#tgm au

[shakespeareanwannabe]

Oh man, as a teacher, my blood is BOILING! I’ve fortunately never had a principal play mind games like that with their staff but I can imagine it and it only makes me angrier for Javy and Roadie!

False Confidence: Chapter 17

Pairing: Javy “Coyote” Machado x Reader

Part of the San Diego Dogfighters universe

Summary: The Athletic named Javy Machado the fifth sluttiest player in the NHL last year. He’s a known playboy who leaves every game with a different girl. As far as he’s concerned he’s living the dream, playing his dream job with the dream lifestyle. Unfortunately his friends and bosses don’t agree. At 33, they think it’s time for him to settle down. You’re a kindergarten teacher at an esteemed private school. You don't expect much when you finally accept your colleague’s invitation to attend her husband’s hockey game but when you accidentally get separated in the post-game rush, you find yourself in a compromising situation with the last person you’d ever expected to meet. When his PR rep suggests a mutually beneficial agreement, your hands are tied. How long will you have to keep up the act? And how long will you be able to?

Series CW: 18+ ONLY, swearing, angst, fluff, fake relationship, suggestive language, anxiety, school system inaccuracies, hockey inaccuracies etc. There will be individual chapter warnings. No use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4.9k

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The boys are officially out of town. Every time they leave you think it’ll get easier, but it doesn’t. Your stupid heart is getting more used to having Javy around and now every road trip feels like you’ve had a vital organ ripped out. It’s not even just Javy, you miss all of them. You’ve started falling into an easy rhythm. You leave work and drive to the stadium, grading papers and making lesson plans in the stands while you wait for practice to wrap up. Then you usually end up going out afterward, whether it’s to karaoke, game night at Casa Floydcia, or dinner at Jake’s house. Slowly, you’re getting more and more integrated into this little family. It’s barely been a few weeks and yet you already feel like you’ve been a part of this world for your whole life. Everyone is so welcoming and eager to have you around, and now you’re wondering what you’ll do after work tonight. You’ll most likely end up at the Fitch’s house, helping Josie with the kids and seeking the company you’re sorely missing. It’s not even like you’ve had to go cold turkey, your phone has been buzzing almost nonstop this morning between Javy’s “good morning” texts and the two new group chats you've been added to, one for the whole group, and one with all the girls.

You chuckle to yourself as you put your phone on Do Not Disturb before checking what’s going on. Jake’s sent a photo that must have been taken on the team jet of Mickey and Bob sleeping on each other’s shoulders, mouths slack with drool oozing out of the corner of Mickey’s mouth. Zam’s devious grin can be spotted in the row behind them where she’s holding up her own phone. You can’t help but be jealous of her, Bugs, Nat, and Dragon who get to travel with the boys full-time since they work on staff. You laugh react the message and almost immediately your phone starts ringing, Javy’s face popping up on your screen. You answer the FaceTime call and your heart flutters as Javy comes into focus. You can see the hotel room behind him and you wave in response to his gesture.

“Hey, Meep! I know you probably can’t talk long, but I figured if you were texting then you weren’t in class so I just wanted to check in and say hi! I hope you have a great day, beautiful!” Your cheeks warm under his sweet words but you don’t have long to swoon as a voice pipes up in the background.

“Who’s on the phone? Is that Roadie? Hi Roadie!” Jake’s figure crashes into frame as he tackles Javy and grins into the camera.

You laugh at his antics. The more you get to know Jake, the more you’re convinced that he’s a human golden retriever. “Hi, Jake! How was the flight?” Jake grins deviously.

“You saw the picture?” You nod and Jake laughs, throwing an arm around Javy. “Same old, same old. I wish you were here with us!” He pouts. “I’m so used to the girls being around all the time, it feels weird not having you here.”

“Josie never comes,” Javy points out and Jake waves him off.

“I know, I know, but she’s got mom stuff,” you snort at that. “I guess Roadie’s got ‘professional’ mom stuff. Just think, she could be teaching a future Dogfighter!” Jake falls backward dramatically onto the bed that he and Javy are sitting on. “Take care of our youth, Roadie, you’re our only hope!” He throws a hand over his forehead and you roll your eyes.

“See what I have to put up with?” Javy jabs and Jake kicks a foot in his direction that Javy catches, yanking on it. Jake tries to shake him off, and the phone wobbles in Javy’s grasp.

“Alright boys, I need to finish setting up for class, but it’s good to hear from you. Have a great day and stay safe!”

“You planning to watch the game tonight?” Javy asks and you nod.

“Definitely, I’ll have it on while I’m grading, though I might go over to Josie’s tonight and watch it with her.

“Sounds good, have a good day too, Meep.”

“Good luck! Pass it on to the rest of the guys! Bye!” The boys salute and then your screen goes dark. You heave a deep sigh. You wish you were there too. The idea of teaching a lesson today feels exhausting. You open your laptop to check if you have any new emails and pause as you spot the most recent one. It’s from the principal. Your stomach drops as you open it, and nerves kick up in your gut as you read its content. Principal Jackson wants to meet with you after school today. You wrack your brain, trying to think of what he might want to discuss. Perhaps he’s finally gotten to your field trip proposal to have the kids visit Hard Deck Arena? Your heart stops. Suddenly, you have a very good idea of what he wants to talk about. Nausea fills your stomach and you close your laptop as you do your best to steady your breath. You can’t do this now, your class will be here soon. You squeeze your eyes shut, your heartbeat speeding up as your breath gets more shallow. Your eyes snap back open, and you look at the clock. You don’t have time for this. It’s getting harder for you to breathe. You reach out for your phone, your hand clutching it tightly, trying to let the pain of your case digging into your hand ground you. You need a distraction. You turn your phone on, tapping a number and you try to time your breaths with the ringing tone as you wait for the other person to pick up.

“Hey Roadie, what’s up?” Nat’s voice is cheerful on the line and you try to focus on that.

“I need you to talk to me. About anything, please. I just need to hear you talk.”

“What’s going on?” You hear the concern seep into her voice.

“I’m about to have a panic attack, and I really don’t have time for that right now. My students will be here soon, I need to get this under control. So I need a distraction, something I can focus on.”

“Okay, okay. Let me think, you just need me to talk? I can talk.”

“Tell me about Charlie.” The words come out quickly. “You promised me we’d talk about it after Family Day.” You need something you can focus on so you pick something that you’ll actually care about, that you can force yourself to listen to and process.

“Charlie?! Right now? Fine, fine, okay.” Nat sounds flustered but she takes it in stride. “Well he’s a lawyer, and he’s grumpy and broody, but unfortunately he’s built like a dream boat. Sure he hasn’t played competitive hockey in years, but he looks like he works out at athlete levels. Bugs talks about him a lot, I think they're pretty close, but he’s never come around before, even though he works in LA. Which is ridiculous, by the way. He’s literally so close to San Diego and he never comes to his sister’s games? Like I know Bugs doesn’t actually play, but it would be nice to have him around. He’s been talking with Jake about the possibility of starting a lawsuit against the Dallas Stars over the mistreatment of his leg injury last season, so I think that’s the real reason he showed up at Family Day, to begin with. Bugs said he used to play hockey, like all three of them did, and he played all through college but then he didn’t get drafted and I guess he didn’t get a professional contract he felt good about so he quit hockey and went to law school. But hey, I guess it worked out because now he’s a big-shot sports lawyer and gets to represent all kinds of athletes. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the same as playing, but, at least in my case, I love at least being involved in the game even if I can’t play, you know? I just love hockey and the thought of doing anything else is impossible.” You’re nodding along silently as Nat’s voice does the trick. Your breathing has evened out and while you’re slumped across your desk, exhausted, you’re as close to normal as you can get right now.

“Roadie, you okay over there?” Nat pauses concern back in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you,” you say, closing your eyes as you start to collect yourself. Your students will be here any minute. “I need to go, it’s almost eight, but thank you, really. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, I’m glad I could help. I know you need to go, but we’re talking about this later. I won’t tell Javy because I know if you wanted him to know, you would have called him instead, but I’m not letting you just brush this under the rug. Don’t think you’re getting away that easily.” You smile tiredly, nodding even if Nat can’t see it.

“Fine, okay.”

“Good stuff. Hope your day goes by quickly so you can go home and rest. And do rest, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mom,” you mutter and Nat chuckles.

“Damn right. See you later, Roadie.” You wish her goodbye before you sit up straight, mentally preparing yourself to shift back into work mode. It’s going to be a long day, but now you’re dreading the end of it with the meeting with Principal Jackson capping it off.

***

By the time you reach Principal Jackson’s office not long after the final bell rings, you’ve made your peace with whatever you’re about to be told. You have little doubt that this has something to do with the conversation you had with Allison last week. You’ve spent the last week trying to forget it happened, but unfortunately, life has other plans. You knock on the closed wooden door and are immediately ushered in. Dan Jackson sits behind a heavy wooden desk that’s probably as old as the school. The surface is covered with stacks of various paperwork dotted with picture frames and the odd tchotchke. He gestures at you to sit in a chair across from him and you do.

“Ms. Roadie, thank you for taking the time to meet with me today. I know it’s last minute, but I thought it would be best to have this conversation as soon as possible. Over the last week I’ve received several emails from various parents in your class expressing concern over your professionalism lately, particularly regarding a recent overlap of your personal and professional lives.” So your suspicions were correct. What surprised you, however, was the mention of multiple parents expressing concern. Throughout the rest of your parent-teacher conferences, not a single other parent than Allison had brought up your relationship with Javy.

“Excuse me, Principal Jackson, did you say multiple parents? Because I’ve only had one parent express concern to me directly and I assured her that I would consider my actions more carefully in the future. I consider the issue closed.” The words feel sticky in your mouth but you try to deliver them with confidence and poise, hoping to make it clear that you have the situation under control. Principal Jackson frowns and you feel like the floor is about to open up underneath you and swallow you whole.

“Well, whether they came to you or not, I’ve had several parents contact me, both electronically and in person. Between me and you, most of these parents are prone to cry wolf over the littlest thing, so most of the time I just humor their complaints, assure them we’ll deal with them internally, and go on with my day.” You feel the nerves in your stomach start to ease until he speaks up again. “However, Allison Jennings, the president of the PTA, brought up an important point during her meeting with me, and that’s the reflection your relationship with such a public figure casts on the school. While thankfully, the Dogfighters’ PR team has been able to keep the details of your employment from the media up until now, should you continue your relationship with Mr. Machado, it's likely to come out eventually. Acacia Academy is a prestigious institution and the last thing we need is paparazzi invading our premises and disturbing the students’ learning environment.”

You clench your jaw as you realize exactly what Principal Jackson is insinuating even as he tiptoes around blatantly saying it aloud. Unfortunately, you’re exhausted, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and you’re tired of his games. “What exactly are you saying, Principal Jackson?” You can barely keep the hardness out of your voice even as your hands shake uncontrollably in your lap.

He sighs, lips tightening into a firm line. “I was hoping you could pick this up without things getting uncomfortable, Ms. Roadie, but clearly you need me to be blunt. You need to cease your relationship with Mr. Machado if you intend to continue working here at Acacia Academy.” He sits back in his chair as your world falls apart around you.

“Y-you, you can’t do that.” The shake of your hands travels up to your voice even as you clench your fists in an attempt to stop your trembling. “That’s illegal.”

Principal Jackson barks out a laugh that makes you flinch. “Well, obviously, it won’t seem as cut and dry on the surface. The school year is mostly over, however, and we have yet to discuss your contract for next year. So should you fail to terminate your relationship with Mr. Machado, I would consider looking elsewhere for employment next year. ‘Acacia Academy will be moving in a different direction next year and we didn’t find your methods complementary to our new focus, so we simply had to let you go.’ Tragic.”

You can’t believe this. When you’d walked into the office, you’d expected a similar conversation to the one you had with Allison, and now here you were facing an ultimatum that put your very job on the line. This can’t be happening. It's almost laughable, really, how you’d agreed to a relationship with Javy to save the very job that’s now being threatened because of that relationship. A dry laugh of disbelief escapes your lips and you shake your head at the irony.

It’s all ridiculous, really. More than a few of the students at Acacia are the children of government office employees, professional athletes, and even a few low-level celebrities. The school’s legal and security team works to give them the closest possible experience to a regular school. Hell, Josie’s married to a hockey player, her kids are his kids too. Reuben comes to Career Day, visits Josie at lunch, picks up his kids, and even attends school events. And yet here you are staring down the barrel of a metaphorical gun because you’ve invited Javy to school a few times.

You love your job. You love your kids. You love being the one who gets to show them the world at such a young age. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. But you also love Javy. Your stomach twists in a different way as you think the words for the first time. You expect a new wave of panic as you turn that four-letter word over in your head, sounding it out, but you don’t feel anything. If anything you feel solid, sure, it’s like the word itself grounds you even as your brain spirals out over the situation at hand. You love Javy. The world sees the worst of him, and it’s what’s landed you here today, but you’ve seen the real him. He’s still messy, but all people are. Under all that mess he’s a talented teammate, a thoughtful friend, a caring partner, and a good man.

“I have another meeting, Ms. Roadie, but if I were you, I would think long and hard on what we’ve discussed today.” Principal Jackson dismisses with a long look before he turns to his computer, leaving you sitting numbly across the table.

Pangs of physical pain cramp at your stomach even as your face twists into a weary but hopeful smile. “Thank you, Principal Jackson, I will.” When you stand up, your legs tremble, but they gain strength with every step you take away from his office. You're not going to give Javy up, but you’re not going to go down without a fight. You fought for your kids once before, and you’ll fight for them again. You work hard, and you care about your kids more than you do yourself most days. You love them and they love you. You’re not the scared little roadrunner anymore. Javy deserves to have someone fight for him for once. He’s fought for you time and time again, and now it’s your turn. You search up an address on your phone as you turn your car on, your heart set on making things right.

***

The sleek office building is cold and foreboding and you’re thankful that you’re wearing a slightly nicer dress today and not something less formal like your beloved overalls. Even still, you feel grossly underdressed as you fidget in place as the elevator climbs higher and higher. Your stomach drops with nerves as the floors increase and you start to doubt your decision to come here. Maybe you should have just called Zam. She would probably know what to do, but the boys have a game tonight and she probably has her hands full. The elevator dings signaling that you’ve reached your floor and you step out into a fancy lobby filled with sleek furniture that matches the general vibe of the building. A receptionist looks up from her computer and you try to ignore the confused once-over she gives you as you approach her desk. Your hands are clutched together to keep them from shaking and you will your voice not to tremble as you give her a nervous smile.

“Hi, I’m here to see Attorney Wallace.” She arches a skeptical eyebrow.

“Do you have an appointment?” Your stomach sinks and you hesitate. Truth be told, you hadn’t thought this far ahead. What would Josie do?

“He’s expecting me.” The lie feels dirty on your tongue but you can’t give up now. You told yourself that you would fight for Javy and you’re not about to fail before you even get a chance to try. The receptionist doesn’t look convinced. You give her your name. “I’m a friend of his sister’s.” She simply stares at you for a long moment before she sighs and picks up a phone, dialing what you assume must be Charlie’s extension. You listen to the sound of the ring before an unintelligible voice on the other line.

“Attorney Wallace, I have a lady here who says you're expecting her, claims she’s a friend of your sister’s or something?” She gives your name and you wonder if the jig is up and you’ll be sent away with your tail between your legs. You wait with bated breath until she nods. “Yes, of course.” She hangs up the receiver before sighing and giving you a tired look that tells you she truly can’t be bothered to care whichever way this turns out. “Corner office,” you blink in surprise. She turns back to her computer, leaving you to contemplate the fact that your ruse just worked.

You stumble as you speed walk down the hallway next to the reception desk. Most of the doors are shut and you repress the desire to sneak down the hall rather than walking as if you belong. When you finally reach the last door, you hesitate. You’ve made it this far by some miracle. You can’t give up now. And yet your heart is in your throat. It takes all your remaining nerve to knock on the door. It opens almost as soon as your knuckles hit the wood.

“Well, well, this is definitely a surprise.” Charlie Wallace smirks down at you and you swallow, hard. “Come on in, let’s chat.” You follow behind him nervously, as he leans half-perched on a large wooden desk. Its surface is neat as a pin but his suit jacket is awkwardly strewn across the back of his chair, and his tie hangs off one of the arms. You sit down in the chair across from his desk. “So, what brings you here, Roadie?” You start in surprise. You haven’t had a single conversation with Charlie, since he’d lingered apart from the main group during family day aside from Nat chatting with him. “You’re not a professional athlete as far as I know,” he delivers the line dryly but you see the faint twinkle of something like curiosity in his eyes.

“I, uh,” you hesitate, “I need legal advice, and you’re the only lawyer I know, or at least know of. I know this isn’t your area of business but I also know you have to study all the general areas in law school, so I thought you could help.” Charlie considers this, nodding slowly before he fixes his intense gaze on you again.

“So should we discuss the consultation fee upfront or afterward?” Your eyes widen in surprise, hands clenching the fabric of your skirt.

“I…” you’re not exactly low on funds per se but a teacher’s salary isn’t going to be enough to pay for a lawyer, especially not one in an office as nice as this. But you promised yourself that you’d fight, and you can’t let money get in the way of that. You’ll find a way to make it work. “We can do it afterward,” you say with a hard swallow and the edge of Charlie’s mouth tilts upward.

“I’m kidding,” he says and you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “I’m not in the habit of exploiting friends of friends, and I’m sure if I even tried to charge you, my sister would put me in an early grave. She’s quite fond of you.” Your cheeks heat at that information as he continues. “She told me about you back when you first got involved with the team. She wanted me on standby in case things got hairy in the legal department. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t decide to press charges, you could have gotten a sizable settlement.” He gives you a pointed look and you shake your head.

“I didn’t want to make any more of a scene, not to mention that I can’t afford a lawyer.” You snap your mouth shut the moment the words leave your mouth as your cheeks flame with mortified embarrassment.

To his credit, Charlie doesn’t bat an eye even when you’re sure none of his clients suffer from this kind of problem, he just nods and steers the conversation back on track. “So, Roadie, what can I help you with?”

“Oh, uh, I’m having issues with my boss at the school where I work.” You explain Principal Jackson’s relationship ‘suggestion’ from a few months ago, explaining how things with you and Javy had started, then the instances when he’d visited the school, your conversation with Allison, and ending with the meeting you’d had with Principal Jackson this afternoon.

Charlie listens raptly, shifting so he’s perched on the edge of his desk as you talk and you’re struck by how much he reminds you of the guys on the team. Sure, he’s dressed sharply in a tailored suit, and he clearly puts a great deal of care into how he looks, but the rumpled jacket and strewn tie tell you that he’s not always so straight-laced and it reminds you of how you’ve seen the boys squirm in their game-day suits. They look great, but a more critical eye can tell they’d be much more comfortable in their jerseys and pads. You think back to what Nat mentioned about how Charlie seems to be in athlete shape regardless of his ‘retired’ status. Seeing this subtle side of him makes you feel more at ease than you did when you first got here.

When you finish explaining your situation, Charlie is silent for a long moment before he speaks up. “Well, you’re right, that is highly illegal, but it sounds like this isn’t Jackson’s first rodeo. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows how to make it all look above board. It definitely doesn’t help that Acacia is a private school and an extremely well-funded one at that. I think a few of my clients have children who attend there. But before I give you any advice, what do you want? What’s your objective? I need to understand your perfect outcome so I can figure out how to proceed.”

You nod in understanding. “I’d love to keep my job. I love working at Acacia even if the politics are exhausting. The kids have always been my first priority and it doesn’t matter who their parents are or how wealthy they are, they still deserve to be loved. I love my students, and I know I could teach anywhere and there are lots of kids that need good teachers, but Acacia fits well into my personal workplace needs and I’m comfortable there. Well, as comfortable as I can be. But I also want to keep my relationship with Javy. I know they’re married so there are different standards, but Josie and Reuben are allowed to keep their relationship and their jobs while Reuben’s allowed and even celebrated for participating in the school’s activities. I’d love to have that too.”

Charlie nods, thoughtful. “Well, like you said, Principal Jackson probably won’t fire you before the end of the year, so you have some time. If you’re serious about keeping your relationship with Javy, then stand your ground and keep dating him. Don’t change anything in that department. But I think you’re right in saying that maybe he shouldn’t come around the school for a bit. Present your best image. Keep doing your job and show them that you’re more than capable of having both your job and your relationship. I’d try to keep any scandal out of the news, but from what I see, Javy’s public image is cleaner than it's been in years. I’d talk to Zam, see what she can do about pushing the narrative in the right direction.“ He swipes his hand in the air mimicking a newspaper headline. “‘Javy Machado’s finally found the one. Non-celebrity girlfriend tames the tiger.’ It feels cheesy and fake but that’s what the public wants. Make yourself a saint and they’ll think twice about making you a martyr.”

You nod even as your stomach curdles in disgust. You hate getting any kind of attention from the press and the idea of playing into the angelic girlfriend image makes you feel dirty. Charlie must notice your discomfort because his expression softens slightly and he gives you a tired half-smile. “I know it’s probably not the answer you wanted, and hey sometimes actions speak louder than words. I’m just giving you advice, it’s up to you whether you decide to follow it.” He shrugs. “I can’t promise you that it’ll work and you’ll get to keep your job, but as long as you keep fighting for it, there’s always a chance.”

You nod in understanding, “thank you, Charlie. I really appreciate it. I wasn’t sure I was even going to make it through the door.” You admit and Charlie gives you a rueful look that makes him look especially boyish.

“In my opinion, there’s nothing more admirable than when someone really wants something and doesn’t let the fear of failure stop them. From what my sister told me about you, I know it wasn’t easy for you to come here today, especially when we haven’t really talked before. Call me curious, even if my receptionist is probably going to ensure this becomes the talk of the office for the next week.” He shakes his head with a low laugh and you smile.

You’re struck by the fact that behind his brooding and grumpy demeanor, as Nat would call it, he’s more like his sister than he looks. That’s what gives you the confidence to ask, “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” Charlie looks slightly confused but finds a sticky note and pen for you and you pull out your phone before scribbling onto the paper, folding it, and handing it to him. He takes it, arching a questioning eyebrow at you and you smile as you stand up.

“I may not be able to afford a lawyer, but that doesn’t mean I can’t thank you for the consultation.” He glances down at the paper, still folded in his hand as you make your way to the door. “Thanks again for your time, Charlie, and good luck.” He returns the sentiment and you see yourself out of the office, texting Nat as you head back to your car.

“Thanks again for this morning, I’m sending a little ‘thank you’ present your way.”

A/N: Things are definitely escalating…

[sunlightmurdock]

Operation Apollo | 2.8 | Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

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Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warning: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, manipulation, sucky parents, grief and manipulation, lying, distressing themes throughout but especially towards the end of the chapter. Graphic violence, dangerous situations, revenge, wc: 3.5k

For as long as you can remember, you had known that your father was going to be president. It was always discussed as a given. It was the coup de grace; he had been working towards it much longer than you had even been alive.

Those fourteen hour work days, and sleepless nights. The hard decisions and the time away from his family. All along, Matthew had sworn that it would be worth it. It would, one day, be enough.

Then, the first set of polls came in after those primary debates the summer before his first election run and with it, intel that Matthew plunged a sixth of his savings in to. Politics and bribery go hand in hand across most of the world; this wasn’t even the first step off of the beaten path. 

The intel was clear as day; It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough. All of that time, and work, and desperation that he poured into his career, it wasn’t going to be enough to win him the presidency. The guarantee was next to nil.

But there was still time.

He remembers one evening, in particular, sitting with his advisors in his home office, and just sobbing. Every birthday he had missed, every milestone — it was all going to be for nothing. 

“Look, Matt,” Arnie had said, stubbing his thin rolled cigarette out into a crystal ashtray and sitting back in the leather arm chair, sinking into it like the lazy waste of space that he was. He was a good friend of the family back then. “There’s still time. We’ve got options, buddy. Plenty of ‘em.” 

Matthew had rolled his neck back slowly — he still remembers the stress-induced stiffness those days had caused him —  and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, Arnie? — And what options are those?” It was a biting remark, untrusting and downright hateful by that point. Arnie had promised many things already, and rarely had delivered. On the times that Matthew thinks back to his twenty year friendship with Arnold Paulson, he finds himself glad that that asshole now resides six feet under.

The older guy had just shrugged, letting that snide little smile creep across his face. “I know a guy. I think he might be able to, uh… help you out. For a fee, if you get where I’m coming from.”

Ellis Armstrong. After three days, and more phone calls than you care to remember, you have a name. He’s a business-man, and a rather successful one at that. Works in corporate development — he’s not hidden from the public eye like you would expect a guy like this to be.

No, he’s got thirteen offices spanning three continents and a portfolio that would put the Forbes list to shame. Once upon a time, he had been a friend of the family. It’s easy to piece together the headshot of him sitting at the wide, mahogany desk in his new office and the fuzzy memories of the tall man in your father’s office late at night.

You remember him distinctly. The sound your bare feet had made, tiptoeing down that long, curving staircase in the old house. Far past your bedtime, your princess nightgown grazing your ankles. The halls dark, illuminated by lights pouring out from under doors. The house was never really empty back then. Pushing open the heavy pocket doors that separated your father’s office from the parlour. 

The gaunt, tall blond man sitting in the armchair. His sunken eyes that had seemed so dark in the dimly lit room. His thin lips and hollow cheeks. The long, straight nose and the deep lines between his brows. Skeletal and still, he had looked like a monster. Something that belongs in the dark, lurking in wait. 

“What are you doing up, princess?” Matthew had scooped you off of your feet and suddenly you were looking at him instead, in all of the warmth and glory and familiarity of a man adored by his little girl. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” You remember, but it’s hazy now. You don’t remember the softer, higher pitch of your voice or really what had made the man in the chair quite so scary looking, or what had driven you out of the safety of your bed that night. 

There’s a fondness to his smile in those hazy memories, a softness to his touch that feels so far away now. The stars and unicorns on your bedsheets, and the stuffie he had tucked under your chin. The safety of your childhood bedroom, with the warm pink glow of your nightlight and the embrace of your stuffed animal. How far away the fear of that man in the chair had felt once your father had kissed the top of your head and closed your door.

It doesn’t just feel far away, it is far away — everything about it. Your parents no longer own that house, you’ve long outgrown that bed and that stuffed animal ended up in the donate pile after one of your big moves. You’re no longer hiding from the scary man sitting in the armchair; you’re looking for him.

“I don’t understand,” You do, but showing your cards has never been part of your strategy. The woman opposite you forces her creasing mouth into a deeper frown as she pulls her coffee cup protectively closer. “Tell me, exactly, what you remember about your time working for my father.”

If Allen knew where you were, he would skin you alive. If Manny knew, he would be right here with you. If Jake knew, you wouldn’t be here at all. He would have locked you in a hallway closet before he let you set something like this up. 

The woman sitting opposite you is a timid little redhead with big brown eyes and a disposition that brings new clarity to the term ‘afraid of her own shadow’. She’s jumpy, and looking over her shoulder constantly. You, are considerably cooler for a person more alone than they have been in more than a decade.

Her name is Ida — she was your father’s personal assistant the year before his first election, and it cost you to even get her to this cafe in Pasadena. You remember the long skirts and the narrow glasses, but you don’t remember Ida being quite so… afraid.

“He wasn’t— he isn’t a bad man, darling. That’s what you have to understand, it’s just that—“

“Ida, slow down.” You bite, growing tired of this. You don’t have long before someone notices that you’re gone, if they haven’t already. The sky outside is grey, and sullen, the cafe is almost empty for now but the lunch rush is approaching. “This isn’t about whether he’s a good guy or not. Tell me where Ellis Armstrong comes into this.”

Sitting opposite you, the mouse-like woman’s eyes turn wide like saucers as she shrinks down further into her seat, wringing her hands into the checked fabric of her skirt.

“He wasn’t going to win the election by himself. There was intel out there that… painted him in a bad light.”

“Details, Ida.” You click the pen and stare across at her impatiently. She swallows softly and checks around her again.

“Your father had an affair. It was all going to come out — it would have tanked any kind of campaign he could have put together, and you remember what times were like then… the kind of money it would have taken to make that go away…” The coffee mug in front of her scalds her trembling hands as she finally lifts her chin enough for you to look her in the eye. Raindrops start to beat into the sidewalk outside. A silence sets across the coffee shop as the soft indie playlist stops between tracks.

If you were still little, padding barefoot along the hall in your princess nightdress, this would have hurt so badly. The warm smile and his gentle disposition — and he was already betraying you, even then. You’re not little now. It doesn’t hurt like it would have then. You scrawl messily across the page.

“What was her name, who did she work for?”

Ida pauses briefly, blinking. Truthfully, she hadn’t been expecting this calculated coldness from you. She’s seen the videos of the frightened girl clinging to her bodyguard. She wonders how far he might be from you today.

“Suzy Blake. She was a political analyst for the New York Times back then.” Ida tells you, turning her head and checking through the rain-dotted front windows of the shop. You scribe the information and look back up to her, unsatisfied.

“All I’ve got on this is your word?” You prompt her.

“And her daughter — Matt never took a paternity test, but Suzy was always so sure.” This, Ida can see it worm its way under your skin, writhing under those years of collected conditioning. She blinks across at you and taps her nails against the coffee cup, glancing down at the milky liquid.

You have never heard of Suzy; couldn’t even begin to picture what she looks like. Her daughter would be nine, at least, maybe older. She could look like you, maybe. You press your lips together and grind the tip of the pen into the lined page, threatening to leave indentations of your anger through the rest of the book at once.

“So, Ellis paid for her to disappear?” You confirm, looking back up at Ida with an iciness that gives her a glimpse of her former boss. 

“Ellis paid for a lot of things.” Ida answers you suddenly faster than she has in the entire hour that you’ve been sitting here. She doesn’t look at you as she says it, lifting the mug from the saucer and taking a long drink of her latte. The liquid shivers in the cup, disturbed by her trembling fingers.

“Ida.” You sigh, growing frustrated. She turns her head and looks towards the window again, craning her neck slightly. Frightened of her own shadow, you condemn her cowardice. “Details.”

Her eyes follow two raindrops as the grey droplets race along the windowpane. “He bought the presidency for your father.”

Your father is a proud man. He has told you the story plenty of times, of how your grandfather had tried to give your parents the down payment for a house, how your father chose to spend his first year of marriage in a studio apartment rather than taking it. Back then, you wouldn’t have believed he could do such a thing.

Now, you aren’t sure where to draw the line on where your beliefs lie. 

“Extra campaign funding, promotions, big names,” Ida’s cup jingles as she sets it rockily back down onto the saucer. She turns her head back to the table, but avoids your gaze nonetheless. “Votes. Ellis made it all happen. He saved your father’s career.”

Your gaze flicks up from the scrawled information on the page, and lands on her hands. She picks restlessly at her cuticles, her attention shifting to every corner of the room but you. Your brows draw together seriously, taking a moment to check the empty space around you before you focus on her. 

“And what did my father do to him?”

Such a clever little girl — that’s what Ida remembers most of you. So inquisitive, and engaged. So interested. It’s such a shame that no one had time for you, you really deserved someone who would have answered those wonderful questions you came up with.

She swallows softly, unsure of exactly how much information is encompassed by the umbrella of ‘everything’. In her industry, you never let go of all of your secrets at once. That’s just bad business.

“He ran for re-election,” Ida says calmly, her voice more confident sounding, even in its soft tone. She exhales slowly. “And, after the successes in his first term, it became clear that he could win the presidency again. Without Mr. Armstrong.”

Across the table, you set the pen down on the edge of the notebook and check the time on your watch. You should be getting back before Allen has time to deploy a whole search party. 

“Again, Ida… I’ve just got your word on this.” You remind her. A jaded assistant from nine years ago isn’t exactly the concrete evidence that you broke out of your house for. The fear in her eyes is all the proof you need, but that won’t stand up in court.

You’ve been thinking about that a lot recently, as your research has deepened into your father’s past. You came across a picture yesterday, where he was your age, and smiling in the foreground of a Greenpeace conference. It struck you to consider if that young man would hate the man he was going to become as much as you have grown too — if maybe the two of you would have gotten along once, if things were different.

If you would be able to stand up in court and send the smiling young man, with the purest of intentions, to prison. 

“You’re right,” She starts to shake her head and her chair scrapes across the floor. The loudest sound that has come from her all day. She twists in her seat and grabs her jacket and her bag from the back of her chair. “You’re right, I can’t prove this. This was a bad idea…”

Your eyes go wide as she scrambles for her things. “No, Ida, wait—“

She pauses, briefly, to look you in the eye. “I’m sorry.” She turns swiftly, and heads for the door, dinging the bell above it and slipping out into the sheets of grey rain outside the door. You slam your notebook shut and fumble to slip it into your back, all thumbs and no fingers, stuck in the struggle as she disappears from the view of the front window. 

“Shit…” You mutter, slinging the bag onto your shoulder, forgetting your coat completely as you head after her. She’s much faster than she is loud. Rain chills your cheeks and dampens your hair before the bell above the door is even done ringing. Your shoes slap against the pavement, splashing fresh rainwater onto your jeans. You round the corner and squint through the grey ahead of you in search of her.

Her plaid skirt dips behind a car up ahead as she crosses to the driver’s side.

“Ida! Wait!” You call out for her, securing a hand around your bag as you jog to keep up, rushing for the blue sedan as she ducks into it. It doesn’t take you long, her hands are shaking too much to get the keys into the ignition. You slow, but don’t make it to a complete stop, reaching out to knock hard against the passenger window, as something cold, sharp-edged and hard slams into your right eye socket.

Your elbow hits the ground first, then your knee, then your left temple, before your body collapses to the wet pavement all together. Thrown off balance and reeling, your years of conditioning haven’t ever prepared you for this. Your skull aches, throbbing like you’re being hit with that first impact over and over, before you even feel the fingers curling around your arms and hoisting you off of the ground.

The car door clicks open. Blood rushes to the right side of your face, swelling in circles to form the deep bruise that will be left behind. Slow, blinking, your eyes drag themselves open and blink as you realize that it wasn’t the door of the car that opened. A second impact comes, but this one isn’t stone — it’s all skin. You can feel the warmth of the hand, and the ridges of each knuckle, as it drives forwards into your face.

After that, you can only imagine how easy you make for them to get you in that trunk. It hurts too much to open your eyes. Maybe that’s a pathetic thing to think, as you start to think of what they’ll do to you next — what pain is yet to come. But, it’s dark anyway, and in here, at least you’re alone. Your phone is in the bag. Maybe that’s still on th pavement, or maybe it’s in the car. But it isn’t with you. 

Each turn sends you forwards or back, your body rolling over the thinly carpeted trunk, slamming into the back of the seats or the metal of the hatch. You can feel your face swelling, the heat from it stings like a burn.

Jake’s going to be so angry with you, for doing this to yourself.

Maybe it’s just a short ride, or maybe you black out a little on the way, there’s no way of knowing for sure. But, when your eyes feel open, they’re trying to focus to the new bright light after ages of dark. When they’re closed, it doesn’t look much different.

It’s cold, and the echo of the voices around you tells you that the space you’re in is wide open and empty. A warehouse, most likely. The perfect spot for an execution. 

You’re held up by a hand on each of your arms, and your feet drag, scrambling for leverage against the ground as they tug you forwards. There’s some fight left in you after all. If it lasts long enough for someone to figure out where you are, that’s another story. You should have told Manny. Or left a note. Something.

The country is going to put your father on a pedestal when he’s grieving the loss of his beloved daughter.

Abruptly, you’re thrown down into a chair and your arms are torn backwards, making you cry out. Rope. Heavy, and fraying, rough against your wrists as you’re bound to the metal backing of a wooden chair. Fingers dig abruptly into either side of your cheeks, pressing the flesh of your mouth into your teeth until you’ve got no choice but to open up in complaint.

 The second that your lips part, something is forced between them. A dry rag. It’s tied tight at the back of your head, digging into your cheeks, muffling your sounds of struggle.

Muffled and restrained, there’s no way to defend yourself when another blow comes. It hits the centre of your face hard, another fist, this one harder than the first. Not pulling the punch in the slightest. Instantly, liquid streams from your nostrils and the taste of copper floods your tastebuds.

Your screw your eyes shut and force yourself to blink, you force your eyes to adjust. You refuse to surrender your last sense. Gradually, the room steadies and your vision focuses. It’s grey and industrial, illuminated by a singular lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Empty, almost, bar a few storage crates, and a scary man sitting in front of you.

He smiles softly as your gaze settles on him and burns with rage.

“I know, I know,” Ellis offers with a small smile. He gives a small shake of his head. “This is none of your fault, darling. I know that. I’m sorry, really I am.”

You’re silent opposite him, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, sickened by the fact he has the satisfaction of watching you bleed. Turning your head slightly, you catch sight of the two men in your peripheral. Security, you guess, in case you do something.

This time, when you turn your head, you aren’t scared. The man in front of you is afraid of little, old you — so much so, that he needs backup.

“But Matt has a debt that I’m… not willing to forgive.” Ellis is wearing a green crewneck and black jeans, not like the suits in his pictures. This must be a casual kind of affair for him. His thin lips twitch, hinting at a smile as your gaze remains, unwavering, on him.

Saliva pools in your mouth, copper-tasting as your nose continues to stream with blood. It saturates the makeshift gag, spilling down your chin, your jaw aching and numb at the same time, pins and needles stinging through your hands as the restraints bruise your wrists. 

“You understand, don’t you? — Smart girl like you, you get why we had to go after you, I mean.” Ellis sits opposite you with his long legs stretched in front of him, his palms braced on the cargo box that he is perched on. Maybe it’s because he’s closer now than he ever was before, or maybe it’s just because you aren’t a little girl anymore — but you look into those dark, hollow eyes and there’s not a fibre of your being that needs your father to rescue you from him.

“Fuck you.” You spit. It’s easy enough to pretend that the damp rag secured around your mouth doesn’t cut into the corners of your mouth when you speak. You’re stronger than that.

Ellis presses his lips together and sits forwards, his gaunt face leering closer to you as he twitches towards a smile. He lifts one of those bony, skeletal hands and reaches for his phone, angling it towards your bruised face. “Don’t worry, darlin’ — we’ll get you back to your boyfriend soon enough. Just smile for the camera.”

tags: @alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox@desert-fern @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter@shawnsblue@itsmytimetoodream

[waklman]

Glue Song (Pt. 1)

summary: jake tries to keep your existence out of rooster’s knowledge. (friends to lovers, pining)

pairing: jake seresin x female reader

warnings: negative self talk

a/n: haven’t wrote in awhile but glue song by beabadoobee and tgm brought me back...ugh i can't i love pining jake.

word count: 2.5k

next part

“I respect the guy, but he is out of his damn mind.” You watch as Jake momentarily pauses his rambling to take another chug of the latte you brewed for him. 

“Maverick must’ve hit his head while landing during the last mission. Yeah, that must be why.” he concludes, almost entertaining himself, imagining all the ways the old guy could have begun to lose his sanity.

If Jake wasn’t so annoyed, he would have laughed at the made up scenarios playing out in his head. And of course, voicing them to you afterwards so you could laugh with him.

Noticing that some of the neatly decorated whip cream from his drink had found a new home on his freshly shaved face, you wet your hands in the sink and mindlessly reached over the kitchen island to wipe at his sticky chin. 

He blinks back at you, the annoyed expression on his face faltering at your touch.

“There was whip cream on your face. You hate when things get on your skin.” you carefully whisper, pulling your hands back to begin cleaning the dishes again. 

Worry began to brew in your stomach, you might’ve crossed a boundary. 

After processing what happens, Jake just hums, pursing his lips at you in thanks.

Your body unravels at the notion, the tense muscles of your shoulders relaxing itself.

Jake watches you intently, eyes scanning over every detail of you. 

There is a beat of silence as you two acknowledge each other. Your eyes meet in silent conversation. So touching Jake’s face was allowed, you two had agreed without having to say a thing to each other. 

As if nothing happened, Jake regains his posture and furrows his eyebrows together once more, signaling that he’s ready to continue his stream of complaints–this becoming a new routine for you two on weekends where you are both off from work. 

You couldn’t help but to smile to yourself in moments like these. Moving to San Francisco on your own was not an easy decision. Stability has always been something you craved, even if it meant not putting yourself first. But it quickly wore you out with time. You had a job you were unhappy with, shitty friends who you had kept around for the sake of having a social life, essentially trading in your sanity for the sake of stability. The knowledge that this might be how your life would span out, left you disoriented. 

That one fateful summer was when you had decided it was time for a change, despite the fact it made you sick to your stomach to do something so sudden, especially all on your own. But, maybe a new location is just what you needed. 

When you first arrived, reality hit you like a truck. All you felt was immense regret, you had no friends, you’re making less money now, and you didn’t know your way around San Diego at all. This wasn’t something you were used to, causing the doubts of your rash decision to eat at you whenever you had a moment to think to yourself. You should’ve never done this. 

And as if your guardian angel saw your internal struggle, they sent Jake on your trail to ease all of it. All it took was his odd obsession with the way you specifically made his vanilla lattes, to keep him around—following your every move like he was tethered to you. 

After a while Jake found himself not only sticking around for your applaudable barista skills, because there was you. Jake never realized he could possibly laugh so hard that it hurt until he started talking to you during his morning coffee runs. Before you, he had always thought that was just an expression–how was it possible to laugh that hard? And like any other guilty pleasure Jake had, he couldn’t help himself in indulging in you, not wanting to share you with anyone else. 

After flight training, he’d unconsciously rush out of the locker rooms without saying goodbye to anyone in order to catch you after your shift. Just so he could walk you to your car as he accidentally bumps into you outside. 

And as the weeks flew by, your shared activities quickly branched out from just friendly morning chats and Jake walking you to your car. 

Now you found yourself spending weekends with him, where you had continued to make his coffee for him, but now just inside in the comfort of your own apartment. Playful conversations were had every morning, with you behind the counter and him seated across from you grinning ear to ear from hearing your laughter that he evoked from you. This became permanently ingrained into both your weekly routines. His excuse being that he can’t physically survive if you weren’t the one making him his morning coffee, so he obviously has to come see you every weekend. It was a no brainer, he told you. 

“He is ridiculous.” he affirms once more before bringing his lips back around the rim, being more careful to not get his drink onto his face this time.

Although it might have seemed like he was rambling to himself, you had been nodding and quietly reacting to every statement he made thus far–assuring him that you were paying attention to him. 

“That's funny, coming from the guy who was growing a whip cream beard one second ago.” you inquired.

“When did you stop being so nice to me?” he sulked, something he was specifically raised to never do. His father would have had a stroke if he knew his 30 year old son was habitually sulking now. But it couldn’t be helped, you drew out new behaviors from him, that he never felt ashamed about doing. 

“If I knew you were like this, I would have never pestered you at work in the first place.” Though, Jake knew that if his day had been reset from the first day you two met, he’d undoubtedly pester you every single time. 

“That’s too bad, isn't it?” You flicker some water on your finger tips at him. 

“Hey, watch it missy.” he flinches, bringing a protective palm to hover over his drink. 

“So, let me get this clear-” you redirected the conversation back to its original course. 

Jake quickly shifts his attention away from the state of his drink and back to you. 

“So Maverick..” he nods, confirming that you got his callsign right. 

“...wants you and your co-worker Rooster to spend time together outside of work. At least once a week?” you cautiously recall what he told you.

“Yeah, isn’t that horrible?” he puffs his chest in defiance, expecting you to readily agree with him. 

“Can’t be that bad though, right? Shouldn’t you two be working on becoming good friends, especially now that your dagger squad is an official detachment now? You’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on.” you expressively shared your final thoughts with him.

He silently watches you rinse off the dishes as he soaks in what you said, with his brows pinched tightly together. You were right, he knew that. 

“We get along fine, we’re kind of cool with each other after that first mission. Why be best buds?” he deflects. 

“I want you to have more friends, Jake. Give it a shot.” you attempt to encourage him, while placing his dishes onto the drying rack carefully.

“I have you and Javy.” 

“But you can also have Rooster. And who knows, maybe everyone else on the squad too.” you offered up with a smile. 

“I have a week to plan our first bonding session.” Jake threw up his fingers in two sarcastic quotes. 

“Cute. So like a date?” 

You grinned widely watching Jake’s face fall flat. 

“God. Please.” he scoffs, trying to fight off the smile making its way onto his face. 

“Never call it a date, I’m begging you angel.” Oh. The endearment slipped from his mouth and Jake looked slightly mortified. 

Well, it’s not like you weren’t an angel in his eyes anyways, he thought.

Ignoring the flush of heat rushing to your ears, you attempt to casually brush over what he said. 

“How about. I lend you a hand, just this once.” Jake’s ear almost perks at your statement, instantly recovering from his slip up.

“I’ll set something up for you two down at the shop after I close up, all you have to do is show up.”

“Only question is, if you trust me enough with something like that.” 

Of course I do, he thinks. 

Jake wishes he could extract the part of your brain that made you doubt yourself so much. The blond couldn’t think of anything he wouldn't trust you with. And he’d seen you do it so often–second guess yourself, and he hated it. He hated how it made him feel–sick at the thought that you could possibly not believe in yourself. 

“If I didn’t, would I be sitting here defenseless at your place?” He flashes his dimples at you in a reassuring smile. 

Adoration fills you completely at the sight of him, his tousled morning hair and the creases set under his eyes, marked by his smile makes you glad you decided to take residency here. This feels right, Fightertown feels right. He feels right.

“You’re lucky my love language is acts of service, Jacob Seresin.”

“Mine is physical touch.”

“Gross.” 

“Don’t believe me? Come here.” he raises his brows teasingly, getting up from his seat, making his way towards you. 

“No. Stay back.” you panic, swatting away his already outstretched arms. 

“So…what do we think?” you were basically jittering from where you stood, a poor attempt at holding back your overflowing excitement. 

The two naval aviators stood side by side in front of you, almost mirroring each other perfectly. Expressions unreadable, hands on their hips, lips pursed and side eyeing each other—urging the other to speak first. Javy directs Jake to say something first by lifting his chin at him as Jake deadpans his best friend in response.

Between you and the pair of pilots sat a small table you manage to drag in the center of the cafe with a candle flickering in the center, surrounded by an array of chocolate croissants that you knew Jake had an insatiable craving for. The rest of the table was cramped with random assortments of new Valentines recipes you had been testing–and who better to try them than your reliable Jake and his new friend that you would assume to be in equal size as him. 

And how could he possibly crush your excitement and tell you this looks absolutely terrifying, and that he would rather do 300 pushups under the unforgiving sun than sit at this romantic table and feast on your heart shaped cookies with the likes of Rooster. 

“Well,” Coyote begins, not noticing the pointed glare Jake shoots at him. 

Jake observes you begin to shrink in front of his eyes at Javy’s tone and immediately slaps his palm over his friend’s mouth, panicked at what he’ll start to say. 

Javy stiffens, shocked that his germophobic friend had even put his hand on his face, recalling all the times Jake complained that Javy should start using cleanser for his “oily” skin. Jake even once swore he would rather eat dirt than touch Javy’s face after seeing sweat drip down his face after their first morning run together. 

“It's perfect” he swallows back any sign of hesitancy under your careful gaze.

You know he’s lying for your sake. Although he sounds sure, you could see the prominent vein in his neck protrude, a tell tale sign that he’s feeling pressured. 

“Jake..” the uncertainty in your voice makes him want to double over. Your shoulders have already slumped, his eyes frantically watching as your cardigan start to slip down your arms, exposing your bare shoulders. 

Javy’s mouth parts as he watches Jake take a big step over to you, gently pulling the sleeves of your knit cardigan up to your shoulder blades again. His hands slowly moving down to your wrist, nervously playing with the cuffs of your sleeves. 

Javy’s heart briefly swells at the sentiment, but he knows what he has to do. Jake would thank him for this later, he hopes. 

Although Jake has to be the most horrifyingly fearless pilot Javy knows, when it boils down to situations like these–he knows his best friend needs a push in the right direction or else he’ll never take the leap of faith. 

Javy pulls himself together.

“Admit that you hate it, Hangman” he speaks up, interrupting the moment.

Bewildered, Jake snaps his neck to face Javy from where he stood in front of you. 

“I do not hate it.” his southern accent is now present from being provoked. 

Javy feels glad for once that Jake is so stubborn. 

“So you’ll happily sit here with Rooster?”

“Yes.” He answers almost immediately.

“Can we join you too?” Javy quickly shoots the question.

“Of course” he answers, right away.

Javy practically glows at the sight of Jake’s eyes shooting wide open, caught off guard by his own reply. 

“Perfect. Rooster can hang with all of us.” Javy proudly grins. 

Something unfamiliar swirls at the pit of his stomach. You, Javy, and him hanging out? Sure. That's fine, as long as he sits between you two. But You, Javy, him, and Rooster? It’s unpredictable. 

When a bird flies straight into his jet unexpectedly, he can handle that–he can predict the outcome. When his jet is jeering towards a canyon and his eject button doesn't work, that’s fine he can predict his next move to get out safely. But the idea of you and Rooster in the same room makes his head spin out of control. Jake feels like his soul shifts out of his body for a moment.

“That’s a great idea Javy! Maybe we can sit in on this hangout so Jake is less nervous too.” you chime in, grabbing Jake’s hands sweetly, swinging them side to side to soothe his nerves. 

His head lowers to watch the way your small hands grip at his own calloused ones–playfully swinging your arms left to right in unison in the small space between the two of you. His eyes soften at the sight.

“I want to hear what you guys think of my new recipes too..” you add on, shyly smiling up at Jake–silently asking if that was okay with him. 

It's a done deal. He can’t take back what he says. Not when you're staring up at him like this, looking so tooth achingly sweet in his favorite white dress that you own.

“Yeah let’s do it..” he gulps.

thank you for reading, and as always-reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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[accioprocrastination]

The Reunion

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x wife Reader

A/N: Military inaccuracies, angst and fluff

I haven't proof read this so apologies in advance...

Summary: You're redeployed to the same base as your husband

Reader POV

You touched down in North Island this morning so it's not out of the ordinary that you've spent all evening getting to know the team already stationed here.

It's nearing two a.m. and you're beginning to hit your limit of social interaction. You take a seat on one of the bar stools against the wall closing your eyes momentarily wishing you were home.

"I am so tired I need to go to get out of here and Javy is barely standing, so I'm going to get him something to eat. If any of y'all want food we're leaving now." Jake says walking up to the table where you're sat with a couple of your colleagues.

"Food sounds great." You respond without question. His eyes twinkle as they meet yours and you stare at the laughter lines that momentarily form as he gives you a quick smile. God he's good looking and he knows it.

"I should probably go too and try and adjust to this timezone." Preacher says from next to you getting up and walking out without a more elaborate goodbye. You roll your eyes at his constant holier than thou wisdom.

You watch silently as Jake struggles to make Javy put his jacket on, smirking at the futile effort.

It's only Bob and you left sitting here as Jake continues his fruitless attempt to put Javy's jacket on him.

"I'm hungry - I'm going to go with them. Are you coming?" You ask Bob. He shakes his head.

"No I'm good." He says quietly. You've noticed how he tenses up around your husband and have refrained from commenting.

"Did something happen with Hangman and you? He gets mouthy when he's nervous." You try to defend Hangman having no idea what he's said or done to make Bob feel uncomfortable.

"Nothing's happened I just don't like him." Bob says not opening up to you. It's probably a good thing he's so reserved, so that he doesn't unknowingly start slagging off your husband to you.

You still feel a stone drop in your stomach at his confession.

"How do you know him?" Bob asks watching you staring at the scene before you. You tear your eyes off of Jake and look at Bob.

"We've been stationed together before. Lots of times actually." You explain not really telling him anything.

"He doesn't act like a human." Bob counters and without him elaborating you know what he means completely.

"He takes a long time to open up to people." You state.

"I don't think he feels emotions like normal people." Bob says staring at Jake as he beams at something Javy is slurring at him.

"He's not the person he pretends to be. I think he feels things more deeply than a lot of us and he doesn't know how to handle it so he plays Hangman... I'd rather fly with someone with that level-headedness than an emotional wreck." You remark.

"I think that's the first time anyone's called Hangman level-headed." Bob sniggers as the other two reach the door.

You smile sort of mentally agreeing with him that, that was a poor choice of words. "I know him better than other people. He's not that person when you get to know him." You shrug getting up.

"Does he know that you're in love with him?" Bob asks watching you.

You smile at the WSO completely ignoring his question as you say goodbye, "I'll see you in the morning Bob."

*

You head to the bathroom, leaving Jake to ensure that a very drunken Javy manages to sit down in the only diner open at this ungodly hour in the morning.

Jake has been stealing glances at you all night and you know he's making himself frustrated because of your no PDA around colleagues rule.

He was the one to enforce the rule and he'll never vocalise that he hates it.

You're drying your hands as the door to the bathroom smashes against the wall. It swings open to reveal a guilty looking Jake who has tried to open the door with a bit too much enthusiasm.

"Shit, sorry!" he says taking a step inside. He stops right behind you and breathes a sigh of relief that you're finally alone for the first time this evening.

You throw the paper towel in the bin, breaking your eye contact through the mirror and turning to face him.

"Lieutenant" you tease him, knowing that he loves it when you call him that. His eyes instantly darken and he steps closer, giving you a look that you can only describe as hunger.

He leans in like he's going to kiss you then stops abruptly, barely a hair's breadth away from your face.

Jake's giving you such a mischievous grin that you have to wonder what he's currently thinking. "You didn't tell me you got promoted to captain, Captain." He whispers.

"I wanted to tell you in person." You inform him as you take ahold of his left hand.

"Congrats darlin'" He says quickly breaking the hand hold and lifting you up slightly to kiss him.

You jump up and knot your legs around his waist. "I-" he starts but you cut him off.

"Please stop talking and just kiss me already." You say.

"Your wish is my command." He spouts before his lips finally meet yours.

You run your fingers through his hair as he manoeuvres to sit you against the sinks. He groans above you - still taking care to gently set you down.

You deepen the kiss to muffle him. He doesn't comment on how your legs tighten around his waist in response.

He breaks the kiss and you huff out of frustration before he starts kissing down your jaw and your neck.

"I have wanted to do this all day." his words tickle against your neck.

"Javy's waiting." you remind Jake and he halts.

His strong arms cloak around you in a tight hug. You hug back with the same force.

"He can wait another minute." Jake says refusing to let you go.

When he loosens his grip to let you go, you tighten your hold on him. "One more minute" You say into his shoulder. Jake is more than happy to oblige to your request.

"God I missed you." He murmurs before you echo the sentiment.

*

Jake is uncontrollably giggling in the passenger seat of your car which makes you laugh harder at your own stupid joke. It is so rare to crack him like this.

His arms are wrapped around you like a blanket as you walk inside the hotel.

Your laughter cuts off as you both spot an elderly couple in the elevator and Jake untangles himself from you to be more presentable in front of them.

You step in and press the button to your floor as he talks with the elderly couple.

"Thank you for your service" the old lady says to Jake.

"It's my pleasure ma'am" he responds as the elevator pings their floor.

Once it eventually reaches your floor, you practically run out pulling him by the hand.

The second the room door closes behind you, he pounces and pulls you onto the bed.

Jake climbs on top of you, trapping you beneath his body to reiterate what he was saying earlier.

"I missed you." he sighs, needing you to know how much.

"I missed you too." you reply smiling widely.

"I don't think you understand how much." He says before kissing your jaw.

"I miss laughing with you", he presses another kiss against your jaw.

"I miss turning to see your face whenever someone says something I know would make you laugh", he kisses you again.

"I miss our friendship." He says continuing the trail of kisses.

You push on his shoulders moving him to switch positions with you.

"Trust me, I understand how much." You respond kissing him on the lips.

"I wish we could be together all of the time." You tell him breaking the kiss to talk some more.

"I don't like when we meet up after months apart and I'm not sure where we stand." Jake vocalises his anxiety as you run a finger down his cheek.

"We're never in a bad place. We could not speak for months and I'd still be around waiting for you. I know it can be weird to readjust to each others' routines but I'm always going to love you regardless of what happens in between us being together physically in the same place." You say meeting his gaze.

You know he worries when you're apart and you watch as he relaxes into the sheets.

"Sometime I feel insecure that you look at me and know my insecurities, doubts and fears and I don't understand why you love me." He admits.

"You're everything to me. You know that right?" You question.

It's unfrequent that Jake opens up to you like this, so you're not overly surprised when he deflects. "So when we argue about what colour to paint the kitchen?" He tease you about your last big argument.

You roll your eyes, smiling at him. "I still love you even when you're wrong." You say before kissing him again.

"Ditto!" He mumbles against your lips.

You pull back and he smirks knowing you're about to rebuttal.

"I cannot believe that you have brought that up! Now all I'm thinking about is that we still haven't chosen a colour." You declare, jokily hitting Jake's bicep making him laugh.

"We'll pick something soon." he yawns, tiredness hitting him like a tidal wave. His eyes sting from the brightness of the hotel lighting.

You watch Jake turn to look at the clock on the bedside table. It is already 3.24 am.

"You tired princess?" you ask him running a finger along his eyebrows making his eyes flutter shut. It's an unfair tactic that you know will make him more sleepy.

"Wide awake sweetheart." the lie falls from his lips seconds before he is unable to stop another yawn.

You clamber off him instantly.

"Nooo." Jake complains grabbing the back of your thighs to try and stop you getting up.

"I'm not hooking up with you if you're going to lie there yawning." You remark standing up to go brush your teeth.

Jake pouts, "when did I get so old that I can't pull all-nighters?" You smile down at him silently wishing you could both stay awake talking for a few more hours.

He rubs his eyes trying not to fall asleep; longing to do more than kiss you. You both know your husband will be asleep the minute you come back and turn the light off.

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐍 𝐱 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐄) 𝐱 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖 𝟖𝟎𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 𝐁𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐋𝐘 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓. 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟖+. 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝟖𝟎𝐒 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋-𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑. 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐄. 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄, 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑, 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊.

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐎𝐚𝐤𝐬, 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕. 𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐦��𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞--𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 '𝟖𝟕 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞. 𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐩𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫, 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠--𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥, 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫. 𝐎𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐝 𝟖𝟎𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 —𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒 ����𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟓𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟕𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟖𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝟗𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏 & 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃-𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟑𝐑𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟒𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 —𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟓𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐓. 𝟏 & 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 —𝐒𝐓. 𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 —𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟏𝟓𝐓𝐇, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟖

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐓 —𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐘.

[fluffypotatey]

Can we please see Javy (Top Gun) and Javi (Twisters) in a fic or blurb?

hm well i haven’t written their official intro to each other yet (and i do plan to in Jake’s pov) but i got memes for how it would go down!

it’s literally just two different memes but one’s edited two more times lol

[mapetitefeedeslilas]

I love Hangster as the next person, Cylock/Warclone are my sweet babies, but hear me out I am very sleep deprived so just indulge into my madness pls

What if Cyclone despises Maverick that much because he loves Bradley with his whole heart?

Freshly out of high school, Bradley feels like he has nothing in his life after he finds himself barred from the Academy and NROTC and signs up to enlist in the Marines out of spite and as a way to prove himself that he is in fact ready. At barely eighteen Bradley graduates brilliantly from boot camp only for 9/11 to happen and he finds himself thrown into a war before he knows it.

Young Bradley that with his team helps to rescue Commander Simpson, a thirty-year-old hotshot naval aviator that got shot down and was badly injured and captured, whom he soothes on the MedEVAC talking about planes (of which he knows a lot about because he grew up listening to plane talks) to distract him from the pain. And in his beaten up and barely conscious state, all Cyclone sees is this sort of brown-eyed angel talking to him.

Months later Cyclone is out of the hospital with a depressing sentence: he is done with flying, his body cannot sustain those Gs and that pressure anymore. There he meet the brown-eyed angel again, with the side of the face scarred and a sling around his left arm, injured right before his four-years contract with the Marines was over.

They talk for a long time and they are both so gone for each other it's not even funny. But there's DADT, the decade in age difference, the issue of the ranks and neither dares to make a move, too scared of rejection and having their lives turned upside down.

Cyclone, barred from flying, dives into the 'desk job' and starts climbing the ranks fast. Bradley goes to university to get the degree he needs, then to OCS and finally he gets admitted to flight school. They stay in touch, exchange long letters and texts and postcards and they talk, often and about everything aside from their feelings, baby dumbasses and Cyclone even manages to sneak in a few times to see him flying and hell, that is exactly what Bradley is meant to do.

Rooster gets his wings and in 2013 he wins the plaque at Top Gun and after the ceremony he drives straight, still in his dress whites, to Cyclone's house near Lemoore, nine years from when they first met and just kisses the now rear admiral, who enthusiastically reciprocates because y e s, finally

They hide, because they know the relationship might be an issue with their careers, but they are so madly in love they don't care, so long as they have each other even hiding out on the couch is fine. Only Warlock (who has known Cyclone since the Academy days) and Payback (who bonded with Rooster at the OFC on the accounts of being the oldest people there who had a lot to prove and little time to do it) know. And Payback shovel-talks Cyclone very seriously dropping the 'you might outrank me, but if I bury your body at sea, the halibuts will not care about your stars', because Rooster deserves to be treated right.

Rooster finally tells Cyclone the whole story about his papers and has to physically stop Beau from hunting down Maverick; Bradley could have easily denounced Maverick, because what he did was totally illegal, but he doesn't want to risk ruining his career. He hates what he has done, but he still loves his godfather too much to do that

And then poor Cyclone is already shitting bricks because he had to put Rooster's name in the roster of the mission, because the best of the best were required and his love is the damn best and whoopsie whoops, Iceman sends Maverick his way. Which Cyclone definitely hadn't asked for.

So now he has to juggle having to potentially send Rooster to a deathly mission and trying to be cold and have an unbothered façade and resist the impulse to strangle Maverick himself every time he sees him, thinking about the many times he had to comfort Bradley, because the guy was panicking, riddled with self-doubts. But both seeing Maverick fail and watch him defy orders and succeed pain him because he knows he has to send him, he is the guy for the job, he proved it, but he also cannot trust him fully.

And then the mission arrives and Cyclone has the front seat to that shitshow and has to forcefully stop himself to just about launch half of the Pacific Fleet the the rescue, because he is still a vice admiral and he has a job to do and needs to be objective, even if his heart is shattered.

After they make it home, Beau begrudgingly accepts Maverick into their lives, making it clear to the captain he better not mess up, but he is secretly over the moon as he watches Bradley finally being truly, completely happy, with his godfather back by his side and all the reassurances he needed about his capabilities.

Somewhere in this (you can insert it wherever you fancy) they adopt a friendly giant stray dog and a feral tiny cat Bradley finds in a bush and get a cute house full of books, plants and flowers that Beau protects from Bradley's bad botanic streak and the cat's rampages, pictures and with a piano.

And they live happily ever after, of course.

[sweetlittlegingy]

What If

☑︎Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Sweet Nothings Masterlist

☑︎ Pairing: Jake Seresin x Y/n Seresin (Mitchell)

☑︎ Word Count: 4 k

☑︎ Warnings: Infertility, IVF, Adoption, Dad!Jake, Teacher/Mom!Reader, Kindergarteners, bad foster parents, child neglect, fluffy dagger squad, Poppa Mav

☑︎ A/n: Holy shit, I had the hardest time writing this. Life has not been kind lately in the school sense and health sense, but I still wanted to give you guys something. I hope that my month long stent has made it so you won't read it. I really appericate the love that you all have been giving me. I can't promise that updates are going to become a regular thing as of yet, but will be trying my hardest. Love you all ♥︎

☑︎Library (Follow for updates! I no longer have a taglist.)

The pitter-patter of feet running down the hallway has you looking up from the fruit bowl you're curating, to glance over your shoulder and catch sight of Laine running toward you as Bradley chases her. Her tiny body clings to your bottom half as she tries to squish in between you and the cabinet.

“Chicken, nooooo!” her small form shakes in laughter as he bends down at your side and pokes at her.

“I was promised a princess.”

Bradley’s voice tries to lower an octave though does the complete opposite and rises to a high squeak that makes you break out in laughter. Your heart swells at the sight, Bradley would make a wonderful uncle. He was already the best brother you could have asked for and since yesterday on base, he had quite literally had Laine on his hip or playing together at every moment.

Gray was never far away, though he tended to stay at neither Bob, Jake, or Javy’s side. You were so used to Gray being attached to you that seeing him interact so much with the squad was startling. You miss your little shadow, though seeing the way that he looked at Jake now was something that you would love to witness daily. Jake had told you that they just talked about planes, but you could see that it meant so much more to both of them.

The munchkin between your legs moves again, darting from Bradley’s outstretched hand as she giggles in excitement.

“I’m Jakey’s princess,” The reply stumps Bradley momentarily, long enough for her little hands to find your own. “Miss CeCe save me!”

Her hands pat at your tummy in a little rhythm as she bounces lightly on her toes. You gently slide the fruit bowl back and lower down to grab the munchkin before Brad can make another grab for her. Her small form bounces in your hold as she wraps her arms around your neck and nuzzles in.

“Run Miss CeCe!” She eyes you in excitement and you drop your gaze back to Bradley, before giving him a smirk. Your hips swivel as you turn and your arms clutch onto a giggling Laine as you run away.

“Get the fruit bowl, Chicken!”

You hear a playful huff at the name, though you’re past the hallway entryway and heading for the back deck before Bradley has a chance to yell back at you. The dimness in the hall is lit by the shining sun outside and you can see the rest of the squad lounging around in chairs while Javy and Jake bicker about grilling.

You hadn’t planned to have a BBQ, though this morning when Bradley and Nat showed up banging on the door with coolers and dessert you didn’t have any other choice.

No, you really had no other choice.

The pair had pushed through the door before you could even question them and told you that they were only here to see the twins. They then followed that up by saying that everyone was coming by, well everyone but Javy, he had spent the night after having a movie fort/sleepover night and had yet to leave. The pair had ushered you that you didn’t need to worry because Bob and Mickey were making sure to grab all the required fixings from the store so you wouldn’t have to worry.

Though you had instantly started making a fruit bowl with the strawberries, grapes, kiwi, and pineapple that you already had. The twins had helped you wash them and then used small star cookie cutters to cut shapes in the pineapple. Though once everyone had finally arrived the pair had automatically gravitated toward the outside. Bradley had also casually thrown in the fact that your dad, Penny, and Amelia were coming over as well. After your dad had met them, he instantly wanted Penny and Amelia to meet the twins.

You brush a small strand of hair from Madelaine’s face, which causes her to give you a sweet smile and then kiss your cheek. That had started last night when you were putting the twins to bed, even though they ended up in yours again during the night. The two of them were in a late-night Disney movie hazy that left them half asleep, which in turn led them to tell both you and Jake that they loved you. It had made your heart stop. You knew that you should be placing boundaries, but so many were already crossed, and Jake and you both loved them so much already.

 Your hand comes up to shield your eyes as the sun nearly blinds you. You didn’t know how it was 78 degrees at the beginning of December, but you weren’t complaining one bit. Your hold on Laine loosens as her small form wiggles until she’s free of you to run across the deck.

“Pop Pop! Ms. CeCe fought Chicken off.” She squeals in delight as your father catches her and tosses her small form in the air. That was also new, Jake had called your father Pops last night and Laine ran with it from there. Now both Gray and Laine were calling him Pop Pop, and neither your father nor anyone else had even spoken of the possibility of having them stop and having them call him Mav instead.

Your glance leaves the pair as they sit down next to Penny and Amelia, the mother and daughter duo instantly fell in love with the twins. So much so that your little sister had asked if she could babysit them sometime. She had been so happy and excited that you couldn’t tell her that you didn’t know if they would ever be back to the house.

A sigh leaves your chest as you cast your eyes around the deck to look at the group of important people in your life, though you can’t seem to find one of the most important ones. Gray wasn’t anywhere in your line of sight, and while you knew he was somewhere in the yard, that didn’t stop your breath from hitching. A pinch to your back makes you jump, while Bradley laughs and moves passed you with the fruit salad. You bat your hand at him, playfully glaring at him as he passes.

You’re still looking for Gray when you catch Jake’s eyes, he then gives you a small tip of the head out to the lawn and causes you to venture over to look out at the yard. A smile rests on your face as you lean against the railing of the deck to watch Bob, Mickey, Nat, and Gray as they lay on the lawn watching the sky. Gray’s hand shoots up causing your own eyes to shoot to the sky as a jet passes overhead. You only hear pieces of the conversation, something about cloud coverage, altitude, and flight pattern prediction, but it makes you smile all the same. Gray finally had people that would understand and listen to him, instead of brushing him off and not believing a word he said. Because as Janice had so kindly told you during a conference, “Children aren’t that smart, stop feeding into his fantasy.” The woman had riled you up to the point where you skipped over the last half of the packet, already knowing that she wasn’t listening to a thing you said about Grayson, and practically pushed her out the door.

The hands that wined around your waist and grasped onto the railing in front of you, have you relaxing back into the familiar chest. Jake’s chin settles on your shoulder after giving your cheek a small kiss causing the weight of your body to sink further into the comforting hold. You both sigh, and the mutual feeling of peace and fulfillment passes through the two of you.

“They blend in seamlessly.” Jake’s breath heats your neck, and you can’t help but to smile at the comment because it was true. They fit into your little family perfectly, and you were going to soak up every moment you had this weekend.

“I don’t want it to be over.” Jake’s hands wrap around you as you say it, and squeeze you gently. “I don’t know how I’m just going to let them go back there.” Your voice is heavy with pain that neither one of you acknowledge, instead, hoping to remain in this moment.

The tightness in your chest relieves, as neither of you can comment when you hear a whistle ring out that causes everyone to look over at Javy. He stands by the grill, with Laine on his hip as she silently waits for everyone’s attention. Javy smiles down at the small girl as she watches the group of you bouncing from excitement in his hold. Her eyes move from the group and up to Javy as the group quiets down to listen. He gives her a tiny nod that has a smile breaking out on not only her face but yours as well.

“The food is done.” Laine’s voice rings out through the backyard, but before anyone can make their way to the grill Javy whispers something else in her ear to say. “Ummm... Javy said he cooked everything, and Jakey didn’t help and that he’s the best cook.”

The comment causes everyone but Jake to laugh. A dramatic sigh falls from his lips as he steps out from behind you, only taking one step closer to the pair. You giggle as Jake clutches at his heart, eyes wide and never leaving Laine’s, before slipping to his knees beside you.

“You wound me, little darlin’.” His voice is strained and causes the surrounding group to gently smile at him. It didn’t go unnoticed how much Jake loved the twins already, and while they never mentioned the fact to you or Jake, it didn’t stop the squad from talking amongst themselves.

Jake barely has time to catch Laine as she runs into his arms and clutched onto him. She leans into his ear and whispers words that you can’t make out that have the both of them smiling. They must be good if the mega smile not resting on Jake’s face can tell you anything. Jake slowly rises to stand up while the pair laugh together, both of them looking at Javy in a teasing manner.

“You two keeping secrets now?” Your voice is questioning and has Madelaine leaning into you.

“I didn’t wanna hurt Javy’s feelings, Ms. CeCe. Jakey is still the best.” A giggle bubbles from you as she gives you a toothy grin, before you both then look at Javy and you can’t help but laugh even more at his wondering stare.

A weight settles against your leg and causes you to glance down to find Gray, already looking back up at you. His blonde locks house a few pieces of grass that you pick out, while his finger wraps around your belt loop.

“Hi, Sweetpea.” His blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight as a quiet hi is said back to you. “You ready to eat?”

You get back a small nod as he stays attached to your hip, watching the surrounding crowd from the designated safe zone. While Gray had opened up immensely to the group, he still ended up at your side whenever the group became too much. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable, but his social anxiety and depleted self-esteem caused him to doubt his worth, especially around people he didn’t know well.

You hadn’t noticed that Jake put down Laine, though as his hands come around Gray to lift him in the same manner, he had with Laine just moments ago your heart swells. The sound of his laugh echoed through the yard as the group milled around getting food and talking, though your eyes could leave to pair.

A perfect father-son duo. You could have told anyone that the twins were your kids, not just from how they were almost identical copies of Jake. But anyone that saw how they interacted, and the amount of love that passed between them from minuscule actions and words alone.

“Come on you two, before Roos eats everything.” Your voice is teasing as you pull the pair along with you to grill to follow Laine, who already had your dad piling a mountain of food on a plate for her. Your eyes don’t miss the two different pieces of cake and brownie that cover most of the surface of the plate. You shake your head at your father, just now realizing how tightly Laine has him wrapped around her finger.

Your comment finally gained a reaction from Bradley, as a small kid playing ball lands against your back and makes you yelp before turning. You give him a smile that only a little sister can give to her older brother, followed by your tongue peeking out in a taunt.

You would give anything to stay in this moment with this group of people, your family, forever.

...

You finish putting the last dish away from the washer and wipe down the counter as the clock strikes 8:00. Signaling that it was in fact the twin’s bedtime, well the one that you had given them. Neither Janice nor Ed said if they had a nighttime routine, though you were sure that it wasn’t that they forgot to mention it. No, from what you knew, the pair of them didn’t care so long as the twins didn’t disturb them and stayed in their room.

Wiping your hand one last time, you slowly make your way down the hall in search of the three individuals that consumed your every waking thought. You glance at the guest room and the perfectly made bed, knowing that the twins wouldn’t be sleeping in there tonight either. Only to venture future down the hall when you hear the near-silent humming coming from your bedroom. The dimming sun no longer lights your house and the warm glow coming from the lamp in your room just barely reaches your outline as you settle against the door frame.

Jake sits in the middle of the bed wearing a pair of sweats and tee-shirt that he had slipped on earlier when you sent him to take a shower while you did a couple pages of homework with the twins. He then had the duty of wrangling the two of them into the bath and making sure that they didn’t flood the bathroom floor like they had on you last night. You had disappeared at their request for bubbles and when you came back, nearly half of the tub water was on the floor. You had tried so hard to appear cross with them, though, at the sight of the sheepish smiles they gave you, your heart had overflown with love. You weren’t going to stop the pair of them from doing something that wasn’t dangerous, because it made a small mess. You knew that the carefree spirit that encased them wasn’t something that they were normally allowed to do.

From the looks of it though, tonight had defiantly gone in Jake’s favor. Not only from his dry pajamas but the fact that both Madelaine and Grayson had both found their places in bed next to him without a second thought. That they both felt a sense of peace and protection from Jake’s presence.

The three of them were a sight that warmed your heart beyond compare and made you curse yourself for leaving your phone on the kitchen table, missing the picture-perfect moment. In the middle of Jake’s lap, Laine sits as he braids her hair into two little French braids that just reach her shoulders. While Gray lays behind them cuddling your pillow, eyes fluttering open and closed as he tries to stay awake.

“Your sisters would be happy to know you can still braid hair.” Your voice floats through the room; Gray just barely looks at you only to give you a tiny smile, as Laine twists the finished braid around her finger trying to hide the yawn that slips passed her lips.

“I would hope that ten years of braiding their hair for volleyball whenever mom was late for a game, would have stuck with me.” His laugh makes you smile as you watch the pair of them momentarily. Jake had fallen into the dad role easily, and while you both were so happy to have the twin, you worried about how they would handle having to go back to Janice and Ed’s house Monday.

Jake's eyes lift to you while his fingers work seamlessly back and forth, he could always tell when something was on your mind. The snap of the final tiny elastic getting wrapped around the end of the braid, has you looking back up at the flawless braid. Jake’s arms softly wrap around Laine to lay gently squeezes at her waist, as her small hands rub tiredly at her eyes. She leans back in his hold, snuggling up to him as her eyes start to droop like Gray’s.

“I think Roos and Nat tuckered them out with that last game of tag.” You laugh lightly thinking about the sight of Bradley holding each of the twins in an arm, and running away from Nat.

“I’m sure that they’re just as tired, Rooster probably fell asleep on his couch and didn’t even make it to his bed.” You laugh at Jake’s comment because you know for a fact that Bradley fell asleep on the couch from the picture Bob sent you an hour ago.

 Jake glances down at the weight against his chest, Laine turns slightly as she sighs and fully relaxes to cuddle in closer. She holds onto Jake’s black tee shirt with one hand while to other grasps onto her ocean blanket, falling into sleep like it was a warm hug. Jake slowly lifts her, which causes both of her hands to wrap around his neck and his to rub at her back. He whispers soothing sounds as his hand glides up and down her back, helping her relax again. Jake is quick to move her before she can settle in too much though, not wanting to wake the munchkin up from setting her down. He easily turns around with her in his hold and lays her down against his pillow across from Gray.

Her small body lays encased by the surrounding blankets as she snuggles in closer and sighs as Jake tucks the duvet under her chin and kisses her forehead. Jake moves over to tuck in Gray as well as you gently brush the stray baby hairs from Laine’s face and gently kiss her head. Followed by you then tucking and kissing Gray as well, before you sneak into the bathroom to change into your PJs while Jake heads to the living room.

You find Jake laid out on the sofa, hands behind his head with two steaming cups of tea sitting on the coffee table. He gives you a dopy smile that makes your heart beat just a bit faster, before crawling into his open arms. Your legs rest around his waist and your head settles on his chest to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart.

Neither of you moves as you watch the sunset through the massive living room window that faces the Pacific. Jake’s hand slowly slips into your hair and runs his fingers through it gently without even realizing it. Though the small moan of relief causes him to chuckle in realization, before kissing the top of your head and resuming.

“We could do it you know.” His voice is tired and there’s a deep sound of longing intertwined with the words. You hum in question, happy to listen, but far too comfortable to lift your head from his chest and have a conversation.

“The twins; we could apply for adoption.”

His words hang in the air, sure you both had thought and talked about it over and over. Though there was something in Jake’s tone that was different this time. This wasn’t your Jakey that you could tease and easily rial up. No, this was Jacob. The man that got in a fistfight with one of your mother’s ex-boyfriends after he made a backhanded comment about your lack of pregnancy. The man that would protect the people that he loved, even if it meant putting himself in danger. He was serious, so serious that you half wondered if he had already been looking into the adoption process that the state of California had in place.

“Baby –”

“I’m serious darlin’. They are in every single thought I have about our future; I can’t even fathom a life without them anymore.” Jake’s hand slips from your hair and now both of them wrap around you. He clings to you, and you slowly realize that his tense chest and tight hold on you are in fear of your reaction to him wanting to adopt the twins. Your heart aches, you knew how much both of them meant to you. But hearing Jake tell you out loud that he didn’t see a future that didn’t include the twins, officially confirms just how much you both want the twins.

Knowing that is conversation deserved more than just your muffled words against Jake’s chest you slowly sit up, still on Jake’s lap but now able to see each other’s faces. You both could read each other like an open book and though you were positive that Jake was being sincere, you had to see the look in his eyes. You had to be absolutely sure before you let the idea blossom into a reality.

“Adopting them isn’t going to be easy, Jake. Janice and Ed are going to throw a fit because they want to keep getting their monthly check.” Your voice is gentle but firm, “And I hate to even say it, but we have to think about the fact that there are two of them. We planned for one baby, Jake. Can we financially even take on them and give them the life that they deserve?”

Jake's hand moves from your waist to brush against your cheek and causes you to lean farther into him. He knows that your reluctance is only because you’re afraid that you aren’t good enough to be their mom, a mom in general. You didn’t have the breakdowns a lot, but when you did, they were bad. And no matter how much he assured you, you were terrified that the universe wasn’t giving you a child because you weren’t worthy.

Jake’s other hand finds your cheek as well to tilt your head back up. Your chin and eyes had fallen, but Jake needed you to realize that you deserved a child more than anyone.

“Darlin’ we are more than financially stable to take them on. I’m teaching now and missions are rare. I want them to be ours.” Your head nods in his hold but he can feel the cogs in your head turning.

“Honey, look at me.” Your eyes lift and Jake’s heart cracks to see your waterline filled with tears. “You deserve to be a momma more than anyone I know. Maybe things worked out the way they did because some higher power knew that there would be two twin terrors that would need us just as much as we need them.”

A tear falls from your eyes and Jake is quick to brush it away. “You think?” Your voice is small and broken, though you trust Jake more than anyone else and if he said this was the family that both of you deserved and needed, you would believe him.

“I know, darlin’.”

Your face tucks into Jake’s neck and the tiny laugh of joy you give him, makes his arms tighten around as a smile forms on his lips. Your voice is muffled, but Jake hears you perfectly. “We’re gonna make them ours.”

“They’re already ours, darlin’. We’re just gonna make it official now.”

[bobfloydsbabe]

Helena! I'm so excited for blurb night! And because you predicted correctly, I'm gonna lead with a request for historical EPB x Immy + "my soul just wants to be closer to yours." I'm imagining it in my mind's eye and I'm yearning, I swear. 🥰

Hope this helps flex your writing muscles!

Rebecca, this prompt is so damn good for these two. Not only are we yearning in this, but we are also in pain because Victorian Era society is so restrictive. I hate this for our favorite lady and her beloved professor. Enjoy!

BLURB NIGHT MASTERLIST

The scent of roses hits her nostrils as a night breeze blows through the garden and she hugs herself tighter, trying to stay warm. Her toes grow cold as the dew-covered grass wet her thin slippers, but she ignores for the sake of fresh air and her sanity. Anything to get out of that stifling house and her looming engagement.

When her father told her the duke had asked for her hand, she’d excused herself and wept in her room for nearly an hour. She should have been thrilled, excited even. But she’s not. The duke is not and never will be him.

“Lady Imogen.” She knows that voice, deep and gravely, sending a chill down her spine that has nothing to do with the chilly August night.

Imogen peers left and finds the Professor Floyd standing a few short paces away, keeping a respectful distance lest someone should see them and gossip. “Professor,” she greets with a tight smile. She’s still an Earl’s daughter. Soon, she will be a duchess.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

She hates the formality. Hates that this is all they can ever be, bound to dance around each other. The wall of society stands between them, but the fondness she sees in his eyes and the aching affection in hers is not enough. They can never be together.

“No,” she whispers and turns toward him, the hem of her dressing gown collecting dew from the grass. “No, I am not.” Her voice is stronger, more self-assured this time.

“My lady.” His voice is so gentle she hardly hears him. In a few long strides, he’s standing in front of her with his mussed hair from trying and failing to fall asleep. She longs to reach up and brush the stray curl away from his forehead.

Instead, she squares her shoulders and remembers the lessons her governess taught her as a child. “Leave me be, Professor,” she mutters. She can’t look him in the eyes knowing this will break both their hearts because he may not have uttered the words, but they both know them to be true.

“I can’t.” His ungloved hands cup her cold cheeks and she leans into his soft touch, savoring the moment of his skin on hers.

Raising her own hands, they cover his and remove them. “You must,” she pleads.

She tries to let him go, but he keeps hold of her hands. “I can’t,” he repeats, words more forceful than before. “I can’t, Imogen,” he insists. “My soul just wants to be closer to yours. I don’t think I could stop it even if I wanted to.”

Tears prickle behind her eyes. “Robert, please.” She longs to give in, to get lost in him and the firm grip he still has on her hands. But she can’t, so she pulls away from his warm touch and steps out of his embrace. Her next words will haunt both of them.

“The duke asked for my hand.”

Time stops. They’re frozen, eyes locked. Two hearts breaking on a cold and clear night.

i'll see myself out 🫡

[jackiequick]

I’m Already Gone | Top Gun Maverick Fanfic 📄

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw & Jennifer Mitchell

Summary: It happened in a blink, it happened in a flash, as that night ran cold and old as she had ever seen. What happened that night the papers were pulled? Heartbreak.

Timeline: Post Top Gun—Pre Top Gun Maverick

Characters mentioned: Pete Maverick Mitchell, Tom Kazansky, Carole Bradshaw, Dane Bradshaw, Austin Mitchell and etc

Song inspired fic: Already Gone by Sleeping At Last

——

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

In tears.

Sore throats from all the screaming and crying at 3 in the morning.

But it did.

Here’s what happened…

…it was a cold decision based night at The North Island. Pete was out pulling an all nighter, Austin was at Dane’s house doing god knows what and Jennifer was alone. At home, getting calls every few hours from her father to see how she was doing.

To be honest, she was doing fine. It was a rare occasion for the house to be quiet that late at night, usually there was some kind of noise being heard across the halls. Either from the boys or one of her friends.

But tonight, it was pure silence. You can hear the windows cracking from the drips of water outside, the sound of the wooden floor creek every once in a while, and the rumbling of car engines driving past the streets right outside her door. In the living room, she can hear it all too well.

It felt like a odd film she was placed in but she didn’t expect to be thrown in.

Her one thoughts were about Bradley. She knew he was sorta stressing the past few days about getting into the academy and proceeded in his dreams of becoming a pilot. She knew from stories that he always wanted to fly, just like his father Goose and unofficial uncle Maverick.

But Jennifer also knew the concept of events and consequences coming into that role. Deployment across the country, flying into dangerous territory, long distance trips from home and safe housing wasn’t always the best for pilots. Usually in secure parking areas but still.

A part of her wasn’t sure if she was ready to give that up yet, not having Bradley around everyday.

She didn’t know if she wanted that for herself either. She loved the idea of being in the air, cool tricks and taking a knowledgeable look at the world from the cockpit of your plane, it was a rush you can only imagine. But she loved being on the groundwork for things too, surrounded by family and friends. Teammates.

Jenny decided that whatever happens with that paperwork, she will be happy for him. It will hurt to see him leave her to go fly out into the world but she loves him either way…

Jennifer cleared her thoughts turning down the lights on the first floor and headed upstairs to her bedroom, free falling onto the mattress as she climbed underneath the covers, deciding to get some rest. It was late. Midnight. And she was still awake. So laying her eyelids shut for now, she curled up against the pillows and slowly nodded off.

~~~~

Remember all the things we wanted

Now all our memories, they're haunted

We were always meant to say goodbye

~~~~

The next moment happened in a flash, gently being awakened by the sound of footsteps on the first floor and small grunts. She couldn’t tell if that was her father’s footsteps or not, but just for precaution Jenny swiftly escaped the bed and grabbed the baseball bat from behind her door as she walked downstairs.

Even though she was groggy from sleep she held the baseball bat in her grip tightly, ready to swing at the figure she found in the kitchen sipping a glass of water. It confused her as she squeezed her eyes a couple of time, trying to wake herself up swinging a hit at the tall fellow who ducked.

It took Jenny a second to realize who it was, hearing a gulp a second later.

“Bradley?!” She asked, lowering her bat a bit.

“Yes? Who else do you think it is?” He exclaimed, sounding annoyed.

“S-sorry..w-what in heavens are you doing here it..it’s 2 in the morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Don’t worry I’ll be gone and out of your hair soon.”

“No? You came here for something..what was it?”

“I was looking for you and Maverick.”

“Why? What did i do?”

~~~~

Even with our fists held high

It never would have worked out right, yeah

We were never meant for do or die

~~~

Instead of saying a word, Bradley handed Jenny a slip of paper that seemed to be a bit wet and crumbled at the corners. It was at the same time, she noticed the look on his face. His hair was wetter than expected, patched of droplets over the shoulders of his shirt as his sweater lay on the chair next to the kitchen table and he was wearing sweatpants.

He had small bags under his eyes. His eyes were dropped onto her hands, as if he wanted to hold her.

To tell the truth, Bradley was craving from physical touch from her in the smallest way, shape or form. He has been a wreck all of a sudden after recycling that letter from the bin at home, that he grumped and threw away. He didn’t want to believe the words said on that paper, nor the fact that his suspicions were correct.

But a part of him told him they were.

He watched as Jenny read the letter, her expression changing every once in a millisecond from shock to sorrow all wrapped into one. He noticed her biting her bottom lip for a moment, as if she’s trying to take it all in with a scoff. A hint of a ever so tiny half smile was tugged at her lips, it was quickly changed but it was there.

He saw it.

Finally after a deep breath of silence waters, she looked up at him, her fingertips playing with the edges of the paper.

“I’m sorry Bradley..” She said in a soft whisper, as if she was gonna wake up a dog within the house, “..I know how much you wanted to fly..”

“I can’t do that now..” He replied with a soft haze voice, looking away for a second.

���You can always apply again, right? I mean, dad can pull a strings to have your application be seen early or maybe Ice do it?…”

“No. Don’t even mention Maverick.”

“Brad, honey, it’s not the end of the world. You will get other chances..i know you will.”

“Not with Maverick around.”

“W-what?”

~~~

I didn't want us to burn out

I didn't come here to hurt you now

I can't stop

~~~

He sighed and scoffed, “Jen, baby, don’t play dumb with me right now. You may be saying all of this but i don’t believe you. We both know how much you want me to stay here, we discuss it before!”

“That was a while ago! Yes it will take some time getting used to..b-but I wouldn’t stop you from flying!..wait you think i had something to do with this?” She asked, soften her gaze at the question.

“Did you? I mean it wouldn’t be the first time you pulled a stunt like that to protect me.”

“No. No, no, no! I-i would not do that. You can trust me on knowing that I wouldn’t go behind your back for that.”

“Jen..you are the closest person here to know if something that was up..d-did you have a feeling this would happen?”

“..I honestly don’t know. But you don’t get to come into my house in the middle of the night and accuse me for such a thing.” 

“Did you know that Mav would do this?”

“I..no. H-he would’ve pulled my papers too..”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he does or, he already did it and you just don’t know it yet! Maverick Mitchell has always been shown to be my biggest supporter but all of a sudden he pulls something like this? And the fact that i don’t know if i should believe you right now is what ticks me off.”

“Bradley wait..”

“I..you didn’t think i saw that little smile as you read the paper? Huh?!”

~~~

I want you to know

That it doesn't matter

Where we take this road

Someone's gotta go

~~~

Jen wouldn’t admit it but she did smile reading the whole thing, she didn’t want him to leave just yet especially at this young of an age. Tears slowly being welcomed into the corner of her eyes came despite on request.

But she wanted him to fly, enjoy his life even if she left to pick up the pieces at home.

“Okay, maybe i did smile, huh? Cause i don’t want to see you go or worse, have you slip away from my fingers the second you get the green light to do so?!” She yelled, as her temper started to reach up her back.

“I’m not going to leave you!” He replies back, with furrow eyebrows.

“You don’t know that! Austin’s planning on flying like dad, Dane wants to go into engineering planes and high tech jets! You’ve been ready to fly past the 7 seas since you were 8…i just thought maybe..maybe this was a sign that we will be alright..that i don’t have to say goodbye, yet..so yeah, blame me. Go ahead!”

“..blame you?”

“Mhm. Blame me..since you need someone to yell at..”

“Jen..i don’t..I don’t know what to think, okay? B-but I’m..The Navy is my dream, i always wanted to fly..but I can’t wrap my head around not knowing if I actually really got a chance to be there..and i want you there..with me.”

“Then why have you been so busy and in a hurry to get out?..but..not once have you mentioned about it was gonna be us there..just you. You alone, Brad.”

“It always occurred to me that you would be there..”

“It occurred to you that i would just be there with you?! W-what I didn’t want to?..i love you, Bradley, i do and I understand why you feel this way about everything but..there has to be something else right? Why are you in a hurry to get out?”

~~~

And I want you to know

You couldn't have loved me better

But I want you to move on

So I'm already gone

~~~

Bradley was silent at the question being repeated. He looked down, as his eyes finally watered. The sound of his sniffles could be heard as clear as day.

She can only guess the reason.

It’s been a less than a hectic year since his mother died. Carole Bradshaw death recked everyone. Leaving a painful scar in the family’s overall built, where it still felt a fresh opened wound.

She was like a mother to Jenny. Treating her with as much love, care and compassion than anyone can ever imagine. Hugs and kisses among all of the kids as her smile can light up the whole night sky.

And her laughter bringing souls together in a lifespan, just wanting to dance around the room. From her sass, to her wit and gossipy cheer.

“..my parents.” Bradley simply said, almost choking on the words.

“..Goose and Carole..that’s why you fight to hurry and fly..to chance that wish to be there..in the there with them.” She answered, looking away.

“Is it bad..? Is it so bad i want to touch the clouds like my dad did and come home to your waiting arms?”

“No..it’s not. It’s a dream but..I don’t know how long i can take waiting for you to come home..w-what if you don’t come home? A-a-an-and i get a knock on the door from a solider with—”

“Don’t. Don’t finish that sentence, Jennifer. It’s not gonna happen! I will come home, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to take the risk to see the world and be a pilot. You know that right?”

She walked away from the kitchen and into the living room as she sighed, “Here we go again..”

“What?” He asked, followed behind her.

“Again with the whole pilot talk! I get that, you want to be like your father but there is more to life than just flying Bradley!”

~~~

Looking at you makes it harder

But I know that you'll find another

That doesn't always make you wanna cry

Started with a perfect kiss

Then we could feel the poison set in

Perfect couldn't keep this love alive

~~~

~~~

You know that I love you so

I love you enough to let you go

~~~

He raised an eyebrow and scoffed loudly, “You’re serious? If it was anyone else, i would say you’re possibly right but you’re father is Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. If anything you know better than anyone how important that is!”

“And what if it isn’t?!” She spin around and yelled back, with a glare having enough.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’m being serious!”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“No, you don’t get it. I understand you very well and i love you for everything you stand for..but what if it’s short lived? I can’t watch you die, Bradley..I understand you’re mad at my father, you’re more than hurt and you might not trust what I’m saying right now but a part of me knows I’m sure..”

“..w-what are you saying? That your right here and I’m wrong? Cause i do get it! And I’m more than mad right now, I’m furious but whatever happens next..that’s my decision to make, Jen. I need you to know that.”

“..okay. I’m just trying to protect you Bradley but I won’t be there when you yell in my dad’s face tomorrow for pulling your papers..i want you to be okay.”

~~~

I want you to know

That it doesn't matter

Where we take this road

Someone's gotta go

~~~

At this point, her eyes were patchy with tears and her nose was reddish as she watched his face changed.

They were both on two different ends of the slightly aggressive disagreement. The two each had their reasons and doesn’t matter how many times they had to repeat them, until they got a point.

It was late.

They have been screaming and yelling at one another.

Their eyes were puffy and throats were dry, sore even.

Yes, they both wanted to touch the sky from the seat of their cockpits but they their reason weather or not to do so. Of course Jennifer wanted to fly just as bad as he did. But her fears and experiences from the family held her back.

The long distance trips, deployment, people she cared about dying young and old, and the navy not always living up to their truth.

She looked down at her necklace Bradley gave her months back on Valentine’s Day as a present, taking a deep breath removing it from her grasp and watching his face as she did.

Bradley’s eye furrowed in fear, annoyance and grief. His eyes flickered between every single way but meeting her gaze. He gulped, as the finger he used to point at her dropped and hesitated to raise again.

He shook his head, blinking twice walking forward in strives as his face said it all. He reminded himself at that moment how much love and respect he had for her, realizing how he basically bashed her more than once.

He didn’t mean to be this way. But watching her remove that single piece of jewelry he gave her the year before his mother died, the one was supposed to be used as a promise to her.

Well, it hurt.

~~~

And I want you to know

You couldn't have loved me better

But I want you to move on

So I'm already gone

I'm already gone

Already gone

You can't make it feel right

When you know that it's wrong

~~~

“W-what are you doing? J-Jen don’t. Please, don’t.” He said, standing in front of her glancing at the clock, “..i love you. Don’t do this.”

She sucked in a breath and held out the necklace, “I know you do. But I can’t hold you back. As much as we love one another, and will always be in each other’s lives..right now, we can’t.”

“I want you!”

“You want to fly.”

“I want both!”

“You want to have it all but it can’t happen right now. I can’t be the one holding you back..”

“Jen please..I’m begging you. I’m sorry, we can work it out!”

“Not with your anger and pride taking over..”

“T-think about this! You’re making a mistake here, Jen. I can’t let you be gone.”

“I’m already gone.”

“You’ll regret this!”

“And so will you.”

~~~

I'm already gone

Already gone

There's no moving on

So I'm already gone

Already gone

Already gone

Ooh, oh

Already gone

Already gone

Already gone, yeah

~~~

Bradley didn’t say another word, closing the gap between them as he looped a finger underneath her chin and pressed a kiss onto her cheek.

He felt a salty tear run down her cheek and reach his fingertips wiping the other way. The other hand took the necklace from grasping palm, fumbling with the chain for a moment.

Jennifer wrapped her around his middle and pressed her face against his neck huffing, holding back a sob as she ran her fingers across his golden brown curls.

She kissed his cheek and then forehead gazing softly into his eyes. He half smiled, leaning into her touch and hummed.

She didn’t want to say goodbye either, but she could bare to witness this any further than what thoughts appeared in her heard. The hint of his cologne entered her nose as she sighed deeply.

Both didn’t want to pull away from another’s light grip.

~~~~

Remember all the things we wanted

Now all our memories, they're haunted

We were always meant to say goodbye

I want you to know

That it doesn't matter

Where we take this road

Someone's gotta go

~~~~

Bradley was the first to pull away noticing the white letters on the coffee table, one being addressed to her as he picked it up.

He signaled for her to open it. He knew she didn’t like to open mail late at night but he couldn’t leave without knowing she got in or not.

Either way, he will comfort her.

She hesitated for a moment, shaking her head but her actions speaker louder than words as she ripped opened the letter to expect something different yet familiar.

Her eyes ran across the page, handing it to Bradley as she gasped, hovering a hand over mouth. He read it quickly, eyesore scanning the sheet of paper to only sigh.

Same as him. She didn’t exactly get in.

The only thing he did was held Jenny in his arms, rubbing her shoulder as she let out a sob she was holding back. Tears rolled down his own face, baring his face into her hair mumbling a few things as they both sucked onto the couch.

No words were said, just soften noises escaped their lips. Resting her head against his chest, as he hummed staring at the wall.

Once again, their throats were sorely lacking as their faces remained dried up with fallen tear stains.

3 am.

They have been doing this for an entire hour.

Closed to almost 3:29am when Bradley stood up from the couch, resting a blanket across Jenny’s body.

Her eyes were nodding off as she whispered a soft, “..i love you..”

“I love you too..” He replied pressing a kiss to her forehead, “..get some rest.”

“You too..please?”

“I will..”

Without a second later, he walked out of the house with a small sigh and looked up at the sky that shined only a few stairs.

She reached over to the small lamp turning it off as her eyelids finally dropped, nuzzling against the throw pillow with a slight sigh.

~~~

And I want you to know

You couldn't have loved me better

But I want you to move on

So I'm already gone

~~~

~~~

~~~

-> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the fic tell me what did you think about in the comments below.

-> Remember to like, share and reblog for more stuff like this!

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[evanszott]

Dagger Squad Sitcom

Inspired by @goldenseresinretriever tgm pal-entine’s day challenge!

>moodboards for each member of the squad and their sitcom character archetype

Reuben Fitch: The Square

"And remember, if I'm harsh with you, it's only because you're doing it wrong."

Natasha Trace: The Wisecracker

"Tell him to e-mail me at www-dot-ha-ha-not-so-much-dot-com!"

Mickey Garcia: The Goofball

"I was your secret squirrel, you son of a bitch!"

Robert Floyd: The Nerd

"God, I feel like I'm Luke Skywalker, you know. 'Member when he was living on Tatooine, before R2 and 3PO showed up? Just working on Uncle Owen's water farm all day."

Javy Machado: The Charmer

“We can stay up late talking and watching movies. And you know about naked Thursdays, right?”

Bradley Bradshaw: The Stick

"I think I'm just gonna go home and think of my ex-wife and her lesbian lover."

Jake Seresin: The Bully

“I am the bitch! And you love me."

[waklman]

The Showoff

summary: jake likes to show you off or you learn why jake keeps protein bars he’s allergic to in his bag.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader

warnings: no use of y/n. fluff, allergic reaction, mentions of dying, jake being a little mean for a second. 18+ blog in general.

word count: 1k

olympic swimmer au

the halfway mark masterlist

Jake Seresin had virtually every reason to be a show off.

The moment his muscled body hit the water, he was truly unmatched—a force to be reckoned with—a smug face you wouldn’t want to see stretching in the lane beside you. If his name merely floated into the ears of elite coaches, the rival teams they managed were in for it on training days. But no matter how many grueling drills their swimmers were pushed to do, they could never truly emerge as a threat to the United States team.

So, the heavily decorated athlete never faltered, not when he knew his country dominated every arena they strode into. 

However, Jake did falter when he was too busy boasting, that he didn't think to check the peanut butter protein bar that his giggly girlfriend was happily feeding him. There weren’t many things that could render the Olympiad breathless, though, you wearing his gold medals did, that was a given. But, peanuts—his worst food allergy to date, that was also a given.

Before Jake could tell you how his coach had no critique for his freestyle stroke, the walls of his throat started to close in on him—leaving him quite literally breathless.

To his disbelief, you were so distraught that you had to stab your boyfriend with an EpiPen, that your mind simply erased the memory of you coming to his rescue.

Even when he spent half an hour swiping away the fattest tears he’s ever seen off your cheeks, you were still adamant that you most definitely killed him. That he refused to move onto the afterlife because he wanted to look after you. 

“Giggles, you need to calm down. I’m not dead,” he firmly assures you, for what feels like, the hundredth time this afternoon. 

If Jake had to sit on the edge of the pool any longer, legs submerged into the water, his toes might as well shrivel off, separate from his feet, and find its final resting place on the pool floor.

Straddled on his lap sits his teary-eyed girlfriend, tracing a trembling finger over the Olympic rings tattooed under his left pec. “What if…you’re just a ghost right now,” you hiccup, eyes still trained on the red ink you’re drawing over. 

“If I was a ghost I’d be haunting Bradshaw right about now,” he confirms bluntly, eyes running over your stuffy nose and puffy eyes. It looks like you’re the one that just had an allergic reaction. 

You sniff, feeling a bit lightheaded when you lift your chin to look at him. 

“But…Casper the ghost—”

“Alright, that’s enough. I ain’t getting myself compared to that pale freak,” he cuts you off, pulling his arena jacket back up your droopy shoulders. Splashed across the back of the official team jacket is Jake Seresin written in white blocky letters, contrasting against the navy blue of his flag colors.

A weary sigh leaves his lips when the reprimand only makes you weakly fall forward, stuffing your face into the crook of his neck. Then, another flow of tears slip out of your eyes, wetting his shoulder. 

It should’ve been obvious to him that you were sensitive enough to start crying again. Jake should’ve known that—should’ve watched his tone with you. But he didn’t. And for that, he feels like a complete asshole.

Carefully, he wraps an arm around you, bicep flexing to ensure that you won’t fall backwards into the pool. Jake is acutely aware that you can’t swim—or float on your own, so he scoots away from the water, petting the back of your head to signal the sudden movement. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Gigs,” he finally whispers, staring ahead at the floating ropes, separating the swim lanes. Months ago, Jake had been hanging onto one of them, playfully arguing with Bradshaw during practice when he spotted you for the first time, sitting in the stands with the coach’s daughter, peanut butter protein bar held up to your smiley mouth. 

“Yes it was. It's all my fault. I packed your lunch today,” you’re quick to blame yourself, mumbling guiltily against his tan skin.

“Actually,” he lets out a soft breath of amusement, coaxing you off him. With his hands moving to cradle your head, Jake intently cools your hot cheeks with his thumbs. Somehow, they're still cold from the frigid waters soaking his legs. 

“I might have snuck those into my bag when you were busy adding Taylor Swift to my playlist,” he confesses, pulling your face closer in to kiss away a tear that formed in the corner of your eye. 

Not quite sure if you heard those words right, you keep still as he leans back and cocks his head at you, waiting for a reaction to load in.

Once it all hits you, you slap your own hands on his cheeks, holding his head between your smaller palms. Now the both of you are grabbing onto eachother's heads. “Why on earth would you do that!” 

There’s not one plausible reason for him to purposefully toss that in with his ham and cheese sandwich. Did he not like what you made for him today? Was that it? Or did it just slip his mind that peanut dust could take him out faster than a bullet can?

“You’re—you’re allergic to peanuts! And you hate the chalky taste of protein bars!” You exhaustedly remind him, more confused than ever. 

There’s a crooked, and somewhat bashful smile on his face when you widen your eyes at him. Sheer horror is written across your features, leaving you oblivious to the gradual heat that colors his cheeks. 

“Okay, but. Don’t you like them? I wasn’t gonna let my girl starve while I ate like a king,” he gives you a offhanded shrug, as if he wasn’t practically contaminating his own food by squeezing the protein bar next to it. 

It’s silent for a few seconds while you two stare at each other—until your face suddenly scrunches up, bottom lip starting to wobble, and tears beginning to drip onto his thigh.

You can't help but to cry at the small gesture. Because Jake knows how much you love snacking on something he was deathly allergic to. Because Jake loves you enough to remember that. Because Jake doesn't care if it could hospitalize him if he kissed you while you ate it.

“No, no—hey quit crying,” he laughs, chest warming when you weep tears of happiness this time. 

The athlete barely flinches when a confused Bradley and Bob walk through the locker room doors, clearly confused by the sight of their teammate chuckling as his girlfriend sobs in his lap, blubbering about peanuts.

All because, Jake Seresin likes to show off his pretty girlfriend—pathetically drowning in her own tears or not. When he goes to kiss the tears away again, Jake thinks that he has virtually every reason to be a show off.

note: okay i love them so much, i've been wanting a grumpy jake x sunshine reader on my blog for awhile so here they are!! thank you for reading and as always reblogs are greatly appreciated.

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

tags: @genius2050 @eli2447 @s-u-t @dempy @averyhotchner @et-homephone @olymosity @wkndwlff @cruelmissdior @eternallyvenus @laneylovesglen @queerqueenlynn

[accioprocrastination]

One Day At A Time (Part 6/?)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: Hangman's fiancée is hospitalised and Jake waits for her to wake up

T/W: Anxiety, panic disorder, PTSD, POW, hints to torture, SA, abortion, pregnancy references, death

A/N: Sorry this got so much darker than I was expecting... Also as per I haven't proof read so ignore the grammar

Part 5 in case you missed it

Jake POV -

Jake wakes up stomach rumbling with a dead arm from clutching your hand as he sleeps. He momentarily breaks your hand hold to move his arm a bit, hoping to regain some feeling.

A consultant walks in smiling slightly at Jake as they make eye contact through the glass of the door.

"Morning." the doctor says walking in.

"Any news today?" Jake responds hopeful that you'll be coherent enough to talk to him soon.

The man proceeds to walk Jake through all of your bigger injuries - you arm and several ribs are broken; your ankle is sprained; they've operated on your shoulder to make sure it heals correctly. No haemorrhage from hitting your head but you might have a mild concussion.

"There's one other thing as well." The doctor says meeting Jake's gaze.

"I don't like that look doc, what is it?" Jake's nerves skyrocket from the doctor's obvious hesitation.

All of the colour in Jake's face drains as the doctor starts explaining to him what an ectopic pregnancy is. He shudders in repulsion as the doctor says the same thing in a slightly different way in an effort to fully express that it's not viable.

He cuts the doctor off when they start talking about treatment options. "I-I-I just need a minute." Jake says tears filling his eyes. "It's not about the abortion. I just need a minute to process that someone's done that too my Y/N." Jake tries to explain that this isn't a pro-life meltdown.

He doesn't see the doctor nod but he hears the man leave.

The second the door shuts Jake lets out a loud sob at the glimpse of what the last few years have looked like for you. He hunches over stomach clenching from worry - he knows that the minute you find that out that particular diagnosis, you're going to freak out.

Jake continues to cry he thinks back to the only other time you've been pregnant. The time that it was his kid and there were complications. Whatever bastard did this to you is going to unknowingly force you to relive that day.

Jake fruitlessly wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie then turns back to you face still wet from the tears silently falling down his cheeks. "This changes nothing with you and me sweets. I will be here every step of the way if you want me to." Jake says kissing your hand.

Having gone through a million emotions in the span of a few minutes Jake needs to step out of the room to try and let go of his rage.

*

Reader POV -

Every muscle In your body is tense in the knowledge that someone was nearby when you were trying to wake up earlier.

Wires and tubing press uncomfortably against your back. Why would they lie you over them that seems stupid?

You lie there controlling your breathing, eyes shut tightly just listening for signs of someone else.

I really don't want to open my eyes in case I'm not alone.

It's eerily quiet. All you can hear is the faint buzzing of tinnitus in your ears and a machine steadily beeping.

Okay, no one else is here, you tell yourself before gently opening your eyes. You scan the otherwise empty hospital room frowning in confusion. You're not sure whether someone was next to you or whether you dreamt that someone was in the vacant chair by your side?

There's fresh flowers and a card on the windowsill, so someone has been here.

A male nurse walks in as you try to disconnect from the machines behind you.

"Please don't do that! You're in the hospital." He says to you.

God my head is pounding.

"I got out?" you murmur in response, so drained that even talking is more of an effort than it has been recently.

"Yes you got out. You're okay." He confirms.

You nod slightly in recognition of what he just said, but mentally you completely disagree that you're okay right now.

"How's the pain on a scale from one to ten?" He questions.

Groaning in pain you shift slightly, you don't verbalise the feeling that you can only imagine is similar to being hit by a bus. Instead you ask "Can I self discharge?"

"It would be strongly against our medical advice if you were to self discharge right now. I would recommend that you stay here under observation and on the IV for a few more days." He grimaces at the prospect of you leaving this room.

"I'm not staying here." You exclaim, wincing slightly as you rip out a needle from your arm.

"Let me just go get a consultant to talk everything through with you and if you still want to leave after that, then you can." The nurse says hesitantly before jogging out of the room. I think he must be new to the role.

The door to your room opens and you suddenly understand the nurse's hesitancy as two police officers walk in.

You try to dart into an upright position to be more alert but whimper at your body's reluctance to move. The agony radiating from your left arm is unbearable. I can't imagine what sitting up would've felt like if that hadn't put my arm in this sling.

"Oh great you're awake!" The young police lady says standing pencil straight by the side of your bed ready to start questioning you.

"You're in the hospital, do you know what happened?" The guy questions you.

"What happened to Ghost?" You begin your own interrogation for answers.

"High on painkillers?" The female officer turns to the man who shakes his head.

"Was that your back seaters callsign?" He queries.

"Yeah. Is h-h-" You nod but you're cut off by the officer.

"It was instant. He wouldn't have felt anything." He answers without making you ask.

You cover your eyes with the palms of your hands fighting to regain a semblance of composure at how abysmal that news makes you feel.

The anxious ringing in your head eventually subsides and you remove your hands from your face. You're somehow still surprised to see that the officers stayed for however long it took for you to be able to fake okay.

"I need to go home." you admit quietly more to yourself than to them. You don't articulate that you just want to blanket cocoon on your sofa while Jake silently assures you that everything is going to be fine.

Your hands quiver slightly at the reality that he might not have waited for you; your home might not even be your home anymore.

Thoughts torrent your mind before you finally muster the courage to ask the room what date it is.

"April the 8th" The police lady answers.

"W-w-what year is it?" You speak up. The police man standing silently in the doorway looks horrified at the prospect that you might not know that but he interjects and answers you anyway.

"Shit." You respond in momentary disbelief that it's been that long.

I mean it felt like forever but I had convinced myself it had been a couple of months and i'll go home to everything the same.

"Jake thinks I've been dead for four years?" tears flood your eyes and your voice breaks, for the first time in years it's not from disuse.

How the fuck am I meant to go home after that amount of time?

If he hasn't moved onto someone else, surely he would've at least mourned you. If he's said goodbye to you like that how is it fair to suddenly reappear?

None of this is fucking fair.

Ghost should be here too.

*

Jake POV

Jake's heart drops to the floor as he carefully opens your room door to reveal an empty bed. From the haphazard sheets and wires flung across the room, he knows that no one has taken you into surgery without consulting him.

You're still in fight or flight mode.

He discards his unopened sandwich on the table and runs to the nurse's station.

"Room 26 - where is she?" Jake asks the guy behind the desk.

"She asked to self discharge; she's gone." he shrugs.

"She's gone?" Jake clarifies.

"Yep. If you can convince her to come back to hospital I think that would be in her best interest." He responds.

Five minutes - I was gone for five fucking minutes. Jake flings himself down the stairs, running at full speed to the exit.

He forces himself to stop when he's out of the hospital. He glances over everyone in the immediate vicinity.

You have to be here somewhere. And yet you're not here.

Where on earth would you go?

After all this time would you go home?

Home is fucking miles away - how would you get there with no phone and no money?

Jake's heart pounds in his chest as he walks to his car. He walks at a snail's pace so that he can check everyone that crosses his path isn't you.

I'll find you. I promise I'll find you.

Part 7

Masterlist

Tags:

@inthestars-underthesun

@rainy-darling

@emma8895eb

@tgmreader

@ems-alexandra

@djs8891

@els-marvelvsp

@lets-turn-and-burn

[roosterbruiser]

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐃. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟖.𝟓𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐒, 𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟕

“Whose is it, birdie?” Bradley asks, eyes wide. "It's all over--whose blood is that?"

He hasn’t moved his hands from your warm and sticky face--he’s still cupping your cheeks, face contorted in anguish as his eyes pour into yours. 

You drop the ax and the shotgun on the ground--they make a dull thump, one you can feel in the soles of your feet and in your pulsing head. There’s a lump in your throat so obstructive, so thick and overwhelming, that you can’t speak. 

All you can do, as Rooster looks down at you while the swallows begin to swoop from roof to roof and the irises emit their sweet scent, is cry.

How can you explain to Rooster, who’s held it together this entire time, that you can’t hold it together right now because of what you just witnessed? How are you going to explain to him that you had the person cornered--that you could’ve shot him--and you didn’t because Paul needed help? And even then, even when you abandoned your firing position to help Paul, it was all fruitless because Paul is dead and his body is in the woods all on its lonesome. 

“Birdie,” Rooster mutters. He smooths a hand through your hair, dirty with lake water and leaves and blood, and shakes his head softly. “Who’s bleeding?” 

“Paul,” you finally choke, shaking your head. He thumbs your tears, but it’s for naught. “It--it was Paul’s.” 

It was Paul’s. 

Rooster looks you up and down--the blood is all over you. Up to your ankles and covering your shoes, all over your shins, dried up your legs, staining your poor dungarees again. 

“Oh, baby,” he whispers to you. His bottom lip trembles. “Is he…?” 

You nod--just barely. 

Rooster doesn’t ask any more questions. 

You think, suddenly and very clearly, that you’re not sure how much fight you have left in you. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep doing this. 

Mable was right. There is no way out. You will bathe in your own blood and be torn limb by limb as the depths of Hell calls for you. There is no way out. 

If you let go, if you give in, if you wait to die--then what will happen? Everyone else will die. No one else is as good a shot as you. No one else is willing to trek through the woods. No one else can suture a gash or staunch a wound or cauterize a limb.

So, you have to push forward. It’s a decision that is made with haste.Very swiftly, you realize you’re not going to lose your head now. You’re not going to break down again. You’re gonna keep going--you have to keep going. 

“He…he said he’s back,” you whisper to Rooster, wiping your own cheeks now. “He said…he told me to--to run away. I didn’t think he was--I didn’t listen to him. He said that he’s back--he’s back, he’s back. I don’t know what he…”

You don’t rest your head on Rooster’s chest and you don’t lessen the burden of that lump in your throat. You’re in shock, you know--which is why the tears running down your face are involuntary.

“Who?” Rooster presses, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Your head is spinning. “I don’t know.” 

Only a moment before Rooster is going to pull you to him, only a moment before you’re going to ask him if he found anything in the woods, the walkie deep in your pocket comes to life. 

“Gale!” Phoenix sobs through it. “Gale! Are you there? Oh, God--Gale, please!” 

Scrambling to grab the walkie, Rooster leans down and takes the ax in his hands. It’s with his heart in a cold, cold puddle that he sees that it’s the ax from the mess hall. D.G. He says nothing to you, just holds onto the handle tight. 

“I’m--I’m here,” you answer Phoenix, shuffling to grab the shotgun. You start for the bus barn, wiping your face clean of tears. 

“It--it’s Bob,” Phoenix sobs. “I think he’s--I think he’s--!” 

“I’m coming,” you tell her. “I’m coming.” 

Phoenix, who’s trying desperately to blot the cold sweat from Bob’s face as Coyote sends all the children to the back of the bus, doesn’t feel relieved by your answer. She thought she would--if not to just know that you’re alive then simply because she won’t have to be alone with Bob anymore. Help will be on the way. Bob will be okay. 

“I’m so--fuck, I’m so cold,” Bob whispers to her, lips quivering. “Can you start the fire?”

Phoenix’s tongue is dry. 

“Bob, we’re on the bus,” she says, voice thin and flat. “There’s no fireplace.”

He’s confused. He’s been confused for a few hours now. Phoenix knows this is the infection--that it must be spreading. But still, she desperately runs her palms up and down his arms to try and get some friction. This cold that Bob feels, though--it’s not one she can fix. It’s not even one a fire could fix. 

She pulls the walkie to her mouth again, breathing heavily. 

“Gale, quick! Please!” 

“I’m on my way,” you say back. 

You don’t say I’m going as fast as I can, but I’m so tired. I’m so scared. I want to give up. I’m only coming because it’s you and it’s Bob and it’s Coyote and the campers. But that’s it, that’s all. I want to lie down. But it’s what you’re thinking. 

And you’re by yourself suddenly as Rooster falls behind you, taking a glance at the perimeter of camp just in case Jake shows his face. He doesn’t fall in step with you again--he’s going to stay out here and guard. You think maybe it’s because Bradley isn’t brave enough to see it up close--Bob hurt, infected, writhing. 

And, really, you don’t blame him. 

You’d rather be anywhere else. 

The sun is warm on your back. The blood is itchy on your skin. You’re running as fast you can, limping with tired, your temples throbbing. Your heart thumps in your ears.

At any moment, an ax could come whizzing out from the woods. There could be a hiding place just yonder, far enough away that you never see it coming. You could hear its noise, fast and sharp like a whip, and then that could be the end. An ax to the head, to the back, to the legs, and you’re down. A peculiar sensation prickles your spine, torments the swollen muscles in your legs and arms: you could die at any moment. Right here, at Camp Arcadia, on the gravel just outside the bus barn. No one could do a thing about it either. 

Oh, God, you think. Where are you?

When you step onto the bus, you know. 

It is quiet--so very quiet. No one knows what to say to a dying man and that is what Bob is. None of the campers are whispering and none of the counselors are rustling. Phoenix is sitting in the front seat with Bob over her lap, sobbing as Bob blinks up at her, only barely conscious. Coyote is kneeled beside them, his lip being sawed in half by his own teeth as he tries to keep from crying. 

The smell comes first--that distinct perfume, so familiar and pungent with musk. It’s the rot, you know. It’s the body shutting down, the organs giving in, the skin infected. But to you, it just smells like death. The two of you are thick as thieves. 

And then, when you look at Bob and everyone else looks at you to save the day, saliva gathers underneath your tongue and your lashes begin to quiver. Pennies settle beneath your tongue. 

“I’m here,” you whisper, your throat burning. “I’m here now.” 

Phoenix doesn’t understand why you’re not rushing to Bob’s aid. She doesn’t understand why you’re not suturing or cleaning or wrapping or whatever else the fuck you’re suppoosed to do to save him. You should be ordering everyone around, saving Bob. You should be stony right now--but your face is soft and wet.

“Help him,” she cries. “Get over here--help him! Help him, he’s dying!”

Coyote knows when he looks at you. The sun is just barely puncturing the bus barn, just barely lighting the side of your face. You’re covered in blood, limply holding the shotgun, looking down at Bob with an agonized sense of forbearance. You cannot save him. Nobody can--he is too far gone. Coyote bows his head and that is when the tears come.

“Phe,” Coyote whispers. He sets a hand on her elbow. She jerks away from him, looking at him as if he’s just burned her. Her eyes are wild with grief. “Phe, there’s nothing--!” 

“--Fuck you,” Phoenix spits at Coyote, her face split in half by anguish. She’s never felt this way before--she’s never felt this mind-splitting, chest-numbing pain. But it’s suddenly drowning her and she feels that no one is throwing her a life preserver. You’re all watching her flounder. “Please…please…” 

Slowly, you kneel beside Coyote. Everything smells like sweat and dust, but this close to Bob, you are practically rubbing noses with death. You can see the freckles on its cheeks. 

You carefully place your hand on Bob’s leg. He looks down at you, pale as white-sand and shaking. Cold sweat covers his face, stains his shirt. His eyes are focused, but untrained. 

“Bob,” you whisper. “We’re here.”

That’s about all you can say to him. Not just hold on, we’ll fix you up. Not only another minute, it’s okay, it’s alright. Not help is on the way. You’re going to make it.

He’s so cold--so, so cold. And he’s been cold since he went out into the night, since he was struck. He’s known, from the very beginning, that he’s dying. He just didn’t know how to tell anyone else. And he knew everyone else was too afraid to tell him. 

 But when you say that--we’re here--something grows warm in Bob. He’s been in and out of fitful dreams, sometimes dreaming about his father’s fingers on the strings of a guitar and sometimes dreaming about his less than stellar date with Michelle Johnson. It’s peculiar--he never thought dying would be so slow, so tedious. 

“Payback and Fanboy haven’t walkied,” Coyote whispers to you. The only recognition you show is a slow blink. “Maybe they’re close.” 

“Maybe,” you whisper back.

The both of you know that it wouldn’t matter, anyhow. By the time the tree is moved, by the time the brigade is here if they’re coming, Bob will be gone.  

Reaching up, you take Phoenix’s hand. She looks at you, brown eyes wide with horror, and almost pulls away. But then Bob, with the last bit of his strength, puts his hand over hers, too. 

“Thank you,” he tells Phoenix. She looks down at him, shaking her head with her eyes wide. He doesn’t break their gaze, lips trembling. “You’re my best friend.” 

“Stop that,” Phoenix demands softly. “Cut it out, Bob! You’re fine!” 

“I’m dying,” he whispers. He swallows hard. His throat is so very dry. “I didn’t know how to…how to tell you.” 

Phoenix sobs. 

“No,” she whispers. She blinks hard, shaking her head. “Bob, I can’t--please, please, please…” 

Leaning down, she holds Bob’s body against hers. He blinks a few times, the sunlight coming over his face just barely. It’s good to feel warm, he thinks. 

“I know…I know you hate Cutting Crew,” Bob starts. With the last bit of his strength, he smiles. It’s a barely-there, strained thing. But it’s there. “But they wrote our song, huh?” 

It takes a moment for everyone to register what Bob’s saying. For a second, you think he’s delirious. But then Coyote chokes out a loud laugh, a few stray tears running down his face. 

Phoenix looks up, puzzled, and then it dawns on her. 

(I Just) Died In Your Arms. Cutting Crew. She groans every time it comes on the radio just before tuning to another station. She’s literally left coffee shops over the song. Bob knows this. But now it’s the song that will make her think of Bob because he’s willed it so. It’s the song that will remind her of this exact instance--sitting on the bus, terrified, dirty, holding her best friend as he dies. 

“Bob,” Coyote laughs. He’s about to say that he’s a sly, sly dog. That he’s got the jokes. But just the sound of his name falling off his lips is enough to halt Coyote. That is the last time he will ever call Bob’s name and have Bob answer to it. “I…I love you, man.” 

Bob smiles. 

“I love you, too, man,” Bob whispers. “Don’t tell Phoenix.” 

And then Bob is looking at you. You with your eyes heavy with tears and your face a calm and placid sea. He doesn’t know how you’ve done it--he doesn’t know how you haven’t given up yet. But he knows that he loves you for it. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to Bob, tears pouring down your face. You sniffle and sigh. “I’m really, really sorry Bob. More sorry than I’ve ever been.”

He knows what you’re apologizing for: not saving him. 

“No hard feelings,” he whispers to you. Another meek smile tugs on his lips. “You did good.”

You did good. 

Choking on your grief, you can hardly stand to look at him anymore. You can hardly stand kneeling here, breathing in all this death. But you know this is where you’re supposed to be. 

Just as Phoenix is about to sob again, a meager voice finds place in the stale air around everyone. 

“Can I pray for you, Mister Bob?” Mable asks softly. There are tears in her eyes as she blinks at everyone. “If that’s okay…”

You glance at Phoenix, who looks like she never wants to see Mable Brandt’s face ever again in her long, long life without Bob. Bob was born Godless and will die Godless. But then Bob is nodding. 

“That’d be swell, kid,” he whispers. A shuddering breath falls from his lips. “Make it out to Bob Dylan, would ya?” 

Mable sniffles. She rests her hands on your shoulders because you, out of everyone here, are the only one that can hold her up. And you let her hold you--even close your eyes and feel the heat of her body against you and fall into a dreamless, sleepless state. 

“Dear Heavenly Dylan,” Mable starts. Bob lets out a quiet laugh--a weezy, tired thing. It is the last time he will ever laugh. “Please take Mister Bob’s pain away--he’s been in an awful lot of it since the attack and I think he’s tired now. He’s a real nice guy--he never yelled at me or anyone else. I don’t think it’s very fair that he’s got so many boo-boo’s.”

No one speaks as Mable continues praying, everyone’s head slightly bowed and eyes drifted shut. Everyone’s face is wet with tears that are shining in the yellow light. 

“And we know that you’ll have a place for him when he gets to where he’s going, alright? So, make sure it’s nice and clean. And make sure there’s aspirin there because Mister Bob doesn’t feel so hot right now. But most of all--keep him safe on his way. Miss Nightingale and Miss Phoenix did the best they could. It’s your turn now.” 

An overwhelming sense of peace finds Bob. His fingers are numb--he wonders, strangely, if they’re already dead. Maybe when you die, it’s piece by piece, a little at a time. And maybe his fingers went first.

“I’m scared,” Phoenix whispers to Bob, looking down at his pale cheeks. “I can’t…I can’t never see you again.”  

He takes a deep breath. His lungs are warm, very warm. 

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he whispers to her. “You’ll manage.”

He’s accepted this. This is okay. He is looking up at his best friend in the world and it is the last thing his eyes will ever see. And he thinks, with a sudden swell of pride, that he did good. She’s really the cream of the crop--the best friend he could have asked for.

Something flickers behind his eyes, bright yellow and aquamarine and jet black--memories. They flutter past his vision, clear and crisp, like he’s pulling the little plastic lever on a viewfinder of his own life. 

The smell of his mama’s hotcakes on late Sunday mornings, Bob sleepy and syrupy and reaching for more butter despite his mother’s tutting. Lazing around the pool with his kid brother, Neil Young humming on the radio as his daddy grills. Sitting in the movie theater during Star Wars, too engrossed in the movie to realize that Lisa Patterson is making googly eyes at him. Finally kissing Michelle Johnson at the roller rink, her tight curls gleaming beneath the disco ball, her skin shining blue and pink. Reading Kurt Vonnegut in his car before class, holding in tears when the profoundness struck him over the head like a brick. Holding hands with Phoenix during games of Red Rover, their mouths wide open, their hairlines dotted with sweat. Swimming in the lake after tipsy bonfires, bobbing his head beneath the water, listening to the muted sound of you squealing when Jake pulls you up on his shoulders. His toes in cold, cold mud. His face against the warm, warm sun. The first snow of the year blanketing the front lawn. His dorm room, which always smells like crayons for some reason. His best friends pedaling down the street, swerving at cars and whooping and hollering, switching gears up the big hill on Freemont. His daddy taking his mama’s hands and dancing her around the wrapping-paper covered living room, her new necklace gleaming on her throat like a personal star on a silver chain. Holding his baby cousin for the first time, breath caught in his throat and arms stiff because he’s never held anything so tiny. Cutting his knees on concrete. Hitting his head on that shelf in the living room. Learning how to change a tire. Driving down his street for the first time. Playing his guitar in his room, shutting his eyes, and quietly whispering Bob Dylan songs.

He can hear it now--Bob Dylan is playing. And it isn’t him singing and it isn’t him playing the guitar. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from or why it’s so loud, so clear, so sudden. But there it is--clear as the day is blue. It’s like there’s a private concert just for Bob and he’s in the front row, the sun warm on his face and shoulders, his arms raised in ecstasy. 

That long black cloud is comin' down

I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

He always wanted to be front row at a Bob Dylan concert. He was saving up to take him and Phoenix. 

Funny how life works that way, he thinks. 

Oh, well. So it goes.

“Please, if you could make it easy, we would all really appreciate it. And in Bob Dylan’s name we pray…amen.”  

And then, with a final shuddering breath, Bob Floyd dies in his best friend’s arms on a disjunct bus on the worst Thursday of anyone’s life. He was the newest counselor at Camp Arcadia. This was only his second summer. 

“Bob?” Phoenix asks. Panic shoots up and grabs onto her ears, tugging hard. His lips are parted, his eyes are open. He is not moving. “Bob! Wake up! Wake the fuck up!” 

Mable leans down to your ear. You’re so thoroughly covered in blood that you look like something that crawled out of a horror film--she can make out the tracks of your tears as the salt cuts through the gore on your cheeks. It’s an image that will stay with her for the rest of her life, one she’ll doodle inside book covers and on the backs of restaurant napkins. She’s so young now that when she’s older, she’ll wonder if her juvenile mind was exaggerating just how gory you look. But it is not an exaggeration at all. 

“You have to fight it,” she whispers in your ear. Her cut begins to bleed. “It’s here.”

When you look up, your eyes fluttering open again after seemingly being pasted shut, you see another dead body. Your second this morning. There is less blood and more sunlight, but it is still there right before you. 

As if a mortar has suddenly gone off beside your cheek, your ears are hollowed out and ringing. You can see Phoenix screaming, can see her patting Bob’s cheeks, but you can’t hear her shrill tone or the lifeless thumps on his skin. Coyote touches your shoulder and you think maybe he’s saying something to you, but you don’t look at him. 

Vision beginning to vignette, you stand slowly. And then you turn and walk all the way off the bus, the blood on your shoes matted with dirt and grime. You take a few stumbling steps, the gun clenched tightly in your hands. Then you open the doors, let the sunlight in. If someone was running full-speed at you, intent on cutting you down, you wouldn’t hear it. And you think you wouldn’t fight it either. 

The only way you know you’re on the ground is when the gravel slices your knees open. It is not from brute strength that you have fallen--no one has hit you. It is because you are drained. Entirely, completely, wholly drained. 

Bradley finds you only a few moments later. 

You’re on your hands and knees just outside the bus barn, clutching the gravel with the gun laid out just beside you. Your back bows, curved like the neck of a preening swan, and you suddenly heave. Vomit spews across the rocks--all stomach acid. 

Oh, he realizes. Bob’s dead. 

He stops where he is, only a few paces from you, and watches all of your humanness from afar. Surely you’ve seen dead bodies before in your line of work--in fact, he knows you have--but maybe you’ve never seen it this close. And it has never, ever been a friend. That must be what’s different about this one, he thinks. That’s it. That must be it. 

And then he watches you stop. You suddenly swallow hard and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, eyebrows furrowed and lips trembling. Then you fight to your feet, wobbling and quivering, leaning over once more to grab the gun and hold it to your body. 

As if you knew he was there the entire time, you look at Bradley. He can see it from where he is, dazed and heartbroken and lovesick: there is fight in your eyes. It is dim, it is full, it is small, it is hazy--but it’s there, gleaming in the early morning light.

You have to fight it. It’s here. 

“We have to find him,” you tell Bradley. Your voice is ragged and thin. You swallow hard, shaking your head. “No one else is dying today, alright?” 

Bradley nods at you, dumbfounded and grief-stricken. His throat is tight. 

“Alright,” he answers. He takes a deep breath, fills his lungs.“Birdie, I…I think I might have an idea.” 

♀

“What do you mean?” Coyote asks. “You two are gonna just…play music? And get him to come? Like…a dog or something?” 

“So he knows where we are,” Bradley defends, his voice hard and serious. “We’re not, like, whistling for him.” 

“And you think that’ll make him come?” Coyote asks, brow perched. 

He glances at you. You’re not looking at him. 

“He’ll come. He’ll come if he knows Gale’s there.” 

Coyote opens his mouth to argue, but then you quietly add, “What other option do we have? I can’t…I’m not strong enough to go back out in the woods.”

“I could go,” Coyote offers. 

You shake your head.

“I’m the good shot,” you whisper. And all that responsibility weighs down on you again. “It would have to be me. And you’re hurt.”

Coyote knows you’re right. He carefully touches the back of his head, wincing when the gash stings beneath his fingers.

Phoenix’s eyes are on the floor. Her throat hurts too bad to say anything. She won’t look up at you and Bradley as you stand outside the bus with Coyote, relaying the plan. 

“And when he--if he comes, then what?” Coyote asks. He swallows hard, his head pulsing. “You’re gonna…?” 

“Wait. For help,” you whisper. 

Coyote looks at your face--still covered in blood, but stained with a detached sort of anger. You’re resolute and morose all wrapped up in bloody dungarees. 

“Back to square one, then, huh?” He asks softly. 

“What’s the alternative?” Bradley counters. “Killing him?” 

“No one else is dying today,” you say matter-of-factly. You look at the two men, who are looking at you already with their mouths flat and their chests heaving. “I mean it, alright? No one else.” 

“Alright,” Coyote answers. “So, Phoenix and I should just hang around? Wait?” 

You nod. Coyote shudders at the thought of just waiting. 

“We’ll come get you when it’s…” you start, trailing off with your brows furrowed. 

“Over. We’ll come get you when it’s over,” Bradley answers. “Don’t open the doors for anyone but us, okay?” 

“Yeah,” Coyote answers. He takes a long, deep breath. His head hurts. “Okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to help? Strength in numbers, right?” 

You glance at Phoenix. She’s still holding Bob. Though now that the tears have stopped, she’s completely quiet. You fear, suddenly and completely, that she’ll never speak again. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Stay here with her.” 

Glancing up at the bus, you see all the campers already looking at you. Knives in their little hands, fear in their little teary eyes. Their faces are almost begging, you think. 

Fight it. Fight it. Fight it. 

Toes numb with panic, you look back at Coyote. He’s already looking at you. 

“Don’t let anyone in,” you say again. You think of last night when something tried to get into the mess hall--just how close they came. “And if they do get in…corner them. Get them.”

Coyote nods firmly. You can count on him. He can count on you. The two of you have never bullshitted each other before. 

“I will,” he says. “I’ll die fighting if I have to. No one’s touching those kids.” 

Die fighting. How silly that phrase seemed before, when you’d throw it around at random. And now there’s two dead bodies and three missing counselors at Camp Arcadia. You hope you don’t die fighting like Paul, like Bob. But it would be a valiant way to go. 

“Let’s go,” Bradley says, throwing an arm around your shoulders. You’re rigid underneath his hands--it stains him, wounds him. But he doesn’t punish you for it. How could he? “We’ll be right back.” 

Coyote swallows hard. His heart is pounding. 

“Don’t say that,” Coyote pleads. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? Ever?” 

“This is real life,” Bradley argues. “Not some story.” 

But it was a story--before, at the bonfire. 

Damien and the Devil. Six counselors, one nurse. Slashed. Dead, gone, buried, away. 

Saying nothing more, you turn on your heel. 

It’s time to end this.

The walk back to the mess hall is very quiet. Underneath the bright yellow sun and the clear blue sky, you and Bradley say almost nothing to each other. You’re holding the gun, trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. He’s holding the ax, the one that killed Paul, and the other one he took into the woods with him. He’s glancing around the perimeter to make sure nothing’s sneaking up on the two of you. 

You’re stumbling slightly when you step--Bradley isn’t sure if it’s because you’re tired or if it’s because of the gashes on your knees or if it’s because of your shock. He does know you’re in shock--that you’ve been in shock since you tumbled out of the woods covered in Paul’s blood. You look shell-shocked, but brave. Like you know the bomb is about to drop, but you’re ready to arm yourself against whatever’s coming even if it’s for naught. Do svidaniya.

Ears still ringing, stomach still churning, you feel like the walk is too quick. Suddenly you aren't outside anymore--you’re in the mess hall in all its disarray, walking towards the kitchen with the intent of grabbing more ammunition. 

Bradley’s closing the buckshot-broken doors, brows furrowed as he examines the shots. Shit. You really did it. Something in his belly feels better knowing that you’ll shoot. You’ll pull the trigger. 

As soon as you’re through the kitchen doors, your heart stops. There on the dingy tiles is what remains of Bob’s blood--it’s smeared, dried, browned. But you can still see where he laid. And just beside the bucket, which is still full of bloody water, are Bob’s broken glasses. 

Leaning down, legs shaking, you pick the glasses up and hold them up to your face. They’re broken--the glass is cracked and the frames are bent. 

But it’s okay. He doesn’t need them anymore. 

“Oh, Bob,” you whisper. You grip the glasses hard. Tipping your head forward, you let the metal fall against your closed mouth. A sob ripples through you. “I’m so sorry.”

“Gale?” Rooster calls. He turns--sees your form frozen in the doorway, kneeling with your head bent. Starting for you, he swallows hard. “Birdie?” 

His presence behind you is warm and solid, like standing against a water heater. His chest just barely grazes your back. It brings you back a little bit--his steady and even breaths. You can count them--you can count on them. They’re there, steady, as you look down at Bob’s glasses. 

Rooster, his jaw squared, sighs gently. 

He tugs under your armpits until you’re standing on your feet again.

“Are you…are you, like, alright?” 

Dumb question, he thinks. Jesus. Dumb, dumb question.

Shaking your head, you let your eyes fall shut. 

“I’m numb,” you whisper. “I can’t…I don’t think I can…I can’t feel anything at all.”

A pang of pain radiates in Rooster’s chest. You’re so quiet, so drawn into yourself. Maybe this is your surrender. Maybe this is when you give up. Maybe this is when you call it a day and lay down and just wait for the end to come. Rooster can’t have that.

“Can you feel this?” Rooster asks. 

And you’re about to crane your neck to look at him, about to ask him what he’s doing, when the very softest of kisses lands just below your left ear. 

Oh. You can feel that. His warm lips, full of blood and live cells and made up of skin, send a shiver down your spine. 

“Yes,” you mutter. “I can.” 

Another kiss--this time in the middle of your neck. Rooster can still faintly smell jasmine on your skin. It makes him ache all over. 

“That?” He whispers. 

You nod, choked up. 

And then he’s very carefully brushing your hair off your shoulders, pushing it aside so he can see your throat and the curve of your jaw. It’s covered in blood, flaking off whenever it’s disturbed. He doesn’t care.

He kisses a trail down the back of your neck, his own eyes fluttered shut in just a moment of peace. And your body is growing softer beneath him--so soft that when he reaches around and pulls the gun from your hands, you don’t fight it. You just let your head fall to the side, eyes flickering shut. 

His palms splay on your hips. He holds you tight, pulls you until your back is flush against his chest. And your mind is buzzing and your body is growing warmer and warmer, but you cannot deny the pleasure of this encounter. This is the most human you’ve felt since all of this began, since you jumped out of bed naked when Phoenix came into your cabin. 

And even though you’re suddenly crying, even though you’re gripping his hands, you know that you need this to keep moving forward. You cannot fight if you feel like there’s nothing left to fight for--maybe the faces of the campers, stained with fear, aren’t enough for you. Maybe seeing Phoenix holding Bob still isn’t enough for you. Maybe you need this--to be touched and held. To be reminded that you can feel still. To be reminded that when this is over, there will be life to live and sex to have and jobs to hate and cars to drive and stars to gaze upon. 

This, right here, is proof of that. 

“Hold me,” you whisper, suddenly desperate. “Hold me, please.” 

You cannot remember the last time you asked someone to hold you. Rigidity sometimes feels like your natural state. Steeling yourself against death, against blood and hurt and pain. And now you’re so soft as Rooster wraps his arms around you. 

He holds you so tight that all the air leaves your lungs. 

You’re stuck still, breath stilted, lungs empty. 

Yes, you think. This is how tightly I need to be held. 

Rooster buries his nose in your neck. He can feel the tears dripping down your cheeks as they land in his hair and he only holds you tighter. He can feel that he’s squeezing the life out of you, but for some reason, he knows you want it like that. 

“I’ve got you,” he mutters to you. “I won’t let you go.”

But just as quickly as you found comfort in his arms, in his heat, against his pumping heart and hot skin, you become uneasy. It’s the thought of seeing his dead body, it’s him calling you hysterical, it’s the spit flinging out of his mouth as he called Jake the killer, it’s his naked body you left behind to find Bob. 

All of it comes at once, slaps your face until your cheeks are raw.

Wriggling your way out of his grip, you take a half-step away from him and grab the shotgun again. Rooster, slightly stunned, watches you with his mouth ajar. 

“Set the music up,” you whisper. You sniffle. “I’m gonna reload and…and get in position.” 

Jake’s trudging back towards camp, openly weeping. He hasn’t openly wept since his toddlerhood, he thinks. But he is right now: shoulders shaking, spine curving, snot dripping, tears pouring open-mouthed weeping. There’s bile covering the front of his shirt and blood on his hands, which is why he won’t look down, which is why he’s stumbling.

He’s been walking all night long--ducking behind trees, stumbling over jagged roots. He’s so tired that his bones feel brittle. He’s so thoroughly exhausted that he’s stumbling towards the mess hall now, even though he knows it’s a trap, even though he knows this might be his final location. 

Kate Bush is playing over the loudspeaker--it was loud enough for him to hear where he was just before in a puddle of blood, vomiting and swatting away swarming flies. Through his heaving, through his tears, he knew immediately that he had to go to where you were calling him from.  

Do you wanna feel how it feels? 

You must be there. You must be the one calling out to him. He wonders if maybe it’s a call for help. But no--it must be a trap. Maybe Bradley swayed you. Maybe everyone swayed you. Maybe you want him dead. Maybe, as soon as his feet cross the threshold, you’re going to shoot him in the chest. He wouldn’t be angry with you. But, boy--would he miss you if he died. 

But all he wants, as his stuttering footsteps grow nearer and nearer to the mess hall, is to keep you safe. And if you’re with him--if you’re even near him--you aren’t safe. 

Limping, he approaches the doors to the mess hall. They’re closed, but damaged. You already shot through them, Jake sees. And there’s blood dotting the doors--so much of it that he knows you must’ve really got ‘em. 

Atta girl, he thinks. 

“Jake?” Your voice comes from inside, echoing in the empty mess hall. “Is that…is that you?” 

Instead of answering, he opens the door. 

You

It's you and me

And there you are. Standing a few paces ahead of him, holding the shotgun like you’ve held it a million times before, eyes narrowed and focused on him. You’re covered in blood, even your heavy eyelids, and sniffling as you cry quietly. But even through your tears, you’re strong. He can see the fight still tugging on the ends of your hair and straining in your wobbling thighs. 

Bradley is just behind you, armed with an ax, sneering at Jake. 

“Don’t you come any closer,” Bradley demands. He rears back so the ax is in position to swing down at any given moment. “I mean it, you fuck!” 

Jake stumbles slightly as he steps into the mess hall. 

“Jake,” you whisper, shaking your head. Your throat aches with grief. “Where have you been?” 

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

It all comes rushing back to him, a wave of grief and exhaustion and derangement. Taking a shuddering breath, he tries to communicate with you, his words coming out like a fluttering and distant bird that flies right over your head.

“Get away from him,” he whispers. 

You furrow your brows, straining to hear him over Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God).

“He’s got a weapon,” Bradley whispers to you. His heart is pounding. “Gale, he’s got an ax.” 

Fingers numb with panic, with pain, you shake your head at Jake.

You don't wanna hurt me (yeah, yeah, yo)

“Where did you get that?” You demand quietly, nodding to the ax in Jake’s hand. 

Jake glances down at the ax. He got this just a few miles outside of camp. He pried it out of Fanboy’s hands--his cold, dead hands. And then he promptly spewed vomit onto the rocks just beside his body and Payback’s. He found them, their bodies hacked, lying together. They never left each other’s sides. Not for one moment. 

“I…” Jake whispers. He swallows, head pounding. “Get away from Bradley. Please, baby, please get away from him.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle your skin as they raise. 

“Can it,” Bradley spits. You don’t have to see him to know how angry Bradley is right now, sneering and snarling at Jake. “You--you fucking son of a bitch! Bob is dead! You fucking killed Bob!” 

“Stop,” you beg softly, the gun shaking in your unsteady grasp. “Jake, just…just put the ax down, alright? And then we can talk.” 

“Talk? Fuck that,” Bradley yells. “He killed Bob!” 

“You did,” Jake utters. “You killed him, Rooster.” 

Is there so much hate for the ones we love?

You hear him loud and clear as if he’s just whispered in your ear. Heart pounding, you shake your head. Fuck. Fuck.  

“He’s lying,” Bradley laughs bitterly. “You fuck--you stupid fuck! You really think she’s gonna fall for that? You think she’s gonna believe you? You destroyed the fucking cabin and went AWOL and then people started dying!” 

But Jake isn’t responding to Bradley. He’s just staring at you, cowering where he stands, defeated and terrified. His shirt is ripped and his hair is messy and there’s blood underneath his fingernails. 

“Just drop the ax,” you tell him. “I don’t want to--I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re not going to hurt each other, right? Just drop it.” 

It's you and me

Jake drops it--it clatters onto the floor unceremoniously. Your lungs deflate. 

“Nightingale,” Jake whispers. His eyes are pouring into yours, red-rimmed and wide. “You have to get away from him, baby. He’s gonna hurt you.” 

Panic is pulsing in your chest now. You’re desperately clinging to reality right now--even though you’re not sure what that is. 

“He’s trying to confuse you,” Bradley whispers. “Don’t let him.”

“Gale,” Jake begs, sobbing. He steps closer to you. You reposition your fingers so they’re not sitting on the trigger anymore. “Please…please…just get away from him! Please!” 

Eyes wide, you watch as he stumbles closer. Bradley is grunting behind you, rearing the ax up further and further. 

“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Bradley sneers. “I mean it, man! Stay the fuck away!” 

“Jake,” you whisper. “Please. Please just stay where you are.” 

“Where’d you even get the ax?” Bradley asks. His voice echoes. 

Jake is still looking into your eyes, openly weeping. Bile dribbles down his chin. 

“They’re dead,” he whispers. “I--oh, God, they’re dead. I found ‘em. I found them together.” 

Be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

You immediately know that he means Fanboy and Payback. They’re dead. They’re gone. They haven’t been answering the walkie calls. They’re not close to town at all--they’re just dead. 

A sharp and punctuated sob ripples through your entire body. Goddammit.

“Who?” Bradley demands. “Who the fuck are you--?” 

“--You know what you did,” Jake whispers to Bradley. Suddenly, Jake isn’t deflated. He’s almost close enough to reach out and touch you. Your finger isn’t on the trigger. His chest puffs up and his shoulders roll back. He can protect you. He can do that. “Don’t you fucking touch her, man. Don’t you fucking ax her like you axed them! You--you fucking got ‘em when they were sleeping, didn’t you? You’re a fucking coward.” 

Eyes wide, you begin to beg Jake to move back. 

“It’s you,” Bradley spits. “You’re the fucking killer! 

Oh, come on, baby (yeah)

Oh, come on, darlin' (yo)

“Enough,” you try desperately. “We’re gonna sit here and-and wait for Mav and Penny to come get us, alright? All of us!” But they’re not listening to you. Jake is staring at Bradley and Bradley is staring at Jake. “No one else is dying, okay?” 

“Who else is dead?” Jake asks. “Who else did he kill?” 

Your mind is racing. You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t know who’s telling the truth. All you know right now is that Jake seems earnest and Bradley seems angry and the truth is lying somewhere between them in no-man’s-land. 

“You know damn well Paul is dead,” Bradley sneers. You see it--Jake’s shock. Thoroughly, in your bones, you can tell that no, Jake did not know that. Your spine tingles. “You fucking killed him! And you cut Mable, didn’t you? Snuck out while Gale was sleeping, right? You coward.” 

Swallowing hard, Jake looks at you. His face is very serious, very anguished. 

Oh, come on, angel

Come on, come on, darlin'

“Don’t let him confuse you,” Jake begs. He’s desperate, shaking his head at you. “I’m still me. I’d never--you know that I’d never--!” 

“--You’re sick,” Bradley screams. His voice booms, drowns out the music. “You’re worshiping the same twisted demon Gwyar did, aren’t you? Or is it that--that you’re worshiping Gwyar? Him and his fucking ax and his sick fucking game! Feeding on everyone’s fear, scaring the tar out of everyone! Or is it that you’re cutting down anyone that gets too close to Gale? Huh? Is that it? You sick fuck!” 

Furrowing his brows, Jake looks at you. And you know that he doesn’t know what Bradley is talking about at all. 

You’re getting lightheaded. 

“Gale,” Jake whispers. It’s a desperate, desperate plea. “Get away from him, baby. Please, please, please. I won’t even--I won’t even touch you. Just get away from him. Point the gun at him.”

And here it is: you’re getting ripped apart. You didn’t even make it to the end of summer. 

But then Jake is falling to his knees, sobs tearing him to bits, looking up at you like a depraved and despaired. It’s horrific--having Jake there before you.  

“If you’ve ever done anything in your life, listen to me right now,” Jake sobs. “Please, Gale--get the fuck away from him. I’m not the killer, baby--Bradley is. You’re not safe!”

Your fingers are shaking. 

And if I only could

I'd make a deal with God

And I'd get Him to swap our places

“Enough,” you try. “Please, Jake--Bradley! Just stop!” 

Head swarmed, you look at Jake with wide eyes. 

“Maybe you’re possessed,” Bradley says, laughing humorlessly. “Maybe you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to it…you found the ax ‘cause it called for you, didn’t it?” 

Bradley’s chest is hot with rage. He wants to get Jake away from you--now.

And then Jake isn’t just on his knees before you, he’s throwing himself forward and against your legs. But your feet are planted so firmly that you don’t shake, you don’t fall. He isn’t trying to knock you over--he’s just hugging himself against your thighs, burying his face in the bottom of your belly and looking up at you. 

“I’d never hurt anyone,” Jake pleads with you. “You know that…baby, you know that. I don’t even know what he’s talking about! I don’t know who Gwyar is! I’m so confused…Gale, please…we have to get away from him!” 

“Get the fuck away from--!” 

“Stop!” You cry desperately. Jake is holding you so tight that you can’t breathe. “Stop it!” 

But they’re not listening to you. 

I'd be runnin' up that road

Be runnin' up that hill

“It isn’t me!” Jake sobs. “We have to get away from here!” 

“You fuck,” Bradley continues. “It took your blood! It wanted you! Sliced your hand when you were chopping that tree down!” 

The song ends. 

Your hearing goes out--fuzzy and fading. Every muscle beneath your sizzling skin is locked in place. A noose of fear wraps itself around your neck and tightens, tightens until you cannot breathe at all. Your lungs are stunted at a deep exhale. And you can’t close your eyes for even a millisecond to blink. Sulfur floods your nostrils--abundantly clear and thick in the air.

Jake stares up at you, horrified. He watches, in real time, as the realization dawns on you.

He was telling the truth. Bradley is the killer. 

“Bradley…” you whisper, voice quivering. Just barely, you turn your head. And Bradley is behind you, still looking like himself but ugly with rage and red with anger. “You cut your hand on the ax.” 

At first, his face contorts in confusion. He stutters, mouth parted. Brows furrowed, he attempts to say something. But his tongue is dry. But when he sees the fear in your eyes and hears Jake’s sobs, he knows the jig is up. He just gave himself away. 

You watch, in utter terror, as his face drops completely. And for the first time, as you stare at him, you see it: the pure, unadulterated evil. It’s there in the black in his pupils. The flecks of gold in his amber eyes are faded, gone. His smile is wide and broad, but it isn’t the smile you saw at the beginning of the summer. It is wicked--dry and nefarious. 

“Damn,” he says, sighing. He beams at you wickedly. So wicked that your arms go limp, the gun falling onto the floor. Good. He’s got you where he wants you. “I was doing so well, too.”

Lips open wide in shock, two stray tears fall down your face. 

And it is not a moment later that he brings the ax down.

Jake, with all the gall and gumption of the soldier his father wanted him to be, acts fast. So fast that he doesn’t even think--he just does.

“Gale!”

Closing your eyes, you accept it at once. You will die at the hand of Bradley--he’s killing you and you don’t know why other than he’s sick. And you’re already covered in blood, you already saw two dead bodies today. People are dying. You’re going to be another one to add to the pile. Your body will be covered with a sheet and your father will identify you with tears in his eyes and he will wonder why and you will die not knowing why. 

When you hit the ground, head slamming against the hardwood floors and neck cracking, you’re waiting for the pain to come. The first hit, the first hack. You’re waiting for release. 

But instead, you just feel heavy--something is brushing your nose because it is so close to you. And when you open your eyes, you’re staring into Jake’s. His eyes are wide in shock, his mouth, too. 

For a moment, you’re not sure what’s happened. Then you hear the strangled moan he releases, the barely-there and quiet thing. A steady stream of blood floods out from his parted lips and into your mouth. 

“Jake?” You whimper, terror flooding your body until you’re cold with it. 

And he’s so heavy on top of you and so warm--deadweight. And the warmth, it isn’t just his body heat. No, no…it is a wet and slick warmth. It is his blood that is leaking from his body and onto yours. 

Choking out a sob, your spit red with his blood spewing onto his face, you try desperately to move your arms. He has you pinned--and he’s so heavy that you can’t move. 

“My, my, my…” Bradley laughs. He leans down, wraps his hands around the handle of the ax and steadies himself by pressing his foot on Jake’s back, and rips the ax from his back. Jake coughs--blood spews across your face and you whimper aloud, stunned. Bradley totes the ax over his shoulder like it is as friendly and unassuming as his guitar. “Sacrificing his life. Now, that’s love, huh?” 

Jake can’t feel anything. Not the gash on his back or the blood he’s losing. He can’t feel your body beneath him or the sobs ripping through your shocked form. He can’t feel any of it. He’s just looking at your face, his mouth wide open and gaping, and praying that Bradley will go. 

“Jake,” you sob again. You can’t breathe. You can’t move. “Jake! Jake!” 

If Jake could speak, he’d tell you that he loves you and that he’s sorry he can’t do more. But he can’t, so he just slowly lowers his head until it falls into your neck. He stops moving.

Bradley watches from above you. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, sighs deeply. It feels good to be out in the open like this--no more lying, no more sneaking around. Just him, just you, just Jake. And he’s about to finish off the two of you and head to the bus barn. He’ll finish what was started thirty years ago--almost to the date, that sly dog. 

“Jake,” you keep whispering, shocked, stunned, horrified. Your body vibrates with panic. You don’t care about Bradley hovering over you. You care about Jake and the way his green eyes are losing the color, the way his cheeks are becoming pale. He can do nothing but stare at you, his vision beginning to blacken around the edges. “Jake, I…” 

And then Bradley kicks the shotgun--it slides across the floor and clatters against the wall. As if you weren’t already defenseless. You look up, quivering, and Bradley grins down at you. 

“I’m more of an ax guy myself,” he says, smiling. He leans down, settling the ax beside him. And then he strokes your hair back from your face, relishing in the horror that crosses your features. “Don’t wig out yet, baby. Let’s chat before I book it to the bus barn, huh? I can spare a few minutes for my best girl.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:

BOB BE LIKE:

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒:

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[fluffypotatey]

ok, for the sake of observing public opinion.....

honestly just curious on ppl's thoughts where they were to place Ice anywhere for a hunger games au! rn i'm stumped on where to put him, but i do have my own contenders (1, 3, or 8)

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Hollywood’s Angel 🎬 | Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado Imagine

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado x actress!reader (romantic)

Content warnings: slight profanity, fluff | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 5k

Requested 📨 Yes/no (for @stephthestallion 🤍)

Premise: Lights. Camera. Action!! Whether it be on the big screen in movie theaters across the globe or at home streaming the latest hit show, the name Y/n L/n would forever be known one of the world’s greatest entertainers. From humble beginnings the odds didn’t appear in her favor at first, but sometimes taking a risk could lead to endless opportunities. And maybe even love along the way…..

Note: This was so fun to write and I’m so sorry it took so long. I’ve been so busy lately with work and trying to get stuff settled. I hope I did this work justice for you 🥹 Also Y/Z/S stands for your zodiac sign.

—————————

“Hello, my name is Y/n L/n,” A beaming smile was sent to the camera once the producer gave a thumbs up. “And I’m here to do the Wired autocomplete interview.” She clapped her hands, “Let’s do this.” Handed a card stock with a printed google web search filled with blanks save for the, ‘Who Y/n L/n….’, her eyebrows rose with curiosity.

“You know I’ve watched dozens of these interviews in my free time. My favorite being the one with Ryan Renolds and Jake Gyllenhaal.”

“Have you ever searched yourself?” The producer asked off screen. Y/n’s response was a cheeky smirk.

“A long time ago when I was teenager and social media was first becoming a thing—you know when we had MySpace, but since then I have not. While I love the internet sometimes it can be a little,” she makes a face, “too much you know.” Focusing back on the card stock, Y/n takes a deep breath as the nerves start to arise. “I’m starting to feel a little worried but what I’m gonna discover is searched about me on Google.”

Her fingers grip the first piece of paper, reading off the statement as it peels away, “Who is Y/n L/n?” An instant chuckle leaves her lip, turning to the camera. “Y/n L/n is um…,” she shrugs, not sure how to really answer the question, “a 28-year-old woman who started out as a child actress in the mid 2000s. She’s a Y/Z/S, a newly-wedded wife, producer, and sometimes sings and dances or models in her free time.”

In truth, Y/n L/n was so much beyond that. Her name and legacy was embedded into history at such a young age the whole world knew who she was by the time she was 14.

Born to a middle class family in 1995 in New York City, Y/n’s parents were hardworking people who raised her and her siblings to appreciate the beauty in life. Though there were times of struggle, living paycheck to paycheck and having to sacrifice the lights in order to have food on the table, there was always love, support, and care in their family. Y/n witnessed her parents do everything they could to provide for them, her mom working double shifts at the hospital and dad on the road thirty weeks out of the year as a truck driver, and made the vow to repay them. Whether it be working her ass off in school in order to graduate from a prestigious university with a degree that would get her a stable career, or succeed in her dreams of breaking through in the entertainment industry.

Acting, singing, dancing. One could consider it the love of her life. Being on stage to a crowd made Y/n feel on top of the world. Playing dress up and house with her friends and family, pretending to be someone else was so much fun to the little girl. Y/n loved the little school plays she would do in preschool and kindergarten.

“One day,” she said to her childhood best friend while they swung on the swing set, “I’m gonna be on Tv like Disney Channel,” a squeal left her when she leaned back a little too far. “In front of cameras where I get to be someone else.”

Little kids always tend to dream big. Their desires and goals often shift. One day they wanna be a popstar. The next a veterinarian or an astronaut. But Y/n always knew what she wanted in life. To be in Hollywood with her face on the big screen for the world to see. To give back to her parents and support her family so they could accomplish their own dreams and aspirations.

She was destined for greatness. Now fast forward to the present, and Y/n is celebrating 20 years of being in Hollywood.

“Who was Y/n L/n’s first TV role?” The next question read, mentally traveling the actress back to the year 2003 when she was eight years old. She had been in Los Angeles to visit her grandparents and practically begged her grandma to take her to open auditions. Whether it was for a commercial or as an extra in a show, Y/n simply wanted to at least try despite being so young. She’d maybe auditioned for six roles in various media before getting a call back.

“My first role,” she begins with a grin at the memory, “was Rosie Whittman on Law & Order: SVU. Season five, episode 25 which was the season finale and the most viewed episode of the season,” Y/n remembered how intimidating the whole experience was, but loved every minute of it. “I was eight-years-old. No agent, no experience in Hollywood and was only in town to visit my grandparents for the summer. My grandmother took me to auditions that were open—because I didn’t have an agent and was a nobody,” she couldn’t help but laugh. “My parents obviously let me watch SVU as a child, but I wanted to audition for every open casting I saw so it took a lot of convincing on my part for my parents to allow my grandma to take me.” Boy it sure was a lot. Y/n was fighting for her life on the phone while her mother voiced disapproval.

“I was a pretty confident child,” a smirk takes her features, “I went in and did my thing—impressing the casting director, the producers, and Mariska Hargitay who happened to be there to do a chemistry read— since the character I was auditioning for was being questioned by Olivia Benson for what she witnessed.” Y/n pauses for a brief moment. “And yeah, Mariska was very impressed with me, going as far as to set me up with my first agent. I really owe my entire career to her and I love any chance we get to work together. She took a chance on me when I was just a child with big dreams with little connections and,” Y/n lifts her hands, “look where it got me. Here with Wired to see what people have been searching for about me over the years.”

After a few more questions about her personal life before she was an Emmy winning actress, Y/n moved to the next card. “What was Y/n L/n’s breakthrough role?”

Y/n made a face to the camera, “This is an interesting question. And I say this because depending on who you ask, the answer might be different.” She tilted her head back and forth, “Most would say Wren Stone—after all I played that role for nearly a decade. I got quite a bit of recognition in the 2000s as Viper in the X-Men films and of course as Padaline in the Hunger Games franchise—you could say people who grew up with those films know me best by that. But,” she licks her lip, “I would consider my run as Jodie Pip to be my breakthrough role.”

Jodie Pip, the longest running companion to the Tenth Doctor in the BBC hit series Doctor Who threw Y/n into worldwide recognition. After appearing in episodes of television hits like Criminal Minds, Grey’s Anatomy, Gossip Girl, and Dexter, Y/n took a risk by traveling to England in hopes of securing a main role in a show rather than a supporting one. She was itching to play a character for longer than one episode. And sadly, Hollywood just wasn’t doing it for her.

Therefore going across the Atlantic seemed to be the solution. A decision which would change her life for the better.

“Picture this: you’re twelve-years-old in a country you’ve only been to maybe once and this time around you’re looking to permanently move there. Your family is back in America waiting for the call from your Agent, who’s your legal guardian at this point, to tell them you’ve got a contract and will be there for God knows how long.” Y/n lets out a sign, reliving the nerve racking first few months in England with only her agent and Godmother with her. “It was a stressful time. I was losing hope while waiting patiently for a sign. Getting the call that I got the part—I was going to be the companion to one of the most iconic television characters of all time…” she shrugs as if it was obvious, “Getting to work with David Tennant, Freema Agyemen, Catherine Tate, and Alex Kingston….It was the best day of my life.” Placing her hand on the next slip, she adds, “I cried for a good couple hours—pure happiness.”

“Is Y/n L/n British?” A full blown laugh escapes, hand flying up to muffle the sound. “Oh my Gosh this is too funny. The amount of people I meet every year—whether it be costars, colleagues, or fans at cons—who are so surprised to discover I’m not British,” she raises a hand in defense, “It doesn’t happen quite as often as it did ten-fifteen years ago. And I understand why people assumed I was because for so long I played characters who were.” Making herself comfortable in the chair, Y/n explains her career further in depth.

“First was Jodie, who I played for three years from 2007 to 2010 and then again in 2013 for the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special. Playing her put me on the map in the UK. I was on Skins for several episodes, one season of Merlin. I had supporting roles in the Golden Compass and Nowhere Boy. And because I had worked with Steven Moffat and Chris Chibnall on Doctor Who, I booked Eurydice on Sherlock and Shania on Broadchurch years later—getting to work with the lovely, talented, and amazing David Tennant for a second time.” Y/n’s face turns semi serious, “I love that man. He’s like my work dad for real—he was at my wedding,” she counts off on her finger, “I was at his. I’m Godmother to his daughters..he’s my ride or die.”

Getting back to the original point, Y/n snaps her fingers twice, “But back on track. Jodie, Eurydice, Shania..then of course playing Wren Stone on Game of Thrones for eight years had everyone on the planet believing I was British.” Wren Stone was the bastard of Jon Arryn in HBO’s critically acclaimed series Game of Thrones based on the books by George R. R. Martin. A ward of the Arryn family due to her status, Wren was introduced in the first season and went on to become a close ally to the Starks as well as a one of the longest running characters on the show when she appeared in all eight seasons. A fan favorite, her surviving the last season was one of the only good things to come out of it.

Cause…well we don’t talk about season 8.

“The last BBC show I did, what had me move back to the U.S permanently, was Killing Eve since it was with BBC America. By the time I booked Hunger Games and Ellie,” she corrects herself, “Negasonic Teenage Warhead in Deadpool, people were like, ‘you do a great American accent.’ And I just smile and nod, going, ‘yeah, I’m from New York.’ Their reaction,” she laughs, “every time was priceless.” Going to remove the next strip, Y/n pauses and looks back at the camera, ending with a wink, “Considering I’m joining Bridgerton this upcoming season as Sophie Beckett, I feel I will be having this question come up again a lot.”

‘What are some movies Y/n L/n has been in?’

“Well,” the actress rubs her chin with a knuckle, deep in thought. “I’ve been in a few—give or take,” she winks again. “My first movie role was X-2 in 2003, playing Viper although the role was minor compared to what it was in The Last Stand and Days of Future Past. In Spider-Man 2 I was in the train scene for a brief moment,” she pauses to laugh, “now that I think about it I have been in several projects related to Marvel. X-Men, Spider-Man and Deadpool. Not to mention I'll be taking on the role of Felicia Hardy in the MCU—that I’m really excited for. Umm what else,” she clicks her tongue to think.

“I had a small part in Constantine with Keanu Reeves, who along with David Tennant is someone I’ve worked with several times and love him to death,” she points a finger up, “The Golden Compass and Nowhere Boy as I mentioned earlier. In the 2010s I was in several features like Snow White and the Huntsman, The Help, New Year’s Day, Furious 7. I was in Catching Fire and parts 1 and 2 of Mockingjay—again I would say is one of my most recognizable roles. John Wick Chapters 2 & 3. In 2017 I was in The Greatest Showman. Oh!” She exclaimed with a grin, “Can’t forget I was in three Bond films: Skyfall, Spectre and the most recent No Time To Die. Another example of why the whole world believes I’m from England. Honestly England is my second home and where my career initially took off. I miss it there terribly, but coming back to the States has been a blessing—being close to my family and getting to do projects in Hollywood which was my dream since I was a little girl.”

Biting her lip the actress finishes up with, “my most recent movie roles have been Annihilation in 2018, Knives Out, Dune, The King’s Man, Uncharted, and Mortal Kombat—both of which are based on popular video games.” If she were being honest, playing Mileena in Mortal Kombat was one of her favorite movie roles to date—especially after having to fight with the studio to give the character justice when they were the ones calling her for the role. As a fan of the game and character, Y/n wasn’t going to settle for a small cameo. Ed Boon loved her interpretation of the character so much he asked her to voice Mileena in the next installments of the game.

Not to mention in the last several years any project with Y/n attached to it already had support and a loyal fan base to promote the show/film. After winning five Emmy’s—for her roles in Doctor Who, Game of Thrones, Sherlock, and Euphoria—Y/n was a household name.

So yeah, she wasn’t gonna be cheated out.

“Last year I was in Elvis plus back to back features with A24. X and Pearl were a lot of fun—and we’re currently filming the final installment to the trilogy, maXXXine.” Moving on she revealed the next statement, “Who was Y/n L/n in Euphoria?”

“In Euphoria,” she clears her throat, trying not to physically cringe at the thought of its creator, “I played Rue’s cousin Reece, who like every character on the show was dealing with difficult issues. I did a lot of research into my role so I could remain authentic and true to the character and the real life struggles people like her face.” Y/n softly smiled, “I won the Supporting Emmy next to Zenday’s leading—and it was a wonderful feeling to be recognized for a fifth time by the Academy while next to one of my best friends. Zendaya and I met when we were teenagers and have been so close. Working together on Euphoria was a wonderful experience and I’m so blessed to have received the honor alongside her.”

‘What episode of Black Mirror is Y/n L/n in?’

“Nosedive,” she turned to the camera, “it was in season three with Bryce Dallas Howard and Michaela Coel—both whom I adore. Aaaaand the episode was terrifying.” She simply said with a blank expression. “Watching it back gave me actual chills because one day technology will be so advanced that what took place in the episode could become our reality. And when I read the script my immediate reaction was like, ‘this is gonna be intense,’ and sure enough it was.”

‘Does Y/n L/n sing?’

A childlike grin appeared once again, “I do sing! Anytime I get a chance to sing I immediately say yes. It’s something I love. All the time on set I’ll be humming a tune or belting out lyrics to whatever music is playing. I got to sing a lot in The Greatest Showman so I was very happy about that. It’s my actual voice in the karaoke scene in season 2 of Euphoria. The one at Maddy’s birthday party—I had to beg them to let me do it live and not pre recorded. So when you see Lexi, Maddy and Kate filming me it’s actually Maude, Alexa, and Barbie using their personal phones, not the ones their characters use.” Offering a smirk she finishes with, “A little BTS you may have not known.”

‘Who does Y/n L/n model for?’

“Hmmmm” the actress puckers her lips. “As someone who was a fashionista growing up, I am filled with gratitude at being able to answer this.” Where could she really start with this? Having been labeled a fashion icon in 2020 Y/n had a long resume of working with brands and designers. “To start, I am an ambassador for Prada as well as its subsidiarie Miu Miu. We’ve partnered together for years and I’ve gone to the Met Gala with them a few times—most recent being in 2022. I’ve done campaigns for Calvin Klein and Stella McCartney. I recently did a collaboration with Dior. This year I went to the Met with Chanel—wearing vintage Chanel and ended up doing a campaign with them. Donatella Vesache and I have worked together.” Y/n scrunches her nose, “Every year I look forward to fashion week as you can imagine.”

‘Does Y/n L/n have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame?’

“If you asked me this the other day I would’ve said no,” she replies cheekily, “But….if you’ve seen the news recently then you would know that I’ve been selected to receive one this year and I….can’t even put into words the feeling. I better stop before I get emotional,” she felt her eyes well up slightly. “I’m extremely honored and blessed to receive such recognition. All I dreamed about as a kid was to have my name on one of those stars and now it’s coming true. I’m overjoyed.”

‘What did Y/n L/n win the Tony for?’

“I won the Tony back in 2018 for my role in Wicked.”

“Will Y/n L/n be in DW 60th special?” Throwing a look to the camera, smirk threatening to appear on her lips she goes, “I don’t know…you’ll have to watch and find out.”

“Is Y/n L/n in Stranger Things?”

“I am not, but I would love to be,” she shrugs with a smile. “I love that show and everyone is so talented. I can’t wait for season five—it needs to hurry up before I lose my mind.”

‘Who is Y/n L/n in Star Wars?”

“So I voiced the absolute badass and Jedi master Ahsoka Tano during Clone Wars from 2008 to 2014, returning for the Rebels series form 2014 to 2018,” she pauses to cross her legs to make herself more comfortable. This was one of her favorite characters to play and despite the criticism and dislike for Ashoka in the beginning, she grew to become a fan favorite in the Star Wars fandom. “I was thirteen when I first voiced Ashoka and I got the privilege to bring her to life again by playing her in live-action for the Mandalorian and Book of Boba Fett—not to mention getting to have a voice cameo in The Rise of Skywalker.” Y/n gets ready to move on, “Now you’re about to see Ashoka again for her spin off show coming this summer on Disney plus.”

‘What all has Y/n L/n and David Tennant worked on?’ The question made her chuckle, surprised it was a top search on Google.

“David Tennant—the man, the myth, the legend. I’ve been lucky to work with him on several projects over the years,” the memories appear in her mind as she recalls them. “We first met in 2006 after I got the role of Jodie Pip opposite his Tenth Doctor. That lasted almost three years but during that time we both did Clone Wars—he voiced Huyang and he actually will be retuning as Huyang for the Ashoka series.” The moment she got the news the woman had FaceTimed him screaming. Although he was only voicing the droid they still made plans to reunite since they hadn’t seen each other since before Covid when Y/n moved back to the states.

“Broadchurch happened a few years after we both left Doctor Who—around the same time as the anniversary special—and then I got to work with him again when I appeared in an episode of Good Omens as one of the demons passing judgement on Crowley. Finally I wanna say before the Ashoka series the last thing we did was Staged back when quarantine was a thing.” Y/n’s face turns serious, “Anytime I get to work with David I take it. Like I said, he’s my ride or die,” she crosses her fingers, “we like this. And I love when people send me those YouTube videos where it’s like, ‘Jodie Pip and The Doctor sharing a brain cell for 10 minutes straight,’ or ‘David Tennant and Y/n L/n being a father-daughter duo on and off screen.’ Really brightens up my day.”

A few more questions went on, Y/n answering as best as she could with details. Doing this interview really gave viewers a more personal outlook on the actress. She was known for being reserved and private in her career expanding two decades. As a child star, her agent really shielded her from a lot due to the cruel nature of Hollywood and the media. And as a result of criticisms Y/n only was active on social media when it came time to promote projects and events.

She had a large and loyal fan base. Probably one of the largest for a celebrity due to her being in so many popular shows and high-grossing movies. On TikTok she & her characters were the most edited when it came to fancams. Pinterest had its own board dedicated to all the outfits Y/n wore.

She was Hollywoods Angel. Fans loved her, celebrities adored her. Before joining the cast of Bridgerton she met them at the Bafta’s the year prior and had them all starstruck when she approached. Nicola Couglan, who plays Penelope Featherington, even mentioned in an interview how the cast pretty much lost their minds when they found out she would be coming onto the show.

“No one knew about the end credit scene at the end of series three,” she told Graham Norton, seated alongside her costar/leading man, Luke Newton aka Colin Bridgerton on the show. “It was a big secret between Shonda and the crew. After we wrapped up, they went ahead and secretly filmed the scene with Sophie getting ready for the masquerade ball,” Nicola raises her hands, grinning from ear to ear, “and when I tell you we all were freaking out.” The audience laughed, Graham leaning foward in his seat with an awe-struck expression.

“So how did you find out? Was it when you watched the finale?”

Luke was the one to answer. “When I watched the episode,” he points to Nicola, “and I think you said you did this too—same with some of the others, I exited Netflix once the credits started to roll. Not thining much of it,” he shrugs, “then later that night Claudia Jessie who plays Eloise FaceTimes the iMessage group chat we have—.”

Nicole gently cuts in, “I’m surprised so many picked up.” That ignites a laugh from everyone.

“Yeah,” Luke agrees as he sits up. “Luke Thompson, Johnny Bailey, Simone, Nicola, Bessie, and I all answer—one after the other—and Claudia is shouting, ‘Did you see the end credit scene!?!’ Of course I’m confused because I’m like, ‘what is this, the MCU?’” Nicola bursts into laughter along with Graham. “Everyone’s asking what the hell she’s talking about because we’ve all seen the finale and were texting about it—but nobody mentioned an end credit scene. It completely went over our head. So…as you can imagine we all turn our tv, still on FaceTime mind you, and low and behold not only is there end credit scene….but Y/n L/n is gonna be Sophie Beckett.” Just the name alone ignites eruption from the crowd.

“Wow,” Graham exhales, “And you guys met her at the Bafta’s last year, yes? I remember seeing a picture of you two and other cast mates from Bridgerton with her.” Nicola nods excitedly.

“We did. It was such a surreal moment. She was with her then fiancee and the Euphoria cast—it kinda looked like a school mixed with Euphoria cast on one side and us on the other. But she came over and we were all buzzing in the corner, ‘Y/n L/n is coming over here. Oh my God-oh my God.’ Most of us have been watching her since she was on Doctor Who so this was like meeting your childhood idol,” Nicola used her hands to emphasize the point, “And she expressed how she was a fan of the books and loved the show. She even made a joke like, ‘Tell Shonda to call my line.’”

“And did you?” Graham asks for the audience and viewers at home, on the edge of his seat. “Cause didn’t they work together before on Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal?”

Luke nods, “we brought it up during press for series 2. I forgot Y/n was on those shows actually so when I told Shonda I thought ‘there’s no way they’re gonna get her’.” He glances at Nicola, excitment on his features, “I think everyone is ready to get back to set and start filming series four. I know I’m already missing everyone and I’m excited to pass the torch to Luke and Y/n.”

Coming down to the final cardstock, Y/n was sad to end the interview. It was fun seeing what people searched on the web and giving a more in-depth look at her life.

Peeling back the paper on the final card, the statement read, “Who is Y/n L/n’s husband?” Cue the butterflies in her stomach, picturing the man’s gorgeous face. “My husband is Lieutenant Commander Javy Machado. Although he is known to his colleagues as ‘Coyote’.” Lowering the cardstock she went on to say, “Javy and I met four years ago in 2019, he’s a fighter pilot for the Navy and was stationed in San Diego for an assignment. It happened to coincide at the time I was filming a small part in ‘Friend of the World’.” A small independent film her friend was producing and asked if she would take a small role to help promote the project. It’d been the first film Y/n had taken on after moving back to the States following her nearly 12 year residence in the United Kingdom.

If she thought hard enough, Y/n could feel the warmth of the sun on her arms and smell of the ocean salt water as her eyes landed on a group of people playing football with two balls. Instantly drawn to the man sticking his tongue out at his friends when running backwards to the end line. “My costars and I had wrapped up for the day and decided to go to the beach. We were waiting for this bar to open at five so we strolled for a good bit to pass time. That’s where I saw him playing football with his colleagues,” a shy smile stayed on her lips the entire time Y/n relayed the story.

“And then when the bar opened that night we formally met.” Man what a night it was. Every social media platform was buzzing with pictures and videos of Y/n behind the bar of The Hard Deck surrounded by patrons. The bartender, Penny, was so cool and didn’t mind the actors coming in despite the madhouse they caused. She did, however, have to close the doors once it got too packed due to locals sending word the five-time Emmy award winning actress was there. Before she knew it, Y/n was making drinks with her while taking pictures and signing autographs to everyone who approached. Y/n even rang the bell a couple times and bought the first round for those in attendance.

And when Javy appeared in front of her, it was like time had stopped. The noise eloping them was muffled, movement slowed to where the only clear focus was on each other.

“Hi,” he beamed, looking at her like she was the only person on the planet. “I know you’ve heard this all night, but is it alright if I get a photo with you?”

“Of course,” Y/n found her voice after a second, smiling wide as she inched closer to the bar counter. Javy thanked her, moving so his back was to the surface since the bar stood in between them and positioned his phone so it captured both of them. They posed, Javy snapping a couple pictures with Y/n making a kissy face at one point. When it ended Y/n motioned to the draft beers beside her, “Can I get you anything? Round is on me.”

Well Javy couldn’t say no could he? Pocketing his phone he replied, “Whatever you recommend, I’ll take.” Had he been to the hard deck several times in the past two weeks? Yes. Did he know what all was on draft and bottled? Sure did. But he wasn’t gonna pass on the chance to flirt with one of the greatest actors Hollywood had ever produced.

It was Y/n L/n for Christ’s sake. Hollywood’s Angel as they called her.

But what the pilot didn’t expect was to have found the love of his life. The same went for Y/n. Sure they had a moment movies often depicted as ‘love at first sight’ but c’mon, that was only in the movies…right?

Well perhaps it wasn’t just in the movies.

“Okay I see you!” Javy hollered from the side, standing on the red carpet a few paces away from where Y/n was posing for the cameras. Dressed to the nines in a black tux, Javy hyped up his fiancée like he always did at premieres and carpet events. This one happened to be at the 2022 Cannes Film Festival for the premiere of Elvis. “Give me face—yes ma’am! Work it-work it! Mmmh.”

Giggling the whole time, Y/n reaches out with her hand for him. He skips over, stopping to snap a picture on his phone. Pressing a kiss to her cheek, the two embrace for the photographers—who eat up every second they get with the couple. Ever since they announced their relationship in 2020 they were the it couple of Hollywood despite Javy not being in the industry. But his energy, personality, and of course his adoration for Y/n, made him well liked by her fans.

He worshiped the ground she walked on. Never did he give any indication he was with her for malice. Social media accounts he had were private and mostly to keep in touch with people he worked with. Her family loved him and his loved her. Whenever reporters approached him to try and ask invasive questions Javy would redirect to whatever project was staring in. “Isn’t the show amazing? I would say this is her best work yet—and the cast was amazing throughout.” He was definitely a keeper.

With similar personalities, though Y/n was more reserved in the public eye, the two were like a lock and key. Fitting together with a love so natural they couldn’t believe they got to experience it. They enjoyed going to concerts and the movies—getting into disguise whenever they didn't want the paparazzi following them. Sang and danced in the kitchen while they cooked, having their own karaoke parties with friends.

At one point in their relationship Y/n was to play a fighter pilot. So, what better way to prepare for the role than to shadow her partner and his colleagues. Once they got the green light from the Navy, Y/n had to do all the necessary training a pilot did to get into a jet. From there she was allowed to get in the backseat with either Javy or Natasha flying.

Flying with Natasha went smoothly….but her boyfriend was a different story. Of course she trusted him with her life and knew he would never put her in harm's way, but damn did he unlock his inner Maverick when she got in the plane with him.

“Javy Machado!!” She screamed, holding onto her seat for dear life when he flipped them upside down. “I swear I will kick your ass in the afterlife if you kill us!”

“Relax, baby,” he laughed, earning a groan from his girl. “I promise we’ll have a graceful landing.”

“It won’t be graceful when I’m puking my guts out!” She actually did vomit in the bag he provided her with before they took off. Instead of embarrassment she was just annoyed with him, but still enjoyed the ride no less. “I’m sticking with Natasha from now on.”

When it came to the squad, they were Y/n’s biggest supporters. After the initial shock and fangirl/fanboying—nearly shitting their pants at the fact their best friend was dating an absolute Icon—Y/n became part of their family. They pre-orders tickets to her movies, attending midnight premieres and after parties the actress invited them too. Sunday nights were reserved for watching her HBO shows, while Netflix series that were to binge watch were planned accordingly.

Nat loved having another gal in the group. It was a breath of fresh air and the two would go to lunch or have their own movie nights. “I’m surprised Machado hasn’t crashed in yet,” the pilot commented with a mouthful of popcorn as they sat in Y/n’s living room. Javy was in his office playing COD with the guys after pouting when Y/n said no to him joining in on their girl time.

“He’s occupied with his game. I’m surprised we haven’t heard any screaming at the tv yet.”

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, JAKE??”

“Spoke to soon.”

The couple were stars at award shows. It was no surprise they were always the best dressed. People constantly tweeted their excitement to see them attend, and expressed disappointment when they would not. And often the two’s reactions to cringe/unexpected moments resulted in them becoming popular memes—something Y/n already had a reputation of long before they got together.

2022 Oscars? Y/n’s Twitter froze due to the amount of tags from the snapshot of her and Javy’s expressions to Will Smith slapping the shit out of Chris Rock. “Did he just—?” “he did.” “Holy shit. Where’s the popcorn—I feel I need some right now.”

2023 Met Gala? People kept replaying the moment the couple did a double take at seeing Doja Cat dressed up as Karl Lagerfields cat. “What the actual…” “now that’s what camp should’ve been.”

And of course they couldn’t forget the most recent one of their unimpressed look from Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue at the most recent Oscars. “Should I go up there and pull a—.” “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Machado.”

Expect YouTube to be filled with videos complications titled, “Y/n L/n & Javy Machado being flabbergasted at award shows for 15 minutes straight,” and, “Y/n L/n & her husband Javy being Hollywoods favorite couple.”

Then there was Javy’s to die for reaction to Y/n recieving her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at only 29 years old. The only other day besides their wedding day where the man was in a heap of tears. “I’m just—,” he sniffed, “so proud of you, baby. You’ve earned this.”

When it came to live reactions at events years after getting married and Y/n embedding her legacy as the greatest actress of her generation, let’s just say Hollywood’s Angel and the Navy’s Coyote would always be its champions.

………….

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