#aztec blanket

[tinyshippingtrash]

Modern Bedroom - Bedroom

An illustration of a spacious, minimalist master bedroom with blue walls and a medium-tone wood floor.

#aztec blanket #roman shade #patterned rug #navy blue walls #white roman shade #motif

[prompto-cam]

Modern Bedroom in Philadelphia Bedroom - large modern master medium tone wood floor and brown floor bedroom idea with blue walls

#navy pillows #navy blue walls #decorative stool #pendant lighting #aztec blanket

[2000beanies]

#2000beanies #pocahontas blanket #brother’s cloud sheets #nana’s aztec blanket

[sonemonecom]

A fleece plush blanket is a delightful combination of two cozy and soft materials, creating a luxurious and comforting textile. These blankets are typically made with a fleece fabric on one side and a plush or high-pile fabric on the other side. The result is a warm, snuggly, and ultra-soft blanket that provides a wonderful sensory experience.

Fleece, often made from synthetic materials like polyester, is known for its insulating properties and lightweight nature. It efficiently retains body heat, making it an excellent choice for staying warm during colder seasons. The plush side of the blanket, with its longer and softer fibers, adds an extra layer of comfort and tactile pleasure, making it feel like a soft cloud against the skin.

#aztec print blanket #fleece plush blanket

[silly-artist]

Midcentury Bedroom - Master Example of a mid-sized 1950s master carpeted and beige floor bedroom design with beige walls and no fireplace

#indoor plant #aztec print throw blanket #master #white pillows #concrete flower vases #blue and gray throw blanket

[rinixo]

divine battle

Din Djarin/Reader | 2.5k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, pregnancy, Mand’alor Din Djarin, pregnant sex, pregnancy related body dysmorphia, descriptions of childbirth, descriptions of pain, blood

A short wrap-up to aquae vivae. This has descriptions of body dysmorphia, pain and stress during childbirth, and blood.

a/n: The concept of Mandalorians viewing childbirth as a battle is inspired by Aztec mythology and folklore.

read on ao3

You weren’t exactly trying to avoid it, but it still happens sooner than you expected.

Fatigue. Sore abdomen and breasts. Minor mood swings. All symptoms of an impending menstrual cycle - which never comes.

You keep quiet about it at first. A visit to a med droid confirms your suspicions and gives you a clearer timeline. Just a few weeks in so far. Many months to go.

Laying on the bed, you press soft fingers into the flesh of your stomach absentmindedly, trying to imagine it swollen and round. You’d have to let your clothes out, you realize. Or get new ones. Plus all of the other things babies require.

You don’t know where to even start. You don’t have any family here on Mandalore besides your husband - no one to ask, to confide in.

Din had raised Grogu, but that was different. He isn’t a normal baby. A human baby. Your baby.

The sound of the door opening makes you turn your head to look. Din has arrived, Grogu in his arms. They had been training, based on the paint splattered across the child’s clothes.

“Are you all right?” Din questions, seeing you laid out over the blankets.

You nod. “Yes. Just tired.”

Setting Grogu down, he starts to take off his boots and helmet. “Are you sure you’re not working too hard? You’ve been more tired than usual the past few days.”

“I’m sure,” you reply. He casts you a small frown, which you can’t help but smile at. You like how his lips curve naturally into a soft pout.

Raising your hand, you beckon him closer. “Come here.”

Din obliges you, walking slowly toward your bed. He lets you grab his gloved hand, and you pull him down so that he lies next to you. You entwine your fingers with his, turning your head to look into his dark eyes.

He has such nice eyes, you think. Perhaps your baby would have his eyes.

“You sure you’re ok?” Din asks again. There’s worry in his tone, and you squeeze his hand in reassurance. Are you ok? Yes and no. You’re nervous, anxious, and so full of an emotion you can’t name that you feel like you’re going to burst.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fall loosely from your mouth. You watch his expression - eyes widening almost imperceptibly. A short breath leaves his lips.

“Pregnant,” he repeats, almost as if in disbelief. You nod. Tears prick the edge of your vision, and you’re not sure why. Hormones, maybe?

He glances down at your bare abdomen. Removing a glove, he places his palm over you, warmth emanating from his skin into yours. The two of you stay like that for several silent minutes.

“A baby,” he murmurs, and there’s so much awe in how he says it. “Our baby. You’re pregnant.” He looks up at you, and you see the loving determination in his gaze. It makes you feel braver.

“I don’t know how to be a parent,” you confess, looking for support. Din’s eyes soften, and he kisses your lips, the tip of your nose, and the sides of your eyes where tears glisten.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he promises.

—

News of your pregnancy is slow to travel. It’s several months before you start to show noticeably - several months before you can no longer get away with wearing baggier and baggier clothes to cover it up.

It starts with low murmurs in the palace. Idle mumbles of congratulations, which you smile at and hurry past. It’s not that you aren’t happy or excited - sometimes it feels like your heart is going to burst from it all - but you’re nervous. Having a baby is a big deal. Having the Mand’alor’s baby is an even bigger deal.

Din is your constant shadow, unwilling to leave you alone or unguarded for any amount of time. When he absolutely can’t be at your side, he assigns his most loyal and highly trained guards to escort you.

After one incident when a guard doesn’t even let you open a jar yourself, you snap. That evening you sit your husband down and explain that you aren’t helpless and that while you appreciate the concern, it’s becoming more of a nuisance than a help.

Those big brown eyes look up at you forlornly. He agrees to tone it down, pulling you closer by the waist. He kisses the growing swell of your stomach through your linen shift as you pat his soft hair lovingly. You can’t stay mad at him.

The midwives had told you that it would be normal for you to experience an increased libido as time went on. However, it was Din who was becoming more and more insatiable with each passing day. Whether it was lathing over your breasts or buried between your legs, there was scarcely a night where his mouth wasn’t on you somewhere.

Din murmurs idolization into your stomach, and you bite your lip at the feeling of his scruff on your sensitive skin. Laying you back on the bed, he spreads your legs open and kisses softly from the summit of your bump down to where you’re swollen and waiting for him. He has you coming undone with just a few wide laps of his tongue, praising you the whole while.

He tells you how good you taste, and how sensitive you are to his touches. You feel like a goddess being worshipped with how he revels in your changing body.

It helps you on the days you feel detached from yourself. You examine yourself in the full-length mirror, propped up in your closet. Pulling your top up, you cup your round stomach with both hands, turning to view yourself from a side angle.

Din finds you there, brows furrowed in thought. “Everything all right?” He asks.

“I don’t recognize myself,” you murmur. As your body changes, you struggle with seeing yourself in your reflection. It’s made worse by people commenting on how you look - how big you’re getting or how the way your stomach sits means you’re carrying a boy or a girl or whatever other wives’ tales people come up with. You’ve taken to avoiding the court as much as possible as your due date draws nearer.

Din comes up behind you and places his hands over yours, thumbs stroking lovingly over your soft skin. He places his chin on your shoulder, looking at your reflection in the mirror. You lean your head against his.

“I see a woman carrying my child,” he soothes. “A woman who grows more beautiful by the day.” He places a soft kiss to your hair, and you give him a small smile.

—

Something happens on the southern continent, something that his military advisors say requires Din’s attention. At first, he refuses to go, citing your nearing due date.

“Just go,” you insist. “We’ve got a few weeks left. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’d never forgive myself if I missed the birth of our child,” he presses. “If I wasn’t there at your side.”

“I’ll hold it in,” you counter, and that gets a huff and a smirk from him.

He grumbles but acquiesces. You wish him good luck and tell him you love him, watching him and Grogu take off in his starfighter.

You waddle back to your chambers, looking forward to getting off your feet. Everything aches recently, and resting in your soft bed surrounded by an ever-increasing mountain of pillows is all that soothes you. Din had teased you about it, feigning exasperation at his disappearing real estate, but dutifully fetched you more and more pillows.

You wince at a sharp pain in your back. It’s nothing to be concerned about, you tell yourself. You’ve got all kinds of pain, in more than just your back. It would be ridiculous if you went into labor the same hour Din left the city -

Another sharp pain and you start to feel clammy. Something feels wrong, innately wrong. The pain doesn’t dissipate, and you have to sit down on a window ledge before your legs give out.

You tap on your wrist communicator, sending a message to the med droid and midwife with your location.

There’s a dampness between your legs. Did your water break? You can’t see past your stomach, so you reach down to touch and feel faint when your hand comes back smeared in blood.

“No no no,” you mumble. “Not yet, please not yet - not right now, your father’s not here.”

Another roll of pain is the only answer, and you choke back a cry. The last thing you remember before your vision goes black is the hurried drone of the med droid arriving, and being lifted in strong, familiar arms.

You come to in a private med bay as Din lays you down carefully. He snaps at the med droid trying to squeeze in next to him, and the midwife snaps back at him and tells him that, Mand’alor or no, if he wants to stay he has to move so they can do their job.

He moves to kneel next to the bed, moving your hair out of your face gently. You sigh as the midwife injects you with something that begins to make the terrible pain subside.

“How are you here?” You murmur, turning your head to look at Din. His eyes are wide, and you can see fear in the way he searches your face.

“Grogu,” he whispers. “He started to cry, and I just - I had a really bad feeling.”

“Hush now,” the midwife announced. You looked up at her helmeted face. “You need to save your energy, young warrior.”

“M’not a warrior,” you choke out.

“You are,” the stern woman insisted. “In our culture, childbirth is conceptually equivalent to battle. You are going to fight and struggle as you labor to bring your child into this world, and if you are to emerge victorious you will need all of your strength.”

A deep ache gets past whatever pain reliever you have in your system, and you curl up with a low groan. Your hand dashes out to grab Din’s, and you clench it hard as the contraction rolls through you.

“You can do this,” your husband says firmly. “I am here with you, my love.”

It’s not a quick birth. The midwife says something about complications, but you can barely think through the pain and the instinctual need for your body to just push. Din does not leave your side for a moment through the entire process, which lasts well into the night.

At last, your screams are answered by the wail of your daughter as she enters this world, and you collapse back onto the sheets. She’s placed, wet and screaming on your chest, and you barely have a chance to croak out a ‘hello’ before your vision goes black again. —

Low murmuring, like a lullaby, draws you from your sleep. Your eyes open slowly, vision blurry, and you see a broad figure sitting next to you holding a bundle of blankets in their arms.

You shift, getting the attention of your husband. Din looks up at you, a gentle smile on his curved lips. He glances back down at the bundle. There’s adoration in the way his eyes shine, like nothing you’ve ever seen from him before.

“Your mother’s awake, little one,” he hushes. You blink, trying to break out of your hazy mindset. “Would you like to try meeting her again?”

He moves carefully toward you and settles next to you on the bed. You sit up, eyes wide and curious, eager to see the face of the child you’d been carrying for all these months.

She’s asleep, and you’re delighted to see that her lips pout the same way Din’s do. She has a tuft of dark hair, and ten perfect little fingers and toes.

“Hello,” you whisper. “Hello, Rila.” Din leans over and transfers your daughter into your waiting arms, wrapping his arms around the both of you and holding you close.

“She’s beautiful,” you say dreamily. Din presses a soft kiss to your hair.

“Like her mother,” he agrees. You glance up at him, a watery smile on your lips.

Rila yawns, and blinks, and your heart sings when you realize that she does have her father’s eyes.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #the mandalorian

[50calmadeuce]

Ch.7: The Talk

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

"I'm going to be the best damn fighter pilot ever," declares your now 'husband' with a conviction that lights up his eyes. A smile spreads across your face, both proud and supportive of his determination and dreams. He looked so good in his khaki Navy uniform.

"That's exactly what I expect from you," you reply, your voice laced with pride and affection. "And I'll be cheering you on every step of the way."

His green eyes meet yours, and in them, you see not just the fierce determination of a man set on conquering the skies but also the warmth and gratitude for your unwavering support.

He drew you in closer, his eyes searching yours. "You're okay with this?"

"Jake. I have school to finish. It's not like being a medical doctor, believe it or not. It's actually harder. How long will you be gone?"

"Six weeks."

"And you'll be stationed in Florida during that time?"

"Yes, Ma'am," he responded, his southern drawl adding a layer of charm to his words, paired with a grin that melted your heart. It was hard to believe that you were actually married to this man after just a week and a half. "I'll keep you updated on my next location." Leaning in, he kissed you—a kiss that was soft, filled with love and promise. As you parted from the embrace, your foreheads remained gently pressed together. "I promise, we'll have our honeymoon after everything settles down, Mrs. Seresin." His words, sincere and full of future promises.

You smiled. "Technically, it'll be Doctor Seresin, but I won't hold that against you." The light-hearted jest carried the warmth of your shared understanding and the mutual respect for each other's ambitions and titles.

As the memory gently receded, you completed preparing the hot cocoa, adding a splash of bourbon for an extra layer of warmth. Carrying two mugs into the living room, you found Jake settled on the couch. Handing him one of the cups, he accepted it with a nod.

"Thank you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of appreciation as he wrapped his hands around the warm mug.

Settling on the couch beside him, you draped the Aztec blanket from the back of the couch over your lap, embracing the warmth and comfort it offered. After taking a sip of the cocoa, its warmth spreading through you, you turned to look at him. "Start talking, Hangman."

Jake took a deep breath, the seriousness in your request evident. The cozy setting of the living room, with its gentle lighting and the quiet ambiance, contrasted sharply with the weight of the conversation that was about to unfold. He shifted slightly, turning to face you more directly, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability.

"Alright," he began, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of emotion. "You know the missions we fly aren't exactly routine, but this last one... it was different. It was one of those moments where everything that could go wrong, did."

He paused, searching for the right words, his gaze momentarily drifting away before locking back onto yours. "We were deep in enemy territory, and we got ambushed. It was like they knew exactly where and when to hit us. Maverick and Rooster, they were in a tight spot, almost didn't make it out. And if it weren't for a split-second decision, they wouldn't have."

The weight of his words hung in the air, a testament to the danger and the razor-thin margins on which survival often hung in their line of work. He took a sip of his cocoa, perhaps seeking a momentary respite from the memories.

Understanding the constraints of his job meant he couldn't divulge everything, you appreciated the efforts he made to share as much as he could with you.

He shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Let's just say I saved them at the last minute."

That familiar cockiness, a trait you knew well in your husband, surfaced, bringing a sense of normalcy and comfort to the conversation. It was these moments that reminded you of the strength and confidence that defined him.

The shift in his demeanor was palpable as his voice softened, weighed down by a sorrow that had lingered in the spaces between his words. "But I couldn't save our baby. I couldn't be here to protect you," he confessed, the vulnerability in his eyes as tears began to form, revealing the depth of his pain and regret. It was a stark reminder of the personal battles he faced, battles not against external enemies but against the circumstances that kept him from being there in your moment of need.

You gently set your cocoa down on the coffee table, carefully took his mug from his hands to place it beside yours, and then reached out to clasp his hands in yours. "Jake, I was just starting the third month," you began, holding his gaze with a tender yet steady look. "It was an accident that the horse kicked. We both know I just figured out I was pregnant."

Jake's face softened, the mention of the horse and the accident bringing back a flood of memories, each one tinged with the pain of what had been lost. His hands, strong yet gentle, squeezed yours in response, a silent acknowledgment of the shared heartache.

"I remember," he whispered, the words barely audible, yet laden with emotion. "I remember how excited we were, how much we looked forward to everything that was supposed to come next. And then…"

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, the weight of the loss momentarily overtaking him. The room seemed to shrink with the intensity of the moment, the air thick with unspoken feelings and the quiet sorrow of what could have been.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I know I wasn't there when you needed me most. I was… I was lost, Y/N."

"I know you were, but I love my job." You adjusted yourself. "It's better now. I work with a team now, so if I do, or we do, start a family, I won't be in that predicament." His eyes locked on yours as you took a breath, gathering your thoughts and emotions. "When I was making the cocoa in the kitchen, I thought back to the day you had to leave for your six-week fighter school. I remembered how confident you were—not just in what you wanted to do, but also in my goals and how we were going to navigate it all together. How you, someone I'd known for only a week and a half, could possess such unwavering confidence, I'll never fully understand. But it was in that moment I knew I loved you for it."

Jake's expression softened, the reminiscence touching something deep within him. The memory of that day, the emotions that had swirled between them, was a vivid reminder of the foundation upon which their relationship was built. It was a foundation of mutual respect, support, and an unshakeable belief in each other's dreams and abilities.

"I remember that day," Jake said, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and affection. "I saw something in you, Y/N. A strength and determination that matched my own. You had this fire in your eyes, this passion for your work, for your dreams. It was impossible not to believe in you, in us. Hell, that's why I married you."

"I married you for the same reasons, Jake," you responded, your voice steady, laced with emotion.

"After I told you to quit your job because of the baby, I thought I lost you," he admitted, his voice carrying a note of vulnerability.

"Well, not calling or talking was pretty rough, and I can't say I didn't think about divorce," you confessed, the honesty in your voice cutting through the air between you.

Jake looked at you, a depth of understanding and gratitude shining through his gaze. "But yet, you stayed," he acknowledged, his voice soft yet filled with emotion.

You nodded, affirming his words. "I did because I knew you were hurting," you responded, your voice carrying a mix of empathy and resolve. "I got to see the confident and cocky side of my husband before he left. I never got to see what happens when something breaks him," you continued, your voice laced with a mixture of reflection and concern. Jake met your gaze, a complex mix of emotions flickering in his eyes as he processed your words. "And I have this feeling, I'm the only one that has seen that side of you." The weight of this realization seemed to settle between you, a silent acknowledgment of the intimacy and trust that defined your relationship.

Jake leaned forward, closing the distance between you, until your foreheads gently touched.

"You're right," Jake whispered, his voice a soft echo of the bond that tethered your hearts. "You are the only one who's seen me like that. I've always thought showing vulnerability was a weakness, especially in my line of work. But with you, I've come to understand it's a form of strength. Being open, honest, and vulnerable with you—it doesn't make me weaker; it makes me whole."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, seeking and finding the solace he needed in their depths. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, you've always been my safe haven, a place where I can lay down the burdens I carry and just be me. Not the fighter pilot, not the officer, but just Jake. And I've never thanked you enough for that, for being my rock, my constant in a life filled with uncertainties, even when I wasn't there."

You reached out, your hand moving with a tenderness that conveyed the depth of your feelings, and gently placed it on the side of his face. Then slowly, you leaned in, closing the gap between the two of you with a sense of purpose and affection. The moment your lips met, it was as if time itself slowed down, allowing you both to fully immerse in the tenderness of the kiss.

At his family's ranch in Texas, under the expansive blue sky, you and Jake stood in front of a beautifully crafted country wedding arch adorned with wildflowers and soft, flowing fabrics that danced in the gentle breeze. The setting was picturesque, embodying the rustic elegance and warmth of the ranch that had been a significant part of Jake's life. You in your floral lace country wedding dress, and Jake in his dress whites. In front of the pastor, who wore a kind smile that reflected the joy of the occasion, you both prepared to exchange vows that would bind your lives together.

His sister, radiant in her role as your Matron of Honor, stood by your side, her presence a comforting and supportive force. Next to Jake, his brother-in-law, serving as the Best Man, wore a proud and approving look, clearly honored to play a pivotal role in this momentous day. The intimate gathering of family and close friends, all bearing witness to your union, created an atmosphere of love and celebration that seemed to envelop everyone in a shared happiness.

As you locked eyes with Jake, everything else seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, ready to embark on this new journey together.

"Jake Seresin, do you take Y/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Do you vow to love her, comfort her, honor and cherish her, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and to remain faithful to her alone, as long as you both shall live?" the pastor queried, his voice resonating with the solemnity of the moment.

With a depth of emotion and unwavering certainty, Jake responded, his gaze locked with yours, a silent promise reflected in his eyes. "I do," he affirmed, his words a testament to the strength of his commitment and love.

"Y/N, do you take Jake Seresin to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in the bond of marriage? Do you vow to love him, comfort him, honor, and cherish him, in good times and in bad, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, to be faithful only to him for as long as you both shall live?" the pastor inquired, his voice echoing the gravity of the commitment being made.

With a heart full of love and eyes shining with the promise of a shared future, you replied firmly and with unwavering conviction, "I do."

The pastor, witnessing the sincerity and strength of your vows, smiled warmly before turning to the gathered loved ones. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

As Jake stepped forward, closing the distance between you, there was a sense of coming home. When his lips met yours, the kiss was a deep well of all the love you felt for each other, a promise made not just for today but for all the tomorrows to come.

The applause that erupted from your family and friends filled the air with a joyous cacophony, a celebration of love’s enduring power and the beginning of a new chapter in your lives. As you turned to face the world as husband and wife, hand in hand, it was with the knowledge that together, you could face whatever the future held.

Tags:

@buckysteveloki-me @bellyliveslife @tgmreader @callsign-barbell @86laura11 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @guacam011y @nerdgirljen @hookslove1592 @dempy @djs8891

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #glen powell #hangman top gun #hangman #top gun maverick hangman #hangman fanfic #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick #hangman x reader #hangman imagines #top gun hangman #hangman fanfiction #top gun fic

[cecilysass]

Shine On (2/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 2: Nice Catching Up

Farrs Corner, Virginia Eighteen days later February 20, 2015

Mulder meant to finish the job before she came over. But it got away from him, like everything seems to these days.

So when she finally comes back—the long-anticipated visit home—there are still stacks of books all over the living room, all these untidy towers of hundreds of books. Cryptid encyclopedias, profiling and behavioral analysis monographs, texts about mythology and religion, science, art, language, history. They’re everywhere, chaotic, precariously balanced, piled, heaped, stacked.

“In the middle of a project, Mulder?” she asks as she walks in, gazing blankly around the room.

“Yeah,” he says with forced enthusiasm. “I’m finally reorganizing the books.” He says this like reorganizing the books is something they’d long planned to do, instead of a recent, impulsive middle-of-the-night idea. “I’m organizing them by topic so I can find things more easily when I need them. Good idea, right?”

“Sure,” she says, staring warily at the piles. He hopes she’s not noticing how many of her books still remain in his collection. “Good idea.”

The way she says this chills him, because it’s just so polite. The same distant tone of voice she used sometimes way, way back, when they were brand new partners in the Hoover building.

“Can I take your coat, Scully? Did you want something to drink?”

“Oh,” she says, running her palms anxiously down the front panels of her sleek pale blue coat. “I don’t think so. I don’t mean to stay long. I just need that box of bedding.”

“It’s right there,” Mulder says, gesturing behind a tower of books. “Behind the psychology section.”

“Right,” she says, craning her head to see it. Her eyes meet his again, and they’re soft and reluctant. “Then… I should probably go.”

“No,” he calls out quickly. A furrow appears in her brow. “I mean … please. Scully. Just stay and have a drink. You haven’t been home in so long.”

“It’s not my home any more,” she points out softly.

“I know,” he replies. “Really. I’m not confused about… anything. I just want to talk to you. Sit down for a bit. I have tea. Or that apple cider from Trader Joe’s you like.”

She seems to hesitate. “There are books all over the couch.”

“I can move them. Hold on.” His voice is calm, but inside he’s churning. He moves to the couch, begins moving books. “Just stay a while.”

Her lips lift into that small, closed-lip smile he’s missed so much. “Okay. Just a little while.”

***

She’s clutching her mug of tea, telling him about work, and he can’t help but notice how physically straight and formal she is right now. It almost looks like she’s bracing herself, worried the couch is going to trap her somehow, like it’s going to try to bundle her up in his Aztec blanket and hold her there.

Mulder doesn’t like this body language. It looks too much like she doesn’t live here anymore.

“So things are really much the same at Our Lady of Sorrows,” she finishes. “Some good days, some bad.”

“It sounds like overall you’re still satisfied at the hospital then,” Mulder says.

“Yes,” Scully says, nodding. “I’d say that’s accurate. I wouldn’t rule out doing something else someday though.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she says, another tiny smile. “But you know. You have to stay open to extreme possibilities.”

He returns her smile. “And uh… all the other parts of your life are good, too?” He can’t bear to ask her any more directly than that. He picks up his own mug and takes a sip to give himself something to do.

She bites her bottom lip. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I have a nice new house. Very contemporary. I get together with friends from work occasionally. I see Mom regularly.”

He wonders what she means by “friends from work.” He knows what it meant back when they were “friends from work.”

“What about you, Mulder?” she asks. “What are you doing these days?”

“I told you,” he says. “I’m reorganizing the library.”

“Besides that.”

I miss you terribly everyday. I spend hours cataloging each one of my mistakes. I ponder all the big questions, like: is there any future where I might be with you again? Is there any alternate reality where I could have made you happy? Is there any world where we have our son and live together as a real family, and that grief that’s always in your eyes isn’t there?

“I write articles,” he says. “I’m thinking about a book.”

“That’s great, Mulder,” she says. Again, that false encouraging tone.

If she still lived here—if she was still his Scully—she would have considerably more to say about these messy piles of books and this aimless underemployment. She would have some dry comment. She would be suggesting constructive ideas. She would be pushing him to do better.

This Scully sounds like a stranger. Like she has no place in his life to have an opinion. Like she has no place in his life to care.

There is an awkward pause.

“Well,” she says. “I think it’s probably time I take off.”

“Oh yeah?” he says. Don’t beg, he tells himself. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she says, looking around for a coaster on the coffee table and setting her mug down. She stands up, smiling courteously. “It’s been very nice catching up with you, Mulder.”

The innocuous sentence hits him like getting socked in the stomach. He feels his face flushing red hot. He swallows, unable to politely respond.

“Okay,” he says, too shortly. He stands, too. “Sure. Ever so nice.”

She’s lifting her coat from the coat rack, but turns around to regard him stoically. She seems to debate asking her next question. “Is there a problem?” she says carefully.

Mulder hesitates. He knows he shouldn’t say anything else. Just let her go. Let the visit end pleasantly. “No,” he says with effort. “I … guess not.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s only …” No. He just can’t hold it in. “Look, I’m sorry,’” he snaps. “It’s just … it’s fucking hard to hear ‘nice catching up with you, Mulder’ come from your lips.”

“It is nice catching up with you.”

“We didn’t used to be people who ever had to catch up,” Mulder says bitterly. “We used to know everything about each other, we used to be everything to each other, and excuse me if I just can’t stand talking to you like we’re old college chums.”

“You invited me to stay and have tea.” Her pitch has dropped a full octave. “You suggested we talk. I was doing what you asked me to do.” Her voice breaks midway through her sentence, and he realizes she’s got tears in her eyes. She closes them, evidently trying to calm herself. “I have to go, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice trembling. “Yeah, okay.”

“I… I’ll see you, all right?” she says, practically a whisper.

“Will you?”

Someday there will be a last time, he thinks. A time visiting him will just be too much trouble. A time she’ll decide her attention is better spent on other things, on other people.

“Of course,” she says. She walks over and picks up her box of bedding. “Of course I will. I always will.”

He watches her turn and hurry out the door. He remains frozen in place near the couch. He doesn’t trust himself to do anything to respond. Not to say good-bye, not to walk with her to the porch, not even to wave. He might do something unbelievably stupid, like tell her he still loves her. Or try to stop her from leaving. Or shout obscenities at her in anger.

Instead, he focuses all of his energy on listening. He listens as her car door opens and closes, her engine starts. There is the rough clatter of her tires down the gravel drive. Faintly, he can hear her car door opening and closing again as she lets herself out the gate and closes it up again. Then finally there is the sound of the motor of her car growing gradually more distant. Far away from him again.

Mulder lets himself sink down again on the couch.

In a flare of angry self-hatred, he kicks the towering pile of novels nearest him. They tumble sloppily into a messy heap on the floor. He watches this destruction morosely and thinks about how good she smelled.

He wishes he’d remembered to wish her a happy birthday.

***

About thirty feet outside, between two bushes, Jackson sits, hugging his knees, his back pressed uncomfortably against the wooden frames of the side of the farmhouse. Between the branches of the bush he has a clear view of the red-headed woman driving away.

It’s not a very good hiding place. All day long, since he arrived this morning, he hasn’t had to worry too much about hiding. The man inside—the man who lives here— has been distracted, concerned about the woman’s visit, thinking almost nonstop about what she’ll say and do. Jackson’s been able to circle around the house cautiously, trying to examine everything with his eyes and with his mind.

Which is good, because he’s nervous.

Just now, if the red-headed woman had looked up towards the house as she rushed out the door—if she’d turned back to give it one last careful look—she’d easily have seen Jackson there, crouched, watching furtively at the side of the house.

But she didn’t look back. Not even once, quickly.

She only wanted to get in her car and go, go, go. Her mind was so loud Jackson didn’t even have to really use his shine. Her mind broadcast inside his brain without him trying at all.

Jackson watches her car closely, holding his breath, until she’s completely driven away, until he can’t see any sign of her car anymore.

She’s pretty, Jackson reflects, even for a mom-aged lady. Her car is nice, fancy, like she’s got some money. And even though she’s not a kid, even though she’s an adult, with an extremely complex mind— it’s easy to know her thoughts. The easiest it’s been for anyone he’s ever met.

What’s really weird, though, is that with her, it’s really more than thoughts. Something strange was happening with Jackson and her feelings, too.

He felt these little explosive bursts of her emotions, wracking his own body unexpectedly like fireworks and then quickly fading. That’s never happened before. It’s interesting, but it’s also upsetting, like having your own emotions pushed aside by someone else. Her feelings fade, but they don’t entirely go away. They leave a kind of residue for a minute or two.

And just now? She was very, very upset, in about fifty different ways Jackson can only barely sort out. She was angry, for one—angry at the man inside for not being fair to her. She was really guilty, hoping she’s doing the right thing by leaving. She was sad, so sad, wishing she could go back inside and be with him again. Jackson wonders why she doesn’t just go back. He felt her wishing hard for something she thinks is gone now. She’s grieving it. Almost like you grieve for parents that have been shot.

And mixed up in all of this, Jackson feels how much she loves the man inside the house. That’s just this big, enormous feeling, like a tsunami of emotion. More than he can cope with, really. It makes his head hurt. He rubs his temples slowly, trying to massage the feeling away.

Jackson knows who the woman is, of course.

He recognizes her, at least her mind. He wonders if that’s why he is able to feel her feelings and see her thoughts so easily.

It feels weird, seeing her. He always thought that if he ever met his birth mom, he’d want to talk to her right away. But he doesn’t have any urge to chase her down the driveway and introduce himself.

He’s just so afraid. It’s hard to understand, because closed adoption or not, he thinks she’d want to talk to him. In his visions, she’s usually calling for him—not his name, but a name he somehow knows is supposed to be him. So he thinks she wants to see him. She seems to want it very badly, at least sometimes.

But what if when she looks at him, it’s with the same huge sadness she’s feeling about this man inside the house? What if it isn’t what he imagines, meeting this woman? He doesn’t want all that right now. He can’t handle it.

Besides, he’s not supposed to see her. That isn’t why he came. She wasn’t the name he was given.

He doesn’t recognize the man inside, the man she fought with a few minutes ago. When he reaches out to poke his shine into this man’s mind, it’s like a forest at night: it’s dark, disorienting, full of paths that lead unknown directions. He sees a few things he understands: the woman’s face, their conversation just now, the man’s devotion to her, his anxieties. But he sees lots he doesn’t understand, too. The man is very complicated. And broken, Jackson thinks. He has cracks that make his thoughts difficult to follow.

He knows the man’s name. Fox Mulder. He wishes he knew more about who he was, exactly.

Because that’s the man he’s supposed to see.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp

[teslafactory]

#tumblr #tumblr stories #poll

[michaelnotholden]

What do you think Tori and Michaels blankets look like?

i feel like tori would have my blanket, its black on one side and the other side is white wool. its kinda like a picnic fabric pattern but in black and white...

has for michael it would be a queen sized navy blue flufly blanket or a warm toned aztec pattern one with pops of blue

#tori spring #michael holden #solitaire #solitaire alice oseman #osemanverse #sprolden #tori and michael

[oohnotvery]

The Coldest Night of the Year (Chapter 5)

Scully blinks awake slowly. Her eyes take a long time to adjust to the darkness of the room and she frowns as she stares at the black, silent T.V. She can’t make out the couch or Mulder on it, and she wonders when he turned off the television and whether he’s now in bed with Diana.

The next thing she notices is how cold she is, huddled in a pitiful heap in Mulder’s desk chair. She stretches her stiff neck and glances around for a clock. Seeing none, she reaches across the desk and drags down one of the blinds to peer out the window. It is pitch black outside; no street lamps shine.

She shivers and considers making her way across the room to find one of Mulder’s spare blankets. She thinks he keeps some in a closet near his bathroom.

She’s just about to stand up when she hears the creak of a floorboard and feels a heavy hand on her shoulder. Mulder’s lips press against her ear.

“Power’s out,” he murmurs.

Before she can respond, his arms are around her shoulders and he’s lifting her to standing. She’s so drowsy that she allows it. He guides her across the living room to the couch, avoiding the coffee table that she knows is there but can’t see.

Once he settles her onto the couch, he disappears. With a heavy heart, she realizes that he’s probably going to check on Diana. But seconds later, he’s returning to sit beside her.

“Here,” he says, and starts tugging something warm and soft over her head—a sweatshirt. In the darkness, she can’t quite make out his features, but she sends him a grateful smile.

“You cold?” he asks quietly, and she nods. When she remembers it’s too dark for him to see, she murmurs a quiet yes.

She hears him shuffling around and then feels his hands settle against her shoulders and pull her down onto the couch. He rustles around for a few more seconds and then she feels the warm weight of his Aztec blanket falling across her body. She tries not to think about Diana using it earlier. She’s about to protest this move to the couch when she feels him settle in behind her, his body pressed against her own.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to share, Scully?” he teases as he tugs part of the blanket over himself.

She falls speechless in surprise at this move, but when he slinks an arm across her waist and throws a leg over her own, she shakes her head.

“No, Mulder, you don’t have to do this,” she protests. He should be with Diana.

“Shh,” he hushes her gently. “No place I’d rather be.”

Her cheeks warm and she wonders why he isn’t in bed with her. Wonders what Diana would think if she saw them like this on the couch. It both terrifies and excites her.

“There’s a very nice bed in there with a very beautiful woman in it,” she tries weakly, unable to explain why he’s here instead of there.

He’s quiet for a long moment and she feels his fingers wrap loosely around her wrist. “Do you want me to go sleep with Diana?”

She fidgets nervously, fingers plucking at the blanket. “Mulder, you’re crazier than you look,” she mumbles under her breath.

He laughs a little and she feels it ripple through her system. “I didn’t invite her over here, Scully,” he tells her again. “She just showed up about an hour before you got here.”

“She wanted to get snowed in with you,” she replies.

 He squeezes her wrist. “I’m a popular guy. One blizzard. Two desperate women.”

“I just needed the heat,” she whispers with an eyeroll that he can’t see.   

“And yet it’s freezing in here.” His breath ghosts across the shell of her ear.

She shifts under the blanket, wondering where this is taking them. “I’m not so cold anymore.”  

They fall silent for a time. “I like being snowed in with you,” he finally says.

She bites the inside of her cheek, enjoying the warm, melty feeling that’s flowing through her body. Although this is more than she could ever hope for, there’s something troubling her still, something bothering her at the edges of her conscious mind.

Steeling herself, she turns to face him, her breasts pressing intimately into his chest. She has to remind herself to breathe.

“Tell me, Mulder. If I hadn’t showed up,” she asks carefully, “would you be in that bed with her?”

His lips find her forehead, where he lingers for a long moment. “Not a chance in hell,” he breathes against her skin. “There’s only one woman I want beside me, and she’s here in my arms right now.”

A shiver races down her spine and she tilts her head. She wishes she could see his eyes, read his expression. For one quiet moment, they stare at each other across the dark, breathing each other in. And then she lifts her head, pressing up into his lips. His mouth is hot against hers, and gentle. He moves with her slowly, tenderly, their kisses soft and unhurried, unexpectant.

“Is this why you came here tonight?” he asks between kisses. “To get snowed in with me?”

“I could never dream . . .” she replies breathlessly. She’s losing track of herself, of her thoughts, as Mulder’s hands move across her back and thighs and as his tongue slips into her mouth.

“I could,” he answers honestly, his lips moving to her cheek, pressing a long, lingering kiss there. “I’ve dreamed about this for a very long time.”

She swallows against her disbelief and feels him stroke her hair.

“If she weren’t here . . . .” he breathes, his hands slipping to clutch her waist. His words hold a promise that makes her core ache. She shifts against him, feeling the way he wants her.

“Mulder,” she whispers against his neck, and pulls him down for another kiss. Everything speeds up—the insistence of his tongue, the press of his groin against hers, the squeeze of his hand against her clothed breast.

“Too much,” he protests weakly, even as he slips his hand under her shirt and drags a finger down her spine.

“Too much,” she agrees, running her palm across his tight abdomen. She can hardly breathe with the thrill of his touch, of her ability to touch him back.

Painfully, she slides her hand out of his shirt and drags her arms up over his neck. He buries his head into her shoulder and caresses her back in slow, patient movements as they each rein in their pounding chests.

“I could never want this with anyone but you,” he tells her. “For so long Scully, you’ve been the only one I’ve been desperate to have.”

“I’ve been desperate too,” she admits, even as her cheeks flame. How long has she believed she must hide her true feelings? Years.

With disappointed little noises, they shift and settle into more comfortable positions for sleep, but Scully’s heart is still pounding and her body is still aching for more of him.

“When she’s gone,” he promises with a kiss to the back of her neck. His hand reaches down and brushes temptingly against her center and she flinches with excitement.

“When she’s gone,” she whispers with a smile, reaching back to give him a squeeze in return. He groans and presses into her.

“You’re dangerous, G-woman.” He nips at her earlobe.

“Settle down, Agent Mulder,” she says with a grin.

#mulder x scully #dana scully #the x files #fox mulder #msr #msr fanfic #txf #x files #x files fanfic #xfiles fanfic

[isleofsodora]

You’re such a kind and sweet soul, and trust me when I say that you’re INSANELY TALENTED, and you have a bright future ahead 🤩👏🏼

I actually wanted to give Edward a gift, if you allow me to: it’s a drawing I did a few years ago, it’s Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent, an Aztec deity in the Mexican culture, who’s related to arts, crafts, knowledge, and learning 🌌🎆 (something that I think Edward has an affinity with ☝🏼😙)

I hope he likes it, it’s a little detail as a thank you for making me feel happier and loved 💝 keep shining like a star, hugs from Mexico 🇲🇽🫶🏼

Of course Edward will like this!!

Can I just say how beautiful this is?! There are so many details in this drawing and it’s amazing!

I tried my hand at drawing Quetzalcoatl and Edward meeting 😁 I hope you like it!

Needless to say…Edward is a Disney Princess confirmed! What story do you think Edward is reading to Quetzalcoatl? Anyway I got my blanket and pillow cause it’s story time baby!!!

#thomas and friends au #thomas the tank engine au #thomas the train au #answered ask #your drawing is soooo good! #you know how long it’s been since I’ve drawn a freaking snake?!?! #story time #fantasy au #James and Thomas are so baffled then here comes little ‘ol me! #I love the corn cob on the end of the tail! 😄

[uummyuu]

the azul headcanons

big strong man that the show really doesn't utilize enough... wish we had more knowledge on the other members' names though :((

although de los santos is the only one who outright states he's aztec, i'd like to think the entire team is of aztec descent in some way.

anyways fun fact about aztec tattoos, they're usually designed to honor a chosen god so that they may provide blessings of prosperity, strength, health, etc. i don't want to look too deep on what was probably a tattoo designed on whim but it seems pretty close to the aztec calendar? or an iteration of the aztec sun god huitzilopochtli, the interpretation is very vague.

if we go by the thought that this is a tattoo of the aztec calendar, the tattoo itself could mean eternity and connection. de los santos in the show itself kind of rues the fact that what was once his home is now simply brushed of as the forgotten city or something to be left in the history books. with this tattoo it's his way of keeping his home and his friends by his side forever.

but also a tattoo of huitzilopochtli can symbolize power as well as sacrifice. some tattoos of the sun god are stylized to just be the sun with the god's face on it(although typically depicted with 8 rays instead of the weird 13 on his tattoo). santos' power is never understated in the show and his tattoo could be a testament to that.

the other members probably have their tattoos either on their chest or back to keep them out of sight, probably eagles to symbolize power and bravery, or maybe even a literal quetzlcoatl to symbolize wisdom. aspects that would be useful on the playing field.

anyways please see my vision of de los santos with a whole extensive aztec back tattoo on him

ok back to your regularly scheduled program, santos has bench pressed the entire team on his back once and it was recorded somewhere. the video resurfaces on natter everytime the azul play a game.

i read in a 4-panel comic that klaus actually has santos' jersey? i'll try and find it but anyways if some lucky fan manages to get it congrats you basically have a new blanket, that shirt is huge. (or if he has a tiny s/o who he loves smothering in his clothing i dunno 👀)

overall i'd like to think the team is just one big family, they have shared ancestry and that solidifies the bond they share with each other even if they aren't exactly related.

the other team members worry about santos taking on too much, with his reputation as an extremely difficult goalkeeper to get past when he does lose a point to the opposition it hits him hard. so the team does their best to pull their own weight, they want to have santos' back as much as he watches theirs.

de los santos is very much a protector type, i don't think he'd be the azul's captain, but he's definitely a pillar of support and morale for the team. (kind of a big bo and dancing rasta dynamic?)

the team definitely worries about relying on santos too much, but in reality santos likes being reliable and strong in the eyes of others, he longs to be needed so he doesn't end up as "forgotten" just like his home did.

honestly these guys probably try to keep out of the media too, but when they do get on an interview other than talking about the game they love talking about their culture. as "exotic" and "forgotten" it may seem to interviewers, to the team it's merely the childhood memories that link them all together. even if the city itself no longer stands.

i'm gonna make de los santos dating headcanons one day i swear because i have so much more to say about him—

#supa strikas #supa strikas headcanons #supa strikas the azul #supa strikas de los santos #this devolved into tattoo hc's real quick #im so sorry aztec tattoo culture is just so cool #i'll make another post on how i came to the conclusions for santos' tattoo inspo eventually #but i definitely overanalyzed his tattoo lol i just wanted to give it significance somehow man #myu writes 🌸

[alien-space-cat]

Thinking about history and family and queerness. How they were real and they were people, with lives like ours. How being queer has always existed for as long as humanity has, and long before that too.

A little viking girl and her mother and her father sat around the fire whilst they tell her the stories of the gods and their children, and her mother shuffles over to her, pulling the new blanket she made over the little girl's shoulder, and her dad let's the little girl touch his sword and tilt it to see the flashes of the fire light on the metal, all whilst telling her to be careful of the sharp edges.

An Ancient Egyptian teenage boy running around, catching lizards to show his toddler sister as his mother warns him about not letting the lizards bite him or the girl.

A victorian father holding his newborn twins in his arms as he can't stop smiling, the midwife passing his wife some tea as she congratulates both of them.

A babylonian girl kissing her best friend behind the local bookshop, and she kisses her back.

A tudor girl putting on her brother's trousers and tucking her hair under a hat and realising maybe she prefers looking like him.

An Aztec father combing the hair of his wife and children whilst they sleep, leaving a little braid in each, even the fuzzy wisps of his newest daughter.

An American Indigenous community teaching the newest generation how to weave, dance, hunt, clean hide, and make jewellery.

An Ancient Chinese girl having her older sister do her makeup and then running off to show her friends.

A little medieval boy tugging on his mother's skirt because he wants to help his dad plough the soil, or at least help pick the vegetables because he just wants to help make the work a little less on his dad.

A Britonic Celt mother teaching her son how to braid hair by demonstrating on his dad.

A Samoan teenager telling their parents they don't feel like one gender alone and their parents celebrating because they love their child no matter what.

Just thinking about how all of humanity repeats the same things over and over again, how no matter how long ago or where they were, we have done the same things all the time, exist all the time, forever.

#grammar probably isn't the best because I'm tired #yeah Im. feeling things #history #poetry #poetic ramble #long post #humanity #humans #people #damn. damn.. #queer #lgbtqia

[starwalker42]

febuwhump day 22: can't scream

episode: Pine Bluff Variant | no warnings apply | teen and above

For the last few months, Mulder’s life has been driven by fear, pure and simple. Fear of being found out, of being realised as what he is. A mole, a spy. He knew that if they find out, they wouldn’t fuck around. They’d just kill him, simple as, no second thoughts. The fear of that was the one that kept him on edge, made him hypervigilant to every car that gets too close on his tail, every unknown number that calls him, every unexpected letter in his pigeonhole.

The fear that kept him awake at night was that they’d do the same to Scully.

He and Skinner had done everything possible to keep her off the scent, to make sure she wouldn’t learn the truth, and that had helped alleviate some of the worry. He was never going to fool her forever, but maybe if he could just keep her far enough away for a few more weeks, it would all be over before she had chance to become a target. No matter how far away he pushed her, though, it didn’t stop the other thoughts that plagued his mind late at night - the fear that even if Scully didn’t get wrapped up in all of it, that one day he might never come back, and he’d show up dead in some field somewhere after telling her he was going for a coffee run. The fear of what she’d do, if that happened.

So when he returns to his apartment, and she’s there, wrapped in darkness but still, somehow, the only bright light in his life, he can’t decide whether to feel angry or relieved. Angry, because she knows everything, now, and he can’t protect her. Relieved because he finally gets his partner back, and now if he turns up dead she’ll know he didn’t betray her.

She listens to him talk about his mission, puts ice on his swollen hand, and whispers an apology before she realigns his broken finger with a doctor’s precision. It stings, and the feel of bones crunching brings tears to his eyes, but he chokes down his cry of pain. Back at the New Spartan’s compound, he’d muffled his scream because he didn’t want them to think he was weak, didn’t want to give that sadistic skinhead the satisfaction of hurting him, but now he does it for her. Looking into her wide, impossibly blue eyes, he knows the last thing he ever wants to do is to make her worry.

Which he’s aware makes him the biggest asshole in history, just for taking this assignment.

She doesn’t leave his apartment. They sit and watch Mulder’s favourite episode of The Twilight Zone on his VCR, and he tries not to think that this might be the last time he ever sees it, the last time he ever sits on this couch with Scully, the last time she ever falls asleep with her head on his shoulder. When Skinner calls, asking him in for an urgent meeting, he doesn’t have the heart to wake her.

He leaves her sleeping, wrapped up in his Aztec blanket. He doesn’t leave a note – he’s not sure what he’d write, how he could put any of it into words – and by 3am, he’s pulling up at the Hoover Building.

He thinks he might love her. And that’s the thing that scares him the most.

@today-in-fic

#xf fanfic #txf fic #msr #my writing #febuwhump2023 #febuwhumpday22

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 6: Mandolin Rain

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I also do not own the rights or copyrights of Mandolin Rain by Bruce Hornsby and the Range. I just happen to really like this song.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

Note: When I wrote this chapter, Mandolin Rain by Bruce Hornsby just happened to play on my Spotify account just as I was thinking of what to write next for this story. Listening to it while reading this chapter may help you to see it more or it may not. It's your choice.

Moonlight poured into your bedroom, granting you some visibility as you sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Glancing to your right, you found Sean nestled in peaceful slumber in your bed. Sleep eluded you completely, the memory of Jake's pained expression when you mentioned "fiancé" still haunting your thoughts, tearing at your heart.

You carefully lifted the comforter and slipped out of bed, retrieving your cell phone and earbuds from the nightstand with hushed movements. Passing by the dresser, a glimmer drew your attention. You reached out, finding an old CD of Bruce Hornsby and the Range.

Stealthily, you made your way to the bedroom door, opening it with care, and gently shutting it behind you. Descending the stairs, you entered the living room. There, you seized the Aztec-style blanket from the couch and made your way to the outdoor living area.

The night air was perfect, hovering around a comfortable 65 degrees. Nestling onto the outdoor couch, you draped the blanket over yourself. Plugging in your earbuds, you accessed your Spotify account on your phone and searched for "Mandolin Rain."

You laid back and closed your eyes as a memory enveloped you:

The night enveloped the surroundings in darkness, but the carnival lights illuminated the area, casting a vibrant glow. You indulged in some cotton candy, savoring the sugary delight, when a distant rumble reached your ears.

"I think it might be time to head home," sixteen-year-old Jake suggested.

"It's just a bit of thunder, Jake," you reassured.

"Yeah, but you know how storms can get around here."

Just as he spoke, rain began to descend, first in a slow drizzle, then picking up speed. Jake gently took hold of your hand, guiding you under the shelter of one of the game canopies and into his embrace. The two of you locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between you.

"Why Jake Seresin. What would people say?" you teased.

"I don't give a shit what they say," he said as he leaned in and kissed you. Gently. Lovingly.

As you separated, you discarded the remnants of your cotton candy into a nearby garbage can. Then, you slowly began to step backwards, separating yourself from Jake, from under the game canopy, and allowing the rain to embrace you.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" Jake inquired, a smile playing at his lips.

"Something I haven't done in a long time." The rain started to drench your light blue floral dress as you twirled and let it wash over you.

Jake couldn't help but grin and chuckle. "You're crazy!"

You extended your hand. "Come on, Jake! It's just a little water."

He placed his hand in yours, and you pulled him close, the rain cascading down on you.

"You're crazy, but I love you," Jake declared.

You froze, meeting his gaze. "What did you say?"

He drew you nearer, his eyes locked onto your crystal-blue ones. "I said I love you."

In the next instant, his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, rain pouring around you both.

You drifted into sleep, a contented smile lingering on your lips, courtesy of that cherished memory.

The gentle caress of light and warmth greeted your face as you shifted on the outdoor couch. Suddenly, something soft collided with your face, prompting you to sit up, eyes wide.

"What the fuck?!" you exclaimed, turning to find James chuckling. "You ass."

"Your fiance is on the lookout for you."

You flung the blanket off of you. "Shit. I completely forgot he was here."

"Could be worse. I didn't even know he existed."

You held a finger up to him. "I'll fill you in later." You stood up.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Sean emerged. "Y/N. How did you end up out here?" he asked, his blue eyes concerned.

"I couldn't sleep last night, so I came out here. I didn't want to bother you."

"I'll let you two be," James said as he walked back into the house.

Sean placed both of his hands on your arms and tried looking at you, but you couldn't look at him. "Are you okay?"

You pushed them off, grabbed the blanket off of the couch and went into the house. "I'm fine," you responded as you placed the blanket on the living room couch.

Just then, Griff came into the room. "Breakfast is ready."

"Thank you, Griff. We'll be right there." You said to him and then turned back to Sean. "I have to go shower and get dressed. We'll talk later."

You headed up the stairs, leaving Sean staring at you.

"She'll be alright. I think all of this is just getting to her," James said to Sean as he emerged from the kitchen.

Sean sat on the couch, looking at the floor in front of him. "She's been different since she's been here. No wonder she never goes home."

"As I said, she's got a lot on her mind."

Sean looked at James. "Well, I wish she'd talk to me about them."

"Tell me. How long have you known Y/N?"

"Since she's been in Alaska. Ten years. We've only been dating the last year. She was engaged to one of my friends who was a helicopter pilot, but they ended it. It took a bit for me to get the courage to ask her out. She's different."

"That she is," James agreed and then nodded towards the kitchen. "Come on. Let's get some breakfast."

#Youtube #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #hangman #hangman fanfic #top gun hangman #glen powell #top gun fanfic