessive. She started to demand she came along to his matches, or for him to walk straight to the store after school instead of hanging out with friends and do his homework in a booth at the diner until he was well into high school and many years into the less affectionally known name as the diner boy.

But it was there that Pops had silently slid across a Naval brochure when his mother’s back was turned, it had been there that his normal meal 3 days a week turned into if you wash the dishes, you can come and eat anytime, and the older couple became Nam and Pop, the two who allowed him in at ass-a-clock in the morning if he came knocking after another fight with his mother. It was there Pop had opened up an old wooden box aided by candle light and shown his medals still as shiny as the day they were pinned across his chest and told him in a harsh whisper of the horrors that came with them. He explained it all, his role as a SEAL, the ground staff, the naval aviators, and the deck hands. The fliers, builders, lawyers, leaders, and the engineers. Anything he could want, all at his fingertips, and Pops was all too willing to walk into the recruitment office and hand it in himself; if he wanted.

If he wanted. If he wanted to leave all this. If he wanted to leave the diner, to leave his mother, to leave this shitty town he’s hated since he was a kid. To leave their half broken down apartment, and to leave their sleezy super long behind in the wind. To leave poor mister Pickels, the kitten that had accompanied Miss Whennies after Tinkles passed, a kitten which soon grew into a large orange ball of fluff and had well outlived its owner. If he wanted to leave…

And what’s worse? He did.

He wanted to leave. He did.

But he couldn’t.

Not with her. Not while she stayed here and suffered by herself, while that man sucked her dry of everything she had, raising her rent every time he felt like it just because he could. The man who no longer intimidated by his stronger build or his nasty glares, who simply grinned at him sharply in response, wondering down the hall calling out his mother’s name with a sing-along voice in a way he knew would make his teeth clench.

And he wanted to leave, so desperately that he could pull his hair out, bloody and raw, and tug the teeth from his head with a pair of priers and no painkillers, and it still wouldn’t compare to the pure desperate need to leave. So desperately that he could cry and yet knew it would solve nothing. Because people like them? They don’t get a happy life; they don’t get other options. They worked to live, live to survive, and survive until you couldn’t give anything more, but overall, you never truly accomplish anything.

He knew what it looked like, if he applied. A poor kid from the ghetto, they’re going to think he’s gang affiliated, he wasn’t, sure he knew some kids from school, he knew what they did, but he never stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and they stayed clear of him in response. He worked hard to get where he was, he wouldn’t let something like that get in his way.

Not now. Not after everything.

And he wanted to apply, if only to get out of here. He wanted to, had the flying folded in his pocket, in between his pillow case and pillow as he slept, keeping it with him as a reminder of what he could achieve, all out of eyeline from his mother. A small token, maybe a daydream, something he knew would never be achieved, but it was nice to hope.

It would be nice to hope, he reminded himself as he woke in the morning with a wince, tugging his shirt down from where it had risen during the night hiding the forming bruise brushing it off as another sport related injury, the three bruised patterned indents all too real to pretend otherwise. He sat at the table staring blankly into the oatmeal, the same three patterns etched into his skin sitting mere milometers from him, waving around flamboyantly as his mother complained about something he had heard a million times. The same rings that had punched their marks into his skin, arms that had left darkening bruises wrapped around his ribs, the love carved into his skin, aches into his bones.

He felt each ounce of her love with each inhale, with each cough or whistling breath, and each sharp movement just like he had when he was a kid. The way she would squeeze too hard after a long shift, but he never complained because he missed her too, even if it made his ribs ache, or he was short of breath, he held his tongue and let her hold him; arms wrapped tightly around his body during the night preventing him from moving from her grasp as she squeezed. Because his mother loved him, the marks proved it, he had learned early on to hold back the whines of complaint in the morning when he woke to the marks dug into his skin, or the way his breath hitched or came with a wince. Because she loved him, she said so. She loved him.

And that was the reason he couldn’t go.

And that was the reason he left.

The reason he had tried to close the door on the face of two uniformed men who came knocking, papers in hand claiming he had to come with them, that he belonged to the Navy. Like he was property. Their star-sparkled stupidly clean shoe that was polished to the point you could see your own damn reflection out of them, that made him want to slam the door on their shoe all that harder blocked him, wedged between the two pieces of wood looking bored at his temper.

“Seresin, come peacefully-”

“For the last time, I didn’t sign up” he glared, “So, piss off”.

“Son you’re only making this worse for yourself, you had a clear recall date if you had second thoughts, you missed it.” he blocked out the officer, his attention dragged to his side as noise came from within he apartment. Worry bubbling as he heard his mother move around when she should be on bedrest, her latest cold having sent her to bed earlier in the week and had refused to let up for a moment.

Annoyance flooded through him mounting on his already building irritation at the knowledge they had woken her form her much needed sleep, he twisted to look at her finding her ending the kitchen walking towards him, dark circles under her eyes, betraying her exhaustion from her gaunt haunted look to the tremble in her hand. She looked wearily, approaching slowly, twisting something between her palms fiddling with it as the ruckus the two men grew louder when the officer realised he was blocking out his speech.

“Mum,” he called out gently “Go back into the bedroom I’ll be right there-“

She croaked, foot staggering her hands reaching out to the nearby counter as she forced herself closer, “I did”.

“What?” He frowned confused, half distracted glaring down the officers whose hand pressed hard against the door feeling it budge slightly much to his own annoyance, “Mum go back to the room ill-“

“I signed you up”.

He paused, staring at her, his pause allowing the officers to push him back by a hand on his shoulder causing him to stagger back as the door swung open.

“Ma’am, please allow us to resolve this peacefully. Recruit Seresin has been MIA for his first week of introductions-”

“You what?” he cut the man off staring at his frail mother who looked so painfully guilty and relieved at the same time, gut clenching and chest tightening feeling like he had just been thrown into a cheese grater.

She bit her lip, sighing heavily before holding out the item she had been fiddling with, a well-loved, folded and slightly dammed pamphlet. The naval pamphlet. “I found this under your bed, I- Pops told me you were thinking about it and the deadline was coming up and you never asked me about it and you never filled it out, so I did”.

“Mum-”

“You can’t stay here the rest of your life; you cannot rot away between these four walls like I am. I refuse to let you” she demanded, on the verge of tears voice trembling, “You deserve something much better than this Jacob; you always have. Don’t squander your chance to get out of this hell hole because of some misplaced honor”.

“That honor is my mother��.

“And your mother is asking you, to go”.

“You need me here, pops and Nam need me here-”

“Go Jacob, go” she whispered, “Please, make something out of yourself. If not for me, then for you. Because if you don’t take this chance, you’re going to resent me for the rest of your life, and I can’t stand to think of it”.

“But i-“

“You can write them a letter once you get to base, explain it all. Trust me, they’ll forgive you. Please, pack. Please Jacob”.

And so, he did. He packed the small measly items he owned, that still fit in that shitty backpack from so many years ago, the trusty thing having lasted all through his schooling with a caring hand, he had kissed his mother goodbye and felt his ribs ache under the force of her hug until one of the officers physically pulled him away and lead him down to a car.

A car that led him to the most physically challenging part of his life, the best part of his life. He had been offered temporary quarters, a package of standard clothes, uniforms, and PT gear, all new. Brand new. Clothes just for him and packed in the bottom was a pair of sneakers, and dress shoes. In his size. He was offered a meal plan of daily meals, three times a day. Showers, wherever he wanted, for however long he wanted in exchange for letting them buzz his golden locks, and a bedroom, sure he had to share it with a roommate who was out of state and being flown out to the base, but it was his.

And somehow one of the worst things his mother had ever done to him, turned into one of the greatest. The bruises had faded with time and so had his anger towards her, and all too soon the dorms began to fill in. The hall loud and brash with kids his age moving in, laughing and being crass, as he waited for the hall warden to snap at them to behave appropriately, sitting on his bed picking at his fingers having long had the habit of biting his lip ripped from him having already spent time under the man, tugging at the skin around his nails flitching as he heard the key turn in the lock of the door, eyes flicking to it instinctively.

He glanced up as the door opened unusually nervous to meet his roommate for the first time only to pause, a laugh bubbling from his lips before he could stop it. The man blinked at him in the doorway, hair buzzed, skin tanned, but he knew. He had lived with them for fuck sakes. He laughed, and laughed and laughed, until the man, unimpressed, tugged the door shut trapping them within, throwing his duffle on the unclaimed bed and crossed his arms, tense, jaw clenched, glaring him down hostilely.

“What,” the man growled out.

He grinned unable to stop himself, “You know when I said I came from the ghetto, I didn’t expect them to put me with the only god damn colored kid on the block”.

~~~~

It started with the shoulder punches.

He hadn’t realised it was an issue until Javy had sat him down with a worried look, whispering quietly about some rumors flying around behind his back because he was hurting other kids. Kids he had thought had been his friends. His face had twisted into an incredulous disbelief, then hurt, and anger, he hadn’t hurt anyone.

He had then nervously asked Javy if he believed them, the man had hesitated before admitting he tapped rather hard when he was showing affection and maybe it was a misconception, a misunderstanding, that he should try being gentler.

He didn’t understand.

So, Javy had shown him, tugged down his shirt, unbuttoning it enough to tug down sleeve enough to show his sholder where the skin was splotched in different colors. He had stared at it, then stared at it some more.

They had bruised. They were old. In different stages of healing. He had been so focused trying to spread his love with the others he had neglected Javy, his love already fading from the man’s skin.

He swallowed hand grazing over the skin his jaw clenched and Javy had just mused quietly reassuring him in worry “It’s ok Jake, It’s ok”. But it wasn’t.

He had tried, to fix it. He tried, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. The rumors, his ‘friends’ and how could they say something so horrible? He didn’t want to hurt anyone, he hadn’t! Truly. He was just trying to show them he liked them, trusted them, loved them, and they had thrown it back in his face. He wondered if his marks still bloomed on their skin in the face of their betrayal, if they would look at it at night lips curling up disgusted by their own actions. If they stared his love in the eye and disregarded it so easily.

He never spoke to them again. The kids. He shut them out when they came back from break, just brushed past them in the hall, refusing to answer them when they came up to him to start a conversation, staring at them blankly when they demanded to know what the hell his issue was, if he thought he was too good for them, and all he couldn’t think about was, was his mark still on their skin? Did it burn so close to its maker? Did the blood curdle and run through their veins aware of its carrier’s actions.

Did it hurt them as much as they hurt him?

So he set himself up, he strengthened his accent, he acted cocky, irritable, and made sure to rile up everyone around him until they couldn’t stand him, until everyone saw him as unapproachable. Everyone except Javy who stared at him at night sitting on his bunk with a lost expression, but despite the others trying to pull him away, Javy stuck to his side closely refusing to leave him too. Even when everyone hated him, when people began to abandon him in hops refusing to cover his back Javy came in clutch every time without hesitation and together they became an unstoppable duo. Together, they became family, brothers, each mark at a time.

It didn’t stop the way hurt festered in his chest when he passed those kids, who had become adults, in the hall as they leaned over and whispered to another kid who looked over at him and smirked laughing. He knew. Everyone did. It was about him. He steeled his jaw throwing them a cocky smirk and thrived off the sneer he got in return.

“You shouldn’t taunt them” Javy scolded.

“I’m just having a little fun Jay” he rolled his eyes, nudging the man with a loose knock to his shoulder and Jay staggered to the side slightly, hand twitching like he wanted to reach up and caress the mark, his jaw tightening as he stared at him before moving again, likely reminding himself this wasn’t the time or place to savor the mark.

He never did. Javy was weird about them, almost moving as if he wanted to hold them, cherish them, looking tense when he gave them when others could see, before locking himself in a bathroom stall or dressing quickly so he didn’t have to look at them. Maybe he was embarrassed.

“It’s ok Jake” Javy had whispered into the night, thinking he had gone to bed hours ago as he spent his time counting the cracks in the wall, still terrified to move as the boy sighed shifting as the bed creaked, “I know you don’t mean it. I know you love me truly”.

I do love you.

So why does it feel like you don’t understand how much?

Then came Bradshaw and everything fell apart.

At first he had loved it, Bradshaw was older than them, more reactive, and he had that fire-like attitude at him. His iron-clad control was frustrating, but if he gave him fuel, the man would throw it back at him, but if he tugged long enough the man would spit at the fire, and it would bloom into a wildfire. Beautiful, but dangerous.

He couldn’t help it. It was like an addiction. He needed to see Bradshaw react, to see those ambers glow. He ignored the warnings, the stern lectures, and bulldozed through them and day by day he watched as that iron-clad control snapped piece by piece, scaffolding flattering and crumbling down around him. He loved that he could use his jabs and taunts to drag the man out to play with him, it was exhilarating, he loved the thrill it gave him, feeling as if he was on the edge of his seat every moment he was around him, dancing on his toes, and Bradshaw strutted around like a ticking time bomb and he intended to make him explode.

Most of all he loved the way he could punch the older man in the shoulder and bubble in excitement as Bradshaw would return it as good as he gave it, and for once in years, he had a bruise. A dark blemish that spanned across his shoulder, next to his collarbone, on his right side, right over his heart. It aches when he moved, tugged when he stretched, expanded when he breathed, and he could feel it in every living movement and he loved it.

Then it all went to shit.

He didn’t know what happened. He had taunted him, and Bradshaw just snapped. Suddenly the usual jab to his shoulder wasn’t just his shoulder, it caught him by the chin, causing him to stumble, then to the gut, and a hand wrapped up around his throat, body breathless, slammed back up against the wall and, this didn’t feel like love.

This, hurt.

He remembered the gasping, chocking on air as Javy held him close barking at Trace to get a handle on Bradshaw, holding his steady on shaky legs. The man’s terrified gaze roaming over him looking more devastated at each impact point, hands roaming over his tense stomach and already red and blooming jaw, he could feel it, the blood pulsing, the tenderness.

“Fuck you, Seresin!” Bradshaw snarled over Trace’s shoulder looking like a dog foaming at the mouth, Trace’s hand was on his shoulder hissing at him to back down, to not make this worse. “The only place you’re going to lead people is to their grave, you’re like a god damn hangman. The only person who wants to be your friend is death itself”.

And there it was. The death wish. The curse. The enigma.

His callsign.

The issue with living on a base is that gossip travels quick, its twists, and it never does the spoken any favors. But once someone caught ear that he grew up in the ghetto, it was over for him.

From that moment on he had been called Hangman, the man who seeks to kill all those around him, a mercenary, a curse, a bad luck charm. Death. Flying with a yoke in hand.

It never occurred to him to report the attack, or to register the way Bradshaw tiptoed around him for a bit as if waiting for the axe to fall. A blow that never came.

He never did get over the way Bradshaw’s bruises ached in his skin, how they slowly faded but his words stuck sharp like a knife between his ribs. And the colours he had looked forward to everyday, ones he had squirmed in anticipation to watch bloom across his chest, left him in an odd feeling of displacement. Bradshaw was avoiding him with a clenched jaw, Trace alongside with him. And all too soon, his skin was unblemished again.

And he hated it.

Unloved, and a death calling.

How fitting.

He never escaped it, not when Javy earned his name, not when graduation came and they were awarded their callsigns officially, his tag already printed before he could request it. His instructor smiling proudly, whispering teasingly “the mercenary” as he pinned it to his chest, staring at him with this expectation and declared in front of everyone, awarding him his rank, and officially alienating him, because who wanted deaths calling on their squad?

“I expect you to earn our country some kills, son”.

And he had. First air-to-air kill in centuries. And what he hated about it most? It proved them all right, because when it came down to it, he didn’t hesitate for a moment pulling that trigger. He didn’t flinch, think, or anything. In fact, if anything, he took satisfaction from watching it fall out of the sky, droning back to the tower over coms, reporting the kill without really hearing it.

Then he earned a new name.

The executioner.

Everyone hated Hangman, but everyone wanted to know the executioner. To hang off his arm, to brag they were friends, to buy him rounds of drink all to celebrate the life he had taken, and that night he came home with bruises brooming across his chest, back, and arm, from drunken rumbles, and sloppy disported punches in congratulation.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

He shouldn’t be happy for taking a life, but it had earned him marks. It earned him love. And he missed it so much he could scream.

~~~~

Top Gun wasn’t any different than it was the first time. Whispers still followed him, his reputation one step behind him, and Brashaw. Bradshaw stood in his way, that hostile look, the same clenched fist, the threat of his love, and yet the man just taunted him with it. And he was so close, so close. So frustratingly close, Bradshaw fist wrapped around his jumpsuit dragging him close as he laughed exhilarated, arm raised fist ready only for everyone else to jump in, to tear them apart, screaming at each other. And Bradshaw had been ripped away, the Captain jumping between them. Bradshaw might be stupid, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a Capitan.

He wanted to throw himself off the carrier. To shove his yoke and crash into the ocean. He had been so close and all he had to show for it was the faint red marks of Bradshaw’s nails from where he as twisted the fabric of his flight suit in his fist.

And it wasn’t enough. He felt like he was going insane, like he had been going through with drawls for years and he just wanted it to stop.

“Jake” Javy stared at him with that same worried look that’s been following him for years, “Maybe it’s time we talked about it”.

Talk about him. About his obsession. About Bradshaw. About everything, and he wasn’t ready.

“Maybe its time you went to see someone”.

“why?”

“To talk to them…about this”.

“I talk to you”.

Javy never answers, just gives him this exhausted look, a haunted piercing gaze that reminded him too much of his mother the day he left, a gaze that cut through him and reminded him of every mistake he’s ever made. Missing Nam’s funeral, never visiting his mother, sending letters, responding but never taking that step to actually seeing her. Being well over due to heading back to that damn town to see Pop, to meet the grandson he spoke so fondly of that had taken over the business a few years ago. Mik. Something. It wasn’t important. Not really.

So he clenched his jaw and ignored the disappointed look, gaze trailing over Brashaw as he danced around in the sand, those muscles shinning in sweat as he tacked Neil to the ground successfully distracting he man allowing Trace to score a goal her Rio by her side faithfully managing to knock peoples ankles out from under them before they knew what was coming.

Then it came. And they crashed. Bradshaw was picked, and Maverick fell. But then Bradshaw fell with him. Love, Bradshaw so loved to taunt it in his face, even in his dying moments.

Each mark, each punch, each heated argument, and clenched jaw screamed, I love you, I love you, I love you~

And he still went after him, because Bradshaw had loved the Captain too.

But then, they lived. And he was flying like his life depended on it, and it might have, his heart pounding in his chest and he was scared it might stop if he didn’t get there in time. He hadn’t hesitate that time either, guns switching to missiles before he knew what he was doing, tone flooding through his ears fingers already pressing down the trigger before he could check which jet he had caught. Then there was smokem, and they lived.

They all lived.

The aftermath is what caused the issues though. His life was always complicated with Bradshaw around. But this time it appears the man came with an extension, the Captain, Mitchell, Maverick. His Godfather.

A father figure, who wouldn’t take no as an answer, who tugged him forward into a hug and he just stood there because where the hell had it come from? But then, it kept happening. Maverick keeps hugging, soon it became a usual pastime for the man making his rounds ensuring he patted, hugged, or kissed each and every one of them goodbye before he left and it hurt.

Usually, he was quite open to hugging, welcoming the family outlet of love. But this, he didn’t know what this was, and he hated it.

He didn’t know what he did to make the man hate him so much but it hurt, seeing the other smile brightly, Mavs soft expression welcoming them into his mismatched family alongside him, to hug him but only offer him the physical object, to wrap his arms around an empty vessel, and it ached.

He didn’t understand.

And it appeared it was becoming a common response to the man named Maverick.

Mav claimed to love him, he hugged him, he smiled so welcomely and treated him as if he was one of his one, and yet, no matter how many times he checked his in the privacy of his own home, on the verge of tears at the sight of the unblemished skin. Why was Mav allowed to love everyone but him?

Why must they taunt him with it? What did he do?

He didn’t understand.

~~~~

To be honest, letting a bunch of slightly tipsy aviator lounge around an open hanger with years’ worth of projects building up to fidget with, was only going to lead to a disaster.

Some perks of being somewhat buddy buddy with aa almost retired Captain meant accompanying the team to group outings at the man’s hanger out in the desert, it almost meant lounging back in a sun in a lounge chair drinking a beer watching Bradsh- Bradley tinker around with some object, that he thinks used to be an engine before it was deconstructed, that the older man had dragged out of the Captains workshop and began to fiddle with; apparently deeming him as his official supervisor since the rest of the group had disappeared into some other part of the hanger and Bradshaw wanted to enjoy the warm sun as well, even if it was heating the metal and causing the man to hiss in annoying under his breath in a muffled curses anytime he burnt himself.

In the most part he was enjoying himself, who wouldn’t he was practically on holiday, baking in the sun, a beer in hand, couldn’t ask for anything better. It was almost sweet serenity. Almost.

“Shit!”

His eyes snapped open eyes settling on Bradley whose teeth were gritted, blood trailing down his arm, hand clamped down on the rapidly bleeding wound. He jerked up not even glancing at the beer that he had knocked from his hip down onto the concrete where it spilled, as he stumbled out of the chair to his knees beside the man already ripping off his t-shirt and whacking Bradley’s hands away to see the damage for himself, before wrapping the fabric around it in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

“Mav!” the cry sounded raw, fearful.

The cut was deep, from his elbow down to mid-forearm, bleeding, pink and soft, gushy under his finger tips and he tried not to think about the fact his fingers were literally in Bradshaw’s arms, touching the mutilated flesh.

“MAV!”

He felt sick, Bradshaw was rapidly losing color and blood was pouring into his lap, onto his jeans as he tried to stem the bleeding, cursing as he grabbed Bradshaw’s limp hand from his thigh pressing it against the wound snapping at the man to hold it there. Before hastily unbuckling his own belt, not blinking over the mess he was making as he ripped it from its loops, looping it around Bradley’s bicep tightening it in an attempt of a torniquet, it was tight, probably too tight but he had to stop the bleeding-

“MAV!”

He was brushing away Bradley’s hand away, not that it did much good, the sticky blood coating his skin, and his stomach churned. And for once he was willing to admit he felt truly petrified, Bradley’s limp arms, pale skin starting at his wound, and blood in silent horror.

“MAV-!”

“Jesus, I’m here kid” Mav grumbled from behind him, “What do you nee- Bradley!” Something shattered on the ground but then there was Mav by his side nudging him out of the way, taking over. He shuffled back slightly leaning against his chair, feeling unstable all of the sudden, like the world was spinning around him. He stared at his hands, coated in blood, jeans ruined, shirt unsalvageable, but Mav was already calling for the rest of the group and, how had no one heard his screams?

Had they ignored him? At the cost of Bradleys life?

Mav was shoving Bradley into the arms of Reuben and Billy, Nat already having run off to get the car, as Mav ordered them to take him to the small hospital that was apparently in the next town over and then- Mav was in his face. His hands on his knees and Mav was- Mav.

“I’m here sweetheart,” Mav ran a hand over his knee soothingly and his breath shook before realising he’d been muttering the same word over and over again, mav. Mav. Mav. Mav. MAV.

“I’m here sweetheart, but I really need to go. Bradley’s really hurt and we have to get you up with the others so we can get you changed and ready to go see him all patched up because I think you’re a little shaken Jake. Come on up we go-” Mav had a hand on each of his elbows urging him up with him easily shouldering his weight as he stumbled around like a drunk fawn. He didn’t- he just- he was

“He was so pale” he crocked, pleading with Mav, begging him. For what?

“He’s ok, he’s never been any good with blood. He’s okay Jake” Mav reassured him gently tugging him further into the hanger, he followed blindly. That, that’s what he had been looking for.

He’s ok.

He’s never been good with blood.

He’s okay.

Okay.

Mav pulled away slightly, ensuring he had his feet under him, but his hand flew up clenching at Mav’s bicep even as Mav releases him completely, clearly desperate to follow after his son, in all but blood. His voice trembled, croaking, eyes flicking over Mav’s face trying to determine the man’s emotion from the small mini-markers, trying to figure out what he did wrong.

Why are you leaving?

“I did good, right?” he asked, clarifying desperately, watching as Mavs brows furrowed slightly shifting impatiently, urging someone over his shoulder towards them as he tapped him on the shoulder squeezing it.

I need you.

“Yeah kid, you did good” Mav smiled softly, “Callie’s going to help you alright? I think you going into a bit of shock. It’s alright, no one was expecting it to happen. Cal, make sure he gets out of these clothes feel free to the stuff in the backrooms, I should have some old stuff from my flight mates stores in there that should fit him, he needs lots to drink, lots of electrolytes and sleep” he informed her, Neil sliding up beside her nodding along, gently wrapping his arm around his chest from behind transferring the weight as Callie patiently tugged on his fingers until they no longer clenched the Capitan and held them within her own.

“Come on Jake, let’s get you into a nice warm shower and-”, he couldn’t focus on Callie, throat dry, staring into an empty spot.

Mav was gone. The moment his grip was released he sent the two a grateful smile before turning on his heel and taking off out of the hanger. Gone.

Mav left him.

And he wasn’t sure he could forgive him.

That night he held his own waist, arms wrapped around himself as tight as they would go and held on. Through his sobbing hiccups, through the pained hiss and clenched teeth, his ribs squeezing tight as he let out a muffled low whimper of pain, refusing to let go, until he could see the darkening skin through his blurred vision. And then, maybe then, he could pretend Mav loved him too.

~~~~

Being asked to stay behind after class by a commanding officer was fine, being asked to stay behind after class by Maverick, was not. Let alone for the man to come up to him and ask him personally to come up to his hanger after work so they could talk about some things, he might as well have a better chance throwing himself into a jet turbine and hoping to live to tell the tale.

The drive was long, perhaps that was on purpose, to allow him the chance to shrug of today’s lesson and his worries. Maybe t had been intended that way but clearly Mav had never taken the time to know him. Instead, it gave him hours to hyper-analysis every interaction with the man and his classmates for the last two months trying to determine why the hell he was being issued an informal reprimand.

A lot had happened in the last few months, the daggers had been officially named as a squadron and they had all been issued their new enigma, he wore his quite proudly as did many others, the group as a result became somewhat closer, spending more time together. Or at least attempting too. So in response he had attempted to share his appreciation as well, but it was always one step forward and two steps back, it seemed almost like every attempt he made they would shut off a little more from him, each shaken head, each retreat, each stiff pool game when he offered to play with them and they’d brush him off, and each a disappointed murmur plunging a knife through his chest: Nat shook her head muttering disappointedly sighing in a way he hadn’t heard in months, “Same old Hangman”.

He didn’t understand, and he was started to get really sick of being left outside the loop.

He swallowed thickly as he pulled up to the fenced lot letting himself in as he pulled off the dirt road onto the slightly gravelled section Mav had donned the parking and put the truck into park, taking a moment to flex his fingers around the wheel trying to take deep even breath, to counter the way his brain seamed to twist and twirl trying to dig him further into a hole he didn’t want to get stuck in.

“You can do this” he reminded himself softly, “You can do this”. It can’t be that bad right? If he was anything bad, Mav wouldn’t have dragged him all the way out here, he would have just ordered him to his office and been done with it. Right?

“Do you plan on sitting in the car all day Seresin!” a voice called out.

He let his eyes fall shut head bumping back against his head rest before opening the car door and sliding out, “Thought I’d take a moment to enjoy the sun sir” he called back. The last one before his execution that was.

“You didn’t have a chance to do that on the drive in?” Mav asked coming into view lifting an eyebrow, wiping his hands on a cloth, dirty and stained but it appeared to be doing its job.

“I’m from Texas pops, we do everything differently, it’s easier if you just accept it” he grinned, pushing back his nerves as he strolled closer shoving his hands into his pockets, “So, what’s up, you’re not going to kill me and burry me out here are you because it think the Dingos might get me before the Eagles do” he commented lightly. If anyone would be able to kill and get away with it, it would be Mav. Hell, he already had the perfect stretch of land for it and enough connection to make a viable alibi. Maybe he shouldn’t have come…

Or at least told someone where he was going.

Where the hell was Javy when he needed him, they could have matching gravestones.

Mav huffed, lips twitching in amusement as he tucked the rag corner into his back pocket letting ti hand, “Now why would I do that? I just called aside in front of the class, that’s too suspicious, even for me”.

He shrugged, “Bradshaw would probably help you hide the body”.

Mav frowned “You saved his life, twice now”.

“Small details”.

Mav hummed, “Come on, we can talk inside”, Mav turned leading him further into the hanger, his gaze couldn’t help but drift to the darker spot of concrete where he knew had blood splattered over it a few months ago, unable to bring himself to make the trip out here since, only to find a pristine surface. He swallowed thickly before following the man in.

So, Mav’s suspiciously good at getting rid of blood stains. Great news.

He has the burial sight, the extra hands, an alibi, good clean up products, all he needs now is motives.

He go down that list worryingly quick and he’s hardly made it past the threshold of the property yet. He sighed signing his own death certificate and allowed Mav to lead him into the kitchen where the Mav placed a bottle of water chilled from the fridge onto the counter gesturing for him to take him, placing the counter between them.

He was a tad ashamed of the way it set him slightly more at ease.

It didn’t take long the tension building awkwardly between them before Mav sighed heavily suddenly looking his age, frowning heavily brows furrowing in worry as he leaned over on the counter glancing up, clearly unsure how to approach the subject, “Look Jake…some of the other had some concerns about your rough- uh… treatment! Towards the others, and I think it’s about time we address it”.

Rough treatment?

Rough?

“Look Jake” Javy squirmed uncomfortably, “There this rumour going around….that you hurt some of the other guys…”

Rough?

“I didn’t- Javy I would never- They’re kids!”

I-

“Jake?”

He hummed, not really registering the way his grip around the bottle tightened a tad too much causing it to creak, or how he straightened slightly as Mav pushed of the counter staring at him fully in concern, “Are you alright?” Mav asked.

It was happening again.

He swallowed thickly, hand raising up the flesh under his shoulder, under the collarbone over his breast over his right side, digging his knuckles into the flesh, and into an older bruise, feeling the flash of the sharp pain restart his system, the haze beginning to fade.

“Jake!” Mavs sharp tone tugged him further out, those egal eyes tracking his hand rubbing at his chest, eyes narrowing, “What’s wrong with your chest”.

He dropped it, “Nothing. You we’re saying”. About how everyone hated me.

Mav stood his ground staring him down, but so did he. After all, Mav was the one who taught him how. Mav bit his lip slightly before relenting, acknowledging that they were just as stubborn as each other and they likely wouldn’t get anywhere unless one of them submitted and they both knew it wouldn’t be him.

“Jake, come on tell me what’s going on” Mav shoulders slumped, “I can’t lead a time if you’re fighting within it”.

“I don’t know what they’re talking about” He gruffed out. “Why don’t you ask them if your so un-bias”.

“Come on kid, work with me here.-“

“No! Because why am I the only one here? This is a team issue, no? Where’s the team?” he waved his arm in a wide swipe his distress beginning to grow, “Why am I the one singled out? What because Bradshaw doesn’t like me, which means Nat didn’t like me and she’ll willingly spread that distrain to everyone if she could and-”

“Jake” Mav warned lowly, “Enough”.

“I am not the only person on this team!”

“I’m aware” Mav replied calmy, “However it’s your actions that they’re concerned about, so I want to hear what you have to say before I go through with anything”.

So, there is a reprimand here.

Bradshaw doesn’t like me: Motive.

He pushes himself away from the counter not caring about where his bottle dropped as he tried to put distance between the two of them, feeling uncomfortable, scratchy, and- I don’t understand, I just don’t understand, I DON’T UNDERSTAND-

Then suddenly he couldn’t breathe. The stress builds and his chest and- and- suddenly all he can do is wrap his arms around his waist in an attempt to release the building pressure suffocating him, and squeeze. Breath hitching, sharp gasps, nails digging into his flesh then- strong hands settled on his arm, one on his wrist tugging it away from himself sharply, the other just above his elbow on the opposite arm holding him still. He clamped his eyes shut refusing to look at the man, breath trembling in uncontrolled panic. Mav tried to pull his other arm away from his body but he jerked away, hands holding him still clamped tightly, but a pained hiss made its way through gritted teeth. His eyes opened, shiny and wet as Mav stared him down silently bringing his right wrist to his left holding them together loosely giving him the benefit of the doubt as he gently tugged up his shirt, letting out a shocked breath at the sight of the bruised and damaged flesh. Mav’s fingers trailing over the tender skin feeling his abdomen flex to get away from the prodding fingers, worry shining in Mav’s eyes making a wounded noise as he traced a larger bruise from his belly button wrapping around to his hip bone and lower two ribs.

“Sweetheart” Mav breathed, “Who did this?”

He blinked, jaw shaking slightly as he cleared his throat, staring at Mav’s worried expression in confusion. “What?”

“Who hurt you, sweetheart?” Mav’s eyes looked wet, peering up at him, fingertips ghosting over the bruise as if afraid he’d hurt him if he touched it further.

“No one hurt me, Mav” he frowned.

“Jake, I swear if someone’s-”

“They’re love marks” he explained softly in confusion reaching down and Mav let his hand fall, he reached for the bigger mark and traced it lightly, “See this one is darker? It means it’s full of love. This one?” he shifted over lifting his shirt further ignoring the keening noise Mav made when he revealed the black and green mark over his heart, “It’s lighter, it’s fading, the love”.

Mav stared at the marks silently, gaze flickering over the newest ones looking more and more troubled, before gently asking “Who did this?”

He blinked, “I did of course”.

“Wh-why?”

“Because…” he frowned, “Because you were punishing me, and I- I didn’t know why and I just thought maybe if I could-”

“Wha- Jake, honey. I’m not punishing you,… how am I punishing you?” Mav’s grip on his elbow tightened slightly squeezing in comfort, his gaze seeking him out, genuinely confused.

He shifted uncomfortably under the gentle gaze, feeling himself sinking under it unable to stop himself, squirming as he muttered, “Your hugs,…they’re wrong”.

“How? Wrong how, Jake”.

“I don’t know!” he bit his lip tugging away from Mav, the man only let him step back a step before he was right there again, keeping his hands to himself but making sure he didn’t flee in his agitation, “Ok. They’re just wrong,” he gritted his teeth, turning his gaze, dancing over the counter, his abandoned drink, to the oil stain on the floor, a machine with a toolbox open where Mav had clearly been working before he arrived, anything to avoid the mans gaze. “They’re just empty. Like they don’t mean anything, you love everyone else so clearly, but then you get to me and it’s like you have nothing left to give, and- and- they don’t hurt Mav! They’re meant to hurt, to squeeze, to hold you so tight that you- you fuse, to make marks so I can see your love and-” his breath shuttered, voice trembling like a loose leaf in the wind.

“Oh, Jake” Mav’s voice sounded wrenched, “Darling, hugs aren’t meant to hurt you”.

“But I-“

“Sweetheart, bruises aren’t a good thing, they’re bad. Really really bad” Mav explained softly, “Hugs aren’t meant to hurt you, you’re meant to feel safe in them, melt into them, sleep in them.”

He was trembling, he could feel it, his jaw wobbling as he sniffed, throat bobbing, fingers unconsciously tracing over his dark skin, the only constant in his life since he left home, “But I- I cant get love without them Mav” he admitted with a wrenched whisper, quickly followed by a halted sob, chest heaving in effort as he tried to supress his tears at the sudden overload, “I don’t know how, this is all I’ve known. This means love”.

This meant love. It always had. Since he was little, since he curled up next to his mother and she help him close, or her holding him by the hand as they crossed the street or in stores, she only held on so tight because she was worried he’d get lost, or that he’d have a nightmare or fall out of bed. She did it because she cared.

“There this rumour going around….that you hurt some of the other guys…”

“Look Jake…some of the other had some concerns about your rough- uh… treatment! Towards the others, and I think it’s about time we address it”.

“They’re just kids!”

He- he had been hurting them? But it- it meant love. Didn’t everyone know that? When he nudged their shoulder did they just think he was hurting them, just because he could. When he nudges Javy…Shit Javy. Did he think he did it on purpose? Did he think he was hurting him?

“It’s ok Jake” Javy had whispered into the dark room, “I know you don’t mean it. I know you love me truly”.

He felt sick. Did everyone think he was some sick dick who hurt people just because he could? That he’d debase himself to hurt kids because he was bigger and wanted to dominate or intimidate them? Did- did Bradley just think he was edging him into a fight? Was…was that all they were to Bradley? Just some dick he used to fight within the academy. Did none of it mean, I love you?

“It doesn’t,” Mav said softly, “it doesn’t sweetheart”. Mav lifted his hands slowly giving him time to move before cradling his cheeks gently, wiping away the tears that had escaped that he hadn’t even noticed, “Do you feel this?” Mav asked softly, “How gentle I am?” Mav’s hands dropped down to wrap around his waist holding him close, giving him the option to step closer, “Feel how I hold you? Like you can just lean into it? that you can trust me to hold you?”

He hesitated slightly nodding hesitantly searching the older man for anything that told him not to trust him. Feeling as if his world had just been turned upside down, like he was miss stepping within his own body.

Mav smiled softly, “Then trust me”.

He swallowed nervously before leaning forward slowly placing his weight on the man, Mav takes it easily and he allowed himself to exhaled softly embracing the warmth of the other body, muscles relaxing like puddy, but despite allowing himself some freedom he still felt like there was the ghost of an expectation for the arms around him to tighten like a cobra and rip the hope from his still beating heart. He felt like he was about to stumble into a trap, like he was trapped in a bird with no power, a faulty ejection and just holding on for the ride, trapped in a freefall not knowing when it would stop.

“This is love” Mav mused. “Gentle, soft, and not painful”.

“My mother loved me” he muttered defensively, desperately, “She did”.

“I’m sure she did” Mav agreed gently, “She had had a different way of showing it. But us, the daggers, we show love a little differently alright? So, you’re going to have to get used to soft and gentle for a while, can you do that?”

He bit his hip hesitantly before nodding, allowing himself to tuck his head into the junction between Mav’s neck and shoulder listening to Mav hum lowly, just holding him swaying lightly allowing him to sink into the new feeling. To become accustomed to it.

To give it a long forgotten name,

Love.

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