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topguncortez · 9 months

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Ice comforting gooses sister after his death. Maybe with a touch of people blaming him for the accident

- @topgun-imagines

When We Were Young | | T. Kazansky

Masterlist | Iceman Masterlist

synopsis: Tom Kazansky isn't a man who lives with many regrets. . . but this has to be one of them, and sadly, you get wrapped up right in it.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: character death, tears, depression, angst, probably grammar and spelling errors.

note: maybe possible blurb night?? I don't have to work tonight and I actually feel inspiration:) i also did just hit 5.3k:)))

Ice felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

He knew what he did. He knew that he should’ve gotten out of there when Maverick told him. He knew that he didn’t have that shot lined up, but there was just something about Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell that got into his head and made him act reckless. And because of that, Iceman had to hold you up from crashing to the ground as you got the phone call from Carole that your brother was dead.

Ice knew that the two of you had an unbreakable bond. Your mother had passed when she gave birth to you, and your dad was in no shape to take care of you. So, it all fell onto Goose, who was just eight years old at the time. I’ve had always wished to have the type of brother-sister bond that you and Goose had. I’ve hated his siblings and wanted nothing to do with them.

Ice knew the moment that he watched Goose’s early ejection that he gone, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you. He wasn’t even sure if it would’ve been easier to hear it from him or not. Your knees had gone weak and sobs racked your body as you begged Carole to tell you that it wasn’t true. That somehow, someway the Navy had gotten it wrong. That they called and told the wrong Carole Bradshaw that the wrong Nicholas ‘Goose’ Bradshaw was dead.

When Ice decided he had enough of you sobbing uncontrollably on the kitchen he floor, he walked over to you, and gently put a hand on your shoulder.

“Baby, you need to breathe,” Ice said, as he gently pulled the receiver from your hand. Carole had long since hung up and the dial tone “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

He picked you up like you were nothing, carrying you with ease to your shared bed room for the time being. He changed you out of the clothes you were wearing, and slid on one of his Navy PT shirts, that was more of a dress than a shirt on you. He held you tightly against his chest, feeling the wetness from your eyes hit his skin. Ice ran circles up your back until the sobs faded to quiet whimpers.

--- --- ---

“They said it was quick.” Carole’s voice was barely above a whisper as you sat next to her in the day room of the barracks.

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours yet, and she had invited you to come with her to gather Goose's things. Carole wasn't sure that she could keep up a brave face in front of Bradley by herself, but you weren't sure if you were going to be much help either. It had only been about three hours since you had your last cry sesh, and you were feeling that all too familiar burning sensation in your chest again.

"I guess that's good," You muttered, looking over at Bradley who was flipping through the pages of some magazine which you weren't all too sure wasn't a Playboy.

"He was gone before he hit the water," Carole scoffed, "You know he always had a fear of the ocean ever since that trip to-"

"I know."

You didn't mean to cut Carole off, but you couldn't sit here and tell happy stories while your brother's best friend was collecting all of his things to give to his widow.

Hell, it didn't even feel right to call Carole a widow. The woman had barely turned 30.

It was silent for a moment, before Carole spoke up, "How was Ice last night?"

The sound of your boyfriend's callsign from her lips caught your attention, as you looked up from Bradley.

"Why do you ask?"

"He was in the air with Mav and Goose when. . . when it happened."

Now this was news to you.

But then you realized, you hadn't even bothered to see how this was affecting your boyfriend. Goose was the one who introduced the two of you back when he was at the academy. He tried doing the whole "older brother, stay away from my little sister" bit, but it was no use against Tom Kazansky's killer smile and your soft baby cow like brown eyes. Tom "Iceman" Kazansky was smitten from the moment he laid eyes on you and it had been history ever since.

"Did he say something to you?" You quietly asked Carole.

"I. . ." Carole started, and then sighed, "Maverick said something when he came and saw us. He said it was a mistake, that it was a stupid error. That he should've known-"

It was as if he knew they were discussing him, Iceman pulled the door to the day room open, standing in the doorway. He was dressed in his service khakis, ribbon rack and gold plating all perfectly shined. But you weren't looking at his perfectly done dress uniform, no, you were looking at the sad look in his baby blue eyes.

"Tom," Carole greeted, standing up from her chair. If there was one thing about Carole Bradshaw, it was that she was a hugger. It didn't matter if she was literally going through hell, she was going to hug you either way.

"Hi Carole," Ice greeted the woman, giving her a quick squeeze, before releasing her, "You guys been here long?" He was looking right at you, but you weren't sure what to even say to him. It had been a game of Tom Talks and you just look at him for the past couple days.

Carole looked between the two of you, before clearing her throat, "No, not long. Maverick is just gathering Goose's things," She turned to look at Ice again, "You should wait with us," She said softly to him.

Iceman nodded and walked over to where you were sitting with Bradley. The little boy smiled and reached for the man he considered another uncle. Usually, the sight of Iceman and Bradley made your heart do jumping jacks, but right now, it was as if a boa constrictor had found its way around it.

The four of you waited in painful silence, you staring at the silent movie playing on TV, until the door opened again, and Maverick stepped inside. Carole had managed to keep her tears at bay until she saw her husband's best friend.

Maverick, for lack of better words, looked like utter hell. His green eyes were full of sadness and guilt. He looked as though he hadn't slept a wink in days, and was about to collapse on the spot. In his hand, he held a simple copy paper box that had been filled with the rest of Goose's stuff. A Naval Officer had come by the day before and took all the things that rightfully belonged to the Department of the Navy.

"God, he loved flying with you, Maverick," Carole said, her voice cracking. You and Ice stood up, as Carole got out of her chair to greet him. She wrapped her arms around him, giving him a tight hug. You couldn't help the pang in your chest as he handed Carole the box.

"But he would've done it anyway... without you," Carole sighed, "He'd have hated it, but he would've done it." Maverick nodded. Carole gave him one more hug and a kiss on the cheek, before turning around and holding her hand out to Bradley, who ran to his mother in an instant. Her blues eyes looked up at you, and she gave you a sad smile, "We'll wait for you."

All you could do was nod. Leave it to Carole Bradshaw to know that you needed the truth more than anyone in this room. Once the door was shut and Carole was out of earshot, you looked at the two men standing in the room.

"What happened?" You asked.

"Baby, I already told-"

"No," You cut Tom off, and looked over at Maverick, "What happened?"

The brunette man gulped, looking quickly at Ice, before looking at you, "Ice was trying to take a shot on a boogey, but he was taking too long to get missile lock on it. I had the perfect shot lined up, but Ice needed to move out. I kept telling him to take the shot or move, but he wouldn't. And when he finally did, it was too late. We were in his jet wash. I lost control, went into a flat spin. . ." Maverick shook his head and looked at his shoes, "The ejection failed. Goose hit his head on the canopy. Killed him instantly."

Your brown eyes were filled with tears as you turned to look at Tom, whose jaw was clenched tightly, his eyes filled with regret and guilt.

"It was an accident-"

"If that's what you choose to believe," Maverick spat, "I think you were trying to teach me something and you got my best friend killed."

"I had the shot!"

"No you didn't!"

"Maybe, if you hadn't been flying so god damn close and not trying to swoop in and-"

"Oh piss off, Kazansky, you've been waiting for your moment to-

"Enough!" You yelled. Both men looked at you shocked that you had raised your voice. Compared to Goose, you were always the quiet one, sticking to stay in the corner while Goose liked to bet he center of attention.

"Baby, let's go-" Tom reached out to you, but you pushed away from him, "Y/N. . ."

You couldn't say it out loud, you were afraid of your heart would break in your chest. Instead, you shook your head and turned to Maverick.

"Take me home?"

The brown haired pilot nodded, putting his arm around your shoulders and ushered you out of the room.

Ice couldn't help the burning sensation of tears that welled up in his throat. He had heard the whispers of his fellow classmates for the past couple days. He knew what they were thinking, but to hear it said out loud, in front of the one person he didn't want knowing about what had happened that fateful day in the air, broke him. Tom knew he was already branded as ice cold, and now he was sure that he would never escape it.

Ice stood in the silent room for a moment, before turning on his heel and going back to work.

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darylas · 5 days

Text

Chapter 4 - Moonlight Serenade

John “Bucky” Egan x singer!fem!reader first ♫ previous ♫ next ♫ ao3

After the events of the last chapter, you are given an opportunity to speak to Bucky about what happened.

2.8k words

Warnings: Language, References to non-consensual drug use and attempted sexual assault

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

Buck Cleven sat in the front row in the briefing room, listening intently as Colonel Harding described the flight path for the day's mission. His best friend sat next to him, evidently not as focused as he’d normally be during a briefing. Buck looked down to see Bucky tapping his fingers on his leg in a quick, continuous rhythm. He knew it wasn’t the anticipation of the mission making his friend so restless.

Returning his gaze to the front of the room, Buck whispered, “I don’t think she’ll thank you for worrying about her if it makes you miss half the briefing and fail the mission.” Bucky said nothing but stopped tapping his fingers. He adjusted his sheepskin jacket and ran a hand through his hair.

Bucky had told him what happened a few nights ago at the pub. How he’d known as soon as you stood up from the table that something was wrong. He’d gone to Millie Vance to ask about you and she’d immediately asked him to help her find you. She had asked him with playful annoyance in her voice but urgency in her eyes and a tight grip on his arm. He’d told Buck about finding you drugged six ways to Sunday and gripping Tom Foyle’s arm like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Buck thought that Foyle should count himself lucky he got away with only a broken nose.

The only other thing Bucky had told him about that night was that Millie took you back to base and said you’d recover after a day. Buck had a growing suspicion that there was something Bucky was leaving out, but perhaps it was to respect your privacy.

Outside, after the briefing, Bucky looked toward the Clubmobile. Millie was handing out coffee and doughnuts. “I’m hungry, you hungry?” said Bucky, making a beeline toward the Clubmobile without waiting for an answer. Buck followed, walking more slowly. By the time he caught up, Millie was leaning out the window talking to Bucky.

“...fine, just taking the morning off. She’ll be here tomorrow, but I doubt she’s singing tonight.” Bucky thanked her and turned to go without a doughnut or coffee. Millie said, “Wait, Bucky!” She turned to say something quietly to the girl serving coffee next to her and nodded toward the back of the vehicle. Bucky went back there, hands on his hips. Buck couldn’t hear what they were saying, but saw Millie place a gentle hand on Bucky’s arm while smiling sympathetically. Bucky nodded, taking his hands off his hips and putting them in his jacket pockets.

Bucky rejoined his friend and they headed toward the jeeps. “Wanna tell me?” asked Buck.

Bucky looked down as he answered, “She was just reminding me that anything she said that night meant nothing. That it was, uh, an effect of whatever that prick put in her drink.” Buck watched his friend’s face contort in rage for a moment before relaxing again.

“Did she say something to you?”

His friend finally met his eyes. “Yeah. I guess she got confused. Or maybe the damn pill or whatever brought out her honesty. I don’t know.”

“Maybe you oughtta talk to’er.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Bucky smiled bitterly. “Just gotta drop some bombs first.”

═════ ♫ ═════

Bucky walked slowly toward the barracks, his feet crunching on the gravel. He could hear the distant cacophony of the maintenance crews working on the planes a ways away, and briefly thought about joining them. He had no idea how to fix a fort that had been torn apart by gunfire, but he knew if he went straight to bed, sleep would not find him.

He squinted at his watch in the darkness. 0200. He’d gone with the boys to the pub after the mission, but couldn’t find it in himself to join in the fun. He’d sat there, distracted, gazing at the empty piano across the pub. Suddenly he’d had the urge to get out of that place and return to base. Now, Bucky felt aimless as he walked alone, thinking of you and hoping you were alright. Thinking about the men–boys–he’d lost today. It wasn’t what top brass would consider a devastating loss, but he couldn’t imagine the families of the fallen would feel the same way. These were lives; human lives. Gone in a second, if they were lucky. Did anyone care? Did anyone realize? He certainly hadn’t known the extent of it before experiencing it himself, and it was only getting worse.

Perhaps he’d left the pub too early. He needed another drink.

Before these thoughts could drag him further into…whatever it was he was feeling, the faint sound of music quieted them and made him stop walking. He glanced upwards and noticed the warm light and music pouring out of the officer's club through one of the windows. It should have been closed by this time; someone must have been in there cleaning up.

Somehow, Bucky knew. His legs carried him toward the music before the idea even materialized in his head.

═════ ♫ ═════

You gathered black and red pieces off the floor beneath the checkers table, humming along to the gramophone in the corner. As you stood up to place the pieces in their designated containers, the song ended, the gramophone filling the room with a crackling sound before beginning the next track: Moonlight Serenade.

You approached the billiards table and began collecting the long wooden cues, singing softly as you worked.

I stand at your gate and the song that I sing is of moonlight

I stand and I wait for the touch of your hand in the June night

The roses are sighing a Moonlight Serenade

You set the cues on racks attached to the wall, swaying your body to the music as you continued to sing.

The stars are aglow and tonight how their light sets me dreaming

My love, do you know that your eyes are like stars brightly beaming?

I bring you and sing you a Moonlight Serenade

You ran your hand across the soft green felt of the table before reaching into one of the leather pockets to retrieve a ball. You had just pulled out the white cue ball when a low voice came from the doorway.

“I didn’t know that song had lyrics.”

You jumped, startled, and dropped the ball. It fell to the floor before you could catch it, the sound of the impact resembling a shotgun blast.

“Whoa! I’ve never been much of a billiards guy but I’m pretty sure those aren’t the kind of balls you throw. You alright?” Bucky asked, walking into the room.

You leaned down to pick up the ball, your nervous surprise at seeing him briefly replaced by exasperation. “I’m fine. You really do have a habit of sneaking up on me, don’t you?” You stood back up and looked at him. Just the sight of his face filled you with waves of guilt and embarrassment.

Bucky put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. If only I could have that same luck with the Germans.”

“I’d like to think I wouldn’t have been startled if you’d approached me in a flying fortress,” you said, leaning against the billiards table.

Bucky snorted softly and nodded. “What are you doing here so late?” he asked. “And by yourself? Are you…feeling better?”

“That’s a lot of questions.”

“What can I say? I’m a curious guy.”

You collected another ball from the pocket you were leaning next to. “I’m feeling fine. I needed to get moving again. I try to request a cleaning shift whenever I can. I like the peace and quiet. I can just put on a record and, I don’t know…unwind, I suppose.”

“I think I can understand that,” Bucky responded, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. A new track began playing, Blue Orchids. He cleared his throat and asked, “Can I, uh, can we talk?”

At the same time, you said, “I think we should talk.” You both chuckled awkwardly before you nodded.

Bucky walked further into the room, stopping to lean against the ping-pong table across from you. You moved to turn off the music, but he quickly said, “Don’t. I mean, it’s nice.” He didn’t elaborate further; you returned to your spot across from him.

“I owe you an apology,” you blurted out. Bucky started to shake his head but you continued. “Yes, I do. Millie told me what happened. What you did for me and…how I responded. I guess I owe you a ‘thank you’ on top of my apology. I can’t believe I…I can’t believe he…” You turned your head to the side, feeling angry tears threatening to appear. You didn’t let them.

Bucky waited a moment before speaking. You heard him take a deep breath through his nose. When you looked back at him, his body was tense, his face tight with what looked like anger. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize. Foyle is the one who needs to apologize for pulling what he did.” He scoffed before adding, “Then he can choke for all I care.”

You weren’t convinced. What you’d said that night had to have hurt him. You had no memory of saying it, but you had. What you did remember from that night was Tom’s handsome smile, singing in the pub, and staring into the grey eyes that watched you now. “He must have put it in my drink when I was singing, or when I was—“ You looked at him then quickly looked down. “Distracted.” As your eyes lowered, you noticed his bruised knuckles. He followed your gaze and his lips thinned. “Does that hurt?” you asked, the guilt in your voice ruining your attempt at nonchalance.

Bucky shook his head and attempted a reassuring smile, but it came across as more bitter than you were sure he’d hoped. He lifted his hand between you, stretching and flexing his fingers a few times. “You should see the other guy.”

You watched his fingers curl and uncurl, momentarily transfixed. You blinked and looked up. “Part of me wishes I could see him. Might be a little satisfying; Millie said you broke his nose.”

“Yeah, well, asshole deserved it,” replied Bucky, quickly followed by, “Sorry.”

You made a dismissive gesture with your hand. “No need. He is an asshole.” Bucky snorted before you continued. “And…so am I.” His eyebrows shot up. “What I said to you—”

“Hey, forget it. Don’t you even think about putting yourself in the same category as that guy.” Bucky took a step closer to you.

Your brow furrowed. “Of course, his actions were worse, but I said such awful things. I’m so mortified I can barely look at you. I don’t know how you can stand to look at me.”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. “What you said…did you mean it?”

“No!” you replied without hesitation. “Especially not after what you did for me. I don’t remember what was going through my head but I do know that I don’t think those things under….normal circumstances.”

He shrugged, arms still crossed. “Then you got nothin’ to be ‘mortified’ about.” You gave him a skeptical look. He mimicked your look, then eventually conceded with a sigh. “Okay, fine, yeah.” His arms seemed to tighten further around himself, and it nearly broke your heart. “It, uh, it did hurt. Millie told me you didn’t mean it but I couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was the drink and how much was really in your head.” He gave that same humorless smirk. “Not like you’ve ever been my biggest fan. As a matter of fact, I know this has gotta be the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

You sighed, looking down at the cue ball next to you, rolling it back and forth with the tip of your finger. “I won’t insult you by pretending not to know what you mean. You’re right, I…” You bit your lip, trying to summon the courage to be honest with this man. This confusing, surprisingly sweet man who deserved the truth after what happened at the pub. You found it to be just as difficult as expected, and you were silent for several moments.

“Sorry, did saying I’m right give you a stroke or somethin’?”

You huffed a small laugh, your shoulders relaxing slightly. You looked up to see him grinning at you, and your traitorous heart skipped a beat.

“Are you going to let me talk or would you like to make another joke?” you said with a smile.

Instead of a cheeky retort like you were expecting, you saw Bucky look at you with what appeared to be both wonder and relief. He was dumbstruck, a soft smile gracing his pink lips.

“What’s that look? Are you having a stroke, Major?”

His smile only grew wider. “Might as well be. That’s the first time you’ve ever smiled at me like that. Like you meant it. Gotta say, it was worth the wait.” You felt yourself blush, unsure of how to respond to that. The music continued softly from the corner of the room. Bucky chuckled with amusement and said, “Sorry, you were saying?”

What you were about to say would seem ridiculous to anyone who could tell how he now affected you. “Right. I…well, it’s true, I didn’t like you at first.” Your hand went back to the cue ball as you cleared your throat. “Or second. From what I saw and heard, you were arrogant, immature, and a womanizer. I honestly couldn’t believe they would put someone like that in such a respected position. It bothered me, and apparently, it affected the way I acted around you.” You shook your head. “I’m quite the professional, aren’t I?” you said sarcastically.

Bucky smiled. “Trust me, you were very professional. A credit to the Red Cross if I’ve ever seen one. You were so damn professional that I just about lost my mind.” You both smiled again before he looked down and tugged at his sleeve. “So,” he said, elongating the vowel, “is that still how you feel? About me?”

“No, though I can’t help noticing you didn’t deny anything I said.”

“And I won’t. I am all those things.” He looked back up at you, his gaze nervous but resolute. “But that’s not all I am.”

You stared back at him, a smile growing on your face. “No, I don’t believe it is.” It took about a second for you to make up your mind. You stood up straight and reached out your hand. “Can we put this behind us and begin again?”

Bucky looked at your hand and then stood up as well. He went to reach for it before suddenly lifting his hand into the air and quickly saying “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.”

You kept your hand where it was, wide-eyed. “What?”

He crossed his arms and tapped a finger against his lips, feigning thoughtfulness. Then he looked back at you, eyes twinkling. “I’m gonna need proof.”

You scoffed. “Proof?”

“Yeah, proof. That you don’t hate me anymore.” You narrowed your eyes and lowered your outstretched hand to rest on your hip. He tapped his lips once again. “Let’s see…tell me something no one on base knows about you.”

“I’m sorry, have I been transported back in time to grade school?”

“Nope, lucky you. C’mon, anything! Something easy!” This time he actually appeared thoughtful. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at you. “What was your favorite book as a kid?”

You smiled at him in disbelief. “Of all the…it was Peter Pan.”

Bucky grinned from ear to ear. “No kiddin’! And now look at ya, surrounded by flyboys.”

Many boys who, like Peter Pan, never get the chance to grow up. You kept this thought to yourself. Instead you said, “Well, I tried working on a pirate ship, but I couldn’t pull off the look. I decided an airforce base was the better choice.”

Bucky’s grin somehow grew wider. “That’s real funny. Alright, I’d say that’s proof enough.” He lifted his hand once again; you took it in yours and shook it twice, smirking back at him. It took you an embarrassingly long moment to realize you still had his hand grasped in yours, and you quickly let go.

Bucky’s smile had grown soft again. “Want some help?” he asked, gesturing to the chairs still needing stacking.

“No, that’s alright. Thank you. You should go before anyone catches you in here.”

Bucky nodded and headed toward the door. “Right, right. You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t professional,” he said teasingly before turning around and giving you a salute. “Goodnight, madam!” He resumed his path toward the exit.

Just before he was out the door, you said to his back, “Goodnight, John.”

You could have sworn you heard a whoop of joy come from outside the club after he left.

#hiatus what hiatus #no proofread we die like biddick #john egan x reader #john bucky egan #bucky egan x reader #john egan #mota #masters of the air #mota fic #callum turner #reader insert #fanfiction #Spotify

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ragingbookdragon · 2 years

Text

Forever Wingman

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader One-shot

Word Count: 1.4K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: I LIVEEEEEEE! work takes a lot out of me but here I still exist <3 Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

If you’d asked her to tell you how the conversation had turned to relationships and marriages from flying jets and taking shots, she couldn’t, but she sure could tell you how hers and Hangman’s relationship had suddenly been blown wide open—not that anyone had any suspicion that the two of them were together.

“—So what you’re saying is that you wouldn’t marry me?” Hangman asked, almost offended, through the haze of beer he’d been consuming. “I thought you loved me?”

“Love’s a strong word,” she retorted, leaning back on one of the chairs. “Besides, I wouldn’t marry you even if you got down on one knee right here and popped the question.”

Laughter peeled from the group of pilots around them, along with a few “Ooo’s”, and Hangman’s gaze suddenly cleared as if no alcohol had been in his system, left hand dipping into his jean pocket as he clasped his fingers around the small black box.

***

He’d been to this house before. Once, four years after he graduated flight school and decided to meet the famous Ice-Man for the first time. He still remembered making an ass of himself in front of her parents. He was a kid. Stupid. Young. But that one incident had put him on a rollercoaster of emotion when she drove him back to the barracks room and immediately dumped him. It’d also put the two of them on a crash course for being each other’s best-worst fling.

He inhaled deeply and pressed the doorbell, waiting until an older woman opened the door and smiled. “Good afternoon, can I help you?”

He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t remember him. “Missus Kazansky, it’s good to see you again.”

Tipping her head to the side, she took a moment to gaze at him with confused eyes until, “Jake!”

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a smile.

“It’s been…quite a while,” she responded. “Is there something we can do for you?”

Hangman cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I could speak to Admiral Kazansky.”

She frowned and glanced back to the stairs. “Now’s…not really a good time, Jake.”

“I understand,” he sympathized. “But it’s important. It’s…about your daughter.”

“Is she alright,” she fretted. “Pete said she’s been doing well, but of course we’ve been worried about her going on this mission and we—”

“She’s fine,” he interjected with a calming tone. “I’m here to talk to Admiral Kazansky about her and I.”

At that, she cocked a brow. “From what she’s mentioned when she comes home on leave, there is no you and her.”

Hangman shrugged. “She and I are never really done.” He gave her a nod. “I’m serious this time though. Ten minutes is all I need. Please, Missus Kazansky.”

She took another glance of the stairs then sighed and opened the door. “Ten minutes. He hasn’t been feeling well in the last few days.”

“Thank you,” he acknowledged seriously. “I appreciate this chance.”

Nodding, she pointed towards the stairs. “Up those and the last door on the left.”

“Yes ma’am.” He climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway, coming to the door that was slightly ajar. He raised his fist when a sickening cough came from the room and he paused, waiting for it to be over before he knocked.

“Come in,” the response came roughly, and Hangman opened the door and stepped inside, immediately coming to a salute.

“Admiral Kazansky, sir.”

Tom looked the man over with a calm gaze. “At ease, Lieutenant,” he gruffly said; Hangman came to a parade rest as the Admiral tipped his head to the side. “Sit.”

He took the seat around the desk and watched as the senior typed his words on the monitor and turned it around.

What can I do for you, Lieutenant Seresin?

“I want to talk about your daughter.” He internally cringed at the cocked brow Tom gave him. “Sir.”

What about her?

“First, I want to apologize for being an asshat a few years ago. I embarrassed her when she brought me to meet you and your family.” Hangman frowned. “She, nor your family deserved that.”

Young sailors will be dumbasses. You, from what she has said over the years, have certainly lost the dumb, but not the “ass”.

Hangman snorted and nodded his head; he wasn’t even going to deny it. “Someone has to keep up the reputation of pilots being assholes.”

Tom smiled at that and went back to typing.

Why now, Lieutenant? Why after all this time?

His gaze turned solemn. “You don’t have long, sir. She’s made that clear. I…I want to make it right this time.”

And that means?

Hangman took a deep breath and sat up straight. “I want your blessing to marry her someday.” For a moment, the Admiral was at a loss of words. “Believe me, if I were in your shoes I would say no, but I care about your daughter, Admiral Kazansky.”

And how can you be sure you won’t string her along with empty promises.

“Because I love her,” he admitted. “Every fling I’ve ever had never comes close to how your daughter makes me feel. There is no woman for me other than her. And if it takes twenty years to convince her of that, I will. But I won’t settle for anyone other than her. She’s…she’s my girl.”

Tom gazed at him.

She’s going to need you when my time is up.

“I know,” he said quietly.

She’ll need you to keep her together and flying even when she doesn’t feel like going on.

“Yes sir.”

I love all my children equally, but she’s my baby, you understand how much she means to me.

“I do.”

I need to trust that you’ll take care of her in my stead.

Hangman swallowed thickly, feeling his eyes sting and for the oddest reason, he couldn’t understand why. “I will, sir. You have my word.”

Tom reached into the side drawer of his desk and pulled something out, placing it in front of him. A small black box.

Open it.

He did as Tom said and looked over the small silver band, inlaid with mother of pearl, a small sapphire in the center.

Her grandmother’s wedding ring. I always promised I’d leave it to her.

“Isn’t she going to ask about it?”

Not immediately.

He looked at Tom. “I love her.”

I know you do. I know you did all those years ago when you made an ass of yourself.

He laughed as he wiped his eyes and pocketed the box. “I’ll prove to her that I’m ready.”

As he stood, so did Tom and he walked around the desk and held out his hand for Hangman to take; he shook his hand heartily and roughly assured, “You have my blessing, Jake. Take care of my baby girl.”

“I will, sir.” Hangman pulled his hand away and immediately cocked his arm up in a salute. “Admiral Kazansky, sir.”

Tom gave him a salute back. “Lieutenant Seresin.”

***

Hangman pulled the box out, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he shifted back and dropped to one knee. He almost laughed as he eyes went wide, silence coming over the bar in a ripple effect around them.

He cracked open the box. “Marry me,” was all he said.

Her eyes dropped to the ring, a new wave of emotion coming across her face as she recognized it. “That’s her ring—my dad he—he had that—”

“I asked for his blessing.” Hangman gazed at her. “Marry me.”

“Jake,” she started, tears already starting to drip down her cheeks. “Holy shit, Jake, seriously?”

“As a heart attack,” he said. “Now I’ve asked you twice. This is the last time I’m gonna ask. Be my wingman.”

“You’re such an ass,” she griped and gave him her left hand. “But yeah, I’ll be your wingman.”

He slipped the ring on her finger and stood, a smile coming over his face as he took hers in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. Cheers erupted from their friends, and he brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping the tears away as he continued to kiss her.

She pulled back and pressed her forehead into his shoulder, sniffing harshly as he fingers curled in the back of his shirt. “You’re such an ass. Always having to one-up me in front of everyone.”

Hangman grinned and kissed her temple, hugging her tightly. “And now I get to one up the Missus Seresin forever.”

“I am not changing my name.”

“Let’s save that conversation for the papers, yeah?” she sniffled again, and he chuckled, glancing at the others. “Alright, I’m gonna take my crying fiancée outside so she can get herself together.”

He started directing her out the doors. “You called me your fiancée,” she blubbered, and he started laughing.

“Oh my God, you’re such a baby!”

#hangman x reader #hangman x reader imagines #hangman x reader imagine #hangman imagines #hangman imagine #hangman #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader imagines #jake seresin x reader imagine #jake seresin imagines #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin #top gun imagines #top gun imagine #top gun #top gun maverick

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gwydionmisha · 2 years

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#Tom Barrack #Foreign Agent #Donald Trump #United Arab Emirates #News

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beefrobeefcal · 7 months

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Dark!Frankie Saga: VI

Chapter Six: Bangarang

Pairing: Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Boston. The Frontiersmen is a crime syndicate that deals in drugs, arms, and anything else they can to keep themselves on top. Since the original ring leader, Tom, was allegedly taken out by a rival gang, it's now run by Big Fish, with Pope second in command. Ironhead runs the numbers and Benny is the muscle. Your family member put you down as collateral when they needed credit to score more smack. Problem is, they can't pay it back, and Big Fish & the Frontiersmen always get their payment...

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Chapter Word Count: 5,022

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, angst, threats of violence, crime, snark, v-fingering, oral (f receiving), Frankie is a cunning linguist, bowling etiquette

Author's Notes:

who knew bowling could be sexy... also, shout out to @maryrhodalouandted for installing #LemmeSeeFrankie'sTiddies in my brain. And thank you to @thehalflifeofloveisforever for checking my grammar - you rock!

The biggest, juiciest, wettest thank you to @neverwheremoonchild for being the Beta Fish for Big Fish (get it? Beta'ing the story about Big Fi-... okay, you got it). Thank you, Nevy! 💜🥩💜

And this is not the Chubby!Frankie we know and love in the Catfish & the Mouse universe; he's dark, mean, and hungry. I'll be updating this each week (Monday/Tuesday) until you lose interest or I finish it - let's see what happens first! 👌

On the Waterfront Masterlist | Previous Chapter

--------<3---------

Your conversation with Will sat heavy in your mind as you walked back to the barracks. In the hallway leading up to it, you heard footsteps approach you from behind and before you could react, Pope sided up next to you, bumping his shoulder into yours.

“Hey Honey...”, he purred with a wry grin. “Where you off to?”

You looked away from him and sucked in an irritated breath. “I’m looking for Mr. Morales.”

“Mr. Morales, huh?”, he chuckled. “Last I saw, he was stuffin’ his face with those cookies you made for Benny.... real sweet of you to do that for him though.”

He winked at you and opened the door to the lounge, and low and behold, there was Frankie sitting on the couch, munching away at what looked like the last of the cookies.

“Fish - found your girl wanderin’ around unescorted.”, Pope told him in a firm voice.

Frankie looked at Pope then back at you, his eyebrow raised.

“Really...”, he shook his head slightly and wiped the crumbs from his face. “What were you doing, baby girl?”

Before you could answer, Pope spoke out, stepping in front of you. “Probably looking for Benny to tell him she made his favourite cookies...”

Pope turned and gave you a grin that made your skin crawl. You looked from him to Frankie as he stood up and motioned you to move closer to him. You stepped forward, feeling like a reprimanded dog as he looked down at you.

“That true? You make those cookies for Benny?”, he asked in a low voice. You weren't fooled by his tone, knowing how quickly he could turn.

“I made them for everyone... not just for him.”, your voice quiet and pleading, and you knew you couldn’t lie. “But I did make this kind because I knew they were his favourite... I just... I didn’t want him to be made at me anymore. I’m sorry.”

Pope scoffed a laugh, and you looked down, but Frankie’s eyes didn’t leave you. He sighed and nodded, his hand coming out and gently cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking across your chin, then he squeezed your face, pressing the flesh inside your mouth against your teeth, and forced you to look up at him.

“Benny’s favourite, huh?”, he snarled through gritted teeth. “Benny’s fuckin’ pissed that it was my dick you choked on and not his, so smarten up!”

He roughly shoved you back, nearly knocking you off your feet. As you steadied yourself, you gently rubbed where his fingers had dug into your cheeks and your eyes were wide.

His thick finger pointed down at you aggressively as he stepped closer. “Don’t forget your place, baby girl... you cook for me. You bake for me. You’re here for me. You understand?”, he barked angrily.

You nodded, and he stepped closer to you, and you backed up, your palms hitting the wall behind you before his protruding stomach pushed your body against the wall. Feeling the weight of him pressed against you made your mouth dry and your core throb.

“I need to hear you say it, Honey…”, he growled lowly. “Yes, Mr. Morales.”

“Y-yes, Mr. Morales.”, you croaked. How in the hell was this turning you on? Your skin felt like it was on fire under his stern gaze.

“New ground rules…”, he held up his fist up to your face, and lifted a finger for each point he made. “You don’t leave the barracks without an escort. You’re in your room or in the kitchen. No rec room, no office without an escort.”, he growled again, leaning forward, keeping intense eye contact. “And another thing: you’re not allowed to be alone with Benny. You don’t go to him for anything. You come to me. If I’m not around, you talk to Will or Pope… I find out you go to Benny, you’re gonna be is some fuckin’ deep hot water. Got it?”

“Yes, Mr. Morales.”, your voice was quiet and felt like it was needing to be forced past your lips.

“Repeat it. I wanna make sure you fuckin’ understand.”

“I’m here for you. I don’t leave the barracks without an escort. Bedroom or kitchen. And… I won’t… I won’t talk to Benny…”

You voice tapered to a whisper at the end, fighting past the lump that formed in your throat, and any arousal you felt seemed to dull and snuff out. It hurt to vocalize your agreement to no longer freely interact with Benny. He was the only one here who seemed to genuinely care about you. Everyone else wanted something from you - you were just a thing they could use and take from.

Frankie watched you as you spoke and saw the hurt wash over your face and settle in your eyes as you continued to not break eye contact. Your eyes were so wide he could see his reflection in them, and he hated what he saw. But Pope was there, watching the whole thing and he knew if he didn’t put you in your place in front of him, Pope woukd take it as a sign of weakness on Frankie’s part and swoop in. He had to make sure you understood who was boss just as much as Pope did. He knew he was hurting you by letting his ego and emotions get the better of him, but his pride won out.

He stepped back looking away and said in a less intense voice, “Go to your room. I’ll come get you later.”

You kept your head down as you moved quickly to the door to the bedroom wing. After slipping through the door and closing it behind you, your eyes watered and the tears began to fall. In a cruel twist of fate, Benny opened his door as soon as you entered the corridor, and he looked up. The cold, harsh stare he gave you initially melted in one of care and concern, and he stepped towards you. Before he could say anything or get close, you pushed past him. But he was quicker and grabbed your arm.

“Don’t touch me!”, you yelled, pulling yourself away from him and shaking your head.

Benny’s mouth hung open and his arms were held up as he stepped back from you. The door ripped open, and Frankie stalked in, his eyes finding you with your lip quivering and tears on your face and Benny looking stunned.

He sucked in a breath and saw Pope emerge beside him from is peripherals, and lifted his hand, pointed at you and hollered, “I told you to go to your fuckin’ room!”

You quickly got out of the corridor and into your room, closing the door behind you, and you threw yourself on the bed. You heard Frankie yelling at Benny to get into the office, heavy footsteps and slamming doors – then silence.

You laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling, reviewing and repeating what led to this point, and the more you did, the angrier you got at Benny. Who the fuck did he think he was? He wasn’t trapped here. He didn’t have to play a role carved out for him to survive. He wasn’t picked to be the boss’s thing. Fuck him. Fuck him and his sad, sympathetic face that only came out when he saw you crying. He didn’t deserve your tears, your care, your cookies, your friendship.

He didn’t fucking deserve you. Let Benny seethe.

*****

You’d cleaned yourself up and changed into a long sleeve short dress and continued reading on your bed as you waited.

It was dark out when there was a knock at your door. Before you could answer, Frankie opened the door and walked in. He gave you a quick glance then sat on your desk chair across from you. Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he looked you over. You could feel his eyes burning as they grazed over your exposed skin, and he nodded in approval at your attire.

“Lookin’ nice for me, Honey...”, he said softly, his gaze stalling on your chest before coming to meet yours. “I promised you a surprise tonight, and I’m gonna make good on that. We’re gonna go out.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morales.”, you responded quietly.

You sat in your room, watching each other for a moment, then Frankie breathed out and stood up.

“Cookies were good... you’ll make’em again? For me?”, he eyed you as he spoke, offering you his hand.

This was as good of an apology or peace offering as you assumed you would ever get from Frankie, and he must have known you would never be able to resist his big brown eyes, wide and pleading.

You took his hand and gave him a small smile. “Anything you need, Mr. Morales.”

*****

Bangarang Lanes was one of the many different businesses the Frontiersmen used to launder their money, but it was the only one that Frankie really loved. He’d bowled almost his whole life, starting with his grandfather, and when the bowling alley came up for sale, he all but begged Tom to buy it, promising him that he would manage it and make it work. It was a labor of love, and he worked hard to get it off the ground, making it one of the more profitable businesses under their belts. He spent about three nights a week there, making it his hangout, and sometimes the other guys would join him, but mostly, he would bowl with the regulars and hangout behind the canteen counter, snagging random orders of chili fries and hot dogs. He loved that place and he decided that since it was one of his regular nights to be there, he’d take you with him.

You, on the other hand, were not well versed in bowling. The odd birthday party at an alley in your childhood didn’t give you the skills or knowledge of the etiquette this place required.

As the blacked-out, chauffeured vehicle pulled up outside of the bowling alley, you looked at the gaudy neon sign in lights and raised your eyebrows. This was not at all what you were expecting Frankie to take you, and it took everything in your power to not turn, look him square in the eyes and ask, ‘Really?’.

Even though you avoided making that mistake, you made an apparently very crucial one upon entering the building – your shoes. You walked right in and off the carpet and down to the heavily waxed wood flooring. Frankie reached for your arm and yanked you back.

“Jesus Christ... shoes!”, he snapped, pulling you towards a counter staffed by a sweaty, gangly-looking teenage boy with a name tag that read “Dan”.

Frankie plunked you on a stool in front of the counter, then walked around behind it into the room behind to find you shoes. Dan just nodded as Frankie walked by then looked at you and gave you a disconcerting grin. You gave him a half-hearted one in return and looked away.

“Try these.”, Frankie said with grin, tossing you a pair of god-awful brown and red monstrosities with neon green laces.

Your eyes widened looking down at the shoes in your hands. You put them on, disliking the look they gave your feet, but Frankie was watching you closely, so you forced smiled back at him. He stood close to you, hooking his index finger under your chin.

“Good girl. I’ll be at lane 6. You go order me some food and beer. Tell’em you want two of the owner’s special. If they try to charge you, you tell them who brought you here, okay?”

You nodded, “Yes, Mr. Morales.”, and walked towards the canteen counter. You knew Frankie was watching your ass and hips sway as you moved away from him, but the men at the other lanes also had their eyes on you. While all of them looked a little shocked at you being there, most of them ogled you as you walked by. You kept your head forward, not returning the looks, knowing that if he caught you...

Behind the counter at the register was a younger woman in a short bowling shirt-turned-mini dress. She was picking at her nails. She looked up as you approached the counter and gave you a once over and rolled her eyes.

“Whatd’ya want?”, she asked not even trying to sound like she wanted to be here.

“Two of the owner’s special.”, you stated, trying to match her unimpressed tone.

She cocked an eyebrow at you and smirked.

“Can’t give you that... you’re not the owner.”, she sneered.

“I’m here with Mr. Morales. He asked me to order that for him. He’s at lane 6.”, you stated a little more forcefully. “So...?”

She scoffed and nodded, writing down the order. Without looking up, she dismissed you in a curt voice.

“Your order will be brought to you.”

You tapped the counter and nodded, then walked back towards lane 6, making sure you made no eye contact with any of the men. As you approached where Frankie was, you could see he had one of the girls in the short mini-dress versions of bowling shirts sitting on his thigh. He was smiling at her as he spoke and the hand that wasn’t planted on her waist, firmly holding her against him, was gripping her thigh and moving slowly up her leg. She giggled and played with some of the curls at the nape of his neck. You swallowed hard and felt a pang in your chest but tried to push it down. He felt nothing for you beyond what he probably felt for a flesh light, just a hole with no person behind it that he could discard at any time, and you just needed to make your peace with it.

Frankie saw you coming, and he saw the brief flash of hurt and disappointment on your face, but he ignored the urge to shove Molly – at least that’s what he thought her name was – off his lap and beckon you to take her place. He let his need to feel like the king of this dank linoleum castle take charge and continued his intimate conversation with whatever-her-name-is with a grin plastered on his face.

He watched as you sat at the opposite end of the bench seating, averting your gaze, and waited for his next instructions. His attention went back to the girl on his lap and her non-sensical story about a hamster. He smiled and nodded along. His eyes slowly shifted back to you and could see you weren’t smiling as you hugged yourself as you sat forward; you looked uncomfortable, like you wanted to disappear. Sure, he felt like a big man, sitting back with this waif of a girl on his lap, but the nagging feeling, chewing away the back of his mind and making his teeth itch, kept coming back every time he looked at you.

“Okay, Molly, I gotta -”

“It’s Tiffany.”, she corrected him with an awkward smile.

“Sure thing, sweetheart... I gotta get to it. My bowling partner is here, and I don’t wanna keep her waiting...”, he crooned to her, patting her thigh and releasing her.

She turned and looked at you, scowling. You returned the look for a moment then looked away again rolling your eyes.

Tiffany scoffed, looking back at Frankie, still seated on his thigh. “Her? That’syour partner?”

“Yeah, that is. You got a problem with that?”, he frowned, his face turning dark as a thunder cloud. He moved to stand up and Tiffany stumbled to her feet and backed up.

She shook her head and batted her eyelashes at him. “I thought maybe... we could go to your office and have some fun...”

He chuckled lowly and frowned at her, growling. “I don’t fuck scraps. Get lost.”

She stomped away, throwing daggers at you before disappearing behind the canteen counter. Frankie watched her leave and then he looked at you.

“Tell me what you know about bowling.”

His voice was commanding, giving you no option but to answer him.

“Um... you don’t put the ball in the... the... ditches?” You looked at him with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah... you keep the ball out of the gutter... what else, baby girl?”, he said, as he opened his bag and pulled out his custom bowling ball.

“You stay behind the line when you roll the ball... and when you get all the pins down, it’s called a strike?”

“Not bad, Honey...’

One of the workers stopped by with two jugs of beer, a basket of nachos, a basket of chili fries, and two hot dogs.

Frankie sat down beside you and grabbed a nacho and ate it, wiping his fingers on his jeans, then stood up, pulling you up with him.

“Let’s see what you can do, baby girl.”

*****

Over an hour into your game and down a plate of nachos and both beers, Frankie had gotten a strike or a split on each one of his turns, while you’d been lucky if you’d hit any of the pins. He would nod and mark down with a grin each time you ended up in the gutter, trying not to show you how amused he was with you. But he could tell you were getting frustrated, and he finally decided to help.

“Okay... come here, baby.”, he smiled, the beer softening his edges, and he beckoned you with a head nod. He took your hand and stood you in position, facing the lane. He placed his hands on your shoulders and rubbed gently.

“Relax, Honey...”, he soothed in your ear with a grin. “Now take the ball... fingers in... just do the motions with me... that’s right. It's all in the wrist, Honey.”

His body enveloped yours as he moved you into a lowered position and made your arm follow his motion to practice your swing. You could smell the beer on his breath, along with the nachos, but you could also smell the cologne and body wash on his skin, and the smell that was just him. You felt an ache that you’d become accustomed to when you had his attention, but the beer intensified it to an almost intoxicating level. You inadvertently nudged the side of your head into his and took a deep breath, and Frankie’s breathing pitched for a moment before he smiled.

“You take down any of those pins on this shot, baby girl...”, he purred into your ear. “...and I’ll give you a prize.”

You smiled, feeling your core quake with his low timbered voice reverberating in your ear. He let you go and sat back at the table and ate your hot dog, given he'd already eaten his.

You rolled the ball, just as he’d instructed, and surprisingly, it didn’t roll into the gutter. In fact, it rolled in a perfect curve, landing right at the centre of the pins, taking them all but one down. The final pin waivered and finally tipped over and you shrieked, jumping up and down.

Frankie hooted from his seat, hands clapping above his head, laughing.

“Holy shit! Good girl!”, he roared with a huge smile, putting his pencil to the score card, making note of your success.

You walked up to him, emboldened with the beer and the strike, standing on the other side of the score table.

“I think I get a prize.”, you coquettishly with a sweet smile.

He sat back with a grin, hands folded over his belly. “You sure do, baby girl... Because you got a strike, you get to name your prize. Anything you want. You can think on it while we - “

“I know what I want.”, you interjected, moving around the table. He turned to face you and you stood between his legs.

His voice was lower, quieter as he watched you look him over with hooded eyes. “What’s that, Honey?”

“I want a kiss.”

His eyebrows raised and he tilted his head, speaking in that beautiful, low timber tone that made your knees weak. “That’s what you want?”

You nodded and responded in a quiet, breathy voice, “Yeah... yeah, it is.”

He rose from his seat and stood over you. His large hand came up and cupped your jaw, and his big, brown eyes begged you to make sure this is what you really wanted from him. He was a man that could make anything happen for you. He assumed you’d ask to go home or for money – anything! But you asked for a kiss from him. His head felt light, and he was desperately trying to quell the kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t want to admit that from the moment he saw you sitting in his office the first day you arrived, he was smitten. He needed to make sure this is really what you wanted, because he knew the moment he kissed you, he was a goner. And that terrified him.

You were done waiting and you took a chance; you placed a hand on his belly, closed your eyes, stood on your tip toes and pressed your lips gently to his. He sucked in a breath, then closed his eyes, pushing himself into the kiss, moving his hand to cup the back of your neck.

You pulled back first, needing to breathe, and you looked up at him. His eyes were blown out and he breathed heavily through his mouth. A flip switched in him, and he sat down in the chair and tugged you down to straddle one of his thighs, pulling you into a heated kiss. You gripped his shoulders and the back of his neck, needing to be closer to him as one of his hands locked onto your hip, pulling you closer to him and the other gripped your hair.

Your mouths molded to one another, and Frankie was the first to open his, slipping his tongue into yours. At that, it quickly escalated into a make out session neither you ever wanted to pull away from. His tongue explored your mouth, and he shifted the leg you were straddling, causing a change in friction and pressure to your throbbing cunt. You let out a moan into his mouth and pulled back, panting.

His mouth moved to your neck, nipped and sucking, while the hand on your hip pushed and pulled you on his thigh, forcing small, whiny pants out of your mouth. He kept up the movements and sat back, watching your face while your chin quivered, and your brows tented.

“Look so pretty right now... so fuckin’ pretty...”, he purred as he looked at you in awe with a grin. “Oh... fuck... you’re gonna make a mess of my jeans, baby...”

He stopped and grabbed your knee that sat between his thighs, opening you up, and his hand went between your legs, feeling how wet and warm you were through your underwear, and you whimpered, biting your lip to keep your voice down.

“Jesus... fuckin’ hell… so wet.”, he groaned, closing his eyes. “Need to take care of this right fuckin’ now.”

As soon as he spoke, he removed his hand, got you off his lap and stood up. He looked down at you with a grin then hoisted you over his shoulder. As he did so, he turned to the last few bowlers and staff in the room.

“EVERYONE OUT. NOW.”, he bellowed across the bowling alley. “I FUCKIN’ MEAN IT. OUT!”

The sight before them must have looked ridiculous. There was Big Fish, red faced, wet mark on his thigh, and a girl flung over his shoulder. But no one batted an eye.

As the room cleared out, Frankie aggressively swept him arm across the score table, knocking the food and what was left of the beer on the floor before plunking you down on it.

“Need to taste this pussy so fuckin’ bad...”, he grunted as he pushed your skirt up around your hips and ripped your underwear off and dragged his thick fingers through your folds.

“Please... Mr. Morales... oh fuck!”, you cried, throwing your head back as your hands gripped the sides of the table, trying to hold yourself in place as he circled his finger around your clit. For how desperate he seemed a moment ago, he was acting under restraint now that he had the control again.

“Watch your mouth, baby girl... come on... you ask nicely...”

“I’m sorry... Mr. Morales, I’m sorry... need you to please... please - ”

“So fuckin’ pretty... pretty little pussy’s just beggin’ for me, ain’t she baby?... begging for Big Fish’s big fingers to fuck her... fuckin’ pretty noises you make...”, he circled his finger around your entrance as he growled lowly. This is how he wanted you – pliant, needy, desperate, and all for him and not a thought of any other man in your head. “Oh, baby girl... your pussy’s quiverin’... tightest pussy in Boston...”

“Please... please, Mr. Morales... please...”, you begged over and over, needing him to do something other than tease you.

“So pretty when you beg... pussy’s too tight for your own good...”, he growled again, pushing two of his thick, meaty fingers into your core.

Your eyes shot open, and you gasped, feeling the sting of him aggressively opening you up, but unlike last time, you didn’t try to get away.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you, the lewd, wet noise of your cunt mixed with your pathetic mewling, echoed through the empty halls.

“That’s in... come on, baby... gonna let you come this time... let Big Fish take care of you, Honey... did so good tonight... you deserve it... come on my fingers... need to feel you come, baby... let that tight little pussy come on my fingers, Honey.”

You were close, but him pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing it gently sent you crying to your climax.

“Oh god... Mr.... Morales... right there... like that... yes... yesyesyesyeysyes!”

“There you go, baby girl... that’s it... good girl...”, he kept his pace, with his fingers and thumb, as you rode out your orgasm.

He pulled his fingers out and grabbed a chair, sitting down heavily on it.

“Makin’ me work hard, baby.”, he grinned, sitting back.

You took his seated position as your cue to once again get on your knees, and you sat up and started to scoot off the table.

“Where do you think you’re goin’, baby girl?”, Frankie cooed with a grin. He leaned forward, his hands sliding up your thighs and holding your hips.

“I... I was going to...”, you squeaked meekly, looking at him in anticipation of his next move.

“No, Honey. See all that food on the floor?”, he nodded his head to the discarded hotdogs and fries without breaking eye contact. “Can’t eat it... but I’m still hungry, baby...”

He gripped your hips harshly, leaned forward and pulled your core to his face; his mouth opened, and he licked up your cunt slowly and repeatedly. You whined, threw your head back, and gripped his greased-up hair, ruining the slicked back look he wore.

He pulled back and looked at you, massaging your hips and whistled at you like a dog he was trying to train.

“Hey... you keep your fuckin’ eyes on me.”, he ordered.

You obeyed and removed one hand from his hair to keep yourself propped up on and watched him,

He kept eye contact while he devoured you; humming, groaning, and grunting into your cunt. Your legs involuntarily tried to close my on his head, but his hands moved and pushed them open as he moved his mouth to your clit, sucking it between his lips then flicking and licking it with his tongue.

He could tell by the way your thighs started to shake and the noises you were making that you were close, so he backed off, tonguing your hole and nudging your engorged clit with his beautiful nose. You gasped and panted; while grinding on his face, your grip on his hair getting painful, but he didn’t care. His cock was rock hard as you rode his face, mewling and crying out, trying so hard to keep eye contact like a good little bitch, and he could feel your walls fluttering around his tongue.

Your body was shaking, and your core felt like it was going to burst. He moved his lips back to your clit and pushed three fingers into your cunt, curling them perfectly each time he dove deep into you. Frankie loved watching you fall apart; your tented brows, your whimpers and mewls, your shaking thighs, and the way your eyes watched him. He felt like a king, your blown out eyes confirming his reign. He growled and sucked hard on your throbbing bud, his teeth nudging the hood up.

You couldn’t help but throw your head back and let out a high-pitched whine as your body tensed up, arching your back off the table. The dam burst and you came hard, squirting all over his face and hand.

You came back to reality, feeling his scruffy beard press soft kisses on your inner thigh and his hands soothing over your calves gently. You looked down at him as you breathed heavily and saw how wet he was. Your eyes shot open, and you sat up; you were mortified.

“Mr. M-Morales! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean t - “

“Shhhh...”, he hushed you as he pulled you onto his lap, straddling his wide waist, pulling your body against his.

He kissed you. It was a slow, sensual kiss, so much softer than you thought he would ever give you. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue, and he hummed in contentment. He pulled back and nudged your nose with his, ghosting his mouth over yours as he spoke softly with a smile and hooded eyes.

“Don’t ever apologize for that... fuckin’ hottest shit right there... makin’ you squirt with my mouth? Fuckin’ rights, baby girl.”

--------<3---------

TAGLIST:

@theywhowriteandknowthings @harryleatherfit @harriedandharassed @neverwheremoonchild @rebel-held @beee-haw @nevergoingbacknowshine @idolatrybarbie @v4vayha @lalocitos @xdaddysprincessxx @deathsholywaterr @heareball @lyssramscal @wintrwinchestr @blackfemalenerd @toxicanonymity @southernbe @starkeydaviss @noxturnalpascal @gwendibleywrites

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal tummy #frankie morales #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #chubby frankie rights !!!!!#dark!triple frontier #dark!frankie morales #dark!frankie still chubby though #on the waterfront #otwf #🥩

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stairnaheireann · 6 months

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#OTD in 1920 – Three Bandon members of the IRA were killed in an ambush set by the Essex Regiment.

Three IRA men were shot dead on this date and the two deserters from the Essex Regiment were shot by the IRA as a result. The IRA believed their three men were killed as a result of the two deserters setting up a ‘sting’ to trap the IRA. During the height of the war, two members of the Essex Regiment were seen wandering around Bandon, they were eventually captured, claiming to be deserters. While…

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#Bandon #Bandon Barracks #British Deserters #Co. Cork #England #IRA #Irish War of Independence #Kilmichael ambush #Tom Barry

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callsign-joyride · 2 years

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No More Mr. Nice Guy | Tom "Iceman" Kazansky

Summary: After an encounter with a weird Top Gun instructor, Iceman defends you.

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x f!reader (callsign: Wasp)

Content warnings: Drinking, getting drunk, a weird/creepy guy, attempted sexual assault

A/N: This is very loosely based on personal experiences. (I've had this idea since things happened.) If you know, you know. The person who Dart is based on may or may not be reading this. If he is, I have a message. Hi, sweetie. I just want to know why you thought it would be a good idea to tell the 19-year-old who writes Top Gun fanfiction about your morally, ethically, and legally questionable actions that are supposedly not true. You can't run from all of your problems. - Your "best girl". (I needed to be petty for a minute.)

Word count: 1.5k

You loved being a Top Gun pilot, you really did. Even though you were the only woman in your class, everyone treated you with the same respect. Well, almost everyone. You were walking to lunch with Ice and Slider when Slider had decided to ask you what you thought about Dart, one of the new instructors.

“I don’t know, something about him just gives me a weird vibe. Like, I get it, we’re two weeks into this, but he’s asked me to go out with him for drinks. Just the two of us. It really puts me off sometimes but then I wonder if he’s just lonely,” you said. Ice glanced at you and clenched his jaw.

“He shouldn’t be talking to you like that,” he said.

“Yeah, but we’re both adults. I don’t really think it matters.”

“It’s clearly bothering you, though.”

“A few weird comments here and there isn’t a big deal. I really don’t want to be having this discussion right now, okay?”

Everyone sat together at lunch and the conversations had been going well. All of you had to be back in the classroom by one, so that didn’t leave much time for leisure. Dart walked in and started giving his piece. You always sat in the front, but it started to feel weird once you realized that he would start checking you out any time he stood in front of you to lecture. That wasn’t something that you wanted to tell anyone about. Ice would believe you, but there wouldn’t really be anything to back it up. And as soon as it got to Viper, he probably wouldn’t have believed you, or cared enough to do anything about it. So you sat there, unable to move because you would’ve had to ask him before you could switch seats.

The class had been dismissed and almost everyone had left the room when he asked if he could talk to you. Usually, having to talk to instructors usually meant going over training exercises and evaluations. That wasn’t the case this time.

“I was wondering if we could get something to eat later. You know, with the three-day weekend coming up, it would be nice if we could have some one-on-one time.”

That set you off.

“How many times am I going to have to tell you no before you actually lay off and leave me alone? This isn’t an appropriate relationship and I’m not a fan of you constantly asking me if we can hang out, just us, because you think that it would be nice if we had time alone. If you’re going to keep me after class just to ask me out, the answer is, and always will be, no.”

“It’s not a date, I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Well you’re being weird. I’ve noticed you stopping in front of me during lectures just so you can get a look at my boobs. No normal person does that.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

You walked out of the classroom and shut the door behind you. Ice had been waiting outside of the classroom for some time. He had been waiting on you but you didn’t really think anything of it.

“I hate him, Tom. I don’t want to talk about what just happened but I hate him.”

Ice nodded his head and the two of you walked back to the barracks. You walked in silence, but you were mostly just thinking of what you were going to do if Dart kept on bothering you. You could only hope that rejecting him would be enough for him to keep things strictly professional, but even that was a high standard considering who he was. Ice hadn’t told anyone of what had happened, or what he thought had happened, but it was kind of a surprise for Goose to be knocking on your door at 9 PM asking if you wanted to go to the Officer’s Club with the rest of the group. You had figured that this was something that you needed, so of course you said yes and quickly changed your clothes before grabbing your keys and wallet.

It felt like a normal night. After a few drinks, you were starting to feel tipsy. You normally had a bit more control over your alcohol consumption, but the events of earlier had taken up a space in your mind and you needed to let go, even if it was just for a night.

“I’m going outside,” you told Goose. He nodded his head and covered your drink as you walked out.

“Hey, Wasp,” you heard. Dart had been right behind you, and you were startled by his presence. You had so much to drink that even though he had at most a few inches on you, it felt like he was towering over you. Panic started to set in as he pushed you against the nearby railing and started trying to kiss you.

“I think I figured out why there’s so much tension between us,” he said. You kept on trying to tell him to stop as he continued to kiss you and put his hands on you.

“It’s because you have a little school girl crush on me and you’re too afraid to admit it.”

“No, no. Stop. I don’t like this, it’s not right.”

“Isn’t that what you want, though? I gotta hand it to ya, Wasp, I never really pegged you to be the type to be into this forbidden romance kinda stuff.”

He was pulled off of you and it was like you could breath again, for the most part. You looked up and Tom had him by the collar. It didn’t really seem like he was going to let go. Going back inside would’ve stressed you out more, so you stood behind Tom for some form of protection from this creep.

“Hey, buddy. What’s this about, huh?” He asked.

“You don’t see it? Wasp here has been doting over me since the minute she walked into my class and I’m just trying to ease the tension.”

“What tension? She fucking hates you. And from what I heard, you’re the one making these advances on her. If she said no to your date, what would’ve made her say yes to making out with you? Just curious. I could beat the shit out of you right now but I really don’t want to lose my job, so I’m gonna let you walk away. But you’re not gonna talk to her like that or look at her like that again. And if you don’t want to listen to me and I find out that you’re still doing this shit, I’m taking it to Viper.”

Tom let him go and he scurried off. By the time he turned around to face you, most of the group had been watching things go down.

“Are you- actually, do you want to talk about this at my car?”

You nodded your head and Tom walked you to his car. There wasn’t any pressure to do anything except stand outside and talk, but you felt safer having this conversation inside of the car. As you told him everything that Dart had done, you could see the rage in his eyes.

“I’m talking to Viper about this first thing in the morning. I don’t give a fuck if I have to drive to his house, I’ll do it.”

“You really don’t have to. I think threatening him like that was more than enough.”

“Wasp, there’s no reason that he treated you like that. He tried to make moves on you while you were drunk. I have to take this to Viper because I don’t know if he’s done this to others, and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

There wasn’t anything that you could do that would stop Ice or the rest of the group from taking the situation to Viper. What was meant to be a relaxing three-day weekend turned into a very stressful one, because you didn’t know if Viper was going to do anything about what had happened. You knew that something was up when class got cancelled and the long weekend got extended for the extra day.

“I really don’t want to go in there. I don’t know if Viper has made a decision yet,” you said as you walked to the classroom with Ice and Slider.

“You can sit with me. I usually sit in the middle, anyways,” Ice said. No one asked any questions as you took a seat in between Ice and Slider, but everyone was surprised when Viper walked in alone.

“I’ll be stepping in as a temporary instructor. Because of recent events, I made the decision to fire Dart. I also want to remind everyone that fraternization between instructors and students will result in immediate termination of the instigator.”

You had to hide the smile that made its way onto your face. Under the table, Tom squeezed your hand.

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07

#tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #top gun x reader #top gun 86 #iceman #top gun imagines #iceman imagine

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wallwriterstuff · 3 months

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To Soothe A Soul ||John Price x Teen!Simon Riley||

Warnings: Mentions of drugs. Implied child abuse and neglect. All the angst. Talk of foster care and sibling separation. Implicit talk of death. Mentions of military discharge and injury. This covers many sensitive topics, Minors should not interact with this.

Words: 2679

Summary: Written for @glitterypirateduck O Captain Challenge using a take on the promtps 'An unexpected visitor' and 'A Rescue Takes Place'.

Former Captain John Price can spot a dead man a mile away, and he's known enough of them to know that not every dead man dies. It's in the eyes, that dead-eyed stare that proves the body might work but the tattered soul inside has long since withered away. He's horrified to find those eyes in the gaunt face of his newest foster child. Simon Riley is a dead man walking, and he's barely 14.

Part 2: The Yes Basket

“Any medical or dietary requirements? Allergies?”

“None as of yet but a doctor’s appointment will be organised for the near future to craft a more detailed healthcare plan. Kid’s malnourished and deficient in an alphabet of vitamins I’ll wager.”

His pen tapped rhythmically against his notepad, his gut feeling tight with anxiety. It wasn’t the first time he’d been called for an emergency placement and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but the fear of the unknown still prickled at the base of his neck, licked in icy stripes up and down his spine. A career in the military had prepared him for much in life, but even the horrors he’d faced abroad couldn’t have prepared him for some of the kids that came into his care. Fostering had definitely been a good move for him after an honourable discharge due to injury had forced him out of the field. The kids he cared for needed routine and consistency as much as he did, and it filled that aching need to have someone reliant on him being at his best, gave him the motivation to keep up with all those exercises doctors had insisted would help him stay healthy and help him to readjust to civilian life. If he had someone to do it all for it was much, much easier.

“Alright then. Anything else I need to know about him?” Price asked, halting the movements of his pen and poising his hand to note down anything of significance.

“Simon has a younger brother, Tom. He took on a caring role for him and it was his wish for the boys to remain together but…welfare concerns don’t permit it right now. We’ll talk more about a family plan going forward with you to ensure they get time together but for now just expect some backlash from the decision to separate them.” The woman on the phone, Kate Laswell she’d introduced herself as, sighed heavily and added, “Also…Simon found their mother. He’s seen a lot in the past 24 hours alone. Be mindful of his grief.”

Price couldn’t quite force his hand to move for a moment, thickly swallowing at the sympathy that clogged his throat for a second. He’d need to wipe that from his expression by the time they arrived; he doubted the boy would want to see it. Lowering his pen, he nodded slowly.

“Alright. How long?” His mind was already racing with all of the things he needed to get ready, to prepare.

“40 minutes from where we are to your address. We’re moving quickly with this one.” Kate informed him. Price internally groaned at the time limit but kept his tone calm and controlled as he agreed that it was fine and hung up. He took a moment to take a breath and then he placed his notebook away and pushed to his feet. He ran his home with just as much military precision as the barrack’s he’d been used to living in, with not a thing out of place and not a speck of dirt visible. No, no, it was the spare bedrooms that needed attention now. They were cleaned the same as the rest of the house but none were set up to welcome a teenager into. As he walked towards the stairs, he saw the fuzzy black ears perk up before hearing the click of hardwood beneath his claws. The grizzled German Shephard wasn’t the most welcoming looking dog given the scarring on his face, but he had a teddy bear heart and intellect that rivalled any human. His big head tilted in question, knowing that at this time of night Price was more likely to be sitting and nursing a glass of whisky and not traipsing upstairs. Price smiled gently and gave the lean muscles of his flank a firm pat.

“We’ve got a guest coming to stay Riley. You gonna be a good boy when he comes, hm?” he fussed him for a moment longer before gripping the railing and ascending the stairs. For the next forty minutes, the former Captain set towels in his bathroom, placed fresh bed sheets on every single bed in each of the spare rooms, and aerated each room to ensure it was fresh and prepared. In the kitchen, he set his fruit bowl front and centre and he tidied up his coat and shoe rack to ensure there was space for another set of belongings there. He tried to drag all these things out, not wanting to wait in the silence for his new charge to arrive and let the anticipation get to him. Riley settled against his side as he attempted to watch TV to pass the last 15 minutes, some mind-numbing episode of Match of The Day he could really care less about since Liverpool hadn’t been playing that day.

His own doorbell startled him like a gunshot, made Riley perk at his side. With a few firm commands and quick scratch behind the ears, he had Riley settled in his dog bed and was taking that last deep breath behind the door. I’ve met plenty like you, we’ll be fine.

Oh.

Oh no, no he hadn’t.

I’ve never met a kid like you at all.

Simon Riley clutched the bin bag full of his possessions in a white knuckled grip, his fist trembling with the effort as if scared that losing his grip meant losing everything. Every inch of him was locked up tighter than a maximum-security prison, and those eyes…those dead, dead eyes. They didn’t flinch. He’d seen SAS boys focus through glinting scopes with the same sort of resolve, unblinking, unyielding, vigilant in a way they’d been rigorously trained for. This gangly teen in tattered jeans and a baggy hoodie made a bigger impression than any he’d yet met. Dead as those eyes were they were keen, sharp, and Price knew they wouldn’t miss a trick. Overly aware now of his expression and body language, Price stepped aside to leave a nice wide gap, his smile welcoming and face soft, open.

“Hi, Kate right? And you must be Simon. Do you prefer Simon, Si, some other nickname?” he asked, gesturing for them to come in. Kate gave him a slightly strained smile and he guessed the ride over had been rather intense. Simon Riley oozed intensity in waves. When he stepped over the threshold into Price’s home it was like watching the grim reaper himself enter, an oppressive and ominous atmosphere following him, like he’d been trained to make his presence fill a room in a way his physically body couldn’t. Intimidation was something Price had dealt with for years however, gotten good at himself, and so he maintained that soft, open body language and didn’t flinch at that dead-eyed stare. I see you, but you don’t scare me, and nothing here should scare you either.

“Simon.” He grunted finally, fingers flexing around the bin liner. One bin bag. Moderately full but from the bulky way it stretched the bag Price guessed the majority of it was clothes. There was a stink that followed the bag to. Weed, he recognised, smoke, something bitter and tangy…iron-like. He filed that away as a conversation for later. Nodding, Price gestured to the shoe and coat rack.

“Simon, it’s good to meet you, I’m John. I made a space for your shoes and your coat here. House rules are that shoes always come off before we come in, please, or we’ll be forever mopping the hardwood.” He chuckled, maintaining that friendly smile as he waited to see what he’d do. Simon was already testing him clearly, because he let the silence drag out for a long while before he finally toed off his shoes and set them on the rack. His toes curled and uncurled into the hardwood for a moment. Price had seen it before both in soldiers and in previous kids, that fight or flight instinct. It was the scary unknown that did it. For some kids that came in this was the first house they’d been in that was clean and well-lit and warm. For some it was the emptiness of the open space that was unnerving after they got used to cramped bedrooms or bustling, busy living rooms filled with unsavoury visitors or simply one too many family members.

“John has offered to let you stay here for the time being, but I’ll be around still okay?” Kate assures him, “I’ll work on setting up visits with Tommy for you, and you’ve got my number saved in your phone, in case you want to talk to me.” Price knows instinctively that Simon won’t ever use that number. He doesn’t look the type to lean on anyone, least of all a stranger whose separated him from his brother.

“Actually, there’s more than just me in the house,” he pipes up, “Are you alright with dogs, Simon?” The boy doesn’t give him a single twitch of a response, simply looks from one adult to another. Buried deep beneath the layers of forced apathy Price can see exhaustion. “Riley’s an ex-service dog, worked with me on many a mission. He’s got a good temperament and likes a lot of fussing. He’s got a few scars though. You want to meet him?” his questions are met with silence once more, so John simply takes a few steps left to the archway leading into his living room, where Riley sits patiently in his dog bed near the window. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, ears perked and tail flicking in excitement. He doesn’t run, but he does lope forward a bit, curious and wanting to meet new faces, but Price makes him heel.

Simon almost rises on the balls of his feet, like a bird ready to take flight, eyes fixed on the German Shepherd in his eye line. Price takes a second to evaluate him, trying to see if it’s fear or curiosity, but the boy gives so little away. It’s the faintest twitch of his free hand toward Riley that gives Price incentive to motion the dog forward. It’s a gentle and tender display, as if Riley knows how sensitive the wounds Simon’s carrying are, like he can read the neon sign that screams HANDLE WITH CARE emblazoned on the boy’s broken soul. He sniffs gently at his pale hand, and Simon’s nose wrinkles ever so slightly at the cold, wet sensation on his bony knuckles. It doesn’t stop him from reaching to give Riley’s ears a scratch. The German Shepherd sits obediently, pushing his giant head into Simon’s hand for more. Kate gives the faintest smile.

“What’s his name again?” she asks.

“Riley.” Price replies, chuckling slightly as she goes to fuss him to. Her input causes Simon to fall back, eyes snapping to her and away from the dog, moving quickly from one fixation to the next, always hyper-aware and alert. How many times had the hand he’d not been watching for struck him? You can relax here, son, he wanted to say.

“A very good boy.” She coos. Price hums in agreement and steps up beside them.

“Living room has the TV and an old games console. I don’t have many games but if you like we can get some more in eventually. I don’t really use it often. Kitchen’s right through if you want a drink or something to eat?” His offer is met by that dead eyed stare again, but after a moment of consideration Simon gives him another quiet answer.

“Water.” His voice fluctuates with all the tell-tale signs of a boy on the cusp of puberty and Price is again hit by just how young he is for someone so alert and mistrusting. He doesn’t let the way his heart cracks a bit show on his face and simply leads them through to the kitchen, silently showing Simon exactly where the glasses are for him if he ever needs them while offering to make Kate a coffee to. Simon doesn’t contribute much to the conversation at all, just remains this silent and oppressive presence lingering in the corners of the room, anywhere that gives him a good vantage point really. He's a silent spectre, a sentinel, a ghost. Always somewhere just out of sight with everything in his watch and reach. Price lets him stand where he’s comfortable, concedes that little bit of control to him on a night he knows the boy’s had no control of anything.

“I’ve got a few different rooms upstairs, all of them are ready to move in to but I thought you might want to pick one that suits you.” He says, leading the two of them upstairs. Simon hasn’t once let go of his bin-liner and Price suspects getting him to wash anything in that bag is going to take considerable time and effort; this is all Simon has now of home, and however much a hell-hole home might have been he’s seen kids cling to the most disgustingly filthy objects purely because it’s the last vestiges of their old life and family they have left. He’s left all the doors open so Simon can explore each room upstairs at his own pace, and he waits patiently at the end of the hallway to give him time to adjust to the idea that this home is now his to.

Price can sense the overwhelm a mile away as Simon lingers in each doorway, like he’s afraid that to enter a room would be to taint it somehow, the pristine white linen looking to fine for his grubby hands. He can see the dirt under the boys nails, the slight lacquer of grease in his unkempt hair. Moving quickly indeed he thinks grimly as he watches the boy hesitantly test a mattress and peer out a window. That soulless stare focuses back on him when he’s found the room he wants, but the words won’t come. Simon never once asks if the room can be his, he’s never been allowed to want, but he acquires it through presence alone.

Price nods to the chest of drawers, “Bottom one’s got bedding in. We can talk some more tomorrow about how you want to decorate it. Take your time settling in and come down when you’re ready. Lights out at 10:00, alright?” Simon gives him a slow blink, and Price realises that’s all the reaction he’s going to get as he turns and walks to the stairs, Riley on his heels. Laswell waits near the front door, tapping away on her phone to organise the rest of Simon’s life no doubt. He clomps down the steps, absent-mindedly rubbing away the phantom aches in his leg once he hits the bottom.

“Kid doing okay?” Laswell’s question comes with a critical eye of him, and Price knows she’s really asking if he can cope with him more so than if Simon will be alright here. He gives a slight nod, glancing back up the stairs.

“Okay as he can be given the shit he’s gone through…he’ll, er…he’ll take some getting used to.” Price admitted.

“He’s not said more than five words to me since we met hours ago, and that stare…”Laswell shuddered a bit. Price hummed in agreement as he opened his front door to let her out.

“We need anything we’ll let you know, till then best to let him settle.”

“Alright then. You have my number.” Laswell lifts a hand in farewell as she walks down the front path and towards her car. Price watches her go, his mind already back on the teenage boy she’s leaving behind. Deposited in his house with nothing more than a bin-liner to his name, Simon Riley was going to require some serious care, and he felt clueless as to where to start. With a deep sigh, he closed the front door and set off towards the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and a game plan. He was going to make this house a home for the boy, one way or another.

#captain john price #call of duty #cod modern warfare #simon riley #simon 'ghost' riley #ocaptainchallenge #foster carer john price #teen!simon riley #john price x simon riley #tw dark themes #tw child abuse #tw child neglect #tw death #tw sibling seperation #kate laswell #might make this a mini-series #imagine the chaos of foster dad price with 3 traumatised teenagers

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homomenhommes · 1 month

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … April 24

Twins Karl and Robert Oelbermann

1896 – Robert Oelbermann, German youth leader. (d.1941) In 1919 Robert and his twin brother Karl founded the Nerother Bund youth group in the Cologne region. Like other German youth groups, it aimed to bring youth closer to nature through camping and hiking. Homosexual relationships sometimes developed from the intense adolescent male camaraderie, and the Nerother Bund accepted these friendships, as did a number of German youth groups at the time.

Soon after the Nazis took power in 1933, they dissolved all independent youth groups and urged the members to join the Hitler Youth movement. Robert refused and secretly continued his connection with the Nerother Bund. In 1936 he was convicted under the Nazi-revised criminal code's Paragraph 175 which outlawed homosexuality. Robert was imprisoned with 13 other members of the Nerother Bund.

Robert was one of more than 50,000 men sentenced under Paragraph 175 during the Nazi regime. By 1941 he had been transferred to the Dachau concentration camp. Like many "175ers" in the camps, Robert was required to wear an identifying pink triangle. The "175ers" were commonly segregated in separate barracks, subjected to particularly harsh treatment, and often ostracized by other prisoner groups.

Forty-four-year-old Robert died at Dachau in 1941.

1951 – John Edward Heys is an American independent filmmaker, actor and writer who lives and works in Berlin.

John Edward Heys was born and raised in New Jersey. Upon his father's death two days after Heys' 12th birthday, he was enrolled and educated at a private boarding school in northern New Jersey. Upon graduating from secondary school, Heys moved to Miami Shores, Florida, to the home of his maternal aunts.

After two semesters of college majoring in Liberal Arts, Heys moved to New York City in 1968 and became part of the East Village and West Village alternative life and LGBTQ culture.

In August 1969, he founded America's first bi-monthly newspaper for the LGBTQ community, Gay Power, the official title totaling 24 issues and was editor until August 1970. One of its covers was created by Robert Mapplethorpe. The newspaper also contained illustrations by Touko Laaksonen, better known as Tom of Finland, as well as regular contributors as Arthur Bell, Taylor Mead, Charles Ludlam, Pudgy Roberts, Bill Vehr, Pat Maxwell, Clayton Cole and regular columns from all of the active LGBSTG groups, from the most conservative Mattachine Society to the most radical The Gay Liberation Front, and all the other groups in between.

Heys created several one-man performance pieces and he acted with Cookie Mueller, H.M. Koutoukas, Charles Ludlam, Ethyl Eichelberger and as part of the Angels of Light NYC Group which Hibiscus founded after moving to NYC.

Heys was a subject for the artists Peter Hujar, Francesco Clemente, Charles Ludlam, Richard Banks, Frank Moore and numerous other photographers. Heys was a close friend & muse of the photographer Peter Hujar and subject of many portraits. Hujar once remarked upon Heys' resemblance to Diana Vreeland, stating that, "I can take a picture of her and another of you and there is a resemblance".

In Berlin he was a friend of Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, the Neue Deutsche Welle (new-wave) band Die Tödliche Doris and to the radical gay-activist Napoleon Seyfarth. Heys made two films of Charlotte von Mahlsdorf, one of Napoleon Seyfarth, and was the subject of an 8 mm short film which Wolfgang Mueller made in 1984 in the legendary 1930's bordello, Pensione Florian.

Heys' films have been screened at many worldwide film festivals.

1952 – Jean-Paul Gaultier's clothes have both influenced fashions in the clubs and on the streets and have also appropriated ideas from those sources. Since his early shows Gaultier has drawn upon street styles and club culture for his haute couture creations.

A frequenter of gay clubs in London, he typically incorporates elements of gay style into his collections. His 1996 Pin Up Boys collection, for example, drew upon the sailor as a gay icon and presented figure-hugging pink and blue Tom of Finland style outfits.

Born in Arcueil, France, Gaultier was an only child. The future designer was greatly influenced by his grandmother, Marie Garrabe, a hypnotist and practitioner of alternative healing who encouraged him to pursue the unmanly pastimes of sketching and costume making.

Gaultier first realized the impact of his sketches when he was punished by his school teacher for drawing Folies Bergère showgirls. He was made to walk around school with the drawing pinned to his back. The punishment, however, only made the young Gaultier aware of his potential for showmanship.

Gaultier had no formal fashion training. Instead, he sent hundreds of his sketches to various couture houses. Pierre Cardin was impressed by the work and hired Gaultier as a design assistant in 1970, on the young man's eighteenth birthday. Gaultier worked for a number of other French design houses before launching his first collection under his own name in 1976.

However, it was not until 1981, when Gaultier began reflecting and adapting with his own inimitable touch key strands of London's youth subcultures, that his talent was established and his reputation as the enfant terrible of the fashion world was consolidated.

In addition to producing groundbreaking and outrageous clothes for his highly theatrical fashion shows, presented by unconventional models (transvestites, old and fat women, tattooed and pierced youngsters), he also launched cheaper diffusion ranges—Junior Gaultier (in 1988), Gaultier Jeans (in 1993), and JPG (in 1994).

In his designs, Gaultier toys with notions of masculinity and the appropriate forms of dress for men to wear. In 1985 he created his first skirt for men. While it did not create a major impact, it had some effect, as fashionable young gay men were seen in the clubs of London and Paris wearing skirts.

For his Autumn/Winter 1988 collection Gaultier again attempted to create a skirt for men; and in 1993, responding to the popularity of kilts amongst gay men on the streets of London and New York, his Vikings collection included his reinvention of the skirt for men in the form of the kilt.

Gaultier has utilized his distinctive appearance, especially his bleached blond hair and blue and white striped matelot T-shirt, as a fashion statement in its own right. When he launched his men's fragrance in 1995, it was in a male torso bottle that was striped to imitate his signature T-shirt.

At the end of the 1980s, Gaultier suffered several reverses, including most painfully the loss, from an AIDS-related illness, of his lover and business partner of fifteen years, Francis Menuge.

But in 1990 he returned to the forefront of fashion by creating the now infamous corset and other stage costumes for Madonna's Blond Ambition tour. "I love Madonna. That was one of the best times of my career," he told the London Observer newspaper in 1997.

The designer lives in Paris, where his business is headquartered, but also spends time in Italy, where his clothes are manufactured.

1958 – Born: Brian Paddick, Baron Paddick of Brixton, British politician, and Liberal Democrat candidate for the London mayoral election, 2008, coming third behind Boris Johnson and Ken Livingstone. He was, until his retirement in May 2007, Deputy Assistant Commissioner in London's Metropolitan Police Service and the United Kingdom's most senior openly gay police officer.

Paddick was educated at Sutton Grammar School, Sutton then went on to study at Queen's College, Oxford (BA), the University of Warwick (MBA), and the University of Cambridge (Postgraduate Diploma in Criminology). When he was at Oxford, he was Captain of the University Swimming Team and Vice-Captain of his college's Rugby team.

Paddick was a sergeant on the front line during the 1981 Brixton riots, an experience which undoubtedly shaped his attitudes about confrontational police action and strengthened his belief in community policing. He was later in charge of CID at Notting Hill and responsible for policing the Notting Hill Carnival. He was promoted to commander in December 2000, and fulfilled his ambition of becoming head of policing in Brixton.

In November 2003 Paddick was promoted to Deputy Assistant Commissioner, and in April 2005 he took over management of Territorial Policing across all 32 London Boroughs, with responsibility for 20,000 police officers and support staff. He was accountable for reducing 'volume crime' in London (all offences up to and including rape in terms of seriousness) and increasing the number of offenders brought to justice. He was the national lead for the police service on disability and mental health issues for a year and a half. He was also in the media spotlight as the senior Metropolitan Police Service spokesman for the funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales and after the 7 July 2005 London bombings.

Following a widely-publicised disagreement with Sir Ian Blair, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, over the wrongful shooting of Jean Charles de Menezes at Stockwell Tube station on 22 July 2005, Paddick was assigned the position of group director of information management, which he considered a 'non-job'. Claiming that the Home Office had intervened for political reasons to ensure that Blair would not have to resign over the incident as it had occurred in the aftermath of 21 July 2005 London bombings, Paddick says he came to accept that his police career was over and that he would never achieve his goal of becoming a chief constable.

Between 1983 and 1988, Paddick was married. According to Paddick, it was 'a fairly conventional marriage' and his former wife said it was 'a wonderful marriage'. She did not know he was gay. He struggled with his sexuality until towards the end of his marriage in 1988. Since then he has been a vocal and visible advocate for gay rights and diversity.

He had a knack during his police career of attracting controversy over his policies, outspokenness and his sexuality but this seems to have done him no harm and has given him much credibility and popularity in his post-police political career, as he seems to a confident and charming man of integrity. Being somewhat handsome has probably not hurt either.

Paddick was a contestant on the eighth series of the ITV1 reality television show I'm a Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here! in 2008. On 1 December 2008, he became the sixth celebrity to be voted off the show. Interviewed by the show's hosts Ant & Dec after leaving the jungle, he explained his reasons for participating:

"For a long time I've been doing serious stuff. Thirty years in the police and running for mayor. It's all bad news that they want me to comment on. So I thought why not come and do something trivial ... It's the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, anything after this is a breeze."

In 2008, Paddick was ranked number 101 in the annual Pink List of influential gay and lesbian people in Britain published by The Independent on Sunday, down from number 83 in 2007.

Paddick presently lives in Vauxhall, London, with his husband Petter Belsvik, a civil engineer from Oslo, Norway; they met in a bar while on holiday in Ibiza. They married in Oslo 9 January 2009.

It was announced that he would be elevated to the House of Lords in August 2013. He was created a life peer on 12 September 2013 taking the title Baron Paddick, of Brixton in the London Borough of Lambeth.

1989 – Thomas Sanders is an American internet personality made famous by Vine and YouTube. He is best known for his Vine career until the app was shut down by Twitter at the beginning of 2017.

After the shutdown of Vine, he shifted his online presence mainly to YouTube, though he had started to create content on YouTube before that as well. His online personality consists of comedy, impressions, singing, and social justice.

He also has a career outside of the Internet performing in local theater productions with the hope of someday making it to Broadway. He managed to amass over 7.4 billion loops and 8.3 million followers on Vine, making his career one of the most successful in the app's short history.

Thomas Sanders was born and raised in Gainesville, Florida and still lives there today.

Although he does not reveal much about his family or personal life, he makes clear his pride of his predominantly Irish Catholic heritage, and he has revealed that he has three brothers: Patrick, Christian, and Shea.

On June 12th 2017, Sanders came out as gay in his video titled Having Pride.

1994 – Yaroslav Mogutin, Russia’s most visible openly gay journalist, makes headlines when he attempts to register his marriage to American artist Robert Filippini. The head of Moscow’s Wedding Palace No. 4 refuses his application.

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 6 months

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This may be a weird request, but pls hear me out. Could you do something in the format of those headcanons you write for EM characters—like which planet they are associated with—but just describing the character and their role in the series/movie in like 2-3 sentences? Like a trivia of sorts. I’ve only seen HOTD, and while some of his chars can be googled easily, like Osferth or Tom Bennet, the ones like Genyen or Michael are very obscure to me due to not having seen the stuff they’re from yet, and there isn’t always a wiki page available for them. You being the #1 Ewan Mitchell expert, I don’t really know who else to approach with such a thing. Please & I’d be very thankful 🏵💞🍀

Yeah, I can certainly do that for you. Below the cut!

Abraham - features in only one episode of a long running soap opera called Grantchester. The main protagonist of the series happens across a Romani camp. Ewan plays a character who is engaged to a girl named Luella. Luella keeps disappearing off. When Luella's father won't tell Abraham where she's going, he kills him with a fireplace poker. It later transpires that Luella is having an affair with the farmer whose land they're camped on and she doesn't want to marry Abraham at all. He's upset, not only at the loss of his wife-to-be, but also because he was next in line to become leader of their settlement, and has ruined that by killing someone from their community.

Aemond - Second son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower. Bit of a twat, resentful because his dragon egg never hatched in his cradle. Claims his dead aunt's dragon, and his nephew gets the arsehole with him and knifes him in the face for it. He loses hie eye, but puts a gnarly sapphire in the socket in its place. Kills his nephew for rocking up to Storm's End and cockblocking him, which starts a war within his family and loads of them die. Gets distracted by a big tiddy witch and spends the rest of the war slinging one up her until eventually him and his uncle commit murder suicide.

Billy Taylor - sweetest little treasure in the world. Works as a bell boy at a hotel called the Halcyon, which quite frankly ought to be shut down for its negligent business practices. Anyway, Billy is sweet on a maid called Kate. When a hotel guest assaults her, he pulls the guy's own gun on him and narrowly avoids getting the sack for it. His mum interferes in his drafting, because she doesn't want him going overseas to fight in the war, so he's stationed at the London army barracks manning the anti aircraft guns. Dies anyway, because he gets blown up.

Billy Washington - hopeless brother of boss bitch Lana Washington. Doesn't have a job, has been refused from the army and feels pretty shit about life. His girlfriend has left him and his flat's a shit state. Because of his mardy outlook on life, a fascist organisation is able to radicalise him and frames him for vandalising a Halal butcher's. They later plant a bomb in his car, with the intention of it going off when he gets out at Farringdon station, where an anti fascist protest is taking place. Lana intercepts him on route, and he drives to Cranstead Gardens instead. He panics in the car, not knowing what to do, and against all advice, ends up opening the door to get out, which sets off the bomb and kills him.

Ettore - on board a space ship with other death row inmates to try to find alternative energy resources. Essentially understood that it's a suicide mission, but the doctor on board is conducting heinous fertility experiments on everyone. They are not allowed to sleep with each other, but have a "box" that they can go into to masturbate. Ettore is generally considered creepy by everyone on board, and he is really perverted - lots of inappropriate staring, etc. One night, he sneaks into the cell of an inmate called Boyse and tries to rape her. When her bunkmate, Mink, tries to defend her he beats her up. Eventually, male members of crew are alerted and Ettore is beaten to a pulp. Mink then stabs him through the eye and he's chucked out of the airlock.

Genyen - Only in one episode of a soap opera called Doctors. Introduced in a Buddhist centre with a senior monk called Jinba. Jinba tells him to go out and collect money for the centre. A doctor from the series runs into him while he's collecting and feels sorry for him because he looks cold. He gives him his lunch and donates £20, which Genyen tucks into his robe instead of the charity box. Jinba sees and takes the money off of Genyen. At this point it seems as though Genyen is being mistreated by Jinba, and the doctor seems to think this too, so when Genyen wants to leave he gives him cash to help him. It then transpires that the reason Jinba doesn't want Genyen handling large sums of money is because he steals. He stole Jinba's bank card when he left and empties his bank account at an ATM. He is apprehended by the doctor though and the police are called.

Jack - from the short, Fire. Jack has an ability where the angrier he gets the more fire he is able to produce. His dad and him have made a living out of stealing cars. Jack runs away when he decides he doesn't want to do it anymore and his dad pursues him through the woods. Gets so angry his fire powers causes him to fell an entire tree.

Jason - from the film, Just Charlie, plays a guy hanging out at a play park. Beats up a girl when he finds out she's trans.

Michael Gavey - a student at Oxford. Befriends Oliver Quick because he believes him to be a social outcast, much like he is. Is a mathematical genius. Is quickly ditched by Oliver when he manages to befriend the more popular students. Incredibly abrasive, outspoken and looks down upon the popular students as he believes them to be "vapid cunts".

Osferth - King Alfred's bastard. Enrolled as a novice monk, but leaves the monastery when he's of age to join Uhtred, as his uncle Leofric had always spoken fondly of him. Not a particularly seasoned fighter, but brave in his own right and extremely loyal. Incredibly kind and maintains his faith throughout, but has some absolutely cracking one lines. "What is smite?" "Well, it's a word, isn't it?" Fucks like a dinosaur, according to the prostitutes of Winchester. Dies when he's stabbed in the side during battle, and it's honestly one of the most heart wrenching scenes I've ever watched in my life.

Poacher - from the short, Stalker, this film is minutes long and Ewan appears in it for seconds and says nothing. Plays a poacher that is in trouble for illegally hunting deer on private land. Just stands there holding a rifle.

Scott - from the film Stereotype. Literally only a voice part - a voicemail of Scott encouraging his friend to beat someone up.

Tom Bennett - a troublemaker that always seems to be attracting the attention of the police. He doesn't want to be drafted into the war, so decides to sign up as a conscientious objector. However, when it transpires that his latest crime is more serious than he realised, he enlists in the navy to avoid going to prison. Is stationed aboard the HMS Exeter and has a canary named Vera, which he takes bets for which ports she'll lay eggs in. Survives the Battle of the River Plate and it matures him. He's short in Dunkirk and ends up in a hospital in Paris around the time that they surrender to the Nazis. Is snuck out and across the Spanish border. In season two, somewhere on his way back home he stopped for a haircut that was administered by a lawnmower. His father died when their house was shelled and he blames his sister for it. He then goes back to war.

Will - from the short Salad Days. Robs people's houses with two of his friends. Discovers a gun in one of them and uses it to hold up a post office. Takes a worker hostage and his friends freak out and run away. He lets the guy go, but when his friend reveals he wants to go to the police about what they did, he beats him up because he doesn't want to go to prison or give back the money they stole.

#asked and answered #ewan mitchell #ewanverse headcanons

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