#tgm au

[accioprocrastination]

One Day At A Time (Part 9/?)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: picking up right where we left off - Hangman and POW fiancée's reactions to the reunion

T/W: death, anxiety, panic disorder, PTSD, POW, gun violence, hints to torture

Masterlist

Last Part in case you missed it

GIF by santiagonex

Reader POV -

You expect to feel relief when Jake takes a step backwards and walks away from you.

You expected him walking away to make you feel less overwhelmed.

Instead you feel completely alone.

It's my fault Ghost is dead.

It's my fault he didn't get to come home.

It's my fault we went down in the first place.

It's my fault Jake's been unhappy this whole time.

You feel your lip wobble as you stand in place trying to suppress your emotions.

*

Jake POV -

Jake is four and a half hours into cleaning and reorganising the already spotless house in a futile attempt to distract himself from your presence.

He knows if things were normal you'd tell him to stop and come upstairs... But things aren't normal and you don't want me by your side, he thinks as he aggressively wipes the kitchen backsplash. Instead of herding him upstairs, it's dark outside and you are worryingly silent upstairs.

You're so quiet Jake keeps mentally deliberating whether you've moved a muscle since he left your side.

If I hadn't seen you earlier - I would think I was home alone.

I should be home alone, you should be in hospital.

Jake startles and reflexively jumps up colliding with the extractor fan as the sound of your terrorised crying piercing the silence.

He rubs the back of his head before snapping out of his daze and running upstairs to check on you.

"Sweets?" Jake calls trying to get your attention off of your thoughts and onto him as he bursts into your room. He reaches you in time to see your face contort in revulsion to the nickname you no longer associate with him. Presuming his presence has caused the reaction, Jake feels his heart drop in his chest.

Trying not to feel shame at the reaction, Jake continues trying to distract you. "You're okay, you're here with me. You're home." he repeats, taking a seat on the bed next to you. He's close enough to touch you but instead he just sits there talking, not sure if his presence will help at all.

She's never had a panic attack for as long as I've known her. Usually you're the put together one and I'm the anxious mess.

When your shaking stops, you curl up against the headboard with your arms crossed tightly around your knees.

"Try to take some deep breaths sweetheart." Jake instructs you. He goes rigid seeing you make yourself smaller at his words.

Did I do this? He thinks as you start crying quietly in trepidation.

He's seen you cry a million times but right now this tiny helpless cry is the worst sound he's ever heard.

What happened to you?

"It's me, It's Jake - you're safe." he reminds you as your hands turn white under the pressure of clenching your knees to your chest.

"Don't call me that." You plead to Jake seemingly out of nowhere once you're calm enough to feel more in control.

"What did I say?" He scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion as he tries to think back to what he's called you recently. Nothing out of the ordinary... is it something I said or did she imagine something in the panic?

You don't repeat whatever it was.

"Have you had a panic attack before?" He asks still sitting besides you on the bed.

You wipe your face but you're clearly still too wrapped up in your own head to respond to Jake.

Jake sighs and stays with you, knowing if the roles were reversed you wouldn't leave him. He stays silently next to you until you're calm enough to talk.

"Sorry if I woke you." Your voice comes out as a crackle from all of the crying.

"Don't apologise. I was just cleaning." He admits.

"Oh, I forgot you do that..." you mutter, "don't know how." you add feigning disbelief with an eye roll as you gesture to the spotless room.

Jake smirks slightly at your attempt to banter with him then moves to stand up and leave you to it but you grab his arm.

"Can you stay?" You ask, secretly wondering if he'd rather be alone.

"I was going to top up your water then come back." he says eyes flickering between you and the empty glass on your bedside. You let go of his arm and nod once, trusting that he'll come back.

The silence resumes the second he leaves your side and only ends when you let out a breath of relief hearing him running back up the stairs to rejoin you.

"I didn't really sleep while you were in the hospital, so I'm worried I'll snore if I stay." He bites his bottom lip placing the glass down on the side as he looks over at you to gauge if that would annoy you too much.

You don't tell him but you've slept through much worse. The thought of the sounds you heard in that camp sends your hands shaking again.

As if he reads your thoughts Jake says, "I'll stay but if I'm in your way or too loud just wake me up and I'll go to the other room."

*

You lie awake staring up through the darkness at the ceiling for what feels like hours. It feels strange to be sleeping on a bed let alone inside.

Besides you Jake mirrors your unease - scared to move and disrupt you.

He thinks maybe if he's still enough for long enough then you'll fall asleep and he'll be free to get more comfortable.

"Are you awake?" Jake whispers into the dark.

"Yeah." you respond.

If things were normal you'd ask me a random question to take my mind off of things. Jake thinks as the room falls silent again.

"Are you feeling okay?" Jake asks rolling over to put the back of his hand against your forehead. "I think you discharged yourself too early." he vocalises his worry.

"I'm fine." you blatantly lie, hiding your grimace as you shift slightly - trying and failing to get more comfortable.

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[jackiequick]

Livin’ On A Prayer | Top Gun Marverick Fanfic AU ✈️

Established Pairings: Jake ‘Hangman’ x Amber ‘Skysolo’ Kazansky , Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x Hazel ‘Daredevil’ Quinn

Characters mentioned: Wraith, Georgia ‘Peach’ Wells, Frostbite, Dane ‘Bone Saw’ Bradshaw & Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw, Maverick and etc

Timeline: 3 Years Post-Top Gun Maverick

Summary: Jacob Seresin never in a million years thought he’d be asking the Admiral a very simple yet important question

Notes: ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I WRITTEN A FIC FOR THIS FANDOM 😘 (pls be nice!!)

~~~

~~~~~~

He was sweating. He was nervous. He might as well been a little nauseous.

This was rare for him. Hangman is never this anxious for anything. But the fact that he was so happy yet terrified of the prospect? That made him nervous.

For the past three years, he’s been on cloud nine.

He’s studying to become an official member of Top Gun, to someday teach a group of young pilots and not just go out on missions where he’s deployed from weeks or months at a time. He has been able to rekindle friendships with his fellow Daggers and been to a few of their previous projects as well. But the biggest thing was that he found himself in the position of being with The Admiral’s daughter.

Amber Nic Kazansky.

Never in a billion years would Jake ever believe he’d be here. He’s been so busy and terrified of a commitment relationship before, in fear that if he’d ever get into a situation where something bad happened to him—he will be leaving his loved ones behind and completely heartbroken. Or worse.

But when a certain Angel walked into his life? Oh jeez, he couldn’t help but feel a burst of emotion and curiosity, that made him completely uneasy yet excited at the same time.

And now, here he stood outside of her parent’s house about to ask the biggest question of his life.

Yeah, sure, he could’ve asked Maverick or Frost to Amber’s hand in marriage. But he knew deep down, he’d just needed to get to the source of his love. Daredevil and Iceman—Tom and Hazel. Wraith, Danny, Frostbite and even his own sister said, he’d probably chock on his own spit. Oh god, he hoped not.

With a deep and steady breath, he knocked on the door of the house today. He waited on the front porch eyeing every single detail of the house. The flowers, the swing on the front porch, the coloring of the door, and how the windows to the living room were cracked open to let in the cold breeze. Oh gosh—this must’ve been anyone’s guess to run now and save yourself.

GAH! What was Jake saying?! He’s been to this house plenty of times before and even cracked a beer with this family more times than he can count! Suddenly he’s scared shitless? Great job, Hangman…you’re screwed.

He quickly snapped out of it once the door swung open to showcase the lovely brunette who lived here. Hazel smiled softly, her hair was tossed in a low bun, black jeans and a navy blue graphic t-shirt hung loosely underneath her sweater. Hell, she was wearing slippers with socks on. That gave Jake some relief.

“Jake, hi.” Hazel greeted him, leaning her body weight over the doorway, “How are you, honey?”

“Hi ma’am.” He greeted in return with a smile, “I’m doing well, thanks for asking.”

“That’s good, sweetheart. Um Amber isn’t here, she’s out with Peach and Phoenix, sorry.”

“Oh no, no! I mean…I know, I know that she is. I actually came by to see you.”

“Me? For what for? Did you boys get in trouble again?”

Jake laughed and shook his head. Maverick, him and the rest of daggers had a silly reputation of getting in trouble sometimes, resulting in needing someone to bail them out. Mainly Audrey, Ice and Hazel.

“No, no, we’re fine.” He replied reassuringly her, “I think it’s better if I do this inside. It’s pretty chilly out here.”

Hazel nods smiling as she led him into the kitchen. The two chatted softly about work and how things were going in their personal lives, as Hazel poured him a drink. They chuckled and smiled as they spoke, until the brunette remembered what Jake originally came here for.

“So, Jake, what did you want to ask me?” Hazel asked kindly, taking a sip of her drink.

He paused sipping his drink midway through as he took a breather and answered, “Well…um, it’s something involving me and your daughter.”

“You’re not having trouble with your relationship, are you? Because then there will be an issue. ”

“What?! No! No! We’re good, we’re pretty good. Honestly we’re doing amazing, I think.”

Hazel put her drink down in curiosity, as she searched Hangman’s eyes for an answer. From the moment he walked in, she could practically smell something was happening in his behavior. He was usually cheeky, extremely warm and friendly with others, aside from his cocky demeanor at times. Overall she liked him. But today? He was pretty much just not his usual self.

“Jake.” She started with a kind yet strong tone, “Whatever it is. You can tell me, might as well say it now or forever hold your peace.”

He nods and cleared his throat before smiling as he strongly stated, “I want to marry your daughter, Ms. Kazansky.”

Hazel was silent for a moment. Her expression seemed almost content yet calm, as if trying to figure out what exactly he was implying here. Yet, she couldn’t help but let a grin rise to her lips. She shook her head fondly and exhaled lightly. She did tell him to say it now or forever hold his peace. And he stated that firmly, she admired that part. She’ll have to talk with Tom about all of this later on, of course.

Jake stood there, shifting between his hands and her gaze, waiting for her to speak and say something. But by her expression, he could tell she was thinking positive about his statement.

“Yes.” Hazel said softly after a long pause as she nodded fondly, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jake asked repeatedly her words, trying to understand what she meant by that.

“Mhm, ‘okay’ as in, yes, you can marry Amber.”

Jake just stared at her blankly as Hazel burst into laughter and shook her head fondly, running her fingers through her hair.

“What? You thought I was going to bite your head off?” She asked, snorting and grinning at him.

He only nodded and awkwardly shrugging before replying, “Sorta? Bradshaw practically said that you might as well, straight up kick me out.”

“Bradley is just to scare ya. If anything, the person who would try to do that is Wraith. Me on the other hand? You, Jake, have earned my respect and trust in your decision to be with Amber.”

“Thanks, Ms. Kazansky. It means a lot coming from you, really.”

She couldn’t help but smirk as she asked, “Now, did my future son in law buy my girl a ring yet?”

Jake only shook his head and chuckled, “No, no, i haven’t. Coyote is planning on helping me out with that later…”

“…but first you need my husband’s permission for her hand in marriage?”

“Yup.” Jake replied before chuckling to himself remembering how he stood earlier, “Actually I was terrified that he would be the one to open the door first and not you.”

Hazel once more chuckled and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before replying, “Hey, you have nothing to worry about, Jake.”

“Eh, did you forget that your husband has diplomatic immunity in 46 countries?”

“…right. Well, he knows you will never hurt his girl, and if you did? Kid, you might as well have asked Maverick first to save your ass. Good luck, honey.”

~~~~

~~~~~~~

Mrs. Quinn-Kazansky pointed out that her husband was in his study as usual on Wednesday afternoons.

Tom always had a rather decent routine on Wednesdays—wake up early for a walk, head over to the library with his wife, check on his friendships and return home to stay in his home office to get as much work done as possible—afterwards the rest of the day, he was in his study. Then as the night came, he’ll find himself on the couch enjoying a movie.

The older blonde was sitting at his desk, dressed in grey sweatpants, a dark green cardigan, and some sandals. Not to forget his reading glasses. His fingers were tapping against the keyboard as he wrote another email. He heard a knock on the door.

“Come in!” He called out, as his gaze fell upon the door that slowly swung open.

His expression softened slightly seeing who entered his study, however his eyebrows stayed harden as they furrowed. Hangman was in his study this afternoon. It wasn’t uncommon for the young blonde to be at his house for multiple reasons, but it was odd for him to enter his study. Rare even.

“Sir.” Jake greeted him politely with a soft smile as he walked in further, “Is this a bad time?”

Tom inhales deeply checking the time on his watch and then shifted his focus to Jake. He could always use a much needed break from his schedule. He shook his head and stood up from the chair briefly to greet him as he smiled.

“Not at all, Jake.” He replied shaking his head and gesturing for him to sit down in one of chairs provided. “How you been?”

“Good, I’ve been good, sir.” Answered the younger blonde with a light smile. “How about you?”

“Ah, you know how it is. Work, travel and going to events every so often.”

“Sounds busy.” Jake said chuckling softly.

Tom nods as he chuckled, “More or less, if not I’ll hand over my work to Slider.”

“Anything in particular that you’re looking forward to?”

“The Naval Ball.” Tom answered as a grin approached on his lips, “Are you going this year?”

Jake broke into a matching expression and chuckled before nodding, “I will. And hopefully I might get to join your family at the table soon.”

“I don’t truly follow, kid. What do you mean?”

At that, Jake realized he might’ve slipped a little too early on the reason why he’s here. He bit in his inner, shifting his gaze between the older blonde and the pictures frames on his desks, as if trying to figure out what to say next. Tom’s expression was one of confusion, intrigue and slight patience, as his eyebrows grew more firm.

Seresin will never admit but if anything, he’s a bit more anxious than he expected. Ever since he realize he was dating The Admiral ‘Iceman’ Kazansky’s daughter—His only child that he had raised since birth by himself, until Hazel came along and made their family grow into something amazing—he knew if ever broke Amber’s heart, he’d be a dead man.

As calm, sharp and collected as Tom can be on the outside, with a presence that can make anyone respect him, on the inside? There was an ice cold storm brewing, that you won’t find until you provoked it hard enough or you did something wrong to make it relevant to the game. Overall? Tom is one of the most respectable and kindhearted man in the lineup of Admirals within this side of the country.

And if asking Hazel seemed easier than expected, then Tom would be tougher to deal with. That meant he had to choose his words carefully.

~~~

After a long pause, realizing that he might’ve zoned out into his thoughts and cleared his throat, catching the other man’s attention. Jake took a breath before speaking.

“I meant, it’s actually the exact reason I came here, sir.” Jake started sitting up a bit in his chair. “As you know, I’ve been with your daughter for the past three years now…and we’ve been doing pretty well so far.”

Tom nods as he smiled, “That I do know, yes. You make my daughter very happy, Jake, and I’m glad about that fact.”

“Uh, thank you, Mr. Kazansky. I’m always happy to hear that you’re feeling good about our relationship, because I want to ask you something about that.”

“Go on. I’m sure it must be important if you came here to see me personally.”

“It is, yes..”

Jake took a breath, inhaling deeply and pushing away his nerves as it said the next line.

“I’ll like to have your permission to marry Amber, sir.” Jake said firmly, however you can hear in the unfamiliar tone in his speech. “Look. I understand I might not have been the first choice, you had when you pictured sharing your daughter with…I’m a bit impulsive, and unprofessional at times, I even been known loose my cool if I feel like I need to one up the competition…but you seen my record and reports on the field. I like to believe I’m a good pilot.”

Tom just nodded silently, his expression stern and steady as if he was reading the younger blonde.

Jake continued, “But when it comes to Amber, well…from the very first moment I saw her, I didn’t know what hit me in that bar, I just knew I needed to say something. Before I knew it, the weeks went by and I fell in love with her. And ever since, as much as I may act dumb..or silly, I do it to make sure she’s okay. She’s my angel in a way…? So anyways, I just want you to know that I promise to be a good man to her, even if you deny my request..”

Tom simply doesn’t say a single word as he nods once more. He just watches Jake.

He wasn’t blindsided by the fact that the man in front of him was a good pilot or proud fighter. He wasn’t afraid to tell his friends that Jake was a good boyfriend to Amber. He wasn’t a bit surprised by the way he respects and praised her. Tom knew his daughter was a beauty to care for and protect at the end of the day.

However, he grew increasingly worried as Amber was growing up that she will never find anyone who appreciated and gave her the same amount of patience or encouragement that he gave her. Before Hazel, he was just him and his daughter, along with their friends. In response? He grew protective and almost always steered away from anyone who tried to mess with her.

Maverick would call him overprotective but then again, his best friend and wing man, understood deeply onto the feelings he held for his child.

Tom made sure that if Amber ever had a boyfriend, they will know he meant business. Ice cold, no mistakes, just like his callsign. His daughter wasn’t something to mess around with and if someone harmed her? Well, there is a reason his best friends were ranked very well, in the positions they played.

He knew someday his little girl will be walked down the aisle to her future husband and Tom will never admitted—it’s probably a cliche at best—but no man will ever make his princess happy as much as him. No one was ever good enough for his daughter. That she’d stay young forever and never leave his arms.

Or so he thought.

And here stood Jacob ‘Hangman’ Seresin in a moment of vulnerability asking for his permission to have his own daughter, become his wife.

“Okay.” Tom started in a soft tone, “To be honest, when Amber first told me about you, I thought that she was incredibly tired and wasn’t thinking straight. Because most pilots you met at the bar aren’t always in your best interest.”

“I-sir.” Jake said opening his mouth to defend himself, but was cut off by the older men who held up his hand.

“I thought that my Amby is going to have to be extremely cautious about this. Especially when I found out your position on the Uranium Mission with Maverick and the other Daggers. And when I read your file? I realized what my wingman and I had to keep an eye out for you as time went on.”

“Sir, in my defense i was—”

“And then you saved the day in the end. Maverick sang yours and the Daggers praises…so i figured, why not give this hot shot a chance? And as you know, I wasn’t too excited about meeting, but i was earger..”

“I know..”

~~~~

Suddenly, Tom stood up pouring himself a glass of water seltzer, due to Hazel’s persistence in making sure he stayed in good health, and kindly offered him a glass. Jake gladly accepted the offer and took a sip of his drink, waiting for Tom to continue. His gaze followed the older blonde as he nodded.

“But afterwards, I realized that you had very strong potential to earn my respect.” Tom said taking a sip of her seltzer water and turning around to lean around the countertop as he smile. “Soon enough, in the past 3 years, you earned my respect, my trust and my credibility. You proved how much you value your career, your friendships and loved ones. Most importantly? You proved to me how passionate and commitment, you are to my Amber.”

Jake couldn’t help but smile graciously at his compliments. He nods politely, having never heard anything like that, from any other father he met before. It gave him a sense of pride and hope for the rest of his day.

Tom continued, “But Jake, i gotta know, if you marry her, you understand that with the career you have, there are risks? She’ll be married to that part and you will have to accept everything in between.”

Jake furrowed his eyebrows at his question, because he knew that his girlfriend was a daughter of an Admiral, so she understood things. But he also marriage to Amber meant that it’s different in a sense, because she would be more likely involved in things. Moving into a larger house, deployments will hurt a bit more, planning or going to events, kids might be involved someday and so much more.

But he thought, hey if I managed to do this relationship with Amber so far, what’s the long haul for anyway? It’s a ride that he’s willing to take!

His gaze shifted to Iceman with a confident expression as he nods, “I understand that, sir. And I intend to make sure I can go back home at the end of the day to be with her…”

Tom smiled, staring off into the distance as he responded, “You know? When I first married Hazel, I wasn’t so sure of everything that will happen to us but I had confidence that we will figure it out. The best part was—is coming home to her in the end, knowing that we were okay.”

“That sounds lovely. I hope I can feel the same way someday.”

“Oh, you will.”

Jake furrow his eyebrows in confusion as Tom opened up one of a drawers, and removed a small piece of jewelry from it. In a swift gesture, he took the younger blonde’s hand and carefully placed in his palm, as Jake looked at him with a wide smile.

“You have my full respect and permission to marry her.” Tom said grinning softly, his voice filled with high regard. “Make me proud, son.”

“I will.” Jake replied returning the soft grin.

~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~

AHHH I WROTE THIS WITHOUT A DAY, SO I HOPE YALL LIKE IT!! 🙈✨I didn’t proofread this but I had a fun time making it.

Pls let me know what you think 💭 remember to like, comment and share

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[melgolbach]

COMING HOME || mickey garcia "FANBOY"

warnings⚠️: slight age gap? i don’t even think this is considered an age gap but reader is 25 and mickey is 30. [ spanish translation is at the bottom and so is military time ], no use of y/n (since when is y/n a trigger warning?)

you were in mid life crisis. you had three exams to do this week, and then the next week you have two more. on top of that, after your five exams— you have to present with a group about the choice of literature your four people have chosen and reinterpret it in a modern context. so in three weeks, you have your side of the project to do until it’s due.

it’s only monday, and you were sobbing in your bed with your grey covered sheets above your head. hoping, praying, that the military would give your boyfriend back to you to get through this next month. sad music was in the back ground outside of your sheets. sheets of crumbled paper all scattered over your shared bedroom. five notebooks all over the king sized bed, pencils, sharpies, and highlights all lost into the sheets.

your phone was placed down on the bed, your face planted in the soft pillow with tears all over your face. you felt a buzz from your phone, and your head tilted its way as you propped your phone up to look what it was to make your phone buzz. a soft smile plants on your face, 'MICKEY ❤️' was seen as a message. you put in your lock and open your phone, reading the green message.

MICKEY❤️:

hi my love, how are you? miss you ❤️.

a tear ran down your cheek as sobs come out of your mouth, not calmly handling the message you just got. it’s been two months since you’ve last seen your boyfriend, and sure you’ve been with out him longer, but with school beating your ass you’ve been in a tough space recently.

YOU:

not doing so well. school’s eating my ass up right now, and honestly i’m at my breaking point…

you hit sent. chewing on your lip as you see the three bubbles pop up and then away, and then back up and then away as if mickey was trying to find a way how to soothe you.

MICKEY❤️:

awe i’m so sorry to hear about that. when i get back, ill make sure to give you the best princess treatment in the world. best everything for my hermosa. ❤️‍🩹

you smiled sadly. it’s only the halfway point of him being on duty and you’re already crashing and burning with out him. he’s supposed to be gone for four months, is what he told you.

MICKEY❤️:

by the time you know it, exam season will be done, you’ll crush that project, and then one more month until you’ll see me and i’ll be in your arms again. for a very long time, so… breathe for me okay baby? if you’re feeling like crashing out, just breathe for me. pretend i’m there holding you. just know, it’s killing me too for being so far away without you. we’ll get through this together mi vida ❤️.

and then you were back at it again sobbing, a hand clasped over your mouth as your eyes read that text over and over again. after two minutes, you did so as mickey told you. breathing in and out, eyes closed as you fan your hot face.

the time read 01:25, your eyes widening with horror. you had an exam tomorrow at 14:00, a class at 07:45 and ending at 11:25. putting all your notebooks in order, you took only one into your bag since you’re only going to one class tomorrow, and then for the exam you really won’t need anything other than your pencil.

finally cleaning up and finishing at 02:00, you hopped into bed and finally closed your eyes.

———————————————————————————————

it was 17:55 by the time you came back to your humble of home. after your exam was done at 16:30, your friends wanted to have a bit of a sweet treat because they had said they felt ‘good’ about the exam. you didn’t want to go, but your two friends insisted on you going because you’re the life of the party everywhere you go.

chucking your shoes off, you didn’t notice mickey in the kitchen cooking up whatever it was on the stove as you made a big stretch and strut your way to your shared bedroom. you take out your hair clip, massaging your head for a good minute then began taking off all your clothes. moving to your drawer, you picked out an old hoodie mickey gave to you for the first of winter when you weren’t smart enough to bring your own to your fourth date. you put that on, then put his basketball shorts on as well.

going to your bathroom, you removed a bits of make up on you and jewelry as well. feeling so much better and relaxed, you make your way back into the living room and sat down on the brown soft leather couch.

star wars was on t.v.

star wars is never on t.v unless you’re cuddled up watching it with mickey of course. so when you see star wars was on— and the t.v. was as well, you shot up straight from the couch. “did you finally notice?” an oh so well familiar voice softly asked as you spun back to look where the voice was coming from.

there was mickey garcia, standing in comfortable civilian clothes cooking dinner for two. “m—” you start off, your lips quivering in shock as your eyes widen. you stay still like a deer in headlights, unable to move. you’re questioning everything in your head right now to see if it’s real or not, if you’re so far gone from missing mickey to making it look so believably real to see him standing just a few feet away from you.

“i-.., i know i said four months.., turns out, you really just need two to train basic trainee’s and then someone else takes over your shift.” he shrugged, a sheep smile on his face as he watches you. “mi amor?” he questions, his eyebrows furrowing with his head tilted.

that’s when you slowly move towards the kitchen, your hands both in front of you. “i’m going insane..” you mumbled, “if you were going insane you wouldn’t be able to smell this good spaghetti…, and this AMAZING tomato sauce you deeply love.” he grabs the sauce from the counter, shaking it side to side to show you then putting it back down.

you were inches away from mickey now. “hi.” he whispers, “you’re real.” you hiccup, “indeed i am real,” mickey giggled out. “were you crashing out that bad for me?” he laughed, his body touching yours as he leaned back. you don’t answer him.

all you do is wrap your arms around him tightly, your face into his chest. “i’ve missed you.” you sobbed, “i know mi amor. i know.” he whispered into your hair, kissing your forehead for as long as he could. “estoy tan feliz de tener a mi viejo en mi vida..,” you giggle out, sniffs coming along as you kiss his lips. “ohh.. ookay now okay now, i’m only five years older then you missy.” he snorts. “still old, old man.”

“and you love this old man, don’t ya?”

———————————————————————————————

SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:

hermosa- beautiful, gorgeous

mi vida- my life

mi amor- my love

estoy tan feliz de tener a mi viejo en mi vida- I'm so happy to have my old man in my life

———————————————————————————————

MILITARY TIME:

01:25 is 1:25 A.M. ] 02:00 is 2:00 A.M. ] 14:00 is 2 P.M. ] 07:45 is 7:45 A.M ] 17:55 is 5:55 P.M ] 16:30 is 4:30 P.M ]

A/N: i have to say. this is such a long FIC and oh my gosh i didn’t mean to make it that long 😭 so many unnecessary parts but oh well, it is what it is. anyways— this is my first mickey ‘fanboy’ garcia fic so please let me know how i did! also please comment if my spanish is wrong, im hispanic but i have no CLUE on spanish 💀 i use google translate. thank you for reading💕

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

AU with Young Teenage Bradley and Jake (where they’re like 13-14)

-Jake and Bradley go to school together and are in the same grade

-Jake LOVES giving Bradley a hard time, and Bradley tries his best to ignore it most of the time

-But one day, Jake says something that goes too far, and Bradley snaps and they get into a physical fight that lands them both in detention

-It’s just the two of them in the classroom when their supervising teacher goes for a bathroom break

-“…I don’t mean most of what I say, y’know, I’m just joking.” “Yeah, well, you’re not as funny as you think you are.” “…Oh, c’mon, I’m kinda funny and you know it.” “When you’re not being an asshole, maybe…”

-“…If you don’t mean it, why’re you always spouting all that bullshit all the time?” “…Because it’s what my dad would do. And if I act like him, maybe he won’t see me as such a friggin’ disappointment.” “…Does your dad actually call you that? Seriously?”

-“…My dad calls me a lot of things.” “Why?” “I told you - I disappoint him.” “What makes him so disappointed if you act like him all the time?”

-(Jake doesn’t answer)

-“Jake…what’s your dad’s problem?”

-“….He doesn’t want me to be gay.”

-(Bradley doesn’t answer at first)

-“…Are you gay?”

-“…………Yeah.”

-“And is calling you names the only thing your dad does to you?” “….No.”

-Then the teacher comes back in the room, and Bradley immediately stands up and announces that he needs to call his mother

-“BRADSHAW DON’T YOU TELL A DAMN SOUL -!” “ - I’m not gonna tell anyone. But I’d be a disappointment to my own parents if I let you go back home to somebody who treats you like that.”

-Bradley goes to call his mother, and as soon as their detention is over, Carole Bradshaw marches into the school to have a meeting with the principal, the guidance counselor, and Jake to discuss what should happen to Jake now (because Carole is NOT letting that boy go back to a house like that, no sir)

-Jake ends up staying with the Bradshaw for a few weeks before he goes to a more long-term foster home

-and on the day he leaves the Bradshaw house, Jake hugs a Bradley with tears in his eyes, and says “…Thank you.”

-A few months later, Jake asks Bradley out on a date, and Bradley says yes

-Because while Jake had stayed with the Bradshaws, Bradley had told Jake that not all parents were like his…

-For example, when Bradley had told his parents, a few years ago, that he thought he liked boys more than girls, they told him they loved him more than anything in the world, and that that would never change

-And that’s what Jake told Bradley years later…when Bradley proposed

[sunlightmurdock]

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

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

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

[bobfloydsbabe]

a gift & an invitation | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Bob gets a gift and extends an invitation.

WARNINGS: academia au, age gap (mid-20s/late 30s), power imbalance, sexual tension, allusions to smut, mention of holidays/christmas. just bob being a horny softie. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: 875

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I miss Professor Bob and Imogen so much, so I wrote a little blurb for them. This is the lead up to The Holiday Truce, which I swear I will finish one day even if it kills me. Enjoy!

“Dr. Floyd.” Dr. Kazansky smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, as he meets him outside the staff lounge.

“Dr. Kazansky,” he greets back. He brushes rapidly melting snowflakes from his hair, a little antsy about why he’s being cornered in the corridor on the last day before the holiday break. “What can I do for you?”

“How are you finding it having a TA?”

“It’s, uh, fine.” Actually, it’s his own personal hell. How is he supposed to explain that his teaching assistant is on his mind all the time? Explain that he knows what her pussy feels like around his fingers? That he knows exactly what she looks like when she comes. ‘Fine’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I knew you’d like her,” his boss says with a self-satisfied smirk. Bob hopes the shitty corridor lighting covers the way his cheeks heat. “But I’m surprised you didn’t refuse.”

He’d wanted to. “She’s… persistent.” He had tried to tell her he didn’t need a teaching assistant, but she’d brushed him off every time. She kept coming back, and he gave up convincing her to leave him alone.

“She is,” he agrees, patting Bob’s shoulder. “Happy holidays, Dr. Floyd.”

He wishes his mentor happy holidays and hurries down the corridor to the safety of his office. He closes the door and shuts his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that he only has to get through today, and then he has two glorious weeks of freedom.

“You okay there, Professor?” His blood runs cold. Not even his office is sacred anymore.

He opens his eyes and straightens his back. “Miss Van Doren.” He cuts across to his desk, setting his bag down with a thud, and frowns at the wrapped box in front of him.

He stares at the brown paper then turns his gaze to Imogen, who, to his utter shock, is not wearing a skirt for once. It should make him happy, but disappointment settles in his veins instead. “What’s this?”

She blinks her dark doe eyes at him in that way he’s come to recognize is anything but innocent. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

He grumbles, pushing his glasses back up his nose. She’s sitting on the sofa towards the back of his office. She spent the first few weeks as his TA digging it out from underneath piles of books, notes, and other teaching material, and he hates to admit that it’s nice to see the floor beyond the path from the door to his desk. She even found the missing black tower and white queen for his chess set.

He reaches for the perfectly square gift, running his fingers under the paper to loosen the tape. In his periphery, Imogen stands and approaches. Beneath the wrapping is an equally nondescript brown box, and inside he’s met with navy blue tissue paper.

What greets him is a ceramic cup. His eyes shoot up to Imogen, who’s picking her cuticles, giving away how nervous she’s feeling. “What’s this?”

The corners of her pull lips curl up and she shrugs nonchalantly. “Have a look.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, wishing she was wearing a skirt so he could get a look at those supple, creamy thighs. What he wouldn’t do to settle between them and dine on her center.

He reaches into the box, taking out the delicate ceramic. He raises it and studies the design on the outside, his eyes widening. “Is this…?”

“A teacup with a picture of a hunting cheetah? Yeah.”

He puts the cup down and stares at his TA, as beautiful as she is aggravating. He could kiss her. It’s been over a month, but he still remembers the taste of her lips. Can still recall how she felt when she came undone on his fingers. The memory has fueled so many masturbation sessions, it’s borderline pathological.

“What are you even doing here? I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”

He doesn’t know what to say to such a thoughtful gift, so he changes the subject, trying to gather his thoughts.

Imogen scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going home.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to.” She walks back to the sofa and grabs her tote. “Are you not going to be with your family?” She slides it onto her shoulder and faces him.

“I went for Thanksgiving,” he replies, as if that explains anything. He doesn’t want to get into it and from Imogen’s vague answer, she’s right there with him.

She nods, biting her lip as she always does when she’s thinking. Her eyes meet his after what feels like an eternity of silence. “So you’ll be all alone on Christmas?”

“So will you.”

She breathes out a laugh. “I guess so.”

Now it’s his turn to be quiet. He watches her. She watches him right back. He’s spent so much time fighting his attraction to her, struggling to keep his desire at bay, but when she looks at him like that? Like she wants him as much as he wants her? His mouth opens before his brain can catch up.

“Do you want to spend Christmas Eve with me?”

I NO LONGER HAVE A TAGLIST. FOLLOW @bobfloydsbabe-library FOR UPDATES.

[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

[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.

[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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[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.

[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!

-> Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @topgun-imagines @gcthvile @letsgotothefantasyworlds-blog @t-nd-rfoot @djs8891 @missstrawbs2001 @hardballoonlove @hangmanbrainrot @theloveoftoms @mallowbee4 @halesfavoriteharlot @rooster-84 @starkleila @buckysteveloki-me @ximehs and etc

[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."

[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 🫡

[waklman]

Fake it

Chapter Two: Drunk on Halloween

synopsis: a pair of best friends, one apartment, and one fake dating ploy to get jake’s ex girlfriend back, will end well right? wrong.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n, underage drinking, mentions of binge eating, jake and reader are both 20. this blog is 18+, everyone please thank @blue-aconite for deciding that jake 6'5 :)

word count: 4.3k

college au, fake dating trope, roommate trope

previous chapter | next chapter | fake it masterlist

The harsh sun beaming directly on Bradley’s back makes him deeply reconsider meeting up with Jake—especially on the one day he had off in his class schedule. Instead of sleeping in, like he originally planned to, Bradley’s waiting outside the student center building—that he didn’t even know existed until now. 

Flocks of underclassmen are exiting through the front doors, fresh lanyards hanging around their necks as they walk around him. A few of them even mutter an apology to Bradley, despite him clearly being in the wrong, planting himself in the middle of the walkway—with no intention to move.

Just as Bradley’s about to turn around and leave, the devil himself appears with a crowd of sorority girls in front of him—laughing as he holds the top of the door open for them to file out through. And even with Bradley’s impatience wafting off towards him, Jake doesn’t falter. 

In spite of it, Jake dips his head back down to say his goodbyes to the pack of girls, making sure to give out individual hugs as well. He then jogs over to Bradley with two energy drinks clutched in one hand, and a toothy smile plastered on his face—one that Bradley isn’t affected by because he’s not some girl seeking a temporary semester crush to keep herself going. Bradley’s just here to relay information, and to get lunch.

Ignoring the unimpressed look he’s receiving from Bradley, Jake continues walking down the cement path after passing him one of the drinks. It’s pocketed into Bradley’s sweatpants for now. 

“Untwisted Javy’s panties,” Bradley flatly states, catching up behind Jake in two long strides. 

“What?” Jake’s brows furrow, looking ahead at an approaching tour group. Stepping over to his left, Jake makes more space on the pavement for them to walk pass him as he continues on. 

Unlike his friend, Bradley doesn’t move over at all, he continues walking in a straight line—causing the appointed tour guide to visibly panic as he divides up the herd of highschoolers from their parents. “You forgot Juliet? He forbade me from seeing you.” Bradley’s face remains stoic, delivering his reminder coldly. 

“Oh, yeah,” Jake answers, mildly confused. He hasn’t got a clue where Bradley pulled the new nickname from. All Jake knows is that he can finally get through the doors for frat parties, especially now that Javy’s cooled off his case.

Both of them meet back again, walking side by side—oblivious to the wide-eyed teenage girls doing double takes at the two attractive college boys that just passed them. 

It wasn’t like Jake and Bradley were blind to the fact that they always stood a head taller than most people. As a matter of fact, they both secretly marveled at their size comparison to others—it was just hard to remember how large they both were when they stood shoulder to shoulder, making eachother look rather normal. 

Jake pops open the tab of his energy drink. He slows down his steps, permitting Bradley to gain on him as he sips on the liquid that pools around the rim of the can. 

“This isn’t me helping you two with this shitty plan.” Bradley starts, before getting to his next point. Jake nods once, accepting the preface.

Reaching a downhill slope, their pace begins to wind down. “Talked to some chick in Alpha Xi for you. She told me Kendall’s coming to that party we’re co-hosting next weekend.” Bradley mutters, regrettably. 

Opposite to Bradley’s dead eyes, Jake’s own green orbs shoot into a brighter shade at the news. 

Bradley can nearly see the cogs turning in Jake’s head. From the look on his face, Jake’s already decided on taking you as his plus one to next week’s party. 

Jake elbows Bradley’s side. “You talked to someone for me?” 

While Bradley confirmed, more to himself, that this wasn’t him helping Jake out—the slight guilt is still there. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, knowing you’re in the thick of it all. 

Other guys would have no hesitancy when helping out a  buddy, but Bradley did. An unsensible part of him wishes you didn’t remind him of his little sisters so much. Juicing out information that obviously aids Jake’s dumb ploy feels like he’s setting one of his own sisters up for disaster. And though you were just as clueless as Jake was—Bradley’s no idiot. He might act like he doesn’t know what’s going on sometimes, but that’s only to have an upper hand on people. 

It was hard to not ignore the elephant in the room, Bradley felt he was watching two characters dodge an issue that was going to end up blowing up in their faces. But, Jake’s too wrapped up in his own delusions about Kendall to see that, and you? Bradley’s not close enough to you to put his finger on what method of denial you’ve stuck to. 

“You flirt with her to find that out, or are you just that handsome?” Jake adds on, laughing behind the can he brung up to his lips again. 

“Look.” Bradley cuts him off, making a sharp turn towards the direction of the dining hall. Jake follows alongside him, sloppily taking a larger chug than expected, caused by the change in route. 

“I have plenty of sisters, they—” Bradley presses his tongue to the back of his teeth, withholding the sappy lecture that’s threatening to spill out. Jake didn’t need to know he has that side to him, not yet. 

Bradley alternatively lets out a breath of frustration. “Just be careful,” he mumbles, stuffing his hands into his hoodie. 

Bradley watches from the corner of his eye as Jake discards the half empty can into one of the many trash bins scattered across campus. 

As much as Jake hates how much Bradley’s become protective of you, Jake also knew that this meant that Bradley liked you. Bradley Bradshaw—the guy who didn’t think twice when he stepped onto sloshed freshman that groaned under his foot—liked you.

And when Bradley extended his care to someone, he kept a close eye on them at all times. It was a tendency he fell into after becoming an older brother. Therefore, Jake made sure there would be no harm caused to you before bringing this idea up to Bradley. Because you and Jake? That’s never happening, it’s actually impossible, outrageous, unimaginable even. 

Jake knew what you liked, and that wasn’t him. Time and time again, you went for guys who were put together, guys who were as smart as you were, and guys who made your heart flutter through lame shit that Jake can’t even come up with. The few relationships you had didn’t last that long, but Jake was pleased knowing you weren’t left disrespected in the breakup. You were always the one who cut things off anyways. 

Having that knowledge made Jake confident that you’d say something if this fake dating thing wasn’t cutting it anymore. 

“Relax, Dad.” Jake claps a hand onto Bradley’s back, lightly laughing at the uptight expression dawning on his features. 

Seeing that they’ve reached the wide steps leading up to the dining hall, Jake lets the hand on Bradley’s back fall to his side again. Already dismissing their conversation, Jake stomps his way up the stairs—skipping a few steps just because his long legs allowed him to. 

Bradley sighs at his lack of awareness, following right behind Jake. Putting his hunger aside, Bradley feels something else bothering his stomach—a premonition, is what his kooky sisters would call it.

“Quit covering your face. I’m tryna show you off, not hide you.”

Contrary to his complaint, you turn your head away from the speechless girl, who unfortunately, stumbled upon you two in a compromising position. “This is humiliating,” you groan quietly into his hoodie, listening to her scramble off with hurried footsteps.

Meeting up with Jake in the library was clearly a mistake on your part. With your search for textbooks coming up empty, Jake took it upon himself to fool around, making a show in front of other innocent students, subjecting them to a view of him towering over you. How else would everyone know you’re my girlfriend, he argued. 

You lean back against the bookshelf he’s pinned you against. 

Thumbing over the button of your denim shorts, Jake lets out a soundless breath. The metal clasp looks so tiny compared to his digit tracing it—putting Jake in a momentary trance. “My girl’s so shy, what am I supposed to do with you,” he teases, eyes still trained on your waistband. 

“I…I see why she broke up with you. You can’t keep your hands to yourself,” you grumble—face hot at the coined term. It’s embarrassing as is—that he’s starting with a public declaration of your ‘relationship’, but calling you his girl? None of your exes had even attempted to test out the term with you, because they had shame—something that Jake Seresin has not one ounce of. 

I see why she broke up with you. Right, Kendall broke up with him.

Jake’s hands drop from your figure, feeling kicked by your comment. “You think so?” He whispers, eyes trailing back up to your face. Jake fills his cheeks with air, self-conscious at the sudden reminder that Kendall dumped him out of the blue—without giving him a single explanation as to why.

Reaching up a hand to squish his face, your eyes soften. His cheeks slowly deflate as your fingers press down on his tanned skin, allowing him to blow out the excess air. “No. I don’t think so.”

After echoing back his comment to him, Jake eases up again—puckering his lips in your hands to make you laugh, which you do—quietly. The librarians were already well versed on who you two were, there must’ve been a catalog of complaints under their desks with both your names on it. 

You drop your hand from his face, forcing Jake to conceal his disappointment at the motion. “Told some girls I have a new girl today,” he moves on, eyes tracing over the lines of your face. 

It only hits him now how much you’ve aged—not like it’s a bad thing. You just look different—not like the younger version of you that Jake had in his head.

“Told em’ you’re real pretty—think that’ll get back to her?” Jake rests his palms on your hips again—maintaining the illusion.

Through natural impulse, Jake’s thumb finds itself ringing around the clasps of your shorts again. The pad of his digit circles the metal button, and occasionally drops down to trace over the teeth of your zipper. He plays with the opening of your pants so lightly, that you don’t even notice it.

You face scrunches up, pretending to wince for his ex-girlfriend. “Ouch.”

“Can’t wait to break your heart and dump you, once she comes crawling back to you,” you lightly joke, poking a finger into his chest where his heart would sit. Despite his soft jab to Kendall, you had a feeling that he’ll win her back in no time.

Jakes softly smiles at you, almost forgetting where you two are for a split second. “You wouldn’t break my heart, Princess. You’re too nice for that,” and he meant it.

When his older sisters used to complain about how insufferable Jake was during puberty, you always assured him that he wasn’t annoying at all. One could say the comradery only conspired because you were also going through puberty, but it made Jake feel validated at the time. Thirteen year old Jake was well aware that he was a brat, but he just needed to hear you say that he wasn’t. 

“I’m just the bestest friend ever huh?”

“The best a boy could ask for,” Jake’s eyes crinkle from his stretched out smile.

In the last hour that you two have spent here, there had been a layer of hushed whispers that can be heard amongst the soft clattering of hardcover books and clicking of keyboards—but there’s one familiar voice off in the distance that urges you to tune out Jake’s response. 

Turning your head in search for it, your vision zones in on a group of girls heading directly towards you and Jake. You don’t know if it was pure luck or your intuition but the voice belonged to one of Kendall’s friends. 

To your surprise, all her girlfriends are here—but she’s not with them.

Right as you take notice of the one friend, the glossy lipped girl makes instant eye contact with you. She wastes no time notifying the others around her by swatting their arms with her nimble hand. 

The air in your lungs immediately expunges once they all start to swivel their heads precisely at you. 

Alertness strikes you like a clap of thunder, prompting you to snap your head back to Jake. His smile falls once he catches your panic-stricken expression. 

Wanting to decipher what’s bothering you, Jake tears his concerned eyes off you and starts to lift his head in the direction you were previously looking at. 

If Jake were to look over there—this whole dating thing wouldn't look natural. With that in mind, you knew you were left with only one option. 

Without a warning, you cup his cheek in your hand—bringing his attention back to you. Tucking away your nerves, you clasp your other hand onto the back of Jake’s neck—pulling him down towards you.

It almost happens too fast for Jake’s brain to register what’s going on—until he feels a new warmth against his mouth. 

You’re kissing him.

Your tongue isn’t shoved down his throat, your lips aren’t slotted into his—all you do is softly press your lips against the corner of his mouth, but it catches him off guard nonetheless. 

From the sudden proximity, the distinct scent of your strawberry body-wash floods his nose and travels to his brain—scrambling all of his thoughts into one jumbled mess. 

Not knowing what to do with himself, Jake digs his sweaty fingers into your hips in surprise, the pads of his fingers practically wet your denim. This was the last thing he expected out of his visit to the library.

Slowly, you pull back only to peck him on the corner of his mouth again, to make it look believable. Deciding it should be enough, you get off your tippy toes—and withdraw the hand you hooked onto him. 

Disregarding the dizzying rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins, you look up at Jake expectantly—lashes fluttering underneath him. 

It’s fruitless—Jake’s scan to see if you’re wearing that prickling lip plumping gloss Kendall used to jabber out, the one that made his mouth sting from kissing her. Because Jake feels that similar sensation on the little spot you kissed. His lips tingle there.

“Jake? Did they see?” You ask, cutting through his thoughts. 

Jake blinks down at you, marked with confusion. “Jake.” You stamp down again, urging him to check. You were far too mortified to make eye contact with those girls again.

Jake stammers for a moment before looking off to see what you’re talking about. Finally, his sights land on the overly familiar group of girls—it’s Kendall’s best friends.

They’re all standing by a row of printers across the library floor, faces frozen in shock. Their heads almost knock into each other in a failed attempt to turn around, as if he hasn’t already caught them looking over here. 

Dismissing his heart thumping in his chest, from the energy drink he guzzled down earlier—Jake twists his neck to look back at you again, mouth parted in realization. You took the initiative to kiss him on the edge of his mouth, because they were looking—because from this angle, it looked like you were giving him a sweet little peck. One a girlfriend would give to her boyfriend.

Jake easily shakes you from the way he squeezes your hips in celebration. The boastful action pulls a weak smile from you. “You're a fucking genius, you know that?” Jake feels like he’s about to explode from the swirl of pleasant emotions in his chest, ones that he can’t even put a name to. 

Jake could give you an actual fucking kiss right now. Even if you’re probably wearing that tingling lip gloss. 

“Get your–own! Jacob!”  you shriek, pulling your ice cream cone away from him. The soft serve was initially bought as a thank you gift, for the show you put on in the library. But you were sadly mistaken if you thought you could enjoy your frozen treat without Jake asking for a bite—which turned into two bites—which turned into half of your ice cream being gone before you could have so much of a taste.

The fight you put up is futile, as Jake’s already coming up from behind you. His large frame almost casts a shadow onto the bulletin board you’re both standing in front of. To steady your stance, Jake presses his palm against your stomach, so you don’t stumble forward.

Holding your wrist steady with his other hand, Jake lifts your hand up to his mouth to sink his teeth into the melting glob of milk and sugar. After securing a large bite, he uncurls his fingers from your wrist. “What are you gonna do about it? Kiss me?” He asks, chest rumbling behind you. 

Tipping your head backwards, the top of your head hits his chest. “No more,” you declare softly—looking at him through your lashes. 

Jake licks off the excess ice cream on the corner of his mouth. His teasing smile drops at your serious plea. “No more,” he repeats, looking down at you. 

You knew it was ridiculous to be slighted by Jake eating your ice cream, but you’ve been feeling uneasy during the past few days. And the snacks back at the apartment weren’t enough to diminish your need to stress eat. There was something in the back of your mind lately, that’s been increasing your desire to binge. 

Jake nudges the side of your foot with his own, encouraging you to eat your ice cream.

At the assurance that he’s done consuming your vanilla cone, you both bring your attention back to the array of neon flyers stapled onto the board in front of you two.

Since Jake’s hand is still pressed against your tummy, he extends his pinky to play with the button of your shorts again. “How about the outdoor movie? Maybe Kendall will show up,” he offers.

Your eyes search for the poster he’s referring to. “Jake, you’re really bad with scary movies. It says right there that it’s a horror movie night,” you point out, apprehensively. 

“Movie nights are stupid anyway,” he scoffs, setting his embarrassment aside. 

For the next few minutes, you read off the upcoming school events to Jake as he distracts himself by watching you give your ice cream kitten licks—holding back the urge to take another bite. 

“...I don’t think she’ll be showing up to any of these Jake,” you conclude, leaning back against his chest with the waffle cone between your teeth. 

Jake stiffens. It only just occurred to him now, that he made you two come all the way down here for no reason. Jake was already aware of an event you both could go to with Kendall’s confirmed attendance.

“Did you just—flex your abs because I laid back on you?” 

Yeah he did. It was reflexive for the most part, but there’s other things to be discussed. 

Jake cuts in with his new idea, “My old frat is co-hosting a party that we’re invited to. Kendall’s showing up,” he proposes, looking down to probe your reaction. 

“Oh, okay. We can—we can do that,” you untangle yourself from him, while still being careful to not drop your cone.

Jake’s brows pinch in confusion, watching you slip out from under him. “Where are you going?” 

Doing a quick turn to face him, you hand him the empty cone which he grabs from you. “That just reminded me of something—I gotta go. I’ll meet you at home later?”

Jake raises the cone to his mouth, taking a bite from it. “You don’t want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure him with a faint smile. 

When the doorbell rang through the house, Bradley swung open the door, already prepared to tell whatever girl that was there to leave. And that her boyfriend is most likely cheating on her if he lives in this house. 

Instead of finding some teary eyed girl on the doorstep of the frat house, he found you standing there digging the toe of your sneaker into the stained doormat beneath you. 

If he was given a heads up that you were coming, Bradley would’ve made an effort to tidy up his room. When he led you inside, he had to kick away the piles of out-turned shirts and dirty boxers to clear the way for you. 

Bradley couldn’t begin to imagine Jake's reaction if he knew that you were sitting on top of Bradley’s bed right now. 

Typically when Bradley did have girls on his mattress, they didn’t look like a meek little lamb with their hands politely folded into their laps and they definitely didn’t have their legs stiffly glued together.

Directly across from you, Bradley’s manspreading in his black and white gaming chair. He’s dressed in grey sweats and a black hoodie. And the only light in his room is a desk lamp that shines down on your face.

“He definitely remembers.” Bradley squints his eyes at you in suspicion. It’s not often that you come to him for advice, so when you did, it always had to do with Jake. 

Your hands clamp tighter in your lap. “I don’t know Bradley, he looked so confused when I mentioned it in the elevator,” You’re practically sweating under the yellow light, as if Bradley’s cross-examining you. 

“You kiddin’ me? I’ve seen Seresin play Jenga when he had a pack of beers in his system. And he fucking won,” he scoffs, leaning foward to rest both elbows on his knees.

Bradley’s voice is naturally gruff, but he’s making an effort to keep a calm tone with you—because it honestly looks like you would shatter like glass, if he were to speak to you in the wrong way. “When did you say this kiss was?” 

At the question, your face scrunches up trying to remember the details. “It was at a Halloween party—we had to be sixteen or something,” you swallow thickly, recalling what follows. “I only had a few hard seltzers but Jake he…um he had a couple of his dad’s beers.”

Bradley intently nods, ensuring you that he’s listening.

“The music was so loud Bradley, I could barely make out what he was saying—he was trying to tell me something but his words were all—they were,” you pause, deliberating over the right word choice.  

“Slurred? Fucked up? All over the place?” He offers, engrossed by your narrative. 

“Yeah, and God—I had such a big crush on him at the time,” you bury your face in your hands. This had to be the first time you admitted this out loud. Never in a million years would you think you’d tell Bradley of all people.

Bradley presses his lips together and nods slowly, unmoved by your confession. He wonders what his sisters would tell you in this situation. 

On his bed, you’re taking slowed breaths. It doesn’t take a genius to get a sense on why this problem from years ago is troubling you now. But, Bradley’s not sure if he wants to be the one to break it to you.

Bradley sighs deeply, putting his hard demeanor on hold. 

“You don’t have to say anymore, I can tell how the story ends,” he says quietly, bringing a stiff hand over your knee. 

Jake had just broken up with his first girlfriend that Halloween and intentionally got shit-faced, while dressed as Ken and you as Barbie. The costume was meant for his girlfriend pre-breakup, but you took it and matched with him instead—hoping it would cheer him up. 

After having too much to drink, Jake came staggering over to you, spewing out nonsense you couldn’t even hear over the blaring music.

Then, he kissed you—right then and there. It was nothing special, the kiss lasted for less than three seconds, but it still knocked the air out of your lungs.

And right after he took your first kiss, Jake proceeded to pass out, landing straight on your shoulder like dead weight. It left you standing there, trying to keep him upright as your legs felt like jelly. 

The morning after, Jake didn’t bring it back up. Right when you knocked on his door still giddy from last night, Jake let you in and continued his complaints about his ex.

You had cried for weeks at the revelation that he didn’t remember. That he had probably mistaken you for his ex-girlfriend, given the costume and all. Jake thought he kissed her in his drunken haze, not you.

And by the time you two were seventeen, you finally got past it. Whatever romantic feelings you felt for him diminished to nothing. And you’ve already concluded that it didn’t matter anymore.

So why does it bother you so much now? 

“…Get out…my…room,” you tiredly mumble. The words are almost incoherent as they slip out your mouth. 

Sitting on your bedside, the corner of Jake’s lip tugs into a small smile. How can he take you seriously when your face is squished into a pillow? 

When Jake came in to check up on you, he walked in on you being half awake with your front sinking into the bed and your back pointing up towards the ceiling. 

With a hand sprawled against the small of your back, Jake stretches his fingers wider to see much of your back he can cover. Then, he begins to gently caress his hand over your spine, contributing to your sleepiness. 

“Where’d you go?” He asked in a hush tone, not wanting to disturb you too much. 

Jake had gone straight home after you left him earlier in the day, but you didn’t get back until the sun had set. And when you finally got home, you looked off. 

“Friend’s house,” you short-cut your answer, a tell-tale sign that you were drifting off. 

Jake pauses his movement.

“…What friend?” Last time he checked, you had no other friends but him. 

He waits for you to answer, but he’s only met with silence. You fell asleep on him.

All he can do is sigh, pulling his hand away from you. And as he stares down at your peaceful state, Jake struggles to identify the uneasiness twisting in his stomach.

note: after much keyboard smashing she is here! thank you for reading! and as always, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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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)