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ravawrites · 1 year

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femme fatale

summary: a morally dubious personal investigator takes a holiday to virginia as she had heard that aaron hotchner was in witsec. he was not.

warnings: MDNI!!!!! blowjobs, slight d/s dynamic, slight rough play, open ending.

a/n: This is my first smut like work! so please give me the benefit of doubt as i know i need to improve lol. Hope you enjoyed!! Happy reading <3 SEND ME REQUESTS PLEASE. I know aaron doesn’t come back after witsec but for the sake of plot, he does.

word count: 3062

In the past twelve years you had been everywhere in the world. Paris, London, Milan, Sydney, Nigeria, Moscow, and in forty nine of the fifty states. Every one held a different passport and a different name and accent. There was one state, however, you avoided like the plague. Virginia. Named after the virgin queen, birth place of the first president and home to Quantico, the FBI office and unit chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner.

Through the grapevine of criminal connections, you had heard that he had been pushed into WITSEC by Mr Scratch. Him and his son were in Michigan, living a normal life. So you decided to make your way to Virginia.

Your week was spent going around to all the tourist attractions, you had hazy memories of. The Smithsonian, the national gallery of art, and the Lincoln memorial but steering clear of the Capitol. Too risky. Finally, the nightlife.

Holidays in your line of work were rare and short. A night out in a bar, for fun and not information on a suspect was even rarer. You were going out for fun, to get drunk and find someone to pull back into your cheap motel before you were back on the road again. Lightly curled hair twisted around your face, framing it and highlighting the dark, sultry makeup that was precisely painted onto your skin. Dark liner pulling attention to your eyes and a deep red lipstick, surely to leave a mark.

The dress was black, tight, showing everything you had off. It fell around mid thighs that were covered in a silky black stocking that ran down to your feet that were held in expensive black heels. The red bottoms were unmistakable and were a subtle hint at your wealth, steering all of the right people your way.

You’d looked up the bars in the immediate vicinity by your motel. One was a club, that was too young for you, it would be full of college kids looking to score with an older woman. The other was one an older bar with a snooker table and a dart board. This one was too old, filled with older men. The one you’d decided on was called O’keefes. It had a dart board and a moderately sized dance floor. It was the perfect medley between young and old.

The sign outside was glowing red, lighting up the immediate area. Brown wooden doors had little glass windows and you could see the inside was dark with red accent lights, matching the sign in the front. Pushing open the doors, you immediately make your way to the bar and do a scan of the place. The bar was in the middle of the room in a square shape, you sit with your back to the door.

“Can I get a gin and tonic please.” You ask, in a strong french accent, the bartender and she nods, whisking away to go and mix your drink.

“I’ll pay.” A voice says from behind you and you turn around. He’s a blonde, tall, muscular man. “You’re French?” He asks and sits on the red bar stool next to you while nodding to the bartender for a beer.

“Yes, I’m on a vacation?” You say, feigning pauses between your words, giving the impression of changing your dialect to American. “It’s fun here.” You smile at him and rest your chin in your hand.

“Ah I was born here, lived here my whole life.” He tells you and grabs your drinks off of the bartender and you sit and begin to chat. “What do you do for work?”

“I’m an accountant. What about you?” You ask him, not breaking your eyes from his, they were bright blue even in the red light. Not your usual type but he would do.

“I’m a gym instructor.” He comments and subtly flexes. Your toes curl in cringe as he does this but you grit your teeth and make a face of recognition.

“That makes sense, you’re very” You look down and sigh, pretending to think of the word. Looking up you make a grunting noise. You look down again, coyly this time.

“Muscular?” He offers and you make an ‘o’ with your mouth and nod at him. “Yes, I go to the gym every day. I do all sorts of things.” Immediately you had regretted talking to this man. He started to go on and on about all the types of workouts and weights and how long and what muscles it works.

He talked your ear off. He didn’t stop. Your eyes roam around the room, watching all of the other people and they’re conversations that seemed miles more interesting. There was a blonde woman and a bald man having the time of their lives on the dance floor, clearly drunk out of their minds, they looked familiar. The red light bounced around the room and your eyes follow it, taking you on a journey of people watching.

There was another couple, this time in a booth, snogging each others face off. They looked absolutely enamoured with each other. Her hands were in his hair and his hands were on her hips.

Your eyes followed the bouncing light to a round table in the corner of the room. There was a group of five people all laughing and drinking, pointing at the people on the dance floor from a second ago. They were close friends. In the background of your thoughts was the blonde man, still rambling on about the gym and being buff.

The light took your eyes to the door of the men’s bathroom as someone stood out of the doorway. His shoes were black leather oxfords, polished and shining. Black slacks that were perfectly tailored and were tight around his thighs. The same could be said for his white long sleeved shirt, tight across his chest with two buttons undone. A small amount of chest hair peeking out in the gap. Now he was more your type. You looked up to his face to study it.

Your heart drops to your stomach as you take him in. The stool squeaks as you stand up from it quickly and the two of you just stare at each other. You’d also realise you’d walked into a bar full of FBI agents and the one who disliked you the most was looking directly after you. Glancing over to the table of the large group of people you had just observed.

“I am not feeling to well, I have to go.” You say, leaning down to the man, who you didn’t know the name of and watched him look confused. “The gin didn’t sit with me. Goodbye.” You put your hand on his shoulder and grab his beer which he hadn’t touched yet.

You had never been so glad to sit near the door. The split second decision to bolt out of the door was risky. Running out of the bar, you rip the door open and made your way onto the Virginian streets. First mistake, wearing heels. Being a PI provided you with a generous amount of funds. However, expensive heels this high we’re for being walked down the the street in the arm of someone. Not pelting it down paved streets, you already regretted your choice to go out tonight.

Second mistake, coming to Virginia in the first place. You heard the bar door open again and he ran through it, bolting after you. He had the upper hand here, knowing the streets. Quickly, you run into the back alley’s. You didn’t stop running, checking the street signs as you ran. Desperate to get back to your motel, you don’t look back once.

Guessing wasn’t your strong point, you think as you randomly pick another alley to run through, hoping to find some familiarity. All of them started to look the same, maybe you’d already been here, or maybe it was the panic. There was a T shaped turn, you could either go straight foreword or turn right in a couple yards. You run straight foreword.

Suddenly, as you pass the right turn you are slammed against the brick wall. You feel the backs of your tights get stuck to the brick and rip and you wince.

“You prick.” You groan and pull your hands up to shove him off of you. “What you do that for?” Bending down you bring your hands to your knees and puff for breath.

“What job are you on?” He says, with his interrogator voice. Eyebrows creased and shoulders squared to make himself look more threatening.

“I’m not on a job, Hotch.” You tell him and stand up straight, looking at this face close up for the first time in a while. Your mind short circuits for a second as you contain yourself. “You have a beard.”

“You’re always on a job.” He states, clearly not believing you.

“I’m on holiday!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up into the air. “You.” Dragging out the word you point at him. “Are supposed to be in witness protection.”

“How’d you know that?” He asks, confused. He takes a step forward, his chest rising and falling.

“Everyone knew?” You roll your eyes at him. “You had to disappear because of Scratch, you were in Maine.” You shrug. “Now can I please, go back to my motel.”

“No.” He says and takes another step foreword. “You’re a murderer.” He states. “I’ll walk you.”

“Alleged, you have no evidence.” You answer quickly, “You have a bias against me. I’m innocent.” You sigh and start to walk away from him. “We can’t be seen together.”

“I know.” You look at him confused. “To all of those things. But it’s dark, I’ll walk you.” He jogs to catch up to you and the two of you walk at a leisurely pace in the direction of your motel. It’s silent for a while and you take in the streets. “You’re British?” He questions, turning toward you.

“I assumed you knew, all these years.” You laugh slightly. “You have reading glasses yet?” You joke. He doesn’t find it funny. “One day, you’ll laugh.” The silence comes up once again, you swing your arms back and forth. “What did you tell your friends?”

“That I had to go.” He states and you turn into the street of dodgy motels. “Why did you mention my beard?” He asks as he walks you to the door. You turn the key you had in your bra, and lean against the open door way.

“It suits you, you look fit.” You shrug and smile. His face doesn’t move. “It’s a compliment, accept it.” You roll your eyes again and scoff. “You want to come in?” He shakes his head and goes to open his mouth but you interrupt.

“I don’t want to fuck. Calm down.” You walk into your room and wait for him to follow. “Close the door.” You hear it click closed. “It wouldn’t be a good idea for us to have sex again anyway.”

“Why?” He says with a strong breath out of his nose.

“You might get attached.” You smirk at him and he finally laughs. It’s a deep baritone, but silky like honey, you wanted to drown in it. “Also because I think someone knows we’re friends.” You sit down on your bed and pull your red bottoms and frown at the scuffed paint. You look up to him as you peel the ripped tights away from your legs, leaving you in your dress.

“What do you mean?” He asks and you rummage through your bag, pulling out a white envelope. You toss it towards him and watch him pull out pictures of you from vulnerable times throughout the years. “Are these not yours?”

“No, my blackmail is in a safe.” You give him a smile and lean back. “I was served them, like I was being sued.” You explain. “I’m trying to find who’s they are, don’t worry.”

“I will lose my job, if these get out.” He says flicking through them again.

“I know. They won’t.” You assure him and take the photos back, taking them back and sliding them into the envelope. The air in the room feels thick and you bury them back into the bottom of the bag. The dynamic was strange. He didn’t like you because he thought you were a murderer. You didn’t like him because he thought you were a murderer. However, you couldn’t deny the tension the two of you had. You had kept your meetings short for this exact reason, the room heating up. You look up and meet his brown eyes.

“Is that all your things?” He asks and you nod. “It’s not a lot.” He states and stands up rigidly straight.

“I don’t live anywhere for more than a month.” Zipping your bag shut. “I close my cases quickly. You can sit down.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “I should go.” You nod and watch him turn to the door and take two long steps towards it. You never said goodbye. This time though, he hesitated to twist the door knob.

“One more time, couldn’t hurt.” You stand up and the two of you meet half way, wrapping around each other. Your lips hit his neck and you start to suck gently while simultaneously unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. Your hands dive into the hair on his chest and generally feel him up through the open shirt. “You been working out?”

“Occasionally.” He says nonchalantly as your hands wander south. Down to his toned stomach and your fingers fiddle with the button on his slacks. You look up at him for permission and he nods. Slowly, you use both hands to unbutton them and teasingly pull down the zip. “Hurry up.” He grits and your hand slides inside the trousers but stay over his boxers. You felt him get hard in your hand.

He leans down to your neck and licks up to your ear and whispers. “Get on your knees for me.” You do exactly as your told and lower yourself down to the carpet.

“You’re so lucky you’re hot, this carpet is gross.” You say up to him and pull his black slacks down to his ankles. His mouth perks up at the compliment. You learn on the backs of your feet and wait. Your fingers trail up and down his thigh. He pulls down his boxers and that was a sight you missed.

Just looking at Aaron Hotchner, every one could tell he wasn’t small, in any shape of form. His build was big, his chest was big, his hands were big, you could go on. His dick was certainly big, you observe as he holds it close to your face. “Look up at me.” He instructs and you instantly do what he says.

You didn’t know what view you preferred. On one hand, his dick was pretty. On the other, he had grown a beard out while in WITSEC. They were both equal.

“Can I?” You ask, swiping your tongue over your lip but he cuts you off.

“Patience.” He states sternly. He liked to make you wait. You roll your eyes again but do sit there patiently. He pulls you gently from the back of your head closer to him. You furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering what he was doing. An uncontrollable red flush crawls up your skin as it dawned on you, he was measuring up to your face. Dirty man. He smirks and leans back, “Go ahead.” He finally says and you sigh in relief.

“Patience is not one of my strongest virtues.” You snark and lean in, taking a long, slow lick up his length. In the past few years, you had forgotten what he had tasted like, you didn’t want to forget again. Something you’d never forget was the noise he would make when you finally took him into your mouth.

That groan was music to your ears, a symphony that makes you blush. He’s heavy and warm on your tongue. You look up at him through your eyelashes and his eyes are screwed shut as he pants. Hallowing your cheeks, you slowly bob your head along him.

“Nor is it mine.” He moans out and runs his fingers into your hair. “Can I?” He strokes your hair and you nod, mouth still full of his cock. “Use your words.” He commands and smiles down at you as you pull off of him.

“Yes, you can.” You confirm and he grabs the back of your hair in a fist. He then guides you down on him again, but deeper than before almost breaching your throats and you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning, vibrating on him and the grip on your hair tightens slightly. “Christ.” You feel the leg muscles you have gripped in your hands twitch as he moves his hips forward to meet your movements.

The frequent small spurts of salty taste into your mouth signalled that he was getting closer to the edge. You try not to smirk and you take him deeper and he throws his head back with a throaty groan.

“I’m not going to last long.” He grits his teeth together and his legs twitch again, gripping onto the back of your head as you control your breathing through your nose.

He calls out your name, a word he rarely even whispers. It falls out of his lips as he finishes into yours.

He pulls out of your throat and you swallow, standing up and then perching on the edge of your bed. “Let me pay you back.” He says and takes steps towards your, lips landing on your neck. A soft moan leaves your mouth. But suddenly, the two of you are ripped apart by the phone ringing. He pulls away and answers, it’s not work, you can tell by his softer than usual tone.

“I’ve got to go.” He awkwardly says, pulling his trousers back up and buttoning his shirt. “It’s my son, Jack, he’s ill.” He grabs his wallet that had fallen on the floor in the chaos. “I’ll see you soon.” You follow him to the creaky door to see him out.

“No, you won’t.” He begins to walk away into the dark of the night. “Goodbye Aaron!” You call out into the darkness as he disappears.

#criminal minds #fanfic #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #ficlet #fluff #oneshot #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #smut #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch smut #first smut #hope you enjoy!!!

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hometoursandotherstuff · 1 year

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What a lovely 1884 Eastlake Victorian in St. Paul, Minnesota. It has 3bds, 1.5ba, & is listed for $750K.

Isn't this a lovely entrance? It's so perfectly preserved. It's exactly the same as the original photo.

Don't you love comparing it to the original photos?

Clearly, this is a well-loved, well-cared-for home. I wonder what happened to the top of the fireplace, though. Maybe the mirror was a separate piece.

Here's an unusual room with 2 glass doors to the kitchen. It's kind of like a family room, or it could be a dining room.

Sweet vintage 1/2 bath.

The kitchen hasn't been overly modernized, but it does have new white cabinetry and appliances and new appliances. It's cute.

The dining room still has it's original built-in china cabinet.

The main bd is large and has a separate sitting room. The lighting fixture also looks original.

And, it has this delightful private porch with a curved ceiling.

One of the smaller bedrooms. It's nice, though- gets good natural light.

Very nice upgraded vintage bath.

They made a small gym room in the basement.

Lovely yard with an enclosed porch.

Side patio and porch.

Such a pretty property.

Look at the details on the house.

Beautiful home. You don't see Eastlake Victorians that often.

#eastlake victorian home #victorian architecture #victorian home #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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ussgallifrey · 2 years

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Home for the Holidays | Part 1

✦ Summary: Never let it be said that you weren’t willing to do just about anything for your squadron. As you find yourself roped into an elaborate ruse to help fool Hangman’s mother for Christmas all seems to be going according to plan. But when that plan spirals out of control, the line between real and pretend begins to blur.

✦ Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Anxiety, fake dating, hurt/comfort, light mentions of divorce, minor angst.

✦ Word Count: 7.5k

✦ Author's Note: Who are we blaming for this mess? Say it with me: @top-hhun ! The true enabler of all things Jake Seresin. I owe it all to you, love <3

[Master List]

The gym was nearly deserted this time of day. The USS Abraham Lincoln was a mere 48 hours away from port and the crew was anxiously anticipating their first bit of proper leave in over nine months. Your air carrier wing, however, was due to leave in the morning.

You should be packing your things and cleaning up the mess in your locker. But you felt the need to blow off some steam first. And somehow, he always knew when and where to find you.

Even with your earbuds in, you can sense his presence just before he makes himself fully known to you - hovering back by the treadmills. You let him sweat it out, finishing the final few steps of your post-workout cool down on the floor mat, your gym playlist coming to a perfect conclusion.

If he was going to seek you out during your off time, then he would have to wait.

Wiping the sweat from your brow as you stand back up, muscles aching with a pleasant burn, you pull your earbuds out one at a time before turning to face your companion. Hangman is leaning casually against the side of the squat rack now, watching you with that ever-present smirk on his face.

“So,” he drawls in that familiar accent of his, “We doing this?”

You let your eyes trail over his features for a moment, chest still heaving from the afterburn of your workout. How dare he look so put together in his flight suit while in the presence of your sweat-soaked gym clothes.

“What? Just drop trow and do it on the floor?”

You make a grab for your water bottle, taking a refreshingly cool swig before wiping your mouth dry. He doesn’t even have the decency to look fazed by the question.

“At least let me lay down a towel first since I’m not being afforded the luxury of getting dragged back to your berth like one of your other lady friends.”

His eyes narrow and his smirk grows.

Some people had ship wives when they were deployed. Jake Seresin had you.

That wonderfully strange mix of teasing flirtation and sworn rivalry that you somehow balanced between the two of you.

“Don’t tempt a man,” he grins wolfishly, uncrossing his arms and taking a step forward to meet you halfway. “Just say the word, Pita. And your dreams could just become reality.”

You scoff, sidestepping him, “What, the less-than-stellar sex or this convoluted plan you came up with?”

“We - ” he quickly reiterates, waving an accusing finger between you both, “The convoluted plan that we mutually came up with, thank you. Gotta share the credit.”

There was this thing the two of you started doing, way back in the day. The savior swoop, you think he coined it.

The whole thing started with a lovely hole-in-the-wall bar in Sydney during a week-long leave. You had been happily content minding your own business with the three other women from your squadron - Rocky, Juggs, and Barb- when in came an overly smiley Hangman, who had quickly wrapped an arm around your waist and muttered, behind clenched teeth.

“You’re my girlfriend. You’re my girlfriend and I will give you all the money out of my wallet if you sell this for me.”

You had stared at him for a long moment, followed by an affronted, “Yes, hello, Pita. Nice to see you too - ”

That was when he roughly pinched your side. A young woman appeared just a moment later with a lipstick-coated smile that seemed to fall the moment she spotted you. Realization dawned and you pulled the best obnoxious girlfriend ruse you could with six shots of vodka in your system.

At the time, it had never really crossed your mind as to why he approached you out of everyone else. Eventually, you just wrote it off as the fact that you were far more familiar with the man since you had been flying together the longest. That and you knew for a fact that any one of them would have left Hangman out to dry.

It was a thing then. A very non-recurring, once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing.

Hangman became your cover boyfriend when a pushy marine wouldn’t seem to take a hint. You filled in when two civilians, eager to hook up with a uniformed airhead, kept him from his pool game. It was just a mutually beneficial back-and-forth for the two of you.

No feelings required. Just the occasional dropping of a honey or babe when it was necessary to sell the point, much to the amusement of your fellow aviators who loved to egg it on even more.

This little plan, however, was taking the fucking cake.

You can’t even remember who got started talking about the upcoming homecoming and eventual leave.

The Vigilantes must have pleased the big names over in the admiralty because your air carrier wing had secured ten days of leave right over the Christmas holiday. It was virtually unheard of. But your squadron had just returned from a lengthy tour and you knew at least one or two new chest candies would be heading your way soon.

But there you were with Hangman, shooting the shit in the officer’s rec room with a few other guys from the squad. Freeze was going to propose to his girl finally, Sparky had his whole family coming up from Arizona, and Cosmo was planning some big soul-searching trip to Mount Rainier.

Maybe someone had asked if Seresin was taking his girlfriend back home to visit his family - followed by several good-natured laughs. Maybe it was the obnoxious aviator himself who suggested it with a flash of clear amusement in his eyes.

Either way, here the two of you were, a day shy of flying back to Lemoore, with this massively stupid plan waiting in the wings.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s our stupid plan. An unnecessary plan, I may add. You could just tell your family that you’re not - ”

“Too late now. I told my mom you were coming - you know, when we agreed to it a week ago,” he mimics your annoyance with a great big grin.

You stare down the corridor, wondering if you could just make a run for it and avoid the conversation - and the plan - entirely.

There was a fundamental difference between doing the act to throw off an inebriated barfly and another thing entirely to fly across the country to play house for one of your families for the day.

Hangman crowds your space, staring you down with a knowing look in his bright sage green eyes. Fixing your own stare in return, you stand your ground - lips tight and eyes narrowed.

“You could literally just tell her we’re friends. Only friends.”

He laughs, outright laughs in your face then.

“And miss out on the fun? Where’s your sense of adventure, honey?” he smiles for a moment before finally relenting.

His features soften, taking a quick cursory glance around to seemingly insure your current privacy from the rest of the crew.

“Look, you’d be doing me an honest-to-God favor if you came along.”

You knew that. Hell, you had a whole conversation about it six nights ago actually. You knew Hangman’s family was a mess from the day you and him had crossed paths on the flight deck for the first time. It was just written into his very being.

“Yeah, yeah. Classic savior swoop. Pull at my heartstrings some more while you’re at it, Seresin.”

His features light up as he places a stick of gum between his lips, giving a signature smirk, “You’re gonna make a hell of an impression, Pita. I’ll give you that.”

You pat his shoulder playfully, “Thank me after I get your mother permanently off your back.”

“Will do,” he says with a sort of yes ma’am tone as he watches you walk back to officer’s country before your next debrief.

The journey back to Lemoore had been blessedly smooth flying. The raucous crowd spilled past the barrier the minute the first aviator stepped down onto the tarmac. Families and loved ones flung themselves onto their long-lost loves. Wives and girlfriends with single-stem roses, newborn babies, and weepy toddlers holding signs and tiny flags. It was a familiar, happy sight.

You watch from afar, zipping your helmet back into its carrier, and shouldering your duffle bag.

There was no point in having your family fly out just to meet you here. They were going to see you in three days anyway. Might as well save everyone on the crazy airfare for a change.

A sudden scream pulls your attention to the aviator on bended-knee, with a sobbing brunette now throwing herself into his arms.

“He almost lost the ring before we left.”

You eye Hangman as he sidles in next to you, running a hand through his helmet hair. He’s got a fond smile on his face as he watches the newly engaged couple - Freeze is walking his girl back to the hangar and she’s wrapped herself around his waist like a sloth.

“Seriously? Should start calling him Frodo,” you muse, hefting your bag higher on your shoulder.

“Think Smeagol would be more appropriate.”

You know that he can see you openly mouthing the word Nerd with an air of fake judgment. He just gives a silent head shake of a laugh and double-checks the zipper on his own helmet bag.

The two of you watch as the immediate rush of people seems to ease back, clearing the tarmac.

“So…” he grins, “We still doing this?”

Turning to get a good look at him, you take in the very teasing expression on his face. Though his eyes are too squinted from the overhead sun to get a real good take on his exact inner workings.

“Well, as fun as it would be to leave you hanging for a change - ”

He chuckles, taking a step back to grab his own duffle bag from the ground, “Admit it, Pita. You’d start to feel bad for me. With that aching heart of yours and all.”

“Hah!” you tilt your head back with a bark of laughter, “Oh, Hangman. You have no idea just how steel-coated this heart is. I would delight in seeing you hung out to dry. However, I make it a habit to hold true to my promises.”

“Good,” he nods with a surprising sureness. Plucking his signature box of toothpicks out of his pocket, twiddling with a single pick for a moment, he adds, “Because I would have hated having to chase you down and drag you back to Texas on my own.”

“Mmm, in your alpha male dreams, Hangman.”

You part ways in the parking lot with plans to catch up in three hours. It would, theoretically, be enough time to unpack the essentials, clean yourselves up, and pack a carry-on for the flight.

The on-base house has remained the same as when you left it six months prior, albeit a thin layer of dust covers parts of the room that you swear you’ll get around to cleaning before you fly back out. After your gloriously long, hot, uninterrupted shower, you manage to throw together a reasonable bag in no time flat. Rolling shirts and pants up with expert ease.

And then there’s a knock on your door, one minute before your set meet time. It makes you wonder how long Hangman was waiting around, trying to time it just right, before he came up onto the front porch.

You unceremoniously toss your bag into his arms as a way of greeting, locking the door behind you as he laughs.

“Hello to you too, darlin’.”

“Coffee,” you say by way of explanation, pushing by him. “I need coffee and food if you want to keep me from ripping your head off before we board.”

He gives a sharp nod, following after you to the waiting Chevy pickup in your driveway, “Can do. Gotta keep my girl happy.”

“Oh god,” you groan, turning to look back at him as you pull open the passenger’s door, one foot on the running board. “Are we starting that now?”

His eyes flicker with amusement as he carefully shoves your bag in behind your seat, holding the side handle as he peers up at you.

“Well, you know what they say - ” he flips the toothpick in his mouth around with the roll of his tongue, lips tugged into a smug grin around it, “Practice makes perfect.”

You blank, staring down into the all-too-confident eyes of your wingman.

“And I can still catch another flight,“ you retort with an equally Cheshire-like grin.

His smile falls in an instant, “Right, coffee for the missus.”

The howl of laughter you give is worth it as he seemingly scrambles to shut your door for you, jogging around the front of the truck, before hopping into the driver’s seat.

“I’m not a cheap date either, Seresin,” you warn, clicking your seatbelt into place. “None of that gas station stuff. I just spent months with mediocre instant brews and I deserve something to keep me awake and smiling for this little ruse.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles good-naturedly as he places his hand on the back of your seat, peering over his shoulder as he backs the truck out of the driveway.

The awkwardness hits the minute he pulls out onto the main road, just past the east entrance gate. As though the barbed-wire fence offered a semblance of safety when you were still behind the traffic barrier. But now the cloak was pulled free and you were both fully aware of the situation you were in.

You had spent the better part of a year and a half with this man, both on and off a carrier. You knew his breakfast preferences and his anal retentiveness when it came to the upkeep of both his flight gear and his hair. His argument-worthy movie choices and his pre-flight rituals. It was just a normal part of co-existing on a carrier in the middle of the ocean, you suppose.

And yet, here you were - for seemingly the first time ever - with just him in an enclosed proxy. There was no Freeze or Sparky there to break the tension with an off-the-cuff joke. No Freud to poke fun at the tension itself - should we give you two lovebirds space or do we get a free show?

No, it was just you and Hangman, in his truck, with the genuine realization that you were actually doing this hovering in your quickly sobering thoughts.

Maybe ideas had after doing a twelve-hour, start-to-finish, mission weren’t actually the best things to be acted upon.

There’s the soft hum of a splotchy country radio station that keeps coming in and out of range to fill that voided space between you. A twangy Christmas cover croons over the speakers as you stare out at the open desert landscape that surrounds the empty stretch of road.

You want to say something, anything really to break that strange note of silence.

But for once in your long career of being a give ‘em as good as they get kind of officer, you find the words surprisingly dried up on your tongue. And that doesn’t particularly bode well for the two of you if you have to spend the next forty-two hours together.

Hangman, for all intents and purposes, appears entirely unfazed by the arrangement. As he reclines back in his seat with one hand on the wheel and the other draped against the closed window, catching a bit of direct sunlight.

The only true difference, besides the civvies, is the tightened line of his lips. And his usually slicked-back helmet hair is surprisingly… fluffy, for lack of a better descriptor. You wonder if, like yourself, he only used product when it came to being in uniform or if he just didn’t have the time for it in the mad rush to get to the airport at a reasonable time.

“See somethin’ you like?”

The quip is a loud, sudden intrusion into your silent introspective. He glances over at you with a teasing smirk already in place.

You huff in abhorrence, eyes flicking back to the road in front of you - refusing to fall into an obvious trap like that.

“Remind me why I agreed to this again?” you ask instead.

He switches hands, gripping the steering wheel with his left as his right comes to rest on his inner thigh. He rubs at the denim for a moment as he seems to contemplate his answer.

“I think it might have something to do with my next month’s worth of bonuses being up for grabs.”

The smile on your face dims for a second.

You weren’t particularly interested in prying Hangman’s money from him. If it had been anyone else in the squadron, you would have found yourself in a similar situation - you were sure of it. It’s just the fact that the two of you had the practice in hand for this one strange stunt.

But you would have done the same for Sparky, Cosmo, or Freud in an instant. It wasn’t about the money, it wasn’t that kind of favor. He knew that, right?

Turning it around, you kiddingly press on, “And the free flight, free meal, and free accommodations, right?”

He cracks another look at you as you come to the first stop sign in over six miles, “You really aren’t shaping up to be a cheap date, are ya, Pita?”

“Hey,” you hold your hands up in a way that seems to say you brought this upon yourself. “You asked me, Hangman.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, ‘cause my options were real ripe for the pickin’.”

The truck glides through the four-way; no other vehicle in sight.

“Well,” you lean back into the side of your seat, pushed against the window so you can really get a good look at him. “Did you even bother asking anyone else?”

You can see the thick crease of his brow as he bites down on the toothpick, eyes squinting slightly against the afternoon sun.

“Did you even think to ask Captain Manning to go in on this with you? I bet if anyone could get your mom off your back, it’d be him.”

That at least makes Hangman grin, all bright and genuine as he reaches for a pair of sunglasses attached to his visor. He fiddles them on, one-handed, before peering over at you once again.

“Oh, I have no doubt good ole Zilla would win over my momma’s heart. But the man can’t lie to save his teeth. So, excuse me for bypassing him.”

“Such little fate,” you mock.

“Nah,” he taps the steering wheel with an idle finger, “We’re here now, ’s all that matters.”

You were sure it had nothing to do with the fact that out of your squadron of thirty-eight, you were only one of four female aviators currently flying with the Vigilantes. And certainly, the only one even remotely considered to be close to Seresin.

Of course, the alternative would have been trying to convince some random girl to come along with him for the holiday. And while you didn’t doubt Hangman’s ability to pull, it was a bit of a hard sell given the time of year - even for the likes of him and his classic Ken-doll appearance. And chicks loved the Ken-doll appearance.

No, the truly worst alternative would have been making him face the company of his own family alone. The horror.

Letting the now less-than-awkward silence filter back into the cab, you settle in for the rest of the short ride into the nearest city.

The actual town of Lemoore is far more lively and bustling than the base stationed just thirteen miles west of it. Hangman easily follows your directions to a coffee shop off the main drag - immediately glancing down at his watch, as if trying to mentally calculate the maximum amount of time you could deviate from his schedule.

After parking out front, he holds the door open for you and another couple as the rich aroma of fresh brew and baked goods hits your senses. Was there ever a sweeter smell? After months at sea, with only the array of mixes in the officers’ mess to keep you going, this was like walking into paradise.

Hangman scooches in next to you in line. His sunglasses are at least clipped to the front of his t-shirt’s collar now as he peruses the colorful red and green menu with an appraising kind of look - flipping that damn toothpick of his around in his mouth as he weighs his options.

It’s still decidedly strange to be doing this with him.

While you frequently found yourself in the company of your squadron, both on and off duty, this was notably uncharted territory.

There’s a slightly stoic demeanor that Seresin has when out in public, but the minute you’re called up to the register, he’s got the biggest grin on and good old boy charm ready to go. While he ends up ordering a breakfast sandwich and a surprisingly high-sugar content pumpkin spice frappe, you go for the turkey melt and an iced coffee. He pays for it all - out of some sense of duty to the mission, you suppose - and stuffs a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar for good measure too.

The two of you hover at the end of the counter, next to the hanging snowflake decorations, while you wait for your order to finish up. He’s got his arms crossed and a downturned look on his face as he stares at the coffee shop’s patrons - couples spread out amongst the two-seater tables. A modest indie version of “Santa Baby” and the quiet hum of chatter keep either one of you from speaking until his name is called by the barista.

But as you head back outside, he stops you at the hood of the truck - his brow pinched.

“I’m not gonna be insulted if you back out, you know.”

Scrunching your lip, you say, “Good to know - ” while making a move for the passenger door, clutching your drink and carry-out bag in one hand.

“I mean it,” his voice raises slightly as he rounds his side of the vehicle, continuing the conversation from across the open doorway as you hop in. “We get to Fresno and you take a flight back home and we’ll act like this whole plan never existed.”

You wonder, briefly, where this change of heart is coming from. But you give a little nod, slotting your condensation-heavy coffee into the cup holder - it might be December but it certainly didn’t feel like it out here.

“I mean if you’re looking to get rid of me so easily…”

“That’s not - ”

Hangman groans, slamming his door closed with more force than probably necessary as he scrubs a hand down his face. He stares ahead for a moment before finally saying, in a much more even tone:

“It’s a lot to ask of someone. And I’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes wondering what the hell I was thinkin’ asking you to do this in the first place.”

You have the good grace to leave your sandwich wrapped up and on your lap as you turn to give your companion your full attention.

You’re reminded of the conversation the two of you had nearly a week ago.

He was just about staring daggers into his meal when you found him in the Wardroom, well past the dinner rush. There was a pen settled between his fingers like a damn cigarette that he kept twirling around as his gaze drifted past the food in front of him.

And you - like any good person would - asked him what the hell the plate ever did to him.

As you joined him at the empty table, he admitted that he had just gotten the third email that week from his mom going on and on about his future and how he’s getting older, and that the eligible dating pool is vanishing before his very eyes.

“What, is she dead set on having grandkids before she kicks it or something?” you had asked with a pitched tone.

He had just shaken his head, ruffling a hand through his hair - food long forgotten in front of him, “Nah, she’s got nine already. She just gets into a mood around the holidays. But it’s been getting on more and more like this lately.”

“Guess you got no choice but to get hitched the minute you get your boots dry.”

At least that had managed to pull a laugh out of him, even if it seemed hollow and lackluster compared to his usual booming tone.

“Nah, I’m being serious here, Hangman. Have a 72-hour marriage for show, break it off before we head back out. Just give her something for the holiday so she’ll get off your damn back for a while.”

And though it took a moment, his face had lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. As though he had made the ultimate connection in his brain and had come up with the idea all on his own. As though you hadn’t been joking in the slightest.

“Someone who could pull it off. Someone who has real-time experience with yours truly, right?”

You’re not sure how, in only a matter of an hour, Hangman had convinced you to go along with it. To play the role of doting and loving girlfriend for a one-night-only performance for his mother, of all people. But, at that exact moment, it had seemed like the greatest idea known to man. Hangman, specifically.

But here you were, only hours from hopping on a commercial flight together to put on a show for the big leagues. Was it any wonder either one of you was getting cold feet?

“Seresin.”

His eyes finally drift over to yours. His face is just about as stoic as he can make it be outside of an inspection line. But his eyes, that’s where the real trouble lies.

“I’m already here. I don’t back out of promises - even the most ridiculous kind. So, get the damn ignition started, and let’s go before we get stuck in security for the next two hours.”

He takes you in for a long contemplating kind of moment as you try to be reassuring with only your earnest expression alone. Whatever he finds there, he must deem it good enough for him and his sensibilities because not a second later the truck engine purrs back to life and he’s pulling out onto the street.

He has the good sense not to bring it up for the rest of the drive. When you pull into the airport’s parking lot, he makes a vague last-chance kind of gesture, but you just yank your bag out of the backseat and head towards the terminal entrance. He rushes to grab his own gear to catch up to you.

You discover how much of an antsy flier Hangman is when it comes to flights he’s not personally manning. Constantly checking the time, mumbling about the slow-moving lines - which you remind him is attributed to the fact that you were in an international airport, traveling five days before Christmas.

He had you rushing to get to your gate a good hour before you were even required to be there. And by that point, he was on the edge of his seat, wringing his hands, just waiting for the second your boarding party was called.

His mom snagged the two of you business-class seats for the trip the minute she heard her son would be bringing home a girl this year. You want to feel guilty about it, but you’re actually grateful for the upgrade as you stretch out into the padded seat next to him. The last thing you wanted was to be packed in with the other sardines in Economy.

The flight to Dallas is about as interesting as a FOD walk. With Hangman pulling out a tablet once you’re at cruising altitude, while you pop in your earbuds and almost immediately pass out for two hours straight.

It’s his amused green eyes that you awaken to.

The rough press of his hand against your shoulder and your last name being repeated with louder and more serious persistence. You feel a bit like a zombie as you shuffle alongside him to your next gate after disembarking. That spontaneous nap had been a bit too deep and dreamless for that short of a period, as you woke up feeling more tired than when you initially fell asleep.

There’s a nearly two-hour layover there in Dallas. But you just inch forward through the crowds until your boarding group is called and you’re back onto another plane. The skies outside the window have faded to a vibrant amethyst color, splattered with rays of gold and amber as the bright lights of the city disappear into the distance.

This flight is short in comparison, which you’re thankful for as the grime of travel seems to hang off you now. Roughly an hour out and you would finally be able to debark and collapse face-first into a hotel room.

Hangman has his tablet out again, though he seems far less interested in picking up where he left off on his E-book now. He’s got his right leg crossed over his left at the knee, anxiously tapping his foot and therefore jostling his tablet as he peers at the headrest in front of him.

He had traded for the aisle seat this time, so it takes you a moment to pull your attention away from the changing scenery of the landscape outside your window to properly notice his change in demeanor.

“Hmm?” you hum in question.

He shoots a glance at you - something coming to terms on his face - before he ultimately shoves his tablet against his side and turns as much as he can in the confines of the seat to face you properly.

“My favorite color is blue; dark blue, not sky blue. I hated all of my English classes in school. I track the Longhorns’ scores religiously when we’re out. I despise almonds in their entirety. Non-dairy substitutes are an absolute no-go.”

You stare at him for a long moment before saying, “Okay…?”

With a roll of his eyes, “We’ve been dating for however long. These are things you’d know about me at this point, right?”

“Ahhh, gotcha,” you settle against the armrest in between you both to really look into his eyes. “See, I didn’t realize that to enter your mom’s house I would have to pass the Seresin partner pop quiz first.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he pulls away, running his hand through his unkempt hair.

You kick your foot at his shin, just a playful tap really, to get his attention.

“You prefer sausage links over patties. You won’t shut the fuck up about Hudson Card and his current stats - which are shit, by the way. You suck at poker and any other card game we’ve ever played. You have a lucky pair of briefs that you wear every time we - ”

“Okay,” he quickly interrupts, holding up his hand to cut you off.

“Come on,” you grin. “We’re in too tight of a circle to not know the damn basics about each other at this point. How about, instead of playing twenty questions until we land, you tell me about the off-limits stuff.”

At the questioning raise of his brows, you elaborate.

“Any triggers words? Like, I have an uncle Edward who, if you mention iPhones, will go on an unhinged rant about 5G towers and radiation until he runs out of breath. Anything like that I should be made aware of?”

His features seem to relax at last as he rubs his hand along his jawline for a moment, “Best not mention my Dad at all. Avoid the name Gwen, if you can.”

“Stepmom?”

He nods, blowing out a long breath, “Stepmom.”

“Think I can manage that. Anything else?”

For the rest of the flight, you cover the basics of the trip. His mom, Patricia - but call her Patty - is a bit of a germaphobe.

She has two guest rooms and will gladly offer to accommodate you both for the night, but she’d actually hate it if you took her up on the offer. She’s a traditionalist when it comes to Christmas dinner; none of that fusion food at her table. She’ll sneak off to the kitchen for a not-so-sneaky drink if the conversation takes a turn at all.

But most importantly, she definitely does not want to hear about any missions he has been on, though she’s very proud of his current career.

“And where are we on the PDA scale?” you ask as Hangman grabs your bag from the trunk of the rental car.

You had been stuck at the baggage carousel for forty-five minutes, the car rental counter for another twenty, and then the drive from the southern part of Austin up to the northern part had taken over half an hour. At this point, you were done.

But, for once, you had to admit that the company wasn’t the worst to be had.

“Ehh, probably on the low side? Enough to pass as a couple but not enough to make her grab hold of the metaphorical pearls.”

You hum in understanding, noticing that he’s still got his fingers looped through the strap of your bag along with his own as you head for the side entrance of the hotel, up to your room on the third floor.

After nabbing the key card from him, you unlock the door and immediately flick on the lights - making a straight line to the double bed by the window and unceremoniously flopping down on it, face first. Your bag is dropped next to your leg, making the bed jostle slightly, but you merely grunt in acknowledgment.

You can hear his tired chuckle somewhere above you, followed by the sound of his boots being kicked off.

“Before you disappear on me again, Pita. Be a dear and take a look at that informational on the table and find us some damn food.”

Giving a lazy thumbs up in his general direction, Hangman gives a departing laugh before he heads into the bathroom - but only after securing the deadbolt on the main door first.

It takes a moment, but you finally summon the energy to pull yourself up onto your elbows. Snatching the paper brochure from the bedside table with a listing of the local attractions and restaurants. You skim the names until you find a pizza place that’s supposedly open til midnight. It was only - you glance at the radio clock - 10:46 pm, so you should be good to send in a delivery order.

“Pizza?” you call out.

You can make out the muffled what he yells back in return.

“Do you want pizza?”

Your louder query is immediately responded to with a rough I can’t fuckin’ hear you in here.

Flipping onto your side, you wait for him to emerge from the bathroom to bother communicating with him again. Pulling out your phone, you search for the restaurant and casually scroll through their menu until you hear the click of the door.

Hangman shuffles out, grabbing his abandoned hoodie from the bed and methodically folding it up, “What were you hollering about?”

“Pizza sound good?”

He grunts, nabbing his boots and moving them into a more reasonable location in front of the open closet by the door.

“Depends on the place.”

You look at the name on the webpage, “Market Street Pizzeria?”

With a nod, he pads across the room and plops down heavily on the bed opposite yours, running both hands through his hair as he seems to stifle a yawn before it can escape.

“They’re good,” lifting his hips up from the bed, he grabs his wallet out of his back pocket, rummaging for a moment before he tosses a card at your face. “Here, get whatever. I’ll just pick off anything too offensive.”

You glance down at the card before immediately slamming it down on the nightstand, “Yeah, I’ll get this one. And I hope you don’t find pepperoni and cheese too obscene for your standards.”

He stares at you for a long moment before relenting and swiping up his debit card. You eye him as he tosses his wallet down at the foot of his bed before he props the pillows up and rests back against them - grabbing hold of the TV remote.

“Should be twenty minutes,” you announce, dropping your phone down on the bed as you push yourself up into a sitting position.

He hums in acknowledgment as you unzip your bag and fish out a pair of pajama pants that you had packed near the top of your items. You disappear into the bathroom to do your business and change - staring at yourself in the mirror for a long moment. Two flights and an impromptu nap had not done you any favors and that was a fact. After splashing some water on your face, you join Hangman back in the room.

He’s got just about everything settled already. A phone charger’s meticulously looped and plugged into the bedside outlet, a toiletry bag on the left-hand side of the dresser, and his own travel bag secured away in the closet next to his boots. The efficient bastard.

When you get the notification that your delivery has arrived, he heads down to collect your food and tip the driver. He ends up sitting at the desk to eat while you sit cross-legged on the end of your bed. The news is playing on mute in the background with the closed captions turned on.

“So,” you say after taking another bite, “What’s our story, in case she asks?”

He wipes his fingers off on one of the napkins before crumbling it up into a ball and taking aim at the trash can - it lands, of course.

But then he seems to remember that you asked a question as he turns in the rolling chair, legs spread wide as he gently sways side-to-side, “Like how we met?”

You roll your eyes, licking your fingertips clean of pizza grease, “I think it’s pretty apparent how we met, Seresin. What I meant was, how long has this - ” you gesture a hand between the two of you - “been going on. I mean, you’re taking me back home for the holidays, so it’s probably pretty serious at this point.”

He gives a chuckle, tapping his fingers on his knees, “How long a period of time is considered appropriate to bring a partner home?”

“Hell if I know,” you chortle, kicking your legs down over the side of the bed as you lean back on your hands.

His brow hitches up, “What, never taken someone home before?”

You don’t like the pointedness of the question as you squint back at him, “Been a bit busy, Bagman. What about you? What’s your excuse?”

“Had a high school girlfriend, dated for three years. Had her over for Christmas our senior year.”

“No one since though?” you ask.

“Like you said,” he leans back in the desk chair, folding his hands together over his stomach, “We’ve been busy.”

You nod, letting the topic settle in front of you both.

It wasn’t unheard of for people to get together on deployment, even less so on the carrier when you were forced into a confined space with the same individuals for months at a time. Shore leave was good for an easy hook-up or two, but real relationships? Those usually only happened prior to getting your orders for the most part.

The majority of the guys you knew had gotten together with their significant others around their time at the Academy, if not even sooner. Half of them got hitched right after graduation so their girl could get a place on base before they shipped out or went to flight school. But after that? Well, there wasn’t a hell of a lot of time for regular dating.

And it wasn’t that big of a deal when your focus was on your career. People like you and Hangman were all about that life. You didn’t go through the rigors of TOPGUN just to ask to be relocated to a desk job in Pensacola so you could settle down with a nice man and have a few all-American kiddos of your own this early on in your career.

Half your squadron had someone waiting for them back home. It was just a handful of you now that were still noticeably single - happily single, you should add.

“Five months,” you finally announce.

When you’re met with a curious pair of olive green eyes, you reiterate.

“We tell her we’ve been together for five months. Long enough to be serious, but short-term enough to make it seem like we were just being cautious about announcing anything too soon to our families.”

Hangman chews on his lip, mulling over your idea before he leans forward and extends his hand for you to shake, “Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

You just shake your head as you grip his hand tightly, “Guess I need to get used to those cutesy little pet names, huh?”

He laughs, pulling back to scratch at his chin, “Mmm, need to start with calling me by my real name for a start.”

“What, no Jakey or Jakers?”

His eyes light up in the soft glow of the hotel room’s incandescents as he dips his head back to laugh, “I swear to god, it’ll be a miracle if we pull this off.”

“Have a little faith in my acting abilities, baby,” you bat your lashes heavily, your voice turning soft and overly sweet. It probably didn’t help that you were functioning on almost nothing but coffee and pizza at this point.

He immediately pushes up from the chair, “I’m heading to bed before you make me hurl my food into the damn sink.”

“Don’t say that, sweetie-kins!” you coo, flopping over on the bed as you watch him collect the pizza box and methodically crush it in half to fit into the small black garbage can.

“Maybe I’ll call Guy up and see if he’s still available,” he muses with an irritated tone of voice, just to spur you on further as he nabs his toiletry bag and heads into the bathroom - leaving the door ajar.

“Now that is a show I would pay money to see,” you finally relent the act, pushing back the white comforter on your bed.

It only takes him a few minutes before he emerges. Jake smirks as he makes his way back to the bed, wearing nothing but his white t-shirt and briefs.

It must speak something to his level of exhaustion that he doesn’t even bother to make a you like what you see sort of comment. Not that you’d never seen him, or any other member of your squadron for that matter, in that level of undress before during pre-flight suit-up. But being at near eye-level in a hotel room was definitely a change in pace, though you also choose not to comment on it.

He merely rolls his comforter all the way to the end of the bed before he gets under the sheets, “You’re not an obnoxious snorer, are you, honey?”

You heft yourself up and cross the room in search of your own toiletry bag, “Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

His tone is edged with a false sense of frustration as he grunts a low, drawn-out, “Lucky me.”

When you return to the room, the TV is off and he’s lying flat on his back.

The luminous blue light of his phone casts his face in sharp brightness as he quietly scrolls through something. You let him have his silence as you deposit your shower bag on your side of the dresser and carefully place your folded bra back into your backpack.

Only once you’re under the covers of your bed, with just the single bedside light on, does Jake relinquish his phone - placing it on the charger. He meets your gaze from across the way and, for a moment, it seems like there’s something he wants to say as he worries at his bottom lip.

But he ultimately just gives you a gruff: Night, Pita. Immediately followed by a curt nod before he turns off his light and rolls over to face toward the door.

With a shake of your head, and an accompanying: Goodnight, Hangman, you roll towards the window and try to settle in to sleep.

The sound of rustling sheets and agitated breaths fills the room for some time before the whirl of air conditioning kicks on. And then it’s only a matter of time before the darkness and the white noise soothes you into the lull of proper sleep.

Story Masterlist || Next Chapter

#jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #top gun fan fic #series: home for the holidays #my fic

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she-talks-to-angels-14 · 1 year

Text

Homecoming Queen: A School Spirits Story

Part 2: Letting Go

Wally Clark x Reader

Part 1

Y/N is letting go of what happened to her, or so she thought, when she sees her memorial being set up she realizes she wasn’t truly letting go of her death. One person though has continuously been there since she died and is making her death bearable.

4 Days After Hoco Dance

I sat in the gym and watched as people I had never seen before set things up for my funeral. They carried in flower arrangement after flower arrangement setting them up ornately. Then they set up an easel and had a large portrait of me, my senior yearbook picture to be exact. I looked perfect in that picture. My hair was curled and framed my face just right, the strand of pearls hung daintily around my neck and the black velveteen shirt hung off my shoulders slightly, the smile on my face was one of the brightest I had ever seen in a picture, I was so excited to finally be taking this picture. It’s a shame that the first time I ever saw it was at my own funeral. Finally the people wheeled in a metallic blue coffin, which could only be mine, they opened the coffin and arranged a few things seeming to make my body presentable. They finished off the set up with a framed Split River number 32 basketball jersey and then they left the gym.

I wasn’t aware that I was crying until I felt a tear fall from my cheek and land on my hands that were crossed on my lap. I thought I was starting to come to terms with my new life or should I say my death but seeing this setup brought back the stinging pain I thought I was working through. Truth be told I wasn’t ready to die, I had so many things I wanted to do after graduation. The tears kept coming, more rapidly at this point and by now I was full blown sobbing as I sat in the upper deck of the bleachers looking out at the funeral setup.

“Hey there you are,” Wally called as he made his way over to me to sit down. “Y/N what’s wrong?”

“That’s what’s wrong,” I choke out as I point to the gym floor. “I thought I was starting to accept this.”

“It takes time your death is still fresh,” he says as he wipes a tear from my face. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” I cried as I started to lean into Wally. “I feel like all you have done since I got here is deal with my pity parties.”

“It’s all going to be okay,” he wrapped his arms around me pulling me into him. “I don’t mind your pity parties, it's normal to feel like this. I felt they same way you do right now. When I died I was depressed for weeks.”

“It’s hard to think about you being depressed,” I laughed. “You give off total golden retriever energy, you’re always so happy.”

“Golden retriever energy huh?” He chuckled, pulling me in closer to him. “You’ve been hanging around Rhonda haven’t you?”

“Only a little bit here and there,” I smiled up at him. “Thank you Wally.”

“For what?”

“For always being here and comforting me when I have one of these breakdowns.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he stroked my arm tenderly. “Seeing you vulnerable when you have always been so strong pained me to see.”

“What do you mean?” I asked confused, “you’ve only ever seen the vulnerable me.”

“That’s not true,” he said, grabbing my hand with his. “I’ve been stuck here for.” Wally was cut off by Mrs. Sheridan’s voice echoing over the speakers in the gym.

“Thank you everyone for attending the celebration of life of Y/N YL/N.” Mrs. Sheridan spoke into the microphone on the podium.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Wally asks, “watching your own funeral isn’t easy.”

“No I need to see this.” I said standing, “maybe this will bring me closure, plus it’s my last chance to see my mama and brother.” I began to make my way down to the first floor of the gym. In the front row of chairs sat my mama and Lincoln both clad in black clothing, on my mothers lap sat my letterman jacket. Her fist clenched tightly to it as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Lincoln had his arm around her shoulder and he was doing his best to stay strong for her.

My heart crumbled seeing them like this, I sat on the hardwood floor in front of my Mama and laid my head over in her lap. I would give anything for her to stroke my hair once more and comfort me but she can’t. I laid my hand on top of hers and laid there for what seemed like forever. My mother stirred beneath me bringing me back to reality.

“In honor of Y/N we would like to officially retire her jersey.” Coach Marshall spoke into the microphone. “She was our fearless team captain and one heck of a ball player she was going places and this season was going to seal that deal for her.” He had so much faith in my abilities. “Please Ms. YL/N we would like to bestow her remaining jersey to you.”

My mother stood and my hand fell from her, I grasped for her once more but to no avail I could not touch her. In my grip though I was graced with my letterman even though my mother still held it firmly in her hands as she approached the stage. How was that possible? How could I have my jacket when she still had it in her hands?

“Thank you coach,” my mother said as she approached the podium. “Retiring Y/N’s jersey is a great honor and thank you for your kind words about her.”

My mom continued to give a speech about me but my focus had shifted to my brother. The strength he showed earlier had dissipated, tears are slowly rolling down his cheek. I have never seen Lincoln cry before, he has always been the tough one of the two of us. “You have always been an amazing big brother,” I cried with him. “I love you bubba,” I hugged him even though he couldn’t feel it.

The funeral ended shortly after my mothers speech and she returned to her seat. I slid my arms into my letterman and then I proceeded to sit in the now empty seat by my mom. “Thank you for being the best mama I could have ever asked for.” I said, wrapping my arms around her. “I sure am proud to be your daughter.” Looking between my mama and Lincoln I bared these last words, “take care of each other y’all are all y’all have left I love y’all.”

I stood from my seat and went to approach my casket, my body laid peacefully in my metallic blue casket. My mom had me dressed in her favorite dress of mine, a light blue lace dress with cap sleeves. She had my hair curled and made sure to put my class ring on my finger and my favorite necklace on me. Knowing what I knew now after the incident with my jacket I took my ring and necklace and put them on me. “You lived a good life sweetheart,” I said to my corpse, “but now it’s time to live your death.”

I turned and walked out of the gym, I had closed this chapter and now was ready to accept this new life, I was ready to accept my death and make the best of it.

——————————————————————

Wally’s POV

I couldn’t leave the gym, I didn’t want to leave Y/N alone. So I stayed in the upper level seats and watched her at her own funeral. I watched her go straight to her mama and sit on the floor with her head placed on her mama’s lap. My heart broke for her knowing this was it. She was savoring every moment with her family. Her mama got up and made her way to the podium where she accepted the jersey of Y/N’s that wasn’t framed. She gave her speech and I watched Y/N have her moment with her brother. I watched her exchange with her brother but I listened to the speech her mama gave. She said everything I had come to know about Y/N over the years she’s been roaming these halls. She was a fierce competitor, a loyal friend, stronger than she knew, and the kindest soul to have graced these halls.

Her mama finished her speech and returned to her seat. Y/N sat next to her and spoke unheard words to her. She then looked between her brother and mama and said something else before she got up and walked to her casket where she stood for a few moments and pulled a couple things out of her then she turned and headed for the gym exit. Her chiffon train of her dress flowed behind her as she made her exit. She looked like a different person as she walked out as if she was letting go of the past and ready to move on.

I gave her fifteen minutes before I went to find her. I checked the cafeteria, the field, the library, and the halls but she was nowhere to be found. None of the others had seen her, she was nowhere to be found, I had checked everywhere. Defeated, I sat down on the floor of the hall when it hit me. I had checked everywhere but one place, how could I forget about the auditorium? That’s where we had kissed. How could that slip my mind when I was looking for her? I quickly stood up and made my way to the auditorium, once there I burst through the doors and sure enough there she sat on the stage, she was gorgeous as ever sitting in her letterman and she had changed out of her dress, she was now in jeans and a basketball t-shirt.

“You alright?” I asked, sitting down beside her.

“Shockingly yes, I made my peace.” She smiled, “I said my goodbyes to my family and my former self. I'm ready to move forward.”

“I’m happy for you,” I grabbed her hand. “You deserve to be at peace with what happened”

“Thank you Wally,” she squeezed my hand. “You have been a big part of getting me through this. You've been my shoulder to lean on and I am forever grateful.”

“I’ll always be there if you ever need me.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What were you going to say earlier about seeing me not vulnerable?” She asked softly.

“I was going to say that I had been stuck here for 30 years.” I sighed, “ I’ve seen many people walk these halls but no one has ever been like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve watched you roam these halls for four years, I’ve seen you put others above yourself even when you were falling apart.” I looked into her eyes and confusion was all on her face, “I watched you hold yourself together when your life at home was crumbling to help someone who’s problems weren’t anywhere near as big as yours. I’ve seen just how strong you are before I ever even met you.” I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers. I could see the tears welling in them. “I’ve seen how loyal you are, I’ve seen what kind of leader you are and I saw the type of person you are well before you died.”

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she sniffled.

“I’m sorry if I upset you.” I pulled my hand away unsure of how she was feeling. “I honestly never thought I would ever actually meet you but the type of person you were caught my attention.”

“So you’ve watched me since I started going here?”

“Not in a stalker type of way,” I said standing to my feet, I had said too much and creeped her out. “I mainly watched your games and only ever watched in the halls when we happened to be in them together.” I turned to walk out of the auditorium.

“Wait,” she said as I heard footsteps approach me. “Why are you leaving?”

“I figured I creeped you out.” My head hung low, “I thought it was best if I left.”

“You haven’t creeped me out,” she said, reaching for my hand. “Things just make sense now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen countless games, and heard god knows how many conversations I’ve had in the halls.” She chuckled, “you already knew ‘Iris’ was my favorite song before I told you when we danced on homecoming night.”

“I did,” I looked down at her. “You always listened to it before games and I overheard you tell a friend it was your favorite once.” I was extremely embarrassed but I couldn’t stop the words that came next. “I liked you, I wanted to get to know you but I knew it wasn’t possible, I never thought we’d actually be where we are now.

She looked up at me through her long lashes with a sweet smile on her face. “Are you saying you had a crush on me when I was alive?”

“I still do,” the words fell from my mouth before I even processed what I was saying.

As soon as the words escaped my lips, I felt small hands on both sides of my face pulling me down a few inches until her soft lips were on mine.

——————————————————————

Y/N’s POV

“I still do,” Wally said and I couldn’t stop myself. Both of my hands were on either side of his face pulling him down towards me. Ever since we kissed on homecoming night I have been hoping for another opportunity to do it again. Our lips touch as if I’ve taken him by surprise; he doesn't kiss me back.

“I’m sorry that was much smoother in my head,” I say as I pull away, letting my hands fall from his face.

“Don’t be sorry,” he placed his hands on my waist and pulled me into him. “It just took me by surprise is all.”

He dipped his head down to meet my lips once again. Instinctively I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood slightly on my tip toes. He tightened his arms around my waist pulling me even closer to him. This kiss was much different than the first we shared. That kiss was soft and sweet, this one was full of longing and desire.

“I’ve been wanting to do that again since our first kiss,” he said breathlessly, breaking our kiss.

“So have I,” I smiled up at him. “So you wanted to get to know me huh?”

“Yes I did,” he said, grabbing my hand. “I still do.”

“Then let’s go,” I said as I led him out of the auditorium and to a plot of land that overlooks the fields. “This is where I’d come when I needed some time to myself, it was always so peaceful here.”

“It does seem very peaceful.” He said looking around the quaint area.

“I frequented this spot often when my parents were going through their divorce.” I said as I sat on the soft grass. “This was the only place I found comfort during that time, my parents were at each others throats and Lincoln and I were always caught in the middle.”

“I’m sorry you both had to go through that,” he said, tightening his grip on my hand comfortingly.

“It’s alright, that made me who I am today and I wouldn’t change a thing.” I leaned my head on his shoulder, “so what do you want to know?”

“Let’s start off easy,” he smiled. "What's your favorite color?”

“It’s turquoise, what’s yours?”

“I didn’t know the questions were getting turned around on me,” he chuckled. “It’s blue and my favorite song is ‘Don’t stop Believin’.”

“Good choice,” I giggled. “So this one is heavy, what exactly happened to you?”

“I was laid out by a tackle in the homecoming game my senior year.” He shuddered remembering his final moments. “Coach pulled me out to rest my knee, I was sitting on the bench when my mama came down to the field, she wanted to know what was going on,” he sighed and I knew where this was going. “She convinced me to tell my coach I was okay and to get back into the game, she said I could rest when I was dead and that rest doesn’t get scholarships.” The hurt in his eyes was evident and a tear began to roll down his cheek. “Coach put me back in and I was rushing for a touchdown, I was nearly in the end zone when I was taken down, I heard a crack and everything went black. I didn’t feel any pain, but I only wished I could’ve scored one more touchdown for my mama.”

My heart was in my throat, “Wally I’m so sorry,” I choked. “If your mom would’ve just let you rest, you wouldn’t have died.”

“You’re right but you know everything happens for a reason and I’ve accepted that.” He put his arm around me, “so what’s your favorite movie?”

“Titanic and yours?”

“Raiders of the lost ark, speaking of movies, we have movie nights around here from time to time. Do you think maybe you’d want to go to one with me as my date?”

“Wally Clark, are you asking me on a date?”

I said looking up at him. “Of course I would love to be your date to one of the movie nights.”

“Hell yeah.” He kissed the top of my head. “You know I’ve enjoyed this.”

“So have I Wally.”

We sat together just enjoying each other's company until night time had fallen upon the school. “Wally, do you think we’d have gotten along this well if we were alive in the same lifetime?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” He responded, “but I’ll take this lifetime any day.” He kissed my temple.

I don’t know exactly what is going on between Wally and I. I know that I am falling for this lovable football player hard and fast, but for now I’m content with where we’re at. He makes being dead much more bearable than it would have been without him.

#wally clark x reader #wally clark #wally clark imagines #wally clark fic #school spirits #school spirits paramount #school spirits imagines #Spotify

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dynamic-power · 1 year

Text

Coach H

Rating: T

No warnngs

Words: 1.6k

A look at a possible future for Steve Harrington.

Taylor has known Coach H for almost 4 years, and still can't quite figure him out. They have the opportunity to investigate his office a little, and they learn more than they thought they would.

This is totally Steve-centric. All others, though I love them all dearly, are only briefly mentioned.

-------------------------------

Coach Harrington's office is one of four tucked behind the gym, between the girls' and boys' locker rooms. Taylor has never been in here before. Students rarely have a reason to come to the coaches' offices; they can all usually be found in the gym, even when class isn't in session.

Taylor has known Coach H for four years; their freshman year had been Coach's first year at Lincoln High. They know him just well enough to not feel guilty about wanting to snoop around a little while they are waiting. Maybe they can learn something.

Coach H is a bit of a point of confusion, even for many of the students who know him. He looks normal enough; Taylor guesses he's in his fifties, with thick brown hair that has started to go gray at his temples, kind eyes, and a boyish smile that is contagious. It's when he starts to talk about himself that the oddities begin to show.

He has tattoos, the most notable of which is an electric guitar that takes up most of his right inner forearm. It's upside down, with the bottom of the body tucked into the crease of his elbow and the neck stretching down to his wrist. When asked, he always admits that he doesn't play guitar; in fact, he knows very little about music at all. He says he got it because someone saved his life with that very guitar, but Taylor suspects he'd just thought it looked cool when he was young.

He also, allegedly, knows an unusual number of people with significance to the LGBTQ+ community. Taylor has heard him mention having lunch with Michael Wheeler, an author who gained popularity in the early 2000s for his fantasy novels that often feature queer characters. Kelly swears that she heard him mention the Byler siblings once. The three artists, each known for having their own distinct mediums of photography, paint, and sculpture, had risen to fame in the nineties for the mix of praise and criticism they'd received for their first joint exhibit. It had been an exploration of the realities of being gay at the time, and the artwork is still discussed and admired today.

There's also a rumor that he knows a member or two of Corroded Coffin, a metal band who toured for thirty years and was fronted by an openly gay man, though Taylor is unfamiliar with them and finds this a bit less impressive than the other possible connections.

They don't know how many of these rumors, if any, are true, but it's interesting nonetheless. It makes him a sort of unspoken, safe space for the queer students.

He has a strange scar across his throat, and if asked about it, his responses are varying levels of insane, ranging from very improbable to outright impossible. He'd been mistaken for a patient in need of a thyroid operation when he'd gone in for a knee surgery. A sentient vine got wrapped around his neck while he was being attacked by giant bats. A serial killer known simply as The Strangler had tried to make him a victim when he'd gone back to his hometown for a high school reunion. He'd been hanged for being a pirate in a past life and bore a scar as a reminder to always abide by the law.

He claims to have a brother just a few years younger than himself, but he also tells stories about being an only child. He says his reason for choosing to be a high school teacher is that he raised six teens himself, but it's common knowledge that he's never had kids. He's a nerd, which had caught Taylor by surprise the first time they'd realized it. He'd mumbled something about Coach Roberts sounding like a demogorgon when he passed by Taylor during class one day. He'd said it like he knew exactly what that fictitious beast sounded like. As though it was a sound that existed.

Then, of course, there is his friendship with Ms. Buckley, who had arrived at Lincoln the same year as Coach. There's speculation that they are actually married to each other - their wedding rings, though different, are equally strange - but Taylor has never gotten that vibe from them. They do interact with the familiarity of people who have known each other a long time, though.

Peering around the room, Taylor takes stock of what they can immediately see. A shelf is lined with trophies that the school has won in Coach H's brief tenure. At the end of the shelf, proudly displayed besides the shiny plastic, is a crudely made clay trophy that reads "#1 DINGUS" at the bottom. There is also a tall bookshelf. It's almost entirely full and has a variety of genres and authors. Taylor notices a selection of Michael Wheeler on one of the middle shelves at perfect eye level. His desk is cluttered with papers, though it looks like it is an organized sort of chaos. He has a couch that sits opposite the desk. It has a soft-looking blanket folded across the back and an assortment of pillows and plushes taking up much of the sitting space.

What catches Taylor's eye is the pin board hanging just beside the door. It is just as covered as the surface of the desk. There are a couple of fading children's drawings, a birthday card with the beginnings of a bad joke on the front, and a bunch of photos of people Taylor doesn't recognize. In the middle of the cluttered board are three photos pinned in a neat, tidy column. The top and bottom are of six people, taken probably 10 or 15 years apart. In the top one, the younger version of the group is standing in a row, arms around each other, grinning at the camera. Taylor recognizes the two in the very center; a young Ms. Buckley and Coach H are leaning into each other, pulling their friends in closer on either side. In the one on the bottom, they are all older but, in a way, the same. They've paired off, each couple kissing dramatically for the camera. On the right, Coach Harrington is being dipped back by a man with long curls pulled back into a messy bun. In the center, Ms. Buckley and a woman with a short bobbed cut each have both hands holding their partner's face. The two men on the left, one with short brown hair and the other with a mane that reaches halfway down his back, are flipping off the camera, hands held out low enough that their audience can still see them kissing.

It's the photo between these two, though, that really draws Taylor's attention. It's clearly a professional picture - six gold rings in a circle, displayed on a gnarled stump with bits of greenery in the background. The rings are three distinct pairs, each set across from each other in the circle. The first pair, the thinnest, set at the top and bottom, have been fashioned to look like vines with impossibly intricate leaves and flowers. Taylor knows Ms. Buckley wears one of these. The next clockwise are of a more medium width and have a spiral seam and tiny frays to make them look like rope. The final pair is the most familiar to Taylor; thick, golden chain links. One of those is Coach Harrington's.

"That one's been nicknamed 'the rings of power'," Coach H says, materializing beside her to examine the photos, too.

"Who took it?"

"Jonathan Byers," Coach H says easily.

Taylor's eyes nearly bug out of their head. "Like, the famous photographer?" Taylor, an amateur photographer themself, discovered Jonathan Byers and his work a few years ago and had loved it all. "You actually know him? For real?"

"I actually know him for real. He's in these other two photos."

Taylor stares at the top photo for a moment before the realization of what that fact could mean hits them. "Are you married to Jonathan Byers?! Is that him?" Taylor takes a closer look at the curly-haired man, trying to remember if they've ever seen a picture of Jonathan Byers.

Coach chuckles and shakes his head. "No," he says with a grin, "but he'd be amused to know you think so. That's Jon." He points to the man on the far right side of the first photo. He's the one with the short haircut. "This is my husband." Coach points instead to the man with the wild curls. "Eddie Munson. He's the front man of Corroded Coffin." He begins to point out the other three. "That's Jon's husband, Argyle. He owns a food truck. You might have seen it downtown. You already know Robin. That's her wife, Nancy Wheeler. Nance is a freelance journalist."

"Wheeler?" That can't be a coincidence. "Holy shit," Taylor says, unable to hold back a disbelieving laugh. "The rumors are true."

"Which ones?" Coach asks with an amused, knowing smile.

"The ones about you knowing a bunch of famous gays!"

Coach laughs at that. "I guess? I knew them before the fame. We sorta grew up together. We all ended up being in the public eye pretty abruptly in the mid-eighties. Lots of interviews and publicity. It all kinda spiraled, and now, some of us are - well." He shrugs. "You can Google it."

"Wait," Taylor says, shrugging their backpack off their shoulder and pulling their notebook out. This is the reason Taylor is here in the first place; interviews with a few of the favorite teachers for the school newspaper. But this is starting to sound like so much more than a simple "fun facts" kind of interview. "Can I just ask you? This stuff is best straight from the source."

"Sure."

"This is so cool. So, what's the real story behind the guitar?"

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #argyle stranger things #jonathan byers #will byers #mike wheeler #el stranger things #jargyle #steddie #ronance #spicy six #fan fiction #dyno writes

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kenmjiro · 1 year

Text

Secrets after class

¡Teacher!Rick Grimes(Aus) x ¡student! fem reader

inspiration: Secrets after class by comino inc.

Summary: you find your teacher sleeping peacefully in his office. While you wait you stumble upon a manuscript. A manuscript where the writing style seems awfully familiar...

TWS: Dramas, age gap, provocation,suspense, Romantinc comedy, Schoollife, Taboo, HighSchool

love is one of those thing that people can't really control.

One day you meet someone and the next you are hit with the realization that you are in love with them.

Being in love is a wonderful thing;however,what do you do if you fall in love with someone who is off limits to you?

I'm a book loving Junior in High School.

my love for books led me to join the Literature Club. The club is of course the best thing ever! It's full of exciting adventure,dreams,books,smiles! It just lacks one thing ...members. Yeah, sadly there are only two members in the club. My teacher and myself. But this year, I will changer that!

Have l mentioned that l'm head over heels in love with my teacher?

Moving right along! New year, new style!

“That's all for today, class. Be careful on your way homer everyone!” hearing my home room teacher's dismissal, l shot up from my desk.

“I have a meeting with the Literature Club today so l got to got” l thought as ready to leave, they give mee a slight touch on the shoulder

“Y/N”

“Whoa, maggie, what's up?” lt's my childhood friend Maggie Greene. We've been in the same classes since Kindergarten.

l have few friends, but she is one who truly gets me and is also a total bookworm. She is like the sister l never had. “Lemme guess, club meeting?”

“Yup! Today, l'm going to get permission to recruit new members!”

“Oh, that's right, you gotta have permission now because of that one incident, huh?”

Scrunching up my face, l nodded bitterly. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

*Sigh* “That teacher is unexpectedly tough, given his sweet appearance.”

“lt just didn't end well last time... However!Today is the day that l will get permission!” Speak decisively.

“ohhhh...well...l guess, you cant't come then.” Maggie shoulders drop.

“Huh? Come where?” l frowned.

“They cancelled basketball practice because they are using the gym for something else. So l wanted us to go to the bookstore with glen.” Glen is another classmate and childhood friend. the three of us are often together.

Glen and Maggie are couple.

They often worry that l'll be left by myself so they invite me along to wherever they go. But l am fine not joining them since l always feel like the third wheel.

“Nah, l'm good. You go ahead.”

“Wait, why? l need you go to with. You chose a great book for me last time. l want you to choose another one for me! so you really can't” Maggie dipped her head and stared up at me with big puppy eyes.

“That doesn't work on me anymore, nice try though.” Maggie puppy eyes turned into a full on pout.

“l ready promissed my teacher that l'd show at the meet today. l can't just ditch las minute.”“Besides, l want to get permission to recruit new members as soon as possible.” l thought as l bit my lower lip and looked at maggie back.

l don't know how long it is going to take to convince the teacher to get that magic ticket. So, it's a no from me dawg. But have fun with Glen”

“You know... l had hoped to hear about Andrew Lincoln's work from you today...”

“Staaaph! You know Andrew lincoln is my favorite author!”

“Ok,ok. But next time will you go with?” Maggie looked serious waiting for an affirmative answer.

“Yes! l promise.”

“Alright! l'm gonna hold you to that!”

“l won't let you down! For now, l have to go convince this teacher!

“Haha,good luck!”

With a last wave at maggie, l took off for the language department where my teacher was expecting me.

*knock knock*

“Huh? What's going on?” l stand with my hand still in the air after knocking the door. “l thought l told the teacher that l was coming today” l knocked on the office door again, but there still was no response.

“whats should l do?.... should l go inside” The teacher has never been late before. l wonder if something happened to him.

“Well, if anything, if he's not there, l can check the teacher's lounge. if the door is unlocked l can just wait in here.” l carefully opened the door

“Hello? mr. grimes?” The room was fairly dark, so l turned on the lights. That's when l saw a person slouched in chair at the back of the room

lt is my language teacher, Rick Grimes. He is also an advisor and a member of the Literature Club to which l belong. “Um... teacher rick?”

“ls he sleeping? During school hours?” Looks like he's asleep. “Wow, he looks completely out of it” Seeing his sleeping face, only one thought occurs to me: this is a side of him l never get to see.

“His skin is so fair and his eyelashes so long, He looks so peaceful. He's always calm and smiling. No wonder he's so popular with the ladies.”

But it's not just his looks that makes him popular. He is also an amazing teacher and cares for his students. lt's amusing though, before class starts, you always see all the girls batting their eyelashes at him. Heh

l really shouldn't be talking though...

.... Because l like him too.

l might even go so far as to say it was love at first sight.

l remember the day when l first requested to join the Literature Club. l looked up and saw his sweet smile. His first words were, “Thank you for coming, l'm happy you are here.”

“...Of course my teache does not know about my crush.” Since l'm a student, l need to make sure l keep these felings in check. “l don't want to cause any problems.”

l sat down in a chair across from a sleeping Rick. “He's sleeping so soundly, it doesn't look like he's going to wake up any time soon.”

“Hm... what should l do?”... “Since he's sleeping so well, l guess l'll let him be and just hang out a while.” “ln the meantime, l can think of how to persuade mr. grimes and how to recruit new members!”

“Actually lemma write the ideas down.” As l'm reaching for my bag, something catches my eye. A stack of papers is randomly placed on my teacher's desk.

lt seemed to be a manuscript of some sort that belonged to my teacher, given that the handwriting was similar. “ls this novel professor wrote... l didn't know he whote novels”

“l want to take a peek, but l really shouldn't read it without permission...But...just a teensy tiny peek shouldn't hurt, right? Just a page or two? l glance over at rick. He is still sleeping soundly.

“...Dear literary gods, please don't strike me down for being unable to contain my curiosity. Teach, forgive me, l just must know!” As l prayed for forgiveness from every deity, l picked up the manuscript.

The shorts story written from a male perspective was about 4000- characters long and spanned about 10 sheets. l of course read the entire thing in one go. “Did he write this”

Suddenly, l saw a movement in the comer of my eye.

“Ahem...”

The manuscript was lifted out of my hand. when l looked up, l saw that Rick had woken up at some point.

“Y/n, well, what's going on here? Do you always go around reading other people's private work... Perhaps l shouldn't have left it out in the open, but that's besides the point. ”

“l'm sorry. That was really rude of me.” As l apologized l was still staring at the manuscript that my teache was holding. “Not to impose even more, but can l,um, ask you about that? Did you write that?

“I did...-

“Sr. rick! lt' s phenomenal!!

“Wha-?”

Excited l stepped up to mi teacher “The world is so enveloping and you can feel the anguish and pain of the protagonist! It's written absolutely beautiful way” “the writing style resembles my favorite author, Andrew Lincoln, in every way!

Andrew Lincoln is a romance novelist who is very popular among the younger generation. He mainly writes young adult romance novels from a male perspective. Many of his works are very emotional and sad.

“On, that's right, you are a fan of Lincoln” l excitedly clapped my hands in front of me and rapidly nodded my head.

“Yes!!! A thousand times yes! l absolutely love that author! His work is incredible and has me in tears every time! l also love the fact that everything surrounding him is so mysterious. There is nothing about author himself anywhere. All we know is that he writes beautiful novels.”

“l see...” Whenever Lincoln is mentioned, Rick doesn't show much enthusiasm.

“Sr. rick, do you not care for this author? Whenever he is mentioned you seem very uninterested.”

“Ah, l'm sorry. l didn't mean to give off that impression.” Rick put the manuscript away in his desk drawer and turned to look at me. “ By the way, wasn't there something you wanted to discuss”

“Oh! Right! Right! l came to get permission!

“ls it for recruiting new members?”

“Yes!!!” nod frantically.

Rick sighed and nodded. “We discussed this before, but l will remind you that l will only accept motivated and interested students. l do not want the Literature club to become a ''Resume filler'' or hangout for unsavory people.”

“l know, l know, that's why l'm here to talk about that”sighed and nodded

“lt's not going to be easy to convince me.”

“But if we don't recruit more members the club will go extinct.”

“l understand this, but it is still better than having students not take it seriously.”

“Well, if you say so...

The teacher's words reminded me of the incident that happened previously.

Soon it was only teacher and myself.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop

“l just want to have a few more members and be able to advertise for the club”

“Y/N, l think just the two of us are perfectly fine. We don't need a lot of members to make the club interesting. Don't you think so?”

“lt's not that...”

In fact l love having Rick all to myself.

We haves so much fun every meeting that l look forward to them. But l wanted new members as much as l wanted to spend time alone with rick.

Because... “l really want other people to talk to about the books l read. l want someone who love Andrew Lincoln's work as much as l do and is enthusiastic about discussing it!”

Reading is something you do on your own, but discussion about a book is something that requires other people. l enjoyed talking to my peers about the books l read.

Of course l can talk to Rick but it's different. with him, we can discuss everything BUT Andrew Lincoln's work. And that is something l really, really want to discuss with others.

Since rick isn't interested in Lincoln's work, there is no point talking to him about it. “So l really want new members!”

“l see. l didn't realize how much you wanted to have more students in the club.” Rick sat deep in thought looking at me.

“l think l almost have him. Just a little more persuasion...” l was ready to fire off another reason as to why we need new members when..

Ding! Ding!

“ Rick Grimes, you have a phone call, please come to the staff office.” Rick was called over the school intercom, which effectively ended our conversation.

“alright. l understand why you wish to have new members. Let us think of ways to recruit members who are enthusiastic. l need to take this phone call. l will be right back.” With a smile, Rick took off.

“Great! looks like l got through to him, but damn that interruption!” “It's a step in the right direction though! Well, while he is taking his phone call,l'll just wait there for him to get back.” While waiting, l decide to take a look around the room.

A large bookshelf stood against the wall. lt was overfilled with books. There were so many in fact, that they were stacked in front of other books in little towers.“ The departament buys so many books that they are running out of room to store them”

Looking around a bit more it occurs to me that rick is not very tidy“ perhaps professor is just too busy to take the time and straighten up”

Since we use this as a club meeting room, l also tidy up every so often, but since it is the teacher's office, l can't straighten up and throw out stuff as much as l want. “Well, l guess for now l can get rind of this... Why is there a big cardboard box blocking the entrance anyway? lsn't some this some sort of fire code violation?”

l try to pick up the box, which is full of envelopes and documents. lt is much heavier than l had expected. “Good grief, what is in this thing?” l manage to lift the box into the air, but as soon as l did several envelopes that were on top crashed to the floor. “Ah crap“

One envelope wasn't properly sealed and the contents spilled all over the floor. “Crap,crap,crap!! What if this is some super duper important doc and l just got all the pages mixed up! I'm like so dead!”

“Huh? What is this” l took a closer look at the scattered documents. The handwriting seemed familiar. There was no doubt that these documents were written by Rick. “Oh! rick, did you actually write a full length novel?!”

l had just read a short story earlier that was written by my teache. l absolutely loved it. Needless to say l was dying to read this!

“Ugh.. but the JUST scolded me for reading his papers without permission. l would feel violated if someone did this to me so l'm going to go ahead and put this back. Alright, in you go buddy!” As l was sliding the manuscript into the envelope the author's name sprung out at me.

“What the hell? Andrew Lincoln? l slid the manuscript back out of the envelope and quickly flipped through the pages. The handwriting was all the same. “No way...” A million thoughts went through my head all at once.

Nobody knows anything about Lincoln's private life or where he is based out of. why is one of this manuscripts here?. There has to be logical explanation. “ Is my teache--

“What are you doing y/n”

“AHHH!!”

l was so shocked at reading my favorite author's name that l didn't hear the door open behind me. When l turned around l saw Rick stantiong at the door with a faint smile on this face.

l felt like a hundred flashing neon arrows were pointing at me blinking “GUITY!”“GUILTY”.

How the hell was l going to explain myself out of this one? Rick stepped in front of me, l made a desperate attempt as l turned to face my teache.

“Uh... h-hi! Um... you see, what had happened was. l was trying to clean and the box tumbled and spilled the manuscript everywhere... l'm sorry. l tried to collect it all...”

“And then?” Rick looked at me in a serene but threatening way.

“Then?”

“What did you see?” My teache closed the door and stepped in front of me.

“See? what did l see?” l stepped back instinctively as Rick comer closer.

“y/n, please be honest, what did you see?

“Well... the manuscript... the name... Er.. well... could.. you.. maybe be the novelist Andrew Lincoln?”

“......” The silence felt endless and l quickly regretted blurting out that assumption.

A thought occurred to me..l have been fawning over Andrew Lincoln to my teache for how long now? l practically confessed my love for him in front of my teache. l spilled everything from how much l love Lincoln's work, how much it makes me cry, how my heart absolutely longs for him.

lt is stuff would absolutely never ever tell the actual author himself “But... l mean that'd be ridiculous, right? Him being Andrew Lincoln... At least l really hope it's not him... l would be mortifiel and could neve show my face at his school again.”

l swallowed thickly and meekly looked up at Rick who was staring intensely at me. my teacher's demeanor had completely changed.

“Hmmm....” Rick let out a small sigh which made my bangs ruffle.

as l loocked at my teacher through my bangs, it occured to me that he was acting completely different front usual. “What if was Andrew Lincoln? What would you do then?”

Rick tone changed. He no longer presented himself like my teacher. lt was more of a predator having trapped its prey.“l...l don't know if l would... believe that.”

“Ah.. Well you see... l am Andrew Lincoln”

“No... way...” He stared at me.

“Why would l lie to you, you're holding the proof right in your hand.” l glanced at the manuscript in my hand.

“Whoa!”

l'm so aghast that my hand involuntarily loosens around the manuscript. Rick grabs my hand. “Don't drop that. lt still needs to be delivered to the publisher today.” l nod like l'm on autopilot. “Well then, y/n”

“U-um...yes?”

Rick steps closer towards me. l instinctively step back, but my back hits upon a solid surface. l forgot the bookshelf was right behind me.

my teacher takes another step towards me. “What's happening?”

l glance at the door and make a movement towards it. Suddenly Rick arm is in my line of sight. He has trapped me between himself and the bookshelf. “Not so fast, y/n. So... the teacher you admire and novelist you worship are the same persona... what are you going to do now?

l look up at my teacher who has an imperious smile on his face

My day started so ordinary.....

what have l gotten myselft into?!?

part 2???

#the walking dead #rick grimes #andrew lincoln #fanfic #oneshot #tv series #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes fic #twd rick #rick grimes twd #twd fanfiction #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes oneshot #kenmjiro

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noahhwcng · 24 days

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closed starter @samiraxiyer

location: lincoln park

Noah sat on the park bench, his eyes fixed on Zephyr and Lyra as they clambered up the jungle gym. He glanced at Samira, another parent he'd come to know through these park visits. Her daughter, Maya, was playing with his twins. He couldn’t lie—he was grateful for the companionship of someone who understood the unique challenges of single parenthood. "They grow up so fast, don't they?" he mused, a smile playing on his lips. "It feels like just yesterday I was changing their diapers, and now they're scaling that thing like little monkeys." He chuckled, his mind drifting to the whirlwind of changes that had brought him back to Wilmington. "Is it weird that this place feels foreign? And I grew up here."

#noah && samira 01 #//i hope this is okay bby! <3

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wannab-urs · 1 year

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The Spreadsheet Digest - Fic Recs | Vol 4

Hi lovely followers! Here are all the fics I read this week with my attached notes!

As always, you can find the full spreadsheet here! This week I decided to keep my new fics separate from the list AND I added some fics from before I started doing the digest (these won't have notes because I didn't used to do that lol).

Remember to check warnings on all fics before proceeding! I read a wide range of ratings...

Begging a Dieter one shot by @absurdthirst

-> Subby Dieter is my favorite thing on the planet and this is just... so fucking good. The whimpering and whining and absurd bargaining? Gimme gimme.

KitKat in the Minibar a Dieter one shot by @sneetsnootyoit

-> Dieter eating pussy in various situations inspired by an ask I did for someone else!! It's so cool that someone saw an ask I did before I started writing and turned in into a fic.

Watch you watch him f*ck his wife a Javi G one shot by @toxicanonymity

-> What if Nicholas Cage actually watched you fuck Javi G? Why am i into this? Why is Nick into this? What is wrong with us collectively as a species? brb reading again

Left in Lincoln a Joel series by @toxicanonymity

-> I usually don't go for super innocent or virgin reader fics because I uh... cannot relate. But I am really really into Joel in this. I want him to teach me everything. Also Bill and Frank being your dads is so fun

The Things We Do For Love a Frankie one shot by @beskarberry

-> I am aggressively not a breeding kink girlie and can occasionally get a little freaked out by fics that discuss pregnancy.... BUT!!! Someone sent this to me and I saw that it was supposed to be a realistic and funny fic. Perfect for Frankie and I love funny sex... and I adored this. I kind of scrolled past or ignored all the baby talk, but the actual sex reminded me of ya know... actual sex. So breeding kink girlies this one's for you!

Cherry Flavoured a Dieter one shot by @pedrito-friskito

AH my favorite kind of Dieter! Pathetic druggie asshole. I wish I was kidding, I am so down bad for him. This would make an excellent series...

Satellite a Javi P one shot by @jksprincess10

-> You try not to fuck your boss Javi Peña and like obviously you fail at that. And it's really hot

Dressed For Revenge a Joel series by @jksprincess10

-> Listen I happen to know this fic is going to blow your fucking mind. So read the prologue + first chapter, follow, turn on post notifs, and wait to be obliterated.

A kiss before dying and in death we combine a Joel one shot by @oonajaeadira

-> Stumbled across this because someone reblogged it gushing and then obviously I reblogged it gushing. Major Character Death warning but if you're going to read a fic where it happens, this is the one. I sobbed in my bed at 3 am and it was WORTH IT

Good. Things. Take. Time. a Pedro ATS series by @oonajaeadira

-> A mutual sent this to me because they know I love Adira's work. I haven't even seen Calls, had to google what Pedro Across the Street was, etc. But as far as I know this is an AU? Idk it doesn't matter. I love a smut marathon. A smut marathon with a beautiful story arc and the smut never gets boring even though it's over 20 parts? sign me up.

Chest Press a Joel series by @toxicanonymity

-> Dark!Joel/personal trainer!Joel getting a little too handsy at the gym. You pretend you aren't into it but like... who are we kidding it's Joel Miller. You're into it. And he can tell.

Night Shift a Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

-> Based on Nightshift by Lucy Dacus (of boygenius). This is so good. Sadness/Angst/Heartbreak for like a couple thousand words but you're rewarded with smut... and we all know I love angst anyway lmao

Tommy's Hard Day a Joel/Tommy one shot by @toxicanonymity

-> Tommy had a hard day, so Joel asks you to help him feel better... Let's take a trip to Paris babies

Red Lace a Javi P one shot by @jksprincess10

-> This is hitting on so many of my fantasies rn... we got bondage, thigh riding, office sex, dirty talk... and more. Kill me I could die happy

------- Fics that I read a while ago -------

All our candles are burned out a Dieter/Frankie one shot by @psychedelic-ink

The Ethics of Forging Masterpieces an Ezra one shot by @write-and-buried

Good Soldier a Frankie one shot by @mishasminion360

Reflective a Max Phillips one shot by @prolix-yuy

Palomino a Jack series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Spent a Din one shot by @joelscruff

-------- My New Fics ---------

Burn Slowly / I Love You - a smutty and angsty Frankie (abandoned) series

Perfecta, mi amor - soft dom!Javi one shot

Thunder Buddies - a fluffy joel one shot

Anything for you, babe - a smutty Frankie one shot

#fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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taergalive · 2 months

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Random Things That Existed While Alastor Was Still Alive

Electric Irons

Electric Washing Machines

Electric Dishwashers

Electric Refridgerators

Vacuum Cleaners

Automobiles

Sewing Machines

Pop-up Toasters

Band-Aids (like the legit brand)

Bulldozers

Television (It existed but was not widely utilized. Hard to come by but it existed!)

Traffic Lights

Escalators

Lie Detectors

Teddy Bears

Neon Lights

Crayons

Windshield Wipers

Cornflakes

Helicopter

Instant Coffee

Binder Clips

Electric Blankets

Jungle Gyms

Hair Dryers (though they were awful)

Water Skiing

Reuben Sandwich

Drive-Thru Restaurants

Garbage Disposal

Lifesaver Candy

Crossword Puzzles

Ecstasy

Bras

Batteries

Disposable Razors

Gas Masks

X-Rays

Marshmallow Fluff

Dimmer Lights

Hamburgers

Kool-Aid

Corn Dogs

Ice Cube Trays

Reclining Armchairs

Clip-on Ties

Tampons

Eyelash Curlers

Sunglasses

Cheesesteaks

Chocolate Chip Cookies

Electric Guitars

Toilet Brushes

Lincoln Logs

Super Markets

Grocery Bags

Blender

Modern Zipper

Fortune Cookies

Bug Zappers

Reese's Peanut Butter Cups

Twizzlers

Air Conditioning

Tommy Guns

Dum Dums

Butterfingers

7Up

Milkyways

Insulin

3D Movies

Frozen Food

Self Winding Watches

Spiral Notebooks

Loudspeakers

PEZ Candies

Steamboat Willy Cartoon

Instant Cameras (where the picture would develop instantly)

Wonderbread

Sliced Bread!

Heinz Ketchup

Aunt Jemima Pancake Flour

Rice Krispies'

Klondike Bars

Technicolor (Colored Movies)

Aerosol Cans

Paper Towels

Candy Apples

Bubble Gum

Electric Shavers

Car Radios

Yo-Yos

Scotch Tape

FM Radio (created the year Alastor died)

#hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #Alastor #This is not a complete list of course #I just picked random things that I thought were interesting or surprising to exist back then

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duckies27 · 5 months

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So I know the teens technically only really have one outfit (excluding Norm), but I wanted to draw some other ones!

This one is a personal favorite, I feel like the outfits are very fitting. Scary is in a tank top and flannel, Taylor is in some old anime shirt and gym shorts, Lincoln is just in soccer themed PJ pants, and Normal is in and oversized teenie shirt with normal black shorts. Taylor also has Crocs and Normal has slippers :)

Taylor: It's 2 am!

Next up is PE! Basically everyone is just in variations of a school uniform (very common in America for High Schools that have required gym wear), so this was more a practice of posing and creating character interactions.

Taylor: I'm literally disabled!

Scary: I don't want to play!

As much as I love the formal outfits given to each character, I can't draw a gundem, I can't draw a giant Teenie, so uh, I made new outfits! Just general cute vibes, Scary and Lincoln are on a date while Taylor and Normal can't go Stag and couldn't find a date. Is this a Teen High dance? Or something more fancy? You decide.

Finally I wanted to dress everyone up in the outfits from the Odyssey Campaign! I was running out of space on the page so they're really tiny, but look how cute!!!

I don't know how other people see Taylor's disability (but I know the majority of the fandom has some different idea), but with my very little knowledge I'm giving him a bad leg. Most likely weak hip joints or something similar, I need to do more research though. I gave him an arm crutch, similar to @gamsdoodles, I hope I'm doing this right!

#artists on tumblr #dungeons and daddies #dndads #dndads season 2 #taylor swift dndads #normal oak #scary marlowe #lincon li wilson #outfit changes #outfit practice #traditional art #sketches #just for fun

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sunburstlink · 4 months

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wow, this place was truly something else.

lincoln absolutely hated that there were no women here. sure, there were nymphs but, something about them had him worried that they'd cast something evil against him for his usual antics. so instead, he decided to go for a little nighttime jog to help clear his mind. he'd have to find himself a gym or something because he felt like he wasn't himself if he didn't have a place to lift, throw, or toss something heavy around.

without skipping a beat, link turned a corner and slammed himself — hard into a stranger. " yo, buddy. get up. i didn't hit you that hard, did i? " he hadn't thought it, but the man was like a brick wall. lincoln offered a hand, slightly peeved that the other could be so careless. [ @duckandash ]

#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔫𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔷 › interactions #( c: axel 01 )#( son of hermes )#duckandash

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bitterbrained · 5 months

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𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐬 ―

an introduction.

NAME malcolm angus hayes NICKNAMES mac + mal + hayes AGE thirty-seven DATE OF BIRTH november 29th ZODIAC sagittarius sun + cancer moon + capricorn rising OCCUPATION coach + trainer at level four gym AFFILIATION enforcer for the mata haris HOMETOWN dundee, scotland TIME IN JAPAN five years

STRENGTHS honest + loyal + compassionate + principled + down-to-earth WEAKNESSES impulsive + reactive + stubborn + aggressive + disorganized

CHARACTER PARALLELS luke glanton ( the place beyond the pines ) + lincoln burrows ( prison break ) + daryl dixon ( walking dead ) + lip gallagher ( shameless ) + murtagh fraser ( outlander ) + jax teller ( sons of anarchy ) + brendan conlon ( warrior )

A BRIEF HISTORY.

trigger warnings: mentions of violence + drugs + physical assault + sex trafficking + implied sexual assault + murder ― reader discretion advised.

▷ born on the wrong side of a cold, damp city in southeast scotland, malcolm hayes enters this world an accident. a mistake. the result of a faulty contraceptive and a night of good, cheap fun? a missed period and a panic attack in the cramped single-serve bathroom stall of the convenience shop down the block. and, nine months later, a baby boy. his father surely has no plans of raising him, not beyond evading what meager payments the county requires of him, and his mother ― a young woman by the name of bonnie baird, a dancer at one of the clubs in town a few nights a week to get by ― struggles to get by. but she does. as an infant, he spends nights in a car seat in the back of the club, babbling at the dancers as they breeze by. a warning. there will be no baby fever here. she does her best to raise him, though, and he may grow up knowing struggle, but not for a lack of effort on her part.

▷ malcolm is only twelve years old when the trajectory of his life changes drastically and permanently on what would otherwise be a normal tuesday morning. he learns he has a brother. and, more than that, this brother is coming to live with him and his mum. jericho hayes, for as young as he is, invites pure and unadulterated chaos through the door the moment he scurries inside ; like a wild animal trapped in an enclosure, he lashes out. breaks things. malcolm understands this better than most, he thinks. he's angry too, after all. but his own rage is a quiet one, not so much dormant as it is deep-seated ― an acrid, pulsating heat that lives in in his core and swells with each day he learns a little more of the world. but he doesn't know his younger brother's anger ― he still has his mum, after all, seldom as he sees her ― and cannot condemn it. he doesn't try to housebreak the kid, but he does decide he'll look out for him the best he can. he didn't have anyone looking out for him, after all, and he wonders sometimes if maybe it wouldn't have helped.

▷ as much as malcolm tries to raise jericho, at the end of the day, the truth is that both of the hayes boys are raised by the streets. he drops out of school when he's fifteen. tall, strong, and hard-working, it's not hard to find work. but stocking shelves or getting a gig down at the shipyard don't cut it and he knows that. he tries for a while, but he's got bills to pay if he wants to help his mum ( and get her off the goddamn streets because he's old enough now to understand what she feels like she's got to do to try and provide for the two of them and he wants to put an end to it ) and make sure they've got more than just a roof over their head but enough food on their table to not go to bed hungry, enough hot water to actually feel clean. and he needs a car, too, fuck, because his mum surely hasn't had one in years.

▷ his mum tries her best to be discreet about her business and keep it out of the house as much as she can, malcolm sees this, but that doesn't mean men don't come through tracking mud day in and day out. malcolm recognizes a few, faces he sees more often ― at least a couple of times a week. one day, one of these men offers him a job. it's a simple one. deliver a package a couple of towns over for him. that's easy enough, he figures, but he doesn't have a car. no matter, they provide one for him. he doesn't ask what's in the package, just drops it off at the address he's been told. but he can't drive the car back. ❛ oh, and take this permit. leave yours. ❜ it seems strange, but there's a ticket for the rail on his phone before he's even got the time to question it. when he gets home, malcolm is paid in cash. a fair bit more than he's expecting, too. he's asked, would he like to do it again? the answer is yes. absolutely, he would.

▷ it doesn't take long for malcolm to figure out what he's delivering. he's not stupid. but after a few smooth runs, he's convinced himself it's a risk he's willing to take. how's he going to get caught? he's never been flashy. first thing he does once the cash flow starts to feel secure is buy a car, but it's not much of a sight to behold, even so : a dingy silver volkswagen that's got two years on him, but the wear isn't bad and the deal is even better. malcolm doesn't pretend to know much, but he suspects it's the perfect incognito vehicle and even says as much the next time he sees his boss. he's instructed to continue the vehicles provided and dropping them off at the disclosed locations. that's less toll on his own car and his pay's only getting better, so malcolm doesn't ask questions. for now, he thinks, the less he knows, the better. and he knows enough for the time being. sometimes, he takes jericho with him, if for no other reason than the knowledge he's not wreaking havoc in his absence. and if anyone's got issue, no one ever says shit to him for it.

▷ a few more years and malcolm might not know everything, but he knows a hell of a lot more. so it goes something like this : each time he goes on a run, he's getting a rented car ( and at this point, he's the one renting the cars ) from a dealership in any one of a handful of local cities under false credentials. he takes that car to the designated drop off location ― they're further now, all of them, and each run can take him an upwards of a day or more with several stops along the way ― and once all of his product has been dropped and payment collected, he ditches his fake documents and grabs the first train that'll take him close enough to dundee, and there's someone waiting to pick him up the moment he steps off. standing at well over six feet tall and broad enough to eclipse near anyone who might stand in front of him, he seldom requires backup. less people, less mess.

▷ for a while, life actually seems like it might be pretty fucking good. trying to be smart about his shit means living within his means so he can dig his mum out of debt, and he does. in fact, he starts providing for her so she doesn't have to work at all. for the first time in what malcolm can only imagine is decades, she can know peace. and so, too, can he ― because he meets a woman. and he doesn't just meet her, either, he falls in love. he's not ever been able to maintain something serious, not before now, but there's something about her that makes an honest man out of him. well, as honest as a criminal can be. it's a shotgun wedding, but malcolm knows he would've married her either way. the only difference is now he's got a wife and a son. bonnie never thought she'd live to see herself become a grandmother, and she spoils the grandchild that carries her son's name with more affection than she ever had the time or energy to devote to him and jer. malcolm fears this might make him angry, jealous, but it actually serves as a salve for his spirit. it heals something in him.

▷ the law finally catches up with malcolm on the eve of his twenty-sixth birthday. it's a raid and nobody is prepared. he's not even meant to be there, for fuck's sake ― he was supposed to be out on a run, but they've given him a night to get pissed and celebrate and sent docherty out in his place, lucky prick ― and yet, he's sat absolutely fucking plastered on the sofa in the center of it all when the damn polis come kicking down the door. when it's all said and done, they manage to snag him and six of his brothers. malcolm doesn't try to fight when they throw him in the back of a van, not once they've already got him. even drunk, he knows better ― he's not trying to aggravate more charges, and outside of existing in the wrong place at the wrong time that night, he knows they don't got shit on him.

▷ or, at least, that's what he thinks. turns out, they've got enough small, bullshit charges stacked against malcolm to lock him up for five years. of everyone that got busted that night, he manages to land the shortest sentence ― without a word against anyone, either, he's no snitch ― and even so, it seems his entire world manages to go to shit while he's on the inside. jericho gets into fighting ( and really, good on him, malcolm thinks, because the boy needs a consistent outlet for his excitability and anger ) and he's proud, but his leaving while malcolm's serving time means there's nobody at home to look out for his mum. she's got to go back to work, too ; he can't support her from the inside, not like he used to, and anybody he'd ask to keep eyes on her while he's in got thrown into the back of the same damn wagon.

▷ now, he doesn't know exactly what happened while he was on the inside ― only what his wife would tell him when she'd visit, but after a while even she stopped visiting, wouldn't pick up his calls, and for the last two years of his sentence, malcolm might as well have been getting radio silence from the outside world ― but he knows that when he gets out, it's not to a ride or a welcome home from a friend or a family member, but to the news that his mum's dead. been dead, as a matter of fact, for something like a couple of years. and wouldn't you know, not a single fucking soul seems to know what happened to her? malcolm finds that hard to believe. his wife and kid are gone, too, whole house boarded up. are those two things connected? couldn't say. for some reason, nobody wants to tell malcolm shit. that's fine. when's he ever relied on anybody but himself anyway?

▷ while he was locked up, malcolm tried to work on himself. figured it was the right thing to do ― learning how to practice patience, tolerance. and wouldn't you know he actually did a pretty damn good job of it? unfortunately, it turns out he can't seem to recall any-fucking-thing about forgiveness when it's his family on the line. all that growth? out the fucking door. he has to break in to his old house to get the emergency supplies he'd left stashed in the floorboards of the washroom long before he got busted, but it's all still there. the money, the documents. the gun. he pays in cash for a cheap motel room and works up a plan over a bottle of whisky. a few hours later, he breezes into a meeting ( his invitation to which has clearly been revoked ) and decides to shoot first, ask questions never. not like any of the fuckers were inclined to answer him the first time he asked, were they? seven men go down, security included. as he inspects their bodies in the aftermath, malcolm realizes he recognizes maybe half. the only face that really matters though, the bastard that used to pimp out his mother? he's there. malcolm unloads a few more rounds into him for good measure before making his exit.

▷ when he gets back to his room, he spends an hour in a scalding shower and tries to figure out the new plan from here. he needs to leave. if he stays, they'll find him and kill him. he may be wily, but he'll be lucky if he lasts a month. but he doesn't have anybody left in dundee, and he's barely got any money. what he does have is a phone number, and he doesn't even know if it'll ring after all these years or if his little brother has gotten a new one while he's been gone. it's a different kind of relief he feels when jericho picks up on the other line. little shit didn't even know he was supposed to be getting out. malcolm can't even be mad, though. how could he know? he doesn't like to make a habit of asking for handouts, for help, but if there's anyone he can trust, he knows it's jericho. kid's in japan now, says there's a job open there he could probably snatch up and he'll wire him some money, send him a ticket. it's more than malcolm could ever ask for, but it's also not something he's in any position to refuse. within twelve hours, he's in an airport, and he spends the flight to japan falsifying certifications that make him look more than qualified for the job. ( don't ask where he got the laptop, alright? he'll send it back to the original owner when he can, there's an address on the case. )

▷ malcolm ends up staying with with jericho for a few weeks after he gets to japan, long enough to get on his feet once he's secured the coaching position at level four gym. and coaching his own brother, no less ― he's just as hard-headed and volatile as malcolm remembers, but he'll be damned if he didn't miss it. it doesn't take long for him to get his own place, though, if for no other reason than that he doesn't need much. his flat is a tiny hole in the wall, one he's got to duck through the doorway to get into, but it's enough. it also happens to be located close enough to heaven's night that malcolm stumbles across the mata haris by chance ― he thinks he'd call it fate. the loss of his mother is still fresh when he finds them and their cause is one that strikes a chord close to his heart. it feels like the purpose he needs ; and, more than that, it feels like a way to honor his mother. ( had she been scared? did she yell out for help? did she yell out for him? ) to give support to a voice she never had. malcolm gives his life to the mata haris, all of his spare time and attention ; he is their muscle, a guard dog at their beck and call. and they almost fill the gnawing, gaping void in his chest left not only by his mum, but by his wife. his son. but much like searching for a needle in a haystack, he doesn't begin to know where to look for them. she never said a word. so he keeps his head down and tries to focus on the now. he's doing good. he's doing better. christ, it's just so hard to leave the past behind sometimes.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

▷ to be added.

#𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐌 𝐇𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐒 | intro #anarchicintro.#the way this actually got so obscenely long #it's literally all i've been working on today #thank u kit for the graphic ilysm ??#anyway one down one to go

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