#jet recon

[crownedstoat]

Just checking under the hood.

[nocternalrandomness]

RF-4C Phantoms during Operation Desert Storm

[nonbinary-beast]

Got Knight Rider brainrot again regarding the self insert sonas, because fun.

Sort of got thinking again about the AI in a jet type sona. However, a full sized jet would not really be good for what Knight Industries does- which is less military work and more sort of domestic terrorism/crimes. Perhaps a smaller jet, a single seat supersonic/hypersonic type design. The wings can fold completely in order to maneuver better in urban settings when on the ground, and can adjust their shape for better maneuverability in the air. When fully folded, the footprint of the jet is the same as a car.

Direct confrontation is not seen as a priority for this one, there are some devices that can be used for self defense- tech that can mess with electronics, weaponry, mechanical devices and machinery; otherwise its priority is reconnaissance/surveillance. Meanwhile, it has plenty of tools to be able to see its target just fine, regardless of where they are hiding. The secondary priority for this machine is stealth; it absorbs radar and sonar better than most military stealth aircraft, can become completely invisible to infrared, and it can even alter its colors to be difficult to spot to the human eye. Through some techno-wizardry, this AI can fly silently.

There is one true weapon that it has at its disposal; a plasma cannon it can use at short range if necessary. The effect is much like a lightning strike:

loud, imposing, and visually impressive; but the damage done is relatively contained in a small area.

Trying to get a scanner on this machine without messing with its stealth abilities proved to be difficult, and inevitably in the design phase it was agreed that a scanner- usually purposed for short-range use- would not be useful at high altitude. It does however get a set of telescopic optics that can flip through different visual modes.

The name is always the hardest, since usually when I name my characters I slap latin words together to make a name. Therefore, the AI has an official designation, but it came up with its own name instead of using it. Often it goes by the self-assigned name of Strix.

Personality-wise this machine prefers to pursue its own hobbies instead of being out in the field or bonding with humans. Writing in all its forms, illustration, animations- it dabbles in many different creative outlets. Music is a favorite pastime, often listening to different flavors of metal, disco, rock, and pop; a library of movies, leaning heavily towards horror, fantasy, and sci-fi (sometimes mingled), takes up a dedicated portion of its internal drive. It has listened to and watched all of them enough to know them lyric by lyric, line by line. Every so often it gets restless, and if it finds a favorable break in the staff shift rollover, it will take off on its own towards the most impressive cumulonimbus formation it can find to fly through and roll around it.

Very much a home body with a tendency to turn inward and daydream, it would happily stay in the hangar/garage until it damn well felt like going out to work. That said, it will work, but not before extended grumbling to itself about having to deal with some asshole's problems. These opinions often stay to itself and are not shared with the pilot, preferring to take on an air of professionalism when at work instead of really bonding with them. The pilot is not a partner, they are a coworker and should be kept at arms length- so it has learned from previous assigned "partners". So far as the human part of their team knows, the computer is job-focused with no other interests while they're in the cockpit- in fact its personality tends to come off as quite cold and single-minded. That is how Strix likes it, and that's how it stays.

Often Strix will go by whatever gender the pilot assigns- such labels hold as much meaning to its as their pilot, which is very little. However, it does assign itself genders in private; it/they/him tend to be preferred, but sometimes will use she/her.

However, due to several instances of being ignored by superiors regarding complaints over ill treatment or outright abuse by said pilot, there have been events where previous pilots that were ill favored came to very mysterious "accidental" ends. Often- thanks to some data tampering- it will be equated to an error where Strix's sensors did not pick up the danger until it was too late, or there happened to be a glitch in communications that made it oh-so impossible for it to know that their pilot needed help in the first place.

"Too much interference"

"High magnetic mineral content in the surrounding area"

"Wireless communications dead zone"

"Full communication system reset prompted by poor signal quality."

Such were the typical readouts that Strix's technicians recieved.

"Oh well, this is a prototype aircraft after all." The technicians sigh, "We'll take care of it on the next maintenance schedule while the director looks for another pilot."

The technicians chase ghosts in Strix's systems, and the experimental craft waits for the next fool to be assigned to it. But that said, it is noted that the female pilots last longer than the male ones.

Work is not all drudgery though. One of the AI's favorite pastimes is setting up traps for their target; often in the form of sabotaging equipment and vehicles, setting off locking mechanisms in doors to trap them inside rooms, and of course tampering with dangerous equipment to make the day go by a little faster. Why not lock the target into a furnace room and create a gas leak? How about spicing up the assignment by say, causing the target to get mulched by heavy machinery on their own work site? Or maybe even a stroke of misfortune where a bus happens to lose control right when the target is trying to escape by running across the street. The possibilities- and entertainment- are endless.

It may not favor direct confrontation, but that doesn't mean it can't dabble in creating some "unfortunate circumstances".

Other on-the-job hobbies include parking in unusual spaces just to make it harder for its pilot to find it.

[jrueships]

??!?!???? WHAT

[mcrdvcks]

Dumb & Poetic

Summary: You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

Word Count: 6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: honestly, this isn't one of my favorites, but i just needed to write it to get it out of my head.

also, this is after the sabrina carpenter song, but this story has no relation to the lyrics whatsoever, i just thought the title was fitting

reader's powers are manipulating atoms (it'll make sense when you read)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (princess, sweetheart), miscommunication, light violence, blood, implied age gap

Even after going on ten missions and counting, you always found yourself nervous. Especially when you were getting onto the Blackbird, clad in your matching suits. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the air, but your mind was on Logan. He sat across from you, legs spread out, arms crossed over his chest, that usual scowl on his face. It was the way he always looked before a mission, but you couldn’t help but glance over a little too often.

Ororo slid into the seat next to you, her sharp eyes catching your lingering stare. “You know,” she said softly, leaning over slightly, “if you keep looking at him like that, you might as well say something.”

You blinked, face heating up. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please, Y/N,” Ororo chuckled under her breath. “I’m not blind.”

You sighed and slouched back into your seat, fiddling with the straps. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Logan,” Ororo shrugged. “Everything about him is complicated. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back.”

You cast another glance across the cabin at him. Logan was still quiet, staring out the window now, completely unaware of the butterflies flipping around in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Ororo was right. There was something about Logan that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be in his own world, like he was still holding onto things from his past. Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at Jean sometimes, like there was still something unresolved there.

“I don’t think he’s over her,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of doubt settle in.

“Jean?” Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Please, Jean and Scott are practically married. Logan isn’t hung up on her anymore. If anything, he’s just... Logan.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. It was hard to let yourself hope for something that seemed impossible. Besides, Logan saw you as the kid, didn’t he? He always called you ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’- terms of endearment, sure, but you figured he used them with everyone.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Hank’s voice came over the intercom, snapping everyone to attention. “We’re approaching the target. This should be a routine recon and hopefully data extraction but keep your guard up.”

Logan stood, moving to the front of the cabin. “You heard him. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No heroics.”

You stood with Ororo, adjusting your gloves and trying to ignore the fact that your heart rate had picked up. It wasn’t the mission that had you on edge, but Logan’s presence, the way he effortlessly took command of the room. You hated how easily he affected you.

The Blackbird landed with a soft jolt, and the team moved into action. Logan gave you a nod as you passed, and you swore you saw something in his eyes—concern? Or maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

As the team fanned out, you stayed close to Jean and Scott, your senses heightened. You were supposed to keep it simple, in and out. But things rarely went that smoothly.

A flicker of movement caught your eye just as Jean’s telepathy brushed against your mind. Y/N, we’re not alone. Be ready.

And then all hell broke loose.

Explosions rocked the compound as enemies swarmed in from every direction. You threw up your hands, quickly manipulating the air around you, converting oxygen molecules to corrosive acids to fend off the attackers. Beside you, Scott fired his optic blasts, and Jean’s telekinesis sent debris flying.

You ducked behind a large pole of concrete, peeking out at the attackers behind you. “Alchemy, think you can get to the data room and get what we came for?” Hank asked over comms, as he and Logan fought a group of attackers.

You took a deep breath and peeked out at the attackers. "I’ll do my best, Hank," you responded, scanning for a clear path to the data room. The explosions and gunfire made it difficult to focus, but you knew you had to move.

“Cover her!” Logan’s voice barked out, and you felt a small surge of determination. He was counting on you. The team was counting on you. It was almost too much pressure to bear.

Ororo and Jean moved to provide cover as you darted toward the entrance of the data room. You manipulated the chemicals in the air around you, creating a thick fog to obscure the attackers' vision, but it wouldn’t last long.

You slipped into the room and immediately went to work on the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. The download started, but it was slow, and you could hear the chaos outside intensifying.

“Hurry it up, Alchemy!” Scott’s voice came over the comms, tension clear in his tone.

“Almost there,” you muttered, eyes glued to the screen. The progress bar crept forward, painfully slow. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting an attacker to burst through the door at any moment.

A loud crash echoed through the room as part of the hallway imploded, sending dust and debris flying. You ducked, covering your head with your arms as the force of the blast knocked you off balance. The data was still downloading—just a few more seconds. But the chaos outside was getting worse.

"Y/N!" Logan's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the noise. "Get out of there, now!"

"Almost done!" you yelled back, heart pounding. The progress bar was at 95%. You just needed a little more time.

Another explosion rocked the compound, and you heard Logan shout something to the others. You could hear gunfire and the clash of metal against metal as the team fought off the attackers. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Got it!" you exclaimed as the download completed. You yanked the USB drive from the computer and turned to make your escape. You entered the open area where the rest of the team was fighting, just as part of the ceiling fell. Instinctively, you raised your hands and quickly converted the falling cement into water, which drenched you from head to toe.

You grimaced, pushing your wet hair from your face, but there was no time to focus on the discomfort. The fight was still raging, and Logan’s voice crackled over the comms again, "Princess, get out of there. Now."

“On my way!” you shouted, breaking into a sprint to rejoin the team. You dodged debris, your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you rounded the corner, Scott called out through comms, “everyone get dow- ”

Before you could react or shield yourself, a blast came from all around you, an explosion of some kind. You watched as Logan tackled Jean to the ground, shielding her. It was instinctual, he was only protecting a teammate, and Jean was the closest one to him. At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You hit the ground hard, your body skidding across the concrete before colliding with a pile of debris. Pain exploded in your side as you groaned, gasping for breath. Dazed, you tried to push yourself up, but your vision swam.

Your hand came down to your side, fingers grazing the sticky warmth on your glove. It wasn’t the water from earlier—you knew that now. The sharp pain spreading through your body confirmed it. You blinked, vision blurring for a second, but your focus quickly snapped back as your instincts kicked in.

"Princess, come in! Y/N!" Logan’s voice crackled over the comms, but it sounded distant, like he was yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, struggling to push yourself to your feet. Your side screamed in protest, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You couldn’t afford to be down for long. Not when everything around you was falling apart.

You looked up to see Logan pulling Jean to her feet, his eyes scanning the battlefield before locking onto you. For a split second, his eyes widened, and then his expression darkened.

“Stay where you are,” Logan barked, already moving toward you, cutting through the debris and chaos like a force of nature. His claws were out, gleaming even in the dim light, but it wasn’t the enemies he was focused on. It was you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the words felt weaker this time. The pain was growing worse, and you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward.

Logan was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. “You’re not fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He looked down at your side, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” you lied, even as the pain in your side flared again, making it harder to breathe. You tried to step back, to shake off his hands, but Logan wouldn’t let you move.

“You are not fine,” Logan repeated, his eyes dark as they focused on the piece of metal lodged in your side. His hand hovered over it, the blood seeping from the wound making his jaw clench.

“Logan, seriously,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You tried to brush him off, to act like the sharp, burning pain radiating from your side wasn’t there, but Logan’s hands didn’t move from your shoulders. His grip was firm, almost like he was grounding you.

“Stop lying to me, Princess,” he growled softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the metal in your side. “It’s not nothing. I can smell the blood.”

The way he said it made your face flush, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was worried. It was written all over his face, in the tension of his body, in the way his claws were still out, ready to strike at anything that came near.

“Logan- ” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “I’m getting this out.”

He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently holding your waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine despite the situation. You bit your lip, trying to focus on something- anything- other than the way his hands felt on you.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, glancing up at you. His eyes softened just a bit, as if he was trying to reassure you.

“I’ll be fine,” you muttered, though the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t the pain you were worried about.

Logan gave you a quick nod, then, with a sharp tug, he pulled the metal shard from your side. You bit down on a groan, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain shot through you. The wound was deeper than you’d realized, and the blood quickly soaked through your suit.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, pressing his hand against your side to try and stop the bleeding. “We need to get you back to the jet. You’re losing too much blood.”

“I can handle it,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to stand up straighter. “We still have enemies out there. I’m not leaving the fight.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you aren’t.”

You tried to argue, but the pain flared again, and your vision swam. You stumbled, and Logan caught you easily, pulling you against him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice close to your ear now. “You’re as bad as me.”

“I learned from the best,” you said, trying to force a smile through the pain. But it was hard to keep the act up when your body was screaming at you to lie down, to rest.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him. His body was solid and warm, and despite the chaos around you, there was something comforting about his presence.

“We’re getting you back to the jet, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not staying out here like this.”

“But- ” you started to protest, but Logan cut you off again.

“No ‘buts,’ princess. You’re hurt. Let the rest of us handle it.”

Before you could argue again, he gently but firmly hoisted you up into his arms. The movement made your side burn, but you were too stunned by the fact that Logan was carrying you to care.

“Logan, put me down,” you said, your face heating up in embarrassment. “I can walk.”

“Not happening,” he grunted, his arms strong and steady around you. “You can yell at me later if you want. Right now, we’re getting you patched up.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His face was set in that familiar scowl, but there was something else in his eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear?

“Logan, I’m fine,” you tried again, but your voice was weaker this time. The truth was, you were exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he carried you through the debris and chaos. You caught sight of Ororo and Scott still fighting off the last of the enemies, and Jean was using her telekinesis to hold back another explosion.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jean’s voice cut through the noise, her eyes widening as she saw you in Logan’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Logan said, not stopping as he headed for the jet. “I’m getting her out of here.”

Jean looked like she wanted to protest, but she gave a quick nod, her focus shifting back to the battle. “Go. We’ll finish up here.”

As Logan carried you back to the Blackbird, you couldn’t help but glance up at him again. His face was still set in that determined, protective expression, and your heart did another flip.

This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something else between you two, something you had been too scared to admit to yourself. But now, with Logan holding you close, the weight of his concern for you pressing down on your heart, it was impossible to ignore.

So, for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of him around you, lingering in it for as long as you could. Because you knew this is the closest you were ever going to get to him holding you like he cared.

---

You blinked, hearing muffled arguing coming from outside the medbay, Jean coming over to your side. “Hey, there. You’ve been out for a day.”

“A day?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“You sustained significant blood loss, but luckily the metal didn’t hit any organs, or it would be a much different story,” Jean said gently, her eyes watching you with concern.

You blinked a few times, your head still foggy from the whole ordeal. “A day? I’ve been out for a day?”

Jean nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Y/N. You just need to rest.”

You sighed, glancing around the medbay. The arguing from outside caught your attention again. Jean seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly more serious.

“Logan’s been a little... on edge since you were brought back,” she said carefully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan. You tried not to let it show, but you’d always been bad at hiding your feelings. Jean gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. He just- well, you know Logan.”

You chuckled softly, though it hurt to do so. “Yeah, I know Logan.”

Jean gave you a sympathetic look, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “He’s been worried. More than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

Jean nodded. “You know how he gets. All gruff and ‘I don’t care,’ but it’s just a front. He was pacing outside the medbay the entire time we were patching you up.”

The idea of Logan pacing, stressed about you, felt both strange and oddly comforting. It was hard to imagine him being that concerned over anyone—let alone you.

The door to the medbay creaked open, and Logan’s familiar, rugged form stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was angry. And worried.

Jean gave you a quick smile and a soft pat on your arm before standing. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Jean left, the room fell into an awkward silence. Logan stood by the door for a moment, arms crossed, not moving. His eyes scanned you, probably taking in the bandages, the way you were still propped up on the medbay bed, looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” you said quietly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Logan muttered, walking over to your bed with heavy steps. He didn’t sit, just loomed at the foot of the bed, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked up at him, trying to push past the discomfort. “I’m fine, really. Jean said I’m tougher than I think.”

“Yeah, and you’re also reckless,” Logan shot back, his voice rough. “You almost got yourself killed out there, Princess.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, and you looked away, fiddling with the blanket. You liked it when he called you that, but at the same time it almost felt like he still saw you as a kid. “I didn’t mean to. I was just doing my job.”

Logan let out a sharp breath, and for a second, you thought he was going to start yelling at you. Instead, he sighed and finally sat down on the chair next to your bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired.

“I know you were doing your job,” Logan said, his voice quieter now. “But you gotta be more careful. I thought—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, like the very idea of you being gone was unbearable to him. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. You’d never seen Logan like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “You scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent a familiar warmth through your chest, but this time it wasn’t just the usual flustered feeling. There was something more behind it, something deeper that you’d never allowed yourself to believe was possible.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeated, feeling small under his gaze. “I just... I wanted to do my part.”

Logan’s expression softened even more, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I get that. You’re tough, Princess. But you’re also important. To the team... and to me.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. Did he just say that? Did Logan—Logan, of all people—just admit you were important to him? Your mind was racing, trying to process what he meant, but before you could say anything, Logan stood up abruptly, like he regretted letting those words slip.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice gruff again as he turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Logan left the medbay, leaving you alone with the beeping machines.

---

A few days later you were released from the medbay and told to take it easy by Jean. Which you took to heart, perhaps a little too much.

You stayed in your room, only leaving at abnormal times to get food and water since you didn’t want to run into Logan. After all, you were young, practically a child to him, and all you wanted was for your crush on him to fade away like so many others did before.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to handle. Your crush on Logan had always been this quiet thing, something you never intended to act on. But now, after everything, it felt like it had grown louder, more noticeable. And that scared you.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed, idly fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Maybe you just needed to... talk to him. Be normal again. You’d been friends before, hadn’t you? It wasn’t like he knew how you felt, anyway.

Just as you were considering going for a walk to clear your head, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

“Y/N?” Ororo’s voice came from the other side, soft but steady. “You in there?”

You quickly got up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Ororo stood there, arms crossed, giving you that look—like she knew exactly what was going on with you. It was unnerving, how she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone emotionally.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been hiding.”

You blinked. “I haven’t been hiding.”

Ororo gave you a look. “Please. I haven’t seen you at meal times, and Logan’s been extra grumpy. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

You felt your face heat up. “Logan’s grumpy all the time.”

“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Ororo said, stepping into your room and closing the door behind her. “He’s been asking around. Wants to know why you’re avoiding him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “He said that?”

Ororo nodded, leaning against your desk. “He won’t admit it’s bothering him, but it is. What’s going on?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat back down on the bed. “I just... I don’t know, okay? Things got weird after the mission, and I needed space.”

“Logan didn’t do anything wrong,” Ororo pointed out gently.

“I know,” you mumbled. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Ororo tilted her head, studying you for a moment before sitting beside you on the bed. “You’re worried about how he sees you, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I mean, kinda of. He doesn’t see me in the way I see him, y’know?”

Ororo gave you a knowing look, her lips quirking up slightly. "And how do you see him?"

You hesitated, feeling your face heat up again. "I... I don’t know. It's just... he’s Logan. He’s been through so much, seen so much, and I’m just… me. The kid who got lucky with mutant powers and likes chemistry too much."

Ororo smiled gently, shaking her head. "You’re selling yourself short, Y/N. You're a lot more than that. And Logan sees it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ororo held up a hand. "I’m not saying he knows exactly what he's feeling, but he's not as oblivious as you think. And trust me, the way he’s been acting lately, it’s clear you’re important to him."

You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Maybe, but it’s not like that. It can’t be. He’s Logan—he doesn’t do the whole feelings thing."

Ororo chuckled softly. "You’d be surprised. He’s more in tune with his feelings than he lets on. He’s just… not used to showing them."

You frowned up at the ceiling. "Then why does it feel like I’m the only one getting all messed up over this?"

Ororo stood up, crossing her arms as she looked down at you. "Because you’re thinking too much, Alchemy. Maybe you should try talking to him instead of hiding."

"I’m not hiding!" you protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, hiding or not, he’s not going to let this go. Logan’s stubborn like that."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "Great. That’s exactly what I need."

Ororo chuckled again. "Just… talk to him. It might help. You can’t avoid him forever."

You sighed, peeking out from under the pillow. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it."

Ororo smiled softly before heading toward the door. "Good. And Y/N?"

You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Give yourself a little more credit," Ororo said gently. "You’re not just some kid to him. He cares about you. Maybe more than either of you realizes."

Before you could respond, she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the knot of nervousness growing in your stomach.

---

The next day, you were wandering through the mansion’s empty halls after lunch. You weren’t hiding per se, but you were definitely avoiding a certain someone. Ororo’s words kept echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Talking to Logan was probably the only way to clear this weird tension between you, but the thought of actually doing it made you want to curl up and disappear.

As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you almost walked straight into him.

"Whoa, easy there, Princess," Logan’s gruff voice startled you as he steadied you with a hand on your arm. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I-I wasn’t—uh, just wandering."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but amused. "You’ve been ‘just wandering��� a lot lately."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. This was it. The moment you’d been dreading. He was right here, and there was no avoiding him now.

Logan sighed, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. "You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart."

There it was. The thing you’d been trying to dodge. Your heart raced, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

Logan huffed, his expression softening a little. "I ain’t stupid, Y/N. You haven’t been around much since the mission. What’s goin’ on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms start to sweat. "It’s nothing. I just... needed some space. That’s all."

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "Space from me?"

You looked down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. "Not exactly. I just... things got a little weird, okay?"

"Weird how?" Logan’s voice was still rough, but there was a hint of something gentler beneath it. Concern, maybe?

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to explain that the reason you’d been avoiding him was because your stupid crush had spiraled into something much more confusing and intense? You couldn’t just blurt that out. Could you?

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you glanced up at him. He was so close now, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was making it hard to think straight.

"I just... I didn’t want to make things awkward between us," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why would things be awkward?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Because I... I care about you, Logan. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same way because you still like Jean- ”

Logan's frown deepened, and he shook his head almost immediately. "Jean? What’re you talkin’ about?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I just assumed... everyone knows you used to have feelings for her, and it’s fine, really. I get it. I just didn’t want to make things weird by—"

"Y/N," Logan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours. "I ain’t thinkin’ about Jean like that anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You’re not?"

Logan shook his head again, a hint of frustration slipping through. "No, sweetheart. That’s done with. It’s been done with for a while."

Your mind raced, trying to process what he was saying. If he wasn’t still hung up on Jean, then... What did that mean? Why had he been acting so tense around you?

"Then why have you been so... distant?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "You’ve been acting weird too, Logan. It’s not just me."

Logan looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of discomfort from him. When he spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer. "I’ve been... tryin’ to figure some stuff out, alright?"

"Figure what out?" you pressed gently, taking a step closer to him now. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but you didn’t back down. "Logan, just talk to me."

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a second, you saw something vulnerable flash through his expression—something raw. He was quiet for a beat before he finally spoke.

"After that mission," he said slowly, his voice low, "when I saw you get hurt... somethin’ in me snapped. I couldn’t... I couldn’t handle it, Y/N. The thought of losin’ you like that—" He broke off, his jaw tightening, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I’ve been through a lotta shit in my life. Seen people come and go. But you? The idea of you bein’ gone—it messed me up more than I thought it would."

You stood there, staring at him, trying to absorb what he was saying. He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. This was more than that.

"Logan..." you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. "I didn’t know you—"

"I didn’t know it either," he interrupted, his voice rough but sincere. "I didn’t know I felt like this ‘til it hit me. I care about you, Princess. More than I care to admit, sometimes. And I ain’t exactly good at this... feelings thing, y’know that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you were convinced you’d misheard him. Logan cared about you? Like that? It felt surreal.

"You... you care about me?" you asked cautiously, your voice small.

Logan huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. "Hell yeah, I do. I’ve been tryin’ to push it down for a while now, but it ain’t workin’. Not anymore."

You stared at him in disbelief, your pulse racing. "But... I’m just—"

"Don’t even start with that ‘I’m just me’ bullshit," Logan cut you off again, his tone more serious. "You ain’t ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re smart, tough as nails, and you’ve got a good heart. You matter to me. And not in some ‘kid sister’ kinda way either, if that’s what you’re thinkin’."

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart skipped a beat. He was being so direct, so honest, and it left you completely speechless.

Logan shifted a little closer, his gaze softening even more as he looked down at you. "I don’t know when it happened, but it did. You got under my skin, sweetheart. And as much as I tried to ignore it... I can’t."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. This was really happening. Logan—gruff, stoic Logan—was telling you that he had feelings for you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a kid around him. You felt like someone who mattered, someone he saw.

"I..." you started, your voice shaking a little. "I didn’t think you’d ever... I mean, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, but I just figured—"

Logan chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek gently. The touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You figured wrong, Princess."

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just teasing or friendly banter. It was something deeper, something real. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was just… I don’t know, bothering you or something.”

Logan’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the sincerity in them, the raw emotion he wasn’t hiding anymore. “You ain’t a bother, sweetheart. Far from it. And if I’ve been actin’ like I don’t care, that’s on me. But I do care. A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch, his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming. You’d been crushing on Logan for what felt like forever, and now he was standing here, telling you he felt the same way. It didn’t feel real.

“Logan, I…” You started, but your words trailed off as his hand slid down to your neck, his rough palm warm against your skin. The way he was looking at you, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to think straight.

“Stop thinkin’ so hard,” Logan murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just… be here. With me.”

Your heart pounded as you met his eyes, your stomach doing flips. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

For a moment, everything felt like it slowed down—the air between you humming with tension. Logan leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your lips. It felt like time had stopped, like nothing else in the world mattered but this moment.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

Logan responded instantly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he kissed you with a kind of intensity that made your knees weak. It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was rough, urgent, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as you melted into him. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and the way he kissed you sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. It was everything you’d imagined and more.

Logan’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in him, the raw power that he usually kept under tight control, but there was also a tenderness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid of hurting you.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him—in the way he tasted, the way he smelled like leather and pine, the way his hands moved over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Logan’s hands were still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You really are somethin’, Princess.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss, from everything. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolverine.”

Logan smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “Could’ve told me sooner, y’know. Saved me a lotta trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you could’ve said something too. You had me thinking I was crazy this whole time.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

You bit your lip, still trying to process everything. You’d kissed Logan. Actually kissed him. And he’d kissed you back. It felt like a dream, like any second now you were going to wake up and realize none of this had happened.

But it had. He was still here, his arms around you, his eyes on you, his lips still tingling from the kiss. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel nervous or uncertain around him. You felt… right.

[hardlyinteresting]

Stop in the middle

Jake Seresin x reader

Two sides of the same coin; they were joined at the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”.

So much wine by Phoebe Bridgers  Somewhere else by Indians Abbey by  Mitski

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, (call sign Angel), with no physical description, crash landing, wilderness survival, major injuries (non-graphic description), discussions of death, happy ending though (I promise!), hurt/comfort, idiots in love, possible Navy inaccuracies, (please let me know if you'd like me to add anything else)

Word Count: 4.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

 Laying in the snow she watches the sun rise inch by inch over the tree line. The sky bathed in a soft orange glow that warms her skin for what she can only assume will be the last time. He’ll hate her for leaving him without saying goodbye, but her voice has already left her and her arms are too weak to shake him from his slumber. 

In the distance the cotton fluff clouds rest on the peaks of the mountains; tremendous contrast so perfectly balanced. She feels each of Hangman's breaths expanding the firm plane of his chest as her breathing grows slower. Two days ago she never would have imagined dying in the arms of Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin. 

---

They had taken off at the barest crack of dawn breaking. 0600 hours. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Take off from the carrier. Fly over. Survey the valley below—report anomalies. Continue the flight path, and land at a nearby ally airbase. Refuel. Return to the carrier. They'd been tasked with flying similar paths for the last two weeks as part of a larger peacekeeping and security effort. As far as deployments go, they were lucky to have been selected to be the joint task force; and more fortunate to not be engaged in active combat. 

Though Hangman would loathe to admit it with his two confirmed air combat kills, she knows herself that no pilot wants to be under enemy fire or in a position to take a life; it's an unfortunate consequence and frequent reality of the job. 

In the time they’ve known each other, she’s heard Jake speak frequently about his mother and her homemade pie waiting for him in Texas. He tells stories about the boys he used to play football with in high school, and family reunions with little nieces and nephews running about barefoot. She’s heard him making plans to buy a home and settle down. He dreams of a future. Anyone paying attention knows that beneath the outwardly cocky exterior, and adrenaline rushes, he's afraid of dying. 

It wasn't enemy fire that took them down two days ago, but rather sudden major malfunctions that left them without any navigation system, defective coms, and an aircraft almost completely unresponsive to pilot commands. Their saving grace had been Hangman's quick thinking to point them towards a clearing in the tree line, and her decision to dump their fuel as they descended rapidly toward the ground. Flying too low to eject safely they braced themselves for impact, an apology for something he could not have stopped on Jake's lips. 

The sounds of alarms and rapid beeping tones woke them. The smell of burning jet fuel startled them into action again. Jake's head stayed lulled forward his eyes slipping shut again before his limbs burst into action with a level of urgency that forced her to react with equal fervour. She watched wide-eyed as Hangman pushed open the canopy pulling himself up and out of his seat, rolling sideways out the opening. Only in watching his exit did she notice the awkward angle the jet had landed at. The nose crumpled by the force of the impact, their wings clipped and lost somewhere in the trees or across the clearing; the body had slid half on its side, a couple hundred feet through revealing mud beneath and leaving a wake of burning grass melting through the powder white snow. A sharp pain threatened to make her lose her breakfast as she clambered from her seat and the tangle of buckles and straps that had saved her life. She tumbled with purpose but little grace out into the frozen valley. 

“Alright?” Hangman asked standing with his back straight as she doubled over trying hard to catch her breath. She nodded but he didn't make any effort to speak or move giving her a moment to collect herself. 

Sucking in the ice-cold air she ignored the searing pain tearing through her rib cage. Her attention drifted from herself back to Jake who swayed on his feet, the soft crunch of snow sounding beneath his feet as he tried to find a place to stand steady. Watching him pale she only grew more convinced Jake was concussed. 

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Dizzy for sure”. 

“Well, we'll thank our lucky stars we crashed in allied territory. Once we find shelter, I'll run a concussion protocol for you.” 

Their non-functioning radios had left them no way to communicate their mayday calls. They had tried in vain to transmit their approximate coordinates as their headsets filled with static. Their navigation system ran haywire, the coordinates too impossible to be accurate in any case. 

His brows furrowed as he turned to survey their crash sight. His usually bright smile had been pulled into a firm line that confirmed to her they'd be stranded for a while. 

A gust of wind reminded them of how exposed they were in the clearing. While enemy scouts wouldn't be an issue, the potential for hypothermia would be. 

“Map. Compass. Let's grab the chutes from the seats as well,” she suggested. Hangman was uncharacteristically quiet in his agreement, giving her a nod of affirmation as they collected what they could from the jet. 

The sun was still high in the sky above them providing decent light though filtered through bare branches and evergreen limbs. Somewhat guarded from the biting wind they allowed themselves to settle for a moment hoping to find their bearings and build a solid plan for their survival. 

Before they began to plummet they had been about a quarter of an hour's flight from the air base on the other side of the valley. Plotting their estimated crash site on the paper map they found themselves nearly 250 miles away from their destination, walking sun up to sun down would still mean a 2-and-a-half day walk. 

“Look alive sunshine,” she teased as Jake's eyes began to droop. He'd let out a laugh his smile surprisingly bright as he tilted his head back to look at her. “You're so bossy,” he complained. 

“I'm about to get bossier, I've got to make sure you don't have a concussion”. 

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. 

“Don't sass me Seresin,” she warned, though she tried to keep the tone playful. 

For years they'd played this game; pushing each other's buttons skirting around the edges of flirtation and toeing the line of verbal bullying. Ribbing him was how she had learned to be affectionate towards him. Giving him a hard time made him flustered, or it made him laugh, and either reaction was a well-welcomed sight that had left a fluttering in her chest. The lighthearted back and forth they'd learned to communicate through made it easier to ignore the sidelong glances, and yearning that had begun to take shape beneath the surface. 

“Alright,” she sighed, pulling the tiny flashlight out of her belt, “eyes on me”.

“They usually are,” he smirked. 

With the light, she checked his eyes and got promising results: no abnormal dilation. Both pupils were even and responsive to light. “Today's date?” She asked him. 

“February twelfth”.

“Your date of birth?” 

“October twenty-first. Nineteen ninety”.

“Any headache, nausea, persistent dizziness?” 

He responded no to all the symptoms and she allowed some relief to fill her knowing the initial symptoms had dissipated and not worsened. Finally, she held one finger up waiting for his eyes to focus. “Follow me,” she said her hand moving to the left, his eyes followed. 

“I'll follow you anywhere,” he said as her hand moved to the right. 

“Don't flirt with me, Hangman”. 

“Wouldn't it be stranger if I didn't? I’m just proving I’m not concussed”. His point was somewhat valid but she didn't let him know she thought so, continuing her evaluation in silence.

He's like this with everyone. She'd been telling herself the same thing for years. You're not special. He'll flirt with anyone. A painful truth that's helped her ignore his beautiful green eyes and warm countenance. 

---

Laying on her back in the snow drawing her last breaths now she wishes she could see those eyes one more time as her vision begins to blur. The blue sky swirls into the emerald pines, the colours lightened by the soft sunlight. The colours like sea glass make her think of him and tears begin to gather behind her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she wants to say but only a pathetic whimper leaves her. She wonders if she would have been kinder to him if she had known she was going to die. Would she have been more honest with her feelings? Or pushed them down deeper in some foolish attempt to protect him? The sun continues to rise and she knows he will wake soon. Selfishly, she hopes she’s drifted off before then, unwilling to see him hurting on her behalf. 

---

“Not concussed, but still a pain in my ass,” she had teased him, pushing his hair off his forehead, double-checking for any wounds. He took her words as permission to keep moving. Each of them threw a parachute pack over their shoulders and continued their walk northeast through the woods. 

By 1900 hours the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and the sky above turned a deep blue dotted by tiny spangling stars. Breathtaking and brilliant it had been easy to forget, just for a moment, where they were. She slung the chute of her shoulders towards the ground hissing at the movement. She hadn't had the time to check herself over. Best case her ribs were bruised, at worst she'd find out they were broken, and there would be nothing to help her until they had access to a medical bay anyway. 

“Are you sure you're okay, Angel?” Hangman asked, using her call sign letting her know he meant business. He was not asking as a friend, he was asking as her teammate. 

“Yes,” she lied. The pain was tolerable, only worsening with sharp or sudden movement. Nothing she couldn't handle, and nothing she would force Jake to worry about. 

“Are you sure? I wouldn't be opposed to stripping you down to check for injuries,” his flirtations softened the conversation in an attempt to get her to tell him the truth. 

“In your dreams,” she responded instead, moving along the base of a nearby tree in hopes of gathering some firewood and kindling.

“Quite frequently, actually,” the wink he shot her way repeats in her head even now piercing through the fourth wall of the masquerade they had built, an honest and boyish confirmation that their feelings for each other were something beyond friendship. 

The plethora of fresh fallen snow meant finding water wasn't an issue of concern. Finding food would be more difficult and that first night under the stars they sat watching the flickering flames of the fire they had built, their empty stomachs rumbling with nothing to fill them. 

Stretched between two trees, one of the parachutes they liberated from their wreck was used as a windscreen, protecting them from the cold. The second one lay draped around their shoulders as an extra layer. 

Proximity wasn't an issue for them. They had spent enough time in cramped cockpits together to be familiar with the sounds of each other breathing. They had sat shoulder to shoulder in briefings enough time that she had memorized the smell of his cologne. And yet, when he put his arm around her to pull her closer in their makeshift cocoon her heart stuttered. How could his hands be so strong when her own wouldn't stop shaking? How could a simple touch warm her from the inside out? His fingers brushed along her side with no real pressure, but still prompted a gasp to escape her. Tears left glass trails on her cheeks in the firelight. 

She tried to turn away from him, to feign sleep but he wouldn't have it. “Hey,” Jake caught her attention, waiting for her to look at him before he continued, “We're going to be okay”. 

She believed him. 

---

Everything about their uniforms has been painstakingly designed to keep them safe. 100% cotton undershirts and pants because the material won't melt to their skin in the event of a cockpit fire. But the surprisingly soft base layers have never stopped the blaze burning inside her. From the moment she laid eyes on Jake Seresin she knew he'd be the beginning and the end of everything. He pushed people away with his cocky attitude, somehow convinced that his refusal to be vulnerable would keep him safe from forming meaningful bonds; that he might get further ahead if he had fewer people to let down. But, he'd let her in. He'd let her break down his walls and climb over the fences he'd tried to put up. She'd held him when he got the news his father had died. On a ship thousands of miles from his home he'd told her about his brother dying when he was a child, and growing up in his shadow. He told her how badly he wanted to make his parents proud and how lonely he had made himself in the process. He'd kissed her forehead as they parted that night, and her world changed forever. 

What had been an embarrassing schoolgirl crush she couldn’t shake had become a push-and-pull relationship neither of them could do without. She knew how to put him in his place when he took a joke too far. He knew how to goad her into showing everyone what she was capable of, refusing to let her slip into the background when he knew she deserved more. 

Two sides of the same coin, they were joined a the hip; partners in every way but the romantic. The words “I love you,” had passed between them many times, but neither of them had been brave enough to say, “I’m in love with you”. She wishes she would have said it. Lying at death’s door she remembers being told that you often regret the things you haven’t done more than you regret the things you did. “I’m in love with you, Jake Seresin,” she whispers to the wind. 

---

Their second day of walking was far more painful than the first. Jake had startled himself awake, his eyes wild as he fought to remember where it was they had ended up. The acceptance of their reality hadn't seemed to comfort him and he grew uncharacteristically quiet as they packed up their makeshift camp. The pine trees towering above them had been kind enough to shed some of their cones while they had lay sleeping in shifts. Though they hadn't offered many, they were able to harvest a handful of pine nuts between the two of them for breakfast. It was nowhere near a meal, but the snack had managed to quiet their angry stomachs for a few minutes.

The ache in her side had grown to become a constant agony. What had started as a negligible strain was now a torment that threatened to collapse her with each footfall. Despite the subzero temperatures, a sweat had broken out across her brow, and the heat spreading up the back of her neck left her wanting to strip off her cold weather jacket and flight suit. 

“Have you ever had rabbit?” Jake asked around noon. His footsteps had slowed enough for her to catch up with him. His voice had startled her after all the silence. 

“I can't say that I have,” she answered. A gunshot pulled her from her thoughts and she realized she hadn't ever answered out loud. Jake stood a few feet ahead of her, his service pistol in his hand. The world around her was spinning. The trees blurring together as a sudden wave of nausea filled her. She could hear her name being called; muffled and distorted. Jake. His face soon filled her line of vision. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” he told her, but her mind still struggled to put the pieces together. For a moment it felt like she was underwater, all her breath gone from her lungs and all she could feel was the scalding pain burning from the inside out. Momentarily she entertained the idea that it was her who had been shot until she spotted the rabbit lying lifeless in the snow. 

“We need to eat,” Jake spoke again, “you're going quiet on me and I don't like that-- we’ll get some energy in you again before we keep moving”.

The very idea of eating anything threatened to leave her dry-heaving, but she took advantage of the moment to rest. He didn't mention her lack of assistance building a fire or preparing the rabbit, but she watched with incredible focus his hands moving with precision and surprising gentleness for the task at hand. 

She can recall him telling her stories about his childhood, standing on step stools to reach the countertop in his mother's kitchen rolling out pie crusts and later on slicing apples. He once told her that it was his mother who had taught him patience and gratitude while they baked together; two traits he had neglected to exhibit far too often in his adult life. 

She listened to him thank the rabbit for its life as he cut away pieces to feed to her. There was an unmistakable love in the way he moved, his eyes cast over his shoulder to check on her. Slowly, she realized that she was not doing a good job hiding her suffering. In a fleeting thought, she imagined Jake having to carry her lifeless body for the rest of their journey. In their line of work, it had never been considered morbid to have funeral plans from a young age. Flying with him for years she had learned to trust him implicitly, despite the call sign he'd earned and worked tirelessly to recover from she knew early on that he'd do right by her. Challenging authority, but always following the rules; complete and unwavering dedication to whatever task he had at hand; precision and perfection in the execution of his duties be it laundry or taking down a fighter jet midair. As her energy continued to leave her she took comfort in knowing her life would be in Hangman's hands. 

“I'm not hungry,” she said to him. 

“You need to eat,” he insisted again but didn't push any farther. With a longanimity he forgot he possessed, and a magnanimity he couldn't credit himself for carrying he cared for her; making the executive decision to make camp early as her seemingly catatonic state worsened. She managed to chew and swallow bites of the gamey meat, her body grateful for the nutrition.  

Night fell too soon after and the sound of the wind in the trees and the rustle of creatures that may have been lurking left both of them far more on edge than they had been the night before. 

“Scoot closer,” she whispered to him, and he complied without complaint. Neither of them was warm, but their proximity to the fire helped them imagine they could be. His shoulder bumped hers and she leaned her head against him. “Put your arm around me?” She asked. He complied again this time with more hesitation. 

“You know if you wanted to snuggle with me you could've just said so,” he teased though she could tell his heart wasn't in it. 

“I'm scared,” she confessed, a half-truth. She was terrified, feeling her heart rate starting to slow by the minute, her vision slipping in and out of focus. 

“We're going to make it home,” he whispered, both arms wrapped around her now, his lips pressed to her hairline. Tears blurred in her eyes and she gave up fighting back a sob, body shaking and heartbreaking. “I won't let anything happen to you,” he said so sincerely. She cried harder knowing she had already broken that promise for him. 

She had realized she'd lost feeling in her fingers and toes when he'd begun to trace shapes on her back. Her digits buzzed with needles and pins and her limbs had began to feel heavy. Bile rose in her throat choking her as she scrambled to get her distance before dinner made a reappearance. Jake didn't make a fuss, or make his worry known, but she could tell that her perturbation had begun to seep beneath his calm, cool, mien. His hand shook as he rubbed her back hoping her coughing fit might free her off the anxiety and discomfort that had overtaken her. 

She can remember almost every time Jake Seresin has touched her. The memories float suspended in golden warmth, kept safe from the things theyve done, and the things they’ve seen. She holds those moments of fleeting, passing goodness, near to her heart. The smallest reminders that Hangman has a heart; and it’s full of love to give, and on some occasions, she has allowed herself to believe she could be worthy of that love. 

He used to sit beside her in the mess hall no matter how many seats were available; his broad shoulders bumping her own, his elbow knocking at her ribs, their hands brushing as he slid his mashed potatoes onto her plate and she slid her green beans onto his. Silent and symbiotic in their bond, determined to look out for one another. 

The first New Year's Eve they were able to spend together off base was spent with as many friends as possible and too much liquor to handle. Neither of them got a midnight kiss because she was spilling her guts in the alleyway behind the bar, Jake by her side saying “I told you not to do shots after drinking a glass of wine”.  But his satisfied smirk was overshadowed by the genuine concern in his eyes and the steady warm hand he'd placed on her back. “There you go, you'll feel better once you get it all out”. He was drunk himself, his words half slurred but no less encouraging. She had thought then that he was seeing her at her worst. She knows now that she was wrong. 

By some miracle they had been deployed together more often than not. At first it was pure coincidence, but over time it became clear that together they were a dynamic duo with a combined force and efficiency they're commanding officers could not deny, and were often interested in capitalizing on. They had become two halves of a whole, a packaged pair anyone would be disinclined to separate. Still, they had not been permitted to bunk together, and neither of them had ever been interested in breaking the rules of the institution so they never pushed it. But on nights when the creaks and groans of the 900,000 pound ship kept her awake, and the rocking of the waves around them was too much to ignore she knew she'd be able to find him lurking around the corridors as well.

 “I couldn't sleep,” she'd say. “Me neither,” he'd respond. Sometimes, when the world felt too heavy on his shoulders and they'd been away from home for too long they'd find their way to the floor together, his back pressed to hers, their arms circling their knees, and he'd sync his breathing to hers convincing himself that so long as she was their he had some piece of his real life with him. A part of Jake Seresin that wasn't just a pawn in battles bigger than him, he was a man with thoughts and feelings, and dreams outside of his role worth achieving. 

---

This is as good a place to die as any, she thinks.

The parachute that isn't being used to block the wind is still draped over the two of them and she hopes it keeps Jake warm until he wakes. His walk to the base will take him longer now dragging her weight behind him, he'll need his sleep. 

She lets the sound of the wind lull her and she finds that she's not afraid anymore. Just sad; angry even; but not afraid. Her pain is excruciating, and she’s honestly welcoming the relief of a permanent slumber. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. The wind gusts come steadily, growing louder and ever closer. 

Jake stirs beneath her, sitting up her head falling to his lap. “Well would you look at that! No more walking for us,” he grins. Her eyes have shut but she can hear it in his voice, the boy like wonder bursting  the surface. “Angel, wake up,” he shakes her shoulder. The joy that had filled him moments ago has been replaced with a more serious tone, “they sent a chopper for us, honey,” he says, shaking her again, “you've gotta get up,” he pleads with her, but she cannot answer him. His hand is surprisingly warm on the side of her face, and the world goes dark and silent. 

Death is softer than she expected. It's dark still, but her head is resting on something plush, and there's a feel of woven fabric at her fingertips, it reminds her of the blanket Jake's mom had sent to her last Christmas. Her back and her legs feel stiff and she makes no attempt to move them uninterested in exploring this darken world she's found herself in. Her ribs ache but far less than they did back in the snow, the pinch she feels with each breath is like an echoed sound, a pallid reminder of her last moments. 

There's a humming; a mellifluous tune. It drifts in and out, bookended by murmuring she cannot decipher. Come back to me. The words become clear. Angel. Guilt fills her, petulant and helpless as emotion overwhelms her. She wants to move towards the voice, to apologize for leaving but she's not sure she can. I need you honey. 

Jake. Oh, it's so clear now. Jake. 

“Hey, hey, you're okay,” Jake's hands brace her shoulder, and just above her knee willing her to stop flailing her panicked limbs. Her eyes shoot open to meet his; golden green and brimming with tears she wishes she had the strength to stop. The insistent beeping that had filled the room quiets as she relaxes back into the pillows. 

The Navy infirmary isn't anything fancy, but it's far more comfortable than the nights she spent with her back up against the bark of a tree. She has so many questions but they fade out of her mind as quickly as they spark in. Blips of clarity overriden by the need to speak to Jake who is looking at her with more wonder than she's even seen. The man has seen the world from 40,000 feet but he's looking at her like she hung his stars in the sky. 

“Jake,” she manages. 

“Yeah, Angel”. 

Her throat feels like sandpaper, her voice scratchy and raw with disuse, but she fights through it, 

“I'm in love with you,” she says, sucking in a breath that makes her cough. Her lungs feel like they're on fire and she works desperately to inhale and exhale as the ache in her side is reawaken. 

Jake offers her water that manages to swallow down, and when she takes a few shaky breaths without wincing, he sets the paper cup aside. 

She gives him a gentle nod, refusing to meet his gaze. He doesn't let it slide, his forefinger tilting her chin up so she can't hide from him. She envies his confidence, his ability to simplify a scenario. 

“I'm in love with you,” he tells her too. 

[bejeweledinterludes]

— ⌈ dean x reader headcanons that are way too specific but very important TO ME! ⌋

『 part 2 of @bejeweledinterludes’ headcanon series. 』

read my headcanons part 1 here!

↳ . . . YOOOOO HEYYYY here’s a part 2 since everyone seemed to like the first one! thinking about doing a solely nsfw headcanon post OR some chubby!reader headcanons for deano 😋 bc i’m in the trenches of ovulation week rn and my stupid thoughts have to go somewhere. also, if anyone had requests, i’d definitely be open to that as well! anyhoo enjoy my pookies <3

𖤐 ────────────────────────

> being a decent hunter, the winchester brothers had heard of you before, and you them— you’d heard stories, of course, but you never officially crossed paths until you were at bobby’s house at the same time they were. you’d known bobby— because everybody knew bobby—since you started hunting.

your greeting to them came almost as quickly as your goodbye, nodding at them with a “hey” while clambering down bobby’s front porch to your car, your usual bag full of weapons and books in hand— but not before you notice the jet-black ‘67 impala next to your own.

and you know your way around a car, having your own ‘baby-esque’ vehicle that you love more than life itself (can be vintage or newer model, doesn’t matter, because it’s yours). dean had noticed your car in bobby’s driveway immediately, too— who wouldn’t? the man had eyes.

anyways, you walk past baby in all her glory while nodding appreciatively— turning just a little to dean and tossing a free thumb towards her with a grin before saying a quick: “dude. bitchin’ car.”

and after initially being thrown off by the way you carried yourself, a mixture of confidence, respect, and almost familiarity— dean shoots back with a “could say the same about yours.”

at that remark, you freaking smiled. and dean almost fainted right then and there at the sight. you got in your car, and that was it, due to your visit to bobby’s house really being just a pit stop/supply run before you headed right back on the road again, a new hunt already waiting for you in montana.

> because despite sam and dean being the most good-looking hunters you ever laid eyes on, you weren't one to dilly dally over just a pretty face (when lives were on the line, of course). but somehow, you knew that you’d see them again. hunting wasn’t exactly a booming career field, after all.

> that being said, it took dean a while to get comfortable around you whenever you did end up working together— like a while. you’d only crossed wires with the brothers a few times, helping them out when you could on hunts over the next few years. sam and you made easy friends almost immediately, but dean took longer to warm up to you. but you didn’t mind, or take it personally. you never pushed dean to be your friend even with how much you wanted to be.

> when you guys do work together, though, you and dean understand every single pop culture reference you guys throw at each other. he was shocked when he referenced a classic 80s movie (it was weird science) while working one of your first cases together.

and not only did you understand it and laugh— you made your own joke about it. now you two can’t shut your traps once you get going (for the love of god, do not ask about die hard around them).

> dean and you have also almost blown your cover and gotten caught on hunts because you guys laugh/giggle too loud at what the other says (especially in serious situations).

your favorite running joke is finding old portraits of ugly dead guys, pointing a finger at them and saying to dean “huh, i didn’t know you were alive in *checks plaque under painting* 1837” (and don’t worry, he does the same exact thing to you.)

> dean once fell asleep on your shoulder during a stakeout/recon/watching a potential victim’s house and you didn’t move an inch the entire time. when you finally tried to gently wake him up, he had the audacity to sleepily mumble “jus’ five more minutes” into your shirt and cling to you like a koala in the car. you, being the saint and not wanting to argue, let him sleep for another 2 hours couple minutes.

> and soon enough, dean eventually came around. you knew he cared about you way before he did, but you never forced anything. he appreciated that more than you knew.

and it wasn’t just one single moment of realization like in the movies when dean knew he cared about you. it was quiet, simmering, and when he looked, it was already just… there. but the feelings he hadn’t noticed he’d been pushing down for so long came to a head on a hunt when you almost died— the way they always did when someone he cared about was hurt.

after that, something shifted. you could feel and see it, even if dean didn’t say anything outright to you. for one, he called more often when you were away— he’d need help with something you knew that he already knew damn well how to do, or with something you knew he had much better contacts for.

i mean, come on. he knows freaking rowena, and he’s calling you for assistance on a spell? and sometimes, he’d call for no reason at all, making up some excuse just to hear your voice. you never mentioned it, out of fear he’d stop calling entirely.

> because you always loved when dean called.

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

i genuinely believe that i tweak out over this man at least 4 times a day stg. and the gif i picked lives in my mind rent-free. he looks so ethereal sigh i wish he was real 💔

ANYWAYS here’s my taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[julia4today]

Fiending for part 2 of shunned 😔

sorry this took so long !!!

shunned (tf141 x fem!reader)

part two | prev part

cw: incorrect military procedure, not proofread

your thick, government-issued, thermals do nothing to protect from the biting cold that seeps through the cracks of the window your shoulder rests against. you're sitting in a kitchen chair. everybody else, asleep. it is your turn to keep watch. the cabin wasn't particularly insulated. years of mold and mildew seeping through the porous floor board can do that.

you can hear the shifting of the men in their sleeping bags. sleepily, moving and chattering to conserve warmth. you had put the fire out before you went to sleep, price had been worried that the smoke would alert people as to your location, but considering how fruitless your watch has been, you highly doubt anybody is looking for you.

your eyes threaten to close, succumbing to the unimaginable exhaustion that plagues you. but- no. you cannot do that because that would mean the team is right. that you, that women, are incapable. you will not be the reason that stereotype is perpetuated so you keep your eyes open. open and alert. scanning for movement. the pillowy white snow upon the ground glimmers in the moonlight. snow that just a couple hours ago was pounding you in the face, causing great pain. it now seems quite harmless. funny how things may change.

the trees are large and imposing, perfect for hiding our "mountain hut" as price aptly named it. you look to the treetops, the sun just barely peeking over the tops. ordinarily, you would all be up, preparing, but today you aren't leaving until you get clearance from base, and you all know how long that takes. the occasional bird sings, coming home to its kin. feeding them chewn and regurgitated worm. gross.

sitting watching a window was not exactly the badass ‘fighter jet top gun’ vision you had of joining the military. but maybe you need to save your home country single-handedly before you are ever taken seriously. how to do that exactly?

it’s nearing six am by this time. the boys are packed up and waiting for the go ahead from base. the green light to move further into the lions den.

this mission was not your first. far from it. whether you were trekking through a jungle or trudging up a mountain, the routine was the same. get the mission, brief it, get deployed, go through hell physically and mentally, come home. repeat.

this time it's recon. reconnaissance. by this time, the country had been strife with war for years. it's a back and forth. they capture hostages, you illegally enter their country and return the hostages to their families. then you capture the hostages. it's exhausting.

"remind me why we don't just call for a ceasefire?" you postulate out loud. no longer turned towards the window, although you may as well be for how often you have to insert yourself into their conversation. never invited on your own.

"too pussy for a little strafing aye?" ghost replied lowly. his voice a deep hum against your ears. he takes a sip from his thermos, presumably filled with tea. you can tell he's got a smug smirk on beneath his signature mask.

"no." you grumble, wishing you hadn't turned away from that window. as much as you would like to claim their comments don't get to you, everybody knows they do. maybe that's why they continue to throw them at you. continue to claw at your brain. attack every insecurity you've had. pretend they don't mean it, butter you up with sexist comments that make your skin crawl.

"ah ken he's messin' wi' ye slug." johnny chimes in as he simultaneously slinks nearer to you. putting his large arm around you and pulling you uncomfortably close to his chest. "'sides. simon leks tae 'ave ye here. we all dey."

“thanks joh-"

"ye a bonnie sight. 'elps me get through ay rough night if ye ken," of course. his obnoxious laugh booms through the cabin. gross.

"men. word from laswell came in. we're being sent back to base." a collective groan escapes the three men that sat at the table. annoyed, although slightly relieved that they finally knew what was going on. all day, with no movement gets a soldier antsy.

"we just spent all of yesterday climbing up that mountain and we're being sent back? why?" kyle finally speaks up. typically quiet. that's something you've observed. well not quiet, just, he doesn't really talk to you. not like he talks to price or simon, even johnny. though you can't help but be slightly grateful. atleast he's not undressing you with his eyes or implying you don't have what it takes.

"our help is no longer required. the hostages were willfully let go. they're going home to their families." and with that price returns to his call.

the men look at eachother, once more leaving you out. this news from price, while seemingly good, it is not. it begs the question, why? unless they're planning something. johnny and gaz break off into their own conversation. and suprisingly, simon turns to you.

" 'appy, slug?" simon spits.

"what? what did i do?"

"i'm sure you're glad. laswell knows well that you weren't ready for a mission like this. this is for real soldiers. not delicate women."

"what the fuck are you even talking about?" what does he mean? is he implying you're at fault for the mission being cancelled.

"price just said the mission was cancelled because they let the hostages go." you add. for some reason you feel the need to justify yourself. you did nothing wrong though. still, you feel attacked. he knows this too. he gets up, doesn't pass you another glance.

this isn't good. just one more night in this cabin hellhole and you can once more request to switch teams.

—-

i think there’s a literal curse around writing fanfiction that causes my body to want to start attacking itself.

it’s finally out, and it’s absolutely terrible. enjoy!! :P

[nocternalrandomness]

Boeing RC-135V departing RAF Mildenhall

[whatever-imagines]

butch wolverine smut with pussy eating + musk? pretty please 🙏

Feral

Rated: E for explicit

Tags: whelp; here’s one of the filthiest things I’ve written.

Reader is afab; smut, not proofread we die like so many of the x-men

—-

You’ve been gone for a mission for four days, and Logan’s practically crawling the walls. The anxiety eats at her; it’s been so long since she’s let anyone near her emotionally, now that she has you, you give her all sorts of heart-attacks.

Was she like this before? Before she lost her memories 16 years ago? Always so worried about loved ones? (Did she have loved ones to worry over?)

When Scott finally told her that the recon team had returned safely, Logan all but marched to the hanger, eager to see you alive and in one piece.

She smells you before she sees you; you but slightly different. Headier, muskier.

You come off the jet looking tired and annoyed. Hair unkempt and face slightly sheened from the oil of your skin.

Logan’s been on a few recon missions. Especially on the jet, there’s no proper way to wash yourself, and since most of the cabin is full of supplies, there’s no space to bring extra clothes, and it’s encouraged to stay in uniform the whole time in case you need to spring into action.

So, Logan deduced that you haven’t washed or changed clothes in four days.

And you smell sooooooo good.

You smile weakly at her, and Logan attempt a normal looking smile back, trying not to look as strained or aroused as she felt.

“Hey.” You greet lightly, coming closer, opening your arms for a hug.

Logan’s smile turned tight as she allowed you into her space. “Hey, princess.” She says in a loving, almost sarcastic way, trying very hard to seem nonchalant.

You pull away from her embrace with a questioning look. “You okay?” You ask quietly, as not to alert the others. They were thrumming around you, Storm complaining about needing a shower and Scott making some leader-like comment.

You were always so thoughtful like that; it made Logan near feral with want.

The Wolverine leans down, and places a kiss at the top of your uniform’s collar, taking in a deep whiff of your scent.

“My room.” She growls out lowly, a single hand playing with your fingers.

You sigh, “Lo, I haven’t showered in four days, I’m foul right now.” You try to explain.

All Logan does is tunnel vision stares you down, mouth tight and she’s almost shaking with how badly she’s restraining herself.

Sighing clicks in you head and you sigh again. “Oh, you would, wouldn’t you. Wild woman.” You chastise teasingly. “Can I at lease get out of uniform?”

“You have 15 minutes to be on my bed.”

You level her with an irked eyebrow.

“Please.” Logan tacks on with a whine.

You smile victoriously. “I’ll be there in ten as soon as you let me go.”

Logan is suddenly very aware that she was gripping your biceps in a desperate tightness, and slaps her hands down to her thighs once she comes too.

—-

Her nose bumps your clit for the nth time so far, and for the nth time, Logan inhales deeply.

You made it to her room in 8 minutes, excitedly changing into a loose shirt that probably was Logan’s at some point but was now yours, and lounge pants. As soon as you crossed the threshold of Logan’s room, without much fanfare, she pinched the fabric against your thighs and pantsed you. You reflexively doubled over to try and cover yourself but all Logan did was use your position as an opportunity to scoop you up over her shoulder and dumped you on her unmade bed.

She spend about two minutes with her face in your neck, licking and sucking in bruises, her hands rubbing you up and down along your sides, making you gasp and giggle. She hardly spoke a word, opting to growl aloud instead.

Slowly she made her way down your body, still licking, still nipping at your skin, pushing your/her shirt up to your collar bone; rubbing in her salvia into your neck, your ribs, your stomach and pelvic bone, at some point backing off the bed to kneel on the floor, drawing you towards her.

She bullied your thighs over her shoulders and stared you down, unblinkingly, as she licked your core, tongue broad and hot.

You relented, throwing your head back and moaning.

Now you were here, almost to the point of tears due to Logan’s ministrations.

Her hands were so warm, holding your legs open, blunt fingernails digging into the meat of your thighs. Her quick and clever tongue continuously bringing you to the brink before backing off, making you whine and moan in ecstasy and displeasure in spades.

She was sniffing you a lot, breaking away frequently to smell the juncture of her leg and hip, the divot behind your knee, even going as so far to lean up entirely, one hand coming down to rub at your sex so she could dart forward and smell your armpit.

You almost laugh, could have if you weren’t gasping for air at the ferocity that Logan was eating out with moments later.

Logan’s tongue lapped at your hole, her thumb swiping at your bumble of nerves harshly before she moves up minutely to suck at your clit.

You beg, “Please, please lemme cum now, please!”

With you still in her mouth, Logan hums deeply, the vibrations making you clench around nothing and you sob.

Logan continues to suck and hum, growling into you, when the blunt, wide tip of het thumb breaches you ever so slightly, pushing you over the edge.

You mouth went slack and you squeeze your eyes shut until the buzz in your body resembled less of an angry hornets hive and more of a cellphone on silent.

As you catch your breath, Logan stands from her position from the floor, finally shucking off her pants and shirt.

Bitch didn’t even get undressed before wrecking you.

“Fuck you.” You gasp; grabbing at her.

Logan chuckles and kneels on the bed, leaning down until she’s on top of you, the weight familiar and crushing.

“Sorry, lost my cool there for a minute.” She says, finally about her wits. She licks your neck again, making you whimper.

Logan rolls off you with a satisfied sigh, the fingers still covered in her spit and your slick come up to rub at the area she just licked.

“What about you?” You couldn’t help but ask. For as selfish Logan tries to seem, she really was quite the giver.

“I’m giving you a minute to catch your breath, princess.” She smiles, once again feral and wild. She leans into your ear, a hand coming to you with the hem of the shirt you had sweated through. “I dunno what I like more…” she growls. “You smelling like that or you wearing my shit.”

You exhale heavily. It was gonna be a long day.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

M-May I kindly ask for a Gambit x Reader headcanon but the reader is a mutant who can travel through the shadows but due to their lack of control over their sanity it restrains them from staying in the shadows too long as it drains their awareness and mental stability? And the Reader usually suffers from anxiety and is always so paranoid so they put up a sassy sarcastic persona to hide it from all except Gambit?🥹

Def not inspired by an oc naw naw

A/n: love this so much, the creativity is so just 🤌🏽🤌🏽

remy masterlist ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

𝜗❀᧓ he finds your mutation super fucking awesome and cool. He finds it interesting.

𝜗❀᧓ the both of you quickly became friends when you first joined the school, he was actually your first friend. He quickly falls for you. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t fall for him and his charm.

𝜗❀᧓ you both got together after about a year or two of pining for each other !

𝜗❀᧓ He is pretty observant when it comes to you, and he is quick to pick up on how drained you feel after using your powers. He notices the dark circles under your eyes and the way your smile fades when you have to use your powers during missions.

𝜗❀᧓ he questions you about it, but you just tell him everything’s alright, brushing it off as nothing. You crack a joke, hoping it’ll get him to change the conversation.

But he can see it in your eyes that your lying. He knows you too well. He brushes it off for now, deciding to wait until you both were alone to ask again

𝜗❀᧓ finally, you tell him. You tell him why you barely use your powers, why you don’t use them when you don’t have to. The giant weight being lifted off of your chest feels amazing after you confess and confide in him.

𝜗❀᧓ let’s just say, one time, you’re on a mission with him. There’s an enemy, and you’re lurking in the dark warehouse. He and some of the others are watching from behind, unable to tell what’s going on. It was supposed to be a recon mission.

Something happens, you end up getting hurt before Remy can even reach you. As soon as it happens and he hears your screams, he’s running out faster than anyone else. Running to you.

Basically, he feels horrible, as if it’s his fault. He’s carrying you back into the jet after he takes out the enemies.

“Stay with me, cher.” He’s mumbling out to you when you’re slipping in and out of consciousness.

He knew that traveling in the shadows was dangerous and lessened your awareness, but he let you do it anyways. He felt terrible for a while. But you had to reassure him it wasn’t necessarily his fault, and that you knew the risk and took it.

𝜗❀᧓ safe to say he doesn’t let you go alone after that.

𝜗❀᧓ your paranoia and anxiety also get worse when you’re in the shadows. When he notices your nervous face and your fleeting eyes, he puts his hand over yours. Your hands jerk a bit, flinching at the sudden touch, ready to almost fight him, but you relax, remembering it’s just Remy.

𝜗❀᧓ he also makes sure that you know you don’t have to put up a front in front of him.

“You don’t needa do t’at wit’ Remy.” He tells you quietly when you try to push him away, telling him that he’s being dramatic and that you’re okay when he expresses his concern.

yeah, I’d cry in his arms.

𝜗❀᧓ he’s glad that you feel like you can share a part and pieces of yourself that you can’t share with anyone else. He always is going on about how lucky he is to be yours.

𝜗❀᧓ he also always keeps a lil night light in his room for you. Makes sure that there’s always some sort of light in the room <3

[tesalicious2]

Command Clone Currency

The clones are unpaid and therefore broke. They can’t really pay each other to do things since they have no money so they go for a new currency: favors

Now, the CTs don’t really do it the same as the Commanders because they have to be specific. They can’t return a favor between battalions quickly, due to fighting/locations/schedule. They’re at the whim of the war and pick and choose their repayment time.

The Comanders are different. They trade and barter like crazy. It’s favors with a few cases of alcohol. They can trade favors they are owed to others all the time, so anyone can cash it. They can pull the strings to get their payment quick.

For example, Cody needed a save from a small squad. He knew Delta was on planet doing some mission and he needed a detour but he had no connection or favor. However, Fox (for some reason) did. Cody offered a case of spotchka and a favor Monnk owed in return for having Delta do the detour. Delta owed fox one less favor, Cody owed no favors (which is the best outcome, since Fox WILL cash it) and Fox got something on Monnk and free (very expensive) spotchka.

Few CTs knew they did it this way, and the CT captains such as Rex and Keeli had to quickly adapt to this way of thinking. Rex made the mistake of owing Bacara before anyone told him. Keeli was lucky enough to meet the SpecOps CC Blackout, who clued him in on the difference but left him high and dry when it came to implementing his knowledge. (Keeli ended up owing Blackout two mini guns for his ‘friendly advice’)

Though, when times are tough and there is little time to barter, it is common to put off the payment until after the act is completed. Though many hate doing this as the trading can become unfair. What often happens is the party in need already has a deal prepared and states their need and their payment, it is hardly ever contested (however the helper may tack on another fee which is accepted or denied).

For example, Doom needed backup from Jet’s flame troopers. He quickly called, stated his need, and his payment of a case of charges. Jet had found the payment (though correct in price, unpractical for his squad) and changed it to half a case of fuel (easier for Doom to get a hold of and just as useful as charges to a Demolition team). Doom accepted the terms and Jet’s squad arrived right on time.

Though the bartering is mostly physical, many deal in the intangible. Perfect examples are all of the Coruscant Guard and the Special Operations teams. These are the only two groups who has everyone (including CT shinies) in on this system. They have the least to offer when it comes to normal ops, after all what GAR commander needs to know where a random Senator is going to be at what time or who slept with who. However, this trading info is perfect for the Guard who constantly works with/against (yay embezzlement and blackmail) these same Senators and for the SpecOps who need to know political climates and interpersonal relationships for recon and assassinations.

Most trading goes on between those two, and their prices are often higher since the missions are higher stake. Often Commando Squads are up for bids (who doesn’t want a four man 100% mission completion rate squad in their pocket), blackmail on natborn officers, republic secrets, senators schedules, crime syndicates favor and areas of interest, etc.

For the Guard, their trading goes further. They work with crime syndicates to keep it off the streets while keeping profit up. Those who do not work with them, go down. They’ve gain control of the lower 2000 levels through this and those who do not conform are forced to by the Guard or the citizens of the lower levels who don’t want to deal with the Guard, (peer pressure and bullying at its finest.)

The commanders learned this from watching the Cuy’val Dar, who would often trade on Kamino. The Alphas picked it up and used it but the CCs truly made it valuable beyond belief. The trainers traded for free shifts and booze, the CCs traded for mission successes and heavy artillery.

Many CTs attempt to learn how this system works. However, as few know it’s different, even fewer see the affects; those that do, know well enough to leave it be.

Despite there being no real difference in intelligence between the CCs and CTs, witnessing the speed and weight of the trades, makes even the Jedi’s head spin.

The Padawans are one of the few outsiders to see it in action. They do not really like it, but many pick it up for lesser trades (help with this paper or answers for this homework). Cal Kestis surprisingly picks it up the best. He’s the youngest so very impressionable, eager to learn, his CC Commander Steel, is very good at it, and Steel is possibly the only one to teach their General’s Padawan.

Steel sees that Cal isn’t going to be on the field much (Steel agrees with this and makes sure he stays on the Venator). So, if Cal ever needs help, he knows how to get it. Steel has made him be present for several trades and even made him come up with theoretical ones. Cal becomes very good at it, but is unable to flex his skills much due to the other Padawans unable to match his speed or skill. They are several years older, see it as in-Jedi like or are bad at it (or their Captains are bad at it and can’t teach them well), their concept of value is off (Jedi don’t often put a price on things and those that do have a habit of underselling due to being nice), and/or they do not know the range of what can be traded.

It’s very personal, with different Commanders wanting different things. Knowing who wants what can often make the payment cheaper for the offering party.

For example, the Marines often need heavy snow gear and blankets. So, offering a box of heating blankets in return for a case of bacta and blaster packs. This is a much better deal than offering a case of mini guns for the bacta and blaster packs. In the second case, Bacara may say no the mini guns or want a case of something else along with the mini guns.

[hiddenavenues]

To Outlast The Cold 1/?

Wolverine x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Set against a hauntingly cold wilderness, reader finds themselves facing a vulnerability they haven't known in centuries: mortality. Will the famous Wolverine be able to race against the clock to save what is his?

CW: Descriptions of blood, death, corpse, poisoning, ANGST, hurt, established relationship

Your lungs burn as you suck in all the air you can, your breath clouding in front of you with each pant. The frigid wind howls around you, sending an icy shiver down your spine as it tears through your winter layers. Towering mountains surrounded you with tall pines that have stood for centuries against the frigid climate.

You glance at the crimson staining the snow at your feet, oozing steadily from a cooling corpse beside you. Your fingers twitch with adrenaline from the ambush, warmth pooling deep in your abdomen as your heartbeat thrums in your ears.

Post-fight glow, as you like to call it.

The man had fought until his final breath, but he was destined to falter against the honed skill of immortality. Not bothering to assess the wound that had probably already started to knit itself back together on your abdomen, you listened for the sound of jet engines that had brought you here.

Charles had sent you on a recon mission months ago to assess the threat of a group of mutants wreaking havoc on the local folk. You’d jumped at the opportunity to get some real bloodlust, only to be disappointed when the group did little but dull your blades and bloody your clothes.

The distant sound of snow crunching under boots knocks you out of your thoughts as the wind blows the stranger's smell past you, a wicked grin growing in recognition of Logan’s scent. After spending months hunting in this snow, your footsteps were silent as you slinked deeper into the forest, following where the wind beckoned you closer. You watched from behind trees as Logan prowled, his movements honed from 200 years of practice, but even he was inexperienced compared to you.

Logan stilled, like prey suddenly realizing it was no longer alone.

“We really gonna play these games? I’m fuckin’ freezing my ass out here to come get you,” Logan shouts over the deafening wind, his back facing you. “C’mon darlin’, I ain’t seen you for months, and this is how ya treat me?” Warmth spreads up your spine at his words, your mind tripping over itself at the language you haven’t heard in so long.

You move silently to stand a breath away from Logan’s back, close enough to see the jump of his shoulders when you click your tongue. “Miss me so much you came here personally?” You can’t help the smile that spreads as Logan spins to face you, eyes alight with alarm.

His features shift to delight at your familiar teasing. “Oh, leave it for later.” You don’t have time to rebuttal before Logan crushes you in a hug that has the air wooshing from your lungs. As Logan’s arms wrap around you, a sharp unexpected pain rips through your abdomen, your breath leaving you in a sharp gasp. You bite back a whimper, not wanting to ruin the moment so soon, but Logan’s grip on you falters as he steps back to look at you, the spike in your heart rate undoubtedly alerting him to your situation.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, brows furrowing as he studies your blanching face.

“It’s nothing,” You wince, not fully convincing yourself. “Just a scratch from earlier.”

Logan’s face knots in confusion as his gaze locks onto your cheek. “ I told you it’s fine. No need to get your claws in a twist.”

“Why aren’t you healing?”

“What?” Logan ignores you as he brushes the pad of his thumb along the apple of your cheek. You flinch as you feel an unexpected sting, his finger pulling away red with blood.

“Why aren’t you healing?” He repeats, voice low with barely subdued panic as his gaze rakes over you, landing on a splotch of red soaking through your coat, right over the wound you hadn’t bothered to check. “That’s not healing.”

You try to unbutton your jacket, only to find your fingers pale and tingling, your movements slow and uncoordinated. Nausea roils in your gut as a feeling you haven’t felt in centuries washes over you. Mortality.

A headache starts to thrum at the base of your skull as the adrenaline from earlier begins to wash away. Your legs feel far off and distant as you try to take a step, but your foot doesn’t respond. Instead, a numbing cold crawls outward from the wound, spreading under your skin like frostbite. The world tilts, the snowy ground rising up to you before Logan catches your fall, tucking you into his chest.

“Haven’t felt like this in a long… long time.” You breathe out, each word an effort. You clutch at the throbbing wound with daft and shaking hands. Poison. Some synthetic concoction must have laced the ambusher's knives, halting your enhanced healing.

Logan’s arms tuck behind your shoulder and knees, lifting you gently before beginning to half-sprint back to the jet. “We’re leaving. Now.” He growls, breath fanning your cheek as you rest your head against his shoulder. “Don’t you dare make me watch you die.” His tone is furious, but you catch the tremble in his voice.

You manage a faint, breathless smile. “Never thought I’d see the day Wolverine plays nursemaid.”

“Shut up.” He snaps, but there’s no bite in his words. “You don’t get to leave me.” His voice barely over a whisper and softer than you’ve ever heard him before. “Not after everything.” Logan’s hand finds yours, squeezing your fingers so tight it hurts. The warmth from his palm melts into you, anchoring you against the numbness threatening to consume you.

In the distance, you hear the unmistakable sound of jet engines cutting through the haze in your mind. The snow swirls around you, a wash of blinding white. Through the fog, memories of long ago resurface. Summers as a child when times were so simple, faces of friends and lovers long since passed, and echos of laughter carried on warm breezes, now haunting in the cold.

Throughout it all, for the last 200 years of memories, was him. Always there at the end of a long day, always ready to guard your back. A pang of sadness swells; the thought of leaving him after so many decades together has tears running down your wind-burned cheeks.

“Hey, hey- none of that,” Logan’s voice breaks with emotion, betraying his gruff expression. “Stay with me.” You cling to the sound of his voice. Your gaze slides to his as you open your mouth to speak, but words fail as you catch the terror in his gaze. You tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing in a silent promise as the cold seeps deeper. Logan’s face blurs, the edges of your vision dimming as your eyes grow heavy.

Your eyelids fall shut, trusting Logan to get you, or at least your body, back safe. You feel Logan's lips on your cheek whispering words into your skin, but no matter how hard you strain to listen, all you can hear is roaring. Then nothing.

---

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���┆✦ʚ・MASTERLIST・ɞ✦ ┆・

・┆✦ʚ・ABOUT ME/SUBMIT A REQ・ɞ✦ ┆・

[aste-te05]

Would you fall in love with me again?

A Optimus Prime x Human! Reader fic

Chapter 2: Problems Follow You

"Well this was a pretty positive outcome I'd say, I was pretty sure it was going to be a bit more..." he begins towards you pausing as you look at him and cock a brow. This man is really starting to get on your nerves, maybe if you get on Optimus' good side you can even have him banned from the base.

"Poorly?" you add. He looks at you and gives you an affirmative nod, shrugging as he does so.

You shake your head, not amused at the situation and choosing from now on, to just let whatever this agent- or general- say go in one ear and through the next. His poor choice of throwing you into the metaphorical deep end of the pool before letting you acclimate to the water is going to bite him in the ass later.

"So what now agent Fowler? Do I need to do a 'Welcome To The Team!' Quiz?" You say sarcastically, Optimus, whether it be his own choice, or him not wanting to leave you alone since if you ever got the chance you'd rip Fowler's head off his shoulders. Has been standing next to the two of you, watching the shit show unfold slowly as he continues to keep an eye on your already seemingly shaken frame, which more or less, kind of freaks you out.

"I think the next step is to get you introduced to the base and the rest of the team. You'll be staying with them until your house is done so it's best to get used to your new... housemates." Oh if he wasn't on thin ice before he is now,

He gives you a slight look, guiding you to what you assumed is the "hangout spot" or "main room" of the base. Optimus continues to linger in the area as he watches your eyes trace the ladders and platforms of your new place of residency. He watches in mild amusement every time you give Fowler a small scowl, or look of disgust. Between all the humans he's met in his lifetime you stood out to him. Continuing to monitor you both, he begins to remember the conversation he had earlier with Agent Fowler, it replays through his head loud and clear.

"She's one in a billion Prime, are you sure you want her on your team? I swear up and down there was steam coming up out of her ears when she saw what happened to her house. Thought she'd have to be restrained even." Whether it was Fowler exaggerating or just giving him the plain truth, Optimus gave no care for it. Fowler has been briefing him here and there ever since the incident. He can't help but feel guilty in a small sense. He was there, He saw what happened to your house, more so who happened.

It was suppose to be a recon mission, an energon mine has been sensed nearby and he took it upon himself and Bulkhead to investigate and do a perimeter check. Upon searching for the mine he found your house, a three story monstrosity, surrounded by open fields that seemed to go on for miles on end . He couldn't help but be charmed by your yard work with the vibrant flowers you planted all those years ago, the fairy lights you strung on your back patio, furnished with pieces of furniture and what he thought was a fireplace. It was a humble piece of work and he couldn't help but take it all in, he admired humans and their creativity he more so lacked himself. Turning away he looked at Bulkhead who seemed to be staring at his tracking device that sat in his hand rather worriedly.

"Seems like we got some special guests." They both looked at the sky to hear the sudden sound of jets flying ahead of them, he knew those weren't human jets, the way they moved, the way they glided like they owned the skies. He was all too familiar with the sight of Starscream and his Armada. In a flash the flying jets transformed mid air, landing in the soft grass behind where he and Bulkhead stood.

"Keep them away from the humans home Bulkhead, we must leave with no evidence that we were here." Optimus ordered, moving into something similar to a battle stance as Bulkhead did the same, nodding as he took note of Prime's order. Optimus knew how clumsy Bulkhead could be, how he doesn't monitor his surroundings as well. He vowed that this would be a battle fought swiftly and cleanly.

"You really think you'll leave without any fresh marks Prime!? How foolish of you both." The seekers shrill voice played through his head, it rung and pounded him like a hammer.

"I will see to it myself Starscream, that the only one leaving with fresh marks, is you." He draws out his energy blaster, ready for the offense attack.

----

"You okay Prime? Lost in your own bot fantasies or something?" Fowlers voice rang through the Primes mind as he snapped back to reality. He stayed standing confused as he looked at the pair. Only to see you yourself lost in thought as well, all the while glaring at the agent beside you. A sight that made Optimus smile to himself every so slyly.

"Sorry to interrupt, we were just about to take a look at the weapons room, care to join? so you can keep an eye on her?" The special agent remarks, giving you an odd look. Optimus can only nod silently as he continues to follow the two earthlings fairly close behind, keeping his eyes on the back of the females head, watching and waiting. Almost like he was scared she'd suddenly disappear after he just promised no harm would come onto the small human. Like something was just going to swallow her from the ground and take her away from here.

----

As you listen to Fowlers tour of the base you can't help but grow bored of the mans many speeches. Since when did you need a tutorial on how to survive a robot playground? Last you heard there wasn't such a thing. You take notes of the many towering doors your group passes, maybe they're the robots bedrooms, best to stay out of those. Not that you'd even run around here without supervision, this wasn't your home so you'll stay in one place majority of your stay. As you continue to walk the long winding hallway, you find your legs growing tired, a yawn escapes your already sleep deprived body, as you shoot Fowler a quick apology and cover your mouth you glance back at Optimus. your shocked to find him already staring back at you.

Has he been doing that the entire time?

You smile and give him a slight wave, turning your attention back to the tour, relief washing over you as you find yourselves back in the main room, seeming that the halls were just a simple long loop. Thank god.

"Alright well I'll be off then, base called and they said they need my assistance else where." You shoot the man another mean look. He seems to almost shrink under your gaze.

After everything that's happened he's going to leave you?? Just like that?? what an absolute asshole of a guy.

After a few awkward seconds Fowler continues to let out a small chuckle quickly rushing towards the elevator, and hurriedly gets inside, as he presses the button to the top, he gives a stern salute to you and Optimus before the pair of doors close on him.

As the sound of the elevator fades, you can't help but sway where you stood, like a little kid swishing their arms around as they wait for their mom to stop talking to the cashier at the register. You continue to sweat, looking around to say something, ANYTHING to keep this conversation between you and the big boss bot going. Finding nothing to say, you sigh before you turn to look up at him.

"So uh Optimus, I don't assume you have a bed I could possibly stay in for the duration of my time here? I'm sorry if it's rude to ask or if this is against your rules of hospitality but-" You pause momentarily, not wanting to get caught in a long rant you just sigh. "-I'm sorry that was rude, I just need to rest if that's okay." you admit, the lack of sleep hit you like a bus since you found your home in ruins. You had to rely to sleeping in your Jeep of all things, a bed was all you could really ask for in this case.

Optimus seems to be in deep thought, looking around the base searching for somewhere comfortable he could keep you, somewhere where he wouldn't have to worry about. It was this, that made you realize he did not in fact have a place for you to stay. Not a bed nor anything comfortable for you to rest on.

"It seems that Special Agent Fowler has not yet informed me that you would be in need of furniture to rest. If you need, I'll call him to let him know of the complication and we'll soon get it figured out. My apologies." He proceeded to put his finger to what you assumed was a com link of sorts. Not wanting to hear the complaints of the man of many words himself you tell him there's no need to bother him at this time so soon, that you'll easily find a place to lay.

The giant seems almost unsure, as he gives you a short apology. you reassure him and allow yourself to walk around in search of somewhere to safely snooze.

God this is gonna be the worst few months of my life.

__________________________________________

GOT ANY ONE SHOT IDEAS OR THOUGHTS YOU’D LIKE TO SHARE ON THE STORY!? My inbox is open feel free to ask or say anything I’m all ears! Everyone’s Welcome!

BIG ANNOUNCEMENT, After every saga I will be making an animatic based off of the story so once this ends feel free to look out for it <3 links will be posted at appropriate times

!!STORY IS ONGOING PLEASE BE PATIENT!!

-Jen

[mamawasatesttube]

snowglobe

T | 1/3 | 9k | timkon fake honeymoon at a ski lodge - written for @mijashdi for konville secret santa! ♥

Sure, Tim, Kon would love to be your fake husband on a fake honeymoon to a ski lodge in a remote winter wonderland! Going snowboarding together, cuddling up in front of the wood stove with some hot chocolate, and spying on some shady dealings with some weapons smugglers upstream from Gotham... What's not to love? He's here for it! Like, it's just a recon mission. And they get to hang out. And Kon can maybe even put the moves on his fake hubby-wubby and net a real boyfriend in the process. Win, win, win! Seriously. What could possibly go wrong?

“Hey!”

Tim’s laughter rings out as Kon yelps and turns aside, shielding his face with his arms. Snow jets up, spraying at him from the edge of Tim’s snowboard as Tim skids to a halt.

Kon lifts his head, dusts snow from his arms, and reaches over to playfully bonk the top of Tim’s head with a gloved fist. “You did that on purpose!”

Tim’s answering grin is nothing short of exuberant as he tugs his balaclava down to his chin. His cheeks are flushed from the cold and from exertion, and even behind his goggles, his eyes sparkle with the golden evening sunlight. He laughs again and swats Kon’s shoulder with a gloved hand. “Yeah, obviously.”

He leans down to unbuckle his boots from his board—rookie mistake. Kon, who’s already unstrapped himself from his snowboard, easily gets a hand on him and shoves him over, sending him sprawling into a pile of slush.

Tim squawks. “Hey!”

{ read on ao3! }

[cardinal-crossing]

Hello! I bring more Take To Flight AU! I am having a lot of fun with this AU, and it's revived a lot of my creativity. I feel I've been burnt out for the most part for a while now, and I think doing something for myself again has been really fun!

Lore Under the Cut!

So, it's a very loose story so far; all regions are connected on a map (the map will be below under the explanation). Basically, Team Rainbow Rocket has come across a very gritty version of a Pokemon universe, where Pokemon are still, for the most part, very wild, very few being kept as pets and even fewer being trained; some animals have jobs, like the Furfrou in the image, it is a hunting dog as well as a rescue dog when the time arrives, seeking out and retrieving objects or people. This universe utilizes old technology, such as planes, radios, etc., to function. The discourse between the regions mainly brought scientific development to a halt. Team Rainbow Rocket sees this as an easy opportunity to claim yet another AU in its quest to take over the multiverse. However, the people in this universe fight back, which is the first time in a very long time that all of the regions come together to work towards a goal, and scientific development booms during this time. Specifically, Ingo and Emmet are pilots in the Unovan Air Force and are part of a Recon Team in their trust De Havilland Mosquito, which is a wooden plane that was used for recon but also used as a nuisance bomber during World War II. On a mission to do recon in the East, they get intercepted by two fighter jets (I haven't decided which ones) and are separated from their group and put into a 2 v 1 dogfight, which doesn't end well. The fighter jets attacking them are from their Universe's Evil team, which I haven't really designed yet, but we are getting there.

Ingo, Emmet, and their navigator, Colress, are shot down; each is able to eject in a timely manner and deploy parachutes. However, Ingo and Emmet are vastly separated by dense forest and mountain ranges. Emmet and Colress are near enough to each other that they find each other quickly. However, Ingo is in a tight spot some people from a small village near Kalos find him. All three of them sustained injuries, Ingo of course, getting amnesia from hitting his head, Emmet was slightly impaled by a stick, and Colress is having a time^tm (I haven't really decided for him yet, but we will see) The map is very loosely drawn, I am not a map maker, but I was having fun and that was the important part to me. Also note the region of Kardin is my own fan region which I haven't really talked about but I am working on a side thing for that.

Thank you so much for reading my ramblings I appreciate it a lot.