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thewulf · 3 months

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Not Just Pals || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Hello darling! I have a request for you if you don't mind... It's a hangman x fem! Reader pen pals to friends to lovers kind of thing. Like maybe when he was in the academy someone put his name in this program to write to college students but joke on them because he got paired with reader and they hit it off almost instantly... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew! This one was for whatever reason really tough to write! I changed it up a little bit but I hope you guys still enjoy it. :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.9k +

T/W : Self-doubt

October 9th, 2014

Hi There Y/N,

I’m not sure how you’re really supposed to start one of these things? How are you supposed to go about talking to somebody you’ve literally never met before? Although the Navy/Army pen pal thing could be interesting. I’ll be honest, my buddy signed me up and I didn’t think I’d actually write anything down but then I got the email with your name on it, Cadet Y/N Y/L/N. Consider myself intrigued.

What’s it like up in New York? Is it cold? Do you get a lot of snow? It gets awfully cold down here in Maryland, so I have to imagine how cold it gets up there. I’m from Texas so I’m still adjusting to this weather… four years later. It’s not easy. I think it’s the hardest part of living in the northeast. I’d rather run a marathon with a thirty-pound pack on than sit outside in the snow for more than twenty minutes. I hope to get stationed somewhere warm when this is all set and done.

Your ‘about me’ says you’re going into the Air Defense Artillery after West Point… which is the exact opposite of what I’m doing. Consider myself doubly intrigued Cadet. What do you do? Fire missiles and rockets at jets? That can’t possibly be as much fun as firing them when you’re in the air. It’s cool just not nearly as cool as what I do, know what I mean? Maybe a close second though.

Have you even been in a jet before? I bet you’d like it. I obviously don’t know you, but I haven’t met many people who didn’t like it. There’s something so freeing about flying 1,000 miles per hour in a tiny silver tube. You should try it sometime. If this whole thing works out maybe I’ll even take you up one day, who knows?

I guess that was my attempt at 20 questions. Hopefully you didn’t find it too annoying. Hope to hear back from you soon!

Jake Seresin

November 23rd ,2014

Hello Future Lieutenant Jake Seresin,

I’m thrilled you actually decided to write. I’m glad my name was all you needed to pick up that pen. I have to admit you made me giggle a few times. You seem effortlessly funny Mr. Seresin. Even for a soon-to-be Pilot.

I find it comical you’re asking me about the weather of all things, Midshipmen. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on an awkward first date? But to answer your question, yes it’s cold as all get out up here. But I’m from Indiana so I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t wish West Point wasn’t in Georgia or something. Why’d they have to put all the Military schools in the north?

What was it like growing up in Texas? Did you ever see snow? One of my favorite memories from this place is watching my roommate (who’s from Florida) see and play in snow for the first time. She froze her ass off but had the day of her life. She also hates snow now. So, it looks like you warm people have that in common.

To sum it up I guess you can say we fire rockets and missiles. My professors always say, ‘If it sounds like rocket science, it is’. Basically, we need to protect the ground troops from the flying bastards aka you. Although we do love our American flying bastards. So, I guess that doesn’t knock you down too many pegs in my book. Do you think they matched us up because our jobs are the antithesis of the other? If so, somebody had a hilarious sense of humor.

I’ve never been in a jet, and I have no plans to either. I don’t think I’d enjoy it if we’re being honest. You’re talking to the girl who gets sea-sick on cruises and had to take a motion pill if we’re going to an amusement park. My lil brain can’t handle the motion. A character flaw as they say. I also have a sense that you wouldn’t go to easy on me, being Army and all. I’ll stick to my calculations and rockets.

Don’t tell anybody I wrote this, but I do think what you guys do is so badass. I work with a bunch of jealous Cadets who couldn’t make it into the Army Aviation division, they’re just bitter. When I was little my dad used to take me to the Blue Angels shows in Chicago whenever they made their way across the States. Kind of the reason why I wanted to be in the military in the first place. But only my dad knows that. And well, I guess you now too. So, keep my secret safe Mr. Seresin.

I know the weather is less than desirable, but I do hope you’re finding things you love in Annapolis! There are some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had there.

Thanks for the smiles after a long week!

Your New Friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

February 16th, 2015

Future Second Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N,

That has a right to it doesn’t it? Your name sounds good with a Second Lieutenant in front of it. Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. Getting busy with graduation coming up and practical’s and all. It’s a lame excuse I know, but it’s all I got. I hope you know how big I smiled reading your letter to me. I read it about fifty times before I could write a decent response to you. You have a way with words that I haven’t read in a long, long time.

Was your father in the military? None of my family was. I also loved the Blue Angels when they came down to Houston for the air shows. I’d always beg and plead and finally my mom or sister would give in and take me. They’re also the reason I’m here. So, I guess we should thank them that we got to meet. Neither you nor I would be in these academies without them. Your secret is locked away in the drawer and safe in my head too. It’s super safe with me.

I’ll be honest, the food here is so damn good. I sure do miss my Texas barbeque, but the spread is better up over here. Plus, the snacks? I didn’t know there was different brands sold across the states and you guys have better girl scout cookies! That’s just not fair. I could’ve gone my whole life knowing that there were two versions of girl scout cookies and I got the worse version. I’ve enjoyed the move far more than I’ve regretted it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It doesn’t guarantee I’ll be a pilot, but it means I’m one step closer to getting there.

What all schooling do you have to do after you graduate this spring? Are you up for deployment soon? I’ve got a lot left to go. If I get picked after I’ve got a few years of flight school ahead of me. Then I’ll really be off. Wish me luck I make it!

With Love,

Jake

March 13th, 2015

Mr. Seresin,

I was getting worried! I thought it was something I had wrote. I’m glad it’s your negligence and not mine for the lack of communication. I forgive you though. It’s been stressful up here in New York as well. I luckily don’t have any practical’s I need to worry about. Just a few nuclear engineering classes are standing in between me and graduation.

I just have a year of Officer School (if I get selected that is) after this is all set and done come June. We have to apply this April so I’m getting a little anxious about the whole thing. I don’t really have a backup plan that I’d actually like to do so I really, really hope I get selected. Enough about me though, let’s talk about you. You’re going to get picked! Don’t let any bad thoughts get in between you and your goal. I think you’ll make a fine pilot Jake. You seem to have your wits about you which is the first step a lot of people miss.

My dad was in the Navy, like you. Don’t gloat though, it’ll ruin the finely crafted image I have of you. He was a deck hand or something like that. I wish I could ask him some more about it, but he passed when I was just thirteen. I just remember he loved being in the Navy. He loved everything about it. He made it seem like anything was possible with a passion.

I’m glad you’re enjoying the food and the girl scout cookies. It took me by surprise when I got Peanut Butter Patties instead of Tagalongs when I was down south for a winter. I’m so glad I grew up where the real GSC are sold.

I hope this letter brought you as much joy as yours brought me.

With the Same Love,

Y/N

(P.S. – Here’s my number if you’d like to text instead of write. No pressure!)

It had only been a week since you sent the last letter. Sure, you hadn’t really known the guy all too well but there was something so exciting about sending written mail. You felt like a little kid on Christmas waiting for a response from him. Who knew throwing your name in something so silly for your class would bring you so much joy.

You sat down on your desk setting your computer out front of you to study. Jake was right. It was an awfully busy time of the year. Applying for your future. Studying for you exams. When you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket you truly didn’t think much of it. It was only hours later when you finally closed the laptop shut that you went to check it that your face scrunched in confusion. You didn’t recognize the area code. It was then that it clicked that it could be him.

No pressure at all text! Hi there (it’s Jake).

You grinned reading it over and over again. That was quick! Maybe you made an impression? You sure hoped so. You hardly even knew what the guy looked like. You might’ve gone digging a little when you got his name. He was cute. Handsome even. But he seemed like that type. That arrogant pilot type. But even in just the two letters you received from him you got the hint that he wasn’t that type of guy at all.

I didn’t think you’d actually text me. It’s good to hear from you.

The messages between the two of you were infrequent at best as the semester ended. But he never failed to put a smile on your face. When you needed a pick me up you went through and read the messages that popped up.

On your graduation day you sent him a picture of you and a few friends in a cap and gown with the text: Beat you! You’re also looking at your newest Officer Candidate too!

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Your face only grew with glee seeing his response: Congrats Second Lieutenant. And future Captain. Knew you’d do it. You look beautiful as always.

Typing a quick reply, you hid your smile away just knowing your friends would make a stupid comment about the mystery man that always had you so smiley: You’re making me blush all the way up here in New York. I better get a picture next weekend when you do the same, future Lieutenant.

He came through on your request. When you got the text you could only smile. You spotted him in the picture immediately, your eyes drawn to him. He was so damned handsome. How lucky were you to get paired with a guy like that? Your smile grew further when you read the message: Lieutenant (and future pilot) Jake Seresin reporting for picture duty.

The messages occurred naturally between through the years as you were deployed, and he was in school. Some months you texted more and some you didn’t hear from him at all. It never bothered you. The silly little thing called life happened for both of you.

Still, the two of you often made time for phone calls when the time was right. The first time you talked on the phone you thought you were going to quite literally throw up you were so nervous. But in typical Jake Seresin fashion he made you feel cool as a cucumber. You talked and talked and talked into the morning. It felt so normal. Like you were catching up with an old friend. Jake Seresin. Who was this man that was making it hard to date? He was quite literally everything you wanted and needed in a partner. The universe had a funny way of working sometimes.

It had been six long years since you received that first letter from him. He was off on a mission now. A dangerous one he couldn’t tell you much about. But he wanted you at his arrival back home in San Diego and you promised him you’d be there. Assured him. That’s how you ended up in here pacing in the hotel room contemplating whether you should really go or not. It felt too intimate, like you were intruding. But he did say none of his family would be there, they had other things going on as the mission was a bit of a surprise to everybody. The pilots were all instructed to keep it as quiet as possible.

Your hands were shaking as you parked your car in the overcrowded lot. Gripping the steering wheel, you took a long breath in. You could do this. You had to do this. For him, for you. You stepped out of the car and made you way to the dock. The aircraft carrier was already docked by the time you got to the meeting site. You stood back and waited. Watched and waited. It felt like an eternity then finally the men and women started pouring out in their Navy Whites. You’d always thought they looked the sharpest of the bunch, but you’d never tell Jake that. He’d make fun of your Army uniforms or something like that.

It felt like both an eternity and seconds later that you spotted him amongst the crowd of sailors exiting the ship searching high and low for you. You promised you’d be there. And here you were. He either felt your eyes on him or had an uncanny sense of timing as his eyes locked with your own. His smile had melted you right there on the spot. You felt helpless as you willed your brain to move but it wouldn’t. You only began to panic a little as he moved with ease through the crowd making his way right to you.

He stood in front of you. Jake Seresin stood in front of you, much taller than you thought, “I knew I recognized you. First Lieutenant Y/L/N.” His eyebrows raised as you gaped at him with wide eyes as if he wasn’t really there. Closing your mouth, you knew you needed to pull it together but that sounded much easier said than done. Jake freaking Seresin, your pen pal was really standing in front of you in real life. He was more of enigma in your mind at this point. Somebody you could have deep life conversations with so easily but never having actually met the man it was hard for you to grasp he was really real. And standing in front of you.

“Jake.” You smiled hoping it sounded somewhat normal. He was so much more handsome than the photos he sent through the years. How was that possible? Wasn’t it supposed to go the other way? You continued once your head finally could form coherent sentences, “Well it’s actually Captain now. Got promoted a couple weeks ago.”

He turned his head to the side just slightly, “You didn’t tell me that.” Almost looking offended you hadn’t told him.

“Never felt like the right time to divulge. With this mission and all. Had to keep you locked in.” You looked up to him now studying his face as you gained more courage talking to him. He was something your dreams couldn’t make up.

He nodded not daring to take his eyes off you. He too thought you were even prettier than he could have envisioned. You’d sent pictures and he’d followed your social media, but nothing could’ve prepared him. Especially in your civilian clothes, he was a sucker already. Deep down Jake knew you were the reason he was so non-committal before. He was looking for somebody just like you and couldn’t find her. Yet here you stood in front of him. You were so funny and witty and smart, and yet he couldn’t put it all into words. You are the whole package and so much more.

“You still could’ve told me. We talked enough before I left.” He grinned seeing that the tension was already easing from your shoulders.

You shook your head, “Wasn’t about me Seresin. I just wanted you to stay focused and safe. And thank goodness you did.” You admitted a little more than you wanted, but he just made you feel so gushy. Like you were a sweeter version of yourself you could hardly recognize. And the words just kept flowing out when he gave you that look with those green eyes.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged you a bit sensing that you were starting to feel a bit more comfortable with him already, “Didn’t think you’d be so relieved darlin’.”

Ignoring the sweet term of endearment you shook your head, “And waste six years of my life on nothing? Jake that’s so inefficient. Of course, I want you safe.” The words came fast, and they were snarkier than you intended. But you truly couldn’t help it. He had you relaxed within the first five minutes of talking to him. You felt like you could just be you.

He threw his head back in laughter. That same weight had lifted right off his shoulders when you snapped back at him like he was waiting on it, “There she is. My favorite mouthy girl.”

He said it so nonchalantly you thought your heart was going to combust on the spot. Your cheeks surely gave way to your reaction to his words. His favorite mouthy girl? Christ. He was trying to send you into a coma or something! Your brain quite literally short circuited as it failed to form any coherent sentence. He only chuckled in response seeing your cheeks heat up in a blazing blush.

“It’s so nice to actually see you in person. You know I’ve always told you this, but it rings even truer even now. You’re quite a stunner, Captain.” His eyes met yours before you looked away quickly feeling as though you were going to faint at those words. You weren’t sure how this interaction was going to go initially. But you really didn’t think he’d come right out and say that he found you stunning. The occasional letter and texts in between had grown flirtier the longer you had known him, but it never crossed your mind he’d be so outright with it.

You turned away out of sheer bashfulness. Never had a man been so bold with you before. It was foreign. Not uncomfortable, no. Nothing could be with him. He made it easier than seemed possible.

“You flatter me Jake.” You grinned up at him hoping your makeup would hide the darkening of your cheeks, “I should say the same for you. Handsome as ever.”

“Now you’re making me blush, Cap.” Sure as hell the faintest pink dusted his cheek, but he seemed much stronger than you. He kept the eye contact going.

You shook your head trying to bite back the big smile you had on your face, but it showed through anyway. How was he doing this? Making you feel so giddy just by looking at him. You knew this man but for the first time it actually felt like you might actually love him. You’d had the deepest conversations with him. When you needed a laugh you texted him. When you craved advice you called him. He was the guy you turned to. And it dawned on you that he never failed to answer you. He wanted to take your calls and answer your texts. He looked forward to it. He too had fallen for a woman he’d never met before.

You needed the change the subject and fast or more words would be tumbling out, “How was the mission? Everyone make it out okay?” You asked having no idea what you were getting yourself into. Jake hadn’t told you much about what they were doing, couldn’t tell you much. But now that it was over he couldn’t wait to tell you every nitty gritty little detail.

“I’ll tell you if you let me buy you a drink?” He gave you a smirk that sent nerves racing throughout your body. Jesus. This man was something else.

Giving him a curious once over you nodded, “Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink sailor? You coming home and all?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll never let you buy me a drink darlin’.”

Gosh, Jake was actually going to be the death of you. He was so good making his words come off so easily. You felt terribly high strung next to him, “And why not?”

“Because I’m trying to woo you sweetheart. When I get you to go on a date with me I have to impress you. Inevitably that’ll work and you’ll become my girlfriend. And I can’t have my girlfriend paying for my drinks, no. And it’ll only get worse when I get the pleasure of marrying you. If my wife thinks she’ll pay for a thing she had another thing coming.” He gleamed at you as if he didn’t just say all of that.

You gulped before a stupid smile grew on your face. Of course, you knew he was forward but again, he just took you on an entirely new adventure with that statement, “That’s quite a bold statement Jake.”

He shrugged, “I thought I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. And you’re perfectly you. Sharp as tack. Funnier than ever. You’re you. And I really like you.”

You let out a breath not sure if you really believed all of that, “So not just pals, huh?” It was all you could think of quickly but that did it for him. Sealed the deal. He knew he was going to marry you right then and there. You’d complete him in every way he needed you and vice versa.

He shook his head taking his arm in yours, “Not just pals.” Leaning into his gentle embrace you led him to your car where he would not let you drive. He insisted that it was a gentleman’s job even if he was only running off four hours of sleep. You’d appeased the man who was on his very best behavior. Not that you minded. Nope, not at all. You were thrilled that Jake was exactly who he seemed to be. Your Jake. Not just pals indeed.

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sargeantposting · 4 months

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A Logan Sargeant Primer: Part I (2000 - 2015)

Logan grows up in a ritzy suburb of Fort Lauderdale called Lighthouse Point with his parents and his older brother, Dalton.

The Sargeants don't have a deep motorsport history. Dalton and Logan get their first go-karts for Christmas in 2006, a gift from their father after their mother refuses to let her children ride dirt bikes anymore. Logan tells the NYT that:

“No one in the family was really even that much into racing. We just picked it up as a hobby, something to do on the weekend.”

The two brothers get more serious as the years go by-- within a few years, they're racing competitively. They both do well. Logan finishes in third place in only his first year of racing, and wins two titles in his second.

Unfortunately, they figure out fairly quickly that there isn’t much more room to advance in American karting:

My older brother, Dalton, and I had been racing for a few years, and it had gotten to the point where we were asking around about where the next best level of competition was, and everybody was saying the same thing…. It was always Europe, Europe, Europe, Europe. To the point where my parents really started to think about it. At first it was just this idea, like Maybe we’ll move to Europe, who knows. I was just a kid overhearing stuff, so I didn’t know how serious the conversation must have been until this day I’ll never forget.

The conversation gets serious in 2012, when Logan’s dad, Daniel, asks the two if they want to move to Switzerland:

It was summer, and we were out to lunch. It was me, my dad, and Dalton. [...] So we’re at this restaurant, right? Chowing down on burgers (my favorite), and my dad gets to asking us about racing. Finally, he’s like, “What do you guys think? Do you really want to race in Europe? Are you 100% sure about this?” Me being 11 and naive, I was like, “Yeah sure.” Looking back on it, I think I was lucky I was that young and that I didn’t really know what I was signing up for. All the different ways it could change my life, the level of sacrifice it would require from my whole family. Because if I had known, I don’t know if I would’ve made the same decision so easily. It all happened fast, like in the movies. One minute, it’s Christmas, I’m six, and me and Dalton are yelling at the top of our lungs, excited about the two karts sitting in the driveway, pointed diagonally at each other like in a magazine. Next minute, I’m 11 and Dalton’s 14. We’re sitting at the table eating lunch with my dad, and it’s decided — our family’s moving to Europe.

When Logan tells the same story in GQ in 2023, he says:

I was always just going with the flow. For me it was just: sure.

The Sergeant family leaves for Switzerland just as Logan finishes up fifth grade. While Logan always talks about the family move to Switzerland in the context of his parents making sacrifices for his career, it's a little more complicated than that.

GQ’s profile steps around the subject, briefly mentioning that “in addition to the racing opportunities, [Logan’s] Dad had business there.” Unfortunately, business would be an understatement.

At the time, Logan’s dad, Daniel, worked for the family business– an asphalt trading and shipping company named Sergeant Marine. One of the driving forces behind Sergeant Marine’s success would be Daniel’s older brother, Harry.

When Logan’s detractors mention his family’s connections to Trump, they’re usually referencing Harry. The NYT describes his billionaire uncle as “a former [Top Gun] fighter pilot and onetime finance chair of Florida’s Republican Party who has been sued by the brother-in-law of King Abdullah II of Jordan and whose name turned up, tangentially, in the 2020 impeachment of former President Donald J. Trump. (Harry was not accused of any wrongdoing.)”

Harry would leave the company around the time Daniel moved his family to Switzerland. According to The Florida Phoenix, “The entire family was embroiled in a long-running bitter series of lawsuits that ended with a 2015 bankruptcy settlement. Harry III walked away with a cool $56-million. In return he gave up any claim to ownership of Sargeant Marine and other family companies. There were 14 different lawsuits in several states in addition to the bankruptcy. The lawsuits produced salacious testimony that could only arise in a vicious dispute between millionaires. Harry III accused his brother Daniel of spending millions on his sons’ pursuits of race car driving and other ventures. Meanwhile, Daniel accused Sargeant III of being a spendthrift on things such as a $7.5-million mansion, private jets and exotic cars.”

Logan with his dad.

It would, somehow, get worse:

Oil and asphalt mogul Harry Sargeant III claims that industrial design plans along with recordings of "private consensual relations" were purloined from his private email account and traded off to a corporate intelligence agent as part of a years-long smear campaign against him spearheaded by his brother. Reigniting a long-running saga of brother-against-brother litigation, Harry Sargeant III claims that hundreds of pages of business records, personal discussions and "extremely sensitive videos and photographs" were illegally obtained from his email account. The material was used as currency for information-bartering between his brother Daniel Sargeant and a corporate intelligence chief at the nonparty legal service firm Burford, the lawsuit alleges. Harry is demanding damages for alleged invasion of privacy on the part of Daniel. The brothers had in years past worked together on managing the Sargeant family's global oil and asphalt empire, before intra-family disputes began to tear them apart. [...] The lawsuit claims the Burford investigator, a former corporate attorney, knows Harry well. According to the court documents, the investigator for years worked as an enforcement agent on a $28 million judgment secured against Harry by the king of Jordan's brother-in-law Mohammad Al-Saleh, who accused Harry of cutting him out of a deal to distribute oil to troops in the Iraq War. [...] Harry claims brother Daniel gave the corporate intelligence agent the treasure trove of Harry's emails in exchange for inside information that would help the Sargeant family's asphalt company Latin American Investments in a separate multimillion-dollar legal dispute. Harry's underlying email account ran on a server of the family company Sargeant Marine. When he was ousted from the Sargeant empire, Harry had been told that the account was cut off at the root and all information in it had been destroyed, the lawsuit says. The lifted emails were instead provided to an "untold number of people" inside and outside of the family businesses in 2016, the lawsuit claims.

The information that Daniel traded his brother’s sex tape for would end up being useless. Daniel is currently out a $5 million bond and awaiting sentencing for the foreign bribery and money laundering charges he pled guilty to back in 2019. After bribing officials in three South American countries to secure asphalt contracts, the Department of Justice ended up making an example of the company– and Daniel– for violating the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act.

While Logan cites his career as a big reason for the family move, it appears that Sargeant Marine had conveniently made shell companies in Switzerland to aid in their illegal business dealings that same year.

Logan, blissfully unaware of any drama, tries to make the most of the big move. They move to Lugano, Switzerland– Dalton and Logan go to the American School on weekdays and race on the weekends in the European junior circuit, bouncing them between Italy, Switzerland and Britain. In GQ, Logan says:

“I definitely felt like school was a lot more challenging than in Florida,” he recalled. “And we were missing a lot of school, for sure, but that’s part of it with racing. It is what it is.”

Logan loves Switzerland. In his Players’ Tribune article, he says:

We moved into a three-bedroom apartment. It was me, my parents, Dalton, and our dog Roxy, the world traveler. Big difference from Florida. We had a whole new life. I loved Switzerland. I had a lot of good friends at my school there. I can’t explain it, but I just felt more a part of things. Me and my friends were big Chelsea fans, and we’d be hanging out, playing soccer all the time. We played Call of Duty like every other kid in the world.

However… Logan is the only one. Daniel is out doing shady asphalt deals around the world and suing his brother. Dalton moves back to Florida after a year-and-a-half. Their mother follows soon after that. Logan ends up living alone at the school:

Dalton was my older brother, so for as far back as I can remember, I was chasing him. Man, we fought all the time. Every race, we were up against all these other kids, but he was always the one I was really trying to beat. But the thing is, when you’re a kid you miss things. You just can’t see everything so clearly. Like, for instance, being a bit older than me, I think he felt the shift more strongly when we moved, but I didn’t know it. He stayed in Switzerland for a year and a half, did some European karting, and started testing Formula cars. Then one day he just decided he wanted to go home and race in America. I won’t lie, that was a shock at the time. But I get it more now. Making that big life change was hard on my mom, too. Just think, you’re living in this brand new place, don’t have many friends. Me and Dalton were at school all day. My dad was traveling all over the place with work, so he was hardly there. The reality is, she was on her own a lot. So she ended up going back to Florida, too. For about a year and a half after that, it was just me. I was living at the school during that time.

When talking about how his mom moved back to Florida while Logan was living alone in Europe as a teenager, he told the Players’ Tribune that:

Looking back on everything, I just see all the sacrifices they made, and it means so much. No matter what they were going through, my family always pushed me to keep going. I feel like that was probably the hardest for my mom, especially. She means the world to me. She’s a bit of a worrier too, and overthinks. I think I get that from her. She’s always been the person I could go to when I was doubting myself. So I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for her to encourage me to keep going, when I know she probably wanted our family to be together. I’m really grateful, not only that they believed in me that much, to move our entire family, but that they took my passion for driving seriously enough not to let me give it all up.

While Logan’s personal life may be troubled, his karting career is doing exceptionally well. In 2014, he wins the prestigious SuperNats18 in Vegas:

Infinity Sports Management, Facebook - SARGEANT DOMINATES IN LAS VEGAS. Logan Sargeant produced a stunning display last weekend in the TAG Junior category at the Supernationals race in Las Vegas. After finishing runner up in the race in 2013 Logan was eager to go one better this year and bring home the winners trophy. Although Logan got pipped in qualifying he still managed to win every heat ensuring he would start from pole position for the final on Sunday. From there he kept the lead and came home 5.6 seconds clear of the second driver. With this win in TAG Junior Logan become the first driver ever to win the TAG Cadet and TAG Junior categories at the Supernationals race.

2015 manages to be even more exceptional. Logan starts the season by being the first North American driver to win a WSK event by winning the WSK Champions Cup in La Conca, Italy.

Logan with his mother after winning the WSK Champions Cup.

The season reaches its peak with Logan becomes the first American to win an FIA Karting World Championship, the top junior series, since Lake Speed in 1978.

He gets to go to the FIA Awards:

Logan: And I couldn’t thank my mechanic enough. And also my parents, uh, they really helped me to be able to win the world championship and it’s just an amazing feeling. Interviewer: I mean, did you, did you, what did you do when you found out you won? Did you call your friends at home? Did you phone your grandpa? What did you get up to? Logan: Uh, no, I just gave my mom and dad a really big hug. Interviewer: Is it still sinking in now? Logan: Yeah, it’s, it’s a really emotional thing. [...] Interviewer: Tell me about when you were a little bit younger than you are now. You’re only 14 now. But why racing, why, why is this so important to you? Logan: Um, well, my dad bought me a, a racing kart when I was five years old and we started from there. We thought it would just be like a little hobby and, uh, it ended up becoming like a professional thing we did. So. Interviewer: So, so was there a moment when you, when you or your dad just thought ‘Wow, I’m quick. I can do this’? Logan: Um, well, not really. We just kept progressing and then, um, when we, when we decided to come to Europe to race, um, we moved to Switzerland and from then on we were just, uh, going to school, I started going to school in Switzerland. And, yeah, and then we just kept going and then ended up like this. Interviewer: Do you have any other hobbies? Can you fit anything else in? Logan: Um, well, other than school it’s really hard. But when I get my breaks and I go back to Florida for, um, I like to go fishing a lot and, yeah, that’s what I do. Mostly.

When interviewed after his win, Logan tells kart360 that:

Moving away from home is a very hard thing in your own personal life. You lose all of your best friends. You don’t have your "home" and you have to adapt to a different culture. It is hard to move to a country that speaks a different language than what you know, but racing is so important to me that I stuck through it and kept on going.

Logan clearly struggles on a personal level. He discusses his feelings in his Players’ Tribune article, saying:

Coming up racing as a kid isn’t easy. That’s the most honest way I can put it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said to myself, I’m done. I’m ready to come home. I’m glad I didn’t, but there were plenty of times when I wanted to. I remember one big time was the summer right after Dalton went back. We took this trip to the Bahamas with some of our extended family and friends. We were on the water, and everything was feeling like old times. And I think I just had this pit in the bottom of my stomach, like dreading going back. There was a night when I went to my mom, and I was like, “I’m just ready to come home.” I remember her asking me more questions about what I was feeling. I don’t even remember what I said, to be honest. I just remember that she didn’t tell me what to do. She left it completely up to me. My dad used to always say, “If you put in the work now, it’ll pay off eventually — it’ll be worth it.” And he kind of reminded me of that on that trip too. It’ll be worth it. Those four little words … that’s what kept me going. After that I sucked it up, went back to Switzerland, put my head down, and I went for it."

When Logan makes the jump to single seaters the next year, his parents rent him an apartment to live in by himself in London. The only time he’ll spend more than a few weeks in the US since he was a 12-year old would be during COVID.

But Logan’s time in single seaters will be for the next installment.

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Logan through the years.

#logan sargeant #for dori who inspired me to post this <3 #i literally cant look at it anymore or add any more photos or videos or it crashes lol #but i reserve the right to go back and edit this tomorrow lmao

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notroosterbradshaw · 5 months

Text

about: just some smut to fend off jetlag. i love sleepy Bradley, I make no excuses that I feel he does his best work in the early hours of the day. This was supposed to be a drabble… it’s not anymore. Sorry.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, pure fluff, smut.

masterlist.

The morning after the night before when Bradley met your family for the first time, you'd flown across the world to surprise your dad for his birthday and really, it luckily coincided with Bradley's time off. When you mentioned heading home for your old man's special day that usually kicked off your family's holiday season, you almost fell out of your seat when he said maybe it was time he met the fam face-to-face, not just making small talk over FaceTime. It almost didn’t seem fair that he was subjected to meeting everyone this way, but alas… here you were the next morning, jet lag kicking in while wrapped protectively in Bradley’s strong, golden arms and washed in the relief your family fucking loved him. You weren't overly surprised.

Bradley's quiet, unassuming charm was just who your mum wanted you to end up with, he was into golf and surfing, so your dad and brothers thought he was the bee's knees. Your sister on the other hand...

You had to fend her off more than you would have liked. You were confident in your relationship with Bradley, knowing he'd never allow anything to happen. "You're coming across a little desperate," you hissed after one or two drinks, which mortified her, and she apologised, admitting she was just happy to finally get to meet the guy who'd swept you off your feet. "Yes, my feet," you reminded her. When she pointed out how possessive you sounded, you didn't deny it. But she got it and gave you space for the rest of the evening.

Ahh, sisters.

Bradley felt your body writhe in the gentlest of movements against his and he sighed. Sleep hadn’t come easy for either of you and compounded with the food and booze you’d indulged in the day before, neither of you slept much. “You okay, sweetheart?” he whispered at God-knows-what-o’clock.

“What time is it?” You asked softly.

“I dunno, baby. Sun is barely rising,” he admitted. “Can’t hear a peep in the house.”

Which was nice because yesterday was intense. Everyone was so excited to meet your new American boyfriend (fairly, it’d been about eight months, give or take with a few deployments), the incredibly handsome navy pilot whom you’d met one evening at a naval bar while travelling. You’d caught his eyes behind his sunglasses while he played the piano, the crowd around him as swept away with him as you were. The first half-smile in your direction, as he sang, had done you over in a way not one single person on the planet had before.

He'd charmed you instantly. He still charmed you constantly.

“Did you get any sleep?” you asked, biting back a yawn.

“Not really,” he peppered tender kisses into your shoulder blade and smiled into your skin as you pressed back into him, the oh-so-quiet moan made for his ears only waking him from his dreaded fog as well. “I’ll try and get a kip somewhere today. That fuckin’ flight murdered me.”

“You were happy to fly economy,” you muttered. “I know you’re used to tight quarters, but fuck Bradley. It was 15 hours."

“I know, I know I fucked up. I was looking at upgrades overnight. I’ll use my discount and stuff; we can do it flying home.”

“You sure?”

“Sue me for wanting to save a buck,” he sighed, with a tired, deep chuckle. “Flight was so full; people may as well have been sitting on the wings.”

“It’s Christmas. People travel.”

“You don't say,” he affectionately gripped your waist, rolling you to him and kissed you. “Good morning, I think," he nuzzled your nose against his and asked if you wanted some water or anything.

You shook your head, rolling back and snuggling into him as he adjusted his arms around you again, his nose buried in your hair. "I think Dad is gonna expect you for at least nine holes today."

"I think so, yeah. Grill me and make sure I'm good enough for his little girl.” He murmured and if he was honest, he was the teeniest bit nervous. He’d never really been in relationships long enough to meet families… and who would he introduce anyone to, except for Mav?

"I think you'll be fine."

"He probably wouldn't be if he knew what a deviant I've turned his smart, beautiful baby girl into.”

You giggled quietly as you could feel the soft ends of his moustache curve into a smirk against the nape of your neck. "He'd send you back on the first flight to LA."

"I would believe that," he said softly.

"I think yesterday went really well, Bradley," you confided quietly to him.

"You think? I was on my very best behaviour," he teased you.

"Yes, you were," you admitted. Not that he ever wasn't. Bradley was instilled with a remarkable set of manners. He was chivalrous and courteous to a fault, incredibly sweet and at times, pensive, even shy. Almost make believe that you were lucky enough to share his time. You wriggled back against him, and you could feel the hard-on straining through his boxer briefs. "Down, boy."

"Can't help it," he sighed. "You know what you do to me with that ass. I know what you want. You're not that transparent."

You bit back your pleased smile as his wandering hands travelled down your side, fingertips toying with the hem of his old Navy tee that was now your bed shirt. At home, you were nude sleepers. At your parents' home during the holidays? You showed decorum and respect and you both hated it, preferring skin-on-skin of the other but alas, anyone could walk in at any time.

“Have a thought about how we might be able to fuck this jetlag off…”

“Oh, yeah?” at this point, you’d do anything and with Bradley’s travel for work, you hoped maybe he might have some insight. You had planned to just power through and try not to be the world’s most exhausted asshole.

"You just move your thigh a little this way..." he murmured, his palm cupping your hamstring and you pressed back into him, grinning softly. “And I just slide up in here – ”

“Confident of you, don’t you think?”

“You’re always wet for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Unless you deny it.”

“Never…” you told him, reaching back to wrap an arm around his strong neck. “I just can't keep it down with you. Why didn’t you convince me to get the AirBnb?”

He loved how vocal you were during sex. Your moans, the hisses, the way you'd bite your lip when you were so close. That groan as you came, or the little squeal when you were too sensitive was burned into his brain as his favourite sounds in the world.

"Just lemme hold you then, it's okay, sweetheart," he grumbled. “I’ll live if you can.”

“Asshole,” you muttered as he chuckled.

“Do you want a blowjob?” You nervously offered, turning back to him and he looped your thigh over his hip and perched you above him with such little effort on his behalf - you loved how strong he was but you knew what was waiting for you, Bradley made no secret he was turned on and you loved that you were able to have him on a knife-edge at all times.

The one per cent, he’s told you once before.

You’re so sweet to him as you slowly dragged your hand into the waistband of his boxer briefs, revealing more and more skin, cock springing free, slapping against his toned, tanned Adonis belt. Long, thick and dripping with precum already and he almost blushed at how eager he was.

“I’ll never say no,” he replied, “And I know you might be uncomfortable here. Your dad is right across the hall, baby."

“But my daddy is right here…” you immediately corrected him, and he smiled darkly to himself. You didn't use that term lightly, you couldn’t nfi fed to him he had the ability to bring out your innermost feral when you least expected it and he would do his utmost to encourage it (if you were comfortable).

“Jesus,” his head was swirling, trying to keep calm and not blow his load the second you bared your tongue to him but there was absolutely nothing sweet about it. He was a preening mess when you went down on him. The night you'd told him you weren't overly experienced in blow jobs was the greatest night of his life, coaching you through what he liked and watching you perfect your generous technique time and time again.

These days, you loved giving Bradley head. He gave you confidence, he made you feel sexy and not like it was only about him on the receiving end. He’s whispered and encouraged, and when it all got too much, he told you he was close. He was neither here nor there on the whole spit or swallow thing… until you and your preference but he was never left empty-handed.

"Shh," you hissed. "Not a sound."

That one thing you did for him that absolutely made him come undone. And he'd bury his face in your pussy all day if you allowed him to show you how fucking grateful, he was for all the pleasure you presented him. Your sweet, tight wetness that he would eagerly drown himself in if you’d let him.

Your honeyed tongue delicately tasted the flawless head of his cock, lapping up the precum as Bradley's eyes rolled back into his head and his big hands reached to knot into your hair as you went to work, swirling your tongue and looking up with your big, scheming eyes, knowing you had him at his most precarious.

He was a weapon in his training, his mind and body were always primed to do what was asked of him, but you were the exception and it scared and excited him.

He could feel himself getting so close to painting the back of that beautiful mouth, and while it pained him to say it, the way your eyes softened told him he’d made the right choice. “Come on, baby, I want you.”

You gently pulled away and asked, “You don’t want me to finish?”

“No, I wanna fuck, baby. Watch you lose control.”

“Okay,” you said, your soft hand trading with your warm mouth to tenderly pump and tease him.

“Gimme a sec. I don't have condoms close,” he whispered. “They're in my luggage.”

"Just pull out, sweetheart," you enticed him, wanting to feel all of him. It was so infrequent you fucked without protection, and of course, you both preferred it that way but after a pregnancy scare (or not, neither of you was really sure) a few months back, you'd both decided to stop tempting fate and ensuring there was a stash of condoms at his place, your place... the goddamn Bronco – Bradley understood that it was your body and you didn’t want to be on the pill. A condom was the least he could do, and he knew it.

Bradley helped you move up his body and rest you above him. "Are you sure?" he kissed you, your gleaming teeth lightly stinging into his bottom lip with an affectionate nip.

“I trust you,” you told him. "Cum where you need...”

Truth be told, he wanted to cum deep, but he licked back a wet smile and he moved to his knees to pull his navy tee over your head, bearing your beautiful breasts to him, full, round, nipples begging for attention. “On your back, baby,” he urged, guiding you under him, anticipating how wet you were for him, legs splaying open unashamed. He rested the head of his cock on your weeping cunt, his fingers spreading your bare lips and sweeping your slick across your clit, fascinated by that little peep of desperation from you. Your head fell back against the pillows, bliss sweeping through you as he sweetly pressed one finger into you. “Drippin’,” he reported, pressing in another finger and his thumb rubbing tenderly against your throbbing clit. “Gonna gush for me?”

You probably would, Bradley’s ability to drag absolutely everything out of you blew your mind each time. “Need your cock. Fill me up, Bradley.”

Pushing in, one delicious inch by delicious inch, licking his full lips as your back curved to take him as deeply as possible. He buried his face in your breasts, holding one in his calloused palm, eyes fluttering closed as he traced, left wet, open-mouthed kissed and tenderly bit the other, and the groan you let you made him clamp his palm over your mouth. “You’re so wet, baby,” he stared deeply into your eyes as he evened his breath with the first few rolls of his slender hips. "But you're gonna wake your parents if you don’t control yourself."

"Let them fuckin' hear," you muttered behind your hand (you’d die if they heard you though) as he chuckled and began his ruthless assault on your senses, one thrust at a time.

"You're too good to me," Bradley reminded you in disbelief.

"All for you," you confided, as you watched the beads of sweat break across his brow as you dug your nails into his well-worked traps, willingly knowing it would leave a mark courtesy of your fresh manicure. You raised your hips to meet his deep, plunging thrusts, fucking into you strong and deep. He felt incredible, you don't think anyone had loved on you as Bradley Bradshaw could. So thorough, and never one to leave you hanging.

Too long, too sore? He'd pause and tenderly withdraw to hold you, reassuring you that it was fine, and your comfort was paramount. Too sensitive after coming too hard, he'd give you time to recover, finding other ways to bring you pleasure.

It was nice to be considered in your relationship, in your sex life especially. In the past, you'd been made to feel like a machine, if you didn't cum, partners still could, and you'd just deal with it. For a long time, that stuck with you and having someone consider you like Bradley would almost seem too good to be true at the start.

But that consideration never lapsed. He was make-believe and you fucking hoped if this man and everything he brought to you was a dream that you’d never, ever wake up.

Desperate to keep himself controlled, Bradley reached for the headboard of your old bed, gripping it for dear life as he tried so damn hard to avoid coming. He loved fucking you raw, and since birth control was completely your choice, you two had to stop playing this dangerous game. Because one day? It would beat you both.

"I need to cum, Bradley," you whined to him as he nodded, chewing his lower lip, and putting your delicate fingers in your mouth, not losing his rhythm. He knew. He knew how close you were.

"Lemme see you touch yourself, baby. Get those fingers - " he gasped as you clenched around him. "Get 'em nice and wet and play with that sweet, tight pussy. Lemme see you fall apart.”

Before, language like that would embarrass you, but with Bradley, it only spurred you on. It was incredible the ways he’d helped you grow and mature as a friend, partner and lover. As instructed, and in the low early morning light, Bradley’s breath hitched, watching you touch yourself and you couldn’t help it, the beat of his cock against your g-spot, your fingers pressing rough circles into your clit and you started to come.

“Yes, baby. Yes,” he urged, moving his mouth to your ear, whispering his sweet encouragement. “You feel so good, just a little mo – ” he forced his mouth against yours, kissing your pleasure to him, to keep the noise down. He wrapped his hand under your hip, lifting your waist to push harder into you as you trembled below him, your pussy clutching his cock, spasming as he shuddered against your lips. “Yes, baby.”

“Jesus, Bradley, fuck me,” you begged as his hips speed up like a piston, thrusting hard into your swollen, sensitive pussy, his hand clutching yours away from your strained clit and pressing intensely in your place, hoping to drag your orgasm out and as you fell, lifeless, back against the squishy pillows, pussy pulsating, Bradley grunted low he was coming and after his final few thrusts, he quickly withdrew and unloaded, stroking himself until he was spent, pearly ribbons of cum decorating your belly and breasts.

He collapsed beside you, taking your cheeks in his face and kissing you wildly. “I love you. I love you, baby,” he kissed you again, and though you were spent, you returned his affections, because truly… you loved Bradley Bradshaw with your entire being. It was going to take a lot to change that. “Are you okay?” he asked, chest still heaving as he breathed, his pointer finger tracing through the mess he made on you.

“I’m good, sweetheart,” you assured him as he gave you one last, final kiss.

“Think that helped with your jetlag?” he teased.

“Makes me want another round,” you admitted as he chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

“Of course you do,” he pressed a kiss into your pulse and lifted his lips back to yours, holding you close and just like horny teenagers, enjoying making out for a few moments in the afterglow. “Where’s that shirt gone?” he asked, peering over the side of the bed, and cleaning you up. “Jackson Pollack painting here.”

“Be less proud,” you told him as he snorted.

“Yes, ma’am,” he pressed another kiss to your lips. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Perfect, but let me go pee,” you whispered as Bradley kissed you long and deep, he nodded into the kiss but was not quite ready to leave you leave him.

“Go, clean up, baby,” he helped you up from the bed, your legs precarious and meandering like Bambi. “Careful,” he sighed, wistfully. But he knew it already, you were thoroughly fucked, just how he liked it.

A few hours later and thankfully, a few more hours of sleep, your alarm woke you, the sun much higher in the sky and the heat of the day starting to rise. You’d showered and told him to come down when he was ready, you’d help your Mum with some brekky.

“You want eggs?”

“Anything,” Bradley admitted. “Famished.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” you cupped his face in your palms and kissed him lightly. “Don’t rush.”

“Okay,” he gave a small grin but didn’t much feel like lingering. After a quick shower, he dressed, annoyed he didn't pack any golf gear, at minimum the shoes that you gave him grief for every time he wore them, but maybe he'd treat himself and buy some at the course today. He rifled through his bag, clutching the velvet box in his palm tightly, convinced more than ever that this was real, this was happening and soon, he'd hope to have you wearing his mother's engagement ring too.

Slapping on his CVN-71 cap, he knew you went a bit feral when he perched it backward. May as well leave you with good thoughts while he was out and about, asking your old man for your hand on the golf course. And if it went badly, it was also something to identify him when the authorities found him if your dad said no.

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precious-little-scoundrel · 1 month

Text

| Ida’s Law

Introductory Part

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlisting and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life, if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Warnings: disturbing content- if you made it through last one this one should be a breeze, however it picks up where we left off so expect mentions of war, wounds, illusions to past rapes, Nazis being racist fucks, possibly some internalized misogyny about it all and some hopefully very 🥹🤧 reunions

A Note Going Forward: With this part now published, I am happy to open this series up for prompts. Ideally I’d like this series to end up being exclusively prompt-inspired and will be putting out prompt lists accordingly. I think that will be a fun way to keep the interaction going, stretch my own skills and explore all the different scenarios that may intrigue y’all. You’re welcome to come up with your own prompts, too. All are welcome, none guaranteed but let’s be real -I’m obsessed with this AU so I’ll likely do it. For now I’ll be keeping all writing to POW Camp and Liberation and Post-Liberation timelines.

“Well, what do we know?” Ida Brady asked the first officer out on the other side as they began to filter through the laborious processing of the camp. She counted them down, one familiar face after another appearing through the doorway again with no worse indignity than the new identification tags hanging from their necks.

“I hate a guy named Johann, and I like a guy named Fritz, and the lieutenant guy wasn’t bad.” Maureen declared, straightening her precious cap atop muddy auburn tresses. “Who went and named their son Fritz after the last war? I mean really? Who does that to a kid? It’s like he’s making up for it now, though, awfully nice.”

“Mm, I thought so, too.” Ida hummed, “Might keep an eye on that one, work on him a bit. You think, Kendeigh?”

“Work on him yourself, Ida.” Maureen scoffed.

“Not much to work with.” Ida retorted, the first general reference to her disfigurement she’d made. “What do you know? What’s up?” she left off to inquire after Tallulah Smith who came out the other side of processing looking more than exasperated.

“Know? They don’t know squat.” she said, “Never heard of a Cherokee.”

“I’ll be.” Maureen was grinning sharply. “Wasn't enough being a woman for ya Smith, ya had to go and be a brown one.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” She griped, “They kept insisting I was a fighter pilot. That’s what all the ‘dark ones’ are, according to them. Told them I’d rewire their insides and maybe then they’d take my engineering degree seriously.”

“I’d like to see that.” Maureen murmured, drowsiness beginning to take over at the comparative calm of their new surroundings.

“Looks like we got everyone, yeah?” Ida peered over the heads of the crowing room and counted out her charges in a silent tally.

“Looks like.” Smith agreed. “Got billet assignments?”

“I do. Colonel Clark, most senior prisoner here, said the combines are strict but the rooms aren’t. Let’s try to behave until we feel our way, then we can swap, if they allow.”

“It’s going to smell like feet no matter where and who we share it with.” Smith pointed out and Ida heaved a great sigh as if that were the hardest prospect she’d yet encountered.

“Mm.”

“Buck is out there!” Maureen suddenly cried out, grabbing at Ida’s arm, pointing out the window at the muddy yard.

“How nice. Gotta get this sorted first, eyes in, Kendeigh.”

Maureen reluctantly tore her eyes away from her dearly missed pilot. “Yes sir.”

“All right,” Ida’s voice carried as well as it ever had, commanding immediate quiet and attention, “those in the 350th, 419th, -the hundredth!- on me. Gather ‘round. That’s it, come on. Alright, well, we made it, well done. Truly, well done to all of you. Now I know you well enough to not accuse any of you of being pure idiots, just because we made it to where we wanted to go doesn’t mean any of what’s ahead is going to be easy. Be wary, don’t let your guard down, you don’t know plenty of these men and they don’t know you, I’m sure there are measures in place for spying already. Be sensible. I am certain we can rely on the kindness of those in the hundredth, but even then keep in mind, if you are cold, they are too, if you're hungry, you best believe they are hungrier, the last thing we need is a crisis of chivalry in here. Rely on them, except their help, but don’t ever take from them. Understood? And one more thing, since the human spirit is irrepressible I feel it’s warranted to make one more housekeeping note. None, and I do mean none, no inner relations at all are allowed. I don’t care how cold you are, how sweet he’s been, or how much you’ve missed him. The Red Cross aren’t sending rubbers, and don’t ever take the promise of a pull out. Do you want a one-way ticket to a death camp or a bullet to the head? Get pregnant. Simple as that. You think the Jerries think poorly of you now for being female? Try being a matron. The point is to blend in as much as possible, keep that in mind. Whatever you do, keep that in mind. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

“Colonel?” One voice demurred, raised hand and respectful title only forerunners for an obvious objection incoming.

“Yes? Sanchez, isn’t it? You’re not one of mine, I think.”

“No, sir, 55th -fighters.”

“Yes, well, welcome. What’s your question?”

“No offense sir but- what about the guards?” Sanchez asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Brady replied with typical candor, “I believe so far we’ve seen a mix here. I’m sure our friends can give us tips on who to watch out for.”

“No sir, sorry I meant-“ Sanchez kept her teeth clenched until her thoughts seemed to form better, “-you said no relations. What about the guards? No disrespect meant colonel and I don’t know about yours, but mine -they weren’t pulling out.”

“Mm.” Maureen thought that if Ida smashed her lips together any tighter they’d turn whiter than her skin, the bent aviators she had managed to preserve this entire time did a remarkable job of masking whatever feeling was stiffening her spine to the current degree, but all the same, her spine was stiff, “no offense taken, an excellent point. I’ll inquire about any possible…remedies. Anyone else?”

A multitude of hands shot up and Ida Brady scanned them with bewilderment until she realized her lapse in specificity. “Anyone else with questions, I meant! Saints alive. No? Good, let’s claim our bunks and see about a wash.”

After the dark interior of the building, being processed for hours, the hazy late afternoon light of outside glared painfully against Ida’s bloodshot eyes as she stepped out, leading the way down the three wooden steps to the muddy yard. Monochrome, this place, brown wooden buildings and brown earth and a muddy sky and brown flight jackets one after another.

And there in the midst of it, waiting for them with ever constant patience and thinned stateliness was Gale Cleven and his lost blue eyes and an alarmingly symmetrical set of facial scars.

“Major.” Ida felt her face soften into an odd expression she realized was likely that of relief. Cleven had that way about him, it was better suited to her preferences than Egan’s blustering warm hearted concern, Colonel Harding’s gruff joviality or her John’s perpetually intense concern. Her little brother was, oddly, nowhere to be seen now and that was a comfort in this wide open, highly observed space.

“Colonel.” Gale Cleven’s eyes weren’t a lost blue anymore but a pair of stormy seas and Ida steeled herself for pity. She found smoldering rage in his face instead. Another relief.

“How was it?” he was nodding to the command hut.

“Fine.” she assured.

He was searching for something in her face and Ida was sure it was easily found skin deep along her puffy, purpled left cheek, but if she had anything to do with her expression alone, he’d be kept guessing for ages. “Good.” he decided at last but his smile was tight, “Made John wait in the combine, he’s in there pacing like a madman. They make a note of who’s attached to whom, Colonel,” he explained, “a more discreet reunion seemed in order.”

“We’d appreciate all the direction you—“ Ida had begun but was cut short by Lt. Kendeigh who broke ranks from the processed group and came out of the hut behind Ida like a bat out of hell, running up to Cleven and tackling him in a hug, rather like a dog with their long lost master.

The Major’s lanky frame staggered under her surprise attack, perhaps more from shock and ill preparedness than poor rations and a weakened constitution. Or at least Ida, hoped that was the case.

Well, there went all intentions for discretion about partiality on their part, five seconds had gone by and Maureen still hadn’t let go, her valued cap about ready to knock off her head and his too. Seeing the gig was up, Cleven even belatedly brought an arm up to hug her shoulders, his pleased face bashfully pacifying her intensity. “If it isn’t my favorite bombardier.” Cleven mumbled, his lips failing not to tug upwards in the tiniest of smiles, and he gave her a pat on the back.

“Buck!” Smith was coming in hot behind Kendeigh and knocked Ida’s shoulder in her haste to get around her and join in. “Thank Jesus you’re here.” she grunted as she squeezed him and Kendeigh both, “I mean -we’re sorry you’re here but since we’re here-“

“Glad you’re here, too, Smith.” he assured her gently, another pat on another back and Ida watched Cleven’s composure began to flake as he took stock of their roughened appearances. “It’s gonna be ok now.” he offered, and coming from someone else that statement would’ve sounded a great deal less impressive than it did coming from him. It also sounded hollow without Bucky’s typical parroting of the upbeat sentiment. “Let’s get you girls sorted.” he nodded at Ida who fell in alongside him, if only to distance and displace Kendeigh and her over familiarity just a tad.

“What’s your Kommandant like?” Ida asked by way of conversation as Gale directed them in a trudge along the brown paths towards his specified hut.

“Think I know him as well as you.” Gale admitted, “Tried to stay low, been no reason for socializing. Wouldn’t advise a trip to the camp doctor though.” He added the last part after a beat.

“Why?”

“Your Johnny says he’s got an experimental mind.” Gale smiled wryly but there was a grieved look behind it that made Ida’s pulse pound in alarm, “If you go in with a cold, you might come out with a radioactive arm instead.”

“Noted.” Ida muttured with a shiver, wishing to god her jacket hadn’t been taken off her a couple stops ago, the sun was waning in the dull sky and the breeze was frigid without it. “Speaking of doctors,” she decided to go for it, “is Johnny -my John- is he alright? At the gate it was such a racket, was he…standing?”

Gale paused in his step up into the combine, brows knitted in surprise and she noticed along with him that their little march had drawn quite a little audience from the fellow inmates. Females in a Stalag -what a novelty. “Yeah, John’s fine. He’s fit.” Gale still had that quizzical look on his face.

Ida swallowed hard and gave him another curt nod, one she wanted to come across as grateful but wasn’t sure it did, her battered cheek was responding less and less to her mind’s commands. “Right. This us?”

“Yeah. Figured we’d try to keep as many close as possible.” He explained, “Welcome to paradise.”

“What did y’all name this shack?” Maureen asked him as she stepped over the threshold, it was dark inside and smelled of lumber and smoke.

“We haven’t.” Gale admitted, forlorn at the realization that things like that didn’t occur to people like him. If Bucky had been here, he’d have had it named in an hour, and something awful, too. Something that would make them all laugh.

“Damn oversight, Gingerale.” Maureen teased merrily but Cleven noticed the dimming light in her eyes as she took in the cramped, uninspired utility of the place. One wooden doorway after another.

“Talked it over with Colonel Clark during your processing,” Gale said, “decided it were best if we mingle you all among the men we know. Boys from your squadrons, friendly faces. A few of you in each room.”

“I call dibs on yours.” Maureen unabashedly grinned up at Cleven but Ida saw how a heartbroken look of protectiveness skittered across his features.

“Alright.” he muttered without a fight for once.

“Mm, Smith, Sanchez, Tong, you in here.” Ida decided and having snapped her fingers she was moving on to the next stuffy room. Asking Cleven at each about their current occupants, and with the precision of memory required of a woman who had to memorize her opponents on the promotional ladder, chose their new bunk mates accordingly.

“And where’s Johnny bunked?” she asked him in a low tone as she watched the next set settle in from the doorway.

“In with me, further down the hall, Demarco, Hambone, a few others.”

Ida seemed to hesitate as she eyed up an extra bunk in the current room that the last of her girls were settling into.

“Don’t be a stick, colonel,” Maureen spoke up gently, a surprising liberty even for her, “you need friends right now. Bunk with us. Everyone’s going to be fine. Can’t be all places at all times, ya know?”

Ida didn’t reply but after a moment she admitted, “I should go see John.”

Gale and Maureen exchanged a look and then moved in unison to catch up to her as Ida Brady walked, brisk as if she were back home at Thorpe and about to pick a fight with Jack Kidd, down the long hall to one of the last rooms. “In here?” she asked Gale, pointing at the closed door -they liked to keep it so for warmth and privacy, and to acclimate the guards to it being closed when the radio was out.

“Yeah that’s us.” Cleven replied, reaching out and snagging Maureen back a step as Ida turned the handle. “Let’s give ‘em a minute.” he suggested, referring to the Bradys.

He held her jacket sleeve for a brief moment before turning it to grab her hand, he’d missed those hands. To his horror their usual calloused elegance was a swollen paw of bruises. “The hell, Maureen?” he whispered in shock, turning it over to examine it, grip strong around her wrist before she could pull away. “Who did this?”

Maureen did her best to shrug, “Some bitch stood on them.” she said simply, and surrendered the other hand for a similar heartbroken inspection.

Kendeigh was indeed not as visibly marred as Ida Brady or a few of the others, but still, Gale kept turning her crushed hands over and over, recalling with vivid agony the way he’d admired them at all manner of work before. To hurt them that way, to restrain her so meanly- “Maureen,” she’d never heard his voice dip so low, and his eyes were simmering where they cataloged her hurts, “what’d they do to you?”

“What’d they do to your face?” she shot back, perhaps more perturbed by the immaculately symmetrical scars on his once porcelain face than her own condition. Women expected the treatment they’d gotten, in some twisted way, but this on the other hand, it disturbed her.

Gale looked taken aback by her question and quickly dropped her hand to touch his right cheek as if to remind himself the scar was obvious to everyone. “Flak.” he replied a beat too late.

“Awfully precise.” she snarked.

“I asked you first.”

“I told you, a bitch stood on them.”

“I’m your superior officer.”

“Who it looks like someone had some fun with,” Maureen snapped back, “who did this?”

“What happened to you?” He hit right back but his voice quavered.

“I’m fine now. I wanna go see the boys. Come on.”

“Just- give them another minute.” Gale insisted, pulling her back away from the doorway again, “It’s a lot.” He reminded, “For a brother to see his sister like -that.”

Maureen couldn’t argue with that, besides Gale looked so sad and more fragile than she’d ever seen him, and the gentle hold he had on her jacket was as needy and scared as a child’s. “I’m glad we’re in this together.” she whispered.

“Me too.” he admitted, guilty and sad over how true that was before letting her press her lips to his.

Ida Brady didn’t know what she expected when she opened the door, not much she supposed, just a living brother with any luck. It was a decently tidy room, plates stacked on a rough hewn board at the far end, eight bunks lining the walls, stacked three tall. A table was in the middle and there sat dear old Crank and Hambone too, Murph with Benny. A card game was ongoing.

They looked so fine, quite normal, all in all.

All motion in the small room stopped upon her entrance. Cards were dropped and cigarettes forgotten in open mouthed shock.

“Holy shit -colonel?” Demarco didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body, and his disbelieving horror over her appearance came through loud and clear in his greeting. She hadn’t seen him at the gate.

The same for Hambone’s face, one that had never bothered to be discreet in pleasant circumstances, much less in shocking ones like seeing a notorious superior officer come in looking about as battered as a body could get -although his torn cheek was one to talk. Crank recovered first, in his mild, stammering sort of way, glancing at the lean figure who still stood looking out the lone window.

“Well, if it isn’t Ain’t Pretty Brady.” Crank clapped uneasily, summoning her nickname from basic just to cut the tension, it served to startle John.

He turned from the window abruptly, blank faced and unblinking as he realized the sister he had been watching for had already arrived. If their ole nan from the motherland had suddenly materialized before him he could have hardly looked more haunted or aghast, wide fringed fox eyes and that straight fold of a mouth -always so very held together, her little brother. Even after his third belly landing.

But those startled unblinking eyes...

Ida wanted to tell him to blink, that it was all alright now, that they were both alive and that it was good enough, it had to be. But she seemed to have fully lost all power over her throbbing cheek at last, she could feel her lips move in a motion she realized with supreme panic was likely a wobble of emotion. She ripped her aviators off, as if seeing her eyes might help his to come alive.

“John John?” she croaked in greeting, oblivious of the childish endearment tumbling off her lips in a room full of soldiers. If it were something their family was in the habit of doing, Ida Brady might have rushed him like Maureen did her pilot, or held out her own hand to be held, asked for a gesture from him -after what she’d gone through, surely it couldn’t have been weakness to want a clap on the shoulder, a flick to the bicep, a little “well done” for staying alive.

But she just stood there and watched him clock her shame. She could feel her swollen lip splitting in real time as the swelling and incessant trembling tore the taut skin apart, they’d passed around a single canteen in processing and it wasn’t enough, the walls of her throat felt collapsed together. Maybe she should have asked for a mirror first, maybe Cleven or Kendeigh or Smith should have told her she’d bring a whole room to a frozen standstill by her looks alone. They’d seen her at the gate -were these meager lightbulbs really so much more illuminating?

“Eye-eye.” Johnny let it out in a breathy rush as if he’d suddenly come to, and then he was in front of her, hands cradling the sides of her neck, thumbs hooked gently under her bruised jaw. A calloused pad swiped away the ticklish trickle of blood sliding the crease of her mouth.

Eye eye -his onetime baby babble for Ida, and she’d never let him forget it.

She could have wept at the useless sentimentality of it, of the gentle familiarity of familial hands, at the seething loyalty storming across his face.

“The fuck did they do?” he articulated at last, voice gravelly as shit but also reminiscent of the squeaky olden days when his castrato role suddenly no longer served one Sunday in choir.

“You’ve got legs.” she answered instead, sounding maniacal in her happiness.

He looked at her like she’d gone fully crazy as well as beat, “Yeah? Yeah I do.”

“They said, they said you didn’t.” she chuckled, a bizarre merriment trying to take hold in her relief, “During interrogation, that bespectacled cunt told me you had your legs crushed when you crashed.”

“No? No- no I jumped.” He insisted, then let go of her face to step back and gesture to two fit legs, as long and lanky as she remembered, as long and lanky as her own. “I jumped, I’m fine. They told you that?”

“Yeah.” Ida said, “Told me the longer I didn’t comply the longer you were without medical attention. I -I’ve been so…uneasy…about you.”

“I’m fine.” He repeated, hands back on her shoulders and she was grateful for it despite the bruises he was gripping, grateful for the way he kept touching her like he was going to hold her together with his own two hands, same blood, same flesh, same memories, maybe whatever she’d lost he could supply back like a blood donation. “Those sons of bitches.” he cursed them.

“Plasma for planes.” she agreed.

He kept looking at her, at her cheek and at her ragged hair and at the missing buttons, “You didn’t tell them anything did you?” he suddenly asked, wide eyed. “You know i’d rather die than have you tell.”

Ida scoffed, and gave him a grin, the best one she could manage with her cheek and split lip, “What do you take me for, Johnny?”

“A cold hearted bitch, I hope.” he returned the small smile but his voice cracked, still that hint of something long gone and juvenile.

“That’s what their Lieutenant called me.” Ida confirmed, a little proud, and sensing a renewal of his inquiries, Ida chose to take the offensive and call out for a conspicuously absent Kendeigh, “Candy! Didn’t you want to tell Johnny about your charming admirer? The Lieutenant?”

Kendeigh came round the doorway hastily, her lips puffy and cheeks oddly red. Cleven followed after and matched her, and his blush did nothing but highlight those scars of his. “Brady.” Maureen greeted, boldly hugging Ida’s very stiff brother without care —due to his red cheeks and rigid shoulders Ida concluded Cleven had given his own inner-relations talk to the men—, “Yes, I wanted to -oh hello Crank, Benny you son of gun- wanted to tell y'all about my ticket outta here -hell Hambone, how’d you manage to get uglier? -see my integrator, he found me fairly fetching. I think one of these days he’s gonna roll up in his shiny car and take me away from here and you’re all gonna wish you’d taken time to learn a little know-how about Alligators and their hibernation tactics in the winter. He was enthralled.”

There was an awkward silence hanging in the room, Crank grimaced a smile out of sheer generosity of heart and Benny Demarco still sat with his cigarette neglected on his open lip. Cleven, used to her preening brazness kept a tight lip, though a thousand questions seemed to swirl in his eyes.

“He the one who stood on your hands?” John Brady asked her without hesitancy.

Maureen whirled round then, comedy hour over and an angry flush creeping up her neck at his directness. “No.” she snapped. “Can’t some of them be alright?”

“A German’s a German.” he countered.

“There’s Fitzs and then there’s Johanns.” she disagreed nebulously and only Ida got her reference.

“And a shower is a shower,” Ida butted in before this became an experiment in an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force “which we need, badly. We’re…filthy.”

“We’ve got working sinks, trough sinks.” Cleven clarified with an apologetic look as if it were his fault the showers only ran once a week and poorly at that, and the water they had was frigid already in autumn.

“Water is water.” Ida reasoned in return, wondering when Johnny was going to finally let go of her arm.

“We’ll clear it out for ya.” Cleven said.

“And we’ll guard the entrance.” John added emphatically.

“Thanks.” Ida muttured, “Some of us could use to mend our uniforms.” she added, refusing to blanch at the subtle inventory of her jagged tears and crusted blood being made by every man in the room.

Maureen at least had her jacket intact. Her cap, too.

“Here, you can have my trousers while I stitch yours.” her John decided and was unbuckling his belt before she even registered the hand gone from her shoulder.

“What?” Ida balked, “You’re going to go ‘round in your skivvies?”

“Not as uncommon around here as you’d think, Ida.” Gale said, a small smile on his face. “I’m afraid order and decorum has gone to shit without you.”

“Well I’m here now.” she replied sternly but didn’t stop Johnny as he stripped.

“And so am I.” Kendeigh grinned and all Ida could do was to bless the saints for having let only one terror into the camp, were Bucky Egan to be here too, things would become intolerably lax. As soon as she thought it she repented it, sending up a prayer for the poor, absent bastard.

“Say Benny, you’re shorter, can I have your pants?” Maureen pleaded.

“Why mine?” Demarco protested, only offended at the height implication.

“Because Cleven’s too tall and I’ve already been in his pants.”

“Maureen!”

“Ida, order somebody to give me their pants.”

“You can have mine.” Crank offered kindly, and then stood up and bashfully began to unlayer. It left him in skivvies, a snuggly sweater and his flight jacket.

“It’s a good look, Crank,” Maureen grinned at the finished product as he handed the trousers over. “I’m seeing you in a different light.”

“Maureen!”

“Just sayin-“

“Take the pants with you to the washroom!” Brady interjected desperately as Maureen looked ready to strip right here and now. “Jesus, Kendeigh.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Maureen ribbed him, out for blood in her tired state and if she couldn’t have that of the Germans she would of her friends’.

“Alright let’s - let’s settle down.” Gale implored, a tired expression firmly etched onto his face and Ida herself considered giving up on the wash altogether and tumbling into the available bunk to court the oblivion of sleep. Were it only blood and dirt she just might, her usual tidiness be damned.

As it was -it was, there was…the filth was so much worse.

And if Ida thought on it too long she’d go mad and want to pour boiling lye on herself to wash herself clean and to kill the shame of it. She’d have to scrub the pants before she gave them to Johnny to be mended, it was bad enough for a brother to see the blood and busted seams.

“Yes, settle down for God’s sake.” she echoed Cleven, and something about her hoarse voice compelled Maureen to temper herself more than any direct order could. “A wash, come on, let’s get the girls. Oh and one more thing, Cleven-“ Ida turned to Gale and found him alert, eager to help. She was afraid she was only setting him up for failure but she had to make an effort to find those “remedies” she’d promised Sanchez. “There any lemons around?”

The incredulous look on his face suggested he thought she knew better, but he was ever polite in his reply, “No, colonel. No lemons.”

“Mm. Nutmeg?” she tried to recall each wicked trick she’d heard condemned when a girl got herself in the family way without the needed family in place.

“No, no nutmeg.”

“Mm.”

“Nothing but potatoes and cigarettes, ma’am. Do you- why?” he asked.

“Nothing.” she assured, “Just, a hot toddy sounds good right about now. You know?”

“Uh,” he floundered, half in suspicion and half in genuine confusion, “never had one.”

“Well then,” she grinned as she passed him, “that’s something to add to our to-do list for when this is all over. Jameson, though, none of that Kentucky stuff.”

“Yes ma’am.” his tone was vacant, smiling concern brittle, “You uh, you alright, Colonel?”

Ida gave him a withering look and then Gale too, had cause to be repentant.

“Come on Kendeigh, let's get the rest.” Ida gestured as she followed Gale back into the hall, aware of Johnny’s eyes still on her, still taking stock, “They better not be in bunks without a wash. Come on, showers, everyone! Out, come on out. You can sleep afterwards. Out! Would one of you be so kind as to wake us up in time for roll call?” she inquired of the male officers straggling behind her in the hall.

“Course! Yeah, for sure.” about five offers went up.

“You wake Me up.” she clarified coming to a full stop, wary of the enthusiasm, “I’ll wake up the rest.”

“I’ll get you up.” Her John said.

He’d probably sit and watch her sleep, too, needle and torn pants in hand, like a creepy little owl but that was one of those things she figured make or break a family, you either find it endearing you have a brother who rarely blinks or you go mad. Today, after all of it, she didn’t mind having a guardian Angel. Or a watchdog. Speaking of-

“Hey,” she asked him, “you two flew out together, where’s Bucky?”

But no one had an answer for that, not even Little John.

💋Hope you enjoyed AND REMEMBER -prompts are now open.

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota oc #Intergrated au #those who can #john egan #john brady #gale cleven #benny demarco #gale cleven x oc #john egan x oc #john brady x oc #Maureen Kendeigh #Ida Brady #Tallulah Smith

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intheshadowsbehindyou · 6 months

Note

Mercs proposing hc?? So basic but Im literally one corny mf

The TF2 Mercs proposing to their partners

WARNING: Mild gore gifts because this is the Mercs we’re talking about here.

—————————————————————————

Scout:

- Biggest panic attack of his fucking life. Has no idea how to function like a normal human being anymore. It was that feeling of being in love with somebody all over again and needing to tell them. What’s worse about this though is that marriage is a huge commitment. One that many aren’t ready for yet. What if you reject him and he messes this relationship up?

- Goes to Spy for comfort. In all honesty he’s just a very damaged little boy on the inside and scared that he is incapable of receiving unconditional love. The other Mercs catch him behind the base crying into Spy’s shoulder on the curb while Spy holds him. He’s telling Spy how much he loves you; and how terrified he is that you cannot return that same vow. Spy knows the feeling. “Shh, mon lapin.” Boy howdy Spy’s certainly grateful that Scout’s mom didn’t teach him a word of french.

- Spy has to shove Scout into your room to actually finally get him to do it. “Your idiot boyfriend has a few words for you, and apparently I have to be present or i’m certain he’ll break down crying again.” He says to you. While poor Scout curls up into a ball on the floor.

————————————————————————-

Soldier:

- First of all, why him? Second of all, this is the type of guy to go all out and spend half the money he earned in mercenary work to get one of those “will you marry me Y/N?” banners hooked up to a plane. Complete with the pilot being ejected and the plane crashing nose first into a rock formation. Apparently that was 100% intentional because a bunch of confetti came out of the explosion. You don’t know if you should be horrified at the audacity, or head over heels.

- Brings you an entire necklace of ears. But that’s not all! For limited time only you can get one of soldiers’ severed heads that was purposely boiled and skull cut into the shape of a helmet! Great, right? “Wow, what type of animal is this?” You ask. “A DOG. PACKAGED WITH PURE, NO ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, PASTEURIZED AMERICAN GLORY!” well that’s not reassuring. “OOOHH SAAAAY CAAAAN YOU SEEE—“ Soldier immediately gets hit over the head by Heavy and knocked unconscious.

- After the initial silliness dies down you see adoration as you tend to his awful head wound. Maybe Heavy knocked the stupidity out of him? No. He’s still insane. Soldier grabs your wrist as you apply alcohol to his wound and squeezes your hand. “Somebody like me doesn’t deserve somebody like you.” He says. “Bullshit, Soldier.” You say, leaning in for a kiss.

—————————————————————————

Demoman:

- He can only achieve this when drunk off his mind. Not to mention it arrives in the most unromantic way possible. But it doesn’t make you love him any less. He holds you close to him after a New Years party at the base and pats your back. “Jus’ so you know, you’d look mighty fine with a ring on your finger.” He flirts, getting incredibly physically affectionate. He makes sure never to cross your boundaries.

- “Me mum would kill me but fuck all. y’know? Old wench’s days are numbered anywae. We could live ina nice cottage by the sea.. If ya want wee lil’ bastards I’ll actually take care of em. I’d have to stop me drinkin tho.” He says, pecking your neck. His remaining eye is pleading with you to say yes. “Pleaaase?”

- Has no recollection of these events in the morning so imagine his dumbfounded expression when one of the Mercs asks about his new fiancé. Cue the embarrassment mixed with pride and excitement.

—————————————————————————

Engineer:

- Will 100% go to your window in the dead of night and sing a song for you on his guitar. Particularly I imagine this would be the contender. You have no idea this is even a marriage proposal. You just think he’s being incredibly sappy. Imagine the surprise while mid song he pulls out a small box and throws it up and down recklessly like a baseball. You’re slowly beginning to catch on as he opens it with his free fingers after finishing the song.

- Complete overconfident show off. He pep-talked himself before all this and rehearsed his performance repeatedly. By using the wrangler and effortlessly throwing the box up in the air and propelling it forward with a single bullet, the sentry successfully aided in getting the box up to you. You don’t even know how you managed to catch it, to be honest.

- Tips his hardhat to you. “Whadda say? Marry me?” He can barely contain his smile. Both excited and somewhat relieved he pulled that off.

—————————————————————————

Heavy:

- “Heavy made you dead person crown..” He walks into your room one day and puts it on your head. It’s a bunch of severed ears meant to resemble a flower crown. “Hey, thanks big guy.” You’re grateful for the gift, being a crazed Merc yourself is it really any surprise? You give him a huge kiss on the cheek. Heavy looks thrilled that you accepted his gift. Which is very much unlike him. Usually he’s reserved. Maybe he’s just having a good day?

- Well.. you eventually find out why. That was apparently his way of proposing to you. Soldier nudges you the next morning and teases you for being engaged to Heavy. You’re horrified to say the least. You had no idea this meant marriage. Not that you wouldn’t marry him. But what about his gun Sasha? Wouldn’t she feel jealous? You’ve been with Heavy so long you keep referring to that damn thing as a person.

- Immediately upon seeing you; goes up to you and gives you a list of stuff he wants at this wedding. There’s even a blank page for you to write your own needs. He seems oddly motivated to plan this out months before it actually happens. There is countless mentions of Russian authors he wants to attend the wedding. As if they’d ever consider going to a stranger’s wedding. “If they won’t come then Heavy will crush them..” He says. Same goes for your guests.

—————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Wow.. Kind of the most normal out of all of them. For the most part. If TF2 took place in modern day they’d propose with a ringpop but all they have is a bag of candy and an actual ring (That they may or may not have stolen from someone in Tuefort.)

- They get on their knees and offer the ring to you in an extremely professional manner. It’s quite surreal to see Pyro pull off something so domestic and normal when he’s always destroying stuff with fire. In fact this is a little too normal.. This is Team Fortress we’re talking about here. Shouldn’t something be wacky happening right about now? It’s like the perfect opening for slapstick. Through your cries of love and laughter you begin to feel anxious at the back of your head.

- Yup.. There it is. Pyro tells you that Scout offered to be the ‘Ring bear’ for the wedding. There’s Scout dressed up in a cutesy teddy bear costume. You’re certain that’s not how it works. “Just for the record, if you tell anybody about this, I’ll fuckin’ saw off both your knees boston sandwich style. Capeesh?” He says. You have no idea what that means so you quickly agree.

————————————————————————-

Sniper:

- Afraid he’s going to mess it up, much like Scout. Gets incredibly physically ill as a result from stress and isolates himself in his camper van. You’re convinced he wants to tell you something but you have no idea what it is. One day on the frontlines an arrow narrowly misses your face and embeds itself into the wall next to you. You were about to turn around and bombard Sniper until you saw the note attached to it. “Pardon, Will you marry me? -Sniper.” With a very worried sad face drawn next to the note. He even bothered to draw his hat on it.

- Disbelief clouds your face at first. Sniper? Marry another Merc? You’re in shock. This isn’t something you’d ever suspect from a guy like him. But your initial thought makes way for an uncontrollable smile.

- He literally will not approach you first after this. You have to knock on his camper van because god knows he won’t be even able to face his team for months. As you jump into his arms and kiss him he immediately pulls you inside to love on you in private.

———————————————————————-

Medic:

- WOULD RATHER SHOOT HIMSELF

- Just kidding. But he wishes he were dead right now. How could he do something so… Un-mad-sciencey? Marriage is just a concept brought upon by money hungry people. It only exists within the mind… Yet, that’s how he feels. An eternal vow to you is something he wishes to do. He’s already planned to make you a god alongside him once the time came so you could be his beloved consort forever. It reminded him of the greek story of soulmates.

- Gets a little fruitier than usual. The most feminine moan you ever heard left this man’s body as you brushed against him while trying to help him grab a syringe he dropped. This man gets unusually hornier and that’s how you know something’s up.. “Looking up my skirt, I see!” He says, as you glance up his long lab coat. There isn’t anything there but his pants so you roll your eyes. “Ah yes.. “ You respond. You decide he’s just clingy and horny as usual and carry about your assistance. You’re not in the mood for that. He never even bottoms so he’s feigning it anyway.

- “Err—Uh— Ho! Wouldn’t it be just shameful if I knew what was going on inside your head?” He asks. “Alright, i’ll bite. What are you saying, Doc?” You sigh. He fixes his glasses back up on his face thoughtfully. “One body, one mind. That would be quite intriguing don’t you think? If we were to.. Become one.” He placed an odd amount of emphasis on that, as if the thought was simply music to his ears. Lord he’s creepy. Medic grabs you and holds you close to him. “Think of the possibilities. We’d never be lonely again. I could stitch our bodies together and we could feel each other’s essence. Forever.”

- “Medic, you good?” You ask. Although his words were strangely flattering nonetheless in their own way. You smile at him. He seems to be lost in the idea. Fantasies of being with you for eternity flood his head. Particularly ones where you’re both a weird hybrid god. Weirdest marriage proposal world record goes to Medic.

—————————————————————————-

Spy:

- No, no no no no no. He can’t do this again. Marriage never worked out for him. After losing Scout’s mom and many partners that followed, he couldn’t bare hurting somebody like that again. His job always got in the way of what he truly desired but he had to live with it. This life chose him after all. His hand was forced into this position. Seeing your bright smile for the rest of his days was all he ever wanted. His urges to get up and say something to you were too strong.

- Has to metaphorically slap himself in the face and remind himself to act like a fucking adult. He wasn’t a little rambunctious teenager in Paris anymore. Yet he felt like one whenever he saw you. Such boyish feelings for an old put together gentleman like him. Spy decided to trust you and himself. But if something went wrong he wouldn’t hesitate to jump off a fucking cliff. Spy would stare at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for hours and contemplate his decision before making it.

- He proposes to you under a starry moonlit night. Not even bothering to kneel down, he slides the box across the balcony to you. “Well?” he asks, taking a long drag of his cigarette. His eyes fixated on the horizon. “Do I have to say it?” He asks. “Yes..” You tell him. Your eyes gleaming with joy. You never felt happier in your entire life. “Fine.. Will you marry m—“ He couldn’t even finish before you jump on him, ultimately knocking you both down.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #medic x reader #spy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #pyro x reader #sniper x reader

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thedeviltohisangel · 2 months

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Spook and John have my 🫶🏼. Maybe for a prompt “who did this to you” John asking Spook? I just think with her background as a spy and his protective nature, it fits them!! Can’t wait for more 🙌🏻

All The Things I Did (Interlude): I'm Such a Fool

a/n: broke my own heart with this one. introduced a very curious dynamic with harding, a little bit of solo cass and a few little fluff crumbs so you all don't hate me too much. send romance/fluff/ post-war spook and bucky??? prompts to ease my soul. i'll be waiting to chat...

The moment Colonel Harding was the one behind her office door and there was no smile on his face or flirtatious joke on his tongue, Cass knew.

“Anyone?”

“Rosenthal’s crew just landed. I was on my way to interrogation.” Her heart was struggling to know what to do. Seize with sadness over the loss. Hammer in her chest to keep her mind moving. Slow down so she could have a moment to think.

“I’m coming with you.”

----

She sat silently while they went through each plane until they got to the one John had been on. The tapping of her toes only sped up when the navigator announced he saw ten chutes. “About where was that drop, Lieutenant?” The men looked over at her, Colonel Harding already gathering his breath to tell her to stand down.

“Somewhere over Westphalia, maybe, ma’am. It was…I’m sorry I don’t have anything more specific.”

“It will do just fine, Lieutenant. Thank you.” Cass tucked her notebook, she hadn’t even opened it, under her arm and barely made it out the door when Harding started calling after her.

“Cassandra! Lieutenant!” She kept walking, knowing exactly what he was going to say and knowing with certainty she was not going to listen. “Lieutenant Egan!” That made her pause.

“Who told you that?” She kept her back to him. She wasn’t sure quite yet what game he was playing.

“You don’t think your counterparts were keeping an eye on you over there?” She rolled her eyes. Men and their egos.

“Your feelings about the situation are irrelevant, Colonel. I have work to do.” Cass was going to grab her bag and go get John.

“You’re grounded, Lieutenant. You try to leave this base and I’ll have you shipped back to the States on the next available flight.”

“Then good thing the OSS answers directly to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Colonel.”

----

“You shouldn’t be here so soon, Ingrid.” Cass had spent the night in an emergency safe house close to her drop site before setting off to the nearest town where Peter lived, her contact she paid to help get around Germany. Ingrid was the name he knew her by.

“I wouldn’t if it wasn’t for a good reason.” She looked around the beer hall, empty at this time of day. “I’m looking for a pilot. American. Dropped over here a day or two ago.” Peter got quiet and stopped moving the rag over the bartop.

“Ingrid, asking about American pilots is very dangerous around here.” Her fingers flexed tightly around the glass of untouched beer she had politely paid him for. Tipped double.

“You don’t need to take me to him. I just need to know how to find him on the way to Stalag Luft.”

“Two men were here this morning on their way to pick up bodies.”

“Bodies?”

“They have a spot in the middle of the woods where they bury them.” Cass closed her eyes and fought to maintain composure. There was no chance John was dead. She would have felt it. She would know in her soul.

And when she rode the horse Peter lent her to that clearing and she saw a lifeless body lying directly in the sun like God himself wanted her to find it, she almost started to think he was gone.

“John?” She practically fell from the horse as she realized it was him. Dropping to her knees, she grunted as she rolled him over. Her breath stopped when she got a good look at his face. Cass felt around frantically for a pulse and almost cried when she felt one thrumming against her fingertips. “Baby, you got to wake up.” She deduced he had run away from the men that were here to bury a pile of American bodies. It meant that it was only a matter of time before they either found them or sent for German soldiers.

John thinks he heard her voice. Thinks he felt her presence above him. Thinks that meant he was dead.

“Cass,” he moaned. His head wasn’t supposed to hurt this bad if he was dead. “Please.” Please just take me away from here, he was asking. Take me somewhere where I can be with you again.

“It’s me. You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of here.” There was no chance she was going to be able to get him on the horse without his help. She draped his arm over her shoulder, his head lolling weightlessly into the crook of her neck.

“You’re real.”

“We have to get you up, okay? Can you help me, Johnny?” Her arm wrapped securely around his waist, steadying herself to lift. With a grunt she pushed up but only made it a few steps before she collapsed under his dead weight and hit the forest floor. She rubbed her knuckles as hard as she could against his chest in an attempt to wake him back up. “Come on, come on.” He coughed a little and his eyes fluttered open completely.

“Cass…you can’t…be here.” She ignored him, propping him up into a sitting position and readying herself to lift him once again. “Cass, please. Go.”

“Not without you.” She had him. They were so close. She couldn’t go back now.

“I love you, Cassandra Ann Egan.” He was saying it like it was goodbye. She wanted to respond. She wanted to cry and scream. Wanted to burn the entire world down for getting her here but not letting her have it. Have him. But the sound of a gun cocking and a cold barrel placed to the back of her head made her freeze.

“Get away from the prisoner.” Cass willed herself to think of a way out of this. There was no way this could be the end.

“You want to point a gun at someone, point it at me.” John was sitting up straighter now. Adrenaline reaching all parts of his body. His instinct to protect simmering inside him. He reached for Cass’ arm in an attempt to drag her behind him.

“I found him bleeding while riding out to the market. Was only trying to help.” She slowly stood with her hands up, the gun lowered when the officer heard the German words coming out of her mouth. Keep talking, keep diffusing, keep distracting.

“He’s coming with us, no need for your help.” For his part, John was using the tree he had been leaning against to pull himself up. He got his wish, the guns right back up and in his direction.

“You get on that horse and you get somewhere safe.” He was pleading with her. Have never asked her for anything since he met her but was asking her for this. To give him the peace of mind that she was safe.

“Ingrid, there you are!” Cass looked in horror as Peter entered into the clearing. “You’ll have to pardon her, sirs. She gets lost sometimes.” The two men from the carriage had returned to the beer hall to radio the local security forces. Unable to stop his curiosity, he had followed them to make sure she was alright.

“Enough!” One of the soldiers drew back his gun and brought it down on John’s back, his legs giving out and causing him to drop to his knees. She lurched forward with a scream, Peter grabbing her and pulling her back.

“Stop! Let me go!”

“Get your hands off of her you son of a-” Another blow, the wind knocked out from him this time. She kicked at Peter’s legs but his grip only tightened as he began to drag her away.

“John! John!” she screamed as tears flowed down her face.

“Let her go! Don’t fucking touch her-Cass!” He crawled a few feet in the direction she was being dragged, kicking and screaming and writhing with the pain of leaving him behind. The next blow knocked him out cold.

----

He was certain she was dead. Certain that that was the last he would ever see of her. John had wanted to ask the interrogator. He had shown a grainy image of Cass, called her The Little Sparrow, and asked if he knew her. Knew her real name. Location. He had only smirked. That was his girl. John knows she would have been all too happy to know just how far under their skin she was. He had half a mind to ask the guards to kill him too on his way to the cell. What was the point if she wasn’t there to get home to? To fulfill the life they were foolish enough to let themselves dream about.

Seeing Buck and the boys numbed him for a little bit. But then Buck asked about London. Asked if John had finally told Cass he loved her. If they had made plans for when this was all over. The words were lodged in John’s throat. He wanted to tell Buck he had told her he loved her over and over again. That she had finally said she loved him back. Endlessly. That they had felt in their guts they were running out of time so they had found their way to a bombed out Abbey and made it all official. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk about the good times.

“Major John Egan.” A guard appeared in the doorway. “You’ve been called back to interrogation.” He had been here a couple of days but knew enough it didn’t sound like a positive. Cass had told him of her encounters with the Gestapo. Maybe they had learned of his connection to her. Maybe that were going to try and torture the truth out of him.

The guard led him out into the yard, passed the nicer huts where the Germans stayed and toward the remote corner where more housing was being built. It was starting to look more like a good spot for an execution. At least he would see her again.

“Do I get my last rites?” he asked as he was ordered to stop. There was not a single other soul in sight.

“Five minutes.” The guard walked away and John looked around in confusion. Maybe he could try and climb the fence. Maybe he could-

“Excuse me, but I’m looking for my husband.” Oh.

“What kind of husband leaves a wife as ethereal as you all by her lonesome?” There was a chain link fence separating them but she was there. She was alive and she was there. “I thought I’d lost you.” Cass’ fingers curled into the fence and resting her head on the cool metal, his skin finding hers in one of the openings.

“Me too. But we’ve been fucking with all plans the Germans have for us, haven’t we?” He smiled and wished he could touch her more fully. Wished he could kiss her and twirl her hair around his finger and feel the rise and fall of her breath against his chest.

“We should never have left London,” he whispered.

“We’ll get back there-” Her words paused as she sucked in a breath of pain. John gripped the fence tighter. She lifted her shirt and John noticed a deep purple bruise along her ribcage. “Definitely broken,” she wheezed.

“Someone do that to you?”

“You’re not supposed to be worrying about me, John.”

“Who did this to you?”

“I had a run in with a guard on my way in. He propositioned me and didn’t like that I turned him down.”

“Would you be mad if I killed him?” There was no humor in his tone. His request for her permission was actual.

“I don’t want you in here any longer than you already are. We made a lot of plans we have to follow through on.” Cass couldn’t help the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“I owe you a real wedding,” she hummed in agreement, “some little Bucky’s and little Spook’s,” she leaned in as close as she could, “and that house by the ocean.” She had talked about a house she walked by every summer as a little girl. Thought it was a castle and dreamt of living there with her books and her farm dogs and her own family. Bucky was going to buy it for her if it was the last thing he ever did.

“I’m going to visit as much as I can. I’ll write to you everyday.” She had noticed the guard approaching again. Their time together was coming to a close. “I love you more than anything else in the entire world,” she said the words as if they were the most sacred. After John had jumped the gun with his feelings weeks ago, she had made him work for the words to be echoed back. He was more addicted to her love than cigarettes.

“I love you, too, Cass. Promise me you’ll always know that. No matter how long it takes for me to get back to you.”

“I’ll be right here waiting for you. I promise.” Their lips met in one of the diamond gaps, both of them trying to portray everything they felt in the soul.

“Time’s up.”

“Let me look at you. Just one more minute.” He wanted to be sure he was able to commit her to memory. Every little detail. Didn’t want to forget a single beauty mark. A single scar. The curve of her top lip or the way her eyelashes looked when they fluttered closed.

“Now, Major.” The grip on his arm was firm, John practically being dragged away as Cass just pressed herself closer and closer into the fence. He never took his eyes off of her, silently mouthing his love for her one last time before he was around the corner and she was out of his sight.

“Do me a favor, sir?” The guard stopped and looked at him. “Point me in the direction of the guard that put his hands on my wife.”

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfiction #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fanfic

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talkfastromance4 · 10 months

Text

Watermelon Sugar–Jake Seresin (An Arrangement Series)

An Arrangement Masterlist

Follow here for all updates as I do not have a taglist

word count: 3.3k

warnings: some body insecurity, brief smut scene

Feedback, asks, comments/reblogs mean the world to me!

Enjoy!

Jake told you about the bbq pool party happening on July 4th, he really did, but you were nervous for two reasons; you didn’t have a suit and you were anxious for him to see you in one. While you were having breakfast on the patio the day before, he was going over how he’d be gone shortly in the morning to do a flyover at the base but then he’d be back at eleven with the others. He insisted you invite Brynne, Serena and Dom but Dom always heads back home to spend the holiday weekend with his family.

“I think I’ve got all your favorite foods for tomorrow, and some hard seltzers in the fridge by the bar. Is there anything else you need?” he asked and you bit your lip. “What is it, Sugar?”

“I don’t have a nice suit to wear,” you admitted sheepishly.

“No big deal, let’s go shopping,” he wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin and pulled away from the table.

“No, wait–” you grabbed hold of his forearm, he looked down at you. “Can–can I go by myself?”

He opened his mouth but then closed it. “Sure. I’ll have Reynolds take you. Buy a suit for every day of the week, okay?” He kissed your hand that was on his arm.

So you did, you bought the ones that made you feel good in them and decided to wear a blue two-piece with white stars. You also bought a blue wrap to wear over it as a safety blanket when you were in front of Jake. Jake kissed you goodbye before he left to fly and you slept for another hour before getting up and getting ready.

You’ve just finished putting on red lipstick that matches the red ribbon tied in your hair when Jake gets home. His flight suit is tied around his waist, his hair still a little sweaty and his aviators are hanging off his nose.

“Don’t you look pretty,” he smiles, tossing his keys and wallet on his dresser. You’ve moved all your makeup stuff in his room, he bought a vanity for you to use along with the makeup you use and a bunch of stuff you’ve only dreamt about using.

“You look hot, I mean–” you shake your head, “you’re sweaty.” He smirks at your comment but doesn’t really acknowledge it.

“Yeah, it’s a scorcher out there,” he says, sifting through his drawers for an American flag style swim trunks. “Make sure to put on sunscreen. Everyone should be here in an hour.”

“Okay…do you need my help with anything?”

“All taken care of, Sugar. Too bad you’re all dolled up, was gonna see if you’d want to save on water and take a shower with me.” He stands in front of you, tracing the contour of your face with his fingers until they’re under your chin. He tilts your head up.

You shift in your chair making sure your wrap is covering you. Jake notices, his brows furrowing but again, he doesn’t say anything. You’re thankful for that.

“Maybe next time,” you finally respond coyly.

“Okay, Sugar,” his thumb drags over your bottom lip. “I love this color red on you.”

And then he’s gone heading towards his bathroom singing the chorus to ‘Danger Zone’ before shutting the door.

***

The party is in full swing and you feel a little more at ease when Serena and Brynne arrive. They gushed about your new suit and admired the other ones you bought. As soon as the three of you entered the pool area, Rooster smiled at Serena who quickly went over to him by the pool. He was standing on the first step, beer in hand and a bucket hat on his head.

“He better ask for her number today, or Dom is gonna kick his ass,” Brynne sighs watching your friend flirt with the pilot.

“He hasn’t yet?”

“Nope. And S keeps dropping hints but he’s oblivious.”

“I’ll say something to Jake. I know Rooster’s crazy about her,” you smile then notice Phoenix by the bar. She keeps glancing at Brynne while talking with Bob, her eyes traveling over Brynne’s cherry red suit. “Hey, Brynne, have you met Natasha yet?”

You take Brynne’s hand dragging her around the pool towards the bar and in front of Bob and Natasha.

“Hey guys, this is Brynne. My friend and coworker. Brynne, this is Bob and Natasha,” you introduce. Brynne’s eyes glitter when she meets Natasha’s and they shake hands and Natasha offers to get her a drink.

They move to the other end of the bar initiating small talk and that makes you happy. Warm, strong arms wrap around your waist and hot lips are on your cheek in a kiss.

“Hey Sugar, are you thirsty?”

You nod and he moves behind the bar to get one of your hard seltzers, he pops the tab and slips it inside a coozie. He adds a steel straw then hands it to you.

“Did you put sunscreen on?” he asks taking a pull from his own beer.

“Umm…” you suck on your straw, eyes downcast.

“Let’s put some on before you go in the pool,” he pats the side of your hip affectionately. “C’mon.”

“Jake, I–”

He gives you no choice and tugs you along towards the house. Coyote and Payback say hello to you, they’re seated on the lounge chairs discussing something about football. Fanboy is relaxing in the sun.

The cool air feels good from the dry heat outside as you enter the house, Jake still leading you through the house and into the bathroom on the first floor near the laundry room. He opens the closet grabbing a tube of sunscreen.

“I can put it on myself,” you say quietly, arms crossed over your chest making sure the wrap is still secure around you.

“I can get your back,” he smiles clicking the top open. “And you can rub my back, too.”

“Jake, I don’t–” you cover your face with your hands.

“Woah, hey, what’s going on?”

You shake your head, eyes closed.

“Sugar, talk to me please. What’s wrong?”

“I’m self-conscious,” you mutter.

“Self-conscious of what?” he takes hold of your hands and you let him remove them from your face. You open your eyes to stare at your joined hands between you.

“Of how I look. I’m not tall and toned like Serena is and I don’t have the nice curves like Brynne does…I’m…I’m not–”

“y/n, look at me,” his voice is soft. You force your eyes up, his thumbs are rubbing the backs of your hands. “You’re beautiful, exactly the way you are. Your height, your size, your curves, all of it. I told you you’ve been tempting me since day one and I mean it, you don’t even realize how much. If you don’t want to take off your wrap yet, that’s fine, I’ll get Serena to come and help you.”

“No, she’s busy with Rooster,” you shake your head. You take a deep breath. “You can do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod removing your hands from his. Your eyes stare at his white tank top covered chest as your fingers untie the wrap. You continue to stare at the center of his chest as you pull it off your shoulders and he remains silent.

“Damn,” he breathes and you finally look up at his face. His green eyes are widening as he moves over your suit. “As I live and breathe, darlin’ you sure are a sight for sore eyes.”

Your cheeks are burning from revealing your suit and from his words. He reaches behind you to get the sunscreen and he pops it open again. He starts at your shoulders, making sure to rub it in under the straps and over the hills of your breasts. Your heart is hammering and you wonder if he can feel it. His fingers tickle your stomach as he rubs in lotion there, and goosebumps appear when he gets the sides.

“Can you turn around for me?” he asks softly and you do. He squirts more lotion on his hand and starts at your shoulders.

You watch him in the mirror, his face in concentration and you avoid your own gaze in the mirror. He moves your hair over your shoulder and you feel his hand slip down behind the clasp at the center of your back.

“Here,” you murmur and unhook it so the only thing holding your suit up are your hands cupping it to your breasts. Your eyes meet in the mirror, questions burning in both of your gazes but neither of you voices them as he continues to spread sunscreen on your back.

Did his hands get hotter? You try to concentrate on your breathing, the tips of his fingers dip a little below the waistband of your bottoms. More goosebumps, more heat. Part of you wants to remove your top and see what happens, part of you wants him to do it.

To your surprise, Jake hooks the clasp back together and brings your hair back into place.

“Can you do me now?” he asks your reflection.

You nod as you readjust your breasts in your suit so they’re more fitted and you can see Jake watches your every move. The way he’s looking at you fills you with a bit more confidence each time. When you pick up the lotion bottle he yanks off his tank top and turns around, you choke on the air you’re breathing because he’s so tan and muscular. He has freckles on his shoulders and a small birthmark on the very low part of his back. It looks like a heart.

You squire the lotion in your palm and then swipe your hand over his whole back. His muscles tightened and you were mesmerized by the strength of them as you rub in the sunscreen. You make sure to get his shoulders and up into his neck. Your hand curves with his spine as you go lower and get the sides of his stomach. Without even thinking, your nail traces over that birthmark, Jake takes a deep breath.

“Okay, turn around,” you say.

When he does, he crowds your space, his arms caging you in between him and the counter.

“I already got my stomach, can you put some on my nose?” he asks scrunching his nose in indication.

“Yeah,” you bite your lip and put a little more on your two fingers. You stroke your fingers over his nose and onto his chin, pressing the excess under his eyes and onto his ears. When you’re finished, you keep his face held in your hands.

You stare at each other for a second before lips are on lips and you’re somehow on the counter with your legs wrapped around his waist. His body is hard and hot and muscled against yours, his hands pulling you into him, your back bowing so you’re as close as you can be. Your fingers are in his hair and he moves one hand to cup and squeeze your breast. You moan into his mouth and then he shifts the suit down, his thumb and forefinger tweaking your nipple. You moan again and Jake moves his kisses down your jaw and to your neck and then his mouth is covering your breast.

His mouth is hot and his tongue is slick and wet as it circles over your nipple. His teeth dig into the swell of your breast while his tongue flicks and presses on your bud.

“Jake,” you sigh falling against the mirror watching through hooded eyes as he opens his. He keeps his gaze on you as he shifts to your other breast, his hand yanking the suit down. He doesn’t close his eyes until his mouth is on you again, a contented sigh coming from him and you keep your fingers curled in his hair.

The noises he makes as he suckles on you electrifies your blood cells and you need him closer. It’s when you start to grind your hips against him that you yank on his head. His mouth releases your breast with a pop and his eyes are bright green.

“We haven’t–we shouldn’t–” you’re panting trying to get the words out because so many thoughts are racing through your mind.

You’ve opened up to him more, you’re more comfortable with him, you’re sleeping in his bed more frequently but the paperwork and Betty’s health are at the forefront. This is just an arrangement, he’s said you tempt him and he’s been tempting you a lot more too lately.

“You’re right,” he nods but peppers kisses along your breasts before tucking them back into your suit. “We have guests. I got carried away.”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“No need to be sorry, Sugar,” he smiles crookedly and shifts on his feet. “I need a few minutes before I can go back out there.”

Your eyes immediately fly down to his waist where you can see a bulge over the stars and stripes of his suit.

“Oh. Oops,” you bite your lip trying to hide your smile.

“Yeah, oops,” he murmurs, tugging your lip from your teeth into a kiss. He groans when you kiss him back excitedly. “Okay, trouble, time to head out before we’re discovered.”

“You’re the troublemaker,” you tease hopping down from the sink. You pick up your wrap and adjust yourself again.

***

You went back outside and stepped into the pool water, you also needed to cool down after what you and Jake did. The rest were in the pool and Jake jumped in with a big splash then took you in his arms. Rooster started to complain he was hungry an hour later. You were the only one left in the pool floating on one of the floaties Jake bought special for the day.

Rooster and Serena were sitting on the pool steps and Brynne and Phoenix were sitting on the edge talking. You watched Jake as he gathered all of the grill stuff, and he even put on an apron that said ‘Kiss the Chef’. You suck on your drink through your straw watching his arms flex as he cleans the grill, a sheen of sweat glistening on his shoulders.

You slip off the floaty and exit the pool just as Serena and Rooster wade in deeper, their fingers loosely linked. Jake’s eyes are on you as you walk towards him, water rolling over your body and when you’re close enough you lean up and peck his lips softly. His eyes flutter and he grins.

“What was that for?”

“Your apron says to kiss the chef, so I did,” you giggle and finish off your drink.

“I’ll kiss you too, Hangman,” Roster makes kissy noises behind you.

“Hard pass, Bradshaw. Go get your kabobs, man,” then he turns his attention back on you. “Did you put more sunscreen on?”

“Yeah, but it won’t work. I’ll still burn,” you shrug then turn around but Jake swats at your ass and you yelp.

You grab another seltzer and the start taking pictures with Serena, Brynne and Phoenix. Jake and Bradley look your way when you all squeal as Coyote does a cannonball in the water. Phoenix and Brynne exit the pool getting cozy at the bar, Brynne even kisses Phoenix’s cheek for a picture.

“That’s good, Brynne is chill compared to the last girl Phoenix was with,” Jake comments.

“Yeah, your Sugar sure is sweetening up our group, ain’t she?” Rooster nudges Jake’s shoulder then goes over to Serena who is struggling with her beer bottle.

When Jake has the food on the grill, he retreats inside to grab the extra plate of watermelon Rhea had cut up for the day. Jake always makes sure she spends holidays with her own family and he brought the plate out to you. You snatch a piece and take a bite, the juice dribbles down your chin and into your cleavage. You hold the piece up to Jake and he takes a bite, juice dribbling down his chin as well.

You giggle then lean on the pool edge to swipe it from his lips. You suck it off your thumb.

“See, you’re trouble,” he cocks his head to the side and starts to stand.

“Leave the watermelon,” you tell him and snatch the floaty. You climb back on and make grabby hands for the plate which he hands you. “Thank you.”

The food is great as you all sit down to eat it and then Rooster runs off to grab the fireworks he brought. He sets them up with the help of Bob. Jake hands you some water because all you’ve had all afternoon are seltzers. The dry heat is really getting to you and your suit is starting to feel uncomfortable which only means one thing.

You’ve got a sun burn.

You sit on Jake’s lap as Bob sets the fireworks off and you start to shiver now that the sun is no longer in the sky. Rooster and Serena were making out as the fireworks lit up the sky. You remember to tell Jake that Serena wants Bradley to ask for her number.

“He’s an idiot, he has no game,” Jake shakes his head, “I’ll tell him.”

Everyone is gone by eleven o’clock and Jake tuts when he sees how red you are as you remove your makeup in his bathroom.

“Sugar, you’re so sunburnt. You didn’t put more on after I did it for you, did you?”

“I did, I swear! But I told you…sunscreen doesn’t work on me for some reason,” you flinch when you dry your face off with the towel.

He sighs heavily. “Take a cool shower and I’ll put aloe on you.”

You do what he says and it hurts when you put on the satin pajama set. The straps are thin but hit your burning skin in just the right way. When you exit the bathroom, Jake is already showered and tugging on the draw strings of his basketball shorts.

“C’mere my little tomato,” he gestures to his bed and you crawl on it delicately. You lay down and lift your shorts up higher on your thighs and the bottom of your shirt. “Sugar…”

“Put it on please,” your body trembles as you shiver some more. Being in the heat all day is finally escaping you as you’re in the controlled temperature of the house.

Jake rubs it on your thighs first, the cooling sensation of the aloe feels wonderful. It’s colder on your stomach, his fingers brush the underside of your boobs but you’re in too much pain to really get excited about it.

“You’re gonna have to take your top off so it doesn’t cling to your skin, that’s not going to feel good,” he shakes his head. “You don’t have to sleep in here if you’re uncomfortable–”

“No, can I please? Your sheets are cooler than mine,” you pout and sit up delicately.

“Of course you can,” he smiles gently. You begin to lift your top off but it pinches at your shoulders and you cry out. “I got it.”

Jake removes it as softly as he can, folds it, places it at the foot of his bed and puts more aloe on his hands. He’s gentle as he rubs it over your shoulders and down your arms. By the time he gets to your back, it’s already dried on your front. He puts some on your hands and more on your chest because that’s where it’s the worst.

“I’m getting you SPF 100 so this doesn’t happen again.” he sets the bottle on his nightstand. Your picture in a small frame.

“It won’t work–” you start to say slipping under his sheets.

“Yes it will. SPF 30 was no help to you, Sugar.”

You sigh as you settle into his sheets, the coolness helps with the aloe but you’re shivering like crazy. Jake grabs your hands and blows on them.

“If you wake up and it still hurts, I’ll put more on you.”

“You don’t mind I’ll be sleeping with my top off?” your teeth chatter.

“Sugar, I wouldn’t mind if you decided to sleep nude,” he kisses your cheek and shuts the lights off.

#an arrangement series #an arrangement #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #hangman fic #hangman fluff #hangman x reader #hangman smut #jake sersin smut #top gun maverick writing #top gon fic #top gun maverick fic #hangman writing #jake seresin writing

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 1 month

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You have to live

Curt Biddick X Female! Reader

Summary: Curt survies his crash, but he's in a bad shape...

Warning: Mention of injuries/ swearing/ Google translated german/ dead brother/

A/n: Based on a request, hope you like it :)

He was dragging his body on the ground; he was hurt from the crash he just lived. He didn’t know how he survived this, but he was grateful that he did. He saw smoke coming from what he thought was a chimney, he had to go there, maybe they’ll help him. Curt had no other choice.

Y/n was outside, taking care of the garden when she was a man collapsing on the ground, she rushed to help him, she lived alone, since her brother died in combat, she was alone. When she came near the men, she realised that he was a pilot. ‘’American’’ he mumbled. Y/n helped him up and allowed him to put his weight on her. ‘’Thank you, I’m Curt’’ he mumbled. ‘’Stop talking, save your energy’’ she said with a French accent. She was from France, at least her mother was, and she taught her French since she was young. Her dad was German, that’s why she was close to Regensburg, where Curt’s mission was.

Curt sat down in the kitchen as he watched the woman run around the house to get medical stuff. When she got in front of him, she seemed overwhelmed, he had so many injuries, she wondered how he was still alive. ‘’Can you take your equipment off? I need to see how bad your injuries are’’ she asked. He nodded and began to take his equipment off, but he was struggling, she helped him. ‘’I never caught your name’’ he said, weakly. ‘’Y/n’’ she simply replied. She analyzed the man and decided to start with his legs, he had burns on his right leg and some glass in his left leg. ‘’I’m going to take the glass pieces out, it might hurt, but talk to me, about anything. I need you to stay conscious, I’ll give you something for the pain, ok?’’ she asked him. She shot him in the leg with morphine, he was lucky, her mother was a nurse and she had medical stuff in the house. More than a normal person would own. ‘’Okay, well like I said, I’m Lieutenant Curtis Biddick, I’m with the 100th bomb group’’ as he continued to talk about himself, Y/n got to work, piece by piece she removed them form his leg, she was careful, she didn’t want to hurt him.

After 25 minutes, she was done healing his legs, she had blood on her hands, but it wasn’t too much. ‘’Can you take your shirt off, I need to take a look’’ she stuttered. He smiled before taking his shirt off, he had small burns. She put an ointment on his burns, it was homemade, but it worked. ‘’What about you, Y/n, are you married?’’ Curt asked, curious about the woman. He didn’t saw a ring on her finger, but maybe he was too injured to notice it. ‘’Nope I’m not married, Lieutenant’’ she simply replied. ‘’You can call me Curt, you know, ranks don’t apply here’’ he chuckled, but moaned in pain at the contact of the ointment. ‘’You’re really lucky to be alive, you know that?’’ Y/n states, making Curt nod.

They didn’t know how much time went by, but Y/n had finally healed each of Curt’s injuries. Right now, he was sleeping in her bed, he needed to rest, and Y/n needed to clean all the blood he left in her kitchen. But a knock at the door made her jump, she made sure his uniform was hidden, she gave him her brother’s cloths. When she opened the door, her heart sank, German’s officer. ‘’Hallo Madam, können wir reinkommen? ‘‘he said. He asked her if they could come in the house. She was terrified, if they found Curt, they would kill him, and her. She tried to look as calm as possible. ‘’Of course, my husband is sleeping, be quiet’’ she replied in German. Shit, she didn’t have ring. Officers looked around the house, she hid the uniform in the garden before they arrived, they never looked outside. ‘’Why don’t you have a ring?’’ one of them asked. ‘’We’re too poor, I inherited this house and I sell my cow’s milk to have money. My husband works at a factory, he’s deaf, so he can’t join the military’’ she lied. She was nervous, her hearth was pounding. The Germans nodded and closed the bedroom’s door. ‘’There was a crash, if you see American soldiers, alert us right away’’ he ordered as they left her house. When they finally left, she sighed, they were so close of getting caught.

Curt woke up 30 minutes later. He was woken up by the smell of something. It smelled good. When he exited the room, he found Y/n cooking. ‘’Hello, dinner’s almost ready, sit down’’ she smiled. ‘’Did someone come here while I was sleeping, I thought I heard people talk?’’ he asked as he sat down. Y/n nodded and took a deep breath. ‘’Yes, German soldiers, looking for American survivors, I told them you were my husband, and that you were deaf, so that’s why you weren’t in the military, they believed me and left’’ she explains as she serves him dinner. His mouth opened in shock. ‘’I’m so sorry, that must’ve been so scary!’’ he apologized. ‘’It’s okay, you needed to sleep’’ she smiles. ‘’You know, Curt, you can stay here until you’re fully healed’’ she offers. ‘’I would like that, thank you very much for your hospitality, Y/n, you’re an angel’’ he says, looking at her. She blushed and took a bite out of the chicken she cooked. ‘’It’s normal, everyone would’ve done that’’ she huffs shyly. She was nervous, but it was a good nervous. Curt was really attractive, and the fact that he complimented her, made Y/n blush. ‘’Not everyone can lie to German officers, you literally risked your life. I owe you one’’ he says. She smiled as she bites her bottom lips. ‘’But you’ll have to be my fake husband for the time of your stay. If they come back, we’ll have to act like we’re married.’’ She stutters. ‘’Not a problem’’ he quickly replies. He was truly grateful for her. Without her, he would be dead. But he was looking forward to this stay, she was an amazing woman and he couldn’t wait to get to know her better.

#curt biddick x reader #curt biddick #curtis biddick #master of the air #master of the air imagine

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ammg-old2 · 1 year

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Imagine that someone—perhaps a man from Florida, or maybe even a governor of Florida—criticized American support for Ukraine. Imagine that this person dismissed the war between Russia and Ukraine as a purely local matter, of no broader significance. Imagine that this person even told a far-right television personality that “while the U.S. has many vital national interests ... becoming further entangled in a territorial dispute between Ukraine and Russia is not one of them.” How would a Ukrainian respond? More to the point, how would the leader of Ukraine respond?

As it happens, an opportunity to ask that hypothetical question recently availed itself. The chair of the board of directors of The Atlantic, Laurene Powell Jobs; The Atlantic’s editor in chief, Jeffrey Goldberg; and I interviewed President Volodymyr Zelensky several days ago in the presidential palace in Kyiv. In the course of an hour-long conversation, Goldberg asked Zelensky what he would say to someone, perhaps a governor of Florida, who wonders why Americans should help Ukraine.

Zelensky, answering in English, told us that he would respond pragmatically. He didn’t want to appeal to the hearts of Americans, in other words, but to their heads. Were Americans to cut off Ukraine from ammunition and weapons, after all, there would be clear consequences in the real world, first for Ukraine’s neighbors but then for others:

If we will not have enough weapons, that means we will be weak. If we will be weak, they will occupy us. If they occupy us, they will be on the borders of Moldova and they will occupy Moldova. When they have occupied Moldova, they will [travel through] Belarus and they will occupy Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia. That’s three Baltic countries which are members of NATO. They will occupy them. Of course, [the Balts] are brave people, and they will fight. But they are small. And they don’t have nuclear weapons. So they will be attacked by Russians because that is the policy of Russia, to take back all the countries which have been previously part of the Soviet Union.

And after that, if there were still no further response? Then, he explained, the struggle would continue:

When they will occupy NATO countries, and also be on the borders of Poland and maybe fight with Poland, the question is: Will you send all your soldiers with weapons, all your pilots, all your ships? Will you send tanks and armored vehicles with your young people? Will you do it? Because if you will not do it, you will have no NATO.

At that point, he said, Americans will face a different choice: not politicians deciding whether “to give weapons or not to give weapons” to Ukrainians, but instead, “fathers and mothers” deciding whether to send their children to fight to keep a large part of the planet, filled with America’s allies and most important trading partners, from Russian occupation.

But there would be other consequences too. One of the most horrifying weapons that Russia has used against Ukraine is the Iranian-manufactured Shahed drone, which has no purpose other than to kill civilians. After these drones are used to subdue Ukraine, Zelensky asked, how long would it be before they are used against Israel? If Russia can attack a smaller neighbor with impunity, regimes such as Iran’s are sure to take note. So then the question arises again: “When they will try to occupy Israel, will the United States help Israel? That is the question. Very pragmatic.”

Finally, Zelensky posed a third question. During the war, Ukraine has been attacked by rockets, cruise missiles, ballistic missiles—“not hundreds, but thousands”:

So what will you do when Russia will use rockets to attack your allies, to [attack] civilian people? And what will you do when Russia, after that, if they do not see [opposition] from big countries like the United States? What will you do if they will use rockets on your territory?

And this was his answer: Help us fight them here, help us defeat them here, and you won’t have to fight them anywhere else. Help us preserve some kind of open, normal society, using our soldiers and not your soldiers. That will help you preserve your open, normal society, and that of others too. Help Ukraine fight Russia now so that no one else has to fight Russia later, and so that harder and more painful choices don’t have to be made down the line.

“It’s about nature. It’s about life,” he said. “That’s it.”

#current events #warfare #politics #russian politics #american politics #russo-ukrainian war #2022 russian invasion of ukraine #russia #ukraine #usa #volodymyr zelenskyy #ron desantis #nato

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hyperfixiation-station · 3 months

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Choice, Choices, Choices Pt. 2

TW: Swearing, canon typical violence

Pairing: Reader x Graves Summary: Well your week off wasn't very productive, hopefully a really stressful, fate-of-the-world-is-in-your-hands mission will help clear your brain. As usual, I didn't beta read, so lmk if there are an errors :) Also sorry for the reupload, I accidentally deleted it whilst trying to edit something lmaooo.

When Price said a lot, he meant a lot.

In the time you had been gone, a new terrorist threat had popped up, a man named Hassan who somehow had gotten ahold of American missiles. You didn’t even have time to unpack before Price was shipping you off to Mexico to help Soap and Ghost infiltrate a cartel to find the location of said missing missiles. It seems the talk with Graves will have to wait.

You get no rest on the flight to Mexico. Instead you spend the entire time focusing on your and Grave’s relationship. Maybe it’s the threat of imminent annihilation, or maybe it’s the fact that you are going to be seeing him soon, but whatever it is, you were thinking more clearly than you have all week.

Graves was a man of authority, and you had recognized it from the moment you had met him. He took what he wanted, when he wanted, and made sure everyone knew he was the top dog. In your relationship he always had the last say, always chose the restaurant, always chose the movie. And for the most part, you didn’t mind, enjoying the feeling of not having to be in control for once when all you did all day long was make choices that could mean life or death.

He had this belief that he could do no wrong, and was smug and uptight and sometimes even cruel about it.

And yet there was something…alluring about him. Some magnetic charm that drew you in every time you wanted to take a step back. He didn’t even have to try, hell, he had stopped putting effort into the relationship years ago, and yet you still found him almost irresistible.

You weren’t stupid, you knew what there were issues in the way your relationship worked, but you loved him, and he…loved you too. It wasn’t until Ghost stepped fully into the picture that you realized that may-

“Y/N!” You flinch, your eyes coming up to meet your pilots as his voice snaps you out of your musings.

“You okay in there? I’ve been yelling at you for at least a minute.” He says over the headset, “Anyways we’re about to land, so get ready.” You nod, shouldering your pack and making sure your vest is strapped correctly.

5 minutes later, the helo begins its choppy descent. The second it touches down you are ushered off, ducking under the blades in an odd crab run as you make your way to where Soap, Ghost, and 2 strangers stand to the side. The pilot takes off before you've even cleared the LZ.

“Good ta’ see yer no’ dead lassie.” Soap grin, clasping your shoulder, “Ah trust Price has briefed ye?”

“Aye.” You nod, “Though he didn’t mention these two. Who are they?”

“These are th’ Los Vaqueros.” Soap says giddy, “Means th’ cowboys”

“My name is Alejandro.” The taller one on the left tells you.

“Mine’s Rodolfo, tho y’ can call me Rudy.” The one on the right says moments later.

“Nice to meet you.” You incline your head, avoiding Ghost’s searching gaze, “I take it you’re the ones leading us through this, uh…whatever we’re about to do?”

“Aye.” Alejandro turns and begins walking, everyone else falling in line behind him, “Soap here is infiltrating Las Almas, we are looking for El Sin Nombre. We believe he knows the location of the missiles Hassan has stolen.”

You climb into the back of a truck, consciously avoiding sitting next to Ghost. The drive is tense, the silence only occasionally broken by questions from Alejandro and Soap. The truck comes to a stop, and you all pile out, getting Soap outfitted for his ‘Day in the life of a cartel member’ extravaganza.

“Y/n!” You spin around, seeing Graves walking towards you, “How was your week off?”

“It was good. Did a lot of…thinking.”

“Wonderful.” He says, his eyes already looking past you. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek and moves past, going to speak with his Shadows. You sigh internally, moving over to Soap and Ghost.

“How wis yer week off?” Soap asks as a Shadow helps fit his comms. He’s grinning, his blue eyes almost glowing in the dark, but you can see the faint lines of fear in his expression.

“It was since. Did a lot of thinking, I guess.” Ghost shifts, a subtle movement you notice out of the corner of your eye. Your face flushes, and you’re grateful it’s dark out so he can’t see.

“Let's roll!” Alejandro calls. Soap nods, and you follow him and Ghost back to the truck. This drive is tense for a whole other reason, everyone thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.

You get to the compound, and take your spot on a ridge with Ghost. No words are exchanged, but you know him well enough by now to tell he is worried about you. If Soap’s life, and the lives of millions of Americans, weren’t at risk, you would be grateful for this mission delaying the inevitable conversation you have to have.

You both get into position, sniper rifles trained on the building. You wince as Soap is manhandled, a deep pit of fear in your stomach once he disappears from your view.

Now all that's left is to sit and wait.

He emerges victorious, much to yours and Ghost’s relief. He brings with him El Sin Nombre, who apparently is actually a woman, and an old friend of Alejandros. You could see yourself liking her, if she hadn’t sold missiles to terrorists.

She is feisty, smart, and cunning. She keeps her mouth shut, refusing to volunteer the location of the 2nd missile, instead goading Alejandro into a frenzy. You watch, eyes narrowed in distaste, as Graves tries to make a deal with her. Not for the first time, you judge his ability to make decisions.

But she does give you all the missile location. In what feels like a matter of moments, you find yourself on a boat, heading through stormy waves towards an oil rig off the Gulf of Mexico. Grave’s Shadows launch an attack, only for Ghost to find that the missile not only has entered pre-launch phase, but wasn’t even on the oil rig to begin with. Instead, you find it on the deck of a ship, primed and ready to fire. You, Graves, Soap, and Ghost file onto the cargo ship, where you find that there is no way to disarm the missile.

Your heart sinks, until Shepard has the great idea to turn the missile on the oil rig. Alejadro and the Shadow Company clear out, and Soap hacks in and resets the missile's trajectory. The burning ball of flame is a beautiful sight to see, in your opinion.

“Gold Eagle Actual, Shadow-1. Good hit. Good hit. Missile and rig destroyed.” Graves crows, a grin lighting up his face. He grasps Soaps shoulder, and you watch him mouth a quiet Good work, his voice too quiet to hear over the noise of the shadows and everyone celebrating.

Without thinking, you press a kiss to Ghost’s masked cheek, the euphoria of victory clouding your senses. Soap steps in to give Ghost a moment to recover, and gives you a side hug, slapping you on the back a little too hard for your liking. You don’t notice Graves eyes on you, narrowing with your every action.

The ride back is still tense, the tension between you and Ghost so thick you can almost taste it. Luckily Soap either can’t sense it, or just is just ignoring it, the Scotsman happily chattering away as the sinking feeling in your heart grows and grows.

The crisis is over, and once you get back you won’t be able to put off your conversation with Graves any longer.

It’s still raining when you get back to the Los Vaquero’s base. The truck comes to a stop outside the gates, and you slide out of the truck after Ghost, confused and a bit wary.

“What’s this?” You hear Alejadro’s voice from the other side of the truck.

“This is the immediate future.” You stop short, Grave’s voice making your blood run cold, “Step away from the gate.” No. There is no way.

“You’re outta line Graves.” You blink, hard, realizing you had zoned out for a moment. You force your feet to move again, rounding the truck, stiffening as a barrel is pressed into your spine.

“Hey!” Grave’s voice echoes in your ears, “Let her go. She’s with us.” You inhale sharply, looking up at him in shock. Soap looks at you in betrayal, taking half a step towards you before the Shadows are on him as well.

“Don't do that. Don't... do that. No one needs to get hurt here.” Graves says, eyes narrowed.

“Are you threatening us?” You can hear the betrayal in his voice as well, though he does his best to hide it. You want to look at him, try and communicate that you have no part in this, but your mind is still reeling, and you’re unable to draw your wide eyes away from Grave’s face.

“Soldier, I don't make threats. I make guarantees. So, let's not do this.” The animosity in Graves' voice surprises you.

“I’m calling Shepard.” Soap turns, hand reaching for his radio.

“General Shepard sends his regards.” Graves' grin is predatory, and you have no doubt he’s enjoying this, “He told me you wouldn’t take this well.”

“He knows about this?” Ghost’s eyes are dark, his body tense and ready to spring.

“He's put me in command of this operation from here on out. So, y'all need to stand down. It's time to let the pros finish this.” You watch Graves still, eyes trained on his face, your brain numb with shock. Shock and…disgust.

“And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of a negotiation?” Graves continues, “It's not. I've got my orders and now you have yours.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabron? My men are inside!”

“I'm afraid not.” Graves pauses, meeting your eyes with a disgusting grin, “Your men have been... detained.”

“Cabron!” For the first time, you manage to tear your eyes away from Graves, your gaze falling on Alejandro as he launches himself towards your boyfriend only to be beaten down and restrained by his Shadows.

“Graves, what th’ fuck?” Your eyes dart to Soap as he lunges at the Shadow next to him, holding him hostage. You let out a small cry as Graves and his men open fire. You duck behind the truck, watching as Ghost elbows the Shadow behind him before stabbing another one in the neck, quickly ripping the blade back out and hurling it at another Shadow before disappearing into the dark.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth as you watch Graves slam the butt of his gun into Alejandro’s head, dropping him. You stare at Graves in shock, unable to move as your mind tries to process what's happening.

Soap yells in pain, snapping you from your reverie as you spin to look at him. He’s on the ground, the Shadow he had taken laying dead on top of him.

“Go, Johnny! Get out of there!” Ghost yells from somewhere behind you “Soap, Go!” You watch as Soap heaves himself up and throws himself over the barrier, disappearing from your view. You slide down the truck, sinking to the ground as your legs give out, your entire body shaking.

Graves' actions start to sink in, and gods does his betrayal hurt. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, worse than the time you broke your arm, worse than the time you got shot in the thigh, worse than any wound you had ever received. It’s like a physical pain, your heart feeling as though it’s been ripped from your chest. Tears well in your eyes, your fingers digging into your palms in an effort to stop your tears.

You don’t know how long you sit in the rain, but it’s enough time for you to be completely soaked head to toe. You are surrounded by blood and bodies, and your mind reels as you survey the scene. Alejandro is gone, you’re not sure when he was taken away. Soaps rifle is still laying in the street, a very damming pool of blood underneath and around it. With the amount of blood he lost, you're surprised he's not dead. Oh gods he better not be dead.

“Y/n?” Graves' voice breaks the fog in your brain, “Darling? Are you alright? I know this was...a bit of a surprise…but I’m sure you understand.”

“Graves…”

To be continued.

Notes: Sorry for how long this took!!! But it's here now! Hopefully Pt. 3 won't take me another thousand years. Anyways I hope you enjoy, and sorry if this is not the direction you wanted it to go :/ Tags: @redhoodxsupergirl @infpt-zylith @scarletdfox

#cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #angst #cod x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #no beta we die like men #cod #john soap mactavish #graves x reader #phillip graves #alejandro vargas #haha I finally updated #sorry for how long it took #call of duty x reader #cod modern warfare

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writergeekrhw · 1 year

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HOW TO KILL A CHARACTER

(A Writing Spew)

I'm trying to archive some of my old Twitter writing spews on Tumblr. You know, because of things. So here's a rather big one. HOW TO KILL A CHARACTER.

/BeginSpew

Okay, you’re a writer. You’ve got a mess of characters. You want to move your audience. So, it’s time to take out the old writer’s ax and chop chop chop! But how do you do it with maximum impact without your audience turning against you forever?

Pull up a chair and Uncle Robert will explain it to you!

(Warning, there may be spoilers ahead for stuff that if you haven't seen it by now it's your own damn fault.)

Luckily, there are a lot of reliable tricks to kill that character. Any of them can work for both #TVWriting and #Novels. Some of them can backfire. Here are some proven approaches…

Death #1: The Intro Death!

Want to set the stakes for your world? Introduce a character or characters and fool the audience into thinking they will be a big part of the story. Then… CHOP! OMG THEY’RE DEAD! SHIT JUST GOT REAL! AKA the Hello-Die.

The Hello-Die pretty much always works because the audience hasn’t had time to really get invested, but they’re invested enough to feel the sudden shock.

Examples: Psycho. Buffy (S1E1). GOT Teaser. #DS9 pilot. Hill Street Blues (averted).

The Hello-Die is often used by shows to shake up your expectations in what has usually been a fairly safe genre. And yes, I did this in #Andromeda. You think this is a nice safe Fantasy/SpaceOpera/CopShow/FamilyDrama? NOPE! Hello-Die! Watch out for exploding Helmsbugs.

Death #2: The Mentor Death

Your character learns cool stuff from the smart old person. Then the smart old person dies! OMG! “But I had so much more to learn!” “True, but don’t you see? This was the real lesson.” AKA The Obi-wan.

The Mentor Death is pretty safe too. We all know the old people we learn from are going to kick it soon, right? But that’s okay, because WE GOT THIS! Circle of Life, ya’ll!

Examples: Star Wars. Star Wars again. Star Wars that other time too. Harry Potter.

Death #3: The Hero’s First Kill.

Your hero lives in a violent world, but they’re a good person. They don’t want to be a killer. Alas, the world needs them to kill. And you want to portray how that impacts your hero. And so that minor villain must die!

The HFK can be tricky. For best results, the victim should need killin’. Because you want the audience to still like your hero. Plus it’s your hero’s first kill, so you need to overcome their reluctance. Or maybe it’s an accident? (OR IS IT?)

Either way, now your hero is transformed and all it took was offing a minor character. WARNING: Often involves hero puke!

An excellent example of the HFK is the Stable Boy in GoT. Arya asked him to let her go. He wouldn’t. She insisted. He said the Queen would pay her handsomely for her. She lashes out with Needle and… OOOPS! Or was it an oops? Well now he’s dead & Arya’s on her way.

Death #4: The Villain’s First Kill

The opposite of the HFK. The villain is bad, but he hasn’t killed… yet. Then he takes his first victim (usually someone either plucky or gross) and he just can’t help himself! Afterward, unlike the hero, the villain feels good.

He’s got a taste for this now. It’s going to happen again. Cue dramatic (or ironic) music!

The VFK can also sometimes be the Intro Death. Maybe it’s not the villain’s 1st kill, but it’s the first we see. Either way, the VFK is relatively safe, though there's a risk that if the victim is too likable, the audience won’t just hate the villain, they’ll hate the author.

Which is why the VFK is often someone gross or “disposable” or even theoretically somewhat deserving. In American Psycho, the first kill is a homeless man, the second is a Wall Street asshole.

Another VFK example: In the Bone Collector, the first death is a man no one cares about, and he dies off-screen, but the next is a plucky woman who dies horribly onscreen. The story eases you into it.

Still, the VFK is fairly safe. It needs to be just bad enough to shock, but no so awful that you completely lose the audience. You can get awful later once you've built up good will.

Now come some of the tougher deaths to pull off, starting with...

Death #5: The Season One/Book One Death

An important character dies relatively early in your tale. This is usually done because you want to drive home the stakes even more. Also the death launches/twists the story. AKA The Boromir AKA The Ned AKA The Sean Bean.

The Sean Bean is tricky because you’ve spent a fair amount of time getting the audience invested. You may have even tricked them into thinking the Sean Bean is a major hero. The more invested they are in TSB, the higher the risk you might lose your audience.

To minimize audience hate, make sure they understand it’s kind of Sean Bean’s fault. Or a noble sacrifice. Or if the character is minor enough (Hi Tasha Yar) it's a way to show the random awfulness of the universe. The important part is your real heroes will learn from this.

There will be crying and anger and thirst for revenge (or Data will struggle to understand death and we’ll all love him for it.)

The Purpose of the Ceremony - YouTube

Now part of why the Sean Bean works is its earliness. The later in a story a character is killed, the more their death needs to have meaning. You can kill Tasha randomly in Season One but you would never do that in Season Six.

In Season Six, if a regular dies, it better not be random or the audience will feel angry and… Oh. Yeah. Her. I wasn’t on staff then. IT’S NOT MY FAULT!

Anyway, the later you get, the more meaning a death needs to have, ideally.

Now we’re getting into the Big Earned Deaths. So let’s talk about them.

Death #6: The Big Bad Death

This is pretty easy, honestly. The easiest. The audience has been waiting for this bastard to die for years! They will cheer. Even if you’ve run this asshole through the Face/Heel Revolving Door a few times (Hi Gul Dukat), by now, they’re past redemption.

The Big Bad needs killing. KILLING THEM IS KINDA THE POINT. Go for it. Make it as horrific and painful as you’d like. Make them fall a LOOOOOOONG way before they hit something. Make them bounce a bit. The audience will love you for it.

Death #7: The Sacrificial Hero Death

Solid option. You might want to foreshadow the heck out of this. Maybe even near-death your hero a few times. But still, the audience usually gets this one. After all, messiahs die. It is known.

There will be tears, but we all know sometimes the only way to save the world is to die. If the good done by the hero’s death outweighs the sadness the audience feels, this can even be uplifting. Bittersweet chocolate is the best, right?

The SHD is a perfect way to kill a beloved character late in a novel or show. They died for our sins! If not for them, we’d be toast. Very satisfying when done correctly. I mean, there are entire religions based on this. Do it right and it packs an immortal punch.

Death #8: The Shakespearean Tragedy

Your hero isn’t really a hero. They might’ve started that way and/or had good intentions, but they’ve slippery-sloped themselves into full blown villainy… and they know it.

They’ve had their moment of tragic awareness. They realize theirs is a tale told by an idiot. Time to go out in the blaze of glory/late heel-face-turn sacrifice/by their own hand. My kingdom for a horse! Lay on Macduff! Good night sweet prince!

The classic ST is incredibly satisfying for the audience. They’ve enjoyed watching a good person descend into villainy, living vicariously through his/her badassery. They felt bad when the badassery turned to madness. SO MUCH METH!

Now the villain realizes how wrong it all was, and how flawed they are, they deliver a final moral lesson, then CHOP! And... cue Baby Blue, maybe some passing prince gives speech... then... curtain.

Death #9: The Final Wrong

Remember how bad that bad guy is? Gee, when’s the last time they were really, really bad? Time for them to shockingly kill a beloved character right before the final confrontation with the hero! I know you traveled a long way to help, but die Scatman Crothers!

Now there’s no going back. Now the villain can’t be redeemed. They must die. Cue the final chapter/episode/season/third act.

This one is risky as hell and maybe don't kill one of your few/only female POC protagonists this way but hey, you be you.

Death #10: The Sidekick Sacrifice.

Your hero can’t just win clean, right? That’s boring. There has to be a cost. And sometimes that cost is Robin’s life. Often this is a minor heroic sacrifice in its own right, but by someone other than the hero.

The sidekick takes the bullet, goes into the warp core, etc. Can be combined with the Final Wrong. Either way, "I have been... and always shall be... your friend." Cue tears.

Death #11: The War is Hell

A variation on the Sidekick Sacrifice. Beloved character dies randomly in a final great battle because War is Hell.

Sometimes the WiH is just A Bad Break. The bullet came from nowhere. WTF?!? Sometimes this happens in the Fog of War. No one saw it. The hero finds the body afterwards and feels the cost of victory. It’s high, man. So very high.

And yes, I used this one in #TheGoblinCrown. War is Hell even in YA fantasy novels.

Death #13: I Couldn’t Save Her

The riskiest variation on the late character death. The kid your hero has been protecting all along dies. The hero tries to save her/him but fails. Generally, only done in the Darkest Timelines. Or at the start of Alien 3. Fuck Alien 3.

The ICSH tells your audience this is not a hero’s story. This is a brutal examination of the inherent unfairness of life. Surprise!

WORDS OF CAUTION!

WARNING: Beloved Characrer Deaths often do not go over well. Use with caution.

The Final Wrong, the Sidekick Sacrifice, the War is Hell, and the I Couldn’t Save Her/Him are all somewhat risky. Sometimes you kill the very character that the audience most cares about. You know, like Glen. Or Lexa. OMG Lexa!? You can lose big chunks of your audience this way.

Still all four can be effective ways of turning on the feels late in a story. If you use them, make sure they either feel super well-earned or that they fit your theme so well that the audience will accept it.

But be careful. The biggest danger here is when the audience doesn’t realize you’re going to go this bleak and then you do and they feel betrayed. Can be a deal-breaker.

The more innocent the victim, the more horribly they die, and the more pointless the death, the bigger the risk you run of turning off your audience completely. And if it's an underrepresented character that a percentage of your audience deeply identifies with? Oh boy. Run.

Death #14: The Glorious Last Stand

This character was a prick all along, really. No one liked them. But when the chips were down, when our backs were against the wall, the they pulled the pin in their grenade and blew up a crapton of Aliens. Hurray!

The GLS can be supercool. The GLSer wasn’t the hero or the villain. Somewhere in the middle really. But we admire the way they went out. Their death redeemed them. If done right, audience will cheer for their bravery, finally loving them just as they die.

Death #15: The Everybody Dies

Rare. Tricky. Deeply powerful when done right. The time for characters like these is done. Their world is over. Their final great sacrifice, or noble last stand, or tragic Bolivian gunfight was inevitable. But oh how brightly they burned in the end.

Look at how badass they were. Look how bravely they faced death. And remember what it meant! Perhaps we would not be alive today if not for their transformative deaths. We will never forget them. Also their death may spur us all on to victory/change/redemption.

Or maybe the Western is just over. We're gonna miss you, Butch and Sundance! Cue montage!

Death #16 (but not really): Apotheosis

Your character dies technically, but really they become one with the Prophets, God of Light, Force. AKA The Sisko. You can only really pull this off in genre or stuff that pretends not to be genre but really is. Modern variation: Uploaded into the A.I.

Apotheosis can work extremely well if done right. Star Wars does it a lot and it works pretty much every time. You get the OOMF of killing a major character, but you reassure the audience that "They will always be with us."

If handled poorly, it can feel like a huge cheat, but when done well, can be a very satisfying way to kill off your awesome main character at the end of a long series without totally pissing off your audience. Like I said... The Sisko.

FINAL WORDS!

There are lots more ways to kill characters, of course. Including the bad ways to kill.

The It Was Supposed to be a Cliffhanger &Then We Got Cancelled and Now They’re All Dead I Guess.

The That Actor Was a Prick So We Offed His Character and Didn’t Care How We Did It.

The Oh, I Realized I Didn’t Need That Character So Gave Them a Perfunctory Death.

But I think I’ve covered the major and better ways to handle offing a character.

So yeah. Sometimes characters need killing. Just remember, you need to make their deaths satisfying in terms of plot, character, and/or theme or you risk losing your audience.

There are no small deaths. Every character is some off-screen mother’s child. Make it count. Make it matter. Make it worth the pages/screen time.

But think about your favorite movies/books/tv show. I bet they all had memorable deaths. I bet you cried. ADMIT IT, YOU CRIED! Look, I cried when Mike died in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. I CRY EVERY TIME I READ IT.

(Mike = War is Hell/Sidekick Sacrifice/Fog of War)

Character Death is one of the most powerful tools in a writer's arsenal. Like all powerful tools, it should be used sparingly, thoughtfully, and for maximum impact. Give them the deaths they deserve!

And with that, I officially pronounce this spew dead. But don't feel bad. This spew will always be with us.

/endspew.

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