#and instead they named him after a simpson | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allbark-no-bite · 3 months ago

Text

call it brotherhood (not love).

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.2k)

summary: jake meets his match in a soldier rather than a sailor. you’re a bit more war torn than he expected, but it’s okay because maybe he is too

warnings: 18+ smut, * graphic descriptions of injuries and death ⚠️

* if you are uncomfortable with this, please don’t read

author’s note: spoiler alert, i know this isn’t the Jake fic that you’ve all been wanting but i swear that one is in the works. i’m about to go back to school and wanted to get this out there for y’all :) (ps i apologize for the lazy ending)

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"At ease, gentlemen —And woman," Admiral Simpson adds after a moment, shooting an uncharacteristically apprehensive look in Phoenix's direction. Payback snorts at his hasty correction, and Jake is surprised when the admiral doesn't fix him with a nasty look.

If the man's cursory show of inclusion perturbs the female pilot, she doesn't show it, and instead she takes a seat with all the rest of them. Jake turns back towards the front of the ready room, sinking down into his chair just a bit, toothpick clenched between his teeth as he waits for the admiral to address them.

However routine, this training meeting was a bit out of left field, especially for a Sunday afternoon. The Dagger squad typically had one weekly, but it was usually led by Maverick and much more informal. That wasn't to say that seeing Beau was surprising, but the man usually steered clear of the wayward captain and left him to his own devices when it came to training the Daggers.

Today the captain sits in the ready room beside the rest of the pilots. Jake watches as Bradley sends his godfather an inquisitive brow from across the room, to which the older man just shrugs. Interesting.

Cyclone clears his throat. "Good afternoon. I apologize for keeping you all, but I promise this will only take a minute of your time. As I'm sure you are all aware, the United States Department of Defense takes immense pride in maintaining one of the most well integrated military forces in the world. It's our job to work closely with other service members to ensure their safety and the safety of our nation." He pauses. "As experienced as you all are, your time here at Topgun has not reflected that."

Jake's brow furrows, his tongue worrying at the toothpick clenched between his teeth as he listens to the admiral go on. Javy shoots him a look but Jake stares ahead, waiting for Beau to continue.

"The permanent installment of your squad here at Miramar was to create a tightly knit group of elite fighter pilots who would be available at a moment's notice, and however successful that may have been, I cannot neglect the fact that comfort builds complacency. Later today, a squad of U.S. Army soldiers will be arriving to aide in your training for the next six weeks. The integration of mixed branch training units has been widely effective around the country, and it's about time we do the same here at Miramar."

With that, the screen positioned on the wall behind him lights up, displaying enlarged headshots of about eight soldiers. The first seven are males of varying ages, but none older than probably thirty. Jake quickly skims over their names and credentials, but when he gets to the last profile, his eyes stop.

The last solider is the only female projected on the screen, but even so she stands out as compared to all the other members of her squad. He can't quite put his finger on why though.

She's uncharacteristically pretty. And by that he means that to most, her appearance would be inherently off putting— even without the straight-mouthed scowl on her face. She's got a square, almost masculine like jawline that hardens her features considerably. Her hair is light, worn from spending too much time in the sun regardless of however dark it may have been naturally. The same goes for her skin, which is comparably bronze in contrast to the tan line on her forehead, he would assume from wearing a patrol cap out in the field.

Her eyes are wild.

And that's when it hits him.

She'd been all over the news just a few months ago. Something about a patrol gone wrong out in the Middle East, which ultimately turned into a high stakes rescue mission to extract the surviving soldiers. They went in hoping to bring back nine men and came out with one. Apparently they didn't even get to recover the bodies.

Jake can't imagine what that'll do to a person.

Before he can stare at her profile any longer, Cyclone quickly clicks off the projection and the image disappears. This time he appears almost nervous as he stares back at them. "These soldiers are recently returning from a deployment in the Middle East, so I trust that you all will do your best to make them feel welcome. If none of you have any questions, that is all. You're dismissed."

---

The following morning, the Jake receives word from Maverick that the Admiral wants to see him in his office. It's not a strange request but certainly raises Jake's attention as to why specifically he was needed.

Upon entering the room, Jake finds not only the Admiral but Maverick and another female that he's yet to have seen before. All heads turn towards him when he enters, as if he were interrupting something. Immediately, Jake snaps to attention, his heels clicking together and his fingers brushing his brow with a sharpness that would make the academy proud.

Cyclone nods in his direction, acknowledging Jake's customary greeting and dismissing him with the notion. "Lt. Seresin," he begins, gesturing to the female standing across the room. "This is Lt. (L/n). She's uh—a member of the squad that I briefed you on yesterday."

He hadn't noticed that she was wearing Army OCPs but he connects the dots as soon as the admiral mentions her name. He remembers reading it on the projector during the meeting.

Rather than introducing herself, the soldier stands rigidly across from him, her arms folded in front of her chest with a look on her face that Jake can only describe as fucking pissed. Unsure of what to do but aware from personal experience with Phoenix that he shouldn't try to cross any unknown boundaries, Jake settles for offering her a respectful nod. She glares back at him.

"You're two of our only service members with active combat experience," Cyclone continues, obviously ignoring the girl's crossed disposition. "I'm hoping that you and Lt. (L/n) can find some common ground. Perhaps it would do you both some good to—"

"Respectfully, sir, if I wanted to vent to someone about my feelings, I'd go see a shrink," the woman growls. "I recommend you do the same, Lt. Seresin." Her tone makes Jake's brow raise slightly in surprise. No one talks to an admiral like that, not even Pete Mitchell.

"Lt. (L/n)," Cyclone snaps. "That's quite enough."

This time, she rolls her eyes with a scoff. "You can't just—"

"Get out."

She clamps her jaw shut but doesn't budge from where her feet are planted in the ground.

"I said, Get. Out," Cyclone reiterates.

The eyes that had caught Jake's attention in the first place fix the admiral with a chilling stare. To Jake, there's something familiar in those eyes. Some sort of unmistakably justifiable rage that runs deeper than just being dismissed from the conversation. Jake watches, his breath stalled as she sets her jaw, unwilling to move, when it hits him. Identical jawlines and untwitching scowls mirror each other.

The illegitimate child of Admiral Beau Simpson stands before him.

He doesn't know how he didn't see it before, granted they don't share a last name, but Jake was aware that the Admiral was divorced, had been for a while. Allegedly he wasn't the marrying type. Jake isn't surprised by the statement. Beau Simpson is a hard man to deal with.

Jake watches in silence as the girl ultimately releases an irritated huff and storms out of the office, slamming the door behind her. He can hear the loud, petulant stomp of her boots as she retreats down the hall. Evidently her looks weren't the only thing that she got from her dad. She had a temper that rivaled even Bradshaw's.

The clearing of the Admiral's throat removes Jake's eyes from the door. "I hope you can forgive my daughter's behavior. Her return to the states has been...difficult."

"I'm sure difficult is the way she would describe you too sir," Maverick jokes.

Cyclone fixes him with a perturbed glare but decidedly ignores his comment in favor of addressing Jake. "Lt. (L/n)'s squadron was ambushed six months ago. Just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong and she was the only survivor. As her father, I wanted her to accept the Purple Heart and retire." He gestures flippantly towards the door. "Obviously that's not what she did."

Jake speaks for the first time since he entered the room. "Respectfully, sir, I don't blame her. I'm taking this career to the grave. I'm sure both your daughter and Captain Mitchell can agree," he adds glancing over at his instructor.

Before Maverick can voice his agreement, the admiral cuts him off.

"As I'm sure Captain Mitchell can attest to, as her father, I'm just trying to look out for her."

With his preexisting connection to Rooster, the godson that he would risk his career to protect, Maverick has no room to disagree with the admiral. For once, the captain, who usually always has something to say, stands with his palms folded behind his back and keeps his mouth shut.

"As I was saying," Cyclone continues, taking a seat behind his desk and kicking back as if to signal that he's won the conversation. "It is my hope that given your own—" the admiral hesitates for just a moment too long for Jake's liking "—personal experience, you'll be able to get through to her."

Jake swallows and hopes that he doesn't look as uneasy as the insinuation makes him feel. He has to take a moment to reassure himself that the psych unit has repeatedly cleared him for duty and that no one's threatening to take his wings away.

The nights that he wakes up, drenched in sweat, with his fingers wrapped around imaginary joysticks hard enough to make his palms bleed are few and far in between these days. And even those he's gotten good enough at faking like they don't bother him because he hasn't failed a psych evaluation in months.

It doesn't mean he likes to talk about it or that he won't hear the fear in Rooster's voice if he does.

But he's more scared of not flying than anything, so all Jake does is nod and offer a dry, "I'll do my best, sir."

———

PTSD or modern day shell-shock is what they like to call it. You call it waiting on the other shoe to drop.

Because there is always another shoe.

The slam of a beer bottle down on the bar top lights your nerves up like nothing else. It sends your heart straight to your stomach and makes your palms sweat like when you miss a step on the stairs and for a split second, you think you're going to die. You never do of course, but your body is hard wired that way to keep you alive.

There's a flaw in your system that hasn't been right since the east.

You knew that a popular naval bar on a Friday night wasn't the best place for you these days but your nerves had been yearning for an ice cold beer and fuck all if you weren't going to get one. The alcohol would soothe your nerves anyhow.

But after thirty minutes of waiting on said beer, you were beginning to lose your patience. Normally you weren't bothered by that kind of thing. The place was obviously busy and the lone woman behind the bar was doing her best to satisfy the flock of servicemen that only seemed to accumulate with every beer that she handed out.

Just when you're about to give up and leave, a large hand covers your lower back, pressing you forwards through the crowd and toward the bar top.

"Two more on me, please, Penny."

The voice belongs to the tall man standing behind you. He's removed his firm, but respectfully placed palm from your back and is now leaning over you to accept the two dripping bottles of beer. It doesn't take you long to recognize the green of his eyes from a few days prior.

"My dad didn't put you up to this did he?" you ask, somewhat reluctantly taking the bottle that he offers you. It's finger numbing cold, just how you like it.

He kind of just slowly smiles and shakes his head.

Immediately you feel like a jerk. You sigh, dropping your shoulders and smile softly back. "Sorry. That was rude."

"No, ma'am, he didn't. Just had to find out if you smiled like that all the time."

The part of you that's a little bit of a bitch makes you clench your teeth together, tightening the smile that was once spread across your lips. "I'm not looking for that kind of thing right now," is all you say.

You want to tell him that you used to not be so mean.

At the realization that his words had the exact opposite effect of what he was going for, the guy graciously extends his hand. "Look I don't mean to bother you, I just wanted to say hi."

Despite not being keen on his advances, you aren't going to be rude so you accept his outstretched hand. You're surprised by his gentleness. It's not the rough, over-masculine shake you are expecting.

"Lieutenant (Y/n) (L/n)."

"I know your name," he admits with a light, almost embarrassed laugh. "I think everybody in here knows your name."

Your skin prickles. You stare at him stoney faced, bracing yourself for what's going to come out of his mouth. "Why's that?"

The guy—Lt. Seresin—you're remembering, shrugs. "I mean, you're quite the story back here in the states. A bit of a ghost story, I must say."

Ghost story is right. Because who survives that? How the fuck does a twenty-two year old girl survive an outnumbered ambush and not eight men with years of experience? Not someone who deserves to be called a hero, that's for sure.

You're trying your best to keep your cool with him. You know that you're in a public space and he's just being friendly. You used to be so good at this kind of thing, the flirting and small talk.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is what you need. Maybe this will make you feel normal again. You need to feel normal again.

Maybe that is why you let him lean in closer, buy you another drink when yours runs dry, and another one after that. Maybe that is why you make an effort to laugh when he does, and you close your eyes when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You let out the breath that's been tightening your ribcage and do your best to smile. "Thank you for the beer. You didn't have to do that." You hope the words sound as genuine as they're intended to.

He smiles back like he's supposed to, all polite and inherently forgiving of your original attitude. You catch onto the way it doesn't quite reach his eyes. You're not sure why but it makes you think maybe he's just a bit sad too.

Maybe that is why he lets you wordlessly take his hand and lead him to the back of the bar. Maybe that is why he lets you sink to your knees on the cold, sticky tiles of the men's bathroom floor, his hands already fumbling to unbuckle his belt.

It smells like beer and piss, and you don't even wait for him to get fully hard before you take him in your mouth, your nose buried into his pelvis, where it smells like sweat. It's all wrong and right at the same time, and he won't ask you to stop. He just curls his fingers into a fistful of your hair, pinpricks stinging at your scalp the same way tears sting at your eyes.

He—Jake—he'd told you a while ago, has a pretty cock. At least as pretty as cocks go. Pink and ruddy at the tip, where it mushroomed beautifully. Almost dauntingly long but not grossly so with a throbbing vein on the underside. You run your tongue along it and he muffles a whimper, his fingers wrapping harder around your hair in an effort not to buck up into your mouth. At least he's a gentleman about it.

He's heavy and twitching in your mouth. You feel heavy. He is standing above you, a harsh line of a man against the buzzing bathroom light. You remind yourself to breathe through your nose and he punches himself further, the head of his cock skimming the back of your throat.

You swallow around him, trying to hold together what little is left of your remaining sense of self. It's been a while since you've been so careless as to place yourself in someone else's hands, rolled over and showed your belly to someone who could easily take advantage of you.

Your jaw aches, uncomfortable and familiar, like something you don't want to remember. Tears well up behind your eyes, the threat of an unwanted but unknown feeling looming just out of reach. Jake's hand in your hair hold your head firmly against his pelvis, hips rocking up into your mouth. He sighs like he can finally breathe.

You can't breathe.

You try to and something rasps inside of you, choking. The feeling that had been looming threateningly sparkles through you. Panic.

You know that he tries to settle you, does his best to wipe the tears leaking from your eyes with his thumbs and murmurs softly to you. "Breathe. It's okay, breathe for me."

You can't. You can't breathe.

Your head is pounding and suddenly you aren't kneeling on the bathroom floor of the bar. You're on the ground, crying, screaming like a wounded animal and no one is coming to help. You can almost feel the dirt under your knees, taste the blood in your mouth.

"Y/N, you have to breathe."

Someone's grabbing you, hauling your useless feet across the floor. Your chest hurts like you've been punched with a bowling ball.

"C'mon, let's get some air."

How you end up outside the bathroom is beside you. All you know is one minute you're dying on your knees back in the desert and the next you're being sat down on the back steps of the bar.

The cool air of the San Diego evening brings you back. That and the press of a cup of ice water to your lips, the condensation dripping from the glass and rolling down your throat. You swallow, letting the cool liquid soothe your burning throat.

You're aware of Jake sitting down beside you, close enough to touch if he wanted to but still keeping his distance. You can feel his eyes on you, watching carefully for a moment before he turns to stare out at the not so distance shoreline.

Your stomach feels odd, like you might be sick.

He probably thinks you're insane. You would think the same. But if he's dying to ask what the hell that was, he's doing a good job of hiding it.

How do you tell him that sometimes you think that you should have died, that sometimes the memories almost kill you?

"I hid."

He looks up from peeling off the label around the neck of his bottle. "What?"

You swallow, trying to collect yourself before your words fail you.

"I hid. A—After I was shot, I didn't get back up. I crawled under the humvee and... and I just laid there. I laid there and I closed my eyes and I prayed. I prayed that they wouldn't notice me lying under there or that they if they did, they would think I was already dead."

A mixture of sweat and dust burns your eyes. When you blink, you can feel the sandy grit trapped between them. You squeeze them shut while trying to swallow back the dryness of your throat in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort, but it doesn't do much. An unwarranted tear escapes and runs down the track of your nose.

With your rifle held closely to your chest, you let it slide down and collect on the bow of your lip. It joins the puddle of sweat that has already accumulated there. Out here, the sun cooks you alive. You swear it's a constant one thousand degrees. The twenty pounds of kevlar doesn't help.

Dirt kicks up beside you and gravel showers your helmet as a round of bullets buries themselves into the ground a mere six inches from your face. You hardly flinch.

Somebody is screaming. The sound of machine gun fire is ringing in your ears. Somebody is screaming.

"(L/N), C'MON. LET'S MOVE."

It's Cain. He's grabbing the strap of your kevlar vest and yanking you to your feet. You scramble after him, desperate not to be left behind. Bullets explode at your feet the moment the two of you emerge from the concealment of the dirt mound. Fear makes you run faster.

You spot Manny crouched behind the tire of the SUV to your right. He's firing rounds into the brush. You can tell that he's bleeding from a wound to his arm and you're about to veer off to help him when his head jerks backwards, the scattered remains of his brain plastered onto the white side of the truck.

You stop running, the words caught in your throat.

"RUN," Cain screams. He'd backtracked a few paces and grabs hold of your vest once again to drag you behind a second SUV. You stumble over him, falling haphazardly onto your rear once he lets go of you. He immediately turns to fire over the hood of the truck, and the bullets hitting the truck stop momentarily.

Clawing at the gravel on the ground, you hurry to scramble to your feet. Your head is pounding, your mouth dry and gritty. Huffing, you glance between Cain, who is fumbling to reload his magazine, and the crumpled figure of Manny a few yards away. You can only hope Ronny is still out there somewhere.

Before you can even try to locate him or any other members of the squad, movement to your left springs your muscles into action. You slam your back into the side door of the SUV just as a round of bullets pelt the spot where you were standing just moments before. Automatically, you raise your gun, returning the fire. There are a few more shots fired in retaliation, but they stop a second later.

Once you're sure they're subdued, you lower your gun, breathing hard. There's so much smoke and debris in the air that you can hardly even see Cain ten feet away. He's shuffling towards you in a low crouch.

"Let's move, (L/n). They know where we are. We've got to find different cover."

You nod, your finger still pressed tightly to the trigger of your weapon. You drop into a crouch and follow behind him as he creeps towards the back of the truck. He pauses a moment, scanning the landscape before looking back at you. His blue eyes are a startling contrast to the dirt and sweat covering his tanned face. He lifts his gun in the direction of a flipped humvee about fifty yards away. His mouth moves in a silent command.

One.

Two.

Three.

The gunfire starts up as soon as the two of you spring from behind the vehicle. You can hear the whizzing of bullets as they just barely miss your head. All you can do is pray you don't trip as you struggle to keep up with Cain. Your lungs burn and your boots feel impossibly heavy.

The terrain is barren but the ground loose, and rocks threaten to upend your footing, slipping out from beneath your feet as the two of you flee towards the vehicle.

30 yards from the humvee, Cain tumbles to the ground with a broken cry. The bullet catches him in the thigh, stopping him mid stride. He hits the ground hard.

Without even thinking, you skid to a stop. Bullets spray the ground around you. Somehow you're more afraid of leaving him than being shot.

"Go!" he yells at you, already trying to shove you away. "Go, I'm coming!"

Already, there's a lake of blood beneath him. You step in it and the ground squelches under your boot. Crimson gushes from his left thigh, effectively saturating the fabric of his pants. His face is terrifyingly pale. The bullet must have hit his femoral artery.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Like hell," you snap at him, your pervious fear suddenly boiling into the purest form of anger you've ever felt. Angry for being in this situation in the first place. Angry that of all people, Cain is going to die.

It's terrifying how quickly the realization comes to you, how easily you accept it as the truth. There's already too much blood. Without a tourniquet, he'll bleed out in minutes and there's not quite time for that.

"Leaving him behind wasn't an option. It never even occurred to me that it was," you confess, as if saying it aloud will somehow explain away this title of heroism that everyone wants to pin on you. "Dead or alive, he was coming with me."

You shoulder your rifle and use both hands to grab onto the straps of his vest, hefting him backwards towards the truck.

He must clamp onto his bottom lip to stop the scream that threatens to escape because the noise that comes from his mouth is garbled.

You drag Cain about ten feet before you realize how just heavy he is. There's sweat leaking into your eyes and all you can see is the bloody lake that's left behind as you drag him through the dust. Cain's gone quiet, his head lulled to the side, eyes almost shut.

"C'mon, Cain. We're almost there."

His boot snags on a rock, and when you tug him free, he doesn't utter a word.

Something inside of you knows he's gone, was gone long before you started dragging him. You're still ten yards from the SUV.

POP. POP. POP.

You pause, your eyes fixed ahead of you. "Have you ever been shot before?"

Beside you, Jake shakes his head.

"It feels like someone has shot a bowling ball into your chest. Knocks the breath right out of you."

Pain explodes straight through your ribcage. Your vision clouds and you're vaguely aware of your knees buckling beneath you.

When you come to, all of the wind has been knocked out of you from hitting the ground so hard and your immediate reflex is to suck in a reviving breath. Instead all that comes out is a gurgle, the tell tale sign that your chest cavity is filling with blood.

You swallow, looking off at the dark shoreline of the beach, watching as the waves crash against the sand. "I knew that I wasn't dead yet—I did— I just—" Your throat constricts and when you speak again your voice is quieter. "He was already gone so maybe a part of me had already gone with him."

Jake nods slowly, as if putting together the pieces that you're laying down bit by bit. Somehow his green eyes have remained soft this entire time and maybe that's where you find the courage to continue.

Lifting your head, you crane your neck to see the damage, but the thick layer of kevlar strapped to your chest obstructs your view of the lower half of your body. Grunting in frustration, you reach blindly in the direction that the pain is radiating from. Numbly, your fingers find the gushing hole in your side. The bullet had buried itself in the exposed inch of your stomach between your belt and your vest.

There mustn't be an exit wound because there isn't a ton of blood surrounding you. If the wet cough you emit is anything to go by, it's probably pooling in your abdominal cavity instead.

You're going to die.

"I don't know how long I laid there," you admit. "I knew that the clock was ticking, had been since the moment I hit the ground. It was only a matter of time before I blacked out or bled out... I guess I was just waiting to see which one came first."

The scattered rounds hitting the ground around you become muffled background noise as the lull of unconsciousness begins to sweep over you, dulling the world as you know it. Through the haze of your fading senses, your eyes fall on Cain's motionless figure a few feet beside you.

He's lying face up, his desert tan uniform seeped a muddy crimson. You'd known he was dead a while ago. Still, you carried him. He'd have done the same for you. He was your brother, dead or alive.

Blood bubbles from your nose as you struggle to keep yourself breathing. The fact that you have to remind yourself to do that isn't a promising sign. Your body is shutting down, doing anything it can to keep your heart pumping, even if it means shutting down everything else.

Somewhere through the dullness, you hear Cain's voice. MOVE, (L/N).

You close your eyes, trying to picture his face from what had been just a few minutes ago. You remember the urgency in his blue eyes, the intensity of his fear overridden by adrenaline. How had that been only moments ago?

MOVE, (L/N).

"I—I heard his voice," you state, your tone not open for discussion. "Not the gun fire, not God, not anyone else's. I heard his voice."

So many people had tried to convince you otherwise, tried to tell you that it was because of the shock and your brain was shutting down, that you were hearing things. But you know what you heard.

"He saved my life, Jake."

You can see the gears turning in his head, the question carefully forming on his lips. "Were you two— I mean was he—"

It's the first time you have to suck back tears, your chest rattling with a longing emptiness as you fight the urge to cry. Memories of his wild blue eyes and wide smile that could only ever mean he was misbehaving flash through your mind.

You met Sergeant Anthony Cain not long after you commissioned as a Lieutenant. You were still a green officer when you were charged with your first platoon and given orders to deploy out East. You were scared as hell and Cain was your saving grace. He came in as if he'd always known you needed him and the rest was history.

There was never any question about intentions or commitment to each other. Cain was as honest as they came and you left it at that. You never imagined that's where your story would begin and end.

"I don't know, Jake. We didn't get that far."

Forcing your eyes open, you access the area around you. The sound of enemy fire has slowed but that doesn't mean movement won't trigger a return of bullets your way. Still, you know they'll be looking for survivors once the dust settles, and you don't want to be around when they do.

The humvee is only a little over ten yards away. You might would say it was crawling distance if it weren't for the fact that you were actively bleeding out. Even so, you don't really have any other option.

You take as deep of a breath as you can, your chest rasping as you do so, before lifting your right leg and using the weight of it to swing yourself over onto your stomach. Immediately, searing hot pain radiates through your chest and legs. You cry out, curling in on yourself, writhing on the ground like a wounded animal.

Sputtering, trying to breathe through the pain long enough so that you can move, you feel hot tears track down your face. They're tears of insurmountable pain and hopeless desperation.

"All I kept thinking was 'how does anyone survive this?' It was unimaginable, the pain. Looking back now, I don't know how I did it. I don't think I could do it again if I had to," you admit.

Softly, as not to scare you, you feel the gentle weight of Jake's palm on your knee. "You won't have to," he promises. "But you did it. You survived."

You stare down at his hand on your knee.

With a trembling, blood stained hand, you reach out in front of you and dig your fingers into the ground. Heaving, you draw yourself forward, your legs dragging limply through the dust. It takes an unimaginable amount of strength to pull yourself even six inches.

Sniffling back tears and out of breath, you curl your fingers into the ground and drag yourself forward again. This time, you probably only move half as far. You have to fight the urge to just lay your cheek against the ground and cry.

You do this again and again, keeping one hand pressed into the gushing wound at your side while the other drags you forward. Your lower half has become increasingly heavier with each passing minute, your legs nothing but dead weight to pull along. You don't think you could move them if you tried.

It takes you forty minutes to drag yourself to the humvee. By the time you get yourself fully under the abandoned vehicle, your fingers are torn and bleeding, the tips ripped open and embedded with bits of gravel.

Your muscles collapse the very second you give them the chance. Your forehead drops down to rest against the ground, and you finally have a moment to shudder out a sob. Your throat is dry and cracked, and dust coats the inside of your mouth. You're dimly aware that your breaths are dangerously shallow. You just know that you're miserably nauseous and each passing moment is more unbearable than the next.

You turn your own palm over, staring at the scars of your ruined finger tips, scars that tell a story of how you survived. They're ugly, and you wish you didn't have to look at the all of the time. At least your torso is mostly hidden. You've moved to a beach town and will never be able to put on a swimsuit.

Jake’s eyes follow yours and after a moment he flips his palm over, his fingers spread and inviting. His hands are large and calloused from years of flying. There are fingernail divots in his palm.

Almost shyly, his green eyes meet yours. You see a bit of that sadness you saw earlier. “I know it’s not my job to be your shrink or whatever,” he adds with a laugh and you can’t help but laugh with him. “But you’re not alone. We’re all a bit fucked up if you haven’t noticed.” He shrugs. “It comes with the job.”

You can’t help yourself. You trace a finger over the scarred palm of his hand. “My dad would disagree.”

Jake is fighting the urge to close his palm around yours, not wanting to overstep, and so he’s pleased when you intertwine your fingers with his.

“Family dinner must be interesting.”

Jake came from a military family himself and so he knows how deep the ties run. His old man was a sailor and so he knew better than to come home sporting anything other than his dress whites.

You laugh out loud because he’s not wrong at all. Jake squeezes your fingers in response. His hand feels good in yours. Safe and heavy in the way a padlock feels. Like he’s not going anywhere.

“It’s not all ‘Go Army, Beat Navy’ believe it or not. Don’t get me wrong, I was raised a Navy brat and I have a hell of a lot of respect for my old man, but at the end of the day, I had to choose myself. I couldn’t do that with him watching over my shoulder. The Army’s been both the greatest and the worst thing that could have happened to me,” you confess.

Jake hums, dare you say almost disbelievingly.

“What?”

“A few weeks here and you’ll change your mind. No one does it like the Navy does.”

It’s your turn to make a noise of disbelief.

“I guess you’ll just have to impress me, Flyboy.”

Jake squeezes your hand again. “Oh I plan to.”

396 notes · View notes

dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 5 months ago

Text

The Tippington Affair

Summary: Y/N and Dean are unaware of just how similar they are.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None really. Angst. Pining. Some making out. Kissing. Fluff.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 5,314

A/N: In February I got a request from a lovely anon asking this:

hiii :)) idk of you're taking requests rn, but i was wondering if you could write something with dean x fem!reader where dean really loves her for a while but hasn't told her and plan on never telling cause he just thinks he's bad for her or that he's "poison", but he sees her getting close to some guy they're working with and starts to get like suuuper jealous, enough to make him forget he's not supposed to be with her. I absolutely love your writing and your stories, I'm pretty sure I've read them all haha :)) thanks!

It took me a while to get to this, but I hope you think it was worth it! Thank you so much for this request, Nonnie. And I hope everyone else who reads it enjoys it too. ❤️

Master List || Dean Winchester One Shots || Tag Lists

Dean shouldered his big green duffle bag, slamming Baby’s trunk and frowning at his phone.

Dean scowled at the name “Tippington”. Scott Tippington.

What the fuck kinda name is Tippington? Dean thought angrily. Sounds like he should be taking cigars and brandy in the library instead of out hunting with a flannel and a shotgun.

Sam joined him back at the car, having just checked them in and got their room key from the front desk. He tossed it to Dean.

“203.” He told him and they bounded up the stairs two at a time to the second floor of the Sleep Eazzz Motel.

When they’d spotted the motel on the side of the highway and Dean mentioned stopping, Sam told him the name of the motel was too close to “Sleazzz Motel” and they should keep driving. But Dean had already been driving for almost twenty-four hours straight. Sam offered to take over but Dean said he needed to stretch out on a real bed.

“Plus,” he’d pointed out, “you have a habit of really riding the brakes.”

So, they’d stopped for the night.

As they walked through the orange motel room door, they both gave a relieved sigh. The outside of the motel was hideous, but the room seemed decent. It actually smelled and looked clean, there was a decently modern TV, one from the 21st century anyway, and to Dean’s delight, both beds had magic fingers.

They each picked a bed and dropped their bags. Sam sat on the end of his bed and ran a hand down his face before turning to his brother.

“Hey, did you manage to get a hold of Y/N? Is she coming?”

Dean dug into his bag and started taking weapons out to clean them, doing his best to seem nonchalant. “N’ah, she’s werewolf hunting down in North Carolina.”

Sam nodded. “Ah. Too bad, we could use her.”

Dean shrugged. “We got this, it’ll be fine.”

Sam grunted his response and started unlacing his boots. Dean sat back on the bed and laid out a cloth to set the weapons on before starting in on his 1911.

After a minute Sam kicked off his boots and pushed himself backwards so he was leaning against the pillows on the bed as he picked up the remote and clicked on the TV. Dean was quiet until Sam settled on an old episode of The Simpsons and tossed the remote aside.

“Hey, do you know a guy named Scott Tippington? ‘Nother hunter?”

Sam scrunched his forehead thinking. “Out of Utah? Tall guy, blonde?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t know him, that’s why I was asking you. What’s he like?”

Sam sat forward a bit to pull off his overly warm flannel. “Well, if it’s the guy I’m thinking of, I only worked with him once, a few years ago.” He darted a look towards Dean. “When you and I were, uh, apart. After Amy.”

It was awkward for a moment before Sam looked back at the TV and continued on. “Anyway, I don’t remember a ton about him, but we ended up on the same Rugaru case and we hunted it together. He was good, I think. If he was bad or stupid, I’d probably remember him more.” He looked at Dean again. “Why do you ask?”

Dean shrugged. “Oh, just Y/N said she’s working with him again. This is like the third or fourth case in a row they’ve worked together, so I was just curious.”

Sam smiled knowingly. “Ah! I get it now.”

Dean scowled at his little brother and then went back to aggressively cleaning the barrel of his pistol. “There’s nothing to ‘get’.”

Sam cocked an eyebrow.“You’re worried Y/N’s getting a bit too close with this guy.”

Dean scoffed. “Whatever. She’s teamed up with him a couple times, and I just wanna make sure he’s not a tool that’s gonna get her killed.”

“Uh huh.” Sam said in tones of disbelief.

Dean shook his head. “Shut up.”

He didn’t bother arguing the point with Sam any further because he knew Sam would see through him - had been seeing through him for the last four years, since the day they’d first had a run in with the former FBI agent.

***

Dean had been immediately blown away by her. She was a power and a force all unto her own, and she was immediately suspicious of them.

They were working the case of a shifter who was shifting into different parents, and snatching that parent’s kid. They were pretty sure the bastard was selling the kids to other monsters for obviously horrific reasons.

Y/N was only aware of the most recent kid, snatched ten hours earlier. She was on the case, knowing that a twenty-four hour clock was ticking. There were witnesses and CCTV camera footage of the boy’s father picking him up from school, so of course he was their prime suspect.

But when Sam and Dean came into the local FBI field office and said they’d been instructed to interrogate that suspect, Y/N had just frowned at them and asked to see their badges again. She’d studied them for a worryingly long time before handing them back.

She squinted at them. “You look kind of familiar to me. Have we worked together?”

Both brothers assured her they’d never met and demanded again to speak with the suspect in custody. She’d reluctantly agreed and taken them into the room. But they got little new information out of the incredibly distraught father.

As they were leaving, Y/N caught Dean’s arm and he’d been amazed with how much that little touch had affected him and how badly it made him want to pull her closer, cover her delectable mouth with his and see what she tasted like.

But she’d merely asked him one more time if they’d ever worked together. When Dean denied it again, she shook her head and let him go.

But early the next morning, she’d been outside their motel room, pounding on the door. Dean’s bed was the closest and he stumbled out of it, half asleep, to open the door. He stood there in his black boxers and gray t-shirt and she seemed momentarily surprised, looking him up and down before she pushed past him into the room.

“Hey!” He protested. He looked over at Sam’s bed, but it was already empty and made up. Probably out running. Dean thought with an internal eye roll as he grabbed his jeans and yanked them on as Y/N spun around to confront him.

“I know why I know you.” When Dean said nothing, she planted her hands on her hips.

“You're Dean Winchester. And that guy with you,” she pointed at Sam's bed, “is your brother Sam.” When Dean still stayed silent she moved her hands from her hips and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Also, you’re dead.”

She began pacing back and forth in front of him. “After a horrifying and bloody murder spree across several states, you were both killed - ‘decapitated’ the report said. When I called the sheriff who wrote the report, I found out that both he and his daughter, who just happened to be the coroner who processed the bodies, were also missing and presumed dead.”

She turned back to look directly at Dean and in spite of the seriousness of the situation, he found himself once again caught up in how beautiful she was, in the way her eyes flashed as she studied him. And once again he had the impulse to wrench her forward and crush her mouth under his…probably a bad idea, he thought.

Y/N eyeballed him, but he couldn't decipher her expression. Her voice was stern when she spoke. “I should be here to arrest the murderers who faked their own death.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

She stared at him for a minute before she shook her head. “No, because you and your brother aren’t the only weird thing going on with this case. After you left yesterday I dug deeper into the case and stumbled across six other cases, from local municipalities, of missing kids. The cases had been reported to the FBI for consultation, but they all seemed cut and dry, so the locals took care of it themselves.”

She inhaled deeply, frowning at Dean. “The disappearances of all six kids were reported as parental abductions. In every case, there was footage of the parent picking the kid up from school, but every accused parent vehemently denied taking them. Four out of the six suspects arrested, also had ex spouses who refused to believe their former partner had taken the child because they were in very friendly and functional co-parenting situations. Oh, and all six kids were never found, and no body was ever recovered.”

She shook her head. “Now there is a seventh kid missing and it’s exactly the same situation. If you add to that, two fake FBI agents who are actually mass murderers back from the dead, well I gotta think there’s something more going on here that I don’t understand.”

Sam walked through the door just then, freezing when he saw Y/N standing in the middle of the motel room.

“Uh…”

Dean waved him in. “Come on in, Sammy. Time to give the talk.”

So, they’d spilled the beans about who they were and the life they lived. She didn’t believe easily, but eventually she admitted that there had been a few other cases in her ten year career that had felt off, that left her with a bad taste in her mouth about what was really going on.

She’d insisted on helping them find the seven year old boy that was missing, and with her help they’d found the shifter and put a silver bullet in his heart in time to save the kid and return him to his real parents.

After that Y/N tried to go back to being an FBI Agent, but eventually she came to see the boys.

“I can’t go back to pretending that everything is normal. Everytime we’re going after a suspect, I’m wondering whether they’re actually a monster in disguise, or if they’ve got a monster framing them.” She’d shrugged. “So, teach me to be a hunter. I feel like there’s gonna be a lot of career overlap, and hey, the FBI doesn’t pay great either.”

So they’d helped her out, but she was a very quick study and it hadn’t taken long for her to become a great hunter. They often worked cases together.

Or they had until a few months ago when Y/N had met up with Scott Tippington and started working all her cases with him.

Tippington. Dean thought again, dismissively. Definitely a douche.

***

“Cheers!” Y/N reached across the table and clinked glasses with Sam and then turned slightly to touch glasses with Dean who was sitting beside her.

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Cheers.” He said with a nod.

They all took a big gulp of beer and then clunked their heavy glass mugs back down on the table.

“So, how have you guys been?” Y/N asked, wiping her hand over mouth to ensure no beer clung to her upper lip.

Dean grunted non-committedly and she looked to Sam for further explanation.

Sam chuckled. “That’s Dean’s way of saying taking down that nest of vamps we went after, ended up being a bit tougher than we thought it would be. Three of the vamps were friggin’ huge and they didn’t go down easy.”

“Shit!” Y/N said, shaking her head and looking Sam up and down. “They were bigger than you?”

Dean answered. “Yeah, believe it or not. One of them picked Sam up like he was gonna bench press him and then chucked him clear across the room. Thankfully, I was too quick and agile for him to catch me.”

Sam snorted. “Yes, you were just like a ninja while the one with the beard had you in a headlock choking you out.”

Dean waved him away. “Got out of it didn’t I?”

Y/N chuckled and took another sip of her beer. Sam shifted his gaze from his brother to her and gave her one of his dimpled smiles. “How about you? How’d your last hunt go? Wolves right?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, and then a wraith on the way back. They were both pretty quick and clean. We took them out without a problem.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Right you were working with uh…what was his name again?” He asked, as though the name hadn’t been plaguing his nightmares.

“Scott Tippington.”

Dean picked up his cardboard coaster and began shredding it. “Right. You’ve worked with him quite a bit lately. I guess he must be good.”

Y/N shrugged a shoulder, smiling fondly at the memory of her most recent partner. “Yeah, he is. I like working with him a lot. He makes me laugh.”

Dean nodded, a little rapidly, she thought. “Oh that’s good. Important that your partner can tickle your funny bone just before a demon smashes your head into a wall.”

Y/N frowned. “He’s a good hunter too.”

“Huh.” Dean grunted. “That’s good.” He nodded. “I mean it’s obviously more important that he’s a good hunter so, you know, he's not gonna get you killed. But it’s great that you get along so well too. Important.” He finished with a mumble.

Y/N looked at him askance. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The table was quiet for a minute until the waitress came by to drop off more pretzels and peanuts for the table.

Dean turned a bright smile her way and Y/N felt her stomach lurch as he moved into flirtation mode. She’d seen it many times before, over the last four years, and it never got easier. It was, in fact, the main reason she’d started hunting with Scott. She’d needed distance from Dean. She couldn’t keep watching him walk out the door with yet another new woman under his arm.

But once again, his charm was in full effect as he addressed their waitress. “Thanks sweetheart.” The waitress had long, dark hair, big boobs and a short skirt. She also had a very sweet smile that she flashed his way, making Y/N wanna scream or scratch her eyes out - maybe both.

The waitress popped a hip out as she stood beside their table. “No trouble, honey. Can I get you anything else? At all?” She asked, her warm brown eyes entirely focused on Dean.

Y/N thought the woman was being a little obvious and forward the way she rested her popped hip against their table and leaned forward so that Dean had a fabulous view of the cleavage revealed by her low cut, scoop neck t-shirt.

Dean didn’t even try to hide his ogling and Y/N gritted her teeth as he leaned his elbows on the table, looking up at the waitress. His green eyes glittered brightly with obviously dirty thoughts and promises. “Well, I wouldn’t mind knowing what time you get off.”

The waitress blushed prettily and bit her lip. “Um, I’m off at midnight.”

Dean gave an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Well, how ‘bout that, midnight is just when I was planning to head home. Maybe we could meet up.”

Y/N was clenching her teeth so hard she thought she might crack one as the waitress giggled and nodded. “Okay, maybe you can give me a ride home.”

Dean stared straight into the woman’s eyes and slowly licked his lips before speaking. “Oh, I can definitely give you a ride, sweetheart.”

“Jesus.” Y/N heard Sam mumble under his breath, but she didn’t spare him a glance.

She was too intent on staring at the waitress who was practically salivating as she stared at Dean, before she giggled again and bounced away from their table.

Dean watched her go with his head slightly tilted.

When he swung his gaze back to her and Sam, he seemed slightly angry and she figured he expected them to bug him about his carousing while they were all just sitting at the table.

She wanted to make sure he knew she didn’t care, so she laughed. “Jesus Dean, why didn’t you just mount her right here on the fucking table.”

Oops, she thought, that sounded a bit more angry than teasing.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “What? I wanted a date, I got a date.”

Y/N snorted. “A date? A date implies dinner and a movie, I doubt very much you’ll bother with either. You don’t even know the woman’s name.”

Dean scowled at her. “It’s Cindy.” Y/N raised an eyebrow and he shrugged again. “She had a name tag, and I notice things.”

Y/N snorted. “Yeah, especially when they're pinned to a pair of enormous tits.”

Dean wore half a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He drained his beer in one swallow and stood up. “I’m gonna go ask Cindy for another one.”

He sauntered away and Y/N took her hands off the table and shoved them into her lap so Sam couldn’t see her shaking.

She raised her eyes to his and plastered on what she hoped looked like a real smile. “So, Sam, how is YOUR love life going?”

Sam chuckled. “Non-existent and boring.” He took a sip of beer. “How about you?”

“Non-existent and boring.” Y/N said with a small nod.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“So…” Sam cocked his head. “You don’t have anything going on with this uh…Tippington guy you’ve been working with?”

“What? Ew! No.”

Sam frowned in apparent confusion. “Ew? Why ew?”

Y/N shook her head, her face still scrunched. “Because he’s the same age as my Dad!”

Surprise registered on Sam's face followed quickly by confusion. “Scott Tippington? Out of Utah?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, he's from Virginia, or…no West Virginia.”

“Oh.”

Y/N shook her head and then grinned at the idea of dating the grumpy old hunter. “I mean he's pretty good-looking for a 68 year old hunter. But…I think we're just gonna be friends.”

Sam smiled, chagrined. “That's probably a good plan.”

Dean sauntered back towards them and Y/N felt her stomach muscles tighten at his long-limbed, bow legged stride. Dean moved in a way that always made her take notice. When he was hunting, his movements were crisp and efficient, no wasted motions. He was precise and deadly.

When he wasn’t hunting though, when he was relaxed, he moved his body through the world with a kind of ease, loose and almost carefree. He reclined in chairs, leaned in doorways, and put his feet up on tables. He stretched and relaxed his tall frame into comfortable positions that always made Y/N wanna climb up into his lap and cuddle.

He plunked himself back down beside her with a new mug of beer. Y/N tried to make her grimace look like a grin.

“So, you got your evening all planned out?”

Dean nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Yeah, we’re outta here in about fifteen minutes.” He looked at Sam and winked. “Don’t wait up.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Y/N let some of her frustration show. “So, you’re really gonna ditch us after like a half hour. I thought we were supposed to be catching up.”

Dean’s jaw ticked as she looked at his profile. “I figured we were all done catching up. Your wolf hunt went great cause you had your amazing new partner and our vamp hunt went kinda shitty cause we could have used an extra pair of hands.”

Y/N scowled at him. “Seriously? Are you pissed at me for hunting with Scott? I wasn’t aware we’d signed exclusive contracts.”

Dean chuckled darkly. “N’ah, we’re definitely not exclusive. You are under no obligation to us whatsoever. So, you’re good.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Y/N said and Dean turned to look at her. “You’re seriously running off to spend the night with wonder tits over there because you’re pouting?”

“Wow.” Dean said with a head shake. “Whatever happened to the sisterhood? That was pretty rude.”

Y/N scowled at him. “You know, you’re right. I should do my part for the sisterhood by going over to that nice girl and warning her to find another ‘ride’.” She said, using air quotes. “Cause God knows she’s gonna come to regret it when she turns into just another notch on your belt.”

There was no hiding her annoyance now and she didn’t bother.

Dean dropped his jovial pretext too and turned to face her better. “Why the hell are you being so preachy and judgemental? Since when do you give a shit who I fuck?”

“Dean-” Sam started to speak but Y/N spoke over him.

“I don’t.” she denied vehemently. “But I mean, Jesus. Do you ever think with anything other than the dick in your pants? I mean seriously, it’s gross.”

“Y/N-” Sam tried again but Dean leapt to his feet, banging the table and sloshing their beer across the wooden top.

“For fuck’s sake.” Sam mumbled as he jumped up too, trying to avoid the beer streaming towards him.

Dean’s face was furious as he stared down at her. “Well I don’t wanna gross you out, so I guess I’ll just go sit at the bar till I’m ready to go.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, guilt plagued her when she saw the hurt in Dean’s mossy green eyes as she slid out of the bench seat to stand just in front of him.

“Don’t bother. I’m gonna take off, got a lot of driving between here and my next hunt.” She stared up at Dean, hoping against hope that he might tell her that they should both stay.

But he just smiled a tight smile. “Yeah, say hi to Tippington for us.”

Y/N gave a terse nod. “Yeah, whatever.” She glanced at Sam. “Take care, Sam. Hope to see you soon.”

She didn’t bother addressing Dean again, just turning away and walking out the door, wishing she could leave behind her feelings for him just as easily.

***

Dean grabbed a rag from the bar and wiped up the spilled beer before sliding back into the seat across from his brother who was frowning at him.

“Dean, what the fuck is the matter with you?”

Dean glared back. “What’s wrong with me? Nothing’s wrong with me. Why don’t you chase Y/N down and ask what the fuck’s gotten into her lately. She goes months without seeing me, us, I mean, and then storms away just because I had the audacity to make a date for later.”

Sam let out a frustrated growl. “You really think she was just mad you made a date, which, by the way, is a very loose translation for what actually happened with the waitress.”

“No, she was obviously mad and took off because she thinks I’m gross, cause she disapproves of my lifestyle, I guess.” He said, trying not to let the hurt bubble up.

What the fuck do I care what she thinks of my choices? He thought angrily.

Sam opened his mouth to say something more, but Cindy showed up at the end of their table.

“My boss let me off a bit early.” She smiled bashfully and nodded towards the door, clearly anxious to be underway. “Wanna go?”

Dean smiled at her and stood up, grabbing her hand. “Hell yeah, let’s go.”

***

There was a pounding on Y/N’s motel door that would have woken her up if she’d actually been asleep. But she’d just been restlessly tossing and turning, feeling guilty about Dean, but hurt over Dean too. The fact that he hadn’t texted back, clearly meant he was still on his “date”.

The long and short of it was she was in a rotten mood and the pounding on her door at two in the morning wasn’t helping.

Stupid drunken idiots next door.

When they wouldn’t take the hint and go away, Y/N threw off the covers and stomped to the door, throwing it open, ready to tell them to fuck off. But it wasn’t her neighbors on the other side.

“Dean!” Y/N exclaimed, her surprise turning into a frown. “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s your date?”

“I got your text.” Dean answered, brusquely.

He was staring at her, raking his eyes up and down her form standing in the doorway. Two spots of pink rose in Y/N’s cheeks as she realized she was just wearing a ratty old t-shirt and panties. She tugged self-consciously at the front hem of the shirt trying to ensure she was covered.

She opened her mouth to ask again what Dean was doing, but before she could get a word out, he’d pushed her backwards into the room with his hands at her waist. In one quick motion he kicked the door shut and spun her so he could slam her up against the wood-paneled wall.

She gasped, her eyes wide and her heart slamming against her ribs. Before she could get a word out, he was crashing his lips onto hers and sweeping his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like smooth whiskey and she was quickly drunk on him, her head reeling as his hands moved from her waist to grasp her cheeks and hold her steady.

His mouth ravaged her, pulling shocked and hungry whimpers from her throat. When he finally pulled his mouth away from hers, he simply trailed his silken lips down the length of her throat, while his rough hands strayed down her body to slip under the hem of her shirt and up her ribcage. His hands rested there, and he lifted his thumbs to brush tantalizingly against her rock hard nipples.

Y/N threw her head back, cracking it against the cheap wood paneling and knocking some sense into herself along with the slight pain.

She shook her head and pushed against his forearms. “Dean! What the hell? What are you doing?”

He pulled his head up, licking his lips and panting heavily. His hands stilled, but they stayed warm against her ribs.

She tried to make sense of what was going on, but his tantalizing lips were still hovering above her and it was everything she could do to not simply ignore her sense of reason and latch on to them again.

Instead she shook her head again and frowned. “Dean, what's going on? You were supposed to be on a date, remember?” She tried not to let too much vitriol into her voice, but felt like she’d failed.

Dean’s jaw ticked. “I just drove her straight home.” He paused, still breathing rough. “I don’t want her.” His gaze dropped to her mouth again and he bit his bottom lip. “All I want is you.”

Y/N shook her head, willing herself to wake up and live with the disappointment of this all being a dream. “Dean,” she whispered, “what are you saying? Where is this coming from?”

Dean’s gaze turned sad before he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. “Don’t date him.”

Y/N frowned in confusion. “Don’t date who?”

Dean shoved away from her and ran a hand through his hair as he began pacing. “I know I have no right to ask you, I have no right to you, no right to love you, I know I’m poison, I know I’m an asshole for trying to make you connected to me, I know I’ll never deserve you.”

He stopped pacing and turned to look at her. “I know Tippington is probably a much better option, but…” He strode three paces back to her and cupped her cheeks in his big hands. “But he can’t possibly love you more, want you more. I know that too.”

All Y/N could do was blink at him and then suddenly his words penetrated her brain and tears flooded her eyes and she begged her mind to just let her keep sleeping, keep living in the dream.

Dean’s face crumpled and he looked stricken. He pulled her against his chest and she buried her face there. “Shit, sweetheart, I’m sorry. It doesn't matter. Ignore me. It’s okay, I’ll be okay. You don’t have to say anything back. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Please don’t cry.”

His voice sounded choked and he rubbed a hand soothingly up and down her back. “I shouldn’t have come here like this. I’m an asshole, just ignore me, okay?” He repeated, and took a shuddery breath. “Date who you want, of course. Don’t cry.”

Y/N pulled back from the softness of his flannel beneath her cheek, raising an eyebrow as she shook her head. “And what if I wanna date you? Does that declaration of love come with dinner and a movie?”

It was Dean’s turn to stare blankly at her. She reached up and dashed away her tears before wrapping her hands around the back of his head and pulling his lips back to hers. Y/N kissed him for a solid thirty seconds before his brain seemed to kick into gear and understand what she was saying. When he did though, he growled and deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around her ribs and pressing her close. She reveled in the long, hard feel of him pressed up against her, the way she’d dreamed of him for so many years.

When they were both desperate for oxygen they finally broke the kiss and panted harshly as they looked into each other’s eyes, both of them thrilled when they read the real, solid proof of love in the other’s gaze.

Dean’s beautiful face split into an equally beautiful smile. “So, are you really picking me?”

Y/N smiled back warmly and let her hands rest against his scruffy cheeks. “Dean, I love you, and I choose you completely, over everyone, anyone. But…” She grinned at him mischievously. “Scott Tippington is sixty-eight years old and has never been anything more than a good hunting partner. Just so we’re clear.”

Dean frowned. “But Sam said -” He cut himself short before closing his eyes and shaking his head. “So, I was jealous of nothing.”

Y/N laughed softly. “Were you jealous? Really? Like me with the waitress…Cindy.” She gave a little eye roll.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, we’re a couple of dumbasses.”

Y/N punched him lightly in the bicep. “Speak for yourself. I wasn’t a dumbass, I was a tragic pining heroine. After all, you gave me no hints you felt this way; how could I have possibly known?”

“Are you serious?” Dean asked incredulously. “I did everything but climb into your lap and beg.”

Y/N laughed and then felt her body warm as she laid her hands on his broad chest. “I’d be onboard for that.”

Dean’s eyes darkened as he lowered his head and captured her lips in a long, languid, sensual kiss, just dipping his tongue in to taste her and sipping at her lips.

When he pulled out of the kiss to nuzzle the shell of her ear and then suck her earlobe between his plump lips, Y/N gasped and clutched his shirt in her hands.

“Please.” She whimpered.

Dean gave a soft, slightly wicked chuckle against her neck as he skimmed down her skin. “That was supposed to be my line, sweetheart.”

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@avanatural

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

@stoneyggirl2

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester one shot

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vivalas-vega · 1 year ago

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into you / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader

heyooooo -- this is a request I’m excited to finally get out! as always my requests are open and let me know what you think!

into you / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader

request: you can find that here!

word count: 2.3k

warnings: drinking, angst, miscommunication

You stood off to the side of the hangar after touching back down on the ground overlooking Jake and Phoenix as they laughed and talked about the training exercise, feeling your stomach twist in dread as you did. Phoenix looked ethereal, just as she always did, with the setting San Diego illuminating her profile and a smile bright enough to blind you… you couldn’t even be disappointed, of course the Navy’s two most beautiful pilots would just gravitate towards each other.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Rooster asked suddenly from beside you and you jumped as you placed a hand over your heart, looking around to try and see where the hell he might have come from.

“Can you like… announce yourself?” you asked, pulling yourself away from watching your heartbreak in real time to instead busy yourself with heading towards the locker rooms and of course Rooster was hot on your tail.

“I said your name three times,” he pointed out and you rolled your eyes. “Seemed to be staring awfully intensely there… which one is it?”

“What are you talking about?” you tried to deflect, pushing the doors open and grabbing your civilian clothes from your locker as he leaned against the one beside yours.

“I’ve been watching you watching them for a few weeks now but what I haven’t been able to observe is which one actually has your attention… unless it’s both?” he asked, genuinely curious as you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roo,” you said and he just smirked at you.

“Sure sure,” he finally decided after a moment of pondering his response, “you coming to the bar?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you there,” you said with a soft smile as you unzipped your flight suit and Rooster took that as his cue to leave. You were terrified that he had been the one to pick up on it, you loved Rooster with your whole heart but you had never pegged him as the observant type, or one to even care enough to try and put the pieces together. Your only saving grace was that he hadn’t yet deduced who had captured your affections and you intended to keep it that way.

Jake had snuck up on you… when you all first got recalled you hadn’t thought much of him, other than he was a bit of an arrogant ass but the energy had shifted when he all but ran after Rooster and Maverick to save them from sudden death… when you learned you were going to be a permanent squad after Admiral Simpson had decided you all worked impeccably well together (after an adjustment period) it seemed his attitude change wasn’t just a phase. Sure, he was still a bit of an ass sometimes, but it was more endearing than it was before. You found yourself looking forward to his banter, and looking forward to the moments the two of you spent alone while everyone else was preoccupied at the bar.

You’d started to learn more about him… his family, his upbringing, why he joined the Navy and he learned all the same about you. You’d call him a genuine friend, and one of your closest at that but somewhere along the way you found your stolen glances lingering, wanting to soak up as much of that smile or the way he commanded a room as you could and suddenly you were falling headfirst for Jake Seresin. Something you had never imagined you would do… but you had resorted to silent pining and longing stares because he seemed to focus his affection towards Phoenix. Over the past few weeks you’d noticed the two of them growing closer, something you were happy about considering other than Rooster those two had the most ground to make up, but you had this sinking feeling that it was more than mending fences. Each time you saw them laughing together or stealing looks across the ready room, clearly chuckling at some silent inside joke you couldn’t make any sense of you felt your heart ache in a way you’d never experienced before.

“There she is! Kiddo, come rack ‘em!” Jake called out to you as you entered the Hard Deck and you couldn’t tell if his eyes raked down your form, clad in a sundress, or if you were simply going crazy and creating things that were never there. Your chest felt tight at the nickname he’d bestowed upon you… you knew it was a term of endearment, and that nothing negative was meant by it, you were simply just the youngest on the team but it made you feel rather juvenile every time he said it.

“Start without me, I need a drink,” you responded, waving him off as you approached Penny.

“What’s the mood tonight? Beer or something stronger?” she asked and you gave her a smile.

“How about both?” you responded and she nodded, setting a shot in front of you as well as a fresh bottle of beer. You took the shot quickly and forgoed using the lime in favor of dropping it down the neck of your beer as you turned to walk towards the pool table, trying not to have a reaction to Phoenix and Jake going head to head. You decided to hang back, sitting in one of the stools beside Bob and giving him a mischievous smile when you reached your hand over to snag some of his peanuts.

“Ma’am, that is theft,” he teased and you chuckled.

“Sharing is caring, Bobby,” you responded as you grabbed a few more and he didn’t put up a fight. You knew you were being more reserved than usual, you weren’t known for hanging off to the side or not forcing yourself into the limelight, and you knew everyone was picking up on it but you’d hoped no one would say anything. You made small talk with Bob and Fanboy, contributing the bare minimum to actually be considered a part of the conversation and you were doing everything in your power to avoid looking at the pool table. You had to get over this crush, it clearly wasn’t reciprocated and allowing yourself to give it anymore of your attention would only result in you feeling more hurt than you already did. It was time to nip it in the bud.

“You’re being more obvious now than you were before,” Rooster said, stepping into your bubble from behind and whispering in your ear, sending a shiver up your spine and you tried to ignore him as you let your dart fly towards the board, smirking when it landed dead center.

“What do you mean?” you asked, lining up your second shot and being acutely aware of how close he still was.

“You couldn’t stop staring before, now you’ve barely spared them a second look… everyone knows you're off tonight and your avoidance is making the reason incredibly clear,” he replied and you shook your head as you threw your last dart. You turned your head slightly, taking a step forward when your face nearly collided with his to give him a questioning look before going to grab your darts from the board.

“Why are you so interested in this?” you asked as you wrote your score on the board and stepped aside to let Coyote take his turn.

He shrugged, “things are slow, I like stirring the pot.”

“You’re insufferable,” you sighed, watching as Coyote secured his win against you and you begrudgingly gave him a high five. The dart board was where you were reigning champion, people gaining a victory over you was incredibly rare and you knew it was because your focus was elsewhere.

“Incoming,” Rooster said suddenly, slipping away to get a fresh drink and you looked after him confused until suddenly your vision was clouded by Jake’s figure.

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?” he asked, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he pulled you over to the bar as well and you gave him a forced smile.

“Nothing new, you?” you replied and he gave you a strange look as he held up two fingers to Penny.

“That’s not what I meant, you seem different tonight.”

“Just a long day, I guess,” you shrugged and he nodded but didn’t really buy it.

“You sure that’s all it is?” he asked as he used his fingers to tilt your head towards him, forcing you to make eye contact and you gave a sharp nod.

“I’m fine, Jake,” you said, brushing off his contact, “I’m just going to go grab some air, thanks for the beer,” you said, grabbing the bottle and slipping through the crowd where you nearly stumbled out into the fresh air. You took in a deep breath, letting the smell of the ocean ground you as you chastised yourself for your behavior… he was just asking how you were, making sure you were okay, there was no reason to blow him off like that. You just couldn’t help it, you felt cornered and you were sure if he asked you again you were going to blurt out what you’d been trying so hard to tamp down.

“What is going on with you?” you heard from behind you and you jumped slightly as you turned to see Jake and you let out a sigh as you wiped a hand over your forehead. “Come on, kid, talk to me.”

“I’m not a kid,” you muttered and you felt embarrassed. You knew you were being indignant for no real reason.

“You know that’s not what I- what’s wrong?” he asked, deciding to not let yourselves get sidetracked over something trivial.

“I told you, just a long day.” you tried but he was seeing right through you, he could tell just by looking at your eyes that there was something bothering you and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I’m not,” you answered defensively, turning your attention back to the ocean as you leaned over the railing and he scoffed as he followed suit.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Did I do something?”

“I don’t need help, Jake.”

“I thought we were past this, since when do you not talk to me?” he pleaded and you did your best to avoid looking at him but you couldn’t help yourself and your resolve crumbled as soon as you met those green eyes. “What’s wrong?

“Since I-” you stopped for a moment, trying to come up with any plausible excuse or continuation of that sentence that wasn’t the truth but it just came flying out. “Everything’s wrong!” you nearly shouted and you didn’t miss the way he was taken aback. “Literally everything because I am so into you and you’re obviously into Phoenix which is great, but not so much for me at the moment. I’m handling it and I’m fine but I can’t really talk to you about that.”

“Wait what?” he asked, confusion clear on his face and you winced at the prospect of explaining yourself.

“I just… we don’t need to talk about it, Jake. I don’t want to talk about it,” you replied, turning your head back towards the water.

“No, I want to talk about it. Who the hell said I was into Phoenix?” he asked and this had your attention snapping back to him.

“You did, with your body language and the banter,” you said and you heard how stupid it was as it left your mouth and you watched him stifle a laugh.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said and it came out rather patronizing, making your cheeks burn as you willed the tears to stay put until he was out of your sight. “Oh hey, no no no.” he said, noticing your eyes well up, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not into Phoenix.”

“You’re not?” you asked and he shook his head.

“I’m into you,” he said, wrapping a hand around your forearm and pulling you away from the railing, closer to him. “I’ve been trying to tell you but I kept chickening out… Phoenix has actually been egging me on, telling me to just get it over with,” he said and your eyes widened. “I’ve liked you since the first day I met you but you’re too sweet, too good. I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me,” he said with a shrug and you shook your head.

“I feel pretty stupid right now,” you chuckled. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me because you always call me kid.”

“It’s easier to pretend I don’t want to kiss you every time I see you if I call you kid instead of sweetheart.” He yanked you closer, pressing your body against his as his hands settled on your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Well, you don’t have to pretend anymore,” you said with a small smirk and his lips were on yours in an instant. You melted into him, letting him take the lead and you moaned softly when his tongue trailed along your bottom lip. You soaked up as much of this feeling as you could… his hands gripping your body, his tongue exploring your mouth, and the way your whole body tingles from head to toe before he pulled away to grin down at you.

“So, sweetheart… Can I take you on a date?” he asked hopefully and you nodded.

“Yeah, I would really like that… but I was also thinking you could take me home?” you asked with a suggestive raise of your eyebrows and he was quick to wrap his hand around yours and tug you to his car.

“I like the way you think.”

taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivesstuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci (if your name is struck through it means I couldn’t tag you - sorry!)

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman #hangman fanfiction #hangman x reader #hangman x you #top gun maverick #top gun fan fiction

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glitterinmyveinss · 1 year ago

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// fuck it i love you //

wes borland x fem! reader

summary: you and wes have had feelings for eachother since the sandbox days, but neither of you have ever admitted it, until alcohol and jealousy gets in the way.

chapter 2

❥༄ me and wes have known eachother ever since i was 10 and he was 12. that's when him and fred started hanging out, and with fred being my brother and us living in the same house and all, meant that me and wes saw each other basically everyday after school. most of the time him and fred would be in the garage playing their instruments or skating. but sometimes they would bug me. although it was really only fred who would do the bugging, wes was always kind to me and never even teased me.

❥༄ i was on the couch watching the simpsons, when fred and wes came in and took up the whole couch, fred stole the remote from my hands. "i'm watching something!" i tried to grab the remote back, but of course he was stronger. "so?" he chuckled. "hey wes what should we watch?" i could see wes out the corner of my eye. he had a hesitant look on his face that was mixed with, sympathy? "i'm fine with the simpsons, i've never seen that episode anyway" i turned my head fully to make eye contact with him, when he noticed he gave me a shy smile, i returned it, feeling butterflies in my tummy. fred looked at both of us with disgust "you guys suck!"

❥༄ that was a long while ago, now im in my junior year of highschool while fred and wes have been graduates for a year. they began taking their music seriously, and formed a band. i had to admit, they sounded pretty good. i knew they would make a name for themselves somehow. it was the end of the school day and i was waiting for fred to pick me up since my car was in the shop and none of my friends could give me a ride. after about 10 mins of waiting, fred pulls up with wes in the passenger seat. i gulped as i began to feel those butterflies i've been feeling for 6 years start their swarming again. i hopped in the back. "hey how was school?" fred asked. i shrugged and took my backpack off "it was whatever." he nodded and began driving away from the school "you hungry?" he asked. you were actually starving considering the lunch today was horrible. "yeah could we get taco bell?" i pleaded. Wes jumped up from his slouching position at this, "oh yeah i've been craving tb all day" he turned to give me a thumbs up and a wink. i gave him a sheepish smile and returned the thumbs up. fred groaned "fine but only cause i just got payed" he turned up his music and began driving to taco bell. yay! suddenly wes spoke up "hey who's gonna be at the party tonight?" party? you weren't invited! but then again, when were you ever invited to one? fred began listing some names when you suddenly interrupted him. "can i go?" fred started bursting out laughing. "yeah like i'm gonna bring my kid sister to a keg party." "i'm only 2 years younger asshole! come on please?" fred kept laughing "no way y/n. forget it" i let out a huff of air and opened my mouth to protest, but then wes spoke up. "come on dude let her go. i mean, what's the deal?" i felt my face get hot and i immediately shushed up. why was wes helping me out? did he want me there? ugh he made it so easy to like him. Fred looked at him, gob smacked "seriously? she's like 5 compared to us and everyone else there, she's never even been to a highschool party yet." you slapped the back of his neck, earning a groan from him. yeah it was the truth, but he just totally humiliated you in front of wes! "dude she's old enough to take care of herself. and wouldn't it be better if she went to her first party with us instead of some guys we don't even know? at least we'd keep an eye out for her." wes explained. Fred stayed quiet for a moment. i was in the backseat freaking out. why was wes helping me out so much? i mean of course i appreciated it but i was basically star struck. my brothers hot friend wanted me at a party? score! finally after about a minute of silence, fred spoke up. "fine" he grunted. "yay!" i gave him a hug from behind the seat. "but i don't want you talking to any guys besides me or wes ok? and stay where i can see you!" i wasn't really paying attention. i was just excited for my first party. "ok ok i promise!" he rolled his eyes as he pulled into the tb drive thru

❥༄ it was about 6 hours later and i was ready to go. i put my best makeup and outfit on along with the perfect hairstyle. i went downstairs once i was done, where i saw fred and wes waiting for me. fred jumped up from the couch, keys in hand. "finally!" i rolled my eyes and began following them out of the door, wes and i were trailing behind fred, when wes suddenly bent down to my level. "you look really nice tonight" when i looked up at him, he had a shy smile on his face, his cheeks a slight red, along with his ears. my face turned the same strawberry color as his as i looked down with the same smile as well. "thanks wes. so do you" he opened the backseat door for me, as usual, then hopped in the front with fred. my head was already spinning and i haven't even had any alcohol yet. ugh!

❥༄ we arrived to the party, and as soon as we entered the home it was being thrown at, you noticed a group of 4 waiting at the front door. 2 girls and 2 boys. one of the girls had skunk hair like christina aguilara with makeup like hers too. beside her was the other girl who had black hair with purple streaks. she had heavy dark makeup along with many facial and ear piercings. the two boys were dressed in the same style as fred and wes, basically matching. i suddenly understood what fred meant. i did feel 5 compared to these people. especially the girls. we began making our way towards them, fred and wes greeting the boys first, then the girls. fred began introducing me to everyone. "this is my sister y/n. y/n this is harmony, zayra, jay, and sean.” everyone said hi and waved, except harmony, she was just...staring at me. like i had something on my face. she was the one with the purple streaks. Zayra began to attack me with her compliments. "omg i love your outfit! where are your jeans from?" "oh they're miss mes. i got them at the mall a while ago." i said shyly. she put her arm around my shoulder, "another girl with taste! i like you already! let's go drink!" i obeyed her as she began dragging me to a counter that was littered with various liquor bottles and beer cans. empty and full. "so you're freds kid sister right?" she asked while handing me a shot of something. i was debating on drinking it or not. then i thought, fuck it. i downed it while making a face then answered. "yeah but i'm only younger by two years!" she let out a loud chuckle at my reaction. "you're so cute! you're my girl for the night, harmonys being weird." she said while rolling her eyes, then taking a shot for herself. i didn't wanna pry and ask why, i knew it'd be rude. so instead, i began copying zayra and downing shots like my life depended on it. zayra patted my back in response. "that's the spirit y/n!"

❥༄ it was a while later and the liquor was defiantly kicking in. me and zayra were dancing like crazy together when i suddenly spotted wes and harmony out the corner of my eye. it looked like they were arguing. wes kept looking away while harmony was forcing her hands on his face. i think wes felt me staring because he suddenly locked eyes with me, then me and harmony locked eyes. she grabbed wes's face and slammed their lips together. i looked away, feeling so crushed. how stupid could i be? why would wes want someone like me when he has someone like harmony in his life. she's so much older and cooler. she didn't have to beg her mom to add more minutes on her phone, or be forced to take algebra again. she was grown like wes. i knew i'd have to get over this school girl crush sooner or later, but i didn't think it'd go like this. i stooped dancing and leaned towards zayra's ear, "im gonna go get some fresh air." she nodded and continued dancing.

❥༄ i made my way through the crowd of bodies towards the backyard. whoever's house this was, is blessed. there was a huge pool, a hot tub, and a wooden porch swing. i decided to sit on the swing and pull out a cig from my back pocket. i groaned in frustration as i realized i didn't have a lighter. just then a shadow casted over me, and a voice spoke up. "need a light?" it was wes with his dark blue lighter. "yeah...thanks." i wasn't really looking at him as i spoke. he held the lighter to my lips, i positioned the lighter in a way where the embers would catch the fire being emerged from the metal object. i locked eyes with his big brown ones while doing so, it was like i was stargazing. i also didn't know if it was him or the liquor that was making me feel like i had to puke. he took the space next to me and began making the swing rock back and forth. i decided i needed to pop the question now or it would eat me alive. "so you and harmony?" he whipped his head towards me and began fidgeting with his ear. he only did that when nervous. "what about me and harmony?" he spoke. thanks to all those random shots me and zayra were pounding, i had an insane amount of liquid courage. "oh come on wes! i saw you two basically sucking each others faces. i mean why would you compliment me tonight if you dint like me?" he was staring at me for a while, then he began to speak up but i cut him off. "do you even know how long i've liked you? how much i like you?" things went quiet and he was just staring at me. after a minute he spoke up with a stern voice "do you mean what you say?" i looked at him with a dumbfounded expression. how clueless could he be? "yes! and i know you just see me as some stupid little girl, but i've liked you for years." i began to walk away. until he grabbed my arm, forcing me to turn around. "wow when did i ever say that?" he had a worried expression. "you don't have to! i can tell that's what you and harmony were thinking!" he shook his head before speaking. "y/n harmony's just some jealous ex who won't leave me alone." i looked up at him with my brows furrowed "really?" "yeah!" he said while nodding profusely. we stayed staring at eachother, awkwardly, until i decided to break the silence. "why did you guys break up?" he chuckled a little before he spoke up, he began playing with his ear again too. "when i realized i started liking someone else way more than i liked her." wow. i swore i heard my heart shatter for the second time that night. "who?" i asked, the question making my throat burn and eyes water. then he did something totally unexpected, he grabbed my face with both of his hands, cupping my cheeks with a soft smile, then he connected our lips. i felt like there were a million fireworks exploding all over my body, my hands were shaky and my heart was daring to jump out of my chest. the alcohol was definitely adding fuel to the fire as well. my head felt like it was spinning at 100 mph. the kiss lasted for a minute until i broke away. "does that answer your question?" he said in a dorky voice with a smirk. i giggled while swatting his chest. "yeah it did weirdo." he laughed again. he had this far away look in his eye, just staring at me before he began dragging me back to the party. "what are you doing?" i slightly yelped. "come on! i wanna dance!" he proclaimed with a huge smile. i happily obliged and began following him back into the house.

❥༄ i felt eyes on me as soon as we started dancing, i turned to see harmony, staring at me with daggers in her eyes. sober me would've ignored her, but drunk me had balls. i grabbed wes and kissed him, while keeping eye contact with harmony, just returning the favor! she stomped out the house through the front door. when i pulled away from wes, he looked at me with a huge smile and twinkling eyes. "what was that for?" he said with a chuckle. "i just...felt like it." i said with a giggle. he returned the laugh and we continued dancing. the night ended with me wearing wes's hoodie, and drifting off in the back of fred's car, forever grateful for this night.

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persephone11110 · 10 months ago

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Self Control

Jake Seresin x Reader

Three times you should’ve stopped fucking Jake Seresin, and one time you finally did.

tw:one night stands, insecure reader, KINDA DARK, mentions of sex throughout—DUBIOUS CONSENT fic,Dead Iceman->reader is grieving and doesn’t how to process her emotions properly, asshloe J.S->cheater Jake, they both need fucking therapy!!,—jake abusive childhood Jake chokes reader->bruises, happy ending, the two kazansky children seen in the movie are cannoned just gave them names(Xander,Ana Kazansky),self-slutshaming, reader calls herself whore 2-3x, mavdad—feminist icon

WC : 2.7k

AN: I really can’t tell you how this fic was born tbh, but enjoy❤️, title from Self Control- Frank Ocean

—

THIS FIC MENTIONS SEX ALOT, I PUT DUBIOUS CONSENT BCUS READER & JAKE ARE NOT IN RIGHT STAND OF MIND, PLEASE BE CAREFUL!!!

1. his bedroom

You’ve been thinking to yourself lately,everynight you lie in bed in wondering if you should be tired of doing this?, giving a piece of yourself to Jake Seresin three times a week.

You wondered if the man even cared enough to get to know you, after all you’ve been acting as his bed warmer for the past three months.

But that just it, you were warned of how this would work, you both agreed to emotionless sex— being each other’s fuckbuddies when work got to much to emotionally handle.

As it seemed neither of you had the mental capacity to have a healthy coping mechanism. You sat on your floor infront of a mirror trying to cover up a neck bruise, Jake had a nightmare again—the same one as usual, Instead Jacob Sr was the one doing the choking.

“Jake, Jake!” your throat was closing, Jake hand around throat was tightening—his fingers digging deep into your skin Again. You were begging for him to release you. You stared into his green forest like eyes—their so fucking beautiful.

At first he doesn’t acknowledge your pleading tone, Jakes most likely still stuck in nightmare from hell “Jake please let go”. Your voice was dry now, tears sprung from your eyes as it did his.

A loud thump happened as your body rolled of the bed to the floor. You heard heavy breathing which normally signaled Jake had finally woken up . He banged his head against the headboard loudly. Jake utters a small—“I’m sorry”before leaving you alone in the room to gather himself.

You sat on the floor like fucking obedient dog waiting for Jake to come back and tell you what do next. While you sit there in silence apart of you wonders were the strong Y/n“Killerfrost” Kazansky went, the woman who didnt break a sweat while looking death in the face. The woman who flew more colder than Iceman more crazier than Maverick. What happened?

Death happened,cancer stripped your dad of his life. Sitting at his beside watching him struggle take his last breath, shushing him he because he was pushing himself to use his voice.

Going on base and listening to the Admiral Simpson go over on the speaker and tell the base that Admiral Kazansky—your dad drew his last breathe. Which led you to Jake Seresin bed.

Younger you would be so disappointed in you right now. Younger Y/n Kazansky would rather die before laying down with man who’s ruining their mental health. If someone told you ten years down line you would be fucking one of the worst men as an emotional outlet. You would’ve laughed in their face repeatedly till you passed out from lack of oxygen.

“Tom Kazansky would be so disgusted with his daughter”, a thought lingered around your mind, “Dad wouldnt even want to be in the same room as you”.

You picked yourself off the floor as you heard Jake’s footsteps getting closer. Your legs were bouncy as anxiety was coursing through your veins—flying never did make you feel this, but leave it to Jake‘Hangman’Seresin to.

Jake voice was low and rough,“See you next week”. Before you could say something to the man, he already had his back turned walking away from you.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment,“How am I falling for a man who doesn’t love me and never will?”. You continue to slip your clothes back on as you toss the thought around in your head, careful of your sore skin. “You should be ashamed of yourself Y/n Kazansky, you were not raised be a whore who re adjust their clothes as a John throws a fucking dollar at them., You were raised with dignity”.

Whore. Y/n Kazansky callsign should be Jake Seresin whore.

Your pressed your head into the shower wall, allowing the hot pressed water to soothe your aching muscles.“I’m so sorry daddy”.

—

2. Family Dinner

You kept tugging at the hem of your turtle neck, it was to hot to be wearing this damn thing in the first place. But last thing you wanted to was to worry your siblings as they had just lost their father. That last thing they needed was their weak sister falling apart at the seams, as if they weren’t either.

Two times a month your siblings held saturday dinner. The idea was to keep up with eachother.

Guess who’s been missing family dinner to fuck Jake Seresin?, the answer is Y/n Kazansky.

You stood on Ana porch quietly, wondering if you should even go in, not wanting the catch the end of your short-tempered sister.

“You plan on standing there till hell freeezes over?”, a voice pulls your from your thoughts, Xander Kazansky was standing behind you with pie in his hands. “Come on sis, Ana been waiting to see you”. He smiled, softly pulling on your wrist to get you into the door. You mirror his smile, forgetting all about last night. You closed the door behind you.

“Hey kid”, you stand there waiting for him to put the pie down before you pull him into a tight hug. Your ruffling his hair, with one hand.

“I have you know Y/n I can legally drink alcohol”. Xander pouts like little kid.

“Y/n didn’t wait until she was twenty one drink”. Ana tone of voice was sour as she gestured the both of you to sit down.

“Ana I—“ Your cut off by her harsh words.

“Y/n the longer you spew bullshit at me the longer its takes to bless the food”. Ana states before bowing her head and closing her eyes.

You and Xander make eye contact before joining her.

“So us non-aviators aren’t good enough for you anymore?” Ana asked you in calm tone, yet you could hear how angry she truly was.

Xander was to busy scraping at his dinner plate, shoving food in his mouth—not wanting to be caught in the middle of his sister’s argument.

You bite at the inside of your cheek unsure of what to say back. Can’t say the truth because then Ana will really flip out if she finds what her little sister been doing lately.

You glanced at your plate again thinking up lie to tell her. “I’ve been busy Ana, since the mission the dagger squad have become a permanent squadron”. Your telling the truth but the full truth.

You pray Ana takes the bone you threw at her and leaves it alone. Ana gave you a dirty look before picking at her broccoli and shoving it in her mouth. Thank god neither of your parents were here as they would’ve picked up on ticks, the picking at your nails, nibbling at your bottom lip.

“Sweetheart you can tell us whats going on you know that right”, your dad would say while nudging your shoulder, “Your off the clock, you can retire Killerfrost till your up in the air”.

You thought Ana had let it go as she stopped acknowledging you, and was only talking to Xander. "I hope that whatever you been doing was worth it Y/n, you haven’t even seen mom in goddamn month”.

“Ana” Xander sighed, he was getting tired of his sister remarks, you didn’t wanna defend yourself anymore, not that you even tried to.

You bowed your head in shame, no longer wanting to make eye contact with either sibling.

“What Xander?”, Ana raised her voice,”It’s the same fucking thing dad would’ve say to her too,I’m getting tired of her acting as if she’s the only one who lost a dad, like mom didn’t lose apart of her”.

You could feel the tears attempting to escape from your eyes. You placed the silverware back in its place, you stood from the dinner table. Casting a look between the both of them—“I’m sorry Ana, Xander” before you walked out of her house with tears rushing down your face.

Your sitting at a gas station thinking about everything, you really were acting selfish.

Maybe fucking Jake Seresin was a bad idea?

You picked up your phone, eyeing the text message. “I can’t sleep Y/n, come over if your aren’t busy”.

And just like that, Jake was telling you to come over it’s like he knew when it was a bad time for you. How dare you say no to him?

You put the key back in the ignition and start to slowly pull out of the parking lot.

Your on the back road, the shortest way to get to his house.

3. All I Could Was Cry

She was standing there with my man.

I heard them promise death do us apart.

A woman who looked like Marilyn Monroe was her descendant hung off of Jakes arm, she wrapped her hand around his bicep. They both shared a smile with one another, “I’m busy tonight Y/n“, he texted you this morning.

They were pushing eachother into the water- her screams of joy as Jake playfully her slammed into the water. She leaned into to him pushing her tongue down his throat.

I was losing the man I loved.

“Falling in love with a man like that is dangerous game Y/n” A familiar voice interrupts your self pity. Uncle Maverick is standing behind you with two beers in his hands and small smile. “Scoot over kiddo” Your sitting on cold sand, pretending to be okay with the scene infront of you.

And all I could do was cry.

“Uncle Mav if your here to give me I’m so disappointed in you speech, I’ve already gave myself one more than once I-“. He gently cuts you off when he pulls you into a tight, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

“Your mom been worried about you, so has your siblings , me and the daggers”. His voice is laced with worry, you hated making people worry about you. “Your flying been…crazy these past couple of months”. Maverick struggles to find more words to say, unsure if he does it might push into Jakes arms.

He was right you been flying like your ass was on fire, and if you’ve been pulling maneuvers even he wouldn’t dare to.

“Ana Kazansky is worried about me?”, Your eyes widen at that,“It didn’t seem like that a couple nights ago when she was going for my head”.

“Ana is like your father, arguing with them is like sitting on the stand defending yourself against a criminal charge”. Uncle Maverick explains with a soft tone, “I would know after pissing your dad off for over thirty years”. You swear he blinks away a few tears before continuing.

“I have everything under control, yes I like Seresin and I understand he doesn’t want me”. You feel indifferent as the lie rolls off your tongue through your mouth. “I’m Killerfrost Kazansky who doesn’t allow her emotions to get the best of her”. Your eyes shift away as you attempt to not hold eye contact with him.

“The same bullshit your father tried to pull with me years ago, your Y/n Kazansky the woman who just her father, the woman who misses her father dearly the man who showed you how to spell your name, the man who managed to get out of deployment early to drop you off for the first day kindergarten”.

Tears pricked at your eyes,“I didn’t think about it that way,maybe i’ve been to hard on myself?”. Your voice cracks with emotion. “As much I hate to say it— It feels nice to be ‘wanted’ by someone, Mav”.

“Kid, I was that man thirty some odds years ago when Goose died, I had sex with any woman who looked my way and said yes”. Maverick pulled away from you, gently wiping away your tears. “It’s going to hurt kiddo for awhile, but I promise you its gets better, the last thing Ice would want is for his daughter to lose herself, to allow a man to tell her how worthy she is”. He presses a kiss into the side of your head“It’s okay to feel emotions Y/n Kazansky”, he said low enough for only your ears.

After leaving you alone with your thoughts, your phone blinks as a notification pops up.

“Y/n I need you over tonight”. Your walking back to the car, hand on the car handle. “10 is good”. Your driving past his house, your driving to your apartment.

4. Happier Again (3months later)

He’s in standing your doorway with roses in his hand, and red wine in the other. When you heard knocking on the door you expected Ana because it almost time for movie night or Harvard because he’s sucks at cooking and needs help. But not him—Jake Seresin was standing in your doorway looking apologetic.

The new you wants to slam the door in his face, forcing him to catch a hint that the nights you spent in his bed were over. Deciding against your gut you decide to allow him in, for what you’ll never know—maybe he’s here to offer a peace offering.

You still had to work with him still— the dagger squadron is permanent till Cyclone and Cain think otherwise.

Jake goes to open his mouth but nothing leaves it, which is a first. The great Hangman is left clueless not a insult dripping with anger and sarcastic comment in sight.

“Come in Jake” He cocks his head to the side unsure if he really should.“If you want stand outside and look stupid thats fine by me”. You turn on your heel,but before you get far he grabs you by wrist, pulling you into a kiss.

The roses, the wine—he loves me, Jake“Hangman” Seresin finally loves me. You feel the old you try to blossom like a dead flower, attempting to sprout back to life.

“Stop!”You shoved at his chest he falls back alittle. “No, I’m not doing this again with you Jake”. Your cheeks are starting to get red,“What about that woman from the hard deck?”.

His lips slip into a tight smile“She and I are going through a rough patch right now”. Jake steps into your apartment, “Y/n its nothing to worry about she wouldn’t know”.

You shake your head at him,“You haven’t changed?”.

“Oh come on darlin it’ll be like old times”, He stands tall, his hangman smile is fully on display.

You scoff, doesn’t he understand what I just said?

“Jake you have a girlfriend, its make you a cheater!” You jabbed a finger into his chest. “Your cheating on your girlfriend”. He doesn’t give a shit.

“And your such a fucking angel darlin, we fucked for how long Y/n?”. His voice is harsh, anger bubbling—getting ready to explode like a volcano. “Were’s ya fucking halo at?”.

“I didn’t know” you yell back at him—standing your ground. The one bad thing you inherited from your dad was his temper, when your button been pushed for too long.“You must fell from heaven when your father casted you out, huh?”. A low blow that was uncalled for, but he’s taking it there.

“I need you darlin, I need to fuck you!”. he screams, your pretty sure you and Jake are one second close to having the cops called for a domestic disturbance.

“You and I need therapy Jake”, your voice returning to a calm tone.“Fucking you was worst shit i’ve ever done, I’ve been using you as a tool”. You step back from him.“Jake you can’t honestly tell me we aren’t ‘broken’ a little bit, sane humans don’t do this shit”.

Jakes eyes were squeezed closed, your cupped his jaw with your hands.“It’s okay not be okay, but its not okay to be doing this”. You sighed,“As much as I want to, its not healthy Jake”.

Jake opened his eyes, tears were rolling down his face. “I’m so sorry Y/n I just needed a break, I needed a break from being Hangman”.

“A smart guy told me once your no longer in the air, there’s no need to fake who you are”. Your eyes are beginning to become teary, “We need help Jake”.

“Your right Y/n” His eyes were still wet.

“Go back your place and try to figure out what went wrong with you and her”. You gently told him. “Work buddies?”. You had hope in your voice, you put your hand out.

A wet laugh fell from his mouth,“Work buddies”. He shakes it.

#top gun #top gun maverick #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader

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arminreindl · 2 years ago

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"Paleontology can be really petty and stupid"

In 1898 Santiago Roth discovered the armored tail of a large turtle in Patagonia, which he showed to British paleontologist A.S. Woodward. Recognizing it as the remains of a meiolaniid, Roth was told to go on an expedition to find more material, which he did. This material, which included an almost fully preserved skull, was initially published on in a brief communication in 1899.

Strangely, also in 1899, Florentino Ameghino published his own communication claiming that his brother Carlos had found the almost fully preserved skull of that same kind of turtle, a meiolaniid he dubbed Niolamia argentina.

It is curious how both Ameghino and Roth seem to have found the exact same material of a meiolaniid in different localities at the same time, but weirder things have happened. Tho it is further pretty weird how Ameghino rushed to get a name out, but didn't bother describing what defined the animal nor designated a holotype. Hell he didn't even illustrate his skull. But lets give him some time.

Two years pass, its 1901 now. Woodward publishes a proper description of Roth's skull, illustrating the animal in detail. Having heard that Ameghino found a remarkably similar fossil, Woodward assigns the Roth skull to the same species as the Ameghino skull. Although he doesn't carry over the genus Niolamia, instead placing the fossils in Miolania (a misspelling of Meiolania, described a few years prior from Australia). Ameghino didn't seem to mind or disagree, tho he still hadn't properly described nor figured his skull.

1938: Ameghino is dead at this point and weirdly, his Niolamia skull is still nowhere to be found. Since his initial description was wholy insufficient, George Gaylord Simpson (yes thats his actual name) decides to declare the Roth skull the type specimen for Niolamia (the neoptype). Meaning that the genus is now defined on this skull rather than the one Ameghino had when coining the name.

Fast forward to 2011. It is now generally accepted that Roth's skull is the fossil that defines what Niolamia is. Of course Ameghino still gets credit, after all he described the first remains, even tho nobody has ever seen those...ever really. Over a 100 years passed and far as anyone could tell, the last person to have seen those bones were Ameghino and his brother, after which they just disappeared. But we still got the Roth skull, and Juliana Sterli and Marcelo de la Fuente could readily redescribe Niolamia based on that.

But Sterli seems to suspect that something very fishy is going on. Remember, Ameghino just happened to find a perfectly preserved skull at the same time as Roth did. Ameghino made sure to get a name out before Woodward got around to fully describe it. Ameghino only vaguely compared the skull to Meiolania, but didn't specify its unique features nor did he actually illustrate his material. So Sterli said out loud what I'm sure many people must have been thinking. "Did Ameghino just make it all up?"

In 2015 Sterli comments on the matter by noting how awfully convenient the whole situation was. Although no concrete evidence exists, Sterli suggests that Ameghino may have found out about Roth's skull, lied about having found a similar one, and named Niolamia not on a fossil he actually had but based on what little he knew about Roth's discovery.

This is just a basic summary of a rabbit hole I recently went into and my god its so frustrating on so many levels. Again we don't have concrete evidence that Ameghino's skull didn't actually exist, but the way the timing lined up and the fact that he was in a feude with Francisco Moreno, which has been likened to an Argentinian Bone War, means that this suggestion isn't that out there. It really doesn't help that his supposed skull was only ever mentioned by him in 1899 and never again. Ameghino never claimed it was destroyed or stolen, hell, far as I could find he even agreed with Woodwards research.

What's also fascinating is that seemingly, for over a hundred years, nothing was written in scientific literature casting doubt over his claim. I'm sure some people must have called bullshit on him in private, but the only resource I could find that actually goes as far as to say "Hey isn't his weird that the Ameghino skull is basically a phantom" came out in 2015. Everything in-between seemed content with just assuming that Ameghino and Roth both had skulls and just never followed up on whatever happened to the former. Then again I could just as much understand if people just didn't want to deal with this nightmare of a backstory.

#paleontology #ameghino #florentino ameghino #niolamia #history #prehistory #palaeblr #coproliteposting #meiolaniidae #turtle #paleontology history

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sillystringsimpsons · 6 months ago

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THE D'AMICO CRIME FAMILY RELATIONSHIP MAP.

Content warnings: brief mention of sexual abuse, cartoon imagery of blood, cigars, cigarettes, discussion of struggling to transition, discussion of physical trauma. This AU is centred around a criminal organisation and by default involves mature themes.

Over hours, through a painstaking design process, I created an illustrated map detailing the relationships between frontal characters in my Simpsons alternate universe, The Good Ones. A lot of love and effort has been put into this, so I hope you guys like it! If there are any characters you'd like to see drawn, just let me know.

More info and close ups of icons beneath cut!

I know I always say this, but interactions, especially questions would mean SOSOSOSOSOSOSO much to me, as I've put so much thought into this and would LOVE to yap to interested people about it. I know art is done for oneself, but it feels really good to share my creations and hyperfixations with the Simpsons community :)

For every character, I drew a little icon and wrote a line of dialogue, in order to give some inside into their personality and traits in a concise way. A few further explanations and elaborations are given below!

Valentina 'Tits' Albertini Her icon is a visual pun, featuring two Great Tits drawn in the colours of the transgender flag.

Aside from Memphis, Valentina is the only other explicitly genderqueer character in the AU's focus (Lucy-Mae is heavily implied to fall under the nonbinary umbrella, but she never personally feels the need to explore it further, and is happy with identifying as female). Her former nickname was a play on how ballsy of a person she is within the mafia - though Cora is a wildcard, she makes very rash decisions: Valentina is both calculated and bold, and her current nickname is a crude (fittingly), but well-spirited adaptation introduced by Memphis. After coming out, she experiences backlash from Tony, who is concerned her late transition will impact the image of the mob. Memphis, being a trans man, asks him why Valentina is any different from himself, and in the heat of the moment, Tony exclaims that half the people in their own family have no idea that he's transgender, which leads to some tension between the two. Tits' main character arc revolves around her exploration of gender and gender expression, and the character that plays the biggest role in it is Tony's son, Michele (purposefully drawing parallels between Tony and Memphis' own relationship, and showing social change between generations).

Michele 'Softfoot Mikey' D'Amico His icon is a nod to his (in this AU) love of ballet, and how he uses it to his advantage in his role as an underboss.

Michele is a simple evolution on Tony's canon son, Michael D'Amico. In this AU, he's been aged up to 23, and instead of having an unconventional love for cooking, has an unconventional love for ballet dance. Most all of his other traits have been kept the same, however, aside from the obvious fact that he's more rational and mature than his in-canon counterpart. He's straight, but is portrayed as very effeminate - and comfortably so. Mikey really just is a girlboss who never fails to (sometimes literally) slay.

Cora 'Connie the Howler' Mezzasalma Her icon plays on her nickname, portraying a dog with some of her key characteristics, such as a matching necklace given to her by her adoptive brother, as well as a splatter of blood - presumably from one of her usual 'errors'. Her nickname refers to the colloquial term howler, meaning a laughable mistake.

Frankie's awkward adoptive sister of Greek origin, Cora was initially made with the sole purpose of providing a dynamic for Frankie, outside of his relationship with Johnny (which is still the primary relationship explored), but she really grew as a character. Initially I made the name 'Connie the Howler' on the fly as a sort of female version of 'Frankie the Squealer', but I ended up actually putting the effort in to rationalise it and bring it into her character. The result was an awesome little dynamic between two characters who were equally stupid, but in very different ways. She may be responsible for a number of incorrect hits, as well as a good few accidental deaths and injuries, but at the end of the day, she's a silly girl at heart who really synergises with her brother's anxious energy.

Maximus 'Legs' Legman & Luis 'Louie' Walters Both of their icons refer to an car accident the both of them got into, wherein Legs, ironically, suffered severe damage to his legs (resulting in the amputation of his left one), and Louie underwent significant cranial trauma.

The two do admittedly have a closer relationship because of the shared experience, though they both experience significant impacts. Notably, Louie develops Broca's aphasia (yes, I know the injury is on the wrong side, that's my bad), a form of non-fluent aphasia where one's quality of speech and grammatical structure is significantly diminished - even though the words are in your head, you cannot get them out, usually due to damage to the area of the brain responsible for the production of speech. Louie really struggles in the aftermath, and has a difficult time adapting to his disability. Thankfully, he's got his friend there to help him through it.

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h-c-u · 2 years ago

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Eye of the storm pt 3

Summary: You start to think about other things than your father's death, and Beau helps, without even realising how much. Oh, and there is a first kiss in this one :)

Pairing: Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x fem!reader (Iceman’s daughter)

W/C: 9.1k

Rating: PG, age gap, canon character’s death (Tom Kazansky)

TWs: Grief, unnamed ED, Panic attacks.

A/N: It took me a while, but it's here... I think 2, maybe 3 more parts and the story I wanted to tell will be done.

Part 1 | Part 2 Masterlist | List of tags | Eye of the storm playlist

- Cyclone! You there? - the loud banging at the door instantly jolted both of you awake, and you looked at Beau, fear painted all over your face. He only clenched his jaw and went to open the door, ready to deal with all the possible consequences, but you were not... So instead of facing the reality just yet, you hid completely under the covers, making sure that every part of your body was completely hidden. Logically you knew that there were signs that he wasn't exactly alone in the room, but without your face, it would be pretty hard to connect them to you. You didn't know that, but before he opened the door, he took one last look at you and smiled only seeing bundled-up bedding.

- What? - he asked, his voice completely void of emotions.

- You're late. It's 8:20. The call. - a familiar voice said, but you couldn't fully place it.

- Shit. I overslept. I'll be there in 5. - he panicked a little but already had a plan forming in his head.

- Mark that day in a calendar, everyone! Vice-Admiral Beau Simpson overslept! - the faceless voice laughed, and you couldn't help but chuckle. Now that you thought about it, he was always first in the room whenever he had a meeting with your dad. And he was always prepared and ready to go.

- Yeah, yeah... Make all the jokes you want, Sol. But make them from somewhere where you won't see me change. - Sol... Solomon Bates. You were finally able to connect the voice to the name. You only knew him in passing, that's why you didn't recognize his voice at first.

You heard the door closing, and you felt safe enough to peek from under the covers. He was quickly preparing to leave, and you wanted to try something truly evil. When he was still in the bathroom, you took one of his tan uniforms from the wardrobe and passed the folded clothes through the open door. You watched him quickly change from shorts into pants, putting on a t-shirt, but when it came to the beige shirt, you stopped him from doing the buttons and did them yourself, while he diligently watched every move of your fingers. Even though he was already almost late, and he knew that he could do them quicker, he'd much rather have you take care of that. You also pinned his ribbons and wings, as you did so many times in the past for your dad, so you knew the exact placement.

After you finished, he tucked the shirt into his pants and moved past you to find and put on the shoes, while you stood next to the door, patiently waiting on your tippy toes for your chance to execute the evil plan.

He eventually was ready to head out, but before he had the chance to open the door, you took his right hand into yours stopping him for just a moment before he left, and snaked your other hand onto his neck, gently pulling him closer.

He didn't even register what was happening, because he got so used to your presence and your touch. Everything you did with him just felt... right. But then he was out the door and had already taken four steps into the long corridor when it hit him so hard that he instantly stopped. You kissed him... It was quick and soft, just a peck on the lips, but definitely planned and intentional, not driven by overwhelming emotions. And he kissed you back as if he did it million times before... The blood immediately rushed to his face, and he could feel the warmth spilling into his chest. Only when someone saluted him in passing, he realized that in two minutes he was supposed to be deciding the fates of possible new Top Gun recruits. He fought with himself for a good moment, because his whole body was screaming at him to back and kiss you properly, but instead, he clenched his jaw, took two deep breaths to calm himself, and quickly walked in a direction of conference room number one. And while the blush disappeared from his cheeks, the giant smile stayed there for the whole duration of the call, to the point that even Solomon found it a bit unnerving.

And while he started working, you were still standing with your back against the closed door, with your fingers touching the exact place where your lips met, the sensation of it now forever carved in your memory. You honestly thought that he would stop you, but when instead he put his hand on your hip and leaned down to kiss you, you forgot how to breathe for a moment, and that weird feeling in your stomach appeared... Not exactly butterflies, but the one when you're in a car riding quickly, and there was a small hill or a bump... And for a short perfect moment, you felt light as a feather, and you could fly away to reach the heights you never dreamt of. And that’s what it was... A perfect little moment, tucked into months voided of colors…

It took you good twenty minutes to finally peel yourself from the door, but instead of going back to bed, you actually made it. Not to the military standards, of that you were sure, but at least it looked presentable. You took the packet of almonds, and at first, your hand also reached for your dad's journal, but it stopped, only hovering over it... After a moment without movement, you instead reached for a sketchbook and pencils... If you were at your place, you would have reached for watercolors, because for the first time in months, you were more in a mood for something other than blacks or greys.

Well... Postmates existed... Question was, would they be able to enter the base, or would you have to meet them at the gate? You put down the sketchbook back on the desk, took your phone, unlocked it, and immediately got overwhelmed by the number of notifications that appeared on the screen. At first, you froze, but because of the subtle scent of spruce all over you, you were able to start chipping at this giant iceberg. Most of the notifications came from the apps, so they were easy to deal with. Next came text messages. Mostly from your mother, brother, and a few close friends, which were still updating you, even though you were not replying. The majority of other texts contained condolences, but since they were from people you barely knew, you just... Ignored them. It seemed much less weird than replying "Thank you" after over two months.

With a heavy sigh, you finally opened the messages from Nick and scrolled to the first unread one... Which was a meme with his cat containing four pictures of him with his head in the pack of chips, looking in different directions, evidently confused, because he couldn’t figure out how to take the bag off, with the caption "Father...? Father!? Why have you forsaken me...?". You couldn't help but chuckle a bit. After a week of nothing, there was a short video from a hike, showing the landscape from somewhere high up; you didn't recognize it though. Next, there was another video, this time of his cat again, who tried to throw a speaker from the desk, but instead of achieving that, he himself fell off the desk. And message after message, video after video, meme after meme you finally got through the whole conversation. The last one was from just a couple of hours ago when the sun was still hidden behind the horizon. There was a small bonfire with his voiceover. "Hey... I know it's been some time since we saw each other, but mum told me that we'll be clearing dad’s office together. And I just wanted to let you know that I'm here for you no matter what, and I miss you terribly... I hope to see you then, but if you're not ready..." his voice cracked a bit, and that hurt you more than you expected. "If you're not ready, then you're not ready. I just hope you're getting through it...". The video ended and you were left with an emptiness in your heart, because only now you realized that along with losing his dad, Nicky also lost his sister. You were so engulfed in your own sorrow, that you didn't even think about it, cutting everything and everyone off... You instantly pressed the icon starting the video call and straightened yourself in the armchair.

He answered almost immediately. The video was choppy at his end, but you were still able to see that he was somewhere in the forest.

- Siema siostra! - you rarely saw him so excited, and you just couldn't help but laugh a bit. – Finally, rose from the dead? Shit. Sorry. - he realized what he said as soon as the words left his mouth, and if you heard it just a week ago, you would have had a full-blown panic attack, but now, still feeling the gentle touch on your lips, you were... fine.

- Figure of speech, I get it. - you gave him a faint smile, and he finally stopped walking. - And I am slowly getting through it... - you circled back to the last video you received from him.

- That's good to hear, good to hear... - he looked at the camera and smiled. - Where are you by the way? Mum was going crazy yesterday... - you sighed quietly. There was no sense in lying to him because he knew you far too well to believe you when you were bullshitting.

- I'm on base, but I'm... well... in hiding. You know since I'm not exactly supposed to be here. I have help though! And I'm actually eating! - he knew that there were periods when you had real troubles with that because he was usually the first one to notice when you weren't... He was a great older brother, even though you basically hated each other's guts when you were growing up, and it took a lot of time for you to get to the place you were now.

- My sister, a secret agent man... - he genuinely laughed, but didn't dig any deeper, even though you knew he knew you weren't saying the whole trough. - Wha... tr... eve... pl...

- Nicky, you're cutting out... - you tried to refresh the feed, but it looked like he was too deep in the forest to have good reception.

- Recep... it... - and the call dropped. You instantly got a message from him. "The reception is shit, sorry. It was good to see you. I'll call tomorrow evening, pinky promise."

You smiled and replied that it was good to see him too...

And now that your messages were taken care of, you got to the final beast, which was your emails... Again, there were a lot of condolences, but along with them, there were also a lot from your agent, about every single sale, and you couldn't believe how many of them he sent you... Usually, you were able to sell 4, maybe 6 paintings per month, but considering their usual prices, you were actually more than financially comfortable, but you just didn't care about that. And here there were... 80 paintings sold, almost all you had listed. You honestly couldn't believe it... Over 5 years of work sold in just two months. And then you realized what probably happened. Your dad's death was on the news... Since "Kazansky" wasn't exactly a popular last name, more people were finding you because of his death...

And that was enough to make your heart sink deeper into your chest.

In the last email, your agent mentioned that a gallery wanted to contact you regarding a possible exhibit, which under any other circumstances would have been amazing, but now everything was tainted, and you weren't even sure if you wanted to sell anything anymore... So instead of ordering paints and a small canvas, you put your phone down and reached for a journal that you had already memorized and started re-reading it with your knees under your chin; the unopened pack of almonds already forgotten.

Beau came back around noon, and as soon as he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks, the ones you didn't even notice for the last hour, he kneeled in front of you and after putting the tray with food on the desk, took the journal out of your hands, and forced you to look him in the eyes... Which opened the dam, and you started sobbing, finally allowing yourself to break down. You leaned forward and desperately reached for him, and he pulled you closer, allowing your arms to find their way around his body, and your face to hide in his neck...

- Shhh... Shhhh... It's ok, you're ok... - he whispered, slid his strong arms under you, and turned both of you around in such a way, that you were currently sitting on him, while he was sitting on the floor. - Can you tell me what happened? - he asked, not letting you go even for a second, and trying to soothe you by gently rubbing your back and swaying front and back, but you weren't ready to say anything just yet... Seeing you in this state was breaking his heart, and his chest actually ached, because the helplessness was turning into physical pain. He wanted, needed, to help you, but he couldn't do anything except just being there for you.

It took some time, but you eventually calmed down, and he rubbed the tears from your cheeks for the millionth time, but it was the first time you actually were aware that he was doing it...

- Did you know that I paint...? - you asked, your voice still shaky and quiet. He nodded and allowed you to explain. - I even have an agent. And I finally got through the emails from him. Over 250 of them to be exact... 3 per painting... One with all the offers, one with the winning bid, and one with confirmation of payment... Over 80 paintings sold in two months, because people heard my dad's last name on the news... - you started crying again, even the thought of it too heavy to bear alone. And fortunately, you didn't have to say anything more, because Beau understood what you meant.

- Would he blame you for being happy, or would he be proud of your success? - he asked quietly. Logically you knew that your dad would never want to see you the way you were now... All broken, overwhelmed by guilt, and unable to function... Especially if he knew that he was the reason you were like that. He would be ready to do anything just so you could be better... Except not dying...

Did you actually blame him for dying and leaving you alone?

Even thinking that scared you, because that was the last thing you wanted to do... You knew how much he suffered, you were there to witness all the pain, the guilt, the helplessness. You knew it wasn't his fault... But... That accusatory feeling somehow snaked its way into your brain and coiled around your grief unnoticed until now.

Logically you knew that it wasn't his fault, that he didn't choose it. For fucks sake, he fought till there was no hope left... He went through all the treatments, all procedures, and searched for international trials; he didn't just... give up. And yet... you couldn't help what you felt and that made you cry even harder because now you were getting angry at yourself, for even thinking like that. It wasn't rational, you knew that, but those emotions didn't want to just disappear.

- I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm talking about... - Beau whispered and hugged you even harder, almost crushing you in his arms.

- It's... It's not you... It's my fucking stupid brain. - you said in between sobs. - You're amazing... I'm... I don't deserve... - you couldn't even finish that sentence, because another wave pulled you under the surface and you lost the ability to think about anything coherent. There were just negative emotions festering in your head and you couldn't even let them out... You didn't even know how...

- Scream... - his voice managed to get through all the walls you were building up in real-time, and the meaning of it confused you enough, that for just a moment you came back to reality. You wanted to ask something along "what...?" but the word didn't manage to get through the giant ball in your throat - Scream. Just scream. As loud and as you can. - you were still confused, and Beau seemed to read your mind because he added. - There is no one in this part of the base, everyone is either eating or in training. Scream. - and that was enough...

At first, you struggled to get any sound out. Then it was strained and quiet, but after you took a deep breath and opened your mouth again, a full-blown, primal scream left your lungs. It was filled with anger, shame, guilt, blame... All the things that were stewing in your brain packaged not so neatly in one action.

You didn't even realize when you got out of his embrace, but you found yourself kneeling on the floor, screaming at it, as if was all its fault. You stayed like that until there were no more tears left, and no more voices in your brain, not even your own... You simply collapsed and Beau scooped you up again. You wanted to thank him, say anything, but your voice was long gone, and it would be a moment till it comes back.

You were exhausted, so you were more than grateful when he put you under the covers and kneeled, so your faces were on the same level. He wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, and you gently wrapped your fingers around his hand while it was still in contact with your skin, guided it to your lips and - without breaking eye contact - pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. You were ready to let go of him, but instead, he mirrored your actions by pulling both of your hands closer to him and pressing a soft kiss to your hand.

- I hate leaving you... - he whispered against your soft skin and closed his eyes, taking in both the sensation and your scent. - Go to sleep, babygirl... - there was that pet name again... In his mouth, it sounded so soft and full of something you weren't ready to name yet. You definitely didn't mind it, but you were never called that before, so getting used to it might take a moment.

He returned your hand close to your chest but didn't move until your breathing changed to a familiar pattern that showed up when you were asleep. He didn't want to leave when you were still conscious, because he was afraid you might start to spiral again... And considering how much energy the last hour took from you, he doubted you'll be awake when he'll finish working, which wasn't ideal because you haven't eaten today yet, but he knew forcing you to do so right now would not be good. But he still came back in around 10 minutes and brought a thermal mug full of tea with ginger and honey.

Beau was right because when he came back after a full day of working, you were still in the same position and nothing in the room changed. He took his thermal mug from where he left it, and gently cupped your face, trying to wake you up.

When you opened your eyes and he was the first thing you saw, you couldn't help but smile, for a short blissful moment forgetting about what happened earlier. He took your hand in his and placed it on a mug. You wanted to thank him, but your voice was lost, and the memory of what happened flooded back into your brain, and all the thoughts and emotions came back with it. You froze and he seemed to know exactly what was happening in your head.

He helped you sit up, unlocked the mug, gently guided it to your lips, and you took a first sip of a pleasantly hot tea. And then another one... The warmth of it mixed with honey soothed your throat, and you were finally able to say something.

- I'm sorry... - by his expression, you instantly realized that it was the wrong thing to say.

- You have nothing to apologize for. Everyone is grieving in different ways, and yours is not wrong. - he gave you the softest of smiles, and you leaned in a bit to press your foreheads together, a memory from today's morning slithering its way into your brain, but neither of you did anything more. That small gesture was more than enough, and it was comforting you in ways you couldn't even describe.

- I feel like I'm a burden... Like I only take and take from you... - you closed your eyes because it was the only way to break eye contact without putting space in between your foreheads.

- You could never be a burden to me, no matter what... - he whispered so quietly, that if you were just a bit further away, you wouldn't be able to hear it, but you did... And it sounded like something he was afraid to admit even in front of himself, not to mention you. You opened your eyes again, wanting to gaze into his, but they were closed. You wanted to ask why he said that, but you already knew the answer... And you definitely weren't ready to hear it from his mouth...

- It's Friday today, isn't it...? - you asked, and you felt him nodding. - And you're not working on weekends, correct?

- We can stay here, that won't be an issue. - he said, his voice more confident.

- That's not why I'm asking... Can... - you couldn't believe what you were about to say. - Can you take me to your place...? - his eyes shot open, and he leaned back in shock.

- God yes! - he answered with relief before you even finished asking the question. - Don't get me wrong, I enjoy having you here, but everything is... - before you realized what you were doing, you leaned in and kissed him, stopping his rant in its tracks.

Your hand instinctively found its way into his hair, while the other rested lightly on his shoulder. Suddenly you were aware of everything your body experienced... The rough material under your fingers, the smoothness of his hair, the warmth of his neck, the softness of his lips, so ready to invite you in… And you dove deep, without even thinking; chasing the sensation that was both new and familiar. Your heart was galloping faster and faster with every tender touch, the warmth in your chest turned into a roaring fire and your head was among the clouds because, with every breath you shared, you got higher and higher.

He was devouring you in ways you never thought possible, his hands pulling you closer by your hips. He was frantic and delicate at the same time as if he was restraining himself in fear of somehow hurting you, but you didn't want that... You wanted him to be real, to know who and what he was like under this hard shell he shared with the world, so you bit his lower lip and pulled on it gently, a soft smile blooming on your face. He responded with a low growl, followed your movements, and caught you in another kiss, this time more impatient, more hungry, more... messy... And you gave right in, allowing him to lead the dance your tongues shared until you were properly out of breath. But even after your lips parted, your skin was tingling all over, and there was that feeling in your stomach again, while so many colors flooded your brain.

- I need to ask you to do things for me more often... - you finally broke the silence, and he chuckled in response.

- Yeah, it was definitely worth the wait... - he was still kneeling on the floor in between your legs, and you didn't even realize when your ankles found their way around his thighs.

- How long have you been waiting for it... exactly...? - you asked in a joking matter, pressing your foreheads together again in search of the echo of that intimacy.

- I plead the 5th... - he laughed softly in response, but you knew one day he'll tell you everything, but now he was still afraid you would run away if you knew. - Fuck, I feel like a teenager again. - he moved one of his hands to your cheek and gently caressed your skin with his thumb, and you leaned into that touch.

- And I feel more like myself... - you put your hand over his, and moved it slowly, so you could press a soft kiss on his palm. - Can we go now...? - you asked, completely disregarding the fact that you were still wearing the clothes you’d slept in.

- We can. - he pressed a soft kiss to your lips; an echo of passion was still audible in his actions. It didn't take you long to get ready, because you didn't have a lot of things with you, and everything - including the things Beau got for you - fit into your bag. You had to change into your own pants, because you didn't want to walk outside in shorts, or much too big sweatpants, but you kept his gray t-shirt, throwing your dad's jacket over it. When you started searching for your shoes, Cyclone reached for them under the bed, where he left them that first night, he brought you here. But before you were able to put them on yourself, he gently pushed you to sit on the bed, put them on your feet, and laced them tightly for you. He also offered you his hand when he finished, to help you get up. Not that you needed help, but you enjoyed touching him in any way you could, and he seemed to feel the same way.

You wanted to hold his hand while you walked through the corridors, but you knew it would be seen as inappropriate, so you just put up the hood of the jacket and put on the aviators to make yourself less recognizable, although you seriously doubted that it would work if you encountered someone you knew. And fortunately, gods spared you that awkwardness because you hated lying.

You were a bit surprised when the car that reacted to his keys was Jeep Wrangler because you were expecting something more... classic. Not that you were complaining, it was just... unexpected, but considering how little you actually knew about him, you had a lot of catching up to do.

You wanted to curl up in the front seat, but you didn't want to put your shoes on the breathable material, so you sat there, feeling a little bit like a kid, but in a good way. You weren't exactly used to following rules, even the simplest ones, which was surprising to most people who knew your dad from the military.

As soon as you started voicing your opinions, you and Nicky were able to defend your point of view in front of your parents, and if your arguments were sound, you were able to proceed with whatever you had planned; they allowed you to make your own mistakes and learn from them just so you'd be prepared for the hardships of the real world. And even though they didn't always agree with your choices, they respected both of you enough not to force you onto a certain path they imagined for you.

And while your brother went into a more... conventional direction with software engineering and app development, you craved too much freedom for any typical career. And when you discovered painting... Well, everything else was history. You had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously at first, but after the 4th competition won, your father realized that it wasn't just a fluke, and there was a real possibility for you to achieve a lot, even though he didn’t completely understand it. In the end, he was the one who started doing research about fine art colleges, and internships before you were even done with high school. And when you had your first exhibit, he was the one who cheered you the loudest and invited all his friends from the navy, because he wanted to show off his little girl.

And then you realized something... You were able to think about your dad without going into a complete spiral for the first time in ages, and you couldn't help but smile. It was a small thing, but it meant that you were slowly getting back to normal, and that was something that gave you an unimaginable amount of peace.

- Do you want to swing by your house to get something? - Beau asked, and you had to think for a moment before replying.

- House no... - you finally said; you weren't ready to face whatever was waiting for you there. - But my studio... - you looked at him and he just nodded.

- What's the address? - you gave it to him, and he adjusted the route accordingly.

It didn't take you long to actually get there, but you were a little bit afraid to get out of the car and walk up three flights of stairs. And then you realized that you haven't even asked.

- Would it be ok if I painted at your house...? - your voice got almost completely drowned in traffic noises.

- You can do whatever you want in my house. - he replied with a soft smile, and he meant what he said. - Do you want me to come with you? - he wanted to help, but he didn't want to impose. You shook your head for no; you knew how your studio looked and you weren't ready to share that with him just yet, even though he already knew your life at the moment was messy. - If you'll change your mind, I'm here... - he hesitated for a short moment, but he eventually took your hand into his and brought it to his lips to place a small kiss on the back of it, and it gave you enough courage to face whatever was waiting for you upstairs.

You tried not to look around too much while grabbing your gym bag from the closet, because you were afraid that you might start to spiral again, but fortunately, you managed to avoid that. You packed a few more sets of underwear, a pair of shorts, and leggings. In a moment of boldness, you skipped shirts and t-shirts, because his gave you much more comfort than your own, and you were planning on continuing wearing them. You also packed your hair and face cosmetics, and that was it from necessities, but it wasn't everything you packed...

You also took a ceramic pot you used to brew your tea in, the tea itself, your favorite mug made by one of your friends, and a small cat figurine you didn't even plan on taking out of the bag when you were at his place because just the knowledge of having it with you was comforting.

Next, you took a big canvas bag and started throwing brushes, sponges, rollers, different types of paints and inks, primers, varnish, and all the other things you needed to paint and prepare a canvas. The last thing you took, were thin wooden slats you made frames out of, to stretch the canvas on, and the roll of the canvas itself; it was much easier to travel with it deconstructed, and you didn't know what size you'd need just yet. You quickly left your apartment without looking at everything too much, and you carefully walked down the stairs. When you opened the building doors, you saw Beau standing next to the car, ready to help, if you needed it. You didn't, but just looking at him made you smile.

He took your bags from you, put them in the back, and opened the door of the car for you, and before you knew it, you were crossing a border to the gated community he apparently lived in. All the houses here looked... new. And expensive. And not at all like something you were used to.

He eventually stopped in front of a big suburban house with a double garage door in front. It looked like it had at least four bedrooms, which was - again - surprising.

- Do you... live... alone? - you asked while the doors to the garage were opening, because you just assumed that he did, but you didn't know for sure.

- Yeah... - he sighed. - I know it's a giant house for one person, but I've bought it quite some time ago when I still hoped to start a family... Work kind of got in the way somewhere along the way. - he explained - I honestly admire your father for managing to... - he realized what he said, and his eyes instantly snapped to you in search of signs that something was wrong, but there were none.

- Honestly, it was rough... I remember I learn how to count by counting the nights he was away, and the highest I got was 303 when he was deployed. - you said quietly, a weak smile on your face. - When I was a kid, I always put him on a pedestal, but when I learned more about the world and wars... Well, let's just say that our relationship wasn't always perfect, and it took a lot of therapy to get us to... well... to get us where you saw us. - you explained quietly, leaving Beau a little bit speechless. Neither of you said anything when he was parking, but he helped you with your things.

It was weird, because on the one hand, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be, but on the other, you felt a bit like you were intruding, especially when he gave you a quick tour of his house. It was much more modern than you expected, and it lacked... him. As if someone else decorated the house to what they thought a bachelor would like. That was until you got to the main bedroom, and you instantly felt the warmth spilling in your chest.

The bed was massive with dark grey and navy sheets, but it wasn't the main feature of the room, because it was facing a wall filled with books from top to bottom, and the ceiling was high. You couldn't stop yourself from coming closer to check out the titles and run your fingers over the spines. You noticed that they were segregated by genre and in the genre - by the author's last name, which didn't surprise you. What surprised you was the fact that there were quite a few high fantasy books, which caught your attention, and when you turned around to ask, the words got stuck in your throat as soon as you laid your eyes on him.

Technically it wasn't anything special, because he looked exactly the same as he looked over the whole time you knew him, but something changed... He was still in his beige uniform, which shirt you buttoned up in the morning, and to which you attached his ribbons. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed on his chest, but his eyes and the way he looked at you... It almost made you blush because you never saw that expression on his face... The corners of his lips raised slightly in a gentle smile, cheeks just a bit higher, making those beautiful smile lines in the corners of his eyes, and the eyes... You instantly relaxed, and it was an involuntary reaction. Was it even possible to develop such strong feelings so quickly, or was it just a weird reaction to your grief? Will you ever be able to tell...?

- You can take anything you want... - he said, and something in his voice told you he didn't mean it just about books, but you left that as it was. Before you'd have that conversation, you will have to come to terms with whatever was happening in your own head. - I'm going to make dinner. - he said, but you stopped him with a gesture and walked closer to him.

You gently unpinned first the wings, then the ribbon rack, and he realized what you were doing; you were home... He wasn't supposed to be in uniform at home... Well, it wasn't forbidden, but he realized that you wanted him to leave the navy behind closed doors for the weekend, and somehow you managed you fit so many things into such a small gesture... That you wanted him to relax, that you wanted to know him better outside of work, that you were taking the exact amount of initiative you were ready for, that he wasn't forcing you into anything, that you were comfortable enough with him to know that even now, when you were slowly unbuttoning his shirt, he wouldn't assume anything. You were showing him that you trusted him without saying one word...

When you got to the lower buttons, you had to gently tug on the material to get it out from the inside of his trousers, and the movement caused his very subtle scent to surround you, which made you smile just a little.

Under the button-up, there was a white t-shirt. You very slowly slipped your hands under it, letting your fingers graze his skin and chest hair, while he was watching your every move with inhuman intensity. When the material rode up high enough, he helped you pull it over his head, but you were the one to take it off completely.

- How do you do this...? - you asked with your hands still on his chest. - How do you make me feel so safe and so calm...? - neither of you knew that, so the question hung unanswered and then he covered your hand with his.

- Does it matter...? - he eventually answered with another question, and after thinking for a moment you shook your head. - Then it doesn't matter, but I'm happy I can do that for you. - he moved your hand to his lips and place a soft kiss on it. - Would you mind if we ate in the garden today? I feel like grilling something... - it wasn't the warmest of days, but it was still the end of the summer, and there were always blankets. Plus - fresh air would do you good.

He went to the walk-in closet and quickly changed, while you were acutely studying everything that was in it. Which if you had to be honest - wasn't much and barely half of it was filled. But you still clocked one item that you instantly gravitated towards - an old gray hoodie with a washed-out naval academy logo. You run your fingers over the material and smiled. He said that you could take anything you wanted... So you did. You pulled it off the hanger and put it on. It was much softer on the inside than on the outside, the sleeves were too long, it reached halfway down your thighs and the hood covered your entire face... It was perfect.

Beau was the one who gently pulled the hood back, so you could see and for a brief moment, his hand rested on your cheek... He was so gentle with you, but you knew it wasn't because he was afraid that you would break; you were used to this type of behavior from different people, but he... He was just gentle. And soft. And warm... Without any specific reason.

You didn't even have to ask for a blanket, because he already had one prepared when you stepped onto the back porch. It wasn't anything special... Well, there was a currently covered pool, and a fire pit, but when it came to plants... there was almost nothing, and you felt a little bit disappointed, but that was your own fault because when he mentioned the garden, you were expecting at least a few trees and maybe a veggie patch... And some flowers... But that was your problem, not his. He was already kind enough to take you in.

Still wrapped in a thick blanket, you chose to sit on the swing with your knees curled up and a sketchbook in your hands, while he was preparing food a few meters away from you, and you honestly could get used to that... You were happy to just observe him, but after a few minutes a compulsion to draw won, so you cracked the spine of a brand-new sketchbook he bought for you and started sketching.

His face was already committed to your memory forever, so it wasn't hard for you to do a quick outline of the proportions, and after that you cleaned it a bit, looking at Beau from time to time, even though you didn't need to... But you wanted to... You slowly added more details, starting with hair, but they weren't neatly combed like they were now. You used the image from your head, from when he was in bed with you after taking a shower at night; they had much more volume and suited him more in your opinion. Next came the nose, which took you only a minute, but his lips... You spent so much time looking at them and thinking about them, that even the tiniest details were carved in your memory, and you took your time pouring them out on paper because you wanted to do them justice. And lastly - his eyes and everything around them... You had to close yours for a moment to recall and analyze the expression he looked at you with only half an hour ago...

Just as you were finishing, the smell of something cooking hit your nostrils, and you peeked at what he was doing. On a special plate on the grill, there were potatoes with some herbs, bell peppers, onions... And even though you couldn't see it, you could smell it, so you knew somewhere in there, there was also garlic and rosemary. As if he could feel your gaze on him, he turned around catching you in the act and looking at you with the exact same expression that was looking at you from your sketchbook.

You turned the page in his direction, but from his perspective, the light pencil was barely visible, so he came closer, and you passed the notebook to him, so he could take a closer look.

- That's not... - he started, but quickly stopped and thought about what he really meant. - I don't think I've ever seen myself looking like that... - it took him a moment to react.

- That's what I see when you look at me... - you simply shrugged and he shifted his gaze back to you, as if unsure what to say. There were a few minutes of silence before he spoke again, this time much quieter.

- Am I that obvious...? - his voice was almost a whisper as if he was afraid that anything louder would shatter the moment.

- It's... complicated. - you sighed. - And I promise we will talk about it, but I am not ready for that conversation yet, it's too soon. But I... - you hesitated. - I don't want to be anywhere but with you. For now, it will have to be enough, I'm sorry that I can't give you more... - the last part was barely audible.

- You have nothing to apologize for because you don't have to give me anything... - he passed the still-opened sketchbook back to you and you couldn't help but look at your drawing again. - And when you're ready - we will talk. - he didn't even have to say that he was more than ok with waiting, because you were definitely worth any wait. - But first - food. - you technically weren't even hungry, but you knew you should eat... And with Beau cooking, it would be extremely hard to say no without poking a hole in your bag of issues. Plus - logically you knew your body needed it, so you didn't protest when he brought you a dark blue plate with chicken and veggies cut to bite-size pieces even before cooking.

He sat on the swing next to you and very gently started moving it using just one of his legs.

- What's your favorite ice cream flavor? - you asked right after you swallowed the first piece of roasted potato and he looked at you with surprise, but as soon as he realized what you were doing, he shifted a bit, so now his body was facing you, and you did the same.

- Hazelnut... But it's followed closely by salted caramel. You? - he replied and now it was his turn to take a bite.

- Lemon sherbet with basil... - you usually had to make it on your own, because there weren't many companies that carried that specific flavor.

- That's a bit unusual... - he couldn't help but smile, but he wasn't even surprised, because nothing about you was usual. - What kind of music do you like? - this time he asked the question.

- Just... Music... It really depends on my mood. I have hundreds of playlists I've made over the years, so it would be hard for me to choose just one of them. - you took a small break to eat a few pieces of veggies. - Although I focus more on the song itself than on the creator. And sure, there are a few that I'd enjoy no matter what, like House of the Rising Sun or Work Song, but overall - my music taste is all over the place. - your throat still hurt a bit from the screaming earlier today, but not enough to stop you from talking.

- If you let me, I'd love to hear a few of your playlists. Do you have them on Apple Music? - he asked, and you chuckled.

- Spotify. We're an android house because of my lovely brother. - Beau was really easy to talk to and you found yourself wanting to do it more often, and since you were already in his house, it should be easy to do.

- Nicholas? - he made sure he remembered the name correctly, and you realized that you weren't even sure if the two of them ever met.

- Nick. Or Nicky... - you corrected, because your brother hated the full version of his name with a passion, and Beau only nodded once, acknowledging the change. - Do you have any siblings? - you couldn't help but ask and he sighed heavily.

- Yeaaahhhh... Four sisters. One older, and three younger. - you weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this, and you almost choked.

- That's... - you didn't even know what to say.

- A lot? - he offered, and you nodded. - My father wanted another son after me and well... It didn't go according to plan. - he chuckled.

- Would you mind telling me a bit more about your family? - and he did. He started with his older sister and their rocky relationship due to their parents giving him more attention, and then he moved down, telling you about how he always felt responsible for the younger ones, how he played with them and braided their hair, and how he felt guilty leaving them behind when he joined the navy.

And you listened to his stories from childhood until your plate was empty, and when it was, you put it on the floor next to the swing, brought your knees to your chest, and just... listened. It was your turn to get to know him, since he had a substantial head start in that department, and you were happy to learn every little detail he was willing to share.

The sun was already hidden behind the horizon, and you couldn't help but look around the... so-called garden, and he immediately saw that someone was bugging you.

- What's wrong? - he asked quietly, reaching to touch you, and as soon as his fingers were on your calf, you moved closer to him and awkwardly turned around, draping the blanket over both of you. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer, happy to share some warmth with you.

- Nothing's wrong... - you said, and it wasn't a lie. - There are just a few things I miss, and when you said you had a garden... I just miss nature. - you didn't want to add why exactly you missed it, but to Beau - it was obvious. - It's so quiet here... We're outside, but there are no frogs, no bugs buzzing around, no crickets in the background, no nothing... Well, besides a few moths and mosquitos. - you could feel him chuckle behind you. - And please don't get it the wrong way, I'm extremely happy to be here with you, and it's just something I miss.

- It's ok... I understand what you mean. - he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. - It's... sterile, a blank canvas. - and that was exactly what you meant, so you couldn't help but look back at him. - I'm not spending much time here... Sure, it's my house, but it was decorated by someone else because I didn't have time to do it myself. I paid someone to design the backyard in such a way, that it wouldn't require much maintenance, because I knew I wouldn't have time to take care of it. I always imagined that one day it will change, but... - he didn't have to finish, because you knew what he was about to say... If not for your mother, your house would have white walls and barely any decorations.

- The bedroom... - you whispered, and it suddenly made sense. - You decorated it yourself, didn't you...? - you asked, but you already knew the answer even before he nodded. That’s why you felt so safe and comfortable there; the one room he actually took time to work on.

You yawned, the exhaustion from today finally catching up with you; you knew it would be a while before you'll be at full strength again, but you felt safe enough not to rush that process.

- Do you want to go to sleep...? - he asked quietly.

- Mhmmm... But shower first... - you mumbled in response, but you didn't move to get up just yet, which made him smile. He pressed his cheek against your head, a plan for tomorrow slowly taking shape in his head. It would take him a moment to prepare everything, but it will be worth it.

- Go then... I'll clean around here and join you when I'll finish. - and with a quiet groan you finally started moving. Still wrapped in the soft blanket that now smelled like smoke, you went upstairs to the bedroom, where all your things were.

His shower was abysmally giant, almost a completely separate room with a rain shower and a bench to sit on. He already prepared a set of soft, dark blue towels for you, which you put to good use. You also neatly placed your things on the side of the counter, so they would be within reach, but not in the way. Technically there were two sinks, one completely empty, but... it just didn't feel right.

You peeked out of the bathroom to see if he was already in the bedroom, but it was empty, so you felt more comfortable sneaking into his walk-in wardrobe in just a towel tightly wrapped around your body. You gravitated towards the back of the room, where the older, more worn things were, and you unceremoniously took a black t-shirt with the logo of a band you didn't recognize and put it on. It was so soft against your skin, that you closed your eyes, relishing that sensation.

Since he wasn't in the room just yet, you picked one of the titles from the high fantasy section and started reading it in bed, but the warmth from the shower, and the fact that everywhere you looked, you could feel him, made you doze off before you realized what was happening.

It took Beau over an hour to prepare everything for tomorrow; he even dug through the decoration boxes in the garage to find the fairy lights he usually used to decorate his nieces’ room whenever they visited. The food for tomorrow was already prepared in the fridge, and everything else he would need was already packed.

When he came into the bedroom, you were already asleep, curled around one of his books. He gently took it out of your hands, put it on the nightstand, and turned the lamp off, so the light wouldn't interfere with your sleep.

He took a very quick shower, taking notice of the small trail of things you left in the bathroom with a smile; you were in his house for just a few hours, and he already loved everything about it. It was like you were meant to be there like you fit perfectly into empty spaces in his life.

Curiosity won, and he couldn't help but smell and read the labels of the creams and other things you were using, so he'd be better prepared next time you needed anything like that.

When he finally lay in bed and turned the lights off, he couldn't help the quiet groan. It's not like the beds on base were unreasonably uncomfortable, but he missed his own, even if that meant you were a bit further away. He didn't want to wake you up or assume anything, but as soon as he let out that groan, you started to shift in your sleep. For a short moment, he was afraid he woke you up, but he didn't; you were still sound asleep. But that didn't stop you from shuffling under the giant duvet in search of something, and as soon as your hand blindly found his torso, you let out a deeper breath and pulled yourself even closer to his body, which resulted in a giant smile on his face... even subconsciously you wanted to be near him...

So, he wrapped his arms around you and finally closed his eyes. He wasn't ready to fall asleep just yet; it was too early for that for him, but he just wanted to enjoy that moment of vulnerability with you.

A/N 2: Please don’t feel obligated/pressured to reblog, because I write mostly for myself. A comment would be appreciated though :) Love, G.

#my writing #TW: ED #TW: Panic Attack #TW: grieving #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #beau simpson x reader #Cyclone x reader #Beau Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson fanfiction #Beau Cyclone Simpson x reader #Cyclone fanfiction #🖤#📏

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flowerflamestars · 6 months ago

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I don't know if my continued Rhys Efflorese babble gotten eaten so here it is again. (if I'm repeating myself I'm very very sorry)

Rhysand being so certain that Cassian and Azriel's Illyrian honor and loyalty will keep them on his side without having even a shred of awareness about what Illyrian honor even MEANS much less what it might mean if they feel that HE'S the one who betrayed them first. I'm not sure that Rhysand even has any concept of Illyrians beyond the asshole camp lords that Night put in charge. (Why were they freezing in the mud, huh, Rhys?! WHO PUT THEM THERE?! Why might they not be will to share their whole selves with the Prince of Night, huh Rhys?)

It says a lot about how much faith and respect they had for Shahar (I can't remember how to spell her name right now) that even though she didn't live among them as one of them, they still very much considered her theirs and believed she could (and would) make the future better for them. (This is a thought I had while reading Starlight: the House of the Wind is possessed by the ghost of Rhysand's sister and she's fucking Pissed at him)

Rhysand is very bad a cost-benefit analysis. Particularly because he doesn't seem to have any concept of what a 'cost' actually is, especially when it's someone else who'll be paying it. Or even what a benefit is really. (Dude, you have two business savvy, policially knowledgeable, intelligent humans who are personally invested in keeping Feyre safe. This would be a FANTASTIC opportunity to learn about the state of the human lands and kingdoms and formulate plans based on new information instead of, you know, deciding you already had a perfect plan despite the fact that you haven't talked to a single (not Feyre) human in at least 500 years.(*insert the "no it's the children who are wrong" Simpsons guy meme here*) Or that maybe there's this guy right here with friendly acquaintances all over the place that could be very useful if you weren't, you know, a shithead. But nope, slightly bruised pride too much cost)

Rhysand's desperation for Feyre to only see him in a very specific light is greatly aided by Feyre's equal determination to only see him in that exact light.

Rhysand thinking that, even after learning he fucked off to the continent and got arrested for gambling debts, bringing shit-head papa Archeron into the situation will keep ANYONE in line (kinda love that even though we're all, like, Everyone Gets a Name but then none of us will can shithead papa Archeron anything but shithead papa Archeron)

Rhysand hoping this situation that he doesn't want to deal with implodes while not comprehending that it will implode into A WHOLE NOTHER SITUATION

Do you think he's a bit baffled when Feyre comes to the conclusion that her sisters hate faeries? Like he's perfectly pleased with the situation and happy to roll with it because it'll drive a further wedge between her and her sisters do you think he looks at the perfectly polite chats with Cass and Az despite the glowing siphons and giant bat wings (plus the Shadows in Az's case) and the House Full of Blood Magic/ Lucien FUCKING Venserra situation and think "Whelp, I guess you've got an immortal lifetime to learn some observation skills" (not that she'll learn good observations skills from HIM anytime soon)

Rhysand thinking that Feyre loves and cares about these people and that therefore they are a THREAT to HIM instead of that meaning that he should maybe he should care about, or, a least, try to get along with them.

Elain just keeps smiling a playing the perfect hostess is nearly as infuriating as Nesta snarling in his face. Then she puts Cassian's knife to his throat. That's probably one of them most WTF moments of his life. (someone please tell the Illyrians that Elain held a knife to Rhysand's throat. They deserve knowledge that this tiny human girl was willing to pull a knife on a High Lord for her people (a people they are now part of))

Did he notice that Elain served him some funny tasting tea and just think nothing of it because human food is all shit to him? (Also Cassian had almost zero reaction to Nesta saying that Elain had tried to poison Rhysand, his High Lord/'brother')

(in your Nesta/Eris story, the Valkyrie priestess says something along the lines of "Rhian's sniveling brat son may think the world revolves around him but it doesn't" and "Shahar would be disappointed in him." These statements feel applicable this Rhysand (or all Rhysands really))

Rhysand is about to get a crash course in how loyalty is a two-way street. The Archerons' people (now including a bunch of awestruck Illyrians) are so ride-or-die for them because the Archerons are just as ride-or-die back.

All three of the Bat Boys are in the process of completely loosing their shit in different directions.

Side-note: When Elain offers Cassian tea and calls him sir and Cassian's like "WTF I'm not a sir" and Elain's like "It's a courtesy given to any man with a title" and Cassian's just "naw I don't have a title" and then in her head Elain's like "WTF in what world is General not a title?" It just makes me wonder about Cassian's (and by extension, Azriel's) actual place in the Night Court's (barely existent) court hierarchy.

Side-note the second: While mentioning the Night Court's barely existent government system the thought of Amren having secret peons in place helping keep the court running. It might have started as a bit of a game 'How much functioning government can I make before Rhysand actually notices" however I think it got boring pretty quick through a combination of, 'he barely ever notices anything not shoved directly under his nose' and mild concern that Rhysand might actually notice and stop her and the court will implode even faster than it already is (and she's gotten stupidly attached to some of these colorful insects and would like to keep them around a bit longer) (Side-side note: I'm SO hyped for Amren to meet the rest of the Archerons)

Side-note the third: if there's Archeron ships in Night then there's probably Archeron ships in Summer too right? That could spin the whole Summer-book theft debacle in... interesting ways. (I'm imagining Tarquin talking to Feyre about Archeron ships bringing in supplies to rebuild the city at greatly reduced transpiration fees or something and Feyre's just mentally like "wtf my sisters hate faeries why would they do that" (because she's still operating under that particular delusion) but (because Rhys thinks it's a good idea) she plays along like she knows about it or something and uses it to gain more of Tarquin's trust before, you know, Rhys's whole *brilliant* plan takes place. Imagine how abso-fucking-lutly pissed OFF, Nesta, Elain and Lucien would be. Like, the whole situation would already piss them all off but add in deliberately taking advantage their family's reputation and kindness to do it? Rhysand had better stay well out of stabbing distance. (Side-side-note: Tarquin's, like, less than one hundred right? The dude spent more than HALF is fucking life Under the Mountain. Give him a fucking BREAK.) (Side-side-side-note: Just popped into my head. What if there were babies BORN down there. Like, that's their whole life down there. I just realized that this isn't actually much of a what-if scenario because really we just have to look under Rhysand's OWN fucking mountain to see how that goes.)

I think that's all of the babble for the moment. <3

Oooo so much good stuff here! I'll try to go in order 💜

Rhys is canonically shitty about Illyria and the Illyrians! I almost feel like I'm hitting the bottom of the barrel to give it emotional nuance- Effloresce Rhys has wrapped together all his grief and ego into just. Complete bullshit. Nesta sees this immediately! ( Cassian and Az have. Had to live within this, which I'll get to)

But yeah, that's the center for him in so many ways: he has to The Most Right, Fully in Control, Always in Charge and also does not take responsibility for shit. Ever.

So he belittles it. A warrior culture? Savages. Mor blatantly using Cassian when they were young? Oh that drives Cassian crazy. Azriel is wildly fucked up? No, it's the fault of his childhood not his continued life! Cassian gets close to his literal soulmate? Are you fucking around with Feyre's sister, Cas?

One of my character things for Rhys is that he wants Everything just barely more than he wants nothing. He is SO voraciously is the center of his own world while being so utterly careless with that world. So there is no balance. There's just what Rhys wants.

And he wants Feyre so Feyre is also always right. And just. Canonically does not seem to value her sisters as people so much as auxiliary manifestations of her own self.

They're like her irksome pets Rhys has to deal with.

Cassian's actual rank is going to come back, but I would say that you could easily call Rhysands perspective on the Archeron alliance making 'huh, the dogs AREN'T smart enough to be afraid of bears, and I, a person, find this quaint'

(Elain is going to kill the fuck out of someone over this.)

Poison doesn't matter because Cassian chose a side basically the second he crossed the wall. Even without Nesta. (You could possibly say he has always had a side, and it has always been Nesta.) Further, Lucien absolutely clocked that blood! All these things add together, really.

As for Amren, she's less focused on a functioning government as she is invested in a broad outcome. She keeps her vows. She is, perhaps, playing an elaborate game of wondering what Rhys does and does not know.

Oooo Summer is a stop on the Elucien honeymoon diplomatic carpet bomb, actually. They're not actively trading there, but they're not unknown. Rhys is definitely still hunting the book to use Feyre's Super Specialness.

Tarquin is young and progressive! I know the books utilize this to be like 'oh, he'll give Rhys a chance', without ever clarifying if Tarquin or anyone knows the actual degree of Rhysands willing or unwilling cooperation with Amarantha. It doesn't make a ton of sense. I like to take it in another direction.

#an excellent ramble!#we're clarifying on the Illyrians points in the worst ways soon #kind of funny when I think about it that the books act like Rhys is ever good at strategies #commiting atrocities to spare yourself personal pain is. not that #And! he believes his own hype! all the time!#the crux of Feyre is the more things go wrong #the more she listens to Rhys #(or herself)#stress just heightens the hero complex bullshit #meanwhile Nesta: worked so hard to stay safe in a place that is no longer safe. no reason not to full throttle #not to mention Elain #or Lucien with Ya Know all those friends and allies and POWER waiting to be unleashed #human rules all out

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shot-kickers · 2 months ago

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All the future episodes make me sad and like everyone else I'm not immune to making my own Teen AU in order to let the Simpsons kids have some fun! This teen AU ends up going into a college one too but we can talk about that one later for now here's some silly teen designs for Bart and his friend group.

Season 30's 'E My Sports' put these guys on a team together and then never did anything with them as a group ever again but I liked the idea of them all being a rag tag group of friends when they got to high school so the Evergreen Terrors team name lives on!

Design notes are under the keep reading because I like to yap!

Bart is the leader of this operation and still the top school prankster whose shenanigans always end up on the front page of the school's newspaper (Partly because they're an inconvenience to the students and staff but also partly because he has men on the inside and by that I mean Rodd and Todd Flanders run the school paper together!) Design wise I just went mostly off of what he wears in the future episodes, mostly Future Drama and Barthood since they take place in teen timelines more than the others, as well as looking at old skating magazines I had saved for personal projects that I thought would be a nice nod to his skater boy vibe. You'll see with Lisa and Maggie later but the number of piercings the kids have are the same as the order they are in the family, Bart has one, Lisa has two and Maggie has three! He and Milhouse have matching Itchy and Scratchy tattoos since in this AU they'd be 18, Bart doesn't bother hiding his tattoo from Homer and Marge even if they disapprove of it but Milhouse tries (and fails) to hide his from Luanne and Kirk for as long as he possibly can.

Milhouse is still unfortunately Milhouse so he's still a bit insecure about himself and his parents won't let him dress 'cool' so he makes do with what he can like buying his belts from Hot Topic and layering his clothing, even if he has to tuck his shirt in so the belts can be seen by his peers. He has a silly little nerd bag and he got new glasses for moving up to high school but alas, some things never change and bullies ended up breaking them but he taped them up to look cooler instead of getting new ones. I wanted to give him like starter emo hair where he's just started growing it out like the cool kids but it doesn't make him look cool he just looks like a nerd instead. I'm not the biggest fan of beefy teen Milhouse I think it's more fun if he's still just a bit of a nerd. His badges and stickers on his trumpet case are references to Space Mutants, Life in Hell, Fall Out Boy, Radioactive Man and his dad's Can I Borrow A Feeling?

Nelson took to hanging out with Bart and Milhouse after Jimbo, Dolph and Kearney graduated and at the point this AU takes place he considers them close friends (not that you'd catch him telling them that though but I'm sure they've picked up on it over the years) He and Lisa have been on a few more dates over the years but whether or not they stay together at any point well who really is to say right now, but they are still close friends! I also like to think that Nelson's gotten pretty good at his guitar playing by this point, his singing though maybe not so much. Design wise I fear I was in the dark canon wise since they don't feature teen nelson a lot in the teen timelines so I just went with the vest TM and made it more of a battle jacket since my mum had one and hers was covered in all sorts of patches and pen doodles from her friends and the metal bands she used to listen to. I thought that since the vest in canon is clearly used to symbolize Nelson's relationships with people (Bart getting sentimental over it at the end of the episode where he and Nelson were friends, him giving it to Lisa when she was cold at the end of When Nelson Met Lisa/Lisa wearing it at the end of Barthood when the two are going out together) that eventually he lets his friends add things to the jacket within reason since it still has to look cool after all, nothing cutesy just heavy metal and wicked cool motifs. Because of this Bart gets to doodle on it, Milhouse has accidentally stained it with bleach during a prank at school and Martin and Sophie have given him some cool patches and buttons they find while out and about. The ONE uncool patch that stays on the jacket however is the recycling one, gifted of course by Lisa during their relationship at some point and he cares a bit too much to remove it after the break up. You can't see it in this image but the back of the jacket has a whole flannel panel sewn into the back of it from one of his dad's old flannels, something about having a piece of someone close to you with you despite them no longer being present in your life. I also let him grow out his hair because I imagine that at some point Mrs Muntz was able to afford a fancy barber to cut Nelson's hair for school and he fucked it up so bad that Nelson vowed to never cut his hair again!

Martin is struggling due to pushing himself so hard in order to meet the crazy high exceptions his family have for his future and he still remains the school's biggest teacher's pet as a result. He's leader of the mathletes and is trusted by almost every member of staff as he has quite the reputation of being one of the school's most important over achievers, alongside Lisa and Allison Taylor of course. However since he's a friend of Bart's at this point, he's also not above being mischievous in order to let off steam and Bart, Milhouse and Nelson all take great joy in getting goody two shoes Martin in trouble with them, even if he can use his reputation with the teachers to get out of the detention the others land themselves in. Springfield's school system already has a low turn out of top student alumni so I imagine that they get their top students out of trouble when they do things wrong in order to produce a more impressive track record to outsiders. Design wise I just went for big nerd but I also wanted small hints that as much as he tries to keep up his usual silly and whimsical appearances he's still mega stressed underneath, like his socks not being evenly pulled up and his little head hairs being a bit frazzled. I also had to keep his little chest pocket where he stores his pens cause it's a fun part of his usual design. I also gave him a big backpack he uses to carry every textbook under the sun which often would get him picked on by bullies like usual.

Sophie kept hanging out with Bart as the years went on and over time eventually she was considered to be a part of the gang, especially once the kids got to high school. She's still an avid gamer and I imagine she plays just about anything from survival horror to farm simulators. Her Skyrim mods go crazy I bet. Outside of that though her passion is still classical music as she practices her violin religiously and also helps out with her dad's live music on The Krusty Show as a part time job outside of school hours. She's also in the school marching band along with Milhouse, Lisa and Allison and is equally as passionate about that as she is with her violin practice. Design wise I thought she could be vaguely tomboyish but with a bit of a girly flair to it, the one future episode she is in she's getting married to Jimbo so figuring out what she'd wear was pretty hard since there wasn't a lot to go off of (Her necklace is from that episode because her neck looked too bare without something around it)

#my art #the simpsons #simpsons #the simpsons fanart #bart simpson #milhouse van houten #nelson muntz #martin prince #sophie krustofsky #evergreen terrors #simpsons teen au #idk it doesn't have a name or anything it's just so I can draw my favs hanging out and being happy without the constant looming terrible #future episode timelines hanging over them as some of them make me so very sad #Less sad future episodes and more teen comedy storylines!#Also I am NOT drawing all of those patches in detail everytime sorry Nelson

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bestiarium · 1 year ago

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The Gabriel Hounds [British/English folklore]

Northern English folktales tell of a mysterious, haunting howling or yelping sound that could sometimes be heard coming from the night sky. Supposedly, these otherworldly cries came from mysterious dog spirits called ‘Gabriel Hounds’, often called ‘Gabbles’ or also ‘Gabriel ratchets’ as ‘ratchet’ is an older term for dogs. The howling of a Gabble is an ill omen and hearing it means someone will die soon.

Stories of these creatures have been around since at least 1665, though the details and origin of these beings vary a lot. In 1866, ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ author J. Atkinson published an explanation where the hounds were the undead souls of a troupe of hunting dogs.

Their owner was so obsessed with the hunting sport that when the man was nearing the end of his life, he ordered his canine companions to be killed, so that they could all be buried with him. After he passed away, his dogs were indeed killed and laid to rest in the tomb of their owner. Even today, the hunter is still roaming the world in search of game, accompanied by his faithful dogs.

A different story from Derbyshire tells of a squire who loved the hunting sport, and even organized hunts on Sundays, breaking a Catholic taboo. To put salt in the wound, he even chased game into a church one time, driving his troupe of hounds into the holy building. For this crime, he was unable to find rest after he died, instead being forced to wander the earth with his hunting dogs. Still another tale claims that the hounds are actually the ghosts of infants who died unbaptized.

At one point, and I am uncertain how old this tradition is, the Gabriel Hounds were most commonly depicted as dogs with a human face, or the face of a human child. Which is delightfully unsettling.

The name ‘Gabriel Hound’ was explained in a Derbyshire story where the yelping noises were really the cries of damned souls as they were being struck by the whip of the angel Gabriel, who was hunting the damned souls and urging them along. Alternatively, a simpler explanation is that the appellation ‘Gabriel Hound’ might be derived from ‘gabble’ which the noises kind of sound like. Indeed, the mysterious noises are often assumed to have been made by geese or other birds. In fact, there is also a version where the gabbles appear as spectral birds. These feathered fiends had unnaturally glowing eyes and made a shrieking sound, and those who heard it could expect the death of a close friend or family member in the near future.

Source: Simpson, S. and Roud, S., 2003, A Dictionary of English Folklore, Oxford University Press, 411 pp. The cited source in this work is Wright, J., 1898-1905, The English Dialect Dictionary. (image source: Bradz on Deviantart)

#mythical creatures #English mythology #British mythology #spirits #monsters #creatures

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missathlete31 · 2 years ago

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Nowhere To Run Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Here: https://www.tumblr.com/missathlete31/711886634060300288/nowhere-to-run-chapter-1?source=share

Jake leaves the Hangars after his confrontation with Maverick and Rooster only to find new people he has to answer to.

Jake couldn't even see straight as he stormed out of the hangar and headed for the locker room. He knew he should be feeling some kind of remorse, he basically ruined his entire career in there today but something in his stomach also felt freer. It didn't matter if the others didn't agree or hadn't backed him up, Jake stood up for himself in that room. He shared his true thoughts for once in his life, consequences be damned and that was a powerful feeling, regardless of how lonely it also left him.

So lost in his thoughts was he that Jake didn't realize he was being followed until a voice called out his name in a tone that meant it wasn't the first time he had tried. Jake whirled around on his heels to come face to face with both Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates, the two men looking at him with unreadable expressions.

"Lieutenant Seresin, finally," Simpson added for good measure, "we'd like to have a talk with you, join us in my office." It wasn't explicably an order but Jake knew he had no choice in the matter. He gave a nod and then stepped aside to let the two men walk ahead of him, himself bringing up the rear. As they headed back to the Admin building Jake noticed the proximity to the hangars, a sinking burst of anxiety hitting his gut at the thought that either of the Admirals could have heard his eruption from before.

They continued their walk in silence, Warlock looking back to make sure he was still following only once while Simpson never bothered to turn. When they arrived inside the office Jake moved to stand at attention, his nerves frayed to pieces from going through one emotional confrontation and facing yet another.

"At ease Lieutenant" Cyclone took his seat in his chair, Bates moving to lean against a filing cabinet behind him leaving Jake to stand at parade rest facing them both. They all watched each other in silence for a moment before Admiral Simpson cleared his throat and turned to the file on his desk. "Lieutenant when I received your decline to Captain Mitchell's squadron, I'll admit I was extremely surprised," he looked up, making eye contact with Jake, "I had presumed you would have wanted nothing more than to stay with this new team, especially," his eyes narrowed, "after your dedication for getting everyone back safely."

Jake was never given permission on the carrier to take off that day. Instead he radioed Hondo privately after being denied authorization to supply support for a third time, knowing Maverick's right hand man would want to send help just as much as he did. Hondo covered his take off from the control room end but Jake was tasked with convincing the ground crew to go along with it as well. Luckily for Hangman, there were a few men who he hadn't managed to piss off too much during his stint in the Navy and they were more than eager to help his cause. After Jake took off he had Cyclone barking in his comms asking what the hell he was thinking but no one ordered him back. Jake was able to fly like a bat out of hell and save the two pilots with no time to spare.

Once the dust had settled on the tarmac and Rooster and Maverick were safe in medical, Jake expected the reprimand and court-martial to happen fairly quickly. Instead, he was called in to see the two Admirals, similar to how he was now, and told in no uncertain terms that he was never to disobey direct orders like that again, results or reasoning be damned. But then that was it. There was no other disciplinary action. Jake wanted to question why everyone was just going to let it go but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he just chalked it up as another one of Maverick’s miracles.

Admiral Bates gave a faint cough, no doubt noticing how Jake had been lost to his own thoughts for a moment and the Lieutenant snapped back to attention. Cyclone looked up from his paperwork, "When you gave no indication about returning to the Vigilantes either, I was concerned that perhaps the mission had taken a deeper toll on you than was first thought. We both" Simpson nodded towards Admiral Bates, "were concerned that you might be having a hard time finding your place in the air again."

Jake blanched in surprise, not expecting the conversation to go this way nor the worry from both his CO's, "I-I'm fine Sir-s" he stuttered the fear of being court-martial disappearing with the new anxiety of being benched, "Psych cleared me-"

Simpson's hand paused the rest of his words, the older man looking displeased, "I don't think we need to get into how Psych only looks for certain key phrases, do we?" He waited until Jake shook his head before continuing, "Regardless of what they deemed, I'm asking you now, how are you coping Lieutenant Seresin?"

Hangman felt his back lock up a bit straighter, willing himself to look the part of a professional that he wasn't entirely feeling on the inside, "I'm fine Sir."

Simpson spared a glance to Bates who gave what amounted to an amused expression. Jake watched as the two admirals seemed to have a silent conversation before both turned to eye him once more. Simpson tapped the file on his desk with his pointer finger, "So no hesitation? I tell you to get back into a plane today or a deployment tomorrow..." he trailed off waiting for Jake to finish.

"I'm ready Sir. No hesitation."

"And your sleep schedule? Your diet?"

"All fine" the blonde could feel his shoulders rising, waiting for the trick in the line of questioning.

"Your temperament?"

As though if he wished hard enough he could make it true, Jake nodded his head, "fine, Sir. Normal."

Admiral Simpson's face tilted as though in thought, "And that confrontation in the Hangar just now, am I supposed to take that as you being 'fine' and 'normal'?"

The Lieutenant fought the urge to lower his eyes. He knew he was right in his suspicions, the Admirals were clearly in earshot of his outburst. "You heard it Sir?"

Cyclone leaned back in his chair, his fingers woven together and resting upon his sternum, "it was hard not to Lieutenant," his steely green eyes boring into Jake's own, "the sound in Hangars carry much more than the lecture room."

Jake couldn't help but hear the hidden warning in his CO's words, no doubt his last altercation with Rooster in the classroom before the mission had also found its way to Cyclone's ears. The blonde sighed softly, "I apologize Sir" he looked to Bates and inclined his head as well, "and to you as well Sir. My actions today were unprofessional and emotional. I understand your concern for my mental well-being after a situation like that but let me assure you that it will never happen again. I fully intend to go back to Captain Mitchell and apologize for my behavior-"

But like the hardass he was known for being Admiral Simpson cut in during the middle of Jake's apology and threw the younger pilot off his game once more. "I didn't call you in here to apologize for what happened before Lieutenant" the man drawled with a stone face.

Hangman couldn't contain his surprise, "you didn't Sir?"

"No" the older man paused, building tension in the room, "I brought you in here to discuss your future. There is a position here at Top Gun, that we" he nodded to Bates once more, "would like to offer to you."

Jake felt like his brain was moving in slow motion, clearly having heard wrong, "I'm sorry, did you say a position Sir?"

Bates' amused expression was there once more as he nodded, "Yes Lieutenant, an instructor position."

"You want me-" he looked between the two Admirals in shock, "to be an instructor? Sirs, I- I thought I was being dishonorably discharged. I was insubordinate to my CO, I almost started a fight with a teammate in the hangar back there and that wasn't even the first time that almost happened." Jake stumbled on his words, "I- I disobeyed your direct orders during the mission."

"All true Lieutenant and all were writeable offenses-" Cyclone sighed heavily, as though pained to say his next words, "if they were reported."

Now Jake knew he had to have heard wrong, there was no way that all of those incidents could have been overlooked. His voice dripped with desperation as he waited for Cyclone or Warlock to put him out of his misery and tell him the truth. That this was all some big farce and he really was being discharged. "Sir, I-" he shook his head, "I don't understand-" he offered weakly.

Simpson seemed to take pity and moved to explain, "Seresin, your actions during the mission were not held against you, as I was hoping you could have surmised due to the fact that no disciplinary hearings were held. While you will never disobey my orders like that again," Simpson gave the younger man a very pointed stare, "you did save Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw that day, and with not a moment to spare. In that rare situation, your bravery, skill, and to be quite frank, your outcome, helped to sway the decision to not conduct any formal hearing."

"He means you did a good job and proved him wrong" Bates explained from the back with mirth. It earned him a look from Simpson that had sent many pilots packing, but the eldest man in the room merely smiled back, more than accustomed to the high ranking Admiral's attitudes.

Cyclone turned back to Jake, annoyance still in his eyes, " As for your confrontations both past and present with Rooster and Maverick, Lieutenant, those also have not been reported. Nor if I'm being honest do I feel the need to report them now." He ignored the shell-shock expression on Hangman's face and kept talking, "When Captain Mitchell was instructed to speak to you about your decision on whether or not you wanted to join the squadron it was assumed he would be having the discussion in private. Although I do think that was his initial intention, the fact of the matter is, that Captain Mitchell cornered you in there. It was-" he paused as though thinking of how best to phrase his next thought, "understandable of how you reacted."

"Sir, with all due respect I-" Jake swallowed roughly, cursing his emotions and his brain for being all over the place today, "this is a surprise" he final settled on, "I thought- well- I wasn't expecting a job offer."

"You don't think you would be a good instructor?"

Jake lowered his eyes, "I'm not particularly known for my team-building expertise Sir" he answered honestly.

"That's true" Admiral Simpson didn't mince words, "but your service record speaks for itself in terms of your skills. You're the only active Naval pilot besides Maverick with confirmed kills. Your mission logs are filled with examples of your valor, talent, and bravery. Your insight would be very welcomed in training the new class of aviators."

Jake stayed silent, his mind racing as he attempted to wrap his head around this proposal. Teaching at Top Gun was an exceptional offer for him. He would be stateside permanently, a chance to fly everyday without the constraints of deployments. He also could train pilots that were just like him, the best of the best, and teach them how to use their skills and also their confidence to their advantage. Being at Top Gun meant promotions, maybe even one right when he accepted which for Jake, who dreamed of being an Admiral one day, was an amazing prospect.

But there were also negatives. Deployment could suck when you were on a bad carrier but Jake also thrived best in high risk environments. He knew himself, he would get bored of the same thing day after day. While Jake would love to teach like Captain Mitchell did for their course, he knew he would have to keep a strict regime for Simpson to continue to take a chance with him. Jake knew one day teaching would be the only step to forward his career but right now, he still had other options. He also, shamefully, knew he needed to make a bigger name of himself in the Naval World. Two confirmed kills were great and all but he was passed over for the biggest mission conducted in his lifetime. He couldn't let that happen again, which meant staying on as a pilot, and though he wished it could have been with the Daggers (most likely the choice of squadron to perform such missions), Jake would have to make it count every time he was up in the air with the Vigilantes.

The last and most deciding factor though, was that the Dagger squad was to stay reporting at Top Gun which meant Jake's days would be spent trying to teach young hot shots as they drooled out the window of their classroom with their eyes bulged watching the Daggers come in from training. Hangman knew his ego wasn't going to be able to handle that.

He looked back up, suddenly embarrassed that both Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates had sat patiently and quietly as Jake thought it through. The Lieutenant straightened his back and gave himself a moment to compose himself. "Sirs" Jake began trying to sound confident and decisive, "first I want to thank you for your offer, it's more than I deserve, truly."

"But you're declining it" Simpson finished for him, with absolutely no preamble.

Jake nodded meekly, "I am Sir. I- I don't think I'm done in the skies just yet. I would like to go back to my squadron, the Vigilantes" as he continued talking, Hangman felt his self-assurance grow, his belief in his words ringing true, "I would like to serve a few more deployments before I believe I could contribute in the classroom like I would want to."

The room fell noiseless again, both Admirals merely staring their Lieutenant down. Jake refused to even fidget, facing this silent firing squad head on. Finally, after what felt like hours but was merely seconds, Admiral Simpson nodded his head in acquiescence. "Alright Lieutenant, if you're sure?"

"I am Sir."

There was a hint of something in Cyclone's eye that Jake couldn't help but notice. A tug of a smile also crossed the older man's face, "Then Seresin I'll get the paperwork started. You'll still be stuck around here for a few more days while everything is finalized but you should hopefully be shipping out in a week if I had to guess." Simpson rose from his chair, Hangman straightening at the sight. "We will be sorry to lose you here," the Admiral shared softly, "but I can't say it doesn't make me a little proud to see you getting back out there."

Jake blinked his green eyes in perplexity, " Sir?"

Cyclone offered a hand, "you're a great pilot Lieutenant, and you have a bright future. The classroom is there for when you're ready but for now, get back to the skies."

"Thank you Sir" Jake reached forward and the two men shook heartily, before Bates stepped forward for his own turn.

Once finished, Hangman gave them both a final salute before turning on his heels and heading for the door. Just as he was ready to leave Simpson's voice stopped him once more.

"And Lieutenant" the man called, waiting until Jake turned around to continue his sentence, "for what it's worth, you would have been my pick for the mission."

The blonde nodded in concession, but Beau wasn't finished, "but Captain Mitchell was correct."

Jake paused, his brow furrowed, "I don't think I understand Sir."

Cyclone met his eye, "Captain Mitchell was wrong in choosing Bradshaw but making you spare was his redeeming factor. All of you pilots had the abilities and the skills to accomplish that mission. It's why you were chosen after all." He paused, deciding his words carefully, "but none of those other pilots, hell no other pilot that I know of could have done what you did Seresin. Disobeying orders, reaching supersonic to get there, taking the shot with no hesitation, saving Captain Mitchell and Lieutenant Bradshaw, it was no easy feat. You should be proud son, we both are."

If his eyes looked a little glossy, Jake would forever blame the sunshine streaming from the windows, but he couldn't help his emotions when he stuttered through one final thank you before leaving the office. There were very few people in his life that had ever told Jake they were proud of him, but having Admiral Simpson be one of them made Jake feel more pride than he could ever remember feeling before.

He turned down the hallway, his mind and body still reeling from the past hour's rollercoaster of events before his good mood soured quickly at the picture of Phoenix standing along the sidewalk outside the Admin Doors. She looked as though she were waiting for Hangman especially with the anger on her face and the way she paced the walkway; a sure sign she was prepping for a fight. When she noticed Jake walking towards her, Natasha hurried up the path, her fist tightening with her stride, "we need to talk" she announced roughly, in the usual way the woman asserted her dominance around a bunch of alpha males.

There was a moment when Jake was going to decline or even ignore the other pilot but he knew that he had said a lot of things in the Hangar today and being a coward and not owning up to it did him no favors. Instead he inclined his head towards once of the benches out in the afternoon sun and waited until Natasha started walking first before he followed; he knew better than to leave his back unprotected to an angry Trace.

When they both sat down, Jake prepared himself, ready for an onslaught of words intending to wound and insults intending to sting. Natasha, never one to disappoint, started the conversation though not with the daggers Jake was expecting. "Why?" she questioned him instead, moving to meet Jake's eyes, "why did you have to do it?"

The blonde man looked down, not per say in embarrassment but more as though a scolded child. "It needed to be said" he offered back softly.

Natasha closed her eyes, facing back forward, "it wasn't the place to do it- to say those things-"

"I didn't plan on it. Maverick came in and I just-" he shook his head, "I reacted."

"Your reaction is going to cost us our team-"

"It's not our team" Jake shot back, "Maverick is setting it up to be his team."

Nat scowled, "Your pissing contest with Rooster is getting old-"

"As is your steadfast loyalty" Hangman moved to stand but Natasha reached a hand out and brought him back down in his seat. When he gave a squawk of indignation, she merely rolled her eyes, "we aren't done" she told him none-too gently.

"I'm not sitting through your lectures-"

"I'm not-" she shook her head, her bun bobbing a bit in the motion, "I'm not here to lecture."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm not sure to be honest." Her words were tight, measured, clearly she was as uncomfortable as him with the whole conversation, "I thought it was to yell at you, I want to yell at you" she admitted, "I want to hate you and say that everything you said in that room was because you were jealous you were only picked as Dagger spare" Phoenix sighed heavily, her whole body deflating as the breath left her, "but I can't."

He couldn't stop his smug grimace, "so you admit that I was right."

"I admit you brought up good points" she conceded instead, "but the way that it was done-"

"You mean Maverick trying to goad me into admitting why I turned down being on the squad-"

"He didn't-" Phoenix tried to cut in but Jake refused to let her, continuing his argument. "Or you mean the way that I let everything out in there and not one of you had the balls to agree with me when you knew" he could hear his voice rising with his temper, the second time today that anger was getting the better of the blonde pilot, "you knew I was right."

"Jake-"

"But you're scared to hurt Rooster," he waved his hand despondently, "everyone is always so afraid to hurt poor little Rooster but guess what?" He met her gaze, "He's a grown ass man Natasha and a Naval Pilot, he controls not only his own life but others as well. He should be able to handle some disappointment, he should be able to handle hearing the truth. Everything I said in that room was right today, Maverick was wrong, too busy making up for some slight a decade ago-"

"He pulled his papers" Nat offered up quietly, though Jake was still able to hear it. She rolled her neck like it hurt to let such a secret go, "Mav pulled his papers to the academy."

Jake couldn't contain the sneer from his voice, "that's it? That's what caused this stupid feud?"

"It set him back four years-"

"And he still made it!" the blonde argued back just as quick, "he still became a pilot, still became a Top Gun grad, still is one of the best of the best. Who cares that he didn't go to the academy-"

"It's easy for us to say" Phoenix spoke sharply, "we both got in-"

"No" Hangman corrected, "it's easy for us to say because neither of us would have pulled a temper tantrum like Rooster. We would have made it to this level like he did but appreciated it more. Not pulled some dumbass cobra move that should have got him kicked out, acted pissy to a CO that would have been a court-martial to any man not related to him, or walked around like the world was only cruel to him. You think we all didn't have some setback in life?" he questioned, noticing that Nat refused to meet his eye, "was your trip here all sunshine and rainbows?"

"Of course not-"

"Exactly but you didn't let it stop you. You didn't let it control you. You didn't sit around like a mopey two year old until you got your way. Every single one of us have worked our asses off to be here, through the academy or not, don't cheapen it because it's not some conventional sob story like Rooster's."

Natasha opened her mouth to respond before closing quickly, knowing the other man was right. Instead she looked up towards the sun, the sounds of planes taking off in the distance releasing a calm in both pilots and bringing their tempers back to neutral. Jake felt suddenly tired without his anger, his emotions depleting his energy at an alarming pace for the normally in-control man, and he moved once more to leave. This time the hand on his arm was gentler, though it grounded him back to the bench just the same. "Bradley doesn't want to lose the Daggers" Phoenix whispered so softly that Hangman had to lean closer to hear, "he doesn't want to lose Maverick. It's the only family he has left."

"And that's fine" Jake told her, meaning each word, "he can have you all. But not me."The dark haired woman shook her head, "He won't get any of us now."

He looked back at her with furrowed brows, "what does that mean?"

"The others are already talking, I think they are going to drop out too."

He knew it wasn't the time to spike the football but Jake couldn't help the feeling of validation, "because I was right" he supplied waiting for Nat to agree. When she didn't reply he nudge her, "because I was-"

"Of course you were right" she finally admitted, shifting her head the long way to look back at Jake, "you were right about everything. About Rooster being out there, about almost getting Payback and Fanboy killed, about wasting the flares. Everyone in that room knew it but you shouting it to the rooftops sent it over the edge and then-" she cut off sharply.

"And then?" Jake pushed.

"Bradley got upset and stormed out" she informed him, "Maverick chased after him and dismissed us all for the day. I think it showed the others how things might be if we become this team."

"That Maverick will always dictate to Rooster first."

"Yes" she whispered."

And how Maverick will always put Rooster's feelings as priority."

"Yes" she nodded again.

"And if it came down to it, he would chose Rooster, to fly, to lead, to do anything, regardless of whether or not it makes the most sense or if it puts anyone else in danger."

She didn't speak the word this time, only nodding. Suddenly her face contorted and her lips wobbled and Jake was struck with the realization that Nat was trying her hardest not to cry in front of him. Feeling guilty for goading her, he slowly moved his hand to grip her own, seeing her eyes snap down and staring at their interlocked grips. "I'm sorry Nat" he whispered softly, "but I'm glad the group won't happen. You're an amazing pilot but sitting in Rooster's shadow, being his hype man and his buffer from the real world, it's going to ruin you. If it doesn't get you killed first."

A tear glistened in Nat's eye but she didn't move to wipe it, "He's my best friend Jake" she matched his whispers, the two most vocal members of their team now reduced to shushed words, "you're telling me you wouldn't do the same for Coyote?"

Jake couldn't help but think about Javy, his best friend, his brother, the only person in the world who was always on his side. Even today, he knew that if he had let him, Javy would have fought everyone in the room for Jake and not even blinked an eye. But Jake loved Javy too much to let him go down in flames with him. He made Coyote promise that morning when he sent in his decline to the Dagger Squad that the other man wouldn't change his mind for him, wouldn't give up an amazing opportunity for Jake. "I'd die for Javy in a second" Jake admitted to the woman, "I'd never fly again, I'd give up my wings for him. But I would never hold him back from anything. I want the best for him more than I want the best for me. The same goes for you" he told her, ignoring her shocked gasp at his words, "you're the best of the best Phoenix, don't let anyone, especially Bradley Bradshaw, stop you from rising from your ashes." He gripped her hand with a comforting squeeze before taking a risk and pressing a gentle kiss to the woman's cheek. Natasha let out a wet sob but didn't push him away only looking up when Hangman finally stood.

"Jake-" she began but he shook his head to stop her.

"It's Bagman to you" he told her, grinning when a tiny smile graced her lips. "I'll see you in the skies Trace."

She nodded in agreement, finally letting him go, "you got it Bagman."

With one final smile, Jake turned back towards the locker room building, feeling once again, free.

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